#so many eds and eddies now huh
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Eddie Munson would be obsessed with Rocky Horror and i will die defending that.
Also...HE LIVES
🦇 As always, click for better quality 🦇
#that man would belt any and all songs from rocky horror#he's singing Columbia's parts like it isnt miles out of his range and i dont CARE#hes doing all their mannerisms#you bet he STRUTS when he sings as frankie#and the sheer amount of joy he gets from singing hot patootie and eddie#unmatched#AND#that man is on the verge of tears giving it his all during going home#that shit makes me tear up everytime so now it has to make him cry too#eddie munson#stranger things#so many eds and eddies now huh#and you KNOW robin is right there beside him belting out all the songs#they're the only ones dressed up but its ok bc the next time they drag nancy jonathan and steve to see it#they make them get dressed up too#ill leave it to you as to who gets dressed up as a who but#i have my ideas#Fanart#My art
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Drunk Dial: Eddie Munson blurb
18+ Minors DNI
"I just wanted to tell you something, as a friend." Eddie goes on. You've been on the phone for 15 minutes now. You can tell he's had one too many beers. His words running together a bit, his voice a little louder than usual.
"Of course." you tease, a giggle falling from your lips. You had just finished a joint when your phone rang, Eddie insisting he had something important to tell you.
"Your body is bangin.”
"Bangin' huh?" you giggle, your cheeks reddening immediately, grateful that he wasn't standing in front of you.
"Listen.. even friends can appreciate their friends uh-parts." he slurs, a little giggle slipping his lips.
"That skirt the other day, baby. Fuuuck." He groans dramatically. "Your ass.. your fucking curves."
"Eddie." you whisper, barely able to speak as compliments continue pouring from his lips. This wasn't the first time Eddie had said something like this but he wasn't usually so blunt.
"Shhh! I'm just trying to tell you." he chuckles again, "I would have bent you over right then and there if you woulda let me." his playful tone darkens in an instant.
"I-" Suddenly you wished he was standing in front of you.
"Mmm.. I can picture it now." he hums. "Pushing your skirt above your hips. Teasing you first. Do you like to be teased, sweetheart?"
"Fuck, Eds." you breathe out, your heart pounding in your chest, your pussy beginning to throb from his words.
"Shit, sorry baby.. I'm a little," he pauses to hiccup loudly, "a little drunk."
"It's okay.. I-I do like to be teased, by the way." you whisper into the phone, not wanting the conversation to end. Your high giving you a little boost of confidence.
"Yeah? Can I tell you what I'd do first?Hypothetically.” he rasps.
"Please." you whimper.
"Shit.. yeah, okay. First I'd bend you over.. like we talked about." he says giddily.
"Mhmm."
"Then I'd run my fingers up your thigh slowly until I reach your panties. I bet they'd be wet. Would they be wet, sweetheart?"
"So wet." you purr, escalating the situation further, resulting in a deep moan from Eddie.
Fuck, he's hot.
"I would bring my fingertips to your clit, starting slow. Teasing you just a bit. Then I'd move lower, feeling your soaked panties."
"Soaked?" you egg him on.
"Fucking drenched." he groans.
"What next?"
He chuckles lustfully at your eager tone. "I'd slip them to the side.. what color are they, baby?"
"Red. Lacy."
"Fuck me. Mmm.. okay. I'd slip the lace to the side, finally feeling you on my fingers.."
"Fast or slow?"
"Slow, in and out, I bet you feel so fucking good.”
“How many fingers?" he moans growing hard at the thought.
"Two?"
"Two.. yeah.. two sounds good. I'd start slow, gliding them in and out, speeding up, listening to your sounds.. finger fucking you real good, sweetheart. Make you cum all over my hand. God, know you'd be so wet."
"So wet for you, Eddie. My pussy would be so wet for you." you purr, surprising yourself with your words.
"Sweetheart... you're gonna make me cum." he blurts out at the same time that you blurt out your own sentence. "Do you wanna come over?"
"Yes. God, yes." he answers hastily.
"Wait, Eddie.. I don't think you should drive right now."
"No, no, no. I'm not driving. Stevie here is gonna drive me. Aren't ya buddy? Oh, here. You wanna say hi?" You hear a rustling on the other end of the phone. Oh god.
"Uh.. hi." Steve mutters awkwardly through the phone.
"Heh.. hi Steve." your face blushes profusely as you realize Steve must have been there the whole time.
"So. uh- need me to bring him?"
"Mhmm.. yeah. Please."
"I'm about to fuck your brains out." Eddie's voice comes through the phone again. CLICK.
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🎃⭐️Texas Chainsaw Massacre x reader⭐️🎃
Art by: Minilev
Premise: You go hiking with a friend and this bitch has the audacity to leave you alone. You end up hitchhiking with some hippies, but their van gets a flat! Oh no! Good thing there's a farmhouse nearby. Maybe they can help
Note: I had this in the drafts for awhile. I decided to whip it out for halloween. Enjoy. Say one thing bad thats not constructive criticism and its a block. Tired of these fucking kids smh. Also, imagine everyone with a soulthern accent
-Dr. Smut
Minors DNI
Warning: Non-Con, side charicter death, mentions of gore, kidnapping, fem reader
"So uh..thanks for picking me up." You say with a nervous smile. You refrain from coughing as the strong smell of marijuana floods your nose. Right now, you're in a classic 70s Volkswagen van, hitchhiking through Texas. Your friend convinced you to go backpacking with her, but a quarterway through, she ditched you to continue the trip with her new boyfriend. Some junky she met at a gas station. You can't exactly turn tail and go home because she took the car, and stranded you in the middle of nowhere so, you had no choice, but to catch a ride with some hippies.
"No prob, sweet cheeks. Anything for a pretty lil' lady like yourself." The driver looks back at you for a moment and winks. You think he may like you. You cringe slightly. "Eddy has a crush on you! Ain't that right, Ed?" A girl next to you wearing a tie-dye crop top pokes Edds back a couple of times. "Well, who wouldn't?" He chuckles. You play with your fingers nervously. You've been driving along a dusty, desolate path through some empty part of Texas for a while now. You've always been perturbed by the idea of Texas. Americans and with their guns and hot temper and all. It seems you may have watched too many scary movies. You haven't seen a soul for miles, let alone a house, just tall grass and more tall grass.
The car suddenly jolts and you're all jostled around. The girl sitting next to you clings to you as the driver slams the brakes. You gasp for air, your heart pounding a mile a minute. "Huh!? W-what the!?" Edd shouts before hopping out to investigate. You cautiously slip out the back and join him. Edd lifts a spiked wire. It's still stuck in the now flat tire. "Some asshole must'a dropped it here while delivering somethin'," he says as he drops it back on the ground. It popped the back tires. You pull out your phone. No service. Of course.
"Do you have any spares?" You ask, hoping to get out of this creepy place. "Unfortunately these are the spares, sweet cheeks." He sighs. "Weren't you supposed to buy more, Ed?" Ann shouts from the window. "This is no time to argue! We have to get help!… Look, There's a farmhouse right there. Let's hope someone's home." He says, walking towards it.
You hesitantly follow them to the creepy house. "I'm gonna check the farm, you two knock on the door." Edd doesn't give anyone time to respond before he walks off. You walk up to the front door and Ann knocks. You feel like you're being watched. You shift from foot to foot nervously. A few minutes pass and no word. Not even a sound. "What the? Where's Edd? If no one was home, he should be back by now!" Ann looks around. You begin feeling incredibly anxious. "Let's go find that idiot," she says and walks off quickly, you follow behind her. You can't leave her to do it by herself so you agree. You walk over to the farm and see…the gate open.
"H..hello?" You call. "E-Edd?"…No response. The two of you cautiously walk into the house. It smells like wood and iron. You see a red smudge on the wall…weird. This is getting scary. "Ann…I think we sh-" You're cut off by a blood-curdling scream from Ann. You quickly go over to the open doorway she's looking at to see a horrific sight. Edd has been cut to pieces. You hold back bile in your throat and grab Ann. "Let's go!" You shout. She snaps out of her trance and follows you to the entryway, only for the two of you to halt in your tracks.
Standing there is a giant, his hulking frame filling the doorway. He's the scariest thing you've ever seen in your life. A mask covers half his face, and in his arms is a chainsaw. You make eye contact with the beast and scream. Ann yanks you deeper into the house, hoping to find an exit. The man follows you, hot on your trail. You see a back door and try to open it, but it's locked. Cassie then barely avoids losing her arm as she dodges the giant.
He hasn't tried to attack you yet. You grab a chair and smash it through a window. You pick up a plant and throw it at the man, who cornered Ann. He's completely unphased, but pauses and looks at you as if to warn you. You toss his warning to the wind and jump on his back. "Ann, go!" You scream. Ann runs towards the window but stops when another man shorter than the man you're currently on top of, smashes a hammer onto her head.
You hear a crack and she falls to the floor, limp. "Ann!" You cry. Your body was then slammed to the floor by the hulking, chainsaw-wielding psychopath. You whimper and crawl backwards. You hit a wall and he lifts his chainsaw towards you. You're thankful It's turned off. You close your eyes and wait for death. You feel the blade lightly touch your collarbone…and then gently move down between your breasts and to the junction between your spread legs…he rubs your thigh with the chainsaw lightly, as if thinking. You look up at him in confusion. He tosses the saw to the side and grabs your face in his large hand. He tilts your head from side to side, examining you.
"Think she's pretty, Tommy?" The man who just attacked Ann asked.
'Tommy', the giant holding your face grunts and nods. You're horrified. Does this monster think you're pretty? "Yeah, I agree, Tommy. Good thing you didn't turn her into dinner… though, I don't think you were gonna. You had your eye on her since their car landed in our road trap." He laughed. Trap!? This was all a setup!? Did he say dinner!? Your head is spinning.
Tommy looped his bur waist arm around your waist and hoisted you up, placing you on his shoulder like you weighed a small sack of potatoes. "H-hey! What are you doing? Put me down!" You shout, pounding your hands on his back, but it doesn't even look like he knows you're hitting him. You hear footsteps and look up to see an old woman looking over at you. “P-please help me” you whimper. She smiles down at you sweetly.
"Well, I do say, you sure found yourself a sweet little thing. Ain't that right, Thomas.” The hulking figure above you grunts in agreement. You cry as you realize she has no intention of helping you in the least. “She has a pretty voice too…Take care of my Tommy, girl!” She warns, glaring down at you. “Tommy. Get'er to pop out a few farmhands, will you?" All blood drains from your face. They…want you to…what? Tommy carries you down into a dark, creepy basement. You almost puke. You see dead bodies hanging from hooks and dismembered limbs and bones strewn about….is that Edd? You're carried down a hallway and into a room. The room is empty besides a dirty mattress in a corner. He throws you on the mattress and begins to undress you immediately.
You scream and try to stop him, but he's just too strong. "P-Please stop!" You cry. Tears flow down your cheeks and you hiccup. Tommy leans down and wipes away your tears, not calming you in the slightest. He strips you down to your bra and panties and takes a good look at you, drinking up your body. You can see the lust in his eyes. He grunts in excitement and removes his bloody apron. You curl your body up and hide yourself from him. He softly strokes your cheek and hugs you like you're a teddy bear. He's oddly gentle, but you feel he's losing patience. He taps your shoulder a few times, silently urging you to show yourself to him. when you don't, his taps become a little harder. He grunts in annoyance. He presses himself into you, trying to get closer. You feel his hard cock through his pants and try to shuffle back.
He grunts in frustration, yanking your arm and knees apart, forcing your body to reveal. You need to do something!…" Please,… don't hurt me, Tommy" He only stares into your eyes. You can see emotions swirl in his eyes before he lets go of you and stomps out of the room. Looks like he's giving you time to cooperate. You bring your hands to your face and sob. You look up. You have to get out of here! You hope to god you can do this. You get up and tip-toe towards the door as quietly as you can. You slowly open it and slide it open just enough for you to fit through, which proves to be quite difficult as it's very heavy. You don't know how the monster did it before.
You continue to quietly make your way down the dark hallway, missing the dark shadow to your side. You try not to look around too much at the carnage before making your way up the stairs. You find the window you previously broke now boarded up. You take a deep breath, preparing to make a run for the front door. You haven't heard anyone yet so you think you're still in the clear. You make it to the front door and just as you're about to try and open it, your body is slammed against the wall, your breath knocked out of you. You cough and groan. You feel dizzy. You look up to see Tommy staring down at you with a look of anger. Was he waiting for you to try to escape?
You grit your teeth before lifting your knee to knee him in the crotch, but he anticipates it and grabs your leg, lifting it. He makes space for himself between your legs and lets his large hands roam your bare midriff and up to your breasts where he proceeds to rip off your bra, revealing your chest to him. You whimper in pain and try to hide yourself, earning yourself a shove into the wall, banging your head slightly.
The corners of your eyes go dark for a few moments. Your head stops spinning when he leans down and slides his tongue up your cheek. His other hand reaches down and roughly grabs at your clothed cunt. He makes sounds of excitement once again. Saying you're terrified would be an understatement. You feel his fingers cup and wiggle around down there, not knowing what to do, but liking the feeling of doing it.
You again try to shove him off as best you can. He grunts in annoyance and moves the hand previously on your chest up to your throat. Your whimpers and please turn into choked gasps and gurgles as he squeezes. He gets even closer and you can feel something hard rub against your lower stomach. "Get her, Tommy, get her!" You hear from behind him. He grunts in response and tears off your underwear. He brings it to his nose and inhales. His eyes roll back a bit as if smelling the most heavenly scent imaginable.
You now realize he's probably never held a woman before and he's completely deprived of any sort of warm human touch. "Common, Tommy, gimme that! You get to have her, the least I should get is her undies!" His brother pleads. Tommy contemplates holding the small bit of cloth in front of him before tossing it back, which his brother catches and desperately presses to his face, moaning into the fabric like it's an oxygen mask.
Tommy grabs your hair and begins dragging you back down to the basement. You scream in pain and grab onto his hand for any relief as you're forced to the ground. "No! Please! Ahh Stop!" You cry out. He drags your naked body down the blood-crusted steps and makes his way back to the room you dread. He tosses you onto the mattress once again. By the time you manage to get up on your knees, you hear a clinking sound and turn to see him undoing his belt.
You crawl into the corner as he gets on his knees before you, his shadow casting over you. He unbuttons his shirt and lets it fall off. You now know that trying to inflict pain on him is futile. Muscles that scream he could crush you like a soda can. Not only is he as big as a fridge, but he also looks like an off-season pro wrestler. You can see a very prominent bulge struggling to free itself. The size of the tent itself is intimidating.
His eyes lock on yours as he slowly unzips his belt and frees his aching cock. You look away and feel his weight settle on the bed closer to you. You can feel his heavy breathing on the side of your face. He grabs your legs and yanks you beneath him, positioning himself at your entrance. You feel his bulbous tip rub up and down your folds. "Please…" Your eyes widen and you trail off as your eyes lower to what's prodding at your cunt. You want to look away, but morbid curiosity wins. It's almost unbelievable. His cock like himself, is too big. It's long, very thick and veiny. It looks like a beer can. You can just tell he's smiling under his mask.
He slowly pushes the tip in. You try to scoot back, but he grips your hips with his massive hands and pushes forward, but fails entry, seeming too big. He grunts in frustration. He tries again, this time managing to push the tip in. You scream. It hurts so bad. "No, y-you're too big!" you gasp, squirming in place. He holds your hips tighter and continues pushing forward, impaling you on his cock, all the way to the base.
Your mind blanks. You're unable to think cohesively. You're in so much pain. He lets out a groan of pleasure and doesn't wait for you to adjust to his size and just starts moving. It feels like your organs are moving around to accommodate his massive size. You look down to see a large bulge in your lower stomach. You whimper and groan as he thrusts. "W-why?" You croak. He looks up at you before lifting your knees, pressing them to your chest and leaning on you. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you feel him push deeper into your womb, the tip of his cock threatening to push through your cervix. He nuzzles his face into the side of your neck, cooing softly to you affectionately while playing with your hair as if to say 'I love you'.
You cry beneath him, moans being forced from your lips as his hips plow into yours. Tommy grabs your breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers. You can hear him making happy sounds of some sort between grunts. He suddenly picks you up and gets off the bed with you in his arms, skewering you on his cock. He raises you up and down like a human fleshlight. You uncontrollably moan into his shoulder. His hands grope your ass as he starts to force you up and down faster. It feels good. You can't help but feel shame.
He grunts loudly and forces himself as deep as he can. You whine as you feel a rush of hot cum flow into you. Rope after rope, he fills you up. You feel so hot inside. Your stomach bloats from the sheer volume he fucked into you. He pants and looks at you, rubbing your cheek with his. He slowly lifts you off his cock, cum pouring from your abused cunt before setting you down on the mattress. He covers you with a thick warm blanket and brushes your hair from your face, stroking it with his thumb lovingly. If you knew this was gonna be a one-way trip, you would've brought some pillows.
#lemon#non con#x reader#yandere#yandere x reader#dead dove do not eat#male yandere#yandere noncon#texas chainsaw massacre#bubba sawyer#thomas hewitt#slashers#fem reader
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𝐭𝐡𝐞 "𝐲𝐞𝐬" 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐲.
singledad!mechanic!eddie x fem!reader
✶What was meant to be a quiet evening of DND gets out of hand before it even begins, and when the guys leave a bottle of whiskey behind, all those passes you and Eddie made at each other grow to a new level.✶
NSFW — slow burn, fluff, drunken yearning, drunken flirting, dirty jokes, sexual tension, failed phone sex, light angst, drug/alcohol mention/use, 18+ overall for eventual smut
obi-wan voice: this isn't the first kiss chapter you're looking for (it's in the next one)
chapter: 9/20 [wc: 23.8k]
↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11 / 12
AO3
Chapter 9: Dungeons & Dragons & Unicorns, oh my!
Occupying the narrow space available in Mr. Moore’s cramped office, Carl exchanged a look with Kevin over the edge of his coffee mug as he tipped it back, and coasted the bitter liquid across his tongue, swallowing with trouble. He winced at the potency. Kevin gave him an apologetic grimace.
“You made this too strong,” Carl whispered.
Kevin took a sip as well, and clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth, admonishing his mistake of putting too many grounds in the machine. “She just makes it better.”
David hunched forward in his plush leather chair. Around him, filing cabinets were open, sticky notes reminders hung crooked on the drawers, and his desk was stacked with customer’s invoices.
Three days you’d been gone and the world had devolved into chaos.
“Yeah, gotcha,” David said into the phone crooked between his shoulder and ear, jotting down an unrelated note on the corner of an envelope. “You feel better soon, ya hear?” He threw an excessive eye roll onto the end of his sentence when the voice on the other end kept rattling off. “I told ya to stop worryin’ about it. Now, get some rest. Yeah. Bye.”
He hung up, and addressed his audience waiting on bated breath, “Ed’s callin’ in sick again.”
“Third day in a row,” Carl commented.
Kevin gestured at the state of the office with his mug. “Third day for her too.” David muttered an acknowledgement, missing his Office Administrator who had taken up the responsibility of organizing all the documents into their rightful place.
“Three days, huh? And both with the flu?” Kevin restated in a leading tone.
“Both with the flu,” David confirmed.
“Not suspicious at all,” Carl added.
In unison, the three men put their mugs to their lips, sipped the coffee, winced, and made noises of disgust.
But after all that, Kevin beamed at his friends. “Good for them,” he said. “Ed deserves someone like her.”
In unison, they agreed, and sipped, and made a pact to dump out their mugs in the sink.
————
You arrived to work with an unglamorous wad of tissue balled in your fist, and a raw nose. Lingering sniffles ailed you, as did the body lethargy, but you were no longer contagious. It sucked to exist in this head-cold sphere, but it was nice to leave the house after days spent in-and-out of a Nyquil daze.
And yes, you were eager to see Eddie again, despite the twist of dread in your stomach.
It’d been days since you left his place on a good note, but would the remnants of his tears be this weird unstated suspense in between breaths of conversation? Would there be an underlying presence of you know all the intimate details of my life in the otherwise cheerful morning greeting? Would things go back to normal as if nothing happened?
Regardless, the morning greeting would have to wait. There were a million things to do around the auto shop since you’d been absent; first of which was going into Mr. Moore’s office, and fighting the disarray to find his updated schedule detailing his upcoming meetings, lunches, and days he’d be out of town. You grabbed a marker and went to work on the calendar in the garage, transcribing the schedule for the guys to see so they could stop asking you if Mr. Moore was in his office or not (especially when his door was right there and they could check for themselves).
Crossing out the first week of January, you began to write down one of the meetings when the back door was thrown open, and an ominous death knell tolled in a jangle of chains and heavy boots, making a veritable effort to stomp as loudly as possible on their way to you.
The eagerness disappeared. Only tumultuous dread now.
Your delicate smile was replaced by a canvas of annoyance. “Why are you so loud?” you winced. And winced again when you heard your stuffed-up voice.
You didn’t have to look away from the note you were jotting down to see his impish grin. He practically forced you to see it when he folded his arms, and imposed his shoulder on the wall, making the calendar page slip under your marker in a long red streak.
He ducked his head to catch your eye. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? I’m walking as I always do; not a hop, skip, or bounce extra.” Eddie’s tight lips parted in your periphery, showing a gleam of teeth. Raising his voice a tick, he drove the dread deeper, “My girl isn’t flinching at every sound because she has a headache, right?”
Having no sense of self restraint, nor manners, Eddie invaded more of your personal space. His chest swelled with a held breath while his tongue prepared a taunt and his eyes squinched half-closed. “It couldn’t be because you’re sick, right? Not Miss Queen of the City who’s been coughed on by every germ out there, making her tougher than the common cold, hmm? Couldn’t be because of that?”
Capping the marker, you let your side-eye graduate to a full fledged incredulous stare at his much-too-giddy expression. “It’s allergies,” you said, crumpling the tissue into your pocket.
“Allergies, huh? Which ones?”
“The ones I’m allergic to.”
“Interesting, interesting,” he humored you, “very interesting since, y’know, the most common allergies people have around here are to grass and weed pollen, and those suckers are dead and buried under a layer of snow. Won’t be growing for quite some months, so..”
You glared at his need to follow up that observation with his lips pursed into a mocking kiss of arrogance, provoking you to fold while simultaneously flaunting the sharp cut of his cheekbones.
“Fine,” you admitted in a low tone. “I got sick.” Noting the heavy bags under his red-rimmed eyes, you quirked an eyebrow, and asked, “Have you been working overtime without me?”
He brightened. “Oh, no. Adrie got me sick too. This is my first day back.”
“Have I ever told you how so,” you paused for emphasis, and prodded the pen cap into his sternum, “so very irritating you are?” He cupped his hand over your wrist, and cradled your fist to his chest. Drawing you in, in, in. Cold seeping through your sleeve from his red fingers, never kicking his habit of smoking before coming inside, regardless of the weather. “Just the worst,” you admonished, finding it difficult to resist the magnetism of his laughter quaking under your palm, urging yourself to favor the adorable scrunch above his nose, and guide your thoughts away from his unzipped leather jacket.
But the draw was too strong. You swayed closer until your forearm was pressed to the dragon tattoo hidden beneath his coveralls, and your tennis shoe grazed past the tip of his metal-toed boot
He recalled, “That’s weird. I remember you saying I was your favorite.”
“I said you were my favorite date. As far as people go, you’re in my top three. Robin, Adrie, you,” you listed on the fingers trapped against his inhale.
He lifted his chin, regarding you down the slope of his magnificent nose. “You rank Adrie above me?”
“Well, think about it this way; you rank above all the other people I’ve met. And I’ve met a lot of people, you know.”
“That isn’t instilling a lot of confidence, babe.”
Sweetheart. Babe. My girl. His hand on your hand. His cold fingers cupping your palm, searing you despite their lack of heat; so different from how you came to know them, as hesitant pauses on his tools when you greeted him and he frowned as if to ask why you were speaking to him.
Was this it? Was this the new normal?
You hoped so.
Cheeks warmed by the multitude of pet names, you put an edge of dissatisfaction on your question to cover how his affections affected you, “Is that my job? To make you feel good about yourself?” Hotter, hotter. His intensity was burning you.
You wiggled the marker in your grasp until you could tap it at the second unfastened button on his coveralls. “I think you just keep me around so you have someone to call you handsome.”
“No way,” he said. He tilted his head to the side, resting it on the wall. His tangly mess of hair followed the movement, laying against his throat. “But.. Just for clarification, I am handsome, right?”
“Of course you’re handsome.”
“Aw, you flatter me, gorgeous,” he said in mock bashfulness, turning his face away while you stared at him in utter exasperation. “Love to hear it from my favorite.”
Gorgeous. Love. Favorite.
You didn’t question his favorite what. Person, place, or thing? Who knows. Words escaped you when the honey in his eyes twinkled with something tender, and his dopey smile softened at the edges, and his heart pounded a story against your touch, and his grin faded more, and his lips regained their pretty pink plumpness, and his voice reached deeper–to the place where your hand felt the creation of vibrations–and his tongue put a new spin on a sentiment as old as time.
“I missed you,” he said, features going lax as he dropped the overly flirtatious act. He let go of your fist to reach out and pinch your upper arm without an ounce of strength in his sweet teasing.
It took you an extra beat to withdraw your hand from his person.
You scoffed, “Uh-huh. I can tell by how you’re trying to butter me up, and annoy me to death at the same time.”
“Don’t tell me I’ve become the sunshine in our relationship now,” he snorted. And before he gave your stomach time to flutter at the word choice: relationship, he was stabbing his finger at the rumpled calendar.
