Summary: Steve discovers that if he plays with your hair for long enough, you will fall asleep on him every single time.
Warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, minors DNI, no use of y/n, established relationship, fluff, sleepy affection, domestic intimacy, kissing, touch-starved steve harrington, comfort fic (lmk if i missed anything)
W/C: 1.2k
Read more of my writing here: [masterlist]
You’re both sprawled across his couch after a movie, the living room lit only by the television and the warm orange lamp beside the window. Rain taps softly against the glass while some terrible late-night advert mutters quietly in the background now that the film’s ended.
You’re tucked against his side beneath one of his old blankets, half talking about something Robin said earlier while Steve absentmindedly plays with your hair.
Not even consciously, really.
Just something his hands started doing at some point during the relationship and never stopped.
Twisting soft strands around his fingers. Scratching lightly against your scalp. Pushing hair back away from your face whenever it falls forward.
Steve likes touching you. This is not exactly new information.
What is new is the fact your voice suddenly cuts off halfway through a sentence.
Steve glances down.
You’re asleep.
Completely asleep.
Mouth slightly parted against his shoulder, breathing slow and even, one hand still loosely curled in the fabric of his t-shirt.
Steve blinks once.
“…seriously?”
You do not respond, mostly because you are unconscious.
Steve stares at you for another few seconds before looking down at his hand still buried in your hair.
Interesting.
The second time it happens, he starts suspecting a pattern.
You’re sitting between his legs on the floor of his bedroom while he half watches a movie over your shoulder and half messes with your hair mindlessly. You’d insisted you weren’t tired less than ten minutes earlier.
“You literally slept till eleven,” Steve reminds you while separating sections of your hair carefully.
“I know,” you mumble. “That’s why I’m not tired.”
“Hm.”
“You’re so annoying.”
“You like me.”
“Unfortunately.”
Steve grins slightly to himself before dragging his nails lightly across your scalp again.
Your shoulders loosen immediately.
Another few minutes pass.
Then, nothing.
No response to his last comment. No movement either.
Steve leans slightly sideways to look at your face properly.
Dead asleep.
Again.
Still sitting upright between his legs.
Steve laughs so suddenly he nearly wakes you back up.
“Oh my god,” he mutters quietly.
By the fourth or fifth occurrence, it becomes less of a coincidence and more of a genuinely ridiculous amount of power for one person to hold.
Especially because Steve starts testing it.
Not maliciously.
Scientifically.
“You’re doing it on purpose now,” you mumble one afternoon, already sounding half asleep despite having argued thirty seconds earlier that you were “definitely awake.”
Steve, stretched out beside you on his bed, continues scratching softly through your hair with an expression of complete innocence.
“Doing what?”
“The hair thing.”
“What hair thing?”
“The…” You frown weakly. “The sleepy thing.”
Steve bites the inside of his cheek hard trying not to laugh.
Because it really is absurd.
You could be fully awake, actively talking, even complaining about not being tired at all, and within ten minutes of Steve touching your hair for long enough you’re suddenly fighting for your life trying to keep your eyes open.
“You’re being dramatic,” he says.
You squint at him suspiciously through obvious exhaustion. “You’re evil.”
“Mhm.”
“You’re like…” Another yawn interrupts you completely. “Like a tranquiliser gun.”
Steve loses it completely at that.
You fall asleep less than five minutes later with your face squashed into his chest while he quietly laughs into your hair.
After that, it becomes sort of unavoidable.
Steve starts noticing all the tiny signs before you even realise you’re tired.
The slower blinking. The way your body gradually gets heavier against him. The increasingly delayed responses during conversations.
And every single time, without fail, the second his fingers slide into your hair properly, you melt.
On the couch.
In bed.
Once in the passenger seat of his car while he waited for Robin to come out of Family Video after locking up.
Another time at the Wheeler’s house with your head in his lap while everyone else argued loudly over a board game around you.
“You cannot be serious,” Dustin says, staring at your sleeping form in disbelief. “How does she keep doing that?”
Steve barely looks up from where he’s still lazily playing with your hair. “Doing what?”
“She was literally talking.”
“Yeah?”
“And now she’s unconscious.”
Steve shrugs like this is completely normal behaviour.
Robin narrows her eyes immediately from the opposite couch.
“Oh, this is definitely psychological.”
Steve scoffs. “What does that even mean?”
“She’s associated you with sleep now.”
“That’s not a thing.”
“It absolutely is,” Robin says. “You Pavlov’d your girlfriend.”
“I did not Pavlov my girlfriend.”
“You basically turned yourself into a human melatonin gummy.”
Steve rolls his eyes, but his hand never stops moving gently through your hair.
Mostly because Robin’s not entirely wrong.
There’s something about the trust of it that affects him more than he expects. The fact you fall asleep so easily against him. The way your whole body relaxes the second he touches you softly enough.
Like some part of you recognises him as safe before you even consciously think about it.
That part gets to him a little if he thinks about it too long.
Which is why he tries not to.
Unfortunately for him, you make this extremely difficult one rainy afternoon a few weeks later.
You’re both curled together in his bed while thunder rumbles softly outside, Steve lazily tracing shapes against your scalp while you blink sleepily up at him.
“You know,” you mumble eventually, “I think my body’s accidentally been trained.”
Steve grins immediately. “Finally admitting it?”
“This is your fault.”
“My fault you’re always sleepy?”
“My fault for trusting you enough to fall asleep this much.”
The smile slips slightly from Steve’s face at that.
You notice immediately, even half asleep.
“What?”
Steve looks down at you quietly for a second before shrugging one shoulder.
“Nothing.”
“Steve.”
His fingers slow slightly in your hair.
“It’s just…” He huffs softly through his nose. “I dunno. Kinda nice, I guess.”
Your expression softens immediately.
Because there it is.
The actual thing sitting underneath all the teasing.
Steve likes being trusted.
Likes being needed in these tiny quiet ways that nobody else really notices.
The way you automatically reach for his hand crossing roads. The way you sleep better beside him. The way you unconsciously move closer every time you’re tired.
You shift upwards slightly against his chest until you can kiss him properly.
Steve kisses you back slowly, one hand still tangled gently in your hair.
“I genuinely think this is my favourite thing.”
Your lips twitch.
“Me falling asleep?”
“No.” Steve smiles faintly. “You trusting me enough to.”
Something warm twists painfully through your chest.
You kiss him again before you can think too hard about it.
Steve’s fingers slide slowly through your hair once more afterwards, scratching lightly against your scalp in that familiar absentminded rhythm.
Dangerous.
You narrow your eyes immediately. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“You know exactly what.”
Steve looks deeply unconvincing. “I’m just touching your hair.”
“You’re literally weaponising affection.”
Steve starts laughing quietly while you attempt to glare at him through increasingly heavy eyelids.
“You’re already falling asleep,” he says.
“No I’m not.”
“You just blinked for like six seconds.”
“That means nothing.”
Steve grins down at you, still gently combing his fingers through your hair.
“You’re done for, sweetheart.”
You open your mouth to argue.
Then immediately yawn instead.
Steve looks so unbearably pleased with himself that you weakly shove at his chest in protest.
It does absolutely nothing.
Mostly because less than ten minutes later, you’re asleep against him again.
And Steve, unfortunately, looks far too happy about it.
steve learns how to tie a tie by himself. where to get his hair cut, where to get the freshest veggies, when to let a doctor look at something. he learns, because he realises pretty early on that nobody is gonna save him from his life. there’s no spare father or mother waiting around the corner to change the oil in his car or make him his oatmeal in the mornings. he has himself.
then he has nancy, doesn’t have her. has dustin and robin, makes peace with two friends and a big empty house, doesn’t need anybody even if he loves them, and then boom. you. sitting in the back of a stolen RV trying to keep your own best friend alive, scuffed up and quiet, glancing at him through the rear view mirror with a purposeful smile, like you’re saying, hey, don’t worry. you are the first person steve has ever met to reassure him wholeheartedly.
then, you’re the first person to bring him a lasagne when he’s out of commission after the world ends and begins again. you’re the first person to ask to check his bandages, to rinse him off, to hum at his injuries like you wish you could take them away from him. you look after him. steve isn’t used to it.
the first time you offer to cut his hair, he tells you that you don’t have to go to the trouble. what, you say, laughing, the little pack of scissors already in hand, give you a trim? this is easy work, babe. steve sits in a chair in the kitchen with a dish towel around his shoulders that’s too small and bites his tongue to stop from crying as you rake the comb through his waves, quiet snip-snipping and the shush of hair falling to the floor. he gets a headache from the effort, and then you’re the first person to kiss his crown and bring him his innopran. you know it’s for his migraines. he doesn’t have to tell you, and you don’t need to ask.
steve asks you if you’d be interested in trying him on, if he could be somebody you want, is that totally crazy, because he’s weak now—he needs you, probably, after years of needing nothing. and you laugh like you’re dizzy and tip yourself over his shoulders, face in the back of his neck, bits of hair drifting into his lap. you and me, stevie, you murmur, hugging him tightly, this is going steady.
probably too late for baby blurbs, but i’m gonna send anyways!
reader and eddie are having a silly argument debate, and you really wanna win. so what does it hurt if you flash your tits at him and… oh, what was eddie talking about again?
“Elsie was a divine caster, not a mage! There is a huge difference.”
Eddie leans back in your bed like a jerk, dark tattoos and pale skin a complete contrast to your blue sheets. He looks imposing against ditsy flower stitching, but he’s at home here. He makes himself comfortable, and if he didn’t you’d force him to.
“Elsie wasn’t a divine caster,” you disagree, kneeling on the floor by your bed with a mountain of unpaired socks beside you, “she never went through the trials. That makes her a simple mage. She would’ve had to submit under the yielded light–”
“Shut up about the yielded light, you don’t even care about that stuff, you just wanna be right.” He grins at you, jaw soft as he slips down into your pillows, bringing a throw cushion against his chest. “You know the yielded light thing doesn’t matter, because Sir Cane was a divine caster and he was from Tolberon.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
You bundle what’s left of the unpaired socks back into the tote bag they’re mustering in and close the sock drawer of your bedside table. Eddie’s grinning ‘cos he knows he’s winning the debate and it’s pissing you off because The Anglebird is your favourite book, and not his, and he doesn’t have to be right about everything. “He didn’t need to submit because he wasn’t actually a divine caster, they just didn’t have a word for it in Tolberon, and it’s the same with Elsie. She could have been one, but she hasn’t gone through any of the basic trials.”
“It’s just a title thing. This is like– baby, you’re acting like the government.”
You aren’t gonna win this little argument because Eddie’s a stickler for semantics, but you should. You’re right. You’re sick of being not right and you want him to say it, and you know you have certain powers over your boyfriend. You’d quite like to stretch all demure and sleek like a house cat in the sun until he’s caught sight of the small of your back, but you’re not, like, manipulative.
You put on a fake effect, raising your brows. “Oh, gosh, is it hot in here?” you ask dramatically.
“Huh?”
“I am just overheating like this. Would you– do you mind?” you ask, folding your elbow down into the bottom of your shirt and pulling it upwards, arching into the movement as the fabric slips up your shoulders. With a quick tug, you pull it off of your neck and settle, still kneeling, chest flush with excitement while his eyes go steady on your naked skin. “That’s better.”
“Yeah.”
You drop your shirt on the ground and look down at your chest. Naked chest. No need for a bra so close to bed time. “Oh, shoot, sorry, baby. Indecent exposure. I forgot I wasn’t wearing a vest under here.”
“What do you want?” he asks, eyes warm with affection and a very obvious second emotion as you cross your arms gently over your chest.
You lean a bit into the act. Just softly. Going all hushed and sweet like he likes, not a lie, but not usually a version of yourself you embody with the lights on. “I don’t want anything, Ed, I’m just overheating.” You offer a sad little smile you know he wants to kiss. “Do you understand what I’m saying, though? Divine caster might be a title, but it’s one you have to earn. Elsie’s a super powerful mage, but–”
“Baby, you’re right.”
“Yeah?”
“I’ve thought about the whole thing from your perspective as we’ve been talking and Elsie really should’ve had to go through the tribulations of a traditional caster before I give her the title,” he says, all in one breath, his gaze very carefully set in the midpoint between your face and your chest.
You cup the skin where chest so obviously becomes a swell of fat and try not to boast. “You really think so?”
“I barely know what we’re talking about, if I’m honest.” He swallows obviously. You know it is not for show. “I can’t think straight.”
“If Elsie–”
“You’re so perfect,” he says, hiking on his elbows. “Are you coming up here? Please, stop kneeling on the floor. Angel. Please.”
You give a soft, triumphant hum and clamber onto your feet, just long enough for Eddie to spring toward you and pull you into his embrace, sending you giggling and breathless sprawled over his lap as he mutters, “Fucking siren,” by your ear.
Summary: You and Eddie had been best friends since the start of your high school career. When suddenly one night he asks you to be casual, friends with benefits. How could you say no when the man you love is offering you to be with him? Even if it’s temporary.
Warnings: 18+ content, MDNI, no use of y/n, reader is AFAB, vague descriptions of reader, reader and eddie are bestfriends, friends with benefits, tons of yearning, eddie being toxic (briefly), jealousy, drinking alcohol, smoking pot, smut, pussy eating, brief dirty talk, unprotected p in v, reader on birth control(not mentioned though) happy ending.
Authors note: So honestly, I’m just obsessed. Listening to Casual by Chappel Roan had me wanting an Eddie one shot. This is my first one shot. (I’m a multi-chapter type of person) Also, formatting is alittle weird cause tumblr wouldn’t let me use as many lines as I needed when posting.
—————-
Your fingers tightened around his knotted curls, feeling the sweat and heat radiate off of his scalp. The new mixtape he made and wanted to show you, was long forgotten, getting drowned out by lewd noises.
A moan or maybe a scream caught in your throat as his head was deep between your legs, his tongue exploring every intimate inch with a skill that left you breathless and almost begging for more. Each stroke was deliberate, designed just to drive you closer and closer to your orgasm. The noises you were making had him smiling and almost laughing into you.
One hand gripped your hips, holding you firmly in place as if he knew exactly what you needed, his fingers digging into your plush flesh with a possessive urgency. The other hand? Both middle and ring finger deep inside, making your toes curl behind his head. The world around you dissolved, leaving only the sensation of his mouth and the sound of your own ragged breathing.
You could feel the pressure building. That rubber band stretched so thin, it was only a matter of seconds before it snapped. Your body arched against him. The room spun with a dizzying intensity, and you were on the brink, teetering on the edge of pure, unadulterated pleasure.
—————-
“Hellooooo.”
Gareth’s hand drifted into your line of sight, fingers wagging dramatically, dragging you back to reality like someone yanking open a blackout curtain at high noon.
“Earth to—”
“What do you want?” You cut him off, a little sharper than you meant to, blinking hard as the cafeteria snapped back into focus. Plastic chairs, the smell of fried potatoes, the hum of a hundred conversation. Not the close quarters of his dingy Chevy van.
Gareth raised his brows but didn’t flinch. “I asked if I could have your fries. You’re not eating them anyway. Why let them go to waste?”
“Oh.” You felt heat creep up your neck. Embarrassment making itself known. “Yeah. Sorry. I spaced out. Sure. Have them.”
You nudged your tray toward him, letting it scrape across the table until it settled in front of his hoodie-clad chest. He shot you a quick, grateful grin before shoving a handful of fries into his mouth like he’d been dying of starvation.
You tried to let the noise of the cafeteria sweep you back into the present. The metallic clang of trays, the squeak of sneakers and chair legs on linoleum, bursts of laughter bouncing off the cinderblock walls. It was so loud sometimes. So overwhelming.
To your right, the freshmen discussed loudly about their girlfriends and what plans they had for spring break, like any of them were actually gonna do more than the typical D&D one shot in Mike's basement or go to the arcade.
To your left, the upperclassmen were half-shouting over each other about their late-night gigs, already basking in the imagined glow of being past curfew and untouchable.
“Oh! And don’t forget! Tomorrow we have that bonfire party at Lover’s Lake. So, that’ll be fun too.”
Your head gave a dull, traitorous throb, and you pushed your chair back with a sigh, slinging your backpack over one shoulder as you stood.
“Hey! Where you going?” Gareth called out through a mouthful of fries, watching you weave between tables like he expected you to sit back down.
“I forgot I had a test today,” you lied without hesitation. “Gonna cram a little. Library.”
You didn’t wait for a reply. Didn’t want one.
You hit the hallway and the silence swallowed you whole. Lockers stretched in both directions, the overhead lights humming quietly, and you finally let the truth you’d been dodging crawl up your spine.
The guy who sat at the head of the table, the one running the show with his loud voice and louder laugh, He’s the one you called your best friend.
Or at least, you used to.
You wanted to call him something more. But lately you weren’t even sure you could even claim best friend anymore.
He was like whiplash. One day, things are normal. You’re in his van, windows down, screaming along to music. Making a pit stop at the convenient store for slurpees and snacks before you start to bullshit the day away together. Whether it’s watching movies, playing guitar, finding local music shows to see, going out to the roller rink—which he definitely hates but still does just for you.
Then the next he’s distant, you touch his shoulder and he shrugs you off. Makes plans with your friends right in front of you and doesn’t think to invite you along, keeps things short. He’s not necessarily cruel about it, but it still makes your heart feel like it’s in pieces around your feet.
Until suddenly, he’s banging on your door while your parents are at work. As soon as you open it, his hands are on your face and he’s kissing you. So aggressively that you would’ve definitely fallen back, had he not been holding you upright.
You brought that on yourself. You knew that.Smoked too much. Drank too much. Let things blur too far.Climbed into his lap like it meant nothing. Like you meant nothing. And you had let that happen again and again.
All you had to do was tell him no. Maybe even been honest with him.
You had pushed all your feelings for him to the side just to be with him any way that he’d have you. And he doesn’t even care that every time you guys finish, he takes another piece of you when he walks out that door.
He doesn’t care that when he smiles at you, your heartbeat slows down and somehow beats faster at the same time. He doesn’t care about the flowers that bloom behind your ribs when he touches you. Doesn’t care about the way his kisses shoot electricity through your body, leaving you buzzing and breathless
And you hate it. How he could continue on like nothing is wrong. Like his friendship with you wasn’t worth fucking up. How could he not know how you feel?
Or worse, what if he knew and just didn’t think it was worth the effort? Or just using it to his advantage?
How could you mean so little to him? After all this time?
—————-
The two little clear glasses slammed on the counter, the clink echoing in the cramped kitchen. You and Eddie grinned at each other, loose and warm. The kind of smile you’d only ever let him pull out of you. All walls down. Not having to put on a show for anyone.
He grabbed your hand and raised it above your head, beginning to slowly dance in front of you. You laughed, trying to hear the soft music above your heartbeat.
Lita Ford and Ozzy.
You joined in for a moment before he twirled you. His smile was so wide, dimples and sharp canines on display.
He didn’t even realize what it did to you, the way he smiled like that. He never did.
You stayed like that for the rest of the song, easily dancing with him. It was second nature. You both don’t care if you step on each other, or fumble and end up bumping shoulders. You just laugh and continue.
