𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 - 𝐏𝐓. 𝐈
stranger things x reader | eddie munson x black! fem! sinclair! reader
(y/n) sinclair. not only were you the resident badass of hawkins middle's class of 1980, but you were eddie munson's—the freak of '79—first ever crush. you were tough, you were cool, you were funny, and because he was in the grade above you, he assumed you didn't even know he existed, and would be forever doomed to longing glances and endless pining. that is, until a week into your freshman year, when you stopped showing up to school. eddie thought you were going to be the one that got away—literally and figuratively—but to his surprise, you pop back up six years later... and so do those unresolved feelings.
𝑶𝑹
the romantic, pot-fueled, tear-filled, demon-riddled, dimension-transcending story of how you and eddie got together.
cw - wc: 12k, fluff, angst (resolved), eventual nsfw, violence, fighting, profanity, mature themes, innuendos, reader is lucas and erica's older sister (19), reader and eddie smoke weed, story starts before the events of season 4 but will eventually follow the plot.
a/n - tumblr's gonna force me to split this behemoth into multiple parts so bear with me.
September 26, 1985.
"I'm not a baby."
"Really? You've been sporting that toddler pout for so long I hadn't realized."
"I don't understand why you have to walk me into the house! It's just Dustin's," Lucas grumbled, thoroughly annoyed, as he glanced back at you trailing behind him, the September air crisp as you both trekked up Dustin's absurdly long walkway.
His arms were crossed, partly because he was upset, partly because his thin jean jacket was not nearly warm enough to combat the obnoxiously cold night—he ignored your suggestions of a warmer coat in protest.
"You've dropped me off a million times and never walked in! Why are you deciding to be responsible now?"
"'Cause you're hanging out with high-schoolers now, and I wanna make sure they're not treating my kid brother any kinda way," you answered, plainly, the confident clack of your boots on the cobble path having a certain echo in the quiet space.
Quiet, in spite of Lucas's complaints.
"I promise you they're not! We're all friends. We're all cool. Everything's fine. You can go," his brows furrowed, tone rising at your still insistence.
"If that's the case, then I should have no problem seeing it for myself," you combated.
"I have a problem 'cause you're gonna embarrass me like you always do!"
You gasped, offended, "I do not!"
"Do too!"
"Do not!"
"Do too! Remember when Mike and Dustin came over to the house for the first time? You wouldn't stop pinching my cheeks!"
"I was teasing, you're my little brother! And I'm allowed to do whatever I want in our house!"
"Okay, well, what about when you dropped me off at the Snow Ball dance! You called me Lulu right in front of Max!"
"That's your name! And you didn't tell me you wanted to seem too-cool-for-school in front of your new girlfriend!"
"It's implied!"
"Alright, look!" you cut through as the two of you reached the porch, the glazed glass that lined the front door letting a pretty shade of amber light seep into the outside. "You can either quit complaining and let me check things out, or you can march your little ass back to the car. I still gotta drop Erica off at Tina's before I head to work, and the last thing I need is to be late because you wouldn't stop throwing a tantrum."
"Bite me," he rolled his eyes.
Ding-dong!
Lucas's eyes shot wide, his gaze darting toward your manicured finger leaving the doorbell before settling on the self-satisfied smirk curling onto your lips.
"You didn't..."
"I did."
"I hate you."
"Love you, too, Lulu."
In an instant, the door violently swung open.
But rather than be met by a usual, smiling Dustin, it was instead a man with a rather distinct mop of brown hair, his smirk mirroring yours as he clutched a crumpled twenty in his hand.
"Y'know, for a company promise of thirty minutes or less, you sure know how to take your—"
Eddie froze mid-sentence, eyes finally settling on you and realizing that you were, in fact, not the over-worked pizza delivery boy.
Startled, he nearly tripped over the threshold, just barely managing to catch himself before scrambling to awkwardly stand up straight, eyes wide and chest tight.
Now, Eddie would actually throw himself off a bridge before he ever admitted this to anyone, given that he wasn't exactly known for liking "normie" music; but in that very moment, when his throat went dry at the sight of your face, and his stomach swirled at the curve of your hips in your lacy tank, he was unable to stop the sounds of Foreigner's I Wanna Know What Love Is from flooding his eardrums.
It was you.
(y/n), fucking, Sinclair.
(y/n), Broke Freshman Jock Marcus Carver's Jaw In The 7th Grade, Sinclair.
(y/n), Band Tee Sporting, Iron Maiden Loving, Junior High Badass, Sinclair.
(y/n), First Crush Eddie Ever Had, Sinclair
And you were standing right in front of him, in the flesh, as one of the hottest girls he had ever seen.
The way your hair, now longer, perfectly framed your face...
The way your lacy, black tank top and short, little skirt accentuated your figure...
The way your skin practically glowed under the porch light...
He had half a mind to think you were some sort of model for Seventeen, or a rock poster girl in disguise.
Confused and thoroughly creeped out by his silent, heavy staring, you arched a brow, which somewhat managed to snap him out of it.
"Sinclair," Eddie quickly cleared his throat, turning to Lucas as he blinked back to normal. "You didn't say you were bringing... company."
"She's—"
"Not playing," you cut in. "Just here to drop him off."
Jesus Christ, even your voice got sexy.
"Mhmm," he hummed, crossing his arms over his chest. "And who might you be?"
"She's my—"
"Older sister," you answered again.
"Older sister?" his brows raised as shot Lucas a sharp, surprised look. "Didn't know he had an older sister."
"Yeah, the little twerp doesn't like to talk about me."
"Can't imagine why."
You cocked a brow at his wording as he shifted to lean against the door frame, a faint smile curling on his lips.
Though, in his leaning, he moved out the way just enough to reveal Dustin emerging from his basement.
"(y/n)!" Dustin exclaimed, breaking out into wide grin as he sprinted toward the door.
You gasped, face lighting up as you shoved past Eddie and pulled the young boy into a tight embrace, "Dustin!"
Eddie dramatically threw himself against the door frame, Lucas rolling his eyes at the display as he stepped into the house along with you.
"How are you?! When did you get back home?! Lucas! Why didn't you say anything?! How was California?! Did you see the Golden Gate Bridge?!" Dustin began to rapid fire, utterly ecstatic to see you again.
"Great! Last week. He's an asshole. Very sunny. And yes!" you answered just as quickly.
"That's awesome! Aw, (y/n), you look great!"
"So do you! Christ, you're damn near taller than me! What've they been feeding you, kid?"
"Mostly chocolate pudding and Mountain Dew."
"Eh, covers the basic food groups."
"Oh, shit, so much has happened! I've got so much to tell you!"
"I wanna hear it all!"
Shifting silently next to your younger brother, Eddie leaned over, arms crossed over his chest.
"Your sister's pretty sweet on the kid," he remarked, lowly.
Lucas sighed, "Dustin's always been her favorite. He was a cute kid and saved her snacks all the time so now she loves him more than me."
"That right?"
Letting out a loud cough, Eddie broke up the reunion, brows flaring at Dustin to move this along as he pulled away.
"Oh, where are my manners!" Dustin smiled, turning you around. "(y/n), this is Eddie, he's the president of our D&D club."
"So I've seen..." you hummed, eyes meeting his with a look that he couldn't read, but scared him nonetheless
"Yeah, well, now that you have, can you go?" Lucas groaned, sliding his hands over his face. "You came, you saw, everything's fine. You think Dustin would be here if they weren't nice?"
"Hey!"
"I suppose..." you caved, your eyes lingering on Eddie for a moment before turning back to Dustin, pulling him into another hug. "It was good seein' you, Dust. Glad to see you're still sweet."
