#but the question is to i leave it as a general eddie x reader or do i make it a part of the best friend!eddie x reader series i’m doing??? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pinkrelish · 1 year

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𝐭𝐡𝐞 "𝐲𝐞𝐬" 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐲.

singledad!mechanic!eddie x fem!reader

✶What happens when Eddie tries to hide the less-than-fun side of being a single parent from you, and you discover Miss Mouse can't always save the day?✶

NSFW — angst with a happy ending, reader wears eddie's hoodie, comfort, kissing, 18+ overall for smut, drug/alcohol mention/use

chapter: 11/20 [wc: 14.2k]

↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11 / 12

AO3

Chapter 11: In the Beginning...

——Then——

In the beginning…

It was January 31st, 1988, and Wayne had come in to check on him again. And maybe he had a reason to when Eddie continued to stare at the pockmarked ceiling, dressed in the same clothes as three days prior, laying on the same bedsheets last washed by well-meaning, pre-aged, liver-spotted, wrinkled hands gnarled from factory work after being tanned on a big rig’s steering wheel for decades.

No music played from the stereo record player; The Doors still sat with the album art turned, stopped mid-spin. The paperback on the nightstand remained unfinished, its dog-eared page trapped as a placeholder from New Year’s Eve. Dust and cigarette ash clung to the room as if saving it in a time capsule of the morning he was arrested, and any movement would disturb the illusion.

“Eddie?” Wayne called out to him with his Free name; one that shouldn’t hold a stigma, because Eddie was a free man, wasn’t he? He was innocent. Even if they hadn’t caught the other guy yet. “You okay if I go?”

Tracing the bumpy lines of the most recent tattoo on his stomach, he answered, “Yeah, I’m fine,” and his uncle breathed as he usually did when he was wringing his mouth with indecision.

Wayne twisted the doorknob, uncertain. “If you’re sure.. And, uh, I’ll stop by the hardware store and pick up somethin’ for the spray paint on the trailer if the cookin’ oil trick doesn’t work, don’t you worry about it.”

Whatever rude thing someone wrote this time, Eddie hadn’t gone outside in days to know.

After a long silence, Wayne cleared his throat and gave a gruff, “I’ll see ya after work,” and left, as foretold by his rackety truck fading further into the night, and the deadness of winter taking over. A staleness of midnight inactivity in the crisp air invading the guitars and amps and magazines Eddie never touched anymore; the ceramic of his bedside lamp, the model car next to his lighter, the binders stacked on his desk with a pencil he hadn’t sharpened since it broke six weeks ago. He didn't get much relief from his routine of ignoring, shutting down, isolating, and desperately trying to get tears to form when he had none left to give, so he wept agape and dry, spiraling downward.

The phone rang.

He wasn’t going to answer—he hadn’t since December unless under obligation—but in case it was Wayne, he did.

“Hello?” The other end of the line was equally hesitant to answer his unrecognizable voice, gone hoarse from disuse. “Hello?” he repeated.

“Eddie?” A beat. “I guess I’ll get this over with. Look, uh, do you remember selling to a girl at Brad’s party a couple months back? Not the Halloween one,” they said, definitely a young woman’s voice, but with each word spoken she lost her fluttery nervous edge and replaced it with a direct tone, leaving no time for him to dawdle.

He hurled his mind into searching his memories before the ones made in the weeks prior, only grazing past the details which haunted him, and registering the question he was asked. “Uh, yeah, yeah I think so. Ah, Sarah? Something generic like that. Sold to her a couple times before. Why?”

Her severe silence loaded the chamber. His forthcoming nature pulled the trigger, never learning when to shut his mouth and keep information to himself. There was no telling who he was speaking to, or what happened to the girl he sold to, or why he was the subject of interest. His stomach clenched in knots at the whiff of gunpowder. He was too relaxed at the prospect of a normal conversation. He said too much. It was happening again. The police sirens would wail any minute now. Whatever happened to Sarah—or whoever—was bad, and he incriminated himself. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

But it was her next words that fired the shot. Rang in his ears. And he knew then, as the cold sweat took over his body and bile stung his throat quicker than his heart leapt black spots to his vision, life as he knew it was over.

“I’m pregnant, and it’s yours.”

————

In the beginning…

It was March 7th, 1988, and Eddie walked out.

It was better than listening to Wayne blame himself for not doing enough, or being involved enough, or whateverthefuck he was saying about failing Eddie, because soon those judgments would turn into nags about how Eddie’s irresponsibility got himself into this mess, and those arguments would become shouting matches about his lack of preparedness for raising a baby, and Eddie would end the fight with his fist through the hallway closet door, where his piece of shit father’s jacket swung on the hanger and fell to the floor.

Following the Munson name.

————

In the beginning…

It was April 29th, 1988, and Eddie left his motel room to drive forty-five minutes outside of Hawkins to sit across from a woman in a dimly lit restaurant with her hand laid atop her round belly, and his cold chicken alfredo. The cheese in his oval shaped dish had coagulated, but he wasn’t hungry anyway.

The entire time his mouth ran sentences, he kept his gaze focused on a crumb dirtying the white tablecloth as the candle flickered shadows through their untouched water glasses. Yet, his tone remained animated and optimistic, though a bit hollow. “—So, uh, with the money from workin’ at the gas station, and what I have saved from that graveyard shift I picked up at the laundromat, I can afford the crib no problem. Maybe you could, ah, come with me to pick it out! I don’t really know what I’m supposed to be looking for, but whatever you want, you got it. And—And I’ll start stocking up on diapers, and stuff. Y’know, different sizes. Some clothes. Could even get a nice baby blanket, or somethin’. I guess cribs have those teeny mattresses, so we’ll need sheets for that, too. Um, one of those, y’know, things that hangs over it and spins, puts them to sleep.” His lips hinted at his first smile in weeks at his dumb explanation for a mobile. “And with your job, you have health insurance, don’t you? That’ll.. That’ll really help us out,” he emphasized by bugging his eyes, and nodding. “There’s a position open at an auto shop in town that I’m gonna apply for, but I don’t think insurance will kick in until I work there for a certain number of days. Sucks, but it’s decent money. Better than what I make now, anyway. Um..” Thinking, he sorted through his plan for the future in his head, making sure he didn’t forget anything important—

That’s when he made the mistake of looking up, and a different type of heartache wrung his chest.

Indifference powdered her shimmery beige eyelids, darkening to smoky apathy at the outer corners with a touch of heavy mascara weighing her eyes half-closed. She appeared bored—he wished she appeared bored—but in the eternity he glanced at her, she resembled a loaded chamber moments from cutting him off.

Continuing, he said, “I can also handle the small stuff like bottles, and bibs, and pacifiers. Depending on how much the crib is, I can probably swing the carseat too, just gotta sell my other guitar, and—”

“Eddie,” she stated. He winced.

There was no trace of his smile left on his lips; trembling and licking at the sore metallic-tasting spot he bit out of habit. The first sign of rejection welled behind his eyes. A sense of shame clogged his throat, but he tried, “Are people still bothering you about me?” he asked, so meek and defeated.

Her words were a merciless killing, “Does it matter?” He shrugged, running the side of his hand along the table’s edge, concentrating on the crumb. “And don’t bother buying anything.”

“Why not?” he faltered. “I’m not gonna be some deadbeat who doesn’t provide, okay? I’m good on my word.”

“You know why.”

The cruelty, the truth he denied, struck him.

“You don’t want to try?” His voice went watery, and the candles swam in his vision. “We’re having a baby together, and you don’t want to try and work something out between us?” There was a reason he avoided addressing where the crib would go, or what the arrangement was after coming home from the hospital. In the first few calls they had, she seemed interested when he rattled off the list of cheap apartments he found around Hawkins scribbled into his notebook, and when he lightened the bleak mood with a joke, she laughed, sort of.

Though, he was always the one to call her, and her answers were refined to short words such as yeah, or no. And she did pick up the phone less often, but she was busy with University or her career or there was a family thing that had come up or she was just headed out the door, so he stuck with planning their future by himself, aware of the ugly reality twisting his stomach with dread.

Maybe he was being naive, but he thought she’d come around by now. See how responsible he was being, and maybe.. maybe..

“I’m not interested,” she dismissed him in monotonously stern frankness.

“I thought you said you liked me,” he reminded her, on the verge of something pathetic, “at the party.”

The corner of her jaw twitched from an emotion she ground between her teeth.

That was the final straw.

She swung her gaze around the restaurant, releasing a hard sigh of frustration, and shaking her head. Dropping her hand to the bottom of her belly, she leaned forward, and eviscerated any hope he had for them being together. “I’m not interested,” she hissed under the susurration of nearby tables, “in raising a baby with someone whose reputation is for giving girls discounts when they flirt with him.”

Eddie shrunk into himself, not expecting the hit below the belt.

“You’re just the loser dealer that all the guys send their girls to because they know you’re too lonely to turn them down. I wish I stuck with flirting, because let me tell you, having a couple of smarties to get me through last semester wasn’t fucking worth it.” She motioned at her stomach, he assumed. “I almost missed my finals because I couldn’t stop puking.”

Fat drops wobbled his vision. Anxious sweat from holding his breath prickled his hot face. His knuckles hurt from clacking them against one another, punching bone-on-bone in his lap to distract himself from letting the venom win. Biting impressions of his teeth into tongue from the weight of his one chance at normalcy slipping through his fingers.

The ache of deep-seated rejection stung worse, built worse, escalated worse with every heartbeat echoing in his head: not even someone who’s having your kid wants to be with you.

Chairs skid across the tiles behind him, and a family stood to leave. Eddie faced the stained glass window as they passed, pretending to admire the intricate details while warm tears spilled over the dam, and onto his cheeks in steady drops like rain. Drip, drop, drip, drop..

Embarrassment, failure, freak..

Even before he was wrongfully arrested, his reputation was trash.

Pathetic loser not good enough for his dad, his uncle. Can’t pass fucking high school, or get a girl to stick around for more than a few weeks; just long enough to feel the safety of attachment, learn their likes and dislikes, what their favorite flowers were, and then they’d leave too..

“Doesn’t matter,” she exhaled. One, two—she took two calming breaths through her nose while his was running, and he was trying to not sniffle through the grossness of crying.

Composed and diplomatic, she sat up, smoothed the buttons of her burgundy maternity blouse stretched across her swollen middle, and informed him “I’m giving her up for adoption.”

Eddie froze.

Her.

Tiny tines of salad forks ceased clinking on plates. Silly dull knives unworthy of much else sank into whipped butter, and stopped. Pretty laughter faded, leaving red lipstick kisses staining the rims of wine glasses.

Her.

He froze. A strange cliche to explain how his body reacted. How his heart pounded, and tears splashed onto his clenched fists. How his brain latched onto one word, one word only, and the blood drained from his cheeks to pool liquid rage in his empty belly. How his temper surged like a wave, and crashed, again and again on the shore of fate. How he was thinking sharper, seeing clearer, smelling the raw flame of the candle being snuffed out from his sudden movement.

The tableware rattled when he planted his elbow next to his forgotten dinner, and pointed a stern finger at her stomach. “That’s my daughter, and you will not—”

“C’mon, Ed—”

“No,” he cut her off. He didn’t give a damn if another tear rolled from his wide eyes when he said it, he put conviction behind his voice even when it cracked, “That’s my daughter, and you are not giving her up for adoption.”

“Be serious,” she spat back. “You don’t have the means to take care of a baby. I’m doing this as a favor for the both of us. Mostly for you.”

Eddie sucked his bottom lip inward and chewed the flesh. Shivers of indignation trembled his body, and his nostrils flared from the absolute power he invoked to rein his voice from the snap, bite, snarl his upper lip suggested. “I don’t care what you think is best,” he maintained through the viscous tar coating his refusal in the abhorrence she deserved. “That baby.. She’s mine.” He nodded until the motion was ingrained, and her expression changed. Pointing to himself, now. “She’s mine, and I want her.”

There wasn’t much thought put behind his decision. It was done. It was innate. It was automatic, and her soft warning—”You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,”—was as heeded as the candle’s flame.

He paid for the date. It cost five hours of his minimum wage. That was all his money. He was hungry when he got back to his shitty motel; opening the door to darkness, and a suitcase of dirty clothes he’d need to sort before going to work at the gas station at the edge of town where his boss cut his hours last week because it was making customers uncomfortable to see a criminal serve them at the till, and a new sound replaced the ding of the cash register: loser, loser, loser..

Already, he couldn’t afford diapers.

Already, he failed.

Already, he was worthless.

Already, he was alone.

Not even the woman he was having a baby with wanted to be with him.

——Now——

Eddie hung up the phone, and you watched his shoulders rise and fall for long moments, listening to the rain pattern shift above. The storm spilled its sorrows on the tin roof, uncaring if the structure could handle the stress of another trial when it was weak and susceptible. It poured, and poured. Ruthless. Vicious and brutal as nature could be, targeting the vulnerable and strong alike.

His back broadened with a breath, and finally, he dropped his hand from the yellowed plastic, staring at the dial pad as his arm went limp at his side. Absorbed by his thoughts as the old night rolled into another low growl of thunder, and whatever was on his mind reflected heavily in his vacant appearance.

“Ed?” You waited for him with a kind lift to your brows, but as soon as his glance landed, your chest tightened.

The emotion in Eddie’s eyes was heavily guarded, communicating little as to what caused the tenseness in his jaw when he averted his gaze to the floor, walking fast and purposefully away from you standing half-dressed in his kitchen, and stopping at the front door with his head down. Going through the motions of buttoning his pants, and buckling his belt, rigid and rough, snapping the leather against itself.

“Is Adrie okay?” you asked, voice coming out painfully shallow, like when you were using it to diffuse a customer service issue with the breeze of happiness and a plastered smile.

Leaned over, he shoved his feet into his boots, and began lacing. “She’s fine.”

Blunt, and closed off. Not like your Eddie from an hour ago. And you didn’t know how to navigate asking him what was wrong, and easing him into opening up to you, coaxing him back to that place of union and understanding.

Left feeling confused, you gleaned that this wasn’t the time to bother him about it, and mumbled, “Okay,” and assumed the rest. You dragged the whispery ends of the blanket across the floor, and picked your sweater off the carpet, having that particular sense of embarrassment as if you’d missed a cue, and should’ve read the room sooner, and been clothed and leaving without him asking.

You dressed in silence, doing up the buttons on the cardigan he so skillfully slipped you out of. Treading over linoleum to wash the evening off your hands and mouth. Making yourself small to fit next to him in the entryway, and putting on your shoes in a state of quiet obedience, missing the warmth of his hands and the comfort of his lovesick grin. Wilting under the coldness of his attitude, and wanting nothing more than to reach out, and soothe that bit of regret knotted between his eyebrows.

He regarded the exposed skin of your upper chest, and handed you his black hoodie from where it hung next to his canvas work jacket. “Here.”

Here wasn’t much of a break in the distance he resurrected between you, but you pulled the heavy scent of cigarettes and cologne over your head, and he almost found himself braving eye contact to tell you, “I’m dropping you off first.”

“What? No,” you blurted, “I’m going with you to pick her up. She’s just scared of thunderstorms, right? No big deal, you can drop me off after.” Which seemed like the right thing to say; that you were fine with Adrie crying, but when he set his gaze on you, a small image of yourself swam in his endless pupils, and your stomach clenched at the animal warning in his unbreakable stare.

Eddie shook his head an imperceptible amount, only enough to loosen the curtain of curls tucked beneath his jacket’s collar, and shift the lamp’s glare at the edge of his bitter coffee eyes. It was a threat to back off. Leave well enough alone. Stop encroaching on the parts of his life he hid, and keep the illusion intact.

“I wanna go,” you assured gently.

However, your support fell short when challenged against the aggressive shine swallowing you whole. He looked at you. Really looked at you with the same intensity as when his hands were on your hips and you rocked yourself in his lap, chests flush together with a lazy prayer of your name on his tongue; when nothing mattered more than honoring each other with lips and teeth, tasting sweat on necks and sucking bruises until moans were spilled from heads thrown back. But instead of unraveling you in shocks of pleasure, the ignorance of your child-free lifestyle softened the harsh lines of his face, and slowly, slowly, the shine dulled. The fight left him.

He saved his apology until his back was turned, and the squeaky doorknob gave under his heavy palm—turning it with too much force—and he cracked open the world beyond the two of you, dousing the lingering tenderness of your affection on his skin with frigid mist. “Sorry tonight ended this way.” The door banged open on the rusted iron handrail, caught on a gust.

The trailer park was bright with daylight. Flash, after flash.

Eddie’s silhouette eclipsed the doorway, outlined in lightning. He stood impossibly taller—like the animal threat still lurked within his structure, and caution stayed within your subconscious, altering how you perceived his lanky frame into something more imposing. His shoulders carried many burdens, bulked from five years of hard labor, possessing strengths you couldn’t imagine. He stepped to the side, insisting the door stay open with the spread of five fingers only, and his body no longer shielded you. You were exposed to the cold splash of rain on your shins. His palm was firm at your lower back, and you peered up at the hard set of his jaw feathering the muscle at the corner, sweeping the bone in a mature edge of stubble. Strands of his frizzy hair whipped in the wind. Droplets speckled his nose like freckles. His gaze, anchored on his car through the downpour, brewed with resentment.

His deep timber resonated in your chest beneath the safety of his hoodie, “Car door’s open, I’ll lock up behind you.”

And you were pushed.

Beaten down to a hunch, you took careful strides in your heeled shoes down the concrete steps and into the soft mud, covering your head as best you could from the cloud’s assault, and flinching at the closeness of the strikes darting around the boundary of treetops surrounding the trailer park. You tried the handle, and the car welcomed you into its dry insides. Guilt followed your tracks of caked on mud, leaves, and dead weeds on his nice red interior, but when you shivered to the bone, you didn’t care as much. Curled in on yourself, you spied Eddie’s vague shape through the waterfall blurring the windshield, and listened to his heavy boots trudge up to the door, and soon, the car sank with his weight too.

The engine roared to life. Heat wouldn’t come from the tiny AC units for some time, but the promise of such gave you hope. Eddie, beside you, drenched beyond measure, did not match your enthusiasm. Shadowed streams snaked across his pinched expression, swimming down his heavy brow, and splitting his raw lips. His bangs stuck to his forehead, and his cheeks trembled from his clacking teeth.

Soft music played from the radio station.

Riders on the Storm.

Two booms of thunder ended your small attempt at a smile from the timing.

Leftover adrenaline pulsed in your veins, fumbling your grip on the seatbelt. Wet earth and unease stroked your skin like skeletal hands, muddying your tights, and soaking his hoodie, weighing it down to your crushed sweater beneath. You wanted to speak; to poke, to prod, to press him to talk to you. The questions were there. On your tongue. At the ready; inviting him to tell you why his mood soured over a situation out of his control, other than the obvious weather.

But Eddie’s face was carved with irritation, baring his teeth as he attempted to buff circles into the icy fog on the windshield, only for it to cloud over in an instant. “C’mon..”

The wipers couldn’t keep up with the powerful current, and the tires struggled to find traction. “Fucking—damnit,” he said, interrupted by him slapping the steering wheel, cascading water off his work jacket, and onto every surface around him.

You twisted your hands in your lap at his mild slip in temper.

Now was not the time to bother him.

In a lurch, your shoulder bumped the door, and your head rocked side to side from the car backing over the swell of mud behind the tires. With another frustrated stomp on the gas, it evened out on paved road, and though the visibility was low, you were off towards the nicer side of Hawkins.

For once, he drove responsibly. Street signs could be read before he passed them. Fallen limbs in the road could be avoided, not ran over. His rings tinked off the glass when he rubbed at the thin fog, and the music was dialed to a somber ambiance behind the deep sighs through his nose. Dark stretches of treetops bent to the wind’s will. Short buildings sat so dim beyond the faint streetlights, they might as well have been deserted. Each red light was a necessary break for him to shove his fingers in the air vents to thaw them.

He never spoke. Never looked at you. He kept himself busy with tasks, and when those tasks were over and his hands were defrosted and the windshield was mostly clear, he regressed within himself. Unnervingly quiet. Turning onto streets with heavier regrets sagging his features the longer he crawled in front of white picket fence houses, and stopped.

The two story home was lit beautifully by the ornate sconces placed on either side of the doorway. Their lawn was manicured, and the sidewalk was free of weeds. No cars were at the mercy of the storm, they were parked inside the two-door garages. There was activity behind the embossed curtains hung in the living room of the residence. Presumably, the biggest shape was the father who called over the phone.

Someone who wore a business suit to the preschool’s Thanksgiving play lived here.

Eddie stalled. He remained seated forward, hands gripped at 10 and 2, squeezing the steering wheel as rain echoed in the belly of the car, battering the roof inches above your damp hair. There was a pause in his movements, his breathing. An awareness in his silence at the questions you didn’t ask. Tension in his pursed lips, rubbing them together as he surveyed the street.

He opened his mouth. Then, he thought better of it, and got out.

Your earnest call of his name was swallowed by the sea cleansing his body of your night together.

Leaping up the bullnose brick stairs, Eddie raised his hand, but before he could knock, the artisanal stained glass shimmered with movement. The immaculate door opened to a winced face. The man’s glasses were askew on his aged eyes, and his peppered hair hung over his eyebrows, no longer gelled back. He exchanged a few tight words with Eddie as Adrie was handed over, and Eddie, of course, shuffled into a meek posture, dipping his head, apologizing profusely. Almost bowing to this man dressed in matching pajamas and a robe. In horror, you watched the door close during one such apology. You could tell it happened in the middle of him speaking, because you had to sit through the agony of Eddie animatedly explaining something only for him to look up, straighten at the realization, and stand there for a few more seconds until the sconces dimmed off.

Worse, still, he cowered in the nook as cruel rain belted his back, doing his best to bundle Adrie in her tattered quilt and securing her on his hip, keeping all of her dry except her little legs wrapped around his middle. She buried her face in his neck, and he hesitated on the balls of his feet, judging the distance between the house and the car. His large palm covered the blanket over her head. All he had was his jacket.

Lightning revealed his weary frown.

At the clap of thunder, he sprinted.

Back in New York, at the going away party your friends threw in your and Robin’s honor, they warned you about moving to the Tornado Alley, and what to look for if one were to appear—green skies and all—but most importantly, they told you an incoming tornado sounded like a train. Being city dwellers, they wouldn’t actually know, but Robin confirmed it. And now you could too, because the piercing wail coming towards you could only belong to a natural disaster, not a four-year-old girl.

Murky water flooded to Eddie’s ankles from where it rushed against the sidewalk, sloshing in with his boot stomped to the floorboard for balance as he ducked inside amidst the fuss. He got Adrie into her carseat as quickly as possible. In the chaos, her overnight backpack fell somewhere in the dark, her quilt was chucked aside, and he cursed when the buckle bit into his thumb. She had a fistful of his hair, tangling it, making it harder to see what he was doing. He may have even threatened her full name to let go. It was hard to hear on account of the shrieking.

“Daddy!” The vowels were elongated, broken by hiccups. He shut the door, and in the small space with no escape, her big emotions rang louder. “Daddy!” Again, the y was screamed with the full power of her lungs, which would be impressive for their tiny size if it wasn’t for the pounding in your skull. She hollered louder when he sat heavily behind the wheel, “Daddy!” He didn’t shush her fourth tantrum spilt on his name; he accepted it, knowing it was futile.

It took all your strength to blink. Sat half-turned in your seat, frozen, gaze unfocused, marveling at your brain’s ability to function. You shifted your attention to Eddie’s face, a surprising few inches from yours.

The heat of his concentration scorched shame to your cheeks.

Avoidant no longer, your reaction to Adrie’s meltdown was the sole subject of his interest. Zeroed in on, dissected, and picked apart by just his eyes alone. Didn’t matter which eye you shied from, you were pinned in both, your discomfort blatant for him to witness. Your clamped mouth, your apologetic withdrawal, your fidgety fingers on your skirt; all of it. All of it was captured in his periphery because he didn’t dare break sight as he turned the key in the ignition, and started a raucous engine you couldn’t remember being turned off.

Humbled by the girl assaulting your senses, your questions were answered.

This was why he didn’t want you to come. This was why he slighted you with a pointed look from the recesses of his annoyance when you trivialized his daughter’s behavior as ‘No big deal.’ This was why he kept you separate from his parental sphere where everything wasn’t made of sunshine and rainbows. This—coming to terms with your inexperience staining each uncontrollable contortion of your unprepared expression—was why he never let anyone near his heart.

Adrie could no longer form his name through her open-mouthed cries, resorting to plain, wet screams which trilled past your eardrums, resulting in a throbbing headache.

At that, he grasped the gear shift, put his boot to the gas, and cut fat lines through the river overflowing the pampered neighborhood streets.

Eddie’s anger was a presence. His embarrassment, too. Just like at the auto shop when problems stacked and stacked into an unbearable weight on top of his sleepless nights and long mornings, he turned inward to delay his outburst. To feel everything so fully in his fists wringing the leather covered steering wheel until it creaked, and teeth gritted until they begged no more. Just that one second to release his frustration, and then it was suppressed from sight. But you felt it. His ire rested below your braced muscles, beneath your clammy palms and in your shallow breath. It invaded the tidy home you kept behind your ribs, taking up residence in your hammering heart.

The humiliation of having the date end when it did paid its dues in his bad mood. Disappointment radiated off his narrowed eyes, and slack frown. “Adrie,” he warned in a low tone.

She bawled louder, shriller than the crack of lightning.

The immense pressure to adapt was upon you. There was no sense in parsing what he expected you to do in this situation, it was clear he was soured by your ineptitude the moment you let it show on your face, but.. Only two short weeks ago, he relied on you to divert Adrie’s meltdown before DND night. And sure, she had already stopped crying by the time you got there, but you could come to his rescue again, couldn’t you?

You twisted around in your seat, proud of yourself for thinking of a solution, and showed him you could handle a modicum of parenthood. “Adrie, look!” you tamped down your children’s television host voice to a delightful, excited cheer, “I’m here. Miss Mouse is—!” Shocked with your hand reaching towards her, shooting pain traveled up your arm from her swift kick to your wrist. You recoiled, rubbing at your forearm without blame. It wasn’t her fault. She wasn’t even looking at you. Her fit was directed at the window she couldn’t peel her attention from, dropping tear after tear from her swollen eyes at the thunder shaking the car. “Adrie?” you tried softer, but she beat her hands on the carseat harder. Wailed until you were defeated to a wince. Yelled until you accepted a unique heartbreak you weren’t prepared for.

Miss Mouse couldn’t always save the day.

Acute twists of rejection wrung your chest. Eddie wasn’t the type to say I told you so, he wasn’t mean like that, but when you sat forward and your gazes moved past one another, never quite meeting, you knew what he was thinking.

Little else stung worse than his obvious cynicism at how this date was concluding.

Exacerbating the issue, Adrie escalated to screeching her distress. Every open sob of hers pulled your focus, invaded your brainspace, overpowered any thought before it began, and set your teeth on edge from the high-pitched squeals you swore vibrated in your bones. Her behavior seeped into your nerves, winding them up, scratching them with the very tip of a brittle nail, inciting a riot. The need to flee crawled under your skin. Breathing was uncomfortable. Your ankle hurt. There was to break in between the blinding pulses of your headache. The car was too hot, too cold, too swerving from the high winds buffeting it sideways. Your tights were too tight. His hoodie too stifling. Itchy yarn from your sweater chafed your damp neck. Alarms of panic battled inside. Louder, louder, louder—Adrie cried louder. Eddie’s lips tugged down at the corners, chin wrinkled, tensing his face from a sadder response. Your lashes fluttered from the chokehold his frown had on you. Fingernails bit your palms. You tried to bide your time, to resist snapping. Dug down deep for something, something you could do, something.. innate. Some answer within you to fix it all. To get her to stop. To get him to relax. Something, something, something—instinctual.

“Pull over!” you barked; Eddie had every right to whip his head around at your sudden demand, but in your panicked state you only cared about the road ahead. “Ju-Just—just—” You scanned the dark parking lot outside the hardware store, and stabbed your finger on the cold window, pointing past it. “The gas station! Under the roof-thing.”

When it wasn’t clear he heard you, you turned towards him at the same time he leaned forward to catch your eye. Justifiable skepticism burdened his brow, tightening the edges of his crow’s feet. His lips hung parted with a confirmation hesitating between them; however, it was silenced after you maintained your need, and the fight against the wind won.

Soppy pebbles scraped wet asphalt, muddied in the bump and grind from Eddie turning too sharply into the sloped driveway, banging into a pothole, and rattling the innards of his already rocky cargo. He careened towards the closed convenience store with its row of dim fluorescent lights inside. Pulling up alongside the gas pumps, he slammed the breaks. A second later, he slapped the windshield wipers OFF, violently shushing their grating squeak.

His patience strained thinner. Working through the sensory overload festering like infected wounds on blistered skin, he rumbled a shallow apology past his aching teeth. Quickly, it devolved into a barrage of doubt. “Look, I’m sorry she—Wait, where’re you—?” The instant fear of rejection shot past his octave. “Wait! Please don’t—”

Cruelly, he thought; heartlessly, he knew; the sun-faded black cotton draped about your shoulders was the last image his adrenaline latched onto, playing it over, and over, door slam and all. He wasn’t parked for more than a clock tick, and you hurled yourself out into the storm, leaving him behind. His first assumption was gentle. Kind whispers stroked the angst in his chest, telling him you needed a break from the noise, that was all. Then the hatred of abandonment gutted his center.

“Giving up already?” he asked aloud in a conclusion only meant to hurt himself when no one was there to answer.

As if sensing his hopelessness, Adrie sniffled into the worst of her hyperventilated cries. Broken disjointed things. Sinking him deeper, deeper into his seat, crossing his arms over his caved chest, shuddering at the hot sting wobbling his vision at his own inadequacy.

Never good enough for anyone to stay.

Tremors of repressed memories wakened the churn of nausea making him sick.

“Baby, baby, it’s okay,” soothed a voice behind him, trickling in with the splash of faraway drops. “It’s okay, sweet baby, I’m here. I’ve got you. I’m here.”

Eddie jerked his chin up and stretched his neck to see into the rearview mirror. The wall of water teetering on his lash line made everything blur, so he tugged down the slick skin beneath his eyes to suck back the tears, and almost allowed them to spill at the scene behind him anyway.

In the reflection, you crawled across the backseat and unbuckled Adrie’s carseat, learning how to maneuver the straps from watching him. She reached for you, your hair, your clothes; small fists belying their strength. You didn’t care. You calmed her struggles with pretty words. “It’s okay, yeah, you can hold on to me, baby. Let’s get you wrapped up nice and warm. There we go.” Shhh. “Let me see your face, so I can clean you up.” Shhh.

“M–M-Mizz Mou—se,” Adrie got out between body-wracked sobs.

“Mhm, I’m here.” Shhh. “Miss Mouse is here.”

—Oh.

“Baby..” So modest was his whisper when so resolute was his yearn.

He leapt into motion, flushed with adrenaline.

The ripple effect of your actions caused tidal waves to swell and crash over him; body hitched in the place where his past convinced him he lost it all, only to collapse into a stuttered exhale of acceptance, understanding there was someone out there who cared about him to this degree; throat constricting with gratitude he could only express by stumbling out into the foggy cold, throwing open the door, and sliding into the backseat with you.

His fingers grazed the baby hairs at your nape on their way to the side of your head, using his wide palm which took up too much room to cradle you steady with a gentleness unknown to his tough skin. He trusted you to forgive him for how hard he knocked his forehead to your temple, and smashed his nose to the soft of your cheek. He need not worry. Beautifully, you adjusted to the bulky arm behind your neck, leaned into the crook of his body he hollowed out for you, and filled the familiar place at his side. You worked diligently to clear his daughter’s face while he passed a strong hand over her back and dropped it to shape his grip at the end of your thigh, curving his fingers in and slotting them to the underside, behind your knee.

“S’okay, Adrie,” you cooed, wiping at the sticky grossness clinging to her nose. “I’ve got you,” you continued the mantra, albeit with a lapse in motherly tenderness as a result of trying not to gag too hard.

Outside the car, the gas station’s tall canopy provided enough coverage to stop the rain from pounding the roof. Harsh winds howled past, encouraging the woeful sobs dropped onto your breasts, but the lightning stayed within the clouds, and the thunder faded in the distance. “Look at me,” you guided, sweeping the hoodie’s cuff over her puffy cheeks glowing splotchy red from the neon beer signs in the postered up convenience store windows. “We’ve got you. Nothing bad can happen when we’re here.”

Eddie lips pulled thin against your skin, breath stuttering damp and thick on your neck like a smothered cry.

“Nothing bad can happen when we’re here, okay?” Repeating the union of you and him, you went on, “We’ve got you. You’re safe with us. Nothing bad can happen when we’re here. Right, sweet bean?” You tucked the quilt around her feet, and held her close. “We won’t let anything bad happen to you, ever.”

With her hands latched into the folds of fabric around your neck—cotton, yarn, and canvas—her big coughs were cushioned by your arms snuggling her to your front while Eddie’s chest was at her back, embracing her between your two bodies converging to protect her in a toasty nest. Warm air hummed from the vents, shooing off the stale chill clinging to the backseat, now disturbed by activity and plucky guitar strings playing over the radio.

Across the Universe.

Undertaking the complexities of the man rubbing his forehead into your hair with the same sort of neediness as his little girl wringing your clothes, you assumed the responsibility of consoling them both. “Nothings gonna change my world,” you mumbled the lyrics into the patchwork quilt covering Adrie’s curls. “Nothings gonna change my world,” you sang to Eddie, face tipped up and eyes falling closed, seeking out his nose to trace the tip of yours along the soft bumps in a devoted offering after the turbulent events causing you both inner strife.

His fingertips became an imposing force spread across the scope of your cheek, turning you toward him, capturing you in a deeper kiss than you were ready for. It was demanding, hard with desperation, misaligned and urgent. Born out of necessity in the moment. He kissed you in front of his daughter, where she could see if she picked her face up from your chest, and a dart of surprise lit your heart at the recklessness. You kept a level hand atop her head in case he’d come to regret the decision, but he didn’t seem to notice, or care. He sighed into a second helping, and at the sound of the wet smack, she stirred.

Adrienne hooked her fingers into your collar and sniffled hard, soothing herself from further cries by hugging you tight, huddling into your comfort, oblivious to what was happening around her.

Easily, you fell into the third kiss. Became what he needed, mouths mashing together at the odd angle, your lower lip plush between his. Dizzying amounts of reverence manifested in his spontaneity. He packed a lifetime’s worth of bottled up feelings into the affection he was privileged to. Giving, and taking. But his impulses were still a puzzle. When he’d drank his fill, he squeezed your leg, broke apart from your lips in a silent slick slide, and drew a deserved breath.

“Sorry, no one’s ever just.. done that for me before.” He shrugged his hand off your thigh at the poor summary of the millions of things on his mind, and left it at that.

Spurred by the praise, you seized the opportunity for communication. “Remember how before we played DND that night, I told you to call me first next time you needed help?” you reminded him, and something vulnerable, maybe even pleadful, entered your tone. “I want to be someone you can rely on, Eddie.”

An unfortunate amount of complicated emotions passed in his eyes. There wasn’t much to garner from them, nor his soft grunt when he dropped his nose to the column of your neck, above Adrie’s head, and regressed into his quiet self. Reserved. Hard to decipher. He did speak up once to warn you she would fall asleep with how you were holding her—same as he did most nights on the couch while Late Night with David Letterman aired—and you embellished your promise to him with a kiss to the stringy curls frizzing at his scalp, “That’s okay.”

And it was okay, truly, when the storm raged heaves of rain against the car, spraying the windows with shocks of water. You dabbed Adrie’s cheeks. Wiped her nose. Rocked her in the same tempo as the backs of Eddie’s fingers stroking your cheekbone, flexed bicep behind your neck. Thunder occurred. Lightning happened. But with your quick thinking, lulling gestures, and genuine effort to speak past the fondness clogging your throat, you calmed her. Calmed her so well, in fact, her hands went limp and her body relaxed, fatigue claiming her victim to the numbered sheep hopping over fences in her dreams. After her tantrums, she was taxed out. Drained.

Stuck in the cramped middle between Eddie and the carseat, you rearranged your legs before they went tingly numb from her weight on your lap, and shifted the pressure off your heels. It was sweet having her fall asleep on you. Her slow breaths filled your arms as a reward for your efforts to hush her. The quilt smelled of their home, cozying itself in your lungs and sweeping you in a sense of longing for the humidity in his kitchen after making soup.

Though, as much as you thrived on the temporary role you played as parent—taking over for Eddie and dwelling on the fact Adrie slept propped on your chest like the many times she napped on his stained coveralls—you could do without the additional pain of him leaning on you too.

You groaned at the sharp twinge in your spine from slouching sideways, and conveniently, your movement roused his consciousness. He launched into a sleepy inhale. Robust, filling his lungs to the brim, too loud, too silly and sweet. He primed you for a solid press of the bridge of his nose to your jaw by thumbing you towards him, after which he pulled away, separating himself from you fully.

Eddie rolled his shoulders, stretching out from the uncomfortable position, and faced the window. He commented in a sincere tone, “You’re good with kids.”

“I know how to entertain kids,” you corrected him. “I don’t know how to do any of the hard shit you do.”

The streetlights painted strokes of dotted orange on his complexion cast in shadow. He played with the tips of his fingers, squishing each one in a line as he ruminated, staring elsewhere, perspiration blurring the outerworld, sealing yourselves in this crowded car together. “You do a good job,” he reassured, petering out in a hoarse whisper.

Ceaseless nerves gnawed at his absent-minded ring spinning. Not a big production like when he wrung his hands or bit his nails, but enough to show he was getting anxious. You’d expected his leg to be bouncing by now, but it was laying softly against yours. Something big was on his mind.

You bumped your knee into his. “Talk to me.”

Talk to me. Yes, you asked the world of him. You knew it, too. Encouraging his gaze to flick to Adrie bundled in your arms, and back to the window. His eyes weren’t wide with fear, just larger than normal at the subtle confrontation. It was time he opened up to you. There wasn’t a concrete ultimatum if he didn’t, but there was a mutual understanding that if this were to continue, he needed to trust you to be there for him. No more reluctance.

He extended his hand towards your knee, patting twice before claiming it in the great breadth of his palm, stroking his thumb over the thin pantyhose; bridging the gap from his earlier behavior, but not yet apologizing for the soreness he caused.

Sorting his thoughts, his throat bobbed twice on the swallow.

And of all the questions he could ask, of all things he could say, of all the topics he could choose, he picked, “Did you ever want kids?”

Heat swam to your cheeks, blood rushed to your ears. Buds of true belonging bloomed at the question, adorning stems of untended longing first planted during the Christmas party at work, ever growing. Your heart pumped faster at the inherent past and implied future of the subject. His curiosity was a mild prod, perhaps not meant to encourage these leaps in logic considering he announced it in the same buckled cadence of someone who was asking about the weather—and yet, the hold it had on you was impossible to deny. A blend of you, Adrie, and him, just like now, but in different contexts—different meanings other than sitting in the back of his car—something domestic, like being piled together on the couch watching Disney movies; that’s what was pushed to the forefront of your mind.

But, despite those instantaneous fantasies, this was a place for honesty, and the significance of your pause between his question and yours was an entity of its own, stiff like his posture.

“Are you ready for this conversation?” you checked. He fostered an anxious glance and nod. “Having kids is not something I ever saw for myself, no.” The consequence of your answer marked his immediate dropped eye contact, but ever patient with him, you continued strongly, “With how I dated and moved around, I didn’t think it was for me, that sort of lifestyle. It’s just not something I put a lot of thought into except when my friends were having kids, and really, they kinda turned me off of the idea. Pregnancy sounds.. daunting. Or—you know—really fucking scary. They’d always talk about how awful it is, all the complications you could have, the risks, the near death experience in one case,” you broke off in a squirm. “And then you don’t even get the relief once the baby comes. Like, seriously, taking care of a newborn sounds straight up terrifying.”

Eddie cracked. His hiss of laughter was a welcomed reprieve, especially when it sank to his chest, gripping his shoulders in a hearty shake. “Y-Yeah,” he got out, face crinkled in all the ways you adored, “it is straight up terrifying.”

You giggled in the softest way, careful to not disturb Adrie’s shallow breaths, and careful to not swoon too head-over-heels over the image of him rocking a baby. “It seems easier when they’re older, though,” you said, broaching the real crux of the conversation with your chin dipped to the top of her head. “Like it’s not as bad when they can actually communicate why they’re crying, or tell you what’s bothering them.”

“Not necessarily easier, just different,” he clarified. “It’s less about making sure this little tiny thing that can choke on its own snot survives the night, and more about the emotionally draining problems like her telling you about her day at preschool, explaining a situation where a group of kids kept giving her tasks to do that sent her away, and she’s smiling so big when she’s telling you, thinking it was a game, but deep down you’re just waiting for the heartbreak years down the line when she realizes they gave her errands to run because they were excluding her, and the reason they were laughing every time she came back was because they took joy in being mean to her.”

Wilt tinted your faint, “Oh..”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He upped the pressure he used to pat and rub your knee. “S’part of life.”

Consumed by his side profile, you studied the scope of his impassive expression set on the premature lines edging his face. The urge to find the right thing to say amidst the convoluted churn of anger on his behalf, and sadness on Adrie’s, itched something fierce beneath your skin. Ultimately, no words of inspiration came.

Eddie took an anticipatory breath.

The radio garbled advertisements for the station’s sponsors.

“Still wouldn’t trade it for those first months when she was a newborn, though.” Pursing his mouth thin, he rolled his lips inward with a hardened brow, releasing and scrunching tension around his nose as he shook his head slowly, addressing the memories of those days with a shine of pain to his eyes, and a loud smack of his tongue. “The moment I found out Adrie’s mom was pregnant, I wanted to do the right thing—y’know?” He took his hand off your leg to demonstrate the narrow path he followed. “Kept my head down, stayed focused, didn’t bother anybody, got a real job, and kept my mouth shut. Lotta places didn’t wanna hire me, obviously, but I applied anywhere I could, and when I got the job, I’d go get another one on a different shift, and another one on a graveyard shift. Sold whatever I had—guitars, ‘nd shit—bought what I could with the money. I wanted to be a good man. Be a provider. Be worth something.” Scrubbing his shaky fingers over the stubble on his chin, he aimed to calm himself, but when bringing up the Hell he went through during those times, there was little to stop his pitch from wavering. “Still wasn’t good enough.”

A verdict aimed at him flippantly, yet the impact on his self-esteem was immeasurable.

Gathering himself, he licked the inside of his cheek, and explained, “In the beginning, when Adrie was born, I tried to make it on my own. Locked in this little motel room with a crying baby. Couldn’t go to work. Didn’t have anyone to call to watch her for me, y’know, didn’t.. didn’t have anyone to rely on after walking out on my uncle, and isolating myself from my friends. The people at the bullshit resource center said I wasn’t eligible for benefits because they were for single moms, not dads. And child support was taking too long to kick in. Not like it mattered when it couldn’t pay for a single canister of Similac. I didn’t have fucking anything. Or know anything.”

His shame was only beginning to unravel.

“There were these free classes at a clinic for expecting parents, but I..” He dropped his knuckles to his thigh and fed them along the coarse cotton, using the friction to burn away the guilt. “I-I didn’t go. I didn’t want to go alone. Be the only guy there, by myself. Have all these people w-who might know who I am fucking.. fucking staring at me.” With how he was looking down at his lap, rocking slightly with his movement, he stood no chance against the wall of tears damming at his lashes. “I didn’t want to go because of my sense of pride, and my baby suffered because of it.”

“Eddie, that’s not true—” you stepped in.

Three effective beats of his fist on his leg, and you were left to witness his face crumple from the utter contempt he had for himself.

“It is true,” his volume fluctuated in jumps. “She wouldn’t eat. She wouldn’t fucking eat and keep it down.” Droplets splashed his jeans in unyielding splats. Drip, drop, drip, drop.. They slipped and spread in splotches of salty remorse he couldn’t wipe away quick enough. “Nothing worked. Couldn’t get her to latch onto a bottle, and, and—I didn’t know, I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to microwave the formula, but she wouldn’t take it room temp, so if it was too hot she’d just scream at me until it wasn’t, and I–I just—I was having these breakdowns, I don’t know. I blacked out, and next thing I knew, I was at Harrington’s, and Nancy was taking care of her for me.” The emphasis alluded to much, though the fact their son was only a year older, and Nancy would still be producing milk said it all.

Frantic breaths which wouldn’t catch were pulled past grimaced lips parted on the unrefined sob his confession emerged on. “I never wanted to be with Adrie’s mom, but proving what she said was right, th-that I was a fucking loser who didn’t know what he was doing, it-it-it.” In a desperate flourish, he pointed at his temple, It lives in here, and another tear clung to the tip of his nose, smeared by the back of his wrist.

Stunned useless by the suffocating urge to help him, you blanked. Sat still while your favorite mechanic reduced himself to the wrong opinion of others; the same person who showed his gentle nature by picking worms out of the garage after a heavy rain so they didn’t dry out. Remaining frozen while silent pain wracked your friend’s held breath, heaved and shuddered out as a cough into the same palm he used to catch your ankle when he challenged you to a race on the creepers, and he had to cheat to win before you beat him to the service door. Saying, “Baby, no,” to the man who snuck a smirk over his daughter’s head when he caught you doting over her as she sat on his hip, and the smell of Christmas potluck embedded itself into the memory of Eddie’s eyes hinting at a deeper glint than the tease on his grin.

“I am a fucking failure,” he seeped out his regret. “C-Couldn’t give her what she needed. I still can’t. Still can’t give her what she wants, ever. T-T-Tellin’ her I can’t get her something when she asks for it—and the disappointment. Just a piece of shit who disappoints her. Never good enough—” There was another high-pitched stutter, but it was muffled behind his trembling hands covering his face, and smothered by your intervention.

“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie,” you shot out, hand and voice working together to untangle the trauma his knotted fingers attempted to hide. “Listen to me.” No please, but no lack of kindness, either. “You are not a disappointment. Not then, not now, not ever. Do you hear me? You’re not any of those things.” You tugged at the canvas jacket around his stiff arms tucked tight to his body, and rocked him away from his huddle against the door.

In the aftermath of your scramble to comfort him, Adrienne startled awake. Her soft hmm? became a grunty whine when the sensation of slipping backwards disoriented her. “Daddy?” One of her fists found your hoodie for balance, but her groggy curiosity dealt a heartbreaking blow.

She traced the wet trail on his cheek, encountered a tear in its path, and broke the droplet’s surface tension on her finger, wondering aloud, “Why’s Daddy crying?”

Thinking quickly, you used your muscles earned through unloading car parts from delivery trucks, and scooped her from your lap onto his, diverting the nuance of grown-up-problems by fumbling out, “Daddies cry sometimes, too. Have you told him you love him today? Can you tell him? It’ll make him feel better. Please, Miss Adrie?” Whether or not it was the perfect phrasing wasn’t important. What mattered was the unsuspecting gratitude laden at the base of his frown.

“I love you, Daddy,” Adrie said, latching her arms around his neck. “I love you.”

“You’re a good man,” you added, and rolled onto your hip, fitting your body to his side. You nosed through his long, frazzly curls, and spoke earnestly, but softly into his ear, “You’re a good man, Eddie. Look at how well you take care of her. Look at how well fed, clothed, and happy she is. You make her so happy.. You make me happy, too. You’re the best dad I’ve ever met. No one else compares.”

He dragged a sniffle from his last sob into an unintelligible mumble.

“I’m here.” Shh. “I’m here.” You included Adrie in your hug as you brought your hand up to the other side of his flustered hot face, blending your fingers through the hair stuck to the sweat and stubble on his jaw. “We’re here for you. We’ve got you. Nothing bad can happen when we’re here.” Sweet with conviction, “It’s okay, handsome, I’ve got you.”

Overwhelmed by the small I love you, Daddy, on one side, followed by You’re a good man, on the other, his inhale shivered, and he cuddled Adrie to him for a watery, “I love you, too.” Croaky and real, and mouth agape on an ugly cry he let you witness until his needy reach cupped the back of your head, and smushed you to his wet cheek, scratching the same sentiment into your nape, just like you were rubbing it into his scalp, exchanging the affection without words.

Us and Them funneled through the car, mellowing the heightened emotions with its dreamy saxophone opener.

“I’m so glad to have met you,” you prized in tender sweeps of whispers and thumbs. “I actually look forward to coming into work because of you, even when you hide my pen cup, and tickle me when I go to reach for it on top of the Coke machine. Which is unfair, by the way.”

“Yeah?” he asked for dear reassurance, and distraction.

Humming against the intimate corner of his jaw, you nudged the prickly scruff, and melted into his uncoordinated pets over your ear. “I see your sacrifices, and trust me, Eddie, you’re doing a great job at raising your daughter. Stuff like buying her toys, or cookies, or whatever doesn’t matter. The love you show her is better than any of that. She’s so lucky to have you.”

Another tear dropped to the tattered quilt. Another, another dropped. He squeezed his eyes shut and more fell. Hindered breaths let go in stuttered huffs shook his chest, swayed his damp hair. You circled your thumb over the rivers on his sensitive skin, and found a dry section of your sleeve to clean the price he paid for being a good father without the proper support he needed. Soothing him with fond shushes and feather touches. Forming a ball of comfort around him: cramped in the tiny car, a cast of solid fog on the windows for privacy, Adrie’s blanket draped about your jumbled legs, and her lanky arms wrapped around his neck where precious words were stoked from the embers of a fire which he built. “I wanna color with you to-mah-rrow,” she pronounced. “You can have the dinosaur book, because I want the kitty cats. Deal?” Deal, he nodded.

Your bottom lip introduced a blessing at his sideburn, “You deserve to see yourself how we see you.”

Recovering from the unbearable throb his stuffed sinuses drove to his headache, he tried—“Thank you, baby,”—though the letters were mashed together, and further pulped by the thickness in his throat. Loud, however, was his hug. Crushing you both to him with honed strength; flexed forearms demonstrating the power lying dormant in the track of muscle he snaked around your waist. Groans were earned from his expertise. Bones protested the gesture, begging to be released. It took several seconds of your heartbeat pumping visibly at the edge of your vision, but he let go. Afterall, there was no praise to be had by flattened lungs.

“That hurt,” Adrie complained.

“Ow,” you agreed.

“Sorry,” he said in non-apology.

At a change in tone, you fawned, “But that was a nice hug.”

Adrie rated it, “An 8 out of 10.”

Crowded together, the bond was unmatched. His arms were spread like a greedy dragon hoarding its wealth. Chest open, collecting his most remarkable treasures to the roaring furnace locked within the confines of his body, ready to share the warmth to those who could appreciate its value. Clasped in your hand was Adrie’s ankle, gaining squirmy kicks for each smile and giggle traded under Eddie’s chin. Dressed in his well-loved hoodie, the crook of his elbow fit to your figure, and the backs of his fingers strummed your bicep in a trained motion. None of it was perfect, no. The hoodie could smell less like cigarettes, his forearm stuffed behind you meant you couldn’t recline comfortably, and when he patted your hip, he awakened the dull throb of the bruising grip he left during earlier events.

