An Eddie Munson & OFC (who could kinda be a reader insert if you wanted??) maybe one-shot possibly more to come
One rough night. A sleeping baby. A diner off the highway, lit warm against the dark.
Eddie’s doing his best to hold everything together, even when it feels like too much. Sometimes, getting through the night is the whole job.
The waitress is intentionally left unnamed and lightly sketched. She can be read as an original character, or as a reader stand-in if that feels right to you. Take what works, leave what doesn’t.
The crying had been relentless. Endless.
Eira’s cheeks were still puffy and red, tear tracks drying on her skin, but the crying had finally burned itself out. She slept at last, slack and heavy in her seat, her breaths coming deep and even after hours of movement Eddie hadn’t known how to stop. The van purred idling beneath the glow of the diner’s lights, light pooling warm and gold across the windshield like a neon sunset. Eddie wasn’t entirely sure where they were anymore - somewhere far enough that the accents had shifted, far enough that the road signs were unfamiliar - but he knew he could get them home when it mattered. He just needed coffee. Just a few quiet minutes where no one needed anything from him. He watched Eira’s chest rise and fall and weighed the risk like a sin, knowing the smallest wrong movement could wake her, knowing how selfish it felt to want caffeine and rest when she’d cried herself raw all day. The guilt settled heavy in his gut, sharp and immediate - and still, the selfish need won out. Eddie cut the engine and reached for the door handle, holding his breath as if the heavens themselves might be listening, and when Eira didn’t stir, relief washed through him so strong it felt like grace.
The only time she’d come close to settling earlier that day had been in the van, the steady rumble of the engine and the familiar roads lulling her into something close to quiet while Eddie drove out to pick Wayne up from the hospital. Another appointment, another drive back with the quiet sense that this was meant to be going somewhere, and wasn’t. An appointment that left Wayne smaller somehow, quieter, handed back to Eddie with a careful smile, a bag of meds, and a stack of papers that no one pretended were instructions anymore. Eira had dozed briefly then, heavy-lidded and damp with sweat, as if the drive itself had convinced her the world was still moving forward.
But the moment the van rolled to a stop outside the small house they all now shared - built on what had once been the Forest Hills trailer park, back before the quake had swallowed half of it whole - she’d started screaming again. Louder. Angrier. Like the stillness itself had betrayed her.
Eddie had tried everything.
He’d fed her. Changed her. Checked her temperature twice just to be sure. He’d run a warm bath and let her chubby little legs kick furiously until the water sloshed over the sides, had paced the length of the house with her tucked against his shoulder, whispering nonsense and promises he wasn’t sure he could keep. Wayne had offered his support from his spot on the couch, his voice thin but cheerful, insisting Eddie try to stay calm - that it was just a rough day, that babies went through these things. Eddie hadn’t argued. He hadn’t trusted his voice enough to.
At some point, when the afternoon light had started to thin and Eira’s crying showed no sign of easing, Eddie had called Max. He stood in the kitchen with his back to the counter, Eira pressed against his shoulder, the handset warm and slightly slick in his hand. The house smelled faintly of baby soap and something burnt from the lunch he’d forgotten on the stove. The noise in the room - the fridge humming, the clock ticking, Eira’s screams - felt thick and cloying, like it was all pressing in too tight.
Max answered quietly, like she’d already guessed it might be him. Her voice was softer than it used to be, and something in the sound of it loosened Eddie’s grip on the counter without him meaning to. Lucas and Chicago had done that, he thought. Or maybe surviving had.
While she listened, a memory surfaced uninvited. The sharp, mineral smell of lake water and old wood. Damp air and rot and gasoline. Rick’s boat house, dark and close, the boards rough against his back as he’d crouched there waiting for the world to decide whether it was done with him. Max had been beside him then, her knees pulled to her chest, eyes sharp and unflinching. She’d passed him a bottle of Yoohoo without a word, the glass cool and sweating against his palm, like it was the most normal thing in the world to find him hiding there, breathing hard and panicked and still alive.
Now, Max listened the same way. She said Eira’s name gently, like it had always been part of her vocabulary, and Eddie felt the familiar rush of gratitude that always followed. She asked a few quiet, practical questions, reminded him to check her temperature, and told him he wasn’t missing anything obvious. When Eddie ran out of words, his throat tight and useless, voice breaking, Max didn’t rush to fill the silence. She just stayed there with him, breathing on the other end of the line, steady as a shoreline.
She said she wished she were closer. That she’d be there if she could.
Eddie had thanked her and hung up feeling a little better than before, but lonelier, too - comforted by Max’s understanding, but unsettled by the fact that understanding still hadn’t fixed a thing.
He’d even driven across town to Claudia Henderson, who usually had the magic touch when it came to Eira’s fractious moods. Claudia had taken one look at him and done what she always did - steered him into Dustin’s vacant seat at the dining table and set a plate of meatloaf and potatoes in front of him, no room for argument. She’d scooped Eira up with practised ease, murmuring soothing baby talk and bouncing her on her hip while Eddie ate - because clearing his plate was easier than explaining why he had no appetite.
But even Claudia had been beaten in the end. Eira’s cries had only sharpened, her little fists clenched and unyielding, until Claudia finally raised her hands in surrender, pressing a chilled teething ring into Eddie’s palm like a last rite. She paused then, watching Eira thrash and scream in Eddie’s arms, and nodded slowly, like she recognised the sound down to her bones.
“Tonight’s just about getting through,” she said simply, fingers warm and steady on Eddie’s wrist as she steered them toward the door. “That’s all.”
She fussed over Eira, over Eddie too, as if they were equally breakable, before sending them back out into the evening, promising she’d call Wayne later that night for an update.
****************
By the time he buckled Eira into her car seat and pulled onto the road again, her cries had thinned into something hoarse and broken. She twisted against the straps, feverish and restless, as if she could feel the tightness in Eddie’s chest even if he refused to name it. He gripped the steering wheel harder than he needed to, jaw set, and felt the truth press in at last - not cleanly, not all at once, but enough to leave a mark.
The treatments weren’t fixing anything.
Haven’t been for a while.
Eddie kept driving and left the thought somewhere on the road behind him, because stopping felt like the one thing that might break him. And right now, Eira needed him moving. Steady. Whole.
They had a familiar, well-worn route through Hawkins that they usually followed on nights like these, but tonight Eddie left the path in the dust. He drove until the houses scattered and faded into the woods, until the woods splintered into farmland, until the farmland became patchwork, criss-crossed with roads and highways. He drove until the itch of his nicotine cravings - a habit he’d shattered the moment Eira had appeared - dulled into nothing, until the twitch in his eye stilled, until the tension in his jaw softened.
It was only when his fingers drifted toward the volume knob on the van’s beaten-up radio that Eddie realised Eira had fallen asleep. He stilled instantly, hand dropping back to the wheel before the dulcet tones of Megadeth could blast from the wrecked speakers and rip her from it. The silence felt fragile. Precious. Almost sacred.
He kept driving, daring himself to go on until she woke again. When exhaustion nipped at the edges of his awareness, he hummed softly under his breath, mumbling the lyrics he usually screamed along to, careful not to break the spell. When even that stopped helping, he knew it was time to pull in somewhere. He prayed - not for much, just this - that Eira would sleep through the van slowing to a halt.
The diner appeared at the next slip road, neon bleeding warm across the dark sky and empty scrubland that surrounded the highway. Eddie turned in without thinking. He parked, braced himself, and opened the door, holding his breath for the shriek that didn’t come. When he unbuckled the car seat straps and lifted Eira into his arms, the only sound she made was a small snuffle. Her cheeks burned warm against his clavicle, her curls puffing into his own as they crossed the lot and stepped into the diner’s welcoming light.
There’s a State Trooper leaning against the counter, dragging out a goodbye with the waitress who looks as bored as Eddie feels tired. Uniform turns at the sound of the door, badge and title coming into focus before the man wearing them ever does. The look that crosses his face is automatic - Eddie’s long hair, his ragged sweater, the bloodshot eyes and the sleepless shadows under them adding up to something that makes the trooper’s posture shift, just enough. Suspicion, easy and well practised.
It’s only when Uniform’s gaze drops and catches on the crimson-cheeked infant snoring softly against Eddie’s shoulder that the tension eases. The picture rearranges itself; whatever story Uniform had been telling himself about the guy who just walked in is quietly rewritten. He gives Eddie a single nod and turns back to the counter, drawing out one last farewell before leaving the diner behind.
That’s all. This time.
Eddie makes his way to the closest booth and slides in. The back of his head meets the smooth vinyl headrest and his eyes flutter shut, Eira’s warm breaths tickling his chest in a slow, hypnotic rhythm. He could sleep right here, and if it weren’t for the tempting scent of coffee heavy in the air he thinks he might.
The waitress takes pity on him. She gives him ten solid minutes of blessed nothing before she sidles up to the booth, pouring steaming black coffee into a mug for him before either of them can open their mouths. Silently, she pulls a laminated menu from the holder at the far end of the booth and lays it in Eddie’s eyeline. She points out the specials, circles the breakfast options, then marks an invisible X over the things she knows the cook won’t make at this hour.
Eddie points to the all-night biscuit breakfast, then reaches into the bag of Eira supplies - the thing that’s begun to feel like an extra limb - and pulls out a bottle of formula. The waitress nods, understanding immediate and unspoken, and returns with a jug of hot water. The bottle bobs clumsily as she lowers it in, the water slowly warming its contents.
She disappears back behind the counter, and Eddie lets himself sink into the quiet the diner offers, thin and fragile as it is. He checks his watch - 01:47 flashing briefly before his sleeve hides the Casio once more. Eira’s forehead is warm beneath the pad of his thumb as he brushes her wild hair away from her face, soaking up the softness of her skin like a flower turning toward the sun, the touch calming and restorative all at once. She is his - something he still can’t quite comprehend, months on from the night everything shifted.
He kisses her cheek and breathes in her sour-sweet baby smell, the only drug he needs now he’s given up the cigarettes and everything else. She buries her face into the crook of his neck, wriggling against him as her mouth finds her fist, little gums worrying little fingers. Eddie is quick to swap her hand out for the teat of the bottle, praying she stays on the right side of sleep and that the formula is warm enough to her liking. He hopes a full stomach might keep the screams at bay - at least until they have to get back in the van and make the long trip home.
“How old is she?” She’s back, bearing the gift of biscuits and gravy, moving carefully as she sets the plate down on the booth’s cream table, mindful of the sleeping weight against Eddie’s shoulder.
“Nine months.”
“Teething?” She runs a finger along her own cheek, sympathy flickering across her face like she’s seen this before.
Eddie can only nod, sharp and quick, thoughts he was sure he’d left behind on the road outside Hawkins flaring hot and unwelcome behind his eyes. He drowns them in coffee, shifting the arm Eira rests in so it holds both her and the bottle, the other hand lifting the mug to his lips.
