Where impulse takes over

The big door of the garage is rolled up, letting in the afternoon light. Eddie's got a rag thrown over his shoulder as he crouches in front of a tattered cardboard box that looks like it hadn't been opened since before each of the girls were born. His hair's tied back loosely in one of your hair ties, greying at the temples. 

Alice is sitting on the steps by the door into the house, leaning back on the palms of her hands. Roan walks back and forth slowly, kicking a loose bolt on the cracked concrete every time she passes. "This is insane, dad." Alice sighs, leaning her head back on her shoulders to stare at the ceiling above her. "You know that, right?"

Eddie shuffles around, grunts when he stands, and moves the box to another area of the garage. "Enlighten me." 

"You're famous!" She says, exasperated as she sits back up straight. She’s sure that one little detail should end this conversation right there. "You're rich! You could hire someone to do this." 

Roan nods, agreeing with her sister as she kicks at the bolt again, watching it bounce out of her vicinity this time. "Yeah, dad. This is a job for like… some guy named Gary. Not us." 

Eddie glances at them, raising his brows as he tries to find exactly where the audacity is coming from. This was just a regular Saturday in April back at Gareth’s for him, when Mrs. Mara Emerson would bribe them into a month’s worth of cleaning with the promise of their favorite burgers and a pineapple upside down cake. "Gary?"

"Yeah." Roan shrugs.

Eddie leans back against your car, crossing his arms over his chest. "That's pretty specific for two teenage girls who get anything and everything they could ever dream of." He shakes his head, "and also offensive to the many hardworking non-Gary's out there." 

Alice groans, loudly, in response, "daaaad."

"What?" He frowns and dips his head, throwing his hands up, palms to them. "Maybe I like cleaning my own garage."

"You don't." Roan challenges.

"You don't know me." Eddie chuckles and shakes his head, pushing off the car to move towards another stack of soft and worn cardboard boxes. "I’ve been gone for two months. Maybe I want to spend some time with my kids, whom I love and cherish and wish that I could see more. Ever think of that?"

Alice snorts, pushing herself off the stairs and then lowering herself down in front of the built-in shelving until she can reach the bottom shelves. "Spending time with us? Or getting free child labor?"

Eddie rolls his eyes, sorting through a bit of knick knacks, "You're welcome for the time you get to spend with your old man." 

Alice shakes her head, running her hands along the bottom shelf until she comes across a little blue tin. She pulls it out, confused, "I didn't know mom had sewing stuff." She shakes the tin, it doens't rattle in the way needles and thread would rattle. She looks at Roan.

Roan drops down beside her. "Open it." 

"Don't open it. Your mom doesn't sew for fun. It's probably some of her doll shit." He says automatically, not looking towards them. "And if it's something spooky she picked up from a yard sale, I really don't have time for that today."

Alice rolls her eyes and pops the lid on the tin despite the judgement. 

Roan tries to look over her shoulder, "what is it?"

"Pictures." Alice says and shrugs, reaching in to pull out a small bundle. The edges are worn and yellowing. She looks at the photo on the top of the stack. There's a red mustang in the background— much like her dad's that’s tucked away under a tarp in the second opening of their two car garage— the sun glaring off the windshield. There's a woman leaning against it with a little boy on her hip. She's wearing sunglasses, her hair dark brown and wild, just like her own. "Dad?" Alice glances over her shoulder at him. 

Eddie turns his head to look at her for a moment, before turning his attention back to the box, distracted. "Yeah?"

She holds up the photo, staying quiet. Quiet enough that it gets him to look up again. He squints and steps a bit closer. "Let me see that." He says softly, holding his hand out. Alice hands it over quietly. When his eyes fall over the photo, something in his face softens. His thumb brushes over the worn in edges of the photograph and he chuckles, almost to himself. The girls watch him quiet and curious. "Girls… That is my mom." He says softly, pointing to the woman. His smile is so kind, the girls aren’t sure if they’ve ever seen him look like that before. Then he points to the kid in her arms, "and that's me." 

Roan leans in, letting her eyes scan over the photo face. "You were pretty tiny."

"I was adorable once. Hard to believe, I know." He jokes softly.

Alice glances away from the photo and into the tin again, holding it up between them. "There's more in here."

Eddie glances down at it, "yeah?"

She nods and starts pulling photos out one by one. One's his mom, sitting on the hood of that same mustang in denim shorts. There's another one of her at a kitchen table somewhere with a man that looks a whole lot like Grandpa Wayne. His arm is slung around her shoulders and she has a lit cigarette between her fingers. In the final one they look at, she's holding who the girls decide is, Eddie, as a baby. He's cradled to her chest and she's looking at him like he was the best love she had ever felt in her life. 

Roan smiles at that one, taking it gently from her sister. "She's pretty." 

Eddie huffs out a breath that turns into another smile, nodding, "She is."

Alice looks at the photo, pinning down the kind brown eyes, dimples, and dark curls. The way she smiles, the same lines and dimples. "She looks like you."

Eddie laughs and shakes his head a little. "Other way around, kid."

Roan traces the edges of the photo in her hand as Eddie continues to peek through the stack. She bites the inside of her cheek and looks at her dad. "Why haven't we seen these before?"

Eddie leans his hip against the workbench along the back wall, not looking up from the photos in his hands. "Didn't know where they were." He says softly. "Thought I lost most of 'em when I moved out of Grandpa Wayne's before you girls were born, if I'm being honest."

Roan and Alice exchange a look, he hadn’t seen pictures of his mom in that long? “How did she die?" Roan asks softly.

"She got pretty sick." Eddie says quietly and leaves it at that.

Roan nods a little, looking at the pictures again. Her heart stinging for her dad's younger self. She knew her grandmother had been gone for a long time. But she couldn't imagine life without you, her mom, and she's 14. "How old were you?" She asks.

Eddie glances over where his own red mustang sits under the white canvas, "six."

Alice sucks in a breath and starts to stack the photos back up to place back into the tin. "That sucks."

It's blunt and honest, but Eddie nods. Laughing lightly at the way it’s said, as he shrugs. "Yeah, It did suck. Just a bit."

From inside, the three of them hear your voice call out the door for dinner. So Alice scoops the photos Eddie isnt holding back into the tin, carefully, and tucks it under her arm. She smiles at Roan, nodding her head towards the door to give signal to her to let Eddie have a minute. They make their way inside and the door swings shut behind them. Eddie sighs softly.

He pushes himself off the workbench and pins the photo of him and his mom in front of her car onto the board hanging on the wall, right next to a picture of you and him at his first big Corroded Coffin show, Alice's first day of kindergarten, and one of Roan covered in spaghetti from head to toe. All his favorite girls in one place.

He looks around, giving the garage one last once over, before walking into the kitchen. Cleaning this up can wait until Gareth’s free and until he can bribe his wonderful wife into making a pineapple upside down cake almost like Mrs. Emerson’s. He smiles at the family waiting for him at the table, the blue tin of photos sitting on the counter, waiting for him to comb through when the time is right. 

The phone rang many times before you picked up, whoever it was, they were insistent.

“Hello,” you said in the voice you normally use for ‘fuck’.

“Sorry to bother you so early darling…”

Not him again. Your boss. The clock was showing 11:15, the button broke in winter, so after daylight savings it was really 10:15.

“I’m fine.” You looked at the bucket by the bed, empty.

“So there’s a basketball game at Hawkins High tonight, a short drive from me, everyone hungry for hotdogs, good cash…”

The voice on the other side was almost apologetic. 

“Why are you calling me now for the 6pm event?” The blood was pounding in your temples, you carefully sat up in the bed, and looked around — at least this is my house. Good.

“I might have eaten most of the stuff from the truck. You will need to restock. Get breakfast on me. Or lunch. Or a hotdog.” He laughed at his own joke. Son of a bitch.

“I’ll get ready and come by. As quick as I can.” That probably meant a few hours, taking last night’s second year high school reunion into account.

You peeked through the blinds at the sunny day outside, squinted, swallowed a pill and went to shower.

6pm In the neighboring town of Hawkins:

Eddie bent over the campaign notes — the map of the dungeon, the encounter tables, dialogue notes. The Hellfire Club was going to walk into the Lair of the Crimson Lich and they were going to suffer, cry and beg and Eddie was going to enjoy every second of it.

He was waiting for the party, reading through the notes again, chewing on the rubber of the pencil, when the door of the drama room slammed open so hard that the window rattled.

Erica Sinclair stood in the doorway, chest heaving, looking like she’d run the entire length of Hawkins without stopping.

Eddie lowered his notes slowly.

“I saw a boy,” she gasped, “eating a girl.”

Eddie stared at her.

She stared back.

He sat up, set his notes aside, and folded his hands on the table preparing to give a sex ed lecture.

“Erica,” he said, in his most patient voice. “What you witnessed is actually a completely natural, if deeply personal—”

“Shut the dumpster.” She looked like she wanted to throw up. “Not like that, you absolute creep, he was eating her brain—”

“Wha—”

“Her actual brain, Eddie—”

“Okay, I hear you—”

“There was so much blood—”

“ERICA.” He was on his feet now. “I hear you. Okay? I hear you.” He crossed to the window and looked out, half expecting to see nothing, half expecting her to be pranking him, because she was absolutely capable of it and he wouldn’t put it past her.

Eddie saw Jason Carver on the sidewalk across the street.

He saw Jason sucking the brain out of some cheerleader’s skull with enthusiasm. Her body flat on the sidewalk, his face covered in fresh blood and brain mass.

He dropped the curtain. Contents of his stomach tried to come up, then again. Eddie put his hand on the windowsill to steady himself.

“Okay,” he said, very quietly, to the wall. “Okay. That’s. Yeah.” He turned around.

Erica was watching him with wide eyes. She was twelve years old and he had no answers for her.

“Lock the door,” he said.

She already had.

They waited for the others.

Mike and Dustin didn’t show. Gareth didn’t show. Jeff didn’t show.

Eddie sat at the head of the table, looking at his campaign notes and listening to the sounds outside getting worse and trying to think. Erica sat across from him eating the last of his chips.

“We have to go,” she said, around a mouthful of Doritos.

“I know.”

“My parents don’t know where I am.”

“I know.”

“Eddie.”

“I know, Erica, I’m thinking—”

“Think faster.”

He looked at her. She looked at him. Outside, something fell over with a wet crash and neither of them looked toward the window.

“Okay,” he said. “There’s an emergency stand at the end of the corridor. We need to make it there, grab the fire extinguisher and run downstairs to the parking lot. Stay next to me.”

Erica sipped her soda and nodded.

Eddie peeked outside the door. The corridor was empty, freshly washed and quiet like always when everyone except the outcasts were at the basketball game.

