this is a short(-ish), nameless little idea i couldn't get out of my head about eddie trying and failing to fulfill a cnc fantasy for you and the conversation that follows, written from his perspective. 5.5k words.
warnings: EXPLICIT; MINORS DNI, I WILL BLOCK YOU! simulated non-consent. eddie's pushy but not at all violent. still soft, still himself. it's played serious. angsty, hurt/comfort. reader is characterized as shy/reserved when it comes to sex with hinted-at low self-esteem, eddie loves you more than anything and thinks he doesn't need boundaries. happy ending. lmk if y'all think i should tag anything else. dead dove: do not eat!
tagging some people that expressed interest: @stickystrawbunny @lunaiswriting @residentoftomlinsonsass @teddysugar
Eddie was sure he could handle it.
That it'd be easy, even. All it really amounted to was roleplay, after all, and he was nothing if not a veteran of make-believe.
It had started with a request that Eddie be a little rougher. You’re sort of shy when it comes to speaking—struggling usually to talk about your activities in the bedroom much more than you ever did participating in them—so he was ecstatic to hear you ask him for anything at all.
It was while laying together in bed after a quick shower that you brought it up. Two rounds apiece had worn you both out, and maybe it was being cradled so close to his heart, the comfort of warm skin pressed together and the dreamy lull of sleep that had relaxed your anxious tongue enough for the words to escape. Eddie, ever gently, eased you back enough to see your face and smiled.
He hummed as he watched you, endeared to the moon and back by the bashful little look on your face—the way you can barely meet his eye. “...How rough are we talkin’ here?”
He’d left a bruise or two on you before by accident, and as much as he felt bad for hurting you, he also couldn’t deny the appeal of knowing he’d made a mark on you. Flesh and blood evidence of the pleasure you'd shared; the grooves of his hands embedded beneath your skin. He’d also carefully pulled at your hair once or twice, even smacked your bottom, albeit more as a joke than anything carnal.
It took you a moment, staring at his mouth and his chin while you gathered the courage. “I… Well, I like it when you’re…pushy,” you admitted.
Eddie grinned even wider. “Oh yeah? You want me to bully you a little? Toss you around?” That would be no problem at all.
His knowing intonation made you purse your lips to fight a smile. “Yeah, I like that. But also…”
“...Also?” he prompted with patience. “Don’t hold out on me, sweetheart.”
“I don’t know.” You stared down at the sheets with a strained, twitchy little smile. “I just sort of have this…weird fantasy, I guess. Can't get it out of my head.”
Now you’re talking. He took care not to look too ecstatic, lest he scare the nerve out of you. “Tell me all about it,” he encouraged, “and I might be able to help you out.”
You hesitated. The sheepish smile fell away, and your eyes seemed to turn in on themselves, unfocusing. Right on the precipice of changing your mind, waving it all away. Something was scaring you inward. Eddie’s brow furrowed and he softly lifted your chin, startling you back to the present.
“Sweetheart, I’m the last person that’s ever gonna judge you for wanting to try something kinky, or…unusual,” he assured you. Serious but without pressure, smiling warm and fond. You don’t have to tell him anything, but he needs you to know that you can. “I’m not gonna look at you differently, or love you any less. That’s a promise.”
He already felt like the luckiest guy on the planet just holding you as he was, watching you watch him with love and trust and melting reservations in your eyes. If you also happened to possess even half of the freakiness that he’d been valiantly keeping at bay from the first time you touched, he might just dissolve into a pile of lovestruck mush.
-
Eddie never thought he’d have you, so he has a tendency to do anything—anything—that he thinks might help him keep you. It’s a bad habit of his (in your mind, at least) that he’s kept hidden almost as well as his less savory appetites, his more cringeworthy fears. You’ve noticed it a couple times. The way he grits his teeth and bears things you would’ve gladly relieved him of, that you’ve never asked of him in the first place. Eddie knows it’s stupid; unhealthy, even, to treat your relationship like a rolling audition he’s always in danger of bombing, but there’s some misshapen part of him that just can’t help it. You don’t need him to be anything more than he is, to give more than he has, and he knows that, he really does, but he could. If you wanted him to, he could.
Just start and don’t stop. That’s how you explained it to him, more or less.
Eddie was to do what he was going to do, and while you might squirm and struggle, tell him no and don’t and stop it, you assured him plenty that it’d just be for show. To fulfil your half of the little fantasy you’ve trusted him with—and he could see on your face how much trust it really took. Unless you use your safeword, you don’t really want him to stop; you want him to ignore it; to fight you right back; to make you.
And that’s simple. He’s the bad guy, the bully—a role he’s uniquely accustomed to—and you’re the poor maiden he’s meant to distress. He isn’t sure he’ll get as much out of it as you will, if the suppressed thrill in your eyes as you spoke about it is to be trusted, but to put it frankly, Eddie loves fucking you. He could do it for hours, for days, probably until the combined forces of exhaustion and dehydration knocked him out cold, if he lost his grip on restraint. It never really occurred to him that this could be any different.
You decide on a Friday, after dinner. Plenty of time for both play and comfort, no looming alarms to dread come morning. The day went by as usual, but when you sit down to eat, neither of you have much to say. He catches you staring. Again and again, cutting your eyes away in shyness each time. Getting impatient.
For once, you eat faster than him. When you’re done, you stand to put your plate in the sink and return to him with awkward, scattered energy, crossing your arms like it’s your first time trying to.
“...I’m gonna get ready for bed,” you tell him simply.
Eddie lets out the smirk he’s been sitting on. “Okay, baby.” It does something to you, makes you twitch. He stops you before you rush down the hall to escape. “...You’re sure you still wanna do this?”
Your feet catch awkwardly on the carpet as you turn back to face him, and your smile, unusually wide and giddy with nerves, makes his chest swell with warmth. If it was up to him, he’d jump on you right here and now, but probably not in the way you’d want him to. “I’m really sure.”
“Great,” he says. “Then… I’ll be right behind you.”
Eddie takes his time. Finishes his food, packs away the leftovers, washes the dishes in the sink—wouldn’t want them to crust over. There are a few stray food scraps on the floor, close to hidden beneath the cabinet ledge, so he decides to go ahead and sweep the entire kitchen, neglected lately.
Then, he heads for the bathroom. Turning off lights as he goes, Eddie squints through the dark and thinks that this feels correct. This is where he should be, preparing for something like this. He really wants to see you but he isn’t sure he’s ready yet, and he wants even more to get it right for you. He’s so happy, so happy that you found it in you to share it with him, knowing how awful it could be in the wrong hands. When you’d gone to sleep that night, Eddie stayed awake a while longer and teared up at the thought. No one else, you’d said. You never told anyone else but him.
Eddie brushes his teeth, washes his face. He fiddles with his hair, for some reason. As if a wayward strand might ruin the fantasy for you. He considers taking a shower, too, to cool himself off, but he knows both of you will need one afterwards anyway, and you must be getting antsy waiting for him. He pictures you squirming, sighing, grinding your needy thighs together.
And he thinks about your thighs, and the precious flower between them. How it opens up and takes him in, holds him tight and loves him just as much as you do; gushes with it. Your stomach, round and plush, his favorite plane to sink his teeth into. The swell of your chest and the pretty little jewels that dot either side, that tense and stiffen under his fingertips. Every bit as meek and sensitive as the rest of you. He figured it’s for the best if he’s already there before he gets started, and knowing he’ll get to touch you soon, to ravish you just the way you want, it doesn’t take long at all.
Eddie pushes the door in and finds you waiting with purposeful unawareness, your back to him at the far side of the bed. For a moment, he just smiles, and his nose scrunches with endearment. Your shoulder tensed up to your ear at the sound of his arrival, and it stays there as you sit in anticipation. Stepping inside, he closes the door behind him and makes his way towards his side of the bed, pulling the unneeded shirt over his head, tossing it aside.
“...Baby, you awake?” He knows you are, but he gives you the chance to pretend anyway. Your answer is a non-committal hum that scrunches his nose a second time.
He kneels onto the bed and crawls nearer, watching your partly-obscured profile. His hand lands on your upper arm and squeezes and you hum again—more distinctly reluctant this time. He figures that’s the go-ahead.
Eddie’s much more heavy-handed than usual in stealing a kiss from you; starting the game. Leaning over you, he takes you by your jaw and turns your head towards him, smashing an indulgent kiss into your lips and drinking in your cute, startled peep.
Only, then, you try to make him stop—tugging at his wrist, turning your head away from him—and on instinct he lets you go with a hot prod of anxiety. Did he fuck it up already? Is this not what you wanted?
But when you mumble your timid complaint (“I’m not in the mood, Eddie”) and turn away from him again, it clicks into place.
…Right, yeah, that’s how this works. You’re going to reject him, unambiguously, over and over and over again, and he’s supposed to ignore it every time. He knew that on paper, but seeing it in action, experiencing what it feels like to be told no by you and pretend it doesn’t matter, hits him somewhere hard to place.
But it’s what you want, so he keeps going. He grabs your shoulder far meaner than the real Eddie ever would and yanks you onto your back, lays himself over you to plant his mouth onto yours again, and when you whine into his lips he pushes even harder, forcing his tongue inside. You don’t mean to moan, probably, but when you do, Eddie’s tension deflates with a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Squirming beneath him, you push at his chest with both hands, harder and harder until he finally relents and gives you room to breathe.
“What are you doing?” you gasp, wide-eyes flitting all over his face, and it gives him pause again. He’s…doing what you asked him to—what you want him to, even if it feels like anything but.
“Need you bad, honey,” he murmurs, playing his own part a little belatedly, and his hands slide down to squeeze at your thighs. “Open up.”
“I told you, I’m not in the mood tonight.”
“It won’t take long,” he assures you. “Open up.”
Your brow furrows deep and tight, somewhere sadder than confused. “I don’t want to.”
Eddie pushes out a sharp sigh, gives you a look. He knows what to say, but it takes a moment to convince himself to let out with it. “...Sweetheart, I’m not asking.”
That clearly did it for you—nearly sent your eyes rolling back. There’s a fire in them, a pinprick of red-hot excitement even as you press your thighs tighter together, and he realizes, once again, that you aren’t going to help him out at all.
He forces his hands into the space between your thighs and abruptly wrenches them apart, and the gasp you suck in at the feeling of it is definitely real. Eddie stifles a grimace. He hopes that wasn’t your full strength he was fighting. If it really is that easy to make you, he could’ve gone his whole life without knowing it.
You have made it easy for him in one regard. Between your nightgown—really just an oversized tshirt, already riding up above your hips—and the thin, lacy excuse for a pair of panties you’ve got on beneath it, he has as much access as he possibly could without having to try and wrestle you out of your clothes. He’ll hardly even have to move anything out of the way.
You’re also fucking soaked, thank God. More than you usually are without a little help, but maybe you’d been helping yourself while you waited for him. It’s a strange feeling. Relieving for substantiating how you truly feel about what he’s doing, a little concerning (or, at the very least, puzzling) for whatever the hell that might mean. What is it that this asshole is doing for you that Eddie himself is failing to?
He takes himself out of his pants, still pulsing at the thought of you, and sucks air through his teeth as he drags his fist from base to tip, trying to work himself up a little more. When he goes to line up, your hands fly between your legs, trying to hide yourself from him, but it isn’t too hard to snatch them up and hold them out of his way. You aren’t really fighting back, just trying to seem like you are. He tugs the thin seat of your panties aside and notches his cock at your entrance, then lays his weight over you.
“Don’t,” you beg. “Eddie, please don’t!” The drop of panic in your voice is way too convincing. His heart sinks a few inches in his chest.
“Stay still, honey,” he tries to comfort—that part at least comes naturally. He’s psyching himself up to it. You told him explicitly not to prepare you; that it’s okay if it hurts a little, that you even sort of want it to, but he didn’t realize how intimidating that request really was until now. “...It’s okay. Just stay still.”
“No, baby, you can’t—”
He jerks his hips, pushes halfway in with one sharp thrust, and hisses through his teeth as he does. He’s never felt you like this before, without having been teased open on his fingers or his tongue first, and you’re wet enough for the sound of it to squelch, but he’s surprised to discover he can feel that it isn’t quite right all on his own. It’s too tense, shocked rigid, trying to evict him. At the same time, you gasp like his penetration removed some deadly blockage from your airways, and Eddie freezes, watching your face with cold sweat dripping down his sides. Your jaw hangs open, panting, brow pinched and hips squirming with overwhelm. When you meet his eye and find him staring, waiting, gritting his teeth, you give him the slightest nod you can manage, and Eddie continues.
He slowly pulls his hips back and snaps them in another mean thrust that delves even deeper, sending you moaning in pain or delight. Mouth dipped down beside your ear, he shushes you as sweetly as he can while doing such an awful thing. Grasping for any gentleness he can find. He’d like to kiss you again, but he’s reluctant to create any obstacle if you need to tell him to stop.
“It hurts,” you whine.
It’s supposed to, he reminds himself. You might even be pretending. “...It’ll pass, sweetheart, I promise.”
One more thrust, a kiss to your neck in tandem, and he’s fully sheathed inside. You cry out, and he’s pretty sure it’s pleasure—your thighs twitch like they always do when you’re excited to be full of him. Eddie pulls out again and sinks right back in, starting up a deep, powerful rhythm that makes you mewl beneath him. It almost puts a smile on his face.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he teases, planting a kiss on your cheek.
“No,” you insist, indignant. You’re still putting up your weak impression of a fight, pushing at his chest and digging your nails in, scratching him, but every ruthless thrust he gives you punches a clipped little moan out of you, surprised by the force each time.
Eddie dips his face into your neck, starts to work his teeth into you. “Don’t lie to me, baby,” he murmurs. “Know just what you like.”
He does his best to hold you still, pin you down. He’s been too focused on you to really think about his own pleasure, but when it finally occurs to him to take stock, he startles. It’s not that you don’t feel good—you always feel good—but it’s almost like he’s slowly going numb to it. Eddie abruptly picks up the pace, trying to remedy it, and you cry your noisy pleasure beneath him, but it doesn’t change much. It’s hot and slick and tight, and it’s you, but there’s no…momentum to it, no steady build-up for him to manage, no urgency.
And that wouldn’t really matter to him, since the point of all this is getting you off, but he can feel himself waning. The aching tightness he always succumbs to when you play with each other begins on its own to slump in disinterest, and the frustration of it grits his teeth together.
There’s a cold little pit in the bottom of his gut warding off the blood that should be pumping excitedly through it, and it dawns on him that, for the first time, entirely in absence of weed or alcohol or pure, concentrated nerves, Eddie probably can’t keep it up long enough to get you off. And just then, while he’s already flirting with the dread of poor performance, your voice warbles out once more, as frail as he’s ever heard it.
“...Eddie, please.”
The hair on the back of his neck stands up. It’s a sob. You sound like you’re going to cry; like you’ve been crying, and crying, and you just can’t seem to stop. Like you’re miserable, devastated, and it’s entirely and exclusively his fault. A ripple of intense aversion whips down his spine and spreads to the end of each limb, abruptly contracting his muscles to push and tear him off of you, out of you. Sitting back on his knees, eyes squinted shut, he grunts and shakes his head to cast away the awful feeling.
“...Eddie? Are you okay?” He can feel you shifting, starting to sit up.
“Fuck, I’m sorry, baby,” he says, rubbing sweaty hands over his face. The shame hits him next, sinking him lower—knowing that he’s done it again. He should’ve hit pause as soon as something felt off or done anything other than grit his teeth and assume it’ll pass, and now you’ll think it’s your fault. “I… Shit. I don’t think I can do this.”
A little silence stretches out. Eddie drops his hands to hide his wilting dick away and finds your big eyes flitting all over him, stunned; your hand trembling in front of your mouth.
“...Okay.” You hardly manage to squeeze it out. He can already hear the lump in your throat. “...I’m sorry.”
The thought of you crying scrubs his nerves even rawer. “No, no, c’mere.” He guides you to sit up with him all the way so he can wrap his arms around you, touching you with the warmth he’s been dying to all along, and he sighs in relief. He presses firm kisses to your temple, your cheek. “S’not your fault, not at all, okay? I’m fine, we’re both fine.”
You wrap your arms around his back, holding him just as snugly, and your voice is muffled into his chest. “I don’t wanna make you do something you don’t like.”
“You aren't, honey, I promise,” he assures you, squeezing you even tighter. “I said we'd try it and we did. That's exactly how it's supposed to work.”
You say, “Okay,” and nuzzle into him harder, and Eddie rests his head against yours as you breathe together, calm each other down. But a frown starts to grow on his face. He knows why he couldn’t do it—it curdled his stomach to make you feel like that, like the months he’d spent adoring you mattered less than a few minutes of empty pleasure, make-believe or not—but he can’t for the life of him figure out what you found enjoyable in all of that. You like it when he’s a little mean, he knows that, and he likes giving you a hard time just as much. But forcing himself on you; this quiet tragedy you’ve been so eager to play out. His heart pounds with anxiety just thinking about it. He never thought it would feel so real.
“...Maybe I just don’t understand,” he says. “The…appeal of it, I guess. What you’re getting out of this.”
You freeze up in his arms. “I…”
Carefully, he eases you back until he can see you, your eyes flickering over his chest in unease, and he holds both your hands in his own. “I’m not judging you, sweetheart, I swear to God. I get being…rough, y’know, and pushy. But I… can’t really wrap my head around why you’d want someone to treat you like this.”
“...I don’t know,” you mumble, but Eddie’s eye is well attuned to you. He thinks you might know, but you’re too frightened to admit it.
He sighs. “I just… I really hope you don’t think you deserve that, or—”
“No, it's not— I don’t,” you sputter out, reassuringly horrified. “I promise I don’t. It’s just… I don’t know. It's only because it's you.”
Eddie frowns, unsettled on instinct by the sound of that, but he stays quiet. Leaves you the room to creep out of your shell on your own. You chew hard on your bottom lip before your mouth opens again, and he gives your shaky hands a squeeze.
“...Because I love you, and I trust you, and…you're safe,” you go on. “I know you'd never really do anything like that, and…I like making you feel good.”
Eddie’s heart crushes in. He presses another firm kiss to your temple. “I love you too,” he tells you, but that doesn’t quite explain anything. “...Can you tell me a little more?”
You lick your lips and wrestle yourself to continue, his sweet girl. “The thought of you…needing me that badly, that it makes you mean, that you don't even care. Like I only exist to make you feel good, and that's all that matters, and I’d still love you anyway. …Sometimes I do feel like I'd let you do anything you wanted to me, even things I know you'd never actually want to do, so… it's like, I get to…give you something you'd never even ask for. Something that's sort of…dark, and intense, that I'd never give to anyone else. I don't know what’s…wrong with me, why I like it so much. But it's only because it's you, Eddie.”
“Nothing’s wrong with you, baby,” he reminds you softly, cupping your cheek and stroking his thumb over it. You aren’t crying outright, but the extra water in your eyes is torture. “I told you, I don’t like you talking about yourself like that.” Eddie looks at you and sees the purest fucking angel he’s even known.
“I know,” you sniffle. “I’m sorry.”
He smoothes his palm over your back as he thinks it over. “I…think I get that, sort of, but...you’re making it sound like you’re doing this for me, and I don’t—”
“No, it’s— It’s for me,” you correct. “I know it’s for me, and I know it’s…a lot to ask, so we don’t have to do it again. I don’t ever wanna make you do something that upsets you, Eddie. I’m really sorry.”
When your face starts to contort and your teary eyes blink faster, Eddie sucks his teeth and pulls you back in, and the way you cling onto him brings about a little sting behind his own eyes.
“I’m not upset,” he assures you softly. “Not anymore. Just…worried about you. Makes me scared you don’t love yourself like I do.”
He sways you lightly back and forth, spreading warm pressure over your back with gentle hands. Relishing the weight and feel and scent of you, the privilege of shrouding you like this.
“I love you so much, Eddie.” The evidence of it trickles down his throat, collects in the pocket of his clavicle.
“God, I love you too, baby.” He still hasn’t found a way to tell you that feels strong enough. “Like you wouldn’t fucking believe.”
When you settle yourself and your tears have dried, you press your lips to his skin, kissing, kissing, kissing. Soft enough to make him shiver.
“It’s like…a horror movie, kind of,” you muse as it occurs to you, ticklish against his neck. “It scares you, but…in a good way, cause you aren’t really in danger, and you can stop it whenever you want.”
Eddie’s mind chews on that and swallows. It goes down much easier than any other way you’ve put it. “...You want me to scare you a little bit.”
You nod into him, and his brain sparks and flares like a firework.
“...I can't do the begging, I don't think,” he decides. “It's just—too real. You’re too good at it. Makes me feel like I'm really hurting you. But…”
He can feel his synapses firing. His eyes flit around as he pieces it together. You want him to scare you, to take from you even if you refuse, but there are a lot of ways to say “no” that don’t make him feel like he should be thrown under the jail and left to rot.
“What if we…kept it physical?” he suggests. “Like play fighting, almost. I'll still, y'know, pin you down and shove it in if you want me to, but it'll be less…”
“Real,” you finish for him. You push back on your own this time, your rosy, searching eyes finding his.
He nods and gives you a little smile. “Not so dark, y’know?”
“...Okay,” you agree. “That sounds good.”
And then, when it looks like you have more to say, Eddie doesn’t even need to prompt you.
“...Could you still say things?” Your stare jumps around, skittish, only landing back on him for a split second at a time. “I just… I like it when you talk.”
He grins and cocks his head to the side. “You mean like, evil asshole things? ‘I'm not asking’ and all that?”
You breathe a laugh out of your nose and bob your head in a timid nod.
“...Yeah, I think so,” he says, scratching his jaw as he thinks about it. “We’ll try it.”
Starry-eyed as you are, Eddie can’t fight the urge to kiss you, and you melt happily into it. Arms thrown around his neck, fingers in his hair, you kiss him like you need him to breathe, each insistent press longer than the last. Eddie’s well and truly love-drunk, humming pleasedly into your mouth, but he doesn’t miss the urgency in it, the way you press yourself into him as close as you can; almost like you’re trying to rile him up, and it isn’t not working. He aspirates a laugh as he finally escapes your affection.
“Wow,” he says, close to breathless. “Did, uh… Did you wanna try it right now?”
“Is that okay?” you breathe, suddenly rigid. Then, quickly: “We don’t have to.”
He must’ve left you very frustrated, or maybe renegotiating the approach worked you up again. He pinches his eyes at you in fondness.
Eddie thinks about himself, really thinks about it. The dread pit has dissipated, knowing that he doesn’t have to be that guy anymore, seeing you smile again. He feels off, sort of, some distant imprint of it stuck in the back of his mind, but even more than that, he loves you, he loves you, and he wants you. Wants to show you how much he loves you. He was still planning on making you feel good if you wanted him to, even if he couldn’t personally summon the interest to have it reciprocated, but now, he’s probably a fourth of the way hard again already just from the fever in your kiss. If you wanna roughhouse with him so bad, he’s having trouble locating any real desire not to.
“...Yeah, I’m down,” he says, trying not to look too smug at the sight of your relief. “You wanna start right now?”
“Um… First, I should—”
You cut yourself off to shove your hand into his pants and fish his dick back out of them—bold in your actions if not with your words—and Eddie chokes on a gasp.
“Christ,” he giggles, grunting as you squeeze and tug at him, rub your thumb beneath his slit. “You really need it, huh?”
“Shush,” you tell him.
Either impatient or just suffering a craving, you scoot back, stoop down, and ease him into your mouth. The soft, wet presses of your tongue against his skin open the floodgate, sending the blood rushing in.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he groans, head tipping back in bliss. “...You’re too fuckin’ good to me.”
You keep it up until he’s hard again and a little longer after that, stroking him leisurely with your lips while Eddie pants and shivers above you. Then, you stop. Pull back completely and stare at him like you’re waiting for something, and Eddie’s brow furrows. Is he supposed to start it? He sort of thought you were, but all you’re doing is staring.
You blink at him a couple times, and just before he can ask what you’re doing, if you’re alright, if you still want to do this, you scramble off the side of the bed. He watches you with a frown for three leisurely steps, but when you throw a coy glance at him over your shoulder, it snaps into place.
A big, wolfish grin tears across his face. “Where do you think you're going, missy?”
Eddie starts after you with enough speed to make you gasp, easily catching around the middle, dragging you back towards the bed.
“Let go,” you complain, but his arms don’t budge.
“Not a chance.”
Eddie braces himself, squats down a little, and then lifts you clean off your feet, throwing you face-down onto the bed and grinning wider at the squeal that flies out of you. He grabs you by your hips and turns you onto your back, and you stare up at him with bewildered eyes and a disbelieving smile, like you didn’t think he’d actually be able to toss you around like this. Naturally, it goes straight to his head.
Then comes the fighting. You raise your arms and your legs trying to fend him off, shield yourself; shoving away his attempts to tug at your dress or stick his hand between your thighs, and neither of you can stop from smiling as Eddie struggles to push his way in, finally securing your wrists over your head and yanking your dress up.
“No, Eddie, stop,” you whine, still squirming. It's petulant, the same tone you use when he's acting immature, annoying the hell out of you for fun.
“Nope,” he says, remorseless. “You're all mine.” He slaps his fingers down over your slit to prove it, and you jolt in surprise.
“You're being mean!”
He scoffs at the accusation. “No, I'm not. You got me hard as a fucking rock, babe, and your actions have consequences.”
You laugh—it bubbles out before you can stifle it—and Jesus Christ, this is so much better. You’re defiant, sure, putting up a fight and playing annoyed as much as you can, but you aren’t resigned to hopeless sorrow like earlier. There’s a buzzing energy between you, a tension of excitement more than sheer intensity—you fight like hell to keep the smile off your face and Eddie lets his stretch deviously across his cheeks, feeling closer to a raunchy cartoon villain than any sort of genuine predator.
“But I don’t want to,” you whine again, frowning your sweet face up at him. Eddie grabs you by the jaw, and your eyes pop wider.
“You’re adorable, sweetheart,” he coos, squishing your cheeks and staring down his nose at you with all the love in the world. Your pupils spread wide and dark, inviting him into their fire. “...Since when have I ever gave a shit what you wanted?”
-
thanks for reading! feedback is always welcome 💞 likes, comments, + reblogs would be much appreciated!
on a night back in hawkins, you decide to drop by an old not-haunt just to see how your old not-friend eddie is doing.
what’s the harm in that?
18+ MDNI┃7.2k
cw: fluff-fest with angsty undertones. reserved/wallflower reader feat. some deep-seated insecurity (they say write what you know, y’know?) and flashbacks to a shitty first kiss that is for sure most definitely not ripped directly from sarah lore 👀
eddie is the Flirtmaster Supreme, I made him too smooth for his own good, truly. r wears a dress, uses she/her pronouns, drinks alcohol, and smokes weed (badly).
You might have guessed Eddie Munson would wind up running the Hideout.
He’d worked there throughout high school, possibly even before then. It had only added to the shroud of mystery and intrigue surrounding him—a source of endless fascination for you and the rest of your former classmates.
Well, okay, maybe that was just you.
Back then he was a lowly barback, bobbing and weaving around the same group of drunks every night, clearing empties and wiping down sticky tables, attempting the Sisyphean task of keeping the bathrooms clean in exchange for his band being allowed up on their so-called stage.
Now he was acting manager and in the process of buying out the original owner so she could retire. He made a lot of changes already—not that you’d ever dared set foot in here during your tenure at Hawkins High back in the day. But you (rightfully) assumed it was your average hole in the wall, with barely any light coming through the dirt-streaked windows; all the walls papered so thoroughly with stickers and graffiti you couldn’t guess what color they were; furniture so rickety and shoddily built it fell apart if you so much as looked at it wrong.
The space was still divey, but he’d changed up some of the decor and added some light fixtures over the bar so people could actually see what they were drinking. He’d swapped out the older standing tables for black vinyl booths that lined the walls, leaving the middle open for shows.
He’d also managed to construct an honest-to-god stage in the corner with lights, and a sound system and everything. At present it was empty, but according to the fliers tacked up on the door quite a few bands were slated to play there over the next couple of weeks. His own included.
And it seemed the interior wasn’t the only thing that had been updated.
His height still afforded him the same gangly frame you remembered from high-school, but he’d filled out slightly with more muscle and a bit of softness around his formerly bony hips—which you were most definitely not checking out as he spun a bar key on his middle finger and slipped it smoothly into the back pocket of his black jeans.
You had fully been expecting just to slide onto one of the newly refurbished stools that ran along the side of the bar and drink in relative anonymity. Instead, you were stunned to find recognition in Eddie’s eyes as he turned to greet you and your name fell easily from his lips.
Like he’d been saying it for years.
“This is a surprise,” he said, leaning casually on his side of the bar.
Your mouth dropped open, but not to speak. You just blinked back at him in silent stupor.
His arms were turned out, his sleeveless tank showing off the sinewy muscles wrapped around them and the same tattoos you must have wasted hours of class time staring at. He’d cut it off at the bottom,its curled hem barely skimming the top of his handcuff belt, and your mouth watered at the thought of him reaching for something over his head to reveal a sliver of his pale stomach and the tantalizing patch of sparse hair that swirled just below his navel.
“You know me?” you asked, still blanched with confusion.
“‘Course I do.” He gave you a warm smile, deep dimples forming on either side of it. “I think I only passed Old McDonnel’s class because you let me copy your notes every morning.”
He paused and took a long moment to let his eyes wander appreciatively up and down your form. You felt your thighs press, grateful for the oak shield that hid your reaction from his view.
“Don’t you know me?” he purred.
Jesus. You thought you might slide right off the freshly re-upholstered seat under you.
“Oh– I…um,” you cleared your throat, “Yeah, of c-course I do. You’re Eddie. Eddie Munson.”
“Ding ding,” he grinned. “Remembering my name gets you a drink on the house. Whad’you like?”
He pushed off the bar and tipped his head at the rows of bottles lined up behind him, never taking his eyes off yours. They glinted like shards of onyx under the warm glow of the pendant lights.
“A rum and ginger?” you replied sheepishly, praying he didn’t think you were too lame for not going with the typical whisky. But Eddie just shot you a wink as he reached for a clean glass.
“Mm, something sweet with a little bite? Sounds about right for you.”
You’re glad to have a moment to collect yourself when he looks down to scoop some ice out of the bin, because you were not remotely prepared for this onslaught of charm. You also weren’t sure where he got the idea that there was any bite to you at all, but the implication alone makes your body buzz watching him pour out the liquor and then spray in your mixer with the soda gun.
He placed the drink down in front of you, bubbles effervescing as he set a lime on the rim and juices dribbled down its side. He then waited, expectant smile on his lips as he watched you take your first sip. Only when you had, giving an encouraging nod and a quiet thanks, did Eddie finally tear his eyes away, seemingly remembering the rest of the people in the bar existed.
In a flash, he’d done a quick check with the scant number of other patrons, closing out one’s tab and replenishing another’s drink before he returned to his spot in front of you.
“So, what brings you in?” he asked. “You moved, right? Haven’t seen you around.”
“Y-yeah, I left for school and just…stayed away,” you chuckled. “I’m here for my dad’s birthday.”
Eddie plucked a maraschino cherry from a jar he produced seemingly out of thin air and dropped it into your drink, giving you another smile as he licked sticky red juice from his thumb.
“Sounds festive,” he hummed, veins in his hand bulging as he screwed the lid back on the jar.
Fucking christ on a cracker.
Was he trying to kill you?
“Well, I guess…” you cringed inwardly at the words before they even left your mouth, “I guess it’s sort of my birthday too? They’re a couple days apart, but we always mash ‘em together.”
“Oh, shit. Way to bury the lede, sweetheart!”
Eddie leaned on the bar again, folding his arms under his chest this time so his eyeline was level with yours and he could lean a little further forward, edging his way into your space.
“It’s not a big deal,” you insisted. “I don’t really celebrate it.”
“Well, that’s no good.” He shook his head. “You’re definitely worth celebrating.”
Pure fire rose in your cheeks at his leading tone, and you felt your brain whirring trying to think of a response. Thankfully, a rumbly and disgruntled voice from the end of the bar called out for some attention and saved you from yourself. Eddie’s expression soured and his eyes rolled as he straightened up to full height.
“Wha-a-at?!” he brayed loudly, shooting you a sly wink when he caught your wide-eyed gaze.
Your panic turned out to be unfounded, the owner of the voice giving up a wry chuckle, evidently not phased in the slightest by this outburst. The older man huddled against the wall simply smirked and snarked about how he needed to ‘quit flirting long enough to serve some drinks.’
“Bah! You’re just jealous, Ray,” Eddie scoffed, flapping a hand at him that turned into a warning finger. “And I better not catch you trying to sneak her out from under me, alright? She’s mine.”
This time, it wasn’t just your cheeks that caught on fire. Your entire body was searing, engulfed by flames, tingling as if you’d been dunked in a vat of magma. And your mind was blank—devoid of any thought aside from those two words flashing like a neon sign on a loop in your head:
She’s mine. She’s mine. She’s mine.
It had to be a bit. Just an off-handed comment he threw around without giving any thought to who it was being prescribed to. Even so, you allowed yourself to bask briefly in the satisfaction.
It made something stir deep within your gut. Some slumbering giant who had lain dormant for so long you were certain it had fallen into legend. A creature you tended from a young age, only to seal it away in a cavernous tomb before it could grow too large to contain—strong enough to decimate whole villages in a single strike.
But now it was awake. And making itself known by the ache at the crux of your thighs.
“Can’t believe you weren’t going to tell me it was your birthday,” Eddie chuckled as he came back to you with a teasing smile. “You’re really racking up the free drinks tonight, huh?”
You sputtered on the sip you’d just taken of the cocktail in front of you.
“Oh, no, you don’t have to—”
He held a hand up to stop you, the other reaching blindly behind him to grab a bottle of rye he used to top off Ray’s drink. “Nope, uh-uh, don’t wanna hear it,” Eddie insisted. “It’s actually illegal for me to charge for a birthday drink. Unless, of course, you wanna see me in handcuffs?”
