If you’re still doing modern requests: could you do best friend/fwb Eddie judging the guys matching with reader on hinge? Could get smutty if you wanted it to maybe???
“No. No. Absolutely not. No.”
You sighed, your thumb cramping up from the amount of times you’d swiped left, rejecting each profile as it flashed across your phone screen. The next candidate was a guy named Kyle, his lips set in a straight line as he stared at the camera, holding a rather lacklustre sized fish in his hand.
You didn’t need Eddie’s advice as you swiped left again, quicker than he could open his mouth, frowning when the boy snorted in amusement. You were squished beside him on his sofa, his tiny Indiana apartment bathed in afternoon sunlight, the kind that only seemed to come from a lazy Sunday, dust motes in the air like glitter, the leftover smell of semi burnt pancakes and syrup accompanying it.
You could’ve moved away, out of eyesight, to the other side of the couch. You could’ve held your phone close to your chest, hiding your pathetic idea of a dating life from your friend. Instead, you dug an elbow into Eddie’s side, triumphant when he grumbled, but you didn’t move away, happy to settle into the warmth of him, a tangle of legs on the cushions. He tapped out a beat you didn’t know on your foot, snapped the elastic of your sock against your ankle and peered at your phone.
The next guy was called James and he was pretty looking, kind of preppy with thick rimmed glasses and floppy hair. He listed his favourite band as ABBA and he liked hiking, cats and scrabble nights on the weekend. Eddie shook his head, curls brushing your cheek.
“He looks like he’s never made a girl come in his life.”
“Eddie!” You were more embarrassed than admonishing, staring at the boy with wide eyes and flushed cheeks, digging your toes into his thigh.
He shrugged, unrepentant. “What?” He asked. “It’s true! He looks like he irons his pyjamas and calls his mom every day.”
“You call Wayne every day,” you reminded him.
“Every second day, actually, and that’s not the point.” Eddie flicked your nose, grinning when you tried to nip at his finger, teeth lightly catching his thumb. “You’re not tryin’ to date me. And this guy isn’t good enough for you, sweetheart.”
You ignored the first part of his statement, stomach flipping. You had tried to date Eddie, once. When you first met, when he was younger and possibly more stupid than ever, when he was oblivious to your flirting. Now you’d given up, settling for friends, maybe even best friends.
“You barely know anything about this guy,” you huffed, “you can’t assume that.”
“Yes I can,” Eddie smiled, smug and all charm, dimples flashing. He leaned in too close, cheek almost pressed to yours as he scrolled through James’ profile. “See? Says his last relationship was over ten years ago, this guy doesn’t have a clue. He couldn’t handle you.”
Steve wandered in from his room at that point, taking up even more of your personal space as he joined the conversation, his work vest hanging off one arm. He was late.
He didn’t seem to care.
“This guy?” He asked around his toothbrush, leaning over the back of the sofa and prodding at your phone. “Not a chance, you’d eat him alive, babe.”
You scoffed, offended at both boys' suggestions. “What’re you trying to say?” You asked them both, glaring at Steve as he wandered into the kitchen, grabbing what was probably your leftover pasta. “That I’m some kind of maneater?”
Eddie chuckled, leaning back into the couch cushions as you kept your gaze on Steve’s, feeling indignant. The boy looked at Eddie for back up, rolling his eyes when he received no help. “Hey, no. I never said that,” Steve placated. “S’just, you know. You have needs—”
“Needs that haven’t been met since Paul and that was what? Like, ten months ago?” Eddie chimed in, still grinning when you rounded on him. If anything, your attention made him beam wider.
“Mr Pressed Pants,” Steve continued, gesturing to your cell, “isn’t gonna scratch that itch for you, sorry. Anyway, I’m late. See you later, losers.” He dropped a kiss to the crown of your head, all mint toothpaste and cologne, slapping a hand to Eddie’s offered one and then he was gone.
“You’re both far too invested in my sex life,” you muttered under your breath, swiping left on James, knowing that both your friends were right, even if you didn’t want to admit it. “Or lack of.”
Eddie sighed, all faux drama and exasperation. He picked at a strand of your hair, arm slung over the back of the couch, warm skin pressed to your neck and shoulders and he twirled the lock around a finger. He was watching you carefully, that smug grin fading into an expression that looked contemplative. But your friend still sounded as bold as ever when he said:
“Maybe you’re just looking for a guy in all the wrong places.”
Sixteen year old Eddie Munson would’ve been shaking in his big, dumb combat boots at the suggestion in his voice, the flirtation in his words. Twenty year old you was warming under his gaze.
You swallowed, throat suddenly thick. “I am?” Eddie nodded, still too close, still pressed against you, still watching, smile growing. “Where do I need to look?”
The apartment was always quieter without Steve, no music from his room leaking under his door, or the constant chatter over his gaming headset. The fridge hummed and you swore you could hear your heart. Eddie shrugged, still silent, before he let your hair fall and his hand grazed your neck, moving to get up. You immediately missed him beside you, his heat, his cologne, smoke and sugar and spice.
He looked at you from where he stood, all dark curls and ripped jeans, rings on each finger, a chain glinting silver from under his T-shirt collar. His pink cheeks were the only thing that gave him away. Eddie took your phone between two fingers, chucked it into the cushions on the armchair when you didn’t protest.
“Outside, maybe?” He suggested, shrugging again. He was studying the kitchen behind you, the mess on the breakfast bar, the pinboard by the fridge that was covered in gig tickets and faded photos. “Maybe at that place you like, the one that does the fancy ass iced coffee.”
You squinted at him, your smiling growing - knowing.
“Yeah?” Your heart hadn’t stopped thundering. “I know the one.”
“Yeah,” Eddie agreed, lips twisting, hiding a smile, hiding his nerves. “I could take you.”
“You could?” You were playing, he thought, almost teasing, not knowing how you felt as nervous as he did, Paul’s and Kyle’s and James’ already forgotten about. You were watching eddie. “Would that be like a…?”
Eddie cleared his throat, chest too tight, skin too warm. He shoved his hands in his pockets and toed at the corner of the old Paisley rug you once helped him carry home from a yard sale. “A date?” He asked back. “One of those?”
You were grinning now, unable to help it, to hide it. You pressed your lips together and hummed, nodding. Eddie was rose coloured now, pink cheeked and flushed nosed amongst all his black and silver. “Yeah,” you agreed. “Yeah, one of those.”
you are so precious and amazing and your writing makes me so happy! What about panic for the blurbs?
mention of panic attacks
“Where is she?” Eddie didn’t stop for pleasantries as he barged into Steve’s house. Not that he needed to, he lived there half the time, but he hadn’t planned to stop by the party that night, not after he’d already agreed to work overtime. “Is she okay?”
But then Steve had called and barely managed to finish his sentence before Eddie had left the receiver off the hook, swinging from the cord as he jumped in his van.
A panic attack, Steve had said. You hadn’t one in a while, Eddie knew that, but you’d been tired as of late, stressed at work. Alcohol and a busy setting was more than enough to make your anxiety escalate.
“Upstairs,” Steve nodded towards the second story, frowning at the people who tutted at Eddie when they elbowed past them. “In my room, she’s alright man, it’s fine. I just thought I should call you.”
Eddie swallowed, chest tight and he nodded at his friend. He was grateful, he was. But he couldn’t stop long enough to say thank you, not yet. Not until he had you in front of him.
Steve knew that, so he left, clapping Eddie on the shoulder as opened the door to his room.
You were on Steve’s bed, cross legged and bundled in the boy’s sweater, a yellow thing Steve must’ve coaxed over your head, a cup of now lukewarm tea on the nightstand.
“Baby,” Eddie soothed, voice impossibly soft. Your face crumpled all over again at the sound of him, bottom lip wobbling, eyes impossibly wide. “Baby.”
“M’okay,” you lied, arms outstretched and reaching for him. “I’m sorry. Shit, I’m sorry, Eddie.”
The boy was shaking his head, rejection your apology as he pulled you onto his lap, one arm wrapped right around your waist, the other hand cupping the back of your neck, thumb pushed to your jaw.
“Nothin’ to be sorry for, sweetheart,” Eddie said firmly, needing you to believe him. “All got a little too much, huh? S’alright, yeah? You’re okay.”
You sniffed, watery and tired. Your body was lax against the boy’s your face buried into the crook of his shoulder, voice muffled in his flannel. “You had to leave work ‘cause of me.”
Eddie smiled, pressing his lips to your head. “Baby, I’d have left work if Harrington told me you got a paper-cut.”
A laugh, weak and still wobbly, but a laugh nonetheless. You wriggled closer, hands fisting in the boy’s shirt. Your breathing seemed more settled, less shaky, body less unnervingly hot.
“It just got really busy, you know?” You explained. “Too hot and— fuck, too many people. Felt like I couldn’t breathe.”
Eddie nodded, knowing. He understood all too well. “Steve knows too many people.”
You huffed put another laugh, choked sounding but amused. You agreed, nodding against Eddie’s chest. “Do you have to go back to work?” Pulling back, you saw Eddie smile, all soft and sweet as he leaned in to nudge his nose against yours. “Or can we—?”
“Nah,” Eddie shrugged, playing it too causal for your sake. “I’ll tell Wayne I’ll make it up next week. Gotta take my girl home, yeah?”
Eddie loved his job. He loved sitting amongst the noise of the record shop, loved showing customers music, old music, his favourite music. He loved that he didn’t have to spend every night doing runs in the van, meeting up with shady characters in the dark parts of town, taking up the time he should’ve been spending with you.
He also loved that Magic Records' door was next to a shop that was dimly lit, a pink glow coming from the inside, velvet curtains in the windows and mannequins dressed in pretty lingerie. He also loved what that store kept on the back shelves. But every time he tried to coax you in after you met him during his lunch, you squeaked and backed away, too shy to even look at the sign above the door.
‘Satin and Lace.’
Eddie didn’t push, he would never. He didn’t laugh or make jokes, but he did ask if it was something you were interested in. A toy, maybe? Something small and discreet you could play around with. Eddie was the be all and end of all when it came to your sexual experiences and as happy as the boy was with that, he was eager to bring you out of your shell a little - if you’d let him.
So one day, when you were sitting in the front of his van with him, sharing a sub and some cherry coke, he asked if you’d be okay with him picking you something out. A gift, a surprise, as much a treat for him as it would be for you. And you’d nodded, cheeks hot to the touch and eyes on your lap, because as long as you didn’t have to walk through the doors of Hawkins most scandalous shop, you’d be fine with whatever.
Eddie hadn’t shown you what he purchased, in fact, he hadn’t said a word about it. But you’d seen him come home with a little red bag almost five days ago and nothing had come of it. Maybe he’d changed his mind, maybe he’d forgotten. And it had taken until he had you in just his shirt, stripped from the waist down and in his bed until you had the courage to ask.
He was hovering over you, careful not to crush you with his weight, kissing a line across your neck as his fingers slid in and out of you. He’d worked you up to take two, a slow build that felt like the start of summer, heat rolling over your skin as he sucked a bruise onto your throat, curled his fingers just right and stretched you open on them. It made you whine, clutching at his bare shoulders with your eyes clenched tight.
You couldn’t help it. Your mind was set on his teasing, how good he felt, it was wandering to dirty places, filthy thoughts that you usually were too shy to say aloud but Eddie whispered your name into your skin and it made you arch your hips, seeking more.
“Eddie?” You said his name in a soft sigh, like you were praising him more than asking a question. But when you tugged gently at his curls, Eddie moved back a little and peered down at you, concerned. “S’okay, I’m fine,” you promised before he could ask, before he dared take his fingers from between your thighs. “I was just— was just wondering? If you… if you ever…”
Maybe Eddie knew what you were going to ask, because he smiled, dimples and all as he pushed his fingers back into you, the slick there making obscene noises. You cried out for him, momentarily distracted before the boy was nosing at your cheek and asking, “wondering what, sweetheart?”
“Oh fuck,” you swore and Eddie grinned, always pleased when you let go like this, letting yourself say words you’d normally scold him for. “I was wondering - ohmygod - if you, if you bought… that thing?”
Eddie thought about teasing you, about dragging it all out and making you say it, making you ask for it. But he looked down at the way you were staring back at him so earnestly, brows drawn together from pleasure, lips swollen and pouty from the way he’d kissed you until you were sliding off your own shorts. So he smiled and nodded instead, ducking down to press a sweet peck to your lips for being confident enough to ask.
He hushed you as he slid his fingers from your entrance, soothing the emptiness away with a thumb on your thigh as he reached over to his bedside table drawer and pulled out a small, silver device. Much smaller than you’d imagined, bullet shaped and with a button on the end. You felt relief looking at it, even though you knew Eddie wouldn’t have bought anything that would have made you nervous. But still, your stomach flipped when the boy handed it to you.
“What do I do with it?” You asked shyly, feeling nothing short of small at having to ask. This wasn’t your forte. “I don’t know—”
“Hey, babe, baby,” Eddie eased your impending panic by moving back down to you, cotton sweatpants tented at the front as he leaned into the cradle of your hips but his kisses on your cheek were nothing short of sweet. “S’alright, yeah? Look,” he took the bullet from you and pressed the button, the little toy buzzing to life. “You just do what feels good, yeah?”
You tensed up as Eddie brought it to your chest, skimming it over a nipple that was hidden under his Metallica logo. You jerked slightly at the sensation, eyes wide and Eddie beamed. “How’s that feel?”
You nodded, lashes fluttering and sucked in a breath. “More powerful than I thought,” you laughed weakly and Eddie joined in.
He moved it down your sternum, down the line of your tummy and over your belly button, watching you intently as he pressed it to your folds, but avoided your clit. You whined, back arching up for him. “There’s my girl, hm? That feels good, huh, baby?”
You nodded again and lost yourself to the vibrations, the intense buzz across your skin that Eddie moved over your cunt, dipping into your slick to slide across your entrance. You moved your hips with him, gasping , making pretty little noises that Eddie wanted to bottle up and keep. You were clinging to him, writhing in his sheets under him and he let his head fall down so he could watch the way you spread your legs more, chasing his touch.
“Fuckin’ Christ, sweetheart, that’s so fuckin’ hot.” Eddie sat back on his knees, unable to help the way he palmed at himself, grabbing and squeezing his cock through his sweats. “Here baby, you try, yeah? I’ll help you, s’okay, don’t worry.”
