Summary: Dean Winchester and Y/N Singer have been best friends since childhood—until one dream changes everything.
After a drunken mishap and the resurface of feelings buried, the line of friendship is crossed. The solution? The Arrangement.
However, as their story unfolds, lines blur, jealousy flares, and before long, they’re forced to face the truth—maybe “the one” has been beside them all along.
Set in the year 2005 (for reference)
AN: I'm too excited, I have to share the news!!! This story has been a WIP for a while now. It's something I have really enjoyed writing and would love to share with you all. So join me on a thrilling ride of all of our favourite tropes in fan-fiction of love, angst, smut, heartbreak and everything else 😘
Main Masterlist
Chapters containing adult themes/smut (18+ ONLY) will contain **
Series complete ✅
Chapter One
Chapter Two **
Chapter Three **
Chapter Four
Chapter Five **
Chapter Six **
Chapter Seven **
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten (End) **
If you would like to be tagged in my future works please respond to this >form< so I can add you to the character's you'd like and their respective series 😊
summary: by the summer of 1987, eddie munson has mastered the art of dying and coming back to life again. but worse than that: he can't seem to stop running into the pretty lifeguard from hawkins community pool. the grumpy ol' vampire slowly learns to love sunshine in the afterlife. (23k)
contents: fem!reader, strangers to friends to lovers, fluff, hurt/comfort, extreme canon divergence (most of the events of st3 and st4 still happen but starcourt is still standing, some people aren't dead, etc.) (i'm just here to have fun, honestly) cw for mentions of grief and ptsd, mentions of blood
( best listened with headphones, full fic playlist here )
꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷
she lives in the place in the side of our lives
where nothing is ever put straight . . .
꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷
Being a vampire sucks.
No pun intended.
Eddie Munson’s too tired for puns. He’s too tired for most things, really.
That’s what they don’t tell you about being a vampire — it’s not nearly as cool as The Lost Boys make it seem. He isn’t any stronger now than he was the night he died. He isn’t any faster, either. And if he’s capable of shape-shifting into a bat, he hasn’t tried because the thought of becoming the thing that killed him feels like more of a purgatory than what he’s been doomed to already.
He didn’t even get a cool cape out of it, which is more of a bite than anything, honestly.
No pun intended.
All Eddie’s got to show for his death are the patches of marred skin on his stomach to prove it. And a couple of pointy teeth — which, so far, have only tasted his own flesh because he’s bitten his lip with them more times than he can count. And, yeah, maybe he’s got a heightened sense or two, but that’s it. It’s not nearly as cool as it sounds, either. Enhanced hearing and sense of smell are just code for being constantly overstimulated.
Eddie misses being alive. He misses not knowing what blood tastes like. He misses forgetting to eat all day and accidentally having ice cream for a first meal — which he’d then scarf down like a man starved until it inevitably made him sick, so that he could then complain about how sick he felt.
He misses the consequences of humanhood because now he’s half-corpse, half-god — a dizzying mixture for a boy who used to just be somebody’s kid.
And what does Eddie do to cope with it all? He gets his weekly mint-chip cone at Scoops Ahoy.
Steve passes the ice cream over the counter with a kinder smile than Eddie’s used to. His skin is freckled and golden against the dark navy of his uniform. So full of life. The child’s sailor outfit hasn’t stopped being funny, but Eddie scowls at him ‘cause he’s jealous. He’s never been anything but pale, even before death, but he can’t exactly catch a tan now, can he?
“You look good,” Steve Harrington observes, distant but meaningful.
The wild-haired boy ahead of him doesn’t seem nearly as poorly as he did a day or so ago, when he looked somehow more like death than the day he actually died. He’s got his usual color back now. A telltale sign of a recent feeding.
Eddie flashes the boy a dubious, brown-eyed glance. “Are you flirting with me?” he jokes with his ringed fingers curled around the waffle cone, too monotoned to sound as playful as he means.
Steve’s face screws. “No.”
“Damn.”
“See! That’s what I’m talking about!” the brunette proclaims proudly, waving an accusatory finger in the other boy’s direction. “Eddie from yesterday wouldn’t have made that joke. Eddie from yesterday wouldn’t have said anything, actually.”
“Well, Eddie From Yesterday, hadn’t eaten in two weeks,” the boy deadpans. (He isn’t talking about food, either). “And Eddie From Yesterday was so exhausted and filled with an inhuman rage that death was funnier than making stupid jokes.”
Steve tries not to cower at his faux-seriousness. “Touché,” he nods.
Eddie hands the boy the last bill in his wallet. Steve makes out his change and, like a total idiot, dumps a dime onto his palm. The silver hits his skin like a drop of acid rain or molten lava. Eddie winces at the burn, hissing through his teeth as he jerks his singed hand back.
“Why are you giving me dimes, man?!” he shouts over the sound of clattering coins.
“Shit!” Steve grimaces. “Sorry, dude— I forgot.”
“Oh, you forgot?” Eddie bites in a mocking tone.
“Yeah! Sorry if I can’t remember everything about—” Steve pauses his rant to peer around the shop with cautious eyes. He quietens. “—Vampires, alright? Sue me.”
Eddie watches the boy scramble to gather scattered coins –– coth hat askew on his head, scarlet tie in his way. The sight alone makes him laugh. A sharp exhale through his nose, but a laugh nonetheless. “You know what? How ‘bout just keep the change?”
“You keep the damn change,” Steve grumbles under his breath.
“Nice one.”
“Shut up.”
Eddie takes a big bite from his fresh scoop. He lets the sharp peppermint and deep chocolate concoction melt in his mouth. The strange combination was always the best distraction from the coppery tang of blood lingering on his tongue.
Distracts because the metallic taste never quite leaves him, no matter how often he washes his mouth out. The taste of death always persists. Not in a poetic way, though. It’s more like a mouthful of old pennies.
Only problem is, he can’t really taste it now — the tart mint-chip or the pint of blood he’d choked down yesterday afternoon. The sensuous scent of hibiscus lilts along an otherwise still breeze, sudden and very overwhelming. It’s powdery and floral, rich and fruity. A fragrance sweet enough to make him ill, and it’s accompanied by the rhythmic flip-flop, flip-flop of rubber sandals.
Eddie glances mindlessly over his shoulder, then nearly breaks his neck at the force of his double-take. The candied scent, he finds, belongs undoubtedly to the pretty face behind him.
You saunter into the ice cream shop like a rolling summer cloud — with a walk that’s as soft and delicate as you look. There’s something thaumaturgical in the honeyed atmosphere that follows you in, still unceremoniously punctuated by the flip-flop, flip-flop sound of your shoes against the linoleum.
You are, unsurprisingly, as pretty as the raspberry, marshmallow, lily-of-the-valley scent radiating from your sunkissed skin. There is much of it on display now, and what little is covered is hardly left to the imagination.
Straight from a shift at Hawkins Community Pool, your mandated uniform clings perfectly to your torso — a pretty, scarlet one-piece that scoops deeply at the chest. Stamped on the center is a pool floatie and two surfboards that make a more summery skull-and-crossbones shape. ‘Lifeguard’ is written just beneath it, right over the swell of your breasts.
You wear a pleated skirt on your lower half to match. The bouncy fabric rests scandalously, and perhaps unintentionally, low on your hips. A faint sliver of your skin is showcased in a way that drives him hopelessly wild. And you’ve paired it all with a pair of too-big sunglasses on your head and a cherry sucker in your mouth.
Effortless. A total cakewalk of perfection.
Eddie Munson and Steve Harrington have never known much about either.
The latter is still trying to dump change into the tip jar when he goes to greet you. Your eyes link, the words get stuck in his throat, and the coins scatter to the laminate all over again. Steve tries to catch them at first before realizing how utterly uncool he must look. He makes a bigger fool of himself by just letting them fall.
“Hey. Hi. Wel—Welcome to Scoops Ahoy,” the brunette clears his throat. He props his hands along the countertop and feels a rogue penny stick to his clammy palm. “You’re not lost, are you?”
Steve forces a lopsided smile at his sorry excuse for a joke. Eddie rolls his eyes. You blink at him and pluck the cherry sucker from your mouth — which has left your lips softly swollen and tinted a rosier shade.
“This is where pretty boys in tiny sailor outfits sell ice cream, right?”
Your deadpan expression makes it difficult to gauge whether or not you’re joking. Steve’s face glows red at the sort-of compliment. He nods rapidly until the words catch up to him. “Yeah— Yeah, it— It is, actually.”
You smile at him, tightlipped and warm. It fills the windowless shop with glittering sunbeams. “Then can I have a scoop of rainbow sherbet, please?”
Steve raps his knuckles against the counter and nods again. “Yep. Coming right up.”
Eddie takes another hearty bite of his ice cream while you linger at his side — a couple of feet away but feeling much closer than that. As the minty chocolate melts slow on his tongue, all he can taste is the fruity-floral scent of you.
It makes his head go all swimmy because he knows your blood must taste the same. Like velvet. Or an expensive red wine people spend half a fortune on. He can hear the soft wooshing of your heart, too. Soft and unhurried. Gentle like an ebbing and flowing tide.
He shouldn’t be thinking this way, he knows. He fed yesterday; he should be feeling halfway normal by now. But your scent is dizzying still, and much stronger than Eddie figures it should be. If he’d met you a day or more ago, when the need for a feeding was quite literally eating him alive, he’s not sure he would’ve been able to contain himself.
He doesn’t think he would’ve hurt you, per se — because he hasn’t actually hurt anyone yet. Not in this stage of his afterlife, anyway. But it would’ve taken all the waning strength left in him to stop himself from doing something unthinkable. And that thought alone is somehow more terrifying than death.
Neither, however, is as scary as your gaze meeting his.
Your eyes lock, and only then does Eddie realize how long he’s been staring. His blood runs cold. Cold-er. An eon blinks as he tries to recover from his hopeless leering. (He’s just as useless as Steve The Hair Harrington, turns out).
“Hi…” he murmurs through a mouthful of mint-chip once he realizes he’s got nothing else to say. How’s a freak like him meant to talk to someone like you? A walking fairytale of ethereal chaos?
You move the cherry sucker to the pocket of your cheek with your tongue. Through it, you mumble, “Yeah. I guess I am.”
Eddie laughs before he means to. His pink lips curl into a smile, and the inside of the delicate skin scrapes the fangs threatening to poke through his gums. They fit just perfectly over his canines, typically veiled by his gums until it’s time to feed. Or until he’s faced with a pretty girl who smells like Heaven and looks just the same, apparently.
He hides his grin behind his fist and scoffs a breathy laugh.
Your face twists in a delicate look of confusion. “Why’s that funny?” you question once you’ve plucked the piece of candy from your mouth.
His smile ebbs instantly. “Oh. It’s… It’s not— It’s not funny, actually,” he stammers, chocolate eyes wide and round like a pair of buttons.
Your frown deepens. “So you don’t think I’m funny?”
“No, it’s— it’s not that I don’t think you’re funny, I just— I think that—” Eddie stumbles over himself trying to get the words out. He inhales deeply through his nose and swallows hard. “I’m a little confused, honestly…”
There’s a brief moment of silence that passes like minutes.
There’s something distinctly wild in your unwavering stare. It possesses a sort of magnetism that makes it impossible to look away from — though Eddie desperately, desperately wishes he could. But because he can’t take his eyes off you or the fire swimming laps in your irises, he catches a flicker in your gaze. A flame. A spark.
A smile quirks at the very corner of your mouth before a brighter beam blooms there. A sunshine sort of giggle sputters past your lips. “Oh, gosh— You should see your face right now,” you manage through a fit of laughter, swatting his shoulder with your free hand (a little harder than he thinks you mean to.) “I’m just kidding! Seriously. You can laugh now. It’s okay.”
Eddie doesn’t find it all that funny anymore, but your gaze is pretty and expectant, so he forces out a faint laugh just to appease you. He gapes in confusion the second you look away.
You’re a strange thing. Pretty, yes. But still very, very strange.
When Steve passes you a rainbow scoop on a waffle cone, you fish a crumbled bill from the chest of your swimsuit. The boy takes it with a trembling hand — like touching the cash is touching you in some way — and struggles to recall basic arithmetic when he makes out your change.
Eddie watches you savor one last taste of your diminishing sucker, lips curled around the lolly before popping audibly off of it. “Is there a trashcan—” you ask and glance around the shop.
“There’s one back here,” Steve offers mindlessly. “I can chuck it.”
Your hands brush when he takes the paper stick between careful fingers. Silky sunkissed skin sweeping against silky sunkissed skin.
Eddie’s almost jealous. He wishes he could touch you in such an innocent, accidental way — or anyone, really. But his blood stopped circulating about a year or so ago, and he’s had a glacial disposition about him ever since. Sometimes, when he’s just freshly fed, he feels sort of warm. Sort of normal. But that only lasts about an hour or so before his skin goes wintry and grey again.
“Thanks,” you lilt with a kind grin, sandals squeaking as you step back from the counter. You arch a brow, and the sweet smile turns suddenly mischievous. “And don’t worry about the change. I’d hate for you to make a bigger mess.”
You tilt your head and take a kitten lick of your scoop, fighting back a giggle when the sailor boy gapes at you. You spin around and flip-flop, flip-flop out of the ice cream shop — back to whatever fairytale you came from.
The scent of ripe fruit and freshly-cut flowers leaves with you, along with the lavender haze Eddie had been swimming in since he saw you. Drowning in, more like.
Steve laughs at your sort-of joke until the mist passes. Only then does he seem to notice the coins still scattered across the countertop and the half-eaten sucker in his hand. His fluffy brows pinch together in a very evident confusion — like he’s just woken up from a dream.
“…What the hell was that?” he muses after a few long moments.
Eddie shrugs and takes another bite of his half-gone scoop, tasting it for the very first time now that you’re gone. “No idea,” he answers through the mouthful.
Eddie finds you again several minutes later. Not between the pages of a fantasy book, but on a lone bench by the bus stop.
You finish your rainbow sherbet in silence, people-watching behind a big pair of Sharon Tate-style sunglasses. The sight of you alone makes him trip over his feet, like you’ve got your own gravitational pull that makes him stumble on thin air just to be closer to you.
“Oh—” The huff spills accidentally from his mouth when his sneakers scuff the pavement.
It garners your attention accordingly as you turn slowly towards him. You lift your sunglasses to your head again, just to squint at the vividity of the golden hour. You flash the boy an ice-cream-stained smile, tight-lipped and warmer than the setting sun — like he’s one of your old friends who deserves to be looked at so kindly. (He’s neither.)
“Hello!” you greet brightly as you lift the waffle cone to your mouth. You take another bite and add through the mouthful. “Again.”
“You’re still here?” Eddie squints, ‘cause he’s not sure what else to say.
“I’m on lunch—” you answer, slightly slurred through the melting ice cream on your tongue. A milky drop of pink and orange falls to the side of your thumb, and you lick it away mid-sentence. “—Late shift.”
Eddie hums with a slow nod, squinting one eye to block the sun.
His pale skin buzzes, even under his leather jacket and dark thrifted tee. It isn’t because he’s hot, though. He hasn’t broken a sweat — not even swaddled in the ninety-degree evening — because he lost the ability to somewhere between getting eaten alive and rising from the dead.
The sunlight just makes him feel a bit weaker than usual. Hungrier, too. And he hates being hungry because it makes him feel viciously ravenous. Like a total barbarian. Cruel and angry and inhuman. So he tries to stay out of the sun when he can.
He knows he should start plotting his way out now, but talking to you is like getting caught in a spider’s web. He gets all tangled in his words, netted in his want to impress you. He ends up superglued in a trap he isn’t totally sure he wants to get out of.
“Must be a slow day then, huh?” Eddie jokes dryly.
Your face twists. “Hm?” you wonder wordlessly as your tongue darts to the corner of your mouth.
“I just meant that— You’re a lifeguard and everything, right? And you— You’re dry, so… There must not have been a ton of lives to save today,” the boy explains, gesturing wildly with ringed hands. He laughs at himself and sticks the trembling limbs into his jacket pockets. “That’s… That’s what I meant.”
You don’t seem to notice his sudden floundering, or the way he can hardly make out an intelligible sentence when you’re looking directly at him. He can’t tell if you’re just kind enough to ignore it or if you’re just totally aloof. He hopes for the latter.
“It’s a lot less swimming than you’d expect, honestly,” you confess as you analyze the melting cone in your hand. You twist your wrist with your face pinched in concentration — like deciding whether to bite into the pink, green, or orange bit is that intense. “It’s just a lot of, like, blowing whistles... And walking around…”
You choose the raspberry pink side in the end, crunching as you bite into the waffle cone.
Eddie nods in response — not because he’s really heard you, but because he feels like he sort of understands you in some way now. You were sweet raspberry in the flesh. The color pink incarnate. Gold and glittering, like the sunset was fashioned in your likeness.
But then you smile up at him, with crispy wafer crumbs clinging to the raspberry-lime-orange concoction on your mouth, and the moment feels a lot less poetic than that.
“Sometimes I just wanna be like, ‘Jeez— Can’t one of you fuckers at least try to drown or something? God,” you mock in an accent that’s hardly your own, giggling at yourself halfway through.
You flash Eddie another expectant smile. Grinning with all your teeth as you wait for him to laugh with you.
It takes him a second too long to force another chuckle — still trying to gauge how serious you are — but you don’t seem to mind. “Right. Well, uh… Here’s hoping, right?” Eddie quips with a crooked smile, lifting his right hand to flash his crossed fingers.
You giggle louder at that. Laughing with him, and not at him, for the first time since he started making a fool of himself in front of you.
His chest swells like he’s still got a functioning heart hiding there. It’s sparkling and warm, full of pride, almost like he’s alive again. Truly alive. He realizes, then, that he never wants to stop making you laugh.
When your giggling ceases, you hum a contented sigh and take another sloppy bite of your ice cream cone.
Eddie watches you — unblinking, like a total freak — and tries to figure out if he made you up in his head.
You were like a fairy-tale princess come to life. An enchanted form of imagination, slightly childlike and effortlessly romantic in a way. You were the kind of girl who held butterflies on the tip of her finger, who reached out to touch the stars at night, who shared her secrets with the moon when no one else would listen.
You’re the kind of thing that only exists in dreams. You have no real sense of reality, accordingly, which Eddie thinks only proves his point.
With sunshine glittering in the strands of your hair, your eyes flit back to his. Eddie averts his gaze suddenly (and very obviously) from yours, but if you’re perturbed by his leering, you don’t show it.
Instead, you look at him the same way you’ve been looking at him this whole time — like you’ve got a world of magic secrets hidden in your eyes. Like you want him to come searching for every single one of them.
“Did you— Did you walk here, or…?” the boy trails off, eyes falling to your rubber sandals.
He hopes you hadn’t. It’s far too hot, and the pool is quite a few blocks from here. From what little he’s learned about you, though, he figures you’re probably crazy enough not to care.
“Bus,” you answer plainly, pausing mid-bite.
Eddie blinks. “The buses stopped running a half hour ago… You know that, right?”
You freeze. Melted ice cream pools at the edges of your mouth. A very loud answer, even in its silence.
There’s a very audible crunch-ing sound as you chew through the too-big bite. You bring your palm to your chin to catch rogue crumbs and blink up at Eddie with wide eyes.
“…What?” you wonder pitifully in response. Though, with your mouth still full, it sounds more like a deep, muffled, and utterly pathetic, “Wah—?”
“They stop running here at six-thirty.”
You swallow, face screwed.“Why?”
Eddie shrugs. “Beats me.”
You turn away — staring far off at the parking lot but looking at nothing, really. Eddie feels like he can finally breathe now, without your eyes strangling him.
He watches you go deep in thought and wishes he could see what the inside of your mind looks like. He imagines it’s full of confetti. Wild, glittering thoughts and a handful of sparkling confetti.
“Well…” you huff after a few moments, a deep and whimsical sigh. You look down at the melting cone in your fist and try to find a silver lining in the swirls of pastel colors. “‘Least the ice cream’s good.”
“Are you gonna walk?” Eddie wonders aloud as his chest pinches with misplaced worry. He crosses his leather-clad arms over himself in a feeble attempt to soothe the ache there — to smother his palpable empathy, which makes him feel like your burden is his to carry.
He doesn’t have to. Carry it, that is. It’s not like you’re not asking him to. But he can’t ignore the overwhelming urge to help you — this strange, elven princess who needs rescue by a lowly bard way out of his element. It’s an instinct that borders on primal.
“Do I have a choice?” you respond rhetorically. Eddie shrugs and you shrug back, unfazed. “I can walk. The sunset’s pretty… And there’s a dog park on the way there, so… That’ll be fun, I guess.”
Eddie’s dark eyes flit to the sky, where the sun’s slow descent paints the wispy clouds in vivid colors of blush and honey. He understands the simple beauty of it but rarely ever gives it a passing glance.
He spends most of his sunsets inside, hiding from the pretty golden hour behind closed curtains. He cowers under his blankets like a child (‘cause his tiny square window is west-facing, painfully so) and tries to tell himself that he’s not as hungry as he feels.
That he’s not hungry at all.
That he’s still normal.
Eddie looks back to you a moment later, features twisted with uncertainty. “I’m pretty sure the park’s gated after sunset…”
You don’t ask him how he knows that, and he’s grateful. He figures you must assume that he’s got a dog of his own, which is a lie he’s happy to stick to.
It’s better than admitting that Jim Hopper nearly caught him dealing a couple years back and had to make a quick escape through the park — where he then had to hop a locked fence he didn’t know was there. It wouldn’t have been so embarrassing if he hadn’t rolled directly into dog shit when he fell to the ground. That’s a secret he’ll take to the grave.
If the Chief takes mercy on him, anyway.
“Well… The sunset’s still pretty,” you conclude with another sigh, because at least that can’t be taken from you.
Eddie watches you take another bite and makes a very pointed decision not to tell you that that’ll be gone soon, too. By the time you walk back to work, the sky will be a muddy mixture of orange and lilac and navy. Hardly a thing worth looking at.
He lets you revel in your little nothings anyway.
“I should— I should probably go. I have a… thing to get to, so…” he trails off, chuckling at his own hopelessness. His worn sneakers scuff the pavement when he steps back from you. He scratches at the small curls twisted at the nape of his neck and tries to find the words to say goodbye. “Uh— Have a good rest of your shift, I guess. Hope it’s more… eventful.”
You smile at his stammering and his poor excuse for a joke.
“Thanks,” you nod. “Have fun with your… thing.”
Eddie nods once. His smile wavers only slightly when he turns away. His cheeks puff as he exhales a deep breath — which he hadn’t realized he’d been holding until now.
He stops short at the edge of the sidewalk. Doesn’t even make it off the fucking curb before his guilty conscience catches up with him. It stops him like a force field and weighs heavy on his chest with a similar strength.
He turns quickly again, curls whipping around his face. “Do you… Do you want a ride?” he blurts with a squint in his deep chocolate eyes.
The offer is hardly from the kindness of his unbeating heart. He just wants to make himself feel better, if he’s honest. He wants you to decline, actually — so then he’d be alone, and his conscience would still be clear.
Your eyes widen softly at his offer. You shift on the hard bench. It squeaks quietly under your weight.
“Well, I— I wouldn’t— I wouldn’t wanna intrude,” you tell him, stumbling over your words for the first time in front of him.
Something about it, how shy you’ve suddenly gone, makes you feel a bit more human compared to the glittering creature Eddie made of you in his head.
The boy shrugs. “You wouldn’t be.”
“No?”
“No. It’s just… on the way…” Eddie insists, sighing to himself, because Hawkins Pool most definitely is out of his way. “So, you know… It’s no problem.”
There is a beat of fleeting silence, filled only by a whispering summer breeze and muddled conversation from distant mall-goers. Eddie’s eyes dart over your features, twisted softly with a faraway look of worry.
The anticipation has his heart in his throat. He isn’t sure now what answer he wants to hear. Both might equally break his heart. A double-edged sword.
Your chest deflates with a dramatic sigh of relief. A lazy smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. “Okay. Good. ‘Cause I didn’t wanna be, like, too eager, you know? But that would be… super duper nice.”
“Good thing I’m a super duper nice person then, huh?” Eddie jokes with a tightlipped smile, which ebbs into a scowl the moment he turns away from you.
He becomes a storm cloud of annoyance as he stalks across the parking lot. Less so because of you and more so because of his deep-rooted sensitivity, where everyone else’s emotions demand to be felt by him and him alone.
It’s a very strange thing, indeed: to be dead and yet still carry the crushing empathy of a person with a bleeding heart.
real to real is living rarity, people stop and stare at me
we just walk on by, we just keep on dreaming . . .
꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷
Eddie doesn’t look back to make sure you’re following him. He knows you are. He can tell by your lingering strawberry-vanilla scent, and your rhythmic footsteps in rubber sandals that trail just behind him. The incessant flip-flop, flip-flop, flip-flop quickens as you rush to keep up with his longer strides, trying hopelessly to finish your ice cream and talk at the same time.
“Adam— my manager— he’s such a hardass. Like, if I was late today, he definitely would’ve fired me,” you ramble and crunch hard into your cone. “Well… maybe not fire me… ‘Cause we’re kinda short-staffed right now— But he definitely would’ve given me a lecture! Like, dude, just because your dad owns the joint, doesn’t mean you have any actual authority over me, you know?”
You giggle loudly at yourself. Eddie just nods in response, barely listening, and not bothering to glance back at you.
You continue anyway, through a mouthful, no less. “Except, he kinda does have some authority, I guess. Since, you know, he’s the one who signs my checks and everything, but… You know what I mean.”
The boy ahead of you stops suddenly in place. Your sandals scuff the pavement to keep from running into the back of him. He turns to face you, brunette curls flouncing, and your heart skips at the proximity. He’s much too pretty for anything else.
You can smell the cologne spritzed on his neck from here. A high-pitched and very boyish cedarwood that makes him somehow more endearing. There’s something floral in it, too — perhaps from the conditioner making his hair all shiny. And the subtle powdery scent, you figure, comes from his old Back Sabbath tee. An evident hand-me-down of some sort.
You can see more of him like this without having to ogle like a creep. His brown eyes are so dark they’re almost black, but you can see flecks of gold in them, too. His pronounced nose is dotted with pores and faint freckles you think you could count if he let you. There are a couple of spots on his jaw, too — some still red, others already scared over — that make his scowling face more youthful.
He’s got a couple of dark circles under his eyes, which you think means he doesn’t get as much sleep as he should. He’s got a pair of perpetual smile lines beside his mouth, too, which must mean he laughs a lot (even if he isn’t now). And he’s got a subtle furrow between his bushy brows ‘cause he’s totally the quiet, observant type.
You’d like to think you’re taking a closer look at him than anyone else in Hawkins ever has. Where they see a freak with crazy hair and a dangerous attitude, you see an old soul with young eyes and a wild mind.
“Is this you?” you wonder aloud, with ice cream clinging to the corners of your mouth.
Eddie lifts his hand and taps the key fob twice. The rusted tin can behind him unlocks with a hearty ca-chunk. He fakes a tight-lipped smile, “Yep.”
You rush around the hood then, hurrying for the passenger seat and struggling to finish the rest of your ice cream. Eddie eyes you expectantly as he lifts himself onto the chipped pleather of the driver’s side. His deadpan face twists with amusement as you inhale the remaining bits of your ice cream.
Your eyes go wide when you catch him staring, cheeks jutted like a chipmunk’s. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, then swipe your palms together. “Sorry— Sorry, I didn’t—” you swallow hard and try not to choke. “I didn’t wanna get ice cream all over your van.”
A laugh sputters from Eddie’s mouth, a more boyish sound than you thought he was capable of, and he hurries to cover his mouth with his fist. He can feel the sharp stinging of his fangs as they stab slowly through his gums, more prominent now that you’re so close to him — smelling as sweet as you look.
