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notmyneighbor · 5 months

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Let Me In ~ Doppelgänger Francis Mosses/The Milkman x Female Reader

Chapter 9

Word Count ~ 5.5k

Rating ~ Explicit

CW ~ doppelgänger sex, body horror

Also available on AO3

Fanart used with permission @kaworinx on Instagram and TikTok

taglist ~ @luthien-elvenia-asher @fishfetus @gaudesstuff @nekee-lilac02 @msdevil333 @rrnrjn @maskedpacific @yoongiwantsme @that-0ne-simp @kaislashes @charli33-b33 @finalitgirl

Francis Mosses’ route is almost done for the day.

He normally started with the farthest destinations first and then worked his way backwards, finishing close to his home in the DDD sanctioned apartments.

But there had been a last minute add on, sending him back out again, further from the city and into the suburbs. He’s tired, as always, the early start to each shift, the thin walls of the building that do nothing to suppress the activities of his neighbors taking their toll. He rubs at the drowsy lids that keep insisting on shutting. Almost finished. Just this last one. Humming to keep awake. He should stop on the way home, pick up something for dinner. But that would mean delaying his return. Did he have the energy to even cook?

He’s thinking about you, the pretty young woman that guards the entrance now. The best part of his day. He should get you flowers. Say something, anything, instead of just polite formalities. Maybe today would be the day he found enough courage to express his feelings.

A little more alert now. His eyes flick to the paper on his clipboard. Yes, nearly there. He’s not familiar with this road. The houses are not as well kept. Some even look abandoned. Overgrown lawns. Broken windows. A tendril of misgiving curling around him. Something felt wrong. Maybe he should just say he couldn’t find the address. Offer up this part of the route to someone else working for the company.

But what if the person really needed it? It wasn’t fair to discriminate, was it? That sense of duty keeps his right foot pressed on the pedal. He’s going to finish the job.

He’s reached his destination. It’s difficult to see the numbers, half hidden by the weeds threatening to overtake the mailbox. At least the window panes are intact in this dwelling. Curtains cover the interior completely. The entire home is encased in shadow, darkness that seems to sap the sunlight from above.

The milkman shuts off the engine, easing out of his seat. He’s a little stiff from the long drive, the lateness of his shift. He touches one ear to a shoulder, repeating the process for the opposite side. A satisfying series of cracks. The rear compartment slides open and he lifts the wire rack from storage. The sun is strong against his back, a little perspiration making the white material of his workshirt cling to his skin. He’s suddenly craving something cold to drink. Maybe he should just invite you out. There would be enough time before curfew. Sodas at the local diner. He imagines you blushing that pretty pink shade, your hand covering your mouth. Shyly accepting his proposal.

Francis isn’t really paying attention to the cement walkway he’s traveling on that leads to the front door, ignoring the crab grass poking through the seams of each concrete slab. He doesn’t spare a glance for the peeling paint of the clapboards, the tarnish of the metal doorbell. The door creaks open and he’s got a smile on his face, his customary greeting for customers combined with thoughts of you. Just a heartbeat shy of reacting in time to who—what— waits for him in that dim interior, the hand reaching for the handle of the basket changing course at the last moment, latching onto his wrist and dragging him inside, the basket falling from his fingers, the glass shattering, spilling dairy product over the entryway.

He’s pulled off balance, thrust to one side, barely managing to keep his head from cracking against the wooden floor. Subflooring, not even a proper finished layer. No furniture inside. The home was stripped bare, except for the heavy drapes over the windows, the last illumination from outdoors disappearing from view as the door slams shut. The air is stale, musty. He feels the dust beneath his fingertips. No one has been inside here for a long time.

He’s barely started to struggle to his feet before the creature is upon him. Doppelgänger, he thinks with panic. It has to be. Hands pin his wrists down to either side of his face, his body shoved down beneath the heavy weight of the invader.

It’s not the first time he’s encountered one directly.

Once, when he was younger, he’d gotten separated from his mother at the supermarket. Not paying attention, distracted by the array of goods on the shelves, lost in whatever daydream had overtaken him, until he’d felt the hand on his wrist, the hand that didn’t belong to his parent or a concerned employee or fellow customer, but a doppel. The feeling of claws digging in. Seeking to break the skin, to draw out some blood, just the smallest amount needed to copy his appearance. The pain before an off duty DDD member had thankfully intervened had been sharp, hot, an intensity he’s still never forgotten years later.

This was not that feeling. This is like being submerged into a warm bath, but the water was sticky, cloying. It hurt, but there was something pleasurable about it as well. A kind of numbing tranquility. Pressing against becoming pressing into.

Hold still.

The command said aloud, or in the depths of his mind, he can no longer tell. One last burst of adrenaline making him struggle. The quick, disdainful flick of a claw, the alien’s true appendage, dragging across his skin. He feels the flecks of blood spattering near his collar, hears the wet collisions with the starched fabric.

“God help me…”

The only part of a plea or prayer he can muster. There was no escaping this. He can feel the thing burrowing inside of him. How was it even possible? The doppels only cloned or consumed humans. This merging was something new.

He can feel it digging around in his brain. Sifting through his thoughts.

A DDD establishment resident? Challenging.

Your face. He focuses on it in his mind, recreating each detail of every feature. The scent of you. Summer flowers.

Who’s this?

Don’t hurt her. Don’t you dare—

The numbness has worn off. It is no longer a soothing feeling. He is burning from the inside.

I won’t let you harm anyone. If you’re going to be me, then be me. You’re not going to hurt anyone ever again.

Let me in. Let me in, stop resisting.

Forgive me.

What’s happening? Changing me, I’m not…

Not one or the other. Combining.

Something new.

***

“Francis, wake up.” The doppel’s eyes fly open. A moment of disorientation and panic visible on his features until his eyes find yours in the wan morning light spilling in through the farmhouse window. “I think you were having a nightmare.”

Your hand rests against his bare chest, feeling the pounding of his heart. What would an invader dream about that would make them so afraid? Being discovered? Destroyed?

He reaches a hand to touch your cheek. “Sweetheart.”

“I’m here, love. It’s okay. You’re okay.” You kiss the corner of his mouth. He turns his face slightly and captures your lips again. Hungry. Nipping at your bottom lip. He’s turning, rolling you beneath him.

“My love. Mine.” Tasting your neck. His palm warm and heavy as it dips beneath the scooped neckline of your nightgown. He rolls your nipples between his thumb and index finger, tugging lightly, bringing them into stiff peaks. You squirm, writhing beneath his touch, the mouth of your sex watering for him. Always so ravenous. You can never get enough.

You’re not wearing panties. It’s easy for a pair of fingers to slide right into that warm, wet tunnel. Your breath hisses. He steals the next one, his mouth covering yours. Your fingers wrap around his forearm as he begins sliding the probing digits in and out.

“I want to devour you.”

“Yes, Francis, please…”

“Eat you and then fuck you,” the copycat’s voice continues low beside your ear. “You’re mine.” A growl. His tone coarser. A little more of the doppel side of him showing. Possessive. Aggressive. Acting in retaliation to something in the dream he’d felt threatened by.

“I’m yours.” Your pelvis rocks up against his hand. “It’s you that I love, that my heart belongs to.”

“What’s inside…”

“Yes, what’s inside.”

“Mine forever.”

“Forever.”

He moans against your neck. A broken, human sound. Lips trembling. Pressed gently in a line down your body, the fingers still thrusting in and out, tongue darting out to taste between the petals of your flesh, nose digging into your mound as he grinds his mouth against your clit, sucking. Your hand is now buried in his hair, your eyes watching the way the rising sun filters through the lace curtains, dappled light and shadows painting your torso, lighting threads of gold and chocolate in his hair, on the fine hairs that cover his forearms. A haze blooms around him, a shining halo, a precursor to the pink tinged eyelids, the exploring fingers now withdrawn, claws just peeking out, hinting at what lies beneath, his tongue replacing that vacancy, no longer the short one belonging to the man whose body he inhabits but something serpentine teasing inside, unfurling, squirming, reaching deep, fangs teasing the pink flesh outside, the reddened invader’s eyes asking, begging for permission.

You’re terrified, exhilarated, he’s never been there before, not when he’s like this, he’d been so careful to not let the beast out and you haven’t pushed him, it’s only been a week but it feels like so much longer and you want it, gasping an affirmation, fingers tightening in his tresses. The sensation of being so thoroughly tasted, explored, consumed as the intruder’s teeth sink, pierce, lost in that pad of fat above the start of your sex, his tongue buried inside while he sucks, drawing your bundle of nerves taut against the roof of his mouth drives you right over the precipice, the back of your skull digging into the pillows as you keen, whine, whimper, he drags every desperate sound of pleasure he can from you until you can no longer stand it, overly sensitive, overwhelmed, quaking as you see the rising face of Francis Mosses, no longer giving way to the monster inside.

His next kisses on your mouth are gentle, allowing you to recover, stroking your shoulder, carding through your hair.

“Where did you go,” you murmur, suddenly feeling languid, relaxed, your extremities tingling pleasantly in your post orgasmic state.

“You’re not afraid at all?”

“A little. But I trust you. I know you’d never hurt me.”

“It’s difficult to stop it.”

“So don’t,” you challenge.

“Oh, love, we’ve talked about this. I can’t…”

“Kiss me with that mouth. Your real one…”

“You want that?”

“I want you. I love you.”

“Sweetheart…” His tongue spears your mouth. Still human, still holding back.

You reach down, caressing his hardened cock. “What were you dreaming about? Tell me, I’ll chase them away. Won’t let anyone hurt you…”

“Hnggh…” He moans, his breath quickening. His body shifts, his erection nudging your entrance, your splayed legs tightening around him as he penetrates you, his mouth close to yours. “I was dreaming about the past. The day it happened, when I took Francis. He changed me when I went inside him. Weak body but strong mind. Faith. His feelings for you. I was terrified of being lost in that union. Sharing, merging…unmaking and rebuilding my identity. The way that feels, coming apart like that…”

You gasp and he settles his hips against yours, resting his weight there for a moment, buried inside of you. “He made me want to be him. I couldn’t resist. I’d never wanted anything so badly. Until I met you. The want I have for you, love. The sheer ache of it. I would do anything for you. Risk anything, give anything. You have become my entire world, my universe. The thought of losing you, because of a momentary slip of the reins, because of something I’ve done…I can’t bear it.”

You swallow past the lump forming in your throat. You’d asked him about Francis’ end so many times, halting after he’d stated it would be the end of your reason for he, the doppelgänger, to be with you. But that wasn’t true anymore, was it? Because you’d fallen in love with him. And you felt the same way. You’d risk anything, give anything to be with him. And now you know the truth of it. Why this doppelgänger was so different from the others. Different, because the human whose body he’d taken had irrevocably changed him. Altering his goals, his desires. Tempering the craving for annhilation. Seeking a more peaceful integration. A life with you. The milkman’s final gift.

“I know why you’re scared. I won’t try to push you. I just love you so, so much. I want you to know that.”

“Sweet girl,” he sighs. He’s blocking most of the sunlight now, his face looming above yours. “Just a little. I’ll try…”

You nod. “Let me feel you, love.”

His hips lift. Creeping out of you inch by inch. His eyes changing again. Jaw shifting, mouth evolving. A ripple across the surface of his stretched lips. Teeth parting. He’s entering you again, his cock mirroring the violation of the alien tongue now probing yours. Still gentle, cautious. Your flavor there. Closing your lips over this new shape and texture. Still muscular, smoother, thicker until it tapers at the end, coiling around yours.

Your body is on fire, your earlier release already forgotten as you roll your hips against his. A rough groan. The hand cupping the side of your waist tightens, thumb digging into your flesh. Every time his body collides with yours, the pressure against the bite he’s inflicting sends waves of pleasure through you, your swollen cunt throbbing around his prick.

You’re whining again, a needy, pitiful sound hummed around that foreign tongue invading your mouth, curling and stroking, sharp teeth dripping saliva down onto your lips, sliding over your chin and down your neck.

Then it is Francis’ mouth hovering over yours again, his soft brown eyes gazing into yours as he sheaths and withdraws over and over, a little crooked grin of triumph, pleased he’s done it, he’s maintained control.

“My bride to be, my future wife…” The words becoming temporarily incomprehensible, his face burrowing against your neck. “Forever…eternal…I am yours…” He’s looking into your eyes as he cums, filling you with hot spurts of seed, everything in that gaze begging, pleading, that this will be the time, the future he wants to conceive inside of you coming to fruition at last.

***

You’re watching Francis Mosses’ doppelgänger in the mirror.

Hair tidy, side parted, slicked into place. Dressed in a button front shirt and slacks. Freshly shaved. You love watching him get ready. The care and attention he gives the process. Wanting everything to be proper. Perfect.

“I believe I’m ready. What do you think?” He turns to face you.

“Very dapper. I’m sure everyone will be very envious when they see you leading me inside the theater.”

“I think it will be more the other way around. Beautiful,” he murmurs, admiring your dress, your lips and nails painted to match, a deep, dark shade of red. “And what is underneath this loveliness, I wonder?” His fingers tuck beneath the neckline of your dress, trying to sneak a peak at your lingerie.

“If you start that, we’re never going to make it out the door.”

“Would that really be so terrible?”

“After, Francis,” you reprimand gently. You’re not used to rejecting him. But you think it will be good for both of you to get outside, have a date together. You want him to enjoy every element of the human experience. So much of what he knows is based on war, on violence. Sometimes you yourself get so caught up in your work you forget what it is you’re struggling so hard to protect. Not just lives, but the quality of those lives. You want the best for those residents you guard.

You want the best for your fiancé, too.

***

You’re screened at the entrance of the theater.

It’s nowhere near the level of scrutiny you provide working for the DDD; the likelihood of doppels wanting to infiltrate an old movie house was very unlikely. The bored looking attendant barely glances at your ID’s before waving you through.

“That man is terrible at his job,” your beau murmurs as you enter the theater, heading towards a pair of seats near the back row. There aren’t many people present; perhaps lured by the nice weather outdoors. Enjoying a lazy Sunday afternoon. “Maybe we should have started the invasion here.”

“Francis!” He’s not speaking loudly, but you look around hurriedly. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“I’m only teasing, love.” He wraps an arm around you, pressing a kiss against your temple. “No one’s listening, anyway. I’m sorry. It was in poor taste,” he apologizes, seeing your persistent scowl. “Forgive me?”

You tuck your dress beneath you before taking your seat. “I’m not cross with you, I’m just worried.” You didn’t want to draw any attention. As much as you like being out in public like this with the invader, you had to keep reminding yourself that you’re still at war. He’s still seen as the enemy, and no amount of declarations of affection for you would ever convince the DDD of his innocence. It was dangerous for both of you.

“Stop worrying. You’re meant to be having fun. Relax and enjoy this,” he whispers beside your ear. “No one knows. We’re okay.”

You try to comply, willing your furrowed brow to straighten. This had been your idea, after all. He was right. No one was paying any attention to you. Everyone present was seated in front of you, all facing the curtain shrouded film screen. Your doppel’s arm curls around your shoulders and you let yourself melt against him, the tension easing. Trying to recapture some of that feeling you have when you’re together at the farmhouse, away from the city, away from prying eyes. Your own little safe haven.

At last the heavy drapes shift aside, revealing the screen beneath. The sound of murmured conversation is extinguished, the only noise the occasional rattle of a straw in a cup, fingers digging into a box of candy or bag of popcorn. You have some chocolate in your purse. You withdraw it now, thumb dragging along the paper wrapper, trying to be quiet as the film begins.

The Warner Brothers logo appears. Then there is a map overlaid with the opening credits before the focus shifts to a rotating globe. You glance at your companion. His eyes are fixed on the screen. There was the invader’s original goal, so tantalizingly out of reach, that objective shifting to a very normal life with you, pretending to be human.

You squirm a little restlessly in your seat. The copycat’s thumb strokes your shoulder. “Easy, love. It’s okay.” His breath hot by your ear. “I love you.”

The words instantly soothe you. You manage to tear the foil and extract a piece of chocolate, already starting to melt. It was warm inside the theater. You offer it to your companion, watching his features as he takes the rectangular sweet between his teeth, breaking off a section and chewing, considering. “Good. Not as good as the jam. Not as good as you, but nothing is,” he whispers, mouth pressed close to your ear again. He accepts the remainder and his tongue darts out to taste your fingers, reminding you of the previous morning, when he’d invaded you with his real one, your pussy and your mouth teased with it, the familiar warm pulse between your legs asking for more.

You struggle to return your attention to the screen, absently slotting the next piece of candy into your own mouth.

It’s different watching the film again now that you’re older, in a serious relationship. The sheer ache of the tragedy of it all. The woman thinking her husband was dead, killed trying to escape a concentration camp. Falling in love with another man. Leaving abruptly to nurse her spouse back to health after learning he’d survived. The bitter conflict of the backdrop of the world war. Meeting again. Forced to choose between both men she loved. The nightclub owner insisting she leave, promising she’d regret it if she didn’t, a famous line of dialogue that was so often quoted.

It’s impossible not to see some parallels with your own romance. Choosing between Francis and the doppelgänger. A war that encompassed the world, this one not with other nations within that globe but alien invaders. What was the greater sin, betraying your heart or betraying the human race?

You’re quiet as you leave the theater, squinting against the dazzling sun outside. Francis’ doppel offers to drive your car and you let him, staring out the passenger window, watching the brick and mortar surrender to the trees and fields you’ve been missing already.

“This melancholy concerns me.”

You turn to find the milkman’s copy staring at you, eyes darting occasionally to check the road ahead. Empty, as it so often was.

“I’m sorry. I meant to ask if you enjoyed the film.”

“I enjoyed being with you. I always do.” He focuses once more on the path, steering around a deep dip in the ground. “That’s the hole the truck struggled with,” he murmurs. You’re so accustomed to it your body runs on autopilot, maneuvering around it without even thinking. “You’re worried about us being discovered.”

You chew on your bottom lip, silently cursing yourself. “I didn’t want to ruin the experience for you.”

“You didn’t, love.” One hand leaves the steering wheel to cup your cheek.

“I don’t want to get caught. It would kill me to lose you. Absolutely destroy me. I can’t, Francis. I can’t lose you twice.”

