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orpheusredux · 2 years

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NAWWWWWW!!!! I love it so much!

𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

part one | part two | part three | part four

summary you’re a single mom living three trailers down. eddie thinks you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. queue the movies, nachos, cherry cough syrup, and a couple of moments of clarity. [10k]

warnings teen mom!reader, fem!reader, r is junie’s birth mother, fluff, hurt/comfort, eddie being a total girl dad (<3), mutual pining, yearning etc, tw for not having much money, general mom struggles :(, slowburn friends to lovers, idiots in love!!! tw sick fic

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Eddie has the most peculiar curl tucked up by his neck. Where most are frizzy and loose, this one falls in a perfect shiny ringlet below his ear. He shifts and it's out of view, a curtain of dark hair falling forward and hiding his face as he puts your car in park.

"Remind me why you had to drive?" you ask, ducking down to look at the glaring white lights of the movie theatre across the street.

"You were gonna fall asleep behind the wheel."

For once, Eddie might not be exaggerating. He grins at your lack of rebuttal and throws an arm behind your shoulders, twisting in the driver's seat to set his sights on Junie.

"Are you ready?" he asks her.

She wiggles. It's an ecstatic movement. Her clothes are prim and sweet if you do say so yourself, a long sleeved shirt under a pair of the world's cutest dungarees. They crinkle as she moves, pressed to perfection.

You and Eddie open opposite doors in tandem and step out into the brisk, early night. The sidewalk shines with rain, a black slickness stretching in every direction. You shiver and pull your thin jacket tighter to your torso as you turn back to the car, intending to retrieve Junie and rush into the theatre before you can freeze on the spot.

Eddie's already swung open the door and rescued your daughter from the confines of her car seat, neatening up the hem of one of her socks with her face pushed over his shoulder.

She giggles about something and Eddie says, "Sorry, June. 'M tickling you, am I?" so fondly you have to avert your eyes.

He locks the car and hands over your keys with a smile. You smile back, heart flipping like a spinning coin. Head over tails, over and over.

The big, ring-heavy hand he holds to Junie's back reaches for you suddenly enough that you flinch.

"I'm sorry," he apologises, suppressing a laugh, "your necklace is twisted."

He moves in a second time and you raise your chin, chest aflame as his fingers glance off of your bare skin. He slips the chain over his index and pulls, encouraging the links around until the clasp is hidden again.

"Thank you." You huff an awkward, sheepish laugh.

"You owe me," he says, mock-severe.

Your laugh is much more genuine as you follow him across the road.

You're squinting as you approach The Hawk movie theatre. The title cards are hard to look at, aggressively white with black capital letters that read, 'The Great Mouse Detective 7'.

There's a small line of families waiting by the front. You realise it like a shock, that the three of you must look like a family too.

Eddie carries Junie with the surety of a dad that's carried his child a hundred times before; he strokes the back of her head with the affection of one, soothing the mess of flyaways she'd acquired by squirming in her car seat. Junie responds with familiarity, hands tucked into his hair and tugging. She's trying to be nice but his hair won't allow it, all his long curls tangled at the ends from a day at work.

Still, he says, "Thanks, baby. Make sure you get the back, okay?"

"Okay," she echoes.

You look down at your wringing hands. There's ink smudged up the side of your writing hand. You scratch at it half-heartedly, blinking against your fatigue.

You're exhausted tonight and it's only Wednesday. You can't imagine how you'll fare tomorrow considering how little sleep you're expecting tonight — there are a thousand things to do when you get home. Laundry to wash and press, cleaning to do, dinner to make.

You'd been writing cheques for due bills when Eddie had come knocking, well-dressed, stupid-handsome, and announced that tonight you would be accompanying him to the movies. He'd actually said 'accompanying'.

Despite a full agenda, you'd said yes. You're not very good at saying no. At least, not to him.

It takes you a moment to realise you're at the front of the line. You pay for the tickets before Eddie can try it, and with his hands full he can't really stop you. He whines about it all the way to the concession stand.

"You can buy the snacks," you say. His face lights up, and you amend, "If you're reasonable."

"I'm always reasonable…ly over the top," he says, chided by your hard stare.

"Yes, you are."

He follows you down the two steps to the concession and cuts in front of you. "How did you do that? What face was that? I felt my soul leave my body."