Eddie handed you back the toy, still buzzing but now between two of your fingers. The boy was patient as you eyed it carefully before bringing it back between your legs. Instinctively, you pressed it against your clit, barely there touch that immediately had you tensing up and crying out. Your mind went a little hazy, your free hand reaching out blindly for your boyfriend as you squeezed your eyes shut. Eddie’s fingers found yours and he cooed at you softly, guiding your palm to tangle into his hair and he brought himself closer between your knees.
“Oh, shit, I know, I know,” Eddie whispered. He sounded as wrecked as you felt. “M’gonna make it even better, baby, ‘kay? Just want you to lie there and play with that pretty pussy like a good girl. Can you do that for me?”
You nodded weakly as you pressed the bullet closer to your clit, hips bucking against it, searching for Eddie’s touch. His fingers slid against you, hissing at the new wetness there, slick and crying out for his attention. Easier than ever, he pushed two thick fingers back inside of you, starting a slow drag in and out that made you see stars.
“I’m gonna come,” you choked out, an immediate reaction to him filling you up. “Ohmygod, Eddie—”
Eddie went back into Satin and Lace the next day with a box of chocolates for the surprised assistant behind the counter.
hello sweetheart, i read your prompt list and saw this one "hug?” “clingy, much?……” but hugs them anyway and my heart melted, i don't know if you already did this, but can we have something like that with our sweet but grumpy eddie? 🤍
ty for requesting! — eddie doesn't know why you're avoiding him (fluff, ditzy!reader, 0.9k)
Eddie lost sight of you ten minutes ago.
You were squished between Robin and Steve on the loveseat last he saw you, giggling into your solo cup while they belted Total Eclipse of the Heart to you — at you — over the music and in their best Muppet impressions.
He only remembers it so vividly ‘cause he was jealous. Not jealous because you were subjected to Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum’s drunken antics, of course, but jealous because you were with them. And so, so far away.
Now you’re gone, and he misses you like a stray dog — aggressive and hungry and hurt. He walks up to Steve in the kitchen just the same. Hair wild. Button eyes glittering. Slightly reluctant.
“Where’d she go?!” he shouts over the music, half-muffled into his drink. He uses the plastic cup like a shield ‘cause he doesn’t want people to know he’s missing you. The metalhead freak from the wrong side of town isn’t supposed to need the ball of sunshine from the suburbs.
But alas.
“Uh, I don’t know,” Steve slurs, half-distracted as he pours himself a drink. He doesn’t need Eddie to tell him who she is. There’s only one person in the whole world he’d go looking for. “She went outside with Robin, I think—”
Eddie spins on the worn heel of his sneaker before the words can properly leave his mouth. He ducks through the bustling, drunken crowd and finds you sitting lonesome on the porch outside. Prettier than the full moon and all the stars in the velvet black sky combined.
He walks to stand beside you, shoes thunking heavy on the wooden deck. You tilt your chin to smile brightly up at him while he slips a cig into his mouth. He cups the stick as he lights it. Pretends that’s what he came out here for. Not to see you, of course.
Definitely not.
“What are you doing out here by yourself?” he mumbles beneath the cigarette in his mouth.
“Robin just left,” you answer plainly, half-shy.
“Why didn’t you come find me?” he asks with an air of nonchalance, still trying to play it cool. ‘Cause there’s nothing less metal than yearning.
You shrug. “‘Cause you were busy?”
It’s easier than telling him that you thought he wanted the space. Or that you actually spent the whole night aching to hang on his side — too scared of embarrassing him in front of all his friends to act on it.
You know who you are just like you know who he is. Bubblegum pink doesn’t always go well with black. It gets in your hair. Makes everything go all sticky. It’s an acquired taste you know Eddie’s still getting used to — too much of it, and his stomach will start to hurt. So you figure it’s best to keep your distance.
You just didn’t think he was as grieved by it all as you were.
Eddie scoffs. I’m never too busy for you, he wants to say. He might’ve if he wasn’t such a coward. Instead, he blows smoke from his lungs and jokes, “I wouldn’t call keeping Argyle from crowd-surfing in the living room busy, sweetheart.”
A laugh tumbles from his plush lips. The golden sound falls over your skin like stars. You smile absentmindedly back at him as you rise from the creaking rocking chair. You plant your feet ahead of his and smooth your palms beneath his leather jacket, over his warm sides.
Eddie meets your twinkling eyes with narrowed chocolate ones. “What?”
“Hug?” you ask in a mousy voice.
The boy laughs like he’s too cool for affection, though he’d be lying if he said your offer doesn’t have his chest sparkling something fierce. He flicks the cig to the ground — sheepish gaze going with it — before snuffing it out beneath his sneaker.
“Clingy much?” he scoffs.
You nod with a proud smile.
Eddie’s chest swirls with an unfamiliar feeling. You’re strangely brave about all this — affection and love and all things sweet enough to make him gag.
It makes him feel like he can feel brave, too.
He wraps his arms around your shoulders and holds you with all the intensity of someone wanting to swallow you whole. You hug him back just the same. “I missed you,” you murmur with your cheek squished against his chest.
“Then what’re you avoidin’ me for, huh?” he teases, chin bobbing against your head.
You pull slightly back to squint at him. “I’m not avoiding you.”
“You’ve been hangin’ out with Steve and Robin the whole night,” he grieves, hiding his sincerity behind boyish theatrics. With a feigned pout that feels totally real, he says, “And you didn’t even sit next to me when we played Never Have I Ever.”
“I thought you wanted the space,” you confess in a hushed voice.
His face screws up like he’s tasted something sour. “Why would you think that?”
“I don’t know…” you shrug. “You always talk about how much you like being alone and stuff, so—”
“Well, yeah! I like my space— just not from you!”
It’s likely the least metal thing he’s ever said.
“Oh,” you hum, mouth contorting into a sheepish beam. “Well… Sorry.”
“Yeah. You should be,” he scoffs, mostly joking. He pouts softly and pulls you back into him again, nosing at your hair until his chapped lips brush your temple. “Just don’t let it happen again, alright?”
if you're still interested in smutty requests.. what about the line "want me to serenade you while you strip?" and it's eddie jokingly saying this to reader and she runs with it and he tries to keep playing but COME ON there's more important things those fingers should be doing 👀
congrats! u win the award for most eddie coded request of all time :D — eddie makes you laugh when you get nervous undressing in front of him (18+, allusion to smut, 0.7k)
bug's one year celebration ♡
“Stop looking at me like that!” you whine with your arms crossed over your nearly bare chest. “You’re making it weird!”
Eddie laughs loud. “Where am I supposed to look?” he asks, leaning back on the mattress and propping his weight on his elbows. He’s got a better view of you from this angle. More of your half-naked body in his sight.
“I can feel you looking at me— It’s making me feel weird.”
“Well, how am I supposed to look anywhere else when you’re in front of me like this, huh?”
His eyes are lidded and swimming with melted chocolate. You’re not sure how you’ve captured his attention like this, in the tamest underwear you own and your most ancient bra. He’s looking at you like you’re already undressed — like you’re still pretty even though you aren’t.
“You’re an idiot,” you giggle, glittering with adoration.
“And you’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,” he quips without thinking twice, wild head titled to his shoulder and a crooked smirk on his kissed mouth. “So I guess we’re even.”
His eyes rake over you again, heavy like it’s the first time they’ve ever seen you.
He pulls his plush lip between his teeth and, almost absentmindedly so, brings his palm to the crotch of his jeans. He grips his covered cock with a pale hand, shifting it slightly within the confines of the denim. It grows slowly and achingly stiff the longer he looks at you.
Eddie looks like a Renaissance painting like this. Ethereal and hedonistic. You almost forget to breathe.
“I haven’t even done anything yet,” you say with a forced laugh.
“You’re half-naked in my bedroom, doll— that’s all you need to do,” he chuckles, golden and more sincere than yours. His ringed fingers clutch tighter at his covered bulge. He breathes hard through his nose. “You could be fully clothed, and you’d still turn me on.”
“Stop messing with me,” you argue in a tiny voice, features twisted in a subtle pout.
“I’m not messing with you.”
“Do you want me to get naked? Or should I just stand here for the next two minutes?”
“Two minutes? C’mon. Give me a little credit. At least, two-and-a-half,” Eddie jokes. And then, when you laugh, he assures you. “You don’t have to get undressed if it makes you uncomfortable. Unless it would make you feel better if I serenaded you—”
“No.”
“—Too late.”
You reach your arms for the clasp of your bra. Eddie’s voice fills the trailer — “do, do, do, do-do-do-do-do-do” — the high-pitched intro to “I Was Made for Loving You.” It makes you laugh loud. A big, girlish laugh that makes your head drop back.
Your bra comes off, and you forget to be nervous.
“Why are you laughin’ at me, huh?” Eddie jokes, eyes going squishy around the edges when he looks at you.
“‘Cause that’s, like, the least sexiest part of that song.”
“I beg to differ.”
“Well, are you gonna keep singing, superstar? Or am I gonna have to keep my underwear on?”
He goes dumb for a flash of a second, forgets the lyrics and how to form the words of them in his mouth. He jumbles them together for a second in mindless mumbles until the real thing spills from his lips. “—‘Cause girl, you were made for me… And girl, I was made for you…”
You tug your panties down your thighs while he sings for you. You make a big show of it too, tossing the pair of them into your lover’s lap and giggling when it gets him all flustered.
“Fuck— c’mere,” he urges, as dumb as he is breathless, now that you’re fully naked in front of him. His hand drops to his lap again, palming at his stiffening length to ease the ache there. His free hand reaches out for you. “Can you— Just come sit in my lap, baby, please.”
You don’t know why he’s groveling. You were breaking the second you saw him melting for you. Not thinking straight enough to tease him about it, you settle yourself over his lap — kneeling on the mattress, both of your thighs straddling one of his.
You linger there, just above him. Eddie’s ringed hands reach gently for your warm jaw to pull you closer to him. You don’t give in so easily — “Keep singing for me, rockstar. You got a show to warm up for, remember?”
Eddie blinks up at you, eyes wide and lidded and honeyed. He looks at you like you hung the moon in the sky. Like you’re some ethereal being carved out of stone. Like you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen because you are.
“Shit,” he curses under his breath. “This is so fucking metal.”
calling up virgin!eddie whilst he's watching a porno and talking him through jerking off <3
content warnings: sexual content 18+ minors dni, f masturbation, m masturbation, dirty talk.
“and so then i told steve to fuck off because seriously, i thought we were passed the stage of him constantly staring at my ti—"
your ears catch it then, and you cut yourself off mid-sentence to make sure you're really hearing what you think you are.
the grunting, the clapping, the loud moaning. tinny and crackly through shitty speakers.
“eddie?”
“hmm?”
“are you watching a dirty movie?” you’re giddy with it, knowing the question is going to embarrass eddie and turn him into a bumbling fool. you can’t help but call attention to it.
“i— uh, what?” he feigns stupidity, though a little gasp gives him away. like he’s trying to stop himself from cumming.
“are you jerking off right now? you little perv!” you accuse him, wiggling around on your bed as a large, seedy smile spreads across your mouth.
eddie harrumphs at that, and you can almost hear his eyes rolling, “well you did kinda call me out of the blue, it’s two in the morning.” he argues, a choked off, strangled sound falling from his lips.
you flush dark. clench your thighs together. god, his strangled and embarrassed little arguments sounded so hot.
and maybe it has something to do with the fact he's inexperienced, possibly a virgin — scratch that, you know he's a virgin. this is hawkins, the girls aren't lining up down the street to fuck the town freak and 'satan vessel', no matter how hot he was.
knowing he's fucking his own fist watching a dirty movie. knowing it's probably something he does most nights when wayne works. craving his own touch because there's nobody else to do it for him. your pussy throbs.
"well don’t let my presence stop you. tell me what they're doing right now," you giggle, cheeks burning as you writhe around on your bed, legs falling open ever so slightly, free hand not holding the phone receiver dipping low on your belly.
the cap of eddie's lube bottle pops open, rattling through your swimming head, the unrhythmic squirting noises a clear indication of how empty the bottle was. it's bold, bold enough to make you wonder if he's even aware that you can hear it.
your ears prick at the loud, faked moaning in the background vaguely, a woman gasping and begging 'fuck my pussy harder!'
"they — they're..." eddie trails off, sighing when he wraps his hand tightly around the base of his cock, squeezing and crying out in relief, "he's got her on, uh, all fours. slapping her ass."
your skin prickles, excitement and arousal thrumming through your veins as your ears catch the slick glide of eddie's hand pumping up his length, "you getting yourself nice and wet?" the smirk is evident in your voice. he whines.
"shit." eddie curses, a shaky little sigh escaping him — he is wet, it's hard to ignore how loud it is, "y-yeah, fucking christ."
you can almost picture how much of a mess he's making of himself. lube dripping down his shaft and coating his heavy, cum filled balls, soaking his hand, a constant stream of precum blurting from the needy head.
he's in the living room, you know he is. it's the only room in the trailer with a tv. you wonder if he was smart enough to lay a towel under himself, or if he's gonna end up in a soaked patch of his own cum and lube.
it honestly makes you dizzy, the guttural noises he's making have you thinking of how flushed his face is, his hazy, heavy lidded eyes glued to the tv set — watching the woman be fucked within an inch of her life, her stretched pussy within eyeshot.
"are you still watching? or are your eyes shut, thinkin' about me bouncing on your dick?" you're nonchalant, lazy with it, drawling on the words — eddie's breath hitches, the rhythmic schlick of his hand coming to a stop.
"y-you — would you?" eddie asks, gasping and arching up into his fist as he starts up again. slowly, not as tight, trying to savour it whilst he can. your voice is sending him hurtling towards the edge far too quick.
"yeah, would climb on top of you and sink down on your fat cock," and you can't help it, your own hand finally slips into your soaked panties, two fingers gliding through your slick lips and pressing on your clit, relieving the dull throb, "you'd love it, eddie. feeling how wet i would be for you, how tight i am."
"mmph," eddie garbles, hips bucking up wildly as he gives up fighting the losing battle, precum leaking uncontrollably from his slit and spilling down his fist, "you'd feel so fucking good."
"i would," you agree, fingers running over your clit in tight, fast circles, heat blooming in your lower gut quickly as your ears are invaded by eddie's whining, the motions of his hand on his cock, "i promise you i'd be so good for you, get you off so quick."