He leaned into your space again, lowering his voice for that last part.
His brow lifted in a suggestive arch, disappearing behind his scraggly bangs, and you felt like you might rip off a hunk of your stool you were gripping the seat so tight.
Was this real life?
Was Eddie Musnon…flirting with you?
The thought alone sets off a second heartbeat between your legs, practically throbbing.
Absolutely not, you answered yourself. He is a bartender and you’re at his bar. All he’s interested in is a good tip. Don’t be that guy at the strip club who thinks a lap dance ‘means something.’
“N…no,” you answered him meekly (also lying), “wouldn’t want that.”
Eddie nodded, still smiling as he grabbed a glass and started to dry it with a towel. Conveniently, remaining in the same spot in front of you.
“So, how’s the visit so far?” he asked.
“It’s good, um…just kind of strange being back,” you hemmed, hands wringing in your lap.
Eddie pulled his lower lip back with his teeth. A look you couldn’t quite name flickered in his dark eyes and he shrugged, his chin dropping to his chest as he watched his hands dry another glass.
“Yeah, well. You took off so fast after graduation I’m surprised you didn’t break the sound barrier.”
He kept his head bent, focused on his task, but he couldn’t stop his gaze darting up to watch you through the fan of his thick lashes. You felt your breath catch when your eyes met, and promptly looked away. You took another sip of your drink, mostly sucking air through your straw while you stared at the ice, and couldn’t help but wonder if he was thinking of the same thing you were…
Graduation night. The bonfire in the woods. The rows of trucks and cars parked haphazardly along the edge of the forest with their headlights shining into the treeline as the class of ‘86 reveled in the bacchanalia of their newly minted freedom.
The last high-school party any of you would ever attend.
You couldn’t say what ultimately possessed you to go. Maybe you’d been emboldened by the fact that it was most likely the last time you’d ever see any of these people again. Maybe it was just good timing that your friend from yearbook had offered you a ride seconds after you overheard some jock confirm with Eddie that he’d be there selling that night. Maybe you wanted, for once in your entire high school career, to do something a little bit reckless and decidedly un-like yourself.
Or maybe it was just the pure, unbridled hope you might run into him there.
Eddie’s lips parted to speak again, but he was cut off by a group of younger guys who had come in and immediately started asking him about drinks and where the darts were for the dartboards.
And while he dealt with them, you found yourself drifting back into the memory of that night…
Clutching the ringed hand he offered as you clumsily tried to navigate the roots that sprawled on the forest floor; making your way towards the outermost edge of the party. Still close enough to the blaze to be scantly lit, but far enough that no one would notice you with The Freak, standing behind the thick trunk of a tall, imposing oak.
You leaned back against it, the rough bark biting into your bare back and snagging slightly on the gauzy material of your sundress. You had talked yourself into buying the revealing garment by reasoning that no one would ever even see the spaghetti straps and the nakedness of your arms and shoulders and collar bones under the bulky cover of your emerald green robe.
But now, with Eddie’s gaze drinking in the sight of all your gloriously exposed skin, you were oddly pleased you hadn’t had enough time to change in between coming home from the dinner with your parents and rushing back out the door when you spotted your friend’s car pulling into the driveway.
The firelight flickered, reflecting in his eyes that were as black as the shadowy woods at his back, and you literally felt every thought in your head being obliterated. You tried to will yourself to speak but couldn’t manage so much as a squeak, having used up all your boldness to approach him at the fire and ask if he had anything to smoke. Stomach tying itself into knots with every word.
With a slow smile, Eddie pushed back the curtain of his long hair and revealed the joint he’d tucked behind his ear. He held it out in a quiet offering, but you made no move to take it from him.
“I, um…I don’t know h-how,” you admitted, heart thumping relentlessly against your ribcage.
“That’s okay,” he said before placing the joint in between his lips instead. God, his lips…
Your pulse jumped, temples throbbing so hard you could scarcely breathe while he dug around in his jacket pocket looking for a lighter. He took a couple short, shallow puffs to get it going and a cloud of its earthy smell imbued your senses, blending with the sharper scent of the bonfire.
He then pinched it in the middle and held up the smaller end to your mouth.
“Just…take it slow,” he murmured, heavy-lidded gaze transfixed somewhere on the lower half of your face. “Don’t inhale too hard.”
You nodded, even though you barely registered the words he was saying you were still so deeply distracted by his lips, and the fact that your own were now so close to his fingers. Trembling like a leaf and desperately trying not to look like you were, you touched your mouth to the paper.
Oh fuck, mother bitch, that burned—
Tears immediately sprang in your eyes and you sputtered, trying to smother the cough as it burst forth and failing. It came out in a relentless string of dry hacks, your nose stinging and your throat tightening as you whipped your head sideways to avoid spraying spittle directly in Eddie’s face.
“You’re okay, you’re okay,” he soothed, the tiny smile he was trying to hide coming through in his voice as he rubbed his hand across your back in a wide circle, coaxing you through your fit.
Not that you could even enjoy the sensation of his warm palm on your bare skin.
He kept it up, though, until you were able to catch your breath and stand up (somewhat) straight.
“So-sorry,” you wheezed, giving your chest a solid thwap trying to clear your throat.
“Nah,” Eddie waved off your apology, grinding the lit end of the joint into the bark of the tree before he placed it back behind his ear. “It’s really fine. Happens to the best of us. Honest.”
You felt yourself slump against the trunk in an attempt to hold yourself up. It was tough to say if the dizzy, floating feeling in your head was due to the singular hit you’d taken off that joint, or just a reaction to Eddie’s very presence. He’d stopped rubbing your back, but hadn’t yet moved away from you. Still standing close enough you were breathing in the smell of his cologne.
Slowly, his hand came up to the side of your face and he pressed the pad of his thumb to the skin just beneath your lashes, swiping away a stray tear that leaked from the corner of your eye.
In that moment, everything had seemed to slow practically to a standstill. No more breeze rustling the tree branches overhead, no more drunken teenagers stumbling into one another, no more beers sloshing out of plastic cups and splattering on the soft earth. The scope of the entire world had narrowed down to you and Eddie and the negligible number of inches between you.
“You want, uh…water? Or anything?” he asked, his thumb still idly stroking your cheekbone.
Your head shook slowly, barely conscious of the moment, your eyes never leaving his. He gazed back at you, soft and endearing, the corner of his mouth crooked up. Looking at you almost like he knew all the things you’d been thinking as you laid in your bed at night. Like he’d seen you touch your fingers to your lips in the softest, barely-there brush, imagining it was his mouth.
His shoulder shifted and you felt his other hand on your hip, gripping you purposely. Deliberately.
All at once, it was too much. The heavy pounding of your heart in your chest too rapid, turning from anticipation to terror. You felt like you were behind the wheel of a racecar whose speed had climbed too high without you noticing, teetering on the verge of spinning out of control.
Almost hearing the screech of tires, you slammed down on the brakes.
“I-I have to go.”
With the ghost of his hand’s warmth still on your cheek, you slipped out of the space in between the tree and his body. In short, uneven strides you stumbled back to the party and gripped your friend’s forearm as hard as you could when you found her, insisting ‘we need to leave.’
And seeing the wild, panicked look in your eyes, she didn’t dare argue.
You wished he kissed you that night. You thought about it for weeks afterward, reliving every step in your head, pinpointing every humiliating second.
It was a fool’s errand, honestly. From the moment you approached him, you should’ve known.
Eddie Munson had plenty of girls to kiss. Plenty of girls whose pits didn’t sweat and whose knees didn’t buckle at the thought of someone getting close to them. Who didn’t tremble with full-body shakes like a neurotic chihuahua when someone put a hand on their hip.
You and he weren’t even friends. You’d never had so much as a real conversation.
The best you could muster was a timid ‘you’re welcome’ whenever he’d returned your notes after copying them, or a small wave when your eyes unwittingly met his across the cafeteria.
He talked, sure. But he could talk to anybody. He could debate a brick wall if the occasion arose. Any time he’d spent making idle chatter with you was surely just an attempt to fritter away a couple hours of class time. And you’d hung on his every word, barely offering a pittance in return.
“Sorry about that,” Eddie grumbled.
He slid back into his place in front of you just as the door behind you smacked closed. The group of guys who came in left just as quickly, evidently unimpressed with his selection of Scotch.
Truthfully, you couldn’t say you were sad to see them go.
“You okay?” he asked, his head dipping to catch your eye. “You want water, or…”
Your eyes flicked up to meet his as he trailed off, his face clouding with some strange expression as his fingers drummed on the surface of the bar. His gaze was suddenly distant, almost as though he too was recalling the last time he’d asked you that. Impossible as that was.
“N…no,” you exhaled the sharp breath you were holding. “I’m alright.”
Eddie nodded, his head bobbing longer than was necessary as if to a song that only he could hear before he grabbed a pint glass and filled it with water anyway, setting it down in front of you.
Even without that group of guys to deal with, Eddie got annoyingly busy after that. Annoying to him, at least. He grimaced every time somebody called him away either for a refill or to order.
The bar wasn’t crowded, by any means, but there was a consistent flow of people who needed him, demanding the attention he seemed antsy to direct somewhere else.
You got down to the last of your drink, and just as you were debating whether you should commit to another, a new one had appeared in front of you, delivered with a wink and a smirk from a dark-haired blur as he moved past you on his way down to the other end of the bar.
Smiling around the straw, you snuck a glance at Eddie and found him already looking back at you while he counted out l change. Your neck twinged with the urge to turn away, embarrassed at being caught, until you remembered he was the one who’d been caught looking at you.
And he didn’t seem embarrassed at all.
The small rush petered out and Eddie came back to you, letting out an exaggerated ‘whew!’ as he dragged the back of his hand across his brow.
“That almost felt like work,” he groaned.
Maybe it was the rum going to your head, but you couldn’t help giggling at the terrible joke, a hand coming up to cover your face when a soft snort unwittingly escaped through your nose.
Your eyes met his again, twin pools of espresso just about twinkling at the sound.
The bar was much emptier now, and quieter too. It wasn’t like it had been loud before, but now its silence felt sort of daunting. The kind of silence that made you feel anxious about how to fill it.
Thankfully, Eddie was adept as ever at defeating awkward pauses.
“You know…there’s a bunch of stuff I never knew about you,” he said after a few minutes.
“Really?” you scoffed. “Like what?”
“I don’t know, lots of things,” he chuckled. “What about, like…your first kiss?”
Your fingers tensed around your glass. And you thought if you were a little stronger, it might have cracked open against your palm when every muscle in your face went still as stone.
You hated thinking about your first kiss.
Simply put, it was a mess. Brought on by a lethal mix of green apple vodka and your self-esteem at a record low. Sloppy and clumsy and too-quick. Over before you even had your bearings.
He just…attacked you. Pushed his face into yours, barely aiming. Like he was in a hurry to get it over with. Like you could’ve been anybody with a mouth and it wouldn’t make any difference.
It was a guy who was sort of friends with (and sort of wanted to fuck) your roommate. One you’d go with to parties or out to the bars. But he’d only ever engaged with you after he’d been drinking. Sober, you were lucky to get so much as a cursory greeting—assuming he got your name right.
The night it happened, you'd gone out with a big group and he’d been pestering you.
Not flirting, not as far as you could tell, just irking. Stealing sips of your drink, reaching behind you to pick up the hood of your sweatshirt and pull it up over your head, tugging on your sleeves, poking you, reaching behind his friend sitting in the middle seat of the cab to tickle your ear.
Then you got home and he started texting, asking for—no, telling—you to come over.
And to your credit, you tried to discourage it.
Begging him off with next time, some other time, another time. Because maybe if he could muster some of this enthusiasm when he was sober, you might find yourself a little more amenable to the idea. But then he hit you with the words you had no idea would still haunt you even years later:
honestly, it’s now or never.
You’d panicked. It had taken this long to find someone who was even willing to kiss you—who knew how long it would be before you could find another? Before you’d ever have another chance. So…you did it. Told him to meet you outside your dorm, and kissed him. And then he left. Because of course he didn’t just want to make out. But at least you had enough sense to shut that down.
You shook your head, mouth dry and your throat suddenly too tight for your words to get out.
“It, um…it was nothing to write home about.” you answered, staring at your lap.
Eddie, mercifully, either didn’t notice the immediate shift in your demeanor, or he simply elected to ignore it. “Okay, screw your first kiss,” he said daringly. “Tell me about your best one.”
Your fingers traced the edge of your glass, running down the ridges of the facets, freezing at his question. All ofthe air in your chest rushed out, leaving the cavity constricting as you struggled to breathe normally. The molten brown of Eddie’s eyes scanned over your expression, his features wrinkling with concern when he saw the pained look that came over your face.
“I don’t wanna do that,” you said quietly.
Something in your tone made Eddie’s gaze soften. He dropped down to his elbows, leaning in a bit closer and lowering his voice to a murmur. Something just for you to hear.
“How come?” he asked.
“Because I…” Your throat tightened in a thick, dry swallow and you had to take a swig of your drink before you could go on, “...because I’ve never really had a good one.”
The admission hangs in what little space there is between your faces. As soon as the words left your lips, you wished you could take them back. Suck them back into your lungs and rewind the whole evening until your feet carried you back out to the parking lot and over the gravel where your car was parked, back to your room at your parents house where you belonged.
“Never?” Eddie frowned.
And you can’t say if it’s the softness in his voice or the confusion in his eyes, but you keep going. Trying to shrug it off, trying not to sound so sad and pathetic. Broken and weary.
“They always kinda rushed it,” you said. “I didn’t get a chance to breathe or think, they just—”
“No drumroll,” Eddie finished for you.
His expression seemed to curdle like he’d just smelled something sour, his jaw ticking in a hard set frown. The veins in his arms stood out slightly as his grip tightened on the bar towel he’d been using to dry some glassware while you talked.
“That’s awfully disappointing,” he sighed, twirling the towel between his hands and then snapping it lightly against the edge of the bar with a soft tap. “Sometimes the lead-in is the best part.”
“Yeah, well,” you shrugged and swept the back of your hand across your cheek just to be sure you weren’t crying. “Clearly, I pick a lot of winners.”
Eddie chortled at that, his chest rising in a short puff. “Any of ‘em still live ‘round here?” he asked. “Gimme some names, I’ll take care of the rest.”
“Oh, no,” you shook your head rapidly, “this was in college. I never—”
You winced, cringing inwardly at what you’d been about to reveal: that you had gone most of your adolescent life without kissing anyone. That the thing most people had knocked out by the time they were pre-teens, you hadn’t managed until you were well into your twenties. And even when you did, it was always so dissatisfying. Lacking.
You let out a joyless laugh, glancing down at the drink in front of you. “I mean, nobody around here was ever interested, so—”
“Bullshit.”
“Huh?”
“I’m calling bullshit, sweetheart,” Eddie echoed himself, the sing-song words laced with a leading tone. “I know for a fact someone liked you.”
“Oh, really?” you scoffed in disbelief as you went to take another sip. “Like who?”
That devilish smile twisted up the corner of his lips again, and he tilted his head. “Me, for one.”
Your sinuses erupted with pain as you nearly shot ginger ale out of your nose. You blinked furiously and your hand shot up to cover your face.
“Yo—you what?” you sputtered, still half-choking.
“Always thought you were cute,” he shrugged. “Got a thing for smart girls.”
You felt your stomach drop, plummeting to the dingy floor underneath your feet.
Jesus. Were you really so pathetic that Eddie Munson had to dream up some imaginary crush just to make you feel better? This was a level of rock bottom you’d never imagined hitting. With a trembling hand, you reached for a napkin at the same time Eddie offered you one, your fingers meeting briefly when you took it, static crackling in the air and tingling where you’d touched.
You dabbed under your nose, still burning from the threat of fizzy ginger ale shooting through it.
“I wasn’t that smart,” you muttered, mostly to yourself. “Trust me.”
Eddie’s mouth popped open to respond, but he didn't get the chance. From the same spot he had not moved from all night, Ray’s voice cut through the low music playing over the sound system.
He said something about his chariot being on the way and having to cash out—assuming that Eddie actually wanted to get paid that night. The pair of them traded a few more friendly barbs you were starting to glean were par for the course for these two, and as Ray settles up it dawns on you.
Aside from him, you’re the only one left in the bar.
While you were distracted with Eddie, everybody else had steadily filtered out until it was down to just the three of you. And once Ray was gone, it would be just you and him. All alone.
Once he’d paid, Ray slid off of his stool and Eddie came out from behind the bar to help him over to the door. The two of them chuckled together as Eddie held it open for him and then pulled it firmly shut once they said their goodbyes.
But then, instead of returning to his side of the bar, he sidled up next to you instead.
You fought the instinct to jump when Eddie appeared at your side, the closest he’d been to you all night. His scent was even stronger, sweat and musk mingling with the aromas of bitters and liquor. It made you feel woozy, swaying on your stool like you’d taken a shot of 100-proof him.
“I need a break,” he said, nodding in the direction of the back door then tapping the pack of smokes rolled into his shirt sleeve that sat on his shoulder.
You blinked back at him mutely.
Was that your cue to get lost? If you weren’t here, would he be able to close up and go home? If he genuinely wasn’t going to charge you for your drinks, you had no tab to settle.
You could just tip him and go. Get out of his hair. God, his hair. His beautiful, beautiful hair.
“Oh…kay,” you said slowly, mentally flogging yourself for remaining in your seat when he was so clearly trying to get rid of you. But you couldn’t find the will to stand—not when you were being pinned down by his devilishly handsome smile and his penetrating, all-consuming stare.
He chuckled, letting his head fall to rest his cheek on his shoulder, his eyes shining as he smiled at you and then nodded at the back door again.
“Come keep me company, sweetheart.”
The back of the Hideout wasn’t all that different from the front.
Aside from the dumpsters and the wooden crates stacked next to them, it was nearly identical. And rather of an assortment of cars parked across the gravel lot, it was Eddie’s van pulled up next to the loading door, alongside the cinderblock structure.
A single flood light shone down on the two of you as he pushed the door open, brandishing his free arm with a flourish as though he was escorting you into a castle rather than an alley.
You giggled at the display, recalling how he used to do the exact same thing when you were leaving the one class you had in common—hanging back after the bell had rung so you and he were walking out at the same time, then scurrying ahead of you to grab the door and hold it before it closed.
Hugging yourself despite the balmy night air, your eyes darted about nervously, looking anywhere but at him, already mentally preparing an excuse for not taking a cigarette when he offered one.
Except Eddie didn’t even reach for his pack.
“So…” he said, spinning abruptly to face you, “I’ve been thinking about something.”
“Really?” you asked. “What’s that?”
“I just…” he sighed and tipped his head back, exhaling up to the sky. He brought his eyes back down and you swore tiny pieces of the moon had landed in them. “I think you deserve a good kiss.”
You stared back at him, speechless as you’d been when he recognized you the moment you came into the bar. Beneath you, your legs had started to tremble and you felt your breathing get heavier. Your shoulders tensed, thinking any minute you’d be hearing the blare of your alarm clock.
“Oh,” was all you could say.
Eddie licked his lips thoughtfully, taking a careful step closer to you. “And I,” he started with a thick swallow, “would really like to give you one.”
You felt your eyes widen, about ready to pop out of their sockets. The ‘YES’ you wanted to scream gets lodged so tight in your throat you think you might actually choke, mouth dropping open.
“Is that…okay?” he asked, tilting his head at you as he parsed your expression. It was more than okay. It sounded like a dream come true.
You took the deepest breath you could manage, chest shuddering with the effort, and nodded
“Okay,” Eddie said, letting out a breath of his own, as if he had been holding it. “Good.”
He took your hand in his and carefully brought it up to the nape of his neck. He helped you thread your fingers into his hair and encouraged you to grasp his curls firmly at the root. Your breathing hitched as his touch trailed over your knuckles and down your forearm to your elbow.
“Don’t be scared to hold on tight,” he burred low in your ear. “I like it when it hurts a little.”
Your grip tensed as his hands settled on your hips, squeezing gently as he backed you up to the brick wall. It felt gritty and cold against your back, but you couldn’t find it in you to care one bit.
Eddie’s hands squeezed again, sliding them up a little higher to your waist.
“Fuck, are you beautiful…” he murmured, his eyes flitting wherever they were able at such close proximity. The slope of your nose, the curve of your jaw, the graceful lines of your neck.
His voice was so soft, so adoring, you felt your knees liquifying. You wanted nothing more than to believe him implicitly, but you couldn't stop the little seed of doubt deep in your gut that quivered beneath the earth from peeking out through the undergrowth until it had sprouted.
“Really?” you whispered, hating how mousey you sounded. How timid and unsure.
He brought one of his hands up to cradle the side of your face. Your eyes fluttered closed, leaning in to the warmth of his palm, interrupted only by the cool bite of his rings that dissipated when they warmed to the temperature of your skin.
Still, you couldn't help but shiver when your eyes opened to find Eddie's gaze focused so intently on yours, squinting in a bemused sort of way.
“Do you honestly not know?” he asked you with a slow grin. “You really don’t see it?”
All you could do was shrug. You didn't think you were, like, hideous or anything. But you had never been particularly impressed by your looks. And no one had ever looked at you or acted like you were some ethereal being who'd fallen to earth just to grace these mere mortals with your face.
Well, at least not until now.
“Eddie, you…”
He shook his head, stopping your words on their way out of your mouth. Like somehow he’d heard the ‘don’t have to do this’ you’d been thinking.
“I know,” he whispered, close enough that his breath hit your skin in a soft puff. “I want to.”
He took a long moment, letting the edge of his thumb brush along the high points of your cheek. His gaze only grew more intense, his face inching closer as his eyes began to flutter closed. You felt your foot hovering over that imaginary brake pad, threatening to slam down on it just like it had all those years ago. But it never does.
You don’t let it.
His nose touched your face before his lips, its rounded tip pressing into the apple of your cheek before your mouth melds with his. It’s the softest, slowest, most tender kiss you ever experienced. He lets you have all the time in the world to think about it, to notice the ways his movements ebb and flow, his jaw and mouth all working together.
To feel the way his chest expands, taking the deepest breath of you he can and holding it inside his lungs like he can’t stand the idea of losing whatever part of you he just inhaled.
You have all this time to think, but your head has never been so empty. No, not empty. Quiet.
It’s as if sound itself ceases to exist. Not even your own rapid heartbeat pounding in your ears is enough to break through the pure peace of finally, finally getting to kiss Eddie Munson.
There’s no more cars whizzing past, speeding down the two-lane highway. There’s no more hum of the exhaust fan or relentless buzz of the bare bulb flickering over the back door.
There’s just…nothing.
Nothing but the feel of Eddie’s mouth tenaciously exploring yours, dragging every second out into a minute and savoring like it’s something precious—something he’s scared he’ll never get again.
He doesn’t dare pull back when your lips part with a quiet click, just stays right there with his face close to yours and his shaky breath expelling. It’s only as the world slowly leaks back into focus that you realize his fingers are trembling against your waist and his bottom lip is quivering.
“That was…wow.”
You can’t help but laugh gently at his words, dizzy with the elation that went straight to your head. His eyes flit across your face, his brows lifting in a silent request for more.
Your nod is shaky, but lacks no enthusiasm. And it’s all the permission he needs to dive back in.
He takes you faster this time, clutching you harder to pull you tighter against him. There’s a latent strength in his arms, a tension coiled in his corded muscles he’s working so hard to restrain.
Don’t, you wanted to scream at him. Don’t stop, don’t hold back, I want it all—
God, you wished you could will the words to leave your throat. They sat there, lodged firmly in your esophagus, practically cutting off air supply.
Eddie moved his hands upwards to cup your face, squishing your cheeks just a little as he cradled them tenderly in his calloused palms.
You hummed into his mouth, excited and anxious all at once, and Eddie sucks in a breath through his nose. Like he’s not gonna let something stupid like breathing get in the way of this.
You break apart just shy of your lungs bursting, the both of you panting heavily into one another’s mouths, trying to catch your breath. He blinks heavily, dazed and delirious as he asks,
“When’s your birthday?”
“Wh…huh?”
“Your birthday,” he repeated, still panting, “was it today?”
You tried to think—a Herculean sort of effort when you could still taste Eddie’s lips on yours—and finally sifted something from the primordial ooze he’d turned your brain into.
“N-no. It’s, uhh…” It took you a second to remember what day it even was. “It’s tomorrow.”
“Thank god,” Eddie grinned and breathed out in relief. “I want to take you out.”
“Out?” You blinked a couple times, brow pinching together. “Out…where?”
“Like for a date, out,” he couldn’t help but snicker. “Movie. Dinner. General revelry?”
Warmth exploded in the middle of your chest. “You…you’re not working?”
“Peg’ll cover for me,” he said assuredly. “If it’s for something important.”
“And I’m…” you looked back at him, hope shining in your gaze, “...important?”
He smiled at you again, eyes all peaceful and dreamy as he reached up to trace the side of your face, sweeping the tips of his fingers from your temple to the bottom of your chin.
“If you even have to ask,” he sighed and shook his head, “I didn’t do my job right.”
And then his mouth is on yours again, his hand sliding back to cup the nape of your neck, holding you in place as he kisses you deeply. It’s not, not a sweet kiss, but it’s not just sweet. There’s a little something more to it this time. Something dizzying and breath-stealing and…hot.
You feel his body press up against yours fully before he remembers himself, but the loss of heat and pressure makes you mewl pitifully into his mouth. No. Don’t. Stay, you want to beg.
Your hands moved out of their own volition and grasped fistfuls of his shirt, tugging him back into you. His laugh rumbles low in his throat and you can feel him smiling into your next kiss.
A smile that doesn’t dim one bit when you part.
“Should we, um…” you heard your own giggle, the twitterpated reaction semialien to your dazed and dopamine-addled brain. “Should we go back in?”
Eddie let out a tiny noise that sounded dangerous close to a whine. “What for?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” you tittered, “just to be sure you’re not being robbed blind or something?”
You glanced at the door, imagining the bar filled with big disgruntled men ransacking the liquor on the other side, descending into chaos with no one to stop them. Eddie’s teeth flashed in a grin, dark chuckle stuttering in his chest, a mischievous edge to the sound you remembered well.
Normally hearing it right before he did something particularly devious.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he exhaled, letting his forehead rest against yours, “the door’s been locked and the sign’s been off since Ray left.”
big time snuggles for reading my lil indulgence 😌 this one is for the bad-kiss-havers, we deserve a re-do. love you, mean it!
sarah the way you write eddie is unlike anything else. i'm feeling flushed
the way i'd be sporting a nervous shake at this point hohgod he's so effortlessly wonderful and charming walkin around in a tshirt that threatens to show his happy trail in the case of any items on a high shelf-
cue my knees giving out completely and suddenly he's gotta hold me to keep me on my feet
my god my god my god. just! the delicate way he guided you through that first smoke.. and rubbing soft circles into your back... thinking to himself that with your chest still heaving and your eyes a little wet from your coughing fit — you're maybe too pretty to not say fuck it, a shot in the dark, and just try to kiss you. worst you can do is say no.
and then you walk back into his life out of nowhere and he's just as soft and sweet with you as ever.GOD. have i said that? because godddddddd.
Sneak Peek:
a goddamn blaze in the dark - chapter 4
Yelena rolls her eyes. “Anyway,” she turns her attention back to Darcy. “Who else? Oh! My mother and my father? Done.”
“And here you are wrong again, umnichka!”
This denial comes through the intercom and manages to startle everyone, even Bucky. “What the fuck…” she hears him mutter as she’s looking around.
“Dad?” she calls out, testing that they all heard the same person. “Where are you?”
“I am eavesdropping from security station on fourth floor,” Alexei says with a delighted chuckle. “You should see where they have cameras in this place…”
“Why are you allowed in there?” Yelena asks, still searching for the speaker.
“That’s gotta be against a bunch of really good rules,” Darcy says under her breath.
“Your mother and I are not done,” his voice booms on without answering Yelena’s question. “We have complicated relationship.”
“Jesus Christ,” she mutters and closes her eyes as the beginning of a headache starts ringing the doorbell at her temples.
“Many ups and downs,” Alexei continues. “Like erotic rollercoaster of passion—”
“And that’s my cue,” she hears Bucky say before his book snaps shut and he gets to his feet.
“Dad, that is disgusting,” she says, raising her voice again. “And are you forgetting that she hasn’t spoken to you in two years?”
“We’ve gone longer without communicating,” he answers without skipping a beat. “But every time we reconnect, there are signs she has been pining for me.”
Darcy is staring at her blankly. “Do you know what he’s talking about?”
She rolls her eyes again. “She named a pig after him.”
“It was the cornerstone of her research!”
“And it was a pig.”
Something beeps on Darcy’s watch and pulls her attention down to her wrist. She makes a sound of interest and unfolds her legs from beneath herself. “If you want to keep pulling on this thread,” she addresses Yelena, “you have to walk and talk.”
Her irritation compounding, Yelena does as she’s asked and gets to her feet, grabbing her smoothie before following her friend out the door. “Look, just—” she waves her free hand over her shoulder as they hurry down the hall together. “Ignore all that gross shit you heard from my dad.”
“Gladly.”
“But we have to work together to get the relationship juju in this place back on track and you’re my only hope.”
“Huh-uh,” Darcy shakes her head while they duck into the elevator. “I don’t like being anyone’s only hope. I firmly abdicate that responsibility. It is way too much pressure. You go Obi-Wan Kenobi somebody else, please.”
The elevators at the Watchtower are obscenely fast and in what feels like the blink of an eye, Darcy is swiping them both into her lab and making a beeline for the largest screen with its blinking blue light.
“Fine,” Yelena watches with mild interest as Darcy taps the side of the screen. “Not only hope, but you are on the short list of other hopes.”
Darcy stops her squinting at the star map she just projected and turns back to Yelena with a somewhat patient sigh. “Yelena,” she says, rubbing at her eyes behind her glasses. “What is going on? What is this?”
“I am telling you!” she exclaims, trying to keep the offense out of her voice. It’s easier to worry about not sounding offended than it is to worry about not sounding desperate. But that’s what she’s approaching. Desperate. Especially every time she thinks about that deep sound of irritation Kate lets out when she can’t find something Yelena has put away for her. Or how she grumbles under her breath about her side of the bathroom counter getting smaller and smaller after a quiet invasion of different serums and moisturizers after Yelena’s last trip to Sephora. “The juju—”
“Why do you think you and Kate are going to break up?” Darcy asks plainly and jumps ahead, holding up her hand. “And don’t say the word ‘juju’.”
Yelena lets out a heavy exhale as her shoulders drop from where they’d been stuck closer to her ears. “We just…” she feels her lips pout. “We’ve been fighting a lot lately and I feel like she’s going to break up with me because—”
The word hangs in the air just long enough for Darcy to scoop it up with a lift of her dark brows. “Because…?”
“Because I’m so…” Her frown deepens as she looks down into her half-empty glass of blueberry smoothie. She wishes she was in a better mood so she could enjoy it. Bob really does know his way around a blender. “I don’t know. Me.”
When she looks up, Darcy is studying her in the same way she studies her projections. “And what’s wrong with you?”
Yelena lets out a short, dry laugh. “We don’t have time for me to answer that question.”
“No, I’m serious,” Darcy says as a little line furrows just above the bridge of her glasses. “What do you think is wrong with you?”
This is the opposite of what she wanted when she started this campaign. Darcy was not supposed to look at her with those concerned Big Sister Eyes and make her feel introspective. She was supposed to be waiting for an excuse to let Johnny drag her into the nearest supply closet, and she was supposed to agree to Yelena’s suggestion immediately.
“Darcy, you know me,” Yelena says after a moment. “You know what I am like.” When Darcy doesn’t respond, she forces herself to continue. “I am…blunt. And selfish. And messy—”
“You’re actually pretty organized,” Darcy cuts in with a thoughtful frown pursing her full lips.
“Emotionally messy,” Yelena corrects. “I feel like I am all over the place all the time. I get defensive and I snap and I push people away. And…and there are so many things I’m still so fucked up about, you know?”
“Yeah,” she nods, surprisingly easy in her agreement. “I know. But guess what?”
“What?”
“So does Kate,” Darcy smiles. “Kate knows all that, and she loves you. I don’t even want to say she loves you ‘anyway’ because that sounds like she loves you in spite of all that—”
“You are saying she doesn’t?”
“No,” Darcy shakes her head. “I’m saying she loves you because of all that mess,” she says gently. “Because all that mess is what makes you who you are. And the right person is going to love you for exactly who you are. Mess included.”
It’s too easy of an answer. “Yes, but we have been fighting a lot lately—”
“Yeah,” Darcy says again, this time with a little laugh. “Because you just moved in together and you have to figure out how to make that work without blowing things up.”
She considers this with a tilt of her head. “We do blow things up sometimes.”
“Emotionally,” Darcy echoes her earlier clarification. “Not literally.”
“No, but sometimes literally.”
Darcy’s smile widens as she shakes her head slightly. “It just takes time sometimes to figure out new ways to fit together.”
She hates the edge of vulnerability that creeps into her voice when she asks, “But you think we will?”
“I know you will,” Darcy assures her. “Because Kate loves you. And you love her. And when two people are as right for each other as you two, that’s really all that matters.”
The words settle over Yelena with a quiet warmth that surprises her by how it settles deep in her chest. “Okay,” she says in a small voice. “I feel…less bad.”
“Good,” Darcy nods once and goes to return to her work. “Then you can stop all this ‘juju’ talk?”
“No,” Yelena counters, rerouting her thoughts to focus back on her initial quest. “The juju is real, and it will be considerably better if you stop pretending you’re not just a little smitten with the fire man and agree to go out with him.”
“Yelena—”
“And don’t try to deny it or say that you don’t do love and romance anymore.”
“I don’t—”
“No one who has truly given up on all the warm and fuzzy feelings could not say anything as sweet and romantic as you just did about me and Kate.”