"That's my disapproving mom look. I'm disapproving."

"Ah." He pats Junie's side sympathetically.

She pulls her head from over his shoulder and smiles at you. Her arms vy for your hold. You steal her from Eddie and kiss her all over her tiny face, uplifted by how much she loves you, how happy she is to be in your arms.

"What snacks do you want? Do you eat popcorn with butter? Without?" Eddie asks, his newly emptied arms already posed thoughtfully, a hand under his chin as he thinks over his options.

The theatre has a huge array of jellies, an even bigger array of candy bars. There are more brands of soda than there are glasses in your kitchen cabinet.

You're daunted.

"Whatever you want," you say.

Eddie groans and tips his head back. "Don't play with me like this. Butter or no butter? It's an easy question."

"I don't know. Without?"

"You are so weird," he says happily.

You pout and pull Junie closer.

Standing at the side while he gathers concessions, too many things, you watch in awe as Eddie stacks it all against his chest with the sure confidence of someone who's done it before.

He grins at you from between two huge cups. "Are we ready?"

If you could, you'd leave him here in the foyer with his jumbo deluxe popcorn. As it stands, you like him too much to leave him behind. You juggle Junie and your bag to push open the doors for him outside of screen two.

"Thanks, babe," he says outside of screen two. You bite your lip, surprised by his easy tone.

You climb up the stairs and into your seats. You're high enough for Junie to sit in her own chair between you and Eddie and see the screen comfortably but she adamantly refuses, stretching out in your lap like an alley cat hungry for affection.

Eddie moves into the ragtag velvet seat beside you, a million things in his lap and at your feet. He's pretty enough under the theatre lights to dull the panging ache at the back of your head. "If she won't sit here, I will. I got you a lemonade, is that cool?"

If it weren't you'd hardly tell him.

"She's being extremely well-behaved," Eddie notes, an inkling of pride in his tone.

You could sucker punch him. Why does he do this to you?

"I know," you say with a shy smile, "it's suspicious, isn't it?"

"I don't know. If I were in your lap I might be well-behaved too." He raises his eyebrows, an over-exaggerated show of flirtatiousness.

You reach over the arm to take a handful of popcorn. Eyes on Junie, you offer her your stolen goods and say, "I've got two thighs."

"Don't tempt me."

Junie all but snatches the popcorn and tilts her head back. A kernel falls from her hand and disappears between the seats. You make a mental note to pick it up afterward, ears full of her chomping.

You'd worried she might be a little loud for the movies but there's a bunch of kids and none seem keen on keeping quiet, a cacophony of childish complaints to hide your conversation.

"Are babies supposed to eat popcorn?"

You freeze up. "Oh- I don't know," you say, turning Junie toward you so you can watch her swallow.

"I thought I read that somewhere, but-"

"No, I think you're right. Um…" Junie looks at you with obvious confusion. "Was that yummy?" you ask. You hide your concern with a strained bubbly attentiveness.

"I guess she's old enough."

Eddie's being very casual – it is casual. He's just thinking out loud. You know he's not criticising you. He never has, though sometimes you think he should.

It must show on your face anyhow that you're having a 'I'm a bad mom' crisis. A mean stroke of insecurity.

"Sweetheart," Eddie says suddenly, brows pinched, "it's alright. It was just a thought. And she had no problem eating it, I'm sure she's gonna be aces. Better than aces."

Junie climbs out of your lap and into his. He sets the popcorn on the floor to take her, and when her hands reach for his drink he holds the straw to her mouth. All the while his eyes move between her and you.

"Okay," you say, because you're being silly.

Junie is fine. Eddie was only saying something that's very well true. Babies aren't supposed to have popcorn, but June's not a baby, really. She knows how to chew properly. It's unlikely she'll choke.

Eddie has to keep his focus on her to avoid getting soaked – she barely knows how to use a straw and keeps trying to turn the cup upside down.

"Not like that, trouble. Right way up. You got it."

You pick at the loose stitching at the end of your shirt and have to change the subject before the embarrassment of it all swallows you. Such a small thing.

"Can I try one of these?" you ask, grabbing the first bag of candy you can find. They're a bag of Super Sour Suckers.

He looks at you over Junie's head, startled and hiding it poorly. Then, a smile so bright it increases the embarrassment you're feeling tenfold.