“Well, this isn’t exactly a sports car,” he scoffs. “I don’t think you have to worry about that.”
You swallow down the rest and hop in beside him. The faux leather of the passenger seat has grown distressed with time, sticking to your sunkissed thighs where your skirt doesn’t reach and poking you in places. The smell of his cologne stains the interior, along with a more subtle, skunkier scent.
You have to tug extra hard on the seatbelt — once, twice, and then a third time — before it gives.
Eddie sticks the key into the ignition and twists. A heavy metal guitar solo blares suddenly through the speakers, rattling the old van and making both of you lurch with a momentary panic.
“Shit!” the boy curses as he reaches for the blasting radio. He turns down the volume with pale, lanky fingers, wide eyes flitting from the console to the pavement as he peels out of the Starcourt lot. “Shit… Sorry.”
You shrug a bare shoulder. “It’s okay. I listen to my music loud, too. I’m pretty sure I’ve blown out the headphones to at least two Walkmans by now.”
“Yeah?” Eddie hums with a lazy smile. “What kinda stuff stuff do you listen to?”
You purse your lips to the side and avert your gaze as you ponder the question. “Van Halen, definitely… Dio and Def Leppard occasionally— oh, and don’t even get me started on Ozzy Osbourne.”
Eddie feels like his heart’s in his throat. It settles there and makes it hard to breathe while his anxious hands fidget on the steering wheel.
You can’t be this pretty and like all the music he likes. It’s just not fair. It’s like the universe is trying to kill him. (Even though it kinda already did that once.)
“Are you joking?” he wonders aloud, laughing with furrowed brows. His chocolate eyes dart from you, to the winding road before him, and back again. The soft smile on your lips blossoms into a more mischievous thing, and he nods slowly to himself. “You’re… You’re joking, right?”
“I might’ve been looking at your cassettes, yeah.”
Eddie’s gaze flits downward to where he keeps his tapes stacked in a cubby beneath the console. His chest aches with a distant embarrassment. “Right…” he huffs.
“Real answer?” you offer with a twinkle in your eye, spinning in the seat to face him more. You tuck your feet beneath you and count each name on your fingers. “Cyndi Lauper, Madonna, ABBA, and Blondie. That’s my top four— Not in that order, though! I love them all equally.”
“That makes… a lot more sense.”
“Do you have any of their tapes we could listen to?”
Eddie scoffs a faint laugh until he realizes you’re being serious. His tightlipped smile ebbs as he answers, “I can’t say that I do. No.”
“That’s too bad,” you huff and slouch further in the passenger seat. You gaze out the window with a faraway look in your eyes and start rambling before you mean to.
“I’ll let you bum one of mine, if you want. You can borrow my copy of Arrival, that’s one of my favorites! My most favorites. Or Super Trouper, maybe. I love that one, too...” You deflate with a heavy sigh. “Shit. I can’t decide— Which one do you prefer?”
Eddie stammers for an answer. He feels like you’re barely speaking his language.
“Screw it. I’ll just make you a mixtape,” you decide firmly. “It’s impossible to pick just one.”
Eddie nods wordlessly to himself, unconvinced that he’ll ever actually see you again — like this, anyway. With you making a home in the passenger seat of his van, which has never known a pretty girl like you before now.
“You could always swing by the pool if you want,” you offer with a hopeful grin. “Adam lets me man the radio sometimes.”
“Does he?” Eddie hums indifferently.
“When I wear my bikini, yeah.”
His face screws at the thought of someone taking advantage of you in that way, with you perhaps too gullible to understand. “Well, Adam sounds like a dickwad,” he grumbles and shifts his grip on the steering wheel.
“A massive dickwad,” you giggle like it’s your first time ever using the phrase. “One time, I played my Billy Joel tape, and he called it pedestrian. Pedestrian! Not only is that, like, totally sacrilegious or whatever, but it’s also extremely pretentious. Just call it lame or something, you sound arrogant.”
When your rambling ceases, you can hear Eddie laughing. Really laughing. Not just that weird breathy sound he keeps making. It spills from his mouth like sunshine, though he tries to stifle it with a fist pressed to his mouth. And even though you don’t remember saying anything particularly funny, you laugh alongside him.
“Why do you cover your smile when you laugh?”
“Why do I do what?”
“You always put your hand over your mouth when you smile,” you observe with a curious squint. “Did you know that?”
Eddie’s tongue darts over his protruding fangs, which peek in faint slivers from his pink gums now. You would only see them if you checked his mouth like a dog, but he gets self-conscious about it, anyway.
“No. I didn’t. Must be an old habit, I guess,” he stammers, lying through his teeth as he turns into the parking lot of Hawkins Community Pool.
The crowd there has seemingly ebbed with the setting sun, which he’s grateful for. He stays on the far edges of the property still, lest he draw any unwanted attention. ‘Cause the only thing more recognizable than his wild hair is the tin can he rides around in.
His ringed hands curl around the gear stick. The van jerks softly when he puts it in park. Eddie clears his throat. “We’re, uh— We’re here.”
You get distracted easily, and he’s grateful for that, too. You drop the conversation entirely as you reach for the seatbelt. The buckle clicks when you unfasten it. “Thanks for the ride, Eddie,” you chirp with a pretty smile.
His head snaps in your direction with enough force to give him whiplash. His mouth opens and closes like a fish as he gapes at you. He struggles to find the words to say. He thinks he’d rather face a hundred demobats (again) than have this conversation.
“You…” he swallows hard, adam’s apple bobbing. “You know my name?”
You shrug, oblivious to his otherwise very palpable fear. “‘Course I do.”
His heart would stop if he weren’t already dead. He thinks the force of his current shock could jolt it into beating all over again. Though, he figures he has no right to be so surprised. He is Eddie Munson, after all — the town freak who didn’t murder Chrissy Cunningham but left her to die instead.
No one knows that she’d been long in the dying before Eddie ran like a coward. No one knows that there was nothing he could do to stop the dark wizard from killing her. No one knows that he died trying to avenge her death despite all that. And no one ever will — save for the handful of teenagers who saved Hawkins alongside him.
Eddie knew, from the moment he rose from the dead and made it out of that godforsaken hellscape, that he would never be seen as the hero. He didn’t want to be. He just wanted to be a kid.
But here he is now. A half-dead and hated thing. A creature not worth loving.
And here you are, smiling at him like you intend to love him back to life.
“So… So you know what happened with… With the…” He talks with his hands and struggles to make the words out. He always has. He always will.
You nod before he has to. “Yeah. I think I just… I figured that wasn’t something you wanted to talk about with strangers—”
“I don’t wanna talk about it,” he insists.
“Then me not bringing it up was a good thing, right?”
“I mean, yeah, but—”
“Well, I’m hearing a lot of talking for someone who doesn’t want to talk about it,” you mock, not totally unkind, just a little bit strange.
Eddie almost laughs at that. “I’m just— I’m confused.”
“About what?”
Now, he really lets himself laugh because the answer’s rather obvious.
“Because most people are scared of me!” Eddie blurts with a cynical chuckle, gesturing wildly with his pale, ringed hands. “Everyone thinks I’m some— psycho-killing murderous freak.”
“Well, I don’t,” you insist, all pretty in your way, as you shift on the worn pleather seat beside him. “That’s gotta count for something, right?”
You unlatch the glove box ahead of you and help yourself to its contents. The junk inside clatters together while you search very obviously through it, rambling mindlessly to yourself as you do so.
“You like mint-chip ice cream cones smothered in sprinkles. And your initials are sewn onto the waistband of your jeans— like you’re gonna lose them or something. And… there’s a Blondie tape hiding in here.” You giggle to yourself and flash him the cassette.
Eddie blinks at you like an owl. “That’s not mine.”
“Secret girlfriend?” you tease with a scrunched nose.
“Secret tape,” he confesses before plucking it suddenly from your fingertips.
There’s a whole story behind it that he’d tell you if he could. About how he couldn’t leave the house for some weeks after he came back to life and how his friends brought him things to pass the time. Robin Buckley had an elaborate assortment of board games that bordered on concerning, and Dustin Henderson had brought an entire library to his trailer.
The rest of them put together a selection of tapes for him to listen to. He can’t be sure now if Nancy Wheeler really gave up her prized Blondie cassette or if Mike Wheeler did it without her knowing.
You struggle to bite back your laughter as you sort through the center console next.
“See! That doesn’t exactly read psycho-killing murderous freak to me, Eds. Honestly, it kinda reads as someone who’s never hurt anyone in their whole life, who probably wants everyone else to stop hurting them—” You cut yourself off with a gasp. “Ah! Here it is.”
You dig a rogue ink pen from the depths of the console. A bright smile tugs at the edges of your lips. Eddie’s still struggling to breathe when you reach for him. “Can I have your hand?”
“Why?” he wonders with pinched brows.
“You’ll see,” you lilt mischievously and take his ringed hand in your smaller one.
He worries, briefly, that you might comment on how cold he is for the middle of summer. But if you notice it at all, you don’t mention it as you scribble your number onto the back of his hand.
Eddie grimaces when the tip presses hard into his pale skin. “Ow…”
“See? You’re just a big baby,” you joke, giggling quietly to yourself. You click the pen with your thumb as you part from him. “There. Now you have my number.”
Eddie flashes you a dubious glance, unsure of what he ever needed your number for.
You answer his silent question like it’s obvious. “So I can give you the mixtape.”
“Right,” he hums with a slow nod.
“Well, I’m gonna go clock back in before I get a total earful from Adam,” you sigh and reach for the metal door handle. “Thanks for the ride, Eddie.”
“Don’t mention it,” he shrugs nonchalantly as you slide out of the van. The back of your pleated skirt rises softly in the process, flashing a glimpse of your ass. He swallows hard and stammers. “Just— Just, like, be safe, or whatever.”
“Or whatever,” you mock with a lighthearted chuckle.
“Well, this is a crazy world we live in, haven’t you heard?” Eddie jokes to cover up his blunder. He tilts his wild head to his shoulder as a pink smile forms crooked on his mouth. “I hear psycho-killing murderous freaks are roaming the streets these days.”
He expects you to laugh, but you grow strangely serious instead, furrowing your brows as you mumble to yourself. “Crazy World... That’s a good song, actually. I should put that on the mixtape—”
You forget to say a proper goodbye as you close the door behind you. The rusted metal hinges screech before slamming shut. You walk off towards the pool house without another word, flip-flopping the entire way to the front gate. Eddie watches you go with his features twisted in a subtle mixture of shock and awe.
Steve Harrington was right. What the hell was that?
Three days pass before Eddie sees you again. Not that he’s counting, anyway. He debates, however, calling you on the second one — but by then, your number had long disappeared from his hand. He decided, then, to count his losses and pretend he wasn’t as boyishly heartbroken as he felt.
Missing you was a double-edged sword. He never wanted to see you again, but he mourned for you always. He prayed he’d never run into you like before but searched for you in all the faces he met. It was agony.
When he drops Dustin off at Scoops Ahoy after a long afternoon of campaigning, Eddie tells himself it’s not with intent to run into you there. He tells himself it wouldn’t be the worst thing, but not to get his hopes too high. That he’d only make a fool of himself. That it’d be better if he didn’t see you at all.
He’s left grieving anyway when he doesn’t immediately spot your face in the dwindling crowd of the ice cream shop.
“If it isn’t the man of the hour,” Robin lilts from where she sits at one of the tables, obviously on her break and eating from a bowl of the rainbow gummy bears they use as toppings.
“You dweebs talking about me?” Eddie scoffs as he shoves Dustin light-heartedly ahead of him.
As soon as he crosses the threshold of the small shop, you come very suddenly into view. You sit ahead of Robin, in your usual uniform, and with your usual rainbow sherbet cone. You steal a few rogue gummy bears from her cup and dip them into your ice cream, which has started to melt with your distraction.
He stills in place, struck with a bolt of blue. Your pretty, summer scent hits him full force, then — slaps him in the face and demands to be noticed. You flash him a small smile, and he has to remind himself to breathe.
“Not at all,” Robin answers with a knowing smirk.
Steve scoffs from where he wipes down the counter, tendons flexing in his golden arm. “Only for ten straight minutes.”
“We were talking about how I gave you my number. And how you never called,” you explain to the poleaxed boy, tilting your chin to your shoulder to peer at him from beneath your lashes. A mischievous smirk hints at the corners of your lips. “A girl could start to wonder, you know?” you tease, only partially playful.
Eddie stammers for an explanation. He feels like his heart’s in his throat, like it’s closing on him, and like he can’t really breathe.
He blinks rapidly as his head starts to swim. He zeroes in on your heartbeat, though he knows he shouldn’t. It’s a soft and rhythmic whoosh, whoosh, whooshing — like that of an excitable baby deer. His hands ball into fists until his dull nails leave crescent shapes in his palms.
Dustin gapes at the sight of you. “You’re real?” the strange, curly-haired boy blurts.
“Me?” you ask with pinched brows, motioning to yourself with the ice cream cone.
“Dustin!” Eddie scolds, nudging him pointedly on the shoulder.
The boy cowers. “Sorry. It’s just… I thought you were, like, an imaginary person Eddie made up or something,” he admits, squinting his hazel eyes and crossing his arms over his chest. You flash him a dubious look until he elaborates obliviously. “‘Cause Gareth was making fun of him for not having any friends outside of Hellfire and stuff—”
“Hey,” Eddie snaps to get the rambling boy’s attention, tapping the brim of his Thinking Cap. “Shut up.”
“What’s Hellfire?” you wonder aloud.
“Book club,” Eddie lies.
You grin with furrowed brows. “You talk about me at book club?”
“I mentioned you. Once. ‘Cause Gareth asked— And I didn’t call because the pen smudged,” Eddie answers all at once, swallowing hard when he feels bile building in his throat. He can’t get your heartbeat out of his ears. Or your scent out of his nose. It’s suffocating, all of it. “Does that clear everything up, or…?”
Steve hisses through his teeth. Robin scoffs. You blink at him with wide eyes, hardly expecting him to be so short with you. “Uh-huh,” you nod with a forced smile.
Eddie would apologize for it if he didn’t feel so sick. But now he teeters on the knife’s edge of nausea, unsure if he’s going to faint or vomit or both. So he fakes his own smile and inches towards the exit. “Great. I’m gonna— I think I’m gonna go—”
“And leave us with babysitting duty?” Steve scoffs. “How nice of you.”
Dustin frowns and flashes the makeshift sailor his middle finger.
Eddie fumbles to come up with an excuse. “I just remembered, uh— Wayne wanted me to record Cheers tonight, and I totally forgot. The ol’ geezer’ll kill me if he misses an episode, so… I gotta run.”
He ducks out without another word, grimacing at himself because he’s usually a much better liar than that. The others can surely see right through him. They know that he’s unwell — that he’s just hungry and impossibly overstimulated.
But you don’t. You don’t know him at all, and maybe that’s exactly why you rush out of Scoops behind him.
Eddie shoves the glass exit of Starcourt Mall with trembling hands. The summer breeze rushes over him immediately, billowing through his hair and clothes. He takes his first good breath and the swimmy feeling of nausea starts to fade.
The hunger remains even still. The ravenous thoughts remain, too — of your heart between his teeth, beating on his tongue, and your blood tasting of sweet red wine.
When he starts to scare himself, his mind tells him that he’d never hurt you. That he hasn’t yet, and that he never will. But still, the thoughts are there, and they hardly ever leave.
Your fresh berry scent covers him like a shroud as he rushes to his casket (his van, really, but the symbolism fits.) You struggle to keep up with his longer strides, pleated skirt flouncing as you hurry behind him — a kicked puppy who doesn’t know when to stay back.
“I don’t mean to annoy you, you know?” you call after him.
Eddie stills and spins sharply around to face you. You stumble back on rubber sandals to keep from running into him, trying not to cower when he towers suddenly over you.
“What?” he asks with his features swirled in confusion and distant suffering.
Your wide eyes dart over his pallid features, more sallow than you remember. You forget everything you were going to say as concern drips from your pretty features. “Do you feel okay?”
“I feel— fine,” he stammers, less than convincingly.
“Okay…” you nod, unconvinced, then repeat yourself. “I don’t mean to annoy you, by the way.”
Eddie shrugs. “What makes you think you annoy me?”
“I dunno,” you answers, sheepish in a way he hasn’t seen you before. You shift your weight on your scarlet sandals and talk wildly with your hands, looking everywhere but at him. “I kinda talked your face off a few days ago, and then I made that stupid joke about you not calling, and I just… I realized you don’t know me all that well. And that I can be kind of a lot sometimes. Or, you know, a lot of the time. But it’s not like I mean to be, you know? I don’t mean to be a burden or to—”
“You’re not a burden,” Eddie blurts.
Your breath catches as you blink at him with wild, glassy eyes. He gets the feeling no one’s ever said that to you before and tries to ignore the stinging in his chest.
“No?” you echo in a mousy voice.
“Not even a little bit,” he answers instantly.
You inhale a shaky breath that leaves through your mouth in a sigh of relief. “So you’re not upset with me?”
“No,” Eddie scoffs. “You haven’t done anything to upset me. So far, anyway.”
You nod to yourself at the reassurance. “Okay. Good. I just— I thought you ran off in such a hurry ‘cause you didn’t wanna be around me or something.”
You chuckle to yourself, feeling silly about it now.
Eddie shifts awkwardly ahead of you ‘cause you’re not too far off.
“Do you… Do you want a ride?” he offers despite himself — despite his overwhelming feelings for you and despite the fact the buses are still running for another fifteen minutes.
He chucks his thumb over his shoulder and flashes you a sheepish look. Because he isn’t sure of what to say now, or if he wants to leave you at all.
You duck your chin and scrunch your nose, too pretty for your own good. “If it’s not too much trouble?” you lilt.
Eddie only grins. “Who says I don’t like a little bit of trouble?”
He survives the golden hour, but just barely. Eddie hides from the setting sun underneath the covers, writhing on the thin mattress as he waits for the ravenous feeling of insatiable hunger to pass. It never does.
Instead, he feels the absence of you most ardently. He withers away as he grieves for you, like a wilting flower craving sunlight. But he’s nothing but a pale, gray, and exhausted thing now — an unloveable creature aching for a feeding.
“Wayne…” Eddie grumbles tiredly, half muffled into his pillow. When he receives no response from his uncle, he musters the strength to shout. “Wayne!”
Footsteps trudge down the hall, bulky work shoes heavy on thin carpet. His bedroom door creaks slowly open, and his uncle stands beneath the frame of it — wearing the thick navy coveralls that has his name sewn in cursive on the chest. His weathered hands work at the buttons below the collar.
“What is it, Ed?” Wayne wonders in a gravelly drawl.
Eddie takes in a rattling breath, peeking one eye open to look at his uncle. His vision’s too swimmy for anything else. “Can you call Hopper?” he slurs like a sick child.
Wayne’s graying brows furrow in worry. He squints at his nephew across the bedroom, languishing beneath his covers and growing more waxen by the second. He’s typically only this miserable when he hasn’t fed in weeks.
“You hungry again? It’s only been a couple days.”
“I know,” the boy grumbles, squirming on the mattress like he can’t get comfortable. “I just don’t feel good...”
Wayne can see that much from here, so he doesn’t put up any more of a fight about it. He fastens the cuffs of his sleeves with wise and suddenly anxious hands. “I’ll give him a call before I head to work… You gonna be alright without me?”
Eddie nods against the pillow, curls frizzing around his head. He responds in jumbled slurs, “Mhm. ‘M alright. ‘M just… real tired…”
“I’ll call Hopper,” Wayne repeats, firmer this time, before shutting the door behind him.
Eddie spends the next half hour rotting away in the lonely trailer.
Jim doesn’t bother to knock when he arrives, but it’s not like he needs to. He makes enough deliveries of the riboflavin kind to Forest Hills that he deserves his own key.
Besides, Eddie could smell him when he pulled into the driveway — the pint of blood he carried with him, more so. It’s a deep, rich, and powdery scent. Nowhere near as sweet as you. But then again, he doesn’t think anything could be.
“What’s the special this time, Chief?” Eddie jokes with a small huff as Hopper helps prop him against the headboard.
The mustached man is still clad in his khaki work uniform, gold badge glinting in the lamplight. His hardened face remains in its usual deadpan frown, though his bushy brows furrow in a subtle confusion. “Do you really wanna know?”
Eddie thinks for a moment, then sighs. “No…”
Jim opens the brown paper bag sitting on the nightstand. He pulls out a plain styrofoam cup topped with a lid typically used for coffee. The thing looks innocent enough, save for a few drops of crimson staining the white of it, likely from an overfill.
There was a time when Eddie could do it himself. Where he could puncture the blood bag Hopper delivered and pour it into one of the mugs he and Wayne have been collecting for years.
He stopped being strong enough for that a while ago, though. The sight of blood makes him queasy now, which is ironic for very obvious reasons.
The chief does most of it for him now, though Eddie thinks Hopper likes it best that way.
“Here you go, kid,” Jim says as he passes the boy his cup of liquid scarlet. He holds the lid of it in his other hand, face screwed at the coopery smell engulfing the small bedroom. “Try not to think about it too much, alright?”
Eddie takes the cup in a trembling fist and squeezes his eyes shut so he can’t see its contents. He forces himself to down it in one go — equal parts because it’s easiest that way and because he doesn’t want to be too much of a baby in front of the chief.
The blood tastes like a strawberry milkshake as he swallows it down, but that’s always the easiest part. It’s the after that’s so ruthless. After the overwhelming bout of starvation passes. After he’s half normal again. That’s when the blood starts to taste like blood — all metallic, like a bunch of old pennies. That’s when he feels like a monster.
Eddie groans when the cup is fully drained. He passes it back to Hopper with his eyes still shut. The man takes it with one hand and pats him on the shoulder with the other. “Good job, kid,” he mumbles, dropping the empty cup back into the bag.
The boy relaxes against the pillows with a shuddering breath.
Jim waits until then to interrogate him.
“What happened between now and four days ago?” he asks with his arms crossed over his chest, towering over the boy’s bedside. “This is the first time you’ve needed to feed more than once a week. Hell, it took Wayne and me almost a year to convince you to feed more than once a month.”
Eddie shrugs lazily, lips jutted and eyes lidded. “Nothing happened.”
“I need to know, kid. So I can keep you safe.”
And so I can keep everyone else safe, too, but he doesn’t say that part.
“It’s just— This girl,” Eddie confesses, then grumbles with a sigh. “I don’t know, alright. It doesn’t even matter.”
Hopper squints. “What girl?”
“No one,” Eddie insists, then cowers under the man’s glacial stare. “Fine. Some-one. She just— makes me go all weird or whatever. I don’t know.”
Jim hums, nodding softly to himself and trying not to be too amused at the thought of Munson having a crush. He scratches at the coarse hair underneath his chin. “And is… staying away from this girl an option, or…?”
Eddie ponders the question for a moment, then exhales a chest-deflating sigh. Just like he did when questioning the origins of the blood in his cup. You were a lot of the same in that way — a thing he needed to survive but wasn’t strong enough to face.
“No… I don’t think it is…”
꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷
Hawkins Community Pool is strangely liminal after dark. The property itself is illuminated by only a few amber streetlamps, with most of its light coming from within — from inside the wooden pool house and beneath the sparkling cerulean water.
Eddie parks his van on the darkened edges of the parking lot and tries to find the courage to leave it. The crowd is minimal now, having lessened significantly since he dropped you off some hours ago.
There are only a few stragglers left, most of them teenagers soaking in the last few minutes before closing. He’s grateful for that much. The fewer eyes on him, the better.
If he wasn’t being ogled at with gazes hardened with disgust or softened with pity, people weren’t looking at him at all. Their attempts to keep from staring were perhaps more blatant than they realized.
Maybe they didn’t want to be rude, or maybe they wanted to pretend he wasn’t there at all. It made Eddie hyper-aware of himself either way, which is why he often preferred to stay hidden.
He idles by the chain-link fence, swaddled in the humid summer air that smells overwhelmingly of chlorine and dewy grass. It takes several agonizing moments to catch your attention.
You dance softly in place and mouth the lyrics to a song Eddie can only make out vaguely from here, while the girl beside you stands perfectly and unenthusiastically still.
You freeze when you catch Eddie’s gaze. Confused at first, then surprised. It takes a matter of seconds for both emotions to mix together and leave you a bumbling ball of excitement.
The boy raises a ringed hand in a curt wave, which you reciprocate with a much more enthusiastic one. You turn to your co-worker and mouth something Eddie can’t hear before rushing to the parking lot to meet him. The flip-flopping of your rubber sandals grows as you make your way to him, along with the rustling of the windbreaker you wear over your bikini.
It’s a modest scarlet two-piece, with a high waist and a halter neckline — but much more of your skin is on display than Eddie’s used to. (If there was any time he needed to be grateful for a recent feeding, it was now.)
“Hi…” you greet, panting heavily as you stand before him.
“Hiya,” Eddie grins cheekily.
“I… I didn’t know you were coming.”
“I didn’t either, honestly.”
“Did you, uh— Did you and Wayne get to watch Cheers?”
It takes Eddie a moment or more to recall his earlier lie. He nods rapidly in response, perhaps too quickly to be truthful, but you don’t seem to notice. “Uh, no. Not yet. He’ll watch it when he gets back from the graveyard shift.”
“Okay. Cool,” you beam, eyes sparkling as they dart over his features — which have seemed to gain a bit of their life back. He’s still pale, but his eyes are less sunken in than they were. The dark chocolate of his irises swim with a melted honey color. “You look a lot better, by the way. Than you did when I left, I mean. I was scared you were getting sick.”
“Nah, I just… Needed a breather, I guess,” Eddie admits with a breathy chuckle. “I was with Hellfire all day, and… Babysitting’s a tough gig, turns out.”
You laugh alongside him, noticeably less forced. “No, I get it. I basically spend all day babysitting, so…”
“Right. I shouldn’t be complaining.” Eddie scratches awkwardly at the back of his neck and grimaces when his rings get caught in his hair. It takes a very noticeable moment for him to gain the courage to ask the question on the tip of his tongue. “Can, uh— Can I see your hand real quick?”
Your brows pinch. “Why?”
“You’ll see,” he lilts with the same mischievous smile you used on him some days ago now.
He holds a ringed hand expectantly out for you. Your gaze glimmers with intrigue as you put your fingers in his paler, colder ones. You watch him dig in his jacket pockets for a moment before pulling out the same ink pen you’d rescued from the depths of junk in his center console. He clicks it with his thumb, and you jerk your hand out of his.
“Wait!” you blurt.
Eddie flinches, feeling like he’s done something wrong, like he must’ve hurt you in some way.
Your features screw in a pinched look of concentration as you stick your hands in the pockets of your windbreaker. “I’m pretty sure I have a marker in here somewhere— Ah! Here it is!” You’re smiling all over again when you pass him the black Sharpie. “So it won’t wash off before I get to call you.”
“Right,” Eddie hums with a slow nod, taking the marker from you. He bites back a smile when he catches you shoving a pack of sparkly stickers back into your pockets. “What are those?”
“Stickers,” you answer, then grimace when you realize that much was obvious. You rush to elaborate. “For the younger kids that have older siblings. They usually get dragged here, and nine times outta ten, they haven’t learned how to swim yet, so… I try to make ‘em feel better with sparkly things.”
The grin Eddie tries to hide blooms very suddenly across the expanse of his pink lips. His chest swirls with a warmer feeling because you’re sort of his sparkly thing, in a way. A bright and glittering thing that makes him feel whole without trying.
