waternilly - Tumblr blog

waternilly · 1 month

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petal

pairing ~ geralt of rivia x f!reader

word count ~ 5.2k

summary ~ geralt was never a man of many words, so he does what he can to show how he feels for you.

warnings ~ fluff!! mild language, gross man tries some verbal harrasment, intimidation & unwanted touching, (geralt saves the day!), hurt/comfort, mention of reader wearing a dress, descriptions of blood and injury, mutual pining but they're idiots, minor angst, not good self talk, mention of feelings of worthlessness

a/n ~ uh oh friends i accidentally opened a doc and this happened, i am an absolute sap for pet names and goodness gracious writing a fic about a geralt giving a pet name escalated into this, so i hope you all enjoy!! mwauh!!

Petal.

A delicate, weak thing that floats away on the breeze at the mere mention of any danger.

Even when you had tried to prove yourself time and time again that you were certainly not either of those things

It was still what he called you.

"I don't need anything, especially not from you" He had huffed at you during your initial meeting

You tried not to be taken aback but his gruffness, you had been told of Witcher's harsh nature's your entire life, hearing the stories and songs of their exploits throughout your village since you were small, but still, you had never expected to meet one, nor had you expected for any of them to be quite so large.

When he finally stood to his full height, you had to actively make sure to keep your mouth closed in fear it might fall to the floor if you let it act on it's own accord.

Though he was much taller than you, you refused to be intimidated by him, still standing your ground before him, thankful your dress covered your legs, less anyone see your trembling knees.

The brunette beside you still persisted. "She's perfect, I promise, and we'll never have to see her again afterwards, hm?" He turned to you with a smile, and you shook your head earnestly, though you couldn't deny how some part of you longed to stay with the pair longer than for just this.

The white haired man took you in once again, his heated gaze traveling from your slightly worn shoes to your hair as if he were appraising you like a cow from market. He finally sighed, "Fine." He grumbled, almost slamming his mug down on the wooden bar.

"I think he likes you" The other man commented, gently placing his hand on your lower back as the both of you followed the Witcher out the front door.

It was surely an unconventional way of meeting, but there seemed to be nothing truly conventional about either of the pair, Jaskier and Geralt as you later learned. You would have expected such a harsh man would have taken up more, like-minded companions, but the more you witnessed Jaskier's sunny disposition combating with Geralt's brash nature, the more you felt that this pairing was one that was always meant to be.

Though your addition to the group was quite unexpected.

You were only supposed to be nothing more than midnight Striga bait, something to lure it out into the forest, only to be hopefully saved at the last second by Geralt's skill. That was all you were supposed to be, but as your heart raced that night, feelings of both fear and excitement pulsing through your veins, as shadows cast by the full moon danced around you, you knew you couldn't go back to your village. How could you? All your life, you had only ever known muddy streets and market barkers and clouds that never seemed to allow the sunshine to peak through. How could you ever return to any of that, when just these few moments in darkness gave you more adventure than in any of your years of living in the light of your town.

Jaskier seemed to notice that particular glint in your eye once the deed had been done.

"Wasn't she helpful?" He smirked, "Maybe we should keep bringing her along?"

Geralt only grunted in response as he looked upon the now deceased creature.

You tried your best to hide the smile that threatened to split your cheeks at the thought, you could only imagine what a week with them would be like if this was just one night.

"I mean..." Jaskier sauntered slowly over to him, "She did catch us this Stri-"

Geralt turned to him in an instant, a wordless, piercing snarl plastered on his face, and you felt a slight twinge of disappointment at his obvious disdain at the thought of you joining them.

"It would take us another three days to bring her back, it would just make things quicker if she stayed with us, and, no offense" He quickly turned to you, "I'd rather continue on, than have to travel three extra days back to that shit hole."

Geralt hummed, turning to you now, and in the pale light of the moon that shown through the trees, you swore you saw him appraising you once again just as he had when he first met you.

"We're taking you back as soon as this is over." He spat as he walked towards you, shouldering past you as he stomped through the woods.

Jaskier flashed a quick smile at you, "He'll come 'round, he always does."

One week turned to two, two turned to three, weeks turned to months, and you still continued to be brought along on adventures with the two, experiences that you never could have imagined partaking in, in even your wildest dreams, were now things that you experienced on a fairly regular basis.

You saw kingdoms, glittering castles, and kindhearted princesses. You witnessed the fiercest monsters and the most entrancing magic, the adventures you had always been warned to stay away from, you found yourself right in the middle of all of them.

Though as thrilling as your new life was, sometimes you would miss your somewhat-soft bed and the comfort of knowing you would always have some place warm to stay, but you made the most of what you had, savoring the creature comforts you came across as much as you could when you did gather enough coin for a night or two stay at a local inn.

It was on one of these particular nights when he had first called you that.

Petal.

Geralt had sent you in with a small satchel to pay for the rooms while he hitched Roach on one of the posts outside of the inn.

It was an infrequent occasion when you had enough to rent three separate rooms for yourselves, but monsters were not an infrequent occurrence around these parts, and the influx in beasts also meant a slight raise in pay.

"Three rooms, please" You spoke softly, stifling a yawn with your hand as you did. It had been a long journey, and both you and Jaskier knew no one but Geralt was allowed to even touch Roach, so walking long distances was something you had gotten used to, though getting accustomed to the walking didn't mean you had grown to be any less exhausted after the lengthy journeys.

"One room." The main replied sharply, snapping you from you exhaustion almost immediately. "I only see one of ya. One room."

"Sir-"

"One room." He looked you over, a sort of repugnant heat in his gaze that you didn't quite care for. "One room... For the pretty lady all alone at night... Not very proper of ya" He scoffed.

Your stomach turned at the man's words as he circled around the desk, only pausing when he stood directly beside you.

"My friends are right outside. They'll be here in a minute." You hastily replied, not bothering to make eye contact with the man.

You visibly recoiled when you felt his hot breath suddenly fan across your cheek. "Y'er friends aren't here now are they? One. Room."

You quickly jumped from the mans touch on your waist, and finally turning fully towards him, you saw how his smile was a nauseating mix of yellows and greens as he sneered at you, creeping closer to you as you now felt yourself being cornered in between the corner of the small desk and the wall opposite.

"Well, if y'er gonna be so impolite, no room then." The man towered over you, and although you tried to keep calm, you couldn't help the way your breath shook as you stared up at the man.

The sudden sound of the swinging front doors slamming against the walls made you jump, "Petal!" You heard Geralt call.

The man almost instantly stepped away from you, his gaze now pointing to the floor. You turned to Geralt, your eyes wide with confusion and shock.

"Was wondering if you had gotten our rooms" He added, calmly sauntering over to you and gently placing a firm hand on your lower back, pushing you quickly out of the corner and into his side.

Your mind was racing, both from the shock of the inn keeper's advances and Geralt's sudden entrance and even more sudden touches. It wasn't like he hadn't ever touched you before, it was only that this felt different. Other times, he had just aimlessly grabbed at you, quickly pulling you away and out of reach from whatever creature you found yourselves up against, those touches were rough and almost meaningless, he was only saving you because he had to. You knew you were nothing but another burden for him to worry about on those hunts.

This was different. This was soft, protective, and for a moment, you even thought it was something akin to caring.

You could hear the door shudder behind you again and you could tell it was Jaskier, a soft 'oh' coming from behind you as he watched the situation unfold.

"I was just tellin' her we got three rooms just for ya right next to each other, down that hall" The man rushed, pointing down the dimly lit hallway with shaky fingers, "Just straight to the left."

Geralt took the small bag from you, reaching into it and placing a handful of coins on the counter. "Thank you" He mumbled, an intimidating glare on his face before he led you off.

You noticed how few coins he had given the man as you passed the counter and knew it was nowhere near the actual cost for three rooms, yet the man still didn't dare to say a thing as you three walked off.

Probably a matter of self preservation more than anything.

You opened the door to your room, a satisfied hum escaping your lips as you felt the warmth of the small bedroom already begin to flood your shaken senses.

"Are you alright?"

Your breath hitched in your throat at the unexpected voice that came from behind you, turning quickly to see that Geralt still lingered in the doorway.

"Fine," You sputtered, "Just a little shaken, that's all."

"Are you sure?"

You had never seen him so concerned, his brows were furrowed as he looked at you, his lips drawn into a thin line of concern.

You smiled softly at him, "I'm fine, I promise, just need some rest." You threw your arms above your head as you yawned once again.

"That's... Good." The words seemed to almost pain Geralt to say, like he was confessing something to you he hadn't even confessed to himself yet.

"Thank you, though, for your help." You smiled, a foreign heat blooming in your chest as you uttered the words.

Geralt didn't respond at first, his head tilting to the floor, though you swore you watched the beginnings of a smile begin to turn the corners of his lips. He mumbled a quiet "Goodnight", as his eyes flickered to you form, quickly looking you up and down again before shutting the door behind him, leaving you no less astonished then you were before.

The morning came all too quickly, after a rather sleepless night, you felt yourself longing for another night's stay, and if it weren't for the previous night's events, you thought that maybe you would have been able to convince Geralt to stay one more night, but you knew neither him, nor you would want to stay another evening under the same roof with that man.

You weren't sure if you would have gotten much sleep regardless.

The word echoed through your fatigue-addled mind, even as you felt yourself slowly pulled to consciousness by the slivers of sunlight that peaked through the thin curtains in the bedroom.

Petal.

He could have just called you by your name, it wasn't like he didn't know it by now. But Geralt was strategic, he never did anything without a reason, so maybe it was just a tactic to get the man away from you? Imply that the two of you were a bit more familiar to scare the man off?

"How are you faring?" Jaskier asked, tearing you from your thoughts as he adjusted his bag on his shoulder.

"I'm fine" You replied, staring to feel like a broken record, "I am, Geralt seemed to come in just in time though" You chuckled lightly, both watching him as Geralt readied Roach

"He always has a way of knowing when you're in trouble" Jaskier mumbled

"What-" You were quickly cut off by the familiar whinny of Roach, the both of you instinctively aligning yourselves on the side of her as she made her way through the town.

Jaskier only let out a smug, self satisfied hum, continuing to look forward and leaving you to torture yourself with your own thoughts.

You couldn't tell how long it had been since you left the inn, it could have been days since and you probably wouldn't have noticed, your brain only occupied by the teasing phrase Jaskier had spoken to you.

"Are you alright?" You heard Geralt's coarse voice utter once again, you huffed in frustration, how many times must everyone ask you that?

"Yes." You answered sharply, though a strange, pained feeling washed over you at your tone towards him, you chose not to think too much on it now. You finally turned up to him, noticing how he had suddenly stopped, the abrupt pause had Jaskier also now looking to him, his head tilted in confusion.

If you had blinked, you would have missed it at the speed at which Geralt dismounted, but he now stood directly in front of you, his face only inches from your own, and your chest filled with that unfamiliar, warm feeling from before.

"You can ride... If you'd like..." He finally spoke, his eyes never meeting your own as he did.

You had to stifle the scoff that threatened to leave your lips, for a moment you wondered if some Doppler had snuck into his room at night and taken his place, but then you looked into his eyes, that same unintelligible bashfulness when he stood in your doorway had appeared in his eyes once again.

"That would be nice... Thank you" You would have been a fool to say no, this would surely be the only time he would ever offer for anyone to take his place on Roach. Not only that, but you felt yourself thinking of how his face would possibly fall if you denied him, and you almost winced at the thought.

With just as much suddenness as the night before, his large hands wrapped around your waist, "May I?" He asked, a surprisingly timid smile appearing on his face.

You nodded softly, your eyes growing wide when he lifted you onto the horse as if you weighed nothing. You swallowed thickly as you adjusted yourself on Roach, nodding again as Geralt began to pull on her reigns to continue the journey.

You looked around you, sighing as you admired the new view from atop the horse, but even as you admired your surroundings, you still heard the soft grumble that came from the man.

"Petal"

You were too stunned to say anything, you almost thought you had imagined it, but the annoyed groan from Jaskier beside you only confirmed what you now knew to be true, he had said it again.

There was a long journey ahead, but you noticed how you seemed to dread it a little bit less.

You weren't even supposed to be there.

Both you and Jaskier had initially stayed back at the small camp you had set up that morning, peacefully enjoying some tea you had managed to make after several failed attempts of starting a fire.

Geralt said it was to be simple, nothing he hadn't done before, but something about the deafening silence you both heard when the lake was so close, had something uneasy settle in your stomachs.

"Geralt?" Jaskier called, the both of you now sitting in anxious silence as you awaited for some sign of life.

Though nothing came.

Jasker called his name again, his cries once more met with the same blaring quietness.

It was as if your legs moved on their own accord as you carelessly threw your small cup down, starting in the direction of the lake, ignoring the concerned yells from Jaskier as you did.

You weren't the monster hunting type, that's not what they had brought you on for in the first place.

You were bait at most, and someone to make tea at the least.

You didn't kill monsters.

You felt a fearful shudder run through you at the idea that you may actually have to fight something, this was nothing anyone had ever prepared you for, but you supposed there was a first for everything.

The foul smell of the bubbling water filled your nose first before you even began to see the lake, though still, you heard nothing.

You continued to sprint as fast as your legs could take you, silently praying to hear some sound, any sound, as you got closer.

A yell, a grunt, a whisper even, you'd take anything.

But still, the silence persisted.

You couldn't quiet the shocked yell that ripped through your lungs at the sight when you finally reached the body of water.

The monster was dead, and somewhat guiltily, you felt your shoulders sag in relief as you observed how it's limbs had been haphazardly thrown in all directions, and the familiar sword nestled within the top of it's skull. But laying along the muddy bank was Geralt, both hands pressing firmly on his side, his eyes screwed shut and his jaw clenched.

You called his name, rushing to his side, almost sliding across the ooze-covered ground as you knelt beside him.

As if he sensed your presence, he moaned, sluggishly turning his head to you.

"What happened?" You asked frantically, he only moaned again in response and you huffed, distraught and almost delirious as your eyes scanned him.

As you sat beside him and got a closer look at his form, you could tell he was bleeding, a dark, crimson liquid leaking between fingers he pressed so snugly against his side. You tried to calm yourself as your frenzied hands wandered his chest and torso, searching for any other injuries, you knew he had to be taken back to the camp, but you were also certain you wouldn't be able to drag him back there on your own, nor did you think that even with you and Jaskier's strength combined you would be able to do so, leaving you with only one other option.

"Geralt?" He groaned, his eyes now blinking open, "Geralt?" You grabbed both his shoulders, briskly shaking them before you called his name again. After a moment, his eyes finally fully opened, a soft smile appearing on his features as he slowly began to gain his full consciousness.

"Petal..." He hummed, his eyes almost fluttering closed again before you shook him a second time.

"Can you do something for me? Geralt?" Your voice was almost hysterical as you spoke, "Can you do me one favor?"

Geralt continued to smile gingerly as he nodded his head.

"Okay, could you get up for me? Could you stand?"

His face immediately dropped into a pout as he shook his head, a deep rumble of a chuckle escaping him as he did.

You took a deep breath, attempting to steady yourself. You didn't know as much as Geralt, but you knew enough to know that this was not good.

He was delirious.

You internally cursed yourself for not listening to him more in those quiet moments he would talk to Roach about the other monsters he had dealt with.

You had no idea what you were dealing with.

"Camp..." He finally mumbled, his voice was weak, not like his usually commanding tone.

"Yes, we have to get you-"

He almost knocked you over at the force at which he abruptly stood, his legs trembled as he took slow steps, and you shot up beside him, lifting his arm and placing it around your shoulders to balance him as much as you could.

"C'mon-" You strained as he leaned all of his weight on you for a moment, "Let's get you back"

The rest of the dawdling journey was spent in the company of ditzy hiccups and laughs, you would imagine what a handful he would be if he ever got drunk, but your mind was too preoccupied with the still-bleeding wound Geralt covered with his other hand on his side.

"Oh my Gods" Jaskier murmured the moment he saw you appear from beyond the brush, rushing to Geralt's other side to assist you.

"What happened?" He inquired, tone almost just as frantic as yours

"I don't know."

"Is he going to be alright?"

"I don't know." You hated how your voice shook as you spoke, if your voice was stronger, maybe you would have yelled at Jaskier for his insistent line of questioning, but your only focus was now on Geralt.

You both grunted as you layed him down on the thin cot in his tent, Jaskier turned to look through the bag that was placed in the corner, anxiously tossing bottles and small pouches to the side.

Geralt grumbled once again, turning again to his side to look at you. "Petal..." He groaned, and you found yourself nodding.

"I'm right here" You sighed, your eyes now brimming with tears. "We're going to take care of you, okay? Like you've always taken care of us. You're going to be okay, promise?"

His delusional smile faded for a moment, before he shook his head.

"No, no, don't do that, you are going to be okay... Jaskier!"

"I'm doing my best!" He scrambled, "It's usually Geralt doing this-"

Geralt's left hand suddenly fell from his side, fingers weakly pointing to a rounder, black bottle that had been tossed aside in Jaskier's initial panic.

Jaskier clumsily placed the bottle in his hand, your shoulders sagged in relief when Geralt swiftly removed the cork from the bottle, drinking its contents in a single swig. His breathing seemed to even in mere seconds as his eyes fluttered closed.

"Well," Jaskier sighed, "He's not dead."

You couldn't recall a time when you had seen him sleep for this long, in fact, you couldn't seem to recall a night where you had seen him sleep at all.

Even as you turned his body and adjusted his limbs so you could properly bandage and clean the deep slash on his side, his light snoring continued.

Jaskier had left the tent hours ago, adamantly saying how he needed to rest after such a stressful event, even though you could still here the soft strumming of a lute and quiet humming just outside the tent long after he had left the two of you.

The world was quiet once Jaskier had officially retired, Geralt's breathing and the muted crackling of a slowly dying fire being the only sounds that surrounded you as you worked.

Though Geralt was never the most talkative travel companion, it was still strange for him to be completely silent, not even a grunt or hushed 'hmm' to break the reticence.

"You worried us, you know? I know you hate that, people worrying over you, but you scared us" You whispered, trailing your fingers along the injury, now completely covered by beige cloths and hidden underneath his shirt. "You scared me, I thought I was going to have to kill a monster" You chuckled to yourself, "I wasn't sure how that was going to go, maybe you should show me... At some point... Maybe" Your voice was wistful as you spoke, wondering if he would ever take you up on that offer once he finally awoke, most likely not.

He had always made it a point to never put you in any real danger, even though sometimes you'd find yourself standing directly in front of jaws that would surely eat you alive in seconds, Geralt would always assure you that you were safe, that he would kill the beast before it ever got close enough to truly hurt you.

Every time you had asked him for any sort of training so you could defend yourself if anything went wrong, he'd only scoff at you "I don't need you hurting yourself, or worse." He would always say, "I'll handle it, Petal."

"Why do you call me that?" The words tumbled from you before you could even think about them, "I do have a name you know," You smiled "I've never understood why you call me that." Maybe you didn't mind it so much.

"Soft."

You froze, unsure if your mind was playing tricks on you in the silence, or if Geralt had actually spoke.

"It's because you're soft."

Yes, he was definitely speaking to you.

You chose to ignore him completely at fist, looking forward as if he wasn't laying directly below of you as you sat on the small log you had turned into a makeshift seat. He's just waking up from a dream, you thought, he's still recovering

You heard a deep chuckle before he spoke again, "You wanted to know, and now you're ignoring me."

"Geralt? You're awake?" You asked, finally facing him.

"Clearly."

"How are you feeling?" You stammered, your breaths becoming shallower as you wondered if he had heard all of what you had said.

"Nothing I can't handle."

"I'm glad" You sighed, "I'll leave you then." You added abruptly, your only thought being of leaving the situation as quickly as possible. Though just as you began to stand, a firm hand gripped your wrist.

"No, stay." He grumbled, his eyes blinking away the remainder of his fatigue. "Please."

You returned to your place and he slowly released you, his fingers softly lingering on your hand before it dropped to his side again. Geralt groaned as he attempted to sit up, almost wincing as he finally straightened himself.

"You should res-"

"I'm fine." He grumbled, "Thank you, for... This" Geralt gestured to his side as you nodded.

"No need to thank me," You did your best to hide the twinge of anxiety in your faintly trembling voice as you spoke, but you were certain you'd already been found out regardless. "It's the least I could do after all you've done-"

His rough hand had found yours again, the pad of his thumb tracing over your knuckles as he listened to you.

"For me..." You managed to continue, your eyes focusing on the abrupt, calming touches from the man in front of you.

You could almost swear there was the beginning of a soft smile on his lips as his eyes followed his fingers, lightly tracing the ridges of the top of your hand. "It's because you're soft, Petal" He finally stated, "I never meant anything by it."

"No it's nice-" You faltered, "I just never thought it was because you liked something about me" Your voice was thick with weariness and confession as you spoke. It wasn't that Geralt hadn't shown you any ounce of caring or friendliness during the time you had known him, it was only the fact that you never thought that a man so blunt and threatening would ever give you an epithet based off of something as gentle as the softness of your touch.

Your eyes finally flickered to his and you almost instantly wanted to return your gaze to your lap. His stare was too sharp, too intense, for you to even handle without having to look away for a moment.

You had to think that he was still feeling the effects of whatever venom or blood loss - induced haze that had gotten you into his tent in the first place.

He couldn't be looking at you like that.

Like he wanted to smother you alive.

Like he wanted to keep you all to himself in this small space forever.

Like he wanted to love you.

A contemplative 'hmm' was all you received in response at first, though still tracing over your hand, he continued "And why do you think that?" He questioned.

"You never wanted me to join you in the first place."

His movements stilled, you found yourself even shocked by your own words. You had never spoke to him so plainly about your feelings, perhaps it was something about being so close to him that made it so difficult to hide.

"That's true." He acknowledged, and you felt a dull, thrumming ache of discontent bloom in your chest at his admission.