Those weren’t bad things, though. They were as real as human flaws. Accepted as such, too.

“Are you feeling better?”

Sporting a grin favoring one cheek more than the other, Eddie’s eyes were framed by clumped together lashes after being stripped to his barest self and given the grace he needed. “Yeah,” he answered Adrie in fondness, “I’m feeling better now.” Not forever. He wasn’t cured. But with time, he guided his gaze to the velcro shoe you were wiggling back and forth onto her heel, and climbed his soft study up to the plump concentration on your bottom lip after you released it from between your teeth.

Perceiving his attention, you clocked him with a sneaky grin. “We’re a sardine family.” Brightening at the bewildered noise he made, you tapped Adrie’s knee, and imparted your wisdom as if he should know it too. “Yeah, you know, you, me, and Adrie. Jammed packed back here like a tin of sardines. All squished together.”

They blinked at you. You blinked back.

“And I thought I was supposed to be the one with bad jokes,” Eddie offered after some thought. You cut him a look. “But I like the image,” he amended.

“I like sardines,” Adrie chimed. She didn’t know what sardines were, but you appreciated her enthusiasm.

The conversation waned from there. Drowsiness from the old night seeped into your collective huddle, slouching you all towards one another. Heavy limbs went boneless. Tender brushes of thumbs came to an end. The sound of deep breaths were heard between the local ads for Indiana’s finest antique mall and an uptick in the rain smacking the paved street. Near the edge of sleep, you convinced yourself to get Adrie up and into her carseat. Eddie sat back and watched you go through the steps of buckling her in, listening to her plea for Fluff in her backpack, tucking the quilt around her just right, and hitting your head on the roof in pursuit of making her happy. Taking care of his kid. You collapsed beside him, far closer than would be proper for coworkers, and basked in his approval, noting the pride in his charged gaze. The emotional rollercoaster of the evening took its toll on his swollen face—nevertheless, romance novels could learn a thing or two from the way his stare rendered you weak.

“Should get you home before the storm gets worse,” he warned in an attractive thrum of sternness. He might call you lil’ lady next. Or remind you he promised your father he’d have you back on time.

Floating in the fizzy pool of your crush's attention, you nodded your dizzy head, and observed without need, “Yeah, should get home before it gets worse.”

He laughed. You swam in his laugh, in the instinctual desire based in his mood after watching someone nurture his young. A silly thing to rock you into a sultry sweat considering the outcome of your second date. Luckily, when you stepped out of the car, the frigid mist stole your focus, hosing you down and keeping you from reading too much into the odd chemical imbalance that must be happening in your brain.

The night was really fucking long.

Driving with the radio on low, Eddie drifted his ringed fingers over your forearm whenever they weren’t being used on the stick shift. A small gesture letting you know he was thinking about you when there wasn’t anything to talk about, not that it was needed. The calm was nice. The storm behaved en route to the Buckley’s, avoiding the occasional tree limb blocking a lane. He removed his touch from your person, and with a glance, you were assured it wasn’t the last.

“You didn’t have to walk me to my door,” you gasped, posing with your arms stuck out, useless against mother nature sagging your soaked clothes.

A puddle formed on the wood planks where he wrung his hair. “And make you do this run all by yourself? C’mon, sweet stuff. I’m a gentleman.”

Shivering on the covered porch, your shoes were partially to blame for the slipping incident(s) in the muddy driveway. The lack of the house lights on was another, slowing down your sprint into a crawl. A yellow cast from a lamp in the back room lit the hallway, but other than its soft glow, that was it. Clearly, no one expected you to come home.

“Is it okay if, uh,” you began, “Is it okay if we kiss in front of Adrie?” Oh, how your awkward pointing from yourself to the car came to a charming halt, fingers caught in the stiff fabric of his jacket, under his spell.

Plush pink lips warmed by vented heat promised your worries away.

“I think she’s asleep anyway.” His voice was playful, tugging syllables in the way his lopsided grin ought. “But,” he softened, “yeah, we can kiss in front of her.”

The permission washed over you. Weeks and months in the making. Brewing tension under the surface in your daily interactions—and now? You kissed him. Just for fun, just to show off. You kissed him again. Gentle, pretty brushes. Tame, refined, and for the sake of exploring the lack of boundary before saying goodbye.

Working man arms defined your waist.

Fingers calloused from gripping pens grazed his steady throat.

He swallowed, and spoke endearments with his busy mouth, “Could kiss you all day, baby.” Your lips kicked into a smile which he devoured, kiss after kiss. Neat little things. Virtues, maybe.

“Could’ve kissed me since the day we met,” you answered, feeling the squeeze around your back when his belly pressed you into his embrace. Though, his dismissive snort caused you to frown. “I’m serious. Coulda had me back then. Or at least you could’ve kissed me when we were slow dancing in the garage, or standing under the mistletoe at the Christmas party. Like, seriously, way to make me feel rejected.”

His wide passionate eyes shared common ground with his genuine smirk at your feigned agony. “Excuse you, but I am not having our first kiss be at work.”

“Then why not at DND when everyone left?”

“Because, sweetheart,“ his cadence loved those two words most of all, “I knew I only had a few minutes with you. And I needed a helluva lot more than a few minutes with you.”

“Or, what about when—”

Crazy how you strove to be silenced by his mouth. Craved it like no other, provoking him into eager unions, fulfilling the itch and providing the scratch with your bottom lip between his, just how he liked.

You shifted. Your inner thighs rubbed through your ripped tights. The untimely circumstances bringing you to Robin’s door lived on the surface of your chilly skin; ushering you to reality, and he as well.

“I’m sorry for how all this turned out.” Eddie’s sincere apology pitched his voice to something sorrowful, something deeper, and maybe you underestimated how much the night ending when it did upset him as a man.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

He shuffled his stance, scraping his boots in dissatisfaction. “Baby, you didn’t even get anything,” and you knew what he meant. And it annoyed you he’d even brought it up.

Combing your fingers up from his nape through his hair, you drove him into you, chasing the molten ooze pooling at your center in effort to shut him up. Wet, hard, nipping kisses at his plump lips until they were raw like his tear-stained cheeks. You forwent air. Mouths melding as one, then apart as two, then one, then a set of awake eyes boring into his drunk ones. “Our date was perfect. We needed this.” The trust, the experience, the uncomfortable glimpse into his life and how you handled it. His breakdown, his shame, his face when he finally let go and ugly cried in front of you. “I don’t regret how our night turned out.”

Nodding into a nudge of his nose stroking the side of yours, he was honest with himself, “I don’t regret it, either.”

“Well, you might regret it in the next half-hour if this storm keeps up, and you’re stranded with Adrie in the car because a tree fell across the road.”

“Shit.” Indeed, the weather was turning again. If luck were on his side, he could deal with the high winds and sheets of rain until he got home, but, more likely, he drained his luck over the course of the date, and lightning was about to start again.

Eyeing the sky with hesitance, he asked, “Can I call you tomorrow? Or—today?”

“I’d be upset if you didn’t.” Acting as an endorsement to get going before things worsened, thick forest branches creaked in the distance, popping like warnings. You followed it with snappier affections doled between your palms fitted to his jaw. “Please be safe, Eddie.”

“I will, I will. Kay?” Urgency swept him from kiss to kiss—needy, and intense, treating them as the last. “I adore you, baby. Tell me you adore me.”

Mushy under his tender affirmations, your body went pliant and he accepted your weighty lean on his chest, making it harder than it already was for him to leave his sweetheart behind. “—dore you too, handsome,” you moaned into his mouth, sending him off on a proper goodbye.

“Jesus Christ, woman.”

Ever the lovestruck fool, he stayed rooted on the porch watching your figure move from shadow to light within the home, eyes glued to sways and curves as you met the hallway and bent to peep inside Robin’s room. It was the single lamp being turned off which broke his greedy gaze, and ended his fun. Oh well. His Monday morning was booked with penciled in meetings for his admiration and your assets.

Eddie spun on his heel and stopped stalling. He didn’t bother throwing his arms over his head, he accepted his fate, and ran. Sloshing through puddles, slipping in mud. He wrenched open the door, and fell inside the car. The heater made him sticky warm in the gross way, so he turned it down, and got comfortable behind the wheel, adjusting, adjusting.

Pulling oxygen into his outkissed lungs, he heaved a solid breath, and sank into his seat, unable to comprehend the recent events carving out a new path for him to consider where there wasn’t one before.

——Then——

In the beginning…

Summer died to autumn, and it was time to move on from Steve's. Eddie tried to make it on his own in the motel room over the three day weekend break from work, but his wallet was empty, his baby was dressed in another family's blue sailboat onesie, and come Tuesday morning at 7AM, he needed someone to watch Adrie who wasn't an overworked Nancy Harrington.

Infant in hand, pride left behind in his boyhood, Eddie knocked on his uncle's door, and in Wayne's usual manner, he answered by clearing his throat when neither words nor greetings failed to repair the strained relationship.

“Can I live with you?”

Taking in the marks of fatigue under his nephew's averted eyes, Wayne said, “Of course, son,” and welcomed him inside with a swung gesture.

The walk to the single bedroom humbled what spirit Eddie had remaining. Or, crushed what was left of it. He passed by the kitchen table which still had his chair cocked out, noticed the patched-up hole in the closet door, and flicked on the lightswitch, grazing the curled edge of a poster he hung over a decade ago. His stomach sank at the familiarity.

Blazed by the ornate lamp hung in the corner, standing out like a behemoth beside his white desk, was the crib he was never able to afford.

Adrie grunted awake in her carseat. Looking down at her would spill his tears, so he cranked his head back to stare at the ceiling, steeling himself after spotting the new bedsheets stretched across his mattress, and he knew—he knew—if he turned around, the pullout bed in the living room would still be set up.

His uncle never took his room back.

Defeated by the routine pang of worthlessness, impressed to have any self-esteem left to be stolen from him at the point, Eddie sank to his childhood mattress with his three-month-old daughter at his feet, undressed himself from his boots, and made a clear spot for them both on the bed, away from blankets or pillows. He laid on his side, legs crossed and knees bent with an arm beneath his head. Same position he assumed on the motel’s carpeted floor yesterday when Adrie experienced a milestone: rolling over. Not from her back to her stomach, she wasn’t coordinated enough for that yet, but with enough powerful kicks and wiggling, his paranoia coaxed his other arm around her.

He molded himself to be her protector. Chest sunken on a shallow breath, forearm spooned to her side closest to the edge, and gaze trained on her chubby cheek. Her babbly noise of happiness brought him a sense of reward, and though the newborn smell had faded in the weeks where motor oil stung his nostrils, he put his nose to the top of her head for a whiff of a sweet scent that wasn’t there, and felt the peace it brought him anyway.

Wayne shuffled into the room with a sizable stack of chunky hardcover books between his hands. “I, uh, checked these out from the library. Been doin’ some readin’ while you were gone.” He set them down on the bedside table, and pointed at a few of them. “Learned a lot from the one on the bottom, but they were all, ah, educational, I s’pose.. Some lean more religious than others,” he grumbled. “But, uhm..”

The expectant pause in his uncle’s speech drew Eddie’s awareness.

“Can I hold her?” Wayne asked.

“Yeah.” He almost had the strength to clear the rasp from his throat. “You can hold her.”

Putting his new knowledge to good use, Wayne first worked his palm under Adrie’s head before scooping her into his folded arms. Eddie took his shame in small doses, glancing at his uncle meeting his grandchild for the first time, and looking away when he cooed over her. Three months and his only family member had yet to meet his baby. Three months spent avoiding this trailer, and depriving his uncle from making these memories.

Self-loathing boiled under Eddie’s skin, and still, there was a fleeting desire to brag about Adrie’s neck strength, and how it wasn’t so necessary to be wary of her head falling back.

But he stayed quiet. He pushed his overgrown bangs out of his eyes, and read the book’s titles, wondering what sparked enough interest for Wayne to stuff receipts between the pages, or mark them with paper clips if they were particularly interesting.

Speaking in his gruff smoker’s voice with an edge of seldom heard unease, Wayne introduced a conversation, “I read in that yellow book there that babies shouldn’t sleep in the same bed as the parent. Dangerous, with how tired you are, ‘nd all. Should I put her in the crib?”

As gingerly and delicately as one could be when discussing the reality of a child suffocating to a parent who was well aware of the risks, Eddie regarded him with an annoyed expression, and Wayne shut his mouth in apology.

“I’ve gotta do her night routine again, so I’ll be up for a bit.”

“Yep.” A solid statement, and conclusion, to the conversation.

Bending down, Wayne positioned Adrie in the hollow Eddie created for her, and mentioned there were leftovers in the fridge on his way out. He shut the door behind him. It didn’t take long for tiny fists and tinier fingers to find a lock of his hair, and pull it into a drooly mouth. Didn’t take long, either, for his exhaustion to kick in and for the emotions to crash through his walls.

Tears slipped sideways along his features. Cresting over the bridge of his nose, colliding with his other eye, and joining the wetness at his hairline, dotting the bedsheet. He pressed his face to his baby who was too innocent for this world. “Daddy loves you,” he whispered, tasting the word for the first time. Daddy. It didn’t feel right when Steve stepped in as a father figure, but he could acknowledge it now. He was a dad. A momentous occasion followed by, “I’m so sorry you’re mine.” An apology uttered on a wet hiccup—borderline unintelligible—but after coming back to this trailer, and enduring his memories trapped between its thin walls, he promised, words slurring to a constricted squeak in his throat, “Daddy’s gonna get us a nice house, okay? Your own room. Your own bed. Daddy’s gonna do it. Just give me some time, okay? I’ll do it, I swear. Daddy loves you so much. So fucking much.” The promises bred dread even then, living in the pit of his stomach as future disappointments, knowing he would fail.

Perhaps sensing his distress, his little girl used the last of her energy to kick his arm in a fair warning before her face scrunched, and the wet coughs preluding her wail for food began.

He dried his face on the bedsheet. In this moment, it was hard to continue crying when he had another human relying on him. It was time to move on. Time to bury the pain, and move on. Time to neglect himself, and move on. Time to give up, and move on. Kiss her chubby cheeks so fucking much he feared he’d never be able to stop, and move on.

——Now——

Now, he checked the rearview mirror and Adrie was looking back at him, possessing a curious pinch between her brows at his reflection.

“You were kissing Miss Mouse,” she accused and questioned.

“I was,” he confirmed.

“What does that mean?”

“It means, ah,” he filled the pause with another ah while he searched, “It means we’ll be seeing more of each other. She’ll be coming around more, and stuff. Hanging out with us.”

Ever ponderous, ever candid, ever blunt, she asked, “Does that mean she’s my–”

Crazy Little Thing Called Love blasted their eardrums.

Eddie’s fingers slipped over the volume dial by accident—totally by accident—as he reached for the stick shift, turning the music on high and drowning out the last word of her sentence.

—Mom.

No way in hell was he ready for that conversation after the emotionally grueling night he’d had.

“Whoops,” he pretended, “Sorry, couldn’t hear you—but, uh! Hey, do you wanna start our bedtime story early? Should I go with the princess one, or the Sesame Street gang running their own bakery? Hmm.." He drew out his hum until he was in the clear of the Buckley's mailbox, swearing he wasn't the reason it was laying flat in a ditch. "How about we pick up where the princess one left off? So! The firbolgs have declared alliances with Toadstool Kingdom, and.." Throwing it into first gear, Eddie raced home as quickly, but responsibly, as possible, talking non-stop. His parched throat begged for a drink by the time he pulled into the trailer park—a scratchy pain made worse by his nervous chatter in the elusive quiet of his parked car.

He wrapped Adrie in her quilt as best he could while securing her on his hip and booked it through the rain, unlocking the front door and ducking inside right as an unlucky flash of lightning came.

And when nature’s nightlight died, he blinked and blinked at the spots in his vision.

It was unfathomably dark in his living room.

Stumbling over a small shoe in his way, he patted the wall for the lightswitch, and flipped it. And flipped it again. And harassed it some more. Sighing heavily in defeat, he grabbed the giant flashlight on the kitchen counter, and lit the way. "Looks like we're camping tonight." (Their codeword for when the power was knocked out.)

"Okie dokie," she said, ignorant to the cruel world of no pancakes for Sunday breakfast when the electric stovetop was out of commission.

In the meantime, he got them both ready for bed with the added pain of doing it by a single wobbly light source, ready to pass out the second his body sank to the mattress and his head hit the flat pillow—

But of course, Adrie rocked his shoulder incessantly, goading him into giving her attention at her whim, sanity be damned. "Mm?" he grunted, coating the noise in mild annoyance.

"Daddy?" she checked.

The wait for her question grew excruciatingly long.

He almost wasted an eye roll. "Yes, my child?"

"I wish Miss Mouse was here."

Surprised more so by his yawn than the request itself—and then surprised again when his heartbeat remained calm when confronted with the reality of Adrie noticing too much—he struggled to stay awake in his best interest, perhaps giving an inappropriate answer, and unwittingly feeding into her inner wishes, "I do too." He was fading, and quick. The hard rain had returned, droning white noise on the roof, soothing his eyelids closed over the dry sting they drew. Rolling, fighting the stiff sheets tucked around them both, he threw an arm over her before the doom-roll of thunder came. Sweet dreams greeted him in a pair of tiny arms folded to his chest. Brain shutting down. Night, night. Asleep.

"I wish she was my mom."

"Goodnight, Adrie," he stressed.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie x reader #mechanic!eddie #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson smut #the yes policy

3K notes · View notes

supernovafics · 8 months

Note

With your I’ll be there for you series would you be interested in writing about Steve discovering that he has feelings for reader? I think it would be sweet for him to just find even the silliest things she does cute and then him having a little melt down because he realised he’s liked her along. The series is such a great idea! 💭

𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆

"i'll be there for you" universe masterlist

pairing: bestfriend!roommate!steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 4.4k words

warnings: explicit language, alcohol consumption, drunk!steve, mentions of steve's dad being shitty, angst

summary: in which steve’s drunk and you don’t hesitate to cancel a date to take care of him

author's note: thanks for the request! probably from the moment i started this series/universe i knew that i wanted to have steve realize his feelings first so this request was quite literally perfect for that lol. this is slightly “while you were sleeping” by laufey inspired hence the title. the slow burn is finally starting to come to an end !! (i’m both happy and sad about that lmao) anyways enjoy<3333

general note: everything in this universe/series can be read as standalone oneshots but to understand the full “lore” it would prob be best to read the other stuff too<333

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Winter 1986

You were in the middle of debating between a black skirt and a brown plaid one that Robin convinced you to buy when you two went thrifting just a few days ago when the phone rang.

Leaving both options on your bed, you went to the kitchen to answer it, bottomless aside from the stockings you had already put on because of the cold late February weather.

“Hello?”

“Steve?” You recognized his voice for the most part, but he sounded a little different. A little far away, like he was calling from the oldest phone in the universe.

“Oh, hey.” The way he said the simple two words both confused and amused you because it sounded as if he didn’t expect you to be the person on the other end of the line.

You laughed a bit. “‘Oh, hey’? Don’t sound so disappointed. You called me.”

“I know. Sorry. I meant to call Eddie,” He said, and it was then that you heard what should’ve been obvious from the moment he said “Hello” to you— the way his words weren’t necessarily slurry, just slower than usual.

He was drunk, and you now recognized the voice that you had become so used to hearing since Steve’s sixteenth birthday when he snuck his dad’s whiskey and you both only had two shots of it before feeling it fully.

“Why would you call him? Aren’t you two together right now?” You asked, your confusion taking precedence over the amusement you felt in this moment.

Earlier that day, before you left the apartment to head to your twelve o’clock class, he told you that he was going to tag along with Robin, Vickie, and Eddie to some art show thing after his shift that night at Family Video; you would’ve gone too if you didn’t already have plans for the night.

“Also, I didn’t know that you could get drunk at an art show,” You added. “I’ll definitely make sure to go next time.”

“I didn’t go with them,” He told you, and before you could ask where he was, he answered the unspoken question. “I’m actually at a bar right now.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “What? Why?”

“Very long story. Dad shit. What else is new, right?” Steve answered with a breath of a laugh.

He made his words sound lighthearted and as if whatever happened didn’t really affect him, but you, of course, didn’t see it that way. Without even being with Steve right then, standing in front of him and reading his facial expressions, you still saw through what he was trying to play off as “no big deal.” You’d known him more than long enough to know that anything involving his dad was usually always serious. And whatever shitty things his dad said to him this time around drove Steve to a bar rather than back here to the apartment to frustratingly rant to you, and that only worried you.

“Which bar are you at?” You asked softly.

“The only place in town, other than The Hideout, that doesn’t card,” He said and then immediately continued. “But, wait, don’t come here, though. I don’t want you to come get me. That’s why I was trying to call Eddie. I know you have your date tonight.”

Just for a second— actually, probably the entire time you’d been talking to Steve— you’d forgotten about the date, forgotten about the reason why you’d just been debating which skirt to wear, forgotten about what you were supposed to leave for in twenty minutes. And that slightly surprised you because, for the last couple of days, you’d been really excited about it.

Meeting Jamie felt like a sort of “meet cute” moment that was straight out of a romcom, one that you probably would’ve laughed at because of how cheesy it was. You bumped into him in the hallway on the floor of your apartment. He was your neighbor’s, Miss Johnson’s, nephew, and you learned that even though he went to a college about an hour away, he was trying to visit her more often. He had been in the middle of leaving when you saw him, and you gave a friendly wave and smile at first and he started a conversation with you. You two then spent an hour talking in the hallway before you headed inside your apartment to start studying for a test and he asked for your number, which led to more long conversations over the next few days until he asked you on a date.

In a way, it startled you how giddy you found yourself feeling about him after only those few days, how easily and quickly you liked him. It was the first crush that you had in a while that didn’t feel completely hopeless.

But now all of that was the last thing on your mind. It quickly became pushed to the side because you knew that your best friend needed you.

You shook your head in this moment even though Steve couldn’t see you. “No, it’s okay, I’ll come.”

“No, don’t, don’t. I’ll just call Eddie.”

He’s probably not home right now, was what you wanted to tell Steve, but you refrained from doing so at that moment. Instead, you said, “I’ll call him for you.”

The drunken sigh in relief Steve let out was immediate. “Okay, thanks, I don’t think I have any more change for this payphone, anyway.”

“Okay, just stay put and stop drinking.”

“The bartender already cut me off.”

“Good,” You said before saying a final goodbye to him and hanging up.

You then picked the phone up again to dial a different number. You, of course, didn’t attempt to call Eddie and you instead called Jamie. He was completely understanding when you told him that you had to cancel the date because of an emergency, and he said that you two could do the dinner and movie on a different night, which you quickly agreed on.

You put on the brown plaid skirt— quickly deciding that it looked better with the white top you were wearing, anyway— before slipping on a pair of shoes and grabbing your coat, shoving your car keys and wallet into the pockets, and then leaving the apartment.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The drive to Webster’s took less than fifteen minutes and the current emptiness of it didn’t surprise you that much. From the handful of times that you’d gone to the place with Steve, Eddie, and Robin, it became a known fact that things didn’t become “lively” until after ten, and it was currently only a little after nine.

You spotted Steve sitting on a stool at the counter, head down in his folded arms. You sat in the empty seat next to him and tapped the side of his shoulder until he sat up and looked at you.

“Glad to know you’re alive, Harrington.”

He smiled at you and you gave him a small smile back, he must have forgotten that he’d told you not to come to the bar.

“I feel barely alive, actually.”

“Still counts.”

Steve only looked at you for a moment, taking notice of what you were wearing beneath your unzipped coat.

“You look nice,” He said and then seemed to realize something and his smile dropped. “Wait, shit, your date. You shouldn’t be here right now.”

“It’s fine. We’re just gonna reschedule it.”

“I’m sorry.”

You shook your head at him. “No, don’t be. It’s just a first date, anyway. Your drunk ass needing a ride home is obviously more important than that.”

Steve laughed a bit. “I guess I’ll take that as a compliment?”

“Yes, you should,” You told him and then watched with furrowed brows as he went to grab the short glass that was in front of him, half full of some dark liquor. He was about to finish what was left in the glass, but you grabbed it from him before he could. “Steve.”

“I still had this from before I called you. I can’t finish it?”

“No, because if you end up throwing up in my car on the drive home, I will have to murder you.”

You looked away from him before he could say anything in response to that and waved at Barry, the usual bartender that you became on a first name basis with after your third time going to Webster’s. Since it was the farthest thing from busy right then, he immediately walked over to you two.

“Hey, Barry, can he have some water?”

He nodded and filled up a glass, sliding it over to Steve and then looking at you. “Glad to see you here. He’s looked like a sad little lost puppy for the past hour.”

Steve stopped mid-sip to scoff. “That’s very not true.”

“Sorry, but I think I have to believe the only other sober person here,” You said and only smiled at the second annoyed scoff he let out, which was hard to take seriously because of his current drunkenness.

Barry got called over by a group of people that just walked in and you silently watched Steve take a few sips from his glass. When he set it down, you lightly nudged his knee with yours. “Do you wanna talk about what happened with your dad?”

Steve simply sighed at first. “He came to Family Video today and went on this huge rant about me and what I’m doing with my life. He thinks my job is shit, and even me going to school part-time isn’t enough. He thinks I’m such a loser in comparison to his friend’s kids who are actually “doing things with their lives.””

You frowned and shook your head. “Fuck him.”

“Cheers to that,” Steve said with a small laugh and held up his glass of water for a second. “He also said that he wants to set me up with this job at his friend’s insurance company, and I immediately said no to that. I’m still not entirely sure what I wanna do yet, but I know it’s not that— some stupid fucking desk job. Especially not one that’s just given to me by my dad.”

“He’s an idiot,” You told Steve. “And also his bullshit is not at all worth the hangover you’ll have in the morning.”

“You might be right about that,” He responded, eyes fixed on his now half-empty glass of water and a small amused smile on his face. “But, it felt good for a second.”

You poked his arm so that he would look at you. “You could’ve talked to me about all of that instead of coming here.”

“I didn’t wanna mess up your date by coming home and talking to you about all of this sad shit. I knew that you’d just worry about me and probably not go,” He mumbled. “And I feel like a dumbass for still messing it up.”

“It’s okay. Seriously. Honestly,” You told him and then playfully smiled as you said your next words. “And you know that I would tell you if it wasn’t okay. I’d definitely hold this over you for at least a week, and force you to clean out Harold’s cage and do my laundry that’s been building up for the past week and a half. But you’re drunk and sad, and I’m way too nice to make you do any of those things.”

He laughed at that, which made you smile wider. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” You said before you stood up from the stool you’d been sitting in. “Now, come on, let’s get out of here before it starts getting crowded. Can you walk okay?”

Steve only nodded in response, which was a nonverbal answer that you weren’t sure if you completely trusted, so you stood close to him as he also got up and pulled some cash out of his back pocket and placed it on the counter.

He then waved at Barry, and you were certain that he probably didn’t mean for it to be so animated and comical, but it very much looked that way. “Goodnight, Barry.”

The bartender laughed a bit when he looked over at you and Steve. “‘Night, guys.”

Steve started heading toward the door first and you followed just a few steps behind him. When he stumbled a bit before even making it out of the door, you grabbed his hand and moved closer to him so that he could drape his arm around your shoulders, and then one of yours circled around his waist.

Leading him to your car was a feat in itself, but once he was settled in the passenger seat and you started driving, he rolled his window down completely and had it like that during the entire ride even though it was freezing cold outside, and that was worse than dealing with his stumbling.

When you made it to the apartment building, his balance was actually a bit more coherent so you didn’t need to do more than just hold his hand during the entire walk to the elevators and then down the hallway to the apartment.

You dragged him to your room and he sighed in contentment when he sat down on the side of your bed; he always liked your mattress better than his own for some reason.

“Wait, don’t fall asleep yet,” You told him before heading over to his room and grabbing a random t-shirt and basketball shorts from one of his drawers. “Here, put this on. I know you’d be mad at me if I let you fall asleep in those jeans.”

“Thanks,” He mumbled with a yawn as you handed the clothes over to him, and then you went to the kitchen as he started changing.

You filled a mug with water and then pulled open the drawer that had the bottle of aspirin in it. Neither you nor Steve were really sure why it lived there instead of in one of your bathrooms, where it probably should’ve been, but you two also didn’t make any effort to move it.

Steve was already asleep and under the covers when you walked back into your room, and you placed the mug and aspirin on the nightstand on his side. You changed into your own pajamas for the night, which simply consisted of an old baggy t-shirt and shorts, before settling in on your side of the bed.

It was still pretty early for a Friday night, barely even ten o’clock, but you didn’t mind going to bed because you were actually a little tired. Steve was turned and facing away from you, but you still watched him and his even breathing for a bit, making sure he was okay before you quickly drifted off to sleep yourself.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Steve didn’t know what time it was when he woke up, but he could tell that it was pretty early because he could see the just sun starting to rise.

The other things he quickly noticed were that he was in your bed and he had a pounding headache, which was a little confusing at first, but then all of what happened last night started coming back to him.

The shit with his dad, the bar, the accidental phone call to you, and then you coming to the bar and bringing him home— he remembered it all.

With a soft groan, Steve slowly sat up in bed, doing his best not to wake you, and then reached over to grab the water and aspirin you left out for him.

He took the medicine and drank most of the water and then laid back down, turning on his side to face you. Your head was against the pillow and even breaths fell from your slightly parted lips. You looked so peaceful like this, he decided, so pretty.

Steve thought about you and Jamie, and how happy you had been when you talked about him. Steve also knew how excited you’d been about the date, and even though you had told him that it was okay that you had to cancel it last night, he still felt a little bad about it all.

He knew that you would probably do anything for him, and that was completely mutual. If the roles had been reversed last night, Steve wouldn’t have thought twice about canceling a date to go pick you up from some dumb bar. And making those sorts of sacrifices for one another never felt like a question, it just always felt like the obvious thing to do.

It didn’t completely make sense at first, but somehow it was that simple and crystal clear thought that managed to shift something deep down inside of him— it harshly drew the line between best friends and something more. And Steve quickly realized exactly which side he lay on.

Which was confusing because the lines of where your friendship began and ended had always felt so unquestionable— you and him were best friends; nothing more, nothing less.

But it was different now, it changed, and it was this moment that told him that it actually had been that way for a while; probably since you two moved into the apartment.

Starting from that day in August your lives became even more intertwined with one another— which didn’t feel entirely possible because of how close you’d been for so long— but it was true. He hadn’t realized how blurry the lines had been getting since then.

Since you two started beginning your days and ending them in the same home. Since so many nights became spent in each other’s beds; nothing more happening than sleeping and late night talking, but still. Since you two got Harold only a few weeks into living in the apartment, and you both immediately fell into your unserious parental roles in the hamster’s life. Since an unspoken early morning weekend routine fell into place where Steve would make coffee and toast and you’d do the eggs and bacon. Since you two became something equivalent to a married couple that had been together for at least twenty years.

And then Steve realized that actually maybe this something more had always been there— maybe it had always been so fucking obvious.

He thought back to the end of Senior year when you two went to each other’s proms and slow danced at the end of the night because you both thought it would be funny, but those moments actually turned into something really sweet and wholesome; and you’d both think back on it during the most randomest of times.

And then he also thought about smaller things, the parts of your personality that made him feel so goddamn lucky to know you. How you always fiddled with the radio and never settled on a station for longer than a few minutes during perhaps any car ride where Steve was the one driving; something that you’d been doing since the day he got his driver's license and you two went on your first solo car ride together. How pretty much anything you did would only make him smile and playfully roll his eyes or make fun of you.

Steve wasn’t entirely sure why he was having this sort of “epiphany moment” right here, right now, in your bed as he looked at you peacefully sleeping next to him.

It, of course, stemmed from you canceling something that he had known you’d been looking forward to for the last couple of days to instead take care of him, he could recognize that. But, what made that so different from everything else you’d done for each other over the years?

He immediately thought that maybe there was no one straight answer to that question because it wasn’t about what was different. Instead, it was about all of those other moments too. They had slowly built upon each other until it came to this one on this February morning— nine years into your friendship and six and a half months into you two living together— and Steve could finally recognize what it all had meant, and he was ready to accept the truth for what it was too.

He liked you. More than liked, actually. He loved you, he was in love with you.

But, you were also his best friend, the most important person in his life, and he didn’t want to be the reason that that ever got messed up. And that thought was what made him finally look away from you and mutter out a soft, “Fuck.”

Steve quickly got out of the bed, and he was surprised, but also completely grateful, that his quick and hasty movements didn’t manage to stir you awake.

He left your room and went to the kitchen. It was early and he probably should’ve been trying to get a few more hours of sleep, but he wasn’t tired anymore.

The realization was the only thing on his mind— in a matter of seconds, it managed to completely consume it.

Everything else that had been happening the past few months finally made complete sense; Steve saw it all in a different way. He now understood why he couldn’t picture any sort of future with Vanessa when he went out with her a few times back in December even though he really did like her, and why he couldn’t see anything with anyone he went out with. Because deep down, he knew that he could only see that with you. It made sense why his dating life had been in such a rut lately and why he didn’t particularly mind it all that much.

When you two would jokingly say that you both were completely okay with ending up “alone together forever,” he realized now that from his side of things, deep down, it had never been a joke. And he wondered if it was the same way for you.

In an ideal world, the answer would be yes. But, things only felt confusing, and if he was being a thousand percent honest with himself, he didn’t know if that answer was yes in this world.

Steve knew that you really liked Jamie, even in such a short amount of time, so that couldn’t mean that you had any sort of feelings for him. Right? Or maybe you just hadn’t had your own “epiphany moment” yet? Should he tell you about his? Should he tell you about any of what just hit him in the past ten minutes?

His brain felt as if it was going to fucking explode with all of the questions circling his mind right then, and the coffee he was making failed to distract his thoughts from everything.

He came to the quick decision that he wouldn’t tell you what he was feeling; it would just be easier that way. There wouldn’t be any way for him to potentially fuck things up between you two if he simply ignored what he was feeling. It was easy to imagine how drastically your friendship would change if he told you everything and you didn’t feel the same. Therefore, he could push it all away to make sure that nothing changed for the worse.

When the coffee was done, he poured some into a fresh mug and took a long sip. Any other time, he couldn’t really stand straight black coffee, but the bitterness tasted good for once; he decided to focus on that instead of anything else.

Steve wasn’t sure how long he had been leaning back against the counter and sipping from his mug before you came out of your room. It could’ve been one minute or ten; right then, time felt as if it was moving both slow and fast.

“Hey,” You said, giving him a small smile and rubbing the tiredness out of your eyes. “I’m surprised you’re up already. I definitely expected you to be passed out until at least ten.”

It felt equivalent to a light switch flipping how quickly Steve felt affected by your smile and simply you in that moment. He’d probably seen you like this a million times before— just waking up and still in your now wrinkled pajamas from the night— but it felt entirely different now. And that was when he knew how fucked he was.

“Yeah, I, uh, I woke up and couldn’t, um, go back to sleep… So, yeah, just came out here. Made some, um, coffee,” He ultimately responded and then inwardly sighed at how flustered he was right then. He let out a quick laugh. “Sorry, blame the hangover for my inability to say sentences right now.”

If that was how he was going to act around you from now on, he knew that trying to keep this a secret was probably the most unrealistic idea ever.

You laughed a bit and nodded, seemingly unfazed by his awkwardness right then, and opened up the fridge. “You think you can stomach eggs and bacon?”

“Yes to the bacon, but I think I should play it safe and say no to the eggs.”

“Makes sense,” You said, closing the fridge after grabbing the bacon. You placed the pack on the counter near the stove and then looked at Steve. “You feeling better about all of that dad shit?”

It was almost comical how even though it had been the reason for everything that happened last night, the conversation he had with his dad was the farthest thing from his mind now.

“I’m good, actually.”

“Good,” You said, smiling at him and then reaching out to grab his hand and give it a light reassuring squeeze; which, unknown to you, made his heart feel as if it was going to somersault out of his chest. “Remember, the next time this happens, come to me and we both can get drunk here for free. Or we can just run away and join the circus, or whatever it was we agreed on when we were twelve.”

Steve only nodded and gave you a small smile in response because it felt as if that was all he could do at that moment. If he attempted to say anything, he felt like his words would’ve started or ended with, “I’m in love with you.”

He changed his decision then. He knew that he had to tell you everything because it wouldn’t be easy to simply bury it down and ignore it. There was no way that he’d be able to keep this from you, at least not for a long time, it was already swallowing him whole. And although he had no idea when or how he would tell you the truth, he made a quick promise to himself that he would do it.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

let me know ur thoughts<333

(requests are open for stuff you wanna see in the universe/series!🫶🏾)

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x fem!reader #stranger things fluff #steve harrington imagines #steve harrington x reader smut #stranger things imagine #stranger things series #stranger things smut

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mrsjellymunson · 4 months

Text

Start Something

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Summary: Eddie helps you generate a new D&D character, but that’s not the only thing that gets started that day

WC: ~2.5k

C/W: 18+, MDNI! NSFW? Physical flirting and teasing, heavy petting, sort of in public (nobody notices). Smut-adjacent? Thigh riding. Swearing. Nothing overly explicit, but it does get heated. Eddie and reader are both over 18. Trope: oh no, there aren’t enough seats, where will you sit? No y/n, one pet name. No physical descriptions of reader other than she wears a skirt (of unspecified appearance).

A/N: Should I be working on parts for my outstanding series? Yes. Would this not leave me alone until I wrote it down? Also yes. I had fun creating a new character in a different RPG and I have no idea whether this is how D&D works, so if it’s not, let’s just pretend, okay? 😆 Text dividers by @strangergraphics Dice dividers by me 🫣☺️

I have a general taglist now, let me know if you’d like to be on it 🖤

My masterlist

Eddie can’t believe his luck. You’re pretty (gorgeous, actually), insanely intelligent and have, for some as yet indecipherable reason, decided that you want to play D&D. With a load of nerdy teens. And him.

You’ve joined in with a couple of short campaigns at school, seeming to enjoy them immensely and fitting in well with the group, bantering with the boys and bonding with Erica over your shared ‘take no shit’ attitudes. At first Eddie wasn't sure how that dynamic would work, but you slipped easily into letting the younger girl show you the ropes, and Erica is clearly enjoying having more female energy around.

Eddie knows that creating a new character is one of your favourite things to do. He’d never admit it, but it’s one of his favourite things to watch, too. He adores the sparkle in your eyes, your creative brain and how excited and animated you get when you come up with new ideas. Sometimes they’re sketchy, or even impossible, which he finds hugely endearing. He also loves how you’ll always check in with him, asking his advice and respecting his opinion.

This weekend he’s running a oneshot at his trailer for the younger members and you. New characters, novel plot, the works. The plan is to create new characters in the morning, and play the game in the afternoon.

This’ll be the first time you’ve been to his home, or seen him anywhere outside of school, and Eddie’s nervous as all fuck.

He couched it as ‘a good opportunity to develop a greater understanding of the game’, but he definitely has an ulterior motive for inviting you here.

So far, he’s taken every opportunity he can to make you laugh, sit near you, even touch you. Creating scenarios where a subtle hug, or even a playful tickle is somehow appropriate. He covers it quickly by immediately doing it to someone else, hoping you won’t spot the bulge in his pants and the fact that he can’t stop looking at you.

He’s not sure for how long he can keep it up. He wants so much more, and it won’t be long before he either loses it, takes it too far, or, worst case scenario, you notice he’s being a total creep and ditch the group because of it.

He’s been trying to muster the balls to ask you out for weeks, practicing lines and imagining scenarios, but he’s found it more difficult to plan than even the most complex of his campaigns.

And although it’s unlikely given the crowd of nerds that’ll be around, he couldn’t miss an opportunity to be in your company. He thought that maybe, just maybe, he’d manage to get you somewhat alone and do it today.

He’s tidied up the trailer as subtly as he can, doing all the dishes and straightening Wayne’s caps, hoping the others won’t notice and ask him awkward questions. But he’s jittery and anxious, terrified that you’ll take one look at where and how he lives and decide you want nothing more to do with him…

Eddie has no idea that you’re just as nervous as he is.

You’ve enjoyed the Hellfire campaigns so far, but haven’t really managed to get all that close to the Dungeon Master, much to your chagrin. Sure, the game is enormous fun and you love all the members and how welcoming they’ve been. But the DM? Holy hell, he’s hot as sin, and being able to spend time around the larger-than-life metal-lover only adds to your enjoyment of the sessions. But you can’t imagine it’ll ever go any further than that. You doubt that a geeky D&D novice who he’s hardly spoken to is his idea of the perfect girlfriend…

But god, the physical touches? Christ. It’s as much as you can do to hold it together. You’ve shared a few celebratory hugs, and he’s even tickled you a couple of times, all of which you’ve enjoyed far more than you’d let on, and filed away in your memory for retrieval when you’re alone at night in your bed. But you know that he’s like this with everyone, and are under no illusions that you’re special. So you relish each and every contact, wishing there could be more.

What if he looks at you for too long with those gorgeous, huge, chocolate-brown eyes? And what if you forget how to speak? It’s already happened an embarrassing amount of times, but you’ve managed to pass it off as being stumped because you’re a beginner. You don’t know for how much longer that excuse is gonna fly.

And, if all that wasn’t already enough to send your anxiety levels skyrocketing, you’re also acutely aware that you haven't spent time with any of the group outside of school as yet. You’re worried that you’re going to ruin their social dynamic, or mess up the game. Or embarrass yourself with no easy way to exit, having to wallow in your shame until the mums come back later to pick you all up. Your spiralling makes you realise that although it was really kind of Mrs Wheeler to offer you a lift, you’re now really wishing you’d brought your own car…

All kinds of anxious thoughts are running through your mind, from what if your ideas are stupid, to what if everyone (okay, specifically Eddie) dislikes the cookies you’ve baked??

Neither of you should’ve worried.

As you enter his trailer, Eddie seems a little flustered, running a ringed hand through his gorgeous chestnut waves and unnecessarily straightening a pile of magazines on the coffee table. He smooths down his (new) black tee (that he totally didn’t buy especially for this occasion), and you pay it no mind, assuming he’s just always like this with visitors, and is excited for the campaign.

You barely glance around Eddie’s home, smiling softly at the trinkets you spot, and offering to help plate up the snacks in the kitchen area. You don’t look uncomfortable, and you certainly don’t pass judgment. Eddie eyes you as indirectly as he can, noticing the unusual skirt you’ve got on (that you totally totally didn’t choose specifically for today). He likes it.

Just like at school, you slot easily into the melee of pencils, paper, dice and snacks. Everyone loves your home baked cookies, including Eddie, and Erica even badgers you for the recipe.

Eddie thinks you couldn’t be any more perfect.

You think this isn’t so bad after all, and relax a little.

The morning’s character building is going well, the fact that it’s a oneshot not diminishing anyone’s efforts or attention to detail.

You still haven’t quite got the hang of the dice and numbers parts, always asking for Eddie’s help with that. His help, not any of the others, he muses with a certain amount of pride and delight. (Selfishly, part of him secretly hopes you never get the hang of it, and will always need to seek his input.)

With you now added to the group, there aren’t enough seats at Eddie’s modest dining table. Nobody notices. Initially Dustin and Will are deep in a discussion on Eddie’s battered sofa, and Mike and Lucas are rifling through the fridge, both at that ‘hollow legs’ stage of teen development and constantly ravenous.

Your character’s almost done, and you just want to clarify a few things, so you ask across the table,

“Eddie? Can I bring this over for you to check please?”

He waves you over, putting on a fake English accent and saying,

“Of course you may, my dear. You know I’m always happy to assist my flock.”

You chuckle lightly at his endearing foolishness as you get up from your place next to Erica, taking your character sheet over to Eddie for his perusal. Behind you, the younger players all convene at the table to share their progress, and all the seats become filled.

With no free spots near him, and assuming you won’t be here for long, Eddie pats his leg absentmindedly and says, “Sit here, lemme see.”

You end up on his lap, facing sideways at ninety degrees.

You initially turn towards him and bring your sheet between you, but there’s not enough room for him to properly examine it, so you turn the other way and lay it on the table in front of him, turning so your back is to him, your legs straddling one of his knees. He leans forward and begins to check it over, confirming some details and asking for more particulars on others.

Eddie’s been admiring your enthusiasm and level of engagement all morning, and he’s impressed by the depth of information you’ve already managed to accumulate.

You’re absorbed with your new character, getting excited and gesticulating wildly. Ideas bounce easily between you and Eddie, his face smiling softly and his dimples popping as he gets to see you like this.

It doesn’t escape him, however, that you’re also bouncing on… him. He flushes a little, and hopes you don’t perceive it.

As you gesture at a particularly thorny issue on your paper, it dawns on Eddie exactly what parts of you are in contact with him, albeit through multiple layers of fabric. The softness of your thighs and the heat from your core against his leg fully absorb him for a moment, and he has to ask you to repeat yourself. You don’t seem to mind, assuming it was the general clamour in the room that meant he couldn’t hear you. That same clamour covers the sound of him awkwardly clearing his throat and gulping loudly.

It occurs to him that he’s never experienced anything… like this. Occasional hookups in the woods or after gigs at The Hideout are great and everything, but he’s never before felt like he has a literal, real-life angel sitting on his lap.

And you? You are slowly realising how nice Eddie’s lap feels beneath you. It’s warm and solid, and the denim of his dark jeans feels pleasantly rough on the skin of your legs where your skirt’s ridden up. There’s a pressure against your most intimate areas that’s generating a warm feeling of pleasure in your core. You’re trying to concentrate, but it’s not easy.

It takes a few more moments for you to catch up to where Eddie is, and you register that you’re essentially riding Eddie’s thigh each time you move.

Your lips roll inwards and you swallow deeply, closing your eyes for a moment, trying to compose yourself. It doesn’t help, and only serves to focus your attention even more fully on the delicious sensations beneath your legs. This is the closest you’ve ever been to your Dungeon Master, and for the longest time. And you can’t help how flustered it’s making you.

Embarrassed, you cough and go to stand, but quickly see that there’s nowhere for you to go. Eddie scans the room and notices your predicament, and, in a broken voice that’s almost unbearably soft, tells you, “It’s okay, Princess. You can stay here.”

Fuck. A pet name? You enjoyed that, perhaps a little too much. If you were being rational you could put it down to Eddie referencing your new character, who happens to be an aristocratic mage. But right now? Right now, you’re not feeling particularly rational.

You slowly sit back down, but as you do so Eddie shifts his position, causing you to spread your knees a bit wider than they were and land further up his leg, giving you even more contact with his thigh. You hope he didn’t hear the broken little hum that escaped you.

Eddie leans forward and in a voice that’s far too quiet, and far too close to your ear, he asks, “Are you… okay?”

You can barely breathe, and all you can manage in response is a tiny, squeaked, “Mhm.”

Behind you, Eddie takes a stuttering breath in, letting it out slowly before he resumes discussions with everyone else at the table.

You each become more unfettered as the morning progresses. Further not-so-accidental encounters only serve to increase the tension between you both.

At one point, you lean forwards over the table to get one of the manuals, lifting your butt from his leg. For a moment you hope there won’t be a visible wet patch on your skirt, or on his jeans. But then you wonder whether it would actually be so terrible if there was, and whether it would actually be so terrible if Eddie saw…

Eddie saw. He hums slightly, but it sounds more like a whimper, and he attempts to cover it by clearing his throat for the umpteenth time today.

He wonders whether you’re doing this on purpose, whether you have any idea what you’re doing to him.

As you settle back onto his thigh, one of Eddie’s hands travels to your hip, holding it lightly, just resting it there. A fire travels up that entire side of your body.

You wonder whether he’s doing this on purpose, whether he has any idea what he’s doing to you.

He leans forward to reach for something on the table, and this time brushes his chest against your back for far longer than is necessary. You feel his breathing against your neck speeding up, hot gasps coming from between his lips instead of controlled outbreaths through his nose.

You reach for a die, and as you sit back you half-intentionally push your core down onto Eddie’s leg just a little bit harder. God, he feels so good. And so what if you’ve moved backwards slightly, so your thigh is even further between his legs, and your butt nudges his crotch?

You definitely feel something hard pressing against your ass. The grip on your hip tightens, and Eddie dips his head forward to hide his face and stifle a moan. Christ.

You think you hear him mumble a quiet and stilted, “Sh-it.”

Eddie can barely contain himself, this morning not going at all how he could’ve even dreamed. He had no idea whether you even liked him, and was planning to sound you out and maybe manage to ask if you wanted to do something cheesy like grab milkshakes sometime.

Having you hot and wet on his lap wasn’t even on the edges of the outside of the periphery of his radar. He’s really trying to keep it together, but he’s barely maintaining a grip on his actions.

Attempting to focus, he leans forward again to explain a character point. You turn your head and look into his eyes attentively, whilst simultaneously rocking your hips ever so subtly and chewing on the inside of your bottom lip.

All at once, something shifts. Something big.

Eddie holds your gaze for way too long. Or maybe you hold his.

Maybe it doesn’t matter anymore, as you both silently acknowledge that there’s way more going on here than simple D&D advice.

Simultaneously, you both come to realise that your affections are most definitely reciprocated.

Shit, he likes me.

Fuck, she likes me back.

And then, as your eyes are locked and he sees your pupils blow wide, Eddie loses that tenuous grip.

Suddenly, both of his hands come to your hips, and he presses his forehead against one of your shoulder blades. He grips you tightly and moves you back and forth against him, squeezing, pulling, pushing, dragging. He’s keeping his movements as tiny as possible so as not to rouse the attention of the group, but what he lacks in expansiveness he more than makes up for with strength and intensity.

You think this might genuinely be the most erotic thing you’ve ever done with your clothes on. You’re hot and wet, and you barely care that you’re in a room full of people, supposedly playing a nerdy game.

Eddie keeps moving you. One exquisite movement spreads your sopping folds in your underwear, and your mouth drops open in a gasp, hand gripping the edge of the rickety table. You try to disguise your movements by shoving the end of a pencil into your mouth and hunching over your paperwork.

Eddie totally notices, and stills you. His warm palms continue to press against your hips, his strong fingertips digging into your flesh. Instead of continuing the back and forth movements, he pulls you down as hard as he can onto his lap whilst outwardly retaining his composure, turning the garbled sounds coming from his throat into encouraging noises for the group.

The two of you can barely focus anymore. Eddie hasn’t let his hands travel anywhere above the tabletop, lest his actions be seen by the others, but if your expression is even half as flustered as Eddie’s is red, somebody is going to notice something. And soon.

You take a couple of deep, steadying breaths.

You’ve already completed your character, so you decide to do a faux check in with Eddie, asking, not entirely innocently,

“Eddie? Is there anything else you’d want me to… take off?”

Turning, you add, even less subtly,

“What should I do now, Master?”

Eddie’s face screws up and his jaw clenches, and you feel the rock of his hips as he bucks his hips up underneath you, pressing his hardness into your flesh and muffling a grunt into your shoulder.

His head snaps back up suddenly and his voice becomes clear and piercing, as he inhales quickly and declares to the room, waving a hand,

“Okay, lunchtime! Everybody out!! You guys need some fresh air and I need a break. I don’t wanna see you for at least an hour, and you’d better come back with pizza! Goddit?”