She smiles, a little apologetic. “My sister swears by dog biscuits. No joke. Says they’re tough enough not to break and choke her kids, but they can really chomp down on them. Works better if you chill them, apparently.”
“Dog biscuits, really?” Eddie sets the cup down and retakes the bottle, the change in angle earning him an annoyed huff from his daughter. “Fuck it. I’ve tried everything else, I’ll probably try that too.”
“S’been that bad, huh?”
He can only nod. The words catch somewhere in his throat, refusing to move. The diner blurs - red vinyl, chrome, light - and Eddie drops his head, letting his hair fall forward, hoping it hides what he doesn’t trust himself to say out loud at yet.
He doesn’t notice when she moves. One moment he’s alone with the noise in his head and pressure building behind his eyes, the next there’s someone sitting across from him, silent as a held breath. No questions. No rush. Just the soft shift of weight settling in the opposite booth.
The diner recedes, sound thinning to the hiss of the grill and the low murmur of voices, until the space between the booths is all that remains. Eddie keeps his head bowed, shoulders rounded around Eira, her warmth solid against his chest.
“I’m usually better than this,” he says quietly. “She… she normally goes down by eight, sleeps through until four, sometimes five. Tonight…” he trails off, still not lifting his eyes from Eira as she feeds. “It’s a rough one.”
He strokes his thumb against her rounded cheek, tipping the bottle a little higher as it empties. As if offended by the change, Eira squirms - a small, impatient twist against him - and Eddie takes the hint. He eases the bottle away and rests it on the table beside his half-empty coffee mug, formula still clinging to the sides. “Need a break, Eir Bear?” he murmurs, keeping his voice low, hopeful sleep lingers somewhere nearby. He wipes around her mouth and under her chin with a crisp white napkin from the booth’s dispenser and carefully lifts her against his shoulder, one hand moving in slow, familiar circles at her back.
“That better, yeah? Daddy doing something right?”
It’s only then that Eddie looks up. The booth, the diner, the low hum of life beyond their small pocket of quiet come rushing back into focus. The waitress is there, refilling his mug, coffee dark and steaming as it creeps toward the rim. For a moment the fog lifts, just enough for him to feel the weight of his own body again, the aches in his spine, shoulders, his jaw. He stills, embarrassed by the sound of his own voice lingering in the air, then exhales as she sets the coffee pot aside without comment, without looking at him any differently than she did before. The fatigue settles back in. He presses a kiss to his daughter’s head, smiling against her skin as she burps in response. “Atta girl.”
“Her mom working tonight?”
Eddie switches shoulders, laying Eira across his right while he rolls his neck and left arm. He takes another mouthful of coffee, holding the bitter liquid in his mouth until he feels his tongue throb from the heat of it before he swallows.
“She could be. I don’t know, we haven’t… we haven’t seen her much.”
Another mouthful. Another burn.
“Or at all,” he adds, quieter now. “Since like, uh, since last November.”
“Wow.”
Eddie watches his words land, sees her doing the math in her head, the quick recalculation. He saves her the effort.
“Eira was about a month old.”
“God, that’s…” the waitress breathes, her gaze fixed on the baby busily clenching her fingers around thick clumps of her father’s hair. Eddie winces, then gently pries her loose, nimble fingers making quick work of the tangles. He turns her to sit in his lap, facing out into the booth.
Two sets of big brown eyes look to the woman across the table, like the world’s least threatening interrogation squad. “That’s shitty,” she continues, holding out her wrist so Eira can grab at the big clinking bracelets there. “I’m sorry that happened.”
“At least my uncle was home.” Eddie shrugs, too brightly. “Would’ve been worse if he’d been at work, or…”
He doesn’t finish the sentence. Wayne hasn’t worked for a year.
“She didn’t say anything before?”
“She left a note. Four words - don’t call my mom.”
He takes another drink of coffee, grimacing.
“So, I did. That was the first thing I did.” His mouth twists, his eyes focused far-off someplace else. “She didn’t call back for three days. I’d already called her friends, her sister, the cops, hospitals.”
Another mouthful.
“Deidre said Beth needed ‘time and space’…”. He snorts, coming back to himself as he carefully peels Eira’s sticky fingers from the band of green plastic around the waitress’s wrist. “Whatever the fuck that means.”
The waitress, who has watched Eira’s attempted bangle larceny as closely as she’s listened to every word Eddie’s said, slips the green band over her hand and passes it to the wide-eyed baby - who brings it straight to her mouth.
Eddie half-laughs, somewhat resigned. “Fuck, sorry, hope you like drool with your jewellery.”
The waitress grins, playing a gentle tug of war with the bangle until Eira releases it from her gums with a damp pop. “S’fine, nothing a little Dawn won’t fix.”
“You haven’t seen what else she puts in her mouth,” Eddie adds, mouth quirking despite himself. “Even bleach might be optimistic.”
The waitress relinquishes her claim to the bangle so Eira can mouth at it once more, her attention turning to Eddie’s barely touched plate. She reaches across the table, hands wide. “You can’t eat with your hands full. I’ll hold her.”
Eddie hesitates. Not long, just long enough to feel the familiar spike of it, sharp and instinctive. Eira is busy gnawing happily on the green bangle, gums working, spit slicking the plastic as she clutches it with determined little fists. She’s quiet now, occupied, content in that narrow, fragile way that could tip at any moment.
He knows how this goes. How easily it can go wrong. A stranger’s arms, a new perfume, a wrong shift of weight, and the screaming could come roaring back like it never left.
The waitress doesn’t move. She just waits, hands still open, letting Eira chew in peace.
Eddie exhales. He adjusts his hold, murmurs something soft and meaningless under his breath, and then carefully transfers Eira across the table. For a heartbeat, everything holds - Eira’s mouth pauses, her fingers tighten around the bangle - and then she settles comfortably against the new body, her chewing resuming with slow, lazy intent.
Nothing breaks.
If anything, she grows heavier. Sleep creeps back in, inch by inch, her jaw slackening around the bangle until it slips free and thumps softly into her lap. The woman doesn’t comment. She just shifts Eira closer, cradling her gently.
“Well,” she murmurs, more to the moment than to Eddie, “guess she likes me.”
Eddie lets out a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding. The weight is gone from his arms, but not from his awareness - it’s simply moved, hovering close enough that he can still feel the echo of it. He reaches for his fork, fingers a little clumsy, and for the first time all night, he eats while his daughter sleeps.
And he talks.
****************
Safe in the cocoon of the booth, Eddie loosens the grip he keeps on his thoughts and words. He talks about Beth - how they met working at the Hideout, how six months of flirtatious friendship tipped into something lopsided. Eddie always leaning in. Beth always just out of reach. How it ended with two thin blue lines on a plastic stick and a quiet agreement that they’d make it work. That nothing had to change.
But it did.
It changed slowly, almost imperceptibly at first. Beth’s moods grew sharp and volatile. Small disagreements swelled into shouting matches that ended the same way every time - Beth grabbing her keys, Beth deciding she was done, Beth walking out while Eddie was still trying to figure out how they’d got there. She’d run back home to her mother’s, or to an ex’s place, or somewhere Eddie couldn’t follow. She never stayed long enough to untangle it, never stayed long enough for anything to settle.
She always came back the next day, exhausted and remorseful, heavy with apologies that felt real enough in the moment.
And Eddie always forgave her.
“I thought…” He mashes his fork through his plate, dragging a pattern through the gravy. “I thought she’d settle once Eira was born. I told myself it was hormones. Or fear. Her body was changing all the time - fuck, I’d have been scared shitless if I was her.”
He sags, a quiet tremble creeping into his voice. “I tried to be better. To support her more. But she never let me in.”
He huffs out a breath through his nose, gaze fixed on a scuff on the table.
“I thought she was depressed. I begged her to talk to the OBGYN at her appointments…” A brief, humourless huff. “She’d just give me this look, y’know? Like I was the dumbest kid she’d ever seen. She’d use this voice. Like -”
He cuts himself off by shoving a soggy biscuit into his mouth, chewing until the memory loses its edge. He swallows hard, reaching for his coffee like it might rinse the taste from his mouth.
“And then she moved in, with me and my uncle. Wayne,” he says, quieter. “Right at the end.”
His eyes flick, briefly, toward the door, and the road beyond it, then back to the table.
“I don’t think she knew what she was walking into.” A sip, a swallow. “Wayne was already sick by then. Not hospital-stay sick. Just… tired all the time. Appointments. Tests. Pills.”
He shakes his head, almost apologetic. “I thought she’d adjust. That once we were all under the same roof, things would feel more solid. But I think living with him - with it - just made everything louder for her. Like there was nowhere to run to anymore.”
He sets down the cup and the fork, raising his eyes to meet the waitress’s at last.
“I didn’t blame her for that,” he adds. “I still don’t. I just wish she’d told me she couldn’t do it.”
The waitress exhales softly. “That’s… a lot to carry,” she says. “All at once.”
Eddie huffs out a breath, the corner of his mouth twitching like he might try for a joke and think better of it. “It’s fine,” he says automatically. “I mean. We’re fine.”
The words feel thin even as he says them.
He glances down at his hands, at the faint tremor he hadn’t noticed before, then back at Eira, boneless and warm against the waitress’s chest. The quiet doesn’t rush him.
“I just -” He swallows. “I don’t want to fuck her up.”
It comes out softer than he expects. Smaller.
“I don’t know what I’m doing half the time,” he admits. “Every choice feels like it matters too much. Like if I get it wrong, even once…” He trails off, jaw returning to a tight familiarity. “And Wayne…” He doesn’t reach for his coffee this time. “I’m scared I’m gonna miss something. With him. Or with her. That I’ll be in the wrong place, paying attention to the wrong thing.”
He exhales, slow and shaky, finding her eyes once more. “I’m scared all the time,” he says quietly. “I just don’t usually say it out loud.”
“You’re allowed to,” she says gently. “To be scared. And to say it.” She shifts Eira, adjusting her until she rests a little more comfortably. “Do you have someone you can talk to about all this?”
“You mean aside from nice waitresses in diners I’ve never been to before?”
She smiles, warm and broad. “Yeah. Aside from us.”
Eddie stretches out, tugging at a loose strand of blue yarn on his sleeve. A wry smile spreads, softening his face, making him look suddenly younger.
“My friend Max,” he says, without hesitation. “She’s more like a sister, really. Lives in Chicago with her fiancé, so I don’t see her as much as I’d like. But I can call her. She talks me off the edge a lot.”
“And Steve,” he adds. “He’s a teacher, so he’s good with kids. Real good.” The corner of his mouth lifts, then falters. “Sometimes he comes over and doesn’t say anything at all. Just shows up, takes one look at me, and hands me his keys.”