He looked where he pointed, and dropped it down another Saturday. “I meant to ask you this before you left the other day, but we’re at a good spot in our DND campaign for a new person to join if you wanted to come. Sessions are a bitch to schedule now that we’re all adults and have lives, jobs, and responsibilities, and whatever, and I haven’t, uh, hosted one at my place in a while” –years– “so it’s kinda an extra special event, and would be cool if you wanted to come by.”
You wrung your mouth at the invitation.
“C’mon, I promise it’ll be fun.”
“I know it’s easy to assume I’m a giant loser like you, but even being a theater kid, I’ve never played DND,” you told him. “I don’t wanna ruin your game, or impose on your friends enjoying their night. Or, like, clash if we don’t get along, or somethin’.”
He cast his gaze wildly around the room. Extra dramatic. “You won’t ruin our game, and my friends will love you–they’re the rest of my band, and some kids who were in my club in high school. You’ll fit right in. And besides.. I want you to meet them.”
Delightful goosebumps tingled at your scalp. Meeting his friends was quite the step in your relationship. And no, mutual friends via Bobbie did not count.
You filled your lungs, and expelled your sigh at the calendar, reading over your penmanship while you thought it over.
“And maybe I didn’t phrase my question correctly. Let me try again.” He cleared his throat. “Will you play DND with us?”
Will you?
A ‘yes’ or ‘no’ question.
“Ah, taking that route,” you said. And just to mess with him, you tapped the marker on the tip of his nose. “Sure–yes–I’ll join you in your roleplaying game, but if they don’t like me, I told you so.”
“Why wouldn’t they like you?”
“I dunno, it took you weeks to speak to me.”
“Yeah, but I’m me.” Eddie shoved himself off the wall and began walking behind you, brushing his hand across your lower back, and bending to your ear to whisper a coy gloat, “And I play hard to get.”
All smiles, smiles, smiles. He took two bouncy steps backwards, opened the glass door in a wide swing and spun on his way inside, whipping his hair in a blur of brunette.
Bewildered by his dorky charm, you watched him through the windows, sighing out the air in your lungs to make room for the blossoming throbs of adoration when he caught his hip on the corner of your desk and tried walking off the pain in case you were watching, only for him to keel over right before he reached the hallway.
You shook your head and resumed where you were in Mr. Moore’s schedule. “You are absolutely not hard to get.”
Looking up, you found the day you were supposed to mark with an important phone meeting, and instead..
January 16th
DND
You drew stars around it, experiencing the childhood rush of endorphins that came from doodling hearts around your crush’s name in your yearbook, and giggling with your friends over it, betting you could get their number so you could call them over the summer, acutely aware none of you would ever dare.
————
Stress squeezed Eddie’s throat. Each cry, each sob, each sniffle set him on edge. His headache pounded, his chest clutched onto the calming breaths he was supposed to prioritize, his heart raced sweat to his skin. Everything was falling apart around him.
“Yeah–Yeah, no, it’s okay. Yeah.” He hung up the phone, chord swaying against the grimy wall, and he pressed his fists above his eyes, turning in a slow circle.
Whistling, screeching, wailing. The boiling kettle on the stovetop pierced the sound of Adrie’s hiccupy bawling. Growing louder, and louder. Rising above the blood pulsing in his ears, the twitch in his strained muscles. The anger under the surface, bubbling. A vice on his chest. Clenching his jaw. Gripping harder. Growing bigger, and bigger, and bigger, his emotions grew bigger until the frustration slipped.
Eddie snapped the stove knob to the off position, and jiggled the broken shitty plastic back on the dial. He moved the kettle to the back burner–sucking his bottom lip in and biting down hard, seeking the relief of pain to keep himself from slamming the kettle into the next dimension. And after swallowing the thickened saliva in his mouth, he walked away from what would’ve been his late, late oatmeal breakfast.
The trailer rattled less and less.
His heavy footsteps exhausted to his socks sliding across the vinyl.
“Adrie,” he begged her name again, and again as he knelt to her chair at the green table. He passed his hand over her hair, petting it away from the sticky streaks of tears on her red cheeks, and he cradled her head to his neck. The flash of anger was gone. It should’ve never seen the light of day, but he was human. He was a single person, and he tamed it the best he could. He was fragile, about to break at the next sob in his ear, but he tried. “Daddy’s gonna fix it, okay? I’ll make it better. I’ll make it better. Let Daddy make it better.”
He was stuck in the loop again. Where everything was so much, and he was so weak. Gathering her as if she were still small and could fit into the crook of his arm. “Let Daddy fix it,” he begged again, rocking her as he did all those years ago; for her, and for him, not having the capacity to do more than cry along with her.
Peeling himself away from her neediness, he worked his hoodie from her fists, and dialed his last resort.
It rang.
And rang.
Hopelessness burdened the expanse of shoulders, dropping them at the fourth trill. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, pick up.” The only thing helping calm him was his hand pressed over his eyes. One less stimulus.
Another ring. He was about to give up when–
“Hello?”
“Hey, man! Uh, uhm, what’re you up to?”
The casualness was lost when Steve’s pause elongated to a nasally noise of understanding when Adrie’s whine cut through the static, and Eddie’s cheek smashed to the receiver as he moved into the hallway, curling his frame to the phone like it were a lifeline.
Steve’s tone feathered to the same one he used five years ago when Eddie called frequently, “Is everything okay over there? Nancy and I were packing up the car to head out of town with the kids, but I have a minute. What’s up?”
“Yeah, yeah, everything’s okay, uh–hey, you have Robin’s number, right? For her parent’s place?”
His mood lightened, “Yeah, I think Nance does in her pocketbook. Nance!” He called out for her. Then, he spoke into the receiver, as gently as possible, with grace for him to deny if he wanted, “You’re not trying to call Robin, are you?”
“No.. No, I’m not.”
There was a stint of silence where neither of them broke the wordless understanding woven into their connection; phone, chord, wires, friendship.
At last, Nancy’s footsteps came in clicks on their hardwood flooring, and Steve expressed a soft, “I’m happy for you, man.”
Eddie didn’t correct him that it was about his game night. He simply let his friend’s praise fill the void. It’d been a long time since someone was proud of him.
————
The modest house near the empty plot of land was unassuming. Not much money was invested into the foundation, nor the many repairs, but oddly, it was the furniture and fine dinnerware passed through generations that would have anyone second guessing why a home with a cracked window from two summers ago had a china cabinet. And really, any gust during a storm could shatter the glass pane covered by a delicately orange curtain, but it hadn’t happened yet, and therefore, there was no need to fix it.
In the living room, the TV was too loud. In the kitchen, you closed the fridge with your foot and took the tea kettle off the stove, balancing the makings of a sandwich in your arms.
Eddie said to come over half an hour before everyone else so he could help you create your character sheet, and with it being 4PM, you had three hours before you were supposed to head out, and were spending the afternoon with Robin’s parents while she went to Vickie’s before her late night shift.
You placed two slices of bread on a plate when the phone rang.
From the other room, Robin’s dad answered, and his dry vocal chords carried an air of confusion, “Someone’s calling for you!”
“If they’re asking for bail, I’m not here,” you replied in a monotone voice, getting a butter knife out of the drawer.
There was a shuffle as he sat forward in his chair and inquired, wholeheartedly, “Are you asking for bail?” He waited for a reply while you continued to unscrew the cap to the peanut butter. “He says he’s not!”
“Mm.” Unconvinced this wasn’t one of your friends calling from a police station, you finished pouring the two cups of tea you were intending to make, put sugar into one, and carried them into the living room.
“He sounds like a nice young man,” he assured, adjusting the nasal cannulas higher on his upper lip before taking the cup from you.
Narrowing your eyes with wisdom beyond your years, you informed him, “They always do,” and placed the other tea on the end table between the recliner and couch for Robin’s mom to take whenever she wasn’t piecing together the answer for Wheel of Fortune and whispering it into the TV remote clutched to her face.
You took the phone from him and held it to your ear. “Yellow?”
There was a horribly sad sound on the other end.
“Hey! Hi! I, uhm, hey, it’s Eddie, I’m sorry for calling you, if that’s weird, but I’m–I’m going through a lot here”, he ended in a humorless laugh. “I-I-Adrie–So, look–Adrie, it’s okay, I’m fixing it–Adrie was on a playdate, and I don’t know, I think she got into a fight with her friend or something, and broke the toy they were playing with because she didn’t want to share, so she had to come home early, and now she’s upset because the playdate’s over, and the other girl’s toy broke, and–I already said that–but Steve and Nancy are going out of town, and I can’t find a babysitter last minute that will take her to their place, and Wayne’s out playing poker with his friends, and God, I–” He shifted, and you could tell by the fading whimpers that he moved down the hallway, and by the clack on the phone, it was his fingernails dragging along it as he scrubbed his hand over his face, desperate for someone else to come up with a solution. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what I’m asking of you, but there’s going to be a bunch of guys drinking tonight, and I don’t want Adrie to be around that shit–”
“Eddie?” You didn’t mean to cut him off, but his panic was overwhelming you, and it was easier to concentrate on the one idea your brain latched onto without his input.
“..This is my only night I get to hang out with everyone,” he admitted in a whisper so shy you struggled to hear it. “I’m worried about her distracting me.”
You stared at the linen closet in the hallway to Robin’s bedroom. “I’ve got an idea, okay? Just hold on. I’ll be there in thirty.. maybe forty minutes. That okay?”
More movement sounded from the other end. You thought it was him hanging up without saying goodbye, but then you heard the sweetest thing.
“Miss Mouse is coming over,” he reassured Adrie, and the relief in his voice affected you in the worst way. Making you go all mushy when little Adrie’s hiccupy confirmation came from the depths of her face pressed to the base of his neck.
“M—ouse?”
“Mhmm.”
His hum filled your chest. Her noise of appreciation erupted goosebumps along your forearms. You were wanted–requested–and the square beads digging into your wrist had never felt closer to his, across town.
You addressed Eddie, “I’ve got a plan. Okay? I’ll be over soon.”
“Thank you,” he spoke into the receiver as you hung up.
The phone suspended on the hook in a weighty click. It bounced as you let it go, coil slipping from the table and falling to the floor. You asked your audience of two, “Is it okay if I leave early?”
“Of course you can, dear,” Robin’s dad answered, hoarse from the constant flow of oxygen drying out his throat.
“And can I borrow some of Bobbie’s old bedsheets?”
Her mom made a confused face, but agreed, “Whatever you want, sweet bean.”
–And thus, you had the catalyst for the second time you arrived on Edward Munson’s doorstep with your arms loaded with goodies–
He threw open the door with a dozen apologies stacked behind his teeth. “Hey. I’m sorry for calling you like that, she–”
The she in question came barreling out from behind him.
You dropped your knees to accept Adrienne. Discarding your overstuffed tote bag to hug her wholly; taking her into your arms, and consoling her with all the right words you prepared on your way over. “Hey, I heard you were having a rough day,” you said while tucking her into you tight. “You don’t have to be sad anymore. I’m here.”
Her cheeks had long since dried, but the whiny pitch to her voice teetered on the cusp of a sniffly cry Eddie had only eliminated minutes ago, after his speech about sharing. She mumbled against your puffer jacket, “You came to play wi’h me?”
“I sure did. And you know what? I brought you a surprise.” You flicked your gaze to Eddie to gauge his reaction, and your breath hitched at the beauty of his relief. Standing tall in the doorway over you and his daughter, taking a moment of peace with his eyes closed, mouth in a gentle line, and relaxation easing the near-permanent creases between his brows. The pleasure of a small break from parental duties affected him so physically, you could behold him for hours. Or tell him to go have a cigarette.
However, impatient as any four-year-old, Adrie wriggled in your arms for your attention, and asked what you brought.
Opening the tote, you took out patterned bedsheet after bedsheet. Stars, flowers, cowboys–as many as you could fit, and held them up. “Do you know what we’re gonna make with these?”
“A fort?” she asked, hopeful and bouncing with energy.
“A fort!” you repeated. “We’re gonna build a blanket fort! And I brought movies for you to–”
She grabbed the sheets and took off for her bedroom.
“Okie dokie.” You pushed yourself up from the concrete steps, and fanned out the rented VHSes like a deck of cards to show Eddie instead. “Sorry it took me so long, I stopped by Family Video on my way here. Has she seen these?”
He read the white clamshell packaging, and the dimple on his left cheek developed. “She has,” and before you could react, he pressed on with a reassurance, “but don’t underestimate how many times a kid can watch the same movie and never grow bored of it.”
“Good to know!”
Like that; intuitive, second nature; Eddie knew when he gave you news that could be disappointing, he chased it with a thoughtful remark, validating your considerate gesture.
You slipped them back into the bag, and shouldered it. “I was thinking we could move the TV and VCR in her room, and build a fort around it with a pile of blankets on the floor for her to sleep on like she’s camping. Super cozy. Maybe some string lights if you have some from Christmas?”
“That..” The subtle arch in his eyebrows climbed higher as his eyes drifted closed in true appreciation. “That sounds like a perfect plan.” And his face went apologetic again. “And yeah, thank you for coming early. I was trying to send Adrie on a playdate so she’d come home tired and want to sleep while we’re playing, but, yeah, that went to shit, and then I tried calling her usual babysitters, but they couldn’t watch her at their places, and my uncle’s gone until the morning, and Steve and Nancy are–”
Interrupting him, you stepped into the doorway, and he moved to accommodate you. “Next time,” you said, cupping his upper arm, “just call me first.”
You squeezed and trailed your fingers down his sleeve as you let the moment mature in traces of your fingertips brushing over the thick poly-cotton of his sun-bleached black hoodie missing its drawstring. He prized the moment by memorizing the angel the universe blessed him with; and you were rooted by his gaze, driven to wonder about the ardency which he watched the minute press of your lips when you swallowed, and the coincidence of his own lips twitching into a jumpy smile.
“Let me show you Adrie’s room.”
His home was much the same as when you left it. There was a pillow and blanket tossed on the corner of the couch, a Little Mermaid plate and fork dripping in the dish rack, an assortment of clean clothes piled into a laundry basket on top of the washing machine. Though, Adrie’s toys were put away and the bathroom sink was scrubbed clean of children’s bubble gum flavored toothpaste.
Eddie pushed open the door at the end of the hall, and for the first time, with the tail end of daylight piercing the burgundy curtained window, you saw beyond a few feet to the bed.
You wished you could say the precious girl in the middle of the room caught your eye, but realistically, your attention was drawn to the walls. Specifically, the amount of pink and white Barbie advertisements cut from magazines and special edition My Little Pony fold out posters lining every square inch of available space.
But the girly stuff ended at the height of the dresser beside you.
The bedroom was divided in half, horizontally. Above the mirror decorated in stickers and photos tucked into the frame, the ponies and rainbows ended there, obliterated by a sharp line of black. A RATT flag, Corroded Coffin banner, and printed images of paladins fought the encroaching Carebears and sweet things. Every heavy metal poster in existence overlapped the final push to the ceiling. You took it all in with an air of baffled amusement.
You waved a finger at the top half. “She uh.. a big Judas Priest fan?”
Eddie was already cutting his eyes to you with a sly smile, Adam’s apple bouncing with a mute giggle. “This used to be my room.”
“I figured as much.”
Mixed amongst the posters were guitars hung where only he could reach them, and there was an amp shoved beneath a white desk where his daughter was currently setting up her stuffed animals, picking up one to show you, then second guessing and putting it down.
Eddie vied for you before she could. “Wanna see somethin’?” he asked, walking around the queen sized bed to the closet. Accurately, you guessed he was going to show you a clue to his past, and stepped over the dragging corner of the blue and white comforter, shimmying past him to stand next to the small bookshelf, excitedly watching him reach into the dark abyss. From the top shelf he pulled a lump of jean fabric, and unfolded it, handing it to you. “I used to wear this every day in my youth.”
You pinched the article of clothing between the very tips of your fingers, and turned your head to cough. “Jesus, dude. How much did you used to smoke?”
“Way more than I do now,” he laughed.
After some heavy side-eyeing about his habits, you took a closer look at the garment. The blue plaid lined jean jacket had ratty edges everywhere it could have ratty edges; helped by its sleeves being ripped off, of course. A collection of pins and patches mirrored the ones on his (used to be) bedroom walls–before a princess ruled his kingdom, and fought back the dragons.
“You used to wear this everyday?” you voiced aloud, finding the sentimental value in touching something so dear to him, for him to hang onto it for all these years.
“Should I wear it tonight?” Taking it from you, he flipped up the hood of his sweatshirt, and slipped his arms through the vest, turning around to show you the Dio patch on the back, pointing to it with his thumbs.
You golf clapped. “Very cool. Very tough.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Eddie faced you and tidied the stray waves of his hair flowing out from under the hood, raking his fingers through his bangs until they were perfectly messy, and again, it was one of those strange exchanges where your too honest gazes met, and he diverted his humble smile to the floor, shy and bashful, but not in pretend like before.
You were in his home, in his daughter’s bedroom, doing him a favor, which was feeling less and less like a favor, and more like a convenient excuse you both seized as an opportunity to hang out.
“Miss Mouse!” Adrie gunned for your hand, and embarked on her greatest effort to break you away from her father, tugging you towards her collection of plushes you still needed to be introduced to.
You gasped at the honor, and asked, “Do you want to tell me about them while I braid your hair?”
She lit up at the suggestion. Eddie wasn’t the best at weaving plaits, and she wasn’t the most patient, so having an unbiased party step in to determine whether it was a ‘him’ problem or a ‘her’ problem sounded grand.
And as you sank onto the edge of the mattress with her sitting criss-cross between your legs, it was obvious within the first few twists of the French braid sitting flat against her head, and curved perfectly over her ear, that it was most definitely a ‘him’ problem.
Behind you, there was a great sigh at your victory.
Adrie held up a brown teddy with one glass bead eye slightly larger than the other after surgery was performed on him to replace the one he lost, and said, “This is Mr. Bear.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Bear,” you said, using your best Children’s Television Program presenter voice to entertain her. You threw a smile over your shoulder at the silliness, and Eddie was already looking at you, warm brown eyes shining with the same fondness as yours.
“And he’s married to Mrs. Froggy.”
“Wow, a bear and a frog.” You nodded, impressed. “I guess true love knows no bounds.”
Feeling like the third wheel to you and Adrie, Eddie moved into action. “I’m gonna go out to the shed and start bringing in extra chairs, and the Christmas lights you asked for. And, uh, here’s her hair stuff.” He handed you a basket filled to the brim with every style of ponytail holder a drug store could carry. “You two have fun.”
Naturally, as he stepped away to leave, you curled your fingers at him in a childish wave, while Adrie used Mrs. Frog’s hand to do the same, adding on a sing-songy “Bye!” to hers.
And what a delight it was to witness the beginnings of the red flush creeping up his neck as he took a final glance at you both smiling up at him, and he pinched the hood over his mouth to shield his crooked simpering from further inspection.
~~~
The gloaming sky dozed in a blanket of pink and purple clouds knitted together with ribbons of orange.
Eddie leaned in the doorway to the porch, resting his shoulders on the frame as he crossed his ankles. The backs of his hands stung from overwashing them during the dry season, but his palms were soothed by the piping hot bowl he cupped to his chest. His muscles ached from unrest, but he grew warmer with each bite of the cinnamon sugar toast he dipped into the peanut butter oatmeal. Maybe he wouldn’t have taken the time to wipe down the folding chairs from the shed, but when you asked if there were any spiders on them in that timid wobble of yours, he had no other choice. And he’d do it again, even if his body protested the entire ordeal.
Squinting into the beauty of the setting sun, he sighed. Adrienne squealed. You cheered her on.
The pain in his hands subsided, the clawing hunger in his stomach settled, and the soreness in his lower back relented. All his worries fell away when his girl was happy.
For Eddie, standing by as the outsider to the scene of you and his daughter bonding over the neon green bottle of sloshy bubbles, he was aware of the catch in your voice when you asked about the unicorn and learned of his name, Fluff. You released a tender ‘aw’ from the back of your throat, and oh, it fulfilled him in ways he couldn’t possibly articulate. A simple noise, and it felt like a hug from an old friend. A pinky promise. A rare complacency in his life. Ataraxia.
He sensed it more, and more. When you sprinted back and forth on the porch, blowing bubbles for her to pop before they landed on the ground; giggling, laughing. Giggling, laughing. And he was smiling, smiling. It was sweet, so sweet; this new loop he found himself in. Gone was the stress. You took care of it. You heard him say Adrie needed to be tired out before bed time, and here you were, standing at the edge of the creaky floorboards, blowing a slew of bubbles for her to chase in the deadened grass.
She complained, “I can’t–reach!” She jumped, and jumped, but the bubble caught the gust from her fingertips, and continued floating away.
“Use Fluff!”
Elated at the ingenuity, she snatched Fluff from where he posed at your feet, and she launched herself off the deck for the last bubble, popping it with the very tip of his white horn. “Yay!”
“Rad!”
He watched until your forms were bathed in dusky blue, and the cold swallowed your heaving breaths.
Licking clean the last spoonful of his late, late breakfast, he reminded you both, “You girls better get started on this fort before it gets too late. Still gotta set up for the game too.” After whispering a curse under your breath, you ushered Adrie inside, and he asked her, “Can you take this to the sink?” Remarkably, she took his bowl without complaint, but stood stock still until he forced out a pointed, “Thank you,” in a tone implying she should scram.
She snickered at getting a rise out of him, and jogged away.
He reached into his pocket for the object weighing down the front of his hoodie, and produced a tangerine. Juice squished from the top of the fruit where he stabbed his thumb into the rind, and the scent of fresh citrus filled the air. “The chairs are certified spider-free. Got them inspected by a professional and everything.”
Your glare was mellowed by sweetness. “My hero.”
“Daddy.” Adrie was back, and with one simple demand of her hand held out flat, he peeled faster, and dislodged two segments for her. She popped them in her mouth, and ran to her room.
Interesting..
Testing him, you held your hand out flat as well, and with a bored stare, he placed two segments in your palm too.
“Don’t worry, I won’t call you Daddy unless you want me to,” you said, tossing them in the air, and catching them in your mouth. And as the fruit popped between your teeth, and the cold juice gushed like ice over your tongue, your brain caught up to what you just implied, and you froze mid-chew.
Eddie’s expression morphed from slack-jawed surprise, to intrigue, to his lips clamped tight, body shaking with silent laughter. “What?” he squeaked out.
“Uhh–I mean–How about we forget I said that?” you offered, wagging your finger from him to you.
No way.
No way in hell was he about to let you live that one down.
He loved your blunder. Reveled in it, even. It was sweet, sweet revenge. Payback.
Eddie took you off guard by snatching your wrist. He drew you into him as he pushed off the doorframe, bringing you in real close, eliminating the gap between your bodies. His cheeks may have darkened, but it was his greatest pleasure to imbue all his wickedness into repeating the same word you used months ago when he was driving you to Adrie’s school play and he made a similar joke about your bike and riding a man to work.
His nose scrunched with wolfish satisfaction. “Never.”
“Don’t be mean,” you whined. Putting up a weak fight, you attempted to twist your hand from his grasp to–hopefully–bolt away, and bury yourself in a pile of bedsheets for the rest of eternity; just somewhere you could hide, and desperately avoid thinking about the delicious zing traveling to the worst places.
But he wouldn’t let go.
There was clear disdain in the way his posture stiffened the split-second anyone other than his daughter called him Daddy, but you couldn’t deny how good it felt to introduce the context of calling him such a name, whether it would happen when you were under him, gasping it into his mouth; or in different position, with your knees on either side of his narrow hips, bouncing out the syllables..
His breathing deepened. You squirmed.
Caught in each other’s trap. Impossible to look away, the sweltering fantasy sat heavy in your mutual gaze, wide pupils boring into wide pupils. Heartbeats pounding beneath the surface of uncharted waters. An intimacy to his study of your body language, especially when you tilted your head to the side, and the lingering wryness in his eyes turned curious.
Illuminated by the glow of the bathroom light above the medicine cabinet, the face framing layers of Eddie’s haircut brushed his cheeks from beneath the hard shadows of his hood, and the fog from your exhales mixed in the inky darkness.
Alas, the standoff came to an abrupt end when Adrie called your name.
“I should help her with the fort,” you whispered in a release of tension.
One finger at a time, he opened his harmless grip. “I’m gonna bring your bike up here in case the weather turns,” he said, voice the same as always when he had you this near; quiet, tame, cutting in and out in the vowels.
“What a gentleman.”
Definitely a gentleman when he bit into the tangerine as if it were an apple to distract you from his hand tugging down his hoodie to hide the hard outline stretching towards the thigh of his light wash blue jeans.
You sneered at the fleshy strings of fruit pulp gathering over his lower lip. “And by gentleman, I mean utter weirdo.”
~~~
By winter’s solid nightfall, most of the fort had been completed. Eddie visited the room to drop off the TV (after it had been cleaned of staticy dust clinging to the glass), and placed it and the VCR on top of a Coca-Cola crate at the foot-end of the blanket nest you created. At one point he grabbed his acoustic guitar from the wall, and brought more clothes pins.
You pinned the last corner of the sheet canopy above Adrie while she pulled her tea party table inside the fort, and set up her toys in the itty bitty pink chairs. She volunteered to string the twinkly lights herself, giving you an excuse to go to the kitchen where you could make the highest quality finger sandwiches as dinner for her and her cotton-stuffed guests. And by total coincidence, Eddie was beside you, hunched over the counter with a DND book opened to a page of illustrations with a blank character sheet to his right.
“Ham, mayo, cheese, and the thinnest layer of mustard,” he told you.
You organized the ingredients to Adrie’s sandwich and confirmed, “A hint of mustard. Got it.” Taking two slices of sandwich bread, you placed them on her Beauty and the Beat plate, and dipped a butter knife into the mayo jar, slathering a generous amount on one side. One the other, you merely suggested mustard had been in the presence of it with a single swipe.