He smiled, hugging back just as fierce, "Good to see you, too, (y/n). Glad to see you're still so nice."
With a squeal, you tightened your hold, rocking him back and forth.
"Ugh, why couldn't I have had you as my brother?"
"(y/n)!" Lucas exclaimed.
"Alright, alright! Keep your pants on," you groaned, turning on your heel and striding toward the boy. "You're such a little wastoid, y'know that?"
"Bite me."
"You said that already."
Grabbing his face, you placed an obnoxious kiss on his cheek—despite his violent struggling—before grabbing the door handle.
"I'll be back to pick you up at midnight, alright?"
"Alright, whatever, goodbye."
"C'mon, Lucas, you gotta see this! Mike finally got a forty-sided dice!" Dustin grabbed your brother's arm, dragging him toward the basement.
"You're kidding! That's a thing?!
"Lemme show you!"
The two ran off in a frenzy, leaving you and Eddie in awkward silence.
Though, just as he moved to scurry away, you grabbed him by the collar of his Hellfire shirt—the man letting out a terrified yelp as you roughly yanked him outside and slammed the door shut before shoving him against it.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Easy on the shirt. Easy on the shirt!" he quickly pleaded, throwing his hands up in surrender.
"Do you think I'm stupid?" you asked, brows furrowed, tone sharp, "Brain dead? Suffering from some sort of amnesia?"
"You're asking... if I would tell the girl choking me... if I think she's stupid?" he gasped, quite obviously in pain but for some reason not struggling in the slightest.
"So you would if I wasn't choking you?" you cocked brow, pressing your forearm harder against his neck.
"No! No! I wouldn't!... I don't!... I don't think you're stupid!"
You scoffed, pushing off and allowing him to take a much-needed gasp of air, a small part of you feeling sorry as he clutched his throat, coughing into oblivion
"Did you actually believe I'd forget who you were in the few years I've been gone, Munson?" you added. "Or better yet, did you think I'd forget simple math? 'Cause last I checked, you're supposed to have been graduated twice over. The hell are you doing still running that damn club?"
"Well, Sinclair, some—and this may come as a shock to you—some people aren't exactly equipped to fly across the country and score some cushy office job," Eddie answered, sarcastically. "Some people have their roots running a little deeper in this town."
Your voice fell, eyes widening slightly at what he was implying, "That's not what I meant, and you know it."
"Now who thinks who is stupid?"
Beep-beep!
"(y/n), let's go!" Erica shouted from your car, aggressively honking.
"In a minute!" you shouted back, annoyed, before returning your gaze to Eddie. "You're lucky I gotta drop off that brat and clock into work or I'd be so totally interrogating your ass."
"Oh, I'm sure you'll find the time," he muttered under his breath, though you heard loud and clear.
Your brows furrowed as you stepped forward, further striding into his space until he was backed against the door once again, "Look, I'm not gonna ask about your stupid fantasy game because, frankly, I don't care."
"Expected."
"But my brother seems to like it, and whatever the hell else you got going on here, so I'm willing to let this go... for now. But anything happens to him on your watch, Munson, and I mean if he is even struck by lightning... it will take every doughnut-loving cop in Hawkins to pry me off of you."
Your eyes darkened with promise and pure intent, the new shade sending a certain aching stir through Eddie's pants.
Thickly, he swallowed, the sensation in his nethers growing even stronger as you stepped closer, your noses now inches apart, your chest pressed softly against his.
"Do you understand?"
"Yup. Yes. Yes. I do," he quickly nodded, answering fast in hopes of getting you as far away as possible before he popped a stiffy and really gave you a reason to choke him out.
Did he care?
Would he really mind?
Was it healthy for one to enjoy the idea of being choked by their long lost school crush?
All questions he would answer later.
"Fine," you caved, pulling back enough for him to let out a sigh of air he didn't realize he was holding.
Instantly, you turned on your heel, storming off on the walkway and leaving Eddie to stand there like an idiot.
Though, while your mind a swirl of frustration, surprise, and very confusing feelings, Eddie could only seem to think about one thing.
And that was the new angle of admiration you had to offer him as you left—angle of admiration being his better way of saying he hated to see you leave, but loved to watch you go.
Really.
Vertically wasn't the only way you grew since he last saw you.
"Stop staring at my ass, creep!" you exclaimed, not even having to waste a glance back to know he was looking.
You used your middle finger to shield your butt, forcing a rather pleasant sound to rumble from Eddie's throat.
"You look good, Sinclair!"
"Blow me, Munson!"
He chuckled, relieved by how little the Golden State had changed you.
But just as he turned back to the door, he nearly jumped out his skin, startled by George the Pizza Deliver Boy standing behind him, three boxes in hand.
"That your girlfriend?" he asked, peeking around the Eddie to see you slam the driver's side door and peel out of Dustin's driveway. "She's hot."
Annoyed by the intruder, Eddie rolled his eyes, shoving the twenty into the boy's chest and moving him aside before snatching the pizzas and opening the door.
"Hey, man, you... uh—"
"What?" Eddie groaned, slowly turning around.
"You might wanna take care of that," George nodded toward the man's crotch. "Y'know... before anyone else sees."
Eddie looked down, eyes immediately going wide and face burning all the way up to his ears as he realized that he had popped a stiffy.
A rather obvious and painfully hard one, at that.
And it was all your fault.
"Fuck."
.
.
.
October 12, 1985.
"E-Eddie!" you mewled, the sheen of sweat on your back forcing you to slip on the carpeted floor of his van, his pace relentless.
"I know, I know," his blunt nails dug into the flesh of your hips, a smirk rising to his lips at the way you were already gone. "You're doin' so good for me, baby. Just a little bit more."
His hand roamed your breasts, mesmerized by the way they jiggled with each of his thrusts.
Perfect... soft... smooth..
Seeing you in that low-cut shirt the other day, he knew they would be.
But seeing them for himself.
Lightly squeezing, he kneaded the supple flesh, strengthening his hold with his other had as he adopted a quicker, rougher pace.
"So fuckin' pretty... you look so fuckin' pretty like this..."
"O-Oh, yes! Ngh! Eds-Eds f-fuck," you keened, the air in your lungs slowly but surely leaving you. "Feels s'good!"
Your cries drifted far past the van, so far that Eddie was sure whatever lucky bastard was parked nearby could hear.
But he wanted you louder.
He wanted you shrieking.
He hadn't realized how badly he wanted you until now, wanted to feel the way you fit him.
Wanted to hear the way you spoke his name wrapped in pleasure.
Everything of you, he wanted.
Needed.
Eddie needed you.
By the grace of God, he'd somehow managed to hold out for this long, but his luck wouldn't last with the way you were clawing his back, moans rising as he switched angles.
But in an instant, it was all snatched away.
Breathless, Eddie shot straight up in his bed, heart thundering in his chest.
Swallowing thickly, he quickly glanced down at his lap, his cum hot and sticky against his skin, and his half-chubbed length angrily confined by his boxers.
It happened again...
"Jesus Christ..." he groaned, sliding a hand over his face.
A flush of embarrassment rose to his cheeks at the sight, the man swiftly brought back to the string of other nights where he had awoken to the same scene.
There was something about you, something about your presence that instantly turned him back to a horned-up thirteen year old—back when a pair of tits and a couple moans could make him cum in his pants.
God, this was pathetic.
You were his kiddie crush back in, like, the seventh grade, and now you're back and all he can think about is fucking you halfway to Sunday in the back of his stupid van?
Unable and unwilling to reckon with what your image had just done to him, he settled for flopping back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling with a blank, hopeless expression.