Finally, he turned away, disappearing down the hall toward his room. A few seconds later, he reappeared, shoulder braced casually against the doorway, a joint pinched between his fingers.
“Care to join?” he asked, lifting it slightly.
“Always.”
He jerked his head toward the front door. You followed him out onto the tiny porch, really just a concrete slab with an ashtray overflowing with half-smoked cigarettes. The night air was cooler outside, brushing against your warm skin, sobering you just enough to feel the tension stretch thin between you.
Eddie flicked the lighter, cupping his hand from the wind. The flame caught, illuminating his face, the curve of his nose, the lazy concentration in his eyes as he took the first hit. Smoke curled from his mouth and back into his nose before he passed the joint to you, fingers brushing yours longer than necessary.
You inhaled, slow, heart beating somewhere too loud, the joint shaking almost imperceptibly between your fingertips.
He noticed. Of course he noticed.
“You’re thinkin’ too hard.” He said softly.
“Says the guy staring at me like he’s waiting for me to do something other than hit this joint.”
He didn’t deny it. Didn’t look away. He just stepped closer, close enough that your feet were now touching, close enough that you could smell the mix of smoke and whiskey on his breath. You took another hit.
“Maybe I am.” He whispered.
The joint dangled forgotten between your fingers. Your pulse was too loud, too frantic. You exhaled shakily and he leaned in, dipping his head like he was about to kiss you, breathing in the smoke deeply. He smiled and slightly angled his lips to the side to blow out his impromptu shotgun hit. Eyes never leaving yours.
But then he leaned in again, close enough that your lips parted on instinct, close enough his breath warmed your cheek. Your heart tripped over itself. This is it. You felt it like a spark in your chest. Hope rising too fast, too bright.
You couldn’t help it. A smile tugged at your mouth, equal parts disbelief and relief. For a split second, you let yourself think he was finally admitting it—finally seeing you the way you’d always seen him.
Then his lips touched yours. Immediate sparks.
The kiss was slow. Trembling. A hesitant brush that deepened just enough to make your knees weaken so violently you had to grab onto his sides for stability. His mouth tasted like the shared whiskey and smoke, warm and soft and devastating. His fingers curled around your jaw like you were something breakable, his thumb brushing your cheek in a way that felt intimate, purposeful, and dangerously close to tender.
You melted into him without meaning to. God, he kissed like he’d been waiting for this. Like he’d thought about it. Like he liked the taste of you more than he expected to.
Your stomach flipped, everything inside you tightening at once, and you kissed him back because you’d replayed this moment in your head so many times you could’ve sworn you dreamed it into existence.
He pulled back a breath too soon, eyes still half-lidded, lips slightly parted.
And you smiled, because now? You finally had him. Your best friend is finally admitting to being on the same page as you. So stupidly in love, but always too scared to admit.
But this was it, he was finally choosing you.
Then his expression shifted as he leaned away, something softer becoming something guarded. Calculated. He dragged a thumb across his bottom lip, trying to look casual even though his chest rose and fell a little too quickly.
“Fuck” you whispered, almost in disbelief he finally made the first move.
“Yeah,” he agreed, rubbing the back of his neck, cheeks tinged pink beneath the porch light.
“That, uh… probably shouldn’t’ve happened.” He continued.
The words hit you like a slap you never saw coming. Small. Quiet. Almost gentle. But still a slap. Silence. Awkward. Thick. Hot.
Shouldn’t have? But God, you wanted it to.
Your heart, which had been buoyant and stupidly soaring just seconds ago, plummeted so fast it made you dizzy. You felt it—felt the crack form right down the center of it, delicate and sharp like thin glass splitting under pressure.
You opened your mouth to say something, but nothing came. Every word dying before it made its way to your throat. All that spilled through you was a familiar ache, the one you’d been drowning in since the first night you realized you loved him in a way he would never return.
Eddie cleared his throat as he took a step back to lean on the railing.
“Look… it doesn’t have to be weird.”
You blinked. Hard. “Huh?”
“I’m just saying,” he continued, shrugging like this meant nothing to him. “Why can’t friends help friends out? Y’know.” He gestured vaguely, eyes sliding to your lips again. “Blow off some steam. Relieve some stress.”
He said it lightly, like it wasn’t the biggest deal ever. But there was something hungry behind it. Something he didn’t want to name.
Your chest tightened. He had no idea he was offering the exact thing you wanted. Just stripped of everything you needed. A hollow gift wrapped in the exact shape of your longing.
“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” he said, voice dipping, like he was doing both of you some kind of favor. Like he wasn’t twisting the knife with a smile.
Your stomach dropped—hope plummeting straight through the floor. He didn’t even notice. Or maybe he did and didn’t want to.
You swallowed, the motion thick and unsteady, your heart battering itself against your ribs like it wanted out, wanted him, wanted something you couldn’t even name without breaking in half.
Eddie watched you patiently. Too patiently. Pretending he wasn’t waiting for your answer like it mattered. Pretending he wasn’t hoping for the version of you that didn’t feel things, the version he thought you were. Pretending you weren’t already his, and hadnt been for longer than you’d ever admit out loud.
“What do you mean?” you managed, though your voice sounded small, scraped thin and hollow.
He smiled that easy, oblivious smile, taking the joint from your hand and shaking his hair out of his face. He inhaled slow, cheeks hollowing, smoke curling up between you before he blew it in your direction, playful and soft and completely unaware of how close you were to shattering.
“I mean let’s be friends with benefits.” he said, shrugging like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You’ve been my best friend for the last four years. Why not?”
You froze. There it was. The twist.
The part where your perfect, knee-buckling kiss was—to him—just convenience.
Your lips still tingled from him. Your heart still thudded out of rhythm. And all he wanted… was casual? But the way he had kissed you? The way his hand trembled against your jaw? That had not felt casual at all.
Why not?
Fuck. Because you loved him. Because it meant everything to you and would mean nothing to him.
Because being close to him without actually having him was the exact kind of pain you’d spent pretending didn’t gut you.
But the alcohol in your veins was warm and stupid and reckless. The weed rolling in your lungs made everything feel a little softer around the edges, a little less sharp.
And then there was the fact that you had wanted him for so long that the idea of being with him in any way he’d allow felt like stepping to the edge of a cliff and willingly stepping off into that free fall.
A part of you hurt. That deep, quiet, bone-deep hurt. Because he didn’t want more. Didn’t even think to want more. Didn’t think to ask.
But another part, that louder, hazier, selfish part, jumped at the chance to touch him again. To kiss him again. To pretend, even for a night, that he was yours in some temporary, fragile, doomed way.
You felt the sadness settle in you. In your heart, in your bones, filling every inch. Heavy and familiar. But it didn’t stop the heat that coiled right next to it.
“So…” he said, watching you closely now.
“What do you say? No strings attached. Just casual?”
—————-
You scrubbed a hand through your hair, your fingers catching in a knot as you reached your locker.
“Fuck it.”
You changed directions and headed to the parking lot. Right past that stupid beat-up Chevy van, straight to your black ’77 Ford Pinto.
You tossed your bag through the open passenger-side window, the strap catching for a second before dropping onto the ripped vinyl seat, and rounded the hood toward the driver’s side.
“You cutting class, Bean?”
You didn’t even have to look to know who it was. You rolled your eyes at the stupid nickname.
“You really have to come up with something better than that, Munson.”
“You’re the one driving a pinto bean, sooo…” He drew the word out, grinning around it. “Get a cooler car and you’ll get a cooler name.”
He pushed off from where he’d been lingering near the Chevy, sauntering over like he had all the time in the world. Eddie leaned his hip against your passenger door, the metal of his chains clanking against it. His rings clicked softly as he dug into the front pocket of his jeans for his pack of Marlboro Reds.
He looked annoyingly good doing it, too. Messy curls spilling around his neck and over his shoulders, dark strands escaping to brush his cheekbones. His bangs were too long again, skimming his lashes every time he blinked. He wore that battered leather jacket, the one with the stressed seams and the cigarette burn near the pocket, a few chains to keep the cuff from flying wide open, over a faded Motörhead tee.
He pulled a cigarette free with a practiced flick, held it between his lips, and cupped his hand around the lighter as he sparked it. When he inhaled, his cheeks hollowed just enough to make your stomach flutter in a way you refused to acknowledge.
He exhaled a line of smoke, then turned his head to look at you fully.
“So,” he said, voice dropping into that low, curious drawl he used when he actually cared what the answer was. “What’s up?”
You yanked open the Pinto’s door, the metal protesting with a loud squealing groan.
“I’m going home, Eds. I feel like shit, okay?”
He stepped around the car, eyebrows lifting. “I wouldn’t mind skipping and following you back to yours. I know your parents aren’t home until—”
“No. Thanks.”
He blinked, big brown eyes going wide as his smile faltered like someone had flicked a switch inside him.
“Why not?”
You swallowed, jaw tightening, already regretting how sharp you’d sounded.
“Sorry, Eds. I’m just… not feeling up for it today. I’m probably gonna go home and sleep it off.”
He stared at you for a beat, cigarette forgotten between his fingers. Then his face softened, the tension slipping away.
“That’s fine,” he said simply, shrugging one shoulder as he finally took another hit. “I’m still coming home with you. We’ll throw on a movie, maybe smoke, and just lay around until you feel better.”
It was so him. That stubborn, casual devotion he didn’t even seem aware of, that you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your mouth.
“Okay,” you sighed, giving in. “But I’m picking the movie.”
“Please,” he scoffed, flicking ash onto the pavement. “Like I ever win that battle.”
You rolled your eyes, but your smile grew. “You never do.”
He smiled, bright and boyish and ridiculously Eddie.
“C’mon then, Bean,” he teased, nudging your shoulder with his. “Race you home.”
“You’ll lose.” you declared, sliding into the Pinto.
“Only cause I let you win.” he yelled over his shoulder, heading toward his van.
You laughed and it felt good. Felt like something inside you loosened.
You pulled out of the lot first, Eddie’s van rumbling behind you. He honked in rapid bursts, which made you shake your head and grin like an idiot.
Every time you hit a stoplight, he pulled up next to you, revving his engine dramatically until the old van wheezed in protest. You snorted, holding up your middle finger.
He flipped you off with both hands. You yelled, grow up. He retorted with a make me, before turning the knob and blaring whatever tape was shoved in his radio, obnoxiously headbanging until the light turned green. Despite everything—everything messy and confusing and unspoken—this part was easy. This part was home. This is why you loved him.
You parked in your driveway, Eddie pulling in right behind you like he lived there.
The minute you climbed out of your car, he was already walking over, hands shoved in his pockets, curls bouncing as he moved.
“Alright,” he announced, “get inside, change into something comfy, and I’ll start setting up the movie.”
“What movie?” you challenged.
“Whatever you tell me to put on,” he said with a dramatic sigh. “Because I’m spineless and at your mercy, Sweetheart.”
You laughed out a “that’s how I like it” as you shoved his shoulder before unlocking the door.
He stumbled exaggeratedly, arms flailing.
“Abuse!” he shouted.
“Drama queen.” you shot back.
Inside, it was simple. Warm. Familiar. You dropped your keys on the small table by the door. He kicked off his shoes without being asked.
Both of you made a beeline to your room, tossing your bags to the floor and grabbing whatever soft, mismatched clothes your hands first touched from your closet. Eddie grabbed one of his many shirts you’ve stolen, along with his sweat pants he leaves here just in case.
You changed with your backs turned to each other, like you always had. It was a habit, natural. No one called attention to how silly it seemed now that you’ve both laid yourself bare to each other. Then you wasted the rest of the evening exactly the way the two of you always did. Half-watching shitty movies you’d both memorized, trading commentary, quoting lines, laughing as you both laid comfortably against one another.
The room was quiet except for the sound coming from the TV—some scene you weren’t even pretending to follow anymore. Eddie’s fingers kept tracing slow, absentminded shapes on your arm, drifting up to your shoulder, then back down again like he was memorizing you by touch. The soft and warm pads of his fingers were leaving blazing trails in their wake, your nerve endings reacting dramatically to such a casual touch.
Every so often, his thumb would sweep over a spot that made your breath catch. He leaned in and you felt him smile against your neck like he heard it, like he liked it.
His lips brushed your skin again, barely there. A question, almost.
When you didn’t pull away, when you tilted your head just enough, he took that as an answer enough with another soft kiss, then another, each one lingering a little longer, a little warmer. Your pulse jumped under his mouth.
You didn’t mean to make a sound, but a quiet, involuntary moan slipped out—and that was it. You felt the shift in him instantly. The way his hand slid from your arm to your waist, pulling you fractionally closer. The way his breath warmed your skin before he pressed another slow, deliberate kiss just under your jaw.
This time it was a slow open mouth kiss, that his teeth lightly nipped in before his tongue soothed away any type of pain it could’ve caused.
You turned toward him, your nose brushing his cheek. And suddenly everything felt electric, suspended.
His pulled away from a moment, eyes flicked down to your mouth, then up to your eyes, checking, waiting, swallowing hard like he wasn’t sure if he should cross that tiny space between you. As if he hadn’t done it already. Plenty of times.
You closed it for him. Your lips met his in a soft, searching kiss, the kind that started tentative but deepened fast. Eddie’s hand slid up to your face, his thumb brushing your cheekbone with surprising gentleness as he kissed you again—slower, deeper, like he’d been wanting to do that for longer than he’d ever admit.
You could only hope…
You felt his heartbeat through his chest where it pressed to yours, steady at first… then stumbling in a way that strangely mirrored your own. Beating a little too fast. He pushed again, laying you completely on your back with him practically ontop of you.
He pulled back just a fraction, foreheads nearly touching, breaths mingling in the dim light.
“Hey,” he whispered, voice low, warm, full of confidence. Just like he always was.
You brushed your nose against his. “Hey.”
His hand trailed down to your waist again, fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt just enough to feel your warmth but not enough to push boundaries. Not yet.
“You sure?” he murmured, his lips hovering over yours, his voice so gentle it made your chest ache. He always asked this, as if you were ever going to change your mind about him.
And your truth rose up like a tide you couldn’t fight. You weren’t sure about a lot of things. But you were painfully, undeniably sure about the way you felt when he touched you like this.
You nodded, small but certain.
His breath hitched, just barely but still noticeable, and the way he kissed you then was different. As if this suddenly meant something to him too… even if neither of you dared to say it out loud.
His hands moved with a newfound confidence, exploring your body with a tenderness that made you feel cherished. You could feel the heat building between you, a slow, sensual burn that pooled low and left you breathless, wanting more.
You pulled him closer, your body arching against his, and he responded with a low, approving moan that vibrated through you. His kisses trailed down your neck, his teeth nipping gently at your collarbone, sending shivers of pleasure down your spine.
Your hands found their way under his shirt, tracing the lines of his muscles, feeling the warmth of his skin. He shivered under your touch as you explored him with a boldness that surprised even you before you pulled it over his head.
When his eyes met yours again, his pupils were blown wide. He slowly trailed his hands up your sides, bunching your shirt up with them until he slowly pulled it off of you and tossed it to the side.
His hands roamed over your body. You arched toward him without thinking, your body answering him even while your mind spun with a dizzy mixture of want and fear and longing. He made quick work of the clasp behind your back, his fingers steady while yours trembled, and when the fabric slipped away, his breath caught.
There was so much hunger in his eyes. That alone nearly broke you. Almost did every time.
Then he leaned down, his mouth finding your breast, his tongue circling your nipple with a skill that left you gasping.
You fumbled with his waistband, your hands shaking with anticipation, and he helped you. His pants fell to the floor, and he kicked them aside, leaving him in just his boxers.
He settled between your thighs, slowly grinding himself against your clothed heat, his eyes never leaving yours. It only served to heighten your arousal. You gasped as he lifted you slightly, allowing him to grind against you more intimately. You couldn't help but arch into him, wanting more friction.
“You okay?” he whispered, voice rough at the edges.
You nodded, but the truth pulsed louder beneath your ribs. I’m not okay. I’m in love with you, and you don’t even know you’re breaking me.
But your body leaned up anyway, your hands sliding over his shoulders, pulling him down until your foreheads touched. He exhaled shakily, his nose brushing yours.
“Tell me if you need me to stop,” he murmured, thumb stroking your hip with a tenderness that didn’t match the casual arrangement that you both had agreed on.
You swallowed hard. “Don’t stop.” you breathed.
Something flickered across his expression. Maybe surprise, relief, maybe something deeper you didn't let yourself examine. And then he kissed you again, slower this time, like he needed the reassurance as much as you did.
He slowly pulled down your panties, his fingers brushing against your skin, making you shiver. You helped him remove his boxers, your hands trembling slightly. You weren’t sure if it was nerves or anticipation. His cock sprung free, the pink tip already leaking a bead of precum. He lifted you effortlessly, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, feeling his length against you.
He looked down between the two of you and wrapped his hand around his cock before running it up and down your wet folds. Your mouth fell open with a loud moan as it grazed your clit. Only for a moment before he lined himself up and entered you slowly, inch by inch, giving you time to adjust to the stretch before filling you completely. You both moaned at the sensation, your bodies fitting together perfectly. He began to move, not pulling out, just rolling his hips against you.
“You take my cock so perfectly, baby.”
You couldn’t respond with anything more than a moan as you threw your head back on the pillow. He started his slow thrusts in a steady rhythm that sent waves of pleasure coursing through you. You clung to him, your nails digging into his back as you met his every thrust.
His lips found yours again, and you kissed deeply, your tongues dancing with each other, moaning into each other's mouths. The room spun around you, and all you could focus on was the feel of him inside you, the taste of him on your lips, and the sound of your combined moans filling the air.
He increased his pace, his body slamming into yours with a force that had you crying out his name. You could feel the pressure building inside you, the coiled tension ready to explode. He reached between you, his fingers finding your clit.
“That’s right, baby. This pussy is all mine.”
“Fuck! Yes! It’s all yours, Eddie!”
He continued to circle your clit, thrusting relentlessly into you. Watching you as your jaw went slack and you squeezed your eyes shut. Focusing on the sensation of your orgasm building. His free hand suddenly came up to your face, grabbed it and angled it towards him.
“No, don’t do that. You look at me when I’m fucking you.”
You couldn’t help but listen. Your eyes meeting his, the iris almost completely gone with how wide his pupils were. You’d never thought Eddie would be like this in the bedroom, not that you hadn’t thought about it before, late at night with your hand shoved in your panties. It practically had you like putty in his hands.
But there were times he’d be inside of you, whispering absolute filth, it had you blushing the next day when your mind would drift back. Sometimes you questioned how he was able to look at you the same after the things he’d say to you. The things he’d done to you.
“You’re mine. You got that? You and this pussy.”
The words hit you like heat, sharp and overwhelming. Something inside your chest ached, your breath catching in your throat. You couldn’t look away from him, couldn’t even think past the rush of electricity running through your veins.
The possessiveness in his voice—raw, unfiltered, unguarded—tore through every boundary you tried to believe you had set with him. He didn’t say it lightly. He didn’t say it playfully. He meant it. At least, in this moment.
Your lips parted, a small, helpless sound slipping out before you could stop it. Your whole body reacted before your mind caught up—legs shaking, stomach tight, heart pounding so hard you felt it in your fingertips.
