#pinto engine

[carsthatnevermadeitetc]

Ford Capri II 2000 GT, 1974. The second generation Capri introduced a hatchback and also Ford “Pinto” TL20 2.0 litre 4 cylinder engine. Ford made the new car more suited to everyday driving with a larger and more versatile cabin. Initially the Capri II was built at both Halewood in England and Cologne but falling sales meant that in 1976 all production was moved to Germany

[automotiveamerican]

The US Ford Lima Engine - Like a Euro Ford Pinto, But Better @Stav-Tech

Great article, fully agree as worked on the UK version of the Pinto back in the day. I actually owned an import Ranger truck equipped with the Lima, far better engine. A ~900bhp 2.7ltr Ford Lima. Yes In the UK and Europe, the Ford Pinto was about the most popular Ford engine to tune in the 70s, 80s, and early 90s, and to this day powers loads of fast road and race cars.The Pinto has spawned…

[robthegoodfellow]

3DPC4EVA

@harringrovezine submission! Billy and Steve take a backseat while their cars get busy. Crack taken seriously. Brace for puns.

Summary: When the Camaro rumbles into the Hawkins High parking lot, she catches the attention of a certain luxury vehicle.

Harringrove, Camaro/Beamer (or Bimmer/Beemer whatever you prefer)

Rated G | ~2.2k (slightly expanded version) | Alternating Car POV

thank you @adelacreations and the rest of the zine team for all your hard work!

~🛞~

A car never forgot the moment it came to—became aware. For PC, it was rounding a bend of the Pacific Coast Highway, to the left a sprawling sea, baked cliffs sloping opposite. And inside… was a boy, death-grip on the wheel relaxing, his stiff back gone slack on a long exhale.

He was gazing at the water, mesmerized. Revved the engine, a vicarious roar—but not of rage.

Exultation.

They meandered north for miles, blue horizon painted pink and red, glittering in the sinking sun. Veering onto a rocky shoulder, he hopped on the hood. Reclined, sighing smoke, until the sky had bruised purple. 

The boy’s mind wandered on the drive back, and PC got a sense of him then—name, where he lived. Enough to nudge reminders before he missed a turn. 

PC learned its own names, too—knew the boy thought of it as a she. Called her Baby. Or sometimes he’d smush the first part of her plate together, PCE, and think peace.

~🛞~

3D didn’t belong here, wasting away parked outside a school. A BMW E23 7-Series? Far more befitting the head of the Harrington family, not his spoiled Lothario of a son.

But no—downgraded months after purchase when the wife gifted her darling husband a Rolls-Royce.

Who could compete? So here it was, surrounded by malformed AMC experiments, rusted-out Oldsmobile barges, decrepit Pintos liable to explode if you looked at them wrong. Oh, and tractors—let’s not forget the occasional farming equipment caked in mud and manure ridden to school for a laugh. 

3D could have borne the shocks without blowing a gasket—it was a high-performance vehicle—but then… then the boy made it his mission to bed every girl in town. And 3D had spacious seats. Spacious and luxurious: black leather, gleaming wood trim—not that the paramours would notice, too busy humping while 3D stared out its headlamps at the lake or the trees or wherever it could fix its attention that wasn’t the pair of humans copulating all over its pristine interior.

Finally, the boy hitched himself to a girl with standards, one who preferred privacy. Granted, that relationship coincided with some rather strange occurrences—early on, the boy sped off to a remote property with faulty wiring, lights berserk, and ran inside to much screaming and cacophonous violence. 3D was certain that menace would emerge grievously wounded if he emerged at all, and do you know how hard it is to get bloodstains out of leather?

Well, 3D didn’t, either, but it was bound to be impossible.

Anyway—despite that bizarre hiccup, the boy seemed happy, and so too was 3D.

Happy its rear bench was a Motel 6 no longer.

~🛞~

The blistering hurt he'd stoked from San Diego to Indiana—this despairing, gnashing fury—had simmered to a low-grade pang when PC rumbled into the Hawkins High parking lot, blazing past milling students.

Billy slammed the door—pat the handle, apologetic, before striding off. Max wheeled away on her skateboard.

Though PC was facing the school, she wasn’t limited to staring dully at the brick. Sky through her windshield, a side-view out her windows, the lot behind via the tail lights. In no time, she’d taken stock: not too different from back home. Less pervasive rust from salty air, fewer finishes sun-bleached pale pastel… and the crusty tractor was new… but a parking lot was a parking lot.

That’s what she repeated, again jerking her focus from a gleam in the next row. A BMW—PC had a weakness for German makes. Her first crush was a cute Volkswagen bug that belonged to one of Billy's surfer buddies, but the Beetle couldn’t hold a candle to this burgundy beauty—shining in the sun, the lines of its hood so proud, so pert and compact compared to PC. The appealing rounds of its double headlamps, spider eyes on either side of those distinctive kidney grilles. Like bared teeth.

The plate read 3Ds46T2.

Its wipers twitched, annoyance loud and clear. What?

PC barely reined in the startled beep, hot underhood. But then—well… what else to do when caught so blatantly staring?

She flashed a taillight, a quick, cheeky wink, and the headlamps across the way flared—a bright flush, though brief, firmly repressed.

Didn’t want to push it—the blush perhaps more embarrassment than pleasure—but when she risked a glance, 3D was looking back, intrigued. 

At final bell, PC blared both taillights, a last gambit—and her fan belt fluttered when 3D’s wipers swept a wide arc. A farewell.

Half-expected to overheat on the way back to the new house. Like all the coolant in the world couldn’t help her.

~🛞~

A showy, brutish Camaro Z/28 wouldn’t typically warrant more than an irritated huff of exhaust, but a car like that had never been bold enough to… flirt? Just brazenly wink for the whole lot to see, gazing like you were the most riveting object in existence.

It was… well, flattering, obviously—a Camaro was a handsome make, whatever its faults—but more than that, it had thrilled in a way 3D couldn’t shake. So next time the boy pulled into the lot, it gently nudged the wheel, willing them to the front where PCE 235 was sitting pretty.

Maneuvering to park next to the muscle-bound stunner took more of a push—enough to trigger a frown—but the boy rarely fired on all cylinders. He shrugged it off.

3D never dreamed it could be so forward, but the Camaro didn’t mind. Quite the contrary: as the school doors closed on the last straggler, 3D spied its neighbor’s window cracking open. A loaded quiet—then the soft static of the radio searching for a station. Odd squeals, a cut-off twang, belt, chorus, then—

—too good to be true. Can't take my eyes off you. Pardon the way that I stare—there's nothing else to compare.

An earnest crooning Oldie, and—it was like its undercarriage had bottomed out on nothing. 3D flushed hot as a busted radiator. 

If you feel like I feel, please let me know that it's real. You're just too good to be true. Can't take my eyes off you.

Seeming to sense its struggle for composure, the volume lowered until the song clicked off. The window rolled up, parted lips closing, and the wheel spun, nervous. Crunch of gravel as the front tires turned its way: Your move.

3D choked, butterfly valve sealing shut. The boy’s tastes weren’t exactly varied. Hardly strayed from the local channels piping nonstop Hot 100. But the silence would soon ring of rejection, so it powered the radio, scrambling, poised to blindly crank the dial and hope for the best—

Miracle of miracles. Rushing to open a window, it lowered all four, silently thanking Hump Day Hits of the 60s.

—thought love was only true in fairytales—meant for someone else but not for me. Love was out to get me—that's the way it seemed. 

Spontaneity sparking, it left the windows down. Let the whole lot hear! What did it care what they thought?

Then I saw her face! Now I'm a believer. Not a trace of doubt in my mind…

Last bell, after hours of trading silly ditties, their batteries were dead, and 3D was in love—felt drunk on diesel, sappy sentiment gumming up its engine.

PC. How wonderful, those two letters. And a she. Fascinating.

Their drivers were baffled at both needing a jump—a much remarked upon coincidence. Waiting for their cars to revive, the boy made awkward small talk with PC’s human—a blond ruffian who smoked like a chimney.

The boy asked the ruffian—Billy—if he was going to the Halloween party later.

Billy was.

“See ya there, man,” he said, tapping 3D’s roof. It would have cringed at the fingerprints left behind, if not for a more pressing thought.

It would see PC that night.

Perhaps all night.

~🛞~

Billy was nervous—PC could tell by his fidgeting grip, Metallica blasting. Odd outfit, too: leather jacket, shirtless, with fingerless gloves.

He parked behind 3D, no encouragement necessary. Before he’d even disappeared inside the pulsing house, PC waved her wiper, overeager but suddenly—shy.

They seemed to mutually agree not to drain their batteries again. Instead, at the risk of coming on too strong, PC reached out with the nebulous consciousness linking her to her body, linking her to Billy… until she felt a psychic bump. Not enough to dent. Just… alert.

She’d never done this—gone beyond basic flirtation—but something about 3D made her bold… and maybe Billy’s loneliness, the aimless despair bubbling under his skin since the move… maybe that had bled over more than she’d realized.

A bump, and she almost ignited her own engine, so intense was the bolt of excitement. 3D was reaching back, willing to open to her—

She had no idea how much time had passed, so submerged in their mingled selves, when Billy stumbled against her with a grunt, a slurred curse. The icy jolt must have transferred before she cut off to focus on the problem sagging at her door—a problem she knew too well.

Billy unlocked her after a couple tries, more falling than sitting in the driver’s seat. Shoved the key in the ignition—groaned when the engine wouldn’t start.

“Not tonight, baby—I’m fucking fine.”

She remained unmoved, even as he slumped, forehead knocking on the wheel.

“Just start! We’re three streets away, for fuck’s sake.”

An insistent bump—so unrelenting that she reconnected, conveyed through images, flashes of memory, that this was just something they did: Billy would drink too much, and she wouldn’t start until he was sober. But that only triggered a renewed wave of concern, a series of impressions in return: pulling over to assist a family broken down, the kids shivering in the chill evening air of autumn; 3D’s human, breath misting, joking with a pretty brunette about drinking until they were warm, the girl informing him that booze made you more vulnerable to frostbite.

But… it wasn’t nearly cold enough for that, right? Although what did she know? It had taken ages to warm up this morning. How cold was too cold?

Maybe Billy would just… go back inside the house. Or she could—start the engine but jam the accelerator? Or—

Billy jumped when 3D’s horn blared, obnoxious in the still night, its headlights flashing with each trumpeting blast. 

Not a minute later, PC understood in a burst of gratitude: 3D’s human trotted from the house. He would help. Flinging open the door, she spun her wheel, sharp.

A grunt, and Billy spilled onto the pavement. “Bitch.”

The alarm died with a chirp. “Hargrove?” 

Billy sighed, flopping backward. “Fuck off, Harrington.”

Harrington did not—kept coming until he towered, hands on hips. Prodded Billy with a curious foot.

“You wanna be roadkill, or what?”

Bratty snort. “Or what.”

“Well, in the interest of not scraping you up tomorrow, how about I drive you home?”

Billy propped himself on elbows. A hum, considering. “Pass.”

PC resisted whacking him with the door. From his expression, Harrington felt much the same.

“Take you to mine, then.” Stooping, he stuck his hand out, waiting while Billy curled his lip, rolled his eyes—finally took the hand.

3D’s lights beamed worry as Harrington started the engine, Billy safe in passenger. PC twitched a wiper—shoo—and settled in by the curb. Small price for peace of mind.

~🛞~

At some point between disappearing into the Harrington house and emerging in the early dawn, something had happened—3D couldn’t begin to guess. The surly quiet of last night now buzzed like coins in a cupholder. Glances darted, never meeting.

3D resisted cranking the radio to drown out the awkward. Or redirecting the beads of condensation cutting through the misted windows so their dewy paths spelled HELP.

It rumbled with relief to see PC, glistening in the gloom, right where they’d left her.

“Last night,” Billy said, as they rolled to a stop. “We—it can’t happen—”

“You scared?” The arched brow was bluster, his frame rigid with nerves.

“You dumb?” Sneered it, scathing.

He was dumb, 3D would vouch for that, but the boy only glared. Billy huffed, paired an eye roll with a shake of his head, reaching for the door. 

A lesser vehicle would’ve missed the other hand pounce across the console, but 3D fogged the windows just in time.

No one saw the driver yanked sideways by the shirt, arrested by snarling lips pressed to his own—or the hands that grappled in reply, cupping cheek and chin, fingers sinking into hair.

No one saw, but PC knew—was practically dancing, wipers waving, front wheels pivoting left and right. And usually 3D would sigh, resign itself to rounds of necking and worse, but it couldn’t muster the fumes.

Because it would put up with anything—happily, no matter the wear and tear—for more time right here, sharing PC’s air. 

Since keeping one meant keeping the other, this would be no fling. Not if 3D could help it. 

What was it humans liked to say? 

My way or the highway.

~🛞~

Read on Ao3

[all-the-things-2020]

Joel’s Pony Party

Summary: You are planning a birthday party for your six year old niece. Turns out the guy who runs the pony party place offers you more than just a pony ride.

Rating: R (some sexual content toward the end); 18+ only, please!

Word Count: 6200+

Notes: I saw a horse trailer one day with a sign reading “Joel’s Pony Party” and my mind went on from there. This is an AU where there is no outbreak and Sarah and Ellie are the same age.

Maybe this was a huge mistake, you think as you steer your car down the increasingly potholed road. Obviously, a place with horses would be outside of town, but this didn’t look like the most savory area. Still, the pictures on the website had made it look nice, so you owed it to Ashley to check it out.

It had made so much sense at the time to volunteer to plan your niece’s sixth birthday party. Your sister was still knee deep in diapers with her youngest, Ashley’s little brother Jacob. Your brother-in-law was a sweetheart but useless at this sort of thing. His idea of entertaining was buying a 24 pack of beer instead of a 6 pack and buying the name brand chips for the queso dip. No, Ashley deserved a special birthday and you were going to give it to her.

You checked the directions you’d printed out from the internet. You should be close. The road curved slightly and you saw the neatly painted sign. “Joel’s Pony Party — Birthdays and Special Occasions.” The property looked much nicer than some of the places you’d driven past. The fencing was new and the driveway was freshly graded. So far, so good.

You drove through the gate and marveled at the paddock full of ponies and a couple of horses. Some of them lifted their heads from the grass to watch you drive past. They all looked healthy and well groomed. One of the bigger ponies, a flashy black and white pinto, tossed its head and galloped along the fence line, racing your car. 

You parked in the graveled lot clearly marked “Guest Parking” and turned off the engine. A teenaged girl with an abundance of curly hair waved at you from the door of a tidy red barn. “Dad will be with you in a minute,” she called out. “You can pet the ponies if you want.”

The little pinto was trying to reach over the fence to you, so you obliged, scratching its nose and forehead. The pony smelled wonderful, like fresh hay and sunshine and that undeniable smell of horse that brought back your childhood. Trips to the pony ride at the park had been the highlight of your existence when you were five years old.

”She doesn’t have anything for you, Oreo.” The voice was slow and easy, not too deep. “Sorry, he’s a beggar. I’m Joel Miller.” The man held out his hand and you shook it. His grip was firm but gentle and his hand engulfed yours. You tried not to stare as you took in his broad shoulders and the neatly trimmed scruff on his face. A delightful combination of cowboy and businessman. 

You introduced yourself. “I have to admit, I was a little concerned after driving past some of those places down the road, but you have a beautiful property.”

Joel nodded his head. “Thank you, ma’am. Sarah and I try to keep it up to snuff.” He tilted his head toward the girl. “If she ever outgrows her horse phase, I’m in deep trouble. Can’t keep this place goin’ without her.” He looked wistful for a moment, then snapped back to business mode. “So, you’re lookin’ for a place for your niece’s birthday. Let me give you a tour.”

He led you through the barn, which was cleaner than some houses you’d been to, and showed you the party area, a covered patio with brightly painted wooden picnic tables. Beyond it was a miniature race track. “The pony path,” Joel said. “Rather than one of those mechanical hot walker contraptions, we put the kids on a pony in there and let them walk around. Me or Sarah will stand in the middle and keep the ponies moving if they get too lazy, but otherwise the kids get to be in charge.” He chuckled. “Well, as in charge as anyone can be with a pony. Got some characters.”

Joel gestured toward a large shade tree. “Here’s where we hang the piñata.” Then toward a long table under a colorful awning. “And that’s where you can put the gifts and the cake. Keeps them out of the way of the kids.” He shuffled his boots in the dust. “We have two packages: Pony Princess and Cowpoke Experience. Most boys go for cowpoke but girls are pretty evenly split. Or we can do a hybrid if you’ve got boys and girls coming.”

He pulled a brochure out of his back pocket and spread it out on one of the picnic tables. As he leaned over, his shirt strained at his shoulders and it was all you could do to keep your focus on the brochure. And his thick finger as he pointed out the options.

”Pony Princess comes with a unicorn and the piñata is a dragon. We also have a trunk of dress up clothes. Fairy wings and princess dresses and magic wands, stuff like that. The birthday girl gets to wear a crown, ‘cause she’s the princess.”

”Cowpoke Experience comes with roping lessons and the piñata is a cowboy boot. No guns, but we have cowboy hats and bandanas and leather vests for dress up. And the birthday kid wears the sheriff’s badge.”

You glanced at the prices at the bottom of the pages and nodded. Yes, this would do. And even if it was a bit more than you’d planned, you’d gladly pay it to spend more time with Joel. 

“Definitely Pony Princess for Ashley,” you said. “She’s in her Disney Princess stage right now and all her friends are into fairies and magic and everything.”

”All right, let’s get the calendar and see if we can get this scheduled for you. Sarah!”

Sarah popped out of nowhere. “Yeah, Dad?”

”Run and get the booking calendar, would you? Need to set up a party for this nice lady’s niece.”

”She seems like a good kid,” you said, desperate to make small talk so you wouldn’t gawk at the man in front of you.

”She is,” he said with a smile. “A lot like her mama was.”

”Her mother …” you didn’t know how to ask without seeming nosey.

”Passed on when Sarah was little,” Joel said softly. “It’s been  just the two of us. Well, and my brother, when he’s around. And now the horses.” He sighed. “I used to be a contractor but I messed up my back pretty good and my cousin Louis was moving to Alabama so he offered me the place. Already had a good business doing pony rides, and it was Sarah’s idea to start doing birthday parties and events. She’s gonna be a party planner or something like that when she grows up. Organized and on top of everything.” He shook his head, a soft smile on his lips. He was clearly very proud of his daughter.

Sarah dashed up with a battered leather planner in her hands. As she laid it down on the table, she pulled a pencil out of her pocket. “See,” Joel said. “Always prepared.”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “It’s just common sense, Dad.” She flipped the pages to the current date. “Hope we can fit you in close to your niece’s actual birthday.”

You perused the calendar. There were two sets of handwriting, one neat and precise but masculine, the other just as neat but more exuberant. You spotted the Saturday before Ashley’s birthday. “How about this day? I see you have something at 9:00 am but maybe we can do the afternoon?”

”Perfect,” said Joel. “How’s 2 o’clock? Gives us time to clean up after the morning event and then you don’t have to provide lunch, just cake and ice cream.” He smiled and you smiled back. Cake and ice cream were included in the price of the package, but lunches and snacks were not. You’d save a bit that way.

”Sounds like a deal,” you said. “Do we need to sign a contract or anything?”

”Give me a day or two to write it up and you can come back to sign it, if that’s not too much trouble?” He fixed his chocolate brown eyes on you and for a moment you couldn’t even breath, let alone form a coherent thought.

”Um, yeah, that’d be great,” you managed to say after an awkward moment. “You can call me when it’s ready and I’ll come out as soon as I can.” You scribbled your cell phone number on the margin of the planner, along with your name.

”Much obliged,” Joel said. “Pony Princess party, 2 o’clock on Saturday the 15th.”

”And when you come back to sign the paperwork, you can meet all the ponies,” Sarah said. “You can pick out which one your niece gets to ride.” She glanced slyly at Joel. “Maybe Dad can take you out on one of the horses, if you have the right shoes.” She looked down at your tennis shoes and shook her head. Like Joel, she had on well worn cowboy boots, the working kind, not the fashionable kind.

”I might have some boots that would work,” you said. “But I haven’t been on a horse in years. Maybe we’d better leave that to the kids.”

Joel looked you up and down, which made your face heat up. “You’d look good on a horse,” he said. “I think maybe Guapo?”

Sarah nodded firmly. “Oh, yeah, Guapo would be perfect for you. He’s a real softie, good with beginners but not one of those dead to the world type they give you at rental stables.” 

“We’ll see,” you said. “I’d — I’d better be going. I have some errands to run before I head home and I’m sure you’re both busy. I’ll see you in a few days.”

”I’ll call you when I have the contract ready,” Joel said, nodding his head. If he’d been wearing a hat, he would have tipped it. “Nice to meet you.”

As you walked back toward your car, you heard Sarah giggling and Joel shushing her sternly. The kid was a pretty good wingwoman. You wondered how much a pair of real riding boots cost.

***************************************************************************

Joel called you two days later and you arranged to come by that Thursday to sign the contract and finalize the details. You rarely took time off work, so no one batted an eye when you put in for a half day of personal necessity because of an appointment. You left work and stopped off at home to change into jeans and a pair of low heeled boots. You finished off the outfit with a t-shirt that you’d gotten compliments on before. 

As you turned into the drive at Joel’s place, you saw that the way was blocked by a large blue pickup. Joel was in the bed, tossing flakes of hay over the fence into the pasture. 

“I’ll be done in a few minutes, then I’ll get outta your way,” he called out. He was wearing a dirty grey t-shirt with a couple of holes in it and his jeans were covered with dust, but he looked amazing. You didn’t mind waiting with a view like that.

”No worries,” you called back. “Do you need any help?”

”Ah, no darlin’, I’ve got this. Been bucking hay for quite a few years now.” He paused and wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his arm. “Louis’ dad, my uncle, used to have a full on cattle ranch when we were kids. Spent summers out there helping with the horses until I was thirteen.”

You got out of your car and leaned against the fender. “Must have been a dream come true for a Texas kid.”  

Joel shrugged. “It was just work. Tommy always conveniently disappeared when it was time to muck out stalls, but I covered for him.” He returned to his task, easily breaking a bale of hay into flakes and tossing them expertly over the fence, each one landing a few feet from the previous one. The horses and ponies each claimed a flake of their own, except for a few squabbles involving the tiniest pony, a chestnut with a broad white blaze on its face.

”Stop it, you little shit,” Joel yelled, shaking his head. “That li’l Sebastian is the worst. He’s actually a miniature horse, not a pony, so he can’t be ridden and he knows it. Spoiled rotten. But he’s gentle with the little kids and the ones who can’t ride or are too afraid. Gets petted and fed carrots and never does a lick of work.”

Sebastian lifted his nose and pranced toward a tall white horse. He snorted and swished his tail and the big horse reluctantly yielded its hay to the little guy. “See?” Joel said. “Guapo, just step on him.” 

