obsessed • midwest • princess

Hawkins is a small, ordinary town where nothing happens. The most you hear about are convenience store robberies and a few muggings here and there.

That was until a student at your high school was murdered. Casey Becker.

When news of her demise rippled through the town and school, you couldn't help but feel uneasy.

Anyone could have murdered her.

Someone out of town. Someone on the run. Someone in town. Someone at your school. Someone who you could've walked past without knowing.

Nancy comes up to you as you're frantically sifting through your locker to look for your Chemistry book. You're startled at the sound of her voice.

"Hey, you ok there? You seem on edge."

"Yeah, shit. Sorry." You close your locker and place the combination lock back on.

"You don't have to lie, you know." She says, her voice turning empathetic. "I know what day is coming up."

September 28th. The day your mother was murdered by a stabbing.

"It's not just that, Nancy. It's Casey. We didn't know her, but a student? At our school? Doesn't it make you feel uneasy?"

"She was murdered at home, it had to be some serial killer who's a 40 year old guy in a red flannel who hasn't brushed his teeth in years, and possibly wears glasses."

"If that's your attempt to make me feel better, I hope you know it's a poor one." You say, a small smile tugging at your lips.

She takes your hand. "Come on. We're meeting Steve and Eddie for lunch in the courtyard. You just need a good laugh to get yourself going."

"What would I do without you?" You smile, weaving your fingers with hers.

"We'll never find out."

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When you and Nancy arrive with your lunches at the courtyard, Eddie and Steve are already there. The two exchange amused glances with each other as you're both walking up.

"How's my girl?" Eddie asks, wrapping an arm around your waist to give you a quick peck, then setting your lunch tray on the table for you.

"She's a bit worrisome. Maybe you could help her." Nancy playfully tells him, causing you to roll your eyes.

"I'm fine now, thank you very much."

Eddie props up your chin with his finger. "You'd better be." He leans in to initiate a slow kiss, and you begin tangling your lips with his, being sure to capture every inch of them with yours.

Steve and Nancy feign disgust.

"Why didn't you kiss me like that?" Nancy asks Steve.

"I just had a sandwich with onions, but we could start now if you'd like." Steve leans in, but Nancy stops him with a hand to his chest.

"Don't you dare."

You and Eddie finally pull away and sit down after looking at each other shyly.

Eddie Munson is your boyfriend, and has been the light of your life the moment you met. He never once made you feel small. He gifted your life with the utmost love, affection, and care. He held you through the nightmares, and the after moments of your counselor visits.

"You guys hear about Casey?" Steve asks.

"Everyone and their mother has. Some sick psycho stabbed her." Eddie answers, shoving a cookie into his mouth.

"Gross. How can you eat while talking about that?" Steve asks.

"Well, my far privileged friend. Life waits for no one. Sometimes you don't get to eat while the whole world just keeps circling around you."

"Nice way to say you're a desensitized freak."

"Desensitized? Oh, no. The fact that a girl at our school was literally gutted and her parents found her? That's awful?"

The food on your tray begins to look like guts through your eyes. You shake your head.

"I'm sorry, I can't do this right now." You get up from the table, rushing off before anyone can stop you.

"Nice going, shit for brains." Steve scolds, throwing a rock hard bread roll at Eddie's face.

"Ouch!"

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You stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror. Your eyes are glassy and the circles under your eyes have become slightly more prominent due to your sleepless nights.

A part of you doesn't understand why Eddie is so understanding with you. He could have any girl he wanted in your eyes. He's beautiful, funny, and down to Earth. Your total dreamboat.

You wipe the stray tear from your cheek, and apply a lip product then touch up your hair to make yourself look less dead inside. You exit the bathroom, and get jumpscared by Eddie coming up to you. He must've been waiting, but you don't know how long.

"Hey, it's me. How are you?" Eddie says softly, holding your upper arms.

"How long have you been there?" You ask, clearly still shaken.

"Just a couple of minutes. You know, it wouldn't look so good if I just let my girlfriend run into some shitty bathroom and didn't follow after her." He grins, making an attempt to humor you.

You playfully swat his chest. "You stupid prick."

"You know you don't have to be afraid of me, right? You've been so on edge lately. I know why."

"I guess I've made it that obvious, huh?" You try to seem cool, but your voice breaks towards the end of your sentence.

"I don't mean that. Come here."

He pulls you in for a hug, then kisses your hair.

Your cruel thoughts will eventually return later, but for now, you feel safe.

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Getting home from school to an empty house was your norm.

Your father is usually always at work to earn money for your well-being and future.

You always have admired how strong your father is for balancing work and parenting with the weight of his grief for your mother.

Will be home soon, pumpkin.

Love, Dad

You smile at the note before putting it in a keepsake box in your room that contains possibly hundreds more of his letters.

Then, your house phone starts to ring.

You frown because you're not expecting anyone.

"Hello?"

"Hello."

The man who answers has a voice that's suggestive, and you would be lying to yourself if you said you don't think it's sexy.

You subconsciously relax due to his attractive feature.

"Hi, can I help you?"

"Is Sydney with you?"

"I'm sorry, I think you have the wrong number."

"Oh. I apologize."

"Goodbye-"

"Wait. Do you want to talk? You seem like a nice girl."

You don't know why, but you smile. "Well, stranger. What could you and I even possibly talk about?"

"What kind of movies do you like?"

"Why, you want to take me to one?" You ask.

"If I like the answer you give me."

You roll your eyes before answering. "Scary movies."

"Oh." He sounds satisfied. "How about some trivia?"

"I suppose I have some time to kill before my boyfriend comes over."

"I'm sure he's a lucky guy. Are you ready for your first question?"

"Hit me."

"Name the killer in Halloween."

You scoff. "Michael Myers."

"Good girl. Next one. Who is the killer in Friday the 13th?"

"Are you joking? Jason Voorhees."

"Uh oh. You got a wrong answer."

"Uh uh, buddy. I've seen this movie 20 times."

"Then you would know it was actually Mrs. Voorhees, Jason's mother. He didn't show up as a slasher until the sequel."

You laugh. "Okay, nerd. What are you going to do. Kill me now?"

"I just might."

Any easygoing attitude in you instantly vanishes. You hang up the phone by slamming it down in fear. You look around, suddenly starting to feel unsafe.

And then, the phone rings again. You pick it up, but with a different attitude this time.

"Don't call back again or I swear I'll call the cops!"

"But we were having so much fun."

"Eat shit, we're done here."

"YOU HANG UP ON ME AGAIN AND I'LL GUT YOU LIKE A FISH!"

You slam the phone down again, running around the house to make sure absolutely everything is locked.

Even when everything is locked, you still feel uneasy. You pick up your phone again to call Nancy.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Nancy!" You try to sound as casual as possible. "I was thinking, is it okay if I came over to your house tonight?"

"I'm sorry, but Steve's coming over tonight. How about tomorrow night?"

You take in a deep breath. You don't want to sound like the friend who's going crazy because your mother's death anniversary is tomorrow.

"Uh...yeah. Tomorrow's fine." You say, your voice feeling small.

"If you're feeling down about tomorrow, it's okay. Everyone takes time to grieve and I'll be here for you every step of the way."

"Thanks, Nancy."

"Anytime. I'll see you tomorrow, love."

The phone call ends, and you feel panic surge through you again. You're all alone. Then, you decide to call Eddie. You're pleading to yourself, hoping that he's home.

"Hello?"

"Eddie, I need you over here right now."

"Hey hold on, what's wrong?"

"Someone just called me, I don't know who they are are- shit, they said something about threatening to kill me."

"I'm coming over, baby. Just hold on."

The line clicks, and you call the police shortly after your call with Eddie. They promised to be over shortly, however sounding quite skeptical that you weren't just prank called.

You called everyone you could, now you have to survive being alone until at least Eddie or the cops show up.

You do a mental overview of your house.

Windows, locked. Front door, locked. Patio door locked.

Windows...

Window...

The one window you leave open for some cool air in your room.

Unlocked.

Your breath hitches, and you run to the kitchen to grab a knife. You hear cars pull up and a string of sirens before they stop. A stoic couple of knocks on the door follow shortly after. You put the knife down before going to answer the door.

"We got a call about a threatening phone call?" One of them says. He's about 5'6, stocky, and looks like he's running on two hours of sleep. His badge reads Sheridan.

"Yes, and I just wanted to check if someone was in my house."

The other officer Dewey steps in. You physically soften.

"Hey, girl. How's school?" He asks.

"It's been fine." You step aside, allowing them to come in so they can check everywhere.

Dewey goes to the kitchen, picking up the knife you left on the counter. "I suppose this belongs to the killer?" He jokes.

"Nope. Just a frightened girl." You smile.

"You can always come down to the station. I hate that Frank has to leave you here alone."

Your phone begins to ring, and Dewey quickly notices the way your body instantly kicks into fight or flight.

"I've got it. It might be that creep again." He heads to the phone, picking it up to answer it in an authoritative voice.

"Hello?"

"Officer Dewey? What happened?"

Dewey gives you the phone. "It's Miss Wheeler."

"Nancy?"

"Why's Dewey there, are you alright?"

"I got a phone call from a guy threatening to kill me. The police are here to check it out."

"Oh my God, I'm coming right over-"

"No. You should stay safe. And, Eddie's already on his way."

"I thought he was with Steve. Steve hasn't shown up yet, so I figured he's with him."

A few knocks patter on your door.

"Eddie just got here, I should go. I'll explain everything tomorrow."

"You'd better." She says, worriedly.

The line ends and you rush to help Eddie in who looks terribly stressed the moment he lays eyes on you.

"Are you alright? Shit, I tried to get over here as fast as I could." His hands are everywhere, checking you for any injuries.