"You have to! Robin said they're even worse than the normal ones, I don't wanna go through that alone," he says urgently.

Robin is one of his friends. You're not jealous that he has friends (though you are, because you want your own, but not jealous that he has friends that aren't you). He's mentioned her in passing before. When you'd asked as bravely as you dared if they were anything more than friends he'd laughed maniacally.

"We're definitely just friends," he'd said.

You fight to stay smiling and pull open the bag of candies. Ironically, the jellies inside are shaped like pacifiers. Covered in sugar packed densely and looking almost wet with what you suspect to be citric acid, you shake the packet wearily and search for a candy that won't ruin your tongue.

Eddie holds out his hand. You drop a green one into his palm. Your fingertips ride up the curve of his thumb.

He's unflinching as he eats it. After a few seconds his eyes screw up and he clutches June tight to his chest, raising an unhelpful hand to his jaw.

"Holy sugar," he says, wincing.

You bite into a pink pacifier unfortunately layered in sugar and wait nervously for the sourness to kick in. Sure enough, it comes quick and torturous. It's a knife cutting through fog.

It's hard to feel tired when there's something this sour in your mouth.

"You can't spit it out!" Eddie says.

You stop with your hand halfway to your mouth. "What?" you ask incredulously, trying not to dribble.

"You gotta eat it! Chew and swallow!"

You chew miserably. He laughs at your expression – a warm and hyper sound, practically giggling. Junie joins in as she always does. His joy can't be overstated.

The lights go down while you're still fighting for your life. Your eyes water and you have to smother the taste with a quick drink and a gasping breath.

"You're sick. I can't believe you let me eat that," you whisper.

"You saw me eat mine! You knew what you were getting into… Think June wants one?"

Your outrage has him laughing again. It's a magnetic sound. Every time he does it you want to touch him, his arm one pole and your hand another.

Junie gets comfortable on his right leg, head tipped expectantly against his chest and eyes drawn to the screen as the trailers begin. You don't bother with jealousy; in ten minutes she'll be climbing over the arm to sit with you again, or want to sit in her own seat. She may even try to walk around. Toddlers are indecisive and easily distracted.

Even if she weren't. Even if she sat there in his lap for the next hour and a half and didn't look your way, you're not sure you could harbour any envy against him. His hand spreads over the front of her torso with fingers splayed against her ribs, stroking thoughtlessly through the fabric of her thick clothes.

He tips his head toward your chair. "There's nachos."

"I saw."

"Wanna eat some before they get cold?"

"Subtle."

He snorts. "Yep. That's what they call me. Eddie Subtle Munson."

You reach over the dark floor for the tray of nachos and balance them carefully on the armrest between your two seats. Eddie digs in without fuss, you fret over which ones have jalapeños on them, and Junie gets mad that nobody's sharing with her. She puts her hands straight in a mound of orange cheese. Her face is a picture when she brings it to her mouth. She's discovered molten gold.

"Junie," Eddie says lightly, carding hair away from her ear so she can hear him properly. "Don't get cheese on your pretty clothes. It took your mom a week to get the rocky road out of your strawberry jammies, you know?"

He doesn't care that she's mauled the food. He's worried she might stain her dungarees. Your heart goes crazy, another sudden surge of clarity.

Junie climbs back into your own lap as the movie begins. You whisper to her about proper theatre etiquette in your mommy voice and she doesn't do too bad a job at listening. She finds the appearance of the Great Mouse Detective himself quite funny, and laughs at his grave features and expressions every now and then. It's a golden sound.

Try as you might, you can't keep your eyes open. Junie's having such a good time and Eddie whispers funny commentary beside you, but eventually your eyelids creep shut and Eddie squeezes your arm, skin braceleted by his thick, warm fingers.

"C'mere," Eddie prompts, hands vying for your daughter where she's perched in your lap.

"Why?" Junie asks.

He's surprised at her inquisition. "You don't want a hug?"

She nods voraciously. Eddie lifts her off of your lap before she can use you as a climbing frame and into his own.

"I think mommy's sleeping," he tells her.

Junie looks at you curiously. You've got a wet wipe in your limp hand, which he takes and discards, and your head's fallen to one side. You'll have an awesome crick in your neck when you wake up.