He angled the book to you. “Which race and class do you want to play as?”
Looking over the pictures, there were more to choose from than you initially assumed, but there was a clear winner towering above the rest. “That one. The big green guy.” Apparently he was called a half-orc, and he was stacked with muscle on top of muscle. “I wanna be huge and brawny like him, crushin’ my enemies with my giant biceps. Like, everyone’s scared of me, but I save kittens on the weekends. Fighter type, or whatever’s the term. Melee? I wanna beat people up with my bare fists.”
Eddie glanced you up and down. “Overcompensating for something?”
Deflating, your puffer jacket swished fabric-on-fabric as you dropped your arms. You pouted, but the tug at his heartstrings went ignored as he rolled a large dice, and picked up the pencil.
So be it. It was your turn to sum him up in one glance. How his shaggy outdated haircut gathered on his shoulders, curtaining his face as he underlined words on the character sheet, not even paying you attention. How his jean vest paraded his music tastes under years of dust and a decade of smoke baked into it; offensive and meant to ward off others, unless they belonged. How he decorated his skin in macabre imagery, and wore his white tennis shoes with just enough dirt to show he didn’t care. How every denim item he owned came with holes. How his keys dangled from a keyring attached to his belt loop, so everyone was forced to listen to him expressing his apathy towards the world with each stomp, and rattle of chains swinging against his leg. How he bent over the counter with his hip cocked out, making his pants crease to his inner thighs, highlighting a particular package beneath a handcuff belt buckle. How he was decked out in his usual skull themed rings. Prickly, jaded, drives too fast, and has never heard of an ‘inside voice’ once he deemed you worthy of his boisterous ramblings. Loud, obnoxious, excessively weird when he was himself around you.
You asked, “Are you overcompensating for something?”
“I don’t need to.”
Cool, smooth, nonchalant.
I don’t need to.
Warmth flooded your abdomen. Heat reached your cheeks. Blood rushed, descended to the place your thighs clenched, where your jean’s stiff metal zipper went tight–and if you stood a certain way–the seam grazed over.
Rolling the dice again, his expression remained impassive as he filled in more blank spots, asking you in a monotone voice, “What’s your orc’s name?”
“Gary,” you answered in a bout of exasperation, annoyed he’s acting like he didn’t just say that.
There was no way you were about to be the one squirming again. After his teasing earlier, he deserved a dose of his own medicine.
Feeling undue bravery, you set the butter knife down, and rested your elbow on the counter, angling your body towards him with your hands linked over your stomach, wearing an adorably smug pinch of confusion between your brows. You were the example of casual when you asked, “Do orcs fight with a dagger? Maybe six and a half.. seven inches in length? Curved to the right? Real girthy handle?”
Eddie’s face lurched into wide-eyed awe at your bombshell of an innuendo. He turned his head slowly, frizzy curls sticking to his just-licked lips, fluttering in front of his gawking smile as he exhaled a stunned huff. His big brown eyes were alert with the thrill of the subject, and he stared, waiting for you to fold. You didn’t blink, acting classes coming in handy as his eyebrows climbed higher and higher, and you remained stoic, free of emotion.
A choked out– “I..” –came from his mouth, but he didn’t finish. He hooked his finger around a lock of hair, and twisted it, yanking more over the lower half of his face as he shrank into the comfort of his hoodie, leaving just his eyes visible.
At last, he answered, voice wavering high and tight, “A little over seven, I think.”
You lifted your chin, and rolled your lips inward, steeling yourself from voicing anything other than an impressed hum.
However..
Having a knack for bad decisions, you drew in a breath to speak–but Adrie came to your rescue before you humiliated yourself by saying something abhorrent like, ‘my, my, that’s quite a size,’ or ‘I heard that orc’s been single a while; what’s his skill level with that weapon?’ or worse, ‘need a second opinion on that length?’
“Are you almost done?”Adrie asked.
She sought the answer by snaking her hands under your jacket and clinging onto the back of your hips, making you jolt at her cold fingers creeping over your skin, and you stumbled after she trusted you to support her weight while she jumped onto her tippy toes.
You lost your balance, and your hero from further harm was Eddie.
Well, less of a hero, and more like he stood with his arms pinned to his sides, and took the brunt of your fall.
He released a painful wheeze from being wedged into the corner where the sharp edges of the countertop dug into his bones.
“Sorry,” you think you whispered, but maybe it never left your lungs.
You watched the subtle tic under his eyes when he said, “S’okay,” and the ‘s’ whistled sharply between his teeth.
It was amazing–incredible–to discover he had freckles sprinkled across the top of his cheekbones, standing out against the telltale shade of embarrassment. You’d never been this close to notice them before; near enough your nose tickled from the end of his hair. Never had the opportunity to catch yourself on his bicep, and feel the extraordinary body heat radiating off him, dialed on high from the last few minutes. And now you had to continue living as if you didn’t know his dick size.
Adrie brought you back to reality. “Can you cut off the top crust? It’s shaped like a butt, and I don’t like it.”
Letting go of Eddie, you reached for her, patting her shoulder for her back up and release you from this awkward prison. “Y-Yeah, of course. No top crust. Got it, little lady.”
She giggled and kept talking as you put an ample gap between you and her dad. Thank God she giggled and kept talking as you and Eddie regained some semblance of composure.
“Can you cut it in long squares?”
“Rectangles,” Eddie corrected gently.
“Reck-tangles,” she pronounced.
“Perfect.” He grabbed his pencil and dice, and picked up where he left off on your character sheet. And you were more than happy to play along, peeling the Kraft Single from its plastic film and placing it on top of two slices of ham before cutting it into long squares.
~~~
With her sandwich made, you and Adrie sat at the tiny pink table under the fort. Your neck ached from the constant hunched position, and your legs were falling asleep, but you’d deal with the pain if it meant having tea with the princess.
She tipped air from an empty tea pot into the tea cups, and Mr. Bear thanked her for his imaginary portion.
Throughout the play-dinner, Eddie was in and out of the room. There were noises from the closet, sounding like he was picking up shoeboxes filled with rattling items. The canopy drooped when he opened the top drawer on the dresser where it was tied. Musical notes from a wind instrument trilled from the living room.
After another bite of her sandwich–Oh, no, Princess Adrienne, I’m much too full, you may have mine–a ne’erdowell crashed your exclusive party.
“Hey, this is pretty,” Eddie said, poking his head inside; his grin lengthening into a frightful shadow from the Christmas lights stuck in his hair. He looked around at the hard work his little girl put into the fort, linking the bedsheets from his old desk, across the back of a chair, and held aloft by the dresser. The TV occupied the space one of his amps used to, and the nest of blankets covered what used to be a network of cords, albums, and magazines. But that was years ago. Now, his gaze settled on the adult woman feigning a long sip on her toddler-sized tea cup, and a hand smashed against his face–
Adrie shoved him out of the fort, and whipped closed the entryway bedsheet. “No boys allowed!”
“But.. I need to borrow Miss Mouse,” he begged in a pitiful quaver.
She cut her eyes to you, and rolled them into the next eternity (a move you’d become an expert in yourself.) You bargained with her in a haughty shrug, and after a moment of consideration, she drew back the curtain. “Fine.”
Making an unglamorous exit by crawling on your hands and knees, you accepted Eddie’s warm palm to help you stand. “What’cha need help with?”
“The folding table is behind the couch, and it’s annoying to pull out by myself with all the mugs in the way,” he explained on his way to the living room. “Oh, can you move that stuff off it? Yeah, just toss it in a corner.”
He used his shin to push the coffee table against the wall while you picked up the pillow and stack of blankets off the corner of the couch. But after collecting them to your chest, and the thinning pillow released a puff of air from its wilted self, you were struck with an array of scents. Hair products, cigarette smoke, vanilla, sour sweat; notes of exhaust, motor oil, and fumes.
It smelled bad in the good way.
The mix stung your nostrils, twinged at your eyes. But it was a comfort you hugged tighter. Familiarity you inhaled deeper. Home in your lungs.
You took his pillow, and Adrie’s kaleidoscope quilt with the tattered facing, and went to place them on the fold-out bed in the corner, assuming it was his; but as you neared, you scrutinized the collection of items on the oak nightstand beside it. A brand of cigarettes he didn’t smoke, a BIC lighter he didn’t use, a comb, and a clunky silver watch. And as you thought about it more, you saw the fold-out bed already had a set of sheets and a pillow balanced on top of it.
“Eddie, where do you sleep?”
There was much care put into your question, but the uneasy way it probed into his private life was evident in his change in demeanor.
He was slow to stand up from adjusting a side table out of the way, never quite unslouching the weight from his shoulders when he pushed his hood back to run a hand over his hair. The cuckoo clock on the wall ticked by as you watched him scratch his fingernails in tight circles on his scalp, roughing up his hair, never quite focusing his gaze on anything.
“Well,” he mumbled, gesturing at the lumpy couch cushions. “Here.”
Despite figuring as much, he never stated it bluntly, and to know another hardship of his reality squeezed your heart with sympathy.
He must’ve read the emotion on your face as pity, because his tone reflected an edge of annoyance; a deep-seated stress sneaking out when he spoke to those who didn’t get it. “Most of my paycheck goes to Adrie’s daycare. That shits expensive, and as much as I don’t want her growing up right in front of me, things will get better when she finally starts real school. I won’t be paying for that anymore, and I can start saving up, and maybe, y’know, start making some changes around here.” He spoke with his hands in a sad sort of shrug, waving at the trailer, though his gaze was cast down, and away from you. “But this is how it is, okay? I can’t do anything to fix it.” There was a haunting sort of pessimism that came from living in poverty. As much as he made statements about changing his life when he had more money, there was still the pile of bills in the kitchen, the numerous things in need of fixing around the house, Wayne’s truck on its last leg, and the fear of a random doctor visit wiping out his bank account. All of that resided in his tone.
You gripped his pillow harder, not sure what to say other than a hushed, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring it up.”
At that, he shook himself out of ruminating on his situation, and saw you were awkwardly twisting the pillowcase around your fingers, staring at the floor. He realized he messed up.
Every bit of him went soft for you. “Wait, wait, wait,” he soothed, striding three steps to you and cupping his palms around your upper arms. “I didn’t mean to say it like that. Not to you. Not when you’ve been the sweetest–seriously, the sweetest, and most generous person to me and Adrie. It–It, yeah, it hits a sore spot, talking about shit like having to sleep on the couch, but I didn’t mean to speak to you that way.” He finished with a final, sweet, but quick, and enunciated assurance, “I’m sorry.”
Overwhelmed by the whiplash in his change of attitude, followed by his sincere apology, you stammered, “Oh, uh, it’s okay. I understand why you reacted the way you did. It’s cool.”
At an impasse, you looked up at him. He stroked his thumbs over the cool outer layer of your jacket. Swish, swish, swish.
More, deeper. Swish, swish, swish.
You understood.
This was our first fight as whatever-we-are, and I’m showing you I can apologize instead of brushing it off and forgetting about it like I used to.
It was the mildest spat, yet it was a milestone for him.
“Seriously, we’re good,” you said, crushing the pillow to your chest.
Shifting the subject, he lightened the mood. “Also, did I mention how much I appreciate you coming over early, and playing with Adrie? The whole fort thing, going out of your way to get her movies, ‘nd making her run around like a maniac? Genius.”
“Yeah, yeah, put it on that ‘thank you’ tab you owe me,” you teased him, pulling away to set his bedding on top of his uncle’s.
“Soon!” he promised. He tapped at the side of his head. “Got some ideas brewing in here.”
“Not sure if I should be excited, or scared.”
Ah, his two-front-teeth-showing grin. Your favorite.
He laughed, and with your help, the couch was scooted away from the wall enough for the wood laminate fold-out table to be wiggled out from behind it at an angle which avoided knocking the mugs hanging from the shelf above it. You draped a tablecloth over it in a flourish. Eddie pressed the wrinkles out of the grid pattern, and began placing miniature standees from the shoeboxes onto the squares; parts of a village, cobblestone fences, and characters to fill out the town. When he didn’t need you anymore, you went to check on Adrie, and the moment you crawled inside the fort and she showed you the pajamas Eddie picked out for her earlier, there was a series of car honks outside.
Showtime.
“You ready, Miss Adrie?”
“Mhm!”
Tires crunched rocks in the makeshift driveway. Engines died. Noises, greetings, Eddie’s happiness grew louder, and louder. A group sounded off. Several sets of shoes scraped the cement steps, and in the amalgamation of voices was one above the rest, “Hey, looking good, man. Haven’t seen you since you almost killed my elven ranger before Christmas.”
You crawled backwards out of the fort, and caught Adrie’s hand before she ran out of the room.
From the living room, Eddie sucked his teeth, and dismissed his friend. “You had it coming all night with the way you were walking around not checking for traps.”
“It was one time! And besides–” The argument stopped. His blue eyes went wide with shock, outstretched arms drooping as he focused on something behind Eddie. He lowered the two six packs he was carrying. “A girl!”
Being led by an excited almost-five-year-old, you bolted around the kitchen counter, and raised your eyebrows at the blunt acknowledgement of your existence. You looked at Eddie, whose entire being depleted with a sigh.
With his head hung, he swept his arm towards you. “This is my friend from work. She’s playing with us tonight.” And under his breath, he muttered to the young man wearing a ballcap over his springy curls, “Be cool.”
He shoved a six pack at Eddie’s chest, and pursued you with his hand held out. “I’m Dustin! Eddie’s friend from high school, and previous Hellfire member,” he said, displaying a mouthful of adult braces.
“Dustin, it’s nice to meet you!”
Repeating people’s names back to them was a helpful memorization tool, but as your gaze shifted, the nerves of making a good first impression on Eddie’s friends sat heavy in your stomach.
The other guys on the stairs came up behind Dustin. In a rush, you were introducing yourself to the beginnings of a crowd stomping through the living room. Exchanging names and smiles and handshakes, you gripped Adrie’s tiny hand for support and said, “I’m the receptionist at the auto shop, that’s how I know Eddie.”
The one who approached you last–Gareth, drummer for Corroded Coffin–snapped his fingers, and exclaimed, “Oh! You’re the receptionist.”
“Alright, alright,” Eddie interjected, body and voice between you two. “Beer goes in the kitchen, and I’ll order pizza in a minute.”
He passed off the six pack to someone else.
Gareth reached into his leather jacket with a wicked, lopsided grin. “I brought something a little stronger than beer.” Though most of your vision was taken up by the back of Eddie’s shoulder, you caught a flash of amber liquid in a clear bottle, and a black label.
Kneeling beside you, Jeff–guitarist for Corroded Coffin–tilted his head down so Adrie could touch the wooden beads at the end of his short braids, and said to Eddie, “You know, since we’re havin’ it at your place again, why not make it memorable? Or not memorable,” he joked. “Maybe a sip for every roll under 13.”
Eddie gave him the Dad stare. “You’re gonna be shitfaced–Adrie, you didn’t hear that–by the time this is over, and I’m not organizing rides for all of you.”
“I’m driving tonight.” Lloyd–bassist for Corroded Coffin–jangled his car keys.
“And so am I,” a girl’s voice came from beyond the entryway everyone was crowding. “Now can we come inside before we freeze to death, or do you really think you can take on another basilisk without my help?”
A round of laughter gave way to the next group entering.
SWISH, SWISH, SWISH.
The girl at the helm of the windbreaker brigade went to the kitchen to drop off the case of beer straining her arms. (It seemed that was the payment of choice to the host.)
Sensing you were lost to the sea of faces, Eddie laid a comforting hand between your shoulder blades, and drifted it downwards to the small of your back. “That’s Erica, Max, and Lucas,” he told you in your ear.
Max held on tight to Lucas’ arm, taking smaller steps into the mixture of orange and blue-white lamps flooding the room tight with bodies, and shapes she was unfamiliar with.
“Aw, don’t you two look cute,” Gareth goaded them in an overly saccharine way.
Max groaned, “I told him it was lame.”
Whereas she shrank into her black and neon pink jacket, Lucas scoffed, and fueled her disgusted tongue click. “Matching windbreakers should be the least of your worries. You’re playing Dungeons and Dragons. You can’t get any lamer than that.” To finish, he popped the collar of his in a suave swish, and guided her into the kitchen.
She made a gagging sound, and Erica made one too.
————
While waiting for the last guest to arrive, the front door remained open. The glow from inside etched the peeling paint on the stair’s ornate handrail in gold. Warm laughter rolled out like fog into the dry frigid night, where neighbors could hear it. See it. Feel the vibrations of Eddie Munson’s friendship, support, weirdness being celebrated. Witness the joy others could not steal from him. They could observe the vehicles parked out front, listen to the rapture of claps when Adrie performed a song and dance, and taste the bitterness in their mouths when Eddie “The Freak” Munson continuously found his gaze drifting to the girl beside him, who beamed at him openly.
————
Fashionably late, a loud car turned into the trailer park; the obnoxious kind, where the motor rumbled like a death rattle, but in a cool way, because it was made to sound like that on purpose.
Eddie looked over his shoulder, and raised his hand at Mike. “Hey, man,” he whispered, keeping their conversation separate while everyone else was exchanging stories.
“Did you wanna check out the engine?” Mike bounced his eyebrows, swinging the keys to his bright yellow muscle car. “I installed it a few weeks ago.”
It was a tempting offer. He wasn’t opposed to car talk, nor freezing his hands off to fawn over the modifications Mike made to his beloved 1979 Mustang while in the big city for school, and, of course, Eddie was going to give him his usual spiel about working for David when he came back to Hawkins. However, he didn’t want to abandon the newest member to their party.
“In a min,” Eddie said to Mike, motioning with his head to come inside.
Assuming he’d just tossed his girl to the wolves, Eddie zoned into the conversation again, and rubbed his hand along your back. His palm passed over the warm spot on your jacket where he was comforting you before, and he glanced around the circle of his friends–tightly knit, and grinning at you.
He assumed wrong.
You weren’t shy, or intimidated to be the new person in a group of people who’d known each other for decades, failing to be heard over their easy banter and inside jokes. No. They were hanging onto your every word.
The group had gone hushed, captivated by your life. You had a knack for turning the mundane into marvelous enthrallments of relatable spectacular. Every sentence was more entertaining than the last. The punch lines landed, and kept coming. You worked them like a crowd–and when someone else shared a similar anecdote, you were asking questions, getting them to open up, and take the stage. This was you. You were in your element. You didn’t need Eddie.
“Oh! That reminds me of this one lady when I was waitressing in Philly..”
“In New York we had these huge pigeons that would..”
“Back home, there was this place on the corner where..”
Eddie took his hand away. The insulated warmth dissipated from his palm as he let it hang at his side. Your rolodex of stories separated you from him.
“Dude, you wanna talk about bad dates? This one time..”
“And then there was this guy who..”
“–Worst kiss ever.”
Details were spared–maybe because both he and Adrie were there–but the story beats were like stabs to his stomach. Clenched, sinking hot with envy. It wasn’t like him. Not really. He didn’t think so, anyway. But maybe he was wrong.
Jealousy prickled under his skin at every mention of ‘home’ and ‘date.’ He didn’t appreciate the heat to his cheeks, nor the loneliness of his hand reaching out for Adrie, only for her to notice him with a sleepy blink while she clung to your hips, and it was your fingers rubbing her little shoulder.
Of course he knew the subject of your stories, of course he knew you’d been on hundreds of dates, of course he knew you lived a larger life than him, but he’d never had to listen to the yearn in your voice when you spoke about the things you missed. The city, the people, being on stage. Performing, collecting stories, having dinners at sit-down restaurants. These were eccentricities integral to your design, and Eddie Munson had no place among them.
“Hey, Wheeler?” The lump in Eddie’s throat grew. Even Mike was transfixed on listening to you, forgetting about the keys in his hand. Leaning closer, he tapped on his friend’s teal raincoat to get his attention. “Mike? You wanted to show me your–?”
“Right!” Mike whipped his head around, sending his shaggy haircut bouncing in freshly styled waves. “Yeah, so I started with..” he trailed off, walking down the stairs, and out to the yard.
Before Eddie followed, he surveyed the group; Gareth was snickering his way through a story, while the rest of you went nauseous at his description of getting eighteen stitches, and replicating the sound of the needle popping through his skin.
“Babe?” he whispered under the group’s grossed out gasps, speaking the endearment for you only. Taking control, in a way, of his shame by reminding himself he could call you by a sweet nickname, and you’d answer.
You divided your attention, tipping your ear to him, and tearing your gaze from Gareth’s bizarre reenactment of how he fractured his tibia, and settling your eyes on Eddie’s Cupid’s bow when he made a request, “I’m gonna talk shop with Mike. Can you take over here? Get people settled, and Adrie in bed?”
“Of course, handsome.”
For couples, this is where he would duck to give you a kiss on the forehead, or bring you to his side for a hug and be on his way, and perhaps you gleaned those tentative actions when he hesitated on the lean-in, and sat in the subsequent awkwardness of playing it off as a friendly pat on your back when he realized, yeah, he’d never hugged you before.
You diffused the tension by laughing at him. Great.
As he rolled his eyes, you stopped him from leaving, and stepped away from the group.
“Where should we put our jackets?” you asked, pinching the zipper of yours.
Eddie paused in the middle of his gangly stride, and glanced at the two available hooks beside his leather jacket. It hadn’t started snowing or sleeting yet, so everyone’s coats would be dry. “Couch is fine.”
You said, “Cool,” and plunged your hand. In the blink of an eye, you had unzipped your jacket, and thrown your arms back, wiggling it down your shoulders and tugging it off by the cuffs. Underneath your jacket was a tight white tank top and unbuttoned flannel. A nice, fitted, ribbed shirt. Lower cut than anything you had worn at the auto shop, and clinging to your chest as you arched your back and shimmied out of your outer layer.
His gaze stalled.
You didn’t comment on it. He didn’t say anything, either, when his focus snapped to your face, and he read your sly smirk. Adrie, however, grew restless.
“I’m sleepy,” she whined.
“Okay, sweet bean,” you said, besotted by how little her hand was in yours. “C’mon, we can pick out the first movie to play in the fort, too.”
Eddie, thankful to have a distraction, and even more thankful you didn’t call out his obvious ogling, sank to his knees to give his little girl a goodnight hug and kiss. Part of him missed not being able to sit on the couch with her falling asleep on his chest, but the twelve peppered kisses to her cheek would have to suffice. He trusted you to take over the last few steps of Adrie’s night routine without his supervision, and sat back on his calves–after doting over her one last time by straightening out the long sleeves on her pajamas, and twirling the end of her braid around his finger.
“Night,” he kissed against her forehead.
“Night, Daddy,” she kissed back.
Kneeling on the carpet for a moment longer, he ran his tongue along the sharp edge of his teeth at watching you walk away with her. He was hidden amongst the throng of legs, and deep conversation. Invisible for now.
Drop, by drop, his chest filled with tender emotions. A coffee pot of feelings he swore to suppress poured into his heart; brimming the edge, overflowing, bringing heat to those neglected hopes, longings, and desires. Minutes ago you spoke of home, and he was aware he was not owed the promise of you changing the location of home to within biking distance, but he could hope, because every second you spent with him and his daughter was another coin in the wishing well, sploshing the coffee over.
Soon, the overflow would trickle to his lungs. It would fill them up. It would reach his throat. It would coat his tongue, wet his mouth, and before he knew it, those confessions would be spilling into words for you to cup to your mouth and drink until you were as full as he was.
Or, he could suppress them tonight with alcohol. Just enough to dull the urge, but still act as Dungeon Master.
Or, the whiskey could loosen his tongue, and risky sentiments could flood over, one steady drop at a time.
Either way, he was drowning.
~~~
Diving into the true purpose of the evening, the party split between the kitchen and the table in the living room. Jeff went out to Lloyd’s truck, and brought in a long black case. Snapping the latches open, he took out an electric keyboard, and began setting it up in his lap while Gareth rapped his drumsticks on his thighs in a slow rhythm. In the bedroom, you fluffed up the blankets for Adrie to lay on, tucked the comforter to her chin, and brushed her bangs off her forehead while the blue flash of the Disney castle logo played across her heavy eyelids. Idling around the variety of beers on the kitchen counter, Max gripped one of the silver and red cans, and spun it around its plastic ring holder, straining to discern the label.
You came up behind her to let her know, “That one’s Bud Light.”
“Ew,” she frowned, “who would bring that?” She opted for the can of Pabst instead.
“Some people have no tastes.”
On cue, Dustin wove his way through Lucas’ and Erica’s argument over which Mortal Kombat character was the best, adding a quick, “Liu Kang, obviously,” and snapped a silver can from the ring pack. He looked from you to Max. “What?”
Shifting from the secret giggles rising in your chests, she shrugged. “Nothing!”
He squinted at her, not buying it. Cracking the tab, he took a sip, and then you became the subject of interest. “So,” he started, “how long have you and Eddie been friends?”
Perplexion drew Max’s eyebrows together.
Aware of where this was going, you got your own beer, and carried an airy, casual tone while popping the cap, “Oh, just a few months, since I moved here with my roommate–Robin, if you know her.” His expression answered for you, arching in an ‘ah!’ of understanding.
Max, though, was stuck on another detail. “Wait, you and Eddie aren’t dating? I thought–I figured since he’s never invited anyone here before, and his daughter was, like, holding onto you?”
“Yeah, Adrie’s pretty fond of me, I think,” you answered, hiding your own secret behind the glass bottle to your lips. “And Eddie’s cool, too, I guess.”
“Well, I don’t know about him being cool, per se–” she was cut off.