His thumb stroked your cheek in a way that contradicted the rough edge in his voice, as if he knew exactly what that moment was doing to you.
“Baby,” he murmured, eyes flicking down to your mouth. “Answer me.”
Heat rushed through your chest, your face, everywhere. You tried to nod, tried to breathe, tried not to fall apart under the weight of how badly you wanted those words to mean more than he intended.
“Yes,” you whispered, voice unsteady. You tried to nod as best you could with him still holding your face in place. “I’m yours.”
He smiled at that answer and slowed down his thrusts, making sure to focus on the force of them, turning it to a slow hard pace. Thumb never leaving your clit.
Then suddenly, you shattered, he had finally pushed you over that edge. Your orgasm ripping through you with a force that left you screaming out his name.
“Fuuuuck. Such a good girl and cumming for me.”
He gave a few more sloppy thrust before following soon after, his body tensing as he spilled into you, your name a whispered plea on his lips. You held each other tightly, your bodies slick with sweat, your breaths coming in ragged gasps.
—————-
You slowly blinked your eyes open. Welcoming the morning sun rays in. You tried to roll over and stretch, but something held you in place. Eddie’s arm.
It was slung lazily around your waist. His fingers were curled into the plush of your stomach like he’d fallen asleep holding on. His breath warmed the back of your neck in slow, even waves. Somewhere after the sex, between the third bad movie and the few joints he insisted on rolling, the two of you had knocked out. Him flat on his stomach, you curled on your side, your legs tangled together like you’d forgotten where you ended and he began.
You blinked blearily at the soft morning light coming through your curtains. The room smelled like weed, deodorant, and Eddie’s cologne he sprayed, swearing it would get rid of the skunky smell. His hair was sprawled across your pillow, curls tickling your cheek.
Carefully, you lifted his arm and slid out from under him. He made a low sound—half-groan, half-whine—but didn’t wake, just flopped onto his back and spread out like a starfish.
“Idiot.” you whispered, not sure if it sounded annoyed or fond.
Probably both. You quickly got dressed then made your way downstairs.
Your mom was in the kitchen already dressed for work, hair done, coffee mug in hand. She looked up as soon as she heard you on the stairs.
“Morning, sweetheart,” she said brightly. “Eddie awake yet?”
You cocked an eyebrow, silently asking how she knew.
“His van was in my spot.”
You nodded, mumbling out a still asleep, grabbing a mug from the cabinet and pouring yourself a cup of coffee, flavoring it to your liking with milk and sugar.
Your mom sighed happily. “I like having him around. He’s sweet. And he makes you laugh.” She paused, giving you a pointed look. “You should keep him.”
You almost choked on your coffee.
“Mom.”
“What? I’m just saying.” She shrugged, stirring her own with way too much enthusiasm for the hour.
“He’s adorable. And polite. And he says ‘thank you’ every time I hand him a plate like I’m giving him a bar of gold.”
You rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away.
“He’s just… Eddie.”
She leaned against the counter. “Is just Eddie staying for breakfast?”
You shrugged. “I’ll wake him in a minute. You know he doesn’t like turning down free food.”
Your mom beamed. “Good. Tell him I made muffins. I’ll pack you guys some to take to school.”
You snorted. “You’re spoiling him.”
“I’m spoiling you,” she corrected. “He’s just a bonus.”
You shook your head, unable to stop the small laugh that escaped. “Alright, alright. I’m pretty sure you love him more than me at this point.”
“You said it, not me.” She laughed.
You turned to head upstairs again, already knowing Eddie would still be spread across your mattress, snoring softly, dead to the world.
Your mom called after you, teasing. “Tell him to brush his hair this time!”
“I’m not his mother!”
“Doesn’t mean he doesn’t do exactly what you tell him to!” She called after you.
You froze for half a second, heat rushing to your cheeks. Then you fled up the stairs before she could see you blush, heart thumping way too fast for seven in the morning.
You padded back up the stairs, the old wood creaking under your feet. Your room was dim minus the one single sun ray that found its way between your half-closed curtains. The soft orange glow of morning settling over everything Eddie had left scattered around. His socks, his rings on your nightstand, his shirt lazily thrown over your desk chair like he lived here.
He was exactly where you’d left him, exactly how you knew you’d find him. On his back, sprawled diagonally across your bed like a menace, mouth slightly open, hair a wild halo.
He always told you his best night's rest was in your bed. His mattress could never compare. You climbed onto your mattress gently, knee sinking into the sheets beside him.
“Eds,” you whispered, rubbing a gentle hand on his chest.
A groan.
You leaned closer. “Wake up. My mom made muffins.”
His eyes cracked open—just barely, then shut again dramatically. “Five more minutes.” He mumbled.
“No,” you said, stretching out beside him. “We have school.”
He made a sound that was definitely a complaint and definitely not a word. Then before you could react, his arms looped around your waist and he yanked you down against him.
You squeaked as you toppled into his chest, your face pressed into his warm body.
“Eddie!”
He grinned sleepily, eyes still half-closed. “Why doesn’t this alarm clock have a snooze button?”
That drew a small giggle out of you, but before you had a chance to retort, he rolled. Suddenly you were pinned beneath him, and he started kissing you—everywhere except the mouth. Your forehead, your cheek, the side of your nose, your jaw, your collarbone. Quick, playful, affectionate little pecks, each one punctuated with a muffled “mwah.”
You burst into laughter, wriggling under him. “Stop! Eddie!”
“Nope,” he said, kissing your cheek again. “I’m awake now. This is your fault.”
You shoved at him, giggling, but he only flopped more of his weight onto you, warm and heavy and annoyingly comfortable.
“Come on,” he murmured into your neck. “Let’s skip today. Again. One more won’t kill us.”
“We skipped yesterday.”
“Barely.” He kissed under your ear. “C’mon. Let’s just stay here. Sleep. Eat muffins. Watch movies. Smoke a little. Nap some more. You love napping with me.”
You did. Too much.
But if you stayed here with him warm and lazy and kissing you like this, you were going to do something reckless. Or stupid. Or both. And at this point, you weren’t sure how much more your heart could take.
Eddie was an affectionate person. No matter who it was, he liked hugging, throwing his arms around his friends, holding hands. Get him drunk enough and he’s trying to give everyone pecks on the lips. He craved the physical touch. But he had never been this physical with you. Up until you agreed to his stupid request.
You put your hands on his cheeks then ran them down his body until they landed on his waist. With all of your tired strength, you pushed him to the side, rolling you both over until you were on top.
He cocked an eyebrow, definitely thinking he had won as he hands moved to lazily rest on your thighs that straddled him.
“Nope. No. We are going to school.”
His eyes were wide as he frowned at you dramatically like you’d betrayed him. “You’re cruel.”
“I’m realistic. Buuut,” you drug the word out as you pushed off of his chest and stood up. “We have that bonfire. Get through today and it’s like a reward.”
He rolled his eyes then watched as you made your way around the room. You grabbed the pair of jeans he’d left on your floor yesterday and tossed them at his face. He caught them with one hand, barely.
“Now, get dressed.”
He sat up, hair a mess, smirking at you like you didn’t just manhandle him. Like he didn’t enjoy every second of it.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, voice low and teasing.
You huffed, trying not to smile. “Shut up and put your pants on.”
—————-
You stood in front of the mirror, leaning in close as you dragged the last sweep of liner across your upper lash line. The bedroom was warm from the late-afternoon sun, your stereo playing low in the background, something upbeat to keep your nerves from chewing holes in your stomach.
You told yourself you were getting dolled up because all of your friends were going to be at the Lover’s Lake bonfire tonight.
Not because Eddie would be there.
Definitely not because you’d picked out your nicest outfit—the one that made you feel confident and soft and just a little dangerous. Definitely not because you wanted him to notice.
You fluffed your hair, tugged your shirt into place allowing for more cleavage to be shown, and brushed a thumb across your lips to clean up a smudge of color.
A honk blared from outside. Short, sharp, impatient. You felt your stomach drop and flutter at the same time.
“Show time.” you muttered to your reflection, like you hadn’t been listening for that exact sound for the last ten minutes. You grabbed your jacket, spritzed perfume on your neck, and headed downstairs.
Outside, Eddie’s van was crooked in your driveway. He slouched behind the wheel, hair wild, one ringed hand hanging out the window as he drummed his fingers against the metal. When he saw you, he sat up a little straighter.
“Hello, Miss lady.” he called, before eyeing you as you made your way to the passenger side. “Look at you.”
Your face warmed, but you rolled your eyes so he wouldn’t see just how much that one look affected you.
“Shut up.” you said lightly as you climbed in.
“Not a chance,” Eddie said, eyes sweeping over you once more, quick but too meaningful to be accidental. “You look good.”
He put the van in gear before you could decide whether to thank him or shove him.
The drive to Lovers Lake was loud windows-down music, lots of breeze, and Eddie drumming the beat against the steering wheel. Every time he glanced at you, your chest tightened.
When you pulled onto the dirt clearing near the lake, the sky was already tinted orange. A big bonfire roared at the center, people gathered around it, laughing, drinking, leaning against cars.
Eddie parked and hopped out, stretching his arms like he’d been crammed in the van for hours.
His shirt lifted just enough to expose a thin strip of stomach—pale skin marked faintly by the waistband of his black jeans. His rings caught the dying sunlight, glinting as he ran both hands through his messy curls. They fell right back into that wild, chaotic halo he always wore, soft around his jaw and brushing his collarbones.
His red and black flannel shirt was completely unbuttoned, the edges frayed from years of wear, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. A chain hung from his belt loop, clinking lightly as he shifted his weight. There was a smudge of grease on his forearm—probably from messing with the van again. Damn thing is always giving him problems.
He grinned when he saw you looking, dimples flashing, eyes warm beneath dark lashes.
“Come on,” he said, nodding for you to follow, the corners of his mouth tugging higher. “We drink first, socialize later.”
He made a beeline toward a cooler by the fire. The moment he reached it, he dug inside and handed you something cold.
He clinked his own can lightly against yours.
“To bad decisions.” he announced proudly as he leaned forward to open your can for you.
You laughed. “To the worst.”
But secretly? You hoped tonight brought something you could keep.
—————-
The night drifted on in that lazy, buzzing way only bonfires, teenagers and cheap liquor could create. Music thumped from someone’s boombox, beer cans clattered, people laughed too loud. You and Eddie slipped into your usual rhythm—shoulders bumping, inside jokes, him stealing sips from your drink like he didn’t have one in his own hand, dancing with each other until your legs felt like they’d give out at any second.
But the more alcohol that slid down your throat, the more unsteady everything became.
At some point, your head warm and your body pleasantly loose from the alcohol in your system, you lost track of him. One minute he was beside you, rolling his eyes at a guys-vs-girls argument happening nearby… and the next, he was on the other side of the fire, leaning in close to some girl whose name you didn’t care enough about to remember. She laughed at something he said, tossing her hair, fingers slipping down his arm before he wrapped it around her.
Your stomach dropped. Hard. You stared, you told yourself not to, and then you stared harder.
You knew he was an attractive guy. Attractive enough that other people noticed. You knew when certain girls got enough of anything in their system, they didn’t care that he was the freak of Hawkins. They just saw a metalhead who played guitar, smoked pot, and would definitely piss off their parents if they were to bring him home. He was a way for people to rebel.
It made your insides twist into knots that almost had bile rising in your throat.
“Yikes,” someone said as they plopped down beside you.
You blinked and turned. Steve Harrington. Perfect hair, perfectly relaxed expression, beer in hand. He followed your line of sight, then whistled low.
“Damn. Didn’t expect to see Munson with anyone other than you.”
You said nothing, jaw tight. Steve’s eyes shifted back to you, softening like he already knew more than you wanted him to.
“You want to make him jealous?” he asked casually, taking a sip from his drink. “’Cause I’m game.”
You snorted. “Please. That’s dumb.”
“So… is that a no?”
You hesitated. Just a second. Just enough for the ache in your chest to pulse through you.
“Well, let’s play then.” you muttered.
Steve grinned like he’d been waiting for that. He slid his arm over your shoulder—warm, confident, not subtle at all—and tugged you in against him.
“Atta girl,” he murmured.
You laughed, even if it sounded a little uneven. It was easy with Steve. It had always been easy.
You’d known him practically your whole life. Not through school, not through Eddie or Robin or the party scene, but because your parents had worked together for years. You’d spent half your childhood in the Harringtons’ backyard pool, throwing water balloons at him until Mrs. Harrington yelled from the kitchen window.
He was the first boy you ever practiced slow dancing with, both of you standing on his parents’ polished floors at age thirteen, his hands awkwardly on your waist while you tried not to step on his toes. A year later, he was your first kiss. Both of you immediately agreed it was weird and awkward, like kissing a sibling.
He’d always been there. Birthday parties, holidays when your parents were working late, crappy middle school dances where the two of you hid in the corner and mocked everyone else’s outfits.
He wasn’t the version of himself everyone at school liked to talk about. The king of Hawkins High, the flirt, the heartbreaker. You knew the other parts. The softer ones. The loyal ones. The ones that made him show up at your front door with milkshakes after your worst days, or call you at midnight asking which sweater to wear because he “needed an opinion that didn’t suck” for his date tomorrow.
And even though you ran in different crowds, minus a few mutual friends, you guys never let that impact the way you loved each other. Robin likes to say “Platonic with a capital P” when referring to friendships like this.
Which made him the perfect shield tonight.
You leaned into his side just a little more, enough to sell the act, not enough to mean anything, and he squeezed your shoulder in silent understanding.
Across the fire, Eddie’s stare sharpened like a blade catching firelight. And Steve, without looking, smirked like he could feel it. Eddie wasn’t laughing anymore. He wasn’t talking. He wasn’t even pretending. He was staring. Directly at Steve’s arm around you.
His expression was dark with his mouth set in a hard line. He looked like he wanted to rip Steve’s arm off and throw it into the flames. You looked away first, heart hammering, pretending you didn’t notice.
But the heat of his gaze stayed on you long after, each glance from him hitting you like sparks from the fire, hot and impossible to ignore.
Steve kept talking, something about how someone from chemistry had already fallen into the lake twice. He kept selling the act. As he spoke, he’d lean close, brushing your hair away from your face. Glancing at your lips a few times. But his voice faded into background noise. Because Eddie was still staring.
The fire cracked loudly between you, flames curling upward like they were trying to swallow the tension whole. People laughed, music thumped, someone shouted about needing more wood—but all you could see was Eddie’s eyes locked on you, lips pressed into something that wasn’t quite a scowl but definitely wasn’t a smile.
Finally, he pushed off the log he’d been sitting on, muttered something to the girl beside him, and stalked toward you. Steve’s hand on your shoulder tightened.
“Oh boy,” he murmured, then leaned in to whisper in your ear, as if to sell the scene one final time. “Get ready.”
Eddie didn’t slow, boots crunching over gravel until he stood right in front of you—close enough that you could smell the cigarette smoke in his clothes and the faint bite of beer on his breath.
His gaze flicked to Steve’s arm still draped around you, then back to your face.
“You look cozy.” Eddie said, voice light. Too light. Like a joke he couldn’t quite land.
“Yeah,” you replied, matching the tone even though your pulse jumped. “Steve’s great company.”
Steve gave Eddie a sunny, borderline antagonistic smile. “Munson, take a picture. It’ll last longer.”
Eddie didn’t even look at him. He kept his eyes on you, expression unreadable except for that spark, burning through every defense you had.
“You gonna come talk to me,” he asked softly, “or you sticking with Harrington all night?”
Steve shrugged. “Don’t mind me. I can share.”
You slapped Steve’s thigh, but he only grinned. Eddie’s nostrils flared, just barely. Then he leaned closer, speaking low enough that only you could hear.
“Let’s go for a walk.”
Your breath hitched. Steve heard it, apparently, because he let his arm fall away from your shoulders and patted your knee.
“Go on,” he said with a wink. “before he combusts. I’ll be here when you get back, babe.”
You heard Eddie scoff as you stood. Eddie stepped back to give you space, but not much. His fingers brushing yours as you passed him, a fleeting touch that felt intentional.
You walked with him toward the tree line, the fire lighting his silhouette in flickering orange. His curls blew in the faint breeze, and every few steps he glanced at you like he couldn’t help it, like he needed to make sure you were still beside him.
When the noise of the party finally faded enough to think, he stopped, turned, and looked at you fully.
“What the hell was that?” he asked, voice low, breath uneven.
And you realized—he wasn’t angry. He was jealous. Jealous and confused and maybe a little hurt? Which might’ve been worse.
“You tell me.” you said quietly.
His eyes searched yours, wide and vulnerable for just a second before he blinked it away.
“Why him?” Eddie asked. “Why’d you go to him?”
You swallowed, heart thudding loud enough you were sure he could hear it.
“Why do you care?” you murmured.
Eddie stared at you like he was trying to solve a puzzle with half the pieces missing. Then he stepped closer. Close enough that your shoulders grazed. Close enough that you could feel the heat rolling off him.
“I don’t know,” he whispered, “but I do.”
You crossed your arms, partly because the night air had cooled and you were no longer warmed by the blazing fire, mostly because his sudden possessiveness was stirring up every emotion you’d been trying to drown in cheap beer.
“Eddie,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, “we’re casual. Remember?”
He blinked, thrown.
“We never said we couldn’t see other people. You made that part pretty damn clear.”
His jaw flexed. “That’s not— I wasn’t—”
You huffed a laugh, sharp and humorless, and looked away toward the fire, where Steve was talking with Robin, perfectly unbothered.
“Don’t act like you get to be jealous,” you said. “You were flirting with someone.”
“I wasn’t flirting.”
You shot him a look.
He winced. “Okay, maybe I was a little. But that’s different.”
“How?” you demanded, heat rising in your chest. “Because you were doing it?”
He opened his mouth, then closed it, looking genuinely frustrated—like the words were there but tangled up.
“You and Harrington just looked—” He broke off, dragging a hand through his hair. “Too close.”
“Okay, and?”
“And he had his arm around you.”
“So what? You say that like you weren’t doing the exact same thing.”
Eddie froze. Like he hadn’t expected you to have seen him. Like he didn’t know how to handle the weight of it.
The wind rustled the trees around you. A distant laugh echoed from the main group. And Eddie stared at you, something fierce and conflicted twisting through his expression.
“You’re right,” he said quietly, voice rougher now. “We are casual.”
You felt something in your chest restrict. You should’ve known this would’ve gotten messy. Friends with benefits never works out. Especially when someone is already head over heels for the person propositioning it.
“But that doesn’t mean I don’t care who touches you,” he went on, taking a step closer. “Or who puts their hands on you. Or who looks at you like they have any right to.”
Your breath stuttered. “Eddie…”
“And for the record?” he said, eyes darkening as they flicked over your face. “That whole casual thing? That was supposed to make this easier, not make me feel like I’m losing my mind watching you with someone else.”
Your heart thudded painfully. “I thought you didn’t want more.” You whispered.
He exhaled, slow and shaky. Eddie dragged a hand across his mouth, eyes darting everywhere but your face now—like looking at you made the whole thing worse.
“Forget it,” he muttered, backing up a step. “I shouldn’t have said all that.”
“Eddie—”
“No.” He shook his head, curls falling forward. “I’m gonna go home. It’s fine. I just… need air or space or—whatever.”