You offer him your hand again, shier now. He wraps it in his larger one with fingertips that border on glacial. You fight back a shiver while Eddie uncaps the marker with his teeth. He mumbles through it while he scribbles his number on your wrist.
“Don’t let this scrub off before you get to call me like other idiots do, alright?” he jokes, flashing you a sparkling stare beneath his lashes.
“I’ll call you the second I get home,” you promise with a firm nod. “I’ll write it down, too, so I won’t forget.”
Eddie caps the marker with a lopsided grin sitting lazily on his mouth. “And it’s only for emergencies, alright? Like, if you need a ride or… A spare Blondie cassette that I may or may not have in my glove box.”
You nod again, this time with a giddy and very poorly hidden smile. “Emergenicies,” you parrot, so he knows you really heard him.
(You call him the second you’re back from your shift, though Eddie expected nothing less from you. The emergency in question? You missed him too much.)
You decide to visit him that weekend, unannounced and unexpected — which is basically how you entered his life in the first place.
You’re a smiling thing on his doorstep. A rival to the early morning sun beaming in rays behind you. Eddie squints one eye and grimaces at the brightness of each.
“Morning!” you chirp like a songbird.
“What are you doing here? How’d you even find me?” Eddie grumbles tiredly, rubbing his sleep-swollen eye with his fist. He wears his slumber all over — in the wild curls, and in the wrinkled shirt that used to be Wayne’s, and in the baggy plaid pants sitting low on his waist.
The complete and utter opposite of you: an angel kissed with the summer season.
The sun sparkles in your hair. The warm breeze billows in your clothes. The scent of something sweet clings to your skin — of fresh cherries, vanilla cake, and swathes of dewy grass. Each is tantamount to your bone-crushing beauty, which borders on whimsical and intimidating now.
It’s weird seeing you out of your uniform. A strange, but welcomed sight. You’ve traded the mandated bathing suit for a flouncier dress. The thin cotton fabric clings to your torso and drapes over your thighs like summer rain. It’s a scarlet number, gingham-patterned, with two white bows for sleeves.
Eddie’s tired eyes rake over your pretty form despite himself. He gapes when he finds the raging scrapes you wear on both knees, a bright crimson color to match your strawberry aura. “Jesus Chr— Are you okay?!”
You follow his gaze, bending softly at the waist to peer down at your legs. You press the skirt of your dress down with your palms, and your chest pinches at the sight of your raw knees.
Your eyes flit from the fresh scratches to the concerned boy ahead of you. “Which question do you want me to answer first?” you wonder with wide, sheepish eyes.
Eddie repeats, firmer now, “Are you okay?”
“I’m totally fine,” you shrug with a beaming smile before rambling an explanation, talking absentmindedly with your hands. “I decided to buy a bike after I got my paycheck, but I don’t really know how to ride it yet, so I’m trying to teach myself, and I… kinda accidentally swerved into a ditch on the way here.”
Eddie’s chest flares with a primal feeling. He can’t stand the thought of you hurt — can’t stand the thought of you hurt and him not being there to help you. “Okay…” he wavers with his face still screwed.
“I wasn’t stalking you, by the way! Scout’s honor!” you blurt, holding up four fingers instead of three. “I just knew you lived at Forest Hill’s, and, I mean, the van is a dead giveaway, Eds.”
“Fair enough,” he huffs.
“Besides, I really wanted to bring you something, and I couldn’t wait until I saw you at Scoops because the anticipation was driving me crazy—” You lose yourself in thought and slide past him in the doorway without thinking.
Eddie just blinks and shuts the door behind you. “And… What is it… Exactly?” he wonders cautiously, only partially fearful of the answer.
It takes you a moment too long to answer him, as you get lost in the sights around you. The trailer was bigger than it appeared on the outside, not messy by any means, but very lived in.
There’s a folded cot in the corner beside the recliner and a small square TV across from it playing morning cartoons. Vintage baseball caps line one wall, and a collection of mugs line the other. Everything feels like a self-portrait of the Munson family.
“The mixtape I promised,” you answer finally, spinning around to face him again. You pull a plastic cassette from the pocket of your dress and gesture with it in a nervous hand. “I was starin’ at this thing all night, and I couldn’t stop thinking about you— about giving it to you, I mean.” You correct yourself with a nervous laugh and rush to move on. “I’ve always been super bad with gifts— I can’t keep ‘em a secret to save my life. I’m good for, maybe, five seconds, and then I’m just like, gosh, I can’t wait anymore, you know?”
You realize you’re rambling and trail slowly off. You swallow hard, muster a wavering smile, and motion for Eddie to take the cassette. You watch as he studies it with a careful hand — pale and lanky and devoid of his silver rings.
“You made this for me?” he mumbles after a few moments.
“Well, I told you I would.”
“Yeah, but… You made this? For me?” he repeats, with a different inflection. ‘Cause he doesn’t know who else to put it. Doesn’t know how to tell you he doesn’t feel half deserving of anything you could give him.
You giggle in response. “You said you didn’t own anything ABBA. Or Madonna. Or Cyndi Lauper— so obviously, I had to make you an entire compilation of their discography. I’m not an asshole,” you laugh. “And I put a few of my favorite songs on there, too…. And songs that made me think of you and stuff…”
Eddie smiles before he means to. It’s a strange thing, he finds, to be thought of in such an innocent way — to be looked for in the places where he couldn’t physically be. He ducks his chin and peers at you with glimmering eyes. “Yeah? Like what?” he humors.
You don’t miss a beat. “He’s so shy!”
Eddie flinches at your singing — the volume of it, more so. Your voice rings across the quiet trailer, and a laugh sputters past his lips. “Yeah. Alright.”
“That sweet little boy who caught my eye!” you continue and reach out for him, digging your fingers into the junction of his neck and shoulder. His skin is milky white, smooth, cold to the touch.
“Okay!” he chuckles and swats you away with a playful hand. “I get it!”
“It’s the Pointer Sisters,” you grin.
“I’ll take your word for it.”
His chocolate eyes dart back and forth between both of yours, momentarily lost in the way you’re looking at him — with your eyes all squishy around the edges. He’s not used to being looked at so softly. Or being noticed at all.
He swallows hard and averts his gaze. Your scrapped knees enter his vision again, weeping a bright scarlet that threatens to drip down your shins. He ignores any instinct of hunger.
“You’re bleeding pretty bad, by the way.”
You only feel the ache when you’re reminded of it. Your stomach gets all swirly at the sight of your bruised knees, rubbed raw and stained with the grass that partially cushioned your fall.
“Gosh…” you mumble to yourself, clutching the skirt of your dress in your fists. You flash Eddie a sheepish look and a wavering smile. “Any chance I could bum a bandaid?”
꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷
The bathroom is a tight fight, but you make it work.
You sit on the counter, per Eddie’s instruction, while he retrieves the first aid kit collecting dust in the medicine cabinet. He sits on the edge of the bathtub across from you, way out of his element (in more ways than one), as he cleans your cuts with trembling hands.
His throat is tight with nausea. His head swims with it, too. White stars speckle his vision that he tries hard to blink away. The sight of your blood, diluted and pink on the white tissue, makes him weak.
He isn’t sure if it’s instinct or desire that makes him want to swallow you whole, but the primal urge to consume you is there — in the figurative sense, of course; to bury his teeth in your neck and have a piece of you forever.
Being between your legs in such close confines is ample enough distraction, though.
You push the skirt of your pretty gingham dress up the expanse of your thighs to give him space to work. You sit with them slightly spread, too — enough to reveal a sliver of your underwear, he thinks. Eddie isn’t sure if it’s intentional or not, so he fights the boyish urge to catch a glimpse of the most private part of you.
“Jesus…” he huffs and chucks the napkin into the bin. With the blood and the grass stains now wiped away, he can see the scratches more clearly. Your delicate skin is abraded and raging with it. Like you fell and kept on falling. “Did you get mauled by a bear or something?”
“In the knees?” you quip.
“Looks like it.”
“I just wanted to match my dress,” you shrug. “That’s all.”
Eddie opens an alcohol swab with his teeth, then meets your pretty smile with a scowl. “You’re hurt. It’s not funny,” he deadpans after spitting the package from between his teeth.
“It is a little bit, though,” you argue just to argue, scrunching the bridge of your nose. He presses the damp wipe to your knee, and you flinch at the sudden stinging feeling. “Ow!”
He smiles at your pouting. “Maybe a little,” he concurs.
“That was mean!”
“You told me to distract you, so I distracted you. Sue me,” the boy shrugs, feigning innocence, as he reaches to toss the swab in the trashcan beside the counter.
The sight of wadded tissue, all stained with your ruby-colored blood, makes his breath catch in his throat. The ground starts to sway beneath his feet. His eyes go lidded and heavy. His mouth waters with need.
Eddie shakes his wild head in a feeble attempt to remove the ravenous thoughts from his brain, but all it does is make him dizzier.
He blinks wildly as he reaches for a bandaid in the opened container beside him. It slips from his clammy, tremoring hands. He fumbles to grab it again and slaps it to the counter beside you.
“You okay?” he hears you ask, sitting right in front of him but sounding much further than that.
He sits up again and clears his throat, gaze dim and glassy. “Yeah. Yeah, just— Just give me a second…” He breathes hard through his mouth. Eyes squeezed shut. Knuckles going white around the edges of the ceramic tub.
You watch with a wide, inquisitive stare as you smooth the bandages over your knees yourself. Your concerned gaze flits from the pallid boy ahead of you, to the plasters on your skin, and back to him again.
“If blood makes you queasy, you coulda just said,” you joke, trying to make him smile, ‘cause you hate seeing him so ill. “You didn’t have to torture yourself just to help me.”
“Blood doesn’t make me queasy,” Eddie tells you, though he’s still slurring his words.
“Then why do you look like you’re about to hurl?”
His glazed-over eyes are slow to open. “That’s just my face,” he deadpans.
“No. You have a pretty face, Eddie,” you insist as your giggling swells like sunshine in the tiny bathroom. “It’s just all scrunched together, like you’re gonna be sick or something— like this.”
You swirl your features in a manufactured look of drama and pain. Brows furrowed, nose scrunched, mouth snarled. Eddie chuckles before he can help it. The sick feeling still lingers, though not as obvious now.
“You are bizarre. Did you know that?”
“I did, actually,” you giggle.
Your entwining laughter fills the bathroom’s close quarters. The glittering noise echoes through the small trailer and finds Wayne at the doorstep. He toes off his work boots and pauses at the sound of giggling — one familiar and lower in pitch, the other foreign and sparkling.
His socked feet pad down the length of the carpeted ground until he finds the door between Eddie’s bedroom and the kitchen’s edge, already ajar. It creaks loudly under the man’s calloused palm when he pushes it slowly open.
His tired eyes widen at the sight before him — a pretty girl on the sink with a pair of scrapped knees, and Eddie sitting on the tub ahead of her with bloodied tissue in the bin beside him.
Wayne’s heart falls to ass like a steep drop on a rollercoaster.
You smile brightly at the strange man. “Hello!” you greet with an enthusiastic wave.
He blinks slowly at you for a moment, then nods politely. “Hi there,” Wayne says in a deep and gritty drawl before turning to his nephew. “What’s goin’ on here?”
“Nothing,” Eddie blurts, all wide-eyed and fidgeting. He struggles to be casual as he swipes his clammy hands over his thighs. “We were just, you know, hanging out…”
“Everythin’ alright?”
Eddie nods quickly, then stops when it makes him queasy. “Yeah,” he answers, clearing his throat. “Yeah, she just— fell on her bike on the way over, and—”
He flinches when you gasp.
“Wait! You’re Wayne!” you shout with a sudden recollection.
The man tries not to recoil at the volume of your voice — much too loud for so early in the day, like a chirping bird outside his window. He forces a tightlipped smile and nods again. “I am,” he tells you.
You smile so wide your eyes squint at the edges. “You have Eddie’s nose!”
Wayne laughs, a single scoffed breath. “What can I say? Big noses run in the family.”
“Well, I happen to like ‘em that way,” you insist with a casual shrug, kicking your feet back and forth from where you’re perched on the counter. Your heels meet the cabinet in several rhythmic thunk, thunk, thunks.
When you look down at your bandaged knees, Wayne and Eddie share a look without you.
The older man raises his greying brows. This girl is bizarre, Eddie can hear him saying.
He nods wordlessly at his uncle’s silent observation, as though to say: I know she is, and I happen to like her that way.
The plastic case of the cassette you made him clatters on the dashboard of his van, filling a silence that would otherwise be occupied by you.
Eddie’s passenger seat, cracked and worn with age, feels strikingly empty without you in it. Which is strange, ‘cause your presence used to frighten him once. It does, still, he thinks — but now he mourns the haunt like an old, empty house.
He drives his rattling tin can across town to Hawkins Community Pool, with a cup of rainbow sherbet rattling in the holder at his side, like an offering for a ghost he no longer wants to exorcise from the home behind his ribcage.
“It’s gonna melt before you get it to her,” Robin remarked with a smirk as she scooped ice cream with an expert hand. “You know that, right?”
Eddie bowed his head and tried to hide behind his curls. “Not if I run real fast,” he joked sheepishly.
The pastel sherbet softens quickly in the summer heat. (Not even the van’s middling A.C., pointed right in its direction, could keep it sufficiently cool.) The muted hues of pink, green, and orange begin to swirl together as the milky concoction undulates in his ringed fist. He hopes you don’t mind and prays you see past his feeble attempt to be kind.
“Well, well, well…” Billy Hargrove lilts with a pretty pink smirk at the sight of Eddie Munson’s familiar face. He lifts his sunglasses to the top of his mulleted curls and rests his magazine on his lap. “The dead has risen…”
The poor boy sticks out without trying, despite his desperate attempts to stay hidden — all but swimming in his leather jacket, baggy jeans, and wild hair. He’s a pale, death-touched thing floating in a sea of golden life.
But, unlike the contemptuous leers from the other patrons, (some who are still certain Eddie killed Chrissy, and others who have always seemed to look at him that way), Billy Hargrove only smiles. A fake, sardonic grin that shows none of his teeth and shines mostly in his eyes.
His squinted ocean gaze glimmers like he knows all of Eddie’s secrets — which is only half-true. Billy knows what the end of the world did to him, because it almost killed him too, once upon a time.
So, no. He doesn’t know all of Eddie’s secrets.
Just the biggest one, maybe.
Despite being largely immune to the summer heat, Eddie still feels the burn of embarrassment stinging his chest. Clawing behind his ribcage like a thousand ravaging demobats. The hot-cold aching of wishing he were dead ebbs when you turn to look at him over your shoulder — when your wide eyes of sparkling hope lock with his darker, dead-er ones.
There’s an undeniable spark of delight in your irises, though Eddie doesn’t know what for. No one’s been this happy to see him in a year. No one’s been this happy to see him ever.
Something about it makes his stomach hurt. Or maybe it’s just the way you and Hargrove are sitting behind the front counter together, like a couple of old friends, with glowing sunkissed skin hugged tight in scarlet bathing suits.
In that split second, Eddie feels like he’s in high school again — a loser, not yet dead, pining for the pretty girl way out of his league and praying the basketball jock doesn’t shove him into the bleachers.
If you notice the momentary fear in his eyes, you don’t show it.
And if you care that he’s a loser, you don’t show that, either.
“Eddie! Hi!” you greet, giggling as you push yourself off the countertop. Your pleated skirt swishes around your thighs as you rush to him. Your matching sandals pad rhythmically along the stone floor. The flip-flop, flip-fop sound echoes through the shaded breezeway.
Eddie doesn’t know how wide he’s smiling when you’re finally standing ahead of him, but he can feel it burning in the apples of his cheeks.
“You haven’t been around for lunch,” he says in place of a greeting, fidgeting with the cup of melting ice cream in his fist. “I was scared that you keeled over or somethin’.”
“You were worried about me?” you wonder aloud, voice a few octaves higher than he’s used to. You purse your smile to the side of your mouth and scrunch your nose. “Aww…” you croon and dig two fingers into the junction of his neck.
Your touch is soft and warm and less than gentle.
Eddie cringes, effectively set aflame by the electricity of you. He shrinks back with a wavering smile and finds himself grateful that he’s too dead to blush these days — or else you’d see how hopeless he is.
You ramble an explanation while his skin buzzes.
“I’m a little slow on my bike, turns out, and I couldn’t make it back here in time,” you tell him, which rests his anxieties a little.
Eddie’s been worried about you ever since he patched you up in his bathroom. Everyone’s been worried about you, in truth, ‘cause it’s a well-known fact that you’re a total klutz.
“And after being late for the third time, Adam got kinda mad at me…” you continue, shifting on your feet. “He got really mad at me, actually. I wore his favorite bikini, and he still threatened to fire me. I was, like, oh shit, I’m actually in trouble—”
You giggle to yourself, but Eddie feels like there’s a knife between his ribcage. A sharp, burning, and pulsing urge to get you away from all of these assholes. To get you out of this town. God knows it doesn’t deserve you.
He swallows hard and tries to joke. “Must’ve been real bad then, huh?”
You exhale a dramatic sigh. “Yeah, so… I’m kinda trying to get back on his good side and everything. It’s easier to just stay here. I would’ve called, but I— I didn’t think you cared that much.”
“I care!” Eddie scoffs, pale face swirled with offense.
“You’re the one that said emergencies only!” you mock through another pretty giggle.
“Abandoning me for a week is an emergency.”
You light up like a goddamn Christmas tree at that.
“See! I knew you were worried about me!”
Eddie scoffs again and looks away. He focuses on the crowd bustling outside the breezeway because it’s easier than meeting your eyes. Until one of them catches his gaze and flashes him a leery look, anyway. Then he feels like he might puke.
“Not at all,” he answers in a playful deadpan, clearing his throat when his voice shakes. “That’s definitely not why I decided to bring you a… half-melted cup of rainbow sherbet.”
His chocolate eyes avert to the plastic container in his fist, swirling the milky pastels again for good measure. When he looks at you again, it’s through his lashes and with his head bowed sheepishly.
You smile with your lips curled under your teeth — obviously giddy and trying hopelessly to hide it.
“I thought it was for me, but I didn’t wanna assume,” you admit quietly, cheek squished into your shoulder.
“It’s basically a milkshake now,” Eddie mumbles and extends his arm. His voice shakes as much as his hand does. “Sorry…”
You beam at the pinched look of worry on his face. “I like milkshakes, too, silly,” you giggle and take the cup of melted ice cream from him.
Your fingers are gentle and strikingly warm as they brush his colder, paler ones. Warm like dragonfire, or an old house bathed in candlelight, or a freshly sharpened blade through the heart.
Eddie bleeds out on the pebbled concrete as you turn away.
You rush back to the counter you leapt from, balancing the container in one palm as you bend over the top of it. A satiny summer breeze rolls through the shaded shack and billows through the pleats of your skirt, lifting the thin fabric to reveal the thong of your one-piece — a sliver of soft scarlet running between your thighs.
Eddie’s undead heart lurches into his throat. He turns his gaze to the ceiling until the wind passes.
Billy looks up from his magazine to smile at you with his teeth. “This your boyfriend, sweet thing?” he asks as you pluck your straw from the styrofoam cup you were just drinking from.
The nickname floats on the humid air and strangles Eddie accordingly. Your mouth curls around the end of the bendy straw before you give him a proper answer. You blow hard to dispel the remnants of room-temperature water before sticking the plastic into the milky concoction in your fist.
“Yes,” you answer plainly, then take a long sip of the softened ice cream. You shrug with the raspberry-orange taste on your tongue. “He’s a boy. And he’s my friend,” you lilt. “Jealous?”
Billy laughs. Loud.
“Of Munson?”
You nod quietly, straw caged between your teeth.
He laughs louder and slouches in his swivel chair. The golden muscles of his toned chest flex as he flashes you a quieter smile — one that might say he knows a lot more than you do if you cared enough to read the signals.
“I can’t say that I am, no,” Billy hums, faux sympathetically.
“Well, maybe if you were a little nicer, he’d be bringing you food, too,” you tell him, very matter-of-fact about the whole thing, as you spin on the heel of your rubber flip-flop and saunter away.
Eddie grimaces when you’re ahead of him again. “Please tell me this isn’t the only thing you’ve had today.”
Your face screws as you take another sip. “No,” you answer with a firm shake of your head, though the word comes out garbled from the fruity concoction in your mouth. You swallow it down and confess, “I had half a Poptart for breakfast, so…”
“That’s… not breakfast,” the boy monotones, then motions his wild head to the cup cradled in your right hand. “And this isn’t lunch.”
“Well, I told you I don’t have time to get lunch,” you argue like a child, soft and sheepish, head bowed to avoid his unwavering stare. You stab at the softened ice cream with the plastic straw, leaving holes in the pastel swirls, as you mutter to yourself, “And I can’t make it for myself, either. I’m not adult enough for that yet.”
Eddie feels it again. The sting of empathy in his chest. The primitive need to help you that makes it hard to breathe most days.
He shrugs his leather-clad shoulders and crosses his arms over his chest, tucking his trembling hands under his armpits.
“Well— Maybe— Maybe I can, you know, bring you something?” Eddie offers, stumbling over himself the entire way through. He shifts on his feet and swallows through the frog in his throat. “Like, when I have the time, or whatever.”
He doesn’t tell you that he always has the time. (‘Cause he only works nights at The Hideout now, and spends the rest of the day’s many hours rotting in bed.)
Your face pinches into a girlish pout. Something soft, but sterner than he thinks he’s ever seen you before. “I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You’re not asking. I’m offering,” Eddie argues. “And I’m not doing it outta the kindness of my own heart, either— It’d just make me feel better to know you’re not totally withering away whenever I’m not here.”
You try hard to keep your scowl. But then your chest starts to glitter like a thousand sparklers in July, and you’re beaming before you can stop it. Eddie watches the pretty smile curl slowly on your lips despite your futile attempt to hide it.
“What’s that look for?” he cautions.
“Nothin’,” you shrug, smiling with the straw between your teeth. “I just like you.”
Eddie forgets to breathe and dies all over again, right at your feet.
Most Tuesdays, some Wednesdays, and every Friday — (the mornings after his late night shifts at The Hideout) — Eddie Munson buys you lunch.
He stands at the counter of Benny’s Burgers and pays with the rogue quarters and crumpled bills he finds in random pockets of his jacket. The bearded man looks on in slow-blinking bemusement while the boy counts out the $4.89 your sandwich costs.
Benny ends up throwing in free fries for the effort.
It takes Eddie an embarrassing amount of time to realize you were sneaking money into his pockets every time he visited you, even though he told you not to pay him back. Even though you swore you wouldn’t. (He’ll never believe another one of your stupid Scout’s Honor promises again).
Saturday comes, and Eddie’s cleaned out ’til his next shift on Monday.
He thinks he’s handling it pretty well — the very palpable lack of you — but the contrary is written all over his face.
He’s sprawled out on the sunken-in couch in the living room with the headphones of his Walkman around his neck. Madonna plays muffledly (and far too happily) as he stares up at the ceiling, trying to make constellations of your face from the cracks and water stains.
Dustin watches his best friend grieve from the other side of the coffee table and sighs. “It’s the sandwiches, right? You guys hate the sandwiches?” he wonders aloud, but to no one in particular. “God, I knew I put too much jelly in them—”
“The sandwiches are amazing, Dusty-Bun,” Robin insists from Wayne’s recliner, with a mouthful of PB&J jutting out her freckled cheek. Her chipping maroon nails are stained with crumbs as they flash an ‘ok’ symbol in his direction.
With grape jelly on the corner of his mouth, Steve mumbles from the floor in front of her, “Doesn’t explain why Eddie’s still sulking over there, though.”
“Exactly!” Dustin huffs, flailing his arms.
Eddie rolls his eyes. He exhales a heavy breath that makes his chest deflate, then turns to face the eyes staring back at him. “I’m not sulking,” he grumbles like a rain cloud.
“Yeah. It’s the pouting that’s so convincing,” Max scoffs from Dustin’s other side, blinking at him from behind her glasses as she fakes a tight-lipped grin.
Eddie just squints at her. She’s not nearly as menacing as she used to be. Not when her ocean eyes are bugged out from such thick lenses, anyway. Now he finds her sort of adorable, in a subtly intimidating way — like a kitten holding a pocketknife.
“I’m not pouting, either,” the wild-haired boy retorts, features scrunched in a soft pout.
Lucas wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “He just misses Barbie,” the boy croons playfully.
Eddie blinks at him with a flat face. “Barbie?” he echoes.
“Yeah,” he shrugs, voice high. “Barbie.”
“Am I supposed to know who that is, or…?”
“Oh, you know who she is,” Lucas nods with a boyish chuckle. “Very well.”
He keeps on laughing about it until Max elbows him hard in the shoulder. Steve misses the silent cue as he tears off a piece of bread crust, snickering to himself at the inside joke.
He pops it into his mouth and meets Eddie’s gaze, emotionless and expectant. His eyes widen as he stammers for a response.
“The girl— Your girl— She was at Jazzercise the other day,” Steve explains, then swallows hard. “She was with that pretty lifeguard, too. What’s her name again?”
He looks instinctively up at Robin for an answer. Eddie beats her to the punch.
“Billy Hargrove?” he monotones.
“Ha-ha.”
“Heather Holloway,” Robin tells him.
“Heather!” Steve exclaims, snapping his fingers. “I’m pretty sure I dated her freshman year, actually… Or was that Heather Hart?”
The boy loses focus quickly as he goes deep in thought. Fluffy brows pinched, honey eyes squinted. A heavy silence lulls over the crowded living room, and Madonna’s muffled voice grows louder. ‘Cause we are living in a material world, and I am a material girl!—
Before Eddie has time to be embarrassed, Steve shrugs at himself.
“Doesn’t matter. Anyway. She was at Jazzercise with Heather just, like, dripping in pink. Pink leg warmers, pink leotard, pink tights…” Steve trails off again, stare glazing over like he's imagining you all over again. “It was crazy…”
Eddie’s face swirls in disgust. Not at the thought of you, of course, but at the notion that your beauty is perceptible to others. That he isn’t the only one who can see you, admire you. He is not the only one you’ve threatened to kill with your piercing stare, and the thought alone makes his stomach twist.
“You’re such a boy,” Eddie scoffs.
Robin leans forward, freckled face solemn and serious. She rests her elbows on her denim-clad knees and slowly shakes her head. “No… It was crazy,” she echoes more earnestly.
It sounds different coming from her. It means something different coming from her, too. Eddie’s brows raise and disappear beneath his curly bangs. “Oh, yeah?” he hums with bated breath.
“Yeah,” Robin answers with a disbelieving sigh.
“Hence, the nickname,” Lucas nods, seemingly missing the meaning ‘cause the only other girl he’s cared to notice besides Pheobe Cates is the redhead sitting beside him.
The girl with magnifying glasses over her eyes and legs that don’t work as well as they used to. Despite the circumstances (involving dark wizards and a certain death), Max hasn’t changed at all. And neither has the way Lucas’ teenage boy heart beats for her.
Eddie scoffs a tired laugh. He turns back to the ceiling and throws an elbow over his eyes. “I’m gonna tell her you guys call her that behind her back, by the way.”
“It’s a compliment!” Dustin defends, a few octaves higher than normal.
“Or you could tell her to her face,” Max offers with an absentminded shrug, folding her napkin into a weird shape in her lap — only ‘cause she’s fidgeting, of course, not because Dr. Owens said it would help ease the stiffness in her fingers. (Being dead might’ve taught her some things, but listening to figures of authority is not one of them.)
“She’s working today. Billy said so.”
Eddie peeks at her, flat-faced. “Did he?”
“Yeah. Means you can go visit your girlfriend instead of bitching and moaning about how much you miss her all weekend.”
“She’s not my girlfriend, Mayfield.”