Blurs of black and teal tumbled in rivers of frosted breath, and clattering teeth. Mike shivered life into his limbs on his way to the sink to run his hands under hot water. Eddie’s cheeks and nose were tinted frosty red as he wiped the dirt from his numb fingers onto his hoodie, and pulled his wallet from the junk drawer to check it for cash.
His brown eyes zeroed on you first, Dustin’s wiry mug second, and Max’s tilted lips third.
As he picked up the phone to dial for pizza delivery with his grease-scraped knuckle, he warned in a playful inflection, “You better not be telling her embarrassing stories about me.”
“Oh, no!” Max promised him. “I didn’t even tell her about how I used to live across from you, and caught you–on numerous occasions–sweeping the porch while blasting ABBA, and screaming the lyrics at the top of your lungs. While drunk.” She didn’t need to see him from across the kitchen to feel the heat of his glare, and duel it with another cool shrug, defeating him with ease when the pizza place picked up, and he had to stumble over his order.
Once the hurdle of dinner was out of the way, the drinks of choice sweated under the cozy temperature of ten bodies packed like sardines at the table, and with Eddie at the helm of it all, the game commenced.
He set forth a toast. Affection swelled in his even gaze sweeping over his friends who had come to join him in his home, acknowledging the growth behind his ordinary request. He couldn’t speak it without a nervous tremble, no, but they understood. They understood. With pride, his eyelashes twinkled at the outer corners where mirth gathered, and his broad grin creased a slew of Crow’s feet into cascading to his smile lines with his dimple nestled between them. His silent gratitude thanked the room, and when he reached Jeff at his right hand side, Eddie flicked his eyes to the opposite end of the table, and brought the whiskey to his lips.
The room refracted beautifully in the carved edges of the smokey gray tumbler. It was silly, almost, how the squat glass vanished behind his large palm and thick fingers. Sillier, even, when you noticed these things and your heart pumped a little faster.
Sat at the far end across from him, you raised your beer, and sipped.
“Now, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, children of all ages,” he spoke in increasing speed and passion, descending into a lower octave as he stood and loomed over his dividers of books, binders, and folders acting as a shield to his Dungeon Master antics, “I present to you, the port town of Irrilis!”
He bowed, and swept his arms over the miniature display.
Sitting back, he guided everyone into the scene. Between describing the smell of the briny sea, the itch of stale sweat mixed with dried blood on their bodies, and the creak of wooden planks under their feet, he expertly wove lore into details of the town, comparing the afternoon sun on the backs of their necks to the stares they were getting. The townsfolk were not expecting newcomers this evening, apparently; and to finish the introduction, he cupped his hands to his mouth and bellowed the caw of seagulls perched atop a gnarled bulletin board. When it became clear the fishermen were not interested in speaking to Lloyd’s tiefling, he asked if there was a guard nearby instead. Instantly, Eddie became one. He donned a constant salute, and rigid posture with a nasty curl on his lip, speaking in stunted sentences with a broadened chest.
Watching him perform was mesmerizing.
Your vision narrowed as if you were going lightheaded, highlighting Eddie at the center with sharpened colors. His broad movements coaxed you in, his ability to switch both his pitch and accent raced in your ears, his creature cadence hummed nostalgia along the back of your mind like an old memory of observing another actor on stage mastering their craft. Time forgot to start. He stole a glance in your direction and you were washed in humility. He was gauging your reaction to his geekiness, and whatever he saw, whatever was written in your expression, rewarded his vulnerability. Confidence set his face aglow; power in the way he beheld you. And you praised him by sitting forward, affixing him with all your adoration, considering yourself fortunate to be in his presence.
After all, you’d been enchanted by Eddie Munson since the first day he stomped past your desk with a fierce scowl aimed at the ground, and now? Now he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you.
~~~
As with most DND adventures, the fun began at a tavern.
The group had spent too much time with Eddie as their DM, they knew the bulletin board was a red herring, so they explored the city until they found the seediest bar tucked into the end of an alleyway.
You were reading over the details Eddie wrote for you on your character sheet when you were snatched to the present by an array of sounds.
Eddie strummed down on his acoustic guitar, and silenced the vibration with his palm. He then plucked a slow, seeking, progression, circling back until Jeff harmonized on his keyboard, and they nodded their heads in sync while Gareth found the tavern’s beat with the ends of his drumsticks on the edge of the table. Lloyd angled his chair to put his guitar in his lap, and chased the melody quietly under Eddie’s, at a slower tempo.
To be captivated by someone, wholly immersed in their quirks and nature, is to cherish them, and as you played audience to your friend’s natural charisma and ability to impress you in new ways after months of knowing him, your chest panged with the ache to cherish him completely.
You were one beer deep on an empty stomach, and you were already intoxicated by him.
Their song continued as he laid out the exposition of the tavern, and as a party, everyone sat at the bar, or snuck around invisible to glean information. And that’s where you came in–
Jeff changed his tune to have a mysterious dissonance.
Erica’s rogue sidled in beside you at a table, and smoothly asked you a variety of questions: how long you’d been in town, if you knew of the disappearances, or had any encounters with the rumor of the undead lurking outside the kingdom.
You… You looked at your orc’s low intelligence on the paper, and seeing as how you were an improv artist, you roleplayed.
Inhaling a mighty breath, you filled out your not-so-intimidating frame with imaginary muscle, and shot out your hand. “I’m Gary!” you exclaimed, rough and tough.
The guitars stopped on a screech.
Pause.
Eddie covered his mouth. His eyebrows peaked sentimentally. And once his shoulders shook, and his snort squeaked out like a dying sprinkler, everyone laughed. In your periphery, they each reacted differently–all having their unique outbursts at your blunt introduction. Erica, too, giggled as she shook your hand. They were laughing with you. Definitely with you when Jeff chose a sillier ditty to play, and the guys matched him, upbeat and excited for you to wholeheartedly participate in their game.
Soon, your orc joined their party, and a series of clues earned from armwrestling other bar patrons led you down several paths to take, and after finding a lost tome near an underground jail cell (thanks to Dustin’s constant perception checks), your group was led outside, past Irrilis’ stone walls, and to their dying crops.
Mike scooped a collection of dice into his hand after, somehow, engaging in combat with a scarecrow, and began shaking them.
There was a bang at the door.
Mike jumped, uncupping his palms mid-shake, and the dice went flying. He caught three–snatched them right out of the air–and before they ricocheted off his fingers to add to the clatter on the table, he began to juggle them. One, two, three, four perfect rotations, and he set them down.
Eddie hadn’t yet stood up from his chair when his gaze wandered to yours, and he cut you a cheeky, significant grin. You shot him an exaggerated sneer in return. Stupid juggling.
He managed to not trip over the scattered mix of boots and tennis shoes mingling around the entrance, and balanced the exchange of cash for a stack of white cardboard boxes his eyes and handsome nose peeked over on his way to sliding them onto the kitchen counter.
“Orders up, boys.”
As grease soaked into paper plates, and another round of drinks were poured by Gareth’s heavy hand, you were all ushered into the next leg of the game.
Jeff played low notes as background mood music for your party when you came upon your next encounter: ghouls. They were low level, easy to defeat even if there were many, but it was an opportunity for Erica to teach you the different dice. Max leaned over, and helped you keep track of your abilities, and if you could execute them from where you stood on the grid.
When it was Max’s turn to roll for attack and damage in the rotation, she did so in a shallow wooden tray between her and Lucas. The dice tumbled around, pinged the sides, and came to a stop where Lucas could read the numbers, and do the math.
Least to say, she decimated her target.
Erica’s rogue on the other hand rolled a number Eddie was ambivalent towards.
“Convince me you can sneak up on him,” he proposed, squinting over his steepled fingers, and leaning back in his chair. They seemed to butt heads a lot, if her eye roll was anything to go off of.
She stood up from the table, and snapped her fingers at Mike to act as her overly large zombie. “C’mon.”
He groaned, “Not again,” but did as he was told, standing not unlike a limp noodle with a flat stare into the distance as she listed off her character’s skills for Eddie, and hooked her arm around Mike’s throat, bending him backwards over her pencil (pretend knife) to his back. She even shuffled him to where Eddie could acknowledge the poison on the tip of her blade would enter his kidney. He argued the undead did not have functioning kidneys, but conceded her efforts.
It was your turn next, but as you were mulling over the ghouls on the grid in front of your figurine, the rest of the table went silent.
The bedroom door creaked open, and soft footsteps padded out onto the kitchen vinyl. Eddie jerked his head up from behind the dividers. Gareth scooted his chair in, assuming Adrie was going to squeeze by on her way to her dad, but there was no need..
She wedged herself between you and Max, and splayed her arms across your lap. With her cheek to your thigh, she sighed, pitifully, “The movie stopped, and my head hurts.”
“Oh, no,” you consoled her in your silly Children’s Television Program presenter voice. “Is it the braids? They can be so un-com-for-table to sleep in.” Perhaps you instilled too much confidence in the pizza to soak up the alcohol, because you were now two beers and a few sips of whiskey deep into the ‘overly affectionate’ stage of your tipsiness. You collected the sleepy girl to your lap, and enveloped her in a bone crushing hug, rocking yourselves back and forth, fawning each other in a happy hum, unaware of the bewildered stares boring into you as you pressed a kiss above her ear.
The men around the table exchanged confused looks with each other, then threw suspicious glances at Eddie, who appeared struck by Cupid. The girls, much more intuitive and observant, smiled at the sweet scene.
She sat sideways across your legs, and kept a hand crooked into your flannel’s collar while you slipped the yellow bauble ponytail from one of her braids, and loosened the plaits. “Do you wanna roll for me?” you asked her, working through the tangles.
Thrilled to participate in her dad’s game, she woke up just enough to say, “Yeah!”
Max felt for your dice, and handed her the largest.
Instead of Adrie letting go of you to cup her hands around it and shake, she pelted it at the table, and after narrowly missing the LEGO skeleton standees, it came to a stop.
“Eight,” Lloyd said with a hint of regret.
You asked Eddie, “Is that enough to hit?”
“It, uh–” The table’s full attention turned towards the Dungeon Master. He dropped his gaze to his notebook, and traced his finger over the dog-eared page. The pressure of their anticipation manifested in his bouncing knee, masking the tremble that would be present in his words regardless when he answered, “Y-Yeah, yeah. That, uh, that hits.”
The party squirmed with awareness; pressed lips ready to burst.
Oblivious, you put the smaller dice in Adrie’s hand, and added up the numbers when she tossed them. “Eleven!” With your turn done, you unraveled the rest of her other braid, and combed your fingers through her hair, circling them on her scalp to give her some relief. Speaking to her, you said, “Wanna count to eleven while we pick another movie?” She started counting automatically.
There was another whisper in her ear, and she hopped off your lap with her arms raised. You cooed a small, “Thought so,” and picked her up, settling her on your hip. Knowing it was Jeff’s turn, and you wouldn’t be needed for a while, you pushed the bedroom door open with your foot, and closed it behind you the same way.
And the very second it clicked shut, the table erupted.
“Jesus, dude, you’re gonna impregnate your coworker if you keep staring at her like that.”
“Ew,” and “Gross,” came from Max and Erica respectively.
Eddie jolted from his trance, mentally erasing the sway of your ass from his mind. His cheeks seared vicious red at Gareth’s comment.
With more tact, Dustin lilted, “So, just a friend from work, huh?” His blue eyes sparkles with mischief, matching the upturn at the corner of his lips, foretelling no good from this interaction, either.
“A friend,” Jeff added, “that he has the biggest crush on.”
Gareth rolled his bottom lip inward, and cocked his head. “More like she’s his babysitter with benefits.”
Loathing the obvious sheen of sweat rushing to his face, Eddie warned him with a pointed finger. “Don’t call her that.” He swung to Dustin next. “And she is my friend, and my coworker,” he stated evenly, putting emphasis on the last word.
Being the voice of reason in these situations, but not entirely on his side, Lloyd told the younger members, “Around the time they started working together, he started coming to band practice not entirely in a bad mood. A few weeks ago, he was even smiling. Apparently they had this little Christmas party, and there was mistletoe–”
“Shut it!”
“You kissed her?” Lucas gasped.
Gareth was the one to knock the gossipy housewife wind from his sails. “No,” he scoffed with a laugh. “He was too much of a pussy.”
Several of the guys snickered, and one said, “So no benefits, then.”
Reining in his volume, Eddie warned them again in a low tone, “I’m well within my right to not want to make things weird between us if it doesn’t work out. I have to see her every day, regardless.” It was one of his oldest excuses in the book, and to be honest with himself, he dismissed it a long time ago. He no longer feared making things awkward, or tampering with your friendship.. but he wasn’t about to explain his real insecurities to so many people at once.
No one needed to know the true reason behind why he hadn’t asked you out yet.
No one had to know why he walked away when you spoke of ‘dating’ and ‘home.’
It was to protect himself, so no one had to look at him with pity when he explained he wasn’t a good enough reason for you to stay in Hawkins past the end of summer. Instead, he defaulted, “We’re just friends.”
Erica was gentle in her approach. “If we’re all just friends here, then why don’t we get matching bracelets made by your daughter?” On instinct, he tugged his sleeve over his wrist to conceal D-A-D-D-Y. “I saw hers when she was messing with Adrienne’s hair.” She saw M-O-U-S-E. “And if you’re just friends, why doesn’t Adrie ever want to be held by us? Or hugged by us? I honestly thought she didn’t like to be coddled by anyone besides you, but then that just happened..”
The questions sank in Eddie’s stomach. It cooled the frustration from his furrowed brow, and eased the tension from around his eyes. He didn’t have a satisfactory answer for the group, but he could share something close enough to the truth, it might better help them understand his hang ups. But first, he downed the rest of his double on the rocks.
Wincing after his swallow, he set down the glass, and ran the heel of palm along the edge of the table. “I’m taking things slow,” he said, “and you all know why. Okay?” Shrugging a bit, he lifted his eyebrows and spoke again to his binders, focusing on his campaign notes rather than his friends. “I only told her everything, y’know, about what happened to me a few weeks ago, so I’m still giving it some time. And, obviously, yeah it’s a big deal having a kid, and her getting attached to someone else.”
“Aw, he’s in love,” someone said.
Exuding patience by closing his eyes, he continued, “Right, so, if you wanna tell her some less embarrassing stories about me, maybe even make me look good in front of her.. I’d really appreciate it.” He ended with a beckoning clap, as if he were striking a deal with the blisters in his life.
“Or,” Mike asserted, “I can roll to hit this ghoul, and if it succeeds, you have to ask her out tonight.” Before Eddie could respond, Mike puffed a lucky breath into his cupped hands, and bounced the dice across the grid. “Thirteen!”
“Aw, sorry, man. Doesn’t hit.”
Vitriol bit into his snark, “Oh, really? Thirteen doesn’t hit, but eight does? Give me a break.” The more his face pinched into a sour expression at Eddie’s stubborn favoritism, the more wickedness laced itself in the Dungeon Master’s smug grin.
Gareth was contributing another goading remark about breaking strict rules if they benefited Eddie’s chances for getting good pussy, but the squeal of the door knob turning interrupted him.
It was noticeably quieter when you sat down at the table, beaming at the mixed signals of people avoiding your gaze, and meeting it with the type of excessive smile you gave a stranger after you were just talking about them behind their back. “So, whose turn is it?” Jeff raised his hand sheepishly. “Oh, you guys didn’t have to wait for–for me!” You hardly got through the sentence before you were giggling into your drink.
Fear not, Gareth broke the underlying tension. “Hey, did Eddie ever tell you he used to walk out on stage with a rose in his mouth, until” –he motioned at the corner of his lips with a grimace– “he cut himself on the thorns one too many times. Ow!”
Gareth clutched at his foot, and the men shot off rapid fire communication through sharp hand gestures, and widened eyes.
Jeff played the Jaws theme.
“Is that true?” you whispered to Lucas.
Lloyd shouted, “Can we get back to the game?”
Still red in the face, Eddie turned to him with his arms extended graciously. “Yes! Thank you! Let’s get back to the game.”
Adjusting his chair under himself, Eddie the Dungeon Master sat with the distinct grace of someone who went unopposed. Wispy curls of his hair caught the wind, drifting in frazzled layers wherever they pleased. The buttons and pins on his jean vest glittered, and tinked together. His lungs expanded with a long, held breath, stretching the black hoodie over his chest. When no one challenged his unceasing eye contact, he continued, “The ghouls were nigh..”
————
The night matured.
Dustin and Lloyd championed your party to an underground cave where the source of the undead were conjured. Eddie heralded your arrival by opening the box beneath his chair, screwing together something behind his barrier of DND lore, and bringing it to his mouth.
You shouldn’t be surprised by him, yet again, but the fact he played flute was just as adorable as his playful grin straining his plush lips to the metal, and his round doe-eyes flitting to yours, and away.
The notes he played grew increasingly haunting, turning intense during the battle with the necromancer who started this all. Then, as the foe turned to dust, Eddie trilled higher, and higher notes. Sillier, and sillier as Dustin looted the robes he left behind.
Everything about Eddie’s expression was impish when the group asked if the scroll found in the pocket was written in common tongue.
“Why, as a matter of fact it is,” he said, much too cheerful, and trilled an incensing measure.
He was being a menace, and the group began to sag with dread.
Dustin’s words were laced with suspicion and regret. “What does it say?”
“Let’s see! It says..” Eddie held up a prop coil of tea-stained parchment, and cleared his throat to don a brittle old man's voice, “I was a lonely necromancer who missed my wife, children, friends, and family. I was merely resurrecting them to have companionship, and you attacked me for nought. I hope you are happy with yourselves, and can sleep at night.” He abandoned the paper to incite violence in his quick succession of notes on the flute. “The dying crops are not my fault. The soil simply has too many minerals from the estuary near Irrilis, and the quarry to the north.” Peering at the blank sheet fallen to his notebook, he faked confusion, “And it says down here, in teeny-tiny writing, ‘You should have checked the bulletin board.’”
Dustin dropped his head into his hands. “You son of a bitch.”
The rest of the quests went smoother, you supposed. After returning to Irrilis and checking the bulletin board, the party’s findings led to the library, which led to a murder, which led to a mystery, which led to finding an object which had the group gasping in surprise. Apparently, the Crimson Order’s emblem on the second dead person’s body, and bite marks on the neck had a long history within the group. The next big campaign was vampire related. You celebrated along with them, cheersing the end of your whiskey, and chasing it with some much needed water.
~~~
Raw twilight bloomed behind heavy set clouds pulling flutters of white against the black.
The night winded down with more fetch quests sending the party deeper into the woods, and to the edge of the mountains. It would take several more sessions to cover the terrain beyond, or something like that. Something, something tales of a labyrinth or some sort before the vampire castle. Your memory was a little fuzzy. Going with the flow of music, whether it was the mellow strums of Lloyd’s guitar, the muffled notes of Jeff’s keyboard, Gareth’s battle march, or the dark piece Eddie played when he introduced an object of interest; your focus muddled with the jokes, the lore, the alcohol. The whiskey burned less, and the oaky honey thrived. You surrendered to the passage of time–interrupted, briefly, when the man sat opposite you answered every one of the boy’s questions with a riddle, and his rascally cackle at their irritation stole another piece of your heart. Falling deeper, and deeper. And deeper for him.
~~~
The early witching hours feasted on the weary adults who were no longer able to pull all-nighters. The game was over for now, and the group packed their things away.
Max asked you, “Did you have fun?”
“Yes!” you blurted. “I didn’t really know what I was getting into, but the atmosphere was so cool. Eddie really knows how to put on a show, huh? And hey, finding fragments of a dragon’s egg shell in a game called Dungeons and Dragons was pretty neat.”
Her laugh brought music to her affirmation, “Yeah, he’s a pretty good DM, and we’ve been hunting the dragons for two years now. Do you think you’ll play with us next month?”
“Totally!”
“Nice.”
Lucas dragged his hand down her arm, and placed the black and neon pink windbreaker in her awaiting palm. She zipped it over her cozy college sweatshirt. They were at the back of the congestion, shuffling around the living room, straying behind the chaos of stumbling adults doubling over to laugh at their clumsiness and inability to find their shoe’s match.
While waiting, you watched several of the guys clasp Eddie’s shoulder as they passed, and placed money in his hand. Oh. Shit. Your gaze snapped to the scattered stack of pizza boxes in the kitchen, and shame licked your cheeks. It never occurred to you to pay for your share.
Quickly, you found your puffer jacket under Mike’s raincoat, and wrangled some cash from the pockets. Your stride went wobbly between the table, chairs, couch, shoes, and bumbling grownups in the cramped trailer, but you squeezed your way to him. He was beginning his goodbyes smushed against the breakfast bar, not quite able to reach the front door just yet.
“Here,” you said, shoving a crumpled $20 at his arm.
Pausing his conversation with Jeff, he twisted to see you over the curve of his shoulder, and absorbed your apologetic face before noticing the money. His lips ticced at the corners. His nostrils flared with a soft snort. Amusement crinkled at the corner of his eyes. “Not from you,” he said. “Why don’t you go check on Adrie for me?”
“Oh.” A confused, maybe disappointed ‘oh.’ “If you’re sure.”
Fighting an internal battle, you stuffed the $20 in your jeans, and held true to your frown. You were about to argue, but your brain registered what he’d asked you to do. “Adrie!” you whispered excitedly, and made finger guns towards the bedroom.
You scurried (yes, scurried) off, and left Eddie to fend for himself.
Jeff was twisting his hand around his chin in mock rumination. “She doesn’t have to pay, hmm?”
“Not my place to comment,” Gareth said, about to make a comment, “but maybe you should think about cashing in those benefits.” He paused, drunkenness slowing him into a contemplative stare. “Or at least fu–”
“Anyway!” Erica saved the situation by pushing past all of them to wrench the door open. “Well.. that sucks.”
Icy flakes floated in pendulum swings to the ground, where they stuck.
Eddie stood on his tip-toes to study the severeness over his friend’s heads. The weather appeared to be in its mild beginnings, not yet falling in a considerable sheet from the sky, but still, he was a dad, and he was prone to worrying. The party hardly finished lacing up their shoes, and he was making them promise they’d call him as soon as they got home. They’d barely walked down the steps, and he was there at the bottom, holding his arm out. “Seriously, call me as soon as you get home,” he warned each household.
And it was only once the last car’s tail lights trailed red streaks over the main road, he went inside.
The trailer wept with emptiness. Remnants of being fulfilled remained–the trash, the lingering body heat, and stuffy air–but it sighed with loneliness. The trailer was pent up. In need of decompressing after the hours of putting on a show, and in a constant state of overthinking, entertaining his friends while fighting the itch deep in his chest that said ‘I wish none of these people were here except for you.’
The trailer longed for you, searching the couch, the card table, the kitchen where the bottle of whiskey was left behind. The trailer sought you in the corners of its belly, its lungs, its head, leaving the heart for last.
Eddie pushed open the bedroom door, and you were not in his daughter's bed. He lurched further into the room. Needy for the heart. And he found it. He found his home..
A pair of adult legs stuck out from the entrance to the blanket fort.
Judging by the angle of your feet and your knee tucked into the other, you were laying on your side. The powder pink bedsheet gathered in folds around your lower thighs. Strings of Christmas lights pressed against the shelter, and the TV flicked bright colors as it played a movie on a low volume.
Daring, his fingertips encountered the coarse weave of your jeans on his way to lift the bedsheet keeping your sleeping form separated from his greedy gaze. Stealing moments where he could be learning your face, placed a precious snore away from his daughter’s, sharing the pillow with her curls and unicorn hugged to her chin. Inhaling silently, and exhaling in a quick breath, not yet catching the sound in your throat akin to a mumbly whine at the dream playing under your twitching eyelids.
The sheet draped the back of his neck.
Risking, he traced the rugged outer seam of your jeans. Starting at your printed socks, and traveling up your calf, over the rigid mountain peaks of stiff fabric creased around your knee, and discovering the squish of your leg under his prodding. His eyes were trained on your face. He slipped his palm over your upper thigh. A gentle warmth of his presence. Next, he cupped the curve of your knee, fitting it into his hand, and he continued his stroke downwards, tightening his fingers to your shin, and stopping to squeeze your ankle. You didn’t stir.
He shifted closer, widening his stand and ducking under the canopy to reach your face.
Leaning over you, he anchored his balance to your hip, relaxing his hold on the arch of bone shaped like a strung bow, and dragged his other knuckles along your cheek. Three fingers worth. Three opportunities for him to press his skin to your hairline, and brush them along the flat plane before the adorable round apples he knew to be relaxed under the surface while you dozed.
You were soft. So unexpectedly soft.
Courageous, smooth peach fuzz welcomed a fourth knuckle. A simple sweep of the back of his hand to your face. Feeling you. All of you. Insatiable.
His breathing grew heavier at the hunger.
Stomach clenching from the craving of more.
Heart, starved.
It was animalistic, but you weren’t afraid. No, you weren’t afraid when you twitched and slapped at your cheek, expecting a fly to be tickling you in your sleep, but as you awoke, you prodded at the confusing obstruction, and glided your fingers along the underside of his. Plump ridges punctuated by hard calluses with scratchy outlines. You recognized them by touch alone, and fought through the pain of your bloodshot eyes to peer up at the man looming above you, and yawned.
“No boys allowed,” you whispered through the groggy haze.
Oh, he nearly let his tipsy tongue admit too much to your dopey grin.
Eddie could tell he was smiling hard enough his vision suffered from his encroaching cheeks. His eyes were inundated by his happiness, nearly closed to slits from how hard he beamed when he slid from gaze from you, to his daughter who enacted the ‘No Boys’ rule, and to you again. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he said, withdrawing.
