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zealous-whispers-of-us-redux · 2 years

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Anything 40s Bucky is my jam. I love love love how you write him. He deserved some goddamn happiness like this

Honeymooners - 40s!Bucky x Fem!Reader

Finally got my bum in gear and wrote a wee fic for Remi's Summer Writing Challenge! 🥰🌞 Of course I couldn't resist writing about my favourite flirty 40s boy. There's not much in the way of plot here, just lots of sweetness and fluff and smut.

Summary: Summer 1947. The newly married Mr and Mrs Barnes head to Cape Cod for the honeymoon of their dreams...

A/N: This is just silly and smutty escapism, enjoy! Fluff and smut and not much else. Set in a super fluffy AU where Bucky returns from the war unscathed and he and the reader have retired and are living a happy romantic life cuddling, making out, and fucking.

Warnings: Smut (unprotected p in v sex, foreplay, anal fingering m receiving), nudity and skinny-dipping, making out, voyeurism, fluff, dirty talk, lots of kissing and sensual stuff, references to war trauma. 18+ only. Minors DNI.

***

“Holy cow, Stark!” Bucky gasped as the chauffeur pulled away.

“What my love, you were expecting Howard to be keeping a tiny beach hut out here?” You smiled, slipping your arm around his waist.

“Nothing this grand. Even for Stark!” Bucky grinned, before stooping down to pick up the suitcases. “Come on, my love.”

Bucky had been looking far more relaxed of late, no more dark circles around his eyes, better sleep. Working with the SSR during the war, the dark cloud of those dark few years had taken a toll on you both, and you had faced peacetime shaken and exhausted.

But now, the new Mr and Mrs Barnes were ready to start a new chapter, starting with the well-deserved honeymoon from heaven.

Howard Stark’s Cape Cod retreat was noticeably bigger than the ‘holiday cottage’ your friend had described when he’d offered it to you for the honeymoon, not that you were complaining. A typical New England style home: clean lines, white paint, shingle style architecture.

Approaching the door, Bucky dropped the cases and scooped you up into his arms.

“What are you doing?” You giggled, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“I know you’re not one for being traditional, my love,” Bucky grinned, kissing your nose, “But I’ve been dreaming about carrying you over the threshold for years. Frankly, it was the only thing giving me strength during those god-awful winters on the front.”

“But the suitcases…”

“I’ll come back for them. Now…” Bucky tried to readjust himself to get the key out of his back pocket, almost dropping you in the process.

“You didn’t think this through, did you?” You laughed, clinging on for dear life.

“What are you talking about? I think of everything!” He jested, handing you the key. “Now, Mrs Barnes, will you do the honours?”

Dipping you a little lower, you both started to shake with laughter as you unlocked the front door and deftly pushed it open. Bucky gave it an extra nudge with his knee, and carried you over the threshold, giving you the biggest and brightest smile you had ever seen.

“Is it everything you hoped?” You asked, leaning your head against his shoulder.

“Oh baby…” He sighed as he kissed your forehead. “All that and so much more.”

***

When you had brought in the cases and gotten your bearings, you were able to admire the view from the back windows. It was glorious. Stretches of golden sand, mottled with grassy banks, all leading towards a beautiful calm sea.

“Well, this sure beats the army barracks, or those makeshift encampments during our missions against Hydra!” Bucky gasped, gazing out of the bay windows towards the beach.

“Yes, I can’t imagine Camp McCoy having this kind of view!” You added.

“Or a private beach! Howard says this part is all his!”

Howard had really spared no expense for his holiday home either. Electric lights, a Frigidaire in the kitchen, and apparently a bath big enough for two that you were very excited to see for yourself. But the décor was classy, homely. Patchwork blankets draped over the backs of the armchairs, wood panelled walls, quaint paintings decorating the walls. Somehow you’d expected gaudy displays of wealth from Howard, gold-trimmed carpets or some kind of garish wallpaper the colour of a strawberry blancmange. You had to admit, you were pleasantly surprised.

“Well, Mr Barnes, what do you propose we do first?” You asked, coming up behind your husband and wrapping your arms around his waist.

“I have a few ideas, Mrs Barnes.” He sighed, turning and leaning in to kiss you, melting into you as you pulled him closer. Dipping down, you squealed as you found yourself lifted in his arms once more, still not breaking the kiss. As he set you down on the large dining table, you wrapped your legs around his hips.

“Mrs Barnes…” Bucky repeated. “It feels so good to say that.”

“Stop talking and kiss–”

You had barely finished you sentence as Bucky’s lips crashed into yours again.

You weren’t quite sure how you ended up on your back, Bucky bent forward devouring your mouth as you both fumbled with his pants buttons, but a nervous cough pulled you both out of the passionate haze.