You were dropping Lucas off for another session at Henderson's tomorrow.
How the hell was he supposed to face you?
.
.
.
October 31, 1985.
BAM. BAM. BAM.
"Hold on, I'll be there in a second."
...
BAM. BAM. BAM.
"Be there in a second."
...
BAM. BAM. BAM.
"I said I'll be there in a second!"
...
BAM. BAM. BAM.
"Jesus H. Christ! I said I'll be there in a goddamn second!"
Eddie cursed, dropping a fresh-bag of pot on his coffee table as he roughly pushed himself to his feet, storming toward the door.
If Ronnie Dio himself wasn't waiting outside, heads were going to roll.
"Y'know, you’ve got a lot of nerve banging on my door like that without an—"
Swinging the door open, he never in a million years would've expected to see you on the other side.
Especially not looking like that.
"Appointment?" you cocked a brow, gaze hooded and darkened by brim of your witch's hat.
You were in nothing but an agonizingly tight, black dress with long bell-sleeves, your cleavage on perfect display.
Your eyes were accentuated by dark shadow, cheeks faintly flushed by the chill, and nipples very obviously perked under the thin fabric.
Goddamn...
Without thinking, Eddie stepped to the side, allowing you in, now incredibly thankful that Wayne worked nights.
He wouldn't be back until eight.
Eager to know what you wanted, Eddie shut the door, turning around to see that you were examining the trailer intensely, looking at each individual item strewn about like it was in a museum.
"Y'know, I always figured you went home to an underpass after school. But now that I think about it, this is much more you," you remarked, tone cutting as you slowly paced around the room.
"See, you must be lost because if you didn't want the trailer park, you would've taken a left about a half mile back," Eddie countered, tone blatantly sarcastic as he leaned against a wall, crossing his arms over his chest. "And you wouldn't be trying to break down my door."
"Didn't realize I had to call ahead to schedule a drug deal."
"Yeah, well, I suppose waking up all of Hawkins was the easier option."
Your brows flattened, unamused, while his smile quirked.
"What do you want, (y/n)?"
"Two. Pre-rolled," you answered, holding out a five dollar bill between your fingers. "And none of that cheap stuff you sling to the cheerleaders."
Quickly, his eyes flicked from the money to the visibly soft expanse of the back of your hand, his body overcome with the sudden urge to hold it.
But, with what little strength he had, he forced himself to grab the money instead, gliding around you to return to the coffee table—he kept all his pre-rolls in an old cookie tin.
"Getting in the Halloween spirit?" he asked, curious, as he dropped to his knees, grabbing the tin from the lower shelf before cracking it open.
You shrugged, arms resting casually behind your back, "Nope. Just a guy I wanna smoke with tonight."
At the last part, Eddie froze, something way deep in his chest bristling at the thought, but he was quick to brush it off.
"I see," he nodded, pulling out two joints before looking up to hand them to you. "Who's the lucky man?"
With a smirk, you only took one, nimbly snatching his Zippo out his pocket, "Three guesses."
Confused, Eddie's brows furrowed for a moment; but as his gaze zeroed in on the pot in his hand, his eyes widened, it all suddenly becoming very clear.
"Nuh-uh. No way."
"Yes way."
"Mm mm. Nope. Sorry, sweetheart. I don't get high on my own supply."
"And I wanted a pony for my birthday. But we can't always get what we want, now can we, Tony Montana?"
"Y'know, I seem to recall a certain girl choking me against a suburban door frame with a look of what I can only assume was pure rage," he remarked, feigning innocence as he tapped his chin and pretended to think. "I wonder where she is..."
"That was a month ago. And that was before I knew about all the good you do for those kids," you defended, a sharp pang of guilt staining your voice.
You hadn't intended to be so... overbearing in getting your message across.
Thanks to Lucas, you already knew that Dungeons & Dragons was the farthest thing from "evil", and even further from "satanic"—it was just a nerdy game for nerdy kids who liked to make-believe with their nerdy friends.
But as far as Eddie, you weren't so sure.
You didn't really know know him back in school—much less now—so you made your assumptions off the not-so-pretty things you had heard.
A real dick move you were now kicking yourself for.
"Look," you started, tone soft as you slowly lowered yourself to the space next to him, eyes boring into Eddie's with a warmth and sincerity that heated him from the inside out. "I was out of line. I let all the rumors I remembered cloud my judgement and treated you terribly. And for that I'm sorry."
His gaze was intense on your face, locked in and unreadable as you paused, forcing yourself to avert your eyes as your cheeks burned with embarrassment.
"I wanna start over. Forget junior high, forget elementary, forget everything."
Tucking a hair behind your ear, you held up the weed, a sheepish grin curling on your lips as you held your hand.
"I'm just a girl in a shitty witch's costume that wants to buy you smoke and talk."
For a moment, Eddie hesitated, eyes flicking from your hand to you.
(y/n), the girl who was known for kicking ass and taking names, the girl he spent his whole pubescence pining for, was looking up at him through those pretty lashes with doe-wide eyes and a nervous smile that made his stomach leap in his throat.
What was this feeling?
Sure, he thought you were hot when you were fucking shit up, sticking it to any and everyone that hated you for who you were—it was empowering.
But seeing you so calm, so serene, so perfectly yourself and perfectly happy even with the Drive turned way down… it jump-started a certain longing in his chest.
He wanted that.
Bad.
And he wanted to try it with you.
Newly confident, he took your hand, giving it a firm shake.
"Eddie Munson," he introduced, unable to fight the grin twisting its way onto his face.
Relieved, you let out a heavy sigh, shoulders dropping as you shook his hand back, offering him a thankful smile.
"(y/n) Sinclair."
.
.
.
November 28, 1985.
"We're not having this conversation again."
"We're gonna keep having this conversation 'til I get it through your thick, little skull."
"Dio is not better than Maiden, Eds. Not on a good day. Not in this lifetime. Not ever," you scoffed, mouth stuffed with Thanksgiving leftovers as you hung upside down off the edge of his bed. "Not even better than Sabbath."
"Youf wash yer tongue!" he exclaimed, offended, as he abruptly turned around in his chair, a whole dinner role in his mouth. "I wilf not stanmp for such blasbemy in this householf!"
Eddie had been at his desk working diligently on a few new maps for Hellfire's most recent campaign when you came around.
It was rare that he ever got the chance to eat something that wasn't shitty cafeteria food or from the nearest gas station, so you tried to bring him plates of your mother's cooking whenever you could.
Most of the time he refused, too prideful to accept, but this was one of the rare instances that he did.
And you weren't exactly one to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Laughing, you rolled off the bed in an awkward tumble that landed you right in front of him, just within reach to snatch half the roll out his mouth—which you did.
"I know you're not talking to me like that with my food in your mouth," you cocked a brow, snickering as you tore a bite into the bread.
"Correction: your mother's food," he interjected, cockily. "And I know this because you... can't cook for shit."
You scoffed, offended, smacking him in arm, "I can, too!"
"(n/n), you would burn water if you could."
"I can't believe I'm hearing this. Eddie Munson is telling me what I can and can't do."
"Just stating the facts, sweetheart."
"Well, if you're so culinarily inclined then please, by all means, march into that kitchen and cook me something spectacular."
"That's besides the point," he deflected, rising from his seat with plate in hand as he plopped down on the floor with you, flopping on his back. "The point is that you are trying to distract me from that sacrilegious statement you just made."
Amused, you flopped on your back alongside, turning to him with a hopeful expression, "Is it working?"
His gaze flicked over your face, his own unable to tamp down a smile at the pretty sparkle in your eye.
