#she was meant to be in a fem punk band and i promise i can get her there

[whim-prone-pirate]

olivia rodrigo set herself up years ago as a young female pop icon and she just tricked millions into listening to melodic punk + alt fem rock. love her for that.

#this was pretty much my dream for her sophomore album since before it was announced #i have ALWAYS said brutal and good 4 u are two of the best off sour #she is GOOD at this very specific genre of rock #she was not destined to be a singer-songwriter with a piano despite being fantastic at that as well #she was meant to be in a fem punk band and i promise i can get her there #olivia rodrigo #guts olivia rodrigo #sour olivia rodrigo #pop punk #alt rock

[waywardrose-archive]

THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY | 15

stranger things

eddie munson x reader

rated e

7k

spotify playlist

for @punk-in-docs​​​

fem/witchy/goth!reader, magic, slow burn (for me), friends to lovers, no y/n only pet names, series-typical horror, period-typical sexism and homophobia, historical inaccuracies and anachronisms, drug dealing and use, smoking, alcohol use, masturbation, mutual masturbation, fantasizing, one-bed trope, making out, fingering, dirty talk, consensual pursuit and capture, oral sex, handjobs, condoms, piv sex, reader’s father is a dirtbag, mild spanking, magical violation, mental torture, body horror, aftercare, nightmares, strict parenting, panic attack, past child abuse and abandonment, semi-public sex, break-ups, angst with a happy ending, tags will be updated as needed

Eddie would have to wait until his lunch break to see this new, hot, weird chick. He wondered which flavor of weird she was. Art weird? Theater weird? Band weird?

Weird weird?

He shrugged. He liked weird.

In other words, you’re the new girl in town, and Eddie is intrigued.

note: More angst, but it’ll be worth it, I promise.

During the last Study Hall of the semester, Sheryl had revealed the secret New Year’s Eve party happening at this abandoned burger joint, Benny’s, on the outskirts of town. Everyone was going to be there. She’d been invited by Chance Lang, #23 on the basketball team. His parents were away on some couples-only cruise.

If everyone was going to be there, you’d joked, it wasn’t much of a secret. She, Heather, and Christy laughed. You’d smiled with a shrug. Heather had then teased Sheryl about her crush on Chance, saying the party was Sheryl’s opportunity to ride her way to prom queen. Sheryl had fluttered her hands as she stated the whole senior class knew who was going to be prom queen — and it wouldn’t be her.

You’d looked between the three of them and asked who they meant. Heather leaned in, Christy and Sheryl copying her. You leaned in as well. Sotto voce, Heather said Chrissy Cunningham was a sure bet for prom queen. After all, Chrissy Cunningham was the queen of Hawkins High.

Chrissy Cunningham sat diagonally from you in Western Lit. She was one of the least exasperating cheerleaders you’d ever encountered. At first, you’d avoided anyone who’d be featured in the athletics section of a yearbook. However, she was kind and humble. She’d even complimented your nail polish one time, which you thanked her for and told her the color.

She now sat on the second-hand sofa with her All-American boyfriend, Jason Carver. Chrissy sipped from a red cup that was most likely filled with Diet Coke. She didn’t seem the beer-chugging type. In contrast, Jason held a Pabst can high as he pontificated. The jocks lounging around them cheered when he said something particularly rousing.

Jason was a preacher without a pulpit, desperate for each hosanna to feed his bloated ego.

Keeping your annoyance to yourself, you filled your cup from the bucket of jungle juice at the old pick-up counter. Nearby, a game of beer-pong went into overtime. Heather and Christy were in the group of spectators. You joined them, bumping your elbow with Christy’s.

She brightened as she greeted you, her eyes glittering under the multiple strands of Christmas lights.

Heather curved around her to say, “Hey.”

“Hey,” you said, though the shouting spectators drowned you out. Christy got your attention and moved closer to speak in your ear. You smelled the whiskey-and-Coke on her.

“Look who’s talking to Chance Lang.”

You followed her gaze across the main room. Sheryl and Chance were talking. Beside them, a few guys played Horse at the indoor basketball hoop. Sheryl nodded at something Chance said. He pantomimed some sportsball maneuver that had her laughing and touching his forearm. Chance grinned, pleased with himself, and cocked a hip.

You shared a look with Christy before giggling with her.

The crowd roared as the beer-pong game ended. A fellow spectator knocked into Heather, who knocked into Christy, who then knocked into you. The three of you staggered together and laughed.

“God, I need another drink,” said Heather, with a nod towards the kitchen.

“Yeah, let’s go,” you said before leading the way around the crowd.

Christy latched onto your sleeve like a duckling.

In the kitchen, a couple made out by the defunct walk-in while a few people blew rails on the metal counters. Bottles of beer and wine coolers sprouted from the melting ripples of ice filling the industrial-sized sinks. Heather pulled a beer from the ice, placed the underside of the cap on the counter, and knocked the cap off. The beer foamed and dripped onto the already-sticky tiled floor.

You tapped your cup against her bottle as a toast and chugged your drink. No amount of fruit punch could disguise the burn of alcohol. You shook your head, nose scrunching, as you swallowed the last of the jungle juice. That must’ve been two or three shots at once.

You groaned, “Fuck.”

Christy shimmied behind you to fix herself another whiskey-and-Coke as Heather offered you a wildberry wine cooler. It wasn’t good to mix different drinks, but who the hell knew what was in that batch of jungle juice.

You tossed your cup into the rolling trashcan in the corner, making a clean shot. A random guy encouraged you to join the next round of beer-pong. You brushed off the encouragement with a laugh, because you weren’t pouring beer on top of jungle juice. Despite the adage of ‘liquor before beer, you’re in the clear,’ you’d never been that lucky.

Wine coolers, though? Those were fine.

You turned to the counter to try Heather’s technique for uncapping a bottle. After a few thumps, the cap remained firmly attached. Heather snickered when you made a face at her and asked for help. She angled the bottle and showed you how to hit it with the heel of your hand.

As you nodded, the backdoor opened. A gust of cold along with a familiar, deep voice had a shudder going down your spine.

“Close the goddamn door!” screeched a nose duster.

You squared your shoulders and struck the cap. It popped off and sailed to the floor. Heather and Christy cheered as your wine cooler fizzled. You faked a laugh before the three of you toasted and drank.

Eddie said he could attend — and sell — if Corroded Coffin didn’t have plans. You guessed they didn’t. He most likely hadn’t expected you to show. True, a party hosted by jocks with shitty music taste wasn’t really your scene. However, you didn’t want to stay at home to have a glass of champagne with your parents, then find the right moment to leave before your father began reviewing his upcoming plans for the year — or coax you into praising your Christmas gifts again.

This year they’d given you cash, a few movies on your list, a new stereo for your car, and your own phone line.

Mom planned to call the phone company on Friday to schedule a tech visit. You’d wanted to tell her there was no point. The person you’d been tying up the main phone line with wouldn’t be calling until April. Or maybe ever.

“Oh!” said Christy as the backdoor clunked shut. “I think Munson’s dealing out there. You want to split the cost of a few joints?”

You pulled a five-dollar bill from your pocket and gave it to her.

“Sure, you two go ahead. I gotta pee.”

Which wasn’t completely untrue, but you weren’t ready to see him yet.

“Sweet!” Christy said and boogied to the backdoor.

Heather paused to ask, “You’ll be okay?”

You nodded and pasted on a smile.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine! I’ll meet you out front.”

She clinked her bottle with yours, her expression reassuring.

“If you’re not out there in ten, I’m coming to get you.”

With a smile, you said, “Hey, it all depends on the line.”

She smirked as you backed away.

On the way to the bathroom, you gave a thumbs-up to Sheryl, who’d joined Chance at the basketball hoop. She gave you an excited smile that was all teeth and twinkling eyes.

The line for the bathroom was short. While no one had puked over the toilet, the bathroom stank of old urine and boy-funk. As you washed your hands, you checked your hair and makeup in the graffitied mirror. You looked as good as you had when you’d left the house. You dried your hands on the sides of your jeans, collected your half-full wine cooler, and left the bathroom.

The main room was growing stuffy, smelling of beer and weed and those solid air fresheners. Smoke hung in the air and enhanced the cones of light from random lamps. You wove through the throngs of people until reaching the fogged front door.

Outside was brisk and sobering. A couple argued under the lone sodium light illuminating the parking lot. You breathed deep the crisp air to brace yourself for facing Eddie. You’d have to see him eventually, since you two shared a class. Better to get it over with now when you had the barrier of people and alcohol.

You rounded the concrete planter bed at the side of the building. Eddie leaned on a support post for the backdoor roof, back to the parking lot. Which was a relief. The tail of his flannel shirt hung beneath his jacket and vest to hide his ass. His black jeans were faded to the point of being gray. He conversed with Heather and Christy, though it was impossible to tell if they’d finished the deal or not.

Loose rocks crunched under your boots. You cringed at the noise and sidestepped to solid blacktop. Perhaps you could get away with not facing Eddie at all. However, Christy peeked around Eddie’s side, noticed you with a squeal, and skipped to you.

Eddie swung around the post to watch.

So much for not facing him.

You smiled at Christy’s excitement as she told you Eddie had given them a discount.

“How generous,” you said with a glance at him.

Heather sauntered around Eddie, the flawlessly rolled joints in her hand. He snuck a quick look at her back, i.e., he checked out her ass. You wanted to reprimand him with a look, but stopped yourself. Your relationship was paused, which meant he could check out anyone’s ass he wanted.

You could too, though you weren’t inclined.

Heather suggested the three of you claim one of the picnic tables on the other side of the building. Christy complained it was too cold for that.

“If we go back inside, some mooch will want in on these,” Heather said, holding the joints between her fingers.

“Ladies, if I may be so bold,” Eddie said as he approached. “You could avail yourselves of my van.”

With a glare, Heather said, “We’re not fucking you, Munson.”

“Let’s just go to my car,” you said at the same time he said, “It wasn’t a metaphor.”

“What?” Christy asked.

Eddie took his keys from his front pocket. A front pocket with a shiny wallet chain swagged under it. Your mouth went dry.

He offered his keys and said, “I’m not done here, so go smoke and bring them back when you’re done.”

Christy asked, “You trust us?”

He met your eyes briefly.

“Of course.”

You turned to the side and took a drink from your wine cooler.

“Fine,” Heather said and snatched the keys from his hand. “Thanks.”

“Thanks, Eddie,” said Christy.

“I’m parked farther up on Randolph.”

You nodded, murmuring a ‘thanks.’

The three of you turned from Eddie. You took two steps before he called your name. You sighed. Heather frowned when you stopped.

“I got a class with him. It’s probably something dumb,” you said to explain. “I’ll catch up in a minute.”

Christy pulled Heather away, heading across the parking lot.

You faced him — as you dreaded you’d have to — and crossed your arms.

“What?”

“Can I talk to you after the party?” he asked.

“I have to be home by one.”

“I’ll make it quick.”

“I thought you wanted space?”

“I do, but... Throw me a bone here. I want to explain.”

“Okay, fine, bone thrown.”

The corner of his mouth quirked.

“That rhymes.”

“Yeah, I’m the poet laureate of Hawkins, Indiana.” You spun on the ball of your foot. “See you later.”

You caught up with Heather and Christy already walking on the side of the road. Despite the long line of parked cars, it was easy to spot Eddie’s van. Heather unlocked the back doors and threw them open.

“God, it already smells like weed in here,” she said, though she shuffled in while balancing her beer in one hand.

Christy followed her with a giggle. “And we’re gonna make it worse!”

You’d never gotten a good look at the cavernous back of his van. Band equipment had scuffed the carpet. He’d bound cheap, stained blankets to the interior walls with bungee cords. A legless bench-seat sat propped against the driver’s side wall.

“I hope one of you has a lighter,” you said as you cracked a window.

Christy said, “Got us covered, babe.”

You closed the doors after you. Fortunately, a street-light was close enough to shine through the windshield. After you settled next to Heather on the bench-seat, she distributed joints and lit hers. You took the lighter last and twisted the joint as you put flame to rolling paper.

Your muscles loosened with each drag. Heather griped about her younger brother and his crusty socks. With only older sisters, Christy didn’t understand what Heather’s brother did to his socks. She asked if he just didn’t clean his feet. You laughed as Heather explained. Christy’s look of absolute disgust made you laugh harder.

“And your mom washes his gross stuff with everyone else’s!?”

“Well—” Heather coughed through an exhale. “Yeah? It all gets washed in hot water, so...” She shrugged. “Yeah.”

“Ew!”

A moment later, Christy mentioned she’d begun working on a college application essay. Your parents had begun bugging you about writing one, but you didn’t know where you wanted to go. Heather said she was applying to Notre Dame and Indiana University. Maybe Purdue. She said she had the GPA for any of them.

You hadn’t dwelled on college since meeting Eddie. You made decent grades. You could write an essay. The registration deadline for the SAT was in February. If you showed interest, Mom would be thrilled to pay any fee or purchase any study guide.

You could work on an essay too, just in case. There was an expanding-your-horizons angle you could use. You’d moved to a small town, joined the community, learned new things, met different types of people. Yeah, all that had fueled your curiosity to discover more. And whichever colleges you applied to could support you in that, like, pursuit.

That was some decent, ass-kissing bullshit.

You smiled to yourself while Heather and Christy chatted.

But what would you major in? How could you hide your magic from a roommate? If you went, would you ever see Eddie again?

All those questions were hassles you didn’t need. No, you didn’t need to think about that now. You didn’t need to worry. What mattered was enjoying the last night of 1985 and relaxing with people who were becoming more than acquaintances.

You exhaled smoke towards the back window and stretched your legs.

With a side-glance at Heather, you thought it was cool — okay, well, maybe not cool, but it was fine — that Eddie checked out her ass. She was hot. She had a cute ass. More people should appreciate it. When she went to college in a bigger city, people would.

Maybe if you went to college in a bigger city, people would appreciate you. In New York, you’d done pretty well at clubs. You’d heard plenty of pick-up lines. From ‘nice boots, wanna fuck?’ to ‘you’re the girl of my nightmares.’