Bucky swore through his teeth as you raised yourself slowly, hastily pulling down your skirt.

“Oh, don’t worry my dears, my husband and I were exactly the same on our honeymoon!” Said a soft voice, with a chuckle. Turning slowly, eyes down with embarrassment, a short woman with a kind smile stood before you both. She had a large covered basket on one arm.

“Hi erm…” Bucky gasped, leaning against the table to try and cover himself. “I’m… We’re…”

“Mr and Mrs Barnes!” The woman chuckled. “Lovely to meet you! I’m Mrs Davison, the housekeeper here. Mr Stark asked me to come and set up the place and welcome the two of you.”

A housekeeper. Of course. With your fairly humble beginnings in life, it was easy to forget that ‘the other half’ employed staff as part of their lavish lifestyles. Howard wouldn’t be any exception.

You just wished you had thought about that before jumping your husband’s bones on this rather expensive looking table…

“Mr Stark thought the two of you might want a clam bake on the beach.” Mrs Davison continued, completed unfazed, setting the basket down on the table. “There’s also some other groceries in there. Milk and such.”

“Clam bake, great!” Bucky mumbled, his face bright red.

“Milk… Good.” You managed, equally as flustered.

“But I’d best leave you to it.” Mrs Davison said with a wink. “I live just down the road at Sandy Point if you need anything, but otherwise I won’t see you until you ‘check out’ so to speak.”

“Thank you!” You and Bucky croaked in unison, managing an awkward wave as the housekeeper left, shutting the front door behind her.

A few moments of silence followed, before the two of you burst out laughing.

“Well that killed the mood!” Bucky snorted, finally able to button up his pants again.

“I’m sure she’s caught old Howard in much more compromising positions.” You readjusted your stockings and skirt, before examining the basket. “I’ll get this stuff in the Frigidaire, but how about we have a little picnic on the beach? I’ll certainly need some energy if we’re going to pick up where we left off later…”

***

“Would it surprise you if I told you that I’d never done a clambake in my life?” Bucky chuckled as he uncovered the small pit oven.

“To be fair, there weren’t any instructions!” You giggled. “But as long as everything’s cooked it’ll be fine I’m sure.”

Bucky set about checking the contents of the pit oven, prodding one the potatoes and corn cobs with a fork, checking that all the quahogs and mussels had opened, before plating up.

Perched under a parasol on a beach towel, you shuffled up to make room for Bucky as he came to sit beside you and handed you a plate.

After eating, you both cuddled up together on the beach towel, wonderfully content and happy under the shade of a parasol. Lying on Bucky’s chest, his arm resting gently on your waist, you let the summer heat make you hazy and heavy.

“I’m getting a little hot.” Bucky said after a while. “How about a swim?

The sea did look very inviting, but you had to admit, you had gotten rather comfortable on the towel and felt like a happy, overfed cat after the mini clambake.

“I don’t fancy getting wet baby, but you go ahead.” You told him, dreamily.

“Alright…” Bucky grinned as he got to his feet. Stepping back a little and facing you, he started to ease open the buttons of shirt, deliberately, making eye contact with you and biting his lip.

“Am I getting a private show?” You asked impishly, turning onto your side and propping up your head with your arm to get a better view.

“Of course. And I didn’t bring my swimsuit so…”

“You’re going to swim naked?”

“It’s a private beach isn’t it?” Bucky grinned as he shucked his pants and underwear, stepping out of them slowly so you could admire him.

He never failed to take your breath away with his beauty. Tall and slim, long legs, strong arms, and of course, that smile. Oh, that smile.

Giving you another cheeky grin, Bucky turned and ran toward the sea, arms outstretched and yelling.

Your chest tightened as you watched him, running back and forth against the waves, crying out with joy as the sea lapped at his feet, before he finally waded in to his waist and started to splash around, squealing as the water swirled around him.

How light and happy he was. There was a time when you never thought you’d see this kind of joy from him again. The Bucky of 1945 was very different to the man you saw before you now. This one had healed, had rested, had helped you in turn recover from your own emotional scars.

And that laugh, it was so good to hear him laugh.

You felt as though you could watch him forever, feel his joy as if it were your own, admire his beautiful body as the water lapped and splashed around him, as the sun kissed his skin.

When he emerged, he looked almost otherworldly, like a sea nymph, or a merman who had just gained his legs. Did that make you the stranded princess, waiting to be saved?

Finding another towel from your bag, you caught him in your arms and wrapped him up. But Bucky wasn’t wanting another lazy embrace it seemed. Pressing into you, the towel slipped from his body as his lips found yours.