Junie gives him a hug. He loves her hugs. They're so small and sweet, she's genuinely an extremely loving little girl. Her smile when she hugs people is beautiful as yours is, though her affection is less hesitant.

Everything's going well until she catches a look at the huge, scary bad guy Professor Ratigan somewhere in the middle.

Eddie's crunching through a greedy mouthful of popcorn and almost chokes as she turns around and hides in his chest. He brings a hand up to her back protectively though he doesn't know what happened, eyes moving between her and the screen at lightning speed.

"Aw, June," he murmurs sympathetically. He really is a scary looking guy.

"Eddie," she says, dangerously close to tears.

"Sweetheart, it's okay! He's only on TV."

She says something that might be, "Don't want." It's not quite there but Eddie thinks she's doing a great job lately with her talking, patting her back in a silent well done as he attempts to reassure her. "Basil's gonna outsmart him, Junie. The Great Mouse Detective is gonna save the day, scout's honour."

"No," she whines softly.

He covers her unhappy face with his hand.

"It's okay," he murmurs, melted and bemused. "It's okay, junebug. I swear."

Despite his best efforts, she starts to cry. Eddie freezes up because she doesn't cry often, not with him. When she does you're always there to find a solution. He supposes the novelty of being a new person has long worn off, and that he's going to have to make more of an effort than just tickling her or petting her hair to make it better.

Her volume increases. He shushes her, clumsy and awkward but earnest, trying the best that he can to make it up. He offers candies and drinks, he rummages through your baby bag for Mr. Bear. She takes it all but none of it lasts.

Someone in the chair behind him coughs pointedly.

Eddie turns to wake you up. He gets one good look at your face and can't follow through.

You're sleeping deeply, at the movie theatre of all places. How tired are you, and why hadn't you said? He'd known to some extent — it's why he'd offered to drive — but with the movie blaring and all the kids and noise and now Junie's crying, he realises you must be exhausted to sleep through it. Why hadn't he noticed? He kicks himself.

He lifts her up with his head angled down, giving your shoulder a swift squeeze and then bumping down the steps with Junie until he's out into the lights of the hallway. The door swings closed.

It's oddly quiet and extremely bright. Junie stops crying to blink, and starts to cry again once she's adjusted.

Eddie does not know what to do. It's a kick to his ego that he quickly accepts, though he does murmur a rueful, "Babe, I thought you liked me."

Lost on deaf ears, his comment hangs in the air.

He pats her back some more, wracking his brain for how you take care of her when she gets like this. Mostly, you're patient. You hum and you wait. Eddie tries to emulate you and your kind heart, walking her up and down the hall as he taps the bottom of her spine.

"It's okay," he repeats. The more he says it the easier it feels. It is okay. He has to find a way to help June understand that, is all.

She grizzles. It's a long process. A couple of times he wonders if he's in over his head, if it's even his place, if he should wake you up and admit defeat.

But Eddie Munson is trying to prove something.

He works Mr. Bear out of Junie's iron grip and pinches his back taut so that his face and arms wiggle when he wants them to.

"Baby June," he begins, in as gruff a voice as he can manage. He tries to channel his uncle's sternness, and his fondness. "Won't you quit crying? You're getting tears on the neck of your t-shirt and all over your cheeks."

Junie quietens. She still cries, but the severity of the situation noticeably shifts.

Eddie keeps on. "I got just the thing," he says, pushing Mr. Bear forward and making smacking sounds as he kisses both of her cheeks. "Gotta kiss these tears right off a'you."

She laughs as Mr. Bear kisses her face dry and laughs some more when Eddie kisses the top of her head.

Eddie loves Junie.

He knows it for a fact.

She's very easy to love. She's beautiful as you are, she's loving, she's sweet. Her laugh is adorable and her smile is more. When she cries, Eddie finds he's never annoyed. Grated by the repetitive sound, maybe, but he can't find it in himself to be mad with her ever. He wants to help her work through it. To get you both through it. Eddie wants to be good at this.

He has Mr. Bear kiss Junie all over her face.

"See?" Mr. Bear asks. "Isn't that better? No more tears, little girl, or we'll never see the end of the movie!"

As Eddie says it, he wonders if taking her back into the theatre is a good idea.

"Hey, junebug?" he says, all drama set aside.