Darcy levels a look at her that perfectly walks the tightrope of patience and exasperation. “Yelena,” she says, sounding as though she’s selecting her words with care. “How about you worry about you and Kate. And I’ll worry about me.”
Yelena raises her brow. “About you and Johnny?”
“About me,” Darcy says firmly and hops up onto her stool as she presses her fingers to two points on the projection and pulls them apart to zoom in.
“Alright, alright,” Yelena holds up her hands, understanding when she’s been dismissed, and backs toward the door. She lets it slide open and then pauses for a moment. “But Darcy?”
“Hmm?”
She clears her throat once. “I know you are still sad because your golden retriever turned out to be a viper who left you to get so SO old without you—”
Darcy doesn’t turn around. “Approach a point quickly or get out of my lab.”
“But you are worth so much more than that,” Yelena continues, allowing a smile to play over her lips before bites down on her bottom one. “Don’t you think maybe it’s time for a new puppy?”
Darcy’s voice is dry as dust. “Puppies chew your shoes.”
Before Yelena can respond, Herbie wheels through the open door at full speed, in his claw-like hands, he carries a white to-go cup and a white paper bag.
“What the fuck—” Darcy mutters under her breath as the little robot deposits his offerings on her table and gives a cheerful beep before he zooms away.
On the bag is written Not a bear claw, and when Darcy opens it cautiously, Yelena can smell the lox and cream cheese halfway across the lab.
She presses her lips together in a firm line and clears her throat one more time, drawing Darcy’s attention up from her surprise breakfast delivery. “Um…”
“Don’t say anything,” Darcy warns, pointing a finger in her direction.
“I’m just saying…” Yelena holds up her hands again and doesn’t bother hiding her grin. “It appears that perhaps this puppy might be trainable.”
In which one Eddie Munson finally catches a lucky break.
18+, MDNI┃6.1k
cw: alcohol use, reader wears a dress, emotional talks, vomit.
(apologies in advance—if you’re here for a factual portrayal of chicago, you’re gonna have a bad time 😅)
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“Am I being a total idiot?”
The quiet question, spoken softly in the hush of your apartment, brought your eyes up from your phone to look at Shay curled up at the other end of the couch. You studied her face intently while she refused to look back at you, the corners of her mouth pulled down with concern.
Her voice was timid and small, not at all like the confident and commanding tone you were used to. And her body was similarly diminished, arms wrapped tight around one of your throw pillows that she hugged to her chest as though it was the only thing anchoring her to the earth.
“You’re not an idiot,” you said, scooching closer and slipping your arms around her.
Shay sniffled as she hid her face in your shoulder, her own beginning to shake as she struggled to keep her breath steady. You weren’t quite sure how much of this was hang-xiety induced, so you hugged her tighter trying to soothe her.
“I think you’re being really brave,” you said.
“I don’t feel brave,” she muttered, half to herself. “I feel like I could be making a huge mistake.”
“Well…” you answered tightly, “you might be.”
You certainly didn’t relish in saying it, but it was the truth. Shay let out a heavy, shuddering sigh as she fought back her tears, and you inhaled sharply before you continued on.
“The important thing is you’re trying. You’re putting yourself out there and taking a real risk. That’s the bravest thing anyone can do with their heart, y’know? It’s scary, but maybe that’s what makes it worth it? Because…because doing it scared is better than doing nothing.”
The words spilled out of you clumsily, bordering on blubbering. But Shay took a deep breath that almost seemed to slow your own racing heart. She made a noise that sounded like agreement, and chuckled when you lightly bonked your forehead against hers.
“For what it’s worth,” you whispered, “I don’t think you’re making a mistake.”
A tiny wet splotch appeared on your sweater sleeve as a solitary tear leaked out of Shay’s eye. But when she lifted her face off your shoulder, you could see she was smiling.
“Thank you,” she sniffed. “I needed that.”
You dipped your head, trying to get her to look you in the eye, and she chuckled weakly as you brush away the trail of her tear with your thumb.
“Anytime.”
Jeff and Shay’s decision to try long distance had come about the morning after your birthday.
He’d brought her back to your apartment to find you waiting on the stoop with coffee and a box of fresh pastries, all ready for a debrief of the night’s activities. You gave him a cheeky wave when they pulled up and he kissed her goodbye, offering you a sheepish ‘happy birthday’ in response to your wolf-whistle through the passenger window.
The two of you then absconded upstairs for Shay to shower and change clothes and finally, after leaving you dangling for roughly an eternity, reveal the two of them had reconciled.
And thrilled as you were, it wasn’t lost on you how much of a gamble they were taking. But they both agreed they had been significantly unhappier ever since breaking up. And even if it meant late-night Zooms and lots of only getting to see one another in person every couple of months, that was work they decided they were willing to put in just to keep the other person in their life.
For the time being, anyway, Shay had reiterated to you (and herself) multiple times.
Still, the long talk you’d had with her the night before her flight, when she’d huddled against you on your sofa after her last dinner with Jeff for the foreseeable future, had taken up a lot of space in your brain for weeks afterwards.
Long after Shay was safely back in California.
Because while you did believe in what you said, it was tough not to see the hypocrisy in it when you couldn’t even remember the last time you’d taken a risk—a real risk—with your own heart.
Any guy you’d been out with in the last year or so, you kept at a solid arm’s length. It wasn’t the sort of thing you consciously made the decision to do, it just sort of…happened. Over and over.
No one you’d met lately felt like they were worthy of your time. And even if they’d seemed like they might be when you first started talking, it always ended up going sideways. You deleted the apps about as often as downloaded them, and simply engaging in conversation was like pulling teeth.
Even avoiding Tinder entirely wasn’t good enough because every app had their own versions of the same fuckboys using the same manual you’d been burned by too many times already.
To be fair, it wasn’t all on them. Given your work schedule, you rarely had time for dating outside of prime booty call hours. And there was only so many times you could text a guy after midnight before he turned into a horny monster.
They really were gremlins, at the end of the day.
And it wasn’t as though you weren’t looking for sex, it just wasn’t all you were after—you wanted romance, you wanted to be adored and desired, you wanted to be wooed for chrissakes.
But you also wanted someone to be still with. Someone you could do all the boring things with, and yet not mind being bored because you were with them. Someone who would love you fiercely and decidedly. Someone to challenge you and to make you better, but also love you as you were.
Maybe you weren’t meant for that brand of love, though. And was that really such a bad thing?
You had your dream job, and great friends. You lived in one of the most beautiful and interesting cities in the world. You were doing far, far better than some other people you could name.
If a guy wanted the privilege of being let into your life, he really had to be worthwhile.
And if no one measured up, so fucking be it.
The line at the coffee shop near your apartment was taking a bit longer than usual. Likely induced by the fact that just about everyone was ordering a latte for the shamrock design in the foam. Part of you couldn’t even blame them (Jamie was an artist, after all), but having posted that latte on your story for the first three years you lived here, you were quite content to pass it up this time.
When you got to the front, you stuffed some extra cash inside of the woefully underfed tip jar before you’d even ordered. And you were pretty sure you weren’t imagining the look of abject relief on your regular barista’s face when all you asked for was a plain cup of coffee to go.
You sipped it leisurely on the walk to your favorite brunch spot, enjoying the sunshine and the cool spring breeze that ruffled the hem of your sundress around your thighs.
It was one you always liked, but rarely thought to wear out aside from this particular day of the year. White, and patterned with little bits of green that looked like polka dots from afar, but upon closer inspection turned out to be tiny succulents.
Paired with a denim jacket and some low boots, it was enough to appease the holiday requirements without looking like a walking piece of asparagus.
This day had always been something of a nothing holiday in your eyes. The green drinks and general revelry were fun, and you got a kick out of seeing the river dyed every year, but really the highlight every year was whatever mischief you and Shay managed to get into together.
Once, she had a nasty head cold and you two hadn’t even gone out—staying at home instead and watching every movie you could think of with “Green” in the title. Another time, you’d hosted an all-green potluck where all of your friends came over with their favorite green food to share.
Plans for this year were relatively mellow, at least compared to what most of the city would partake in. First up was brunch, then you and Shay would spend your afternoon bar-hopping downtown until Jeff got off work later that night.
You and Shay had been coming to this place for years, but you never missed St Patty’s.
They always went all out—adding blue curacao to mimosas to tint them green, champagne bottles popping at a near-constant rate. Plus, the added bonus of drag queens showing off their best all-green outfits and performing to pretty much every Cranberries song in existence.
It was a real sight to behold.
You paused briefly outside of one store window to scan over a table full of items marked clearance, and looked up just in time to see the blur of a black Jeep as it was flying past.
It careened to a stop about a block away, directly in front of the restaurant. And to your surprise, Jeff and Shay climbed out of the back.
Jeff then shouted something to the driver over the heavy metal music blasting from the speakers loudly enough to be heard from down the street. A leather-clad arm waved back at them and the Jeep pulled back out onto the road, speeding away just as you were walking up.
“Morning!” you called out cheerily over the roar of the engine that was already fading.
Shay’s head whipped around at the sound of your voice and she was beaming as she threw her arms around you in a close hug. As usual, she’d dressed much more festively than you, in full green regalia from head to toe, topped off with a headband with a pair of glittery clover antennae.
“Happy St. Patty’s Day!” she exclaimed, plopping a matching headband on top of your head.
You giggled and adjusted them so they sat a little straighter before you turned to Jeff to greet him with a hug. “Did you guys manage to find the most metal Uber driver ever, or what?”
His brow wrinkled slightly and he glanced over his shoulder. “Oh, no, that was my friend Ed—”
A loud cheer from inside the restaurant cut him off and the opening of “Dreams” started to play at top volume, Dolores O’Riordan’s voice filtering out and onto the street. Shay grabbed a hold of one of each of your hands and started tugging you eagerly towards the door.
“Come on,” she groaned, “we’re missing it!”
After your (mostly liquid) brunch, you were feeling delightfully tipsy sitting on the train chatting with Shay and catching up on what you’d missed the past couple months. To be perfectly honest, you would have happily kept it up all day, just riding around gabbing and people watching.
But, naturally, Shay had set a packed itinerary. Almost like it was a preemptive move.
“I’ll not have you turn into some kind of shut in,” she sighed when you suggested as much, getting to her feet as the train started to slow. “Like, if I’m not here, you just work and sleep your life away.”
“Well, there’s an easy way to fix that,” you teased with a playful flick of your tongue.
“Yeah, yeah,” Shay chuckled. “But until I can move back, you can’t rot in your apartment day in and day out. You gotta do something beside work yourself to the bone, you have to do things.”
The train doors hissed and you filed out onto the platform, following the flow of the crowd.
“I do things,” you rebutted. “They’re just…lowkey things. Solo activities.”
Shay couldn’t help but roll her eyes, the light catching on the glittery green shadow she’d worn for today. “What about that DnD group you used to play with? You haven’t mentioned it in ages.”
Your head shook. “We lost our DM, haven’t been able to find anyone new. Evidently there’s a mass shortage of charismatic and capable storytellers nobody in the media is reporting on.”
A soft snort left Shay’s nose as you approached the station’s exit. She chewed thoughtfully on her lower lip and her chin started to wobble. Her pace slowed and she looked off in the middle distance, clearly sifting through her words before she said them in a way that made you sort of nervous.
“I just…I don’t know, I hope you still say ‘yes’ to things sometimes. I don’t want you to miss out on something good because you’re scared, or you think you don’t deserve to be happy, or—”
“Shay.”
You put a hand on her arm, pulling her off to the side to stop both her and her runaway thoughts. She heaved a slightly labored sigh and let her head hang while she gathered herself.
“Where’s this coming from?” you asked gently.
Her jaw tightened and her lips pursed—all classic signs of Shay distress. Except that it didn’t seem as though she was mad at you, or at anything, really. Just overwhelmed with concern.
At last, her shoulders relaxed and she looked up, eyes just beginning to shimmer with tears.
“I love you so much,” she finally answered. “And lately I’ve…I’ve actually been happy again for the first time in a while, and I know it’s because you made me go to Jeff’s show that night. But I feel… I feel like you wouldn’t do that for yourself, you know? Like you wouldn’t listen to you!”
“Oh, buddy.”
You didn’t hesitate to wrap your arms around her, giving her a little shake to try and make her laugh. Which she did, but it came out wet and choked-off, like she was swallowing a bubble of air.
“You don’t have to worry about me,” you told her solidly. “I’m really good…And if I’m ever not, you know you’ll be the first one to hear about it.”
Shay nodded when you pulled apart, taking your hands in hers and giving them a squeeze.
“I just wanna know you’re okay,” she sniffed. “And that you’re happy too.”
It occurred to you then, as she pressed a finger to the corner of her eye to catch a tear on the verge of escaping, that Shay probably hadn’t intended to have this discussion now of all times.
But then bottomless mimosas had a way of doing that, didn’t they? They also had a way of bringing certain words, certain words borne out of certain thoughts, rushing to the surface. To be said out loud before you’d fully decided to voice them.
“It’s not that I’m scared, y’know,” you said, maybe a bit too forcefully to be fully believed.
Shay’s brow arched. “No?”
“Not of being alone, or whatever,” you shrugged. “It’s more like…maybe I’m just not cut out for anything else. Or anything real.”
A dry laugh left your throat, and you swiped under your eye to erase a tear you’d not yet shed.
“I’ve been on my own for so long now. I wonder if-What if I forgot how to let somebody in?”
Or what if nobody ever knocks?
You managed to stop that last thought before it’d tumbled past your lips, positive it would make you cry or Shay cry or both. You took a shaky breath, not realizing how close you were to it already.
Shay tilted her head at you, dressing you down to your boots with one of those all-knowing looks of hers. It actually was nice, that feeling of being seen so clearly by someone you loved.
A sly smile crept across her lips.
“Y’know…” she said, “somebody, somewhere told me doing it scared is better than doing nothing.”
Downtown was literal chaos.
People everywhere—lining every street, filing in and out of every bar, drunken chatter combining into a persistent dull roar. Plastic novelty hats and beaded necklaces and shamrock glasses as far as the eye could see, all against the backdrop of the city shimmering with sunlight refracting off the mirrored skyscrapers and the river’s surface.
You hadn’t realized how long you’d been avoiding the whole bar/club scene until you were thrust back into it once again. Only three stops into Shay’s itinerary and you were fading fast.
But to be fair, you had chosen probably the worst day of the year to revisit this particular phase. And where you normally could rely on alcohol to ease the aching of your feet and the pounding in your head, you could only indulge so much and still make it to work on time the next day.
The two of you linked arms as you left the last bar and walked along the sidewalk until you came to a bridge where Shay stopped to look at a text.
“Is there some water in our future?” you chuckled, laying your head on her shoulder for support.
“Hang on, I’m trying to figure out where Eden and Luce are,” she said, frowning at her phone.
You nodded and stepped to the side, admiring the chaos unfolding around you at all levels. From the balconies of the apartments overhead decorated with streamers and balloons, down to the boats on the river, leaving pale waves in their wake.
“Robin, this whole city is wearing green!”
At the sound of a petulant voice overhead, you craned your neck back to get a look at the source. It was a guy, one seemingly as tall and lean as the lightpole he’d climbed on to see over the crowd. He circled it slowly, one hand wrapped around for stability while the other held his phone to his ear.
“Light green, she says,” he muttered, shaking his head as he swiveled once again.
His hair was sort of artfully unkempt, longer pieces of it curling slightly at the ends along the nape of his neck and around his ears. He wore a gray peacoat over a hunter green sweatshirt that brought out the flecks of mossiness in his eyes that melded into their bright brown color.
“Wait, wait—I see you guys!”
His arm shot up in the air and he waved it over his head, nearly losing his footing and toppling into the river below before he caught himself.
He then grinned into the receiver, eyes softening with affection when they seemingly landed on exactly the person he was looking for.
“Tell her she looks really pretty,” he breathed.
You couldn’t help but chuckle at a line that would have been unbearably cheesy if not for the pure, unabashed sincerity radiating off his face when he said it. He glanced down, giving you a small shrug and a crooked, what-are-ya-gonna-do? kind of grin that would melt an iceberg.
You smiled back, shooting him a quick thumbs up before Shay grabbed you.
“I got ‘em!” she exclaimed, pulling you into mass of people now crossing the bridge.
Feeling a little like a salmon swimming upstream, you hurried along next to her and giggled as you tried to keep up. A broad shoulder clad in grey wool brushed with yours as the boy from the lightpole rushed by, darting in and around the other bodies to get through the crowd.
Your eyes followed the back of his head of ruffled chestnut hair until he’d melded into the distance, wondering if you might catch a glimpse of whoever he wanted to get to so badly.
“See something you like?” Shay teased, playfully bumping your hip with hers.
“Nah, just thought I might catch a glimpse of true love is all,” you sighed in an airy, overly enamored kind of way that was steeped in mockery.
Your friend’s eyes rolled.
“Well, we should still keep an eye out for someone tonight. You never know,” she smirked. “The love of your life could be waiting around the cor—”
Just then, a man stumbled drunkenly into your path. In his hand he clutched a gallon jug that was disturbingly low on the neon green liquid sloshing around the bottom. You grabbed Shay’s arm and dragged her to the side just as he bent over and emptied the contents of his stomach onto the sidewalk, more green splashing where your feet would have just been a second ago.
“Oh, yeah,” you scoffed once you’d guided her to safety. “What if we had missed him?”
The both of you broke into giggles. Still laughing, clutching one another as you shared in squeals of disgust at the memory as you reached the other side of the bridge and turned abruptly.
That’s when you saw it.
Quick and flickering—like a mirage. A brief flash of dark leather and wild curls just familiar enough that it made you look twice. But then a throng of people crossed in front of your line of vision and just as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone.
Like a wisp of smoke lost on the breeze.
And you were being pulled into the next stop on Shay’s pub crawl before you could find it again.
Murray’s was packed by the time you got there. It took ages to get to the bar for a couple of green beers and then for to find a place to stand, which unfortunately ended up being at a table right by the door, practically miles away from the stage. Although, given the level of talent on display tonight, that might have been a blessing.
Jeff was in good spirits and showed a more than the appropriate level of enthusiasm when Shay hopped on stage, but you could tell from the look in his eyes, he was already imagining the two of them back at his apartment doing all the things sickeningly in love long-distance couples did.
So as the evening wore on, you weren’t all that surprised when you saw him lean over to whisper something in Shay’s ear that made her shoulders inch up excitedly and a smile curl on her lips.
She gave him an eager nod and he disappeared from your table just as you’d returned from using the bathroom. Turning back to you, Shay winced and smiled at you guilty with one eye squinted.
“So…I think we’re gonna call it a night.”
“What was that? Sorry, you gotta speak up, I can’t have heard you right—It’s so loud in here.”
You gestured to the chaos around you and Shay’s green-glitter streaked eyes rolled at your antics as you cupped your hand around your ear and made an exaggerated heh? sound over and over.
“I said,” she laughed, enunciating clearer, “I think we’re gonna call it a night.”
You gasped loudly, staggering back in horror.
“I just…I never thought I’d see the day you went home early on an international drinking holiday,” you sighed dramatically, eyes cast to the rafters with a hand over your heart while the other wiped away a fake tear. “My baby’s all grown up!”
“As if!” Shay huffed lightly, crossing her arms as she tried to defend herself. “I just figured, you’re working tomorrow, doesn’t make a ton of sense for me to stay out late tonight—”
“Babe, I’m kidding,” you explained, dropping any and all pretense. “You know I don’t mind.”
Shay smiled back gratefully, but there was still a bit of hesitance lingering in her eyes.
“You’re sure you’re okay getting yourself home?”
“I’m fine! I can take the El from here, no problem.” You pulled her into a hug, giving a squeeze with all the strength you had in your arms as you whispered, “Go be happy, dummy.”
You waited outside with Shay until Jeff brought his car around to pick her up. He tried to offer you a ride home, but you just waved him off, knowing it would only take him out of his way and rob him of precious time on their visit. You hugged again, shouting your goodbyes over the guy up on stage belting “Rocketman” at the top of his lungs.
As they drove off, you very nearly started heading in the direction of the closest train station, only to stop and groan when you remembered that your tab was still open. Cursing your poor luck, you stepped back inside and started for the bar.
Things had quieted down somewhat, at least. You found yourself in a fairly decent position, only about four or so people deep waiting, and karaoke had paused while the host took a break. A funky beat you recognized instantly began to pour out of the speakers, your head bopping along with it.
Hearing someone clear their throat, you turned and were met with a vision from the past.
The memory of his face hurtled forward from the back of your mind. You saw the same deep brown eyes and dark, wild hair—though, looking much more manageable than it had last time.
And instead of a letterman jacket, he was dressed in a shirt emblazoned with a picture of the poster for the movie Leprechaun, under a creased and faded leather jacket. His face was more bare, missing the powdered white scruff and thin black glasses from Halloween.
But it was definitely him. Holy shit.
“Hey,” he said, his grin spreading slowly. “I don’t know if you know me—actually, I know you don’t know me, because we didn’t actually meet. Well, we sort of did, but it was a long time ago? Like a fucking year. You probably don’t remember…shit. I’m really fucking this up, aren’t I?”
You couldn’t help but to laugh along with his chuckle as he rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, all squirmy and nervous just like he had been that night. He then held it out, familiar too even if it was missing the beige press-on nails that had trailed across your face and made your head go all fuzzy. Not totally dissimilar to the fuzziness you were feeling right now.
Carefully, you reached out and wrapped your own hand around his, holding it firmly with the chunky silver rings on his fingers pressing into your flesh.
“It’s alright,” you told him, a sly smirk burgeoning on your own lips, “I won’t bite.”
His deep brown eyes rounded with delight, smile spreading so wide it crinkled all the skin around them and deepened the dimples in his cheeks.
A furiously pink blush colored his whole face and he sputtered through the rest of his greeting, his palm growing sweaty as he squeezed yours.
“Right, so—Nice to actually meet you,” he said, still laughing a little at himself.
“Yeah, same here…”
You looked up at him, tipping your head to the side as you trailed off, waiting for him to realize he still had yet to give you his name.
And his eyes actually sparkled as he did.
“Eddie,” he rushed to offer, “Eddie Munson.”
“Nice to actually meet you too, Eddie Munson.”
Eddie barely recognized himself he was so damn giddy sitting with you at the bar for the next hour, the two of you talking just about non-stop over a couple green beers. Even after he had effectively abandoned his friends, none of them ever made a move to interrupt—and he had a pretty good idea who he had to thank for that. They did, however, manage to sneakily sign him up for karaoke.
Mercifully, only putting his name in for one song.
He glared back at four sets of mischievous eyes and Steve and Robin’s twin wiggling fingers as he reluctantly took the stage. And when the tinkling intro of Let It Go began to play over the speakers, he had to squash the immediate urge to murder each and every single one of them.
Still…he’d be lying if he said he didn’t go all out when he found your eyes in the crowd; when he saw the way they danced as you watched him, and how you even whooped loudly as he growled his way through some of the high notes. And he hoped to god he wasn’t imagining it that you were positively beaming at him when he returned to his seat next to you after the song.
“Did you want another?” he asked, indicating your glass and the last swallow of beer at the bottom.
You stared at it as you thought, chewing on the corner of the bottom lip he’d been trying so hard not to be distracted by all night. Trying and noticeably failing, he should say.
“I really would,” you said with a wince, “but I have to head out. I’ve got an early day tomorrow.”
Eddie nodded back, frowning. Both of you doing a piss poor job of hiding your disappointment.
And yeah, he probably should have just asked you for your number. He should have wished you good night and let you be on your way. He should have been content with the fact that the universe had seen fit to put you back in his path long enough for him to get a second chance at this.
But Eddie and ‘should’ never really got along.
His eyes couldn’t help but flit to the velvet-lined booth where all his friends sat, their arms draped around and their bodies tucked snugly against the people they loved. With an unsteady hand, Eddie raked his fingers through his hair, scratching at the back of his head with his blunt nails.
Was he really about to do this?
He probably wouldn’t…if it was anyone but you.
He inhaled sharply, his chest puffing in an attempt to summon all the courage he could muster. His toes inched closer to the edge, the precipice so high that the clouds obscured what lay below. If he jumped, he could fall to the rocks. He could tumble down the mountainside in a free fall, wind up battered and bruised. Possibly dead.
Or maybe, just maybe, he would be caught.
“So, I’m sorry if this is weird—and you can totally, absolutely, 100% say ‘no’ and I will quite happily go fuck myself—but do you think I could, uhm…walk you home?”
Eddie’s heart nearly jumped into his throat. He felt his fingers twitch, tapping against the outside of his thigh. It was like everything was moving in slow motion while he waited for you to answer, the corners of your mouth turning up into a smile, the skin around your eyes crinkling as it reached them, your lips parting to form the single most beautiful word he had ever heard in his life:
“Sure.”
When you told Eddie what neighborhood you lived in, he nearly spat the last swallow of his beer in your face. He chalked it up to pure dumb luck it was the same as his own. He even joked about it as you and he walked to the El, saying how easy you’d made it for him to stalk you now.
You scoffed at that, and shook your head. A long-suffering sort of motion, almost like you’d known him forever. Shit, maybe you had.
It sure as fuck felt like it.
“If it took a year to track me down, you’re kind of a terrible stalker,” you told him with a teasing flick of your tongue between your teeth. “I think you might need all the help you can get.”
Fuck, were you cute. He glanced down, hoping the curtain of his hair that fell forward would hide the pink creeping across his cheeks, and stared at your hands tucked into your jacket pockets.
That was probably for the best, right?
He definitely shouldn’t try to hold your hand right now—that would be ridiculous. No matter how much he wanted to. God, did he want to…
The two of you got on his (and your) usual line, and the talk flowed with ease as the train rumbled along the tracks. In a couple of hours, it would no doubt be packed with drunken revelers pinching one another and reeking of Guinness. But it was still early enough in the night that the two of you found a relatively empty car and took a pair of seats next to one another.
On the ride, you explained about Halloween and how you’d made a hasty exit when your ex and his new girlfriend showed up as Tommy Lee and Pam Anderson. And you delighted in hearing from him how that couple had gotten into a fight right in the middle of Corroded Coffin’s set.
Eddie had just started to describe Pam throwing a drink in the guy’s face—making his eyeliner run so he looked more like Alice Cooper than Tommy Lee—but he stopped when your smile faded and you looked at your lap, blinking slowly as you shifted between competing thoughts.
“Corroded Coffin?” you echoed quietly. “Is that…that’s your band?”
He nodded. “The one and only.”
“Huh…” you said quietly, a funny kind of look he couldn’t quite place taking over your face.
But before he could ask, you indicated your stop was up next. The same one where he got off.
Luck again, he figured.
But then you left the station and started to walk down his street, following almost the exact same path he took when he headed home from here. You even crossed the road at the same spot.
“Hang on a minute,” Eddie said, glancing around him. “Where are we going?”
You looked back at him and chuckled, “I thought you were walking me home.”
“I am, but…where exactly is your home?”
You frowned slightly—not quite out of anger, but more confusion—and paused for a second before pointing up at the building you and he stopped at.
A brick building with vines covering the facade. With a black lacquered door and golden numbers, one of which was hanging upside down. With fire escapes hung on the side overlooking the alley.
His building.
Eddie…let out a laugh. A cackle, a guffaw. He threw his head back and barked at the inky black sky. It rolled out of him, making his belly ache and tears prickle in his eyes. He probably looked like a complete and total lunatic, but he couldn’t stop.
No way, he thought. No fucking way is this real.
Your brow furrowed, not getting the joke.
“What’s so funny?” you asked.
“You live here?” he confirmed. “In this building?”
“Well…yeah? But why is that so—”
He cut you off laughing again, shaking his head while he rooted around the pockets of his leather jacket. You crossed your arms and huffed out a frustrated little sound, clearly getting annoyed with him now. And yet you were still so cute.
Cuter, even.
Catching his breath, Eddie held up a single finger. A silent encouragement to just wait.
His hand finally emerged from his pocket and he held up a set of brass keys nearly identical to your own set still tucked inside your purse. He climbed the steps leading to the front door and pushed one of the keys into the building’s lock.
With a familiar clank, it unlatched and turned.
“Hang on a second, you…you live here?” you asked, staring at his hand holding the door open and then looking back at him like you dreamed it. Completely baffled. Straight up flabbergasted.
“Yeah, ” Eddie exhaled, almost in reverence as he stared back at you. “I live here.”
“That’s…” you shook your head, a laugh bubbling out of you too now, “...absurd.”
Falling silent as you stood together at the threshold, the reality of the moment washed over the two of you. The exceedingly unlikely, painfully unrealistic, appallingly unfathomable reality.
‘Absurd’ was putting it lightly.
Eddie’s mind was flooded. A tangled mess of questions he’d never unravel, a million flashes of lives he could have lived. What if he’d come home just a couple minutes sooner on Halloween? What if he went to get a bagel on a Wednesday instead of on a Tuesday? What if he stayed for tea at Mrs. Gershwin’s and left her place just ten minutes later even one of the times she offered?
What if he’d tapped on that fucking window?
Your gaze met his, eyes glimmering in the scant streetlight as your mind seemingly swam with all of the same thoughts as his. The same questions running through your head, the same hesitance wavering. The same wonder creeping in.
Because as impossible as this was to believe…neither of you could deny what this felt like.
“So…what unit are you in?” Eddie asked, even though he was pretty certain he already knew the answer. You pointed up and towards the back, indicating the floor above. His floor.
“I’m in 2B.”
That’s all, folks 👋🏻
Thank you so much for reading, my loves! Dedicating this one to my dear darling @undead-supernova because of how many times I thought "do it for her" whenever I was struggling 🍀
Eddie’s pov is kind of sparse bc most of his day was covered in the epilogue of WCIL. I had only just started piecing this story together when that dropped and I lowkey wept 🥲
Speaking of, thanks as always to @superblysubpar <3
Do you have any thoughts about sweet aftercare with eds ? (Asking as a girlie who deals with lots of shame during post-nut clarity…)
i have sooooo many thoughts anon. i know exactly the feeling you mean!!
I think Eddie's really emotionally intelligent. once he learns the rhythms of your mind and body post-sex, he's really sensitive to them. he takes his time to observe and learn your reactions to different ways of help and soothing, and then acts accordingly!!
while it would depend on his partner's individual needs, for the most part, I think Eddie shows his aftercare love through overt clinginess. he takes all the time in the world to cuddle you afterwards. to kiss over the soft little spots he didn't get a chance to during sex, giving extra love and care and attention to them and you.
his ideal post-sex vibe is being wrapped around you smooshed as close as possible (this boy would live in your skin if science permitted) and lulling you both into a nap. since timing doesn't always allow for that, Eddie still draws out the aftercare for as long as possible by existing in the same space as you. giving you big puppy eyes when you start unwinding yourself from his arms like Oh 🥺 You don't want me forever? You kick Eddie? Jail 🥺 until you tell him he's allowed in the bathroom with you and he lights up like a damn christmas tree.
he hangs on you and tries to hold your hand while you're brushing your teeth which isn't very helpful but is very endearing. he'll sit on the toilet seat and chatter on about nothing in particular just so you're not alone with your thoughts. nothing works better for the untrue dopamine-crashed voices like a guy who's insistent on physically manhandling them out of your body. Eddie does something he coins Exorcist Hugging where he pretends to purge the bad feelings from your body by shaking and yelling dramatically while squeezing you into a bear hug. it's proven very effective in the past.
and also!!! aftercare doesn't have a certain time limit. it doesn't run out when you leave each other for work or whatever life thing you need to get back to. Eddie finds excuses to call you at work and say he misses you. he's sneaking little notes into your lunchbox (only about half of them are dirty, he's got restraint, ok??) and waits all day to come back to home base just so he can cook for you and show his love in homemaking ways, too. you're really important to him <3 <3
Pairing: Eddie Munson x Hopper!reader Word Count: 4.7k
Description: There’s two clear rules in your house. No boys while dad isn’t home and ALWAYS keep the door open three inches. Tonight Hopper’s out late and you decide to break both, until he’s banging at your door as Eddie trips over his own clothes trying to get out alive.
Tags/Warnings: smut, fem!hopper reader (adopted), secret established relationship, both adults, eddie being absolutely whipped, hot make out, having to be quiet, piv sex, hickeys, getting caught doing it, eddie running for his life with the help of El, talks about consent, weed and suggestive comments.
Note: I recently watched ST3 and seeing Hopper get so riled up with Mike made me think he’d absolutely lose it if his daughter dated someone like Eddie!! Enjoy this fun sexy piece, and happy Joseph day to those who celebrate 🫶🏼
masterlist | archive
Dad’s not home yet.
Still, you’re trying to be quiet. God knows you really are, for the sake of your half sister in the bedroom next door…but the boy on top of you makes it a very hard task.
“Baby you’re all that I want, when you’re lying here in my arms
I’m finding it hard to believe…we’re in heaven…”
The melody coming from your stereo muffles the sounds coming from your lips, every time Eddie leans in to kiss you again and again and again. His legs press the mattress between your parted thighs, tattooed arms caging you in as he hovers over you. Your clothes are still on, but with the way his knee keeps brushing against your shorts in that particular spot, it’s not gonna be for long.
“Isn't too hard to see…we're in Heaven…”
With Eddie all over you, you’re indeed in heaven.
You giggle against his mouth when he bumps his nose into yours for like the hundredth time. You’re not sure how long it’s been since he climbed up your window, only that your lips are swollen already. He kisses you again anyway. Then your cheek, then the other cheek, then your jaw and then lower.
His lips trail down your neck in wet, lazy kisses. His hand slides beneath your shirt to pinch your waist playfully, cold rings making you gasp.
“Eddie...” you whisper, melting under his weight.
He smiles without looking up. God, you can feel his teeth dragging slowly over your skin, before he finds the perfect spot and starts sucking like the little devil he is.
Your fingers run through his curls, torn between scolding him and letting him mark you all over. Thankfully, your survival instinct kicks in, and you tug his head slightly back.
“No hickeys this time, Munson,” you warn, but your breath gives away how much you were enjoying it.