He helped you stand. With difficulty. The whiskey hurled you into a premature REM cycle, and without consideration, he roused you from its depths. In your drowsy state, you clung to him for stability, depending on his chest to support you. Not that he was complaining. He was reliable, compensating for your swaying by grasping your upper arms, and teasing you with a, “Whoa there, silly.”
Stood outside the closed bedroom, there was not a chance for gaps to stop your lower inhibitions. Alone, you were together. In the same hallway where there was a thrifted painting of a lake scene hung beside the bathroom, a shelf with a set of wooden ducks amongst the ceramic knick knacks, a doorway where he ate his oatmeal while watching you and Adrie play. Those points of interest were all there; you were familiar with them, even if you struggled to open your eyes.
You fawned over him, snickering at nothing until your features tensed into confusion, not understanding the bits of ice clinging to the fibers of his hoodie, scraping at them with your fingernail. You collapsed into him more, leaning your forearms on his steady frame, rising and falling, accepting the lullaby of his pleased hum. The very outline of your torso discovered his, giving him a taste of your warmth; comforting you both with the actuality of such a thing. You skimmed your fingers up to his hair, picking at the sloshy liquid burdening the ends of his curls. “Why’re you wet?” you mumbled.
“It’s snowing,” he repeated from earlier, when the rush of standing whooshed in your ears, rendering him an otherworldly voice from beyond. “It’s not bad, but like hell I’m about to let you bike home in it. If you wanna give me some time to eat and have a cup of coffee, I can sober up and drive you, sweet girl,” he finished like hot honey.
You circled your palms over his pecs with the lack of awareness a blissfully buzzed person would for the lone reason of wanting to experience the texture of his hoodie burn your skin from the friction. “But wouldn’t you have to wake Adrie up to bring her with us?”
“I would, but she’ll be fine. She’ll probably fall asleep in the car.”
“No, no, no,” you shushed him, losing your merry smile for the first time in hours. “Robin’s working very, very, very late tonight. She’ll probably be off her shift soon. She can pick me up. And my bike can fit in her trunk, unlike your tiny car.” Many of your words mushed together from your drowsy, drowsy, drowsy imploring.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah! I’ll call her, and hey, we can clean up while she’s on her way.” When his expression was less than enthused at the suggestion, you waggled your eyebrows, and bit your bottom lip, enticing him. “We can make it fun,” you tried. “You know, we’ll play music, drink some more, eat whatever pizza’s left.” You walked your fingers up his shoulders, and he smoothed his hands around your wrists, flattening your palms to his clavicle.
Eddie lowered his head until he managed to peer at you through his lashes, asking a condescending, but lighthearted question, “That’s what you wanna do? Help me clean?”
You reaffirmed, “It’ll be fun.”
“Fine by me, sweetheart. Go call Buckley.”
The plans were put on pause while you called the back office of the grocery store, but after a short conversation, and many twirls of the cord around your finger, your voice lightened with relief, “Thank you so, so much. I love you.”
You hung up, and spun around to tell Eddie the fabulous news.
The two glass tumblers on the kitchen counter were assuming. Filled with ice cubes from the blue plastic tray in the sink, and situated in front of the opened whiskey. There was a decent amount left–a fourth of the entire bottle, probably–and he didn’t need to hear you repeat Robin’s message about her getting off work soon to unscrew the cap and begin pouring.
No distinct emotion crossed his face when divided an even shot into each of the smokey gray glasses, and paused the bottle above yours to ask, “So, what kind of drunk are you?”
The ice cracked and popped as it melted.
“Giggly, touchy,” you supposed.
He tipped the bottle and added another healthy shot to yours. You raised your eyebrows at his boldness, and scoffed out the same question, “What kind of drunk are you?”
“Hm.” He propped his hand on the counter, and cocked his hip out, staring out into the living room. You studied his side profile from where you stayed by the telephone, most notably how his light wash jeans gathered around the bulk of his zipper again; hoodie tucked behind the handcuff belt buckle. The weathered silver metal glinted an edge of orange from the lamp beside the microwave, shifting as he rocked his weight to his other foot. “Stupid, I think,” he said finally. “I make stupid decisions, ‘nd shit.”
“Are you trying to make stupid decisions tonight?”
His features kicked up, and instead of giving you a verbal answer, he brought the bottle up and dropped his head back.
“Eddie!” you gawked.
Your mouth hung open in awe, stunned into silently watching the bubbles race to the top of the amber liquid chugging ever closer to the neck of the bottle being strangled in his white-knuckled grip. His eyes were screwed shut, body tensed and struggling to finish it off, lips pursed in a kiss around the opening. Each gulp sent his Adam’s apple jumping.
He threw his head forward. The bottle slammed on the counter, final sips of liquid sloshing in waves along the bottom. He caught the dribble falling from his chin with his sleeve, and wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. All of him shuddered. Teeth bared as he grimaced through the burn, eyebrows furrowed in mild regret.
After the last jerk of shoulders battling the aftershocks of disgust, you mimicked his parental exasperation, “What in the world are you doing?”
Making a stupid decision.
A tight line of water flooded his eyes. He ran his fingers over his shy smile, turning to look at you with a particular brand of sheepishness usually reserved for teenagers who were trying to impress their friends. “I only had two drinks the entire night. I’m just catching up to you.”
“You’re an idiot.”
He agreed.
“Bobbie’s still gonna be a while,” you said on your way to grabbing your drink, now wondering if you were going to be the more sober one in half an hour. “Shall we get to cleaning?”
He lifted his tumbler by picking it up by the rim and clinked it to yours, but refrained from taking a sip when you did. Thankfully. “Wayne’s got some jazz records in the crate next to the record player, where the TV is.. Well, where the TV was. On that cabinet beside his bed.. If you’d just.. Look over there.. Okay, why are you staring at me?”
Memorizing the freckle of the side of his nose to your heart’s content, you shrugged. “You blush a lot.”
“Do not,” he denied in a mutter. He felt his cheek, poking and prodding and smashing at the skin being tugged down by his pouty frown. “It’s just the alcohol.”
“Ah.”
You sipped, swallowed, and snickered on your way to the record player cabinet, weaving through the staggered chairs untucked from the table. You laughed again. Just the alcohol, he said. Yet, he’d been flushed red all night. Or, at least, since he bragged about his seven inches.
~~~
The soundtrack for cleaning was a 25th Anniversary edition of a label’s best live performances over the years.
Various artists scored the yucky business of folding and stacking the chairs against a spare wall, trying not to envision a spider popping out at any moment from where it may be laying in wait under the seats. A fun upbeat tambourine number played when Eddie knocked over Wayne’s beard trimmer in the bathroom. Wondrous vocals warbled against your game of wadding up the used napkins and tossing them at the trashcan, while Eddie flung the paper plates like frisbees until both of you tired, and threw them away as normal. Brass horns vibrated under your hands and knees as you crawled around on the floor, finding all the crushed beer cans. Lazy drum beats coaxed both of your languid movements into the sort of drunken erraticism that came from being buzzed, gesturing without much consideration for sharp corners, or breakable things. He packed away his miniatures while you wiped down the counters, and he washed the dishes while you attempted to sweep up crumbs from the grid table cloth and fold it into a neat-ish square.
The record stopped.
A break ensued. You drank the rest of your whiskey, and Eddie searched every pizza box, divvying out the last slices for you to share over wordless respite, heads drooping, chewing slowly.
After washing the greasy cornmeal from his hands, and wiping the flour from around his mouth, he suggested, “Why don’t you put on the yellow record? Third from the end, on the left.”
You found the one he spoke of–golden yellow–and put the needle to it.
Together, you hauled out the dense vintage couch the few inches it required; done in dozens of centimeters, yanking on the ugly upholstery until your fingernails ached, and arms gave up. Eddie was rushing you, annoyingly so. Hurrying on in anguish, the table was flipped on its side, and its legs folded in. It was stuffed against the wall after some difficulty (the mugs remained intact), and after shoving the hulking piece of furniture to close the gap, you fell to the lumpy cushions with an exhausted groan.
You went boneless. Arms and legs landing wherever. Head lulling to the side. Eyes closed. Relaxed. Drifting off to the place where you were in the blanket fort at an alarming rate..
The song switched.
“May I have this dance?”
You opened your eyes.
Eddie’s hand came into focus. He was bent at the waist, extending an invitation. Reciprocating. Making true on his promise for the dance he owed you. It seemed so long ago; back when you knew him as a single dad who was private about his personal life. Now you knew. You knew his home, his past, his trauma, his notebook, his friends, his band, his daughter’s favorite stuffed toy named Fluff. You knew his pizza order (cheese with black olives), his favorite color (deep, sultry red), his laundry detergent (Cheer Free for extra sensitive skin). You knew his body temperature ran like a furnace, you knew the knot of pink scar tissue on the meat of his thumb, you knew the shimmery flecks of butterscotch in his eyes when he went teary. In the span of a few days, you knew him better than you did weeks ago, before Christmas.
You took his hand. He helped you stand, and in a brave exhale, he held you in timeless elegance.
It wasn’t like the dance before, where you minded the respectable distance two coworkers should. No. He still clasped your right hand in his left, sure, but from there the similarities to waltzing in the garage differed. Reservation did not stop at the top of his neck, or his bicep–you switched your friendly clasp from those safe areas, to introducing your torsos, and pinning his arm under yours in effort to reach the middle of his back. He enveloped your waist, coaxing your hips together with woozy enthusiasm. Close, close, close. Handcuff belt buckle catching on your jean’s zipper at each pass until you began to sway in aching unison to Frank Sinatra’s Somethin’ Stupid.
You empathized with the heady flush pinkening the bulbous tip of his nose, and gazed into his eyes. Or tried. His eyelids fell in sluggish blinks, and his envious lashes refused to part. The sway was a shuffle. Your head was swimming. Failing to focus on one particular thing before your vision went cross, and the room spun, despite standing almost still.
It didn’t take long for either of you to surrender.
Rocking side to side–no turning, no pivoting–you accepted the innate desire to rest your head on his chest, and even from a distance, his pulse beat against your ear. Hard pumps of lifeblood under your cheek laid flat on the faded black hoodie. If you looked the other way, you’d see the jean vest reeking of cigarette smoke thrown on the couch where he discarded it before asking you to dance, but you chose to admire your joined hands. Preferring to learn the dry skin where a scrape was healing on his thumb knuckle–how small your thumb was in comparison to the single stretch of bone until the next joint, and his blunt nail. Maybe he was admiring such a thing too, because he stretched his fingers and curled them snugger to yours, and he set his chin atop your head, learning another new intimacy.
You melted under the burden of his weight.
He exposed the issue of your hair catching on the stubble of his five o’clock shadow.
You craned your head against the grain, and he nuzzled his chin harder.
Two people discovering their deprived yearns.
The sweetness of being crooked into the hollow of his body. The possession of snagging a full grip of his hoodie between your fingers, and becoming the reason he filled his lungs. Existing around him. And he existed in you, in all the unexplored corners, and you dusted the cobwebs from his. Fulfilling the dark places. Giving them light, and acceptance. Sharing the slice of night before it turned day. Swaying, rocking, swimming together in an inebriated dance under a tin roof, under the sprinkling snow, under the opaque clouds, under the crescent moon, under the twinkling stars. Under the universes, and hypothetical alternate dimensions and timelines, and as attractive as they seemed, you wouldn’t choose a different one. This is the one. This is the exact dimension, the exact timeline you wanted.
No longer wishing to lead, Eddie closed your fingers into a soft fist, and placed your hand over his heart, cupping his palm over it and stressing the thousands of unspoken words in his squeeze.
Basking in the minutes stretching to hours, the music looped into a perfect eternity.
It was getting late, almost time to leave, you guessed.
You withdrew your head. Eddie lifted his. The spot his chin once resided on your scalp ran abnormally cold from the loss, and there must’ve been an imprint of wrinkled fabric on your cheek, because that’s where his eyes landed first on their journey to meet your resilient gaze.
The beginnings of his lopsided grin emerged.
He spoke, and it was a single word. “Yeah.”
You didn’t know why he said it, or what he meant, but in this moment, in his arms, with your hand nestled between his and his heart, you agreed, “Yeah.” This was special. Whatever this was, this was special.
A huff of laughter broke through your smile, and his. Giggly silliness.
You were embraced from the top of your thighs, through to the slight proposal of your hips, and ending at the acute strength of your arms pressing each other closer.
Eddie raised your hand from his heart to his face. His thumb ensured your fingers stayed curled in, barring you from investing in a full, unadulterated touch. Wisps of his hair traced your skin. His exhale snaked down your flannel sleeve. Your inner wrist stopped at the slick junction of his lips, where he had swiped his tongue over out of nervous habit.
Oddly, he tapped your hand a few times to his cheek.
It made you curious. You copied him, bringing his hand to your face. Hooked your thumb under his sleeve to expose his wrist, and tapped it to your cheek. Ah, you understood.
Such delicate, unscarred skin brushed against the ridges of your lips, each tap like a kiss along the edge of your lovesick simper. Closer to a kiss than anything you’d experienced with him before. Still so tender, and so pure.
“Yeah?” A raw tremble was present in your question; gone shy from the profoundness of the single word, and fearing you were attributing the wrong meaning behind something so little, yet so large in your relationship.
But he saw the doubt, and he reassured you, “Yeah.” By the wetness glossing over his eyes, he reassured you your assumptions weren’t wrong. He whispered it again, softer, to where the one syllable croaked out, “Yeah.”
This was special.
The alcohol sat like candor on your tongue. “Wanna know a secret?” you teased as you let go of his wrist, and guided your hands up to his nape, linking your fingers over the bulky hood prohibiting you from playing with the sensitive hairs on the back of his neck. He slung his arm around your waist, over top of the other, encompassing you in a true hug.
He squinted at you. “How drunk are you? Don’t go tellin’ me somethin’ you’ll regret in the morning.”
“It’s nothing like that, I swear.” There was a flirty whine to your pitch, and even flirtier breathiness to your voice. Encouraging him to maintain the sway, leading him side to side, foot to foot, taking advantage of flow to put an arch in your back, and rise onto the balls of your feet, undetected. Your heart skipped at the proximity. “You know how I said my top three favorite people were Robin, Adrie, and then you?” you reminded him. “That’s actually backwards.. I said it backwards. It’s actually you, Adrie, and then Robin. But don’t tell her that.”
His mouth hung open to respond, but his gaze was off, discerning something behind you in the distance. When he centered on you again, there was a new kindness to the wrinkles framing his handsome face. “Are you okay with sharing my number one spot?”
“I would be honored.”
“Good,” he emphasized, “I’d be heartbroken if you didn’t want to be my favorite.”
“I always want to be your favorite,” you preened.
The innocence slipped from his expression. He’d never heard you sound quite so needy, or eager to be something of his, and the effects were sudden and poorly timed.
Outside, rocks skidded on the cracked pavement. A car turning in from the main road sunk into a pothole, and bounced out. The music spinning on the record player crescendoed. The fluorescent bulbs in the lamps hummed with electricity. Scents of acidic tomato sauce and oregano were inescapable. Tiny pellets of hail pinged on the tin roof. You both looked up, listening to it pass after a drifty-cloud moment.
Eddie concentrated on keeping your chests together. His forearms dug into your waist as he found the best way to lock his grip. He dipped his head lower when you had no choice but to lean up, and into him. “If I give you my number, will you call me when you get home, so I know you made it safe?”
Every consonant and vowel vibrated in your skull, thrumming velvety richness through the daze.
“I already have your number,” you said amongst the warmth building, and building behind your rib cage.
He faltered, confused. “You have my number?”
“Mhm, an even bigger birdie told me.”
Both bewildered by the callback, and having a tendency to fall head over heels for anything and everything you did, regardless if it was an unsatisfying answer or not, Eddie snorted, and scrunched his face, observing you with all the judgment you earned. “That’s either really creepy, or really endearing.”
You dropped your gaze to his crooked smile, and the car approaching the blue and white trailer faded away.
His lips were gorgeous. Overly full, and a wonderful shade of fleshy red with a tint of pink. They were bitten. Chewed on when his nerves got the best of him. Behind them, the edges of his teeth showed. Above them, you put your energy into obsessing over his overly large nose, as you had in many instances, but never at this distance, able to see every pore, every freckle, every splotch, and realizing this could become a normal occurrence, being this close.
His eyes were overly large as well, and they followed each micro-tic of yours.
“Good thing you find me endearing, then,” you provoked.
He loved that response.
“I do,” he chased. “I do,” he gave in. The willpower to resist his urges crumbled at the admission. He pressed his forehead to yours, and conceded until his mouth ached with happiness, “I find you so endearing.”
The alcohol dulled the intimate gesture. The top layers of your skin were numb. You had to work harder to feed the starvation; grinding your forehead against his, digging deeper to feel the itch of his bangs stuck to the glisten of boozy sweat. Sliding your nose alongside his, smashing the tips to each other’s cheeks. Sharing the same breaths, panting feathery sighs into each other’s mouths. Then, another carnal bump of noses, clumsy and misaligned, and a hard rut bone on bone until your bodies tingled with satisfaction. Satiated. Full.
Eddie turned his groan into a ragged, “I fucking adore you.”
“I adore you, too,” you promised, on the verge of crying and not knowing why.
He pulled away, dragging the tip of his nose up the side of yours, and tracing it down, allowing them to stay connected for a moment longer. A cooldown while your stomach flipped, and your pulse raced. I adore you.
The whole thing was strange to do with your coworker, especially with your hands remaining latched where they were, and there was no grinding elsewhere; it was just sheer lust for touch. Mutual, too.
His overly large pupils bored into yours. Neither of you had appropriate commentary on what transpired, probably for the better.
A car engine rumbled outside.
“Yeah, I’m pretty toasted, I think,” you said.
He pinched his eyebrows in, and pursed his lips. “Think I am, too.”
Either way, it was a good excuse for you almost moaning his name, and him choosing to hinge his phrase on adore, as if the endearment couldn’t be swapped out, and suddenly, the entire sentiment would have changed. It would be a confession.
There was a knock on the door, and Robin’s voice came muffled, but the urgency of being stuck out in the cold was conveyed.
Both of you hastened separating yourselves, and fumbled around each other.
Always, Eddie was a gentleman and helped you put on your jacket after you argued he was way more plastered than you were, despite you being the one doubled over with your hands on your knees, wobbling, disoriented after reaching down for it. He made sure you were dressed before going outside. Zipped you all the way to your chin, even when you complained it looked dorky. He lined your shoes up for you, and waited for you with his eyes closed, drifting off to a dream while standing up.
He handed you off to Robin, and loaded her trunk with your bike. For whatever reason, you didn’t climb inside the car yet. You waited in the snow for him. Collecting glittery flakes on your eyelashes, inhaling the fresh, crisp air. Probably quelling the nausea, same as he was, taking gulps of oxygen while he blinked, and blinked, searching the swirling images for something his brain could comprehend to get it to stop.
You waited for him, never saying anything. In heavy steps, he came to you, and wedged his fingers under the door handle, popping open the latch with an expression of wryness, as if you expected him to open every door for you.
Which, he would, for the record.
Stopping you before you sat, he grabbed at your jacket and bent himself to you, no longer afraid to press the cold tip of his nose to the shell of your ear, and drag his lips over the peach fuzz as he spoke directly to you. “Call me,” he stressed against your shiver.
“I will.”
At that, he shut your door and Robin began backing out of his driveway, stunting his wave goodbye from the headlights blinding him. He moved to the stairs, then to the top of the landing to watch the car drive around the soft bend around the trailers, and out onto the highway, leaving him behind.
He entered the trailer, and it was full.
It felt full, anyway. In his stomach, his chest, behind his eyelids, in the dusty corners, in the mortal hollows, manifesting a tightness in his throat, and a contradictory heaviness to his weightlessness, floating on clouds after spending an entire day with his crush and ending it with I adore you.
Eddie brushed his hair back, neatening the tangles wetted by ice. He combed his bangs off his forehead, and drove his fingers against his scalp, leaving his hands on top of his head, stripping himself of the extra stimulation to hone in on the persistent throb between his brows where you staked your claim.
You had made your home there, and he couldn’t wait for your return.
“Jesus Christ.”
With his woolgathering out of the way, he went to where Adrie was half-asleep in the doorway to her bedroom, and he crouched onto his knees. “Were you watching us dance?”
Wrapped in a blanket and sitting slumped over, she nodded against the wood frame, and sucked in the drool threatening to spill over her bottom lip. Only having the energy to open her eyes a smidge, she still found it within herself to have gripes with him. “You didn’t let me say bye.”
“I’m sorry,” he pouted in a silly deep voice.
Stooping further, he worked his arm under her legs, and collected the sleepy bundle that was his daughter to his chest. He shuffled along on his knees over to the fort, and man, did he understand why you fell asleep so easily in the blanket nest. Just the accidental touches when he set Adrie down called to him, as did the bleating sheep hopping over fences in his head. It was enticing.. but the phone was ringing, and the first check in of the night as calling.
He knew it wasn’t you, but his heart leapt all the same.
“Sorry the phone might ring a lot,” he said. “Do you want another movie on? I’ll put another move on so it doesn’t wake you, okay?”
She scrunched her nose in a bad way, not like he did when he was laughing. Probably from the alcohol on his breath, and his waning coherency.
He stowed away his kisses for now. “Sorry you didn’t get to say goodbye, but I promise you, I promise you, okay? Miss Mouse will be back soon.” That was the heaviness in his chest. The decision. “I’ll invite her over, and we can all play together, okay?”
“Okay, Daddy,” she mumbled, loosening her grasp on his hair.
She was out, and he paced the kitchen while he chatted to stay awake.
————
Eddie sat at the small green table with his head resting back against the peeling wallpaper. A single light above the wrap-around counter skimmed the belly of the trailer. It traced the bubbles slipping down the bottle in front of him, and glanced the top of his pillow on the couch, submitting to the darkness past his plaid blanket waiting for him. The phone cord draped over his shoulder, down to his chest. The last call was half an hour ago. Maybe? He knew his last swig of whiskey was seconds ago. Everyone had checked in, and his ability to show an ounce of self-control was forfeited to the sheep. In his final blink, his body went lax, and he passed out.
Though, he could always count on the clangy ring to cut through their bleats.
Jolting awake, he searched above him for the phone, knocking it off the hook before it disturbed Adrie.
He was disoriented.
“Hello?”
Quiet as a mouse, a voice came, “Hey.”
He sat up. Alertness spread through him in waves, rippling from the decision sitting hot on his tongue, and stirring deeper, lower. Your greeting was filtered by the tiny microphone caged in yellowed plastic, but the dozy, sweltering rasp was there. “Hey, sweetheart,” he answered in kind, and inhaled deeply before the blood loss in his brain rendered him lightheaded.
One word in and he was wiping his palm on his jeans, and keeping it there, on his thigh.
“Sorry it took me so long,” you apologized in a whisper. “I wanted to wait until everyone went to sleep. I’m in the living room. In the dark.” You giggled as if it were a joke he should be in on.
He peeked behind him to make sure the bedroom door was shut, and wrenched the phone against his lips to stifle his own laughter. “Yeah? I’m sitting in the dark, too.”
You hummed.
He didn’t know if you were making a pass at him by mentioning you were alone as he was, so he chose something innocuous to comment on, bouncing the ball in your court. “You sound tired, baby. You should go to bed.”
“But my bed’s cold,” you whined.
Bingo.
Risks were worth taking as long as you participated.
In a matter of quick exchanges, he had his palm between his thighs, running his fingernails down the coarse fabric of his jeans and cupping the heft. “My bed’s cold too,” he matched your pitch, exploring his thumb upwards.
“If you were here, mine wouldn’t have to be..”
“But you live in someone else’s parent’s attic,” he teased.
“And your bed’s a couch,” you shot back.
He checked the closed door behind him one more time, and yielded, “You’re right.” You liked being right. He liked it when you were right. Your grin tinted all your pretty words when you were right. Well, they would, if you were speaking. “Babe?”
“Sorry, that was quick,” you said, struggling through a yawn after nodding off. “I’m laying on the recliner, and it’s really comfy.”
“Then go to sleep,” he implored in a chastising snicker.
You grunted.
Except, it didn’t sound like the other grunts and groans he’d heard you make over the months. This one was sweeter, higher, similar to the airy catch in your throat when your bottom lip dragged on his stubble. A moan of his name, he hoped. He twitched against the warmth of his palm. Growing rapidly under the first strokes of his thumb encouraging his descent, half-hard just at the thought.
How much whiskey he had was of no concern when it came to you. Clearly.
He couldn’t stop his appetite from lowering his voice, “Whatcha doin’, sweet girl?”
You turned it back on him, “What are you doing?” And when he was busy rearranging how he sat to give his jeans some slack to wrap his thick fingers around himself, you mused with an evident smirk, “Touching your orc dagger?”
Goddamnit. “If you ever bring that up again, I swear..”
“You must be, with how you’re avoiding the question.” You muffled your giggle–probably with your shirt collar, if he had to guess. Teasing him more, you slurred, “S’okay. I saw how hard you were staring at my shirt earlier. Just thought you’d like to know I’m not wearing it anymore. Not wearing a bra either.”
You’re right. He did like knowing that. So much, in fact, he smoothed his fingers in a long tug along his length, stroking twice over the sensitive head, and repeating.
“Not wearing anything?” he asked, sounding a bit more husky than he intended.
“Just the flannel. Gotta be a little dressed.. in case someone comes in.” You shifted in the middle of your sentence, and at first Eddie pictured you turning onto your back. Imagining your tits shifting against the flannel, and their subtle bounce as you got comfortable. How hard your nipples pressed to the fabric, and what they must feel like being licked and sucked into his mouth, and all the beautiful noises you’d make for him. Unfortunately..