An optimistic part of him wanted to believe he was the cause, but deep down he knew the truth.
You were you.
Beautiful, successful, professional, perfect you.
If he were in your shoes, he wouldn't give himself the time of day—not by a long shot.
Hell, he still couldn't figure out why you did.
He supposed it was because he was good for a laugh, and if that were the case, then he would do everything in his power to remain the funniest guy alive.
Anything to keep you from running for the hills.
"Y'know... you never told me what your parents sent you away for," he piped up, voice dropping to a serious note.
At the jarring change in tone, you hesitated, a little confused, "Huh?"
"Sophomore year... you disappeared. Didn't show up one day," he clarified, shifting his gaze to the ceiling with a sigh. "At first, everyone thought you'd gotten arrested. Trashed a shop in the mall or something."
You hummed, not offended at all, "Sounds like me."
"Yeah, well, I didn't think so," he chuckled. "I mean, I knew you got in trouble a lot back then. But this time just felt... different. 'Specially when a month passed."
Your expression fell, a certain memory flashing through your mind.
Eddie noticed instantly.
"After that, everyone agreed that you got shipped off to juvie, or jail, or some gulag—"
"It wasn't the gulag," you assured with a weak laugh. "Though, back then, I would've told you it was."
Eddie's brows furrowed, concern etching its way onto his face as your lips rolled.
"September 14, 1981... Lucas came home from school beat up bad... really bad," you started. "He was so upset. But he wouldn't tell anyone what happened. His teachers, his friends, Mom, Dad. He wouldn't tell anybody anything... until I sat down with him."
You quickly gathered yourself, already feeling your voice rising.
"Believe or not, me and Lucas were close once... before puberty took over and he got all weird," you smiled. "He was such a sweet kid, and he thought I was the coolest thing since sliced bread, so he followed me everywhere. Even got me to play his stupid fantasy game."
"You played Dungeons & Dragons?" Eddie eyes went wide. "(y/n), who thinks she's gonna melt if she goes anywhere near a d20?"
"Level 15 Bard."
"Stop it."
"Yes."
"Are you serious?"
"Like the plague."
You shook your head, a painful chuckle following.
"You remember Marcus Carver?"
Eddie's expression turned grim, "Yeah, didn't you shatter his jaw or something?"
"Yes, and that shit-stain deserved it... but he told one of his little brothers, and the little shit decided to take it out on Lucas."
Your brows furrowed, gaze lasered in on the ceiling.
"Teddy Carver and his friends got together to hurt my brother... because of me," your eyes met Eddie's, heavily tainted with guilt. "They were so mean, Eds... they called him... well… y'know..."
"You don't have to say it," he assured, softly, picking up pretty quickly what you were putting down.
"They said no one would believe him if he told... said people would think he was lying," your jaw ticked. "So I found the kid and set his pants on fire… Liar, Liar, right?”
...
Eddie laughed out loud, amused, completely convinced you were joking.
One look at your face told him that you were, in fact, not joking.
"Oh, my God, you're serious."
"Yeah, in hindsight, I wasn't really in my right mind when I did it."
"Is he dead?"
"Jesus, of course not! I didn't kill a twelve year old, Eddie! What the hell do you take me for?!"
"I don't know! You went away for four years! How am I supposed to know that's not a murder rap?!"
"A murder rap is twenty-five to life!"
"How am I supposed to know that?!"
"I don't know!" you groaned. "The kid only had relatively minor burns. I wasn't so lucky. My parents struck a deal with the local cops to send me to boarding school instead of shipping me off to juvie and throwing away the key."
He nodded, everything beginning to slowly come together, "So that's where you went."
"Four years. I totally threw myself into school. Got good grades, stayed out of trouble. I did so well, I got offered a nice office gig in California and started right outta school. It was only a few months ago that they transferred me to their Hawkins office and I moved back in with my parents," you hummed. "But I guess it all just kinda... mellowed me out. I mean, I'm still me... or, at least, I think so. I'm just... not as angry as I was before."
You sighed, the quiet sound cresting off into a faint smile.
"Guess I learned pretty late, eh?"
But just as he was about to reply, your stomach fell to your ass, a terrifying realization suddenly rearing its ugly head.
"Work! Shit! Work! I have to go to work! Oh, my God! I'm so late!" you blurted, frantically scrambling to your feet as you checked your watch. "Jesus! I completely lost track of time!"
"Shit, do you, uh... do you need me to drive you? I could... drop you off... if you want?" Eddie suggested, awkwardly dusting himself off as he rushed to his feet with you.
"Oh, no, no, no. I couldn't ask you that," you denied, tearing through his room like a whirlwind in an attempt to grab your things. "It's long, and far, and it's such a pain to get there. 'Sides, I can't leave my car here."
"Right. Yes. Your car," he realized that was probably the smarter option. "I mean, even if you didn't have it... a long, far, pain in the ass trip wouldn't really bother me."
Halting your rush, you turned to him with a warm smile, the gesture not lost in the slightest.
"Then I'll take you up on it next time," you quickly moved forward, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a firm hug—much to his surprise.
His eyes went wide as saucers, partly due to disbelief, partly due to the fact that this was your first ever hug.
Regardless, his body reciprocated almost instantly, arms wrapping around you on instinct and pulling you just as close.
"Thanks for listening to my sob story," you poked fun at yourself, faintly muffled by the shoulder of his tank top—which was just a Nasty Savage band-tee he had torn the sleeves off of.
"Well, this may come as a shock to some, but I actually... sort of... maybe... possibly... enjoy listening to what you have to say," he smirked, teasingly, pulling back a bit to see your reaction and feeling oh-so satisfied when you let out a little laugh, his chest seeming to constrict and expand at the same time.
"Sort of, maybe, possibly?" you cheesed.
"Yeah, something like that," Eddie couldn't help but grin right back.
"Something like that?"
"Something like that."
"Well, if that's the case, will you be able to sort of, maybe, possibly hear what I have to say again? Later tonight?"
He raised a brow, confused, as you reached around and snatched a pen from his jean pocket, popping the cap with your teeth—an act he totally didn't think was hot—before quickly scrawling your number onto his forearm.
"I get off at seven. Call me?"
Eddie couldn't have agreed quicker, almost positive that the speed with which he said yes would've made any other girl laugh in his face.
But you didn't.
You smiled, softly sliding your hands over his shoulders before moving to head toward his door.
"Talk to you later, Eds. Don't forget!"
"Not possible, sweetheart! Not possible."
.
.
.
December 17, 1985.
"(y/n), honey! A present came in the mail for you!" your mother called from downstairs as she re-entered the house, shutting the front door behind.
"Ooo! Let me see! Let me see!" Erica squealed, sprinting out of her pretty, pink bedroom and toward the stairs. "Is it from her booooyfriend?"
"Don't even think about it, Er!" you shouted, nearly tripping on the carpet of the hallway as you clambered behind her. "That's none of your business!"
"Boyfriend?" Lucas exclaimed, abruptly popping his head out his room. "What boyfriend? Since when did you get a boyfriend?"
"I didn't! Erica's full of shit!"
"Language, (y/n)!"
"Full of crap!"
"Really? Then who's that guy you're always on the phone with?" Erica teased, scurrying down the stairs. "I heard him talkin' once. She clogs up the line all night giggling and whispering to him. I hear her in her room!"
"Shut up!"
"Not to mention her diary. She's been writing about him for months!"
You gasped, horrified.
"Erica, you didn't!"
"Dear diary... I can't stop thinking about him—"
"ERICA!"
"He's so sweet—"
"ERICA!"