The teens comply, bustling out the door, a few of them eye-rolling and grumbling something about how this is almost like being at home with their parents.

They’re still leaving as Eddie moves his face so close to you that you can feel his breath in your hairline, and his soft, pink lips tickle the edge of your ear.

In a low, velvety voice, he murmurs, in a tone that’s somehow both challenging and pleading,

“Please Princess, turn around and say that to my face...”

You smirk, and reach behind you to pick up a D12.

With all the sultriness you can muster, you raise your eyebrows and indicate for him to take it. He opens his hand, and you place it down, the tips of your fingers lightly skimming the hot, damp skin of his palm.

Looking into his eyes again, you’re relieved to discover that your power of speech remains entirely intact, as you murmur, with more confidence than you thought you possessed,

“Okay, Master. How about this? You roll, and the result is how many kisses you have to give me...”

Eddie swallows and almost chokes, sitting up straight and gently lobbing the die across the mess of paper and writing implements. His chocolate eyes don’t leave yours as it rolls and comes to a stop in the centre crease of one of his manuals. He struggles with the internal conflict of never wanting to break your gaze and a deep desire to check the number.

He has no idea where the rest of today, let alone this, is going, and he’s grateful he has at least the next hour in which to find out. But he does know one thing:

He’s never been so desperate to roll a 12 in his entire fucking life.

Thanks so much for reading!

(This might become part of an anthology of D&D-related adventures - let me know if you’d like to see more!)

Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed this, it’s honestly like throwing breadcrumbs and roses for your writers 😃🥰

My masterlist

I have a general taglist now, let me know if you’d like to be on it 😃

Tags: @joejoequinnquinn @jamdoughnutmagician @curlyjoequinn @madaboutmunson @airen256 @sunshinepeachx @the-unforgivenn @skrzydlak @comeonatmebruh @jamiecb66 @80s-addict @abellmunsonmovie @definitionwanderlust @wonderlanddreamer

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word-wytch · 1 year

Text

Don't Stand So Close To Me — Chapter 13

Eddie x Teacher!Reader

Chapter 13/? 8.4k. Series Masterlist

✏︎ Catalyst — an agent that provokes or speeds significant change or action.

✏︎ Series Summary: Forced to move back home to Hawkins after your fiancé cheats on you, you begin to fall in love again with an audacious 20 year old metalhead, only there’s one problem — he’s still in high school and you’re his English teacher.

While you struggle starting over in a place you never thought you would return, Eddie struggles feeling stuck in a place he can’t manage to leave — until you offer to help him. Of all the lessons learned, the most important are the ones you teach each other.

✏︎ Series CW: forbidden romance, slow burn, true love, smut (18+ mdni), internal conflict, student-teacher relationship, 10 year age gap, mutual pining, sexual tension, emotions, drama, angst, character development, happy ending :)

Chapter warnings: angst, drama, implied partner abuse, harm to fantasy creature

Monday, December 9th 1985

Eddie propped his cheek against his knuckles as he watched you from the back of the classroom, just like he did every day. You were radiant on this one, brimming with excitement as you lectured on your favorite subject.

“We’re still in the planning phase for our short stories, but now that you all have a general idea of what you want to write about, I want you to start putting together an outline,” you prompted.

His eyes traced down the back of your blouse to where it met the waistline of your trousers. His hands still itched to hold you there. Burned was a better word now. He watched your hand scratch words onto the board with a nub of chalk, following the bend and curve of your fingers as they formed letters.

The past three weeks had been much of the same. You and him, behind the big desk every Monday and Wednesday after school. You; trying to focus on his schoolwork. Him; trying to focus on you. You; letting him get away with it.

There was plenty of studying happening too. In between studying the curve of your lips, the hue of your laugh, and the bones of your knuckles under his thumb, there were shining moments were something would click and he would solve an equation. Perhaps it was something to do with memory association or whatever textbook word you used to describe the psychology of learning, but something about the way you presented things made it easier for him to absorb. Perhaps it was your gentle patience, or your intuition. Knowing when to press forward and when to back off. Knowing how to show something differently than he’d been taught. Maybe it was just sweeter coming from your lips instead of Ms. O’Donnell’s.

Eddie shifted in his desk as you clicked the end of your sentence against the board with a flourish. Stretching against the confines of the tiny chair, he hunched over the slab wood barely big enough to fit his notebook, and picked up his own chewed utensil to copy what you’d written. Maybe it was the bulk of his jacket, thicker and warmer with padding for winter, but suddenly he felt claustrophobic.

You whipped around brightly to face the class. “Alright, who remembers what three things inform character action?”

The question was met with restless silence. A cough. A sniffle.

With a defeated sigh, you turned back around to scratch desires, fears, and misbeliefs onto the board.

Glancing out the window at the pale grey sky and naked trees, Eddie counted on his fingers the number of months until there would be leaves on them again.

Five.

He just knew it would be an agonizing winter. One that dragged on and on, long after the groundhog saw its shadow. Huffing, he stared down at his beat up spiral notebook, blue lines blurring in his tired vision. The pen went slack in his hand. He closed his eyes and listened to your voice.

“I know these are short stories, but in the end something should have changed internally or interpersonally for your characters as a result of the plot. Remember, the plot is what happens, the story is how it affects the characters,” you said, jotting down the last bit.

It took on a different tone in front of the class. More rigid and professional, louder so it carried to the back of the room. It lacked the warmth and softness that it held when he was next to you. He imagined, for a sweet moment, how it would sound even closer; against the shell of his ear as you breathed a sigh beneath him. The gentle feather of your lips as they traveled south, just below his ear, where his jaw met his neck. In the playground of his mind, he could show you what a man he really was. Here, his hands were free to wander wherever they wanted; dip into the valleys of your clavicles, over the hills of your breasts, around the bend of your waist, the peaks of your hips, the mound of your—

A snicker broke his reverie. When he opened his eyes, Jason’s were already on him.

“Taking a nap, Munson?” he mouthed mockingly.

Eddie rolled his eyes and seethed as he glared down at his notebook again. He shifted against the back of the hard plastic chair, against the tight cage of the desk. Finding no relief, he huffed and stared blankly ahead at the chalkboard, at the beige concrete wall, at the big desk, and then—at you. The gap had never been more enormous. An ocean of desks, a gaping chasm between where he was and where he wanted to be.

He must have looked downright pitiful, because the look you returned brimmed with a soft concern. In the two seconds he held you, Eddie released a deep sigh. Then you were back to the board.

“L-let’s start by highlighting the main point of each scene,” you said quickly, turning as you cleared your throat. Eddie caught your hand dart behind your neck before it fell promptly to your side. “Basically, why a scene exists and what it needs to accomplish. Does it provide information about the characters or move the story forward? Remember, these are short stories, so we want to make each scene really count.”

Eddie gripped the chewed pen and dutifully copied what you wrote. He knew he could have asked you later, had you explain it all again, given him tips, and pointers, and strategies, even helped him with his outline. But he wanted you to see that he was trying. He wanted you to see that he cared. He was always bad at school. Bad at paying attention. Bad at turning in assignments. Bad at following rules and keeping his mouth shut.

He wanted to be good for you.

When the bell rang, chair legs screeched against tile, notebooks crinkled, zippers ripped open and shut in a frenzied cacophony. Eddie hung back until the room filtered out. Until the only person left was you. Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, he padded up the long isle of desks until he reached yours. A standard routine.

“Hey,” he said, just like every other day. Just to savor another couple seconds in your presence, alone.

You looked up at him from the mess on your desk as you did countless times before, same tired smile, same soft eyes, same response. “Hey.”

Eddie rocked back and forth on his heels, holding your gaze for a little too long. “I’ll—uh, I’ll see you later, yeah?”

Your face grew bright and warm, a glint of summer against the pale, grey sky. “Yeah, see you later, Eddie.”

There it was, the thing he really came for — his name. He sighed a smile and gave a single nod, turning slowly toward the door.

______

By the time he made it to chemistry class, Eddie was ready for a nap. Maybe it was the pizza that sat like a rock in the pit of his stomach. Maybe it was the fact that, yet again, he had stayed up entirely too late, lost in your world.

But he couldn’t just stop, not when Cybelle was being attacked by a ferocious fenfink — like a weasel, only much larger. Sharper claws, bigger teeth, and fatally attracted to something Cybelle had on her person. They were packing up camp in the morning when it happened. Perhaps it had been drawn to the smell of sweet Myrnish breakfast cakes, or the herbs stuffed inside Cybelle’s mask, or perhaps it was her gold amulet that sparkled in the glow of the fire. In hindsight, they really should have picked up a sword in Fenwood. Not that Lazarus had ever swung one. Not that he would trust himself to when the beast was grappling with the neckline of Cybelle’s coat as she struggled to fling it off her. Too much movement. Too many opportunities to miss. Instead, Lazarus had done the only thing he could manage to do in a panic, which is to grab the animal’s back and try to pry it off.

The path through the boglands was narrow with small allowance for a camp site. On either side lay deep, murky water spotted with mounds of moss and pale, petrified trees. The fenfink didn’t give up easy. It tore at her silk with its claws, sniffing and growling at her crescent moon mask as Lazarus tugged at its furry body. As Cybelle’s boots threatened stumble back over the berm of the trail and into the wet abyss, Lazarus tugged as hard as he could, but the animal snatched a lifeline; a shiny gold chain that glimmered in the pale blue light of the early morning.

It bent Cybelle forward at the neck. Time froze as her golden promise, his future, dangled in the space between them. Her hands fumbled at the animal’s rear claws to unlatch them from her abdomen. Eyes desperate, mask askew, Lazarus knew what he had to do. One good yank and the chain would break. She would be free, and he could hurl the beast into the bog to buy them time. He knew it could be done, in theory. What would become of the treasure, however, would be left entirely to fate.

In the glittering twinkle, he saw his cottage, his garden, his full size bed, his curtains billowing in the salty air. It swayed and skirted across the taught chain, dangling dangerously close to the edge of the murky water.

With a strangled cry, Cybelle worked the claws free of her dress, and he was left with a split second to decide. The golden tether winked in the fire’s glow. Fear flickered in her umber eyes. With a firm, decided tug, Lazarus broke the chain. Time slowed to a halt as the glimmering treasure launched upward with the force of it all. Cybelle stumbled back over the berm, grasping desperately at the air. It followed the arc that she took, hovering just out of reach. She just about bumped it with her fingertip, but the cold, wet shock at her back knocked the wind out of her.

Lazarus watched his dreams tumble into the water, helpless to stop it. As he grappled with the snarling beast, his eyes caught the last golden glimmer of hope before it plunked beneath the inky surface of the bog. He pivoted quickly, launching the creature in a heartbroken rage, and it flailed in the air before its headfirst collision with a tree scattered the birds for miles.

A wet, sobbing cough from the other side of path sent him scrambling toward it. Cybelle was a mess. Clambering on her knees, waist deep in a peaty, black filth that soaked through her gold coat. Her hands raked desperately, blindly, at the thick decay beneath the murky water.

Lazarus stumbled over the mossy ledge and into the bog, extending his hand, but she could not meet his eyes.

“I-I can find it,” she choked, sucking what little breath she could muster as the soaked fabric clung to her face. “It-it is somewhere here… I heard it.”

His heart sunk deeper than the treasure. “Please, Cybelle,” he pleaded.

“I can find it,” she insisted weakly, and another desperate grasp beneath the water sent her tumbling further down.

He dove in after her then, sinking deep into the muck to grab her by the waist before she slipped beneath the surface. Cybelle was persistent, twisting in his arms as sobs shook her tiny body. He simply gripped her tighter, drawing her toward his chest and out of the water. Her struggles paled to his strength.

“Please,” she whimpered, stamping his white linen shoulders with muddy hands. “I can—I can…” she could barely catch a breath, silk crescent now crooked and blackened with peat.

With both arms clasped tightly around her back, Lazarus shushed her. “It’s gone, Cybelle.” He could not hide the mourning in his voice.

She shut her eyes with a defeated grimace and went limp. Tears burned her lash line as she sobbed against his chest. They opened when she felt a finger brush behind her ear. Gingerly, slowly, Lazarus hooked his fingers through the loop of her mask, eyes darting back and forth between hers in a wordless request for permission. Her stillness granted it, and with that, he peeled it away.

In the pale blue light of the early morning, waist deep in muck and mire, Lazarus saw Cybelle. Not for the first time ever, but for the first time like this. Raw, and ragged, and inches apart. She inhaled deeply, freely, and for the first time when she breathed out, there were no barriers between them. They stood there a moment in a captivated stillness with nothing but the hum of frogs and song of birds.

Cybelle was the one to break the silence. “We might as well turn around then,” she wavered bitterly. “I have…” her breath hitched, “nothing to offer you.”

Lazarus sighed, shaking his head as he raked in her soft features. “Your company,” he began, “is enough.”

Cybelle shut her eyes, blinking tears over her lashes to streak trails through her the dirt on her cheeks, and for the first time, her muddy arms drew around his waist, and she embraced him.

Eddie pressed his heated forehead to the cool slate of the lab table and shifted his stool back against the floor with a loud screech. Images of fenfinks, and pendants, and bog mire danced behind his eyelids. He could hear the weary exhaustion in Mr. Westfield’s voice. He didn’t even need to look up to know he was leaning against his desk and running his hand through his thinning hairline as he’d done a hundred times before at the top of sixth period.

“Alright, so today we’re going to be creating magnesium oxide. Magnesium plus oxygen. Get it?” The question was answered with sleepy eyes and a few stray sniffles. Mr. Westfield sighed. “Right. Since the school can’t afford enough bunsen burners for all of you, this week you’ll be splitting up into pairs.”

The room came alive, eyes meeting eyes as claims flew across the room. Eddie peeked over his arms at the table in front of him. Tina was practically falling out of her stool as she reached for Chrissy on the other side of the room with grabby hands.

Mr. Westfield looked thoroughly unamused by the commotion. “I’ll be assigning them.”

The classroom groaned almost unanimously.

“Hate to be a party pooper,” he started, his tone indicating quite the opposite, “but you’re here to learn, not to chit-chat. Ok, let’s see here…” Mr. Westfield adjusted his glasses on his nose as he scanned down the list of names in his attendance book.

A restless silence fell over the room as the students awaited their fate.

“Looks like we have an even number, excellent. Tina, you’ll be with Bobby.”

Eddie could see Tina’s eyes roll through the back of her head.

Mr. Westfield peered up from his glasses. “Don’t act so excited. Ok, then we’ll have Ricky and Carmen, Sally and Janae…” he went down the list of names, checking them off and scribbling them on the side of the sheet to keep track.

Eddie sat up and glanced around the room as pairs were made, mentally checking off classmates as their names were called, ears perked and primed to hear his own. As the ones who remained dwindled and dwindled down to only two, his pulse quickened.

“Ok and then that just leaves Ms. Cunningham,” he punctuated with his pen, “and Mr. Munson.”

Fuck.

Eddie turned his head slowly, reluctantly, toward the other side of the room where Chrissy Cunningham sat, and was met with a soft, coy smile. He swallowed and whipped his head to face forward.

Un-fucking believable. If there was a God, which Eddie sincerely doubted, he sure had a twisted sense of humor.

Since their brief confrontation in the hallway following Tina’s Halloween party, Chrissy had, to his honest surprise, respected his wishes and kept her distance. It never stopped her from looking though. Stares, he would discover, were something you could feel. Burning into his temple from behind the curtain of his hair in class, heating the back of his neck at his locker as her perfume wafted up the hall. It was almost a daily occurrence.

As the classroom rearranged itself in a cacophony of screeching stools and shuffling backpacks, Eddie remained planted right were he was, thumbing at the bent spiral of his notebook, mind racing as his eyes glazed over. It was less than a minute before he smelled that familiar perfume and heard the stool next to him scoot against the floor.

“Hey,” came a voice like powdered sugar.

Eddie looked up from his notebook with a slow hesitance. “Hey.”

“I…grabbed you some safety glasses and an apron,” she said, setting the items on the counter.

Silently lamenting the idea of spending the remaining hour wearing them, he gave a single nod and thanked her.

The room bustled with chatter as Mr. Westfield came around to dole out the bunsen burners, crucibles, scales, and other small tools. “You got a hair tie, Munson?” he asked.

Eddie patted himself down and feigned disappointment. “Fresh out I’m afraid.”

“I’ve got one,” Chrissy interjected, rolling a powder blue scrunchie from her wrist to swing from the curve of her finger.

Eddie stared at it a second as it dangled in the space between them before snatching it. “Thanks,” he conceded. As he twisted the satin band around his curls to form a low ponytail, he could feel the heat from her gaze. It lingered as he put on his goggles, even as he tied the ribbons of the stiff apron behind his back.

Wayne, perceptive as ever, had been right all those years ago outside the auditorium. He did, at eleven, have a crush on Chrissy Cunningham, but there were only so many times a person could ignore him before he got the memo. Before he figured out he wasn’t worth their time. It wasn’t the first time it happened. In fact, Eddie had become so accustomed to getting looked through instead of at that he’d made it a lifestyle to stand out. To talk loud, and dress loud, and play loud. To bite back, and shirk rules, and cause a scene. And over the course of a year he barely remembered, he’d left whatever feelings he might have had for her exactly where they belonged; in the graveyard with everything else he would rather forget.

But for some reason this year was different. He wasn’t sure what switch flipped that caused her to suddenly see him. Maybe it was because she was tired of her meathead boyfriend and needed a distraction. Maybe it was because he looked especially dangerous this year. Maybe it was because he’d been held back so many times that he’d become more forbidden than ever; an odd and tempting fascination.

Eleven year old Eddie would have been elated. Twenty year old Eddie was, to put it simply, annoyed.

Mr. Westfield returned to the front of the classroom to give instruction, and Eddie tried his best to follow along with the handout.

The room sparked to life with the hiss of gas and the whump of it igniting from all corners. As the tall flame dance in front of him, Eddie tried to ignore the little voice in the back of his head that tempted him to dangle the sleeve of his flannel a little too close so he could escape to the nurse’s office. Freshman Eddie wouldn’t have thought twice.

Chrissy turned on the scale between them and set the empty clay crucible on top of it as instructed. She leaned in to record the weight and copied it onto her worksheet. Eddie did the same. According to the worksheet, the next step was to add the magnesium and weigh it again.

“Make sure the coil isn’t too tight,” advised Mr. Westfield, “you’re gonna want to leave room for air.”

Eddie picked up the clay triangle, doing his best to stay focused on the task, and set it on the metal ring above the flame as demonstrated.

“I think the ring is too high,” said Chrissy, leaning in to twist the clamp loose enough to lower it. “It’s gotta be like, in the blue part of the flame I think.” Her arm grazed his as she reached into his bubble, and suddenly he was back on that couch, feeling the her phantom fingers on the pins of his vest again, gold halo crooked, lips ghosting cherry alcohol. Eddie shot his gaze forward.

“Ok, now place the crucible in the center of the triangle,” Mr. Westfield instructed.

Eddie grabbed hold of the metal tongs and used them to pinch the pale clay vessel. Chrissy leaned closer as he lowered it to rest above the flame.

Then they would wait. In the waiting, the classroom grew louder. Tina stood by her stool, arms crossed, eyes cast sideways in annoyance as Mr. Westfield came over to address the lack of flame coming out of her bunsen burner.

Eddie sat there in tense silence, eyes fixed forward as the flame licked the crucible with its blue heat.

“You know, this definitely beats equations,” Chrissy remarked with a soft chuckle.

He couldn’t really argue with that. Eddie didn’t say that though, instead he just nodded quietly.

“Say um,” Chrissy thumbed at the gummy eraser of her pencil, “Jason hasn’t given you any trouble, has he?”

Resentment rose up from the graveyard. “Define trouble,” he groused.

Chrissy sighed. “He can be a real asshole sometimes,” she admitted, to his surprise.

Eddie took a deep breath. It was vivid — the way she stumbled off that couch. How she nearly tripped over her own shoes. How Jason barked at her. The crazed look in his eyes. The fear in hers. “Sometimes?” he bit back.

Chrissy toyed at the hem of her skirt. “He’s not all bad.”

He wasn’t sure if it was the inflection of her voice, or the way her eyes cast down in shameful denial, but it transported him — all the way back to that small kitchen table, feet dangling from the chair as the red wax in his hand filled in the flame from a dragon’s mouth. He could see his mother in the kitchen doorway, her finger coiled tightly around the telephone cord, uttering the same words to a concerned voice on the other end.

Eddie hardened his lips and shook his head bitterly. “Yeah, well, doesn’t make him good.”

“Alright folks, listen up,” Mr. Westfield called out, drawing the attention of the class. “Next you’ll add the oxygen by lifting the lid to let some air in.”

With a sudden, determined movement, Chrissy reached across him to grab the tongs, bracing herself against the slate table. She gave them a few clicks before pinching the handle to lift the small, clay lid. A reaction occurred; blinding and white, igniting the gap between crucible and lid in a flickering flare.

They jumped back in unison.

“Try not to stare,” advised Mr. Westfield with monotone enthusiasm. “You could damage your eyes.”

Timely advice. Eddie blinked the white dots that clung to his vision away, and a smile caught him by surprise, betraying his steely resolve.

Chrissy caught it, and her sea green eyes found his from across the bunsen burner as she lowered the lid again. “That was awesome,” she whispered wildly.

It was kind of cool, he had to admit. He would take playing with fire over staring numbly at numbers on a page any day. Eddie peered over the rim of his plastic safety glasses and offered a tentative smile.

The heating continued, allowing for air every once in a while until finally there was no more reaction. There wasn’t much to say. Eddie removed the crucible from the burner. Chrissy added water from the pipette until the contents formed a paste. Eddie returned the crucible to the heat. The water evaporated. In the silence of their cooperation, in the passing of tools and scribbling of notes, Eddie wondered how long it would be before Chrissy came to her own conclusions. If she would ever figure out that even though Jason wasn’t all bad, she could do so much better.

Not with him, but on her own.

Clutching the crucible in the tongs, Chrissy set it on the scale for the final time. They both copied the weight onto their worksheets — different than when they started.

With five minutes to the bell, the cleanup was frenzied; a clammer of equipment hastily returned to shelves and boxes backdropped against the hissing water of half a dozen sinks. Even Mr. Westfield had given up on volume control in favor of tidiness. Eddie rid himself of the dreaded apron and goggles just in time for the bell to ring, and with that he snatched his backpack from the floor and followed the flow of his classmates out the door.

It wasn’t until he made it to the hallway that he remembered. Reaching back behind his neck, he felt it; ruffled satin. The owner was only a few feet ahead, ponytail swaying in ruffled white cotton as she walked.

“Chrissy!”

Her footsteps slowed, eyes brimming with a coy mischief that shot dread down his spine when turned against traffic to face him.

______

“Outlines are due on Friday,” you called to your class as you wiped down the board, a cloud of chalk dusted the air as you swiped the soft eraser over the letters. Like the wave of a magic wand, the bell had turned your practically snoring class into an eruption of noise. Before you could hear a pin drop, now you had to shout. With two periods left in the day, you wondered how many more times you would answer the same question. How many more times you would ask one only to be met with coughs and tired eyes.

Your feet hurt. Even the boots you had chosen for comfort and practicality were causing an ache in the soles of them, the hard heel putting too much pressure on your own. The lukewarm coffee you’d savored during fifth period had long since run its course through you. Glancing up at the clock, you realized you had about five minutes to take care of business or be forced to suffer for the duration of seventh period as well. Setting down the eraser, the decision was easy.

Your tired feet clicked down the crowded hallway with a sense of urgency that seemed to evade the rest of traffic. Scent pockets of perfume, mint gum, cigarettes, and body odors wafted through the air as you hurried past the rows of slamming lockers, dodging a pair of students overcome with the temptation to roughhouse, one grabbing the other by the backpack and yanking, sprinting ahead so his friend couldn’t catch him. You sighed, voice too tired to conjure discipline.

As you picked up on that strange, familiar scent of the approaching science lab, your eyes, like a magnet, were drawn to a familiar silhouette, standing just outside the door. You would have recognized him anywhere, picked him out of a crowd of thousands. Flutters bloomed in your chest. His long, dark curls bounced as he shook them out with his hand, like he was scratching the back of his head.

It was enchanting; the way he did just about anything. The way he moved, his sharp elbows and quick hands, the bright timbre of his voice, how his energy could shift on a dime from a soft breeze to a ripping gust.

The past three weeks had been much of the same. Conversations that strayed from educational to casual. Lingering glances. Secret touches. Stolen moments. Never speaking the truth of your heart. Never offering more than your hand.

The flow of students swept you forward, and as you passed, a figure emerged from behind where his shoulders obscured. In the seconds that slowed to a crawl, your eyes gathered volumes.

Strawberry blonde, petite, clutching a book to her soft, white cardigan. Sparkling eyes under soft blue shadow, cocked head, fluttering lashes, a smile bright enough to draw a moth.

Craning your neck back as traffic surged, you searched for his eyes.

Eddie didn’t see you.

You blinked, hard, and snapped your gaze forward over the sea of students as your heart leapt into your throat.

It was fine.

Click.

It was nothing.

Click.

He’s allowed to talk to people.

Click.

He didn’t see you.

Click.

Of course not, it’s crowded.

Click.

It burned, like the image was seared into your retinas. Her clean, white sneaker coyly toeing at the tile. Teeth that teased at plump, pink lips. Heavy lidded eyes. Arched back. Delicate fingers curled around a textbook spine. You tried to blink it away.

It was fine. It was nothing.

You rounded the corner for the faculty bathroom, relieved to find it empty, and shut yourself inside. The tried old light bathed the room in a yellow wash. You locked the door and stood there for a moment, heart racing, chest heaving in the quiet reprieve from the bells, lockers, and voices. Space for your thoughts to grow louder as you went about your business.

Why shouldn’t he talk to some girl? There was nothing wrong with that. In the glimpse that you caught of his face, it was lacking in distinct expression. Listening. Nothing worth noting. It was hers that really stuck with you. Her rosy cheeks and perky ponytail. The way she batted her eyes and licked her lips like she wanted to make a meal out of him.

Eddie Munson; summer wind. Tall and roguish, charming and animated, full of surprises. It was shocking he was single. Downright unbelievable that no other woman in this entire school would harbor any feelings. There had to be at least a handful that cast shy gazes as they passed him in the hallway. At least a few that floated curious whispers across lunch tables. In the dark corners of your imagination you had always figured, you’d just never seen it. And now the image wouldn’t leave you. Sticky. Clinging like you’d stepped in gum.

You met your tired eyes in the mirror above the sink. Timeless, it mocked, as the whisper of lines became canyons.

On the other side of the door was sea of young women. Free to talk and gawk and get into the sort of trouble he surely had a taste for. The kind of trouble you only had the freedom to imagine. How long before the novelty of you wore off? Before his restless hands sought something more? Something he could grasp in broad daylight? Someone who could keep his stride, share a milkshake or a bucket of popcorn?

You cast your welling eyes downward, turned on the water, wet your hands, and pumped the soap.

It started subtle, last spring. Started with the way he looked at you; a flame that dimmed to embers over months of dinners spent alone, plates gone cold, beds left empty, leaving you with nothing but to wonder how he looked at her.

Time moves quickly for young men. You of all people would know it. Like a wildfire; hungry and insatiable, devouring everything in its path. It renders promises of meaning, leaves the past in charred remains. It surges ever forward, seeking fuel.

It left behind an ice in you. Stalling over the sink as the world surged on outside, you felt it seize your chest again.

Eddie Munson; wildfire. Twenty years old. Restless. Reckless. He wasn’t your boyfriend. You weren’t an item. You were nothing.

The water was scalding. Bubbles erupted as you worked up a lather. Scrubbing your knuckles, your palms, the space between your fingers where his had nestled once.

No. You weren’t nothing.

The bell had you flinching; a loud and shrill summons back to your post, your place, your duty.

You were his teacher.

Pinballs. Louder than the shrieking bell. Louder than ever before. You didn’t dare meet your eyes again, frightened of what sort of monster would stare back.

What am I doing?

You turned off the water and paused, hands weeping over the sink.

It was foolish, to play with fire. It was foolish just about anywhere, but here the walls were made of tinder, the desks of charcoal. His fingers like matches, striking you with every touch. But oh, how you craved the heat. Close enough to thaw you; the ice deep in your chest, weeping as it melted, pooling in your lap, making puddles on the floor.

Droplets fell to the tile as you turned to grab a paper towel. It soaked through, blooming dark, wet patches as the brown paper blotted up the dampness.

You shook your head bitterly. No. You certainly weren’t nothing. You were a phase. A passing fancy. An odd fascination. You would never make it to May. You’d be lucky if you made it to January without losing his interest entirely.

You crumpled the soggy paper in your fists and threw it in the trash. Blinking back tears, you pressed your hand to the door and took one deep, final breath as you prepared to face the world again — to put on your mask and perform in front of twenty pairs of judging eyes.

The gap was enormous. Cavernous and treacherous. He deserved someone he could be with in public. Someone he could take to a park or a movie. Someone he could go to fucking prom with.

With a ragged exhale, you pressed open the door.

He deserved someone his own age.

The hall was a flurry of slamming lockers, a scattering of the few straggling students who rushed to find their classrooms. The wind cooled your heated face as you marched, one foot in front of the other, to your post. Shoulders back, deep breaths, sore feet making echos off the polished tile.

He’d get tired of you too.

Click.

They always do.

Click.

The hall stretched on like an Escher drawing, twisting and distorting in your vision as you neared your classroom door. Tears threatened your lashes, and you huffed them away with a determined shrug of your shoulders.

As your fingers grazed the cold metal handle, you caught your own eyes in the glass. Sad and droopy, welling with longing and resentment. On the other side you could already hear the commotion, the questions, the stares, the awkward silence. The bell rang again — a final warning.

With a heavy sigh, you turned the handle.

______

Eddie twisted the ridged dial of his locker in his fingers, left and right until he heard a click. Popping the door open and slinging his backpack forward on his shoulder, he unloaded three weighty textbooks into the dark, cluttered enclosure. He grabbed his thick, leather coat, tucked it under his arm, and slammed the door shut.

In the absence of the books, and of the dimming noise as it filtered out through the front doors and into the parking lot, he felt another weight lift in him. In a matter of minutes, the mindless chatter, the tried scenery of this dull prison, the days worth of stares that clung to him like glue would fall away as he passed the threshold of your door.

With every step he took, Eddie felt lighter. The slamming lockers didn’t phase him, the weird looks from freshmen went right through him, even the shoulder check from a jock coming around the corner glanced right off. In a million years he never would have expected to feel relieved to stay after school, or a pep in his step as he approached a classroom, but in a million years he never expected to find you behind the big desk.

He could feel the warmth already as he approached your open door. Hear your laughter at his stupid jokes, feel the heat of your arm graze his, catch your hand, and you, by surprise. But when he turned into threshold, knuckles raising out of habit to rap against it, he was met with a different scene.

You didn’t look up. Not even when tapped his knuckles to the wood in a shave-and-a-haircut—two-bits pattern. Head cast down over a sea of papers, you looked like you were drowning. He padded slowly toward the big desk, face dropping as he noticed another detail: the wooden folding chair—his chair—sat empty and open. Across from you.

Eddie dropped his backpack to the floor with a heavy thump, making his presence known. “Hey,” he started, tentative and cautious.

It wasn’t until he was practically towering over you that you finally looked up at him, face heavy, expressionless, tired. “Hey,” you stated plainly.

Eddie craned his head and searched your eyes. “You ok?”

You blinked and swallowed. “Yeah, everything’s fine.”

He stood like this a moment, vision locked with yours, dark eyes roving, searching. When you offered nothing more, he simply nodded once, strolled around to the front of your desk, grabbed the back of the chair with a determined slap, and dragged it around to where it belonged — beside you.

He took his place in it; draping his coat over the back of it like always, creaking the wood with his weight as he plunked himself down.

You resumed wading through the sea, heavy gaze cast over it.

Eddie toyed with a pencil on your desk, tapping the eraser to the wood as his eyes bored a hole into the side of your head. You just kept on roving, shoulders tense, lips worried. He could have been invisible, watching you from a hole in a poster, or a crack in the wall. You offered him the same level of attention. “Something’s wrong,” he confronted, unable to take the frigid silence for a moment longer.

You sighed and set your pen down. “I’m sorry, it’s just…” your hand worried the back of your neck, “…a lot, this time of year, work wise.” Your eyes met his only for a second before casting downward again at the pages. “Here, let me clear this up.” Your hands busied themselves with the mess, shuffling the paper into a clumsy, hurried pile.

“No—no, it’s…it’s ok.” He scooted his chair closer, feeling so useless all of a sudden, burdensome, like his presence added to your task load. He wanted to help, to alleviate the tension, but his hands simply fumbled in his lap as you collected the clutter with your chalk dusted knuckles. As you tapped the pile of papers against the desk in haste to form a semblance of a pile, his hand gained a mind of its own.

As if possessed by its own separate consciousness, an impulse deep and thrumming with the need to soothe, it took up refuge in the place between your shoulders; warm and firm, drawing slow, caring circles at your blouse.

You froze, papers stiff against the surface, gaze straight ahead. His hand followed suit, freezing, twitching, arm locked in its extension.

“Y-you should—” you stuttered, blinking wildly as you found your breath. “Why don’t you go grab your schoolwork?” you asked with a curtness that startled him.

Eddie lurched his hand away like you were a hot stove. “I—I’m sorry I just… w-wanted to help. I’m sorry.” His mind became a whirlpool, swirling with worry as his stomach did backflips. He fumbled with the zipper on his backpack.

“No—no, Eddie, I’m… I’m sorry,” you lamented.

He’d never seen your face so fraught. Like you’d stepped on a cat’s tail, chased it through the house with apologies.

“It’s not your fault, it’s…” You swallowed, breaking his gaze. You couldn’t finish the sentence. You didn’t need to.

Mine.

He was losing you.

He should have expected it by now. What could he possibly offer you anyway? His hand? A few stolen moments? Some flirty comments to make you feel good about yourself for a second or two?

He wondered when the other shoe would drop. When you would open your eyes and see this for what it really was — that you were a grown ass woman with a college degree and a real career, and he was twenty years old repeating his senior year of high school for the third fucking time, selling drugs to teenagers, and oh, your student for fuck’s sake.

It wasn’t lost on him; that he was playing tee-ball in a big league stadium. He stared into the crumpled contents of his backpack with a deep, shaking breath, and pulled out his notebook. It fell from his hand with a dejected slap against the big desk; juvenile amidst the tidy assortment of office supplies. The spiral was bent and crumpled, the cover worn soft from abuse. He sat there a moment and stared at it as the heavy silence swallowed you both.

Your lips hardened to a bitter line, eyes cast down over the evidence of your position. Over the evidence of his. You wouldn’t look at him, like you were afraid to. Finally, after a suffocating minute, you spoke — frigidly professional. “What do you want to work on today?”

The question sent a hot rage coursing through him. So that was it, then? Business as usual? Pretending like nothing happened? That none of this was real? Eddie sat back in his seat and boiled with a gaze so intense it could have burned right through you. He wouldn’t give you the satisfaction of an answer. Not until you gave him enough respect to look him in the eyes when you asked the question.

You just sat there, frozen, shoulders locked, eyes cast down at the big desk for an agonizing moment that stretched well past the point of comfort. His gaze was unrelenting, fueled by stubborn indignation. You felt it. He knew you did, because when you finally did submit your eyes to him, you flinched.

He almost felt bad for it. For causing you to shrink so small, to look so fragile, like how you did when you’d relinquished a fragment of your past, when the impulse to soothe you drove him to your hand. The impulse rose again, as did some annoyance by it; the grip you had on him, even in his most determined anger.

“What?” you choked out, barely above a whisper.

You knew damn well what. The audacity to ask sent heat coursing through his veins again, but the look in your eyes, like cornered prey, quelled the fire enough to sigh his way to a level-headed response. “You’re acting different,” he said simply.

You swallowed, breaking his gaze like you’d been caught. It would be insulting to deny it. He could see the gears turning over in your head, the thoughts forming careful words behind your eyes, but in the end, all you could muster was, “I’m sorry.”

It was a weak admission. It answered nothing, really, other than confirming his suspicions. But it was something. He wanted to press, to poke, to pry, and get to the bottom of what caused this shift in you, but in the silence of the classroom, with floors that echoed and walls that listened, words like “you won’t let me touch you,” seemed too far too direct, far too pointed. In the end, it was your eyes that said the most; welling like pools with all the words he knew would pierce the ever thinning veil, poke holes in your shared secrets, make them monstrous and real.

In the end, your eyes just tugged him forward, made him soft and pliant until all he could muster was decency. “It’s…” he sighed, raking his hand through his hair, “it’s fine.” Soft as he intended it, he couldn’t hide the broken edge.

There was little relief in sigh you gave, heavy and ragged. Your fingers grazed the curled, beaten corner of his notebook with a caring reverence that made him wish that he was paper.

He wondered how much longer it could go on like this, before you craved something more than he could offer. Before you tired of secret touches and passing glances. Before some hot-shot with a convertible saw you at a bar somewhere and swept you away. The crushing realization hung heavy in the space between you, the gap more cavernous than ever.

Eddie twisted his rings in his lap, fingers burning. It was a miracle you’d let him touch you to begin with. But you did, and he had, and by god, he refused to go back. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t. Not when you’d let him into your world, given him more than he ever thought possible — a sliver of hope. For you. For himself.

When the silence became too much for him to bear, he broke it with your name.

Your first name.

Bitter grief melted to soft shock as your lips parted, eyes widened. At last, he had your full attention.

With a deep breath, he started. “I don’t… know what happened. If it’s something I did o-or something someone said, or, fuck,” he ran hand through his hair, exasperated, words trailing off into nothing.

“Eddie,” you started, eyes softening deeper; into sympathy, into pity. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then why won’t you look at me?” he snapped, but the quiver in his voice betrayed him.

You swallowed, shaking your head, but before you could give an answer he didn’t want to hear, he continued.

“I know, it—it’s ludicrous, this whole thing. To think that I—” he breathed a bitter laugh, “that you,” he glanced at the door.

But instead of shutting him down with the ugly truth, you leaned closer, like your whole world hinged on him. He saw it then, hope, glimmering like a golden treasure in the tremble of your lips, in the pinching of your brow, in the welling of your eyes that threatened to spill over.

“I know,” you whispered, like it caused you pain.

Slowly, Eddie raised his hand to rest on top of his notebook, a fractional distance from yours. Close enough to feel your heat, to catch the subtle tremble of your knuckles. So transfixed by the curve of your delicate fingers beside the broad, ruddy angles of his, that had he not dared to draw his eyes away, he might have missed the tear that pinched through your lashes when you closed them.

Slowly, bravely, he inched his pinky forward. Just close enough to graze yours. It was a phantom of a touch, but you didn’t pull away. In fact, when he looked up, he was surprised to see a whisper of a smile. A sad, soft thing, like it was breaking through layers to surface. Emboldened, he raised his pinky, ever so slightly, to gently stroke yours. The gesture was small and silly, but enough to earn a puff of laughter through the smile that cracked the gloom upon your features.

It opened up a narrow passage, and he entered with the boldest thing that he had ever said.

Maybe it was the fact that he was too stubborn, or perhaps too stupid for his own good, but the sheer audacity of what came out of his mouth next surprised even himself. “Um, my band is playing at the Hideout tomorrow—a-and—” he swallowed, gaining composure as he raised his eyes to your level with conviction. “I want you to come.”

It was all he could offer. An experience.

Your jaw dropped.

“I think—I-Iwant you to see some of the new stuff we’ve been working on. I think you’d like it,” he peddled on.

“Oh, Eddie I—” you shook your head. “I don’t know, I mean—”

He doubled down, brows level and serious. “We—we don’t have to come together. Hell, bring a friend, bring several. It doesn’t have to be a big deal if we don’t make it a big deal. People go to bars all the time.”

As you worried your lips in your teeth, he could see the scales tipping back and forth, weighing the odds and risks against the want. “Oh god, I don’t know.”

“You’re allowed to exist in public. You don’t just like… fold your arms and retreat into the walls here at night,” he laughed.

It snapped a chuckle out of you, like sunlight peeking through the clouds. “Oh yeah? Tell that to the students I run into at the grocery store,” you quipped. Then, as quickly as the sunlight came, the clouds were back. You surveyed the room and dropped your eyes in pensive worry.

Eddie stroked his pinky over yours, slowly, sweetly. “Please?”

You gave him a look, one that threatened resistance but hiding just beneath it, surrender.

“It doesn’t have to be a big deal,” he persuaded, “just me on stage, and you in the audience cheering with your girlfriends or whatever, well, hopefully cheering. I mean ‘Hand of Doom’ is still a crapshoot sometimes but,” he breathed a laugh.

With a chuckling shake of your head, your resolve crumbled like sand in front of his eyes.

“You can boo us too, wouldn’t be the first time. We’ve got tough skin.”

You rolled your eyes and laughed. “I’m not gonna boo you.”

A wicked grin cracked like lightning across his face. “Not gonna, you mean you’ll come then?”

You sighed, deep and heavy, shifting the scales back and forth.

Eddie tipped his head and raised his eyebrows. “You know you want to.”

“Of course I want to,” you deadpanned.

His umber eyes glimmered, wild and auspicious. “Well then, do what you want,” he said, sitting back in his seat like the decision was easy.

Want. A shelved, forgotten thing, like something you’d lost in the move. Something you’d tucked away long before that. Left to grow stale inside a box, in the back of a closet, in a place you barely remembered.

It sat beside you now, loud and unignorable, with lips that begged and eyes that pleaded. And you, in all your years of practiced discipline, could no longer deny it.

Eddie Munson; wildfire. Restless, frenetic, warm, and compelling.

With a dignified sigh, and a verdant conviction that peeked through the ash, you turned to him at last, and surrendered.

______

A/N: So begins the craziest week in the whole story. Two words: Donkey Kong. 😈

The next chapter might take me a little longer than usual just because it's a moment we've all been waiting for and I want to make sure it's absolutely perfect.

Also, I've been featured on a PODCAST so if you want to hear me talk about this story and specifically the appeal of reader insert fics, check it out HERE!

✨ As always, nothing encourages me to continue writing this story more than hearing from you. Seriously, please give me your thoughts, your theories, your keyboard smashes. Hit up my inbox, my DMs, whatever suits your fancy.

Taglist: @mermaidsandcats29 @toxicjayhoo @ooo-protean-ooo @jadequeen88 @storiesbyrhi @wroteclassicaly @kissmyacdc @mantorokk-writes @loveshotzz @trashmouth-richie @big-ope-vibes @carolmunson @wordscomehither @munson-blurbs @blueywrites @alottanothing @bebe07011 @latenighttalkingwithgrapejuice @idkidknemore @alizztor @godcreatoreli @ethereal27cereal @munsonsgirl71 @alienthings @eddiemunsonsbitcch @emxxblog @siriusmuggle @sidthedollface2 @dollalicia @lma1986 @catherinnn @eddiemunson4life420 @readsalot73 @ruby-dragon @ladylilylost @3rriberri @princess-eddie @nightless @eddieswifu @thew0rldsastage @chaoticgood-munson @hanahkatexo @eddiemunsonsbedroom @beep-beep-sherlock @averagemisfit03 @vintagehellfire @haylaansmi @sllooney @lunaladybug734 @callingmrsbarnes

#seriously guys I'm stoked about this one #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson older reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x teacher!reader #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson angst #don't stand so close to me

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skeltnwrites · 2 months

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A/N: I couldn’t stop thinking about this since I’ve been embracing my curls lately so to my curly haired friends enjoy!

Curly Hair!Reader x Eddie Munson Headcanons

(and just general headcanons about his hair)

Eddie is definitely going for the signature rocker hairdo with his long curls, but I don’t think he cares enough to go out of his way to take care of it

aka that frizz is not as intentional as he makes it out to be

That is until he met you, and you started leaving curly hair products in his shower and explaining the meaning of porosity to him over dinner

He’d be so jealous proud when you finally figure out a curl routine that works for you. When you show him the final product he’s hovering over you to inspect it closely, tugging at strands until they pop neatly back into place and questioning you about the lack of frizz

“This looks metal, babe!” You chuckle. “No, really! You look like you could be a backup for Black Sabbath!”

Y’all brush your teeth beside each other one morning while getting ready and his eyes flick between your curls and his and he begs you to help him

You try your products in his hair and he LOVES smelling like you. So much so that you catch him mindlessly bringing a handful of hair under his nose to sniff

If your conditioners and creams don’t work with his hair, you’d drag him to a beauty supply store to pick out some different products. He’d get distracted, shuffling through nail polish and eyeliner brands while you’re reading the ingredients lists

Shower time becomes very sacred in your household, often spending an hour plus in the bathroom washing, combing, and styling each others hair

He likely reverts back to just using your products after a while which are still a hell of a lot better than whatever drugstore three in one Wayne bought him before

I just know this boy sheds like a cat. Your bathroom is covered in hair no matter how much you both pick it up. You best believe Wayne is coming over once a month to unclog the drains

Also you find his hair ties everywhere

He read about the importance of protective sleep wear in a magazine and saw an ad for silk pillowcases on tv, then promptly ran to the mall to buy you matching ones

When your experimenting with new products and you ask for his opinion, he is not very helpful and will tell you it looks great either way, but you can’t fault him for it he just thinks you look pretty all the time 🥺🫶

His hair definitely gives him some level of confidence. You gave him his first haircut in like four years and he was very nonchalant about it, giving you full permission to do whatever. But once the dead-ends started piling around his feet, he started to get antsy, eyeing your every snip in the mirror

Trimming his bangs becomes as routine as grocery shopping. A pair of scissors are kept in the medicine cabinet of the bathroom for easy access

He gets a lot of knots between driving with the windows open and throwing it in the messiest bun after a gig. He asks you to untangle it most times

He’ll gladly trim your hair too (if you trust him lol)

#eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #stranger things fic #stranger things #eddie munson headcanons #fluff

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teddyeyeseddie · 1 year

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The Cherrywood Motel

rockstar!eddie x reader

warnings: drug use, general rockstar lifestyle

(a/n- rockstar eddie? housekeeper reader? sign me up! thank you @lofaewrites for looking this over for me, my beta forever ✨ I have two more parts for this, it may be longer we shall see!)

masterlist

The smell of bleach invades your nostrils as you push through the laundry room of The Cherrywood Motel. Your uniform skims across your thighs, the baby blue ribbon cinching your waist flowing easily behind you. You run into a few co-workers, older ladies that have worked for the family for years. Each woman bids you a soft good morning as you collect the linens you would be needing for the day.

You load up your cart and push out into the cold crisp fall. It’s nearing 10 o’clock, checkout time coming in a hurry as you watch the parking lot before you fill with guests packing their cars to leave.

You push to your first room when the clock hits 10:15. You’d given the occupants more than enough time to leave, so you’re not really worried about bothering a guest.

You knock several times on the door, no answer coming from the other side. You knock once more, just to be sure. Silence. You take out your key and begin opening the door when suddenly it swings open.

On the opposite side of the door stands a tall, lean, beautiful man. He has inky black tattoos creeping up his arms, the dark contrast on the skin drawing your eyes to anywhere and everywhere on the man’s body.

“It’s’ 10 o’clock, what do you want, sweets?” The man groans as he holds back the long brown hairs that have slipped from the bun resting atop his head.

“S’ actually time to check out?” you say as if its a question, the man's eyes widen comically as he rushes back inside. He closes the door in your face but returns moments later with a shirt on and clunky Dr. Martens on his feet.

“Came in so fucked last night I must’ve only paid for one night,” he mumbles to himself as he makes his way back to the main office to settle his predicament.

You’re left in a daze, the beautiful man leaving a lingering tingle in your heart. He was just so pretty.

You were used to pretty men but not pretty like this man. You lived in a small town outside of Nashville, too many wannabe cowboys and country stars for your taste. You’d managed to meet a few nice men in your small town, but nothing that ever stuck. But he, he stuck with you. You remember his big brown eyes, smudged with eyeliner, his tattooed abdomen, his impossibly long fingers and even the way he smelled. It left you speechless outside of your next room, eyes scanning the expanse between his room and the office.

Just as you’re about to peek into the motel room, you see him walk out of the office. He flashes you a smile and holds something up in his hands. You squint and see it's a pair of keys, you squint a little harder and notice the unfamiliar yellow keychain adorning the set. You send him back a smile and continue with your work, making the beds in the muggy room, scrubbing toilets and leaving complimentary soaps on each pillow.

It wasn’t glamorous work, you weren’t exactly busting at the seams when someone asked you what you did for a living. But, it paid your bills and paid them well.

You mindlessly hum to the radio as you finish up mopping the bathroom in your final room of the day. You carefully fold up the extra towels once you're finished mopping. You wipe your hands off on the skirt of your uniform before rolling up the cord to your vacuum. You place everything back on your cart, rolling it down past the man’s old room which now lay empty.

You park your cart and make your way to the breakroom, pushing inside and plopping down across from your co-worker, Christa.

“Can you believe Eddie Munson is here?” You cock your head to the side, confusion evident on your face as you look at your friend. You get up from your place at the table, walking to the vending machine and admiring your choices as Christa drones on.

“You know Eddie Munson, Corroded Coffin Eddie Munson? Dropped out of highschool to form the most metal band of the century? Does that ring any bells?” She questions as she watches you fish dimes out of the pocket of your skirt.

“I listen to Bowie and Kate Bush, I dont think I’m the one to be asking about metal,” you respond, pushing the coins into the machine and mindlessly punching in the number you always do. A-3.

“He’s got like, gorgeous long brown hair? Loads of tattoos?” she continues to pry, she knows you’re familiar when your cheeks burn red.

“AHA! You do know who I’m talking about!” she yells, rushing you to sit back down so she can hear all about it.

You throw your treat on the table before you and take your seat back across from Christa.

“I uh- woke him up this morning,” you state, a little shy to be talking about a customer so freely.

“He answered the door all confused. He wanted to know why I was waking him up at 10 and I told him it was time to check out. So he freaks and rushes to the office after getting dressed. Nothing really special,” you shrug your shoulders as you play with the wrapper of the Hostess cupcake in front of you.

Christa shrieks at your words, fanning herself as she imagines herself in your shoes.

“So he was shirtless?” she questions. You offer her a small nod. She squeals even louder, an older lady who works in the laundry rooming shushing you two as she microwaves her dinner.

“I saw him again, after that,” you state matter of factly.

“He had a new key, had a yellow keychain?” you open the dessert in your hand and take a bite.

“Yellow?” Christa Questions. You nod as you chew, Christmas mouth dropping as you confirm her question.

“That's the long term room,”

You leave the break room that evening with your mind whirling, surely he only wanted the room for the additional features. There was no way Eddie Munson would stay at The Cherrywood for that long.

You’re walking to your car that is parked behind the office, shuffling with your keys. You spot a small ember to your right, you turn your head towards the source of the light and see Eddie Munson staring at you, his face lit by the Camel he is smoking. He gives you a small salute as you slip into your car, you only offer him a shy smile in return.

You drive home that night with the smell of cigarettes lingering on your clothes, your mind swooning at the imagine of his stubbly face lit by a cig. You toss and turn that night in your small apartment, the image of those brown eyes bore into your mind every time you tried to close your eyes.