"fuh-uuck, you can't — can't say that, you're gonna make me cum," he's practically crying, voice strained and high pitched, almost totally drowned out by the wet slap of his hand flying up and down his cock.
"was kinda the point," you bristle, slapping your clit slightly and gasping his name — his breath hitches, he breathes a loud gasp down the line, "how big is it? tell me, need to picture it whilst i fuck myself thinking about you."
"oh my fucking god," eddie grunts, working his fist over the head of his cock until he's crying out, the noise shooting straight to your cunt, "i don't— it's six, maybe. thick. my... my own hand barely fits around it."
you catch yourself whining, keening into your hand, hips arching as you rub frantically over your clit, "eddie," you whimper, thighs clenching around your own wrist, "need you splitting me open on it, please?"
"anything, anything you want you can take it," eddie's voice shakes, the slapping of his hand further increasing in speed, and you know he's close before he even says it, "m'gonna cum, you're making me cum, fuck."
the winding in your gut coils tight and snaps all at once, unable to cope with the pretty noises you're eliciting from eddie, and you cry out, a gasp of his name escaping your lips as you reach your high. fingers slipping over your needy, soaked cunt as you cum, whole body shaking with it.
"yeah, yeah," eddie grunts, "can't believe you just came thinking of me — god, feels so fucking good, fuck—"
you hear the telltale sound of the receiver dropping as he all but wails in the background, and you ache to see it, the way he's probably hunched in on himself as his cock pulses, all pretty with his eyes squeezed tight and spit slick lips dropped open.
"fucking hell," eddie pants, and you hear him rustling around down the receiver — he's made a mess, you know he has. probably spurted up his shirt, covered himself in it. you try not to think too much about it, your swollen clit throbbing, "you — i came so hard, shit."
you cackle, cheeks flushing dark as your brain starts to catch up on what just happened, "sorry i interrupted your movie."
eddie chokes out an embarrassed laugh, "don't worry about it, this was — this was so much better than all that staged shit."
you shoot your shot, because fuck it, what's the worst that can happen once your best friend has heard you cum?
"i can show you something much better, if you like? say friday, my place at seven?"
foreword: have u ever had a buddy so good you jack off with him <3 roommate!Eddie x reader fic for ya.
cw: drug mention, R wears a bra, has breasts (implied to be large enough to “spill”) + V, no pronouns used only petnames, nipple play, R is queer (talks about Molly Ringwald in a sexual nature <3), praise kink, mutual masturbation, but as friends, we’re all normal here okay, we Do Not talk about our hidden feelings in this one soz
wc: 2.3k
___
An unfortunate shift of the pillows supporting your body pulls you from the depths of sleep, consciousness surfacing, breaching with a soft huffy groan.
Waking up on a normal day is hard enough. Waking from a good dream, one where someone’s head was between your legs and everything was swelling lush with heat? Now that’s torture.
You burrow the cold side of your face under the covers, eyes still screwed shut in defiance of being awoken before the dream could pay off. There’s a heartbeat pounding near the apex of your thighs; with one leg stretched out and the other draped around the curve of your body pillow, your hips roll forward automatically, seeking friction.
The soaked front of your underwear drags against the pillow’s seam, catching your clit on the next glide of your hips. Another soft moan, breath fanning from your parted lips. If you can stay in this grey area of sleep and waking, maybe the horniness will swallow your mind back to the dream…
When someone’s hand brushes your bare shoulder, your movements freeze. Goosebumps prickling in the palm-owner’s wake, you blink against the morning light pouring in through your bedroom window and try to orient yourself.
Your head is nestled in the curve of someone’s neck, left arm tucked secure around their chest. Leg hitched over their waist, cotton boxers band digging at the plush of your thigh- something else solid and warm trapped against their stomach.
A snuffle from your human body pillow, and the waking world hits you sideways, all at once- Eddie. You’d fallen asleep with Eddie last night, after helping him play-test a new hybrid strain and dancing to records all evening, until you both collapsed in a heap of giggles. In your bed.
Which means that you’ve been humping Eddie’s leg in your sleep. And the thick length trapped under your thigh belongs to him, too.
Before you can even fully process or think up an escape plan holding the least amount of embarrassment for you both, Eddie’s stretching the arm that isn’t cupping your shoulder up and out with a long yawn.
His hips shift, pressing himself into your leg unintentionally, and you can feel the moan that rumbles through his body- at your ear, vibrating under your hand on his bare chest. Eddie mumbles something incoherent and sleep-addled, pulling you in closer, nosing at the crown of your head.
“Uh-” your voice comes out half-squeak, half-croak, not fully pushing off Eddie but keeping your frame tight enough to roll away at a moment’s notice. “H-hey.”
Eddie’s palm smooths down the plane of your upper back, stopping at the wide band of your bra. He makes another noise, this time a bit less sleepy- and then he, too, freezes, all those points of contact along the length of your own body stiffening, muscles tensed with realization.
“Oh, fuck. Shit.”
Eddie’s voice is like rocks on pavement, three shades of gravelly, really not helping your whole ‘wet as a river’ situation, one that he can probably feel leaking onto his bare leg at this point. He doesn’t immediately roll away, though; he remains in that freeze-mode, tense and poised, holding you against the span of his side still.
Well. As frozen as one can be with a throbbing case of morning wood.
“I guess we… fell asleep,” you say, carefully, adopting the same cat-like stillness, the pause before a big leap. “Sorry-”
“You’re sorry? I’m sorry. Jesus.” Eddie uses the hand that’s not cradling your shoulder to scrub down his face. This close, nestled into his neck, you can feel his loose hair tickling your cheek, the light scratch of his day-old stubble against your forehead when he speaks. “I’m gonna… go take care of this. And then maybe. Breakfast? Christ. Can’t think. All my blood’s elsewhere right now.”
You breathe a chuckle. His arm is still wrapped around you.
“Yeah. Okay. Or you could just- take care of it. Here, I mean. With me.”
Eddie’s breath stops, actually stops, then stutters back into steady rhythm under your hand. “...yeah?”
He sounds unsure but curious, excitement bleeding into the edges of that one word as your thumb sweeps across the spot where his ribcage meets. “Yeah. Be doing me a favor, too- I was kind of in the middle of a… a good dream. Prob’ly me that woke you up, anyways.”
Eddie’s hand drops from your shoulder, slithers back to his own space, disrupting your head rest briefly- until you realize he’s doing it to make enough room for you both to stretch out flat (on your mattress that was barely designed for one full-grown person).
“A good dream,” Eddie parrots, as you both re-situate under the thin cover of your floral-patterned top sheet. Shoulder to shoulder, skimming the heat from each other’s bare skin as you stare resolutely at the ceiling, there’s a frizzy mass of black hair in your periphery. A hint of a smile in Eddie’s voice as he asks, “What were you dreamin’ about?”
You can feel the rippling shift of his bicep as his arm moves, hand sliding unseen beneath the sheets- a sharp inhale as his hand finds purchase over the bulge in his boxers.
In response, your own hand follows the contoured path to the spot below your navel, toying with the band of your panties before slipping underneath. Cupping yourself, feeling the heated slick coat your fingers before dragging it back up to rest your middle against the beating pulse of your clit- “Ah- um. Was dreamin’ about. Uh. Molly Ringwald.”
A few days from your latest John Hughes marathon, it’s the first feasible famous person that comes to mind. Luckily, Eddie just laughs, in a stilted gasp when his fist finds his aching cock- “Oh, fuck- yeah? Redheads do it for you these days?”
“Uh huh.” Maybe if you keep the focus on someone else, you’ll both be able to come out of this event unscathed. Walk away with your hands clean- er. Well. Nope.
A better analogy is gonna have to wait, because your abdomen’s tightening with each pass of your wet finger over your clit, pleasure licking and sparking, the usual slow-build to orgasm forming with shocking rapidity.
“What was she doing?” Eddie, sounding strained and strung-out already (really makes you wonder how long you’d actually been using each other, in sleep, grinding and working the other person up), hand moving in long strokes- “In your dream, I mean. Licking you out? Did she use fingers?”
It’s not like you haven’t heard Eddie’s dirty talk before- in fact, you helped cultivate it, years ago when he was nervous for a third date and wanted some advice. You’ve coached him on sex techniques, he’s given his own expertise, you’ve both appraised the other's nudes, for christ’s sake- this is just a natural extension of your friendship. Your closeness.
Eddie’s feeling awfully close, now, his arm bumping against yours with each pass of his fist over his dick, your leg periodically grazing the downy hair of his shin as your hips jolt upwards, into the electricity stemming from the pad of your finger.
Choking on your words around a bright surge of pleasure- “Y- yeah. Her mouth. Fingers. All of it.”
“Fuck.” Eddie’s form lurches, doing a half-crunch forwards- risking a glance, you catch a glimpse of the sweat beading at his temples, the dark slant of his brow in concentration, jaw working through the grit of his teeth- “Why don’t you use some fingers, then.”
Like he’s got you under some sort of command spell (because you’re not touching the alternatives with a ten-foot pole), you obey, middle and ring fingers curling into the tight channel of your cunt. There’s a spot you hit on your front wall, gummy and responsive, muscles reacting on instinct by contracting and spasming around your fingers.
You’re close already, panting, head tipped back against the bottom sheet, neck bared, eyes squeezing shut at the wave of pleasure that begins to pulse insistently. “I’m- fuck, Eddie. Keep talking, please-”
“So good,” Eddie says, almost funny in how quick he is to interrupt your pleading. “So good for me. Sound so wet, too, bet you’re soaking…”
You are, in fact, rivulets of slick joining into one just under the globes of your ass, cooling and sticky, a bit uncomfortable but since it’s laundry day and you feel this good you can’t really bring yourself to care.
A half-gasp whimper as you writhe your pelvis up, again, chasing that edge, tantalizingly close, the wet noises from your weeping cunt and plunging fingers spurring Eddie on.
“That’s it, baby.” He’s encouraging even in his own heady fog of pleasure (must’ve had a good sex-talk coach), voice low and rough at your ear as he drops his chin to get closer. “Tell me what you need, hm? Lemme get you there.”
“Need you- you, to…” Frustrated by your lack of breath, in lieu of communicating with words you slide your fingers from yourself, seeking Eddie’s hand before you can overthink the action. You leave a trail of slick against his hip bone, and Eddie releases himself to give you his hand- moaning, cock twitching, as you coat your own heated wetness over his dry palm.
This time, when you both get your hands back on yourselves, it’s with a tandem whine, Eddie’s ending with a hiss through teeth- “Fuck. Fuck, yes. So wet. So good.”
“Yeah?” Like you never left, your pussy molds easily to the shape of your three fingers again. Your other hand leaves your side to paw at your clothed breast, nipples peaking through the lace. “I gotta- I’m gonna take my bra off. Please.”
You don’t actually wait for permission, but Eddie gives it anyways as you slide the cups down, babbling encouragement- “Shit, sweetheart, yeah. Whatever you gotta do. So good for me, tellin’ me what you need. Good job.”
One day, you’re gonna regret telling Eddie you get off on praise, but not today; with one nipple pinched firmly between thumb and forefinger, your other breast spills to the side, resting against Eddie’s upper arm.
He groans, from his toes, fist slipping over his cock with ease thanks to your contribution. The sounds filling your small room are obscene, sex-dipped moans and glossy wet hand movements all reaching a crescendo as both your hips jerk up at the same time.
Keeping the same pace against your clit as Eddie’s keeping on his dick, the spark of pleasure has turned into a roar that swims up to your ears, a white-out of an orgasm fast approaching each time the heel of your palm slams into your clit.
“Eddie- jesus, Eddie- Eddie Eddie Eddie-”
You’d feel sheepish about how desperate you sound if Eddie wasn’t matching your energy two-fold. His lanky frame thrashes when your speech devolves into a repetition of his name, keening as his fist staves off tipping over the edge with a tight ring at the base of his cock- “That’s it, baby, y’can do it, angel. Come on. Come with me. Please, please-”
With a final cruel twist to your breast, you come undone, orgasm spooling heat throughout your whole system, Eddie’s name unraveling in a long cry. Eddie follows you, fucking up into his fist, ropes of cum shooting to the top of the sheets tent he’d made, hunching against the spasms crawling up his abdomen.
You ride the last of your orgasm out on the stretch of three fingers, releasing your nipple when the pressure turns to a twinge of pain. Under the covers, your bare chest heaves around the stretched elastic band of your shoved-down bra; with shaky, uncoordinated hands, you reach behind and beneath yourself to undo the hooks, flinging the offending clothing in the general direction of your hamper.
Eddie chuckles, breathless, bellows of his ribs nudging your forearm as he sinks back into his (your) pillow. “Christ. Good thing it’s laundry day.”
There’s no room for shame, no ounce of you that wants to dwell on what this could mean, right now- although there’ll be plenty of time for that later. As it stands, you’re both swathed in a quiet, post-sex bliss, neither wanting to disturb the peace.
In a dreamy haze, you take note of little things- the drag of Eddie’s pinky against the back of your hand. The glint of his rings stored in a neat line atop your nearby dresser. A block of mid-morning sunshine from the window cast over the bed, prickling at your legs with warmth.
After a few minutes of this, Eddie sits up, mumbling apologies when you snatch the sheets to keep yourself covered. “You want first shower?”
He looks at you over his shoulder, down the lovely arc of his nose, brown eyes tender and staying on you for a beat too long. Squirming under his gaze, you find anywhere else to look (other than the pale slope of his back, smattered and dotted with freckles), shaking your head. “Nope. All yours.”
You flick your interest back to the ceiling as Eddie pulls up his boxers, grimacing at the mess he’s made of your sheets; before leaving, he bends to scoop up your tossed bra, snapping his own underwear to emphasize- “I’ll start this load before showering, then I’ll come back for your bedding.”
At your nod, Eddie leaves to clank around in the laundry closet; then there’s a rusty squeak of the shower handle, a subsequent rush of water, and Eddie’s pleasant husky humming floats down the hall through the open doors.
You roll onto your front with a contented sigh, burying your nose in the pillow Eddie was just lying on- it smells like him, now, smoky and spicy and familiar.
You spend the rest of his shower time coming up with a good excuse to save this pillowcase from being washed.
"I want it to be urgent. Like you can't keep your hands off me."
Smut blurb featuring no *actual* smut, in which Eddie is doing his best to help you get over your ex. Cause that's what friends are for. Right? cw: drinking/smoking, references to sex acts.