"I was only ever bait for you to use to get you monsters" You added, feeling an unexpected rush of tears flood your eyelids.

There was a brief pause before he responded again, "That's true."

"And when I ask for you to train me, to show me something that could be more useful than just standing and waiting for something to kill me, you refuse." You felt helpless as you spoke, feeling like you were finally admitting things to yourself you had pushed to the very corner of your mind for so long. You felt disposable, and it hurt to watch as he mindlessly agreed to all of your concerns. "I want to be something more..."

You meant to say something else, something quick and biting so he understood that you weren't to be taken advantage of anymore, but you weren't sure that even if you opened your mouth a single sound would even escape. You felt your cheeks begin to dampen as your teeth pulled at your quivering bottom lip.

Through the heart beat thundering in your ears, you heard Geralt murmur your name, nevertheless, you refused to look at him, your gaze still fixed on the soil under your feet as you tried to stifle your own whimpers.

Your breath hitched in your lungs when two fingers grabbed your chin, tilting your head upwards. You hadn't noticed how he had shifted, now kneeling in front of you, his face level with your own.

He stated your name again, this time with more certainty as he stared back at you, his brow lightly furrowed as his hand shifted to cup your face, his thumb whipping the tear that rolled down your cheek. "But so much has changed since I've begun to know you..." He whispered, "You are more to me."

You didn't have a moment to respond before his lips crashed into yours, his other hand creeping up to your neck as he pulled you closer. His kiss was bruising, though it still remained a gentle mess of passion and tears as he cradled you between his palms, holding you with a tenderness as if he held the entire planet within his hands. He groaned into you when your hands found purchase on the collar of his black tunic, your senses completely surrounded with nothing but him as he slanted his lips across yours.

"You are more to me than that" He spoke breathlessly, his lips still continuing to chase your own between words, "I care for you, and I know that I would never be able to forgive myself if something happened to you."

"Geralt-"

"Please, I can't lose you because of this. You mean too much to me." His breathing was shallow as he pulled away from you, hands still cupping your cheeks as he did.

You could only nod at first before finally gathering yourself enough to speak, "I care for you, Geralt..." Your smile was weak and tearful as you replied. "Too much to leave now."

"Stay?" He whispered, pressing his forehead against yours as you nodded softly once again.

Geralt let out a pained moan as he adjusted himself on the cot, slowly lowering himself on the linen and shifting himself just enough to allow you room to lay beside him.

You smiled as you pressed against him, the comforting warmth of his arms wrapping around your waist already beginning to push you into sleep.

Before the exhaustion of the day could finally pull you under, you felt the delicate press of Geralt's lips against your forehead, the quiet rumble of his voice finally lulling you to sleep.

"Soft."

oh my goodness gracious, my heart, i am actually kind of super excited about how this turned out surprisingly!! i do love some hurt/comfort, and i've been feeling slightly e h about myself, so i hope this does bring some comfort to anyone feeling that way!! or just some comfort to you all in general!! i hope you are all doing so well!! mwauh!!

want more geralt? check out my masterlist!!

#geralt of rivia #YES GIVE ME MORE FLUFF WITH THIS MAN #THANK YOU OP

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waternilly · 1 month

Text

𝐣𝐢𝐠𝐬𝐚𝐰

pairing ~ sherlock holmes x f!reader

word count ~ 7k

summary ~ as you wonder what it would be like for him to return your affections, sherlock finally understands what he would sacrifice to fit within your world.

warnings ~ angst, sappy fluff, happy ending i promise, crying, friends to lovers, mentions of reader wearing a dress, mutual pining but they're idiots, sherlock is tall (reference to height difference), yearning.

a/n ~ yay!! sherlock is back on the blog!! this one was a request by my dear @donutloverxo , but i'd be lying if i said this wasn't also a bit of a birthday week present for myself hehe, i do hope you all enjoy this one!! i had a whole bunch of fun writing some pining so without further ado, enjoy!!

It began with a smile.

You hated how cliche the thought sounded, but it was true, it did.

Though, didn't it always?

You cursed yourself for falling so hard, so quickly, but even more so for allowing the concept of your affections to haunt you the way that it did. Every time you believed you were surely over it, over him, the man who seemed perpetually unavailable due to cases or traveling the world or other duties you quite understood, that was just the exact moment he would smile again.

His bright, shining, kind smile. It was the sort of smile that filled one with hope, false hope, you supposed. The kind of hope that made you believe that a man as indifferent as him could love, but beyond that, that a man like him could love you.

In a city filled with so much history, the kind that either made you want to plug your ears and squirm in your seat or the kind that made you take a bit more pride in humanity, you were often told of the ghosts that lurked around every corner. Ever since you were small you could remember the tales, the idea that shadows of the past would always find a way to return. Then, you had never particularly put much weight behind the notion, but now a days, you found yourself being absolutely haunted, though your ghost was more of the present kind.

And it's name was Sherlock Holmes.

You never intended to get so entangled with a man like him, did anyone really ever? You thought. With the exception of his brother and sister, you wondered if anyone truly ever meant to get caught in his general vicinity.

Caught, yes, that was the best way to put it, you'd maybe dare to even say trapped, doomed maybe, destined to continue the same disheartening, bleak cycle until he finally decided he had had his fill of you.

The both of you sat in chairs opposite of each other, your tormenting thoughts not allowing you to read a single word on the faded pages of the book you had thoughtlessly picked off of his bookshelves. You wondered at what point in your friendship you had stopped putting so much thought into your choice of novel when you would visit. You used to be friends, you thought, and though as harsh as it sounded, you missed the time when you two were nothing but companions, when afternoon visits were just that, visits. You found yourself almost longing for the times when you simply read and enjoyed each other's company, now though, you thought, sighing as you finally closed your book, placing it gently on your lap as you looked across to see him, now, it seemed you visited to pine.

You wondered what sort of thoughts were going through his head, if the strain on your relationship was even noticed by him, or if it was just you. There seemed to be no more friendship, at least through your eyes. The only thing lying in the shallow grave of kinship the two of you had developed over the years, was hopeless optimism.

Beyond all of yout typical conversation and occasional kind gestures, you couldn't help but resent yourself for even wandering into his path, because now, all that you felt with him, was possibility.

Every movement, every glance your way, it pained you even more, not because of what was, an enduring friendship, but because of what it wasn't.

"Finished already?" He muttered from behind his newspaper, and you instantly snapped your head up to face him.

You hummed, glancing down again at your book before smiling. He was looking at you fully now, a sly, strangely knowing half smile on his lips.

"If I knew you any better I'd say you've started getting bored of me." He smirked, folding his newspaper and placing it on the small table that sat beside him.

"Who says you know me that well?" You counter, despising how your confident tone wavered just in the slightest as you raised a teasing eyebrow at him. You discovered that as of late, your only way to communicate with him during those moments when your already fragile resolve threatened to turn to dust under the weight of his intoxicating gaze, was from behind a veil of friendly banter and sarcasm.

Because in truth, he did know you that well, and with every moment that passed while in the Holmes estate, surrounded by his knick knacks and books and that undeniable feeling of home that flooded you every time you entered his space, you feared that you'd end up blurting out something that could ruin everything you had built together.

"You'd do better than to challenge him to something like that," The sneering voice of Mycroft entered the room with the abruptness of a nearby mirror shattering, "Lest you want the entirety of your past, present, and quite possibly, your future exposed to the world."

You watched Sherlock's expression falter for a moment, a slight twitch in his jaw as he looked back at his brother.

There was a strange, undeniable tension that suddenly filled the room as the pair continued to glare at each other. A self assured smirk tugging at the corners of Mycroft's lips as Sherlock continued to scowl at him.

You quickly turned to the window, not even bothering to really look at the world outside, using it as more of an opportunity to escape the strange atmosphere that had befell the library.

"It's getting late," You smiled, placing your long forgotten reading material on the nearby coffee table as you stood, "Thank you for having me," You turned to Sherlock, your throat going just a tad drier as he stood to his full height. "As always." You finished, clearing your throat.

"It's my pleasure," He replied, that damned, kind smile flashing once again, "As always." He added.

You sighed, running your palms down the front of your dress as you began your way towards the exit, throwing a quick, thankful nod to Mycroft before Sherlock joined you on your way through the home.

"Until next time." He breathed, opening the door for you.

The spring breeze that suddenly flew through the entryway shocked you both, Sherlock's deep chuckle rumbling through him as you failed to stifle the amused gasp that escaped you.

It was strange to see him like this sometimes, you often forgot that such a world famous detective could be like this, his curls gently tousled by the wind as he gently runs a hand through it, doing his best to keep them under control to no avail against the persistent wind. A light smile on his lips as his head tilted back just a little when he laughed.

"You know, one of these days, you're going to get sick of me visiting you all the time." You suddenly quipped with a smirk, attempting to salvage the rest of your dignity before you entirely revealed yourself.

He raised a suspicious eyebrow at you, his head tilting slightly as he scanned your features. It was in moments like these when you realized that not even you were immune to his inquisitive stare.

"And just when I thought you truly knew me..." He mumbled, the corners of his lips turning into the shadow of a sly grin before retreating into something more genuine as he continued, "I could never tire of your visits."

There was a moment of silence between the both of you, the sort of lingering, spring-haze, romantic quiet in which a confession could surely debut, and so a quiet in which you found no solace in. Thus, you did nothing to prolong it, clearing your throat just as quickly as the silence had settled.

"Then I will be seeing you very soon." You turned, not daring to spend another moment staring into his eyes, in fear that if you waited a second longer, you may have just thrown yourself at him.

You threw a quick wave behind you without even turning to face him.

"I look forward to it!" You heard him call, and you couldn't help how your steps faltered at the sound of his voice behind you.

Sherlock was your friend, one of your closest in fact, and yet, now it seemed you couldn't even bare to spend another moment with him, the entirety of your visits spent torturing yourself with thoughts of what else could be instead of what you already had.

You two were an unlikely pair, with him being so critical and even cynical at times, it was a surprise he had so quickly taken to you in the way that he did when the both of you had first been introduced. During the time you had come to know him, Sherlock had taught you how to sift through the evidence and clues and opinions of others to only leave behind the absolute truths.

As you walked through the winding path that led out of the estate, you thought for a moment, knowing that in some strange, dismal way, maybe Sherlock would be proud of you for the absolute truth you had now just uncovered within yourself.

You were in love with Sherlock Holmes.

And that was exactly why your friendship had to end.

Sherlock wasn't a stupid man by any means, but for a man who had made his entire career by exploiting other people's weaknesses, it was a wonder that you had even made it this far in hiding your true feelings for the man.

You'd visit him today as one last time to enjoy yourself, you thought, before you ultimately robbed yourself of his company.

You took another glance up at the ivy covered stone that you had grown to love so much, the unkempt shrubbery adding a sense of character to the home that you so cherished.

Just as you were about to knock on the door, the sound of someone clearing their throat behind you had you turning on your heels instantly.

An immediate wave of relief washed over you when you saw him, even though you knew of the doomed fate that soon awaited your relationship, it seemed that you couldn't help the way your mind and body reacted to his presence.

"Sherlock," You smiled, "I hope I didn't come at a bad-"

"It's never a bad time," He quickly replied, a peaceful, at-ease smile etched onto his features as he spoke to you, "In fact, I believe that the only times that I would consider dreadful are the moments when you aren't gracing us with your company." He smirked, outstretching his hand to you. "I was hoping you could join me in the garden?"

You suddenly became unsure if the abrupt feeling of heat was due to the unobstructed rays of the noon sun, or his swift, quick witted suavity that always seemed to have you melting.

"Of course" You replied, quickly taking his arm and following his steps beside you as he led you around the grounds.

A peaceful calm settled between the two of you as you walked, the world only being filled with the pleasant chirping of the afternoon birds and the hushed sound of your footsteps the ground beneath you.

You looked at the man beside you, a mixture of melancholy as well as a ill-fated feeling of hope falling over you. He would never be yours, but it didn't hurt to pretend for just a moment, would it?

"You know, I have been meaning to ask you of something." Sherlock finally spoke, turning to you with a smile.

You only smiled in response, cheerfully waiting for him to continue as you absorbed the moment you found yourself in. You almost knew for certain that it wouldn't be the question you so longed to hear, but you would enjoy the brief flicker of hope while you could.

"I was wondering if you would..."

You watched as he trailed off, a sudden puzzling expression falling onto his face before it returned to the same, casual smile he had been wearing.

"...If you would assist me in the library? I've been meaning to better organize the books, though I can't seem to get the system quite right." He chuckled, turning from you to look around him once again.

You hummed, doing your best to hide your almost anticipated ache that materialized within you once he completed his question.

No matter the situation, whether it was government officials or bakery owners, he had always seemed to know just what to say, though now, the bleak realization that he would never say the right thing to you finally came to pass within you.

"The great Mr. Holmes needing my help in a library? I'll alert the press." You teased, cursing yourself for the slight tremble in your tone that even you hadn't noticed until the words left your lips.

"I would believe you, it's only that I know far too much about you for you to even dare." He smirked, squinting his eyes at you in mock challenge.

You hadn't at all been keeping track of how much time had passed, it felt as if every time you were with him, time became a foreign concept, passing you by before you could even count a second. All you did know, was that you had begun to remember passing the same twisted tree trunk a few too many times.

You sighed as you turned the familiar corner, the entrance of the large home beckoning you to enter, begging you to indulge yourself in it's comforts one final time.

Sherlock seemed to have the same idea, turning to you with furrowed brows when he noticed you had stopped, your arm falling from his.

"Are you not coming in-"

"I think I should be heading home," You feigned a gentle smile as you continued, "I didn't sleep much last night," You stammered, "But thank you as always, for having me."

You saw how he tilted his head, the shadow of a question already creeping onto his expression. His suspicion seemingly faded just as it came to him though, a timid smile replacing his concern almost instantly. "I'll see you soon then?"

What were you to even say? That you had already made the plan to never see him again? Or that you were too hopelessly in love with him to even spend a minute more alone with him?

You only nodded, not having the strength to lie to him so directly.

"I appreciate you." He suddenly blurted, and your eyes widened at his sudden exclamation. "Your company, I mean," He clarified, "I know I'm often not the most...Amiable... So thank you, for always joining me."

"Sherlock," You sighed, shaking your head, "I appreciate you for not yet getting tired of me."

He let out a soft, amused huff before replying, "I could never."

For once, you decided to spare yourself from any more pain, deciding to only smile before quickly turning to begin your journey home.

Sherlock was nothing if not logical, and now, you suddenly feared that some of his critical, almost pessimistic rationale had rubbed off on you. As you tramped through the dust covered path, you wondered if some feelings were meant to be felt, only to be let go.

Maybe feelings like this were never meant to be lingered on, that was why crimes of passion happened, wasn't it? Because someone, somewhere, decided to feel just a little too much.

Maybe feelings like this were only meant to be temporary things, or maybe, you thought, you had left your last sliver of sanity at the Holmes' doorstep.

Regardless if feelings like this were truly temporary, you knew you would have the initials of Sherlock Holmes perpetually etched into the memory of your heart.

Dear Friend,

I hope you are able to visit us in the coming week, the library is in desperate need of your expertise.

S.H

You knew he would question the fact that you had sent a letter to notify him of your lack of a visit this week, but you hoped he wouldn't think too much about it, you had always prided yourself on the fact that Sherlock could never quite seem to break you open they way you had so often seen him do to others.

You tried to recall a week that had gone by without you visiting him, and with a huff, quickly reminded yourself that this was precisely what you were supposed to not be doing.

You should have been excited, to finally have all the time in the world entirely to yourself. No worries of rushing off to read in someone else's home, or to assist anyone with whatever horrific crime that had landed at their doorstep that week.

Though as you glanced around your quiet living area, the only sound being the muted ticking of the clock, it took you less than a second to understand that whatever you did, you could most certainly not stay here. It was almost silent, much too quiet for your own liking, and though there were benefits to living alone, you couldn't help but think that your space needed some sort of life other than your own, more movement, more books, more...

Less thinking, you quickly decided, swiftly grabbing your gloves from the small table sitting beside your entryway before leaving with a frustrated huff.

You found that the park was not much different, but with the absence of quiet, you found the presence of people.

Which brought entirely new problems.

Like seeing.

It seemed that everywhere you turned, you found cheerful pairs wherever you looked.

And as it often did, with the looking, came the thinking.

Him in that brown vest and coat he always seemed to be sporting in the spring, always paired with that deep blue tie that always brought out his eyes. As much as he tried to keep his curls under control, they'd always manage to fly about every time even the gentlest of winds blew his way. Would he hold your hand? Or would he intertwine your arm with his to keep you closer?

A young boy called out across the park, holding out a single flower, outstretching it to any couple that happened to pass him by. He must have noticed you staring from the way he tipped his cap at you.

Would he buy you one? A part of you wondered if he would find such gestures cliche, but on the other hand, you could already hear his voice in your head, explaining the cultural significance and meaning of each of the blossoms. Maybe he'd even buy one for Enola, he's always adored her.

What would she think of you and him? You two wouldn't go without teasing at first, that was for certain. Though in the end, she probably wouldn't mind, you always enjoyed your time with her whenever you managed to catch her before she left for whatever adventure she had planned for herself that day.

You hummed, swallowing back the sudden lump that formed in your throat. Home, you decided, home would definitely be much better than this.

You hadn't made any more plans to step beyond your doorway this week, only dressing yourself to quickly grab the newspaper you had heard thump against your door this morning.

It was only by complete chance you had seen them, if it had been any other day, if the news hadn't been delivered this morning, you would have never even been aware of them.

But the news had been delivered today, and now you were very aware of them.

A dozen orange Tulips, wrapped neatly in burlap and brown paper, sitting on your doorstep.

You looked out into the street, searching both ways for any sign of any flower vendor or any distraught suitors that may have accidentally thrown their flowers onto your doorstep.

Flower vendor. You thought, a quiet 'hmm' escaping you as you thought of the possibility, swiftly grabbing the unexpected gift before shutting the door behind you.

Even as you told yourself, promised yourself that you wouldn't find yourself back at the park again, or at least not so soon, here you were, sat on the same bench as the day previous.

From this vantage point, you could see nearly everything, the carousel, the various walking trails, even your own apartment, but more importantly, the barking flower seller that sat right in the middle of everything.

You suddenly wished you had listened more to Sherlock's impromptu detective lessons he would often share with you, how did he always stay so discreet?

And just as you glanced his way again, the younger boy spotted you once again, quickly flashing a salesman-worth smile your way before tipping his cap once again.

His suavity was of no importance to you though, when you noticed just what type of flowers he was selling. Orange Tulips.

He'd be proud.

You raised a suspicious eyebrow as you scanned the park's crowd once again. Mistakes happen, you thought, things get delivered to incorrect addresses constantly, you were certain your situation was no different.

Dear Friend,

I am sorry to hear you are feeling ill, please do not hesitate to phone if you so need anything.

S.H

As much as you disdained lying to him, you determined that your small deception this week would be less painful than the truth.

You really only meant to check the temperature outside, quickly cracking your door open when you saw the flash of color peeking out from under the door.

Orange Tulips.

You bent down to swiftly grab them from your doorway, you stood, opening the door further to take a better look around the street. Though you couldn't bring yourself to truly care about searching for any suspects, the only thoughts managing to cross your mind being of the Tulips you now clutched to your chest.

Maybe it wasn't a mistake? What were the chances of the same flowers winding up on the same doorstep again?

You smiled, looking down at the bouquet. When was the last time someone had gotten you flowers? This was precisely what you needed to begin to move on, something new, someone new.

You turned your back to the street as you slipped back inside, still holding the tulips close to your chest as if they were the most precious thing in the world to you. You closed the door, sighing with a smile as you made your way into the kitchen, finding a small vase and filling it with water from your sink.

He'd probably know just what they were called, he'd probably know just where they were from as well, not just from some park vendor, but some specific garden just a little south of the London, all by looking at the leftover soil on their leaves.

You groaned as you sat the vase on your table, he truly was a ghost wasn't he? Following you around as if some archaic witch had cursed you, shackling him to you for the rest of your days. You supposed there were worse demons to manage.

Dear Friend,

Should we be expecting you for dinner this coming Friday? Ferndell Hall has grown incredibly dull without you.

S.H

You continued to read the letter over and over again until you felt you could recite the few words by memory.

It had been sent to you two weeks ago, and you had received no letter since, the only mail gracing your doorstep to be the orange tulips that never failed to appear every Tuesday now.

Possibility used to excite you, the idea of something new coming into your life used to fill you with joy, but now, the notion of something unfamiliar only filled you with a strange, dreary feeling.

It felt as if the sun filled the sky, though your mind could only focus on the scattering of clouds that would occasionally block it's shine. Whoever this unknown admirer was, you almost felt bad for accepting their gifts knowing that it was him you wished for them to be from.

It had been six weeks since you last saw him, a mere flash of time in the grand scheme of things, though you'd have to admit that the most arduous portion of your time alone was the time since he had sent his last letter.

You supposed you couldn't be upset with him, for it was you who had stopped writing him in the first place, believing it would be less agonizing to cease all communication rather than to continue lying to him.

Though now, it was painfully clear to you how wrong you had been. He had now given up on you, and in a solemn moment of clarity, you supposed that's what you had always wanted.

Wasn't it the natural progression of things anyway? Even the strongest of chain links eventually fall to rust and decay, ultimately separating from each other when their bonds become damaged enough.

Reasons, seasons, or lifetimes, you could recall the lesson being told to you early on in your childhood. You would always discover why someone had fallen into your life's path some way or another. This time was different though, you supposed Sherlock fell into your life for all three.

He was your only reason for staying in this god-forsaken city to begin with, and you supposed that now, he would be the reason you would never leave. The seasons you spent in the Holmes's estate were some of your most cherished memories, memories that, despite your situation, you would continue to hold on to regardless. And no matter how bitterly or abruptly your friendship had ended, you knew that he would remain with you for a lifetime.