You finished your joint, nearly burning your fingertips, and threw the tiny roach in your empty wine-cooler bottle.

Yeah, you thought and closed your eyes, you deserved to be appreciated. Not set aside by some dumb, muppet-haired guitarist... who was talented and funny and smart and usually really sweet. A small voice pointed out he’d let you use his van. He’d given you jewelry, which you wore nonstop under your clothes.

Those weren’t the actions of someone setting you aside, were they?

Heather nudged your arm. You hummed and turned your head to her, opening your eyes.

“You ready to head back?” she asked. “It’s a little after eleven.”

“Yup.”

You rolled onto your knees and crawled to the back doors. Someone wolf-whistled. You laughed as you shook your ass in reply.

The air outside tasted fresh and cool, like sparkling frost. You breathed through your mouth to chill your baked throat. The tranquil woods on either side of the road were full of mystery. If you crested the hill to your right, you expected to see a wizard’s castle or an ancient fortress. There was something akin to magic here. It fluttered over your skin, familiar yet arcane.

A slight breeze drifted from the woods, chilling your face, nipping under your jacket. And with it came a sonorous voice, deep with thunder, calling your name. It took the mellow of your high. Your skin crawled as your heart beat rabbit-fast.

Not again.

You hadn’t heard that voice in weeks. At least, you thought you’d heard it a moment ago. It shouldn’t be able to find you, though. Maybe you were really, really high. Also, the magic you’d manifested was different, weaker, so mundane. You didn’t feel really, really high. You had nothing it would want now. It had stolen everything.

Hands shook your shoulders. You flinched from the touch.

“Whoa, hey, oh my god,” said a feminine voice.

It was Christy. You blinked at her and put a hand over one of hers. Christy was safe. It was okay. You were awake. He didn’t have you.

You were just really, really high.

“Sorry,” you said.

“Where’d you go?”

“I...” You swallowed drily. “No-nowhere. Sorry. I just got in my head a little, I think.”

The van’s doors clunked shut. You flinched again, then internally berated yourself. It was only Heather, who was safe too.

Christy released your shoulders, a crease of concern between her brows.

“You know what?” Shaking your head to clear it, you said, “I’m gonna go home. Sleep this off.”

Heather asked, “You sure? I can drive you.”

“No, no, I’m cool to drive.” You nodded to the van. “We’ll leave the keys on the front floor for Eddie to find.”

“It’s okay. We’ll give them to him,” said Christy.

You almost laughed at your absentmindedness. They were returning to the party — where Eddie was.

“Of course, yeah, sure.”

You ambled down Randolph with them, grateful for the company. They asked where you’d parked your car. You replied on Cornwallis, where the woods bordered a sedate neighborhood. Christy commented her sister had gone to a party at King Steve’s — who lived on Cornwallis — before everything went down with that missing kid and the girl who died from some freaky chemical leak.

Your eyes widened at the gossip.

Heather waved that away with an insouciant hand, though, to joke at how close Christy had come to being family with Hawkins royalty. Christy cringed, asking not to be reminded, as she bumped into you. She giggled and looped her arm around yours.

Having noticed your previous expression, Heather told you King Steve was a douche-y jock and former king of the school. You were familiar with the type. Heather continued, saying he’d graduated last year, but still lived with his parents. He’d explained it as wanting to take a year off.

She gave you a loaded, if blurry, look.

You bobbed your head despite not being entirely sure what the look meant.

This was small-town life. There was loads of gossip and labels for everyone. As you looked at the barren trees lining the road, you figured you had a label as well. Probably something dumb, like ‘goth chick’ or ‘weird girl’ — or whatever.

The party was still going hard when the three of you stopped at the restaurant’s turnoff. Van Halen wailed through the half-opened front door. Some dude puked onto the wilted grass by the road. Eddie stood at the building’s backdoor, talking to a guy you recognized from Trig class.

Damn, Hawkins High was a small place.

Heather checked in with you to make sure you were good to drive. Even though you nodded with an assurance you were fine, Christy tried to lure you inside with the promise of snacks. There were chips and pretzels and someone had made a platter of Rice Krispy Treats, but who knew what had happened to those since you’d been gone.

Like, that dude could be spewing chunks of tainted snacks. That was a thing that happened, you were sure. Your reason had nothing to do with the guy selling drugs.

You glanced at said guy. He hadn’t noticed you.

You shook your head, declining Christy’s invitation. She hugged you, regardless. You wished her and Heather a happy new year. They returned the well wishes before you continued down Randolph.

You wrapped your jacket tight around your middle. Maybe you should’ve told Eddie you were back, but you didn’t want to stick around. Not after hearing your attacker. Or hallucinating you had. Your mind was fuzzy, mouth cottony. You hoped your less-than-sober state deterred them — if you’d heard them at all.

And anyway, it wasn’t like Eddie had specified how much later after the party when he’d asked to talk to you. ‘After the party’ could be the same day or a week from then.

Yes, you were being an asshole.

No, you didn’t care. He’d started it.

The road darkened as the distance between streetlights lengthened. You were alone on an ill-lit stretch of road. You placed a hand over the charms Eddie had given you. This wasn’t the same as that night, you reminded yourself. You weren’t the same. Darkness wasn’t the enemy, either — and neither was the woods. It was peaceful.

A male voice interrupted that peace by calling your name. It was Eddie.

Of course.

You turned to see him jogging to you. His hair bounced with each step. His lunchbox swung from his hand. You opened your mouth to ask how he’d worked out you’d left the party. Then it dawned:

Heather had returned his keys.

When you weren’t there with her, he’d put two and two together.

“Leaving without me?” he asked as he stopped a few feet away.

“I was going to do that anyway.”

“Ouch.”

You shrugged since it was true.

He scuffed the heel of his sneaker on the blacktop. You raised your eyebrows at him, though you doubted he could see it. He remained quiet. You could just discern when he bit his lip. Light glinted off the lunchbox. It became obvious he wasn’t going to speak first.

Like ripping off a bandage, you prompted, “You wanted to explain?”

He drew nearer with a deep breath. Your first instinct was to back away, but you held your ground.

“I know I hurt you, but that wasn’t my intention. I thought you’d get it.”

“So, this is on me?”

“No, of course not... You left, though. Before I could explain.”

“So, it’s still on me.”

“No, dammit. Everything came out wrong.”

“Then make it come out right.”

“I’m trying, alright?”

You wanted to tell him to try harder, but that was something your father would say. You weren’t your father. You’d never be like your father.

With a sigh, you put your hands on your hips.

“Just...” You shrugged. “Say what you need to say, and we’ll decipher it.”

“I didn’t— I don’t want to push you away.”

“Then why do you need space?”

“Because I need to focus on making this band the best it can be.”

“And I can’t be there for that?”

“You are there!” He moved closer. “You’re in my head. All the time. You inspire me and distract me. And I don’t know how to balance it out. Distance is the only solution I got until I’m better.”

You dropped your hands to your sides.

“I don’t understand. I mean, I do. Kinda. But I thought we were getting to something good.”

You thought you two were something good.

“Sweetheart,” he said. “We are. We will.”

You shook your head. The sting of a week’s silence had turned into an ache.

“It doesn’t feel that way.”

He put his free hand on top of his head.

“I’m gonna be honest with you here. I think about you every day.”

Your eyes grew hot before tears blurred your vision.

His hand fell from his head as he said, “I’ve picked up the phone to call you so many times, but...”

You blinked the tears away as your chin jutted.

“But you don’t call.”

“Neither do you.”

“You pushed me away! I’m not crawling back to beg for your fucking scraps!”

“My fucking scraps? I’d give you fucking everything. I’m trying to give you fucking everything!”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about being good enough, goddammit!”

“What?”

“You’ve thrown my life... out of whack. The band is unhappy. I haven’t been able to concentrate for shit this past week. I don’t have a new module for Hellfire lined up.” He took a step closer, lunchbox rattling in his hand. “I didn’t ask for this, but I can’t...” He shook his head. “I can’t, ‘cause all I want to do is write songs about you. Talk through ideas with you. Show you some stupid thing I found or read some stupid article to you.”

“Then call me. I don’t have to come over.”

He drew his bottom lip between his teeth. With him this close, it was easy to see when his lip came back wet and full.

“I can’t. I don’t have that kind of willpower.”

“Then why are you telling me this? Just let me go.”

“It’s the difference between torture and agony.”

“Wha—? I don’t—”

“Torture ends, agony doesn’t.”

“And this is fucking torture, Eddie!”

“Yes, and it’ll end, I promise!”

“I’m so sick of this shit!” You threw your arms out. “I didn’t ask for this, either!” You poked his chest with a finger. “I just wanted you.”

He grabbed your hand in both of his as his lunchbox clattered to the ground. You tensed, unsure what to expect. His calluses rasped over your skin. He uncurled your fingers to press your palm to his warm chest.

Softly, he said, “It’s not forever.”

“I’m not putting my life on hold.”

“Good.”

“I’m writing a college application essay and taking the SAT.”

He nodded.

“You’ll do great.”

Before your brain caught up, your mouth said, “My parents got me my own phone line for Christmas.”

“Can I have the number?”

“Only if you promise to call.”

“I promise,” he said as he walked you backwards.

Your rear met the cold steel of a parked car. You leaned against its solid support. The only thing separating your front from his was your arm sandwiched between your chests.

“We shouldn’t do this.”

“Probably not.”

He drew your hand up his chest, under the collar of his flannel, to the side of his neck. His skin was silky and hot. He was giving you the choice: pull him in or restrain him.

He whispered, “Let me touch you.”

“We are touching.”

“Then let me kiss you.”

You glanced at his lips.

“How can we do that if you want space?”

“Forget space for the night.”

“What about tomorrow, huh?”

“It’s not tomorrow.”

You focused on the ringer t-shirt under his flannel. It would be so easy to run your fingers under the collar and tug him against you. And you wanted to. You could see yourself doing it — again and again. You could also see him pushing you away, going silent, then calling when he can’t stand jerking off alone anymore.

“You can’t yank me around like this,” you said.

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. You give me this wonderful Christmas present, then say you don’t want to see me until April. It’s barely been a week, and you want to talk to me. You let me and my friends use your van, then you say I’ve messed up your life. Now you want to kiss me?” You shook your head. “You are yanking me around.”

“I know this is a shit situation, okay? But you gotta see it from my point of view. If the band doesn’t win this battle, we’re toast. We won’t have a clean demo or the money to get out of here...” His eyes turned glassy in the half-light. “I can’t do it, baby, I can’t.”

Your chest tightened in sympathy, but you had to advocate for yourself.

“Well, I can’t have my heart broken every time you need some stress relief.”

“You think it’s a relief to know it’ll hurt you?”

“Then why are you doing this?”

“Because it’s the only way to get the hell out of here with you.”

This circular argument was exhausting. You weren’t the type to make a musician choose between the band and the partner. That wasn’t fair. Eddie had to decide on his own. If you’d moved on, well, that was a risk.

You trailed your hand down his chest, then away.

“You know what? How about you figure out what you want and then come find me?”

You slid from between him and the car, banging your hip on the side-mirror. That must’ve looked super graceful. You rubbed at the sore spot as you trudged to your car.

Eddie called after you, but you couldn’t turn around. It would be too much.

He seized your upper arm to pull you back. In a move you’d only seen in an action movie, you spun around and propelled him to the next parked car. His hold disappeared as his backside plowed into the rear side panel, wallet chain clanking.

He looked as surprised as you felt. You’d done nothing like that before. Hell, you didn’t know you could do something like that.

Then you remembered he dared to keep you from leaving. Like you were some uncooperative puppy. You weren’t his to control.

You fisted his shirt and shoved.

“I’m sorry,” he said, raising his hands. “I’m sorry.”

“You can’t just grab me.”

You pressed your knuckles to his sternum. Your pulse thudded in your ears.

He nodded.

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“Fuck, Eddie, don’t grab me like that.”

You loosened your hold, but didn’t release his shirt.

“What was the plan, huh?” you asked. “Keep me here to listen to more of your shitty excuses?”

“I know what I want, alright?” He looked deep into your eyes. “I want you.”

“But not enough.”

“No, enough to work for it.”

He lay his hand on top of yours. You were shaking — and so was he. His other hand went to your hip and guided you between his spread knees. You wrapped an arm behind his back to rest against him. Though it hadn’t been long since you’d hugged him, it felt like ages. He smelled like you remembered: apple shampoo and cigarettes with the underlying scent of cheap aftershave.

Tension uncoiled from your chest as he wrapped his arms around you and settled his cheek on your head.

Into his shirt, you said, “I’m still mad at you.”

“Understandable.”

“You know, I’d never curse you or the band.”

“I know. It was a stupid thing to say.”

You looked at his face in the dim. The streetlight painted him in shades of orange. He looked back, eyes dark and sincere.

“Can I kiss you now?” he asked.

“Kiss me where?”

A corner of his mouth quirked.

“Anywhere you’d like.”

You should say no, should push away — or at least argue. Then you realized the argument had no end. It would continue until April. Maybe beyond. You didn’t want his absence for four months. You didn’t want to be without his touch, his thoughts, his laughter for that time. A week had created an ache. Four months would see you crumble to dust. You didn’t want that for him, either.

Yes, it was a weakness to give in, but you were weak.

You whispered, “How about we start with lips?”

“We can do that.”

You braced a hand on the cold trunk and hooked fingers under his collar to draw him in. He widened his stance to bring you near and tilted your face to his. As he moved in, you kept your eyes open to the last second.

His plump lips meeting yours knocked the air from your lungs. You angled for more, to kiss harder. A groan from deep in his chest egged you on. He pulled you in tight by the waist. Your breasts pressed against his front.

His tongue teased the seam of your lips. You grasped his ass to pull him impossibly closer. His lips parted with a gasp. His back arched, thighs spreading. You felt wicked as you sucked at his bottom lip. He tasted of beer and salt. You followed that predictable combination with your tongue.

