Do your thing and don't care if they like it.

My name is Jazz ● 90s baby ● 18+ ● she/her ●Masterlist

[jazzycurls]

Eddie's Lair

Series

I want to know what love is - part 1.

I want to know what love is - part 2.

I want to know what love is - part 3.

I want to know what love is - part 4.

You belong to me - part 1.

You belong to me - part 2.

You belong to me - part 3.

You belong to me - part 4.

You belong to me - part 5.

One Shots

Meant to be

Dangerous Encounter

I'm Yours

Entanglements

[thesirensspell]

The Cautionary Tale of a Hungry Man

pairing: Ryōmen Sukuna x female reader

synopsis: You were seventeen when you testified and watched them shove Sukuna into the back of a cruiser, screaming your name like a promise. Years later, the nightmares still haven’t stopped, college is the only distraction you have from the horrors of your mind. Then the world gets quiet... and he gets close.

content warnings: 18+ only, psychological horror, serial murder, cannibalism (mentioned/depicted as needed), blood/ gore, stalking/obsession, threats/violence, PTSD/night terrors, eventual smut, dark themes.

A/N: heavily inspired by the wonderful @belimah

Sukuna has always been smart.

Smart in the soft, harmless ways people romanticize. The safe kind you tell someone about when you’re trying to make them sound better than they are.

He noticed small things.

The way girls bite their nails when they’re nervous, not because they’re scared, but because they’re trying to keep their hands from shaking while they ask a boy out. The way their laugh comes out too loud, too bright, like if they’re noisy enough the world won’t hear their heart stutter.

He knew how to make himself easy to like. Not with effort, not with begging. With timing. With stillness. With letting people talk until they filled the silence with everything they wanted him to be.

Sukuna has always been smart.

He could read a room the way some people read a text message. Fast, instinctive, and with that lazy confidence of someone who’s never had to wonder if he was wrong.

He noticed the way parents lie to their kids about holidays. The careful, loving kind of lie. The kind that comes with cookies and glitter and a voice pitched like a lullaby.

Santa Clause.

The tooth fairy.

The boogeyman.

You behave, because you’re being watched. You sleep, because you’ve been promised there’s something under the bed that wants you to be afraid.

He noticed how easily fear becomes a tradition. How quickly it turns into routine. How many adults spend their whole lives repeating stories they know aren’t true, just because the lie keeps the house quiet.

Sukuna has always been smart.

Smarter than the people who thought they knew him. Smarter than the ones who mistook his attention for kindness, his silence for patience.

He noticed what everyone avoids naming.

The way people pray to something, anything, right before their last breath. Even the ones who swear they don’t believe. Even the ones who laugh at religion. Mouths still form a plea when the body realizes it can’t bargain with time.

The way a bone pops before it breaks. That little warning the body gives itself. A soft sound. A polite announcement. As if the pain has its own form of manners.

He noticed that too.

He noticed how quickly voices change when they realize they’re not being listened to anymore. How calm turns to bargaining. How pride turns to pleading. How a person will offer up pieces of themselves, their dignity, their truth, just to stay alive for five more minutes.

Sukuna has always been smart.

And he has always been hungry.

the siren splits the afternoon open.

red and blue, strobing off windshields and storefront glass, turning everyone’s faces into quick flashes of color.

radios crackle like insects.

somebody shouts for everyone to back up, like the street might swallow you if you stand too close.

and sukuna is already slammed chest first into the hood of the cruiser.

har1wzd enough the metal dents under him.

you hear it. that ugly little thunk of bone and muscle meeting something that doesn’t give.

he bucks immediately, violent and furious, like the car is an insult to the type of man that he is. The man that he was.

his shoulders roll. his wrists twist behind him, tendons standing out, muscles corded tight like ropes pulled to snapping.

an officer shoves his weight down between sukuna’s shoulder blades.

sukuna answers with a sound that isn’t a word, just a snarl dragged up from somewhere low, wet, hungry.

“stop resisting!”

sukuna laughs, breathless and sharp. “or what?” he spits, voice wrecked with adrenaline. “you gonna ask nicely again?”

the officer yanks his arms higher.

the movement is quick. practiced. cruel.

sukuna hisses through his teeth, rage cracking across his face like a split lip.

his cheek drags on the paint when he tries to twist. you can see the smear it leaves behind, the shine of sweat, the way his jaw clenches like he might bite down on the hood itself.

“you think this is gonna hold me?” he snaps, fast. mean. “you think this is enough?”

your mother’s arms lock around you, hauling you back against her so hard your ribs ache.

your father steps in front of you like a shield, like his body can erase the sight of sukuna fighting.

like he can make this not real.

you’re shaking so hard your teeth chatter.

your lungs won’t work right. every breath feels too small, too thin, like the air is refusing to cooperate.

sukuna jerks again, trying to turn, trying to see past the cop’s shoulder.

and then he finds you.

it’s instant.

his head twists, cheek scraping the hood, and his eyes hit you like a slap.

not panic. not fear.

offense.

like your existence in this moment is something he wants to punish.

“you,” he snarls, snapping his head up off the hood.

the officer slams his face back down. “don’t move!”

sukuna’s laugh turns ugly. “you think you can tell me what to do?”

his eyes flick up again anyway, locking on you like you’re the only thing in the street that matters.

“you fucking brat,” he barks, voice cutting straight through the siren. “you think you did something?”

your throat closes so tight it hurts.

your vision blurs at the edges. your mom is whispering, frantic, right against your ear. “don’t look at him. don’t look at him baby.”

but your eyes won’t listen.

fear has your chin gripped tight in its hand.

sukuna surges against the hold again, teeth bared. “nosy little bitch,” he snaps.

it lands like a punch because he says it like he’s known you forever.

like you’re not a stranger. like you’re his problem now.

one of the officers tightens his grip. “watch your mouth.”

sukuna whips his head toward the voice, feral. “make me.”

then he looks back at you, and his mouth curls.

“I oughtta kill you,” he says, low and vicious. “i should’ve killed you when i had the chance.”

your knees go soft.

a broken sound claws its way out of you and you press your face hard into your mother’s coat, sobbing so hard it burns your throat.

your dad’s hand cups the back of your head, tight and protective, but you can feel him trembling too.

an officer shoves sukuna down harder. “that’s enough.”

they haul him off the hood.

for half a second it looks like he might slip them. like the cops might lose their footing. like he might get one hand loose and make good on every word he just said.

he fights the whole way to the open back door, cursing, snarling, jerking his weight around like he’s trying to break the air itself.

“This is bullshit,” he spits. “i didn’t do shit.”

his eyes flick back to you, quick and hot.

“You did, though,” he says, and there’s something in his tone that makes your stomach drop. “you fucking did.”

he lunges toward the window side as they shove him in, like the last thing he wants is distance.

“you think you’re a hero?” he snarls, voice cracking with rage. “you’re nothing. you’re a fucking kid who got lucky.”

the officer jams him into the seat.

sukuna’s shoulder clips the frame.

hard.

he doesn’t flinch.

he just twists in the back like a caged animal, breathing hard, lips pulled back, eyes bright with hate.

“This isn’t over,” he spits, muffled by the glass.

like he needs you to hear it.

the door slams.

the sound hits your ribs like a final blow.

the cruiser pulls off, lights flashing, siren screaming, and sukuna is still looking at you as they drive him away.

not like he’s scared.

like he’s memorizing you.

like he’s taking you with him.

Like this isn’t over.

you wake up like you’ve been shoved.

not gently. not gradually. like something yanked you out of sleep by the throat.

your chest is already tight when your eyes open, lungs pulling in air that tastes wrong, too warm, too thin, like it’s been used up by your panic.

the blankets are tangled around your legs. your shirt clings damp to your back. your heart is kicking hard enough you can hear it like a drum pounding in your ears.

the room is dark-blue because of the early morning, the kind of light that makes everything look unreal, softer at the edges.

you can still hear him.

that courtroom.

that voice.

you swallow and it does nothing. you blink and the image doesn’t leave.

your breath stutters and you make a sound, a broken and wrecked whimper.

“hey.”

a hand lands on your shoulder.

not rough. not startling. just there, warm and steady, like a weight meant to anchor.

maki’s voice is thick with sleep, but she’s already sitting up, hair a mess, eyes half-lidded and alert in that way she always is. like she wakes up ready to fight god.

she shakes you softly.

“you’re dreaming again,” she says, quiet to not shake you up more than you already are.

your throat burns. you wipe at your face and realize your cheeks are wet. you hate that. you hate that your body keeps betraying you in places that are supposed to be safe.

“sorry,” you croak, the apology comes out automatic. because you’ve said it too many times.

maki exhales like she’s not interested in your apologies.

she scoots closer, sits with her back against the headboard, and pats the space beside her like she’s inviting you back into your own body.

“c’mere.”

you hesitate for a stupid second, pride flaring up like it always does, and then you crawl over anyway because your hands won’t stop shaking and you don’t want to be alone inside your head.

maki leans her shoulder against yours, solid and quiet.

“same one?” she asks.

you nod. it’s the only answer you can manage without screaming.

your voice comes back in pieces. “trial,” you whisper. “him… looking at me.”

maki’s jaw tightens. the muscle flexes.

“did he touch you?” she asks, blunt, already sitting straighter.

“no.” the word comes out fast. sharp. “no, just… the stare. the yelling. them dragging him away and… he was still promising.”

maki’s hand closes around your wrist.

“you’re safe,” she says, there’s no softness in it. it’s a statement. a command. “you’re in your dorm. i’m right here.”

you try to let it sink in.

your heartbeat doesn’t care.

your stomach keeps rolling like it’s waiting for impact.

maki reaches over your nightstand and flips your phone facedown, like she knows you’re the kind of person who will hurt yourself with information if you let your hands wander.

“no doomscrolling,” she says. “not before class.”

you let out something that might be a laugh if it wasn’t so tired. “You’re so bossy.”

“Im so correct.” she nudges you with her shoulder. “You need to try and breathe. slow.”

you do. kind of.

You inhale like you’re trying to convince your nervous system that the room is just a room and not a courtroom or a street full of sirens. You try to swallow down the repeating panic of his voice.

after a minute, your hands stop shaking enough to unclench.

maki stands up and stretches, cracking her neck then looks down at you.

“shower?” she asks. “or are you gonna lay there and haunt the mattress.”

you glare at her weakly. “i hate you.”

“love you too,” she says, already rummaging for her clothes. “go.”

you drag yourself into the bathroom and turn the water cold.

not because you like it. because you need something honest. because cold doesn’t pretend it’s gentle. It’s a nervous system wake up call.

you stand under it until your skin prickles and your brain quiets down, until your thoughts stop sprinting and start walking again.

then you get dressed for classes.

You throw on a soft worn hoodie, or so to say yuji’s soft stolen hoodie.

you and maki leave the dorm together, moving through campus, like you’re just two girls with backpacks and schedules and coffee breath.

the sun’s up now. students laugh. someone skates by. a couple holds hands. life insists on being life, loud and careless.

you tell yourself to borrow some of that carelessness.

you survive classes.

barely.

Your professor drones on and on about the coding language of Python, in the seat beside you a boy in a red varsity jacket with sleep deprived dark blue eyes and spiky black hair steals your pencil. He writes down on your notebook asking for your name. As if you are high schoolers passing notes while the teacher isn’t looking.

you stare at the spot where your pencil used to be, like if you focus hard enough it’ll magically reappear in your hand.

you glance sideways.

he’s already got it. twirling it between his fingers like it belongs there.

his elbow is on your desk. his shoulder is close enough that you can feel the heat of him through your sleeve.

your notebook is open, and there it is:

what’s your name?

you blink at it.

then at him.

he doesn’t look apologetic. he looks entertained.

your lips part. your throat tightens from the ridiculousness of it.

you lean a fraction toward him and whisper, because speaking any louder feels like admitting this is a conversation.

“give me my pencil back.”

his eyes flick to your mouth. then he tilts his head, slow and writes:

name first

you frown. “why?”

he taps the pencil once against the paper, and his mouth quirks.

because i asked

you exhale through your nose, annoyed, and it comes out quieter than you want.

you whisper your name back.

he writes it down himself, right under his question, neat and confident, in a ridiculously pretty and cursive manner.

then he writes a second line.

pretty.

you freeze.

your eyes snap to him, sharp.

he finally looks at you directly, those tired dark-blue eyes half-lidded burning through you.

you whisper, flat, “you’re bold.”

only when i see someone i like

your stomach does that stupid little flip bullshit like this is a romcom and you hate it.

he writes again, quick.

megumi.

then:

you gonna keep glaring at me or are you gonna smile so i can pretend i’m charming?

you stare at the words, then whisper without thinking, “i don’t even know you.”

he watches your face like he’s cataloging expressions.

you will, coffee after?

you should say no. you should focus on the lecture. you should stop letting strangers with pretty eyes and bad manners rearrange your morning.

instead, of course you whisper, “i have class.”

megumi’s mouth twitches.

so do i, after class. i’m buying.

you glance at him again.

he’s already looking at you, like he knew you would.

c’mon. one coffee. i’ll even stop stealing your stuff

“you’re literally still stealing my stuff.”

he huffs a quiet laugh and writes:

temporary.

your eyes drift back to the front because the professor is still talking, because the room still exists, because you’re trying to remember how to be normal.

but your mouth betrays you.

“…fine,” you whisper.

megumi pauses, then slowly, finally, he hands the pencil back, brushing his fingers against yours. He definitely had enough room not to do so.

his voice is right by your ear, low and pleased.

“good girl.”

your hand tightens around the pencil like it’s suddenly the only thing keeping you upright.

and megumi sits back in his seat like he didn’t just knock the air out of your lungs with two words and a shit eating grin.

at lunch, you sit with maki and yuji in the courtyard, the table warm under your elbows, the air full of chatter and forks scraping plastic containers.

yuji is already mid-story when you sit down, animated as always, hands moving like he’s conducting an orchestra.

“i’m telling you,” he says, mouth full, “it’s gonna be insane. like, insane insane. music, lights, the whole thing. nobara said she’s literally picking out an outfit that qualifies as a war weapon.”

maki snorts, biting into her food. “nobara’s personality qualifies as a war weapon.”

yuji grins. “exactly. that’s why it’ll be fun.”

he looks at you, eyes bright,“you’re coming, right?”

you open your mouth to give the easy answer. you’re trying. you really are.

But then you see them.

two officers stepping into the courtyard.

not campus security. not a bored guard in a yellow vest.

real uniforms. real posture. the kind of presence that changes the air.

their radios hiss. their eyes sweep the crowd.

the conversations around you falter. students glance up, confused, curious, annoyed.

yuji’s grin slips. “uh… what’s going on?”

maki’s shoulders go rigid beside you. she doesn’t speak. she just watches.

one of the officers lifts a hand and his voice carries, sharp and practiced.

“everyone needs to stand up and start moving toward your dorms. now. calmly.”

there’s a beat where nobody understands.

because humans hate understanding. understanding means you have to react.

someone laughs, nervous. “is this a drill?”

the officer doesn’t laugh back. “move.”

chairs scrape.

you stand on autopilot, fingers cold around your tray.

the crowd starts to shift, a messy current of bodies and backpacks, everyone asking questions they don’t actually want answered.

maki grips your elbow. “stay with me.”

yuji is right there too, eyes wide now, scanning.

you start moving with them, shoulder to shoulder with strangers, the campus path narrowing with panicked faces.

someone pushes past you.

someone trips and swears.

and then, somewhere ahead, the sound cracks the air open.

a gunshot.

it’s sharper. flatter. wrong in a way your body recognizes immediately.

the scream comes half a second later, like the campus has to think before it reacts.

then everything breaks.

students bolt. shoes pound the pavement. voices rise into a single ugly wave. you get shoved forward, pulled sideways, caught in the surge of hurried bodies and terrified voices.

maki’s hand clamps harder around you, locking arms so you can’t be slipped or pushed away.

yuji grabs the back of your shirt to keep you close, then loses grip as the crowd swallows you.

your lungs seize.

your vision tunnels.

and through the chaos, through the flashing movement and bodies and noise, you catch a glimpse.

just a shape. Just eyes and rage and focus.

a man moving wrong, too purposeful, cutting through the panic like it isn’t touching him.

and your stomach drops so hard you feel it in your knees.

your mouth goes dry.

your brain tries to reject it.

your body doesn’t.

“no,” you whisper, and it comes out like a prayer. “no no no god”

you run.

you don’t think about direction, just speed, just an escape, just getting to the only place that feels like it has walls thick enough to make this stop.

the intercom on the nearest building crackles to life overhead, loud and distorted, the voice trembling even through the static.

“attention students and staff. this is not a drill. repeat, this is not a drill.”

another pause. like the person speaking is swallowing fear.

“a body has been discovered. lock your doors. stay in your dorms. buddy up with your resident assistants. open for no one unless instructed by authorities.”

the words hit you like ice water.

body.

discovered.

lock your doors.

your legs burn. your throat burns. you can’t tell if you’re crying or if your eyes are just watering from running too hard.

you find the path to your dorm like your feet have memorized it from every day you’ve ever tried to feel normal.

maki appears beside you like she teleported, still gripping your elbow, dragging you faster when you start to falter.

“move,” she snaps, voice rough with adrenaline.

Your feet are thumping the ground at this point.

you make it to the building in a rush of bodies, people shoving inside, sobbing, yelling names, calling parents with shaking hands.

your palms slam against the stair rail as you take the steps two at a time.

your chest is a locked drawer.

your mind is screaming.

maki’s door is there. close. closer.

she fumbles the key once. curses. jams it in again and turns it hard.

you spill inside.

maki slams the door behind you so loud it shakes the frame.

the lock clicks.

then she throws the deadbolt.

your hands are already shaking as you back away from the door like it might open by itself.

“bathroom,” maki says, and there’s no argument in her tone.

you stumble into it with her, squeezing into the cramped space, tile cold under your bare feet. she locks that door too, like layers of wood can outsmart whatever is outside.

you crouch against the tub, hugging your knees, trying to get your breath back.

maki stands over you for a second, chest rising fast, eyes sharp, listening.

then she crouches too, close enough that you can feel her presence.

your mouth opens.

nothing comes out.

all you can hear is the intercom echoing in your skull.

lock your doors.

stay in them.

open for no one.

and somewhere in the building, someone is still screaming.

you and maki stay wedged on the bathroom floor.

your knees are pulled tight to your chest, arms wrapped around them so violently it hurts, maki’s arm is hooked around your shoulders, her other hand clamped over your mouth when you start making those little panicked sounds you can’t control, she’s trying to hear everything.

outside the bathroom door, the dorm is full of noise that doesn’t make sense. footfalls slamming down the hall. someone sobbing. a voice yelling a name. the distant wail of something like an alarm. and underneath it all, that thin, sick sound of radio chatter bleeding through walls.

then it goes quiet.

not calm quiet.

the kind of quiet that feels like the air is holding its breath.

your heart stutters. your lungs forget how to fucking work.

maki’s grip tightens around you, knuckles whitening, her eyes locked on the bathroom door. she doesn’t say anything. she doesn’t have to. your body already knows.

Then

Knock knock knock

your stomach drops so hard you feel it in your throat.

the voice follows, muffled through the wood, familiar. rough and furious and too close.

“i know you’re fucking in there, you brat,” he says, like he’s talking through his teeth. “open the damn door.”

your blood turns to ice.

maki’s arm squeezes you so tight it borders on pain. you clutch onto her shirt with shaking fingers, nails digging trying to anchor yourself to her and keep from floating away into pure terror. your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. just breath. just a tiny, broken whine that you try to swallow before it turns to a scream.

please, you think, and it isn’t aimed at anyone. it’s not prayer, not really. it’s bargaining with the universe like the universe has ever been kind. please please please.

maki’s forehead presses to the side of your head, her breathing fast and controlled like she’s trying to lend you her spine. “don’t move,” she whispers, its so quiet... “don’t make a sound.”

the knocking starts again.

harder.

more impatient.

each hit makes the door shudder in its frame, the vibration traveling through the floor into your bones. your pulse is a drum in your ears. you can taste metal in your mouth, like your body is already preparing for blood.

“c’mon,” he says, voice dropping lower, meaner. “don’t make me come in there.”

your whole body locks up. you can’t stop the shake anymore. it’s in your hands, your thighs, your jaw.

maki’s hand slips into yours and laces tight, fingers crushing, trying to steady the shake in yours.

you squeeze back.

you stare at the doorknob.

go away, go away go away go away.

the knocking stops.

your breath catches so violently it hurts.

a beat passes.

then another.

the silence stretches, thin and sharp.

maki doesn’t relax. she goes eerily stiller, eyes widening, shoulders lifting like she’s bracing for impact.

you hear it then, faint through the door. a shift of weight. the scrape of something metal near the latch.

and then the sound cracks the world open.

a gunshot, right outside, deafening in the hallway, exploding through the door. the handle jerks. the lock screams. something snaps with a horrible, mechanical finality.

maki flinches hard, dragging you tighter into her chest, and you make a noise you can’t swallow this time.

“no,” you choke, your voice breaking. “no no no no”

another shot. wood splinters.

the bathroom door shudders like it’s about to give up.

you bury your face against maki’s shoulder, sobbing, words falling out in a frantic spill you can’t stop, pleading at nothing, at everything, at whatever god might be listening.

“no no no no please god please”

dividers by @honeyluvsw

[moonlitrapture]

Before you were mine

2 /40

Summary: To Hawkins, he is a martyr.

To you, he is a secret that learned how to walk away.

You were his worst habit kept out of sight, never chosen in daylight.

When you discover you're pregnant, there is no one left to tell.

You were never his girlfriend.

You were the place he went when he didn't want to be seen.

When he disappeared, he took his violence, his charm, and his almost-love with him.

What he left behind was quiet... and heavy.

Some people leave behind ghosts.

Billy Hargrove left behind a family he never meant to make.

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Black!Reader

Warnings 🔞: Angst, slow-burn, secret pregnancy, messy love, dark post-Season 3 AU, smut, dark themes, minors do not interact (MDNI), toxic relationship dynamics, abusive Billy, PTSD from Y/N, emotional/psychological abuse, sensitive content.

———

The carnival lights twinkled below like scattered stars, the yearly Hawkins fair winding down after hours, leaving the Ferris wheel as the last creaking giant standing. Billy had sweet-talked the operator into one final ride, just for us, the gondola swaying gently as it climbed higher into the cool night air. I was pressed against the white long bench seat that ran across from him, the confined space making every movement feel electric. My heart raced not just from the height, but from the thrill of being alone with him up here, the town sprawling out beneath us like we owned the damn sky.

Billy's pale hands gripped my hips, pulling my shorts down in one rough yank, exposing my ass to the chill breeze slipping through the cracks. “Bend over bitch , I wanna see your pretty pussy “he murmured, voice low and commanding, that California drawl sending shivers down my spine. I complied, bracing my palms on the smooth vinyl of the bench, my dark curves arching back toward him in the tight quarters. The seat was barely wide enough, my knees digging into the floor as bent over , I presented myself, scrunching my dress up, and moving my panties to the side my pussy already throbbing with anticipation, slickness gathering between my thighs, in the cool air . He didn’t waste any time. Undoing his belt buckle, his jeans rustled, as he pulled down his grey Calvin Klein boxer briefs, His throbbing swollen red mushroom shaft that had pre cum dripping from it, was slapped against his stomach. He quickly took his hard on , and aligned himself with my entrance, dragging the tip against my meaty slick folds to tease me . I felt the heat of his thick cock pressing against my entrance, the crimson colored head nudging my folds before slamming in deep. A gasp escaped me as he filled me completely, stretching my walls around his girth in doggy style, his pale hips snapping against my brown skin with possessive force. The gondola rocked with each thrust, high above the empty midway, the world feeling a million miles away. “Fuck, you're tight,”he growled, one hand tangling in my hair to yank my head back slightly, exposing my neck for his teeth.

He bit down then, sharp and claiming, his teeth sinking into the soft flesh of my shoulder, leaving a stinging mark that made me clench around him. Pain bloomed into pleasure, my body pushing back to meet his pounding rhythm, the bench creaking under my weight. Sweat beaded on my skin, mixing with his as he leaned over me, his chest slick against my back. “That pussy is only good for catching cum. “he rasped, the words dripping with that dirty edge that always made me wetter, my arousal dripping down my thighs onto the gondola floor.

The wheel slowed, stopping at the top for what felt like a dramatic pause, the city lights blurring below. My breaths came in pants, Billy's thrusts turning slower but deeper, grinding into me as if he owned every inch. Then it jerked forward again, descending a bit before halting entirely stuck, just like that, suspended in the night sky. “Shit,” I whispered, pulse spiking, but Billy only chuckled darkly, not missing a beat as he railed me harder, the confined space amplifying every slap of skin on skin.

“Keep quiet,” he ordered, though his own groans betrayed him, his nails digging into my hips like before, scraping red lines across my dark flesh. I bit my lip, stifling a moan as he hit that spot inside, over and over, my pussy fluttering around his shaft. The height made it all more intense the drop in my stomach mirroring the coil building in my core. But then, voices drifted up from below, faint but unmistakable. My neighbor, Mr. Hooper Jim Hopper, with his gruff bark yelling something about the ride not being cleared, his flashlight beam sweeping the base of the wheel.

Panic twisted with lust; we were exposed up here, the gondola a glass cage in the spotlight if he looked up. Billy froze for a second, cock buried deep, then pulled out abruptly, spinning me around in the tight space. “On your knees, my whore “ Give me that mouth,' he demanded, eyes wild, his erection glistening with my juices, standing proud and veined against his pale abdomen.

I dropped down, the floor hard under my knees, and wrapped my lips around his cockhead, tasting myself on him as I sucked greedily. My tongue swirled over the mushroom tip, hollowing my cheeks to take him deeper, bobbing in the dim light. He threaded fingers through my hair, guiding me, thrusting shallowly into my throat. “Yeah, just like that suck it clean,” he hissed, biting his own lip to stay quiet, but the wheel's creak masked our sounds. Hopper's voice grew closer, boots crunching on gravel, his beam flickering dangerously near our height.

I gagged softly as Billy pushed his hips forward and further, my hands gripping his thighs, nails leaving crescents on his pale skin. He bit my earlobe then, tugging it between his teeth with a growl. “Keep fucking going , don't stop make me cum down your throat.” The dirty talk spurred me on, my pussy aching emptily as I worked him faster, saliva dripping down my chin. The wheel shuddered, starting up again with a groan, descending slowly, but we were still high, still at risk.

Hopper's light swept past, missing us by inches, his mutter fading as he moved away. Relief flooded me, but Billy wasn't done. He yanked me up, bending me back over the bench in a frenzy, slamming his cock into my pussy once more. The sudden penetration made me cry out, muffled against my arm, as he fucked me through the descent, biting my neck harder, marking me as his. “Cum for me, and I’m not asking you , I’m telling you ”he commanded, fingers finding my clit to rub furious circles.

I shivered then, walls clamping down on him, juices squirting around his pistoning length as waves crashed over me. He followed with a stifled grunt, flooding my depths with hot ropes of cum, his teeth grazing my shoulder in one final bite. We collapsed against the bench, panting, the wheel finally touching ground as the night swallowed our secret. Billy pulled out, watching his hot sticky cum splurging from me, A slow, dark grin spread. “Almost got caught .. and yet, so damn worth it.”

———————————-

( Steve’s pov )

I gripped the steering wheel so tight my knuckles were white. The Camaro rumbled beneath me, almost like it knew what was happening. Y/N was in the passenger seat, bundled up in that heavy coat and baggy clothes, her micro braids pinned down, face pale under the streetlights. She’d leaned over as we got out of the church and I saw it her water had broken. And for a second, everything slowed, like the world was holding its breath.

Nancy had scooted over in the back seat, trying to make room for what little space Y/N actually had. “She’s going to be okay,” Nancy whispered, more to herself than anyone else.

“Okay?” I muttered under my breath. “We’re about to have a baby on our hands in the middle of Hawkins, and you’re saying okay?”

I glanced at her. She tried to smile through the panic, biting her lip, and I wanted to punch the air out of frustration. She’d always been tough. But right now… not so much.

I shifted the car into gear. The tires hissed on the wet asphalt. Then, headlights flashed behind us.