You looked down, suddenly noticing the iron grip you had suddenly developed around the now slightly wilted tulip you had been holding.

You wondered where else in the world flowers like this would grow, surely there were other flower sellers in the world, surely there were other cities, right?

You hummed, your fingers now fidgeting with the few fallen petals that rested in your hand as you thought, certainly other towns grew orange Tulips?

You almost felt hysterical, pondering a question so pointless, knowing there was no use in even wondering. The thought killed you and calmed you all at once, for you knew right then, that no corner on Earth would relieve you of Sherlock Holmes.

Suddenly, there was a knock on your door, and you instantly turned to the window.

The harsh droplets of rain almost carpeted your window and you wondered how you had not noticed the building sound of the storm outside all this time.

You furrowed your brow, setting the damaged flower on the table before making your way to the door. You sighed, almost groaning to yourself at the thought of whatever salesman or tax collector that was awaiting to torment you.

You quickly wiped your suddenly dampened cheeks, quickly flashing a soft smile to ready yourself turn down whatever useless product that awaited you on the opposite side of your door.

You closed your eyes for a moment as you began to open the door, "Hello-"

"Why have you stopped seeing me?"

You could do nothing to stifle the hushed gasp that left you at the sound of his voice. You snapped your eyes open, his hair was absolutely dripping, a soggy newspaper in hand that he had no doubt been using to shield himself from the storm at some point along his journey.

"Sherlock? What are you doing here?-" Your words came out more as a plea rather than a question.

"To ask you a question." He replied simply, his tone determined and unwavering as he spoke, "Why have you stopped coming to visit?"

"Sherlock, I- It's pouring, you shouldn't-" You stammered before he interrupted you once again.

"Please. I just-" He ran a hand through his sopping hair before making a sound akin to something crossed between a sigh and a groan, "I needed to see you."

You noticed how his chest rose and fell rapidly, how his knuckles turned a lighter shade as he gripped the drenched paper.

Even in all the time you spent away from him, attempting with all of your heart to begin to despise him as best you could for whatever reason you could concoct, you couldn't help the way your heart leapt at the site of him at your doorstep.

You furrowed your brow, your lips drawing into a thin line of concern before you stepped aside the doorway, "Come in." You quickly muttered.

His large frame stepped into your space almost instantly, and you abhorred the way your heart warmed at the sight of him in your space.

You closed the door behind him, turning to face him just as quickly. In just a few moments, he would leave, you thought, and you'd be alone again, though despite what you had tried to convince yourself of over the last few weeks, you couldn't deny the familiar feeling of comfort that washed over you at the sight of him.

"I didn't mean to interrupt your day, but I wished to speak with you immediately." He spoke firmly. "Is there a reason you've stopped seeing me- us." He suddenly corrected.

How could you ever explain what truly had happened between the two of you. The words sat the tip of your tonuge that you had been holding in your heart promised to relieve you of the ever growing weight you had been carrying, though you would sooner strangle yourself than allow them to slip with him still present.

"I've been busy." You spoke plainly, attempting to keep your tone as even as possible, even as the tightness in your throat slowly threatened to suffocate you. "I'm sorry."

"You could have-" He interrupted himself, pinching the bridge of his nose as he began to pace, "Is there someone else?" He suddenly asked.

"Sherlock, I have no idea-"

"I thought you enjoyed my- our, company, I thought we were friends."

You sighed, your eyes darting back and forth as you watched him pace, the floorboards beginning to creak under the sudden stress. "We were, we are. I promise there's no reason-"

"Why have you stopped visiting then?" He almost spat, his face turning a lighter shade of red as he paused, now standing directly in front of you. "If nothing has happened, then why have you so seemingly abandoned us?"

If it were any one else standing in your foyer, you would have most likely cast them out already with his pacing and frantic tone, but as he stood before you now, a his dampened, stray curls plastered to his forehead, his breath becoming increasingly shallower as he spoke, you began to see the desperate little boy that Mycroft so often teased him of being.

"I know-" He swallowed, gathering himself before continuing, "That Mycroft isn't often the most welcoming, and I understand that even Enola can be a bit anarchic herself. Even I find myself to be a bit irritating at times, but please, I'm begging you, tell me what's happened."

You could only quietly whimper, finding yourself speechless, the beginnings of tears stinging the corners of your eyes offering him your wordless response.

There was a weighted pause that settled between the both of you, threatening to crush the both of you if it continued for any longer.

"Have you..." He took a deep, steadying breath, "Have you truly gotten tired of me?"

A muted gasp left you instantly at his question, and your response came as quickly as your initial reaction, "I could never." You offered him a melancholy, tearful smile. "I could never." You repeated, shaking your head as you tried to swallow back the barrage of tears that began to build within you.

You watched as his expression fell even more than it had before, his forlorn smile reflecting your own. "You know, I believed that the flowers might begin to apologize for whatever I had done to hurt you." He slowly began to saunter over to the table on which you had placed your withered flower from before. "I thought I would surprise you one day, visit you instead of you having to make the journey..." He gently plucked the Tulip from it's place, lifting it to his eye level before gently turning it between his thumb and forefinger, he smiled weakly as he continued to examine the flower.

Your voice was broken as you finally replied, your tone crumbling under the weight of his confession, causing your words to come out as shattered whispers as you held back tears, "Then why didn't you visit?" A sudden, unfamiliar anger flooded you at the thought, if he was so close, than why didn't he?

He finally put down the flower, his eyes quickly falling to you, "Because..." He straightened himself, clearing his throat before continuing, "You looked happy."

"What?" Your reply left you in an instant, almost much too quickly for your own liking, but it couldn't be helped.

"I could see you, just from that bench just across the way, you seemed to be just as lively with your flowers as you once were with me. And so I found myself content to watch."

"Sherlock, I never- Do you-" You stammered, and though your thoughts raced, you attempted to collect yourself, and taking a deep breath, you continued. "Do you think so little of me?"

His eyes immediately widened at your response, "I would never," He took a testing step closer to you, watching your expression to gauge his next movement. "I find that it is myself I think so little of."

You tilted your head at his puzzling confession, only watching his features carefully as you waited for him to go on.

He took another step closer to you, and even as your bodies stood with only inches separating them, you stood your ground.

"I apologize if I led you to believe it was someone else gifting you flowers, I understand now that to think that someone such as myself, could ever, deserve affections from someone like yourself. It was foolish of me, and I am sorry-"

"Sherlock, I-"

"Please," He begged, "I don't know if there has been someone else in my absence, and I don't believe I would ever like to know, I'm only asking you to tell me the truth of what happened between us."

In all your years of knowing him, you weren't sure if you had ever seen him like this. You had seen him at his limits, pushed to his very wits end during certain cases, but you had never seen him as the way he was now. His shoulders sagged, his chest rising and falling rapidly as his eyes darted across every inch of you, no doubt trying to decipher your every movement to find an answer to his question.

You wondered for a moment, what did he see? You could find no reason to hide your feelings now, the walls you had put so much effort into constructing already began the slow process of decaying over the past few weeks, so you were almost certain you probably looked as lovesick as you did when you first realized your sudden passions for him.

Regardless, you figured there was no use in attempting to conceal yourself now.

Freedom, on whatever scale, seldom came for free, and if loosing him was the price you would pay for independence from your own feelings, you thought, than so be it.

"Sherlock," You breathed, "You have been... My closest friend-"

"Have." He quickly interjected, "Then what's changed." His tone was more frustrated now, determined to pull the truth from you no matter how long it would take him.

You groaned, hating the sudden interrogation tactic he had now adopted with you. You had no energy to argue against him though, you last fragment of strength dissolving into the unwieldy atmosphere around you as you finally allowed your tears to fall. "I'm sorry, I only- Friends grow apart, that's all." You feigned a weak smile, unable to look at him directly as you fidgeted with your hands. "That's all that happened." You whispered.

When you finally looked up at him, you noticed how his lips parted in a silent gasp, his eyes widening just a tad more than before, as if the very notion of the two of you growing apart had astonished him to his very core.

Or maybe he was expecting a different answer.

"You mean to tell me that that, is the truth?" He asked, and before you could even gather yourself to form a response, he continued. "That our friendship, everything that has come to pass between us, was only thrown away because of nothing?"

You despised how grim his explanation sounded, but if that was what he had to believe to finally leave you, you would accept it.

You could only manage to nod in response, knowing your voice would be too broken to reply in any sort of convincing manner.

"That all of your visits, all of that time, together," He emphasized, "Meant nothing to you? So little that it could be discarded so quickly?"

"Yes..." You muttered even as it pained you to even speak, the tightness in your throat only constricting you further as you attempted to thwart your sobs.

"I'm sorry, but I just cannot accept that." He stated, though you noticed how his voice had grown slightly less assured as it was before.

His sudden abruptness shocked you, almost as much as it seemed to shock himself, his face contorting into a wince at the sound of his own harsh tone.

"Not when-" He quickly softened his voice as he stared back at you, his eyes continuing to search your own for some sort of sign for him to stop, though you gave him none. His breaths became almost heaving, as if he were warming up for a sprint, "Not when I've just began to understand..." He trailed off, swallowing as his eyes dropped to the floor for a moment before returning to you. "That I love you."

Your heart faltered and you had to fight the overwhelming urge to pinch yourself. If Sherlock Holmes loved you in this reality, then you would be perfectly content from never waking again. It was only when he begun speaking again that you had realized you hadn't responded.

"I found that in your absence, that I am nothing short of miserable. You plague my mind in every waking moment, and yet, I find myself never having enough of you."

"Sherlock-"

"Please," He begged, "After living without your visits, your kindness, your smile, I understand now that nothing in this world could wound me in the way your leaving has. That," He chuckled lightly, "Is one fact I have never been more certain of."

You couldn't muffle the choked sob that escaped you, you shook your head, still standing before him in disbelief at his confession. In all that time you had spent concealing your own feelings, had you really not seen his?

"Tell me you've never felt the same and I will stop, even if you have found someone, if that is the truth of the matter, I will accept it. All I am asking is just a portion- a moment of your thoughts, and I'd be content." He sighed before he continued, "It would be a privilege, to have my heart broken by you."

His words both froze and freed you all at once. Sherlock always had the talent of uncovering truths, of seeing straight through people, and for all the time you had known him, it occasionally begun to feel as if he was only seeing through you, just as he did so often to others. Though as he stared at you now, you began to recognize the certain way his eyes fell to you. It was the same look he gave you when the two of you were both first made acquainted, the same light reflected in his eyes just as it did when the both of you found yourselves under that tree in the garden, laughing until both of your stomach's hurt. It was the same gaze you found paralyzed by whenever he would greet you, and the same glance he would throw your way every time you two parted.

In all those moments when you felt so invisible, when it felt as if he was only seeing through you, you realized now, he was seeing you.

He looked at you, with all of your insecurities, with all of your mistakes, with all of your flaws, and every time, regardless of the faults you found within yourself, he still chose to love.

"Sherlock," You finally managed to sputter through your tears, "I- I could never have found someone else." You smiled, "I love you." You reached for his hand mindlessly, as if some invisible string began pulling you to him. "I think I always have."

His long forgotten, sopping newspaper fell to the floor as he reached for you, his other hand suddenly finding itself resting on your lower back, slowly urging you closer to him.

You stared up at him, his face only inches from your own as his breath fanned across your cheek. You were close enough to feel the heat radiating off of him, the feeling was intoxicating, you wondered how you were able to go so long without it.

You watched as his eyes switched quickly to your lips before he spoke again, his voice laden with a barely audible tremble. "May I?"

You discovered yourself once again at a loss for words, even as your body felt as light as a cloud, it felt as if your mouth had filled entirely with lead, and so your only reply was a slow nod, your chest meeting his with every heavy breath.

In the instant you gave your wordless confirmation, he was crashing into you, like a storm wave meeting a rocky shore it was always destined for. His arm pulled you snugly against him, not allowing you any room for movement as his lips molded into yours. His lips were warm and soft as they moved against yours, your hand gripping onto the lapel of his jacket to steady yourself. He held you with a tenderness that you never thought him capable of, as if he feared you would disappear into thin air if he gripped you too tightly. Your bodies fit together like puzzle pieces, every curve and ridge interlocking until the two of you could almost be mistaken as one.

It was every farewell and every hello, every moment of longing and endless wondering, and every second of hope that you had once thought to be lost, poured into one enchanted gesture.

He was now yours, just as much as you were always his.

When he finally parted from you, the two of you found yourselves panting as you both attempted to regain your balance.

"I've been wanting to do that, for far too long" He spoke breathlessly as your eyelids finally fluttered open. He must have seen how your eyes quickly flickered to his swollen lips, his timid smile quickly growing into a endearingly wicked smirk before he continued. "And I believe I'm about to do it again."

ah!! i'm so excited to be posting full fics again!! i know it's been a minute, but honestly i feel like i'm in such a better place mentally now after Things, and i truly have you all to thank for that. over the past bit, i've received so many kind and motivating messages, the support that i received here was honestly overwhelming (in the best way) and was honestly my primary reason for continuing on and pushing through some days. so please take all of the sherlock hugs from me, you all deserve them more than you'll ever know :)

as always, likes, comments, and reblogs are always, always appreciated!!

want more sherlock? check out my masterlist!!

#man this was AMAZING #listened to the pride and prejudice 2005 soundtrack while reading #and that just topped it off for me #so good #will definitely read again #sherlock holmes

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waternilly · 1 month

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What Purpose? (Sherlock Holmes x Reader) [Request]

Gif Source: henrycavilledits

“The society papers say you’re cavorting with Lady Thornton’s personal maid,” Mycroft noted dryly, one eyebrow arching in ill-disguised disdain. “A maid, Sherlock, really.”

“A companion.”

“A glorified maid, then.”

Sherlock snapped the newspaper shut and fixed his brother with a stare. “Do you know anything about her?”

“Yes, the heiress to the modest trapping fortune not dominated by Astor. Which makes it all the more disgraceful that she is an old lady’s maid.”

“If her official title were to change to lady’s companion, would that appease you?” Sherlock shook his head. “I forgot to whom I was speaking.”

Mycroft sniffed and plucked up his snifter of brandy. “Really, Sherlock, what purpose does this woman serve?”

Sherlock straightened in his seat, spine dangerously rigid.

Afficher davantage

#sherlock holmes

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waternilly · 1 month

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Bewitched (Sherlock Holmes x Reader) [Request]

Gif Source: henricavyll

Sherlock found himself on your doorstep once again, calling on you.

It wasn’t until you descended the stairs and entered the receiving room that he suddenly froze, the feelings that had driven him to your door immobilizing him. He wanted nothing more than to flee and at the same time stay to enjoy your presence. The feelings were both unusual and regular—unusual because as a man who took great pride in divorcing emotion from reason, it was irregular for him to be so arrested by feeling; regular because it only ever seemed to happen around you.

The furrow between your brows reappeared. “Mr. Holmes. How may I help you?”

Afficher davantage

#sherlock holmes

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waternilly · 3 months

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Eddie, My Love! eddie munson x reader // valentine's day special series Day 2 Prompt: Chocolates 🍫 ~ 2,000 words Eddie's grumpy until he sees a familiar face in the candy aisle.

“This is a fake holiday,” mumbles Eddie as he pushes the cart past the pink and red aisle of Bradley’s Big Buy.

His uncle chuckles. “When you have someone to spend it with, you’ll feel differently.”

“Wayne,” Eddie deadpans, “this is just some bullshit that Hallmark made up so they could take more of our money.”

“I’m not sayin’ you need to go all commercial,” Wayne clarifies. “I just mean that when there’s someone special in your life, boy, you might be in a better mood during this month.”

Eddie’s mouth sets bitterly. He’d rather not get the ‘you’ll find someone someday’ talk right now — the last thing he needs is another reminder of how lonely he is.

Wayne senses his nephew’s reluctance to discuss the matter, and so bites his tongue. Instead, he points at a row of cans on the shelf beside them. “Do you need more tomato soup, or are you set for a while?”

Back at home, Eddie lays on the floor of his bedroom, staring at the ceiling. Yeah, okay, maybe Wayne had a point. Maybe he’d hate all this stupid cutesy shit less if he didn’t have to watch everyone around him enjoy it while he spent yet another Valentine’s Day alone in his uncle’s trailer, with no one to keep him company, save for a six-pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon.

The worst part of it is — and Eddie would rather die than admit this — that deep down, he thinks he really could be…romantic.

Sure, he’s rough around the edges. He tends to be prickly, wary of others’ intentions, but it’s necessary in order for him to survive in Hawkins. The Munson name was already notorious, and his reputation preceded him; the incident with poor Chrissy Cunningham three years prior, despite his innocence, had sealed his fate as the town pariah.

But if someone could just give him a chance, a real chance, he thinks that he could make that person really happy.

He’d help around the house. Cleaning, laundry, anything you — whoever you are — needed a hand with. He’d learn to cook better so he could keep you eatin’ good. He’d plan fun dates. He’d play your favorite songs on guitar, maybe write you new ones, if he was feeling inspired…anytime you needed him, he’d be there. He’d be the most reliable, affectionate, loving —

“Ed?” There’s a light knock on his door.

“Come in,” he calls back.

Wayne pokes his head into the room. “I’ve got to head to the plant in a few,” he says. “While I’m gone, can you do me a favor?”

Eddie sits halfway up, propped on his elbows. “Yeah, what’s up?”

Wayne fidgets, looking apologetic. “I know we were just there, but d’you mind going back to the Big Buy to pick up some candy? It’s Mrs. Johnson’s first Valentine’s Day since her husband passed, and I meant to get her something sweet, but I forgot.”

Eddie hauls himself up off the floor. “No problem. Want anything specific?”

Wayne shakes his head. “Don’t need nothin’ fancy, just get whatever’s cheapest that still looks nice.”

“That’s the Munson way,” Eddie muses, smiling in spite of himself.

Eddie reluctantly makes a turn down the seasonal aisle he had so pointedly avoided earlier, feeling depressed. Cherubs and teddy bears seem to mock him from where they sit, and he heaves a dramatic sigh.

His eyes roam the line of cards, plush toys, endless boxes of chocolates and candies, when they finally land on you, also perusing the rows of heart-shaped packages.

Recognition flickers instantly. Eddie suddenly finds that his heart is beating very quickly in his chest.

You.

You had still been a year behind him when he finally graduated, and though he didn’t really know you-know you, he was friends with people who did. You weren’t bullied like he and the guys were, but you weren’t exactly popular, either — and so more often than not, you ran in similar circles. Gareth and Harry used to swear up and down that you were the nicest girl in Hawkins.

Because of them, he had spent brief moments with you from time to time. He thought you had been very pretty, in your own unique way, but you were also rather shy. Your exchanges were always polite and charming, even if they never broke deeper than surface-level; overall, he’d found you incredibly endearing.

He never kept in touch, but as the years went by, he had often wondered about you.

Back then, it was hard to see past his own preoccupations: he was so focused on not failing his classes, Corroded Coffin, Hellfire, his dealing gig with Rick. But in retrospect, it always seemed to him like he had missed out on something special in not taking the time to properly befriend you.

Now, against all odds, you’re right here in front of him. And he had found you attractive back then, but now? Holy shit. You’re striking to look at.

As he studies your side profile, he thinks, it’s not that your appearance has really changed much, but rather the way you seem to be holding yourself.

You used to walk quickly through the hallways with your shoulders hunched and your head down, like you were trying to make yourself as small as possible. But now your posture is relaxed, your stance casual; your head is held high and a slight smile turns up the corners of your lips. And your clothes seem different too, like maybe you’d finally found your personal style, and were dressing in the way that you truly liked.

Is this what they call kismet? Fate, destiny, whatever, maybe Eddie’s fantasy-oriented brain was jumping to conclusions, but he thinks of the floor-misery he’d been wallowing in not even an hour ago — had his internal bitching been an unintentional prayer, which was now being answered?

He takes a few cautious steps forward, trying to act natural.

You glance at him when he comes nearer and offer him a quick smile before turning back to the sweet assortment before you.

Eddie stands next to you awkwardly, pretending to browse, hoping to see you make some gesture of familiarity, any confirmation that you might remember him as well as he remembers you.

But nothing. The seconds tick by.

You reach for a box of chocolates and Eddie’s overwhelmed with a sense of impending doom. He starts sweating. Any second now, you would pluck a shiny, ribbon-adorned package and twirl away from him, vanishing into thin air, and the moment would be gone. His opportunity would be over, and he’d never, ever see you again.

“I’m so sorry,” he blurts out. His face turns crimson, but he blunders on anyway. “I don’t wanna bother you, but did you graduate from Hawkins High in ‘87?”

You turn to him, eyebrows raised in surprise, one arm still outstretched. A breathy laugh escapes you. “Yeah, I did.” You give him the tiniest wave. “Hi, Eddie.”

He could almost cry in relief. You do remember him.

“Hi.” He returns your wave, dopey grin unfurling on his face.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ignore you just now. I didn’t think you would remember me,” you explain apologetically.

Forget you? Absurd. “Of course I remember you. How’ve you been?”

Your voice is bright, cheerful. “I’ve been good! Busy with school.”

College, of course. You had definitely been an honor roll kid. “If you’re in school, then you don’t still live in town, do you?”

“Nah, my university’s too far. I got a place near campus, but I come home every now and then.” You smile, and motion towards yourself. “Obviously.”

“Oh. Nice.” Eddie twiddles his thumbs nervously. “Are your classes going good?”

“For the most part. They’re stressful sometimes, but that’s to be expected, I guess.”

“Yeah, but you’re super smart. I’m sure you’re killin’ it up there.”

“I’m trying my best,” you reply with a modest shrug. “What about you? What have you been up to lately?” You look at him with genuine interest, like you’re truly eager to hear about how he’s doing.

Oh, what to say. He opts for simplicity. “Bartending. At the moment I’m between The Hideout and The Attic. Although, I’m thinkin’ about trying to get a job at the garage instead.”