The white horse sighed deeply and shook his head. Joel tossed a flake in his direction and it landed neatly in front of him. Then Joel hopped down from the truck bed. “I’ll get this ol’ beast out of the way and you can drive up to the parking area. I’ve just got to run up to the house for the paperwork, wash my hands, and I’ll be right back.”

You tried not to notice his backside as he stepped into the cab of the truck, but it was right there in front of you. He filled out a pair of jeans nicely.

You parked in the visitor lot, while Joel parked his truck off to the side. “Go on through the barn and sit at one of the tables,” he called out. “I’ll be there in a minute.” He walked quickly toward the neatly painted white ranch style house that stood behind the pasture, his gait a bit stiff. He’d mentioned hurting his back at work before starting the party business. It looked like it still bothered him. 

You sat at one of the picnic tables. It was pleasant under the patio roof, which blocked the sun but allowed a nice breeze. Whoever had designed this place knew what he was doing.

Joel hurried back with a sheaf of papers in his hand. His hands were clean but the rest of him was still dusty. There were bits of hay stuck to his shirt and in his hair. “Okay,” he said, settling down next to you. “Let’s go over the details and then get this contract signed.” 

It was hard to concentrate on the paperwork with him sitting beside you. He smelled like hay and sweat and horses and something else, maybe aftershave or deodorant that had a hint of something woodsy. Whatever it was, the entire cocktail of scents was enticing.

”So, the standard party comes with a sheet cake from Kroger and vanilla ice cream. The cake will say Happy Birthday and your niece’s name. You get to pick what color icing for the words and the border. And we put a plastic unicorn on top that she gets to keep.”

”Um, purple, she’s into purple right now.”

Joel nodded and wrote “purple” into a blank on the sheet in front of him. His handwriting was neat and precise.

”Okay, and the piñata will be a dragon, unless you want something else. No extra charge, all the piñatas are the same price.”

”Dragon is fine,” you said, distracted by a piece of hay that was lodged in the curls just above his temple. You fought the urge to reach out and remove it.

”You okay?” Joel asked. 

“Um, yeah, you just … you have some hay …” You gestured toward his head and he brushed his hand through his hair.

”Occupational hazard,” he said with a gentle laugh. “Did I get it?”

”Not quite. Do you mind …?”

He leaned toward you and you plucked the hay stem from his hair, which was silky soft. You wanted to run your fingers through it so badly, but you contented yourself with removing the hay. “There, now you look presentable,” you said.

”Thanks,” he said softly. There was a pause, charged with something that certainly wasn’t business related. He cleared his throat. “Okay, so we have games.”

You half listened as Joel went over the games and activities that would be provided. You just nodded and agreed to all the standard choices. Ashley would just be thrilled to be around ponies and dress up with her friends. And if you weren’t talking, that meant you got to listen to Joel’s voice even more.

You reached the end of the paperwork and Joel handed you the pen to sign the contract. It was still warm from his hand and you shook just a little as you wrote your signature on the dotted line.

”All done,” Joel said. His eyes swept up and down your body. “So, you ready for that ride?”

Your tongue wouldn’t move. Had he really just suggested …? 

“I mean, you wore jeans and boots, so I figured you were planning to take me up on Sarah’s offer.”

”Oh, yeah,” you said, shaking your head as the blood rushed to your face. “Sorry, I was just … yeah, a horseback ride would be wonderful.”

Joel swept the paperwork up. “Back in two jiffs,” he said. “I’ll just put this in the office and then we’ll get the horses ready.”

He ducked into a small room in the barn, then handed you a lead rope. You followed him to the pasture, where the horses were still nibbling at their hay. Joel opened the gate and walked inside, catching first the white horse, Guapo, and then a big strong looking bay horse. He took the lead rope from you and clipped it onto Guapo’s halter.

”He’s a sweetheart,” he said. “Just walk and he’ll go with you. Take him into the breezeway in the barn.”  

You were nervous. You’d never handled a horse before, but Guapo was just as gentle as Joel promised. He walked alongside you, his head bobbing with the rhythm of his hooves, which clip-clopped against the hard packed dirt and the concrete of the barn floor.

Joel soon followed with the bay horse. You watched as he tied both horses to rings set in the wall and gave them a quick brushing. Then he brought out the saddles, which he handled as if they weighed nothing. It was fascinating to watch him tack up the horses, moving gently but quickly as he got them ready for the ride. Soon they were both saddled and bridled and you started to feel nervous again.

Joel showed you how to lead Guapo by the cheek piece of his bridle. “Just walk him over to the mounting block,” he said. “He knows the drill.”

Sure enough, the white horse stood next to the set of wooden steps so that they were perfectly aligned with his saddle. Joel smiled at you as he took the reins just under Guapo’s chin. “You okay to get on by yourself?”

”I think so,” you said. “It’s been years since I rode a horse.”

”Just remember, left foot in the stirrup, then hop up and swing the right leg over.” You felt incredibly exposed as you fumbled your way into the saddle. If you hadn’t felt Joel’s eyes on you the whole time, it would have been easier.

Once you were in the saddle, Joel led Guapo forward a few steps and then took your ankle in his hand. “Slip your foot out,” he said quietly. “I need to adjust the stirrups.” He pushed your leg forward so that your foot was on Guapo’s shoulder, then tugged at the leather straps. When he was done, he grabbed your foot and put it back into the stirrup. His hands were big and strong. He nodded and then went around the other side to adjust the right stirrup. Being man-handled, even so gently, was making you very aware of your body. You shifted in the saddle, glad your jeans were thick enough to hide the dampness that was spreading through your panties.

Once Joel was satisfied that your stirrups were good, he fetched the bay horse from the barn and swung into the saddle with a grunt that made your insides clench. “I’m supposed to use the mounting block,” he said, “‘cause of my back, but just don’t tell Sarah, okay?”

You nodded. “Okay, remember, hold the reins in your left hand, just above the saddle horn. Keep your fist up, like you're gonna do a thumbs up. Steer him like using a joystick on one of those old Atari games. Move your hand to the right to go right, left to go left, back toward your belly to stop or slow down. And sit back in the saddle when you ask him to stop. All right, let’s go.”

He tapped his heels against the bay horse’s sides and they walked off. Guapo followed behind after you gave him a gentle tap. It was a different world from up on a horse’s back. You could feel Guapo’s muscles moving beneath the saddle, hear his breathing and snorts as the other horse kicked up dust in his face, and the creaking of the saddle leather. 

“Wow, this is so cool,” you said. 

“This is nothing,” Joel said over his shoulder. “This is just a pony ride. You get good enough, there’s a place down by the river where the sand is level and smooth and you can gallop. Talk about a real cowgirl experience. Ah, shit, that didn’t sound right, I’m sorry.”

You laughed. “I know what you meant. And either way, it sounds amazing.” You felt the blood rush to your face again as the words popped out of your mouth. You hadn’t meant to flirt so hard. This was technically still a business transaction, after all.

Joel laughed heartily. “Yeah, it does, doesn’t it?” His eyes skimmed over your body once again. “You look good on a horse. Not everyone does.”

”Thanks,” you said. “So do you.”

The trail widened out and Joel pulled his horse back so that you were riding side by side. “You know, Sarah would kill me if I didn’t take the opportunity to ask you out. After the party, of course.”

”Of course,” you said. “And she’d probably kill me if I didn’t say yes. I mean, how often does someone literally bring you a white horse?”

”Gray,” Joel said. “Guapo’s not white, he’s gray.” He shook his head. “Shit, sorry, I’m used to teaching the kids about how white horses are really rare and most of the ones you see that look white are really grays … and I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

”Yeah, but it’s adorable,” you said. “Makes me feel a little less awkward myself.”

You rode in silence for a moment. “Can I ask you something?”

”Sure,” Joel said.

”Why’s he named Guapo? I mean he’s not ugly or anything but he’s certainly not Trigger or the Black Stallion, is he?”

Joel smiled. “Louis went to the horse auction to get some ponies. Saw this fellow in the pen and he looked like hell. Skinny, had a skin rash, just messed up. Knew he’d end up with the kill buyers, so he bought him. Everyone teased him about buying an ugly horse, but his assistant, Reynaldo, stood up for him. He said ‘Don’t let them laugh at you, you’re muy guapo, my friend.’ And it turns out, after they got him cleaned up and fed and everything, they checked his lip tattoo and he’s a Thoroughbred. Ran thirty races in his career and won three. Even was in a stakes over at Sam Houston when he was three. Finished up the track, but at least he had a shot at glory.”

”Wow, you were a racehorse?” You leaned forward to pat Guapo’s neck. He flicked an ear back at you. “He’s so gentle.”

”Smart horses, Thoroughbreds,” Joel said. “King here, he’s half quarter horse, half Andalusian. Talk about smart.” He patted the bay horse on the neck. “But he needs an experienced rider. Guapo knows how to take care of a beginner. King would just take advantage of them.”

You chatted back and forth as the horses walked down the trail. Joel was relaxed, sitting his horse easily, his eyes crinkled against the sun. You could have looked at him all day. And the way his hips moved with the rhythm of King’s stride … 

Eventually, Joel glanced at his watch. “Better head back,” he said with a sigh. “Sarah will be getting home from school any minute and if she has to do more than her fair share of the barn chores I’ll get an earful.” 

He turned King around and headed back up the trail. Guapo followed suit and before you knew it, both horses were trotting, eager to get home. Joel hardly moved in his saddle, but you were jolting all over the place.

”Ouch! How do you stay sitting down when they do this?”

Joel laughed mischievously. “Well, it helps that King’s got that smooth Quarter Horse jog,” he said. “Guapo was taught two speeds: walk and run. Off track Thoroughbreds have a real rough trot. Probably should have warned you.” He reined King back to a walk and Guapo dropped back into a less bone-jolting gait as well. 

“Thought I was going to fall off for a second there,” you said. 

“You were bouncing around quite a bit,” Joel admitted, although from the look on his face, he hadn’t minded watching you jiggle. 

“You did that on purpose,” you realized. 

“Had to give you the full cowgirl experience,” he said with a wink. You had reached the narrow beginning of the trail again, and he pulled King in front of Guapo, so you only had a view of his back, but you were certain he was smirking. You didn’t mind too much, though; the view was worth any amount of teasing you had to endure. Joel Miller had a mighty fine seat.

***************************************************

Sarah was leaning smugly against the side of the barn when you rode up. “Trying to stick me with all the chores while you’re off having fun, huh, Dad?”

”If I recall, it was your idea I take her out for a ride,” he said, swinging easily off King’s back. Sarah took the reins and led the bay toward the barn. Joel came and stood next to Guapo’s shoulder. 

”You need any help getting down?”

”I think I can manage,” you said. You weren’t as graceful as he was, though, and stumbled a bit as your left foot caught in the stirrup on the way down. Joel’s hands were there to steady you.

”Kick both feet clear before you get off next time, then you won’t have that problem,” he said gently. “But otherwise, I’d give it a seven.” His hands were warm against your arms.

”Ah, geez, Mr. M, there’s kids here.”

Joel rolled his eyes. “Ellie, what the hell are you doing here?”

You both turned to see another girl leaning against the barn. She was around Sarah’s age, her brown hair pulled back in an untidy pony tail and a defiant smirk on her face.

”Sarah invited me,” she said. “Said you were making chili for dinner and you know they don’t feed me at that place.”

”That is one hundred percent grade A bullshit,” Joel said. “I know for a fact that Mrs. Morales is a great cook. She brings stuff to the PTA meetings all the time and we all fight over it.”

Ellie shrugged. “Exactly. All us kids have to fight over it, too. At least around here there’s only two other people I have to compete with.” Her eyes narrowed at you. “Maybe three, huh?”

”She’s not staying for dinner,” Joel said. “Unless you want to …?”

”Thank you, but I should probably get going. I left work early today and there’s some stuff I need to take care of before I go in tomorrow.” If it had just been him and Sarah, you would have said yes in a heartbeat. 

Sarah came back out of the barn and took Guapo’s reins. “Way to just stand there, Ellie,” she said. “You could have helped.”

”I thought I was a guest,” Ellie whined, as she followed Sarah and Guapo into the barn.

”It’s still polite to offer help,” Sarah said.

”Sorry, I wasn’t raised in a barn like some people,” Ellie replied.

Joel shook his head. “Those two. Ellie’s in foster care. Nice family but poor kid’s been bounced around so much she keeps a wall up. She likes Sarah, though. And she’d never admit it, but she loves the ponies. Caught her braiding flowers into Sebastian’s mane one day.”

He walked you back to your car. “So, I guess I’ll see you on the day of the party.” He shuffled his boots in the gravel. 

“Yeah, I guess so,” you replied. “Um, thanks again for the ride. I had a lot of fun. Although my backside might have another opinion by the time I get home.” You rubbed at the seat of your jeans.

”You and your backside are welcome any time,” he said. “And I meant it about that date after the party. We’ll go somewhere nice, I promise. You won’t have to wear jeans.”

”Anywhere is fine if it’s with you,” you said without thinking. “I mean … I’m not fussy. I don’t expect a first date to be …”

Joel ducked his head and smiled. “I hear ya,” he said. “I just want it to be special because I think you’re pretty special. I mean, doing all this for your niece … you’re a good aunt.”

”Just kiss her already,” Ellie yelled from the barn. “There’s barn chores to do, Mr. M!”

Joel shook his head. “I swear, if that kid hadn’t already had such a rough life …” He leaned forward and kissed you on the cheek. “That’s an IOU for a real kiss. Once you’re no longer a customer.”

”I expect full payment on that,” you said. “I’ll see you at the party.”

You got into your car and pulled out. Joel stood watching you drive away and you got butterflies in your stomach. Maybe this whole party thing was turning out to be more of a present for yourself than for Ashley.

*************************************************************

The morning of the party was pure chaos. Ashley couldn’t decide which princess dress to wear, the baby was fussy, your brother-in-law had a cold and was sneezing his head off, and your sister was about ready to break down in tears.

”I’ve got this,” you said as soon as you arrived at their house. “Ashley, why don’t you wear the purple dress? It’ll match your cake. And you can wear your jeans underneath so it’ll be more comfortable riding the ponies.” You took Jacob and started to bounce him up and down. “Sis, go get yourself ready.” You turned to your brother-in-law. “And you, go take a dose of DayQuil and then sit down and rest.”

Eventually, everyone was in the minivan and ready to go. You volunteered to drive, since you knew the way. Your sister sat in the passenger seat beside you.

”Thank you again for planning all this,” she said. “I know it was a lot of work, but Ashley is so excited to ride the ponies.”

”Well, it wasn’t all that hard,” you admitted. “Joel’s got a really nice set up and he took care of all the details. All I have to do is show up and pay the bill.”

”You like him, don’t you? I can tell by the way your face lights up when you talk about him. And you’ve been talking about him an awful lot for someone you’re doing business with.” She winked.

”I do like him,” you said. “We’re going to go out soon. After the party is over, when I’m not a client anymore.”

”Good for you. You deserve it.”

You were the first car to arrive, which made you sigh with relief. Sarah waved at you from the barn. “Welcome! Is this the birthday girl?”

”It is,” you said, leading Ashley over while your sister and brother-in-law got Jacob out of his car seat. “Ashley, this is Sarah. Her daddy owns this place.”

”Lady Sarah Miller at your service, Your Majesty,” Sarah said with a curtsy. “You’re the princess today, so let’s get your crown!” 

She led you through the barn and both you and Ashley gasped when you saw the party area. There were pink and purple streamers and balloons hanging from the roof and every table had a runner of white butcher paper and several small buckets of crayons. A big gold painted armchair sat at the end of the table closest to the gift table. It was draped with purple cloth and a glittery plastic crown sat on a purple cushion.

”This is your throne,” Sarah said. “Because it’s your special day and you’re the princess, you get to sit in the best seat in the house.” She helped Ashley put on the crown and secure it to her hair with bobby pins. 

“And now, before your guests arrive, let’s meet your unicorn!”

Joel appeared, leading a white pony with a golden horn attached to its forehead. Its mane had been dyed all the colors of the rainbow. “This is Alabaster,” he said gently, crouching down to Ashley’s level. “She’s a very special unicorn and she only comes to visit the farm on days when there’s a princess here. So we’re lucky you came.”

Ashley fell in love with Alabaster and immediately started petting her. Sarah showed her how to offer carrots on a flat palm so that Alabaster couldn’t accidentally nip her. “Unicorns love carrots,” Sarah said. “They’re like candy to them, so sometimes they get a little bit greedy, just like we do. So we have to be careful they don’t hurt us with their magical teeth.”

You turned to Joel. “This is beautiful,” you said. “She’s going to remember this day for the rest of her life. Thank you.”

”Just doin’ my job,” Joel said. “Although we did throw in a few extra touches special for Ashley. And there’s one more surprise just for you.” He gestured for you to follow him. Around the side of the barn stood Guapo, his mane braided with flowers and a silvery unicorn horn parting his forelock. “Sarah and Ellie thought you might enjoy a unicorn of your own. Ellie did the mane, believe it or not.”

“Oh, Joel, he’s … he’s beautiful.” You stroked Guapo’s face. The gelding looked a bit embarrassed to be all gussied up, but he leaned into your hand. “But you know a real unicorn can only be tamed by a maiden fair. And it’s been a long time since I was a maiden, if you know what I mean.”

Joel grinned. “Well, Guapo’s a special kind of unicorn. He doesn’t care about all that. He just looks for a woman who’s pure of heart, the kind of woman who would go to great lengths to give her niece a special birthday.”  He laid his hand on Guapo’s face, his fingers just brushing against yours. “And as his human sponsor, I for one have no use for fair maidens.” His voice lowered. “I like my ladies a bit more experienced.”

”Oh, I know how to ride,” you said. “Guapo can tell you that.”

“Well, there’s a difference between what Guapo and I expect on a ride,” he said. “But we can talk about that later. Right now, we’ve got a pony party to put on!”

********************************************************************

”Damn, girl, you weren’t kidding when you said you knew how to ride,” Joel said, his hands digging into your hips. You were straddling him, his cock buried deep within you, chasing your second orgasm of the night. 

“Helps if you have a good mount,” you said. “One who’s well trained, knows what he’s doing, and listens to your cues.” You worked your hips against him, inching ever closer to a climax.

Joel bucked under you. “Helps the mount if the rider is good,” he panted. “Gotta work as a team.”

You’d had dinner at a local Italian restaurant and then had gone back to his place. Sarah was spending the night with a friend, so you had the whole house to yourselves. 

Your body stiffened as you tipped over the edge, and Joel soon followed you, giving one final thrust as he spent himself inside you. “Hot damn,” he said, as you slid off of him, careful not to disturb the condom. “I don’t normally do this on a first date, you know.”

You flopped down beside him. “Neither do I,” you said. “But with Sarah out of the house it was too good an opportunity to pass up, don’t you think?”

He disposed of the condom and brought a washcloth from the bathroom. After you had cleaned yourselves up, he gently held your chin. “I like you,” he said seriously. “Sarah likes you. The horses like you. I think … maybe we can make this work.”

”So do I,” you said. “I want to try, as least.”

”Guapo’s a good judge of character,” he said.

”Unicorns usually are.”

[according2thelore]

can i mention ls/es verse on this mommy monday? bc the old versions seem like such a fucked up fountain of that ☺️

YES YOU MAY MENTION THAT, AND YOU SHOULD!!

putting a cut for brief nsft and a dash of mommy monday

it's hard to say which dean truly out-mommies.

on one hand, LS!Dean is so domesticated, and "is nesting" so like. obviously. yes.

he makes sam sandwiches and wraps him in little towels and lovingly tends to sammy's injuries while saying how proud he is of his little boy and how important he is.

he tells sam no with a strong voice, and sam really only follows through with a lot of it if he has dean's permission, lmao. like for the trials, S!1-2 sam would absolutely attempt do them behind dean's back anyways, but they actually have a conversation about it in S!8 (as stilted as it is) and he gets his mommy's permission! so nice!

but on the other hand ES!Dean is A MOMMY! he's overprotective and controlling and tries so desperately to get sammy's approval. sammy is his preteen and has decided that dean's not cool anymore, so dean is frantically trying to bring up things they did when he was younger like "oh haha don't u remember that time that we fought that werewolf in jackson? good times 🥺 </3"

he cradles sam's face in his hands and places thumbs at the back of his neck so sammy can't break eye contact, because he can tell from just one look if he's going to be okay.

he brushes off sammy's worse injuries like the classic "get up, shake it off" and jumps head-first off of a three-story bridge because sammy goes first.

ES!Sammy is dean's misbehaving thirteen-year-old that wears uneven black nail polish and combs his bangs over his eyes and talks about the "darkness in his soul" and dean is cooing over him and insisting that "my kid's not the problem. YOUR little brat on the other hand..." and rolls up to PTA meetings with chunky highlights and a purse filled with bricks.

but in the ES/LS verse, i think LS!Dean would probably ultimately out-mommy.

because like...c'mon.

LS!Sam and LS!Dean have settled so much into that dynamic, into the quiet dance of caring and being cared for, of power being already negotiated and traded. they're a lot more comfortable in the language of tending (even though they're definitely Still Weird), whereas ES!Sam&Dean tend to inject caring and caretaking with a power struggle that they're not used to yet. ES!Sam gets a little frustrated and resentful when ES!Dean's concern/attempts at mothering (to be frank) come off as patronizing. LS!Sam seems a lot more accepting that LS!Dean's attention can chafe, and while he sometimes still snaps, he also kind of basks in it. he loves when dean gets a little possessive or protective and loves it when dean becomes reassuring (thinking S!8 finale). they definitely negotiate that power more deftly than in ES, and so ultimately, i think they're more comfortable with the idea of "mommy."

but also, LS!Dean is putting his whole pussy into mommying. he's got TWO little baby brothers to look out for? mommy overload.

like...

LS!Dean is showing ES!Sam how to fix the engine on some random, shit-ass ford pinto in the bunker's garage, and when he gestures ES!Sam over with a quiet "c'mere baby, you see how the--" not even thinking about it, and ES!Sam goes absolutely perfectly fucking still because oh my god? holy shit?

and LS!Dean crowds in behind him, voice low in his ear, "you see how the rotor's not connected here? so what do we do when the fan's tilted like that?"

and sam shakily picks up one of the wrenches and makes some adjustment, and a hand slaps down low on sam's waist, turning the skin into live wires. sam jumps a little at the touch, not used to something so openly affectionate, to the sheer size and weight of the man behind him.

"good boy, sammy," LS!Dean murmurs, right into his hair, "you're payin' attention so well."

the words white-out sam's brain, fuzzing warm and hot and spilling over like a pot on a stove. and ES!Sam is suddenly, achingly hard, chest heaving, leaning back into LS!Dean's chest, almost blind with how bad he needs...something.

something is crawling up his throat and down his legs and he should feel patronized--he's not a fucking dog--but the praise goes straight to his cock and to the back of his neck, prickling the hairs there and his heart is hammering and his mouth opens and--

anyway. happy mommy dean monday!