“Touchin’ yourself for me, sweetheart?” Nothing.. “Sweetheart?” Oh.. “You fall asleep again?”
An actual grunt, maybe a hiccup, or a snore created static on the other end of the line. “I’m sorry,” you sincerely apologized.
Poor sweet thing. “Tell you what,” he reasoned. “Why don’t you go to bed, and think about how nice it’d be for me to be there with you; how warm I am. And I’ll take a shower, and do the same.”
You asked, “You mean you’re gonna think about me while in the shower?”
He squeezed himself. “Yes,” he answered truthfully. There was no fucking way either of you’d remember this by Monday morning. It was kinda thrilling; obeying the allure, and teasing each other without consequence.
“Nice.”
“Mhmm.”
Eddie closed his eyes in the following silence. The fantasy drifted to something tender. Sharing a bed. Waking up next to you. The alcohol made it difficult to remember why you called, and fathom why he was holding a conversation. His own hand went slack around the part his heart pumped blood to. The urge passed. The desire to brush his teeth replaced the lust. He was drunk, and he was losing the battle to remain conscious.
His body slouched ever forward.
“Eddie?”
“Hmm?”
“I can’t stay awake.”
“Neither can I..” Not that it mattered, but before the conversation ended and he summoned the strength to collapse on the couch instead of the green table for the sole reason of never wanting his daughter to discover him passed out in the kitchen from drinking too much, he heeded the heaviness in his chest. The decision. And he told you, “By the way, I thought of what to do for that ‘thank you’ I owe you. It’s time I pay you back for everything you’ve done for me.”
Processing his words at a slower rate, a few moments ticked by before the intrigue ate at you. “And what’s that, handsome?”
He smiled. “It’s a surprise.”
You snorted. “It’ll be a surprise if either of us remember anything after I failed nine rolls in a row, and you chugged.. Fuck, however much whiskey you’ve had. I don’t even wanna know.”
In a night of stupid decisions, he committed to one more; the joke was too good to not tumble past his loose lips, “Not enough to stop my orc dagger from growing seven inches.”
“Jesus fucking Christ, that was awful. I’m never calling you again. Goodbye.”
The speed at which you hung up sent him doubled over, clutching his aching stomach. He tried to keep quiet, really. He held onto his dignity just long enough to take three attempts to hang up the phone, and then it hit him with reckless abandon. He slapped his hand over his gaping mouth, and shook until the breathless gasps came out in squeaks, ugly laughing at his own stupid joke. He rocked back and forth, almost hitting his forehead on the table, and only caught his breath when tears brimmed his lashes, and he remembered his forehead was sacred, and he should stop. If he hit it, it’d be like an earthquake to your home. Except, that imagery also made him giggle, and he was at it again. Biting his tongue to subdue his outbursts while he stretched out on the couch cushions which rubbed his skin raw everytime he changed position. Finally, he was at peace. He tried to forget about the impending hangover he was going to have to explain to Wayne, and instead, he thought about you, and let his daydream take him to a fantasy where he could wake up next to you. And if he went through with his decision, maybe it could become a reality.
No. Not if. He would. He would go through with it. Probably. If you asked about it, he would, definitely. If you didn’t, he’d.. he’d still do it. He couldn’t keep living like this.
However, for both your sakes, he hoped neither of you remembered this night come Monday morning.
#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson#stranger things#eddie x reader#eddie munson smut#mechanic!eddie#eddie munson fanfic#stranger things fanfic#the yes policy
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“Don’t tell me no.”
Eddie Munson x fem!reader
summary: you and eddie fuck in an abandoned church.
warnings: prob the dirtiest smut i’ve written in awhile, imo, so enjoy!! warnings include, smut, sex in a church, dom/sub dynamics, sub space, pre-consented to as always, decrophylia, light slapping, dirty talk, it’s very hot in this church lmao, language.
You’re both giggling as you burst into the old church, the sounds of the doors hitting the wall amplifying with an echo. You squeal as you run down the isles, looking back as he chases you. His face squints, his legs beginning to cramp as he puts his hands on his knees.
“Ah, no more.” He waves his hand breathless. “I’m getting too old to be chasing you around, darlin’.”
You laugh breathlessly, sweat rolling down your neck from the summer sun. You look around the room, the church many years abandoned since it’s last service. There’s beautiful stained glass windows, empty pews and discarded Bibles on the floor. A large cross hung on the wall, catching your eye as you looked up.
“This place gives me the creeps.” You shiver, nearly tripling on a bible. “Why’d you wanna bring me here, anyways?”
He shrugged his shoulders, finally able to breath again. “I dunno. Thought it was cool. Wayne always said the place was haunted.”
You looked around and cringed. “Great.”
The room echoed with your voices, the walls chipped with old paint and rust, weeds that were starting to grow through the cracks in the walls. There were leaves on the floor, covering the old carpet that was in desperate need of a good washing.
You felt Eddie’s hand on your waist, his hand sweeping your hair to expose your neck. You smirked when his lips found your skin. “Oh, I get it now. You brought me here to fulfill some fantasy, huh?”
You felt him smile against your skin. “What makes you say that?” He muttered innocently.
“I should have known.” You relaxed back into him, the excitement of the situation making your belly heat up.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about, angel.” He moves up to your ear. “I’m just givin’ my sweet girl a kiss, is all.”
You turn to look at him, noses barely brushing over each other’s as you lock eyes. You blink and so does he, eyes asking each other for permission to continue. His lips capture yours in a hot, desperate kiss that says I need you.
Your arms tangle around his neck, his wrapping around your waist. Your lips attack his, kissing him desperately, wanting more. His tongue isn’t enough, swiping over your teeth and licking up your saliva. It’s not enough. You let him back you up against the wall, the bounce of your bodies making dirt fall from the ceiling.
His leg parts your thighs, his own resting against your mound as he makes love to your mouth. “I can feel you.” He husks, hotly. The room, your bodies, it’s all so hot you can barely stand it. “You’re so warm.”
Your pussy flutters for him, the deep throbbing of your clit becoming an uncomfortable ache that needed to be fixed. You grab his face and break apart the kiss. “Touch me.” You beg, hiding your face in his chest.
He’s panting, laying his forehead against your shoulder. His cock is straining his boxers painfully hard, you can feel it against your clothed cunt. “Touch you?” He repeats, turning his nose to your neck. His tongue licks your sweaty, sun burned skin, before he’s pushing you back against the wall. “What do you say?” He’s gripping your chin, softly, yet enough to hold your attention, as if he didn’t already have it.
He looks at you sternly, seductively. Dominantly. Slipping into a role that you knew all too well. It made you feel small, but it made you throb every time it did. You instinctively rub yourself against his jeans. He doesn’t miss the action.
“Please?” You mutter, face flushing in embarrassment, or maybe it’s just the damn heat. “Touch me, please, Ed?” You push your weight down on his thigh, your mound resting perfectly against it like a puzzle piece.
He smirks, grabbing each one of your hands and pining them at the sides of your head. “Doesn’t seem like you need me for that, sweetheart.” His lips go back to yours, plump and pink that fight yours for dominance. He bites your lip, making you whimper into the kiss. “Fuck yourself against me.”
You open your eyes in surprise. “What?” Your voice is shaking for lust. “No, I-”
“Don’t tell me no.” He grips your face so hard your cheeks press together, giving your face a little shake. “Do as I say, or we’ll leave and you’ll get nothing at all.”
You’re whimpering at the harshness, the lust making you light headed and dizzy. You choke out a dry sob, embarrassed, as you rub yourself against his thigh. You look away, but he lightly taps your face.
“Uh-uh.” He disciplines you, giving you another light tap. “Eyes on me. Watch me as you fuck yourself like the desperate whore you are.”
It’s so hot, he panted out the words. It had to at least be 100 degrees in there. Your fingers squeeze at the hands that hold your wrists as you fuck your cunt against his leg. Your clit throbbing at the feeling of denim against the swollen bead. You moan, you can’t help it. You’re so hot and you feel so good, so fucking needy for him. You rock yourself faster, you’ve barely started and you’re already so close to finishing right on his thigh.
You keep eye contact with him, and he slowly inches closer to you to rest his forehead against yours. He helps you out, rubbing his own thigh against your pussy. You cry out, getting messy with your desperate rubs that attempt to get you undone.
“Good girl.” He praises you. “You’re a good girl, aren’t you, baby?”
You nod ferociously. “Yes, sir!” You slip into your submissive roll, sinking back further and further into your brain that makes you go foggy.
He stops you, pushing on your leg before you can cum, separating your cunt from his thigh. “Not yet, honey.” He let’s go of your wrists, hurriedly working to undo his belt buckle. “I wanna fuck that sweet pussy of yours.”
Your face burns bright in excitement, you’re nearly falling to the floor. He grabs your hand and urges you to follow him, bringing you to the closest pew and bends you over it, your hands resting on the old wooden railing of the seat.
“Hold on, baby.” He flips up your dress, pulls down your panties and slowly pushes into you so you can adjust to his size. A desperate moan ripples through you, your fingers gripping at the seat you’re bent over. You’re jaw falls slack as he thrusts all the way into you, that familiar, welcoming burn stretching you open.
“Oh, fuck.” Eddie praises after the first thrust, looking up to the ceiling with his eyes closed.
He pulls out and quickly switches the pace, now that you’ve adjusted to him. He fucks you fast and hard, messy and desperate, aching to please you and himself. Your legs shake so badly you fear they might fall off, you’re sobbing, hot, boiling tears falling down your face and onto the floor.
Your clit is throbbing, so you reach between your legs and messily swipe at it to dull the ache. His hands bruise your hips in a menacing grip, his hips snapping against your ass that had the room echoing with sensual, pornographic noises.
“Oh, god, baby.” His hair is damp at the tips from sweating, it’s dripping onto your back. He feels so good, his dick is throbbing and his belly is as tight as a drum. He’s so close to snapping that bubble, but he wants to give you more.
“Do you like it- when daddy, ah shit, fucks you, baby?” He’s getting messier, his voice is shaking.
You’re barely able to speak. “Yes!” You blubber, drool spilling out of your mouth that matches the tears in your eyes, the sweat above your lip that leaves a salty taste on your tongue. Each thrust leaves you hiccuping, sobbing. Your breath hitches when you body twitches. Eddie feels you, giving one last, hard thrust that his him busting inside of you.
You’re both releasing together, your pussy clamping down on his cock that his him spewing out curse words in the abandoned house of god. Your body is shaking so bad you can barely move, the tears haven’t stopped and it’s so damn hot.
He collapses atop of you, his body on yours as he fights for air. You’re slipping from your spot, making his eyes widen briefly before he stands up and catches you. “Woah, baby.” He says in exhaustion, heat exhaustion.
You fall into his chest and allow him to pick you up, your head lulling to the side. “You alright, honey?”
You smile, somehow manage to, your body rippling with the pleasure of his cock, his arousal creating a sticky substance down your leg. You’re not able to say anything, but you give him the goofiest grin you can muster, sticking up your thumb in a thumbs up motion.
He snickers and kisses your head, looking down to realize he’s still naked. “Fuck, babe, I gotta put my clothes back on.”
#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x female reader smut#stranger things#stranger things season four#joseph quinn#eddie munson imagines#eddie smut#eddie the brave#eddie x y/n
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"Hey," Steve says, voice both firm and gentle as he holds both of Eddie's hands in his own. "Why are you panicking about this?"
"I'm not panicking, I'm just being realistic." Eddie shakes his head and avoids making eye contact, looking at the ground as though a complicated puzzle that requires solving has sprung up on in the patterned tiles of the record shop's floor.
Steve knows what this is about, but he also knows that calling Eddie out when he's dealing with Tornado Brain gets him nothing but more Tornado Brain and a brick wall. So instead, he just keeps Eddie's hands warm and still and waits. His boyfriend isn't one for silence, so it shouldn't take too long--
"How are you not freaking out right now? Our profits were like, half what we've been pulling since we opened."
There it is.
"Because it's Thanksgiving and the holiday rush is coming. Because I actually did pretty well in those stupid accounting classes at the community college and know that we have plenty banked up to balance out the slower months now and then. Ed," he squeezes Eddie's hands until Eddie finally meets his eyes, wide with eyebrows knitted between them. "It's gonna be okay, I promise."
"Guess I can't do anything but trust you, huh?" Eddie shrugs and the hint of a smirk ghosts his lips. "It's growing up poor, man. Makes you a little... obsessive? About money? Or, about not having enough? This shop was my idea and God, if it fails, you're in it with me now. I can't drag you down with a sinking ship--"
Steve pulls one of Eddie's hands up to his lips and kisses the back of it. Eddie quiets.
"I'd rather be on a sinking ship with you than land with anyone else, okay? And it's not gonna fail. No matter what, we're gonna be alright."
"Okay, fine. I'll believe you." Eddie's shoulders fall away from ears and an actual grin blossoms across his face. One of Steve's many favorite sights. "Fancy numbers guy."
Steve rolls his eyes and smiles, releasing Eddie's hands and leaning against the back of the counter. "And you love it."
"Mhm," Eddie hums, leaning forward to kiss him, soft and chaste. "Sure do. I'm gonna flip the sign to open but when we flip it closed tonight, I'll show you how much."
sometimes, you've gotta take your own freak outs and complexes and project them onto your favorite blorbos, right?
#steddie#steddie fic#steddie fanfic#steddie fanfiction#steve harrington x eddie munson#eddie munson x steve harrington#steve harrington#eddie munson#stranger things#stranger things fic#stranger things fanfic#stranger things fanfiction#st fic#myblurbs
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*found this in my drafts and i was prob heartbroken when I read this lmaooo*
Eddie Munson didn’t do girlfriends, he didn’t do love outside of the platonic kind for that matter. Eddie loved girls, he loved sex, but the romantic bullshit just wasn’t for him. He didn’t have the money to pay for expensive dates, he didn’t have the maturity for a real relationship, and he didn’t even have anyone to bring a significant other home to. He had no family, I mean sure he had Uncle Wayne and Wayne was a great guy. But Wayne worked a lot and he was often grumpy when he came back from work, not the friendliest guy to meet. As a matter of fact, the only person in Eddie’s life who met Wayne was Y/n.
Y/n was someone very dear to Eddie. Y/n was Eddie’s fuck buddy, the girl that maybe he loved a little more than platonically, but most of all, Y/n was Eddie’s best friend.
The whole fuck buddy thing started after a horrible hookup on her end, and Eddie was certain that he could be better than whatever scumbag she went out with that night, and he was. He would never admit how proud he was of that, though.
Eddie is slightly aware of his feelings for his best friend, he’d never tell her, but he would be lying if he said her presence doesn’t make him feel better. That the sight of her doesn’t just have him turned on, but brings him a sense of inner peace. He knows what these feelings are, but he also knows that they’re wrong. People like Eddie don’t deserve to feel those feelings, especially towards someone as great as Y/n. So he’s just letting them be for now, because he knows that she’ll find better eventually and he’s going to be okay with that, because having her as his best friend is good enough.
“Oh fuck Eddie.” Y/n moans from underneath him, her eyes rolling to the back of her head.
Eddie rocks above her, panting and moaning the entire time. “Fuck babe I’m close, so fucking close. Oh shit, here I come babe.” He says as his eyes squeeze shut and he fucks his orgasm into her, her climax quickly approaching.
He pulls out and rolls next to her, both of them panting. They make eye contact and smile, both of their stomachs doing flips, neither one knowing about the other.
“We did good, huh?” Eddie says jokingly and pulls a cigarette out, offering her one, which she happily takes.
Y/n laughs out loud and lightly hits his chest, “Shut up.”
“No I’m serious, that was one of our best rounds yet.”
She laughs again, but slowly goes into a trance.
Eddie lightly shakes her shoulder, “What’s wrong y/n/n?”
You look him in the eyes and Eddie gulps, “Eds, I think I’m in love with you.”
Eddie freezes, even though he’s in love with you, he also knows that your feelings aren’t real. Maybe you guys have slept with each other too many times that you’re just getting confused. But you can’t love him and you can’t be in love with him. You’re far too good for him.
“Eddie please say something. Please tell me you feel the same way.”She now has tears in her eyes knowing that she’s going to lose him.
“Y/n, baby, you know I can’t. I’m sorry, but you’ve known me for how long, I’m not a relationship guy.” He says and he shrugs you off.
You look at him incredulously. To not reciprocate feelings is one thing, but to completely blow you off by saying ‘i’m not a relationship” guy after all of your history together, is what makes you mad. And the tone he said it in, too, like an arrogant prick.
“So that’s that? You can’t say anything else.” She says with tears now streaming down her face.
Eddie is feeling a lot of things right now and that’s never good. When he feels too much he gets overwhelmed and deals with it by being angry. He’s never been angry at her before, though, but seeing her cry, mixed with her “confession” and he’s still dealing with his feelings for her, Eddie is feeling more than overwhelmed.
“What else do you want me to fucking say? You’ve known me for how many fucking years? Never once have I done relationships, and you’re no fucking different. What did you think just because we have a bit of history it would make any difference.” He yells at her, taking another puff of his cigarette trying to calm his nerves.
“‘A bit of history’ is that what your chalking up our years of friendship to now? You never act like this with me, and I try to be honest with you and you just lash out on me? I’m your best friend, not some asshole at school, try treating me with a little respect.” She says, finally putting her clothes back on while he stay naked under the covers. Even with the clothes covering her, she’s never felt more exposed in her life.
“Respect?!” Eddie laughs out loud. “I just had you a moaning mess underneath me and you’re demanding respect?” He instantly regrets saying this at the pain on her face, but again, he won’t let her see that.
“You are such a selfish dick, I’m leaving.” She says and starts walking out with tears and mascara streaking her face.
“I may be selfish, but at least I didn’t sleep with my best friend and catch feelings, ruining years of friendship!” He yelled back even though she’s already almost out the front door. Now he’s not only selfish, but a selfish liar.
#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson imagine#eddie x reader#eddie munson angst#stranger things#stranger things fanfiction#eddie munson x you#best friend! eddie munson#eddie munson#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson smut
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It's Fantasy, babe
Pairing: Eddie Muson x fem!reader
Summary: You decide to indulge in a fun fantasy with your boyfriend: Eddie, sneaking into your room and cumming inside you.
Warnings: This fic contains graphic 18+ content. Please do not engage with you are underage! Unprotected sex, penetrative sex, rough but with lots of love, established relationship, fingering, fluffy smut, Eddie cannot shut up ever, enthusiastic consent, Eddie just trying rock your world as best he can
A/N: This is the first smut I've ever written and I promise I tried my best. The idea had been rolling around in my head for a while so I bit the bullet and just tried it. DO NOT REPOST OR EDIT MY WORK
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The discussion between you and Eddie had been a long time coming. You’d found a particularly filthy romance novel about a princess and her noble knight. They’d shared a night together rolling around in her royal quarters, and he came in her until she was dripping, full and shaking. He had snuck into her rooms after the castle fell asleep, embraced her in her soft, flowing nightgown and showed her heaven and hell simultaneously.
You wanted that too. You wanted to be the princess. You wanted Eddie to push your legs back, knees to your ears and fuck his cum into your cunt as many times as he wanted to - possibly even making love to you at the same time. You weren’t going to be too picky. You wanted your soft pastel blue bedsheets to be stained and sticky under your ass as he. Just. Kept. Going.
Eddie had jumped at your request for him to sneak in on Friday night after your parents fell asleep. They’d had busy weeks at work. They wouldn’t be stirring until at least 10 am the next morning.
And that was how you found yourself under the gorgeous weight of Eddie’s naked form. He was smiling down with immeasurable happiness. He was so warm and solid and beautiful. Dreamy was the word that came to your mind. So dreamy, so pretty, and all yours.
His thick, calloused fingers were deep in your soaked cunt, massaging and stretching your puffy walls. Eddie always did this thing with his middle and ring finger, crooking them up to push you to the edge of orgasm and keep you there for a while. You said he only did it to show off his guitarist fingering skills; he said he did it because he just loved you that much.
“Gotta get you ready for me, princess. You wanted a long night, and you’re gonna get it.” He teased before licking a long, fat stripe up the column of your neck. “God, babe, I’m gonna slip right in. She missed meeee.” Eddie chuckled as you gripped his fingers and wiggled your hips. He had to appreciate that his being a little goofy during sex still got you squirming.
“Eddie,” you whined, groping your tits and gazing up at him through half-lidded eyes, “Hurry. Up.” You moved to knot your fingers in his shaggy hair, now grinding desperately on his fingers - one of his rings bumping against your clit and fuck. You came with a muffled moan, Eddie having quickly silenced you in a deep kiss. He made sure that his tongue tasted every pretty noise you were making for him.
Eddie’s chest heaved as he pulled away. Like it was agony.
He ran the head of his swollen cock up and down your hole, pressing the tip in ever so slightly to have you claw at his forearms. You were going to draw blood from the bats, but, shit, it felt phenomenal. Nothing got his blood running hotter than seeing his lady all desperate. Craving, yearning, maybe even a little feral, much like himself.
“My girl wants it so bad, huh? My dick, my cum, me. Fuuuck, I love you.” He groaned, continuing to push his angry tip in and out of your cunt. He liked the tease of sex with you. The raw feeling of pushing both of you to the point of nearly mauling each other.
“Ed - Eddie, come on, please. I need you. I’ll ask so nicely if you want. Just-“ your pleas and begging were cut short by the glorious stretch of Eddie’s cock as he seated himself fully inside. It usually took some time for him to get in fully, but he was right; he slid right into the hot, sticky bliss. Your head slammed back into your fluffy pillows, and you had to bite your hand to contain the urge to scream. After two years of being together, he was still just so big. Fucking perfect, but still big. It would be best if you guys had done this at his place. Sure, the entire trailer park would find out that the Munson boy was getting his dick wet, but you would be able to be loud. However, the fantasy required your soft double bed and floral bedspread - your “chambers” that he would sneak into.
The pace that was set immediately was brutal, like animals, like in the book. Yes, God, yes. It was all skin slapping skin and the obscene squelch of fucking without any barriers. Eddie leant down to press his forehead to yours so he could pant, whine and grunt into your mouth. He was so considerate when he was at your place and knew you guys had be quiet - well, quieter.
“You’re so so tight, baby. Is this what you wanted?” he whispered, hot breath fanning across your burning cheeks, “raw and fucking filthy in your nice, cosy bedroom, yeah?” He laughed breathily and moulded his full lips to yours. The slam of his hips never faltered as he grabbed and rubbed your waist - still maintaining a level of tenderness while splitting you open on his cock. He was chasing his orgasm with more desperation than usual. You made it clear that you would need to be leaking and creamy to fulfil this fun little fantasy, and who was he to deny the princess her requests? You’d been so damn polite when asking him for this too.
“You said you wouldn’t laugh, Eds,” you murmured, pulling away from the searing kiss by literal millimetres. Legs wrapping around him and feet digging into his ass, he wasn’t going as deep as he could, and that needed to be changed. You could feel yourself gushing with every hard thrust, dangling on the precipice of cumming.
“Would never laugh at you. I’m having the time of my goddamn life here.” He sighed, a wide beaming smile spreading across his sweat-covered face. He was glowing under the light of your bedside lamp. Wow. Eddie’s big hands moved from your waist to the backs of your thighs. Yes, yes, yes, he hiked your legs up and back until you were folded in half. If you wanted deeper, then he was going to go as deep as physically possible. Eddie needed you to feel him in your fucking stomach.
Never in your life had you been so thankful for getting rid of your old spring mattress. Because the force behind Eddie’s thrusting was insane. He prided himself on having impressive stamina that only seemed to come out when he was inside you - quite frankly, Eddie never wanted to leave your cunt. That was especially the case now, with your toes accidentally tangling in his hair. “Oops, sorry,” you muttered, breaking away from your sex-induced haze to angle your feet differently. It would have been awkward, but this was with Eddie. Awkward was never even part of the conversation.
“You could kick me in the head right now, and I’d say thanks, don’t worry.” Eddie giggled, running a thumb over your sweaty cheek. He shifted slightly to get more comfortable for what he had planned - it might be a little risky, but it would be worth it. You reached up to fix the hair you’d messed up with your feet and giggled, but Eddie’s face showed that he was deep in thought about something. Before you could ask if anything was wrong, he spoke, “What’s on the other side of that wall?” He nodded his head towards the wall behind your metal-barred headboard.
“Linen closet, why?” you asked, the gears in your head turning quickly and figuring out his plan. He was calculating risk; you were so proud of him.
“And how far away is your parents' room?”
“Other end of the hall.” Your breathing had moved onto panting now. The headboard had already started to knock against the wall a little, but Eddie was about to make it a whole lot worse.
“Perfect. Hold these pretty legs back for me, please?” He was grinning like a horny maniac. You did as he asked almost a bit too quickly, holding your legs back and as wide as you could get them in your current position. “Atta girl. First load’s gotta be an extra special experience, right?” One of Eddie’s hands got a strong grip on your headboard while the other moved to flick and massage your clit in tight little circles. You whined at the contact, knowing that your fantasy was about to reach the first of several climaxes.
Eddie started up his almost punishing pace again. But this time, he had more leverage to force his cock into you and mould your walls to the shape of him. The squelch of fucking was somehow even louder than before. Now mixed with the sloppy sound of Eddie playing with your clit and grunting like an animal in heat. You weren’t much better with your whining and mewling. Reaching up to hold his ecstasy-coloured face as best you could.
“Aw, she’s all sensitive and weepy for me, isn’t she, babe?” Eddie groaned straight into your ear. Your legs had started to shake from just how deep you could feel his cock as it pounded into your g-spot. The reply he got from you was a sniffled nod and your big wet eyes staring up into his. “You wanna beg for it? I think you wanna beg for me to fill you up.” Fuck, he was so right. You hated when he was right.