You’re jostled as the car abruptly leaves the road, pulling into one of the fields near your house. The doppel hurriedly shifts the gears into park, cutting the engine with a rough turn of the key. He turns to you, one arm resting on the back of the bench seating. “Listen to me. You’re not going to lose me. I’m not going to let anything happen to either of us.”

“You don’t know that, though. Sooner or later someone is bound to find out.”

“Leave the DDD.”

“Francis, we’ve talked about this.”

“Leave the DDD and move in with me. Here. At the farm. Or wherever you want. Just get away from all this.”

“Francis…”

“Be with me. Please, love.” His fingers curl around the side of your neck, his lips brushing yours. “I couldn’t do it. I could never give you up like Rick did with Ilsa in the movie. You’d be safer without me, but how could I ever want that, how…”

“I love you. I’d never leave you. Never.” You kiss him, your mouth rough against his. His tongue strokes yours and the heat you’d experienced in your core earlier returns. Your fingers break through the carefully coiffed stiff strands of hair, returning them to their natural, untidy form. His fingers work on the buttons of your dress, his mouth now laving at that exposed patch of skin below your throat.

You’re so close to home, but it’s impossible to wait just those few more minutes, exiting the car, allowing your body to be pressed down into the fragrant grass. He strokes up your thigh, nudging aside the fabric draped over you, a little hum of appreciation escaping when he feels the new satin that covers you.

You’ve never owned so many pairs of lingerie, so different from the standard fare you’d worn before. You like the feel of it clinging to those intimate places, like the reaction of the doppel every time he reveals them, like unwrapping a gift, fingers shifting each piece, palming your breasts, your sex. He makes love to you under that open blue sky, in that clear air that’s just starting to turn a little cooler as the afternoon bows to evening.

Back at the house, you’re assisted in preparing dinner, steak and baked potatoes and green beans while Perry Como croons in the background.

Till the end of time

Long as stars are in the blue

Long as there's a spring, a bird to sing

I'll go on loving you

“Move in with me,” the pretender says again, drying his hands on a dish towel, then slotting his hands on your waist after you’ve finished sliding the potatoes into the oven. “I want this every night.”

Till the end of time

Long as roses bloom in May

My love for you will grow deeper

With every passing day

“After you meet my parents. Then we’ll move in together. One more week.”

Till the wells run dry

And each mountain disappears

I'll be there for you, to care for you

Through laughter and through tears

The smell of the meat sizzling in the fry pan on the stove makes your stomach growl. You’re starving. Always so ravenous, now. Working up such an appetite.

“Dance with me after dinner.”

“Yes.”

So take my heart in sweet surrender

And tenderly say that I'm

The one you love and live for

Till the end of time

After dinner, in his arms as promised, he steers you in a neat circle.

“I had a wonderful weekend with you.”

“It’s not over yet.” He kisses your neck, his hands sliding over your abdomen. “I hope…”

“I know. We’ll keep trying, love.” You want to give him a child. That fear still there. Discovery. You were never as devout as Francis had been. Would it be blasphemous to pray? To ask for help, protection, mercy for a creature that was so reviled?

He switches off the record player and the final lamp in the living room. There is now nothing but moonlight to guide you.

He settles onto the couch. You sit beside him. The ticking of the grandfather clock is loud in the sudden stillness. Your mouths collide. A different kind of hunger afflicting you now.

“You’re still hiding from me,” you chide gently, sliding a hand over one thigh, moving to the front of the fly of his pants, where the bulge fits neatly into the curve of your palm and fingers.

“About that,” he murmurs. “Partly it’s for fear of losing control.”

“You won’t,” you reassure him, sucking at his bottom lip.

“Partly because I wanted to fill you with human seed. Our best chance to make a baby.”

“And the other part?” You prompt, sensing there is still something left unsaid.

“I’m not sure if you’d like it.”

“You mean find it appealing?”

“Yes,” he admits reluctantly.

“I love every part of you.” Your hand squeezes and he sucks in his breath sharply.

“You really do, don’t you?” This said with a kind of wonder and disbelief.

“Is it really so strange? You find me attractive, and I obviously don’t look like your kind.”

“You are beyond attractive. You are gorgeous. The softness of you. That texture. The flavor…” He kisses your jaw. “I can never get enough.”

“So you can relate to that feeling of being addicted.” You’ve slowly begun to unfasten his belt, now working on the button and zipper.

“I wonder how much of that isn’t a result of the bites.”

“I think that contributes to it.”

“I didn’t know they’d have that effect.”

“It’s all new. Uncharted territory, didn’t you call it?”

He hums in agreement, the sound changing to a moan when your fingers dip beneath his briefs. “I’m tempted.”

“Do it.”

“What if you don’t like it? It would ruin things…”

“No. I want it feel it. In my hand. In my mouth. Inside of me.” He shudders against you. “I love you, my doppelgänger.”

A growl. The leash slipping. He nips at your ear lobe. “Sweetheart, if that’s what you really want, I’ll give it to you. It’s all for you…”

Heat against your hand, not the customary warmth of that reproductive organ but something else, a scalding kind of sensation. The flesh morphing, rearranging beneath your fingertips. Growing slicker. Reminiscent of his true tongue, the structure thicker at the base, narrowing at the end. Root, tentacle, something else, no word for that pulsing member you hold in the near darkness.

He’s sweating with the effort of restraining himself, tasted every time your mouth touches his, salted kisses accompanied by your hand cautiously sliding along the length, exploring, forced to stretch your arm as you caress the alien’s cock, finding the head at last not so unlike the human one, ending in a kind of domed, mushroom shaped tip. Fat, thick, it would definitely stretch you. The thought of it makes you shiver, your body drooling arousal.

“Does it feel good? I don’t know if I’m doing it right…”

“It is…” He says a word you don’t recognize, something in his native tongue. You can’t replicate it. “That’s why I didn’t tell you my name. You could never say it. Even what I just uttered isn’t quite…fuck. Right there. Oh sweet girl, you’re always so perfect for me. Sit on it, sweetheart. Let me fuck you.”

Your heart is pounding as you stand long enough to pull your dress off overhead and remove your panties, climbing over the doppel’s thighs, that foreign prick tapping impatiently against your bare stomach. His hands clutch your buttocks as you raise yourself, guiding his dick into position. Your breath saws in and out roughly. Almost panicked. But so aroused. It’s too late to stop now. You’d asked for this. You asked for this and now…oh. Inside of you. A burning stretch, like having your maidenhood taken again for the first time. A whimper escapes you. Somewhere between pleasure and pain. Blurring from one to the other. Filling you. So warm inside. You can’t possibly fit all of it in there. A sob of frustration.

“My love,” he croons soothingly. “Our bodies weren’t meant to fit together, the anatomy, you can’t…”

“I want all of it,” you say stubbornly, disappointed. Feeling like you’ve failed him somehow.

“Look at how well you’ve done, sweet girl, letting me inside…” His hand strokes over your abdomen and you mirror his movements, feeling the bulge there. “Fuck me, sweetheart. I want to make you feel good.”

Your hands grasp his shoulders as you lift yourself up, supported by his hands, some supernatural strength from the invader providing assistance. Back down again. Up and down. A rhythm building. You’re getting used to it, slowly but surely. That tender ache within you starting to evolve into something else. A coil of pleasure knots your insides.

“Tell me your name. Even if I can’t say it…to hear it…” A foreign word. “No. From your tongue. That mouth…”

“Risky, love. Can’t…” The hands holding you are shaking. “Even this is…”

“What…what is it? Tell me.” You’re properly riding his cock now, grinding yourself down as far as you’re able.

“It’s dangerous. The desire to be let out…tear free…love, it’s…I can’t stop it…”

The coil inside of you snaps, your orgasm ripping through you. There is something else, something searing hot spilling into you, the stream of it running out as he lifts your body clear of his, then cradles you against him.

“You didn’t warn me,” you chide softly when you’ve recovered, your fingers gliding curiously across the trail of slick cum streaking your thighs. “There’s so much of it.”

“Wanted it to be a surprise.”

You slap his arm playfully, then rest your forehead against his. “I told you you’d be okay.”

“Are you sore?”

“A little. It’s okay.”

“I don’t like hurting you.”

“I wanted it. I don’t regret it. I’d like to do it again sometime.”

“My love, what am I going to do with you?” He says in mock exasperation.

“Hopefully marry me.”

“Oh, that’s definitely happening. Speaking of which. We need to plan that out. The details of where and when.” He makes a little disgruntled sound. “Can we go take a bath? This is getting rather…unpleasant.”

You can’t disagree, the feeling of being so damp and sticky, the decreasing temperature and congealing nature of the ejaculate getting more and more uncomfortable to be lingering in. “Yes. Let’s go upstairs. We can plan things out while we wash up. Then it’s bed time. We both have work in the morning.”

“I love you,” he says softly. “I’m so grateful you love me. The real me. I like being called your doppelgänger,” he adds, stealing a quick kiss before you scoot off his lap, allowing him to stand. You manage to find your discarded clothing.

“Well, it’s the truth. You are mine.”

He hastily buttons the front of his pants to keep them from sliding down as he rises, reaching out to take your hand, leading you to the foot of the staircase.

“Do you have a last name?”

The doppel chuckles. “Get upstairs, you.”

“I think I’m entitled to know, seeing as how I’m going to be your wife.”

“I’ll tell you my real name. Soon.”

Another kiss in the dark, the promise of a shared secret.

#francis mosses #thats not my neighbor #francis mosses x reader #francis mosses x you #milkman #milkman x reader #milkman x you #the milkman #doppelganger #that’s not my neighbor

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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 2 years

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Doing Something (Un)Holy: Let Me Be Your Doll [Part 3]

Eddie and Jean are used to each other--finding that they slot into each other's life like pieces to a missing puzzle. However, Jean's world gets rocked upside down in the blink of an eye. Eddie does what he can to comfort and it's a great thing they trust each other.

Eddie Munson x Black Female OC (Jean)

CW: 18+ content Smut (oral female receiving, p in v sex, light deceptions of BDSM and dominant/submissive dynamics); mentions of serious injury, blood, and death; depictions of physical violence; mentions of alcoholism.

This part is LONG. 25k words by itself. Working on Part 4 now!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4 | Epilogue

Main Masterlist

Requests for Eddie are open!

Jean runs her fingers over the sateen fabric. She looks back to the fabrics in Eddie’s arm. Would pink work? It’s for the Clemsons’ little girl. She adored the white earrings Jean made her for her birthday this year and upon her excitement, her parents asked Jean to make another pair for her and a matching necklace if Jean could for Christmas. They were paying handsomely in advance and then agreed if the original estimate wasn’t enough they’d cover the extra cost of materials. But with the orange Jean had planned for bows, she wonders for a moment if pink is too cliche or just perfect for a 9 year old girl.

“Pink or something else?” Jean asks.

“With the orange?” Eddie returns.

“Yeah.”

“Go for it. The kid’s going to adore it anyways.”

Jean was going to do this shopping by herself. It was mostly boring as she restocked on jewels and rhinestones, wires, and hooks. But Eddie seemed determined to join along, thus they land here, standing in the fabric aisle, each of them already holding too much in their hands and the basket teetering on tipping over without Eddie’s foot holding it in place.

“Here’s to hoping,” Jean sighs and pulls the fabric out from the shelf. It was a lot more than hoping right now, but if it all went to shit, then it just went to shit. Jean could try and sell them off while working on a new pair for the Clemsons’. Eddie and Jean carefully go to have the fabrics all cut to desired lengths and tied up before heading to the register.

Eddie pauses right outside of the growing line, being the one to currently handle the basket. He didn’t really know his way around the craft store. He knew where to get needle and thread but that was about it--all he really needed for his patches and to stitch up holes in clothes that are too dearly loved to be parted with too early. Jean had been their guide throughout the current venture. “Do you have everything?”

She riffles through the cart, running through her mental checklist. “Glue, rhinestones, new wire cutters, fabric, earring hooks, thread. Yeah, we’re all good.”

“Ladies first,” Eddie motions for her to settle into the line and is swift to fall in beside her. Jean started taking custom orders in early October for Christmas to give herself plenty of time to get things done but it was clear more and more people in the town wanted her business. She was now roping Eddie in on weekends to help her package up the pieces she had finished and drop them off so she could work on starting new ones. In exchange, Jean was doing her best to keep Eddie on track to graduate. He seemed more fond of her work than his so there were semi-strict rules about him coming over during the week so they could both work as needed.

The line is a bit slow, but no one really seems to be in a rush. Eddie slips his hand into Jean’s, threading fingers around hers. She squeezes at his hand at the action, semi-distracted by some of the candies on display. It’s a comfortable silence around them as the speakers overhead begin their assault of Christmas music, two weeks before Thanksgiving. Eddie loves the feeling of Jean rubbing her thumb over his skin and he watches, her gaze still locked in on a package of M&Ms. It’s automatic and the warmth spreads across his chest.

“Babe,” Eddie starts with a whisper. Her eyebrows raise which lets him know he’s heard but she’s yet to turn to face him. “Baby, please look at me. Don’t make a man beg. I’ll do it. Right here. On my knees.”

A few of the folks around them--in front and behind--snicker at the comment. “Yes, gorgeous?” Jean exhales. Her smile is evident as she faces Eddie.

“I’ve-I’ve been thinking.”

“Congratulations.”

Eddie snorts at the sarcastic remark and uses his hip to push the cart up just a hair to keep their hands intertwined. “I’ll have you know I have lots of thoughts. But anyway, it’s probably best that we talk more privately. But I wanted to let you know it’s not bad.”

Jean’s brows knit together. “Talk about what? What’s not bad?”

Not great timing, but Eddie wants to start the conversation earlier rather than later. It’s been eating him alive trying to think of everything he’d need and how to make it perfect for Jean. But in the middle of a checkout line may not be the best way to start this conversation. He sighs and waves her closer in. She steps in willing and he cups her ear. “Doll,” is all he whispers, but the trailing of his fingers over the waistband of her leggings tells Jean it might mean something more than just the surface.

The word almost falls over her lips, confusion still clouding her brain. Eddie’s raised eyebrows greet her. Doll, doll. “You,” he adds quietly still but gestures just a little like he’s trying to get her wheels turning over faster. “Halloween,” he further explains.

“Oh!” It comes out sudden and louder than Jean wanted. But it’s clear what’s clicked. Her fantasy.

Several folks in the line turn to them and Eddie laughs, head shaking as he moves the basket up with the line. “I was trying to be subtle.”

“Sorry, sorry. Just when you said ‘doll’ I was like, who’s asking for a doll for Christmas? You got a sister I don’t know about?” Jean laughs at herself. “But yeah, we should talk about it.”

It’s a quiet nod from Eddie and yet another shuffle up in the line. He doesn’t fault her confusion. Since Halloween she’s been doing her damndest to keep up with orders, her job, and keeping enough time for him. Jean’s allowed everyone one and a while to forget a thing or two. She seems to be sleeping okay on the whole but Eddie knows even if she had been having a rough time she wouldn’t be quick to admit it.

One from the front, Eddie turns to Jean. “Please tell me you’re getting those M&Ms?”

“Is this your way of saying you’re hungry?”

“Possibly.”

“Why don’t I give you a cooking lesson instead? It’ll be way more satisfying than candy.”

“I’m in.” The smile takes up Eddie’s whole face. He leans into the edge of the basket, stomach pressing into the handle bars. Jean just takes the moment, Eddie trying to fight the ends of his hair out of his face as he chats excitedly. Jean’s not really listen to what he’s saying, too enamored by the way the afternoon light from the store windows illuminante the flyaways of his hair or the way he laughs at something he’s said or something happening.

“Have I told you thank you lately?” Jean asks.

Eddie snaps his head in her direction. “What do you mean?”

“Just--for being you, for being with me. Thanks.”

“I can help who’s next!” the voice echoes from in front of them.

“What?” Eddie questions. The usual vibrant smile is replaced by something smaller, something shier. If Jean didn’t know any better, she’d think she’d just offended him. But she knows it’s the opposite. It’s everything he’s needed. A few other words knock against her teeth and lips. But she keeps those at bay. They’re too young for those words—whatever their relationship is meant to be fully is still in its infancy. She shouldn’t be thinking those words and yet they nearly spill over her tongue.

“Thanks,” she states again, sliding in to push the basket forward. Eddie is left behind for a moment dumbfounded. He watches her slipping her items onto the counter and he so desperately wants her to say those words again. It’s not that Eddie is so far gone that he didn’t have a choice but to fall for Jean; it’s more the fact that she knows much like for him it is a choice to be here and one that he wouldn’t make differently. He scurries over realizing the way it looks to help her finish sorting out the basket. Eddie is many things but he won’t be made a fool of for being ungentlemanly to his girlfriend.

The total makes Eddie hiss just a little as he sees it. But Jean doesn’t seem phased as she unfurls the twenties. “I know,” she teases. “Gotta spend money to make it.”

Eddie continues to collect the bags—only three in total as the fabric does take up more space. “I mean in your world.”

Jean taps his thigh. “Behave.”

“I always misbehave,” he returns, leaning into her ear. “Especially around you.”

The drive back to her place to unload the fabric and tools passes with the shrill of guitar solos around them and Eddie continually swatting at Jean’s ankles to get her feet off the dash. She only does it as stop lights and only for as long as the light stays red but it feels ritualistic now—Eddie anticipating the action as the van comes to a stop and already reprimanding the action that’s yet to happen.

The house is empty and it’s not a shock on a Saturday afternoon as Eddie’s sure there’s plenty of errands to run by her parents. His shuffles echo about him. The foyer feels a little hollow but he peers about while slipping out of his shoes at Jean’s plea. There are pictures, a couch with a coffee table—no stairs, a single dory home not needing them. It’s clear people live here but it feels like the house is only good for sleeping and maybe even eating. It is stayed in but not lived in, Eddie thinks. Jean’s not away to the back of the house long before she’s returning to the foyer to lead Eddie into the kitchen. He happily settles beside her, awaiting every instruction--from washing hands to reaching up to high shelves.

Jean starts the true cooking by getting a pot of water boiling and Eddie works on chopping an onion. It’s a lasagna based dish and he’s glad to start somewhere slightly familiar but to be elevating it. Jean’s pulling ground beef from the fridge, tongue clicking just a little as she thinks.

“So,” Eddie starts, clearing his throat.

“I’m listening, love.”

“We should have a word—like a safe word, yeah?”