"The police are checking the place out. I'm okay, Eddie."

His brows furrow in pain, as if he can't believe you.

"I'm okay." You comfort him, and he finally relaxes.

Officers Dewey and Sheridan join back to the front door, where you and Eddie are standing. The looks on their faces can't be good news.

"...Well?" You ask.

Dewey gives officer Sheridan a look before he reveals the mask they found.

A mask that looks like a ghost, just as sick and twisted as whoever left that call.

"Was there anything else?" You ask. "There had to be."

"I'm sorry, little lady." Dewey sympathizes. "This was all. We may need you to stay with a friend. I'll tell your father."

"Stay with me." Eddie says.

"Are you kidding? My father would murder you."

"Would you like to watch Nancy and Steve swap spit instead?"

"At least you'll still be alive."

Dewey clears his throat, breaking you and Eddie out of your small lover's quarrel.

"Thanks for everything."

"Always. You take care of her, Munson."

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You're setting up a suitcase of things as Dewey ordered, and Eddie's sitting on the bed as you do so.

Your hands are a shaking mess, and you're moving a mile a minute.

"Babe." Eddie calls. You don't hear him. His voice is drowned by the ringing of your thoughts.

"Babe." He calls again.

Still nothing.

You're back and forth between your dressers and suitcase, and you yelp when you turn back around to Eddie who grips you before he can lose your focus again.

"Slow down, just a minute."

"Did you see the way Sheridan looked at me?"

Eddie listens and waits for you to continue.

"Like I'm crazy. Everyone looks at me like that. I can't help it that my mother's death anniversary is tomorrow. Someone... Said they would kill me. And Dewey's the only one who gets it."

"That's not true. I care. Nancy cares. Shit, Harrington cares. You can't let a few idiots make you forget that there's people who love you."

"You're right, I'm sorry. Shit. I'm sorry..."

Eddie pulls your head to his chest, calming your timid sobs.

"You are going to stay with me until all of this is sorted out. Shit, Wayne might even let you move in if he heard even an ounce of what you're going through."

"I can't impose, Eddie."

"There's no way in hell I'm letting you stay here while there's a murderer out there."

"What if it was a prank, Eddie? What if I'm just being as paranoid as people think?"

"Screw what people think. I'd rather be safe than sorry."

"Eddie-"

"No. It's decided. I wouldn't be shit for a boyfriend if I just let you stay here by yourself after this."

His eyes give no room for argument, and you're forced to give in. You can't help but smile.

"You are incredibly bossy, Edward Munson."

He smiles in return, relieved to see that you aren't crying anymore.

"You love it."

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When you show up to his place, you're exhausted. You kick off your shoes with tired huffs.

"Don't be shy to make room for stuff. My shit heap room isn't going anywhere."

You follow Eddie to his room as he walks your suitcase to it.

"Wayne won't be home until morning. We'll be at school by then, anyway. I'll just explain everything to him then."

You lay down on his bed and sigh in relief.

Eddie places your suitcase aside, and comes to join you. His body weight holds you to the mattress, and he begins running his hands up and down your thigh to comfort you. He takes the chance to join your lips with his.

The only sounds in the room are the connection of your lips to Eddie's, and the small breaths you both take in between.

You've never gone beyond sex with Eddie, especially with the timing of it all. You met him during a time of grief that is still very much fresh.

The kiss doesn't stop. Eddie's gentle caress of your thighs becomes firm grips without him even realizing it. Because for Eddie, loving you is as natural as taking a breath.

You however, notice it instantly. You begin to panic internally. You don't want to give him the wrong idea.

You gently push him slightly off of you.

"Was I too much?" He asks.

"No, no. It's me, Eddie. I didn't want you to get the wrong idea."

"About what?"

"... I'm still not ready."

Eddie's face turns to an expression of understanding when he realizes what you mean.

"You know I wasn't going for that, right?"

"I know... I just wanted to be clear."

Eddie kisses your forehead before laying on your chest.

He wishes you goodnight before he eventually drifts off.

You stare at the ceiling, met with the pit sunk down in your stomach.

What if he won't wait much longer?

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The next day is a heart stopper for you. Your mother's anniversary.

You didn't even feel like going to school when you woke up, but that's the funny thing about life.

No matter what happens, you have to move on. And you can't help the guilt that you get to move on, but your mother doesn't.

When you get to school, you deal with the glances you're expected to receive.

In a small town like Hawkins, nothing goes unknown.

"I'm sorry about your mother." A random girl tells you. She seems empathetic, and you hate it. You've never spoken to the girl in your life. And now? She's making you feel like an animal in a cage at a circus.

"Thank you." You say flatly before storming off to the lunchroom before meeting with your friends and boyfriend.

As you're walking up to the lunch table, everyone goes quiet. Your stomach begins to feel like a rocking sea.

You place your tray down.

"You all might as well spit it out. Everybody else has something to say."

Nancy, Steve, and Eddie look between each other before beginning to speak.

"We're just worried about you. We know what today is." Nancy says.

"I'm sorry about last night, something came up and I got to Nancy's late. I wish I'd known sooner, I would've stayed home and let you crash at her place." Steve says, scratching the back of his neck.

"I was just telling them about what happened. I told you, you're safe with us." Eddie says.

You look down at your tray, a tear slipping from your eyes. Then, you chuckle lightly.

"My life is a mess."

"Hey, look at who you're hanging out with." Eddie jokes, wrapping an arm around you and kissing your temple.

"We've got your back. And some stupid creep isn't going to stop that." Nancy reaches across the table to hold your hand.

"Hell yeah." Steve agrees.

They all look between each other again, which makes you arch a brow.

"...Is there something else I should know about."

"Well, we don't want you sitting home alone being sad, so..." Steve starts.

"We are having a party. To celebrate life, and the life of your mother's."

"... Tonight?" You say, in disbelief.

They all nod, and begin to clap and cheer amongst each other.

"You guys, keep it down!" You say, despite your attempts to keep yourself from laughing.

"You are the star of the show tonight. But in my life, you're the star always." Eddie grins.

As expected, you're both making out in front of Nancy and Steve again.

"Ugh, gross." Nancy jokes.

Somewhere in the back of his mind—before the three pints and the two shots—he recalls your hushed voice in his ear, outside the bar. It was low and sultry. Scratchy and strained, but not like how it gets after a long day of talking. No—

It was the type of strain that happens when you’ve spent too many hours screaming his name. When too many breaths have torn from your chest, ragged and pressed out by the strength of his hips.

That type of strain is his favorite…. But you had said something then—

You leaned close. The music from the bar was leaking out into the muggy, open air of the parking lot. There was noise from the road nearby. Fast cars, rubber peeling off of wet asphalt—

Wet asphalt emanating heat and earthy scents—

And there was you. He could smell you, too. His favorite scent. The perfume you always leave traces of, like love notes he finds well after you’re gone. Proof of your existence in his bed, near his clothes, on him. 

You leaned close. Yes, because of the noise—the music, the cars. 

And your mouth brushed the shell of his ear and he shuddered. You laughed. Sweet and teasing. You laughed. 

He shuddered again, or maybe he was just vibrating with excitement—he could never tell around you. Then he felt what you were saying before you even said it. Your kiss-bitten lips curved so delicately around every syllable. 

You called his name. 

His favorite shape your mouth makes…

Well, that, and the stretch of—

No. No, you said something. His name. That’s what you said.

That and something else.

What was it?

He closes his eyes, trying to relive the moment— Your mouth against his ear, your hot breath on his skin, his name on your lips…

Fuck, he can’t remember. And damn it, you won’t let him touch you.

You just took yet another shuffle-step to the right. He didn’t even realize he was leaning into you until you did that 

Come to think of it, what you said before probably had to do with why you’re not letting him touch you now. 

Usually you love it. You welcome his zealous exploration. He knows that, you tell him through the prettiest sighs—

And what you said—well, it felt important at the time. You dropped his hand to say it, so it must’ve been. 

But as the golden glow of the hanging light fixture shines down on you, your hair glinting with every movement, his patchy memory no longer seems all that significant.

The sound of dense resin knocking together draws his attention to the table, the green surface missing one less solid colored ball. 

“Yes!” Robin calls out, pumping her fist victoriously.

“Shit!” Steve curses at the same time, stamping the butt of his wooden cue on the floor. 

 “Oof, rough go, Steve.” You smirk, pretty as a picture.

Eddie wishes you’d look at him like that. 

Subtly, he brushes his arm against yours—the one that’s holding your beer. His eyes practically roll at the heat rippling across your soft skin.

But you move away at the first contact. That’s really starting to get on his nerves. Because what, is he radioactive or something? What’s so bad about him wanting to hold you?

You lean forward. “Maybe if you—” 

“No speak from the opposition!” Steve shouts stiltedly, sending an accusatory finger your way. His eyes flit from you to the table as he strategizes his next shot. “I will not let your womanly wiles corrupt me—”

“Mm, I would,” Eddie purrs lowly, floating into your orbit. His leisurely efforts are abruptly halted, though, when you jab a knuckle into his side.

Steve paces, wearing a chasm into the chipped, creaky floorboards of the old dive bar. “If you had bet on me like you should’ve, then maybe I’d hear you out. But since you’ve left me scorned, I’d like to keep my dignity intact, thank you.”

“For now,” Robin simpers, sending you a side-long glance. “Or wait, do we think he had any to begin with?” 

“Mmm, jury’s still out—” you shrug, lips curled like you’re trying not to laugh at the frazzled man’s brewing tantrum.

Eddie giggles, “Dignity…Steve.” The words feel heavy on his tongue, like he’s dragging each syllable out a second too long. 