"And so understanding—"
"ERICA!"
"And, God, his eyes are so—"
"SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP!"
Just as she was about to reach the small present left on the coffee table, you did the unthinkable and leapt from the very top stair, diving to the bottom and tackling her away before she could.
"What the—?! Are you crazy?! You coulda broke my damn neck! What the he—?!"
You slapped a hand over her mouth, silencing her screeching.
"You're lucky I don't do that anyway with the stunt you just pulled," your voice carried low and dangerously calm, eyes crazy as a single string of self-restraint seemed to hold you back. "You go in my room without my permission again... you read my diary again... and I will tell every one of your little friends that you wet the bed every night."
"They'd never believe you!" she fired back, struggling in your grip.
"It would only be a matter of time," you corrected.
Together, you both shared an intense moment of silence, staring each other down as your eyes did most of the—less family-friendly—talking.
Until she finally caved, breaking eye contact and bringing a victorious smirk to your face as you pushed off.
Rising to your feet, you gave her side a little kick before snatching the box off the table, turning on your heel and starting back up the steps.
The small package was haphazardly wrapped in old newspaper clippings, kept together only by a singular black shoe string tied in a bow.
Its essence was undoubtedly Eddie.
"Wait, who is it? I wanna know," Lucas asked, stepping out his room to follow you. "Do I know him? Is he from Hawkins—"
"Mind your business, dweeb" you scoffed, mushing him back into his room as you walked past.
Quickly, you entered your room, slamming the door behind before striding to your bed and jumping on top.
You eagerly unwrapped the present, carefully pulling the shoelace before peeling back the layers of clippings until they revealed a folded piece of paper.
Dropping the wrapping, you unfolded the paper, only to find that it was actually a letter:
June 11, 1979. Corroded Coffin performed our first gig at the Hawkins Middle's first ever talent show. We had finally perfected our set after practicing every day after school for months. Jeff was terrified. Gareth puked three times. Sam nearly skipped the whole thing. But I? I was fucking amped. I went over my solo over and over and over and over again, 'til my fingers bled all over the neck. And when the day finally came, and I stepped out on that stage, all those eyes on me, I felt like I was on top of the goddamn world. And I fucking shredded that goddamn solo. I can tell you right now, sweetheart, no high in the world comes close. I'll be chasing it for the rest of my life.
Of course, we were booed when it all was over. But that is still one of the best gigs I've ever performed.
These past few weeks I've been going crazy trying to figure out what the hell to get you for Christmas. I know, I can already hear your complaints about how we said no gifts, but you've always been modest. And pretty damn hard to shop for. What do I get for the girl who has everything?
The answer? My most prized possession.
Enclosed with this letter you will find a pic. This is no ordinary pic. This is the very pic I used to kill at that very first concert, and is the most valuable thing that I own. It'll be worth a fortune when I'm on my world tour rocking a crowd in Europe or something. And I want you to have it. Guard it with your life. Believe it or not, you're one of the few people in this world I would ever trust with something like this.
Don't read too much into that. Just... don't keep it just anywhere, alright?
Merry Christmas, sweetheart. I'll call you later tonight.
Eddie.
Just as you reached the end of the later, something small and black seemed to fall out from its curl.
Quickly, you caught it, pulling it close to examine n your palm.
It was the pic, a sleek and shiny onyx with faint gray marbling, the stylized letters E and M carved on opposite sides—the workmanship honestly impressive for a twelve year-old.
You instantly knew exactly what you wanted to do with it.
"ERICA! You still got that necklace making kit?!"
.
.
.
December 31, 1985.
"Goddamn it!" Eddie yelped, gracelessly flopping onto your roof.
"TEN!"
"Shit!" you gasped, nearly jumping out your skin as you jerked toward him, "Jesus Christ, Ed! You scared me!"
"NINE!"
"Takes one to know one," he panted, weakly hoisting himself to your level, not entirely pleased. "I was expecting... a little more death and dismemberment... with the way you called."
"EIGHT!"
"I called five minutes ago."
"SEVEN!"
"I'm sorry, did I not break enough traffic laws for you?"
"SIX!"
"Eddie, this is important."
"FIVE!"
"Are you dying?"
"FOUR!"
"No."
"THREE!"
He chuckled, humorlessly, "Then a regular ol' please would've sufficed. Not Eddie, come quick! It's an emergency!"
"Will you just shut the hell up and sit down?"
"TWO!"
"Fine," he bristled, plopping himself down next to you, pulling his knees into his chest. "What are we looking at?"
"ONE!"
"Up."
"HAPPY NEW YEAR!"
January 1, 1986.
Just as you lifted his chin to the sky, it erupted in a booming flurry of yellow, purple, and blue light, the initial firework making Eddie jolt for a moment before his shoulders finally relaxed.
The display was surprisingly spectacular, and something he didn't even know Hawkins did for the holiday.
You grinned, eyes warm as you looked up to watch the show, a certain sense of warmth fluttering in your chest.
You didn't know why you called Eddie over.
There was something about this moment, about this instance, that you wanted to share with him.
What it was, you had no idea.
But what you did know... was that you were glad he was here.
"I almost forgot how beautiful this was," you softly smiled, eyed glued to the sky.
Eddie turned, breath hitching as he got a good look at you.
Your image contrasting with the clear, night sky made you look almost ethereal, like some sort of Van Gogh.
Not to mention the brilliant purple and yellow light that intermittently bathed your every feature.
It reminded him of how his chest felt when he first saw you walking through the hallway on the his first day of eighth grade—your first day of seventh.
You were so pretty.
But not only that, you were strong.
You were smart.
You were tough.
You weren't afraid to speak your mind.
You didn't take shit from anybody.
And you were unapologetically yourself, something few had the bravery to do.
Shit... what the hell was happening to him.
"Yeah," he agreed, not taking his eyes off you, "Beautiful."
.
.
.
January 15, 1986.
"Oh ho ho! Look what I just found," you smirked, pulling your shared joint out your mouth and handing off, lifting up your magazine to Eddie's eye level. "Wanna take a crack at it?"
He leaned down, using his mouth to grab the end of the blunt and puffing before taking the magazine out of your hands, squinting at the text.
"What's Your Type: Dude Edition. Think you know what kind of girl makes your heart flip? Grab a pen, check your answers, and discover what girl is totally your style."
Pausing a moment, his eyes flicked over the words again, only to intake the same normie muck he read the first time.
Slowly, he peered down below the magazine, his deadpanned gaze landing on yours, which gleamed up at him from his lap with feigned innocence.
"You're serious?" he cocked a brow.
"Yes, I'm serious," you smiled, "I used to do these all the time. You should try it."
"And why would I need a magazine to tell me what I already know?"
"Cause it sounds better coming from a higher power."
"Oh, and Seventeen is a higher power?"
"The highest."
You giggled, lifting your head from his lap to sit up, shifting to rest on your knees.
"C'mon, it'll be funnnn," you grinned. "Don't tell me you're not curious."
At your pleading, Eddie let out a sigh, eyes quickly flitting over your face.
The two of you were in the back of his van, listening to Dio's Holy Diver while shooting the shit and smoking dope in an abandoned gas station parking lot.
It was particularly cold for January, and you were wearing the thinnest, cropped band-tee known to man, which was why Eddie gave you his leather jacket and vest to keep warm, and why he was having a particularly hard time keeping himself together.
Not only were you wearing his clothes, you were being way more touchy than usual—though, he attributed most of that to the pot.
A deadly combination.
It was almost painful, especially given that damn near every day went like this.
"Two questions," he caved, holding up two fingers. "And not a question more."