How much you actually want it. Damn it.
Eddie notices, of course he does, his lips release your sensitive skin only to look at you, grinning. “Mmm…I don’t know. Can’t promise anything, sweetheart.”
“Eddie–“
“Shhh, pretty girl,” he hushes you, diving into your collarbone again. “I’m trying to savor this moment before your dad throws me in federal prison…”
You giggle against his hair. “He will if he sees your teeth on my neck, Eds.”
“It’s that so?” He teases, more focused on choosing his next spot to attack.
The way his lips wrap around your skin feels so good you forget how to keep protesting. Your fingers twist in his curls, your back arching up into him and the way his mouth claims you.
You just pray your father stays away wherever he is for longer. The only reason why you’re doing it here instead of Eddie’s trailer like usual, is because Wayne had the night off today and wanted to have one of his buddies over for beers.
To be fair you didn’t plan to hide your relationship from Hopper at the start. But he’s always been a little psycho when it comes to “boys” around you. Now, with an even younger daughter it’s worse. He hates Mike for even breathing close to El. Not to mention he also has access to one too many guns, and with the way the town already sees Eddie, it’s just…better this way. Better to stifle your uneven breathing as your boyfriend takes you to heaven right in your bed.
“Just–just keep it where my dad can’t see them, baby,” you pant, breathing becoming a hard task at this point.
He lifts his head with a dramatic gasp, that shit eating grin forming on his face again with a mischievous glint in those huge brown eyes.
“I knew you were a freak just like me,” he says proudly, shaking his head. “Freaks in love, what a beautiful thing,” he sighs dreamily, making you snort so hard you have to cover your mouth.
“Oh my God Eddie, shut up!” You slap his shoulder weakly, making him snort back, drowning the sound in the crook of your neck.
“Mmm yeah, I can put my mouth to better use…”
The next sound that comes out of your mouth is involuntary. But it’s not your fault when Eddie knows exactly what to do to drag sweet moans out of you.
“You’re gonna…you’re gonna get me killed–fuck,” you moan again when Eddie sucks harder to leave his desired mark on your shoulder. His head shoots up with a devious smile at your barely contained sounds.
“Would you keep it quiet, sweetheart? you don’t wanna alert the little witch…” he chuckles, shifting his weight above you a little too fast, the movement making the headboard tap against the wall.
You both freeze.
“Fuck,” Eddie curses with wide eyes. “You think she heard that?”
You lift on your elbows and tilt your head to listen for any shuffle outside the door, but all you can hear is the soft music still playing in your room. You shrug when you look back at Eddie.
“I don't think so.”
Eddie exhales, before amusement takes over again. “Do you think she even knows what it means?”
“She hangs out with Max all the time, Eddie. Yes, I think she’d know what it means,” you deadpan.
The statement makes him blink at you in surprise a few times, but it’s not long before both of you burst into “quiet” laughter. You place a hand over Eddie’s mouth, his head shaking against your palm from how he tries to hold it in.
“Stop–stop it!” you whisper-shout, barely keeping your own laughter in. “She’s gonna know you’re here!”
“Too late.”
The little deadpan voice coming from the other side of the door makes you both go still. Your heads whip toward the locked door.
“I know he’s in there. And I know what you’re doing,” she continues.
You close your eyes with a grimace, sighing in frustration. “El, you do not know what we’re doing.”
The girl doesn’t even hesitate. “Yes I do. Max told me when you sound like that it’s because you’re having s–”
“Don’t finish that sentence!” You scramble, attempting to sit up and almost bumping Eddie in the process, since he’s too busy caught between amusement and fear to even move.
“I’m telling him,” she says.
“NO!” You and Eddie yell in unison, both scrambling to get off of each other, knocking over your little bedside lamp in the process.
“Shit!”
“She’s bluffing, right? Please tell me she’s bluffing? We weren’t even doing anything…yet” Eddie whispers, pacing next to your bed.
“I don’t know!” you hiss, fixing your shirt and your hair before racing to the door. “She’s weird now, she has an attitude and all. For all I know she could do exactly as she says.”
“Great. Perfect. This is exactly how I thought my night was gonna end. Not inside you–oh no. Blackmailed by a fourteen year old and then shot by your father. Tell Wayne I love him–”
“Shut up!!” You snort, gesturing with a finger to your lips. “El, please,” you beg, cracking the door open just enough to see her unimpressed little face. “Please don’t tell dad.”
She crosses her arms, narrowing her eyes. She moves her head past you to see Eddie standing by your window, waving awkwardly at her. She remembers seeing you and him sucking each other's faces off a few days ago before you shut the door on her face.
“El?” You ask, moving your body to block her gaze on Eddie.
She seems to think about it for a moment, but you weren’t born yesterday, you know the look on her face and you know exactly why she’s there.
“Okay. But cover for me and Mike next time.”
There it is. You stare at her in silence, then you whip around to Eddie, curls wild, pupils blown and holding in his laughter. “Is this kid fucking serious?”
Eddie just raises his eyebrows in amusement. “Like sister like…half-sister?” He chuckles. “Being a freak runs in the family, I see.”
You flip him off before you turn back to her.
“Fine. Deal. I better not get grounded or I swear you’re going down with me,” you say. El just nods and turns to walk away. “And put some music on! You don’t wanna hear….anything.”
“The happy screaming?” She asks, right before scrambling to her room with a giggle when your eyes go wide.
Her door shuts, and seconds later Madonna starts blasting from her stereo at full volume.
“Jesus Christ, this girl,” you mutter, shaking your head before shutting your door.
Click.
You turn back to Eddie–and you both lose it. He throws himself dramatically on the bed, laughing into your pillows. You’re laughing too as you crawl on top of him, placing your hands on his chest with a grin.
“Now, where were we?” You tease, leaning down to kiss him again.
But he flips you over, making you giggle against his neck, and the music is just loud enough to cover the squeaking of the bed, the shushing and the soft little gasps when clothes begin to fall off.
You don’t hear the car pulling in the driveway. You don’t hear the front door open or the heavy footsteps following.
All you hear is Eddie, breathing hard on your ear, muttering curses and things like “You’re so fucking tight, baby–shit,” with every sweet drag of his cock across your slick walls. Your fingers dip into his bare shoulders, and your head tilts back against the pillow with barely contained moans as he hits every spot he has to hit.
“Ed…Eddie…” you choke out, completely drunk on the way his balls slap your ass every time he bottoms out. “R-right there…please”
“Right there sweetheart?” He coos with a chuckle, dragging out only to slam back again in a hard thrust, hitting that spot again. “How does that feel, huh?”
You gasp, back arching, eyes rolling back. “S–so big…so good Eds…shit…”
“Shh, shh, you’re okay angel–fuck you’re perfect,” he whispers, leaning back to hook his arm under your legs to lift your ass, then placing a pillow right under your pelvis. He snaps his hips harder, deeper, trying to make you cum because he knows damn well he won’t last much longer with the way your pussy clenches around him.
The change of angle makes a loud moan escape your lips, making Eddie bring his ringed hand over your mouth with a grin.
God, how he loves the way you come undone under him.
If it was up to him, he’d let you be as loud as you want. Lord knows when he fucks you hard in his trailer the whole park knows when you come. On the other hand, nothing compares to drilling you into your own mattress. Seeing the way you shake trying to muffle your moans while he makes love to you in secret.
The sheer thrill of it.
And as if it wasn’t enough, with one hand still covering your mouth, Eddie brings the other to play with your swollen clit. The overwhelming feeling is enough to make you cry out under his palm, feeling that pressure on your belly building quicker and quicker. He’s too focused on the way your juices start to drip down your cute bedsheets under him, that he doesn’t hear anything happening outside that room either.
Jim Hopper enters his household with slumped shoulders and dragged footsteps after a tiring day. But he doesn’t have much time to feel miserable about how shitty work was, when he realizes none of his girls are on sight.
Which always means trouble.
His eyes land on El’s door first. Loud music blasts behind it, the same way it does when Mike is sucking her face off and doing god knows what with his hands. He stomps over there with no hesitation, slamming the door open.
“How many times have I told you–”
He stops dead in his tracks when he finds El alone, laying on the floor as she flips through a comic, music still at full volume coming from her stereo.
“I–hey kid,” he says softer, clearing his throat when he realizes there’s no male threat in that room. “Why’s the music so loud?”
“New mixtape. She said I could play it as loud as I wanted.”
“She?”
“Sister,” she smiles.
That weird little smile makes him narrow his eyes, “What did your sister do?” He asks, because he wasn’t born yesterday either. He already raised a teenager.
“N-nothing!” She says, maybe a little too quickly.
That’s when he hears a bump on the wall coming from your room.
“I swear to god–” he rolls his eyes with an exhausted sigh, already walking to your door, ignoring the way El trails behind him with wide eyes.
“Wait–” she scrambles trying to stall him, but he’s already pressing his ear to your door.
And Jesus Christ, he did not need to hear any of that. His daughter’s panting and some dude’s groans muffled by music. His hand flies to the doorknob, rattling it violently.
“Young lady, you better open this goddamn door right now!!”
The booming voice makes you both stop.
“Shit!” you yelp, somehow pushing Eddie off, grabbing whatever you can find from the floor to get dressed.
“Who’s in there???” Hopper keeps rattling the doorknob with one hand, the other banging the door loudly. “El, open this door!”
“No!”
Eddie’s panicking. He’s hopping around, shoving his dick–condom and all–into his jeans, looking around for his shirt and trying to put on his shoes at the same time.
“He’s gonna kill me,” he hisses. All that confidence he had fucking you into next week now reduced to sheer human fear. “He’s actually gonna murder me. I’m gonna die too young.”
You ignore his dramatic monologue.
“Did you park far?” you whisper, tripping over your bra as you try to hide it under the bed. “Eddie, he can't see your van–”
“Yes yes I did–but I’m not worried about that! I’m worried about getting shot in the dick!”
BANG BANG BANG.
“Open right now or I swear to god I’ll break it down!!”
“Coming!” You yell back.
“Not yet,” Eddie snorts, he fucking snorts like he’s not about to be executed by the town’s sheriff.
You turn to him, mouth open in disbelief. He realizes his mistake when you stomp toward him and dig a finger into his bare chest.
“Do you appreciate your life?” You ask, he just nods frantically. “Then you need to get out of here, dumbass, now!!”
You shove him toward the windowsill, he clumsily puts one leg over the frame, when you spot his shirt on the floor. You quickly pick it up and hand it to him.
“What if I want you to keep it? As a token of our love.”
If your dad doesn’t kill him right now you’re the one who’s going to do it.
“Eddie–GET OUT NOW!”
“Okay, okay, fleeing the scene–”
But just as he’s about to swing his other leg over the frame, the door slams over with a harsh thud as Hopper almost breaks it off its hinges.
“MUNSON?”
He freezes. You freeze. Eddie freezes.
Hopper’s eyes go from Eddie mid escape, still clutching his shirt over his tattooed chest, to the pillow you’ve put between the bed frame and the wall, to your messy hair and the very fresh hickey stamped on your shoulder.
“…Hi, dad,” you say breathlessly, smiling awkwardly.
“Heyyyy, Mr. Hopper–I mean Sir uh…Iwasjustleaving!”
Eddie tries to jump outside the window, but it only takes your fuming dad a few strides to storm across the room and grab him by the ear before he can.
“Ow ow ow–” Eddie yelps loudly, feet tripping over each other as he gets dragged out of your room.
“Dad!!” you shout, trailing after them. “Stop it! you’re gonna rip it off–“
“That’s not the only thing I’m ripping off!” He snaps, turning to El. “And you, turn off that music right now!”
El, for once does as she’s told, the only sounds left in the house are everyone’s heavy breathing and Eddie’s little whines. She watches from her doorway with wide eyes, horrified as her dad hauls your shirtless boyfriend into the living room and finally releases him with a shove. Eddie stumbles back, holding his ear with one hand, the other still clutching his shirt for dear life.
Hopper turns to you, “Eddie Munson? Seriously?”
You try to look apologetic. It comes out more like a nervous laugh because you’re embarrassed as hell and don’t know how else to react.
“Oh, so you think this is funny?”
“Dad, I–”
“No, don't ‘Dad’ me!” he starts pacing, dragging his hand down his face because it physically pains him to be alive in this moment. “I decided to take in two girls. Two. I’ve set clear rules in this house. And now one’s blowing out her eardrums to cover for the other while she sneaks in boys to hookup with while I’m gone.”
Heat travels to your face. But it’s not from embarrassment anymore. It’s anger. Anger that simmers quietly.
“I just wanna say,” Eddie chimes in nervously, holding his hands up as if he’s surrendering to an arrest, “this wasn’t just a hookup thing, Sir. I care about her. A lot actually, I only mean well.”
Hopper laughs bitterly, crossing his arms and nodding condescendingly like it’s the funniest thing he’s heard.
“Well? You only mean well, right–and what exactly is ‘well’ about sneaking into my house, locking yourself in my daughter’s room, and doing that??” he closes the distance between you, gesturing at the hickey.
“Okay, fair, but–”
“Were you even using protection?”
“Dad!!” you groan, moving in front of Eddie. “We’re being safe! And I’m not sneaking in boys plural. It’s just Eddie. My–my boyfriend.”
“Oh yeah? Boyfriend? Well you’re grounded.”
You gasp. “What? That’s so unfair!”
“You’re grounded until you introduce him like a proper lady, not while he’s still trying to shimmy into his jeans behind a locked door!”
You glare at him with your arms crossed. Your hair’s still a mess, the hickey is still very much hickeying, and he looks like he’s not backing down no matter if you start stomping your feet on the ground like a child.
He brushes past you and turns his attention to Eddie, grabbing him by the collar until his untied sneakers lift off the ground.
“S–Sir?” Eddie yelps.
“You mark her again like that and you’re dead. Understood?”
Eddie nods frantically. “Understood, S–sir–absolutely!! Message received!! I love life. Biiig fan of living, actually. I’ll, uh–show myself out?” Eddie blurts out, hands flailing around him in an attempt to stabilize himself in the vulnerable position, but Hopper doesn’t put him back down.
“I’m not done with you yet, Munson.”
You groan again, covering your face with your hands. “God–I hate you.”
Before he can say you’re grounded for life, something falls in the kitchen. The noise makes him spin around, giving you just enough time to snap your head up and lock eyes with Eddie.
You mouth RUN.
And oh boy, he bolts. He slips himself from your dad’s embrace and sprints like hell out the front door, wild curls bouncing in the wind, laughing like a madman who just escaped the guillotine.
“TILL OUR PATHS CROSS AGAIN, MY LOVE!!” he yells at the top of his lungs, skipping the steps of the front porch.
Hopper whirls around. “Son of a bitch–COME BACK HERE!”
He storms after him, but the couch has already been moved a few inches so he trips, nearly eating the floor. It’s not a surprise when you both turn around and see the blood coming out of El’s nose.
“Damn it, El!”
You smile, running to the open door, just in time to see Eddie leap over the perimeter set for Eleven’s safety, almost losing a shoe, and keep running for his life.
You can’t help it. You stifle a laugh with the palm of your hand.
Behind you, Hopper’s face is red, looking at both of you in disbelief. He walks over to you, slamming the front door shut.
“You’re both grounded forever.” Before you can whine, he’s already spitting more words. “When I said you two needed to be more like sisters, I didn’t mean this!”
“Yeah, and what exactly did you mean?” You spit back.
“I don’t know, bonding, talking–painting your nails and going to the mall! Not conspiring to deceive me while your boyfriend sucks your neck like a lunatic!”
“Oh my god, Dad! Would you stop bringing it up?” You roll your eyes in annoyance. “El go to your room,” you say.
She doesn’t need to hear more of this.
He huffs, muttering to himself as Eleven locks herself in her room. “Now this–this is what I get. This is what I get for trying to raise women. Lying little degenerates, the both of you. Should’ve left you where I found you…”
This time you huff, walking past him to go back to your room. “Maybe then we could have boyfriends in peace,” you sneer, before slamming your door shut.
He curses, and bangs on your door one more time, “You’re still grounded! And you better take a shower, I can smell the weed from here!”
You sigh. Sat on the edge of your bed wrapped in only a towel over damp skin, still thinking about the way you were wrapped in Eddie just an hour ago.
Your eyes land on his forgotten jacket, crumpled on the corner of your room. You smile, walking over to it to pick it up and bring it close to you to take in the scent.
Leather, the cologne you gave him for his birthday and…weed? Who knows. It smells like him. Your safe place. You bury your face in it like a total sap, but the click of your door’s lock coming off startles you.
“Jesus, El!” you yelp, spinning around with the jacket clutched to your chest. “Just because you can open doors with your mind doesn’t mean you should!”
She stands there, with a cute little expression that makes you forget about being mad at her.
You sigh. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to snap, come here.”
You sit down on the edge of your bed again and pat the spot beside you. She sits next to you quietly, tucking her legs under herself.
“Listen uh–I’m sorry you had to hear all that. Me and Dad. And I’m sorry you got grounded for helping me…I’m sure he’ll forget about it in a few days.”
She shrugs, knowing that won't exactly stop her from seeing Mike either way.
“He…doesn’t like boys.”
You both snort at the same time.
“That’s true. I think he’s convinced we should just join a convent,” you chuckle.
El tilts her head in confusion, ready to ask what a convent is but something else catches her attention. Her eyes land on the mark on your shoulder.
“Did Eddie do that to hurt you?”
The question knocks the air out of your chest.
“What? No! No, no, no–God, no,” you blurt out, fiddling nervously with the jacket on your lap. “That was…um, that was consensual.”
“Consensual?”
“Yeah…it means both people want something to happen. Like, really want it. It has to come from both sides. Always.”
She processes the information quietly, and you know a million more questions are rattling inside her head. You take a deep breath. She eventually needs to learn about this anyway.
“Look, if you ever don’t like something, if something makes you feel uncomfortable, or weird, or confused, you say no. And when you say no, that’s it. It stops. Doesn’t matter who it is. Doesn’t matter what they want. I need you to understand that.”
She nods, still a bit hesitant.
“I’m sure Max has already told you way more than I ever could.” You laugh, shaking your head. That gets the ghost of a smile out of her as she keeps listening. “But just…remember this, okay? Whatever you do, whenever you do it, make sure it comes from love. From feeling safe. From being comfortable with each other. Not because someone told you to, or because you’re scared, or confused. Only when it feels right.”
She nods, still taking it all in. Then, in barely a whisper, she asks, “Does…Eddie make you feel safe?”
You smile. It’s inevitable. Just the mention of his name makes your heart flutter with that overwhelming feeling of knowing you’ve made him home.
“Yeah, yeah he does,” you breathe.
She smiles back, leaning her head on your arm.
You wait until it’s late, with El back in her room and Hopper too busy snoring loudly behind the curtain of his room, before you tiptoe to the living room. You glance around to confirm you’re alone, before reaching for the phone on the wall and dialing Eddie’s trailer number like you’ve done millions of times before.
You stretch the cord until you’re in your room again, shutting the door slowly before sinking down against it with the receiver pressed to your ear. It rings a few times, when you finally hear his voice on the other side of the line.
“Munson Residence, who am I speaking with?” He says in an over exaggerated posh tone, knowing damn well you’re the only one who calls at this hour.
“Hi, Ed,” you chuckle.
He gasps dramatically. “Sweetheart? Love of my life? You survived??”
You roll your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “Barely. I got a lot of shit for…today,” you sigh, twisting the cord between your fingers.
“M’sorry baby, didn’t mean to get you in trouble.”
“It’s alright,” you say quickly. “Apparently I’m grounded for life. He’s just–he got really pissed. Like ‘boarding up my windows’ pissed. I’m afraid he might actually do it this time...”
Eddie whistles low. “Wow. Love that for us.”
“Yup. And…I also had to give El the talk–or something like the talk.”
“No–” He gasps, “you gave the talk? To El?? Oh my god. Did she ask about the hickey?”
“She thought you were hurting me,” you snort, shaking your head even if he can’t see you.
“Jesus Christ,” he laughs into the phone, loudly. “Did you tell her it’s because I’m hopelessly in love with you?”
“Eddie…” you have to cover your mouth to stifle your own laughter, as your cheeks go hot from his words. “That’s not exactly what I told her.”
“So what was it? The bees and the birds? Safe sex? Consent? Oooh you gotta tell her about that, sweetheart. I know she’s young and all but there’s a lot of jerks out there and she should–”
“I told her you make me feel safe, Eds,” you cut him off, the line going quiet as he processes the words. A small, nervous laugh escapes your lips before you continue. “I told her consent is all about really wanting something to happen. And it should come from love, from…feeling safe. Like it does with you.”
The next sound you hear on the line can only be described as a thump. No words, just a soft thump on…drywall?
“…Eddie?”
“Sorry sweetheart–had to bang my head on the wall to make sure I wasn’t dreaming,” he says, and God you can feel his stupid smile through the phone. “Your dad didn’t get me today but you sure almost killed me with that.”
You blink a few times before giggling into the phone. “You’re such a goddamn dork, oh my god!”
“Yeah, well. You still love me though, right?”
“Unfortunately,” you tease.
He laughs. “Good. Then we’ll just be fine.”
“Yeah, assuming we do get to see each other again,” you sigh.
“Ohh, talking about that,” his voice gets lower, he’s probably got a hand around the transmitter as he whispers into the phone. “Wayne’s taking a double shift tomorrow. He’ll be gone the whole day.”
“…Okay?” You say slowly, but you’re already pressing your legs together from anticipation.
“Trailer will be all ours, sweetheart,” he drawls. “All day and aaall night. And I can get you home before your daddy even wakes up...”
You bite your lip. “Eddie Munson, are you telling me you want me to sneak off my house to spend the night at yours?”
He hums nonchalantly. “Uhum. Even got your favorite ice cream in the fridge and some whipped cream. If you get lucky I’ll let you lick the whipped cream off my d–”
“Jesus Eddie!” You cover your mouth to stifle another fit of laughter.
God, you never got bored with this man.
“You’re insatiable. Did you know that?” You pretend to scold, but your cheeks hurt from smiling so much.
“Oh I know, angel. But so are you. A freak just like me, remember? That’s why tomorrow you’re gonna climb out that window like a good girl and let me fuck you on my bed. You know you can be as loooud as you want here.”
You curse internally. But fuck yes you are letting him do just that. And hell yeah, you will be as loud as you want.
“You better have enough whipped cream, Eddie.”
Thank you so much for reading!! Feedback is always appreciated 🫶🏼
El continuing her tiny accomplice duties by tripping Hopper with the sofa made me cackle with glee. And Eddie launching himself over the edge of the porch in his escape while calling out a dramatic and heartfelt goodbye was perfection — He's such a dweeb, I want to jump his BONES.
eddie is probably super respectful with pets especially if it's the pet of someone he's interested in
like the first time he goes over to r's place to sleep over and their cat (thinking of your creatures and my own <3) is already on the bed and he's like "yk I can take the couch. hierarchy and all that. it is their house too."
he'd probably feel super honored if r's pet was shy and then warmed up to him. if he's sitting there and suddenly gets them curled up in his lap he's like :O I've been chosen.
anon i feel very seen by this as I have also imagined many times how Eddie would interact with my pets!!!
i genuinely think shy/reserved cats can be avenues to gauge another person's intent and patience. if you can't treat my shy girl kitty right, you're a loser and shouldn't be in my home <3
conversely. Eddie would be very gentle and very patient with a slower-to-trust and reluctant cat. he'd sit on the ground outside your bedroom door and just talk to you about his day, so the kitty gets used to his voice first. he leaves a shirt or a jacket of his every time he comes over, a twofold action that's fun for you and your cat.
and the day your cat comes to him for a pet... or sits on his lap in the middle of a conversation... he'd get so quiet and so mutely excited. looking at you across the room with big surprised eyes like a silent BABE. LOOK. LOOK. TAKE A POLAROID. HOLY FUCK.
eventually there comes a time when eddie can hardly take a sip of his beer or coffee without getting bonked with a loving kitty headbutt to his chin. beverage spillage ensues— in which eddie tries desperately to keep any wayward drops from the poor cat's head. kitty will feel momentarily betrayed by sticky fur but does not learn from the experience
robin buckley x childhood best friend!reader
the stars align after your rooftop gathering. Robin takes you by the hand and finds there's a whole other world to your presence.
foreword: for the sweethearts and girl kissers <3
cw: Robin x Reader, childhood best friends, sapphic/lesbian pairing, R wears a skirt, R referred to as ‘girl’ once, R is implied fat/plussized, R has breasts + a vagina, autistic4autistic vibe, pet names (incl. ‘Buck’ for Robin), weed and alcohol mention, hand kink, praise kink, flirting, making out, oral fixation, dry humping, thigh riding, oral (R receiving), soft service top Robin, body worship, overstimulation, aftercare, smut and fluff and feelings, MDNI
wc: 5.7k
Robin steals you away, after the sunset rooftop gathering draws to a close.
Tugs at your sleeve while everyone is hugging their goodbyes in the gravel lot of the Squawk and whispers, low at your ear- “Wanna stay behind an extra hour with me?”
With me, she’d said. Like it was a secret party and you’d been chosen.
Of course you said yes.
Scrunched your nose at her over your shoulder and delighted in her responding giggle. Followed her through the maze of the dark, quiet radio station while she led you with a brave face and a flashlight all the way to her favorite spot in the whole building.
Even after all these years and miles apart, the rhythm established between the two of you in high school has somehow transitioned seamlessly into your young adulthoods.
You fall back into it so fluidly- laughing at the same jokes, inventing new ones, striking up that familiar language that was invented around school bells and sleepovers and folded notes passed between fingers.
Robin is still finding ways to make you feel special, wanted- like maybe you’re still bumping hips in the two-pea pod of life. Even after all these miles apart, and all this time.
Another thing that hasn’t changed?
Robin’s hands are just as captivating and distracting as they were in your youth.
The shape of them, the way they twiddle in the air when she talks, black nail polish glinting in the lamplight- it’s like she’s mesmerizing you from the other end of the couch.
“-and technically, this is the greenroom, for, like, ‘radio guests of high esteem’, or whatever.”
Her fingers hook around the phrase, then flit back to toying with the rings on her right hand. “But I guess we never got anyone cool enough to actually put it to use, so… mostly Steve and I just used it to smoke contraband.”
“Oh my god.” You laugh at the idea, eyes dropping to watch the spin of the red garnet rock in a loop around her middle finger. “You didn’t.”
Robin gives you one of her turned-down grins, shrugging, going for innocent but missing it by a mile.
“What? There’s no smoke detector. It was a perfect room for lighting up some hash and coasting through a boring shift of ad reads and Steve’s questionable record choices.”
She shudders in mock horror, muttering something about too many Bee Gees as you laugh, again- this humor is easy, too. Comfortable and intimate.
Just like your sleepovers of long past, the ephemera of your lives come together again.
Your black kitten heels tangled in her combat boot laces, tipped over on the carpet by the door. Her earrings on the coffeetable- a longsword and, in proper Robin abnormal fashion, a tiny dinosaur- settled in the loop of your necklace you’d cast off earlier.
Your sheer tights are in a heap, too- you’d peeled them off the moment you were alone, feeling better with the cool air against your legs which are currently tucked beneath you. The tartan skirt you chose for graduation today has kept its pleats, spanning over your bare knees, just shy of too short which doesn’t really matter now that it’s just the two of you.
Robin’s hair is longer than when you last saw her. It falls over her shoulders in honeyed waves as she leans across the couch cushion separating your seats, whining playfully as she makes a grabby gesture in your direction.
“Come closerrrrr. I’ve missed you all night! Well, all year, really. We saw each other at Steve’s barbecue but that was last summer and it’s been too long and phone calls just don’t cut it and I’m gonna start singing Stayin’ Alive at you in the most off-key voice you’ll ever hear if you don’t get closer, right now-!”
“All right, all right!”
You giggle at her dramatics but obey the request, scooting towards the middle cushion and into the space of her waiting hands.
Apparently, Robin has gone away to college and learned how to be more assertive. To ask for what she wants.
There’s still that distinctive lilt to her words- all dorky humor, fast rambles, sentences that seem to cut in line and jump each other to get out first- but there’s something specific about it, now.
Something that makes your tummy flip.
Something that sends up a warning signal, because, oh, shit- you should definitely not be getting turned on by the way your childhood best friend is ordering you around, and pulling you into her side with those hands of hers like it’s where you belong.
“Better,” Robin sighs, happily, the leg of her denim overalls pressing fully against the stretch of yours. The frilled collar of her blousey shirt pokes at your upper arm. “You know what else is better? My palm reading skills. Here, I’ll show you-”
Robin picks up your left hand, settling your forearm across her lap while her pointer finger traces the lines in your palm. She hmms and deliberates, really hamming up her own focus for your benefit, until she seems to find what she’s looking for in the line branching from the webbing of your thumb.
“Ah-hah. See this? It’s your heartline. And based on the pattern alone, I mean, my god- something big is going to happen to your love life soon. Believe you me.”
You can’t help the laugh that escapes you, that shudders through your shoulders and bumps against hers, palm feeling itchy under the sudden attention. “Come on, Buck. We both attended Steve Harrington’s Flirting 101 seminar back in the day. I used this same trick on Jimmy Miller in ninth grade.”
“Did it work?” Robin asks. Gaze still fixed on your hand in her lap. The tips of her fingers petting and mapping the lines.
She’s not acting like a woman whose jig is up in the slightest.
You swallow down a shiver at the feeling of her touch. “No. But you already knew that. Are you flirting with me?”
You’d meant it as a joke, a light tease, but it comes out sideways. A bit too intense, too questioning.
Robin’s eyes lift to yours.
There’s something cosmic in those pools of blue. It reminds you of the surface of Lover’s Lake, how it looks at night reflecting the vastness of Hawkin’s starry sky.
“What if I was flirting with you?” Robin asks. Something cosmic but something cautious, too, like she’s charted a course that can’t begin without your permission. “Would that… freak you out?”
“No!” You answer much too quickly and now you’re the one verbally scrambling. “No, I mean- I mean it’s nice to be flirted with, I like it, especially if- if it’s from you, I just-”
The sentence dies in your throat when Robin’s touch trails further, up to your wrist, the soft pads of her fingers pressing gently to where your pulse beats erratically. As if she’s reading you as easily as a book.
“I thought-” you make another attempt at foisting off the wave of feverish thrill that threatens to flash through your body. “Is Vickie not, sort of, y’know… your girlfriend?”
In the last few months of phone calls with Robin, she spoke about Vickie less and less. You’d noticed, but hadn’t brought it up. For a number of reasons.
Robin’s still looking at you, even as her touch climbs your arm and settles into the ditch of your elbow. Her head shakes slowly, gently, a wistful smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Nope. Not since the barbecue.”
Air hisses through your teeth but even you’re not sure if it’s an expression of sympathy or a reaction to this new information. “That’s… shit. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Robin’s voice pitches lower, silky even with the rasp around her consonants. “S’okay, I don’t really think about her too much anymore. Got other people on my mind.”
You can’t bear to watch the path of her touch anymore so you shoot her a sidelong glance, taking in the fine slope of her nose in profile, the way her lashes sweep as she blinks down at your arm in her grasp.
She glances back up at you, fingers stilling, the awkwardness to her charm shining through. “Uhm. The other people- it’s you, if that wasn’t, like. Totally clear.”
Something between a gasp and a strangled hah escapes your throat. The heat of a supernova is expanding in your stomach, stardust dripping southwards and upwards and everywhichway, making your tongue feel foreign in your own mouth as you trip over the words, vaguely-
“And- Nancy…? You never- with her?”
Robin’s thumb slips to the side of your elbow, drawing you in closer, gravity realigning and unfolding as your blood sings hot for her, just beneath the surface.
“I had a crush on Nance, sure. But nothing like the one I’ve been harboring for over a decade for my best friend.”
The straps of her overalls have slipped down the gauzy neckline at her shoulders. She looks like a painting- one from an old French master of the arts that you’ve studied in class before; Bouguereau, maybe. All soft cheeks and long limbs and light buffed into every pore until she’s glowing with it.
Robin leans in close enough that you can see she isn’t wearing a bra underneath the thin cotton of her shirt. Your pulse is frantic for her touch, hand twitching in her lap when her rings kiss cold at your cheek.
She cups the side of your face, eyes half-lidded and dancing between the curl of your mouth and the soft shock of your lifted brows.
“Can I kiss you?” Robin asks.
You’re leaning in to close the distance before the question is over.
Your mouths meet and it’s so gentle, so tender that you could cry from it. Her lips are soft as a peach, a perfect fit as they slot between yours, closing over your cupid’s bow like it’s what she’s wanted to do all along.
“Robin-”
You breathe into her space and she takes it into her own lungs. Nose pressing to the side of yours as she kisses you again, this one hungrier, more seeking, the tip of her tongue testing the plush of your lower lip.
Your hand finds her waist and hers slides past your ear, holding you in place and to her as your tongues slide against each other’s. She tastes like sweet mint and the hoppy beer you’d shared earlier, and also like spit- like Robin.
The groan travels from the depths of you all the way to her lips that open to take it, to suffuse the noise against the wet waiting of her own mouth.
Robin makes a noise, too, answering like an echo for a canyon.
It vibrates through you, tightening your fingers around the denim at her waist. Robin doesn’t detach from your mouth as she tips you backwards, slow but insistent, shifting until your shoulders lie flat on the couch cushion and she can kneel at either side of your hips.
“Jesus christ,” you pant, feeling a little delirious as her hands run along the length of your sides, your own reaching to cross over her neck as she dips down to kiss you more. “Buck-”
This isn’t like it used to be, when the two of you would kiss for practice under the covers of adolescent longing.
Or maybe this is exactly like that. Maybe all that practice with the right person has finally paid off.
Robin says your name, an equal catch to her voice as she kisses it back into your mouth, and then she’s drawing back just far enough to ask- “Can I go down on you?”