-lizzy

[sweetsweetjellybean]

**Series Masterlist is available on the Fic Menu pinned to the top of my blog. Please Fix this link shit Tumblr**

TW: Smut-tacular Smut, Angst, Casual Drug Use, NSFW 18+

Beta’d by @superblysubpar AN: See End of Chapter Word Count 21,074

Series Masterlist

“Where are you two headed?” Steve asks, leaning against the kitchen island, raising a coffee mug to his lips. 

“We’re going to look at the car,” you say, beaming proudly. The long hours and careful saving are finally going to pay off. As much as you appreciated both boys driving you around, you can’t wait to be more self-reliant. This is a step in the right direction. Placing your purse on the island, you start going through its contents, making sure you have everything you’ll need. 

“Need any help?” Steve directs the question to you, but Eddie answers instead.

“I’ve got it covered, Harrington,” Eddie states in a flat voice as he pulls out two black travel mugs from the cabinet and moves around Steve to fill them with coffee. 

“Oh, yeah?” Steve turns to face him, crossing his arms over his chest, “What do you have in mind?”

“Well, It’s not a BMW, but there’s a used Pinto over at Kent’s car lot. I think it will be a good size for her, and it’s in her price range,” Eddie adds a little sugar from the bowl on the counter before snapping the lids closed.

“You’re kidding, right?” Steve sets his mug down on the counter and puts his hands on his hips, “You can’t put her in one of those. They aren’t safe.”

“Like I said, I’ve got this covered,” Eddie says, squaring up to him.

“It’s fine, Steve,” you say, trying to lower the temperature.

“It’s not fine,” Steve says, not taking his eyes off Eddie, “Those cars explode when they’re hit from behind. Something about the gas tank.”

“It’s what she can afford. Okay, money bags?” Eddie’s baiting him. Something has been off since the night Steve picked you up at work. Eddie’s been tense, paying closer attention to your comings and goings. 

“Then she can wait a few more weeks until she can get something else. I’ll drive her. She’s not getting in one of those death traps,” Steve fumes, taking a step toward Eddie. 

“I think we have had enough of your taxi services,” Eddie retorts, narrowing his eyes.

Dropping the checkbook you’re holding, you rush around the islands and hook your arm around Eddie’s elbow, “Eddie, come on,” you gently pull him back from Steve, “we’ll figure it out.”

He lets you pull him around the island, where you quickly grab your purse before heading towards the door.

“Don’t go to Kent’s. Go to Martin’s, you’ll get a better deal. They’ll haggle. Look for an Oldsmobile,” Steve calls after you.

“Thanks, Steve,” you say, giving him a look over your shoulder.

When you get in the van, Eddie grips the steering wheel and stares down at the dash. His knuckles turn white, and he shakes his head. 

“He’s just trying to be helpful,” you say quietly.

“Maybe he should go with you,” he turns his head to look at you.

Clicking off your seatbelt, you climb over the console into his lap,” I want you to take me, okay?” you press a few small kisses to his lips before he finally kisses you back. 

“Okay?” you ask again, rubbing his shoulders.

“Okay,” he softly pats your thigh, “you better get buckled in before safety officer squarehead sees you and has an aneurysm.”

Laughing, you kiss him again before returning to your seat. The van’s engine rumbles to life, and Queensryche blasts from the speakers. 

“Where are we going?” you ask as he drives towards town.

“Martin’s,” he sighs, drumming his hand on top of the wheel.

♡♡♡

“So, what do you think?” Eddie asks from the passenger seat. The wind from the open window blows his curls as you zoom down the deserted road surrounded by woods on the edge of town. 

Unable to keep up your poker face, you let the smile take over, “I love it,” you say, admiring the blue velvet interior of the Cutlass. The trees shade the road as you press your foot down on the gas, speeding along under their canopy.

“Easy now, speed racer. You haven’t signed for it yet,” he scolds with a smile playing on his lips. 

The tires crunch over loose asphalt as you pull onto the shoulder and turn the key in the ignition. Pushing up the armrest, you slide across the bench seat and straddle his lap, “I thought you liked to go fast,” you whisper before nipping at his neck. 

His hands slide down your hips until he’s squeezing your ass, “You really like this car,” he chuckles.

“Uh-huh,” you nod as you pull your shirt over your head and lean down to seal your mouth over his. 

“What do you think?” you ask between kisses. 

“I think,” his hands move to your breasts, kneading them over your bra, “that it looks like a little old lady’s car.”

“Hey,” you swat his hands off your chest. 

He laughs before leaning forward and burying his face in your cleavage. Placing your hands on his jaw, you tip his head back, “What do you really think?”

“It’s going to wipe out your savings after you buy insurance, but if you like it, you should get it.”

The leaves rustle softly as a light breeze blows through. A few of his curls flutter around your cheeks as you kiss, tickling your skin. 

“We haven’t checked out the backseat yet,” you say, grinding on his lap.

“We should be thorough,” his fingers glide down your shoulder, taking your bra strap with them. 

“Do our due diligence,” you agree, pulling on the lever that opens the door. Scooting off his lap, you climb out and open the back door. Reaching behind your back, you unclasp your bra before ducking into the backseat, Eddie following right behind you, unbuckling his belt and pulling off his shirt. 

He slips off your bra, balls it up, and tosses it into the front seat before maneuvering you onto your back and climbing over you until he’s cradled between your legs. 

“Roomy,” he says, looking around before closing his mouth over your nipple, laving it with his tongue, and gently biting down. 

“Yes, Eddie,” you moan, rolling your hips, seeking out some friction.

He’s working on your other breast when he stops suddenly, “Where did you go the other night when Steve picked you up from work?” 

His question catches you off guard. “What do you mean?” you ask, your stomach tenses and burns with nerves, “I came home.”

“Two hours after Enzo’s closed,” his face is entirely blank, disguising his feelings.

“I didn’t go anywhere. I got out a little late, and Steve wanted to talk, so he just drove around,” you loathe how easily the lies roll off your tongue. 

“Oh yeah?” his tone is measured and even giving nothing away, “Did he talk about that girl he brought home from the church? She seemed to enjoy herself. I keep meaning to ask him how she was,” he’s testing you, gauging your reaction.

“He didn’t bring her up.”

“No? Well, Steve’s fucked a lot of girls. He probably can’t tell one pussy from another.”

“Steve’s not going to talk to me about his sex life, Eddie,” irritation creeps into your voice.

“Why not? You two are such good friends now,” the sarcasm drips from his voice as he pulls himself off you.

“We better get back,” he opens the door and pushes out of the backseat, “We don’t want anyone thinking we stole their car,” he says, buckling his belt. He opens the front passenger door and reaches in to grab your clothes. He tosses them to you, leaving you to wonder what just happened.

♡♡♡

"Mmmmm," Steve hums, wrapping his arms around your shoulders from behind as you stand at the kitchen sink rinsing some ripe berries in a colander.

"I love being able to do this," he kisses down your temple, and you spin in his arms, abandoning your task. His mouth tastes minty and fresh as you slide your tongue inside. It doesn't feel wrong being with Steve, the same way it doesn't feel wrong being with Eddie. Loving them is as natural as breathing. There hasn't been any sex since the night at Weathertop. He hasn't pushed, content to hold and kiss you. And there has been lots of kissing. His hands are in your hair as he backs you against the counter, kissing you until you both need to come up for air.  

"Good morning," he says, pressing his soft lips to yours a few more times. 

"You're in a good mood this morning," you note the crisp, light blue button-down he has tucked into his jeans, a little more formal than he usually dresses.

"There's a beautiful woman that I'm crazy in love with in my kitchen," his fingers dip under the hem of your shirt, stroking the skin just above your shorts, "And I get to kiss her while she makes fruit salad," he reaches behind you stealing a couple blueberries, popping one in his mouth before offering the other one to you. Your lips close around his fingers as he places the berry on your tongue. The tart juice bursts into your mouth as you bite down.

"She loves you right back," you stretch to kiss him, the blueberry flavor coating your mouths. 

"Are you hungry? Can I make you some breakfast?" you ask, straightening his collar.

"I'm starving, actually, and I would love that if you don't mind," he says, grabbing a few more pieces of fruit. 

"What would you like?" you're thrilled his appetite has returned.

"Umm, how about some scrambled eggs?"

"You got it," happily, you walk to the fridge to retrieve the egg carton.

"I'll put in some toast. Want any?" he asks with his head in the pantry. 

"I already ate," you say, cracking an egg into a bowl. He makes himself a cup of coffee and drinks it leaning against the island watching you cook. Once everything is ready, you join him at the breakfast table.

"Do you need anything else for the party? I can stop when I'm out," he scoops some eggs onto his toast before taking a bite.

"Nope. We have everything," you went shopping yesterday, driving yourself in your new car. The school year was over, and everyone was coming over to hang out by the pool to celebrate. They had let Eddie walk at graduation despite him having to take one makeup class over the summer. Eddie invited Dustin and Nancy's little brother, who is bringing his girlfriend with them. 

"Where are you going looking so handsome?" you ask smiling, leaning your elbow on the table and propping your head in your hand. The collar of his dress shirt is open, and you can see a hint of dark hair at the edge of his white undershirt.

His cheeks tint pink as he finishes chewing, "I hate missing a chance to be alone with you, but I sort of have a job interview," he sets down his fork and turns his body toward you, "I'm meeting with the town manager and the head of the rec department."

"Whoa, that sounds important."

"The town's taking some of the disaster relief funds and building a new community center. A few of the town council members worked with me at the shelter and they asked if I'd be interested in working there," he picks up the hand you have resting on your thigh and fidgets with your fingers, "maybe even running it." 

"That's great, Steve. It sounds like a big opportunity. Is that something you're interested in?" you've seen Steve with Dustin and his other friends, he really cares for them, and they all look to him for guidance. 

"I'd probably have to take a few college classes, and I'll miss working with Robin, but this is the kind of work I can be proud of," he looks into your eyes, "I'd make enough to support a family."

"Is that what you want?" you ask, unsure how to feel. He's hinting about children when you're still trying to get through this without hurting anyone.

"Definitely," he says without any hesitation, "Do you?"

"Yeah, someday."

He squeezes your hand, happiness glowing on his face. He stands and leans over to kiss you, "I'll be back to help as soon as I can," he takes his plate to the sink and picks up his keys from the island. 

"Good luck," you call after him as he leaves the kitchen while you sit at the table, looking out the window, feeling a bit dizzy.

♡♡♡

There couldn’t have been a better day for a pool party. The hot afternoon sun burned away the few clouds leaving the sky clear and blue. The red line on the thermometer hovers in the high eighties. Summer songs playing through the radio float in the air mixing with the sounds of your friends laughing and enjoying the pool. 

The doorbell started ringing about an hour ago, with everyone showing up at roughly the same time. All of you had been relishing the beautiful weather and the company when you decided it was time to bring out the food. With your flip-flops clapping against the kitchen floor, you load up your arms with bowls of chips and fruit salad. 

“I really like your suit,” Steve whispers as he leans toward you, picking up the tray of sandwiches he helped you put together earlier. The bikini you have on is not as modest as what Nancy and Robin are wearing. At first, you considered changing, worried that you looked a little slutty in comparison, but Steve and Eddie seemed to appreciate it, so you decided to just go with it.

“You aren’t looking so bad yourself,” you wink, taking in his board shorts and sun-kissed shoulders dotted with freckles, a few hours of sun already giving him a golden glow. He follows behind you, putting his tray on the table he’d set up near the house, and you’re almost instantly swarmed by hungry teenage boys - not shy about helping themselves.

Steve had returned from his meeting cautiously optimistic. The interview went well, and they will let him know if they plan on hiring him sometime this week. After he’d changed, you watched him from the kitchen window with a smile and heated cheeks as he pulled out more patio furniture for the party, muscles flexing, a little sweat running through the patch of chest hair. Besides adding extra loungers and deck chairs, he set up two bistro tables with green umbrellas at each end of the patio, creating two separate seating areas. And a separate table for food and a makeshift bar for drinks that Eddie was working at right now. 

He also looks good, his hair tied back at the nape of his neck, his chest full of tattoos on full display as he fills a cooler with ice for soda and beer. Your fingers are very familiar with those smooth planes of pale skin and the way to get his muscles to jump under your touch. He finishes making sure cups, and more ice are easily accessible before taking care of the trash. Grabbing a can of spirit, he ambles over to one of the tables and sits down with a sigh wiping away a little sweat.

“Anyone want to light up?” Eddie asks, pulling a joint and a lighter from his half-empty pack of cigarettes. 

“I’m in,” Jonathan waves a hand in the air, walking away from the small table on the other side of the patio, where he was eating with Nancy and Robin. 

“Baby?” Eddie asks, eyeing you where you stand next to Steve, scooping some fruit into a paper bowl and handing it to Jane, who seems a little shy around you, but accepts it gratefully.

“Coming,” you call, handing Steve the spoon to finish serving alone, “What do you say, Robin?”

“Me?” Robin points to herself, surprised by your invitation.

“Yeah, I need a partner in crime,” you say, waving her over. Robin has been very kind, considering the sticky situation she’s gotten mixed up in, and you’ve really taken a shine to her. It was nice feeling like they weren’t just Eddie’s friends but yours as well. 

“She can’t even be around a cigarette without passing out,” Steve teases as he fills his plate with food. 

“This is better. All natural. Come on over, Buckley. I’ll teach you,” Eddie encourages, shooting a look at Steve.

“Okay, fine,” Robin acquiesces, getting up from her seat and carrying her plate to one of the trash cans. 

“I’m not taking care of you if you don’t like it,” Steve warns as he passes her on his way to sit with Nancy.

“Yes, you will,” she says over her shoulder.

“Yeah, I will,” Steve laughs, taking a seat in her vacant chair and tucking into one of the sandwiches.

Cool water lands on your warm legs when Dustin splashes as you walk along the edge of the pool to the table where Eddie is sitting, “I thought you are supposed to be a good influence,” he scolds.

“Who told you that?” you laugh. 

Kicking off your flip-flops, you let Eddie pull you into his lap, leaving the free seat for Robin. It’s nice to have your arm around his shoulder, his hand resting on your thigh. The distance between you has been growing. Mike tries to look inconspicuous as he meanders behind Robin, leaving Jane to join Dustin in the pool.

“I don’t think so, Mike,” Nancy says from her spot in the shade.

“Come on, Nance. You’re not mom,” Mike says, not even bothering to turn around to her as he speaks.

“Hey Eddie,” Nancy says, her voice sounding sinister, “do you remember what I keep in the shoebox in my closet?”

“Why, yes I do, lady Wheeler,” Eddie says sweetly, “Sorry, Mike. Maybe another time,” he waves the younger boy away. Nancy sips her drink with a satisfied smile. 

“What’s she have in there, dude? Your balls?” Mike asks, clearly annoyed with Eddie siding with his sister.

“Your sister scares the shit out of me,” Eddie admits, “She could hide a body and never get caught.” 

Jonathan chuckles at the assessment of his girlfriend while he sips his drink, “She definitely could.”

“Did you eat?” you ask Eddie as Robin settles herself in the seat beside you.

“I will after this,” he says, squeezing your hip, “You did a nice job getting everything ready.” Robin and Jonathan both shake their heads and murmur their agreement. 

“Thanks,” you say, planting your lips on the apple of his cheek and appreciating his sweet compliment. His words have had a sharp edge since the day you purchased the car, and it’s been even colder in bed. 

“Are you ready for this, Buckley?” Eddie smiles at her as he lights the joint and inhales, holding the smoke in before exhaling. He hands you the joint and explains the finer details to Robin as you take a long drag before passing it on to Jonathan. As you hold it in, the smoke swirls in your lungs, letting the effects lull you into calm. 

Robin takes the smoking joint from Jonathan between two fingers and eyes it suspiciously before taking a small puff. She tries to hold in the smoke the way Eddie explained but ends up coughing it out. She hands the joint back to Eddie and continues hacking like a two-pack-a-day smoker. Jumping up, you grab a drink from the cooler, opening it before you set it in front of her and rub a circle on her back. 

“How do you do that without coughing up a lung?” she asks once she’s caught her breath and chugged down the drink. 

“It’s your first time. You’ll get used to it,” Eddie assures her as he passes the joint along, “You’re going to make it, right Buckley?”

“Nope. I’m done,” she says, getting up, “Let’s just get plastered next time,” she pats your shoulder.

“You got it. Sorry, Robin,” you say sheepishly. She waves you off and joins the others in the pool. 

Taking her seat, you place your legs in Eddie’s lap. His elegant fingers wrap around your knee, occasionally smoothing their way up the length of your thigh as the three of you finish off the joint. Eddie and Jonathan are having an in-depth discussion on the quality of weed available in Hawkins compared to the west coast, but you tune them out, instead watching the younger kids’ antics. Mike is standing on the end of the diving board announcing the overly complicated dive he’s about to attempt, but then belly-flops into the water, splashing Jane as she bursts into giggles. 

“I’m going to get some food,” Eddie says, gently nudging off your legs before standing. He leans down to brush your lips and surprises you by sliding his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss. Jonathan gets up and wanders back to Nancy, possibly feeling awkward witnessing the intimate moment.

Deciding not to stay at the table alone, you walk over to one of the loungers and stretch out, closing your eyes, letting the sun heat your skin, and the fuzzy edges of your brain push away any lingering worries as you enjoy the peaceful high. Someone takes the lounger beside you, and you don’t have to open your eyes to know it’s Steve. 

“Stop,” your lips spread into a grin as you feel his eyes moving over your body.

“What?” his playful voice confirming your suspensions.

“You know what,” opening one eye, you peek at him in time to watch him push his sunglasses up his nose and stretch out his arms, muscles contracting as he locks them behind his head before he turns his face towards the sky, savoring the afternoon sun. The two of you don’t talk, pleased to just be near one another, listening to your friends’ conversations going on around you. 

Nancy has been telling Robin about her college plans at Emerson and how she hopes Robin will come to visit when Mike and Eddie casually approach them. Mike tries pushing Nancy into the pool, but it ends up with both of them falling over the edge. Eddie simply picks up Robin and tosses her in before yelling a word of warning and cannonballing in after her. The pair have settled into a friendship akin to siblings, and you can’t help laughing watching them interact. 

Steve turns his smiling face toward you after chuckling over their silliness. This is truly one of those times you wish you could freeze things as they are. The important people in your life gathered close on a summer day. His eyes hold yours, and you know what he’s thinking, this is the kind of life you could have together. Closing your eyes, you lean back and let your mind work on the answers. A few drops of water land on your stomach.

“Come in the water with me, baby,” Eddie calls from the pool. 

Sitting up, you pull your knees up to your chest, “I’m not hot enough yet,” you watch him push his wet bangs off his face.

“You look plenty hot to me,” he wiggles his eyebrows, both his arms rest on the pavers that line the edge of the pool in front of your lounger.

Steve doesn’t move or turn his head, but you almost hear his thoughts asking you to stay with him, to choose him, while Eddie asks you to do the same. Stress returns, killing your high. 

Pulling the scrunchie off your wrist, you tie up your hair before getting up to join Eddie in the pool. For the first time, you question whether your decision is based on your guilt for lying to him or because you want to be with him. You’re always hurting one of them, and you hate yourself for it. 

Eddie takes your hand and pulls you through the water until your body is against his, and he can wrap his arms around you. Steve gets up and strides into the house, closing the slider with more force than usual. Eddie kisses you softly, and you smile, but you can’t help looking at the glass door that Steve just walked through.

Jane and Mike take up the loungers you and Steve had vacated while everyone else cools off in the water. Jonathan and Nancy are sharing a donut-shaped float kicking their feet gently to propel themselves around the pool, and Robin is trying to catch Dustin off guard, so she can dunk him. 

“They make a cute couple,” you comment to Eddie as you watch Mike and Jane talking. He takes her hand and holds it across the space between their seats.

“You think?” Eddie follows your gaze considering your statement. There was something different about Jane that you found interesting. When you first met her, you mentioned it to Eddie, and he chalked it up to her being Hopper’s daughter, but you’re certain that’s not it. 

“I’m going to go inside for a minute,” you say, untangling yourself from him, “I need the ladies.”

“You better go then. We don’t want any P in this ool,” he smacks your butt as you lift yourself out of the water. 

“You’re so cheesy,” you laugh, grabbing a towel to dry off. 

“You love it,” he says, turning back to the others, “Mike come here so I can drown you.”

Walking inside barefoot with a towel around your waist, you try not to drip water all over the floor as you look for Steve. He is in one of the downstairs bathrooms leaning against the vanity, looking at his reflection in the mirror. Your arms move around his waist from behind, and you place small kisses on his spine. 

“I’m alright,” he says, covering one of your hands with his, “I just need…I don’t know what I need,” he turns in your arms and brushes your cheek, “Do you?”

You’re aware of what he’s asking, and you wish you could say what he wants to hear, “No,” you say gently, shaking your head. 

“That’s okay,” he kisses your forehead, “You’re worth the wait.”

But as the guilt eats away at you like rust on metal, you’re starting to doubt if you’re worth it for either of them, “You’re catching some sun,” your hand runs down his chest, “Don’t let yourself burn, okay? I have to get back.”

A quick kiss ends your conversation, and you hurry back outside before you’re missed. Moving to the edge of the pool, you sit down on the pavers. Eddie comes to help you slip into the water. He wraps your legs around his waist, steers you down to the pool’s unoccupied end, and crowds you against the side.

“I’ve been wanting to get you alone all afternoon,” he licks away a drop of water clinging to your neck.

“Well, we aren’t exactly alone,” your hands move to his chest, trying to keep some space between you.

“Alone enough,” he argues, gripping your chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“You haven’t wanted me in days, and now that we’re in front of your friends, you can’t get enough?” you don’t bother hiding the irritation in your voice.

“You know how I get when I smoke,” his mouth presses against yours, “I’ve missed you,” his fingers move to your bottoms, tracing the edge down your thigh, in between your legs where he hooks a finger underneath, brushing it against your pussy. 

“Don’t,” you say firmly, and his fingers retreat immediately. He holds his hands up in surrender and sulks down to the other end of the pool. Placing your hands flat on the edge of the pool, you boost yourself up to sit on the edge letting your feet dangle in the water. The woosh of the slider being opened has you turning your head to watch Steve come back outside wearing a t-shirt. The chair from one of the tables scrapes against the pavers as he drags it closer to the pool just behind you, where he sits, rejoining the group. 

“Had enough sun?” Robin asks him as she pushes Dustin’s head below the water.

“Yeah,” Steve says, disinterested, “If you drown him, you can explain it to his mother.”

“Fine,” Robin groans as she lets Dustin up, and he sputters and immediately tries to return the favor.

“I can’t believe we’re finally done with high school,” Nancy says suddenly like she just realized it. 

“That’s right. So long, Hawkins High!” Robin yells as she tries hiding from Dustin behind Eddie. 

“I can’t believe I have to go to summer school,” Eddie raises his hands in a strangling motion. 