“Pardon my reach,” Jean starts, slipping in right behind Eddie as she reaches for the utensil holder on the counter. Her fingers just barely grasps it and Eddie scoots it closer to her. “Thanks. So a safe word—someone’s been studying. Something we don’t use usually though. Quick enough to say.”

“So Rainbow in the Dark is no go?” Eddie pauses on the chopping just to watch Jean’s eye roll.

“No, maybe Holy Diver.”

The laughter is soft between them. Eddie takes in the items she’s continued to add onto the counter. Sour cream, spaghetti sauce, parmesan, mozzarella. “Sour cream?” he proposes.

Jean turns from the stove, the water’s not quite boiling. Her face pinches up and Eddie grins. A true sign of a winning safe word. “I think sour cream is good. Imagine how fast that’ll kill the mood.”

“Until you breathe on me again.” The jest is easy to make about himself. Because nothing quite hits funnier than the truth.

“You agreed that it was true.”

“I did, I did. And do-do you have anything you don’t want me to do? I-I understand the purpose is to sort of let me use you and give you the space to just be. But I-I think I’d off myself if there wasn’t something I didn’t know about beforehand.”

“Keep chopping, please. The onions need to go on just a few minutes after the beef starts to brown.”

Eddie nods and turns back to the white vegetable. “Seriously, Jean, I mean it.”

Her hands are warm over his shirt pressing up into his back. “I know. I think the only thing I’m not fond of is like urine or shit.”

“What do you mean by piss?”

“Oh, someone needs to go back to the whiteboard then,” Jean teases. “I took a peak or two into some magazines we send out—it gets out there. Like I can get people who like playing with cum or like get a thrill with blood. But some other bodily fluids really get others going.”

Eddie only grunts in response. His stomach gets a little queasy at the thought of blood. He can handle it—blood is blood at the end of the day. It happens. But he wouldn’t want Jean to bleed during any point of their sex life. Maybe some tears, maybe her begging, but not bleeding. “You’ve painted a clear picture, thanks teach. But no piss, no shit. Got it.”

“You? Anything that’s off limits for you.”

“I’m not making you bleed. Can’t do it,” Eddie picks up a small scoop of the onion that’s been diced and places it into the waiting bowl.

“Do you think you could inflict pain? We have these waxes at work—they’re body safe.”

“I can give it a try on you. But if I’m honest, I’d rather you use it on me.”

“Well, let me just tell Santa what I want this year,” Jean teases, patting Eddie on the ass. “By the way, do you and Wayne have plans for Thanksgiving?”

“Uh, no, we don’t.” Eddie hates that his heart races at the question. But he knows what could possibly be following it. He and his uncle did their best--that’s all they could ever do. And certainly the last thing Eddie wanted to do was to show up for Thanksgiving dinner and it all went terribly wrong. He’s not even sure if her father had sorted through his own issues after the death of his mother enough that it would be a good idea for them to meet. Before the death, maybe. Eddie’s own fears and anxieties would surface but eventually he could’ve reasoned he’d have a fairer shake. But now feels totally different. Eddie knows it’s a reasonable ask, if Jean goes there. But this is where it can all fall apart before it even feels like it’s coming together fully.

“Would you like to come over here? For dinner? My mom’s excited to meet you. And there’s no way I’m going to invite you and not invite Wayne.”

“Your dad’s who I’m worried about.”

“I’m about one more shouting match with him from snapping, so please give me the excuse.”

Eddie sets the knife down as he’s finished dicing the rest of the onion. “Is it getting worse?”

“It’s not getting better,” Jean returns.

“What-what’s he going off about?” All Eddie knows is that since his mother’s death, he’d been losing it. But those are Jean’s vague words, not an actual explanation to what transpired. Eddie feels like he was fumbling in the dark with Jean. She is warm and open like she was in the store when it’s about them but with her home life she’s ice cold, holding it all up her sleeve and locked away.

“It’s bullshit, really.”

“You’re avoiding my question.”

“I am.”

Eddie has to be careful next. Perhaps Jean did want to tell him but she was scared of this reaction. Perhaps Jean doesn’t want to tell him and this is her way of telling him. An honest admission of her tactics to make him back off. It’s stupid but Eddie prays it’s the first one. “I’d really appreciate it if you told me what he’s going off about. You can tell me all sorts of things. I won’t get mad. I just—I want to be there for you.”

“Because you want to take care of me? Because you think you can fix this?” There’s no real malice in her tone, though it still falls clipped. Jean wants him to hear how it sounds—maybe it’s harmless to him but it sounds asinine to Jean.

Eddie isn’t delusional. He can’t fix everything. But he can do right by her. “I can’t fix your dad. You can’t. Your mom can’t. I want you to be safe. I want to know what I can do to help. I don’t want you to shut me out. I feel like you don’t trust me when you don’t tell me things.”

If only knew how much Jean was letting him in. But she exhales the thought. He wouldn’t know. He didn’t have anyone else to compare too. She could give him that much. And Jean would trust Eddie with her life. She did trust him. But stating it outright wouldn’t fix the problem. And she’d promised months ago to try to be more open. It’s just not her nature.

Eddie’s sentence hangs in the air between them long enough that he assumes she’s avoiding him. He’ll let it go for now but it still stings in his chest. As much as Eddie wants to help, he knows the bigger problem was out of his control. It doesn’t feel like a fight between them though there is distance. They were magnets that sometimes matched poles and thus there was resistance.

Jean’s voice floats up around the silence. “He hates where I’m working, but I had to go somewhere after the mall burned down. Hates the way I’m dressing. I’m not home enough or if I am home I’m always working on jewelry, according to him. He nearly destroyed all my supplies last week and the only thing that stopped him was Mom. But she can’t keep enduring his anger. Oh, he almost hit me once.”

“What?” The boom in Eddie’s voice is much too loud for any volume he normally hits. It’s genuine shock painting his tone. The elation of her letting him in is destroyed in the realization of what she’d been enduring.

Jean grips the handle of the pan she’d been reaching for from beneath the oven. “Only happened once.”

“And that’s once too often.”

“He didn’t actually hit me.” It’s ridiculous to defend him. But it’s her father. He wasn’t like this before Gma died, and more accurately until he started drinking. Jean sees the empty bottles. But she carries on in silence. He saved most of it for the weekend so he could mostly recover before the work week. At least that’s how it’s been going. The yelling feels like it’s starting to happen more and maybe weekends are bleeding into weekdays.

“Jean,” Eddie returns softly. He’s facing her, but Jean refuses to turn around at her name. So Eddie crosses the short two feet between them and gets the pan onto an aisle on the stove. “Jean,” Eddie tries again, “you can’t stay here.”

“And leave him to actually hit my mom? I’d off myself before I let that happen.” It falls through her teeth in a hiss and though she’s staring at him like murder is a top priority, her chin wobbles.

Eddie takes hold of her face. “I don’t want him to hit you. I don’t want you to wind up in his crosshairs. And I know, it’s your mom. I know I’m really asking for the impossible, but God, I’m not going to be able to walk out of this house knowing that he’s on the warpath.”

“My mom,” it’s the only two words Jean can get out. Her voice cracks on the tears she’s starting to spill and Eddie can only wrap her up tight. Because he gets it. If he’d been older, if he’d been in Jean’s position, he’d choose his mother too if he could.

But now Eddie is here, he’s older and it’s Jean. It’s Jean who’s choosing her mother. It’s Eddie who’s worried what’s going to happen and he can only assume Jean’s worried too, but in different ways. She’s worried the blow will strike but it won’t be falling onto her. Eddie’s worried Jean is going to show up one day with a black eye or busted lip or worse he’s going to get a call she’s already hospitalized. The thought, just vaguely conjuring the sight, makes Eddie’s chin wobble and his eyes sting.

“Please,” he returns. Eddie can’t tell if it’s to Jean to get her to get out now or if it’s to the universe to protect her. But he lets the one word prayer fall all the same and hopes it’s enough.

______________

“You should still go to Hellfire on Friday,” Jean says as Eddie’s stitching together some sateen he bought. It was reckless to stitch together the impromptu ties in front of Jean without her knowing what’s for. But Eddie can’t stand the thought that in the evening she’s alone in this house with her father on a rampage. So he settles in after school—usually scrambling to get through some amount of homework until the evening. When the keys jiggle in the door, Jean starts to clean up and then heads up to her room. Eddie follows and for the most part when it’s just her mother, they’re fine to stay at the kitchen table. But when her father does come home early, they make a swift exit. Her father hadn’t said anything about Eddie’s new presence, but the looks were clear. Thing is, Jean is always around Eddie so whatever her dad did want to say he didn’t want to say around her and his shot to tell Eddie off hadn’t come up.

“It’s after school,” Eddie offers, like it's an explanation enough all on its own.

“Isn’t this a pivotal time for the party?”

Eddie gets the last stitch through. “Not more important than you.”

Jean sighs, fingers working with the pliers to close the hook up and attach the threaded rocks as the last piece to the pair of earrings. It’s not a mistake to tell Eddie. He was stubborn and sometimes crass, but he cared. Everything was deep with Eddie. He does his best to find the weak spot in someone’s defense. Jean was impatient in some ways. She’d be steadfast but constant pestering would make her snap. It was a button Eddie didn’t want to push often, but he knew when to push it and how. Sometimes you’re unbelievable, Jean wants to say. If he hits me, at least you get to be right. But that will only set Eddie off. She’s too tired for a fight right now.

Eddie flips his work inside out and looks over the line--it’s mostly straight. Enough so that it won’t really matter when it’s tied around. He’s pleased with it but the satisfaction leaves him when he notices how long the silence goes on between them. “No smartass comment?”

“I’m not trying to start a fight,” Jean returns simply.

“Are you working Friday?”

“No. Am working Saturday.”

“I’ll keep Hellfire on for Friday if you come to the school and sit with us.” If Jean’s not looking for a fight, Eddie’s not about to give her one.

“Okay.”

Easy—too easy he might dare to say. “You’re more fun when you want a fight,” Eddie teases. The flatness to her voice makes him worried.

“I’m--” The words are just too heavy to be uttered. Jean gets the earrings inside of the box and starts wrapping a ribbon around it. “I’m tired.”

The thing about tiredness is that it can mean more than just being physically tired. It can be an emotional and mental exhaustion that seeps into someone’s bones. But for Jean, it is albeit mental, emotional, and physical. Eddie starts assembling the movement board and figurines amongst the assembled desk. From the hallways he can hear the chatter of the students gearing up to leave, laughing about something and ready for the weekend. The door to the room opens and closes, more members of Hellfire trickling in after their last classes for the day, their laughter greets the room before they do and Eddie peeks occasionally behind him to Jean’s curled up figure. She dragged a couple chairs together behind the throne to avoid being a distraction, plucked Eddie’s leather jacket off the table he draped onto and promptly fell asleep. Eddie keeps worrying as more and more people settle in that the noise is going to wake Jean but not even Mike and Dustin’s bickering makes her stir.

“Eddie, you alright man?” Jeff asks, slipping his bag down into a chair to claim in. He takes in the worry lines on Eddie’s face and then just behind the chair Jeff spots Jean. “Is she okay?”

“Home stuff,” Eddie returns. “I asked her to come tonight, just for my own nerves I guess. But, she can sleep like the dead.” A lie. A bold faced one at that too. He’s never seen her sleep like the dead. She always rouses first. She snaps to the lightest sound. Jean doesn’t sleep like the dead—it’s Eddie who does. Until right now. It looks like now she could and for Eddie’s sanity the last thing he wants to do is bring the attention to him and his worry, so he lies.

Lucas comes in with a huff, panting out his apologies for almost being late, but he settles in next to Mike and Dustin, taking a moment to watch the quiet conversation of Eddie and Jeff. He follows their line of sight and sees a body curled up on chairs. “Is that Jean?” he whispers, asking Mike and Dustin.

“Jean’s here?” Dustin returns, looking around. The boys know of Jean--mostly only from the ribs that Gareth and Jeff give Eddie. She'd been mostly an enigma to the younger members of the party. She was in stories or a voice that came through Eddie when he talked about things they did together, or things she said about the campaign. Dustin scoots his chair back just a little to see the figure behind the throne. “Hi Jean,” he says. It takes a moment to realize she’s asleep.

“If I turn around and see ten eyes on my girl, you all won’t be making it out of this temple tonight,” Eddie calls out.

There’s a sharp scrape and when Eddie spins, everyone’s pulling out their character sheets and dice. Except Dustin. He gives one last wave to her sleeping figure and the story resumes, Eddie pushing up into the throne with flair. “Welcome back, adventurers!”

It’s not his usual amount of theatrics. But it’s clear to everyone that he’s still giving all that he can to keep the story enthralling. And it is--as they bicker briefly amongst themselves trying to strategize the best way to handle the throws of their scrimmage. Eddie, in the lull, takes his first glimpse back. He’d told himself to keep his focus on the game, that Jean, if she woke up she’d be okay or would make herself known. But she’s still curled up under his jacket. He knows she’s not dead given the rise and fall of her chest but she’s been asleep for nearly two hours. This is not a quiet party.

“How big is the room?”

The question causes Eddie to turn back to his adventures. He looks back down to his notes and a soft voice floats up from behind him. “Five by five squares on the mat. So, 25 by 25 feet. 12 foot ceiling.”

Eddie snaps his attention back to Jean. “You’re supposed to be asleep.”

“I woke up a while ago, I believe somewhere after someone screamed bloody murder for a failed con save or something. Just didn’t want to move.”

“She’s right,” Eddie answers to the folks behind him but not turning his attention from Jean. “Fairly tiny room. 25 feet by 25 feet, 12 foot ceiling.”

Jean turns her head to look up at Eddie with a tiny smile. He waves her over and she groans as she unfurls herself from her cocoon. She gathers a chair and settles it off to Eddie’s left. “Let me know if I’m your way, Dustin,” she offers softly, sitting cross legged in the seat.

Dustin turns at the sound of his name, eyes wide for a second and then he gives a soft grin. “You’re good, Jean. Nice to meet you. Eddie talks about you all the time.”

“Nice to meet you too. He talks about you all the time too.”

“All good I hope,” Dustin laughs and then turns back to the current debate.

Eddie reaches down just slightly to run the pads of his fingers over Jean’s temple. She takes hold of the hand to press a kiss to his fingers. It’s a steady stroke and though the position is a little awkward, Jean finds the edges of sleep again. She never goes fully under for long. A laugh or a groan cuts through the haze just enough to keep her up. But she doesn’t mind because as soon as she comes fully to her senses, Eddie’s fingers are still stroking her cheek and jaw.

“Pathetic,” Eddie taunts from up high. “You’re tired and you’re hungry. And that’s all. That’s all you’re going to do?”

“Don’t be so mean, gorgeous,” Jean retorts, “it’s unbecoming to such devilishly handsome good looks.

“I like her,” Mike pipes in, with a grin, “gorgeous.”

“Wheeler, I will strike you down where you stand. Don’t cross me,” Eddie snaps. Mike opens his mouth like he’s going to speak but then thinks twice of it and lets the threat stay where it lies--only a threat.

The room quiets slowly as more and more of them leave. A murmur spreads amongst them, trying to brainstorm where they left off inside the temple and what they might’ve missed that they can bring back to the table next week. Without much thought Jean stands to assist with cleaning.

“I’ve got it. You can relax.” Eddie’s careful not to make it a demand, not to tell her she should let him clean it up. Jean’s silent in her response, carefully packaging up the figurines and placing them in the box Eddie has for them. There is his answer--in the silent work Jean provides. “Did you sleep alright during the time you were out?”

“Yeah. Pretty decent sleep. Did I embarrass you for calling you out earlier? I was sure I was still asleep until Mike teased back.”

Eddie tries to hide the smile. It wasn’t fun to have to prove to the party yet again why he was the one DMing, but the soft slur to your voice let Eddie know the thought slipped out without thought. “Embarrass me, maybe. But it’s kind of adorable you don’t like me being a mean DM.”

“I just want them to have fun,” Jean offers quietly. “You are a good DM—even if you are an ass occasionally. I can see why folks like this. It’s like football, real stakes in the wins and losses.”

“Do not compare us to the fucking jocks, love. We play an intellectual game. We’re not throwing balls and just hoping for luck.”

“Sports are more intellectual than you think. Calculating distance, predicting the opponent's next move, having to rely on your teammates to read you too and they’re counting on you reading them too. Just because these asshats don’t understand how to equate them doesn’t mean you have to retort back with equally low insults.”

“I will not be compared to those scum,” Eddie huffs.

“You’ll grow up eventually. High school bullshit is for children.”

A year out from graduating couldn’t produce this much insight and reflection Eddie knows. And maybe it’s just fear. Leaving high school means Eddie’s got to face bigger questions—what is he going to do with his life? He can’t sell drugs his whole life. It’s going to catch up to him eventually. The thing Eddie wants more than anything is not to relive his father’s legacy. He can’t bear the thought of it.

It probably is high school bullshit—Eddie trying too hard to distance himself from the perceived popular and normal crowd. But it’s all he has. He can be different and he can wear it like a shield to keep everyone else at bay that he doesn’t want close. People that are put off by the music and theatrics don’t really deserve what’s beneath it. It’s easier for Jean. She’d always gotten along with most people. She didn’t really have a crowd but she skated through. Eddie doesn’t have the luxury.

But maybe it only matters inside these four walls of high school because once they leave this place—they all have to face the same question. What are they made of beyond it? But Eddie doesn’t have the luxury of time away. He’s still in it. So he hum noncommittal at Jean’s retort and slides his notes and binders into his bag. They pull the desk apart and back into the rows. The room settles back its normal state and Jean and Eddie slide in next to each other. He takes her hand and she carries the box of figurines.

“Got everything?” she asks.

“Think so. If I don’t, well then oops.”

It’s a soft exhalation of laughter from both of them before they are climbing into their respective cars. Eddie’s going to follow her home. He knows it; Jean does too. So she leads throughout the streets and Eddie strums his fingers over the steering wheel as he follows. She pulls into the driveway and Eddie parks on the street in front of the house. She waits by her car door, knowing Eddie will absolutely lose his head if she went inside without him walking her to at least the door.

“You’re learning,” Eddie grins, taking her head once he’s close.

“You’re not a hard man to figure out.”

“Oh, now I’m a man.”