The words stung more than you expected. Especially when he forced a crooked, fake smile.
“You should stay. Have fun. Seriously.” He pointed vaguely toward the fire. “Harrington’s here, Robin too. The hellfire gang. You’ll be fine.”
You took a step toward him, reaching out to grab his hand. He took a step back to dodge it.
“Really,” he said, softer, but firm. “Stay.”
And then he turned and walked away. No dramatic exit. Just Eddie, hands in his pockets, shoulders tight as he disappeared into the line of parked cars and then out of sight down the dirt road.
You stood there for a moment, fire crackling behind you, stomach twisting like you’d swallowed a stone.
Fine. If he wanted you to stay, you would stay.
You forced your legs to move and wandered back toward the crowd. Steve spotted you first, raising an eyebrow like he already knew the answer and didn’t need to ask the question.
“Everything cool?” he said lightly.
“Totally,” you lied.
He didn’t buy it, but he didn’t push. Instead, he nudged your shoulder and pointed you toward Robin, who was ranting loudly about her part time job and the stupid customers.
You slipped into her orbit easily. Laughing. Chatting. Pretending your heart wasn’t in the pocket of Eddie's leather jacket as he drove home.
Steve kept an eye on you—not hovering, but close enough that you felt grounded. The theatrics of him pretending to hit on you ended as soon as Eddie left. Robin tried to pull you into a ridiculous dance circle, offering you a beer you hesitantly took. Someone offered you another drink after that, you took that one too. You chatted and joked with Jeff and Gareth. Tried to sing with them when Jeff pulled his guitar from Gareth’s mom’s station wagon.
You tried. You really did.
But every time someone laughed, you glanced in their direction. Every time a car door slammed, your pulse jumped. Every time someone with long curls walked by, your breath caught—only to fall when it wasn’t him.
By the end of the night, it wasn’t fun anymore.
Steve noticed your silence, your staring, your sudden inability to pretend this wasn’t killing you.
“You ready to go?” he asked gently.
You nodded.
The drive back was quiet, headlights cutting through the dark trees as you twisted your fingers in your lap. Steve didn’t comment when you directed him past your house.
He didn’t comment when you told him to turn left. Then right. Then down a familiar gravel drive. He parked outside Eddie’s trailer and let the engine idle.
“You sure you wanna talk to him drunk?” he asked softly.
You nodded again.
“I’m not that drunk.”
Steve sighed, but not in a judgmental way—more like he was rooting for you, even if he didn’t know what the hell was happening.
Steve wasn’t stupid. He knew you like the back of his hand. Knew within the first few months when you wouldn’t stop talking about the stupid metalhead, that you were too gone.
“Call me if you need a ride home,” he said. “Or if you need to escape. Or if Munson’s being Munson.”
You managed a small smile. “When is he not? But thanks, Steve.”
You stepped out into the cool night air, closing the door gently behind you. His car pulled away, tires crunching over gravel, until the sound and headlights faded.
The trailer was dark except for the faint glow of the living-room lamp through the blinds.
You swallowed hard, nerves and alcohol buzzing like electricity under your skin.
Then you walked up the steps and knocked. You stood on the small porch, arms wrapped around yourself as the cool night air lifted the hairs on the back of your neck. The porch light flickered and every second he didn’t answer made your heart pound harder.
Just when you were sure he was either asleep or ignoring you, the deadbolt scraped, then the door cracked open. Eddie blinked out at you, squinting like the porch light was too bright.
His hair was a complete disaster. Tangled, flattened on one side, sticking up wildly on the other like he’d been tossing in bed. A soft, faded pair of gray sweatpants hung low on his hips, drawstring untied, the trail of hair down his stomach disappearing into the waistband.
He scrubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand, voice rough with sleep when he finally spoke.
“…You okay?”
You swallowed. “Yeah. I- did I wake you?”
He stepped aside, motioning you in without answering the question. “C’mere. It’s chilly out.”
You walked past him, your shoulder brushing his bare arm. He shut the door quietly, leaning back against it once it clicked. When he looked at you properly, confusion and something softer flickered across his face.
“What’re you doing here?” he asked, voice quieter now. “Shouldn’t you be at the party? With-” His jaw tensed briefly. “everyone else?”
You looked down at your shoes. “They’re probably still there.”
“Yeah,” he said, shifting his weight. “So why aren’t you?”
You lifted your eyes to meet his. His hair fell across his cheek, his breathing still a little uneven from being woken up.
“I didn’t want to be there anymore, wasn’t having any fun.” you said honestly.
His brow softened, the line between his eyebrows easing. “So you came here?”
“Yeah.”
A slow exhale left him, like he’d been holding his breath without realizing it. He raked a hand through his chaotic curls, making them even worse.
“You shouldn’t have walked alone.” he murmured.
“I didn’t. Steve drove me.”
He blinked, caught off guard but not angry—just startled.
“…Oh.”
Silence settled between you. Eddie finally pushed off the door and stepped closer, stopping just a foot in front of you. You could feel the warmth radiating off his skin.
He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing, and his voice dropped even lower
“I’m, uh…” His eyes trailed over your outfit—the one you’d picked with him in mind. “glad you came.”
You let out a small chuckle. “I didn’t want to go home alone.”
Eddie nodded, like he understood exactly what you meant and all the things you weren’t saying. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Me neither.”
And then he reached out, fingers brushing yours, hesitant but hopeful, waiting to see if you’d pull away. Eddie’s fingers barely ghosted over yours before he pulled in a shaky breath and stepped back—not far, just enough to brace a hand on the counter behind him like he needed something solid to hold onto.
His eyes stayed on the floor for a moment, curls falling forward. He looked younger like this—unguarded, tired, still carrying the leftover heat of irritation and jealousy.
“I should say something…” he murmured.
You waited, heart tightening. This was the moment you wanted—the moment you hoped he’d finally admit something real. But when he looked up, his expression made your stomach drop.
He lifted his hands before falling uselessly at his sides. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” you asked, even though you already knew.
He sighed, shoulders slumping. “For tonight. For getting jealous like an idiot. For-” His mouth twisted. “for flirting in front of you. It was shitty.”
“Oh.” You swallowed, nodding once. “Right.”
Not the right kind of sorry. Not the one you needed. He didn’t notice the way your chest caved, too busy shaking his head like he was scolding himself.
“I won’t… do that again,” he continued, voice low and earnest. “Not in front of you. Not like that.”
There it was. The apology that fixed absolutely nothing.
You forced air into your lungs and nodded slowly. “Okay.”
He stepped closer again, just enough that his bare chest brushed your sleeve. His voice softened, like he thought he was giving you reassurance.
“It won’t happen anymore.”
For a moment, you almost broke. Told him he was apologizing for the wrong thing. Told him you weren’t hurt because he flirted—you were hurt because he cared only when he saw you with someone else. Because he wanted ownership without wanting you. But you couldn’t. Not while he was looking at you like this. Not while the smell of his skin and the warmth of the trailer made your feelings too loud to control.
“Okay,” you repeated quietly.
Eddie let out a breath of relief, stepping even closer, his knuckles brushing your hip.
“I just… I don’t want to mess things up with you,” he said. “I like what we have.”
Your heart cracked because what we have was the exact problem. Not enough. Never enough. But he was looking at you with those wide, soft brown eyes, hair a mess, chest bare, voice hoarse from sleep, and god, it hurt how much you loved him.
So you smiled. Small. Careful. A lie he needed.
“Yeah, Eds,” you whispered. “We’re fine.”
His shoulders relaxed instantly. And that killed you most of all. You took a slow step back, needing distance before the ache in your chest swallowed you whole.
“I should probably… get going,” you said, forcing your voice to stay steady.
Eddie’s face fell instantly. So fast that you had to look away before it broke you.
“What? Why?” he asked, already stepping toward you again. “It’s late. You can crash here. You always crash here.”
“I know,” you said gently. “but I’m just… tired. I think I should go home.”
He blinked at you, confused and a little hurt. “Sweetheart, you didn’t walk all the way over here just to leave.”
“I had Steve drive me,” you corrected quietly.
He winced. “Right, yeah. Still. You don’t have to go.”
He moved in, instinctively reaching for you. His hands settling at your waist like muscle memory. The warmth of him hit you all at once. His bare chest, the faint heat of sleep still clinging to his skin, the smell of him, that soft mix of bonfire and cigarette smoke, detergent, and Eddie.
“Stay,” he murmured, leaning in, forehead nearly brushing yours. “Just… stay here tonight.”
Your breath stuttered. God, you wanted to. Your whole body leaned toward him like gravity was pulling you in.
His arms tightened, pulling you against him, his lips brushing your cheek before trailing toward your mouth. And that was exactly why you had to stop.
“Eddie,” you whispered, hands pressing lightly to his chest. “Stop.”
He froze. Right there—lips inches from yours, arms warm around you—he froze. You eased out of his hold, every inch you stepped back feeling like ripping Velcro off your own heart. His brows knitted, hurt and confusion twisting through his expression.
“Did I… do something wrong?”
“No.” You shook your head. “It’s not that.”
“Then what-?”
“Eds…” Your voice cracked. You cleared your throat. “I just need to go home. Okay?”
He swallowed, jaw working like he was trying to understand something he didn’t have the pieces for.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Okay. I can drive-“
“No. It’s not that far anyway. It’ll give me time to sober up before having to sneak in.”
He moved toward you like he couldn’t help it, stopping just shy of touching. “Will I-” He swallowed again. “Will I see you tomorrow?”
You looked up at him and somehow managed to nod “Yeah,” you said softly. “You’ll see me later.”
He nodded once, slow, like he wasn’t sure if that was a promise or a goodbye.
You opened the door, the cool night air spilling in. Before you stepped out, you heard him say—quiet, vulnerable, not meant to reach you.
“Goodnight, sweetheart.”
You closed the door gently behind you. And carried the crack in your chest all the way home.
—————-
The moment you got home, you barely made it to your room before the first sob hit. Ugly and way too honest. You shut the door with shaking hands, stumbled to your bed, and collapsed face-first into your pillow.
You cried like something inside you had snapped. Because something had. All this time, you thought you were being subtle. You thought you could be close to him without being close to him.
You thought you could handle the little pieces he offered, even if they didn’t add up to anything real. You tried to be what he wanted. Letting him get away with whatever bullshit, giving him space when needed.
Friends with benefits. God, how stupid. How fucking stupid.
You dragged your palms over your face, trying to muffle the next sob, but it still tore out of you.
You didn’t get to love him. Not like that. Not out loud. You didn’t get to want the future he didn’t want. But you let him hold you like he did. You let him kiss you like he meant it.
You let yourself believe, even for a second, that maybe—just maybe—your heart wasn’t delusional.
And tonight proved exactly how wrong you were.
You curled onto your side, knees to your chest, breath breaking in uneven gasps as tears soaked the fabric beneath you.
You replayed it all in brutal detail. The flirting. The way he lit up when someone else touched his arm. The way he looked at you across the fire. He was jealous, but not jealous enough to choose you.His apology that wasn’t an apology. The way he tried to kiss you like it meant nothing. The way you almost let him.
You pressed a fist to your sternum, as if you could physically hold your heart together.
You couldn’t do this anymore. You couldn’t keep letting him halfway love you. You couldn’t keep letting him act like you were his only when it was convenient. You couldn’t keep pretending your feelings weren’t swallowing you whole.
You sniffed hard, wiping your face with your sleeve.
You had to distance yourself. You had to stop the friends-with-benefits thing before it killed you from the inside out. You had to protect the tiny piece of your heart that wasn’t already bruised purple from his grip
He would get over it. He’d be upset for a day, maybe two. He’d pout, he’d complain, he’d sulk—and then he’d go back to being fine.
And you?
You let out another shaky breath, fresh tears burning. You’d lie awake like this. Trying to pry your heart out of a place it had never been wanted.
You sobbed again until there was nothing left but the ache. One thing was clear now, clearer than it had ever been.
You couldn’t keep doing this. No matter how much you loved him. Because love shouldn’t be this messy. Love shouldn’t hurt this bad.
—————-
The first day back after spring break felt heavier than it should’ve.
The halls buzzed with everyone comparing their time off, hookups, where they went, what they did, stupid stories about stupid things. All of it slid right past you, muted under the steady thrum of anxiety sitting at the base of your spine.
Your backpack was too heavy. Your clothes felt wrong.
And every time you turned a corner you expected to see him. Expected to bump square into the middle of his chest.
You’d gotten good at avoiding Eddie over break—staying in your room, telling your mom you were “still sick,” cracking your door open just enough to tell him you weren’t up for visitors when he came by.
He’d frowned, offered to drop off movies or soup, lingered on your porch like he could will you into changing your mind.
But you held your ground. It hurt. But seeing him would’ve hurt more.
It would’ve led to stupid decision. Meaningless kisses. Meaningless touches.
More meaningless You’re mine’s.
That always seemed to be his go to when he had you wrapped around him. And you always felt so stupid in the wake of the aftermath how easily you let those two stupid words go straight to your heart.
Now you walked into the cafeteria with Robin chattering beside you, Steve trailing close behind, balancing a tray loaded with two extra juice boxes he insisted you drink because "They're your favorite and it’ll make you feel better.”
You forced a laugh.
“It’s just school, Harrington. I’ll get better when we graduate.”
“Uh-huh,” he said, giving you a once-over. “Humor me.”
Again, he wasn’t stupid. He knew what had been going on. Going to hang out with Eddie then the next day showing up with hickeys barely hidden by your poor makeup skills.
Robin nudged you toward your usual seat—well, your new usual seat. Away from the Hellfire table. Away from the boys arguing loudly over campaigns and dice rolls.
Away from him.
You slid into the spot between Robin and Steve, trying to pretend nothing was wrong. Trying to pretend your heart wasn’t kicking at your ribs every time someone with long dark curls crossed your peripheral vision.
Steve watched you for a moment before leaning on his elbow on the table.
“You okay?”
You nodded quickly. Too quickly.
Robin snorted. “That’s the I’m-fine-but-I’m-not-fine nod. Very iconic. Very suspicious.”
You opened your mouth to fire back some sarcastic retort—when the cafeteria noise dimmed in your ears, just for a second.
Because he walked in. Eddie.
Hair a little messier than usual, like he’d rushed out of bed. Eyes scanning the room in that casual, effortless way he always scanned for you. His graphic tee stretched over his chest, rings glinting as he shoved his hands in his pockets.
He looked tired.
He looked like he’d been looking for you.
Your stomach twisted painfully as you turned away, trying to hide yourself from him.
He hadn’t seen you yet—until Gareth nudged him and nodded toward your table.
When you turned just a little to catch a quick peak, you saw Eddie’s head turn, saw his eyes land on the three of you—
Saw the moment he realized you weren’t coming to him today. His expression flickered. Almost too fast to catch. But you caught it.
He tried to play it cool, tried to smile when Jeff said something beside him, but his gaze drifted back to you. You bit down on the inside of your cheek and forced your attention onto your tray.
Steve leaned closer, his voice low. “He keeps staring.”
You didn’t look up. “I don’t care.”
Robin raised a brow. “Uh-huh. And I’m the Queen of England.”
You rolled your eyes. Everything inside you felt too full and too empty at the same time.
Across the room, you felt his gaze again, waiting for you to look back. To smile. To motion him over.
You didn’t.
For the first time since you’d met him, you didn’t give in. And when he realized that—when he realized you weren’t coming to him, weren’t going to let him pretend everything was normal—his shoulders tensed. His jaw tightened.
He turned back to the Hellfire table, dropping into his usual seat in a way that was too stiff, too deliberate.
Robin gave you a gentle nudge. “You gonna tell me what’s going on there?”
You swallowed, eyes on your untouched food.
“No,” you whispered. “Not today.”
Because if you started talking about Eddie Munson right now— in this loud fluorescent cafeteria with him sitting twenty feet away— you weren’t sure you’d be able to stop and no one needed to see you have a full blown mental breakdown over him.
—————-
The days blurred together. Robin and Steve finally got the full story of what was going on. They did their best to be a distraction for you. Inviting you out after school. Stopping by the house on their way to work. Taking you to the mall for retail therapy.
It only worked sometimes. Once you were alone though, you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking about him.
You avoided him in the halls. You avoided the Hellfire table. You avoided any path that might cross his.
And at first, Eddie tried. He really tried. He’d wave when he caught your eye. Call out your name when you pretended you didn’t hear him. Lean against your locker like he always used to—even when you hurried past without stopping.
But after a while, the light in his face dimmed. The calls turned into glances. The glances turned into nothing. And then came the irritation. The hurt he pretended not to feel. It started small.
You’d dropped a worksheet outside English class, papers scattering, and he’d been passing by. Normally he would’ve crouched down beside you, teasing you for being “a helpless little disaster.”
This time?
He just stepped over them. Didn’t look at you. Didn’t slow down. Just muttered, “Maybe pay attention,” under his breath.
It stung. But you let him go.
You tried to slip past unnoticed, but Gareth spotted you and waved enthusiastically.
“Hey! We haven’t seen you all week!”
Eddie turned at the sound of Gareth’s voice—turning just in time to see Gareth reaching for you, smiling.
And Eddie’s face changed. His expression shuttered. Jaw set. Something dark flickering behind his eyes.
You swallowed. “Hey, Gare. I’ve just been—busy.”
Eddie scoffed. Loud enough to make you flinch.
“Oh yeah? Too busy to even say hi now?”
You stiffened, heat crawling up your neck. “I said, I’ve been busy, Eddie.”
“Right,” he said flatly. “Because you’ve suddenly got this brand-new life that doesn’t involve any of us.”
You opened your mouth, but he lifted a hand.
“Whatever. Doesn’t matter. Not like I’m your fucking babysitter.”
Gareth looked between you two, confused and uncomfortable.
You took a breath, tried to stay calm. “I’m going to class. I’ll give you a call later today if you want, Gare.”
He smiled and nodded.
“Shocker,” Eddie muttered as you walked away. “She remembers we exist when it’s convenient.”
Your stomach twisted painfully. But you didn’t turn back.
By the end of the week, the tension was thick enough to choke on.
Whenever you were near him, even by accident, he went rigid. Short answers. Cold tone. Like he was punishing you for hurting him. It almost made you want to laugh.
And then came the moment that broke you a little more.
You were at your locker between periods when he passed by with Jeff. He wasn’t even talking—just walking, tired and quiet.
You almost didn’t notice him. Almost.
Then Jeff said something that made him huff a laugh, and his eyes flicked toward you.
Just for a fraction of a second. Enough to acknowledge you. Enough to see you. But instead of looking away like he normally did… Eddie shot you a glare. Cold. Sharp. Done.
“You got a problem?” he snapped when he realized you were staring.
You jerked back, startled. “The fuck, Munson?”
“Stop looking at me like that.”
It hit harder than you expected. You opened your mouth, stunned, but nothing came out.
He didn’t wait. Didn’t apologize. Didn’t soften.
He just walked off with Jeff, shaking his head as though you were the one being unreasonable.
And for the first time since this whole mess started… you felt something inside you break. Completely shattered with no pieces left to try to pick up.