Steve grumbles—something about trading. Or maybe ‘trait-or’? Eddie doesn’t know, he’s too busy weathering the turn of the earth now that you’re looking at him again. It’s been forever since he’s held your attention, and he was nearly at the point of begging. 

It’s not just your eyes on him, though. You’re smiling, too. It’s that knowing smirk he loves. The kind that makes his knees weak and his pants feel tight. 

But then your lips twitch, smile faltering as you peer down at his finger hooked in the waistline of your skirt. And suddenly, you turn to him, shifting your hip out of reach. He opens his mouth, a complaint on the tip of his tongue when you force a half-drank bottle of beer into his outstretched hand with a terse, “Hold this.”

Straightening up, he gathers himself, prepared to shoulder any task for you—no matter how trivial. His responding, “Okay, baby,” is drowned out by Steve’s loud cheer after finally pocketing a ball. 

You turn back to Robin and Steve, leaving Eddie chasing after your gaze. “I’ll get the next round.” And just like that, you’re gone. 

He jogs after you, the floor feeling uneven as he stumbles through groups of people. You’re leaning against the bar, waiting for the drinks when he arrives, looming over you with heaving breaths. 

“Oh, baby, y’look so pretty tonight,” he grunts, wrapping an arm around your waist, trailing his lips up your neck. 

You whip around, hand shoving against his chest until he stumbles back a few paces. His eyes widen, stinging from the pain of rejection, and he feels minuscule under your cold glare. 

When you swallow, glancing somewhere behind him, he has to stop himself from moving into your eyeline. Because damn it, if you’d just look at him longer than a second—

“You need to stop,” you hiss. 

His head jerks back, the burn of nausea twisting low in his gut. “Wha—”

“You said you’d be good, Eddie.”

He is being good! He’s being so good! All he’s done tonight is stare at you and touch you—you love when he does that!

He opens his mouth to argue, but you cut in before he gets the chance to start. 

“You said you’d behave! So you better start now, or we’ll have to leave,” you grit out, stepping back from him once more. 

Following your movement, his overheating body crowds you against the bar. “No, please, don’t make us leave, baby,” he hurries, grabbing at your hips. “‘M havin’ so much fun, don’t wanna go—”

Your shoulders drop, you lean into him, and he almost closes his eyes, certain your lips will find his.

“Okay, then be-have,” you admonish, then turn to collect the drinks left behind by the busy bartender. 

Eddie decides he’d much rather have gotten a kiss than a warning.

Sliding out of his embrace, you march back to your party, a grumbled, “Just friends, Eddie. You promised they wouldn’t know—” fading the further you flee. 

And he feels like he just stepped into the Twilight Zone because what the hell? Why would he say that? That doesn’t sound like him at all—

“Thank God, gimme that,” Steve swipes a bottle from your arms, chugging it. He jabs a finger in Robin’s direction. “This woman wants me dead.” 

She snorts, then looks at you with an unimpressed glint in her eyes.

“Missed another shot?” you ask, brow quirked. 

“Multiple,” Robin confirms. 

“It is just not your night, is it, Steve?”

Before the beleaguered man can answer, Robin cuts in, elbowing him. “It’s never his night. That’s basically his whole thing. He’s, like, the personification of a Monday.”

Steve snaps, “Okay, that’s enough outta you. Just take the damn shot.”  

A loud clack, then a muffled thump into leather, and Robin laughs manically. 

Eddie watches you lean over the table, passing the girl her drink. Inch by inch, your skirt rises the more you reach, and his head drops to the side, weighed down by curiosity. 

He thinks of the black panties you shimmied on before coming here. He watched you then, just like he watches you now. Watched the way you wiggled the flimsy fabric over your ass, how the material covered your freshly fucked cunt so delicately. 

The same black fabric peeks out from beneath the hem of your skirt, only now, there’s a wet splotch between your folds, and he knows exactly what soaked through.

You straighten up—too soon for his liking—but Eddie’s still staring. Still leering at that cursed skirt. It’s never done him any good—always hiding you away. Then again, maybe it’s done him a world of good. It’s been the catalyst to many a sweaty tryst, that’s for sure. But right now, it’s useless fabric obstructing his favorite view. 

In the back of his mind, he vaguely registers the bickering going on around him, the music blaring. But his focus is divided between the sight of your upper thighs and the stirring in his pants. 

He reaches down to adjust himself, then quickly remembers the beer in his hand. The condensation beading down the glass has seeped into his skin, pruning his fingers. He doesn’t remember why he’s even holding the thing to begin with. 

Setting the bottle on a nearby table, he shuffles closer to you. You’re talking to Steve, and he’s not quite sure what you’re saying, but he hears you choke on your words the moment he presses against you. There’s a hiss of breath that sounds like his name, but his mind goes blank as tingling pleasure prickles up his spine, almost a relief of pressure. Or the temptation of relief. 

The feeling is small, but it’s intoxicating. Even more than the alcohol in his bloodstream. Because now he’s drunk on you. On what could be if he just bent you over and—

You cough, clearing your throat as you take a step forward—right up to the Pool table. Eddie grunts, grabbing your hips and dragging you back against him, this time with a stronger, steadying grip. 

“No, that doesn’t count as a mulligan— Hey! Ed, what the hell are you doing?”

Steve’s question falls on deaf ears, and your elbow digging into his ribs does nothing to deter his mission. Because the heat is building. In his flushed cheeks, in his muscles. Even lower. Incendiary friction sparks something dizzying and all-consuming. 

“Dude, at least let her breathe. No need to hover—”

He’s laughing, but Eddie doesn’t think it’s funny. Not when you slip from his hold, yet again, now an arms-length away. Too far. 

Your palms are planted on the glossy, oak edge of the table as you huff out something that sounds like it would’ve been a chuckle if it hadn’t collapsed halfway up your throat. “Think he just gets weirdly clingy when he’s drunk. Don’t know why I’m the victim, though—”

There’s a sharpness to your tone. It’s dulled by his inebriated ears. Undeterred, he closes in on you. “You’re so pretty, baby.”

The words slip out easily. Your shocked reaction only makes Steve laugh harder. 

“Jesus Christ, you’re really three sheets to the wind, dude—” 

Eddie ignores him, but then watches as he turns to you.

 “Does he think you’re someone else?” 

The question makes Eddie’s chest rumble. As if you could be anyone else. As if he could want anyone else this badly—

Wrapping his arms around your rigid frame, he can feel your ribs expand on the breath you draw in. Before a response tumbles past your lips, he squeezes you. Quick and firm. It’s the only warning he can manage without ripping fabric or leaving teeth marks on your delicate skin.

Because he knows what you’d say. He’s starting to catch onto the lies. And he’s not in the mood to play pretend anymore.

“How many has he had?”

Robin’s voice sounds distant as Eddie finds himself beside you again—not far, this time, but shucked off all the same—monitored under your eagle eyed gaze. When she calls your name, stealing your attention for…something about going home or taking a home, he can’t find it in him to care. Not about Robin’s itch for theft or Steve’s quiet, regarding stare.

He can smell your perfume. It calls to him, whispers of heat and closeness. Of the subtle change in the chemical makeup when you begin to warm beneath him, when his sweat mixes with yours. The evil scent pulls him in until his nose is running along your neck. You don’t jump nearly as much as you have been. He’s breaking you down. All he has to do is persist.

You reach across your body, finding his chest and he almost giggles at the half-hearted shove you give. Like it’s just for show. Like you don’t really want him gone. Then your fingers curl around the flimsy material of his shirt and he’s certain you don’t want him gone. How could you push him away if you’ve got a hold on him? 

With a groan, he presses his straining length against the underside of your other wrist, your palm still planted firmly on the edge of the table. It’s a slow, focused grind; his knees nearly buckle. Pushing harder as his own hands slide down your arm, he keeps you in place.

“Fuck, Eddie, st—”

“Holy shit, he’s like a cat in heat,” Steve mutters, cutting you off in what Eddie deems a particularly grating tone. It does nothing to aid the coiling need he’s trying to sate. 

Tension bleeds from your muscles in a slow-burning drip as your form sways just the slightest bit in his direction. He can feel you fighting the urge to melt into him. He’s waiting. Patiently. As patiently as he can without compromising his own desires.

Then, your chin tips and you whisper a lackluster, “Eds, seriously, not here—” over your shoulder. 

“Okay, what the fuck, man.” 

A large hand lands on his bicep, pulling him away from you. His heartrate spikes. 

A calamitous anger rages inside, catching like a wildfire through his veins. It feels like integrity but tastes like possession.

Whipping around, he smacks the arm away, blindly knocking the culprit back. 

“Dude! Actually get the fuck off her—”

“Steve, it’s fine!”

Your sharp tone slices through the fog in his mind; it settles the devastation inside, canning it for another time. He stares at your back as you move between him and a very angry-looking Steve. Chest all puffed out, the ex-jock is the picture of chivalrous defense, and he can’t help but grin. 

If the good knight only knew the things you’ve let Eddie do to you…

“Yeah, Steve,” he drawls, his heavy-lidded gaze sliding from the incensed man to you, the one-woman garrison emboldened by altruism and bolstered by sweetness. He inches closer; a shadow encroaching on the light, a predator going in for the kill. “She said it’s fine.”

His palms hover over your skin, consuming and reveling in the heat. Up your arms, around your shoulders, and back, he maps out your body, admiring the winding curves he’s traversed many times before. The simmering rage of the man in front of you only encourages his quiet appreciation. 

Slowly, delicately, he leaves a chaste kiss where your neck meets your shoulder. 

You tremble, blinking like you mean to steel yourself. 

And his grin widens. “See? She likes it—”

Steve snaps into action, but Robin is quicker, throwing her arm out in front of him. At the same time, you grab Eddie’s wrist, yanking him after you. 