“You have mostly C’s right now except for Mrs. O’Donnell. I think, right now, I can delegate the title on a probationary period.”

“Ouch,” Eddie laughed. “Probationary period. Cut my balls off, why don’t you.”

“I’ll leave them with you,” Jean snorts, turning the key into the lock. Jean’s heart starts to race--the anticipation of her father being drunk or on his way makes her wonder if she should’ve asked to spend the weekend with Eddie. But she doesn’t want to overcrowd his or Wayne’s space. So she exhales, hands turning the knob and only gets one foot over the threshold before the sight and sounds of her mother’s tears pierce her chest.

“Richard, please,” her mother begs. The tears are thick in her voice.

Her dad has a firm hand on her mother’s arm, roughly throwing her over the edge of the arm of the couch. “Bitch, why are you letting her hang around that Munson kid so much! We’re raising her better than that.”

Jean doesn’t know if it’s autopilot. She doesn’t know if somehow the thundering of her veins is making her feel like she’s not here, but all she can do is react. All she can do is push through and through and her father is shouting, maybe Eddie is too. Her mother’s cries are echoing in her ear. The thump of her veins is echoing against her ears. But all she can zero in on is the sound of her mother begging. Begging not to be hurt by someone that’s supposed to care about them, supposed to protect them.

With a harsh thud everything seems to fall silent. The floor is an unforgiving break to her father’s fall, but it holds him—crumpled. Jean’s chest is heavy, her breathing is haggard. But she stares down at her father, hands loosely hanging around his belt buckle. “You bastard,” she spits.

“Jean, Jean, honey,” her mother starts, gingerly taking the jagged remaining edges of the glass vase. Jean doesn’t budge.

Jean can’t move. She’s waiting—all she’d need is for him to twitch. All she’d need is a groan, a sight, a sound. Her arms are shaking, she can tell. But she waits. She will wait this whole thing out if necessary.

“Honey, please,” her mother tries again.

Eddie, who’d been trying to step around Jean to shove her father before she bolted for the vase, only seems to be able to stare at the scene in front of him. He’s a beat or two behind Jean—both of them in fight but he can see. He can see blood trickling from her father’s scalp. “Shit,” he exhales. “Shit, shit, shit. Jean, baby.”

“Call Hopper,” Jean states. She’ll wait, but she doesn’t dare want to waste more time for her dad to get back up.

“Sweetheart, pack a bag, I’ll tell him you were staying with Eddie, okay? Go, go get a bag packed.” Her mother tries again to get the glass from Jean’s grip.

The blood starts to grow on the floor, not quite a puddle but on it’s way to being as such, and it doesn’t seem likely that any other moment could be made. Jean loosens her hold on the glass, only now to realize the flowers are spilled onto the floor, along with water they were nestled in. The flowers Eddie got Jean last week. The vase she’d put them in that she managed to find in the back of the cabinet. Jean looks back to the coffee table where the flowers and vase are supposed to be then her hands. The palm of her hand aches with how tightly she’s gripping the glass. She knows what she’s done but

Jean turns into her mother, slipping the head of the vase to her and drops into her mother’s shoulder. It’s quiet--too quiet and like a switch to a light a sob rings out. Eddie closes in, hand pressed into the small of Jean’s back as she cries into her mother’s shoulder. “I’m okay, sweetheart. Thank you,” her mother returns into Jean’s hair. “I’m okay. Now let me protect you, okay? You’ve got to get a bag, okay? Go with Eddie.”

Eddie’s gentle as he cradles Jean’s waist, a squeeze to let her know that he’s there even if his own hands are shaky. He keeps watching for movement, a sound. Had Jean really killed him? What would happen to her if her mother hadn’t been able to lie well enough to cover it up? As much as Eddie detested cops, he’d testify for Jean in a heartbeat. “Wayne misses you,” Eddie offers softly, turning his attention back to Jean. “You’d make his day by coming over.” He’ll feed whatever incentive necessary to get her out of the house. But they can’t stay here. They have to go.

Jean is slow to pull away from her mother. The two women assess each other, checking for more damage. Jean’s mother is faster, wiping the tears from Jean’s cheeks. “Go. Okay? When it’s all clear, I’ll come get you.”

“Are you okay?” Jean asks.

Her mother nods. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Jean.”

Jean falls into Eddie’s arm. He’s careful to give her a second, another quick squeeze and then they start for Jean’s room. Eddie presses a kiss to her temple as they walk down the hallways. He feels like his words are all going to fail him. Nothing quite really encapsulates the depth of the moment. He can’t say it’s going to be okay. He can’t say that he’s going to protect. They won’t mean anything to her in these moments. What does it mean that it’s going to be okay when the evidence of her actions is spilling onto the hardwood floor? What does it mean that Eddie’s not going to leave her? What gravity and weight is behind such words when her entire world has just flipped upside?

Jean shakes like a leaf in a strong breeze against him. In the end, there are really no consoling words to over. She is not okay. She won’t be okay for a while. So Eddie tries to think of what’s most important--that he can do things for her. He can help even in the tiniest of ways. Like right now, it’s important that it looks like she had always intended to come to his place.

“Do you want to grab your hygiene things? I can grab your clothes,” Eddie suggests.

Jean only manages a nod. They split off for a moment, Jean grabbing her body wash, facial soap, and deodorant. By the time she steps back into her room, Eddie’s got three pairs of jeans in his hands, folded up tight and stuffing them into a bag. She dumps what she has after Eddie is done and then helps pull out under garments, pjs, and tops. She tops everything off with extra hair stuff. Eddie takes her out the backdoor, not feeling like he can stomach the sight again.

“Do you feel like you can drive?” Eddie asks. It feels silly. But if they’re going to sell the lie, Jean’s car is going to need to be not here. He’s not sure how much time they’ll have. He wants her to be honest, but he also knows that they might have to make a reckless decision here as the seconds wind down.

Jean exhales deeply. “Yeah, I’m okay to drive.”

“Are you sure, Jean?”

“I’m sure.”

Eddie takes the affirmation on its face though his gut tells him otherwise. It’s probably only the choice with the most medium amount of recklessness to it. They walk back to the front of the house and Jean settles into her front seat. Eddie’s place--that’s all she has to focus on. She’s gone there multiple times. It’s seven minutes at most to get there, depending on the lights. Two rights, the straight all the way to the one way, then a left. She’s done this route many many times.

Eddie watches from the driver seat of his van, praying that Jean keeps steady. So far, she’s in front and doing well--nothing that reads like she’s swerving in the lane or losing control of her car. It’s a tortuous five minutes--they were spared today by gracious green lights. The gravel crunches under his tires. It feels like an exhale when he climbs out of the van and helps Jean out of her car. They don’t make it far--all Eddie manages to do is get Jean up into his arms before her tears start again.

The night is freezing. Every exhale Eddie gives creates a ghost, but it doesn’t matter. Eddie tightens his hold around her body. “Just follow my breathing, Jean. You’re okay. I’ve got you.” The same word Eddie thought were hollow just a few minutes ago are the only ones he has, so he lets them fall. Hollow or not, he can’t stand the silence. He can’t stand the idea that Jean doesn’t know that he’s there for her. So he feels a heavy silence with empty words, desperate enough to use them.

Eddie knows he’s not getting any sleep that night. He keeps waiting for the knock to come. It will mean that Hopper has shown up at his door. It will mean that Hopper’s nose has caught the lingering smell of what they both know is actually there, but having to table whatever lecture for a later date. And Eddie will have to endure it, the lecture, at some point. But the truth that is harder to face is that they’ll have to know for certain if Jean’s going to get into trouble. Every action has a consequence, even ones made from a place of fear.

Eddie waits, Jean curled into his arms, for the confirmation of what they know. It doesn’t come that night, though Eddie does hear when Wayne comes in in the early hours. The knock comes well into the morning. The sun filters in through the blinds that Eddie never cares to shut if he’s honest. He watched the blue haze turn purple, then pink and now as it settles into the bright yellow dawn, he hears a car pull up. Then waits, counting the seconds before the knock comes. It’s a rapid three knocks. Eddie shuts his eyes for the moment, praying the voice isn’t Hoppers, praying it’s just her mother.

“Jim, morning,” Wayne greets.

“Morning, Wayne. Sorry to bother you so early. I’m curious if Jean Brown is here. Her mother said she’d be here.”

“I saw her car when I pulled in. C’mon in. Give me a moment. Is-is everything okay?”

A pause. “I have something important to tell her,” Hopper returns.

Eddie can almost imagine the nod Wayne gives and then the knocks on his door ring out a few seconds later. “Eddie? Eddie, you and Jean, y’all decent in there?”

He exhales. No, we’re not decent. I’m not here. She’s not here. “Yeah, we’re decent.”

The door cracks only a little. Wayne finds Eddie’s face and then the back of Jean’s head buried in his chest. “Hopper is here. For Jean.”

Eddie only gives a nod and Wayne slips back out, door closing behind him. Eddie’s gently as he goes to stroke her cheek. Jean presses in closer. “Hopper is going to see my hand,” she states.

When did she awaken? How had Eddie not noticed it? “How long have you been awake?”

“On and off the whole night. Both of us do alright with pretending to sleep,” she teases. Her voice is hoarse. Eddie peels back some of the covers and reveals her bandaged hand. It’d taken getting here to the trailer as Eddie helped Jean into the shower to realize she’s gotten cut by the glass too. There wasn’t a lot of bleeding thankfully, but still, Eddie worried and fussed over it until he got it cleaned and bandaged.

“As much as I don’t like Hopper, he’s not a bad man,” Eddie returns. “I’ll testify. If it goes there. Be the first one to be a witness for you,” he laughs.

Jean nods, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips before turning to her back and pushing out of the bed. “That’ll be a sight for sore eyes,” she whispers. Mostly to herself. In the night, she keeps seeing what she might’ve looked like--eyes big and blow, flared nostrils, a viscous line of her lips. It’s easier to imagine that only a monster could do what she had done.

Eddie follows behind Jean out of his room and to the front of the trailer. Would the universe see the desperation like he had? Would it spare Jean? Eddie thinks prayer might be the dumbest thing next to English, but pray he does in the end as the distance between Hopper and them shrinks.

Hopper stands, hat in his hands. The still somewhat bloodshot eyes and bandaged hand tell him everything he needs to know. But there’s no real use in asking. Everyone in town could tell Richard had changed. Hopper could go to the local grocery store and the owner could verify the increase in alcohol that Richard purchased. The calls Debra, her mother, had made to Hopper personally about the increase in anger and hostility, which Hopper isn’t even sure if Jean knew were being made, would corroborate the threat of violence that continued to grow.

Hopper could make their life more hell if he wanted to. But Jean’s a kid. And she protected her mother. The last thing Hopper can deny is that Jean had done only what she thought she had to do. And the second to last thing he wants to do is make their life more hell.

“Hi Jean. We got a call by your mother last night to your house. Your parents got into an altercation. It got physical and violent. In self defense, your mother fought back, striking her father over the temple. As a result, he’s,” Hopper pauses. Jean’s chin quivers. “He’s dead.”

“I-” her voice cracks. Jean all but crumbles in on herself and the tears are instant. “I’m sorry,” she wails. “I got scared because he—my mom, you know. I-Oh God.”

Hopper takes a careful step in, hand on her shoulder. “Kid, Jean, look at me.” It feels like ages before the hiccups stop and Jean looks at him through a watery gaze. “I know. Okay, I know what probably really happened. I know you were only protecting your mother. I know your mother only wants to protect you. I know your dad’s gotten really violent and angry after his mother passed. I-I don’t want to hurt you or your mother any further. Okay. You two only have each other left and I’m sorry you had to witness that. I’m sorry you had to be the brunt of his anger. God only knows what that must’ve been like. I’m here by myself for a reason, okay. But you’ve got to, keep it together. We’re going to make your mother’s story stick. Just trust me okay?”

Jean gives a quick nod, the sounds of her sniffles echoing around the walls of the trailer. “Okay.”

Hopper takes a step back. “Consider softball with an arm like that, Jean.”

It’s a bad joke--everyone knows. But it’s just enough of a bad joke to make Jean laugh. It’s soft and sounds more like a brief moment of disgust at the poor taste, but Eddie sees her quick smile and wraps an arm around her waist for comfort. “Keep that one,” Hopper returns with a pointed finger at Eddie, “out of trouble for me, and we can consider us even. I know what you’re doing Munson. I can smell it. But she’s sweet on you and for her, I’m giving you a one time break.”

“I’ll try,” Jean returns.

“I’m not that bad,” Eddie huffs.

Hopper scoffs. “Munson, don’t try me.” With that he waves to the room and slips out the front door.

Jean turns to Eddie’s bare torso, pressing her face into his ribs. It’s a shaky exhale and it tickles but Eddie keeps a firm hold on her. “It’s gonna be okay,” he returns. Her arms snake around his waist and Jean can only seem to cling to Eddie in the moment—a thing to keep her grounded. Eddie’s scent. The clack of mugs, undoubtedly Wayne, the taste of stale cigarettes in the room. It reminds Jean of where she is and what she is—home and safe.

_________________

Eddie doesn’t consider himself a funeral guy. But he’s sure no one really considers themselves the type of person to be good at a funeral. However, Eddie especially is not the kind of guy to be at a funeral, to hold his grieving girlfriend. He’s not equipped for something like this. But maybe nobody is equipped for such demands. No one has a manual on what to do if your girlfriend accidentally murders her father leading to the town’s chief of police to help cover the story and how to handle the waves of emotional torment of said girlfriend as it ranges from incredible anger to sadness and fear. It’s not a manual Eddie thinks anyone else would create and he ponders if he should corner the market with it. Because there’s no perfect thing to do in these matters. Eddie can’t snap his fingers, he can’t shield her from the apologies because the town doesn’t know. They won’t know.

And each time someone gives their condolences Jean nods, thanking them, but he can feel the squeeze as their hands are threaded together. How do you accept the apology when they’re saying sorry for the wrong things? They think they’re consoling but all it must be doing is driving the burning secret deeper and deeper into an open wound. But at every squeeze, Eddie squeezes Jean’s hand back and they stand together in the biting chill of nearing December’s cold—a light dusting of snow already covering the ground from the day before. Not quite in time for a Thanksgiving miracle and way too early for Christmas.

Jean shuffles closer, her gloved hand slipping from Eddie’s. In the moments it takes Eddie to look, she’s gripping his wrist and slipping his hand into her pocket. He lets her continue, but his fingers brush over something warm. “Take it,” she whispers. “Hand warmers.” She reaches around, nodding at yet another person who’s passing along whispered condolences and then hands out a second one Eddie. “I like you and your fingers attached.”

Eddie can’t help the exhale of laughter. He slips the warmers into his pockets, satisfied with the relief they provide to the ache that had settled. Jean winds her arms through the hook in Eddie’s elbow. It’s a gentle hold she has. “Thanks,” he returns softly.

Jean nods. “Of course.”

The two Munson men clean up well. It was a fact noticed when they both showed up at the house earlier in the day to escort Jean and her mother to the church. And it’s a fact noticed again as they step into the house again, each of them carrying a dish of some sort of casserole and a bag with other assorted foods too left by community members. Wayne dawned in an black suit with a white collared shirt and Eddie in a black dress shirt and black slacks. It’s clear they attempted their best to match the tone and as much Jean appreciates the efforts, something inside her veins still boils.

She rips the veil off her head and claws at the buttons of her jacket to shed at least some of the pretending. The black sweater dress her mom forced her to wear still clings to her, but she feels a bit more like herself as she rolls her sleeves up and starts divvying out portions of food. She can’t place it--if it’s anger at the lies, or frustration and fear. But whatever it is, Jean feels it festering. The entire funeral she wanted to shed herself out of her own skin, run to the pulpit and tell them that she’d done it. She’d hit her father so hard she’d killed him and though she is sorry for the accidental death she’d do it again if she had to.

Maybe it really is fear. At who Jean feels like she’s becoming.

“I know veggies are, like, evil, but they don’t deserve this kind of torment,” Eddie teases, watching the way Jean jabs the spoon into the dish of string beans.

“Damn you veggies,” Jean returns in jest and gets one more spoonful into the smaller container.

“You-you don’t have to do this, you know?”

“Mom and I can’t eat all this. It’s better than going to waste.”

More than that it keeps Jean’s hands from shaking. It gives her something else to focus on. When it first happened, Jean felt like she was splitting, like she could never get to that position again. But the truth is so much different. If the situation had been the same, she’d do it again. Jean would do whatever it took to keep her mother safe. Her father and her hadn’t been on bad term prior, but the truth of the matter is that as he got more and more violent and angry, the closer the bond with her mother had become. They’d huddled together in the bathroom, in her bedroom, talking in whispers out of fear. Everything had changed in the course of a few months in her family and because of Jean’s action everything was going to change again.

Jean is capable of so much more than she thought.

“Our stomachs say thank you in advance then, Jean,” Wayne starts, moving just a hair further into the kitchen. Right behind him, Eddie thinks, is the spot. A couple more feet back and his feet would be planted squarely in the ghost of blood. “You don’t have to be thinking about us right now, but it’s still appreciated.”

“Of course, Wayne.”

Admittedly the more Jean continues to separate out, the more Eddie realizes this might be the most full their fridge will have been in a while. And it’s not a shameful thought. They did what they needed to do to get by. They survived because they always did and they always will. Eddie and Wayne both take a bag of dishes each and carry them back to the car--it was mutually decided to take Wayne’s car rather than Eddie’s van.

“You sure you two are going to be alright?” It’s Wayne who asks, stepping back up onto the porch. “I know it might seem uncouth. But really, we’re here if you need us.”

Jean tucks underneath her mother’s arm. “We’ll be okay,” the two women echo. It rings behind the rumble of the car Eddie watches in the side view mirror at them on the porch until they get too small to see.

“Wayne,” Eddie starts, still watching where he thinks Jean and her mother still are.

“Yeah, Eddie?”

“What do you do when you know you can’t really do much to fix but you want to help?”

Wayne exhales at the question. Even though he offered to be there for them, he knew an offer like his might feel hollow to them. He meant it, even thinking what they could do--picking up extra groceries, shoveling their driveway in the winter. But he didn’t want to intrude. So he left it vague on purpose. The start for the trailer park opens up to them.

“You do your best, boy. You always do your best.”