Halfway through the hall they saw Mrs. Braun, the history teacher Eddie frequently clashed with. Her eyes were whitish, face pale grey and she moved slowly but with the determination of a tank. The sleeve of her pink blouse was ripped off, exposing a deep bite on her arm.

“Fuck fuck fuck!” Eddie froze mid-step, considering running or redirecting.

“Munson.” Erica pulled on his hand.

“Yes, that’s me. Why the fuck is it always me in the middle of the shitstorm?”

“Analyze this later.”

“Okay, I’ll run to grab the fire extinguisher while you go back to the room—”

“Absolutely not. I will distract her while you run. She seems slow and wears those stupid shoes.” Erica didn’t lose her cool, or at least pretended better than Eddie, whose brain was short-circuiting.

“Fine, just don’t get caught, okay, kid?”

Eddie sprinted toward the fire stand while Erica started making noise and moving frantically, trying to distract Mrs. Braun without attracting more zombies. Eddie was almost at the stand when Mrs. Braun lurched toward him clumsily — and he made a sound he will never tell anyone about.

Thankfully, whether it was a zombie characteristic or just a history teacher attribute, she was slow enough for him to pass her and reach the fire stand, where Eddie desperately jerked on the handle before reading — pull the ring. He got to the fire extinguisher just in time to blow a spray of foam in her eyes, then hit her head with the bottom of the container. She fell down hard and splayed on the linoleum either dead or knocked out.

Just as he breathed out and felt the droplets of sweat run down his back, at the other end of the corridor a zombie basketball player emerged.

“Run, Erica!”

She did, but jocks even in zombie form were quick and better oriented. Erica barely made it to Eddie as he was spraying the zombie. The door closed behind them with a heavy thud. Eddie had to sacrifice his belt to tie the handles. The way to the van was clear.

Eddie drove with both hands on the wheel. His jaw set, taking turns he didn’t need to take, avoiding a few scenes of former citizens feasting on brains. I will take her home, then sit in the van and panic. Erica froze in the passenger seat with her arms crossed and her eyes tracking everything with pure horror.

The Sinclair house looked untouched from the outside, which was either a good sign or the cruelest possible joke. The porch light was on. The door opened before they made it up the front path — Mrs. Sinclair saw them through the window and pulled Erica immediately.

“She’s okay,” Eddie said from the porch. “She came to D&D, she was safe the whole time, I brought her straight here—”

“Lucas.” Mrs. Sinclair looked at him clutching Erica. “Lucas went to the basketball game. He hasn’t come home.”

Eddie’s stomach dropped. Lucas was there with Mrs. Braun roaming around, with Jason and whoever else is infected with he has no idea what. His brain was zoning out of the scale of the disaster, just focusing on the next step — getting Lucas out of danger.

Mr. Sinclair appeared in the hallway with a shotgun. Eddie had no idea the Sinclairs even had a gun. Everything shifted into a horror movie mode — elongated shadows, disturbing sounds from the street, and eerie TV static.

“I’ll find him, I have a machete,” Eddie heard himself say.

Everyone looked at him. Eddie wasn’t famous for being a hero.

“I’ll find him,” he said again, trying not to look terrified. “And I’ll bring him back.”

Mr. Sinclair looked Eddie over.

“I knew you were a satanist,” he said.

Eddie opened his mouth.

“But,” Mr. Sinclair added, with the gravity of a man rapidly reassessing his priorities, “given the circumstances, that’s an advantage.”

“Bring my son home.”

Eddie closed his mouth.

“Yes, sir,” he had no time and no desire to argue…

Erica finally cracked and cried in her mom’s arms, looking like a child she was and not a little smart brat she played usually.

“Stay inside, they are slow and dumb.” Eddie instructed no one specifically.

“I’ll watch them,” Mr. Sinclair promised, grasping the gun with an unsteady hand.

Eddie turned back to the van, thinking how the hell he was going to get Lucas out of a gym full of zombies, and lit a cigarette.

You should have gone home.

That was the thought blinking in his head as the van rattled down the empty Hawkins streets. Most cars were trying to get out of the town. Smart. Lucky.

Eddie had nowhere to go except his trailer. The trailer had walls. The trailer had a lock. It theoretically had safety. Wayne should come back in the morning, like he could sort out any of this mess.

Instead he was driving toward Hawkins High with a machete on the passenger seat and exactly one plan, which was:

1. Find Lucas.

2. Don’t die.

3. Bring him back home.

The school came into view. The parking lot looked very dead. The asphalt was streaked dark here and there. Eddie could hear distant screaming echoing somewhere inside the school.

And right in the middle of the parking lot—

Are you kidding me?

You were sprinting between cars while three zombies stumbled after you.

Not screaming. Not crying. Just running with exhausted determination. You vaulted over the hood of a Honda.

One of the zombies grabbed at your jacket and missed by inches. His jaws clicked with an unnatural sound. Your blood ran cold.

Eddie slammed his foot on the gas.

The van roared forward.

“OH SHIT—”

THUMP.

The first zombie disappeared under the tires.

THUMP.

The second spun sideways hard enough to bounce off a parked car. You screamed and covered your face with your hands as the blood splashed on you.

The third turned just in time to get obliterated by the front bumper with a crunch Eddie would absolutely never get over.

You stopped, breathing hard, eyes wide.

Eddie leaned across the passenger seat and shoved the door open.

“GET IN!”

You did instantly, slamming the door behind you.

Eddie peeled away across the parking lot while more figures began emerging near the school entrance.

For about five seconds neither of you spoke.

Then:

“See the hot dog truck there?”

Eddie glanced at you.

“What?”

“It’s mine.” You wiped bloody hands on your apron. “High school basketball game, my boss told me. Great cash. For fuck’s sake.”

Eddie stared.

“You’re taking this weirdly well. We are basically in the Night of the Creeps zombie slasher.”

You shrugged. “I work in food service.”

“— never thought making hotdogs was dangerous.”

“In the end of the shift when crackheads try to steal the cash.”

Eddie opened his mouth and shut it back. He pulled up next to the truck. The side read: DOG DAYS with a smiling cartoon dachshund wearing sunglasses.

“I’m Eddie, by the way.”

“Yeah, I know. Heard your band.” You gave him your name casually, as if it was not on your badge.

“Wait — you went to see Corroded Coffin?” The boy lit up like he didn’t kill four zombies today.

“I went to get a drink. But you were fast. I mean good.”

“Basically the same. Thank you, for real. If the world collapses at least I will be remembered.” Eddie chuckled grasping at the straw of normalcy.

You smiled and disappeared into the truck. A minute later your head reappeared at the service window.

“How do you like it?”

“What?”

“Your hot dog.”

Eddie considered whether he even wanted to eat right now, but then — it might be the last hot dog in his life.

“Everything on it.”

“I’ll even make it double sausage.”

He had no plan and no strategy. Going through the main entrance was suicide. The fire ladder was next to the gym window — a good chance to assess what was going on inside, and possibly a way in through the roof or the window.

“Enjoy.” You interrupted his thoughts. He pulled closer to the window and grabbed a jumbo hot dog dripping with sauce, chips on the side and a can of Cherry Coke.

“Thanks. If this is my last meal, let it be.” Eddie chewed off a quarter of it in one bite.

“What do you mean last meal? Aren’t you driving the hell out of here?”

“I need to rescue a kid from the basketball game.”

You looked at him, questioning his sanity. You were in the high school parking lot, right next to the gym, potentially full of zombies. It was dark already and you swore you could smell the blood in the air.

“How do you know he’s even alive? It’s full of zombies.”

A flock of birds took off the wires making you both flinch. They cautiously approached the zombie bodies Eddie squashed. One of them was still moving.

“I don’t. I accidentally promised his mom and sister. There’s a ladder, I’ll take a peek.” Eddie didn’t sound sure. In fact, he looked lost and terrified.

“I’ll go with you.” You grabbed a crowbar from under the counter and climbed out of your truck without waiting for his response.

“You can’t risk it like that.” He let you in still. “You even know how to use it?”

“Want a demo?”

Eddie read your deadpan and didn’t press.

“Seriously, you barely know me, and you don’t know Lucas, and this is dangerous…”

“You just saved my life. I owe you one. Anyways I was just going to cover your back while you figure it out.”

“You made me a hotdog, we’re even.”

“If we survive, you follow me home and check if there are no zombies around, deal?”

You didn’t buckle up.

“Deal.”

“Drive to the ladder.”

“Bossy, I like that.” He smirked at you, but internally Eddie was grateful not to be alone on this mission.

A shape near the front entrance caught your eye.

“Wait.”

Eddie followed your stare.

A police cruiser sat crooked near the school steps. One of the doors hung open. A body lay beside it in a very unnatural pose. Police uniform. Not moving.

“He might have ammo,” you said quietly.

Eddie swallowed.

“Right. Cool. Awesome. We’re robbing a corpse now. A policeman’s corpse.”

“Welcome to survival.”

You crossed the parking lot carefully, scanning the exits of the building.

The policeman was definitely dead. Not turned, just dead. Eddie tried to look away from the bite marks and broken skull, but the metallic smell crept into his nose and mouth.

You crouched first, checking the holster.

“Got it.”

You pulled the handgun free with surprising confidence and started fiddling with it.

Eddie blinked.

“Have you done this before?”

“I watch a lot of action movies.” You checked the chamber. “Loaded.”

“Great. Fucking amazing…” Eddie groaned and reached for a cigarette.

A distant shriek echoed from somewhere inside the school. Both of you looked up.

The gym doors trembled.

Something slammed against them from the inside.

Eddie gripped the machete tighter. The fire ladder hung off the side just a few steps away.

Eddie took a breath.

“Okay,” he said. “Up we go.”

You cocked the handgun.

Eddie gave you an alarmed glance. “Please tell me you actually know how to use that.”

“Nope.”

“If I get out of this alive I swear I’ll stop dealing.”

You gave Eddie a side eye.

“Normally I would let the lady go first…”

He went up the ladder first as something inside the school began screaming.

To be continued…

@crybabyddl

@jessicafangirl

@alicemarie730

@linllewellyn

The annual start-of-summer lake day was apparently sacred in Hawkins. You discovered this at exactly eight-thirteen in the morning when a bikini top smacked you directly in the face. You jolted awake with a startled noise, immediately sitting upright as Violet stood in your doorway looking entirely too awake for a college student on summer break.

"Rise and shine."

You squinted at her through messy hair. "What time is it?"

"Lake day time."

"That's not a real time."

"It is in this house."

You groaned and flopped backward into the mattress. Unfortunately for you, Violet Munson had never been known for mercy. An hour later, you were sitting cross-legged on a kitchen stool nursing a cup of coffee while Violet packed enough snacks to survive a small apocalypse.

The house was quiet in Eddie's absence. He'd left for work before either of you woke up, disappearing sometime around six in the morning after leaving a note on the counter reminding Violet, "be there around four. please try not to drown anybody."