Because this wasn’t the Eddie who’d held you through the night. Wasn’t the Eddie who kissed your forehead when you were falling asleep. Wasn’t the Eddie who once told you that you were his favorite person in the world.
This Eddie was tired. Frustrated. Wounded. And taking it out on you.
And still—some pathetic, traitorous part of you missed him.
—————-
The Hellfire boys had finally had enough. You didn’t know it but they’d been watching this slow-motion disaster unfold from both sides. Eddie moping and snapping at everyone. You avoiding them like they carried the plague.
And Hellfire, for all its chaos, was a family. A meddling one.
It happened on a Thursday after school. You were heading toward the parking lot, hoping to escape another day without bumping into Eddie, when Gareth caught your wrist.
“Hey-can you help us with something real quick?”
You blinked. “Um… help you with what?”
Dustin and Jeff appeared behind him, too quickly. Too smiley. Suspiciously smiley.
“It’s…uh…d&d.”
“Characters and whatnot!” Jeff added.
“We need your opinion.” Gareth said at the same time.
You raised a brow. “Since when do you need my opinion on your campaign?”
They ignored that, herding you down the hall like some awkward sheepdogs with an agenda.
“Guys, what is going on?”
Gareth opened the drama room door and pushed you gently inside. You stumbled forward, catching yourself. Just as the door clicked shut behind you. You spun around.
“Seriously? What-”
Locked.
You jiggled the knob. “Are you kidding me?! Guys, come on!!”
Silence. Then hurried footsteps. Then nothing.
“Oh my god,” you muttered. “Unbelievable.”
But before you could fully process the level of stupid you’d just been subjected to— A voice came from the back of the room.
“Well, fuck.”
Your heart lurched.
Eddie sat on the edge of the stage platform, hands braced behind him, expression caught between annoyance and disbelief.
“They locked me in, too,” he said, glaring toward the door. “Said they needed help painting a new Corroded Coffin banner. Said Jeff wanted one to hang in his room.”
You stared at him. He stared back. Both of you tense. Wounded. Waiting.
The silence stretched until he exhaled harshly and pushed off the stage.
“So what,” Eddie muttered, hopping off the stage and pacing a few steps, “this is some messed-up intervention?”
“I guess,” you said quietly. “They’re worried.”
He scoffed. “Yeah, well. They shouldn’t be.”
But there was no heat in it. Just exhaustion.
You crossed your arms, jaw tight. “You haven’t exactly been fun to be around lately. Heard all about it when I called Gareth.”
He stopped pacing. Slowly turned to you.
“Oh, I haven’t been fun?” he repeated, voice sharp. “You’ve been avoiding me for weeks. You won’t talk to me, won’t look at me-what was I supposed to do, just smile and wave?”
“That doesn’t mean you get to be an asshole to everyone around you.” you snapped.
“Oh, trust me, I know,” he shot back. “I’m painfully aware that I’m screwing up everything. That I already screwed shit up long ago.”
His voice cracked, barely there. That shut you up.
He raked a hand through his hair, pacing again, agitated. “You think I don’t notice when you’re gone? You think I don’t see you with Harrington and Buckley at lunch, pretending we never mattered? Pretending I never mattered?”
Your throat tightened. “Eddie, that’s not-”
“I miss you,” he blurted.
You froze. He froze. The words trembled in the air between you.
He swallowed hard, shaking his head. “Shit. I didn’t mean to- well, I did, but not like-” He groaned and dragged both hands down his face. “Look, I’ve been an asshole. A huge one. The biggest. I know that. But I-I miss my best friend.”
Something inside you cracked, painfully and softly at the same time. You stared at him, heartbeat loud in your ears.
“I miss you too.” you whispered.
His eyes lifted. Hope flickered. Small and careful and afraid.
“But,” you continued, voice wavering, “I needed space.”
“I know,” he said immediately, stepping closer. “I get it now. I wasn’t giving you any. I was pushing. And I got jealous like a fucking child and…yeah-I deserve the silent treatment.”
He let out a breath, shaky and sincere.
“But I’m begging you- just talk to me. Yell at me. Hit me with a shoe. Anything. Just… don’t disappear on me again.”
You blinked fast, overwhelmed by the crack in his voice.
This wasn’t angry Eddie. Or defensive Eddie. Or casually cruel Eddie. This was your Eddie. Slowly, you stepped toward him. He stayed still, watching you like you were something fragile.
You swallowed. “It’s not that you got jealous, Eds. It was everything else.”
His brows pinched, the smallest shift, but you saw it— that flinch he tried to hide, like he was bracing for impact. “What do you mean?” he asked quietly.
You let out a shaky breath, fingers twisting together.
“It wasn’t the jealousy that hurt. It was how you treated me. The things you said. Then the way you made it seem like I was… disposable.”
Eddie’s face crumpled, the bravado slipping right off him.
“I didn’t… shit.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean that. I swear to god, sweetheart, I never meant it like that.”
“Stop with the sweetheart shit, please…” you whispered.
“It felt like once we started… whatever we started… I stopped being your friend unless you wanted something.”
He closed his eyes like the words physically hit him. You kept going, because stopping meant chickening out.
“You’d pull me close one night, then ignore me the next morning. You’d tell me I was your favorite person but flirt with other girls in front of me. You’d kiss me and then act like I was some chore the next day.”
“Jesus… fuck,” Eddie muttered, shaking his head as if trying to shake the memories loose. “I know. I know. I was an idiot. I was scared and-and defensive and… I handled everything like a complete jackass.”
You swallowed, throat tight.
He hesitated before stepping a little closer—not touching, just close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him.
“When you started avoiding me,” Eddie said softly, “I panicked. I didn’t know what I did wrong. And instead of asking you, I got pissed.”
A humorless laugh escaped him. “Really mature, right?”
You didn’t respond. You weren’t ready to let him off the hook. Not yet.
He looked at you, really looked—eyes soft and wrecked in the way they got when he was telling the truth.
“You’re not disposable,” he said.
His voice was rough, low, like it hurt him to say it out loud.
“You’re… you’re the one person I care about more than I know how to explain. And I fucked everything up because I didn’t know how to deal with that.”
He took one tiny step closer—giving you every chance to step back.
You didn’t.
“Eds…” you whispered, unsure of where to go from here.
His jaw tightened, eyes shining with something like desperation.
“I miss you,” he said again, voice cracking on the last word. “Not because of the sex. Not because you make everything fun.”
His chest rose and fell, uneven.
“I miss you because you’re my best friend,” he finished, softer than a whisper.
“And because losing you, like actually losing you, felt worse than anything I’ve been through.”
Your Eddie. Right there. Heart in his hands, terrified you wouldn’t take it.
He swallowed hard, gaze dropping to the floor.
“If I ruined us and there’s no going back, tell me,” he said. “Tell me and I’ll let you go. It’ll hurt like hell, but- i’ll do it.”
Your heart squeezed so tight it hurt.
He looked up at you again, eyes wide and scared and full of hope he wouldn’t dare admit to.
“But if there’s a chance… even a small one… that we can fix this…”
He took a breath that shook.
“Just say the word.”
You inhaled slowly, steadying yourself, because this—this was the part you’d been terrified to touch.
The part that would change everything.
“Eds,” you said softly, “I need to ask you something.”
He straightened, shoulders tense. “Yeah?”
You hesitated, then forced it out.
“How do you feel about me?”
For a heartbeat, he froze.
Then Eddie Munson did what Eddie Munson always did when backed into an emotional corner.
He deflected.
He shoved his hands in his pockets, rocked on his heels like this was all casual, all easy. Like your futures didn’t hang on his next sentence.
“Well,” he said with a shrug, “you’re my best friend.”
You stared at him, unblinking.
“And?” you pushed.
He huffed a nervous laugh. “And you-uh…you feel like home, I guess. My safe place. The person I go to when shit sucks.” He gestured vaguely. “The person I wanna talk to when something cool happens or when I have a shitty day. That’s… that’s how I feel.”
You blinked. That was it?
He must’ve seen the disappointment cross your face, because he rushed on.
“I mean, that’s important, right? That’s-big.”
But you just shook your head, the hurt creeping back into your chest.
“That’s not what I meant,” you whispered. “That’s not what I’ve been asking.”
You turned away, the burn behind your eyes making everything blur. “Forget it.”
“Hey-no,” he said quickly, stepping forward. “Don’t do that. Don’t walk away from me again. Talk to me. Help me understand.”
“You’re still not answering me,” you said, voice shaking. “You’re dodging. Like always.”
“I’m not dodging.”
“You just said I’m your best friend,” you snapped, spinning around to face him. “You described a pet. Or a comfort blanket. You didn’t answer what I asked.”
Eddie’s mouth opened then closed. His eyes darted away, jaw clenching hard.
Your heart sank.
“Right,” you whispered, stepping back. “That’s what I thought.”
And when you turned toward the door, everything changed.
Because Eddie surged forward, grabbing your wrist—not hard, not enough to hurt, just enough to stop you from leaving and make you look at him.
His voice cracked and his eyes had started to get watery. “I’m in love with you.”
You froze. Every part of you. Every breath. Every heartbeat.
He swallowed hard, eyes locked on yours, desperate and terrified and done pretending.
“I am so goddamn in love with you it scares the shit out of me,” he said, words spilling out like he’d been holding them back for far too long. “That’s why I screwed everything up. That’s why I acted like a fucking idiot. Because every time I looked at you, I felt…more than I knew what to do with.”
Your lips parted, but no sound came out. He stepped closer, still holding your wrist, lightly brushing his thumb against it.
“You wanted the truth?” he said, voice quiet but fierce. “That’s the truth.”
Your heart pounded in your ears.
“I freaked out,” he whispered. “I panicked. I wanted you so bad I couldn’t think straight. And instead of dealing with it like a normal fucking human, I ruined everything.”
His voice dropped to barely more than a breath. “I’m in love with you.”
His eyes shone, soft and pleading. “I’m so in love with you it hurts.”
Silence fell between you—thick, powerful, fragile. Your wrist still in his hand. Your heart still pounding like it was trying to break free and crawl into his ribcage, trying to make a home next to his own heart.
And Eddie. he was bare, terrified, hopeful. Just waiting for you to speak.
You stared at him, breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat.
His confession echoed in your head, too big, too impossible, too… everything.
Your voice came out small. Shaken.
“Are you…are you fucking with me?”
Eddie’s eyes widened immediately, almost offended. “What? No. No, I- why would I joke about that?”
“Because this doesn’t make sense,” you whispered. “Because you never said anything. Because you acted like-like everything but that.”
He let go of your wrist only to cup your face gently, palms warm against your cheeks.
“I know,” he murmured. “I know I handled everything wrong. But I’m not fucking with you.”
You held his gaze, searching for any sign of a lie, any hint of the old defensive Eddie.
Eddie’s expression softened—not nervous, not frantic anymore, but tender.
Almost painfully so.
“You remember that blackout?” he asked quietly.
“What?”“The first night you ever stayed at my house. The blackout.”
Your eyebrows drew together in confusion and you slowly nodded.
The storm.
The thunder that rattled the windows. Had you both worried it would tear down Wayne’s mug collection with how much the trailer shook from the wind.
The power going out mid-movie night.
You crawling into his bed because you were scared—and him pretending not to notice how tightly you clung to him.
“You fell asleep on me,” he said, eyes softening at the memory.
“Right here.” He touched his chest lightly. “Curled up like you belonged there.”
Your eyes quickly flashed to his balled up fist that rested on his chest before looking back into his gaze.
“And the storm kept getting worse,” he continued, voice warm, low, honest. “Every time thunder hit, you squeezed my shirt and mumbled something I couldn’t make out. And I just… I held you. Because it felt natural. It felt right.”
Your throat tightened.
He smiled faintly, shaking his head like he still couldn’t believe it.
“You were scared and all I wanted to do was protect you and make you feel safe. And you tucked your cold feet between my ankles, like you always do, like it was the most normal thing in the world.”
You blinked, lips parting.
You hadn’t even realized you’d done that.
“And I remember lying there,” he said, voice dropping to something more vulnerable, “in the dark, with your heartbeat against me, thinking… oh, shit.”
A soft, stunned laugh escaped you. “Oh shit?”
“Oh shit,” he repeated with a crooked, self-deprecating smile.
“Because I realized I didn’t want to fall asleep alone anymore. I realized I wanted you there every night. I wanted to be the person you came to when you were scared. Or sad. Or excited. Or bored. I just wanted to be your person.”
He exhaled, the confession pouring out of him like he’d been holding it back for far too long.
“And I realized I wasn’t just attracted to you. I wasn’t just… into the physical stuff. I wanted everything with you.”
Your chest ached but this type of ache was new. It had all those cracks he had created in you suddenly filling with warmth.
Eddie swallowed, eyes locked on yours.
“But it terrified me,” he said. “Because I’m me. And you…”
His voice cracked.
“You’re the best thing I’ve ever had. And the idea of losing you scared me so bad I messed everything up trying to ignore how I felt. So I slapped the casual label on it, ‘cause if it’s casual, you wouldn’t have to break my heart by rejecting me.”
You loosened, the tight coil of hurt and anger inside you unwinding. It wasn’t fully gone, not magically fixed, but softening. Like it was starting to fray and dissolve at the edges.
Dissolving because this was real. Because he meant it. Because he wasn’t just saying what you wanted to hear.
Your voice shook. “Eds…”
He stepped closer, forehead brushing yours, breath warm against your lips.
“I’m not messing with you,” he whispered.
“Not now. Not ever. But ever since that night, I used to pray for thunderstorms to happen while you were at my house.”
You stared at him—really stared—at the flushed cheeks, the trembling hands, the way he was trying so hard not to touch you unless you gave him permission.
And something inside you finally, finally snapped. Not in anger. In relief.
Before he could say anything else, you gave a light laugh at his last confession before you surged forward and grabbed the sides of his face, pulling his mouth to yours.
Eddie inhaled sharply against your lips, like he hadn’t dared dream you’d actually kiss him outside the confines of your homes. Then he melted into you, the way you had done with him so many times. His hands sliding to your waist as if he’d been holding himself back.
The kiss wasn’t gentle.
It was weeks of hurting.
Months of wanting.
Years of being stupidly, hopelessly in love with each other.
When you finally broke away, both of you were breathless—your nose brushing his, your fingers still tangled in his hair.
His voice was wrecked. “Sweetheart…”
“You idiot,” you whispered, a tear slipping down even though you were smiling. “You never had to worry about me rejecting you.”
Eddie blinked, stunned. “W-what?”
“I’ve been in love with you too,” you admitted, cheeks burning, heart pounding. “For a long time. Longer than I should’ve let myself.”
He stared at you like the world had just tilted under his feet.
Then a shaky disbelieving laugh escaped him. His forehead dropped to your shoulder.
You laughed, wiping your cheeks. “Eds—”
But he pulled back, cupping your face as if he needed to see the truth written there. His brown eyes were glassy, wide, and so full of emotion it almost hurt to look at them.
“You mean it?” he breathed. “You’re in love with me?”
“I mean it.” you whispered.
A slow, awestruck smile spread across his face—soft at first, then growing into something radiant. Something he couldn’t have held back even if he’d tried. It was his best kind of smile. The one you always wanted him to wear.
“Holy shit,” he said, and before you could tease him for it, he kissed you again like he’d been starving for this. Like he’d been waiting forever.
You realized neither of you were worried anymore. Not about jealousy. Not about rejection. Not about ruining anything. Because you’d finally stopped running from the truth.
You’d been his. And he’d been yours. Long before either of you were brave enough to say it.
When you finally parted, he leaned his forehead against yours. Eyes still closed, dropping his arms between the two of your and finding your own.
“I didn’t have an ah-ha moment like you.” You admitted. Your voice was quiet, but it didn’t shake.
“I didn’t suddenly realize I was in love with you all at once.”
Eddie pulled back, finally opening his eyes to look at you, watching you like he was afraid whatever this spell was would suddenly break.
“It just… built,” you continued. “Little things. The way you’d make everything feel lighter, even when my whole world was going to shit. How you’d look at me during campaigns like you were making sure I was still having fun. How you always saved me the last cigarette. Or the middle seat on the couch. Or the warmest blanket.”
He swallowed hard, jaw tensing.
“And it didn’t feel dramatic or shocking,” you said, shaking your head. “It felt normal. It felt… like breathing. Like something I’d been doing forever without realizing it.”
Your laugh came out uneven.
“Honestly, Steve was the one that pointed it out to me. Asked if I was in love with you. By the time I actually stopped and thought about it, it was already true. So true it scared the hell out of me too.”
One of his hands rose slowly, cupping your cheek.
You leaned into the warmth before you could stop yourself.
“I kept waiting for you to figure it out first,” you whispered. “Because if you didn’t, that meant I’d ruin everything by saying it first.”
His thumb grazed your lower lip, and his eyes flicked down to your mouth like he couldn’t help it.
“I wish you would’ve. Just taken that leap. Or maybe me have enough balls to do it the proper way. So, I guess, million dollar question. Do you want to be my girlfriend? Officially. Fuck this casual shit.”
You shook your head lightly, overwhelmed, giddy, breathless in a way you hadn’t felt since the first time he ever smiled just for you.
“Eddie…” you said, but your voice was already cracking around the edges of a laugh.
He looked panicked for half a second—eyes widening, shoulders tensing like he thought you were about to turn him down.
“Hey—no, no, don’t laugh,” he rushed out as more panic built in his chest. “I’m being serious. Dead serious. I want you. I want us. No more pretending we’re just… whatever the hell we thought we were doing.”
You laid your head against his chest, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist. His moved to wrap around your shoulders, holding you tight against him.
“I’m not laughing at you,” you said, smiling into him. “I’m laughing because… I’ve wanted you to ask me that for so god damn long, Eds.”
The relief that washed over his face was instant and obvious—like his whole body exhaled at once. His grip on you tightened, steadying himself like you were the one holding all the power now.
“Jesus Christ,” he breathed, half a laugh, half a disbelieving groan. “You’re gonna take years off my life, you know that? Make my hair go grey early.”
You rolled your eyes playfully, but your heart was beating too hard, too fast.
He looked so happy. So open. So yours.
“So…” he tried again, lifting your face up to look at him, leaning in, noses brushing, “is that a yes? Before I keel over from suspense?”
You pretended to think for half a second, just to tease him, and he dropped his head and let out a dramatic whine into the curve of your neck.
“Yes, you idiot,” you finally said, looping your arms around his shoulders. “Of course I’ll be your girlfriend.”
He froze.
Then he scooped you up—literally lifted you off the ground—laughing into your neck like he couldn’t help himself.
You squealed, arms tightening around him as he spun you once before setting you back down, hands framing your face like he was making sure you were real.
“Holy shit,” he whispered, grinning wide and a little wild. “You’re mine. Like—for real.”
You nudged your forehead against his, smiling so big it almost hurt.
“And you’re mine.” You murmured.
He kissed you then. It was messy, eager, but this time, full of so much love. Every feeling you guys had swallowed for so long poured out all at once.
No hesitation. No pretending. Just Eddie. Your Eddie.
summary: Mel has a crush on the new psych resident. wc 1.9k
tags: mel king x f!resident psychiatrist!reader, fluff, reader wears bracelets and has hair long enough to be tied up, very brief mentions of psych related cases (eating disorder, addiction, depression), mel pining for reader, based on this request!