“I-I need you to cum, Eds. I wanna feel it so fucking bad,” you hiccuped; it felt like you were on the verge of crying from how deliciously overwhelmed you were. “I’ve been good.” Eddie’s gaze snapped down to meet yours, and the look on his face was beautiful. His big eyes widened, and his jaw was slack as he whined at your comment. You had been such a good girl for him. You always were.
That did it. Eddie slammed into you with a few more, and his rhythm was pretty much gone by that point. When he came, he silenced his guttural wail by biting down on your shoulder hard. Normally, you would have scolded him for leaving a mark, but right now? It made the whole experience so much better as you came with him.
The two of you stayed together, panting, for a while after that. Eddie didn’t want to pull out of you until he absolutely had to, and you relished in feeling his sweaty weight press you into the mattress. The intimacy for the moment was your favourite. For all that Eddie tried to make the world believe that he was mean and scary, he was far from it. He was practically purring as you ran your fingers through his hair and massaged his scalp - a big dorky smile on his face and everything.
Eddie untangled himself from your body and sat up, scraping his hair out of his hair and fanning himself. The demon head on his chest was staring at you like it was proud. Bastard. Before you could form words to ask if Eddie needed water or anything, he flipped you over onto your stomach and pulled your ass up, back arching all pretty how he liked it. He stared at his cum oozing from your cunt in fascination. Yeah, you guys were going to be doing this again.
“Good for round two, sweetheart?” Eddie chirped, giving your ass a sharp smack. You whimpered and nodded - words wouldn’t be possible for the rest of the night; you could feel it in the throb of your clit.
#my writing#eddie munson smut#eddie munson x fem!reader smut#eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson fluff#stranger things#fic#fluff#smut#i hope this doesn't suck TOO much
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is it over now? (was it over then?)
part five
part six: with the wilt of the rose
With the success of Eddie's Steve single as his bandmates had started to call it, the label had basically told Corroded Coffin in no uncertain terms to channel that energy into the rest of their album. It wasn't that Eddie didn't like the attention his song was getting and Steve absolutely deserved it, the lying piece of shit, but it was like getting permission to write angsty music about Steve took all the fun out of it. He was fully out of inspiration of the angst variety and had taken a hard left turn into moping, feeling sorry for himself, and being one thousand percent convinced that he was going to be single for the rest of his life and die alone.
Eddie was reclining in his giant beanbag chair (his nest as Steve used to joke with him), occasionally humming lines, strumming on his guitar, and writing more and more pathetically dramatic lyrics for most of the day until he reached his limit and pulled out his phone. It wasn't like Eddie was purposefully keeping track of people in Steve's life but over the time they were together his little gaggle of gremlins wormed his way into Eddie's life too. Unfortunately when he opened his phone it was to tweets of Dustin going low key feral over Steve's new role in some indie biopic but at the same time being crazy upset that Steve would be incommunicado as Dustin so helpfully added in his tweet. The kid was such a dweeb. Eddie flicked out of twitter and opened instagram hoping that his feed would be mostly possum memes. He scrolled idly for a while seeing new tattoo ideas and of course many cute furry animals doing many silly things until suddenly he was reminded of a particular face Steve made and Eddie (although he would never admit this) searched for Steve's public profile only a little disappointed that he hadn't posted anything more recent than when the two were together.
Because Eddie may or may not be a massive masochist and can't leave well enough alone, he decides to tab over to Steve's tagged pictures to see if there is anything recent. In between several tags of Steve being unfairly good looking in whatever movie he was currently filming, Eddie was taken aback by a post that was just of Robin and Nancy. They looked a little closer than just gal pals or whatever it was the tabloids called them while speculating how they could be friends while "fighting" over Steve. So much for modern feminism.
Before Eddie got distracted enough to go through a full rant that might include a fairly long section about how Ronnie was treated differently than the rest of his bandmates, Eddie focused back on the issue at hand. Why was Nancy who he highly suspected of stealing his fucking boyfriend posing like she was getting engaged to Steve's best friend. And why did they fucking tag him it it? Robin was snarky sure but she didn't seem like that level of bitch. Eddie took a deep breath and opened the fairly lengthy caption to see:
nancywheeler Hello World! It's been a long time coming but I am so excited to publicly announce that me and Robin (@buckster) are going steady. I know I don't post a whole lot about my person life on here (seriously, the rest of the world is so much more exciting) but you've always been so supportive of my coming out and sexuality related posts as well as understanding when I needed to set a boundary between my personal life and my online persona. I've been unable to share my most recent relationship for a really long time because of the public pressure of coming out and being a "marketable asset." Steve (@sharrington) could not have been a better support during this time and took a lot of public flak to keep Robin and I safe and comfortable until we were ready to be out publicly. He always offered up his home while I was visiting and kept me company while Robin was working. I guess us bi guys have to stick together, huh? Anyways, that's all for now. And no, we aren't engaged (yet 😈)
Eddie was floored. He had spent all his time since leaving Steve's apartment feeling very holier than thou and smug about everything that happened with Steve and the success his band was experience because of it. Although if one Miss Nancy Wheeler was telling the truth (which like as a journalist Eddie thinks she has to), Steve was actually helping his platonic soulmate find love with his exgirlfriend. If Eddie hadn't already felt kind of shitty for assuming the worst about Steve, this had to take the fucking cake. Eddie was truly done for. Put a fork in him. He's the worst person ever. Fuck. He needed reinforcements.
devilededs: uhm hi friends, i think maybe i am the asshole in the whole steve situation can u come to mine?
ronnie: you saw it? i can finally give you shit about being a total drama queen?
devilededs: what do you mean? why would you not tell me if you knew it existed.
ronnie: precisely because of this vibe right now.
devilededs: okay, everyone but ronnie pls come over i need snacks and maybe some really b grade horror but you have to indulge me in my sadness.
garbear: already on the way with your emotional support jeff and frank. we'll pick up snacks.
ronnie: if you let me problem solve for you can i come for snacks? i don't think i can handle moping eddie without trying to show you its very fixable.
devilededs: YES! FIX! ME! HOW! GET OVER HERE!
Eddie flopped back into the beanbag chair and let his notebook flop out of his lap. Thankfully his friends all had keys so he could continue to rot in place until Ronnie forcibly withdrew him from his hovel.
part seven
@lololol-1234 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @zombiethingy @grtwdsmwhr @dreamercec @anne-bennett-cosplayer @strawberryyyenthusiast @mensch-anthropos-human @kal-ology @ttyrussss @kristmkris @starman-jpg @wonderland-girl143-blog @child-of-cthulhu @legalmenace87 @adealwithher @practicallybegging @lunaraquaenby @stripey82 @lexyvey @goodolefashionedloverboi @mothmamhasyourlocation @mugloversonly (if you wanna be tagged in future parts feel free to comment! happy to add people)
#steve x eddie#eddie munson#steve harrington#steddie fic#steddie#don't worry robin will fix it#angst#angst with a happy ending#rockstar eddie#actor steve#was it over then ficlet
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Fake it 'till you make it | Part 5
Eddie was almost half certain that he was either hallucinating, or still asleep and dreaming the whole thing. But Steve Harrington was in his living room, perusing the mug collection as if it were fine art or some shit, and he wasn’t there to buy drugs. The van had gotten uncomfortable pretty quickly after Eddie’s tragic realisation, and while his Uncle was definitely there, and giving Eddie a very obvious what the fuck Ed’s ‘look’ while he made them both coffee, Steve seemed pretty at ease in the place.
He didn’t look like he belonged in any way shape or form, with his mega-bucks hairstyle, the polo that probably cost more than Eddie was making per day on those dates, and the jeans that probably—okay he needed to stop pricing up what Steve was wearing.
Needed to stop making assumptions about him.
“You take sugar, kid?”
“Uh—yes! Yeah, uh, cream two sugars, please. Thank you.” If Steve noticed the surprise on Wayne’s face at the presence of manners well… he didn’t seem offended by it. in fact he was still pretty amazed by the mug collection. “Where’d you get all these?”
“Spent a few years’a my life as a long haul trucker before Ed’s landed on my doorstep back in the day, the road ain’t no place for a kid so I packed it in, but there’s always lil knick knacks in pit stops along the way, had people say they’d probably be worth somethin someday, bit‘a history an all that, but… that ain’t why I have em. Each one has a memory attached to it, makes somethin as mundane as a mug, precious.” Memories, the walls were littered with memories.
Such a small space packed with so much. So many little bits and bobs, clutter that told stories, personalities told by clutter.
Steve loved it. He found it… comforting.
Eddie couldn’t stop the foot he so ungracefully stuck into his mouth however with the quip “must seem messy to you, huh?” That wiped the smile right from Steve’s perfect face. Replaced it with a little frown of confusion.
“Hm? No… no, not at all, what? What makes you think that?”
“Well, I’ve seen your house dude, it’s looks straight out of a showroom or somethin.” Couldn’t take the foot out of the mouth now, best just chew on it until his uncle whacked him round the back of the head with a newspaper, hissing,
“Manners don’t cost nothin boy, I raised you better than to be a little shit to guests. The hell’s your problem?”
“I honestly have no idea.” Eddie didn’t even complain about the whack, it didn’t hurt, but it did dislodge the foot from his mouth, allowing him to level Steve and his confused face an apology “sorry man, I’m just…”
“Defensive?”
“Mmhm”
“S’fine, I get it.” And wasn’t that just fucking heartbreaking. Especially since he smiled so sweetly when Wayne gave him his own little steaming mug, it had mickey mouse on it. “For the record though, I like it. The collection I mean… I think I’d like something like this in my own house someday, just… memories everywhere… neither of my parents are big on collections, I think the only ones they have are my mom’s vinyl’s and my dad’s wine.”
“Your mom has vinyl’s?” The wine collection was predictable but vinyl’s?
“Mm, up in the attic, I’ll show you sometime.” He had a player in the sun room, could probably bring a few boxes down and let Eddie rifle through them someday, maybe even convince his mom to bring some of them with them to the chalet, Eddie might get a kick out of at least a few of the records in there. “If you still wanna be seen with me after all this” an if she wouldn’t take them, best get the idea that they could still be friends after it all out in the open!
Eddie wasn’t bad, and Dustin adored him, constantly trying to get him to give Eddie a chance, sneaky little shit setting this up, probably had ulterior motives, so… why not?
Eddie didn’t get a chance to answer though, although his mouth was open ready to speak, Wayne beat him to it. “Now, it’s none’a my business but… what do you mean by all this?” Leaving Steve awkwardly sipping his coffee, looking at Eddie over the rim of his cup in question. Was it okay? Would it be okay to talk about it?
“As much as I’d love to say, ‘Steve’s invited me somewhere for a week!’ and have that be totally believable and not cause you a stress aneurysm… Wayne’s cool, Steve, you good with me talking about it?” There was obvious hesitation, more strangers who knew the riskier it could be for him, but— he nodded. He’d trust Wayne, as insane as that was, he didn’t even know Wayne, but… the man gave off a weird kind of trustworthy energy. And Eddie vouched for him so, “You know how I do that whole… date thing to freak parents out for girls? Stevie here needs my services.”
“You aint plannin on doin what I think you’re doin, are you boy? Are you out of your damn mind? Do you know how danger—”
“It’s okay!” Steve blurted cutting off the expected worry rant “it’s safe, I promise, my parents are… well… they might seem really detached from reality but—you don’t know them. I recently realised that neither do I… he’s not… gonna be freaking them out either, he’s just… playing a part to get them off my back for a while… I’m uh… I’m—” he looked at Eddie, briefly but long enough to catch the little nod of encouragement. It was okay. It was safe. So far things had been fine for him coming out, so far he’d been okay, there’d been no danger, and maybe doing it so many times had made it easier or something because it just… came out “I’m bisexual, they know, and have been throwing both women, and men at me trying to get me to finally settle down with someone and… while I agree, that’d be nice… I would love to do that, i’m not jazzed about the quality of the people they’re throwing at me.”
“…Your parents. The Harringtons, rich folk. Those folks… they’re safe?”
“Apparently, my dad’s even restructuring his company values to include people like me, trying to make it a safer place for us, and this was before I told them.” Something he’d had no idea about, something that he couldn’t believe, hence why he kept bringing it up, it was insane to him, how little he actually knew his parents, how wrong he’d been about them.
How wrong everyone had been about them.
“His parents are takin him to this chalet in Canada next week, Steve thinks they’re gonna ambush him with some random person that he’ll have to spend a whole week avoiding, so… he’s hiring me to act as his boyfriend. That cool with you, Wayne?” He didn’t have to ask. Eddie was a grown adult, he could do whatever he wanted, go wherever he wanted, but… Wayne deserved to know.
“… Can I meet em before you go?”
“Of course!”
“Not a chance.”
The worst part was, they both spoke at once. And Steve’s very positive answer, happened to be louder.
Part 7
#PirateWrites#FakeItTillYouMakeItFiclet#Steddie#No Upside Down AU#Waaaaaaayne#i love wayne#Wayne deserves the world
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METALLICA POSTERS
summary; eddie finally gets to come over, but one peek into your room and he’s only slightly insecure.
-
warnings; eddie just being a lil insecure, but that’s it :p
an; just had this fun idea and thought you guys might like it 🎸
You flinch at the sound of your locker door being pushed back, peeking up at the ‘evil person’ who did it.
“Eds,” You pout. “Please don’t do that. My ears are very sensitive and people are looking at us now.”
“Aw, you don’t like people knowing your with little ol’ me?” He tilts his head, a mock pout on his own lips.
“Don’t do that. You know I love you.”
His heart flutters at the words, a smile pulling at his smooth, plush lips.
7 months in and it still warmed his heart to hear the soft words come out of your mouth, melting him into a puddle basically.
He steps closer, hand resting on your cheek. You press a kiss to his palm. “And I love you. Which is why I thought-"
“Uh-oh. Is your head okay?”
He narrows his eyes. “Haha, very funny,” You only grin. He tries to bite the smile back, but ultimately fails. “As I was saying, before I was rudely interrupted,” His arm wraps around your shoulder, walking down the crowded hallway. “Instead of coming to my humble abode, I could come to yours.”
“Okay, sure.” You smile.
He lifts his brows, glancing down at you. That was easier than he thought it would be. “Really?”
“Yeah,” You shrug, stopping in front of your class. “Why? Did you think I was gonna say no?”
“Well, yeah. Because you’ve never invited me over in all of the seven months we’ve been together.”
“I just didn’t think you’d be comfortable coming over.” You move over for another student to enter the classroom.
“Oh, sweetheart. C’mon now. I’d love anything that involves you,” He grins as he watches you roll your eyes. “As cheesy as that sounds. It’s true.”
“Alright then,” You lean up slightly, pecking his lips quickly. “I’ll see you after school.”
He presses another kiss onto your lips, and another. . . And another.
You giggle softly and finally pull away. “Okay. Okay, go.”
“I’ll miss you.”
You humor him. “And I’ll miss you.”
-
“Would you like anything to eat or drink?” You stop in the kitchen, grabbing a bowl and opening the refrigerator putting a couple of strawberries into the bowl.
“Nope. If I get hungry I’ll just steal a couple of your strawberries.” He grins.
You give him a look, although you both know you’ll end up sharing the fruit anyway despite acting as if you don’t want too.
You place the container back into the refrigerator, shutting the door and grabbing the bowl. “Alright. Follow me.” You smile, walking upstairs. He follows behind quickly, eyes glancing at the pictures hung on the wall.
He smiles a bit at the baby photo of you. Cute chubby cheeks and dimples.
You open the door, stepping inside and place the bowl of fruit down on the nightstand, before dropping your bag into the chair and toeing your shoes off.
You plop down onto your bed, smiling at him as you place the bowl in your lap. You watch as he glances around the room.
“Make yourself at home.”
He glances at you quickly, before continuing to look around. He toes off his boots, sitting by you gently.
“You, uh, you have a bunch of Kirk posters.”
You glance at him before looking around your room, cheeks burning. “Huh,” You look down, picking out a strawberry. “I guess I do.”
“A lot.”
Your brows lift and you look up at him. You pause your chewing, eyes widening a bit before a laugh erupts from your chest.
His head snaps to look at you, you quickly cover your mouth. “What are you laughing at?”
You giggle, placing the bowl onto the nightstand once again, before placing your hands into his warm cheeks. “Oh, you sweet, handsome boy,” He shies away from the compliment. “You’re jealous.”
“I am not!” He’s quick to disagree.
“You’re jealous of a celebrity!”
“Hey, I’m. . . not! I’m just a little confused on why there’s so many posters of him.”
You smirk. “Well,” You lean closer. His eyes drop to your lips before looking back at you. “He’s handsome. And you gotta admit. . . pretty good at playing guitar.”
There’s a slight pout on his lips. “I am too.”
“Sure,” You shrug, although you’re only teasing. His jaw drops at your nonchalant tone. You giggle. “I’m kidding, babe. You’re the most wonderful guitarist-"
“And singer.” He adds.
“And singer,” You repeat his words, nodding. “I know.”
“Yeah. . . And Kirk can’t sing.” He shakes his head.
You roll your eyes, pecking his lips quickly, he chases after you. “You’re a dork.”
“That is true,” He grins. You know something cheesy is about to come out of that mouth when it turns into a mischievous smirk. “But I’m your dork.”
Point proven.
You smile and shake your head with another roll of your eyes.
“You’re my dork.”
He grins now, pressing a kiss to your lips.
thank you for reading! comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are always welcomed and appreciated!
#stranger things one shots#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x female reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson imagine#joseph quinn x reader#eddie munson fluff
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yeah? why don't you show me then? // Eddie Munson X Fem!reader
A/N: tysm anon! ilysm, this was kinda rushed bc I didn't want to make u wait forever, and this is a bit of a blurb I'm sorry
Pairing: perv!Eddie Munson X Fem!Reader
Warnings: perv!Eddie, smutty undertones, groping
Words: 1k
AU: N/A
not proofread
Eddie munson had the biggest crush on his best friend, he couldn't deny it, you were amazing in every way possible, you were beautiful and kind, but he couldn't deny that he liked you in the wrong ways too, in the dirty ways, he's thought of bending you over so many different things and fucking your lights out, he didn't want to confess his feelings, so he did the closest thing possible, he would tease you, maybe if you were sitting together he would sightly brush his hand against your thigh, or if he had to squeeze by you, he would coincidentally brush your ass across his manhood.
Now you didn't mind at all, you, of course, picked up on his feelings, despite his every attempt on keeping them hidden, you caught on almost immediately, you liked him too, and you loved the "accidental" touches, the brushes against your crotch or rear, it turned you on deeply as much as you hate to admit it, you would often touch yourself thinking about these encounters with him, imagining it was him.
Eddie was driving you home, after a long fun day of hanging out, the van was quiet, and Eddie bites his lip, looking over at the shorts you were wearing, the short denim, hugging your beautiful body, he couldn't help but picture what was under them. he moves one of his ring-clad hands slowly and shakily to your thigh, letting it rest there, he knows this one wouldn't be labelled as an accident as he anticipated what you would say to him. Instead of yelling at him as he expected, you move your hand to rest upon his, the cool metal of his rings made you shiver a bit. You squeeze his hand and smile at him, tracing his veins and every grove of his hands, taking in the warmth of them, the contrast between the cold air and his warm hand left goosebumps all along your skin, and you hum.
In a short time find yourself in front of your house, you sigh wishing this night wouldn't come to an end, eddies warm hand never leaving your thigh,
" 'don't want this night to end eds," you speak softly
he didn't say anything but you know he was thinking the same thing, he squeezed your thigh
"Goodbye Y/n."
you bite your lip, moving to open the door, but it wouldn't open
"fuck I thought I fixed that, my bad." eddies voice deep
"just crawl over me doll, come out this side." Eddie couldn't stop the grin that pulled at his lips.
You blush and peel his hand off of you, using your knees to move, you bend and twist, to get over the centre console, eddies hands ghost over your hips to help guide your if you stumble, you were now hovering over eddies lap, hands on the headrest, you stare down at Eddie confused on why he wasn't opening the door
"eds, the door i can't get it, ill fall." you whisper
Eddie still looked up at you, not answering you but instead grabbing your hips and with ease, resting you on his lap, you gasp as his semi was pressing up against your core, causing amazing pressure on your warmth between your legs
"is this okay? me touching you?" he whispers
you nod
"yeah i love it eds, i fucking know it's never an accident, but don't worry, I want it, Eddie. I want you," you speak meekly.
"Yeah?" he spoke
"you like me touching you huh?" you nod blushing
Eddie moves your hands to his shoulders so you would be stable
"well, ill touch you then like I've been imaging babe."
he dares to move his hands, he begins at the hem of your shirt, slowly running his fingers teasingly up and down your stomach, his hands travel higher, and they reach your bra, grabbing at your tits through the garment
you moan out softly as he reaches behind you and unbuckled it, sliding it off your shoulder and then off the other, sliding it out of your sleeve and discarding it somewhere in his van, grabbing your breasts in handfuls, he rubbed and toyed with your nipples.
he pulls them up and then lets them go, watching them jiggle through your shirt, you giggle at his actions and his surprised face and he moves back to your hips, grabbing at them roughly, rubbing circles with his thumbs, before letting them travel lower and squeeze at your thighs, grabbing and pinching at them, marvelling at them.
"You have no idea how long I've waited to do this baby, no idea." he blabbed obviously already hyped up, his semi was now very hard and pressing up against your clit, you pull yourself closer to him,
"yeah? why don't you show me then?"
#eddie my boy#eddie x you#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson smut#eddie munson#nikki's work#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson fic#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson icon#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson one shot#eddie munson stranger things#eddie munson x fem reader#eddie munson x reader smut#eddie x plus size reader#eddie x steve#eddie x reader#steve x eddie#eddie stranger things#stranger things x reader#stranger things fic#robin stranger things#stranger things 4#stranger things
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Eddie would sing Fat Bottomed Girls to Steve every chance he got.
On stage in front of thousands with grabby hands.
In the kitchen when Steve was "just trying to cook, Eds, for Christ's sake" giving his ass a few taps in time to his singing just to see it jiggle.
In the car where Steve had literally no escape and had to put up with it with a little frowny frown because he was trying so hard not to smile.
And when Robin had suspiciously been trying to keep his attention away from the stage at their wedding, Steve knew something was coming.
Steve had been expecting something to happen because Eddie was nothing if not a performer and to have an event centred around the two of them with their closest here to celebrate, he'd be more surprised if nothing happened.
But when whatever had been playing in the background faded out and he heard Eddie's voice boom out through the speakers-
Are you gonna take me home tonight?
Steve's eyes and Robin's grin grew wide at the same time.
Oh, down beside that red firelight
He hid his face in his hands, there were already whoops and wolf whistles from their gathered guests in his direction.
Are you gonna let it all hang out?
"Oh, don't pretend to be going bashful." Robin shouted at him, to be heard over Eddie's singing. "I've had to listen to too many horny thoughts from you about this song, you're so fucking in love right now, aren't you?"
Fat bottomed girls
You make the rockin' world go 'round
Steve lifted his face, unable to hide his huge smile any longer. Robin gave him a shove in the direction of the dance floor where the crowd parted for him with nudges and slaps on the shoulder.
Hey, I was just a skinny lad
Never knew no good from bad
But I knew life before I left my nursery, huh
Eddie was in his fucking element, bouncing around the small stage like it was Madison Square Garden.
He finally caught sight of Steve, who was red faced but couldn't stop grinning as he watched his now husband wave one hand down like he was mapping out curves.
Left alone with big fat Fanny
She was such a naughty nanny
Hey, big woman
You made a bad boy out of me
He fought the urge to hide his face again, especially when he remembered just who was here.
Hopper, Joyce, Mrs. Henderson, Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair, fucking Wayne was here watching him getting sexually serenaded.
Eddie continued to sing while the Corroded Coffin boys played through with matching exasperated but delighted grins, obviously having a great time simultaneously playing and embarrassing the shit out of Steve.
He was drawn to Eddie like a magnet. He didn't even remember stepping closer but next thing he knew he was in front of the stage, a one man recipient to a show just for him.
Eddie reached out and for one terrifying moment, Steve thought he was going to touch his hair.
He did not spend hours on it this morning only for it to be messed up before one of them got to be bent over their honeymoon suite bed later that night.
Eddie seemed to have realised that too, at the last second redirecting his hand to stroke over Steve's cheek.
Oh, but I still get my pleasure
Still got my greatest treasure
Hey, big woman, you gonna make a big man of me
The stage was low and it wasn't huge so Steve was only really at chest height, but he could tell in that moment and with those lyrics, all Eddie wanted to do was thrust his pelvis in Steve's face but thankfully he kept himself on a leash even though everyone behind Steve was still whooping and hollaring.
When the song finally closed out, Eddie threw the mic behind him, not much caring where it landed. Luckily for everyone's eardrums Grant managed to snatch it up with a scowl before it clattered to the ground.
Eddie wasn't paying attention though. He'd planted one hand on either of Steve's shoulders and jumped down from the stage, trusting that he'd be caught.
Which he was.
Eddie wrapped his legs around Steve's waist and Steve had to try very hard to not let his hands wander, so instead he locked his wrists under Eddie's thighs, maybe, just maybe getting away with a little pinch to the ass that only the Corroded Coffin boys could see.
They were extremely unbothered. They'd seen it all before. They'd seen much worse before.
"You're a menace." Steve grumbled, still unable to keep his smile away.
Eddie hummed in agreement, looking down on him from his higher position. "Your menace."
"My menace."