His lips were cold, his tongue tasted of salt, his familiar weight comforting on top of you as you felt him harden against your waist. His hands were cool and firm as they spread your thighs, unlatched your stockings, and started to play with the band of your underwear.

“Stop playing and take them off.” You ordered, kissing his jaw, then biting his ear.

With a grunt, Bucky quickly pulled them down your legs, tossing them to one side as he reached under your skirt and started to tease you, his thumb circling your clit.

“So wet, that all from watching me? Didn’t have you down as a voyeur, Mrs Barnes.”

“I never get tired of watching you, sweet thing.” You gasped, rolling your hips, desperate for more. “Now stop teasing me!”

Perhaps he wanted to play with you a little bit longer, but really, your sweet Bucky really wasn’t that disciplined. Not when it came to you. Not when you were ready and waiting and ordering him to fuck you.

“I lied, Mrs Barnes…” Bucky gasped, latching onto your neck as you came together, the hint of his teeth sending shockwaves through you. You both started to rut desperately, Bucky’s hips smacking into yours. “I told you that carrying you over that damn threshold was what kept me going out there, during the war.” Bucky’s mouth found your pulse point, and he growled against your skin. “No. This… This was all I could think about. You. Your mouth. Your sweet cunt. Being inside you.”

You opened your mouth to give a smart retort, but at that point you were so turned on that all you could do was moan and throw your head back, digging your fingernails into his back and bucking your hips to try and take even more of him as he drove into you harder.

“I’m close…” You whispered, voice hoarse.

Bucky rose from your neck, his nose touching yours gently, a stark contrast to the hard, rhythmic thrusts of his hips. His lips ghosted yours, moaning into each other’s mouths as you approached release. When you tensed under him, your cunt squeezing his cock, you felt him smirk. Letting himself go, he joined you, his head buried in the crook of your neck.

“Mrs Barnes. What are you doing to me?”

“Oh darling,” you sighed, stroking his hair softly, “I’m just getting started.”

***

Laying against you in the large bathtub, Bucky was the picture of contentment. Eyes shut as he leaned against your shoulder, one hand lazily stroked your thigh.

“In hindsight, the beach might not have been the best location.” You mused, kissing Bucky on the back of his neck. “I think I’ll be finding sand in my clothes for weeks to come.”

“You must admit, it was more comfortable than those camp beds during the war?”

“Oh, infinitely.” You grinned, planting more kisses on shoulders, your hands stroking the soft skin of his back. “And we didn’t have to sneak around either…”

Moving down from his back to his flank, a wicked idea took you. Bucky must have sensed it, because he turned his head, his wet hair ticking your face.

“What is it?” He chuckled.

“I uh…” You giggled too as your fingers ghosted over the skin of his right buttock.

“Spit it out, Mrs Barnes.”

Leaning forward, you kissed his ear before giving it a gentle nibble. “I want to play with that pretty ass of yours, Mr Barnes.”

Bucky gasped, his face starting to flush. “And what made you think of that?”

“Watching you out on the beach. Watching that little ass of yours jiggle as you ran towards the sea. I want to make you feel good, will you let me?”

“Baby, I… That’s… That’s rather naughty isn’t it?” Bucky said nervously, although the way he was palming his erection told you otherwise.

“I think you like being naughty, Mr Barnes.”

“I do…” And he arched his back, inviting you.

Dipping your fingers between his cheeks, you teased his hole, feeling the tight muscles flutter and tense. Pushing in one finger, his whole body tensed against you, before he relaxed a little. The hand gripping your thigh squeezed your skin, his nails digging into you.

“How does that feel baby?” You asked, kissing the back of his neck again.

“I… I like it…” He gasped.

And that was all the invitation you needed. Pushing a little deeper and finding his prostate, your sweet husband let out a sweet moan as he let himself go and leaned into your movements.

“I thought about this while you fucked me on the beach.” You whispered in his ear as you pushed in another finger. “Running naked like a wild thing. You like me watching, don’t you? Admiring you and thinking about all the things I could do to that beautiful body.”

“Yes…” Was all he could manage as his head rolled back and came to rest on your shoulder. Sliding your hand down his body, you took his cock firmly in your other hand.

“Because you’re all mine.” You growled in his ear as you stroked his cock, finding a rhythm so that you were pressing gently on his prostate with each stroke. “And I think you like it.”

“I love it…”

He started to ride your fingers, grinding his hips and moaning from deep in his throat as his movements only heightened both sensations. His cock pulsed in your hand as his breath caught in his throat.

“I’m…”

“Already? Oh baby, you must like this very much. My good boy.” You teased, coaxing him.

He collapsed into you as he came, head rolling back onto your shoulder, his seed warm and wet on your hand.