Eddie glances down, embarrassed by how much that still means.
“I’ll meet him at the door, and he’ll press them into my palm like it’s nothing. Like it’s just logistics.” He exhales. “I sit in his car for a while. Don’t go anywhere. Just… sit. And he goes inside and plays with Eira, talks Wayne into watching the game.” He lifts his thumb to his mouth and chews at a ragged hangnail. “He knows when I need it. And I know not to argue.”
A faint smile, soft and grateful.
“It…” He searches for the word, then shrugs. “It helps. I don’t think he’d ever call it anything more than that. But it does.”
The waitress smiles at that, something warm and knowing in it. “Sounds like a pretty good friend.”
Eddie snorts, grateful for the opening. “Yeah, well. Don’t let it fool you. All the girls loved Steve back in school.” A flicker of mischief returns, familiar and practiced. “Total heartbreaker. Perfect hair, stupid smile. Couldn’t walk down the hall without someone throwing themselves at him.”
He glances up, catching her expression, and shrugs. “I never competed.”
A beat passes.
“He’s still got the hair, though,” Eddie adds, deadpan.
The waitress smirks, and Eddie feels a soft kick at his shin. “Hey,” she says, tilting her head. “He’s not the only one with the hair.”
He blinks, instinctively reaching up like he’s forgotten it’s there. “This?” He gives one curl a distracted tug. “Yeah, well. It’s mostly bad decisions and humidity.”
She smiles, eyes flicking from him to Eira. “Looks familiar.”
As if on cue, Eira squirms, a dark curl of her own slipping loose against her forehead.
Eddie snorts softly. “Yeah. That one’s on me.” A sigh, fond and resigned. “Guess she didn’t stand a chance.”
The waitress smiles down at the softly snoring girl, brushing the loose curl back with her fingertips. “I’d say she lucked out,” she says. “She’s got a great dad. And her dad’s got good people around him.” Her eyes lift to Eddie’s, steady and unflinching. “Sounds like he might need to use them a little more, though. Save himself the trouble of driving for hours to find a waitress.”
Eddie blinks, his smile faltering. “Y-yeah. Shit. I’ve been talking all this time and you’re working, and -”
She stills him with a small shake of her head. “It’s okay. Really. My shift ended at two.”
“At two?” Eddie checks his watch. 03:45 blinks back at him. “We’ve been -?” He winces. “Fuck. You should be home by now. I’m sorry, I -”
She lifts a hand, gentle but firm. “Hey. I chose to stay.”
The words settle between them. Eddie nods, throat tight, because staying has never felt like a choice to him. It’s the leaving he’s still trying to make sense of.
He clears his throat, the sound rough in the quiet. “Sorry,” he says, reflexive. “I didn’t mean to…”
He stops himself. Tries again.
“She didn’t just… disappear. Not really. If I think about it now it was more like a slow, inevitable ebb.” His thumb traces the seam of the table blindly.
“When I eventually got to talk to her, she said she needed space. That she wasn’t built for this.” His thumb stills. “Didn’t say where she was going. Didn’t say goodbye to Eira.”
He glances at his daughter, snoring softly, then back to the table. “I kept thinking she’d call. That she just needed a few nights alone.” He sighs, resigned. “It took me longer than I like to admit to realise it was more than that. I got a letter about three weeks after she left. A lawyer. She was handing over all parental rights.”
That was when it finally sank in. Not all at once. Not like a blow. Just the slow, sick realisation that all the hoping had been pointless. That there was nothing left to wait for.
“I don’t hate her,” he adds quietly. “I just… don’t understand how you walk away from something like this.” His hand shifts, instinctively reaching towards Eira even though she hasn’t moved. “I don’t know how you don’t stay.”
The waitress watches Eira as she sleeps, her green bangle now clutched tight between the baby’s hands. She runs her thumb over her puffy cheek, tracing out the tracks the tears had etched all day. “I don’t know either,” she says quietly. “But I do know everyone’s got a limit. The place where they just… can’t anymore.” She sighs. “Sounds like Beth hit hers.”
“Yeah,” Eddie hums, because he doesn’t have anything else.
“Should she have spoken up sooner? Sure. Should she have been more honest? Definitely.” She shrugs, small and helpless. “But you can’t change her, or what she did. You just have to live with it.”
She waits until Eddie lifts his eyes from the scratch he’s been worrying at on the table, until he’s really looking at her.
“And honestly?” she says. “It looks like you’re doing a good job. She’s fed. She’s clean. She’s warm. She’s comfortable.” A small smile. “She’s so safe she’s snoring and drooling on a complete stranger.”
“You didn’t see her this afternoon,” Eddie says, the words tumbling out before he can stop them. “She was so angry -”
“Yeah,” the waitress says gently. “She’s teething. Her mouth hurts. She doesn’t know why. She’s not angry at you.”
Eddie swallows. “S- she’s not?”
“God, no.” She shakes her head. “She’s just confused. This is all new to her.” She says it gently. “All she wants - all she needs - is her dad.” She shifts her grip slightly, a careful adjustment that keeps Eira sleeping, then looks back at Eddie like she’s placing the truth in his hands.
Eddie looks down at Eira again, at the way her fingers curl and uncurl in her sleep, the small weight of her rising and falling breath. Something in his chest loosens, just a fraction.
“I don’t always know what I’m doing,” he admits. “Most days it feels like I’m just guessing.”
The waitress watches him for a moment, then nods. “Yeah. That tracks.”
His mouth twitches, like the start of a smile he hasn’t decided he’s allowed yet.
She shifts Eira back into his arms carefully, like returning something precious. “Most of it isn’t about knowing,” she says. “It’s about showing up. You did that tonight. You got her fed. You got her warm. You got her somewhere quiet when it all got too loud.”
She glances at the window, the dark road beyond it. “Some nights, that’s the whole job.”
Eddie swallows. Claudia’s voice echoes in his head - tonight’s just about getting through.
“Yeah,” he says softly. “I think I’m starting to understand that.”
She gives him a small, steady smile. “Then you’re doing better than you think.”
****************
They walk out together, the diner’s warmth falling away behind them as the night closes in again. The air is cool and damp, the distant horizon brightening with the promise of morning. Eddie moves on autopilot, opening the van door, settling Eira back into her seat, careful with the straps, his hands steady now in a way they hadn’t been hours earlier.
She doesn’t wake. Just sighs, a soft little sound, and turns her face into the padding as he buckles her in.
The waitress stands beside him, hands tucked into the pockets of her denim jacket. She presses a folded napkin into his palm before he can ask why.
“There,” she says. “That’s my number.” She smiles, suddenly shy. “If you ever need it. If it’s late and I’m working, just leave a message on my machine. I’ll call you back.”
Eddie looks down at the napkin, then up at her. “I -”
She shakes her head, already stepping back. “You don’t have to explain. Just… don’t do all the rough nights alone.”
Something tight in his chest breaks. He nods once, careful with it.
“Thank you,” he says. It feels like enough.
She smiles, small and real. “Drive safe.”
Eddie climbs into the van. The engine turns over, the wheel familiar and solid beneath his hands. As he pulls out of the lot, he catches sight of her in the mirror, standing under the neon glow, watching until the van disappears back onto the road.
Eddie fluff about Eddie and total Joni Mitchell style hippie reader!!! Maybe him learning a softer rock song for her on the guitar or something!!
Keep the blurb requests coming!!
Warnings: Weed and Kissing <3 Not proof-read.
***********
"Sing this one." Eddie requests, his voice raspy and eyelids heavy from the joint he's just stubbed out.
He can barely read the messy scrawl in your notebook. The few words he's able to pick out on the page lead him to think you've written something about him, so of course he wants to hear it. He wants to hear all of them, really. There must be hundreds of little songs in your book. Some are three pages long. Some are three words.
His head is in your lap, knees baking in the sun where his legs dangle out the back of his van. It's the most perfect day there's ever been, he decides.
You hum to him without hesitation, voice gliding and dancing over a little tune. Eddie's not entirely convinced you're not making it up on the spot, but it seems like you know it by heart. You can sing it without looking at the page. It grows and changes as you hum to him, soft and bright. There are lyrics you haven't written down.
Everything you create is precious to him. He's greedy for your songs. He wants to catch them on tape and hoard them away forever, but somehow he knows that it would never sound quite the same as you do right now, twisting Black-Eyed Susans into his hair and harmonizing with the cicadas. These intimate concerts...He is the only person who will ever hear them.
The thought spurs Eddie to sit up. He stretches behind you, grabbing your guitar from where it's propped against the driver's seat, and offers it to you hopefully.
You take the instrument, though you miss the weight of his head in your lap, and let your fingernails drag over the ribs of it's strings.
Eddie loves your guitar. It's beat to hell in a way that one can only achieve from near contant use. You've painted pretty things over its body to compensate. A rugged scrapbook of all the things you find beautiful. Crocuses and daffodils. A goldfinch feather. Even a gleaming silver fish that you had spotted at the creek last summer.
Your palm encircles it's head on the neck of the guitar as you pick, adding in just a few tinkling notes in an odd pattern. It feels exactly right.
Eddie is deeply jealous of how music lives inside of you like that.
The song has morphed now into something Eddie knows is coming from your heart rather than the page. Your voice is feather light and clear like a gust against a windchime.
He's enamored. Drawn closer to you by some primal desire. He crawls over, burying his face in the warm column of your throat. He kisses you there, not caring that he's trapped your hand still against the neck of your guitar. You chuckle softly as he trails up to your jaw, still humming even when his lips find yours.
Eventually, the song is lost to you. Eddie kisses it right out of your brain as he lays you back on the floor of the van, sandwiching your guitar between your bodies. You giggle into his mouth, wiggling until your able to free it and abandon it elsewhere in favor of his closeness.
"I want to go to the desert." You say, muffled by his lips. His hands sneak under your tank top. "I think it's where we're supposed to be."
"Yeah?"
"Yes. I'm like a Cactus Wren."
"A Cactus Wren?"
"Yes. Song birds...they nest in the chollas."
Eddie smiles, brushing your wild hair back from your face. He likes the mental image your description creates. You're right. You are like a Cactus Wren.
"We can't take the van out west." Eddie admits regretfully. "It'd never make it."
"Forget the van, then."
You stare at him unabashedly. The sun traces a glowing line around his silhouette. It catches in the petals of the flowers tucked carefully at his temple. You reach up to frame his face with your hands, smushing his curls down gently against his pink cheeks. You can't help but do it.
He kisses your thumb, "You want to hitch hike all the way to Arizona?"
You hesitate, a smile splitting your features.
"Imagine all the people we'd meet."
Eddie loves you so hard.
"You're on drugs. We can't hitch hike to Arizona, baby."
You laugh, dragging your finger down the end of his nose, "We can do anything."