“That’s it, I’m taking you home.”

He lets you drag him away, tossing a smirk over his shoulder. Steve tries to ask if you’re sure and you only let out a clipped, “See you guys later,” in response.

Eddie can’t help but congratulate himself on yet another successful victory. You’re his. You’re choosing him, again. A room full of people and you’re taking him home. 

He somehow feels both stone-cold sober and wasted beyond belief, all from your fingers digging into his pulse. And the alcohol. There’s that, too. 

Weaving through meandering patrons, the exit sign comes into view. You’re talking, but he can’t hear you. The words float ahead, jostled and spliced by the whining guitar riff peeling from the surrounding speakers. He hears the anger, though. It doesn’t bother him.

Once the door closes behind him, the stuffy bar now in his rearview and the night air filling his lungs, he drops his weight back, no longer moving so willingly.

You grunt, but otherwise seem unfazed. Only tightening your grip and continuing your lecture—

“—at fault. I mean, seriously, we fucking agreed! It was mutual! We said we didn’t want the dynamic to change, then you down a few too many, and now all of a sudden, you’re measuring dicks with Steve. I mean, you might as well’ve just pissed on me—it was too fucking obv—”

Pebbles kick up beneath his skidding shoes as he finds his balance. 

“Oh, sure, make this harder than it has to be. You’re great at that—”

The last word catches in your throat as he pulls you the opposite way, back to the bar. You stumble, trying your best to resist, but he’s moving you easily.

“Eddie, what the fuck did I say? If you can’t behave, we’re leaving. We’re not going back— Agh—”

Pressed against the brick wall of the building, hidden in the alley beside it, your complaints fall to unintelligible nonsense as Eddie attacks your neck, lips ravaging any sliver of skin he can find. His body envelops yours, keeping you still with a force he can’t find it in him to tame, especially for the sake of propriety. Not now. Not after waiting so dreadfully long. 

“E-Eddie, slow d-down, Jesus—”

“Can’t,” he grunts, finding his way to your mouth, mumbling like a wanton man. “I need you, baby. Need you so fuckin’ bad—” His hips jut forward, searching for reprieve from the miserable strain of his jeans. 

When your back arches, he sinks his talons in, blunt nails biting and fingers digging as he clings onto you. Because in this moment, you’re the only thing keeping him from falling off the face of the earth; he feels it racing beneath his feet. Your eyes on his, the taste of your lips—it slows everything down. 

“Shit, you’re so pretty. So, so pretty—” 

Every word is mindless, slurred, but true. Inhibition has long-since died a silent, restful death inside him, buried somewhere low, near the hearth that never stops burning for you. 

His hands grope and grab at anything they can reach—your ass, your thighs, your arms, your breasts. Anything. All of it keeps him here for one second more. Grounded in your softness. Steady on your terrain. 

“Eds, we—we have to go,” you gasp, pliant beneath his roving touch. He closes the gap, tongue tangling with yours in a sloppy, searing kiss that makes his mind whir and his ears fill with a fizzing sound.

“Nuh-unh, wanna stay,” he pants, nipping at your pulse point, feeling your blood rush. “Wanna stay with you.”

His hands slip beneath your skirt as you hold onto his shoulders. You give a weak push when his fingers pull at the gusset of your panties, but it’s not nearly enough to deter him. 

“We can’t st—ay, fuck— You’re drunk, Eddie. I don’t even know how you’re hard right now.”

He hums, straightening to his full height and pressing you harder against the wall. His breath comes fast; he can’t seem to catch it as he watches you. 

How is it not obvious?

“‘S you,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb along your temple. “‘S all you. Makin’ me burn…. Makin’ me want you so damn bad it hurts.” 

You swallow, lashes fluttering as you lean into his gentle touch. “I’m sorry I hurt you…but we can’t do this. Not he—”

“You don’t want me?” His voice is brittle. Breaking. 

A night full of small rejections comes to a head as the weight of your words—sincerity and conviction threaded through every syllable—crashes into him, a frenzied tidal wave leaving wreckage in its wake. 

He only manages to retreat half a step before you’re pulling him back, arms wrapping around his neck. 

“I do want you,” you rush, pressing imploring kisses onto his rosy cheeks, tiny promises sealed with sticky lipgloss. “I always want you.”

His vision blurs as he peers down, frizzy curls hanging low in his eyeline. Confusion is a bitter thing as he finds the hem of your skirt. There’s mercy in the feeling of the grooved stitch beneath the rough pads of his fingers. 

“Even now?” he asks, low and timid for the first time tonight. 

Your arms release him, trailing down the sinewy plane of his chest. You lift his shirt only an inch—just enough for your nails to find his flushed skin, enough to feel him twitch as you explore so freely. 

“Always.”

He pauses, searching for something in your gaze. Or, maybe something in the silence. And it’s the silence that answers. 

With a hurried breath, he tears at your panties. It’s a quick, controlled rip, and he stuffs the fabric into his back pocket. 

You gasp, but he drops before you get the chance to scold him. His jeans do little to mitigate the sting of gravel as his knees hit the ground. He hikes your thigh over his shoulder, disappearing under your skirt. 

“Ed— Oh, God!”

His face drags through your folds, nose catching on your clit as his tongue sinks into you, plunging as deep as it’ll go. But the thundering ecstasy of finally tasting you—and himself—is cut short when you tug at his hair with a force far too sharp to be pleasurable. He groans, missing your heat as you haul him up to his feet. 

“Eddie! We can’t do that here,” you bite out, glancing behind him. “That’s what I was trying to tell you.”

The worry in your brow catches on something inside him, and if he had the right words, he’d make it go away. But there are no right words, only burrowing panic and gnawing desire so deep, it’s almost torture.

“Please, baby, I’ll be good,” he pants, pawing restlessly at your body. “I swear to God, I’ll be good. Just— Just let me— Ah, Jesus!” His forehead falls to your shoulder and he hangs onto you, a firm grip on your ass as he pulls you into him. The movement is meant to alleviate, to save his sanity, but all it does is remind him of your denial, of the space he can’t close, and the release he can’t reach.

Your fingers begin to soothe his scalp. He matches his breathing to yours; in and out, in and out, in and out. 

Curious and tender, you mutter, “It’s really that bad?” 

He shakes his head, lifting it to meet your concerned gaze. 

You don’t understand. You can’t possibly know what it feels like. This dull ache. Persistent, like a gnat in his ear, it’s been with him all night, made worse by you. Your perfume, your soft touch, the glimmer in your eyes. The distance, the act, the canyon between words and truth. 

It’s all a great pain. An infection that’s been festering for hours. You have the medicine and you won’t give it to him.

His voice cracks, “So bad. I’m achin’ for you, can’t you feel it?” His hips jerk forward as he waits for your response, but the silence is too loud. He can’t stand it. 

“You’re just so pretty…” Dazed, his eyes rove over your wrinkled top, fabric askew and showing more skin than you started the night showing. “‘N so soft.” Ducking closer, he rumbles out a drawling, “Mm, you smell so good.”

Again, you look behind him, somewhere just over his right shoulder and he sways, chasing your gaze. 

“And you can’t wait ten minutes to get to your apartment?” you ask, eyes narrowed. 

He sags against you, a whine crawling up from deep within his throat. “No…. No more. I’ve been waiting all night. I can’t— I—”

“Okay, okay, I get it. I hear you. Just— Hey, Eds, look at me—”

Your palms cradle his head and he can smell the lavender hand soap he put in his apartment just for you.

“Be quick,” you whisper, tipping your chin to hold his attention.

He perks up, swallowing harshly as he stares at you, trying to decode the two simple words. But you might as well have spoken another language because his mind is running circles around the meaning, never through. 

“Hey—” Your eyes dart downward, stall there, then you close the distance. 

It’s messy and wet and he can still taste you on his tongue—smell you smeared on his skin—but you don’t seem to mind as you deepen the kiss, your mouth parting around a moan. It’s over too soon, though. 

A delicate string of spit connects him to you as you pull back.  “Take what you need, ba—”

He’s moving before you even finish the endearment, hands racing across your body, tugging at fabric, kneading skin—anything he can touch. His jacket is around your shoulders in no time, protecting you from the rough brick. The cuffs on his belt clang as he unfastens the homemade contraption, the button of his jeans next.

“Oh, thank you, baby,” he breathes into your mouth, using his full weight to trap you against the wall. “Thank you, thank you—shit! You’re so good to me,” he whimpers, bucking his hips as he frees his length, wrapping a hand around the base until it throbs beneath his unyielding grip. “So fuckin’ good to me. Wanna be good to you, too.”

He fumbles a bit, struggling to move while still trying to maintain every point of contact he can. Once he manages to pick up your thigh, hitching it onto his hip, he guides the blunt tip of his cock through your slick folds. A soft mewl escapes you and the sound only makes him twitch, a stream of sticky precum dribbling from his slit. 

“Wanna be inside you. God, I always wanna be inside you—”

Your voice cuts him off, strained with a familiar need as your forehead falls to his. “Please, Eddie— Please just fuck me already, I can’t—”

His body responds before his mind even registers the plea, jerking forward until he’s buried deep inside you. A resounding groan echoes through the empty alleyway, drowning out your shrill cry. Though, you have enough sense to slam a hand over your open mouth, muffling the lewd noise

He, however, is too drunk to care. Drunk on the alcohol humming in his bloodstream. Drunk on the feeling of your walls squeezing him so tight, he could count your heart rate just from the pulse of your pussy alone. 

“Ohh, my—fuck! Jesus, fuck—you’re tryin’ to kill me, you’re tryin’ to kill me,” he babbles incessantly, squirming from the pressure. 

Your hand drops to his shoulder, holding onto him so tightly, your fingers pinch. “E—ddie, shh—ah!” 