He rolled his hips and cradled your jaw as his tongue slid over yours. A hint of stubble prickled at your skin. Whether from his absence or your high, everything was better than you’d hoped. His scent reminded you of basking naked in bed with him. It made you want to rub yourself all over him like a cat.

Distantly, you wondered why you’d avoided him earlier.

He broke the kiss, panting against your lips.

“Can I finger you? You know I’ll make it good, sweetheart. Let me touch you, yeah?”

The thought of those talented, dexterous hands between your legs once more had your cunt pulsing. You wet your bottom lip, tasting his spit. He looked at you like he knew how your body had reacted.

You nodded.

Perhaps it was a mistake, but you’d deal with the fallout later.

He closed his eyes and breathed out a ‘thank you.’ His hand went from your jaw to your chest as he nuzzled your neck. He cupped one of your breasts, squeezing and fondling. Your breath caught, nipples hardening. His familiar touch burned through your top and bra.

He whispered your name between kisses to your skin. You sagged against him, letting your head crane back. In reply, his hand snuck lower to unbutton your jeans. The heavy bulge of his erection dragged across your belly as he made room to unzip them. Memory flashed like lightning: you palming him through his boxers on Halloween, stroking his covered cock, the rocking of his hips.

You wanted that as well and trailed a hand up his inseam. He paused, legs tensing. You leaned back to meet his gaze. Shadows hid much of his expression, but you knew he was uncertain.

An internal petty streak liked his uncertainty, because he deserved it. He’d made you question your relationship. He’d been contradictory and confusing.

You wedged a hand between his legs. Through his jeans, you pressed the heel of your palm into the warm base of his cock while you cupped his sac with your fingers. He let out a little sound as you massaged the firm ovoids of his balls.

“No one’s ever heard you make that sound, have they?” you asked lowly.

He shook his head, and you mirrored him.

“Anyone touch you like this?”

“No.”

“That’s right. No one’s taken their time with you, right?”

He gasped, “No,” with big, bambi eyes and parted lips.

And you wanted to savor him. You wanted him in your bed again, wild hair fanning across your pillow. You wanted to touch and be touched.

“No,” you said in agreement. “Just me.”

His thighs parted a little more as his breathing quickened. He rocked into your palm. The faltering hand at your stomach moved away to make room.

“Don’t stop,” he said.

You hummed and watched yourself caress the length of his denim-covered erection.

“Why start?” you asked.

“What?”

“After we get each other off, it all goes back to silence.” You dragged your nails up his cock, which throbbed. “Fuck, what are we doing?”

He put cool hands on either side of your face to force you to meet his eyes.

“We’re doing what’s necessary.”

He kissed you. He devoured you. The universe revolved around his plush lips against yours. Instead of a bright center, it was dark. He slanted his head, lips smearing across yours — an asteroid made of diamond. His tongue invaded your mouth, like he was desperate for your particular flavor — a black hole to draw you in.

You held onto his hips and rested your front on his. He spun you to lean on the car instead — twin stars orbiting each other. One hand went to the fly of your jeans to unzip them. His fingers splayed at the waistband of your underwear, pinkie sneaking underneath.

That touch, though gentle, seared your belly. You angled your hips.

“Your skin’s so soft,” he said against your lips.

It was your turn to say, “Don’t stop.”

Eddie hid his face in your neck and inhaled deep. He hummed as you clutched his shoulders. His hand snaked under your underwear until two nimble fingers slid between your wet folds.

You gasped, eyes going wide. That single touch made you quiver.

“This’s what I need,” he said as he found your clit.

You breathed a laugh. “Yeah? Creamed your jeans over this?”

“You got no idea.”

“Show me then.”

In silent acceptance of the challenge, he circled your clit how he knew you liked. It was the right pressure, fast and firm enough.

“So wet.” He dragged his teeth over your neck. “Wanna bend you over this car.”

You squirmed on his fingers.

“Maybe later.”

“Yeah, later,” he said before sliding a finger inside you.

His palm cupped your mound, finger massaging your slick cunt. He stroked your walls and teased your g-spot. You maneuvered him by the hair to kiss him. His mouth was lush and demanding and perfect. With one taste, you couldn’t get enough.

He rocked his hand, keeping the pressure on your mound and inching his finger in and out. You groaned into the kiss as you writhed. It wasn’t enough — and he had to know it.

“C’mon, gimme what I need.”

“Yes, milady.”

He eased his finger out and returned to circling your clit. You nodded while biting your lip and stilling your hips. He began slow, using two fingers to keep the stimulation going. Your legs wobbled. You jerked against him. An arm slithered between your back and the car.

“I got you.”

You clung to him and swayed with the motion of his fingers. You continued moving until he was working your clit too fast. Letting your forehead rest on his shoulder, band pins cool on your skin, you panted as pleasure grew. It licked like fire up your spine.

There was only heat and escalating tension. He held you tight through it. Grateful, you wanted to kiss him again, but you couldn’t move. You couldn’t break the spell, lose the thread. But you thought of his talented, ripe mouth — fuck, his tongue — thought of him bending you over and eating you out. He could do it right here, in the open, with the chilly air flitting over your exposed ass. Your cries would echo through the woods.

“Oh, shit...”

“That’s it, baby.” He kissed your temple. “Come all over my hand.”

You groaned as thoughts fractured like glass. You were going to come just like he wanted you to. It was right there. You teetered on that event horizon. The licking fire became stronger, hotter, until it blazed — a supernova. You muffled your moans in the soft denim of his vest as you came. Your cunt throbbed — a pulsar. It kept going and going as you burned and clawed and strained in Eddie’s arms.

His fingers came to a standstill, pressing on your clit. You shivered as your cunt pulsed one last time.

You grabbed his nape and pulled him in for a kiss. He kissed you deep and hard, nipping at your lips, tongue invading and teasing. His soaked fingers spread a honey-like trail over your skin as he gripped your hip.

“Take me home,” he said. “Sneak me inside. I’ll fuck you all night. Do anything you want.”

You blinked away the daze of orgasm as you caught your breath. Home meant getting his perfect cock in you. His hands would hold your hips, fingers digging hard enough to leave bruises. You could ride him on the window seat as the sun rose. Your parents would be sleeping off hangovers until at least noon—

A pop of a firework interrupted. Cheers and whoops rang from the old restaurant.

It was tomorrow — and now 1986.

“Can’t. We can’t,” you said.

He opened his mouth to protest, but you placed fingers on his kiss-swollen lips.

“Really. We can’t.”

You traced the edge of his lips as he stared at you with dark, gleaming eyes.

“This sucks.”

To assuage his suffering, and yours, you kissed him once more. His grip on your hip tightened. He sucked on your bottom lip and rolled his hips against yours. It nearly had you forgetting yourself, your surroundings, your self-respect.

You pulled his hair to break the kiss. He groaned. His erection pulsed where it pressed into the side of your belly. You shushed him, running fingers over his hair.

You asked, “Want me to drive you to your van?”

“Nah, I need to cool off.”

You hummed. “Not possible.”

He snorted. “It’s going to be a long four months.”

With a nod, you smoothed a thumb over his cheekbone.

“Happy New Year, honey.”

You released him and stepped back. His hands left warm stripes on your hip and back. You fastened your jeans, the wetness in your underwear uncomfortable.

You finally looked at him. His bottom lip quivered, as though he was just hanging onto his composure. You wanted to offer comfort, to give in, to take him home, to forget the past week. Instead, you took another step back.

Your throat was taut as you said, “See you in O’Donnell’s.”

He nodded and looked at his feet.

Your heart wrenched, making it hard to breathe. Your eyes flooded, making it hard to see. You didn’t know what else to say, so you remained quiet. You weren’t sure you could speak, anyway.

When he didn’t raise his head, you tiptoed around him. You made it a yard or two when he said your name. You turned to find him watching.

“Happy New Year.”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #stranger things #em tagd #waywardrose writes

[jungkxook]

—make it right. (m)

⟶ pairing: jungkook x reader 

⟶ genre: punk!jungkook / band au / exes-to-lovers au / angst / smut

⟶ words: 11,528

⟶ rating: 18+ 

⟶ summary: you’re wholeheartedly, madly in love with jungkook and yet you shouldn’t be because it’s been almost a year since you broke up with him. worst part of it all is that you know he’s still in love with you too

⟶ warnings: jungkook has a tongue piercing, oral sex because of said tongue piercing (fem!recieving), more tattooed and long haired jungkook to feed my fantasies, angsty pining clingy sex, also just general soft sex, crying sex lol, riding, creampie, slight praise kink themes, unprotected sex

⟶ disclaimer: here’s my one year blog anniversary present inspired by the first ever fic i posted on here! yes this is technically a sequel to melomaniac but not really. sort of like an alternate universe to the alternate universe but you don’t really have to read one or the other to understand the other. so, i hope you enjoy!

⟶ this is part of the melodrama tour series!

You swear you’re over Jungkook.

In fact, you would even go so far as to say you hate him ━ but you know that’s not true. It’s just that it’s much easier to believe that if you tell yourself you hate him enough times, then maybe you’ll find a way to fix your broken heart, and the pain in his absence won’t hurt so bad. 

As it turns out, it hardly works.

Seven months since he had left you to travel the world with his band, basking in promised eternal glory and fame and money, and yet even miles and oceans away from where you stand, he’s all you can think about. There’s a myriad of reasons as to why trying to forget him was an useless endeavour. The hardships of trying to forget a cherished life-long friendship you had grown accustomed to was one of them, and those lingering happy moments you had shared with him as lovers however fleeting they may be was another. But then there was the ever present fact that Jungkook and his band were so quick to rise to fame, their names far exceeding the seemingly cramped and small city you had both reigned from, and suddenly the boy you had known forever, and everything special that makes him, was now being shared to hundreds of millions of adoring fans.

You were certain it was all Jungkook ever wanted, the added attention and the pretty girls fawning over him, because he had always been a casanova in many ways despite always promising you that you were the only one for him even before you had started dating. You had told him it wouldn’t work ━ I trust you as my best friend, you had said in a moment of despair, grasping at straws. I don’t have to worry about you breaking my heart. But I don’t know if I can trust you as my boyfriend ━ far before he and his band had been signed to their record label and paraded around the world, when they were still practicing in rented storage units and friends’ garages and rundown local studios, playing gigs anywhere and everywhere from dingy bars to college campus parties, supporting him every step of the way if only because he was your best friend, and he had been so persistent that it would work, chasing after you even when you tried to push him away. I would treat you right, he had urged so ardently late one drunken night after stumbling back to his apartment. I already practically worship the ground you walk on.

And how could you ━ who had already been so madly in love with him but scared of him breaking your heart, scared of losing him, scared of this happening ━ ever resist him? He made love seem so easy, and maybe that’s because it was when you were with him. But now, he was no longer yours; now, he was the world’s, and you were nothing but a mere hazy fragmented memory in his mind, long forgotten, watching from the side of the stage much like you always had from the very start of it all.

“Hey, isn’t this that band?” Jihyo’s voice bursts through your wandering trail of thoughts.

It takes you a moment to recollect yourself, finding yourself not in the arms of an ex-lover or stuck in a bygone time of months past, but in the cosy and amiable café nearest your campus and frequented by a plethora of your fellow peers. You’re fortunate to find that your other group mates have also become sidetracked, trailing far from the assignment you were all supposed to be working on. Dahyun is perched beside you, chin nestled in the palm of her hand and elbow propped on the table as she scrolls aimlessly through her phone; Jihyo and Taeyong were sat across from you, gossiping fervently about some mutual friend of theirs. You hadn’t known the pair long enough to know much about them or the tragic affair of whoever Mina is for accepting her cheating boyfriend back for the second time, and, likewise, they seem oblivious to your own self-wallowing once you realize what’s caught Jihyo’s sudden attention.

You hear his voice first.

It’s easy to discern, even after all this time and even amongst the muffled chatter and clanking of porcelain and cutlery of those seated around you. The sweet, velvety lull of Jungkook singing throughout the café from the overhead speakers, pretty upbeat melodies and synths mixed with wistful words making up the song he had written for you before he left, before the fame and fans, as a way of telling you how he truly felt about you. It feels like a dream, and maybe that’s because it is, bringing you instantly to another time, and another world. You still remember him showing you the unfinished song for the very first time, curled up next to him in his living room, listening to him serenade you to sleep, humming in places where he hadn’t formed the words yet, strumming along with his acoustic. It was yours and his until he showed the world almost a year ago on their very first show at the Seoul Olympic Stadium in front of thousands of people, as a final desperate act of proclaiming his love for you after a disastrous attempt at a first date that he had begged from you. Just one, he pleaded. To prove it to you that I can be a good boyfriend. And if things don’t work out, we can pretend it never happened and just go back to being us. That’s a promise.

At the time, you had treasured the song. It was beautiful in every way, his love transcending his words and enveloping your heart in pure warmth.

Now, you hate it.

It’s the third time you’ve heard the song that day. Despite avoiding it as best as you could, it seems to find a way to make itself known in your daily life like the nagging nuisance it is. Because fate seemed to enjoy its sadistic behaviour of having the song be one of the main reasons Jungkook and his band had skyrocketed to fame in such a short span of time and, suddenly, Jungkook disappearing from your life meant little when his voice remained as a constant reminder of what could have been, what couldn’t have been, and what fell apart at the already fragile seams. And what was a proclamation of love to you turned into nothing but a fabled tale of lovers. You wonder if people who hear it ever think about where they’ve gone, or who they’ve turned into, or if their love was made to last. You wonder, above all else, if people ever think about it at all.

“Beyond the Scene, right?” Taeyong asks. He seems just as animated to be discussing the song as Jungkook’s voice fades into Jimin’s.

“God, I love this song. It’s so dreamy,” Jihyo lets out a longing sigh as she slumps against her seat. “Y’know, I’m seeing them this Friday. It’s their first time being back in, like, five months.”

“Dude, I’ve been trying to get tickets to see them for months now!” Taeyong gaps incredulously. “How’d you score them?”