“Dana, I need psych down in Central 3 for an opinion on a case.”
“Sure thing kid, what’s the matter?” Dana asks, looking up from her clipboard at Mel.
Mel adjusts her glasses. “I believe the patient has a potential eating disorder. We, um, checked the enamel behind her front incisors and it’s degraded quite a bit, likely due to-”
“Excessive vomiting.” Santos says, pausing her charting. Her hands hover above her keyboard. “Which could mean bulimia. Anyone able to come down?”
Dana nods in acknowledgement. She looks around the ED lobby for any familiar faces, but everyone in sight is either a nurse or a patient.
“Dr. Jefferson is with Javadi and Davis right now. I can call upstairs, see if anyone else is free at the moment.” Dana offers.
Mel’s eyes widen as she realizes there’s a chance you could come down and assist with the case. “Thank you. I don’t think the evaluation would take that long, given what the patient has already said about her lifestyle. Anyone would be great. Even a resident.” She says, trying her best not to seem too eager.
Santos glances at Mel with a smirk. “Yeah, is that psych resident with the bracelets in today? She’s pretty quick.”
Mel reminds Santos of your name before turning back to her own charts, nervously biting her lip.
The first time Mel met you was during your first day at the PTMC. She remembers the day vividly, mostly because you walked in, bright eyed, hair tied up with a bow, wearing a set of bracelets with dainty charms dangling off the chains. You made a good impression on all the ED staff. You showed up immediately whenever you were needed for an evaluation and you were gentle in the way that someone could be before the brutal demands of the ER wore them down.
Robby jokingly bet that it would only take a month before you toughened up and stopped crying outside a patient’s room after talking with them. Mel didn’t understand his apathy. She thought it was better to care too much for your patients than to not care at all.
She only had one conversation with you that day, and it was brief.
Near the end of the shift, a pair of siblings came in after a skateboarding accident. The older brother broke his arm when he fell onto the pavement, and the younger sister blamed herself for his injury because she accidently ran into his way.
Mel had to stitch up some cuts on the boy’s leg, but he was too busy trying to comfort his sister to stay still. Kiara wasn’t around to step in, and Dana was about to separate the siblings so Mel could do her work, but you happened to walk by and peek into the room after hearing the commotion.
You gave Mel a little wave and sat down next to the girl. You were able to calm her down in seconds, reassuring her that her brother was okay and his injuries would heal quickly.
Mel admired how gentle you were with the child. She wondered if you ever considered going into pediatrics. Right as she finished up the older brother’s stitches, the younger girl pulled you into a hug.
You ran your hand down her hair and smiled. When you pulled away, the girl yelped in pain. Mel hurried over, worried that she missed something in her primary check up.
Your hand was awkwardly hovering over the girl’s head, and when Mel bent down to check on her, she saw the problem.
“Oh god, I think my bracelets are stuck in her hair.” you realized, mortified.
Mel bit back a smile. “Yeah. Let me help.”
Mel carefully untangled the charms out of the girl’s hair. She held your wrist in one hand, her thumb over your pulse point, while her other hand slowly pulled strands of hair out of the chain. You ran a hand down the girl’s arm, mumbling apologies. You looked up at Mel and noticed the shape of her earrings.
“There. All done.” Mel exhaled.
The girl shyly thanked Mel and then bolted to her brother’s side, leaning over the bed to look at his stitches. Their parents walked into the room, relieved to finally see their kids, and you smiled as you watched the little girl hug her mom.
Mel followed you out of the room as you two left the family to talk amongst themselves. You leaned against the wall, your arms tucked behind your back as you made eye contact with Mel and gave her a smile.
“Thanks for helping me back there-” You began.
“Thank you for stepping in-” Mel said at the same time.
Mel blinked. She opened her mouth to apologize for cutting you off, but you laughed and gestured for her to speak first.
“Um, thanks for stepping in. I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to finish those stitches while she was crying.” Mel continued.
“No worries. The poor girl was so worried her brother’s arm would be broken forever, I think she just needed a reminder that bones heal after a few weeks,” you grinned, “And thanks for helping me. With the bracelets, I mean.” You lifted your wrist and shook the bracelets around. Mel’s eyes darted to the motion, her gaze flickering up to your manicured nails before returning to your face.
“You know, I actually think we’re matching!” you grinned.
Mel’s eyebrows furrowed. She looked down at her outfit. Your scrubs were a different color, and her striped socks definitely did not match your polka dot ones. She tilted her head in confusion.
“Look,” you said, taking one of your bracelet’s charms into your fingers and showing it to Mel, “A horseshoe.”
“Oh.” Mel brought her hand up to her earlobe to feel the shape of her earring. “Yeah, we are matching.”
Mel swallowed. The idea made her feel warm, like the fluorescent lights were beaming straight down her neck. Mel tried to think of something to say to continue the conversation but her mind was blank. You stared up at her with that sweet smile. You two were so close together she could count every mole and freckle on your face. Mel wasn’t sure why she was so flustered but she was able to calm down a bit after fidgeting with her hands.
“Have you ever considered going into pediatrics?” she asked.
You tilted your head at her in surprise. Your lashes fluttered against your rosy cheeks. Mel bit her lip, squirming under your gaze.
“Honestly no, what makes you say-“
“Hey guys, the patient’s mom is asking about the boy’s treatment plan and something about the girl’s hair-?” Perlah interrupted, leaning her head out the door to get your attention.
You groaned and rubbed your eyes, your bracelets jangling softly with the movement. Mel could see how tired you were. Your eyes were red around the edges from crying throughout the day. This shift was particularly rough. There was one patient that was suffering from addiction withdrawal and another patient with severe depression. Mel wanted to reach out and comfort you.
You gave her a tired smile and walked back into the room. Mel heard your voice, upbeat and positive, as you sheepishly apologized for the incident with the little girl’s hair.
“Mel, we need your help in Trauma 1. MVA with 3 injured.” Mohan called across the lobby.
Mel gave the room one last glance. She figured she could talk to you later and ask how your first day was. She could definitely relate to a terrible first shift.
After the car crash patients were stabilized, Mel looked around the emergency department but couldn’t find you. She asked Perlah where you were and learned that you had clocked out for the night.
Mel sighed, disappointed. She tucked her hair behind her ear, smoothing out the flyaways of her braid. She brushed over her horseshoe earring and smiled.
Since then, you’ve been known around The Pitt as “the pysch resident with the bracelets”. You took the name in stride, but Mel hasn’t seen you wear them again ever since. She missed seeing parts of your everyday style shine through your work attire, especially since you two were matching with the horseshoes.
Mel hasn’t been able to talk to you that much because your schedules don’t align often. Even on days where you are working the same shift, Mel figures it’s better that she doesn’t have to talk to you regarding a patient. It always hurts when she can’t instantly take away someone’s suffering through medicine.
“Hey Mel, I heard you needed an evaluation?”
Mel whipped her head up from her computer. “Oh, uh, yes. Hi.”
Your hair is styled differently today, Mel realizes. You might be wearing a new lip shade too.
You smile at her. “Where do we need to go?”
Mel leads you to Central 3 and takes a seat next to you at the patient’s bedside. Santos enters the room as well, and you all spend some time offering resources for her recovery.
After you finish talking and exit the room, Santos leaves to finish her charting, leaving you and Mel alone.
“How’s your residency going?” Mel asks.
“It’s been good! How about you? I remember you mentioning a deposition last time we talked?” you answer, smoothing out your top.
“Oh, yeah, it’s today, actually.” Mel grimaces.
You look into her eyes and give her a reassuring smile. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. If you need anything, I’m just a call away. Though, maybe don’t use the ED phone? I think Dana would be mad.” you joke.
Mel laughs, feeling some tension leave her shoulders. “Thanks. I’ll use the phone and let you know if we have any more patients with long hair that need untangling.”
You scoff and playfully hit her on the shoulder. “Hey! That was one time and you know it. I don’t even wear those bracelets anymore!” you whine.
“Sorry, sorry.” Mel lifts her hands up in apology. Her eyes shine with delight.
“And here I was, about to say we were matching again.” you huff, breaking her gaze to look around the emergency room.
Mel raises her eyebrows. She does a once over of herself and then turns back to you. You’re already smiling at her.
You take your hair and move it in front of your shoulder. “See? I thought of you this morning and decided to put my hair in a braid.” you look up at her expectantly.
Mel blushes. You think of her? Her hand comes up to her own braid as she mirrors your movement. She wishes she was running her fingers through your hair instead.
“Well, I should go. Here’s my number, text me if you need anything. And um, if you’d ever be interested in matching plans on one of your days off and going somewhere, let me know.” you hand her a sticky note with your number written in pink pen.
Mel blinks and breaks out into a grin. “Okay.”
You give her a wave and walk away. Mel watches you go, biting her lip as her fingers press into the paper. Suddenly, she’s more preoccupied with what to text you rather than what she should say during her deposition. The anxious knot that’s been in her stomach all day evolving into something more pleasant, like butterflies.
When she starts diagnosing your racing heart state in between kisses, you’re more than willing to let her “treat” the problem. Neither of you expects you’ll end up at her job, at the ER that next day—bleeding, embarrassed.
summary: sex + sex discussions, injury (reader sustaining, bad skin tear on leg, bleeding, etc), established relationship (dating), service top!mel, bottom!reader, lazy doctor kink/roleplay at the beginning
Relaxing mornings with your girlfriend are rare and far between. Your schedules clash more often than not—her long shifts, your awkward hours—so most days you only see each other for three or four hours, if that.
Last night was one of the rare times you got more.
Neither of you had talked much when she came home. Both of you were exhausted. You’d climbed into bed together and fallen asleep within minutes, the sun still setting while you drifted off.
Now she stirs beside you.
Her shifting nudges you out of your deep sleep, the mattress dipping as she moves. You blink your eyes open slowly, vision still blurry with sleep.
“Hey,” she murmurs, her voice rough and husky.
You turn toward her groggily. Through the haze of sleep, you watch her reach toward the nightstand, fingers searching until they find her glasses where she’d dropped them the night before, too tired to put them anywhere properly. She slips them on with a little exhale, your eyes flickering about her face.
"How was work?"
“Good. It was good. Had a pretty bad motor vehicle collision come in. Three patients—two critical, one stable but in rough shape. A lot of orthopedic trauma. One had a femur fracture, which is… not ideal.”
She pauses.
“Blood loss risk."
You hum softly as you listen to her. Reaching out, your hand finds her wrist, fingers tracing lightly along the inside of it. Some quiet part of you just needing the contact.
She still startles a little every time you touch her, just a flicker of surprise, the way her pulse jumps beneath your fingertips. But just as quickly, she melts into it, shoulders easing as she leans closer. Bodies facing one another on the bed, sheets hanging lazily around your bodies.
“And what did you do to help them…?” you ask gently.
She glances down at where your fingers rest against her wrist, like she’s considering something.
“Well—first we had to stabilize the—”
You’re listening.
Technically.
But not really.
Your eyes wander while she talks, tracing slowly over her face. The familiar slope of her nose. The way her glasses sit slightly crooked when she’s still half-awake. Your gaze drifts to her eyes, then to her mouth as it moves while she explains something about fractures and stabilization.
You hum softly in response, though you couldn’t repeat a word she just said.
“—because with femoral trauma the blood loss can be signifi—”
Your hand shifts slightly higher on her wrist, thumb brushing along the inside where her pulse beats.
Your gaze lifts to hers again. Then down, back to her mouth.
You lean in without really announcing it, the motion slow, almost absent-minded. The soft hum still lingering in your throat as you close the distance.
Her words taper off mid-sentence.
“—cant if the artery—”
She stops only because you’ve leaned in and pressed a quick, fleeting peck to her lips. Mel freezes. Her head tilts slightly, then gives a small shake side to side, like she’s trying to restart something in her brain. “Um—”
A small breath leaves her as she blinks behind her glasses. You’re watching her closely.
“How do you assess who needs attention first…?” you ask softly.
Her brows knit together for a moment as the question settles.
“Oh.” She clears her throat quietly. “Right. Triage.”
Her voice takes on that familiar cadence again—measured, thoughtful, like she’s organizing the information as she speaks.
“In trauma situations you prioritize by immediate threat to life,” she explains. “Airway first. Then breathing. Circulation.”
You hum softly, leaning a little closer while she talks.
“If someone can’t maintain an airway,” she continues, “nothing else really matters because oxygen delivery stops and then—”
Another soft peck. Her words cut off again. Mel inhales quietly through her nose, blinking once more like her thoughts have been scattered across the room.
“…Right.” A pause. “Airway.”
She exhales, trying again.
“Then breathing. Making sure the lungs are functioning properly. And circulation, which means checking for severe bleeding or—”
You kiss her again. This one lingers half a second longer. When you pull back, she’s staring at you for a moment like she’s lost the place in a paragraph. Her lips part.
“…Circulation,” she repeats faintly, like she’s rereading the same line in a textbook.
Your thumb brushes lightly over her wrist again, right where her pulse jumps beneath your touch. She notices that. Her gaze flicks down to your hand.
“…Your heart rate is elevated,” she murmurs absently, like the observation just slipped out of her professional reflex.
Then her eyes lift back to yours. And the thought trails off again as you lean in. You pull back with an interested smile, so in love with her, "diagnosing me...?"
Her pupils dilate slightly at the tone, lips parting almost imperceptibly. She blinks, momentarily caught off guard, and yet something in her posture shifts—a subtle surrender to the pull between you.
“…Maybe,” she says, voice soft.
Her thumb brushes along your wrist where your hand lingers, just above the pulse she can feel thumping beneath her fingers. Both of you, words fading, brains fogging, heartbeats conspiring to make the rest of the world disappear.
“What else… doctor…?” you murmur, leaning in and kissing her deeper this time.
When that kiss got deeper—god, it leaves her dizzy, her thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind. When you pull back with a soft gasp, she instinctively presses forward again, chasing your lips, only to stop herself with a shaky exhale.
“Tachy-,” she manages, thumb brushing over your wrist where your fingers rest, feeling the rapid thump beneath. “Means fast. Cardia—heart.”
Her fingers tighten gently around your wrist, holding you in place almost possessively. “Fast heart. Racing. Shaky. A little scattered. Pupils dilated… breathing shallow… and—”
Her free hand lifts, brushing your hair back from your face, fingers lingering against your cheek. “…you’re flushed. Trembling. Definitely… reacting.”
Her eyes flick to yours, wide and glimmering, and she hums softly, almost seductively, as if cataloging each response. “…Like yours,” she murmurs. “…Like mine.”
She leans in closer, lips brushing yours again, nose grazing your cheek, hands still mapping your pulse and your subtle movements, reading your state like a chart.
Finally, she pulls back just enough to whisper, breathless, eyes still locked on yours. "What... what are you trying to do...?"
You grin, brushing your forehead lightly against hers.
"With all those symptoms... what's my diagnosis, doctor? Can you help me..?"
Her eyes widen just slightly, lips parting as she studies you like a chart come to life. Fingers still resting over your wrist, feeling your pulse thrum beneath her touch, she hums softly—half gentle amusement, half calculation.
“There is a cure for this,” she says finally, voice soft but certain. Her thumb traces a slow circle over your pulse.
Before you can respond, she leans in, lips brushing yours in a soft, deliberate kiss. You hum into the kiss, arms wrapping around her neck as she rolls on top of you. She's really deepening the kiss now, getting swept away. You're trying to catch up, squirming under her, soft pants, gasps, and groans escaping the two of you and filling the bedroom.
Once your lips are kissed swollen, and your tongue has met hers once again, she's trailing open mouth kisses down your throat. Both of you are dizzy, keening towards one another. Bodies sliding with each other, her hand sliding up under your shirt to feel your skin directly. To feel you shiver against her once her hand makes contact.
One lazy makeout later and she's slid between your thighs. Your sleep shorts pulled down to your thighs as she's slid under them, right to where she wants to be. Doesn't take long before her glasses are foggy, but she doesn't need them. She had just set them on her face earlier, and here she is already removing them so she can push her face in further into you.
She's reduced you to nothing. Keening, tugging her hair or the pillow under your head. Moans of nothing, or her name tumble from your lips. Particularly high pitched when she sucks at your clit. Her hands, strong, hold your hips when you squirm. Smearing your wetness across her face, her nose.
"m-mel... oh! oh.... ah!"
Your breath quickening, hand grip tightening at her hair. Your previous bit of shyness leaving as you now desperately grind yourself against her, against the ministrations. Your pussy clenching around nothing, showings its need for her to stay close, to keep moving.
You're pleading, nothingness. Babbling her name with a breathless tone, hoping she understands. Regardless or not of if she understands, she's never leaving where she is. Your taste on your tongue, how you just keep dripping. The smell right up against her nose. A weird part of her hopes she can still bring you with her to work...
“Mel…” you whisper, and she leans closer, climbing atop you just enough to press a soft kiss to your lips.
“Mm?” she murmurs against your mouth.
“How much longer do we have together?” you ask, voice low, almost reluctant.
“Tomorrow morning I head back… so, nine hours…?” she replies, glancing briefly at the clock, then back at you.
You sigh, letting your head sink into the pillow. “So… we need to go to sleep now…”
Her lips twitch, amused but gentle, as she slides off the bed. “All right,” she says, soft and efficient. She moves toward the nightstand and retrieves a damp cloth, carefully wringing it out. She returns and kneels beside you, holding it out like a professional about to administer care.
“Need to clean you off,” she murmurs, her tone a mix of teasing and tender seriousness, the glimmer of her earlier “doctor” precision still present even in this quiet morning. You watch her, chest rising slightly, pulse quickening, not just from the proximity, but from the way she cares about you.
You were in such a state of sleep, you only woke for a second to hear her turn the bathroom light on as she got ready for work. Not conscious enough to wake up all the way, to say goodbye when she walked out the door.
Her shift started five hours before you even had to get up. You still had no idea how she managed to do everything she did with such precision and energy.
Your day consisted of chores, errands, and the usual quiet solitude, grocery shopping, laundry, tidying the apartment, tasks that felt almost mundane compared to hers.
Hers, on the other hand, was a world of assessing trauma patients, triaging emergencies, making possible split-second decisions that could mean life or death. Orders to give, charts to update, vital signs to monitor, families to reassure. Insanity.
At the grocery store just down the street, car parked, you walk towards the grocery store.
A moment of movement too fast, a cart swinging around the corner, you don’t see it coming. It hits you square in the side, throwing your balance completely off.
You stumble, legs sliding out from under you on the slick concrete. Your body scrapes along the pavement, skin cutting against the rough surface. Pain shoots up your legs, sharp and immediate, and you groan, trying to catch yourself before it gets worse, but there’s nothing to grab onto.
By the time you stop sliding, your jeans are shredded, your legs raw, and hot, stinging blood runs along long gashes—road rash scraped down the entire side of your leg.
A sharp wince escapes you, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Your body refuses to cooperate; trying to move only makes the pain flare. Slowly, carefully, you shift onto your back, the world tilting slightly as nausea creeps in.
Passersby pause, concern flashing across their faces. Asking if you're okay, wondering if they should call the ambulance.