The next morning you sneak into the main office where the small continental breakfast is offered. You sneak past your boss to the coffee station, pouring yourself a heaping cup before turning to walk to the sugar station. As you’re turning around, you collide with a firm body, expletives fly as does the coffee in your hand, sending it straight down your uniform, warm liquid causing your thin uniform skirt to cling to your stomach and thighs.

“Shit- m sorry sweets,” the man you now know at Eddie kindly offers, “Wasn’t even payin attention,” You look up at him, frowning when you see his beautiful brown eyes are hidden by dark round frames.

“Probably cause of these,” You mumble as you reach your hand up to take the glasses off his face. You’re met with those brown eyes that filled your dreams the night prior. There’s still eyeliner smudged under his eyes, the dark presence bringing out the golden flecks in his eyes. You frown when you really begin to study his face, his nose is dry and cracked, the skin around the nostril irritated and puffy. His eyes are rimmed red, like a permanent kiss of tears. His hair disheveled and heaping on top of his head.

Eddie’s heart pangs when he sees you recoil at the sight of him, he averts his eyes and reaches for his glasses. You snatch your hand away, looking up at him.

“S’ just you're too pretty for that, Eddie,” You fold the glasses up in your hand before gently placing them in the palm of Eddie’s, you turn on your heels and rush to your first clean of the day, successfully locking yourself in the room before Eddie can find you.

Eddie curses to himself when he watches you walk, no run away. You leave him there bewildered, not quite sure what to do. He wanted to run and explain that he’s trying, trying to be better. He wants to tell you it was just one line but everyone who knows him knows that’s bullshit. One line is never one line with Eddie Munson.

It’s one line, two lines, a random fuck, three lines, four lines, a broken chair, five lines a broken tv, 6 lines and somehow he wakes up naked in his guest bedroom. It's a shot for shot, line for line, cut throat kind of party when Eddie Munson is around.

But now, standing here, he has this itch inside him, one he has never even entertained scratching in his years to fame. This want to actually do better and this need to prove to you that this isn't the Eddie Munson the world cracks him out to be.

His second day there, he finds your cart and places an old Metallica t-shirt on your cart with a little note, “Sorry I dumped your coffee all over you :( xx”

You giggle at the sloppy handwriting, you smile when you see him across the courtyard of the small motel. He sends you a wink which causes you to blush furiously. He lets out a small chuckle at your obvious flustered demeanor. He tries to wave you over but you’re quick to scurry in another direction, off to another clean.

His third day there he stops at your cart when you’re leaving your last clean of the day.

“Hey uh- I need?” He trails off as he looks around your cart, eyes lighting up when he sees the extra complimentary soaps on your cart, “SOAP! I need more soap,”

You look at him quizzically, head cocking to the side as he lets out a nervous laugh. You simply reach for the soap and hand him some, smiling slightly when your hands touch.

“Names Eddie,” he says softly.

“I know,” You respond, eyes never meeting his as you walk away towards the breakroom.

His fourth day there he is bound to know your name, he even stops Christa to try and wiggle it out of her.

“She- she's really pretty?” Christa’s eyebrows raise, knowing exactly who he is talking about.

“She always wears little white keds, with the ruffle socks?” Christa nods, crossing her arms over her chest as she weighs the benefits of revealing any information to Eddie.

“I just wanna know her name..” he mumbles, pleading eyes looking down at her.

“Think she’s gonna have to tell you that one,” Christa pats his thigh before heading to her car, she bids Eddie a soft goodnight and drives away, leaving him alone and wondering all about who you are.

His fifth day there, you’re standing in the middle of the office, suitcases all around you. You’re flustered and upset talking to your boss.

He’s watching from the outside, sitting by his door smoking a cigarette. Your boss rounds the counter, grabbing some of the bags before leading you to the room next to Eddie’s, the other long-term stay.

You pass by him without a word, your boss simply offering him a nod of his head as he passes him. Your boss lets you into the room, giving you a quick hug assuring you everything would be okay.

Your eyes meet Eddie’s as you go to shut the door, he offers you a small smile that you softly return but shut the door quickly so as to not start any conversation. You were over the night and you dont think your poor brain could handle another dose of being rewired by Eddie Munson.

Your apartment had flooded, ruining much of the furniture you owned but sparing your more beloved pieces. Your boss agreed to let you stay in the other long-term as long as you were willing to help extra in the laundry room in the mornings. You agreed, thankful you had such a wonderful work family around you.

You unpack your bags slowly, the night wearing on you. You check the clock and see that it is nearing 1am. Your boss has given you the day off tomorrow so you were excited to get to sleep in. As you lay your head on the pillow you hear a soft voice bleeding through the wall behind your head.

“Her eyes and words are so icy

Oh but she burns, like rum on the fire

Hot and fast and angry as she can be

I walk my days on a wire”

You hear the same words over and over, different inflections and notes flooding through the walls. If it was anyone else, it’d drive you crazy. But knowing it’s Eddie, it makes your heart skip a beat. You feel like he’s there, singing just for you, putting on a show for you that no one else can see or hear.

You fall asleep like that, the perfected verse softly bleeding into the room, the twang of guitar accompanying the words comforting you.

You wake the next morning with a crick in your neck, you slowly roll out of bed heading towards the shower in hopes the heat will soothe your aching muscles. You hop in as soon as it is warm enough, letting the water aid the painkillers you had just taken. Once you’re through with your shower, you slowly climb out and wrap a towel around your exposed body, heading back to the main room to get dressed for the day.

You settle for a soft skirt and Eddie’s Metallica shirt, you shove on your Keds and make your way out the door, shrieking immediately when you open the door to find Eddie Munson standing there.

“Shit! M’ sorry sweets.. Was just gonna knock and see if you wanted anything from town,” he soothes, hands coming to rest on your tense shoulders. Once you finally calm down a bit, you’re able to respond.

“Was just going to town myself,” you reply, smoothing out your skirt and looking down at the ground.

“I could take you?” he questions, eyes hopeful as they cast onto you. You switch your weight from foot to foot, contemplating the idea of being so close to Eddie for so long. You look back at his eyes, his usual unsure eyes filled with hope.

“O-okay but I’ll drive,” you respond, looking up at him, cheeks burning at the smirk that plays on his face.

“Sure thing sweets,” he rasps, turning to lock his door. He’s wearing baggy blue jeans, reebok sneakers and a shirt that barely rides up his tummy. His hair is pulled up on top of his head, bangs framing his face.

He follows you to your car, a baby blue ford fiesta. You loved your car, it was relatively new and oh so cute. Eddie smiles upon seeing it, whistling as he approaches the door.

“Mmm cute car for a cute girl,” he says with a grin, ducking into your car. He buckles his seatbelt, sniffling as he does so. Your heart breaks for a moment, knowing just what was going on.

You stay silent during the car ride, the odd sniffle breaking the silence here and there. You arrive at your local grocery store, turning your car off once you park. Eddie pushes his sunglasses up his nose, adjusting his bangs before exiting the car.

You round the car, making your way inside, Eddie right next to you the whole time. You browse the aisles looking for the things you need, stopping and picking up a treat here and there. You’re at checkout when you spot the Hostess cupcakes, your hand reaching out for a chocolate one but a hand is quicker than yours. Your hand meets the top of Eddies but you quickly pull it away when you feel the cold of his hands.

“Sorry-” you mumble as you place your items on the belt before you.

“S’ okay. Here,” he hands you a pack of cupcakes, smiling at you before grabbing another pack for himself.

You both buy your respective items, Eddie taking your paper bag, carrying one in both arms. He puts them in the back of your car, settling in next to you in the passenger seat.

“Listen- I know I’m kind of intimidating and I’m sure you’ve looked into who I am, but that's not really me…” he tries to offer. You stay silent before taking a deep breath in.

“E-eddie, I know people crack you up to be crazy and you haven’t shown me that. But..”

Eddie winces, preparing for what words come out of your mouth next.

“I- I can see it. In your eyes, some semblance of truth,” you stare up at him for a while, his hands coming to take off his sunglasses to reveal those beautiful red-rimmed eyes.

“S’ part of the lifestyle sweets,” he rasps, smirking but letting it fall when he sees how unamused you are.

“Doesn’t have to be..”

#eddie x fem!reader #eddie x reader #Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie Munson x you #Eddie Munson x y/n #Eddie x you #Eddie x y/n #Eddie Munson fluff #rockstar!eddie Munson #rockstar eddie #rockstar eddie Munson #eddie munson fanfiction #teddy eyes writes 🧚🏻‍♂️✨#18+ fic

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rip-quizilla · 10 months

Text

Impossible to Hate You ~ Part 5

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!Reader

Summary: Everything is falling- leaves from the trees, rain from the sky, you for Eddie, and Eddie for you.

Word Count: 10.1 K

A/N: Big thanks to @the-unforgivenn (happy birthday❤️) for all of the help you gave me on this chapter, and honestly this whole fic in general. You've been an invaluable part of the writing process of this story, and the fact that you care so much about Eddie & Ace just makes me feel so loved... you don't even know. Ily wifey✨

Thank you @vintagehellfire for your priceless tattoo knowledge- I hope I did you proud!!

Also thanks to @blueywrites for helping me decide on what Eddie would tattoo on reader back in our Tumblr DMs in June😂 y'all that's how long I've had this scene in my brain. This part of the story has been a long time coming.

Divider was created by the lovely and talented @hellfire--cult❤️

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Part 5

Fall, 1983

“Rick, are you serious, man?”

“Dead serious, I’ll sell it to you for twenty.”

You caught the tail end of their conversation as you approached the red plastic picnic table in Forest Hills trailer park. Today was the first day of fall, and while it may not have felt like biting cold and crunchy leaves yet, it did feel like flannels tied around waists and long-dead grass that broke beneath the soles of your shoes. You hopped up onto the surface of the table, swinging your feet around to rest beside Eddie where he sat on the bench.

“Sell what?” you asked, producing three cans of Coke from your bag that you’d brought from home and handing one to each of the boys. Rick had grown accustomed to your presence since the spring, so he actually cracked a smile when he answered your question and nodded in thanks as he accepted the can.

“Munson wants to buy my old tattoo gun.”

Your jaw dropped. “Wait, seriously?” you asked Eddie.

He didn’t take his eyes off Rick. “And I’m wondering what the catch is if you’re selling it to me for so cheap.”

You cracked open your can of soda with a hiss, joining Eddie in his Rick stare-down. “Hmm,” you mused, “I bet he forgot to clean it and it’s staph-infested.”

“Nope,” Rick popped the ‘p’ after taking a swig from his shiny red can. “Never been used, so I can guarantee it’s staph-free. Always meant to use it, but after that brush with the cops I had last month, I don’t want to risk having it.”

You narrowed your eyes at Eddie, trying to discern whether or not he’d thought about the fact that if he bought it, then he would be in possession of paraphernalia for illegal Indiana activities.

Then again, you knew he smoked weed and that was most definitely against the law as well, and he hadn’t been caught yet. You trusted him not to be stupid enough to get arrested.

You turned your line of questioning on Eddie. “Why on earth do you need a tattoo gun anyway?”

“Well you see, Ace-” Eddie lifted one of your feet up from the bench, straightening your leg and presenting your right shoe- your white converse, half covered in mythical creatures and random doodles that Eddie had slowly been adding to with his fine-tipped Sharpie ever since you’d bought them in early August. “-it seems that I need a canvas for my art, and it won’t be long before I run out of shoe.”

You quirked an eyebrow. “So now people are the canvas?”

Eddie held up his arms, bare skin nearly translucent in the afternoon sun. His nearly-too-small Iron Maiden tee showcased just how much bare skin he had to spare along the contours of his limbs. “If by people you mean me, then yeah.”

“You’re going to tattoo yourself?”

“Yep!”

“Without practicing on someone else first?”

Eddie smirked, “You volunteering?”

You rolled your eyes, but for some odd reason the idea stuck. You decided to play along.

“Let’s say I am, what would the tattoo be?”

Eddie hadn’t anticipated this answer. He was so surprised, in fact, that he choked on the soda that he’d just sipped into his mouth before your question. In a cacophony of coughs and wheezes, Eddie managed to regain his composure as you smiled wryly, feeling as though you’d bested him somehow in some small way. To fluster him with something as small as this, something he hadn’t expected.

“You’re serious? You want a tattoo?” Eddie responded skeptically, before turning away from you to fiddle with his soda can still held in his hands.

You shrugged, as if he were asking if you wanted a pizza, not a permanent brand inked on your skin. “Why not? I think I’d look pretty badass with a tattoo.”

You weren’t sure what was making you feel so bold today, but you had a feeling it might be related to the thought of Eddie covered in ink that wound up and down his skin that was making you ache to touch it when it was still naked and peach-pale. You scooched a couple inches down the tabletop to the left, placing your seat directly behind Eddie’s neck.

Then, in a stroke of something between bravery, stupidity, and need, you carefully slung your legs over Eddie’s shoulders so that they sat in the bends of your knees.

It was a simple gesture- familiar, even. You made a point to lean back a little, bracing your hands behind you on the tabletop so that the apex of your thighs stayed a good distance from the back of Eddie’s neck. You felt Eddie’s shoulders stiffen, each muscle under your jeans tensing for a moment before relaxing into the closeness.

Then Eddie brought his hands to your ankles, his fingertips brushing the spare skin between your high tops and the cuffs of your jeans. The pads of his thumbs barely caressed the skin but they felt like a kiss- a thing coveted and then forbidden, then coveted even more.

His touch drifted over your legs, warm hands coming to rest over your shins and squeeze, heating the denim that separated his skin from yours. You were holding your breath. You’d been so confident a second ago yet here he was, knocking the very air from your lungs.

You waited anxiously for him to say something; if he didn’t you were sure you were going to do something stupid. Something that would involve more of his skin on your skin.

“Would you want this tattoo of yours to show?” Eddie asked at last, breaking the silence between the two of you- well, the three of you. Rick was still there, taking in the sight before him with a smirk on his face.

“Not easily, my parents would kill me.” you said, ensuring that your tone of voice was nonchalant, casual. “But I don’t see the harm in something small that I could hide.”

Eddie tilted his head back and up, earthen eyes flicking up to yours. “What happened to ‘looking badass’?”

You pursed your lips as you leaned forward, bringing your faces to hover parallel over each other. “You’re saying that taking my pants off to reveal a surprise tatty isn’t badass?”

You watched as Eddie’s eyes flashed darker for a split second- nearly imperceptibly so- before his lips stretched sinfully into a mischievous grin. “Oh, under the pants then, huh?”

His hands traced higher, ghosting on your knees and burning his fingerprints through your jeans.

“Easy to hide,” you said, struggling to keep your voice even. “It’s a practical placement.”

Eddie’s thumbs stroked absentminded circles into the flesh of your lower thighs, tight denim puckering with the motion. “Practical placement…” he murmured, low enough that it sounded like he hadn’t even meant to say it out loud.

“You could put it on your hip.”

Both of your heads whipped around to focus on Rick, who was grinning at both of you like he’d just discovered a fun new game to play. He shrugged, hopping up to sit beside you on the tabletop. “You want it to be hidden all of the time, right?” he leaned to shove you congenially with his shoulder. “When’s a good girl like you gonna be showing off some hip? I bet the only one who’ll see that will already be married to you when he lays eyes on-”

“Hey!” you interjected. “You act like I’m some prude, I’m not a nun.” Rolling your eyes, you looked back down at Eddie hoping to meet his gaze and laugh together over how ridiculous Rick was being. However, you looked down only to find Eddie’s chocolate browns trained on Rick with wide-eyed warning. A silent message was clearly being exchanged, but it wasn’t for you.

Rick was smiling smugly down at Eddie, unbeknownst to you, and Eddie was getting the message loud and clear:

It’s time to raise the stakes, kid.

“Perfect!” Rick chirped, smug eyes still trained on Eddie’s. “So you wouldn’t mind letting Eddie use your hip as his, uh… canvas, then?”

If Eddie’s looks could kill, Rick would be a dead man.

“Yeah.” you choked out, refusing to give yourself time to chicken out of what you’d gotten yourself into. “Yeah, why not?”

Rainy days in autumn just felt right.

Sure, you were in Latin class. Sure, you were supposed to be working on a packet the substitute teacher had just passed out. However, it was raining outside. The sub was easygoing enough that she hadn’t made a move to stop Eddie from doodling on your shoe that was perched comfortably on the crook of his hip.

You sat behind him in every class you had together- there were four of them this year- and Eddie had gotten into the habit of reaching back to tap you on the leg whenever he knew he was losing focus. Every time he tapped, you would carefully stretch your leg forward until his hand caught on your ankle, lifting it up until it rested on his lap. His sharpie would go to work on whatever blank spots he could still find on your white converse, and the mindless activity of his drawing would keep his mind awake enough to listen as teachers droned on and on.

The change in Eddie wasn’t lost on his teachers- they had all noticed the impact that your company seemed to have on him, and it was the only reason why they hadn’t had any issues with your constant companionship. When you were around, Eddie actually paid attention in his classes and turned in work- that was good enough for them.

The silence of the classroom and the soundtrack of rainfall beating against the roof and windows had created the perfect work zone for you, and your focus on your classwork was only interrupted when you noticed a folded piece of torn notebook paper on the edge of your desk.

Smirking as you felt Eddie continue doodling on your shoe, you unfolded the paper and read the slanted scrawl that you’d come to recognize instantly as Eddie’s handwriting.

Were you serious about the tattoo thing? It’s OK if you’re not.

Your cheeks heated, contemplating whether you were still serious about it or not. The only fears you had about it were completely logical- Eddie had literally no clue what he was doing. Yours would only be his second tattoo after his own. Worst case scenario, the tattoo would get infected and you go to the hospital. Eddie gets arrested for tattooing without a medical license. Best case scenario… you get to sit there while he grips your naked thigh for as long as it takes to leave a permanent reminder of him on your hip.

You blinked a couple of times, letting that mental image wash over you, before confidently penning your answer beneath his message.

I’m serious.

Folding the scrap of paper and handing it back to him, you felt his Sharpie leave your shoe as he took the note and read it. You watched him register the two words, glance back at you through the loose strands of hair that hung over his shoulder, then smile softly into a shake of his head. A second later, he was handing the note back to you.

If you say so, Ace. What am I tattooing, and where?

You had to think about it for a moment before passing back your answer

Hip is fine. What are you gonna do? We could match.

Eddie’s reply came faster than you’d ever seen him write any of his notes in class, that’s for damn sure.

You want matching tattoos?? Are you sure?

Your heart began to race. Was that bad? Was he judging you for wanting to match him? Maybe you were being too clingy, trying too hard… you glanced down at his jacket, which was wrapped around you almost every day at this point- it was practically a second skin. His handwriting was all over your shoes. You stared at your fingers, scarlet polish chipping from the tips of your nails, and you remembered that you’d chosen red solely because he’d mentioned it was his favorite color.

Were you coming across as desperate? Were you weirding him out? Maybe you needed to dial it back-

A new piece of paper slid across your desk, Eddie’s eyes glancing your way with nothing but warmth in his gaze before he returned his attention to your shoe on his lap.

I’m fine with it if you are.

Putting bats on my forearm.

You released a breath that you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, giving ways for butterflies to take flight inside your chest. You grinned, jotting down your reply beneath his writing.

I’m more than fine with it.

Could you do just one little bat on my hip?

Eddie took a little longer this time with his response, and you understood why once you saw the adorably small silhouette of a bat penned in black on the paper he’d passed back to you.

You leaned forward, letting your chin nearly brush the fabric of his denim jacket as you whispered low enough that the substitute teacher wouldn’t hear.

“It’s perfect.”

A snicker from the other side of the classroom caught your ear. Eddie and you both turned to see a cluster of letter-jacketed assholes staring at the two of you, whispering and laughing with each other.

You knew deep down that you didn’t care what they thought. You knew that you should just keep your head down. Ignore them.

But then you caught the tail end of one of their sentences.

“...fucking freaks.”

Two things happened simultaneously: your eyebrows jumped, and Eddie’s stomach dropped.

The ringing of the bell was all you needed to angrily shove your belongings into your backpack and march over to the other side of the classroom, stopping the jocks in their tracks. Eddie was right behind you, tugging you back by the crook of your elbow as you steadily ignored his pleas to sit down and ignore them, they aren’t worth it.

“You want to repeat what you were saying over there, Alan?” You stared up at the freckled boy, his harsh features sneering down at you from where he stood nearly half a foot taller than you. His height did nothing to deter you, however. Neither did Eddie’s death grip on your arm.

Alan snorted, raising an eyebrow at the sight of the two of you before him. His eyes flicked over you, appraising for about two seconds before directing his attention to Eddie behind you. “You letting your girl pick your fights for you now, Munson?”

Eddie didn’t have a chance to respond; you didn’t give him one. “Don’t look at him.” you stepped forward, bringing you mere inches from the freckled football star. “I asked you a question.”

Alan and his cronies laughed, apparently amused by the show of dominance you were trying to make. You opened your mouth to berate him further, but the sharp tug on your arm from Eddie was strong enough this time to jerk you away from them and toward the door of the classroom.

“Wh- Eddie, quit it!” you tried to shake off his grip but it wasn’t going to budge; Eddie marched you out the door and down the hallway like a man on a mission.

“Yeah, Eddie, quit it!” You both could hear Alan’s patronizing whine from the classroom, his voice thrown into a reedy falsetto that made your blood boil. His voice trailed off, melting into the nasal snickers of his friends.

Eddie didn’t let go of your arm until the two of you reached his locker, at which point he finally looked you in the eye- and his stare embodied an intensity that you hadn’t seen from him ever before. You’d seen him intense, of course… just not like this.

This looked like fear.

“What the fuck was that for?” Eddie bit out, his teeth clenched and eyes wide.

You crossed your arms, suddenly defensive. Had you messed up, somehow? “I… I mean, they were calling us names, I wasn’t going to just sit there.”

“Alan’s an illiterate asshole, you don’t need to explain yourself to him.”

“I know I don’t need to, but…” You chuckled humorlessly, that familiar vengeful feeling from moments ago beginning to bubble back up. “You know what, no. I do need to. I’m not the kind of person who can just sit there while jerks like him run around slandering good people, it’s wrong!”

Eddie huffed, his hands on his hips as he glanced around and shook his head. “Slandering, huh? That’s a big word, Ace. What’s that, the college word of the day?” You raised an eyebrow, watching him closely and curiously.

He was fidgeting nonstop, repeatedly picking up his feet and replacing them on the floor only an inch or so away from where they’d been before. His eyes darted in every direction, as if scanning for potential threats so that he could run from them before they decided to pounce.

“Eddie, why are you so afraid of those guys?”

Big brown eyes widened to saucers, refocusing on you. “This isn’t fear, Ace, it’s just common sense.” Eddie checked over his shoulder to ensure the jocks were gone, then took a step closer. He leaned his shoulder against the locker, lifting his opposite arm to gently place his hand on your upper arm. You shivered, feeling his thumb trace small circles through his own black leather. Maybe that’s why he’s so scared all of a sudden, you pondered, leaning closer to Eddie. He’s given me his armor.

You lowered your voice, sympathetic to Eddie’s plight. “You know I wouldn’t let them hurt you, Eds.” Looking up into his eyes, you expected to see them soften, gratitude coating his gaze. Instead, they widened and crinkled slightly at the edges. Eddie huffed out a gaudy laugh, incredulous at your admission.

“Hurt me?” he shook his head, stunned, and began to rifle through his locker for the books he needed for next class. “Ace, I just don’t want them to hurt you!”

You balked. “Me?” an eyebrow raised, you crossed your arms over your chest, defensive once again. “You really think they’d hit a girl? They’re jerks but I don’t think they’d go that far-”

“Nah, they’ll only sick their girlfriends on you.” Eddie punctuated his sentence with a slam of his locker door. “Purebred harpies with matching scrunchies who’ll make your life a living hell and then pretend that you’re the crazy one.”

It was a struggle to keep up with him at the rate he was walking, strides each a yard wide as he tugged you along by your hand.

Your hand. Eddie Munson was holding your hand.

“You, uh… you speaking from experience?” You stuttered over your words, cheeks heating at the sudden skin-to-skin contact. He had just admitted that he didn’t want to see you get hurt- his blatant protectiveness of you coupled with the way he was decisively dragging you by the hand to your locker right now was nearly too much for you to handle.

“Trust me,” Eddie sighed, swinging you around as he reached your locker and (to your dismay) letting go of your hand. “You get asked out on a dare enough times, you figure out how their coven operates.”

Eddie wasn’t meeting your eyes. You had to actually place your hand on his shoulder to capture his gaze. “Eddie,” you said, making a conscious effort to keep your voice steady and be something stable for him to feel at least a little grounded on. “Deep breath.”

Surprisingly, he did as you said. Eddie closed his eyes, inhaling deep and allowing his lungs to fill long enough that his chest expanded before his exhale blew softly on your cheeks. It smelled like the apple you’d brought for him at lunch.

When you were once again treated to that warm hazelnut gaze, your hand acted without thinking and flew up to gently rest against his jawline. You were crossing some invisible line- you knew that- but the light in the hallway was causing shadows to take up residence in the dusting of whiskers that decorated the sharp incline that led to his chin. Your fingertips brushed his skin reverently, and he seemed frozen. Eddie didn’t dare move; you were like a butterfly that had deigned to land on him of all people, and damn it all if he was going to fuck it up and scare you off.

“I’ve got you, you’ve got me… right?” Your voice was barely loud enough to be heard through the noise of bustling students. “We look out for each other, Eddie, we’re stronger together.”

Eddie remained still under your caress, wishing he could focus on your touch. Wishing he could rip his eyes away from where they were trained behind you- held in terrified contact with a sadistic-looking Alan who stood with his cherry-lipsticked girlfriend across the hallway. Alan’s lips were curled into a sneer, watching as the thing that Eddie wanted most became his worst nightmare.

You were openly touching him, while wearing his clothes, standing in shoes covered with his drawings- and Eddie watched in horror as the harpy pushed up on her tiptoes to whisper something in Alan’s ear before both of them refocused not on Eddie, but on you.

They laughed like fucking heyenas, eyeing their next meal.

It took every ounce of self control Eddie had, but he gently took your hand in his and lowered it from his cheek. He ignored the way your eyes gazed up at him the same way a scorned puppy begged for some kind of affection, any confirmation that they are, indeed, loved.

“It’s the together part I’m worried about, Ace.” Eddie whispered, keeping his voice low.

You were quiet, which Eddie hated because it was his fault.

“Oh, and um-” Eddie raised his shoulders and shivered, rubbing his hands along his upper arms to warm himself with the friction. “-it’s a little chilly today… you mind if I wear the jacket?” His hand drifted down to the flannel that hung loosely tied around your waist, taking a corner of the material and feeling it between the pads of his thumb and forefinger.

“This’ll keep you warm, yeah?”

You stared blankly for a moment, stunned. You had nearly forgotten that the jacket was his to take. You’d assumed he liked that you always wore his jacket, but… perhaps you’d made that up. You were eager for him to want things like that, after all… ‘more than friends’ kinds of things. However, asking for a borrowed item to be returned was completely normal for friends. You chided yourself for reading too much into it and smiled warmly up at him.

“Yeah! Of course!” you sprung into action, setting your backpack down on the floor as you began to shrug off the jacket. “You’re right it’s frigid in here today.”

You handed the jacket to Eddie, who donned it with a thin-lipped smile. Parting ways for your next class, you departed in opposite directions down the hallway.

Upon arriving in your calculus class, you glanced out the window eager to zone out as you watched the rain, only to be greeted by a gray sky drained of its water. The rain’s reprieve left nothing in its wake but a tired sun, soft mist that obscured all surety, and packed Indiana dirt softened to mud too loose for one to find their footing.

The sort of mud that, should you try to walk through it, you’d be destined to slip and fall.

When Eddie thought of Halloween, he thought of blood and sugar.

It was a strange contradiction, the way that Halloween’s association with horror and gore had balanced itself out with candy corn and fun-sized Snickers bars, and yet the juxtaposition of the two brought a smile to his face. The combination of sweet and terrifying embodied the holiday perfectly. On Halloween, there was no need for any kind of steely exterior that might protect him from judgment. No need to hide the way he really feels behind the scary metalhead armor he’d so carefully curated as a defense mechanism.

On Halloween, he wasn’t just allowed to be a freak. He was celebrated for it.

On Halloween, he could just be.

It was the reason why Halloween just so happened to be the day he’d had enough courage to look through your bedroom window exactly four years ago. It’s the day when Hell meets Heaven to make something sweet, and anything can happen.

Anything- including matching tattoos on the floor of his trailer.

Everything was ready- Eddie had laid out sheets of newspaper to cover what he’d deemed the tattoo zone, and broken down a cardboard box to act as a stable surface on the soft carpet of his bedroom floor. Eddie had scrutinized every instruction he’d been able to wrench from Rick for how to work the tattoo machine. Grips, needles, fucking rubber bands that were apparently very necessary… he’d made sure he had it all. He’d even practiced on an orange that he’d swiped from the kitchen counter.

A thick black cable now snaked across his carpeted floor, connecting the machine to a pedal, the pedal to a power supply, and the power supply to the yellowed plastic outlet on his wall. Beside the machine sat a stack of paper towels and all sorts of other shit Rick had advised him to make sure he used. He was lucky that Rick had bought a bottle of black ink- Eddie wouldn’t have known where to seek out medical-grade ink in a state where it was illegal to ink your skin without a license.

Your knock at his door made Eddie jump; he wasn’t sure why he was so nervous. It would be easy to write his nerves off as adrenaline before his first tattoo, but who was he kidding- it was you. You’d gone from someone who made him nervous to someone who made him nervous for different reasons, and all of this was very inconvenient for Eddie.

“Trick or Treat,” You’d chirped when he opened the door, and it was at that moment Eddie realized that this night may very well be the death of him.

You wore your favorite baggy sweater over a tight black tank top, which you’d tucked into some high waisted acid washed jeans. Unsurprisingly, the chucks on which he’d scribbled his claim were fastened securely on your feet. In your hands was a variety pack of halloween candies and a shopping bag from the local drugstore. Everything about you radiated warmth, and Eddie had to fight the urge to change tonight’s itinerary to movies and a blanket fort and spend the whole evening on the couch with you, surrounded by candy wrappers and the light of his television set.

“I brought antibacterial soap,” you said, bringing Eddie back to reality. You rifled through your shopping bag to show him your spoils as you stepped through the threshold and into his trailer. “-large bandages, and a little travel first aid kit just in case. Oh, and I did a little bit of reading at the library and I couldn’t find much on tattoos, but the one commonality between every book and article I could find said to make sure you wash the wound often and disinfect everything-”

“Ace,” Eddie interrupted, taking the bag from you and closing the front door. The corner of his mouth quirked up, keeping an amused chuckle at bay. “You went to the library to read about how to safely care for an illegal tattoo?” Your expression soured, shifting to a half-scowl, half-pout.

“Well one of us has got to do it,” you huffed, grabbing the bag and marching towards Eddie’s room. “And I know you wouldn’t set foot in the library unless you were forced.” You continued to yell at him from his room, “You’ll thank me when your kitchen-scratched tattoo doesn’t get infected, and you get to grow old with all of your limbs intact!”

Eddie stayed glued to his spot as his smirk grew into a goofy grin. You were fucking adorable.

You hadn’t argued when Eddie insisted that he start with his own tattoo- before he got started on permanently marking your skin, he wanted to be sure that he at least had gotten the hang of it first. He immediately started getting to work with his trusty fine-tipped Sharpie, sketching out a scattering of bats on his forearm and glancing every once in a while at his notebook for reference. You’d flipped through that notebook on several occasions when the two of you had sat idle during classes or study sessions. The drawings were always sprawling, sharp and gruesome in a way that wasn’t so much scary as it was fascinating to you.

You laid stomach-down on his mattress, positioned behind where he sat on the floor, his back leaned up against the bed frame and close enough that you could probably reach down and play with his hair if you were bold enough. You didn’t- no matter how tempting it was, you didn’t want to risk anything that might mess up his focus. You settled for watching Eddie’s reflection in the mirror that sat leaned up against the wall in front of him.

When the Sharpie stencil had dried and Eddie picked up the tattoo machine, you couldn’t deny the nervous uptake in your heart rate. You watched him gingerly begin the process of permanently inking his drawing into his skin, and before the needle touched skin, Eddie looked over his shoulder at you and winked, whispering a surprisingly shaky “Point of no return.” Before you could ask if he was having second thoughts, he was already outlining the first bat, his socked foot pressing decisively on the pedal that whirred his machine to life.

Minutes ticked by before you uttered a soft “Does it hurt?” to break the awkward silence. Normally, Eddie had some sort of music playing, Metallica or WASP or something along those lines spinning on his cheap old turntable- but tonight there was nothing but the electric buzz that filled the small bedroom, and it was starting to make you antsy.

Eddie huffed, and it was as much of a laugh as he could afford while holding still. “Well, Ace, it’s a needle sticking in and out of my arm repeatedly, so if I’m being honest it ain’t exactly sunshine and rainbows.” You watched him wince as he moved on from outlining the first bat and started on the second.

“Does it at least make you feel a little badass?” You watched his reflection in the mirror glance up through the curtain of his hair and raise an eyebrow at you.

“That depends,” He said, “do I look badass?”

“A little.” You teased. “You’ll look more badass when the tattoo is finished.”

That earned you a snort from him. “What, fifty percent of a tattoo doesn’t cut it?” His reflection flashed you a genuine smile, that lopsided grin affecting you the way it always does, spiking your body temp and rushing the thump of your heart.

“Nope. Though, if your intention is to tell the world that you have commitment issues-”

“I do not have commitment issues-”

“Then what kind of issues do you have?”

Eddie parted the needle from his skin, taking a moment to glance wryly over his shoulder in your direction.

“You.” It was punctuated by a tongue that peeked out from between his lips. You followed suit, shoulders shaking as you chuckled.

Silence threatened to fall for a moment then, but Eddie put a stop to that. “Keep talking.”

“Huh?”

His voice was quiet, muttered like he was biting the inside of his cheek as he spoke. “Hurts less when we’re talking.”

You smiled, watching as he avoided your eye contact in the mirror, focusing on his arm as a subtle blush began to creep onto his cheeks. Tempting as it was to tease, you opted for a more neutral topic.

“Which is better, sour candy or chocolate?”

You could barely see his eyebrows furrow behind his curtain of curls as he considered your question. “Chocolate.”

“You’re crazy.”

He barked out a laugh. “After all the ridiculous shit I’ve said, that’s what crosses the line for you?”

You shook your head, amping up your reaction for his benefit; he was laughing, and it was music to your ears. You were greedy for more of it.

“Sour candy is a whole experience, chocolate is just sweet! That’s all it has going for it!”

Eddie gawked but kept his eyes trained on his skin. “What do you have against sweets?”

You rolled your eyes, flopping from your stomach to your back and staring up at the water stain on Eddie’s ceiling. “I haven’t got anything against sweets… I just like a little tart to go with it. Oh hang on, that reminds me-”

You stuck your hand into the plastic bag you’d brought with you, producing a variety pack of cheap Halloween candies. “Do you normally get trick-or-treaters? I thought we could pour these into a bowl and set it out on the porch- you know, so we don’t have to keep answering the door.”

Eddie Shook his head. “Nah, not a lot of kids who live here. Those who do always high-tail it to the neighborhoods where the good shit is, like-”

“Loch Nora?” you finished, smirking.

Nodding his approval, Eddie echoed, “Loch Nora.”

“Well in that case,” you yanked open the bag of candy so hard that a few individually wrapped pieces were flung onto the bedspread as well as the floor below. “I guess we’ll have to eat all of this ourselves.”

Eddie paused his tattooing to glance at a fun-sized packet of sour gummy worms that had landed on the carpet beside him. “Gummy worms?” he asked.

You flicked the back of his head while the needle was off his skin. “Uh, yeah, they’re delicious.”

“Did you at least get candy corn?”

You gagged. “Candy corn?!”

The two of you passed the next hour like that, debating about various arbitrary topics and inevitably disagreeing on almost all of them. There were only three things that you both agreed on without any debate whatsoever: Santa Claus was the superior holiday mascot, Joan Jett could easily beat Cyndi Lauper in a fight, and The Empire Strikes Back was way better than A New Hope.

When Eddie was finally finished with his tattoo, you were off the bed in an instant and already reaching for the antibacterial soap.

“You should wash it under some warm water first before anything gross has a chance to get in there-”

“Hey hey hey, whoa hold on!” Eddie was laughing, eyes wide as he smiled at you. Your hand was already encircled around his wrist, tugging his arm (and the person attached to it) toward the bathroom. “Ace, you haven’t even looked at it yet, c’mon you’re bruising the artist’s ego here.”

You sighed but couldn’t hide the rueful grin that danced on your pursed lips. Softening your vice like grip on his wrist, you shifted your hands to cradle his forearm and survey the last hour’s work.

“It looks good, Eddie… really good, actually.” You absently swiped a thumb over the soft skin of his wrist. “If you’d told me it was professionally done, I’d totally believe you.”

“Yeah?” He looked up from where your thumb stroked the base of his forearm, eyes shining.

“Yeah,” you smirked. “Of course, I’d tell you to try and get your money back, but-”

“Oh shove it up your ass, Sweet Tart.” The playful shoulder-check had you letting go of his arm, but both of your faces were painted with ear-to-ear smiles.

Eddie washed his new tattoo in the bathroom sink, admiring the way the bats stretched and shifted with every flex of his forearm. Your mouth hurt, as did the muscles in your cheeks; you couldn’t stop smiling. He was so happy with his work, and you had to admit that he had actually done a really good job with that tattoo machine.

“We’ve got to get you out of Indiana, Munson,” you murmured to the mirror where he continued to scrutinize his work from every angle. “I think you may have just found your calling.”

His eyes were wide and shining with pride as they glanced your way. “You think?”

You nodded, that saccharine smile stubbornly staying put on your lips. To be fair, you didn’t fight it.

“You’re coming with me, then.” Eddie replied, his own smile glowing in the dying light above the bathroom mirror.

There it was- that familiar fire beneath the skin of your cheeks.

“Oh I am, huh?”

“Hell yeah.” Eddie braced his arm on the doorway, leaning over you until your faces were mere inches apart. “We’re stronger together, remember?”

Breathe. Breathe… Why can’t you breathe?

You’d barely managed a nod before Eddie was ducking around you through the doorway, grabbing your hand, and leading you back to his room.

“Your turn, Ace.”

Oh yeah, you were also getting a tattoo today. You’d almost forgotten. Were you nervous? You weren’t sure. Actually, yes, you were very nervous- not so much about the tattoo as you were for where the tattoo would be.

In minutes, you were both sitting on Eddie’s bedroom floor- Eddie readying everything he needed for your new ink, and you sitting eerily still as your soul started to feel like it might leave your body.

“Ace,”

Eyes refocusing, you blinked a few times. “Yeah?”

Eddie’s expression was calm, sympathetic to the inward freak-out he had a feeling you were on the verge of. “We don’t have to do this, you know. I wouldn’t hold it against you.”

You tried to laugh, but it came out sounding a little more strained than you had intended. “Hah…you saying I have commitment issues?”

The corner of his mouth quirked up, but Eddie’s eyebrows stayed knitted together above his big brown eyes. “No,” he murmured. His voice was soft, as if he were speaking to a stray animal and trying not to spook it. “I guess I’m just… trying to give you an out, so you don’t feel pressured or anything.”

You shook your head, “I don’t want an out.”

Eddie blinked, “No?”

“No.”

There was a second of silence between the two of you before you both took in a collective breath, exhaling simultaneously and giggling when you both realized that you were breathing in sync. Perfect harmony; sour and sweet, nervous but willing.

“You, uh…” Eddie stammered, his eyes flicking down to your lap and back up to your face. “...you still want it on your hip?”

Your heart rate doubled.

“Um, yeah.” you awkwardly shifted your weight onto your knees, grabbing hold of your waistband and unbuttoning your shorts. You shimmied them over your hips, revealing the rest of your leotard- leotard, Eddie realized. Not a tank top. You were wearing a black leotard. It was almost like the kind that he’d seen ballerinas wear, except it cut so high on your hips that he was sure it wouldn’t be allowed in any of the dance studios he could think of, and….yep. YEP, it was practically a thong. Your ass was out. You were sitting on the floor of his bedroom with your ass out.

Chill out, Munson! He screamed inwardly at himself, Chill the fuck out!

Of course, you couldn’t tell that there was a war going on between Eddie’s ability to function and the short-circuiting that threatened to render him unable to do anything but stare at you. All you could see was the way his jaw had gone slack and his eyes bugged out of their sockets.

You smiled shyly, a twinge of something between satisfaction and guilt nudging at your heartstrings. “I figured this thing would be less awkward than if I was sitting here in my underwear,” you laughed nervously as you gestured to your leotard.

Eddie gulped. He couldn’t see much of a difference. “Yeah, totally.”

A beat passed. You grabbed a bag of gummy worms from the floor, tearing it open with a crinkle of the plastic that would not have been so loud if the two of you weren’t dead silent. You bit into the candy where the color changed from pink to blue, then finally muttered through your chewing, “Ready when you are.”

Eddie blinked rapidly, taking his Sharpie in his hands. “Uh, yeah… yeah, okay.”

With your free hand, you pointed to the part of your hip where your flesh naturally creased as your thigh met your pelvis.

“Is here good?”

Eddie gulped.

“Yeah, that’s good.” But Eddie was very much not good. He was the opposite of good, he felt like he was malfunctioning. When he placed his free hand on your upper thigh, he almost apologized. Why the hell did he feel like he had to apologize? He had no clue. His palms were sweating- did you feel how sweaty his palms were? Oh god. He forgot what a bat looked like- you were trusting his artistic skills enough for him to permanently ink his drawing into your skin and he couldn’t even remember what a goddamn bat looked li- oh, wait, he had them on his own forearm now. Eddie glanced at his arm, reminding himself what a goddamn bat looked like.

He’s never felt like more of a nervous idiot than right now.

Meanwhile, you felt like you were about to explode.

His hand was warm. So warm as he grasped your thigh. Whenever he’d touched you before, there was always a barrier, some form of separation between his skin and yours- jeans, a sweater, a flannel.

A leather jacket.

That’s right- he had taken his jacket back. Maybe you were reading too deep into things, but you had this unshakable feeling that taking back that jacket had been a message.

We’re just friends. Nothing more.

But if that was true, then why was he looking at your thighs the way he was? Why had he looked at you the way he did when he said you should go with him when he leaves Hawkins?

He wasn’t your boyfriend… you knew that.

So why couldn’t you shake this undeniably girlfriendish ache in your chest?

“Okay.” Eddie’s voice jolted you out of your downward spiral into your very inconvenient feelings. “Check that out in the mirror, make sure you like it.”

You straightened up, walking on your knees until you faced the mirror leaning against the wall and inspected the tiny, perfect little bat that he’d drawn on the fullest part of your hip.

It matched the bats that now decorated his arm, now surrounded by an angry red halo that bloomed across his skin. Once that bat was inked, it would be something connecting you and Eddie forever- a shared experience, a secret that the two of you would always be in on.

Suddenly, you realized that in this moment there wasn’t a single thing you wanted more than a matching tattoo with Eddie Munson.

Well, there was one thing. But you had a feeling that wasn’t happening tonight. The tattoo, however…

“I love it.” You looked over your shoulder at Eddie, but his eyes were a little too busy staring at your practically naked behind to meet your gaze.

“Ahem.”

Breaking free of his trance, Eddie shook his head a tad, which drew a small chuckle from your smirking lips. Eddie couldn’t help but smile too, albeit more shyly than you.

“Distracted?” You teased, unable to hold back your glee at this kind of attention- any kind of attention- from Eddie.

He sighed, blinking rapidly while he finally met your eyes. There was something new in the way he was looking at you- if you didn’t know better you might call it frustration, but it was an amused sort of frustration. Almost like his eyes were saying “what am I going to do with you?” but through sunglasses tinted with desire.

You wanted to bottle that, stow it away for emergencies. Wanted to preserve the way that gaze made you feel so that you could experience it over and over again.

“No.” Eddie murmured through a rueful grin. “Lie down, it’ll be easier to ink the skin while it’s flat.” You did as he instructed, feeling the crinkle of newspaper underneath the skin of your rear. Once again, you found yourself staring up at the water stain on Eddie’s ceiling until his face came into view, looking down at you as he readied the tattoo machine.

“Are you?” You heard him ask.

You raised an eyebrow. “Huh?”

The pads of Eddie’s fingers poked and prodded at the skin around where your tattoo would soon have an indefinite spot on your hip, and you wondered if he could tell that your temperature shot up ten degrees each time you felt his hands on you.

“Are you distracted?” he clarified. “Because it hurts less when you’ve got something else to focus on.”

“Oh.” Suddenly, your mind went blank. Of course, the moment you wanted something to distract you, all ideas turned tail and ran. “Um…”

Snap!

Your jaw dropped as the elastic of your leotard snapped back to your skin from where Eddie had pulled it away with his pointer finger. “Where’d you even get this thing?”

Now it was your turn to short-circuit.

“Uh-” You stammered, interrupted by the machine beginning to buzz.

Eddie didn’t wait for you to finish your thought before reminding you what he’d asked. “C’mon, Sweet Tart, where’d you get the leotard?”

You knew he was trying to distract you so you didn’t feel the pain, but you couldn’t help the tensing of your muscles as the needle pierced your skin. You winced, staring at the water stain with a newfound intensity. “Dance store.” you gritted through lips that formed a tight line.

“Dance store, huh?” You could hear the smile through Eddie’s words. “And why were you in a dance store?”

You huffed out a short, breathy laugh, careful to keep your hip still as Eddie’s needle continued to do its work. “I was making a Flashdance costume. Heard about this Halloween party a few weeks ago, but then we made the tattoo plans… and I had already bought the leotard, so…”

It was disconcerting to speak with Eddie without looking at him; he was a very expressive person, always talking with his hands, always making sure that he looked you in the eyes when you spoke to him. But now he was focused on his work on your hip, leaving your eyes to shift between staring at his ceiling and fluttering closed.

“You were going to wear this thing to a party?” he asked, incredulous.

Your eyebrows wrinkled over your closed eyes. “I would’ve worn tights under it…”

He snorted. “That wouldn’t have made a difference.”

You winced, groaning as the needle hit a nerve that particularly stung. “What- ah, shit- what are you trying to say?”

The buzzing stopped for a moment. “Fuck, you okay?” Eddie’s face leaned into your field of vision, his frizzy brown hair backlit into a halo by the light from the lamp behind him. “You want to take a break?”

You shook your head, taking a mental snapshot of how ethereal he looked like this. “No, you can keep going, I’m fine.”

Cautiously, Eddie got back to work. A few wordless seconds ticked by before you spoke.

“What did you mean, ‘that wouldn’t have made a difference’?”

Eddie’s reply was matter-of-fact, but you could have sworn that you heard a hint of protectiveness in his voice when he said, “Tights or no tights, the whole party would have been staring at your ass, Sweet Tart.”

The “T” sound in “Tart” was soft this time. So soft, it was barely there at all, and it almost sounded like he’d just called you sweetheart. If only. You’d give anything to be Eddie’s sweetheart.

Whether he’d meant to blend that consonant or not, it made you brave. “Is that a bad thing?”

A pause. Then, “Is this a trap?”

“Answer the question, would a bunch of people staring at my ass be a bad thing?”

Eddie sighed. “This is definitely a trap,” he muttered, before replying “No, Ace, objectively it would not be a bad thing. But sometimes people view girls differently when they walk around with their asses out.”

“Do you look at me differently when my ass is out?” You were being cheeky, you knew it.

“No, I don’t look at you differently.” came his instant response, muttered through nearly-closed lips. “I just look at you.”

Nothing could stand against your smile, not even you. “Yeah, that much I could see in the mirror.”

“You don’t sound too upset about that.”

This was different from the flirting you were used to with Eddie. Your regular flavor of flirtation had always been surface-level banter; nothing past a jab here and there, a joke at his expense or a nickname thrown your way.

Now? You were talking about the way he looked at your body, and the fact that he could tell that you liked when he looked. The two of you were in uncharted territory, and you buzzed under his touch in time with the inky needle at the beautiful unknown of it all.

“Okay, the outline is done but I’m about to start filling it in.” Eddie warned. “This part hurts a little more. You wanna take a break?”

You nodded. While Eddie jumped up to get you both a glass of water, you sat up on your elbows and peered over at your hip to get a look at your new ink. When you saw it, you gasped so fervently that you startled yourself.

It was perfect. The perfect little bat.

It wasn’t completely symmetrical. The outline was a tad thicker in certain places than others. But those imperfections made it his. And the fact that it was on your skin made it yours.

You couldn’t wait to wake up and stare at it like this every single day.

Eddie returned a moment later with two mismatched cups of tap water. Once you’d both rehydrated, he got to work replacing the needle at the end of the machine with a new one, as well as changing out various attachments and fiddling with a knobby-looking piece until he seemed satisfied with what he’d changed.

You were impressed with how intensely focused Eddie was on this sort of work; it didn’t seem to be taking him long to get the hang of this. It also didn’t take him long to come up with another topic of conversation that teetered on the line between friendly and flirty.

“Ever played Fuck, Marry, Kill?”

You had not, but the title of the game brought an unexpected chuckle out of you. “Edward Munson, I am a lady! At least take me out to dinner first-”

“I’m going to take that as a no.” Eddie chuckled, and you could hear his deadpan in the tone of his voice. “I say three people’s names and you have to tell me which you’d fuck, which you’d marry, and which you’d kill. Comprende?”

“Uhh-” whatever you’d been about to say was cut short by a harsher buzz than before, accompanied by the aggressive sting of needles on your skin. “Mmh, shit, okay yeah sure let’s play.”

Eddie smiled to himself. He wasn’t sure why he loved the little noises and whispered curses that spilled from your mouth while he tattooed you, but he honestly thought they might be the cutest sounds he’d ever heard. You were taking the pain like a champ- he was actually pretty proud of you in this moment as you remained still through the sting.

“Lars Ulrich, James Hetfield, and Kirk Hammett”

You rolled your eyes. Eddie had ensured over your many rides in his van this summer that every Metallica song he’d played had been an educational experience. Eddie had picked up a cassette of their debut album in July, and ever since he’d become obsessed. Already, he was trying to persuade the other members of his band to figure out how to play The Four Horsemen by ear.

Needless to say, you knew enough about the band to at least answer the question.

“Well I’m killing Lars for sure.”

“Poor Lars never stood a chance.”

You grinned, willing the distraction into something great enough to numb the pain. “And I think I’m gonna have to fuck Hetfield.”

“‘Have to fuck Hetfield,’ such a sacrifice.”

You carefully stretched your arms up to rest above your shoulders, cradling your head on your hands like a pillow. “Hey, if someone’s got to do it, I’ll take one for the team.”

You heard him snort, then after a moment’s quiet he added, “So you’re marrying Kirk Hammett, then?”

“I guess so.”

“What makes Kirk marriage material? Over the other two, I mean.”

You thought about Kirk Hammett’s wild, dark curls. His build. His brown button eyes. The way he looked holding a guitar.