“A friend of a friend knows the guy who plays keys,” Jihyo says. “The cute mysterious one.”

“Yoongi, right?”

“Yeah━”

As the pair dive into a passionate discussion about the boys and their first full-length album released under their recently-signed-to label from Columbia Records, you shift uncomfortably in your seat. Dahyun almost immediately straightens up, eyes flickering from the pair to you and back again. You’re both fortunate she’s there, having known your past with Jungkook, and despise it a little more, wondering what her pitying gaze must mean.

“Hey, Dahyun. Y/N.” Taeyong’s voice grabs your attention now. “What do you think of these guys? Didn’t some of them used to go to this school?”

“Yeah, I had a few classes with their drummer.” Dahyun waves her hand airly, swiftly brushing over the fact that she did far more than have a “few classes” with any of the boys but was also one of their closest friends. “I think they’re great━” She glances sideways at you one more time. “Hey, maybe we should get back to the assignment now━”

“I had a class with their lead guitarist, Jungkook, last year,” Jihyo continues, her excitement getting the best of her as Dahyun’s voice drowns out in the foreground.

“No way!” This dubious exclamation comes from Taeyong.

“I tried talking to him once but he totally blew me off,” Jihyo says. “Which is fine, because he’s still hot. If I had known he was gonna be a famous rockstar, I’d have tried asking him out a second time━”

Suddenly, you feel sick.

It’s odd to hear two strangers discuss Jungkook’s life while you’re seated across from them, as if you’re nothing more than an outsider to whoever Jungkook has become now. But you can’t stand it anymore. You’re certain you look insane to them when you push your seat back abruptly, the metal legs screeching against the floor as you stand.

“Whoa, what’s wrong━?” Taeyong starts to ask but you’re gone before he can finish the question, murmuring a half-hearted excuse about how you forgot you needed to be somewhere.

You’ve rounded on your heel and have fled from the café before anyone can try to stop you, with nothing but Jungkook’s mellifluous voice fading in the distance as he croons aloud for you in a time long since passed.

You don’t care. Besides, you’re sure Dahyun will cover for you.

The worst part of it all? The dreadful realization that sinks into your mind, and into your heart, beckons the question: who’s to say you aren’t a stranger now to Jungkook’s life altogether?

“So, what are you trying to say?”

You remember the moment so clearly despite wanting nothing more than to forget it all, and the pain associated with it. Because even from then you knew you would always be in love with Jungkook, but you couldn’t have him. It’s hard to remember whose fault it is this time that caused the sudden fight, though random little arguments had been a frequent occurrence nearing the end of your one year relationship more often than not. You hate blaming it all on him, because you were certain you were at fault too. Maybe a little bit wary at times, a little selfish, wanting him all to yourself. Even though you knew he has an obligation to the world, it still hurt when he started making promises he couldn’t keep, blowing you off for soundchecks, or spontaneous interviews, or record label meetings. More and more you could feel the both of you drifting apart, maybe without even meaning for it to happen.

It was just that Jungkook was destined for a lifetime of greatness, and you were starting to think that meant without you.

You had stopped him late one night after he had stumbled home from his and the band’s nightly studio sessions as they worked through recording their debut album as a signed band. Lately, it seemed as if that was all that Jungkook cared about, and while you knew the band meant the world to him and you would always support him in his endeavour, you couldn’t help but feel lesser in comparison. That, and you hated seeing the boy overwork himself to the point of near exhaustion every night if only because their label was so adamant about having the album finished before the month ended.

“You want to, what? Break up?” Jungkook asked, this time more incredulously and less dumbfounded as he had initially been. He didn’t believe you just yet, but you couldn’t exactly tell what he was thinking anymore at that point.

“I just figured we could use some time apart,” You had suggested awkwardly. “Just a break.”

He had let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh. “Y/N, this is insane.”

You flinched. You remember having to look away, refusing to meet his suddenly sorrowful look. “Is it, Jungkook? I mean… Look at us. We’re falling apart. It was bound to happen eventually. We tried to make it work but maybe we’re on different paths now.”

“But I love you,” Jungkook gasped, exasperated. “Where is this coming from?”

“And I don’t want to have to tie you down for the rest of your life,” You continued on stubbornly, “or make you think you owe me your whole life just because you said you fell in love with me when you were thirteen━”

This seemed to catch Jungkook’s attention. He grew rigid in front of you, a look of wary agony contorting his face. “Is that what this is then? You don’t love me anymore?”

You didn’t respond immediately, instead the dread of the night seemed to finally catch up with you and you had grimaced. You had loved him even then, but the thought of voicing it aloud when you were supposed to be breaking up with him didn’t feel right. The tears began to swell in your throat and blur your vision. Jungkook must have noticed, because he always seems to spot the small things about you that even you miss. Almost instantly, the sour look on his face softened and his gaze turned helpless, with those big puppy-dog eyes that you’ve always been too fond of. He closed the distance between you at once, warm hands grabbing at your own.

“You do.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement. He knew you were still in love with him ━ or maybe he’d just been hopeful. “I know you do. So then why are you breaking up with me?” 

He let go of one of your hands to reach up to your face, calloused fingers gentle and soft against your cheek as they brushed away a rogue tear you hadn’t realized had fallen from your lashes. For a moment, you had let yourself get carried away. You leaned into the comforting heat and touch of his palm as he cradled your face.

“Don’t━” You choked out after a moment of silence, hating when your voice splintered into a sob. “Don’t touch me. Please, Jungkook. You’re only going to make this harder.”

His hands sprang away from your face almost at once, as if he had just been burnt by scalding fire. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and pull you into his arms but he had refrained the urge somehow, miraculously. So, instead, he grit his teeth and clenched his hands into fists as his arms fell limp at his sides.

“Then don’t do this. Don’t walk away,” Jungkook pleaded desperately. “I don’t understand. If you love me still, why are you making this harder for yourself?”

“Because what if that’s all we have in common anymore?” You asked wretchedly. “We care about each other. We always will. But you’re focused on the band, and this is my last year of school. Maybe we just need time to focus on ourselves.”

Jungkook blinked once. Twice. His stare was suddenly devoid of any emotion as he gawked at you, but you could tell that he was hurting. It was there in the fluttering of nerves in his jaw; there, in the way his lips pulled taut into a thin line; there, in the way even you could see his eyes begin to shimmer with wet tears that he unabashedly displays without trying to wipe away.

“So that’s it?” he asked. “After everything we’ve been through. You’re just gonna end it, like that? Y/N, come on━”

His hands had found purchase on your waist, and you had lingered for a moment too long; then, fumbling, he tried to grab delicately at your face, probing you to look at him. But you couldn’t. The moment you met his wounded gaze, you shook your head furiously. You had slithered out of his grasp, slipping through the seams of his fingers just like that.

“I━” You paused. “This isn’t some spur of the moment decision, Jungkook. How can you not see it? I’ve felt so alone these past few months. It’s like you’re here but not entirely. Your mind is always somewhere else, always thinking about the band and never about us.”

“What am I supposed to do?” he had asked hotly. “The band is my everything.”

“And what am I?” You asked. The question only mildly offended you, a shot right to your heart. Because if the band was his everything, what were you in comparison? “A distraction until you get everything you want? I can’t keep being that.”

“No!” he protested. “You’re not a distraction. You’re━” He stopped himself short, brows furrowing. “You can’t keep pinning this all on me. You just don’t trust me, do you? You never did. Always thinking I’m with some other girl when I’m not with you━”

“That’s not true,” You admonished.

“Isn’t it?” Jungkook retaliated.

“I don’t want to hear it,” You had said at once. Your tone was final, a decisive ending to your argument with him. “My mind’s already been made up, Jungkook. I don’t think we should see each other again until we sort all this out ━ or, until you sort out whatever your priorities are.”

Jungkook’s stare had hardened, a frown deeply etching into his face. He had straightened up then, perplexed and upset with your standoffish demeanour, as if thinking this surely meant nothing to you. But little did he know this would become one of the hardest decisions you would have to make.

“Fine,” he said rigidly. “If that’s how it is, then I’m gone. You’ll never have to see me again.”

You hadn’t known at the time just how terribly you had messed up ━ neither had Jungkook. He had left before you could stop him, or before either of you could change your minds. Because nothing’s worse than a broken heart, blinded by stubborn and defensive rage. Accusatory fingers and blaming him or you wouldn’t heal the wounds that had already formed, and ending things seemed to only make it worse, months of lonely heartache without Jungkook to further prove just that…

The last time you spoke to Jungkook, you told him you never wanted to see him again ━ or, at least, that seems to be how he interpreted it.

Now, you were standing in the midst of his domain, surrounded by everyone in his public sphere of friends and colleagues and acquaintances, and there was certainly no way of escaping him.

You were starting to think you’re losing mind, because you’d truly have to be insane to have worked up the nerve to agree to go with Dahyun to a party being held celebrating the band’s recent tremendous success and headlining their first world tour. Their manager, Jin, had personally reached out to you and Dahyun, calling you as a means of asking you to attend, though you had given him a timid and dismissive response at first. If it hadn’t been for Dahyun purposely and almost quite literally dragging you out under the premise that “even if you don’t want to see Jungkook, you at least owe it to the boys to go,” you don’t think you’d even be here. But while you didn’t know where you stood with Jungkook anymore, that didn’t mean you weren’t still proud of him or the rest of the boys. It just became harder to bask in their success with them when you had gone from knowing every detail of their lives, of Jungkook’s life, to knowing only what you could hear from gossiping fans around you, or plastered in tabloids, or all over any form of social media.

The party is held at some sort of fancy lavish restaurant, the entire back room rented out by the band’s record label and management, and is filled with dozens of people you don’t know. Fortunately, you and Dahyun aren’t left alone for very long, as an elated Jin and Jimin, the appointed lead singer, bustle their way through the crowd to you almost as soon as you arrive, leaving very little time for you to feel so awkward that you consider running away again. Jimin, in all his spritely and extravagant blue haired disposition, wastes no time in engulfing you both in a comforting hug as if months hadn’t passed since you’ve last seen them.

“Glad you guys could make it!” Jin smiles from over Jimin’s shoulder.

“It’s been forever,” Jimin affirms.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Dahyun says. “I’m surprised you guys didn’t forget about us, considering you’re big rockstars now.”

“Rockstar is a bit of an overstatement.” An effortlessly charming smirk unfurls on Jimin’s face, which seems to immediately dazzle Dahyun. “Besides, we could never forget you. Hey, come with me to find the guys. I think we could all use some time to catch up━”

He places his hand on the small of Dahyun’s back as he guides her away, leaving you with Jin. A moment of silence passes, in which time you can feel the boy’s eyes lingering on you.

“He knows you’re coming tonight, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Jin says carefully, treading over his words lightly. It’s too painfully obvious who he’s talking about, though you’re fortunate he doesn’t bother mentioning Jungkook’s name anyway. “There’s no point in hiding. I think you should talk to him.”

“I━” You trail off uselessly, your voice croaking. Fearing an imminent breakdown, you shake your head. Then, holding your chin a little higher, Jin’s startled to hear you pretend as if he hadn’t said anything. “It really is good to see you guys again. If you’ll excuse me, I think I need a drink.”

And you’re gone once more before he can say anything else. On your lonesome, you find refuge at the bar, though you only order water because you’re certain you won’t be able to stomach anything stronger. You don’t know how long you spend there, blankly staring at a spot on the wall as your mind wanders everywhere and yet nowhere at all until━

“Y/N?”

There it is again. The familiar sound of his voice, only this time it’s much more attainable, closer to your world and not elsewhere so high in the clouds like a hopeful dream. You brace yourself before turning to face him.

This close, Jungkook looks breathtakingly and painfully beautiful.

As always, he’s adorned in all black, the first few buttons of the silky blouse he’s wearing left undone so that it teases the exposed flesh of his collarbones and the rose tattoo that inks his chest, the thorny stems crawling up the side of his neck just below his ear, accompanied by a pair of leather pants. He’s the same as ever. The same imperfect tattoos that decorate his fingers and arms that you’ve always loved, the same ring-clad fingers painted a chipped black, the same hoop accentuating his button nose. His hair is still his natural dark ebony color (something he’s seemed to stick with much more as of late despite dyeing it wild colours throughout his past), only it’s a little longer than you last remembered, and the sides of his head are shaved in the form of an undercut. You’re foolishly surprised to find he still looks the same, but almost a year away from someone can both change nothing and yet everything all at once.

“Jungkook…” You want to say something more, but your words fall short.

It’s hard to tell if he’s angry or upset at seeing you there, but you don’t think he’s either, and you have an inkling of a thought that he purposely sought you out amongst the many faces. Instead, he looks hesitant, apprehensive, as if dreading how you’ll respond to see him. As if you’ll yell at him, push him away. You do neither, fortunately.

Just when the dense silence starts to become almost unbearable, Jungkook clears his throat. “I━ Wow… You look great.”

You blink once, a flustered blush warming your face that you hope he doesn’t notice. “Oh. Thank you. You do, too.”

His eyes flicker over your presence as he nods absentmindedly. Then, he’s offering you a pretty smile, soft and sweet in nature. No malice, or ill-intent. “Um━ How have you been?”

You hate this. You hate the awkward pauses, the prolonged periods of silence. A year ago, even despite knowingly pining for one another, your moments alone with Jungkook were never so terrible. He always found a way to say something cheekily flirtatious even when you were just friends, if only because he knew it would make you blush and giggle because, no matter how many times you would roll your eyes or nudge his sides, he also knew you secretly loved it. All the inside jokes, the milestones shared together, the ardent fleeting touches ━ where did it all go? And while you were both noticeably trying to maintain the peace and pleasantry between one another, it didn’t feel the same. It felt forced, fake. Distracted.

“I’ve been good,” You lie. “How about you? Actually, don’t answer that━” You let out a breathless chuckle. “You’ve clearly been doing amazing. I mean, your album, and your world tour. And tomorrow you’ve got a big day with the hometown show. I heard it sold out in the first ten minutes.”