You pet the nape of her neck, feeling nerves alight alongside the longing. Robin shifts a hand to brush just at the hem of your skirt, a suggestion of touch over the fat of your bare thigh, waiting for your answer before she goes any further.
Your head feels foggy with lust but there’s a hesitancy that refuses to budge, so you tell her honestly. “I- yeah, yeah, you can, it’s just- I don’t usually- I mean, I’ve never come from it. Oral. I mean. Um. I don’t know if…”
“It’s okay.” Robin is so soft in her reassurance, thumb sweeping over the skin beneath her palm. Dragging the tip of her nose up the side of yours like a nuzzling animal. “We don’t have to, at all, I just- I’d really like to taste you. And feel you. And- and make you feel good.”
A confession and a plea rolled into one.
Robin’s always been like this- mouthy.
Always talking or shouting or moving, in some capacity. Always seeking stimulation, always something shoved between her lips- gum, a hairclip, the eraser of a pencil, the ends of her own hair.
And now that perfect mouth- your best friend’s mouth- is moving down your body. Kissing between the valley of your clothed breasts, the bare skin of your stomach where the hem has ridden up, one brief press of her mouth to each of your knees-
you prop yourself on your elbows to watch, breath punching in and out.
Robin flips the pleats of your skirt up and you think her hands might be shaking but then you see the moment she sees you, the wetness seeping from your core, the patch that is surely stained a darker pink than the rest of your panties.
“Fuck,” Robin breathes. In awe. Fitting her thumb to the beat of your clit through the fabric and just holding the pressure there.
Your jaw slackens. She hasn’t even properly touched you yet and it feels so good, just the pad of her thumb where you need her most. You have to make a conscious effort to keep your hips level with the couch and not have them snapping up into the touch.
Robin kisses the inside of your thigh, trailing her mouth closer, grazing her teeth along that arch of bone that runs into your pelvis.
“Shit.” Your grip on the couch cushions sinks in. “Buck, please-”
“How come you’re so wet?” She asks, as if you hadn’t just begged.
Her hands are moving again, settling under the band of your skirt to take hold of the padding that spans your hips, fingers digging in when you whine. “Hmm? S’it all for me?”
“Jesus, Robin.”
Your curse is confirmation enough, and Robin grins, that clever, devastating mouth dipping down again, this time to fit right over the wet gusset of your panties.
You’ve been aching and dripping for her all day, really- it’s been building up since this morning, since she’d touched you for the first time in a year. Folding you into a big hug before the carpool caravan left, smelling like cardamom and parchment and fresh spring blossoms.
And now she was moaning into the space between your thighs like you smelled just as good, her tongue running up the seam of you through the fabric, eyes rolling backwards at the taste she discovers.
The breath leaves your lungs in a rush, then fills again with sharp, short gasps as she hones in on your clit, laving over it with the flat of her tongue.
Robin fits her lips over just the right spot and sucks hard enough to make her cheeks hollow. Your thighs tense and tremble at either side of her ears and then you can’t bear to watch any more, the crown of your head tipping backwards to the armrest while she pulls more noises from your throat.
“Taste so good,” she’s murmuring, in between long licks and pointed suckling. “So sweet, so good for me-”
Good is the word that fills your chest, that makes you ache even more- you like being good, if it means Robin will praise you.
“Gonna take these off,” she says, into the joint of your thigh, fingers tugging at the elastic of your underwear.
You lift your hips without having to be asked, and Robin kisses your knee again as she peels the fabric from your body, calling you perfect once more before stretching low against the cushions.
This time, Robin eases your thighs over her shoulders, your sock feet fitting to her low back. You don’t have time to wonder or ask if the weight of you is too much because Robin is already pulling more of you into her orbit, tongue darting out to wet her bottom lip as she stares openly at your pussy.
The intimacy has the potential to feel embarrassing, but- it just doesn’t.
Robin’s pupils are so blown there’s barely any iris left. They’re like two glittering voids that bend to consume, to take more of you in.
The heat of her mouth is finally, finally on the bareness of your skin, your wetness- there’s an obscene slurping when she laps at your entrance, and warmth courses through your body at the sound, at the feeling.
Her tongue explores your outer folds, paying each side equal attention- something that would strike you as humorous in its distinct Robin-ness, except your head’s too full of pleasure to make room for any emotion other than oh, fuck.
“Oh, fuck!”
Robin’s tongue sinks inside the tight, wet channel of your cunt, and it’s like she’s got your spine on a string; it pulls up from the cushions beneath your body, arching you further into her mouth, and in turn her tongue.
Her nose brushes against your clit and when you gasp, again, she learns to keep that pressure up with every forward movement of her head.
She’s working you up in a shockingly short amount of time, pleasure beginning to bleed into every fiber of your being. Your hands fly from the couch when Robin curls her tongue against the front of your walls, fingers burying themselves into the roots of her hair.
It’s like holding the sun between your thighs. The heat pours from her scalp to your palms, an exchange of energy on a loop.
The fingers at your hips dig in again; you can feel the indent of her rings and hope there will be marks leftover. Proof that you were touched, that you were worshipped, by this woman.
Robin’s tongue flexes, hits again and again at the spot that’s making everything swell into a chorus, your toes curling at her back, your fingernails biting at her scalp as you swear, as you beg-
“Fuck, Robin- oh, my god- please- like that-!”
She holds tighter and fucks her tongue into you quicker with brutal, perfect accuracy, and then you’re coming with a waving bend to your spine, a pleasure that crashes into you with the force of a falling star, streaking gold behind your eyes as they slam shut.
There’s a long, sonorous moan that spills over as she works you through the peak of it, as she moans in response, the vibrations filling you from the inside out.
The pleasure still spirals with each pass of her tongue but it’s verging on too much, too good, your stomach under her palm tensing and releasing with the feeling of overstimulation as she continues to suck at the new wetness that spills from your core.
“Okay- hah, Robin- tha’s good, s’enough- please-”
Your words slur and feel mushy in your mouth, weak in the aftermath as your thumbs push at her forehead.
“Wow.” Robin emerges from between your thighs with a smile, wide and obscenely wet, covered in your release from the chin down. “Holy shit. Good job.”
This makes you laugh, emotion pitching about like a boat in a storm; Robin’s palm is soothing on your tummy, thumb rubbing circles like she wants to capture the kinetic feeling of your joy.
“Thanks.” Your hands drop to cup her cheeks, and then Robin is untangling herself from the drape of your legs to crawl up your body for a kiss.
She tastes earthy and sweet as she passes the slickness of your own release back into your mouth. Breathing heavily into the kiss before resting her forehead against yours.
“That was- wow. So hot, and so- so pretty, and- you came, right? I mean, you- you enjoyed yourself-?”
You can’t help but laugh again, and Robin joins you this time, smiling against your lips as you reply- “Yes, Buck, I enjoyed myself very much. Where’d you learn to do that?”
“Smith babes,” Robin says, sarcastic, and with a nip to your lower lip. “But really, they were all just practice. For you!”
“My god, you’re so suave now.” Your sarcasm comes out far too fond for any real bite. “Y’know, we used to ‘practice’, too.”
The feeling that rises in you isn’t jealousy, exactly- more adjacent to lurid curiosity.
How is she, with the college girls? Does she take them out for coffee? Bring them back to her dorm and touch them, like this, on her tiny twin bed?
You don’t have time to ask. Robin’s still looking down at you like you hung the stars, moony with awe as she murmurs, “I didn’t even put my fingers in you. And you- you came so hard.”
You feel squirmy under the intensity of her gaze, inhaling sharply at her words- “Yeah. I know. I want your fingers, next time.”
“These fingers?” She teases your bottom lip with the pads of her ring and middle digits, grinning and wolfish.
You could bite her. Instead you reach for her overalls, wiggling them down her shoulders until she gets the memo, sitting up to help your cause. Robin strips out of the denim and returns to your lap in just her droopy-sleeved shirt and a pair of baby-blue underwear printed with the word Tuesday.
“It’s Friday,” you chide, playfully snapping the elastic band at her skin as she fits a knee to either side of your left thigh.
“I know.” Robin wrinkles her nose in exasperation. Her hands plant just beside your shoulders, sinking more of her weight against you and the cushions.
There’s an uncoordinated bump of your noses and then she's kissing you again, strands of her long hair tickling at your cheeks, tongue lapping against the roof of your mouth.
Robin’s thighs are so soft around your own and with the next kiss, you prop your knee further up to slot more firmly between her legs.
“Oh, fuck, yes.”
There’s heat radiating from her core, sinking bone-deep into you. She goes clumsy with hunger, hips rolling forwards as her mouth fumbles another kiss to the side of your lips.
“D’you want- my fingers?” You offer, wondering if she’d prefer more stimulation.
Robin stumbles over the words to get them out faster. “No- no, no, please- honey, st- stay like this. Please. I wanna- I’ve dreamed about this.”
Her hips roll, your lashes flutter. “You dreamed about kissing me?”
“No- well, yeah,” Robin admits, breathily. “But I meant- your thighs. I dreamed about your thighs.”
You feel temporarily mute with surprise but manage to ask- “My thighs?”
“Yes, god, yes.” Robin chokes back another whimper, tip of her nose tracing down the side of your face to nestle into the crook of your neck. “Was thinking- about your thighs all day, during the ceremony- the rooftop, fuck, I- I thought for sure you’d noticed, that I was being so- so obvious-”
She pants ragged breaths into your skin, arms trembling while she holds her weight to grind against you.
“I was too busy looking at your hands,” you whisper in reply. “Always so distracting. Turning me on- seriously, Buck, you are so, so beautiful-”
Robin’s hips judder, her teeth skimming against the muscle of your neck. You can feel her eyes squeezing shut, eyebrows drawing together in the hollow of your shoulder.
You don’t ever want this to stop. You’re half helping her, half letting her simply take.
On the next motion of her hips your hands settle at either side of her jaw, and you gently coax her head from the comfort of your shoulder. Her hair makes a curtain around the both of you and while you love the feel of it and the smell of her rose petal shampoo, the urge to see her face is overwhelming.
You tuck the lengths of silky strands behind her ears and let your fingers slide into the roots, cradling her skull at either side. It’s so hot, so intimate and intense, seeing her like this- there's a deep flush of pink across her cheeks, orangey freckles over the bridge of her nose and under her eyes standing out in contrast.
“That’s it, Buck,” you whisper, encouraging. “Whatever you need. Take it from me.”
Robin whines again. Another grind of her hips and you can feel the wetness she’s spreading into your skin, even through the cotton barrier of her undies, a slick glide with every forward movement.
“You wore these- these goddamn shorts, in gym class-” Robin’s talking through the panting rhythm of her breaths, eyes flickering back in her head before they refocus on you beneath. “-red ones. Sophomore year. I’d go home and- and put a pillow between my legs, just like- like this- imagining it was you-”
“Fuck, Robin.”
You keep one hand in her hair while the other goes to the low neck of her shirt, tugging it down to expose the round of her breasts, shuffling your shoulders down just slightly to reposition your head.
When your mouth closes around the peak of her nipple, Robin cries out above you, working herself faster over the seat of your thigh. Your tongue laves over the stiff peak and you can feel the tremors it creates in her, a ripple effect in all the muscles of her legs.
Robin lets out this string of rasping ah, ah, ahs. The cushioned slope of her stomach nudges against yours with every down stroke.
Your teeth edge around the tender skin and Robin swears again, so raw and throaty that you moan in response. Her thighs are beginning to snap tighter around you, squeezing with every grind.
“Buck-” It comes murmured around the fat of her breast, nipple shiny with your spit as your grip in her hair draws taut. “Will you- I wanna see you, when you come- please-”
Robin doesn’t deny you this, even though you know she’d rather hide her expressions in the curve of your neck. She lets you lift her head and you get to see every minute detail, every tiny tremor and scrunch and line of her face that gives away how much she loves this, how much she’s getting off on you.
“Feels so- god- so good, baby-” She whispers, a broken sentence cleaved in two by a gasp. Her stomach tightens against yours in small, undulating waves. “I’m not- not gonna last- oh, fuck. Fuck. So close-”
Robin’s jaw is open around the shape of her noises, lips parted- on instinct, your hand in her hair slides to cradle her face, thumb pressing like a question at the corner of her mouth.
“Fuck,” Robin moans, taking the length of your finger against the wet pull of her tongue. Sucking the salt from your skin and groaning at the taste, the feeling of you inside of her.
You feel the dull flash of her molars against your knuckle, and then Robin is coming with the prettiest sound you’ve ever heard.
The sky-blue of her eyes rolls backwards as the heat between her legs intensifies, as her muscles lock in place and the orgasm spirals through her frame, shaking with the force of it.
Robin grinds herself against your thigh as you hold her in place with a single finger until every little bit of pleasure is wrung out, until there’s a line of drool coursing from her mouth and an equally slick path kissing at the skin of your leg.
“Oh my god.” Her voice is faint with exhaustion but tinged with humorous disbelief as her eyes shut again.
Robin makes as if to move herself off of you but at your noise of protest and coax of your arms, she lets her spent body collapse comfortably into yours.
Her nose tucks to the slope of your neck again, limbs rearranging in a cozy tangle as you hum happily with her full weight pressing into you from all sides.
In the afterglow, you’re pleasantly shocked to find that those sticky, strange feelings that usually accompany the comedown of sex just simply aren’t around this time.
Maybe it’s the familiarity you already had with Robin before this, or the way she seems loath to do anything but trace the outline of your throat with her lips in the quiet aftermath; whatever the reason, this moment feels like a perfect little pocket of time, shared with your favorite person in the world.
Robin is still holding onto you like you’re the only thing that makes sense. It’s easier to coast the dip of hormones with the sweet-sweat smell of her scalp and her breath coasting beneath the collar of your shirt that didn’t have a chance to get peeled off.
Robin sighs deeply, content and worn out. Then with a light flinch of realization, she groans. “Oh fuck.”
“What?” You’re already half-giggling at her tone, blinking lazily up at the ceiling while your hands stroke down the length of her back.
The side of her cheek squishes against your collarbone as she speaks, sounding mournful even as she slides back into her usual rambling way of speech.
“I owe Steve thirty bucks. He said I wouldn’t be able to wait a whole day to make a move on you and I said ‘What do you think I am, some sort of hussy?’ And then he laughed and I cussed him out and threw money into the mix and it seems my lack of will power has screwed me over yet again.”
“Screwed me, you mean.” Your hands have found the end of her shirt and slip beneath, feeling for the scattering of raised freckles at her low back. “How about this. We wait to tell Steve until tomorrow, after we’ve had sex again, and this time I’ll give you a bunch of hickeys so he can’t deny the proof.”
You feel the apple of Robin’s cheek round into a grin against you. “Neat. I love tricking Steve, it’s my favorite hobby. Well, besides my new one of having sex with you. My favorite girl. I don’t ever wanna move again.”
Her head lifts and re-affixes itself to your chest, the shell of her ear pressing firmly over your heart.
“-see, stuck. Like a limpet. Or maybe… something more sexy than a mollusk. I dunno. I just orgasmed so hard my brain melted. Please don’t ask me to explain any further because I literally, truly cannot.”
Your fingers find the half-inch scar raised parallel to the base of Robin’s spine, running over the twist of tissue with remembrance.
She’d been eight at the time, and had taken a fall from the low boughs of the sycamore tree in her backyard. A stick had snagged in her side with the impact, and after a trip to the emergency department Robin boasted three whole stitches to show for the whole ordeal.
You can still remember her toothy smile a week later, braids swinging as she pawed with clumsy eagerness at the collar of her shirt to show off her wound. In the familiar stretch of her freckly back, there was a row of neat black thread and two butterfly bandages.
Gravity had pulled, and you’d leaned in to kiss the edges of the sutures- as if pure magical will and childish intent could bring your girl healing with a single brush of your lips.
You use those same lips to kiss at the crown of her head now, smiling with fondness. “You don’t have to explain a thing, honey. Or let me go, for that matter- but I wanna see the stars one more time, before we leave.”
Robin kisses her way up your neck, over your jaw, movements sleepy but no less keen. Her lips press to yours again- once, twice- and the bands of her rings are cool against your cheek as she holds your face with expansive tenderness.
“Let’s go sweep some stars. But only if you promise to hold my hand the whole way.”
It’s a promise easily made and mostly kept, save for the moments you need to separate in order to clean up a bit and re-dress. There are more kisses stolen and given between the motions, more giggling and teasing and Robin’s sparkling gaze laid plain on the side of your face as you dip to wiggle back into your shoes.
Your hands interlace, and this time, neither of you let go. Robin leads you back through the station, palm warm against yours, taking the steps to the roof one at a time to make sure you’re following close behind.
There’s a brick wall separating the roof access door from the rest of the space, with a roughhewn wood bench built into its side. It faces the vastness of the night sky and has a perfect lack of armrests to be able to fit both you and Robin comfortably.
Robin pulls you into her chest, chin fitting snug to the top of your head as your arms automatically wrap around her middle.
The night is clear, and the stars are everywhere. Anywhere you look: pinpricks of light, clusters and constellations, the world holding steady as you hold each other.
You pour your thankfulness into the universe, for whatever stars have aligned to bring you and Robin together again.
afterword: thanks so much for reading! reblogs are never required but always so appreciated by me <3
lu is fear you've really done me in with this one...
the way you write... oughhh. the way the sweetness of their friendship and love for one another is there in every stroke of a finger, and brush of lips, and breathy taste of a giggle — i am in agony. very sexy girl on girl agony
Always thinking about an eddie munson who truly does not understand how attractive you find him. You’ve been dating for… like two months?? It’s super super new.
And you’re sat in your bedroom with him, he’s telling you about his latest campaign and you are just entirely enamoured by him. There’s something so intimate about watching him tell you about his passions and interests. And you’re so invested, you genuinely care and find the way he tells you stories to be your new favourite thing. He’s all wide-eyed and erratic hand movements and he’s acting like no one has every truly heard him before — because outside of Wayne, no one really had — and you are so in love.
But… he’s also so hot. He keeps moving his hands and holy fuck you have this thing about his hands. And his rings, and the little notes he writes on the back of his hand during games. And Eddie’s telling you how he’s wanting to end the campaign and you’re climbing into his lap before you’ve even processed what you’re doing. “What’s — what is happening? Hi baby” Eddie’s voice is laced with confusion and adoration as he lets his hands rest on your hips. Letting you slide into his lap like it was made especially for you. “Just keep talking, I’m listening I promise”. And so he does, but you’re kissing his neck and murmuring little things like “mhm I love that” and “that would be so cool!” and asking him follow up questions; and Eddie is so flustered and red in the face and his hands are holding onto you like you’re his grounding force and he’s never going to let you go.
You and your picky four-year-old daughter, June, become frequent faces in the ER, where the devoted Dr. “Rabbit” works. TW mentions of eating disorders/vomit 1.5k
June writhes in your lap. Her little knuckle knocks hard into your nose as she bends away from both you and the nurse. He’s been great so far— Jesse, you think. You must have apologized to him a thousand times by now.
“No, no!” June gasps. Tears spill over, little droplets down to her chin.
Your heart breaks for your little girl. And the guilt snowballs into a stomachache as you cuff her wrists together with your hand.
“It’s just so I can see up your nose. I promise it won’t hurt.”
June kicks so hard your chair tips off it’s feet.
You had no choice. Three days in a row of skipped lunches, and now she’s thrown up her dinner too. You can’t fix this on your own.
“No— I want— I want Doctor Rab—bit!”
Jesse blinks up at you, mouth parted in a loss. It makes you feel useless. You’re her mom, you’re supposed to have all the answers. You could list her allergies, her blood type, her pediatrician, but hell, you’re just as clueless as Jesse is as to who this Doctor Rabbit she’s asking for is.
June lets out this pitiful whine, her eyes glossy under the fluorescents. “Doc—tor Rabbit,” she manages through shuttered breath. She’s looking past Jesse at somebody else, you realize. A familiar head poking around the hospital curtain.
“Who do we have in here? Oh, no. June, was it? Back so soon?”
A doctor that you vaguely recognize gets a squirt of hand sanitizer before he gloves up. He’s older, freckled with salt and pepper curls. You’d think he’s handsome if you weren’t drowning in your own worry right now.
“Dr. Abbot,” Jesse introduces with a sigh pulled from the very bottom of his lungs.
It clicks then. You’ve seen a dozen doctors by now, so you hadn’t even known his name. Which is awful to admit for how great he was with your June the last time you were here.
“Sorry, I’m late, kiddo. Didn’t know you were looking for me.”
“Neither did we,” Jesse chuckles dryly before shooting his gloves into the bin. He slips away without another word, probably eager to escape the room after the painful last half hour.
Dr. Abbot crouches down in front of you and June.
“Don’t tell me it’s your poor stomach again?” he asks her in a voice so sweet you can’t blame June for asking for him.
She shrugs her knobby shoulders into your neck. She’s still shaking, but a hell of a lot less than before.
“Think I could take a listen to your heart?” Abbot asks her gently. When she doesn’t respond, he sets the stethoscope in her unwilling hands. “Here, wanna give her a try?”
June’s fingers go limp beneath the device. A fresh set of tears boil on her bottom lash line.
Dr. Abbot loops the stethoscope back around his ears. He stretches the end of it to your chest. “Want mom to try first?”
You lean into his touch, his hand warm over your heart. It’s like a jackhammer in his ears.
But he beams, “Sounds good to me! Wanna listen?”
June shakes her head.
“Well, it sounds like this. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Real fast. Think yours sounds like that, too?”
“Come on, Junebug, let’s see.” You encourage her to lean forward on your thighs.
Dr. Abbot shifts the stethoscope to land on June’s left leg. It’s pencil thin next to his wide hand.
“That’s weird, I can’t hear anything,” he says.
June mumbles into your shirt.
“What’s that?”
“S’not my heart,” she mutters.
“It’s not? Where is it then? Did you lose it?” Dr. Abbot asks real serious.
“No, it’s here.” She thumbs the center of her chest.
He nudges her hand away with the stethoscope. “Here?”
“Yeah.”
He listens. “Oh, yeah. Look at that, you’re right. They should give you one of these, huh? Let you practice medicine.” His gaze lifts to see your grin as he taps his badge. He gives you a tight smile, the kind that’s wrinkled from a lifetime of them.
He checks her ears, her throat, presses gently at her abdomen, listens to her lungs. He’s calm, methodical, and so, so gentle. June’s a sensitive kid. It’s a real miracle she makes it through this free of tears.
“How many do you have?”
His eyes flick back to yours. “How many what?”
“Kids.”
“Oh. Zero.”
“You’re too good at this not to be a dad.”
His frown lifts, but the rest of his face stays serious. “I appreciate that.”
The squeal of sneakers behind him steals away Dr. Abbot’s attention. “Abbot, we’ve got an incoming MVC. Teenage male, intoxicated driver. Five minutes out.”
“On my way,” he calls calmly over his shoulder, voice softening as he turns back to you. “If you’ll excuse me. I’ll get a few tests ordered and be right back.”
You don’t even get out a thank you before he’s gone, the curtain swishing shut behind him.
The next time you see him, he’s a blurry shadow of scrubs in front of you. His arms are crossed like he’s been there for a while.
“Sorry,” you croak. It’s not easy to sit up when June’s a deadweight against your chest, and your neck’s screaming from how wrong you slept.
“Don’t be,” Dr. Abbot whispers, gloved hands clasping over his heart. “Sorry to wake you. How are you holding up, Mom?”
“I’m okay.”
He rolls over a stool and sits, and pretends not to notice your lie. He can only fix so many problems at once. “I’d like to ask you some questions, if that’s okay.”
You pull June tighter to your chest and pick her sweaty strand of hair off your cheek. “Of course.”
“June has been here, what— four times in the last three months?” Dr. Abbot glances between you and her chart. “All tied to eating issues or stomach symptoms. Correct?”
“Yes.”
“And her weight percentiles… down since the last visit?”
“I think so.”
“When did she start eating less?”
“She’s always been picky. Ever since she started eating solid foods.”
“What about gagging? The vomiting? When did that start?”
“Maybe at the start of this year? I’m not sure.”
“Was there a specific incident— think choking, getting sick, anything like that?”
“No, no, not that I remember.”
“Does she become anxious or upset around certain foods? Any tantrums at meal times?”
“Sometimes. I don’t know. I try my best.”
“I know,” he assures. “Based on everything you’ve told me, and all of her tests coming back great, I believe June has something called ARFID.”
“Is it bad?”
His head shakes, and his hands fold. “It stands for Avoidant Restrictive Food Intake Disorder.”
“An eating disorder? She’s not starving herself. She’s just a kid.”
“It’s not about her body image. For some kids, food just starts to feel unsafe. That can be because of texture, fear of choking, getting sick… sometimes their brains just file food under ‘danger.’”
You feel awful. Your mouth goes dry, and the back of your throat aches.
“It’s common,” he says quickly. “And it’s not caused by bad parenting.”
He can see the tears prickling. He reaches out and gives your shoulder a squeeze.
“What we’re seeing with June is that her safe foods are getting narrower. Her weight’s trending down. That tells me this isn’t just picky eating anymore.”
You nod, sniffling all the emotions back up.
“But the good news is she’s young. Kids her age respond really well to feeding therapy. There’s pediatric nutritionists. Sometimes play-based exposure to food can help.”
He waits for you to say something, but you don’t. Your head is spinning.
“I’m going to have someone from our nutrition team come talk to you. They’ll help figure out what she’s actually getting right now and where we can safely build from there. I’m also putting in a referral for a pediatric feeding specialist. They work specifically with kids who are afraid of food or have sensory issues.”
He watches June squirm into your collar.
“If her electrolytes come back off, we might keep her overnight just to give fluids and monitor her. But that’s just precautionary.”
You nod. You don’t know what else to do.
“You did the right thing bringing her in.”
You look him in the eye. He’s got pretty hazel ones. “Thank you, Dr. Abbot.”
He shakes his head. He hates this part. The thank yous like he’s some sort of hero. “Jack, please. And I’m just doing my job.”
“You’re the first one to take us seriously.”
His brain stalls, he’s weighing whether or not it's appropriate to say— “I’ll leave you my cell. Case you have any more questions or concerns.” Before you can get two words out, he stands and interrupts your praise. “It was good to see you. Both of you. Take care, okay?"
He makes a quick exit, leaving you suspended between relief and something heavier, something you can't even name.
knight eddie this knight eddie that … but what about bard eddie …
bard eddie who’s so annoyingly obnoxious yet no pub in town will have the heart to deprive themselves of his angelic voice and just as deft storytelling
bard eddie whose talent on the lute has led him to bed many a men and women in the realm and whose reputation precedes him in every room he walks in
bard eddie who although seems suave and confident, the second he meets a lonely travel seemingly uninterested in his tales he’s immediately taken by them
bard eddie who has performed at kings’ courts and balls, yet his greatest achievement would be to live through a real adventure
bard eddie who hears of someone in town who seems to have been given a mission with quite a hefty sum of money as a reward and initially he’s in it for the money because he’s a greedy little parasite
bard eddie who promises to sing your praises, his hotheaded mercenary in armor, if you let him come with him— just this once
bard eddie who lulls you to sleep with his singing after an especially traumatic fight that has left you silently staring at the burning embers of the fire
Having to fuck your way out of a speeding ticket or a possession charge or something with gator
or
flashing Steve on a dare at a party because boobies
or
Eddie being a clueless, naive knob when his crush comes on to him in increasingly obvious and suggestive ways and he just can't put two and two together until she's forced to grab him and be like, hi. hello. I'm trying to fuck you here. please compute.
Sorry if these seem stale. I'm not the most creative and they're all smut because I'm a degenerate too. Love your writing :)
Eddie being a clueless, naive knob when his crush comes on to him in increasingly obvious and suggestive ways and he just can't put two and two together until she's forced to grab him and be like, hi. hello. I'm trying to fuck you here. please compute.
Eddie Munson x Fem Reader
A record store meet-cute with Indiana’s most oblivious guitarist.
Warnings: Blow job and fingering, that’s it that’s all have fun.
A/N: Okay look, for one? Not stale at all. Also, degeneracy supremacy for all. This did the trick and in fact I also wrote the Gator prompt too because that was fun. However Steven eludes me lately so while I wanted to make all the dreams come true, alas I could not. These might not be exactly what you were aiming for? But there’s smut? And they’re fun? Meh, thank you for sending these in friend! Also I think I inadvertently channeled my dearest @chestylarouxx with this one so you know it’s gotta be good.
Gator will get posted separately.
18 + NSFW No Minors
He’s in the store all the time, always on your shift and usually finding you with whatever question he has like when he can’t find a new release or someone has misfiled a vinyl. He asks your opinion on the new releases and laughs when you roll your eyes, a scoff thrown at a new Madonna single. He’ll give you a shocked look when you tell him that you do in fact like Heart and also when you try to explain the shared root between his beloved thrash and the current punk scene.
Despite his affection for arguments with you he persists with toothy grins and a constant promise to ‘show you some real music’ sometime. There’s an undercurrent with your conversations, a feeling of flirting, like when he pulls that chunk of hair across his face while he tells you about his band. He gets bashful when you show interest and ask if it’d be cool if you went and all you can imagine is that dark hallway in the back of the bar and what he might look like under that dimming, yellowing light. It earns you a short nod and one of those smiles, lips tight over his teeth while his dimples dig craters into his pink cheeks. He says he’d love it. Says he can’t wait to see you. Says he’ll let the guys know they’ve got a number one fan now.
So when you get to the end of said night, after the fairly big crowd and all his other friends have filtered out, after his band has almost put up most of the equipment, after he’s collected their cut of the entry fees, you linger. Sitting at the end of the bar with your beer that you’ve been nervously picking the label off of for 20 minutes, waiting on him to make his way over. He taps the bar top and thanks the owner and starts his meandering walk toward you, counting back ones from the roll in a practiced hand. He looks like all the little daydreams you’ve had while watching him wander around the record store, dark hair damp from sweat and curling around his ears. His thin tee clings to him like his jeans cling to him and your heart hammers at the thought of pulling him back those few feet into that blessed, dingy hallway.
“You guys put on a hell of a show.”
“Oh you think so?” He looks up from his money and grins at you, the only girl in the room it would seem. You nod and laugh and start to pluck up your courage when one of the waitresses walks out of the back and squeals before grabbing his bicep and squeezing.
“Oh my god Eddie! You did so good tonight!” You can see her nails pressing into his skin and how his cheeks flame at her praise and suddenly you think you maybe misread this whole thing. “I told you there were gonna be more people this weekend!” She pulls him down and into her space, her nose scrunched up with a big smile for him.
“Thanks Vic.”
“I told you Robin would work miracles with those posters.” She gives him a final squeeze and gets back behind the bar to tie her apron on. He watches her walk down the bar until she takes an order and his gaze slides back to you, a little sheepish.
“Sorry about that.” He shoves the wad of cash in his front pocket and leans on the bar next to you. “You enjoyed it though?” He gives you a wide eyed look, anticipation rounding out his bambi eyes.
“Yeah.” It comes out more clipped than you meant so you clear your throat and direct your gaze back at your peeled Budweiser label. “Yeah, exactly like you said it would be.” A wide smile that you don’t let hit your eyes. Eddie shifts a little, his demeanor softer than it was before, his post show swagger gone when he tilts his head down to try and catch your eyes glued to your bottle.
“You sure? You just seem-“
“I-I’m sorry, it’s actually just-before I came out tonight I found out I need to open so.” You rush it out at him, glancing at your watch and never once noticing the actual time. “I didn’t want to just leave, but I gotta get going I’m sorry.” You shrug at him, half apologetic while you dig a five out of your wallet and toss it on the bar. “Hopefully I’ll see you on Tuesday though? Souls of Black is coming out!” You toss that over your shoulder to give your abrupt departure a bit of a softer hit. Eddie yells something after you that you pointedly ignore and you try your hardest to not kick the door open into the muggy night.
Tuesday morning and you pull a cassette from the display to hold on to. Not like it’s flying out the door but you know Eddie will beeline for you first thing, no matter what far corner of the store you’re occupying. You keep it tucked into one of the pockets on your half apron so you don’t forget it and so you can pull a magic trick when he inevitably comes up and asks you even though he walked by the display.
Noon rolls by and you see nary a curl come through the front door. By 2 you’re hanging out at the register, a permanent fixture there while your coworker takes advantage of your fixation and putzes around in the back. At 4 you contemplate calling the police because this is the most strange behavior you’ve witnessed from Hawkins’s residential Weirdo and at 6, when you flip the sign over to tell everyone you’re closed, you start to think you might have fucked up. Carla, your coworker, reminds you of the cassette in your packet when you toss your apron at the register. A little crease between her eyebrows when she asks, “That for Eddie?”
“Yeah, I was gonna be funny and tell him I could pull stuff out of my ass.” You tell her with a dry laugh and stash the tape under the counter.
“He never misses a Tuesday.”
“Yeah, well, first time for everything.” You shrug.
5 PM Wednesday night brings a rainstorm to downtown and a drowning rat in the form of a drenched Eddie into your store. He shakes off like a Labrador in the doorway and grumbles when he has to peel his jacket off his clammy arms.
“Hey stranger.” You say behind a pop of your gum. Barely looking up from the rolling stone you’re reading when he stomps over to the new releases.
“You’re shitting me.”
“What?”
“There’s no god damn way a Testament album sold out in Hawkins.” He throws his arms up dramatically and lets them slap down onto his damp jeans. Again you barely look when you pick up the stashed tape and hold it aloft, waiting for him to finally turn around and see. “What, did Gareth come in here first and snag the only copy or something?” He snaps cases together angrily while he shifts through them and you almost tell him to quit pitching a fit but it’s a little fun watching him dripping all over the linoleum. His hair clings to his neck, his white ringer tee see through over his shoulder where the rain got in under his collar. You spare a moment to think about what the rain must taste like on him.
“Eddie.”
“Seriously! First my piece of shit van didn’t start yesterday again so I was late to the shop which in turn meant I didn’t get over here.”
“Ed.”