Eddie stands in the kitchen of the trailer, later, changed out of the dress clothes, a slice of cobbler on his plate. From where he stands, he can see the game Wayne’s left on. It doesn’t intrigue Eddie all that much but he feels like even he needs the distraction. The evening’s just starting to settle, the darkening haze of a setting sun. Eddie’s not sure who made the dessert, but he’s grateful Jean packaged them up a hefty portion of it.

The phone rings and Eddie shuffles forward, plate in one hand, phone in the other. “Munson residence,” he answers.

“Eds?”

He knows that voice, though it comes out in a croak. “Yeah, it’s me Jean, sweetheart. You okay?”

“I-I don’t think I want to be alone tonight.” She sniffles into the receiver and Eddie sets the plate onto the counter. “Could-could you come back over? I’m sorry. I know you just left a few hours ago.”

“Ssh, hey, now. It’s okay. I can come back over. Give me ten minutes okay? I promise it’ll be the quickest ten minutes of your life.”

“This is the only time I’ll ask for a quick ten minutes.”

Eddie groans at the suggestive retort. “I hope I’m not too quick in that department. But snuggle up in bed and I’ll be over soon, okay?”

“Quickest ten minutes of my life?”

Eddie nods, though he realizes she can’t see it. “Probably even quicker than that.”

“Okay. Thanks, Eds. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. It means a lot.”

“Of course. You’re welcome.”

“See you soon. Love you.”

Eddie’s already moving to hang up the phone but he chokes on his spit at the last two words. “Did-Jean?”

“Yeah, Eddie?”

She hadn’t hung up. He’d halfways expected no one to reply to his call of her name. He halfway expected there to be dial tone in his ears. But she’s still there. The thump of his throat makes Eddie inhale harshly. Jean said it first--Eddie was sure it was going to be him and then he’d have to live in agony of her taking a bit longer to return it verbally though she’d already shown it through her actions. But Jean said it first. The room spins just a little and Eddie rests his head against the fridge before he exhales.

“I love you too,” he returns. “See you soon.” Eddie waits for the line to go dead before he hangs up and his hands are shaky. Tears are gathering in his eyes. She said it first.

When Wayne asks Eddie where he’s headed with a bag on his back, Eddie only returns with, “Going to do my best.”

Both men nod at each other at the statement and Eddie heads to the van. He hadn’t bothered to change out of the sweatpants or old gym shirt. He’d only thrown on a flannel, his jacket, and shoes.

The sight of Jean and her mother on the front porch, each with a cigarette in hand, isn't the sight that Eddie thought he’d see, but he says nothing as he pulls the van into park and then climbs up to greet them. He gives a tiny wave as he approaches. Jean offers her chair, but Eddie declines. “I know you said bed,” Jean starts, her voice is thick and it’s clear that at some point she’d cried. Either before she called him or after.

“A quick smoke break is also acceptable.”

“It’s unbecoming,” her mother teases, sending a wink over to them. “But clearly, we’re beyond that.” She offers the pack and Eddie brandishes his in return. “Acquired taste,” she laughs.

Jean nudges her mother’s knee. But doesn’t say anything. When it falls to just silence and her mother slips back into the house, Eddie pushes up from the side of the house and settles down in the now vacant seat. Jean pulls in a shaky drag. “At the funeral today, I had to keep myself from telling the whole room the truth.”

“Hopper’s got your back. And you’re the only thing from him probably sending me to jail so…”

“No, I mean, I realized if I had to do it again, I would.”

Eddie nods. It’s not a thought most people probably usually have. Nor is it a thought that he thought Jean would have either. “I hope you won’t have to make a choice like that again.” Eddie takes hold of her knees, thumb rubbing over the cotton of her leggings.

“I hope not too.”

In the silence that creeps up, Eddie can’t help the taunt. It’s barreling up his chest and Eddie’s no good with long silences after something so emotional. He knows he should be better. But he’s not. “So you love me, huh?” He leans in, a doopy smile on his face and all Jean does is run her free hand over his cheek.

“I do. I love you, Eddie Munson.”

Her gaze is much too tender. It’s going to melt Eddie right here on this cold November night. And he’s going to let it. “I love you, Jean Brown.”

“Thanks for coming over. I need a good cry and my boyfriend to cuddle if you’re up with that.”

“Yeah, for you, I am.”

_______________________

Christmas is a knife through the fog. The fog still lingers and Jean spends most of December trying to get back to work on a regular schedule and the other part is her trying to remember what she's trying to do again with her life. The stares don’t linger in December. There’s fewer apologies, but it still feels like a film over her life that she keeps picking at to clear it all away. But when Eddie gifts her new paints--her old ones having been neglected for far too long and on the brink of being beyond saving--Jean feels the first clear day. Wayne fixes them hot chocolate and they wear matching pajama bottoms. It’s cheesy as hell but when Jean welded the shopping bag with a bright grin, Eddie couldn’t say no. He took the bag, divvying out the items for him and Wayne and agreeing that when they meet the day after Christmas, he’d be wearing them. And the sight of Eddie in the gingerbread covered pants, a W.A.S.P t-shirt covering his torso, she felt like things could actually get better.

New Years and the beginning of January bring more clearer days. Jean can remember laughing more rapidly than before. Eddie pouts as she braids his hair, and she laughs. When Eddie groans at the cheesy date night of heading down to the local thrift shop to find matching plates to put their painted handprints on, he only does so because Jean will laugh. Jean knows her laughter is not quite the same, but she’s grateful that it still comes amidst the sadness that cuts through. When she walks back into the house after a rough day, she finds herself missing the embrace of her father whose immediate remedy would be a hot chocolate. She misses the man he used to be and she wonders if there was any saving for him. If she hadn’t reacted like she did, could they have gotten back to the old ways? It’s a question that will ever have an answer, and that’s what haunts her. She can never and will never get an answer.

In the early days of February, Jean feels something lighter in her chest. Valentine’s Day is spent with piles of movies rented and a pizza. It’s not how either one would’ve pictured how they’d spend the day either. But it feels right as they share greasy kisses and laugh at the cheesy romantic comedies. Underneath the tenderness is heavier, hotter, more carnal. They know it well, but don’t know it recently. The kisses linger longer now and hands occasionally slip under t-shirts, and it leaves them still breathless as one or both of them break from the kisses at the same time. It is threatening to blossom again but not quite breaking through the bud.

The TV casts a soft glow over them. The setting sun has provided more than enough light for them. It’s nothing either of them really were going to watch. Eddie had turned it on because it was less distracting to him than his music and he had promised to actually settle down to work on his project. He’d procrastinated for a week and now with the impending pressure of the deadline he had to turn something in, even if it was great to even have the thought of passing the courses. Jean sits on the couch, book in front of her from the public library. While Jean was never an avid reader, she’d started to read more in the winter. To give Eddie’s well loved copies a break in the binding, she’d hunted down her old library card.

But now, Jean’s just watching Eddie on the floor, tongue poking out just a little as he maneuvers the scissors over the construction paper. “Put your tongue away sir,” Jean teases.

“Or what?” Eddie huffs back, not sparing her a glance.

“Or I’m putting it back for you.”

Eddie looks up at the comment, only to see the way Jean mauervers in her position, thighs passing over each other. “Is my concentration turning you on?”

“And if it is?”

“Cute.”

“And if it’s not?” Jean poses.

Eddie tsk, tongue gently tapping the roof of his mouth and the back of his teeth to echo the sound. “You’re a crap liar.”

Jean sighs, head ducking back down on the pages of the book. “Shut up.” It’s embarrassing how anything Eddie does turns her on now. She’d hadn’t pressed him too far too much about sex, still nervous herself about initiating anything sexual. But she couldn’t deny the fact that the months were catching up to her.

Eddie laughs, pushing up from the floor and settles onto the edge of the couch. He reaches for her knee and Jean gives in easily. He tugs until she’s climbing onto his lap. His hands run over her ribs and he holds her close to his chest. The brush of his jeans over her front causes a small whimper to escape her throat.

Eddie kisses up her neck and then down the other side. “I love it when you’re like this, needy for me. But I do have work to do.”

“Since when have you really cared,” Jean whines.

“Since someone told me I was on a probationary period with my balls.”

Jean snorts. “With the term man,” she corrects.

“Same thing.”

“Absolutely not,” she retorts. Jean presses in, lips sealing around Eddie’s. She does want him to actually do his work. It’s a greedy kiss, lips parting and meeting and parting and meeting, but it’s not rushed. They take just a few minutes to savor the taste of the other. Jean peels back just a hair. “I-it’s just been a while.”

“Sweetheart, trust me when I say, I know.” Eddie punctuates the sentence by pressing Jean harder down onto his crotch, the pressure against his hardening cock causes him to lose his breath just for a moment. “But I really, really, want you to be in the right headspace for sex. So it may be killing me to have to constantly rub one out in the shower, but I never, never want to push you too far.”

Jean nods, dropping her head to Eddie’s shoulder. She inhales deeply, taking in the mixture of scents. She’d upgraded his cologne for Christmas and every time she gets a whiff, her core clenches. “I’m getting better.”

“I see it, baby. I’m happy you are.”

“Next weekend--mom’s out of town. Do you want to try playing house?” The slow drag of Eddie’s fingers up her spine makes her shiver. But she snuggles in deeper.

“Why is your mom going out of town?”

“She just told me a couple weeks ago she’s considering if she wants to sell the house and move back to Cincinnati.”

Eddie's throat jumps, the teasing touch turning into a fearful embrace. Jean leaving him? Would she even stay in town? He gets it--if she needed to get away from this town now especially after everything. If that’s what she needed to do, Eddie would try his best to make it work. He’d have to find a more reliable vehicle for those trips. A large feat to get a new car, but not impossible. “Do-do you want to move with her?”

“I don’t know, if I’m being honest, Eds. I want to get away, but I want to get away with you too. I know Cincinnati isn’t a metal scene, but I don’t know. Feels like we could start fresh maybe. If you want, of course. You still have lots of friends and the band here. There’s a lot that’s sort of just up in the air.”

There’s a lot of unknowns. The rest of the band was pretty much just riding through their final years of high school. It wasn’t clear where they were headed just yet. Eddie himself still needed to graduate. And Jean--did Jean even want what she had before? “Are you going to be staying at the shop? If your mom decides not to move, do you want to stay there or try and make the jewelry and art more permanent things. There’s still downtown--a lot of buildings for sale. Could easily be converted into a studio and shop.”

“Oh my god, Eddie, are you already plotting out our whole lives or something?” Jean pushes up from the position. Her tone is sarcastic and teasing, but her smile is soft.

Eddie takes in a deep breath, always a little thrown off by her dazzling smile. He hates to admit that sometimes when they’re hanging out or when he was supposed to be paying attention in class he was thinking about her, what life could look like for them. And it’s amazing to feel something is so full of possibility. “What if I have?”

“Tell me. Please.”

“Alright, well, here it goes. Strap in.” Eddie wraps his arms around her waist and she nods, laughing a little. His fingers tap at her lower back as he speaks, “We buy two abandoned shops downtown right next to each other. You have earlier hours than I do, 10 to 6, maybe 7. I stroll in around noon and I stay until 8. And you always have to come drag me out of the records shop because you know I can lose track of time. You’ve got jewelry in the front of your store, yeah. Then some art that you’re okay selling. On the weekends you hold workshops, kids, adults, bored teens come in and you teach sessions only from 11 to 4 then. And you hate, and I mean hate when I open up shop because I am blasting music way too loud, but I make sure to only keep it loud for the first hour and then I turn it down and maybe I’m giving guitar lessons because let’s face it it’s extra money to make. I play gigs, try out for a few bands. But a band does take off. We hire some help at the record shop while I’m off touring. And baby, life is fucking good. That’s all I want, with you.”

Jean captures his lips in a kiss. “I like the sound of that, Eds.”

“Hmm, I’m glad.” He punctuates the sentences with another kiss. “But seriously, I need to finish this.”

“Yes, yes, I know. But next weekend?”

“We’re on. We should have a date night. Go somewhere.” He leaves off the rest, We haven’t had a date night in a while. Because it’s obvious why they haven’t. They did small things, but hadn’t really gone out in a while.

“Arcade? I’m happy to kick your ass in any game there.”

“Sounds like a date.”

“Thanks, stud muffin.” They share one last kiss before Jean peels herself off Eddie’s lap. He returns back to the project at hand, throwing a lazy slap behind him at the tease of Jean’s ass shaking in his periphery.

“Behave, woman!”

As the weekend approaches, Eddie takes inventory of the list he’d scratched down what feels like a lifetime ago. Though he doubts Jean and he would even get to this--it would be their first time being intimate since the end of October, early November. But there’s a voice in the back of his head that tells him it’s better to be prepared and be overly prepared at that, than not not be prepared at all. So he packs up the silk ties he fashioned, grabs a couple of his bandanas, and the feather paddle. It hadn’t been easy to get the last item without Jean seeing. But he managed on one of her days off to get up to the store to snag it. On top of it of course, he tosses in clothes for the weekend, his body wash and deodorant and other necessities. There’s a moment when Eddie lifts the bag up, he thinks what’s at the bottom will burn a hole right through it, but it won’t. Nothing is bad. It’s just personal. He doesn’t want any of this getting out.

When Friday morning rolls around and Eddie pulls into the parking lot of the school, his chest feels like it’s going to burst out of his chest. He leaves his weekend bag in the van but his fingers run over the list. At the bottom he scratched down the safe word, wanting to remember it himself before he tried to even breach the topic with Jean. She’d agreed to come after school again for Hellfire and then they’d head over to the arcade after. Undoubtedly, they’d get sucked into too many rounds of Pac-man, Dig Dug, Tetris--a game Jean was a wizard at to Eddie’s annoyance but he loves to see her locked in, lip tucked between her teeth as she concentrated--and Space Invaders--a game Jean has to put Eddie a timer on or else they’re there until the arcade closes.

It hardly seems important to worry about classes or work when he knows that just after the ring of the last period’s bell he’s going to be spending time with the love of his life. And he can almost hear Jean’s retort that he’s being dramatic, but it doesn't matter. He’ll be dramatic as needed when it comes to her. Eddie does his best, lessons in each class passing with varying levels of his attention. He can fake the funk just for a few more hours. “How much you want to bet it’s about Jean?” Gareth asks as he approaches the lunch table. Eddie’s already pressed into the end, lazily feeding himself pretzels.

“I don’t think we have to bet at all,” Jeff returns. “It’s sort of adorable, just a little.”

“It’s just a little bit sickening,” Mike returns.

“It’s endearing,” Dustin counters.

“You all are being very obvious,” Eddie calls out.

“We’re still on for tonight, right?” Dustin questions. Eddie nods. “Is Jean coming?” he tests the waters, settling down in his normal spot at the table. He likes having her around, but it’s clear something else is on Eddie’s mind.

“She is.”

“I like it when she’s there. Has she thought about joining a session as a player? I think she’d be a great cartographer.”

Eddie hadn’t really broached the subject with Jean. She listened to him when he need to talk through campaign stuff, but it was his world--a thing for Eddie all alone. Jean didn’t seem like she wanted to dabble. It didn’t even strike Eddie that he never felt the need to bring the world fully to her. She took what she wanted and Eddie wonders if that’s how the two of them worked. He wasn’t into art, but when Jean wanted to talk about it or wanted his opinion about a piece, he was happy to slip into her world and then slip out of it.

“If she wants,” Eddie returns to Dustin’s question.

“I’d like to play with her,” Dustin states. It’s a simple fact, but Eddie finds himself perking up a little more that others were taking to her too. She wasn’t around a lot--a product of Eddie having to repeat his senior year a third time. But it is nice to know that when she is around, Jean is meshing well with his friends.

The rest of the table fills in and the conversation migrates to the toilet in the boys locker room that overflowed, making for an interesting P.E. session for those unfortunate souls that had the class early in the day. The rumors are easy to turn recount--a massive shit, someone purposefully trying to clog the plumbing with paper towels. It's an easy conversation to hold and then smaller pockets break out. Gareth, Jeff, and Eddie contemplating what to play and practice for the next gig at The Hideout. The ease of the conversation passes too fast and before they know it there’s still three and a half more hours of class to struggle through.

Eddie sits, in the middle of the back row, legs bouncing in the chair. He tries to keep the chains tapping against the seat to a minimum by holding them in his hands. His fingers run up and down the divots. But the truth of the manner is that he does not give a shit about chemistry or oxidation. He just needs the bell to ring. Ring, ring, ring, he chants in his head watching the seconds ticking down

When it does, he’s almost the first one out of the classroom door. He slithers through the hallways in a half jog. Others are at lockers and Eddie’s heading for the front door. He finds his van and parked right next to it is Jean, already leaning against the hood of her car. He takes out into a sprint, barely checking for buses and cars. Jean pushes up, sweater falling off her shoulder as she takes a couple steps closer.

“Hey,” Eddie exhales, wrapping her up in a hug. He doesn’t miss the skirt she’s wearing--a pleated yellow, black and white plaid number that’s shorter than normal and absolutely not the jeans she normally wears. Her legs are covered by stockings coming up to her thighs. “Is this for Hellfire? Because I have to say, I am jealous if it is.”

Jean laughs, pulling out of the embrace. “It’s for the arcade and date night. I didn’t want to do a costume change.”

Eddie takes a brief skim of the tops of her thighs between the bottom of the skirt and the tops of the black thigh high stockings. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

“No, you are. And it’s called Dungeons and Dragons,” Jean slips her hands down to tap him on the ass. “C’mon. We gotta step up.”

“I know what I want to set up.” Eddie sends her a wink but digs out the box of figurines and his notes before they start back to the doors. They’ll only have a couple hours at the arcade as is. Jean’s got the late shift on Saturday and while they could use Saturday morning for a date night, it felt like they were both possibly expecting tonight to be long.

Jean cracks open the door to the drama room, to find Mike and Dustin already pulling the chairs and desk together in the center. “Hey, boys,” she calls out with a wave as she holds the door open with her body for Eddie.

“Hi Jean!” Dustin beams. “Glad you could join tonight.”

“Excited to see what trouble the party gets into today,” she laughs. It’s easy to pull out the movement map and place the figurines in front of where everyone usually sits. The rest is really up to Eddie with his notes and divider, which she’s careful not to mess with too much as she doesn’t want anything to spill out.