Torturously slow, he pulls out. Your cunt clings to him, contracting—almost a proper plea to stay—and yet, you seem to revel in the drag of his length. He knows you feel it. The thrum of his veins, the curve that stretches you, the thick ridge that catches on your entrance. 

With just the tip inside, he shudders, his head hanging as he stares downward. The bright neon sign on the corner of the building beams, making his cock shine with your arousal.

He pauses. 

Then, his hips snap forward, marking the start of a suffocating rhythm as he forces the breath from your body with every thrust. He moves wildly, a frenzied pace with one intention, and one intention only. 

“Oh, God, oh, shit, baby! You feel s’good.… Takin’ such good care o’ me—thank you! Thank you— S’sweet to me—” he pants, slipping a large, heavy hand behind your neck until your gaze drops, joining him as he watches himself disappear inside of you. “Ah, look at that— Mmm, so pretty when you’re full o’ me.” 

The wiry hair at the base of his shaft begins to stick to his skin, weighed down by the mess he’s making out of you. Glimmering slick forming a milky ring, droplets splashing from the strength of his thrusts. A giddy chuckle rumbles through his chest, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he admires just how wet you are. How wet he makes you.

The sound of his leather jacket scratching against the brick fills his ears as he falls against you, muscles straining. Your eyelids droop low, but your gaze hasn’t moved from where he’s fucking into you. His mouth finds yours, lips gliding as he hungrily swallows your every moan. 

Sweat beads at his hairline, and his nails sink into your thigh, drawing you impossibly closer. Because he needs more. He needs all of you. Your walls are pried apart by his thick length and it’s still not enough. 

He lets go of your neck, pushing two fingers into your mouth. “Suck.”

His breath turns ragged and you finally look at him, your eyes dark and glossy as your lips reach his knuckles, your cheeks hollowing out in that way that always makes his knees buckle. His hips jerk, rhythm shifting at the memory.

He can feel the flames spreading, overtaking the hearth, but he’s not ready yet. He’s not done with you. 

His fingers fall from between your lips as he reaches below, pressing tight circles into your clit. You choke on your breath and the sharp sound makes him grin.

“Yeah, there you go, sweetheart. Fuck—you’re so tight! Squeezin’ the life outta me— God, I know you wan’ it—cum for me. Soak my fucking cock,” he grits out, watching your eyes roll with rapt attention. “Mark me, baby, drown me—”

“F-Fu— Eddie!” 

Your back arches and you go rigid; he knows you’re on the very edge. He knows you. He knows the exact high your voice reaches before you come undone, and even though you’re trying not to, he knows you’re losing yourself.

“Give it to me,” he drawls, practically purring at you. “Give in, baby. Please, I know you need it—”

“Shh, shh, we have to—b—e quiet! You have t—o keep it d— Oh, God!”

Your cunt clenches around him, tighter than he can handle after suffering from your denial for so long. You're moving against him now, convulsing and chasing after the pleasure like an ebbing wave. His body starts to curl inward, but he tries his best to keep a good enough pace. Your moans ring in his ear as he drives into you, shivering at the obscenely wet sounds.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck! F-Feels so— God, ‘m g-gonna fill you up, baby. Hm? You wan’ it? Wanna feel full o’ me? Wanna hold it for me? You’re always so good at it—”

His breathless words seem to have no effect on you as you settle limply, held up by his frame and the wall at your back. You give no indication that you heard him, there’s only the flutter of your lashes and the lull of your head against the brick. His palm presses against your neck, just enough to keep you still, to hold your far-out gaze. 

“You listenin’? Hm?” he pants, landing a firm kiss on your slackened mouth. “Y’gonna empty my balls for me, baby? Know you love to feel me drippin’ outta you.”

Your cunt responds with a weak pulse. He chuckles, only to be cut off by his own sputtering groan as a particularly deep stroke shoots right through him. You whimper, and he knows he’s the only thing keeping you from buckling to the ground as your arms struggle to wrap around him.

“E-Eddie…”

Static buzzes in his mind as you mewl, soft gasps hiccuping in time with his pounding thrusts. His hand drops low, splaying just beneath your navel. Then, he presses, relishing the catch in your breath. 

“Ah, there I am,” he mutters, going dizzy at the feeling of his cock-head nudging his palm. “Here, right? Y’gonna keep me here, baby?”

You nod, letting out a frail, broken sound that tells him all he needs to hear. You want it. Need it, even.

His eyes roll, balls pulling taut as his rhythm falters. “Oh, f-fuck! Jesus Christ, you’re made f’me—you are,” he grunts, nosing against your neck. “Fit together so nicely. Hmm, made f’me, made to be full o’ me—”

Your face crumbles as you clench around him once more, another orgasm rolling in, quiet as a tide, and this time it’s softer. He can still feel you shake, but there’s a dragging sense of freedom. Of letting go.

And you drag him with you. Under the tide. Under the surface where everything sounds fuzzy and he feels weightless. 

“Jesus—fuck! Ah, shit!”

He gives one final, deep thrust, burying himself inside your heat as he spills into you. Waves of pleasure crash through him, so overwhelming, his hips stall. He shivers, almost violently, and his words tumble out, barely loud enough to be a whisper. “God, baby, thank you. T-Thank you. Shit—you’re so good to me.” 

He stays like that—arms wrapped around you, your fingers in his hair—for a while. It’s only when you shift, repositioning yourself against the wall, that he picks his head up. Indulging himself in your gentle kiss. His languid lips speak a sweetness far greater than his words could manage at the moment.

“I feel better now,” he mumbles, letting himself explore along your jaw, lazy and sated, but needing to taste you all the same. 

“Yeah, I bet,” you snort, tucking his hair behind his ear, then twisting a damp curl around your finger. 

With much reluctance, he finally pulls out, both of you wincing at the loss. He fixes himself quietly, buttoning his pants again and hiding his smile as he notices you squirm. You adjust his jacket over your shoulders and smooth your skirt. His eyes follow the movement and all he can think about is how much he wishes he could just sit on the ground beneath you and watch himself leak out of your pretty pussy. 

But then you clear your throat, motioning to the end of the alley and he offers his arm. You smirk, shaking your head as you accept his offer. As he passes under the neon sign that says, “Bar,” he stares at the entrance to the building.

“Mm, I wan’ a beer,” he hums wistfully, starting to veer off course.

“Unh-unh!” Both of your hands circle his bicep, yanking him back. “No, we’re leaving. I’m taking you home.”

“But—”

“No ‘but’s.” You continue to drag him further away from the bar, heading toward his van. “You’re going home, then you’re going to sleep. And tomorrow, you’re gonna call up Steve and apologize for trying to fight him.”

Eddie’s face twists up, a sharp scoff falling from his lips. “‘M not apologizing. He was trying to touch you—”

“No,” you utter pointedly, digging into his back pocket—ignoring his quiet, “Hey, buy me dinner first”—and pulling out his keys. “He was not, that was you. He was trying to stop you because he thought you were being a perv.”

“I was being a perv,” he grins, watching you unlock the van. You shove him into the passenger side and he gracefully complies, settling in a haphazard huff. His eyes follow you through the windshield as you speedwalk around to the driver side door, which he reaches across the console to open for you. 

“An unwelcome perv,” you amend, climbing into the seat. You check the mirrors first, then turn the key in the ignition. Eddie sighs contentedly as the van rumbles to life, the tape he mixed for you already filtering through the stereo. 

He leans close, looming over you. With exaggerated slowness—a test, a toeing of boundaries—he drags two fingers up your thigh, beneath your skirt, until he feels the sticky combination of his cum and your slick smeared against your skin. “Knew you liked it,” he purrs lowly, sucking the digits clean. 

Your breath comes quicker and shakier as you give him a sidelong glance. “You’re disgusting.”

His grin stretches into something wolfish, something predatory and ostensibly clear-headed, despite the glossy look in his eyes and the sway in his body. Quickly, he makes another swipe between your legs, this time relishing the hitch in your throat as he grazes your warm, puffy folds. He shrugs, admiring the milky gleam on his fingers before taking them into his mouth once more. “Chef’s gotta taste his own food.”

With that, your trembling hand lands on the gear shift and the van jolts into reverse. 

A/ N: Guys, is this anything? Let me know🧎‍♂️It’s been in the drafts since October🥀  Also, it's the one year anniversary of me writing fics :) One year ago (almost to the day), I posted this rambling drabble. Since then, my work has improved so much, and I’ve gotten to talk to so many of you about your Eddie thoughts which is all I ever wanted from this.  Thank you for reading my silly, not-so-little ramblings. Thank you for making this an enjoyable space to create in. Thank you for always showing up to my ‘Is anyone interested in…’ posts with 110% enthusiasm. And thank you for talking to me about my writing. I think that’s what I appreciate the most—how much I get to connect with y’all over what I’ve worked so hard on. I love reading your reactions to my fics, I cherish them so deeply. I’m also glad you feel comfortable with me and enjoy my writing enough to want to hear my thoughts on your Eddie ideas. I love this space and I’m glad you guys are always down for a little chitty-chat.  Thank you for sticking around and taking an interest in my work and especially me as a person <3 Love you guys <3

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Just as promised to Claudia Henderson, your mother who chose the route of a bubble wrapped Dustin Henderson, you were outside the building in which Dustin attended the Hellfire Club D&D sessions. Had your mom called your friend’s house — the place you were spending your evening — thrice, since it slipped your mind to confirm the special goods were successfully dropped at the door? Yes.

Claudia Henderson deserved an award for persistence.

You had good reason. There was little knowledge about the Hellfire Club. Your brother would sometimes explain their campaign over breakfast, or dinner — whatever you had time for — and you’d listen intently. Because, he was your little brother and he was so, adorably passionate about that little fantasy world. Clearly, you needed to be more passionate about it too.