“What for?” Nancy asks, trailing her hands through the water. 

“Home Fucking Ec,” Eddie groans slinging an arm around Robin so Dustin will leave her alone. If Eddie himself hadn’t been enough to deter Dustin away from Robin, his announcement alone would have provided a distraction. He and Mike break out into fits of laughter at Eddie’s expense. 

“How do you fail Home Ec?” Jonathan asks, joining in the laughter.

“I didn’t fail. I missed too many classes,” Eddie explains defensively.

“What are your plans after?” Nancy pushes a laughing Jonathan off the float and into the water. 

“I haven’t really thought about it,” Eddie shrugs.

“You should come work at Family Video,” Robin says excitedly, smacking Eddie’s chest.

“I already got a job, doll,” Eddie reminds her. 

“How about something that won’t get you arrested,” Dustin says, raising an eyebrow.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Eddie shrugs.

Steve shifts in his chair, crossing his legs and shaking his head as a scoff rumbles from his throat.

“Something you want to say, Harrington?” Eddie raises his hand to his forehead to shield his eyes from the sun as he glares at Steve.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Steve answers, returning his look. The conversation comes to an uncomfortable halt as everyone senses the tension.

“So…um...Dustin, did you tell Eddie about the club?” Mike says, trying to move things along.

“No, I didn’t, Mike. And now might not be the best time,” Dustin says through gritted teeth.

“What about the club?” Eddie asks, drawing his eyebrows together.

“That asshole Kenny Carter is trying to convince Principal Higgins to cancel Hellfire so the chess club can use the drama room on Fridays,” Dustin splashes his hands on the water’s surface.

“But we’re not going to let it happen,” Mike says from his place on the lounger.

“I know you won’t,” Eddie places a hand on Dustin’s head, ruffling his curls, “You boys got to be careful. There’s always some dickhead trying to take what’s not theirs,” he casts a look in Steve’s direction.

“Does anyone want anything else to eat?” you shout, jumping to your feet before anything else can be said, “I’m going to start clearing some of this away.”

“I will help,” Jane joins you at the table, gathering the empty dishes.

“Thank you, Jane,” you say, handing her a stack of plates.

“Eddie, when are you playing again?” Robin distracts him, and you make a note to thank her later.

Using your chin to keep the dishes balanced, you nudge open the door and use your foot to slide it the rest of the way, “Just leave everything on the counter. I’ll sort it out later,” you instruct Jane as you dump everything on the kitchen island. Leaning your elbows against the countertop, you hang your head in your hands and let out a sigh. When you raise your head, Jane is watching you thoughtfully.

“Thanks again for your help. It was very kind of you to offer,” you force a small smile.

She turns to go, but just before she enters the sunroom, she looks back at you, “There’s more to life than stupid boys, you know?”

Blinking as you watch her leave through the slider, you think that might be the best advice you’ve ever received.

Everyone is out of the water when you return from inside. Steve and Eddie are at opposite ends of the patio. Ignoring both of them, you join Nancy and Dustin standing by the pool with towels wrapped around their middles.

“When do you leave for Boston?” you ask Nancy, interested in her plans. Boston would be a nice place to visit, especially if you were going to Maine.

“I’m not sure,” Nancy looks behind you towards Jonathan, He and Eddie are wandering over to join the conversation.

“Not sure about what?” Jonathan asks, taking a sip from the bottle of beer he’s holding and putting an arm around her shoulders. 

“When we’re leaving,” Nancy explains as Eddie wraps his arms around you from behind. His wet curls brush against your face as he kisses your cheek, his hands are creeping higher up your body, and you cover them with your hands, stopping them from going any further. 

“I want to wait until my mom and Hopper move into their new house. Make sure she and Will are settled in before we take off,” Jonathan offers. 

“Where is Will today?” you inquire. Jonathan has just opened his mouth to answer when one of Eddie’s hands pushes past yours and lands on your breast. Blood rushes to your face, heating your cheeks. Jonathan and Nancy immediately look uncomfortable. Dustin starts turning his head, looking around the yard. 

“Eddie,” you hiss, batting away his hand, “Stop, okay?”

“What?” he asks innocently. 

Robin tries to step in front of Steve as he approaches from the side, “Jesus, Eddie. Tone it down, dude. You’re embarrassing her,” Steve criticizes, his hands on his hips.

The yard is suddenly quiet, the only noise the soft trickling from the pool filter. 

“I think I’m ready to go. Can you give me a ride, Steve?” Robin places her hand on Steve’s arm.

“Yeah, okay,” with a last look at you, Steve lets Robin tug him toward the house. 

Letting out the breath you’d been holding, you turn back to finish your conversation.

“That’s funny, Steve,” Eddie calls out to Steve’s retreating form. His voice dripping with sarcasm, “You didn’t seem to mind my tone when I was watching you fuck my girlfriend.”

Your mouth drops open, there’s a ringing in your ears, and a few things happen simultaneously. Jonathan starts coughing mid-sip of his beer while Nancy and Dustin’s eyes widen. Steve and Robin stop in their tracks, and Eddie stands there with a self-satisfied look on his face. He’s knocked back a few steps when you ram your shoulder into him as you run into the house, pushing past Steve and Robin.

The muffled sound of raised voice comes from the patio as you race up the stairs, slamming your bedroom door behind you. Sliding out the duffle you had stashed under the bed, you unzip and place it on top of the quilt before making trips back and forth from your dresser, filling it with your clothes. The bedroom door gently swings open, and Eddie enters, closing it behind him.

“What are you doing?” he looks around the room, confused.

“What the fuck do you think I’m doing, Eddie? I’m leaving,” you say, crossing into the bathroom to collect your toiletries. 

“Baby, I know you’re mad-“

“Oh, I’m not mad. I’m furious,” you say, cutting him off as you come back into the room and dump everything on top of your clothes, probably getting gunk all over them, but that’s the least of your problems, “I have never been so embarrassed in my life.”

“It’s not that big a deal. Everyone already knows we have sex,” he crosses his arms over his chest, trying to excuse his actions. 

“Yeah. They probably assumed I had sex with my boyfriend. Not that I let two guys take turns,” you pull on a pair of shorts over your still damp swim bottoms, ”I’m just starting to make friends with these people and now they think...I don’t know what they think. I don’t know what I would think if I was them, but it wouldn’t be good. You humiliated me because I didn’t want you feeling me up in front of Dustin.”

“That’s not what I was trying to do. Don’t worry. No one is going to think anything bad about you baby,” he steps toward you, but you retreat to the other side of the bed. His dismissive tone lets you know you’re not getting through to him.

You scoff, “Are you kidding me? Do you know what will happen if this gets around? You and Steve will get a pat on the back while I get labeled the town whore,” you pull a tee over your head, “Do you think you can imagine what that’s like, Eddie? When people judge you and whisper behind your back?” you try putting it in a way he can understand.

“Yeah, I know what that’s like,” he says softly, looking at his feet, “I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”

“That’s right, Eddie. That’s the problem. You don’t think about me. You’re too busy having some kind of dick-measuring contest with Steve. Your *friend*, who, in case you forgot, is letting you live here for free,” you zip up the duffle and sling it over your shoulder before grabbing your purse and moving toward the door, but Eddie doesn’t budge.

“Move out of the way, Eddie.”

“Just wait,” he holds up his hands in front of him, “I’ll leave for a little while, and we can talk about it when I come back, okay?”

“There’s nothing to talk about. I’m leaving. You need to move now.”

He moves to the side, and you storm past him, slamming the door behind you.

♡♡♡

If you squint your eyes just right, the bumps in the popcorn ceiling take on the shape of George Washington. Resisting the urge to scrape them off, you roll on your side and look down at your sister from the top bunk of the bed you’ve been sleeping in since turning up at your family’s home two days ago. Your mother explained that your bedroom had been converted into a sewing room as she put clean sheets on your sister’s bed. So when you haven’t been at work, you’ve been here, in your sister’s room, surrounded by posters of Corey Haim and Michael J. Fox, searching for meaning in the textured surface. A knock on the door jamb quiets your sister’s ever-moving mouth. 

“Eddie wants to talk to you,” your mother says, leaning against the door jamb.

“I don’t want to talk to him,” you roll onto your back and search for other dead presidents.

“Well, you can tell him that yourself,” your mother says sternly, “Come on, let’s give them some privacy,” she waves your sister out of the room. 

Eddie pokes his head through the doorway, looking around the room like it might be booby-trapped with girl things. Amusement and a long-suffering sigh take their turns on your lips as you climb down the ladder and close the door behind him. His hands tentatively reach for your hips. When you don’t protest, he pulls you in, wrapping his arms around you and presses his mouth to the side of your face.

“Are you still mad?” he asks quietly.

“No,” you say, savoring his warmth. His head dips to kiss you, but you lean away, “but that doesn’t mean I’m coming back.”

“What? Why?” his hands gently grip your biceps, “Don’t you love me anymore?” his brows pull together, and the sadness in his big doe eyes is enough to break your heart.

“That’s never been our problem,” you place your hand over his heart, “I just don’t know what we’re doing anymore?”

“You’ve changed so much,” he points out, looking away from you. 

“That’s right, and I want you to change with me,” you tap his chest, “I’ve been waiting around for you for the last year.”

“I’ve been in school,” he says defensively.

“There’s always something. Some excuse you have to kick the can down the road,” you take hold of his arm when he tries to step away from you, “I want to start my life. I don’t want to spend my twenties waiting for you to get your shit together.”

“What do you want to do that I’m holding you back from?” he asks with a trace of sarcasm.

“I don’t know, but I thought we would be figuring that out together. You don’t think about me when you make your decisions. I’m just there, somewhere in the background. I can’t build my life around you.”

“So, you don’t know what you want, but you know it’s not me, it’s that it?” he scoffs. His face falls when you don’t answer.

“Look, I’m going to go,” he sniffs, his eyes getting glossy, “We can talk again later.”

“Okay,” you wrap your arms around his middle, but he doesn’t hug you back, and when he walks out the door, you let him go.

♡♡♡

Three more red x’s have marked the calendar since Eddie’s visit, and you miss him - you miss both of them, but you’re still no closer to a decision. It’s different being in your family home after months away. The rooms seem smaller - more crowded, causing you to feel more like a guest, like you don’t quite belong. There’s a slight smudge to the black text printed in today’s Hawkins post, like the typeset was just a little off at the printers. Your finger smooths down the neat rows of the classifieds, only stopping on the boxes that read ‘apartment for rent’.

Your mother walks into the kitchen carrying a bag of groceries, looking over your shoulder at the newspaper, “There’s a boy in the driveway,” she says like it’s a regular occurrence.

“Who? Eddie?” you question as she puts a milk carton in the fridge.

“No. Not Eddie. The other one with the hair. It’s like these boys today are afraid of the barber,” she muses, but you’re already out the door.

Steve doesn’t move from his spot as he watches you walk down the driveway. Sunglasses hide his eyes as he stands with hands in the pockets of his expensive jeans, a white t-shirt stretched over his chest.

“Do you wanna come in?” you ask, hitching your thumb toward the house.

“I want to talk,” he states with an unreadable expression.

“Then come inside,” you turn and walk back toward the house, looking over your shoulder to make sure he’s following you. 

“Out,” you say to your sister as you and Steve step into her bedroom. With a sigh befitting a pre-teen girl, she peels herself off the floor, taking her magazine with her, and stomps out, slamming the door behind her.

Steve steps around you and pulls out the tiny chair of the vanity. He sits and takes off his glasses. Folding down the arms, he hooks them on the front of his shirt before leaning forward and rubbing his hands together.

“Steve,” you begin but stop when he raises his head. There’s a blue tinge to the skin underneath his eyes. A pang of guilt resounds inside you, knowing you are likely the cause of his lack of sleep. 

“You left me,” he says quietly, “You left me without even saying goodbye.”

Tears prickle behind your eyes, and you’re embarrassed by your selfishness, “I’m so sorry,” you swipe at the first tear spilling over your eyelid, “I couldn’t stay with the way things are between you and Eddie.”

“I know why you did it,” he stands and walks to you, cradling your face in his hands. He uses his thumb to brush away another tear, “It just….hurt.”

“I’m sorry,” you say again, looking into his eyes.

“I know, sweetheart,” he tips your head back and presses his warm lips to yours in a succession of light kisses, “I’ve missed you,” he breathes out between kisses, “Come home with me.”

“I can’t,” your fingers grip the fabric of the back of his shirt, “You and Eddie-“

“We worked it out,” his hands smooth down your neck until they’re wrapped around your shoulders.

“How did you do that?” your eyebrows raise in surprise.

“We’re guys,” he shrugs, “We grunted a few times and called it good.”

“And how do I explain going back with you?”

He steps back and puts a hand on his hip while the other pinches the bridge of his nose, “He asked me to come to talk to you.”

“What?” you ask, your mouth dropping open.

“It doesn’t matter, okay?” he pulls you against him, “I want you with me. I want to come home to you.”

“Steve, do you know how messed up that is? You want me to go back to my boyfriend so we can keep cheating?” you pull away from him.

“Then we’ll tell him,” he calmly crosses his arms over his chest. 

“No,” you say, stepping back, ”He doesn’t have anyone or any place to go. I can’t hurt him like that. And I don’t know...I haven’t-“

“He can keep the goddamn house. We’ll find someplace else,” he says heatedly.

“Even if I didn’t have a boyfriend, we can’t live together. We barely knew each other four months ago,” you say, scrubbing your hands over your face wondering if your hesitation stems from practicality or your reluctance to let Eddie go.

“Why not?” he asks, stepping closer, “I know I love you. I’d marry you tomorrow if that’s what you want.”

Inhaling a sharp breath, you feel like the earth has just tilted in its axis, “Whoa,” you press your hand to your forehead, “that’s way too much. This is crazy.”

“I’m sorry,” he breathes out a defeated sigh, “I don’t mean to pressure you. I want you to understand that I know what I want, and time isn’t going to change that. I want a future with you. I got the job at the community center. I’m ready to start my life and put everything else behind me.”

The same words had come out of your mouth just a few days ago when you were talking to Eddie. This is what you wanted. What’s holding you back?

“You say that, but you’re going to wake up one morning and think of the friends you’ve lost and the people we’ve hurt, and you’ll resent me. You just can’t see it yet.”

“Is that what you’re worried about?” he takes both your hands in his, “I don’t know what to say to convince you. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted.”

“I wish I could be as sure as you,” your voice breaks, and your eyes fill.

“You aren’t coming home,” he says sadly. When you nod your head, his arms go around you.

“Just tell me you love me,” he says against your temple, ”it will be enough for now.”

“I love you so much,” your tears are leaving spots on his shirt, but you don’t want him to let you go. He kisses you until your eyes are dry, light brushes of his mouth meant to comfort, not demand, but after he’s gone and you press your face into your pillow, and the tears start again.

♡♡♡

“Goodnight,” you call over your shoulder, a week later, to the few remaining people at Enzo’s who are taking their time wiping down tables while enjoying a glass of wine from the bar. A round of “see ya laters” follows you as you push through the heavy front door onto the quiet sidewalk. The temperature dropped after the sun went down, and you wish you’d had the foresight to grab a sweatshirt. Fumbling through your purse and looking for your keys, you don’t immediately notice the gray van parked next to your Cutlass as you enter the employee parking area. 

Eddie is leaning against the dented side panel, and he smiles when your eyes connect. A warmth washes over you as you return his smile. 

“Rough night?” he asks, gesturing to your shirt that’s covered in tomato sauce from your collar to the hem. 

“Yeah,” you say, pulling it away from your body, “I think I might not be cut out to be a waitress at an Italian restaurant.”

“Well, that’s okay,” he says reassuringly, “Sometimes you have to give things a try to figure out they aren’t meant for you.”

Inhaling a deep breath, your lungs fill with the cool night air, and you wonder if his words hold a deeper meaning. 

“Listen,” he shoves his hands into his pockets, “I talked to everyone from the party. No one is going to say anything, I promise.”

“Thank you,” you swallow and give him a smile. 

“I don’t want anyone talking bad about you. Especially because of me,” he says the last part quietly, looking down at his shoes, kicking a few pebbles on the asphalt, “And I want you to know I’ve thought about what you said,” he sniffs and looks around the nearly empty lot, “I’m going to try really hard not to be such a shitty boyfriend. You deserve better.”

“Eddie, you’ve never been a shitty boyfriend,” hot tears are prickling behind your eyes, and you twist the strap of your bag in your hand.

“No. You were right-“

“No. I was too hard on you. You were right, I have changed, and not all of it has been a good thing,” your eyes burn as the tears flow unrestrained, “I’m so sorry.”

“Baby, what are you sorry for?” his voice is cracking, and it’s killing you.

“For all the things I’ve done to hurt you. Can you forgive me?”

“Baby, I love you. There’s nothing to forgive,” his hands twitch at his sides before he places them tentatively on your arms like he might not have permission to touch you.

Your heart aches. The guilt is breaking you. Dropping your purse, you wrap yourself around him, clinging to him as you cry, knowing you don’t deserve forgiveness, or Eddie, or Steve. You’re so very tired of crying, and you want to let him make it all better - let him love you. He squeezes you tightly and lets you sob while rocking you from side to side under the yellowish glow cast by the floodlight that buzzes at the edge of the building.

“I’ve missed you,” you say when you’re able to speak without hiccupping, your face hot and swollen.

“You have?” his surprise sounds genuine.

“Of course I have,” you lean back to look up at his face and wipe your nose on the back of your hand.

“I miss you too,” he uses his fingers to wipe away some of the wetness on your face, “I’ve had a hard time falling asleep without you. I’ve gotten used to your cold feet on my legs.”

Fisting the front of his shirt, you giggle, “Good to know.”

“Can I kiss you?” he asks softly.

Nodding, you stretch on your toes meeting him halfway. His kiss feels like coming home. Every touch and taste are familiar. Warm lips staving off the chill of guilt. His hands move to your jaw, angling your head to deepen the kiss. Light contented sighs escaping through the gaps. 

“Come home with me,” he requests with closed eyes, mouth still moving against yours.

“Yes,” you breathe.

“Come home to stay.”

He pulls you tighter, his kiss becomes demanding, and you can’t refuse - you don’t want to. 

“Okay,” you whisper. 

His lips pull tight as he smiles against you and prints three more kisses on your mouth before finally pulling back. 

“Can we leave your car here? I’ll bring you back tomorrow, and we can pick up your stuff,” he says with all the excitement of a boy on Christmas morning. 

“That sounds good,” you say, just as eager. He bends to pick up your purse and moves to open the van’s passenger door. After helping you in, he runs around to his side. Turning off the tape deck before turning on the engine, he drives you back to Steve’s, holding your hand the entire way.

The van sputters and comes to a stop in Steve’s driveway. Eddie slips off his seatbelt and leans toward you, with a hand on the back of your head, he places a cloud-soft kiss on your lips, and you let yourself sink in. 

“Let’s not bother Steve. I want you all to myself tonight,” he says while stroking your cheek. A tightness constricts around your heart. Some part of him knows he’s missing a piece of you. 

With his warm hand holding yours, he leads you quietly through the dark house until he can close you in your room, shutting out everything and everyone creating a span of existence for just the two of you. And when your mouths meet, you give him everything you have left. 

His grip on you tightens, and he purrs his appreciation when you tilt your head, giving his access to your neck. “Mmmmm, you taste like garlic bread,” he says hotly against your skin. 

Pulling back, you cover your face with your hands while your body shakes with laughter. 

“What?” he says, confused, “I like garlic bread.”

“I think I need a shower,” you step closer and put your hands on his chest.

“Is that right? Did I tell you what happened in Home Ec. today?” he asks, kneading your hips. 

“No,” you make your eyes wide and shake your head. 

“It was terrible. I opened a container of flour, and it got all over me,” he looks away but peeks at you under his lashes to see if his ploy is working.

“That is terrible,” you say feigning sympathy while he nods his head in agreement, “I guess you need a shower too.”

“Do you think there’s enough room in there for two?” his hands glide from your hips to your ass, and his fingers press into your flesh as he pulls you tightly against the hard length trapped in his jeans.

“I think we could make that work,” your arms circle his neck. 

His mouth comes down on yours in a frenzy of hungry kisses as he walks you backward into the bathroom. The air gets thick and heavy when you turn on the faucet in the shower, adjusting the temperature while Eddie takes off his belt and pants. Steam billows around the small room, and your skirt barely hits the floor when Eddie pushes you into the shower with him, both of you still mostly dressed. Passionate kisses mingle with laughter as the hot water plasters your hair to your cheeks and turns your white shirt transparent.

“Everything’s better when you’re with me,” he says, pulling your drenched shirt over your head. Every sweet word feels like a nail pushing through your heart, but you try to push away the guilt, just for tonight. He kneels as he works your wet panties down your legs and buries his face in your center. His warm tongue parts your folds as you tip your head back into the spray.

“Eddie,” moaning, you tangle your fingers in his damp hair, smoothing it back from his face. A tiny yelp bursts from your mouth and echoes against the tiles when his teeth nip your thigh before he kisses his way back up your body. 

“Now that’s much tastier than garlic bread,” he says, making you laugh as he reaches behind you to unclasp your bra, which ends up in a pile in the corner of the shower along with his shirt. 

“Let’s make sure all the flour gets rinsed off,” you say cheekily as you switch places, putting him under the spray. Your fingers grip the hem of his boxers, pushing them down his legs before kicking them into the corner. Leaning forward, you press a kiss to the center of his chest just above his heart and pick up the bar of soap that sits on the recessed shelf. Suds drip down your wrist while you rub the bar soap in your hands, working up a bubbly lather and letting it dribble down his smooth chest to where his hard cock rests proudly against his belly. Tiny drops of water cling to his lashes, his dark eyes watching you as you replace the bar and stroke your slick hands down his chest until one is swirling around his balls and the other pumping his very ready, swollen dick. 

“Fuck, baby… don’t stop,” he backs you both out of the spray and picks up the soap to take his turn, spreading the iridescent foam over your breasts, teasing your nipples into taunt peaks.

“Does it feel good?” you coo, using both hands on him, twisting them with each tug. Already knowing the answer but wanting to hear him say it with the pleasure‐drunk look on his face while he kneads your tits.

“Nothing has ever felt as good as you,” he breathes out before sealing his mouth over yours and backing you against the cool tiles. He pulls your hands off him, intertwining your fingers and holding them to the wall beside your head. He rubs his body against yours while you kiss, skin slicked and sliding, soft bubbles popping between you. He quickly turns, rinsing the front of his body in the steaming water. 

“Put your foot on the ledge,” he encourages, wrapping his hand around your knee to support you, spreading your legs wide.

“Are you ready for me?” he asks, spitting into his hand to lube his cock.

“Mmmm, so ready,” you hum, catching your lip between your teeth. 

Your moans mix like the parts of a song as he pushes all the way in until he bottoms out inside you. 