“You should!” Your voice is sincere, full of warmth. “I bet you’d be great there — I know you did a lot of work on your van.”

A bolt of pleasure runs through him. You didn’t just remember his name and face, but you recalled some minor details about him as well. He stands a little taller. “Thank you. We’ll see if it works out, I suppose.”

There’s a brief pause. Eddie moistens his chapped lips with his tongue. “Listen…”

Do it, you coward. If she says no, she says no, and you’ll get over it. Eventually.

“Um, if you’re ever home for the weekend, would you maybe wanna hang out? Grab a coffee or something?”

You look taken aback, but not displeased. Eddie counts that as a win.

“Sure. That would be really fun.”

He flashes you a grin. “Sick.” Then it occurs to him: you came home for Valentine’s Day weekend. Surely you’re in Hawkins because you have a date lined up with some former classmate who swooped in and asked you out after he had gone, and that’s who you were buying candy for and —

“I’m assuming you’re busy this weekend, though?” You point at the treats in front of you. “‘Cause I see you’re here to pick up the goods,” you tease him cheerfully.

“Oh, n-not really,” he stammers. “Wayne asked me to pick up something for our neighbor. I’m just an errand boy.” He swallows. “Do you have any big plans?”

“Nope,” you reply casually, lips popping the p-sound. You pull the candy you’d be aiming for before he interrupted, a pack of Hershey’s cream-filled chocolate hearts. You nod at him sagely. “I am my own Valentine this year.”

You don’t need to be. I’ll volunteer.

Eddie musters up all his courage, rocking slightly on his feet. “Actually, if you don’t have plans…like, if you’re not seeing anybody…would you wanna go out on a date with me tomorrow?” Nerves get the better of him and he starts pouring out word-vomit, totally oblivious to the way your expression is getting softer and softer the longer he rambles. “I get that it’s Valentine’s Day, I don’t know if you think that’s really…weird for a first date, or…if you even wanna go on a date with me at all, which if you don’t, that’s totally fine and I understand —”

“I don’t think that would be weird at all,” you cut in, giving him a smile that could melt an iceberg. “Eddie, I would love to go on a date with you.”

He feels like he’s having a fever dream. This can’t be real. Is this what manifesting is?

From now on, when he wants something, he’s gonna go cry on his bedroom floor about it.

Painfully aware of how clumsy his proposition came out, Eddie tries to put at least one suave move on you. “Well, if we really have a date tomorrow,” he says, swiping the Hershey’s from you, “then there’s no reason for you to be buyin’ your own chocolates. Allow me.”

Ten minutes later, both of you armed with candies and a phone number apiece, Eddie escorts you across the icy parking lot to your car. You grip his arm tightly crossing over a slippery patch of asphalt, and his stomach flutters in a way it hasn’t in years.

Okay, okay.

Maybe there is something to be said for this stupid, fake holiday.

thank you for reading!! xoxo Valentine's Day Special Masterlist

#eddie munson #so cuuute

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waternilly · 3 months

Note

Headcanon: Eddie is a boob man. Best friend Eddie would one day notice your boobs (maybe in a bathing suit or a low cut top or something) and they become his new obsession hehe

Us? Projecting? Never.

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), unwanted boners, semi-public masturbation (m), Eddie's a perv but he's not thrilled about it, Reader has boobs but no size is given (Eddie loves all boobs, let's be real)

WC: 1.3k

Divider credit to @saradika

Stupid D20.

Stupid Dustin for tossing it so far across the table.

Stupid low-cut shirt that exposes your chest when you lean over to collect the die, giving Eddie a stupid boner in the middle of Hellfire Club.

“Hey, Ed!” Gareth calls out impatiently, snapping his fingers in front of the Dungeon Master’s face. “You wanna tell us if we defeated the demogorgon, or are you just gonna stare off into space?”

Eddie clears his throat. “Sorry. Right.” He tries his best to proceed with the campaign as usual, but all he can think about are your boobs and how grateful he is to be sitting down right now.

When he adjourns the meeting, he’s still too hard to stand without someone noticing. “I’m just gonna, uh, hang back and brainstorm for a few,” he lies as smoothly as he can.

“Can’t wait to see what sadistic shit you come up with,” Mike says. The rest of the guys slap him five in agreement as they clamor out the door.

The only people left in the room are you and Eddie.

Of course.

“You don’t have to stick around, Sweetheart.” He tries not to sound too dismissive, plastering a smile on his face.

“You’re my ride.”

Shit. “Oh. Right.” He hedges a nervous laugh. “I’ll be ready in five.”

You nod. “No worries. I’ll run to the girls’ room while I wait.” Before reaching the door, you notice that Lucas’s character sheet has fluttered to the ground. You reach down and scoop it up, revealing the tops of your bra-covered breasts.

“Sinclair owes me,” you chirp, placing the paper back on the table, remaining utterly oblivious to the way Eddie is straining against his zipper once again.

To Eddie’s credit, he tries to stop thinking about them. He really, truly does.

You’re his best friend. He doesn’t want to constantly think about your boobs, or the way they’d feel pressed against his bare chest, or whether your nipples would harden if he sucked on them, or—

“Mr. Munson!” Ms. O’Donnell’s shrill screech snaps him out of his breast-induced stupor. “Is there a reason why you can’t be bothered to listen while I’m trying to teach?”

“N-No, ma’am.”

She huffs out an irritated sigh. “Since you must know everything already, why don’t you come up and solve the problem for us?” She taps the piece of chalk against the blackboard, leaving tiny white dots in its wake.

Eddie shakes his head, feeling his cheeks burn red. Humiliating himself when he can’t figure out the value of x will be bad enough, but to fail while his sail is at half-mast? He’ll never recover.

Fortunately, the old bird relents and turns back to the board to continue her lesson.

Crisis averted.

Except…is it?

Because the only thing—things, rather—on Eddie’s mind are your tits. And he isn’t supposed to be imagining himself caressing them while you’re bouncing on his cock, moaning his name, saying that only he can make you feel that good…

He’s racing out of his seat the moment the bell rings, making a mad dash for the Hellfire room, relieved to see that it’s unoccupied. The door barely closes behind him before he’s ambling towards his DM throne and frantically tugging down his jeans and boxers.

“Fucking Christ,” he whispers, inhaling sharply as his cock is free of its denim restraint. He wraps his hand around it and squeezes in his desperation for an ounce of relief. Pre-cum already leaks from his red, angry tip, and he knows from experience that this is not going away without some…intervention.

Eddie reluctantly lets go of himself and spits into his open palm. He bites his lower lip to stifle a burgeoning moan as he slowly works his shaft, fingers tightening to simulate what he imagines to be the way you’d feel.

“Thassit, mmmf, feels s’good.” He closes his eyes and rests the back of his head on his chair. He needs you underneath him so he can watch your breasts jiggle with each snap of his hips.

“Bet you want my cum, huh? Where do you want it?” Eddie keeps his voice low, barely loud enough for him to hear. “Want it on those pretty tits of yours? Yeah, you fuckin’ do.”

His fist flies over his hardness, choked whimpers escaping his lips. He feels pleasure begin to build and moans your name to bring himself over the edge.

“Yeah?”

Eddie’s head snaps forward, taking a moment to let reality seep in. He’s not buried deep within you; he’s jerking off in a dark room where he plays Dungeons & Dragons, and you’re standing in the doorway.

“Eds? You okay?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. ‘M fine,” he lies, silently brainstorming ways to tuck himself back into his pants without you noticing.

You arch a disbelieving brow. “You sure? Lucas said he saw you running down the hallway—”

“I’m fine!” He insists louder this time. Shaking his head, he bites his lip and attempts to collect himself.

The two of you have been friends for too long; you know that he’s far from fine when he raises his voice. You walk to him, determined to figure out what’s wrong.

And then you see it.

Eddie says nothing, fully focused on covering himself as best he can and avoiding eye contact.

It doesn’t take long for you to put the pieces together: semi-hard cock in his hand, sweat beading on his forehead, the pleading mentions of your name.

“Eddie.” You let your fingertips brush against his shoulder. “Did I interrupt?”

He only nods in response.

“What were you thinking about?”

Eddie exhales a long breath before answering. “You,” he finally answers. “And th-that shirt you wore yesterday.” His cock twitches at the mere reminder of it.

You grin knowingly. You’d bought it at the mall specifically because of its low-cut neckline, hoping it would catch Eddie’s attention.

Apparently, it very much had.

“You liked it?”

“Loved it.” He starts stroking himself again, almost unaware of his own movements. “Want you to wear it every damn day,” he adds with a hoarse chuckle.

Swiping your tongue over your lower lip, you lean in and whisper in his ear, “What if I didn’t wear one at all?”

With that, you lift your shirt over your head and unhook your bra, letting them both fall to the ground unceremoniously. Eddie’s eyes widen, gazing at your exposed chest.

“Oh, baby,” he breathes, his free hand reaching out to touch them. His thumb grazes one nipple and he gives your breast a gentle squeeze. “Baby, they’re perfect.”

You smile, using your hip to nudge the table away and get on your knees in front of him. “Keep going, Eds.”

He nods again, shifting forward a bit so you’re between his legs. “Gonna…gonna cum all over these perfect tits,” he grunts. “Please. Please, I gotta…”

“You can cum on them, Eds.”

And, fuck, does he. Thick ropes spill out of his cock, painting your chest in a sticky film. He’s crying out your name as he does it, milking every last drop.

He floats down from the high, staring at your chest and admiring the way he’s claimed you. “That…wow,” he manages, laughing nervously. “Let me clean you up.” He reaches for the tissues, wiping whatever is still leaking out of him before sopping up the mess on your breasts.

“I don’t know where we go from here,” he admits sheepishly, wadding up the Kleenex and tossing it into the trash. “Like, do I take you on a date? Bend you over the table?” He says the second option teasingly, but you have a feeling he wouldn’t turn you down if you agreed to it.

You re-clasp your bra and shrug on your shirt. “We could try a date,” you say as casually as you can.

“Dinner and a movie?”

“I’ll wear that shirt.”

#what a great way to get back into an Eddie phase #eddie munson

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waternilly · 3 months

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sorry for the little spam on here, I just cleared out my likes a little bc being able to tag my reblogs makes it a whole lot easier to find fanfics back

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waternilly · 3 months

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contains adult themes such as sex and sexuality, drug use, violence/assault, and misogyny; other things to be prepared for include complete irrelevance to the canon of stranger things, 17-year-old jason is trying to bang 15-year-old elle which makes me wanna peel my face off (but it's accurate to the film), reader is adopted and has some issues with her bio parents, mileven and lumax with background robin/vickie, and dad!hopper being MVP as per usual

note: significant sections of dialogue were lifted directly from the film, because why mess with perfection? I still took liberties with it, but for some of those really iconic scenes, please know that I'm not the reason those lines are so hilarious. credit for the scenes I transcribed go to Karen McCullah & Kirsten Smith, the screenwriters of 10 Things I Hate About You, who of course themselves based the work on The Taming of the Shrew by William Shakespeare.

length: 20k words

for @get-your-fics midsummer night's writing challenge!! thank you for hosting rosie!

As his hand slid up her creamy white thighs, she could feel his huge member pulsating with desire…

Mike was looking down at his hands, interlaced in his lap, until Ms. Kelley shut her laptop. She smiled at him politely, and he smiled back. “So!” she began, checking his file again. “Michael—”

“Just Mike,” he nodded.

“Right. Well, we’re glad to have you at Hawkins High— it shouldn’t be too different from your last high school! You were well-behaved your freshman year, correct?”

“Uh, mostly… one or two tardies, that’s it,” he assured.

“Great! That means if you see me again, something’s gone horribly wrong.”

“Huh?”

“This is where kids with behavior problems get sent. Deviants, misfits, sluts, weirdos, creeps— they all have to come in and chat with me to get their shit straightened out.”

“Their what?” Mike repeated. “Are you— am I in the right office?”

“Not anymore, my novel isn’t gonna finish itself,” she announced. “So scoot.”

He didn’t, at first, too stunned.

“Scoot!”

He jumped up, trying to process what conversation just occurred, only to bump into someone as he backed out of the doorway. “Watch it!” a firm voice warned him, and he spun to look up in ill-suppressed terror at the guy he’d just collided with.

Mike was too intimidated to even choke out an apology; it’s hard to say where to start with what scared him most. Maybe the chains, maybe the leather jacket and denim vest, maybe the glare? Yeah, it was definitely the glare— that was what made Mike cower and dart away before it could get any worse.

“Ah, Mister Munson!” Ms. Kelley greeted with faux sweetness. “I see we're making our visits a weekly ritual.”

As her smile fell, Eddie’s grew. “Only so we can have these moments together,” he cooed, taking another step inside. “Should I hit the lights?”

“Oh, very clever, trailer park boy,” she offered flatly as she examined the incident report already in his file. “Apparently you exposed yourself in the cafeteria?”

“I was just joking around with my bandmates,” he promised. “It was a bratwurst.”

“Bratwurst,” she repeated, raising an eyebrow and glancing down— ostensibly at his handcuff belt buckle. “Aren’t we the optimist?”

A hint of Eddie’s resolve faded as she tilted her head and smiled at him cheerily again.

“Next time, keep your dangler in your Wranglers, mkay?” she suggested, chipper yet hollow.

Eddie shook his head as he left, leaving Ms. Kelley to return to her desk and re-open her computer. Examining her screen, she erased one word and replaced it.

…she could feel his huge bratwurst pulsating with desire…

“Hey! Mike, right?”

Mike turned, seeing another sophomore standing in front of him with a high top on his head and hightops on his feet. “Yeah!” Mike answered.

“I’m Lucas,” the other student offered with an extended hand for a shake.

Mike sighed with relief as he returned the handshake energetically, noticing Lucas’ basketball uniform. “You know, normally they send down one of those audio/video geeks.”

Lucas nodded; “Yeah, I know— I know what you mean.”

Right on cue, Dustin Henderson rolled by with the A/V cart. “Hey, Lucas,” Dustin nodded, “where should I put the radio equipment?”

Lucas coughed and brushed Dustin away. “Lucas?” he shook his head, pretending he had no idea who that could be, as he ditched a bewildered Dustin and guided Mike along down the hall.

As they walked past a crowd of popular seniors, Lucas motioned towards them.

“So, over here, you’ve got your basic beautiful people,” he explained, “unless they talk to you first, don’t talk to them.”

“Is that your rule or theirs?”

“Watch,” Lucas offered, nodding in their direction. “Hey there,” he greeted.

“Who are you talking to?” Steve ‘the Hair’ Harrington asked with a sneer.

“See?” Lucas smiled at Mike, who shook his head as they moved along. “Anyways, you’ve got your Diet Coke drinkers,” he explained as he motioned toward a crowd of students all holding red cans. “Very edgy, don’t make any sudden movements around them.”

Mike nodded in understanding, trying to keep up— literally, since Lucas kept walking quickly, but also in terms of the explanation of Hawkins High’s social dynamics.

“You’ve got your basic stoners—”

A senior with long black hair and bloodshot eyes caught Mike’s attention. “Hey, nice threads, man,” the stoner complimented with a smile, “Ocean Pacific?”

“And your surfers—”

Mike gawked at the muscular, tan guy with a blonde mullet and, for some reason, no shirt on. “Does he walk around like that at school?” he wondered aloud, but Lucas didn’t notice.

“— even though the closest they’ve been to the ocean is when they drink Ocean Spray cranberry juice.”

As Lucas laughed at his own joke, they walked through the courtyard.

“And this is our fearless Hawkins High basketball team!” Lucas explained, setting his hands on one of the player’s shoulders as they passed their lunch table. “Go Tigers, huh?”

The players scowled at him as Lucas’ hand was shrugged off; he crossed his arms.

“Yesterday I was their up-and-coming star,” Lucas recalled with a roll of his eyes.

“What happened?” Mike asked.

“Patrick McKinney started a rumor that my Converse were fake,” Lucas explained with a sigh.

“So they’re freezing you out?” Mike realized, offended on his behalf and concerned that everyone here was that superficial.

“I’ll get back in, don’t worry,” Lucas assured, but Mike wasn’t really worried about him so much as himself.

It was right then that Elle Hopper walked by, carrying with her the essence of youthful beauty and ingenue-ity. Her busy patterned jumpsuit was every bit as colorful as her spirit; she laughed lightly with the redhead at her side, a few words of a conversation about a trip to the mall floating through the air.

As time seemed to slow just for her, she tossed her hair over her shoulder, sending a wave of the scent of candy-sweet perfume right in Mike’s direction.

“Oh— wow,” Mike sighed like the wind had been knocked out of him. “Who’s she?”

“She’s out of your league is who she is,” Lucas warned.

“And?”

“And she’s got this super scary dad— won’t let her or her sister date. Ever,” Lucas announced firmly.

“How bad could he be, is he a hardened criminal or something?”

“Worse,” Lucas shook his head, “he’s the sheriff.”

“That’s worse?” Mike frowned.

“A criminal will just kill you. The sheriff will actually get away with it.”

“So,” Ms. O’Donnell began, “what did everyone think of The Sun Also Rises?”

Bethany Walters raised her hand instantly, and you rolled your eyes— because of course she would. “I loved it,” she cooed when she was called on. “I was soooo romantic!”

You grimaced, unable to stop yourself from commenting (a habit of yours). “Romantic? Hemingway?! Please— he was an abusive alcoholic misogynist—”

The rest of the class was already groaning and rolling their eyes, a few mutters of not this again here and there, but you kept going.

“— who squandered half his life hanging around Picasso trying to nail his leftovers.”

Yes, it was just like you to say something like that when Bethany was just trying to express a perfectly harmless opinion, but it was just like Jason to take it further. “As opposed to an unlikeable, self-righteous loser with no friends?” he quipped.

You weren’t planning on saying anything, but thankfully Ms. O’Donnell stood up for you anyway. “Quiet, Jason,” she scolded lightly— she was never that hard on him, because he was the star of the basketball team, but she also didn’t let him bully you that openly in class.

“I guess in this society, being male and an asshole makes you worthy of our time,” you concluded, shooting Jason a look over your shoulder, who simply smirked back at you.

And if it was just like you to say something snarky and politically-charged, and just like Jason to use it to insult you, then it was just like Eddie to show up late as if it were no trouble at all. “What did I miss?” he asked with a smile as he burst in.

You answered instantly, without looking back: “The oppressive patriarchal values that dictate our education.”

“Great,” Eddie nodded, spinning on his heel and walking right back out again.

“W-wait!” Ms. O’Donnell called out, but Jason spoke again and took her attention away.

“How about we make a new rule— don’t come to class if you can’t handle your PMS,” he suggested jokingly.

“Jason!” she snapped. “Watch your attitude.”

You smirked to yourself smugly, but that moment of righteous indignation didn’t last long.

“And you,” she added, turning her attention to you, “go to the office.”

“What? Why?!” you protested.

“Because— because you’re being disruptive!” she decided.

Sighing, you got up from your seat and slung your backpack over your shoulder. As Jason snickered at you gleefully, you ‘accidentally’ let your textbook swing into his face, smacking that shit-eating look right off of him.

It was only a minute-or-so walk to the office, where you heard Ms. Kelley calling out to her assistant as you walked in.

“What’s another word for engorged?” she asked her, stumping the receptionist.

“Tumescent?” you offered.

“Great!” she smiled, typing at her laptop; you had some inkling what she was using that word for, though you wish you were blissfully ignorant to her erotic exploits. “So, were you terrorizing Ms. O’Donnell’s class again?”

You frowned. “Terrorism is a pretty strong word for simply expressing my opinion.”

“How about the way you expressed your opinion to Billy Hargrove? By the way, his testicle retrieval operation went quite well, if you were wondering.”

“In my defense,” you smirked, “I didn’t know he actually had balls when I kicked him.”

“The point is,” he sighed, less amused, “you tend to make a bad impression on others, and that’s not actually something to be proud of. People see you as—”

“Opinionated?”

“The term used most often is ‘heinous bitch’,” she corrected.

The words themselves didn’t bother you too much— yes, they were sexist, but that was nothing new here— but the knowledge that people were actually saying this to Ms. Kelley gave you pause. Were you really so traumatizing that they had to discuss you with the counselor?

“So, you might want to work on that,” she offered. “Bye!”

You scoffed. “As always,” you began as you stood, “thank you for your excellent guidance. I’ll let you get back to writing about aching cores and quivering members.”

As you turned, quietly proud of yourself for standing up to her, you heard her ponder to herself, “huh… quivering member, I like that…”

In the parking lot, you and Robin were walking side-by-side to your car (since she’d gotten a ride from you today, and also every other day for the past year and a half) when you were nearly run over by Jason screeching up to the curb in his car; it was just like him: shiny and new, overvalued, a fabulous body with subpar machinery under the hood.

“Hey,” he nodded at you, flashing that taunting grin, “didn’t anyone ever tell you that you dress like a bog witch?”

“Aw, do you really mean that?” you beamed excitedly, and he frowned at his failed insult as he pulled his car up a little further. If only he would’ve kept driving straight forward forever— he would’ve gone over the edge of the quarry eventually; but instead, he stopped… in front of your sister.

“Hi, ladies,” he greeted suavely, “care for a ride?”

You and Robin watched from beside your car— it was just like you, too: classic, older on the inside than it was on the outside, and debatably in need of a polish— in horror as Elle and Max hopped into the back of Jason’s convertible with all the girlish glee of two ingenues in over their head.

“Well, that’s a… charming new development,” Robin frowned.

“It’s disgusting,” you spat, hopping into the driver’s seat and turning the engine over. As you pulled out of your spot, you nearly slammed into one of those varsity basketball dweebs speeding by on his bike. “Hey!” you shouted at him, leaning out your window. “Didn’t your mommy tell you to look both ways before riding that thing in the street?”

The kid cowered and biked away, and you shook your head as you pulled it back into the car.