“Jonathan?” I muttered. “The hell are you doing here?”

He rolled up next to us in his beat-up truck, window down, staring like he had a million questions. Nancy leaned over, calling, “Jonathan, hop in!”

Y/N groaned softly as Jonathan scrambled into the back seat. Space was tight, bodies pressed close. She swayed on the bench like a little boat caught in a storm.

“Sit still, okay? Just… sit still,” I said, more to myself than her.

And then the road turned into chaos.

A car cut us off. I slammed the brakes. Y/N grabbed my arm, eyes wide. Jonathan muttered something about “typical Hawkins traffic.” Nancy rolled her eyes, but even she went silent when another car veered too close.

I threw a glance in the rearview mirror. “Everyone calm down. Calm down.”

Y/N groaned again. “I can’t—”

I cursed under my breath. “I know, I know!”

The Camaro fishtailed slightly on the wet road. My heart raced. Everyone in the back was holding on, Nancy bracing herself, Jonathan staring at me like he was expecting me to crash at any second.

Finally, I forced myself to speak, taking a deep breath. “Okay… we need to address the elephant in the room.”

Y/N blinked at me, pale and trembling. “Steve—”

“No,” I said, raising a hand. “Not later. Now. The baby. The… everything. I need to know what’s happening before we hit the hospital. Before anything goes sideways.”

She shook her head, biting her lip, and I could feel the tension in the car like static electricity. Jonathan muttered, “We’ll figure it out.”

The engine roared as we swerved around another idiot driver. I slammed my hand on the horn. Y/N gasped. I glanced at her, and even through her panic, she tried to nod.

And then it hit me—

This was going to be a long, hellish ride.

I just hoped we’d all make it there in one piece.

———

The hospital loomed ahead, bright and sterile against the night sky. Fluorescent lights reflected off the wet asphalt, bouncing in the Camaro windows. My stomach twisted again, heavier this time. My water had already broken, but no one—no one—needed to know what I was really carrying.

Robin’s hand shot to her mouth as we pulled up. “Wait… who? Who’s…?” she started, panic rising in her voice.

I pressed my lips together and shook my head. “It’s… nothing. I just… needed to get out of the church,” I murmured, forcing my voice calm, steady.

Steve parked the car and jumped out, still holding my arm to steady me. “C’mon, let’s get you inside,” he said, voice tight with worry.

I let him help me to the automatic doors, keeping my head down, eyes fixed on the shiny linoleum. Everyone else piled out behind me—Nancy, Jonathan, Robin—but I kept my posture careful, quiet. I was sweating through all the heavy layers of black clothes, but I couldn’t let them see anything.

Inside, the waiting room was empty, too clean, too quiet, and I hated it. My stomach cramped again, reminding me of everything I was hiding.

Robin’s eyes were wide as she glanced at me. “Wait… seriously. Who…?”

I shook my head again. “I… it’s not important,” I lied, smooth, practiced, keeping my voice steady. “I just need to sit down.”

Nancy cut her off, sharp and firm. “Y/N, it isn’t important. What’s important is that you’re okay. That’s it. Forget the rest for now. Just… breathe.”

I blinked at her, too exhausted to argue. Nancy had always been the one who saw through everything, but somehow she accepted my lie without pressing.

Jonathan, who had been quiet until now, nodded in agreement. “She’s right. We need to make sure you’re okay first. The rest… we can deal with later.”

I let out a shaky breath, leaning against the wall. Steve hovered, still pale, jaw tight, looking like he wanted to ask a thousand questions and couldn’t.

“Just… someone call a nurse,” Nancy said, pulling out her phone like she owned the place. “Let’s get you checked, Y/N, before you… before anything else happens.”

I nodded, silent. I’d made it this far. I could keep the rest a secret for now.

No one needed to know yet.

Not Steve. Not Robin . Not anyone.

Because some truths… were too heavy to carry in the open.

——

(Steve’s POV )

I watched her lean against the wall, coat wrapped tight around her, micro braids pinned down, lips pale and trembling. Every step she took was careful, like she was carrying a secret that could break the world if it spilled. And God… she was quiet. Too quiet.

I swallowed and tried to keep my own panic in check.

It made me remember… the first time I saw her.

Freshman year.

New girl in Hawkins High.

She walked into our friend group like a thurricane in pastel cardigans and plaid skirts, clutching her books to her chest. Her hair had been loose then, long and shiny, framing her face with soft curls that bounced when she laughed. She had these huge glasses that kept slipping down her nose, and she blushed every time anyone talked to her.

I remember thinking… she seems so giddy . So quiet. So… happy.

She wasn’t like the other girls. Not the loud ones, the popular ones, the ones who thought being seen meant being loud. She was nerdy, yes, but it wasn’t awkward—it was… charming. Sweet. Girl-next-door charming with a little spark in her eyes that said she saw everything, even if she said nothing.

She had smiled that first day when Dustin tripped over his own feet (as usual) and she had giggled, shy but bright. And I remember thinking… I wanna know what makes her laugh like that again.

Over time, she had become part of us—quiet, but steady. Girl who loved books, cartoons, and little silly things. She fit somewhere between Robin’s sarcasm, Nancy’s focus, and my chaotic mess.

And now…

I watched her wobble on the hospital floor, breathing hard, sweat pressing through her heavy coat. That same girl—soft, careful, bright—was carrying something inside her that I didn’t understand yet. Something she wasn’t ready to tell anyone.

“Y/N…” I said, voice low, almost trembling. “You’ve always been… I dunno, tough. But this—” I swallowed hard. “This is… I’ve never seen you like this.”

She didn’t answer, just shook her head, biting her lip, still holding onto herself like she could hold the world together if she tried hard enough.

I wanted to tell her it was okay. That we’d handle it. But part of me froze because… the girl I remembered, the pastel cardigans and shy giggles… she seemed so far away from the storm she was standing in right now.

And all I could do was stay there, holding her up, praying I was enough.

——-

The fluorescent lights stabbed my eyes. The smell of antiseptic and sweat hung heavy in the air.

“Masks! Gloves! Everyone, mask and gloves!” the doctor barked as they hustled around.

I barely managed a nod, gripping the side rails, every muscle screaming with contractions that came in relentless waves. My heart pounded so hard I thought it would burst, and my body trembled uncontrollably.

Steve was beside me, face pale but steady. His hands were gloved, arms tense, gripping mine whenever the next contraction hit. Nancy stood close too, gloves on, mask in place, whispering calm encouragement as the doctors prepared the room.

Robin and Jonathan waited outside the room, pacing, whispering curses under their breath, unable to come in. I caught Steve’s eye and could see him silently telling me they were waiting, that it was okay to focus on this moment.

Another contraction hit. I screamed, muscles straining, legs trembling, trying to push despite the fire in my abdomen. Steve held me steady, brushing damp curls from my forehead, whispering every second, “Push… push… you’re almost there… almost…”

The doctor barked instructions. “One last big push! You’ve got this, Y/N!”

I arched against the bed, sweat plastering my oversized clothes to my skin. My body screamed, begged me to stop but Steve’s eyes locked on mine, steady and unwavering.

“You’re doing it, Y/N. One more. You’re amazing. I’ve got you,” he whispered. voice low but steady, holding my hand through the tangle of monitors and beeping machines. “I’ve got you. You can do this. Just breathe. One contraction at a time. You hear me?”

“I… I can’t…” I gasped, body trembling as another contraction ripped through me.

“Yes, you can,” he insisted, squeezing my hand tighter. “You’re almost there. I’m right here. You’re not doing this alone.”

Around me, nurses moved efficiently, checking vitals, adjusting IV lines, and whispering instructions to each other. A doctor hovered by my side, clipboard in hand, watching the monitors, while another nurse encouraged me to focus on my breathing. The room smelled of antiseptic and sweat, lights bright overhead, the hum of hospital machines underscoring every scream and groan.

Another wave hit. I screamed, muscles tensing, legs trembling. Steve held me steady, brushing damp curls from my forehead, whispering, “Push… push… you’re almost there… almost…”

The doctor’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and urgent: “One last big push, Y/N! You can do this!”

I arched against the bed, sweat soaking my clothes, heart racing. My body screamed, begged me to stop—but Steve’s eyes held mine, calm, unwavering, full of fierce focus.

“You’re doing it, Y/N. One more. You’re amazing. I’ve got you,” he whispered.

And then…

A tiny, sharp cry pierced the room. The nurses and doctors immediately rushed to guide the baby, cooing softly, clapping encouragement, while I collapsed back onto the bed, trembling and gasping, Steve still holding my hand, tears in his eyes.

Steve leaned close, his eyes shining with tears. “It’s a boy,” he said softly, then louder, “It’s a boy!”

The doctors and nurses smiled, congratulating me, but paused to let Steve announce it. He beamed down at me, voice proud and full of awe.

The medical team quickly took the baby for cleaning and routine tests. One nurse handed me a small dose of medicine to help with recovery, and another adjusted my IV. I reached out weakly, and Steve squeezed my hand, glancing after our son with a grin that didn’t leave his face.

“You did it, Y/N,” he whispered. “A baby boy… he’s perfect.”

——-

Funeral (Mike’s POV)

I stood near the back of the church, Eleven’s small hand in mine. She clung tighter than usual, leaning slightly against me, eyes wide and fixed on the casket. The murmurs and soft crying around us felt muffled, almost distant. Inside… it was quiet. Too quiet.

Lucas sat beside Max, arms crossed, legs swinging nervously. Max stared at the floor, hair falling in her face, pale beneath the veil of red hair. Nobody said much. Nobody seemed to know what to say.

Billy Hargrove’s casket gleamed under the church lights. People whispered about how brave he’d been, how heroic, how his life had ended too soon.

I glanced at Eleven. She didn’t really understand the weight of it all, not fully. But she felt it. She knew it was sad.

Then my eyes landed on Y/N. She was tucked into the back row, her coat swallowing her, head bowed, hands clasped tightly in front of her. She didn’t draw attention, didn’t speak, didn’t move. Just watched in silence. I didn’t know her story or what brought her here but there was something in the way she held herself, quiet and tense, that made her stand out among the crowd. I wanted to reach her, to offer a word or a nod, but I hesitated. She seemed like she had her own world inside, one I wasn’t meant to enter.

[moonlitrapture]

Before you were mine

1 of 40.

Summary : To Hawkins, he is a martyr.

To you, he is a secret that learned how to walk away.

You were his worst habit kept out of sight, never chosen in daylight.

When you discover you’re pregnant, there is no one left to tell.

You were never his girlfriend.

You were the place he went when he didn’t want to be seen.

When he disappeared, he took his violence, his charm, and his almost-love with him.

What he left behind was quiet… and heavy.

Some people leave behind ghosts.

Billy Hargrove left behind a family he never meant to make.

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Black!Reader

Warnings 🔞: Angst, slow-burn, secret pregnancy, messy love, dark post-Season 3 AU, smut, dark themes, minors do not interact (MDNI), toxic relationship dynamics, abusive Billy, PTSD from Y/N, emotional/psychological abuse, sensitive content.

———

He was supposed to be dead. I was supposed to be invisible. Neither of us stayed in our place.

I stared at the flyer tacked to the lamppost, edges curling from the damp breeze. Billy Hargrove. Starcourt Mall, “In Loving Memory,” the dates smudged by rain. His face smiled up at me, glossy and perfect. The weight in my chest twisted like barbed wire.

The whole town was pretending. Hawkins mourned its hero. Steve and Robin would probably roll their eyes if they saw me staring like this. They knew pieces of him. Some of what I’d been but not the parts that had stayed in the dark. Not the parts I carried in secret.

I traced his face on the flyer with my fingertip, careful not to smudge the paper. The sharp edge of his jaw, the reckless glint in his eyes. Dangerous. Toxic. The kind of boy you shouldn’t touch… and yet, I had.

——

( 7 months earlier )

The heat had already settled into Hawkins like it planned to stay. Thick. Sticky. The kind of air that made the curtains cling to the window and skin feel too close to itself.

My window was open when I heard it.

An engine growling too loud for our quiet street.

Then music.

🎵 “It’s a nice day for a… white wedding—”

Billy Idol cut through the neighborhood like a siren.

Then his voice.

“Y/N!”

“Y/N, come OUT here!”

I froze.

I peeked through the curtain. Billy Hargrove’s Camaro sat crooked at the curb, one headlight brighter than the other. He leaned halfway out of the driver’s side, sleeveless denim jacket hanging open over his bare chest, dog tags glinting in the porch light. His hair was wild from the heat, bleached curls brushing his shoulders, sunglasses still on even though the sun was nearly down.

The music kept blasting.

🎵 “It’s a nice day to… start again—”

“Girl, who yelling your name like that?”

I jumped.

My mama stood in the doorway, arms crossed. She had on her soft blue house dress and worn house slippers, the kind she only wore after dinner. Her short black hair was pressed neat against her head, curled just enough to frame her face. Red lipstick sat bold on her mouth like she had just reapplied it, bright and sharp against her brown skin. Her eyes were already asking questions.

“Who that outside?” she said. “And why he sound like he got no home training?”

“Nobody,” I said too fast, grabbing my sneakers. “Just… somebody from school.”

She looked me up and down slow. I had on cut-off denim shorts and a thin red tank top knotted under my chest, skin still warm from the day. My hair was out in a thick halo of curls, stretched from the heat.

“Where you think you going dressed like that?”

“He just need to talk to me,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Everything okay, Y/N?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She pressed her lips together, red like a stop sign. “Don’t make me come outside looking for you.”

“I won’t.”

I slipped past her and down the front steps.

Billy straightened when he saw me.

“Took you long enough,” he snapped. “I been sitting out here like an idiot.”

“You the one yelling my name like we at a football game,” I shot back, opening the passenger door.

He let out a humorless laugh. “Waiting was never part of the plan.”

He slammed the car into drive before I could answer.

Billy Idol screamed louder as we tore down the street.

🎵 “It’s a nice day for a white wedding—”

His pale arm rested against the door, veins standing out under his skin. Mine stayed in my lap, dark and warm in the dashboard light.

Ebony against bone-white.

We left the houses behind. The road narrowed. Trees closed in. He cut the engine near an abandoned shed, its paint peeled down to bare wood, roof sagging like it was tired of standing.

Billy jumped out and slammed the door.

“You shouldn’t have come,” he said, pacing in front of the hood. “I told you this was a bad idea.”

“You yelled for me,” I said, stepping out. “Don’t act like I chased you.”

“If my dad finds out—if anybody sees us—” he snapped, running a hand through his hair. “You don’t get it.”

“So you dragged me all the way out here just to be mad?”

He turned on me, eyes sharp. “I dragged you out here so nobody would hear!”

The music still played faint through the car speakers.

🎵 “…start again…”

Cicadas screamed in the trees. The shed creaked in the wind.

“You make things complicated,” he said.

I swallowed. “You make things hurt.”

For a second, his anger cracked. He didn’t look cruel.He looked trapped.

“Get back in the car,” he muttered. “Before I do something stupid.”

And I did.

Because even then, standing in the dirt with Billy Idol playing behind me and summer pressing down on my skin,

I already knew , This wasn’t just a secret.

It was the beginning of something that was going to cost me more than I understood.

——

The church smelled like flowers and rain.

Lilies. Cheap perfume. Wet wool.

You stood in the back row because you didn’t belong in the front.

That was for family.

For people who were allowed to say his name out loud.

You wore too many clothes.

A long black coat that swallowed your frame.

A loose sweater underneath.

A skirt that hung low over your stomach.

Thick tights even though it wasn’t cold enough for them.

Everything oversized. Everything hiding.

Your micro braids were pulled back into a low bun, neat and tight like you were trying to behave. Your face was bare except for lip gloss and the faint shadow under your eyes that sleep couldn’t touch anymore.

Steve sat two seats down from you. Robin beside him. Nancy a row ahead, her dark hair pinned back, posture stiff and perfect like she was afraid to move wrong.

Billy Hargrove’s casket sat at the front.

Closed.

Polished.

Untouchable.

His father sat rigid, jaw locked, hands folded like fists. His mother leaned toward the aisle, black veil shadowing her face, shoulders folded inward as if grief had made her smaller. Max sat between them, legs crossed at the ankle, black dress wrinkled at the hem, eyes fixed forward and empty.

People from school crowded the pews.

Teachers.

Friends.

Girls who used to stare too long.

They mourned a boy who never belonged to you.

The pastor spoke about bravery.

About sacrifice.

About a young man taken too soon.

Your stomach twisted.

Not from emotion.

From pressure.

A low pull, deep inside.

You shifted your weight carefully, one hand pressing into your coat.

Breathe.

Just breathe.

The pastor said his name again.

“William Hargrove.”

Your throat closed.

Heat bloomed between your hips.

You froze.

Another slow wave followed.

Your heart began to pound. No.

Not now.

You leaned toward Steve and whispered, “I need the bathroom.”

He glanced at you. “You okay?”

“Just feeling , under the weather ,” you said quickly.

He nodded, already turning back to the front.

You slid out of the pew quietly.

No one looked at you.

The pastor kept talking.

The organ hummed.

You walked fast but controlled down the side aisle, one hand gripping your coat closed.

The moment you reached the church doors—

Something gave way.

Warmth spilled down your thigh.

Your breath hitched.

You pushed the door open and stumbled into the cool air outside.

Rain misted the stone steps.

You grabbed the wall. Another rush followed. Your legs trembled.

“Oh God,” you whispered.

Your water soaked into your tights.

You pressed your palm to your stomach.

Not pain yet.

Just inevitability.

Inside the church, the sermon continued.

They were still calling him a hero.

You bent forward, breathing hard, alone on the steps where no one could see you break.

Then

The door creaked open.

Steve.

He froze when his eyes were met by the sight you bent over, coat clutched tight, face pale.

“Y/N?” he said softly. “You didn’t come back.”

You looked up at him.

Your eyes were wet.

“I think… something’s wrong.”

He stepped closer. “What do you mean wrong?”

You swallowed. “I think my water broke.”

Steve went completely still.

“…your what.”

Another warm trickle ran down your leg.

His face drained of color.

“Oh my God.”

The church doors opened again.

Robin peeked out.

Nancy behind her.

Their eyes dropped.

Nancy’s hand flew to her mouth.

“Oh my God,” she whispered.

Robin blinked. “Holy shit.”

You sagged against the wall.

“I can’t do this here,” you said. “Not in front of them.”

————

Steve moved instantly, slipping his jacket around your shoulders like it could protect you from reality.

“Okay,” he said, voice shaking but steady. “Okay, we’re leaving. Right now.”

—————-

Inside, the organ swelled.

Billy’s picture stood beside the casket.

Smiling.

Young.

Untouched by consequence.

Outside, you clutched your stomach as the life he never knew began to push its way into the world.

————

The sun had dipped low behind the trees, casting the streets of Hawkins in gold and orange. We sat on the hood of his Camaro, the engine long cold, Billy’s legs stretched out, my knees tucked to my chest.

He held a cigarette between his fingers, smoke drifting lazily into the evening air. I copied him, though I barely inhaled. The taste was sharp, bitter. Dangerous.

“You ever feel like we’re just… waiting for life to hit us?” he asked, eyes on the horizon. Pale skin glowing in the sunset, hair catching fire in the light. Sleeveless denim jacket still hanging open, sleeves rolled, showing every tense muscle in his arms.

I shrugged. “Since graduation? Every day. People think everything’s figured out, but it’s… not.”

He turned to me, lips quirking into that crooked grin that used to make my stomach flip. “Yeah. I mean… we’re supposed to be out there, doing something, right? But it’s like the world’s holding its breath for us.”

I leaned closer, brushing a curl from my face. “And us?”

Billy let the smoke slip from his nostrils in two thin streams, watching it twist in the air like he meant to show off. Then his body shifted closer, heat and cigarette haze closing the space between us. He tilted his head and chased my mouth with his, lips crashing into mine with rough intention impatient, claiming, like he was daring me to pull away even as he pulled me in.

I let my hand rest against his chest, feeling the steady heat beneath the denim and the rise and fall of his breathing. “I didn’t think we’d…” I hesitated, searching for the right words, “…get here,” I murmured when we finally pulled back, only a breath of space between us, the moment still clinging to our skin.

A dry laugh escaped from his thin lips . “You and me… we were never meant to fit. Just something jagged that keeps cutting the wrong place.”

I tilted my head, letting a small, wry smile tug at my lips. “Maybe we’re the only pieces that fit in the cut.”

His mouth curved into something like a smile. For a moment, everything else fell away, past, no funeral flyers, no fear of what tomorrow would bring. Just the wind against our skin, the sky bleeding orange and red, smoke drifting between us, and the ghost of what we were when the world hadn’t taught us to be afraid of it.

He reached for the cigarette, his pale fingers threading gently through mine as he passed it back. Our hands lingered together for a second before we leaned against the car, watching the sky burn, thinking about the things we couldn’t say and all the things we already knew would never be spoken.

[beardedmrbean]

[theman]

I GOT A FUCKING RAISE THE POTATO WORKED WTF

[tattooedzombigirl]

This potato works. Every. Fucking. Time.

[imanutcase-10]

Then bring me luck

[thirddeadlysin]

the day after I posted this last time I was notified that I was selected for a really cool mentorship gig and got an unrelated glowing review at work

[luceneraium]

Oh yeah, potato again!

[cherienymphe]

Everybody Knows That I'm A Good Girl, Officer (Coriolanus Snow x Reader)

WARNINGS: Dub-Con, power imbalance, abuse of power, degradation, manipulation, slight stalking, choking, semi public sex, mentions of cockwarming, mentions of gun kink, dom/sub elements, free use elements, jealousy

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies

summary: ...and everybody knows. Everybody knows...that he fucks you.

~

You didn’t know a thing about Coriolanus Snow.

Not until he quite literally cornered you in the meadow one day.

Peacekeepers came and went, especially in District 12, so you never took it upon yourself to pay attention to any new face that appeared on the streets of your district in those blue uniforms. In truth, you never took it upon yourself to pay attention to any of their faces. They all perfectly blended together into one faceless being that was merely a puppet of The Capitol, anyway.

However, standing in front Coriolanus Snow, you wondered how you missed him. Not because he was handsome—and he was—but because there was a hard glint to his blue gaze that told you he wasn’t the average capitol dog. Gun tight in his hand at his side, he stared at you like he wasn’t at all surprised to find you there.

He wasn’t.

You learned that Coriolanus Snow liked to watch you, silent footsteps shadowing yours as he wondered what you were up to when you crossed the district line. He liked to watch you pick flowers and write underneath a tree and bring back the occasional caught animal for your ma and pa. He watched you play with the children in your district and help that old neighbor with her window…and steal food on occasions when your family couldn’t afford it.

“You could get into a lot of trouble for that.”

His tone was even and strong, but something about it told you that he didn’t want you to get in trouble for that.

“I know,” you told him, jutting out your chin as if challenging him to do something about it.

You said nothing, merely pressing your back to the tree when he moved closer, the gentle breeze ruffling the tall grass around his feet. You said nothing when he stood so close that you could smell him, wondering to yourself what a peacekeeper could possibly have access to that would make him smell so good. You even remained quiet when his free hand reached for yours, the softness of it shocking you, a sharp inhale when he turned your hand over.

Your palm was lightly stained from the bird you’d killed.

You curiously eyed him, a slight frown between your brows as he studied the skin. You drank in his prominent nose, full lips, and those unsettling blue eyes. Staring at them for too long actually made you uneasy, and when his gaze lifted to meet yours, you couldn’t look away fast enough. It only then occurred to you that you were out in the woods alone…with a peacekeeper who could do absolutely anything he wanted to you.

His next words surprised you.

“If someone other than me were to catch you…I can’t imagine what they’d do to you,” he murmured, making your frown deepen. “So, I would advise you to stop.”

By the way the corner of his mouth twitched, you knew that your shock and confusion was all over your face. When he dropped your hand, he pointed his gun at your catch of the day in a gesture for you to get your things, waiting for you to grab your dinner and your book.

You thought that he was letting you off the hook.

You thought wrong.

You learned that Coriolanus Snow was not a good man.

“Your daughter dropped these, ma’am, and I knew she’d kick herself if I didn’t bring these home.”

That smile on his pink lips was perfect, blue eyes twinkling when your mother thanked him profusely for bringing home your groceries—groceries you both knew you didn’t buy. When your eyes met his over her shoulder, that charming smile didn’t move an inch, and the longer he stared at you, the more uncomfortable you felt.

“Thank you,” you told him the next day, seeking him out.

He wasn’t technically on duty, and you found your gaze lingering on the dog tag around his neck. However, you found your gaze lingering on his face instead when he took a step closer, gaze unreadable.

“Anytime.”

It was a strange thing to say about bringing you food that you didn’t buy, and when he took another step towards you, your face pinched ever so slightly. You were all too aware of your close proximity, and when you felt his chest lightly brush against yours, your lips parted in realization. The moment it clicked had your blood running both hot and cold, uneasy and conflicted.

As you stared at each other, there seemed to be a lot of unspoken words between you, Coriolanus with one hand on the wall and you with one hand fidgeting with your shirt. You looked between his eyes, looking for some hint of hesitation, some evidence that deep down this wasn’t something he actually wanted to do…but there was none. There was a resolve in his gaze that felt all too familiar. It was the same determination you were sure was in your gaze anytime you swiped food for your household.

The same determination when your desperation won.

You took a deep shuddery breath.

“Anytime…?” you wondered, keeping your eyes on him.

Something in his face relaxed, evening out as he completely crowded you, now.

“Anytime.”

When his lips met yours, you didn’t exactly know what to do, feeling both unsure and sure at the same time. You were sure that you wanted to live comfortably and not have to wonder how you’d get your next meal, but you were so unsure of how this would end and what this would mean for you. You wouldn’t be the first girl to give herself to a peacekeeper or the mayor or whoever else she needed to just to ease the weight in her chest.

Coriolanus kissed you like he was the hungry one, lips moving against yours in a way that left you breathless. His hand wouldn’t stop kneading into your waist through your shirt, and his other found a home on your face, thumb brushing over your skin and tilting your head back. The only thing to pull you apart was a noise coming from inside the building you were pressed against, and when the blond man told you to hurry home, you did.

You learned that Coriolanus Snow liked obedience.

He wasn’t the kind of man who enjoyed repeating himself, and you learned that quickly, so now when he told you to get on your knees, you didn’t hesitate. When he told you to open your mouth, you did, and when he practically begged you to look up at him, you did. Coriolanus would never beg, he would never do that, but it was evident in the way his voice strained—the way the words left him breathlessly.

Or maybe that was because you had your lips around his cock.

With a hand in your hair and a hand on your chin, he gently guided you to take him into your throat again and again. You were no virgin, but there were still a lot of firsts to be had for you, and sliding your tongue over the tip of him was one of them. The feel of his fingers massaging your scalp soothed you, made this less nerve-wracking, and to your surprise, it even stroked a slowly burning fire between your legs.

There was such a stark contrast between the gentle touch of his fingers in your hair and the harsh hold of his hand on your chin. It wasn’t the easiest to take all of him into your mouth, and you couldn’t swallow down the noise that escaped when he hit the back of your throat. His smooth baritone reached your ears when he gently shushed you, softly telling you to use your hands.

“Wrap them around me,” he whispered in the otherwise quiet room.

Coriolanus liked obedience…so you did.

Your hand slid along his length in time with your lips, twisting around his cock, an easy task with the help of the mess you were making. He didn’t seem to mind though, only groaning above you, and when you glanced up at him from beneath your lashes, you took in the way his head was thrown back, the skin of his throat straining and bobbing as he swallowed.

When he lowered his head, you started to look away, but the tightening of his hand in your hair told you not to. You kept your eyes on his as best as you could, sucking your cheeks in and flattening your tongue against the side of his cock. Every bob of your head made him shudder, and you dropped your hand when his hands came to rest on both sides of your head.

Remaining still for the man standing over you, you kept your mouth open as he slowly began to push his hips forward. With every surge of them, his cock dipped into your waiting lips, sliding over your tongue and against the inside of your cheeks. His thumbs brushed against your cheeks as he lost himself in his movements, blue eyes gazing down at you as he filled your mouth.