You'd stared at that note for far longer than necessary. Not because his handwriting was attractive, that would be ridiculous.

The front door opened dramatically, snapping you out of your lovestruck focus on Eddie’s chicken scratch. A blonde girl walked inside without knocking, sunglasses pushed up into her hair, and a set of car keys dangling from one finger.

"Please tell me somebody made coffee."

"Kitchen," Violet called.

The girl immediately rounded the corner before stopping when she saw you. For a second, she simply stared, then she looked at Violet. Then back at you.

"Huh."

"What?" Violet asked.

The girl pointed. "This is the roommate?"

"Yep."

"Huh."

"What does that mean?"

The girl shrugged. "Nothing. Just expected someone different."

She extended a hand toward you. "Harper Harrington."

You shook it. "The Harrington?"

She sighed dramatically. "Unfortunately."

The rest of the group filtered in over the next half hour, the same way Harper had; no knocking, no warning, just casually wandering into the Munson house like they owned part of it. By the time everyone finally piled into their respective cars, you'd met enough people to completely lose track of who belonged to who. 

Apparently, that was another Hawkins thing. Everybody's parents knew everybody else's parents, everyone had grown up together, and somehow half the town seemed related through friendship if not blood. It was oddly comforting in a way you weren't used to, a kind of community that only seemed possible in places where people stayed.

The lake itself ended up being far prettier than you'd expected. Hawkins might've been small, but the water stretched wide beneath the summer sun, sparkling between the trees while boats drifted lazily across the surface. 

The group immediately claimed a familiar patch of shoreline, unloading coolers and folding chairs with the efficiency of people who'd been doing this every summer since birth.

Before you'd even finished laying your towel out, somebody had already started music, somebody else had started a volleyball game, and Harper was loudly accusing one of the others of cheating at something.

Hours slipped by surprisingly fast after that. You swam, floated on your back in the lake, got dragged into a game of beach volleyball despite repeatedly insisting you sucked at sports, and somehow ended up sharing a giant bag of chips with Harper while she filled you in on years of Hawkins gossip. 

By mid-afternoon, your skin was warm from the sun, your hair was damp from swimming, and for the first time since arriving in Indiana, you weren't really thinking about anything at all. Well, almost anything.

"Your eyes keep going to the parking lot."

You looked over at Harper. "What?"

She smirked. "Nothing."

Immediately suspicious, you narrowed your eyes. "Harper."

Before she could answer, a familiar roar of an engine echoed through the trees. And suddenly, half the group perked up. "Oh, they're here."

You turned instinctively toward the parking area, a big mistake. Huge mistake, actually. Because there, climbing out of the old van with a cooler balanced against one hip, was Eddie.

For a second, your brain didn't quite process what it was seeing. Then it did, and unfortunately, that made things significantly worse. Gone was the grease-stained work shirt you'd seen him leave in every morning. 

Instead, he'd changed into a pair of faded black swim trunks hanging low on his hips and absolutely nothing else. His curls had been pulled back into a messy bun at the nape of his neck, exposing the tattoos crawling across his shoulders and chest, and the late afternoon sunlight caught against every silver ring still decorating his fingers.

Sweet fucking Jesus. You suddenly understood every poor decision women had ever made throughout history.

"Wow." The word escaped before you could stop it.

Harper followed your line of sight, then she looked at you, then back at Eddie. Then at you again. "Oh."

Your stomach dropped. "Oh no."

"Oh," Harper repeated, sounding somewhere between inquiry and suspicion.

Across the beach, Steve appeared from the passenger side, carrying enough bags to feed a football team. Beside him was a woman with dark hair and oversized sunglasses, effortlessly beautiful in the way that made you immediately understand why Steve Harrington had spent years getting himself into trouble. 

"That's my mom," Harper informed you.

"She's gorgeous."

"I know. It's annoying."

Steve immediately spotted the group and lifted a hand. "Alright, move. Important people are here."

"Nobody asked you to come!" one of the kids yelled back.

Steve looked genuinely offended. "That's a terrible thing to say to the guy carrying burgers."

The entire group immediately changed sides.

"Welcome, Steve."

"Great to see you, Steve."

"We love you, Steve."

His wife snorted. "You people are shameless."

Meanwhile, you were doing your absolute best not to stare at Eddie. Unfortunately, Eddie wasn't making that particularly easy.

He'd abandoned the cooler near the picnic tables and was helping Steve unload supplies, muscles flexing every time he lifted something. The man wasn't even showing off. He looked completely unaware of the fact that he was walking around looking like every romance novel cover come to life.

Or maybe he was aware, because halfway through carrying a folding table, he glanced up. And immediately caught you staring. Fuck.

His eyebrows lifted, and the corner of his mouth twitched. Then, the bastard winked. You nearly swallowed your own tongue.

You snapped your head back to the lake, Harper immediately tilting her head. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you replied on impulse. She hummed in response, but it didn’t quite sound convinced. 

Before you could formulate a solid response to her lack of one, Eddie finally started walking toward the group. The closer he got, the worse the situation became. 

Up close, you could see the faint tan lines across his shoulders, the tattoos wrapping around his arms, the way a few escaped curls had fallen loose around his face despite the bun. It should've been illegal for a forty-year-old father to look like that.

Thirty-nine. Not that you knew that, or thought about it. Or remembered constantly.

"Hey, sweetheart." His voice alone was enough to make your stomach flip.

You looked up and immediately regretted it. Because now he was standing directly in front of you, still shirtless, still damp from whatever shower he'd apparently taken after work, and still looking entirely too pleased with himself.

"Hey."

Eddie's eyes drifted over you slowly, taking in your swimsuit, your sun-kissed skin, and your damp hair. The look lingered just long enough to make heat crawl up your neck before he finally grinned.

"Looks like you're surviving Hawkins."

"Barely."

"Mhm."

Eventually, Steve decided he'd had enough of everyone picking at chips and snacks.

"Alright, listen up!" he shouted from beside the grills. "Food's done, and if you little gremlins don't come eat now, I'm not reheating anything later."

A chorus of complaints immediately followed.

"We're literally walking over!"

"Relax, dad!"

"You're not my dad!"

Steve pointed a spatula threateningly. "I could've been."

His wife rolled her eyes from where she was arranging burger toppings. "Ignore him. Everybody grab a plate."

The entire group migrated toward the picnic tables in a noisy mass of towels, sunscreen, half-finished conversations, and dripping lake water. Harper immediately stole a burger before Steve could finish serving everyone, earning a dramatic gasp from her father that she completely ignored.

You found yourself settling onto the end of one of the benches while everyone else naturally fell into conversations that had clearly been going on for years.

Maya and the twins were arguing about something that happened last summer. Harper was making fun of a guy she'd apparently gone to school with. Logan was telling some story that required absolutely zero context for everybody except you.

You smiled when appropriate and laughed when everyone else laughed. But after a while, you started feeling it, that subtle little distance.

Nobody was being unkind. Quite the opposite, actually. Everyone had gone out of their way to include you throughout the day. But there was still a difference between being welcomed into a group and having years of inside jokes and memories with them.

You were still catching up. Still learning names, stories, histories...still the new person.

For a moment, your thoughts drifted back home. To being the odd one out at family dinners. To sitting quietly while everyone else talked around you. To feeling like there wasn't really a place carved out for you anywhere, so you picked at your food.

The feeling only lasted a minute, maybe less. Because suddenly a shadow fell across the table, then Eddie slid onto the bench beside you.

"Hey."

You glanced over. "Hey."

He balanced a paper plate on one knee and took a bite of his burger before speaking again.

"You look like you're plotting something."

You snorted. "I promise I'm not."

"Mhm."

"What?"

Eddie tilted his head slightly. "You got quiet."

"I'm okay."

"I know."

His voice was soft enough that nobody else would've heard it over the surrounding conversations.

Then he nodded toward the group, "They can be a lot."

You laughed quietly. "That's one way to put it."

"Trust me, sweetheart. I've known most of these idiots since before they could drive."

"Feels like everybody here has known each other forever."

"Pretty much."

Eddie picked at the label on his beer bottle. "Harper was born when Vi was little. Maya's parents live three streets over. Logan practically grew up at my garage. Steve's wife still makes fun of me for a haircut I got in nineteen ninety-three."

You laughed. "What was wrong with the haircut?"

"Oh, it was terrible."

"Really?"

"It was magnificent."

"Those are two different answers."

"Both can be true." His shoulder bumped yours lightly, and you couldn't help smiling.

The conversations around you continued, but somehow they felt less overwhelming now. Maybe because Eddie wasn't trying to force you into them. He wasn't doing the awkward introduction thing or drawing attention to the fact that you were newer than everyone else.

"You know," he said after a minute, looking out toward the water, "when I first moved into Wayne's, I barely spoke for an entire summer."

You blinked. "You?"

"Hard to believe, I know."

"Impossible, actually."

Eddie grinned. "Seriously. I was awkward as hell."

"No way."

"Way."

You studied him skeptically. Just before this, the man had an entire picnic table laughing at half of what he said. "You're lying."

"I'm not."

"You expect me to believe you were shy?"

His grin softened slightly. "Not shy."

He looked down at his beer. "Just didn't think people wanted me around."

The admission surprised you enough that you didn't answer right away. Because for a second, you caught a glimpse of something underneath all the confidence and sarcasm; something younger.

Eddie glanced over and immediately noticed your expression. "Hey."

"Hm?"

"Don't get all sad on me."

You laughed. "I'm not sad."

"Good."

Then he reached over and stole one of your fries, again.

"Hey!"

"Occupational hazard. Gotta make sure it’s not poison."

"That's not what that means."

"It does if I say it does."

The Hideout was somehow even more charming now than it had been in all the stories Violet told. Maybe it was the nostalgia baked into the place. The old wooden bar, the dim lighting, the neon beer signs buzzing softly against the walls. 

Maybe it was because half the people inside seemed to know Eddie by name. Or maybe it was because every few minutes someone would stop by your table to greet either Steve, Eddie, or both, and you'd get to watch them slip so naturally into the lives they'd built here.

You, Harper, and Violet had claimed a booth near the back while Steve and Eddie wandered over toward the dart boards with beers in hand. A local band was setting up in the corner, tuning guitars and testing microphones while conversations drifted through the crowded room.

Meanwhile, across the room, Steve lined up a shot at the dart board while Eddie leaned against the wall beside him. The dart landed with a satisfying thunk.

"Ha."

"Congratulations," Eddie deadpanned. "You're winning against a mechanic."

Steve ignored him. For a minute, they stood there in comfortable silence, watching the girls at the booth. Harper was talking animatedly about something while Violet argued with her. You sat between them, laughing at whatever ridiculous story was being told.