Eddie fluff about Eddie and total Joni Mitchell style hippie reader!!! Maybe him learning a softer rock song for her on the guitar or something!!
Keep the blurb requests coming!!
Warnings: Weed and Kissing <3 Not proof-read.
***********
"Sing this one." Eddie requests, his voice raspy and eyelids heavy from the joint he's just stubbed out.
He can barely read the messy scrawl in your notebook. The few words he's able to pick out on the page lead him to think you've written something about him, so of course he wants to hear it. He wants to hear all of them, really. There must be hundreds of little songs in your book. Some are three pages long. Some are three words.
His head is in your lap, knees baking in the sun where his legs dangle out the back of his van. It's the most perfect day there's ever been, he decides.
You hum to him without hesitation, voice gliding and dancing over a little tune. Eddie's not entirely convinced you're not making it up on the spot, but it seems like you know it by heart. You can sing it without looking at the page. It grows and changes as you hum to him, soft and bright. There are lyrics you haven't written down.
Everything you create is precious to him. He's greedy for your songs. He wants to catch them on tape and hoard them away forever, but somehow he knows that it would never sound quite the same as you do right now, twisting Black-Eyed Susans into his hair and harmonizing with the cicadas. These intimate concerts...He is the only person who will ever hear them.
The thought spurs Eddie to sit up. He stretches behind you, grabbing your guitar from where it's propped against the driver's seat, and offers it to you hopefully.
You take the instrument, though you miss the weight of his head in your lap, and let your fingernails drag over the ribs of it's strings.
Eddie loves your guitar. It's beat to hell in a way that one can only achieve from near contant use. You've painted pretty things over its body to compensate. A rugged scrapbook of all the things you find beautiful. Crocuses and daffodils. A goldfinch feather. Even a gleaming silver fish that you had spotted at the creek last summer.
Your palm encircles it's head on the neck of the guitar as you pick, adding in just a few tinkling notes in an odd pattern. It feels exactly right.
Eddie is deeply jealous of how music lives inside of you like that.
The song has morphed now into something Eddie knows is coming from your heart rather than the page. Your voice is feather light and clear like a gust against a windchime.
He's enamored. Drawn closer to you by some primal desire. He crawls over, burying his face in the warm column of your throat. He kisses you there, not caring that he's trapped your hand still against the neck of your guitar. You chuckle softly as he trails up to your jaw, still humming even when his lips find yours.
Eventually, the song is lost to you. Eddie kisses it right out of your brain as he lays you back on the floor of the van, sandwiching your guitar between your bodies. You giggle into his mouth, wiggling until your able to free it and abandon it elsewhere in favor of his closeness.
"I want to go to the desert." You say, muffled by his lips. His hands sneak under your tank top. "I think it's where we're supposed to be."
"Yeah?"
"Yes. I'm like a Cactus Wren."
"A Cactus Wren?"
"Yes. Song birds...they nest in the chollas."
Eddie smiles, brushing your wild hair back from your face. He likes the mental image your description creates. You're right. You are like a Cactus Wren.
"We can't take the van out west." Eddie admits regretfully. "It'd never make it."
"Forget the van, then."
You stare at him unabashedly. The sun traces a glowing line around his silhouette. It catches in the petals of the flowers tucked carefully at his temple. You reach up to frame his face with your hands, smushing his curls down gently against his pink cheeks. You can't help but do it.
He kisses your thumb, "You want to hitch hike all the way to Arizona?"
You hesitate, a smile splitting your features.
"Imagine all the people we'd meet."
Eddie loves you so hard.
"You're on drugs. We can't hitch hike to Arizona, baby."
You laugh, dragging your finger down the end of his nose, "We can do anything."
So Much I Wanna Do - Eddie Munson x Reader - Part One
When you're paired with Eddie while working at a seasonal haunt event, tensions begin to rise with each passing night. Lines between reality and fantasy begin to blur. And no matter how many bruises you're covered in - you don't hate it.
Author's Note: I was like Many melatonins deep like a week & a half ago one night, & I was like lol Eddie would make such a good scareactor but his dramatic ass would probably take it too far - what if he took it too far in like, a dark romance-adjacent way? So. That's what this is. I think we're gonna be rockin with about 3-4 parts. enjoy!!
CW/TW: injury/bruises, eventual smut (not this chapter, but i'd classify it as cnc), banter, no use of y/n.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The air inside the repurposed shipping container was thick enough to chew on. It hung heavy and stagnant, a noxious bouquet of aerosol hairspray, latex solvent, stale cigarette smoke, and the faint, sweet tang of drying fake blood was the official perfume of "Horror Hill.” The town of Hawkins’ premier - and only - haunted attraction during the months of September and October, And it was currently doing its best to induce a splitting migraine.
You were perched precariously on a wooden crate that threatened to splinter under you, hunched over a vanity mirror that looked like it had only barely survived a bar fight. Your reflection - complete with blood stains and extra-pronounced under-eye bags - stared back, looking moderately panicked. For the last ten minutes, you’d been attempting to wrestle the zipper of your corset-style dress into submission. The plastic teeth were jammed halfway up your spine, refusing to glide over the fabric mesh, or even slide back down so you could strip it off to see what the issue was.
"Come on," you gritted out, twisting your arm around at an unnatural angle once more. The skin of your shoulder pinched as the zipper made a half-hearted attempt to move before stopping again.
"Ouch. Son of a b-"
"Wardrobe malfunction, or mating dance?"
The voice was deep, raspy, and dripping with amusement.
You spun around so fast you nearly tipped the crate over, gaze snapping to the corner of the room, previously obscured by a costume rack.
Sitting on the floor next to a stack of supply crates like he owned the place, was a guy you definitely hadn’t seen during the excruciatingly boring orientation briefing. Nor had you seen him come in. He was currently engaged in lacing up a pair of heavy combat boots, pausing to look up at you. The first thing that hit you was the hair. A mane of dark, wild curls that defied gravity and seemed to have a personality of their own. The second thing was the rather unique ensemble - for Hawkins, at least - that he wore with such ease. heavy silver rings adorning nearly every finger, and a faded black band t-shirt peeking out from under an unbuttoned flannel and leather jacket.
He looked way less like a seasonal employee at some dumb Halloween event, and more like he was about to frontline for a heavy metal band. You wondered ever so briefly if he played an instrument.
"I'm going to go with 'mating dance,'" he continued as you didn’t respond. The guy flashing a grin that was equal parts crooked and charming, and it made your stomach flip pleasantly. "Though, I gotta say, the zipper seems to be winning. It's playing hard to get."
You narrowed your eyes at him, refusing to let him fluster you. "It’s not a mating dance. It’s a hostage situation. And I'm the hostage."
"Ah." He stood, the heavy thud of his boots vibrating through the metal floor of the container. He approached you, moving with a loose, easy grace. "Well, I specialize in hostage negotiations. If you’d like some help."
He stopped just barely outside of your personal space, close enough that you could smell him. The faint scent of cedarwood and tobacco enveloped you. It was infinitely better than the chemical fog filling the room.
"Turn around for me," he commanded gently, not really asking.
You hesitated for a split second before turning your back to him. "It’s stuck right in the middle. Either it’s caught on the fabric underneath, or the zipper is just fucked. Can’t move it either way."
You felt the warmth of his hands near your skin before he actually touched you. His fingers were calloused, the cool metal of his rings pressing briefly against your heated skin as he bent at the waist and inspected the damage. He didn't just yank at it immediately. He hummed a low, thoughtful tune, his exhaled breath ghosting over the back of your neck as he steadily worked the zipper. It shot a little chill up your spine.
"You know," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave as he focused seriously on the task. "Most people usually wait until they clock in to start acting terrified. You're jumping the gun."
"I'm not terrified," you lied, watching his focused expression in the mirror. "I'm annoyed. There's a difference."
He let out a low, rich chuckle that vibrated against your back. "Oh absolutely. It's a hostile world for pretty girls with broken zippers.”
“Shit, is it actually broken?” You turned to look back, but one of his hands shot to your waist, stilling your movements.
“Hold still.”
For another moment, he worked the zipper. Then, slowly, it finally gave. His knuckles grazed your spine with a purposeful precision that was annoyingly enticing. With a final, deft flick of his wrist, the slider clicked into place at the top. He removed his hand from your waist and smoothed both hands over your shoulders, adjusting the fabric, not pulling away immediately. The lingering felt intentional, heavy with unspoken interest.
"There," he said, finally stepping back but keeping his gaze locked on yours in the reflection as he gave a dramatic bow. "Hostage rescued. You're free to go, my lady."
You turned to face him, smoothing down the skirt of your dress and trying to regain your composure. He leaned back against another makeup table, crossing his arms over his chest and looking entirely too pleased with himself.
"Thanks," you said, gesturing vaguely to your back. "You're a lifesaver. Or a zipper-whisperer.”
“I’m normally not zipping them in the direction you needed, but you’re welcome. Anytime.”
Your face flushed slightly at his implication. “Ah. Is that a talent they teach in orientation?"
"Bypassed orientation.” He admitted with a shrug. "Figured I'd wing it. It's just performing and jumping out at people. How hard can it be?"
"I mean, it can take a bit of a physical toll if you’re not careful." You replied, glancing away and already thinking about the bubble bath you were planning on taking later. “So uh, what was your name again? Don’t think I caught it.”
“I didn’t throw it.”
“Good with zippers and funny.”
He smirked slightly, brown eyes glinting with mischief as he stuck out a ringed hand for you to shake. “Eddie. Eddie Munson. Alias Demonic Cult Leader over in house six.”
You raised an eyebrow but smiled despite yourself. Eddie did indeed have a magnetic, cult leader-esq energy that pulled you in. A chaotic and flirtatious sort of charm that made you want to… What? Sass him back? Rip all his clothes off? Find an excuse for him to touch you again?
You shook your head slightly as if trying to dispel water lodged inside your ears. Eddie looked at you curiously.
"Ooh, the cult leader. Ambitious, for your first year.”
“Oh?” Eddie looked intrigued.
“Normally Mr. Anderson doesn’t cast just anyone in that house. Since it’s more of a performance than just jumping out to scare people.”
“Guess I’m just that convincing.” He grinned. “Which reminds me - what are you supposed to be, exactly?”
You glanced down at your costume. “Depends on the night - but today I’m an undead pirate wench in house three. Lots of groaning and dragging myself along the floor. Super dignified. My parents are very proud.”
Eddie pushed off the table with a short laugh, closing the distance between the two of you again. He looked down at you, his expression softening from teasing to something more intense. You didn’t want to admit that it stole just a tiny bit of air from your lungs as he reached out, twirling a lock of your hair around his left index finger thoughtfully.
"Kinda like the sound of that.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. A damsel in distress... Sorta."
You huffed out a laugh, pulling back slightly. He let his hand drop to his side. “I’m not a damsel in distress.”