18+ MDNI 2.8k
“Alright, that’s it. I need another.”
The cushions of Eddie’s well-worn sofa bounced beneath you as he stood, sighing as he headed to the kitchen. His shaggy hair flew up as he glanced back at you with a playful twinkle in his eye that fully betrayed his attempt to sound irate.
“Can’t believe you talked me into watching this shit,” he added with a scoff, indicating the movie flickering on his television screen.
With a quiet giggle, you tucked your legs further up underneath you and squished deeper into your seat. The smile on your face only widened when he returned carrying two new bottles, one of which he passed into your waiting hand.
He’d successfully bribed you into coming over for a long overdue movie night by texting a picture of his fridge that was almost barren except a case of your favorite beer and a couple boxes of day-old pizza captioned, “how can you resist???”
Evidently, you couldn’t. Hence your arrival at his door not even an hour later, swathed in baggy sweats and a giant hoodie without a speck of make-up on your face. Your uniform of late.
“She lives!”
He bellowed in his mad scientist best, practically dragging you through the door to wrap you up in a hug so tight it threatened to crack your bones and made your lungs ache as they attempted to draw air—as if he thought he could wring the sadness out of you like a sponge.
Admittedly, it had been too long since you’d seen him. And not just him, but any of your friends.
For weeks now, you’d been using excuses of work and needing to catch up on laundry or cleaning to avoid facing them. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to see people. You just knew any attempt to hang out would only lead to questions about your recent break-up.
Questions you didn’t have the answers to, nor the mental capacity to tackle.
Eddie was a safe bet in that regard.
He’d always had what you could only call a morbid curiosity about your love life. If he asked about it, he did so in such a way that it made you feel like he was sort of dreading the answer? Like checking under a shoe to make sure a spider was really dead. You had figured that he of all people wouldn’t press you for too many details.
It was as close to a perfect evening as possible.
The remaining half of the joint you shared still sat smoldering in the ashtray on the coffee table. The two of you basked in the rosy glow of Christmas lights strung up on the walls he had yet to take down even as summer rapidly approached.
Beer and pizza sat in your belly, it and the weed only making the travesty of a bad movie you had basically bullied him into watching all the funnier.
You’d almost, almost, forgotten about your current tragic circumstances. And then…
“We can talk about it, you know,” Eddie said during a quiet stretch of the movie.
He instantly clocked the stiffening of your spine and the tensing of your shoulders he knew had nothing to do with the appearance of the killer following a side character down an alley.
“We don’t have to,” he went on, forcibly keeping his eyes forward like he was talking to the guy on screen now getting gutted, “I’m just saying if you wanted to, we could. Or we can just keep drinking and watching this garbage.”
With a laugh, he indicated the screen again.
The killer completed his deed and the wide shot revealed a painfully obvious dummy version of his victim lying on the ground beneath him. You were also pretty sure a boom mic dipped into frame.
It made you chuckle along with him and you turned your head, finding his doe eyes shining in that annoyingly endearing way of his that never failed to soften you to his whims.
“It wasn’t anything bad-bad,” you muttered, half talking to yourself. “He was just sort of…selfish.”
“Selfish how?” Eddie asked, brow knitting in confusion. “Like he hogged the covers? What?”
“No, like…”
Your cheeks burned as you stared at your hands in your lap, your thumbnail scraping against the pulpy label of your beer bottle that had begun to sweat profusely the longer it went un-drunk.
“Like in bed,” you said at last. “He didn’t ever go down on me, or do much of anything other than jump straight to fucking. And it was always over very…quick. Once he came, it was right back to business as usual. He wouldn’t check in with me or even me ask what I—”
Your voice wavered slightly and you clamped your mouth closed, forcing back the bitter taste suddenly filling your mouth. With a deep and steadying breath, you finished your thought.
“I just didn’t feel like a priority.”
The detached tone was one you’d been working on for weeks. You knew eventually you’d have to crawl out of the hole you’d banished yourself into and when you did, you would have to sound okay with the fact that you’d been burned yet again by another guy you foolishly got your hopes up for.
Eddie leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and lacing his fingers together. He shook his head, baffled by what he was hearing.
“Did he ever give a reason? I mean, did he…”
Eddie trailed off, not sure what he was getting at.
Because what kind of person had to be told to make their partner a priority? To make them feel important? Beyond just pleasure, beyond just making them come. How could anyone be lucky enough to land you and not do anything and everything they could to make it work?
His eyes bored into the coffee table, unable to lift his head to look you in the eye. It was hard for you to read the expression on his face. It looked like a cocktail of all the different things you had felt during your isolation. Anger. Sadness. Disappointment. Disgust. Pity.
“We talked about it.” I talked about it, you wanted to say. “But he wasn’t interested in changing, so I said we should end it. And we did.”
Your words seemed to hang in the air after you said them. Eddie stayed silent a few moments longer, seemingly deep in thought. The movie played on, but the words and pictures both sort of blurred into static neither of you were paying much attention to anymore.
“That’s awful,” he said at last. “I’m…I’m so sorry.”
Your eyes darted up, surprised by the softness in his voice. The soothing, calming reassurance thing was much more Nancy’s speed. You knew Eddie could be sweet, but it was always buried under a million layers of sarcasm the same way he hid himself behind the armor of his leather jacket and denim vest. By the look on his face, he’d surprised himself as well.
“He’s a fuckin’ loser,” he grumbled, almost angry. “You were right to dump him.”
“Maybe,” you sighed back, staring down at your lap again. The swishing of Eddie’s curls told you he was shaking his head emphatically.
“There’s no maybe about it,” he insisted, tipping his beer back to take a long swig. “If he doesn’t appreciate someone like you he doesn’t deserve to be with anyone, s’far as I’m concerned.”
The tiniest smile emerged on your lips when you heard the little southern drawl that crept into his voice whenever he got a bit worked up. It makes him sound like his uncle Wayne grumbling about the noisy neighborhood kids or “those damn bureaucrats with their burea-crock-a-shits.”
“Thanks,” you said, nodding weakly. “I know it was the right decision and all, I just…it all feels so fucking hopeless. Even if I find another guy who seems nice, who knows if he’ll stay that way? I don’t want to just fuck a bunch of frogs on the off-chance one of them is a prince.”
Eddie snorted, nearly spraying the sip of beer he’d just taken out of his nose as you went on.
“The worst part is I’m so, like…”
You shook your head as you laughed in disbelief, hiding your face with your hand as it flushed with heat at what you had almost blurted out. Were you really about to say this?
His brown eyes danced under arched brows. He smirked, daring you to say it. Fuck it.
“I’m so pent up, my vibrator is gonna file a complaint for hazardous working conditions.”
“Maybe you need a new vibrator,” Eddie suggested. Or someone new behind the wheel.
You shoved his shoulder playfully, wide smiles spreading across both your faces. He grabbed at your wrist, wrestling your hand away and bringing it towards his mouth, feigning like he was going to bite. Squealing giggles erupted out of you as you pulled it back and he gnashed at the air.
Breathless from laughing, you settled back into your seat and inhaled deeply a few times trying to catch your breath. Eddie brought his hands back to his lap and looked down, allowing a small smile at seeing your face light up like it just had.
He’d do anything to see you like that.
“I will say,” you started, absently drawing circles on the arm of the couch, avoiding his gaze as his eyes jumped to your face, “It would be so great to get, like…one good night. You know, just scratch the itch so I can think clearly for once.”
Eddie paused, mulling again.
What he meant to say was…what if it was with someone you knew? Someone familiar you were comfortable with? Someone you knew you could trust to take care of you? What if it was someone you had known a long time, who cared about you and would put you first the way you deserved?
But the words that actually came out were—
“I could do it.”
“You…what?”
He knows that sound. That nervous, breathy little exhale that just came out of you. You blinked at him, stunned into silence as you tried to figure out if he was being serious. Eddie shrugged.
“I’m just saying, you don’t want to fuck a stranger. And I’m certainly not a stranger, so…”
He gestured vaguely at himself with his hands, a goofy little movement that had you rolling your eyes and tssing at him through your teeth.
“Eddie, don’t be stupid.”
“I’m not being stupid!” he exclaimed, only to stop and reconsider. “Okay, fine, maybe I am. But I'm also being serious. You’re my friend and I wanna help you out. However I can.”
“You seriously think…” You shook your head. “I mean, are you even attracted to me?”
Eddie rolled his eyes. “Come on,” he groaned, “is that even a question?”
“No, Ed, I’m serious. Really think about it.”
So, Eddie thought about it.
He thought about that two-piece you wore that one sticky-hot summer day when you all piled into he and Argyle’s vans and drove out to Lover’s Lake to swim. He thought about how he had to keep reminding himself not to stare and how his shorts got so uncomfortably tight until he had to fuck off into the trees for ten minutes to take care of himself. And how when he got back, he had endured everyone’s teasing about taking a shit in the woods—because he would much rather they thought that was what he was doing instead of jerking off in front of some voyeuristic squirrel.
He thought about the way your lips wrapped around the end of every joint he’d ever shared with you and how his heart would race when you asked him for a shotgun. He thought about that one time he was sick as shit and had that fever dream about you in a nurses outfit he’d torn off you piece by piece, kissing you all over your body until you were writhing underneath him crying out his name until he woke with a violent jolt and had to throw his sheets in the wash at 4am.
And now not only was he extremely sure he was attracted to you, he also had a significant piece of evidence to back up his claim.
“I think it’s safe to say I am,” he chuckled, shifting in his seat.
Your eyes flitted down to his lap and you inhaled sharply at the sight of his growing bulge and the piss-poor job his thin sweats did of concealing it. Your cheeks burned just thinking about it and you simply had to laugh at the absurdity. If only it hadn’t come out so breathy and nervous…
“What about you?” he asked, his voice lowering to a suggestive timbre as he scooted in closer. “Are you attracted to me? Really think about it.”
Your pulse thrummed as your eyes scanned him, taking in every detail. Cutoff sleeves that showed off his taught arms, inked all over with scratcher tattoos. Narrow hips sort of mesmerizing in the way they swiveled whenever he played guitar on stage. Fingers that moved dazzlingly fast over the strings and had made you wonder on more than one occasion what it might feel like for him to play Master of Puppets on your pussy.
It made your mouth flood with saliva, and other wetness gush between your legs.
“What if…we kissed?” he asked slowly, his eyes locked so intently on your lips you could almost feel the heat of his gaze on them. “Just to see? Just in case?”
In case of what?
You wanted to ask, but the words didn’t come. You were too breathless as he drew you in.
You’ve seen Eddie kiss girls before.
Whether it was out at a random dive bar after his band played, or some house party in a house you didn’t recognize. You’ve seen how he cups their faces in his hands, large grasp nearly engulfing their entire head. You’ve seen the way his eyes hooded and how that insufferably smug, knowing smile of his turns up the corners of his mouth as he goes in for the kill. You’ve seen how his fingers spread wide to cradle their heads as they gave into him and felt the way it made something stir, however briefly, deep in the pit of your belly.
But you’ve never been that girl. It’s never been your face in his hands or your lips parting, waiting for the touch of his. And now that it’s happening…you don’t have any idea why you waited so long.
His mouth is gentler than you thought it would be, his lips soft and smooth as two pink petals of some flower you can’t name. You can feel the distinctness of their shape moving against your own and can still taste the malt of your favorite beer in his mouth, but the combination makes it into something new—something unlike anything you’ve ever tasted before.
You can just barely feel the tip of his tongue swiping at the entrance of your lips and it’s purely instinctual the way you open up for him to grant him access. He moans softly into your mouth, a plaintive little noise that sets your blood on fire. Suddenly, you’re possessed. Fisting his shirt in your grasp, dragging him with you as you lean backwards and sink deep into the cushions.
“I take it we’ve got the green light?” he asks in a throaty chuckle.
You answer by pulling him into another kiss, tangling your fingers in the hairs that run along the nape of his neck, twisting his curls in your grasp as you tug him back onto your mouth.
His hand wandered downwards, dipping into your sweats to cup your heat over your panties, his two middle fingers stroking at the arousal gathering there. His touch is teasingly light and yet he has you held firmly in his grasp, just enough to have you mewling into his mouth seeking more.
“Tell me exactly how you want it,” he groaned as he peppered hot kisses along the column of your throat, his voice soft but solid. “I want it to be just what you need. Just how you like it.”
You swallowed hard, struggling to form coherent thoughts with his teeth nipping so sweetly at your neck, and all the rings on his fingers pressing into your skin as he squeezed the curve of your waist. And through the haze his touch and teeth and lips created in your head, you managed an answer.
“I…I want it to be urgent. Like you can’t keep your hands off of me,” you sucked in another breath, “Like I’m all you’ve ever wanted.”
Eddie’s head lifted and you tensed just slightly under his reverent gaze. His eyes drifted across your face, all round and glassy and searching, as if he was trying to memorize every inch.
And then, as immediately as he’d paused, he was burying his face in your neck again, body grinding into yours with a newfound sense of desperation as he growled out a single word,
Teasing Steve with a lollipop during a slow shift at Family Video...
“How does this place even stay open?” Steve mutters. He’s standing behind the counter with you, squinting out into the mid-day sun. “Zero customers in…what’s it been? Three hours?”
It’s one of those afternoon shifts at Family Video.
The ones where every time you glance at the clock on the wall, it’s only been two minutes since the last time you checked, so you spend the whole time in agony trying not to look at it.
It could also have something to do with the fact that you're trying not to notice how attractive your coworker looks in that green vest.
“I don’t even know," you reply, picking up a nearby cloth and dragging it across the counter in an attempt to keep your hands busy. "The passage of time slows down here. Like, a black hole."
There’s literally nothing left to do. All the returns have been shelved, the store is tidy and organized, but actually, you haven't cleaned under the register...
You’re shoving at the hunk of metal, attempting to push your rag underneath it when something catches your eye.
There, at the edge of the counter, sits the complimentary candy jar.
You and Steve have been steadily cleaning the thing out during shifts like these all summer. (And then guiltily re-filling it so you'd have something to give the kids who come in every now and then.) However, since you hadn't had a chance to buy more after your recent attack on the thing, you thought it was empty.
But there, at the very bottom, sits one lonely lollipop.
You risk a glance back at Steve, but his eyes are already pinned to the candy. You look at each other, then the jar, then each other again.
And you both lunge in unison.