Junie lifts her flushed face.

He smiles gratefully. "Do you wanna go back inside? Go check on mommy?" Leaving you by yourself doesn't exactly sit right with him.

Ah, there's the face he was expecting. Puzzlement, surprise. Junie frowns at him and looks over his shoulder, her own, searching the empty hallway for you and finding only reflective floor lights and patterned carpet.

Eddie starts back into the screen room before she can cry over your being missing, chatting quietly but in a way that commands her attention. He's effective in the art of distraction if nothing else.

The mouse detective and his friends have defeated Professor Ratigan, though Eddie shields Junie's head from the screen in case he's thinking about making a comeback, finding his way back to you in the dark. He picks over other people's snacks and then the abundance of your own, finding you still sound asleep. The sight doesn't spell good tidings.

"Here she is," Eddie tells Junie, "here's mom. You wanna give her a kiss?"

He sits down in his seat and squishes a bag of gummy worms under his boot. Junie immediately bends over the armrest and grabs at your front. You'd worried to him once that she had separation anxiety, and Eddie didn't know anything about it to agree or not. This display makes him think she might. She's clinging to you, desperately wanting your attention.

Eddie winces as she grabs your face. She's obviously not trying to be cruel, hand stroking over your cheek as you'd stroke hers.

"Mom," she whispers, the action itself enough to get Eddie laughing. Her version of whispering is almost like a character in a pantomime.

He doesn't laugh for very long. You're not easy to wake up. Junie squishes your cheek and tries again. "Mommy," she says.

You groan in your sleep and your eyes scrunch together. "What?" you murmur finally, voice scratchy.

"You're missing the movie," Eddie says, patting your thigh.

Your arms come to life before you do. You wrap them around Junie's short torso and encourage her up your chest until you can nose at the top of her head. You rub slow lines, a steady back and forth. Eddie would bet money you don't have a clue in the world where you are.

"S'loud," you complain. Your voice is weak with sleep.

Junie looks at Eddie weirdly. He suspects it's her way of asking him to help out without asking.

He tenses his hand where it rests at your thigh. "Do you wanna go home?"

You don't answer. You go limp under his touch and Junie's weight, nose and lips set in a frown but otherwise near languid.

Eddie's small (and alarmingly ever-present) worry for you multiplies by a hundred.

He grabs up a bag of chips and entices your daughter back onto his thigh. She digs through half the bag as the movie draws to a finish, distracted if not happy, her face and fingers swiftly flaked in corn dust. The lights are thrown up and the noise is immense, a hundred pairs of shoes over tipped popcorn, babies and young kids unsettled, their parents eager to head home and watch their own movies no doubt.

Eddie can't say he'd really watched the film besides precursory glances, his focus on you and your fidgety offspring. He'd been excited to tell you about his Junie success, but now he just wants to get you home.

He says your name as clearly as he can, his hand finding its way to your thigh for the third time. He rubs down toward your knee and gives your leg a shake.

Junie climbs off of his own. Now the lights are on she can see the grand assortment of snacks laid out before her, and she seems eager to try them all.

You eventually, thankfully rouse, you drag a palm over your eyes and cross your legs, squishing his hand in the process. He steals it back.

"Babe, you gotta get up. The attendants are looking at us funny. I think they think I've run you ragged, and while the dad tag doesn't bother me, 'cruel husband' doesn't suit me."

"What?" you ask.

He shrugs. "Junie pissed her pants."

Your eyes open, lashes parting clumsily. You move like the air around you has turned to glue and moan in a quiet display of agony as your neck clicks. "She leaked through?"

"Nah, I'm messing with you. Movie's done. Getting some weird stares."

You're quiet, but you shrug on your jacket and Eddie packs what he can of the leftover candy into your bag. He swings it over his shoulder.

"You wanna come up?" he asks Junie.

She raises both arms.

You stand on shaky legs. Eddie stations Junie on one hip with one arm wrapped around her and holds out the other. You let him fold you up into his side.

"You okay?" he asks.

Your face drops into his shoulder. "I'm so tired."

"You're alright to walk out to the car?"

His worry is like a rubber band. You snap to attention, disengage from his hold. It's a foreign and really uncomfortable feeling to see you out of sorts.

