Archive of Our Own

‘Surprise adoption’, as it turns out, is the best way to describe what happened to me. What happened to most people in the make-shift rebranded Mystery Gang headed by freaks and geeks. All members vaguely connected, smashed together by life, and knit close together from time and experience. Like a meet-cute. A really, really fucked up meet-cute. With kids.

I was just minding my own goddamn business in the gas station bathroom, on break. Admiring the lovely graphic graffiti on the stall walls. The door creaked and several pairs of footsteps scuttered in. It didn’t bother me until the muttering voices included those of men : low, insistent, frantic. I froze on the porcelain throne. The voices were engaged in rapid, half-whispered, half-shouted conversation, shrieking about magic and portals and murder and… Gorgons and Liches, for some reason?

Well, at least they were nerds. Level playing field.

I’d sat there for so long, in perfect silence, essentially eavesdropping, that I’d trapped myself. No way was I coming out of that stall without a high level of awkward staring and uncomfortable throat-clearing. A woman’s voice rose a few pitches, a man subsequently mocking her, and I hazarded my zipper. It cut through the air like a whistle. The secretive conversation went dead silent.

I winced, braced, and creaked open the door. A comical party of young adults and teens alike stared back at me, bug-eyed. The air reeked with a soup of wildly different pheromones. There were (alarmingly) two teenagers bordering on full-scale children, a young woman with heavy eye-bags and converse, and. Oh. Of course, yeah, of course. Of course Steve Harrington, ex-king of Hawkins High, was huddled up with the goon squad. Perfect hair and mild, clean alpha scent, the whole nine miles.

I coughed uncomfortably. They were blocking my access to the sinks. “Sounds like, uh. Physical damage would solve all your problems.” Several pairs of brows bunched. “For a lich. Heard you guys talking about them. You just need to get close enough to land a hit. Without their psychic field of reach they’re basically powerless. Um… dispel magic works wonders too.” You gestured to the scummy sink. “Mind if I just… scooch on in there, Stevie?”

Harrington blinked rapidly. To his credit he still managed to move out of the way while looking stunned. “I’m sorry. Do I know you?”

I dead-eyed him. He had to be joking. “We took senior biology together? At Hawkins High?” It was hard to forget a pushy asshole like that. Especially since he spent most of the class time winking at girls or poorly illustrating doodles in the margins of his notebook.

No recognition in his eyes. He shrugged, pulling his head back, pantimining it’s not my fault I don’t remember, right guys? To his friends.

“God, seriously? I did like, all the work for you. The eukaryotic cell paper?”

Finally, finally , the guy had the decency to realize I did, in fact, continue to exist after graduation. “Oh, yeah, of course.” He blustered. “Of course I remember you. How are you? That paper was super great, by the way. Major points for that. Very academic.”

“Yeah.” I replied tonelessly. I stuffed my hands in my pockets. Another alpha’s smell in such a tight room, laced with the sharp acidity of the stress and anxiety everyone was putting off in waves? There was only so much a girl could take. “So, is anyone going to tell me why you’re all in the ladies room holding some sort of convention, or should I just go ahead call the police for a drugs bust?"

“How did you know about liches?” A teen boy interrupted me, voice thick with braces. His curly hair stuck out from under his ballcap almost comically.

I folded my arms, already defensive. "I DM games sometimes. Sue me.”

“So you know a lot about that sort of thing? Weaknesses, game mechanics?”

“Yeah. Again: DM. Kind of an encyclopedia.”

The squadron looked at me, then each other, then back at me again. 

That’s how I’d ended up in the back of the car, crammed in the barely-available space, and volleyed with questions while Robin and Harrington bickered like an old divorced couple in the front seats, pouring over an unfolded paper map. Dustin rapid-fire spewed a story about dimensional rifts and monsters and mayhem in my direction. As he went on, Max nodding in complete agreement, the realization hit me. 

Ah. They’re all batshit insane .

Harmlessly, it seemed. Kind of entertaining, actually. Together they talked and acted like a varied cast from some sort of avant-garde reality TV show, so utterly wrapped up in their own storytelling they didn’t seem to notice how deranged they looked from the outside.

It was the most fun I had had in years.

Dustin snapped his fingers in my face as the car took a sharp turn down the road. “Hey, you getting all this? Earth to miss sarcastic?”

Uh, upside-down, gateways, holes torn in spacetime. “Kind of sounds like casting dimension-door.” I blurted. 

The young boy scoffed. “It’s not dimension door , It’s…” He exchanged a look with Steve in the rear-view. “Oh shit. It’s totally dimension door.”

From then on, I just couldn’t seem to shake the troupe. Like I was magnetized to them or something. I just keep running into them. Hawkins was a small town, sure, but this was just excessive . I was just trying to live my life— wake up, go to work at the station, take my hormonal suppressants, crash at my apartment— without walking face first into a girl with a skateboard and backpack full of walkie-talkies, or a haggard Steve grabbing my shoulders and asking me to recite more of that, as he called it, ‘nerdy mumbo-jumbo’. 

It was dumb luck that I was at the video store when the Mystery Gang rolled in. Even dumber when Robin whistled, calling me over to ask if the movie list looked like something ‘a stoner would rent’. Then I was back in the car again.

I really had to stop getting into stranger’s cars.

“So who is this guy?” I asked Steve as we piled out, stumbling through evening-dark leaves at the foot of some dilapidated hick house on the edge of Lover’s Lake. Crickets sang in the shadowed night. “Eddie… something? And why is your kid so freaked out?”

In front of us Robin snorted.

Steve ran a hand through his hair. “Okay, first, he’s not my kid , he’s a friend. Good head on his shoulders. Eddie’s his friend. Runs his DnD club. He’s, uh… weird? But he’s innocent. No matter what anyone else says, he didn’t do it. Vecna did.”

Cue alarm bells, even as Steve stormed ahead to the front door. No matter what anyone else says? Great. Awesome. Their delusions suddenly felt a lot less harmless. God… if this full-throttle manhunt was related to the recent murder, I was going to kill Steve Harrington.

We eventually made our way to the boathouse. A dark, creaking, eerie structure, with dust swirling in the air and spiderwebs in the rafters. Robin wrinkled her nose as she entered: even a beta like herself was perceptive enough to recoil at the potent smell of fear that ballooned out of the building. The floorboards groaned as we slunk in, flashlights like highbeams in the dark.

Man, I really shouldn’t be here. I should be at home, with some coffee and a nice spank-bank video to wind down my day. Not breaking and entering .

I vowed to pretend I had never met any of them, should I make it out of this without being arrested.

They armed themselves pretty quickly: Steve especially. It looked second-nature to him. I had the feeling it was more than just his innate, biological protective instinct. He looked ready , fully expecting something to jump out at him.

I was incredibly grateful none of the Mystery Gang’s smells riled me. A pheromone match was rare, but still. Steve was clean, Robin was woodsy, the teens were neutral and unpresented: none of them sent my head totally spinning. I dreaded to think of the stupid, hind-brain reaction I would have to a fellow alpha raising a weapon around me if that weren’t the case.

“Someone’s been here.” Max held up a crinkled food wrapper into the flashlight beam.

“Maybe he got spooked and ran?” Robin offered.

“Don’t worry.” Dustin said sarcastically, watching Steve rhythmically pummel the tarped metal boat like it had personally offended him. “Steve’ll get ‘em with his oar. Nature’s bravest at work, folks.”

“Poor taste, dude.” Steve shot back. He paused, turning to the younger boy and leaning on his makeshift poking stick. “Considering most of us have nearly died like a hundred times—”

The shed erupted into shrieking when a figure launched itself out from under the tarp in a whirlwind of denim and black, toppling Steve against the wall. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Dustin screamed.

I didn’t blame him. Some crazy-eyed, maned guy was holding a broken bottle to Steve’s soft jugular.

“Eddie— Jesus Christ— Eddie, it’s me! It’s Dustin! That’s— that’s Steve! I’ve told you about him! He’s not gonna hurt you!” Dustin made soothing gestures, like calming a wild animal. Eddie’s gaze swung wildly between everyone, his shoulders heaving. His irises were such a dark brown it was nearly black, and long stray hairs stuck to his pale, sweating face. The stink of fear rolled off of him in waves. 

And god damn it , sometimes being born on one end of the second gender spectrum was a pain in the ass, because Dustin’s friend smelled fucking amazing . Pheromones like bright, sour, fruity hard candy. Green apple and blue raspberry and cherry. Under it, deep and smooth, was rich caramel, sugar simmered so low and thick it was nearly burned. A goddamn candy store. Totally incongruous with his appearance but so, so fucking perfect.

It felt like a punch in the gut.

It cut through my suppressants like a blade and for a few seconds all my brain could think was good smell and he’s scared and he smells too good to be scared, make him not scared . I drove my nails into the meat of my palm because holy shit girl, be better than your brain chemistry, there was a whole goddamn class in school on that.