“You seemed pretty distressed earlier.”
Couldn’t argue with him there.
“I would’ve figured it out eventually.”
“Of course.” Eddie inched forward. “But what about now?”
“Huh?”
“Are you still distressed?”
“N-no.” You frowned, trying to ignore the heat that radiated off of his body as a result of his closeness, as well as the fact that he seemed to like the way he affected you.
“I really hope you’re better at scaring people than you are at lying.” Eddie’s voice dropped to a lower register, and goosebumps erupted across your skin. “Otherwise we’re gonna have a lotta really disappointed customers.”
“I’m not -“
“You’re shaking.”
“It’s chilly outside.”
“It’s not that -”
“I run cold.”
“Well, I run hot.” Eddie replied with a wicked grin. “So where does that leave us? Happy to help you again, if you’d be interested.”
At some point during the exchange, you’d backed up enough that you were just inches from the wall of the shipping container. Just one more shuffle backwards and he could’ve had you caged against the wall. Not that you didn’t want him to, exactly. But you’d met him less than ten minutes ago, according to the clock on the wall.
Shit. Almost showtime.
“Well, gates open in twenty. So I’ll have to pass.” You responded, fighting to keep the tremor from your voice.
"Alright, alright. No need to get flustered on me, sweetheart." The endearment rolled off his tongue effortlessly, natural as breathing. He hooked his thumbs through his belt loops, rocking back on his heels after taking a few steps away. "I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of each other if you change your mind. Or if you have any more… Wardrobe malfunctions."
"I’ll keep that in mind," you said, feeling a smile tugging at your lips even as your brain screamed that this guy was, in all likelihood, not great news. What could a little banter hurt? You’d probably never see him again after the event was done. "Have fun sacrificing virgins tonight, or whatever it is you’re doing."
Eddie grinned. "How’d you know my after-work plans?”
“Oooh, scary.”
“Do you have reason to be worried?”
Heat rose to your face and you prayed it wasn’t visible under your makeup. “If that’s your only sacrifice criteria - then no. I’m perfectly safe.”
“Duely noted.” Eddie laughed, sobering as a gaggle of chatty performers entered the room, all in various stages of having their makeup and costumes on.
A few of them greeted you before dispersing to cake on more blood, or touch up latex prosthetics. He glanced at them before turning back to you as you sidestepped him to gather your things and go to your assigned role for the evening.
"Break a leg," he called out as you headed for the door. "Or don't. I heard medical is understaffed tonight."
You gave him a thumbs up before stepping out into the cool night air. As you walked away, heading through the fog-filled haunt, you felt a strange prickle on the back of your neck. A distinct feeling of being watched. You shook it off, chalking it up to the eerie atmosphere and the anticipation of the first night of scares.
But you didn't look back.
If you had, you would have seen Eddie Munson no longer inside, against the table with a lazy grin and finding someone else to chat up. He was standing by the open door, watching you walk away into the dark. The playful deviousness had vanished from his face, replaced by something darker. Hungrier. Utterly fixated. He didn’t appear to be looking at just another coworker. He was looking at what appeared to be the only real thing in a sea of plastic props and fake blood. Eddie was intrigued. And he had already decided he wasn't letting you go that easily.
Over the next week, the shipping container and the fog-labyrinth of Hawkins’ Horror Hill became the exclusive domain of your strange dynamic with Eddie Munson. He didn’t feel like just a coworker - more of a constant, chaotic presence.
The man had a terrifyingly impressive talent for materializing out of the smoke machine haze right when you needed a distraction or someone to chat with. On your breaks, he’d steal sips of your lukewarm soda, regale you with conspiracy theories about why the animatronic clown out front kept malfunctioning, and always sit just a little closer than a normal casual acquaintance should.
The friendship felt rather fast, cemented by shared misery and the kind of banter that only develops when you're both covered in real sweat and fake blood. You found yourself seeking him out before the night began, perching on the crate next to him after you’d gotten ready.
You enjoyed the way he’d mock the groups of high school jocks, launching into high-pitched, nasal imitations of them at every opportunity. In return, you provided him with your own real-life horror stories of the last few years that you’d worked here, which reliably sent him into fits of cackling laughter.
It was easy. Electric, even. Honestly, it was probably the only thing keeping you from quitting. You’d already decided that this was going to be the final year lurking in the fog. Leave the terrorizing of paying guests to the high school and college kids of the town from then on.
But by Saturday night, most of the novelty of the job had worn off, replaced by a grim reality. The autumn air had turned biting, the wind whipping through the cornfields that surrounded the haunt with a vicious chill. The sprung tents and barns that housed the walk-through haunted houses provided little warmth or relief for anyone - especially the performers.
The head of the event, a man named Gary Anderson whose soul seemed to have been crushed by years of minimum-wage management, gathered the shivering actors before opening one evening in the “backstage” area. You found yourself involuntarily inching closer to Eddie for a bit of warmth. He hadn’t been lying. He did run hot. Very hot.
"We need more intensity!" Mr. Anderson shouted over the wind, his voice cracking like a pre-teen boy's. "The word on the street is that the farm in the next town over the road got the cops called on them because the guests were convinced someone was actually getting murdered in one of the houses.”
“D-did they?” A blonde freshman girl asked nervously. You recognized her from the zombie apocalypse house.
“Did they what?” Anderson looked annoyed.
“Did someone actually die?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Probably not. Who cares.” He began to flip through pages on his clipboard, pulling a red marker from his pocket. “Point is - we need to up our game and really sell this as the premiere tri-county haunt event it’s been for the last fifteen years. We need more panic, terror, gore -”
You felt Eddie’s lips brush the shell of your ear as he leaned in close. “I think he kinda actually wants someone to die.”
“You volunteering, Munson?” You whispered back.
Before he could retort anything, Anderson’s shrill voice cut him off. “In order to make sure everyone’s talents truly shine in the most frightening way possible - we're swapping some positions."
“Pardon?” A bespeckled young man with a dramatic burn prosthetic cocked his head. “But we already -”
“I stayed up all night figuring out who would be best in which locations.” Anderson snapped, cutting him off. “As well as reworking some of the scenes in the houses for maximum terror.”
“Didn’t realize this was such a production.” Eddie murmured, half to himself, half to you.
“It normally isn’t.” You conceded. “Must be scared we’re losing money.”
“Hey - you.” Anderson was suddenly right in front of you, stabbing a finger in your face. "You're moving over to house six. You're gonna be our cult sacrifice."
You raised an eyebrow. “House six already has a sacrifice.”
Mr. Anderson looked annoyed. “It has a bloody dummy on an altar. Now it has you. Take this and go to costuming and change. Then meet Mr. Munson and I over at the house in fifteen, and we’ll go over what you’ll be doing.” He shoved a scrap of paper into your hand with the words Cult Sacrifice scribbled in what appeared to be blue crayon.
“I -”
“Go.”
With a sigh and a shrug, you left as he began barking out new house and role assignments to many of your fellow haunt performers. Eddie watched you leave, fighting back a dark smile.
The costume you were given was a travesty. While much more comfortable and flowy than your pirate corset, or most of your other ones - you were quite certain that you would freeze to death before you even got to the altar room in house six.
You stood in front of the cheap mirror in the costume trailer in a thin, practically sheer nightgown made of cheap cotton and trimmed with lace. It was stained with fake blood in strategic places, but still offered zero insulation against the forty-degree weather. It hit just below your knees, and the neck was a deep V, held up by two flimsy pastel ribbons that looked ready to tear at any second.
"Great," you muttered, staring at your reflection. Whatever Gary was going for - you hoped the money was worth it. The event didn’t open for a bit, so you kept on your thick socks and pulled an oversized sweatshirt over your head. You’d take them off later.
By the time you got to house six, your teeth were already chattering. Eddie was waiting. He looked the part of the Cult Leader perfectly—black robe hanging open to reveal a torn button-down, his face hollowed out with shadows mimicking a skull design.
“Whatcha wearin?” Eddie asked, good naturedly gesturing to your top. “Didn’t realize my cult sacrifice went to the local community college.”
“Temporary adjustment.” You yanked up the sweatshirt halfway so he could see what you’d actually be wearing. “Classy, right?”
To your confusion, Eddie went still as gaze swept over you. Taking in what he could see of your bare shoulders down to the hem of the nightgown. His jaw worked silently, and you saw his throat bob as he swallowed hard. Something in your gut twisted in delight at the idea that he found your look at all attractive.
"You look..." He started, then stopped, his voice coming out rough and strained. "You look like you're going to turn into a popsicle before the first group even clears the gate."
"Perceptive as always." You let the sweat fall back down and wrapped your arms around yourself in a futile attempt to generate some heat. “If I freeze to death in the name of Gary making a few extra bucks - remember me fondly, would you?”
"Fuck, Gary's an idiot." Eddie replied, tearing his eyes away from your legs with visible effort. He shifted his weight, gripping the hilt of his rubber knife until his knuckles turned white.
“Speak of the devil and he shall appear.” Anderson’s unamused voice cut through the air as he entered, looking frazzled as ever. He shot daggers at Eddie, but glanced at you and let out a low whistle as you pulled your sweatshirt off. You did your best to avoid scowling. “Lookin’ good, sweetie.”
“You inappropriately flirt with all your employees, Gary?” Eddie muttered.
Your boss chose to ignore him in favor of gesturing to the hallway/stage area where you and Eddie’s scene would take place and replay throughout the night.
“Alright, you two. Here’s the deal.” He pointed to the first part of the hallway - usually reserved for the cult leader to stalk through and jump out at random passersby. “You’ll start from here. Eddie, you chase her, and just before she reaches the curtain that separates this section from the next - tackle her.”
“Tackle me?” You frowned. “You didn’t say anything about -”
“There’s mats on the ground.” Gary sounded annoyed. “And Eddie’ll be careful, right? You’re not gonna break her?”
Eddie glanced at you, as if debating his answer. “No, sir.”
“Great. Anyway,” your boss continued. “You’ll scream, fight him, beg for your life, whatever. Improvise. I don’t care, just make it look like he’s terrifying.”
“Sure.”
“The strobe lights are gonna go out for about ten seconds - and in that time, Eddie, pick her up and get her past these curtains to the altar room, where you’ll -”
“He can just drag me.” You interrupted. “I don’t want him to like. Drop me. Or throw his back out.”
“Who’s in charge here?”
“I’m just saying -”
“Can it, missy.”
Eddie stepped forward, looming slightly over Mr. Anderson, who shrank back slightly. “We’ll rehearse it and figure out what works best.”
“Fine. Whatever. Point is, get her over to the altar, and then pretend to kill her. The lights’ll go out again, and you’ll both slip behind this backdrop and run back to the beginning. Then you do it all over again. Capeesh?”
“Capeesh.”