His shoulder bumps yours, but your elbow digs into his ribs, forcing a grunt from him. His fingers are longer, so he reaches it first, but you pin his wrist against the cool glass with your own and pry it out of his hand.
“Goddamn it,” he mutters when your fingers close around the candy. “It’s a mystery flavor one, too!”
You grin triumphantly and pull out your prize. “Nice try. Sucker.”
“You’re not funny.” He settles back against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning as you unwrap the lollipop. “Technically, I touched it first.”
“Well, technically...that doesn’t matter.” You brandish the stick, then pop the candy in your mouth. “ ‘Cause look whose mouth it’s in.”
And he does. Look at your mouth, that is. You try to ignore the swoop in your stomach as the afternoon light catches in his mussed hair, making it look as soft as warm caramel.
“You know,” he says slowly, “we could call it even and just…share.”
You snort. “Share? You can’t share a lollipop, are you insane?”
“Why not?
“It's juss—” You take the sucker out of your mouth to speak clearly. “Like…purposely swapping spit?”
He shrugs. “What’s wrong with swapping spit? You drink out of my water bottle all the time.” Steve’s eyes flick to yours. “It’s not any different than making out.”
Oh.
How can he just…say shit like that?
As if kissing your coworker is a perfectly normal thought to have. Of course, it is a frequent thought for you. Okay, more like an all-consuming one, but—whatever.
“At least tell me what flavor it is," he begs, taking a step towards you.
You hum, squinting up at him and twirling the candy in your mouth teasingly. “Kind of like strawberry, but less sour? Too tart for watermelon. I don't know, but it’s soooo good.”
His gaze drops to your lips. “You’re doing this on purpose.”
“What? Flaunting my win?” you say, voice full of false innocence. “I would never!”
He huffs a laugh, then his hand finds the counter behind you with a smack. Your vision fills with broad chest, and he presses you back against the ledge, so close that you have to tip your head up to look at him.
“Careful,” he says. “I might have to revoke your water bottle privileges.”
You roll your eyes, then pull the lollipop out again. “Fine, Harrington. You want a taste that bad?”
His eyes drop to your lips. “So bad.”
You hold the candy up between you, but when he reaches for it, you snatch it back at the last second.
He swallows hard as you slip it back into your mouth, twirling your tongue around the hard sugar and blinking up at him from under your lashes.
When it clicks against your teeth, his eyes darken.
Suddenly, Steve grabs the sucker’s stick and pulls it from your mouth, and you’re not really sure who moves first, but a second later…his lips are on yours.
Your breath hitches as his tongue presses against the seam of your lips, then dips inside, tasting the sweetness there, and—God, it’s everything you dreamed of.
Steve groans softly, his exhale hot against your cheek as his fingers spread over your lower back to pull you closer, making your vest whisper against his. Your hands fly to his shirt, gripping the fabric for support as the carpet beneath your feet seems to tilt.
You could kiss him like this forever, actually. It’s syrupy sweet, the sugar on your tongue melting with the taste of him and creating this intoxicating, addictive—
Just then, the bell over the door chimes.
You break apart instantly, chests heaving. Steve chuckles as your hands fly to your flaming cheeks, and you whip around, putting on your best customer service face for whoever just walked in.
The sucker lies forgotten on the countertop. Something for you to clean up later.
“Oh, and by the way,” he whispers over your shoulder before turning back to the register. “It’s cherry.”
foreword: just a lil roommate!eddie x reader blurb loosely based on this anon. lead up to phone sex, +18 mdni as always
wc: 600
___
The plastic of your landline phone has warmed to the temperature of your cheek, and your limbs feel heavy under the weight of your quilt. On the other end of the line, Eddie sighs in similar repose, six states away.
“Gareth still snores, for the record. Not even the van’s engine can drown him out.” He’s lamenting over missing you as a roommate, telling you all the worst parts of sharing small vehicle spaces and shitty motel rooms with a bunch of boys.
Corroded Coffin still has four more stops on their tour, and Eddie’s finding the traveling life of an independent artist nigh unbearable.
You hum, mock sympathetic. “Poor you. Would hate to be drowning in a pool of groupies and drinking myself blind every night.”
“Shut up,” Eddie laughs, goodnaturedly. There’s a rustling on the other end, as if he’s lying down to get more comfortable. “You know you’re my only groupie. And besides, the boys went out in their cups tonight, not me. I’m by my lonesome in the room right now.”
You can picture him clearly in your mind’s eye, stretched face-up on the mattress, band tee riding up to reveal the dark happy trail you’ve caught glimpses of before. Saliva pools in your mouth; you have to swallow before responding. “Wow. Refused a wild night on the town just to call me?”
“Sweetheart, don’t act like you don’t know you’re my favorite person to spend time with.”
The sincerity in his voice makes you squirm. Feeling suddenly too hot and restless underneath the covers, you shove them down past your hips for some air flow. “I’m flattered. Bet you say that to all the fans, just to get in their pants.”
“Nah. Just you. And besides, it’s working, isn’t it?” Eddie’s voice gets gravelly. There’s the distinct sound of jeans getting unzipped, then faded rustling. A sharp, quick inhale, then- “What are you wearing?”
A laugh bubbles out of you, humorous even while you scold, “Perv.” Your fingers toy with the lace band of your underwear, giving it a snap you hope is audible. “You really need sex that bad, you’re calling it in?”
“S’different with you.”
Eddie’s fucking up the routine. It’s supposed to go like this, when he’s gone- he waits a few days to call, then when he does, you both keep up the pretense of regularity with the usual bickering. And then it devolves into phone sex.
He’s not supposed to bring up how much he misses you, and he’s certainly not supposed to say, out loud, that you’re different than the rest.
Your fingers are frozen on the soft plane of your stomach, heart thumping wildly in your throat.
Eddie must realize his mistake, the ice where he’s skated out past undefined boundaries spiderwebbing cracks. He retracts, lies flat again, a smooth recovery in the form of an appeasing sigh before saying, “Sorry. Just miss you. Gonna tell me what you’re wearing or am I gonna have to use my imagination?”
“God forbid.” Relief floods your system, fingers gliding easily underneath the line of your panties with the safety of familiarity. “You’ve probably got me in fishnets and heels. Hate to burst your skeevy bubble, but I haven’t done laundry in a week. I’m in an old t-shirt and plain Jane undies.”
Eddie makes a soft, seeking noise that makes the heartbeat between your legs pulse. “For the record, I was imagining you naked, but this works, too.”
“Y’gonna come back soon and do my laundry?” It’s getting harder to speak, breathy little whines intermixed, pad of your finger collecting the arousal seeping from your core to drag it upwards. “Always do it better’n me.”
“Oh, yeah.” In answer to your own noises, there’s the wet sound of Eddie’s fist around his cock, moving in steady rhythm. “Next week and I’m yours, babe. I’ll use the good stuff. Fabric softener. You name it-”
“Fuck.” It’s searingly domestic dirty talk. You’ll be coming undone in minutes and he goddamn knows it. Your finger swirls, breath catching again, and Eddie coos encouragement down the line.
“That’s right, sweetheart. You’re all I wanna hear.”
Can I request Eddie munson X female reader where she and Eddie are best friends and reader has a bf and they have a 1 year old daughter and reader , Eddie and the daughter head home after a day out and walk in on readers s bf in bed with another women .readers little daughter was grabbing onto eddies leg and stuff can U make it angsty and maybe end it with the little daughter calling Eddie "dadda " or smth up to you thank you ❤️
₊ ° ⊹ ♡ 𝐚/𝐧: hii <3 tysm i literally love pam sm , also i think this is one of my favorites requests i’ve gotten oml . . . added a little more to this request since i have a need of tying things together so they fit
⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: lengthyish, not proofread, youngish mom reader, waitress reader, eddie and the reader are best friends, semi-grew up together, trailer park environment, reader’s boyfriend is a dick, reader is stressed tf out, mentions of slight alcoholism and sex if you squint, mentions of marriage, eddie pining the entire time, eddie’s extremely sweet (like tooth rotting sweet), very angsty but also fluffy!!! happy ending!!!
you and eddie had been easy since high school—two kids always tangled up in each other's orbit, stupid and young and inseparable. he made you feel like you belonged somewhere, whether he was surprising you at your locker or walking you home to your trailer. you were a package deal.
until john came along.
eddie didn't like him. you told yourself it was just protectiveness, the way he'd always looked out for you. you didn't see what was really underneath it. john was trouble, but not the fun kind eddie brought. john’s was the kind that burned—the kind that had you yelling at him one night and falling into his arms the next.
eddie watched it all: the way john talked to you, the way he made you feel small. the way you kept going back.
you thought you were in love. and maybe you were. but you never noticed that eddie was the one who really knew you. the one who'd been there the whole time. maybe even the one who loved you most.
flash forward a couple years later, and here you were at twenty-five—a community college degree tucked away like a small victory, even if it didn't change much. eddie never went to college. he didn't need to. he’d found his rhythm under the hoods of cars at the local garage, grease under his nails and a cigarette behind his ear, doing honest work with his hands. you waited tables at a diner on the edge of town, the tips just enough to keep the lights on and the fridge full.
then there was dahlia. a year old now, with your eyes and a stubbornness that seemed similar to eddie’s. your boyfriend was gone more than he was home—an over-the-road trucker, chasing miles and barely checking in. most nights it was just you and your daughter, the trailer quiet except for her babbling and the hum of the highway in the distance.
but eddie was always there. he showed up with takeout when you hadn't eaten. he’d rock dahlia to sleep when you were too exhausted to stand. he watched her while you worked double shifts, never asking for anything in return. just a nod and a crooked grin, like it was nothing. like he hadn't been catching you every time you fell since you were seventeen.
eddie never missed a chance to poke at the bruise.
"if i were him," he'd say, wiping his hands on a greasy rag, that familiar smirk curling at the corner of his mouth, "i’d’ve put a ring on your finger yesterday. maybe the day before that, too. hell, i’d’ve proposed in high school."
you’d scoff, rolling your eyes so hard it almost hurt. "he’s busy, eddie. he’s got a whole rig to drive cross-country. it’s not like he's got time to shop for rings."
"mhm." he’d tilt his head, fixing you with that look—the one that said he saw right through you. "sure. real busy."
"what’s that supposed to mean?"
"nothin'." he’d shrug, all innocence. "just saying. you and deedee deserve better than 'busy.'"
you'd wave him off, change the subject, find something to wipe down or fold. but the words stuck. they laced themselves under your skin and stayed there, quiet and persistent.
because the truth was, you were starting to believe it too. the dream of john showing up with a ring, of him choosing you—choosing her—felt thinner every day, like a photograph left too long in the sun. you still held onto it with both hands, because letting go meant admitting you'd been holding nothing all along.
one day, you were extremely busy.
you were in your waitress uniform—stained coffee-colored at the cuff, apron slung half-tied around your waist—and you'd been running since you opened your eyes. groceries needed to be bought. bills needed to be sorted. a shift was waiting for you in twenty minutes.
you rushed through the kitchen, grabbing your keys, your wallet, your sanity by a thread. and there was eddie, sitting cross-legged on the living room floor with dahlia propped between his knees. he had a stuffed dinosaur in one hand, waving it in front of her face while making exaggerated roaring sounds. she was gigling, drool catching on her chin, her tiny fingers reaching for him.
“ed—" she babbled, the syllables stretching and stumbling. "ed-dee…"
he froze. his eyes went wide, that crooked grin splitting across his face like she'd just handed him the world.
“uh huh." he leaned in, voice soft and warm. "that’s my name. sweetheart, she said it!"
you wanted to smile. you really did. the corners of your mouth twitched, but the weight pressing down on your chest wouldn't let it settle. you forced a tight, distracted sound. "mhm."
eddie heard it.
of course he did. he always heard it—that edge in your voice, the one you tried to hide. he looked up, and his dark eyes found you across the room, pinning you in place.
"everything okay?"
you exhaled, and it came out shaky. the dam broke.
"i don't—i have to get groceries because there's nothing in the fridge, and the electric bill is overdue, and i’m already late for my shift, and dahlia’s diaper bag isn't packed, and i just—" you stopped, pressing the heels of your hands to your eyes. "i can't do all of this today. i can't."
without a word, eddie scooped dahlia up, settling her on his hip like she'd always belonged there—and maybe she had. he crossed the room in three easy strides, stopping right in front of you. close enough that you could smell motor oil and cheap cologne.
“hey." his voice was low, steady, the way it always was when you were falling apart. "look at me."
you did.
"it’s gonna be okay. i’ll grab the groceries. i know your list by heart, anyway." a pause. "and i can help with the bills till you get caught up. don’t argue with me."
you couldn’t help it. “eddie, you don't have to—"
"i know i don't have to." he shifted dahlia higher on his hip, his free hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. the touch was brief, but it lingered in the air between you. "but i want to. same as always." he tilted his head, that familiar smirk softening into something gentler. "i’ll watch her while you're at work. i was gonna do it anyway. you think i’d miss a chance to hang out with my best girl?"
dahlia tugged at his hair, and he winced, laughing.
"see? she agrees with me."
you opened your mouth to argue again, but the words died. because he was already turning away, already heading toward the couch where her toys were scattered, already taking some of the weight off your shoulders like it was the easiest thing in the world.
the relief hit you so hard it almost buckled your knees.
you let out a breath you didn't realize you'd been holding, and the tension in your shoulders finally loosened. you crossed the room in two quick steps.
“thank you so much, eddie. really." the relief in your voice was almost embarrassing. "i don't know what i’d do without you."
you leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. his skin was warm. you pulled back just enough to press another kiss to dahlia’s forehead, and she let out a delighted squeal.
"alright, i gotta go. love you guys."
you grabbed your bag and headed for the door, already pulling out your keys. the door clicked shut behind you.
eddie sat there on the floor, dahlia still on his lap, staring at the spot where you'd been. the kiss on his cheek lingered like a phantom.
dahlia patted his face. "eddie?"