#this was supposed to be a short one or two sentence thing#then it ran away from me#took over my psyche and manifested itself into this#there's so much fluff here#i love fluff#oops#not oops#steddie#stranger things#eddie munson#steve harrington#steve x eddie#penny00dreadful#eddie x steve#penny ficlet#fluff#wedding#fat bottomed girls#queen#rockstar eddie munson#Spotify
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“I’m always going to take care of you.” Alternate version!
Eddie Munson x female reader
summary: this is a new version of my old series i wrote last year. so many people have asked to see more of how eddie deals with such a horrible thing happening to the reader, so here we go, this is for you!
warnings: PLEASE READ! this is purposely written, in the beginning, as fast paced. i was trying to establish a sense of anxiety and fear while writing it because of how quickly it happened. the assault happens differently and does not go into much detail this chapter, but will during the next. i purposely switched povs because i still wanted to give insight to the reader. so with that being said, warnings for this fic include: rape, blood and bruises, broken bones, hospitalization, language, smoking of weed, trauma and shock, lots of tears and angst. please, please, let me know what you thought and if there’s anything i need to go about differently. it’s been a year since i’ve properly revisited this series. i feel like this version will be much darker and will take more of a toll. let me know your thoughts and if anything needs changed. i never spellcheck lol. this one’s for all of us. i see you and feel you. much love, lana.
Steve Harrington’s parties were the kind that were talked about for weeks on end. The music, the food, the house. It was a mansion, and there had been many of times were you and Eddie had slept in multiple rooms of that house, unbeknownst to the owners knowledge.
This party was no different. Bodies were on bodies, beer was spilled and the pool was splashing every drop of water out into the flower bed, that was no covered in trash. There was a basketball court that entertained the jocks. It was an absolute mansion.
You were somewhere. Eddie would see you from time to time getting more beer or a snack, coming over to check on him. He closed his eyes, taking a long drag and leaned against the wall. “Shit, this shit is good.” He coughed slightly, letting his arms fall at his sides, black sleeves pulled up at his elbows.
You found him eventually, hair slightly wet from being splashed at the pool, a towel wrapped around your shoulders. Most everyone was wearing their bathing suits. You smiled when you sat down beside him, laughing at the redness of his eyes. “Feelin good, Eddie?” You tapped his chin.
He grinned at you goofily. “Shit, is the shit, babe. Wanna try?” He offered it to you.
You plopped down on your ass and sat beside him, saying hi to all the others that joined the circle. You laid your head on his shoulder. “Sure you don’t want to come swim with me, Ed? It feels good. Moons out, too. It could be romantic.”
“I give you plenty of romance, darlin’.” He said through hooded eyes, armed laid lazily around your wet shoulders. “Damn, your tits are out!” He exclaimed, finally realizing you had changed, eyes bulging for dramatics.
You laughed and rolled your eyes. “My tits are not out. Everyone is wearing them! You picked it out, don’t you remember?”
“Baby, I’m gonna be honest, I don’t remember much of anything right now.” He was practically drooling at the mouth, giggling like a child and floating off into space.
“Uh, huh.” You gave him a look before turning to the rest of the group. “He’s cut off.”
He was too stoned to realize what you had said, curling up in himself and lulling his head against the wall, eyes drooping closed.
“Eddie, Eddie, oh, okay,” You sighed, watching as he fell asleep. “I’m serious, Gareth, make sure he doesn’t do anything else. I got to carry this guy home, you know.”
You sat with Eddie for almost an hour, making sure he was alright. He always was. He always got tired when he smoked weed, you did too, but not near as much as he did. You gave him a kiss on the cheek, telling everyone else you’d be back and that you were going to change your clothes.
You went to the same room you always did, walked up the same steps and same corridor, the air cool against the exposure of your wet skin. Nobody was upstairs. You had planned for a quick change and nothing more, but you hadn’t any idea what was waiting for you behind the door, or the fact you were being followed.
•
Eddie was in and out of it, waking up here and there if someone spoke loudly enough. Dustin kept laughing, about what, he didn’t know or care. He just wanted to sleep. Later on he would realize that it was probably an act of God that he heard you, because there was no scientific explanation for it. He shouldn’t have heard you.
The music was booming loud, playing a hit from Blondie over the speakers. People were chugging beers, getting high and fucking out in the shed outside, the bedrooms above. The lights were flashing on and off, mixtures of colors painting the walls, their bodies. There was no way he could of heard you, yet he did.
He felt as if he were dreaming at first. His eyes were still closed, body numb from the awkward position he was in. It felt like a loud thumping at first, like something had hit the floor. Then a crash, something had broke. Then a high pitched noise, someone had screamed. It had to have been a dream, because he swore it was you.
Eddies eyes peeled open slowly, foggy and clouded from his high, but he didn’t feel so good anymore, and was left with a chill up his spine. He looked to the right of him to find you gone. “Gareth?” His voice was gravely and deep. “Where’d y/n go?”
Gareth pointed up the stairs quickly, eager to get back to his conversation with Robin about her thoughts on the new Back to the Future movie. Eddie had pushed himself up and found the stairs. It was a mansion, having had to climb four sets of stairs before he could find the hallway. Each set he could hear it clearer. He still shouldn’t have. The music was too loud. He could feel the vibrations underneath his feet against the wood flooring.
He walked quicker and quicker, the sounds of crashing, screaming, begging, becoming louder and louder. Soon, he heard his own name, and he knew it was you. He was running then, as fast as he could to find you. And when he did, the last door on the left, the same room you both had slept in many of times, he was brought to pure horror.
•
You weren’t entirely sure what was happening. Well, you did. You had been raped. You were just confused what was happening now. You were sitting up, staring blankly at the floor. Eddie was down at your feet, saying something, saying a lot of things, actually, but you couldn’t hear him. It sounded like he was underwater. Your ears were ringing, and he kept dabbing his hand under your nose. Were you bleeding?
Your hands were vibrating, along with the other parts of your body, shaking like you were having a seizure. Surely you’d pass out soon. Everything you felt was heightened. The pain, the emotion, or lack of. You soon realized you were going into shock.
You felt everything, yet nothing, all at the same time.
•
Four seconds.
It had taken four seconds for Eddie to react. Four seconds for him to decide what to do. He’d found you bent over the bed, hands pinned above your head and legs split apart. The man above you, twice your size, twice his size, a man he’d never seen before, raping you. It had taken him four seconds to react.
The man above you had stopped when Eddie had come in, staring at him in the act with a look of surprise and shock. Eddie lunged then, knocking the man over and into a side table that crumbled under their weight, a string of punches and curses, the sound of choking and items breaking. There was so much noise, but you didn’t hear any of it. You laid there, bent over, legs spread, a mixture of blood and semen seeping out of you as you stared straight ahead, fixated on the painting in front of you.
Steve and his mom at the beach.
You didn’t hear the sound of Eddie’s cry of pain when your attacker punched the wind out of him, you didn’t hear him run out of the room or Eddie’s footsteps after him, halting halfway and returning back to you. You kept thinking of Steve and his mom. She was so sweet. You really should spend more time with her.
All of that, led to now.
“Baby, baby, please, please, say something!” He panicked, knelt down at your legs, holding your arms to keep you upright, “Oh, God,” He took another look at your legs, covered in blood. “Oh, my god, Oh, my god.” He covered his mouth briefly, not knowing what to do. “Okay, okay,” He jumped up, running to the joining bathroom to grab a towel. “Okay, baby, I got this, see?” He started quickly wiping away at the blood, switching his eyes from his legs to you.
It looked like you’d been killed, or were dying. You said nothing, deathly pale, face stained with tears and mascara, deep bruising that painted your cheeks and eyes purple. Your lip was busted and bleeding. You were shaking with tremors, your breath coming out in little pants that were uneven. You were choking on your sobs, not a single one being allowed out. It hurt to sit, the pain in your abdomen was almost unbearable.
Eddie didn’t realize it himself, but he was also going in to shock. It became harder and harder to get the blood off of you due to his shaky hands, and his breathing become more sporadic and choppy. “I’m getting it, honey. I’m trying.” He said, words coming out in a rush. The towel was stained red when he’d finished, your legs still coated, stained by the blood from inside of you. He looked you over, shaking his head. He didn’t know what to do.
“Y/n,” He gasped, reaching up to grab your face. “Talk to me. Are you hurt? Where does it hurt at?”
You couldn’t look at him. It felt impossible. Your eyes were so heavy. His voice still sounded as if he were underwater, his movements slow, like he was fighting off a current, and you suddenly became freezing, trembling harder like you were out in the snow. Maybe it was the shock.
“Honey, please,” Eddie begged you, eyes tearing up. “I don’t know what to do.”
When he noticed how hard you were shaking, he jumped up and got a blanket from the chair, wrapping it around your body and sitting next to you. “Okay, here, I’m here. Steve!” His scream snapped you out of it, making you gasp and jump.
“No!” Your voice was hoarse, burning as you screamed. “No!” You tried to stand but you collapsed, pointing to the door. “Close the door! Close the door!”
Your urgency made him obey quickly, and he was slamming the door and locking it within a second. “Y/n-”
“You can’t tell anyone!” You sobbed, wobbling on your legs. You were a sight, one that would traumatize him for the rest of his life. “No one, swear it! Let’s just go home!” You we’re a wreck, sobbing, hyperventilating, shaking. Surely you would faint.
“Angel, baby,” He tried to approach you, but you freaked.
“No!” You jumped away. “Don’t- don’t touch me, please!” Was the room getting darker?
“Okay, okay,” He held up his hands, heart racing and bulging, fearful eyes. “I won’t touch you. I’ll stay right here, okay?”
You nodded, mouth opening and closing, feet shuffling, limping, trying to stay upright. Surely, you would faint.
•
His elbows are on his knees, hands pressed against his mouth. The chair he’s in is uncomfortable, an ache in his back that matches the one in his heart. Wayne is there, sitting across from him on the other side of the room. Steve, Nancy, Robin and Dustin are outside in the waiting room, along with the rest of hellfire. He tried to be discreet. Well no, that wasn’t true. When you’d fainted, Eddie lost it.
He’d swooped you up in his arms, carrying you down stairs, a sobbing mess, looking anywhere for anyone, to help. He found Mike first, then Chrissy Cunningham. The party was over very quickly.
“Eddie.” Wayne said tiredly, wearing a puffed, flannel coat. “Why don’t you go home, bud? I’ll stay with her.”
“No.” He didn’t miss a beat. He was staring a hole right through you, eyes so tearful they looked to be made of glass. “I can’t leave her.”
Wayne knew he wouldn’t leave. It was four in the morning, and you hadn’t shown any signs of life. If it weren’t for the machines, Eddie was sure you would have been dead. You were so quiet, not a stir, not a twitch. Were you dreaming? Was it good or a nightmare?
“She’s alright, buddy. You know that.” Wayne could see the telltale signs of his panic attack coming on. “You heard what the doctor said.”
You had abrasions along your vaginal walls. Your nose was broken, now covered with gauze and medical tape. You had two broken ribs, bruises covering your entire body. The doctor had asked him questions he didn’t know the answer to. Eddie knew what had happened, but what had really happened?
You would be okay. He knew that. You were alive and you survived. But were you okay? What would you become when you woke up? You would be totally traumatized, or would you simply move on with life? He knew the answer and he hated himself for knowing it. He knew the pain you were going to suffer when you woke up. He saw it. He saw what it was you would have to endure. A part of him wished you would sleep peacefully forever.
It felt like every vital organ inside of him had been ripped apart, like his stomach had been cut and everything spilled out. He’d thrown up twice since they got to the hospital. It been hours since you both got there. He couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d saw. Your body being used, abused by a man who had beaten you up, raped you, split you open and left bloody.
“Oh, god, Wayne.” Eddie broke down in sobs, shoulders sinking and face hiding into his hands for a shield, a mask to hide from the world. “This is all my fault.”
The image of you had scared his brain, the mental image something he thought he’d never be able to erase. Through everything he had gone through, this moment here, was the worst moment he had ever lived through, and he himself, would make a deal with god if he could, just to take your place, to take it all away. The love of his life was in pain, and it caused him more hurt than he could have ever imagined.
His uncle looked at him, saddened and distraught for the both of you. “Don’t say that, Eddie. You know she’d hate to hear you say somethin’ like that.”
Eddie’s body shook with heavy, deep and broken cries. “It is. I was asleep. I was asleep and stoned out of my mind while she was being raped right above me!” He practically spat the words with a venomous hatred, throwing out his arm as he looked at you longingly. “I failed her. Her, of all people. I fuckin’ failed the one thing I care about most. How the hell am I supposed to live with this?”
Wayne watched him stare at you, stare at you and cry like he was mourning for the entire world, like you had been taken from him.
“How are we supposed to be okay after this, Wayne?” He looked like a little boy then, looking over to his uncle with big, brown eyes. “How can I…how can she ever forgive me?” Another sob, and another. Wayne was sat beside him now, holding his shoulders as Eddie cried.
“You two have been through hell together.” The old man said, on hand on his nephews new. “You’ll get through this. She will and you will. She stood by your side when you were dying, remember? She helped you through it. It did you both in, but you got through it, didn’t you?
He didn’t answer, but he heard his uncle loud and clear. He didn’t know how he’d do it, but he’d help you in every way he could. He owed it to you. You’d patched him up, held him through nightmares and insecurities about his scars. You fed him, helped clothed him and helped him keep himself clean when he was still too sore to move around. You had put your own life on pause for him. He owed it to you to do the same. In his eyes, it was his own fault it happened, anyways.
“Yeah.” Eddie sniffled, wiping away his tears with his jacket. “Yeah, I- you’re right. You’re right. I can help her. I’ll help her. She’ll be okay.”
“She’ll be okay.” Wayne assured him.
He didn’t realize just how hard it was going to be, how a giant rift in your relationship would almost separate the two of you. That the both of you would be forever changed from that night.
Eddie gulped, blinking back tears as he looked at the steady beating of your heart in the vital screen. “She’ll be okay.”
#eddie munson#i will always take care of you#eddie munson x reader#stranger things#stranger things season four#joseph quinn#eddie munson imagines#eddie munson headcanons#eddie munson blurb#eddie munson x female character#female reader
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Little Love
This is possibly part of a part 1 of a new series… however I WILL NOT BE STARTING THIS until after I’ve finished If I Should Stay.
Eddie’s playing guitar in his room when he gets the call.
He and Steve talk now, more days than not, so hearing his voice isn’t that exceptional.
What is exceptional is the shake in his voice. “Eddie?”
“Hey, Stevie.” He twists around to toss his guitar pick onto the counter. He misses and makes a mental note—that he already knows he’s going to forget—to pick it up after the call. “What’s up?”
“Um.” He takes a breath that shakes on the exhale. “Is your uncle home?”
Eddie blinks, his heart skipping a beat. “N-no, he’s at work. Why?”
“Um.” A strained, nervous chuckle.
“Steve?”
“Hm?”
“Are you okay?”
A breath that Eddie thinks is supposed to be a laugh. It comes out a little more like a sob. “Not really.”
“I can be there in ten if you want me.”
“No, Eds, you don’t hafta-”
“Steve,” Eddie says, smiling. “Do you want me there?”
A pause. A breath. A quiet, hesitant, “yeah.”
“Okay. I’ll be there in ten.”
“Okay. Thanks, Eds.”
“Anytime, Stevie. I’ll write a note to Wayne tellin’ him to come find us, alright?”
“Okay. Thanks. Again.”
Eddie chuckles. “You’re welcome. Again. Ten minutes, m’kay?”
“Alright. Bye.”
“Bye.”
He scrawls something out, halfway hoping it’s actually legible with how much he’s rushing, and barely remembers to lock the trailer door behind him.
He forgets the pick on the ground, right next to the counter.
He reaches Steve’s house two and a half songs later, quickly parking and shutting the van off, then running up the stairs to knock on the front door.
Steve opens it, looking wide-eyed and frazzled. “Hey, c’mon in.”
Eddie looks around. No demogorgons, no gates to hell in his living room, nothing out of the ordinary.
From somewhere in the house, he hears a cry. He can’t be sure—he hasn’t been around many—but he thinks it might be a baby. He blinks and frowns at his host. “Steve?”
“Yeah.” He runs a hand through his hair with a sigh. “My dad just won the asshole of the year award again.”
“That sounds like a baby.”
“Yup.”
“And he just-”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well,” Eddie says, at a loss for words. “Fuck.”
“Just about.”
#stranger things#eventual steddie#trying my hand at a kid fic#steve harrington#eddie munson#starambles
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Part I: Sweet Tooth
(Part II)
Eddie stares down at his wristwatch. One minute to noon. Just one more minute.
“Want us to clear the path?” Argyle claps him on his shoulder and squeezes. “It’s almost time.”
“I don’t – I don’t know. Maybe you guys could stand behind the kitchen doors? You can see through the windows, right?” Eddie scrunches his nose.
He can feel it, he’s been conditioned to it by now, the familiar pit of anticipation. Other people may call it butterflies. Eddie thinks it’s more like pterodactyls breathing fire inside his stomach. He desperately needs someone to hold his fucking hand during this hardship.
But he also really, really doesn’t want anyone up close to witness him making a fool of himself in front of Hot Steve - a new regular customer at their cafe. An incredibly attractive guy who works at the bookstore next door.
Eddie can NOT fuck this up. It only happens once a day, for a maximum of three minutes.
“Maybe today’s the day you ask him out,” Jonathan smiles. Dude never smiles with his eyes. It’s kind of unsettling.
“Absolutely not, have you seen Hot Steve?” Eddie groans. “There’s no way he plays for my team. He’s –“
The doorbell chimes. Eddie’s head snaps towards the entrance, mouth falling open. Hot Steve is walking towards him, holy shit. It’s go time. Eddie shoos his coworkers away with a frantic wave, straightens his name tag, and rests his chin on his palm and bends over a little, elbow on the counter.
This is always the way he greets Hot Steve. It’s his signature move. Although, it hasn’t really worked yet. If it worked, Eddie would’ve won Hot Steve’s attention by now. But this is the best he got at the moment, damn it.
“Hi, Eds, how are you doing?” Hot Steve is wearing a baby-blue button-down today, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His name tag pin on the left side of his chest glints.
Eddie loves that Steve came up with that nickname on his own, despite only having seen him here at Cafe Byers for, like, two weeks now.
“Better now that you’re here.” Eddie gives him a cheeky smile, If Argyle and Jonathan were here, they might’ve been impressed with how smooth it sounded; they always comment on the way he flirts, the things he says. If you ever said shit like that to me, I’d be hella blushing, brochacho. You know you got game, right?
What they don’t know is that these lines are rehearsed in his head, so many times. It’s all Eddie ever does: practice pickup lines for Hot Steve.
“Right out of the gate, huh? You're makin' me blush,” Hot Steve smiles, and honestly, it’s hard to tell if he’s blushing at all. Or if he’s even flustered. Hot Steve's always so confident. “I’ll get a latte. With oat milk, please?”
“Oh?” Oat milk? That’s new. Steve didn’t care last time what milk he was getting. Interesting. Or is it? Eddie decides to file that information away for later. “Yea, coming right up.”
“Thanks.”
Another thing about Hot Steve that really does something to Eddie’s overworked pterodactyls, is that he never has a phone with him. Or on him. If it is, it's never visible.
Which is odd, because the entire café is littered with folks who cannot tear their eyes away from their little gadgets and devices, especially their phones; most people can’t even wait for their drinks without looking at them, checking something constantly, emails or texts or whatever.
And, well, Hot Steve never does any of that. He always waits at the end of the counter, patiently watching Eddie making drinks. It always makes him feel so self-conscious. Eddie’s burnt his hands under hot steam a couple of times, actually.
But these two, maybe three minutes of Eddie making a fresh beverage for Hot Steve – this is the only time he gets to make small talk with him. Each time, he learns something new about him, or confirms something that Eddie’s already inferred. The grand question of the day is: “So, who’s the drink for?”
Hot Steve blinks rapidly, as if coming out of a daze. “Uh – what?”
“Whose drink is this?” Eddie says, tamping the coffee grounds. “I’m assuming it’s not yours.”
“How… did you know it’s not mine?” he narrows his eyes.
God. It’s really telling, isn’t it, that Eddie’s noticed these things? “First time for you to ask for oat milk, so. I don’t know, I figured,” he shrugs.
Hot Steve opens his mouth as if to say something. Then he doesn’t. In the corner of Eddie’s eyes, he sees him nodding with pursed lips, with a hint of a smirk. It’s so distracting that Eddie almost heats up regular milk despite this whole conversation being around someone’s (not Steve’s, apparently) preference for plant-based milk. Oops.
He finishes making the latte and walks over to the cash register, handing over the drink. Steve receives it with a small thanks.
But Eddie knows Steve's not quite done here today. Because, when you have a tiny (massive) crush on a near-stranger, you just, kind of look for patterns. That’s just how human minds work; Eddie has been carefully collecting all the little information about Hot Steve, just based on the few minutes that he spends at the café at noon.
Which is how that Eddie’s almost certain (almost, because there’s always room for anomalies) what Hot Steve’s about to do when he asks, “Is that it for today?”
“Oh – um,” Hot Steve scans the glass case of assorted desserts and baked goods, subconsciously wetting his lips. “Actually, yea. Can I have the blueberry crumble, please?”
This is one of the very few predictable things about him. Eddie doesn’t know why Hot Steve even looks at the shelves of sweets each time as if he’s ever going to make a different choice, because it’s always the same, the only constant pattern besides his entrance that he’s ever shown Eddie: the house blueberry crumble, the ones that Eddie bakes himself.
And every time Hot Steve asks for it, Eddie has to turn around and flex his arms, letting out a silent scream of victory, because Hot Steve is fucking hooked on those things. It’s truly incredible to know that he wants it. Eddie pours his heart and soul into those.
“Of course, babe,” he swoops down, takes a small square piece out with tongs, wraps it in a pocket of parchment paper. “D’you know I bake these every morning?”
“You – it’s you?” Hot Steve’s eyes widen comically. “Wow. I thought they were, like, shipped over from a bakery or something.”
“We do have an oven,” Eddie points behind the kitchen with his thumb and looks back, makes a mistake of drawing attention to the door, only remembering then that Argyle and Jonathan are probably watching this whole thing. Really hoping that they’re being discreet.
“That’s amazing. I – I love them,” he says, not at all looking behind, thank God. “Guess you’re good with your hands.”
Eddie could practically hear the angelic chorus from the sky. Holy shit. Hot Steve loves his crumbles. Fuck. He could cry.
But, you know. Everything always comes to an end, and that’s usually how far their conversation goes. Nothing more than just small talk, and then Hot Steve would pay for the stuff, go back to the next-door bookstore where he works. And until the next day, it’s as if he doesn’t even exist. A mythical creature that only appears during those three minutes in time and space, then vanishes afterwards.
So he tries, just one last time before he leaves. “Steve?”
“Yea?” Hot Steve looks up, batting his lashes. They’re – so – pretty. So long, delicate. Such a fucking contrast to his muscular arms and chest that his thin blue shirt does nothing to hide, sleeves and buttons ready to pop. It’s sinful.
Fuck, and time’s ticking, yet there are so many things Eddie wants to ask. What is your drink, then? ‘Cause you never get the same drink twice.
Why is it always at noon? Is that your break?
Where are you from? When does your shift end? You do work at the bookstore, right?
When are you free?
All of these are more or less reasonable, if not a tiny bit creepy questions. But any of these would’ve been so much better than what Eddie actually blurts out, so out of the left field that he surprises even himself: “So, uh, how much do you bench?”
Oh, fuck. Where the hell did that come from? Eddie cringes hard inside, unsure how those words, that kind of vernacular even came out of his mouth, please, he wants to rewind time -
But it's spilled oat milk. Guh. He crinkles his nose to prepare himself to apologize. Sorry. That was so – I’m not a gym bro. I’m not! Look at me! He's about to say, but:
“You wanna know?”
Hot Steve has a shit-eating grin on. That’s a first. There might even be a faint blush on his cheeks. Holy shit. Hot Steve took the fucking bait. Not that it was bait – it was just Eddie being a fucking disaster – but he nods all the same, stupidly. Of course he wants to know. He’s committed, now.
“Let’s see.” Hot Steve’s now circling around the counter to take a closer look at Eddie, eyes travelling up and down. It feels like Hot Steve is undressing him with his eyes. It’s kind of insane that they’re doing this in public.
Hmm. 140, 145 at the most – Hot Steve mutters under his breath. “Oh yea. Easy,” he says, still smiling wickedly.
“What do you mean, easy?” Eddie croaks.
His breath hitches when Hot Steve leans over the counter, inches away from Eddie’s face. “Probably could do twenty reps of you,” he whispers, winking.
Eddie’s brain short-circuits. He stares open-mouthed at Hot Steve, unable to move until he exits the café with the drink and a brown bag, fading away from view. Gone for the rest of the day, rest of the evening. Rest of the next morning. Only to return the next day at noon, like a fucking reverse-Cinderella.
“Why were you guys whispering?” Jonathan appears from behind, nudging him on the arm. “What did he say? Did you finally ask him out?”
“I’m about to ask him out myself if you don’t,” Argyle says lazily, earning a sharp smack from Jonathan. “Just joking, man, you know you’re my main dude,” he squeezes a squirming Jonathan on the side.
“He… “ Eddie gulps, closing his eyes, and pictures Hot Steve’s tantalizing smile. “He winked.”
Continue reading on Ao3
Read the sequel: Savour
#steddie#steddie fic#Steve x eddie#eddie x steve#Steve harrington#eddie munson#argyle stranger things#jonathan byers#jargyle#jargyle supremacy#steddie:sweet tooth#ao3#robin buckley#nancy wheeler#ronance#stranger things#stranger things fic#modern au#coffeeshop au
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