“Eds, babe, did you forget your dice?” Jean calls out peering back into the empty box.

“I got them with me,” he returns.

“Oh, whoops. Missed you grabbing them out of the box.”

The room settles soon after--Jean to the left of the throne, next to Dustin, Eddie’s jacket draped over her lap. Jean would bet money Eddie placed it over her lap as a sign to the room where the boundaries lie. As the session progresses, Eddie notices Jean leaning in more and more. She doesn’t give anything away, just peeks every so often to double check Eddie’s being fair about his rolls and watching on the edge of her seat as the guys make their roles too. Dustin rolls a nat 20 at a crucial moment and she pops out of the chair, cheer erupting deep from her chest.

“Fuck you, Vecna. Fuck you!” she roars, one hand clutches Eddie’s jacket to her waist still but the other pumps into the air as she takes a lap around the room. She flips Eddie off. “You son of a bitch!”

Eddie can only laugh at her excitement. But his heart nearly bursts out of his chest as he watches Jean celebrate with Dustin. The rest of the group is celebrating too, claps and cheers echoing around the room.

“That’s my line,” Dustin returns to Jean amidst his clear excitement.

“By all means,” she gestures, waving out the figurative red carpet for him. She settles back down to Eddie’s left.

He gestures for her to lean in closer and when she does, Eddie caresses her cheek. “Angel, you’re cute when you’re excited. But please do not shake the players. It scares them.”

Jean laughs, but nods. “Please have the signage up more clearly next time.”

“Noted,” he huffs. “Smartass.”

“Sure am. And guess what, I’m your smartass so get used to it.”

“Hmm,” Eddie returns as if deciding if he wants to get used to it or not.

The session for the night ends on a high note and the clean up is quick. The evening is cooler, but it’s not grueling with the cold just yet. Eddie is still quick to get the things into his van so Jean can get into the warmth of her car. It’s not too much longer from them pulling out of the school parking lot that the arcade comes into view. They park side by side in the lot. But Eddie captures her wrist. It slows Jean down and she looks up through her lashes.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she huffs.

“Look at you like what?”

“Like you love me.”

“Heavens, no, too tender of a gaze for the love of my life, huh?”

“Heart can’t take it,” Jean laughs before pushing up for a kiss.

Eddie knows he shouldn’t, but the deeper the kiss gets, the lower his hands fall down her back, over her ass until his fingers are curling into the back of her fleshy thighs. Jean only gasps and Eddie takes the surprise to graze her bottom lip. Her hands are slipping around his waist, pulling his hips into hers.

“Eddie.”It comes out like a plea, like she wants to ask something else, but doesn’t.

“Yes, lovely?”

“I kind of do what to have a date night with you, but you’re making it hard not to want to go back to my place.”

The desire to slip his hand under her skirt right to her core rises, but Eddie wants a date night too. He wants to hear her laugh, illuminated by blues and yellows off the screens. He wants to hold her close as they eat burgers way too late that are no good for them. He wants to in their own way wine and dine her before they even consider sex again.

“One more kiss,” he bargains. “You can’t say no to these big ol’ chocolate eyes. I know you can’t.”

Jean lets her laughter fall freely. “I don’t want to say no--that’s the difference. So I won’t,” she states before pressing one last kiss to Eddie’s mouth. “Now, who’s on quarter duty? I can’t remember if I was last time.”

“I’ll take it, if you don’t mind getting us food?”

“Sounds like a good deal.”

Between the two of them, Eddie knows it’s going to take about three or four dollars for the machines. But he goes for an even five just to be safe. With his pocket full of change, Eddie turns to Jean. “Lady’s choice first.”

“Oh, hmm,” Jean starts turning to the array of machines. She almost says Burger Time just to annoy Eddie, but she spies Tetris opening up so she makes a beeline for the machine. It doesn’t necessarily fill up fast, but once someone gets going, they’re in for a while. She has to seize the opportunity while she still can. If not, it will be another hour before the machine opens up again.

“Of course,” Eddie laughs, following behind her.

Jean slots in at the machine, palm up for the coin. Eddie plops the quarter into the machine instead. She welcomes Eddie circling his arm around her waist, chin resting on her shoulder. The blocks start to fall from the top and her fingers are deft over the buttons to rotate and place on the board. Eddie watches as the screen clutters up, almost too full for it to work out, but she gets a long block to slot into the bottom five rows that were still waiting and the whole screen filters down again only a couple rows waiting to be complete.

40,000 points come and go in a blink. Then 75,000. She creeps up to 90,000. Eddie waits for the triple digits and when they blink over the screens, he squeezes her waist a little. Jean takes just a second to look over his face. If she didn’t know better, by the poke of his tongue, she would think Eddie is the one playing. But she can’t afford too long of a distraction. 225,000 points glows as her final score.

“Oh, one more,” Eddie encourages, the coin already falling into the machine.

Her score didn’t break the top ten and Eddie knows she’s got better in her. Jean nods, working the controls again. The tickle of Eddie’s breath leaves her mind as she keeps track of her rows, assessing the pattern of the blocks that fall. 680,000--the score breaches the 9 top score.

“Another?” Eddie asks.

“Maybe later. I don’t want to bore you.”

“I am far bored,” Eddie teases, pulling her firmer against him. The semi hard on is clearer and Jean purposefully grinds back as she leads them back away from the machine. None of them say anything about it.

“Your turn,” Jean retorts, lightly tapping his outer thigh. “I’m sure of it,” she tacks on to avoid the primed question.

They alternate--picking games to play for a round or two. Eddie gets Jean on for a round of Space Invaders and it goes poorly, her laughing at her poor reflexes. Eddie is there, behind her, hands laying over her to help her get a feel for the timing. His laughter is soft as Jean squeals at her failure.

“I’m terrible, Eds, I told you.”

“Nah, sweetheart, you did great for your second time.”

“Yeah, did so great at being terrible. I didn’t even get a fourth of your score.”

“I can’t touch your score in Tetris,” Eddie laughs.

“Oh, it’s not hard. C’mon. I could teach you.”

“Nah, I’m good. I’ll leave you to your blocks. That game would make my head explode. Your turn.”

It would be easy to say Tetris, considering it’s still open. But she’s curious to see what sort of damage they can do together. They bounce to Dig Dug, then Pac-Man upon Eddie’s request. And when he requests Jean to pick again, she takes another survey of the room. Jean knows soon the arcade will be closing as the crowd is thinning. She spots Dragon’s Lair. She’s noticed it before, but never really gravitated towards it. Taking Eddie by his wrist, she leads them to the machine. She spins within inches of it. “What do you say, Dungeon Master?”

“Firstly, Dungeons and Dragons is vastly different from this. But secondly, I love the sound of that from your lips. So hell yeah.”

Jean laughs reaching into the pocket of Eddie’s jacket. Her fingers find the change and something else. She pulls both of them out. Eddie doesn’t seem to be noticing too much as he peers over the introductory screen. She reads the list. Silks (or silk adjacent), blind fold (or blind fold adjacent), pillows (for knees), gag?, paddle or whip?, safe word (HIGH priority). Safe word is scratched through and sour cream is written down next to it on the same line.

“You okay, Jean?” He’d gotten distracted trying to piece together what the game might be about but even he noticed how long it was taking for Jean to fish out a quarter. He spies the list in her hand and almost wants to vomit. Not how he wanted to bring this up. He’d do it over popcorn and shitty movies or while they listened to the chirps of early spring‘s night. Not in the arcade. And not by it being an accident at that. “Shit. I didn’t bring that assuming you’d want to go that far. I brought it to be safe in case you did. Again, I don’t--it’s important that you feel the most comfortable with whatever we do.”

“I almost forgot--that we even started talking about it,” Jean whispers. “With everything that had gone on, this feels like years ago.”

Eddie reaches up to gingerly take the list, but Jean holds to it. He doesn’t fight her, but he does hover for the moment should she want to give it up. “I--It’s okay if you don’t want to anymore.”

“I never said that Eddie.” Her tone is firm, like she wants to make it clear that he ought not to make assumptions about the words that she stating.

Eddie nods, resting his hand instead on the side of her stomach, fingers splaying onto her waist. “You don’t have to agree to it tonight, that's all I want to make clear. There’s plenty of time for us to work back up to that.”

“I do want it, what we talked about.” Jean ends the sentence there, but Eddie notices the way she parts her lips--more threatening to spill out but then she exhales hard and lets the sentence die before it births itself.

“No,” Eddie returns. “Tell me. Please.”

“I’d like to try tonight. It-I know it’s about my comfort and you don’t want to push me. I’ll do whatever you want and feel comfortable doing. But I want to at least try.”

There’s the edge of a whine in her voice and it turns up into a bit of fear. I’ll do whatever you want. Eddie takes in her face--eyes glassy and pleading. If it’s what he wanted and she knew he wouldn’t go hard, then he could still take it easy. It didn’t have to be a deep dive like she was saying. He could still give her what she wants. But he wouldn’t have to push himself out of his own comfort zone either. It would take time for both of them to get into anything heavy. Or it would for Eddie at least. Her well being, physically and emotionally, took precedent over his own sexual desires or fanasties. It might kill him to have vanilla sex for a while, but he’d rather that than running the risk of scaring Jean.

“Okay,” Eddie agrees softly. “We can try tonight.”

Jean beams, tucking the list back into his pocket. “Thank you, Eddie.”

“Don’t thank me just yet,” he scoffs. “We still need to get through it all first.”

“For being willing,” Jean continues on.

“Of course, princess.” They share a tender kiss and Eddie keeps his forehead pressed to her. “Dragon’s Lair or do you want food?”

“One try at this, then food? I didn’t eat much for lunch,” she admits.

“Did you eat at all today?”

“Breakfast. And like almonds for lunch.” Eddie balks for a moment, hands wrapping tighter around her side. Like he’s going to force both of them out of the arcade in an instan. Jean takes hold of his wrist. “It wasn’t on purpose! I woke up really late today after being up after work until like 2 in the morning. I had to get to the post office, run by to see Hopper, and drop off the painting I did for the Thompsons’. I just--forgot.”

It feels like a lame excuse to give, to simply forget. But it’s the truth. She did forget. She managed to eat breakfast. But in the time it took to chat with Hopper and then get to the Thompsons’ before Hellfire, she was already left scrambling and pressed for time. Over the weeks, she’s gotten used to stopping by the police office to speak with Hopper. Usually it centered around the case, but it soon became just check ins. He asked about her mother, and even Eddie. Jean doesn’t tell Eddie when Hopper asks about him. It’s never detailed—mostly checking in to make sure the two of them are still okay, that Eddie’s treating her right.

Eddie sighs at the confession. “Why were you up late?”

“I wanted to finish The Lord of the Rings. Which reminds me I have to return that by Sunday.”

“Oh—what do you think?”

“It takes a whole different side of my brain to get it but I liked it. Felt transported that’s for sure.”

Eddie can handle that. It is dense and he’s just glad she gave it a shot at all. The kiss to Jean’s forehead is soft. “I’m glad you liked it. I can return it if we don’t get up and going before your shift tomorrow.”

Jean nods her agreement to the compromise. “I’ll take any more recommendations too.”

“We should give your brain a break. You’re not even in school anymore. Soon though, I’ve got something I think you’ll like too.”

“Promise?”

Eddie holds up his pinkie and Jean wraps hers around. “Promise,” Eddie states after kissing her digit. “Now, only one game and then food. I’m not going to have you passing out on me.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“C’mon. Let’s save a princess.”

“Who, me?”

“Another princess,” Eddie huffs, but grins at the joke.

The game’s not too terribly complicated and Eddie much like in Space Invaders rests his hands over Jean’s as they work together. Jean’s eyes are a bit faster than Eddie’s but Eddie’s reflexes are faster thanks to the years of guitar. Two halves that make that complete the whole--never perfect, but always complete. The feeling of her pressed in so close makes Eddie feel secured. Though he’s shielding around her, arms threaded through her sides, his back facing the rest of the arcade, Eddie is grateful for the feeling of Jean’s laughter rumbling through her. It grounds him as they work through the castle and dodging attacks.

Jean jumps when the flames lick at them, unprotected to the dragon’s wrath. Eddie manages to dodge his head out of the way to avoid the back of her head bashing into his jaw, but he doesn’t release her--arms wrapping around her waist even tighter.

“Jesus, that scared me. We were so close,” she laughs, hand settling over her chest.

Eddie almost offers one more game but then he reminders she hasn’t eaten. “We can try again later, sometime. I’m sure Princess Daphne will understand that we need first food.”

“Burgers? I’m starving.”

“Of course. Do you take for some kind of common whore who doesn’t go for burgers on date night.”

“Never,” Jean laughs. “I would never take you as such.”

Eddie didn’t disbelieve Jean’s claims to be starving but when she orders an extra helping of fries and eats every single of them, Eddie knows the depth to her earlier confession. She hadn’t eaten much earlier in the day. Eddie offers to cover dessert, but Jean shakes her head. “You sure?”

“Sure,” Jean laughs, sipping down the last of her Coke. “Do you want anything?”

Eddie shakes his head, rings tapping into the table in front of them. “As tempted as I am to get a milkshake, I think you and your sheets will prefer me not to.”

Jean snorts. “It’s not like you haven’t boxed me in with your farts anyway.”

“It was once,” Eddie retorts.

“Twice--I shouldn’t have suggested pizza the second time.”

“Maybe twice. But I’m going to need proof the second time before I agree to it.”

They share a small tuft of laughter before Jean pays the bill and they head to her place. It’s strange to be in two different cars, heading to the same place, knowing exactly what’s going to happen. It only feels this way because Eddie sort of envisioned this all differently. A slow build, where they went maybe somewhere fancy or he cooked for them at one of their places. It would be an all day sort of build up. The saving grace is that there is still plenty of time to work up to things. Eddie didn’t have to do anything that would make him uncomfortable like Jean had mentioned previously. They could take it easy on the first swing around. It would help them learn anyway--slow and steady.

He turns down the dial on his radio the sounds of Dio Rainbow In The Dark swirling around in his head. When he first heard the song, he wanted to cry. Not that Eddie would admit to many people that he’d listened to metal for more than just the guitar riffs and thumping bass drum. But he did. A byproduct of his father being in jail, never having his mother in his life beyond the early years and spending a couple years floating as a ward of the state before his Uncle Wayne got settled enough to take him in, is that Eddie had to rely on himself. He’s always felt like he was just destined to fade into the background. And he didn’t want it. Eddie wanted someone to care about him and he wanted someone--anyone-- to notice him.

The paradox of his life--wanting people, creating a shield to keep from getting hurt again, but still wanting people. It makes sense to avoid pain as much as possible. To find something that will make the pain either non-existent or ensure it’s never felt again. Eddie had created a vortex that only few people dared to enter and those that did he learned to trust. But he’d been the in part the reason for his own isolation. He had a hand in stirring the pot because as long as anyone too scared by the facade stayed away Eddie was safe.

The funny thing about feeling safe is that it is not a feeling created alone. Feeling safe has to have the right combination. Eddie feels safe with Jean because she is the right combination of supportive, understanding, and steadiness to call Eddie out on his own shit. Eddie feels like he’s been spotted, and that such a spotlight is only created because of love is because it is Jean that’s doing it. Safety is not created alone. In return, Eddie hopes that he can create that sense of safety with Jean too--tonight and always.

Eddie knows the rules--no shoes in the house past the entrance but he breaks it, taking Jean gently by her wrist and nodding down the hallway for her to continue down with him. “It’s us playing house for the weekend, remember?” he grins.

“And playing house means you’re sweeping the floors then.”

“With honor,” Eddie laughs, leading them all the way to her bedroom. Her room opens to the beige walls that are just barely covered in magazine cutouts and posters. It’s not a lot--just her bed decorated in a purple bedspread, a desk, and vanity. One window decorates the room’s wall. The closet is on the same wall as the door. It’s just enough decoration with the photos tucked into the corners of her mirrors. It’s just enough that Eddie knows it’s Jean’s.

Eddie hoists her up onto the bed. It’s not high by any means and Jean laughs as she lets him lift her. Her descent makes the end of her skirt fly up and there’s just a hint of pink lace covering her. The groan that Eddie can feel in his chest is forgotten as he kneels down onto the shag run covering her hardwood floors--it’s not really about him anymore. It’s all about her. All about Jean. The boots aren’t new--he can tell by the creases on the toes and he scuffs.

“So,” Eddie starts, pulling at the lace on the right boot, “sounds like you had an eventful day--Hopper, post office, Hellfire. Not too tired?”

Jean watches from above. Her fingers just barely brush back some of his curls. “No. Not tired. How-how was your day?”

The second boot lands to the floor harsher than the first, mostly due to Eddie’s slight tremble. But it’s worth it--building this slowly because safety is not a feeling made alone. Eddie pushes up from the floor, slipping out of his own shoes and jacket before climbing onto the bed behind her. Her question still lingers as Jean watches Eddie reach back for her. She slides across her comforter until she’s situated between Eddie’s legs, pressing her back into his chest. They both sink just a little into the pillows. Jean had forgone a headboard opting to use her desk most of the time and she liked having more pillows anyway. But it did create a deep pocket of pillows on her bed as a result.

Eddie slips his fingers just under the hem of her sweater, fingers gently brushing over the top of the skirt. “I thought I was going to lose my mind until I could see you,” he chuckles.

“Little old me?” Jean returns, turning her head. She’s greeted by the sight of Eddie’s neck. He hums in response to the question. “Tell me about it. Your day.”

“Boring, really,” Eddie returns.

Jean shivers at the brush of Eddie’s fingers over her stomach. He traces the band of her skirt but nothing more--no pressure, no kneading. Just the ever so delicate trace of the tips of his fingers--slow and steady. She inhales again at his scent, nose brushing just ever so slightly over the column of his throat. “Tell me, please,” she whispers into his skin. Though her core aches and part of her wants Eddie to ravish her. She does care that he had a good day at the very least. It matters--it feels that they linger here in this space. “Classes, Hellfire, everything.”

“You were there for the last part of it,” Eddie returns with a shaky laugh. Her exhales ghost over skin and Eddie can feel them in his spine.

“I’ll listen to it again.”

Eddie pulls his hands out from under her sweater, fingers now picking just a little at the skirt. “Classes were whatever. Managed a C+ on that project from last week.”