He was so fucking terrified, weak-kneed, face contorted, demanded to know what we were doing here. Even as Dustin swore up and down we weren’t here it hurt him, he kept the bottle pressed to Steve’s neck. When he finally , finally gave up the fight, it was to slide back against the wall, down into a ball of tight pants and wild curls. Eyes staring into nothing. Robin let out a relieved whoosh of air next to me while I was fighting the stupid goddamn idiotic baseless stupid again urge to soothe the sugar-sweet, distressed man.

“We’re here for you. It’s okay. It’s okay, Eddie. It’s okay. We just wanna talk.” Dustin sank down into a crouch. 

He said we wouldn’t believe him. Max told him to try us. That’s when I had my second realization. 

Oh. They’re not batshit crazy, after all.

I had to stand in the doorway, biting at the skin on the edge of my nails. The blood, the iron: the smell was far better for me than the distress pouring off Eddie as he recounted his tale. The death. The gruesome, terrifying death I was absolutely ready to assume was made up, but then I looked at the Mystery Gang and they were nodding and dear god he was absolutely telling the truth. It was all true. All of it.

“Her bones , they just…” He made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, closing his eyes to compose himself before continuing. I bit down on my nail a little harder. He had panicked, he had run, who wouldn’t? Of course he ran, good that he ran, good boy keeping himself safe — god, no, shut up stupid fucking hindbrain that had been making my life so complicated since I had presented. 

Slender fingers glittering with rings pinched the brow of his nose. “God, you all think I’m crazy.” He warbled out shakily. The chorus of ‘no’s only riled him further. It was only when Dustin started softly explaining the Hawkins curse, or the truth akin to that, that he calmed. The sight made the unease tightening my chest like a balloon deflate a bit. 

The patchwork squad continued on, faces cast gently in the stray beams of lamplight, retelling the spiel I had heard in the car several days prior. I still hung back, out of the light. Biting that nail skin. Lost in thought, brain going a million miles an hour in the opposite direction of everyone else in the room. Dual pheromone pairings were like unicorns. Incredibly rare. One in a million, that two secondary genders found one another equally irresistible. One-sided ones were rare as well: most people went their whole life without stumbling into, say, one of the hundred people out of billions on the planet that smelled and sounded and tasted and looked so fucking tantalizing and hypnotizing it was impossible to stay away.

Just my fucking luck, huh? Because life couldn’t leave me in peace, apparently. 

“...Who’s Vecna?” Steve’s hard voice cut through my frustrated, addled thoughts. Even in my state, I knew the answer to that one. 

“You were all considering liches, right?” All gazes turned to me, the outcast, the silhouette in the doorway. I avoided Eddie’s eyes like the plague. “Well, there’s your lich.”

“An undead creature of great power.” Dustin said gravely.

“A spellcaster.” Eddie added.

“A dark wizard.”

Eddie put his face in his hands.

They dragged me away from his delicious sticky-sweet smell and I let them, night air cleansing my palate. 

“You looked kinda pale back there. You good? The whole ‘evil death dimension’ can be a lot.” Steve asked me as he was hauling open the car driver door.

I shot him a tight smile. “Yeah. You know how it is. Tension makes us a little…. Grr.” I half-heartedly mimed snarling at the air. 

His hair bounced when he nodded. The car doors slammed around us, squashing me into a muddle of uninteresting alpha and beta and omega and I felt like I could finally breathe again despite the obviou, deadly, supernatural danger. At least with that, I felt like I could handle my reactions. 

So of course, naturally, we came right back the next morning after stopping at a grocery outlet. 

“Why are we stopping?” I asked when Robin hopped from the car, a couple bills in hand. 

“Dustin said Eddie’s probably hungry. The guy’s done nothing but run and hide for, like, 48 hours at least.”

I went with her. I put extra food in the cart. She side-eyed me as I had a slight breakdown over whether he’d like cocoa-puffs or honeycombs more, and decided on both.

And then there I was, in the doorway again, watching him like a hawk as he perched cross-legged on the boathouse floor, inhaling an entire box of cereal. He preferred the honeycombs. I smothered the chemical urge to find a replacement for the one he was quickly clearing out: anything to stave off the look of dawning horror on his face as they broke the news of his suspect-hood to him.

“But it’s fine. You’ll be fine.” Dustin reaffirmed after dumping the deluge of terrible events at Eddie’s feet.

“Normally we have someone with superpowers, but…” Robin chimed in.

“Yeah, yeah that’s true, so now we’re more in the uh…” Steve looked around helplessly for confirmation, “...brainstorming phase?”

“Brainstorming phase.”

“You’ll be fine .” Dustin said again. It was even less reassuring now.

Eddie looked haunted. 

When the sirens kicked in in the distance, my hackles raised. A gut-punch of hormones hit my nervous system like a shotgunned energy drink, doubling down when Eddie’s fringe-trimmed eyes flew to the window, wide with terror. “Boat. Tarp. Now.” I barely got out in an even, normal sounding voice. 

Robin looked at me like I had grown a second head. Eddie looked equally shocked to hear me speak.

“ Now .” I doubled down.

The willowy punk snapped into action, scrambling over the metal lip and yanking the plastic over his head. 

Good boy . No. Goddamn it.

When the sirens passed, headed off down the road, the group let out a collective exhale. 

“Guys, we really gotta jet. We’re burning daylight.” Steve insisted. He nudged the plastic bags of groceries with his foot. “We cool to leave you here, dude?” He asked Eddie. 

The man was poking his head up from the tarp like a meerkat. His expression was one of smothered cynical exasperation. “Cool. Yeah. Totally. I’m just on the lamb from the law for murder. No big deal.”

“I’ll stay with you.” I blurted out. When eyes landed on me, I wanted to kick myself. Why had I said that? Why ? I wasn’t usually in the business of torturing myself. But some deep part of my brain absolutely revolted at the thought of leaving him here by himself. What if something happened? What if he got caught? Or hurt? Or that… lich came after him . My hindbrain gave a particularly hard kick at that. I doubled down. “Buddy system, right? I can be the lookout. And the designated shopper.”

“I like that plan.” Dustin agreed.

“Dustin, dude.” Eddie gestured to me with one hand and his myriad of chains jingled. “No offense, man, but I don’t even know this chick.”

“Trust me, she’s one of the good guys. She’s a total geek.”

“Not a geek.” I replied flatly.

“She’s a part-time geek.” Dustin amended. I nodded: I’d take it. “She runs a campaign for her own friends. Helped me research some potential ways to fight Vecna. You’ll get along great.” He flashed Eddie a thumbs up, the Mystery Gang already trailing out of the boathouse, scrambling to the car to follow the sirens. 

“Wait, I— shit.” Eddie tried to catch any of their attention as they left, but they were already gone, the door banging behind them. The boathouse felt very empty and very, very quiet: water sloshed on the underside of the boat and the rope ties creaked.

I regretted ever opening my mouth. God, this was awkward. Two strangers: one secretly wrestling her stupid alpha bullshit into submission, the other trying to evade death penalty.

Eddie slowly ate another fistful of honeycomb cereal. Crunch, crunch, cruch. Loud and obnoxious. “So.” He said neutrally. “Dustin says you’re a geek. Weird. You look like a prep to me.”

God help me.

Eddie, it turned out, was a character and a half when he wasn’t freaking the fuck out. Loud, sassy, swayed by his own whims. Weirdly nice . With his teased mane and studded jacket, I was constantly expecting him verbally harass and provoke me, but he didn’t. He was like a cat: fiddling with everything, jumping on top of shit, making a complete mess the second he felt moderately out of danger.

The boathouse became two small in under an hour. He was kicked back in the boat, legs crossed over the side, rooting through his third bag of potato chips when I snapped and moved us into his incarcerated dealer’s house. A much better alternative: it had actual floors, and bathrooms, and doors with locks. 

The first thing Eddie did was switch on the sound system in the living room, bobbing his head and air-guitaring.

I snapped it off and he gasped in mock offense. “Are you stupid?” I hissed. “This house is supposed to be empty . No music, no lights, no anything . Doors shut and windows closed.”

“Jesus, overreact much?” He groused. With an exaggerated movement like a shitty medieval jester, he swung his hand to the porch glass doors. “In case you haven’t noticed, milady, this place is in the middle of goddamn nowhere. The only things looking at us right now are very voyeuristic woodland birds.”

I planted hands on my hips. “And if there are fishermen out on the lake? Or hikers nearby? Do you really wanna take that chance?” I don’t want to. My stupid lizard brain was latched onto this idiot like a tick. If he asked me to jump I’d ask how high, and it was annoying the shit out of me. Sugar-sweet pheromones be damned.

He held his hands up, pulling a face and slowly turning away, sidling idly through the dining room. “Shit, man. You win. Didn’t know I’d be bunking with the fun police for the foreseeable future.” Eddie flopped down onto the couch, head lolling over the armrest, hair cascading down below him. He looked a sight, all stretched out: all lean torso and long legs. 