You didn’t know why—couldn’t understand it—but something about his outright use of your body and your lips had you squeezing your thighs together. It made heat settle in the pit of your stomach, twisting and burning violently until your not-so-subtle movements became noticed by him. In between his uneven breathing, a soft chuckle reached your ears.

“You’ll get your turn.”

…and he was a man of his word.

With the taste of him still on your tongue, Coriolanus had one forearm completely pinning your hips to the bed as he pressed his face between your thighs. Another first ripped away from you, wide gaze on the ceiling as you fought to keep from squirming. The feel of his tongue inside of you was jarring, and you couldn’t stop your toes from curling at the warm feel of it quite literally lapping at you.

Your hands came down to rest on his short blond hair, hips attempting to lift from the mattress, chest arching upwards towards the ceiling. When he hummed between your legs, you felt it all over, and you couldn’t stop the moans that climbed out of your throat. With him holding you down, the only appropriate thing to do was claw at whatever you could, turning your head from side to side.

It wasn’t enough for you to come into his mouth once. Coriolanus needed to know that he was the best you’d ever get, and even when you were out of breath and exhausted and overstimulated, he didn’t let your thighs go, only using them to drag you closer as he knelt between them. His perfect teeth winked at you when he leaned in to kiss you.

If your ma and pa wondered what kind of job you lucked out with to afford all of the food and clothes you started to bring home, they didn’t ask. Although, something in you suspected that they had an inkling of just what you had to do to bring home the freshest bread and the warmest clothes they’d ever had. You started to suspect that everyone did.

Coriolanus wasn’t exactly the most discreet, and you learned that he didn’t intend to be.

On the off chance you crossed paths in the street, he stopped you for all to see, voice lowering as he got really close and asked you how you were. You would feel the eyes of his peacekeeper friends on you as the unspoken questions lingered between you. Did you need more food? Did you need a new dress? You would tell him that you were fine, code for you didn’t need anything at the moment, and he wouldn’t try to hide his perusal of you, those unsettling blue eyes slowly dragging over your frame.

He didn’t seem the kind of asshole to brag about such things, but you weren’t stupid. Even without saying it, he made your arrangement abundantly clear. The way he talked to you, studied you, and ran his fingers over the back of your arm without a care as to who saw. Coriolanus had staked a claim on you, an unspoken display of ownership, and you wrote it off to some sick power trip.

…but you learned that Coriolanus Snow was a very jealous man.

That revelation struck you as odd because you didn’t think anyone would have anything he’d be jealous of, and you certainly didn’t think he’d be jealous over you. You were some average thieving girl whom he exploited the first moment he saw an opportunity to do so. Considering that he was willing to do it to you, you didn’t doubt that he was willing to do it to someone else should he find himself unable to have you anymore. That was what you believed anyway…

Until his fist was ruining the face of some District 12 boy you’d grown up with. You were far from friends, but he’d been a familiar constant in your life for years, and so sharing a drink with him while everyone danced to the live music on stage seemed like nothing at all to you. You didn’t even think there were lines to cross, a sentiment that was quickly corrected.

With one hand curled around your throat—holding you in place—there wasn’t any other option but to take Coriolanus’ thrusts. The sound of guitars and flutes and fiddles bled through the thin walls, everyone quickly moving on from the brief display of violence they’d witnessed. You could still remember the shock on your face as other peacekeepers pulled him off of the unsuspecting man who’d never been anything more than an acquaintance, really.

Your horrified gaze had met that of a familiar blue, and there wasn’t much time to do anything before Coriolanus neared you, reaching for the back of your neck as he walked you away from the crowd. It had been hard to ignore the numerous eyes following your movements, and you wondered now if they quickly moved on from the display because it was nothing or because they were too nervous to get involved with Coriolanus and the girl the whole district knew belonged to him.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out in some back room, your chest pressed to the table.

Your eyes were squeezed shut as he stretched you out, cock pushing into you and throbbing with every push of his hips. You knew that the words wouldn’t change anything, but you felt compelled to say them, anyway. His fingers were tight against your neck, and every time you reached up towards them, he only squeezed tighter. Despite the discomfort, you couldn’t stop your stomach from squeezing, coiling tight as you gripped him.

When he pulled you up so that your back was firm against his, his hold on your neck loosened a bit, and you took a deep inhale. His thumb was pressed to your jaw, and he brought his face down to rest on the other side of your neck where his arm didn’t rest, pressing open mouthed kisses there.

“You don’t even know what you’re apologizing for,” he whispered against your skin.

It was the truth, and at your silence, he squeezed your neck again.

Your nails scraped against the table he fucked you on, upper body straining as he kept you upright and against him, hips lifting to push his cock into you with the kind of thrusts meant to make a point. When his teeth grazed your skin, you shuddered in his hold, and despite the fact that you couldn’t hear his laugh, you felt it deep within his chest.

“He can’t give you what I can…”

You started to tell him that you knew that, but Coriolanus didn’t let you.

“…so, don’t go thinking he can.”

“I wouldn’t…”

Your words died in the air when he pushed you back down, completely pressed against you and pinning you between him and the table.

“Wouldn’t you?” he hummed, his free hand trailing over your visible cheek. “Everybody knows your price.”

The demeaning words made your stomach turn, but the way he curved his hips against you only had you clenching down on him at the insulting insinuation.

“They see the nicer clothes…the better living conditions…and they know why. They know what you did to get that.”

His lips brushed against your skin with every word, and as if it make his point, he reached down between your legs to brush his thumb over you, making you gasp. With the circling of his fingers, you fidgeted beneath him, toes pushed to the absolute tip to get some reprieve and lips parted as you scraped and clawed at the table.

When he came inside of you, something he never did before, he held you down, forcing you to milk his cock until he was completely satisfied. The nice dress he’d gotten sewn for you was ripped, and you reached up to touch it with trembling lips the moment he let you go. He was so determined to get his hands on you the moment the door was shut that you liked to think it was an accident, but the way you were forced to wear the jacket of his uniform as you walked out made you think otherwise.

Even though Coriolanus was nowhere near you once you rejoined the crowd, his presence was still loud and clear. No one needed to be a genius to figure out where you’d been, and as you glanced around, you realized that he was right. The discreet looks and nervousness around you… Everyone knew.

…and you didn’t know how to feel about it.

You learned that Coriolanus Snow liked to have you whenever and wherever he wanted.

Whether it was in his bunk when he should’ve been on duty or in your room during the early hours of the morning when your pa was in the mines and your ma was asleep or between the openness of the trees when you were only amongst the grass and the birds. He didn’t like disobedience, and so, he didn’t like the word no. So, you never uttered it.

Even when you wanted to.

“Good girl,” he purred into your lips when you did as he wanted, reaching down between you and sliding yourself onto his cock.

It was late when he knocked on your door, gently telling your ma to go back to bed when you answered it. You didn’t know if you wanted to see the look on her face when you left with him, afraid of what you’d see. There was a rare stillness about District 12 when you crossed the district line, Coriolanus’ fingers brushing over your neck the entire way.

The only light was from the moon, his soft hands gripping your hips and guiding you over him. His gaze alternated between your face and his lap where you two connected. Occasionally he lifted his own hips, driving his cock up into you and making you gasp. His hands ran up and down your frame, kneading your skin and basking in the thin layer of sweat that clung to you—to both of you.

“Show me how bad you want it,” he’d murmur in the darkness, completely letting you go.

He opted for leaning back on his elbows, his own pink lips parted, blue eyes glinting under the light of the moon as he watched you fuck yourself onto his cock. Your hands pressed against his chest, keeping yourself upright as your lashes fluttered. There was a burn in your hips that ached too good to stop, the sound of you squeezing him and sliding up and down him loud to your ears.

“Make yourself come,” he’d whisper, refusing to touch you as his voice lowered. “Work for it.”

When you finally did tense on top of him, shuddering and pressing your nails into his chest, the blond man wouldn’t hesitate to circle his arm around your waist, flipping you before you could even catch your breath. Back pressed into the grass, he snapped his hips against yours, the sound of skin slapping against skin loud in the air.

Under the cover of darkness, Coriolanus allowed himself to lose control, holding your throat and pushing into you—taking full advantage of having you at his mercy. He plunged his cock into your walls, praising how wet you were for him and how snugly he fit inside of you.

“Whenever I want,” he told you.

“Whenever you want,” you agreed, nails digging into his back.

When you returned in the early hours of the morning, your ma never acknowledged it. She never acknowledged how the house stayed stocked with food despite you never going to the market. Her only acknowledgement of the clothes sewn for her were quiet ‘thank yous’…but she knew. Everyone knew.

…and it bothered you less and less until it didn’t bother you, at all.

It couldn’t bother you.

…because if it did you would have to say no when Coriolanus wanted you to rest in his lap, cock fitting snugly inside of you as he held you there. You would have to say no when he brought you another dress he had made or the freshest groceries you would’ve never been able to afford. You would have to say no when he asked if you were his good girl, demanding you prove it as he slid his gun between your legs, telling you to remain completely still.

…but you didn’t say no to any of that because it didn’t bother you—because it couldn’t bother you. Even when the discreet looks were hard to ignore or your ma started to ask if you’d be out late or you started to feel cheap and used. You couldn’t let it bother you.

You were his good girl, and that was what he told you when he tied a pretty delicate ribbon around your neck for all to see one evening.

It was soft.

White.

Just like snow.

[jazzycurls]

Chef's 💋

[jazzycurls]

Hello,

I started reading You Belong to Me and fell in love with it. I was wondering if there was going to be a part 6 💜

I'm so happy you loved it and thnx for reading 💗. Honestly, between work and kids, I've been struggling to find time or inspiration to finish. I do plan to make at least one more chapter, though.

[eiightysixbaby]

cruel summer

no rules in breakable heaven

word count: 6.7k

pairing: modern!fuckboy!eddie x fem!reader

summary: eddie is your summer fling, your friend with benefits - or at least, that’s all he’s supposed to be. what happens when your feelings get in the way?

cw: 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI - SMUT. eddie is a fuckboy!! he acts like an ass in this, fingering, unprotected piv, creampie, angst, hurt with no comfort (yet), alcohol consumption, use of pet names, reader cries, like a lot honestly, miscommunication/misunderstanding, use of Y/N, as always if I missed something feel free to lmk!

author’s note: this fic is, of course, based on the song cruel summer by miss taylor swift, so I highly recommend listening to that if you haven’t! part two will be in the works soon! no idea when it’ll be posted, but it is coming >:)

Your fingers dug into the soft material of the mattress, face smooshed against the cotton sheets. Your brain felt foggy, the alcohol in your system making your whole body buzz slightly. Your back arched almost involuntarily as Eddie’s hips snapped roughly into your aching heat, bringing you fully back into the moment. He was railing you relentlessly from behind, rough hands taking a firm hold on your hips, keeping them in place for him. If it didn’t feel so good you’d almost feel bad for fucking in a bed that didn’t belong to either of you, Eddie having pulled you into a spare room at Steve’s house, escaping the noise of the party for some alone time. This is how things went with the two of you as of late, the wild and free atmosphere of summer leaving you craving each other and crossing boundaries. He’d call you late at night or maybe you’d call him, asking the other to come over. Letting Eddie fuck you raw till your insides burned and your body was spent. Leaving his trailer at 2 in the morning with your mascara running and his cum dripping down your thighs, just to do the same thing all over again in a few days.

You knew Eddie got around, knew you weren’t the only girl he was hooking up with. But the way he’d look at you when you were riding him and the way he’d caress your face as he’d lean in to kiss you made you feel like you were the only one. Like you were his. His energy was intoxicating, the sex even better, and you couldn’t get enough of him. No matter how hard you tried, he kept pulling you back in for more. Another hard thrust into you brought you back out of your drunk haze, his cock pulling all the way out just to slam fully back in. Your pussy welcomed him, enveloped him in the warmth of your walls, never wanting to let him go.

“Shit, baby, this pussy loves me,” Eddie grunts. “Suckin, me right in, fuck.”

You bite down on your lip hard, stifling what would’ve been a rather loud moan. Eddie pulls out and flips you onto your back, pushing your thighs to your chest, folding you right in half for him. Your pussy is on perfect display for him, wide open and pleading for him to come back in. He moves his hips expertly, cock gliding into you with complete ease despite his size. Your moans are staggered as he fucks you at a brutal pace, your whole body bouncing on the mattress with every thrust.

“My favorite fuckin’ girl, such a slut for me. No one lets me fuck them like you do, baby, mmmmmfuck,”

Your head spins at the praise, his choice of words. His favorite girl. You can’t help but wonder how many other girls he calls his favorite, too. You shake the thoughts away promptly, trying to allow yourself to just enjoy this moment with him. Enjoy having him for as long as you can. His calloused fingers are pressed into the doughy skin of your thighs, gripping with such intensity it almost hurts. Before you can fully process it you’re cumming around him, walls tightening over and over in a staggered pattern.

“G’na cum inside this pussy, baby, shit,” Eddie grunts before finally letting go.

His release paints your insides, your tight cunt milking every bit out of him. He pulls out once he’s fully spent, smacking your ass for good measure. You hear him zipping up his jeans, his belt buckle clanking as he secures it. He grabs a few tissues from the bedside table, gingerly wiping you clean before tossing them in the wastebasket.

“You’re such a doll, you know that right?” he asks, bending down to give you a quick peck on the lips.

You give him a half hearted smile, but he doesn’t seem to notice there’s any sadness behind it. He cautiously opens the bedroom door, slinking out under the guise of “letting you get situated”. Just like that, the euphoria is over. Your moment with him is gone, and he’ll slink back to the hustle and bustle of the party, leaving you in the shadows. You didn’t want to fall so hard for Eddie when your whole charade started, you really just wanted a fuck buddy. It’s just that he’s so goddamn alluring, and he’s sweet when he wants to be. He makes you feel good in ways no other guy has been able to, and it’s like you get drunk on him. You’re tumbling head over heels for Eddie, and to him you’re just one of many notches on his belt.

You fix yourself up, tidying up your appearance before heading back down to the party. A song you don’t recognize blares over the speakers, colorful lights flashing in the otherwise dark house. You check your phone for any texts, reading one from Nancy asking where you went. You decide you really don’t feel like answering that right now, slinking into the kitchen for another drink and slipping your phone back into the pocket of your jeans. You pour yourself some of whatever inebriating mixture sits in the pitcher on the countertop, the bright blue liquid filling your red plastic cup. You sip the drink, probably quicker than you should, walking past groups of people - couples getting a little too friendly with each other, a shirtless guy you don’t know standing on a table, a few girls huddled together on a sofa taking selfies.

You walk out to the backyard, the noise of the party becoming too much. The night air is warm and it smells sweet, a bonfire lit in the fire pit on the opposite side of the backyard. The unmistakable scent of the burning wood clings to your nose as you glance up into the trees where fireflies blink slowly. Your thighs ache, and you swear you can feel Eddie’s cum still leaking out of you. Your stomach twists in knots at the thought of it, wishing he’d stayed to help you clean up, wishing he’d kiss you in front of everyone to lay claim on you, wishing he’d let you snuggle into him as you sat around the bonfire. Wishing so desperately that he’d make you his, the way your friends always joke that he should because they can always sense the tension between the two of you.

You’re pulled from your thoughts when you hear a high pitched squeal and then a splash, looking up to see a girl’s head protruding from the water in the pool.

“Eddie!” she squeals, over exaggeratedly loud. “You got me all wet,” she pouts, “you’re gonna have to come in here with me.”

“No can do, sweets, can’t ruin the hair,” Eddie jokes, sitting down at the pool’s edge.

The unfamiliar girl pulls herself out of the water to sit beside him, reaching out and pretending to scrunch his hair with her wet fingers. Eddie laughs and leans away, grabbing her wrists with his much larger hands to stop her. She giggles as Eddie pulls her closer to him, slinking an arm around her waist. You feel like you could throw up, the skin of your cheeks heating up significantly. Eddie notices you standing up against the side of the house, meeting your eyes for only a moment before you turn and enter the large house once more. Your cup trembles in your hand, your stomach turning as you process the scene you just witnessed. He just fucked you raw upstairs, and already he’s got a new girl with him. He doesn’t even have the decency to wait until you’ve left, prick. You scowl, but the worst part is you know you can’t stay mad at him. You don’t actually think he’s a bad person, and you don’t know if you ever could. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes when you feel a delicate hand on your shoulder.

“Y/N? Hey, are you okay? Where have you been?”

“Nance - hey. Uh y-yeah I’m just… not feeling so well all of a sudden? I think I’d better get going-” you stammer, furiously wiping the wetness from your eyes.

Nancy’s eyes are no longer trained on you but instead are gazing out the floor-to-ceiling windows of the sun room. You turn to follow her gaze, and see that she’s looking right at Eddie, who’s now in the pool with the giggly girl, kissing her with her arms around his neck.

She looks back at you, catching the way you nervously chew your bottom lip and also catching the hickey that was left on your neck.

“You say the word and I swear to god I’ll kill him,” Nancy says, getting the sentence out just as Jonathan comes up behind her.

He doesn’t even need to ask who she’s referring to, and you see his eyes flicker up to look out the windows, becoming another witness to Eddie’s bullshit. He frowns slightly before turning his attention to you.

“Hey, kid, you okay?” he asks, patting you on the back with one firm hand.

You try to open your mouth to speak, but you can’t bring words to come out. Your throat feels thick and your lips start to wobble. You shake your head ‘no’ in favor of trying to talk and starting to sob, and your friends can tell you’re close to tears. You can hear Eddie and the girl shouting outside, and before you can turn around to look Nancy’s hurrying you out of the sun room. Her and Jonathan guide you into an empty bedroom, Nancy sitting beside you on the soft mattress of the bed, rubbing your back tentatively.

Your friends don’t know all of the details to what’s going on with you and Eddie, but they know enough. Considering most of them are your and his mutual friends, it’s not hard for speculation to go around based on the way the two of you act towards one another. And, quite frankly, they’re not stupid. You and Eddie disappearing for the same amount of time at group hangouts, the occasional flirtatious glances you share, you being visibly upset when he hasn’t spoken to you in a while, the pieces add up. They know you’re more sweet on Eddie than you let on and they know he’s a complete fuckboy asshole half the time, never quite knowing what’s going on with him and why he has to act the way he does with women. They never let Eddie in on your presumed feelings, they keep that secret guarded with their lives and for that you’re grateful. You know they know and you also know they’ll never make you say it out loud unless you’re ready to. But you have a feeling they must grow weary of picking up your pieces when he lets you down yet again, in ways they don’t have the full details on.

Nancy and Jonathan offer to get you a glass of water, both of them embarking on the rather simple task solely so they can discuss the situation at hand.

“What the fuck is his problem!?” Nancy seethes loud enough for her boyfriend to hear over the music.

“I don’t know, Nance, I don’t know. But I do know that if I have to see Y/N break one more time because of him I’m gonna lose it,” Jonathan responds, weaving past people in attempt to keep up with her.

Nancy just looks at him, her eyes sad and a little defeated. Jonathan understands the look. The look that says she knows Eddie upsets you far more than you ever tell them, a look that says she wishes she knew what to do in this situation.

She turns on the tap in the kitchen sink, filling a cup with ice and then with cold water. She jumps, spilling a little bit of the cup’s contents as Eddie walks in from outside, whooping and hollering and very intoxicated. The girl from the pool is clinging to his side, her hands roaming all over him. Jonathan rolls his eyes, leaning against the kitchen counter and facing away from the commotion.

“He’s such a fucking asshole sometimes,” Nancy says finally, having refilled the cup, now wiping her wet hand on her skirt. “Someone needs to knock some sense into him, or I’m gonna knock his teeth in.”

“Oooo, kitty’s got her claws out,” a voice purrs from beside her.

Nancy gasps, earning a roar of a laugh from Eddie. She smacks him on the arm, typically open to Eddie’s jokes and antics but extremely done with him in the present moment.

“Who’s got you so worked up, Nance?” Eddie slurs, stumbling a little before Jonathan shoves him back upright.

“He’s talking to me right now, actually,” she gives him a fake tight lipped smile, trying to push past him and get back to you.

“Me? What’d I do? You’ve barely even seen me all night!” Eddie shouts, almost knocking into a couple party goers as he tries to catch up.

“I really shouldn’t have to tell you what you did wrong, Eddie. Get your head out of your ass for once and figure it out yourself!” Nancy yells.

There’s a lull in the music as she says it, and several people turn to look in their direction, Steve and Robin sharing confused glances at the sight. Nancy storms off, leaving Jonathan face to face with Eddie.

“Think about it, man,” is all Jonathan says before he walks away, following after his girlfriend.

Eddie stands there, in the middle of a room packed with people, suddenly feeling very, very alone.

•

It’s been a week since you sat in a bedroom in Steve’s house, crying into Nancy’s shoulder as she did her best to console you. It’s been a week since you’ve had any interaction with Eddie, and your heart ached. Not because of how he behaved at the party, no, you couldn’t bring yourself to stay mad at him. Your heart ached with a longing to see him, a deep desire to have him. You’d kept the ringer turned up on your phone, hoping he’d call or text and ask you to come over, but to no avail so far. You huffed, dropping your phone down onto your bed beside you after checking it for the hundredth time in the last ten minutes. Your bedroom window is open slightly, letting the soft breeze and the sounds of summer nights penetrate your otherwise quiet abode. You lay with your legs dangling off the edge of your mattress, staring up at your ceiling and trying to will yourself to get up. You finally bring yourself to stand, pulling your coziest sweatshirt over your head and slipping on some shoes. You trod down the stairs to the lobby of your apartment building, stopping in front of the vending machines they so nicely placed there for residents. You were running out of snacks because you couldn’t bear to go out and go grocery shopping, so this was your best bet. You deserved some Cheetos and maybe a chocolate bar, god dammit. You stand there for a moment, skin glowing a blue-white hue from the fluorescent lights inside the machine. Your phone chimes in your pocket, breaking you from your haze. You grab it embarrassingly quickly, almost dropping it as you hold it up to look at the screen. It’s only Robin, sending an embarrassing photo of Steve at work.

You sigh, stuffing your phone back in your pocket and letting your head hang. You take a breath, trying of make yourself feel some sort of normal right now. You’re fine. You don’t need Eddie. You’re not gonna die. You press a few buttons on the vending machine, inserting your card before it dispenses your selections. You’re trudging back up to your apartment, ripping into your bag of Cheetos when your phone rings. You manage an impressive amount of self control as you wait till you’ve fully opened your door and taken your shoes off to see who’s calling. Eddie’s name lights up on your screen, and you feel your stomach do a somersault. You answer the call with shaky hands.

“Hello?” you force out around your mouthful of cheesy snacks, trying to sound as graceful as possible.

“Hey, sweetheart. I’m sorry I’ve been a little MIA lately. I missed you,” his voice purrs into the phone.

“I missed you too…” you admit, going against your brain telling you not to give into him.

“What’re you doing right now? Can I come pick you up?” he asks.

“Yeah, yeah of course. I’m not doing much of anything,” you can’t help but smile as you say it, your cheeks heating up.

“Cool, I’ll be there in fifteen,” Eddie promises before ending the call, leaving you standing in your living room with your cheese powder covered fingers, smiling at your phone like an idiot.

You hurry into your room to change, slipping on a loose little tennis skirt and a snug fitting crop top, the fabric hugging your body and accentuating your breasts perfectly. You pull a thin cardigan sweater over top of it to ward off the chill of the nighttime air. Eddie’s true to his word and in about fifteen minutes your phone chimes with a text from him.

‘Here. Don’t keep me waiting ;)’

You scurry out the door, grabbing your bag and your keys. You hurriedly apply a bit of lipgloss as you run down the stairs, knowing Eddie likes the flavor of this one. Eddie watches you from out his windshield as you come bounding towards his car, giving him a sly little wave in the process. He licks his lips as his eyes rake up and down your frame. You swing open the passenger side door, sitting down on the seat and letting your bag drop to the floor.

“Hey, sweets. You look pretty tonight,” he says, grabbing one of your hands and kissing it as he winks at you.

You blush, wondering if he’s sweetening you up to make up for the events of the party. You once again find yourself clinging to the notion that this time it’ll be different, this time he won’t leave you, this time he’ll stay the night after and you’ll make breakfast together in the morning and dance together in the kitchen. His hand squeezes yours as he drives, and he turns up a song on the radio. His stereo is tuned to the oldies station, as per usual. Hysteria by Def Leppard blasts through the speakers, Eddie tapping the fingers of his left hand on the steering wheel as he sings along exaggeratedly.

“I gotta know tonight, if you’re aloneeee toniiiiiight!” Eddie sings, off key and purposely pitchy to make you laugh.

You giggle in the passenger seat as he steals glances at you while he sings along, his right hand entwined with your left.

“Can’t stop this feelin’, can’t stop this fiiiiire,” he continues on, bringing your hand to his chest and pounding on it in a passionate performance.

The drive continues that way, Eddie singing any song he recognizes and turning every single one into a ballad somehow, serenading you. You’re a fit of giggles and stolen glances in his direction, smirking whenever you meet his eyes. You feel more alive in this moment than you have all week.

Tires crunch over gravel as Eddie’s car finally pulls into a parking spot behind The Hideaway, a local bar-slash-restaurant that leans further into the bar aspect with cheap drinks and greasy food, perfect for a summer night. Eddie jogs around to your side of the car to open the door, grabbing your hand and helping you out. He’s being much more chivalrous than usual and it makes your heart swell. This feels like a real date, and your hands tremble with giddiness. The two of you grab a table once you’re inside, the skin of your thighs sliding over the cool material of the booth. You order a couple drinks and whatever food strikes your fancy, one of Eddie’s hands reaching across the table to stroke your arm now and then as you sit and talk. You don’t miss his wandering glances down to your breasts and your lips, and he doesn’t miss the way you eye his ringed fingers and the chain around his neck.

Once you have a few drinks in you, you’ve loosened up quite a bit. Music plays loudly throughout the building and several people have gathered on the makeshift dance floor, moving to the rhythm. You’re pulling Eddie out of his seat, walking backwards onto the floor to dance with him. You pull him close till he’s pressed against your backside, letting your hips sway against him. You don’t miss the way he stiffens when your ass presses into his crotch, his body going tense and his grip on your waist getting tighter. You lean your head back a little bit, inviting him in to kiss your neck. His soft lips press into your sensitive skin, nipping at the soft spot where your neck meets your shoulder. His dark curls hang in his face and tickle your skin, the cold metal of his rings digging into the soft skin of your waist left exposed by your crop top.

You dance like this for a while, touches growing more intimate and lips becoming more reluctant to leave each other’s skin. Finally, Eddie decides he can’t take it anymore. He’s rock hard pressed up against you and the way your body moves is sinful. He pulls you off the floor and into a private bathroom, locking the door quickly behind him. As soon as he does he pulls you to him, kissing you with fervor as his hands roam your body. You melt right into him, your body pliant to whatever he wants to do to you. Your tongue prods into his mouth and you roll your hips into his, taking what you want. Your hand tugs on the collar of his shirt, his breath coming out of his nostrils in heavy huffs as he kisses you like his life depends on it.

He walks you backwards to press you against the small counter for the sink, smiling into the heated kiss when you jump to sit on the counter immediately. His fingers find their way up your thighs, roaming further until they reach the sticky heat between them. Eddie wastes no time, hooking a finger under the fabric of your panties and sliding them to the side. You groan into his open mouth, and his cock twitches in his jeans at the sound. He dips two fingers inside of your warm, wet cunt, the digits being sucked in instantly.

“Pussy’s so fucking greedy for me, did my favorite girl miss me?” Eddie’s voice is a husky growl as he speaks, lips mere centimeters from yours.

All you can do is nod, a high pitched moan escaping your lips. His favorite girl his favorite girl his favorite girl. It never gets old hearing him call you that, he knows exactly what to say to get you to bend to his every whim. His fingers scissor inside of you, your wet walls squelching as he pries them apart.

“Fucking filthy, baby. Such a little whore for me, hm?” he grins, his pink tongue rolling over his front teeth.