Then Steve glanced sideways. "So."

Eddie sighed immediately. "No."

"I didn't even say anything."

"You were about to."

Steve threw another dart. "You gonna tell me what's going on there?"

Eddie looked offended. "Nothing's going on."

"Bullshit."

"Steve."

"Eddie."

The older man took a sip of his beer, and Steve pointed subtly toward your booth.

"You talked to her almost the entire barbecue."

"We were talking."

"You were talking."

"That's what I said."

Steve stared, and Eddie stared back. Neither moved, then finally Steve sighed.

"I feel like I'm watching a train derail in slow motion."

"Jesus Christ."

"Eddie."

"What?"

"That's your daughter's best friend."

"I know who she is."

Steve rubbed his face. "I liked you better when your bad decisions only affected you."

Eddie barked out a laugh despite himself. "Nothing's happening."

Steve looked like he wanted to believe him, then his expression changed when his eyes drifted toward the bar. Eddie followed his gaze and immediately wished he hadn't.

Because sometime during the conversation, Violet and Harper had wandered over to grab another round of drinks. You'd stayed behind at the booth, scrolling through the jukebox selections alone.

Unfortunately, somebody else had noticed. A guy. Young, mid-twenties maybe. Definitely closer to your age than Eddie's. The guy leaned casually against the edge of your booth and said something.

You smiled politely, and the guy smiled wider. Eddie's jaw tightened instantly. Steve saw it happen in real time. 

"Oh no."

"I'm fine."

"You are absolutely not fine."

"I'm completely fine."

The guy sat down at your booth, across from you, knee brushing yours slightly under the table. Steve physically winced.

"Oh, that's bad."

"I'm gonna go say hi."

"You don't know him."

"I know enough."

"Eddie."

But Eddie was already moving. Across the room, you were only half paying attention to whatever the guy was saying.

Something about being from Indianapolis. Something about visiting family. Something about your tattoos. Honestly, he seemed perfectly nice.

Then suddenly his expression changed, and you frowned.

"What?"

The guy glanced up and immediately looked nervous. A familiar tattooed arm draped itself across the back of your booth, then another appeared on the opposite side, boxing you in completely.

"Oh," Eddie said pleasantly. "There you are, sweetheart."

The guy looked between the two of you. "Oh."

Eddie smiled, but not his real smile. The dangerous one. The one you'd already learned meant trouble. "Sorry, man. Didn't realize somebody was sitting here."

The guy stood up so fast he nearly knocked his drink over. "No, no, you're good."

"Mhm." Eddie never stopped smiling.

The guy made a very quick decision. "Well. Nice meeting you." Then he practically disappeared into the crowd.

The second he was gone, you looked up at Eddie.

"Eddie."

"What?"

"What was that?"

He looked genuinely confused. "I came to say hi."

You stared, and he stared back, for approximately three seconds. Then you started laughing, because somehow that was even less convincing than whatever excuse he'd intended to use.

"You are ridiculous."

"Maybe." His grin softened, then he brushed his fingers briefly against your shoulder. "Just checking on you."

The warmth in his voice immediately ruined any chance of staying annoyed.

"You're impossible."

"Been told that."

A few minutes later, after you'd disappeared toward the restroom, Eddie eventually wandered back to the dart boards, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

Steve was waiting with a beer in hand and a flat expression.

Eddie immediately knew. "No."

"Seriously?"

"What?"

"Seriously?"

Eddie grabbed another dart while Steve pointed toward the booth.

"The kid practically evacuated."

"He left."

"You ran him off."

"I didn't run him off."

"Eddie."

"He made his own choices."

Steve laughed in disbelief. "You are forty years old."

"Thirty-nine."

"That somehow makes this worse."

Eddie threw his dart. Bullseye. "Don't."

Steve stared at him for a second, then looked toward the bathroom where you'd disappeared, then back toward Eddie. Then finally sighed. "You're screwed."

The second you came back from the bathroom, Eddie was waiting. Not in an obvious way, not standing outside the door like some lovesick teenager. Just leaning casually against the dart board wall with a beer in one hand and entirely too much amusement in his eyes.

The second he spotted you weaving through the crowd, his face brightened ever so slightly. A tiny thing, small enough that most people wouldn't notice it.

"Sweetheart."

You rolled your eyes as you approached. "Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Whatever this is."

Eddie grinned. "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

"Liar."

"Prove it."

You opened your mouth, then closed it, because annoyingly enough, you couldn't. Which only made his smile wider.

"That's what I thought."

"You're insufferable."

"And yet."

"And yet nothing."

"And yet you're still standing here." You hated when he had a point, especially when he looked so pleased about it.

The dart board behind him sat abandoned now, Steve having wandered off to join his wife and Harper near the booths. A few empty lanes sat open, and before you could stop him, Eddie was already pulling a set of darts from the board.

"You ever play?"

You eyed them suspiciously. "Not really."

"Oh."

The grin returned, the dangerous one. "Perfect."

Immediately, you groaned. "No."

"Yes."

"Eddie."

"C'mon."

The next thing you knew, a dart had been pressed into your hand. Five minutes later, you were learning very quickly that Eddie Munson was the most distracting teacher alive. Because at first, he genuinely tried, for all of about thirty seconds.

"You wanna hold it like this."

His hand settled over yours; warm, calloused, and large enough to completely engulf your grip. Your stomach betrayed you immediately, then he stepped behind you, which was somehow worse.

"Oh, my god."

"What?"

"You know exactly what."

"I am literally teaching you darts."

His voice was directly beside your ear, maybe lower, and definitely rougher. You hated him.

"You stand like this."

His hands settled briefly on your hips, “adjusting”, supposedly. The problem was that neither of you seemed particularly focused on darts anymore.

Your heart was pounding loud enough that you were worried somebody else would hear it while Eddie leaned slightly closer.

"Relax."

"I am relaxed."

"You just missed the board entirely."

You looked, and the dart was currently embedded in the wall. "...Okay."

Eddie barked out a laugh, the sound vibrating straight through your chest. "See?"

"Shut up."

"Can't."

His hand slid down your arm, adjusting your grip again. You were beginning to suspect the lesson wasn't real.

Across the room, Steve looked up from his booth and immediately regretted it. "Oh, for the love of God." His wife followed his gaze, then immediately started laughing.

Meanwhile, Harper and Violet were sitting across from one another sharing fries. Harper watched the dart situation unfold for approximately thirty seconds, then another thirty. Then finally turned toward her friend.

"Can I ask you something?"

Violet didn't even look up from her food. "You already are."

"Does this not bother you?"

For the first time all night, Violet's attention shifted toward the dart boards. Toward you. Toward her father. You were laughing at something Eddie had said. Head tipped back, smile huge, the kind of laugh that made your entire face light up.

Violet's expression softened immediately, and the sarcasm disappeared for a second. "Honestly?"

Harper nodded. Violet watched you for another moment before speaking. "No."

Harper looked surprised. "Really?"

"Nope."

Her fingers traced the rim of her drink absentmindedly. "That's probably the happiest she's looked in years."

Something in her tone made Harper pause. "What do you mean?"

Violet was quiet for a second. "Freshman year."

Harper waited.

"There was this guy."

Immediately Harper winced. "Oh."

"Yeah."

The response alone said enough. "Bad?"

"Not physically." Violet sighed. "But he spent two years making her feel like everything about her was too much."

Her eyes drifted back toward you, toward the smile currently plastered across your face.

"He hated her music,” she laughed softly. "Hated her clothes. Hated her tattoos. Thought she was dramatic every time she had feelings."

Harper frowned. "What a dick."

"Exactly."

The relationship had ended almost two years ago now, yet Harper noticed something sad in Violet's expression anyway.

"She hasn't dated since."

Across the room, Eddie was currently saying something that had you doubled over laughing. Whatever it was made him grin too. The look on his face wasn't subtle, not even a little.

And for some reason, instead of making Violet uncomfortable, it made her chest feel warm.

Because she remembered crying with you in your dorm room, remembered helping you pick up the pieces afterward. Remembered all the nights you'd insisted nobody would ever actually want all of you.

Not the loud parts. Not the messy parts. Not the emotional parts. All of it. Yet there you were, laughing, flirting, happy, for the first time in forever.

Harper followed her gaze, then smiled. "Oh."

"Yeah."

Violet grinned into her drink. "Besides."

"What?"

She looked back toward her father, then toward you and smirked that usual Munson smirk. "My dad's obsessed with her."

Across the room, Eddie's hand settled briefly against the small of your back as he helped you line up another throw.

Harper burst out laughing. "Obsessed is an understatement."

A couple hours later, the Hideout had gotten significantly louder.

The local band had long since started playing, conversations were being shouted over music, and somehow your group had managed to push three tables together into one giant mess of empty baskets, beer bottles, and half-finished stories. Steve's wife had eventually given up trying to keep everyone organized, settling instead into laughing at the chaos from a safe distance.

You, unfortunately, were drunk. Not blackout drunk, not Violet-at-the-lake drunk, but definitely drunk enough that everything felt pleasantly fuzzy around the edges.

Unfortunately, Eddie seemed to be in exactly the same boat, which was proving dangerous for everyone involved, especially you. Because sober Eddie at least attempted restraint. Drunk Eddie apparently thought personal space was a government conspiracy.

By ten-thirty, his arm had somehow become permanently draped across the back of your chair. Every time he laughed, he leaned into you. Every time he told a story, his hand found your shoulder, your arm, the small of your back. The man seemed physically incapable of existing more than six inches away from you.

And the worst part? You weren't exactly discouraging it.

"You are so full of shit."

Eddie pressed a hand dramatically over his heart. "That hurts, sweetheart."

"You're lying."

"I'm embellishing."

"That's just lying with confidence."

Steve nearly choked on his drink. "Jesus Christ, she's got your number."

"I don't like this," Eddie muttered.

"You love it."

"Maybe."

The answer came so fast that the entire table immediately started laughing. Harper physically dropped her head onto the table. "Oh, my god."

"What?" Eddie asked.

"Nothing."

"It was definitely something."

Across from you, Violet was grinning into her drink like this was the greatest show she'd ever witnessed. "He's not even trying anymore."

"I'm sitting right here."

"I know." The grin only got bigger.

By eleven-thirty, Steve had finally announced that he was taking his wife home before Harper somehow got herself banned from the establishment.

"I've done nothing wrong."

Steve pointed. "You started three separate arguments."

"I won all three."

"Goodnight, Harper."

The group slowly began breaking apart after that. Goodbyes were exchanged. Tabs were closed. Chairs scraped across the floor as people gathered their things. You stood up and immediately regretted it as the room tilted slightly.

"Oh."

Eddie looked over. "Oh no."

"I'm fine."

"You almost walked into a table."

"The table moved."

"The table did not move."