“yeah, baby," he said quietly, blinking himself back. "i’m here."
he looked down at her—at the curve of her cheek, the same stubborn set of her jaw you had—and felt something twist in his chest. every time you kissed his cheek, it rattled him. you always gave him a kiss on the cheek when he did you a favor. it was your way of saying thanks, but to him, it never grew old.
because in moments like this, with your kid in his arms and your lipgloss still warm on his skin, it felt so painfully right—like this was the life he was supposed to be living.
like he was the dad.
and stupid john was just some guy who happened to share your trailer.
by the time your shift ended, you were exhausted.
the diner had been a nonstop chaos of coffee refills, burnt toast orders, and a table of eight who'd asked for ketchup five times before their food even arrived. your cheeks ached from the smile you'd kept plastered on—the one the regulars loved, the one that kept your tips fat and your tongue bitten.
smile, sweetheart, you’re my favorite waitress in town.
on and on it went.
when you finally pushed open the door to the trailer, the first thing you noticed was the quiet.
the second thing you noticed was the groceries.
they sat on the table in neat, organized rows—canned goods in the back, boxed items in the middle, fresh produce up front. eddie had grouped them like he was running his own little pantry operation. you blinked, and then your eyes drifted to the fridge.
the bill was gone.
a sticky note sat in its place, written in eddie’s messy, all-caps scrawl: PAID. YOU'RE WELCOME. — E.
you stood there a moment, letting the reality of it sink in. one less thing to carry. one less weight on your chest.
across the room, eddie moved quietly in the kitchen, his back to you as he slid cans into the cabinet. he was trying to be silent—you could tell by the careful way he set each one down, the way he winced when a lid clinked too loud. he hadn't heard you come in.
you looked past him, into the living room.
dahlia was fast asleep in her crib, her tiny chest rising and falling in soft, even breaths. one arm was flung out, her fingers curled around the neck of her stuffed bunny. her bottle sat beside her, half-empty. the tv played care bears on low volume, the colors flickering softly across her peaceful face.
something in your chest loosened.
you slipped off your shoes and padded quietly into the kitchen, reaching around eddie to grab a bag of apples from the counter.
he startled, then relaxed when he saw you. that smile spread across his face—easy, warm, like he'd been waiting for it all day. it didn't matter that your hair was a mess, that your apron was stained, that you looked like you'd been put through the wringer. he looked at you like you were the best thing he'd seen all day. it was refreshing.
"hey, stranger."
"hi." your voice came out softer than you expected. "how was she?"
"the usual." he shrugged, reaching for a box of pasta. "ate all her dinner. gave me a concert when i tried feeding her. screamed when i tried to put her in her jammies. standard stuff."
you caught the way he winced slightly as he reached up to the top shelf. "what’s wrong?"
“nothin’." he said it too fast.
"eddie."
he sighed, turning to face you with a sheepish grin. he tilted his head, and you saw it—a tiny, almost invisible gap near his temple where a few strands of hair were shorter than the rest.
"she, uh." he rubbed the back of his neck. "she got ahold of a clump during story time. little piranha has a hell of a grip."
you stared at him. at the gap in his hair. at the way he was trying to play it off like it was nothing.
the laugh that escaped you was raw and sudden, bubbling up from somewhere deep in your chest. it was the first genuine sound you'd made all day—no performance, no plastered-on cheer. just you, laughing at the image of your tiny daughter scalping the man who'd spent his whole day taking care of her.
eddie’s grin widened. he brought a hand to your mouth, eyes glittering with mischief. "shh, shut up. you’ll wake her up."
your shoulders shook with muffled laughter. "i’m sorry, i’m sorry—"
"you’re not sorry." he tsked, pulling his hand away.
"i’m not," you admitted, voice breaking on a giggle. "that’s amazing. she got you good."
“betrayed by a baby," he said solemnly, turning back to the cabinet. “can’t believe it.”
the two of you fell into a comfortable rhythm after that—him handing you items, you putting them away. the only sounds were the soft rustle of bags, the occasional creak of the floorboards, and the distant, cheerful murmur of the tv. it was easy. It was quiet. It was everything your day hadn't been.
you broke the silence first.
"eddie?”
"hm?"
you stopped, a box of mac and cheese in your hands, and looked at him. really looked at him. at the dark circles under his eyes that probably matched yours. at the way his sleeves were rolled up, his hands dusted with flour from god knows what. at the patience etched into every line of his face.
"thank you. seriously."
he glanced at you, something soft passing through his expression. "you don't gotta keep thanking me."
"i know." you set the box down, turning to face him fully. "but i want to. without john here, i just… i get pretty stressed. it gets hectic sometimes, and i need someone to help me out."
he leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. his voice, when it came, was stripped of its usual teasing edge. "you don't need to explain yourself to me. i know what you're carrying. i see it."
your throat tightened. "i just—i don't want you to think I'm taking advantage of you."
"hey." he stepped closer, close enough that you could smell the faint trace of his cologne mixed with the powder of baby wipes. "you’re not taking advantage. you’re letting me help. there’s a difference."
"still. i don't know how to repay you."
"you don't have to." he said it simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "i’m always gonna be here. for you. for her. that's a choice i’m gonna keep making."
you looked up at him, and for a moment, the exhaustion didn't feel so heavy. the weight was still there, but it was shared now—split between two people in a quiet trailer, with a sleeping baby and a half-empty bottle of milk and a care bears episode playing to no one.
"always?" you asked, your voice smaller than you meant it to be.
he held your gaze, steady and sure. "always."
the word settled into the space between you like a promise.
before eddie could say a word, the front door swung open.
your heart jumped. intruder—the thought hit before reason could catch up. your mind flew to dahlia, asleep in the next room. but when you rushed into the entryway, it wasn't a stranger.
it was john.
you hadn't seen him in months—just phone calls, his voice tinny through the speaker, always promising to come home soon. he stood there in the doorway, duffel bag slung over one shoulder, looking heavier than you remembered. worn.
dahlia stirred in the crib, a soft cry breaking the silence. you scooped her up, pressing a kiss to her forehead, letting her settle against your chest before crossing to him.
“john." the name came out breathless. "i—i didn't expect you at all. why didn't you tell me?"
he dropped the bag and pulled you into a hug, one arm wrapping around you, the other around dahlia. you breathed in, and the familiar scent of his jacket hit you. beneath it, something else.
whiskey.
your smile faltered. your eyes softened with something you didn't want to name.
"missed you," he mumbled into your hair. then he pulled back, already turning toward the kitchen. "i’m gonna grab a drink."
he stopped short when he saw eddie leaning against the counter.
"eddie." john’s voice flattened. "didn’t know you were here."
"john." eddie’s jaw tightened. his eyes had gone cold—the same look he gave him back in high school.
he just nodded once, sharp and short.
john grabbed a glass from the cabinet and didn't bother to ask where anything was. he already knew. he filled it halfway, threw it back, then refilled.
"honey, maybe you should slow down on the drinks." you kept your voice light, careful. "you just got here."
john turned, glass halfway to his mouth. his eyes had that edge to them—the one you remembered from late-night arguments, when he got defensive over nothing.
"i had a long day. i can't have a drink?"
you held his gaze for a moment, then let it go. dahlia was stirring again, and you weren't about to start a fight with her in your arms.
"i don't want to fight, johnny." your voice softened. "you just got here. i was only suggesting."
you rocked dahlia gently, humming under your breath until her little body relaxed against yours, her breathing evening out. when she was fully asleep, you padded over to the crib and laid her down, your hand lingering on her back for a moment before you turned back to him.
"it’s getting late." you kept your voice low, soft. "what do you say you and i go to bed soon?"
you meant sleep. real sleep. rest. but eddie caught the flicker in john’s eyes—something darker, hungrier. he set his glass down without a word and crossed to you, pressing a kiss to your lips. lingering a second too long.
eddie felt like he wanted to vomit.
“be there in a minute," you whispered.
he just nodded and disappeared down the hallway.
you let out a breath you didn't realize you'd been holding.
eddie was watching you, his eyes soft. that look—the one that said really?—was written all over his face, his eyebrows raised, his head tilted just slightly.
you met his eyes and shrugged, soft and helpless. what can i do?
"let me see you out." you said.
you grabbed your jacket and slipped past him, holding the door open. the night air hit you both as you stepped outside—cool and quiet, the only sound the distant hum of the highway.
you walked side by side, not saying much at first. the gravel crunched under your feet. the stars were out, faint through the haze of the trailer park lights.
"dee’s getting bigger," eddie said finally. "she’s got your eyes."
"she’s got your stubbornness," you shot back, but there was no heat in it.
he snorted. "she’s gotta get it from somewhere."
you walked a few more steps in silence before eddie stopped. you stopped too, turning to face him.
"i don't like him." eddie’s voice was flat. honest. "i never did."
"i know."
"i’m serious. he shows up after months, drunk, and you're already tip-toeing around him. that’s not—" he ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "that’s not how it should be."
you looked down at your feet. "it’s complicated, eddie."
"it’s not." he stepped closer. "you deserve better than complicated."
you wanted to argue. you wanted to tell him he didn't understand. but you'd known eddie too long for that, and he knew you too well to buy it.
so you just said, "i’ll see you tomorrow, eds."
he held your gaze for a long moment, then nodded. "yeah. tomorrow."
he turned and walked up the steps to his trailer, pausing at the door.
“get some rest, yeah?”
you nodded. he disappeared inside, and you stood there for a moment longer, the night air cool against your skin, before heading back.
the next afternoon, eddie swung by your trailer with a bag of takeout, same as he always did. you were on the phone in the kitchen, wedged between the counter and the fridge, your mom's voice tinny through the speaker.
"—and when are you two going to make it official? you’re not getting any younger, sweetheart."
you shifted your weight, tracing the edge of the laminate countertop with your fingernail. "mom, it's not that simple. he just got back—"
"he’s been back long enough. a man knows what he wants."
you caught movement out of the corner of your eye. eddie ducked through the front door, lifting the bag like a peace offering, and the relief that washed through you was probably a little too obvious.
"hey, mom, i gotta go. eddie’s here with food. i’ll call you later, okay?"
you hung up before she could protest.
"you’re a lifesaver," you said, taking the bag from him. the smell of greasy chinese food filled the small kitchen. you set it on the counter and started pulling out containers. "eddie, i swear, i don't know what i’d do without you."
"i do," he said, leaning against the doorframe. "you’d starve."
"probably." you smiled, then called over your shoulder, "johnny! food’s here. come eat."
in the living room, john was crouched in front of dahlia’s play mat. a plastic block dangled from his hand. dahlia sat in the middle of the scattered toys, her little face screwed up in determined refusal.
“come on. say it. say dadda."
she shook her head. firm.
"say daddy. daddy. dad-dy."
another shake. her bottom lip started to pucker.
"dahlia. come on."
you watched from the kitchen doorway, a takeout container in your hand. it was almost funny—the way he kept pushing, the way she kept digging in. eddie hovered behind you, and you could feel him trying not to laugh.
“john," you called gently, "just bring her over. she’s hungry."
he stood up, frustrated, and lifted dahlia out of the mess of toys. she squirmed for a second, then settled against his chest as he carried her to the highchair. he slid her in and buckled the tray, still muttering.
"why won't she say it? she’s old enough."
you set a few pieces of soft chicken on her tray. "you haven't been here in a while, honey. it’s not her fault."
he scoffed, running a hand over his jaw. "oh, so it's my fault? i work really hard, you know. i expect my daughter to know who i am."
you sighed, the smile staying put out of practice. "yes, yes. i know. eat, please."
you slid a container of noodles across the counter toward him and shot eddie a look—one that said just roll with it. eddie managed a small smile in return, but his stomach had gone cold.
you deserved better than this. dahlia deserved better than this. and john had no idea how lucky he was that you were still here, still patient, still making excuses for him.
eddie wanted to say it. wanted to grab you by the shoulders and shake you awake.
i’d be here every day. i’d teach her to say "daddy" and mean it.
instead, he cracked open a container of fried rice and said nothing at all.
you settled into the chair beside dahlia’s highchair, nudging a soy sauce packet out of your way as you peeled the lid off a container of lo mein. eddie slid into the seat across from you. john took the one at the head of the table, near enough to dahlia to reach over and ruffle her hair, which she immediately swatted away.
for a few minutes the only sounds were the scrape of forks and the occasional wet smack of dahlia pounding a piece of chicken against her tray.
"so," john said around a mouthful of noodles, "how's the shop treating you?“
eddie's fork paused. he resumed pushing rice around his container.
"it’s fine. keeps me busy. boss is decent."
"yeah? you like the work?"
like wasn't the word eddie would use. the work was honest. grease under his nails that stayed there no matter how many times he scrubbed. engines that made sense in a way people didn't.
but he wasn't about to explain any of that to john.
"it’s fine," he repeated. he shrugged, a lazy roll of one shoulder. "get to get my hands dirty. better than sitting in some office pretending to care about a spreadsheet."
john laughed, oblivious. "i get that. man’s work, right?"
you caught the flicker in eddie’s jaw—the micro-shift of muscle—and you stabbed at your noodles before either of them could read your face.
"it’s honest," eddie said flatly, and that was the end of that.
you busied yourself with dahlia. she’d grabbed a fistful of noodles and was squeezing them into paste between her fingers. you pried her hand open and wiped her palm with a napkin, keeping your eyes down.
"so," john said, and there was a shift in his voice — a gear change you recognized but couldn't avoid. "appreciate you helping out around here. with dahlia and all."
eddie didn't answer. he just looked up.
"it’s been real helpful," john went on, spearing a piece of chicken. "with me working so much. can’t always be around."
can’t always be around. you felt the words settle into the room, heavy and quiet.
"we manage," you said lightly, still focused on dahlia’s hands. "it’s fine, johnny. we’re fine."
"well." john chewed, swallowed, dabbed his mouth with a napkin. his gaze slid to eddie, lingered. "she needs someone around here."
the words hung in the air a beat too long. you looked up. john was watching eddie now—not the casual glance of a man making conversation, but something slower. a measuring sort of look.
eddie held his gaze. not a challenge. just a stillness, the way you hold still when you've been caught doing something you're not supposed to.
“well, i’m not going anywhere," eddis said quietly.
and the thing was—he didn't say it to john.
he said it to you.
john’s fork clinked against his container. he dropped his gaze, pushed his food around, didn't say another word.
you kept feeding dahlia, the kitchen suddenly very small.
eventually, john scraped his chair back, the legs screeching against the linoleum.
"alright, i’m gonna head out."
you looked up from dahlia’s tray. "what?"
"got some errands to run. now that i’m back, gotta get a few things sorted."
"but—" you set the spoon down. "i thought you came back to spend some more time with us. i need you to be here with her, johnny—"
he crossed the space in two steps, cupped your face, and kissed you. quick. decisive. the kind of kiss that was meant to end a conversation, not start one.