“That’s beside the point.”
“No. That is entirely the point,” Eddie argues, laughing more sincerely now. “Other than the fact that the sun will literally kill me.”
Max’s light eyes narrow into thin slits behind her clunky glasses. She says the hard thing out loud, without blinking. that the rest of them are already thinking, anyway.
No wonder the streets seemed so apocalyptically empty, Eddie thinks to himself as he walks through the front gates of Hawkins Community Pool. Because every goddamn person in town has chosen to spend their Saturday here.
Benny from the diner sits by the kiddie pool next to the entrance, watching his daughter wade in the shallow water. He looks like a different person without his grease-stained apron on. His swim trunks are bright red and slightly too short for him, his Hawaiian shirt is unbuttoned to reveal his beer belly, and his face is burnt everywhere but under his sunglasses.
Jason, Andy, and all the rest of their goons hog the picnic tables while pretty girls sit on the tops of them — wearing their expensive bikinis and basking in the sun like it’s shining just for them. The boys laugh and shove at one another, trying to pretend like they’re far too cool for it all.
Familiar faces fill the blue water, but it’s hard to make them out in the crowd. Everyone’s swimming and splashing and stuffed within the chain-linked fence like cattle. They all go blurry, like a bunch of indistinct shapes before a backdrop of bright colors. Like a Claud Monet painting, if he ever cared enough to paint uninspiring Midwestern towns.
It’s far too packed to feel self-conscious ‘cause this is the kind of horde you drown in. But that just means it’s catastrophically overstimulating. For Eddie, most of all, who’s sorely out of place in his leather jacket and baggy jeans and dirty sneakers.
The boy cranes his neck to search for you, dark eyes flitting wildly over the crowd — once, twice, and then a third time.
You’re nowhere to be found, and he knows this because your face is far too pretty and not easily missed. Your sweet hibiscus scent is equally absent, drowned out by the overwhelming smell of chlorine, sunblock, and sweat.
If you were around, he’d know it.
“She’s not even here!” Eddie huffs, lifting his arms only to drop them dramatically at his sides. Any arguments about his pouting are surely moot now. Even he can feel the petulant scowl pinching his features.
Max, equally confused, stands at his side and pushes her glasses up her nose. “Billy said she was working today. I heard him on the phone. He definitely said it,” she observes, mostly to herself, ‘cause she can’t stomach being wrong. “Well… He said he was opening with the two prettiest girls in town, so I figured one was probably Heather and the other was—”
“Barbie?” Eddie finishes flatly.
“Yeah.”
“Well, she’s obviously not here, so… Let’s just go back home and do— literally anything else.”
Eddie spins on the heel of his worn sneaker with the intention of going back the way he came. His van is parked crooked, anyhow. Steve complained as much when he parked his shiny new BMW right beside him. He figures he should probably get back before someone slashes his tires. Again.
He nearly runs into someone the second he turns around. Someone standing far too close for comfort, in a bright red bathing suit and matching skirt, with too big sunglasses on the top of her head.
“Who’s not working today?!” the person shouts loudly in his face, with the evident intent to scare him.
Eddie stumbles back into Steve, who promptly shoves him forward again. It takes him approximately that long to realize it’s you.
You guffaw when the rest of them jump in fright — a loud and heavenly sound that refuses to be drowned out by the droning of a million different conversations.
“I totally got you guys!” you exclaim, giggling so hard your head tilts back.
Eddie laughs with you, mostly in shock, as he clutches his chest where his heart isn’t beating.
“Admit it! I got you a little?” you say, pinching your thumb and forefinger and squinting through the sliver of space between them.
“Yeah,” the boy huffs a forced laugh. “Yeah, a— a little bit.”
Visibly delighted by his words, you beam brighter than the golden hour sun.
“I knew it!” you grin before your eyes flit over his shoulder, to the group of friends gaping wordlessly behind him. You scrunch your nose sympathetically. “Sorry… You guys were just collateral.”
“You know I have a bad heart,” Steve complains for the sake of complaining, clutching his chest over his short-sleeved button-up. He flashes you a stern look and gripes, “That shit’ll kill me.”
Your eyes narrow in a challenging squint. “You’re twenty-one years old, Steve.”
“Yeah,” he scoffs. “And being around you ages me five years.”
“Well, then, I guess we’re gonna have a very long, very happy life together. Aren’t we, Stevie?” you retort with a sickly sweet smile that Steve meets with a scruffy-faced scowl.
Eddie watches the brunette boy roll his eyes like he wasn’t getting half-hard at the thought of you at Jazzercise an hour ago. It makes him only partly jealous.
He could never dream of being so casual around you. ‘Cause when your eyes find his again, it feels like his stomach’s doing backflips. It’s like he blinks, and he forgets how to speak.
“So!” you chirp. “Family trip?”
Eddie opens his mouth and doesn’t realize until that moment that every word in the English language has left his brain. Robin shoves him hard in the back to put his head back on straight. The words fly from his mouth like a pull-string doll.
“I didn’t wanna bother you, but these idiots forced me into it.”
“Good. You need to get out of the house from time to time, Eds— You’re getting so pale,” you ramble and reach suddenly for his face. Eddie freezes when you take his chin by your thumb and forefinger. The warmth of your velvety touch sets his skin aflame; more so when you look directly into his wide-eyed gape and say, “There’s nothin’ wrong with needing a little sunshine, Eddie Spaghetti.”
“Weird,” Max muses with a sarcastic lilt. “That is exactly what we’ve been trying to tell him, too.”
Eddie shoots her a glare — the best he can, anyway, with your hand still cradling his jaw. He can only see the redhead from the corner of his eye, but the smug smirk on her freckled face doesn’t go missed.
Your fingers slip from his face, and Eddie feels like he can breathe again. He feels strangely empty, still, without you touching him — like he’s starving, or like he’s never been touched before now. Sometimes, it feels like both are true.
He wonders if that’s just the price he has to pay. If being near you means feeling like he’s dying and coming to life all at once. There’s a nagging voice in the back of his head that tells him he’ll pay it, with your pretty fingers strangling his neck and all.
“You’re MADMAX, right?” you wonder aloud to the girl with auburn plaits draping her freckled shoulders.
She’s mostly a stranger to you now, but you think she must mean a great deal to the rest of them. They talk a whole lot about the redhead with chunky glasses who acts like she’s way too cool for it all but defends her Dig Dug high score like her life depends on it.
The girl nods and crosses her pale arms across her chest, flashing you a suspicious, tightlipped smile. “Yeah. Which means you must be Barbie?”
“Barbie?” you echo.
Eddie chimes in then. “That’s what these freaks call you when you’re not around,” he says, nodding his wild head to the group of aforementioned freaks behind him.
Your face twists as you bring your hand to the center of your chest. “That is the nicest thing anyone’s ever called me before,” you respond, strangely sincere.
Lucas smiles from over Max’s shoulder, nodding like he’s proud. “You’re welcome,” he tells you.
Dustin stands just beside him with a conspicuous paper bag under his arm. You squint past Eddie and over to the curly-haired boy. “What’s that?” you blurt.
It takes him a second too long to answer. “Oh. Uh. A sandwich—” he stammers vaguely, extending his arm towards you. You take the sack from him without thinking twice and rifle blindly through its contents.
“PB&J?” you guess with an inquisitive arch to your brow. Dustin nods, looking pleased by your assumption. Your arm stills suddenly within the crinkling brown sack, and your eyes narrow into thin slits. “With the crust cut off?”
“Uh… no.”
“Good. That’s obviously the best part of the whole sandwich,” you respond, almost to yourself, as you pluck the snack from the bag.
You unwrap it from its plastic seal and take a hefty bite in one fell swoop. Your eyes flutter shut like it’s something gourmet, and not just something Dustin slapped together on his kitchen step stool at home.
“Thank you for this,” you mumble through the wad of food in your cheek. “You’re officially my new best friend, Dusty-Bun.”
“Rude,” Eddie scoffs.
You swallow hard and fight back a smile, like you were hoping for that exact response. “And who said you were my best friend in the first place, hm?” you argue playfully, waving the half-eaten peanut butter jelly sandwich in his face. “That is very presumptuous of you, Eddie Spaghetti.”
Your pleated skirt flutters at your hips when you spin on the heel of your plastic sandal. You flip flop, flip flop out of the shaded shack and towards the sunshine and unadulterated chaos. The rest of them follow behind you — save for Dustin, who migrates to Eddie’s side with a far-off gaze.
“Sure she’s not your girlfriend?” the kid wonders, never once taking his eyes off the back of you.
Eddie looks down at him with a flat face. “I’m sure,” he monotones.
Dustin grins wide, likely forgetting that other people can see it, too. “Good,” he hums to himself.
“Don’t get any ideas, Henderson,” the older boy blurts before he means to, then tries not to cower under the expectant glance he gets. “You’re obviously way out of her league.”
꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷
The group fits in pretty well despite being the self-proclaimed outcasts of Hawkins, Indiana.
Steve most of all, but that usually goes without saying. He looks like small-town royalty in his brand-name polo and too-expensive navy swim shorts. He’s lost his touch since high school, though, as he tries and fails to flirt with Carol Perkins’ sister.
“So, Amber— What’d you say you were studying again?” you hear him ask as he lingers awkwardly by the longue chairs.
“My name is Autumn,” she corrects in a drawl that’d give a valley girl a run for her money.
Steve, oblivious to his blunder, only smiles. “Oh, cool. That’s, like, definitely in my top four favorite seasons—”
Robin, in a strange turn of events, is much more casual in her flirting than her co-worker-slash-best-friend. She spotted Vicki the second she walked in, sitting with a few girls from yearbook and rubbing sunscreen onto her supple skin.
She pretended she didn’t, though, which only made it that much more obvious that she had. Vicki waved at her once, then again to invite her over, and Robin was far too awkward to decline.
Now, she sits gracelessly with a bunch of half-strangers and her biggest crush, looking only slightly out of place in her frayed shorts and Steve’s baggy tee. She nods politely in conversation and thanks the universe for making it so damn hot today. At least now she can blame her burning freckled face on the golden setting sun.
Dustin and Lucas, meanwhile, stuff their faces with ice cream sandwiches in a feeble attempt to consume them before they melt. The softened vanilla leaves messes on their fingers and faces, making them look somehow more boyish than their respective Spiderman and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle swim trunks.
Max sits off to the side of them in her own chair, partly overstimulated, and trying to let the piercing sunbeams ground her again.
Eddie Munson, however, in his attempt to blend in, only draws more attention to himself.
He sits beside your post, shaded beneath a wide umbrella, in the same attire you’d see him in on any other day. The baggy jeans, and the thick leather jacket, and the Corroded Coffin merch. He’s dripping in black and silver but hasn’t yet broken a sweat. You don’t know how, though. ‘Cause you’re hot just looking at him.
You pluck your plastic whistle from your mouth to ask, “Are you sure you’re not burning up over there?”
Eddie laughs before he means to because the answer’s obvious to him.
The last time he felt an ounce of heat was when he was bleeding out on the dirt floor of an alternate universe — when crimson blood ran warm over the mangled skin of his chest and ribs. He’s been colder than ice ever since. And he keeps forgetting you don’t know about any of that.
“Yeah. I’m sure,” he answers, angling his head to face yours.
There’s a white cast on his grey face from sunscreen deliberately not rubbed in. It feels like a shield in some way. Not in the warm-blooded human kind of way, of course, but in the vampiric curse kind. The kind that would otherwise make him debilitatingly weak sitting outside like this. Now, he feels somewhat normal.
The golden hour sun sits like a halo behind your head. He squints one eye to see you better. “If you wanna see me shirtless, you can just say that,” he jokes. “Instead of beating around the bush and everything—”
“I wanna see you shirtless,” you blurt in a strange monotone that makes it hard to tell if you’re joking or not.
The boy falters. Tries not to choke on his own spit. There isn’t a world where he can flirt with you where you don’t immediately snatch the upper hand. It’s like you’re immune to that sort of diffidence. Eddie wishes he was, too.
“Wow,” he scoffs after the few long moments it takes him to recover. “Way to be blunt, sweetheart.”
“You told me to say it!”
You give him a lazy shrug and a lazier smile as you swap the bright red lifeguard buoy to your other arm. Eddie shifts uncomfortably in his seat, as though physically affected by the way you look at him, and the plastic pool chair makes a weird squeaking noise beneath him.
“Yeah, well, most people tend to be more subtle about it.”
“I’ve never been subtle about anything in my life.”
You turn back around to scan the busy pool, and Eddie feels like he can breathe again. A laugh rattles through his tight chest as he quips, “I’m starting to realize that about you, actually—”
“God. Stop flirting,” Max groans from your other side, who has otherwise been so silent that Eddie was starting to forget she was there. She doesn’t turn to look at either of you from where she lazes on the lounge chair. “Sitting with Steve would be more bearable than this.”
“Yeah, Eddie. Stop flirting with me,” you grouse, obviously playful, and without missing a single beat. You glare at the boy over your mostly bare shoulder and try hard not to smile. (He can’t see it in your eyes, anyway, though.) “I’m trying to talk to my new friend MADMAX. Gosh—”
You spin on the heel of your plastic red sandal, and your matching skirt twirls with you. Eddie can’t take his eyes off the back of you. He forgets how to blink when the fabric swishes to give him a brief glimpse of your ass.
He’s always hated the sun, but he loves the way it kisses your skin — leaving you glistening and mouthwateringly supple.
His fangs threaten to make an appearance when a warm breeze carries your cotton candy cloud scent to him. His gums start to burn with the sharp ache.
“—Hi, MADMAX,” you singsong to the scowling girl, grinning with your cheek pressed to your shoulder.
“You can just call me Max,” she deadpans. “You know that, right?”
“But MADMAX is so much cooler. And it suits you way better.”
“Does it?” MADMAX wonders with an unenthusiastic hum.
“Yeah. Maxine is a name for an old woman. Or, like, one of those ridiculously expensive French poodles,” you ramble and turn back to the pool again, head bobbing as you scan the crowd. “But MADMAX? Now, that is a name for a badass with really cool hair and a sick pair of reading glasses.”
There’s a beat of silence, filled only by the sound of splashing water and the buzzing of a thousand distant conversations, as Max tries to bite back a laugh. It sputters past her anxiety-bitten lips before she can stop it — a strangely airy giggle from such an intimidating girl.
She shakes her head, still, to pretend she’s above the childish giddiness.
Your face screws in feigned offense. “Don’t laugh!” you scold.
Which, of course, only makes her laugh harder.
Eddie lifts his head, finally taking his eyes off you to gape at the redhead across the aisle, who hasn’t laughed like this since the world ended.
It must be something strange you alone bring out of them, he realizes. Something special in you that the end of the world didn’t steal like it did everyone else.
“These guys bothering you, newbie?” you hear your manager call to you, only partially drowned out by the surrounding laughter and shouting from the bustling crowd.
His voice is annoyingly distinct. It’s deep and articulate in a way that makes him seem smart. You don’t know if he really is, but you do know that he’s really a raging asshole.
Adam stands before you, gold and glittering under the setting sun like God’s first creation himself. He’s got veins up and down the length of his muscular arms, and a bulging chest that he waxes every two weeks like clockwork. He’s Steve The Hair Harrington pretty without an ounce of the charm.
“Huh?” you call back, brows raised and eyes wide, just to make him repeat himself.
“I asked if these guys were bothering you,” Adam repeats, flicking his cleft chin back to get the blonde curls out of his eyes. “You look distracted.”
“What guys?” you wonder with an innocent furrow to your brows.
The man’s emerald eyes flit instinctively over your shoulder at Eddie, who everyone has been trying and failing not to stare at this whole time.
You wonder if Eddie notices it, too — if he’s gotten immune to the constant leering or if he’s bone-crushingly aware of it all. Either way, no one deserves to be ogled at like that. Like some kinda zoo animal.
Everyone always walks on eggshells around him, refusing to look him in the eye out of fear he might bite. But you know he doesn’t have the teeth for it.
Despite that, you look at Eddie over your shoulder like he’s a stranger. His eyes are wide and swimming with apprehension as the chocolates of them dart between you and the man made out of chiseled marble.
Adam knows that you know him. You know he knows it, too. Which makes lying to him all the more fun.
“I’ve never seen this man before in my life,” you shrug.
Adam squints and crosses his too-big arms over his chest. “Doesn’t change the fact that he’s loitering. Along with the rest of these kids—” He looks around him with a visible disgust.
Max pretends he isn’t there. Dustin and Lucas, meanwhile, forget to be casual as they cower under his stare with their ice-cream-stained faces.
“It’s a public pool, Adam. Everyone's loitering. Duh.”
You turn away and stick your whistle back in your mouth. You chew absentmindedly at the plastic and scan the pool for any reason to use it.
Adam’s neck twitches. An angry sort of tic he didn’t know he had until he met you. “You’re still on the clock, newbie. If I see you gettin’ distracted again, I’ll—”
You blow the whistle. Loud. And for far longer than you probably need to.
The high-pitched chirping rings in Adam’s ears from the close proximity. He flinches away accordingly.
“No running, please!” you shout sweetly to the pudgy middle school-aged boy on the other side of the pool. (His babysitter always brings him here so she can sunbathe, and he’s always roughhousing in the deep end. Billy’s developed a personal vendetta with him over the summer.)
The suddenly quiet pool returns to its deafening chaos a second later.
You flash Adam a cheeky smile. “You were saying?”
“I was saying that I’ll take it out of your paycheck,” the man bites, angled jaw clenched tight. “You’re already on thin ice. Understand?”
Your lip juts in a feigned pout. You nod slowly, eyes wide like a puppy he’s just kicked.
“One more strike, and you’re cleaning toilets, newbie.”
“Ah, I knew that’s what this was all about…” you lilt seductively, lips curling into a mischievous smirk. “You just want to see me bending over—”
You lean closer toward him until your spearmint breath fans across his chiseled jaw. Your bottom juts out in Eddie’s direction, until he can see the very bottom of your ass from beneath your pleated skirt. It makes him as flustered as Adam the Asshole, who stalks off on long legs quickly after, sufficiently embarrassed.
You laugh at the back of him until he disappears into the crowd again. The bubbly sound ceases the moment he’s out of earshot, and your smile ebbs into a girlish pout. “Dickwad,” you mumble under your breath.
You recover from it all rather quickly while Eddie struggles to remind himself to breathe. His mind reels as he, for the first time ever, grapples with the very real possibility that he might actually be in love with you. Or that you’re not real at all, and that this is just Vecna’s doing — long gone but still putting visions in his head somehow.
The golden-orange sky turns a milky pink and lavender. Eddie’s friends, sunburnt and sufficiently pruned, don’t leave until the first star blinks faintly in the sky. The rest of the crowd goes with them, bustling bodies spilling out in a swarm.
It takes the rest of the gang several long moments to realize Eddie isn’t behind them. (You told him you forgot your sunglasses, and he offered to get them for you, ‘cause he’s nice like that and everything.)
(He doesn’t know the sunglasses are currently hiding in the pocket of your windbreaker.)
“What, where’s Eddie?” Dustin wonders aloud to the rest of the group, head flitting wildly in search of the misplaced metalhead.
“He went to the bathroom, I think,” you blurt the first lie you can think of. “He was talking about a nervous tummy or something. I don’t know.”
Steve scoffs like he senses a non-truth. “So, he’s leaving me with babysitting duty again?” he quips with a cynical, lopsided smile. “How predictable.”
“You say that like we’re the spawn of Satan or something,” Lucas jokes.
“You aren’t?” the oldest boy deadpans.
Dustin flips him off with a chubby finger and a flat face.
They bid their leave tangled in mindless arguments and lanky limbs. You watch them leave with the understanding that Steve’s 733i will be a tighter fit than it should be, crammed with a bunch of rowdy teenage boys. You feel sorry for Max and Robin most of all.
Steve’s car peels out of the parking lot one moment, and Eddie returns the next.
“I couldn’t find your sunglasses anywhere,” he confesses sheepishly, face twisted like a puppy’s as he scratches awkwardly at the back of his neck. “I don’t know. I think some asshole might’ve stolen ‘em—”
“Oh, no, it’s okay,” you shrug with a tightlipped smile. “I found them in the, uh— In the lost-and-found bin.”
“Oh. Okay. Cool,” Eddie stammers, nodding slowly, just before a smile tugs at his lips. You watch from beneath your lashes as the subtle realization curls on his face. “You had ‘em the entire time, didn’t you?” the boy wonders in a low voice that makes your stomach do whirl.
“Yes,” you squeak in a mousy voice, then ramble before you can stop it. “But only ‘cause I wanted everyone else to leave! You know, so we can have a real date and everything…”
“As opposed to the fake ones we’ve been having?” he jokes with pinched brows.
“Exactly,” you nod, strikingly sincere. ‘Cause the constant carpooling and melted rainbow sherbet dropoffs had to have meant something.
“As tempting as that sounds, sweet thing,” he humors, scrunching the bridge of his nose. “I do think I might be actually coming down with sunstroke.”
You turn your head wordlessly to the entryway of the shack. There’s only a sliver of the night sky visible from here, but it’s navy blue and sparkling with so many little stars. You look back to Eddie with a dubious glint in your eye. “The sunset twenty minutes ago, Eds.”
“Yeah, but… I’m still sick.”
He removes his hand from the pocket of his leather jacket and balls it into a fist over his mouth. He coughs once, trying hard to make it believable ‘cause he hasn’t been truly sick since the winter of ’84.
That’s perhaps the only cool thing about being a vampire — he’s basically got Superman’s immune system now.
“Well, I actually learned how to treat sunstroke while I was in training,” you lilt with an air of mischief in your voice as you take a daring step closer. The scent of sunscreen and cheap musky cologne clings to his skin. Something about the combination of the two is maddening.
You’re filled suddenly with the primal urge to bite into him like an apple. But you refrain, lest you scare him off.
Eddie’s caught in a similar dilemma, but with perhaps realer consequences than that. Your natural marshmallow-passionfruit scent suffocates him like a pillow to the face. His fangs threaten to force their way through his gums as his head starts to swim.
He ignores every vampiric instinct swirling in his mind and focuses, instead, on the pretty smile curling at your lips.
“Bet ya didn’t know that, did ya?”
Eddie swallows hard and shakes his head. “No, I— I don’t think you ever told me that,” he stammers, then clears his throat when the words get stuck there. He puts both hands back in his jacket pocket, balling them into fists until his nails bite into his palms.
“First, you gotta take off your clothes—”
“You’ve been trying to get in my pants all day,” the boy laughs. “You realize that, right?”
“—And then you gotta cool off in a very luxurious community pool.”
Eddie gets what you’re playing at, then. His smile ebbs almost instantly. “No,” he dismisses with a stern shake of his head. His deep chestnut curls, frizzed with the late-summer humidity, sway around his jaw. “No. No way.”
“Oh, c’mon! Please,” you whine. “The pool closes in, like, half an hour— Then it’ll just be us! We can swim together!”
“I don’t know how,” Eddie whines back, head tossed and face screwed. “Seriously. I grew up in a trailer park. No one ever taught me how to swim, alright? I’ll drown.”
Something about that seems to please you, as your pout curls slowly into another smile. You meet the boy’s wet brown eyes with a gaze that glitters something wicked.
Eddie can see your head spinning with a thousand bad ideas from here. His heart would race at the thought of getting into trouble with you if it was beating still.
You’ll bring him back to life yet.
“Don’t worry, Eds,” you shrug with a sure grin. “I’d give you mouth-to-mouth in a heartbeat.”
꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷
The pool glows a vibrant sapphire color. It makes the surrounding amber streetlamps seem dull in comparison. The water is as blue and crystalline as an early summer sky. Eddie figures you must be the sun, swimming in the center of it all.
You wait patiently in the shallow end — out of both your windbreaker and pleated skirt for the first time in front of him — and swipe your hands over the water, letting it drip like liquid diamonds from your fingers. You hum quietly to the slow song playing on the boombox across the way, which now houses the mixtape you made that Eddie seems to take with him everywhere.
The boy shifts uncomfortably at the head of the pool, feeling awkward in the pair of swim trunks you found for him in the break room.
You’ve never seen so much of him before. His paper-white legs are a lot longer than you expected, ‘cause his baggy jeans hardly do him any favors. And his arms are a lot muscular, too — likely from moving band equipment and bussing tables.
He’s already so pretty to begin with. You don’t know what he’s got to be such a Nervous Nelly about.
Eddie knows he’s making it harder for himself. It’d be a lot less awkward for the both of you if he just took his shirt off and jumped in the water. But he’s paralyzed by the misplaced panic that strikes that lightning in his chest. And by you, ogling at him like he’s a pretty thing that deserves to be ogled at.
“Stop staring,” he calls to you, pretending to be playful but meaning every bit of it. “It’s makin’ me nervous.”
“Would it make you feel better if I closed my eyes?”
“Much.”
You put your hands over your eyes, to make him feel better and all. Though, you can’t help but peek between the slivers of your fingers as he strips himself of his Corroded Coffin tee.
His torso is as long and lean as you imagined, with sprinkles of hair on his chest and the pudge of his tummy that trails into his borrowed trunks. You try very hard not to stare too long at the gray scars embedded in his pale skin.
Everything seems to come easier to him when you’re not looking at him. He slides the black fabric off his pale, pale torso, tosses it to his feet, and hurries to hide in the water in one fell swoop.
The chlorine makes his nose burn, but the water feels like satin on his skin. It’s soft and warm and smooth against the cold, sharp edges of him.
“You can open your eyes now,” Eddie scoffs when he notices your hands still over your eyes. He can see you blinking at him through the slits in your fingers. “I know you’re peeking.”
“I was not!” you gasp, mouth agape with a playful offense.
“Well, you weren’t exactly being discreet about it, sweet thing.”
“These are very nefarious accusations you’re making, Eddie Munson…” you scold with arched brows and wide eyes. The water ripples faintly around you as you stalk towards him like a predator to prey, eyes narrowed in a challenging squint. “Are you prepared to back them up?”
The boy cowers slightly under your unwavering stare. “I don’t like the way you’re looking at me right now—”
And he was right not to. ‘Cause you’re lunging suddenly towards him in a flash.
The water splashes violently around you as you wrap both arms around his neck and sweep him off his feet. Literally. You kick his legs out from underneath him, then catch him before he can fall completely backward. Both his downfall and his savior, ironically.
“Ha!” you shout in his face, the tip of your nose brushing his.
“Jesus!” Eddie gasps in response, still heart lurching in his chest.
“I asked if you were prepared!” you defend like you’re innocent, like you aren’t still cradling him in your arms — the only thing keeping him from going under.
“Not for this!” he yells back.
Only then is he able to take a good breath in. He can smell the velvety scent of your blood from the achingly close proximity. He can feel your heart beating in his own chest from where you’re pressed so intently against him. It makes him instantly dizzy.
He fights back the primal urges that would otherwise drive him mad.
“Jeez…” he huffs, fangs burning. “You’re a lifeguard— You’re supposed to stop people from drowning.”
“Yeah, but no one ever needs saving,” you whine. “It’s so boring.”
His chocolate button eyes flit back and forth between both of yours. “You tryin’ to save me, sweet thing?” he jokes.
You squint. “Is it working?”
“Yeah, actually… If you let me up now, at least.”
He’s grateful when you do, though he mourns the lack of you when you step back a few paces.
His damp hair sticks to his skin when he rises to full height. He shakes his head like a dog, and you giggle when a few rogue droplets fly your way.
“You have freckles on your shoulder,” you observe distantly, eyes darting across the faint amber spots on his pale skin as you try to make constellations out of them. “I didn’t know that ’til now.”
Eddie’s lips jut downward as he peers at his arm from the corner of his eye. “Not really,” he shrugs.