“Baby…” Bucky looked up at you with heavy eyes, plump lips slightly parted as he caught his breath.

“I told you I was just getting started.” You grinned, kissing his temple.

***

In the cool of the evening, you and Bucky sat out on the veranda in your pyjamas, staring out at the sea as the waves gently danced in the moonlight. Your head on his shoulder, his arm wrapped securely around your waist.

“Well Mr Barnes, what did you make of the first day of our honeymoon?” You asked him.

“Hmm…” Bucky pulled you closer to him, kissing your forehead. “I’d say it was a rather thrilling start. And a rather naughty one.”

“Starting as we mean to go on.”

“As long as I’m with you, I’ll be having the time of my life. Although…”

“Although, what?”

“Next time, I’d rather like to see you naked on the beach with me.” Bucky grinned, pulling you in for a kiss.

“Patience, dear. We have all week…” You said mischievously, before leaning in to kiss him once more.

#fic rec #bucky x reader smut #40s bucky

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zealous-whispers-of-us-redux · 2 years

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I love uuuu @poisonous-hemlock thank u for humoring me and listening to me ramble lol 💜💜

One: Welcome Home (Sanitarium)

A/N: Like seemingly everyone else, Eddie Munson has me in a chokehold. So, I am writing a thing. It's an OC story, which, I know, but give it a chance? Also, I would like to thank my best friend @poisonous-hemlock for helping me with this and being the first irl person to read one of my fanfics even though she has never seen Stranger Things before. Love you Erica <3 :)

A/N 2: If you'd rather read it on AO3, you can FIND IT HERE

Lucky Charms Records was one of those stores that barely got a second glance from the average person living in Hawkins, Indiana. Opened in 1975 and wedged between the old Radio Shack and general store, it was the place where the freaks of Hawkins congregated. Beaded curtains covered every doorway, and the place always smelled like incense. Plastic bins were piled high, always in danger of tumbling down and squishing anyone unfortunate to walk past. People put ads in the store's front window, right next to a painting of a peeling rainbow. Posters of every musical act imaginable covered the green walls, and vintage light fixtures hung from the ceiling. The owners were old hippies. They still owned a converted school bus that they refused to get rid of, no matter how much the yuppies of Hawkins complained.

It was Eddie Munson's favorite place to be in this shitty goddamn town.

School had ended forty-five minutes ago, and he was on a mission to find the perfect soundtrack to accompany Hellfire's Club's next D&D campaign. The Cult of Vecna was his tour de force. No other Dungeon Master could ever create what he created. Eddie considered every choice his players could make. Every solution his players could think of brought them failure. There was no way that anyone would be making it out of this alive. Eddie's win was guaranteed. He just needed the perfect song to play when he won.

Cheerful music greeted him when he walked inside, pushing beaded curtains out of his way. He was thinking something loud and fast without many lyrics would be perfect. Mr. Brennan (call-me-Michael) waved at Eddie. Eddie waved back, distracted with thoughts of his campaign. He was so preoccupied that he missed the overhead music change from some cheerful song about peace to something loud and obnoxious. The Freeze, Eddie realized. The box he kept padlocked tight in his chest gave an almighty rattle. It hadn't done that in ages. Not since Caoimhe Brennan left Hawkins for better things.

They met when Eddie started at Hawkins Middle School when he saw Caoimhe punch a kid in the face. He sometimes wondered if she remembered. Eddie: ten-years-old, self-conscious about his buzzed hair and gangly limbs. Caoimhe: wholly herself, even at eleven years old. Splitting her knuckles on the teeth of the kids that bullied her kid brother, bloody nose streaming as she grinned at Eddie with a mouthful of braces. Even then, she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen—loud and smart. Always trying to change the world. She dragged him to punk shows that ended with her getting into fistfights with guys bigger than her. She painted his nails bright pink when he was passed out and threw peanuts at him when his band played at the Hideout. She refused to play Dungeons & Dragons but blackmailed Eddie until he agreed to come to every stage performance she was in. She gave him a terrible haircut in ninth grade and then shaved her head in solidarity. Eddie had been half in love with her for years.

Eddie ducked behind a shelf, pulling an album out at random and pretending to be very interested in a box set compilation of the Fletcher Henderson orchestra. Eddie had spent the last decade of his life entirely in tune with Caoimhe's exact location relative to his own. He peered over the shelves and spotted her behind the checkout counter, bopping along to the music. Eddie flashed back to the nights when they stayed up all night shooting the shit and getting so stoned that Caoimhe started writing country songs for him to play on his guitar—watching Scooby-Doo and eating maple and brown sugar instant oatmeal until they were sick—giving her the best deals on psychedelics. Eddie told her it was gentlemanly of him not to get high while she was tripping in case anything bad happened, but he really wanted her all to himself. He wanted to remember the following day how it felt to have her in his lap, pressed so close he could count the freckles sprayed across her cheeks. Even though he didn't look it, Eddie Munson was a real romantic when you peeled back the layers to expose the pulpy mess of his crooked heart.