“I missed you so much. It feels like it’s been forever since I’ve been inside you,” he rasps, his forehead pressed against yours while he gives you a moment to adjust.

“Then let’s make it last,” you drape an arm over his shoulder. He thrusts in a slow rhythm gathering your free hand to press back beside your head, locking your fingers. His kisses match his pace, and he takes his time tasting you while the pleasure blooms from where you’re joined. 

The steam gets thicker, making your lungs feel heavy as you fill them with deep gasps while rolling your hips to meet every stroke. Sweat beads on his skin, rivulets running down his chest disappearing between your bodies. Tension builds in you, his measured pace starts feeling torturous - you need more. The muscles in your arm strain as you try pressing back against the hand holding you to the wall, wanting to break free and pull him into you harder. He slides his fingers down, circling your wrist, using his strength to keep you in place. 

“Do you need something, baby?,” he asks sweetly, dipping his head to lick your neck, “You just have to tell me,” he slows further, and you try bucking your hips, but this position has you pinned.

“I need you to fuck me,” you mewl.

“I am,” he teases, a smirk twisting his lips, “I’m gonna make you come…eventually. That’s what you want, right?” he dots your face with tiny kisses. Your lips chase his, but he pulls back too quickly.

“Eddie,” you shake your head with a frustrated smile, “you’re making me crazy.”

“I’ll do anything you want, my love. Just say it,” he chuckles.

“Fine,” you drop your head back against the tile so you can look into those mischievous eyes, “I want you to fuck me hard with your big cock..pleazzze,” you make your eyes big and stretch out the last word like a petulant child.

“It is big, isn’t it?” he laughs.

Before you can think of a clever response, he pulls out and spins you around, tugging back your hips and driving into you hard.

“Yes,” you cry, pushing back into him, bracing your hands in front of you. The sound of your skin slapping together fills the room as his hips piston forcefully against your ass, punishing your gummy walls, and hitting that spot that makes your eyes roll back. One of his hands glides around your waist and moves lower until his long, calloused fingers are circling your clit, while the other palms your breast catching your nipple between his fingers. Electricity is zapping under your skin everywhere he’s touching you, shooting you up the slope toward your climax.

“Are you going to come, baby? Go ahead, be a good girl and come on my dick.”

His words have you flying over the edge. He holds you up as your legs tremble, and your inner walls pulse around him. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he cries, pushing you forward. Freezing water hits the back of your legs and has you both scrambling out laughing. He reaches back in and shuts off the water. 

“Oh, you didn’t get to come?” you tut, sticking out your lower lip, looking at his red, angry dick, “That’s too bad,” you wrap a towel around your body and open the door that leads back into your bedroom.

“Baby? You’re not that mean. Are you?”

You laugh as he chases you into the bedroom.

♡♡♡

Eddie’s arm was tightly around you when you woke the next morning. Placing your hand on top of his, you slide your hand back and forth, gently waking him.

“Hmmm, this is a good dream I’m having,” he says, kissing your neck and snuggling closer. 

“It’s going to be a wet dream if I don’t get to the bathroom,” you say, patting the hand and pressing on your stomach.

“Say no more,” he raises his arm, so you can slide out of bed. 

“I’m going to go get the coffee started,” you say once you’re finished in the bathroom, and he’s passing you on the way to take his turn. 

“I’m right behind you,” he says, closing the door.

Quickly, you dig through the clean laundry basket until you find the light blue tee you are looking for and hurriedly pull it over your head. It slides down to about mid-thigh, covering you enough to walk through the house. The house is quiet as you make your way down the carpeted stairs. Nerves are dancing in your belly, you swallow them down and make your way to the kitchen. Your breath catches when you see Steve standing at the island, hair askew, light stubble coating his jaw. His lips part when he sees you, and his expression is unreadable. Standing in the doorway, you nervously play with the hem of your shirt. 

“You’re back,” he says, leaning both hands on the counter. You nod and look down at your toes, wiggling them on the cold tile. His face falls, “You came back with Eddie.”

Again you nod, and you can hear Eddie coming down the stairs toward you. Your mouth opens to say something, but Steve’s lips pull into a bright smile, “You’re wearing my shirt.”

Dropping the material, you return his smile just as Eddie comes in behind you. 

“Good job, Munson. Finally wised up and brought her home,” Steve says, turning his back to pull three mugs from the cabinet, “Thank Christ, I was getting tired of your burnt cooking.”

“Hey, I thought I did a good job,” Eddie says, moving to the coffee pot and filling the mugs, “You said you liked the way I filled out that frilly apron.”

Steve pulls the creamer from the fridge giving you a wink, while Eddie spoons some sugar into the mugs.

“What do you guys want for breakfast?” you ask, finding your voice. 

“Nuh-uh,” Eddie says, bringing two of the mugs to the table, “you’re not cooking for us your first day back. Come sit down.”

“Okay,” you say with a little uncertainty as you move across the kitchen and sit at the table. 

Steve pulls a loaf of bread from the pantry and hands it to Eddie before taking two bananas from the fruit bowl. He snags his coffee and sets one of the bananas in front of you before taking a seat at the table.

Eddie loads the toaster and dusts his hands off, “What’s next? Oh!” he raises a finger in the air and moves to the pantry, “What kind of cereal, baby? We’re out of fruit loops. There’s Frankenberry or Kix. I think there’s some of that Müselix in the back, but I don’t recommend it,” he says scrunching his face. 

“Umm, Kix, please,” you say, amused. Eddie has made meals for you a time or two before, and you always appreciate it, but he’s never been quite this doting.

“Excellent choice. I’m going with the Frankenberry myself,” he says, going about putting together breakfast.

“Your car’s not in the driveway,” Steve notes, breaking the end off his banana and popping it in his mouth. 

“I left it at Enzo’s,” you break the stem on your piece of fruit. 

“I’m going to take her back later so she can go get her stuff,” Eddie says, setting down your breakfast in front of you and kissing your cheek. 

“Thank you,” you squeeze his hand, and he turns to retrieve his own dish.

An uncomfortable silence falls over the three of you, an occasional slurp of pink milk from Eddie highlighting the quiet. 

“What?” Eddie asks as you watch him use his spoon to separate the marshmallows from the cereal bits, “I like to save the monsters for last.”

Laughing, you slice the rest of your banana and add it to your cereal. 

“Now that’s weird,” Steve says, gesturing to your bowl as he stands and retrieves the peanut butter from the pantry. 

“Everyone puts bananas in their cereal,” you say before taking a bite.

“Umm. No, they don’t,” Eddie says, around a mouth full of cereal, “It’s gross, baby.”

“Is this how it is going to be now? You two teaming up against me?” you tease, sipping your coffee.

“Afraid so,” Steve says, putting some bread down to toast.

“Sorry,” Eddie drinks the rest of his milk from the bowl and wipes his chin on a napkin, “Steve’s my best girl now.”

“Jesus, Eddie,” Steve rolls his eyes, picking up the newspaper from the island and sitting down at the table to wait for his toast.

“We better get going. I have to stop by Ricks after I take you to your car, and then I have a few drops to make,” Eddie says, pushing back from the table and bringing his dishes to the sink, “I’ll be back in a few hours, baby,” he moves back to the table and leans down to give Steve’s cheek a kiss. 

“Get out of here,” Steve says, pushing him away.

Eddie manages to plant one on the top of Steve’s head, “He’s just playing hard to get,” he says, making you giggle around your last bite of toast. 

Eddie snaps his fingers, “Are you going to be around tonight, Harrington?”

“Try and kiss me all you want, but I’m not going to sleep with you, Eddie,” Steve deadpans, not looking up from the newspaper.

“How about a few video rentals then?” Eddie asks. Steve lowers the paper to hear him out.

“I’ll bring home pizza and some weed. We can all get blazed and watch a movie. Give my girl a proper welcome home.”

“I wouldn’t mind getting high,” Steve says, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Sound good to you, baby?” Eddie asks as you load the dishwasher.

“Yeah, sure. I’m game if that’s what you both want,” your stomach fills with dread knowing you can’t keep doing this. The lying, the pretending, the betrayal. Crimes committed for the sake of a love that’s ripping you to shreds. There won’t be enough of you left for either of them. A love that made you too weak to stay away.

“Don’t get Top Gun. I can’t watch that sad shit after smoking,” Eddie’s voice pulls you from your thoughts.

“Fine. But no onions on the pizza this time,” Steve points his finger at Eddie, “I could smell your breath from across the room.”

“Whatever gets me in your pants, Harrington,” Eddie says, winking at him. Soliciting an eye roll from Steve before he goes back to his paper, seemingly disinterested. 

Eddie’s hand on your waist guides you toward the hall, “That’s not my shirt,” his eyebrows draw together, and he looks at you questioningly.

“Oh, it’s not?” you look down and smooth the material on your thighs, “It was in our basket. It must have gotten mixed in.”

“We got to get you some pajamas, baby,” Eddie comments, taking your hand and walking ahead of you. Risking a look over your shoulder, you meet Steve’s gaze as Eddie tows you from the room. 

♡♡♡

After Eddie dropped you off, you drove around town before heading to your house. Now you're sitting on the bottom bunk of your sister’s bed, staring at the packed duffle sitting on the floor.

“Are you sure?” your mother asked when you told her you were moving back to Steve’s, “This is your home. You can stay as long as you like,” she reminded you.

“I’m sure,” you replied, not meeting her eyes, knowing you are far from being sure. It didn’t take you long to pack. Most of your things are still at Steve’s. They’ll be expecting you soon, but you can’t seem to get your feet to carry you from the room, choosing instead to tally up all the things you’ve done. Feeling worse that, given the opportunity, you might not change a thing. You’re hurtling toward disaster, and dragging your feet won’t save anyone.

Eddie’s van is in the driveway when you get to Steve’s house. Their voices carry from the kitchen as you toe off your shoes in the foyer and set your bag on the stairs.

“I was just about to call your mom’s,” Eddie says, coming around the corner and wrapping his arms around you.

“Sorry. I had a few things to take care of,” you feel older and more worn down with each lie.

“I put the pizza in the oven to keep it warm,” he says, kissing your nose, “Are you ready to burn one?”

“I’m going to go change and unpack. I’ll be quick,” you pull away from him and head up the stairs. 

“Okay, but don’t take too long. You know how whiney Steve gets when he’s hungry,” Eddie calls after you.

“Fuck off, Munson,” Steve yells from the kitchen.

Shaking your head, you turn to look at Eddie, 

“See,” he says, pointing toward the kitchen before disappearing around the corner.

Both boys are sitting at one of the bistro tables out on the patio when you join them, wearing a long-sleeved tee and a pair of Eddie’s boxers rolled up around your waist. The sun is just starting to dip below the tree line leaving the air chilled, and the sky streaked with orange and purple. A small sandwich bag of weed is on the table in front of Eddie, along with a lighter and some rolling papers.

“There she is,” Eddie says as you sit in the remaining chair between them.

“Okay,” Eddie slaps his hands together and rubs them back and forth like Mr. Miyagi from The Karate Kid, before opening the baggie, “Rick gave me this shit to sample. It’s a new strain. He said to be careful because it will lay you out. So, take it easy, baby. I don’t want you freaking out,” he sprinkles the weed across the paper before starting to roll it, “You can do what you like, Harrington, but you’ve been warned.”

“I don’t freak out,” you pout, crossing your arms. Eddie’s mouth drops open, and he pauses to give you a skeptical look. So you repeat yourself with more conviction, “I don’t.”

“I’ve got to hear this,” Steve leans forward, resting his clasped hands on the table.

“Well, let’s see,” Eddie licks the edge to seal it, “There was that time you thought your hand was stuck to your forehead, and I had to rip it off.”

Steve throws his head back, laughing.

“That was one time,” you scoff.

“And that time you cried because you were thinking about how one day I’ll be an old man with gray hair,” Eddie says as his long fingers twist the ends of the joint.

“That’s very sad,” Steve says, shoulders shaking as you narrow your eyes at him.

“Oh, and that time you made me sit still for an hour while you drew my portrait, and it was just a stick figure. I should have known when you were giggling the whole time.”

“Hold on,” you slap your hand down on the table, “that was you, not me.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Eddie shakes his head at you.

“I know it was you because the stick figure had enormous boobs,” you accuse.

A smug grin spreads across Eddie’s face, “Okay. Maybe that one was me,” he chuckles, “But I wasn’t the one who was dead set on the stars being tiny people that spy on us when we’re doing it outside.”

Shaking your head, you glare at Eddie. Steve’s elbows are on the table, his head is in his hands, and he can’t stop laughing.

“Are you going to keep running your mouth, or are you going to light that thing?” you ask, trying really hard to hide your smile. 

“Your wish is my command,” Eddie says before sparking his lighter.

The conversation tapers off as you pass the joint around, letting the thick smoke do its work. Eddie was right. The weed is more potent than what you’re used to. After a few times around, you and Steve both decide you’ve had enough and let Eddie finish it off by himself. 

The katydids and crickets have woken up. Their chirping and shrill squeaks are joined by the chants of the Whippoorwill, signaling the end of another long summer day. The familiar head and body buzz creeps in, loosening the tension as you watch the lightning bugs dancing at the edge of the woods. 

“I need to eat,” Steve says, slapping a hand over his flat stomach, his eyes looking glassy.

“Yes!” Eddie raises his arm, pointer finger extended to the sky, “Excellent idea, Steve,” he says, standing up and slipping his lighter and papers back into his pocket, “Ready to eat, baby?” he tugs you from your seat and into his arms, his soft lips start working their way down your temple, “I’m so glad you’re home,” his mouth moves over yours, and you open for him, letting him deepen the kiss. 

The glass slider leading into the sunroom is closed so hard it bounces off the frame, and the noise has you startling in Eddie’s arms. 

“Uh-oh. Princess Harrington is testy. We better go in,” Eddie pecks your forehead.

Something doesn’t smell right when the two of you enter the kitchen. Steve is standing in front of the oven with a charred pizza box in his oven-mitt-covered hand.

“Eddie,” Steve says, “You have to take the pizza out of the box before you put it in the oven or at least not set the temperature to inferno hot.”

“Oops,” Eddie looks at the box sheepishly while scratching the back of his neck.

Covering your mouth with your hand, you try and fail to hold back the giggles bubbling out of you. 

“She’s wasted,” Steve says, tossing the blackened box onto the stovetop.

“You’re one to talk,” you say, squeezing into the space between Steve and the stove, “Your eyes are bright red,” you pull out a pair of tongs from the ceramic utensil holder on the countertop and use them to flip open the box. Steve’s hand goes to your hip as he peers into the box from over your shoulder.

“The pizza looks fine,” you quickly step to the side out of Steve’s reach and open the cupboard to take out some plates and glasses. 

“Thank fuck, I don’t have another ten dollars to spend on pizza,” Eddie says, taking a plate from your hand, “What did you get for movies?” he asks Steve.

“Hoosiers and One Crazy Summer,” Steve says, lifting out a slice from the box. Strings of melted cheese stretch between the slice and the rest of the pizza. Steve drops it on his plate and shakes out his burnt fingers.

“Basketball? Really, Steve?” Eddie asks, using the tongs to load his plate and drop a slice onto yours. 

“Where’s your state pride?” Steve asks, reaching over you for one of the glasses of ice water you just poured and heading toward the living room, “I like basketball.”

“Of course you do,” Eddie says, following behind him.

Shaking your head and grabbing a few napkins from the basket on the island, you take your dinner with you, following the sound of their bickering.

The Harrington living room is arranged in a typical conversation style. An oversized couch with a dark wooden coffee table in front of it, flanked on either side by cozy deep, seated chairs. The lamp in the foyer has been left on to provide some extra illumination to the dark room, the flickering light from the tv providing the rest. Steve is sitting on one end of the large sofa fast, forwarding through the copyright warnings while Eddie bites into his pizza sitting at the other end. Passing out the napkins, you warily eye the free seat in between them, but there isn’t enough weed in the world to make that look like a good idea. Placing your glass on one of the coasters scattered on the coffee table, you opt for one of the overstuffed chairs. 

A sad gray hippo wanders down the street, and John Cusack ponders the wisdom of love while you eat your pizza. The empty plates get stacked on the table, and you tuck your legs under you, angling your body to watch the story of Hoops finding love and figuring out his future play out on the TV screen. The occasional chuckles from the boys are more likely due to their altered state than slapstick comedy. One movie ends, and another gets turned on, but your hazy brain isn’t keeping up with the plot. Eddie’s soft snores start about three-quarters into Hoosiers, the strong weed and the sports movie knocking him out. His head is tipped back against the couch with his mouth slightly agape while Steve’s full attention is on Gene Hackman.

The gears in your brain start turning, trying to find a resolution to the questions plaguing you. Steve and Eddie are entirely different from each other, opposites in most ways. Loving Eddie is like a roller coaster, thrilling highs dipping into lows and back up again with impossible speed. Drifting through life with him would be a hell of a ride, but one that could be stuck on the same circular track. It will always be you dragging him through life’s big milestones. More than likely, you’ll end up supporting him and anyone else that comes along if you decide to have a family. But there won’t be any shortage of love and if your relationship survives this storm, you can probably survive anything. 

Steve’s love is like the ocean, vast and strong. He’d be devoted, like the tide, carrying you through life with your feet never touching the sand, never letting you fall. He’d give you everything he has without a second thought, but that kind of all-encompassing love could be stifling. It could pull you under the surface if you don’t have space to make mistakes and solve them on your own. Without a doubt, he would work hard to care for you and make you happy, possibly at his own expense. Deep down, you fear a love born out of betrayal can’t be one that lasts.

Lost in your thoughts, it took a moment to notice Steve returning your stare, his hazel eyes soft but wanting. He runs a hand through his hair, making a decision. He stands and quietly moves until he’s standing in front of you, his chest rising and falling in short breaths. 

The light fog swirling in your brain turns into wisps of confusion when he drops to his knees in front of you. His eyes close as he leans forward and lays his head in your lap. The tip of his nose runs up your thigh, the light stubble on his cheek a delicious scrap on your skin as he nuzzles against you.

He needs your touch. It’s such a simple request. If the room wasn’t so quiet you would’ve missed the soft sigh he releases when your hands move through his hair, brushing it back from his temples. His arms circle around you, his large hands squeezing between your back and the chair, fingers sliding under your shirt so his thumbs can rub circles on your skin. 

His head moves against you like a gentle wave, a light press of his warm lips, a slight swell in the tide. Your fingers tremble as they smooth the soft strands at the base of his neck, apprehension taking hold at the abrupt recognition of how much he needs you. He lifts his head, and your hands cradle his strong jaw. 

“I love you,” floats out on an exhale of breath before the barest brush of his lips turns into a slow deep kiss. His hands grip the hem of your boxers, giving them a sharp tug, pulling them down in the back until he’s stopped by the weight of your hips. 

Kiss-swollen lips move to your ear, “I’m going to taste you.”

His words leave you tingling. Lifting your hips, you let him slide the fabric down your legs taking your underwear with them. He glances over at Eddie as he pulls you to the edge of the chair and drapes one of your legs over his shoulder. A finger raised to his lips warns you to be quiet. His eyes darken when he sees the glossy coating of wetness already glazing your center. 

Biting down on your lip, you watch as he takes his first long lick with the flat of his tongue before he begins lazily making out with your pussy. He places wet, sucking kisses through your folds, pausing to use his tongue to tease your entrance while his nose bumps against your clit. The wet sounds he’s making aren’t masked by the white noise of the TV. Eddie stirs in his sleep, and you freeze. He can’t find out like this. Steve looks up, and you shake your head. He stands, wiping the wetness off his chin before he extends his hand to you. 

He leads you down the dark hall, pausing to push you against the wall and kiss you, the taste of yourself on his tongue making you dizzy like another kind of drug. He eases open the door to his father’s office, flips on the lights, and ushers you inside before turning to lock the door. While his back is turned, you take the opportunity to rid yourself of your shirt, glad that you hadn’t bothered with a bra. When he turns and sees you naked and offering yourself, something passes over his face that has your breathing coming faster. He stalks forward, but his touch is gentle, hands caressing every bit of skin he can reach while he occupies your mouth with his demanding lips. 

“Next time, I want you in my bed,” he says, moving you into the room and lifting you to the edge of the massive desk, the polished cherry wood satiny against your skin. His possessive need to claim you weighs heavy but has your stomach tightening with arousal. The idea feels like a fairytale - to actually be just his. 

“Do you want me to finish what I started?” he asks, pulling his shirt over his head.

Your hands are drawn to his chest like a bee landing on a flower, your fingertips running through the bristly hair, exploring the dips of his muscles.

“No. I want to feel all of you,” you answer by drawing him closer so you can kiss the freckles and flat moles that dot his skin like destinations on a map. All places you want to explore. His arms go around you, letting you give as much as you want, and in this moment, you wish you could give him everything.

He guides you back until you’re lying flat on the desk. The scent of leather and ink rises from the blotter under your head. His big hands return to your thighs, the rest of his clothes now gone, his cock is at your entrance.

“Look at me, sweetheart,” he says as he waits for your gaze to push inside you. The intensity of his eyes spread into an open forest of mossy green, being chased by the golden hues of autumn. Penetrating you two ways-your body, and your heart.

His hands hold your hips steady as he begins to move. Unhurried strokes fill you to completeness, wave after wave of warm pleasure cascading through you. The wisps of smoke still circulating in your brain have slowed things down, and every touch is a dream you want to get lost in. His hands roam as you adjust and tilt your hips to meet him. 

“Every day,” his flat palm sweeps upward between the valley of your breasts, “I want you like this every day.”

“Mmm, me too,” you capture his fingertips and press them to your lips before sucking them into your mouth. His eyes roll back, and his other hand tightens his grip on your thigh as he drives into you harder. 

“I need more,” he says, tipping his head back, “I want you closer,” he pulls out and helps you off the desk. 

“I can make you happy if you’d let me,” he takes your hand as he sinks down onto a plush club chair. The rich leather creaks under your knees as they push into the cushion on either side of his legs as you straddle him.

“You do make me happy,” you keep your mouth on his, swallowing his moan as you take him inside you, sliding down his length until you’re fully seated, “Now I’m going to make you happy,” gripping the back of the chair, you lift your hips and drive them down. Both of you expending effort to muffle the moans caused by the euphoria of your connection. He cups your breast, and his mouth laves attention on your aching, taut nipple as you work your hips, the head of cock hitting the best spot every time.

“That’s it. You feel so fucking good,” he moves his hands to your ass, encouraging your movements, “I wanted to touch you since this morning, and now I never want to stop,” his mouth devours yours, his tongue tasting and exploring like a man starved. Desperately, you whimper into his mouth as he starts driving his hips up from below you setting you on a path toward release.

“I love you,” you sigh between sloppy kisses, eliciting a low groan, “I missed you so much,” you confess feeling like a balloon caught up in a wind that’s moving higher and higher into the stratosphere. 