“You do!” you insist. “There’s not many, though. I could probably count ‘em if I wanted.”
“Maybe on our second date.”
“I didn’t know you had a tattoo here, either—” You poke him in the chest, a little harder than you probably mean to.
Eddie winces and rubs his palm over the fading black widow under his collarbone. “Well, you don’t know everything about me,” he quips. “I like it that way. It keeps you on your toes.”
Your face pinches into a girlish pout. “Only ‘cause you never tell me anything.”
“I tell you loads of things,” Eddie laughs.
Your frown deepens. “You never told me about the picture of Ozzy Osbourne you keep in your wallet.”
“…How do you know about that?”
“Dustin told me.”
“Of course he did,” Eddie huffs. “Remind me not to tell that little shit anything ever again.”
“You never told me about how you got those scars, either,” you blurt, eyes trained on his milky white torso. Beneath the clear, rippling water, you can see the parts of his supple stomach that are marred and turning pink.
You don’t realize what you’ve said until your gaze flits back to his startled one. Your eyes widen as you ramble quickly, “You don’t have to! I’m not trying to… I’m just— I’m just saying. ‘Cause, you know, Steve has the same ones… On his ribs…”
“I’m not even gonna ask how you know that,” Eddie jokes with a (mostly) feigned jealousy.
“Billy does, too. He’s got the same lookin’ scars on his chest,” you continue. “And then I started thinking, you know? I thought, since you all know each other and everything, maybe something happened to you guys. Like, in the earthquakes or something.”
Eddie swallows hard and debates on spilling his guts.
He swallows his secrets down like bile, in the end.
“Yeah. You’re— You’re not too far off, actually,” he answers with a breathy, bitter laugh. He scratches at the back of neck, if only to busy his anxious hands, and flits his gaze to the velvety night sky.
The blinking white stars there ground him when the world starts to swim — reminds him that he’s on Earth, in Hawkins, and not in the hellscape he died in.
That was his final thought as he took his last breath that spring. How strangely fitting it was that there were no stars in the Upside Down.
“We, uh… We kinda went through hell and back, but, uh… ‘Least lived to tell the tale, right?” Eddie scoffs at himself, then remembers Chrissy — how young and full of life she was one moment, and how her wide blue eyes were sucked out of her skull the next. He recoils then, feeling like he’s said the wrong thing. “Wait. That was— That was insensitive. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“What are you talkin’ about? You’re right,” you assure him with a quiet, emotionless laugh. “You guys survived. You got lucky. We all did.”
Eddie peeks at you beneath his lashes, through the wild curls sticking to his face. “Where were you?” he murmurs. “When… When everything happened?”
“Crying into my milkshake at Benny’s Burgers,” you answer without missing a beat. The memory’s far too vivid for anything else.
A laugh sputters from Eddie’s throat. He’s sure you must be joking. You blink at him like an owl, and he goes solemn all over again. “Oh. You’re… You’re serious?” he mumbles.
“Yeah, I was… feeling sorry for myself over something stupid, and then the ground started shaking outta nowhere— like the universe was trying to say, ‘Hey, this could be soooo much worse, dude,’” you ramble quietly to yourself, skimming your fingers over the water’s surface. “…But then I found out people actually got hurt and everything, so I was like, ‘Oh, maybe I shouldn’t make this about my stupid broken heart, actually.’”
Eddie’s tight chest deflates with a wavering exhale. He didn’t know you back then, but something about knowing you were okay makes him feel better. ‘Cause, yeah, he died and all, but he couldn’t stomach the thought of Vecna taunting you.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” the boy confesses in a honeyed whisper.
A soft smile quirks at the edges of your lips. “I’m glad you’re okay, too, Eddie Spaghetti.”
Your hand reaches out for him. Almost instinctively. Like he’s a whole universe with his own gravitational pull.
Your palm settles soft and warm on the outside of his torso. Your thumb grazes the marred skin over his ribs, and Eddie tenses at the foreign feeling. You jerk back instantly.
“Oh. Shit. Sorry,” you stammer, face twisted apologetically. “I didn’t— I should’ve asked first.”
“No. It’s— It’s okay. Seriously,” Eddie assures with a rapid nod. There’s a faraway look in his chocolate eyes, almost like he’s daydreaming. He feels like he is, anyway. ‘Cause he’s never let anyone this close before.
“I just… I wasn’t expecting it. That’s all.”
Do it again, he says in so many words. Please, I think I might need it.
You reach for him again, more hesitant this time. Your hand settles over his scars again, and you breathe hard through your nose.
Your stomach twists with a phantom sort of ache, like you can feel every ounce of the pain he surely experienced back then. Thinking about how hurt he must’ve been makes you hurt, too.
Eddie can see it written all over your face. How much you ache for him.
He can’t stand it.
He cups your cheeks between trembling, unsure hands. His touch is softly calloused and colder than ice. He tilts your jaw gently upward, urging you to meet his gaze once more. Your eyes are wet and glittering when they lock with his heavily lidded ones. Your mouth parts to say something, anything. But your brain doesn’t work fast enough.
‘Cause Eddie's kissing you before you can blink.
He tastes distinctly of nicotine and boyhood. Of midnight, full moons, and neon lights. You can feel every groove in his bottom lip from where he picks at it with his teeth. Every sensation is new to you, like cool sparkles of excitement in the pit of your tummy, but it’s strikingly familiar all the same. Nostalgia for something you’re experiencing for the first time warms the center of your chest.
You breathe hard through your nose. The gust of air tickles Eddie’s cupid’s bow as he parts from you, lips smacking apart in protest.
Your eyes, still yet to blink, remain wide and glazed over. “Whoa…” you sigh to yourself.
Eddie’s unsure of how to gauge your reaction. His face swirls with horror.
“What?” he mumbles, still cradling your face between worried hands. He can’t tell if your cheeks are heating or if he’s just colder than usual. Perhaps both are equally true.
“Nothing,” you answer quickly, still slightly faraway. “I just… I got a weird sense of deja vu just now…”
The boy forces a quiet laugh. “Who else have you done this with?” he quips.
“No one!” you blurt. “…But I think I might’ve dreamt about this once.”
“Really?”
“Definitely.”
“Was it better than you expected? Or should I just see myself out now—”
You lean forward to chase his mouth. The cerulean water ripples faintly around you. Your lidded gaze never wavers from his rosy lips, which you’re realizing now are all but begging to be kissed. You don’t know how you never noticed it before.
Eddie’s smiling too wide to respond appropriately.
“Why are you laughing?” you frown.
“I’m not!” he responds through breathy chuckles.
“You are—”
Eddie leans forward in a flash, pressing another chaste kiss to your pout.
You’re all smiles again the second he pulls away, bursting at the seams with a sort of giddiness that could give the sun a run for its money.
He knows, somewhere deep down, that he shouldn’t make you this happy. He doesn’t even deserve the chance. But here you are anyway, smiling so wide at him that your eyes are starting to crinkle at the edges — showing him that there’s still sunshine in the dark, reminding him what it means to be living.
“Does this mean we get to do this forever?” you wonder in a mousy voice.
“What?” he chuckles. “Kiss?”
You nod wordlessly, blinking up at the boy with wide, wet eyes.
Eddie nods quickly back.
“Then yeah…” he wavers, chest aching and gums burning.
He loves you so much he’s gone hungry for it. For you.
He longs to devour you, in every way imaginable, and you want to devour him just the same. He can tell in the way you stare at him when you think he isn’t looking — in the way you stare at him even when he is looking — and in every one of your movements that urges him closer, closer, closer.
Your gaze is debilitatingly intense. Your attitude is mind-bendingly strange. You’re ruining his life, and Eddie can’t believe there was ever a time he wasn’t kissing you.
“Yeah,” he repeats, firmer now. “As long as you want.”
if you made it this far: i love you. so sorry for making you read something so long. i'd kiss you on the forehead if i could. also pls consider reblogging! this took me so so long to write, and it really helps a lot! thank u, love u (▰˘◡˘▰)
fwb!perv!virgin!eddie munson x unpopular!virgin!fem!reader
You’ve been not-so-secretly in love with Hawkins’ resident heartthrob for years. Problem is, he doesn’t know you exist. Your best friend Eddie, though? He thinks about you all the time. In fact, you could almost say he’s a little obsessed.
wc: ~8k
warnings: 18+ MDNI, Eddie and Reader are both in their 20s, mixed POV, slight angst, poor self-image, unrequited feelings, jealousy, yearning, weed & alcohol use, swearing, voyeurism, smut, m!masturbation, brief fantasies that incl: blow job, spanking, face-sitting and piv sex, eventual FWB. This starts out as more experienced!eddie x virgin!reader and then becomes virgin!eddie x more experienced!reader…it’ll make sense eventually ;)
Series Masterlist
“Do you think I’m pretty?”
You held the chunky brown sweater up against yourself in front of the full-length mirror, furrowing your brow at the shapeless hunk of wool.
You looked over at where your best friend was sitting, slouched back against the pillows on your bed, flipping through an old music magazine that had suddenly become the sole focus of his attention.
“Uh…what’s that?” Eddie stalled, trying to buy himself some time as he reluctantly lifted his glassy eyes from the page.
The two of you had just finished sharing a joint, and he was still much too high to wrap his brain around such a perilous question.
You spun around to face him, still clutching the unflattering sweater to your chest. “Come on, be honest. Would you think I was cute if you didn’t know me?”
In all of the years the two of you had been friends, you’d never asked him anything like that before, and he froze as a faint paranoia started to rear its ugly head.
He thought you were pretty — of course he did, but that wasn't something he'd ever planned to say out loud. At the same time, he couldn’t exactly tell you no.
As he considered his tenuous fate, he could see you staring at him, waiting. You started to tap your foot and he wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but it seemed long. Too long.
With no chance of escape in sight, he decided on pleasantly non-committal. “Um, you’re alright, I guess…what’s this about?”
“Gee, thanks.” You huffed a sigh at his lackluster response, even though you weren’t sure what you had expected. Most of the time you were convinced Eddie didn’t realize you were a girl, let alone think you were attractive.
“Hey, c’mon, I’m sorry. Of course, I think you’re cute,” he quickly rushed to soothe you, all earlier caution thrown aside when he saw the hurt look on your face.
He reached out to try and grab your hand as you walked past him towards your closet, but you shook yourself free.
“No, it’s ok. I asked you to be honest.”
With a sigh you tossed the sweater onto the pile of rejected outfits on your closet floor. You’d spent a better part of the evening combing your wardrobe for something that could pass as stylish or chic, and it was becoming clear that your collection of lumpy knitwear just wasn’t going to cut it.
“I think you’re pretty, ok? Gorgeous. You just caught me by surprise.”
“Uh huh.” You proceeded to ignore him while you rifled through the tangled mess of hangers in your closet.
After a few minutes when the sting had subsided, you turned to look at him over your shoulder and saw that he’d gone back to browsing the music magazine.
“Sorry, it’s just…whenever I try to dress up and look hot, I never get it right. Sometimes I just wish I could get someone to notice me, you know?”
Eddie looked up at you with a grimace, biting back the words on the tip of his tongue. He knew exactly who that certain someone was.
The same someone you’d been infatuated with ever since you’d moved to Hawkins in the eleventh grade. The same someone who still consumed your every thought.
Dylan Daniels — the former reigning heartthrob of Hawkins High, whose tight butt filled out his acid wash jeans so well you could’ve sworn he painted them on each morning.
Dylan was popular, impossibly cool and blessed with the non-threatening type of good looks that made girls swoon and drop their panties at his feet.
Ever since you’d first laid eyes on him across the crowded cafeteria, your heart had burned for him with unwavering devotion. From that moment on you’d been convinced that the two of you were meant to be together; he was the perfect guy — aside from the fact that he didn’t know you existed.
Every day at school you had been forced to watch him strut the halls of Hawkins High, arm draped around his perfectly perky cheerleader of the month. Back then you’d wished so badly that it could you instead, but he never looked your way.
And years later nothing much had changed.
After graduating you’d taken a full time job at Threads, a new store in Starcourt Mall that sold trendy clothing aimed at young adults and teens. Dylan had also stayed in Hawkins to work as a salesman for his father’s insurance company, and you would see him around town from time to time.
Whenever he came into the mall with his new flavor of the month, you’d watch them from afar, still hoping deep down that one day he might be yours.
“I mean, I get why he doesn’t want me.” You scrunched your nose at your reflection. “All the girls Dylan goes out with are so perfect—”
“I think you’re perfect,” Eddie interrupted, and you brushed off his words with a dismissive wave of your hand.
You looked down at your baggy sweatpants and worn out Garfield t-shirt with a frown. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s time for a change.”
“If he doesn’t like you the way you are, it’s his loss,” Eddie muttered, and you nodded as if you agreed, but deep down you weren’t so sure.
Your friend was a bit biased, after all.
He hadn’t exactly made it a secret that he didn’t care for Dylan or his friends, branding them sleazy kings of conformity who only cared about social status and parties.
“I don’t know why you’re still so hung up on that guy, anyway. He’s a jerk,” Eddie grumbled as he aggressively flipped a page of the magazine. “Trust me, you’re way better off alone.”
You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. Better off alone?
That was easy for him to say — he had someone.
Ever since you’d met Eddie back in high school, his love life had always been something of a mystery. You’d heard rumors that he’d hooked up with a few girls here and there, but he never talked about them.
If you ever tried to bring up the topic of sex or dating in conversation, he’d quickly change the subject or start speaking in riddles you would’ve needed a cryptologist to decipher.
He had a cool job at the music store and played in a heavy metal band, so you assumed he probably did pretty well with the single ladies of Hawkins. You had eyes after all, and even you could see that he was cute. Handsome, even.
He just seemed a little jaded in matters of the heart.
Sometimes when you’d lament about your lack of a relationship, Eddie would respond that love was just a scam — a corporate-funded illusion to get people to spend their hard earned money on flowers and heart-shaped boxes of candy. If he got himself really riled up, he’d add that it was only for the weak and the gullible, while assuring you that he was neither of those things.
That’s why it had been such a shock when he’d shown up with Stacy.
Bristling with hostile negative energy from the top of her teased bangs to the tips of her toes, Eddie’s new girlfriend was the absolute worst.
You weren’t exactly sure what it was about her that drove you up the wall, but it could have been a few different things. Like how she’d grip onto Eddie’s jacket so tight that her nails were practically entrenched in the leather, or the way she’d leave lipstick marks on his cheeks like a little claim.
It could have been the way she’d twirl his hair around her perfectly manicured finger while snapping her gum and shooting you daggers when she knew he wasn’t looking — you were pretty sure she hated you even though you’d done nothing wrong.
Whenever you would meet up with them together, you’d have to watch them make kissy faces at each other until you wanted to gouge out your eyes.
It was rude, and the whole time you watched Stacy play with Eddie’s curls, you’d wonder why he wanted to be with someone awful like her. It didn’t seem fair. Why did Stacy get to be with the guy she wanted?
Seeing them together only strengthened your resolve to find someone of your own.
You were tired of being the one who was always shoved aside. You deserved more out of life than being relegated to an unwanted third wheel.
If things kept going the way they were, you were convinced you were going to die Hawkins’ sole remaining virgin — even Eddie was getting laid for goodness’ sake.
You wanted to have sex. You wanted to be touched. You wanted to be adored like the heroines in your favorite books and movies. You wanted a Lloyd Dobler of your very own to stand outside your window and serenade you with love songs.
Love had never happened for you, but maybe you weren’t trying hard enough. Maybe you needed to step up and finally take the bull by the horns — Dylan wasn’t going to just fall into your lap.
Over the years you’d let yourself become complacent because you’d always had Eddie to depend on, but now that Stacy was in the picture that obviously needed to change.
You glanced at your friend in the mirror’s reflection and narrowed your eyes in determination, resolved to finally take matters into your own hands.
You became a woman on a mission.
Moving to Hawkins during high school had been a challenging experience, and you’d had a hard time meeting people in the small town. It hadn’t helped that you were a bit awkward and had mostly kept to yourself, something that didn’t win you many friends.
You’d spent most of your time alone, eating your lunches in the library until one day you met Eddie in the fantasy section and he took you under his wing.
When he’d introduced you to the ragtag group of students he referred to as his little lost sheep, you had looked around at their welcoming faces and breathed a deep sigh of relief.
After that day you were never alone again.
Hanging out with mostly guys had been great in a lot of ways, but had also left you lacking in the girl talk department.
As such, you’d never spent much time worrying about things like makeup or clothes, and you hadn’t had anyone besides Eddie to talk to about your crushes — something he’d never seemed very keen to discuss.
You decided the first step in your transformation into a sexy, sophisticated woman was going to be a much needed upgrade to your outdated wardrobe.
With your employee discount at Threads, it seemed like the perfect place to start, so you worked up the nerve to ask your new co-worker Mandy for help.
Mandy was younger, just fresh out of high school, and super-enthused at the prospect of assisting with your little makeover. She took the responsibility very seriously and spent quite a long time debating which outfits you should try.
The clothing at Threads was much more racy and daring than anything you’d ever worn, so you were a bit nervous as you watched her rifle through the racks, her arms soon loaded down with a rapidly growing pile.
Once she was satisfied with her choices, she shooed you into a dressing room and then eagerly waited outside.
When you surveyed the items she’d left hanging on the dressing room door, you took a deep, calming breath and reminded yourself that you need to step out of your comfort zone. If you wanted to end up one of the lucky girls on Dylan Daniels’ arm, you were going to need to start looking the part.
You figured you’d start out tame, choosing a short denim skirt and cropped off-the-shoulder top. When you walked out and saw your reflection in the store's large full-length mirror, you were instantly mortified by the snug fit and excess of revealed skin.
To the contrary, Mandy was thrilled with the results.
“Oh my god, you’re such a hottie!” she squealed and clapped her hands in delight as you rotated in front of the mirror, studying your reflection from every possible angle.
“You think so?” You bit your lip in uncertainty, wondering if she was just trying to be nice.
“Oh, definitely!” Her face was beaming as she urged you back toward the dressing room. “I can’t believe you’ve been hiding that under all those ugly sweaters. Now go try on the rest!”
Once your initial nervousness wore off, aided by Mandy’s lively encouragement, you actually started to loosen up and let yourself have fun. As Whitney Houston’s powerful voice belted from the store’s overhead speakers, you smiled at your reflection as you twirled in front of the mirror.
Mandy was right, you didn’t look half bad.
After settling on a few outfits, you stopped into Lovelace Lingerie on your lunch break and bought yourself a couple of sexy matching bra and panty sets — one could never be too prepared.
Next you decided to tackle makeup, so you made a trip to the department store in the mall and got a demonstration from the nice lady who worked at the cosmetics counter.
As you watched her expertly brush on eye shadow that complimented your complexion for the very first time, you couldn’t help but think you looked amazing.
You ended up blowing a small fortune on lotions and fancy skin care products, then spent hours experimenting with which ones smelled the best and left your skin feeling velvety smooth.
Even though your finances were a bit tight, you justified the indulgence as an investment in your future. Besides, you couldn't put a price tag on true love.
Once you had achieved the look you wanted, that just left sex and dating advice, so you went to Melvald's and bought every women’s magazine you could get your hands on.
You hadn’t been on many dates, other than the night of your senior prom and a quick fling you had with a guy you met the summer after graduation. He’d been polite and very sweet, but for you there hadn’t been any spark, and your clumsy attempts to get each other off had only left you unsatisfied and frustrated.
With Dylan, you weren't going to leave anything to chance.
You spent hours pouring over the magazines as if they were great tomes of ancient wisdom, devouring articles like “How to Have the Best Sex of Your Life” and “10 Ways to Drive Your Man Wild With Desire”.
Surprisingly, some of the articles were pretty detailed when it came to sex advice, and your eyes grew wide as you studied their step-by-step instructions.
You bookmarked the pages that seemed to have the best tips, from kissing techniques all the way to tantric orgasms — something you tucked away for later, more advanced reference.
Your head was swimming from all of the dating advice, most of which contradicted itself. Stroke his ego. Make him feel like he’s important. At the same time all of the articles stressed that you needed to exude confidence. That men were most attracted to women who were strong and knew what they wanted.
So you had to make it all about him, but be confident about it? Sure.
You practiced strutting your stuff in front of the mirror, holding your head up high and pushing back your shoulders. Like a mantra, you repeated the same affirmations over and over to yourself. You were gorgeous. You were confident. You were going to knock Dylan’s socks off the next time he saw you. The men of Hawkins weren’t going to know what hit them.
As your confidence grew and you started to feel more comfortable in your own skin, it didn’t take long before other people took notice. All of a sudden, guys who had never looked your way were paying you loads of attention.
You practiced your new flirting techniques during your breaks in the food court with the guys who worked behind the fast food counters, and you even managed to get yourself asked out on a couple coffee dates.
Those men ended up being boring, which was totally fine with you because in your mind they were all just practice — a test run for when you finally got the guy you really wanted.
Whenever Dylan ended up accompanying one of his dates into Threads, you swallowed down your envy when you saw him sneak into their dressing rooms to watch them try on clothes.
Every time he spoke to you in passing, you’d follow the tips from the magazines, making sure to flutter your eyelashes and laugh at all his jokes. Confidently.
Then one glorious day all of your patience and hard work finally paid off because it actually happened — Dylan came into the store alone.
After pretending to browse the racks for a few minutes, he finally approached you at the counter and after a little back and forth, asked you out to a movie that Friday night.
You were so overwhelmed with excitement that you could barely catch your breath, but somehow you managed to accept and wrote your phone number on a business card with a shaky hand.
The rest of the day it felt like you were walking on clouds and living in a dream. You were dying to tell Eddie your good news, but he hadn’t dropped by or called you in days.
You supposed that if you’d told him about your upcoming date with Dylan, it would have just caused him to launch into one of his fiery rants about the rich and popular people of Hawkins, but still, you missed him.
Without Eddie around, things just weren’t the same.
That Friday night, just as you finished getting dressed in the new outfit you’d bought for your date, you were surprised to hear a soft but persistent tapping on your bedroom window.
You still lived in your parent’s basement to save on money, which wasn’t all that bad because it had been converted into a nanny-suite by the home’s previous owners and was just like having your own little apartment.
Ever since high school, Eddie would show up most nights and knock on your bedroom window, then he’d either crawl inside or you’d run around to the back door to let him in — something that happened less and less once Stacy was in the picture.
When you looked up and saw Eddie’s familiar silhouette through the glass, you were surprised. You hadn’t heard a word from him all week.
You gestured for him to come in and he crawled inside, lowering himself onto the chair you kept under the window for that purpose.
Ignoring him, you finished pulling up your thigh-high stockings then twirled in front of the mirror, admiring the way your short plaid skirt lifted just enough to reveal a tease of your new underwear.
“Where’re you going dressed like that?” Eddie asked, his voice thick with disapproval. You got a little rush of satisfaction from the stunned look on his face.
“For your information, I’m going out with Dylan tonight. He finally asked me out.” You pouted at your reflection in the mirror as you reapplied a touch of lip gloss.
Eddie frowned as he looked you up and down, dark clouds brewing behind his eyes. He didn’t like your new outfit at all, especially the way it hugged your curves and showed off your hips and thighs. Since when had you started wearing such revealing clothing…and was that makeup?
“Seriously? That guy’s such a dick,” he scoffed, walking over to your mini-fridge and helping himself to a can of beer.
He cracked it open then sat down on your bed, taking a sip as he looked at you over the top of the can. “You really think you can keep up with a guy like that?”
You whirled around to face him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
You could feel your face getting hot as irritation tightened your chest. Eddie could have at least pretended to be happy for you. It wasn’t like you’d ever been rude enough to tell him what you really thought of Stacy.
“He’s been around the block a few times. Just be careful, that’s all.” Eddie stopped himself before he said the rest of what he was thinking.
He knew you had an idealized version of Dylan built up in your head and believed he could do no wrong, but Eddie could tell the guy was nothing but a player.
He would see Dylan around town from time to time, always with a different girl on his arm, and Eddie didn’t want you to get hurt.
You weren’t oblivious to the fact that Dylan had a few notches in his belt, and even though it made you a little nervous, you weren’t going to let that detail ruin your date.
You had lusted after him for years and now that you finally had him in your grasp, you weren’t going to waste the golden opportunity. You had big plans.
You had decided that you were going to go all the way with Dylan after your date. Soon all those times you’d fantasized about him while touching yourself under the sheets would finally become a reality.
“I’ll be fine,” you sniffed, then pointed at Eddie’s beer. “He’ll be here soon, so you need to finish that and leave.”
Usually you wouldn’t have been so curt, but you couldn’t help but be irritated by Eddie’s presence. He’d been ditching you for Stacy all week and the night you finally had plans with Dylan, he decided to show up and try to make you nervous?
You figured Stacy must have been busy and you were Eddie’s second choice once again, a thought that made you even more annoyed.
“Where’s Stacy tonight?” you asked, voice light despite your irritation. She could have been lost in outer space for all you cared.
“I dunno.” He shrugged, and you raised a curious eyebrow at the vague response.
“You don’t know where your girlfriend is on Friday night?”
“Nah, she broke up with me a couple days ago,” he delivered the news so nonchalantly that it took you a moment to register what he’d said.
“She what?” You spun around, your mouth hanging open in surprise. “And you’re just mentioning this to me now?”
You were shocked. Stacy had been all over Eddie when you’d met up with them the week before. And he was acting so strangely casual, it almost sounded like he didn’t care.
You eyed him suspiciously. “What did you do?”
He shrugged again and took a long sip of his beer. “It’s really not worth mentioning.”
You placed a hand on your hip in an attempt to give him your sternest frown, but to him it just looked like an adorable crinkle of your nose.
“Tell me what you did, Eddie.”
He shook his head. “Nah, it’s stupid. Can we talk about something else?”
“What’s stupid?” You narrowed your eyes, not letting him change the subject. Eddie might've hated talking about his love life, but you desperately wanted to know what happened and you weren’t going down without a fight.
He rolled his eyes and lowered his gaze to look down at the floor. “Fine. But then you have to promise you’ll drop it.”
You nodded, and he took a deep breath before clearing his throat. “I might’ve said the wrong name…one time,” he rushed to add, as if that somehow made it any better.
Your eyes grew wide. “The wrong name? Do you mean, like…in bed?”
When he gave a sheepish nod of his head, you almost let out a scream.
“Oh my god, Eddie! Whose name did you say?” You plopped down next to him on the bed, knocking his leather-clad arm in disbelief at the unexpected juicy gossip.
“Ouch.” He chuckled softly as he rubbed his arm, then looked back down at his beer. You could see his cheeks were starting to get a little pink. “It’s not important. Just forget it, ok?”
But he was crazy if he thought you were going to let it go.
“Was it Cindy?” You tapped your glossy bottom lip with your finger as you wracked your brain and tried to picture the girls you always saw flirting with him at the Hideout.
“Oh wait, I bet it was Samantha!”
He let out an exasperated sigh. “C’mon, you promised you’d let it go. Doesn’t matter, anyway. It’s over and she’s fucking pissed.”
You nodded, biting back a smile. Stacy had every right to be upset, but you couldn’t find it in you to pretend to care. She had been horrible and you were glad she was finally out of the picture.
As promised, you dropped the subject and went back to primping in the mirror while Eddie finished the rest of his beer in silence. Then he said his goodbyes and crawled back out your window so you could finish getting ready.
But the whole time you waited for Dylan, you couldn’t get Eddie’s confession off your mind. It was like it was impossible for you to focus on anything else.
Even though you were relieved that he and Stacy were finished, the thought of his mystery crush still nagged at you. He must have really liked them to make that kind of mistake.
At least you knew one thing for sure — if you were ever lucky enough to be in that position with Dylan, you’d never be thinking about anyone else.