A little crescent of pale skin shone between his shirt and jeans. I jerked my head away, drawing the living room blinds closed, and excused myself to do the same through the whole house. 

“Hey officer,” he called down the hall to me as I neurotically fussed over the bedroom, “Am I allowed to turn on the TV, at least?”

“Just keep it low.” I called back.

“Yes ma’am.” The sarcasm was palatable.

I kept myself busy. Called in to work, took a week of sick days I’d never used. Cleared away the depressingly large amount of ‘drug dealer’ house trash. Checked the stock in the fridge (empty until I put the contents of the shopping bags into it) and the cabinets (void save for three cans of nonperishables). Made sure the doors were locked. Checked the fridge again. Looney tunes noises filtered through the house, soft and nostalgic. With a huff, I rested my back against the entryway wall and pulled out the absolute brick of a walkie-talkie we had been left with. 

“Pink Ranger to Thorin, Pink Ranger to Thorin. Do you read me?” I asked into the microphone, pinching and extending the antenna. 

Crackling static. “Kinda busy, Pink Ranger.” Dustin answered. “Fresh body just dropped.”

“...Like the one at Munson’s house?”

“Pretty much one-to-one. Look, I gotta go. Will keep you updated. Thorin, over and out.”

I holstered the device, swallowing a sigh. I didn’t know what I was expecting. Oh, Pink Ranger, yeah it must actually suck over there, we’ll come pick you up. Or We’ve managed to solve the mystery in the three hours we’ve been away, don’t worry! 

Anything to distract me, really. I was seeing snapping teeth and levitating demonic possessions in the back of my mind, sure, but the most pressing issue really was the heady, sugary bouquet clouding the house. It made me stupid. Thank god for skunky weed. It cut the scent down significantly. Apparently, in the Alpha mind, looming death didn’t rank higher than the ‘prime mate candidate’ alarms.

Not a very good survival mechanism , I thought dismally. 

Around the corner the cartoons made a cartoonish hammer sound, and Eddie laughed through a mouthful of food. A good noise. Musical. I wanted to hear it again.

Dammit , brain.

Dawn shrouded the forest outside the house in hazy purples and blues, soft and demure. The hues lulled me, the exhaustion of adrenaline and mind-bending cosmic horror finally catching up to me. I was just about to doze off when the double shriek of an alarm and the subsequent “shut up!” that followed it made me shoot upright, stumbling blindly from my perch and into the living room on full alert.

Standing on a counter stool was Eddie, screwdriver clutched in his teeth, fingers busy with disabling the ceiling smoke alarm. “So touchy.” He chided it, voice muffled with metal. 

“... What are you doing?” I asked dizzily, still shaking sleep off of myself. 

He pointed the screwdriver at me like a wand before digging it into the alarm’s guts, screws pinging to the ground. “Well, since you’ve forbidden me to set foot outside, I’m gonna have to smoke in here. One must do what they have to, in trying times such as these. I’m sure Rick will understand.”

The exasperation headache was coming back. “You are not smoking marijuana in the house .”

“Why not? You can totally get in on this, if you want. I’ve got enough to share. It’s here… somewhere… aha.” He spoke as he hopped off the stool, cavalier as all hell, patting his jacket pockets and pulling out a baggie of pre-ground buds. “Moondust. Ultramellow.”

“Absolutely not.”

The carefree exterior sagged. Softened. “C’mon. You really gonna take this away from me?”

“Do you know for sure that this ‘Reefer Rick’ guy doesn’t have alarms that call emergency services?”

“...He’s a drug dealer .”

“Yeah, but do you know ?”

“Lady, listen…” He stilled, tongue darting out to wet his lip lips. He looked down at the floor. “I kinda need this, okay?” A softer, more honest voice than usual. “I just wanna be able to sleep. Couldn't, all night.”

Hindbrain wanted to give him anything he wanted. Eight truckloads of weed. All the dead smoke alarms in the world. Anything to make him feel better. I shifted my weight from side to side, biting the inside of my cheek. “...It’s probably the most risk free in the bathroom. No alarms. We’ll keep the window cracked.”

“A gracious warden indeed.” The bullish, buoyant personality was back. “Shall we go seek the castle of the porcelain throne?”

Five minutes and some window-lock-fiddling later, Eddie was lounging in the empty bathtub and I was pressed against the sink, knees up at my chest: unwilling to leave, but not exactly wanting to stay. It was a small mercy that he seemed to be preoccupied with getting high as a kite to give me shit about my weirdly possessive attitude. 

He took a long, bubbling drag from the frankly ridiculous bong, holding his breath as he slowly leaned back against the tub wall and exhaling with a few hearty coughs. God , weed reeked. It smelled worse every time I had the misfortune of crossing it. Small mercy, though. No burnt caramel and green-apple candy. Peace, for a moment. 

“... Oohhhh .”

My peace was shattered by Eddie’s borderline-pornographic noise of appreciation, his head thunking against the tile. “Oh yeah. Much better.” He glanced down at the stained bong glass in the fading twilight, then up at me, holding it out. He flicked the lighter on and off in his free hand, rings glittering. “Want in?”

I scoffed dismissively. “Yeah, that’s gonna be a pass for me. I don’t plan on turning into an idiot for fun.”

He put a hand on his chest in dramatic, mock offense. “First of all, very rude. An insult to my honor.” He coughed again. “Second of all, who said anything about idiocy? I have had some very scintillating conversations while high.” Eddie’s eyes narrowed. A smile crept onto his lips, rows of teeth dark in the evening. “Oh shit , I know what this is. Yeah, okay, I see it now. You’ve never smoked.”

His words needled me. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Oh, no, no, no,” He breezily replied. “To each their own, and all that. You’re perfectly entitled to, uh…” He scratched at his face idly, “...be a tight-ass or whatever. Free country. I can’t force you to actually enjoy life for once.”

“Hey. I enjoy life, okay?”

“Mmm.” He hummed, unconvinced. I hated the way I tracked him bite on his lower lip, shaking his head. Amused by my words. “Yeah, uh, you say that, but here you are. On break and you’ve volunteered to spend your time with the involuntary shut-in—” He jerked a thumb at himself, “—watching windows and keeping an eye out for el policia .”

“Anyone ever told you you’re kind of a shit?”

He chuckled, warm and soft, and started packing another bowl. “Oh man. Only every day.”

I eyed the way his slender fingers manipulated the sticky ground buds. The way he cradled the long glass device against his stomach, one leg crossed under himself. It was almost tender. Caring.

There were liches. I might be dead soon. To hell with it, right?

“What’s it, uh… like?” I asked softly. “The high.”

He paused, moving the flame away. Genuine interest sparkled in his dark eyes. “With this? Nothing too crazy. You get all loose, chill out a bit. Scary shit doesn’t seem as scary. Everything feels… good.”

“I don’t…um…” Amazing. Four years of high-school English classes out the window. No articulate vocabulary at my fingertips. “I don’t know how to, like, light it or breathe it or anything…” I gestured vaguely at the bong. Was I being stupid right now? I was being stupid right now.

He waved my words away, pulling up off the tub and leaning towards me. “No, no, I figured. It’s fine. I can show you. You know, if you want.”

“...Okay. Show me.”

Soft breath, closer to him than ever before. Scooching up the edge of the tub while he rested the bong on the lip of it, walking me through it in a soft, low, smoked-out voice. His face was close enough to touch, each individual lash like a dark weft.

“Really soft inhale to start with. Smoke’s gotta accumulate.”

It was weirdly intimate, pressing my lips into the glass mouthpiece his had just been in. The lighter was a warm spot of yellow in the corner of my vision. I could see strands of Eddie’s hair hanging down on either side of my face, opposite me. I kept slow pace, hearing the water bubble and froth: such a low inhale I barely felt it. The pipe got whiter and whiter. 

“Rip it.” He permitted after another few seconds. I steeled myself, inhaled sharply— and pulled away from the pipe in a blind panic, coughing and hacking, eyes watering. It felt like inhaling hot, sharp, shitty air that made me acutely aware of every nerve ending inside my lungs. My head was shrouded in misty clouds of acrid vapor.

Eddie was practically doubled over laughing. He cackled like a hyena, the corners of his eyes crinkling, shoulders shaking. “Oh my god,” He gasped ut between bouts of laughter, “your fucking face! Oh shit, I can’t breathe! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I just…” He ran a hand down his blotchy, reddened face, chuckling, “It’s a rite of passage, okay? Everybody’s gotta cough up a lung at some point. Congratulations.” He held up a palm. “You’ve made it into the stoner’s club.”

I wiped my watering eyes and half-miserably high-fived him. “I think it’s a one and done for me, Munson.” My voice was cracked. “No me gusta.”