“I don’t know, there’s just something about him.”

Eddie thought about the way he’d been trying to make himself look more like a rockstar ever since he’d first seen the tiny, grainy picture of the Metallica members in the corner of a page of Rolling Stone; he’d been bumming copies off Jeff’s subscription since the seventh grade. How he’d started growing out his hair after seeing Kirk’s long, black mane. He smiled.

He must be doing something right.

“Alright, Mrs. Hammett,” He quipped, “My turn, hit me with bachelorettes one through three, please.”

You thought over your options, trying to think of women you’d heard him mention before. Wondering if he thought any of them had something in common with you, and praying to God he didn’t kill them.

“Olivia Newton-John,”

Already, Eddie was descending into a fit of giggles.

“Why are you laughing? She’s pretty!”

Eddie launched into a falsetto rendition of the chorus from Grease’s Hopelessly Devoted to You, and you were instantly fighting the giggles too.

“Shut up! I’m not done yet. Olivia Newton-John… have you seen Fast Times?”

His response came in a tone of voice that was the vocal equivalent of a side-eye. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I don’t know if you know who Phoebe Cates is.”

“Oh,” Eddie sighed dreamily, “I know who Phoebe Cates is.”

You rolled your eyes, but chuckled nonetheless. “Okay then- Olivia Newton-John, Phoebe Cates, and Carrie Fisher.”

Eddie barked out a joyous “Ah!” before answering, “Well this is easy, Ace, say goodbye to Newton-John!”

You mock-gasped. “You’re killing Sandy?”

“I’m killing Sandy.”

“That is brutal. She was so innocent, too.”

Eddie squinted at the half-filled tattoo, smirking into his explanation. “Okay, I see the appeal, Ace, I truly do. That outfit at the end is killer.” He paused. Should he say it? Would he be too obvious if he did?

Ah, fuck it.

“I’m a sucker for a woman in red shoes, let me tell ya. However-” Eddie quickly glazed over that last sentence, as well as any opening you might have gotten to think about how that might relate to you. “-I’ve gotta fuck Phoebe Cates. Because… y’know-”

“Boobies?” you beat him to the punch.

Eddie confirmed with a matter-of-fact “Boobies.” He glanced up at your face for a moment, curious to see if he could read what you thought of his answers, but you were staring pensively at his ceiling, expression unreadable. “And you have to have known I was marrying Leia the moment she was an option.”

“You have a thing for Princess Leia?”

“Are you joking?” Eddie asked, incredulously. “How could I not? The woman’s the definition of a spitfire, she kicks ass and takes names. Not to mention, she’s got a thing for scoundrels.”

You hummed. “Do you think you’re a scoundrel, Eddie?”

“Well I’m certainly not a scruffy-looking nerf herder, I’ll tell you that much.”

You winced playfully, “A nerf herder you are not… but you are a bit scruffy.”

“You’ve got me there, princess.”

Eddie went silent. The nickname had just slipped out- all this talk of scoundrels and princesses and strong women who weren’t afraid of a fight and before he knew it, he was seeing more similarities between you and Leia than he’d realized were there before.

Princess had just seemed right. It just slipped out.

The line between friendship and dangerous territory had been so clearly drawn in Eddie’s mind before tonight. Where had he gone wrong? That once clear line was getting blurry.

Eddie was absolutely convinced that he would probably find a way to single handedly ruin your friendship before he was finished filling in your tattoo- which you would inevitably hate, because it would remind you of the asshole who you used to be friends with before he made things weird between you.

“My turn,” your voice cut through Eddie’s downward spiral, drawing a relieved sigh from him that tickled the skin of your thigh. “Let’s make this round more interesting. Only names of people from Hawkins.”

“Hm, that is interesting.” he mused, the needle inching its way toward the last remaining centimeter of bare skin left within the outline. “Let me think… Chief Hopper-”

You barked out a laugh, “Oh great start, Eds.”

“Chief’s a good looking guy! I don’t know why you’re laughing!” but Eddie was smiling ear to ear, delighted that his awkward apprehension had already begun to dissipate. “Principal Higgins-”

“Are you only going to give me old men as options?”

Eddie was going to do exactly that, because he didn’t want to picture you marrying or- God forbid- fucking any men in Hawkins that you might actually enjoy doing either of those things with. He wasn’t jealous, per se… but none of the shitheads in Hawkins were good enough for you. Eddie wasn’t even good enough for you; not yet, at least. He could picture a future version of himself one day taking his chances with you, once you’d both skipped town and found your way in some thriving city somewhere.

You were both too good for this place- you were the first person to make him think that about himself.

“What was that security guard’s name at the mall? Average joe looking guy? Quentin? Quincey?”

“Oh, you mean Quinn?”

“Knew his name started with a Q.” Eddie softly bit his bottom lip as he finished the last bit of your bat’s wing. “Hopper, Higgins, and Quinn. Those are your options.”

You groaned. “These choices suck, can I just kill them all?”

“I kinda like it when you go all bloodthirsty, Ace.”

You rolled your eyes before letting them flutter closed. “Ugh, well I’m obviously killing Higgins… he’s never been nice to you and all he cares about are school sports. I guess… I mean if I have to, I’ll fuck Hopper.”

Eddie was beside himself with giggles, “I mean, that’s one way to get out of a speeding ticket.”

“You’re lucky I can’t smack you right now.” You ignored Eddie’s snickering and continued. “And I don’t think I’d mind being married to Quinn, he always smiles at me and asks how my day was. Plus he’s kind of cute, he’s got nice hair.”

Eddie wrinkled his nose. “I don’t see it.”

You laughed, and the jingling tone of your voice suddenly sounded too loud as the buzzing of Eddie’s machine stopped.

“Alright, Ace,” Eddie announced, leaning back to survey his work. “Check out your new ink.”

You didn’t need to look at it again to know it would be perfect, but you looked anyway. You stood on your sleeping legs and gazed at the little black bat on your hip- it sat beautifully balanced on the skin framed by your high cut leotard, and you knew at once that you’d think of Eddie each time you saw it. This was exactly what you wanted- a daily reminder of exactly how he made you feel, of who he was to you.

At this moment, it dawned on you exactly what it was that Eddie made you feel. The way you always wanted to be around him, and the way he had become a balloon that inflated your chest every time he made you laugh, and how you knew- just knew- that you’d follow him anywhere if he asked.

You loved Eddie Munson. You were in love with him.

And you couldn’t stop smiling like an idiot at that little asymmetrical bat.

Part 6

Taglist: @emma77645 , @rustboxstarr, @josephquinnsfreckles, @rozxartaki, @sheneedsrocknroll92

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie stranger things #stranger things fic #impossible to hate you #ithy #friends to enemies to lovers #friends to lovers

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corroded-hellfire · 2 years

Text

Where The Heart Is, Part 2 - Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: After meeting Eddie over Thanksgiving break, the two of you only want to become closer with one another. You can read part one here.

Note: The response I got to the first part of this truly blew me away. I never expected so many people to leave comments or send me messages, and I just want you all to know how much it means to me. I wasn’t sure if I would continue it or not, because part of me liked where I ended it, but after so many requests, I decided to go further with these two. I have to thank @munson-blurbs for helping me the many times I got writer’s block!

Warnings: phone sex, smut, p in v, oral f! receiving, mentions of trauma, mentions of bad family life, general upside down-related unpleasantness

Words: 17.9k (Whoa.)

[Part 3 | Where The Heart Is masterlist]

The first thing you do when you see your roommate walk into your dorm after returning from Thanksgiving break is tell her to not ignore the phone if it rings. She gives you a funny look, like you’re weird for assuming she’d ignore it at all. But you know her, and if she doesn’t feel like doing something, she won’t. That includes answering the phone.

“Who’s calling you?” she asks. Shelby has a talent for making basic questions sound like insults. Though you have to concede that it is true that no one has ever called you before.

“His name is Eddie.”

Suddenly, she’s interested.

“A boy?” she asks, yet again making it sound like an offensive question.

“Yeah, a boy,” you say. You’re putting the last of your clothes away that you’d brought with you to Hawkins and with each piece you touch, a memory of what you did in it comes to mind. A smile grows on your lips as you pick up the blue sweater you wore when you met Eddie. The soft material gets a small squeeze in your hand before you hang it up.

“You met a guy in Iowa?” Shelby asks as she tosses her suitcase on her bed.

“Indiana,” you correct her. “Yeah, one of Nancy’s friends.”

“And he’s going to call you?”

“Yes,” you say as you roll your eyes, head in your closet. “We really hit it off.”

“Huh,” Shelby muses and you have the urge to strangle her with the pair of tights you just picked up.

Luckily, Shelby decides to stay with her boyfriend in his room for the night, so you can rest from your trip in peace. When the night passes by without Eddie calling, you’re a little disappointed, but also understand because you just saw him this morning. Maybe you were becoming a little obsessed. You sprawl out flat on your back on your bed and stare up at the ceiling. Why is this how it goes? You don’t have feelings for a guy in what feels like forever, then you get hit harder than you could’ve ever possibly imagined you could fall for someone. Thoughts start spinning around your head too loudly for you to possibly get some sleep, so you grab your Walkman from your desk and settle in under your blankets. When you press play, the sound of Queen fills your ears, and you end up falling asleep with an easy smile on your lips.

Alarm startling you awake, noise no longer coming from your headphones since the tape had finished during the night, you jump and clutch at your sheets. Letting the adrenaline that’s surging through your veins abate, you lay back and throw an arm over your eyes. Afraid of falling back to sleep, you push yourself up and start to get ready. You take care to layer up, knowing the biting cold waiting for you once you step outside. Though your black coat looks good when you inspect yourself in the mirror, you can’t help but think Eddie’s leather jacket would look even better.

A gentle snow falls down as you step out of your dorm building, but the harsh wind blows the flakes so fast they sting as they hit your face. You pull your scarf up over your mouth and nose as you make the trek to the English building. As far as early morning Monday classes go, there were far worse ones to have than English.

You’ve finished reading the book you were assigned for the class far ahead of schedule, so the discussion doesn’t hold your attention since everyone is behind you and discussing plot points you already know the resolutions to. Your mind drifts and starts with pleasant thoughts of Eddie, but eventually your own insecurities chime in and make you wonder if he meant it at all when he said he’d call you. Were you dumb for believing him? Did he just want to have a girl to make out with over Thanksgiving and you’d fit the bill?

It’s still going through your mind when you join Nancy for lunch before your last class of the day, which you share with your friend.

“Can I ask you something?” you ask as you sit down across from her in the dining hall.

“You know you can.” She shoots you a smile before taking a bite of her sandwich.

You scratch your nail across your napkin, watching your finger leave holes in its wake. It’s easier for you not to meet her eyes as you speak.

“Did Eddie really like me? Or was I being dumb?”

Nancy stops chewing and lets her sandwich fall back to the plate.

“What? Are you kidding me?”

Your eyes glance up at her before looking into your cup of soda.

“I mean, like, does he treat all girls like this? Am I stupid for thinking I’m special?”

“Look at me.” When you don’t, she reaches over and taps your wrist. “Look. At. Me.” You tilt your head up and meet her eyes. She looks like she wants to throttle you and it makes you shrink under her gaze. “You really think I’d play a part in something that wasn’t real? You think I’d just let him come over in the middle of the night or that I wouldn’t stop him from flirting with you so much if I knew he was just treating you like he treats other girls?”

Shame fills you as you drop your eyes and shake your head. You hadn’t thought about it that way, caught up in your own head and your own insecurities. But Nancy was nothing if not a good friend and she deserved better than to be thought of like that.

“I’m sorry, Nancy, it’s not what I meant,” you say. “You’re right, you would never do anything like that. Ever. I guess I’m just second guessing myself now that I’m back in reality. It kind of feels like Eddie was just some dream I came up with.”

Nancy sighs and picks her sandwich up again. She takes another bite and swallows it before she speaks.

“I get it,” she says. “When I first came here and left Steve back home, I had a hundred negative thoughts running through my mind. And we’ve got years of history and I know you and Eddie only had a few days. Look, I know I told you that I’ve never seen you the way I saw you with Eddie. But I guess I didn’t tell you that I’ve never seen him like that either. Now, to be fair, I haven’t known him well for very long. But when you go through the kind of shit we went through together you do get to know someone well quickly. And as for other girls? I’ve never even heard him talk about a girl before.”

“Oh, come on,” you say with a little laugh. “Look at him. Like he’s never had a girl before?”

“I never said he never had a girl,” Nancy says, shaking her head. “But I’ve never heard him talk about one before. And Eddie is not the kind of guy to play girls. If he tells you he cares about you, he means it. He’s very sincere. Too honest sometimes, if I'm being truthful.”

The smile that comes to your face is involuntary and you try to hide it by taking a sip of your drink. Nancy sees it anyway, but decides not to comment on it, but smiles to herself. You go to take a bite of your mashed potatoes but have to ask one more question first.

“You don’t think I’m crazy, do you? Getting so attached so quickly?”

Nancy shakes her head as she swallows the bite of food currently in her mouth.

“You’re not crazy at all. If you two were talking about going off to Vegas and eloping, I’d be worried. But giving him your phone number? Hardly something drastic to do when you like a guy.”

“I feel crazy,” you admit with a laugh. You drop your fork and rub your hands over your face.

“It is kind of fun for me.” Your friend smirks at you and raises an eyebrow. “Seeing you all riled up like this. So unlike you.”

“It’s why I feel crazy!”

Nancy laughs. “Oh, you’re fine.”

The first day back to classes wears you out. You drag yourself back to your dorm after dinner and collapse on your bed. The winter sun setting earlier in the day makes you want to curl up in bed and call it a night. But your clock tells you it’s only a little after seven.

“I don’t want to be productive,” you mumble into your pillow.

You kick your boots off and force yourself up to switch your things out of your backpack for your classes tomorrow. If you went to bed without doing it, you know you’d end up forgetting in the morning. Luckily, Shelby hasn’t come back to your room so far, but you know it’s only a matter of time.

The phone rings and your textbook slips out of your hand, landing on the tile floor with a loud thud. You trip over it on the way to the shelf between your and Shelby’s beds, snatching the phone up.

“Hello?” you ask.

“Hey.”

Your body practically drops to the floor in relief, grinning to yourself as you sit with your back against the wall and tuck your legs up against your body.

“You sound scared,” you say with a giggle.

Eddie laughs and the sound sends butterflies throughout your body.

“I was scared I was going to get the bitchy roommate!”

“Just me, unfortunately.”

“Bite your tongue,” he says. “You’re the only person I’ve wanted to talk to since we said goodbye at the airport.”

If Shelby were there, she would make fun of you for the rest of the semester for the dopey grin on your face.

“Actually,” Eddie admits, and his voice has gotten quieter. “I wanted to call you last night, but I thought that’d be kind of clingy of me.”

“Honestly? When I was lying in bed last night, I wished you would call.”

“Aw shit, sweetheart,” Eddie says. “You sound just about as lovesick as I am.”

“Lovesick,” you repeat. “That’s a good word for it.”

You hear a breath of laughter on the other end of the line, and you close your eyes to picture what him laughing looks like. His eyes crinkle in the corners and all his bright teeth gleam in happiness.

“How was your first day back?” he asks.

“Exhausting,” you say. “But it’s much better now.”

Eddie groans and the sound should worry you, but it sends heat running south in your body instead.

“You talk all sweet like that and I’m gonna miss you even more,” he says.

Your socked feet tap up and down on the floor in glee and you wrap your arm around your knees.

“Harder to miss me if you’re talking to me,” you say.

“I’m closing my eyes and pretending you’re here next to me.”

“Eddie,” you say with a dreamy sigh. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Me? Be the death of you?” He sounds exasperated by the very idea.

“I said what I said.”

Eddie laughs and it solidifies itself as your official favorite sound in the world.

“Do I sound too desperate if I say I want to call you every night?” Eddie asks.

“No more desperate than me,” you say. “But you should go out and have fun with your friends, too.”

“Yeah, I s’pose the Hellfire guys would be kind of pissed if I just stopped showing up,” he says.

“Mhmm,” you hum. “As much as I want to steal you, I don’t think that’d be very fair.”

“Oh princess, you have my full permission to steal me anytime you want to.”

The nickname quickens your heart rate and a buzz tingles down your limbs.

The doorknob to your room turns and you must let out a groan because Eddie asks you what’s wrong.

“Bitch incoming,” you whisper just before the door opens.

Shelby strolls in and gives you a dirty look for sitting on the floor. You choose to ignore her and close your eyes to focus on your conversation.

“Tell her I said she better be nice to you,” Eddie says.

“I don’t think that would work,” you answer.

“Have Nancy kick her ass.”

You laugh and rest your forehead down on your knees.

“She’s tiny but she definitely could,” you say.

“I have homework to do,” Shelby says as she slams a textbook down on her desk.

Eddie must be able to hear her because he scoffs in your ear.

“What crawled up her ass and died?” he asks.

“I can think of a lot of things,” you mumble, and it makes him laugh.

“I don’t want to cause any problems,” Eddie says. “How about I call you tomorrow night, hmm? I get off work at six - uh, that’s seven there. So, I’ll call when I get home?”

“Promise?” you ask.

“Cross my heart, gorgeous.”

“Okay,” you say. “I guess I’ll talk to you then.”

“Bye, sweetheart.”

“Bye, Eddie.”

During the next phone call, you make sure to get Eddie’s number so the burden doesn’t always fall on him to call. But no matter who is calling who, you manage to talk to each other at least four days a week. It’s usually more, but sometimes it’s not as often as you’d both like because Eddie has Hellfire or you have a meeting with your baking club, which Nancy had encouraged you to join earlier in the semester. You’d always enjoyed baking, but never got a chance to properly try it out, but with her encouragement, you signed up.

A week to go before Christmas break, Shelby has thankfully gone to spend the night with her boyfriend again, so you have the room to yourself the whole night to talk with Eddie. There hasn’t been a Friday night you’ve both been able to stay up late together since Eddie’s had to work Saturday mornings the last few weeks. Most students from your floor were out at bars, clubs, or somewhere else you wouldn’t want to be caught dead at, but you knew for a fact that Nancy was in the same position as you - curled up in your bed, wearing your comfiest clothes - and talking to her boyfriend at the other end of the hall.

“Okay,” Eddie says once you’ve been on the phone for a little over two hours. “There’s something I want to ask you.”

“Alright,” you say, tugging your blanket up to your chin in the cool dorm. “What’s up?”

“Well,” Eddie starts. There’s a hitch in his voice and you realize this is the first time you’ve heard him sound a little nervous. “You can totally say no. I don’t want you to think I’m pressuring you or trying to make you feel like you have to, o-or…”

“Eddie,” you cut him off with a laugh. “What is it?”

He takes a deep breath and your tummy buzzes in anticipation.

“I was wondering if you’d want to come visit for Christmas, maybe?” His voice kept getting higher the further along in the question he got.

“Oh, Eddie, I’d love to,” you say. The smile on your face is so wide it’s hurting your cheeks. “But I don’t want to just assume I’m welcome back at Nancy’s house.”

“Oh, no, no!” Eddie says. “I meant like…do you want to come stay with me?”

The breath catches in your chest and your mouth freezes, unable to form words. Somehow, the breath dislodges itself and you huff what sounds like between a sigh and a laugh.

“You want me to come stay with you?” you ask.

“I sure do.” He says it with such confidence that it makes your eyes water. “Wayne wants to meet you real bad. He said he’s heard enough about you that he feels like he knows you already.”

“Aww, do you talk about me?” you can’t help but tease him despite the strong stinging blush on your cheeks.

“Every chance I get,” Eddie says.

“You really are the sweetest,” you say with a content sigh.

“Does that mean you’ll come?” he asks, voice hiking up in hopefulness.

“Well, I have to go home to see my niece, but I’m seeing her next week,” you say.

“You’re leaving on Friday, right?” Eddie double checks. “Right after your last exam?”

“I am,” you say. Your eyes scan around your dorm room, half packed up with things you’re taking back with you to New Hampshire next week. “And I’m seeing my sister and niece on Tuesday and Wednesday. But after that? If you really want me to, I’d love to come for Christmas.”

“Oh, thank God,” Eddie lets out in a rush. “Because I miss you so much.”

You grin to yourself and curl up on your side.

“I miss you too,” you tell him quietly.

“Yeah?” Eddie asks, and there’s an edge to his voice that sends a shiver up your spine.

“Yeah,” you say, voice going lower.

“Mmm,” Eddie hums and your thighs clench together at the sound. “How much?”

“So much,” you tell him as you roll onto your back. “So much it hurts.”

“Hurts where, baby?” The pitch of his voice lowering makes you bite your lip and slide a hand down your chest. God, you hope this is going where you think it’s going.

“My heart,” you start off. “And…other places.”

Eddie’s groan gives you the last hint of motivation you need to slip your hand down your sweatpants.

“What places, baby?”

The nickname has you slipping your hand into your panties as well.

“Gonna make me say it?” you ask, breath becoming labored. There’s material rustling on the other end of the phone and the thought of Eddie in the same position as you has you arching your back.

“Mhmm,” Eddie hums, his own breaths coming quicker. “Wanna hear you.”

“Fuck,” you moan out softly as you start to slide your fingers through your folds. You’d touched yourself countless times since coming home from Indiana, but never while talking to Eddie.

“What’re you doing, sweetheart?” Eddie asks. His voice is rough and ragged, and it only makes you wetter.

“Got my hand down my panties,” you tell him, cheeks burning at the admission.

He lets out a moan as your middle finger rubs right over your clit, the combination leading you to moan out as well.

“What’re y-you doing?” you ask once you’ve slightly recovered.

“Dick in my hand,” Eddie stutters out.

“Wish I was there to see,” you tell him, and he chokes on a laugh.

“Fuck, me too, baby,” he says. “What else would you do if you were here?”

The nastiest thoughts flash through your mind and, surprisingly, you don’t feel the need to hide them from Eddie. He makes you feel at ease, even stepping out of your comfort zone like this.

“Shit, I’d lick you from base to tip.” The small noises coming from the back of Eddie’s throat encourage you. “I’m not sure how good of a gag reflex I have but I’d let you test that out on me as much as you’d like. Over and over. And I’d swallow every last drop you gave me. Fuck, bet you have a pretty dick.”

“Not as pretty as your pussy must be, baby,” he answers.

You bite your lip and let out a whimper. The sound of Eddie’s slick hand working over himself comes through the phone and you slip a finger inside of yourself.

“Bet you taste fucking perfect, too,” Eddie adds, and your hips canter off the mattress.

“What would you do if I was there?” you ask. “Taste me?”

“Oh, fuck, yes. Shit, I’d devour you like you were my last meal. How would you want me to touch you, baby? Tell me.”

“Everywhere,” you whine out with a pathetic moan. “I want your hands all over my body. Maybe squeeze at my tits as you go down on me. Would you like that?”

The growl you get in response tells you that he would.

“Hell yes, baby. Shit. Bet you’re so tight. First, so tight around my tongue and fingers. Then my cock. Squeezing me so well. Like a good fucking girl.”

“God, you’re killing me,” you say with a breathy laugh, working your middle finger in and out of your pussy.

“Feeling’s mutual, princess,” Eddie groans out. “Rub your clit for me, baby?”

You don’t need to be told twice. You slip your finger out of your drenched core and run it over your clit, applying the perfect pressure as you rub back and forth.

“I-I am,” you whimper.

The sounds of Eddie’s heavy breaths and fist gliding over his cock keep you company as you work yourself closer to the edge. Sweat is making your sweatshirt stick to your stomach and rub against your sensitive nipples, but you can’t bring yourself to take your other hand off the phone to take it off. Eddie’s sounds are addicting, and you don’t want to miss a second of them.

“Fuck, baby, I’m so close,” Eddie whines.

“Yeah?”

“Uh huh,” he says. “Was half hard the moment I heard your voice.”

His words make you moan and rub tighter circles over your throbbing clit.

“Eddie,” you whine.

“Gonna make me cum even faster, gorgeous,” he says.

“Do it,” you sigh out. “Want to cum with you.”

“Close, princess?”

“Uh huh.”

“Come on, baby,” Eddie says. “Fuck, can’t wait to do this in person.”

“Shit, Eddie,” you cry out at his words. “M’gonna cum.”

“Let go, sweetheart,” he moans.

You cry out as your back arches off the bed, orgasm overtaking you. Eddie’s groan and whimper from the other end of the phone lets you know he’s cumming too, and the image has you rubbing your clit even quicker to milk your orgasm out.

Breaths coming out in heavy pants, your body collapses back against the bed. You giggle to yourself when you hear Eddie breathing the same way that you are.

“Still with me?” you ask.

“Yeah,” Eddie says between breaths. “Fuck, that was good.”

“Oh yeah,” you agree. Using the back of your wrist, you wipe some sweat off your forehead as you cuddle back against your pillow. “Now, what was that about doing this in person?”

“Huh?” Eddie asks, breath and voice slowly returning to normal. “Shit, I didn’t mean to-.”

“Eddie!” You laugh as he starts to ramble. “I was going to say I was looking forward to it.”

“Oh.” Relief is evident in his voice. He lets out an awkward chuckle and you can hear fabric rustling from his end. You imagine him tucking himself back in his pants and you lick over your lips. “Well, I mean, we don’t have a guest room. So, if you’re gonna be staying here you’ve only got the one option.”

You can practically hear the smirk in his voice, and you close your eyes to picture it. His hair is probably all messy over his pillow with sweat making a few pieces stick to his forehead.

“Slumber party, huh?”

“Only if you want, baby,” Eddie says. “I wouldn’t force you to do anything.”

“I know that,” you assure him. “I guess I should tell you something, though.”

“Anything, sweetheart. You know that.”

After what the two of you just did together you should not be feeling nervous with him. But you can’t help it as your thumb comes up to your mouth and you gnash your teeth against the corner of your nail.

“What we just did is the farthest I’ve ever gone,” you tell him. “I’m a virgin, Eddie.”

“Oh, is that all?” Eddie says and you feel your heart relax.

“I didn’t think you’d care,” you get out in a rush. “Just can be a weird topic to talk about.”

“That’s true,” Eddie says. “So, it’s good you brought it up, because now I can tell you that I’m a virgin too.”

“Really?” you say before thinking better of it. You squeeze your eyes closed because you can’t imagine how that must’ve sounded. “I-I just mean I’m surprised because you’re like…ridiculously hot. And I have a hard time believing girls wouldn’t throw themselves at you. Especially at your shows.”

Eddie laughs and it’s both genuine and self-deprecating.

“You flatter me, baby,” he says. “But our shows usually consisted of an audience of half a dozen barflies until I met Nancy and the crew.”

“No groupies?” you ask.

“Not a one.”

“Well,” you say with a shrug, even though Eddie can’t see you. “I’d be happy to be a Corroded Coffin groupie.”

“Is that so?” he muses.

“Please, sir?” You bite your lip at the blush clinging to your face as you utter the words.

“Fuck,” Eddie groans and it turns into a chuckle. “You say shit like that we’re going to have to go another round.”

“Isn’t my job as a groupie to tease you?” The innocent tone of your voice isn’t lost on you nor Eddie.

“You’re really good at it already.”

Giggling, you sit up in your bed and hug your knees to your chest.

“Not to change the subject, but I’m going to before I get distracted too,” you say. “If I’m going to be there for Christmas, I’m going to have to get on buying a present for my secret Santa. Think you could give me a few ideas?”

“Sure thing, princess,” Eddie says. “Who’d you get?”

“Max,” you tell him.

“Oh, Red’s pretty easy. She likes comics, especially Wonder Woman. She skateboards. Uh, what else? Big Kate Bush fan.”

“What about clothes?” you ask. “Jewelry?”

“Shit, I wouldn’t be able to help you out with those. She doesn’t really wear jewelry and I couldn’t even tell you what kind of clothes she wears, really. Never paid attention.”

“Hmm, okay,” you hum as you slip your feet further under your blankets. “I’ll keep all that in mind. Now, who’d you get?”

“Robin,” Eddie says with a sigh. “I have no clue what to get her.”

“If you’re still stuck when I get there, we could always go shopping together?”

“I am the worst shopper in the history of the world,” Eddie groans. “I’d love to have you with me. I’ll hold your hand and buy you hot chocolate.”

You duck your head with a bashful laugh.

“Sold.”

Finals week was always hell, but you had to admit, the thought of seeing Eddie soon helped ease the pain a bit. You and Nancy spent most evenings held up in whoever’s room was free of its roommate, pouring over notes, shuffling flash cards, and quizzing each other back and forth. It pays off, the both of you feeling pretty confident once all tests are said and done.

Nancy gives you a hug and tells you she’ll see you in a week before she catches her ride to the airport. Unfortunately, Shelby wasn’t leaving for break until the day after you, so you were forced to share the room until you’re able to get in your car and go.

Once you do though, you realize it wasn’t really anything to look forward to. You’d either be arriving at an empty apartment, or one where your mother was. You’re not sure which is worse. Just as you’re about to pull your car onto the highway and out of Boston though, a store catches your eye, and you make a U-turn to get a closer look.

You park your car and smile to yourself as you see the custom skateboards on display in the windows. Inside the store, the boards are even nicer. The decks are all hand painted, the clerk tells you, and you’re amazed at the talent as you take in all the vibrant and beautiful works. One in particular catches your eye and you know you’ve found the right present.

The apartment is silent when you arrive home. The only noises are from the surrounding tenant’s homes. There’s Christmas music playing somewhere a few doors down and someone on the floor above you has their shower running. The smell of stale air wafts through the rooms and you wonder when the last time your mom cracked a window was.

You drag your suitcase to your small room in the corner of the apartment and flop down on your twin-sized bed. It smells just as stale as the air, so you get up and decide to throw your blankets and some clothes from your closet into the laundry.

It’s well after dark when your mom arrives home, and if you were expecting to be greeted with excitement, you were wrong. Luckily, experience had taught you not to hold your breath on that. A hug hello, some vague questions about school, then she’s off to bed. Not that you mind at all. In fact, you decide to get comfortable in your bed of clean sheets and try to get some sleep yourself. Burying your face in your pillow, you inhale the clean scent of the detergent you used. It’s a nice smell, but it gives you an even better idea. You roll onto your back and smile to yourself as you stare up at the ceiling. Eddie may not be your boyfriend, but you doubt he’d care if you borrowed a t-shirt or sweatshirt to bring back with you when school starts again. The thought of having something you could hold in your dorm bed that belongs to Eddie, his scent all over it, makes you giddy, and you let out a short giggle into the dark room.

The day you get to spend with your niece is by far the best day you have at home in New Hampshire. She’s the sweetest seven-year-old you’ve ever met in your life and the fact that she adores you warms your heart. Chloe is by far your favorite relative, even though that wasn’t a very high bar to begin with. The princess dress you gave her lit up her face in a way that brought tears to your eyes. Her hug was bone-crushing for such a small child, and you took advantage of every second of it. The only reason you don’t cry as you say goodbye to her and your sister is because you know you’re seeing Eddie very soon.

“What are you doing for Christmas?” Chloe had asked you as you tossed your bag into your car. You sat down sideways in the driver’s seat and pulled her over to hold her tiny hands in your own.

“I’m going to see a friend for Christmas,” you told her.

“Who?”

“His name is Eddie.”

“Is he your boyfriend?” Her face wrinkled up in an adorable and excited seven-year-old fashion. It made you laugh, and you pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“Maybe.” He wasn’t technically, but you weren’t about to explain the complexities to her. Plus, after your upcoming trip, he might be.

The escalator leading down to the baggage claim level in the Indianapolis airport moves far too slowly for your liking. Everyone else seems content with the pace, but you’re practically buzzing with nervous energy. The family in front of you can’t move fast enough out of your way as they step off, leaving you irritated as you try to navigate your way around them. You manage to get clear of the crowd without smacking anyone with your backpack and make your way over to where Eddie will be waiting.

“Excuse me, miss,” you hear from behind you. “But I can’t help but notice how devastatingly gorgeous you are.” The smile on your face as you turn around at the familiar voice is so wide it feels like it’s going to fall off your face. “Do you think I could interest you in spending Christmas with me?”

Eddie’s grin matches your own and you fling yourself in his arms. He catches you with a joyful laugh, managing to slip his hands under your backpack so he can lift you up. A squeal leaves your lips as you wrap your legs around his adorably tiny waist, and the two of you squeeze one another so hard you’re surprised you don’t meld into one body.

“I missed you so much,” Eddie mumbles into your hair.

“I missed you, too,” you say. You pull back to look at him, infectious grin still on his face as he holds you. Taking his face between your hands, you press a firm kiss on his lips. He chuckles against your mouth, and you press a few more quick pecks to his lips before you unwrap your legs from his body. He sets you down and you bounce up and down on the balls of your feet.

“How are you even more beautiful than I remember?” Eddie asks as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“I guess the same way that you’re even more handsome than I remember,” you answer.

Eddie rests his forehead against yours and gives your lips one more peck. He slips his hand into yours and you lace your fingers together.

“Let's go get your bag,” Eddie says.

Gentlemanly as ever, Eddie carries your bags to his van and loads them in the back. Before he lets you get in though, he takes advantage of the empty parking garage around you and gently presses you up against the passenger door. The devilish smirk he sends you makes your tummy buzz and your toes curl in your boots. He leans in and presses his lips against yours in a searing kiss, knocking the breath from your lungs. Your arms come up to wind around his neck, fingers coming up to tangle in the hair at the base of his neck. His tongue licks across your top lip and you gladly open them to him. The van is cold against your back, but Eddie’s warming you up plenty. His hands rest on your hips, thumbs rubbing up against the soft material of your coat. You never knew a gray concrete parking garage could be so romantic.

On the ride to Eddie’s, neither of you shuts up. If someone had told you that you’d meet someone who you would talk to on the phone for hours at a time multiple days a week, but still find things to talk about all the time, you wouldn’t have believed them. But there were never silences, let alone awkward ones, with Eddie. As you got closer to his place you actually had a twenty-minute conversation about the shoes Eddie was wearing.

“Shit, I forgot to ask you,” Eddie says, suddenly seeming a little nervous. “Nancy and Steve want to have lunch with us tomorrow afternoon. That okay with you?”

“Of course,” you tell him. He doesn’t seem relaxed by your answer, so you reach over and put your hand on his shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says with a nod, but you’re not convinced.

“What, are you nervous to go on a double date?” you ask with a chuckle.

He smiles over at you and reaches up to grab the hand you placed on him. He gives it a squeeze before putting it back on the wheel.

“Never nervous to spend time with you, baby. Oh, I should tell you,” Eddie says as you drive past the sign welcoming you to Hawkins. “Wayne took the night off from work tonight. He wants to have dinner with you, it being your first day here and all.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet,” you say, smiling over at him.

“It’ll probably be pizza, nothing fancy,” Eddie says with a shrug.

“Pizza is better than fancy every time, Eddie. Duh,” you say. “I’m kind of nervous to meet your uncle though, to be honest.”

Eddie lets out a laugh and shakes his head.

“Nervous to meet Wayne? Oh sweetheart, trust me, nothing to be nervous about. He likes to act like a hardass with me, but he’s a teddy bear deep down.”

“Okay,” you say, and take a deep breath.

Eddie’s quiet for a moment before he speaks again.

“It does mean though…” he trails off and you look at him in concern.

“What? What’s wrong?” you ask.

“I mean, with Wayne there I don’t really think we should, ya know-.”

You cut him off with a laugh and shake your head.

“Eddie, baby,” you say, and you notice him flush at the nickname. “I’m going to be here for a while. We have plenty of time for all that fun stuff. A lot of it.”

Eddie groans and gently bangs his head against his headrest.

“Fuck, you’re killing me,” he says through a chuckle.

“Oh yeah?” Your voice hikes up at the end and Eddie clocks the way you adjust your crossed legs, thighs squeezing closer together.

“Been half hard since I saw you,” he admits, cheeks turning even darker.

“I mean, I could help you with that,” you say, cheeks flaming red yourself.

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.” You blush even redder at how quickly you replied. “You’ll need to tell me what to do, though. Like, h-how you like it. I’ve never done this before.”

“Shit, baby,” Eddie says, and you squeeze your legs together even tighter at the endearment. “I doubt you could do anything I wouldn’t like. But yeah, I’ll talk you through it.”

Eddie pulls the van up to a red light and you unbuckle your seatbelt and lean over closer to him. Your hand goes to reach for his zipper when the van is jerked from behind. Eddie immediately reaches out to grab you since you’re not wearing your seatbelt, and he curses under his breath as the vehicle gently rocks back and forth from the hit.

“Someone hit the van?” You’re almost positive that’s what happened, but your head was a bit dazed from thoughts of what you were about to do.

“Yeah,” Eddie says as he puts the van in park. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you say as you get back in your seat. “Are you?”

“Fine. Just pissed.” Eddie sighs before he opens the driver’s door. “I’ll be right back. You stay nice and warm in here, princess.”

Eddie slams the door behind him and after a few moments you hear him yell, “Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

You open the passenger side door and hop out, closing it behind you and heading to the back of the van to see what was wrong. You’re expecting horrible damage, injured people, or Eddie getting ready to kick someone’s ass. But what you see makes you laugh, and you cover your mouth with your hand to stifle the sound.

The curly-haired boy you met last month, Dustin, is getting out of the car behind the van, a grimace on his face, looking paler than you remember. An older man gets out of the passenger side with a clipboard and your eyes trail to the top of the car where there’s a red sign that says, “Student Driver.”

“Shit, Eddie,” Dustin says. “I’m so sorry. I got excited when I saw your van and then I forgot which pedal was which and I just…oh!”

Dustin sees you and grins. You chuckle and send him a small wave, but Eddie is still glaring at him.

“Are you okay?” the driving instructor asks.

“Fine,” Eddie says, eyes not leaving Dustin. The boy shrinks under his gaze.

“Are you okay, Dustin?” you ask.

“I’m fine.”

“For now,” Eddie growls out.

You inspect the back of the van, but you don’t see a single scratch. Dustin’s lucky. Whoever pays his bills is lucky too because you doubt the driving school would have taken any damage lightly.

“Should we call the police?” the instructor asks but Eddie waves him off.

“It’s fine,” Eddie says. He puts his hands on his hips and sighs. You walk over to him and put your hand on his back, rubbing gently, and it seems to calm him.

“I’m so sorry,” Dustin says but Eddie shakes his head at the boy.

“He’ll forgive you,” you assure Dustin. “He’s just a little worked up.”

How you manage not to smirk at your double entendre, you don’t know. Eddie huffs out a chuckle though and nods his head.

“Everyone’s okay,” Eddie says with a shrug. “Plus, I know you’ll make it up to me, Henderson.”

“How?” Dustin asks.

“That’s up to you,” Eddie calls to him as he turns back towards the van, slinging his arm over your shoulders. You giggle and bury your head in Eddie’s neck as he walks you back to your door.

“Bye, Dustin!” you shout as Eddie opens the passenger door for you.

The echo of Dustin’s responding goodbye is cut off when Eddie shuts the door. He climbs in the driver’s side and lets out a mixture of a groan and a sigh as he puts the car in drive.

“I love him,” you tell Eddie as he continues down the road.

“He’s a pain in the ass,” Eddie says, but there’s a fond smile on his face.

There’s a sign that comes into view that announces Forest Hills trailer park is half a mile up the road. Despite Eddie’s reassurance earlier, you start to feel the knot of anxiety in your stomach again. The only family in Eddie’s life is Wayne, so what would happen if he didn’t like you? A large hand comes over to cover yours and you realize you have been fidgeting with your fingers in your lap. Eddie’s thumb rubs over your hand and you shoot him a grateful smile.

Eddie pulls the van into the trailer park, and you look around, taking in his neighborhood.

“It’s a trailer park,” Eddie says with a chuckle. “Not much to look at.”

“This is where you live. What you see every day,” you say. “I’m interested.”

He smiles to himself as you crane your neck to take in everything. Eddie isn’t sure he’s ever had someone interested in his life like this before. Certainly there wasn’t anyone who was ever nervous about meeting his uncle. The thought of someone being nervous to meet Wayne was truly hilarious to him.

The van parks in front of the trailer and Eddie’s stomach drops as he sees you frown at the small dwelling. You’d known all along he lives in a trailer, but is it even worse than you imagined? Is it too small? Too dirty? Eddie licks over his lips and runs his hands over the steering wheel just to do something with his nervous energy.

“You don’t have any Christmas lights up,” you say, turning to face him.

Eddie’s shoulders sag in relief and a smile comes to his face.

“I guess we don’t,” he says. “I don’t think we own any, actually.”

He lets out a laugh at your affronted face and leans over to press a kiss to your cheek.

“You’re so cute,” he says.

“Don’t try to sweet talk your way out of decorations, mister.” But you can’t help but smile at his actions.

“How about we go to the store tomorrow? You can pick out what you think looks best.”

“Wait. Are you telling me you don’t have decorations inside either?”

“We do not.”

“What about a tree?”

Eddie grimaces and your jaw drops open.

“Eddie! No tree?”

“Okay, I was planning on getting one,” he says, holding his hands up in defense. “Just haven’t yet. I usually pick up whatever’s left on the lot a few days before Christmas.”

“So, a Charlie Brown Christmas tree?” you ask.

“Pretty much,” he says. “Now come on. Let’s get inside where I can show you my room.”

You laugh as Eddie wiggles his eyebrows at you. He throws you a wink before he hops out and opens the back door to get your bags. Following him over to the steps, you rub your hands up and down your arms, partially out of coldness and partially out of nerves. Since his hands are full, you reach around and turn the doorknob for him, and he knocks the door all the way open with his hip. Eddie sets your bags down just inside the door and takes your hand in his as you step inside. He closes the door behind you as you look around the living room, taking in the mugs and hats that make up the decor.

“My favorite mug is the Garfield one,” you tell Eddie.

“Got that when I was six,” he says. He lets go of your hand to wrap both of his arms around you from behind. He rests his chin on your shoulder and you lean back in his embrace.

“I bet you were an adorable six-year-old,” you say.

“I looked like little orphan Annie with the curls and all.”

You laugh but it dies in your throat as you hear footsteps coming down the hallway.

“Relax,” Eddie whispers in your ear, giving your waist a squeeze before stepping out from behind you.

A weathered but friendly looking man steps into the living room and the smile he gives you reminds you of Eddie’s. His blue and black flannel makes you wonder if he and Eddie ever steal each other's clothes.

“Well, you must be the young lady I’ve heard so much about.”

Both you and Eddie blush at his words.

“I guess that’s me,” you say with a shrug. “It��s nice to meet you, sir.”

“Oh, please doll, no need to be so formal. Wayne is fine. It’s great to meet you too, though.” He steps forward and offers you his hand, which you shake gladly. Eddie wraps an arm around your waist and Wayne turns his gaze on his nephew.

“What took you so long, boy?”

“Had a little fender bender,” Eddie admits with a sigh. Wayne reaches over and smacks Eddie upside the head, making you cough out a laugh. “Ow, what the hell?”

“Her first day here and you’re already getting in a car accident?”

“It wasn’t my fault!” Eddie protests.

Wayne huffs and crosses his arms across his chest.

“My apologies then.” He turns to you and leans in conspiratorially. “Boy had to take his driving test three times.”

“Okay, thank you Wayne,” Eddie says, stomping down the hallway, dragging a giggling you behind him. He tugs you into a bedroom at the end of the hall and it’s instantly recognizable as his room.

You let his hand drop from yours as you walk around, taking in the small space.

“Believe it or not, I cleaned up,” Eddie says, scratching the back of his head.

“I believe you,” you say, shooting him a playful smirk that makes him roll his eyes. You stroll over to the Corroded Coffin banner hanging on the wall and Eddie sidles up beside you.

“I want to see your band play,” you say.

“We haven’t played together since Jeff went off to college.” Eddie tugs you against his side and presses a kiss into your hair. You lay your head on his shoulder with a smile, giddy that he keeps his hands on your every chance he gets.

“Is he home for Christmas?” you ask.

He pulls back and looks at you, a grin sliding on his face.

“He is. You’re a genius.” He presses another kiss to your head and your cheeks heat up at this one. “Maybe the guys will want a little reunion.”

“Will you play this?” you ask, nodding to the guitar hanging adjacent to where you’re standing.

“Sure will. She’s my sweetheart.” Your eyebrows pull together in a frown and Eddie coos at you. “Aw, baby. She’s my first sweetheart. You’re my number one sweetheart.”

When you keep frowning Eddie takes his thumb and runs it over the lines on your face.

“What’s the difference?” you ask.

“Well, I loved her first and I -.” His face turns beet red, and you can’t help the smile that lights up your face.

“And you what, Eddie?” you ask, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“And I, uh.” Eddie coughs, avoiding your eyes. “I have you as my sweetheart now. I mean, um.”

As adorable as his scrambling is, you can’t take how uncomfortable he looks so you raise yourself up on your toes and press a kiss to his lips. Eddie sighs in relief against your lips and rests his hands on your hips.

“You’re cute when you ramble,” you mumble against his mouth.

“M’glad,” he mumbles back. “You’re cute all the time.”

The doorbell rings and Eddie rests his forehead against yours.

“That’ll be the pizza,” he says. “On the one hand, I’m hungry. On the other hand, I want our mouths to be busy with different things.”

A flush comes up your body as you pull away from him.

“Eat first, lots of kissing later,” you tell him.

Dinner with Wayne and Eddie is nice, and you’re surprised at how funny Wayne is. He tells stories from his younger days, even making Eddie laugh as well, though he’s probably heard these stories so many times he could tell them himself.

“So,” Wayne says as he wipes his hands off on a napkin. “Eddie tells me you go to college with the Wheeler girl?”

“I do,” you affirm. “Emerson College. I love it, but Boston is very cold right now.”

“I don’t know how much better it is here,” Eddie says, leaning to look out the window, checking for any signs of snow.

“What’re you studying?” Wayne asks.

“Psychology.”

“So, is my nephew your first patient?”

You break out into a fit of giggles and Eddie’s dropped jaw and affronted face makes you laugh even harder. Wayne lets out his own chuckle and shrugs his shoulders.

“I’ve never gotten to embarrass Eddie in front of a girl before. I’m taking full advantage of this,” Wayne says.

“Aww, Eddie,” you coo, while still laughing, and rest your head on his shoulder.

“I’m going across the street to have dinner with Max,” Eddie says, even as he reaches for another slice of pizza.

“Max lives here?” you ask with a smile.

“Sure does. She’s a good kid,” Wayne says. “Bit of a mouth on her, but she’s a good kid.”

“I’ll have to say hi when you’re at work one day.” You pout up at Eddie, jutting your lower lip out.

“I got a few days off though,” Eddie says, slipping an arm around you as he shoves the pizza into his mouth. “I’ll only be coming back smelling like oil and gasoline a few days.”

“Y’all have any plans while you’re here?” Wayne asks.

“Well, I promised we’d get some decorations to make this place look more festive,” Eddie says. “Getting a tree, of course. Anything else you want to do while you’re here?”

“Nothing specific,” you say with a shrug. “Told Nancy I’d see her, of course.”

“Indiana sure ain’t known for being a tourist destination,” Wayne says.

“But I’m here,” Eddie says with a playful smirk. You know he’s joking, but he’s also right.

“Well, I wouldn’t spend Christmas with just anyone,” you say.

“And we’re glad to have you,” Wayne says.

“Very,” Eddie adds, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

Out of all the films that made up Eddie and Wayne’s small collection, not one was a Christmas movie. Luckily, Frosty the Snowman is on television, followed by How the Grinch Stole Christmas. Wayne reclines in his chair, and you curl up next to Eddie on the couch to watch the animated programs. Eddie’s arm is wrapped snugly around you the whole time, and he pays more attention to the fact that he’s holding you than he does to the storylines.

As you’re getting ready for bed in the small bathroom, your tummy erupts in an excited sort of nerves at the fact that you’re sharing a bed with Eddie. A rather small bed, too. Part of you is glad it's winter and you’re wearing warm plaid pajama pants and an oversized Boston Bruins t-shirt, because you know you would’ve put pressure on yourself to wear more suggestive items to bed if it were warmer.

You open the bathroom door, and your socked feet pad down the hall to Eddie’s room, where he’s already lounging, one arm up over his head and the other resting on his stomach. His own plaid pajamas bottoms - black, instead of the pink ones on your bottom half - sitting low on his hips and his gray faded Dio shirt making him look hotter than he had any right to be. He smiles when you walk in and lifts his hips up so he can pull down the blankets for the both of you. There’s a pleasant buzzing sensation in your limbs as you slip into the bed next to him. He automatically wraps his arms around you, and you cuddle into his chest.

“You’re warm,” you mumble against his shirt.

“You’re hot,” he says, and you break into a giggle, burying your face in his neck.

You tilt your head up and press a kiss to the underside of Eddie’s chin.

“What time are we meeting Steve and Nancy tomorrow?” you ask.

Eddie gets that nervous look about him like he did in the van when he originally told you about the plans.

“They’re going to come here, actually,” he says, running his hand up and down your back. “Bringing food from a diner down the road from Steve that he loves, so prepare for him to bring half the menu.”

“Fine with me.” You run your nose up to behind Eddie’s ear and you feel him shiver under your touch. The echoes from the television drift down the hall and you’re pretty sure it’s the only thing keeping the two of you from jumping one another.

Eddie reaches behind him to flip the light off and curls back into you, resting his forehead against yours.

“Hi,” he whispers.

“Hi, you.”

“I’m really glad you’re here.”

“Me too,” you say. “No one I’d rather spend Christmas with.”

“No?” he asks. “Not even your niece?”

“Eh, that means I’d have to spend it with my sister too, though, so no.”

He chuckles and presses his lips against yours.

“No one I’d rather spend it with either,” he says. “But there is something I want to ask you.”

“What’s that?”

“Well,” he says, and even in the darkness you can tell that his face is getting pink. “I realized that even though we’ve been pretty inseparable since we met, I’ve never even asked you on a date.”

“Eddie,” you giggle his name against his lips. “That is so sweet. But we’ve had phone sex, I came to stay with you for Christmas, and I’m pretty sure we’re losing our virginities to each other real damn soon, so I think we’re a little past that.”

“Okay, fair,” Eddie agrees with a breathy laugh. “What about you being my girlfriend then? Can I ask you about that?”

“You can.” You rub your hands over his chest. “But I’m pretty sure you know what the answer will be.”

“I hope so.” He pecks your lips again. “But I want to ask anyway.”

“Go ahead then.”

“Be my girlfriend? Like, officially?”

“Depends,” you say with a smile. “Will you be my boyfriend?”

He purses his lips and lets out a hum before responding.

“Can I think about it?”

“Fine,” you say with a shrug. You take your hands off him and go to take the covers off of your body. “Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll just go sleep at Nancy’s until you decide.”

He laughs and wraps his arms around your middle as you go to get up.

“No!” he whines and pulls your body back down against his. Back pressed against his chest, he squeezes you in his arms and presses loud smacking kisses against the back of your neck. “I’ve been yours since I first saw you.”

The grin his words bring to your face makes your cheek muscles ache.

“I could say the same,” you tell him.

“Shit, how’d I get so lucky?” he whispers into your hair.

“By being so cute, I guess.”

He hums a chuckle and tucks the blankets up around the two of you.