Your moans leave your mouth in breathy spurts as he continues to pump his fingers in and out, curling them right into your sweet spot. You lean your head forward, resting on his chest as his free hand comes to rest on your lower back, keeping you close. His thumb presses to your clit, rubbing the sensitive bead with just the right amount of pressure. He knows exactly what you like, exactly how to bring you to the edge. You’re whimpering for him, his lips coming to crash against yours, teeth nipping at the plump skin. The alcohol in your system amplifies your senses, making every touch he gives you feel magnified.

“You gonna cum for me, sweetheart? Gonna cum for me so soon?” Eddie groans, sensing how close you’re getting by the way your walls tense around his fingers.

You can’t even reply before waves of pleasure wrack your body, your orgasm hitting you incredibly quickly. You cry out his name as his fingers continue to curl inside of you, a smirk gracing his face, cockiness taking over completely.

“Suuuuuch a fuckin’ slut for me, hm? Gonna let me fuck you baby?” his husky voice fills your ears, along with the sound of his belt being undone.

He knows you won’t deny him, knows how badly you need this. You hear the zzzzzzzip of the zipper on his jeans being tugged down, watch as he pulls the black denim down just enough. Keep your eyes trained on him as he grabs his cock from beneath the green cotton of his boxers, yanking it into view. His boxers get shoved down with his jeans, resting just below his ass. The pink head of his cock is shiny with pre cum as you wrap a hand around it, lining him up with your aching hole. He sucks in a breath as he pushes the tip in, reveling in the way you tilt your head back in ecstasy as he parts your folds. Your tits are propped up perfectly thanks to your snug top and your push-up bra, swells of skin on display for his eyes to rake over. He dips down, attaching to your collarbone and sucking the thin skin, licking over the stinging bruises he leaves behind.

“F-feels so good, Eddie,” you choke out, gasping as he thrusts as deep as he possibly can, knocking the breath out of your lungs.

“I know it does baby, know how much you love this cock,” Eddie growls.

His hands dig into your hips, holding you in place while he fucks you ruthlessly. The lewd sounds of his shaft gliding in and out of your soaked cunt echo off the bathroom walls, his balls slapping with every jolt of his hips. You tangle your fingers in his curls, knowing it drives him crazy. Eddie doesn’t let you in on a whole lot of the things that make him weak, but the hair pulling one was discovered involuntarily. You’d done it the first time you ever hooked up and he’d moaned embarrassingly loud before he could stop himself, and you’d been using the knowledge to your advantage ever since. He curses as you tug on his dark brown locks, his cock pounding into you even harder. Your body feels like it’s on fire in the best way, so close to release again already. Another bar patron knocks on the bathroom door, only grabbing your attention for a fraction of a second before Eddie grabs your face with one hand, turning you to look directly at him.

“Don’t worry about that, focus on me,” he instructs, his jaw hanging open in a moan as he drives particularly deep into you.

His forehead rests on yours, brown eyes staring straight into yours as he ruins you. The movement of his hips grow messy, and you know he’s close. You’re free falling over the edge in no time, your heavy-lidded eyes trying their best to focus on Eddie as your second orgasm crashes through you.

“That’s it, baby, so good for me,” he grunts, not slowing his movements even a bit.

“Cum inside me, Eddie, please,” you whine, clawing desperately at the collar of his shirt.

“Gonna give it to you, baby, gonna fucking cum,” he’s panting, rolling his hips a couple more times into your soaking cunt until he’s a goner.

You feel him twitch slightly inside you as spurts of his cum fill you to the brim. His eyes squeeze shut as he rides it out, slowly rocking in and out of you, milking himself for every drop. He pulls out of you carefully, causing you to wince at the emptiness. You hop down from the counter on shaky legs, his cum mixing with your release as it slowly rolls down your thighs.

“You’re so fucking hot, babe,” Eddie almost whines, grabbing your face to kiss you.

He situates himself back in his jeans and leaves you to clean up, telling you he’ll be at your table from before. You wipe the mess off your thighs with the horribly thin toilet paper the bar offers, sitting on the grimy toilet seat to pee. You deem yourself good to go after washing your hands and open the door, catching Eddie giving you a little wave from the booth you’d been sitting at. You bound over to him, an unmistakable wave of relief at the fact that he was waiting right where he said he’d be. The two of you are about to leave, throwing cash on the table for the staff to pick up, when you hear a chipper voice call your name.

“Y/N!?”

You spin around, searching in the direction of the voice when your eyes land on a head of strawberry blonde hair and bright blue eyes.

“Chrissy? Oh my god, it’s so good to see you!” you shout, turning to Eddie briefly. “I’ll be right back, kay? I have to catch up with her real quick!”

You jog towards your old friend, wrapping her in a tight hug. She doesn’t seem to take note of who you were with, or if she does she doesn’t pry for details, and you’re grateful for that. You hadn’t seen Chrissy much at all since high school, and the two of you get right to chit-chatting. You tell her about your job, she tells you about her breakup with Jason, so on and so forth. A little more time passes than you’d intended, so you leave her with a mutual promise to get together soon and yet another hug. You turn to find Eddie so you can leave, your brows furrowing when you don’t see him.

Finally your eyes land on him, sitting on a stool at the bar, a blonde bartender leaning over the counter with a hand on his bicep, and another woman standing on his one side, eyeing him up. The bartender leans further over the counter, her tits pressed together and on display from her low cut top, basically staring Eddie in the face. He seems to be laughing, striking up conversation in his disgustingly easy manner. Your stomach turns and your face grows hot, and you bring a hand to your mouth to muffle a cry as you rush out the door of the bar. The tears flow instantly, there’s no use in even trying to stop them. You grasp your phone in a trembling hand, dialing Nancy’s cell. The lights from the street go blurry as your eyes burn with tears, your chest heaving as the dial tone rings in your ear.

“Hello?” her voice picks up, concern evident in her tone given that it’s 11pm and you’re calling her.

“Nancy,” you sob, trying to steady your voice but it’s fruitless, “can- can you please pick me up? I’m at The Hideaway,” you stutter, wiping your nose with your sleeve.

“Jonathan and I are on the way. Sit tight, ok?” you agree and the call ends, leaving you alone until they arrive.

You tilt your head back, leaning against the brick wall of the old building, sobs wracking your entire body. Stupid, stupid, stupid. You curse yourself for believing that this night with Eddie would go any differently than the others. Your mind replays the way he sang to you in the car, the way he held your hand, the way he opened doors for you and stroked your skin at the table earlier. The lump in your throat is impossible to swallow, and you gasp for air between your cries. Nancy’s car pulls up at the curb in front of you, Jonathan in the drivers seat. She immediately jumps out and runs to you, leaning down to your shriveled frame as you curl into yourself. She all but scoops you up, an arm around your shoulder as she guides you to the backseat of the car. She gets in beside you rather than returning to the passenger seat, a gentle and soothing hand resting on your knee as Jonathan starts to drive. You catch the way he glances warily at you in the rearview mirror, face riddled with concern. Your head is pounding, the drinks you had earlier still making your thoughts slightly hazy and everything around you feel slow. When Eddie picked you up, you’d imagined yourself going home with him, making out in his van, tangling up together in his bedsheets. You hadn’t predicted yourself to be drunk in the back of your best friend’s car, crying like a baby on your way home. You mentally scold yourself, embarrassed with the way your friends have to see you, the way they have to try and pick up your pieces when they don’t even know what’s wrong. This is the second time in a week that these two have consoled you, and you feel horrible for making them put up with it.

“Were you with Eddie tonight?” Nancy asks cautiously, but there’s no judgment in her voice.

All you can do is nod, your eyes glassy as you gaze out the window. She squeezes your knee, and the rest of the ride back to your apartment is silent.

Nancy makes sure that you get safely inside, leading you into your room to help you change into some comfortable clothes. She fills your favorite water bottle and grabs your favorite blanket off of the couch, handing them both to you.

“Nance-” you go to thank her, but she cuts you off.

“You don’t have to thank me. You don’t have to say anything. Just take care of yourself, alright? Call me if you need anything,” she squeezes your hand and gives you a tight smile before leaving, closing the door quietly behind her.

The sobs that had started to subside come back in full swing once you’re left alone, hot tears rolling down your cheeks. You take shaky breaths, your heart feeling like it’s been shattered to pieces in your chest. You wanted to believe that Eddie was going to redeem himself this time, and to see that he had no shame about flirting with other women while in the bar that he drove you to stung deep to your core. What hurts even worse is that all you crave, still, is his arms around you, his lips on yours, a moment of peace in a fragile heaven. You curl into a ball on your mattress, letting all of the feelings out in the quiet of your lonely apartment.

Eddie was in a slight panic when he couldn’t find you anywhere in the bar. He had gotten bored while you were catching up with Chrissy, so he went to get himself one last drink before the two of you went on your way. He sunk himself onto a seat at the bar, where a brunette about his age was chatting with the bartender. The second he sat down, he could feel their eyes roaming all over him. The flirting was incessant from the get-go, and truly, all Eddie wanted was to take you home with him, his body craving a second round of you. He had no interest in the two women before him, but for the sake of keeping the peace he just allowed them to fawn over him, roaming hands and seductive eyes drinking him in. He made small talk, forcing smiles and even a couple laughs just to appease the crowd before he could dip. He downed his drink fairly quickly, intentionally so, so that he could make his exit and find you. All he wanted was to grab your hand and kiss you and hold you all night long and- fuck.

He shakes his head as if to rid himself of the thoughts. His brain had been overwhelmingly full of you since the party at Steve’s, and he was uneasy about it. The situation with you was strictly friends-with-benefits, nothing more. It can’t be more. Dark eyes scan the premises, searching for you but coming up unlucky. He checks with Chrissy, who didn’t see where you went after you said your goodbyes, he knocks politely on the bathroom doors to no avail. He goes out to his vehicle only to find it empty. He calls you once, twice, three times, only for the line to ring and ring. With ever perfect timing, a text pops up on his phone screen.

Jonathan: Nancy and I drove Y/N home. What happened, man?

Eddie’s brow furrows as he reads the message, why did you call them to take you home? What did happen? He curses to himself, climbing into his car and peeling out of the parking lot, heading in the direction of your apartment. His fingers drum nervously on the steering wheel, every red light feeling like it takes years to change to bright green. He finally pulls up to your building, his body feels unsteady as he walks up the stairs to your door. He knocks with a shaky hand.

You’re startled by the knock at your door, your crying having stopped for the time being and your body starting to relax. The knock comes again, urgent sounding, and you trod down your hallway and towards the door. Your head pounds and your sinuses are stuffy from your breakdown, and you wince as the loud banging sounds on your door yet again. You pull it open, met with the shaggy hair and big eyes of the man you’ve been wallowing over.

“Y/N, what the fuck!? You scared me half to death, why did you leave without me?” Eddie nearly shouts, running a hand through his hair.

His question dumbfounds you, and you almost want to laugh at the absurdity.

“Why did I leave? Why did I leave!? I don’t know, Eddie, why don’t you ask the bimbo bartender and her friend, and god knows what other women you flirted with when I walked away for maybe twenty fucking minutes!?” the words spill out of you, and you’re shocked at your ability to call him out.

“The bartender-? What? Sweets, I wasn’t flirting with anyone I was just-”

“I don’t want to fucking hear it, Eddie, okay? You pulled the same shit at Steve’s party last weekend! Hook up with me and make me feel sooooo special and then turn around and woo someone else right after. I’m sick of it!” your voice is raised, leaving Eddie wide-eyed in front of you.

“Oh, you’re sick of it? You’re sick of me?” Eddie no longer feels like he owes you an explanation, his need to defend himself taking over.

“I’m sick of keeping secrets, Eddie! I’m sick of not telling our friends what the fuck is going on between us because I don’t want to make you out to be the bad guy! I’m so god damn tired of watching you flirt with every woman under the fucking sun,” your voice wavers, anger trickling in.

“Why the fuck do you care if I flirt with other women? Why does it matter?” Eddie counters, holding his hands out in exasperation.

“Because I love you, Eddie! I’m in love with you!” you shout, tears streaming from your eyes now in a mixture of sadness and anger and passion.

The silence is palpable as Eddie just stands there, shaking his head a little bit. Your heart feels as though it might beat out of your chest.

“What, is that the worst fucking thing you’ve ever heard?” you challenge.

He turns on his heel and exits without a word, leaving you to slam your door shut. You sink down on the inside of it, tears flowing harder than ever before. His silent exit was worse than any words he could have said, cutting you right to the bone, leaving you to bleed all alone.

[wroteclassicaly]

Walk Until You Belong

(Eddie Munson x Female Reader, Steve Harrington x Female Reader)

Summary: Amongst confusing and mixed up words, you think you realize where you really stand, with those who matter the most to you, particularly Eddie Munson.

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Female Reader, teases Steve Harrington x Female Reader

Warnings: Language, anxiety, panic attack, extreme self-esteem issues, HEAVY on the angst, no happy ending (this one hurts, folks), Eddie is mean with his words, depression, & extremely (be warned) sad thoughts.

A/N: This thought randomly came to me in the car today, then proceeded to poke and prod at me until I wrote it down/out. This is what came of it, and it’s a product of mind mindset, as of lately. Please read the warnings and air with caution, because it’s meant to work out my own feelings, and as of now, there’s no second part planned and there isn’t a happy ending here. I leave it open-ended. Just know, this piece is really vulnerable to me, and I’m not gonna and say I didn’t cry a little while writing this, so I feel like it’s a personal breakthrough, and I wanna share it with you all ❤️♥️

Sidenote: Using the nickname of Princess in this fic, instead of Y/N. Also, Eddie isn’t nice in this. He’s not exactly awfully, openly mean, but his words are pretty cruel. So… be warned! Nancy makes an appearance as well!

You didn’t really peg Eddie Munson for a mean person. Intimidating, sure, tough because he needed to be - yeah. But outright cold and as nasty as his former bullies? You stand frozen, back against the cool wall of the hospital corridor. They’re still talking, bonding, two completely different people that never knew one another three months ago, yet they’re making it work. You’ve known the entirety of the party since this whole underworld shit began, roped in by being Dustin’s neighbor and giving him rides home from Hellfire for his mom.

No one ever called you outside of the world ending, outside of you taking a kid some place, bringing your random gifts, lending an ear on the phone when the trauma got too much. You weren’t invited to their gatherings, you weren’t in on their inside jokes, but you figured if you made yourself more approachable, more social. And seeing how they welcomed Eddie, someone you had admired since your freshman year - you were sure it was gonna work, that you were slowly being accepted. You helped defeat monsters and evil men, dark creatures, and underworlds. It was you who helped Steve Harrington drag Eddie’s bleeding and mauled body back into your world.

Since that night three months ago, you have done everything to help him. Brought his school work so he could graduate, promised to hand deliver his diploma if he wasn’t strong enough by mid June to walk across that stage, even saying you’d flip Higgins the double bird for him. You tried to help him plan campaigns, you bought him several tapes, and most recently - you’d taken up a magazine subscription of his favorite metal scene, just so he would have all copies. He was always so boisterous, making you melt and smile, and you wanted to help put some light back into his eyes after he’d lost a lot of that sparkle. The issue you got in the mail today, it looked promising, making you eager to take it to him on your lunch break from the video store.

Recently able to fight off your anxieties and getting into the workplace to cover shifts for Steve as he healed, you had extra money to spare and a pep in your step. But when you had reached Eddie’s room door in the hospital, Steve’s voice had halted you. You’d pressed your back aside and out of view, a smile on your lips as they mentioned you. They were gonna be your friends, maybe Eddie would even show you what certain things meant in the magazine, what he liked about their scene, his scene. You wanted to know so much about him, but could never muster the courage to ask.

“I thought the Princess was coming by today?” Your nickname. Not one in malice, but one gifted by your peers for your love of literature. It extended to everyone, apparently.

Your heart leapt, pulse in your throat, eyes casting down at the glossy cover in excitement. And then Eddie had sighed deeply, as if he was in pain. You were prepared to go and get a nurse, when he speaks out, “Seriously, dude?”

Your brows had knit in confusion, a gnawing starting in your stomach, a coolness chilling in your muscles, scraping apart your veins and brimming them full of ice. Steve confirmed, causing you to step back further out of sight. You should’ve left immediately, because you knew you were not going to be able to handle what Eddie’s reply would be, what you fooled yourself into thinking wouldn’t happen.

“What if I pretend to be asleep? Think she’ll leave and go bother someone else?”

A sharp ache pries apart your ribcage and fills it with hot ash, wafting smoke from the destruction suffocating your throat. The first wave of tears prickles your sclera, clouding your vision as your head bows.

“Munson…” Steve sighs.

“Listen, Harrington, I know I’m a freak, man, but she’s just weird. She doesn’t even know me and she subscribed to a magazine I have, just to bring me the issues. She tries to get involved in my campaigns. I know she drives Henderson around and that she’s fought all that nasty shit with you guys, but like… She’s not even in your ensemble of friends, is she?”

Your entire lifetime of actions involving them all flash in the forefront of your mind, and everything you went through by their sides.Have you done anything so out of the ordinary that none of them haven’t? You’re not loud, not like Eddie is, you’re not extremely quirky. You were sure you weren’t bothering anyone when you started being more vocal. Salt. You taste its first humiliating tang hit your lips, your tears free flowing.

“Not really.” Is what Steve responds with, prying back your subconscious with a crowbar and letting reality crack your skull open to let your insecurities flood you until you begin to feel the beginning stages of dissociating panic.

More than two years and you’re still considered a nobody to people you fought beside and nearly died for. People you convinced yourself that they just needed to know you, to see, and they would care about you just as much as you care about them. You realize, however, with a sickening irony, that Vecna must have been fooled by your sated mindset, thinking you weren’t alone and that you were happy, or he would’ve targeted you instead of someone else. And that part, the deep part that’s engraved into your DNA, rooted to every cell and particle, it bites back thoughts you try not to pin on yourself. Maybe he should’ve.

“Hey, Princess, what’s going on?” Her sweet perfume and her soft demeanor make your body feel like it’s weighted down, caught and unable to escape. You don’t look at her yet, turning your head to attempt (pathetically) to wipe your tears and clear your vision.

Steve and Eddie hear and the conversation is halted, their smiles happy and comfortable. But even as you bypass Nancy’s concerned looks, her question at your obviously panicked expression, forcing yourself to walk into the room with her to save face — you aren’t buying either boy’s look. It’s not you they’re happy to see. You shift, a discomfort squeezing your sternum and extending into your guts, anxiety using your esophagus as a trampoline and tempting your food to expel. You feel as if you’re not even here, that this isn’t real, that it’s a nightmare bigger than anything you’ve ever faced.

Dealing with demons and evil creatures that only existed in storybooks is one thing, but doing it alone, knowing that that’s all you’ve ever truly been… it’s worse than when you automatically followed Nancy into that rift to save Steve. No one called you after Vecna, sans one simple call from Steve to ask if you needed anything. But that was it. Your brain snaps back, still able to get you as you’re not all here. King Steve hated you, and not even this kind version cares for you.

You’ve kept the magazine at your side so far, and you let it fold in your tight grip, crushing and crumbling the pages, voice becoming weak and breathless as Steve asks why you’re here, a grin on his face, knowing already. Fuck this. You’re drowning and you need to get the fuck out of here.

“I have to go. I’m… I gotta go, I’m sorry.” Your voice cracks, shatters your facade, and you don’t look at anyone.

Nancy leans out as you move quicker down the hallway, faster than anticipated. She watches your arm elongate and toss something into one of the janitorial cart’s trash cans.

“What the hell was that about?” Steve is confused, Eddie bewildered.

“I was gonna ask you guys. She looked upset before we even came in here,” Nancy responds.

“Didn’t you two walk in together? Maybe somebody bothered her, or she saw something?” Steve questions once more.

“We all agreed to give her space, just like we always do. So no, I didn’t want to crowd her. She was already here anyway, just standing outside the door and looking… I don’t know, lost? I’ve never seen the expression that was on her face before.”

Eddie feels as if something else entirely has re-stripped his recently healed skin. Steve swallows harshly and fixes Eddie with an immediate glare, both sharing realization and regret.

“She just trashed some magazine, maybe it was because of that —“

“Shit. Fuck, man.” Eddie finally speaks, starting to lift his upper body, his underused limbs protesting, stitched skin screaming.

“Stop, I’ll go, okay?” Steve interjects, resting bitch face activated and his jaw clenching, upset he let himself say what he did, and is already out the door, leaving Eddie to explain to the ever inquisitive Nancy Wheeler and her journalistic heart and soul.

By the time Steve catches up to you, jogging and slightly out of breath, he isn’t prepared to share his ex’s sentiment on your tormented expression. You look… demolished, haunted. Steve has felt it, a fragment of what bullshit you must be feeling, given what you’ve just heard. He’s done a lot of things, but he’s never felt more like an asshole than he does now, staring at your trembling hands that drop your car keys twice, your eyes so full of tears he wonders how you were even able to see to get out of the building and into the parking lot. He has the sudden overwhelming urge to wrap you into his arms and hold you. So he lets his instincts go and attempts to reach out.

You sound strangely reserved, settled. You smile sadly, wiping at your eyes, the skin raw and overheated. “No. I understand, okay. I got it. I really do. I’m fine.”

“Princess, you don’t have to —“

A beeping sounds off between the two of you, your fingers reaching into your belt loop and unclipping the beeper after a quick glance. You still don’t look at Steve. He can feel his own irises becoming shrouded with tears, his chest being clawed apart and dug into. It hurt more than any hive mind bats or Russian torture. You sidestep away from him, mumbling. “It’s Keith. I have to go.”

“It’s my shift, Princess,” Steve grasps your wrist in his big palm and squeezes, trying to pull you back to him, to convey, to express. He cares. He didn’t mean it in the way that you thought, “Please?”

You jerk yourself away from him. You look angry now, and wipe your nose at the same time Steve does - water finding his lash line.

“I took the shift. It’s fine. Goodnight.”

You’re falling apart as you turn around again, not permitting yourself to watch Steve and his attempts to amuse your anguish with pity - standing in the parking lot, wiping at his nose continuously, in your rear view.

Steve grits his teeth as the tears drip onto his cheeks, his hands running up into and through his hair. They beyond fucked up…

// Eat me paragraph //

[jazzycurls]

This hurts so good 💔❤️‍🩹

[hempkitty]

can someone please be proud of me like fuck I’m trying

[gremlin-pattie]

reblog to let prev know you’re proud of them

[jazzycurls]

Don't know you, but I'm proud of you ❤️

[chestylarouxx-deactivated202402]

I am fully aware that the fandom is, uh, waning. I also do not care and have so - many - ideas. Eddie is still my fictional boyfriend, and I still want to write for him. Just so you (whoever is reading this) knows.

[chestylarouxx-deactivated202402]

Heyo. This is still true.

[jazzycurls]

Full heartedly agree 😊

[thornsnvultures]

eddie munson x plus size!fem!reader, 18+

a little drabble loosely based on this text post cause I was having a feeling-bad-about-my-body day and I know eddie would be having absolutely none of that ♡

---

Thick, ringed fingers holding you, pressing into where your tummy dips and fold and rolls. Your legs are spread wide, Eddie's thighs holding yours open, leaving you exposed, bared completely to the mirror in front of you. It's hard to look at first, your head turning into the soft curls at his neck, hiding from your reflection.

"Uh-uh. Look, baby. Look'it how she opens up for me."

It took a long time, learning how not to hate yourself. Learning that everything you hated about you was the opinion of someone who didn't love you, didn't care. It took a long time to look in the mirror and be okay, to accept. Not always celebrating, or loving, but sometimes admiring, appreciating. Understanding that your body didn't hold the entirety of your worth.

And Eddie did enough loving for the both of you anyway.

For a while you stayed away from skinny boys like him, afraid they'd do more damage to all that hard work. But Eddie... there was something different about him. You knew it right away. He wasn't ashamed to be seen with you, wasn't asking you to stay the night only to pretend like he didn't know who you were in front of his friends. He worshipped you, fully worshipped you properly. That can't keep his hands off you, needs you by his side 24/7, thinks you've hung the moon kind of worship.

It was intense at first. You thought he'd get tired of you, move on in a week or two have his fun until something better came along. But it's been months, years of him loving you like no one else has before and, no matter your own reservations about your body, you believe him when he tells you, when he shows you just how much.

His thick fingers delve into your core, a reward for finally looking back at your reflection. The sopping wet center of you wets his winding fingers, the sound obscene as he makes tight circles around your clit.

"The prettiest pussy I've ever seen."

You want to tease, to ask just how many he's seen to make that claim, but you can't form words with the way he's jackhammering his thick fingers in and out of your cunt.

"That's it, princess. Making such a mess for me."

Eddie presses kisses to your temple, down your soft jawline. You stare with rapt attention, jaw practically hanging to the floor and eyes glazed, hazy but laser focused on the ring of your creamy juices around Eddie's knuckles.

His fingers curl into the roof of your cunt, pushing, searching for your release like he needs it more than you do. He's begging in your ear for you to give it to him.

"Show me, princess. Shhhh, I got you," his other hand moves to your clit to work the aching nub when you whine, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes. "Give it to me. Want you to see yourself cum. You're so pretty when you cum on my cock."

Your thighs tense and shake at the mention of his cock and you're bombarded with images of him bending you over in front of this mirror, his fat cock stuffed in your cunt to the base and before you can catch your breath you're screaming, clenching down on his fingers and wailing like a cat in heat. Your eyes never leave your sweaty, heaving body in the mirror. Full breats shuddering, shaking as you gasp for air. Your tummy clenching against Eddie's arm pressed to your middle, holding you tight.

"That's it. Fuck, that's it, baby."

Eddie drags his fingers from your pussy, pulsing and grasping for his fingers, begging them not to leave.

He catches your gaze in the mirror, watching you watching him with his fingers in his mouth, sucking them clean.

"Did so good for me, princess. So good, so beautiful."

[lovebugism]

forgive me for what is likely a basic ass request but... steve has a crush on eddie's best friend? smut optional but encouraged :) (love, j.d. aka mypoisonedvine)

✶ ┄ LOVE YOU, ON PURPOSE (i)

summary: steve harrington took extra care to avoid the local freaks of hawkins. having shared custody of a fourteen-year-old forced him into a bitter friendship with one, he's steadfast in his refusal to befriend the other. that is, until you start working at the groove beside family video. steve claims he only fell for you because you tripped him. (17k)

pairing: steve harrington / eddie's bff!reader

tags: strangers to friends to lovers, mutual pining, protective eddie, canon divergence TW swearing, bullying, some smooching, talks of insecurities, reader is doubtful of steve's intentions because steve used to be a dick <3

a/n: this request has been sitting in my inbox for ages. ages, i tell you! i wrote the outline the day it was sent in and ended up turning the blurb request into a full on 30k+ word fic. i'm sorry for the wait j.d. (and to everyone else who's been waiting patiently for me to put this out). i quite literally put my heart, soul, pussy, and so, so many hours into this. please enjoy! feedback is always appreciated! xoxo

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Something happens and I'm head over heels.

It would be a total disservice to call you Eddie’s best friend.

It wouldn’t even feel right to call you his platonic soulmate or his sister from another dimension. Not when the two of you are essentially an extension of the same human being. It’s a twin flame on steroids — your mirrored souls make the rest of Hawkins believe in some sort of higher power. There’s no way it wasn’t destiny that placed the two of you together at exactly the right place, at exactly the right time.

Your entwined spirits could’ve been a beautiful thing.

It’s too bad you’re both total fucking freaks.

Unfortunately, being a couple of metalheads who spend their free time creating fantastical worlds in silly little board games hasn’t become cool yet — for some sad, strange reason. It leaves you and Eddie as the town’s token social pariahs. The kind of misfits you only spot when you care enough to look — laughing too loudly at the lunch table or sharing a cigarette in the alleyway between school buildings.

The kind of weirdos who get your attention without trying. The kind that people only look at when they need something to make fun of.

With that being said, everything Steve knew about you came from the people that hated you.

Tommy Hagan said that you and Eddie had been fucking since the seventh grade, that the two of you had gotten close between blowjobs and fingerbangs in the old chemistry classroom. No one’s quite sure where it came from, but they believed him without thinking twice. You and Eddie tried to squash the rumor for years before leaning into it full throttle.