Because it came with Eddie Munson attached to it.

Naturally, he was the reason for your mishap in not informing your mother about Dustin’s safety. From the brief encounter at the door, with his heavily ‘hair metal’ inspired haircut and brown eyes that belonged on Bambi rather than the resident Metalhead. Eddie was the contributing factor of your head being elsewhere upon the arrival at your friend’s house.

You just had to tell her all about him.

You left her house feeling a little airy-fairy. Crushes were fleeting for you. But, the way Eddie Munson stared at you; you couldn’t shake the feeling that he would be taking up permanent residency in your mind.

The street lamp flickered behind you as you peered at the watch on your wrist. It was broken. It had been for months. But, as sentimental as they come, you couldn’t bear to part with it seeing as Dustin gifted it to you for Christmas with his own pocket money for the purchase.

A yawn escaped your lips when bodies began to filter out of the building. The numbers were scarce — maybe, you saw Mike Wheeler? Hard to tell — and it took little time for Dustin to saunter out with his thumbs hooked under the straps of his backpack.

“Hi, Dusty bug.” You spoke through your yawn. “Good session?”

Dustin rounded the car to the passenger side, “Yeah. Pretty good.” He eyed the doorway in which he had just exited, “Can we go?”

“Sure.” You chuckled at his eagerness.

Your car, a green Volkswagen Beetle with one yellow door and a couple of dents from the mailbox, had a slight quirk to get it unlocked. There was a method, something you had mastered down to 30 seconds.

Key in the door, you jiggled it, smacked the heel of your palm twice, and gave the bottom of the door a light kick with your foot. It was like a dance between you and your beloved heap of junk.

Dustin looked at you with impatience.

“Don’t stare, Dustin.” You warned without looking at him, “It makes her nervous.”

“Stop talking about it like it has feelings.”

You paused your dance with your car, “Take that incredibly negative outlook elsewhere. You monster.”

Dustin spoke your name, “Just open the damn door.”

“Patience is a wonderful trait to have, Dusty bug.” You spoke, one foot clanged against the bottom of the car door. “Almost—”

“A Volkswagen Beetle.”

Dustin groaned when you turned at the voice. “Let me in the car. At least Eddie’s courtship will be muffled in there.”

Car unlocked, Dustin wasted little time situating himself in the passenger seat as Eddie Munson approached you. Hands in his pockets, he kicked the asphalt beneath his boots, sending a wink in your brother’s direction; who audibly groaned in disgust.

Your body leant against the side of your car again, arms folded across your chest with your head tilted.

Game on.

“How’d you snag one of these?” Eddie stepped into your space respectfully. The palm of his hand tapped against the roof of your car.

“A heist.” You joked, “I’ve been saving a long time. The best one I could afford came with one yellow door.”

Eddie pouted with a nod, “Has it got a name?”

“Bug.” You admitted.

“Like Dusty bug.”

Dustin interjected, “Hey. Only she gets to call me that.”

Eddie chose to ignore his presence. Just this once, especially since you were standing before him. All angelic with the flickering street lamp behind.

“Hi.” He muttered softly.

“Hi.”

You both smiled. It was teeth-rotting sugary sweet. Revolting.

Dustin watched from the car, head ducked to peer across and out of the driver seat window to see his idolised, immersive D&D Dungeons Master turn to sloppy goop around his big sister. Freak of Hawkins — a badge of honour for Munson — and he was like putty in your hands.

He knocked his forehead against the console.

“Do you…Do you plan on dropping your brother off more often?” Eddie cleared his throat.

You mulled it over, “Why are you asking?”

“Well. Because, because I care about your brother’s safety.” His eyes dropped to your lips, “And, I happen to like—” He swallowed, “Green beetles.”

“Huh.” You nodded and smiled, “They are pretty neat.”

“So neat.”

“Wrap it up!” Dustin exclaimed through the fog.

His presence went ignored a second time.

“Are there Terms and Conditions that come with the Hellfire Club’s Dungeon Master?” You took the hem of Eddie’s jacket between two fingers.

Eddie gulped, “Like—Uh, like what?”

“Fraternising with the Artificer’s sister.” You looked up from his jacket with simple curiosity as your expression.

Eddie bit back a sound that would have him mirroring a horny thirteen year old that just found his uncle’s Playboy magazines under the bed. His bloodstream felt a little hot under your gaze, and you knew what class your brother was in, in their little fantasy table-top game?

Render him a smitten kitten.

He rubbed at the stubble on his chin, a smile split on his face. Brows raised: Oh, so you were flirting?

“Curfew in fifteen!” Dustin muffled through the tempered glass of your car.

As if that ever worried him before.

You stared at Eddie, bright-eyed, “Heard, Dusty bug. Fifteen till lockdown is initiated.” You inhaled, “So, I’ll see you around?”

“Absolutely.” Eddie stepped back, his hand tugged at the car door handle before he gestured for you to take your leave.

You settled in the drivers seat, head turned to see Eddie prolonging his bidding of farewell as he bent at the waist to stare at you for as long as you’d allow.

He was state of the obvious. You’d give him that.

Eddie smiled, “Does the Henderson Household have a number to call, per chance?”

You turned the key in the ignition, the engine coughed awake. “I’m sure your Bard could conjure up a roll that would land you it.”

Without extending that question further, you pulled at the inner door handle and shut the car door. Eddie smacked the top of your car roof, amusement striking his pretty-boy features at your Henderson wit as you left him in the dust.

You bit back a smile.

“For the sake of my own mental well-being,” Dustin started, head rested against the car window, “You and Eddie are getting together for D&D sessions. Whenever the inevitable happens.”

You ruffled his stiff hair, “V&D sessions, am I right?”

“Please. You really do not need to follow me to the doorstep of my own club, which you are not invited to!” Dustin exasperated, arms flailing as you wrapped your arm around his shoulders and brought him in for a quick noogie.

“No can do. Mama's orders, Dusty! After the stunt you pulled in Summer, all eyes are locked in on you." You let Dustin go as he mumbled under his breath and fixed his perfectly stiff hair, "Plus, I haven't been able to babysit you since the Halloween of '81."

“I don't need a babysitter. I'm fifteen! Do you hear that? Teen!" You raised a brow at your brother, "Teenager!"

You simply shrugged, "You're on the younger side of the spectrum of the 'teenage years'. One day; you'll miss me."

Dustin grumbled and adjusted his Hellfire shirt. He was hoping for a cooler entrance, maybe by himself, so everyone could comment on his slick hair or the way he's styled out his outfit with his shoes. Dustin had cursed himself for creating such a noise in the bathroom with the clattering hairspray that alerted his mom, who was overly obsessed with his movements, that he was caught red-handed preparing himself to leave the Henderson household without an escort.

Then came his sister. You, who was nonchalant about nipping at his heels as he made way to the Hellfire Club. You were already on your way out to meet some friends, your hair perfectly styled and outfit curated, you assured your mom that you would be the knight in shining armour guiding your little brother to his destination.

Side-eyeing you, Dustin could only imagine the comments he would receive of his overtly embarrassing sister. It was funny, you see, they were doomed from day one, being apart of a D&D club.

However, there seemed to be a creation of hierarchy in Dustin Henderson's head. At the top of the food chain, were the basketball leagues along with their cheerleaders. Then came the party-goers who would amount to nothing but would throw parties to be spoken about for years to come. Then there were the science dudes, the musicians, the mathematical nerds, Hellfire Club, everybody else and then you: his big, openly adoring sister.

Maybe it was a slight exaggeration on Dustin's part, but he had to live with you! He had watched you try fish out your burnt toast with a fork, he has heard the sprinting down the hallway — multiple times! — when you had forgotten that you were running a bath. Your mother called it his pre-pubescent hormones which lead to him being embarrassed by everything and everyone he later on would regret pushing away.

It wasn't pushing away. Dustin had a credibility with this club. Their image was Hellfire, emphasis on the Hell part, and, shit, you were far from Hell or fire.

“You can stop walking me now.” Dustin pleaded as the doorway to the club came into view. He watched as Eddie Munson exited with a puff of smoke following him. Oh shit, this is going to be so embarrassing. Dustin looked to you, “You can seriously go!”

“Uh huh. Not a chance, Dusty. Mama said to the entrance.” You looked over to the male with one hand in his jean pocket, his eyes narrowed as two figures approached him. “Do you have a man-child friend?”

Dustin gritted his teeth, “No—”

“He is definitely not your within your age range of friends and he's smoking!” Dustin pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes as you made state of the obvious observations on Eddie Munson. You weren’t against smoking, well, because you smoked—socially—smoked. “You ever heard of secondhand smoke? You have baby lungs.”

“Oh my god.” Dustin grimaced as he came face to face with Eddie who had flicked his cigarette butt to the side. “Hey, Eddie.”

Eddie's gaze was solely upon Dustin’s sister. His lips slightly parted before closing again and taking a gulp. Dustin's brows furrowed as Eddie began gawping like a fish.

Eddie stared at you with wide brown eyes, “H–Eh, Hello.”

“Hi.” You stared back at Eddie just as hard. “I'm Dustin's sister.”

“Huh.” Eddie puffed out, “Weird.” He tilted his head to the youngest Henderson — oh, we’re so going to have a chat — and continued, “Dustin never mentioned that he had a sister. I'm Eddie, by the way.”

Dustin huffed out, “There is good reason that I don't bring up my sister. Cause she will take any opportunity to do it herself.”

Eddie and you found yourselves staring at each other for a lingering second more, a smile creeping on each of your faces. Dustin looked between you and screwed up his face at the sight.