“Proud of you,” Jean returns.

“Th-thanks. I think the boys of Hellfire are more enamored by you than I am,” Eddie teases. “If a little squirt like Dustin loves you, then I think it’s safe to say you’re officially in good with them.”

Jean can’t really pay attention to the words, not with the way Eddie keeps hitching the hem of her skirt up higher and higher. She does manage a laugh at the comment about Dustin. She’s zeroing in on how his fingers brush over the tops of her thighs. Eddie continues on and Jean’s sure now he’s probably thoroughly distracted with his own recounting. He won’t notice the way she crosses her legs, praying that the squeeze will provide some relief.

“Tsk,” Eddie returns, fingers wrapping into the meat of her inner thighs and pulling them apart. “Did I say you could cross them?”

“No-no, you didn’t.”

Eddie gets her legs parted. Though the fullness of her thighs don’t leave a gap in the uncross, Eddie leaves them touching but not crossed. “Stay there, doll,” he whispers. “And I was going to compliment this choice too--a skirt to greet me and spend the afternoon.”

Jean hums at the brush of his lips to her ear. “I know normally it’s not my normal attire.”

“Dressing up for a special occasion?”

“Trying to, at least,” Jean returns.

Eddie drags his fingers along the edge of her inner thighs, playing at the line they create as they touch. He goes up and under the skirt, but stops just an inch shy of her lace covered core and then drags them back down her outer thigh. “As I was saying,” he starts, watching the way Jean fists the ends of her sweater. “Dustin asked if you wanted to join us, play a session or two.”

“Dungeons and Dragons?” Jean questions, exhaling hard.

“Yeah. If you want of course. I’ll help you build your character up of course.”

“I-I like watching.”

“Then you can just watch.” The sentence hangs--one beat, then two. Eddie’s fingers have paused on the teasing. Should he? He wants to. He’s hoping this isn’t too much. It’s why he asked if she was tired. If she’d said yes, or Eddie felt like she was covering up something he was going to say they could table it, wait until later. But her response was even from her lips. “I want you to watch me, doll,” Eddie states, each word equally measured over his tongue as they fall.

Jean watches as one hand comes up to her jaw, head tilting down. “Okay.” It’s quiet, but not a weak submission. “I’m watching.”

Eddie flips the skirt up. Jean takes in the sight of her own stomach, and just below it she sees the crotch of her panties. Safety is not a feeling made alone. While he could easily just go for his next move, he thinks there’s something enticing to Jean knowing what’s coming next but having to wait for it--the anticipation of her own pleasure. “Why pink?”

“Thought you’d like it.”

“Thank you for thinking of me,” Eddie breathes, kissing her temple.

“Do you? Like it?” His fingers are teetering, playing at the seam of her pelvis. Every muscle feels like it’s light on fire as Jean tenses at the touches.

“I do. I really do like it. I’m going to pull these stunning little panties to the side, okay, love? Going to touch your clit, okay?”

Jean nods. She counts the seconds it takes for Eddie to move from hovering to capturing the side of underwear--four seconds. Much too long after the direction, but when the cool air hits her, Jean exhales hard.

“Bend your knees, a leg on either side of mine,” Eddie instructs and Jean does as told. Her core disappears from her sight, the round edge of her own belly hiding it away from her. Another six seconds--two more than last time. But when Eddie’s fingers press into her clit, Jean ruts her hips up. “Hey, hey, sweet thing. I got you.”

Jean clings to the voice, I got you. Jean nods. Eddie always has. She’s never been worried about that.“I know. Just missed this.”

“Missed me playing with your pussy?”

Jean only gets a sigh out. It sounds content.

“I let it go one time.” Eddie pauses on lazy circles he’s been making. “But when I ask you a question, I need a verbal response, okay? The second you go nonverbal on me, I’m going to assume that’s you wanting out. Do you understand?”

The air is tight in Jean’s lungs. It hurts that Eddie’s stopped touching her. Him playing lazily at clit is better so much better that her own fingers. “Yes,” she hisses.

“Good girl,” Eddie returns, resuming his earlier work. “I know we said you’d let me do whatever you wanted and I so appreciate you trusting me. I’m going to take my time, okay? We’re going to take things real slow this first time, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jean huffs out. “Sounds good.”

“Good.”

Eddie drags his fingers down from her clit down to her entrance. He gathers the wetness dripping and drags it back up to her clit. Her breasts are obstructing just a bit of his view. But the sight of Jean laying against me, hips tensing, stomach jumping at his touch makes up for what he can’t see. Eddie listens to the hitch of her breath when he presses down harder and listens to the whines when he eases up. There’s just the huff and whines filling the air. Edde drinks in the sounds. He knows in part they’re all going straight to his cock. He briefly wonders if Jean can feel it against her back. But even if she did, he assumes she doesn’t mind it much.

“Is-is now a bad time to tell you I bought you something?” Jean asks.

Eddie kisses her temple again, one hand teasing the seam of her pelvis and inner thigh, the other still working over her clit. “What did you buy me, sweet thing?”

“Well-fuck, shit. It came with the set, really,” Jean hums, eyes still locked on the work and flex of Eddie’s forearms. She watches the ticks of his muscles and it tells her more than she ever needs to see. He’s going to drag this out. He’s going to take his sweet time with her and she loves the idea already.

“I’m listening,” Eddie returns.

“It’s-it’s in my drawer, the night stand. Can I get it?” Jean whines on the last word, a gasp falling from her mouth.

“Hmm, lovely, you can get it for me after you come once. How does that sound?”

“Eds,” Jean huffs, mind fuzzing over just slightly with the growing pleasure. He’s kept a steady pressure now, pausing every so often to drag her own arousal back over her clit.

“Answer me please, doll.”

“Shit,” Jean pants at Eddie’s paused fingers. “Okay, I’ll come for you. Just don’t stop.”

“You have to answer me in order for me to continue.”

“I know. I will. I promise.”

“Atta girl,” Eddie grins, watching her hips rise up into his fingers.

It’s just enough pressure. Just enough pleasure and touch for Jean to feel the impending orgasm. She keeps watch for as long as she can on Eddie’s fingers circling her clit, on the hand that drags up her stomach. He pauses at one breast, and she just barely hears the instruction that he’s going to play with her nipple before she lets a soft yes fall from her lips. Eddie cups the flesh of her chest over the shirt and over her bra and pinches until the nipple hardens into his grasps.

Her head falls back into his shoulder, mouth agape with the moan that escapes her. It’s making her sink. Every time Eddie gives her a warning before the touch, she finds more and more she craves the ability to drop. She doesn’t care what he does because it’s him. Because she knows she’ll be safe within his control. But God, she loves the way everything hangs with anticipation. The move is known, but the timing is not. Jean digs her heels into the mattress when the timing of Eddie’s fingers match between her nipple and clit.

Eddie knows it’s happening before Jean realizes it. She begs him not to stop and Eddie can’t think of anything that would. Her nails dig into the denim covering his thighs and then into flesh of his thighs as she rears up just a little. It’s a broken cry that pierces the air around them and then Jean sinks heavier against Eddie. He pulls his hands away, smoothing her skirt back down.

“So good, did so good for me,” he whispers into her skin as she pants into the air to get her breath back after her orgasm.

Jean melts into the praise, a smile decorating her face as she turns just a little into Eddie’s hold. He gives her a minute, caressing over her jaw to pass the time. He hadn’t realized just how much this would excite him. His own chest heaves. Jean’s melting like chocolate in his hands. She’ll take whatever shape he demands. But Eddie is mindful to demand carefully. Safety is not a feeling made alone.

Eddie peels her out of her sweater, a pink lace bra decorating her brown skin. The coolness of the room makes her nipples pebble and he traces them through the fabric of the bra. The flesh of her stomach is soft and malleable under his squeeze. Eddie’s fingers find the zipper of her skirt. “Do you remember our safe word?” he asks in her ear.

Jea nods, “Yes.”

He inches the zipper down. “What is it?”

“Sour cream.”

At the utterance of the phrase, Edde pulls his hands away from her. Jean presses back, whining at the lost contact. “I’m still here, baby. I just--I need you to understand if it’s too much at any time, you use that phrase okay. I will stop. If you can’t speak, slap me.”

The laughter is involuntary but Jean pushes up and faces Eddie. “How about I just tap you twice? Couldn’t slap a pretty face like yours.”

“Thank you, Jean. Two taps. But you have to use those okay? When you need them.”

“Understood.” Jean sits on her knees between Eddie’s legs and he watches her face, the way she takes in the sight of him. Like some part of her can’t believe it. But she should. She should believe it all. “Are you going to stop? Did I do something?”

“No, no sweetheart. Just waiting on you, that’s all. You can tell me when you’re ready again.”

Jean runs her fingers over his thighs. She’s grateful that Eddie is taking it slow. Though it’s slow, it’s still arousing. She still has to wait for him. “I’m ready.”

“Come here,” Eddie directs and Jean shuffles up. He directs her knees over his hips and settles her so she’s straddled on his waist. “Your skirt, as cute as it is, has got to go,” Eddie muses, finding the zipper again.

The material exhales as he gets it fully down and with just a brief warning, Eddie gets Jean up and then lays her flat on her back, taking the skirt down her legs. He kisses over her thighs, teeth catching onto the top of the thigh high stocking. He pulls them down with his teeth, down her ankles over her foot and discards them without a care somewhere and really anywhere that is not Jean. Eddie repeats the action with the left stocking and Jean hums at the feeling of his breath tickling her skin.

Almost bare, but always beautiful, Eddie drinks in the sight of Jean splayed out beneath him. Anything--he could literally do anything as Jean asked of him but the only thing Eddie wants to do is praise, caresses, kiss. He travels up, kisses pressing over her thighs. He takes a nip at her stomach and Jean’s tuft of laughter sounds like bells above him, twinkling in his ears. He continues up, licking the valley of her breast.

Their lips just barely brush as Eddie closes in. Jean sighs at the faint touch. “I know that if I die tonight, I’ll have been killed by an angel. Pink was a great choice.”

“Your-your gift?” She meekly motions in the direction of her nightstand.

“Later, sweetheart,” Eddie breathes, sucking at the swell of her breast. “I won’t forget. Right now,” Eddie sighs, teeth grazing her flesh. “Fuck, right now, I just want you.”

“You can have me. You always have had me,” Jean whimpers. Eddie pulled the cup of her bra down. His tongue circles her nipple and all her thoughts are leaving her head. She has just enough clarity to remember she has to respond. If she doesn’t, Eddie will stop.

“But I want to savor you,” he counters.

“Please.” Jean takes a firm grip at the t-shirt decorating Eddie’s torso, pulling him in even closer to her. It’s no shock when her hands travel to the buckle of his belt.

Eddie releases the soft laughter, kissing over Jean’s jaw. “Of course my dear. But you’re greeting handsy and I’m not sure I want you to be this hands on just yet.” At the end of sentence Eddie retreats and Jean lets her hands fall back to the mattress. Her pout nearly breaks Eddie’s resolve but he promised to try.

Jean watches, opting to say in the position that Eddie left her in, as he rummages through his bag. It feels a bit like a gag in a cartoon, Eddie pulling out clothes, and then underwear, all of his things flying over his shoulder until he gets to where he wants. Jean watches upside down as Eddie approaches, red shiny strips of fabric. He lets the end of one caress her cheek. “Sit up, face me.”

“Am I in trouble?”

Eddie watches the quirk of her brow. Even when she’s supposed to be submitting Jean has the control and facilities to be a smart ass. “Do you want to be? Because your pretty mouth can get you there.”

“No.”

“Then consider this a safety measure. So you won’t be.”

“Okay.” Jean pushes herself up, before having to turn onto her knees to face Eddie. He crocks one finger to get her to come in closer and she responds by plopping herself down on the bed. Eddie pulls her to the edge by her ankles, her legs hanging around his as he stands. He moves her wrist together and Jean threads fingers together to hold them as evenly spaced out as possible.

It’s quiet between them as Eddie detangles one of the longer pieces. When the fabric brushes over her wrist, Jean wonders when and how she’d never noticed Eddie working on this. But at the moment, she’s glad for her previous ineptitude. He works steadily with the fabric around her wrist, cinching the middle so she can’t slip a hand out.

“The fabric isn't super strong,” Eddie warns. He’d forgone rope in this situation on purpose. “If you pull too hard it probably will snap. Didn’t want to risk bruising you…just yet.” The last piece gets added with a wink as Jean looks up at him. The smile is shy, but she knows. The thought lingers with him, stirring at a deep desire in him too.

“So I probably shouldn’t pull or tug too hard.”

“Probably shouldn’t. Unless of course you want trouble.”

Jean shakes her head. “Not yet.”

“I think trouble might be your middle name. Now, you lack a headboard, which makes this next part tricky, but I’m a resourceful man.” He knows the bottom of Jean’s mattress has metal slats that uphold the mattress. Carefully he guides her further up on the bed. “Need you to lay down, alright?”

“I understand.” Jean lets herself recline back.

Some of her pillows are tossed to the floor to make space, but she goes until her back is flesh against the sheets. Eddie tugs and her arms go up and over her head. It’s not an easy job to get the tie secured enough to the bottom of the frame.

But Eddie manages. “See resourceful.”

Jean laughs just a little at the big grin. “I see.”

He circles the bed, fingers brushing at the comforter and skipping over her ankles and feet. “I’ve always wondered,” he starts, looping back towards where he just left, “how much self control you’ve had.” His actions feel reminiscent of a predator circling prey. But his heart keeps racing and Eddie wishes he didn’t feel the slight tremor. He doesn’t want to fuck this up for her.

“Not much,” Jean returns honestly. Her gut twists in anticipation. Another wave of arousal soaking her panties.

Eddie leans in close, elbows supporting him on the mattress, next to Jean’s face. She turns to him, watching closely as he sneaks a hand in closer to ribs but never actually touching them. “Hmm, guess you’ll have to dig deep for me tonight.” He brandishes a neatly folded bandana. “Can you try for me?”

Jean nods, her stomach tensing at the thought. “I can try.” She can more than try at this point, but it doesn’t escape her when she notices just the tiniest bit of a shake. Though, it might ruin the mood, Jean keeps her voice small and soft as Eddie straddles her waist, not fully settling his weight down. “Eds?”

“Yes?”

“You’re doing good. You don’t have to be scared or worried.”

Eddie cups her cheek in his hand. “Thanks, Jean. You doing okay?”

“More than okay. My panties are a pretty solid indicator of it.”

With a wiggle of his brow, Eddie laughs, body bending forward. “Good.” Their kiss is tender, the sign of them appreciating the check in and allowing the moment to dissolve naturally. Jean keeps her eyes closed as the material presses down on her face. Eddie’s gentle as he guides her head up just a little to get the tie down. It’s tight, clearly done in the hopes it doesn’t budge too much.

Eddie waves a hand in front of her face and though Jean reacts, turning like she can tell something is in front of her face, Eddie can tell she can’t actually see or follow the moment of his hands. Her movements are delayed and a little sporadic. His fingers brush over her chin. “Don’t move,” he whispers.

“Okay,” Jean exhales.

Time slows behind the darkness of the cotton. Her perception is sluggish--it’s delayed. The bed moves slower as Eddie moves from off her. It sounds like it takes longer, between the click of a belt buckle and the zip of pants. The silence moves like centimeters around her, broken only intermittently with Eddie’s shuffling. The rummaging sounds further away and Jean can only inhale and exhale.

The first brush is against her thighs. She jolts just a little at the sensation. It’s warm. Most likely Eddie’s hands. He squeezes at her flesh, a disapproving sound falling from his chest. “What did I say?”

“Sorry. I can be still. I’m sorry.”

Every touch of his fingers feels like a fire. Jean can never tell where he’s going to be next. If he’s going to kiss her, or touch her. Sometimes it’s a knead. Jean has to tense in order to keep from moving so much. It hurts just a little but she adores it. When Eddie sighs or groans, she meets it with a whine. The touches feel infinite, like she might actually come just from the caresses. A silence has fallen around them and it feels thick with their whimpered exhales. Jean realizes as she flexes her fingers, she is literally on display.

“God,” she hums.

“What was that?” Eddie questions. He looks up her body from between her thighs, having parting them to leave kisses along them.

“I just-I realized I’m just on display for you. You can literally do whatever and I can’t,” even as Jean speaks she clenches around nothing. “I can’t stop thinking how hot it is.”

Eddie grins, kissing her stomach. “I can smell how hot you think it is. What would I find, hmm? Once I peel these pretty pink panties off you, what am I going to find?”

“A mess,” Jean returns, pussy clenching again at his vibrato.

“Excellent.”

Eddie’s careful as he hooks his fingers into the band of the lace. He peels them away and the sight of Jean’s core opens up to him. She keeps her legs parted like he’d left them and the slick runs down slipping between her cheek. A mess indeed to greet him and he couldn’t be happier. His lower stomach jumps at the sheen--her mess is a clear indication. She hadn’t been lying when she said she was okay. Eddie places a kiss to her clit, bringing the tip of his tongue to get just a taste. Jean’s body shakes, literally shakes at the contact and Eddie’s chest swells. All of this just for him.

Jean listens to Eddie’s laugh--darker than usual. Her stomach jumps, the anticipation running through her. “Darlin’ you are positively divine,” Eddie hums.

There’s no time for Jean to think of a response before Eddie attaches his mouth to her core. He sucks at her clit before running laps of his tongue from the bottom of her to the clit again. Jean knows she’s going to unravel fast. She’s going to make a mess on his chin and her sheets. But it doesn’t fucking matter because the feeling of Eddie’s tongue on her pussy, fingers firmly pressing her hips down, is enough to make her lose her head.

Eddie laughs just a little as the feeling of Jean clenching around his finger. She doesn’t even let him get deep in before she’s chanting above him, a mess of praise and curses. “Let me in, baby. C’mon, you want my fingers. I know you do.”

Jean nods. “I do. I do want your fingers.” It takes almost all her air to push the sentence out but she gets it out so Eddie doesn’t stop.

His fingers curl and brush against her g-spot. She thinks she gasps but whatever she does tells Eddie all he needs to know. He keeps curling into the same spot over and over and over. His tongue runs around and up and down and she can’t keep track of the sensations. All she knows is that she’s barreling towards her edge.