“Great. Run it a few times and I’ll do a walkthrough later to let ya’ll know if you need to change anything.” Gary wrote something on his clipboard as he walked away before calling over his shoulder something about the gates opening in fifteen.
"Okay," Eddie’s voice had dropped an octave, shifting into his stage persona, but his eyes were intense, focused entirely on you. "So, wanna try to escape me before I get you?"
You tried to ignore the way your heart rate picked up at his words. "Y-yeah. Sounds good."
"Don’t worry, I have exquisite control. You’ll be fine.” A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
You rolled your eyes, moving to your starting mark near the entrance. "See, when you say it like that I get worried.”
“You wound me, sweetheart. I take your safety so seriously.”
You smoothed your nightgown. “Tell that to those thin mats I have to fall on. So much for safety first.”
"I think it’s safety third here," he corrected. "Let's go."
You took a deep breath and started to run, feigning terror and allowing a scream of terror echo through the silent building. Your bare feet slapped against the cold concrete as you bolted.
"Please! Somebody help me!"
Eddie burst from the shadows seconds later, lunging after you. You turned on your mark at the edge of the mats, allowing him to tackle you to the ground. The impact knocked some of the wind out of you, and you tried to scramble backwards. His arms were still locked around your waist,
"Got you," he growled, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours.
"No! Let me go!" You struggled against his hold, which didn’t seem to loosen at all.
But Eddie didn't let go.
He held you there under him, his face inches from your own. There was something in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. Or maybe you just hadn’t noticed. Something dark and terrifying. And rather thrilling.
Eddie pressed down a little harder, pinning you there with his hips, one hand braced beside your head, the other holding the rubber knife against your ribs. The remaining air left your lungs in a rush. Up close, the intoxicating scent of him overpowered the stale smell of the haunt. He was close. So close. Too close.
"You're trembling," he murmured, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"I'm acting," you breathed back, though your pulse was hammering so loudly you feared he’d hear it. "It's the c-cold."
"Is it?" He leaned in. "Because I think you're lying."
The banter and sense of theatricality were gone, swallowed by the sudden, suffocating tension between you. This didn’t feel like a quick rehearsal anymore. You were acutely aware of how little clothing you were wearing, the sheer fabric doing nothing to stop the heat radiating off his body. You’d been so focused on his face that you hadn’t realized his knee had slid between your legs, nudging them apart. Upon feeling the friction, you let out a sound that was half-protest, half-something else entirely.
"Eddie," you warned, your voice wavering.
He grinned, a flash of white teeth in the darkness that surrounded the two of you, suddenly lightening his hold and allowing you to scramble up before he grabbed you once more. He dragged you through the curtain that divided the “scenes” by your upper arm, spinning your back towards the altar set piece. With a shove that looked far more dramatic than it actually was, he released you. Your lower back hit the painted wood, and you toppled backwards, landing hard on your elbows as your lower half dangled off the edge of the altar.
The air between you ignited once more as Eddie closed in on you. He was heavy, solid, and everywhere, his thighs trapping your legs as he leaned over you. The billowing robes created a canopy around your bodies as he pinned your wrists above your head with his upstage hand, his grip bruisingly tight.
"P-please," you whispered, looking up at him with wide eyes. You weren’t even sure if that was your line. It sounded pathetic, breathless. “Let g-go.”
Eddie paused, the rubber knife hovering over your chest. He was panting slightly, his minty breath ghosting over your face. His gaze dropped to your lips, then lower, to the rapid rise and fall of your chest beneath the thin nightgown.
For a split second, his grip on your wrists tightened. His thumb pressed your pulse point, as if testing to see the physical effect he had on you. Shifting his hips, he pressed them a bit more against yours, and you felt the undeniable evidence of just how much he was enjoying the “rehearsal”. It didn’t feel like he was acting anymore. While part of you was excited, the other part was rather alarmed.
"You beg so pretty," he murmured, his voice rough but almost reverent. You felt the rubber knife trace along your jawline. "Makes me wanna keep you."
“What the hell, Eddie?”
The man above you retracted his limbs with violent suddenness, scrambling off you and back to his feet. “Fuck. Shit. Sorry. I-”
“Got a little carried away?” You muttered, as he offered you a hand, but refused to meet your eyes. You took it, noticing that his grip was still bruising as he hauled you upright. You swayed slightly, the blood rushing back into your extremities, your skin tingling with a leftover electricity that felt wrong and right all at once.
“Yeah. I… Dunno what happened.” Eddie cleared his throat roughly, adjusting his robe with sharp, aggressive tugs. "That was, uh, let's run it again. Faster this time. Now that we’ve got the movements down.”
You nodded silently, smoothing down the sheer nightgown and taking a shaky breath. You felt shaken, electrified, and a little sick with a confusing cocktail of emotions. Maybe Eddie was just a method actor lost in the zone. Or maybe you'd just let a predator pin you down twice and had enjoyed the thrill of it.
But as he turned back, his eyes dark and fixed solely on you, you realized with a jolt of shame that you were hoping it was the latter.
By the time the final strobe light flickered and died, signaling the end of the night, you felt like you’d gone ten rounds with a freight train. The adrenaline that had kept you vibrating at a high frequency was fading fast, leaving a heavy, aching exhaustion in its wake.
The "scene" had been a gauntlet. Over and over, groups of guests had shuffled through, shrieking as Eddie chased you down the hallway and watching in terror as he “sacrificed” you upon the altar.
You’d thrown yourself into the role, screaming yourself hoarse, clawing at the floor, thrashing in his grip. The chill was gone, and a sheen of sweat coated your body from exertion. And maybe other emotions, as well.
And as for Eddie... Eddie was terrifying. He was fully committed. Every time he tackled you, every time he pinned you to the ground, there was a ferocity to it that felt almost too real. The audience loved him, and he ate it up.
Meanwhile, you were covered in a layer of dust and grime - knees scraped raw and you knew you’d be sporting a spectacular collection of bruises on your arms and ribs tomorrow from both being thrown around and also where he’d grabbed you. Purple fingerprints had already begun to bloom on your skin like dark flowers.
The physical toll was the easy part to process. It was the other stuff that was proving to be far more confusing. The way your stomach clenched with a sick heat when his weight settled on you. How his breath felt hot against your neck and made you shiver with desire even when he was whispering threats. The way he looked at you.
At the end of the night, you changed your clothes into something far warmer and collected your things. You just wanted to go home. Soak in a hot bath, and scrub off the stage blood, as well as the confusing, electric charge that seemed to cling to your skin like secondhand smoke.
Stepping out into the night air was a relief. The makeshift parking lot just off the country road was mostly empty. The silence felt heavy after hours of screaming as you walked towards your car.
"Hey! Wait up!"
The shout made you jump, your nerves still raw. You turned to see Eddie jogging after you. He had scrubbed off most of his makeup, though traces of shadows still clung stubbornly to the corners of his eyes and hairline. It gave him a feral, sleep-deprived look. He looked wrecked, given that the night had probably been nearly as taxing on him as it was on you, but he was grinning.
"Shouldn't walk out here alone," he said, falling into step beside you, his presence looming large in the dark. "You never know what kind of psycho is lurking in the shadows."
You shot him a dry look, though your pulse kicked up a notch. "Says the guy playing a cultist who just spent eight hours tackling me to the ground."
"Exactly," he said, bumping his shoulder against yours. The contact was solid, grounding. "I know how they think. I'm probably your best defense."
Eddie walked you all the way to your vehicle, leaning against the door as you fished for your keys. The silence between you wasn't uncomfortable, but it was charged. He kept looking at you, his eyes tracing the line of your jaw, the way you huddled into your sweatshirt. It felt like he was undressing you with his eyes, stripping away the layers to see what lay underneath the fear and the adrenaline.
"Uh, thanks." You said softly, finally unlocking the door. "And thanks for... you know. Not actually sacrificing me tonight. Kinda seemed like you wanted to for a sec there."
Eddie laughed, a low, rumbling sound that seemed to vibrate inside your chest. "Well, you kept gettin’ away. You're slippery when you want to be."
"I try." You murmured, opening the door.
"You two!"
The shout cut through the quiet night air, making you both jump. Gary was running at you from the entrance of the main building, looking uncharacteristically pleased with himself.
"Just wanted to catch you before you took off," he said, beaming. "Feedback was incredible tonight. People were saying house six was the scariest it’s been in years. The 'cult sacrifice' angle? People love your dynamic."
You forced a smile, leaning tiredly against your car door, hoping the darkness hid the flush on your cheeks. People are weird. "That's great, Gary. Glad we could help."
"So, I'm making it permanent," Gary said, checking something off on his clipboard with a satisfied scratch. "I know I made some changes earlier tonight - but you two are staying in the house for the rest of the season. No more swapping. Whatever the hell you two are doing, it’s working for people."
You felt a sudden spike of something - nerves? dread? a dark, curling heat? - in your stomach. "The whole rest of the season?"
"Absolutely," Gary said firmly. "If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Same time tomorrow, alright?"
With a final nod, Gary turned and marched away, leaving you standing there in the dim glow of temporary parking lot lights.
You glanced at Eddie, expecting him to crack a joke or do a little mock-salute. But he wasn't laughing. He was staring at Gary’s retreating back, his expression unreadable in the shadows. Then, slowly, his gaze shifted to you. There was an intense, focused look in his eyes. It wasn't the look of a coworker who was happy to keep a good gig. It was darker than that. Like the look of a wolf who had just been told the sheep pen would remain unlocked.
"Well," you said, trying to break the tension that suddenly felt thick enough to choke on. "See you tomorrow, I guess."
Eddie pushed himself off the car and stepped closer, crowding into your space. He reached out, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear. His touch lingered, his thumb grazing your cheekbone, his skin rough and cold.
"Guess so," His voice dropped an octave, private and low. "Try to get some rest, sweetheart. You're gonna need it."
With that, he turned and walked away toward his van, hands shoved deep in his pockets, leaving you standing by your open car door. You stood frozen for a long moment, unsure if his words excited or terrified you. But as you climbed into the driver's seat and gripped the steering wheel to steady your shaking hands, one thing was clear: working with Eddie wasn't just acting anymore. And you weren't sure you wanted it to be.
Whoever the anon was who just sent in that beautiful request about childhood best friend!reader...I literally have that in my wips RIGHT NOW???? How did you know babe????
ugh I just read ur drunk silly blurb and I love it sm I am requesting "you ever think maybe we were meant to meet... like, cosmically?" + SLOPPY, lazily drunk, groaning, ruining make up but like in a silly way!!! like they’re both super duper high and giggly and in love <333
a/n: thank you so much! super duper high in-lovedness coming right up. this one gets suggestive by the end lol. 1.1k words. prompts from here and here!
other requests ★ my request guidelines
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Eddie’s tolerance is way higher than yours. Usually when you get high together, you smoke about the same amount, which blasts you well into the stratosphere and leaves him just a skip below the clouds, grounded enough to keep you tethered and remain the voice of reason.