When Eddie next looked up, Caoimhe was staring right at him. He set the album down and fixed a grin on his face as she raced in his direction.

"The prodigal daughter returns," he joked after she'd squeezed the living shit out of his chest.

"Don't be cute. I've got a bone to pick with you," Caoimhe said, staring Eddie down even though she still had her arms wrapped around his torso.

"Already? What the fuck did I do?"

"Chris came into the store yesterday." Caoimhe glared at him. "With her new boyfriend."

Eddie had a terrible feeling that he knew where this was going.

"Uh-huh."

"Why the hell are you guys not together yet? You've had a thing for her for fucking years, Eddie, for God fucking sake. Do I have to do everything around here?"

For as smart as she was, Caoimhe was fucking dumb. She had been trying to set Eddie up with Chrissy Cunningham for years. She was convinced that the sappy, pining glances Eddie sent her way every three minutes were directed at Chrissy. Eddie assumed it was because she was blind as hell and refused to do anything about it. It was fuckin' obvious who he was really looking at. Chrissy was Caoimhe's friend for some inexplicable reason. Eddie thought they met when they were kids in dance, gymnastics, or something like that. He and Chrissy were never close. They more so... existed relative to each other with Caoimhe as a buffer. When Caoimhe went to high school, Eddie and Chrissy stopped talking. The same thing happened when Caoimhe graduated high school. Not that Eddie much cared. Chrissy was nice, pretty, and sweet as hell, but Caoimhe could curb stomp him, and he'd thank her.

"Eddie."

He collapsed against a shelf. Maybe if he pretended to be dead, she'd leave him alone.

"Eds, what the fuck?"

"I don't know. She's a cheerleader; he plays basketball."

"So? What's your point?"

"They're supposed to date. It's, like, fated or something."

"Jason goes to church," she hissed. "He is on an organized sports team."

"Why can't you talk to Chrissy about this?"

"Because you're the one who's liked her since middle school."

Eddie opened his mouth. It had been a goddamn decade; surely, that was enough time by now? He'd rehearsed it in his head more often than he cared to admit. Caoimhe, it's you, you idiot. It was never Chrissy. I fucking love you. If you wore your goddamn glasses every once in a while, you'd notice that I've never once looked at Chrissy, you blind dumbass.

Aw, hell, it would never work. Caoimhe was never easily convinced. Once she thought she knew something, it'd take getting beaten over the head and a three-day coma to get her to stop believing it. Eddie was stubborn as hell, which is why he refused to tell her the truth. He bit his tongue.

"It's cool; I'm back now." She patted Eddie on the cheek. "I'll help you."

"I look forward to it," Eddie said, like a lying liar who lied. He sucked. "Why'd you decide to come back to this shitty town anyway?"

As far as Eddie understood it, thanks to her insistence on sending him fucking postcards like they were penpals during World War Two, she had spent a year in college, freaked out about the future, then took a gap year. These last six months she had spent living abroad with her extended family. Eddie detected a slight accent and teased her about it until she shoved him with a laugh.

"Shut up; I can't help the accent! I missed this place, believe it or not."

"I doubt that."

"I did. Also, hey, what the hell is up with you? Are you graduating this year or not?"

"I'm getting through O'Donnell's class."

Caoimhe narrowed her stupidly pretty eyes and jabbed a finger in Eddie's face.

"You said the same thing last year."

"Yeah, but this year is my year." Eddie put his hands on her shoulders and shook her to emphasize how serious he was. "I know it is. I can feel it."

"You also said that," Caoimhe said skeptically.

Eddie groaned and draped himself over her shoulder.

"Okay, so O'Donnell hates me. She fails me on purpose. What the fuck do I do with that?"

"I dunno. Study?"

"Nope. I staunchly refuse. But..."

"Christ, I know that look," Caoimhe mumbled under her breath, "But what?"

"The best tutor in Hawkins has finally returned!"

"What."

"I, Edward the Banished, Master Thief -17th level, obviously-, ask you, the beautiful half-elf princess Caoimhe the Magnificent, on bended knee-" Eddie dropped to his knees on the dusty carpeted floor. -"To tutor me in Chemistry so that I may finally graduate and leave this shithole town behind."

"What's in it for me?" Caoimhe asked with another scowl, but her mouth twisted like she was trying not to smile.

"My unending fidelity and admiration?"