“Yeah, well, it’s an acquired taste.” He went back in for another rip, lighter warming his face from purple to orange. 

After a few minutes, something inside him unspooled. Something inside me unspooled. Lots of unspooladge. 

I was sure I felt the same, unaffected by the weed, but when I moved to rest against the wall I felt like I was in slow-motion, swimming underwater. My limbs were lead. Friggin’ ridiculous. God. Why did the sensation make such a stupid smile break out on my face? Eddie giggled at the sight of me and my drunken fish floundering. I liked it when he giggled. He should do it again. 

We just… talked. About Hawkins High, this year’s shitty spring parade, rock music on the radio, how mean the staff were at the local diner. Couple of assholes, sittin’ around, getting high in a bathroom, like the young adults they always warned us about in the PSAs on TV. The Druggies. And now here I was, smelling nothing but skunk and jolly ranchers and feeling weirdly relaxed enough to enjoy it, even while my heart was doing a small triathlon in my chest. 

“You know, I can’t believe I’ve never even seen you until, like, yesterday.” I said after a while, running fingers over my knees. The tight pants fabric over the hard bone felt good on my skin. “Considering we literally went to the same school.”

“Yeah. Weird. But I have a feeling we didn’t frequent the same social circles.”

“You mean, the geeks and the, what, other-geeks?”

“Dude.” He looked me dead in the eye. “I don’t mean to come off as rude but, like, I could smell your alpha-attitude from across a damn football field, alright? You can only be so geeky and nerdy with that under your belt. Bet nobody ever gave you shit for spending lunch break reading the Silmarillion.” 

“...Weirdly accurate thing to say to me.”

“Absolutely just a shot in the dark. I knew I was psychic.” When I snorted, he continued. “No, but, you know.” He settled lower in the tub, hand behind his head. Bicep bulge , my mind said. Shut up , I reminded it. “Now, see, me and my hellfire club? Jocks get a whiff of us? Oh man, it was a free-for-all before I started punching back.” He wiggled his ring-decorated fingers. “These babies pack a punch.”

His words prickled the back of my brain. “You guys get into trouble that often?”

“If by ‘trouble’ you mean dipshits starting fights for fun, then yes. And if by ‘you guys’ you mean mostly me, all the time, always, then yes.” He linked his fingers under his chin and batted his eyes, an angelic comic. 

Uh oh , I realized when a wave of frustration washed over me, mayhaps weed was not the best thing to smoke when I’m trying to violently repress my impulses. “That wasn’t cool.” I said, scratching at the floor tiles. “Of the guys at school. Targeting you like that. If I’d been there I would have done something. Stepped in.”

“Mmm, my princess in shining armor.” He mock swooned, earning another soft laugh from my end. Eddie fiddled with his rings. “It’s not really a problem now. Apparently, people think I’m scary as hell.” He glanced down at his shirt, his rugged pants, his torn jacket. “No idea what gave them that idea.”

I snickered, and he broke into giggles at the sound. “Oh yeah. A mystery.” I said.

“Do you know, hold on, do you know ,” Eddie pointed at me, brows raised, “That nobody thinks I smell like me ? I’m dead fuckin’ serious. They come near me and assume I just finished, I don’t know, shacking up with my hot goth omega girlfriend. So I’m getting bonus points for the relationship I don’t have.”

Oh man, he was high. Proper, borderline-ridiculous stereotypically high.

“Christ.” I turned my head away, shaking it. “It’s 1986, not the dark ages. Pretty disappointing that people are still so… close-minded. And weird.”

“Yeah, well.” He slapped the sides of the tub matter-of-factly, that tight, shit-eating grin back on his face. “Such is the way of America. Running on bigotry and corporate greed since 1776. And speaking of greed, I am officially hungry as hell. Outta the way, princess. Those cans of chunky vegetable soup are calling my name.”

My buzzing body high subsided. “Eddie, it’s getting light. You can’t use the kitchen. People will be out.”

He was ignoring me, clambering upright in a mess of long limbs, tightly-clutched glass bong glinting in the low light. “Nuh-uh. I draw the line at denying me my munchie cravings.”

“Munson, I’m serious.”

“Yeah, so am I. Robin bought eggs, right?”

“I’ll handle it.” I burst out, shooting up and leaning against the wall for support. Blocking his escape. His insistence was… poking the stupid fucking brain-bear that had the misfortune of latching onto him. “If you’re hungry I’ll make you something, just don’t… do dumb shit , okay? Not when you're the one wanted by the police. Lemme take care of you. It. Lemme take care of it.” My muscles felt like limp ropes, but my brain was limper.

I pinched my brow. Okay. Weed was bad. No cerebral filter between me and my gut impulses.

Eddie stilled, pulling his head back. Regarding me with a dark gaze. Trying to figure me out. I squirmed under his gaze.

“....Okay.” He said slowly and pointedly after several agonizing beats of silence. He set the bong down on the porcelain bathroom counter with a clunk , pushing past me with the jingle of metal and the rasp of jeans. “You, uh. You do what you gotta, I guess.” He gestured half-heartedly to the bedroom and slunk off into it, disappearing into the darkness. I heard the mattress creak, a bored lighter flicking on and off, over and over. 

Great. Perfect. Thank you, hindbrain. Making me a controlling creep for a half-decade now. The air was still clouded with sugary sweetness that made me want to float down the hall, cartoon pie-smelling style, and pin Eddie’s wrists above his head. Pepper him in kisses, grinding deep against him, until he smelled like pleasure and comfort instead of anxiety and exhaustion hiding under fake cheer. I wanted him safe . I wanted him fed, and safe, and his smart-aleck mouth preoccupied with fingers. 

I breathed in, focusing on the sharp smokey tang of weed, the old stench of cleaning products and long-expired men’s hair gel. Ignoring my gut, like always: I was civilized. We were civilized. Alpha males no longer snatched up omegas into their lairs for safekeeper, and alpha females no longer kept concubines locked up safe and tight under swaths of hormones and biological, instinctual deference. I didn’t want that for Eddie. Especially when he clearly was doing his best to just tolerate me. 

Focus on the kitchen, girl . Focus. I headed out. Even if I couldn’t have anything else, I could have this. Being the provider. It soothed the red, angry, huffing, protective and archaic animal nesting in the back of my skull.

When the walkie-talkie bleeped, we scrambled to it, out of our bonelessly flopped, bored positions in the living room. I got to it first, scrambling for the volume control, Eddie hot on my heels. I could feel him hovering over my shoulder, on his knees with me on the carpet. For the thirtieth time in forty-eight hours I smothered the stupid hindbrain urge to tug him until he was flush with me. To comfort. To rumble out a low alpha pur that I knew would soften the lines of unease on his face. 

“Hello? Hello, anyone there?” A mystery woman’s voice crackled through the radio.

Eddie reached over my shoulder and snatched the device before I could say no. It bombed me, pheromone gland on his wrist passing an inch from my nose. I froze up: stupid, delicious, perfect-smelling man. 

“Is that Nancy Wheeler I hear?” He crowed, flopping back onto his back. The midday sun streamed in through the slats of the window blinds and down across him, little strips of dusty gold cutting horizontal segments over leather and cheeto-stained shirt. He played with a strand of his hair almost mockingly. “Well, hello hello. What news does our favorite reporter have for me? I’m rooting for a full pardon.”

A beat of silence. Nancy’s crackling voice came back. “...Is there anyone else I can talk to?”

Eddie had to the gall to look offended, gesturing like can you believe her? Even as I slipped the walkie from his ring-bedazzled hand. He immediately got up and wandered into the nearby kitchen, rummaging through the near-empty cupboards. I pressed the receiver button. “Yeah, there is. Everything okay?”

A derisive, expasterated, high laugh. “Um, no. Kind of pretty far from it.”

Seconds bled into minutes. Victor Creel, Max under Vecna’s curse. Lucas, a friend, bringing the worst news of all, straight to my hindbrain. His idiot jock alpha friends were gunning for Eddie Munson. With baseball bats. And crowbars . They wanted to hurt him . 

I glanced over my shoulder, hunched around the walkie. Eddie stood frozen, barefoot on the kitchen tiles, a hand locked inside a chip bag. Listening with a tight, fearful expression. My pheromones prickled. That was wrong , that was all wrong, he was supposed to be happy, supposed to have that sarcastic grin on his face while he pranced around spouting bullshit and jingling like a piercing parlor. Not miserable. Never miserable. Not him, delicious sugar ruined with acrid fear.

Nancy signed off and left us in silence. 

“...Perfect.” Eddie smiled sharply. No humor in it. Genuine anxiety. “Great. Now we have Saruman's army of meathead orc-boys trying to stalk me , like a— like I’m a fucking t rophy animal or something, it’s—”

“They won’t hurt you, Eddie.” I said it without even thinking, rising to my full height. “They won’t. I won’t let them.”