"I'll take it," you shrugged, quickly flipping to the next page. "Question 1..."
You lowered your voice, taking on a similar tone as he did when story-telling for his campaigns.
"A girl walks into class late... what is the first thing you notice? A, Her megawatt smile, and the way she apologizes to the teacher with a cute laugh?"
Eddie chuckled, scrunching his nose, "This is actually more awful than I imagined."
"Shh. B, Her ripped denim jacket, smudged eyeliner, and zero shame in being late."
"Intriguing."
"C, The pile of books she’s carrying and the pencils tucked behind her ear."
"Little less intriguing."
"Or D, Her perfect hair, perfect outfit, perfect everything… and how every guy turns to stare."
He paused for a moment, pretending to think as he took another puff of the blunt.
"Gee, I'm gonna have to go with C. Pencils really drive me wild," he answered, sarcastically.
You scoffed, smacking him in the arm with a laugh, "Be serious! This is a very serious quiz."
"Alright, then, B."
Impressed, but not surprised, you nodded, carefully taking the blunt from between his lips and toking, before placing it just as carefully back in his mouth—a small action that had to be one of the sexiest things he'd ever seen a woman do.
"Good answer... now onto Question 2—"
"The final question," he reminded.
"Yes, the final question," you mocked. "What is your ideal hangout with her?"
"Ideal hangout?"
"A, Grabbing milkshakes after her cheer practice and listening to her talk about routines."
"Hard pass."
"B, Hitting up an abandoned lot, blasting rock, and watching her scribble graffiti."
Eddie went quiet at that one, as he suddenly became painfully self aware.
That was—quite literally—exactly what the two of you were doing.
"C, Sprawling on the carpet with board games or video games and losing track of time."
"Not, uh, not too bad."
"D, Shopping the mall together while she chats with every person who knows her name."
He cleared his throat, "Gonna have to go with B, sweetheart."
"Alright, two Bs. Time to tabulate your results," you smirked, pretending to scribble calculations in the margins.
"Tabulate two answers?" he chuckled, amused.
"Shh," you hushed, raising a finger to his lips. "I require full concentration."
He raised his hands in surrender, allowing you to return to your work.
You always got a little manic whenever smoked.
Not in a crazy, I'm concerned for your safety kind of way, but in an endearing goofball way.
It was cute.
"Alright! The results are in," you smiled, "Drum roll, please?"
Eddie drummed quickly on his rolling ray, performing a large solo before ending on a flourish.
"Edward Munson, Seventeen has deduced that your type is... The Rebel!"
His brows raised, interest piqued, "The Rebel?"
"Mhmm. Black boots, bold attitude, and a glint in her eye that says she’s trouble—with a capital T. She’s the girl your teachers whisper about and your parents pray you never meet. She’s passionate, fearless, and never fake for a second."
He swallowed thickly, the description ringing more than a few bells.
"You crave excitement, intensity, and someone who doesn’t follow the rules. You want a girl who challenges you—and everyone else."
"Actually, I think I get enough challenge from you, dear," he corrected with a smirk.
"Oh, really?"
"Really."
"'Cause I've been thinking I haven't been challenging you enough," you teased, leaning in closer. "Should I start scribbling graffiti all over the place?"
"Yeah, see how far that gets you," he played in, leaning forward, too, voice unintentionally lowering to silky rumble that send a sharp flutter right through your core.
"How far would it get me?"
"Depends on how much you do?"
"Where should I start?"
"Wherever you please."
"Really?"
"Really."
"Alright then," your eyes flicked from his to his chest, fingers slowly and firmly sliding from the point of his shoulder all the way to his heart. "How about I start here?"
He shook his head, "Hate to break it to you, sweetheart," he grinned, hooking a finger into the collar of his Hellfire shirt.
He pulled it down, revealing his skull tattoo.
"But I've already got ink."
You hummed in acknowledgement, finger rising to faintly trace its outline, sending a warm shiver down Eddie's spine, "So it seems..."
He grinned, tongue in cheek.
"What about you?" he asked, eyes grazing over your chest. "You inked, too?"
For a moment, you paused, your hazy mind attempting to reason before your body threw caution to the wind.
Leaning back a bit, you slowly began to pull off your top garments.
Eddie's vest, first.
His brows furrowed slightly, confused as to what you were doing.
Then, his leather jacket.
His eyes followed you intently, not leaving for a second in fear of missing something.
Then... your shirt.
Eddie nearly choked on the air he was taking in, eyes saucer wide as he came face to face with your tits in a sexy black lace bra.
As your hands inched up to the clasps at the junctions of the cups, he scrambled to stop you, face burning up to his ears.
"Waitwaitwait! You don't have to—!"
"Relax, Eds," you assured, rolling your eyes as you just barely unclasped it, "Look."
With the hooks out of the way, it showed your sternum just enough to reveal a relatively small tattoo.
IRON MAIDEN written in the same type font as the album covers, each word angled to follow the curve of your breasts
"No way," he marveled, pleasantly surprised and impressed.
"Wicked, right?" you cheesed, proud to have his approval, "Junior year. First act of rebellion at boarding school."
"Very wicked," he nodded, unable to pry his eyes away, "Placement's... not too shabby either."
You scoffed, rolling your eyes with a smile.
Slowly, his his hand rose, grazing your side with a feather-light touch, eyes staring up at you with reverence you had never seen before—a reverence he had never allowed you to see.
Before he knew, he was pulling you closer, your thighs now on either side of his lap as he settled you on top of him.
Carefully, his thumb grazed over your tattoo, the soft sensation pulling a gasp from your lips, though you didn't shy away.
His eyes quickly flicked up to yours, searching for any sign of protest, utterly relieved to find none.
With that confirmation, he leaned in closer...
And closer...
And closer...
And closer...
Until you felt his breath fanning over your chest.
Eddie spared you a glance one last time, brow quirking in question, wanting to be absolutely sure this was what you wanted.
You nodded, shifting your grip on your clasp—the only thing that was keeping your bra together—to one hand, your other sliding down to brace yourself on his shoulder.
But just as he was about to press his lips against your tattoo—
BANG! BANG!
Your heads snapped toward the interruption, and at the sight of the gristled old man, your eyes shot wide with surprise.
"PERVERTS!" Mr. Donahue, the owner of the gas station, shouted.
"EDDIE!" you shrieked, losing focus and, in connection, your grip on your bra.
"JESUS H. CHRIST!" he exclaimed, instantly tackling you to the floor and shielding your body with his.
"TAKE YOUR DEVIANCY SOMEWHERE ELSE!"
"Yup!" Eddie assured, glancing back at the man, "Will do, sir!"
With a harrumph, Mr. Donahue resigned, offering one final glare before walking away.
Once he was sure the old coot was gone, Eddie turned his attention back to you, placing his hands on either side of your head and pushing himself up so he was no longer crushing you.
"Sinclair, you alright?" he asked, concerned, eyes frantically attempting to scan over your face.
Your hair had fallen over it in the melee, obscuring your expression as your shoulders began to bob, a quiet whine slipping from your lips
Eddie's heart sank.
"Shit, (n/n), don't cry... I-I don't think he saw anything," he attempted to console, voice low and soft, "And even if he did... well, I don't think anyone's gonna believe that crazy old bastard, anyway."
Tenderly, he brushed some hair out your face, flinching when your unintelligible sounds began to grow louder.
His brows furrowed, concerned.
"(y/n)?"
It was only when all your hair was from your face that your expression became clear:
Utterly jovial.
Your cries crested into a snort of laughter, no longer able to be contained as you curled forward, clutching your stomach.