“Something like that,” Jungkook says modestly. “It’s been kind of crazy. Namjoon says it’s good, but I miss━ I just miss a lot of how it used to be. The slow pace. I dunno. The quick burn up is quick to burn out, right?”

“Maybe,” You admit. “But I think you’ve all got it in you. You’ve worked so hard for this moment. Enjoy it while you’re in it. You deserve it, Jungkook.”

His stare softens as it meets yours. “Thanks.”

Another beat of silence passes. He looks as if he’s warring with himself, as if he’s fighting the urge to say something more, gnawing at his lower lip, brows knitting together.

“Yo, Jeon!” A foreign voice from amongst the crowd beckons aloud abruptly for the boy.

Jungkook glances over his shoulder swiftly in search of the source, then waves his hand as if to motion he’ll be there later. Then, he turns back to you. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay. I won’t keep you,” You say. “I know you’re busy.”

“But━” He stops himself, his jaw clamping shut. Changing his mind, he decides to ask hopefully, “Will you be at the show tomorrow?”

“Of course.” The affirmation seems to relieve him, even though it’s a spontaneous decision made by you on the spot. Before this moment, you hadn’t been so sure you could go.

“Promise?”

You can’t help but shake your head, a chuckle slipping past your lips at the innocent boyish question he asks. “Yes, Jungkook.”

His smile widens a little more, however sheepish it may be. “Then can you promise me one more thing?”

“What?” You quirk a brow, intrigued to say the least.

“Will you drop by the hotel we’re staying at tomorrow morning, so I can take you out for a coffee? Just to catch up. It’s been a while,” he says timidly. Then, feeling a little stupid for being so bold, scrambles to explain himself. “And no pressure if you don’t want to. I just thought━”

You can’t possibly say no. Not when it comes to Jungkook, all your past struggles seemingly vanishing without a trace. “I’d like that a lot, Jungkook.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Then he’s positively beaming, his self-indulgent grin making your own heart flutter in your chest. When he leaves your side that night, you find yourself looking forward to the future perhaps a little too optimistically. But how terrible could grabbing coffee with your ex be, if you had survived the first wretched encounter?

So, in the morning when you wake, there’s not a stutter in your step or a wavering flicker of your confidence as you make your way to the Four Seasons hotel Jungkook had told you to from the night before. In fact, a selfish part of you almost thinks that maybe things will start to look up. That maybe you and Jungkook can finally make amends. That maybe you never had a reason to fear Jungkook breaking your heart if he made such an effort to heal it.

The hotel itself is one of the most luxurious ones in Seoul, a considerable contrast from when the boys were slumming it on friends’ couches and in their run-down van touring the country. The room Jungkook tells you to meet him at is one of the hotel’s grand suites, located on the higher levels of the building. But as soon as you reach the landing and have begun making your way towards the designated door, it flings open and a pretty girl comes stumbling out. She’s giggling at something that has just happened inside, her hair a dishevelled mess which she ruffles up in an attempt to fix it. She’s adorned in a pretty little dress, the skirt of which is hiked a little higher up and one strap falling down her shoulder, as she clings her shoes and bag to her chest. She smiles at you on the way past, though she’s too far gone in her own little daze that you wonder if she even notices you at all.

But you certainly notice her, and, all at once, your reverie of him and what could be comes crashing to the ground once more.

Maybe you should have stayed, should have waited for Jungkook to let him explain, but you were too afraid to hear an answer you weren’t looking for. You try desperately not to imagine Jungkook loving someone else. You try not to think about him holding her the same way he held you, his lips finding purchase on some other girl. But by trying to avoid the thought, it beckons the unwarranted memories of how it felt to be loved all over by him once upon a time. You wonder how many girls he’s hooked up with in your time apart, and the overwhelming sense of regret washes over you.

You don’t bother to wait. You know fleeing is the easiest option rather than facing your fear, but you’re far too timid of rejection again. Instead, even before you can approach Jungkook’s hotel room and knock on the door, you turn on your heels and run.

You’re long gone by the time Jungkook comes to the door, prying it open in search of you on a whim. When he doesn’t see you, he glances up and down the hallway but to no avail. Namjoon comes slinking past inside then in his own disoriented haze, having just woken up from moments ago when the girl he had taken back to their room the night before left. Even then, Jungkook had warned the rhythm guitarist against bringing the girl back, pointing out the fact that they had much to do today ahead of their concert. Namjoon had promised it wouldn’t be long, that she would be gone in the morning, and Jungkook was fortunate enough that the suite had two separate bedrooms on the opposite ends of one another so that Jungkook didn’t have to hear whatever it was the pair were doing in the other.

“Did Mina leave?” Namjoon asks through a yawn, digging the heels of his palms into his tired eyes. When Jungkook nods, a sliver of a reminiscent smug grin tugs at Namjoon’s lips. “You missed out, Jungkook.”

The cheeky quip is met with a roll of Jungkook’s eyes. “I’m sure I’ll survive. You know I’m not like that.”

Like that━ As in midnight hook-ups and cheap thrills alike. He tried it once, far ago when you had first broken up with him, on a drunken spur of a moment as a way of healing the anguish in his heart. It hadn’t worked then; he assumed it would never work.

Namjoon seems to understand this immediately. He gives Jungkook a look that the boy doesn’t notice. “Well… is Y/N here yet?”

“No. But I’m sure she’ll be here,” Jungkook grimaces. He hopes. “Something probably came up.”

Namjoon clasps a reassuring hand on Jungkook’s shoulder, humming aloud, “Good luck, dude.”

But you never arrive, even though Jungkook waits for most of the morning, nervous eyes flickering to the door at every commotion outside, running to check only to see room service delivering breakfast or concierge showing guests to their rooms. He has no choice but to give up on the thought of you coming when Jin knocks on their door, prompting the boys to get a start on their day. Interviews and soundcheck await, but how could he possibly go on with his life without knowing what happened to you?

Which is why you stay on his mind for the rest of the day, distracting him in every aspect, mixing up his words when he’s in the midst of his interview, tripping up on stage as the boys set up and begin to rehearse. As the hours wane down to just an hour before the show, the thought of performing in front of thousands of fans starts to make him nervous and he doesn’t know why. He’s done this countless times before, almost nightly during the tour, so what stops him now? Of course he knows the answer, had grown all too accustomed to the feeling the first few months in which the break up had been so recent. It would always be about you.

But just before the show starts, Jungkook is making his way backstage from the greenroom, where the band had been waiting, to the stage. Fiddling with his in-ear piece, he almost doesn’t notice you and Dahyun weaving your way through the roadies and sound tech, being guided by Jin to the pit on the side of the stage where only family and friends are allowed. You don’t see him, and there’s a split moment where he thinks he should just let you go, until he doesn’t.

As he makes his way to you, the tour manager for the band intervenes part way, shouting out to the boy. “Where are you going? We’re on in five, Jungkook!”

“Yeah, I’ll be right back━” He waves the manager off as politely as he can, wasting no time to chase after you. He calls out your name, though it drowns out in the sound of the music being blasted through the speakers of the arena and the screaming fans. “Y/N, wait up!”

He’s relieved when he sees you stop in your tracks, turning to face him as Dahyun and Jin become lost in the chaos of the backstage. He comes to stand just before you, smiling breathlessly at you, unaware of the way your shoulders tense at the sight of him.

“You didn’t show up this morning,” he says as a way of greeting, his voice a curious prob. “What happened?”

You try desperately not to get lost in his big beautiful eyes, laced with such hope. Instead, you fold your arms over your chest, looking away. “Something came up.”

It’s then that Jungkook senses something is wrong. You’re upset with him, though he can’t tell why. Aside from the obvious rift in your relationship that had initially split you two up, you had been so pleasant to see him the night before. But he doesn’t give up just yet. “Well… you’re here now.”

You meet his gaze with your own hardened one. “For the boys.”

A shot right to his heart almost makes Jungkook gasp for air. He flinches, and then his stare softens, and you wish he wouldn’t look at you like that, out of fear that you might just relapse into his arms.

“What’s wrong?” He closes the distance between the two of you. He wants nothing more than to reach out and touch you, but refrains with much difficulty. There’s dozens of things that could be wrong, and he braces himself for your retaliation. “You didn’t want to come, did you?”

When you don’t respond, but also don’t stray from his side, Jungkook hurries to speak again if only to fill the tense silence.

“Look, last night… Maybe it was just me, but last night seemed like things were okay,” he says. “Was I wrong to feel that way?”

“Jungkook…”

“Please, just let me know,” he begs. “Because you’re all I can think about these days, it’s driving me crazy. And I don’t know what’s going on, but the reason I wanted to see you this morning was because I hate how things ended between us, and I wanted to tell you…” He swallows nervously as he trails off uncertainly. “I wanted to tell you that I’m still in love with you. And I can’t get you out of my head. These months away from you made me realize that I━”

Suddenly, you’re shaking your head and he knows you don’t believe him. As soon as the words leave his mouth, he regrets saying it, if only because they seem to enliven you. Now, you push yourself away from the boy. “I’m not doing this right now. You’re not doing this right now.”

As if to further your point, the band’s tour manager can be heard calling out frantically for the boy. “Two minutes, Jungkook!”

But Jungkook is hardly paying attention now, instead solely focused on you. “Please, Y/N━”

“No, you don’t get to say that to me,” You admonish hotly. You can’t bite the words back, no matter how hard you try. “You don’t love me. You think you love me, but you don’t.”

His jaw clenches, and his brows furrow into a frustrated stare. “I do.”

“You don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Stop.” The harsh word makes Jungkook clamp his mouth shut. You shake your head furiously, but you know it’s only to distract yourself so that you don’t let the tears fall. “You’re being selfish, Jungkook. You don’t get to take all of me, love all of me, and leave, only to come back months later and pretend you’re still in love with me. And whatever this━” You gesture vaguely between the two of you, “is, or was, doesn’t exist anymore. We both need to stop pretending otherwise.”

Jungkook winces, eyes tinged with pain. “You don’t mean that.”

You don’t respond. Elsewhere, his tour manager starts to grow impatient, scolding the boy aloud, “Jungkook, we’re gonna be late. Hurry up!”

“Yeah, I’ll be there!” Jungkook calls back, irritated. Maybe he is being selfish. He’s wasting precious time by not leaving, all the hard work that the crew put into tonight’s show, and the fans awaiting his and the band’s arrival. He can still hear the crowd, this time their buzzing voices amalgamating into unanimous chanting muffled by the walls that sounds akin to the band’s name.

“You should go,” You say now. “Don’t wanna disappoint them.”

But he’d throw it all away for you if you told him to. He promised you that even before he had left for tour, before the band had been signed. Had you forgotten? Because he surely hadn’t.

“Y/N…”

“Good luck out there.”

Then, you’re gone before Jungkook can even make a move to stop you ━ but even if he did, what could he do to make you stay? The feat seemed impossible, and you always seem to find a way to slip from his grasp no matter what he does. Only this time he has no choice but to let you go, out of fear of being berated further by his tour manager or angering the boys so much to the point where he gets kicked out of the band.

He makes it on stage in time, the band filing out to take their places one at a time, deafening screams blowing out their in-ear pieces that stand no chance as each member joins the stage. The lights fizzle out until complete darkness cloaks the venue, but Jungkook still looks for you. He finds you in the pit on the side of the stage, Jin and Dahyun standing beside you, and finds it hard to keep his eyes off of you even though you attempt to pretend as if he’s not even there.

After their first adrenaline-filled opening song of the night, Jimin takes to the microphone to greet the crowd who scream back an indiscernible shout as, elsewhere, you notice Jungkook pry himself away from the microphone stand on his side of the stage to wave the rest of the boys over to Hoseok’s drum kit. They murmur amongst themselves briefly, though they go unnoticed by Jimin or the crowd as the lead singer entertains them.

“Seoul! It’s good to be back. We’ve missed you all so much━”

Jimin’s words get cut short when Jungkook, having just parted ways with the rest of his members for their impromptu meeting, beckons the lead singer over, out of range of the microphone. They seem to discuss something just as shortly as Jungkook had talked with the rest of the boys, in which time Jimin nods understandingly, then steps away from the microphone. Then, Jungkook takes to the microphone, the rings on his fingers glistening under the spotlight as he grips the stand.

“I know the night’s only getting started,” Jungkook’s voice wavers as he speaks, “but we’re gonna slow things down for a moment. We hope you don’t mind.”

Intrigued murmurs echo around the crowd, suddenly buzzing with excitement as they watch Jungkook with eager eyes. A few encouraging bellows has Jungkook smiling smally. Jin, on the other hand, looks perplexed.

“What is he doing?” Jin asks no one in particular, a quizzical look on his face. “This isn’t part of their set.”

“I think a lot of you might know this next song,” Jungkook continues, “but I don’t think I’ve ever expressed how much it means to me. This next one, I wrote for a special someone, and it sort of helped us achieve all of this. So, I think it’s time that person knows how much they mean to me.”

Jungkook glances nervously over at the boys standing behind him, each in their own respective spots. Then, sweeping his gaze across the crowd, he finally finds you already staring up at him. His own eyes soften into a look of longing, however hardened by past tribulations and sorrow it may be. As if he’s determined not to lose you again; determined to make it up to you.

“This next one is for Y/N,” he says timidly. He has to turn away from you in the next second, afraid he might just break down before the fans and the boys and you. “I’m sorry I messed up.”

As the boys take their place, with Jimin taking an acoustic and fading back from the limelight, you wonder why. But then you hear it, the familiar beginning chords making up the song you had so wholeheartedly claimed you hated. Only this time they’re gentler, made up of acoustic strums of a guitar, Hoseok’s drums, and Yoongi’s keys, all amalgamating into a pretty song almost unrecognizable.