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously at the furniture, and Eddie started laughing so hard he nearly doubled over. Ten minutes later, you were outside in the warm summer air waiting while Steve finished saying goodbye to someone.

The night was quiet compared to the noise of the bar. Crickets chirped in the distance while streetlights cast soft yellow pools across the pavement. You were halfway through explaining a very important theory about why raccoons probably conversed through telekinesis when Eddie suddenly crouched in front of you.

"What're you doing?"

He pointed at your shoes. "You can't walk."

"I can absolutely walk."

To prove your point, you immediately stumbled. Eddie looked at Violet, and Violet looked at Eddie. The two of them started laughing.

"I hate everybody."

"No, you don't."

Then, before you could argue, Eddie hooked an arm behind your knees. You squeaked as the ground beneath you disappeared. "Oh, my god."

"There we go."

"Eddie!"

Suddenly you were being carried like it was nothing. One arm beneath your legs, the other supporting your back. You stared at him, and he stared back.

"What?"

"You picked me up."

"Congratulations."

"You're carrying me."

"Mhm."

"Why?"

"Because you're drunk."

You considered this. "Fair."

Violet made a choking noise behind you. When you looked over, she was laughing so hard she had tears in her eyes.

"What is wrong with you?"

"Nothing."

"You look insane."

She pointed. "No, you look insane."

The walk home wasn't particularly long, but apparently that didn't matter. Because every time you suggested being put down, Eddie refused, every single time.

At one point, you wrapped your arms around his neck and rested your cheek against his shoulder. The man practically preened.

"Look at him," Violet whispered.

"Oh my god," Harper whispered back.

"He loves this."

"He absolutely loves this."

Eddie ignored both of them, or pretended to. The smile he was trying to hide said otherwise. By the time the Munson house came into view, you'd gone completely boneless against him, warm and sleepy from the alcohol and the summer air.

"Comfortable?"

"Mhm."

"Good."

You hummed contentedly. Behind you, Violet immediately gagged.

"Dad."

"What?"

"You're gross."

"Am not."

"Are so. You carried her two miles."

"It was half a mile."

"You know that's not the point."

Eddie just laughed, then adjusted his grip slightly and carried you up the front steps anyway. By the time you got inside, Harper was heading toward her own car parked down the street. She paused halfway down the driveway, pointing between you and Eddie.

"I'm not saying anything."

"Good," Eddie called.

"But I'm thinking a lot."

"Harper."

She grinned. "Night, lovebirds."

Then she disappeared before either of you could throw something at her. The second the front door opened, Violet immediately announced, "I am going to bed before one of you says or does something that permanently changes my brain chemistry."

You barked out a laugh. "You are so dramatic."

Violet looked toward the ceiling as if she were asking God for patience. "Goodnight." Without another word, she disappeared down the hall, and a few seconds later, her bedroom door slammed.

Eddie finally set you down on the couch like you were something fragile, which was ridiculous. You immediately sank into the cushions with a satisfied sigh.

"Oh."

His mouth twitched. "What?"

"This couch is amazing."

"It's literally a couch."

"It's a really good couch."

"You're drunk."

You pointed at him. "So are you."

"Yeah." At least he was honest.

Eddie snorted softly and dropped down onto the floor in front of you, resting his arms across his knees. The position put him directly between your legs. Not touching, but close enough that your foot bumped his shoulder.

The soft yellow kitchen light caught the amber in his eyes while he looked up at you. God, the man was unfair. His curls had mostly fallen out of the bun by now, loose strands hanging around his face. His cheeks were flushed from alcohol and laughter, eyes warm and heavy-lidded.

You were in trouble.

"So."

You narrowed your eyes. "So."

Eddie grinned. "You're drunk."

You gasped dramatically. "The audacity."

Eddie laughed, head tipping back slightly, and suddenly you understood why everybody in Hawkins liked him so much.

It wasn't just that he was funny. It was that he laughed with his entire body, like he genuinely enjoyed existing, like he enjoyed being around you. The thought made your stomach flutter.

"You know," you said after a moment.

"Oh boy."

"You scared that guy away."

Eddie immediately looked innocent. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Liar."

"I'm serious."

"You practically chased him out of the Hideout."

His grin widened. "He left on his own accord."

"Mmhm."

"He did."

"Eddie."

The man actually had the nerve to shrug. "He seemed like a smart kid."

You laughed. "Oh, my god."

"What?"

"You were jealous."

His eyebrows shot upward. "Jealous?"

"Very."

"Of a twenty-something wearing boat shoes?"

You burst out laughing since the immediate answer told you everything. "Aha."

"No."

"That's not a denial."

"It is."

"It was a terrible denial."

Eddie rubbed a hand over his face, trying and failing to hide a smile. "You are exhausting."

"Because I'm right."

"You're not."

"You totally are."

The two of you stared at each other, then Eddie sighed dramatically. "Maybe I didn't love him talking to you."

Victory. You pointed immediately. "I knew it."

"Oh, don't look so proud of yourself."

"I am."

"You shouldn't be."

But he was smiling again, the soft kind this time, the one that made your chest feel warm. His eyes drifted across your face for a second before he spoke again.

"You know what my problem is?"

"What?"

Eddie leaned back slightly against the couch. "I forget how old you are."

You blinked. "What?"

"I spend all day talking to you and hanging out with you, and it feels normal." His voice had gotten quieter. "Then some guy your age walks over, and suddenly I remember you're twenty-one."

You stared at him, because there wasn't really a joke hidden inside that one. Eddie looked away first, shaking his head. "Forget I said that."

"No."

His eyes returned to yours. "No?"

"No."

"I like talking to you." The confession left your mouth before you could stop it.

Eddie's expression softened instantly. "Yeah?"

You nodded. "Yeah."

Something warm flashed across his face, like you'd handed him something precious.

"Good." The word came out almost embarrassingly gentle.

For a second neither of you spoke, neither of you seemed particularly interested in breaking whatever this was. Then Eddie glanced upward, down the hall towards Violet’s room. And a mischievous grin slowly appeared.

"Oh."

You immediately recognized that look. "What?"

"I just realized something."

"Eddie."

"If you become my girlfriend—"

"Oh, my god."

"—Vi is gonna be so annoying about it."

You laughed so hard you nearly fell sideways off the couch. 

You were still smiling when you looked down at Eddie. He was resting his arms on the couch cushion beside your legs now, chin tilted upward as he watched you.

"You know," you said quietly, "I think Harper's gonna make fun of me tomorrow."

Eddie snorted. "Harper's gonna make fun of me tomorrow."

"Fair."

"Steve definitely is."

"Oh, absolutely."

The thought made you laugh again, and Eddie smiled immediately at the sound. God. There it was; that damn look again. The one he'd been giving you all summer. The one that always felt like he was seeing something in you that nobody else quite did.

Neither of you spoke, just slowly drifted closer until the distance between you felt ridiculous. Then Eddie's hand settled lightly against your knee. A question, not a demand, just an invitation.

You answered by leaning forward first. The kiss was soft, almost embarrassingly sweet compared to the way you'd started things the first night. Just Eddie smiling against your mouth halfway through it because apparently he couldn't help himself.

"Hi," he murmured.

You laughed. "Hi."

"Thought about doing that all night."

"You're impossible."

"Been told."

His thumb traced absentminded circles against your leg while he looked up at you. For a second, neither of you spoke. Then the thought slipped out before you could stop it.

"Would you actually want that?"

Eddie's brows knit together slightly. "What?"

You suddenly felt nervous, which was stupid, but there it was anyway. "The girlfriend thing."

"What?"

You shrugged awkwardly. "Earlier."

When realization dawned, something softened in his face. "Sweetheart."

The nickname came out quieter than usual. You looked away first, which only made him smile.

"Yeah."

Your eyes snapped back to his. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." There wasn't even a second of hesitation.

His hand slid over yours. "I wouldn't joke about that."

Your stomach did an embarrassing little flip. "Oh."

"Yeah, oh."

You laughed softly, and Eddie squeezed your hand once. "So?"

"So?"

He grinned. "Would you?"

You immediately narrowed your eyes. "Oh, now who's asking questions?"

"Me."

"You can't just reverse it."

"I absolutely can."

You laughed despite yourself, then looked down at your intertwined fingers. At the rings on his hand. At the way he was watching you.

"I'd think about it."

Eddie barked out a laugh. "You'd think about it?"

"I would."

"That's cold."

You nudged his shoulder with your foot. "Shut up."

"I'm serious."

"You should be grateful I'm considering it at all."

His grin widened. "Considering it."

"Mhm."

"Well."

The look that crossed his face immediately made you suspicious. "What?"

Eddie stood slowly, still holding your hand, still smiling. "I might have a way to improve my chances."

"Oh, do you?"

"Mhm." Eddie’s grin turns wicked as he tugs you up from the couch by your hand, pulling you flush against his chest.

“You’ve been teasing me all damn night in this little skirt,” he murmurs, voice dropping low. “Then some college prick thinks he can talk to you at the bar? Nah. I think it’s time I remind you exactly who this pussy belongs to.”

He doesn’t give you time to respond. Instead, he walks you backward down the hallway, kissing you hard, tongue claiming your mouth while his hands slide under your skirt and grab two handfuls of your ass. The second his bedroom door shuts, the switch flips completely.

“Clothes off. Now.”

You move fast, but apparently not fast enough. Eddie spins you around, bends you over the edge of his bed, and yanks your skirt and panties down in one rough motion. He kicks your legs wider, drops to his knees, and buries his face in your cunt from behind without warning.

“Fuck— Eddie!”

He eats you like a man starved. Messy, loud, and filthy. Long drags of his tongue, sucking hard on your clit, then fucking his tongue into you while his grip on your hips keeps you pinned exactly where he wants you. You’re already shaking by the time he pulls back, lips shiny.

“Think that little boy at the bar could eat this pussy like that?” he growls, standing up and shoving two thick fingers into you. “You think any of those college boys could make you drip down their chin the way you do for me?”

You moan helplessly, pushing back on his fingers. He curls them perfectly, stroking that spot that makes your knees buckle. He flips you onto your back on the bed, strips his shirt off, then yanks his belt open. His cock springs out, hard and leaking, but he doesn’t fuck you yet.

Instead, he reaches into the nightstand and pulls out the black vibrator.

“Eddie—”

“Yeah, baby?” His smile is dark, predatory. “Gonna make you so fucking sensitive you forget any other man exists.”

He clicks it on and presses the buzzing head directly against your swollen clit. At the same time, he pushes his cock into you in one slow, deep thrust. You cry out, back arching hard.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he groans, bottoming out. “So goddamn tight. This pussy was made for me.”

He starts fucking you in hard, steady strokes while the vibrator stays glued to your clit. The dual sensation is overwhelming — his thick cock stretching you open, dragging against your walls, and the relentless buzz making your thighs tremble violently.