Her stomach feels like a knot. Eddie’s pinning her hips down and she wants nothing more than to curl up, let her orgasm take her. The curl is a defense to keep it from hitting her too hard, but she is defenseless. Her orgasm rips through her, a shout tearing over her throat and she wants to tell Eddie she can’t take it anymore. She wants to tell him that it’s all she has, but his fingers never stop--more pressure builds and she’s not even sure where this can come from.

“Eds, baby, fuck,” she huffs. Her breathing is ragged and yet more and more pressure keeps building. “I think I’m--shit.”

Eddie loves the way she tosses her head, her biceps tense just ever so slightly like she’s thinking about pulling at the restraints, but stops herself. “Do you-” his own grunt interrupts his thought for a moment. “Do you think I could fuck you to another orgasm so quickly? I want-I think I’d like to find out. What do you say?”

“Shit, Eddie, I--” the words die. Jean’s mouth feels dry and she’s desperately trying to find her words.

Eddie’s pace slows. He doesn’t stop but it’s a warning.

No, no. Respond. Anything will do. “Please,” Jean begs, “use me. Let me be your plaything, a doll, a useless, fucking doll.”

“There we go,” he grins, speeding up again. “Knew you wanted it too.” He lets her hip go, but keeps kisses up her thigh.

Jean’s sure she’s lost her head. When her third orgasm tears through her, head thrown back and her mouth hanging open as she can feel every muscle spasm, she thinks it could not be a more fitting way to die. Sure, Eddie joked that he might die tonight and sure, he said at least it was an angel that took her out. But Jean flies, she soars out of her own head and sees nothing but a bleeding light through the darkness of her closed eyes as her body quakes. It’s a fitting death and she would die it, this specific way, over and over again.

“There you are, pretty girl.” Eddie watches, Jean’s blinking eyes, the bandana discarded minutes ago. He traces the lines of her face with the damp washcloth. Her body exhales against him. She has enough slack to turn to her side just a little and Eddie is careful to hold her gently. “You left me for a moment there.”

“Sorry,” Jean hums. Her breath isn’t back fully.

Eddie doesn’t blame her. It definitely sounded like a pretty intense orgasm. “No, no apologizing. It’s okay.”

Jean inhales, holding it for a couple seconds before releasing it. “I’m not--we’re not done, are we?”

“Call it an intermission, love. You need it. Don’t you think so?”

It’s only at the question that Jean notices how scratchy her throat feels. “A little.” She clears her throat, hoping to help. Eddie presses a kiss to her temple before sliding off the bed, he reaches under the bed and undoes the knot holding her arms up. “There, you should have your arms back.”

Jean gives a test tug and there’s no counterweight. “I do.”

“Good, c’mon. Sit up for me.”

It’s a bit shaky but Jean gets up and Eddie hands over a glass of water. Jean takes it with a smile, thankfully for the liquid. It’s clearer now the state they’re both in. Eddie down to his boxers, her just in her bra. But it doesn’t feel unnatural or like this pause is ruining something. Eddie leans against the wall, next to her window--thankfully her blinds are almost always drawn shut. The washcloth still dangles from his hand, under the fold of his arms, but it’s clear his gaze is assessing.

“Better?” he asks.

“Yeah, water definitely helped.” Jean watches the constantly flickering gaze. She can see now the way Eddie starts to pick at his nails, still trying to keep the front up. “Did I scare you?”

“A-a little,” he returns. “Not-not in a bad way. Just you were out of it for longer than normal.”

“An intermission for you, huh?”

“You too,” Eddie defends, moving in closer now. He takes the empty glass and sets it on her nightstand. “But it does give me a moment to regroup.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Jean returns. “Scare you, I mean.”

Eddie squats down, one hand resting on her knee. “I know, baby. We’re both new to it. That’s all.”

Jean reaches forward, taking her hands to play over the rings on his finger before tracing the veins up to the silver chain bracelet. “I’m definitely going to have to wash my bedding, aren’t I? Tomorrow?”

Eddie grins at the tease, a short raspberry blowing over his lips. “Absolutely, when we get done. Give me just a second, okay? I’m gonna get you another glass of water.”

“Sounds good.”

It really only takes about a minute, maybe even less for Eddie to fill up the glass he fixed for her originally and then fill up another one from the tap for himself. But by the time he returns, Jean’s gotten up and is digging in her nightstand. “What are you doing, sweetheart?”

Jean ignores the question for a moment before she holds up a pink lace garter. The front has a cute bow on it and Eddie stares at her triumphant smile. “For you,” she explains. “So we match.”

“Is that what you got me?” Eddie questions, stepping into the room. His throat quivers. It is cute and he does think the idea of him wearing a garter to match her is more arousing than it should be.

“Do you not like it?”

Eddie sets both glasses down, plucking the garment from her still bound together hands. His fingers brush over her palms before bringing her hands down to his crotch. Just underneath the boxers lies his hardening cock. “Tell me what you think.”

Jean tightens the hold--nothing too tight, just firmer as she palms over Eddie’s length. “I think you do like it.”

He exhales at her work, eyes fluttering close just for the moment. “Yeah, I do. And before I shamefully come in my boxers, can you please take a seat and drink some more water?”

“For you I think I can,” Jean hums, ensuring to get one last good firm squeeze.

“I swear to Christ, woman,” Eddie retorts, watching her take a glass. “Maybe you should tie me up next.”

Jean’s laughter echoes in the glass and her swallow is hard. “I mean all you’d have to do is ask.”

“Do you just step into this?” Eddie asks, lightly pulling the elastic fabric apart. It’s less shameful to ask now about it. He knows Jean’s not going to care. He knows he’s going to enjoy it anyhow. It looks fairly easy to get into, but he’s never worn one so he feels better asking how to wear it before he completely destroys the material.

“Yeah, like a sock.”

“It’s not-it’s not like going to snap or anything?”

“Eddie, my thighs are much bigger than yours. It will not snap.”

“Your thighs are beautiful.”

“Beautiful and still bigger than yours. These two facts do not negate each other.”

With a detested noise creeping up in his throat, Eddie gets his foot through the opening and then guides it up his calf before letting it snap into place around the middle of his thigh. The hem of his boxers hides it just a little, but Jean steps in, curling her fingers as best she can to roll the bottom hem up. Eddie turns to her mirror. It’s fitting, the soft feel of the lace over his thigh, a pale pink that seems to almost fade into his tone but pops against Jean’s brown skin.

“It’s pretty,” he states. There are better words, but they fail Eddie. Because that’s what he feels--pretty, as simple and as plain as that. Perhaps, all he really needs is the simplicity of the phrase. “But,” he starts, facing Jean. “Not as pretty as you.”

“You’re a sap.”

“I know I am. Finish your water, yeah?”

“Do I get a reward?”

“Yes,” Eddie laughs, slipping a hand down to her bare ass. “You get a reward.” The sentence is punctuated by a squeeze and Jean rears up to her tippy toes to give Eddie a kiss. It’s needy--her fingers trail over his abdomen, lips pressing and pressing into his. He guides them back towards the bed, getting a grip on her thighs and hoisting her up.

Once Eddie’s knees find the edge of the mattress, he bends over and lets Jean fall into it. She bounces, but tries to reach for Eddie with her tied hands. “Water,” he commands but follows it with one more kiss.

“Fine.”

He helps her sit up, bringing the glass back to her hands. “Yeah, you’re feeling better.”

The sass is welcomed at this moment as Jean glares over the rim. There’s nothing to be said as he takes a sip of his own glass. He knows. Jean will always have that streak in her--a fierceness that never shied away from the world. In fact, just the opposite, she wore it like a shield. The more he was around Jean, the more he sort of understood himself. She too wanted to keep some people at bay. Though she isn’t as brash as he is, it’s all still meant to protect. But she doesn’t have to front around him. It’s why they’re here.

There is no need to hide.

“I’m going to ask you a couple questions and I just want you to answer them, that’s all,” Eddie states, from against the wall again. His arms are folded. His eyes steady on her face.

“I can do that.”

“What do you do when I ask you a question?”

“I answer.”

He nods. “What happens when you don’t answer?”

“You stop, taking it as a sign that I don’t want to continue.”

Eddie takes just one step forward. “What do you say when you’re done? When you don’t want anymore?”

“Sour cream.” Jean takes careful notice for another step for the correct answer.

“What do you do if you can’t talk?”

“I give you two taps.”

He finishes crossing the short distance to Jean, bending down so they’re face to face with each other. His eyes are dark, the hem of the boxers fell long ago hiding away the belt but Jean knows it’s there. His nose brushes over hers, both of them wide in their own right but it never feels awkward. The brush is tender and makes her stomach flutter. If she could, Jean would stretch up and press a kiss to the end of Eddie’s nose. But she doesn’t. She refrains and just inhales the moment.

Eddie’s voice is a whisper. “Do you want to continue?”

“Please.”

A tender kiss--so soft it almost hurts when he pulls away, but Jean keeps herself from falling forward. He’s getting better and it makes her stomach jump at the way Eddie is firm enough to set boundaries, establish consent, but still make her ache for more. It never kills the mood, never feels like it’s something that has to be done. It’s still a part of the game. It’s still the foreplay to the foreplay.

“Lay on your stomach,” Eddie directs against her ear.

It’s not an easy instruction to follow and Eddie’s hand keeps her from falling over and helps her move towards the middle of the bed. Satisfied that she’s in a good position, Eddie slides down onto the bed. His fingers trail up her spine. Each place his fingers go, a kiss is sure to follow it. It’s a slow build yet again, as if Eddie wants to awaken every nerve ending. And though it should be more frustrating, Jean reminds herself the reward is going to be so much sweeter.

Eddie climbs over her, sitting on the backs of her thighs. Jean grunts at the addition of his weight but finds herself enjoying the way she sinks physically to the weight. The sting of the slap lights Jean’s stomach afire. Another swat comes to the opposite cheek and she tries to hold back the laugh. It bubbles just a bit before she can swallow it.

“What’s funny, love?” Eddie asks, pressing a bit more of his weight down.

“I liked it. A lot.”

“You’re telling me you laugh at the pain?”

“Maybe I’m delirious,” Jean returns another laugh falling from her. “But I promise I like it.”

Eddie pushes up to his knees grabbing one of her hips to pull her up too. His other hand snakes around her body, teasing at hairs over her mound before delving in. His fingers immediately are met with her own arousal. She’s all but leaking onto his fingers and Eddie finds himself swelling with pride again.

“Oh,” he coos. “All this for me?”

“Yes, always,” Jean exhales. She pushes up, wanting to meet his hips, but he’s too high up and without the full range of motion of her arms, she slips. Eddie catches her by her hips and helps her back down.

“Slow down there. What’s wrong?”

“I’m thinking too much,” Jean mutters. “Please, Eddie.”

“I know.” His tone is mocking, like one might give a displeased toddler who’s fussing over nothing really, but they lack the right words. “I’m teasing so much aren’t I? How mean of me. I just--I can’t help it, angel. The way you react. I do find myself loving it more than actually fucking you.” Eddie lowers himself, pissing over her shoulders. “And I do love fucking you. Your pussy was made for me, my dear. Always takes me right now.”

The speech is all going to her core, and she can feel more and more arousal leaking from her. She’s not even really paying attention to the way Eddie gets her hips up. She doesn’t really take in the pillow he gets under her. But the pause of disrobing and sliding on the condom does not go unnoticed. The stretch of Eddie entering her does not go unnoticed. She feels the head of him first, and slowly inch by inch he sinks in. And the stretch though it leads to a small bit of a burn fades quickly into pleasure.

She can feel him in her stomach, as his hips rock, thighs brushing against her. The edges of her vision haze a little as Eddie quickens his pace. It’s not animalistic, not so fast that Jean can’t savor it. But each thrust is sharp. He makes deep and punctuated thrust and it makes Jean crumble. Every inch and vein makes itself known and though she wonders if a cervix can be bruised, she welcomes the hard thrust.

Eddie laughs just a little with each of Jean’s pointed cries. “Yeah, yeah, I know. You can feel me everywhere, right baby?”

“Ye-yes, God, I can.” She huffs in return. Jean clenches around him and whimpers. The brush of her clit against the pillow adds to the sensation of Eddie fucking into her.

“Going to fuck those thoughts right out of you, sweething,” Eddie grunts, arms still holding himself up. He drops his head down to watch the way their bodies meet, the full view obstructed by her ass, but it bounces and jiggles with every slap of his hips. “Never a more beautiful sight,” he whispers, though he can catch just a glimpse of the pink garter still decorating his thigh.

So we match. It's a simple item--just lace and elastic. But knowing she cared enough to think about him, that she wanted to match, that she wanted to give him something when he was supposed to be giving to her. Only Jean, only she would think of it.

Jean knows her orgasm is fast approaching, even with the small break, her body hadn’t fully recovered and she can only assume she’s a babbling mess under Eddie, can only assume that the heat of her desire is finally going to consume her. “Fuck, oh fuck,” she chants. “Thank you, thank you.”

Eddie’s not sure what she’s thanking him for exactly--the day, the sex, something else. But the display of gratitude is too much. Jean sounds so out of it, so fucked into oblivion that he’s not sure if she’s aware of it. The babbling, the sounds of her whines and pants, all go straight to his cock and he takes everything in him not to come when she clenches around them. The crash of her orgasm faster than he even anticipated.

Eddie knows it’s a mess, when he gets Jean to turn over to her back, tossing the ruined pillow to the floor, he’s greeted by the sticky mess of Jean’s orgasm. “Goddamn, sweething. You are like a fountain for me. Just keep making a mess, okay? You’ve got one more in you.” He pushes her legs up, knees to her chest before he slides back in.

“I-I think so,” Jean returns.

She doesn’t know anything really anymore. Not with Eddie’s hip snapping into her. All she can do is feel. She is a raw nerve exposed, useless and hopeless to Eddie’s whim. If he wanted nothing but to fuck her the entire night she’d succumb to it. She’d give him everything of her body and probably more. It hurts, if Jean’s going to be honest, her body feels raw, but she adores it. Even as the tears well, she begs for Eddie to come, use her like she’s nothing but a rag doll.

Eddie pushes in, using his body to pin Jean to the mattress, hips driving into hers. He kisses her shoulder. The bounce of her tits makes every nerve in his body feel like electricity is pulsing through them. The tightness of his gut lets him know he’s not going to last much longer and it’s a shock he lasted this long, but he’s grateful. “So good for me,” Eddie whispers into her skin. “So fucking good for me.” It’s the last bit of praise he manages to get out before his orgasm washes over him.

Eddie’s own breathing bounces back into his ear, mixed with the sound of Jean’s quiet huffs. He stretches up for a kiss, soft and sweet, but just underneath it he notices something wet along her lips. Eddie’s careful as he pushes up and sees some tears coating her cheek. He’s mindful to pull out slowly, tying off the condom and tossing it into the trash before he grabs tissues from her desk.

“Jean, baby, are you okay?” he wipes at her cheeks. She nods, but it’s weak. A small spike of panic hits his chest and he works to get the tie loose from around her wrist and pulls her into his chest. “I’m here, I’m here, love.”

“Thank you.” It almost sounds like a sob but no sniffles or other tears follow it. Jean burrows as deep as she can into Eddie’s chest, not trusting her voice anymore.

“Seriously, are you okay? You’re crying. Did I hurt you?”

She shakes her head no. It does hurt, but not bad, not like Jean thinks Eddie went too far. But she can’t quite articulate that. The words are coming to her mouth as if it’s no longer a part of her anymore though she’s got the thoughts. Or maybe she doesn’t really have the thoughts and her mouth is trying to keep her from babbling. All Jean knows is that she can breath Eddie in. He’s there, against her.

“We’ll stay here for a while, okay? Just follow my breathing, yeah?”

Another nod. Eddie starts off with a deep breath, taking in as much as he can and waiting for Jean to follow. When she does, he exhales deeply. They repeat the pattern for ten breaths until Eddie notices her breathing evening out. He rubs at her arm, pressing kisses occasionally to her temple. Tears were not something he was expecting. But if they weren’t because she’d been hurt, Eddie’s not sure why else she’d be crying.

He doesn’t try to keep pressing the question, instead he offers to run Jean a bath and when she agrees, a nod against his chest, he walks her to the bathroom, setting her down on the closed toilet seat. “The hot water is finicky,” Jean gets out just as Eddie reaches for the knob.

Eddie exhales his laughter at the joke about the hot water in the trailer. “Would you like to scold your nipples off or freeze your nipples off then m’lady?”

“I knew it would make you laugh.”

Eddie turns back to her, settling onto the edge of the tub. He takes both of her hands, tracing over her knuckles. “Just glad you’re speaking. Worried me for a second.”

“Sorry, head was, like, fuzzy.”

“You cried, you know?” Eddie reaches for her cheeks on impulse like he’s worried there might be more tears.

“They weren’t bad tears.”

“What kind of tears are happy?”

“When your boyfriend’s fucked all the thoughts out of your head,” Jean returns, taking her free hand to trace of the pink garter belt. “It’s cute on you.”

“Thank you for thinking of me enough to gift it. And I’m glad to, uh, know that I didn’t hurt you.”

“I’ll be sore come the morning, but no, not like you went too far.”

“Epsom salt will help. If you’ve got any,” Eddie states. It’s a serious quip and Jean can’t help but laugh--it’s brief and comes from her nose mostly. Only Eddie would miss the implication, that he’d fucked her so good, she wouldn’t be able to walk straight.

“I’ll need it after my shift tomorrow, don’t you think? Better to save it,” Jean brings the hand Eddie’s been tracing over hers to her lips. Her kisses are soft to his knuckles. “Thanks again.”

“I guess I didn’t do too bad?”

“It’s like you said, we’re new and still learning.”

It’s a sentence full of hope, a sentence full of possibility. Eddie clings to it when they’re under a clean blanket for the night. He traces the sentence into Jean’s skin as she rests her head on his sheet. As the night fades deeper into a breaking dawn, Eddie plays the sentence over in his head We’re new and still learning.

“I’m glad I get to learn with you,” Eddie whispers. He knows Jean won’t hear it--can’t actually as her light snores fill the room. But Eddie likes the promise he’s uttering to the universe. He wants everything with Jean.

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x black oc #eddie munson x black reader #h writes #stranger things #tw: alcoholism #tw: death #tw: r*pe #tw: blood mentions #tw: blood #tw: violence #tw: injury

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