“I love you so much,” he rasps as he throbs and swells inside you, “I need you to come for me,” his tempo rises, and he’s hitting you deeper and harder than before. Your inner muscles tighten around him as your craving to be filled by him takes over. The first hot spurt against your cervix has you shuddering and falling back to earth as more of his warmth fills you and aids his last frenzied strokes. Little shocks and jolts tingle inside you as you crumple into his arms, legs still shaking, completely spent, floating in a cloud of bliss. His hands stroke up and down your back, your head rests on his shoulder, the rest of you pressed against his sweat-slicked chest, feeling it rise and fall as he catches his breath. Your mouths find each other, languid kisses help you come down together. Steve holds an invisible string to your heart that keeps pulling you closer to him and away from Eddie, a game of yo-yo you will never win. 

“That was-,” he kisses your forehead and tightens his hold on you.

“I know,” you say, certain you’re feeling everything he is. It was some of the most intense sex of your life. Kissing him once more, you start to pull back.

“Not yet. Just stay with me another minute,” he pleads.

“I have to go shower before….” you trail off, hating that you’re thinking about Eddie while Steve is still inside you. 

“I can’t keep doing this,” he confesses, “I thought I could, but I can’t keep watching him touch you, not after this. There isn’t a way this ends without him being hurt. I think you know that.”

“I do. I’m so sorry. I know it isn’t fair. Soon I promise.”

“Okay,” he says, helping you off him. After you’re dressed, he stays to clean up while you quietly sneak past a sleeping Eddie. Once the water in your shower is running, you let out a sigh of relief, you could have been caught at any moment tonight. Steve is right. This can’t keep going on. Putting soap on a washcloth, you shower off one boy so you can go to bed with the other.

♡♡♡

Clarity doesn’t come that night or the next day or the next. In fact you’re more torn than ever. The only decision you’re certain about is trying to find another job. Afternoons have been spent driving around Hawkins and the surrounding towns following the help wanted ads in the newspaper that you have circled with red ink. Busy days followed by waitressing in the evenings has kept you away from both boys, but today is your day off so after filling out a few applications, you make your way back to Steve’s house.

There is a dark stain in the driveway where Eddie’s van is usually parked as you pass by it with an arm full of groceries. Stacks of papers are spread out on the tabletop with a tired looking Steve sitting behind them. He’s been reading up on the proposed programs that the town wants the new community center to offer. He has to meet with the board members at the end of the week to discuss the best ways to utilize the interior space for the new building and you know he’s feeling a little out of his depth. His elbows are on the table and he’s using two fingers to rub his temples.

“Do you have another headache?” you leave the bag of groceries on the island before walking over to kiss him hello. 

“Yeah,” he says, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you in for a kiss, “It's been happening when I’ve been reading for awhile.”

“Maybe you need glasses,” you shrug, noting the tylenol bottle sitting beside a half full glass of water.

“Glasses? I’m not an old man or a nerd,” he says, sounding offended.

“Steve,” you roll your eyes, “plenty of people that aren’t old or nerds wear glasses. Besides,” you run your hands through his hair, “I think you would look sexy with glasses.”

“Is that right?” he asks, pulling you onto his lap, “Well, I’ll have to consider it then,” he brushes his lips over yours.

“Do you want to take a break after I get the groceries put away? I’m going to watch a little TV before I make dinner.” 

“Definitely,” he says, squeezing your hip.

After the bag is unpacked Steve follows you into the living room, plonking down on the couch beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you start flipping through the channels.

“What do you want to watch?” you ask snuggling into his side. 

“I don’t care. I’ll probably end up closing my eyes for a while.”

“Are you sure you aren’t an old man?” you tease, before settling on a rerun of The Brady Bunch.

“When is Eddie coming home?” he asks, looking at his watch.

“He has band practice tonight. So not till later,” you say with a yawn, “See what you started,” you complain feeling sleepy now that you're tucked into his warmth as Alice cleans up after the rowdy house full of kids.

“Just watch your show and give an old man some peace,” he teases, kissing the side of your head. 

The whooshing sound from the TV is what woke you. The faint light from the snow filled screen barely illuminates the room. One of Steve's hands is tangled in your hair, cradling your head where it rests somewhere between his shoulder and his neck. The clean laundry scent of his shirt mixes with the citrus and cedar that clings pleasantly to his skin making you absolutely dizzy with every inhale. In your sleep your bodies have found their way together, possibly at your heart's behest. Every innocent intention inevitably ends with you wrapped in his arms and the way he feels right now, so good and so warm, has you wondering why you would ever want to stop it. 

His eyes flutter open as if your thoughts have somehow woken him. Your hand moves to the side of his face, your thumb brushing back and forth over the light stubble on his jaw. His eyes are asking you a question that you can’t answer with a word. The pouty curve of his full bottom lip is too much to resist, your mouth closes over it in a slow sweet kiss. Just once turns into twice and three times before the fuse is lit and your hungry mouths start to feverishly devour. Gasps and hums join the symphony of your kisses. With a quick move, you’re beneath him,his long body stretched over yours. A low groan travels from his throat into your mouth when your hips rock against him in a desperate plea for more. A strong grip on your thigh molds your leg around his waist bringing his rigid length to perfect alignment with your hot core. Kiss swollen lips slide urgently against each other as your clothed bodies rock together. 

"Let's go to my room," his hand works its way under shirt, his thumb rubbing against the peak of your nipple. 

"Don't stop," you plead, bucking against him, moaning as his hard bulge hits your clit with every grind.

“Jesus. Can you come like this?” he whispers against your mouth. 

“Yes. I’m so close,” you beg. The light in the foyer turns on suddenly. Shock rockets through you. Somehow you missed the sound of the door opening. It takes a few moments for your bodies to stop after your minds register what's happened. Steve moves off you as Eddie stands in the doorway.  

"What the fuck?" Eddie says, sounding genuinely confused as he comes further into the living room, the light from the hall seeping in behind him. Steve's moving towards him, both hands raised in front of his body stopping just after rounding the arm of the couch, not letting Eddie gain any more ground, while you scramble up further into the room, backing away from both of them. The endless static still buzzing from the TV adding to the chaos.

"What the fuck?" this time he screams, his face turning red. He brings the heels of his hands to his forehead and paces back and forth, his shadow following him, as he tries to come to terms with your betrayal, "I fucking knew it," he says in a calm tone as if he's speaking to himself. 

His hands drop to his sides and stops moving staring at you, "I fucking knew," he yells, leaning forward his whole body raising to his toes with the force of his words, "I didn't want to believe it. I can't believe you could do this to me," he stretches out the end of the last word, balling his fists. 

Your trembling hands cover your mouth as your eyes fill with tears. There's nothing you can say to make this right. His anguish hits you like a tornado, sucking you empty and filling you with a guilt so heavy, you might burst at the seams.

"It wasn't like that," Steve says in a low voice.

"What the fuck did you just say to me?" Eddie spits, turning his attention to Steve. Eddie's on him in flash, both fists gripping Steve's shirt collar, his red face inches from Steve, "I trusted you. You son of a bitch," his arm cocks back, hand bunched into a fist, ready to fly. 

Steve's hands go up in surrender, he turns his face to the side, eyes closed ready to take the punch, "Go ahead, I deserve it. I'm not going to fight you, dude, but it wasn't like that. I love her."

"You're fucking her," Eddie yells.

"I love her," Steve says again, eyes meeting Eddie's when the punch doesn’t come. 

Eddie lowers his hand back to Steve's collar, pulling him forward before pushing him away with enough force to send Steve backward over the arm of the couch.

"We tried to stay away from each other," Steve straightens up and rubs his chest over his heart, "We didn't want to hurt you, but I love her."

"That's just fucking great," Eddies voice drips with sarcasm, "And what about you?" he asks, turning towards you, "Do you love him?" 

His voice breaks at the end of his question, even in the faint light you can see his big doe eyes getting glossy. Regrets are stacking up like a wooden block tower, ready to crush you when they fall. 

"I love you" you sob, taking a step forward, putting you all at the same distance apart. They both look at you knowing you have more to say, "but I love Steve too."

The room feels like a vacuum, all the air leaves with those last four words. Eddie crosses his arms over his stomach, bending forward like he's been punched.

"I feel sick," he says, turning away from you both. Your feet start to carry you towards him but Steve holds up his hand to stop you. 

"How could you do this to me, man," Eddie shakes his head before turning back to Steve, "I thought you were different but it turns out I was right the first time," Eddie moves toward him, getting in his face, "You have everything. This house, cool car, money. I don't have anything, except her," he raises an arm pointing to you, "You could have anyone you want. They practically line up for King Steve."

Steve is trying to stay calm, but something is changing in his expression, his jaw clenches tighter as he stands tall letting Eddie yell only inches away. 

"You had your pick," Eddie gets louder, standing so close the tips of their sneakers are touching, "but you had to take her from me. The one person in this world that loves me. You can't stand not having everything. So you take her and leave me with no-"

"Take her," Steve snaps, screaming back at him, walking forward making Eddie step back, "You fucking gave her to me," Steve puts both hands on Eddie's chest shoving him back hard. Eddie stumbles but quickly regains his balance. The shocked look on his face, saying he's just realized he's had a part to play in all this. 

Eddie places his hands on his hips and looks down at his feet, "How many times?"

"What?" Steve asks brows drawing together in confusion as he takes deep breaths.

"How many times did you fuck my girlfriend?" Eddie demands, lifting his head but keeping his distance, "Or is it too many to count?" he scoffs, shaking his head. 

Steve looks down and then glances at you before answering, "Twice," he at least owes Eddie the truth. Eddie takes a step toward you and so does Steve. 

"That night he picked you up at the restaurant?" Eddie questions you. 

Swallowing and wiping some wetness on the back of your hand, you nod. Hot tears still stream down your face but somewhere inside you there's relief - no more lies.

"You lied right to my face," Eddie fumes, moving towards you. Steve takes a few steps to the side putting himself in Eddie’s path with you behind him. Eddie keeps advancing, "You need to decide, right now. It's him or me," he barks.

Eddie’s eyebrows lower and lips tighten as he realizes Steve is not letting him get any closer to you. 

"What the fuck are you doing?" Eddie challenges. 

Steve's hands are at his sides but there's a tremor running through them as he opens and closes his fists, "Back up," he growls through gritted teeth.

"Eddie-" you try cooling things down only to be cut off. 

"You think I'm gonna hurt her?" Eddie says astonished, "I would never fucking hurt her. You should know that after what we've been through. After we fought together."

Steve doesn't answer but his breathing sounds labored. 

"Steve, it's alright," you soothe, stepping towards him but stopping short of boxing him in. 

"You think I could hurt a woman after watching Chrissy die right in front of me," Eddie probes, "You saw the blood. You know what he did to her. What he did to me and Max."

Your mouth drops open, you've never heard any of this. Steve backs away from Eddie shaking his head as if to clear it. 

"You know what we had to do to kill him. You remember that, right?" Eddie pushes, "All the screaming. All their pain."

Steve stumbles back, his breathing picking up and getting shallow as his hands cover his ears.

"Eddie, you fucking stop it," you move forward, pushing Eddie away from Steve before running to the wall and turning on the light switch. Steve goes down on one knee, his head drooping down. Moving back to him, you put your arm around him trying to hold him steady as he hyperventilates. 

"Eddie, who killed Chrissy?" you ask. His eyes snap from Steve to you. This is the closest you've come to any answers, "Who did you kill?" the question chills you as it leaves your mouth. 

Eddie's face hardens, his warm eyes turn cold as his lips pull into a tight line, "Ask him," he nods his head in Steve's direction.

Steve continues to panic and you turn back to him, dropping down to your knees, holding him against you as you hear the front door slam behind Eddie.

"It's okay. You're alright," you cup his jaw and try to break through to him, "It's just me and you. We're safe. Put your head in my lap," you say, easing him down to the floor. 

♡♡♡

It's the mourning doves coos that wake you. There's a small group of them that gather on the patio in the mornings. Their white tipped wings flutter as they descend, singing out their sad song until their wings are tucked against their bodies and they begin their search for food. Their call makes you wonder who they mourn for, or are they here to remind you of what you've lost.

Blue-green morning light filters through the blinds in Steve's bedroom, the plaid wallpaper making the room feel smaller than it should. Your head rests on his bare chest, both his arms holding you close, his deep even breaths fanning over the top of your head. 

Eddie hadn't come home last night and it wouldn't have changed anything if he had. Steve had needed you more. He was exhausted when he finally had calmed, his head in your lap while you stroked his hair. He apologized over and over as you led him to his room but there was nothing to be sorry for. He watched as you stripped down to your underwear before joining him in bed. It wasn't about sex, it was about solace, needing the feel of each other. He held you as you slept, reaching for you whenever your bodies weren't connected.

When his hold on you tightens, you know he's awake.

"I've wanted this for so long," his voice is rough and heavy with sleep but also yearning, "To wake up with you. But last night is not how I wanted to get here."

"I know," you press a kiss to his chest and run your hands over the soft skin covering his muscles, "Me neither."

"I hate that I couldn't protect you," his voice quieter than it was before.

"There was nothing you needed to protect me from," you say, raising your head to look at him. 

"This time," he breaks your gaze and stares up at the ceiling.

"Can you tell me about it?"

"No," he looks back at you, the burden he's carrying making him look older at that moment.

"Steve-"

"I know. Later. I want to enjoy this a little longer, yeah?"

"Yeah, okay," you say, sharing a kiss before rolling over and his arms pull you snugly against him. Sleep wanders in and you both doze for a few more hours. 

"So, what happens now?" he asks, sitting up in bed with the blankets gathered at his waist while you pull on the t-shirt and shorts you had been wearing yesterday.

"I have to go," you say, sitting cross-legged on the bed beside him. 

"How did I know you were going say that?" one side of his mouth quirks as he shakes his head and looks around the room, “Everytime I think we’re getting somewhere, you leave.”

"Eddie doesn't have anywhere else to go. He probably slept in his van or on the floor at Wayne’s," you reach out and take his hand, “He won’t come back if he knows I’m here.”

“Eddie is a grown man,” he pulls his hand away and gets out of bed, putting on his boxers followed by a pair of jeans,”He has to stand on his own feet some time.”

“So what? He should lose everything in one fell swoop? He doesn’t deserve that,” you cross your arms over your chest.

“He is not the only one hurting here. I’ve stepped aside this whole time. Turned my head when he kissed you and touched you. And it ripped my heart out every time,” he pushes his sleep-mussed hair back off his forehead and sits down on the edge of the bed, “I love you and you love me. At least, that’s what you’ve been telling me.”

“I do love you,” you argue, “It would be so much simpler if I didn’t. Do you think I would put us through this otherwise?” you take both of his hands in yours, “I love you.”

“Then don’t we deserve a chance to be together? To be happy? When you think of your future I know you see us together just like I do. We’ll have a good life together but I need you here with me.”

“Let me ask you something,” you say, lacing your fingers with his, “How are you always so sure we’re going to end up together?”

He shrugs before giving you an answer, “I love you. I just can’t think any other way.”

“Then you’re going to have to wait for me a little longer.”

Leaning forward you place a chaste kiss on his mouth, “I need you to do something for me.”

“Okay,” he replies.

“I need you to talk with someone about the panic attacks,” you state simply. He shakes his head and looks away from you.

“There has to be someone who was there that will understand,” you push.

“I can’t lay this on them,” he argues, “They need me to keep it together.”

“What about Chief Hopper?” you propose, “Wasn’t he in the war or something? He’s probably seen this before.”

“How do you know about Hopper?”

“After what he did for Eddie. The way you’ve mentioned him. I figured it out,” you lightly squeeze his hand between yours, “I think one of the reasons I haven’t been able to decide is because I’m worried about what will happen to both of you. So, will you do that for me? Will you speak with him?”

“If that’s what you want,” his grip tightens on your fingers, “But let me ask you something. Have you considered that Eddie might not want to be with you anymore?”

Nodding your head, you blow out a deep breath, “I still need to decide,” you try and explain, “Would you want me by default?”

He tugs you closer and you let him pull you against his chest, “I love you. I want you to choose me but I’ll take you anyway I can have you, because I know you love me too. But if that's something you can't give me, I love you enough to let you go.”

But that's not what you want, you don't want him to let you go, not now and maybe not ever. He holds you until you can’t put off what you have to do any longer - you love him and you're leaving him again. With tears in your eyes you pack your things. All of them. This will be the last time you're in the room you've shared with Eddie. No matter who you choose, your time here is done. It may be the last time you're in this house. Steve waits for you at the bottom of the stairs. He takes the duffle from your hands and carries it out to your car. 

“It’s going to feel empty here without you,” he says as the two of you stand in front of your car saying your goodbyes.

Sucking in a shuddering breath you say something you’ve needed to say to him for a long while, “I’m sorry. I hate that I’ve hurt you.”

His big hands move to your neck, he thumbs smooth along your jaw, “Sweetheart, being with you has been worth it. I knew I was in trouble from the first time you came down wearing my shirt.” 

A grin tugs at the corners of your lips, “I love you.”

“I know. I love you too. I’ll call you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Please,” you say. His mouth brushes over yours one last time before you get in your car. Hot tears stream down your cheeks as you watch him in your review until you turn out of sight.

♡♡♡

Your mother finds you sobbing in your car when she pulls in the driveway after taking your sister to the orthodontist. She wraps an arm around your waist and urges you into the house, bringing you straight into her room and closing the door.

“It’s time to tell me what’s going on,” she says, sitting down next to you on her bed. So you tell her. The whole story. Well almost the whole story you leave out the threesome and any other sex, and drinking and smoking. After that, it really doesn’t take you very long at all.

“Christ on a cracker, that’s a fine kettle of fish,” she says when you're done.

“What do I do, Mom? Tell me what to do and I’ll do it,” you say, wiping your eyes.

“You’re a big girl. You’ll have to decide this on your own,” she pushes your hair back off your shoulders, “but if you really love both of them. I think you’re going to have to decide who you can’t live without.”

♡♡♡

Putting a cardboard box into your trunk a week later, you smile as the familiar rumble of a loud engine accompanied by even louder music reaches your ears. You straighten up just in time to watch Eddie park his van on the street in front of your house. 

"Moving out?" Eddie teases, as he comes to stand beside you in front of your open trunk that's loaded with boxes. 

"Yeah. I am," you wipe your sweaty hands on the front of your shorts. 

"Oh shit, you really are? I was joking," he rubs the back of his neck nervously.

"Yeah. I found a place I can afford. I think it might be good to be on my own for once," you explain. It's time to choose yourself for a little while. 

"Do you need any help?" he asks looking down as he kicks the pavement with the toe off his white Reebok.

"That would be great. Do you want to follow me?" you question, pointing to your car with your thumb.

"Okay. Sure," he perks up and closes your trunk before jogging back to his van. The nervous tension between you feels like pins being driven into your heart. Both of you are unsure how to proceed after you've hurt him so badly. All week you've wanted to go to him, even going as far as driving by Gareth's when the band had practice, but ultimately what he needed, just like you, was space to make his own decision.

Eddie follows you up the stairs on the side of the garage, carrying a box of mismatched dishes your mother gave you. The windchimes attached to the underneath of the landing gently tinkle out a soothing tune.

"I can't believe you're renting from Mrs. Landry," Eddie says as he waits for you to unlock the door, "English sophomore year was brutal. She hated me."

"Well, you need to remember to turn down the music before you pull in or she still will," your key turns in the lock and the wooden door protests as you ease it open.The warm summer breeze blows through the  windows of your small studio apartment. The sheer curtains billowing around the boxes you have yet to unpack.

"You can set that down wherever you can find space," you offer, setting the box of linens down on the mattress of your unmade bed. He slides the box on to your tiny kitchen counter before he starts poking around the room. 

"This is pretty nice," he sticks out his bottom lip nodding his head as he looks around. 

"Beggars can't be choosers," you shrug, taking a seat on the worn couch that came with the apartment. The dated furniture is a far cry from what was in Steve's six bedroom, six bathroom house. 

"I'm serious. This is a big step. I'm proud of you, baby."

The term of endearment gives you a small flutter of hope that maybe all is not lost between you. He pauses in front of your refrigerator checking out the photos that are held up with magnets.

“Family photo,” he quips, flicking a polaroid of you, him and Steve that Dustin snapped at the pool party before everything went bad. The three of you looked happy then.

“Does Harrington know you're here?” he asks, lifting the flap of a box that's stacked on top of a few others.

“Yes,” you fold an afghan and drape it over the back of the couch, “The two of you aren’t talking?”

“No, we are. Just not about you,” he wanders over to sit next to you and you nod in understanding.

“Eddie, I need you to know the biggest regret of my life will be hurting you. You didn’t deserve it and I’m so very sorry,” your eyes are already getting glossy but you need him to know.

“Yeah, well you know, I shouldn’t have pushed you towards him,” he says, picking at a button that is sewed onto the back of the couch.

“It’s not your fault. It might have happened anyway,” you say, trying to be truthful.

“It’s not the sex. It's the lying,” he says, finally looking straight at you.

“I know,” you can’t hold back the tears, “I made so many mistakes.”

“Well, I’ve made a few myself,” he picks up the box of tissues from a table at the end of the couch and offers you one, “We had fun, though. Didn’t we?”

“Yeah, we did,” you say, taking a tissue from the box and mopping the wetness from your puffy face. He waits patiently for you to pull yourself together. 

“So why did you come to see me?” you ask, getting up to throw out the tissue. When you sit back down, you tuck your hands under your thighs to keep from touching him.

“I had a couple of things to tell you,” he pulls a lighter from his pocket, opening and closing it a few times before stuffing back in.

“Okay,” you encourage him.

“Nothing ever happened between me and Chrissy. There was some flirting, at least on my part. She was at the trailer because I was going to sell to her. Some of the hard stuff. I know you don’t like it,” he wipes his hands on the front of his ripped jeans, “I don’t get that kind of attention from girls like her. But if something had happened, I’m not sure I would have stopped it.”

“What does that mean, girls like her?”

“It means nice girls. Girls like you.”

“Thank you for telling me,” you say, swallowing, your leg bouncing up and down, “Can you tell me what else happened?”

“Not yet,” he says, shaking his head, “Maybe not ever. I don’t want to think about it. I just want to move on."

"Okay, what was the other thing you wanted to say?" you ask suddenly eager for this to be over so you can cry all alone. 

"That's the harder one," he looks around your apartment again, then down at his lap - maybe to gather his words or his courage. He finally lifts his head, "You broke my heart and you did it more than once."

Squeezing your eyes shut, you cover your face with your hands, losing the battle to hold back your sobs.

"I don't know if I can ever trust you again," his voice cracks, "But for some stupid reason, I still love you."

Leaning forward, you fall against him and his arms work their way around you. 

"I've never stopped loving you," you cry into his shoulder, "but I've ruined us. I don't deserve you."

"Maybe," he sniffs and can feel him wiping away his own tears, "but I still want you."

His admission has you crying harder, partly because you're about to break his heart again.

"I'm not going to lie to you anymore, I can't give you that, not right now. I need more time."