He pulled an expression of exaggerated shock, bowing jeeringly. “Why thank you, my big strong 1950s alpha housewife. Yeah, I’m sure you and your house rules are gonna keep a bat from inverting my knees.”

“You heard Wheeler.” I doubled down, taking a step towards him. God, the kitchen felt so so fucking small, and his anxiety was rising so high, choking my scent receptors and triggering my urge to comfort and silence and soothe over and over like a feedback loop. “Sinclair told them that it’ll take days for them to even consider searching your contacts. They’re not exactly geniuses. And if they come—”

“Let's be real, when they come.”

“— When they come.” I said softly. “I’ll be here. I’ll make something up.” Another step in his direction. Christ, I must be putting off pheromones like a fog machine. I couldn’t bring myself to care, or even register it, now: not when Eddie’s eyes suddenly dilated at my proximity, his shoulders stiffening. “I swear to god, I won’t let anything happen to you, okay? You’ve been through enough.”

Fear, anxiety, reeking and disgusting. T urn it off, soothe, dampen. 

He made an abrupt movement and I slammed a hand against the wall next to him, boxing him against the fridge. “Sorry, just.” I squeezed my eyes shut, invoking darkness. Soothe, soothe, soothe . “Sorry, I’m, uh… just give me a second. Don't move, please. It makes it worse.” Not being able to see his face was easier.

Eddie’s exhale was long enough that I could feel his breath on my face. “Oh, shit.” He said softly. Realization. “You’re off your suppressants.”

“Only for a few hours. I’ll pick some up at the drugstore when I go out. It’s fine.”

“It’s ‘fine’?” His voice was shaky. “I’m up against a fridge . You smell like every evil, luring alpha that PSAs have warned me about. I mean, Jesus, if you’re this bad without suppressants, I don't even wanna know what you’re like during a rut. Do I need to buy rhino tranquilizers?”

“I’m not usually this bad.” I bit out sharply, fingers digging into the wall plaster. The relentless alam-bell screaming in the back of my head was slowly releasing its clutch, with his proximity. Close enough to feel his body heat, like a drug hit. I’d be mortified about it later, but right now it was exactly what I needed. “You’re just—” I cut myself off. Teeth digging into my lower lip. 

“I’m just what ?” The silence was deafening. “Really annoying? Super dreamy? Come on, work with me here.” He shifted again and I lurched, my other arm slamming against the fridge. Boxing him in between them. “Okay, alright, nice kitty. Easy. Just… just tell me what you need.”

Sweet, pliant omega. Catering. Thoughtful. Gives me whatever I want. God, that wasn’t helping. Wouldn’t it be easier if he just knew ? Wouldn’t he, Eddie Munson, self-proclaimed outcast and rebel without a cause, understand?

Or would he be repulsed? Betrayed that I signed up for guard duty with my mating instincts instead of my brain?

Fucking whatever. It was agony to continue to tiptoe around him like this. At least if he knew, he could avoid me like the plague, and I could go back to being the doorway guard. 

“It doesn’t mean anything.” I prefaced nervously, wetting my lips. I cracked my eyes, staring down at the floor. My off-white socks bracketing his pale, bare feet. “We know that. Like, science knows it. It’s just chance, genetics and shit.“

“What’s just chance?”

I steadied my stupid, stupid nerves. “You’re, uh. I’m pretty sure you’re a pheromone match. For me. A one-side pairing.”

The clock on the wall went tick tick tick.

When I finally hazarded a look up at the taller man, his mouth was a perfect little ‘o’ of surprise. “...Me.” He eventually got out, pointing at himself. Then at me. “... Your scent match.”

“Yeah. S’what I said.”

“Me? Me ?”

“Christ, how many more different ways can I say yes ?” I shook my hair out in abject frustration, shoulders tight. He was chuckling, now, more in disbelief than anything. I wanted to pull away, give him his own space. My hindbrain wouldn’t let me. “Look, I’ll leave you alone. I’m sorry, that I’m… here. I just really, really fucking want to make sure you’re safe. It’s driving me crazy, Munson, like I’m not even in control of myself anymore.”

“What do I smell like?” He interrupted me. I glanced up at him, eyes meeting his dark ones. Steel on flint. Sparks running up my spine. He looked genuinely curious. A little concerned for my well being. “To you?”

“You…” God, the kitchen felt claustrophobic. The sunlight through the gauzy windows over the sink cast him in an almost perfect gold. It made me want to eat him whole. “To me, you smell like… sour hard candy. Really bright, like raspberries and apples. Caramel underneath it. Dark caramel. The sugar almost burned. It’s, um…” Addictive. “Good. It’s good.”

“And, will, uh…” He slowly replied, cogs in his head turning. Evaluating me, looking me up and down. This chip bag was still clutched to his chest. “Will getting in on that smell, shitty romance-novel-style, help you get this stick out of your ass?”

I blinked rapidly. “Are you offering to let me scent you?”

“Depends. Will that make you go back to normal?”

Yes. Give. Now. Hindbrain demanded. Over the chorus of gut-instinct demands I swallowed my pride: god, when this was all over I wouldn’t blame him for changing his name and moving to a different state to evade me. “Yeah. Yeah, it would— it would help.”

He tilted his head back and let it rest with a thunk against the fridge. The gesture exposed a long column of white, sinewy neck. He licked his lips nervously. “I’m trusting you, here.” Eddie said, staring down at me through his bottom lashes. “Show of faith.”

He had no reason to. No reason at all. Any other punk-rock omega in his position would probably be kicking me in the groin and hightailing it into the woods at this point, but he wasn’t , because for some fucking reason he saw how hard I was holding myself back and he cared , and that was doing it more for me than anything. 

“Thanks. Sorry.” I barely slurred out before my hindbrain was clamping down and I crushed myself into him, pressing him against cool metal and burying my nose in the apex of his neck and shoulder. Mild body odor, salty sweet, and a fucking titanic hammer of sweet artificial fruit and mellow milk caramel flooded my senses. I felt him huff under me, ribcage contracting on instinct when I offgassed a clod of satisfied alpha pheromones. One of his hands smacked against the wall, chip bag dropped at his feet. 

I took slow, even, measured breaths. God he was warm. Nice and warm, soft skin, long hair tickling my face. Warm and firm. Each inhale was another shot of dopamine, relaxing the beast, unclenching its uneasy claws. My hand went up, pressing his shoulder back against the refrigerator. He made a stifled noise in the back of his throat when my nose dragged against his carotid artery. 

“I lied.” He said weakly above me. 

All I could do was hum my reply, half-lost. Awash in instinct. 

“When I agreed with you that we’d never met before. I lied.” He continued. His throat bobbed under me, twitching when lips grazed against skin. I was holding my fucking teeth in my mouth so hard , salivating at the thought. Keeping control. “Last year, at the senior graduation. I saw you in the parking lot. I was uh, gonna ask you if you had a light, but… you turned around and started kicking the shit out of a car tire, like it had offended you. Holding your robes out of the way like Xena Warrior Princess or something.”

The anecdote brought me back to reality, away from the dizzying spiral of perfect and mine and sweet ricocheting around in my head. I swallowed, and pulled away even when every fiber of my being protested. Hindbrain wanted to fold this sarcastic pool noodle of a man in half and ride him until there was no worry or fear left in his brain. Modern brain was saying Jesus, girl, hasn’t he already given you enough ?

“...I didn’t think anyone was around.” I relied, voice hoarse. 

“You wanted to brutalize the tire in private?” His jokes helped clear the air. 

“No, I just…” I shook my head. Stupid. “I was mad. My, uh. My dad. He promised he’d be there to see me walk for my diploma, he’d been promising for months . I was looking for him all night. After the ceremony my mom told me he had never even left Syracuse in the first place. Work emergency.”

His face fell. “Shit. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”

I smoothed my hair. “It’s fine. Really. Ancient history.” When I looked at him again, it was with much more clarity. The beast soothed, for now. “Probably good that you didn’t approach me. I would have probably tried to kick you too.”

Eddie’s responding smile could light up a goddamn room. There was so much sweetness  in him, dorky semi-sad sweetness. He should never be unhappy. None of this stuff should be happening to him. He was good . He deserved to be kept fed and warm and content and well-fucked, wandering around in a state of bliss playing his stupid guitar and eating honeycomb cereal—

God, I was fucked, wasn’t I? I was so fucked.

The bastard was leveraging me.

Not antagonistically, or nefariously, to be sure, but leveraging me nonetheless. Taking a fair amount of entertainment in my wildly impulsive, overriding hindbrain. One day turned to two, to three, mornings afternoons and nights only interrupted by the occasional update from the Mystery Gang. We played checkers. Watched hours of television. Smoked a few more ill-advised bowls, which always led to Eddie voraciously tearing through our food supplies. I knew I should protest, but it was almost a better high than the drugs to see him slumped half-out of the loveseat, boneless and content, enjoying a snack. He filled the room up with happy and safe and satisfied omega. 