Eddie knew it was wrong.
He wasn’t under any false impression that what he’d done was forgivable. He knew there would be no hollow redemption waiting for him at the end of the line.
He was ashamed of his behavior — acting like some kind of perverted creep. But in his defense, it hadn’t been entirely his fault.
It had all started a few months earlier on a crisp autumn evening in October; the time of year when the air in Hawkins is filled with the comforting scent of warm, earthy decay.
You and Eddie had plans that night to have a horror movie marathon at your place, a spooky tradition that he looked forward to every year. Cuddling with you on your bed and watching scary movies while smoking copious amounts of weed? In Eddie’s opinion, life didn’t get much better than that.
But before he could meet up with you that night, he had a band practice that he couldn’t miss. Corroded Coffin was playing in an upcoming Halloween show at the Hideout and the guys had some kinks they needed to work out in their set.
Eddie had promised he’d head over to your place as soon as practice was over, and assured you that he wouldn’t be too late.
He hadn’t anticipated that Gareth would end up with food poisoning and cancel practice at the very last minute. How could he ever have predicted something unexpected like that? It wasn’t like he’d asked his friend to eat those stale week-old leftovers.
With nothing left to do, Eddie had decided to pick up the movies and head over to your place early. You had the night off work so he figured you would probably be home and happy with the surprise.
When he arrived at your house, he parked his van along the quiet tree-lined street like usual, then walked down the short gravel driveway until he reached your secluded back yard.
It was the same thing he’d been doing almost every night since you started hanging out back in high school. It wasn’t his fault on that particular evening you’d forgotten to close your blinds.
As he approached your glowing window, dry leaves crunched beneath his feet while he juggled the movies and snacks so he could free up a hand to tap on the glass.
Before he could knock, he stepped back suddenly, startled by the sight of you entering your room wearing nothing but a fluffy towel that you had clutched around your chest.
Beads of water still glistened on your skin as you walked over to your desk to turn on your stereo. Soon after, he heard the faint synthetic beat of some shitty pop song start to drift through the glass, but your questionable taste in music wasn’t what held his attention.
You walked over to your mirror and leaned in close, furrowing your brow at some invisible blemish.
No, no angel, he’d thought as he watched you frown at your reflection. You’ve got nothing to be unhappy about.
In that moment, he knew he should walk away but it was like he couldn’t move; trapped like a deer in the headlights, he was frozen in place.
All noble thoughts of giving you privacy soon vacated his brain when he saw you straighten up, quickly dry yourself off then let the towel drop to the floor.
Eddie was no blushing prude and had seen his fair share of nudity over the years. He was a hot-blooded guy with a healthy sex drive and didn’t see anything wrong with the growing collection of porn he kept under his bed.
Still, as he watched you through the window, he’d sworn that he’d never seen anything in his life that even came close to your absolute perfection. Nothing else in his twenty-something years could even compare.
His fingers dug into the plastic VHS cases when he saw you grab a bottle of lotion off your shelf and squirt a dollop in your hand. Then he held his breath as you’d proceeded to rub it all over your skin until every single part of you was slick and soft and glowing.
Once you were finished, you turned to open your dresser drawer and started rummaging through your clothes, leaving the soft curve of your ass on full display.
As his eyes drank in the sight, he thought about giving that supple skin a firm spank and watching the recoil of the flesh beneath his hand. Would you cry out? Would you beg him for more?
He’d pictured lying back on your bed with those soft thighs framing his face, his fingers gripping them tight while you were riding it. Grinding on him. Fuck. He could almost taste it.
You took out a pair of panties and pulled them on in one fluid motion, running your fingers under the bands to lay them flat against your skin.
Strangely enough, he found the sight even more erotic than your prior nudity. Seeing that delicate baby pink lace wedged between the smooth cheeks of your ass made him weak in the knees. What he would have given to be that little strip of material.
Before that night he’d only been able to vaguely picture how you might look underneath your clothes, and he tried to memorize each and every inch of the glorious sight.
His cock was getting uncomfortably hard, so he reached down to adjust himself in his jeans. You must have noticed the slight movement outside because you turned your head in his direction, and a sudden icy panic gripped Eddie’s chest.
Thankfully it was dark out by then, a mercifully cloudy moonless night, and he backed up slowly praying to whatever god that might listen that you wouldn’t see him.
Once he got far enough away, he turned and rushed to the safety of his van, quickly putting it in gear and speeding home in a daze.
He phoned you a little while later and told you he wasn’t feeling well and wouldn’t be able to make it to your movie night — which hadn’t been a total lie. He was in a special kind of pain.
“That’s ok, Eddie. I hope you feel better soon.” The disappointment in your voice made him feel awful.
And he was. Awful. He was disgusted with himself and he took that guilt out on his cock with vigor, fucking his fist to the memory of your naked form more times that night than he ever thought was possible.
Every time he came, he felt more and more ashamed, but never quite bad enough to make himself stop. And over the coming days he did it again and again.
And again.
It wasn’t like he’d never thought about you before in a rare moment of weakness. You were his best friend and in a lot of ways you were just like one of the guys. At the same time, he couldn’t ignore the fact that you were also a very pretty girl — one who sometimes made him feel a certain type of way.
He’d always been able to push those thoughts aside in the interest of self-preservation, but after seeing you in your room that night his strategy no longer worked.
In the days and weeks that followed, his cock would get so fucking hard just from how good you smelled or the little, innocent touches you gave him in passing.
You had this way of distractedly playing with his hair that always sent shivers down his spine. He loved nothing more than getting high and lying with his head in your lap, the soft rake of your fingers through his curls sending little electric tingles cascading everywhere.
Sometimes when his hard-on got too obvious he’d excuse himself to the washroom and try to will it away with unsexy thoughts and cold water splashed on his face. He might have been horny, but he was still respectful enough to never take care of himself at your place.
That was always for later — on his back in his bedroom, sheets crumpled in a pile around his feet as he braced them on the mattress, lifting his hips to meet the slow thrusts of his hand.
Sometimes he’d edge himself like that for hours with teasing yet firm tugs on his cock, precum leaking over his thick fingers while he thought about you.
He imagined you so many different ways.
Down on your knees sucking his cock. Back arched on his bed, crying out his name while he pounded into your tight cunt from behind. Sitting on his face, grinding your pussy over his eager mouth and nose. Or riding him in his van while your perfect tits bounced in his face — the scenario didn’t really matter. Thinking about you always got him there.
Fresh guilt would bloom in his chest every time you looked at him with trust and adoration. You had no clue about the disgusting habits of your supposed best friend. You didn’t think of him that way. How could you? You were in love with someone else and that was never going to change.
He knew he needed to get over his fixation. Find something else to distract himself. Porn wasn’t doing the trick anymore, so the next logical step was to try dating.
Eddie worked at the music shop downtown and Stacy would always come into the store, pretending to be interested in the collection of Fender guitars on display.
She was aggressive in her pursuit, straightening his work-mandated tie and fluttering her eyelashes while giving him a sultry grin. When she asked him to take her out, he shrugged and figured, what the hell?
The problem was, even when he was with her, Eddie would find himself thinking about you.
It had been a mistake when he’d said your name while they were fooling around in his van. It had just rolled off his tongue when she’d unzipped his pants and wrapped her hand around his cock.
He hadn’t even realized what he’d said until she’d slapped him across the face, opened the back door and stormed off into the night, leaving him sitting there with his mouth hanging open and his dick out.
The worst part was that he didn’t really care.
He was pretty sure you had bewitched him, mind, body and soul, because even after what happened with Stacy, he still couldn’t stop.
And now you were about to go on a date with the actual guy of your dreams. The thought of you with Dylan was eating him up inside.
When Eddie got home from your place that night, he was restless as he paced the trailer floor. He tried to keep himself busy, but all he could about was you. About how you were probably out there with Dylan having the best night of your life, smiling at that vapid jerk while he put his big, dumb hands all over you.
Eddie could only hope that somehow your date would go horribly wrong and the disappointment would finally break Dylan's spell. That it would drive you into the comfort of your best friend's waiting arms.
Maybe then you’d finally see what was right in front of you.
At precisely eight o’clock Dylan pulled his sleek red sports car up outside your house, its spotless exterior gleaming in the warm glow of the setting sun.
When you opened your front door, you were nearly blinded by his famous megawatt smile as he handed you a single, long-stemmed rose. “You look really nice.”
You felt your face heat up and you shyly lowered your eyes. “Thanks. You don’t look so bad yourself.”
After you put the rose in some water, he took you by the arm and led you outside to his car. He even ran around to open the passenger door for you and helped you inside like a true gentleman.
On the drive to the movie theater he talked about himself and his job quite a bit, and you kept giggling at everything he said until you wanted to kick yourself to make it stop.
When you walked into the theater, he reached out to grab your hand and your heart swelled with happiness and pride. You couldn’t believe you were finally the lucky one on Dylan’s arm, and as you surveyed the other girls in the theater, you imagined they all wished they were you.
You were barely able to concentrate on the movie, and kept stealing glances at Dylan in the dark. At one point he took your hand in his, which eventually got a bit uncomfortable and made it next to impossible to eat your popcorn. Despite that, you held on tight and reminded yourself that it was what you’d always wanted. What was a temporary sweaty palm compared to lasting love?
On the ride home you were distracted as you watched the lights of Hawkins pass by your window, your mind a swirl of anxious thoughts as you anticipated what would happen next.
Sleeping with Dylan was something you’d waited for such a long time to experience, but you were still a bit nervous.
You reminded yourself that you were ready. You’d worn your fancy underwear. You’d bought the condoms. And thanks to the articles you knew exactly what to do. As an added bonus you had the entire house to yourself because your family was away for the weekend. It was going to be magical. A night you’d never forget.
When Dylan pulled up outside your place, he got out and walked you to your front door.
“I had a really great time,” you gushed, giving him your most seductive smile.
“Me too.” He gave you a cocky grin then leaned in close. Without hesitation you eagerly shut your eyes, awaiting the sensation of unfettered bliss. You couldn’t believe the moment you’d been dreaming of for years had finally arrived.
Dylan pressed a chaste kiss to your lips, then quickly pulled away. When you opened your eyes and blinked in confusion, he gave you a playful wink.
“Well, I’d better get going. I’ll see you soon.” Without another word, he turned and headed down your front steps and back to his car.
You stood there frozen in disbelief as you watched his taillights fade into the distance.
Dylan had been with so many girls, there was no way he was shy. In fact, you were pretty sure he’d slept with most of girls he took out, or at least that was the rumor around town.
Tears stung the corners of your eyes as you stepped inside and let the front door slam behind you. Unsure of what to do, you rushed downstairs to your room to call Eddie.
He answered the phone on the second ring, and you choked back a sob when he asked you what was wrong. You told him you’d explain everything when he got to your place, and also asked him to bring a little weed. You need to relax and get Dylan’s rejection off your mind.
When Eddie arrived a short while later and saw you through the basement window, sitting on your bed with tear-swollen eyes, he was engulfed in a blinding rage.
Once he got inside, he rushed over, his mouth held in a grim line. “Did he hurt you? What the hell did that asshole do?”
His normally soft eyes flashed with anger as he clenched his hands into fists at his sides. All he needed was one word from you and he was ready to rip Dylan apart.
“He didn’t do anything. That’s the problem,” you told him, your big eyes brimming with tears. “He just gave me a peck on the lips and took off. He didn’t even try to come in.”
Eddie could hardly believe his ears — Dylan had just left? He hadn’t touched you? Relief washed over him an instant, uncoiling his muscles and cooling the fire in his veins.
You crossed your legs and his gaze trailed down to the soft press of your thighs against each other, before he looked back up at you with a satisfied grin on his face.
“See, I told you he was a jerk. Now do you believe me?”
You sniffed. “But he wasn’t a jerk. It was going so well and then…nothing. I don’t understand what went wrong.”
Eddie knew he shouldn’t tease you, but he couldn’t resist a little good natured ribbing. It was just in his nature.
“I dunno. Maybe you had bad breath?”
His eyes twinkled with mischief as you scoffed in outrage at his joke. You grabbed a pillow off your bed and tossed it at his smirking face.
“You’re so mean,” you pouted. His jovial mood was getting on your nerves. “Come on. Can you actually try to help me?”
He chuckled and flopped onto his back next to you on the bed and threw your old stuffed teddy in the air, then caught it. “Well, I dunno. Are you a bad kisser?”
You had kissed a few guys before, and none of them had ever complained — on the other hand, they’d also never said that you were good.
“I don’t know. Do you really think it could have been bad enough to make him leave?”
He shrugged. “I dunno, maybe. Like, I said, the guy’s a dick.”
“How exactly does someone know if they’re good at it, anyway?” you asked him, suddenly curious. “Are you?”
The bed dipped as you turned your body to face him.
“Yeah, I’m good. Heard it lots of times,” he bragged, and you raised a doubtful eyebrow.
“Lots?” You grinned in amusement when he sat up in a huff.
“Hey, I’ve kissed people. More than you, anyway,” he scoffed. “I just dated someone for almost a month, remember?”
You rolled your eyes. How could you forget? You tried to ignore the twinge in your chest when you thought of Eddie kissing Stacy, his lips all red and kiss swollen, their soft weight pressed against her skin—
“Well, if you’re such an expert maybe you should show me, because obviously I’m doing something wrong.”
The sarcastic words escaped before you could even think to stop them, and when you registered the surprise on Eddie’s face you quickly tried to recover.
“I’m just kidding, Eddie. You should see the look on your—”
“Nah, I mean. It’s not a terrible idea,” he interrupted, stammering to rush out the words. “You could try on me if you want and I’ll let you know if you’re doing something wrong.”
“Eddie, stop teasing. It’s not funny.” You frowned and crossed your arms in front of your chest. You weren’t in the mood for whatever silly games he wanted to play.
“No, now I’m curious. I wanna know how bad you really are.” He chuckled to himself, and you shot him a withering look.
“I’m not bad,” you insisted, your cheeks burning with annoyance. Eddie was being a real prick and the room suddenly felt much too warm.
“Then prove it.” He smirked and bit the inside of his cheek as you eyed him with quiet suspicion. If he wanted to be mean and tease you, then you were going to call his bluff.
“Fine. Get over here.” You patted the mattress and he shuffled over to sit next to you on the edge of bed.
When you looked up to meet his gaze you expected to see his joke revealed. Instead, his expression was serious and his dark brown eyes were blown wide as they held yours.
He ran the sharp tip of his tongue along his bottom lip and your eyes dipped to graze its ruby fullness.
“I mean, it could probably help us both,” he reasoned. “I’m sure I could use some tips.”
In the moment, Eddie told himself that he had good intentions. You’d said it yourself that you hadn’t kissed that many guys. It would probably be disappointing. Amateurish. An unsatisfying, sloppy mess that would disgust him and finally set him free.
“What do you want me to do?” you asked, trying to keep your voice as business-like as possible while your stomach tied itself in nervous knots.
You reminded yourself that Eddie liked to joke around and there was no way he actually intended to go through with it.
“Uh, I don’t know…just kiss me I guess?” He chuckled nervously as you shuffled a bit closer on the bed until your thighs were touching and you could feel the frizz of his curls against your shoulder.
“No, you first.” You swallowed hard, determined not to let him win. Your cheeks were on fire, your eyes widened with a dare you knew he wouldn’t meet.
He took a deep breath.
“Ok, here goes.” His voice was so soft you barely registered the sound, but as he leaned in you felt his warm breath on your face, smelling of mint and a faint hint of tobacco.
Your eyes fluttered shut and a second later you felt his lips on yours, their feather-light touch igniting sparks low in your belly. You parted your mouth, letting his warm tongue gently tease your own, and his lips chased yours as you shifted position to tilt your head.
You rested a hand on his tensed thigh for balance and heard a moan rumble in his chest as the muscle flexed beneath your gentle touch.
He brought his hand up to cup your cheek, and a warm, tingly feeling started to spread down to your toes as he slotted his eager mouth against yours — the sensation so familiar and yet, like nothing you’d ever felt before.
A few seconds later he pulled back, his dark gaze dipping to your mouth. He dragged his thumb along the plump fullness of your lower lip, still tasting the lingering sweetness of your cherry lip gloss on his tongue.
You fought to catch your breath, your heart pounding so hard in your ears that you wondered if Eddie could hear it. You pressed your thighs together to try and dull the ache that suddenly throbbed between them, a subtle action that he didn’t miss.
Kissing Eddie had felt like you were floating in a warm, dizzy haze; it had been like a dream you never wanted to end. Even though it had only been on a dare, those few short seconds hadn’t been enough. You wanted him to kiss you again.
He lifted his eyes to meet yours, his voice smooth and low when he spoke.
“Hmm…not bad. But maybe we should give it another try? Just to make sure you get it right?”
You nodded and he crashed his mouth back into yours, his heart pounding a furious rhythm that would have challenged any thrash metal tune.
He’d been wrong. He’d been a fool. His mind reeled as if the room were spinning.
Turned out, his obsession with you was nowhere close to over.
Thank you for reading! 🤍
A/N: This story will have 3 parts and the smut picks up quite a bit in part 2, so please make sure to heed the warnings. If you'd like to be added to the tag list comment below or send me an ask :)
Special thanks to @mrsjellymunson for being my personal 80’s name generator and @littlexdeaths for their Christmas writing game that inspired this fic with the prompt “you find mysterious tracks leading away from your window in the freshly fallen snow.” ✨
okay so this wasn’t a request but i’ve been MIA for a while and i haven’t really had the opportunity to write much over the past few months so this is really just writing practice (forgive me if it's subpar, i'm rusty)
also, if you've requested something, i promise that i'm working on it so please be patient!
made with bayverse in mind!!
warnings: NSFW, first thing i’ve properly written in months so be kind people, swearing, afab reader — mentions of pussy etc., oral sex (f!receiving), raph is a little feral and mean i feel… everyone is 18+!!, not proofread so lemme know if you notice any glaring errors
summary: raph eats your pussy; he’s greedy and sloppy (it’s perfect)
word count: 651 (short and not sweet)
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
raph eats pussy like a man possessed. he’s sloppy and loud about it, spit and slick all over his face as he spreads your legs as wide as possible and then even wider. your hips ache from the stretch, and you can already tell you’ll be sore tomorrow, but all you can do is whine and moan, hands covering your heated face in a futile effort to silence yourself.
you can’t even grind down against him like this because the bastard has one arm casually slung over your stomach, his huge palm pressing down just so, enough to make you whimper. you can feel him grinning meanly against your thigh with each failed arch of your spine, nipping your flesh in cruel, teasing bites that are sure to leave purple marks, before he continues to lap at your cunt like he hasn’t eaten in a week.
“raph,” you wheeze desperately, whimpers getting stuck in your throat as he practically growls against you. the sound is dark and agonised, and you can’t help but gasp as he pushes a thick digit inside you. “raph, raph, raph—”
he tongues your clit and crooks his finger, and you can no longer breathe, hands now clenched into bedsheets and thighs shaking with every sloppy touch. “that’s it,” he rumbles, the vibrations only making you tremble more. “that’s it, give it to me.”
your moans fill the room in perfect harmony with the filthy squelch of your pussy as raph fucks you with his calloused finger. it’s already too much, but you think you might pass out when he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks like he’s trying to reap your soul. “oh my god—”
you’re whining so loud, choked, and so, so needy, but you can’t find it within you to feel shame even as a distant part of your brain acknowledges that you won’t be able to look his brothers in the eye for a good week after this.
white eclipses your vision when you come, falling headfirst over that precipice that you’ve been teetering on for god knows how long. you fall silent when you do, mouth parted and back finally arching as raph lets your body take exactly what it needs; he lets you grind your hips down, mouth still fixed over your clit as your thighs clamp down around his skull.
he’s mumbling something dirty and full of sacrilege when you finish, his words a wicked churr that tips you into oversensitivity, and you whine weakly when he keeps moving his finger inside you, letting it drag against your slick walls with a slightly sadistic delight.
he chuckles when you slap his forearm weakly, but he acquiesces and slowly pulls back, groaning to himself when he sees just how soaked his hand is. “such a good girl,” he murmurs, looking right at you when he tastes you on his finger. he groans again at the flavour as if he hasn’t been buried in your pussy for the best part of the last hour.
“you’re terrible,” you tell him, voice wrecked, when he finally releases his finger from his mouth.
his smirk is shameless and greedy. “oh, i know.” his warm palms rest against your wet thighs, parting them again with ease. your hipbones twinge, and you gasp as he drags you closer to him, nestling between your legs like he belongs there (he does). “and we’re nowhere near done.”
his eyes are dark and leering, gluttonous and greedy, never full of you but always full of sin, and you swallow thickly as his lips twist into a ravenous snarl, nostrils flaring as you somehow grow even wetter, slick trickling down your already soaked thigh at the unadulterated lechery above you.
by the time you're done, several hours and several orgasms later, you know you won’t be able to look his brothers in the eye for at least a month.
Plot: Reader is a cop who has one memorable night with Raphael, but something in brewing in the shadows of the city that tests the strength of your character, and your love.
Chapter One - Silence is Overrated
-image not mine-
I unlocked the door and practically shoved it open.
Today had been one fuck up after another. All I wanted was some beer, too much ice cream to be considered healthy and a good night sleep.
Considering I wasn't originally planning on one, I wasn't tired and wouldn't be for a good while.
I was supposed to cover Hernandez's shift tonight, and he'd take mine next week, but then this afternoon he changed plans and only told me after I'd already left the building.
Now, I had taken my pre night shift nap and already gotten halfway to the station for nothing. Oh well, a night in would do me some good. Things had been pretty crazy as of late.
Drama back home, friends calling for me to choose sides in an argument, boy troubles with the situationship.
I needed a night of music, comfort food, and a good old 90s Disney movie.
Slamming the door shut with my foot, I hung up my keys and locked the dead bolt, heading into the apartment as I began to peel off my coat. "Yo April, you still he-" I froze.
Ok, what the fuck.
I don't even know how to begin to describe what I walked into, other than the fact that there were four not humans in my living room. Two on the couch, with April in the middle, another two on the floor. April's boyfriend was there too, the detective guy. We all looked at one another, waiting to see who would react first.
I took them in slowly. Green, no noses or ears, scraps of material wrapped over their eyes like masks. Each was armed with traditional Japanese weapons, and looked like they lived at the gym. They seemed to have large backpacks on their backs at first glance, but then I looked closer and realized those were shells. They were some kind of reptilian-man hybrid. Three fingers, odd three toed feet.
Well, ok then.
I eyed the pizza on the coffee table. Three boxes, each still steaming hot and drowning in cheese. Netflix was loading on the TV.
Huh, I go off to save NYC and they have a movie night.
"I thought you were working." April recovered first.
"Shift didn't get changed. Last minute stuff." I reached back and upholstered my off-duty gun, which had all four whatever-they-were's standing and scrambling either towards the window or rushing to raise their hands.
April and Casey jumped up too, holding out their hands as if that'd settled everyone.
I froze again, gun halfway to my side.
"Whoa whoa wait, they won't hurt you." April rushed out.
"Yeah well no fuck, they ain't eating you." Was my response as I continued to bring my gun forward. “Has no one ever warned you to not scare someone holding a gun.”
Ignoring the weird ass whatever’s and the alarmed looks, I knelt before the TV and opened the safe, unloaded my gun and dropped it in before locking the box.
I stood and everyone was still wide eyed and on a razors edge, the one with the orange mask halfway out the window.
"At ease." I mocked, turning and heading to my room. "Save me a slice, please!" I called just before shutting my room's door.
Changing out of my semi decent commute to work clothes into one on my step-dad’s old band shirts and some shorts, I untied my hair and headed back out. Beelining to the kitchen, I grabbed two spoons and two beers, then the tub of ice cream from the freezer.
Everyone was seated once again, but a movie wasn't playing yet and nobody seemed to have truly relaxed into their seats again.
I walked over, grabbing a slice of the margarita pizza and flipping it over so it made a sandwich with another slice and then popped them in my mouth so I had a free hand.
Tip toeing past the green men, who were still eyeing me, I opened the window and slipped out, not bothering to close it behind me as I climbed up the fire escape.
Once on the roof, I padded over to my spot on the far side of the apartment roof and sat down on the safety wall. Putting the glass bottles and ice cream tub down, I slipped the slices of cheesy ambrosia from my mouth and opened my sandwich, eating one slice at a time.
I took a deep breath in between bites, breathing in all the smog and fumes of this city and sighed.
As far as I could tell, I was only one of about 10 people who actually wanted to live to here. Whenever I told native New Yorkers I’d actually chosen to move to this city, they never understood why and looked at me strange. And considering the fact that half the people in this city wouldn’t give those green dudes a second look, me getting a strange look meant something.
But what couldn’t you love about this city? Nobody gave a fuck about anything. You could get breakfast at 2am in pajamas at the corner diner and find a dozen other people just like you, none even sparing you a second glance. And with so many people, you were just another blur in the crowd.
As someone who grew up in a small Southern town, with my entire life planned out by an entrepreneur father, having the freedom of an entire city as the tips of my fingers never ceased to not knock the air from my lungs.
I looked out at all the buildings, all those lights. How could anyone not find that feeling of witnessing all those lives coexisting alongside your own without ever crossing not awe-inspiring?
Below, horns honked and the never-ending symphony of sires filled the air. Music blasted from at least three different house parties, and some drunken asshole was stumbling around shouting. The sound of home.
I had just finished my pizza when I left a presence behind me.
"There's room for two." I called, shifting over despite there being loads on space on the wall.
I waited a moment, then another, and then the red banded one joined me on the wall.
I’d seen it, when our eyes had locked briefly when I’d scanned them all. He seemed uncomfortable, and not just at the fact that a woman with a gun was staring them down.
I couldn’t place why, or really care, but I could sense the need to get out. And when I’d slipped past them to get here, I didn’t miss the quick scan of my body.
I’d honestly been surprised it took him this long to follow me up here.
We sat in silence for a while, and in that time I opened my ice cream and began to eat, the other spoon an open invite.
I watched him from corner of my eye. He was watching the city with as much fascination and love as I did. But it was a pained sort of love. Like he knew he’d never be able to live without the city, but couldn’t stand to be spend another second trapped within it.
"Why two spoons?" he finally asked, taking it and beginning to eat.
"In case I drop the first." I answered around a mouthful of ice cream. “Last time I went back for a second, they fucking stole my ice cream.”
He laughed, the sound coming from deep inside him.
I felt heat flush my cheeks, ducking my head in the hopes of hiding my blush.
Because holy crap he was hot!
"And the second beer?"
"For the company."
He glanced over at me. "Who's company?"
I gasped when I finally took in his eyes. How could one pair of eyes be that beautiful? Amber irises that reflected the millions of lights, yet outshone every one of them. And they looked at me. Actually looked at me.
People moved out of my way, colleagues respected me, citizens and criminals looked at me with annoyance or hatred, or sometimes awe and fear, not no one saw me. I looked at him and felt like he was truly looking at me.
"Whoever wants to be." I finally had the sense to murmur, handing the second bottle to him.
He took it with a quiet thanks and brought the glass to his lips, me shamelessly watching his lips and almost groaning when he licked them after taking a generous sip.
Gaining some control of myself, I turned back to the city and tried to remember what was so interesting about this place. So lost in my attempts, I almost jumped when he spoke.
“So, why’d ya move here? April says you’re a cop. Small town not getting enough action for ya?”
I huffed a laugh, readjusting on the wall. “I was four the first time I told my mother I wanted to be a cop in New York City. Nothing else has ever mattered. Worked my ass off, and graduated from being a rookie last year.”
“Congratulations.”
God, could his voice get any deeper and smoother? And the Brooklyn accent? No fair!