He gently pushes your shoulders, easing you away so he can see your face, "Because of him?"

Wiping your eyes, you nod.

"I don't understand," he says shaking his head, "You either love him or you love me. How can you not know?"

"I'm sorry," you agonize, "I don't know why it's like this. I can't help how I feel."

"Neither can I. And I'm certain I love you, only you. If you can love me, only me, we can work through this, okay? But baby, you've got to figure your shit out."

"I'm trying. I promise, I'm trying," wiping your swollen eyes as you cry.

"Alright," he sighs, "I need to go."

He stands to leave and you walk him to the door. He draws in a long breath before inclining his head to kiss you, "That wasn't goodbye, okay? That was see you later."

"Okay," you wrap your arms around him, "See you later," you say against his cheek. He hugs you back before he walks out the door.

♡♡♡

And life moves on. The rest of your boxes get unpacked and you get used to going to bed alone. You're offered a job as secretary at a new office that just opened in Kerly. The pay and hours are better and you don't come home covered in pasta. Eddie and Steve both come by often. Once they even came together, wanting you to know any hard feelings are behind them. You've met them each for lunches and sometimes dinner, casual dates, just spending time together. 

Eddie's summer class is wrapping up and he's making plans with Jeff to share an apartment. He's even put some applications in looking for some regular work, you suspect Wayne might be the driving force behind that decision but a step forward is a step forward. 

Steve is working part time at Family Video and part time with the town while the community center is under construction. He's struggled a little with some aspects of his new role but the head of the rec department has taken him under his wing and is showing him the ropes. Undoubtedly, he'll be successful, he just won't think any other way. 

Being on your own has been tough and sometimes lonely but it's given you the space to get to know yourself and enjoy your own company. Forgiving yourself has been the most difficult but possibly the most important thing you've done. Slowly, you've let go of the guilt. 

Then, one ordinary summer morning, you woke with the sun streaming through the curtains and your alarm blaring. In your haze of sleep, you forgot that you were alone and reached for him. When all your hand found was the cool softness of a well worn sheet, you knew exactly who you were reaching for, the one you couldn't live without. 

The heels of your shoes clack against the busy sidewalk as you walk the two blocks to the restaurant. Your feet will likely be aching by the end of the day but you wanted to dress up for your lunch date. Men in suits and groups of women dressed in business attire walk quickly making the most of every minute of their lunch hour. The upscale dinner's entrance is on the corner of two intersecting streets of the downtown. Walking past the people eating at teal outdoor tables with bright yellow umbrellas, you push against the brushed metal handle of the heavy door, a bell jingles above your head and you're immediately greeted by the smell of fried potatoes, eggs and burgers. Standing just inside the entrance you wait patiently to be seated. 

Letting one of them go was more painful then you could have imagined. The grief and loss leaving scars behind that will never let you forget. But when it was done, you could see his relief in being set free. He took a part of your heart with him when he left, a piece that belonged solely to him, a sliver you'll always be missing. Whether he puts it in a drawer or carries it with him, it's his to do with as he pleases. 

"Just one today, hun?" a waitress in teal dress and white apron grabs a matching teal menu from a pocket attached to the back of the first high-back booth lining the wall. 

"Two, please. He'll be right along," you tell her, already feeling happier that you'll soon be with him.

Strangely, after everything, moving forward slowly seemed like the best decision for both of you, cementing your love into a strong foundation before taking the next step - this is how you build a life. 

She leads you past the lunch counter lined with occupied vinyl upholstered stools and globe pendant lights hanging intermittently above it to a booth pressed up against the enormous plate glass window looking out onto the hectic street.

A set of bright white coffee mugs resting upside-down on their saucers are joined by shiny metal silverware wrapped neatly in napkins on the lacquered wooden table top.

"Coffee?" she asks after she waits for you to slide onto the tufted vinyl bench seat. 

"Just water, please," you say, accepting the menu she hands you. She places another on the table in front of the empty seat across from you before carrying your mug and saucer away with her. 

You've kept your apartment for now but he stays over frequently. And In the quietest part of the night with the moonlight illuminating his beautiful face, he holds you close, keeping you warm, and together you make your plans. 

Setting your menu down on the table-for once you already know what you want, you turn your head to daydream while you watch the people pass by on the street. A mother with a baby in her arms and a small child at her side meet up with a man in a shirt and tie. He leans down and kisses her cheek before lifting the toddler up into his arms and the family changes direction heading towards the park.

 It was always going to be him and some part of you knew it from the very first kiss but now you're ready to give him the best of you, willingly, unencumbered and completely.

The song playing on the radio ends and the DJ laments the approaching end of summer reminding everyone listening that with every end comes a new beginning before starting the next song, and you can't help thinking he was talking directly to you. The bell above the door chimes as it opens and you feel your cheeks rising when you see the top of a familiar head come through the door. His eyes move quickly searching for you and you hold your hand up in a wave when they connect with yours. 

As he walks towards you, the smile that he wears just for you makes everyone and everything fade into the periphery and you're filled with a love so big you're not sure how your body is containing it. Your hands itch to touch him, knowing that after everything - you're his and only his and he is yours. All the fears you had are blown away in the wind, like a dandelion letting go of its seeds - leaving only the possibilities of what can be remaining. In the aftermath of disaster, betrayal, love lost and love found, the long road of your future stretches out in front of you, and although you won't always be able to see what's around the next curve, you'll travel that road with him. 

Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed this fic, please reblog. It makes a big difference in helping others find my work. Drop a comment I'd love to hear from you.

AN: Endings are always bittersweet. Thanks for being on this ride with me, it's been an emotional one. Who did you see come through the door at the diner? Let me know in the comments. Special thanks to @loveshotzz who always pulls out my best writing and the rest of the hive @myobmaya @boomhauer @superblysubpar As always Jelly's after-hours answering service will be available to answer all your asks. xoxo -A

Tag List @boomhauer @onlyangel-444 @breehumbles @myobmaya @arsenicred @kiki17483 @stolen-in-moonlight @sometimesamysometimesjo @ladybug0095 @sammararaven @tlclick73 @munsonology @totally-bogus-timelady @katelyndestini95 @munsonswhore86 @kelsietilley-blog @figmentofquinn @champagne-glamour @ilovecupcakesandtea @bimbobaggins69 @munsonsgirl71 @sidthedollface2 @eddiessweetheart86   @miarosso @micheledawn1975 @eddiescorrodedcoffin86 @takeitsteddie @tiannamortis @sllooney @manda-panda-monium @prestinalove @sunfl0wern1kk1 @pbeckn26 @yogizzz @justmeandmymeanderingthoughts @samunson83 @spidey-fez @loving-and-dreaming @sl-tfor-joseph-quinn @harrys-tittie  @hoesbloated @sheisjoeschateau @tanyaherondale @marymunsonloves @freezaz123 @ladyapplejackdnd @iammeandonlyme @novelnovella

[rainbowdelicgalore]

TF2 Pontifications

(writing this down so I can actually remember to draw these out)

Offense Class

Scout = Earth Pony/Changeling Hybrid (Changeling Parts for RED resembles a Common Ladybug and for BLU resembles a Steelblue Ladybug)

Soldier = Earth Pony

Pyro = Reindeer (specializes in Pyromancy/Fire Magic which is very foreign and odd to Reindeer Culture) (Though Others Speculate that They Possibly Either Have Draconequus Ancestry or Are a Draconequus)

Defense Class

Engineer: Earth Pony (with Paint Horse/Pinto Pattern Similar to Sunburst or Troubleshoes)

Heavy: Earth Pony/Draft Horse (Appearance Wise is Like A Combo of Big Mac and Troubleshoes)

Demoman: Pegasus/Zebra Hybrid (Zegasus)

Support Class

Medic: Unicorn

Sniper: Earth Pony/Merpony (Raised by and Grew Up Around Griffins, Doesn't Learn About Being a Merpony Until He's Much Older)

Spy: Metamorphosed/Redeemed Changeling (RED Resembles a Red Jewel Bug while BLU Resembles a Blue Milkweed Beetle)

Administration/Secondary Characters

Ms. Pauling: Unicorn

The Administrator: Alicorn (via Austrailium; Formerly a Unicorn)

Saxton Hale: Griffin

Marasmus: Alicorn (Naturally Born)

The Mann Brothers: Earth Pony (Redford), Unicorn (Blutarch), Pegasus (Gray)

Olivia Mann: Unicorn

[threewaywithdelusion]

I Would've Liked To Know You: Dustin

(warnings for suicidal ideation and major character death (Steve) that occurs before the story starts)

The car sat in Dustin’s driveway. A 1981 BMW 733i. It had leather seats and cruise control and a six-cylinder engine that could go 0 to 100 in under nine seconds — not that Dustin would know. It had been sitting in his driveway for a year, but Dustin had yet to drive it. Nancy had been the one to bring it over, after everything, and before her, Steve had been the last person to drive it. 

Steve’s sunglasses were still hanging off the sun visor. His tapes — and Robin’s, all mixed together — were still in the glove compartment. A can of hairspray was hidden in the trunk, probably for emergencies, though Dustin didn’t know if those were emergencies of the my-hair-looks-bad variety or the I-need-a-makeshift-flamethrower variety. 

Every Sunday, Dustin would go out to the driveway and clean the car. He would drag soapy sponges along the maroon paint, tracing around the dent where Steve had run into a Demogorgon. He didn’t touch the inside, afraid that it would lose the essence of Steve — the things scattered around, the smell of hairspray and cigarette smoke in the air, like he might come back any second. 

If Dustin cried when he cleaned the car, Tews was the only witness and he never told. 

The problem was that Dustin had had a great excuse not to drive the car for the first few months he’d had it. He’d been only fifteen, too young for his license, and definitely too young to be driving a car worth over $30,000 to the market and everything to Dustin. 

But now Dustin was sixteen, old enough to get a license, and all his friends were learning how to drive. Jonathan was teaching Will and El in Joyce’s Ford Pinto, taking them around empty parking lots after school and on the weekends. Lucas’s dad was teaching him, Erica occasionally hopping into the back to backseat drive even though she was only 12 and didn’t (or shouldn’t) know what she was talking about. Mike’s mom was teaching him and he was turning out to be a surprisingly good driver.

Max was the only other member of the party who didn’t drive, but she was blind, so she had a better excuse. 

Ma kept offering to teach Dustin, but he kept saying no. He was the youngest, besides Max, so it was easy to make Lucas or Mike drive him around and claim it was because he didn’t have his full license yet. Eleven drove like a maniac, but Dustin would almost rather die in her passenger seat than get behind the wheel. 

Steve was supposed to teach him how to drive. Steve had promised, but Steve had died and now the idea of learning how to drive with anyone else in the passenger seat made Dustin want to scream. 

So Steve’s maroon Bimmer sat in Dustin’s driveway and Dustin cleaned it every week because it was Steve’s and Steve had trusted it to him. He diligently cleaned the pollen off the windows and the bird shit off the paint and he thought about his eternal shotgun in Steve’s car. About keeping his tapes in Steve’s car and the way Steve would let him turn the volume all the way up and sing along. About the nights when he couldn’t sleep, when Steve would pick him up and they would drive around town in silence, the motion of the car eventually lulling Dustin to sleep. Because he’d been with Steve and he’d known he was safe, that nothing bad would happen while Steve was around. 

The worst thing had happened while Steve was around. Because Steve was around. Because Dustin had been right and Steve would always protect him, but Dustin hadn’t wanted protection at the cost of Steve’s life. 

Some nights, when Dustin lay awake, he thought about how he was poison. How Mike had jumped off a cliff to save him and Eddie had died in his arms and Steve had jumped in front of a Demogorgon’s cavernous maw to protect him. 

It sounded appealing sometimes, following Steve and Eddie into death. But if Dustin died, then Steve’s sacrifice would have been for nothing and there was no world in which Dustin could make Steve’s death meaningless. 

So he lived and he didn’t let the thoughts of death creep in during daylight hours and he pretended that his biggest problem was that he couldn’t convince himself to drive that fucking car. 

It was two months past Dustin’s sixteenth birthday, on a hot Sunday in July, that Nancy Wheeler, home from college, marched up the driveway as Dustin was cleaning the car.

“I heard from Mike that you don’t have your driver’s license yet,” Nancy said. 

Dustin rubbed the sponge carefully over the nose of the car. “Not yet.”

“You should know how to drive,” Nancy said. “It’s an important skill to have. It’s a teenage right of passage. It’s freedom.”

Dustin scowled. “It’s not that I don’t want to learn to drive.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Nancy asked. Her own car keys were dangling from her fingers, reflective in the sunlight. 

“Steve was going to teach me,” Dustin said. He tried to sound casual, but his voice came out somewhere between choked-up and strangled. 

Nancy hesitated. Then she nodded, coming up beside Dusin and taking the sponge from his hand. “You know, Steve was the one to teach me how to drive.”

Dustin jerked around to look at her. “What? But… your mom taught Mike?”

Nancy laughed. “Yeah. She tried to teach me too, but we were always fighting that year. Every time she told me what to do, it felt like she was criticizing me and I couldn’t learn with her in the passenger seat. So Steve gave me lessons, that year we were dating.

He used to drive the Bimmer out to the school parking lot on weekends. He would give me the keys and then sit in the passenger seat and let me figure it out on my own. He was endlessly patient. He never yelled at me, even when I scratched his car.”

“You scratched his car?” Dustin echoed incredulously. 

Nancy nodded, a fond little smile on her face. She grabbed Dustin’s hand, leading him to the other side of the car, by the left rear wheel. There were a few lines scratched through the paint, parallel to the ground. 

“I always assumed those came from the trees when we were running from the that pack of demodogs that came topside,” Dustin said. 

Nancy shook her head. “Nothing that exciting. That’s from me running into a post while trying to make a left turn. Steve wasn’t even mad.”

Nancy ran her fingers over the scratches, as if she could still feel the memory by tracing over the scars. Dustin knew the feeling. Sometimes he sat in the passenger seat and pretended Steve was driving him around. Sometimes he bought Marlboro Reds, Steve’s preferred brand of cigarette, and burned them just to smell the smoke. Sometimes, when his mom held him while he cried, he pretended she was Steve. 

He always felt guilty afterwards, like he was saying he’d be willing to trade his mom for Steve, which he wouldn’t. But he would give almost anything and everything he had for five more minutes with Steve Harrington. 

“Steve wouldn’t want this,” Nancy said, like she knew him better than Dustin did. Like she had any fucking clue what she was talking about. She was in college, living her life and not breaking down over the fact that Steve had died a year ago. 

But. 

Nancy had seen parts of Steve that Dustin had never known existed. Dustin envied her for that. 

“He left the car to you, Dustin,” Nancy continued. “He made me promise that if he didn’t make it through the final battle, I would make sure you got this car.”

Dustin wished he could be surprised by the knowledge that Steve had predicted his own death. But he knew. Maybe he had always known, the way Steve had always known. There had been too many close calls — the difference between their reactions to Steve’s increasingly near brushes with death was that Steve had accepted his fate while Dustin had thought that Steve was immortal. Unstoppable. 

Like a stupid kid believing that sleeping in a parent’s bed would keep the monsters away. 

“If you want,” Nancy said, “I can teach you to drive. Just like Steve taught me. It’s what he would have wanted.”

“You think so?” Dustin asked. 

Nancy nodded. “I know so.”

Dustin was in two places at once. He was thirteen years old, Nancy Wheeler coming to his rescue at the Snow Ball when no other girl would dance with him. And he was sixteen, standing beside his dead best friend’s car, Nancy Wheeler once again extending a hand when he needed it most. 

“Yeah,” Dustin said. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

After that, Sundays became the days when Nancy would teach Dustin how to drive. She’d come to his house in the early morning and he’d meet her by the car, keys in hand. She would sit in the passenger side and almost never say anything, acting exactly the way Steve had when he had taught her and letting Dustin figure it out for himself. And when Dustin had hit a mailbox and added a scratch to the front right side of the Beemer, almost having a panic attack because the car was no longer in the condition Steve had left it in, Nancy had just smiled and said that Steve would have been proud to have Dustin leave his mark on his car. 

By the end of the summer, Dustin got his drivers license. He offered to drive everyone to the first day of junior year and Max claimed shotgun and the others all piled into the backseat. 

Dustin saw Lucas stroking over the leather seats and their eyes met in the rearview mirror as Lucas gave him a smile. “I missed this car.”

“Yeah,” Dustin said, setting his hands on the steering wheel where Steve’s hands had rested for years. “Me too.”

[diabolus1exmachina]

Ford Sierra RS500 Cosworth  (1 of 500). 

The Ford Sierra RS500 Cosworth was built with one aim only – to defeat the rampant Rover SD1s in Group A touring cars. The rules mandated that 5000 road cars had to be built, plus a 500 extra examples with modifications that could be utilised by the race teams. For the RS500, these included a reinforced cast-iron cylinder block, a bigger Garrett AiResearch T04 turbo, a larger air-to-air intercooler, oil-cooled pistons plus upgraded air hoses and oil, water and fuel pumps. A second set of four Weber IW025 fuel injectors came with the car for competition use (adding up to a total of two per cylinder), but these weren’t connected to the ECU on road-going RS500s. The ECU itself was remapped, while there was also a bigger intake plenum and a secondary fuel rail; the addition of the latter two items necessitated that the battery tray be altered by Tickford, which was charged with making the conversions to RS500s. It’s rumoured that the battery trays were altered by use of a hacksaw… Further changes included a slightly different thermostat housing and alternator bracket, while the front bumper was altered with a slim air intake above the numberplate and the foglights were ditched for extra cooling ducts. The enormous rear spoiler was augmented with a thicker trailing edge and a secondary spoiler added below this.While all these changes made only a modest difference to the road machine, bringing horsepower up from 204bhp to 224bhp, the car sold out in August 1987. It pretty soon became the model to have for outright race wins in Group A touring cars. The engine, a four-cylinder Pinto, made just 90bhp in unturbocharged form. In 1987, the Sierra Cosworth was making 370bhp, but the RS500 took this to 470bhp. Further racing enhancements from the likes of Rudi Eggenberger in Germany, Andy Rouse in the UK and Dick Johnson in Australia boosted this to 500bhp and beyond in just a few years. When the RS500 finally bowed out in 1992, Dick Johnson had the motor up to a rumoured 600bhp.

[octoagentmiles]

I see so many people making "next gen" aus with the kiddos taking over the Octonauts when they get older, so here's my half headcanon half analysis-based take if anyone wants it lol:

Archivist Squirt. "Professor" implies that he'd be teaching the next gens the ways of the new octonauts, etc., but an archivist is simply someone who collects and preserves knowledge—I feel like after Inkling is gone, Squirt may not want to be an Octonaut per se, but he'd at least want to preserve his uncle's library and legacy. That would be his job.

Captain Koshi. She takes after Barnacles so much, and openly copies and bases her personality on him in multiple ways. She has the attitude, the confidence, the spirit, leadership skills, wit, and definitely the enthusiasm. Plus Dashi's already "Captain of the Octoray", so she's technically got history of Captains in her background. It just makes perfect sense to me, and I cannot be told otherwise.

Lieutenant/First Mate Pinto. Same reasons as Koshi: openly admires and imitates Kwazii on multiple occasions, and has been shown to possess one of Kwazii's biggest strengths on his own—being able to think quickly in dire situations, allowing him to literally save lives. I think he'd carry on Kwazii's tradition of identifying as the "First Mate" instead of lieutenant.

Dr. (Scientist) Peri. He literally says "When I grow up, I want to be a scientist like you and uncle Shellington!". Enough said. I feel like the Vegimals would stick around, mainly to help him out, but also because the Octopod is canonically Their Habitat™, so it might be hard for them to really *permanently* leave.

Dr. (Medic) Ursa. I know in my heart, that one of the cubs is not gonna turn out like their mom or uncle—they're gonna turn out like Peso. I vote Ursa, because of how excited she was to show Peso her Seaweed Bandage badge.

Engineer Orson. Despite being a mini Barnacles, he doesn't really scream "leader" to me with what we've seen of him so far. However, I do think that in classic mini-Barnacles fashion, he would develop an interest in ships. But unlike Barnacles (again), whose interest is founded in just,, Taking In Their Glory, I think his would manifest into something more hands on: engineering.

[carsthatnevermadeitetc]

Ford Capri II 3.0 Ghia, 1974. The luxury version of the second generation Capri was badged Ghia as Ford had taken over the Turin-based coachbuilder in 1970. Carrozzeria Ghia had no involvement in the design or production the car. Launched with a 3.0 litre V6, as the 70's energy crisis affected the sales of larger-engined models, it was also offered with a 2.0 litre 4-cylinder "Pinto" engine. All Capri II Ghia models had vinyl roofs and from 1976 automatic transmission was standard with 4 speed manual optional

[t-top-apologist]

As I climbed out of my bunker 20 years after the impending presidential victory of one Ralph Nader and the imminent opening of FEMA camps for corvair owners, I was surprised by three things: Firstly, Nader hadn't won and by some fluke that Ivy League texan boy had taken the presidency, using his newfound power to knock down those ugly towers in New York. Secondly, everyone around me was real worried about sneezing, and thirdly: people were mad about the police again. Well, that really wasn't a surprise as much as the fact that they had started forecasting a beautiful future in which there were no cops to pull me over for unleashing the full power of the GM flat six on public roadways like some sort of twisted star spangled Rat-Fink porsche ripoff taking high speed turns without even a hint of flipping over (you hear that Ralph?). Well, no flipping over other than for the normal reasons.

Those same people did end up calling the local constabulary on me as strange lights flickered on in the abandoned house next door and a dark figure began unearthing the many covairs he'd buried two decades ago in the back yard, but that's not the point. The real takeaway from this is that there exists the cultural impetus to create a future in which I do not receive speeding tickets for acceleration above the arbitrary number marked on the school zone sign (efforts by a tyrannical government to shield children from the truth of superior acceleration in rear engined cars).

The doughnut patrol eventually showed up, and did so in a veritable tank of a machine: the Ford Explorer, now optimized for plowing through crowds. This is that militarization of police everyone was talking about. They've ditched the hardworking American sedan in favor of these monstrosities better suited for hunting down and destroying anything rear engine, air cooled. This is why Porsche switched to watercooling in the 911, I just know it.

While the badged imbecile droned at me about my IDs expiring in 2003, I began to zone out, imagining what a properly modern police vehicle for the new decade should look like. None of this Humvee nonsense (though I'm pleased to see they never stopped making them), this would be a practical machine for the hypothetical "good" law enforcement officer not hell bent on stopping my corvair excavations.

Though a euro-styled wagon is an easy answer for police duty cars, there comes a time when we must acknowledge that those are mainly built for apprehending pocketknife-wielding arms dealers and have very little of the built in ego and power complexes required by State Police officers who protect their communities by hassling me about the legality of my high speed "shakedown runs" and the subsequent exhaust parts left scattered on the local highway.