“OK. OK!” Dustin put his hands on Eddie's chest to push him, “This is just disgusting. That's my sister, MY SISTER! She is off limits to everybody within a 5 mile radius of Hawkins; that includes you Eddie!”

Complying to the forceful shoves from the younger boy, Eddie walked backwards, his eyes trained on you, Dustin Henderson’s secret sister, who waggled your fingers in a delicate wave that had him almost clambering over the younger kid and back over to you.

“I'll come pick you up later, Dusty bug!” You called out to your brother who was still forcefully pushing at Eddie's chest, “I love you! Don't do drugs!”

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.”

Things had been on a stable incline in regard to how well your life had been since you made the mighty decision to be your little brother’s — Dustin Henderson — chauffeur to his table top fantasy game that came with its very own Hellfire merch.

It was that serious.

Eddie Munson had become a staple in your day to day. A man who yearns, is a man that earns; in your humble opinion. And, boy, had Dustin’s beloved Dungeon Master put in some elbow grease to keep the continuity of your budding relationship alive with a steady heartbeat.

No, things weren’t official.

In fact, there hadn’t been a time in which Eddie and you had a genuine moment alone.

The little brother curse fogged the time spent ogling the Metalhead. You had always assured the extent of Hawkins, Indiana, that your little brother was smart beyond his years. The hidden Einstein amongst a rotten bunch.

Unfortunately, Dustin’s intelligence came to an abrupt stop when required to read a room. Or expressions. Or anything remotely involving scarce moments between you and Eddie.

Eddie had the patience of a saint. White-knuckled patience and a stoic expression whenever Dustin — unbeknownst to him, apparently — interrupted his intentional advances with you.

It was evident in those Bambi eyes.

He was desperate. The eyes never lie.

And how Eddie ailed the desperation? By smoking a fat joint in his trailer.

Discarded clothes stuffed against the gap between the door and the flooring, so his uncle — Wayne Munson — wouldn’t catch the scent of a bad habit, Eddie would bask in the thick film of marijuana, eyes bloodshot and staring at the ceiling for answers.

Tonight was no different.

Eddie found himself in the same position. One arm propped behind his head whilst he pinched the joint in his other hand.

He took a long drag, eyes narrowed in false concentration; and exhaled.

“Oh man.” Eddie mumbled. Eyes pinned to the ceiling. “I’m going to call her.”

Her, as in you. The older Henderson sibling. The one that knocked the wind straight out of Eddie Munson’s lungs the first night that he discovered your existence. It was rare, that feeling that spread across his chest like a blistering fire. He finally understood the idea of butterflies in his stomach; although, he’d referred to them as bats eating at his stomach to keep it metal.

Eddie Munson was in love. And after 30mg of weed smoked through his system…you weren’t safe from not hearing about it.

So, the call came to the house around midnight.

The Claudia Henderson Curfew since the disappearance — and reappearance — of Will Byers was put into full effect. Chain slotted across the door, the fine China cabinet pushed just enough to block the front door from intruders attempting to get in.

“It’s as if we have an unjust bounty on our heads.” Dustin had said when you both watched your mother make it near impossible to escape during a hypothetical fire.

You’d both be sent to your rooms by nine o’clock with a cup of water and a prayer to make it through the night.

There was no question why anxiety struck the Henderson family tree.

You were perched atop of your bed, a book half read in your hand. You had just cracked the spine in order to stop the fight of the book closing mid-read, when the muffled ringing from the hallway phone started to feed into your bedroom.

There were two phones in the house. One situated in the kitchen — the cable stretched far enough to the table — and one in the hallway. Usually for emergencies. Claudia Henderson would allow the lift of the ‘Bedroom Curfew’ if you picked up the phone for an emergency.

You slipped out of bed, sock clad feet padded against the carpet in your bedroom. Brows furrowed, you unlocked your door and peered into the hallway.

Looked like you were getting a pardon on the curfew.

You reached for the phone as you leant back on the heels of your feet to stare at your mom’s door.

Huh.

You propped the phone against your ear. “Hello?”

“Hey.” Oh. There he was. He dragged out the Y’s and the smile was immediate on your face. “It is I. The Dungeon Master of Hellfire.”

You turned your body to the wall to muffle your laugh, “Eddie, I told you there’s a curfew on phone calls.”

“Yet, you still answered.”

“You’re abusing your privilege.”

Eddie hummed, “Privileges are meant to be abused. Or broken.”

Having the Henderson Household phone number was not something you had given to Eddie Munson lightly. He jumped through multiple hoops to get it, met with dead ends and a devious — but fucking gorgeous — smile from you with a tap against your nose.

Eventually, Eddie had to result in scare tactics. Dustin Henderson was hung up by the straps of his backpack, feet dangled with loud protests at his deliriously horny friend.

“It’s a house number, Eddie! Not crack!” Dustin had squealed.

He was severely wrong and ended coughing up the digits — which Eddie wrote on the palm of his hand before kissing it with glee — on one condition: Don’t take advantage.

That was then, and this is now.

Eddie Munson refused to conform to boundaries put in place by a minor.

“Where are you?” You asked when you heard Eddie take a deep inhale.

Eddie narrowed his eyes and smiled, “Just staring at the ceiling in my trailer. It started looking like you after the second smoke.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mm. Beautiful.” Eddie blinked, “Rules my life.”

You twirled the cable around your index finger, “Huh. Sounds like an intense ceiling, Eddie. Can you handle that?”

That was one thing you undeniably excelled at…the Cat and Mouse game. Eddie being the Cat.

You heard the hitch in Eddie’s breath at your retaliation, the type of breath that wavered and had you grinning like an idiot at the floral patterns of the wallpaper your mom had thought twice about.

You’d give him a moment to gather his thoughts.

What he said next was not on your bingo card.

“What are you wearing?”

“Excuse me?”

Eddie sniffed, “Not like that.” He took another hit of his joint, “Hypothetically, if I turned up at your doorstep at—” He craned his neck to check his alarm clock, “Twelve o’clock at night. Would it be first date appropriate?”

You peered down at your mismatched pyjamas “Anything is technically first date appropriate.” You retorted.

“You’re in pyjamas.” Eddie stated for you.

“Yeah.” You drawled, “Your first date will just have to wait, Munson.”

As Eddie was going to explain, in great depth, about his plan for the reality of taking you out on a date, the phone crackled and a third person jumped into the call.

“Did no one listen to the Henderson Privilege Negotiation?”

“Hey, Dusty-bug.” Eddie sung.

“You literally cannot call me that, Eddie.” Dustin argued.

You sighed as they bickered, “Dustin. What are you doing? It’s past bedroom curfew.”

“Bedroom curfew—?”

Dustin interrupted Eddie, “Same question goes to you. I was just in the kitchen getting some snacks for midnight. Then, I heard your dulcet tone in the hallway and knew you were fraternising with my Dungeon Master.”

“Shit, Henderson.” Eddie laughed loudly.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, “OK. Don’t use my words against me. Can you please hop off this call?”

“I happen to like third-wheeling. Ask Mike.”

It was Eddie’s turn to jump in. He spoke your name lowly, “So, what are you really wearing?”

“Mother of god.” Dustin gagged, “I’m hanging up. I’m hanging up!”

“See you at Hellfire, Dusty-bug.”

There was a click and Dustin’s line went quiet. You heard his footsteps behind you, phone still propped against your ear, you turned to the side to see your little brother shaking his head with an armful of snacks for the night.

With a roll of your eyes, you turned your back to him. “I gotta go, Eddie. Bedroom curfew is a big deal in the Henderson house. I’m overdue a lecture. Even at my age.”

“Alright. Go be abide by the rules, goody-two-shoes.” Eddie yawned into the back of his hand, “But, please, tell me what you’re really wearing before you go—”

“Goodbye, Eddie!”

The street lights flickered along your street as you drove back to your house. Some days, you had started to believe the lights intentionally began to malfunction at the censor of your presence. Undoubtably, one of the most mildly insane theories you had brought up; and further shot down rather harshly by Dustin when you brought the amusing idea up to him over breakfast.

Your mom’s car parked in the drive, you swore under your breath from the headache that would greet you on the other side of the door, in the form of Claudia Henderson reliving every anxiety in her mind as to why she had returned home before her eldest child had.

The fate of losing your car for a week rested upon your next few steps.

Bug the Beetle deflated upon arrival, all the lights on your dashboard that you had been ignoring disappeared, and you rested your head against the headrest to gather the energy to endure the lecture.

“Just a smack on the hand, Claudia.” You manifested as you stepped out of your car and headed for the front door.

The glow of the TV illuminated the living room window and every fibre of your being hoped that your mother had a change of heart and let Dustin stay up past Bedroom Curfew for some additional screen time; which, in turn, would let you off the hook for being almost an hour late.

Oh, how naive you were.

Keys jangled in the door, you squeezed one eye shut and let the door creak on its hinges. Part of you believed your mom had created doors with hair raising noises to alert her from her slumber.

You peeked your head in. Huh. Nobody in the living room.

With a false sense of security, you closed the front door and tiptoed down the hallway.

“Do you know what time it is?” You visibly cringed. Claudia Henderson stood with rollers in her hair, arms crossed and her foot tapping against the floor.

You strained a smile, “Time for a hug?”

“Give me your keys.” She held out her hand with impatience, one additional stern look when you went to protest. You sighed as you handed over your keys. “No driving for a week.”

“Yes, mom.” You drawled. Close to using your little brother as your scapegoat, you walked past your mother with your feet dragging.

She called as she stepped into her room, “I love you!”

“Yeah. Yeah. Love you too, mom.”

You made it to Dustin’s bedroom door with a crestfallen look as you knocked in code on his door. It was a sibling thing. Nobody knew what you were knocking to each other.