“Look at you,” he taunts, voice rough as he leans over you, one hand braced beside your head, the other keeping the vibrator exactly where he wants it. “Taking my cock so fucking well. You’d never go back to some twenty-one-year-old loser after this, would you?”

You shake your head frantically, moaning loudly.

“Say it.”

“I—I wouldn’t,” you gasp. “Never— fuck, Eddie—”

He clicks the vibrator up a setting, and your eyes roll back.

“That’s right. Because no college boy is ever gonna fuck you like I do. None of them are gonna make you come so many times you can’t even speak. None of them know how to ruin this pretty cunt the way I do.”

He fucks you harder, hips snapping, the wet sound of you obscene in the room. The vibrator never leaves your clit, and you come the first time with a broken cry, clenching around his cock so hard he curses.

But he doesn’t stop. He keeps the vibrator pressed tight, keeps thrusting deep, drawing out every aftershock until you’re whimpering, oversensitive and twitching.

“Too much— Eddie, please—”

“You can take it,” he growls, leaning down to bite at your neck. “You’re gonna come again. Gonna soak my cock while you’re crying for me.”

He angles his hips just right and turns the vibrator even higher, and the overstimulation hits like a freight train. You’re sobbing his name, nails raking down his back, legs shaking uncontrollably as another brutal orgasm rips through you.

Only then does he pull the vibrator away, toss it aside, and fuck you like he’s trying to claim you completely. Deep, punishing strokes. His hand wraps around your throat tight, and high enough to hold you there while he stares into your eyes.

“Say you’re mine,” he demands, voice wrecked. “Say you’ll be mine. Let me take care of you all fucking summer. Hell, however long you’ll let me.”

“I’m yours,” you moan, voice hoarse. “I’ll be your girlfriend, whatever you want—fuck, I’m yours, Eddie—”

He kisses you filthy and deep, then buries himself to the hilt and comes hard, groaning your name against your mouth as he fills you. For a minute, the only sounds are your ragged breathing.

Eddie pulls out gently, then collapses beside you and immediately pulls you into his arms. His hands are soft now, stroking down your back, pressing kisses to your sweaty forehead, your cheeks, your lips.

“You okay?” he murmurs, voice gentle again.

You nod, still trembling. “Yeah… Jesus Christ.”

He chuckles lowly, tucking your hair behind your ear. “Good. Because I meant every word. I want you to be mine, not just for the summer.”

You smile against his chest, pressing a kiss over one of his tattoos.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I think I want that too.”

Eddie’s arms tighten around you, and for the first time all night, his smile is soft.

“That’s my girl.”

hope you guys liked it ;)

taglist:

@bitterestwillow@kozume-ko, @obsessed-eddie, @doomdabss, @julxsxx, @leelei1980@hexqueensupreme @ches-86 @plaidamoosette @bobiverses@meadows-of-asphodel @whitakerstorm @dreamerjj @sariahs-stuff @brrrainst3w @serendipdipity01 @hypersexytoptobottom @m-art000 @sisteramycatherine @walleloveseve @camsmunson101 @flavorfullstevepeachpuffs25 @abirdinthehouse @m-art000 @micheledawn1975  @whitakerstorm @cciessuzi @blackqueenie-18 @ggdawgg @velvetdimond @enne02     @ludachrissy @izzycstairs@abbysleftbicepp @britttzy267 @ssculker @eddiemunsonsimpp @powerpuffedbjtch @lilyquinnmunson

You sat in the nook of the trailer sofa, your arms folded as you watched Dustin and Eddie join together to create their very own battle weapons for a real life fight. Your bottom lip was being bitten down on whilst watching your little brother joke around with his weapon, swinging it around as if it weren't a life or death situation; worst case scenario, he is forever fossilised as a fifteen year old kid.

He had tried to ease your tensions by proclaiming his survival rate the past couple of years against 'The Upside Down', something that was going on right beneath your nose even whilst babysitting him to gain affection from your mother. Albeit, impressive, you still weren’t sold on the idea of your baby brother sacrificing his life — even if it meant saving the world.

As for Eddie, well, you couldn't control or even convince him otherwise. He was an adult in his own right, and he needed to do what was right by Chrissy after that night she died in his trailer. You truly wished you could change his mind — both of their minds — but it fell upon deaf ears and stubborn hearts.

Whilst you were deep in turmoil over your brother and your — well — Eddie, it was like a wave of energy wafted across the room like those cartoons when they smelt something good. The receiver was in fact Eddie, who laughed alongside Dustin as he turned his head to look at you. His smile softening along with his eyes before he swallowed, giving Dustin a subtle pat on the leg to give you some privacy.

Dustin looked between you two, his two fingers gestured to his mouth in a PUKE motion, and said nothing more. Aside from calling for Steve to check out his gear as he jumped out of the trailer.

Eddie stood from his spot where he was with Dustin and moved toward where you sat, placing his weapons behind him as you straightened up and let your arms unfold.

He did a twirl on the spot. “Whaddya think?”

Eddie was referring to the modifications of his outfit. The black bandana wrapped around his head, the combat green vest that he wore over his classic denim and leather combo; because Eddie Munson simply couldn’t leave the Metalhead aesthetic behind.

“I think you’re batshit crazy.” You responded.

“Batshit?” Eddie palmed his heart with both his hands and swooned, “I love when you talk dirty to me.”

You shook your head with a laugh. Eddie scooted on in next to you.

Knees touched, Eddie smoothed down your hair, his hand remaining at the nape of your neck, “You OK?”

“No.” You said flatly, a deep sigh leaving your lips, “You guys are doing something beyond crazy, in fact, it's so unbelievably outrageous yet you're all so causal about it.”

“This is going to save lives.”

“And what about yours?” You retaliated nonchalantly making Eddie shrug, “Eddie—I—You are sacrificing yourself for the outcome to possibly be the same.”

“You're talking as if I am going to die.” Eddie levelled with you, “We won't die. Dustin won't die, Robin won't die, Steve won't die. I won't die. We've got a plan, we'll make it back out and then I'll take you out on a real date.”

You scoffed, “You mean the trip into the Upside Down was not a date?”

Eddie sarcastically mulled it over. His ring-clad fingers tapped against his mouth as he feigned deep thought of the slightly harrowing memory.

It’d be something to tell the grandkids. That’s for sure.

“I’m thinking less weird alien shit. More, me picking you up…” He toyed with your fingers, eyes downcast, “In a pretty dress. Possibly looking like the girl of my dreams—”

“Steady on.”

“I get soppy in deadly situations.”

You huffed out a laugh, “Just make it out alive.”

“Scouts Honor.” Eddie held up his three fingers with pride, “You have to kiss me to make it come true.”

Eddie puckered up and you nudged him away. Not enough for the distance to gape, but enough that he laughed genuinely and pulled you in by the wrist for a tight embrace.

His heart was pounding.

“Your brother will keep me right.” He tried to snuff out his rising anxiety. Brown eyes wide, staring at the wall behind your head.

You pulled away from the hug, “Depends. He really doesn’t want us to date.”

Knock, knock, knock.

You looked behind you at the Hawkins Trailer Park. A lady with red hair was humming a song to herself as she shoved her fresh laundry into a basket to take back indoors.

It was the first time you had visited this section of Hawkins. You hadn’t realised how many trailers there would’ve been set up on a patch of land. A few familiar faces passed by, all busy in their own little bubble.

The door you had knocked on swung open and you almost got whiplash from turning your head so quick.

Eddie Munson leant against the doorframe, one foot crossed over the other, smile lines galore.

“What brings the fair maiden to my doorstep?” Eddie wore a shit-eating grin. He knew why you were there, with your heap of junk car.

You folded your arms, “You have something for Dustin?” You were quick to add, “Something to do with D&D.”

Your little brother had been pestering you for a good eight hours about doing him a favour, and in his words, a favour that would give you some precious time with Eddie Munson. A win, win scenario!

Initially, you had said no. Not out of avoidance, or not having the desire to see Eddie — the desire was there — and, nor was it to show that you had the upper hand on Dustin because you had a mode of transport that he didn’t.

No.

You were, in fact, smoking Eddie Munson out.

He had been a little timid in his actions. All bark and no bite. Phone calls galore, lingering stares from across the parking lot when you were picking your brother up from Hellfire, and a string of empty promises on a first date.

As a Henderson, you were as stubborn as a mule. Raised by a single mother, you knew not to put all your cards on the table for a man. Even if that man was the sweetheart wrapped in a metal persona, Eddie Munson.

He was going to learn he couldn’t have his cake and eat it too.

Actions have consequences. And, Eddie’s consequences were removing access to you. From what you had heard; it was beginning to work.

So, eventually, you caved and drove to the Hawkins Trailer Park and, with minor difficulty, found the Munson’s trailer home.

It wasn’t hard to find with the band t-shirts hanging out on the washing line.

“My Dwarf Bard.” Eddie clicked his fingers in a lightbulb moment and soon went sluggish at your lack of amusement, “You’re wounding me.”

You shrugged, “D&D humour is sometimes lost on me.”

“Fine.” Eddie eyed you up, “Doth one care for a house tour whilst I fetch the goods?”

Holy shit. Sometimes he was super dense.

Without much more to say, you nodded meekly and Eddie gestured for you to enter his home.

He had the adrenaline shakes. The door held open for you, he breathed in as you walked past him into the living room area. His eyes shamelessly dropped to your backside, only to make the quickest shift to meet your eyes.

You gave him a knowing look but chose to keep the tension at bay.

When he stood in the same spot with no evident intention of moving, you waved at him.

Not a single present thought.

“Eddie.” You snapped your fingers in front of his face, “Are you good?”

Eddie blinked at the snaps, “So good.” He gulped the gathered salvia in his mouth and gestured to the back of his head, “I just…had a song start playing in my mind when you were talking. Yeah.”

“A song?”

“Rock You Like a Hurricane.” He added, “Scorpions.”

You frowned, “Never heard of it.”

Part of Eddie Munson shrivelled up and died in spirit at your nonchalant admission. So much so, he had to fidget on the spot, ring clad fingers almost pinched his own mouth shut from doing the obvious as a — to the core — passionate metalhead.

He’d play you the segment of the song he knew on the guitar at some point.

Further to that, he’d learn to play the whole discography if you positively reviewed the music.

He’d put a pin in that for the time being.

“So—” He said lowly before he manoeuvred to the start of the short hallway, leading to his bedroom, “—If it weren’t for Henderson, I’d have sent a search party out to look for you. Where have you been?”

You followed him, “I’ve been busy.”

Not a complete lie.

“Busy?” Eddie looked back at you.

“Sort of, yeah.”

You were taking in the decor when you slammed into Eddie’s side. He had stopped just prior to his bedroom at the back of the trailer, his brows furrowed and lips pulled into a deep frown.