“We should probably try to sleep,” he says.

“Probably. But I don’t want to.”

“Me neither.”

The sun is almost up by the time you finally fall asleep in his arms. You’re used to hearing his voice right before you sleep from your regular phone calls, but it’s even better having his voice up close and personal right in your ear. Eddie falls asleep soon after you but still wakes up first.

As consciousness comes drifting back to him, he’s aware there’s something warm in his arms. His brow furrows before the apple scent of your shampoo jogs his memory, and a smile comes to his face as he huddles closer to your warmth. His eyes break open and the smile grows as he sees your sleeping face on the pillow next to his. Your face is so peaceful and calm, and it makes his heart stutter at how beautiful you look. He reaches up and softly strokes his thumb over your cheekbone, his eyes taking in every little detail of your face. There were times that Eddie thought he’d never get a girl to even say yes to going on a date with him, yet here he is, not even a month after meeting you, lying next to the girl he’s positive he’s falling in love with. And he finds it even crazier that you seem to feel the same way about him.

You start to move in his arms and Eddie stays still so he doesn’t disturb you. His hand drops down to your hip as you turn on your side and snuggle closer to him. He can’t help but press a gentle kiss on your forehead, lips pulled up in a grin against your skin. A hum leaves your throat and Eddie looks down at you at the noise. You blink your eyes open, lashes fluttering as your eyes adjust from sleep.

“Morning, gorgeous.”

At the sound of Eddie’s voice your head tips up and you meet his gaze. A smile lights up your face and Eddie presses another kiss to your forehead.

“Morning, handsome,” you reply.

“How’d you sleep?” he asks.

“Good,” you say with a dreamy sigh. You nuzzle your head into Eddie’s neck, and he wraps you up in his arms. He knows he should get up and get dressed, but he can’t bring himself to get up. It’s partially because he’s dreading the conversation he knows he needs to have with you. If he wants to have sex with you - and Lord knows he does - that means he’s going to have to take his shirt off. You’re the first person Eddie has met whom he’s positive won’t judge him on how gruesome they look. But that doesn’t mean you won’t ask how he got them.

“How’d you sleep?” you ask him and start peppering kisses up his neck.

“Best I ever have, I think,” he says, eyes fluttering closed. A moan slips out his lips and the vibration from the sound travels down his throat and into your lips. “You keep doing that and we’re never getting out of this bed.”

“That wouldn’t be so bad,” you speak against his skin.

Eddie agrees, but the knot in his stomach is from nerves as opposed to hormones - though there was definitely some of that too. The thought of you seeing his scars without any warning beforehand is the only thing keeping him from stripping the both of you naked in record time.

“Baby,” Eddie says, pulling away from your lips. “We should get up and get ready.”

A whine slips out as you bury your face in Eddie’s chest.

“Don’t wanna,” you say.

“Me neither,” Eddie says as he pushes the blankets off the two of you. “But I don’t want Steve coming in here and seeing you in your sexy pajamas.”

You laugh as you look down at your cozy attire, but your cheeks heat up at his words, nonetheless. Eddie slides out of the bed and tugs the blankets all the way off you. He smirks as his cold hands grab at your ankles and pull you down towards the foot of the bed. A squeal leaves your lips as you squirm, trying to escape his freezing fingers.

“Up, baby, up!”

“I’ll get up if you kiss me,” you offer.

“Ugh, if I have to.” He walks over to your side of the bed and leans down, pressing his lips quickly against yours. “Deals a deal, princess.”

With a huff, you climb out of the warm bed and search through your suitcase for some clothes for the day. Once both you and Eddie get dressed, he leads you into the living room and pulls you into his lap on the couch.

“There’s something I want to tell you,” he says, running one hand up and down your jean clad thigh.

“What’s up?” you ask as you card one of your hands through his hair.

He lets out a sigh and licks over his lips, avoiding your eyes. You frown and press a kiss to the top of his head.

“You can tell me anything, sweetheart,” you tell him.

There are tears in his eyes as he looks up at you, but he gives you a grateful smile.

“Do, um, do you remember the, uh, story Nancy and I told you? About what happened back in March?” He massages his fingers over your thigh, eyes trailing the patterns he’s making.

“Of course.”

“Well, uh, it was all the truth. But there’s even more to it.”

You tilt his chin up so he’s looking you in the eyes.

“Eddie, you can tell me.”

“It’s kind of hard to believe,” he says, hand patting your leg nervously.

“You’ve not lied to me yet,” you say with a shrug.

With a deep breath, Eddie begins to tell you a story that seems like it was ripped from one of the fantasy novels you love, only much more sinister. A tear escapes his eye and makes its way down his cheek as he recalls his near-death experience with the otherworldly creatures.

“And there were these bats—we called them ‘demobats,’ because of the demogorgon,” he explains, anxiously tapping his fingers along your leg. “I tried to fight them off, tried to buy more time, but they…they got me. Pinned me to the ground and tore out chunks of my skin. Hurt like fuckin’ hell.” He gnaws on his lower lip. “I would’ve been dead if Harrington and Henderson didn’t drag me outta there. Sometimes…sometimes, I wonder if I would’ve been better off dead.”

The last line is what breaks your heart most of all. Tears were already raining down your face, but at this last admission, you throw your arms around Eddie’s neck and squeeze him so tightly that it has to be uncomfortable for him.

“No,” you gasp against his neck. “No, don’t ever say that.”

You feel the emotion get the better of him as his body starts to shake, his own breath hitching as he begins crying in earnest. He clings to you and the pads of his fingers dig into your back as he buries his face in your neck. The two of you cry together, you try to soothe Eddie by rubbing his back and pressing kisses into his hair while doing so.

“You’re safe now, Eddie,” you whisper to him once your own crying has subsided for the most part. “I’ve got you.”

He nods in recognition of your words, but his tears don’t cease. You just keep holding him, willing to never move from his lap again if it meant you could give him even an ounce of comfort. After a few long minutes, you feel his body relax under your touch. He pulls his head away from your neck and you pull back as well so you can see his face. It’s red and splotchy, his eyes are swollen, and traces of snot are on the end of his nose. He’s still the most beautiful man you’ve seen in your life. Moving slowly, not wanting to scare him or to give him time to pull away if he wants, you lean in and gently press your lips to his. Your hands come to cup his face as you pull away, looking at him through your own teary eyes.

“Eddie, wow.” You shake your head, not even sure where to begin. “Sweetheart,” you say, tilting his head to make sure he’s looking you in the eyes as you say this. “You’re a hero.”

He immediately shakes his head, and it hurts your heart.

“You are,” you insist. “You didn’t have to go back in like you did. It seems you were specifically told not to. But you did because you wanted to help. To give them the best chance. Even if it meant something terrible at your own expense.”

Eddie looks up at you under his thick lashes, big brown eyes even more childlike while shiny from tears.

“Sounds like a hero to me, babe,” you tell him.

He lets out a sigh and rubs the palm of his hand against his eye.

“I didn’t think I’d cry like that,” Eddie admits. “But I’ve also never told the story before, either.”

“What?” You move some hair off his face, stuck there because of the tears. “Not even Wayne.”

Eddie shakes his head.

“I couldn’t do that to him. He was worried enough as it was, I wasn’t about to add to it. He knows plenty, just not every gory detail. But you deserved to know the truth. Because I’m hoping you’ll be around for a while.” It’s the first time you’ve heard him sound shy and unsure of himself. It makes sense his confidence would be a little rattled after telling you that nightmare-come-true.

“I’ll be around as long as you’ll have me,” you assure him. “And Eddie? It really means a lot to me that you’ve trusted me with this. I know it wasn’t easy. And I need you to know I appreciate it.”

He gives you a small smile and you take it as a small victory.

“There’s another reason I wanted to tell you, too,” he says. He’s avoiding your eyes again and it makes the knot in your stomach start tightening again.

“What, baby?” you bring your hand to cup his cheek and press a kiss to the tip of his nose.

“Well, the, uh, attack. It left some…some fucking nasty scars.”

The way his face blushes in embarrassment makes you want to strangle any creature, native to this dimension or not, who ever caused Eddie a bit of harm.

“So, you wanted to tell me before I see you without your shirt on,” you guess.

He nods his head, cheeks still red.

“Eddie, look at me.” When he does, you continue. “It wouldn’t matter to me if you had scars on every square inch of skin on your body. You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen and something as trivial as scars could never change that no matter how hard they tried. I may not have seen your body under your clothes yet, but what I have seen?” You lean in to whisper in his ear. “I love.”

Eddie looks up at you questioningly and you move yourself so you’re straddling his lap. Your hands wind behind his head and you interlock your fingers against the back of his neck.

“Your smile was what I noticed first. It’s so genuine and bright, I almost couldn’t believe it was directed at me when we first met. Then, of course, your amazing hair. It’s far nicer than mine and I’m equal parts jealous and turned on by it. And you know what else drives me crazy? This tiny waist.” You dig your fingers into his sides and Eddie chuckles when it tickles him. “It’s so hot. Really. And I’m not sure if you noticed, but I couldn’t stop staring at your bat tattoos all throughout thanksgiving dinner. It’s the sexiest tattoo I’ve ever seen.”

Eddie’s face is still blushing, but by the smile that’s on his face, you’re optimistic that it’s now for a different reason.

“So, I know for a fact that I’m going to love all the parts of you I haven’t seen bare yet. There’s no scar that’s going to keep me away from you. There’s no wound that’s going to make me not want to have your body pressed up against mine. It’s just not possible.”

Tears begin to well in Eddie’s eyes now, but there’s a light in them that wasn’t there when he was telling his story. His face looks hopeful, but the fact that he thought any of this would change the way you feel about him is absolute ludacris.

“This why Steve and Nancy are coming over?” you ask.

“Yeah,” Eddie admits. “They knew about all the insane shit in this town way before I did. Figured they could answer any questions I couldn’t. And maybe provide proof if you didn’t believe me.”

“I believe you,” you tell him truthfully. “And I also want you to know that you don’t have to show me your scars until you’re ready. I know we talked about having sex but -.”

“No, no, I want to,” Eddie cuts you off. His wide eager eyes make you laugh and lean forward to give him a soft kiss.

“So do I.”

The sound of a car pulling up outside has you and Eddie both looking towards the front door. Wayne had left bright and early this morning, Eddie had told you, meeting up with some old friends who were back in town for the holidays. It made the trailer the perfect place to talk about interdimensional incidents over lunch without prying ears.

There’s a soft set of footsteps that approach the front door, followed by a heavier gate. You slip off your boyfriend’s lap as there’s a gentle knock on the door. A knock you’ve heard on your own dorm door a hundred times before.

“They better be up,” you hear Steve say.

Eddie rolls his eyes as he pushes off the couch. He opens the front door and puts on a fake show of yawning and stretching his muscles out.

“Was I loud?” Steve asks Nancy, to which she responds by rolling her eyes. She steps past the two boys to come inside and give you a hug.

“How was the flight?” she asks.

“Not bad. What about yours?”

“Crying baby, but other than that, can’t complain.”

Eddie helps Steve set all of the food he brought down on the kitchen counter.

“Hey!” Steve calls out to you as he steps around the counter to pull you into a hug. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” you say, squeezing him around his middle.

“I take it from the red eyes, Munson, that the conversation’s already started?” Steve asks.

“My part’s done,” Eddie says with a shrug as he struggles to open a takeout box. He manages to get the lid off and takes a sniff at the food inside. “What is this?”

“Some cornbread thing they said I have to try, I don’t know,” Steve answers.

“Are you…okay?” Nancy asks, clearly not knowing how to ask how you’re feeling about the whole Upside Down thing.

“It’s a bit much,” you admit with a sigh. “A lot to wrap my head around. I mean, I totally believe it, it’s just…”

“A lot to take in?” Steve offers, to which you nod. “I know,” he says. “I walked in on it firsthand. Had a gun pointed to my face, almost wet myself, then came back with a bat full of nails and joined the fight.”

“Who the hell held a gun to your face?” you ask, brow furrowing and Eddie laughs from where he’s going through the food.

Steve shoots a pointed look at his girlfriend, who shrugs and gives you a grimace.

“You almost shot your boyfriend?!” you yell.

“He wasn’t my boyfr- oh. Wait. Yeah, he was my boyfriend then. I guess I did do that. But in my defense, I was trying to make him leave so he didn't get caught up in the whole mess. Clearly, it didn’t work.”

“He takes any excuse to tell a story about his precious bat with the nails, I swear,” Eddie says, coming in from the kitchen with half a turkey sandwich. He holds it up to your lips to offer you a bite, which you take.

“And El really has powers?” you ask.

“We should sit down and eat,” Nancy says, gesturing to the food. “This could take a while.”

Nancy and Steve are able to answer all of your questions so well that even if you had thought this was all some sort of joke, you wouldn’t have any more with all the details they’re giving you. It would take your mind a while to accept this all as a reality, but you know you’re the lucky one because they’ve been through this hell while you’re just trying to imagine it.

“Holy shit,” you say when they’re done. “No wonder you’re all bonded so much. You guys can only talk about this with each other.”

“Yep,” Eddie says. “Also part of why I could never tell you over the phone. But I mean, this is kind of a more in person conversation anyway.”

“Wait, they bug your phone?” you ask.

“They used to,” Nancy says. “Not sure if they still do.”

“I hope not.” Your face blooms red, imagining some government people listening in on your phone sex session with Eddie. Steve catches onto the reason for the color on your face.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “If they are still bugging our phones, nothing you guys said could be any worse than what they’ve already heard from me and Nance.”

Eddie smirks while you turn redder and Nancy hits Steve on the arm.

The couple stay with you and Eddie for a few hours. The conversation moves to lighter topics and after hours of laughter and banter later, it’s almost as if the four of you have forgotten the dark note this visit started out on.

After they leave, with Nancy promising you a shopping trip when Eddie goes back to work in a few days, you feel mentally exhausted. It’s obvious Eddie does as well, so you suggest a good old fashioned snowball fight before it gets too dark out. Eddie accepts the challenge and the two of you dodge each other around the sides of the trailer for over an hour. Slinging scooped and formed bits of snow, cheering when you successfully hit one another, or cursing too loud when you missed. Soon, your bodies feel as tired as your minds, and you head back inside the trailer.

Eddie insists you go through the small movie collection and pick out whatever you want while he heats up some leftovers from lunch and makes two mugs of steaming hot cocoa. You pop in the Carrie VHS and snuggle up with Eddie on the couch. There’s a blanket on the other end of the couch and you reach over for it so you can drape it over you both. As Carrie attends her prom on screen, oblivious to the copious amounts of pig’s blood she’s about to be wearing, Eddie taps on your shoulder and points out the window. Snow is coming down in the evening sky and the sight of it makes you smile. Was there a better way to spend the night? Curled up against your boyfriend’s side with delicious food and hot cocoa, watching a horror movie while there’s snow falling outside.

After Carrie’s hand pops out of the ground at the end, not scaring either of you - even though it definitely did the both of you the first time you saw it - you stretch your legs and roll out your ankles.

“Tired?” Eddie asks.

“Only a little,” you say.

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, and you hum at the feeling of his lips on you.

“Wanna go to bed?” There’s another question in there, but the way his voice deepens as he asks it makes your tummy flip.

“Sure,” you tell him. The blanket falls to the couch as you stand up. Offering a hand to Eddie, you help him up, but he doesn’t let go of your hand all the way to the bedroom. Though you’re the only ones home and will be until sometime the next morning, he still shuts the door behind the two of you.

You turn to face Eddie and see him fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. Walking over to him, you take each of his hands in your own. He squeezes them and you lean up to peck his lips.

“We don’t have to,” you say quietly.

His smile is aiming for a smirk but looks gleeful instead.

“I want to as long as you do.”

“Of course,” you tell him. He takes a deep breath, and you grab the bottom of his shirt in your hands. “Can I?”

Eddie nods, anxiety clear in his eyes as you’re about to see his scarred chest and abdomen. You raise the fabric up slowly, giving him the opportunity to stop you at any point if he wants to. But he doesn’t, he just lifts his arms to help you get it over his head.

When he’s there bare chested before you, your mind holds a few thoughts. First is how absolutely breathtaking he looks. You weren’t lying before; you really do love his adorable tiny waist. There’s something so sexy about it. The second thought is that the scars looked like they were incredibly painful when he was first inflicted with them. It makes you want to take down all the mythical beings that ever thought of laying a hand on your boyfriend. The third thought is of how heartbroken you are that Eddie had to go through all of this and still doesn’t see himself as a hero. His battle scars are right there, pink and white jagged lines that show off his bravery and strength. How Eddie sees anything other than that is beyond you.

“Eddie, you’re so beautiful,” you say, eyes glued to his chest. He’s watching your face carefully, but you can’t tell because your eyes are tracing the patterns the injured skin created. “Can I…can I touch them? Do they hurt?”

“They don’t hurt anymore,” he assures you. “And yeah, you can touch them if you want.”

You waste no time and start to lightly run your fingers over the healed wounds, mapping out Eddie’s chest. It’s obvious where the demobats took the largest bites of his body, and you ghost your fingertips over those areas as well.

“I don’t know why you were afraid to tell me about these,” you say, eyes never straying from the puckered flesh of his body. “They’re beautiful. Every single bit.”

His chest flushes pink at your words and you’re assuming his face does the same. Your hands keep going further down until they rest at his waistband. His belt buckle makes you smile as you try to figure out how to undo the handcuffs.

“This okay?” you ask, looking up at him through your eyelashes as you open one of the cuffs.

“S’perfect, baby,” he whines. Already so needy for you. The thought sends a buzz through your body before finally settling between your legs.

You get the belt buckle undone and he helps you push his pants down past his hips. He steps out of them, kicking them behind him somewhere. Eddie’s fingers ghost over the hem of your t-shirt. He searches your face for approval, and when you nod at him, he slides your shirt up and over your head. You’d worn your nicest bra today because you figured Eddie would be seeing it. It’s black lace, the only one you have matching panties of, which you also wore today. The way Eddie’s eyes trail your torso makes you want to cover yourself. Your arms even flinch to do so, but then you remember how vulnerable Eddie is being by letting you see his scars, and you leave your arms where they are.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers in the air between you. The flush on your cheeks spreads down to your chest and it makes Eddie grin like a kid in a candy store. He leans in to whisper in your ear. “Now, whenever I make you blush, I’ll know just how far down it’s going.”

The color on your skin only darkens at his words, and you also feel the effect they have down in your core. As Eddie reaches for the button of your jeans, you reach up and cup his face in your hands. He leans in and kisses you softly as he pops the button open and starts to push the material down. You wiggle your hips to help, but that causes him to groan against your lips. You giggle as you pull back.

“I was just trying to help,” you say.

“And it was sexy,” he says. “Oh, and fuck, so are those.” He looks like he’s in pain as he stares at your black lace panties. You step out of your jeans and move backwards until the backs of your knees hit the bed. Eddie follows eagerly, his mouth chasing yours. Lips connected in a tender kiss, Eddie gently lowers you to the bed. You use your elbows to crawl backwards up towards the pillows while never breaking the kiss. Eddie crawls up along your body, hand softly grazing your skin as he goes. You lay back against the pillow and Eddie rests an elbow on either side of your head. He leans in, tilting his head to kiss you at a new angle as he lowers his body gently down on yours. When you feel his clothed erection through his boxers it makes you shiver, causing Eddie to chuckle against your lips.

“What, baby?” he says softly.

“Feels good.” You take his head in your hands to press your mouths together again. “You should take those off.”

He raises a teasing eyebrow at you.

“Want me to be the first one naked, huh?”

“Mhm,” you hum with a soft giggle.

“As you wish.”

Eddie reaches down and pushes his boxers down, leaving you to gasp and bite your lip as he kicks them off his legs.

“Well, shit, Eddie,” you say. “It’s official. Every part of you is fucking perfect.”

Eddie ducks his head, cheeks red at your comment, and presses kisses against your shoulder. He trails his lips up your neck, one hand bracing him up, and the other running over the smooth skin of your hip. Two fingers slip under the band of your panties on your hip, then he lets the material snap back against your skin with a smack. You let out a whimper and Eddie keeps up his ministrations on your neck, working his way up to your jaw.

“Wanna touch you, Eddie,” you whine.

He hums a laugh against your skin.

“I should warn you, baby,” he says against your jaw. “You touching me is going to throw me over the edge.”

“That’s fine,” you purr in his ear. “Gives me plenty of time to work you up again.”

“Fuck.” Eddie drops his forehead to your shoulder. He knows he isn’t going to last long, and you haven’t even touched him yet.

The feeling of his precum dripping onto your stomach makes you even wetter as your legs brush up against one another underneath Eddie.

“So, can I?” you ask shyly. “Can I touch you?”

“‘Course you can, sweetheart.” His voice is gravelly and stuttering. It’s almost making you dizzy, this effect you’re having on him. It’s a different sort of high you want to chase again and again.

“You’re going to have to tell me what to do, baby. How you like,” you say.

Again, Eddie huffs a laugh against your neck.

“Princess, I don’t even know if we’ll get that far. Just… spit on your hand, yeah? Good, like that.”

You do as you’re instructed and slowly start to reach for his dick. It’s not that you don’t want to touch it - because you really, really do - but your inexperience is making you a little anxious, even though you know Eddie has the same inexperience. But he knows his body and you’ve never even seen a penis in real life until this moment. You know basic biology and anatomy but being in this situation is a whole lot different than doing a homework assignment on the male reproductive system.

“Baby, you’re not going to hurt me,” Eddie assures you. “Shit, I’m worried about doing that to you.”

“Guide me?” you ask in a small voice.

“Of course, sweetheart.” Eddie presses a kiss to your forehead, nose, then lips. He takes the wrist of your slick hand and brings it down to his cock. He wraps your hand right where he wants it and the moan that comes out of him when your fingers touch him is enough to make you cum yourself.

His skin is surprisingly soft as you finally leave the anxiety behind and now focus on the feeling of him in your hand. Eddie’s hand adjusts your grip, and he shows you how he likes to be stroked. He does it once, twice, three times with you, then lets you go so you can do it on your own.

“S’good?” you ask, your eyes glued to your hand working over his dick.

“Mhm. Fuck.” He had been watching your hand work as well but needed to close his eyes because the sight of you touching him was about to bring him over the edge. “Shit babe, I’m sorry, not gonna last.”

“Good, I want to make you cum,” you say.

Eddie grits his teeth, the muscles of his abdomen tighten underneath his scarred skin, and his fist clenches the pillowcase your head is resting on.

“I-I’m cumming. Holy shit, I’m cumming.”

He barely gets the warning out in time before he’s releasing all over your hand. You stroke him through it, keeping the same consistent pace you were doing before. The thought that you’d get lots and lots of practice with this makes your head spin.

Eddie’s white seed coats both his and your stomach by the time he’s spent, every last drop milked from him.

Watching Eddie come apart on top of you was hands down the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. His face contorted in pleasure, a thin sheen of sweat making his body glisten. He’s never looked more perfect.

With a dopey grin on his face, Eddie tries to get his breathing back to normal as he comes down from his high. He needs to lay down, so he flops down next to you.

“Oh baby, that was…fuck. Perfect, is what it was. Thank you.”

He turns his head towards you to give you a kiss. You smile against his lips, pecking them a few times. Then you look down at your stomach, lines of white looking like a Jackson Pollock painting. You swipe two fingers through it and pop them in your mouth. Eddie moans as he watches you suck his cum off yourself.

“You’re going to get me harder again faster than I thought,” Eddie says with a breathless laugh. “But first, it’s your turn.”

He sits up and scoots down to the foot of the bed. This time when he grabs your ankles his hands aren’t freezing. You giggle as he tugs you down, but the laughter turns into a whine as he begins to slip your panties off. You lift your hips to help him, and he gets them off and tosses them on his nightstand. When you raise an eyebrow at him, he just smirks.

“If I had a back pocket, they’d be put there. But that’ll have to do for now.”

You expect him to spread your legs, but he leans up over your body to kiss your lips. His hand cups your neck, then slides down your shoulder and over your breast. He palms it over the lace and that feeling alone has you closing your eyes and arching your back. His thick fingers trail down the side of the bra until he reaches your back. You sit up just enough for him to reach behind and unclip the bra. You smile to yourself, wondering how long it would take him. He gets it fairly quickly, a triumphant sigh spilling from his lips as he does. The lace straps of the bra feel nice against your heated skin as you slide them down your shoulders and toss the bra off the side of the bed. Eddie’s gaze is hungry, and it sends a jolt of pleasure down your spine.

Eddie gently lowers you back down to the pillows. He starts by kissing your lips, then moves down to your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, then up the swell of your breast until he reaches your nipple. His tongue works over it before he takes it into his mouth and lets it go with a satisfying pop. Never one to half ass something, Eddie moves to your other breast to give it the same attention. Once he’s satisfied there - even though he makes a mental note that he wants to put as many hickeys as he can there asap - he kisses down your tummy, hands coming to massage your thighs. The further he slides down your body, he eases himself off the bed until he’s kneeling on the floor. One gentle hand on each knee, he spreads your legs in front of him and a moan comes out at the sight.

“Well shit,” Eddie says, echoing your statement from before. “It’s official. Every part of you is fucking perfect.”

You try your best not to be self-conscious, but it’s hard as no one has ever been down there before. When Eddie starts to press kisses on the inside of your thighs, you feel yourself calm down. You let your eyes slip closed and just try to be in the moment and not in your own head. Just feel Eddie’s lips on your skin, inching closer to the place you want them to be.

“You okay?”

“M’fine,” you say, voice in a dreamy haze. The fact that he’s checking in with you eases your nerves as well.

Kisses go higher and higher, coming to the apex of your thigh. Your body jumps, startled as Eddie’s fingers glide along the outside of your folds.

“Sorry, princess,” Eddie says with a chuckle. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

You hold up your arm to give him a thumbs up and he chuckles again. You’re glad you’re both able to laugh and be silly with one another with this. It makes it feel more real, more intimate, more you.

Eddie uses his fingers to part your folds and the moan that emanates from his throat is purely pornographic.

“Shit, baby,” he says. “Your pussy is so pretty. Fuck, I bet it tastes as good as it looks.”

Between his words and your anticipation for what’s coming next, you feel the urge to buck your hips up, but manage to hold them still.

Eddie’s thumb ghosts over your clit and your hand immediately fists the sheet below you. Your boyfriend smirks to himself, loving making you squirm like this. It blows his mind that he gets to be with you like this. That he’s going to be able to learn your body. What makes you moan, what makes you scream, how to touch you and kiss you just right to make sure you feel as good as you make him feel.

He wants to take it slow since this is both of your first times, but the urge to just dive into your pussy is so strong. He needs to know how you taste. If it’s as sweet as he’s imagined since he jerked off to the thought of you when he went home after meeting you for the first time.

He runs his thick fingers through your slick folds and lets out a hiss when he feels how wet you are.

“This is all for me, baby? Does me touching you work you up this bad?”

“Yes,” you whine out. “Love it when you touch me. Makes me so wet.”

A growl rattles in Eddie’s chest and he experimentally runs a finger around your hole, but never breaching it.

“How’s it feel when you put your fingers in yourself?” he asks.

“Not enough,” you say, breathing becoming more rapid by the second. “Not big enough. Can't reach deep enough.”

“Think my fingers would be better then, princess?”

“Yes!” The way you practically shout it gives Eddie all the encouragement he needs to slide a finger into your right hole. You barely have time to get used to that before his tongue is assaulting your clit. “Fuck! Oh fuck, Eddie.”

The way you say his name has his cock stirring again. He slips a second finger in with the first and the way you move your hips lets him know you’re starting to feel the stretch. Eddie knows the first time can be painful for girls, and the last thing he wants to do is hurt you. He wants this to be perfect for you.

As he starts to slowly pump the two fingers in and out of you, Eddie attaches his lips to your clit, sucking on it as he listens to your little whimpers and moans coming from above.

“Like it, baby?” he pulls his mouth away to ask. “God, you’re so fucking tight around my fingers.”

“So much.” You sound like you’re about to cry, but not in a sad way. Overwhelmed, more likely. When Eddie crooks his fingers in a “come hither” motion and hits that sweet, sweet spot inside of you, your hips buck up and you moan a string of eddie-eddie-eddie-eddie’s. Eddie pumps his fingers a few more times before pulling them out. He doesn’t hesitate, his thick fingers covered in your slick go right from your pussy into his mouth. The garbled noise that comes from the back of your throat is part desperation since your hole feels empty now, and partly at how hot it was to watch Eddie lick you off of himself.

“God, you’re even sweeter than I thought,” he says. “So fucking perfect.”

Eddie lifts the back of your knees over his shoulders so he can be up close and personal with your cute little button and pretty little hole. He dives in immediately, licking into your hole, his fingers keeping you open wide as possible for him. He hardens his tongue as he thrusts it inside you and your hand searches for something to grip onto. You settle for another pillow, but that’s fine. You just need something to squeeze as Eddie brings you pure bliss.

Eddie’s tongue moves up to your clit, licking and sucking, and putting just the right amount of pressure on it. The fact that Eddie was only going to get better at this over time blows your mind. This is his first time and he’s already making you feel euphoric.

His mouth moves down again, but he takes a position where every lick he gives to your hole, his nose nudges against your clit, sending shockwaves up your body.

“Eddie, fuck,” you whine. “Gonna cum, baby.”

“Good girl,” Eddie says against your mound. He slides his hands up to cup at your breasts. “Cum for me, princess.”

It only takes a few more swipes of his tongue until your buildup can’t take anymore. White flashes behind your eyelids as your orgasm gets its hooks in you. The arching of your back was involuntary, and the whimpers and moans you’re making are sounds you didn’t know you were capable of producing. Head thrown back in the pillow, thighs closing around Eddie’s head, you feel ecstasy in this moment. It washes over your body, wading and cresting like waves on a beach.

Letting out a deep breath, you relax all the muscles that have tightened up, including the ones holding your boyfriend’s head between your legs, and melt into the sheets of the bed.

Eddie’s smirk is triumphant as he crawls up the bed, hovering over you as you try to catch your breath.

“So, how was that?”

“Holy shit,” is your only answer and it seems to satisfy him.

Eddie leans down and presses a loving kiss to your lips.

“I can’t wait until I can get a better view of your face when you cum. I bet it’s breathtaking. Your sounds alone are enough for me to get off to for years. But I must say, the view I had was pretty fucking amazing. Damn, baby. The way your pretty little hole kept sucking my fingers in. And your adorable little clit that I could play with all day.”

His words turn you scarlet red and you try to turn your head to hide it in the pillow. Eddie’s not having it though and uses one hand to tilt your chin back towards him.

“You better get used to me giving you compliments, sweet thing. It’s only going to get worse now that you’re officially my girlfriend.”

“How do you always make me feel so warm and fuzzy inside?” you ask.

“Because I’m basically a metal teddy bear,” he says, drinking up his nose in the most adorable fashion.

“You are!” The title fits him so well that you can’t help but laugh.

Eddie chuckles and leans in for another kiss. It starts off tender and innocent enough, but quickly evolves to all tongues and teeth, and Eddie starts pawing at your breasts. Your hips raise off the bed and rub against Eddie’s, where you can feel his cock, hard again now.

“Eddie,” you whine as he moves his kisses to your neck.

“Yeah, baby?” He’s leaving a hickey that will definitely show, even if you wear a turtleneck.

“Need you.”

He hums against your skin as his hands roam the expanses of bare skin before him.

“How, sweetheart? Tell me how.”

“Need you in me,” you whimper. “Need you so close.”

Eddie leans over your body, and it places one of his most gruesome scars right in front of your face. Lifting yourself up on your elbows, you place a soft kiss against the patch of pink and white skin. There’s a smile on Eddie’s face as he comes back with a condom and small tube of lube in hand.

You watch as Eddie slips the condom on. It shouldn’t be as hot as it is, but you can’t take your eyes off his long, thick cock. If just two of his fingers made you feel the stretch, you can’t imagine how full you’ll feel with all of Eddie buried inside you.

He grabs the lube and shrugs as he pours some into his hand. The smell of cherries floods the air.

“Just wanna be extra careful,” he explains as he fists the lube over his cock. “I want to make it as painless for you as I can.”

“You are the absolute sweetest,” you tell him.

Once the lube is sufficiently applied, you lay back against the pillows and watch Eddie settle between your legs. He grabs a spare pillow and taps the side of your hip. You raise them so he can slide the pillow under.

Eddie leans up and presses a slow and loving kiss against your lips.

“Ready, princess?”

“Mhmm,” you hum. “Kiss me while you go in?”

He did not need to be told twice. Eddie lines himself up with your entrance, and barely breaches you. You hardly feel a thing as Eddie comes up and kisses you, pouring all his devotion and heart into it. His hand snakes between your bodies as well to start rubbing your clit. Maybe between the kissing and the attention on your clit will help ease any discomfort you might have. The sting and burn are still there though, but it’s more bearable with the world's best kisses.

“Tell me if I’m hurting you, sweetheart,” Eddie says against your lips.

“N-Not hurting,” you say, hand coming up to grip at his shoulder.

Eddie nods, kissing your neck. “Let me know what you need. I’ll give you whatever you n-need.”

“Just keep doing what you’re doing, baby.” You wrap your legs around his, helping to guide him in.

Eddie groans and the sound makes you tremble with pleasure. “Shit, you feel s’fucking perfect. Like we were made for each other.”

“Uh huh,” you pant out, one hand sliding up to tangle in Eddie’s hair. There’s a pinch and you feel a sting between your legs as Eddie bottoms out, but you don’t say anything as you feel his hot kisses on your skin. It doesn’t hurt for long, and you know Eddie would pause his motions, but that’s the last thing you want.

“F-Faster, Eddie,” you say. “Want more.”

His kisses trail up to your lips and his hips pick up speed.

“This good, baby?” he asks.

“Yes. Fuck, yes.”

His hand moves from your clit to squeeze your hip. He holds it in his tight grip as his hips start to piston in and out of you, his pace becoming more irregular. It gives you a warm feeling in your limbs as you realize you can already recognize when Eddie is close to cumming. You clench around him, and he gasps, hand sliding from your hip to cup your breast.

“I can’t believe how fucking tight you are, baby,” he groans. “Such a perfect pussy.”

With a moan, you arch your back, forcing your breast even more into your boyfriend’s hand.

“Eddie, you’re so big. Love how you fill me up.”

“M’close. Wanna hold out but you feel too good around me.” His lips capture yours and you’re instantly licking into his mouth. Your hand tugs gently on his hair and his hips snap forward, the mattress creaking in protest at the ferocity. You pull back and rest your forehead against Eddie’s.

“Want you to feel good,” you say. “Want you to cum.”

A guttural moan comes from his throat and it’s enough to make you orgasm on the spot. His sounds are music to your ears, and you’d listen to him make them for the rest of your lives if he let you.

“Gonna, baby. Gonna cum.”

You nod at him, encouraging him as your fingers scratch at his scalp. He goes to bury his face in your neck, but you stop him.

“Wanna see your face,” you tell him. “Wanna watch you.”

Eddie nods, sweat beading on his forehead as his face scrunches in pleasure. He looks so beautiful you can’t help but steal a few more kisses.

“Cum for me, Eddie.”

The words are all he needs, his hips thrusting once, twice, before a whine leaves his lips as he spills inside the condom. The feeling of his cock twitching inside of you sends a flutter through you and a smile spreads on your face. Eddie’s eyes focus on your face as he rides out his high, and a matching smile grows on his face as he takes in your flushed and grinning face.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” Eddie says between ragged breaths.

You reach up and cup his face in your hands and bring his lips down to yours. Never taking his mouth off of yours, he slips out of you and lays down next to you on the bed.

You reluctantly pull away when you need air, but you rest your hands on Eddie’s chest so you’re still touching him in some way. He slips out of the condom, ties it off, and tosses it in the trash can next to his bed. When he rolls back over to face you, you wrap your arms around his neck, and he pulls your body against his.

“Holy shit,” Eddie says.

“Good, baby?”

“Good? Good? Try fucking amazing,” Eddie says. He peppers kisses all over your face, making you giggle. “I’m sorry you didn’t cum though, baby.”

“Sweetie, I did,” you tell him. “Because of your sinful mouth.”

Eddie ducks his head bashfully, a red tint coming to his cheeks.

“Yeah, but not while I was in you.”

“That’s okay,” you say honestly. You push some of the damp hair from his forehead and kiss his cheek. “Most girls don’t the first time like that. But my boyfriend is generous and made sure I was taken care of beforehand.”

His hand trails up and down your back as he smiles down at you.

“Was my pleasure, baby. Trust me.”

With a giggle, you slip from his arms and off the bed. He pouts but you assure him you’ll be right back before slipping into the bathroom. Your sister never taught you much in life, but once piece of advice she’d given you is to pee after sex. When you walk back into Eddie’s room, his face is still blissed out as he stares up at the ceiling. He lifts his head when he sees you in the doorway and raises an eyebrow at you.

“All good?”

“Mhmm,” you say, making your way back to the bed. “There was only a little bit of blood.”

Eddie sits up quickly, frown coming to his face.

“What? Blood? Are you okay? Was I too rough?”

The concern on his face melts your heart and you shake your head as you sit down next to him.

“Oh, baby, no.” He pulls you into his lap and you rest your hands on his shoulders. “It’s just something that happens the first time. You were perfect. Thank you for being so careful with me.”

Eddie nods and rests his forehead against yours.

“Of course, sweetheart.”

“Sleepy?” you ask.

His responding yawn makes you chuckle, and you slide from his lap. You grab your panties from the nightstand and Eddie’s shirt from the floor and slip them on.

“You’re not gonna stay naked?” Eddie asks with a pout.

“It’s freezing!” you say.

“I’ll keep you warm.” Eddie lays down and opens his arms for you. You scoop his boxers up from the floor and toss them at his chest before slipping under the covers. He pulls them up his hips and situates himself back against the pillows.

Blankets pulled up to your neck, you sling your arm over Eddie’s middle and lay your head on his shoulder. Wrapped up in his embrace, you’ve never felt happier. The two of you whisper back and forth in the dark room for a few moments before you drift off to sleep, warm and cozy in each other’s arms.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #Eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fan fiction #WTHI

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sunflowergirl522 · 4 months

Text

Benches and Questions

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Mom!Reader

Summary: Eddie helps you set up the girls playroom.

Word Count: 3001

A/n: You have to see the vision with the bench yourself.

The Twins Masterlist

Saturday afternoon your parents come to pick up the girls to get them out of the house so you can set up their playroom. You dropped the last few boxes off at Steve’s parents house before work on wednesday letting them be their problem now. Your girls have enjoyed the room being empty, they’ve been running around it or putting on their roller skates and just going in circles. They especially loved when Eddie brought the couch cushions in for them to play hot lava.

The cushions are the first things that go while cleaning what few things are in it out after they leave. Next are the skates and Primrose’s big wheel she brought in to drive around while Callie was watching a movie the other day.

“I thought you were gonna wait for me to do all this?” Eddie asks as he enters the house and toes his shoes off while seeing you in the hallway with the broom and dustpan in your hands.

“I’m pretty sure I never agreed to that. Besides, it wasn't even that much to clear out.” Eddie may have helped make the mess but he’s helped you so much more than he could even imagine that you didn’t care cleaning up after him. It did warm your heart at how adamant he had been about you letting him help though.

“Alright, you want me to start bringing their toys and stuff down while you sweep?” He figures the least he can do is save you the trips up and down the stairs since he was the main reason the room was a mess.

“That would be great!” You beam at him and Eddie swears it lights up the whole room. “You can leave the kitchen and bigger toys up there though, I can help bring that stuff down.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Eddie stopped fully listening once the word leave left your mouth already halfway up the stairs. If you thought he was actually going to leave you anything then you would be sorely mistaken. You wouldn’t even have to go up one single step if he’s able to have his way. And he’s sure he will, Eddie has a way to get you to let him do things for you that you wouldn’t let even Steve do. Like helping with dinner or letting him make you a plate of whatever you made or dishes or even just cleaning up in general. You could just recognize the urge, the desire even, in his voice to take care of you and your girls. It was one of the things that had you falling for him so quickly.

While you sweep the area you hear some rummaging from Edde moving up and down the steps. When you finish and leave the room to help or start going through boxes you find the Little Tykes kitchen sitting in your entryway.

“Edward Munson, I know you didn’t purposely bring this down when I told you not to.” Your hands go to your hips as you look at the man coming down the stairs with the box marked toy food.

“So what if I did?” He shrugs before putting the box down and standing in front of you, arms crossing across his chest. “Your mom tone isn’t gonna work on me so don’t even try it.” He interrupts before you can even say anything. You stare up at him refusing to break eye contact and lose this small battle the two of you are having. He quirks an eyebrow up and a huff comes out of your nose before you reluctantly look back at the toy kitchen.

“Now why don’t you go put some music on because I know you’re dying to do it.” He was right you had a hard time doing anything without music or something else on in the background especially when the girls weren’t home. “I’ll bring a couple more boxes down and then I have something for the room in my van.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing big.” He waves a hand to dismiss whatever fight you would’ve started over him buying something for the playroom and heads back upstairs to escape it even more.

You just shake your head and walk over to pick a record to play before deciding where to put the kitchen. You decide to push it into one of the farther corners and you’re dumping out the box of food to organize it when Eddie comes into the room two more boxes of toys in his arms. You nod at his ‘be right back’ and start organizing the toy pile in front of you into food and pots and plates and so on. You’ve started putting food in the fridge and the dishes in the little cupboard above it when he comes back inside, placing whatever he’s brought down in the middle of the room.

You stand before looking over at it and him. When you do your mouth drops and you’re left speechless as you walk over to stand next to Eddie and get a better look at it.

“It’s not much, I thrifted the bench itself and then painted it in my freetime.” He rubs the back of his neck not being able to tell if you like it or not. “And look, it’s storage space too. I know you can’t get enough of that with these two.” He lifts the seat up to show the empty space inside and your hands go to your mouth.

“Eddie…” You can’t seem to find the right words, any words really, as you take in all the delicately painted primroses and calliopsis over the bench and the two fairies that look like your girls. “This is just…this is perfect. They’re going to love it.” Your voice is soft as if you can barely get it to come to the surface and your eyes tear up at his thoughtfulness.

“Do you love it?” Obviously he cares if the girls love it but he knew they would, he really needed you to love it though. If you didn’t then he would repaint it over and over again until you did. All you do is nod before hurriedly bringing him into a hug to show your gratitude. A kiss gets planted on his cheek before you part leaving him pink and smiling.

“We can put this against that wall.” You point to the one with the windows in front of the two of you and he knows immediately that you’re gonna want in under one of the windows itself. “I wanna put their train table right here.” Here being the middle of the room.

You continue with telling him where you want things to go. The table they normally use for arts and crafts and board games in the corner to the left of the door, the chalkboard on the wall across from it on the right side, the Barbie dreamhouse in the far right corner across from the kitchen and their container of dolls next to it. He makes note of all of it, wanting to make sure the room turns out exactly how you’ve imagined it.

With Eddie’s help you’re able to get the room set up in no time. He brought everything down while you organized it all. He only let you help him bring the train table in from the garage because you were being stubborn about it.

“It looks great Princess.” Eddie says as the two of you stand in the entrance taking your work in. “The girls are gonna love it.”

“Yeah.” You’re smiling wide looking at the room that’s bound to become a mess almost as soon as they get home. You lean into Eddie’s side nudging him with your elbow. “We make a great team, the best one really.”

“Yeah, we do.” Maybe it’s how you looked up at him as you said it. Maybe it’s the truth behind your words, the way you actually believed the two of you are the best team. Or maybe it’s because this moment just feels right because Eddie decides that he’s gonna ask you out right then and there.

“I’ve been wanting to ask you something.” His voice is soft and he turns to face you completely to find you facing the room again. You feel him reposition himself and glance over before turning completely to properly meet his gaze. You’re almost breathless as you do, the adoring look in them seeming to punch you in the gut.

“Yeah?”

“I was wondering if maybe you wanted to-”

“Mama! We’re home!” Callie’s happy voice interrupts Eddie and she’s crashing into your legs as soon as the door opens enough for her to rush in.

“Hey Callie darling! Where’s Rosie?” You send an apologetic look Eddies way before crouching down to block her view of the playroom she has yet to notice.

“Outside.”

“Why don’t you go get her and I’ll show you the surprise Eddie and I set up for you.” She nods excitedly before running back out. You stand and face Eddie again ready to tell him to keep going but Steve comes in before you can get a word out.

“Hey there cuz!”

“Hey! What are you doing here Stevie?” You let him bring you into a hug feeling bad about all the interruptions to whatever Eddie was about to ask you.

“Your mom and dad stopped by the store to say hi and let the girls pick out movies but then he got called into the office, there was some sort of emergency or something, and I said Robin and I could drop the girls off after our shifts were over. Did that give you enough time to finish the room?”

“Thanks to Eddie.” You nod before looking towards the door just in time to see your girls come in with Robin behind them. You’re crossing the entranceway to crouch in front of them both while they take their shoes off in no time. “You girls know how all your toys have been stored away?” They nod in response without looking up at you. “Well Eddie and I made the front room into a playroom for you two.”

“Really?” Rosie perks up first followed by Callie’s wide eyed stare soon after. They share a look before standing up and rushing to go see it hand in hand.

“Woah! You guys did such a good job in here.” Robin says as she follows the girls in and looks around.

“It was all mainly her, I was just the muscles.”

“You helped plenty Eddie.” You nudge him with your elbow as you stand next to him again and watch the girls look around. “You should go point out the bench to them. Otherwise they might not realize till you’re gone.” He nods, stepping back into the playroom and getting their attention.

“What bench?” Steve asks, swinging an arm around your shoulders and bringing you into a side hug while you both observe the interaction.

“Eddie thrifted a storage bench and painted it white with their flowers all over it. And on the front he painted the two of them as fairies.” Your throat constricts while talking about it still not over how utterly kind and thoughtful the whole thing is.

“Damn looks like I need to step up my gift giving game.” He adds as they start to excitedly squeal upon seeing the fairies gaining Robin’s attention who had been flipping through one of their coloring books. “They’re gonna start loving Eddie more than me.” He fakes being close to tears, pouty lips and all and you shove him away laughing.

“You’re unbelievable. Are you guys staying for long?”

“Nah, I’m having dinner over Robins tonight so I have to drop her off at home and get ready before going back. So we should head out soon.” You can only nod in understanding before Rosie is calling you over to look at Eddie’s painting.

After Steve and Robin leave you finish making the dinner you started in the crock pot earlier while Eddie plays with the girls. The whole time your mind is plagued with the thought of what he could’ve been about to ask you. You could just be hopeful and imagining it but it seemed like he might’ve been about to ask you out. The very thought of it makes you giddy and you don’t want to get your hopes up but oh do you want that to be it.

“Girls, dinner!” You announce loud enough for your voice to break them out of whatever game they’re playing with Eddie that’s causing them to be so loud and giggly. You get their bowls ready and take them into the dining room as Eddie comes in both of them hanging onto his back. The smell of the food has them wiggling to get off and you hold in your laughter at Eddie trying to make sure they get down safely and not react when his hair gets tugged on.

“Alright I stand corrected, they are excited.” Eddie says when they cheer as you put their food down in front of them.

“I told you, they love buffalo chicken pasta.” When you told him this is what you were making tonight he was skeptical that they actually liked it. When he was a kid he hated anything even mildly hot and he still can’t get Jeff to even touch a hot wing. So when you told him this was the girls favorite meal he had a hard time believing you. He should’ve though.

“Sit Princess, I’ll go get our food.” Eddie pulls out your chair for you, placing a hand on your shoulder briefly when you sit smiling down at you before heading off into the kitchen. Your heart swells at how domestic it feels, something that seems to be happening a lot recently. Normally during meals but sometimes when you’re all watching a movie or you’re both playing with the girls.

“What were you guys playing in there?” You rest your head in your hand as you ask. You watch the girls light up again and can’t help but smile at it.

“Out to eat!” Callie answers.

“Eddie was our customer and Callie was the server and I was the cook.” Primrose continues.

“They kept messing up my order.” Eddie comes back sitting next to you and across from Rosie and setting your bowls down. “I was getting, oh what’s that word. Girls?”

“Disgruntled!” They both answer before bursting into giggles and Eddie smiles fondly at them while you watch in shock.

“Did Eddie teach you a new emotion word?” You’ve been trying to teach them different emotions so they can express themselves easier when something has upset them or is bothering them. So it means the world to you that Eddie would teach them one through play. “That’s so great.” You add once they nod and go back to eating. The beaming smile you send Eddie has him filled with pride that he was able to do it. Honestly he was nervous they would’ve forgotten it and his ploy to show you what they learned would fail.

The girls fall asleep later while watching The Muppet Movie and Eddie helps you take them to bed once it’s over. He rewinds the tape and takes it out while you wash the popcorn bowl and then you walk him to the door like you always do when he leaves.

“Thanks for all your help today.”

“Anytime. I’m always here to help, you know that.” He smiles up at you from where he’s crouched to put his shoes on after he talks.

“And thanks for teaching them a new word. You have no idea what that means to me.”

“Oh that.” He shrugs it off like it’s no big deal while standing up. “That was nothing. I just saw an opportunity and took it.”

“So, what were you gonna ask me earlier?”

“Oh, that? That was uh.” He trails off rubbing the back of his neck and looking away from you. He’s lost some of that confidence he had earlier. He doesn’t want to claim it was nothing because it’s not nothing it’s actually so insanely important to him that the thought of you saying no has him wanting to tuck his tail behind his legs and run away like a dog.

“You don’t have to ask if you’re uncomfortable now. I don’t mind waiting till you’re ready to ask whatever it is again.” You meant it from the bottom of your heart because as much as you’re dying to know what it is, you also want, need, Eddie to feel comfortable around you.

“Do you wanna get dinner with me Friday night?” Something in the way you tell him he doesn’t have to ask you anything has him blurting it out. “Like as a date?”

“I’d love to!” You don’t think about it as you enthusiastically answer. “I’ll see if someone can watch the girls that night and let you know if we’d have to reschedule or not.”

“Perfect.” Eddie can’t tell if his, what he’s sure is goofy, smile is more from you saying yes almost before he could get the words out or from your own beaming one that he swears could light up the darkest corners of his room at night. “That’s perfect.” He lingers in the doorway ready to get home and sleep before his early and long shift tomorrow but not quite wanting to cross the threshold and leave this moment, leave you, behind. “I’ll call you tomorrow after my shift.”

“Okay.” It’s silent then between the two of you, neither one wanting to say goodnight just yet. “Goodnight Eddie.” You pull him into a hug as you speak Eddie can’t help but feel at home in your arms.

‘Night Princess.” The two of you stand in the embrace for a while before Eddie places a kiss on your head and heads towards his van.