Which led to the leveraging. 

“Oh man, I am totally craving Reese's right now. I’d love a pack.” Eddie yawned, stretching and scratching under his chin at his five o’clock shadow. He glanced over at me from his position on the couch. I was pointedly ignoring him from my perch in the broken massage chair, flipping through a magazine.

“Like, it would just make me so happy .” He continued after a moment. When he got no response, he ragdolled himself up off the couch, jingling and jangling his ambling way towards me. “I’m crazy hungry. And we’re basically out of food. Which, obviously, you know… sets me on edge. On top of all the Vecna and rampant death stuff.”

The hindbrain thumped at my conscious mind. Well, idiot?? It seemed to bark. The hell are you waiting for? He’s fucking hungry! He’d been pulling the same shit with me for days. Just little pokes, innocuous enough, seeing how far I’d go. How much I’d jump. Asking me for help with things and watching me scramble over, gesturing with a knife as he cut up chicken breast to cook and making me snatch it out of his hand. It amused him. That logic seemed to escape my hindbrain.

I slapped my magazine down. “I biked to the grocer’s yesterday.”

He was close now, having traded his usual (absolutely disgusting at this point) garb for one of Rick’s too-large-for-him black band tees and a pair of elastic gray sweatpants that were just doing absolutely monstrous things to me. Smelling like boiled sugar and sweetened milk as always. A hard mint was going click click click behind his teeth. “Yeah, but that was yesterday. A whole twenty-four hours ago. That’s a long time. And I’m sure I could, you know…” He leaned over the massage chair, a grin on his lips. “Find a way to make it up to you.”

It wasn’t just a gut punch of hormones. Now? Now it was a slap to the face. 

I was up in a flash. “That's not funny, Munson.” I growled. 

He looked taken aback, looking around the room like I was the crazy one. “...I’m... sorry, was I misreading the eighteen million signals you’ve been sending me, or…?”

I clutched my head in exasperation. The guy was gonna be the death of me. “I’m not doing it intentionally ! I can’t control my hormone spikes, okay, even with the suppressants! It’s not like I’m actively deciding to be this way. You and I both know this situation is… it’s fucked , I shouldn’t have put us in it. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t have stayed and put all of… this, on your shoulders on top of everything else.”

His air of joviality faded. “What?”

I grabbed the walkie from the coffee table. I had to end it. Wasn’t that what a good person would do? Wasn’t this torture for me? Unfair for him, to live with the alpha clamp around his neck even when he played it down? “I’m gonna call in, see if anyone else can take my place.”

“No, whoa, hey, don’t— don’t do that.” He put a hand on the walkie, and my brain skipped a few seconds like a record because hands and rings and good pretty hands. He shot me a fake, nervous grin. “You really think I want Buckley here? Or Wheeler ? And that’s assuming they’re not all already off saving the world. Or saving Max.”

“Well you certainly don’t want me here, you’ve made that clear enough.”

Again, the ‘you’re crazy’ look. 

“You’ve been treating me like a toy , man! Telling me to do this and that. Well, guess what, Munson, this isn’t a fucking game for me, this is what I am. What I have to live with every day. And let me tell you what, it sucks ,” I was spitting mad now, everything all boiling over, “To be treated like a sitcom alpha by someone I was actually starting to fucking like! ”

He opened and closed his mouth like a fish, lost for words. 

“Yeah.” I said coldly. “That’s what I thought.” I started to fiddle with the receiver wavelength.

At that exact moment someone rapped on the front door. Knock knock knock. Insistent and loud. 

All my resentment went out the window. I whirled around, shoving a finger into Eddie’s chest. “Bedroom, now .” I snarled. Letting a little of that ‘protective alpha’ authority creep into my tone. “In the closet. I'll get you when it’s safe.”

He looked so badly like he wanted to argue, but the door pounded again and the blood drained from his face. Like a good little boy he was turning heel and hurrying down the hall, disappearing into the bedroom. 

Nobody hurts my boy . My hindbrain told me.

For once, I agreed.

When I pulled the front door open I was fully ready to do whatever I had to. I came face to face with an elderly beta woman in a knitted sweater with a weathered, tanned face. She looked extremely surprised to see me.

“...Hi.” I said. 

“Well, I certainly wasn’t expecting you.” She said, eyeing me. “Is Rick finally out on probation, then?”

“Rick? Uh. No.” I fumbled on the spot. I was prepared to threaten, not to have a soft spoken conversation with an elder. “No, he’s still in prison. I’m just house-sitting for him. You know. Keeping everything safe.”

Her side-eye went soft and relaxed. “Oh. Oh , alright, I see. You’re his stand-in. Well, that’s wonderful.” In front of my wide, disbelieving eyes, she snapped open her purse and rifled through her wallet with arthritic fingers, pulling out three ten dollar bills. “I prefer silver haze. It helps the most with the joint pain.”

I was flabbergast, almost mute, the money clutched in my hand. “...Right.” I said blankly. When she moved, expecting to be let into the house, I blocked her. “Um. Just. Wait here. I’ll be right back.” I closed the door in her face and started tearing the house apart, for some weed to sell to a little old lady , apparently. Because my life wasn’t weird enough already. I ripped open drawer after drawer, checking closets and empty shoeboxes. Nothing. 

After a minute I poked my head into the bedroom. “Psst.” I said sharply. “Hey. Eddie. Where does Reefer Rick keep his stash?”

The closet door opened a fraction of an inch, just to see a sliver of face. “Fucking what ?”

“Just answer the damn question.”

“Garage. Steamer trunk. It’s all labeled. What are you—”

I was gone before he could finish his sentence, down in the musty garage and rifling through a black trunk meant for band gear. Now it was bursting with baggies, some helpfully labeled in sharpie, others blank. I was elbow deep in the devil’s lettuce before I found a cluster of plastic-covered buds called “Silver Haze”. 

When I put it in the woman’s hand, her eyes widened. “This is awfully generous.”

Was it? I had no idea how much weed 30 bucks bought. “Consider it an apology,” I blustered, “From me and Rick. That he wasn’t here in person. And, uh, also that he’s been away for a while.”

She took it all in stride, telling me to have a blessed day and puttering away in the brown sedan she had parked down the road. 

Only when the sound of the motor was completely gone did I exhale in relief. 

“Hey.” I rapped on the closet door. Inside, I heard Eddie jump, swearing. “Come out, it’s safe.” I stood back as he rolled the wooden panels open, stumbling out off a pile of disorganized shoes and clothing, brushing the dust bunnies off his person. I slapped the thirty dollars into his hand.

His tongue went over his lower teeth under his lip. “Huh.” He said mildly. Looking at the cash then looking at me. “First drug deal?”

“And last, I hope.” I had my hands shoved into my pants pockets. “At least I didn't have to punch anybody.”

“Would've been pretty metal if you did.”

I nodded quietly, looking away. More silence. “I’m, uh, gonna get that walkie now.”

When I turned he was already there, in the doorway, blocking my exit. He was tall. Pretty big, omega or not. All limbs and hair. “You really hate me that much?” He asked me, crossing his arms. Obviously not being serious. Still, the words stung.

“Outta the way, Eddie.”

He shook his wild hair. “Mm-mm. Not this time.”

“I’m not gonna ask again.”

He just raised his eyebrows at me. “What are you gonna do, huh? Stare at me really hard? Not talk to me, like you always do? Come on , Pink Ranger. What's this about? Whaddya want?”

Defeated, I threw my hands in the air. He asked for it. If I told him this, he'd want me gone. “Alright, you know what? Fuck it. You’re a guy that seems to appreciate honesty. You know what I want?” I shoved his chest with my fingers. He stumbled back a half-inch. “I wanna fuck you. Like, a million times in a row. Maybe until you pass out. Wanted it since the first goddamn second I saw you with your stupid broken bottle, looking all freaked out. So… fucking move , okay? Because the last thing I want is to be that alpha. The one that somebody needs, has to depend on, and always gets their way because of it. Especially if that someone is…” I looked away, jaw tight. “Especially if it’s you.”

I started to shoulder past him.

“Please don’t leave.”

I froze in place.

Eddie’s face, his voice : neither held any trace of his normal unworried, teasing casuality. Serious, for a rare moment in his life. “I’ll, uh. I’ll be nicer. I won’t bother you. Just stay.”

I addressed the wall, not the man crammed next to me in the bedroom doorway. “You don’t bother me, Munson. You just drive me crazy.”

“Then I won’t do that.” In the corner of his vision I saw him cross his heart over his shirt. “Scout’s honor.” A pause in the conversation. Fingers, feather light, on my wrist. Slowly closing around it, hot skin and cold metal. “Please.”

There was that magic goddamn word that nearly made my knees buckle. Needy omega. No. Not just that, anymore: needy Eddie. “Why.” My voice was barely above a whisper. That big hand felt like a brand. It was all I could feel, all I could focus on.