Then, Jungkook starts singing, and what was once a wistful dreamy song of prospective lovers suddenly turns into a melancholic requiem for you. Some lyrics are changed, present tense turning to the past, and Jungkook sings his way throughout the entirety of the song in contrast to the one that plays all over the radio featuring the other member’s voices. The fans sing along, their voices melding with Jungkook’s into some sort of celestial mellifluous choir, and you’re left no longer wondering if the fans would ever know the meaning behind the song that Jungkook had brought to life. Because now, it wasn’t just Jungkook singing to you; it was the whole world. And yet, paradoxically at the same time, it felt all that much more intimate. As if it were just you and him once again, seated on the couch in his small apartment, listening to the beginnings of what would be their number one selling song.

Above all else, you realize that you don’t seem to hate the song as much you claimed to.

That night, you can’t sleep.

You find yourself leaving the venue earlier than everyone else, even when the boys invite you and Dahyun to join them for celebratory drinks, returning to your home in the hopes of forgetting the night altogether. Instead, you stay up tossing and turning, your mind filled with memories consisting of only Jungkook and his haunting voice singing to you, and for you. But at some point during the night nearing one or two in the morning, just when you give up on the idea of sleep, the sound of incessant knocking at your front door rouses you from your trance.

When you finally answer the door, you’re more than surprised to see that Jungkook stands on the other side of the threshold as if coming to you from a dream. But then you register the fact that he’s a complete mess. Dark circles line his weary eyes, now smudged with that faint hint of charcoal liner he had worn for the concert, hair so messily mused beyond repair, and you notice quickly that he’s crying, fresh tears glazing over his pupils and streaking down his face. It’s startling to see him in such shambles, a complete contrast to how effortlessly charming and confident he usually portrays himself. But though you’ve seen him cry before on various occasions, now is all the more unsettling.

“I━I’m sorry.” It’s the first thing he says, screwing his eyes shut tightly as he shakes his head. He fumbles over his words, slurring them together in his rush to get them out. “I know I’m probably the last person you want to see right now, but I needed to see you.”

“Are you drunk?”

“No, no, I swear━” He pries his eyes open to meet your desolate stare, tears unabashedly falling from his lashes. His voice thins with desperation. “You said we need to stop pretending, but I’m not pretending. I never have been. And if you think ━ if you truly believe ━ that there’s nothing here between us anymore… Tell me. Right here, right now. And I’ll leave you alone forever, you’ll never have to see me again. I just━ I’ve missed you every moment and it kills me.”

You’re silent for a long period, pitying gaze sweeping over him, but he doesn’t care if he looks insane. He just needs you to know how he feels.

“Well, how do you think I felt?” You ask the question carefully, but then the memories come flooding back and the semblance of a scowl forms on your face. “You leave and suddenly everywhere I look I see you. Your song is playing everywhere, you and the guys are everywhere, and I’m reminded every day about how we ended. About how you left me.”

Jungkook blinks. He shakes his head stubbornly, the nerves in the corner of his jaw fluttering as he grits his teeth. “You were the one who said we should take a break.”

“A break!” You snap sternly. “Fuck, Jungkook. I didn’t want you out of my life forever. I wanted you to fight for me.”

“No, don’t put this all on me,” Jungkook pleads helplessly. “I have always fought for you. But the minute things got rough, you bailed. You told me you never wanted to see me again. What the hell was I supposed to do?”

“I was scared!” You try to swallow the tears away that start to form as a lump in your throat but to no avail. “I was, and I still am, so fucking scared of losing you. And you━ It felt like you gave me no choice. Like you were over it. I would have wanted to make things work but you left. You just… You left, and suddenly it was like you were never in my life at all. Seven months, and I get no word from you.”

“I fucked up, okay!” He cries out so suddenly, it silences you at once. He bites at his lip, and straightens up half-heartedly, running a hand through his hair. When he meets your stare this time, he’s zealous yet sincere. “I know that I messed up. I know. And it fucking kills me every single day. I don’t know where it went wrong, but it did, and I know it’s all my fault. When you said we should take a break and I agreed, I was only thinking about you. Because I knew I was disappointing you every day, and I was afraid that was all I would ever do, and you don’t deserve that. I thought it would be better this way, if I was just gone from your life for good. But I can’t forget you.”

“How can I trust you?” You ask. When his pained stare gawks at you, you tilt your chin a little higher. “I came by your hotel room yesterday morning, just like you asked, only to see that girl leaving.”

Jungkook’s gawk turns into a dumbfounded expression. He looks weary as he shakes his head, as if struggling to keep up with the way you accuse him now. He tries not to focus on the fact that you actually came to the hotel, then feels inconsolably terrible when he realizes why he never got to see you. “That girl was Namjoon’s fling. We were sharing the suite, and they were in a whole other room. I didn’t even think about her━”

Your stare droops from him, and he knows he’s struggling to keep you on his side.

“Okay, fine. You want trust? I’ll give it to you,” he says. A newfound sense of confidence seems to possess him, though he approaches the topic with extra caution anyway. “After we broke up, I was crushed. I couldn’t move on from you, and the guys thought I should get drunk, find a random girl to bring back to our hotel one night on tour. And I listened, because I wanted to forget you, but it didn’t work. All I could think about was you. Every time she touched me, every time she kissed me, I could only imagine it was you. And when she left that night, I broke down because I felt like such a fucking idiot. I instantly regretted it. Like, even though you and I weren’t together, I still did something to hurt you by sleeping with that girl. And all it did was hurt me too in the process.”

He pushes himself forward, taking a step over the threshold. Even despite him admitting his wrongs to you, you can’t find it in yourself to hate him. Because, at the end of it all, he’s here at your doorstep, pleading for you to forgive him, but he had already won the moment your eyes had landed on him.

“You’re the reason I am who I am today.” His voice is hoarse when he speaks, almost in a whisper. “That I get to do what I love for a living. But all of it means nothing without you. You saw me at my worst, and my best. And you were the best I ever had, and I ruined it, and the worst part of it all is that there’s nothing I can do to make up for it. But I promise I can make it better ━ I can make it right again ━ if you just give me a chance.”

There’s a short pause filled with poignant silence in which Jungkook thinks you’ll push him away or scream at him. He’s fortunate when you do neither; instead, he hears you whisper faintly.

“Kiss me, Jungkook.”

And it’s more than enough for him. His heart thrums in delight as he wastes no time in reaching out for you. His hands are warm as they come to grasp at your face, holding you delicately; then he’s leaning in to you, drawing you closer and closer until his lips are pressed against yours. It’s unadulterated, but not without feverish passion, noses smushing together in both your eager hastiness to close the distance between the two of you. It doesn’t last long either, though that’s partly because Jungkook can taste your tears mingling on your lips, and can feel your faint smile form against his mouth. Kissing him feels both foreign yet familiar at the same time. You know the feel, the taste, and the sense of comfort that comes with it, but months apart from one another has left it feeling different.

Jungkook’s thumb wipes away at the tears on your face. “Why are you crying?”

It’s a useless question, he knows, but he needs something to fill the silence. He’s relieved when he hears you snicker. “Because I miss you, you idiot. And I’m sorry I’ve been acting like such an idiot. I’ve messed everything up.”

His own shoulders quiver with contented mirth. “It’ll be okay.” As he leans in once more for another kiss, you can feel him murmur against your mouth, “I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“Then make it right,” You say, “right here and now.”

“I’ll do anything for you,” he promises earnestly.

Jungkook understands the underlying yearning in your voice even without having you explain yourself. He knows, if only because he can feel it too. As his hands fall to your waist, fingers digging into your skin, your own arms wrap around his neck and pull him into your apartment. He has you pressed up against the nearest wall within seconds, kissing at your throat, then up to your jawline.

“It’s been so long,” he sighs.

You hum in agreement, though your mind is already spinning, and all you can muster is a weak yet urgent croak of his name. “Jungkook.”

Your fingers thread through his hair, tugging at the roots and he croons with delight. His lips finally meet yours again, only this time he lets his tongue lav at your lower lip. Almost as soon as he does so, you notice something strange. It takes a moment for you to register the small metallic object that grazes your lower lip but when you do, you pull away from the boy.

“What’s wrong?” Jungkook asks in a confused dazed.

“Is that…” You rasp. “Did you get your tongue pierced?”

Suddenly, Jungkook is smirking, one brow shooting up to his hairline in a smug demeanour. He sticks out his tongue for you to see the silver ball poking through and you almost moan at the sight of it as the thought entices you.

“Oh.” Your face warms with a flustered blush. “That’s new.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Always wanted to get it done. Guess I was saving it for the right moment.”

“Right moment, huh?” You scoff as if the implications don’t already have your thighs rubbing together. “Care to explain?”

“I think you’ll find out soon enough.”

You dissolve into a fit of giggles, marvelling at the way Jungkook’s familiar flirtatious bantering can soothe your troubled heart at once. It’s almost as if time hasn’t lapsed between the two of you.

“I’ve missed this,” You sigh. “I’ve missed you, Jungkook.”

You spot him smiling before he’s kissing you again, this time his tongue slipping past your parted lips to meet yours midway. The piercing is strange to adjust to, but you get used to it quickly, humming at the feeling of it against the soft flesh of your tongue. It’s easy to get lost in one another’s lips as you pull and tug at Jungkook, guiding him to your bedroom, nearly tripping and stumbling over one another in the process. He knows the path like the back of his hand, the same way he knows every curve and dimple of your body as his greedy hands explore you. He has you sprawled out beneath him on the bed in a matter of seconds, carelessly shedding each other of your clothes until you’re left naked and he’s without a shirt.

As he’s tugging off the hoodie you’re wearing, he realizes two things abruptly. One: you’re not wearing anything beneath it, your bare body dazzling him at once. And, two: a sudden thought jogs his memory that makes him ponder aloud, “Is this my sweater?”

“Yes,” You admit sheepishly.

He smirks. “Was wondering where it went.”

“You forgot to take it back when…” You don’t finish your sentence. Instead, you tug your fingers at the hair at the nape of his neck, as if scared he’ll leave again. He doesn’t. Instead, he nestles his body between your legs, tonguing patterns on your neck. “I wear it sometimes, especially when I’m missing you. I don’t know… It just━ It still smells like you, even after all this time.”

Jungkook’s heart nearly implodes. He wonders briefly if he’d prefer fucking you without or with the hoodie; but then he’s letting himself time to study your naked body and he deduces he needs to gaze at you in your entirety a little longer.

“Keep talking,” he murmurs. He starts kissing down your body now, starting from your throat to your collarbones, between the valley of your breasts, then your navel. “Tell me more. How badly did you miss me?”

“So badly,” You whimper. Your legs instinctively part to make way for him as he shifts downward, kissing just above your core. A shudder runs down your spine when he kisses the inside of your thigh. “Sometimes I’d put your sweater on and touch myself to the thought of you.”

He grunts against you, teeth softly biting at your flesh. His tongue pokes against your thigh, the metallic piercing a dully cold sensation as he licks upward to your core. He laps at your folds, as if to taste the glistening cum that starts to form.

Your breath audibly hitches in your throat, hips jutting forward to meet his mouth. “I missed your hands, and the way they made me feel. Missed your mouth between my legs. Missed cumming on your tongue, or your fingers.”

Now, you’re starting to understand what he meant by waiting for the right moment to use the piercing to its fullest potential. As he lifts his head higher to tongue at your clit, the piercing makes your head spin. The contrast between his soft tongue and the harsh metal works wonders against you, rubbing you just the right way that has you a moaning mess beneath him within a matter of seconds.

“Fuck━” You cry out, hands twisting in his hair. “My hands never feel the same. You always made me feel so good, Jungkook.”

He hums something in response, the sound reverberating up your spine. He busies himself by replacing his tongue with his finger, rubbing small, controlled circles against your clit as he lowers his mouth to your folds. He teases the piercing against the sensitive flesh before lapping at your insides, burrowing further into you.

“Ooh, Jungkook━”

The noise that eclipses your throat is a piqued sob of delight. The piercing that scratches against your walls has your insides throbbing, body twisting and turning beneath him. You grab at your breasts, fingers pinching at the perked buds as you imagine Jungkook’s hands in replace of yours.

His mouth wraps just right around you and he sucks hard, earning a beautiful moan from you. It doesn’t take long for you to draw closer to your high, sputtering and whimpering at every action he does. Soon he’s burrowing his face even closer against your core, nose nudging against your clit in a way that makes you writhe and squirm. Before he can get carried away (and he certainly could), Jungkook decides to come to a stop which seems to thoroughly surprise and upset you. When you feel his missing warmth between your legs and the sticky wet mess accentuated further by the cool air that hits you, you pout like a child.

“That’s not fair,” you whine.

“Sorry, baby. Need to feel you.” He pulls away from you and crawls over your body once more. He kisses your lips, sloppy and heated, and lets you taste your own succulence on your tongue. “God, I need to feel you so bad.”

You’re just as much startled as you were seconds ago to hear the slight whine in his voice, a sound hot enough to almost push you over the edge.

“I’ve missed you too, just so you know,” he moans, burrowing his face in the crook of your neck. Your fingers continue to scratch delicately at his scalp and he simpers delightfully against you. He ruts his hips eagerly against yours, the bulge in his pants rough against your core. “So fucking much.”

“How much?” Now it’s your turn to ask, your curiosity getting the best of you once you find your voice.

“Every day,” he sighs as he continues to grind his hips into yours. “Get so hard at the thought of you. Your pretty mouth moaning my name. Your hands in my hair, just like this━” You pull a little tighter at the roots of his locks, and he has to stifle his contented moan. “And your body━ Fuck, your body. You take my dick so well, baby.”

“Jungkook,” You mewl impatiently. “Wanna feel you in me.”

“Fuck, okay. Okay━”

He hastens to rid himself of his pants and you help, arms momentarily tangling with one another in your rush. Then he’s kneeling before you, one hand planted firmly on your hip, rings digging roughly against your skin, as his other hand wraps a fist around his hard length, slowly pumping himself. He guides the tip of his leaking cock to your core and pushes himself forward carefully. He easily slips past your folds, coaxed by your slick walls, that he has to pause to give you both time to adjust to the feeling. It’s just as he remembered, though somehow better, and he isn’t so sure how long he’ll last. You don’t know either, marvelling in the way he stretches you open.