"Don't I have those already?"

And then some, Eddie thought to himself.

"Uh, free drugs?" he offered.

She tapped her chin as she thought about his offer, drawing it out because she knew how much it annoyed him.

"Deal," she said.

"You've got to say it right," said Eddie. "'I, Caoimhe the Magnificent, Princess of the Sapphire Nexus, promise you, the ravishing, roguishly handsome thief Edward the Banished -'"

"I'm not saying that," she interrupted flatly.

"College didn't make you any less boring, eh?" Eddie said, leaping to his feet and throwing an arm around her shoulder.

"Tisch isn't known for its thriving Dungeons & Dragons campaigns. Did you want to start now?"

"With what?"

"Tutoring, Eddie. Remember what we just spent the last gruelingly long three minutes discussing?"

"I just got off school. What makes you think I want to do more of it?"

"If you want to pass the 12th grade on your third go, you should want to," Caoimhe pointed out.

"I forgot how much of a fucking battle ax you were," Eddie grinned. "Jesus, I missed you."

"I missed you, too, bitch. Are we studying or not?"

"I got Hellfire at seven."

"And?"

"And I need a badass soundtrack to play when I win my next campaign. Hence why I came here in the first place."

"May I suggest-"

"No."

"You don't even know what I was gonna say!" Caoimhe protested.

Eddie began walking toward the metal section, tugging her with him.

"Yes, I do. "Death or Glory" isn't going to cut it this time. Or any other time."

"Fuck you," she said mildly. "What about-"

"No. Not "Rise Above" either. I need an instrumental."

"God, you're dull, Eds."

She leaned against the shelves and let Eddie do his thing. Lucky Charms had a decent cassette tape collection and a corner where customers could listen to them before they decided to buy them. Eddie had his arms full of cassettes before he knew it and got a player. He unplugged the headphones so they could both listen. Caoimhe sat on the ground, legs stretched out, and head leaned back on the shelves. She was looking at Eddie in that way that made him all sweaty. Her eyes were fucking intense. She kicked his ankle to get his attention.

"This one's decent," she said. "I still think you need something with words in it, though. Like-"

"Joe Strummer has nothing on Dave Mustaine," Eddie pointed out.

Caoimhe grinned the same grin that led them to three days in detention after getting into a screaming fight about whether Angel Witch was better than Black Flag. Eddie took the cassette tape out and made to head to the checkout counter. She got to her feet and scurried after him.

"Are we doing this now?" she asked.

"You started it. Punk has nothing on the musicianship of metal. For one."

"You always say that. Who the hell cares about the musicianship? It's the message," Caoimhe said, scanning the cassette viciously. "No one gives a shit about some dude with stupidly long hair playing the most stupidly complicated guitar solo ever invented -it's $7.49, by the way- But songs like "Know Your Product ?" The Saints, 1978? Anti-consumerist as fuck. "Typical Girls ?" The Slits-"

"Fine. I'll give you that one."

"Ha! Name one metal band with a woman-"

"Warlock," Eddie said immediately.

"Quit interrupting me when I'm winning the argument, damn it. You ruin it when you do that. Here's your fucking change."

"Thanks," said Eddie, pocketing it. "What are you doing now?"

"Why, so we can continue this argument when I'm off?" Caoimhe asked.

"No. I've already won, obviously."

"Fuck you. You've never won shit. And I'm doing nothing. Why?"

"Sonic?" he suggested.

"You're a genius, Eddie Munson. And I forgive you for hating on punk music because I haven't had a dumb fast-food burger in months. Let's go."

Caoimhe ducked under the counter and returned with a worn leather jacket beaten to shit and covered in safety pins. Seeing that jacket again was like coming home after a long time. She'd gotten it at the same time Eddie got his denim jacket, and they spent ages curating the perfect collection of patches and pins to put on each of their finds. Eddie cut the sleeves off to make a vest; Caoimhe tore up a pair of plaid pants to cover her sleeve. They'd done all the sewing when they were high, which, looking bad, was a dumb idea. Eddie had stabbed himself with a needle and started freaking until Caoimhe grabbed his hand and stuck his finger in her mouth to stop the bleeding. Then he was freaking for another reason.

"Ready?" Caoimhe asked, grabbing his hand. "C'mon."

They ran out the door hand in hand and kicked ankles to get the other to trip. It was like being eleven years old again when Eddie and Caoimhe would spend all summer in the record store playing hide and seek and building cardboard forts out of all the boxes. Eddie would lug his guitar to her house, and he would play whatever song she asked him to. She always sang like it was her last song before she died a gruesome death, with arms thrown out to the side and collapsing to the ground when it was over. She was born to be on Broadway, really.