“I swear, these kids are getting dumber every year,” you sighed. “I think there’s a little too much chlorine in the Hawkins gene pool.”

As Lucas pulled over by the curb by Mike, the new student stared at you and Robin driving away in the beat-up vintage. “Are you okay? She almost hit you,” Mike noticed.

“Oh, that’s nothing with your beloved’s older sister,” Lucas scoffed. “I’m lucky I still have all my parts.”

“Wait, that’s Elle’s sister?!” Mike realized.

“Uh huh, in the legal sense,” Lucas agreed. “Sheriff Hopper adopted them both when they were little— I assume he found his first daughter abandoned by a tribe of rampaging bitches or something.”

That was just one of many theories about how exactly your dad came to adopt you and your sister, though the real story was much less interesting; speaking of him, he usually got home from the station after you returned from school, with him working later in the afternoons and all. When he returned home that particular day, he found you reading Jane Eyre on the sofa, and he smiled at you.

“Hello, honey,” he greeted. “Make anyone cry today?”

“Not yet,” you returned, “but it’s only four-thirty!”

He hummed and leaned in to kiss you on the forehead as you turned your page. Right about then, Elle walked through the door— and you knew that she thought she would’ve just made it in time to beat Dad home by the cringe that crossed her face when she saw him. “Hi Daddy!” she beamed, trying to play it cool.

“And where have you been?” you asked, getting a grimace from her for your shameless sell-out.

“Nowhere,” she dodged.

But Dad missed the exchange entirely, still going through the mail. “What’s this?” he asked when he saw a massive white envelope. “It says Sarah Lawrence?”

You hopped up off the couch at lightning speed, snatching the letter away and shredding it open like a kid on Christmas— but not you, some other generic kid, because even when you were little you liked to open presents carefully (it helped you temper your expectations). “Oh my god!” you shrieked when you saw a massive congratulations. “I got in! I got in!!”

“Honey, that’s great,” your dad offered, “you can use that to negotiate better scholarships at Indiana State!”

You frowned. “I know you want me to stay here—”

“We decided that you would stay here,” he countered.

“You decided.”

“So, what, you’re just gonna leave?” he realized with a saddened frown.

“We can dream,” Elle mumbled to herself— but not quite enough to herself, because you caught it and you raised your eyebrows in challenge.

“Why don’t you ask Elle who drove her home?”

“Don’t change the…” Dad trailed off, turning to Elle as he took the bait completely. “Who drove you home?”

“N-now, don’t get upset, Daddy,” she pouted, “but… there’s this boy—”

“Who’s about as sharp as a marble,” you interjected.

“And I think he might ask me—” Elle continued, but this time your dad interrupted her.

“I think I know what he’s going to ask you. And I think I know the answer: No!” he announced proudly. “It’s always no! You know the house rules: one, no dating until you graduate. Two, no dating until you graduate! Pretty simple stuff!”

“Daddyyyy,” Elle whined, making you roll your eyes at her. “It’s so unfair!”

“You know what’s unfair?” he returned, looking at you too. “Last week I had to drive a girl to the hospital, she went into labor alone in her car on the side of the road— and she’s fifteen. You know what she said to me in between bouts of screaming in my backseat?”

“I’m a crackwhore who should have made my sleazy boyfriend wear a condom?” Elle assumed.

“No,” Dad frowned, “she said I should have listened to my father.”

“Oh, she did not,” Elle scoffed disbelievingly.

“Okay, no, she didn’t— but she was probably thinking it!” he insisted.

“Can we focus on me for a second please?” Elle pouted. Like everything isn’t already focused on you, you thought to yourself. “I’m the only girl in school who’s not dating.”

“No you’re not— your sister doesn’t date,” your dad reminded her.

You chimed in quickly: “And I don’t intend to.”

“And, why is that again?” he asked you with a pleased smile.

“Have you seen the unwashed champions of idiocracy that go to that school?!” you replied.

“God, where did you come from? Planet Loser?” Elle spat.

“As opposed to Planet ‘Look at me! Look at me!’” you offered in your best passé, vapid voice with your eyes rolled back halfway.

“Okay, here’s a solution,” Dad decided suddenly, making you both perk up. “Old rule’s stricken, new rule: Elle, you can date—”

She lit up immediately.

“When she does,” he finished, pointing at you.

“B-but, she’s a total freak! What if she never dates?!” Elle whimpered.

“Then you’ll never date! Oh, I like that,” he announced proudly. “And I’ll get to sleep at night— the deep slumber of a father whose daughters aren’t out being impregnated.”

His police radio went off and he sighed.

“I don’t have time for this right now,” he decided, directing his attention at you specifically for a moment: “We’ll talk about college later.”

Elle tried to get him to stay with a whine, but he was gone, and she was pissed at you once more. “Can’t you find some loser sad enough to wanna go out with you so I can be normal?” she pouted.

“Sorry,” you shrugged, “guess you’ll miss out on some fabulously witty banter with Jason.”

“You suck!” she exclaimed as she stormed off.

“You suck!” you imitated her quietly before you went to your own room.

Mike’s patient, anxious waiting paid off when Elle sat down at the library table, setting down her books with a sigh.

“Can we make this quick?” she asked, sounding a little exhausted already. “Tammy Thompson and Tommy Hagan are having a horrendous, public break-up in the courtyard. Again.”

“O-oh, yeah, okay,” Mike agreed, still a little stunned that he was sitting across from the object of his affection. “I thought we’d start with pronunciation…”

“That’s the worst part,” Elle pouted, “I feel like I’m trying to cough up a loogie.”

“Well, then how about we start with cuisine?” he suggested, heart racing even though he’d practiced this a thousand times in the mirror at home. “We could go to that French place on the square, maybe Saturday night?”

“You’re asking me out?” Elle realized, gentle shock lifting into a wide smile. “That’s so cute!”

Mike’s eye twitched.

“What’s your name again?”

“Uh, it’s Mike,” he answered, “listen— I know your dad doesn’t let you date, but I thought if it was for French class—”

“Wait a minute, Mark,” she interrupted.

“Mike.”

“My dad just came up with a new rule! He says I can date if my sister does,” she recalled.

“Really?” Mike perked up. “Well, then let me ask you, do you like D&D? ‘Cause we should totally do a oneshot together—”

“Uh, big problem, Mick,” Elle reminded him, “my sister is a perfect specimen of freakazoid.”

“Yeah, I noticed she’s… antisocial,” Mike offered sympathetically. “Any idea why?”

“I don’t know,” Elle considered, glancing upward as she thought about it. “She used to be, like, really popular, but it was like she got sick of it. I’m pretty sure she’s just incapable of human interaction. That or she has a brain tumor or something. Either way, she’s a bitch.”

“Well, yeah,” Mike agreed half-heartedly, “but there’s plenty of guys who wouldn’t mind going out with a… difficult girl. I mean, she’s not ugly; and people do crazier stuff all the time! Jump out of airplanes, ski off cliffs, swim with sharks… it would be like extreme dating.”

Elle knitted her eyebrows together. “You think you could find someone that extreme?”

“Why not?” Mike shrugged.

“And you’d do all that for me?” she pressed softly, reaching out to brush her hand over his arm.

Mike would do anything for her to touch his arm like that again. “I-I mean, I could look into it…” he offered as his brain short-circuited.

And so he was determined. Which was why he and Lucas weren't actually paying any attention in science class that same day.

As they pretended to make progress on their frog dissection, Mike and his new friend were really scoping the room for local talent to potentially date Hawkins’ resident mega-bitch. Their search so far had only turned up men like themselves: that being men afraid to get the Hargrove treatment and have their future generations compromised. Turns out guys are generally pretty protective of their nuts.

“I told you it was impossible,” Lucas sighed, “no one will go out with her.”

Mike’s attention was taken by the partners two tables over— a massive, freckled kid with a leather jacket, and his buddy with a mess of rocker hair and a custom denim jacket; the latter was fooling around with butterfly knives, before using them to impale the frog carcass, because apparently the little pins provided just weren’t doing it for him.

“Hey, what about him?” Mike wondered, watching with a tilted head.

“Woah, no, you don’t want to mess with that guy,” Lucas shook his head, “don’t even look at him. He’s a criminal, he deals the harder stuff around school— you know, more than just pot. I heard he lit a state trooper on fire. He just did a year at Rikers.”

“Hey, well at least we know he’s horny,” Mike shrugged.

“I’m serious, he’s unhinged!” Lucas warned. “He sold his own liver on the black market for a new set of speakers.”

Meanwhile, the metalhead had taken out a cigarette and was leaning down to light it on a Bunsen burner. The display should’ve deterred anyone, but it made Mike smile optimistically. “He’s our guy,” he insisted.

The basketball team was joking around at lunch as Chance shared an X-rated story from his date the night before, and Lucas took a deep breath as he waited for the perfect moment.

When all the guys laughed at something Chance had said, Lucas quickly slipped in and tried to blend in as he laughed along.

“Oh my— oh my god,” he got out breathlessly as he laughed, “wow, Chance, you’re hilarious.”

He wiped his eye, still laughing as the rest of the table’s reaction died down and they all glared at him.

“Are you lost?” Jason asked coldly.

Lucas sighed. “No, I just… I thought maybe it was all water under the bridge by now.”

“It’s been less than forty-eight hours,” Andy noticed.

“Wow, nice counting, Andy— tomorrow we’ll work on shapes,” Lucas encouraged flatly.

Andy nearly jumped across the table, but Jason put a hand on his chest to hold him back.

“Actually, truth is, I came here to… make a suggestion,” Lucas added, making Jason’s eyebrows raise.

“Go on…”

“You want Elle Hopper, right? The sophomore?” Lucas continued.

“Yeah,” Jason shrugged, “she’s cute.”

“But she can’t date until her sister does,” Lucas went on. “Your problem could be solved if you found someone to take her out.”

Jason laughed. “Does anyone hate themselves that much?”

“Probably not, but people do like money…”

As Lucas bounced his eyebrows up and down, Jason seemed to put together what he was implying. “You want me to pay someone off to date her?”

“I mean, I don’t want you to, but it’s an idea,” Lucas corrected.

“Do you know anyone that desperate for cash and unfazed by the prospect of emasculation?” Jason returned.

“Meet Eddie Munson,” Lucas beamed, motioning to the opposite end of the cafeteria where Eddie was ‘subtly’ trading a bag of pills for a twenty-dollar bill with another student.

“Munson? The Freak? I heard he ate a live duck once,” Jason grimaced.

“Everything but the beak and feet! Clearly he’s a great investment,” Lucas beamed, but Jason remained suspicious.

“What’s in this for you?” he wondered.

“I think you know,” Lucas sighed, “I want back in— I know I’m still on the team, but I wanna be really on the team again. I miss you guys!”

“You miss your chance to be popular,” Jason corrected.

“Also that!” Lucas agreed in a continued upbeat tone.

“Okay, I’ll see what I can do,” Jason agreed cautiously. “Now, back to the loser table with you.”

As Jason shooed him away, Lucas moved across the way to the table where Mike was watching it all go down disapprovingly. “Why do we need to get him involved again?” he wondered with a shudder.

“Calm down, he’s just our money man,” Lucas soothed. “We let him think this is all his idea, meanwhile he’s busy dealing with Eddie and you have time with Elle.”

Mike sighed, concerned, but knowing he was out of other options. Still, in a battle for ‘the girl’, he didn’t feel equipped to face a popular, handsome senior.

But when Eddie looked at Jason, he didn’t see a popular, handsome senior; none of that mattered to him. He just saw: douche with a quaff. So, while he was out taking a smoke break on the stands by the soccer field, he was surprised to see that very quaffed douche approaching him.

“Hey,” Jason offered Eddie with a nod— that very nod that made girls want him and guys want to be him, but it was powerless on Eddie, who just glared back at him while exhaling a cloud of smoke. “How are you?”

Eddie blinked forward, barely aware of the Tiger-pride-green blur beside him.

Jason stammered as he tried again to break the ice. “I, uh, had some great duck last night—”

“Do I know you?” Eddie wondered. “Shit, are you buyin’?” He didn’t seem the type, but hey— as long as he had cash, he was Eddie’s type, customer-wise.

“Uh, no,” Jason shook his head nervously. “Well, actually, yes— but—”

“I don’t sell roofies, Romeo,” Eddie warned him.

“I’m not buying drugs!” Jason barked, a little too loud for something that’s supposed to be secret. “I’m buying a date.”

Eddie’s eyes widened. “Listen, Carver, you’re a good-looking guy, but—”

“No no!” Jason rushed out, face turning pink. “Not for me! For her!”

Jason pointed down the field to where you were running drills, sweating and determined, grunting as you kicked the ball across the grass. “The Hopper chick?” Eddie noticed.

“Yeah!”

Eddie laughed sharply, and so did his friend beside him. “Yeah, sure thing, champ— I’ll get right on that,” Eddie agreed sarcastically.

“Look, until someone goes out with her, I can’t bag her sister,” Jason explained with a sigh.

“What a shame,” Eddie stuck out his bottom lip, “how many years of therapy will you need to cope with this trauma?”

“I know you don’t care about me,” Jason crossed his arms, “but I’m thinking you care a bit about Andrew Jackson?”

“That racist son of a bitch? He was a piece of—” Eddie began, but then Jason pulled the twenty out of his pocket and brandished it proudly, making Munson shut his mouth.

“Whaddaya say?” Jason prompted. “For a crisp twenty, you could take out the lovely Miss Hopper—”

As they glanced down the field, the guys winced at the sight of you roughly body-checking another player, who fell to the ground with a cry.

“For a crisp thirty—” Jason began again, summoning a ten from his pocket.

“Well, now, let’s think about this,” Eddie pondered aloud. “You’re paying me to take her out, but I’ve gotta actually take her somewhere: we’ll say the movies. That’s fifteen bucks for two tickets. We get popcorn, that’s… fifty.”

Jason scoffed. He knew there was more than a little inflation going on in those numbers, but he also knew that the freak had him under his thumb in these negotiations.

“She’s gonna want Junior Mints, what do you know, we’re looking at seventy-five already,” Eddie smirked.

“What kind of gold-plated Junior Mints are you buying?” Jason rolled his eyes.

“What kind of girl is this chick’s little sister?” Eddie countered. “Is she really worth it, or are you just blowing hot air?”

Jason was powerless to even such an obvious trap— he could never say no to a dare. Eddie was really saying, are you chicken? And Jason could probably be talked into fighting a bear while only armed with a butter knife if it was all to prove he was not, in fact, chicken. “Fifty,” Jason spat, “final offer.”

A bill was produced from Carver’s designer wallet, and Eddie’s ring-covered fingers snatched it away and stuffed it into his pocket. “Pleasure doing business with you,” Eddie offered with a sarcastically-saccharine smile, but Jason only rolled his eyes and wandered off.

Just then, Coach Hastings blew the whistle. “Good hustle, girls, good hustle!” he offered to the team. “Take a water break!”

Seeing the group of players disperse, Eddie waited until you were on your way to the cooler to snuff his cigarette and jog up beside you. You shot him a look before he even said anything. “Hey there, girlie,” Eddie greeted you, “how ya doin’?”

“Uh, sweating like a pig,” you answered, wiping your face on your uniform, “and yourself?”

“You sure know how to get a guy’s attention, huh?” he laughed nervously.

You seemed amused, but in more of an at way than a with way. "My mission in life," you quipped. "But, hey, clearly I captured your attention. Lucky me."

He grinned as he watched you chug your water. "So I'll pick you up Friday then?"

You choked, laughing as you nearly spit the water right onto him. "Yeah," you agreed sarcastically as you wiped your chin, "sure, Friday."

"I'll take you places you've never been before," he promised lasciviously.

"Like where, the crackhouse on Miller Street?" you rolled your eyes. "Do you even know my name, screwboy?"

"I know more than you think," he challenged.

"Well, for that to be true," you returned, "you'd have to know more than the average eighth-grade dropout."

You turned to leave, walking away with a shake of your head. "Well that's easy!" he laughed as he called after you. "I did eighth grade twice!"

From across the field, Mike and Lucas watched you ditch Eddie with cringes on their face.

"We're screwed," Mike sighed.

"Now wait a minute, where'd all your optimism go? I wanna hear you upbeat!" Lucas beamed.

"We're screwed!" Mike repeated, a forced, cheesy smile glued to his face between two thumbs-up.

"That's better," Lucas approved, patting Mike on the back.

As you exited the local records store, empty handed due to the continued lack of good punk records available, you sighed at the sight of Eddie Munson leaning against your hood.

"Nice ride," he noticed. "Vintage fenders?"

"Are you stalking me?" you asked instead, brushing past him to try to unlock your door, but he slid in front of you with crossed arms.

"I was in the laundromat," he assured, tilting his head to the washateria across the street, "I saw your car, that's all."

"Funny, you don't strike me as someone who washes their clothes," you mocked.

"Well, if you must know, I was there to make a sale," Eddie admitted.

"And what are you here for, blocking my door?" you wondered.

"To say hi!"

"Hi."

You tried to reach around him again to get the key in the lock but he put his hand over it. "Not much of a talker, are you?"

"Not much of a listener, are you? I'm not interested."

"Are you scared of me?" he asked— not a threat, not hopeful or disappointed, just a genuine question.

"Why would I be?"

"I dunno, most people are."

"Well, I'm not."

"Okay, you're not scared of me— but I bet you've thought about me naked," he purred, leaning in a little closer.

"Am I that transparent?" you gasped, faux worry dropping into deadpan disdain. "I want you, I need you, oh baby, oh baby."

Just when he let you get into your car, finally, Jason Carver and his dick-compensation-mobile pulled up and screeched to a halt right behind you, blocking you in.

"The fuck?! Is there some kind of creep convention going on at the record store?" you groaned, laying on your horn. "Carver!" you barked as he hopped out and strolled by you. "Move your gaudy-ass car!"

"No, thanks," he smiled at you as he walked along towards the storefront.

You felt helpless, until you got a dangerous idea— and fed up as you were, you couldn't resist it. Flooring it in reverse, those vintage fenders of yours piercing right through the cherry-red paint and imported metal underneath.

Jason sure whipped his head around fast and gaped his mouth at the damage. "You bitch!" he screeched.

Hearing Eddie's belly laugh, you looked at Jason and offered him only a flippant shrug and a "whoops!"

"WHOOPS?!" your dad repeated, pacing around the kitchen as you sat at the table. "My insurance doesn't cover teen angst!"

You shrugged again. "Then tell them it was a seizure or something."

"Are you punishing me?" he wondered. "Because I don't want you to go to Sarah Lawrence?"

"Are you punishing me for standing up for myself?" you countered.

“No, but I’d prefer you didn’t do it in such an expensive way!”

You scoffed. “I’d prefer that you stopped making my decisions for me.”

“Well—” he began, but he was cut off by his police radio sounding off.

“Chief Hopper, come in— Chief Hopper, this is dispatch, we have a 10-54…” the nasal feminine voice came through.

You both sighed and he picked up the radio. “Chief here, I’ll head there now.” He turned to you with a pointed finger. “We’ll discuss this later,” he promised, or threatened, depends on how you look at it. As he left, Elle stormed in, fuming at you.

“Did you just maim Jason’s car?!” she yelped.

"Allegedly," you grinned. "Looks like little miss princess is gonna have to ride the bus with the unwashed masses.”

As Eddie shut his locker, he was startled by Jason glowering on the other side. “Shit,” Eddie blurted out.

“When I shell out fifty, I expect results,” Jason frowned.

“I’m working on it,” Eddie insisted, brushing Jason off as he grabbed his books and shut his locker.

“Standing by while she violated my car doesn’t count as a date,” Jason reminded him. “I don’t get any if you don’t, so you better figure out how to charm this chick or—”

“I just upped my price,” Eddie decided suddenly.

Jason had just turned to walk away, but that made him look at Eddie again. “Excuse me?”

“A hundred bucks a date, in advance,” Eddie announced.

“Forget it,” Jason dismissed.

“Then forget her sister,” Eddie shrugged.

Jason hesitated, wondering if Elle was really worth all the trouble. Maybe she wasn’t, to him— but the street cred he’d get if he deflowered her was. He groaned as he reached for his wallet, and Eddie grinned proudly. “You’d better be as smooth as you think you are, Munson,” Jason warned as Eddie snatched up the bill.

The interaction still had Eddie in a particularly bad mood during shop class, making Mike even more hesitant to approach him;

“Wh-why can’t you talk to him?” he asked Lucas.

“I talked to Jason,” Lucas replied.

“Yeah, but you know Jason,” Mike reminded him, “and Jason isn’t… unstable.”

“Just go, chicken,” Lucas rolled his eyes, shoving Mike forward— and he stumbled, but made his way over to Eddie’s workstation.

When he got a glare from under a curly fringe, Mike just blurted it out: “We know what you’re trying to do… with Hopper?”

“Yeah? And what are you gonna do about it?” Eddie challenged.

“Uh— help you! We wanna help you,” Mike explained quickly.

Eddie wrinkled his eyebrows together, standing up straighter and crossing his arms. “Why, exactly?”

Lucas appeared behind Mike, resting his hands on his shoulders. “You see, my friend here is… mildly obsessed with her sister, Elle.”

“What’s the deal with this girl, her tits shoot fireworks or something?” Eddie scoffed, and Mike nearly jumped on him for saying that— as if that fight wouldn’t be pitifully uneven.

“Mike’s love for her is… a little purer than that,” Lucas promised, “especially purer than Jason Carver’s.”

“Look,” Eddie leveled with the two of them, “I’m in this for the cash. Carver can plow whoever he wants.”

“Okay, there will be no plowing!” Mike exclaimed, voice cracking.

“Listen, Eddie— uh, Ed,” Lucas smiled, “this whole thing— we set it all up! We told Jason to pay you off, so Mike can get the girl. Mr. Popular is just a pawn.”