Eddie walks behind you with a hand nearly but not touching your back. If you topple, he's not sure how he's gonna save you. Determined anyways, he guards you down the hollow stairs and through the hallway, one step behind you.

It's a cool, crisp night outside.

The smell of rain sticks around. You lift your chin. It's much colder now that night's fallen. The breeze kisses your damp skin. When did you start sweating?

He presses his hand to your shoulders and guides you across the road.

Junie starts her lovely babbling in his ear. "Mouse 'tective," she says at one point. You don't react, affirming his theory: you're more than tired. You're sick.

"Mouse detective," he agrees, arm around your shoulder to assuage his own worries as he gives Junie the best of his attention. "You liked that one, huh?" Besides the evil Professor. "Better than the Muppets in New York? Junebug, you little traitor. How easily your favour changes."

"Are you surprised? She took to you like," — you yawn wide enough that Eddie feels it under his arm, a full body thing — "a duck to water."

He beams, relieved to hear your voice. "Yeah, well, I'm special."

"That's true."

Eddie walks you around to the passenger side and opens your door.

"Flirting! Awesome. You're not too sick to forget how much of a catch I am. Watch your head."

"I gotta do Junie's straps," you say.

"I think I can do it by now."

He's only sort of bluffing. It takes him much longer than it would've taken you. He celebrates his win by pinching her cheek lightly and then whacking his head hard on the roof of your car.

"Fuck," he mutters as he jogs around the hood, scrubbing at the back of his head.

You're staring at him as he opens the door.

He puts the baby bag in your lap and shoves the key in the ignition, trying not to buckle under the weight of your gaze. He cracks quicker than he should, hand paused in its action.

"What?"

"You tryna give yourself a concussion?"

"Kiss it better?"

You kiss the tip of your finger and touch it to his head. It's an instant healing potion.

Getting you both home is easy enough, it's the trying to leave that's hard. You collapse heavily into the couch, Junie drapes herself over your lap and begs for her clothes to be taken off. Your second wind has worn away to nothing, leaving you plainly exhausted.

Eddie can't go home, not until he knows you're alright.

He slinks into your bedroom and tries not to look around too much. It feels like an invasion of privacy despite having made it in here a couple of times, always with his hip to the door as you search for something. He fails spectacularly and straight away, always hungry to know more about you. These days especially.

Your bed looks like you shook out the duvet but never tucked the corners. Your pillow's on the floor, your thin throw blanket is screwed up in a ball. There's a bunch of Junie's stuffies against the headboard. He grins at their straight backs.

He makes for your wardrobe, a cheap bit of cherry wood with one sagging door. As much as he wants to outfit Junie in her goodwill band t-shirt, he pulls a soft pair of cotton pyjamas out from a neatly folded stack, thumbing the blue fabric fondly. There's a noticeable disparity between her clothes and yours. One work skirt and one work shirt hang from two lonely hangers, accompanied only by your infamous 'best jeans'. He frowns at a small stain at the knee and scratches it fruitlessly. Not her best jeans, he thinks in horror, picturing your unhappy face. He can see it so clearly, the pinching of your brows.

Junie squeals happily from the living room. Eddie remembers himself and follows the sound, finding you both on the ground. You're kneeling, blowing raspberries into Junie's naked stomach where she lays on her changing mat, a discarded diaper and her dirty clothes to the side.

There's a big break between raspberries where your eyes drift shut sluggishly. Junie whines for another.

Eddie sits next to you. Stupidly close, his crossed leg kisses your thigh. He could wrap you up in a hug easily right here, and he wants to. Your tired face has his stomach aching with guilt.

"Sweetheart," he says to you firmly, "get back on the couch. You look like you're gonna fall asleep right here."

You don't argue, leaving Eddie the impossible duty of dressing your baby. Junie hates the shirt more than he can describe, loathes the fabric as it covers her face. He has to pick her up to get her into her pants, another fury. She forgives him easily once he's done, lingering by his side with Mr. Bear in hand. She pinches his back and imitates Eddie's low growl, laughing at herself as she does. She finds it very funny. Eddie can't help giggling with her.

"Eddie?" you ask.

He turns. You look miserable.

"What?" he asks softly, startled by your intense expression.

"Thank you."

"Oh, baby," he says, loud and brash as he twists where he is to grab both of your knees. He practically throws himself at you, at your feet, ducking his cheek to your leg. "You really are sick as a dog."