“And then this fucking storm shows up out of fucking nowhere and I’m fucking soaked and I don’t have my fucking tape-oh.” He turns, fist clenched in front of him like he’s tearing at invisible threads, and stops mid rant when he sees the rectangle in your hand. “Oh hello gorgeous.” He looks like he’s in love and he holds out his hands towards you, grasping your fist in both of his to gently shake it. You laugh at his dramatics and let out a yell when he hops onto the counter, ass planted directly on your magazine you were staring through.
“You’ve made me the happiest man in the world you know that?”
“I have that effect on a lot of guys.” A buff of your nails against your collar and Eddie huffs. He pulls his shoulders in and gives you a side eye that feels a little personal for a second.
“Well alright, statement still stands.” He reads the track list on the back, a slight squint of his eyes and you wonder briefly if he needs glasses. “You listen to it yet?”
“Psh, no.”
“Why not?”
Well, you’d had a plan since the terrible show night and you stomping out of there with your feelings hurt over nothing.
“No one else I know listens to them, thought you’d maybe like to listen to it together?” This is the most courage you’ve ever had, you think as you look up at him through your lashes. “It’s not like a big deal or anything but-“
“Can I borrow your phone?”
“What?”
“I mean yeah, obviously I’d love to listen together but I need to make a call first.” He flashes you that big smile again and you hand the store receiver over. That nervous knot that had begun to form in your stomach is all but gone with his revelation:
Obviously he’d love that.
Obviously! It’s been so obvious right? He’s your number one customer, he’d walked right for you in the bar, and now he’s vehemently agreeing to listening to this album with you, giddy with excitement.
“Hey! Jeff! Put your dick away we’re coming over.”
Jeff? Jeff his guitarist?
“No, I’m at the record shop I got it! Yeah, yeah she’s a real sweetheart she held a copy for me.” Eddie rolls his head to face you and gives you a wink. “I know, she’s the best right?”
Fucking Jeff? You stare at Eddie, dumbfounded, yet again questioning how you keep reading this man wrong. What part of ‘do you want to listen together’ qualified a third party?
“Yeah, we’ll be over after close.” Eddie hands you the phone to hang up and you go through the motions, turning your body away to stare at a spot on the counter so you can frown deeply without him noticing.
“This is gonna be great.” He claps his hands together before hopping down off the counter and pulling his wallet out to pay. “I can finally smoke you out like I’ve been promising.” He wiggles his eyebrows like he’s some kind of cartoon wolf and you feel like you’ve missed a step on the stairs. What is he doing? Is this flirting? Does he use Jeff as a pawn in his games or is he just not picking up what your putting down?
“Yeah, it’ll be great, can’t wait.”
The hang out at Jeff’s wasn’t awkward but you think something is broken in your brain with how off the mark you seem to be.
You’d been aloof with Eddie when he’d first started hanging around you in the shop, not sure how to take his overly forward approach but he’d grown on you quick and the banter was good. He lobbed the conversation back and forth with you with practiced ease and really it was destined for you to find him charming. With his dimples and his music taste and his tattoos it was inevitable that you’d spend your afternoons shooting glances out the window, waiting for him to breeze in with a joke or another long winded story that he’d loose the thread for halfway through. He’d apologize and you’d laugh and sometimes he’d blush at you and that feeling that you thought was there?
Maybe it wasn’t.
You weren’t being particularly subtle with him. Friendly flirting it may be but your touches always lingered longer on his forearm, your lashes always fluttered at his nicknames and your giggles were sprinkled freely for him through his visits. Standard faire ‘come get me, I’m yours’.
Once again at work, mindlessly alphabetizing and sending yourself into a doom spiral you hear the bell above the door ring and a quick glance up makes you pause.
It’s the whole band this time, Eddie in the lead and heading straight for you.
“What now?”
He stops in his tracks, hand flying to his chest in mock affront. “To your favorite customer?!”
Jeff snorts and Gareth and Frank roll their eyes and immediately wander off to the record bins.
“You come in here with a purpose, I need to brace myself.”
“It’s not even for me!” Eddie whines and leans on your cart full of tapes. His rings clack against the plastic casings and catch the overhead lighting, distracting you for a second. “It’s for Gareth, we need to know what you have for a Jazz section.”
“Jazz?” These men confuse you with every new turn. Gareth has already found what he was looking for though, sitting on the floor and flipping through aging cardboard sleeves.
“What does he know about Jazz?” You ask Eddie when he wanders back over with you.
“Oh he was the drummer for the jazz band in high school, you don’t remember that?”
“No, I wasn’t in band.”
“Ah.” He’s leaning on the fixture you need to reorganize but you don’t want to ask him to move, the sunlight shining in at just the right angle to light up his features. You could kick yourself with how enamored you sound, especially when he seems to be woefully uninterested in you and your flirting.
“Hey Eddie?”
“Hm?” He turns to look at you over his shoulder, brown hair gleaming like satin in the sun. His eyebrows hitch up and he tucks his lip between his teeth to worry at it. A thousand little fantasies about that lip glide through your thoughts and you decide to give it one last go.
“Would you like to go out for a drink sometime?”
His lashes flutter at you while he processes your question, his guard down with no witty response lined up.
“Oh like…like w-when?” He’s not meeting your eyes anymore, hands shoved into his jeans pockets. He shifts back to lean his weight on his other leg and leans away. He clams up and distances himself. “Because we’re free tonight after you close, but I know it’s a week night and you might be busy or whatever.” He cocks his head over to the other three grouped around the record crates and you realize it finally.
He’s letting you down soft. He doesn’t hate you, at least there’s that. He’d like to hang out sure, but there isn’t a romantic undercurrent like you’ve been imagining.
“Uh, yeah, tonight works.” You shrug and turn off your emotions. There was a brief prickle of heat behind your eyeballs but you stomp your foot down on that, converse pinning that feeling down like a moth in a frame. “Whenever though, I don’t want to interrupt your plans.” That roiling in your gut squirms under the pinprick and finally stills and you make sure your smile reaches your eyes this time. Eddie agrees and tells the guys and when they’re all standing at the register to check out you keep your cool. The countdown begins when you start typing in the prices, just ten more minutes before they’re on their way out and you can stand in the back and cry. You think about Carla giving you that sad little look and you know it’ll be a waterfall for sure.
“What fresh hell-“ Eddie yells and pushes the door open, red and blue lights flashing for a second before the cruiser engine shuts off. “Hey! I’m not parked illegally!” He shouts out at the deputy holding the windshield wiper of his van up, ticket clutched in his fist. When all Eddie gets is a blank stare he rushes out, leaving his friends staring after him.
“This’ll go over well.” Jeff sighs and hands you cash. “You’ll get to hear about this tonight for 8 hours.”
“About that. I might need to reschedule actually.” You can feel the cracks in the dam and you really don’t want to cry in front of these people.
“Oh?” Gareth gives you a side eye, something slick and calculating. Your eyes dart out the window to see Eddie gesturing at the signs on the street and you sigh heavy, handing their bag over to them.
“Yeah, I just forgot what uh, umm…” Trying to find a good excuse is impossible and he sees it on your face for what it is, an excuse.
“Oh my god Frank you owe me twenty bucks.” Gareth holds out his hand without looking at his friend. “I told you she didn’t have a boyfriend.”
“What.” That stops whatever waterworks were about to spring a leak. Gareth is smiling the biggest shit eating grin and suddenly Jeff and Frank are laughing while money is exchanging hands. “What are you talking about.”
“I’m so sorry to be the one to tell you this, but Eddie is the biggest fucking idiot.” Gareth laughs and pockets his money. “Like, I love that man but he has no idea what is going on.”
They aren’t laughing at you but you still feel rooted to the spot, and since none of them have started sharing this secret yet you start to get antsy. Jeff takes pity on you finally and tells you all about Eddie and his current fixation. He tells you about all the stories they’ve heard about you. How cool you are. How hot you are. How you’ll talk music with him like no one else and how you give only the best recommendations.
“You know he listens to New Order now because of you?” Jeff asks with a smile. “Like, great band but Eddie listening to them? He’s got it bad.”
You reel behind the counter while the three of them nod their heads sagely at you.
“He thought you had a boyfriend.”
“What?”
“When you left the other night after the show? He thought you picked up on him trying to flirt and got upset. I told him it was because it looked like Vicky was flirting but he was convinced he fucked up.”
“I thought-“ You don’t know what you thought because it hadn’t been anything actually. You had been jealous and it seemed like it was over nothing.
“Listen, you should still come out tonight. We can talk some sense into him if you want.”
“No.”
“No?” Jeff looks impressed.
“No, I can talk to him.” You run through your daydreams and your interactions. All his dumb jokes and how he looked after his show. You think about your hallway vision and what it might feel like to press him up against that wall and press a confession out of him. “I’ll talk to him.”
You don’t dress up for The Hideout. It’s dive bar chic only but tonight?
Tonight after you run back to your place to change, you dig out your black and white polka dot dress, the one you’d bought because Cyndi Lauper had made it look so good. It’s always sat a little short in the back, the buttons never coming up far enough in the bust for your confidence level but now it’s perfect. It flutters around your thighs and while you try not to poke yourself in the eye with your liner you think about Eddie’s fingers fluttering along with it. Maybe he’d be precious about it, a stuttering mess when you finally explain it to him in clear tones just what you were trying to do.
The whole drive over you imagine what his hair must feel like sliding between your fingers, what the stubble on his jaw would feel like grazing your knuckles, and you almost run two red lights. You’ve been stockpiling courage since the bands little conversation with you but when you finally pull into the parking lot and spot his van, you have a moment of doubt.
Right until he comes into view, leaning into his driver side with his ass sticking out, and it rushes back in tenfold. He doesn’t notice you park but you notice him futzing with his lighter, sad sparks sputtering around the end of his cigarette. Your kitten heels clack on the pavement and he only looks up when you’re almost on him, your own lighter held out in your palm. “Need a light?”
Eddie freezes, hands cupped around his face. You can tell he’s fighting the urge to let his gaze roam downward and you’re really hoping he gives into it. “I didn’t know we had a dress code tonight.” He mumbles around the filter and finally has enough of a thought to drop his hands and take your lighter. It strikes on the first try but you see the slight quiver of his hands when his eyes finally drop to the deep plunge of your dress.
“Oh this old thing? I hardly wear it.” You give him a half turn, just enough to make the hem ripple and he coughs on his inhale.
“It looks good. Y-you look good.” He’s a stuttering mess. “Um, if you want the guys are already inside I was just…” Eddie trails off when you take enough steps to crowd his space and he backs into his open door. The hinges squeak under the pressure and he scrambles to grab onto the frame with his free hand.
“Eddie?” You ask sweetly and he visibly swallows. “I don’t really want to drink with the guys.” You reach over and gently pull his cigarette from his fingers, mostly out of fear he might drop it in his van.
“Oh?” He’s taking short breaths the closer you get and when you lay your hands lightly on his chest you can feel his heart going a mile a minute.
“Mhm.”
The door creaks under his white knuckles and he seems to be holding on for dear life.
“I asked you out for a drink, but this is good too.” Inched close enough that your whisper ghosts over his lips before you close that short distance. That first breath in he smells like his half a cigarette and his aftershave. When his brain finally catches up to what you’re doing he gasps against your kiss, a move that you use to your advantage. Your hands find homes behind his neck to hold him close while your tongue pushes its way past his lips and he moans into your mouth. Here he taste like the beer he’s been drinking and tobacco and you start to get lost him.
He breaks the kiss before you can deepen it, breaths huffed across your face when he drops his forehead to yours.
“Ohhh, I’m a big idiot.” He laughs out in a whisper. “A big, big fuckin’ idiot.”
“No, just a little slow on the uptake.” You can’t resists the urge to slide your fingertips into his hair and the eye roll it gets you is divine.
“I can’t believe I wasn’t picking up on this, I thought I screwed up a few weeks ago-“
“Ed.” You slide your thumb over to rest on his lips. “It’s okay, it doesn’t matter.”
“I know but-“
“I’m serious.”
“I still feel stupid-“
“Get in the van.” You cut him off when you’ve heard enough. His eyes go wide before he gives one jerky nod of his head and quiet ‘yes’ and climbs in, disappearing between the seats to the back. You give one look around the parking lot before climbing in and closing the door behind you, any modesty long gone when you have to crawl into the back and you know your dress is bunched up around your hips. In the dark it takes you a moment before you can adjust but there’s a hand wrapped around the back of your knee pulling gently to bring you down to his level. You’ve barely got his outline made out before he’s pulling you in roughly by the leg, his other hand planting hard on the nape of your neck to bring you in for a kiss.
He’s less unsure in the back of his van, moving you around to situate you where he wants you and he lets you push him back against the hard floor once you’re settled in his lap. Your hands push up his shirt while his palms run up your bare thighs, bunching up the thin cotton of your dress till he hits the high cut of your underwear. His laugh turns into a groan when you move quickly down his neck leaving wet, open mouth kisses in your wake. You push his shirt up high and let your teeth drag against his nipple, the hitching in his chest making you smile against sensitive skin. His fingers slide under the edges of your underwear to grab at the fat of your ass and you slide your own fingers under his belt to pull it open.
“Oh hey, you don’t-“
“I don’t what?” The buckle clinks against his wallet chain and it all hits the floor with a heavy thud. “I don’t have to do this?” You tug at his button while holding his gaze and pull his zipper down quick. “Do you want me to do this?” A pause after you pull his jeans open so he can answer you.
His chest heaves but he smiles wide, tongue poking out to run along his bottom lip. “Yes.” He nods at your smile and keeps nodding when you pull his jeans down his hips and when your hand edges under the waistband of his boxers and when you crawl backwards out of his grasp. “Please.” He begs on a breath he started to hold when your dress slid up your hips as you bent down to place a kiss next to his bellybutton. “Please please please.” He chants when your hand wraps firmly around him, your smile pressing into the soft part of his belly.
“Please? Please what, Eddie?” You ask between the dotting of kisses you leave along his hips and the excruciating slow drag of your hand. He squirms under you, his stare heavy on the top of your head where he watches you move further down. “Please more of this?” You roll your wrist to finally free him and the flushed pink tip of his cock glistens in the low light before it disappears in your fist. He lets out a stuttering groan and falls flat on his back to run his hands over his face harshly.
“Or please this?” The flat of your tongue runs up from the base and follows your hand, ending with a cheeky kiss at the tip. You think Eddie might be crying under his big palms with how much he’s shaking.
“Is it that?” Another long lick that pulls a deep breath out of him. You spare a glance up his body to catch him staring at you in the dark from between his fingers.
“Yes fuck-oh shit.” You spare him his grief and swallow him down, your lips meeting your fist and your tongue exploring the soft skin against it. Every ridge and vein gets attention and Eddie rolls his hips up to chase the pointed tip of your tongue. His hands finally come down from his face, no longer obscuring his view, but they hover over your head haltingly.
“You can touch me Ed.” You tell him after popping off his cock wetly. When he stalls for a moment too long your pull a hand to fall on the crown of your head and his fingers slide in automatically, hair held gently between his knuckles. His hand tenses the same as his thighs when you wrap your lips around him again, humming at the taste as he hits the back of your throat. He makes breathy noises above you that choke off when your tongue swirls to match the twist of your hand. You bury your face down until your nose hits his bush and when you swallow around him he lets a string of slurred curses go into the roof, both hands sliding into your hair to grip tight.
You come up for air and to see his face go slack, eyes hazy where he follows the string of spit still connected to your lip and the tip of his cock.
“I didn’t know this is what going for a drink meant.” He tries to crack a joke but between his unfocused eyes and the hitch in his voice you laugh for a different reason.
“I did mean a drink actually, but this is a lot more fun.” Your hand speeds up, slick sounds loud in the back of his van and his eyes roll. You like watching him loose his mind, his hair pulled at and cheeks pink from the flush that creeps up from his chest. The urge to sink your teeth in along his ribs itches at the back of your mind until you can’t ignore it anymore and you attack him, hand trapped between the two of you still working him while you nip at his side. His laugh tumbles into an almost squeal and then a low moan when the head of his cock rubs against your thigh and he ruts up into your hand to chase the heat of your skin. You notice his sudden urgency and make your way back between his knees.
“Now I know it doesn’t look like it,” you lick your palm and continue jerking him off, “but I don’t put out on the first date.”
“This is a date?” He asks dazedly.
“It can be.” You smile at him before dropping your mouth on him again, bobbing up and down quicker this time.
“Oh fuck-“ His hands grip at your hair again, trying to pull back gently at first before he’s a little more insistent. “H-hey.” He tries again and you just stare up at him and hum, tongue running over that sensitive spot under the head of his dick. He must see the grin on your face because he finally drops his head back with a thud and he’s inadvertently bucking his hips up and gasping your name.
“Fuck fuck please don’t stop.” He bargains with you and the whine at the end of his words makes your stomach flip. You can feel the dampness between your thighs, your own arousal ignored in favor of making Eddie go stupid. With him toeing the edge of oblivion and whimpering about it though you almost wish you had just fucked him, if only to chase your own end.
You get a couple of courtesy taps and a whiney ‘no wait-‘ before he finally stills, a gasp caught in his chest that finally shudders out when he comes. His big hands cradle the back of your head when you swallow around him pulsing until he’s hissing and then he’s busy pulling you up to meet him halfway for a bruising kiss.
In the afterglow you realize you’ve had your whole ass out and anyone walking by his van could have seen you through the windshield. You only get a moment of embarrassment though before he’s moving into you and pushing you into the back of his driver seat.
“Hey we can-“ He pushes his face up under your jaw and cuts you off with open mouth kisses from your ear to your shoulder sitting bare under a hanging neckline. “We can go in for that drink now if you want.” You giggle at his eagerness and his hair tickling down your dress. He hasn’t even put himself together yet and he’s already got his hands on a mission, fists pulling and bunching up the fabric of your dress.
“I don’t want to go in for a drink.” He parrots your line back to you and carefully plucks at the big button keeping the top of your dress together. “I would like to express my sincere gratitude,” He works the button open one handed and catches your eye before dipping his fingers under the thin fabric and into the cup of your bra, “and deepest apologies,” the rough pad of his fingertip grazes a sensitive nipple and you bite your lip while your lashes flutter at him, “for being the worlds most ignorant individual.” He finishes on a whisper before he kisses you, plush lips soft and seeking like his hand now slowly working its way up your inner thigh. The tip of his pinky grazes along the edge of your underwear when his tongue slides along the seam of your lips and you grant him access to everything, knees falling apart and mouth molding to his.
This may not be your little dingy hallway inside but it’s better than any work daydream you’ve had about him. He slides your underwear down and pulls at your knee, spreading you open for him to run a finger in the crease of your hip. That earns him stifled whine from you and he tuts quietly. “Don’t be quiet.” His free hand pulls the shoulder of your dress down so he can plant a kiss there. “I gotta earn my forgiveness.”
“There’s nothing to forgive, it worked out.” You press your forehead into his and grin at him, stars in both your eyes you’re sure of it.
“Yeah but we could have been doing this so much sooner.” Just the slide of his finger through your folds makes you shiver, the wet sound of you loud in the quiet. “And look at me being ignorant again.” Two fingers this time, sliding up to find that small bundle of nerves that makes your head drop back. Eddie busies himself at your neck again, chest pressed into you and pinning you in place, fingers running tight circles over your clit. “Ignoring you in need.” His tongue worries at a spot behind your ear, an attempt to get you to relax into him and he dips his fingers down to gather your slick. “Let me help you out and maybe I’ll let you buy me a beer.”
You laugh and he sinks those two fingers in to hear you gasp and he wastes no time in his search for the right angle. He starts a quick pace that makes your breath catch in your chest and those musician fingers hone in on the spot that makes your legs jump.
“Oh is that it?” He bites softly at your neck stretched out under his mouth and laughs against your heated skin when you let out a strangled ‘uh huh’.
“Right there?” He flutters his fingers over and over, your thighs twitching with every brush. The heat pools fast in your abdomen especially with him mouthing at any skin he can find. You feel like you’re melting against him, the heat trapped between you and his fingers moving ceaselessly and when he angles his hand to press his thumb onto your clit you roll into him, thighs holding his arm in place.
“That’s it.” He murmurs and it’s your turn to bury your face, mouth hung open on a silent gasp against his chest.
“Eddie, please!”
“Please what?” He uses your words against you in play. “Please this?” A deeper brush of his fingertips and he grinds his hand against you. Your groan shakes deep out of your chest and before that band snaps to send you over the edge your hand winds up in his hair to hold on. It’s a quick push when your orgasm hits and Eddie doesn’t stop, not with you pulling his hair and gasping against his chest, not until you have to pull away, lightheaded and chest heaving.
“So I think that’s a good first apology, right?” He says into your hair, hand still trapped between your thighs.
“First?”
“Yeah I mean I have at least four more to make.” He removes his hand gently and finds your ruined underwear to wipe his fingers off, all while giving you a sly side eye.
“Are they all gonna be like that?” You feel boneless in the stifling heat of his van. He shifts and pulls you with him, slotting you between his legs so you can stay laying against his chest.
“I mean, they don’t have to be.” He sighs.
“No, no I like these kind of apologies.” You giggle against him and he pulls the hem of your dress down back over your hips. “Just maybe not always in the back of a van?”
“Oh no, I’ve got all kinds of places in mind. I Can say sorry in that little hallways inside,” your eyes go wide in the dark where he can’t see, “I’m sure you have a back room at work I can sneak into.”
“Oh my boss will love that.”
“Shit, I can find a corner in the garage no one uses, really the possibilities are endless.”
You know someone has to have noticed Eddie being gone for so long and you expect a tap on a window any minute but for now you stay tucked up against him. You’ll buy him his drink when his friends discover his fogged over van.
Warnings: graphic depictions of violence, shock, terror, arguments, crying
Summary: Eddie meets Screech and Clem... and it doesn't go well.
I lounge back in my rocking chair as the sun begins to rise over the Haven. I set a filled coffee mug on the table between me and Eddie, but he doesn’t notice. For the last few hours he’s had a hand over his mouth as he stares wide-eyed at the sky.
The small patch of sunlight rests above like a single out of place square of fabric on a ripped quilt. We're surrounded on all sides by the Darkness, nestled in this enclave of trees and paths I've created. To me it's comforting, but to Eddie it seems to be petrifying.
I’m on my third cup, listening to 70’s soft rock as the world inside the Haven wakes as I usually do. Eddie’s getting in my way, but I’m trying to remember what it’s like to be a human being again and let him work his way through his shock. What I want to do is shake him and maybe give him a sharp backhand to snap out of it, but from what I recall about being in polite society that isn’t very… polite.
“It’s not so bad, y’know?” I muse aloud. I’ve been musing on and off for the last few hours but have only gotten a few grunts and sighs in reply. “I have a big garden, a pond. There’s a lot of books for you to read while you recover.”
He says nothing, and I can see the red marks on his cheek from how tightly he’s holding his face. I want to force his hands away from his jaw but it would likely upset him. He’s refused to get out of the armchair since I moved it with my powers. I probably scared him.
“You should take a bath. I don’t have a shower.” I sip from my mug to give him the opportunity to reply, but he doesn’t. “I washed your hair as best I could but you’ve got as much as I do so I’ve mostly let it be. It could use a good wash.”
No reply.
I take another pull off my coffee before deciding I've had enough. The clothes I gave him last night still lay on his lap, so I get to my feet and grab the sweatpants. Eddie lets me maneuver his feet into the leg holes and tug them up over his thighs. I try to keep the blanket in place since he seemed so sheepish before about being naked, but it just makes this harder. Where I came from naked bodies were just bodies, but once I got into the real world I found people didn't think that way if they didn't grow up in a lab.
I use my powers to lift him up enough to pull them over his hips, and he finally seems to notice me. Eddie drags his hand from his jaw and sets it firmly on the armrest of the chair, watching as I unfold the flannel.
"How long have you been here?" he asks. His voice is small, gravelly from lack of use over the past few weeks. I shrug and take one of his hands, pull it through the sleeve.
"Eleven years."
"Eleven?" he asks sharply, and when I meet his gaze he's shocked, terrified. "How am I supposed to get home?"
"I can take you home when you've healed more," I reply, shrugging again. "You can't exactly go to a hospital with these injuries. They'll ask too many questions."
"I should have died-," he begins, but I cut him off sharply. I don't like the thought. I don't want to bury him now that I've spoken to him.
He's real now, not just another victim I've happened upon in the Darkness. He has life and light behind those warm brown eyes. He has people waiting for him in the real world.
"But you didn't. Don't worry about it."
Eddie watches me in confusion as I finish dressing him. I leave the flannel open so I have easier access to his healing wounds, and he makes no move to button it up. He leans in as I'm on my knees in front of him, "You're like the rest of them. From Hawkins lab. You're like Eleven."
Eleven? I think, she's just a little girl. But she's not anymore. If my math is right she's just about fifteen, more powerful than she should be though I haven’t seen her since she was a child. I can feel when she comes here. I can feel how scared Henry is by her presence. Like the rest of us I’m drawn to her, but staying here means I can keep myself far away from her and the truth that comes with her.
I eye him with caution. I don’t want him to see more than I need to give. The more information Eddie Munson knows about me the more danger I’m putting myself in.
“I haven’t seen her in a long time,” I tell him quietly, but my own longing for my sisters surfaces again as it had years ago when Eight escaped the lab herself. My voice threatens to shake as I ask, “Is she okay?”
“I don’t know,” Eddie says softly, apologetically. “I never met her. I only heard stories from my friends.”
Eddie flashes me a lopsided grin that shocks me, a startling change from his statuesque staring at nothing all night. “I hear she’s a total badass, that she’s one cool chick.”
I hum as I think about that. I don’t even know what she looks like anymore. I used to cuddle her on my lap, rubbing my hand over her buzzed head as I rocked her to sleep. She always had nightmares, like me, and I tried to give her good memories that I never had. We shared the same eyes, deep brown and big like a doe. All the kids did with the exception of Henry, no matter how much they looked like their birth mothers. Eleven and I always looked a lot alike.
So maybe she looks like me… I find some comfort in that.
Eddie breaks my thoughts with a hand that covers mine. His fingers are now home to small scars where the bones broke through the skin in some places, but his touch is gentle. He’s warm and for a split second it grounds me before panic sets in. I’m not a human anymore, I shouldn’t be treated like one.
I will always be the monster that did this to Eddie Munson and the rest of those kids.
“They said she can… I don’t know, find people?” he starts, slow and soft. “Can you do that or do you guys have different powers?”
"That's dangerous, Eddie," I growl, and he leans back. "You go looking for people and they can find you back."
"At least they'll know I'm alive!" he bursts with an energy he shouldn't have. "She'll know you're alive and she can come get us out of here. We can stop Henry and-."
“No.”
“Zero, come on,” he begs as I stand and snatch my coffee mug from the table. I’ve had enough of his questions, so I wave my hand behind me as I stalk back into the cabin. His armchair screeches across the wood as he twists in it to look at me. “I need to see them. I need to know they’re okay.”
“I’m sure they’re fine,” I grunt in annoyance as I stomp into the kitchen. I pour myself another cup of coffee and lean against the counter. I turn the chair so he stops angling to see me. “Screech and Clem didn’t tell me anyone else was out there.”
“Who’s that?”
I blanch, and right on cue the front door bursts open. The screen door hits the wall with a clattering BANG, and Eddie jumps in his spot, eyes going wide. Clem comes bounding in, all gurgling barks and growl-like pants, followed by Screech ambling in through the doorway.
“What the FUCK?” Eddie screams. He scrambles against the back of the chair, clawing to get away. Clem jumps up on the edge with her talons, licking out at him as he swats her feebly away. “Help! Oh my god, help!”
I roll my eyes and set the mug on the counter. With a flick of my wrist the armchair pulls back a few feet, and I hurry in front of it before Clem can pounce on Eddie again with her kisses. Holding out my hands, I give her a stern look.
Clem sits down with a plop, her little tail thumping against the wood. Screech stands behind her with his wings tucked behind his back, head cocked down thinking he was in trouble. Eddie pants behind me, a reedy high sound as he tries to steady himself.
“Guys, go outside,” I tell them, pointing back the way they came. They both look out the door and back to me, cocking their heads. I sigh, “I know you want to meet my new friend but he’s not ready. Go outside and I’ll feed you dinner later.”
I can feel their thoughts, how sad they are that I won’t let them hang out with us here. I'd rather talk to them than Mr. Twenty Questions anyway. "Go on, it's okay."
With little brrups, they turn tail and sulk outside and I swing the door shut behind them.
"Wait!" I call out, and they turn to face me again. I hear Eddie shudder behind me but I ignore it. "Did you see anybody else out there recently? Alive or dead?"
Screech nods, and I hear his yes inside my mind. Eddie groans, "Oh no, no, no."
"Did they die out there?"
No. Screech shakes head and points at Eddie. Just him. The rest escaped from his group. The others were dead when their consciousness was brought here.
"The rest escaped," I reiterate, and Eddie stops his babbling. "They're back in the real world. The gate closed behind them."
"How do you know?" he asks. I turn to look at him and those brown eyes pour over with tears. It twists something inside me and I want to smack him as though that may make it stop.
I jerk my head over my shoulder at Screech, who waves one bony wing, "Screech told me."
"But, but, it's one of them," Eddie blubbers, his eyes flicking between me, Clem and Screech. "It's one of the monsters. They killed Chrissy! They ate my insides like a fucking taco, Zero-!"
Screech whines, Clem covers her face with her paw. Their pain at being compared to those corrupted beings radiates inside me. I shake my head at Eddie.
"They're my friends. I found them as babies, hiding under a leaf and curled up together."
I smile at the memory, and I point my palm at Eddie to show it to him. His eyes glaze over as my power takes root, and he fights me, but I push gently until I can reach inside his mind and latch on.
Purple storm clouds flash in a vibrant sea of red violent haze. Goosebumps form on my skin in the warm summer air as the memory of that cold night pours through us both. I'm watching my boots sink into the sticky gray mud in the particle ridden rain. I'm sneaking through the woods back to the Haven, but I trip over a vine and burst into tears as I hit the ground.
Every day in the cold was getting harder, and I was so weak I could barely walk. I sob into the mud, ready to give up when I hear it. A small screeching caws at me, so loud that I flinch and lay down flat so nothing can find me. I hear it again, but the fluttering of wings that accompanies it is too small for the voice.
That's when I see them, two small beings that can fit into the palm of my hand. One is a tiny bird with no eyes and red leathery skin. The other is like a chubby tadpole, its mouth shaped like the puckered end of a clementine.
When I reach out my hand they climb onto my palm and nestle in, and the connection is immediate. We're bonded in that split second of terrifying vulnerability, the same way I felt when I healed Eddie for the first time.
I let the memory wash away with the rain, and Eddie gasps as his eyes pull back into focus. He struggles to stand and this time I let him, ready to catch him if he falls.
Eddie clutches the arm of the chair, his body trembling. His voice shakes with his fear, "Why are they different?"
He points at Clem and Screech, who wait patiently for further instructions. The warmth floods back to my skin and I take a shuddering breath as I shrug, "Their mothers were killed. I took care of them. If I hadn't they would have died or been eaten by one of the others."
"Why?" he asks defiantly. My answers aren't good enough. Even I know it, but fuck this guy. I saved his ass so I don't owe him shit.
"They're predators. It's what they do."
"That's not what I meant."
I look at my friends and smile, and they visibly relax before heading back outside. I coax Eddie back into the chair by pushing at his chest, and since he can't do much else he falls back onto the seat.
I lean over him until my nose nearly touches his. He gulps, his pupils dilate, a soft sheen of nervous sweat eases its way from his pores. I know he's scared and I'm not helping, but I don't want to talk about this anymore.
"I didn't want to be alone anymore."
Eddie stays defiant, on my nerves and pissing me off. He sets his jaw and squares his shoulders, "Is that why you brought me here? So you had someone to talk to? Are you that miserable?"
"Maybe I should have left you there to be eaten alive then!"
"Maybe you should have!" he screams back, and I've had enough. I turn on my heel and stomp towards the door, toward the sunshine and away from Eddie Munson. He yells as I walk through the frame, "And stay out of my head!"
"Fine!" I throw over my shoulder, flinging the door shut. It lands with a shattering crack as the frame splinters under the force.
"Fine!"
Eddie glares around the cabin after Zero storms out. The screen door hangs on a hinge in front of him where she busted it, and he can't believe the stories are true.
All his friends had said about Eleven… everything he'd seen Henry capable of… his mind was struggling to grasp it all. Zero's power terrified him. He'd felt her seeping into his mind, not using him or taking his control, but spreading around him in a vision that he swore he could touch. What else was she capable of?
He'd felt the creatures, Screech and Clem, climb into his palm…Zero's palm. The rain bit his skin and blanketed his bones in the damp chill. He'd felt the connection of their consciousness… of his own connecting with hers.
She was so frightened…even now with him. He felt it all.
Eddie never understood what true psionic telepathy meant… but now? What a whirlwind… What a gift. He can't wait to meet Eleven.
Eddie can hear the gurgling barks of the demadog, the little coos of that bird. She's talking to them softly, apologizing for him. After everything he never thought of those things as animals capable of anything more than death and terror. She saved him, and from the shoddy bits of memory he had, the creatures had too. Dustin told him once that he’d saved a demadog and it became his friend. It ate his cat, but in the end it didn’t hurt him.
That has to count for something, right?
Deciding it's best to keep the woman who saved his life on his side, Eddie gets shakily to his feet. His muscles shake like jello, but luckily the cabin is small enough that he can hold onto the various shelves and plant stands Zero has set up all over the place.
Avoiding the splinters in the wood, Eddie opens the screen door and steps back onto the porch. She sits with her back to him in the grass, but he sees her head cock to the side. Screech and Clem are nowhere to be found so he lets the door swing shut behind him as he grips the rail for support.
He hadn’t noticed before, but there were plants everywhere in this place. They seeped out of the windows of the cabin and around the rails of the porch, long tendrils vines creeping through the grass. They reminded him of the vines in the Upside Down, but these didn’t frighten him. Instead he rather likes the look, a place filled with life in the dark.