Eddie seemed to like that; maybe even someone as detached from the popularity hierarchy could still enjoy a little humiliation for the star point guard. “So, are you gonna help me tame the beast, then?”

“Are you talking about Hopper, or your hair?” Lucas joked, though he dropped his smile when Eddie glared at him. “O-okay, yeah, we’re gonna do some research, we can find out what she likes and stuff. We’re your guys.”

“In a strictly non-prison-movie way,” Mike added anxiously.

Mike and Elle were walking around the old bridge— she promised to show him the prettiest place in Hawkins, he thought about turning it into a line but he resisted the urge, and he delicately broke the pleasant silence. “So, have you heard about the party Steve Harrington is throwing at his parents’ lake house?”

“Yes,” Elle pouted, “and I really really wanna go, but I can’t. Not unless my sister goes.”

“I’m working on that,” Mike promised, “but she’s not going for my guy.” He paused before he continued, narrowing his eyes. “She’s not a, uh…”

"A friend of Billie Jean?” Elle finished.

“No, I’m not asking if she’s a Michael Jackson fan,” Mike corrected, “I meant—”

“I know what you meant!” Elle rolled her eyes. “Billie Jean King? Tennis player, women’s rights advocate, giant flaming lesbian?”

“O-oh,” Mike stuttered, “I don’t really watch tennis…”

“Or the news, apparently,” Elle sighed. “The point is, no, I don't think so. I found a picture of Rob Lowe in her drawer once so she's at least got some interest in men. Jury's still out on her bestie Robin Buckley, though…"

"But that's the kind of guys she likes? Pretty guys?"

Elle shrugged. "All I know is she said she'd never date a smoker."

“Okay, no smoking,” Mike nodded, “what else?”

“Listen, I try not to get too deep into my sister’s twisted psyche,” Elle sighed.

“But we need to know more!” Mike insisted. “We need to go behind enemy lines…”

Even though it was his idea, Mike felt a little out of his depth watching Elle go through your room; it looked sort of how he imagined it might, except for missing a giant cork board with pins and red yarn outlining your plan to cause men as much suffering as possible.

“Okay, here we go!” Elle announced excitedly as she rifled through a drawer. “Class schedule, reading list, concert tickets… ha! Black panties!”

Mike cleared his throat as she held up the offending pair of lacy underthings. “What does that tell us?”

“That she wants to have sex some day.”

“Couldn’t she just like the color?” Mike wondered, flustered.

“You don’t buy lingerie unless you want someone to see it,” Elle insisted.

“Oh,” Mike nodded, perking up slightly. “So… can I see your room?”

Elle blinked quickly, getting a bit tender all of a sudden. “No… a girl’s room is very personal…” she explained shyly.

“Right,” Mike agreed nervously.

Two sophomores didn’t exactly blend in at The Hideout— it was a dingy old hole-in-the-wall, with grimey old bikers getting drunk in every corner… and Eddie, shooting pool by himself in the back. He straightened up when they approached him, nursing his beer with a raised eyebrow.

“We have information for you,” Mike explained.

“Don’t say it like that, it sounds weird,” Eddie frowned, “she’s just a girl, not a… spy or something.”

“Right,” Lucas agreed as Eddie took another sip from the brown bottle.

Mike narrowed his eyes. “Should you be drinking alcohol when you don’t have a liver?”

“What?!” Eddie scrunched up his nose.

“Nothing,” Lucas shook his head.

“The first thing is she hates smokers,” Mike explained.

Eddie groaned. “I’m gonna have to quit? Fuck, this is getting more unpleasant by the minute—”

“Just for now!” Lucas bargained.

"And there’s another problem: Elle said that her sister likes, uh, pretty guys,” Mike added.

There was a tense pause, until Eddie’s eyes widened. “Are you saying I’m not a pretty guy?”

“H-he’s very pretty!” Lucas smacked Mike on the back. “He’s gorgeous, look at him!”

“S-sorry, I wasn’t sure,” Mike mumbled awkwardly.

Eddie brushed off the insult quickly, taking a big puff off of his cigarette— maybe he appreciated it more, knowing he’d have to cut back for a while after this. Meanwhile, Mike pulled out a folded up piece of heart-shaped mini-notebook paper (borrowed stationary from Elle, obviously) and read the list aloud.

“Okay, ‘likes: Thai food, feminist prose, and—’” he cleared his throat before he continued— “‘angry girl music of the indie-rock persuasion.’ Here’s a list of CDs that she has in her room.”

Eddie looked at the list in disdain. “So I’m supposed to, what, take her out for noodles and spoken word and sit around listening to chicks who can’t play their instruments?”

“Have you ever been to Club Nina?” Lucas wondered.

“Her favorite band is playing there tomorrow night,” Mike explained, and Eddie sighed as he pressed his lips together.

“I can’t be seen at Club Nina,” Eddie shook his head. “First of all, that’s rival turf, second of all—”

“She’ll be there, she’s already got tickets for her and Robin,” Lucas pressed. “Just… tolerate it, for a night. And maybe don’t deal any drugs there.”

“Can I at least do some drugs there?” Eddie frowned.

“As long as you’re not too out of sorts to do some major seducing,” Mike offered. “She has a pair of black underwear! If that helps.”

“I mean, it couldn’t hurt, right?” Lucas elbowed Eddie playfully, who jerked away.

As stupid as it was, Eddie found himself still wondering about your alleged black panties as he walked into the club to look for you the next night. He found you horribly frustrating, sure, and the feeling was mutual, but picturing you in something like that was... not too terrible.

Eddie noticed the looks he was getting from the girls at Club Nina, and they weren’t exactly approving; a man invading their space was bad enough, but a metalhead in the land of the soft-rockers was turning heads.

He ignored it for the most part and sat down at the bar, ordering something light enough that he could keep his wits about him, but hard enough that he could tolerate this whole situation. Believe it or not, he didn’t actually like getting repeatedly insulted and degraded by you— it wasn’t even the sexy kind of degrading, just your incessant hatefulness chipping away at his dignity. But damn, he could feel the added weight of Carver’s money in his wallet, and he liked that.

Thankfully, it didn’t take too long for you to show up at the bar, ordering two waters like the lightweight you were. He pretended not to see you, but you didn’t offer the same courtesy, making a groan of disgust at him. “If you’re planning on asking me out again, just get it over with,” you pleaded distastefully.

He looked at you with an irritated frown, pointing at the band behind him. “Keep it down, maybe? I’m trying to listen.”

That seemed to throw you off, and he enjoyed your moment of bewilderment. “Did you leave your cancer sticks behind?” you asked.

“Yeah, permanently,” he nodded. “Turns out they’re bad for you.”

He shrugged, and you dropped the sarcasm for a split-second. “You did?” you pressed, surprised.

“You know,” he changed the subject instead, “these guys are no Adolescents or Souixsie and the Banshees, but they’re alright.”

“You know Souixsie and the Banshees?” you repeated, flabbergasted.

“Why, don’t you?” he joked. He got down another sip of watered-down liquor, before turning to face you directly. “You know, I was watching you before,” he admitted, yelling to be heard over the crescendo of the song, “I’ve never seen you look so sexy!”

Of course, that was right about when the song ended, and Eddie looked around the club as he realized the entire swarm of alt chicks had heard him. As they laughed at the scene, he smiled awkwardly and watched you get visibly embarrassed— good to know you had emotions other than rage, contempt, and boredom.

“Why don’t you come to Steve Harrington’s party with me?” he challenged, and the moment faded as the next song began.

“You never give up, do you?” you frowned, starting to walk away and back into the dancing crowd.

“Was that a yes?” he wondered.

“No!” you shouted back to him.

“Was it a no?” he added.

“No!” you said again, and he smiled.

“I’ll pick you up at nine-thirty, then!” he called to you, but you were lost to him again— for now.

Elle and Max, dolled up in their finest party gear, crept carefully across the foyer towards the front door. Elle knew all the creaky floorboards to avoid, yet even in their silence they seemed to trigger Chief Hopper’s sixth sense. “You should have used the window,” he announced as they deflated.

“H-hi Daddy,” she greeted as if all were normal.

“Hi,” he returned as he looked at them. “Where are we going?”

“Um, just a small study group of friends,” Elle insisted, and Max nodded along.

“Otherwise known as an orgy?!” Dad barked.

“Mr. Hopper— Chief, sir— it’s just a party,” Max soothed.

“And Hell is just a sauna!” he returned.

As you came walking down the stairs into the middle of the argument, oblivious, your dad snagged your attention.

“Are you aware of this party?” he asked. You simply shrugged, on a mission for snacks.

“People expect me to be there!” Elle complained. “I have friends waiting for me! Daaaddddyyy!!”

“If your sister’s not going, you’re not going,” he stood fast.

Of course, that turned her ire towards you. “Why can’t you be normal?” she whined.

“Define ‘normal’,” you challenged as you crossed your arms.

“Going to Steve’s party is normal!”

You scoffed. “Steve’s party is just a lame excuse for all the youthful morons of Hawkins High to drink beer and rub up against each other in hopes of distracting themselves the pathetic emptiness of their—”

Elle and Max interrupted to finish your rant: “meaningless, consumer-driven lives,” they groaned in unison.

You hadn’t realized you were so predictable, and your shock gave Elle an opportunity to make one more plea.

“Can you just, for one night, forget about your crusade against all things enjoyable and just be my sister? please? C’mon,” she begged, stepping up closer, “please, do this for me.”

It was more sincere than you were used to from her, and it reminded you of simpler times, of when she thought you were the coolest big sister ever and she was your favorite person— before she was spoiled by the world and you were soured by it. Those memories were what convinced you to somberly nod. “I’ll make an appearance,” you agreed, and she squealed as she hugged you joyfully.

“Oh god, it’s starting,” your dad mumbled to himself in a daze.

“It’s just a party,” Elle promised him, but he stiffened up suddenly.

“I want you to wear the belly,” he announced.

Elle whimpered out her “Daddy, no!” but it was too late, he’d already gone to fetch it from the closet, and you watched with schadenfreude as he pulled out the padded faux-pregnancy jacket.

“Not all night,” he promised, “just around the living room for a minute while you contemplate the weight of your decisions.”

She held her arms out in defeat as he slipped it on over her dress, smiling proudly at his work.

“Every time you even think about kissing a boy,” Dad lectured, “just imagine wearing this all the time.”

“You’re such a space cadet,” she sighed.

“Okay, we’re going now,” you announced as you headed for the door, but he stopped you.

“Wait a minute: no drinking, no drugs, no kissing, no tattoos, no piercings, no getting in vans, no— no ritual animal slaughter!” he enumerated. “Oh god, I’m giving them ideas…”

You startled when you opened the door and saw Eddie standing there, fist raised as he was about to knock. “What are you doing here?” you asked him flatly.

“Nine-thirty, right?” he smiled, “I’m early.”

“Whatever, I’m driving,” you insisted.

He leaned to the side to look over your shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “Who knocked up your sister?”

Lucas held on tight to his drink in a plastic cup as he attempted to keep Max Mayfield’s attention for at least a few minutes at a time.

“You know, I’m on the basketball team,” he reminded her with a grin.

“Right,” she mumbled, unimpressed, but he was a little too tipsy to notice that his lines weren’t working.

“Do you, uh, play any sports?” he asked.

“I skate, if that counts,” she shrugged.

“Oh, rollerblading is cool!” Lucas beamed, but Max rolled her eyes and walked away at his incorrect guess of what kind of skating she meant. “Ever been to Rink-O-Mania?” he called after her, sighing when he realized he’d officially struck out.

You brushed past him, knocking into his shoulder as he pouted. Eddie was still following you, for some reason, dodging dancing girls and kissing couples along the way.

Jason clicked his tongue at you as you passed by. “Lookin’ fresh,” he cooed, in that way that was mostly mocking yet probably a real come-on if you went for it: Schrödinger’s pick-up line, if you will.

“Oh my god, did you feel that?” you looked around at the air. “My pussy just dried up so fast it actually dropped the humidity in here!”

Jason seemed a little too interested in an update on your genitals, but you were already walking away, trying to lose him and Eddie now. “Hey, is your sister here?” he asked you loudly.

“Stay away from my sister,” you warned.

“I will,” he promised, “but, you know, I can’t guarantee that she’ll stay away from me…”

You shook your head as you shoved your way into another room of the Harrington’s massive lodge, accidentally stumbling upon two jocks wrestling and throwing punches on the floor. A crowd had gathered around the scene to cheer them on, and you sneered in disgust at the uncivil display.

“Hey, hey!” Steve himself appeared, trying to break it up. “Take it outside!”

One jock pulled the other up by his shirt, and the two of them went tumbling back— right through the window. They didn’t even stop swinging as they fell onto the grass, and Steve’s face went blank with numb shock.

“Th-thanks,” he mumbled to himself, and you gave him a pat on the shoulder as you passed by.

“At least we’re on the ground floor,” you offered him quickly, but a tap on your shoulder pulled your attention away.

“Hey,” Jason smirked as he let you get a good look at him with his arm around your sister’s shoulders, “look who found me.”

You weren’t even angry— which was a nice break, really— you were just worried now. “Elle, wait,” you called to her as they walked away.

“Please don’t address me in public,” Elle requested with a roll of her eyes.

“I just wanna tell you something!” you pleaded.

“I’m being a normal teenager for a night— you should try it,” she suggested, and the two of them disappeared into the crowd again.

Just in time for your impending breakdown, some guy walked by holding a tray of shots. “Shots, anyone? Ladies?”

You grabbed one with each hand and tossed them back in rapid succession. You reached for a third when Eddie reappeared, snagging it out of your hand. “What are you doing?” he asked, concerned.

“I’m getting trashed, dude,” you offered in a fake party-boy voice. “Isn’t that the point of all this?”

Eddie shrugged. “Think the point is to just… be yourself.”

You snorted. “You might be the only person who thinks I should be myself.”

At the same time that you were ditching Eddie again, Mike was finding Lucas. “Have you seen her around anywhere?” he asked as he scanned the crowd. For all his excitement to find her, he seemed to get overwhelmed when he saw Elle coming down the stairs with Max.

“Come on, man, relax,” Lucas assured as he patted his shoulders. Mike took a deep breath. “Just be yourself.”

Nodding, Mike summoned his courage and approached the girls. “H-hey, Elle,” he greeted politely.

“Hey,” Elle returned, “Mike, um— do you know Max?”

Elle grabbed the redhead and shoved her towards Mike so she could try to break away.

“Oh, yeah,” Mike nodded, “we have Math together, right?”

Max hummed as she crossed her arms; “Great,” she offered unenthusiastically.

“You, uh, look really amazing tonight,” Mike offered Elle, and Max cringed as he failed to take the hint.

“Oh— um,” Elle stalled, and Jason descended the stairs to slip his arm around her.

“And we all know I look amazing,” he interjected, making the girls giggle and Mike roll his eyes. “C’mon, Elle, let’s go— there are jell-o shots in the kitchen.”

He was already turning her around to guide her away, forcing her to look over her shoulder to wave at Mike: “See you around, okay?”

Mike watched helplessly as Jason took his dream girl from right in front of him— the blonde even offered him a thumbs up on his way out, to add insult to injury.

Eddie found you again in the study, starting to work on another drink. “Hey hey hey,” he interrupted as he gently lifted it away from you, watching you whine and make grabby hands for it. “Why don’t you let me have this one, hm?”

“No!” you pouted, jumping for it, but he held it up higher— it forced you to push yourself up against him to try to get it, and he forced himself not to notice how it felt to be close to you.

Someone walked by with their own drink, just about to have a sip when you snatched it away instead, running off before Eddie could set down the cup and catch up. “Shit,” he hissed to himself.

As he tried to navigate past other partygoers to get to the kitchen, he heard the blasting stereo change songs to something not actually awful (in his opinion): Def Leppard. Unfortunately, you seemed to like Pour Some Sugar On Me, too— considering you hopped up on a table and started dancing there instead.

“How’d you get her to be normal?” Jason laughed as he appeared beside Eddie— and he couldn’t decide if he was more disgusted by Carver’s glee watching you, or Carver’s chumminess with him.

“Hey!” Eddie called to you, getting through the crowd of cheering guys as quickly as he could, but you couldn’t hear him through the overwhelming sound and the haze of drunkenness. He watched you dance, a mix of concern, embarrassment, and arousal stirring in him as your moves became more and more suggestive. “HEY!”

When he shouted the second time, it didn’t quite get you to look at him but it did startle you, making you whack your head on the chandelier— which in turn made you stumble and fall. When you came down dramatically, he held out his arms and managed to catch you, looking at your startled, panting face.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, but you looked angry at him again.

“I’m fine,” you insisted, trying to wiggle out of his embrace, but failing.

“You’re not fine,” he groaned, “c’mon…”

He didn’t exactly carry you, mostly because you wouldn’t let him, but he didn’t let you walk on your own when he saw how wobbly your legs were.

The sounds of the party faded into the distance as you walked in the grass, up to the shore of Lover’s Lake where the Harrington’s had some rustic old swings hanging from under a massive tree by the water.

“I-I just need to lie down somewhere,” you insisted, stumbling again as Eddie had to grab at your waist to keep you upright.

“No, you can’t lie down right now,” he sighed. “If you lie down you’ll go to sleep.”

You pouted as he set you down on a swing. “I like sleep,” you protested.

“Can’t sleep if you might have a concussion,” he explained, watching you slump against the rope beside you.

He was about to fuss over you a little more, try to keep you awake somehow, but he saw Mike storming down across the grass.

“Hey,” Mike greeted as Eddie stepped past you slightly to meet him. “We need to talk.”

“I’m a little busy at the moment,” Eddie informed him, gesturing towards you.

“Well— it’s over, okay? All of this— the deal’s off,” Mike frowned.

“Huh?”

“She never wanted me,” he realized with a sigh. “She wanted Jason the whole time.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Listen— do you really like this girl?”

“Yeah!” Mike assured.

“And she’s worth going through all this trouble?” he pressed, stepping forward towards the new kid.

“I— I think so.”

“Either she is or she isn’t,” Eddie frowned, “and considering we made it this far, she must be— so you need to keep fighting for her! You’re twice the man that Jason is, if she’s got two brain cells to rub together she’ll figure out she’s better off with you. Capice?”

Mike puffed up his chest a bit. “O-okay!” he decided. “I’m gonna go for it!”

“Yeah, that’s the spirit!” Eddie cheered, slapping Mike on the shoulder before he ran off back to the party.

Eddie was smiling as he turned to you, only to lose his grin and rush over as you started to fall forward out of the swing.

“Woah woah!” he yelped as he knelt down in front of you and held your face with both hands. “Gotta stay awake, remember, sweetheart?”

You stuck your bottom lip out. “You’re so patronizing.”

He smirked. “Leave it to you to use your vocabulary words when you’re totally shitfaced.”

When you fluttered your eyes shut, he lightly smacked your cheek, the rings hitting a little extra hard on your jaw as you groaned. “What are you hitting me for?”

“Because you might have a concussion,” he reminded you.

“And you want to add to it?” you assumed, awake enough for him to let go of your face, which he did.

“If you go to sleep now, you might not wake up.”

“You don’t care if I never wake up,” you dismissed.

He smiled at you, a little too amused by such a morbid sentiment. “Sure I do!”

“Why?”

He almost let his smile falter. “If you died, I might have to go out with a girl who actually likes me,” he answered.

“If you could find one,” you snorted, eyes still shut but face curling into a proud grin at your own joke.

“See? Who needs affection when I have blind hatred?” he teased.

You sniffled and sat up a little straighter, so Eddie stepped back and sat down on the swing beside you.

“So, why’d you let him get to you?” he wondered, looking out across the lake sparkling under the glow of a half-moon.

“Who?”

“Jason. You’re normally so unaffected.”

“He always drives me crazy,” you admitted, “but messing with my sister is crossing the line.”

“Well, you’ve chosen some creative revenge,” he laughed, “by drinking through the Harrington’s liquor cabinet.”

You laughed along with him, a rare moment where you two overlapped— and not even in a negative emotion! “You know what they say,” you replied.

“What’s that?” he wondered. But you didn’t continue. He looked to the side and saw you falling down again.

“Shit,” he spat, leaning forward and catching you at your shoulders, tilting your face up to his. “Wake up! C’mon, look at me, sweetheart, listen to me— open your eyes…”

He was a little overwhelmed by the way you did exactly as he’d asked, fluttering your eyes open at him, something entirely new in them that he’d never seen on you before— or maybe anyone, at least this up close. “Hey,” you smiled softly. “Did you know your eyes are a little bit hazel?”

He smiled back at you, examining your face, wondering for a split second if he should go for it.

But before he could, you keeled over and wretched— right on his white Reeboks. “Shit,” he said again.

Elle was waiting out in the cool night air, her thin cardigan not doing much for her as she watched Jason drive off with a slew of girls in tow; he’d tried to get her to go to another party, but along with her curfew coming up, it turned out that he was sort of a dud. For all his alleged charisma as one of the most popular guys in school, he didn’t know how to talk about anything but basketball, plus his ‘boys’ and their misadventures— usually drunken ones. She tried to cut him some slack since he was likely a little tipsy, but she still couldn’t justify the way he talked about his ex-girlfriend. It was just tacky!

As she waited for you to hopefully reappear soon and drive her home, Mike brushed by. “Have fun tonight?” he asked, somewhat sharply.

“Tons,” Elle sighed, expecting him to stop and getting a little more shy when he didn’t. “Hey, um, Mike?”

He stopped and turned, and she gave him a pitiful look.

“Any chance you could give me a ride home?”

Eddie hadn’t driven a car as small as yours in a while— and it wasn’t even small, it just felt that way compared to his van.

You reached forward and turned up the stereo, a Patti Smith song getting louder as you did. “I should do this,” you announced.

“What?” he wondered.

“This!” you said again, pointing to the radio. “Make music, start a band! Aren’t you in a band?”

“Yeah, I didn’t know you knew that,” he admitted.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m gonna do, too,” you decided with firm defiance. “My father would love that.”