When Eddie allowed himself to fantasize, it was him and Caoimhe living in some dirty shoebox apartment in New York. She would go off to rehearsals while he was in the studio recording music with Corroded Coffin. They would go to concerts on the weekends where she'd get into fistfights and kiss Eddie when he pulled her out, high on adrenaline. She would get his initials tattooed on her ribs, and he would let her finally pierce his ear like she'd been begging for the last five years. Then when they got home, he'd take her apart nice and slow, keeping her in bed for as long as he wanted.

"Are we taking my car?" Caoimhe asked, rustling through her jacket and breaking Eddie's concentration on the fantastic daydream he was having.

"Nah, I'll drop you off before Hellfire." Eddie opened the door for her and bowed. "M'lady, your chariot awaits."

"...Your van smells like old socks."

"Does it?"

Once Eddie got in the driver's seat, he pushed up his sleeve, read the note he left himself about finally taking his old gym clothes out of the van, and agreed with her.

"Shit, yeah. There it is in black ink. Whoops," he muttered.

Now that he looked at it, his van was pretty gross. Caoimhe's feet were buried under garbage. Then again, she'd puked in his backseat more than once, so it might not have been that bad. (Oh, but she was probably all cosmopolitan now, going to Tisch with all the artsy types who smoked French cigarettes and only watched black and white movies. Did he need to clean?) Nope, shut up. It was Caoimhe. She never fucking cared before.

"Oo, what do we have in here? More tapes?"

Eddie lunged to grab the box, but she kept it away from him. He wasn't trying to crash the damn van but swiped at her halfheartedly to get the box back.

"Uh- hold on- wait!" he shouted.

She pulled her hand out of the box, one cassette held tight in her hand. It was the fucking soundtrack to Grease. Eddie wanted to be embarrassed because it was obvious to him why he'd have that stupid cassette in his damn van. Caoimhe didn't give him much of a chance to be embarrassed, though. She turned in her seat to face him.

"Eds, you kept these?" she asked softly. (Was she blushing?)

Caoimhe, who, despite looking like she'd kick your teeth in if you looked at her wrong, was in every single stage performance that Hawkins Middle and High School put on. She'd only been a freshman when she'd gotten the part of Rizzo in Grease. She made Eddie see all four performances. By the second performance, he had the show memorized, brought a cassette player, and sat there listening to a Saxon album on repeat until the show was over. Caoimhe was a musical theater geek. Eddie was decidedly not, but he'd been pining hard lately- he had every single soundtrack to every musical she had been in.

"Uh, yeah," he said.

"God, this felt like ages ago. Remember when Ebeling wanted to do that one-act play about the elephant that Edison electrocuted?" Caoimhe snorted softly. "He didn't like it unless someone died."

"What was the one with the old women who poisoned people?"

"Arsenic and Old Lace. That one was fun."

"I actually liked that one." He caught her eye as they sat at a stop sign. "Was metal as fuck."

"You would think that." She nudged Eddie's shoulder. "Can I play "There Are Worse Things I Could Do ?'"

"Sure. Why the hell not? Play your stupid show tunes. Ruin my night before Hellfire."

"You're the greatest, Eds," she replied, popping in the tape and fast-forwarding.

The ride was silent for some agonizingly long minutes. Eddie started tapping on the steering wheel and muttering the script he had planned for today's campaign under his breath. They were bound to wrap it up either today or the next time they met, which was great because Eddie wanted to dive headfirst into the damn Cult of Vecna already.

"-Then go with a boy or two. Even though the neighborhood thinks I'm trashy and no good," Caoimhe sang and nudged him again. "Hey. Tell me about your current campaign."

"You want to hear about D&D? Since when?"

"Christ." She screwed her eyes shut and spoke through her teeth like she was being held at gunpoint. "You're going to make this a thing, I know you are, but I missed hearing you natter on about it, okay?"

Eddie couldn't stop the grin.

"Oh, I am definitely making this a thing."

He tilted his head in her direction and sang;

"You. Missed hearing me talk about it!"

"What? When did I say that?"

"Nu-uh, you can't take it back. Say it again. C'mon."

"Never."

"C'mon, say, "Oh, Eddie, I love it when you talk Dungeons and Dragons to me. It gets me so hot"."

"Why did I even open my mouth in the first place?" Caoimhe asked, looking heavenward like she was begging to be raptured so she could escape the conversation.

"Just a little? Say it again, c'mon," Eddie goaded. "Ha, I knew you loved it. Admit it. "Eddie, baby, talk druid to me"!"

"Fucking hell, now I take it back," she said, throwing her hands in the air. "You ruined it."

"No, c'mon, you want to know?"