"You shouldn't be walking around so much yet."
With a flick of her wrist Eddie's pulled off the porch. His center of gravity lurches as she lifts him with ease, a startled yelp bursting from his chest. His eyes snap shut in fear but then he's plopped down on a pile of dirt beside her.
"You need to rest," she says as he opens his eyes, watching him out of the corner of hers. "Your muscles are weak from laying in bed for two weeks. Take it slow."
Eddie squints, "Two weeks?"
She nods, her fingers go back to the dirt in front of her. Her eyelids flutter for a moment, and from the ground sprouts a stem. Eddie watches in awe as it grows and hardens until it reaches the top of her head, and two tomatoes bloom from two of the branches.
Zero plucks one off and hands it to him without a word before sinking her teeth into the other. It's warm in his palm like the sun has soaked it in its rays for weeks.
She turns to look at him, "It's not gonna bite you."
Eddie waves it at her, marveling at the squishy firm fruit in his hand, "How did you do that?"
"It's basic biology. Turn sunlight into nutrients with the water and soil." She lifts an old tupperware from the ground beside her and shakes it. It sounds like a rainstick. "Just add a seed."
"So you're like a druid, huh?" Eddie smirks. He leans his elbows on his knees and squeezes the tomato lightly just to see it bend and bounce back into shape. "That's awesome."
Zero cocks a brow, "A… druid?"
"Yeah, like in DnD."
"That game with the dice?"
Eddie nods with a smile. She doesn't return it.
She makes a face. “Eat your tomato.”
Eddie complies, sinking his teeth into the ripe fruit. The acidic-sweet juices flood over his tongue, and before he can stop himself he lets out a humming moan. Zero watches him with a curious smile while he chews and swallows.
“That’s the best fucking tomato I’ve ever had!”
Zero leans back to rest on her elbows to watch him. Eddie tries to focus on his tomato and not the way her flannel rides up to reveal her black panties and the tops of her tanned thighs. The last thing he needs is a boner in front of this girl he doesn't know.
"What were you doing out there?"
When he makes a face she points to where the Upside Down meets the sunshine. His eyes widen. He'd nearly forgotten about that.
Eddie lets the tomato hang in his hands and sighs, "We were trying to stop Vecna…Henry."
"Well, that was dumb. How the hell were you going to even do that? You're a weakling compared to him, might as well be a mouse against a lion."
The anger from that morning builds in his chest again, and he waves the fruit at her, "Why haven't you stopped him?"
She shrugs. "What happens outside of the Haven isn't any of my business."
"He's killing people, Zero!" Eddie yells, but she just stares at him. "He killed Chrissy and so many others."
She sighs in annoyance and shakes her head, "People die every day, Eddie. It's not my job to save them."
"Yet you went out and saved my ass anyway." He points out.
"You can thank Screech and Clem for that. They wouldn't leave me alone until I checked out the swarm that was eating your insides."
"Those…those monster things?" Eddie sputters, "Why would they care?"
"They might be predators but they're not monsters," Zero growls. Her dark eyes light with fire as she stares him down, her jaw set tightly. "You don't understand anything about this place. Another reason you and your friends shouldn't be messing with it. You should never have come here."
"He killed Chrissy in front of me," he whispers, his voice cracking with the memory of her violent death. He can still hear the noises… Eddie shakes his head to wash it away. "She was scared and in pain. She didn't deserve that."
Zero softens, but only a bit. Her eyes are calculating, watchful, like she still isn't sure what to make of him. Her voice is gentle as she crosses her legs and leans forward, "He killed your girlfriend?"
Eddie shakes his head, "She wasn't even really my friend…but she was nice to me. Even though she was the most popular girl in school she was always nice. She was just scared and needed help.
"I tried to help her." Eddie drops the tomato and presses the heels of his hands to his eyes as tears begin to form. His grief for Chrissy was overwhelming when he let himself think too long about her, especially after Max told them what she'd been seeing. "I ran away."
"Of course you did. Anyone would," Zero's voice came from his side, and when he looked up she'd moved next to him. Her hand hung in the air like she thought about putting a comforting palm on his shoulder but thought better of it.
"She was so scared." And with that Eddie finally burst into tears. He wanted to curl up, but his sore and stiff body wouldn't quite let him.
His chest shook with the weight of it all, exhausted and terrified and just wanting to go home. Instead of holding him, Zero just moves to sit between his spread legs and lets him cry without her watching him. He was grateful to be away from her sharp gaze, and his hand found its way to lean heavily on her shoulder as he sobbed.
She didn't seem to mind, and instead focused on growing her tomato plant. Zero didn't even stiffen as he held on to her. She was the only lifeline he had left, and she let him cling to her like a child lost in the woods.
That's exactly what he is.
Lost.
Smurph's Masterlist | Zero to Hero Masterlist
Notes: I'm always gonna be salty about Chrissy bc I think she and Eddie really could have been good friends <;/3
Warnings: graphic depictions of violence, depictions of gore, monster fights, descriptions of blood, overuse of 80s song lyrics
Summary: You grow anxious that Eddie won't wake up. When he finally does, he's in for the shock of his life when he meets the crazy girl who saved him
Two weeks have passed since I found Edward Munson in the Darkness being preyed upon by creatures of nightmares.
After stripping him from a distance with my powers, I learned that he is in fact a boy. One with more tattoos than I’d think one would have at a young age. They look handmade, etched stick-and-poke ones likely done in dim light with as much precision as he could muster.
I cleaned him, and day by day his wounds are healing. His body reacts normally, healing at a rate I know is good with my assistance. He’s even going to the bathroom regularly… something I never wanted to have to worry about or clean up. At least Screech and Clem shit outside.
But he still hasn’t woken.
His pupillary reactions are normal, his eyes flicking back and forth beneath his lids as he dreams. I can tell when he has nightmares from the whimpers and whines that come from the bedroom. I usually stop what I’m doing and go inside to check on him, and a soft hand on his arm or brushing fingertips along his forehead seem to make them ease.
It took a few days to put all of his broken bones back in place, and I gagged with every snap and squelch of them pulling back into his skin. I couldn’t even take his rings off until I fixed his busted hands.
Who the hell wears this many rings? I’d thought angrily as the knuckles went back into the sockets with soft pops. I made sure to clean the blood from them before stashing them away in a box on a bookshelf for safekeeping.
Deciding it was too difficult to wash his unruly hair via a bucket and cocking his head over the side of the bed, I tied it up in a bun. I thought about shearing it all off, but the memory of Papa doing that to me as a child made me settle for an updo. We could be bun-buddies, and even if he never woke up I’d delight in it a bit.
He slept now on my bed, covered halfway with some quilts I found at a flea market, breathing softly. The rattling in his lungs died down after a day or two of clearing the blood coming in, and now he snored quietly when he wasn’t having nightmares.
I did my best when it came to healing the large gashes on his abdomen, but there was only so much I could do. I’m not exactly a surgeon even with my military training, which was meant to keep fellow soldiers alive so they could make it back to base. Unfortunately I’d left Edward Munson with thick scars stretching up his belly, chest, and neck… but at least he was alive for now.
He’d become a part of my household. The first few days I tiptoed around to let him rest, worried he might startle again and hurt himself. Now, I putter around like I did before he came, listening to the radio or talking to myself or Clem and Screech. I ignored him for the most part until I had to bathe him with a sponge before bed each night.
A few times a day I change his bandages and clean his wounds, check him over for any new signs of bodily stress. He’s healing well… getting better every day, but it keeps bothering me that he won’t open his eyes on his own.
I want to see them again, want to talk to him to figure out how he got here. I haven’t ventured out into the Dark since I brought him here, scared he’ll die in my bed by himself, so I haven’t been able to find the gate he came through. I need to close it like I have the others that pop up every few months.
I rarely venture outside of the Haven for this exact reason… I want nothing to do with the Darkness or Henry or any of the shit outside of my property. Not anymore.
Tonight I glare at him as I sit on the edge of the bed, lip curled into a frown. As I have for the last two weeks, I take my flashlight and flick it on. I gently lay my hand on his cheek and pull on his eyelid just to see them open. Glassy brown stares back at me, but there’s no consciousness to be found.
I flick the light back and forth in irritation. “Wake up so I can send you back where you came from!”
To my surprised horror, his eyeball moves, his pupil dilating for just a moment. A sharp grunt bursts from his chest, and I yelp and release him. Protectively, I pull my arms to my chest as his head lolls back to one side.
I watch him curiously for a few moments, expecting him to finally rouse. His breathing goes back to normal and he relaxes into the mattress. Creeping closer, I reach out with a cautious hand and poke his cheek.
Nothing.
As extensive as my military training is from my time with Papa and the lab, I know nothing about comas. What the hell am I supposed to do if he doesn’t wake up? Just sit here every day and take care of him until he finally dies?
Ugh, then I’ll have to bury him.
Stomping my foot like a child, which I immediately regret when Papa’s face pops up in my mind to give me a disapproving look, I grumble and head for the kitchen. I’ll cook myself some dinner instead of worrying about him. At least I know one of us will be alive for leftovers tomorrow. If he dies, I won’t have to keep mushing up food and feeding him through a tube. It’s gross anyway, and I’d rather bury him than keep doing that.
“Fine,” I mutter, turning on my heel and walking out the door. “Fuck you, Munson.”
Eddie’s head pounds like the bass at a Corroded Coffin show, only he’s not enjoying himself nearly as much as he does in a shitty bar outside of Hawkins as he shreds on stage. Struggling to open his eyes, his futile attempts to put a steadying hand beneath himself fail. His limbs refuse to cooperate, as does the rest of him. The slits of sunlight that come through each time he tries to peel his eyelids apart make them shut immediately, and soon enough he gives up.
The memory of the demabats swarming him as he played on his guitar keeps jolting him awake, but he can’t tell how much time passes between nightmares. He hears someone talking now and then, sometimes yelling, but mostly he hears music… shitty music. Everything from Bowie to Redbone to Cher plays in his head, and he quickly decides through his mind fog that they’re the cause of his migraine.
He manages to open his eyes after what feels like years of trying, blinking heavily through dim lighting. His head rocks to the side as another terrible song blasts through the speakers he can’t focus enough to find and turn off.
"Baby, baby, I don't know what I'm doing," the Kinks play, making Eddie wince. This shit’s so old… he bet Steve picked it, the dork. "Everything I do, it turns to ruin."
His eyes finally slide into clarity, surrounded by a dark shadow. He finds himself in a small cabin room. An array of houseplants litter the place, vines hang from the walls and trail up through the ceiling cracks, poking into the wooden beams and disappearing. A few sit on tables and shelves, one hangs above him above the window where he lay, succulents line up on the windowsill.
Eddie sits up slowly, gasping painfully as a shock rips up his belly and seems to burst through his chest. He rips the thin quilt from his lap only to discover himself buck naked… and his abdomen covered in long tendriling scars.
Tears spring from his eyes as he runs a shaky finger down one of them, wincing at the pain that emanates from the redlined puckered skin. He counts five in his limited eyeline, all thick branched and scabbed over.
How did I survive? he wonders in shock. The last memory that surfaces is Henderson clutching his leather and denim as Eddie bled out in the Upside Down, sobbing as he proudly proclaimed he was no longer a coward.
Eddie was sure he was going to die and he wasn’t scared.
Henderson. Harrington. Nancy and Robin, Lucas and Max.
They need to know he’s awake, that he’s okay. Soft singing floats in from another room, and Eddie figures it’s Nancy from the terrible taste. He looks around for his clothes, but the only thing he can see is the blanket he threw to the ground.
Eddie reaches for it, the bed creaking with his shifting weight. His stomach burns with a renewed round of pain as he grunts in annoyance. Finally he sits back and lets out an irritated sigh.
“Wheeler…” he tries, but his voice cracks dryly in his throat. Licking his lips he tries again, but even less comes out, “Harrin… oh fuck it.”
Swinging his feet onto the hardwood floor, face scrunching and heating up with the effort as he struggles to grab the blanket. He stretches until he can pull it close, kicking it up and pulling it back over his lap. The last thing he needs is Nancy or Robin seeing his dong when he’s vulnerable like this.
Wrapping the blanket around his waist, he tries to stand. The world shifts beneath him, his vision dragging and threatening to black out. His fingernails dig into the nightstand as he waits for the spots to blink away, eyeing the bookshelf lining the wall to gauge his path toward the music.
“Come on, baby, I don’t mind. Two lonely people, the helpless kind.” Eddie hears someone singing along, the floor creaks with her movements. “Come on, baby, love me ‘til the sun shines.”
Saliva floods his mouth as he smells food… it’s like he hasn’t eaten in weeks, and the gurgling of his stomach burns as badly as the scarring on his chest.
It takes him through the end of the song to tug himself up enough to stand. Sweat beads across his forehead as he struggles to keep the stupid blanket around his waist. Eddie usually wears a hair tie around his wrist but it was gone or he’d have used it.
“Clem! Screech!” a voice calls as he makes his way slowly toward the door. Inching along, Eddie peeks as much as he can, watching the shifting shadows through the light pouring in. “Dinner!”
He hears a barking noise, then the scarfing of food. Where the hell did they take him? None of them have pets beside Dustin.
As she comes back in, a screen door creaks shut. The music turns up a little as another old song plays, “Well, she was an American Girl. Raised on promises.”
Her voice is sweet, but Eddie doesn’t recognize it as he struggles his way toward the door. "After all it was a great big world. With lots of places to run to. Yeah, and if she had to die tryin', she had one little promise she was gonna keep."
Leaning heavily on the frame, Eddie finally catches a glimpse of the singing girl with the weird taste in music. She sways in time in front of a kitchen sink, surrounded by an army of dishes as she washes them in sudsy water. Her dark eyes watch the window, the vined plants above on a shelf drape between two nails to form a curtain. The cabin is small, one big room besides the bedroom he’d been sleeping in. Teensy string lights hang around the walls with the plants, and Eddie hears a storm brewing in the distance over the music.
But she is what makes his heart stop in his chest.
She’s not Robin or Nancy or Max, and Eddie doesn’t recognize her from school. She dances in place in nothing but a ratty old flannel, her chocolate curls flung up in a messy ponytail as she smiles out the window. Eddie makes a face as he realizes his own aren’t tickling his shoulders, and finally feels that it’s held up in a tight bun.
He tugs and releases his curls as he eyes her tanned legs, the soles of her feet dusted with a bit of dirt from not wearing shoes. A bruise blossoms on the back of her thigh and a scratch is healing to a pale jagged pink as she washes a coffee mug. He cranes his head to trail his gaze down the soft curve of her jaw, the supple swell of her cheekbone and full lips of her profile as she focuses on something outside. She’s beautiful, and Eddie swallows thickly as he struggles to speak.
“Hey…” he starts, but again it comes out weak and cracked. Eddie clears his throat and pushes off the door, stumbling on shaky legs as he pads into the kitchen.
Eddie reaches out to touch her shoulder, and suddenly her head turns to face him, dark eyes bright and fierce. Her hand shoots out and he’s flung back. His eyes clamp shut as he braces for the impact of hitting a wall, but a lightning fast screeching erupts behind him.
Instead of hardwood his ass hits something soft, and when he cautiously opens his eyes he finds himself plopped on an old flowery printed armchair. Eddie pants as he looks around in shock, but the girl lets out a happy yelp.
“Oh my god!” she yells excitedly, jumping in her spot. “You’re awake!”
She dries her hands off with a towel she snatches from the counter before tossing it aside. Hurrying over, she drops to her knees in front of him. Her hands go straight for his damaged stomach, warm fingertips grazing across his skin. Eddie winces and flinches away.
She pulls back with wide eyes, holding her hands protectively to her chest. She gives him a sheepish smile, “I really thought you were going to die, Edward.”
“Uhm, it’s Eddie…” is all he manages to croak out, and she nods to herself and taps her temple.
“Eddie, okay,” she grins, then sticks out her hand for him to shake. “Zero.”
Eddie makes a face, and she lets out an awkward sigh. She glances around for a moment before slapping her hands down on the tops of her exposed thighs, “You probably want some clothes, huh?”
Eddie looks down only to realize he was sitting on display for this strange woman to see. He tugs on the blanket to cover himself but she waves a hand nonchalantly, “I’ve seen it already. Don’t worry.”
Eddie watches in horrified shock as she gets to her feet and walks back in the bedroom, speaking as though she knew him and this wasn’t some fucked up nightmare. He has no idea who she is and she’s seen him naked? “I’ve been waiting for weeks for you to wake up and I really thought you were gonna die in my bed…”
A drawer opens and closes, then she makes her way back in and hands him a pair of sweats and a flannel. Eddie takes the pile with a shaky hand as he continues her rambling.
“It was easier to keep you naked, and it was less laundry for me to do…” she trails off as he stares wide-eyed at her. She cocks her head, “Are you okay?”
Eddie licks his dry lips and shakes his head slowly, “Who are you?”
“I told you, I’m Zero,” she frowns, putting her hands on her hips.
“Okay… Zero,” he says slowly, leaning as far away from her as he could into the back of the chair. “Where are my friends?”
Zero frowns and looks again toward the window, “ You were the only one I found.”
Panic surges through him at the thought. Dustin, Max, and Lucas are just kids and the rest of them all have families who will look for him. He puts a shaky hand under himself to get up, but she flicks her wrist and he’s pushed back into the chair once more.
“I didn’t find any bodies, so I’m sure they’re fine.” She frowns again as he tries to get up again, but he can’t seem to move, “You shouldn't even be out of bed, okay? When I found you you looked like minced meat. I’m surprised I put you back together again, Humpty Dumpty.”
“You found me?” he asks incredulously. “What the hell were you doing in the Upside Down?”
Now it was her turn to make a face, “What the hell is the Upside Down?”
“Where you found me,” Eddie hisses. He points out the window toward the night even though they were far away from it all. Rage began to course through him at her indifference. “Purple clouds and lightning? Flying monsters and vines everywhere?”
Her dark eyes widen as her gaze follows his finger, her jaw dropping slightly. Zero nods slowly before turning back to him.
“I think you should get some sleep.”
Eddie watches angrily as she unfurls the sweatpants and grips the waistband. She watches him expectantly but he doesn’t budge.
“What were you doing there?”
She sighs and shakes them again, but when he sets his jaw and glares she tosses them on his lap. “I could tell something was going on out there so I went to investigate and found you, okay?”
“You found me?” Eddie asks as fresh hurt blossoms through his chest. "They left me there?"
Zero shrugged, "They probably thought you were dead. I did."
“Where am I?”
“In a cabin.”
“Where am I?” he asks again.
Zero groans dramatically and stalks off toward the front door. Her hand waves toward him and the armchair starts to shake. Eddie lets out an embarrassing yelp as it lurches forward by itself across the hardwood, following Zero out onto the porch.
The midnight blue sky hangs above them as the armchair scooches outside. Eddie grips the armrests tightly until it stops moving and has to peel his fingernails from the fabric. Stars pierce the sky, glittering like thin sparkling tulle in the warm night. A soft breeze glides through, but it doesn’t cut with its chill. Instead, it calms, and his hair dances over his shoulders in time.
Zero points out toward the distance where the blue meets angry pulsing purple and red. The storms Eddie heard over the radio rumble ten times louder now that he sees it, and his damaged heart drops low into his stomach.
“We’re in the Haven,” she says solemnly. Her eyes glisten with wetness as she watches the storm forming. She points again, “That’s the Darkness, or as you call it…”
“The Upside Down,” Eddie finishes for her in revulsed horror. “We’re still in the Upside Down.”
Zero nods, “You never left.”
Smurph's Masterlist | Zero to Hero Masterlist
Notes: Lmao you guys don't know what I went through making this gif small enough for Tumblr... anywho how do you think Eddie's going to deal with being in the Upside Down?? How do you think he and Zero will get along now that Eddie's awake?
ST Taglist: @tlclick73 @theloser007 @sadbitchfangirl @chaoticcancer @harrys-tittie @assassinsasha23 @spacedoutdaydreamer @legendarytrashcopeclipse
Warnings: graphic depictions of violence, depictions of gore, monster fights, descriptions of blood, overuse of 80s song lyrics
Summary: Because your friends won't let you have just one day to yourself, you venture out into the Darkness only to find Edward Munson bleeding out
Sunlight filters in through the windows, a soft breeze billowing the curtains, making them dance along with the wind. The chimes on the porch tinkle while the suncatchers spread colors along the walls. Warmth from the morning sun washes over my legs as I swing them off the bed and stretch out the stiffness in my shoulders.
Reaching high and rolling my neck, I intertwine my fingers and let out a little groan. Recently I've been sleeping like shit, and last night wasn’t any better. Dreams of the Darkness and the lab haunted me through fitful tossing and turning along the sheets. They used to happen every night, sometimes during the day, but they had become fewer and further between. This uptick in nightmares rocks me to the core every time they decide to rear their ugly head.
I let my arms down slowly, feeling a bit better and loose. The hardwood is warm from the sun streams under my bare feet as I make my way to the kitchen. I mutter my usual hellos to my army of houseplants I have scattered around the cabin, and I'm rewarded with their bright happy flora and leaves trailing about. The pothos enjoy their spots up on the bookshelves I’ve got lining the walls while the succulents bask in the warmth on the windowsill.
It’s just one big room -open kitchen with a window facing the front yard that hides my cabin with its array of trees in the dense forest, rugs along the hardwood and crappy armchairs I’ve found over the years sit in front of the fireplace- but it’s home. I found this cabin in the secluded off-the-trails area of Hawkins some years ago and fixed it up the best I could. It took a lot of learning and reading, but luckily I have a little telekinesis that comes in handy when it comes to lifting heavy things and turning tight bolts into wood.
I push aside a few errant vines I keep forgetting to trail along the nails I’ve put in the beams, but once again decide I’m not going to worry about it today. Pulling the coffee pot from the carafe, I slide it between the greenery and fill it with water. Where I am, the water is infected where it’s not dried out, so I bring in water jugs and fill it in the reservoir I’ve set up out back behind the cabin. Another reminder I’ve made my life harder than it needs to be.
But this is safer. There’s safety in seclusion.
"Hey… Hey… What’s the matter with your head, yeah," Redbone croons through the speakers as I putter around in an old flannel and underwear. “Hey… hey… what's the matter with your mind and your sign and oh.”
My sleeve rolls up as I pour the water into the coffee maker, and even all these years later my eyes go straight for the tattoo on my wrist. 000 stands out like a brand. I suppose that’s exactly what it is. I’ve thought about covering it almost every day since escaping Papa and his military goons, but I’ve never been able to make myself get new ink. One, it would require going to a more populated area and showing an ID that I don’t have to prove I’m above the age of eighteen. Two, it’s a part of me.
A painful soul wrenching part that will never leave. Covering the ink won’t fix me no matter how much I wish it would.
You have to know, daughter, Papa’s voice echoes from those deep caverns of memory, always at the worst times. I do these things because I love you. You’re capable of greatness, and we need to bring it to the light. Do you understand?
“Do you understand?” I mock to the empty room, making a face and scoffing. I slap the carafe into the pot and let it percolate, then head outside to check my garden.
In the mood for something yummy after such a shit night, I wander through the thick grass and enjoy the sun on my skin as I make my way over. The garden’s expansive, full of more food than I’ll ever realistically eat on my own, but it doesn’t matter. What I don’t use I take down to Stoney Hightower at the Farmer’s Market in Greencastle, the next town over from Hawkins, and he gives me enough for my troubles and my out-of-season fresh strawberries.
I have everything, from tomatoes to potatoes, from bananas to avocados. The half acre of vegetation is spattered with high stalks and fruit trees, plumed with green bean sprouts and cabbages. My powers had been honed long ago, the initial telekinesis I showed as an infant growing until it included element manipulation.
When I finally learned it was all chemistry, simple mathematics and formulas taught by my father, it all made more sense. Papa wanted to turn me into a weapon. All I’d ever wanted to do was create. He wanted me to destroy, and when I refused I was punished.
Eleven years after escaping him and Hawkins’ lab, I hadn’t gone far. I retreated to the Darkness and inside created my safe space. At twenty six I’ve been alone almost half my life, and I like it that way… but it gets lonely here sometimes.
I pluck a few avocados from a tree, eyeing the Darkness at the edge of my property. The red and purple clouds seem to breathe on their own as they wage their constant war to entreat on my home, only giving way to the sunshine dome around me. I’ve kept myself hidden in this little enclave, masking the area so only I can enter. It’s hard some days to keep up the shield around it, to make sure Henry can’t enter, but so far he hasn’t stepped foot inside.
I can see the creatures circling in the distant crackling sky, and I cock my head as I wonder what food they’ve found in the desolate Dark. Deciding I don’t want to know, I turn on my heel only to come face to face with one of the creatures themselves.
Shrieking like a scared rabbit, I fall hard on my ass and scramble away until my back hits the avocado tree. My precious fruits bounce away and my fucked up brain grieves the avocado I didn’t have before dying. Chest heaving, I blink through the harsh sunlight as its shadow covers me and it’s twitching head cocks to the side.
The head is a giant bird skull with no visible eyes and thin skin, with leathery wings and sharp claws. It’s the size of two grown vultures, massive and imposing. It lets out a little brrup and hops toward me, so I reach out to pet its beak.
“Screech! You scared the shit outta me!” I huff, letting out a relieved chuckle. Screech pats his foot in bliss as my heart rate slows to normal, humming happily and nuzzling his bony chin further into my hand.
I push him away and get to my feet, ignoring Screech’s little groan of disappointment and the insistent fluttering of his wings. He’s always so needy. I put my hands on my hips and cock a brow at him, “Where’s Clem?”
The creature shrugs and looks away, not wanting to give his cuddles to his sister. I hook one finger under his beak and pull at him until he faces me. Though he’s at least twice my height, he knows I’m in charge and after a few tugs he relents.
“Where’s Clem, Screech?”
A small gurgling bark from behind makes my eyes go wide, and I turn just in time for Clem herself to barrel into my chest. I hit the ground harder than the first time, sliding through the grass as she nuzzles into me and licks every inch of skin she can reach. Laughing madly, I pat her leathery skin, the tickling feeling of her flower-bud mouth tingling all over.
I finally manage to roll out from under her and get to my feet, holding out my hands playfully. She wags her tail, her bulky body coiled to pounce on me once more. The size of a small horse, Clem acts like a dog. Just like Screech, she has no eyes, just that flower-shaped mouth that spreads wide when she opens it.
“What are you two up to today?” I ask suspiciously. “Dinner isn’t until six. You guys know that.”
They exchange a look as well as they can with no eyeballs, but it’s clear enough. Just as I’m about to demand an answer, Screech hangs his head and points one bony wing to where the creatures circle the sky.
Something is out there.
“Well, shit.”
I kick aside the avocado I didn’t have before dying, resenting it more than grieving it now. Stomping back to the cabin, I wave my hands as Screech and Clem follow me closely up the hill.
“I fully intended to have a me day, y’know? I was gonna have a bath, a glass of wine,” I call to them as I bang around in my room. I pull on a pair of jeans and heavy boots for the coolness, snag a jacket off the back of the door. “And you two show up and now I have to go into the Dark.”
Clambering into the kitchen, I glare at them through the porch window. I pour fresh coffee into a thermos as they watch me, letting out little chirrups of embarrassment while they wait patiently. I huff and squint at them, “This isn’t something you can handle by yourselves?”
Clem and Screech shake their heads, so I let out a dramatic groan and head for the gun closet. I’ve collected a handful of useful weapons over the years, made a few myself, but I instinctively reach for the pistol holster and their respective pieces. I grab the shotgun and loop the strap over my shoulders before closing it and snatching my thermos off the counter.
Kicking the door open, I step onto the porch. It creaks with my weight, slight as it is. I’ve been meaning to replace the slats but that would mean going into the real world and I haven’t been up for it lately with all the nightmares. I frown at my two little monsters as I pull my long curls into a ponytail.
“This better be good, guys.”
I head off the porch to the side of the cabin, hopping into the ‘84 robin’s egg blue Jeep that lay nestled between the trees. I’d… procured it some years ago and brought it through a gate I’ve since closed. I keep it in tiptop condition, proud of my car that nobody gets to see with its registration that once belonged to someone named Haley Goddard. Poor Haley. I’m certainly never going to give it back.
I’ve found myself capable of a lot of things since leaving the lab when at first I was like a scared puppy in the rain, unsure and terrified. I find books in bargain bins and when I have enough money I buy better ones on everything from mechanics to architecture to horticulture. Learning’s in my DNA thanks to Papa, so I enjoy it even though the thought of him makes my skin crawl.
Clem and Screech lead me through the trail of trees to the edges of my property, which I affectionately call The Haven. We venture into the Darkness, the sunshiney dome of the Haven shifting quickly to the deep purple storms. While I have reception in the Haven, it’s spotty at best in the Darkness, so I pop in a mix-tape I found at the record store to let some semblance of my morning routine happen while I sip my coffee from the thermos.
“If you're all alone when the pretty birds have flown. Honey, I'm still free, take a chance on me,” ABBA comes through on the speakers, a little crackly, but I don’t mind. I pull a face and decide to roll with it, swaying in time with the music as I enter a storm.
The rolling clouds surround us as we drive around the vines, creatures swarming the Jeep but they know to leave us be. I’ve killed enough of them that they avoid me and my bright blue car. I only really have to deal with them now if I get in their way.
I drive through the Dark Hawkins, following Screech and Clem through winding roads in the boonies until we reach the trailer park. Once, before the Darkness took over this place, the buildings were pristine, beautiful. Better looking than they were in the real world. Now, the vines and monsters have taken over and encircle everything with a flurry of dust and violence.
It’s a shame. This world was my safe place once. The entirety of it mimicked the Haven, not just my little property. Henry and I spent hours exploring and mapping all of it, playing with the creatures before they all turned to blood and death. Before Henry’s own demons followed and destroyed everything.
“'Cause you know I've got so much that I wanna do. When I dream I'm alone with you,” I sing along as we go deeper into the Darkness. Clem and Screech lead me through the haze of those flying ratbat fuckers that Henry created, about five miles from the Haven. “It’s magic.”
A group of them were crouched around something, pulling and biting as I hop out of the Jeep. Deciding it might be best to make a quick getaway, I leave the door open as my feet hit the ground, careful to avoid the vines. I don’t want Henry to know I’m here.
The music plays as I approach, tiptoeing around the tendrils embedded in the dirt as Huey Lewis & The News echoes around the Dark, “I was walkin’ down a one-way street, just a-lookin’ for someone to meet…”
I swat away the swarm, poking at them with the butt of the shotgun. One of them turns and hisses at me, swinging out a clawed hand. I smash the gun on its head and kick another, and soon enough they back off, skirring as they slink away.
“Now I'm hopin' (hopin') that the feeling is right, and I'm wonderin' (wonderin') if you'll stay for the night…”
Clem and Screech push them further away as I inspect their prey. My lip curls into a disgusted snarl as I approach, eyeing the splattered blood and hardly recognizable jeans. An electric guitar hangs limply in one of the person’s hands, the strings snapped and the body cracked.
They must have made their way through to the real world and dragged some poor bastard inside.
Skin and bone sticks up from leather and cotton fabric, shredded and glistening far too brightly in this dimmed and darkened place. While Clem and Screech keep the creatures at bay, I kneel beside the body and reach to the blood-covered face of this person. I press the back of my hand to their cheek. It’s sticky with drying blood but still warm.
I let my fingers trail down the mess of broken bones and snagged skin, wrapping my hand around the wrist and feeling for a pulse.
"If you believe it, take my hand, and I'll take your heart…”
I can faintly feel something, but it’s hard to tell like this. I set the gnarled hand down and press my fingers to the throat. Matted hair and sweat lines the person’s skin, and I have to peel some thick curling strands away. It’s fading…. But I can feel it.
This person is alive.
Making sure Clem and Screech are holding their own, shrieking and clawing at the flying ratbats, I push away some hair from their head to get a better look at them. I inspect them as I cup their face gently in my hands. Taking a deep breath, I let myself relax for what I’m about to do.
Any medical combat situation starts with this question, Zero, Colonel Sullivan’s voice comes from the back of my mind, How do I stop the bleeding?
I suck in air through my nose as I focus, letting my friends protect me while I help this person. Platelets stick together around wounds to stop the bleeding. They need help though. Protein binds with platelets to form a fibrin clot.
I need to form a fibrin clot.
I’ve done this enough times on myself but this person is bleeding badly. Barely able to fathom how they’re still alive, I hope they were at least unconscious for the creatures eating into their belly.
Picturing the blood vessels shrinking to slow the blood flow, the energy in the body kickstarts to healing with my help. As they constrict, I hum to focus. The platelets move to cover the injuries, the brain activating to begin coagulation. Sticky blood pools beneath my knees as I work, and my nose begins to drip with the effort.
Guiding protein to the platelets, I let the body begin the process and let go, doing my best to ignore the copper scent of blood as I wipe it away from my upper lip. There will be a lot of work for me to do on them, but for now this will last until we get back to the Haven. Pulling a handkerchief from my back pocket, I spit on one corner and begin to wipe away the blood and dirt.
For a moment I think they might be a woman, they’re so pretty. Soft rounded cheekbones give way to full lips, but the Adam’s apple on his throat tells me he’s a man. He’s young, probably my age, and much too gentle looking to be in a place like this.
Patting him down as the creatures hiss around me for taking their food, I feel until I find the thin lining of a wallet in his back pocket. I dig it out and flip it open, reading the name on the license in the little window.
Edward Wayne Munson, DOB 10/31/1965.
There’s a few other interesting things in his pockets, such as one of those twenty-sided dice nerds like to use in their games. I’d read about D&D, but seeing as I have no friends I’ve never played. A slip of paper folded up in one reads, Corroded Coffin, tonight only! with a picture of a curly-haired guitarist on stage with his band. I also find a joint in his jacket pocket, pre-rolled and in good condition, and I chuckle as I stuff it into my jacket along with his other things for safe keeping.