“I didn’t think you were the type to worry about what your father thought,” Eddie noticed.

“Oh, so now you’ve got me all figured out?” you scoffed.

He shrugged. “I’m getting there.”

You deflated slightly as you looked out the window. “Nobody knows anything about me,” you admitted, “except that I’m ‘scary’ or whatever.”

He smirked slightly at your air quotes. “I’m not known to be particularly enjoyable either.”

When you looked at him, he felt a little penetrated by your stare, so he looked back at the road ahead.

“Look at us, having a little talk about real stuff,” he blurted out, trying to break the tension. “I mean, you’re usually so closed off and now I think you might spill your guts or something. Oh, right— you already did…”

And you stiffened up again. Right on cue.

Whereas your conversation with Eddie died a few minutes before you pulled up to your house, Elle and Mike’s only began when he put the car in park. “You never wanted to hang out with me, did you?” he realized, irritation tinting his voice.

“I— I did!” Elle lied, trying to be nice. But she was always trying to be nice, and that wasn’t enough; Mike scoffed in frustrated disbelief.

“You didn’t!”

Elle deflated. “Yeah… okay. Not really.”

“Well, then that’s all you had to say! You could’ve just said you weren’t interested and none of this would’ve happened— but then you wouldn’t have gotten your night with Jason. That’s what this was all about, wasn’t it?”

“But I—” she began, cut off by Mike’s rant.

“You know, you can’t just treat people however you want because you’re beautiful. Lucas told me you were vapid, and I defended you! I— I learned French for you! And then you just—”

She cut him off with a kiss— a sweet kiss, not too short, but exactly the sort of kiss two sophomores should share in a car after a party. When she pulled away, she smiled a little, and Mike blinked at her a couple times.

“Goodnight,” she offered softly, getting out of the car and walking up the steps to her front door.

Mike turned to face forward again, dumbfounded expression morphing slowly into a grin. “And I’m back in the game!” he beamed, pumping his fist triumphantly.

As you walked into class, you tried to avoid the eyes on you— but you couldn’t, just like you couldn’t avoid throbbing in your head.

“Nice moves last night, señorita,” one of the stoners in class nodded approvingly as you came in.

“That was radical, dude,” a surfer boy offered with a ‘hang tight’ hand symbol.

And then there was Jason. “What do you owe you for the table dance, babe?” he taunted.

Shuddering, you sat down as Ms. O’Donnell began. “Settle down, please,” she begged the class. “Whatever happened outside of school hours is not to be discussed now. Wouldn’t you rather hear about your midterm assignment?”

The class groaned in unison.

“You’ll be writing a sonnet,” she explained, “in the style of William Shakespeare.”

When you raised your hand, you saw the look on her face, and you knew what she was expecting. And you didn’t blame her. You spoke when she pointed towards you. “Should it be in iambic pentameter?”

She seemed suspicious of such a simple question. “Um, no, it doesn’t have to be,” she replied. “Why?”

“I just wanted to know…” you mumbled sheepishly. “Is that so wrong?”

“Um, no,” she decided. “That’s a good question, Miss Hopper… and it doesn’t. Thank you for asking.”

She wasn’t the only one shocked by your sudden interest in her teaching, and you noticed the way the entire class was looking at you. “What?” you scoffed, and you shook the moment off as Ms. O’Donnell began lecturing again.

Mike and Eddie sat beside each other as they watched your soccer practice from a safe distance. “What’d you do to her?” Mike wondered.

“What? I didn’t do anything— did you see how drunk she was?” Eddie shook his head. “What made you think something happened, anyways?”

“The fact that the plan was working,” Mike answered.

“Why do you care? I thought it was over.”

“It was,” Mike agreed, smiling, “until she kissed me.”

“Aw, that’s sweet,” Eddie congratulated, “I told you to go for it.”

Lucas, meanwhile, was running the track— and he stopped when he passed the two other boys. “Alright, I talked to her,” he informed them, “I got the scoop.”

“What’d she say?” Mike wondered excitedly.

“Hates him with the fire of a thousand suns,” he announced with a sarcastic smile. “That’s a direct quote.”

Eddie sighed, looking a little defeated.

“H-hey,” Mike tried to comfort him, “maybe she just needs a day to cool off?”

But the three of them had to lean away to dodge a soccer ball that came flying over, narrowly avoiding nailing Eddie in the head. When they looked up together at the source, they caught your glare coming their way.

“...or two,” Eddie added.

You groaned as you sat with Robin on the bench, watching the prom committee hang up posters all over the courtyard for the wretched event.

“Can you imagine going to that brainless display of teenage vapidity?” you rolled your eyes.

“Uh, I can,” Robin admitted, “if I had a date.”

“I thought things were going okay with Vickie,” you frowned at her.

“Well, yeah, they’re okay, but it’s not like that, yet,” she explained.

“You’re sparing yourself by not going,” you insisted, “the whole thing is a patriarchal sham anyways.”

“Even if you go with a girl?”

“Yes,” you groaned, “because you’re still supporting the institution. It’s basically a mating ritual you have to dress up for!”

“Alright, we won’t go,” she promised. “I didn’t have anything to wear, even if I knew how to ask Vickie…”

“You’re looking at this all backwards,” you sighed, “we’re not missing out— we’re making a statement!”

“Oh, great,” Robin beamed sarcastically, “something new and different for us!”

Across the courtyard, Elle was busy reviewing her Science homework at a table when Jason popped in beside her. “Hey there, cutie,” he cooed.

“Hey…” she mumbled, focusing still on her textbook, in fact she hadn’t even looked up at him.

“Studying hard, huh?” he noticed, trying to prompt her again.

“Can I help you?” she wondered flatly.

“Well, it would help me a lot if you say yes when I ask you to prom,” he quipped.

Elle only sighed, turning the page in her book. “You know the deal, Jay— I can’t go if my sister doesn’t go.”

“Good thing she will.”

That got Elle to tear her eyes away from cell biology so she could look at the senior beside her. “Since when?!” she gasped.

“Let’s just say,” Jason purred, scooting closer to her, “I’m taking care of it.”

Eddie chewed on the inside of his cheek as Jason rambled about the money he’d just handed him. “That’ll cover flowers, limo, tux, the whole enchilada. I don’t care what you do, just make sure she gets to the prom.”

Eddie suddenly handed the money back. “You know what? I’m sick of being a pawn in your little game, okay?”

Jason scoffed at the money. “Then make it two hundred,” he decided, summing another bill to add onto the small pile in Eddie’s palm.

Hesitating, and then sneering, Eddie stuffed it into his pocket. The money felt like it would burn a hole through the denim if he left it there too long— he went to the music store first, wondering if he should spent it; wondering if he should try to talk to you instead of just watching you play around on a bass you’d borrowed from the wall of instruments.

In a moment entirely out of character for him, Eddie just couldn’t muster up the courage to do it, to tap you on the shoulder and get your attention. He could stand on tables in the cafeteria and make a fool of himself playing at the Hideout for whatever crowd of drunks accidentally stayed for Corroded Coffin’s show, but he couldn’t just… say hi to you. You just looked so at peace sitting there on the amp, rocking your head between the big headphones that dwarfed your face; he was happier just watching you play for a few minutes, leaving before you opened your eyes and noticed him.

He watched you from between the stacks at the bookstore, too, swallowing as you flipped through Sylvia Plath. What was it that was making him so nervous to approach you all of a sudden? It’s not a crush, is it? No… no, it’s probably my natural aversion to pain.

Just when he was afraid you were about to leave and he would miss his chance, he jumped up from behind Adult Non-fiction and surprised you before you could head for the door. “Excuse me,” he smiled, “have you seen The Feminine Mystique? I lost track of mine.”

You looked appropriately disappointed and unamused, but he was used to that by now. “What are you doing here?” you asked him flatly.

“I heard there was a poetry reading,” he replied, not even trying that hard to sound believable, since you’d never believe it. You knitted your eyebrows together and opened your mouth, apparently searching for the exact words to cut him down.

“Y-you… you’re so…” you started a few times, and Eddie grinned as he realized he’d stumped you for the moment.

“Charming?” he finished for you.

And in a moment entirely out of character for you, you gave up, shaking your head and trying to step past him to walk away. He side-stepped and planted himself in front of you.

“Irresistible,” he offered instead.

“Unavoidable,” you corrected.

“Inevitable,” he agreed with a wink. “Love always is.”

“Love?! Jesus Christ,” you spat, laughing sharply at how absurd it was.

“You do realize you’re not as mean as you think you are, right?” Eddie wondered, following you closely as you kept marching towards the door to leave.

You spun to look at him as you replied, “and you’re not as badass as you think you are.”

“Ooh,” he winced playfully, “someone still has their panties in a twist.”

“Don’t even for a minute worry that you have any effect whatsoever on my panties,” you snapped.

“Then what did I have an effect on?” he encouraged.

“Other than my gag reflex, not much,” you frowned.

“Gag reflex, huh?” he purred, and you grimaced as you rolled your eyes.

“God, you’re barbaric!” you announced as you shoved a book into his chest— The Feminine Mystique, of course— and utilized the moment he spent looking at it to exit the store. He didn’t even really process that you were already gone until he heard the little bell on the door chime, and he sighed.

Eddie just wanted to get his lunch in peace, but those two pipsqueak sophomores flanked him as he moved through the line. “What’s the word?” Mike asked.

“Well, you were right— she’s still pissed,” Eddie replied.

“Sweet love, renew thy force!” Lucas exclaimed, and Eddie made a face at him.

“Don’t say shit like that to me, people can hear you,” Eddie warned him.

“Look,” Mike interjected, “she’s embarrassed! Sacrifice yourself on the altar of dignity and even the score.”

Rolling his eyes, Eddie departed the lunch line early— he didn’t want green bean casserole anyways— and left Mike and Lucas to look at each other. “Don’t say shit like that to him,” Lucas soberly instructed Mike, “people can hear you.”

They were right, though, and the next day, he acted on their advice.

You were out on the field with the team, running drills, clearing your head in the only way you knew how. Of course, Eddie couldn’t stay out of your head for long— or out of your way.

You didn’t notice the speakers turning on at first; you heard it, but you didn’t think much of the static buzz of silence. It wasn’t silent for long, though, and everyone turned their heads when they heard an electric guitar begin playing. You looked up in the bleachers, and widened your eyes at the sight of Eddie hopping up into view as he played, a long black cord trailing behind him. The marching band had left some of their equipment up after practice, including the microphone intended for the national anthem singer, and Eddie leaned into it as he began to sing along with his own playing.

“I gotta tell you what I'm feeling inside, I could lie to myself, but it's true—”

“Oh my god, is that—?” you heard a teammate of yours whisper to another, and they were all looking at you suddenly— and so was he.

“There's no denying when I look in your eyes,” he continued to sing, “girl, I'm out of my head over you…”

You turned around when drums and bass began to play as well, from the other side, and you laughed at the sight of the other members of Corroded Coffin— the logo made in tape on the kick-drum was a good sign that that’s who they were.

“And I lived so long believing all love is blind,” Eddie continued, “but everything about you is telling me this time, it’s forever—”

You finally recognized the KISS song and laughed in some impossible combination of disbelief and unsurprise: because of course Eddie would pick a KISS song to serenade you, but oh my god, was he really serenading you right now? In front of everyone?

“This time I know, and there’s no doubt in my mind,” he sang passionately as he played, “forever, until my life is through, girl I’ll be loving you forever…”

The other musicians were singing harmonizing vocals, and your team was staring at you in shock as Eddie pointed at you in a break from his guitar playing; they knew before then that he was singing to you, but apparently even further confirmation continued to blow their minds. You couldn’t believe it either, because, you know… it was you, and this was some kind of modern-fairytale bullshit, and you realized that you only never wanted it because you never thought it could happen. Romantic surprises, sudden music, kisses in the rain? Maybe for other girls— girls like Elle— but never for you.

Except here it was happening to you. “I never thought I’d lay my heart on the line,” Eddie sang into the microphone, “but everything about you is—”

It came to a literal screeching halt, and everyone covered their ears at the feedback from the speakers. Vice Principal Owens apparently didn’t take too kindly to the noise and disruption, as he appeared on the side of the field to chew Eddie out. “What is the meaning of this?!” he yelled, and the drummer bailed first, tossing his sticks and grabbing a hi-hat and tom and making a break for it. As the soccer team cheered and clapped for the performance, Eddie unplugged his guitar and sprinted from the Vice Principal. “That’s school property! That’s school equipment you stole!”

You laughed as the chase began, and Eddie caught your gaze for a second to give you a shrug as he swung the Gremlin over his back and dove off the bleachers.

“I hope you enjoy detention, Munson!” Owens yelled his threatening promise as he shook his fist— obviously incapable of keeping up with a freak on the run.

Coach Hastings stalked the columns of uniform plastic seats-and-desks, eyeing his quarry of quivering detention-goers. A split-second of eye contact with one of them, before the kid jolted and stared down into his lap, made the coach smile somewhat menacingly and approach his desk.

“You look nervous, son,” he noticed with a grin, and the boy hesitantly blinked up at him.

“Yes, sir,” he agreed.

“You’re sweating like a pig,” the coach continued.

“Y-yes, sir,” the student agreed again.

“Your eyes are red! You’ve got pot, don’t you?”

Apparently too scared (and stoned) to deny it, the kid awkwardly pulled a baggy out of his pants pocket and let Hastings snatch it away.

“I’m confiscating this,” he announced as he took it, marching back down the row and snagging a snack bag of Cheetos on his way as well.

Eddie scoffed slightly to himself as he saw it; not exactly a subtle plan, especially to Eddie, whose occupation at the school’s main dealer gave him unique knowledge of the coach’s habit.

He was just preparing to space out for an afternoon of mind-numbing boredom when you came in through the door, and he sat up slightly in surprise.

“Um, sir?” you got the Coach’s attention, meeting him at his desk at the front. “I… have some ideas for practice tomorrow.”

“Now’s not the best time, Miss Hopper,” he replied quickly.

As he turned his back to the class, you made quick eye contact with Eddie to motion to him, pointing towards the window. He sat up further, but tilted his head. “The window!” you mouthed.

When Hastings turned around to look at you again, you played it off with a forced laugh.

“Y-you know, we have that really big game soon against the Paxville Poodles…” you began again, stalling poorly. Eddie quietly got up from his seat, just as Hastings made a move to turn around, and you unthinkingly reached out and grabbed his arm, making him look at you suspiciously. “Your bicep is huge!” you blurted out. “Wow— and look—” you grabbed the other— “this one’s even bigger. You don’t take steroids, do you? Because I’ve heard steroids can cause some shrinking of the, uh, package.”

The other students murmured and snickered to each other as Eddie crept around the back of the room, towards the open window at the front; you repositioned yourself and Mr. Hastings to keep Eddie’s path exactly behind him.

“But I didn’t come here to talk about your package!” you added.

“God, I hope not,” the coach agreed.

Eddie’s next step made a bit of noise— that damn chain on his jeans wasn’t very quiet— but you stopped him from turning to look by talking more. “The point is, they always beat us,” you continued, “and I’ve got this plan to help us win this year!”

“Which is?”

“That… thing you taught us!” you answered chipperly as Eddie kept creeping towards the open window.

“What thing?” Hastings wondered.

“Misdirection.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I taught you that?”

“Yeah! You, o-or, you know, Siegfried and Roy— anyway—”

When he tried to turn his head over his shoulder, you had to reach out and grab his chin to turn his bewildered face towards you.

“They look left, we go right! Bang, we score, we win,” you tilted your head and smiled wide. Panic was setting in because you really thought Eddie would’ve made it out by now— he was close, but not there, and the coach was clearly losing his patience.

“But, how do we make them look left?” he wondered. Eddie was halfway out the window, no looking back now… literally, meaning he didn’t see what you were about to do.

“Uh— like this!”

A rush of adrenaline compelled you to do it— or maybe it came right after you did it, honestly it was all a blur— and you lifted the bottom of your shirt up to your chin. The classroom gasped, the coach’s chin dropped, and you cringed internally as you realized how far you’d gone: but you didn’t regret it, yet. Actually, it was pretty funny, if you thought about it… not that you had exactly thought this through.

Hastings stared at you, dumbstruck and more concerned than aroused, the thoughts of what the hell is wrong with this girl? and oh god, am I gonna lose my job? obvious on his face. The detention attendees began to whoop and holler as you dropped your shirt and Eddie was long-since freed. “Okay!” you said with a thin voice, clearing your throat. “Well, now that you’ve seen… the plan… I’m gonna go… and show the plan to someone else. Okay.”

He said nothing, watching you walk away, and the classroom applauded you on your way out.

“I can’t thank you enough for breaking me out,” Eddie smiled as he paddled the rickety canoe.

“Oh, I do that all the time,” you dismissed jokingly.

“How’d you keep him from seeing me?” he wondered.

You snorted a bit. “I, uh, dazzled him with my… wits.”

Eddie shrugged and looked out at the water on every side, pulling the oars in now that you were stuck in the smackdab middle of Lover’s Lake. “So, what’s your excuse?” he asked suddenly.

“Hm?”

“For acting the way we do.”

You considered that for a second, glancing out over the lake. “Maybe it’s, like, daddy issues— ‘cause I don’t know my biological parents or anything. Elle’s write her letters and stuff but mine don’t want anything to do with me.”

“Okay, maybe it’s that,” he nodded, “or…”

You sighed. “I don't like to do what people expect. Why should I live up to other people’s expectations instead of my own?”

He smiled, clearly proud of himself for getting you to fess up. “So you disappoint them from the start and then you're covered, right?” he suggested, and you shrugged.

“Something like that.”

“Then you fucked it up,” he laughed.

“Huh?” you frowned.

His eyes seemed to sparkle more right before he said it— did he have some way of voluntarily doing that? “You never disappointed me.”

You smiled a bit, but hoped he wouldn’t see that stupid, girlish emotion on your face. “What about you?” you countered quickly. “What’s your damage?”

“Oh, gosh, where to start,” he began, tapping his chin as he looked up and to the right like he was picturing it all, and you laughed. “Daddy’s in prison, mommy’s… god knows where— last I heard she was in Washington?”

“Wait, the state, or D.C.?” you asked.

“I don’t even know!” he chuckled..

“If it makes you feel any better, I’ve got no clue where my mom is, either,” you shrugged.

“I know misery allegedly loves company but, no, that doesn’t make me feel better.”

“There were a lot of rumors about what your parents were up to,” you admitted. “Cult and traveling band were both popular.”

“Well, there are a lot of rumors about a lot of things,” he replied, “but they’re all bullshit.”

“So, the state trooper?” you challenged.

“Ridiculous,” he shot it down. “You made out with a chick at a party?”

“Fantasy,” you rolled your eyes. “Of theirs! Not mine— I don’t wanna kiss anyone in public. The duck?”

“Hearsay,” he smirked. “Billy Hargrove’s balls?”

“Well, that one’s actually true,” you admitted, “but he deserved it! He groped me in the lunch line.”

“Ah, don’t tell me that,” Eddie warned, “or I’ll go kick ‘em back up again myself.” He clicked his tongue and tossed his fist as if to demonstrate.

“Why were you held back again? I know the porn career’s a lie.”

“Do you?” he challenged.

You tried not to get too flushed imagining that. You were strictly against porn, on feminist grounds, but… it was an interesting mental image.

He laughed first, then you followed suit. “I missed a lot of classes, yeah, but I don’t have any good excuse. I— to be honest, I have a lot of trouble with reading. It takes me hours, gives me a headache… so I keep failing English. And it’s not like I’m making ‘A’s in anything else…”

You tilted your head as you looked at him. “Eddie, are you dyslexic?”

He raised an eyebrow. “No, I’m bisexual,” he corrected.

“Dyslexia is a learning disorder, it causes difficulty in reading,” you explained.

“Not even gonna react to the bisexual thing, huh?” he pressed.

“Maybe you should see a doctor,” you encouraged.

“No cure for it,” he shook his head.

“For the dyslexia, dumbass!” you snapped, and he laughed.

“Okay, okay, I will,” he promised, “if you go see about getting that stick up your ass surgically removed.”

You rolled your eyes, but you still couldn’t stop a smile from filling your face. “I thought you didn’t mind it.”

“I don’t,” he smiled. “‘Cause I know you’re actually just a hopeless romantic under all that venom.”

You glanced down at the floor of the boat, at Eddie’s Reeboks across from your worn-out Converse. You heard him whisper your name, so you looked up again, and he pulled you into a sudden kiss.

Kissing in a boat on Lover’s Lake— a little on-the-nose, maybe, and another one of those things you never expected to happen to you. You never expected to like it so much, either, but you smiled into it and wrapped your arms around his neck. Pulling you back with him, he fell into the front end of the canoe with you on top of him, kissing you harder.

Unfortunately, you both got a little carried away… and when he tried to roll you onto your back so he could lay above you, it knocked the small boat off-balance and sent you both tumbling into the lake.

You came up with a gasp, and a laugh, as Eddie came back facing the wrong way and yelling your name fearfully— like you’d drowned in the last three seconds. Hearing your laugh, he spun around and put on a self-effacing smile before swimming a little closer and kissing you again. You let him, even though that warm feeling in your chest was just getting hotter until you worried it would burn you up from the inside out; you brushed dripping, limp curls out of his face and grabbed him by the back of the neck to keep him close.

Half-dry from the journey home, Eddie walked beside you up to your front porch. Not exactly wanting to bring in a lake-damp drug dealer, you guided him to sit next to you on the steps, and he seemed to look somewhat reverently out at the surrounding neighborhood. “Beats the trailer park?” you assumed.

“Yeah,” he smiled, “but it’s not as bad as people think it is— I guess neither are we, though.”

“Okay, then tell me the truth,” you requested.

“The truth? I’m afraid of the dark,” he grinned.

“No, something real,” you protested.