“And these are the freaks,” Tommy announced when he approached your lunch table. He was giving Billy Hargrove a grand tour of the high school, or rather the shithole, and detoured like you and Eddie were some kind of sideshow attraction. Him and his goons ogled at you like zoo animals.

Steve idled some feet away, not as interested in the bit as the rest of them. He was even less interested in entertaining the new kid on the block thateveryone else seemed to be obsessed with.

“Hey, Tommy...” Eddie sing-songed through a mouthful of PB&J. You’d given him the other half of your sandwich, because you always give him the other half of your sandwich. “Hope you’re not comin’ back to ask for a handy again. I already turned you down, remember?”

A dumb grin took over the boy’s freckled face. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned over to the California boy. “I wouldn’t get too close to them. Don’t know where their hands have been, you know? If I had to guess, I think Punchy got Munson’s rocks off in the janitor’s closet before lunch period.”

Neither of you were particularly fazed by the laughter that erupted all at once and threatened to swallow you whole. Instead, you smiled with bits of grape jelly smeared on your chin. “I bet you think about it a lot, don’t you, Tommy?”

You really lived up to the nickname. Punchy. You weren’t entirely sure where it came from — your fierce temper, perhaps, or maybe your intense personality. Either way, it suited you.

Vicki Carmichael once said that you bit a guy on a date one time. Barry Jenkins, a tennis douchebag who thought the world revolved around him because his dad owned a string of local laundromats. He took you on a date in his mom’s Impala and assumed making out in the backseat gave him free rein to stick his hand up your skirt.

The asshole sported a red mark on his neck the next day.

When people asked you about it, you smiled with all your teeth in place of any real answer.

Carol Perkins loved to comment on the state of your wardrobe, telling anyone who would listen about the time she caught you rifling through the $1 bargain bins outside the thrift store. She liked to joke that you were stealing from them. “Because she can’t even afford a couple measly dollars. It’s kinda sad, honestly. I feel a little bad for her,” you overheard her saying once.

You were smoking a cigarette in the stall and watching through the crack of it while her and her friends touched up their lip gloss. 

“Wait, really?” Tina wondered, stopping mid-swipe of mascara through her long lashes to gape at the girl beside her. Because, god forbid, they don’t have someone to make fun of.

Carol snapped bright pink bubblegum between her teeth. She looked offended, almost — manicured brows furrowed and shiny lips snarled — like the idea of her taking pity on you was insulting. “No,” she snapped in response.

You’re pretty sure it’s the only rumor about you that’s got any bit of truth to it. Or any rumor of hers, really. The thrift store was great and all, but you firmly believe that your best pieces come remanufactured straight from Eddie Munson’s closet.

So it isn’t any wonder why the two of you seem to dress so similarly — all leather jackets and distressed jeans and hand-me-down t-shirts that are either too big or too small. The both of you take little care in your appearance, wearing only what you feel good in. And sometimes that means wild hair and baggy clothes that swallow you whole.

To make it worse, you and Eddie even talk the same. You’re both loud and brash and have very little awareness of personal space. You aren’t scared to make a scene or use your voice when you think it’s being stifled. And when you love someone, they know it, because you won’t leave them the hell alone.

These are all the things that Steve hated about Eddie. So he hasn’t quite figured out why he’s so damn in love with you. 

But he is. 

Quite dreadfully so. 

Head over heels and stumbling since the day he met you for a second time.

It was the spring of 1986 and The Groove had just opened up. Steve had heard murmurings of a record shop taking over the empty outlet adjacent to Family Video but had no idea it would nearly run them out of business. The shiny, new music store attracted all of their usual customers. People were more excited to buy new cassettes than rent movies they’d seen a thousand times already.

Steve didn’t mind, though. He liked it best when the store was empty. But all of his friends — a closeted lesbian, a basket case, and a couple of fourteen-year-olds — seemed to have the same affliction that was plaguing the rest of the town. 

He tried not to be offended when Robin said she was going to spend her break next door and not with him in the closet-sized break room. 

He failed.

Robin spent her half-hour and then some meeting you. She returned forty-five minutes later with a blushing face and a bleeding heart. Suddenly, there were two people in Steve’s life that couldn’t seem to shut up about you. As much as it annoyed him, he let her gush about you anyway, because that’s what best friends do, after all.

But Steve knew you once upon a time. Or he thought he did.

You were a loudmouthed metalhead who wore all black to blend in to Eddie’s shadow. You created fictional characters because it was easier than making friends with real people. You were strange and awkward and mean and gauche — the total opposite of this heavenly, mystical creature Robin was making you out to be.

But then it became this whole… thing.

With Robin and Eddie constantly talking over him about you, the rest of the kids were as confused as Steve was. And as they so often tend to do, the group decided to take matters into their own hands and make the short trek to meet you formally. Steve figured that their answer would be final. When those teenagers hate you, you know it. He learned that the hard way

They’re gone for a little over an hour and come back with a thousand stories and various tapes they say you gave to them for free.

Lucas has got a new Beastie Boys cassette and a proud smile on his face as he recounts the promise you’d made him about catching his next basketball game. “And she said she really liked my ranger,” he brags less than humbly, telling the older teens about how you’d heard stories about his track record in Hellfire campaigns. There’s a sudden suaveness to his voice as he bounces his brows up and down at them.

Max scrunches her face in disgust. She clutches a Kate Bush tape close to her chest, like it’s a prized possession she never wants to let go of. She rolls her eyes at her boyfriend (or maybe ex-boyfriend, but Steve can never keep up these days) and makes her own conversation with Robin. The two girls are the only ones with more than half a brain cell between them, or so they claim.

The redhead tells her that she plans on bringing her broken skateboard over to your store soon. She says the thing’s been wobbly for days, and Robin nods along like she knows all about it. “Well, apparently, she has some tools and knows how to fix it. Said the trucks just needed to be reinforced or some shit, I don’t know, I’m just glad it’s getting fixed.”

“Wait, why didn’t you tell me?” Steve asks her, confusion contorting his words along with his features. He crosses his arms and leans against the counter. “I could’ve fixed it.”

“You don’t know anything about skateboards,” Max monotones.

“Okay, but you don’t even know this girl! She’s a total stranger, Max. That’s dangerous.”

She rolls her eyes. “She’s nice, Steve. Way nicer than you—”

That makes him scoff.

“—And you’d know that if you got to know her.”

It’s Dustin’s turn to gush about you next. His opinion, for a reason Steve has never been able to place, arguably means the most to him. And the kid is just absolutely fucking beaming about you. He holds a Star Wars orchestral vinyl in his hand —  the brand new one he’s been talking about for weeks but couldn’t afford. 

He talks of the collection of DnD figurines you were painting behind the counter and the promise you made to make one for his bard come the next campaign. 

Dustin gazes at Steve, wide-eyed and nodding like he’s as amazed by the revelation as Steve is.  “She’s cool, Steve. Like… really cool.” 

The boy thought that Robin just had a crush, that Eddie was just being Eddie and overdramatizing all of his stories about you. But you’re everything they said you’d be and then some. The kind of stranger you meet that takes your breath away, that makes you sad in the understanding that you’ll never see them again. Dustin is grateful you don’t have to be a stranger anymore.

You sounded… nice. More than nice. They painted you out to be a fucking angel, the way you took care of a bunch of kids you barely knew for the better part of an hour. You weren’t the freak everyone made you out to be all that time ago.

They talk a great deal about your looks, too. Dustin, mostly. Lucas had received a glare and a half-hearted punch on the arm from Max when he said how pretty you were — even though she ultimately agreed with him. The curly-headed boy uses too big words to describe the renaissance painting you are, all heavenly morose and beautifully strange.

“Hey,” Eddie scolds from the sidelines, mostly playful. “That’s my sister you’re talking about. Bring it down a few notches, ‘kay?”

Steve is silent for the rest of the day after that. He’s not pouting about it like Robin keeps saying he is, just reserved in his reminiscence. 

He can’t tell if he’s intrigued or annoyed. They talk about you the way people used to talk about King Steve — with a borderline obsession for someone they don’t really know. And deep down, he knows he’s just jealous. Jealous that no one talks about him that way anymore. Jealous that none of the kids have ever talked about him that way.

It leaves him skeptical and wanting to see the real thing for himself.

Steve opts to meet you on his lunch break the next day with a tight chest and sweaty palms, like a part of him knew it was going to change the trajectory of his life for the foreseeable future.

The door dings with his arrival. The record store smells like earth and nostalgia, a bit like flipping through the pages of an old book. Vinyls sit in rows and in towers that rise to the ceilings. Colorful cassettes, of which there are thousands, have nooks and crannies of their own. Posters decorate the walls along with various patterned records — there’s hardly a blank spot in the entire store.

And when Steve sees you for the first time, he only sees the back of you.

You’re in all black, just like he imagined you’d be. A sliver of skin at your midriff is showing from where your too small shirt has ridden up your torso. And your hair is as wild as ever, though a little longer than he remembers. You’ve haphazardly pinned back the ornery strings with a sparkly pin, but it doesn’t do much to tame them.

A breeze of warm wistfulness washes over him at the sight of you. A reminder of a life that used to be his, that you were a part of only passively.

It’s your smile that does him in. Maybe because you’ve never looked at him with it. As far as Steve’s concerned, no one’s ever smiled at him the way you do, and you barely even know him. You hadn’t seen him in over a year and if you shared any words in the past, it wasn’t anything more than snarky one-liners. But here you are, looking at him with sunshine anyway.

“Hi,” you beam with the warmest grin he’s ever seen, swiveling in your chair to face him. “Welcome in.”

He’s too stunned by the sight of you to respond. He just stands in the doorway, all wide-eyed and gaping, like he’s the first to see an angel on earth. And it’s strange because you’re far from perfect. 

You’re blousy and a little disheveled, like you’d been running late that morning. The lack of makeup allows your imperfections to shine through in a way that makes you somehow more alluring. And you’ve got paint splattered like freckles on your cheeks, the culprit being the figurines you’re painting behind the counter. If you know you’re dotted with shades of red, blue, and green, you don’t show it.

“Can I help you find anything?” you ask him, still kind even though he’s acting like a fucking weirdo. That’s supposed to be your thing, not his.

Steve grasps for something to say but comes up short. His lips part and then close again in an embarrassing pattern that resembles a fish out of water. It makes sense, though; it’s a bit how you’ve made him feel just now.

When he realizes he can’t make out anything intelligible, he shakes his head. “Uh… nope.”

He’s leaving before he even realizes he’s leaving. The door dings again and he’s on the other side of it, long legs carrying him the short distance to Family Video at record speed. 

He swings and slams the egress shut in quick succession, as though the ghost of you had been chasing him. He leans against the glass pane and exhales a heaving sigh, eyes squeezing shut as he recoils at what he’d just done.

He always knew that King Steve had died some time ago, but this was a new low.

Robin watches from the front counter with wide eyes. “…Did you forget something?”

Steve sighs a big, hopeless sigh, then peeks his eyes open. “My dignity.”

“She’s cute, right?” she asks, already knowing the answer. Her brows bounce in time with the smirk on her painted lips.

“Yeah, she’s cute,” he answers, all mad because it’s obvious. “She’s fucking— she’s beautiful.”

“Aw. Look at you,” she sing-songs and tilts her head to her shoulder. “I think your heart grew three sizes today, Stevie.”

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

I never find out 'til I'm head over heels.

Steve, all caught up in his boyish misery, has no idea that he’s enraptured you in a similar way.

You hadn’t cared very much for the guy in high school. You didn’t really know him then, and you didn’t particularly want to. King Steve was rich. King Steve was pretty — too pretty. King Steve got attention from pretty cheerleaders and overaggressive douchebags alike.

King Steve didn’t need any affection from the local freakshow.

But, by some strange turn of events, he’d managed to make nice with your best friend. 

The way Eddie talks about Steve, his words always dripping with a distant venom, it sounds like they still hate each other. Maybe they do. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to admit that they hang out far too often not to be friends.

If you were still in school, you probably would’ve judged him for it. Being friends with the boy whose buddies made your life hell certainly warranted some degree of ridicule. But now, having graduated and trying to move on from it all, you can’t find it in yourself to. 

High school might as well have been a lifetime now. There’s no use in holding onto old ghosts.

If Eddie could let that shit go, so could you.

He drops by after school to keep you company like he always does when he doesn’t have a campaign to prep for. It’s his favorite pastime, perhaps a close second to Dungeons and Dragons. He gets to hang out with his best friend and swim in an ocean of music while he does it. As far as freaks go, Eddie Munson considers himself the luckiest.

He likes to hear you talk about everything new you’ve gotten in while he rifles through the old stuff that isn’t selling as well. You happily let him take what he wants for free. And what he doesn’t take, he doesn’t pay for either, because you cheat the system with your employee discount and then wipe the record from inventory. Just to be safe.

“I love having a criminal for a best friend,” he jokes every time, without fail.

Eddie stays by your side until the sun sets. He parts only to flip the sign at the door to closingfor you, then plops himself back on the counter again. His legs hang off the side of it, sneakers occasionally thudding against the wood when he kicks them back and forth too hard. He scans the back of an old Lynyrd Skynyrd vinyl and bobs his head to the rhythmic bass as the song fills the empty store. He’ll take this one home, he decides.

You keep on painting like you have been all day, breaking only to assist customers or stretch your aching spine. The forest dragon had been far more work than you expected — made of pretty purple leaves instead of scales and blowing blush-colored flowers instead of fire. The little piece of clay has resulted in a day of back-breaking work. 

You’ll be damned if Eddie’s next campaign isn’t the most stellar looking one yet.

Focusing on that makes it easier not to bring up Steve. 

You want to. You just don’t know how. 

Eddie’s friends were Eddie’s, and you don’t get involved where it doesn’t concern you. Besides, you did sort of give him shit for hanging out with The Hair way back when. The last thing you want is him taking the piss out of you about it.  

You don’t want to sound like you care too much. Even more, you don’t want it to be obvious that you’ve been thinking about the boy all day — making yourself sick as you stew in what could’ve run him out like he did.

“Saw your friend today,” you remark, feigning a sort of absentmindedness, as you swipe your brush along the petals of your dragon. “King Steve.”

“Oh, you met him?” Eddie wonders, more intrigued by your words than you expected he’d be. He says it like you didn’t already know the guy — like this new Steve was a totally different person you needed to be reacquainted with to really know.

“I wouldn’t say met him exactly. He just, like, popped in for half a second and ran out.”

With your back facing him, you don’t see the shit-eating grin that pulls at the corners of his mouth. 

Eddie was waiting for Steve to crack and finally see you. He knew he’d bite after the way the kids had talked about you — Dustin, especially. Because even though he claims he doesn’t have favorites, he’s got a very obvious soft spot for the boy. And he knew Steve would like you because everyone likes you. When they’re not clouded by judgment and high school hierarchies, at least. 

He’s still got no idea how a guy that trips all over himself at the sight of a pretty girl could’ve ruled Hawkins once upon a time.

“Fucking idiot,” Eddie laughs to himself, already gearing up for the shit he was going to give Steve the next time he saw him. 

But you see the boy before Eddie does. Steve comes back the next day, an hour or more after opening, less frazzled than the day before. The nearly twenty-four hours he had to prepare himself for the angel he was going to see allowed him not to make a total fool of himself when he stepped into the store again.

And you wouldn’t say it out loud — hell, it’s not even something you want to admit to yourself — but you’d been hoping he’d stop by again. 

You thought Robin would come by and drag him with her, or that Dustin and his friends would come around before Steve dropped them all home. Frankly, you didn’t really care what brought him back. You just wanted to see him again.

Steve’s different than the boy he used to be. Enough that it was obvious from a measly thirty-second interaction. He used to be a charmer who could talk his way out of anything. Not to you, of course, he wouldn’t have been caught dead talking to you. But then he stops by out of nowhere, in rare form, stumbling all over himself and looking like he didn’t recognize you at all.

You’re still trying to figure out if that was a good thing or not.

He’s mystified you in a way he probably isn’t used to. Most girls like the hair and the arms — the super buff, super strong arms that fit so nicely in his uniform — or the fact that he’s got money and a reputation that precedes him. But you’ve never given a shit about any of that. 

You’re more enchanted by the way nothing could even begin to conceal the soft, shy boy that King Steve had apparently turned into.

The door chimes above his head when he enters. The scent of earthy nostalgia is already familiar to him — lavender, sage, and something deeper. Steve considers it progress when he plants himself a few feet away from the door this time. If he runs out again, he’ll have to make an embarrassingly longer escape.

You turn away from your nearly finished figurine to greet the new customer. The practiced smile unconsciously widens at the sight of him. “Hi!”

“Hey,” he smiles with a curt nod. He regrets the half-wave he gives you the second his hand shoots up.

“You gonna run off on me again?” you tease and swivel in your chair to face him completely.

You’re wearing a Hellfire shirt that’s just slightly too big for you. It probably belonged to Eddie before it belonged to you. And you wear a corset-looking thing over top of it, a sheer number with a lace embroidery and a ribbon that’s tied in a bow at your belly. It doesn’t cinch you in the slightest, though, more for decoration than practicality.

“No that was… I just—” Steve huffs out a laugh as he tries and fails to come up with an excuse. He figures anything is better than the truth — that he saw how pretty you were and his brain forgot how to work because he’s the lamest person on the planet. 

So he chucks a thumb over his shoulder and fibs. “I left something back at Family Video. Had to run back.”

“It’s okay. I was just teasing,” you assure. “Uh— Are you looking for anything specific?”

“No. Not really. Just… new records to add to my collection, you know?”

“Oh, you collect vinyls?”

He doesn’t realize that’s what he’s just said until you repeat the words back to him. 

He’s kind of just talking out of his ass and hoping something sticks. That line does, apparently, because you’re beaming at him instantly. He’s scared to say no because then you’ll stop smiling. And he can’t have that.

“Yep,” he answers with a nod. The stack of records collecting dust in his den has to count for something, right?

He can’t find it in himself to regret his little white lie when it has you lighting up like a christmas tree. 

You toss your paintbrush down when you rush from behind the counter to meet him. You seem to have forgotten that you’d just dipped the thing in purple paint. The thing splatters shades of lilac all over the limestone bench. And, in your haste, you nearly smack yourself with the leaden slab as you raise it to pass by.

Steve’s eyes widen when you narrowly dodge the weighty thing — then jumps, startled by the dense thwap that echoes through the small store when it slams back down again. He’s almost worried that it might’ve busted the hinge. 

You cower at the loud sound but move on with a commendable finesse, too focused on him to care about anything else.

“That’s so cool! I’ve always wanted to collect, but records are so expensive, it’s crazy,” you ramble as you walk up to him, totally unthinking in the way you grab his forearm and usher him to the back of the store. 

Your sheer black skirt swishes at your ankles as you walk. The dainty fabric is patterned with sparkly stars and crescent moons. He notices you wear a pair of dark shorts underneath for modesty. Steve tries his best not to stare at your ass. He almost succeeds.

“We actually just got in a couple of Dio records — The Holy Diver, you know, the one that just came out. I’m pretty sure there’s only, like, a couple thousand of these things in the whole world — which is totally fucking bonkers if you think about it,” you explain in one breath, laughing, before stopping abruptly in your tracks. Steve nearly runs into you when you turn around to face him. 

You laugh again, a sadder one, this time at yourself, as you bring your palm to your forehead. “Sorry. I don’t— I don’t even know if you like Dio. I mean, of course, you don’t, right? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have… rambled like that.”

You’d just been so excited and Steve had just been so different that you forgot who you were talking to. Hawkins High Royalty, Prom King, Biggest Flirt and Life of the Party in the yearbook. 

As far as you’re concerned, Eddie Munson is your only friend. He’s the only person in the whole world you can be yourself around and never get self-conscious about any of it. 

But sometimes you have moments like this one with a total stranger. Moments where you lose yourself in the conversation and your own jumbled thoughts. Moments where you talk and talk and talk until something thumps you on the head and you realize how annoying you’re being. This time, it’s the musky smell of his cologne that knocks you back to Ms. Click’s history class. The crisp breeze of bitter nostalgia makes you shiver.

Steve can see the way you get so suddenly aware of yourself and how the cognizance of the moment makes you writhe. He tries to bat away the lingering insecurities with a smile. 

“Love ‘em,” he responds with a nod. He raises his brows and scoffs, grins and crosses his arms over his chest. “I mean, Dio? God, they’re like… top ten bands of all time, at least. Maybe even five.”

That isn’t totally true. He doesn’t know much about the band to have an opinion, but he’s pretty sure he might’ve said he hated them once. That was only because Eddie wouldn’t stop talking about them, though. Steve could learn to like them, if it means so much to you.

That’s exactly how he justifies spending $60 on four records. 

He tells himself that he’ll listen to them and think of you, that it’ll be a solid conversation starter the next time he sees you. 

You had a whole damn rack dedicated to all your favorite bands — “I put it together myself,” you’d bragged with a proud smile. S it’s a wonder Steve didn’t walk out with the entire damn store. Because you just kept on smiling and talking, so happy to have someone to care about what you had to say, and he ate up every second of it.

He’ll have to work overtime to keep his pockets from hurting, but it’ll be worth it. Because he’ll get to keep talking to you and indulging in all the things you seem to love more than life itself.

You’re still rambling as you ring him up. Steve notices you haven’t stopped yourself like you did before. His lack of dismissal has made you more comfortable, it seems. He likes that.

“I think we’re also gonna get a couple cases of Def Leppard cassettes tomorrow, which is super sick. I think I might have to start collecting, honestly. Tapes are whole lot cheaper than records, you know,” you tell him as you scan and bag all his vinyls. “And it’s also, like, a fucking stellar album. I don’t think I’ve stopped listening to Photograph since it came out.”

“Photograph. Right. Love that one,” Steve nods with a kind smile as he props his elbows on the counter. He doesn’t particularly care that he’s not entirely sure what you’re talking about, or that he’s never actually heard the song. He’s starting to realize you could talk for hours and he wouldn’t get bored.

“Oh, is that your favorite too? Eddie’s more of a Foolin’ kinda guy.”

Despite the fact that he’s never heard the song or this album in his life, he nods anyway. 

He sort of spent the first eighteen years of his life faking just about everything — it kind of came with being the King of Hawkins High. It’s a talent that hasn’t yet left him, it seems, lying through his teeth to impress people. It’s almost become a second nature to him.

“Foolin’s good, yeah, but I think Photograph is obviously better.”

“Obviously, right!” you exclaim with a sunshine-coated laugh. “That’s exactly what I told him! But he’s way too hard-headed to be wrong about anything, so…”

“Well, I’d like to put it on the record that I firmly agree with you,” Steve replies so smoothly that his tongue must be dripping with honey. It’s so easy for him to fall into King Steve mode — when he isn’t forgetting how to speak and running off, that is.

You’ve learned a lot Steve in the past half hour. He likes metal, but leans more toward rock. Particularly all the metal and rock that you like. He hasn’t once had a differing opinion than you, besides telling you he heard Eddie playing a Metallica song once that he didn’t particularly care for. The second you tell him it’s one of your favorites, he backtracks instantly, blaming the Munson boy for being too sloshed to play it properly.

And you don’t miss the way he’s looking at you just now either, with his chin toward his chest as he peers up at you with warm amber eyes. He’s the charmer that he always was. It makes you remember, again, just who you’re talking to.

“We have a lot in common, King Steve,” you lilt with a playful grin.

He deflates at the use of the old nickname. You see the light in his eyes flicker for a just moment before he’s ducking his gaze away from you completely. He tries to brush it off with a laugh. “Yeah, I’m not— I’m not really King Steve anymore…”

“No?”

“Nope. Just… Just Steve these days.”

When he looks back at you, he finds you nodding at him, almost in approval. 

Most people are upset to find that he’s changed so much. They hate that he’s no longer the recklessly stupid dumbass they used to get drunk with. 

Not you, though.

“Cool,” you mumble, smiling softly, as you hand him his bag and receipt.

“Uh, I’d love to, you know, come take a look at those tapes when you get ‘em in,” he says as he walks backward towards the door, finally making the brash offer he’s been thinking about this whole time. “Maybe I can bring lunch and we can—”

“Well, Hellfire’s been doing campaigns during lunch recently. And Gareth’s out sick, so I’ve been subbing for him, you know, so…” you interject awkwardly, shifting your weight on your feet. You hate to turn him down, but Eddie might just kill you if he has to get a substitute for the substitute.

“Oh…” he nods, softly puckering his plump pink lips that you can’t seem to stop staring at.

“But I don’t think they’re coming in until late, anyway,” you add quickly. “So, you can stop by at closing, if you want?”

“No, yeah, that’s cool. So cool,” he replies, a little more flustered than he’d been just moments before. He’s just happy that your rejection wasn’t a total refusal.

You try to bite back the wide grin threatening to take over your mouth. “Okay… I’ll catch you later, then, Just Steve.”

“See you,” he waves right before startling himself when he backs into the basket of clearance tapes sitting just beside the door. He barely catches the thing before it tips over completely. He flashes you a shaking smile afterward and finds you covering your mouth with your hand while you try not to laugh too loudly. 

He wishes you’d just went ahead and laughed at him. He wouldn’t have even cared that you were laughing at him, if it meant he got to see you smile.

And even though he’d just gotten done making the biggest fool of himself, he walks back to work feeling like the coolest man alive. There’s a foreign strut in his step that hadn’t been there before he saw you. It doesn’t leave him when he realizes he’s gone slightly over his break and that Keith is manning the counter in his absence.

The man mumbles a monotoned goodbye to the customer he’d just checked out.

She turns around and Steve realizes he recognizes this girl — Mindy or Mandy or maybe Monica — from Mr. Kaminsky’s class way back when. She did all of his homework for him before and after letting him fuck her on her twin-sized bed in her all pink room.  That’s when Steve was conquering girls like they were Mount Everest, way before Nancy, when King was a title he wore with pride. 

But he’s still so stuck in his head with thoughts of you that he doesn’t even see Mindy-Mandy-Monica or the flirtatious wave she throws his way.

“You’re ten minutes late,” Keith scolds, with his dead tone and his deader eyes.

Steve only shrugs, uncaring if it came out of his paycheck because — “I just got a date with the hottest woman on the planet,” he boasts with a puffed out chest and too smug smile.

It doesn’t lessen Keith’s anger, just diverts it. Because he knows exactly who he’s talking about. And so does Robin, as she pops her head out from behind the man from where she sits at the computer. “No way,” they chorus in disbelief at his words.

Steve nods. “Yes way.”

“Eddie’s gonna kill you,” Robin remarks with the shake of her head. 

He knows she’s right. He just doesn’t care. 

Eddie’s always been protective of you. Everyone knows that. But the two of them were friends now — or somewhat good-natured acquaintances, at the very least. He would’ve been mad about a year or more ago, if King Steve had decided to suddenly woo his best friend. 

But it’s different now. He’s different now. Eddie knows how much everything’s changed, it’s just a question of if he’s willing to rehash old wounds.

It’s a good thing Steve knows how to take a punch.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Don't take my heart, don't break my heart.

Steve finds you again the next day less happy than he’s gotten used to.

The record store is dim and the red sign at the entrance has been flipped to closed, but the door is left unlocked — for him. The warm scent is a distinct contrast to the frigid spring night, a cozy high hemp and lavender, but your absence is noticeable and terribly heavy. 

Steve lingers in the doorway, his shadow looming like a giant before him from the moonlight streaming in from outside. 

He calls for you in the emptiness.

“Uh… Punchy?”

He’s relieved when you answer. The “back here!” you shout to him is muffled and far away. He follows the sound of your voice, filled suddenly with a childlike consolation. 

The yellow fairy lights dangling over his head guide him through the aisles of cassettes and closer to you. Through a cluttered backroom, Steve finds you standing just outside an opened door — left ajar, for him.

The smile you flash when you see him is as dim as the closed-down store. It lacks all the sunshine you usually look at him with, shades of stormy gray rather than the usual yellows. 

A look of concern flashes across his features — furrowed brows and inquisitive twinkling eyes — as you take a drag from the lit cigarette caught between your pointer and middle finger. You muster your best grin, but it flickers like a shoddy radio signal. 

“Punchy, huh?” you tease.