“Do you believe in love? Do you believe it's true?” Huey Lewis sings from the car as I zip his jacket to keep his organs inside during the drive. The last thing I need is to clean guts from the upholstery.
I loop the shotgun and guitar over my back with the straps, then lean over and grab Edward Munson under the armpits and drag him back to the car. I try to avoid the vines, but as I pull him along, Edward gasps and jerks one of his arms from my grasp.
“Fuck,” I hiss as I scramble to hold onto him. “Stay still!”
He struggles anyways, panic and pain likely taking over despite his weakness and the damage to his body. I grip his hair tightly at the crown, pull his head back to look at me. I find myself gazing into bright brown eyes that are full of terror and glistening with tears.
“I’m going to help you,” I say sternly. “Let me help you.”
Edward lets out a breath of relief, and I let his head drop back down. But then he spots Screech, Clem, and the ratbats. His legs kick out in a panic. Right into one of the vines.
“Well… shit.”
Lightning flashes across the sky with a thunderous crack! The clouds turn red, pulsing in the dark and rolling straight toward us, and I drop him in my fear. He hits the ground hard, but I pull him up again in a flash, a mad dash of panic to get the hell back to safety.
Screech jumps back from the swarm, snapping his beak at the ratbats. He snarls as Clem takes pleasure in biting the heads off any that she can reach. I drag Edward to the Jeep, yelling and cursing even though I’m sure he’s unconscious again.
“You stupid fuck!” I scream as I pull him under the open door. More of the swarm appears, and one tugs at my ponytail, dragging me back until I fall on my ass on the cold ground.
My hand flashes back to grip it at the base. Tears spring to my eyes as it jerks my head back and forth. The wings flap loudly, only the roaring of the rising wind audible over it. Letting out a screech, I manage to pull one of the pistols from my holster and point it behind my head.
The pop is deafening, a dull ringing bursting across my eardrum as the wind howls in my other. The creature yelps as the bullet hits meat, releasing me and flopping across the ground in pain. I scramble to my feet, holding my hand out as I force the ground to raise Edward to the level of the Jeep seats. Quickly rounding the car, I jump into the passenger side and pull him in, then lean the seat back as far as it will go and shove him down on it.
Pulling the passenger door closed, I climb over him to the driver’s side, slamming it shut. Throwing the car in reverse, I back up enough to give Clem and Screech room to defend us, then slap it in drive and tear off toward the Haven.
The sky booms with lights and electricity. The storms burst from the area of town where the old Creel house is, where Henry hides, and my jaw drops as it heads straight toward my little car. Fear bursts through my veins at the thought of him catching me. I stomp down on the gas, the Jeep rattling and bouncing over each bump and vine I’d taken care to avoid on the way here.
Edward groans, struggling to sit up with every bounce of the shocks on the crappy road. His voice slurs, deep and husky as he asks, “What the fuck it going on?”
“Shut up, dipshit!”
He looks my way with bleary eyes. Still bleeding, still damaged, likely beyond repair. I’m not sure I’ll be able to save him, and all I can think about is that damned avocado I should have had before venturing out into a waking nightmare. He nods and goes limp, and I curse to nobody, “Great! Just great! I just wanted to have one nice day!”
I spot Clem and Screech in the rearview mirror, just as fast as the ratbats though they are much bigger. The speedometer hits 80 mph before I reach the borders of the Haven, winding through trees and the trails. I don’t slow until I see Clem and Screech follow me inside.
The creatures hiss outside as they approach the sunlit patch of land, coming up short and snarling at me from a distance. Even though I know they won’t, I sigh a breath of relief that they don’t follow us inside.
By the time I park next to the cabin, my body turns to jelly. My fingers and hands shake as I peel them from the steering wheel. Looking over to the man slumped over in my passenger seat, I shake my head.
“You better be worth it, Munson.”
Smurph's Masterlist | Zero to Hero Masterlist
Notes: Okay, I've been working on this for a while... I need to know what you think of Zero and if you like her/the story so far. I'm really excited for this story and I want you guys to like it! <3
Also, the faceclaim for Zero is Adria Arjona because I think she looks similar to me even though I'm Siksika and she's Latina. We share very similar features ngl Zero is a projection of parts of myself
Stranger Things Taglist: @tlclick73 @theloser007 @sadbitchfangirl @chaoticcancer @harrys-tittie @assassinsasha23
oh my actual god!!! i don't know what you put in this but it is some good shit because i am HOOKED.
Zero is literally such a dynamic, fascinating character! Her backstory, even just so far as this chapter, is amazing. And the world you've built around her with her own adorably loyal Upside Down creatures is so lovely.
The descriptions in finding Eddie and his injuries made me feel genuinely ill— in the best way.
I'm just so excited to read more I am absolutely vibrating with excitement rn
summary: “Can’t believe you’ll finally let me do dinner service,” you let out with a laugh, and guilt blooms in his chest. Over how selfish he’s been, over how unfair he is to you, that have committed no sin besides being what he can’t have. Fuck, the wine is making his head spin. “Have I been promoted to the good list?” You joke.
Maybe the best way to rid himself of how feverishly he wants you is to keep you around. Not avoid you.
“I think I just need to stop being selfish,” he mutters. And that’s it. That’s all it takes for Eddie to realize that all he wants at this moment is to put his goddamn cigarette out and hold you with both hands.
cw: no y/n, eddie calls reader 'kid', age gap (r is 26, e is 46), language, smoking, moral angst, dual pov (in the sense that you get to see what both eddie and r are thinking), yearning and pining on steroids, smut (minors DNI), oral (f receiving), eddie cums in his pants (what's new), food as a love language, fwb status achieved, the last dialogue is heavily influenced by heated rivalry because they've plagued my existence
word count: 6k
series masterlist | chef! eddie moodboard | pt. 1 | pt. 2| pt. 4 coming soon!
song inspo- hunger by florence + the machine
divider by @saradika-graphics
all my works are 18+ pls minors dni
The sound is deafening. It’s like watching a wine chalice fall from your tray, and being unable to do anything to stop it.
It’s the silence right before. The anticipation. Expecting the mess it will make on the floor. It all bubbles in your gut, right as you see him walk towards you. He’s holding a glass of Chablis full to the brim, accompanied by its half-finished bottle. “Figured I’d come out for a smoke, too,” he blurts out, muffled by the cigarette between his lips. The spark wheel makes its sound, and the cigarette between his lips rims with golden embers. The air feels trapped in Eddie’s lungs, a weak cough escapes him. What now?
“‘S cold out here for an old man like you,” you point out, chuckling at him, but your tone is uncertain. As you speak, you see him walk over, and lean on the banister. Right next to you. His suede-clad shoulder bumps into yours, and the proximity makes you shiver. He takes a sip of his wine and places the glass on the rickety metal table right next to him.
“Watch that tone,” he jests. “I’m a big boy, I can take a little snow,” his voice slightly charred by the alcohol, mirrors your amused tone. His spiritedness slices a sympathetic smile through your lips.
“I never got to thank you for the food,” you change the subject. Suddenly, the air around Eddie feels thick. He must be a real thick-brained motherfucker if he thought you wouldn’t have put two and two together. Maybe he did want you to figure it out, to know that he wasn’t avoiding you because of anything that you did– he just had to care from a distance.
“What food?”
“The one you’d leave in my locker. I figured it was you because of your handwriting on the notes. The same one as the note you left on the bacon, egg, and cheese after I got drunk,” you explain, taking another hit of your cigarette. Again, there’s no shame behind your admission of what happened that night. Yet, every mention of that night it’s like a gunshot wound to Eddie’s chest.
“You’re too fuckin’ smart, kid,” he grumbles, followed by a fat swig of wine, and the compliment makes you fluster. “After the eggs and fries I assumed you don’t eat a whole lot with all the runnin’ you do around the restaurant, so–” he trails off, shrugging like it’s not a big deal. Except it is.
“I really liked that brie and fig preserve sandwich. You used that good ham we have in the fridge, didn’t you?” you ask, a bit embarrassed that he’d use the good stuff on you. He emits an affirmative hum, and if possible, he sees your smile get bigger. Fuck. Stop looking at me like that. “Will you make it for me again some time?” You bat your eyes at him in a joking manner, but all Eddie can think about is how twinkly your eyes look reflecting the lights brightening your street.
“Tell ya what, kid– if you come after lunch and do dinner service with me, I will,” his tone is soft, as he turns around and nudges you with his shoulder. You look at the curve of his nose and lips pointing at the moon. At his fingers, tightly wrapped around his cigarette, while the smoke of it surrounds you like a wall. He’s looking at you, now. He keeps himself there, right against you, hoping you can’t feel how badly he wants to touch more than your shoulder. More than your arms. That he wants to wrap his arms around you, grip your waist, take off– no, not yet– as much as he would like to. He wants you to want it first, just so he won’t feel like a complete pervert.
Your eyes turn into half-moons, which make the real thing pale in comparison, squinted by a smile. Then his eyes travel down your lips, wrapping around the cigarette, which has turned into a stump, and he’s done for.
All he thinks about is to kiss you until you’re so dizzy you can’t stand, and he’ll be there to hold you up. To feel the taste of your smile against his lips. To cup your face, shield you from the cold. Fuck, he needs more wine.
“Can’t believe you’ll finally let me do dinner service,” you let out with a laugh, and guilt blooms in his chest. Over how selfish he’s been, over how unfair he is to you, that have committed no sin besides being what he can’t have. Fuck, the wine is making his head spin. “Have I been promoted to the good list?” You joke.
Maybe the best way to rid himself of how feverishly he wants you is to keep you around. Not avoid you.
“I think I just need to stop being selfish,” he mutters. And that’s it. That’s all it takes for Eddie to realize that all he wants at this moment is to put his goddamn cigarette out and hold you with both hands.
He looks at you with the eyes of a man who’s starving, hands inching up the length of your arms, he’s now a palm’s length away from you. “You’re so beautiful,” it comes out choked, like a breath he’s been holding underwater.
“Chef–”
“Just Eddie, please,” he corrects with a murmur right against your face. He’s pervaded by the tobacco smell of your mouth, the smell of your hair in which snowflakes have deposited themselves to become droplets. There’s no more restraint, no more control. “Let me kiss you,” he whispers, as he looks into your eyes. “I can’t do this anymore,” his voice is feeble. He’s begging. He’s so desperate with it, you see it in the flush of his cheeks.
“But– but you’re drunk?” You counter, pushing back the crawling feeling in your body. The one that wants to push you closer, until you’re basically inside his jacket.
“‘M sober enough to know I want to kiss you. That– that I’ve wanted to kiss you since that one night I gave you my cigarette,” he breathes, stutters, blubbers. The proximity to you, to your lips, makes his brain short circuit as his breath warms your face with the smell of wine and cigarettes.
You don’t answer, and in return, you just press your lips to his.
He sears with the heat of you despite your cold lips. Your hands on his cheeks, your body right against his, as you let the cigarette fall down the balcony. Feverish, dizzy. He can’t fucking think.
“Three months–” he mutters against the softness of your lips, “ever since that fucking interview, I’ve wanted you so much it made me stupid, selfish–” his hands travel up and down your arms, to your waist, to your back.
“Shut up and keep kissing me, Eddie,” and hearing his name begged out of your lips is enough for him to stop rambling his pleas for forgiveness. There’s a sheen of sweat that’s coating both of your foreheads, your upper lips, as you open his coat.
He’s offering himself to you in the barest way he can think of. It’s not love, no. Just a carnal need to show you his bones, blood, flesh. Not literally, but in the way that he ebbs and flows with the rhythm of your own body. He doesn’t force anything. He lets you part your mouth of your own volition, to caress his tongue over yours.
It’s all he’s been wanting. It’s everything he’s waited three months for. He’s not subtle with how hungry he is for you.
“Tell me you don’t want this, sweetheart. Please, stop me,” he says, another, final, attempt at a trace of goodness left in him. His breath ragged, tortured, because he can’t stop it himself. He can’t.
“I want– want it so much, Eddie,” you pant inside his mouth. You’re way past forming a rational thought, not when the fullness of his lips makes you dizzy enough to stumble where you stand.
He’s surprised with the eagerness of your own dormant hunger. The one that led you to sleepless nights, pushing away your duvet because of the heat that took over your body whenever you thought about him. Whenever your hands slipped ever so slightly under the waistband of your underwear, letting yourself indulge in the thought of him. Unlike him, you didn’t even make an attempt at goodness.
It was something private, something that you could keep a secret. You would’ve come apart at the seams otherwise.
His hand is placed behind your head, cushioning, as he holds you against the glass window. His mouth makes his way down your jaw, your ear, your neck. Like he wants to memorize all of you with his lips. Drawing outlines in the cold-pricked skin, like he’s keeping the image of your kiss-bitten lips for a rainy day.
“You smell so fucking good,” he almost growls against the softness of your skin. “It’s been making me crazy, to even– even be in the same room with you,” he stutters, and that’s all the explanation you need as to why he’s been avoiding you. Yet, you don’t say anything besides sighing against his hairline, smelling the pine scent of his shampoo.
“Can you say my name, please, sweetheart?” he sobs. Not chef, not anything else. He just wants to be himself. He bites at the column of your neck, and like he’s pushed a button, you comply.
“Eddie–” it’s a sigh, a plea, a prayer. It rings into his ears like a dog whistle. It makes him stupid. “In–side, please,” you grit out, pushing through the feeling of his hands sneaking their way under your coat and pyjama shirt. You grab the collar of his coat to drag him past the sliding door, back in the warmth of your home.
Your coats come off with heavy thuds against the hardwood floor, forgotten in a pool of brown and white. You’re immediately pushed over the couch, watching him kneel between your parted legs.
“I’ve wanted you so bad,” he whispers, nudging your nose with his, “I don’t know how– I don’t–” It makes him stupid, delirious. Drunk on your smell, and the little gasps that escape you whenever he places a kiss right down the sliver of skin the first button of your pyjamas makes available to him. His hands travel up and down your hips and stomach, like a gentle caress.
“It’s– it’s okay,” you pant against his ear. “Please, don’t make me wait,” you demand, grabbing the hem of his t-shirt, trying to get him to take it off. Clothes feel offending, oppressive. Not when you’ve both been so patient. Once his shirt is off and you can see him, he becomes a smatter of tattoos, spidery lines in black ink that litter his arms, his chest, his upper back. You hear him chuckle at your stunned pause, which makes you burn with embarrassment.
“I won’t make you wait, sweetheart, but please don’t stop staring at me like that,” he gives you a skewed smile, reaching for the buttons of your pyjama top. He could’ve easily lifted it over your head, he’s aware, but he likes this. This self torture, this proof that even at the eleventh hour, when you’re panting right under him, begging to undress you, he can still exercise restraint.
For someone who’s always running, always in a hurry, every second feels like an eternity as he peels every layer of you with careful attentiveness. Almost afraid to miss anything that’s laying dormant under the pink flannel.
He’s soft beneath your hands, with pearly scars that bump his skin close to his wrists and forearms. You measure the length of them with soft strokes of your hands, up and down. You want to make sure he’s real, that this is real. That every muscle, bump, and hair that you feel in the wake of your hands exists because he’s letting himself exist in front of you– naked, and beautiful.
When he takes off your pyjama top you can hear him suck a breath through his teeth. He’s so hungry for skin he’s yet to explore, smells he’s yet to sense, ones that make his dick twitch in his black sweatpants at the mere thought. His hands travel up your stomach, reaching up to your chest, squeezing the skin of your breasts with such gentleness, it makes you keen for more.
“You’re so, so pretty,” he exhales it like it’s a secret he doesn’t want you to find out. “Look at these–” he marvels with a firmer squeeze that elicits a squirm from you. “Can’t believe I made you wait this long, sweetheart, look at you,” he whines in return at the sight of you, arched into his touch, like you’re going to die without it.
He grabs your face with one hand, keeping your chin in place, as he trails kisses down your stomach, never breaking contact with your stunned eyes.
Your skin is stained with wet kisses, while you look at him press his free hand on your legs, inhale the smell that is pervading his nostrils in a way that’s making him dizzy.
“You been thinking about this, sweets?” And his smugness makes you want to scream from every pore. “Because I have, so many times,” he pants against the dampening crotch of your pyjamas. “I’ve thought about you like this, looking at me with your pretty eyes– God, your eyes–” he groans, “and I never did anything about it,” he confesses. “It wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair to you, sweets. Because I didn’t know you wanted me just as bad as I wanted you.” His last confession comes out lamentful, strained. Like he can’t believe he tortured himself this much over you.
“You… you didn’t–”
“Did you?” he asks like it’s a challenge, staring straight into your waiting eyes. It makes you feel embarrassed of the many nights spent moaning his name into the void of your room. So you nod, quietly, and you can feel the wicked smile bloom on his lips, right against your inner thigh, “God, you’re sweet,” he chuckles, mirth dripping from his voice.
“I didn’t– didn’t know,” you correct in between gasps, while his tattooed fingers hook on the elastic of your Christmas pyjamas.
“How could you have known?” He whispers against the skin of your stomach, mouthing his own secret language like prayer, like he wants to inhale the scent of your skin and bottle it for him to keep. He looks at you– eyes twinkling in the dim orange light of your living room. Dark and wanting, but an underlying twinge of adoration he’ll never bring himself to admit.
His hand that’s holding your chin in place sneaks up to your lips, and there’s a silent pause. A moment where he looks into your eyes, a silent declaration that yes, this is okay. It’s barely perceptible when you nod around his hand, and he wastes no time pushing his way past your lips with his thumb, eliciting a moan from you, while his other hand pushes your legs back, and he inhales.
“This okay?” he mumbles, out loud this time, against the smooth skin of your thigh, followed by a nip of his teeth that makes you cry out around his finger. You nod again. “Rest your legs on my shoulders, sweets, it’s okay,” he invites, and you comply. There’s nothing he could ask of you you wouldn’t do at this moment. If anything, it only adds more matches to the pool of flaming gasoline at the bottom of your stomach.
Another deep inhale, a hitching breath. He can’t believe he’s there. Right between your legs, as his hand is about to push your panties to the side, and his heart is beating so hard right against his chest, that he thinks it might poke out of him. You smell so good it makes him feel stupid.
He looks at you again, eyes glazed over, impatiently waiting for him to do something, anything. Yet you wait. You don’t push, or press, or demand. You’re just there.
You who are always so composed, so polite, so witty. Rendered wordless by his hovering mouth and ragged breath right where you need him most. And yet you just wait.
So he goes in, and the sound that comes out of you is like music ringing in his ears. A sacred collapse of resolve.
“Fuck– shit– Ed–” like you’re trying to begin new sentences, and the thread snaps right then and there, rendering you useless under his ministrations.
“Don’t have to speak,” he mouths right against the wet skin of your pussy. He explores, he takes his time. It’s the sweet torture he’s been wanting to inflict on himself all along. “You’re doing good,” he affirms before going in again. Lapping at as much surface he can cover with his tongue. He slurps and sucks like he’s never eaten a meal in his life. His free hand, the one that’s holding you open for him, moves down the length of your thigh, so close to where his chin is resting, waterfalled by the blissful pooling of your arousal. He crooks one of his fingers inside you, and you’re so responsive it makes his cock twitch in his sweats at every noise and whine that escapes your lips.
And he groans. At the smell of you, the taste, the way you clench around his finger like you’re trying to keep him there forever. The vibrations make you shiver.
“You always this messy, or just for me?” He murmurs amused, watching your eyes roll back at the additional stimulation.“Another one? Or are you good?” He asks, in a teasing whisper. He curls his finger deeper, and watches with resolute satisfaction at the way you arch your back off the couch, blubbering around his thumb.
“‘Nother one, please,” you mumble, and he obediently obliges, coaxing another whine out of you.
“Woulda done this sooner if I knew how– fuck, how wet you got for me,” he stands up and curls over you like a cat, while he pumps his fingers inside you. You can feel him grind on your thigh, heavy breathing in your ear. He’s embarrassed at the knowledge that he’s not going to last, but at this moment, he really doesn’t care about anything except coaxing more sweet sounds out of you. “Gimme kiss,” he mumbles against your swollen lips, as he takes his thumb out of your mouth, and replaces it with his searing tongue. You can smell yourself all over his mouth, chin, and nose, and you want nothing more than to lick it off of him. To take back the proof of how much you wanted it.
“Go on,” he says, like he can read it in your mind. “Lick me clean,” and so you do. The flat of your tongue swirls on his chin, under his nose, the side of his lips, and each roll of his hips against your soft thigh elicits more groans, more whines, right inside your mouth.
He can feel it. The way your breath is hitching, the pitch of your whines becoming higher, more desperate. The unabashed moaning, right in his mouth, the sweat that pools at your hairline, the way you’re squeezing his fingers like they’re keeping you alive.
“Eddie I’m g– please, please let me–” he shushes you, hot hair fanning your face.
“I got it, baby, don’t worry,” he soothes your desperate plea. He keeps his pace, he doesn’t speed up, or change the way his fingers are pumping inside you. Rather, his mouth leaves a trail of kisses down your jaw, to the soft lobe of your ear, and bites. “You gonna cum for me, sweets? Please lemme hear you cum in my ear,” he begs through broken huffs and labored breaths.
“The– there, plea–” you ramble, and with a final curl of his fingers, you come undone. There’s a silent scream, a whine, a jolt, as you bite down on his shoulder, and ride out your high. He feels it, you don’t want him to let go just yet, so he cups your head, placing another searing kiss on your lips.
“Shh, I got you,” he whispers, following the whine that comes out of you once he takes out his fingers, and the sight that’s in front of him is past any of his wildest fantasies of you. His hips twitch in turn, and a groaned-out sound that seems similar to your name escapes him, but you can barely hear it. You’re spent, head hung back on the headrest of your couch. Eyes half-lidded, sleepy.
“Holy shit,” you slur, still trying to steady your breath, looking at him. His thumb draws invisible straight lines against your thigh, soothing you through the aftershocks that still shoot through you.
“So much for being good,” he chuckles at himself, placing a kiss on your temple, and you’re not totally sure what it means. There’s a sourness in his expression that you can’t quite decipher. Like he’s disappointed in himself.
Maybe he wants you to return the favor? A weak hand reaching for the waistband of his sweats. He stops you.
“No more for tonight,” he soothes, soft, yet firm.
His reaction confuses you. You thought he wanted this, all of it. Did you make him feel forced to do this?
He sees the disappointment in your eyes “You don’t need to return the favor,” he intimates, his tone weak and cold. Then you look down. The stain that darkens his sweats, the one that he’s trying to cover with his hand as much as possible while he slips his shirt back on. It makes him feel pathetic, embarrassed, and if possible, even more of a pervert.
“Eddie, it’s fine. If anything’s kind of endearing–”
“It’s late. I should go home.”
And the wall’s erected in between you once again.
As confused as you are, you sit up and follow him with your eyes. “There’s no more trains, it’s like four in the morning. You can sleep on the cou–” you try to intervene, but he stops you.
“I’ll walk,” he grunts, walking off to grab his coat from the floor. He feels disgusted with himself. “‘M not far.”
“Stay, please,” you extend his hand towards him, voice thin, and you see him stop in his tracks.
There’s an uncomfortable sense of hurt that spreads through your chest, but you’re too tired to entertain it.
You sound so hurt, and it feels like a stake through his chest. He was about to be that asshole that walks away without giving any type of aftercare. The thought of it makes him sick.
Instead, he walks back to the couch, sighing a pained “Alright,” standing behind the headrest, his hand caressing the crown of your head. Only then you realize how heavy your lids feel. You’re not sure whether he’ll leave once you’re asleep, and it concerns you– how much you care about whether he’ll be there in the morning.
“I’ll stay,” he whispers, while his heart sinks.
He walks around the couch, reaching for your discarded clothes on the floor. You’re quiet, looking at him through your lashes as let yourself be dressed by him– sleeve by sleeve, button by button, while his mind steeps into an uncomfortable place, a scary place. Your silence deafens him. Now what?
“Don’t be gone when I wake up,” you slur, fully laying down.
“I won’t, promise,” he whispers.
“Mhh– thanks, Eddie,” you whisper in a sleep-daze, closing your eyes for good.
He thinks about the talk he’s gonna need to have with you when you’ll wake up in the morning. You’ll expect a continuation of what happened. Breakfast, getting to know each other, all that morning-after bullshit. Expecting things he won’t be able to give to you. He can’t be a boyfriend. He’s too tainted for something so beautiful.
Guilt suffocates him as he picks up your limp body off the couch to take you to bed, and he feels the weight of it against his arms. Yet, it’s not the weight of you. Just the weight of what he did.
The feeling of deja-vu that overtakes him makes him dizzy. He’s awake, in your apartment, and it’s five in the morning. Head in his hands, he sits right where you did, in his wet spot of shame.
Maybe he should have asked you for a spare pair of sweats. And a shower.
When you wake up, he’s asleep, mouth breathing on your couch. It makes you chuckle.
The wine bottle’s finished, and the Chinese food leftover has been put in the fridge. Dishes still piled up in the sink. You sigh.
You walk over to the sink trying to keep as quiet as possible as you soap up the pans and utensils, washing them one by one. Eddie’s awoken by an especially loud clank from a soapy pan that slips out of your hands.
“Jee-sus,” he curses, heart thumping. He rubs his eyes, heavy with sleep. Fuck, you’re awake.
“‘Morning,” you greet. Your tone is flat, and Eddie can’t tell if it’s whether you’re mad or just focused on the task at hand.
“Hey, kid,” he yawns. He’s back to ‘kid’. Like his head wasn’t between your legs last night. The thought makes your stomach sink for a second. There’s a glimpse of his mouth, of his drawled-out words against your skin, it muffles your ears for a second.
“Sleep good?” You try to make your tone as detached as possible, while you scrub another dish and put it away on the drying rack. Eddie stands up to walk over to the kitchen island, sitting on one of the stools.
“Yeah, your couch is comfy,” he lies, the small talk making him feel uneasy. “Sorry for leaving all those dishes in your sink and hittin’ the road last time, kid. Should’ve woken up earlier, I could’ve had the time, but–” he lets the sentence hang in an exhausted sigh. It’s like he’s trying to scold himself. Like he let his steely control slip for just a moment, and because of it, his resolve crumbles once more. Another bout of silence.
“Never had a man apologize for not doing the dishes,” you emit a dry laugh that makes Eddie’s stomach twist. “Guess you’re not used to it when you have a line of dishwashers to do it for you, chef,” you shrug, marking the end of your last word with a sibilated sound. If he’s putting up walls, you can do the same.
“I started as a dishwasher, kid. At Salt, just like you,” he mutters the end of that sentence like he’s afraid of it.
“You didn’t tell me you worked at Salt,” you point out, a scheptical smile on your face.
“I was a scrawny kid getting yelled at by one of the nation’s top chefs because I broke a plate. Not exactly one of my proudest moments,” he sniffs, while you stare attentively at him. He’s playing with a hangnail on his finger, like he’s trying to avoid your gaze.
“Hey, I followed a piece of shit ex here,” you chuckle, trying to lighten the mood. “If there’s anyone who should be ashamed is me,” you shrug, putting down the last of the dishes.
The air turns thick for a second. Like you keep dancing around the elephant in the room. You exhale, Eddie’s still looking at his hands.
You turn away from him, grabbing two mugs– a silly snowman-shaped mug, and one shaped like a stack of cookies– and pour some coffee from a keurig. “Coffee?” You ask without looking at him.
“Please,” he answers, lifting his eyes from the offending hangnail to watch you pour milk into both mugs, and beeline to the chair right in front of him.
He gets the silly snowman mug, which is a bit inconvenient to drink from, but after the night he’s had, he’ll drink coffee out of a shoe if he needs to.
After a few sips of coffee, he stands up off his chair and heads towards your cabinet.
“What are you doing, chef?” Every reaction from you is deliberate, calculated. You want to coax what you want out of him.
“Pancakes? Go shower in the meantime.”
You just can’t help but oblige.
The shower is scalding, but it doesn’t cleanse you of any sin. You can still feel Eddie’s head burrowed in between your thighs, and his firm grip on your chin. When you woke up, you weren’t even too sure if what happened the night before was a sick and twisted dream your mind had thought up.
Yet, with every memory of his words, drawls, commands, you seem to keen into your own touch as you lather yourself with as much soap as you can to clean up your mess. Both physical and mental, that is.
If there’s one thing that Eddie can bury his own emotions in, it’s cooking. He can be angry or frustrated and make a mean carbonara– the Italian way, with the whipped yolk and cheese, relaxed, happy, stressed, he can make dessert.
The issue is, that it feels unnatural now, like he’s forgotten how to.
His hands feel like two huge cutting boards as he ventures into your cabinets for flour, sugar, baking powder, while he debates on the topping. It can’t be normal pancakes, no. Only when he reaches into your fridge for the butter, he nudges a white container that reads ‘ricotta’, and he’s got it: Whipped ricotta and lemon pancakes. A smile slices through his face as he gets to work.
His struggle is short-lived. When it comes to pancakes, it feels like muscle memory at that point. It reminds him of slow Sunday mornings after Wayne came back from church. He’ll find a little Eddie running around the kitchen with a scalding mug of coffee in one hand, a stack of maple butter blueberry pancakes and bacon in the other.
The stain in his sweats is long forgotten, even though he curses himself for not asking for a change of clothes and a shower before he got to work on breakfast. He warms the butter on the stove, slightly charring it, letting it turn a warm shade of brown, dividing it between the dough and the whipped lemon ricotta. What comes out of it is something almost visually sinful– stacked high, four warm, spongy pancakes, topped with chilled sweet lemon ricotta and chopped mint at which he makes a mental note to make them again for Wayne when he goes back to visit.
When you come out of your shower, hair wet, in an old t-shirt and sweats, you’re enamored by the sweet-acidic smell that surrounds your kitchen. Two stacks of pancakes at the table, accompanied by fresh mugs of coffee, your stomach betrays you before words do.
“Sit down and eat, kid, sounds like you’re starving,” he snickers, pulling your chair back.
“What–uh, what are these?” You were expecting regular pancakes, maybe even the frozen ones sitting in the back of your freezer, or something. Not whatever this masterpiece is.
“Well, they’re pancakes,” he explains with an amused smile, coaxing one out of you in turn.
“Yeah, no shit. I mean the flavor.”
“Lemon and sweet ricotta, and mint, and… other bullshit,” he points at each ingredient with a voice full of pride as you sit down and take a bite. Needless to say the flavors– so delicate, yet so specific to each ingredient– makes this the best stack of pancakes you’ve ever had.
“I don’t even like pancakes that much, but these–” he’s ashamed to admit that he prepared himself for this moment. For the way your mouth curls in a smile, and your eyes crinkle at the corners.
“Wait, back up. You don’t like pancakes?”
“Well– maybe I don’t dislike them, but there’s better breakfast food out there,” you shrug, chucking a mouthful of pancakes in your mouth. In the blink of an eye, Eddie reaches your side of the table and snatches the plate from under you. “Wha–”
“Maybe you don’t deserve my pancakes,” he says, holding your plate above his head. A wicked smile slices his face.
“Come on, I didn’t mean it like that. Your pancakes are lovely, I promise,” you whine at him, standing up and walking over to his side to make an attempt at recovering your plate.
“After everything we’ve shared,” he laments, mock-clutching his heart, dodging your grabby hands, “can’t believe you would betray me like this.” It makes a smile bloom on your face, despite how annoying Eddie’s being.
He’s laughing, and it’s a sound you didn’t know you needed to hear until now. It’s boyish, full of feeling, unlike his gruff appearance– higher-pitched than his own voice. It settles in your bones and rings, it makes you shiver.
You don’t want the pancakes anymore.
“What, you’re just going to admit defeat?” He snickers, putting down the plate, and sliding it over to where you were just sitting. Yet, you stand there, staring back at his face, watching the amusement wash off. It leaves room for expressions you can’t quite place. Confusion, apprehension, fear.
Upon further inspection, there’s a smudge of flour on Eddie’s face, which you quickly swipe without thinking. You can see his eyes close at the immediate contact with your thumb. Betrayed, again, by his own body.
“Are we not going to talk about last night?” You whisper it like a secret, reaching for your mug, taking a swig from it, and then cradling it with both hands.
“What do you want from me, kid?” He’s back to the gruff tone. Eddie hangs his head, staring into the circling bubbles of his coffee. Tired and maybe a bit scared, he sounds enticingly pathetic. It makes your skin burn.
You place your mug down and settle into his lap, letting his eyes inspect you. You can hear his breathing quicken, becoming heavier and dysregulated. The effect you have on him gives you a satisfying pleasure, you smirk at his reaction.
“I had fun,” you mumble against his skin.
“Sweetheart–” there it is again. One thing about him, he knows how to keep a boundary. He’s trying to decipher what you mean by that. Do you want to do it again? Is it a one-time thing? Do you want a relationship? He quivers at the latter.
“I’m saying that we could do this more often. Casually, of course,” you detach, looking at his blown-out eyes. Desperate for a kiss. “Say,” your tone is pointed, unlike anything he’s heard come out of your mouth. “I casually gave you my number for when, y’know, you, casually, feel lonely after dinner service, or on your day off,” you ghost your nose on his cheek, right by the shell of his ear. The slightest hitch of his breath that makes you smirk. “And say, I’m casually all by myself at home,” you continue.
“And I casually were to grab my phone and call you,” he exhales, mocking your tone. He notices the way your fingers play with the edge of one of his burn scars, how your pupils are wide, eyes full of mischief. He can see you through the curtain of his loose hair, making your way at the lobe of his ear. You mouth at it, and you can hear him whine, his hands conveniently finding a solid place to keep him aground on the curve of your hips. He feels your heart thrum against his chest as you press light kisses on his jawline.
“I casually might answer,” you breathe into his ear.
“... And I asked you to come over, casually.”
A smile creeps up your lips as you finally look at him: “I casually might come.”
a/n: suprise! as always, feedback is appreciated and thank you for reading! :)
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