Eddie was reading your face. Hoping he could somehow jailbreak into your thoughts.

“Did I do something wrong?” Eddie asked.

“You?” So, you hadn’t gotten this far in your ‘smoking him out’ plan. You fiddled with the fabric of your jumper, “What makes you say that?”

Eddie leant against the wall, “You’re icing me out.”

OK. So, he was severely good at reading people. Apparently.

You decided to be open. Be honest. There was no outcome of the conversation that would leave anything up in the air for you. Did you want to take things up a notch with Eddie? Yes. Had he been consistent in his interest in you? No doubt about that. Was there a significant fear of rejection because he wasn’t working within your timeframe? Yes, and no.

Yes, rejection was not palatable for you. No, because he had made the idea of you two going on a first date close to a conspiracy theory than a real, tangible thing.

“Just a little bit.” You said quietly whilst gesturing how ‘little’ you had been icing Eddie out with your thumb and index finger.

“OK.” Eddie took his own fingers and squished the ‘little’ to ‘nothing’, “Then don’t. Tell me what it is and I can fix it.”

“It’s going to sound a little ridiculous.”

Eddie tilted his head, “Try me.”

You deflated a little, “You’re so big with words and so little with actions.”

“Actions to do with you.”

“Yes.”

“Then, I’ve been an asshole.” Eddie admitted, “I can work on that. Immediately.”

That was it. No fight back or defence. Eddie took it in his stride with no tell in his face that showed you he was under some disguise.

To say you were a little taken aback was an understatement.

So, you nodded. Eddie smiled warmly at you.

“Welcome to my humble abode.” Eddie nudged the door open with his foot to reveal his bedroom. He wouldn’t admit to you, but Dustin had pre-warned him about your arrival via walkie talkie, so he cleaned the place up a bit; sprayed a can of floral smelling stuff too.

Still, it was still a little unkempt, had the aroma of weed without any clear indicator that it was present in the room. His back wall spray painted in black, the name: CORRODED COFFIN.

It was Eddie’s tranquil nook.

You took great interest in the posters on his wall, Eddie had watched you for longer than he needed, and then snapped himself back into reality to retrieve what you were originally there for; although deep down, he hoped you wouldn’t scamper away the moment he handed it over to you.

“One freshly painted Dwarf Bard for Dusty-bug.” Eddie held out his palm to you with a minuscule figure in the middle.

You plucked it from his hand, “You painted this?”

“Primed and loaded, baby.”

“He’s going to love it.” You declared.

Eddie uttered, “Yeah.” With no real grasp on the conversation at hand.

His brown eyes cemented onto your face, he examined every feature — as he always did — just to memorise them for his dreams. His breath shuddered as you began to talk about Dustin’s deeply rooted passion for Hellfire Club, which then turned into a minor deep dive into how you believed your brother craved community due to his family technically broken, with his father being estranged.

Of course, Eddie engaged as much as his brain would allow it. He hummed and nodded with his hands on his hips, fingers twitched at the idea of touching you; zero interruptions this time.

As you continued talking, Munson took enough little — and slow — steps to step into your space.

He tucked his chin to look down at you.

“Are you even listening to me?” You asked. The blood suddenly rushed to your ears at the close proximity.

“No.” Eddie tested the waters with one large hand smoothed over your waist.

OK. Seemed like you smoked him out of hiding.

You scoffed, “You’d think you would take an interest in Dustin’s background—”

“—I’m not thinking about Dustin.” Eddie interrupted. There was no plausible way for Dustin Henderson to third wheel in spirit. He wouldn’t allow it. Eddie added, “I’m thinking about how my Uncle Wayne is at work, and you’re here…looking fucking gorgeous.”

Eddie placed a gentle hand on your jugular.

“Hm. When does Bedroom Curfew start?”

“In an hour.”

Eddie leaned in with a grin, “Perfect.”

He nudged your nose with his, and kissed you. Eyes both fluttered shut, you accepted the warmth of his kiss without a hint of objection. A deep hum came from Eddie’s chest, as if it had given him the release he had needed since the day he met you.

Had you known that Eddie Munson kissed like that, you would’ve shortened the whole ‘icing out’ scheme.

You leant back a little and Eddie chased your lips in hungry greed. One hand splayed across your back, and the other still at your throat, you grinned at his need to keep latched onto you.

After some time, lips puffed and coated in salvia, hearts tripled in beating, Eddie pulled back to direct his kisses to your neck.

Holy shit.

His thumb caught your jawline with a small amount of pressure to tilt your chin upward to allow him more access to your skin.

“I could just bite you.” Eddie muttered against your neck.

A breathless laugh escaped your mouth, “Please don’t. My mom would freak.”

Eddie trailed his tongue up your neck momentarily, his lips pressed a few chaste kisses to your cheek before he turned your head to kiss him again. He bent at the knees slightly, hands smoothed down the sides of your legs and to the meat of your thighs.

This is where — unfortunately — you had to cut his actions short.

Unlatched from his lips, you placed a hand on his chest. Eddie stared at you, unsure if he had overstepped a boundary.

“Are you OK?”

You wiped your lips, “Yeah. Yeah. I just—Need to get home before Claudia has a nervous breakdown.”

“OK.” Eddie nodded, his pupils blown, “Shit. OK. Did I take this too far?”

“If you had bitten my neck, you might’ve.” You shrugged whilst your hands smoothed down his chest, “Ravenloft Straud.”

Eddie groaned, “You’re so sexy when you talk D&D to me.”

He kissed you again. And three more times for good measure before you wiggled out of his grasp.

The pair of you giddy, he walked you to the front of his house where an abundance of mugs hung from the wall, the curtains drawn with a slither of light catching the dust floating across the room.

There was a folded up bed in the corner of the living room, and you presumed it was Wayne Munson’s as there was only one room — Eddie’s room — situated at the back of their home.

“I like your house.” You noted with one last scan of the living room and kitchen area.

Eddie pinched his bottom lip, “Are you free tomorrow?”

“Depends.”

“For a date. Without Henderson biting my ankles.” Eddie laughed at the thought.

“I suppose I can free up my schedule.”

Eddie pinched your hip, “OK. I’m meeting with Chrissy tomorrow afternoon, kid needs some help with chilling the fuck out. I’ll come by afterward.”

“It’s a date.” Eddie kissed you as you spoke, “Thanks for the figurine, and the brief house tour.”

“And the kiss?”

You mulled it over, “I’d give it three and a half stars.”

“Son of a bitch.” Eddie poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue. He clapped his hands together, “Alright, cutie, get out of here before I try up the rating.” He loved to watch you leave, “Say hi to Dusty-bug for me!

Half of your free time had been bundled up into a swell of deep regret for even attending a house party held three blocks down with a sunny disposition that your—using the term loosely—friend was the host of. A birthday bash for a birthday girl with a malicious streak in her that had you gawk in surprise when she turned her venomous bite toward you.

To skip the nitty gritty: it didn’t end on a positive note.

And now…now your car dogpiled onto your already bad feelings, leaving you to perform some well practiced self-regulation. Smell the roses, blow out the fucking candles.

Whilst the breathing exercises kicked in, you blindly reached across to the passenger seat and found the tool you were blindly in search for.

The walkie-talkie crackled when you pressed the button. “Dusty-bug. This is Beetlejuice.” You let your head fall back onto the headrest as you waited a couple of seconds before attempting again. Crackle, “This is Beetlejuice. I repeat—“

“Don’t! Say it again.” Your little brother’s voice sliced through the silence of your dead car. He sighed, “Did you not listen to a word I said when we went over this? Over.”

The antenna of the radio tapped against your forehead. “Yup. I’m well aware of the common knowledge.”

There was a pause. And then noise.

“…Holy shit. You need to say ‘over’ once you’re done talking. It’s walkie-talkie 101. It lets the other person know that you have concluded—”

“Over.” You interjected childishly.

The image of Dustin sat in his room—hair stiff from all that hairspray he polluted the air with—nostrils flared with a similar impatience that crept along your features; was tangible in your mind. Without a shadow of a doubt, he’d be exercising restraint to cuss his big sister out by doing the exact same self-regulation you had been doing in your car. And, suddenly, you could see the resemblance between you two.

The Henderson gene of healthily facing your emotions, rather than running from them will prevail.

The stubbornness kicked in soon after. Dustin was waiting you out. He’d respond when you’d talk first. Shit, he’d even spare you an extra ten minutes in the bathroom in the morning—something you both fought over viciously—if you apologised for your snarky antics.

You waited. And then sighed. “Alright. I’m sorry.” You paused for theatrics, “My car has broken down.”

“Annnnd…What do you want me to do about that?” Dustin queried and it set your impatience aflame.

You scrunched your face up. “I don’t know, Dustin.” Dustin raised his brows at that. OK. You were audibly stressed. You continued, “Can’t you get your friend Steve out here? Doesn’t he have a hard-on for all things car?”

“Do not—“ The additional voice that had mild, and completely unwarranted possession jumped in. Eddie Munson. “—Call pretty boy Harrington. I will come to you. Just stay where you are. Over.”

You rolled your eyes and spoke, “Yeah. OK. I wasn’t planning on moving anyway.”

“Henderson. Tone.” Eddie then added, “Over.”

The line went silent momentarily. And, because your little brother filled the pregnant pauses and awkward silences with his wit and excessive use of vocabulary; he took the opportunity to sign himself off.

“Since I’m no longer needed, I’ll be at Mike’s house. Over.”

You frowned, “It’s bedroom curfew.”

(Claudia had granted you a singular ‘hall pass’ that weekend over the strictly ran program of bedroom curfew at 9PM, due to your model citizen behaviour. Despite your argument that you were well past the sell by date of being rewarded for good behaviour. You’d pick and choose your battles.)

Dustin responded sharply. “So? You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours, sister. Over.”

What he was so graciously referring to, was the behind closed doors canoodling that you and Eddie Munson had began to participate in. Bedroom curfew or not.

Since you and Eddie had begun your back and forth rendezvous, concealed behind bedroom doors and dimly lit parking lots whilst your little brother planted a hand over his eyes, with the cassette in your car playing at full volume to mask the lip smacking his sister and friend were doing outside of the confines of Bug the Beetle; everything had to be calculated.

That meant that Eddie Munson became an overnight mathematical whizz in order to equate the time it took for him to hit the ground running from the trailer park, over to the Henderson Household just shy of the 9PM ‘Bedroom Curfew’ that Claudia Henderson hammered down on with little to no wiggle room. To then, add the time it took for him to scale the side of the two-story house and into your bedroom with minimal noise upon impact once he clambered into your pink hued room. Just so he could get as much of his daily Henderson supplement in as he could.