"it’s fine," he said, already pulling back, already reaching for his keys on the counter. "eddie here can take care of it. like always."
he said it like it was nothing. like eddie was a utility. a backup generator you flipped on when the power went out.
eddie didn't move from his chair. his hand rested on the table, fingers loose around a crumpled napkin. you saw his jaw tighten—that muscle again—and you knew he heard it too. the dismissal. the way john had wrapped you both in the same sentence:
eddie here can take care of it.
as if you were a task on a list. as if eddie’s presence in your life was just a convenience john could authorize.
before you could say anything, the door clicked shut.
you stared at the space where john had been. the air still smelled like him—like the city, like the road. you let out a slow breath, and turned back to dahlia.
she was watching you with those big, curious eyes, a noodle dangling from her fist.
“yeah," you murmured, brushing her hair back. "i know, baby."
you picked up the spoon again.
"here. open up."
the kitchen filled with the sound of running water. eddie had risen without a word, gathering plates, stacking them with quiet efficiency. you watched him clear the table, his movements careful and practiced.
"thanks, eds."
he didn't look up. "you done with your plate?"
you nodded, handed it to him. he took it, turned to the sink, and began to wash.
the water ran. the sponge scraped. dahlia gummed a piece of broccoli.
you watched the broad line of his back at the sink, the way his shoulders moved as he scrubbed. the kitchen felt smaller with him in it. not suffocating like before—just contained. like whatever was in this room stayed in this room.
"ed—dee." dahlia babbled.
he didn't turn.
"eddie." you drew it out, stretching the syllables.
a pause in the scrubbing. then a grin spread across his face, visible even in profile. you felt your own mouth tug up, a soft giggle escaping before you could stop it.
"uh huh. yeah, he's right there. washing dishes."
dahlia babbled something back, and you laughed again—a real one this time, light and surprised.
he finished the last plate, dried his hands on a dish towel, and crossed to the highchair. dahlia’s arms shot up before he even reached her. eddie lifted her like she weighed nothing, and she melted into him immediately—cheek pressed to his shoulder, tiny fingers curling into the collar of his shirt.
you leaned back in your chair and let yourself look at them. fatherhood by proximity. a man who showed up, washed dishes, lifted your daughter like she was the most precious thing he'd ever held.
"she’s always so happy to see you," you said softly.
eddie adjusted dahlia’s weight, one hand cradling the back of her head. "can’t stay away from my two best girls."
the words landed somewhere deep in your chest—a place you hadn't realized was still bruised from the door clicking shut. john had never said anything like that. not once. not in all the years of coming and going, of promises made in doorways and forgotten by morning.
you looked at eddie, at dahlia already half-asleep against him, and for a moment you forgot about john entirely.
"stay for a bit?" you asked. "after she's down?"
eddie met your eyes. "i wasn't planning on leaving."
you smiled, and eddie caught it—a flicker of something warm in his eyes before he turned his attention to the small girl nestled against his chest.
"hey, princess," he said, his voice dropping into that silly, sing-song register he only ever used with her. "what do you say you and your mom and i go out for a bit, huh? get some fresh air? maybe go to the community pool?”
you blinked. "what?"
eddie shrugged, that easy, lopsided grin spreading across his face as he turned to you. the afternoon light caught the silver in his rings, the curve of his smile softening the edges of the kitchen.
"figured if john’s gonna be out, so should we." he bounced dahlia gently, and she let out a happy gurgle. "we can go to a pool or something. get out of this house. the day's too nice to waste it indoors."
you opened your mouth, then closed it. the knot in your chest—the one that had been tightening since the door clicked shut—loosened, just a little. this was his way of fixing it. of telling you it was gonna be fine. he was always just... there, offering to take you somewhere else. somewhere the air was lighter.
"okay," you said, and the word came out softer than you meant it to. "yeah. okay."
he reached over and ruffled your hair—quick, familiar, like he'd done a thousand times before. "alright. pack some things. i’ll be with her until i can do the same."
he didn't wait for an answer. he just turned and carried dahlia toward the living room, already narrating the journey to her in a low, animated voice—“and through the treacherous hallway, past the mighty laundry basket, our hero approaches the living room..."—and you heard her giggle, that small, breathless sound that always made your chest ache.
you packed quickly. two towels. a change of clothes for dahlia. you caught yourself smiling at the bathroom mirror and didn't bother to stop.
twenty minutes later, you were standing in the driveway, dahlia on your hip, a bag slung over your shoulder. eddie opened the van door—that familiar, rusty groan of metal—and you felt something settle in your chest.
the same van he'd had since high school.
beige, faded, duct tape holding the interior roof lining in place. a dent in the passenger door from a mailbox you’d misjudged senior year when he was teaching you how to drive. it smelled like cigarette smoke that had long since faded and the faint, sweet hint of the air freshener you'd bought him three years ago.
it was ridiculous. it was falling apart.
it was home.
he scooped dahlia from your arms and settled her into the car seat he’d installed months ago—something he luckily found while thrifting, the harness straps worn soft from use. he clicked the buckles in place with practiced ease, tugging once to check they were secure.
"alright, back there," he said, tapping her nose. "you ready for an adventure?"
dahlia kicked her feet and shrieked.
"i’ll take that as a yes."
he turned to you, holding out his hand. you took it without thinking, letting him guide you up into the passenger seat. the door groaned shut behind you, and the world outside the dirty windshield suddenly felt very far away.
eddie slid into the driver's seat, cranked the engine. it coughed, sputtered, then rumbled to life.
the parking lot was asphalt-hot, shimmering in the afternoon sun, and the pool gate squealed when eddie pushed it open with his shoulder. he had dahlia tucked under one arm like a football, her little legs kicking, and she let out a delighted shriek at the sight of all that blue water.
"woah, hold on there, little monster," he said, adjusting his grip. "we’re not launching you in yet."
you followed behind, the bag cutting into your shoulder, and scanned the chaos of lounge chairs and scattered towels until you spotted a couple of empty chairs near the shallow end—close enough to keep an eye on the water, far enough to avoid getting splashed by the kids cannonballing off the edge.
"over there," you said, nodding toward it.
he followed, lowering dahlia onto the towel you spread out.
"bathrooms are over there," you said, pointing. "i’m gonna go change."
"go ahead." he settled onto the towel, cross-legged, and scooped dahlia back before she could make it to the dirt. "we’ll hold down the fort. won’t we, deedee?"
dahlia grabbed his nose.
"ouch. yeah. good grip."
you laughed and headed for the changing rooms.
the bikini was simple—black, high-waisted, nothing fancy. you’d bought it last year on clearance and never worn it. standing in front of the warped mirror above the sink, you tugged at the straps, smoothed the fabric over your hips, and decided it was fine. good enough.
you stepped back out into the sun.
eddie was mid-sentence—some low, dramatic narration about the dangers of the pool drain—when he looked up. his voice died in his throat.
you caught him staring, but you didn't catch what it meant.
he remembered the beach. senior year. a group trip after graduation, the two of you sitting on the sand while everyone else was in the water. you’d worn a blue bikini then, and he'd spent the whole afternoon pretending not to look. he remembered the curve of your waist, the way he tried not to imagine how your skin might’ve tasted like salt and sunscreen. he remembered thinking you were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
he was wrong.
that version of you was sharp and new and untouched. this version had a faint, faded line across her lower stomach—a silver scar, barely visible, left behind by the small person currently trying to eat his thumb. it was a map of everything you'd been through. everything you'd carried. everything you'd survived.
you looked more beautiful than before. not despite it. because of it.
"you okay?" you asked, tilting your head.
he blinked. "yeah. yeah, i’m good."
you eased dahlia out of his arms, settling her on your hip. she immediately reached for your hair.
"your turn," you said.
he waved a hand. "ah, i’m not really gonna get in."
your jaw dropped. "excuse me?"
"just gonna sit here. keep the towels company."
"no. absolutely not." you pointed at him. "you dragged us here. you are getting in that water."
"i could supervise."
"you could swim."
he groaned, a long, theatrical sound that made dahlia giggle. "fine. fine. but i’m holding you responsible if i drown."
"you won't drown. the water's three feet deep."
"i’ll find a way."
he stood, dusted off his shorts, and trudged toward the bathrooms with the air of a man walking to his execution.
when he came back, you understood.
the trunks were black, simple, hanging low on his hips. his long hair clung to his shoulders, and his arms—you'd seen his arms a thousand times, but they looked different now. filled out. broad shoulders, thick forearms, the kind of muscle that came from years of wrestling with engines and transmissions. his tattoos stood out sharp against his skin, ink bleeding into the afternoon light.
you forgot how to breathe for a second.
he caught you looking. a slow grin spread across his face.
“see something you like?"
you felt heat crawl up your neck. you looked away, busied yourself with adjusting dahlia’s strap.
"we accidentally matched," you said, aiming for casual and landing somewhere near flustered.
he looked down at his trunks, then at you. "huh. black bikini, black trunks. real coordinated."
“didn't plan it."
“uh huh.”
you shot him a look. he held up his hands, still grinning.
dahlia, oblivious, was wearing a red one-piece covered in tiny black spots. a ladybug. it had little antennae on the hood.
"look at that," eddie said. "she’s got black too. we’re a whole theme."
"a very accidental theme."
he stepped past you and lowered himself into the shallow end, the water rising to his chest. he hissed at the temperature—“christ, that's cold"—then turned and held out his arms.
"alright, princess. your turn."
you handed dahlia to him. she went willingly, splashing into his arms with a shriek of pure joy. the water darkened the red of her swimsuit, and she kicked her feet, sending droplets across his face.
he didn't even flinch. he just grinned, wiped the water from his eyes, and looked up at you.
"you coming in or what?"
the water was cold against your ankles, then your knees, then your waist. you waded over to them, the sun warm on your shoulders, and dahlia reached for you, wanting to be held by both of you at once.
edie shifted her into your arms, and for a moment, the three of you stood there—water lapping, sun burning, the noise of the pool fading into something distant and unimportant.
the three of you floated in the cool water, laughing as eddie kept dahlia giggling. his gaze kept drifting to you, lingering a beat too long. he couldn't help it—you were beautiful.
he’s thought so since high school. a quiet ache settled in his chest: the old longing to have you, to be yours.
you caught his look and offered a soft smile. your chest warmed when your eyes met. you’d known him since you were seventeen. he’d always been there. for a moment, you let yourself imagine eddie as dahlia’s dad instead, the three of you a real family.
eventually, you all headed home, wrapped in towels despite being thoroughly soaked. on the drive back, eddie and you traded easy laughs, slipping into comfortable small talk. he parked in front of your place, and you noticed johnny's old truck.
"that’s weird." a slight smile tugged at your lips, still recovering from laughing. "i thought he'd be out the whole day."
eddie’s gaze hardened as he shut off the engine. of course. of course this is how the night ends. you, him, dahlia—a perfect day. and now, back to reality. john’s home.
he unbuckled dahlia and lifted her out. you grabbed the bag, and the three of you head up the steps. inside, eddie sets dahlia down, letting her toddle around to burn off the last of her energy.
you glanced around. "johnny?"
you headed toward the shared bedroom.
"mama!" dahlia pattered after you.
"hey, no, come here." eddie tried scooping her up, a quick joke about her escaping already forming on his lips. then he stopped once he reached the doorway.
johnny was in bed. with another woman.
dahlia tugged at eddie’s leg, confused. "ed-dee?"
your eyes were already welling. eddie saw it—the crack spreading across your face. he picked up dahlia, ready to say something, anything.
"can you take her?" your voice was quiet. broken. "to your trailer?"
he nodded. he knew what you needed.
he was halfway out the door when the yelling started behind him.
"how could you do this?!" your voice cracked and sharpened all at once. "are you fucking serious? i’ve been trying so hard, johnny! trying to take care of dahlia, picking up shifts at the diner, keeping everything together while you're gone. you’re here for one day—one goddamn day—and this is what you do?!”
the woman in the bed scrambled, half-asleep, fumbling for her clothes. johnny sat up, sheets pooling around his waist, face twisting.
"don’t you yell at me," he snapped. "you think it's easy? you’re always busy, always tired, i needed—"
"don’t." you shook your head, voice dropping. "don’t even go there.”
"it was nothing, alright? just—"
"i want you out." the words came out steady even as your hands shook. "it’s over. i’ll take care of dahlia myself. i’ve been doing it anyway."
his voice softened, slick and familiar. "come on, baby. it was just a mistake. one mistake. you know i love you."
but you're already somewhere else. the short phone calls. the way he never seemed in a rush to come home. the way he talked around marrying you, always soon, soon, never now.
"no." you met his eyes. "you’ve been doing this the whole time, haven't you? that’s why you never wanted to stay."
he opened his mouth. but you were already walking away.
the door clicked shut behind you when you walked into eddie’s trailer, and the silence that followed was somehow louder than the screaming. louder than the woman scrambling for her dignity. louder than johnny’s excuses still echoing in your skull.
you stood there. dripping. empty.
eddie didn’t say anything at first. he was leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching you. dahlia was passed out on the couch, curled into a tiny ball, a fortress of couch cushions walling her in. he must've built it while you were in there. while your world was ending a trailer away.
you opened your mouth. nothing came out.
that lump in your throat—hard, sharp, impossible to swallow around—pressed up until your eyes start to burn.
eddie’s face changed. the guarded tension in his jaw dropped away, and something raw and soft took its place. he didn’t ask. he didn’t say what happened or are you okay or any of the bullshit questions people asked when they already knew the answer.
he just opened his arms.
you stepped into him immediately, and the second your forehead hit his chest, you broke. the sob ripped out of you like it had been waiting for permission. your fingers curled into the front of his shirt, and you shook against him, ugly and loud and completely undone.
his arms closed around you, solid and sure. one hand cradled the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your wet hair.
"i got you," he murmured, voice low and rough. "i got you. let it out."
you cried harder.
he rocked you, just a little, swaying in the dim light of the kitchen. his thumb traceed slow, soothing arcs against your scalp.
"i’m so sorry, sweetheart." even his voice cracked at the edges. "i’m so goddamn sorry."
you felt him press his cheek against the top of your head. felt the steady rise and fall of his chest. felt his arms tighten, like he was trying to hold every broken piece of you together with his bare hands.
"you don't have to say anything," he whispered. "you don't have to do anything. i’m right here. i’m not going anywhere."
and you didn’t have to look up to know his eyes were red too.
your voice was wrecked, barely making it past the tears.