With a scoff, Eddie suddenly realized what you were doing, letting out a humorless chuckle before playfully smacking you in the arm.
"You're a little twerp, y'know that?"
"Yup," you nodded, satisfied. "And you're staring at my tits."
Unable to stop, his eyes flicked down to your chest, only to find that your bra had indeed been lost in the confusion, your tits now on full display.
Goddamn...
Quickly, he snatched his gaze away, training it on the ceiling instead to preserve what little sanity he had left after tonight.
"Christ, woman..." he muttered under his breath, tossing you his leather jacket and vest without even having to look. "Just... put these on."
"Don't like what you see?"
"Sinclair!"
"Fine!"
.
.
.
January 27, 1986
"I gotta work late again tonight... but I'm off tomorrow if you wanna do something," you suggested with a smile.
"'Fraid I got school tomorrow, sweetheart," Eddie sighed, resting his hands on your shoulders as he steered you out his room. "Couldn't skip if I wanted to."
"Since when?" you scoffed, glancing back at him. "Never been a problem before."
"Since I realized I'm failing Ms. O'Donnell's. And if I fail Ms. O'Donnell's, then I have to take senior year again... again."
"No way, that bitch is still teaching?"
"I think she'll be taking attendance as a sack of bones at a desk."
"Like she isn't that already..."
"Touche," he snickered, swiping a smile off his face. "Very fair."
Reaching the front door, he turned you around, brow raised.
"But y'know... you could always show up to Hellfire. It'd be nice to have a Level 15 Bard around."
You leveled him with a look, brow raising as your arms cross over your chest.
"Eddie..."
"Just a suggestion."
"We've been over this..."
"It would be fun."
"It would be not fun. My brother doesn't like it when I fraternize with his little fantasy group."
"Yet here you are... fraternizing."
"Is that what this is?"
"Alright, since when have you ever cared what your brother thinks?"
"Since I've had to move back in with the little twerp. I'd prefer if he didn't hate me for the rest of the time I'm staying."
Eddie froze at that, expression tightening.
"Why say it like that?" he asked, lacing his confusion with humor. "You trying to ditch me, Sinclair?"
"Actually, the opposite," you corrected. "This Hawkins gig is looking like a sure thing for the foreseeable future, and I don't exactly plan on living with my parents the whole time."
He raised a brow, "You've been saving?"
You smirked, giving him a playful nudge, "Not exactly hard to do when your dealer keeps giving you free pot."
"Well, now that I know you're good for it."
"You know I've always been good for it."
"Isn't it time for someone to go to work?"
"Yeah, try not to miss me too much."
With a grin, you grabbed onto the door handle, swinging it open, only to be met by a older man with short, gray hair, a cigarette in the corner of his mouth, and a six-pack in one hand.
Instantly, the three of you froze.
"Mr. Munson!"
"Wayne!"
Completely silent, the older man's gaze flicked to you, scanning over your appearance with a critical eye that made your blood run cold.
Your bed-head...
Your flushed cheeks...
Your lazy smile...
And wearing Eddie's flannel didn't exactly help...
"Mr. Munson," you greeted with a warm smile. "Eddie was just about to introduce me."
With a sharp jab, you elbowed Eddie in the rib, forcing the man to wince and clutch his side.
"Right?"
"Yeah, yes. Right," he quickly started. "Wayne, this is (y/n). A dear friend of mind. (y/n), this is Wayne. My dear, old uncle."
"It's very nice to meet you, sir," you nodded, holding your hand out to shake.
Stepping forward, Wayne took yours and shook it, carefully.
"(y/n)... did you spend the night?" he asked, voice low and gravelly—and strikingly similar to that of Sam Elliot.
"No—"
"Yes, sir," you answered honestly, contradicting Eddie's claim. "But I didn't come empty handed."
You motioned toward the kitchen counter, and the man looked past to see a small stack of tupperware.
"I brought you guys some baked ham, red beans and rice, and collard greens for dinner tonight. Along with a couple cookies for dessert."
Your shoulders dropped slightly, your warm smile once again finding a way back onto your face.
"You can tell me if you don't like any of it, I won't mind."
"I'll be sure to remember that," he kept at a monotone.
Eddie remained deadly silent, eyes frantically flipping between you and Wayne during the exchange.
He knew his uncle was a hard man to read, and an even harder man to impress, but seeing you handle this painfully awkward situation so gracefully was honestly quite inspiring.
"Thank you," you nodded. "And if you don't mind, I need to get past. Gotta get on the road now if I wanna make it in time for work."
"What do you do?" Wayne asked.
"I have a managerial job at Suncoast Inc. Boring pencil pusher stuff."
"I see..."
"And I actually really have to go."
Quietly, he stepped out your way, and you walked out the door, tossing a glance back at Eddie.
"Catch you later, Eds. Call me tomorrow night," you waved.
"Will do," he confirmed, waving back as his uncle stepped into the trailer before shutting the door.
Now alone, he let out a heavy sigh, back sliding slightly against the door frame as he ran a relieved hand through his hair.
Only to remember that he was, in fact, not alone.
At the sound of opening tupperware, Eddie's gaze flicked up, watching intensely as his uncle scooped a little bit of everything onto a plate before shuffling toward the coffee table and taking a seat.
He watched as Wayne shoveled some in his mouth, his expression not changing in the slightest as he chewed.
No mmm.
No yum.
No holy shit, not like Eddie did when he tried your cooking for the first time—your mother had been giving you lessons and you were vastly improving.
Just... nothing.
"Did you use protection?"
...
Until that.
"I'm sorry?" Eddie asked, not sure if he heard that right.
"You heard me," Wayne countered.
"No, I didn't, because nothing happened. She just stayed the night."
"Just stayed the night?"
"We were hanging out, it got late, we lost track of time. I didn't want her driving so I told her she could crash here."
"That's all?"
"Yeah, man, that's all," Eddie's brows furrowed. "Why are you being so weird about this? S'not like she's the first girl I've brought over."
"None of them other girls cooked like this," Wayne stated, as if it were pure fact. "Or got manners like she does."
He shoveled another heap of food in his mouth, chewing before speaking again.
"I like her."
Eddie clammed up, both perplexed and pleasantly surprised.
None of the girls—which were very few and far between, and mostly for drugs—he used to bring around had ever, and he meant ever, had the privilege of being liked by the infamous Mr. Munson.
It was unheard of.
Damn near impossible.
"You... like her?" Eddie asked, brow raised.
"Yes," Wayne nodded. "And it'd do you some good to hang around a girl like that more often."
Fighting to control his smile, and the lighter-than air feeling in his chest, Eddie quickly nodded, abruptly starting the trek back to his room.
"Noted."
.
.
.
February 7th, 1986.
"And now your entertainment for the night..." Jameson, the owner, started, stepping out the way and motioning toward the boys on stage. "Corroded Coffin."
"Woo! Yeah!" you let out a loud whoop, your voice carrying loud over the faint claps and grumbles that sounded off from the audience.
The Hideout was the most packed it had been in a while, even for a Friday night, drunks and regulars alike all packed into the hole in the wall for a good time.
The band usually performed on Tuesdays, but after months and months of pleading and wearing down, Eddie had finally convinced Jameson to give him a Friday slot—on the condition that it would only be the first Friday of the month—and thusly decided that this would be the perfect gig for you.
Your first Corroded Coffin concert.
Rolling his shoulders back, Eddie stepped forward, fighting a smile at the sound of your cheers while he rested his hand on the neck of his guitar, swallowing thickly.
To say he was nervous was an understatement.
He was downright terrified.