“Because I’ve kind of been scared shitless lately.” He muttered back, in a low, rough voice. “And you make me feel safe.”

I looked up at him. Mistake . He was all chocolate-black eyes, soft, pale skin, and fluffy curls. Imminently touchable. Needing comfort. 

“Plus, you told me that you dropped a dragon-turtle on your players as a campaign demiboss. That scored you, like, a ton of points in my book.”

What a fucking jester. I huffed out a laugh, breaking the tension: exactly what he wanted. God, he was so close, chuckling along with me. Warm in the cold hallway shadows. 

“Hey.” he said after a moment, pulling my attention back to him. 

“Mm?”

“Can I kiss you?”

Now it was my turn to stare disbelievingly. “Yeah.” The words were out before I could even process them. “Yeah, you can.”

A hot mouth found mine, spit-slick and sweet and so fucking perfect, wiping out the world like a tidal wave. His lips were better than I ever thought they’d be. He tasted like smoke and altoids. Like a claw, the hindbrain snapped upward. I pressed him against the door jam, hands vice-like on his shoulders, standing up on tiptoe to devour his mouth. Eddie’s hot puffs of air, down from his nose, ghosted over my face. 

Perfect. He was perfect. Delicious and good and mine .

Eddie’s hands found my hips, resting on my curves. He gave himself over to me, willing and pliant, breath stuttering when I tugged on his lower lip with my teeth. When my mouth moved down from his, swollen from kissing, to lathe attention across his neck, he swore and muttered. 

“Jesus. Okay. Wow, ah, okay.” He said over and over, hands running up and down my body. They shivered when I gently, very gently, nibbled on his skin. Testing the waters. God, I just wanted to eat him whole. Throwing someone backwards on a bed and forcibly ripping their fly open usually didn't get the best reaction, no matter what hindbrain insisted. 

“I’d really…” I said between nibbling kisses, scraping teeth over his sensitive scent glands at the base of his neck, “ really … like get you on the bed… right now.”

“The council votes to pass the motion.” Eddie replied breathlessly, and then we were skittering into the messy bedroom, giddy and dumb and young. He was on his knees on the mattress, ripping off his shirt and falling into his back to wriggle out of his sweats. He only paused to watch me yank my shirt over my shoulders. 

I licked my lips, looking away. "I didn’t wear my fancy bra to go search for a wanted criminal. Sue me.”

“Believe me,” He breathed, “the bra is not what I’m focused on right now.”

I crashed into him, right into his open arms. They wrapped, long and lithe and strong and warm , around me. That’s what he was. My own personal condensed sunlight, hiding under a veil of punk rock and rebel pins. A mouth, messy and slick, on mine, drifting down my neck as dexterous fingers undid the clasp of my bra. Cold air found my nipples for only a second before fingers covered one and lips covered the other. 

I purred deep in the back of my throat, and Eddie hummed in a pleased, instinctive response, doubling down on his efforts. It was hard to think past that hot mouth. I straddled his underwear-clad groin, wrapping legs around his torso, trying to get as much skin against skin as possible: the contact was heady, addictive. 

The air was a cocktail of arousal and artificial green apple. I adored it.

“Just so you, uh, know,” I said headily when his free hand hauled me closer, pressing us navel-to-navel. I could feel his heartbeat in the broad expanse of skin. “It’s been a little while since I’ve done this.” My hands trailed up behind his back, resting on the base of his neck. 

He unlatched, looking up at me. He looked good, in the drawn-blinds semidark, blush darkening the apples of his cheeks. “Same here, princess. Kind of hard to get some when everybody thinks you’re some sort of unapproachable satanist.” I rolled my hips against him and he wheezed, hand leaving my breast and flying to the messy sheets to clutch a fistful. His head lolled back at the friction.

I took the opportunity to dive into his neck, nibbling at those scent glands that made his smell double down tenfold and made his legs spasm. 

“Can’t scare me off that easily.” I murmured into his neck, going glassy eyed at the insistent rub rub rub of my core against the iron-hot, twitching member trapped under his boxers. The dulled rutting sent sparks through me. We were like animals, squirming for pleasure. 

His hands squeezed my thighs appreciatively. “Do we need to find condoms or— shit— or something?”

“My rut’s not for another few months. I’m good.” With that, I put my hands on his shoulders and slammed him flat against the mattress, continuing to rut against him, lording my weight over his person. 

God, he seemed to fucking love it, writhing and throwing his hands over his head, wrists free to grab. I did, without a second thought.

“Just don’t lock me.” He reminded me breathlessly.

“Of course.” What was this, the stone ages? A bite against the glands, especially during an orgasm, bound an alpha and omega together: it could be undone nowadays, with chemical treatments, but it was a crime. Nonconsensual locking was assault. But it also usually didn’t stick, with one party wanting nothing to do with it.

Which begged the question: did Eddie think a lock would root, between us?

The idea sparked my hindbrain into a frenzy. The tantalizing idea of him , all for myself , god. It was so much. I saw visions of it, in my mind’s eye, that made me rut against him even more fervently: he’d look so good with a crescent of little tooth marks decorating his neck. Just another piece of jewelry in his decorative armada. Flipping someone off, my bite pink under his necklace.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m loving this,” Eddie said from underneath me, face patchy with blush, “but you’re driving me fucking crazy .”

“That’s the point.” I snarled, swiveling my hips, catching his sensitive head pressed flat against his torso. He let out a groan just as sweet as his smell. 

“Please, come on, please.” He was leaking, a spot of dampness against fabric. When I just swiveled my hips again, he pulled his ace, arms squirming helplessly under my grip. “C’mon, alpha, please. Please?”

“Ohh,” I groaned as a heady rush of needy and horny assaulted my senses, “you play dirty, Munson.” When he shot me a dizzy, shit-eating grin, I yanked our underwear down so hard it almost hurt. His cock pulsed, viciously hot and engorged, in my hand. He hissed through his teeth at the contact, hand moving to grip my hip, squeezing at the flesh. 

He was average, normal length and girth and that was perfect because I was far less interested in the appendage than I was the squirming length of man attached to it. The head of his cock was velvet-smooth: I ran a finger over it, and paused, looking down at him in shock. “A fucking Prince Albert piercing? Seriously?”

His eyes twinkled. “I’m full of surprises.”

“This is like, the least surprising thing I’ve learned about you.” Gently, very gently, I flicked the piercing on the head of his cock. Enough for a sensation, enough for him to decide if he liked it or not. The way his head slammed back against the mattress and he bit into his lip with his teeth was a resounding yes . I tucked that information into my mental journal for later. 

With a careful grip, I rutted against the tip of his cock, and he hissed again. Our limbs shaking, sweaty, fumbling and oversensitive like virgins. I was fucking soaked, because it was him and he was mine , at least for how, Eddie Munson all sprawled out, my own personal buffet. He felt like sin against my folds. I swirled against him, dipping just a little into me. A centimeter or so. 

Shit, it really had been a long time. The stretch burned. 

I thought I had masked it pretty well, but Eddie shakily propped himself up on one elbow, looking up at me. “We can slow down.” He said, mouth hanging open. So spit-shiny and alluring. “If you need time.”

“...It’s been like six months.” I justified. 

He was nodding way too enthusiastically. “Yeah, yeah, I get it, I uh, I get it.” He sat up even higher, up with one hand, the free one creeping down my hip. “Lemme just…” The pad of his finger brushed against my clit and I jolted, making a noise. “There we go. You like that?” The pad doubled down, in small, tight circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves. It was all I could do to clutch at his body, digging nails into his skin, as he focused entirely on dipping a finger deep into me, red-hot and slick, pulling it back out to circle the wetness around my clit. 

Fuck. Fuck, he was skilled with those hands. Fucking musicians. Nimble fingers danced over my folds, tracing my entrance, teasing it gushing wet and open, occasionally stopping to greet my clit with pleasure that made me hunch over him, totally lost to it.

Was it seconds? Minutes? Hours? When those talented fingers left me pulsing and wanting, I opened my mouth with a growl rolling deep in my throat. And paused when Eddie, very pointedly, slipped those slick-shining fingers into his mouth and sucked them clean. He made a noise of appreciation. Savoring the taste.

“Now who’s driving who crazy?” I panted. When he opened his sweet, soft mouth for what was inevitably going to be a smart-aleck reply, I pressed my folds to his poor neglected cock, leaving him wordless. 

“Okay, christ, yes . Please, yes.” He chanted hoarsely when I flicked his cock back and forth against my relaxed, open entrance. 

“Look at me.” I told him roughly. Just a bit of alpha, heated and demanding. His gaze snapped to mine, holding. “Don’t look away, Eddie. Can you do that?”

He was nodding again, furiously.

“Good.” And then I was sinking down onto him, onto his scalding fucking perfect caramel-and-cherry heat, my insides moving to accommodate. To claim. He went bug-eyed, blissed out. But his eyes never left mine.