“Okay…” he agreed, lowering his voice and leaning in to kiss your neck. “You’re sweet.”

You smiled, and he moved around to kiss the other side, giving you an eyeful of his fringe.

“And sexy,” he added. “And completely hot for me.”

“You’re… very self-assured,” you giggled, “anybody ever told you that?”

“I tell myself every morning,” he agreed with a smile, “part of my daily affirmations.”

Your eyes drifted over his face— over his gentle eyes and soft lips and strong jaw— and you wondered how you never noticed how perfect he was before.

“Go to prom with me,” he said suddenly.

The moment left and you felt a little suspicious. “Um, are you asking me, or telling me?” you wondered with a raised brow.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun,” he promised.

“No it won’t, it’ll be a circus of patriarchy and the hypersexualization of the American teenager,” you insisted.

“It’ll be fun if you come with me,” he clarified. “I thought you liked doing what nobody expects? The only one who expects you to go to prom is me.”

“Why do you even wanna go to the prom?!” you wondered.

“Maybe I’m more conventional than I look!” he defended. “Maybe I only never went because I never had a beautiful girl to take.”

“I don’t buy it,” you scoffed. “Why are you so insistent on this? What’s in it for you?”

“Do I need to have a reason to want to be with you?”

“You tell me,” you challenged.

“You know something? You need therapy,” he frowned. “Maybe a shrink can help you unpack this inability to accept affection. Were you not hugged as a child or something?”

“Right,” you snapped, “because all my problems are caused by being adopted— I forgot.”

“I didn’t— that’s not what I was saying,” he defended.

“So, what are you saying? If I’m not madly in love with you, something must be wrong with me?”

“I think if you don’t trust me by now—!”

“By now? One kiss and you’re totally trustworthy?” you tilted your head.

“We kissed twice,” he reminded you.

“Yeah, my mistake,” you scoffed, leaving the question of whether the number or the kisses were the mistake hanging in the air. Shaking his head, Eddie pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his vest pocket.

“Damn it, they’re soaked,” he groaned as he opened it.

You snatched it away. “I’ll throw them out for you,” you offered sharply as you stood up and stormed inside, slamming the door behind you.

Max Mayfield startled when she opened her locker, a flood of folded papers spilling out— origami stars. She tilted her head as she knelt down, picking one up to unfold. Because you’re funnier than people realize, it had written inside in somewhat poor, yet meticulous, handwriting. Wrinkling her eyebrows together, she snagged another from on top of her textbooks. Because you’re the most beautiful when you’re in class, listening and thinking. It was cheesy, but she bit her lip as she imagined who this… extravagant secret admirer might be. About to unfold another, Lucas leaned beside her at the lockers.

“Huh,” he noticed, “wonder who did all this just to ask you to prom.”

As he crossed his arms in front of his chest, she noticed the band-aids around the ends of many of his fingers. “Basketball injury?” she assumed.

“No,” he denied sheepishly, “just, uh, papercuts…”

She smiled as she raised an eyebrow at him. “So, you think this… stalker guy is asking me to prom?” she noticed.

“I— um, I assume,” he shrugged.

“That’s presumptuous of you,” she laughed.

Across the hall, Vickie was emphatically agreeing to Robin’s more tree-friendly prom invite: no letter or origami or notes or anything, just the courage to finally ask, and that was all she had wanted anyways.

All across the school, plans were being made, except for Elle: she had more options than most for her date, yet was forced to choose none because you were still resisting Eddie with what little fight you had left in you.

After catching her glare each time you passed in the hall at school, you decided to attempt a peace offering at home.

You hesitantly knocked on her bedroom door after dinner. “Come in,” she called from the other side, but her annoyance was obvious. Especially when you entered and found her sitting on the bed, reading a book, ignoring you completely.

“Listen,” you sighed, “I know…”

She didn’t shut her book or look up at you. You sat down near her feet and carefully took the book away; she crossed her arms as she finally returned your gaze— though hers was much sharper.

“I know you hate having to sit around at home because I’m not, you know, popular or dating or anything,” you informed her.

“You don’t care,” she rolled her eyes.

“I do care!” you insisted. “But I believe you should do things for your own reasons, not someone else’s.”

“I wish I had that luxury,” Elle snapped, “but I can’t do anything because you don’t want to! You know I was the only sophomore asked to prom? And I can’t go because you’re too uptight and feminist-y to just go out with that Eddie guy.”

You frowned. “How do you know about Eddie?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m sixteen, I’m not stupid. And everyone heard about him serenading you on the soccer field anyways.”

Your cheeks warmed at the memory. “Well, that’s not the point. I can go out with him if I want, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to prom.”

“Prom is actually gonna be fun you know, it’s not this horrible institution that you think it is,” Elle promised. “And Jason asked me and—”

“He never told you we went out, did he?” you interrupted, and Elle’s jaw dropped.

“You’re joking, right?” she assumed; you shook your head. “You and Jason?!”

“For a few months, freshman year.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Because he’s sooo cute,” you answered with a Valley-girl-voice, but it didn’t do as much to diffuse the tension as you’d hoped.

“You hate him!” Elle noticed.

“I do now.”

“What happened?” she wondered, and you looked away because you thought it might be easier to say it if you weren’t looking right at her. Even if she hated you, you didn’t want your little sister to think of you in the way she might when you admitted it.

“Well…” you trailed off, but she beat you to it.

“No,” she sighed, “you didn’t— you did it?!”

“Once,” you interjected firmly, as if that made it any better. “Just once, because, you know, everyone was doing it. I wanted to be cool— I wanted to feel normal. But afterwards, I told him I didn’t wanna do it anymore because I wasn’t ready. Aaaaand he dumped me.”

Elle blinked at you in bewilderment.

“After that, I decided to never do anything else again just because everyone else was doing it. I haven’t since! Well, except, you know, going to Steve Harrington’s party and getting wasted.”

“How did I not know about this?” Elle wondered. Apparently she confused being popular with being omniscient.

“I warned him that if he told anyone, all the cheerleaders would find out how small his dick is,” you snorted. Elle didn’t seem as amused, though.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she wondered.

“I wanted you to make up your own mind about him,” you replied.

“Then why did you help Daddy keep me hostage here?!”

She got up off the bed and stood, frustration switching to anger, and you wrinkled your eyebrows as well. “Because I wanted to protect you!” you replied.

“By not letting me experience anything?” she countered.

“Not everything is worth experiencing, Elle!” you snapped. “Not everyone can be trusted!”

“I wouldn’t know!” she announced furiously. “You were too busy worrying I’d make the same mistakes as you to let me make my own!”

She stormed out of her own room and left you alone in it with a slam of the door. You sat on the bed for a minute, considering what she’d said. Noticing the picture on her nightstand, you sighed at the shot your dad had taken of the two of you, years ago, in line at Disneyland. She used to think you hung the moon back then… why couldn’t things still be that easy?

You glided down the stairs quickly, holding up the end of your dress, and passed Dad as he watched TV. “Bye, I’m going to prom,” you offered him flippantly as you passed.

“Ha ha, very funny,” he returned flatly. Of course, when he caught you and your outfit in the corner of his eye, he realized you were serious.

Before he could even ask what was going on, you were out the door. He would’ve chased you in search of more information, but he was distracted by Elle marching by next in her sparkly, colorful gown.

“What’s that?” he asked when he saw the midriff-baring garment.

“A prom dress!” she answered joyfully.

“I seem to be hearing that word a lot lately,” he frowned.

The doorbell rang, and Elle scampered across the foyer to answer it. On the other side, Mike was waiting in a suit with a corsage in hand ready to give her— but he stalled when he got a look at her all dolled up (even more than usual). “Wow,” he beamed, “you look… bitchin’.”

She smiled and started to leave with only a wave to her dad, but he crossed his arms. “Stop,” he insisted, and Elle sighed as she froze. “Turn.”

The young couple turned, Mike looking a bit anxious as Elle prepared for the usual.

“Explain,” Hopper demanded.

“Well, you know how you said I could date if my lovely, wonderful big sister dated?” she batted her eyelashes. “Turns out she found this guy who’s sort of perfect for her, which is sort of perfect for me, because Mike invited me to the prom—” she squeezed her date’s hand for emphasis— “and I really wanna go and I’m technically allowed since she’s going, and I know you’re a man of your word so you’ll stick to the rule you made. Right?”

There was a heavy pause; Mike extended his hand to the Chief politely. “Nice to meet you,” he greeted.

Elle took his hand instead and guided him out the front door. Powerless, Hopper stepped up to the open doorway and watched them run to the waiting limousine together. “Back by eleven, you hear me?” he called out. “One minute past and the entire police department will be looking for you!”

They got in the car and drove off as he watched with a sigh.

You’d sort of been expecting Eddie to wear a t-shirt with a tuxedo pattern printed on it… maybe that’s what everyone expected of him. But he was wearing a real one, in a dark cranberry color that seemed to bring out that little bit of hazel in his deep brown eyes.

It was stupid how easily his one simple glance over your body could make you fight the urge to blush. You knew you looked good, you actually felt good, but it was different to see Eddie acknowledge it. “Wow,” he offered with a wide smile.

“Yeah,” you agreed, “uh, you too.”

He handed you a rose before you hooked your arm in his to walk inside to the decorated gymnasium.

“Where’d you get a tux?” you wondered.

“Wayne had one,” Eddie shrugged.

“Really?” you pressed, and Eddie laughed.

“Hell no, he couldn’t even help me with my tie! I… had a friend help me get this,” Eddie admitted, internally disgusted with himself for referring to Jason Carver as a friend. Then again, he was disgusted with himself for doing this for Jason’s benefit at all, but at least there was a real benefit for himself, too: the only girl he’d ever really fallen for walking arm-in-arm with him to prom. “Where’d you get the dress?” he wondered.

“Oh, um,” you blinked quickly, “I guess I really was a hopeless romantic deep down after all… ‘cause I had a nice dress in the back of my closet, just in case someone ever wanted to see me in it.”

There was a little moment of pause as Eddie imagined you saving a dress like this for someone special, hardly believing it was him.

“Listen, I shouldn’t have questioned your motives for asking me out,” you blurted out suddenly. “I was wrong. I’m sorry.”

He’d never seen you so… humbled? And it made his heart twist. “Don’t sweat it,” he encouraged, “you’re here with me now— that’s all that matters.”

Jason was already wearing his tux— and a sparkling-white smile— as your father opened the door. “Hello, Mr. Hopper,” he offered charmingly, even though anyone with half a brain knows to call him Chief Hopper. “I’m here to pick up Elle for the prom?”

Saying nothing, the Chief shut the door as suddenly as he’d opened it.

As you walked in to the room, dancing and general merriment in every direction, you caught Elle and Mike dancing cheek-to-cheek not too far off— and your sister offered you a quick wave and a gentler smile than you’d seen on her (directed at you, at least) in years.

Robin and Vickie, as always, were dancing to the beat of their own song, ignorant and uncaring to the judgment of others; Lucas guided Max to the dance floor, and you were one of many who noticed how good the unlikely pair looked together.

You were so caught up in it that you almost didn’t notice the music changing to another song— your favorite song. Eddie nudged you with his elbow and pointed at the stage, where the band from Club Nina joined the musicians already playing, and you gasped. “Oh my god!” you choked. “It’s—!”

“I had a friend help me with that, too,” Eddie grinned at you, drinking in your ecstatic excitement. You looked like a kid in a candy store as the lead singer waved at you; first humbled, then unabashedly joyful… so many new emotions that Eddie wasn’t used to seeing you show, but he liked this one so far. He liked how beautiful you were when you let yourself be openly happy— it reminded him of the way you looked dancing to this song at that club all those weeks ago. He hadn’t just been putting on the moves, he really thought you looked sexy when you let go and enjoyed yourself. And now you looked that way again, but you were dancing with him. You looked, and felt, freer than ever.

Elle was on her way to freshen up in the girls’ room— because the last thing she needed now was a lifting false lash with everything else going so perfectly— when Andy and Patrick stopped her. “Woah, hey,” Andy said as he grabbed her shoulder, “what’s going on?”

“What?” she wondered.

“Where’s Jason?” they pressed.

“I dunno, probably off somewhere picking his nose?” she replied sarcastically.

“Oh my god,” Patrick laughed. “I knew he couldn’t do it!”

“Huh?” she asked.

“He was so sure he could pop your cherry tonight,” Andy explained, bemused, “but he was full of shit— as per usual.”

Elle stepped back. “What a creep!” she spat, but they weren’t even paying attention anymore, just chuckling to each other about how they wouldn’t let their team captain live this one down for a while.

As for Jason, he wasn’t too far away after all— he was angrily storming through the dancing crowd towards you and Eddie. “Hey, freak!” he yelped just before grabbing him by the collar of his jacket and pulling him aside, though not quite far enough away. “What’s Elle doing here with that pipsqueak?! I didn’t pay you to take out her sister just so some little weirdo could get with her instead.”

Eddie whipped his head around, praying to whatever deity would listen that you hadn’t heard, but it only took a split-second to see the look in your eyes. And there was a third emotion he’d never seen on you before: real heartbreak. No anger, no rage, just devastation.

“Wait,” he pleaded as you began to walk away.

“I can’t believe I was right about you,” you replied with a shake of your head, “the first time.”

Jason let Eddie go to unsuccessfully chase after you; he was disinterested in the Freak versus Bitch drama unfolding once again, much more focused on getting back at Mike Wheeler for screwing him over.

Lucas tried to intercept him, but he got shoved roughly to the ground on the way to Mike. “You messed with the wrong guy,” Jason informed him with a sneer, “and now you’re so done. You and that prissy bitch.”

“Watch what you say about her,” Mike warned angrily, but Jason wasn’t exactly intimidated— in fact, he almost looked amused right before his fist collided with the sophomore’s face. Mike crumpled to the ground, not exactly a match for Jason’s strength… but then again, neither was Elle, and she was the one who swung back— right in the nose.

“That’s for making my boyfriend bleed!” she explained as he clutched his face. “That’s for my sister,” she added as she kneed him in the gut, “and this… is for me.”

A swift kick to the crotch sent him to the ground, and Elle stepped over him to offer a hand to Mike. He took it, looking up at her in awe as she helped him stand again. “Uh, boyfriend?” he noticed.

It was the kind of move you would’ve been proud of, if you were there to see it; apparently ball-kicking ran in the Hopper family, and not just in the soccer sense.

“Please, let me explain,” Eddie begged as he chased you out of the gym.

“I think it’s pretty self-explanatory!” you returned sharply. “It was all a set-up, by fucking Jason! I should’ve known it was too…”

Too good to be true. You couldn’t admit that, you’d already given away so much. “It wasn’t— that was just how it started!” Eddie promised. “But I really fell for you.”

“Yeah? Funny what money can do to a person.”

“I never cared about the money!” he insisted, and when you spun around to challenge that, he grabbed your shoulders. “I only cared about you.”

“You’ve got a funny way of showing it,” you sneered, and he did want to show you— he wanted to wipe that all-too-familiar look off your face and go back to how things were. He kissed you, hard and forceful, but you pushed him off with a whine. “I hate you!” you spat as you managed to fight him off— not that he was trying that hard to force you to stay, he knew that was wrong… though he wished he could. He wished he could hug you tight enough to keep you here until you would listen, but you were too stubborn for it to work anyways. It was that stubbornness that made him resent you in the beginning, then it was one of the things he fell for— and now it was the reason you were walking away, and he was just watching you go, unwilling to hurt you anymore.

“You’re sure you don’t wanna come?” Elle asked again, pityingly, as Mike held her hand. You shook your head. “Okay, well, we’ll miss you.”

It was sweet, but it was a lie; a young couple didn’t want you chaperoning their movie date. Lies can be so sweet that way, the best ones usually are. You watched them walk together down the sidewalk, knowing it wouldn’t cheer you up to go with them. “Is she gonna be okay?” Mike whispered to his girlfriend, though not quietly enough.

“I hope so,” Elle replied softly.

As they left, your dad appeared and sat next to you on the steps, groaning as his older joints made it a bit more of a task. “Where’s she going?” he wondered.

“To meet a bunch of bikers,” you offered quickly. “Big ones… full of sperm.”

“Not funny,” Hopper frowned. You gave him a look, and he smiled slightly. “A little funny.”

It still wasn’t enough to make you smile back, and you looked forward at the houses across the street again.

“So… the dance,” he remembered, “was it groovy?”

Even that couldn’t make you crack a smirk, though you wanted to. “Some parts…”

“Which parts?” he wondered.

“The part where Elle beat the crap out of some loser,” you recalled— the stories around school were already glorious. You were pretty sure the rumor that she pulled some Karate Kid moves and spin-kicked him in the face was just a rumor, but you liked picturing it anyways.

“Elle did what?” he gasped.

“What, are you afraid she’s taking after me?” you challenged.

“No,” he answered quickly, “I’m impressed.”

You looked at him again, soaking in that all-too-rare approval. It’s not that he wasn’t affectionate… well, he wasn’t, but it was only because he had trouble expressing himself. It made his eloquence going forward even more unexpected.

“You know, fathers don’t like to admit when their daughters become capable of running their own lives,” he explained. “It means we’re obsolete… we’re spectators. Elle still lets me play a few innings— you’ve had me on the bench for years— and when you go to Sarah Lawrence, I won’t even be able to watch the game.”

You were about to complain about the baseball metaphor until you realized what he was really saying. “When I go?” you repeated excitedly.

“Don’t tell me you changed your mind now! I already sent them a check,” he answered with a slightly mischievous smile. Exclaiming in joy, you threw yourself on him for a tight hug.

“I assume you’ve all prepared your sonnets for today?” Ms. O’Donnell looked over the room. She frowned when she saw Jason sinking into his chair. “Mr. Carver?”

“Uh… I, uh, have a doctor’s note,” he explained.

“Oh— well, regardless, sunglasses are not permitted indoors,” she reminded him.

Sighing, he took the aviators off, and the class snickered at the sight of two black eyes on either side of his bandaged nose.

“Would anyone else like to read theirs for us?” she encouraged, and you waited a second before raising your hand.

That seemed to surprise everyone— most of all Eddie, who lifted his head from where it had been resting on his desk. Some of your classmates assumed the worst— here we go and time for a feminist lecture that rhymes and all that— but some seemed to sense what was really coming. Ms. O’Donnell, pleasantly surprised, stepped aside to let you come stand at the front.

You opened your notebook and did your best not to look at everyone looking at you.

Clearing your throat, you began. “I hate the way you talk to me,” you read aloud, “and the way you cut your hair. I hate the way you drive my car, I hate it when you stare.”

Your reading was particularly flat and unemotional, just hoping to get this over with, yet at the same time, so many emotions were flooding you inside.

“I hate your stupid white Reeboks, and the way you read my mind— I hate you so much it make me sick, it even makes me rhyme.”

You spared one half-second glance up, and even just in your peripheral you saw Eddie’s face, and you had to fight getting choked up.

“I hate… I hate the way you’re always right, I hate it when you lie,” you whimpered, voice breaking, “I hate it when you make me laugh, even worse when— when you make me cry.”

As a hot tear crossed your cheek, you fought the instinct to defiantly wipe it away— for once, you wanted to feel this, and you wanted to be seen even at your most vulnerable.

“I hate it when you’re not around, and the fact that you didn’t call,” you continued, approaching the end. “But mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you; not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.”

The way Eddie was looking at you was just too much; the way everyone was looking at you was just too much. You stormed out of the class, leaving them in stunned silence, crying harder as you ran down the hall.

Your face was dry by the time you got to your car; maybe you’d let Eddie play with your heart and invade your mind and cry way too much, but you decided that was over now— no more tears over boys. Especially dumbass, annoying, sexy, horrible, gorgeous boys who play you for a fool and have the audacity to fall for you in the process.

You were about you open your driver’s side door when you saw the sparkling white resin in the front seat, and you bent down, greeted by the Fender Stratocaster you’d been eying resting in your seat.

Reaching in through the open window, you pulled it out delicately and inspected it like it was magic— because maybe it was.

“Nice, huh?”

Eddie’s voice behind you made you jump and spin, and he smiled at you expectantly as he shoved his hands in his pockets and tilted back on his heels for a second. “A Fender Strat?” you noticed. “Is this— is this mine?”

“I figured you could use it,” he shrugged, “when you start your band. Or join mine.”

You smiled slowly as you looked at it again, and then back at him.

“Besides, I had some extra cash,” he explained. “Some jerk paid me to take out this amazing girl…”

“Yeah?” you smirked.

“Yeah,” he nodded, “but, uh, I kinda fucked it up. ‘Cause I totally fell for her.”

You loved the way he looked with a flush tinting his cheeks. “Really?” you pressed.

“Of course,” he grinned. “Very rare to find a girl who’ll flash someone to break you out of detention.”

It was your turn to feel your face warm, then, wondering how long ago he found out about that. Dropping your forehead into one of your hands in embarrassment, you laughed shamefully at the memory, hardly believing you’d done something so impulsive. As risky as it was, you actually kind of liked the person you were when you were with Eddie.

With a gentle grip on your wrist he moved your hand away from your face, the other tilting up your chin so he could kiss you. You let him, for a moment, but before you could properly melt into him you carefully pushed him back by his shoulders.

“You know you can’t just buy me a guitar whenever you screw up, right?” you asked.

“I know,” he agreed, “but hey! There’s always drums, bass, tambourine… triangle…”

You snorted your laugh and he kissed you again. You pushed him away again. “And don’t just think you can—”

He kissed you again, a little harder, and you gave in to it willingly.

Yeah, all that cheesy romance stuff? Sappy poems, public serenading, making out in front of everyone as the bell rang and the day ended? Turns out it really can happen for a girl like you. It can happen for a guy like Eddie, too; neither of you expected it to, but it did. And as you spent the rest of your senior year getting to know him better, you found a lot more things about Eddie Munson that you would've hated if you learned them before— but they only made you love him more instead.

#eddie munson

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