"Not anymore."

"C'mon, yes, you do. I'll tell you all about it."

"I could hurt someone like me! " Caoimhe shouted along to the song. "Out of spite or jealousy!"

"Okay, okay. I'm done. I'll tell you. Can I tell you?"

"Will you stop making it weird?"

"Yep, I will. Swear."

"Good. Tell me about Hellfire, then."

"Okay, listen to this..."

And Eddie was off telling her everything about the current campaign. Telling her about the Blightlands, a world he made up where every hero who dared step foot there had to fight off monsters covered in oozing sores. If they bit you, you'd join them. The air was poisonous, so even if a magic-user decided to use Vanish, they still ran the risk of being exposed and dying that way. He told her about the Blightmaster as the big bad that Eddie's players were in the middle of defeating.

He talked the whole way to Sonic when they'd ordered and gotten their food, catching Caoimhe's gaze on him whenever he stopped to take a bite. She had a small smile on her face, her eyes soft and pretty. She hummed at times and gasped at others- a perfect, captive audience of one. Eddie wanted to tell her then. See if she felt the same.

She squeezed Eddie's hand when he was finally done. He hadn't even noticed that she'd grabbed it.

"That sounds sick, Eds," she said.

"Heh," he replied, looking at her fingers intertwined with his. "My win's guaranteed, so. I'm pretty happy about that."

"What's your new one? The one you were looking for music for?"

"The Cult of Vecna."

"Ah. I am a sucker for a good cult."

Eddie fiddled with his rings. "I know you think it's stupid."

"I don't think it's stupid, Eds. Honestly, I just like how pissed you get when I tease you about it, s'all."

"Oh."

They blinked at each other. Was Caoimhe closer than she was a second ago? Eddie felt all sweaty again.

"D'you, uh, you know, wanna come tonight? Just to watch. Maybe, if you wanted to, do you?" he asked.

Caoimhe stole one of his tater tots.

"Don't you need to take a vote or something?" she asked.

"I'm the DM. I can invite whoever I want."

She considered that. "But I'm not playing."

"Obviously not. You'd suck ."

"Hey, fuck you, man. Just because I had to take remedial math in the summer."

"Twice," Eddie said with a grin.

"Real comedian over here, ladies and gentlemen. At least I graduated when I was supposed to."

"That's cold, Kee."

"Yeah, well, you started it. Are you going to finish your tater tots?"

Eddie tipped his head back onto the window with a groan. Every time. Every goddamn time they went to Sonic, Caoimhe ordered onion rings and ended up eating Eddie's tater tots. Every time. He could start telling her no. She was an adult; she needed to order what she liked. (Who the fuck was he kidding? He'd give her his stupid tater tots every time.)

"I knew it. I told you when we ordered not to get onion rings," Eddie said as he shoved his tater tots in her direction.

"I always think I'll end up liking them!" she defended. "Listen, I like the ones from the diner. Stands to reason I'd like them here."

"We've been coming here for six years, and you haven't liked them once ."

"Do you want 'em? You seem so defensive."

"Fine. I'll eat your poor, abandoned onion rings." Eddie shoved one in his mouth and talked with his mouth full. "Poor things, cast off and loathed by the princess who asked for them."

"Dramatic. Why do you assume I'd be a princess if I played D&D, anyway? That's the real question."

"As your backstory. You'd be a half-elf-princess-turned-assassin," Eddie explained.

"Which means?"

"You kill a lot, basically. Use poison sometimes."

"But how would a princess turn into an assassin?"

"Hm. You found out that everything you thought you knew about your home was wrong. So, you went to right those wrongs, but they could only be done by killing. So, you joined the Assassin's Guild and just, you know, started assassinating. Then you fell in love with a thief and couldn't go back to your home because you committed high treason, so you ran off with the thief and just kept assassinating bad guys," Eddie said.

"A thief named Eddie?" Caoimhe joked.

"Why would you- uh, no. Not that at, uh, all," he said.

Smooth. Like a fucking car crash. Jesus Christ.

"Right, right, right, sorry. Because Eddie the thief fell in love with Chrissy the Gentle. Of course." She patted Eddie's shoulder. "My mistake, dude. That sounds cool, though, being an assassin."

"I knew you'd think so. So, are you in? Wanna watch the guys defeat the Blightmaster tonight?"

Caoimhe wrinkled her nose and ate another one of Eddie's tater tots. He ate an onion ring and fiddled with his rings. She was purposely stringing him along, but Eddie waited anyway. When she had eaten three tater tots and the rest of her burger, she nodded.

"Take me to Hellfire. I wanna see them dungeon those dragons," she said sagely with her hands folded in her lap.

"That isn't it at all."

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