(Whether that involved heavy petting and kissing on top of your covers. Or, muffled beneath them.)

Eddie had managed to shave down the cycle from his trailer to your humble abode by three minutes. And, in Eddie Munson’s sugarcoated world, that meant three more minutes in a heavenly divine place called: in between your thighs.

The operation—or as Eddie called it ‘Vitamin Eddie’—was translating smoothly with the co-operation of your little brother, Dustin Henderson, that kept his mouth shut at the dinner table, even when he had endured some sisterly provocation that incited dangerous levels of irritancy coursing through his bloodstream.

Which meant if Dustin wanted to snitch. He could.

He just didn’t. Because…well, he loved you. In a fifteen year old shaped kind of way. Not outwardly enough. But, it was still love that conquered loose lips over steamed vegetables and a casserole.

That being said, there had been some alterations to the night ahead. Regrettably, you had to skip the whole ‘Vitamin Eddie’ fiasco for one night. Now, seemingly, the whole debacle with your ex-friend and green Beetle, had landed you back into being able to capture a fleeting visit from Eddie under the starry skies of Hawkins, Indiana.

It took him all of fifteen minutes to tank it from his trailer to your location. Half that time was spent scouring the neighbouring roads for an obnoxiously coloured Volkswagen and a soured-faced girlfriend.

Yes. Girlfriend.

With the borrowed bike from the neighbour’s kid dropped to the ground, Eddie Munson came into view with his usual Metalhead garb consisting of a denim vest layered with his infamous leather jacket that had begun peeling at the cuffs, the metal rings that sometimes clinked against your teeth whenever he felt the need to stick to his fingers in your mouth—no further explicit description there—and his slightly mussed hair from the rapid cycle.

He let out a low whistle as his eyes scaled the length of your legs. “Whew. I’m one lucky guy.”

You folded your arms across your chest in mild embarrassment. You were wearing an outfit on the nicer and more revealing side for the birthday party.

And, Eddie Munson was eating out of the palm of your hand because of it.

You watched him carefully as he approached. “Since when do you know how to fix cars?”

A hand tilted your face upward in order to coax you into a gentle kiss. (A new translation for ‘hello’ between you two.)

“I don’t—” Eddie mumbled as he pulled away from the brief kiss. He shrugged his denim and leather layer combo and tossed it around your shoulders for the meantime, “—But, I learnt the basics after seeing this heap of junk coughing up its lungs outside of Hellfire.”

You had forgone the minor slander punted in the direction of your beloved Volkswagen Beetle that had seen you through three blistering summers now, and honed in on the admission that Eddie Munson, the Dungeon Master—and lover of all things that defined him as a true Metalhead—a man that lacked callous in his fingers, with pretty brown eyes and a wicked smile; studied the mechanics of a car…for you.

Well, that’s what you assumed by his statement.

You tilted your head whilst fighting the indecent urge to wear a shit-eating grin. Unfortunate for you, another one of the Henderson genes gifted you the art of precision when it came to acute facial expressions, were undeniably strong and left you exposed to the amusement—and subtle endearment—of your newly titled boyfriend.

Sensing this, as Eddie was already incredibly in tune with your body language, he halted at the rear end of your car with a warning finger pointed at your face.

His brows raised. “Don’t.”

“What?” You swayed in a lovesick kind of way. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Baby.” He warned, “Not a single word needs to leave that pretty mouth for me to know what you’re thinking.” Eddie remained stern as he sniffed.

You let your hands peek out from beneath his jacket on your shoulders in surrender.

This warning referred to the whole ‘schtick’ Eddie and you had fallen into ever since you officiated your relationship—without Dustin’s blessing—where you had both agreed it was relatively way too early to profess a love deeper than just below surface level adoration. You know, the dreaded ‘L’ bomb that seemingly didn’t seem so dreaded. Or much of a bomb in this case.

So, you made a pact to not ruin your chances at a steady-paced relationship. For the sake of your beating hearts, and to prevent Dustin Henderson from saying: ‘I told you so!’ for diving head first into the deep end with one of his closest—and definitely not within his age-range—friend from his passion project club.

That didn’t mean you couldn’t taunt. Prod at the bear that so deeply craved to be disturbed from its slumber.

Point case: Only men in love concur a mundane book about diagnostics and repairs for a beat up Volkswagen Beetle that your girlfriend refused to part with.

You’d let your face do the talking for that.

When you didn’t make any additional comments, Eddie patted the backside of your car and studied her for a minute. Tongue poked at the fleshy inside of his cheek, he bent at the waist to inspect any damage to the wheels; because that seemed like the most logical place to start.

Right?

He kissed his teeth when he stood to full height. Hellfire shirt wrinkled against his torso, he swung his arms back and forth. “Alright.” Eddie then pinched his bottom lip and nodded. His thoughts internalised, before he added, “OK. Yeah.”

“What?” You asked impatiently. “What’s wrong?”

Eddie used his thumbnail to scratch at his brow-bone. “Can you pop the hood?”

“Yeah.” You strolled over to meet him at the front of the car. Your fist clanged against the hood—as violence was the only way to open her up these days—to reveal her organs. You beamed at Eddie, “Isn’t she beautiful?”

Eddie glanced at you from his peripheral. “That’s one way to put it.”

You pinched his side at that, his own hand swatting at your attack at one of his multiple weak spots before inspecting the engine of your car with narrowed eyes; partial to the fact that Eddie had no actual inclination as to what he was looking for.

(The Volkswagen book from the library only captured his attention for so long.)

“So,” Eddie started, his voice a little strained as he twisted the dipstick cap, “How did the party go?”

You winced. “It’s safe to say that Stacey and I are no longer friends. Or even acquaintances.”

“No kidding. Why?” Eddie stood as he pulled the dipstick out, bottom lip pouted out of a mixture of concentration and curiosity to the sudden downfall of your cherished friendship.

“She got with my ex—not that, that is the issue. Kind of.” When Eddie didn’t have a visceral reaction to the mention of an ex, you continued with a nod of encouragement from him. You deflated, “Stacey paraded him about, then got…I don’t know, mad at me for existing at the party after my ex said hey to me. Anyway, she went full bitch at me, so I left.”

Eddie nodded and inhaled. Big brown eyes widened as he began to smirk, “Their loss. My gain.”

“Yeah. Well, anyway.” You steered the conversation back to the task at hand. As much as you appreciated the stolen moment with your boyfriend, you wanted to go home and de-shed the birthday disaster off of you, “Tell me she’ll live.”

Eddie leaned in, all smugness and charisma as he planted a kiss on your lips, followed by a handful of pecks as he spoke.

“My gorgeous—” Kiss. “—Sweet—” Kiss. “Intelligent and incredibly sexy—” Kiss. “—Girlfriend. When is the last time you put oil in this godforsaken motor?”

Ah.

Eddie studied your face knowingly.

He whispered, “Bingo.”

After the diagnosis and mild shame that came with the lack of attention to your oil levels—not because you didn’t know how to do these things, you just had been…preoccupied—you handed the oil to Eddie after he nudged you out of the way because there was one thing that the Munson man craved, and it was called being needed.

He wiped his hands on the bandana that he had stuffed in his back jean pocket as a style choice and pushed the hood of your car back into place; successful in his handyman work that revived Bug the Beetle for another summer.

The lamppost closest to you flickered as you stepped into his personal space, arms slotted around his torso with your chin tilted so Eddie could easily slot his hand at the column of your neck.

You kissed him and pulled back with a soft laugh as he chased you for another kiss. Something he continuously attempted throughout your time kissing out of pure gluttony. You mumbled, “I’ll turn her on.”

Eddie bent his head to gently bite your cheek, “I thought that was my job.” As you pulled away in disgust, Eddie shrugged, “What? That’s where you draw the line?”

“Don’t be a pig, Munson.” You said as you sat in the drivers seat and turned the key in the ignition. The engine coughed awake—quick to gloss over the small plume of smoke that billowed from beneath the hood—as clapped with glee. You shut your eyes momentarily, “Ugh. I love you.”

The atmosphere thickened almost immediately.

Shit.

Part of you prayed that Bug had done you a solid and made enough noise with its unhealthy set of engine lungs, so Eddie—who stood with an incredible amount of pride—had missed the minor slip of your tongue entirely.

(His face said otherwise.)

You wracked your brain for an excuse. You love your car! Which you did, but that wouldn’t slide. You loved life…no. Nothing quick came to your, usually, quick-witted brain and you sat with the thought for only seconds more. OK, so, it had been at least three months since the officiating of your relationship with Eddie Munson that happened in the grass just outside of his trailer, making flower crowns for each other from the wild daisies. It wasn’t like it was just two weeks past the whole labelling the thing between you two, which had been a hurricane of hormones and sexual activity.

Therefore, you were sort of justified. Right? Sure, there was the pact, and the minor scare that Eddie would run in the other direction. But, you’d die a hero. A lovesick hero who was in love with her boyfriend.

Yeah. That was it.

The inner turmoil was evident to Eddie whilst he chewed the flesh of his cheek to try prevent a shit-eating grin that showcased his dimples, to spread across his face. You were part of the problem for that. His inability to stop grinning like a fucking idiot.

He rounded the front of your car in a slow stroll, his hands clasped behind his back, boots kicking the asphalt beneath them. With your car door wide open, Eddie bent down with his hands rested against the roof for support.

“Don’t even say a word.” You warned behind the palm of your hands, face hot was mortification. “Have you never called your teacher, Mom, before? This is the same thing…just with the ‘L’ bomb.”

“Uh huh.” Eddie hummed and removed one of your hands from your face, “I knew you would say it first.”

You frowned, “No you didn’t—”

“Hey.” Eddie levelled with you, “I love you too. And…” He leant over you to pull the lever that folded the passenger seat down, “If you get in the back, I can match those words with actions. Because, actions happen to speak louder than words.”

His cockiness was unmatched. You let out a breathy laugh, “Oh yeah? I’d say you’re being a little greedy tonight, Eddie Munson.”

“Sweetheart, I’m always greedy with you.” Eddie’s jaw worked as his eyes trailed your body, “Now, move that cute ass, before I move it myself.”

It took you all of two seconds to haul yourself into the back of your car with Eddie hot on your heels. Clothes discarded, he spelt out his profession of his pure adoration for you with his tongue hot against your skin until the windows dripped with condensation.

With your hands threaded in his hair as he bit at your inner thigh, you managed to squeeze your eyes shut to ignore the intense flickering of the street lights and the continuous crackle of the radio that had been discarded in the front seat of the car, where Dustin Henderson was forewarning you of the time that had passed since your departure from the Henderson Household.

It was then safe to say—once you had returned home with a slight wobble in your step and hair that said sex in the back of a car rather than an innocent birthday party—that the hall pass Claudia Henderson had presented you would be revoked for the rest of your days.