No, what the American policeman needs is something that can tackle roads in any condition, with plenty of storage space for bulk orders of constitutional violations (and the remains of my exhaust), and a reliable powerplant that balances fuel efficiency and the desire to go fast sometimes (Idle in mall parking lots a lot). The answer is an all-wheel drive mid-sized hatchback with enough space to house my rear bumper once that comes off too. Which is to say the cops need an American OEM Impreza Hatchback.

Of course the closest American equivalent I could think of in a pinch was the Ford Pinto, which seemed to put him off. The ensuing chase was brief but not necessarily fast. Turns out the militarization of police extended to vests that don't protect you from sudden drops, but didn't extend so far as to cover standard issue night vision that would've detected the deep holes I'd been digging. Probably a good thing I buried those Corvairs so deep.

[redsnowdrop]

Ford Mustang

Second Generation (1973-1978)

Iacocca, creator of the first Mustang, became president of the Ford Motor Company in 1979 and ordered that the new Mustang be smaller and more efficient. It was initially supposed to be based on the Ford Maverick, but was later made by the Ford Pinto.

The new model, called "Mustang II", was introduced on September 21, 1973, two months before the first oil crisis of 1973, and its small size allowed it to compete with Japanese imported sports coupes such as the Datsun 240Z and Toyota Celica. It was produced until 1978.

At the end of 1973, coinciding with the energy crisis that occurred that year, the Mustang II was introduced, a car that was short-lived but which won Ford another award as car of the year . This model brought the Mustang back to the 1964 model in size, shape and overall styling. The car proved to be smaller than previous models as well as slower and heavier even though the company placed great emphasis on the quality of its finishing, which was defined as the highest ever made in the US automotive industry. Regarding dimensions, the Mustang II was 50 cm shorter, 10 cm narrower and 2.5 cm lower than the previous version.

The Mustang II was available in a 3-door hardtop body style. The basic version was equipped with a 2.3 liter (146 in3) inline four-cylinder engine with a single overhead camshaft. This engine was the first to be built using the metric system instead of the American measurement system. The 2.8-litre V6 (170in3), produced in Europe for the Capri, was available as an option. This meant that the V8 engine disappeared, albeit only for 1974, from the Mustang range. This absence was subject to several criticisms from fans of the car who wrote many letters to trade magazines.

Ford reintroduced the V8 engine with the 1975 model year but since the car was not designed to accommodate a similar engine it was necessary to proceed with a significant redesign of the vehicle. The basic model from which to create the Mustang II was the Ford Pinto. The engine chosen was the 4.9 liter (302in3) V8.

In 1976 the special version Cobra II was launched. This car was inspired by the Shelby Mustang, and for this reason it was equipped with a large air intake on the hood, the Shelby emblem on the radiator grille, a rear spoiler and racing stripes in different shades. Only the appearance was sporty, as the engine was within the standards of the Mustang II.

In any case, the car was a good commercial success and 400,000 examples were produced in the first year. The success was due more than to the innovations introduced to the fact that this model was able to regain the affection of the public as had happened with the 1964 model.

Even the oil crisis, which practically eliminated the most powerful range of cars from the price lists of almost all car manufacturers, did not interrupt the success of the Mustang II.

[spacefinch]

Octonauts Star Trek AU: Crew Profiles

Captain Barnacles:

Full name: Bernard “Barnacles” Barnes

Species: Human

Home country: Canada (Manitoba)

Rank: Captain of the USS Nautilus

Family: Bianca (sister), Orson (nephew), Ursa (niece)

Favorite instrument: Accordian

Kwazii

Full name: Kwazii Hawkins

Species: Human (partly cybernetic)

Home planet: irrelevant (he was born on a starship)

Rank: Commander (First Officer of the Nautilus)

Family: John “Calico Jack” Hawkins (grandfather)

Favorite instrument: Also irrelevant. He’d rather sing space shanties.

Shellington:

Full name: Dr. Shellington Holmes

Species: Human

Home country: Scotland

Rank: Second Officer (Science Division), Lt. Commander

Family: Pearl (sister), Periwinkle (nephew)

Peso

Full name: Dr. Peso Morales

Species: Human

Home country: Chile

Rank: Chief Medical Officer

Family: Too many to name. His brother Pinto is a Starfleet ensign.

Dashi

Full name: Dashi Omura

Species: Trill (joined, fifth host of her symbiont)

Home planet: Trill

Rank: Lt. Commander (Chief of Operations)

Family: Koshi (sister)

Tweak

Full name: Ida “Tweak” Lagos

Species: Half human (father’s side), half Bajoran (mother’s side)

Home planet: Bajor (raised in Florida, on Earth)

Rank: Lieutenant (Chief Engineer)

Family: Marshall “Marsh” Fen (father)

Professor Inkling

Full name: Unknown

Species: Humanoid (very long lived)

Home planet: Unknown

Rank: Lieutenant

Family: Squirt (nephew)

Tunip

Full name: Tunip Holmes

Species: Unknown (bipedal, piscine)

Home planet: CLASSIFIED

Rank: None

Family: Shellington Holmes (adoptive father), Barrot, Tominnow, Grouber, Codish, Pikato, and Halibeet (siblings)

Notes:

Tweak is properly addressed as “Lieutenant Ida.” (As per Bajoran customs, the surname comes first.)

Inkling is the oldest crew member, Tunip and his siblings are the youngest.

Yes, Shellington chose his name for himself. He is completely cisgender. He just wanted a different name. He would like to know why this is hard to understand.

By contrast, Kwazii is trans and has had the same first name his entire life.

Everyone has autism, anxiety, ADHD, or some combination of the above.

Everyone has also broken the Prime Directive at least once.

You would think that Kwazii would be guilty of breaking the Prime Directive, but it’s actually Peso and Shellington.

Behind the scenes for the names:

Barnacles: Purely going off vibes. “Bernard” seems like a good first name for him, and my idea was that “Barnacles” is a nickname that comes from his surname.

Kwazii: “Hawkins” is after Jim Hawkins from Treasure Island/Treasure Planet. Both stories involve sailing, adventure, and pirates.

Peso: Literally just looked up a bunch of Spanish surnames and decided “Morales” was the best.

Shellington. Looked up several Scottish surnames, and Holmes fit best. Bonus points because in the books, Shellington actually dresses up as Sherlock Holmes.

Dashi: Her last name comes from the Omura’s whale— one of the featured animals in The Octonauts and the Ring of Fire.

Tweak: “Ida” means “work” or “labor” in several languages. “Lagos” is Greek for rabbit or hare.

Inkling: I don’t know. I couldn’t think of a surname for him. He’s like Guianan. No other name. Just Inkling. That’s it.

The Vegimals: Since they are Shellington’s adopted children, they share his last name.

[e1dritchjackal0pe]

Rabbit Foot

𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢:  𝖸𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖼𝖺𝗋 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗄𝗌 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗈𝗇 𝖺 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝗋𝗈𝖺𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝗇 𝗎𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗉

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝗇𝗈𝗇𝖾 . . . 𝖺𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗉. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗅𝖺 𝗋𝗎𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽. I𝗍'𝗌 2 𝖺𝗆 𝗌𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋 𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖻𝖺𝖻𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝗐𝖿𝗎𝗅 

You should have known that this little trip back down to Haddonfield was going too smoothly. Sure, you had only been here for about two days, but still. Disaster is part of the little towns being, stained into its fibers like the residue at a crime scene. It doesn't usually take long for trouble to announce itself. 

Your mother and father's nagging has been down to a surprising low, probably sucking up to you because you're finally back, even if the circumstances are less than ideal, and the few familiar faces that have recognized you when you were down at the market and gas station were kind enough, welcoming you back after all the years. 

So, you honestly can't say you're surprised to see the white strips of smoke snaking out from underneath the orange hood of your car. 

You curse over the sound of Billy Squier belting out the chorus of My Kinda Lover, while checking your rear-view mirror to make sure the road was clear before pulling over on the shoulder.

This is the sort of karma to expect when you drive a busted 70's Pinto. 

But at least your car broke down on a county road and not the highway or interstate. 

You try to remember the steps to take for an overheated vehicle while you set it in park and turn the volume dial down on the radio. You can't recall exactly what your father had told you when you were only a child, zoning in and out of focus on the front drive while he monologued from underneath his truck. 

Pullover . . . Shut off the car . . . pop the hood . . . let it cool . . . Wasn't there something else? God, if only you had payed attention when you were twelve, but the lawn was just so much more appealing than your dad's life lessons. 

You turn the key over in the ignition and extract it, listening to the engine die before getting out and coming round to the front. You have to squint your eyes against the vapors when you fumble for the latch through the grille. As soon as you lift the hood your rushed by a plum of pale smoke. It makes it a pain to find the support rod for a bit, but you get it eventually, successfully propping the hood. Leaving you to stare stupidly at the engine of your car, hissing like a pissed off cat. 

Now . . . What? 

Calling for help would be your best bet. Your mother is a no, as she's undoubtedly working her shift at the bank. Your dad is probably passed out in the living room, snoring on his La-Z-Boy, enjoying the weekend off for once. You really didn't want to give either of them anymore ammunition against you, but the only other option is waiting until your car cooled off enough and hoping it will start when you try. 

While you're deep in your internal debate you fail to notice the thrum of an engine approaching and then relaxing into an idle before cutting off completely.

It's the sound of your name that breaks you from your daze, and you nearly break your neck to turn and face the owner of the voice. They look just as perplexed as you do, staring at you like you're a ghost. 

God, this person looks familiar. You take in his dark doe like eyes, and the mop of curls on his head while he stands a bit awkwardly on the other side of the road next to a gold and black motorcycle. And then it clicks. 

"Corey?" 

"They're talking about me already I see," you joke, a small playful smile curling across your face, easily falling into the swing of conversation. Even after all these years.

A gentle smile raises at the corners of his mouth, and he seems to relax a bit, looking a bit more like the boy you'd see walking the hallways at high school and less like a stranger. Damn, you forgot how cute he looks when he's happy. 

"I was scared you wouldn't remember me, " he says as he covers  the road between the both of you to stand close to the side of your car. " I thought I was going crazy for a minute. Never thought I'd see you back in Haddonfield, again. I mean . . . I heard you were back, but I didn't believe it."

"You know how it is, " he shrugs his shoulder lightly, " can't take a shit without somebody hearing about it" 

"Some things never change, I guess."

"Were you expecting them to?"

"No, " you scoff under a breath of laughter, " I'd never set my expectations for this place that high." 

That gets a chuckle out of him, and you take the lull in conversation to look to the Kawasaki parked across the road. 

  " So, how've you been lately? Looks like you got a new ride." You blurt the question out before you can check yourself. You know how he's been. You've heard the rumors and allegations about him just this afternoon while you were at the market, stocking up on some much-needed junk food and a bottle of wine when you had been practically bum-rushed by your old history teacher, Mrs. Brewer. Upon recognizing you she was quick to crowd into your space with a flurry of questions: " How are you?" " How has life been treating you?" "Got a lucky fella waiting for you back home?" But once all of the formalities were out of the way she was quick to jump into the local gossip that you missed over the years.

Mostly boring disputes between neighbors and little details about ex classmates moving on and starting families. You blanked most of it out, nodding and humming absentmindedly until an old name caught your attention.

" Have you heard about Corey Cunningham? I don't know if you shared any classes with him back in the da - oh, no matter! Well, just a few years after you left, on Halloween - of course it was! - he had been babysitting the Allen's kid. Well . . . " She scoffs in an almost amused manner before leaning in and whispering like she was telling you a big secret. " He had killed him just as the parents had come home. Kicked the poor child over the railing. Tried to say it was an accident. Got away with it too, scot-free. "

Despite Mrs. Brewers intel, you are already well aware of the incident. Your mother had made sure to call you the night right after that Halloween to indulge you every single horrid detail regarding the crime. You had felt confused and possibly even a bit betrayed.

How could Corey commit such a senseless act of violence?

You couldn't have helped the relief that flooded your body when she had called you several months later to share that he had been cleared of all charges.

Corey seems to tense at the question, not that you can blame him. Instead of immediately answering he glances over his shoulder to look at his bike, probably thinking about hopping on it and speeding off. " It's a work in progress, but it gets me from point A to point B so I can't really complain. As for how I've been . . . " There's a pause like he's looking for the right way to phrase it. " I've been surviving. "

After running into your old teacher, you were quick to ask you father about the incident when you had swung by your parents. He had offered you a little more insight, though his opinion of Corey was pretty similar to Mrs. Brewer's and your mothers. That despite being proven innocent, Corey had been quick to be pegged as a social pariah. "I always knew there was something wrong with that kid. Even before that night, " your dad had said before taking a bite of his homemade ham and cheese sandwich.

So, it was just Haddonfield being Haddonfield then. Quick to cast the stone and pass judgement, as per usual.

Sure, you and Corey had never extremely close growing up. Apart from sharing a few classes and the occasional chance encounter your relationship was little more than that. But even then, there was no way that sweet, awkward Corey would willing take a child's life.

You offer him a lifeline, " there's not much else you can do in Haddonfield. " 

That gets a small chuckle out of him, and he seems a bit more at ease again. " You're right about that. But enough about me, how have you been doing? I thought that you couldn't wait to get out of here. What brought you back?" 

"Oh uh, my grandfather passed recently, so I'm here to help go through his things and get everything organized, " you say, swallowing a lump. You've done your best to ignore the dull ache in your chest, but it seems to be getting worse each passing day. And the sad look that Corey gives you doesn't help. He seems like he regrets opening his mouth and for some reason that makes you feel even worse.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to-"

" It still hasn't really clicked that he's gone, you know? So, it's fine. I was actually heading to his house to start working on clearing some things out when this decided to take a shit on me, " you say, lightly kicking the front bumper with your shoe. 

"No, it's fine. Don't feel bad about it, " you say, shaking your head. You meant it too. Despite having to deal with countless people questioning you about your grandfathers passing, having heard the news from your mother no doubt, you don't mind talking about it with Corey. 

He didn't ask you with the intention of opening up wounds and prodding his nose into your family affairs, not the old gossips in town. 

"Mind if I take a look?" He asks.

"Please do. " You back away giving him room to work with and watching him as he leans over to inspect the contents of the engine. The smoke is next to nothing now, spars puffs that evaporate as quickly as they form. You can't help but study him as works, wondering how someone so familiar can look so different. Maybe it's the leather jacket, or the little band of silver that wraps around his pinky finger, or the absence of his glasses that used to rest on the bridge of his nose (contacts, maybe?), but something seems different about him. 

Well, of course, it's been nearly three years since you've seen him, you remind yourself, people change. 

You lean down next to him, pretending to help look for the problem even though the assortment of wires and metal make about as much sense to you as a jumbled pile of puzzle pieces. 

The close proximity lets you catch the scent of his cologne, mostly sandalwood with creamy and smoky undertones, a little bit of leather. Probably his jacket. 

He's got this studious look on his face, eyebrows pinched and slightly furrowed. A loose curl dangles above his eyes and it's a little distracting, a part of you is tempted to move it out of the way for him, to push it into unruly bundle of his hair that looks like it has flecks of amber in it because of the evening sunlight.

"So, what were you doing all the way out here, anyway?"

Jesus, since when have you ever had thoughts like these about Corey Cunningham? He used to be the one who would look at you. You would catch his fleeting glances while on your way to class, always pretending not to see the dreamy stares or the faint blush to his cheeks. 

You weren't stupid. You knew what that look meant.

But you had been in a relationship. And despite the fact that a cute kind guy with warm brown eyes had a crush on you, you stayed away. Because you had a boyfriend who treated you like dog shit and didn't deserve your time. But you were young and stupid and had thought that you were in love. 

His head perks up just a bit at your question and he pauses for a minute before answering. " I just like to ride sometimes. Just get away for a bit, even if it's only for a few minutes. " 

"It looks like it may be a bad radiator hose. They just get old and worn out and snap, " he concludes suddenly, rising to his full height. 

There's something melancholic about it. Even after all these years, his circumstances are still the same, if not worse. It reminds you of one distant chilly November evening. You were down at the local park, gently swaying on a swing when you had noticed a figure briskly walking across the lawn. It didn't take you long to recognize it as Corey. He seemed agitated, tense, like he was too big for his body and was seconds away from bursting out of it. His mother you assumed was most likely the culprit. It was no secret that she was (is) overbearing and controlling. Helicopter parent would be an understatement. When you thought of it, you had never actually seen Corey at any parties or out with friend's past 7:00 pm. 

From what you could gather his life was a constant routine of school and occasionally helping out the Allen's family with mowing their yard and pulling stubborn weeds.

You probably should have stayed put and let him walk away. Out of sight out of mind. 

But your body had a mind of its own, launching off of the swing and in his direction. It had only taken you seconds to reach him, and he looked startled and a bit confused when you had asked if you could join him. But he agreed, nonetheless. 

 You had offered him a few puffs of the joint stuffed in your pocket, but he had declined. He didn't want her to smell it, he confessed, and it had been enough to keep you from pulling it out and lighting it up with your Bic lighter. 

You had talked about everything and nothing, until the sun had dipped down low, and it was just a strip of lavender bordering the horizon. Upon noticing the time, you had said your goodbyes and he ran off in the direction of his house to be home in time for dinner. 

That had been the first time you had heard his laugh. You liked it a lot. 

"How much does that usually cost? " You can already feel the worry creeping in at the thought of your already desperate bank account. You really couldn't afford a large blow to it, right now.

"Eh, it depends really. If you do it yourself or hire someone, " he explains, eyeing the engine and combing a hand through his hair. " The part itself is usually anywhere from fifteen to thirty bucks. It depends on the quality and if you get a mechanic to do it for you." 

Damn, this is definitely what you needed right now. When it rains it pours and the umbrella you have for cover is about as stable your mental health on a busy workday. 

" I could do it, " Corey offers you. 

"How much would you charge me?" 

"No, Corey, I'm serious-"

He shakes his head slightly, shoving his hands in his pockets, " I wouldn't."

You can't help but stare at him like he grew two heads, like he's telling a weird joke and you're waiting for the punchline. Meanwhile he looks as serious as can be.

Almost hopeful if you didn't know any better. 

"So am I, " he states firmly.

The look you give him is incredulous. You're ready to argue and he can tell by the way your jaw open to speak, so he beats you to the punch. 

"I don't want your money," he says. There's a finality to it. He levels you with his eyes almost like he's challenging you to try and argue with him. But you don't want to try and go round and round in circles until one of you relents to the other. You're more confused than anything. And you want answers. 

"Why do you always do that? " You step closer to him like you'd find the answer that way. He's not following judging from is lack of response, so you elaborate, "you're always go out of your way to help me. Like the night back at the gas station. Why?"

A smile pokes at his lips but despite his apparent amusement he answers like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Just a fact. 

"Because you're a good person." 

" So, you won't let me pay you?" 

The response does little to satisfy you and you can't help the huff the gets pushed from your lungs. 'Good person' my ass. But maybe he was telling the truth, maybe it just wasn't the answer you wanted. You wanted that night to mean something more than it did. So that you didn't feel stupid about those old forgotten feelings heating up in your chest. Maybe he was just a nice person. 

Maybe that night when your douche of a boyfriend had kicked you out of his lifted Chevy and out onto the curb of some gas station, Corey had just offered to escort you the three miles back home out of the kindness of his heart. Because he felt bad for you. 

You had felt so embarrassed and useless when you had jumped out of the truck and stormed into the 'Gulf.'  You were at the slurpy machine, filling up a medium sized cup when Corey had approached you. As hesitant as he was, he seemed worried. Brows furrowed and raised with concern. 

He had asked if you were okay, and you had told him you were. It was short, clipped and tired. You had felt guilt gnaw at your stomach as soon as you had responded, but your pride wouldn't let you apologize. 

You expected him to back away, to be put off by your anger. But he didn't. He stayed. 

The two of you would sit outside, drinking a cherry slurpy and a Yoo-Hoo, and he'd sit and listen when the dame broke, and you vented until your throat felt raw. Then he'd offer to walk you home, knowing that you wouldn't call your parents. Wouldn't give them the satisfaction of saying, "I told you so." Despite the fact that his own mother would have his head for having vanished for about two hours without so much as a word. 

He'd guard you both as you strolled down the lonely streets lined with dim lamps, while the rest of Haddonfield was piled in the bleachers cheering on the Huskers while they played against their long-term rivals, the Montgomery Wolverines. 

All the way up to the doorstep of your house where you'd whisper a thank you and goodnight, punctuated by a light kiss on his cheek before fleeing into the confines of your home before you could see the way his face flushed in response. 

Was that just because he was a good person? 

" You can, but I'll just find a way to slip it back to you, " he says honestly. That smile is back. Cocky and self-assured. It's one you've never seen on him before, and you can't tell if it excites you or pisses you off. "We can go back to the garage, and I'll get the tow truck. Come back and get your car. With all the junk that passes through I'm sure we've probably got what you need laying around somewhere. We'll have back up and running and on your way to your grandfathers in no time." 

What the hell, maybe you can convince him to let you pay him once you get a decent meal in him. 

The two of you have a stare off for a few good seconds while you mull the offer over. As tempting as it is to let someone else take care of your problems, your morals are having trouble bending over. A compromise maybe? 

"Fine, "you relent. " But I'm buying dinner."

"Sounds like a deal," he agrees. "You can come with me if you want. It'll be dark soon and I don't like the idea of being out here all alone."

"Hey! " You call over to him, his head snapping up in your direction. " You want something to drink before I lock up? I got a cooler full of water and some sodas if you want. No chocolate milk unfortunately. " 

There's a protective edge to his voice and you can't help but think about how much you like it. You nod, giving a quick 'okay' in agreement before moving around to lock the doors and roll up the windows of your car. The last thing you need is for some jackass to steal your vehicle while you're gone. Despite how shitty it may be. 

Corey crosses the road to his Kawasaki and stands over it, giving it a strong downward push to one of the pedals. Effectively kickstarting the machine in a way that shouldn't be as attractive as it is. 

"What I need right now is you on my bike," he says seriously. You're thankful for the wanning sunlight, or else he probably would be able to see how flustered you are. The embarrassment would kill you.  "Alright, alright! I'm coming!" You call, slamming the driver side door closed, stepping away from the car and approaching Corey and the idling motorcycle. 

You place a hand on Corey's shoulder to stabilize yourself as you swing a leg over to straddle the ride.

"Hold on tight, " he warns.

It prompts you to wrap your arms around his waist and he briefly puts a hand on your forearm and squeezes before gassing up the throttle and lurching forward with a hearty growl from the engine. 

You can't help the airy giggle that bubbles up in your throat, and you're pretty sure that shaking from Corey's body is due to his own laughter, but you can't hear the sound over the sound of the motorcycle roaring down the county road. 

In this moment, however brief it maybe, you forget everything. Your grandfathers passing, your mother and father, your responsibilities, Haddonfield.

It all goes away with the rush of adrenaline that jumps through your veins and the wind in your hair. 

It's just you, Corey and the road. And you think you haven't felt so alive in forever.

Maybe being back isn't going to be a complete bust after all.