Fuck. Fuck . That really did it for me.

“Good boy,” I panted out, “ good fucking boy, holy shit, listening like a champ.” I fucked him relentlessly, hips rolling against his own, flush with his pelvis. 

“Jesus.” Was all he could croak out, holding on for dear life. He met my thrusts with shallow ones of his own, hips canting up off the bed. “Jesus, jesus.”

I was embarrassingly close to orgasm already, riled beyond all reason: the molten sensation sat tight and waiting in my stomach, begging to unfurl. The hot head of his cock rubbed that magical spot in me like God had tailor-made him just for my pleasure.

“Wait, slow down, shitfuck—” Was all the warning I got before Eddie was scrabbling at my thighs with blunt nails, curling in on himself and cumming, hips lifting up into me. His eyes rolled back. 

All it took was the distant hindbrain thought of how good my teeth would feel in his neck now, when he was blinded and rendered mute by overwhelming pleasure, for me to follow him into white-out oblivion with fingers furiously working my clit. I came hard, like a fucking earthquake. Shattering me. I buckled, and for an infinity the only thing that existed was me and my boy.

My sweet, delicious, punk-rock candy boy.

It took ages to come back to myself. 

I was sprawled on top of him, jackhammering pulses under ribs like herds of horses. The sheets were a tangled mess of damp sweat. I was trying to catch my breath, huffing into his chest. He was so warm. The kind of warmth I never wanted to leave. Maybe I could keep him here, in this bed, forever. Keep him happy and safe, with all the food and weed he wanted. And orgasms. All the orgasms. 

His arm shifted, and then there was a hand petting my tacky back. Fingers, feather-light and soft, tracing patterns against my skin. Idle and gentle.

Something more than hormones tugged my chest. Much closer to my heart than I was comfortable acknowledging. Something a little more akin to love.

When I shifted on top of him, he made a noise. He was still seated inside of me. Soft, now. Wetness dribbled out of me, onto his cooling skin. 

“Hey.” I said after a few minutes of us catching our breath, enjoying the afterglow.

“Mmm.” 

“Can I kiss you again?”

He fell silent. We both knew it: that a kiss, now, meant more than it did in the hallway. A kiss after . Not before. 

I looked up at him, craning my head. He was just… staring, all soft-eyed and contemplative. I’d give all the money in the world for whatever was rattling around in that head. “Yeah.” He murmured. “You can.”

And I did, and it was soft, and more than sex, and it scared the shit out of me and delighted me in equal parts.

There was no “off” button on horny. I just let Eddie harden back up inside of me with soft swivels of my hips, and we went at it again. And again. And then when he was shuddering, overstimulated in the aftershocks, begging me for a breather with a ragged grin on his face, he got down on his knees on the floor and ate me out. 

Twenty seconds after he had delivered the most mind-bending, full-body orgasm I’d ever experienced, tongue tip flicking over my clit and fingers pumping me like my pleasure was a demand , I was grabbing him by the hips and falling on top of him on a pile on the floor, ready to go another round. 

Poor Reefer Rick. There were fluids on his kitchen countertop. And on his couch throw pillows. And his Tibetan roll-out rug. And that stain on his comforter was never going to come out.

I was like a fucking rabbit, taking complete delight in deconstructing Eddie again and again until he was a flushed, gasping, sweating mess, torso muscles spasming with stimulus overload. And when I wasn’t sucking the soul out of him I was scenting him, nose against his wrists or neck, swiping my own down across his person. He was taking a breather, drinking a can of beer on the couch, and when I passed he tilted his head by force of habit. 

Of course, the sight of his pavlovian conditioning just made me jump his bones.

It had been a week, maybe more. I only left to get groceries, coming back and smothering the omega in attention, burying him under a haze of hormones. He sat cross-legged at the foot of the couch, at my feet, tilting his mouth back and letting me feed him M&Ms while we watched Jeopardy. 

I was acting like he was mine. It was a bad habit. But also one I wanted to indulge, nowadays, while we still lived in this little bubble world detached from reality. Because sometimes he woke up with nightmares, screaming at the top of his lungs, hair tangled and trying to stumble out of bed in blind terror. Most about Chrissy. Some of them not. Some of them secret. Dark. Painful.

And on the quiet evenings, or the purple-pink of early morning after a night terror, we talked. Criticized the photoshop in the stacks of tacky magazines, poked fun at the town bible-thumpers, exchanged tastes in music. Just… talked. It was nice. I like that more than anything else. 

“Oh, fuck. Fuck me. Fuuuuuck , fuck me.” I chanted, squirming against the headboard stacked high with pillows. My words were barely audible over the Heart rock song coming from the bedroom radio speakers. I felt barely visible over the haze of weed smoke hotboxing the room. 

Eddie dipped his tongue down into me, dexterous muscle wiggling, two fingers spreading me apart for better access. I gripped handfuls of his hair like liftlines, tugging hard enough to hurt. He just grunted every time I did, half-heartedly rocking his naked, dribbling cock against the mattress. He was totally into it. My little freak. 

The tip of his tongue flickered over my clit, tracing something into my slick folds. 

“What are you doing down there? Painting?” I asked weakly. 

He looked up at me, over the crest of my pelvic bone. Those chocolate-dark eyes under those heavy brows just did something to me. He looked pleased as all hell, licking the length of me sharply and making me jump. “Writin’ my name.” He hummed. 

“Ugh,” My disdain fell flat and fake when lips fastened around my clit, sucking. “That’s sooo—fuck— cliche, Munson.”

“Didn’t hear you complaining before you knew.”

He buried his mouth against me again, sucking and teething and tonguing so insistently the boiling magma in my stomach came to a head. With a shout, I clenched my thighs up around his head, against his ears, trapping him in place. If anything this seemed to spur him on even more . He doubled down, tongue relentless against my clit.

Just like that I was cumming, the world going mute and deaf around me, squeezing Eddie’s wild-haired head between my legs. No way I would have thought that pleasant, if not for hazily spotting his free hand frantically jerking his cock as I did so. 

There was a crash… somewhere. Noises. Radio, maybe, my hazy orgasm-brain thought, my leadened limbs useless. 

“Eddie! Eddie, where the fuck are you!” A chorus of voices were shrieking out in the hall. 

“Oh shit. ” I barely got out. I only had the time to blindly tug the comforter up over Eddie between my legs, dragging it up to my chest, before the bedroom door slammed open and Steve Harrington stormed in, a ladle-turned-turned weapon in one hand and two walkies under his other arm.

He looked at me. I looked at him.

The first thing he did was slam the door closed again. “Jesus fucking CHRIST!” He screamed, muffled in the hall.

“Is he in there? Is he okay?” I heard Dustin squawk in alarm. 

“Go, Dustin. Go! Nevermind why , go back to the damn living room, check the boathouse or something!”

When Dustin’s footsteps faded, my .exe brain crash finally rebooted. “...Steve? What the hell are you doing ?” I yelled at him through the door, bunching the comforter up at my shoulders. I paused. “You can’t see anything, you creep!”

The door slowly, almost comically, creaked back open. I saw half his face, eyes obscured with his fingers. “I’m not looking.” He said quickly. 

“Yeah. I figured. Answer the damn question.”

He waggled the two walkies. “Where the fuck is Eddie? Why haven’t you been answering?”

“What do you mean, not answer…. Oh shit. Oh. Ah. Okay.” I winced. Because we absolutely had left the walkie in the living room for the past several hours to go bang. Poor Dustin, the DM’s protege, must have been completely convinced his friend had been lynched by angry jocks. “My bad.”

“Your bad ?” Steve hisse, shaking the walkies more fervently. “We thought you were friggin’ dead , man! Now can you answer my question, please? Where is Eddie? Did you lose him? Did he run off?”

The comforter fluttered, ballooning and distorting. Seconds later Eddie’s red-flushed, sweaty, bed-head face poked up from the top, up next to my shoulder. “Hiya, Stevie.” He said with a grin.

Steve peeked from between his fingers for a half-second before groaning and snapping them closed again. “Oh, come on . Seriously? This is— seriously?!”

“You seem stressed, brother.” Eddie offered. Poking the bear, as always. “Wanna smoke a bowl with us?”

“No, I do not want to ‘smoke a bowl’.” Steven snapped. His exasperation was evident even under his blindfold of fingers. He blindly threw a walkie. It landed in a pile of dirty clothes. “Keep this around, next time. Freakin’ animals. Can’t believe I owe Robin ten bucks, now. Thanks a lot.”

The door slammed again. Outside the window, a gaggle of figures piled into Steve’s car, Robin’s laughter audible even this far away. The engine revved, and we were alone again. 

Eddie started to laugh, letting his head flag, cheek pressed against my shoulder. I joined him, pressing a kiss to the crown of his messy head. 

Shit sucked. People were gonna die. 

But right now? Now was alright.