Steve’s brows pinch together as confusion floods his features. It takes him a moment to realize what he’d said and the nickname he’d used — and he doesn’t want to be dramatic or anything, but he kinda wants to die. It’s embarrassing, he thinks, to hold on to an old high school monicker. And, fuck, if you hate it half as bad as he hates being called king, he deserves a slap to the face right about now.

You laugh instead of ball your first. He’s able to smile meekly in relief. “Oh. Shit. Sorry, I… I don’t think I even realized it came out.”

“No, it’s okay,” you assure when you see him getting all apologetic. “Eddie still calls me that all the time, so… Old habits die hard, I guess.”

Steve tries to move on, but it’s hard to when you’re so obviously gloomy. He hates how reserved you’ve gone in your quiet, not talking up a storm like you had been the last time he saw you. Now you’re just… a storm. It’s a little like sitting next to a rumbling rain cloud.

The rumbling rain cloud beside him takes a drag of her cigarette.

“You okay?” he asks and sounds like he really cares.

You didn’t think King Steve was capable of caring about anything other than his hair, but he looks down at you like he can feel every blue bolt of your doom and gloom. He makes you feel seen in the void of your sadness despite all the years you spent being invisible to him.

“Uh, yeah. It’s just the tapes. They didn’t come in,” you answer with a shrug. Smokes leaves your mouth and lingers in white clouds in the air. “So I’m a little bummed.”

“Oh…” is all Steve says and his pink mouth forms a too pretty ‘o’ shape that you can’t draw your gaze from.

The following silence makes you momentarily cautious. Insecurity runs cold over you because no sane person gets this about upset over a broken promise of a couple cassettes. It’s stupid, you know it is, but you were really looking forward to them. It’s like promising a kid the most metal present ever and then snatching it out of their bare hands.

Now, over the course of a couple hours, you’ve managed to convince yourself you won’t remember happiness until you get those stupid tapes.

“Sorry,” you apologize to him for a reason he can’t place. You shift your weight on your feet and peer at him from beneath your lashes. “I know you were looking forward to them, too.”

You extend your hand and offer him the cigarette between your fingers like it’s an olive branch. He takes it from you with a distant smile, then opts to laze against the brick wall like you are. He stays a respectful distance on the other side of the entryway. 

“It’s okay. They’ll come. If I’m being honest, you know, I was kinda more excited to see you.”

His admission is brazen and a tad bit brash, even for a certified ex-douchebag. It lacks all of the usual honey-coated flirtation that usually tints his tone when he’s talking to a pretty girl. Because he wasn’t trying to make you swoon — though he certainly wouldn’t have minded if you had. This wasn’t some romantic advance, just a proclamation of his own personal truth.

A flash of shock contorts your features. “Really?”

“Of course,” he answers, breathing out a laugh that exits along with the smoke in his lungs. “I love talking to you. You’re… You’re cool, you know? S— Super cool.”

His face screws up at his stuttering, and he shakes his head at how the words sound leaving his mouth. His cheeks glow cherry red beneath an orange street lamp. 

“Super cool, huh?” you repeat with a giggle that’s bright enough to illuminate the velvet night. “I don’t think anyone’s ever called me that before.”

Steve scoffs when he passes the cigarette back to you. Because, lately, that’s all he’s been hearing about you. From Eddie, from Robin, from Dustin — every good thing a person could say about someone else, they all say about you. 

He’s starting to understand why.

Because you’re sweet. Like, pure sugar poured on the tip of his tongue kind of sweet. You’re bright like sunshine and soft like summer rain. You’re a shot of pure espresso for a boy who thought his life was at a dead end. He’s not entirely sure how he ever could’ve thought you were some deep, dark, devil-worshipping freak.

“I don’t believe that,” he dismisses with the shake of his head.

You breathe out a sharp exhale and a puff of nicotine-coated smoke. “I’ve been the town pariah since I was eleven, Steve. Everyone thinks I’m some kinda delinquent who’s in a cult because I play a dumb board game. So, no. No one’s ever thought I was cool before.”

“Still?” Steve wonders with a twisted face. “You graduated, like, a year ago. Are... Are people really still on your ass about that?”

“A little,” you answer with a shrug, trying your best not to look as affected by it all as you feel.

Steve feels his chest swell with the fiery urge to protect you. The same one he gets when Dustin tells him about the assholes at school that are bothering him. He wants to defend you from the same sort of assholes that he used to be. The impulse is borderline primal, rooted somewhere deep and far within himself, because god knows he’s got a terrible track record when it comes to winning fights.

“Shit, Punchy… I’m— I’m sorry.”

You sputter out a laugh at the apology, louder when you realize he’s using the nickname again.

He can’t relate to any of this. The trials and tribulations of being persona non grata everywhere you went were certainly lost on him. Steve might’ve lost his touch somewhere down the road, but he’ll always be crown royalty — the kind of guy you think fondly of when your wonderyears are long gone. But you? You’re lucky if people don’t cross to the other side of the street when they spot you coming.

Perhaps that’s why his words warm you so much. Because, despite all that, he’s trying to make you feel better anyway.

You give him a tender smile and a dwindling cigarette. 

“It’s okay. I mean, it’s whatever, you know? I think it’s because I still hang out with Eddie all the time. Like, people see us and remember what fucking freaks we used to be,” you say with a laugh, then start to ramble without thinking. “We saw Tommy Hagan at Melvald’s the other day, and he looked at us like we caused him severe PTSD or something, like, he looked terrified. I honestly felt a little bad.”

Steve smiles, wide-eyed, equal parts intrigued and unsettled by the reminiscent glimmer in your eye and the daunting giggle that spills from your lips.

“But I wouldn’t leave Eddie, you know?” you blurt, suddenly serious, like you’ve taken offense at the very thought. “Not even if it meant people stopped being so mean. ‘Cause I love him and everything… Even though he’s a pain in the ass.”

“Oh, he’s a total pain in the ass,” Steve agrees and flicks the butt of the cig between his fingers. “He loves you too, though. I can tell. The asshole never shuts up about you.”

“He talks about me?” you ask, voice fragile and pitched higher than normal.

Steve doesn’t like the way you say it. He hates how you look at him even more, with a scrunched up face and eyes that flicker with embers of shock. Like you don’t believe it, like you think yourself unworthy of it.

“You’re all he talks about,” the boy assures, feeling so suddenly brave and wanting to make you feel brave too. He hands the cigarette back to you. “I don’t blame him. If I were him, I’d never shut up about you either.”

The contorted look of confusion on your face untwists itself, and your features fall flat with disbelief. A smile pulls slow at your mouth. Your eyes glitter an orange gold beneath the streetlight. They flit over to the boy beside you just long enough to take the stick from him.

“Steve Harrington…” you lilt, almost scoldingly so.

It makes him smile. “What?”

“Stop flirting with me.”

“Well, that’s very presumptuous of you,” he retorts playfully. “Who’s to say I was flirting?”

“So you weren’t then?”

“Maybe a little,” he shrugs with a knowing, practiced smirk. “Can you blame me?”

You don’t seem impressed by his not-so-subtle attempt at flirting, and he isn’t at all used to that. The bravado and the puppy dog eyes are his one-two punch — any other time, he’d have a phone number tucked safely in his pocket by now. But you’re not biting.

“I’m so not your type,” you dismiss with the shake of your head.

“Yeah?” he challenges, shoving himself off the brick wall with his shoulder and making the short trek over to you. He plants himself next to you, leans with one sneaker crossed over the other, and smiles with a playful twinkle in his eye. “And what’s my type?”

“Nancy Wheeler,” you answer without missing a beat. “Pretty girls.”

“Well, I think you’re very pretty—”

“Not like her,” you interject with a foreign firmness that Steve hasn’t seen from you until now. You’re still smiling at him, though, still kind but looking like you don’t believe him. Like you think this must be some kind of sick joke that he’s taking too far.

You can entertain Steve. You like Steve. Mostly because he’s totally different from the douchebag you remember him being — the douchebag you were expecting him to be. 

You find that he’s terribly clumsy and not overtly good with words. He says dumb jokes that don’t come out right and smiles in relief when they make you laugh anyway. He’s soft like peach fuzz or a fluffy cloud, mushy like warm chocolatey gooey goodness, and not at all like you remember him.

But then he does this. He morphs into something else, changes shape right in front of you. He smiles at you with little of his dumbassery behind it — all smirks and faux longing gazes with the intent of making you swoon at his feet. He grins down at you and all you see is the teenage boy who would’ve never looked at you that way four years ago. Hell, not even one. 

It reminds you of who he is, who he used to be, and who you are now. 

You haven’t changed so much since high school. You’ve matured a little, sure, but there was never an asshole exterior that you felt the need to outgrow. You’re still loud at times, unaware and ignorant of the world around you. You still play lightsabers outside Eddie’s trailer in between lengthy Dungeons and Dragons campaigns. You still pretend like the lingering glares from all the people you used to know don’t bother you. 

They do, though. They always have.

You look at Steve and you see this butterfly — someone made of rainbow colors and mostly mature. He’s growing, and you’re stuck in the same cocoon you’ve been wrapped in since freshman year, still fumbling around and trying to figure out where you fit.

He’ll always be the pretty butterfly he always was, with his pretty little iridescent wings that catch the light and all the attention. He’ll feed off the applause he gets while you’re sitting on the sidelines. The girl who’s destined to stay bundled in her cocoon forever only hears all of his praise — never watches, never receives.

“You and I are completely different people, Steve Harrington,” you declare with a grin that tells him you’ve already made up your mind.

The boy doesn’t get it, though, why you seem so upset by the idea. Him and Robin were completely different people. Him and Dustin were, too. The two people he adored — tolerated — most in the entire world weren’t a single thing like him, and it was better that way.

You don’t seem to share a similar philosophy, though. You take a drag from your mostly gone cigarette and mourn what could have been; if only he had been the town freak or you had been born the pretty girl next door.

“That doesn’t have to be such a bad thing—”

He’s abruptly cut off by the sound of muffled rock music and the bright yellow headlights of Eddie Munson’s van. The two of you shield your eyes when he whips into the desolate parking lot and parks in front of you. The sudden intrusion feels like being blinding like the sun after you’ve found such comfort within each other in the dead of night.

The stifled Def Leppard song — or maybe Poison, Steve can never quite tell the difference — is brought to a sharp halt when the engine shuts off. The headlights dim. The metallic slam of the driver’s side door sounds so much louder in the darkness.

Eddie rounds the front of his van and eyes the two of you rather suspiciously. The boy inhales deeply, puffing out his chest and splaying his hands on his hips. “…What’s going on here?” he squints at you.

You give him a terribly manufactured sunshine smile and bat your lashes his way, like you’re pretending to be un-innocent. “Nothing…” you sing-song.

Eddie rolls his eyes at you, then turns his attention to Steve. They’re not really strangers anymore, but he still feels the need to treat him like an outsider anyway.

“Harrington,” he says in the place of any real greeting. “Don’t you have other shit to do? Like, I don’t know, a shift as the mannequin at the GAP or something?”

Steve can’t find it in himself to get self-conscious about his fitted-sweatshirt, khaki-slack combo when the insult comes from a guy in a decade-old leather jacket, unwashed t-shirt, and ripped jeans.

“Very funny,” the brunette monotones. 

“I’ll see you around, yeah?” you ask when you turn and walk backwards towards Eddie, like there’s a gravitational pull dragging you to him.

You say it to be polite mostly, but you’re hoping for an affirmative — a promise that you’ll have another night like this one, where he sees you just to be seeing you. Hell, you’ll even take a nod if that’s all he’ll give you. And when he does, he gives you a tiny smile that almost makes you trip over yourself.

Fuck, you think to yourself, like your brain is talking to your heart. We just agreed not to do that.

Before you get in the van, you walk by Eddie and bring your cigarette up to his mouth. You coax the stick between his lips with your pointer and middle finger, opting to let him take the last couple of hits because he never turns down a free smoke.

The passenger door shuts once you’re tucked into the seat of it. The sound it makes punctuates your absence. Steve feels all of its emptiness.

He eyes Eddie from the distance, immediately noticing the darkened skepticism dancing in his dark eyes. 

The boy’s always felt the need to protect you. When the entire town got spooked about stories of some satanic panic and started treating you like monsters, he wanted to shield you from the boogeyman everyone turned into. 

Steve wasn’t one of them, the bad men. But Eddie loves you and it’s made him doubtful.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Steve feels the need to say, as though he’d been caught with his pants down and not just sharing an innocent cigarette with a friend.

Eddie takes the final few puffs of it and exhales rather dramatically, lips pursing to blow it in his direction though it’s too far away to hit him. The boy throws the filter to the concrete and extinguishes the ashes with the toe of his dirty sneakers. 

He waits until the white smoke has fully dissipated to speak.

“Damn right, it isn’t.”

That’s all he says. He doesn’t even look at Steve when he says it, or when he rounds the van and hops into the driver’s seat next to you. Steve squints when the too bright headlights come alive again in time with the roaring engine and dated rock music. His tires screech when he speeds out of the back parking lot. 

The tin can he drives nearly tips over when he turns too sharply onto Main Street.

Steve doesn’t get a chance to get a good look at you before you’re gone completely. It makes him all boyishly upset, knowing the hours without you will be most agonizing, but the empty feeling is eclipsed by the warm relief of not getting clock cleaned by Eddie Munson.

Damn right, it isn’t. Four words. That’s all he gets. But they’re daunting and coated with a lingering foreboding that feels almost like a threat.

So, by all accounts, Steve probably should’ve known there was no way Munson was ever going to back down that easily.

Eddie comes back the next day, a thundering storm cloud of the boy he usually is, head wild with curly hair and a million thoughts. 

The door dings far too gently for such an aggressive arrival. Metal bangs against metal as the handle collides with the window pane. He stomps to the counter in several quick strides, dark eyes darting around the half-empty store — obviously searching for something.

Robin, manning the front counter, is entirely unable to be threatened by him. The all black, chunky metal rings, and crazy hair stopped being so intimidating when she found out you called him Eddie Spaghetti. Now, it’s all she can think about when she sees him. 

Even as he stands ahead of her, obviously upset, all she sees is a very cartoonishly angry Eddie Spaghetti, and it takes everything in her not to laugh.

“Where’s Steve?” the boy finally wonders when he realizes the boy’s not in the front.

“Uh, he’s in the back, I think. Why?”

Eddie doesn’t humor her with an answer. He just storms past the counter and makes a b-line for the break room.

Robin watches him over her shoulder. “You’re not supposed to go back there!” she half-heartedly shouts, but makes no further effort to stop him from doing so.

He finds Steve working beneath the dim yellow light of the back room. There’s a warmed-up container of leftovers on the small round table on one side of the room and a stack of unorganized tapes on the counter on the other. Steve multitasks between both and hums something summery under his breath — The Beach Boys, maybe.

He’s too distracted to notice Eddie’s abrupt appearance. It’s the subtle click of the shut door that gets his attention.

Steve’s confused at first. His head snaps over his shoulder like a ghost must’ve closed the door on him. He realizes that it’s just Eddie, and he’s so innocently relieved that it’s almost humorous, then confused all over again. His brows pinch together and through the chicken tender jutting out his check, he mumbles: “You’re not supposed to be back here—”

“Yeah, I got that part,” Eddie interrupts in a monotone.

He swallows. It’s as thick as the tension that settles between the two of them, made heavier by the lengthy silence. He crosses his arms over his chest, stands up a little straighter, and bares his neck when he lifts his chin. “I want you to leave her alone.”

Steve scoffs and chews through his mouthful. “Leave who alone?”

“You know exactly who I’m talking about,” Eddie squints with an unusual sort of seriousness. “I don’t want you messing around with her anymore, man. I’m, fucking— I’m so fucking serious right now.”

The clarification makes Steve laugh. He shakes his head and goes back to piling the myriad of tapes into organized stacks on the counter. “We were just talking, Eddie. I don’t need the lecture, okay?”

“We both know it’s never just talking with you.”

“What? Are you in love with her or something?” he retorts, trying to make a joke of it.

Eddie, for the first time in his life, isn’t amused. “Oh, god, get over yourself, dude. I know what kinda guy you are, alright? I’m not gonna let you hurt her.”

His words hit Steve like a pot of boiling water. It prickles his skin, leaving blisters and burning red blotches in its wake. He’s all but on fire with his anger, less offended by the accusation than by the person it comes from.

Steve and Eddie aren’t friends by any means. They’re just two guys with shared custody of a bunch of teenagers, bonded in their want to keep them all safe. But through their lighthearted animosity, is a sort of understanding: neither of them are the assholes the entire town claims them to be. Eddie isn’t apart of some satanic cult. Steve isn’t a douchebag that uses women as accessories. And that’s just a silent agreement they’ve both come to on their own terms. 

But now here they are, talking like it’s 1984 all over again and they’re strangers who hate each other’s guts.

“No. I’m not gonna hurt her. Because we’re just friends, Eddie.”

The boy just shakes his head. He scrunches his nose like he’s wincing, then laughs — a big, dramatic laugh that fills the tiny break room. He begins to pace, waving an accusatory ringed finger Steve’s way. “No, see… That’s the thing. I don’t think King Steve is capable of being ‘just friends’ with a pretty girl.”

Steve rolls his eyes with a heavy huff. He comes to the conclusion that Eddie’s just projecting and that there’s no use in arguing his case. He shoves a black VHS tape into its designated sleeve and slots it in with the rest of them, muttering under his breath, “I’m not King Steve anymore…”

“What?”

“I said, I’m not King Steve anymore!” he yells, a bit louder than he intended to.

He drives a tape onto the pile with an unexpected aggression. It hits the wall with a resounding thud. His arms flail wildly at his sides when he turns to face Eddie again. “God, you guys act like people can’t change! I’m not the asshole I used to be, alright? Jeez…”

Eddie exhales sharply through his nose in the place of any real reply. Deep down, he knows all that. He knows it’s all true because he would’ve never befriended him otherwise. Steve Harrington — the king, the rich kid, the douchebag — turned out to be a pretty damn good guy. 

And maybe if Eddie didn’t love you so much, he’d be able to wrap his head around all that.

But does. So he can’t.

He saw you two together the night before, sharing a cigarette behind The Groove — albeit a little too close for his liking — and suddenly, it was junior year all over again.

You’re stressed out about the ACT and college acceptance rates, none of your clothes quite fit you, and you’re trying out bold things with your makeup that don’t quite fit you either. You grin wildly up at Eddie through the vibrant lipstick smeared on your lips, laughing at his half-hearted attempt to cheer you up. 

And Steve is a senior, standing on the other side of the hallway — with his pretty clothes and prettier hair — and he lets all of his friends laugh at you. They make fun of your un-styled hair and the way your shirt makes your boobs look, and Steve doesn’t find any of it particularly funny but he lets them mock you anyway.

Eddie sees you together and forgets about the man Steve is now. All he sees is a boy who never stuck up for you, for either of you, who let his best friends make your lives hell because his reputation mattered more.

And it wasn’t like it was his job to defend you, because it wasn’t. Not really. It’s just that you would’ve done it for him, if the roles were reversed. Eddie, too. Neither of you would’ve let a lamb be led to the slaughter quite like that. It was the Hellfire motto, after all — to protect the little sheep from the creeping wolves.

That’s where the difference lies. It’s where the mistrust settles deep and where the root of all of Eddie’s worries lingers.

But Steve has done more to prove himself than Eddie likes to give him credit for. 

He takes care of a bunch of kids like it’s his job. He runs Robin to and from school most days out of the week, on time each morning — which, for a guy who showed up late every day for four years, was definitely saying something. He even comes to Eddie’s shows when he’s not too busy working the graveyard shift, never minding that he sticks out in his collared shirt and slacks — a pretty boy amidst a crowd of freaks.

Fuck. Steve Harrington was a pretty alright dude.

But you’re better than alright. You’re better than good. Better than perfect. 

If you got your heart broken, Eddie thinks he’d feel all of it times a thousand.

Steve’s been through his own kind of heartbreak, though. He’s slapped a bandaid over his own bleeding heart, and it’s made him soft. The good kind of soft — the kind where he sees a bug on its back and has to flip it over because it hurts too much to let it suffer. Eddie knows he’ll be that kind to you. Kinder, even.

“Yeah, you better hope so, Harrington,” the boy concludes with a slow nod of his wild head. He steals a chicken tender from the styrofoam box it sits in, like it’s some kind of power move, and waves it at him like a condemnatory point. “I hear you do anything — anything — to her… And your ass is grass.”

Eddie takes a hearty bite from the strip, then tosses it back into the container again. He spins on the ragged heel of his sneaker and stalks out of the break room, punctuating his absence with the slam of the door. The ancient thing gets lodged and doesn’t quite shut all the way, so he has to double back and shut it fully.

Steve is left dumbfounded, in more ways than one.

“…He just ate my chicken,” he mumbles to himself with a frown settled deep between his brows. But there’s a lingering tension in Eddie’s storming out — a tangible fog within his words that settles something heavy in the Family Video breakroom that doubles as storage. 

It feels almost like a blessing.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Won't escape my attention...

The more time you spend with Steve, the more confident you get. 

You visit him at work more often, caring less and less about bothering anybody when you realize they all wanted you there. You let yourself ramble in front of him, too, not stopping yourself nearly as often as you used to. Steve guesses you started to believe him somewhere around the millionth time he promised he liked hearing you talk.

You turn to glitter in his presence, becoming more unapologetically yourself and glowing with it — with all the things that used to make you insecure, things that King Steve would’ve made fun of you for some time ago. Everything you were scared made you too different, is why he liked you in the first place.

And Steve gets to watch it all play out right before his eyes. You inch slowly out of the protective shell you’ve built around yourself and bloom like springtime flowers. He’s grateful he gets to witness it, even more that you feel comfortable enough to do it all in front of him.

You’re hardly as timid as you usually are when you saunter into Family Video. Rather than tiptoeing in and apologizing for intruding, you burst through the front door with a beam and a high-pitched squeal. You’re as bright as every star in the galaxy combined; even dressed head-to-toe in black, you’re more blinding than the sun. 

Eddie’s leather jacket, either stolen or unenthusiastically lent from the boy himself, swallows your upper half. You wear a piece of Metallica merchandise beneath it. The thing is cut up to your ribcage. The jagged edges in the fabric, likely from a dull pair of kitchen scissors, tells him the chop was intentional.

A leather skirt clings effortlessly onto you, revealing the pudge of your stomach and the curves of your hips. The thing is donned with two spiked belts and several chains hanging loosely at your waist.

Steve is dozing at the counter with his chin propped on his first when you walk in. He’s half-asleep until he sees you. The shot of espresso that walks in makes him instantly forget how tired he is.

“Guess what?” you ask with wide, sparkling eyes as you skip to the counter with your hands behind your back.

Steve always hated that question. Usually, it came from Dustin or Robin — or, god forbid, both of them — followed by a “No, seriously. Guess.” It left him with no choice but to humor them until they ultimately caved and told him something he couldn’t have guessed in a million years.

He isn’t so annoyed now, though. In fact, he smiles. “What?” he replies.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, as though in a futile attempt to conceal the wide grin on your face, and take your hands from behind your back. You flash him the cassette tape you hold in the palm of them, a blue and yellow thing with the angled Def Leppard logo printed on the cover.

“No way!” Steve finds himself exclaiming like he’s the number one fan of the rock and roll band. He isn’t; never has been, really. But he is a fan of you. All of his excitement, all of his bright and shining smiles — they’re all for you.

“They came in last night— when I was off, of course— and I opened this morning and there was a whole damn tower of these tapes! I’m the one who does the tape towers, okay? Plus, I’ve been doggin’ my manager for weeks about the things, so I can’t believe they came in and no one told me, you know?”

Steve gets lost in your rambling right along with you, nodding because he never wants you to stop talking. His twinkling gaze follows you back and forth as you pace in front of the counter. You gesticulate wildly with your hands, nearly elbowing a customer when they get too close to the line of fire.

“And she was all like ‘I can’t control when they come in,’ And I was like ‘well, you can’t control when I come in either, I’ll be taking a long lunch now, thank you’—” you recount, albeit at a slightly louder volume that shocks anyone who doesn’t know you. People shoot you lingering side eyes from over the aisles.

Steve doesn’t care. He’s even happier that you don’t seem to either. You feel comfortable enough with him now to stop caring about the rest. When you stop yourself, you do it because you’ve said everything you need to say, not because you feel like you’ve annoyed him in some way. 

“Anyway,” you conclude with a sigh. “I wanted to run it to you personally because, besides Eddie, you’re the only person I know who cares as much as I do.”

You smile sweetly at him, peering at him through your lashes, so suddenly timid — no longer the boisterous girl lighting up the whole room. Steve notices that you do that a lot, go from loud and sunny to shy and glimmering. Eddie does it too, sometimes, but it’s not nearly as cute.

“My wallet’s in my locker,” he tells you when you hand him the tape. He cocks his thumb over his shoulder with his free hand. “Let me go grab it. I’ll be, like, two seconds—”

You reach over the counter and take him by the arm, wrapping chipped maroon nails around the crook of his elbow to keep him from straying too far. Shock coats his features at the suddenness of your touch and the way it makes him buzz.

You scoff. “Are you serious? I’m not gonna make you pay, you weirdo.”

“No?”

“Of course not! It’s a gift.”

“Well, gee, Punchy. Considered me flattered,” he concedes with a faltering smile.

You laugh at his half-hearted attempt to be charming.

He rests his crossed arms on the counter and leans over the top of it in an effort to be the slightest bit closer to you. He gazes up at you with honey eyes and raised brows and a big, dumb smile. “And, you know, flattery... it goes a long way with me.”

You arch an un-manicured brow at him. “Does it, now?”

“Yep. So much so, I’m willing to break a few rules and let you pick out a couple of movies. On the house.”

It’s dumb and it’s sweet and so terribly innocent. He wants to give you so much than that but he’s got about eighteen dollars to his name, so all he can do is offer you a few measly VHS tapes. It has you beaming like he just offered you the world.

“Steve Harrington,” you scold playfully. “I didn’t know you were so naughty.”

He falters. His resolve slips and, for no more than half a second, his brain forgets how to work. 

He’s not quite sure how you manage to do that to him all the damn time. You make his brain shortcircuit and his belly quiver and his vision swim. He’s known you for a while now, long enough that the lovesickness should’ve well worn off.

Steve’s worried that there’s no cure for you, that he’s in it for the long haul now — upset stomachs, heart palpitations, and all.

“Well, I’m full of surprises,” he shrugs and sways on his feet. “What’s your poison, Punchy? Molly Ringwald? Robert Downey Jr.? The John Hughes type?”

You can tell he’s joking. You squint over at him and rest your elbows on the counter top your face-to-face. 

The wintergreen mint on his breath makes your head swim. 

Your rouge-tined lips are so close he can taste them — he wants to, desperately so. 

You don’t miss the way his gaze flits to your mouth, lingering there for no longer than a blink.

“Try Night of the Living Dead,” you challenge. 

“That is so dreadfully on brand for you,” he manages to reply without much stuttering. He’s surprised he’s able to get any words out at all, with the way his heart feels like it’s about to beat out of his chest.

“I’m nothing if not predictable.”

Steve doesn’t respond as he leaves the counter to get what you asked for. Silence is easier than saying that you’re the most surprising thing he’s ever met in his life.

When he returns, he brings the entire film franchise with him. All three movies are stacked in his arms and he scans the backs of them, hoping Keith won’t notice that they’re being rented free of charge.

“Have you ever seen them?” you wonder.

He shakes his head. “No. I saw one of them at a drive-in a long time ago, but I wasn’t exactly paying attention, if you know what I mean—” he answers with a soft laugh, quick to cut himself off. It was supposed to be a dumb joke, but both of you know what he was insinuating and it makes everything awkward. 

Robin would’ve slapped him on the back of the head if she were around to hear it. 

He would’ve deserved it.

“Well, you missed out,” you scold, not quite meeting his gaze. “They’re actually pretty good.”

“I’ll try and watch ‘em sometime then.”

“Tonight?” you offer suddenly.

Steve furrows his brows. “…Huh?”

“I mean, like— I don’t know… I thought maybe we could watch them tonight,” you stammer with your eyes turned down toward the counter, where you draw invisible patterns onto the granite with the tip of your finger. “Like, together… if you want.”