Usually, he never had any stage fright or pre-performance jitters—metal was in his blood, he never felt more himself than when he was playing it.
But with you in the audience, everything suddenly felt different, like the stakes immeasurably higher.
If he crashed and burned in front of a bunch a middle-aged strangers, who cared? He rarely ever saw these people outside of the bar, anyway.
But if he crashed and burned in front of you?
Totally cool, totally hot, girl of his dreams you?
Oh, he wouldn't be able to live with himself.
Especially if it was while he was performing your song...
The thought alone made his stomach clench, goosebumps prickling on his exposed forearms as he grabbed onto the mike stand, pulling it closer.
"What's up, Hideout... I see a lot of new faces tonight," he greeted, eyes raking over the crowd, recognizing some regulars and a lot of new patrons. "This first song's a new one. S'called Black Star Riot."
He adjusted his grip on his pic, gaze instinctively flicking to you in the back—he instantly regretted it, as your excited smile and encouraging thumbs up only made his chest pains worse.
Regardless, Gareth tapped out a four count with his sticks before starting some high-hat filled drums the same time Eddie struck a sharp power chord, Sam jumping in with a head-banging bassline while Jeff played backup.
"Midnight's got a grin, it flickers like a flame. Wild spark in the dark, She loves to see my pain. Rum on her breath, smoke in her curls, Chaos looks good on a girl"
Your eyes widened, ears shocked by Eddie's voice.
You had no idea he sounded so good.
He had never sang in front of you before—you supposed to keep it a surprise for when he finally did—and, holy hell, it was worth the wait.
"Black star, lighting up the riot skies, Burning holes in the night where the truth hides. Got a grin of trouble and heart of desire, Spark in the static, pulse in the wire. My black star, never mine, But the fuel to my fire"
Eddie played out a bit of filler, before starting up the next verse.
"Leans on the hood of my beat up ride, Hair a dark storm on a summer high. Skin like honey, laugh like steel, Make me something realer than real. Realer than real"
"Black star, lighting up the riot skies, Burning holes in the night where the truth hides. Got a grin of trouble and heart of desire, Spark in the static, pulse in the wire. My black star, never mine, But the fuel to my fire"
Eddie's guitar winded down to a low, melodic pluck for the bridge, Jeff playing a soft, supporting chord on every forth note.
"Kind of chaos I'd bleed for, Kind of laugh I'd plead for, Gotta beg on my knees or, Pray to God she'll never leave"
"Ground burnin' to the seed, Keeping her my only creed, Wanting more than want needs, Tattoo her heart on my sleeve"
The following solo damn near had you floating out your seat, its rawness and skill reaching into your very bones.
You'd never seen Eddie so... in the zone, eyes gone like he was on a totally different planet while shredding.
Which was a shame because if he could see the crowd like Gareth, Sam, and Jeff could, he'd be over the moon, totally enlivened by how—for the first time in a very, very, very long time—the crowd was completely into it, expressions upturned into bright looks of approval and rare shout.
"Black star, tearing through riot skies, Burning holes in the dark where the truth hides. Slicing at my heartstrings, She'll be my demise. The rush in my blood, untamed fire. My black star, never mine, But the muse to my desire"
With a flourish, the song finished, and the entire place instantly erupted with raucous applause and hollers of support in Corroded Coffin's first ever standing ovation.
The boys' smiles were unbeatable, Eddie's especially as he watched you eagerly tell everyone within the vicinity that the band was the next new thing, and if they liked the performance they should come by on Tuesdays to support the rising stars of Hawkins.
Eddie smirked, finding your enthusiasm insanely adorable and quite surprising.
He never would've guessed you'd like his music this much, let alone be so vocal about it.
The sight relieved the metric ton of pressure compressing his gut, substituting it for something a little more warm and touchy-feely.
"How'd you like that, Hideout?" he asked into the microphone, playfully raising a brow. "We get your attention?"
The crowd broke into another round of passionate cheers, forcing Eddie to glance back at the others to make sure it was actually happening.
Gareth nodded for him to go on, excitement buzzing in his fingers with renewed fire for the next song, Jeff and Sam doing the same.
"You ready for the next one?"
They cheered again.
"Hell yeah!" you hollered, clinking your beer with a huge, burly man in a trucker hat, who was just as excited.
"What she said!"
Eddie chuckled, starting to strum the melody of the next song as he shot you a wink, the sight bringing a certain burn to the apples of your cheeks
"Alright, then... this one's called Burning Shire"
...
"Hey!" you exclaimed, catching Eddie just as he finished packing all his equipment back in his van, nearly taking him off his feet as you tackled him in a hug. "You've been holding out on me! When the hell were you gonna mention you had pipes like that?"
He grinned, arms carefully snaking around your waist and pulling you closer, allowing his face to nuzzle into the crook of your neck.
God, you smelled good.
"I couldn't just tell you that. You had to come to the conclusion yourself," he replied. "Seeing is believing and junk."
"Oh, they were believing, alright. The crowd loved you! I didn't hear a single boo or complaint, which was surprising with this bunch."
Pulling back, your gaze met his with an infinitely proud smile, the sight nearly melting him to butter in your hands as you rested them on his shoulders.
"Eds, you guys could really take this somewhere. If I called up an agent or something, I'm, like, ninety-nine percent sure you all would get signed on the spot."
He scoffed, amused, "Flattery'll get you nowhere, sweetheart. No need to butter me up."
"Actually, flattery's gotten me three free beers and a shot of tequila tonight."
"Oh, has it?"
"It has," you chuckled, lightly smacking him in the shoulder, "And I'm serious. You've got a gift, Eddie. You and Gareth and Sam and Jeff all sounded like the real deal up there."
Suddenly, your tone grew serious, voice sincere as you cupped his cheek in your hand, smile curling when he leaned into your touch.
"I wasn't lying when I said you guys were the next best thing. You play in front of the right people, get the right bodies in the door... and Corroded Coffin could be up there with Maiden and Sabbath."
Eddie's eyes widened at your words, taken aback.
You believed in him that much?
Shit, even the guys didn't believe they were making it out of Gareth's garage.
But you did.
And not only that, you were genuinely convinced he was the next Ozzy, your eyes not showing an ounce of doubt in your words.
No one had ever had so much faith in him before—it felt uncanny, unnatural.
And yet so, so very good.
Every day you seemed to find new ways to keep his obsession going strong, and every day he seemed to mind less and less.
Without warning, he suddenly tossed you over his shoulder, shifting his grip with a smirk as he began to trudge back toward his van.
"Eddie!" you squealed, quickly bracing yourself on his shoulders, attempting to look back at him over yours.
"Alright, you've twisted my arm," he playfully sighed, one arm keeping your thighs still against his chest while his other hand rested on your lower back. "What shall be our victory feast? Burger King? Wendy's? Mabel's Diner?"
"We were in the middle of a conversation! You can't just manhandle me to distract from the topic!" you scoffed, face burning with embarrassment.
"Clock's ticking, sweetheart. You better pick something or I will."
"This is so stupid!"
"3..."
"You really think I'm gonna drop what I was talking about for food?"
"2..."
"Eddie!"
"1..."
"Burger King!"
He smirked, reaching the passenger side door and yanking it open before plopping you in the seat, wary to watch your head and the roof.
"Wise choice," he commended. "Burger King, it is."
"This isn't over," you huffed, crossing your arms. "Just because you're buying me dinner doesn't mean I'm going to forget. We will be talking about this later."
With a chuckle, he grinned, jumping into the driver's and slamming his door shut, jamming the key into the ignition.
"Whatever you say, sweetheart."
.
.
.