“Oh, shit,” he grunts.

He watches as your jaw drops open in a silent gap, your eyes fixed only on his. You grab at his hips, fingers scratching delicately over the laurel tattoos inked there, prompting him to move. He does so in one languid movement, burying deeper and deeper into you until you feel so full and he feels so warm. He fucks into you a little sluggish at first, taking his time and enjoying the way your clenching walls feel around his throbbing cock. It’s a pace so maddening that it soon has the both of you panting, heavy moans filling the space around you. Your own fingers dig into his shoulders, his back, his hips ━ anything to keep a hold on reality as you slowly lose yourself to the pleasure. He reaches for one of your hands, eager to feel you in more ways than one, and laces his digits with yours, pressing your clasped palms above your head. You squeeze tightly, his name falling from your lips in a cry.

“Doing so good,” he mumbles through gritted teeth. “Feel so nice, baby.”

Jungkook grasps at your hips and flips the two of you over. He lands on his back on the soft mattress and you fumble to not break the pace. Firmly planting your hands on his chest, you grind against him, sweat coating your forehead. He watches you with a dark fascination, brows screwed together and jaw clenched as your own cum starts leaking down his length. Not wanting to waste another moment without being beside you, he sits up and shifts you in his lap. Then he pulls you close to him, chest pulled flush against chest to the point where he can feel the rapid beat of your heart against his. You whimper aloud, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck as he guides your hips back and forth on him. There’s little to no space between your gyrating bodies, sweaty skin sticking to one another.

At some point, Jungkook notices you’re crying again, steady tears tangling in your lashes and wetting your face. Despite the way you’re driving him to near euphoria, he brushes your hair out of your face and manages to ask, “What’s wrong? Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I’m sorry━ fuck,” You gasp. He can tell you’re genuinely sympathetic for whatever’s making you cry but it’s hard for you to convey it properly when you’re still so consumed by him. “I’m so sorry━ I’m okay. I just━ You feel so good, Jungkook.”

“It’s okay,” he whispers, rubbing tender circles against your waist that contrasts with the fierce burn between your legs. “You’re okay, baby. Doing so well for me, aren’t you? Cum for me, yeah?”

You won’t tell him why you’re crying ━ not yet, at least. But Jungkook thinks he knows why; he can feel it too. The bitter sense of longing and mingling regret for all the time lost. The overwhelming feeling of love of finally being reunited. You continue to roll your hips against his, and he, breathless, rubs his nose faintly against yours, resting his forehead against yours.

It doesn’t take much longer after that for you to come tumbling to you high. He strokes your hair so lovingly as you ride him recklessly, leisure rolls of your hips driving you to your high. When you cum, the feeling completely washes over you and electricity crackles in your veins, warming your entire body. He holds you close to his chest the entire time as you writhe with pleasure, your walls clenching around his cock.

“Fuck, I’m gonna━” His voice splinters off as you busy yourself by sucking a bruise onto the underside of his jaw.

He reaches his high moments later just as you’re beginning to wince at the feeling of oversensitivity. He grunts and groans, spilling his hot seed into you, and then, with his hips slammed against yours, grinds leisurely to ride out your highs.

Then, the room falls silent.

Neither of you move from your warm embrace, with you still perched on his lap, his cock softening inside you as his cum runs down his length and onto your thighs. Your face is hidden in the crook of his neck, and he waits until you’ve both calmed down from your orgasms. You’re running your fingers through his sweaty hair, but he knows you’re still sad. He kisses you all over in the meantime, a few ticklish kisses that make you smile sleepily and a few loving ones that have your heart swelling. Then, he gingerly shifts your head to look at him.

“Why were you crying?” he asks silently.

It takes you a moment to respond. You cling to him tightly when you do and all he can do is cradle you closer to him. “I don’t want this to be some kind of drunken one night stand thing. Like we both needed one last fuck to get over each other, or something."

“You mean more to me than a one night stand,” Jungkook says and it makes you smile smally, a little timidly. 

“That’s good,” You say, “because I’m not over you or us. I want us to work out. I love you too much to lose you again, and I’m scared this might be the last time I’ll ever see you.”

“I’m not letting that happen,” Jungkook shakes his head furiously. “I’d be an absolute idiot to let that happen. You won’t lose me. I’m not going anywhere this time. You’re my priority, Y/N. You always have been. Not the band and definitely not the record label.”

“I’m sure the boys will love to hear that,” You snort to yourself.

“Yeah, well, I’m sure they’ll understand,” Jungkook grins. But you’re only joking, and you know he sort of is too. That’s not to say the band isn’t still important to him, but you take precedent over it. “Without you, I wouldn’t even have the chance to be where I am now.”

You nuzzle your nose against his own, and he steals one sweet kiss from you. 

“Do you really mean all that?”

“With my whole heart.”

And, when he says it, you know he means it. There’s no reason not to trust him.

You’ll both move eventually from one another’s arms, soft touches from Jungkook peeling you off of him and wrapping you in your covers before falling asleep beside you, and waking up in the morning with you in his arms. But, for now, it’s just you and him, a little broken still yet all the more in love.

While you both know healing a broken heart will take time, you’re both prepared for it because you’re both worth it to one another ━ and that’s all either of you really need in the end to make it right.

⟶ All rights reserved to © jungkxook. I do not allow reposting, translating, or any sort of modifying and reuploading of my work. 

⟶ Feedback is always appreciated!

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[waywardrose-archive]

THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY | 2

stranger things | eddie munson x reader | rated e | 4.3k

spotify playlist | for @punk-in-docs​​

fem/witchy/goth!reader, magic, slow burn (for me), friends to lovers, series-typical horror, period-typical sexism and homophobia, historical inaccuracies and anachronisms, drug dealing and use, smoking, alcohol use, tags will be updated as needed

Eddie would have to wait until his lunch break to see this new, hot, weird chick. He wondered which flavor of weird she was. Art weird? Theater weird? Band weird?

Weird weird?

He shrugged. He liked weird.

In other words, you’re the new girl in town, and Eddie is intrigued.

note: This fic will be S4 compliant up to a point — and we all know which point that is. Also, thank you for the lovely comments, likes, and reblogs on the first chapter! I appreciate every single one. 🖤

-

2

Instead of arriving with the bell, Eddie was already in his seat for American Government. He gave you a loaded grin as you sat beside him. You raised your eyebrows at him, assuming he wanted something.

“Hey, I know this is inconvenient,” he said. “But, uh, can I borrow your notes?”

He’d copied what O’Donnell had on the board last class. You’d seen him do it.

“Did you lose your notes?” you asked with a glance at his desk, seeing only his notebook. “Did you lose your book, too?”

He grimaced and hid the lower half of his face with a lock of hair.

“It’s somewhere in my van.” He rolled his eyes at himself. “Probably.”

You huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, fine, but I want my notes back before the end of class.”

He smiled, the hint of dimples furrowing his cheeks.

His eyes twinkled as he said, “Yes, milady.”

You distracted yourself from the flutter in your belly by opening your Trapper Keeper. Feeling his attention, you concentrated on flipping to the class folder.

“I like that,” he said with a nod to the I’M A LITTLE RAY OF PITCH BLACK bumper sticker you’d put on the inside cover.

“Oh, um, thanks.” You handed over the notes. “It was a gift.”

“Cool—”

The bell rang, cutting him off.

He minutely shook his head as if dismissing a thought and began copying your notes.

You took mercy on him and made him a set of notes for the current lesson. When you two exchanged papers at the end of class, he pressed his set to his chest.

He cheesed it up with a terrible British accent, saying, “You are the noblest of gentlewomen!”

Your cheeks heated.

“It’s the least I could do for such an honorable sir,” you said, secretly impressed by your quick retort.

He bit his lip with a bow and shoved the papers into his notebook.

“Thanks, though.”

“No problemo. Just—”

The bell interrupted.

“—Just find your book.”

“I will, milady, I promise.”

Before you could stand, he was up and halfway to the door. Your gaze drifted down his back to see a black handkerchief in his jeans pocket. You blinked, wondering if it meant what you were used to. You’d been exposed to enough gay culture in New York to know the hanky code. Black was for S-and-M; you’d seen that all the time when clubbing with your friends.

As you stacked your books on your Trapper Keeper, you didn’t know how to feel. The S-and-M part didn’t disturb you as much as the thought of Eddie being gay. Not that you were prejudiced. Like, love and let love. No one you’d hung around with had been straight or vanilla, anyway.

However, to be preoccupied with — okay, crushing on — a gay dude was so cliche.

While walking to Study Hall, you remembered you were in goddamn Indiana. You doubted anyone here knew the hanky code.

Unless Eddie knew it.

What if he knew it, but didn’t realize gay men primarily used it?

No, if one knew the hanky code, one knew it was for gay men.

You entered the library and sat at your usual table. You murmured ‘hey’ to the girls who shared it. They greeted you, but didn’t push for conversation. You must’ve been projecting some heavy introspective vibe.

Okay, you thought as you opened your textbook to the questions at the end of the section. So what? If he’s gay, he’s gay. If he’s kinky, he’s kinky.

None of that had any effect on you, since you didn’t know him.

Even if you wanted to.

.

Friday’s American Government class was Eddie-less. The class stretched on until fifty minutes felt like hours. You were exhausted by the end of Home Ec. When finally home, you had enough energy to wash your hands and face, change into pajamas, and snuggle under the throw blanket draped across your bed.

A crackling, animal hiss echoed through your now-dark bedroom. It sounded hungry. You froze. Only filtered streetlight illuminated your room. You lay there, curled on your side, waiting for the predator to strike.

Your heart beat so powerfully, you could hear it outside your body. It had to have heard it, too.

You put a hand on your chest to muffle the beacon of your heart.

And you waited. And waited. And waited.

Some part of you didn’t want to look, didn’t want to know; another part refused to die not seeing your killer.

You mentally counted down from five, tensing for a fight.

When you flipped to your other side—

The shadowy part of your room was vacant.

Nothing had been there.

“What the hell?”

You crossed your legs as you sat up. Rubbing at your crusty eyes, you breathed deep and slow. After a moment, your heart calmed.

This was nuts. One nightmare, and you were losing your fucking mind.

You turned the bedside lamp on, pulled the diary buried in your nightstand, dated the first blank page, and documented the experience. If you were losing it, at least the doctors would have a full account of your descent. When finished, you cracked open a window to smoke as you read the previous entries about the nightmare and the glass ritual.

That predator hardly seemed connected to the nightmare or what you’d seen through the tumbler, but you knew the predator was only a continuation of both.

You didn’t understand why now, why here, why you. Maybe the universe was trying to warn you. That didn’t feel correct, though. Warnings felt different. You weren’t being warned; you were being hunted. Or maybe you’d awakened something — given power to something — bigger than anything you’d ever encountered.

.

On Monday, Eddie sauntered in and held his textbook high for you to see.

You laughed. “You found it!”

“I hunted it down!” he said as he maneuvered sideways into his seat. “And subdued it in my locker.”

Hunted.

For a second, you were back in your room, huddled under your blanket.

You cleared your throat. “H-how brave, Sir Knight.”

“Well, as milady commands,” he said with a smirk.

You shook your head, though it didn’t stop that fluttery feeling.

“So... How was your weekend?” he asked.

You shrugged. After the bullshit on Friday night, you’d slept fitfully. You warded your room, then finished unpacking. You’d slept with the continuous play option going on your tape deck ever since.

You said, “Eh. You?”

“My band, Corroded Coffin, played this open-mic thing at a bar near the air base.”

“How’d it go?”

He rocked in his seat; his wild hair bounced.

“We didn’t get boo-ed off the stage?”

You grinned.

“That’s a start.”

“You like metal?” he asked.

“Yeah, metal’s cool.” You nodded at his Megadeth t-shirt. “Megadeth’s good. I like Judas Priest.”

His hand went to his heart as the other held onto his desk.

You laughed again, partially at his antics and partially in offense.

“Hey, a girl can like Judas Priest!”

He curled into the aisle between you as if dead.

You bopped him on the head and said, “Don’t be an asshole.”

“Never!” His head jerked up. “I’ve died from the sheer euphoria!”

You shrugged a shoulder and pivoted to face the blackboard.

“Oh, shut up.”

“Come see us play tomorrow.” He gently pawed at your forearm to encourage you to turn to him. “I mean it.”

“You got a tape?”

“I’ll give you one tomorrow — at The Hideout.”

You didn’t know where The Hideout was. You assumed it was a bar, but you’d look it up in the Yellow Pages.

With a sigh, you said, “Oh, alright. Tomorrow at The Hideout.”

He pumped a fist with a ‘yes!’ just as the bell rang.

O’Donnell stood behind her desk and ordered everyone to face front. She didn’t look at Eddie, but you both knew she meant him. He shared a mock-cowed look with you before swiveling to face the blackboard.

At the end of class, he gave you a little salute and wink, then trotted off. In his seat lay the black handkerchief. You tucked it into your purse before anyone could do something cruel — like throw it away or burn it in front of him. It seemed a lot of students at Hawkins didn’t like Eddie. Especially the jocks.

You heard them sneer about Eddie “The Freak” Munson. You also heard he was the school’s drug dealer. How ironic for them to hate him, yet depend on him for their good time.

Maybe it wasn’t a sound idea to be friends with Eddie because of that. No one had said anything to you, though. People were pleasant enough, yet kept their distance. It was that small-town mentality you’d heard about, but you couldn’t imagine having most of the school detest you like they did Eddie…

.

That night, you smoothed his soft handkerchief over your prepared vanity top. The handkerchief smelled faintly of cigarettes and weed. It wasn’t an unpleasant scent. You couldn’t complain, since plenty of your accessories smelled like Djarum Blacks.

You lit a candle to signal the beginning of the ritual. Spreading your hands on the handkerchief, you bowed your head. As you breathed deep, you thought of all the good feelings Eddie had brought into your life. He deserved that in return. He was worthy of protection. He was a good guy.