Today, though, he kept at it until he was right there with you. Mutually, gloriously useless.
And the weed must’ve made him hungry, too, cause you’re pretty sure he’s trying to eat you.
Once he finally put down the bong for good, Eddie crawled his way on top of you, laid himself between your legs, and started chewing on your neck. Sucking on the tender skin, wetting it with his tongue, triggering goosebumps intense enough to make you gasp when his teeth scratch against you just right.
He’s also pretty heavy, laying his full, unsupported weight on you in a way he’s much more reluctant to do sober, keeping your body warm and serene and pleasantly anchored while your mind stretches wide and flutters skyward. You're basically in heaven.
Staring at the snowy popcorn ceiling with a dazed smile, you lick your lips maybe three times before a thought pops into your mind. “Do you ever think, like…maybe we were…supposed to be here?”
Eddie hums at the question and raises his head partway to answer, but the loss of sensation makes you pout. His mouth was really warm and nice.
“...In my room?”
“No,” you correct with a giggle, “that’s so… Well, maybe. But no, that’s not what I meant. I meant, like…” Whatever you meant, it's been flushed down the drain. “...Shit.”
Eddie snickers at you and dips his head back into your neck, mouthing hot and wet and pleasant enough to fry your brain even further.
“You’re distracting me so bad,” you complain with joy.
“S’what you get for being tasty.”
Your laugh is more tremor than sound, quaking low in your belly. “...I’m not gonna have any blood left,” you warn him. “You’re drinking it all. I’m gonna die.”
He smacks a kiss on top of the damage. “I’ll get you some more.”
He’d really do that for you, if he had to. Eddie’s probably the nicest person you’ve ever met, and you really hope he thinks you’re nice, too. He was already so nice you could’ve cried from the day you met him. …Right, yeah, when you met him.
“...We were always supposed to meet each other,” you recall, squinting your eyes shut to keep it fresh. “That’s what I meant. And to…fall in love and stuff, probably.”
Eddie lifts his head again, pushing himself up until his spacey grin comes into view, and the sight of it startles you into a giggle.
“Oh, wow,” you sigh, holding either side of his silly face. “I’ve never seen you this stoned. Did you even hear what I said?”
His smile pulls even wider, handsome and dopey. “I hear everything you say, all the time,” he insists. “Are you talking about, like…destiny?” He flares his eyes wider on the last word, lowering his voice in drama.
“Whoa,” you say, widening your eyes right with him. You slip one hand into his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. “Maybe it’s destiny. I keep seeing, like…stars, and planets, and the universe, and shit. Like, it’s all aligned. And we’re the same.”
“The cosmos,” he interprets, leaning into your affection, brown eyes flitting all over in thought—swimming in a sea of pink. “...Shit. That’s heavy.”
“I know. But think about it, Eddie. Cause we could be living anywhere in the world, but you live here, and I live…” You raise your hand to point in whatever direction it happens to be pointing in. “...over there, so we definitely had to know each other, no matter what. And obviously, I was gonna have a crush on you, cause you’re really sexy and your hair is long and you were nice to my cat. I even cried a little bit, you were so sweet to her. And I, um…” There it goes again.
Eddie’s brow furrows, dragging his eyes back to your face. “You cried?”
“After you left, yeah.”
“I made you cry?”
“‘Cause she’s kinda mean,” you explain, twirling a lock of his hair, “but you were so nice to her even though she hissed at you, and she liked you. That’s another thing for destiny.”
A few seconds pass while Eddie blinks and processes that. Then, he jerks like something startled him, which startles you as well.
“Whoa, whoa, wait a second,” he says, raising his eyebrows at you, pausing for drama. “...You have a crush on me?”
As soon as you burst out giggling, he smiles so wide that you can see all his teeth. When you start to recover, his eyes flicker down to your lips and he raises his hand to your chin, trying to tug it down with his thumb.
“Open your mouth,” he demands.
You groan. “See, that’s hot. You’re so fucking hot.”
He uses the tail end of your sentence to sneak his way in, pressing his smiling lips to yours, pushing your mouth open wider and languidly filling it with his tongue. You swirl yours around it and groan even louder, hooking your arm around his neck as you savor his lazy hunger, the way his hair tickles your face, his warm palm cupping your jaw.
It’s messy and uncoordinated, more of a mutual sensory probe than anything that could assuredly be called a kiss. Your tongue traces the smooth and jagged ivory of his teeth, the ridges on the roof of his mouth; the slick tissue of his tongue against yours and the thin skin of his lips, spit-drenched but still rough at the center with dryness. It takes you a while to realize how massively, powerfully worked up you’ve gotten, pulsing with it head to toe, but once you’ve noticed it, you have to push Eddie back for a second, or else you’ll probably burn to ashes.
“Oh, God, Eddie,” you sigh.
He stamps idle kisses along your jaw, scorching your skin even hotter. “...I think you’re right,” he murmurs.
“Huh?”
“About the stars,” he says, shaking with a chuckle. “...We’re cosmic, babe. It’s destiny.”
That’s really sweet, but you can’t even try to think about that anymore. You’re melting into the sheets. “Um… Do you wanna have sex?”
Eddie stops and ponders this at length. “...Do you think we can, like…manage that?”
A couple seconds of processing and it sends you both laughing irrepressibly, holding onto each other with tears in your eyes until it subsides.
“...Shit, I don’t know,” you say, your voice still shuddering with suppressed humor. “I think we’re…kinda blasted. But I really wanna try.”
“Okay,” Eddie agrees. He lifts himself up to try and tug his shirt over his head, and it gets stuck over his face for a little too long before you finally manage to get it off him, hurling you both into another fit of hazy giggles. “...Fuck, alright. We’ll give it our best shot.”
-
thanks for reading! feedback is always welcome 💞 likes, comments, + reblogs would be much appreciated!
if you leave a lipstick stain on a beer can eddie will keep it and add it to a keep sake stash he has for you. he feels especially pathetic about ghosting his lips over the outline but he can’t make himself stop
Ohhhhhhhhh NOW WE’RE TALKING!
It’s yearning hours baby, everybody fall in line.
It happens one night after you’ve all been hanging out. He’s stumbling around the trailer, a little tipsy and crossfaded as he picks up after the guys.
Then he comes to the coffee table, the lone beer you nursed all night staring back at him. There’s a smudge on the can, a smear of sticky gloss he can smell when he picks it up. Something sweeter than just vanilla, it’s like…frosting, or cake batter.
His chest pangs and he flops down on the couch, burying his face in the throw pillow you hugged to your chest all night and then hid behind when the movie got too scary. Eddie’s whole body was on fire the whole time, his leg jiggling incessantly, fingers pulling loose threads in his jeans.
You kept brushing up against him and he couldn’t decide if you were trying to get him to put his arm around you, or if that was just his wishful thinking.
Now he’s smelling the ghost of your essence on the pillow and fuck—why does he keep doing this to himself? He keeps asking you out, only for him to panic invite the rest of your friends and turn it into a ‘group hang.’ God, he hates those words.
All he wants is to be alone with you, but how’s he supposed to know if you wanna be alone with him or if you think he’s just some fucking creep trying to get in your pants? Not that he’s not trying to get in your pants, but that’s not all he wants.
He makes that noise. That whine-grunt-huff-sigh that seems to encapsulate all his frustrations—with himself, with the situation, with his life.
The couch sags and creaks under his body as he rolls over and stares at the water-stained ceiling. He’s still got your scent in his nose and your drink in his hand. He brings it up to his lips and presses them to the sticky smudge you left behind.
Imagines warm, soft flesh instead of a cold metal rim. Imagines tasting your gloss straight from the source, letting his tongue glide into the cavern of your mouth and finding yours waiting for his. Imagines your hand cupping his hard—
A knock at the door makes him jump. He hurls the can he was just kissing across the room and bolts upright. His heart pounds in his burning ears and he curses Gareth or Jeff or Lloyd for being dumb enough to leave whatever it is they forgot.
He stomps to the door, ready to lay into whoever is on the other side, but when he flings it open all the air in the world vanishes without a trace.
Because it’s not Gareth or Jeff or Lloyd or even Ed McMahon with a big check. It’s you.
Smiling at him with the porch light reflecting off your freshly re-applied gloss.
“Hey, sorry,” you said, drumming your fingers on the side of the door. “I, um…forgot something.”
“O-oh? What uhm—”
He cleared his throat loudly. Goddamn, why did it feel like his words were made of sawdust?
“What’d you forget?” he finally managed to ask.
Your fingers drummed again and your eyes darted up and down Eddie’s form. He swore you looked like you were vibrating; like you were about to explode or launch straight into space.
And then, suddenly, you were kissing him.
The next thing he knew, you’d stepped across the threshold and your lips were on his. Your real lips, tasting better than anything he’d ever imagined.
Sweeter than vanilla.
had to redo the end after tumblr shat itself, now I kinda hate it.
cw: makeout, friends to lovers, mutual pining, afab!reader, dirty in public, a touch of jealousy (we're eating good!) teasing <3
eddie looks at you with stars in his eyes, both of you firmly cupping the other's face. both of your lips are parted, desperately inhaling the air you've not realized you're lacking.
"what?" you ask, the question riding on the expelled breath you've just managed to take, leaving as quickly as it came.
eddie's jaw tightens with restraint, palm frozen in place on your cheek.
"i said, "i love you."' he repeats, his tongue gently pressing against the inside of his cheek, desperately trying to fight the coy grin that succeeds in drawing up his lips. it feels like the air has been punched from your lungs, and you can barely manage a nod.
"say it again."
"i love you." he breathes, his restraint finally fading into oblivion. his body takes control before his mind does. slowly-but surely-his thumb begins to run along your cheek.
"i love you." he repeats, and you nod, his metal rings working in tandem with the chill of the brick alleyway wall pressed against your bare back, revealing goosebumps that slowly scatter across your flesh.
you're not sure why you can't reply, but you can't breathe, either.
the amount of time that you've waited for this is insufferably long.
now that you've heard the confession, you're not sure how you managed to go so long without it.
his eyes search for any doubt in yours. reasonably so, because you feel your face dumbfounded, but desperate. clinging to every word he says.
eddie's knee bumps along your own, a slow invitation which you allow him to have, his thigh resting against your clothed core. his knee balances you, and he tucks your hair behind your ear.
both of you are dumb-stricken, that all-too familiar warmth nestling in the pit of your stomach. the same one that burrowed when he looked at you, when your hands brushed against one another in the crowded harrington living room during parties, and when he just..was.
he closes the space between you now, slowly leaning in to you.