Steve is momentarily speechless. He’s spent weeks plotting how he was going to ask you out. It would come to him in waves. He’d feel like he’d concocted the most perfect, foolproof plan right before realizing there was no way in hell he could ever go through with it — all in the same fleeting thought. 

But here you are, biting the bullet for the both of you. 

He’s grateful. He thinks he’s dreaming.

“That sounds…” Steve trails off with the mindless nod of his head. “Yeah. No. Totally. That sounds… really cool.”

A wide smile pulls at the edges of your lips. You purse your mouth to the side in attempts to conceal it. “Cool,” you murmur all cool-ly, like his affirmation isn’t heaven to your ears.

“Uh, not to sound like a total douchebag or whatever, but my dad— he’s got this theater room and everything, and my parents are almost never home,” Steve rambles as he puts all three movies into a paper bag. Then his eyes go wide and his face glows cherry red. “Not like that! I didn’t mean it like— That sounded really weird… I’m sorry—”

You giggle at him, at the way he can pretend to be so suave, and then reveal all the marshmallow fluff he tries to keep hidden a moment later. “It’s okay, Steve. I got what you meant.”

He writes his address on a yellow sticky note with the Family Video logo printed in green at the very top. His handwriting is boyish and sloppy, the sign of a boy who never did care much about school. Some letters are connected, others far apart; some written too big, while others are too small. You find it endearing, but Steve knows it’s just because his hand was shaking something fierce.

He leaves his number written at the very bottom. Just for good measure.

“No funny business, alright, Harrington?” you joke, waving a ringed finger at him as you walk backward out of the store, heading back to your own job.

Steve bites back a smile. Once upon a time, he was all funny business. No girl was ever going to invite King Steve over and not expect some heavy petting. And he wants so badly to kiss you — fuck, he wants to kiss you all the time — but the want to spend innocent time with you eclipses all of those boyish feelings.

He yearns to be close to you. Like magnets. Or a moon and the ocean’s tide.

“No funny business,” he promises.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

You keep your distance with a system of touch.

It isn’t until you arrive at the front gates of the Harrington home you realize you’ve never been in the suburbs of Hawkins before.

You grew up on the very outskirts of town, where there were more trees than people or houses. The block was half rundown already and horribly secluded. The only interesting thing about it was the winding trail through the woods that led to the anterior of Forest Hills trailer park.

That’s where you spent the bulk of your time, practically living with Eddie and Wayne in their one-bedroom trailer, until you felt guilty enough to go back home for a day or two. Your parents would inevitably remind you why you ran off in the first place, and then the cycle would start all over again.

It was all just far enough away from Hawkins that you could pretend like the town’s bullshit didn’t exist. The freak from the wrong side of the tracks didn’t belong on Maple Street or Fairview Road or Laurel Avenue. That was for people who could afford new shoes every school year, who could go clothes shopping and not feel guilty about cutting into their food money, who were set up with trust funds before they were even born.

But here you are now, on Fairview Road, seven o’clock sharp, and standing in front of the biggest house you’d ever seen. 

You ring the doorbell and flinch when it’s louder than expected. The chime is light and jaunty. You wonder if it’s been programmed for the change in season.

Steve answers no more than a couple seconds later. He swings both French doors open, arms spreading wide like the smile on his face.

He’s traded in his slacks for comfier jeans and his vest for a form-fitting sweatshirt he’s bunched at the elbows. You realize, then, that you’ve never seen him without the forest green Family Video jacket. It makes him look naked, almost, like a totally different person — no longer the dork who works a measly nine-to-five with his best friend and visits the freak next door on the off chance his manager won’t dock his pay for it.

The vest had humbled him to a certain extent. Now he just looks cool. Like the boy people would either praise or avoid like the plague, for fear of getting in King Steve’s path — just a little bit more mature looking now, with his chiseled jaw and scruffy chin.

It makes you feel a little stupid from where you stand on the porch ahead of him, wearing the same thing he’d seen you in earlier that day. He’s got no idea you spent the past couple of hours agonizing over what to wear. For the sake of not seeming crazy overzealous, you opted not to dress up. Now you’re scared he thinks you just didn’t care enough to.

But you do care. So goddamn much that’s it scary. 

You never had to worry about what you wore or what you looked like before you left the house, about what you had too much of and what you lacked. Now, it’s all you can think about.

If Steve notices anything at all, he doesn’t show it. He just keeps on smiling at you, too happy to see you to care about what you’re wearing. He’s just glad that you showed up.

Truth be told, he had a six-pack and Robin’s number on speed dial on the off chance you canceled on him. He was preparing himself to wallow in self-pity and spend the rest of the night ranting to his best friend about the bleeding heart he had for you. Because, as far as he was concerned, you were far too good to be true. 

You were beautiful and funny and kind and perfect. You treat him like you’ve known him for years, like he didn’t spend so many of them avoiding you in attempts to keep some measly title that didn’t mean shit. You were too perfect. Sometimes, Steve gets scared that he just made you up.

But whether you’re a dream come true or the real thing, you’re standing on his front porch anyway, with a smile and a bottle of grocery store wine. 

He saves the beer in his fridge and the wallowing for another day. 

Steve escorts you through his lavish living room and to the downstairs area that’s got a movie screen hanging on the walls and a couple of leather couches sitting in front of it. The coffee table in front of them holds a myriad of glass bowls — popcorn, various candies, and more popcorn.

“You planning on throwin’ a party down here, Harrington?” you tease with a soft chuckle, trying to conceal how your heart’s about to burst at the mere sight of it all.

“Well, I just— I didn’t know what you liked, and I didn’t— I wanted to make sure you had something to eat, you know,” the boy stammers out. He brings the palm of his hand to rub at the back of his neck. “So I just… I got… everything.”

“It’s a good thing a like everything then, huh?” you smile at him as you pluck a Red Vine from its dedicated bowl. You rip off an inch or two with your teeth and then talk as you chew: “I hope you’re prepared for all of this shit get eaten, Harrington. I can get quite ravenous.”

Steve nods to himself and tries not to smile too big. “Sounds entertaining… Maybe I’ll just watch you instead of the movie.”

It was supposed to be a joke. 

But then you settled down next to him on the couch, keeping a respectful distance but sharing the same fuzzy blanket, and he has to physically force himself to drag his gaze away from you. 

He was right about what he said before, you were far more entertaining than the black and white film projected ahead of him — grabbing handfuls of popcorn at a time and quoting the movie through the mouthful. 

It’s a tad bit barbaric, the faintest bit off-putting, and otherworldly levels of endearing. It leaves him virtually unable to take his eyes off of you. 

He didn’t think you could get more beautiful, but you keep on proving him wrong. 

He’s starting to realize he doesn’t know shit.

You’re slowly coming to the same understanding.

You’ve heard stories about Steve. Usually from gossiping cheerleaders standing in circles at their lockers or whispering in the back of a classroom. Doomed as the freak and all but banished from the inner society of Hawkins High, you became an observer. You were so invisible that people sometimes didn’t realize they were talking right over you, sharing secrets they wouldn’t want someone else to get a hold of. 

But apparently you were the exception. Because you weren’t a someone to them.

They talked about how kind he was, how well endowed, how they were meant to go on some stupid date but missed their reservation because Steve got a little too handsy beforehand, and how they spent the rest of the night with their hands shoved down each other’s pants at Lover’s Lake. 

You were seeing, firsthand, how much he’d changed. How he made his promise of no funny business and how he was sticking to it — no teasing you about the whole thing with a knowing smirk and flirtatious honey eyes, no urging to close this distance between you, no tiny touches on your arm or thigh in the hopes of heavier petting.

He spends the entirety of the first movie perfectly respectful. Just like you’d asked him to be. 

And it was nice, knowing that you weren’t wasting your evening with some asshole who was only spending time with you in the hopes of you putting out later. But it leaves you the faintest bit empty. Hungry. You long for his touch like a missed meal. Starving and feeling it all.

It’s not even heavy petting you want, you just want to feel him next to you — to press yourself into his side and to warm yourself with him like a blanket. 

But you weren’t a pretty cheerleader or a girl dripping in expensive clothes and daddy’s money. You were the weirdo, the freak, the loudmouth nerd, Punchy — all names you wore proudly, like lit-up signs or steel armor. 

Until now. 

Now you think if you weren’t Punchy, if were you someone different, then maybe he’d want to touch you more.

The first hour and thirty-seven minutes of your favorite movie are strangely agonizing. 

Your hands itch with the desire to touch the boy next to you, and they busy themselves with the bowls of candy and savory junk food splayed out on the table in front of you. It’s mindless more than it is anything. You’re absentminded binging does nothing more than half-distract you from the thoughts raging rivers in your skull.

You don’t even realize you’re doing it until your hand falls into an empty bowl of popcorn and finds nothing but kernels at the bottom of it. 

It makes Steve laugh, thinking you were just too into the movie to notice — having no idea it was him taking up all your brain power. 

He leaves to fix more snacks for you while you slip the second VHS into the movie player. He returns with a bowl of freshly popped popcorn and two beers after the wine bottle has been sufficiently emptied. When he plops down next to you again, it’s in the same spot he’d been sitting in all night — a couple of excruciating inches away.

Under the guise of sharing the popcorn in his lap, you make the too bold decision to slither in at his side. It’s innocent at first — your thighs just barely graze and your elbows bump when you dip your hands into the bowl. And it’s still innocent some thirty minutes later, when you find yourself resting your head on his shoulder with your legs curled up behind you.

Steve tenses when he feels your temple pressed against him, but only for a moment before he relaxes again. It makes him all suddenly warm and self-aware of every movement he makes. He tries not to breathe too heavy or shift too often, for fear it might jostle you too much. He doesn’t want to stop feeling you against him like this, even if it’s got his skin prickling with a searing form of anxiety.

“Don’t tell me you’re falling asleep,” he jokes.

“Of course not. It’s way too riveting,” you scoff, even though he can feel you cuddling further into him. Your cheek rubs against the soft cotton of his sweatshirt when you look up at him. He turns his head to peer down at you and his nose nearly grazes your forehead. 

He finds you with a certain glint in your eye. It’s borderline playful, like it so often is, but coated with a sweetness that drips over him like honey. “You like it so far?” you wonder.

“Yeah,” the boy nods quickly. He couldn’t tell you what had happened the past two-and-a-half films, but he could tell you how your jaw tenses when you chew and how your smile curls just before you laugh out loud and how your eyes widen every time you quote the movie. “It’s really good. I like it.”

You beam at him before turning back to the projector again. You shift to get more comfortable against him. “Good.” 

By the third movie, you’re somehow even closer.

Truth be told, Day of the Dead wasn’t your favorite in the trilogy, so it left your mind wandering to far off places — namely, the pretty boy sitting beside you. He goes to put the tape into the projector, feeling immediately cold without pressing into his side, and when he returns he tries his best not to beg you to cuddle against him again.

“My shoulder’s gettin’ real cold over here,” he tries to joke. 

You see right through his beckoning, though. It makes you happy to know he wants it just as much as you do. 

“Just say you wanna be next to me, Harrington,” you tease like you aren’t happily obliging him. You snuggle into his shoulder and rest your head against him while your arms curl around his bicep.

“I wanna be next to you,” he repeats, a playful smile on his lips though his gaze softens with sincerity. “Is that so bad?”

You shake your head against him in reply. Suddenly as mushy as the boy beside you, you turn to look up at him. “Not unless it’s bad that I wanna be next to you, too…”

“Nah. It’s not bad,” he assures in something short of a whisper. “Guess I’m just glad I’m not the only one that’s so far gone.”

He doesn’t elaborate on what he means by that. He doesn’t have to.

Perhaps it’s the admission that this boy is so far gone for you that gives you a sudden burst of confidence. Maybe it’s the comforting feeling of being seen, of knowing you’re no longer alone in your similar far gone-ness. Each feels like rays of sunshine to your skin and has you pressing your lips to his wanting ones without much thought. 

The plump pink of his mouth are magnets for yours. They meet and lock together with little effort, almost destined to do it. It’s a soft, meager, and lingering little peck that sucks you both in a little too easily. It’s hard to pull away from him, but when you do, your lips click in protest.

Then there’s a look, then a deafening silence that says more words than either of you were capable of forming in that moment. His amber eyes dart between both of yours, asking a question without saying a goddamn thing. One that you answer with your own softening gaze. 

And it’s almost better than the kiss itself, the swirling feeling in the pits of your stomach, the knowing of what’s about to happen.

A silent plea and a blink later and his lips are on yours again. 

It’s an awkward mess of yearning mouths and tangled limbs as the both of you fight to find purchase on one another. Your fingers knot in the collar of his sweatshirt, pulling him impossibly closer, while his grip the bare skin of your waist from where your shirt had ridden up. His touch makes you buzz, like a static shock or a bolt of lightning.

Steve makes several observations when he feels you melt into him like honey on toast. He notices how you press yourself into him, like you won’t be satisfied until you’ve swallowed him whole, and how it has you kissing him like you’re scared he’ll pull away — like you’ll open your eyes and he won’t be real. 

You’re as domineering against his mouth as you are in real life, still as all-consuming and overpowering as the girl he’s gotten so familiar with.

He doesn’t realize how you’ve settled so intently on top of him until his back meets the pillowy cushion of the leather couch. You don’t either, until he exhales a sharp gasp against your cupid’s bow. Then you part from him, for the first time in several minutes, breathing in the oxygen your lungs had just begun to scream for. 

Steve finds you with kiss-bitten lips and glassy eyes that look upon him with a softness that he didn’t know existed until now. He smirks with his own swollen and pinker mouth like he isn’t glowing red beneath you. 

“I thought you said no funny business,” he manages to tease through bated breaths.

You don’t bother to make up excuses for yourself. You’re already on top of him, all over him — you’ve already kissed him like you would’ve died if you hadn’t. Now, you’re straddling him, caging him between your legs and under your torso. You’ve settled on top of him with a comforting weightiness, like you’re building a home in the familiarity you’ve sought in him.

“I lied,” you mutter with a lazy shrug. A sly smile pulls slowly at your lips until you’re all but beaming sunbeams down at him. He revels in your warmth. “’S not my fault you’re so damn cute.”

It’s easier to blame it on him for all the reasons you’re attached to him like a magnet to his metal, your moth to his flame. You part his lips with your mouth, rut your tongue against his own, reveling in the foreign familiarity of it all, and then blame him for the way you can’t seem to stop any of it.

Steve doesn’t seem to mind, though. The way his hands find purchase on your hips, petting the warmed skin there and sometimes squeezing to pull you further down onto him, tells you that he has a similar yearning to melt with you. He lets you kiss him all slow, allows you to taste all of him, and doesn’t rush you in your process. It’s comforting, tender. Free.

He’s not used to being on his back like this. Usually, he’s the one taking control. It’s his mouth that does all the work. So, it’s strange to be under you and to have you above him. But it’s more pleasant in an even stranger way not to be rushed — not to have to do all the work. His mouth opens so obediently for you and finds an effortless rhythm with your lips and your tongue. 

It’s the easiest thing he’s ever done in his life, kissing you. 

He delights in every ounce of the warmth and unfamiliarity you press to his mouth, and tries to shove down feelings of unworthiness that simmer in his chest while you do so.

You don’t part until your mouths are numb and tingling with it. 

Your lips are more vibrant in their color, aflame and swollen from being so ardently kissed and sucked and bitten. Neither of you mind making out like a couple of teenagers. It’s comforting to know that things won’t go further than a couple soft touches on burning skin. It was never supposed to be anything more than that, anyway. It was just about being close to each other.

You’ve almost succeeded in your effort to melt into the boy beneath you, when you hear the distant sound of a door opening and closing again. Muffled voices follow — unknown to you but obviously familiar to him. 

You part from him without thinking, like you’re a couple of kids again who’ll get in trouble if your parents ever found out what you were doing down here. Steve groans at the loss of you and in annoyance at the sound of his parents. His heavy eyes fall shut and his head leans back to the couch cushions as he fights to swallow down all of his anger.

His parents never really come around these days. They’ve got a bigger home in the city, closer to his dad’s work, and they choose to stay there most days of the week — month. 

They used to make excuses for why they left their only son behind. It’s five minutes from your dad’s firm. There’s more opportunity for your mom’s real estate business. Oh, don’t be so selfish, Steven, you’ll finally have the place to yourself. It’s a win-win for all of us.

Steve didn’t want their excuses. It was actually easier with them gone. 

But they come around every now and again, whenever it’s most convenient for them, and treat their arrival like something that needs to be celebrated. Like they aren’t supposed to be with their child in the fucking first place. And they somehow manage to pick the most inconvenient times for him, like they know he’s in a bind and want to see him struggle to get out of it.

Usually, it’s when he’s in between paychecks — when they want to take him out to some fancy dinner he could barely afford anyway, but especially when he’s hardly making it until payday. Now, it’s when he’s got the prettiest girl he’s ever seen on top of him, and he’s all hot and half-hard. Steve doesn’t want to let them ruin the moment, as good as they are at it.

“It’s okay. They won’t come in here,” he assures when he feels you tense at the unexpected company. “My mom will go to the bedroom and my dad will go to his office. We’re good, I promise.”

You figure he’s right. The voices grow more and more distant. Heeled shoes click up and up the stairs while heavy stomps head the opposite way. But you’ve already been so woefully knocked out of your stupor that you’re scared it’s too late.

Your lips are numb and the credits are rolling and you’re on top of this beautiful boy and you have no idea how you got there.

It’s almost frightening, the way Steve had consumed you mind, body, and soul by just existing next to you. You become dreadfully hyperaware of the whole thing — of who you are, who he is, and what you’re doing. You lose all your softness and turn to ice, hardening and shrinking back into yourself.

“I should—” you start before clearing your throat when the words come out heavier than expected. “I should head out anyway.”

“Oh,” is all Steve can say. “Right.”

You stare down at him, chest still pressed against his, nose nearly touching the tip of his own. “I just— I have to open tomorrow and everything, so—”

“No. Yeah. Yeah, I— I get it.”

You make tricky work of untangling yourselves.

His legs twist with yours when you both try to rise from the couch at the same time. Then your ring gets stuck in the fabric of his shirt, but not before his belt buckle gets somehow caught in yours. It’s like fate is protesting the imminent parting, but neither of you are paying attention to the signs.

He walks you to your car and chuckles under his breath as you scurry to the front door. 

You’re not-so-distantly terrified of running into his parents. They probably wouldn’t mind that he’s sneaking around with a girl, surely that they’re used to, but you’re almost certain they’re not used to girls like you. Girls with wild hair and leather skirts and chunky boots and too bold makeup. 

You’re not the girl next door. You’re the girl parents warn their sons about. “Leave that girl alone,” they say. “She’s nothing but trouble.”

You tell him all of this on the short trek to your half-broken-down car when you catch him laughing at you about the whole thing. You say it in jest, lighthearted and trying to make a joke of it. But there’s an underlying melancholia to your tone that reveals every truth you’re trying to evade.

“They don’t care enough about me to give a shit about a girl I’m with, I promise,” he confesses with a laugh that sounds more like a sad scoff than anything else. His chocolate eyes turn gold beneath the yellow street light. He smirks at you. “Besides, I don’t know if I told you this or not, but my middle name is actually trouble, so… I think we might be a match made in heaven.”

You roll your eyes at his attempts to flirt with you, though his lack of finesse makes you smile. “You’re an idiot, Steve Actually Trouble Harrington.”

“You really know how to say goodbye, don’t ya?” he grins when you reach the curb where your tin can car sits. 

“Yeah, I’m pro,” you shrug with a teasing glint in your eye, then you beam. “I’ll see you around, ‘kay?”

“Totally,” he nods, suddenly forlorn at having to leave you like he hadn’t just spent the past four hours with you.

Themetallic click of your car door opening sounds much louder in the emptiness of the suburbs. You glance at the boy right before you sink into the driver’s seat, feeling your heart swell with something short of yearning — anticipation. 

You weren’t actually a professional at saying goodbye, you find, because you’re realizing how hard it is to leave him.

“Steve!” he hears you shout from across the lawn when he’s halfway up the drive. 

He turns around, expecting to hear you tease him some more or tell him you were having car troubles. Neither would’ve shocked him. You’ve got a smart mouth and a shittier car. But you keep on surprising him, all but launching yourself into him before kissing him harder than he’s ever been kissed before.

Steve tenses against you at first, then relaxes again in record time. He sighs in the comfort of having your body pressed so intently into his and your arms wrapped around his neck to pull him somehow closer. 

You feel the breath of his exhale fan against your cupid’s bow. It makes you smile, and he feels the expression contort against his lips. His hands rise to the widest part of your hips without thinking. It’s all muscle memory now.

And even though he’s spent the better part of an hour kissing you, this one is so obviously different. This wasn’t just to pass the time. This was more than just to feel him — it was to tell him something. He hears every word you don’t say, but rather press like a stamp to his mouth.

He’s breathless when you pull away. You meet his flushed face with a mischievous grin.

“What was that for?” he wonders breathlessly, but doesn’t waver with his hold on you. He quickly notices that yours doesn’t either.

You shrug in response. “‘Cause you’re pretty.”

“Yeah, well…” he tries to play off like he’s not blushing like crazy. “You’re pretty too.”

Your beam ebbs into a teasing, tightlipped smirk. “Stop flirting with me, Steve Harrington.”

You shove him away with a rougher hand than you realize before you walk away from him. Steve rubs at the ache in his chest with the palm of his hand.

Your playful teasing and your lingering kiss is the only thing Steve has to remember you by when you turn on your chunky heeled boot and head off down the driveway again. He’s frozen, mesmerized by the sight of you and reeling at how you manage to drive him crazy without trying.

Your eyes find him again just before you duck into your car, and you see him still looking at you — mouth agape and eyes wide like you’re some kind of rare find. You figure you must be, in some way. Girls like you aren’t supposed to like guys like him. Vice Versa. Tale as old as time.

The boy stays locked in his stupor until the sprinkles whir on. The spurts of freezing cold water spray all over him and his pretty hair and expensive sweatshirt and his vintage jeans. “Shit!” you hear him swear as he rushes for cover on his front porch. 

He’s quickly soaked and freezing cold, but he smiles anyway when he hears the sound of your giggling behind him. It’s as animated as your personality and spills from your mouth like so many rays of sunshine, just a little too loud for the quiet midnight suburbs. 

It’s perfect, he realizes. You’re perfect. 

[jazzycurls]

You belong to me - part 5.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!Reader

Summary: It's a surprise 😉🤫

Warnings/Tags: 18+ minors dni! Cheating, angst, hurt & comfort, smut, stalking, and pregnancy (let me know if I missed something)

An: Sorry this took so long you guys, between work and a serious case of writer's block lol... this took way longer than expected. Love you guys, and thank you so much for the support, hope you enjoy ❤

Word Count: 7,613

The ceiling fan circles overhead, emitting a soft hum. Used to the sound by now, Eddie barely notices it as he stares at the cracks forming in his ceiling listlessly. With a heavy sigh, he turns over to check the clock, once again reading the time to be 12:50 in the morning.

You were supposed to have shown up two hours ago. Worry gnaws at him as he chews on his nails. He's called your house numerous times by now to no avail. Not wanting to seem clingy, he held back from racing over to your house after an hour had passed with no word from you.

His telephone rings and he jumps, bumping his knee against the end table. His astray falls to the floor dumping cigarette butts and ashes onto the ground. "Hello!" he yells into the phone.

"Hello to you too handsome," Steve says laughing on the other end.

"Ugh, it's just you. What do you want Harrington, I'm waiting on a call." Holding the phone in between his ear and shoulder, Eddie stoops down to pick up the fallen debris from his astray.

"I just wanted to check in with you. You know, since you've had a stick up your ass lately. I wanted to make sure you were okay," he says, feeling slightly offended at being rushed off the phone.

"I'm okay. Sorry for being an asshole lately. I've just been going through a lot and I took it out on you, sorry for that man." He dumps the ash butts in his hand into the nearby wastebasket, clapping his hands together to dust off the remaining pieces.

"It's okay, no harm no foul." The phone fell silent for a moment before Steve spoke again. "Sooo, who were you waiting to call?" Anyone who knew Steve knew that he could be nosy at times. It was in his nature to want to know everything going on around him, even if it had nothing to do with him.

"Y/n," Eddie replied easily. Unless it was something too personal, he usually didn't mind sharing. He and Steve complimented each other, whereas Steve liked to hear gossip, Eddie tended to overshare sometimes. Though they would never admit it, they often would call each other just to gossip like mother hens.

Steve let out a small hum. "She left work about two hours ago. You sure you didn't miss her call?"

"I'm sure, I've been glued to this spot waiting on her call all night!" Eddie's felt his stomach clench in fear, you should have called by now. Maybe he was jumping the gun but you didn't seem like the type to ghost him.

"Okay, okay, settle down. I'll call Robin and have her go over to her house, I think she lives close to her."

Eddie was already up, pulling on his shoes and jacket. "Fuck that, I can't wait any longer, I'm going to go check myself, thanks." He drops the phone onto his bed not bothering to put it on the receiver, racing out the door and jumping into his van.

It takes him less than 10 minutes to make it to your side of town. Gripping the tattered leather of his steering wheel, he pulls up to the curb in front of your home with a screech. Not bothering to cut the car off as he jumps out of the car, leaving it idling.

His nerves are shot, leaving a jittery feeling in its wake. The windows are dark as he pounds on the front door. After a few minutes pass, he walks around your house, peering into the windows.

He knows that if anyone saw him, they would call the cops with no hesitation. It's the one place he refuses to end up— well that and being stuck in this shit town. But at this moment that was the farthest thing from his mind.

That feeling that something was wrong kept nagging at him and he wouldn't be able to rest until he saw you in person.

After he had walked around your house a few times, he jogged back to the van, hopped into the seat, and began to head toward Family Video. Maybe you had stopped somewhere near your job and had lost track of time or maybe your car had run out of gas and you were stranded.

Countless scenarios run rampant through his mind as his foot pressed down heavily against the gas pedal. The entrance to the trailer park is a blur as he zooms toward the wooded highway. It's a straight shot from your job that would pass by his house on your way home. This road was known for its creepiness at night and he hoped that you weren't stranded on the side of the road somewhere.

Before he could reach the bend up ahead, the flickering of blue lights flashed in his rearview mirror. "Fuck me," he groaned as he reluctantly slowed down and eased to a stop on the side of the road.

Minutes tick by slowly as the officer takes his precious time before stepping out of the vehicle. Eddies lets out an aggravated huff of breath when the officer finally reaches his car.

Letting down his window he greets "something wrong officer?"

The man tips his hat upward revealing himself to be none other than the local town sheriff, Jim Hopper. "Where you going in such a hurry kid?" He places a large calloused hand on top of the roof as he leans through the window, peering around Eddie and looking towards the back of the van.

"I'm looking for someone," Eddie's response is short and clipped. It's not that he doesn't like Jim, to be honest, he liked him as much as he could like an officer of the law. His history with law enforcement was a shaky one. With him being the spitting image of his father and with his extracurricular activities, Eddie felt as if he had been doomed from the start.

With that being said, Jim was the only officer who had judged him on his merit and not his family name. Even though that merit was dead and buried after being busted a few times, he still treated him decent and he was thankful for that.

"Well driving like a bat out of hell won't get you there, it'll only have you in a hospital somewhere or God forbid in a grave. That's the problem with you kids, always rushing off somewhere, never taking time to just relax and enjoy life." Taking a cigarette out of his shirt pocket he quickly lights it and takes a deep inhale before exhaling the smoke into the night air.

"Yes sir," Eddie says in a monotone voice, tiredly rubbing at his eyes. His mind is too wired to focus on what the older man is saying, concern for your well-being is the only thing filling his brain right now.

Jim lets out a sigh at Eddie's response. He takes another drag of his cigarette before flicking it onto the cracked road. His eyes are soft as his gaze settles on Eddie. "Just drive more carefully kid. I don't wanna see another one of you out here tonight, crashed out on the road."

His eyes snap onto Jim's at his words. Ice-cold fear runs through his veins and his hands begin to shake in response. "What are you talking about? Who was out here!" his words are a rushed and jumbled mess as he waits on bated breath for the officer's response.