You directed that positivity into the handkerchief. Your palms warmed and buzzed with energy. You filled every fiber of the handkerchief with that energy to make it a shield.

Then you folded the handkerchief corner to corner, over and over, until it was a perfect triangle. You burned the last of your dragon’s blood incense to cleanse the handkerchief and space of negativity. As you passed the triangle through the incense smoke repeatedly, you banished anyone who meant Eddie harm.

You vowed no harm would come to him so long as you breathed.

-

Eddie lounged at the head of his flock’s usual cafeteria table. Gareth, Jeff, and Dougie worked out logistics as they usually did on Tuesdays, which Eddie thought was pointless. He was the wheelman for Corroded Coffin. He always picked up Jeff first, then Dougie, then Gareth.

He wanted to be at The Hideout a little early tonight. It would take a few minutes to get in the zone — because you were going to be there. He really hoped you’d be there. You said you would. He reminded himself to remind you before or after class. Maybe both. He could write it down, give you directions, or — even better — give you a lift.

No, then he’d be distracted. And he needed to focus. You needed to see him at his best.

Eddie interrupted their conversation, saying, “We need to fuckin’ burn it tonight, boys.”

Jeff frowned and asked, “Don’t we always?”

“Well, yeah,” Dougie said for him.

“But tonight’s special,” Eddie said. “I feel it, you know.”

“The stars align, my liege,” said Gareth.

“Damn right.”

Jeff and Gareth suddenly stilled, faces going blank. Eddie gave them a look to ask what the hell was going on. They didn’t notice, transfixed as they were. Like deers caught in headlights.

Eddie spun to see what they stared at.

It was you.

Approaching their table.

Oh, shit.

It was too late to fix anything about his appearance, or tell anyone sitting at the table to be cool.

As you came closer, you gave him a shy smile. As if you were intruding. Like you could. He’d welcome you to sit with them if it weren’t for everything: his reputation and inability to shut the fuck up, the chance of Gareth being lewd and Henderson acting like a smart-ass.

“Hey,” you said. “Sorry to interrupt.”

“No, it’s cool—” He swallowed ‘sweetheart.’ “What’s up?”

You held out a triangle of black to him. He took it without hesitation. It was fabric. It could be a bomb wrapped in fabric, and he would happily die in a million pieces.

“Your handkerchief. Bandana.” You huffed at yourself and indicated the triangle. “You left it in your seat yesterday.”

He smiled.

You added, “I didn’t do anything gross to it.”

He glanced at the triangle. It looked fine to him.

“Of course you didn’t,” he said. “Thank you, milady.”

“Of course, good sir.” You pointed behind yourself. “Well, I’m gonna go. See you in O’Donnell’s?”

He nodded and gave you a thumbs-up. Like a total dumbass.

He internally groaned at the way your black jeans hugged your thighs as you walked. Jesus Christ, he’d like to be your jeans, touch your jeans — preferably with you in them. He liked the gap that happened between the small of girl’s back and her jeans when she sat. He’d always wanted to bury his face in there and kiss his way up her spine. He wanted to do that to you.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He rested an ankle on a knee to hide his semi. He should’ve introduced his flock to keep you there another few minutes. Then he could’ve developed a protest against you leaving. Now that he knew you had the same lunch break, he wanted to discover where you hung out. He was sure he’d learn your hiding place sooner rather than later.

He circled back to the table, cracking his knee on a table leg. His flock stared at him with various degrees of astonishment. Which, rude. He talked to girls — and not just during deals, either.

“You know the new chick?!” Gareth asked, his face all blotchy with excitement.

Jeff said, “It’s October, dude. Is she really the new chick?”

“She’s new to Hawkins,” said Dougie, helpfully.

Sinclair, Wheeler, and Henderson watched the proceedings with mouths full of mashed potatoes and chicken nuggets.

Eddie shrugged and brought the triangle of his handkerchief to his nose. It smelled of herbaceous, sweet smoke. Like a headshop, but darker; something occult and weird. He savored it, then shoved the handkerchief in his pocket.

-

You blended additional blush high on your cheeks as a final touch. The person in the mirror looked like the one you’d known in New York. No one in Hawkins had ever seen this version of you in fishnets, dark makeup, and multiple studded belts. With a smirk, you hoped your style didn’t shock the locals too much.

The bedside clock read nearly half past seven. You jumped to your feet. It was time to leave.

You grabbed the leather jacket from the desk chair and swung it on. It had everything you needed for a night at a bar — including your fake ID.

Eddie had given you The Hideout’s address, along with directions, which weren’t complicated. Hawkins was a small town.

You slunk down the stairs while trying not to look like you were slinking. Because you weren’t sneaking out. Mom knew you were going to see a band from school. She just didn’t know they were playing at a bar. It was a detail you’d failed to mention.

Luckily, your parents didn’t notice you creeping through the house. The drive to The Hideout was easy enough with you missing a turn once. When you pulled into the parking lot, you laughed. The Hideout was in a strip-mall down the road from Hawkins’ only Kmart. It was dingy, but not the dive you expected. No broken glass glittered in the cracked concrete; no drunks slumped by the door. Hell, there wasn’t even a bouncer.

You checked yourself in the rearview mirror. You were hilariously overdressed. The thought of removing a bit of makeup crossed your mind. However, you quashed the thought, because your type of dramatic makeup kept hicks away.

You left your actual driver’s license in the glovebox, locked the car, and crossed the parking lot.

No one turned when you opened the main door. The music didn’t scratch to silence as you walked to the bar. You were as unremarkable as the green felt of the pool table.

You ordered a vodka tonic with lime. The bartender didn’t ask to see ID. He made your drink, reported the total, and took the money you offered.

On your left, the empty stage was a single-step dais. The jukebox next to it played some old Bob Seger song. You didn’t know how a band named Corroded Coffin would fit in. You certainly didn’t fit in. ESPN played on the muted television behind the bar, for fuck’s sake.

You took a seat at the bar, regardless, facing the stage. You’d promised Eddie to be here.

The band marched from the back a few minutes after you settled. You watched them unnoticed as they set up their equipment. They wove around each other with minimum talking. It appeared routine, like by rote.

Eddie disappeared behind the curtain, a wicked-looking guitar slung across his back. The stage lights flicked on as the house lights dimmed and the jukebox quieted. When he reappeared, he swung the guitar to his front and plugged it in. His movements were smooth and confident, his usual freneticism gone. He checked the mic and looked over the decidedly unpacked bar.

You stilled, wondering if he’d recognize you.

His gaze skimmed past you, halted, then returned.

You raised your glass in salute.

A brilliant smile broke across his face. Light sparkled in his eyes when he bounced his feet into position.

Channeling David Lee Roth, Eddie smoldered into the mic: “Happy Tuesday, Hawkins.”

You ‘woo’d back.

He pointed at you with his pick hand.

“We’re Corroded Coffin. I’m Eddie...”

“Jeff.”

“Dougie.”

The drummer said, “Gareth,” and tapped a cymbal.

You and a few others clapped.

“We’re gonna start the night on a high note with ‘Aces High’ from Iron Maiden!” Eddie said before playing the opening notes.

Jeff and Dougie joined him. Gareth began a galloping rhythm. While you weren’t familiar with the song, they sounded great. As the song sped, your eyes widened. You hadn’t expected this level of quality. Sure, you figured they’d be enthusiastic — and they were — but this was a band that practiced.

Next thing you knew, your head bobbed to the music and the heels of your boots tapped on the stool’s rung.

They played a few more songs, took a water break, and returned to finish the hour strong. The last song had you frozen in your seat. Eddie kept glancing at you as he sang, Jeff backing him during the chorus.

Together they sang, “I’m going through changes, I’m going through changes.”

The last verse ended with, “Wish I could go back and change these years.”

You finished your vodka tonic to swallow the lump developing in your throat. Maybe it was an ungenerous assumption, but you hadn’t thought Eddie that deep — or capable of expressing such heartfelt regret.

The song was an interesting one to end their set with, too. It hung in the silent seconds it took everyone to realize their set was over. You placed your empty glass on the bar and stood to applaud. Someone at the pool table whistled.

Eddie thanked the audience before looking at you to mouth a personal thank-you.

You smiled with a shake of your head, because it hadn’t been a big deal. Actually, it was your pleasure. It wasn’t every day you heard such good live music.

Feeling bold, you shuffled to the stage while the band broke down their equipment.

“Hey,” you said with a smile to get their attention.

Eddie turned first. His sweat-soaked hair clung to his neck and jaw.

You wanted to comb it away and kiss his pink cheek.

“Hey,” he said.

“Great set! Are you guys sticking around? Can I buy you a drink?”

Eddie checked with the band. Jeff and Gareth shrugged in acceptance, but Dougie sighed.

“I can’t,” said Dougie. “You know my curfew’s in half an hour.”

Eddie shared a look with you, rolling his eyes.

You pushed aside your disappointment. It was like the universe conspired against you spending time with Eddie. Perhaps it was for the best, though it still hurt like hell.

“That’s cool! Maybe next time.” You gave their equipment a once-over before pointing at it. “Can I help?”

Gareth perked.

“Sur—”

“Nah — thanks, though,” Jeff interrupted; to Eddie he said, “Why don’t you walk the lady to her car?”

Eddie looked at him, his face hidden from you. Jeff gave him a meaningful look, which was not. You tried to keep a straight face.

“Oh! Oh, yeah!” Eddie said in agreement as he faced you. “Yeah, I’ll walk you to your car.”

He hopped from the stage and put a hand on your back right above the belts. Your jacket kept you from feeling the heat of his touch, but the rest of him burned at your side.

As he ushered you outside, you told the rest of the band they’d been great. They waved and thanked you.

To Eddie, you said, “You guys really are good.”

“Thanks. We’ve been together for a couple of years.”

He elbowed the main door open and held it for you, which you thanked him for as you walked past.

A faint mist had rolled in since you arrived. Haloes surrounded the few streetlights. The roads were ghost-town deserted. The parking lot was a nocturnal oasis just for you and Eddie.

“So,” you said, spinning to walk backwards. “Does Corroded Coffin have any original songs?”

He shoved his hands into his pockets with a shrug.

“We have a few, but...”

He shrugged again.

“They’re not ready for debut.” You nodded. “Gotcha.”

“I mean, we’ll have to debut them sometime.”

“Maybe next week?”

“Next week?”

“Just one?” you asked to coax him.

His expression turned sly.

“For you?” he asked in return.

“Well, I did let you copy my notes...”

Your heel caught in a crack in the concrete, making you teeter with a squeak. Eddie darted forward to catch you by your hips. You latched onto his upper arms to steady yourself.

“Whoa,” you both said.

“Thanks for the save, sir.”

“No prob, milady.”

His eyes were so dark, face flushed, lips a deep pink. His arms were firm, too. You wanted to run your hands over them to his chest, then smooth his damp hair off his pretty face.

His hold on your hips tightened as though to pull you forward. You wanted him to. It had been so long since you wanted anyone to touch you like this.

He shook himself with a soft cough, his hold loosening.

You opened your mouth to protest.

He said, “Jesus, I bet I stink.”

“No.” You shook your head. “You’re okay.”

He didn’t stink. He smelled of clean sweat mingled with the faint scent of soap and smoke.

He snorted. “Just give me an hour, and you won’t be saying that.”

You huffed out a laugh and smacked his shoulder. Before you could assure him you wouldn’t mind, he grabbed that shoulder with a groan of pain and swung away.

Using that terrible British accent, he said, “You wound me, treacherous lady! I am done for!”

Giggling, you chased him as he staggered towards your car.

“Oh, sweet knight!” You laughed. “I beg thee, grant me clemency! I know not my own strength!”

“Strength! Ha!” He leaned his rear on the side of your car, faux gasping. “You have the power of a kraken!”

You rested beside him and bumped your shoulder with his.

He bumped back.

“Thanks for walking me to my car,” you said.

“My pleasure, ya know, except for the assault.”

You barked a laugh and bumped into him again. “Oh, shut it, drama llama. You’ll be in class tomorrow?”

He groaned and let his head flop back.

You admired the arch of his neck, wanting to lick the salt from his pale skin.

He rolled his head to look at you.

“I guess,” said Eddie, and jostled his shoulder against yours.

You smiled, allowing yourself to be jostled.

“Then I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yep.”

Neither of you budged.

Your stomach tensed, wondering if he’d make a move. Maybe you should make a move. However, you didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable. Though with the way he’d held your hips — the way he went for them — you didn’t think girls repulsed him. But just because he wasn’t repulsed by girls didn’t mean he wanted you.

“Okay, well, I gotta get back,” he said, and straightened. “I don’t want Gareth scratching the van more than he already has.”

“Of course, yeah, sorry.”

“No, thanks for coming.”

“Thanks for inviting me. I had a good time.”

“Yeah?” he asked as he faced you.

“Yeah, so let me give you a hug before my ride turns into a pumpkin.”

“If my lady insists.”

He opened his arms, a grin spreading across his face.

You went to him and slid your arms around his torso. His arms wrapped around you, and his cheek rested against your hair. He was so warm; the skin under his t-shirt sticky with drying sweat. It should’ve been gross, but he felt good in your arms. And yeah, maybe his deodorant was failing, yet it didn’t matter. He held you securely and swayed just a little.

Too soon, though, he pulled away, shuffling his feet. The red of his cheeks was obvious — even in the feeble light.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he murmured, his eyes staring into yours. “Get home safe.”

His sincerity had your heart thumping double-time.

“Y-yeah, you, too.”

He trotted to The Hideout’s main door as you unlocked your car. He waited outside until you got in and started the engine. You rolled down the window to wave. He gave you a jaunty salute before disappearing inside.

As you pulled onto the street, you smiled. Eddie Munson liked you back.

-

Corroded Coffin's final song of their set: Black Sabbath's "Changes" (Yeah, it's maudlin, but it fits.)

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #stranger things #reader insert #em tagd #waywardrose writes