“Thank you.”
“But why New York?”
I took a deep breath. “Don’t laugh.”
“The city of dreams?” he teased, smirking over at me as he took another sip of beer.
“Small town, everyone knew everyone’s business, my life was planned and on track to be like everyone else’s. But here, I can do whatever the fuck I want and no one gives a shit.”
He was quiet for a moment. “And let me guess, you fuckin’ hate it but are too proud to go home so you’re gonna tough it out a couple more years?”
I laughed. “Why would I hate this place?”
He turned to look down at me in surprise.
“I mean yeah, the streets are always so full, and you can never get a moment of quiet, but nothin’ beats that view. I can be who I want to be here.” I jerked my head to the building beyond, and after that, Manhattan.
He followed my gaze, and after a few seconds huffed. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
"I do miss the stars though." I confessed, looking up at the smoke clouded skies.
I leaned back a little, casting a challenging look his way. “What about you? Why haven’t you left this shit hole?”
“You mean other than the way I look?”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s the 21st century, nobody gives a fuck. You know how many furries and therians I’ve arrested.”
He was quiet for a moment, then turned to look to the city again. “I don’t know. I mean, I hate this place but…” He trailed off, brows furrowed in thought.
“But you can’t sleep without the noise?” I tried, and smiled at the agreeing nod.
He looked at me for a few beats, eyeing me slowly. "Raphael." he introduced, holding out a hand.
Cirice - Eddie x Death!OC - Eddie wakes up in the Upside Down, undead and trapped. A Reaper of Death begins to take a particular interest in the undead man who doesn’t belong…
imagine one | imagine two
You Can Have My Hate - Billy x reader - Unfortunately, you got stuck with Billy fucking Hargrove as your partner for your final assignment in history class. Also unfortunately, Billy discovers you have a killer body underneath all those baggy clothes…
ONE-SHOTS
GLADIATOR II
🌶️ As We Combust - Geta x Priestess!reader - The Priestess is the only one who can ever tell Geta what to do...
STRANGER THINGS
🌶️ Like Godd*mn Aphrodite - Eddie x reader - Eddie just loves to be used by you…
🌶️ You'll Just Have to Taste Me - Eddie x reader - You knew you’d risk running into Eddie when you walked into one of his favorite music venues, but maybe that’s exactly what you were counting on.
LONG-FORM
STRANGER THINGS
✔️🖤🌶️ The Dos and Don'ts of Fake Dating - Eddie x reader - You propose a crazy idea to the resident freak of Hawkins, Eddie Munson. But maybe he was even crazier for agreeing to it...
🖤🌶️ When the Wolfsbane Blooms - Eddie x reader - September 1916. Edward Munson is back in Hawkins after 13 years. Upon his return it’s as if nothing has changed. But a strange danger seems to coincide with Eddie’s arrival, and all it takes is one fateful night to expose him to exactly what this danger is…
☁️ Black Is Such a Happy Color - Steve x reader - A collection of short stories following Steve Harrington and his goth girlfriend, featuring various holiday theming.
FANFIC LINKS
Fanfiction.net
Archive of Our Own
IN ADDITION...
Alongside the works above, I'm constantly writing other fics. The works I'm currently hoping to focus on are:
The Bear - Richie Jerimovich x reader
Gotham - Eduardo Dorrance x OC
One Piece (live action) - Sanji x reader
I have an important update to this post, for any who enjoyed this drawing, I finally got the opportunity to scan it and I just had to share the scanned versions of it here because it captured the colours astoundingly better than my original photos taken with my phone camera 😅
Certainly still one of my proudest creations to date! :3
The Dos & Don'ts of Fake Dating | E.M. x reader | pt. 11
[chap ten] | [all chapters here] | [chap twelve]
Summary | You propose a crazy idea to the resident freak of Hawkins, Eddie Munson. But maybe he was even crazier for agreeing to it…
Warnings & Notes | fem reader, slooow burn, faking dating, opposites attract, bratty rich bitch reader, super minor revenge plot, not-quite-enemies-to-lovers
Author's Note | Y'all this chapter got away from me! The plot just kept going and going and going, and I kept thinking up more ideas, so hopefully this doesn't feel too longwinded! Can't wait to see what everyone thinks of this one~
WC | 10.9k
Chapter Eleven
Sitting in the passenger seat of the van, you impatiently fussed with your fingernails, checking out the window every 30 seconds for a sign of Eddie, who had disappeared through the back door of a shady liquor store some five minutes ago. It was the night of homecoming - the night of the party - and Eddie insisted he pick up some booze on the way to Rick’s place. According to him, booze or food or drugs of some kind was your ticket into the party - from what you’d heard of this Rick guy, he sounded like a bit of a mooch, but maybe you were just assuming too much.
Leading up to this weekend, you’d been grounded thanks to the argument with your mom and your subsequent disappearance after that. Apparently, your mom had called your uncle Tom in hysterics, panicking about where you could have run off to. Trying to imagine your mother crying or even raising your voice seemed a little far-fetched, so you figured they’d lied about that in order to make you feel guilty for the whole thing. Hell, once you returned home that Thursday afternoon, you were lectured by both your father and uncle Tom about what you did, each of them reprimanding you for the thoughtlessness of what you did.
Honestly, being grounded for a week wasn’t even that bad. In fact, it was almost disappointing that it hadn’t been more satisfying. You were so looking forward to getting in enough trouble to lose TV privileges or maybe even car privileges, but really the punishment felt virtually non-existent. After only one day of your mom driving you to school (something that Eddie, of course, laughed at), she gave up on that and returned your keys, although she was adamant that you were only to drive to and from school or the ice rink.
You probably sounded crazy, but you wished that the punishment had been more severe, more substantial. Your first time being grounded was far from impressive, so you figured you’d have to up the ante at some point. Maybe even this weekend, although getting in trouble again wasn’t your top priority for tonight.
Eddie finally exited the liquor store, so you sat back up in your seat and straightened out your clothes as he approached the van. Admittedly, you’d been growing a little nervous waiting here in the back alley all by yourself, not that you’d tell Eddie that. No, as he climbed into the van with an eager look and a case of beer, you made sure to look bored and unaffected, as if you hadn’t nearly jumped out of your skin thanks to the crazy shouting of a homeless man just a couple minutes ago.
You looked between Eddie and the case of beer, watching as he deposited it on the floor behind his seat. A small knot formed between your brow as you asked with mild disappointment, “Only beer?”
In response, Eddie gave you a coy look before reaching inside his jacket, pulling out a wine cooler that he presented as if it were a sacred scepter. Your face immediately brightened as you accepted it, readjusting in your seat again as Eddie started up the van.
“As if I’d forget.” He teased, turning up the radio before backing out of the alley and onto the road. You popped the bottle cap of your drink, trying not to cringe at the taste as you took a quick sip - after all, a cheap wine cooler was still better than a beer any day of the week.
“Who’s gonna be there?” You asked between sips, your eyes studying Eddie’s face and the drum of his hand on the steering wheel.
You’d spent the last week at the lunch table with Eddie’s nerdy friends, and although they still seemed hesitant around you (except for Dustin, who didn’t seem to hesitate around anyone), they weren’t nearly as awkward and standoffish as before. Yeah, they were all still weird and you still felt like an outside observer of their little world, but they were growing on you, and you hoped that you were growing on them, to.
Eddie glanced at you for a moment with a false look of apology, “Unfortunately, only the freshmen.”
You glowered at his teasing, giving his shoulder a shove as he gleefully laughed, “Shut up.”
You nonetheless smiled as you shook your head, taking another long sip of your drink. Eddie's teasing had only gotten worse over the course of the past week, taking every opportunity he could to poke at you. Evidently, your make-up-turned-sleepover had done wonders, undeniably causing a change to the relationship between you two. It was becoming easier to relax around Eddie, easier to simply exist in each other’s space, easier to become friends. And although you were never the type to be too sincere, Eddie knew you had come to enjoy his company, even if there were days he taunted you too much.
“Beer?” Eddie requested simply, knowing that the case had shifted around while driving so he wouldn’t be able to blindly find it with his hand. You pretended to consider it for a moment, waiting for Eddie to shoot you a look before you acquiesced.
You shuffled in your seat, getting your knees under you while spinning around to reach into the back of the van. The case of beer had slid out of your immediate reach, so you had to stretch for it, half your body leaning into the back so you could get Eddie a drink. As your fingers grazed one of the bottles, you had to pull at your skirt with the opposite hand, feeling the cold breeze from the open window tickling at your exposed thighs. A small huff of annoyance escaped you as you tried to keep your balance, briefly relinquishing the grip on your skirt so you could steady yourself on Eddie’s seat. As you finally grabbed a bottle, you were too preoccupied to notice Eddie’s eyes flick over to your legs or his cheeks reddened as he ripped his gaze away.
You settled back into your seat, opening the bottle for Eddie before handing it to him. As you picked up your own drink again, you returned to your earlier thought, “Will Gareth be there at least?”
Eddie took a large swig of his drink before giving you a cheeky look, “Thinking about cheating on me?”
You had to refrain from hitting his shoulder again, instead opting to roll your eyes with a grin, “I’ll even let you watch, if you like.”
“And they say romance is dead.” You and Eddie grinned humorously at each other before he returned his attention to driving, and you returned your attention to the rhythmic drumming of his fingers.
Following the past week, you’d decided that Gareth was your favorite of the bunch, at least thus far - his expressive face was particularly amusing amidst the chaos of the lunch table, and although he was awkward, he was still nonetheless the easiest to talk to. It’s not that you exactly cared all that much about spending time with the nerds tonight, but rather Gareth could be someone to keep you company should Eddie disappear at any point in the evening.
As you two continued driving through Hawkins, you eventually entered the neighborhood your school was in, causing you to sneer as you saw the sign in the distance. Given the time, you knew that the dance was already in full swing, and for whatever reason that made you even more annoyed, “I almost hope we win, even if it is a joke - just to piss them all off.”
Eddie laughed a little, stealing a glance at your sour expression, “That’d be the first time I won anything. Think we should swing by to say hi?”
Despite your spiteful look, you still couldn’t the way Eddie’s silly suggestion made you smirk, “If by ‘say hi’ you mean ‘slash Duncan’s tires,’ then I’d love to. Asshole still hasn’t gotten what he deserves for his shit.”
As you turned back towards Eddie, you realized he looked… thoughtful? It caused your small grin to slacken - why did he look like he was considering what you said a little too seriously? Your brow rose questioningly as Eddie’s wicked eyes met yours, a dark smile on his lips. God, he was thinking about it.
“Then I guess we’re saying hi.” He said in an almost sing-song voice, pulling into the drive of the school before he missed it.
“Eddie.” Your tone was warning, and you nearly felt like a scolding mother by using his first name. You’d nearly forgotten this past month that Eddie was, in fact, a delinquent, someone who dealt drugs, who apparently “knew a guy” at the liquor store, who had had more than one run in with your uncle. But if you were in need of a reminder that you and Eddie were from very different worlds, well, this was it.
Entering the parking lot full of cars, he leveled you with an honest and serious look, “Tell me you don’t wanna slash his tires, and we’ll go. Promise.”
A little paranoid, you looked around, fearful that someone might spot Eddie’s van here. The sun had already set about half an hour ago, so the dark of night was at least a mild comfort to you, and it didn’t appear as if anyone else was nearby. Though, from experience, you knew that there may be a few straggles that could arrive late or frisky couples leaving early to fuck in the back of their cars. As you gnawed at the inside of your cheek, you met Eddie’s eyes with an unsure look - one of both worry and intrigue - and so he raised his brows, patiently waiting for your decision.
Shit, you really didn’t hate the idea. In fact, the selfish side of you loved it. Duncan, of all people, could more than afford to replace a set of tires, and you’d been desperately trying to think of ways to get back at him since that stupid pep assembly. And sure, you’d driven after a couple of drinks or trespassed onto properties in the middle of the night, so you weren’t exactly a stranger to bad behavior, you were far from a goody two-shoes. But damaging someone’s vehicle was a different story entirely, a different level of rebelliousness, and the thought caused your heart to jump with anxiety, as much as it also amused you.
Taking your lack of response as an answer, Eddie nodded simply, turning his eyes back to the road, “We’ll go.”
Before you could second guess yourself, you reached over and grabbed his forearm, “Wait.” So, Eddie looked at you again, a slight mischievous glint in his eyes, something daring about his expression. You took a deep breath, mustering up your courage as you held his stare; despite the bubble of fear in your chest, you attempted to grin, “Let’s say hi.”
“Atta girl.” The smile that spread across Eddie’s lips was wicked yet endearing, his eyes shining with an excitement that you hadn’t seen before. Your nerves grew even as you felt your neck get warm. Eddie reached over and began digging around in the glove compartment in front of you, brandishing a butterfly knife after a few moments, “Which car?”
The ease with which he revealed the knife and asked the question was almost surprising - again, you were reminded that Eddie wasn’t always just a sweet and funny nerd, he was still a guy with a bit of a record. You began to look across the darkened parking lot, furrowing your brow in search of the familiar, flashy silver of Duncan’s coupe; your heart drummed heavily in your chest even as you tried to shove down your anxieties.
As you searched, Eddie pulled the van into one of the furthest possible spots from the school, haphazardly over the lines so the vehicle was angled for a quick getaway. God, this was stupid - you were practically praying for this to go well, hoping you two weren’t caught.
“He’s parked right near the gym.” You groaned in annoyance. Of course Duncan’s car was there, he probably arrived early to help set up for the dance. You met Eddie’s eyes with trepidation, to which he gave you a reassuring smile.
“You can still chicken out, if you want.” His words were taunting, but you could see the sincerity in his eyes - he wouldn’t judge you for backing out.
Again, you ignored your nerves as you attempted to smirk back at Eddie; if you didn’t focus too hard on what you were about to do, it would be so much easier to just do it. God, you wished you two had had a little more to drink before deciding to do this, “I can’t back out, you’d never let me live it down.”
“Then let’s go get ‘em.” Eddie encouraged while shutting off the engine, climbing out of the van quickly and spinning back around to give you an insistent look. It was now or never, so before you could overthink it, you jumped out of the van and quickly made your way to Eddie’s side. He promptly began a brisk walk towards the gym, so you followed close behind, your adrenaline kicking in the closer you got to Duncan’s car.
Once there, you two crouched, forcing you to fuss with your skirt again - god, this really wasn’t the right outfit for this kind of shit. Eddie pulled the knife from his pocket and flicked it open with a well-practiced flourish, to which you grinned in amusement.
“Show off.” You whispered, although it almost seemed silly to keep your voice low, considering no one was around. Just to rub it in, Eddie began to flip the knife around, the blade moving quick enough that you couldn’t quite see how he was managing it.
“Don’t sound so jealous.” He teased before carefully grabbing the blade, holding the knife out towards you. You grabbed the handle, testing the weight while finding the best grip, “You know how to use that?”
You scoffed, looking around yourself again cautiously, “You know I don’t.”
Eddie smirked before pointing at the nearest tire, shuffling closer to you, “Come on, lemme show you.”
He set a hand on your shoulder, gently moving your body until you were at what must have been the best angle for slashing tires. Now, your back was to Eddie, and he came up close behind you just like he had back at the arcade; your cheeks flushed a little, as somehow this felt even more intimate than that. Because you were both haunched low to the ground, Eddie had to spread his knees to fit around you, practically engulfing you. You could feel his chest almost on your back, his breath brushing your ear, as he set his hand atop yours that was holding the blade. His fingers gripped yours comfortably as he began explaining in a low voice.
“It’ll take more force than you think.” He began to guide your hand, using the tip of the blade to point at different spots on the tire, “It’s not a balloon, okay. You wanna puncture near the rim, not the center - it’s thinner and impossible to fix. Don’t get too close, and be quick about it.”
As if reconsidering his own instructions, Eddie brought his hand down from your shoulder to rest on your hip, shuffling the both of you back a few extra inches. Your body jolted, hairs raising at the touch, which caused you to furrow your brow and pull yourself together - the hell was that about?
“You ready?” Eddie asked while quickly looking around one more time to make sure no one could see you two. You nodded, and so once he was repositioned, Eddie gripped your hand a little tighter and rapidly slashed the tire in one clean stroke. Although you were startled by the impact, the tire didn’t make nearly as much noise as you had anticipated - he was right, this was nothing like a balloon.
An eager, wicked smile graced your lips as you turned your head to look at Eddie, and this time - unlike the arcade - you did, in fact, bump foreheads. But both of you were far too excited to care, quickly laughing it off before Eddie pulled you towards the next tire. He removed his hands from you once he had you in position, clearly setting you free to do the damage yourself.
“Don’t slash all four - three means no insurance, he’ll have to pay outta pocket.”
You nervously look between Eddie and the tire, unsure if you could do this on your own. But, god, you were eager to do more damage, your excitement and adrenaline continuing to grow; there was something so incredibly therapeutic and freeing about exacting your revenge on Duncan this way.
So, you firmly set your jaw, which was challenging considering the desperate temptation to keep grinning like a Cheshire cat. Taking a couple of deep breaths, you aimed the blade in the same way that Eddie had, not allowing yourself too much time to think as you slashed quickly.
To your surprise, you managed to cut the tire quite effectively, hearing the air spew out in the same way that it had on the first go. You turned to smile eagerly at Eddie again, who looked far too proud of you. After a moment, he waved his hand to hurry you onto the final tire, which you promptly approached, repeating the same motion one final time.
You nearly laughed with how giddy you were, but before you could even begin to celebrate your victory, Eddie pulled you up to your feet, forcing you to run back to the van hand-in-hand. Neither of you said a word to each other until you were safely in your seats, Eddie quickly zipping out of the parking lot as you shared a near maniacal laugh. The sound of each other’s excitement was far too encouraging, causing the laughter to progressively get more and more wild until you finally had to take a breath and calm down.
“Jesus, how are you better at slashing tires than you are at a round of Donkey Kong?” You smiled from ear to ear as Eddie laughed again, enjoying just how exhilarated he sounded. So, he was thinking about the arcade, too?
You continued to laugh rather than give him a response, unable to contain your glee at the crazy thing that you’d just done. With your energy spiked, you quickly chugged down the remainder of your drink before caving in and grabbing a beer for yourself.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Once you were on the road winding around Lovers’ Lake, you couldn't help but laugh, shooting Eddie a suggestive grin, “What, trying to get frisky or something? What are we doing here?”
He shot you a look from the corner of his eye while finishing off his second beer, tossing the empty bottle thoughtlessly to the floor, “This is where Rick lives.”
“No shit?” You blew air between your lips, clearly not believing that a 20-something drug dealer could afford a house in this neighborhood.
“No, I’m just lying, we’re actually at Lovers’ Lake for a big old orgy.” Eddie teased with a scheming look, although a wide smile broke out across his lips a moment later. Refusing to be out done, you put on a faux look of consideration, finishing your own drink as well.
“Oh, now that’s much better than a school dance.” The two of you grinned conspiratorially as Eddie finally pulled into a driveway crowded with cars.
As you looked up to study the house through the windshield, Eddie grabbed the opened case of beer and stepped out of the van, coming around to your side and opening the door. You accepted his outstretched hand, allowing him to lead you through the cluster of cars and up to the front door. Before you were even on the front porch, the smell of weed hit you as if there was a joint in your own hand, the loud music vibrating the windows of the house.
Eddie let you both in without knocking, the haze of smoke even heavier than you anticipated as you were greeted by a chorus of “hellos.” You tried your best to hold in a cough as smoke got in your eyes, Eddie’s fingers gripping yours a touch tighter as he tugged you past unfamiliar faces and towards the kitchen. As you let yourself be pulled along, you spotted Eddie’s bandmates clustered together on one of the couches, talking animatedly about something as if the party wasn’t happening around them.
In the kitchen, Eddie set the case of beer alongside a variety of other alcohol, continuing to pull you behind him as he looked over all the options available. He picked one up and held it out to you, raising his brow as if to ask if it was something you’d drink. You accepted it with a faint grin, not at all concerned with what the beverage actually was.
“Trying to get me drunk, Munson?” You teased, your eyes drifting towards a group of people that just entered the kitchen. Unconsciously, you must have made a face, because Eddie pulled you a step closer to him with a reassuring laugh.
“Just making sure you have fun tonight.” He grabbed another beer for himself before ducking his head close to yours, “And I wanna see if you get violent like you did at the bar.”
“Hey, that was self defense!” You stole your hand back so you could crack open your can, leaning back against the counter as you took a swig, “Unless someone here starts acting up, I won’t be hitting anyone.”
Eddie smirked, “Well, with this bunch…”
You gave him a warning glare, “If anyone touches me, I swear to god--”
With a chuckle, Eddie set a soothing hand on your shoulder, “Calm down, princess, you’ve got nothing to worry about tonight.”
You narrowed your eyes, “You better be telling the truth.”
“I wouldn’t lie to you.” His deep brown eyes were serious, his stare practically burning into you. There was something about it that made you nervous the longer you stared back, so you took a quick drink to pull yourself together.
“Just to everyone else, right?” You smirked a little, hoping that you played off your nerves well enough. God, you didn’t know what was with you tonight. Eddie mirrored your expression, although it didn’t quite reach his eyes; he looked you up and down for a brief moment.
“Just everyone else.” He repeated before grabbing your hand again and dragging you back towards the crowded living room. It was almost instant the way his energy changed into something even more high energy once you two were surrounded by more people, and as you approached his friends, you looked around at everyone else, trying to get a better sense of the crowd here.
Aside from your group, all the other partygoers looked to be in their 20s, hell, maybe even 30s, and it felt odd to be amidst so many strangers rather than peers. After you met eyes with one guy, he looked at your legs in a lewd way that you didn’t appreciate, so you glowered back with a threatening glare, pressing closer to Eddie. Another couple people greeted Eddie with recognition, but he didn’t bother introducing them to you - he knew you well enough by now to recognize that you weren’t quite ready to socialize. Considering how weak your first two drinks were, you needed at least one or two more before you were even interested in meeting any new people.
Spotting you and Eddie, the boys attempted to make some room on the couch, but you waved it off dismissively, preferring to stand for the time being. Thoughtlessly, you tucked yourself into Eddie’s side a little, feeling him glance curiously at you in response.
With their fearless leader now present, the group began an excited discussion about Dungeons and Dragons, but the subject was lost on you within less than a minute. You resigned yourself to drinking and people watching, tuning out the conversation as your eyes traveled around the room. In one cluster of people a blunt was being passed around; off in the corner, a couple was haphazardly making out; back in the kitchen, the group of boys from earlier were snorting something that definitely wasn’t flour.
This was just like all the other parties you’d been to through the years, the only difference being that you weren’t familiar with this crowd in the slightest. No, you were used to parties where you knew most of the faces, parties in fancy mansions or summer homes, parties where you were still top of the food chain. Here, you meant nothing to most of these people, and they meant nothing to you, which provided its own odd sense of comfort. Although you were still tense thanks to this new environment, you allowed your shoulders to relax a little.
“What do you mean the Thing is a remake?” Eddie asked next to you, causing you to quickly whip around and join the conversation. You gave him a stunned look, crossing your arms judgmentally but carefully so as not to spill your drink.
“Everyone knows that.” You respond as if offended that he wasn’t aware, drawing the group’s attention to you in surprise.
“I didn’t.” Jeff admitted, to which you made a stunned face. The group had a few new additions to it since you last paid attention, and practically everyone appeared to be surprised by what you said. You rolled your eyes with a sigh.
“I mean, it may as well be an original considering how kitschy the old movie is.” You started, taking a large sip of your drink, “I bet none of you knew it was a book, either.”
As they all shook their heads, you made an exasperated motion with your hands, turning to Eddie for his reaction. But you were surprised to see the amusement on his face, which made you quickly realize that he brought up a horror movie on purpose. You smacked his chest while fighting back a grin, causing him to laugh.
“You set me up!”
“They didn’t believe you were a horror fan!” He defended himself, pointing at the group to shift the blame. They all looked perhaps a little nervous, as if you might turn your attitude on them, “Ask her about Michael Myers, she’s got lots of opinions about him.”
You tried to insist that they don’t get you going on the subject, as if your love of horror was some dirty little secret to be kept. But the intrigued looks on their faces gave you brief pause; once Gareth asked you a question about the rest of John Carpenter’s work, you knew you wouldn’t be able to keep your mouth shut.
So, the horror debate began, everyone chiming in on the quality of Season of the Witch or the scares in the Fog. The night went on much this way, everyone talking and drinking, arguing and laughing. Eventually, someone had brought the group a joint, and at that point you were already drunk, so you definitely smoked far more than you should have.
A little later in the evening, Rick announced that he had a bonfire going outside, and so you were dragged out by Eddie, who apparently couldn’t resist a good fire. Some of the partygoers took to jumping in the lake, with or without swimsuits, and Eddie couldn’t help but laugh at the disgusted look you gave some of the nude swimmers.
“I’m gonna puke.” You joked, although Eddie momentarily believed you, trying to pull you to your feet so he could help you to the bathroom or behind a bush. This sent you into a fit of laughter, teasing him about being such a good boyfriend; were you getting drunk enough that you were becoming unclear, or had Eddie become drunk enough that he couldn’t pick up on your sarcasm?
As the night wore on, partygoers began to slowly disperse, some heading out while others chose to return to the house. The water must have been feeling colder, because everyone had stopped going in after a while. Eddie had attentively gotten the both of you drink after drink, doing so at a steady enough pace that you didn’t realize how drunk you were until it was too late; and once you were drunk, you could never say no to getting even drunker.
At some point, Jeff let you both know he was taking the other guys home, which led to you grabbing Eddie’s wrist so you could check the time, realizing that somehow it was already well past midnight. When Eddie asked if you were ready to go, too, your quick and aggressive “no” amused him far more than it normally would have. Clearly, you were both drunk.
You couldn’t remember when you had dragged Eddie to his feet and insisted he walk with you, but evidently you had, because he laughed again when you accused him of it instead.
“We could probably use a walk, I need to sober up.” Eddie added after explaining that this late night trek was your idea, “Gotta get us home somehow.”
You two followed a path along the lake, stumbling and tripping into each other thanks to the dark and your drunken strides. You were tempted to grab Eddie to keep yourself steady, but you refrained from doing so.
“I don’t wanna go home.” You slurred with a childish tone, hearing a slight laugh from Eddie, “Not like they want me there, anyway.”
From the corner of your eye, you saw Eddie turn to give you a look, “That can’t be true.”
Now, you shot him a look, although it was dark enough that you couldn’t quite make out his features. You shook your head, “You haven’t met my parents.”
“So?” You saw him shrug then stumble over a branch a moment later, “If they really didn’t want you there, you’d know. Speaking from experience.”
You gasped smally in realization - god, you were such a bitch, complaining about your parents when you didn’t even know Eddie’s own situation. Maybe he was lucky you were drunk right now, because the instant guilt you felt wasn’t common for you.
“Shit, Eddie, I’m sorry.” You reached out for his hand and gave it a small squeeze, “You must think I’m the worst.”
He hummed a little before tugging you into his side, comfortably resting his arm over your shoulder despite the fact that no one was around to see you together.
“I didn’t think you were capable of apologizing.” You could hear the grin in his voice, “You’re allowed to complain about your parents, I don’t mind. It's been so long since I’ve seen mine that they never cross my mind.”
You sighed deeply, still feeling guilty. Tentatively, you snaked your arm around Eddie’s middle so that it wouldn’t be awkwardly hanging between you two, “Still, I shouldn’t bitch about mine when yours aren’t around.”
You felt Eddie shrug, “I’ve got Wayne, I don’t need them.”