Jim jumps, startled by Eddie's outburst, before quickly converting back to his usual calm demeanor. "A girl crashed out here earlier," he says shaking his head sadly.

"What was her name," he demands shakily. His thoughts are static as fear takes hold of him, pumping throughout his veins leaving an ice-cold sensation in its wake. 'Please don't be Y/n,' he chants over and over to himself.

"Hmmm. I think it was a young girl last name Y/l/n. Why? Did you know—" His question is cut off abruptly as Eddie quickly puts his car in drive and takes off full speed down the desolate road. "Hey! What the hell," he jumps back from the car. The tire from the van narrowly missing his foot.

Tires screech against the asphalt as Eddie guns it down the highway leaving smoke in his wake. The sound of sirens can be heard behind him but Eddie is no longer in control of his actions. His body is on autopilot, tears streaming down his face as he heads toward the hospital. He's praying, something he hasn't done in a long time that it's not you. Hoping that Hopper had it wrong and that it was someone else. Not you, anyone but you.

He doesn't know how he makes it to the hospital in one piece but he does. Parking in front of the entrance he runs through the entrance at full speed. Unable to come to a stop, his body slams into the front desk, startling the old lady seated there.

She gasps loudly, holding her chest in shock. As her nerves begin to settle she pushes her wire-rimmed glasses up her nose with a pointed look at the young man in front of her. "Can I help you?" she asks cautiously. Sometimes strange people come into the hospital and she's usually the first person they come into contact with, so she's always careful of her interactions with people.

"Y/n L/n! Where is she? I need to see her!" His words tumble out of his mouth breathlessly.

Taking a quick look at the computer screen in front of her, she glances back at Eddie. "Are you a member of the family? I can't give out information if—,"

"Yeah! I'm her family, now where the fuck is she!" he shouts slamming his palm against the counter, attracting the attention of the people seated in the lobby.

"Sir, p-please, calm down and give me a moment so I can find her room number, okay?" Turning towards the computer, she quickly taps away on her keyboard, the glare from the screen reflecting off of her glasses. "3rd-floor, room 211 but you can't—," she trails off as Eddie takes off sprinting towards the elevators.

"Kids these days," she mutters to herself. With a shake of her head, she lets out a shaky breath before turning back to the magazine in front of her.

Unable to wait for the elevator, Eddie takes the stairs, reaching the 3rd floor in seconds. Bursting through the heavy metal door, he glances at the numbered halls as he skirts around the visitors and staff walking the halls.

Soon, he's at your door and he comes to a complete stop, unable to move any further. The chart on the door has your name on it, solidifying that you are indeed in the room.

Not giving himself time to think about it, he pushes the door open. Tears spring to his eyes as he takes in your small frame layered underneath the thin blankets. Shuffling forward he stops at your bedside and takes your hand into his. His gaze takes in the numerous dark bruises marking your swollen features.

"Y/n?" his voice is small, a sharp contrast to his usual boisterous tone. There's no response, only the steady beeps of the machines echoing loudly throughout the room. A choked cry breaks out as he hangs his head down, bending over the rail closer to you as the enormity of the situation hits him. Hot tears run down his face, dropping down onto the white hospital blankets.

He squeezes your hand, trying to find that sense of comfort that being around you normally brings. Your hand is cold to the touch, lying limp within his own. Your body doesn't react as he massages the palm of your hand tenderly.

Regret sits in the pit of his stomach as he thinks about all the time he wasted not being with you, not getting to know you better. He swallows thickly at the raw emotion flowing through him. He hasn't felt a pain like this ever since his mom died and even then he was too young to even process it, choosing to just accept that she was gone and never coming back.

He should've never gotten with Chrissy. He wishes he hadn't been a coward back then and had asked you out before you had moved away. It seems like as soon as you guys stood a chance at being together, life would come, and fuck it all up.

There's a knock at the door bringing him out of his thoughts. After a pause, the door opens and a middle-aged man enters, closing the door behind him. "Hello, I'm Dr. Raymond. Are you the patient's family?"

"Yes, I'm Eddie— her boyfriend," he states with a firm tone. His hands come up and wipe away the fresh tears steadily falling, uncaring that a stranger is seeing him in such a vulnerable state.

The doctor pauses for a moment, taking in the young man's words before continuing. Usually, they would only give information to immediate family but something tells him that the person in front of him wouldn't take that decision lightly.

Looking at his clipboard he starts rambling off medical terms, gesturing towards you briefly. Eddie stands there in confusion, not understanding a single thing he's said.

The doctor looks up in midspeech, realizing that he isn't following. "I'm sorry," he says with a small smile. "Sometimes I forget how hard it can be to understand all of this."

Eddie shakes his head in agreeance and the doctor continues. "Simply put, Y/n has suffered a severe traumatic brain injury. You've probably noticed that she hasn't responded to you being here right? The reason is that at this moment, she is unresponsive. When an injury damages specific parts of the brain, the nervous system sometimes doesn't send normal signals to the body. This can cause a person to fall into a coma." He stops, allowing Eddie to process the information he's given.

Putting on a brave face, he struggles to hold back the emotions threatening to break free. "So does this mean that she's not going to wake up?"

"We're not giving up yet. There's a possibility that she could wake up. However, there's also a chance she might not wake up."

His heart soars at the idea that there's a chance you could wake up. Refusing to think anything differently. "What can I do to help," he asks desperately. If he could do anything to help you, he would definitely do it, no questions asked.

The doctor smiles warmly at the sincere look plastered across Eddie's face. "The most important thing you can do is just be here for her. You can talk or read to her, believe it or not, it helps."

With a surge of hope, Eddie nods in confirmation, looking back over at you with a soft look. "I can do that. If there's one thing I'm good at— it's talking," he replied with a humorless laugh.

The doctor patted him on the shoulder before turning around to head out of the room. He stopped before the door, turning on his heel suddenly. "Gosh, I almost forgot," he says with a smack to his forehead.

"What's wrong?" Eddie's nerves instantly shoot back up at the doctor's words.

"That's the point," he says as Eddie stares at him in confusion. "The baby I mean— the baby's just fine. Although it's still early, it appears your little one will be just fine." His pager goes off and he darts out the door not waiting for a response.

"Baby?" He looks over at you in bewilderment. He stumbles, catching his fall by holding onto the wall for support. His air intake is limited as his breathing comes in deep harsh gasps. His vision begins to swim, and not wanting to pass out near you, he takes a step away from you towards a chair, before crashing onto the ground.

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

Eddie woke up with a low groan, blinking up at the harsh lights above him. He yells your name, sitting up with a jolt as his memories come rushing back all at once. Looking around the room he notices that he's in an entirely different room than before.

He tries to get up when he realizes that he's cuffed to the bed. "What the fuck? Hey! Let me out here! Heyyyy!!!" Panic quickly rises in him with his sudden predicament. He doesn't know what he did to get handcuffed to the bed and he doesn't care. The only thing that matters is you and the fact that these stupid cuffs are keeping him from you right now.

He yells again as he yanks on the cuffs, causing the metal to bite painfully into his wrist. Just as he's about to start up again the door swings open and enters Hopper.

"Fuuuck," Eddie moans throwing his head back onto the pillow.

"Fuck is right," Hopper quips, walking over to the wall and leaning against it.

"I don't have time for this. Y/n needs me!" Tears of frustration begin to slip out the corners of his eyes.

"She's okay— I checked on her after you fainted." Hopper's gaze is steady as he stares at Eddie under the perch of his hat.

"I did not faint," Eddie grits out harshly.

"Sure kid— whatever you say. So, you mind telling me why you ran off like that huh?"

Letting out a sigh Eddie explains who you are to him and how that was the reason why he had reacted toward Hopper last night.

Hopper stood silently, taking everything in as he waited for him to finish. Once he was done he stood still for a moment in contemplation. Never taking his eyes off of Eddie he pushed away from the wall, walking over to Eddie on the bed.

Eddie's eyes are wide as he watches Hopper dig a set of keys from his pocket and unlock his cuffs. Rubbing the bruised flesh on his wrist he hurriedly got up from the bed, making his way over to the door.

"Hey kid," Hopper calls out and Eddie stops in his tracks. "Drive safer next time. You won't do anyone any good if you're laid up in a hospital too."

Nodding his head, he throws a grateful look his way before slipping out the door. In no time he's back in front of your room. He takes a deep breath to steady the flutter of nerves in his stomach. The news of you being in a coma and on top of that you were pregnant had left him in a stupor.

He knew without a doubt that it was his. That must have been the news you wanted to share with him last night. A fresh wave of guilt sets in at the thought of you crashing because you were hurrying to get back and tell him. You had to be at least two months now. He wondered how long you'd known and why you hadn't told him sooner. You must have been so scared of how he would react.

He shook his head, causing his curls to swing wildly. It didn't matter why you didn't tell him, the only thing he cared about right now was you and his baby's health.

With another deep breath, he opens the door to your room, entering silently. An older woman sits near your bed with her head resting in your lap as she wept silently. He stood near the door, not sure what to do next. Her head popped up at the sound of the door clicking shut.

'This must be your mom,' he thought to himself as she looked up at him in confusion. "Can I help you?" She croaked, clearing her throat as she wiped away the tears coating her cheeks.

"Hi— um I'm Eddie. Eddie Munson, I'm Y/n's boyfriend." He knows that you would give him the side eye at the self-appointed title he had given himself but he panicked! He couldn't say you guys were two people who used to fuck each other and that he had fallen in love with you but he wasn't sure if you even felt the same. Shifting from foot to foot he stood nervously waiting for her to respond.

After what felt like an eternity she finally responds "Hello, I'm Y/m/n. I'm sorry but you're her boyfriend? I've never met you," she replied with a soft sniff.

He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly "Yeah, our relationship is kinda new?" His eyes drift over to you and he couldn't help but move closer to you towards the other side of the bed.

She watches him as he carefully takes ahold of your hand, his thumb stroking your knuckles soothingly. The care shown in his movements and the sincerity in his eyes has her deciding right then and there that she liked him. However, she didn't like secrets and she wouldn't make it easy on him.

A knock at the door sounds off abruptly,  causing both heads to turn toward the source of the noise. The door opens and in walks the doctor from yesterday.

"Hello, good morning," he says looking over at Eddie. Turning towards your mom he extends his hand to her "Hi, I'm Dr. Raymond."

"Hello, I'm Y/m/n and L/n, Y/n's mother." She takes his hand and shakes it briefly before dropping it back into her lap. Her hands grip the small pocketbook on her lap nervously as she casts a glance at you. "Doctor give it to me straight. Why is my little girl not waking up?"

He proceeds to explain the same thing that he told Eddie yesterday. That you were in a coma and had sustained severe head trauma but that you had responded well to some of their tests, so they still had hope that you could pull through this. "Mrs. Y/m/n, the best thing to do is, be here for her and let her know that you're here for her. Also, as the pregnancy progresses you can speak to the little one as well. Studies have shown that the fetus responds positively to music and even talking."

"I'm sorry, did you say pregnancy," she whispers, cutting her eyes over to Eddie as he shifts uncomfortably under her cold gaze.

The doctor also begins to get nervous as he notices the shift in her demeanor. "Yes— um, your daughter here is about 9 weeks gestation. The baby is perfectly healthy from what we've seen so far but we'll make sure to keep an eye out for any complications due to your daughter's condition."

Sweat begins to trickle down the nape of Eddie's neck. This was not how he envisioned meeting your mom. He's glad that looks can't kill because if they could he'd be a goner.

"Did you know about this Mr. Munson?" Her stern eyes were locked on his, refusing to allow him to look away.

"No ma'am, I just found out yesterday," he replies with a grimace as he rubs the back of his tender head. "Kinda took me by surprise too."

Pinching the bridge of her nose with a tired sigh, she takes a moment to collect her thoughts. Not only did she just find out that her daughter was in a coma from a car crash but she was also pregnant! She wants to be mad but knows it's not the time or the place. "It's okay— I'm not mad. I'm just surprised is all," she replies a moment later.

"Ma'am, I plan on being here for Y/n and the baby every step of the way," Eddie states firmly,  doing his best to assure her.

"Oh, I know you will, Eddie. I wouldn't allow it any other way." Her tone is icy as a chilling smile settles across her face. "I guess we'll be getting to know each other very well, huh?"

A shiver runs down his back at her words. Nodding his head in agreeance he looks at the doctor who took that as his cue to speak again. Even though he had meant well, sometimes he couldn't read a room and had caused many uncomfortable situations. Clearing his throat he began to explain the next steps moving forward.

All issues pushed aside, momentarily, Eddie and your mom sat silently as they listened to the doctor explain the pending surgeries, treatments, and overall care needed for you and your baby. This was going to be a rough journey and Eddie was determined to be here for you every step of the way.

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

Eddie hums quietly to himself as he walks briskly up the flight of steps. A habit he's formed over the past few months of taking the stairs to your room other than the elevator. It was just something about being trapped in a confined space that irritated him so he always chose the stairs instead. He had written you a song and couldn't wait to sing it for you.

To be honest he still hasn't really adjusted to you being unresponsive but he still comes to see you every day after school. Some days he comes late at night after work and would just spend the night, sleeping on the small pull-out couch in your room.

On those days when he had to work or had DND, Robin, Steve, or your best friend would come in his place until he was able to get there. It had become sort of a routine, to the point where they had memorized each other's weekly schedules. You had a great support system and he was forever grateful to them for the help they had given him and you.

In no time he makes it to your floor, giving brief nods to somewhat familiar faces along the way. This floor is for long-term care and most of the people who frequent here, have been here for just as long if not longer than you.

Holding the fresh set of flowers against his chest, he opens the door to your room. There you are laying peacefully in your bed. The bruises that coated your face have long since faded leaving a small scar running through your eyebrow.

Eddie was the first to notice the mark, he had commented to your mom how the scar resembled a lightning bolt and how metal that was. After switching the flowers out in the vase on the table with the fresh ones, he quickly crosses the room to you.

"Hey sweet thing," he greets you with a soft kiss. His lips linger on yours as he feels a faint twitch as your body responds to his touch. The first time that happened he had shouted for joy, causing the staff to come barreling through the doors at the commotion.

After examining you and Eddie to make sure he hadn't lost his mind. They had explained to him that sometimes your body would react to certain things and not get his hopes up. Eddie, however, knew that was bullshit, he knew that deep down, wherever your mind was, it was calling out to him and whenever he touched you he hoped that it was bringing you closer to him. So whenever he visited you he would talk to you while brushing your hair or he would sing to you as he massaged your limbs.

His gaze travels down your body stopping at the growing swell of your belly. Pressing his ear against your stomach he places his hand on your lower belly massaging gently. "Daddy's here," he says as he taps rhythmically against your skin covered by the thin blanket.

A sharp kick pushes against his hand in response and he grins "I missed you too angel." Your leg jerks at the movement causing his eyes to turn back toward you. "I think mommy's tired today, so take it easy on her okay?" He presses a sweet kiss to your stomach before turning his attention back to you.

With a smile, he goes through his usual routine of telling you about his day. He sings to you as he rubs your favorite lotion onto your arms and legs, pausing when he sees the subtle shift of your stomach causing your eyelids to flutter. You look so peaceful that he sometimes thinks that you're just playing a joke on everyone and will wake up at any moment.

A sad sigh escapes and he shakes his head in an attempt to war off the negative thoughts. He mentally shakes it off, refusing to think that you won't wake up.

Cuddling up in bed next to you, his legs bent slightly at the knees as his journal rests in his lap. His tongue rests on his top lip as he jots down some new ideas for his campaign. The first time he had climbed into bed with you, he was scolded something furious by your mom and the nurses. They told him that there was simply not enough room to hold the both of you without putting your safety in jeopardy, something Eddie had quickly debunked as he slipped in beside your small frame without disturbing your peace.

The doc was the one who had gone to bat for him, explaining that it might help you to have his presence as close as possible. So by your side was where he laid, unless your mom or dad was there and out of respect, he usually took the seat by your bed instead. Your mom and him had gotten close over the past six months, bonding over the gravity of your situation. Your dad showed up every blue moon, never sticking around long enough for Eddie to get to know him. He imagined that was a song and dance that your dad had perfected throughout your life, never being around to form an actual connection with his loved ones.

A knock at the door snapped him from his thoughts. Pressing a kiss to your cheek, he slips from the bed, making his way to the door. Whoever was knocking had to be someone who didn't visit often. Most of the regular visitors would knock and just come on in. He wondered briefly who it could be before opening the door.

Surprise spread quickly across his face at the sight of Chrissy standing there with a bouquet of flowers in hand. "Hi Eddie," she whispers, trying to sneak a look behind him into the room.

Not wanting to let her in just yet, he stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him. "Chrissy," he replied, glancing at the flowers she held nervously in her grasp.

"How have you been?" she asks cautiously. They hadn't spoken ever since that day in the gym. Whenever she would try and speak to him at school, he would blatantly ignore everything.

"What are you doing here Chrissy?" His tone was short, not in the mood to play any of her mind games.

Taken aback, she pauses, before giving him a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "I just wanted to check on you and Y/n of course," she adds quickly. "I think it's honorable how you come here every day to visit her."

"There's nowhere else I would rather be," he replies, shrugging his shoulders in response.

Silence ensues as she struggles to come up with something to say. Conversation use to come easy with Eddie and now it's as if they were strangers. Ever since you came along he had all but cast her aside to be with you. The thought still burned her up inside and she wanted nothing more than to go into that room and finish what she had started.

"Well, thank you for coming but Y/n isn't accepting any visitors at this time." Done with the conversation he steps back towards the door putting his hand on the knob.

"Eddie please I— I know that we aren't on the best of terms but I do care," a small smile sits across her face as she holds his gaze imploringly.

His instincts are screaming not to let her in but he can't help but feel that maybe you would want to make amends with Chrissy. Throwing his head back with a loud groan he mutters a short "sure" before turning on his heel, back towards the room. Before he can even step over the threshold, his name is called down the hall.

It's one of the friendly nurses at the nurse's station. They look out for him by letting him pick whatever he wants from the Cafe menu at no charge. His dedication and loyalty to you is something that has caused most of the staff to treat him kindly, despite the usual treatment he receives from his outward appearance.

Glancing back at Chrissy whose hands are held behind her back with the flowers crushed between them. A worried look flashes across his face as he halts mid-step.  

"It's okay, we'll be fine." She says sweetly, crossing her fingers behind her.

"I'll be back, kay?" He gives her a long and wary look before turning and making the trek down the hall.

As soon as his back is turned, the smile drops from her face, replaced with a sinister sneer. Gripping the knob she twists it, causing the door to open. Slipping inside the room, she shuts the door softly and scoffs at her behavior. She doesn't know why she's being so cautious, it's not like you would wake up from the sudden noise.

She cackles at the thought that you might not ever wake up, taking pride in her handiwork, before covering her mouth to stifle the giggles. You might not be conscious to hear her but that doesn't mean nobody else could.

She takes a minute to catch her breath before stalking over to you. The flowers hang limply by her side as she observes your current state. Your face is pale but still somehow holds a natural glow. It's obvious that someone has been taking good care of your appearance for you and the thought of it being Eddie sickens her. Her eyes travel from your face until they stop at the swell of your stomach.

Hot anger pulses through her at the sight of your baby bump. Although the thought of having kids this young didn't appeal to her, the knowledge that you were pregnant with his child made her green with envy.

Taking a step closer to you she rests her hand on your stomach, snatching it back quickly at the sudden movement she feels beneath her hand. The silence of the room presses against her as she's suddenly filled with the urge to end you, once and for all. She's sure that with you gone, her life can return back to normal. Hopeful that these negative feelings threatening to overwhelm her would be gone, once and for all.

She hasn't ever stopped to think that the foreign feelings she constantly feels may be the result of something much deeper than the feud between you two.

Placing one hand on the oxygen tube near your nose, she pinches it, cutting off the flow of circulation. The beeps of the machines start to rise as your heart rate accelerates steadily. She can see a slight movement beneath the lids of your eyes but other than that, you still show no signs of reaction.

She begins to wonder just how long this will take when a series of noises begin to sound off as the machines send off alerts of your distress. Your heart rate is dropping and before she can take joy in that, she hears footsteps running down the hall towards the room. She keeps ahold of the tube, wanting to be sure this time, when she sees a dark wet spot spreading over the blankets where your hips lay.

Before she could get a grasp on what that even meant, the door swung open, slamming into the wall behind it with a loud smack. Yanking her hand back she looks behind her to find Eddie glaring at her with an accusatory stare.

"What the hell did you do!" he shouts as he rushes to your side, knocking Chrissy out of the way.

"Nothing! I was just standing here!" she yells back. She drops her gaze at the intensity of his eyes on her, while creeping towards the door.  

A flood of medical staff fills the room and just as she is about to make her exit, her eyes meet Eddie's. His eyes are dark and cold, filled with silent rage as he stares her down. He doesn't know what happened but he's willing to bet that whatever it was had been Chrissy's fault.

She leaves the room not turning back. "Good riddance," Eddie thinks as he turns back towards you. Concern and worry are etched deep into his face as Doctor Raymond and several nurses check your vitals.

One nurse takes note of the wet spot on the bed, mentioning it aloud to the doctor. Eddie looks on, feeling helpless as he watches the doctor take his place at the end of the bed, lifting the sheet. He mentions something about checking a cervix but he has no clue what that means.

With a sense of urgency, the doctor begins firing off orders sending the nurses scrambling. "Doc! What the hell is going on?? What'd happening??!!" Eddie's hand holds onto yours tightly but is still delicate in a sense. It gives him a small sense of peace as he tries desperately not to freak out.

"She's dilating and I believe she's having contractions which would explain the spikes in her heart rate. Plus her water broke which is always a sign that the baby is coming," he answers while scooting past Eddie, to maneuver the bed, causing you to sit up slightly.

"But I'm not— I mean, they're not ready yet. She's only 8 months and she still isn't awake yet," he yells, grasping the lapels of the doctor's coat with his free hand. His eyes are big and wet as he struggles to keep ahold of his emotions.

The doctor's look is one of pity as he stops what he is doing to try and calm the young man down. "The baby is coming whether we want her to or not. Be strong you got this." He sets his hands atop Eddie's shoulders giving them a firm squeeze.

"But what about Y/n? Will she be okay," he asks in a small voice, sick with the thought of what this is doing to you.

Uncertainty is written across the man's face. "I'm not sure, medically speaking this could cause even more trauma to her body." He turns back towards you as the nurses begin to prep you for delivery. "But off the record, I believe that Y/n is strong enough to overcome this. She's made great progress over the last couple of months."

His words quell the fear coursing through him and with a look of resolve he grips your hand firmly with his. He whispers words of praise into your ears, praying that you can hear him. Soon your mom hurries into the room, taking her place on the other side of the bed. Your best friend and dad sit in the waiting room as your body attempts to deliver your baby naturally.

Hours pass as the team of doctors and nurses oversee the delivery, while also staying out of the way to not overcrowd the room. Eddie stands in the same spot, not having moved an inch since everything started. Not trusting that something terrible won't happen as soon as he leaves.

He takes a small towel handed to him by a nurse as he wipes the thin layer of sweat coating your brow. "Doing so good baby," he says, pressing a small kiss between your brow.

The high pitch beeping of monitors takes his attention from you towards the foot of the bed where the doctor sits perched on a stool. "Alright everyone, it's showtime." His head disappears underneath the high tent of the sheet where your legs sit perched with the assistance of your mom and a nurse.

His heart thunders in his ears as he waits on bated breath. A small twitch against his hand catches his attention immediately. He whips his head towards you, noting the faint look of pain on your face. If he hadn't spent the past few months staring at you incessantly, he wouldn't have caught it.

"Sweetheart— can you hear me?" He says, feeling small petals of hope bloom in his chest. He signals to your mom who looks at you with a hopeful expression.

The look of distress grows deeper and deeper until finally, a tiny cry fills the room suddenly. Eddie's gaze snaps towards the sound as he sees the doctor hand off a small bundle to the nurse, who rushes off to a small station to clean the baby off and suction out any fluid from the baby's airways.

At that moment a loud hoarse cry fills the room, bouncing off of the walls, and sending echoes down the hall. All eyes are on you as your eyes spring open.

"Baby!" Eddie says in a soft voice filled with joy. He doesn't want to scare you with any loud noises but he can't help the onslaught of feelings coursing through him right now. His eyes begin to water as his emotions began to get the better of him. Your eyes meet his and it feels as if a piece of him falls back into place.

"Who are you?" you ask as tears leak out the corners of your eyes.

Dread fills Eddie from head to toe as he realizes that you don't recognize him. You try and snatch your hand away from his but your body is too weak to do so. Eddie knows he should give you space but he can't bring his body to cooperate.

Your mom speaks up, laying a kiss on your forehead "Hi sweetie, mommy's here and so is Eddie." Her eyes flit over to Eddie's with a look of pity as you don't react to his name.

The nurse appears at Eddie's side with a small bundle wrapped in a pink and white blanket. "Here you go dad," she says with a small smile.

The frown on his face is replaced with one of adoration as he stares at the baby lying in his arms. Any doubts he may have had are quickly dispelled at the sight of his daughter. Black curls peek out from under the pink-striped hat on her head. Deep brown eyes stare curiously back at him as he looks at her in awe. She's a perfect mix of you both, the best parts of both of you.

"Hey princess, I'm your daddy, and this is your mommy," he says in a sweet tone. Eddie turns toward you and his eyes meet yours again. Uncertainty clouds your eyes as you look from him to the baby in his arms.

You don't know what's going on but something inside you tells you that this is right. That this is your family, even if you can't remember the strange man in front of you or the fact that you had been pregnant. "Can— can I hold her?" you wince at the strain the words have on your throat.

"Of course sweet— I mean Y/n." Eddie catches himself before the pet name falls from his lips. He leans over you slightly as he places her into your arms gently.

His fingers rub against your arms softly as he moves away and it feels as if lightning is coursing through you. You ignore it for now and focus on the baby lying against you. Her eyes are big and brown, an exact copy of the boy next to you. Warmth spreads in your chest as a feeling of love begins to overwhelm you.

Eddie looks at you both with tears streaming down his cheeks. He feels a slew of emotions, the main ones are a sense of joy and sorrow at the irony of it all. He had prayed every night for you to wake up and when you did, the fact that you didn't remember him anymore hurt worse than when you were in the coma. At least then he had hope that you two could be together again someday but now that seemed impossible.

He looks over to you again and your eyes meet. You stare into his eyes, holding his gaze with a small smile painted across your lips. He feels so much love for you at that moment and although he may not know what tomorrow will bring, he knows for sure that he will never leave your side again, no matter what. He vows that he will do whatever it takes to protect you both.

Taglist: @bibieddiesgf @tlclick73 @seventhlevelofhell @emmysuebull22 @adequate-superstar @vintagehellfire @sidthedollface2 @blue-eyed-lion @hazydespair @fly-on-the-wall @nicolaj1978 @sinczir @starrywhitenight @merciiss @hanahkatexo @kellysimagines @hargrovesswifee @simp4rengoku @igglepiggle22 @isimpforeveryonee @urdad-hot @thikkiesixx @billyhargrovesfuturewife @sammararaven @yogizzz @micheledawn1975 @munsonenthisiast @kissmejoey @klea221 @ms1oftheboys @whoahoney @foreveranexpatsposts @maysrains @alanamarie @emmalee-01 @kaitebugg03 @angel-jz @hereforshmut

[connormurphweed-deactivated2018]

just a heads up

if you’re an active follower of mine, i do recognize your username and/or icon. i smile when i see it in my activity. i get excited when you add funny tags to things. i get really happy when you reblog my op posts. so thank you, i appreciate you massively.

[jazzycurls]

Srsly I love you guys 💗

[jazzycurls]

How are you (:

Also I wanted to know is ‘you belong to me’ is over and if not may I be on that taglist

Hey babe...it's definitely not over. I'm towards the end of the chapter. I just have to finish it and edit it. I'll make sure I add you hun and thnx for checking in ❤️

[thoughts-ofawriter]

I swear I’m still a writer! I added at least one word to my half-finished sentence this week

[jazzycurls]

😅 yall just don't know 😪