Your chest rises and falls in shallow, uneven breaths as you press a trembling hand to your leg. Pain, shock, and embarrassment swirl together, each second stretching impossibly long. The crowd around you seems both comforting and overwhelming as you wait, helpless, for help to arrive.
You try to steady your breathing, pressing your hand weakly against your leg, hoping it’s not the Pitt. Not that you’d hide an injury from her, of course… but the thought of her seeing you like this, raw and vulnerable, sends a flutter of nerves through your chest.
The ambulance attendants, or maybe the store’s emergency responders, usher you forward, voices calm but insistent. Your head lolls slightly to one side as they guide the stretcher, body heavy from shock and pain.
The walls blur as you’re wheeled down the hall. The antiseptic smell hits first, then the fluorescent lights, then…the familiar layout.
Your heart drops. The Pitt. And just like that, the nerves twist tighter in your stomach.
The stretcher rounds the corner, moving fast enough that you barely have time to lift your head. And then, your eyes catch hers. She’s walking past, and freezes for just a heartbeat.
The stretcher rounds the corner, moving fast enough that you barely have time to lift your head. And then, your eyes catch hers. She’s walking past—and freezes for just a heartbeat, clipboard still in hand, gaze sharp and startled.
You’re wheeled into a treatment room, the harsh fluorescent lights above making everything feel unreal. Pain pulses through your leg, but your chest tightens for a different reason entirely.
A doctor you recognize from past visits steps forward, eyebrows knitting together as they take in your scraped and bloodied legs. Their name on the tip of your tongue, but still forgotten.
“What happened here?” they ask, voice steady but concerned. “Who are you? You look so familiar."
Before you can answer, another staff member walks in, catching the tail end of the conversation. They glance between you and the first responder, and then, almost casually, drop the words that make your chest hitch:
“That’s Mel’s girlfriend.”
Time seems to compress for a second. Pain, nerves, and a flutter of embarrassment hit all at once. You can feel your pulse racing, not just from the fall, but from the recognition, from knowing she’s here, just steps away.
And then… you see her glance toward you again. That frozen look on her face hasn’t left. Her eyes meet yours, sharp, wide, and suddenly everything outside the room fades away. A nurse stands beside her, chatting with her and it seems like she might not even be listening.
By the time the responders finish cutting away your jeans and rinsing the gravel and blood from your legs, you’re slumped back against the stretcher, skin raw, stinging with every slight movement. Sterile gauze and wraps cover the worst of the abrasions, keeping your legs immobile enough to dull the sharpest pain.
They speak quietly as they work, voices calm and professional, but you barely hear them. Your gaze drifts to the ceiling, then the floor, fingers twisting nervously in your lap. Every time a sting runs through your legs, you clench your hands together, squeezing until your knuckles whiten, humming softly to yourself to push past it.
Finally, the last dressings are secure. The responders step back, exchanging a brief whisper. “I’ll go get her for you,” one murmurs, nodding toward the hallway.
You barely register the words, caught somewhere between pain and the lingering rush of last night. When the door swings open again, you glance up again and your shoulders drop.
"Are you alright..? I mean, I see they helped.. but what happened? Your legs look better...."
You shift slightly on the stretcher, wincing as the wraps pull tight around your raw legs. Your voice is hoarse, quiet, almost hesitant.
“Yeah… I’m… okay,” you manage, glancing up at her. “I slipped… just a stupid accident. Didn’t think it would be this bad.” You run a hand over your leg lightly, grimacing at the sting.
Your eyes flick to hers, and despite the throbbing pain, your cheeks warm a little. “But… I’m glad you’re here. Makes it easier.”
She studies you for a moment, lips pressed together, eyes softening, and you notice her fingers twitching as if she wants to reach out but is holding back.
“I… I didn’t want to worry you,” you admit, voice dropping. “And I probably looked like a mess…”
She shakes her head, eyebrows furrowed like she's offended you've said so. You reach for her hand, grasping it gently.
She squeezes your hand once more, letting go slowly. Her eyes flick toward your wrapped legs, then back to you.
“We’re going to keep you on the monitor for a bit,” she says, voice calm, measured. “Just to make sure everything’s stable. After that… you’ll be able to go home.”
You nod, feeling the lingering sting in your legs and the faint dizziness from the shock.
She hesitates, brows knitting slightly. “If you want… honestly, you could just wait here until my shift ends. Then… we could go home together.”
You raise an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at your lips, and she immediately holds up a hand, half-panicked. “Not… not like that.” she says, voice soft but flustered.
You chuckle softly, shaking your head. “Relax… I know what you meant,” you murmur, eyes crinkling with amusement.
She smiles faintly, still tense around the edges, and leans down just a little, pressing a quick, careful kiss to your lips. “Rest,” she whispers. Then, with a glance at the monitor, she straightens and steps back.
Your pulse spikes just slightly as the monitor beeps, a small, harmless jump from nerves or the residual adrenaline, and she glances at it quickly. Her brow flicks up, a tiny sigh escaping her lips, and she gives you a last reassuring smile before stepping toward the door.
The light clicks off behind her, leaving you in the quiet hum of the hospital room, the memory of her presence lingering, and the faint warmth of that small, fleeting kiss on your lips.
note: first Mel King fic, hope it's ok. I need to finish season two lmao.
how i think mel would be if you had a thing for her hands
(some sfw and nsfw)
ᘛ❥ mel thinks you must just be zoned out the first few times. she’s talking and you were just watching the way her fingers curl as she holds a clipboard to her chest.
ᘛ❥ then another day, when she’s working on stitching up a patient and you linger when walking past the room to watch her work the needle so carefully through the skin, the way the blue veins show up through her pale skin when the muscles in her hand flex in the slightest
ᘛ❥ mel thinks maybe you’re being sweet, just wanting to observe her in her element. it’s just odd because.. she certainly isn’t doing anything special or different that day vs any other day at work.
ᘛ❥ when mel gets a minute to chart and you linger around to talk to her she catches you zoned out again, this time she’s typing up her chart so it’s much clearer that you’re staring at her hands.. or maybe what she’s doing for some reason?
ᘛ❥after you’ve gone she looks at her nails and her skin, wondering if she’s had something on them throughout the day that she somehow hadn’t noticed. but.. nothing. hm.
ᘛ❥ how could you not be attracted to them? her hands might are slim, pretty, feminine but they’re also strong and she can be so intricate with how she uses them no matter the context
ᘛ❥ mel can be pretty oblivious when she isn’t told something directly so she doesn’t think much of any of it. the few theories that she comes up with all lead back to the fact that she’s simply imagining it
ᘛ❥ only when you bring it into your guys’ home life does she notice you doing things like asking her to untangle headphones or necklaces. which, would be normal since you’re both aware she has a patience for those kinds of things that you just don’t possess...
ᘛ❥ but it becomes weird when you sit and watch mel undo the knots in the jewelry. ogling like she’s doing something super impressive and only looking away when she stops to give you a questioning look
ᘛ❥ at some point mel has to clue in. maybe it’s all the watching or it’s a passive compliment about how pretty her hands are, the kiss of her knuckles where you let your lips linger there.. who knows but she realizes you must really like her hands.
ᘛ❥ mel is more than happy to feed into it if it makes you happy. she’ll run her hands over your arm when the two of you lay together just to watch you watch her fingers run over your skin. though she acts like she has no idea what she’s doing to you
ᘛ❥ one day when mel's sitting behind you, the two of you infront of the mirror after she's just finished helping curl the back of your hair, she lets her hands slide over your shoulders and sides. it was meant to be affectionate, to let you indulge in whatever it is that makes you want to watch her hands on you..
ᘛ❥ but instead it ends in you guiding her hand into your underwear. you watch in the mirror the whole time she fingers you, those pretty fingers fucking into you as her other hand pulls your panties to the side.
ᘛ❥ mel is hesitant when you want her fingers in your mouth, worried it might be uncomfortable for you. first she’d let the tips of them linger just between your lips until you make the decision take them all the way to the knuckle
ᘛ❥ when she uses her free hand to finger you, you get a little too loud so she takes the chance once she’s found confidence in your comfort to press the pads of her fingers down on your tongue, urging you to quiet down “i know- yeah just- mhm focus on that instead. good”
ᘛ❥they're also mel's favourite form of aftercare. running her hands along your stomach to bring you back to reality after she's made you cum or brushing hair from your face lovingly when you've just finished eating her out
ᘛ❥ lastly, i think mel is such a hand holder. she's overstimulated? she holds your hand. she see's you're stressed? holding hands. walking together? hands. sitting together? yeah you get the point. she uses squeezing your hand in hers as a form of grounding herself and you're more than okay with it <3
i didn't proof read this very well so feel free to bring any bullshit i cooked up to my attention
ꨄvenna
trinity calling reader in the middle of the night bc dennis is gone and she doesn't want to sleep alone 💔💔
Trinity, who just cannot admit to herself, or Dennis for that matter, that she likes having him as a roommate. She can't admit that she'll miss his clothes being everywhere. She can't admit that she'll miss him pausing the TV at the worst moments to ask the stupidest questions. She can't admit that she'll even miss her avocados being eaten. She's too proud to admit it, so she lets him walk away.
The first night is already horrible. Her stomach is fizzing with anxiety. It feels wrong not to come home with Dennis. Feels so, so wrong to not strip to her boxers and tank top and watch television with him until they pass out like they usually do. She's alone, and she hates it. The silence is the most unnerving part. She can't stand it. It makes her feel so uncomfortable.
She can't sleep. Her stomach feels so crazy with all these negative emotions swimming around. She's tossing and turning, huffing and groaning into her pillow as she tries to fall asleep. She turns to her phone, trying to make herself sleepy with reels and TikToks. And then she gets a notification from you that says:
goodnight, trin <3 we still on for tmrw?
She calls you immediately, and you pick up immediately.
"You're not calling to cancel, are you?"
There's a beat of silence before you hear her mumble, "Do you wanna come over?"
Trinity hears shuffling from the other side of the line, then she backtracks. "I mean, if you're not already in bed. It's totally fine. I get it."
It's nearly 2 am, of course you're in bed. She's stupid to even ask. Plus, you just said goodnight to her.
You grin into your phone, slipping your shoes on with one hand, hopping on one leg.
"I'm already on my way, dummy. But is everything okay? You sound kind of sad."
"Just don't wanna be alone right now." She tells you all about Dennis and Robby while you get dressed and head out, and you do your best to comfort her over the phone.
"Want me to stay for a few days? I could give you some company, annoy you 'til you kick me out. I'll even cook you breakfast and dinner."
Trinity chuckles, fingers twirling her hair while she talks to you. "Yeah, right. I already have enough going on. I don't need you to burn down my place. But...that'd be nice. Some of your clothes are already here, so you don't need to pack a lot."
Trinity waits for you on the couch, legs bouncing anxiously, fingers tapping against the arm. The moment she hears a knock at the door, she's up and rushing to open it. You find it endearing how she tries to be chill about it, like you didn't hear her rapid footsteps against the floor.
"Hey," she says cooly, moving a few strands of hair out of her face.
"Hey," you reply, stepping in to give her a hug and a kiss on the cheek.
She melts into your touch immediately, arms wrapping around your waist and holding you tightly. You close the door with your foot and pull back slightly, noting the subtle change in her eyes. They're more puppy dog-like now. Softer.
"Bed?" you ask quietly. Trinity nods.
You follow her to the bedroom and kick off your shoes, shrugging off your jacket and tossing it to the side before crawling on your usual side of the bed. Trinity follows next, and you immediately envelop her in your arms, holding her close, pushing her head against your chest. You know she likes to listen to your heartbeat when you cuddle.
Trinity finds it incredibly easy to fall asleep when your hands are running through her hair. One second, she's fighting off sleep just to feel your hands keep scratching against her neck, and the next, she's out cold.
When she wakes up in the morning, her face is slightly damp with her own drool. There's a tiny wet spot on your shirt.
She blinks her eyes a couple of times, trying to get rid of the sleep and crust. She slips out of bed and heads to the kitchen, expecting to see Dennis making his morning coffee.
But he's not there.
After making her coffee and sipping it while staring off into space, she walks back to her room and crawls into bed with you, shoving her face into your neck. She finds comfort in it. She also finds herself drifting off again, your warmth and scent lulling her into a peaceful sleep.
ⓘContent warnings𖦹 ࣪˖ not proof read, kisses, reader is sort of implied to work at the hospital, reader gets a little bit of baby fever, & reader wears lingerie (could be implied as a pajama set).
Note𝜗ৎ watched 4 episodes of the pitt then wrote this so if its ooc im sorry, and my secret relationship with Spencer reid is on a bit of a break because tumblr keeps eating my posts😪 but ! I have a dad!Spencer fic coming hopefully soon !!
Gf!Trinity who lives for your compliments, but loves how you get after she compliments you even more.
Gf!Trinity who is threatened many HR violation reports because she can't keep her voice (or hands) down.
Gf!Trinity who watches you do your job. She'll stand in the doorway or stop in the hall, just observing, if you notice her she would tell you how 'good you are at that.'
Gf!Trinity who melts for being admired and praised, especially if you say she's strong, impressive, or a good doctor. She would act like she's unaffected letting a 'yeah?' slip past her lips, as she let her hands linger a little longer on your waist.
Gf!Trinity who loveeees neck + jaw kisses. It doesn't matter if it's on you or her, she adores them.
Gf!Trinity who acts tough and strong in public but is a sweetheart in private.
Gf!Trinity who notices when patients flirt with you.
"Santos coming in hot," One of your coworkers mumbled just loud enough for you to hear.
"Hmm?" You hummed spinning around from the papers you were sure your handwriting was complete chicken scratch on.
"Hi Trin–"
"No fucking boundaries," She grunted ripping off medical gloves harsher than needed.
"Mhm," You hummed along as she continued.
"I mean come on, I'm the one taking care of you and then you flirt with my girl right in front of me! God,"
As much as she left empty threats to you, she would never put her hands on a patient in anger, unless they put their hands on you first.
Gf!Trinity who is happiest when you're with her♡ She loves when you stay at her place and vice versa, although she'd never admit it, her apartment feels empty when your not around.
Gf!Trinity who couldn't ever understand why you looked at her much softer after she calmed 'Baby Jane Doe' with such ease.
Gf!Trinity who can't help but fold whenever you ask her for anything.
"Trin, look!" You flashed her the screen of your phone; which was far too bright for the hour.
"That's– cute," Her eyes drifted off the matching Victoria's Secret set projected on your screen seemingly quick as she continued rubbing circles into your shoulder mindlessly.
By the next week that very same set sat on your shared bed.
Gf!Trinity who thinks seeing you after every shift is the best part of her day♡
summary: ever since you’ve been assigned to the night shift, you and trinity have been living on completely opposite schedules, living completely different lives. and it has started to take a toll on her.
wordcount: 2.5k
cw: angst, inaccurate medical descriptions and terms
now playing: blade bird by oklou
Trinity isn’t sure she’s ever felt so tired. Her elbows rest on either side of the keyboard at the nurses’ station, where she’s been catching up on charting for the past thirty minutes. Strangely enough, she’s been left alone by the rest of the medical staff in the ER during that entire time.
That almost never happens. Normally she manages to write two sentences before someone rudely calls her name. It feels good to be needed, but recently, for Santos, there has been no worse feeling.
Except for longing.
The relentless, gnawing feeling that something, someone, is missing. In the ER, in her arms, in her immediate vicinity. Trinity has never been much of a yearner. Or, she is, but she likes to pretend that she’s not.
She prides herself on being independent, unbothered, capable of handling things on her own. But lately she finds herself staring off into space, unfocused, and nobody pulls her back to reality.
It’s a painful reminder that you’re not around to ground her.
Not that you’re far away. Technically you’re just working a different shift. Your clothes are still in her closet, hell, you’re still in her bed, but Trinity hasn’t seen much of you since you were transferred to nights.
There had been a vacant spot ever since Dr. Jones left for North Carolina, and the night crew was already understaffed. The department had found itself struggling after losing yet another physician.
Dr. Abbot had asked you personally before speaking to admin, which you did appreciate. At least it hadn’t been sudden and unexpected. You had voluntarily agreed to the change. Still, he had managed to convince you after laying the praise on thick.
“I—well, we—really would like for you to be the one to join the team. Ellis and I think you’d be an excellent addition. It’s a change of pace, but I think it’s worth it.”
He had told you that during a shift change back in August. You had told him you’d think about it. By thinking, you really meant talking to your girlfriend about it. Trinity’s refusal had come quickly, much like you had anticipated.
“You really want to switch to nights.” She had that look on her face, the one that meant she strongly disagreed but refused to start an argument about it.
“I don’t want to, Trin. They need someone. Bad.” You had rested your head in your palm, sitting at the small kitchen counter in your apartment.
“And? Why does it have to be you?” she asked, crossing her arms and leaning against the sink.
“Abbot asked me,” you shrugged, exhausted.
“Oh, Abbot asked you,” she replied, raising her brows sarcastically. You sighed quietly.
“So you don’t want me to switch to nights?”
There had been a pause before she answered.
“…Do whatever you want.” She had pushed herself off the sink, avoiding your pointed look.
“Trin.”
“What.”
“Don’t shut me out.”
That made her look at you. Really look at you. And suddenly you understood why she had taken it so personally.
Because to her, it was personal.
You were abandoning her. At least, that’s how she perceived it.
“I would like to try it. Only if you want me to,” you had said gently. “I’ll switch back if we can’t do it.”
Her eyes softened. After a moment, she nodded silently, agreeing to the condition. The tension in the room eased just enough for both of you to breathe again.
“i love you” you had said gently, breaking the silence with a quiet promise
“i love you” she’d replied, never adding the too, because she didn’t love you too, her love was whole, enough in itself.
That had been two months ago.
Two months since you had shared a car ride to work. Two months since the private lunch breaks on the empty floor upstairs. Two months since she had slept beside you for more than a night at a time.
And it was safe to say that nowadays, hell would probably be more enjoyable than work for Trinity.
Seeing you for only a few minutes during shift change had become a special kind of torture. Santos spent most of her days waiting for patient handoff, hoping she might steal a kiss or two in the breakroom if she was lucky.
Those moments were rushed between charts and alarms, but she had to convince herself that they were enough.
Today, though… today was different.
Your shifts overlapped for the first time in two months.
You were scheduled to come in a few hours earlier than usual to help with the increased number of traumas expected on Halloween. Trinity, exhausted as she is, is internally buzzing with excitement. She hates how much she’s looking forward to it.
She checks the clock for the seventh time that hour and sighs when she realizes only fifteen minutes have passed since the last time, which makes Dana look over.
“Watcha sighing about, missy?” the charge nurse asks.
Trinity straightens slightly.
“Just… tired.”
Dana smirks and nods towards the ambulance bay.
“If you’re bored, EMS just called in a GSW to the abdomen. Five minutes out.”
Trinity nods distractedly.
“Yeah, I’ll get on that.”
Her fingers hover over the keyboard. Four hours to go.
It’s 3:54 when you scan your badge at the door, clocking in for your incoming 12-hour shift. A sigh leaves your lips at the sight of the reception area and waiting room.
Packed, you think to yourself, eyes sweeping over the crowd before greeting Lupe with a nod and pushing open the doors to the ER.