A small smile graced your lips, and so you looked back up at Eddie again, actually able to make out his features now that you were close enough. He, too, had an easy, drunken smile on his lips, and for whatever reason you couldn’t help but stare, enjoying how he looked in the moonlight. You took in the slight bounce of his curls, the way his lashes shined in the pale light, the way his smile flattered his lips. You had to force yourself to look away, and briefly two thoughts were competing in your mind: Eddie was good looking, in his own way, and there was no reason for you to find his looks appealing.
As your gaze trailed across the rippling lake, you thoughtlessly, drunkenly blurted out, “I think my dad’s having an affair.”
Eddie whipped his head to level you with a surprised look - was he taken aback by the statement itself or the all too casual way in which you said it? You glanced up at him again, briefly shrugging as if what you said was perfectly normal. When Eddie raised his brows - a silent request that you elaborate - you jutted your lower lip in brief consideration.
“Let’s turn around, I want another drink.” You dipped out from under Eddie’s arm, spinning around to head back in the direction of Rick’s house. Eddie followed suit.
“You trying to distract me or yourself?” He questioned, sticking his hands in his pockets. You shot him a slight glare, tripping over a rock in the process. Before you could go crashing down to the ground like an idiot, Eddie helped steady you, wrapping his arm around you again in hopes that it would keep you from falling on your face. Your cheeks were already warm thanks to the alcohol, but now they were burning with embarrassment as you glowered at the path in front of you.
The walk back to the house was silent, Eddie sitting you down by the slowly dying bonfire before he ran inside. Only a small group still lingered by the burning embers, so engrossed in whatever they were doing that they didn’t spare you a second glance. You stared into the flames thoughtlessly until Eddie returned, offering you a bottle that you happily accepted.
“So,” Eddie sat next to you on the small bench, bumping your knee with his, “You think your dad’s cheating?”
You rolled your eyes as you took a large swig; your smile was unamused as you met his gaze, shaking your head, “We’re not gonna talk about it, Eddie.”
He hummed in acknowledgement, mulling something over with those glossy, drunken eyes for a few moments, “I like that you’re using my name now.”
You made a bit of a face before realizing he was right - you had been using his first name nearly all night, weirdly enough, “Huh… I didn’t notice.”
He grinned, looking you up and down fondly, “Guess that means you like me, doesn’t it?”
You smiled humorously, “Well, yeah, we already talked about that, like, a week ago.”
Eddie studied your face for just a moment, “So… we’re friends?”
Your expression brightened as you leaned your shoulder against his, “Yeah, we also established that.”
You took another drink, absentmindedly fussing with a loose thread on Eddie’s frayed jeans while your eyes studied the fire again. On the other side of the circle, the group of strangers rose to their feet and returned to the house, still seeming entirely unaware of you or Eddie. You watched them go, hearing the brief sound of music drifting towards you as they opened the back door; your gaze drifted to Eddie’s hands, watching as he fidgeted with one of his rings. You realized that his foot was bouncing a little, and you paused the hand that had been toying with the fabric of his pants. You furrowed your brow - was he nervous about something?
Wordlessly, you put your drink in Eddie’s hand, prompting him to look at you again, “I have to drive us, remember?”
You playfully rolled your eyes, “Didn’t Rick say anyone who needed to stay the night can? I don’t wanna be drunker than you tonight.”
“Too late.” Eddie teased, but nonetheless took a quick sip, “You’re a lightweight, princess, you’ll always be drunker than me.”
You grinned, “Whatever, so long as you’re drunk, too, right?”
“If I drink, will you talk to me about your dad?” You groaned at his insistence, taking the bottle back from him.
“Why do you care so much about that?”
Eddie shrugged, “You don’t talk a lot about personal stuff; you threw that out there and then tried to act like it wasn’t anything. Call it curiosity.”
You leaned towards Eddie a little, “Talking about personal stuff leads to pity or guilt or… something. I don’t need anyone feeling sorry for me, most of all you.”
Eddie nodded in understanding, turning his face towards the flames. Again, you caught yourself studying him, the shine of his eyes, the shape of his nose; the way the firelight danced on his face was damn flattering.
“A question for a question, then, does that seem fair?” He looked back towards you, recalling your first ‘date’ with one another.
An eager grin crossed your face, “Answer the question or take a shot?”
Eddie, too, smiled at the suggestion, even as he shook his head at your insistence to keep drinking, “Fine, but I’m limiting your shots, otherwise you won’t answer a damn thing.”
He stood before also pulling you to your feet, guiding the both of you up to the back porch. Once you were seated, Eddie ran back inside again, and you watched through the window as he grabbed a new bottle of booze and maneuvered around other party guests in search of a shot glass. He returned a minute later, sitting close to you.
“You first.” Eddie offered while carefully trying to pour the first shot. Nonetheless, he still managed to spill a few small drops on your knee, which you brushed away with the side of your hand, too drunk to care about how sticky your skin felt.
You hummed in consideration, “Seeing as you’re so curious about my parents, where are yours?”
Eddie narrowed his eyes at you, “I’m only answering if you promise to actually explain yourself when I ask my question.”
“That’s not how this game works.”
“You’re avoidant, it wouldn’t be fair if I poured my heart out for nothing.” He taunted with a challenging look in his eyes.
“Fine.” You sighed, to which he grinned largely.
“Thank you, is that so hard?” You glared smally, but Eddie was unphased as he playfully nudged you, “I don’t want you to pity me, either, okay? I’ve worked through this shit already. Mom died when I was… I dunno, three? Four? It’s been long enough that I don’t remember her at all. Dad ran off a couple years after that and left me with Wayne.”
You stared at each other for a few long moments, your eyes soft as you tried to imagine little Eddie dealing with that shit at such a young age. His brows went up as if to remind you not to feel sorry for him, so you nodded; he assessed you for a second longer.
“So, why do you think your dad’s cheating?”
“‘Why’ as in what's his reason or ‘why’ as in what’s my proof?”
Eddie sighed deeply, trying his very best not to smile at you, “Both, you smart ass.”
You couldn’t help but grin cheekily at his reaction, taking a moment to consider your answer. As you did, you once again found your hand on Eddie’s leg, fussing with the rip at the knee.
“He’s never around. Always says he’s working late or meeting a business partner or spending the weekend with friends. Doesn’t even spend time with my mom anymore. Honestly, I don’t think they ever had a good relationship - I think he just liked mom ‘cause she was pretty… And the lipstick I saw on his collar was a shade my mom would never wear…”
Eddie nodded in acceptance of the response, grateful that you actually gave him an honest, straight answer. Despite the fact that the two of you were supposed to be taking shots, you still took a large drink from the bottle in your hand. You didn’t want to linger on your family, so you moved on quickly.
“You ever had a real girlfriend before?”
“Only fake ones.” His quick response made you roll your eyes as you nudged him with your elbow. You then comfortably rested your head on Eddie’s shoulder, keeping your face turned up to watch his, causing him to laugh nervously, “No, um… there was one - hell, two - chicks that were almost something, but no.”
“That’s surprising.” Eddie’s brow shot up curiously, so you shrugged simply, “I just figured weird girls would be into you.”
It was clear on his face that Eddie wasn’t sure whether or not to take that as a compliment, “Only weird girls?”
You gaped at him for a moment as you tried to find the proper explanation, as much as drunk you just wanted to blurt out whatever came to mind first, “I just mean… you’re nice, you’re attentive, you’re attractive. You seem like the kinda guy who would make any normal girl… happy.”
Eddie’s expression stayed twisted in confusion, trying to make sense of what you were - and weren’t - saying, his cheeks tinged with pink, “And what do you consider a normal girl? Not a… popular chick? Or a princess like you?”
His question was pointed, flustering you, so you quickly sat back up and shrugged with something of a defensive face; you did not want to get into a drunken debate with him right now, “I don’t know, Eddie. Just… a girl.”
Eddie stared at you a moment longer, but soon shook his head and attempted to move away from the subject, his eyes conveying something that you couldn’t make sense of right now, “Do you miss any of your exes?”
You immediately laughed, unable to contain your amusement at the question, all too happy to forget the brief moment of awkwardness between you two. Eddie couldn’t help but grin along with you, “Hell no. They never even lasted long enough for me to think I loved them, how could I miss them?”
“You never loved any of them?” Eddie seemed surprised, so you shook your head, “Were there any you… almost loved?”
“Hmm, you’ll have to wait, it’s my turn to ask the question.” You responded cheekily. You barely considered what you wanted to ask next before grinning, “So, no girlfriends, but you’ve had sex, right?”
Eddie’s expression faltered a little, much to your surprise. For a moment, you stared at each other, Eddie in consideration and you in anticipation. You couldn’t help your surprise when he opted to down the shot just a moment later - you hadn’t thought that there’d possibly be a question that Eddie wouldn’t answer, you saw him almost as an open book in many ways.
Did that mean he hadn’t had sex? Or is it just something he didn’t want to discuss with you? Maybe the story was embarrassing or painful? Suddenly, you were all too curious about why Eddie wouldn’t answer, but you had to refrain from pushing the subject, else you two might get into a spat.
And so, your game continued, the two of you answering questions and taking shots, getting into the occasional debate about a stupid inquiry or a thoughtless comment. You eventually abandoned the game aspect and simply returned to talking, absorbed in conversation and finally slowing down your drinking. You stopped keeping track of just how much you both had a while ago, your blurry vision and slurring voice more than enough to convince you that you were drunk off your ass.
It had gotten so late that you both realized at some point the music had stopped playing inside, that the lights had been mostly turned off, that drunken conversation was no longer occurring from anywhere around you. You tried looking at Eddie’s wrist watch again, but it was pretty much impossible for you to actually see the time - needless to say, that was your cue that you two needed to call it a night.
So, you stood, balancing yourself with your hands on Eddie’s shoulders as your head spun, which made you giggle a little. Eddie waited to rise to his feet until you looked steady, slowly standing and keeping his hands on you to ensure neither of you went toppling to the ground. You continued to laugh as you stared at each other for a few long moments until Eddie finally began to guide you into the house.
Once inside, you whispered that you needed to use the restroom, so Eddie led you there, trying to look around the house and find a place for you to sleep as he waited. When you exited the bathroom, he wasn’t there to help you stumble your way through the mostly dark house, so with a pout you looked around yourself, poking your head into the other doors around you to see if there were any free beds to crash in.
“Eddie,” You drunkenly whined, walking back down the hall in his direction. He held a finger to his lips, instructing you to be quiet and not wake the others. Once you reached him, you delicately grabbed his arm and leaned in to whisper, “All the beds are taken.”
Eddie sighed to himself while looking around at all the partygoers sleeping in various spots of the living room. He didn’t know how late (or early) it was, but he could tell you were growing exhausted, the booze and weed finally catching up to you. He was tired as all hell, too, but unfortunately you two were beaten to all the comfy places to rest, too caught up in conversation to realize that the party had ended a while ago.
Eddie met your tired eyes thoughtfully, taking you in. In his own drunken state, he was nearly distracted by your pretty features; he’d always known you were pretty, it was damn obvious, but usually he was able to keep it from distracting him. As you two stood close together, illuminated by only the kitchen light streaming into the room, his stomach flipped at the arch of your brow, the curve of your nose, the pout of your lips. Eddie had to shake away the distraction of you and focus.
He put his hand on top of yours - the one that still held his arm - as he whispered, “Come on, I can make room in the van.”
Eddie began to lead you from the house, scooping up an extra couple pillows and blankets that were scattered about the living room as you trekked through it. You let yourself be pulled along without question, helping Eddie with the pillows before you tip-toed out the door.
The air was brisk by the lake, causing you to inhale sharply at the unexpected temperature - god, the van was going to be freezing, wasn’t it?
As Eddie threw open the back doors and began shifting things around the bed of the van, you watched him absentmindedly, drunkenly humming some nonsensical tune to yourself. You couldn’t see the way Eddie grinned at the sound. Of course, he already knew you were a lightweight, but considering how well you paced yourself tonight, he hadn’t noticed just how drunk you’d gotten. All the niceties and relaxing of your shoulders should’ve been a dead giveaway, but he was too caught up in those moments to think about it.
Once he finally made the back of the van as cozy as he possibly could, Eddie spun around and presented it to you as if it were a god damn chariot. You giggled smally.
“All yours, princess.” He stepped aside to let you climb in, so you sat and began to remove your shoes.
An inquisitive look furrowed your brows, “You’re staying with me, right?” Eddie shrugged simply, and momentarily your tone grew a little stronger, “I am not sleeping in this van alone.”
“What, you scared?” You narrowed your eyes at Eddie before he looked past you and at the cramped bed of the vehicle, “You know it’s gonna be a tight fit.”
An abrupt laugh escaped your mouth, and as Eddie looked at you in surprise, you raised your brow suggestively before returning your attention to your shoes. Sure, he’d heard you make sexual jokes often enough before, so he shouldn’t be surprised; maybe it was how you laughed, or maybe he was just too drunk. Either way, he felt the back of his neck grow warm.
You set your shoes aside before looking back up at Eddie, pulling your stiff jacket off your shoulders. You looked as if you’d already forgotten the silly little exchange you just had.
“Come on, Eddie, I can see you’re tired.” You got up on your knees and shuffled across the back of the van, setting your belongings in the front seat. You spun back around to face Eddie, sitting cross-legged despite the fact that you were wearing a skirt; you figured it was much too dark for Eddie to see anything anyway.
With a sigh, Eddie tugged off his own vest and jacket, ignoring the way you sat before him - he was pretty wiped now that you mentioned it. So, you’d sleep next to each other? You two had already done that before. You were both drunk and cold and tired, after all, so what could possibly go wrong?
Eddie crawled into the van and shut the doors behind him, leaving the two of you in near darkness. He shuffled towards the front of the van as well, bumping into your shoulder in the process and making you giggle. He felt a quick surge of warmth at the sound, but quickly tried to shake off the feeling.
Eddied added his things to the front seat, his shoes and jacket joining yours before he began fussing with the blankets, attempting not to bump you again. As you both tried to settle in and get comfortable, it became clear the van was going to be a little cramped considering that you two were trying to fit between junk and old equipment that was pushed as far to the side as they’d go. You kept brushing elbows or knocking knees, which kept making you drunkenly giggle, until finally you were both settled into some semblance of a comfortable position.
“Eddie…” You whispered, rolling on your side to face him; he had his back to you as if to maintain some propriety, much like your sleepover last week. He sighed before shuffling around once again to face you, nearly taken aback but just how close you actually were. Was there actually that little space or were you closer than you needed to be?
“Yes?” He whispered back, although he realized there was no need for either of you to be so quiet. The corner of his mouth pulled up in amusement.
Your eyes had adjusted well enough to the lack of light in the van, and so you simply stared at Eddie for a few moments, taking in what features you could see. Light from the moon reflected on his hair and vaguely illuminated his eyes, shadows accentuating the planes of his face. You smiled fondly at him. Once again, your drunken mind was realizing Eddie’s good looks while also trying to resist them. He was far more good looking than people, including you, gave him credit for.
You giggled to yourself, feeling warmth in your cheeks, which caused Eddie to give you one of his rascally grins that you were just thinking about. If only he knew you were laughing because of his lovely face.
“Did you need something?” He urged, still waiting for you to actually speak.
“It’s quiet.” You answered simply, causing him to now laugh, shaking his head a little.
“Yeah, because we’re trying to sleep.” He teased, rolling onto his back with a content sigh. You huff to yourself, pushing back the blankets you’d just settled into; Eddie rolled his eyes at how antsy you were all of a sudden Was this yet another drunken habit he’d have to keep track of?
“Can I turn on the radio?” You began to shuffle up towards the front, but Eddie reached out for you blindly, managing to grab your leg; lucky for both of you, it was dark enough that he couldn’t see up your skirt despite this angle.
“No, you’ll kill the battery.”
You huffed, turning your attention back to Eddie, “Cassette player?”
Eddie sighed, “Up front.”
He released your leg, and you crawled into the front of the van, found the player, and crawled back next to him. You set the cassette player on the floor between the front seats and hit play, not at all concerned about what was in the deck; so long as there was something playing, you’d be satisfied.
Eddie smiled as the music started - Dio, the Last in Line. One of his favorite albums, hence why it practically lived in this cassette player. He’d left it on the B-side from the last time he’d played it, and admittedly he was happy to see that you were content to listen to it.
You once again fussed with the blankets and pillows, settling in even closer beside Eddie, who hoped you’d finally relax. It took you a minute, but once you finally seemed to be mellowed out, Eddie closed his eyes, speaking softly, “Night.”
But instead of responding, you propped yourself up on your elbow again thanks to your sporadically firing thoughts, going back to studying his face. Eddie looked at you with a furrowed brow, wondering what the hell was going through your head and where all this energy came from. He had yet to see you act like this, so hyperactive and restless.
With your free hand, you reached towards Eddie impulsively, making him nervous as you ever so lightly brushed your fingertips through the ends of his hair. His eyes widened, nearly shrinking from your touch as you hummed to yourself as if in confirmation of something.
“Are you… okay?” He asked, grabbing your wrist delicately, which caused you to curl your fingers just a little.
“I wanted to know if your hair was soft.” You answer as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, continuing to fuss with the end of his curls, “I think the shampoo you’re using is too harsh.”
Eddie made a puzzled face, not prepared for that comment. Hell, he wasn’t prepared for any of what’s happened in the past couple minutes. You continued to play with his hair absentmindedly, rocking your head lightly to the music, and Eddie hated to admit that he enjoyed it. He knew that you weren’t aware of what you were doing, you’d proven yourself to be far too drunk for that, but he liked to think that you were enjoying this as well.
“What makes you say that?” Eddie asked gently, realizing he was leaning into your touch just a little. The faintest of laughs escaped you, and you tilted down a little closer to him.
“Your hair seems heavy.” You state simply - obviously that made sense to you, but Eddie still didn’t quite understand. Momentarily, he didn’t worry about you leaning closer because he was trying to understand what you meant by that.
“Heavy?”
“Yeah,” Your voice was bright as you leaned over him, assessing his hair with your hand, “Your product weighs it down.”
Eddie chuckled a little, loosening his grip on your wrist and lightly drawing his finger down your forearm. A content sigh escaped your lips, the feathery touch of his calloused hand sending a shiver up your spine. Your sound made Eddie realize what he was doing, and so he quickly stopped, feeling far too warm - why the hell did he do that? He suddenly grasped that his touch was far too intimate and personal, and although that didn’t seem to bother you right now, it certainly made him pause; he was not quite drunk enough to excuse that.
“Let’s worry about my hair tomorrow.” Eddie instructed while removing his hand from your arm; he needed to relax, he was getting far too worked up by your close proximity and your hooded eyes. He figured you didn’t mean to be so close and personal and touchy with him right now, you were simply drunk.
Despite Eddie’s words, you stayed put, continuing to fuss with his hair and study his face with drunken, unabashed fondness. You looked between his eyes, and only then did you realize just how close you were to him.
As the second track on the cassette started, you considered the look on Eddie’s face - there was something hesitant there, something taken aback. You were very much in his space, but that wasn’t a problem, right?
Well, no, but it was weird for you. Not that you were terribly concerned - you were far too crossfaded to think clearly right now. One second, the small, sober part of your brain wondered what the hell you were doing, but the next second your drunkenness won out and you didn’t give a damn. Right now, you didn’t have a care in the world, all your focus trained solely on Eddie.
You found yourself attempting to hum along to the song that you didn’t recognize - you’d have to ask Eddie what this was later, if you could actually remember it. And your humming caused him to give you that charming smile that you had slowly become fond of. It was different from the playful grins, the mocking smirks, or the laughing smiles you saw regularly - this smile was more intimate, more personal, reserved just for you.
You were so caught up in that sweet smile that you didn’t realize at first that you were leaning in closer. Eddie didn’t seem to notice it either, as if he were hypnotized by the intensity of your gaze, by the softness of your touch and the closeness of your body. The only hint that Eddie was aware of what you were doing was the ever so subtle sigh that left his parted lips, which finally drew your attention away from his eyes.
His lips looked so damn plush, so damn inviting. Have you ever noticed that before? At this moment, it seemed impossible to ignore, so how had you been so unaware of it?
Eddie looked so damn… kissable.
And with all sober thoughts pushed to the wayside, you decided you needed to find out if that theory was true.
You closed the small gap between you two, pressing your lips to Eddie’s with an experimental softness, a tentative longing. A low, surprised moan rumbled in Eddie’s chest as you felt his body go rigid beneath yours; for a brief moment, the kiss was nearly nonexistent, as if Eddie was hesitant to reciprocate. But within nearly the same breath, his fingers traced delicately along your arm again, causing you to shiver as you let out a sound of satisfaction.
Feeling Eddie relax against you, you curled your fingers tighter in his hair, kissing him more firmly and confidently. You lowered your body to rest comfortably in his side, your now free hand cupping the back of his neck as you hooked an ankle over his. Eddie’s lips were soft yet musky, firm yet unfledged; his light stubble tickled your upper lip, a subtle smoky smell clinging to his skin.
Realizing that you were practically holding your breath, you forced yourself to pull away from the kiss, breathing deeply against Eddie’s lips. There was barely any space between you two, breath mingling, chests heaving, lips brushing. You were nearly tempted to pull back further just so you could meet his deep brown eyes, but you didn’t dare move for fear that it would break whatever spell you were under.
You thoughtlessly licked your swollen lower lip, causing the tip of your tongue to graze along Eddie’s lips as well. A surprised groan leapt out of him, your body suddenly feeling taut and flushed in response; god, you wanted him to make that sound again.
You dug your fingers into the back of Eddie’s neck and pulled him back towards you, your lips feverish and fierce as they pressed against his. This time, he reciprocated with aching curiosity, his gentle hands desperate as one cradled the back of your head and the other gripped the small of your back; as you pressed yourself flush against Eddie and rolled your hips, it caused the both of you to moan into the kiss.
Your hands cupped Eddie’s jaw excitedly, holding him close as you moved to straddle his waist. Another needy, amorous sound rose in his throat as you rolled your hips again, settling comfortably on top of him as you began to eagerly explore from his neck to his chest to his waist. You twisted his shirt in your fists as if you were afraid he’d pull back, kissing with even more sloppy feverishness.
Your heart pounded frantically in your chest, your body jolting under Eddie’s more tentative touch. The feel of his fingertips was oh-so light as he traced your arms, your spine, your exposed thigh. In response, you hungrily prodded at his lips with your tongue, excited by the low sound in his throat as he opened his mouth to you. You kissed Eddie fiercely as your hands returned to firmly gripping his jaw, keeping him there as if he were the air you breathed.
Continuing to rut slowly against him, a satisfied smile dared to interrupt your kiss as you felt Eddie growing hard beneath your hot center. Teasingly, you pulled your lips away from Eddie’s, his own chasing after yours in a way that made you grin with lustful satisfaction. You pressed your forehead to his, breathing heavily as your nose brushed against his. You slowly, gently dragged your lips across Eddie’s, over his hot cheek and up to his ear; his whole body shuddered beneath you as your breath tickled his skin.
“You’re good at this.” You drunkenly teased, voice low and breathy; you were certain you felt Eddie jolt again as he tried to catch his own breath. You turned to study him, awaiting some smart remark that never came; the look on Eddie’s face suggested he was too far gone to have any quips for you. You smiled again, brushing your lips against his cheek; you were tempted to keep taunting him, but became all too engrossed in watching him to even try.
Eddie’s parted lips were swollen, his breathing heavy as he stared up at the ceiling with a nearly stunned expression, trying to collect himself. His eyes bounced around as if in search of something, his hand unconsciously tracing invisible lines on your arm. You dragged your gaze down his throat - his Adam’s apple bobbed nervously - then to his chest, watching it deeply rise and fall. The smile hadn’t left your face, you realized as you brought your lustful gaze back up to his gentle face.
Eddie’s cheeks were bright red as he finally met your eyes, looking so soft and unsure and questioning as he drank you in. Your grin widened fondly as you simply stared at one another, which encouraged Eddie to smile himself, albeit with some hesitation. Feeling the rapid beating of his heart against you, you slid a hand to rest on his chest, tearing your gaze away from his to watch your fingers brush delicate circles in his shirt.
Drunkenly, you were torn between wanting to relax against Eddie and wanting to go back in for another kiss; hell, you could probably make out with him all night if he’d let you. But even with intoxication clouding your head, you could see in his expression that he could only handle so much of you, that he might burst if you kept teasing him and feeling him and kissing him.
Again, the sober part of you briefly reared her head, desperately trying to make sense of the fact that you just kissed Eddie as if your life depended on it. Thinking about how wild that was, you couldn’t help but giggle, which drew his intense eyes back to yours. You raised a brow as you studied his features yet again, a happy look on your face.
“Our secret?” The words came out of your mouth without you being fully aware of them. Through your drunken haze, you could see the way his expression furrowed at the question, the way his eyes seemed to panic as if he were finally crashing back down to earth.
“‘Our secret?’” He repeated in a confused, gruff tone. You nodded simply, resting your head down beside his, feeling the tickle of his hair on your cheeks. You didn’t catch the way he had to collect himself, how he swallowed hard in disappointment before replying gently, “Yeah, okay…”
If you were sober, you would have seen the upset in his expression, heard the doubt in words. Of course, if you were sober this wouldn’t have happened in the first place. But because you were drunk - both from alcohol and from that kiss - you entirely missed the way Eddie’s energy deflated like a balloon.
Instead, you smiled wide like a drunken fool, sinking into the blankets and pillows beside Eddie with a sense of satisfaction. You kept one hand resting comfortably on his chest, your face nearly in the crook of his neck; you realized how exhausted you were now, the feeling having escaped you while you were absorbed in the sensation of Eddie’s lips against yours.
As a tired fog slowly began to encompass you, Eddie gently set his hand on top of yours, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on your skin. You closed your eyes with a comfortable sigh, letting Eddie’s steady breathing help lull you to sleep.
Just as you were on the brink of consciousness, you felt Eddie’s lips brush against your forehead, his voice low as he gently muttered something that you couldn’t quite make out.
.
.
addt. Author's Note | So uuuuuh surprise? 👀In case y'all missed it or were unsure, the song referenced in this chap is Mystery by Dio, which is one of my fav songs by the band and one I've associated with these two idiots for a while! Now, let's all scream and shout about this chapter together, because I'm SO eager to see what y'all think~
The start of your senior year had you rethinking everything your life had been thus far. It’s as if you woke up one day and decided it was time to do a complete 180. Maybe it was the senioritis that teachers joked about, or maybe it was your impending 18th birthday, but either way, you realized that maybe you didn’t like the life you’d been living anymore. So, you decide to change it. You just didn’t factor in Eddie Munson being part of that equation.
Warnings & Notes | 18+, fem reader, slow burn, faking dating, opposites attract, bratty rich bitch reader, super minor revenge plot, dysfunctional family dynamics, idiots-to-lovers, smut & nsfw themes
⛧ one
⛧ two
⛧ three
⛧ four
⛧ five
⛧ six
⛧ seven
⛧ eight
⛧ nine
⛧ ten
⛧ eleven
⛧ twelve
⛧ thirteen
⛧ fourteen
⛧ fifteen
⛧ sixteen
⛧ seventeen
⛧ epilogue
Remember this viral post? Wanda and Jamal and her husband Lonnie are the most wholesome people, this story brought tears to my eyes originally and I am crying once more learning from Jamal's social media that Lonnie has sadly passed away.
I was rewatching Young Justice and the fact that all versions of Robin are the only one forced to keep their secret identity even with their teammates and friends is usually written off as Batman being paranoid. I think it's more than that, that it's his way of giving the kids an 'out'. If they ever decide they don't want to fight crime anyone they have a safe identity to return to, no obligations.
They are children first, soldiers second. Bruce knows better than anyone the loneliness his job brings and of course he would want better for anyone, especially his kids.
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