Dustin poked his head out of his room, “You’re late.”

“Missed you too, Dusty-bug.” You retorted in a sarcastic whisper. You pointed at him, “This is all your fault by the way. Bug has been banned from the road for a week. A week, Dustin.”

“My heart bleeds for you. Did you get my shit from Eddie or not?”

You loved your brother. You loved your brother.

Reaching into your jacket pocket, you pulled out the small figurine and Dustin’s braces almost lit up the whole hallway with how far his smile stretched. He let out a minor squeal and plucked the figure from your hands; admiring the Munson talent on such a small scale item.

From an older sister’s point of view, it was borderline weird. There were several moments that you could steal the joy out of your brother’s eyes to remind him that his hobby was one lame nerd infested imaginary game.

He could thank his lucky stars you were born with your heart in the right place.

Didn’t mean Dustin was safe from some character building.

“Do you guys make those things kiss?” You feigned naivety to the tabletop game, for the love of being a humbling figure in your brother’s life. You grinned when Dustin expressed his annoyance. “It’s a joke, Dusty-bug. It would totally be OK to do that, though. I’m a safe space.”

“You’re an asshole.” Dustin responded flatly.

“And I love you.” You laughed and retreated to your bedroom door.

Dustin called for your attention again, “Hey—Psst!” You turned your head to look at him, “How was Eddie?”

You almost flatlined.

“He was…good.” That was a dead give away. Your tone unnatural, eyes shifty under the warm glow of the hallway light.

Dustin blinked, “Mother of god.”

“Dustin—”

“What did you do?”

Your brows furrowed, “Uh, nothing for the ears of a minor to hear. Have a nice night with your Dwarf Bird.”

“Dwarf Bard!”

The soft click of your door muffled the distant protest of Dustin on the other side. You had triumphantly ruffled his feathers enough, as an adjacent punishment to you losing access to your green pride and joy for a week.

You rested your forehead against your door for a moment, eyes closed to process the findings at the Munson trailer. And, by findings, you were revisiting the moment Eddie Munson found your lips in the middle of his weed infused bedroom, his wandering hands finding the backs of your thighs and his canines almost sinking into your neck like a goddamn vampire.

He was a vision in leather and denim.

Letting your head fall back, you eventually peeled open your eyes and what greeted your vision was the same male you were daydreaming about.

“Hello.” He grinned. Fight or flight mode kicked in, a gasp escaped your lips as you whipped around and landed a bone-crunching fist smack bang in the middle of his face. “Holy shit—!”

“Eddie!” You seethed quietly.

As Eddie cradled his freshly bleeding nose, you bit down on your lip to prevent further noise with your hand that punched him, waving in the air to try ail the ache in your knuckles.

You watched him check the palm of his hand to see thick blood seeped into the crevices, considerably annoyed that he thought trespassing was going to receive a more position notion than a broken nose.

Eddie groaned, “Why did you do that?”

“You’re in my room!” You whispered angrily, “Did you forget that Barb went missing randomly? You could’ve been anyone!”

“Noted.” Eddie blinked, “Shit. Do all Henderson’s have such a nasty right hook?”

You folded your arms across your chest, “Do Munson’s all have the desire to break into someone’s home?”

“Your window is unlocked!”

“That—” You withheld your argument, “Forget it. Do you need a wet flannel?”

“Please. And a kiss.”

You screwed up your face. Not that you were opposed to kissing Eddie Munson, not now that you knew he was an incredible kisser. It was more due to his face smeared with his own blood, and you’d rather avoid kissing him with any sort of blood on any part of his body if that could be avoided.

You inherited the squeamish trait from your mother.

Eddie watched your reaction and nodded, “Alright. Just a wet flannel.”

He watched you slide out of your bedroom door, leaving him to admire the decor in your room. Eyes a little bleary from the throbbing of his nose, he blinked through the tears on his waterline to inspect each corner of your room.

It was a little untidy — not that he was one to judge — but it was obvious you took great care in your bedroom. Or, your mother made you anyway.

Hand still clutched to his nose, his eyes dropped to the carpeted floor to see a pair of underwear discarded at the foot of the bed. Eddie’s eyes shot up, finding solace in the cobweb in the left hand corner of your wall; his hands now mixed with blood and clammy sweat.

“Keep it together, Munson.” Eddie mumbled to himself. He was getting fidgety.

The door creaked open, and Eddie found relief in seeing your face for a distraction from the underwear. You cringed at the noise, hand grasping onto a sodden flannel.

“Here.” You removed Eddie’s hand from his nose, finding yourself holding back a wretch at the sight. You pressed the hot flannel to his nose, “I think you’ll live.”

Eddie hissed at your touch, “Am I still pretty?”

“Prettier.” You affirmed and Eddie went a little goopy. His free hand gently pinched your hip and you laughed, “So, what are you doing here? We just saw each other.”

“Man, I just had to see you again.”

“You’re seeing me tomorrow.”

Eddie winced when you wiped beneath his nose.

“Ow—Yeah. But, I can’t give myself a little Henderson supplement before then? Don’t deprave me.” Eddie warned.

“Deprive.” You corrected, “You mean deprive.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, “You Henderson’s have such a tone.”

“There.” You ignored his comment and balled up the bloodstained flannel to reveal a much less bloodshed Eddie. A small cut had split the bridge of his nose, nothing that needed hospitalised; you thought anyway.

Eddie scrunched up his nose once and didn’t repeat it from the searing pain that shot across his face. One eye shut, he gave you a thumbs up before bending at the waist to take a peek in the vanity at the damage done.

Your eyes dropped from his body to your floor to see a pair of your underwear. Mortified, you side-stepped and attempted to nudge the fabric under your bed.

When Eddie turned on his heel to look at you again, you straightened up with the success of concealing your underwear beneath your bed-frame.

Eddie wasn’t dumb. He saw them missing from the spot. He grinned as much as his sore face would allow him.

“What?” You crossed your arms across your chest.

“You’re so sexy.”

You looked down at your clothes, “Your definition of sexy is a little skewed.”

“Mm.” Eddie stepped close to you and pressed a featherlight kiss to your lips. His face twisted in a deep need to continue. He added, “Shall I create some mood lighting?”

You watched in surprise as Eddie stepped away from you and toward your lamp. His hand came to where his skull bandana was stuffed into his back pocket, he pulled it out with ease and delicately placed it over your lamp to dim the warm lighting further.

He turned his head and waggled his brows at you.

“I’m not having sex with you.” You advised sternly.

Eddie put a hand to his chest, “Sex? You have to impress me on our first date before you get in these pants.” He tilted his head as he walked back to you, “Some heavy petting and kissing, though?”

His hands slid across your neck, his thumbs resting on your jawline as he pressed a kiss to your lips. Despite your heart punching its way through your ribcage, you mulled his proposition over to keep him on his toes.

Eddie kissed you thrice.

“Please?” He mumbled against your lips.

You let your arms unfold, “Alright. Since you asked so—” You yelped at the interruption, Eddie hauled you up into his arms and carried you to your bed. He planted you onto the mattress, his body already on top of yours as he began to kiss you fervently. Lips smacked together, you pushed at his chest, “Eddie, you can’t kiss me so loudly.”

“Yeah.” Eddie was a little foggy.

He kissed you at the same volume again. A groan produced from the back of his throat when his hand trailed up the outside of your leg.

Eddie tucked his hand into the back of your leg to bend it and push it upward, so your ankle rested on his hipbone. He felt smug, a giant puddle of smugness at the position you landed yourself in.

“Eddie.” You laughed quietly, silenced when Eddie pressed his lips to yours again out of sheer hunger.

Eddie hummed, “Quiet. I heard you.”

Bodies pressed tightly together, you continued to make-out on your bed. Sheets crumpled beneath you, your shirt rose enough for Eddie to plant a hand against the hot skin of your stomach. The feel of your skin made him grin wickedly, unlatching himself from your lips to dip and pepper your stomach with kisses that sent your head reeling.

He was quick to return to your lips, his teeth nipped at your bottom lip.

“Are you going to eat me?” You joked breathlessly.

A laugh rumbled in his chest, “Don’t tempt me.” His hand trailed up the back of your thigh, “You drive me fucking crazy. Even after you split my nose.”

“It’s a ritual. Allows you into my life.” Your fingers threaded through his hair.

Eddie tucked his head into your neck, “Mhm.” His hand squeezed the flesh of your backside, “I’ve changed my mind. I do want to eat you. Can you keep quiet?”

When you were about to — dizzily — give the green light, loud thumping against your wall had you shooting up from the spot Eddie had you melting in. Your feet kicked at Eddie in autopilot defence and he tumbled off of the side of your bed.

Heart in your mouth, you were frozen on your bed. Lips swollen, eyes wide you stared at Eddie breathlessly as he pulled himself up off of the floor; his hands neatly places in front of his groin.

You shook your head at him.

“I can hear you, perverts!” Dustin’s muffled words came through the wall.

You immediately ran hot. Mortified, you jumped from your bed and encouraged Eddie to stand, “You have to go!” You hissed.

“OK! OK!” Eddie scrambled to his feet and made a beeline for the window. One leg outside, he paused. “Tomorrow.” Eddie pointed at you, “After I meet with Chrissy, you’re all mine.”

“Yeah, yeah. Get out of here.” You swatted at him and he listened by swinging his other leg over the windowsill. You smiled as he looked back to you, “Bye, Eddie.”

“Bye, sweetheart.” Eddie winked before he began his descent down the side of your house.

You slid your window shut, Eddie’s intrusion a gentle reminder to slide the latch across in case anyone else had the same idea as him.

Palm to your forehead, you flopped onto your bed and groaned into your pillows.

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!