The chaos isn’t unfamiliar to you as you take in the state of the department. The worst is probably yet to come, though.
With a quick glance at the board, you take notice of the urgent cases; chest pain in South 15, a possible stroke in Central 12. You tilt your head slightly, eyes scanning over the names.
“Finally coming back to day shift?”
You hear Dana’s voice before you see her, lowering your eyes from the board to look at her. She gives you an affectionate smile, extending her arm to give you a quick side hug.
“Hi, Dana.” You laugh softly, reciprocating the embrace.
“I miss working with you, kid.” She gives your shoulder a slight squeeze. “Although I think someone misses you more than me.”
The nurse glances over your shoulder, smiling. You follow her eyes, which are locked on Trinity, pulling on a pair of gloves as the trauma doors swing open. You smile at the sight of her.
She hasn’t noticed you yet, being entirely too focused on doing her job. She walks up to the nurse’s station without ever noticing you.
“Look who’s back.”
A low voice interrupts from the other side of the room. You follow the sound, finding Dr. Robby as the owner. He’s walking toward the nurse’s station with a tablet tucked under his arm, watching you with mild amusement.
“Thought the night shift kidnapped you for good.”
You smile politely, shrugging one shoulder. “Just visiting.”
Across the station, Trinity looks up. You take in her appearance. Her dark hair is still pulled half up, but a few baby hairs have escaped around her temples. She doesn’t look messy, just worn around the edges.
Even then, she’s still the most gorgeous girl you’ve ever seen.
Her eyes land on you and stop.
For a moment, the noise of the ER fades. Something shifts in her expression; almost like relief. Jacket still slung over your arm, you look put together, and Trinity notices. Her gaze flicks over you quickly, like she’s trying not to stare too long.
There’s a pull in your chest when you look at her. You missed seeing her like this, moving through the department, completely in her element.
You’re about to say something when the sound cuts through the department. A stretcher rattling and voices raised just enough to mean something urgent is happening. The interruption comes quicker than you expect as the paramedics push through at full speed.
“Trauma coming through!” Your head turns automatically.
“Female, mid-twenties,” the medic continues quickly. “Hit by a sedan. GCS thirteen on scene, possible head injury, brief loss of consciousness.”
The moment disappears instantly. Robby is already turning toward the trauma bay.
“Dr. Santos, Mel, Princess, you’re with me.”
The whole team runs toward the trauma rooms in a rush of footsteps and rattling stretcher wheels. You step out of the way automatically.
You’re not needed in that room right now, not with an attending and two residents already there. So you take the moment you have and head down the hall toward the locker room to drop your jacket before the shift really starts.
You pull open your locker and hang your jacket inside when the door behind you swings open again.
“Look who finally left the dark side.”
You glance over your shoulder. Dr. Whitaker smiles at you, greeting you with a nod of his head.
“Hey Dennis.” you smile back
“I don’t see you much around anymore. Night shift treating you well?” He enters the code on the small padlock of his own locker.
“It’s a lifestyle.” You say it with a small sigh, taking your stethoscope from your locker and placing it carefully in your scrub pocket.
“Oof.” He offers you an empathetic smile, pressing his lips together in a line.
You laugh softly, closing your locker. “You just getting off?”
“Not yet. Just grabbing a snack.” He shows off his granola bar, then pauses, studying you for a moment.
“Did you see Santos?”
“Briefly.” You close your locker with your shoulder and turn to face him. Dennis makes a small thoughtful sound. Your eyebrow lifts.
“What?”
He hesitates like he’s debating whether to say something, then sighs. “She’s been… a little on edge lately.”
You lean back against the locker. “On edge how?”
“I’m serious,” he continues. “Past two months especially.”
Your stomach tightens slightly. “Since the night shift switch?” you ask softly.
Dennis nods. “She hates it.”
You look down for a moment. “I mean… the schedule sucks.”
“Not just the schedule. She barely sees you anymore.” His voice is gentle, but the words still land strangely in your chest. It doesn’t sound like he’s blaming you, yet something in his tone makes it feel like maybe he isn’t not blaming you either.
You frown slightly. It had been clear since the beginning of your night shifts that this wasn’t going to be easy on either of you. Still, hearing it from someone else makes it feel different, like something private between the two of you has been quietly spilling into the rest of the department.
Dennis shrugs.
“Anyway, she’ll survive. She can just be quite dramatic.”
You smile faintly, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “That sounds accurate.”
He opens the door. “Oh, and good luck tonight.”
“Why?”
Dennis gestures vaguely toward the hallway. “She’s been in a mood all day.”
Then he disappears down the corridor. You linger for a second before heading back toward the department. The words sit strangely with you as you walk. Why wouldn’t she tell you this herself?
Usually Trinity confides in you about everything; little frustrations, long shifts, annoying consults, personal problems. The idea that Dennis heard about this before you feels wrong somehow, like you’re suddenly standing outside something you’re supposed to be part of.
As you round the corner near the medication room, voices drift down the hallway.
“Doctor Santos.” Robby’s voice echoes quietly.
You slow without meaning to.
“You’re moving too fast in there,” he says bluntly.
“I’m fine,” Trinity replies.
“You’re not fine. You’re rushing.”
There’s a pause.
“You missed a question from respiratory and Perlah had to repeat herself twice.”
“I heard her.”
“Then act like it.”
Another pause.
“Get your head back in the game, Doctor.”
The words land sharp. You hear Trinity exhale.
“I’m trying.”
“Well try harder,” Robby says. “Because this isn’t the kind of shift where you get to be distracted.”
Silence hangs there for a moment.
Then he adds, slightly quieter but still firm.
“Whatever’s going on, deal with it later.”
Your stomach tightens slightly.
You hear Trinity say something under her breath.
“What?” Robby asks.
“Nothing.”
“Santos.”
Another pause.
“It’s just the schedule thing,” she admits quietly.
Robby exhales.
“You two still doing opposite shifts?”
“Yes.”
“Well,” he says,
“That sucks, but it’s no one’s problem but yours. Don’t let this affect patient care.” His shoes squeak on the tiles as he walks away.
You move again quickly before anyone can notice you standing there listening. Your chest feels strangely tight. You knew the schedule was hard on both of you, but having her admit it to someone else twice before even acknowledging the issue with you leaves a quiet ache behind your ribs.
By the time Trinity returns to the nurses’ station a few minutes later, you’re already sitting at a desk, jutting down some patient care information on a chart.
She stops beside you.
“You good?” Her voice is casual, but her eyes search your face like she’s trying to read something there.
“Yeah.”
“You just got here and you’re already charting?”
You shrug. “Occupational hazard.”
She studies you for a moment. “You’re quiet today.”
“Just busy.”
Before she can respond, someone calls her name again. “Dr. Santos!”
She exhales sharply. “Of course,” she mutters under her breath.
Then she glances at you again. “Come with me.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Where?”
“The stairwell.”
You follow her down the hall and through the heavy door. The noise of the ER disappears immediately. Trinity leans back against the wall and runs a hand over the back of her head. The motion loosens her hair slightly, and a few more baby hairs fall loose around her temples.
She exhales slowly. For the first time all evening, she looks less like a resident and more like the girl you go home to.
“You look nice,” she says.
The comment sounds almost annoyed.
You fold your arms.
“Thanks.”
She watches you for a moment.
“You’re acting weird.”
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe I just overheard something interesting.”
Her brow furrows. “Like what?”
You hold her gaze. “Like you telling Robby the schedule thing is bothering you.”
The silence that follows is immediate. Trinity freezes.
“You-”
“Accidentally,” you say.
Her shoulders drop slightly. She rubs the back of her neck, clearly frustrated. “Great.”
“You didn’t want me to know?” You ask, raising your eyebrows.
“It’s not that.”
“Then what?”
She exhales again. “I just didn’t want it to sound like I was asking you to change things,” she says quietly.
Your voice softens. “You should've told me baby.”
Her eyes lift to yours. “And what if you said no?”
You shrug slightly. “Trin, I told you I’d switch back if we couldn’t deal.”
Trinity studies you for a long moment. The tension in her expression finally cracks.
“I hate this schedule,” she admits.
Your heart stutters a little.
“I hate coming home when you’re leaving,” she continues quietly. “I hate that we barely see each other unless one of us is half asleep.” Her eyes drop to her sneakers, like she can’t quite bear to admit defeat while looking at you. Then she looks back up.
cw: wlw!!!! cute thrifting + walking around date with santos :)) i dont see enough fluff of her on here so this is it. first date, hand holding, little pda, kissing
not proofread!! lowercase intentional. ~1.5k words
you spot her before she spots you. trinity stands just off to the side of the sidewalk, not leaning like she usually does, not relaxed in that effortless way you're used to seeing at the hospital. her weight shifts from one foot to the other, her gaze flicking between her phone and the street like she's trying to look busy. it's honestly endearing. unexpected.
you slow your steps a little, watching the moment she finally looks up and sees you. her whole expression changes, quick and bright, like something settles into place. "hey," she says.
"hey." there's a pause. not uncomfortable, just a little uncertain, like both of you are figuring out where to stand, how close to be, what to do with your hands. "you found it okay?" she asks, gesturing vaguely.
"yeah. wasn't too bad."
"good. good." another small pause. she lets out a quiet breath, almost like she's catching herself.
"ready?" she asks, nodding toward the first store. "yeah."
inside, the thrift shop is packed, racks close together, the faint smell of old fabric hanging in the air. comforting. like being home, surrounded by people's memories and lives. you move through it carefully, brushing past each other more than once. every time it happens, there's that split second where neither of you pulls away instantly.
santos flips through a rack, then stops, pulling something out and holding it up. "this is.. something," she says. you glance at it and laugh softly. "you're not getting that."
"wow. already making decisions for me?"
"i'm helping you." she narrows her eyes at you, but there's a hint of a smile. "dangerous." you wander a little more, conversation coming in small pieces at first.
"do you thrift a lot?" she asks, not looking at you, still focused on the rack.
"sometimes. i like finding random things."
"yeah. same." she pulls out a jacket, studies it, then puts it back.
you drift toward another section, fingers brushing over fabrics until you find something that catches your eye. you pull it out, glancing over at her. "try this," you say, holding it up.
she looks at it, then at you, brows lifting slightly. "you're bold."
"just try it."
there's a beat, like she's about to say something else, but instead she takes it from you.
"fine. if it's bad, it's on you." she slips it on, adjusting the collar, then looks at herself in a mirror. for a second, she just watches her reflection.
"..okay," she admits. "this is good."
"i told you." she glances at you through the mirror, something softer in her expression. "yeah. you did."
when you step back outside, the air feels lighter somehow, the space between you less defined.
"there's more down this way, right?" she asks. you glance down the street, then your eyes catch on a small storefront - pastel painted, with little things displayed in the window.
"wait," you say, reaching for her wrist without thinking. "come on." you tug her along before she can respond, weaving between people, your grip warm and certain.
for a second, she just lets it happen. you don't notice the way she's looking at you, not really. the way her gaze lingers, quieter now, taking you in as you pull her toward something that caught your attention. "what is it?" she asks when you stop.
"i don’t know, it just looked cute." she glances at the shop, then back at you. "yeah," she says. "it does."
inside, the store is smaller, filled with little shelves and displays - rings, necklaces, random trinkets. you move ahead almost immediately, drawn toward something near the back.
santos hangs back for a second, hands in her pockets, watching you. you're focused, picking things up, turning them over, your expression soft in a way she doesn't get to see at work. there, everything is fast, urgent, loud. here, you're.. easy. she steps up beside you after a moment.
"find anything?" she asks.
you hold up a ring. "maybe."
"lemme see." she takes it, her fingers brushing yours, and for a second she doesn't let go right away. she slides it onto your finger, adjusting it slightly. "..yeah," she murmurs. "that looks good."
you glance up at her. "you think?"
she meets your eyes. "i know."
you smile, a little smaller this time. when you leave that store, your hands brush again, but this time neither of you pulls away. her fingers hook with yours, then lace together fully, a small, grounding squeeze following.
"this okay?" she asks quietly.
"yeah," you say, smiling sweetly, lightly squeezing her hand.
you move through a couple more shops after that, the rhythm between you settling into something easier. she nudges you when you hesitate over something, makes quiet comments about things you pass. "you could pull that off," she says at one point, nodding toward a jacket.
"you say that about everything."
"because it's true."
"biased."
"absolutely."
at some point, she pauses, pulling out her phone. "don't move."
"why?"
"just- hold on."
you stay where you are, a little confused, as she lifts her phone and takes a picture. "hey-"
"you look pretty," she says, glancing at the screen. "i'm documenting it."
"let me see." she hesitates for half a second, then turns the phone toward you. you're mid-smile, light catching along your face.
"that's not fair," you say.
"what?"
"i didn't know you were taking it."
"that's the point."
later, you catch her off guard.
she's crouched slightly, looking through something on a lower shelf, focused, and you quietly pull out your phone. the picture comes out soft, a little imperfect, but it feels like her. she looks up immediately. "did you just-"
"maybe." she stands, narrowing her eyes. "rude."
"you look pretty," you mirror with a big smile. she pauses, then steps closer. "i always look pretty."
"true." you show her the picture, and she looks at it a little longer than expected. "..okay," she says. "you can keep that one."
"i was going to."
"figured."
by the time you make it to the coffee shop, it feels easier to stand close, to let your shoulders brush without thinking about it. you order together, bumping into each other lightly at the counter. "what are you getting?" she asks.
"just a latte."
"safe."
"reliable."
she hums. "i'll balance you out."
once you'resitting down, drinks in hand, the conversation stretches more naturally. "remember that guy who swore he didn't swallow a bottle cap?" she says.
you laugh. "even with the x-ray right there?"
"especially then."
"you told him he was arguing with evidence."
"he was losing." you shake your head, smiling at the memory. it feels different here, talking about it without the pressure of everything happening at once.
after a while, her hand finds yours across the table, fingers brushing before settling, warm and steady. "this is nice," she says.
"yeah," you agree.
when you step back outside, the sky is starting to dim, the light softer now. neither of you moves to leave right away.
you linger. she steps a little closer, your hands still linked.
"so," she starts, then stops, letting out a small breath. "i had something planned, but it’s gone."
"that’s promising."
"don’t make fun of me."
you smile, watching her.
she glances down at your hands, then back up. "can i-" you lean in before she finishes.
the kiss is soft at first, careful, just your lips brushing hers. she responds immediately, her free hand coming up to rest lightly on the back of your neck as she leans into it.
it deepens just slightly, still gentle, but sure. when you pull back, there’s a quiet second where neither of you says anything. then she lets out a soft laugh.
"wow. okay. that was-" she gestures vaguely.
"good?" you offer.
"yeah, good," she says, then winces. "that sounded bad."
"it did."
she drags a hand down her face. "i swear i had something smoother."
"i believe you."
she looks at you again, a grin creeping back in.
"for the record, y/n… if kissing you was a shift, i’d pick up overtime."
you blink. then you laugh. "that’s terrible."
"it made you laugh."
"barely."
she squeezes your hand, unapologetic. "still counts." you don’t let go when you start walking again, your fingers still intertwined, her shoulder brushing yours like it’s always been that easy.
thank you so much for requesting this, anon!!! i hope you like those headcanons hehehe <33
being with trinity means dating someone who pretends she’s tougher than she actually is. at work she’s sharp, fast, impossible to intimidate; the kind of person who walks through chaos like it’s nothing. but with you, that edge softens in small ways: her voice drops quieter when she talks to you, her shoulders loosen when she sees you waiting for her, she doesn’t even notice she’s doing it.
trinity is the kind of girlfriend who always checks that you got home safe. it’s not dramatic or clingy but just a quick text: “you make it?” and if you don’t answer within a few minutes, another one appears: “hello???” followed by “don’t make me come check.” she’ll pretend she’s joking, but if you actually called and asked her to come get you, she would, no hesitation.
trinity is extremely protective of you, but not in a possessive way. more like… quietly alert. if someone at a bar talks to you in a way she doesn’t like, she doesn’t start a fight. she just steps a little closer, resting a hand on the small of your back, her presence enough to make it very clear you’re not alone. most people back off immediately and the ones who don’t get the look.
she loves physical contact more than she admits. not dramatic PDA, but small touches: her knee bumping yours under a table, her hand brushing your arm when she walks past, the way she hooks a finger in your belt loop when you’re standing next to each other in a crowd. it’s instinctive for her, grounding. like she just needs to know you’re there.
trinity after a long shift is a different version of her entirely. tired, quieter, softer around the edges. she’ll walk into your place, drop her bag, and just lean into you for a moment without saying anything. forehead against your shoulder, arms around your waist. that’s usually when she murmurs the closest thing she ever says to vulnerability: “rough day.” and if you wrap your arms around her and say “i’ve got you,” she exhales like she’s been holding her breath for hours.
taglist ﹏ @filthgf @userhotd @ravensreadingrecs @avasarchve @lilahthedoll @amourkisses @dreamersentity @kill3ill @nozhdyved @blessorte ( to be added )
Gee I wonder if there’s a parallel between Dr Mohan being uncharacteristically rude and dismissive to her coworkers and patients as she was ramping up into her panic attack and Dr Robby being downright mean as he edges closer to his possible actual suicide. It’s almost like Dr Mohan had visible symptoms that she could express and receive immediate help for, and maybe he might feel some sort of way about that on a subconscious level.
It’s almost like Dana’s conversation with Langdon about his sobriety depending on his support network had a subtextual meaning for the person shown to be listening in on it.
i'm probably gonna say very little about fandom discourse around this ep because spring break starts next week and i'm running out of sanity but actually. i love everyone on the pitt being flawed and fucked up and nasty sometimes. i love robby being a hypocrite and repulsed by samira's anxiety because he's repulsed by his own. i love that, alternatively, samira is repulsed by her mother's loneliness because she's repulsed by her own, too. i love santos blaming langdon for her ostracization at the ED and her unwillingness to see that, separate of the langdon issue (however separate you can make it), if you go around being an asshole to your peers all the time, some people are just not going to fucking like you. i love that its garcia specifically who checks santos for the lack of decorum she's displaying in front of their patients in this ep because garcia herself could arguably stand to have a bit more decorum when talking about patients and she's also treating santos like a dogggg right now. i love that mel is overstepping boundaries with becca and coddling her in a way that doesnt allow becca the space she deserves to be an autonomous adult with autism who should be respected on her own terms because mel's also struggling with what it means to be an autonomous adult with autism who should be respected on her own terms. i think there's a difference between a show depicting characters behaving badly and cosigning their bad behavior. i think a good character and a good person are separate categories. i love that this is a show that isn't so obsessed with likability that it keeps its characters from behaving badly.
frankly, i hope these characters keep fucking up, and i hope they keep getting checked by their fellow fuck ups, because that's life, brother. there is no divine priestly class of sinless people who exist to tell the "bad" people off for their missteps. and i hope that, as the show progresses, we see robby, santos, mohan, langdon etc make more mistakes and better mistakes. and i love that this show, for all its flaws, is (imo) still holding true to its premise that people are not wholly defined by their best moments or their worst. no matter how uncomfortable it is to sit with that nuance or how tense that makes an episode of television lol.