Eddie Taglist (32/40): @sadbitchfangirl @notbeforelong @navs-bhat @emotionaldreamer @gaysludge @eddiethesexy @mazerunnerrose @midnightsgetawaycar @mushroomelephant @saramelaniemoon @nojamsonmytoast @vintagehellfire @esoltis280 @spikedhe4rt @siriuslysmoking @toobsessedsstuff @alana4610 @gretavanfleas @sparkletash @aactuaaltraash @spookyemorockbabe @jesssssmaybank @tlclick73 @eddiemunsonslittlemetalhead @bl4ckt00thgr1n @eli-flower @canyonmooncreations @witchwolflea @emxxblog @chaoticgood-munson @loves0phelia @nightfiress @moonnooon

Everything Taglist: @matchamunson @bubsonnobx @practicalghost @katsukis1wife @crustyowos @yourfavdummy @protecteddiemunson4vr @kennedy-brooke @m00nkn1ghts @rory-cakes

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x mom!reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #stranger things 4 #stranger things x reader

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corrodedseraphine · 11 months

Text

you are not alone | one shot

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

story based on a request by a lovely anon: Steve works as a nurse and lives in a two bedroom apartment. He decided to put out an ad for a roommate and the reader finds it. She’s in desperate need of a place to stay after her father dies. It was just the two of them and she has to use almost all the money she makes working to pay off remaining medical bills.

The reader and Steve have a falling out within the first month of her living there but he keeps her around because she pays her part of the rent and keeps to herself. The two of them are usually throwing digs at one another.

Steve doesn’t realize the reader is going through so much financial stress and the loss of her father. She works two jobs (diner and bar) and is gone a lot. However, Steve starts to notice she hardly eats and sleeps and it’s taking a toll on her health.

One night when Steve gets home from his shift at the hospital he finds the reader fell asleep sitting at the bar in the kitchen. He goes up and puts his hand on her back to wake her and she gets startled. Steve steadies her and tries to calm her down. She’s still disoriented and dizzy. Steve carries her to the sofa and tries to check her vitals but she pushes him away. He lectures her for not eating and makes her eat something before letting her go to bed.

A few weeks later the reader gets sick and is really weak, so Steve takes care of her even though she tells him to leave her alone. In her vulnerable state she finally tells Steve what’s been going on.

An enemies to friends type of story with a soft and caring Steve once he realizes she needs help. angst, slight enemies to lovers, and they were roommates trope, fluff in the end, modern!AU

7 830 words

the one shot is also avaliable on ao3

TW: mentions of: death, family member loss

Dear anon, thank you for your request and I really hope you won't be disappointed!

(I know you requested enemies to friends but I made it lovers instead, because the hopeless romantic inside me is desperate, I'm sorry)

steve harrington masterlist | general masterlist

"Aaand here's for another failed date." Eddie smirked and tilted the shot into his mouth, immediately followed by Robin, Steve and Chrissy.

"I'm so damn tired of this, man." Steve said and slumped helplessly on a soft chair in the corner of the living room. "Everything looks the same, movie, dinner, after dinner we go to my place, have sex and the magic is gone, she sneaks out in the middle of the night and the next day she doesn't answer any messages."

"Maybe you're too desperate?" Robin asked, he sent her a questioning look. "Think about it, it is said that true love comes suddenly and unexpectedly, while you, on the contrary, catch on to anything that moves."

"Robin!" Chrissy jabbed her in the arm.

"What!"

"Be nice!" the blonde rolled her eyes. "Maybe Steve has already met someone who will turn out to be more than a hook-up, and he doesn't know it? Look at us, all through high school we didn't exchange a word with each other, and now I can't imagine a day without your voice." She kissed her girlfriend on the forehead.

"You guys are disgusting." Steve scoffed.

"And you're jealous." replied Robin pulling Chrissy to her and kissing her deeply.

"Ah, ladies! Please spare poor Harrington tonight!" laughed Eddie, filling the glasses anew.

"Thank you, Eddie!" exclaimed the brunette immediately reaching for one. "Can we change the subject?"

"How's your roommate? Doesn't she mind your guests?" asked the metalhead.

"Nope." He waved his free hand and after a moment he brought up a shot. "She's practically not at home at all, and when she comes back it's at night and she sleeps, but when we see each other, exceptionally, she annoys me to the core."

"Why?"

"She constantly walks around fuming, looking at me as if I've committed a crime and getting any word out of her verges on the most miraculous."

"Maybe you made a bad first impression?"

"Then why didn't she refuse when I said she could move in?"

"I don't know, you said she looked desperate."

"It's like I'm living with a ghost who wakes up once every few days and slithers around the apartment in misery."

"Why does it bother you so much that she's quiet?" asked Chrissy suddenly.

"Yeah, blondie is right, I think it's better to have a quiet roommate than to have her be loud, insufferable and pick on everything. Especially the fact that you bring a different girl into your apartment every now and then." Eddie added.

"Oh my God, he's so annoyed because he wants her to talk to him, he wants more than just conversation!" Robin jumped up on the couch as if she had made the discovery of the year. "He likes her!"

"Oh fuck you! All of you!" the other three didn't miss the fact that he didn't deny Robin's theory, but decided to leave the subject for now.

The first month in the new apartment passed extremely quickly. Actually, you didn't quite feel the effects of moving out. Everything seemed to be behind a fog, and the days flew through your fingers turning into nights, and so on and so forth. The only thing that seemed painfully real was the longing and pain. These were the only things that reminded you that you were alive.

As you danced with a tray between tables at a nearby diner from early morning, and later in the evening served drinks to enamored couples at the bar, you didn't have much time to mourn. But that didn't change the fact that the void left in your life was heavy. As heavy as your eyelids, which began to close at the mere sight of your bed. Usually you don't even remember the moment you fall asleep, but today it wasn't so easy.

When you saw that the beginning nurse was looking for a roommate you thought you had managed to find someone calm and quiet. Unfortunately, reality turned out to be different. The frequent sounds of pleasure coming from his bedroom were not usually a problem for you, you quickly learned to simply ignore them or drown them out with music or a podcast. Nor were you bothered by the frequent visits of his friends, who brought chaos and disorder every time, not caring about the silence. Most of the time you weren't in the apartment at all because you were at work, but today they decided to have a movie night, which started with an argument about the choice of movie. Knowing that you wouldn't fall asleep with such entertainment, you exasperatedly got out of bed pulling on your sweatpants.

When you left the room everyone went silent and looked at you. You could see from their faces that they were just waiting for you to start shouting at them, but even though you really wanted to do it at that moment, you didn't have the strength. Exhausted after several hours of hard work as always, you didn't have the strength to do anything, so you passed them without a word, ignoring their attempts to say hello and offers to join them, and left the apartment. With a quick step, you went to the pharmacy located near your apartment, stocked up on a new pack of sleeping pills and went back to your place.

"Hey, y/n!" called out one of the younger boys, from what you associated was probably named Dustin. "Can you help us choose? Iron Man or the Amazing Spider-Man?"

You just rolled your eyes and, leaving him without an answer, went back to your room slamming the door behind you. Taking your pills you started getting ready for sleep again.

Lying in the darkness you listened to the conversation of Steve and his friends.

"See? She can't even say one word, I honestly can barely remember what her voice sounds like!" he said irritated.

"Come on, she looked tired." replied a female voice.

"Tired or not, she could at least answer! Out of politeness!"

"Let's just start the movie."

Then the voices quieted, and your thoughts grew louder. You thought about yourself from a few months ago.

The former you would have answered Dustin's question without hesitation and gladly accepted the invitation to join.

The former you would have been able to chat for hours with Steve from the very beginning and not push away every possible interaction on his part.

You knew it irritated him, he couldn't hide it. Every attempt to have any kind of conversation with you ended in failure, every attempt to get to know you better - spurned. You were not surprised by it. You were sure that the former you and your new roommate would get along very well. It's even possible that the former you would have noticed how his honey-colored eyes curiously followed you when you left the room, maybe she would have noticed the charming smile he sent you during the first days of your living together, and would have appreciated his willingness and interest in you. It is likely that the former you would also have taken an interest in Steve's person, in many ways. However, the former you no longer existed.

The present you was overtired and there was not a shred of energy in her.

The present you had far bigger worries than the handsome boy sitting behind the wall, whose sweet smiles turned into grimaces of annoyance and disgust.

Holding back the tears that rushed to your eyes, you looked at your phone. Six hours of sleep. You snuggled your face into your pillow hoping to fall asleep as soon as possible thanks to the pills. Lately, every minute of sleep was at a premium for you.

Days passed and the tension between you and Steve grew. He was irritated by the lack of willingness to communicate on your part, and you were irritated by the fact that he was irritated. Without actually saying too many words to each other, sometimes one unpleasant glance was enough for one or both of you to feel a strange surge of negative emotions. The climax turned out to be Saturday, when you were getting ready for your evening shift at the bar.

You were walking through the living room holding a glass of Coke in your hand when you tripped over one of the nursing textbooks scattered on the floor. A moment later, all that was heard was the sound of glass on the floor and a rather hard fall.

"What the fuck Steve?!" you exclaimed, looking down at your soaked clothes.

"What happened?" he ran out of the bathroom.

"I tripped over your stupid book! Is it so hard to clean up after yourself?"

"I'm studying, I just went to the bathroom for a moment!"

"And leaving your books on the floor was a great idea!" you said standing up.

"If you had watched where you were going nothing would have happened!" he tried to defend himself.

"If you had kept things in order then nothing would have happened!"

"How could I have known that just now you would mercifully leave the room?! I'm used to you not leaving it for a second!"

"Go to Hell Harrington!" you yelled.

"Feels like I am already in it!" he yelled back, grabbed his books and went to his room.

Angry, you changed your clothes and picked up the glass, then quickly mopped the floor after the spilled drink.

Despite the fact that you had already left the apartment and left him alone in it, Steve felt bad about this whole situation. He didn't know quite whether he was angry, disappointed or tired. Sitting over textbooks for several hours never worked well for him, and arguing with you made him even more upset.

Sighing deeply, he grabbed his phone, where a Tinder notification popped up on the screen. The beautiful long-haired blonde on the screen was smiling broadly at him, he didn't even remember when he swiped her to the right. Each successive match on the app was more and more meaningless to him, despite the fact that he could spend hours there looking for "the one". Eventually everything started to blend together, he could no longer remember what he was saying to whom and what he wasn't, remembering names wasn't his advantage either. He looked at the girl's profile for a while longer, but he decided that he definitely didn't feel like going on a date tonight. Instead he went to the kitchen and took out a full bottle of rum from the refrigerator. Putting it by his face, he took a picture and sent it to the group chat.

Steve the Stupidest: wanna join?

Eddie the Dumbest: my place in 20 minutes?

Chrissy the Sweetest: count us in!

Robin the Smartest: do we need to bring something?

Eddie the Dumbest: your asses to my house lol

Eddie the Dumbest: and snacks

Eddie the Dumbest: I won't let you in without snacks

"You told her that living with her is like living in hell?" Chrissy asked shocked.

"I didn't say it directly! I just said it felt that way!" Steve tried to defend himself. The bottle of rum was emptied in no time and, as standard, Steve brought the tracks back to you.

"Which is exactly the same as if you literally said 'Life with you is like hell." Robin rolled her eyes and threw popcorn at him.

"The real question is do you really feel that way?" asked Eddie.

"No." he answered without thinking. "But it's not heaven either! I don't know what it is, no one gets on my nerves like she does, but I on the other hand..." he didn't finish the sentence.

"I'm still of the opinion that you like her but for some strange reason you're acting like an eight-year-old and instead of admitting it, you're telling yourself that all you feel is annoyance." Robin said.

"I think you two would make an adorable couple." interjected Chrissy.

"Until she would kill me with a single stare." If the relationship between you two was better and more friendly, maybe he wouldn't even try to deny Robin's words.

"You're not in Heaven or Hell, so you could say you're roommates from Purgatory," laughed Eddie. "The only question is which way you'll go, up or down?"

"I have a strange feeling it's going dooown."

Even if the disagreement between you was still present, Steve had no plans to kick you out of the apartment. You always paid everything on time, did not interfere in his life, and, apart from occasional exchanges of words, did not cause any major problems. Over time, however, the atmosphere of irritation began to fade and was replaced by an acceptance of the fact that there would not even be a friendship between you. Not wanting to get in each other's way, you communicated with one another only on necessary matters.

That didn't change the fact that Steve was still observing you, and what he saw was beginning to worry him. Your pale face, blackened eyes and hunched posture betrayed your physical exhaustion. He also noticed that you weren't preparing any meals for yourself at all. In fact, he probably hadn't seen you cook anything once yet since you moved in. Sometimes when he prepared food for himself he would specifically make more to see if you would take what was left, but you never did a single time.

The autumn weather was not one of the best, it was definitely the type of weather during which the only thing to do was to wrap up in a warm blanket, turn on a favorite TV series and drink a big mug of hot chocolate. That was the plan that popped into Steve's head when he walked into the apartment after a long and tiring shift at the hospital.

Putting down his rain-wet umbrella in the hallway, he pulled off his jacket and hung it on a hanger. To his surprise, your jacket was also hanging there. This surprised him because you were always still at work at this hour. Walking deeper into the apartment he saw you sitting at the kitchen counter, your hands and head were resting on its surface. Without saying hello, he entered the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, thinking only about the chicken salad he had made yesterday. When out of the corner of his eye he didn't notice any movement on your part he turned to look at you. Only from this perspective could he see that you were asleep. In your numb hand thete was a mug of tea.

"Y/n?" he asked quietly. You didn't respond. He slowly took the mug out of your hand. The tea in it was already cold. How long had you been sitting there like this? Concerned, he placed his hand on your back and repeated your name several more times.

Awakened, you jumped up on the bar stool almost falling off it, fortunately your roommate reacted quickly enough to prevent this and hold you up.

"Hey, it's just me, just Steve." he said, and furrowed his brow. His voice was calm and a little quieter than usual. "Are you all right? Are you feeling sick?" he asked, and instinctively began to bring his hand closer to your forehead to check for signs of fever, but you, seeing this, immediately pulled away and jumped off the stool. This, unfortunately, was not the best idea, as you were still disoriented by your sudden awakening, and prolonged fatigue and irregular, not very hearty meals definitely weakened your body causing dizziness, which you also felt now and lost your balance.

"Woah!" the brunette once again grabbed your shoulders protecting you from falling. "Come on, sit down on the couch." this time without objection you moved towards the couch which stood nearby, due to the fact that your living room was connected to the kitchen. Steve followed you step by step supporting you. He kept one hand on your back and the other on your arm. "Are you sick? dizzy?" he began to ask when you sat down.

"I'm fine, Steve, just tired." you said, hoping he would give you a break. Meanwhile, a gurgling sound came from your stomach.

"And probably hungry." he raised one eyebrow.

"Just want to go to sleep." you scoffed.

"I have some chicken salad left over, I won't be able to eat it all myself, and it would be a shame to throw it away, maybe you'd like some?" he offered, carefully watching your reaction. He was increasingly convinced that during the day you either eat nothing, or so little that your body can barely manage to provide you with any energy to function. However, given your distant relationship, he couldn't just bombard you with questions and force you to eat like he would have done with Robin or Dustin. He had to do it slowly and calmly.

"Yeah, okay." you said quietly as the gurgling of your stomach resounded a second time.

He immediately went back to the fridge and quickly put the food on plates hoping you wouldn't notice that you got a larger portion. Handing you a plate, he sat down next to you and turned on the TV, the sound of which filled the silence between you.

"That was really good, thank you." you said quietly.

"No problem, I'm glad I didn't have to throw it away." he smiled slightly. "Feeling better?" he asked.

In response, you only nodded your head. You got up from the couch and picked up the plates to wash them, his eyes were following your movements to the kitchen.

Watching you, he thought about the fact that this was your first meal together since you moved in. Satisfied with the result that it didn't end in an argument or that you didn't reject his offer, he felt a little more confident. This small success pushed him forward, so when you started washing the dishes, he decided to take a chance.

"What did you eat at work today?" the question knocked you out a bit.

"Why do you ask?"

"I'm just curious." He shrugged his shoulders, but you didn't see it because you were standing with your back turned.

"A sandwich." you replied not thinking much. You felt strange with the fact that this was your first conversation not about bills or household chores. The first one you had actually allowed him to have.

"Only?"

"I didn't have time at work to eat."

"One sandwich all day? Are you crazy? You need to eat more!" And so much for calmness and slowness. He knew he shouldn't get carried away and didn't want it to sound like an attack, but unfortunately it was too late. Why did he care this much about you awnyway? All the walls that you lowered down for that brief moment rose again.

"I'm fine." you said dryly clenching your teeth.

"I found you sleeping on the kitchen counter, it's obvious that you're overtired and hardly eat anything at all, do you even take care of yourself in any way?"

"It's none of your business." Suddenly all the fatigue is gone from you, replaced, by anger, instead. Who did he think he was to lecture you?

"You are irresponsible." he concluded and got up from the couch.

"Just shut up, Steve, you're not my father to lecture me." You replied in an overtired voice.

"Then maybe you should call him and make him realize that his daughter can't take care of herself!" He was already heading towards his room, but suddenly, he was stopped by the clatter of dishes. He noticed how your shoulders were moving faster and faster, picking up the pace of your breathing. You turned off the water and, without a word, walked away from the sink, standing straight in front of him. Your eyes were big and full of tears, looking at him with a condemning gaze.

"You have no right to say that." You said through your teeth and, without waiting for an answer, disappeared into your room, leaving him alone in a big shock.

That night, instead of his favorite TV series, all he could focus on were the quiet sobs coming from behind the wall and the guilt they caused. He had no idea which of his actions made you cry, and it didn't really matter which. Despite the fact that, in his opinion, he didn't say anything awful in your direction, he felt awful.

Steve the Stupidest: I made her cry

Chrissy the Sweetest: what???? what happened?

Steve the Stupidest: I don't know, we were eating salad together, I asked her what she had eaten at work, she said that only a sandwich, so I got a little carried away and told her that she can't take care of herself, and now I can hear her crying

Robin the Smartest: oh damn

Steve the Stupidest: should I go to her?

Eddie the Dumbest: I don't think she wants to see you now, dude

Robin the Smartest: Eddie is right, let her calm down

Robin the Smartest: and tell everything that happened with details

Autumn brings with itself many changes, one of which may be unexpected illness. The first thing you felt this morning was an unpleasant itching in your throat, the second was a terrible cold, which made you decide to dress a little warmer for work today. Unfortunately, you felt worse and worse by the minute, but adult life can be brutal and you couldn't just not go to work today.

Around noon Steve came home from the hospital, but before he could open the door to the apartment his phone vibrated in his pocket.

"Hello?"

"Come to Benny's, quick." Robin said in a serious voice.

When he arrived in front of the diner, Chrissy was waiting for him with a worried expression on her face.

"What happened?" he asked running up to the girl.

"y/n fainted, Robin and I came in for lunch and when she was carrying our order she just fainted, she said there was no one to help her so Robin said we'll call you-" the words left her mouth at the speed of light.

"Hey, take it easy." he grabbed her by the shoulders. "Where is she?"

"In the back room with Robin and Benny."

With a quick step he walked inside and moments later he was already at your side watching you with a worried face. You looked even worse than last time, which caused him alarmed. Sitting leaning against the white wall, you were almost as pale as it was.

"Let's get you home, okay?" he asked crouching down in front of you.

"I don't have a home." you muttered while burying your face in your hands. "I can't leave, my shift hasn't ended."

"It has ended and the next one won't start until you feel better." said Benny in a harsh tone.

"Benny please." you whined.

"No discussion, get her out of here Steve."

Reluctantly, you walked back to his BMW feeling the gaze of the other three on you all the time, but now you didn't even have the strength to be annoyed with them. Despite the fact that your shift at the diner ended a few hours sooner, you still had to go to your evening shift at the bar, so you wanted to be in your room as soon as possible so you could take a nap before that.

You didn't even remember when you fell asleep, you were pulled out of the darkness by the sound of your alarm clock, which announced that it was time to start getting ready for your shift at the bar. The worst part of it all was that you didn't feel any better.

Slowly and lifelessly you walked out of the room, Steve was standing in the kitchen over a big pot of soup. When he heard the sound of the door opening he turned toward you and smiled slightly.

"I made the soup, the best for a cold, I got the recipe from Robin's grandmother, I'm sure you'll like it, it just needs to boil for a while," he said.

"I'm not hungry." you lied, at the very smell you were drooling but you didn't have time to eat anymore.

"Come on, at least try."

"I don't have time Steve, I have to get ready and go to work." you sighed.

"You're kidding right?" He stood motionless and looked at you in disbelief, and you looked at him with a questioning expression. "A few hours ago you blacked out and now you want to go to work, are you crazy?"

"Don't dramatize."

"Dramatize? Listen to yourself, what's wrong with you?"

"Everything!" you snapped. "Not everyone has a wonderful life full of friends and and rich parents who transfer dollars to your account every month! Do you think life makes me happy? Some people have to work two shifts to make their own living! Some people have other expenses besides just living!" your outburst of anger made you feel increasingly weak, but your voice was still loud. Loud enough for every word to reach him without interference. "You work in a hospital, so you know how much medical bills cost! So I'm sorry Steve, but I won't eat your soup, I have to go to work so I can afford to pay your rent next month!"

Shaken up, you walked into the bathroom and slammed the door behind you. Why does it all have to be so difficult? Clenching your eyes tightly, a loud sob came from your mouth. Much louder than you wanted. Helplessly you slumped to the floor and just let the tears flow. You were sick, tired, sad, angry and lost, everything was against you.

After a while, the bathroom door opened and Steve appeared in it with a broken look on his face.

"I'm sorry." He said, kneeling beside you.

"It's not your fault." you said while wiping away tears. "Everything is just too much."

"I didn't know anything about the hospital bills, are you ill? do you need funding for treatment?" honey eyes studied your face carefully, the warmth that emanated from him made you want to cling to him.

"They are not mine."

"Are you paying for someone?" he asked puzzled.

"My dad was very sick-" you said quietly.

"Was?"

Nothing was your answer. The pain in your eyes spoke for itself.

"Jesus, y/n…" before he could think what he was doing his arms had already begun to embrace you, and you let him. You felt as if he was keeping you from falling apart. After a while, your breathing slowed down, and your body was no longer shaken by waves of crying. "I'm so fucking sorry, I didn't know anything." he muttered into your hair.

"I really have to go to work, Steve." you replied weakly, already a bit calmer.

"You can't go there like this, you're all burned up."

"If I don't go I won't be able to pay you on time." You sighed and extricated yourself from his grasp.

"You'll pay me later, it won't be a problem." he replied without thinking. "Stay, please." he said seeing your uncertain reaction. "I swear that if you pay later, nothing will happen. It won't be a problem."

"Thank you." you replied. "I'll go call that I won't be there."

"And I'll get us some soup." he beamed. His smile was contagious as it also appeared on your face despite your nasty mood. When you returned to the living room there were two large bowls filled to the brim on the coffee table.

"Fancy a movie?" he asked.

"Yeah, okay." you replied surprised, you weren't expecting this proposal. Although he was probably even more surprised and didn't expect you to agree. "What are we going to watch?"

"I don't know, what do you like?"

"And you?" you asked, not wanting to impose something of your own.

"Star Wars?"

"I've never watched, it can be."

"Wait, what? Seriously, it's a classic!"

"Such a film connoisseur of you?" you laughed.

"You still haven't answered my question about what you like."

"Disney is definitely my definition of comfort movies."

"for example?"

"Beauty and the Beast, Princess and the Frog, Tangled, Coco…"

"I haven't watched any of them." he shrugged his shoulders.

"And who's talking about not knowing the classics?!" you pretended to be disgusted.

"I propose a compromise, one part of Star Wars for one Disney movie, I think we both have a lot of catching up to do."

"Deal."

Steve Harrington was a ray of sunshine. From the moment you decided to stop fencing yourself off with thick curtains your life became much warmer and brighter. Your life together changed completely, even though you still had to work two shifts and felt physically tired, your mental state was definitely relieved. When your roommate got to know your situation and understood what you were struggling with, his attitude also changed. This time, all the quiet days and sad looks were not perceived as an attack. Instead, whenever you returned tired after work there was a warm meal waiting for you and an even warmer smile that caused a strange tingling in your stomach.

The more you got to know each other, the more you couldn't hold back the feeling of attraction to him. He was a person from whom a safe warmth radiated, a warmth that not only warmed your cold hands when they accidentally touched his, but also your soul. A soul that had long been a cold and empty hollow. He lit the first tiny sparks in it that made life and emotions awaken in you anew.

By opening up to his presence in your life, you found the courage to grieve. He was the perfect friend. Funny, caring and trustworthy. Day by day you got to know each other better and better, telling him about what happened with your dad you allowed in the feelings that you had kept locked up for an awfully long time.

One day was especially difficult when your dad's birthday arrived. All day the weight of your heart was unbearable, people at work gave you an extremely hard time, so as soon as you closed the apartment door behind you, you burst into tears. Some time ago you would have held it in until you disappeared into your room, but you couldn't help how Steve made the house become home. A home where you didn't have to be afraid to show your feelings.

Hearing you groggy in the hallway he immediately came out to greet you, wanting to show off the new dish he had managed to prepare today. Unfortunately, seeing your condition, all his enthusiasm disappeared.

"What happened?" he asked quietly. His eyes scanned your entire body in search of any apparent reason for crying, but he immediately understood that what was hurting you was not a physical issue at all. Not having the strength to respond you moved quickly in front of him and he simply followed you. You sat down on the bed clenching your face in your hands, after a while the mattress bent under his weight.

"Hey, it's okay." he whispered placing a hand on your shoulder. "Come." He pulled you gently back.

Leaning against the headrest of the bed, he pulled you close, and you fell right into his arms. You cuddled your face into the soft sweater sobbing like a small child. Large hands gently traced paths of comfort on your back and arms. He stroked you as if you were a small, wounded and helpless animal, and he wanted at all costs not to hurt you even more. Your pain was breaking his heart, but he knew the feeling when crying is the only thing that can bring relief, so he didn't interrupt you.

Over the past time, he got to know you much better than he ever would have expected. He saw in you something more than a silent energy filled with fatigue and perpetual irritation. He saw in you a beautiful but broken soul. He saw a heart of gold that was shattered to pieces. He saw how funny you were and what a great conversation companion you could be. He was surprised by your sensitivity, which you initially hid under a mask of oppressiveness. When you broke down the armored wall you surrounded yourself with at the beginning of your acquaintance, Steve met a completely different person, someone in whom he was beginning to see more than just a roommate. With each step you continued to become friends, but he couldn't ignore the thought that he wanted something more.

From people who avoided each other like fire you became a team. You did everything together as much as possible when you both happened to find some free time. Meals together, cleaning together and going shopping together. Movie marathons and evenings spent talking all added up to the beauty of domestication. But-

What if you could lay cuddled up together while watching movies?

What if he could kiss every tear from your cheeks that fall when you get emotional at a Disney movie?

What if you could come up from behind and snuggled into his back while he was preparing dinner for you?

What if while shopping he could hold a shopping bag in one hand and your hand in the other one?

What if seeking comfort in his arms after a hard day at work was the first thing you would do when you got home?

All the what ifs in his head had been swirling around for a long time and were incredibly overwhelming, especially when you were close, yet he couldn't muster the courage to do more.

For the moment, you had more serious things on your mind, and he didn't know how to help you, despite his great desire to do so. Lost in his thoughts and focused to give you as much comfort as possible, he didn't notice when you calmed down. Your breathing was now even and your eyes closed. Thinking you had fallen asleep he settled down a bit and rested his cheek against the top of your head. With the hand that he used to embrace your back he pressed you even tighter against him, and with the other he grabbed the hand that lay on his chest.

"Today is his birthday." you said weakly.

Not expecting you to be awake for a moment panic swept through him, he quickly drew in air and tensed all over waiting for your reaction. Seeing that you still remained motionless, he relaxed, and you continued speaking. "Every year we used to spend this whole day with his best friend and his family. They invited me to join them today to continue the tradition, but I can't- It hurts too much."

"You don't have to go there if you don't feel ready, it's understandable to feel that way." he replied.

"What if I'm never ready? What if it will always hurt like this?"

"Even if time doesn't heal the wounds, you will learn to live with them. And even though moments like now will happen from time to time, you won't be alone with them. You are not alone."

His words went straight to your heart, they were something you needed at that moment.

"Thank you." You said hugging him even tighter.

"Always here for you." he muttered.

The silence that surrounded you and the last rays of the setting sun coming through the window were soothing. Your hearts began to beat out the same calm and steady rhythm that you could feel under your hand. Focusing on the gentle beats, a peace began to envelop you that you hadn't felt since your dad became ill. As the orange glow of the ending day slowly turned into blanketing darkness neither of you wanted to move so as not to scare away such a beautiful and peaceful moment. Desperately clinging to the closeness that existed between you both fell asleep, not worrying about the awkwardness that would come with the morning.

Unfortunately, the night passed all too quickly. When you woke up you were lying in bed alone. Trying to run away from the feeling of disappointment about this, you reluctantly pushed the quilt aside and focused on preparing for work. Entering the living room, you were greeted by a platter of warm scrambled eggs and a mug of coffee.

"I'm going on the night shift tonight, so I thought maybe we could at least have breakfast together." he said sitting down at the table.

"Sounds like a great plan." You replied with a smile. Over the course of the meal you lost yourself in pleasant conversation about everyday life. Steve also talked about his plans for the weekend, where he wanted to take Dustin to a concert by his favorite band.

"And uh- I have something for you." he said when you finished eating. He walked over to his backpack and took out some documents from it, which he slipped to you. "You don't have to do anything with this, but I thought you might want to think about it. I talked to some people at the hospital and they said your situation qualifies for a subsidy on your dad's medical bills." You looked at him with your eyes wide open, he couldn't make out much emotion from your expression, which made him start to get nervous, fearing that you were about to explode with anger. "I know, I'm sorry I talked to strangers about you, you have the right to be angry with me, but I really just wanted to help, this subsidy will cover most of the bills, of course if you need help to figure it all out, I can help you with everything, but I understand if you don't want-"

His rant was interrupted by your arms tightening around his stomach. When the moment of surprise passed he reciprocated the hug.

"Thank you." you said.

"You are welcome." He beamed.

"Let's talk about it tomorrow after we're both off work?""

"Sure." The smile didn't leave his face.

"I have to go now, thank you for breakfast. Have a good day, Steve."

"You too, y/n."

For him, it was the win of the day.

When taking on the job as a nurse, Steve was aware that some moments would be extremely hard in the job. However, he did not expect them to come so quickly and suddenly. Nor did he expect that the first such moment would be so drastic.

Road accidents were the order of the day, so when he got the call to assist in the operation of one of the injured he approached it with composure as always. What he didn't expect, however, was to find a teenage girl lying on the table in critical condition. Despite the best efforts of the entire rescue team, the injuries sustained in the accident were too extensive and she died during the operation. On his way out of the room, all he could hear was the shrill cry of despair of a mother who would never hug her own daughter again. That sound refused to leave his head until the end of his shift.

After returning home, exhausted by today's experiences, he fell asleep on the couch. Unfortunately, even in sleep his psyche was not merciful. His brain replayed nightmares over and over again, which, instead of resting, tormented him even more.

When you returned to the apartment the first thing you noticed was Steve sleeping on the couch. Today, for the first time in a very long time, he was not waiting for you with a meal ready. Determining that he was probably too tired, you quietly walked over to the couch and covered him with a blanket. Your attention did not miss the furrowed brow and the anxious expression on his face. Hesitating for a moment, you decided not to intervene and went to the kitchen, stating that today it was your turn to cook something. In the middle of cutting vegetables, Steve suddenly jumped on the couch breathing heavily.

"Hey, what's going on?" you quickly walked over to him and crouched down across from him. He was in shock, his eyes in a panic trying to recognize the environment he was in, and his breathing was speeding up instead of slowing down. "Steve, hey." you tried to get his attention.

"My phone. Where's my phone?" he sprang to his feet and began a frantic search for the device. He found it in his jacket pocket and immediately started dialing a number. "Dustin? Dustin are you okay?" he asked after a few beeps.

"Yes, why?" replied the confused boy.

"I just- I'm sorry. Glad you are okay."

"What the hell Steve?"

"I have to go, bye." He hung up and clasped his hand around the phone while leaning his head against the wall.

"Steve?" approached him slowly. "What's going on?"

"It's just a hard day at work…" He sighed.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He nodded and together you went to sit on the couch. There he told you about the situation. The longer he spoke, the more his voice broke down and words struggled to pass through his throat.

"When I was sleeping, I had-I had a nightmare. Instead of this girl, there was Dustin. I had to make sure he was okay-" it was his breaking point.

The sight was painful. It was hard to look at a person who can bring so much warmth, light and joy into someone's life in a state of sadness. Steve was like sunshine to you, sunshine that was now covered by dark clouds and raindrops that dripped down his cheeks. Before you had time to think your body reacted faster, and you were already halfway to hugging him. He accepted this form of reassurance without hesitation, and, drawing you closer to him, you landed in his lap, while he snuggled his face into the bend of your neck.

"I'm so sorry you had to go through all this." you said quietly stroking his hair. "And Dustin is fine, he is fine, you are not gonna lose him."

"I can't lose him-"

"And you won't." You didn't let him finish his sentence. You moved him away from you so that you could look at each other and took his face in your hands, wiping away the tear tracks with your thumbs. "And remember that you are not alone with your problems Steve Harrington, and you will not be alone."

Honey-colored irises looked right through your soul. However, after a while they began to take a different course. Slowly and uncertainly they went along your nose to stop at your lips. Suddenly his hands, which were now on the indentation of your waist, began to burn. Yet it was not a painful burning. The warmth was addictive, you wanted to feel more of it, you wanted to feel it all over your body. Your foreheads rested against each other and your noses brushed, lips were separated by millimeters when the magic was interrupted by his phone.

Like a burnt woman, you jumped off his lap, and he went to his room with the phone, not knowing how to deal with what had just happened between you.

Would you let him kiss you?

This thought focused all his attention, and all he understood from his conversation with his supervisor was that tomorrow was his day off.

"Would you mind going for a walk?" you asked when he returned to the living room.

"Sure."

The autumn air was not the hottest, but the warm sweaters you were wearing adequately protected you from it. The setting sun was a beautiful orange color quite like the leaves quietly crunching under your shoes. Steve wordlessly followed you, not even focusing on the road. Walking in your company seemed to be a good cure for shattered nerves, especially since the scenery was equally soothingly beautiful. On the way to your destination, you made a brief stop at a flower shop, not far from the cemetery. At that moment he knew what your destination was.

"It's okay if you don't feel like going there." You said stopping in front of the gate.

"No, it's fine." he replied and moved ahead.

"This place…I found a weird peace in here for the first few days after my dad died." you explained as you approached the grave. You placed a flower on it.

Steve did not respond. But you were right, the place was surrounded by a strange atmosphere of calm. The falling nightfall sharpened the burning candles. Their rays were small but warm, and together they created a solemn scenery. He associated the flames with the emotions you stirred in his heart. Emotions that were bubbling up inside him and begging him to let them out. Emotions that he no longer had the strength to keep inside, and despite the fact that the cemetery was the last place to confess love, he decided to do so.

"Thank you." he said finally.

"For what?" you asked turning your face toward him.

"Letting me in."

"Thank you for being patient enough." The smile with which you answered this was also as warm as the lights burning in front of you.

"I think I'm falling in love with you."

He expected shock, anger, laughter on your part. He expected each of the worst reactions. However, he did not expect the calmness with which you accepted what he said. He didn't expect your hand intertwining your fingers and the other landing gently on his cheek.

"I think I'm falling in love with you too, Steve." you whispered.

That was enough for him to lean in and bring your lips together. The kiss, at first shy and gentle, deepened into something passionate and filled with relief that something that was supposed to have happened a long time ago was finally happening. It was as if everything had suddenly found its rightful place in the universe.

As you pulled away from each other, he spun you around so that your back rested against his chest and your arms locked in a bear hug. With a wide smile and tears of happiness in your eyes, you looked at your father's grave.

"Thank you." you said quietly.

"It's me who thanks you." he whispered in your ear.

"It wasn't to you." you giggled, and he made a confused sound. "It was to Dad."

"Oh."

"He placed a real angel in my path." You didn't have to wait long for a response. After a while, you were face to face again giving each other kisses interrupted by smiles.

"Let's go home." you whispered between kisses.

"Home?" he asked with hope in his voice.

"Home." You confirmed by kissing him again.

taglist: @i-me-mine @phantypurple @tlclick73

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pinkrelish · 2 years

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐞 "𝐲𝐞𝐬" 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐲.

singledad!mechanic!eddie x fem!reader

✶When Eddie gets a call at work telling him Adrie is sick, he rushes to pick her up from school, accidentally leaving his black notebook behind. Being you, you find the means to return it to him. But while at his trailer, you ask him the question he's been avoiding for months.

"Let's get down to those rumors, hm?"✶

NSFW — strong tw for a dark conversation surrounding eddie's past (accusations of murder, rape), heavy angst, comfort, drug/alcohol mention/use, slow burn, fluff, flirting, 18+ overall for eventual smut

chapter: 8/20 [wc: 14.1k]

↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11 / 12

AO3

Chapter 8: The Munson Name

Leave it to Eddie to make your day special not two minutes into work.

Upon entering the garage, the back door was ajar as usual, but instead of phantom wisps of smoke swimming in the sunshaft, a shadow moved, and Eddie’s arm curled around to knock on the aluminum siding for your attention. His chain bracelet clinked from the motion, and his rings caught the light as he gestured for you to come over.

You peeked through the opening and saw him standing against the wall, but his morning smile wasn’t aimed at you, it was elsewhere, off to the side. You wrapped your fingers around the doorknob, and followed where he was looking.

A bright red cardinal sat perched on the round side mirror of Eddie’s car, chirping and hopping while fluttering its wings, spinning around in search of something, and after several twittering singsongs, it flew away.

“That was precious,” you whispered, breath fogging in awe.

“I’m glad you got to see him before he took off.” Eddie grabbed the door from you and pushed you both inside, shaking his arms in an intense shiver, and shrugging his jacket up around his neck while he hugged his hands around himself in his pockets. “Uhm..”

The goofy smile he wore was mutual, as was the dear silence. The energy between you had changed; it was charged with a new development in your relationship. One that did not need to be articulated in words. It was there, in his well-rested eyes owning a playful gleam when you looked at him, and his need to rock from foot to foot in a measured sway, like a subconscious impulse to recreate that beautiful night.

Then, he cleared his throat. You averted your gaze to the floor.

“You, uh, you said it was one gift,” he recalled with an audible wince squeezing the oxygen from his sentence.

Unsure on how best to approach you buying his daughter a generous amount of presents, and hearing the impassive edge to his voice, you shut one eye and opted for a joke, “It was one gift.. bag.”

“It was too much.”

Your demeanor sagged. “Oh.”

“No, no! Not in the bad way–No.”

You perked up. “Oh?”

A soft laugh poured from the snuggly place he had his chin tucked behind the tan canvas. He dropped his shoulders, and drove his weight forward into jaunty little steps towards you, closing the gap between your bodies. There were affectionate nuances to his fond expression when he corrected himself, “Sorry, I didn’t mean for it to sound that way. The gifts were great. Like, real home runs. Uhm, she loved them, and they were really thoughtful. Just.. really sweet of you.” Immersing himself in the steady eye contact you were both proud to uphold, he licked his lips, and raised his eyebrows. “You’re so sweet, in fact, it’s piling onto that thank you I owe you at a ridiculous rate.”

“You don’t owe me anything. I just like doing things for you and Adrie. Besides, I live rent free in a tiny town with an abysmal lack of nighttime entertainment for me to waste my money on, so I figured why not spoil my favorite four-year-old.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know I don’t owe you, but” –he moved his hand around in his pocket– “I’m gonna figure out a way to repay you. Do something nice for you. Something big. Until then, your favorite almost-five-year-old made you this.”

He presented his palm to you. Cradled in it was a bracelet made of plastic beads in an assortment of colors, some shaped as stars, some with glitter, and at the middle was a name arranged in white blocks with black lettering. M-O-U-S-E.

“I had to help her spell it,” he said, tugging up his sleeve, “but it matches mine.” D-A-D-D-Y.

There was no masking the effect the bracelet had on you; breath hitched on a raw noise, chest falling on the exhale, muscles tensed on the cusp of a bigger reaction–but you tamped down the wealth of feeling wanted, and spoke beyond the heaviness in your heart, through the strain in your throat, and behind the blurriness of tears, “A true Adrie Original. I love it, tell her thank you for me.”

You slid the elastic band over your trembling left hand. He wore his on his right.

Eddie leaned in to get a better look at you, and the amusement in his face was replaced by genuine surprise. “Are you crying?”

You crossed your arms over your chest and gripped your shoulders, laughing, smiling through the embarrassment of being caught. “Maybe! It’s–It’s really sweet.”

“I’m gonna tell her you cried!”

“Don’t!” you yelped, running away from his evil fingers advancing towards your ribs.

“But it’s cute!”

“Stop chasing me!”

Luckily for you, refuge was on the other side of the glass door you managed to lock before he could grab the handle. You guarded your safe space with a glare. He pouted, and said something. You cupped your ear. He grew more passionate, flapping his lips at a rapid rate and putting his hands up in a prayer, but you couldn’t hear what he was saying. You shouted you’d only let him in if he apologized for making fun of you. “I’m sorry.” The sincerity was lost on his smirk, but you gave in so you could make coffee and get to work, and so he could get said coffee and take your pen cup and put it just out of reach on the ledge of your desk while on his way out to the garage.

And unluckily for you, the first thing on your to-do list after the break was checking the flashing buttons on the phone. You picked up the receiver, pressed the playback for messages, and listened with a pen hovered over your new set of index cards.

The first one began with a startled, “U-uhm, right.”

The second one began with a confused laugh.

The third was a long pause before telling someone else in the room they’d try again later.

Dread pooled in your stomach. The recording button. The fucking recording button for an outgoing message taunted you. Faded yellow, and ugly.

With a clenched jaw, you prepared your racing heart, and pressed it. And oh God. You covered your eyes, more and more mortified as it played.

“We’re currently closed for the Holidays, and will open at 8AM, Mon–” Raspberry. “You! Why! That one was perfect. God, you are so–freaking–annoying. I swear. Obnoxious little..”

————

Standing at a respectable distance from where Eddie sat at the breakroom table with his notebook, you held up three calendars for the new year. “I’m replacing the one in the garage. Which do you want? Mythical Creatures drawn by Eric Carle, Coca Cola, or hot chicks posing on sports cars?”

He dropped his head back, and tipped his chair to balance on its rear legs. His bangs fell, showing his wrinkled forehead as he looked at you upside down. “Interesting options,” he commented.

“The mall didn’t have much left.” A lie. The calendar kiosk at the mall was stocked to the brim, you just had a hunch Eddie would go for one in particular.

“Does the mythical creature one have a dragon for a month?”

“Yes,” you said without checking.

“I’ll take that one, then.”

Predictable.

“Cool, I’ll give Mr. Moore the hot chicks, and I’ll take the Coke for me.” Speaking of–the front desk phone was ringing, and it was in your job description to answer it, you supposed.

You left him to get back to his writing, and put the receiver to your ear. The voice on the other end was politely stressed in the customer-friendly way. You left it in the cradle on hold, and called down the hallway, “Hey, Eddie, it’s Adrie’s school calling for you. I’m sure–” Stumbling out of his way, his jacket softened the blow of his shoulder knocking into you. He reached his hand back in an apologetic gesture, but his focus manifested in the flash of panic crossing his pale face. “I’m sure she’s fine,” you finished sympathetically.

He answered the woman on the line, and you waited along the wall, eyeing the scuff marks around the floorboards you should probably buff off at some point, and after his short conversation, he hung up.

“Adrie’s sick,” he said quickly, patting down his jacket. “Wayne’s not answering the phone, so I gotta go pick her up, and uh, I–” He pivoted in a circle, glancing around, fumbling for his keys in his pocket. “I–I’m sorry. She needs me.”

You drew your eyebrows in, and waved him off. “Yeah, it’s okay. You can leave. I’ll clock you out and let Carl know when he’s back from lunch.”