"say something." he coos, his nose brushing against yours, nudging it gently-teasing-waiting to kiss you.
"i love you." you breathe, and you feel him physically tense up.
"say it again."
"i love you."
the groan that leaves him is primal-gutteral.
his free hand immediately flies up to catch your other cheek, metal rings pressing into the plush of your face, inevitably parting your lips farther. his tongue brushes gently into your mouth, just behind your top teeth at the roof of your mouth. it earns a moan from you, the silent invitation accepted.
your lips desperately knead at the others, cherried and puffy from how hard you're kissing him.
every time you pull back, it's only to allow yourselves a millisecond-and that's being generous-to suck in as much air as you can before your lips are on each other again. and then he's slow. fingers threading through your hair, starting at the base of your neck-raking up along your scalp before tugging gently.
"eddie-" you moan, head lulling back against the wall behind you.
"that's me, sugar." he breathes, raspy. heated. he's nearly snarling the words before his lips latch to your throat, and your knees buckle beneath you, falling onto his expertly placed knee from just moments ago.
his mouth is vicious on you, and you can hear him sucking against the soft crook of your neck. "eddie-" you gasp. you're positive your heart is going to physically beat out of your chest. it's so much all at once. his free hand is holding your jaw, turning it slightly to allow himself more room.
your body grants him permission.
you can feel him groaning before you hear it, the vibrations intruding against your pulse. he drags his lips up to the shell of your ear, hot breath making you shudder.
"knew you wanted it." he coos, cold knuckles brushing against the warmth of your skin as he toys with the bottom of your shirt. it's your favorite cami-a sage green with white lace trim, the weight of his leather jacket cocooning you.
"eddie-" you squirm beneath his touch, desperate for him to touch you. take you.
"knew you loved me." he continues, fingers hooked under the hem of your shirt, sliding, but not going anywhere. "how i love you." he concludes.
"be mine." he breathes, his nose brushing against your jawline, and you shudder, eyes fluttering closed. he pulls back to look at you, forcing both of you to look each other in the eye, whatever your answer may be.
"already am. always have been." you slur, lust hazing your senses.
"for real, sweetheart." he presses. he needs consent, not a fantasy.
"i'm yours. i wanna be yours," you reply, a whine catching just the end of your sentence.
that grin perks up again, gently spreading as he looks at you.
"not gonna make you beg for it, sweetheart. 've wanted it for so long." he confesses, pressing a kiss to your temple.
"really?" you reply, and he gazes down into your eyes.
Do you ever think about Eddie smoking into reader's mouth? Been having that thought for months, needed to state that 🤭
Do you mean weed, like shotgunning? Or cigarette smoke? Either way, I haven't thought about it because I don't partake in either, but I know he would.
Walk with me here...
"Gimme one," you say, reaching your hand out, palm up—waiting.
He stares at the expectant gesture, then moves his flat gaze upwards, settling on your face, undeterred. "Sorry, sweets, this is my last one." Smoke billows out of his mouth with every word.
You sigh, rolling your eyes. "Okay, so let me take a drag, then."
Your shoulders stiffen as you see that particular quirk to his lips, the one that tells you he's in the mood to be a shithead.
"And catch your cooties? Egh, no thank you."
With that dismissal, he takes a long, zealous drag, always one to rub salt in a wound with unyielding precision.
You don't hesitate. The second the cigarette leaves his mouth, your hands are on either side of his head, holding him still as your lips brush his. With a deep, controlled breath, you inhale.
It seems to take him a moment to realize what's happening, but once he does, he sputters, coughing violently. His body arches wildly, wiggling himself free from your grip as wide eyes take in your smug look, curling wisps of smoke escaping your parted, smiling lips.
Nearly red in the face, still recovering with a rasp to his strained voice, a nervous twitch to his muscles, and the incessant need to tug the hem of his shirt lower, he stares at you in horror. "Don't ever do that again."
"Well, next time, just let me take a drag."
He blanches, still looking the picture of puritanian dismay. "Next time? Next time, I'm giving you your own pack. Jesus H., sweets... Damn near put me in an early grave..."
just want to say thank you for your writing, especially recently. you are helping keep the eddie fandom alive and these days it's hard to find fics that aren't smut and/or au and i just really appreciate seeing your fluffy stories on my dash, they bring me so much joy and comfort <3 :)
Aww I adore Eddie fluff :^)) please feel free to request lots and lots more!!! Thank you for reading, angel!!
Can you do one where Eddie's girl is pregnant and she wakes up really upset from a bad dream? Just fluff and maybe some hurt/comfort? Thank youuu!!! xoxo
Warnings: Mentions of Cheating (Only in reader's bad dream), Pregnant!Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Cursing, Fluff, Gendered Pet Names (Mama, Baby, Sugar, etc.)
***********
Eddie can’t believe his luck.
It’s been a long day. It’s January and he works in a garage, so his fingers have been numb from the cold for about twelve hours now. He’s only been home long enough to scrub the black gunk from under his nails and unzip his disgusting coveralls, but when he wanders into the bedroom to find you curled up like a house cat on his side of the bed, he forgets that there are bad things in the world entirely. He has found utopia within a double wide.
He shucks the rest of his work clothes with a new-found eagerness, stumbling as he tries to wrench his feet out of his boots without stopping to untie them.
He buries his nose in your hair as he settles in behind you, your back to his chest and his legs slotted with yours. The tension in his shoulders from the day is no match for the powerful pheromone that is your Super Savers’ Strawberry Shampoo. His rough hands snag the honeycomb fabric of your sleep shirt as they sneak beneath the hem, finding purchase against the warm swell of your belly.
You pull away from him with a soft whine, rubbing your eyes.
He allows you to escape his arms, though having his sleepy, beautiful, pregnant wife shrug him off feels similarly to what he'd imagine being bludgeoned to death with a baseball bat might feel like.
His brow furrows as he croons over your body to see your face. You're waking slowly, a frown on your lips so devastating that Eddie can hear the audible splat of his heart hitting the bedroom floor. He mirrors your expression.
“Baby…” He hums, allowing you to fully wake. Your lip quivers, your eyes shiny as porcelain with unshed tears.
He’s startled to see you so upset. He’s worried you’re in pain. Still, he forces himself to chill out and not bombard you with frantic questions. He crawls over top of you and off the bed, kneeling beside it so he can see your face.
“Why are you crying, Mama?” His voice is nearly a whisper. Soft and syrupy sweet like he’s trying to coax a kitten out of a tree.
You cover your eyes with your hands, turning away from him again. Eddie realizes that he has done something to cause these tears.
The death penalty would be far too kind for scum like him.
“You…You ch-....” Your voice breaks, a failed attempt at holding back a sob. Eddie slides his hand beneath your shirt, massaging gently over your spine.
“Baby, tell me what I did.” He muscles, trying to swallow the knot in his own throat.
“You cheated on me.” Your voice is such a miserable whimper that Eddie feels like he’s gonna barf. Maybe he would have if not for the absurdity of the actual words.
He cheated on you? No he fucking didn't.
His tone changes, hand freezing where it rests against your back. He’s bewildered by your accusation. “I…I what?”
“...in my dream.”
Eddie’s body melts like butter. Relief stretches to each and every nerve ending.
You sniffle, finally peering at him with red rimmed eyes, and give most heart-aching hiccup. Eddie would cut his left foot off if it meant he never had to see you look this dejected again.
“Aw, baby…” He breathes, pressing his face into your hip. “I’m so sorry.”
Your expression crumbles as you give up, allowing yourself to cry. Eddie's entire being reaches for yours like a magnet, desperate to draw you up in his arms and squeeze you too tight. But you're a woman scorned, right now, and he's not sure if you'll want a hug until your brain has stopped holding Real Life Eddie responsible for Dream Eddie's horrible crimes.
He holds your hand, instead, his lips warm and grounding against your knuckles. “I'm sorry you had a bad dream, sugar. I'd be upset too if I had a dream like that.”
There's a long silence. You calm a little, though your frown deepens with memory as you stare down at him. “It was Nancy.”
His thoughts sputter for a moment, eyebrows shooting up. “Nancy? Our Nancy? Like…Nancy Wheeler?”
Eddie can't help the breathless laugh that escapes him. Nancy barely tolerated him as a friend.
Your forehead creases. You pull your hand away, not taking kindly to his amusement. “It's not funny.”
The corner of his mouth quirks. He crosses his arms to lean in against the side of the mattress, head tilting to meet your begrudging gaze. “It's not funny that you had a dream about me cheating, but it is funny that it was Nancy Wheeler. That's totally bonkers, baby.”
“It felt real.” You murmur weakly, lip still jutting out pitifully.
He wishes he could wring Dream-Eddie’s neck.
“I know it did. Are you gonna let me hold you, now? Because if you don't I think I’m gonna lose it.”
You think about it for a moment before you nod. In an instant, you're all wrapped up in him. A tangle of limbs.
You wince a bit as he settles beside you. It’s just barely there, but Eddie catches it. He pecks your lips chastely as his hands smooth over your tummy again, “She’s moving like crazy, huh?”
You nod, giving a watery hum. Eddie wants to kiss you forever.
“She knows you’re upset.”
Guilt weighs heavy in your chest thinking about your little girl. Eddie’s right. She’s restless because your heart rate is elevated. You take deep breaths for her sake. “I don’t…don’t want to stress her out.”
“It’s ok, sugar. She’s tough.” He squeezes your knee, rubbing circles there as your eyes flutter shut, “She’s just trying to fight whoever made her mom cry.”
You make an odd noise, something between a laugh and a sob. Eddie gives you three kisses. One to your chin, one beside your eye, and one to the center of your forehead.
“It was really bad.” You mumble, eyes still closed.
“I know.” He coos, tucking some hair behind your ear. “I know, mama. I’m sorry. How can we make you feel better? Are you hungry?”
You squish your face into the crook of his neck, mumbling a mushy “yes” against his skin.
“We can get take out…” Eddie wipes the leftover tears from your cheeks with the pad of his thumb. “No more Thai food, though. Ever.”
You pull back to look at him, scandalized. “Why?”
He giggles, “Because it obviously makes you have weird ass dreams about me getting freaky with Nancy Wheeler.”
You bat your eyelashes, pressing your face against the palm of his hand as you consider his point. “But the Pad See Ew…”
“The Pad See Ew is causing marital discourse. I really ought to call in a complaint to the restaurant. You’re a victim.”
You whine through a laugh, and Eddie’s so glad to hear it that he laughs too.
He could never deny you noodles…especially not right now. Your eyelashes are all stuck together, the tears drying on your face. Your nose is still all red.
“I love you so bad.” He mumbles because he can’t help it.
You hum as you pout your lip, playfully this time. “More than Nancy Wheeler?”
He laughs so big your cheeks turn red.
***********
EDDIE VAN MUNSON @eddie-van-munson - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