"i can't believe he would do that." a hiccup. then another. "he—he was here for one day. one day, eddie. and he just… he brought that girl to our home. our home. in our fucking bed.”
eddie didn’t stop stroking your hair. his hand was steady, patient, grounding. he let you spill it all out.
you kept going, words tumbling over each other, half-sobbed, half-spat. how your mom was already on your back about not locking johnny down fast enough, about how you're twenty-five and still not married in her standards, how you're going to be alone forever if you don't—and now this. now he showed up after months gone with some girl on his arm like you're nothing.
"i don't know what to do." your voice cracked, raw and young. "i don't want dahlia growing up in this. watching her mom fall apart over some guy who doesn't—who never—"
you choked. then the panic shifted, practical and desperate.
"the bills, eddie. i can't—the diner shifts barely cover groceries. johnny sends money sometimes, but if he stops, if he's done, i don't know how i’m gonna—"
"hey." his voice cut through, soft but firm. his hand stilled on your hair, then cupped the back of your head, tilting your face up just enough that you have to look at him.
"hey. look at me."
you do, through blurry eyes.
he held your gaze, his thumb brushing a tear off your cheek.
"johnny is an asshole," he says, quiet and certain. "he never deserved you. not one day of it."
you shook your head, trying to argue, but he doesn't let you.
"i’m gonna show up." the words landed like a promise. "i’ll take care of the bills. more. as much as you need. i’ll be here for dahlia—you know i will. and if it helps you sleep at night, i’ll pick up more hours at the shop. i don't care. i’ll work until my hands fall off if it means you don't have to carry this alone."
"but you can't—" you started, voice breaking.
"i can." he brushed a strand of hair from your wet cheek, tucking it behind your ear. his hand was warm, calloused, impossibly gentle. then he cupped your face, both palms framing your jaw, and tilted your head up to meet his eyes again.
"let me," he said, barely above a whisper. "please. let me take care of you. you don't have to figure this out alone. you never did. i’ve been here the whole time, and i’m not going anywhere." his voice dropped, softer than you've ever heard it. "you and dahlia are my family. you know that, right?"
the words hung in the air between you, heavy and warm.
you swallowed. you nodded as a fresh tear slipped down your cheek. he caught it with his thumb.
"i’ve got you."
the weight on your chest shifted—just a little—like maybe it didn’t have to be yours alone.
you couldn’t help but thump your fist against his chest, weak and trembling, frustration and gratitude tangled up so tight you can't tell where one ends and the other begins.
"god, y-you’re so—" another sniffle. another hit, softer this time. "annoying."
the word came out shaky, watery, stripped of any real bite.
eddie’s lips twitched. a glint flickered in his eyes, warm and soft, like candlelight cutting through the dark. he caught your fist before you could hit him again, holding it against his chest. his heart pounded steadily under your knuckles.
"yeah," he said, voice low and amused. "i know."
he pulled you back into his arms, and you go without resistance—boneless, exhausted, grateful. his chin rested on the top of your head. one hand spread across your back, the other craded the nape of your neck, anchoring you.
"let it out," he murmured into your hair. "you know i’m not going anywhere."
and you do. you cried until your chest ached and your throat burned and there's nothing left. through it all, he held you. rubbed your back. pressed the occasional kiss to the crown of your head. didn’t rush you. didn’t shush you.
when the last sob finally shuddered out of you, quiet settled around you both like a blanket.
"better?" he asked softly.
you nodded against his chest, too wrung out for words. your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, holding on like he might disappear if you let go.
he gave you one last squeeze, then tipped your chin up with his thumb and index finger. his eyes searched yours, earnest and unbearably gentle.
"i meant every word," he said. "every single one."
and he did.
over the next few months, eddie showed up more exactly like he promised. a fresh pot of coffee would already be brewed when you stumbled out of your room at six a.m. a bag of groceries would be sitting on the counter with the things you'd mentioned offhandedly three days ago. the rent would be paid before you could even stress about it.
john’s things disappeared piece by piece. you boxed them up yourself one rainy tuesday, and eddie didn't say a word—just handed you tape and sat on the floor beside you, sorting through the wreckage of a decade with quiet, patient hands. when you started to cry over an old photo, he didn't tell you to stop. he just set his hand on your knee and stayed.
slowlu, his things started appearing in their place.
a worn leather jacket hanging by the door. a second toothbrush in the cup. his favorite mug—chipped, with a faded band logo—claiming permanent space in your cabinet. a spare set of keys on the counter. a pillow that smelled like him on your couch.
he didn't move in. not officially. he still had his own trailer at the end of the lot. but somewhere along the way, yours became yours-and-his without anyone saying a word about it.
healing came slowly. in fits and starts. some days you'd be fine—laughing at something dumb he said, watching him teach dahlia how to change a tire on a tricycle she couldn’t even ride yet, feeling almost normal. other days, johnny’s ghost would settle heavy in your chest, and you'd go quiet, and eddie would just... know. he’d put on your favorite movie without asking. he’d make you coffee. he’d sit beside you and say nothing at all, letting you find your way back to the surface on your own.
it was hard. johnny was your high school sweetheart. he was woven into the fabric of who you were, and untangling yourself from him felt like pulling thread from a sweater—slow, delicate, sometimes ruining everything in the process.
but eddie made it bearable.
he made you laugh until your stomach hurt, doubling over in the kitchen while he attempted to make dinner and somehow set off the smoke alarm. eddie kept you company on sleepless nights, staying on the phone with you even when he had to be at the shop at six. eddie held dahlia when she had nightmares, rocking her back to sleep with a patience that made your heart ache.
he did everything he promised. and more.
and somewhere between the laughter and the quiet nights and the way he looked at you like you were something worth staying for, you started to realize—
you were falling for him.
it hit you one evening, soft and sudden. you were sitting on the porch, dahlia asleep inside, and eddie was beside you, acoustic guitar in his lap, playing something slow and nameless. the sunset caught the edges of his profile, and he glanced over at you with that half-smile, and your chest tightened in a way that had nothing to do with grief.
oh.
you looked away quickly, heart hammering.
but you felt his eyes on you, warm and patient, and when he kept playing without saying a word, you let yourself sit in the feeling. let it settle into your bones.
terrifying.
hopeful.
the door creaked open and a familiar voice rung through the trailer, warm and theatrical.
"honey, i’m home!"
you looked up from the broom in your hands, mid-sweep in the kitchen, and the sight of him—leather jacket slung over his shoulder, his grin already crooked and knowing—makes something in your chest bloom.
a smile broke across your face before you could stop it.
"hey, you," you said. "how was work?"
he hung his jacket on the hook by the door, taking his time, savouring the routine of it. "greasy. frank’s nephew stripped a bolt on a '92 civic and i had to drill the damn thing out. took me an hour." he ran a hand through his hair, leaving a faint smudge of oil on his temple. "other than that? same old. some guy’s truck finally gave out. told him it was the transmission three months ago. three months. but what do i know, right?"
you shook your head, biting back a smile. "you know everything, obviously."
"obviously." he winked, then glanced around. "where’s my girl?"
"daycare. she’s got a little friend group now. apparently they color-coordinate their snack times."
eddie gasped, clutching his heart like he'd been mortally wounded. "what, she got tired of me already? i’m replaced by a toddler named brayden and a juice box?"
you laughed—bright and easy, the kind of sound that lives in your chest now instead of getting stuck on the way out. you shook your head, leaning against the counter while still holding the broom.
"no, never. she loves you too much."
his expression softened. the teasing fades into something quieter, something realer. his voice dropped a little when he said, "yeah, i love her too."
a pause. his eyes held yours.
"especially her mom."
the words landed somewhere deep in your ribcage. you stilled, fingers curling against the broom.
"yeah?" you asked, your voice coming out smaller than you meant it to.
eddie took a step closer. then another. the worn linoleum floor creaked under his boots.
he stopped in front of you, close enough that you can smell the faint traces of motor oil and faded cologne. his eyes traveled over your face like he's memorizing it. like he's been memorizing it for years and still hasn't gotten enough.
"get rid of that," he said, nodding at the broom still in your hands.
you immediately set the broom aside—clumsily, nearly knocking over the trash can in the process—and when you turned back, eddie’s hands are already reaching for you.
he pulled you in by the waist, slow and careful, like he's afraid you might spook. his thumbs pressed into the soft fabric of your shirt, just above your hips. he looked at you for a long moment—really looked—and you see the question in his eyes. the hesitation. the offer of an out, if you wanted one.
you can still step back. we can pretend this didn't happen. i’ll wait forever if i have to.
but you don't step back.
you don't even blink.
and whatever he saw in your face—whatever certainty flickered across it—was enough.
he leaned in slowly. giving you every chance to change your mind.
you don't.
when his lips met yours, it's soft. gentle. nothing like the rushed, careless kisses johnny used to steal. this one tastes like patience. like years of waiting finally paying off. like a promise he’d been keeping since before you even knew to ask for it.
his hand slid up to cup your jaw, tilting your head, deepening the kiss just a fraction. just enough to let you know he meant it.
when he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, eyes still closed, breath warm against your lips.
"i’ve been wanting to do that for a long time," he admitted.
you opened your eyes and looked at him—really looked at him. the man who showed up. who kept showing up. who never once made you feel like a burden for needing him.
before you knew it, the two of you got a little carried away in the kitchen. one moment you were kissing, and the next his hands were on your waist, lifting you onto the counter like you weighed nothing, his mouth finding yours in that gentle, unhurried way that made the rest of the world fall away.
his hands slid up your thighs, thumbs tracing circles through the thin fabric of your jeans, and you sighed into his mouth, threading your fingers through his hair. the clock on the microwave ticked over. six minutes. then twelve.
"eddie," you breathed against his lips, but you didn't pull away.
“hm?"
you pulled back, breathless, giggling against his lips. "i have to go. dee—"
he groaned, forehead dropping to yours. "five more minutes."
"she’s gonna be the last kid there."
"so let me get her." he said it like it's obvious.
you opened your mouth to protest—you don't have to, i can do it, it's not your job—the same thing you always say. but he cut you off, cupping your face in his hands as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, soft and deliberate.
"be right back."
he grinned, and then he's out the door.
fifteen minutes later, he's back with dahlia perched on his hip, her little sneakers swinging. she’s babbling a mile a minute, pointing at something in the parking lot, and eddie nods along like he understands every word.
the three of you ended up sprawled on the couch, dahlia wedged between you. fraggle rock flickers on the screen. she’s more affectionate than usual—grabbing at eddie’s shirt, patting his cheek, curling her tiny fingers around his. you watched them, and something warm settled in your chest. she missed him. all day at daycare, she was waiting for him to walk through the door.
eddie’s heart tightened. he looked down at her, her little hand wrapped around his index finger, and he wiggled it, making her shriek with laughter.
"tell me about your day, baby girl. did you paint? build a fort? plot world domination?"
she babbled nonsense, and he nodded seriously. "good. world domination's a solid plan."
she looked up at him, quiet for a second. then, clear as day:
"dadda."
eddie’s eyes snapped to yours. your own go wide, a smile breaking across your face before you could stop it. he looked back down at her, a grin spreading slow and crooked.
"uh huh. dadda. that’s me." his voice is softer now, rougher. "can you say daddy?"
she stared at him. then she grinned. "dadda."
he laughed, the sound full and warm. "stubborn. i like it."
"da-ddy," you tried, leaning in. "daddy."
"dadda."
eddie shook his head, still smiling. "next time, sweetheart."
he leaned over dahlia, hand finding the back of your neck, and kissed you—slow, deep, like he's got nowhere else to be. you giggled against his mouth, and he smiled into it, and when you pulled back, dahlia is trying to copy you, puckering her lips and making a wet mwah sound.
eddie laughed, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "love you, kid.”
you turned back to the tv, settling deeper into the couch cushions, dahlia’s weight warm and solid against your chest. but eddie’s gaze lingered on you. he watched the way your fingers traced lazy patterns through dahlia’s hair, the way your smile softened in the glow of the screen.
he felt at peace. like he was exactly where he was supposed to be.
you weren't stressed anymore. you laughed more. you smiled more. the dark circles under your eyes had faded, replaced by a warmth that made him want to cup your face in his hands every time he saw it. he’d watched you heal, piece by piece, and somewhere along the way he'd realized he was healing too.
he’d stepped into a role john never deserved. a role john never even tried to fill.
and now, curled up on this worn-out couch with a fraggle rock theme song playing and a little girl who just called him dadda, eddie knew one thing for certain: he was going to give you everything you deserved. everything you'd never had.
his hand drifted to his pocket. the velvet box was still there, tucked away, waiting.
a week ago, he'd bought it. when he figured he had a chance. when he figured you felt the same way.
he looked at you now, the way you turned your head and caught his eye, your smile soft and curious.
"what?" you asked.
eddie just shook his head, a slow, secret smile spreading across his face.
“nothin’." he reached over and laced his fingers through yours.
“no! no! no! it’s called bridal style for a reason, and correct me if i’m wrong, but you, m’lady, are my bride,” eddie giggles with a goofy grin, booping your nose as he gazes at you.
“okay, fine! just don’t drop me,” you warn him, though your tone is teasing in nature.
he not so gracefully attempts to lift you up, but the bottom of your dress is caught underneath his shoe, causing him to stumble a bit before bracing his arm out on the wall to keep from colliding into it.
“eddie!” you laugh loudly.
“shit! sorry! i’m good! we’re good!”
he pushes off of the wall and steadies himself before he takes another step forward.
“see, babe? i got th—,” he bumps into one of the chairs at the little table next to the kitchen, and, once, again, loses his balance.
you burst into a heap of laughs.
“at this rate, one of us will end up in the hospital before we ever make it to the bedroom,” you giggle, wiggling your brows as eddie shakes his head at you.
“shhhh…i can’t help it. you’re distracting me with your beauty,” he teases.
“mhm, yup, that’s totally it,” you say through chuckles.
he kicks the chair back into place and continues the journey towards the room. there were a few more mishaps along the way, resulting in the two of you laughing and giggling and playfully chiding that everyone in the entire trailer park could hear.
“oh, sweetheart, our laughter will be the least of their concerns,” he says as he finally enters the room and gently tosses you on the bed.
“is that right, mr. munson?” you quirk a brow, shuffling back against the mattress to make room for him.
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