“Thank you,” he said in breathless earnest, leaving so quickly his boots left black streaks on the tile.

~~~

Lunch came and went. Carl came and went. The end of the hour posted under the CLOSED sign came and went. Eddie had yet to call the shop to update you, which was fine and dandy (aside from your anxiety over whether or not Adrie was okay), but in his rush, he left behind something important..

His black notebook with the devil-horned skull laid in the middle of the table like an ominous item from a horror movie.

And much like the horror movies, you as the final girl should leave it alone, right? Just.. walk away, and forget about it, and leave it for him to pick it up tomorrow, or whenever he’s able to come back to work..

But.

You were worried about Adrie, and when you went to the garage to replace the trash can liners, you saw his rings still on the black tray near the tool cabinet. Now, it’s not like he needed those either, however, what if you just.. returned them for him? And the notebook fell open while you were at it?

It was wrong. Everything about what you were doing was all so very, very wrong. Going inside Mr. Moore’s office and flipping the lightswitch, making your way to his desk in an innocent saunter, and–oops!–kneeling down to pick up a stray pen, and if the bottom drawer happened to be opened, and the plastic folder with the employee’s details from when he hired them was inside, who could blame you for taking the quickest, tiniest glance before closing it?

Yours was in there, of course, along with–

“Edward Munson,” you snorted. “Dorky name.” Duh his full name was Edward, but it was still funny to see.

You read over the top of the file where his address and phone number were. Thankfully, from your various car rides with Robin, you recognized the street name, placing it in your memories as the rusted sign next to the Forest Hills Trailer Park entrance.

The phone number you imprinted into your brain as a recreational activity, and put the folder away.

Closing the door behind you with a hefty jingle of heavy rings in your pocket, you approached the notebook, and gave it a pitied sigh. Having committed many sins in the past minute alone, you figured why not. You didn’t even feel shame opening the stupid thing after months of being teased by it. Besides, what’s the worst he could be hiding in it? It couldn’t be that embarrassing, right?

..Right?

“Okay, can honestly say I was not expecting a big tittied bird lady.” The drawing wasn’t overly detailed, but the artistry was above average. Small details etched the feathers covering her avian legs, and a gleam shone on her talons coming to a sharp point, posed to attack with milky white irises. Above her was Eddie’s stylized font: HARPY, with abbreviations and numbers in a column. His rushed handwriting filled the rest of the page. Reading it over, it appeared you opened to the middle of a story.

Thumbing through, you encountered your first dog-eared page.

IF CHEST IS CHOSEN, GO B

IF DOOR - ROLL FROM INDEX CHART POISON

Absolutely lost, you did see a box labeled B further down with a short bullet point list of what would happen, and more options to choose from on the next dog-eared section.

Flipping deeper towards the back, it was pages and pages of his handwriting. Names of characters fighting dragons. Fantasy towns housing creatures you’d never heard of. Countries with too many syllables and apostrophes. Whatever it was, you were more than happy to hop on your bike and ride it over to the trailer park, only second guessing your sense of direction three times, and releasing a grateful, “Thank God,” when you spotted it up ahead.

The place had an eeriness to it despite the slanted beams of afternoon sun gracing it in gold. Homes were tarnished with dents and algae staining the outside. Trailers slumped on their cinderblocks, buckling under the weight. RVs had permanent brush growing under their parking spots. A child’s scream echoed around the tree-less lot, but you couldn’t see them through the orderless blockade of dilapidated residences and abandoned cars. People watched you: glancing out their windows, or gathered around a charcoal barbeque. Curious eyes followed your trail down the main road. Bumping your bike around potholes, avoiding tetanus ridden nails and petrified clothes molded to the ground as if they’d been there for years.

Dogs walked their fences as you passed.

You were beginning to have some regrets when a beacon welcomed you. After a curve, an old van parked out front of a blue and white trailer came into view, but more importantly, dwarfed next to the Chevy behemoth, was a black car you’d recognize the red interior of anywhere.

The heat of parent’s concerned stares burned into the back of your neck as you rode up to the concrete stairs, leaned your bike against the metal handrail, and approached your fate.

Even though you were absolutely sure this was the correct address, you knocked with as much confidence as a dormouse. Any harder and the sound of your knuckles striking the aluminum would’ve been too loud in the creepy-quiet trailer park.

No answer.

You knocked again. Harder. Louder.

There was movement inside. Footsteps. A muffled voice. Your heart leapt. In your throat. Closer. Closer. This was so stupid. This was a mistake. This was a bad idea. The excuse in your mouth was weak, and you were about to embarrass yourself in front of your coworker by surprising him at his house, which you only knew where to find because you were snooping, and there was no amount of explaining that would help you out of your spot in hell–

Eddie swung open the door, and his heavy-browed, distrustful, annoyed, apprehensive, suspicious glare jumped to wide-eyed shock.

Your cheeks went hot.

“Nope!”

You winced at the slam, but nothing–no God’s will, no Devil’s agreement–would convince you to blink at the shuttered window where he once stood. No. No, no, no. No, never. Never would you want the searing glimpse at Eddie’s naked chest out of your sight before it was engraved into every second of every day of every night of every dream for the rest of your years.

In some part of your mind, you knew your gazes connected long enough to see the blood drain from his face, but your attention was soon urged downward, to the overwhelming amount of skin.

His hair was tied back, exposing a poetry of shadows. Hollow of his throat, to his clavicle, to the swell of his shoulders. Biceps twitching under a prominent vein when he caught himself on the trailer’s frame, and gripped the door handle. Muscles straining with fear, then soft with relief, then strong with fear again when he realized it was you who caught him in this shirtless state, discovering the beautiful line between his pecs when he flexed. Witnessing the fine wisps of softly auburn hair on his chest, juxtaposed to the wiry dark curls creating a blessed trail to the top of his sweatpants. Drooling over the eclectic collection of tattoos sporadically placed over his body. Too many to decipher in the brief encounter, aside from the dragon crawling up a sword etched into the subtle planes of his abs and curving around his slight stomach, with the blade ending at his waistband–a full picture of the tattoo you spied at the grocery store when he stretched his arms above his head.

The door creaked open again, and you’d yet to recover. But thinly obscured in the darkness of his home, he was visibly flustered as well.

Eddie hunched over, struggling to get the zipper of his tan jacket up, tugging it harshly, grinding the metal teeth in his anxious fight to cover his chest; and when it was snug to the splotchy kiss of pink on his neck, he squinted at you. “What’re you doing here?” he asked, voice gone hoarse from his dry mouth.

Knees locked, and oh so staring him directly in the eyes, you took the black notebook from under your arm (not remembering when you tucked it there), and showed it to him. “You left this at work.”

He took it from you slowly without a thanks.

“And, uh,” you continued, gathering the clinking jewelry in your jacket. “These too.” You dropped them into his cupped palm, brushing your pinky over a scratchy callus, experiencing the zing of intimacy of skin on skin.

And he felt it too, with how he curled his fingers in to seal the fleeting sensation.

Pocketing his rings, he stood meek in his doorway. The pain of expecting someone different to be knocking at his trailer had dwindled, but the tension was there in between his eyebrows, weighing on the slope of his gentle frown, painting brilliant highlights on the long line of his nose in the blazing dayglow threatening to invade his home.

The dull brown of his eyes glinted aside the honey as his mouth hung slightly open, tip of his tongue curled against the pearly dam of his teeth. The lined pages of the well worn notebook fanned out, flopping in his grip. “Did you read what was in here?”

Shifting your gaze to the sharp edge of the tin roof decorated in elaborate dangly fish hooks, you clasped your hands behind your back in a cute way, and delivered the answer he awaited with an inflection like it was a question, “No..?”

“For an actress, you’re bad at lying.”

“Or I’m being obvious on purpose so you tell me what it is.”

Working his jaw back and forth, he bided his time, each grind a consideration at his options in regards to how vulnerable he should be, and if this would be the final nail in the corroded coffin where you’d realize what a giant loser he was. “It’s..” You leaned towards him in interest, and he looked away. “It’s notes and stuff for Dungeons and Dragons,” he admitted in a mumble.

“Nerd! Nerd!” You jumped up and down, pointing, shouting, “I knew it! You’re a nerd!”

Twisting his mouth in a sarcastic sneer at your childishness, he snatched the side of the door and began shutting you out. “Okay, okay. I get it. See why I didn’t want to tell you?”

“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie,” you exhaled, switching on a dime from your teasing to a serious tone. You caught the door, and pleaded for him to stop being an idiot, “I knew you were a dweeb when you held me hostage for an entire thirteen minute lecture about your song lyrics. The Dungeons and Dragons shit is the third least surprising thing you’ve ever told me.” You clasped your hand over your heart. “Truly.”

“What’s the second?”

“Your music tastes.”

“And the first?” he asked, despite his better judgment.

“That you’re single.”

He announced his displeasure in a deadpan expression. “And I’m beginning to see why you are, too–” All of him went rigid, withdrawing slightly into the trailer with his head lowered, ear angled towards the right of him, listening as his gaze went unfocused.

After a few seconds, his lungs reawakened with a relieved breath. “Just coughing,” he said to himself. Dragging his attention back to you, he gestured weakly at his jacket to indicate his lack of clothing, still embarrassed at the situation. “Adrie, uh.. She puked on me earlier. That’s why I wasn’t–uhm–dressed.”

Worry edged its way into your question, “Is she okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, she’s fine. Kids get sick from daycare all the time. Basically just sentient germs running around, licking their hands after touching everything.”

Your eyebrows ticked up at the memory of the awful Dayquil hangovers following the weekends you worked as a clown for children’s birthday parties.

You asked, “And what about Wayne?”

“Hm? Oh.” Recognition, and the ease of a casual conversation overtook the near-permanent anticipatory hardness to his features, softening his bristly nature around you; finding you comforting when he was in the place where he was supposed to feel safest, but didn’t.

Home wasn’t home for Eddie Munson, and you felt that icy statement behind your ribs as you watched him pat his pocket as a way to check his rings were there for reassurance, acutely aware there was an hostile world at your back, and you chose to only see each other.

There was a tender innocence to his lip crooking up in a lopsided grin as he remembered you asked him a question. “Typical old man. Wayne was outside and didn’t hear the phone ring, that’s why he didn’t answer. He’s at work now, though.”

“Mm,” you hummed. “Do you have soup?”

“Soup?”

“For Adrie,” you clarified.

He glanced over his shoulder, assumingly at the kitchen, and after some mental deduction, he shrugged in vague nonchalance. “Yeah, there’s probably soup for her.” As if you didn’t know him well enough at this point to read past the nervous habits weaving their way into his fidgety unsureness.

You backed down the stairs as you spoke, “Okay. Well then, guess I’ll get going since you have everything on lock down here. Got your sick kid, got your soup, got your notebook, and your uncle’s at work. Sounds like everything’s in order.” Hopping off the last step, you swung around the handrail and guided your bike to the road, beaming. “See ya!”

“Yeah, see ya,” he replied, settling into his usual side-ways glance around the trailer park, challenging the gawkers who watched a girl willingly walk up to his home and leave it smiling. They did not dare to say anything, of course; returning to their lives with sealed lips, pretending to pay him no mind. Just how it should be.

He held his chin high.

————

And when Eddie next answered the door, it was in the low blue hue of a setted sun, and he did so in his black jeans and a white tank top. His unzipped work jacket swayed prettily around his torso, low bun at his nape loosened to a mess, short curls in a frizz over his ears, and cheeks flushed. “I figured you’d be back,” he forced out evenly, doing his best to disguise his panting breaths.

You hugged the brown paper grocery bags to your chin, and grinned.

He stuck his foot behind him in an awkward curtsy, and swept his arm for you to enter.

Walking into his place for the first time there were many things to comprehend, absorb, fawn over, and ask about until he was tired of explaining their origins–and since you were already crossing an entire notebook’s worth of lines today, you inquired about the most obvious. “You, uh, like collecting hats and mugs?”

“They’re Wayne’s,” he grunted, unplugging the vacuum he left in the middle of the living room by yanking the cord out of the wall, and dragging it on his way to the hallway closet where he kicked and shoved things aside to make room, rattling the thin door that definitely had been punched through at one point, patched and painted over, and was now a canvas for crayon squiggles along the bottom. “Before he worked at the power plant, he was a trucker. Collected them at every rest stop in every state, that sorta thing.”

“Ah.”

In a quick spin, he surveyed the rest of the trailer, and made a similar “ah” sound when he saw the cleaning products and balled up paper towels on the tiny table squeezed against the wall. He lunged for them, stuffing the evidence and other garbage into the overflowing trash can. “I still keep up the tradition by getting him a mug for Christmas.” Jerking his chin at the shelf above him, he specified the one on the end. “This year was Looney Tunes.”

“How cute.” The bags crinkled in your arms as you stood in the entryway, nodding expectantly.

“Shit–Sorry.”

You smiled. He finished clearing a space on the wrap-around kitchen counter for you to set the groceries down, scooting a candle out of the way, flickering the flame he may have burnt himself on while lighting, if the red mark on his thumb was anything to go by. And he was back to pivoting, scanning the area, desperate to latch onto the object which would jog his memory on where he was in his cleaning: dishes dripped in the drying rack, Wayne’s grilled cheese endeavor was out of sight, the bathroom radiated the nose-burning scent of bleach.

He snapped his fingers at the overflowing trash can, and almost slipped in his frenzy to tie up the bag and rush for his boots, saying he’ll be right back on his way out, leaping down the stairs.

“Alrighty..”

The steady rumble of a washing machine rattled every loose bit of metal in the museum of belongings.

You waged war with your tennis shoes, wiggling out of them with the laces still tied, and stepped off the carpet dividing the trailer in half. The bubbling vinyl kitchen floor stuck to your socks, still damp from being mopped, and heaved the groceries onto the pale blue countertop, sliding them across decades worth of scratches scarring the material. Once you were sure you could let them go without a toppling situation, you took the goods out one at a time, but your attention was nosy and undivided.

Acting as foreground to the walls of hats and mugs was the rest of Eddie’s life. Laundry baskets occupied a couch with flattened cushions. A coffee table supported stacks of his daughter’s playthings after picking them out of the vacuum’s path. There was a fold out bed in the corner, and a modest TV situated on top of a VCR. To compensate for the lack of overhead light was an abundance of mismatched lamps on each surface.

It was a hodge podge, and it was cramped, and it was incomprehensible, and it was his house.

Turning, you began to guess at which cabinets he would store a bag of rice when you spotted the artwork hanging on the fridge.

Pinned under a teddy bear magnet was a decoupaged version of your Thanksgiving turkeys, cut out and glued to a single piece of construction paper, complete with the castle in the background. And secured safely under a smiley face magnet was a stick figure drawing of two people–one in a pink dress, one in all black scribble–and dated in neat ink by someone with less messy handwriting: 5/7/92.

Eddie came back to your wide grin, and two cans of baked beans held up in a question.

“They go over here,” he said, nodding at the skinny door next to where he stood at the small green table set for three chairs, organizing today’s mail in his hand.

You opened the pantry next to the recessed oven, and stacked the rest of the cans inside. Towards the back there were two white cereal boxes with plain blue text and nothing else, leaving you to deduce no one in his family stooped to eating unsweetened cornflakes even if that’s all they had. Meanwhile, he arranged overdue bills into a ladder style letter holder hung on the wall beside the phone, periodically taking one out and placing it down a rung, ordering them from most to least important.

“I was supposed to go grocery shopping yesterday, but I had to buy and install a new hot water heater,” he told you suddenly. Whether he was saying this because he was coasting on the fumes of his Christmas bonus until December’s child support arrived, or because he was simply too busy to go shopping, neither of you addressed it more than necessary. He accepted your help, and you didn’t pry.

“Unexpected shit sucks, huh?” you added for his benefit.

“Yeah,” he huffed in a short laugh, playing the same game.

And it was him who rested his forearms on the edge of the pale blue wrap-around counter, watching you commit good deed after good deed, guessing where groceries went in the cabinets, acclimating to his kitchen’s set up, and making room for a bag of grapes and three apples between his six pack of Pabst and block of Government cheese.

“Can I ask you kind of a weird question?”

You brightened at his voice, teetering on the edge of a smile just from that alone. “Always.”

He drew absent-minded circles with his finger as he tried to find the best way to word something he wondered about since the week you met. “When you saw Adrie for the first time, you had this really, uh, surprised look on your face.. Why was that?”

Your tone was dismissive in the wake of something that appeared to haunt him, “Oh, that?” You folded down the empty paper bags, and placed them on top of the fridge after he said Adrie would use them for arts and crafts. “Well, it’s like, Mr. Moore has dozens of pictures of his family on his desk, and Carl told me–approximately–ten different stories about his sons an hour after meeting him, and Kevin carries pictures of his dogs in his wallet. It just seemed like if you had a daughter, you would’ve shown me a picture too, like most dads.” You waved your hands around, and contorted your mouth in a silly manner. “I mean, it was just weird you never mentioned her.”

He took your assessment to heart, and opened the drawer closest to him. Amongst the clutter of junk was his black wallet resting on a coiled chain with clips on either end. Taking out the cheap leather, he cradled the width in his palm, and wiggled out a picture kept sealed behind a plastic window. He said, “Actually, I do carry a picture of her,” and handed it to you.

On instinct, you pored over the image of him first, prizing the crown of his head sporting the same wild haircut. He had his face tipped down to the newborn wrapped in a pink blanket in his arms, crooking her in their safety as he held a bottle to her lips. His knees were on display behind his ripped black jeans. His shirt was sleeveless. She was tiny and precious. He was decidedly emotionless from what you could see, sat on a couch that was not the same as the one across the room from you.

“That was taken at Harrington’s place,” he answered your unstated question, keen to the recognition washing over your face as you placed it as Nancy’s ugly pink floral loveseat.

You gave it back to him.

He looked over the captured moment in time, bleak gaze set on his little girl when she was so fragile, and small, and when he was so weak, and teetering on a long overdue breakdown.

“It took me a long time to carry this around,” he said, tone heavy with disappointment, regret, and shame. “Wayne and I were fighting constantly. And I mean, I don’t blame him. He gave up his life to take care of me when I was twelve, and I put so many gray hairs on his head that he went bald from my bullshit, and then there I was, bringing home a screaming infant I didn’t know the first thing about taking care of. Y’know, just proving I was a fuck-up right when he thought I was smart enough to get my act together.“ Tracing the sharp edge of the photo trimmed to fit his wallet, he placed it in its windowed slot and tossed it back in the drawer, closing the past from his sight. “I don’t have a lot of good memories from that time. Shit fucking sucked.”

“I can imagine,” was all you could say.

“I love her,” he said in the event you doubted him.

“I know you do,” you offered in return.

Steering the conversation in a different direction, you swung your index fingers at the extensive cabinetry, and asked, “Where’s a cutting board?” Right of the sink, he answered. “And a knife?” Top drawer next to your hip, he responded. But it took until you shook out the washed celery stalk, and snapped the ribs off, lining them up on the white plastic cutting board did he become suspicious.

He leaned more of his weight on his forearms, and kept his tone carefully neutral, “What’re you doing?”

Keeping your expression indifferent aside from your arched brows, you cut the celery into manageable sticks and began slicing them lengthways. “I believe I’m in Edward Munson’s trailer making him and his daughter soup.”

The crimson guitar pick at the end of his necklace swung forward, jostled from where it was stuck to the healthy sheen of sweat glistening along the top of his chest. “How do you know my full name?”

“A little birdie told me.”

He shifted his shoulders, head lowered, eyes narrowed, voice deep, “Better question. How do you know where I live?”

“A bigger birdie told me.”

“Someone told you about me?”

Rightfully confused, you pulled a face. “Huh? No. I was kidding. No one talks to me. Anyway, back to the soup.” You harnessed all your charm into impressing him by meeting his stare while you diced the celery, using your knuckles as guidance. “Are there any vegetables she won’t eat? Or stuff she’s allergic to?” Your flagrant insolence irked him: reading his notebook, inviting yourself to his residence, filling the voids in his kitchen with groceries, and now making him soup without ever asking if he wanted you to do those things.

Because of course he wanted you to do those things.

He surrendered to your kindness. “No allergies, and she’ll eat anything as long as it’s diced small–Yeah, like that–and cooked down to mush. It’s the one thing she’s always been good about.”

“And you?”

It took a few sad seconds for him to understand you were asking about his allergies and his preferences, not used to his needs being taken into consideration. “No, no, whatever you make is good. Uhm. Hey, you don’t have to do all of this. Don’t roll your eyes, I’m being serious. Adrie’s sick and I don’t want you to catch what she has.”

“Please,” you implored in thick sarcasm, “I’ve been coughed on by every disease known to man on the Q train. There’s not a cold or flu in existence I haven’t succumbed to. I’m immune at this point.”

You found a stock pot from the cabinet at the junction of the wrap-around counter and the sink, and set it on the cooktop to come to heat while you peeled and chopped an onion. Eddie dwelled in his observations; listening to you recount tales of working in kitchens because they were always hiring, collecting horror stories from being a dishwasher, a waitress, a morning food prepper; moving from title to title; birthday clown, bartender, craft store cashier. Flighty, flighty, flighty. He watched your hands move in quick chops and long sweeps down a carrot with skill he didn’t have the patience nor time to learn. He told you as much, how when he comes home he’s fucking tired, and doesn’t have the energy to make dinner.

“Now what’re you doing, sweetheart?” he asked in what he hoped was an exhausted tone, but he knew it was futile. The timidness was there, sneaking its way into his words when he made the leap to calling you an endearment in his own home. And how could he not when you pulled out a stack of tupperware, divided the piles of chopped vegetables between them, and wedged them into the freezer, still tending to the sweating mirepoix with a wooden spoon.

“It’s so next time you want soup they’re all ready to go. You don’t have to waste time cutting vegetables. Just dump a container in a pot and add broth and noodles, and call it a night.”

He made a fond noise in the back of his throat, looking at you through his lashes. “You’re really doing everything in your power to extort me for this ‘thank you’ I owe you, aren’t you?”

“You’re the one who promised me something good,” you reminded him.

Water splashed, sputtered in the pot, steaming into a cloud of savory humidity, filling the living space with earthy aromatics. You added bouillon cubes, and stirred the stock together while turning the dial on high to bring the soup to a boil.

“Yeah, guess I did,” he said, petering out into a mumble, straying further from the current topic. He wasn’t finished talking about the previous one yet, and he made it known.

Tracing his thumb along his plump bottom lip, he tested a boundary, tiptoeing into a realm he did his best to ignore. “So, uh, you employ the same strategy with jobs as you do dating, huh?”

“Oh, yeah,” you grinned. “Having an endless well of stories about shitty customers to pull from is perfect for stand up. Everyone loves the perpetually single girl who works in service or retail, and just can’t seem to find the love of her life, despite going on an insane amount of first dates with New York’s most average. It’s funny, and relatable.”

“And now you’re stuck as a boring receptionist in a nowhere town in a nowhere state.”

You released a sugary, syrupy, sweet giggle. “And now I’m stuck as a boring receptionist in a nowhere town in a nowhere state, and it’s the longest job I’ve ever held.”

His eyelashes fluttered from the nerves–the strong ache in his chest pressing down on him, stealing his breath. “And what about the dates? Gone on any with Hawkins’ finest?”

“Just one.” Though your back was to him while you washed and dried the cutting board, your smile was outlined in your banter. “But it was awful,” you emphasized in a dramatic sigh. “Worst date ever. He drank my Icee, wouldn’t stop talking during the movie, and, get this! He didn’t even tell me I was pretty. Not once.”

“What a jerk,” he agreed fullheartedly, scrunching his nose and twisting a curl of his hair over his stupidly smitten grin. “Sounds like a real asshole.”

“Actually, he was my favorite,” you corrected him, turning down the dial to where the coils lost their fluorescent glow. “Huge, huge nerd. Like, the biggest dork ever, but he was definitely my favorite out of any of my dates.” On your way to the green table, you bent close to his ear, and begged him in a whisper, “But don’t tell him I said that. He’ll get a real big ego about it.”

He made a zipping motion over his mouth.

“Soups gotta simmer until the potatoes are done. Might as well sit.”

He unzipped his mouth. “When did you cut up potatoes?”

“When you were staring at me all dreamy-like,” you supplied, words dipped in coy and flirt.

Undecided on which way to balk at your claim, he did them all: rolled his eyes, clicked his tongue, muttered a small “was not,” and slung himself into his usual chair at the table. He expected you to do the same, to match his silly theatrics with your own impassioned eye roll and smirk, but you didn’t. You sat across from him, poised, hands clasped together with the black notebook beside you.

The mood of the evening dipped visibly in your serious gaze set on him.

You tapped your knuckle on the metal spirals binding the worn pages of his latest campaign together. “No more secrets,” you punctuated. Three short words let go on an exhale. Three little words standing taller than the final barrier he built to keep others out. Not an ask, but a necessity if you were going to continue your relationship–platonic or not.

Your posture and expression were stern, but gentled by patience. “Let’s get to those rumors, hm.”

It was time.

No going back.

Whatever happens, happens.

Eddie took a shaky breath, and invited you over to the vulnerable truth. “Has anyone ever told you anything about me? Not like Harrington’s stories, but actual rumors?”

You shook your head. Between spending most of your time at work, or at Robin’s place, you didn’t have much opportunity to speak to random people, apart from small talk. And chit chatting about the weather was nowhere near as grave as what rooted itself in the solemn slow blink wherein he closed his eyes, and dipped his head.

“I’ll tell you everything, but can I ask you not to say anything while I explain?” he hesitated, knowing how it sounded. “I don’t know how else to word that to make it less rude, but this shit is difficult for me to talk about, and I’ll probably ramble, and go on tangents, and jump around the timeline, but, please, don’t interrupt me or say anything until I’m finished, okay? I don’t want to forget any of the details, and have to discuss this again. Can we do that?”

Digging your thumbnails harder into the flesh of your fingers, you agreed to the terms with a solid nod.

He swallowed. And when his tongue remained too thick in his dry mouth, he swallowed again, and sat up straight, pressing his back into the chair. “Okay.”

Two anxious stomachs twisted at once.

He cast his vacant stare around the room; never allowing it to land on you. This conversation was with himself and the green table and the shelf of mugs and the soup bubbling away on the stove and the washing machine entering its spinning cycle and the containers of Play-Doh on the coffee table; speaking to the non-judgemental objects instead of the person across from him.

“I’ll start with my reputation in school,” he said. “Probably doesn’t take much of an imagination to picture me as I am now with the same hobbies and opinions, just a lot louder about them. Heavy metal was the only music I listened to, and people called me weird for it. And I thought ‘weird?’ Was that supposed to bother me? I loved being weird! I wore the title ‘weird’ with pride. I didn’t want to be like everyone else. And when they saw I played Dungeons and Dragons, they called me a Satanist. Satanist? Like Ozzy, and all the bands I looked up to? Hell yeah! I thought being called a Satanist was so cool I sewed a Leviathan Cross on my jacket.” The corner of his lip jumped at a memory, smiling at something from long ago. Then, it faded. “Goes without saying I didn’t make many friends until I found other outcasts who shared those same views as me. We started a band together, and after some convincing, we made a DND club with me as the Dungeon Master. Of course people called me a cult leader for it, but being a cult leader sounded fucking awesome, so I encouraged it. Antagonized it. Weird, Devil-worshiper, cultist, freak. I wore them all like armor.”

He paused to crack his knuckles, expression falling blank as suppressed scenes unfolded in his head. “I got bullied a lot. Not that surprising. I was so aggressively opinionated about everything and never shut up. But the worst of it stopped when I got held back enough grades that I made “grown-up friends” and started dealing to help pay for my guitars and stuff.” He shrugged a single shoulder in apathy, and the tan jacket slipped down his arm, revealing a faded stick-and-poke viper above his armpit. “Unless it was Steve or someone in that friend circle, I was never invited to parties except to bring drugs. Weed, pills, whatever low scale stuff, nothing that serious, but I wasn’t very popular outside of that context.” The washing machine buzzed at the end of its cycle. “And as much as I told myself I didn’t care, I did. I did care when my friends were out on dates with their girlfriends, and I was alone, stuck in front of a record player learning a song just to give myself something to do, and something to say I did over the weekend when they all talked about the movie they saw together.. Made me feel like I was the outcast even amongst the outcasts.”

Listening, but not responding, you smoothed your thumbs over the divots in your skin your nails left behind.

Swallowing again, he faltered, “Girls didn’t like me. Even if I was the cooler, older guy who was so confident in everything he did, I was still off-putting. Or just weird in the bad way, because I didn’t know how to act, and came on too strong, or too–I don’t know–fucking dorky, doing shit like opening doors and bowing for them, laughing too loud at my own jokes when they didn’t find them funny.” It took everything you had to not to break your promise–to stay silent, and indifferent, and not gather him into a hug and assure him all those goofy mannerisms were exactly why you liked him. “I dated, y’know.. Had girlfriends here and there, but they never lasted more than a month.”

To close one chapter of his life and open another, he rubbed at his eyes, and ran a hand down his face, scrubbing over his chin as he spoke to the ceiling, “Now onto my old man.”

The hand he used to wipe the loneliness from his somber visage came to a rest on the edge of the table, and he ran the side of his palm along it as a way to fidget.

“He was in and out of jail for a number of things my whole life, but when I was twelve, he murdered someone. She was a nice lady. Well known in town, and well liked. Popular. Prom Queen, cheerleader type. Everyone loved her.. And he murdered her.”

Silence, silence, you remained in white-hot, visceral, sweat dripping, jaw-clenching silence.

“According to my criminal record, I was following in his footsteps. I had a penchant for stirring up trouble. It was fun. Stealing dumb shit, hotwiring an old car to drive us to the woods to get drunk when we were teenagers, dealing, begging Steve to throw ragers every weekend so I had an excuse to get shitfaced and run from the cops.. Yeah, it really looked like I was following in his footsteps. Following the Munson name.”

Eddie sat forward. Sleeved forearms sliding across aged coffee rings staining the green collapsible tabletop, and rubbing the backs of his fingers along the other. He was close enough for you to reach, to hold, to comfort when this was over, and the ghosts were put to rest from clouding his softhearted brown eyes.

“There was a New Year’s Eve party I was invited to” –he jumped his fingers in quotations– “on the rich side of town. It wasn’t one of Harrington’s, and I was out of my supply anyway, so I skipped out and spent the night here with my friends playing DND, and setting off fireworks in the trailer park, just having a good time.” The next inhale quivered his bottom lip, “I woke up in my bed to three cop cars blaring their sirens, and someone telling me I was being arrested for-for murder. Ah..”

You steeled yourself from blinking away.

“A girl died at that party. Prom Queen, head cheerleader. The type everyone knew, and everyone liked. And.. A-and, Jesus, I-I just need to get through this, I’m so sorry–but stuff was done to her body.”

The frankness hung in the room.

He screwed his eyes shut, and let the ugly reality spill from his mouth, “A guy from out of state went to that party with way harder shit than I sold, and she wanted to try some. They went to the bathroom together, he gave her too much, drugged her, she overdosed, and h-h-he..” His eyelids twitched with movement, and the tendons in his neck strained. You weren’t sure if he could hear the small, involuntary noise you made, but he chose the same words to avoid what you could infer. What all women could infer. “He did stuff to her body.”

His voice continued to crawl up an octave as his muscles braced in a reflexive cringe. “H-He left her there, and when her body was discovered, and the police were called, it didn’t take long before someone said they thought they saw me there, and once one person said they saw me there, suddenly everyone saw me there.” Hard swallow, palms wiped on jeans. “I was arrested the next morning, and even though I had three alibis, I didn’t have any hard receipts or any of that shit they wanted to establish where I was and at what time. And when my alibis were a bunch of Satanic cultist shithead troublemakers like me, they were brushed off. And why wouldn’t they be? It’s my friend’s word against thirty people who swore the long haired guy they saw at the party was me. Cops thought they caught their man, booked me, and had me in interrogation in under an hour from kicking down my door.”

He licked his lips.

“January of ‘88,” he said with an unsteady cadence, shooting out the sentences as they came to him, lurching faster and faster towards the horrid scars he’d never heal from. “I was so fucking lucky, so fucking lucky. DNA testing had only become a thing the year before. Mhm. That’s what saved my ass. But even then, it wasn’t like it is now. That shit took weeks to process.” He lifted his hands–fingers loosely curled, trembling. “For weeks they made me look at the pictures of her. H-Her body. The b-bruises around her neck.” He gestured at his own, and his voice swung higher pitched, “Interrogated me over and over again. For days, and weeks. Trying to get me to confess. It took weeks to prove I was innocent, and clear my name. Weeks, and weeks. A-A-And in those weeks–”

The trembling escalated to uncontrollable shaking.

“–Fuck–I don’t want to talk about this,” he said, volume fluctuating.

The air was too thick to breathe.

The wrinkles between his brows deepened, as did the lines bracketing his mouth. Red flush overtook his shuddering chest, his strained throat, his scrunched face with his eyes closed in refusal to acknowledge you sat opposite him, your expression slackened by dread.

“In the weeks between waiting f-for the DNA results,” each word wobbled worse than the last, “I found out Adrie’s mom was four months pregnant. And if I knew, then all of Hawkins knew. Everyone knew I knocked someone up, and.. and more rumors started..” He lifted his eyebrows, and his hands developed a violent shiver, hovering over the table, palms open, afraid and begging. “Because of.. what happened to the body.. People thought that she was.. That I..” each pause was a short wheeze.

Your blood ran cold with the slow realization of what word he was avoiding.

Desperation influenced his stammer, “I swear to you, w-what happened between us was consensual,” he stressed the last word in a whimper delivered straight to your dropped stomach. “She doesn’t answer my calls–but I could try, if you need to hear it from her–I promise, I promise, as soon as the rumors started, as soon as they started, she denied them. She tried to stop them from spreading. She tried. She told everyone it-it-it wasn't–that we both chose to–” he sniffed back the croaky sob, and without the grace of respite, he coughed the rasp from his throat, and ushered you into another apology you didn’t know you were owed, “I should’ve told you before we went to Adrie’s school. You had a right to know why people were staring. I’m so fucking sorry.”

In the room at the end of the dark hallway, his daughter who he sacrificed everything for rolled over in her bed, bringing the covers with her. In the belly of the trailer belonging to his uncle, you kept your feet tucked under your chair, letting the information wash over you in worse and worse crashes. In the lousy home he hated, Eddie held his breath until the aches reached their peak, and released them in a cough; and another, and another, until the pain subsided.

Deep breath, deep breath.

Your chair creaked from your uncomfortable shifting.

With time, the tension in his body waned to where his composed words could be heard in all the clarity they deserved, “I know this has been a lot to hear, and process, and I’m so sorry for unloading all of this on you at once, but I wanted you to know the whole story so you could make an informed decision.”

You weren’t sure if you were supposed to speak yet, but your whisper broke through, “Informed decision?”

Cheeks hot, but dry, and lower lashes clumped together from the rescinded tears, he answered you indirectly at first, “It took months to find and arrest the guy, and by then Hawkins didn’t care. Babe, you can be anonymous in the city, but this is how small town mentality works. All it took was one person to say I was at that party, and like that, my life was ruined. My name was stained. No one cared if I was innocent. The culprit was some other guy they’d never heard of from another state whose picture they flashed on the 6 o’clock news once. He might as well not even exist.” A pause. A change. A regret. “I want to protect you.”

There was pressure building behind your eyes, and you moved your gaze to the shelves above you in an effort to stifle the well of tears from falling–for him, for the dead girl, for what he was about to say next.

Eddie alternated between weakly slapping his hands flat on the table, then turning over to show his palms, then slapping them down again; guilt and shame and loneliness and fear working its way into every part of his gentle nature. “My name carries a stigma, and if you’re going to be coming around to my place, or be seen with me in public, you need to know there are consequences. Assumptions are going to be made about you. People are going to speculate, warn you, judge you. You don’t deserve that shit, so please, tell me, and I’ll accept just being friends at work, and leave it at that. I won’t ask questions. I won’t bother you. I won’t ask for more.”

“What?”

“I’ll understand,” he said, eyes tightening in a flinch.

“Eddie–” It came out broken. His encouragement for you to end the burden of this relationship at coworkers for the sake of your image stung like the tender throb of rejection–except, it was worse. It was him giving you permission to break things off because he didn’t see himself as worth the hassle.

Your poise collapsed. “You’re right, it is a lot to process, and it’s all I’m gonna be thinking about for the next week, a-and yeah, I wish you told me sooner, but Eddie–” His knuckles made a harsh sound when you grasped for his hand, knocking them on the table with the force of your messy coordination through the blur of true friendship disrupting your vision. “This changes nothing between us.”

Graceless under the circumstances, you took his right hand and wrapped your fingers around his thumb, fitting the meat of your palm into the curve of his. You delved your other fingers under his sleeve cuff, stroking them down, then up, slotting them beneath the stretchy bracelet. D-A-D-D-Y. He cupped his free hand over top of yours, enveloping them both, and waded through the entanglement to caress the prominent callus at the tip of his middle finger over the white blocks with black lettering. M-O-U-S-E.

“I’m with you,” you said. “I’m here. And whenever you want me here, whenever Adrie wants me here, ask and I’ll be on my bike pedaling as fast as I can.”

His face pinched in sentimental yearn. “Baby..”

Instead of suffocating the intensity of his emotions as he normally would, he slid his chair back and buried his head in the hollow of his outstretched arms; and in the pocket of space where he felt safest, he allowed himself the relief of two hot tears streaking through the fine sweat overtaking his puffy face. They clung to the tip of his nose, and dripped to his jeans in a loud splat.

He snorted, but it came out as a muted huff due to his stopped up sinuses. “Can’t believe I made it all the way through that sober and without crying, and then you just–went ahead and said something like that.”

You smiled. He probably did, too. Then as yours ebbed, his probably did, too.

The intertwined pocket where you clasped each other ran hot with body temperature, humidity, and the loaded implications of his confession and your subsequent acceptance. Heavy with the context for why people stared at him. Their significant glances at you, and the new depths and meaning beyond people thinking he was weird, and you were weird by association.

But at the same time, their stares didn’t last long. They were glances by every definition. A look over, a judgment, and then away, back to their own little world and their own little lives.

You asked, “Are the rumors still as bad as they were?”

The short curls at the crown of his head waved back and forth with his slow head shake. “I don’t think so. I think they’ve gotten better in a weird, fucked up way.” He sniffled, and wiped his nose on the inside of his sleeve before returning to the darkened confines of his arms, refusing excess stimulation until he could handle it. “Ever since Home Alone came out, my friends joke that I’m like that old man, y’know, the one all the neighborhood kids target, and turn one rumor about him into this entire narrative where he’s slayed over a dozen people, and keeps the bodies in his basement.” He laughed, truly. A warm, muffled thing. “That’s the sorta rumors going around now, I think; that I’m some Boogieman that gets blamed for every bump in the night. Adults probably know the accusations, but, like I said, Adrie’s mom did try to stop the other ones, but I guess I don’t know for sure if–when people look at you and me–that’s what they’re thinking. Uhm, I don’t know if I’m making sense anymore.”

“You’re good,” you consoled him. Your thumbs whispered sentiments on his skin, smoothing over the rough terrain from his labor, and catching on the excess sweat, wicking it away and creating more with each hindered brush across his inner wrist, trapped under the weight of his heavy hand copying you; running his fingers over wherever he could, needy, grounding himself to your presence, and seeking closure. “Thank you for finally telling me.”

“Thanks for listening,” he responded quietly.

Eddie shrugged his shoulders to his cheeks, and dried his face on his jacket to the best of his ability. Together, you sat in silence for a while longer, holding each other. Thinking. Decompressing. Plunging into the ice water of yet another development in your relationship, and emerging to the surface in unison, breaking the surface tension latched together by the same lifesaver.

You squeezed.

He squeezed back.

“I think I need a minute,” Eddie said, throwing his head towards the bathroom and letting go of you to inelegantly wipe at his runny nose. He drew further away from the table, standing up and walking in his odd, awkward way; playing with his bangs, and taking his hair out of the ponytail. “I’ll see if Adrie’s awake and wants soup, too.” The edge of the bathroom door flooded with yellowed light and a faucet was turned on high.

There was a nice moment where you nodded at the homely kitchen, lost in thought, absorbing the sounds and smells of the thick bubbling brew, and tomatoey pungence. Until it dawned on you.

“Shit, the soup–!”

Thankfully, as you stirred, the potatoes stuck to the bottom of the pot dislodged themselves, and nothing appeared burnt. Because, honestly, you couldn’t take the wound to your pride if the first time you ever cooked for Eddie Munson resulted in you burning soup.

After searching, you discovered the cabinet above the dish rack housed the dinnerware. You grabbed two mismatched bowls and hesitated on the shallow Little Mermaid one, until hearing the click of the bathroom door swinging open, and a squeak from the adjacent bedroom.

Soft footsteps announced his excitement before you could turn and see Eddie’s silly hand wave.

Come here, he mouthed, peeking from around the wall.

You dropped the serving spoon on the–had to be homemade–ceramic ashtray masquerading as spoon rest, and followed, hungry for new discoveries; the first being the (offensively ugly) pirate ship wheel chandelier hanging above the washing machine you had to have been an idiot to miss earlier. Deeper into the carpeted hallway was the coat closet with crayon squiggles, a shelf of kitschy knick knacks, and a thrifted painting of a lake scene with the curled-edge price sticker still on the corner of the glass. Passing the bathroom, you got a glimpse of a dark green shower curtain, a wet rag on a packed sink of various spilled products, and a bucket of rubber ducks next to the tub.

Eddie slowed, and you were confronted with his back. Slim shoulders on display from his oversized jacket falling further down his arms, thick canvas folding over itself around his tapered waist. The white tank top was stretched to fit him, hem of the armholes digging into his flexed lats as he eased the bedroom door open, back muscles contouring in the heavy shadows as he hunched and held his breath at the creaky hinges broadcasting his entrance. Edges of tattoos taunted you while he blinked into the darkness. And when the one who usurped his bed nearly five years ago didn’t wake, he straightened up and shook his hair out of his face.

He angled to the side, opening himself to you with his arm outstretched; an unspoken suggestion in his fingertips finding the edge of your cable knit sweater. You understood the glossy shine of unfiltered love in his gaze, and fit yourself between him and the doorway, stealing the soft filtered light brushing Adrienne’s sleeping form in tender illumination–made sweeter by the curls falling over her closed eyes, and the pale blue unicorn hugged in her arms.

‘Oh,’ you sighed in surprise, and clasped your hands on either side of your cheeks, craning to look up at him.

Just like the time he helped you hang decorations in the breakroom, your head made contact with the stick-and-poke viper, and his grin was instant.

His inhale cradled you. “She loves that thing,” he said, chest rumbling against your nape, stomach pressing to your side with an amused grunt, filling the gaps between you and him with warmth.

It was as if nothing changed. Not really.

Eddie canted his forehead to you with an expression of mild jealousy over your plush toy wrapped in his little girl’s arms when his cold plasticy ones sat at a miniature table in a pink playhouse pretending to have a tea party. His eyebrows were the same–raised, hidden beneath the wet stringy pieces of his bangs skimming his wrinkled forehead. His damp cheeks, jaw, and neck were the same after his cold water wake up call, splashing himself over the bathroom sink. His full lips were the same, pink and pulled back to show his teeth. His strong chin was the same, peppered with a recent shave. His handsome nose was the same, albeit red. The crinkles at the corner of his eyes were the same, if not slightly fuller from his recent cry.

But everything had changed.

Before, you lacked the understanding of the fear in his eyes when Mr. Moore had walked into the shop. How he had risked a painful bruise on his hip from the chair he knocked over in his scramble to get away from you. The tremble in his hands when he ran them through his hair in an urgent act to appear composed, and not like he was doing something worse with you. To you.

Everything was different, but it was felt, not seen.

The leftover adrenaline from the confrontation at his kitchen table faded, and in its place, rising from the truest, barest, rawest vulnerabilities of himself, was trust. A candid expression of respect in his palm at your back, fingers curled in to stroke his nails along the knitted design of your turtleneck. He confessed his secrets, you knew him to be an innocent man, and despite his worry for your reputation becoming infected by his, you promised him the same loyalty you always had, because there was not a lie in existence that would break the bond you facilitated months ago, born from your sheer desire to annoy the one mechanic who wouldn’t speak to you.

Felt, not seen.

A promise, and an urge.

The tingly pleasure of his nails scratching over your sweater advanced to a divine expression of affection.

He wrapped his arm around you, settling his hand in the curve above your hip. It lasted all of two seconds, long enough for him to bring you into the crook of his body for the purpose of whispering something in your ear, but it was a phenomenal improvement over the usual nervous flittering his fingers performed when in your company.

His voice was candy sweet after watching your face break into a smile for his daughter, “Maybe we should let her sleep, hmm?”

You leaned into him. “Yeah,” you sighed, rolling your head along his shoulder, guiding your silly grin from him to Adrie. “She looks so peaceful.”

“And quiet,” he observed in the wise tone of a single father after long hours of soothing his child’s headache when her cries created one of his own, and juggling the duty of cleaning up her puke from the floor, her clothes, his clothes, and bathing her while wallowing in the misery of doing it all by himself.

Eddie persuaded you into the hallway, and closed the door behind him, letting his arm fall to his side, ending the cocoon of warmth he provided with the harsh drag of the metal zipper scratching across the back of your jeans. He followed you to the kitchen and opened the fridge, muttering a string of words about deserving something as he snapped a silver and blue can from the plastic ring holding them together. “Want a beer? I don’t think you can get a DUI on a bike.”

“You actually can in some states.” You didn’t elaborate, and continued spooning soup into the bowls in questionable silence. “But no, thank you.”

Crack, tss. He held your stare over the rim as he tipped back a long gulp, pressed his lips together, and swallowed with a satisfied ‘ah,’ giving you ample time to ignore him. Finally, he moved his hand about, and asked, “Not gonna tell me why you know that?”

“Nope.”

“Okay.”

Moving on, you located two spoons from the absolute chaos of the cutlery drawer, and brought the bowls to the table while he reached into the pantry for an open sleeve of saltines, tossing them between the both of you and falling into his chair with a soft grunt.

“This looks great,” he complimented in earnest, voice and face alight with appreciation as he thrashed his arms to get out of his jacket, and took another sip of beer before crowding his side of the table with elbows, forearms, and hands; always holding the Pabst, or the soup, or reaching; always in motion, dominating the space you shared between your bowls, and beneath, where your legs were slotted in tight between his wide-spread knees.

His manners were about what you would assume after eating lunch with him many times, but that’s not what had you breathless.

He just.. took off his jacket like it was a completely normal thing he did dozens of times in front of you, sometimes accompanied by a hand rolled cigarette hanging from his lips, or joined by a sneer at some bad joke you told.

But it wasn’t normal. Not this time.

Hungry, hungry, hungry, you devoured the sight of his bare skin.

While he stirred the finely diced carrots and potatoes, you were afforded the time to admire the art no longer hidden by coveralls. Guessing at the older blotchy etches on his inner arm, theorizing about the origins of the souvenirs done in various stages between professional and very not professional, probably by himself or a friend. He didn’t have many, but it was easy to get caught up in the collection of motifs spanning from the top of his shoulders, and crawling in disorder downwards, to a tiny dagger at the apex of his bicep, two dice above his elbow, and a classic twist of barbed wire. Very cool and tough, but your roving stopped at one tattoo in particular.

Rather, one cluster of tattoos making up a whole.

“The bats..”

He perked up at your whisper–”Hm?”–and looked down at his arm. “Oh, yeah. These were my fourth, I think? Somethin’ like that. You like ‘em?” he asked, mouth cutting into the same delighted place a smirk originated from, but with more fascination as he too realized this was your first (technically second) time seeing his exposed arms.

Sucking in your cheeks to curb your habit of smiling at everything he said, you nodded in response, falling into a rhythmic head dip as you thought back to your first time meeting Adrie, and the picture she drew for you, and her Halloween costume, and how she chose not to dress as a princess like all her friends, but as a bat instead, because her daddy liked bats. “Yeah.. Yeah, I like them.”

He removed the twist tie from around the crackers and counted out three, stacking them neatly between his palms and, without warning, crushing them into his soup, sending a fine powder into the air.

It was obvious you were watching him on account of your untouched food, but it was beyond your control. Winter created a barrier between you and his skin. You needed to reap the beauty now while you could. Learn what you could, like the scorpion above his collar bone opposite the viper, and the eyeball monster with tentacles twisting over the bulk of muscles laying dormant in his solid forearms, and whatever the hell else was peeking out from under his tank top.

He scraped his spoon along the bottom of his bowl, and determined he needed one more cracker to make his soup as thick as he liked, and collected it from the crinkly pack. Yet another simple movement he had executed hundreds of times in front of you, and yet..

You stared. And stared. And stared. And made a sound of disgust. Rising from your chair, you loomed an impressive shadow over Eddie’s face as he gazed up at you with an expression of open confusion.

His eyes were trained solely on the pretty glint in yours.

Shiver. Goosebumps.

He jumped at your bold finger slipping under the strap of his tank top to move it aside. You pinched your brows, narrowed your eyes, and pressed your palm to his skin, enthralled by the sensation of him existing under you, aware of the full breath he took to fill out his chest as you introduced the touch.

Humming, you studied your hand cupped over the black widow spider inked onto his naked pec, and concluded, “That one’s smaller than my palm.”

The pale saltine cracker shattered in his grip.

Acting oblivious, you scooted your chair under you, sat, smoothed your hands over your lap as if a napkin existed there, and slurped your spoonful of soup as if you had done something as natural as point out the weather.

He released his surprise in a huff, and brushed the crumbs from his palms. “You are the lamest person I have ever met.”

“Have you met yourself?” At his weak glare, you slurped more of your soup. An amicable silence followed–the sort of camaraderie communicated through full bellies–but there’d been something on your mind since he willingly opened himself up to you and shared his past, expecting his name to become a forgotten word in your mouth and nothing more. “Hey, since we’re like, baring our souls and shit tonight, do you want to know why I created my ‘yes’ policy?”

Instead of a comically over-quirked eyebrow, he showed genuine interest in listening to your story. He set down his spoon, and turned his full attention to you. “I’m intrigued.”

“I’m tellin’ ya now, it’s not as riveting as yours, but uh,” you faltered on a pause, and fostered the same sort of nervous shrug he did. “Growing up, my parents were really.. negative, I guess is the best way to put it. Like, they wouldn’t let me hang out with friends, told me I’d never amount to anything, said I was a disappointment. Y’know, normal stuff. Uhm, I wasn’t allowed to do much, only really leaving the house to go to school or go to my job when I was old enough to have one. They said I’d never live up to their expectations, I was a failure, I’d never get a boyfriend, I’d be a bad wife, I’m going nowhere in life, and I’m an annoyance and take up too much of their time, and I was never wanted.” You swiped your tongue along your top teeth, and popped your lips after perhaps sharing too much. “Anyway, I made good grades in high school, so I took a lot of electives, and one of those happened to be Drama class. This may come as a surprise, but I was really shy at first, but after a while I got used to playing different roles, and fell in love with the freedom of becoming whoever I wanted on stage. And one day my teacher taught us a lesson in improv, and yeah.. the moment she explained the concept of ‘Yes, and..’ I was hooked. Just the mindset of nothing being rejected, and no idea was made fun of, or shot down was brand new to me. And as you can infer by now, I adopted that ideology for my own life, and, uh, yeah, I’ve been saying ‘yes’ to everything since then and never looked back. Literally, I’ve talked to my parents like, once since moving out, and that was about my insurance.

“Uh, anyway,” you said, still talking a mile a minute, “it did kinda create a people-pleasing complex for a while. I wanted to say ‘yes’ to everyone because it made them happy, since, y’know, I was always told ‘no’ and it did the opposite. But it’s whatever. And, uh, while we’re doing this, I wanted to apologize for always pointing out that you’re single.” You avoided eye contact. “Kinda harsh in hindsight.”

He broke into a laugh–a loud clap like thunder, and curling in on himself–finding the humor in your flustered state.

“Well, I’m glad you find it so funny,” you deadpanned.

“No, no, sorry–” He concealed his giggles behind his knuckle crooked to his lips. “I, yeah, I’m sorry for pointing out that you’re single too.”

“Appreciated.”

The brief teasing commenced to a slight frown between his eyebrows. His gaze drifted to his soup, worry twisting at his lips as the bubbles of oil sloshed across the surface of the reddened broth, trembling in ripples from his bouncing leg.

Eddie was emotionally fatigued. Words weren’t coming to him–none that carried the weight they needed–so he offered an alternative to hollow apologies.

He brought a shaky spoonful of soup to his lips, and dribbled some off the side as he overcorrected the angle he needed to slide it into his mouth. The next dive for a potato proved just as awkward, trepidatious, but the struggle of eating with his non-dominant side was worth it.

Your fingertips brushed over saltine dust as you accepted the proposal of his hand resting at the center of the table, palm open, and fingers coaxing you to reunite skin on skin.

“I like your policy,” he said, voice gone gruff with the exhaustion of the day.

“Really? On more than one occasion you’ve called it stupid, irresponsible, absurd, the dumbest thing you’d ever heard of, naive–”

He shut you up by curling his fingers over yours, setting your cheeks ablaze with his unashamed thumb pressed to your bracelet. “You wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for your policy.”

A powerful move, and you matched the intimacy.

You hooked your thumb around to the scars lining the backs of his fingers, and lost yourself in the warmth of his embrace, giving yourself to him with each circle you massaged over his knuckles and between the joints. He did the same. Touching, touching, touching. Trusting. Melting into each other's palms. Holding hands with a man accused of so much, and forgiven so little. Holding hands with someone, just months ago, he brushed off as flippantly as her parents did.

He was sorry for the way he treated you.

You were sorry for the way the world treated him.

He squeezed.

You squeezed back.

~~~

“Are you sure you don’t want me to help?” you asked with a whine.

The pot of leftover soup still sat without a lid on the stovetop, and the serving spoon had a layer of scum dried to it. The dirty bowls and spoons were stacked in the sink, and Eddie hadn’t moved his wet laundry from the washing machine yet. Surely, you could help by wiping up the crumbs on the table, or cleaning up the spilled toothpaste on the bathroom sink, or–

He clapped his hands on your shoulders. “No,” he stressed slowly, “it’s late, and I’d prefer it if you got home before Buckley’s mom starts filing a missing persons report, and adding another rumor to my ass.” You cupped his elbows–barricaded from his body heat by his jacket–and opened your mouth, ready to argue. “And I swear if you don’t turn on your bike’s headlight, I’m gonna–”

You threw your head back, and groaned, “You’re so annoying.”

With the trailer’s door open, the quiet night penetrated the mix of air colliding from his warm kitchen and meeting the windless cold from the season, joining where your bodies connected on his cement steps. Your shoes dragged on the pebbly concrete in a woeful goodbye, making your effort to leave appear utmost arduous, tacking on a classic bottom lip pout when you both relinquished your holds on each other, and he shooed you off.

Not like you actually wanted to clean his house, it was just fun to annoy him into thinking you did.

Leaned against the doorway, he crossed his arms and tilted his head, mirroring your fondness in his gaze. “Yeah, yeah. Get out of here before people start gossiping about the pretty girl leaving my trailer, alive.”

The sudden belly laugh escaping you reverberated off the metal boneyard.

You slapped your hand over your mouth. “Sorry,” and after a thought, you asked gently while crouched to unchain your bike from the handrail, “Do you normally joke about what happened to you?”

His shadow shrugged over the hubcap hidden amongst the crunchy brittle grass. “Makes it easier, sometimes.”

“Noted.” You threw your leg over the seat, and made a big production of clicking on the headlight situated between your handlebars. “See you at work tomorrow, pretty boy.”

The scoff he was going for devolved into a snort. “Bye. Be safe. Please.”

Eddie locked the door behind him.

For minutes he stood at the center of his uncle’s trailer. It looked much the same as any other day when he came home from work, if not neater. But things had changed. As much as he liked eating across from Adrie, the two bowls in the sink were adult-sized, and it wasn’t the scent of stale smoke clinging to Wayne’s flannels that had Eddie throwing his arms over his head, locking his grip around his wrist, and twisting back and forth on the spot.

“Not exactly what I meant when I said I was gonna invite her over,” he informed no one but the darkness behind his closed eyes, remembering he promised Adrie that you’d come over soon.

Inhaling deep, he expelled a loud sigh and addressed the leftover soup. “But what a fucking night, huh?”

Inundated by the heaviness of feeling wanted, he opened the fridge and grabbed a tall boy stuffed behind the shelf of condiments. It wasn’t a drink of sadness as it usually was, but in celebration.

Afterall, he had much to celebrate. He held your hand. Twice.

And, not to mention, you know, how he showed you the gruesome details of the reality he lived in–his home, his reputation, his daughter sneezing into his open mouth when he was instructing her on how to take her temperature while you gagged from outside her bedroom. You knew it all, and you’d see him tomorrow. And the next day. And the next. Morning smiles, afternoon laughter. Maybe he’d even ask that question he’d meant to before you left.

But for now..

He ran his fingers over the old tattoo on his shoulder, and pressed his palm over it, replicating the weight of your head resting there when you so lovingly witnessed Adrie being his best wingman, hugging her stuffed unicorn while she slept. It’s what gave him the bravery to wrap his arm around you. And what did you do in return? You leaned into him with a smile, utterly charmed by his forwardness, if his cynical eyes weren’t playing tricks on him.

A voice in the back of his head whispered a seed of doubt, but after a sip, he dismissed it.

“Still fucking got it, Munson,” he complimented himself, downing a long gulp.

————

See you at work tomorrow..

You definitely didn’t see him tomorrow. Or the next day. Or the next.

“Here you go, my lovely,” Robin cooed. She entered your room on tiptoes, ever so quiet, and placed your requested bottle of Nyquil on the bedside table with a glass of water. “How’re you feeling, sweetheart?”

You broke from your nest of blankets for the lone reason of glaring at her saccharine voice; somehow sweating through yet another t-shirt, while still shivering as if you’d just emerged from an ice bath.

“Aw, don’t look so grumpy, baby,” she comforted you with a pinch to your cheek. “It’s what you get for locking lips with Eddie.”

“I did not–” You cut your own self off with a round of coughs, making your attempts at speaking scratchier, and scratchier. And by the time you’d recovered, Robin had escorted herself out of your vicinity.

Her giggles haunted you from downstairs.

“Yeah, she’s fine!” She yelled to her mom. “Just lovesick.”

You rolled over, and sighed.

Goodbye extra sick day.

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