You look visibly embarrassed.

"Listen," he says, insistent, "If we start saying thank you to each other, we won't stop. We'll be a loop of thank yous."

"I think I have more to say than you do," you murmur.

He shakes his head, exasperated at your inability to see him for what he is even now. It's funny. Eddie thinks you've a better view of him than anybody else, that you see him more generously than anyone has ever seen him, and you still haven't noticed he's a boy in love.

You must feel his grin as he kisses your knee, his thumb stroking over the ridge of the cap.

"If I started to say thanks for all the things you've given me I wouldn't stop. I'd talk myself hoarse," Eddie argues.

You laugh at his dungeon master dramatics, but reaffirm, "I haven't given you anything."

"You don't know what you've given me," he says into your leg.

Eddie lifts his head, weary of his chin digging into your leg.

Now isn't the best time to declare devotion, or drop kisses into you when you can't offer any in return. Not that he's expecting you to. Not that he wouldn't receive them gratefully.

"I should go home."

You reach for him. Your hand moves slowly like you've a weight around your wrist, but your fingertips curve over his cheek; you move from the corner of his lip, under his eye, and then finish your circle at the skin beneath his ear.

"Can you hug me?" you ask.

"Yeah," Eddie says. He doesn't waste any time.

He gets up, slides a knee between your knees and rests his full weight on the couch between them as his arms curve around you and his hands feel for the dip of your lower back. He clutches without any hesitation.

"Can I? Did you mean it like that? My arms work fine."

You curl your arms around him and groan. "You're gonna crush me."

"Really?" He pulls you closer. "How 'bout now?"

"Ow," you whine.

He laughs and pushes his face toward your ear. "Liar," he whispers. "No way that hurts."

"Why's everybody always on top of me?"

"That's your issue?" He pulls back. "You want to sit in my lap?"

"No!"

"Aw, my poor girl. You totally wanna sit in my lap. Alright, get in it."

He sits down beside you and waits, one arm still behind your back. He gives you an encouraging tug.

"I'm not sitting in your lap."

"I didn't think you would, just- Just c'mere," he prompts, pulling your face into his chest.

Your arms slide around his waist. He can feel the scratchy skin on your left index finger, a scar of a recent kitchen accident, against his hip where his shirt has ridden.

"You're really handsy. Has anyone told you that before?" Eddie asks, trying to cover the entirety of your back with his arms alone.

You push your face as far as it'll go into his chest. Eddie keeps you there, and soon a little body has found its way onto the couch next to you both, demanding to be included. Eddie quickly drags her in.

Long minutes of quiet hugs.

"Wish we could stay like this forever," you murmur.

"Well, I'm not going anywhere. If you were worried."

He massages over the slope of your shoulder, a tight looking muscle. You sigh inaudibly, a hot patch over his heart.

"I wasn't," you say.

Eddie thinks you might finally be on the same page.

You get really, really sick.

"On my days off!" you croak, the injustice too much to handle.

Eddie laughs from the end of your bed, a bandana tied around his face like a doctor from one of his awful horror movies, though the bandana is far from a clinical white. "That's exactly why you're still sick. Your body sensed the weekend."

Hadn't it? You'd been achy and awful on Friday and Benny had sent you home at lunch, citing a need to keep his patrons from infection. Which sucked, because you'd really wanted to stick around for the very beginning of the Friday night rush and get some payday tips. People are generous when they're high on the buzz of a forthcoming weekend, especially to over obsequious waitresses.

It had sucked worse when Junie came out of daycare in the best mood ever and demanded kisses. You'd had a headache the size of a tennis ball behind your eyes and didn't want to pass anything over, and the crushed look on her face had made you cry in the car on the way home.

Eddie dropped in particularly early that night with soup. "I had a feeling," he'd said.

And now here he is again the day after.

"At least one of us is enjoying this," you say.

"You think I'm enjoying this?" Eddie asks.

You give his precautionary outfit a once over. "Yes."

"This is just something I had lying around."

"Shut up! Shut up, no it wasn't!" You're voice cracks, giggly and giddy even with the spikes of pain to your tender head.

"It was. We did a campaign, I was a plague doctor-"

"That is in terrible taste."

"It was perfectly appropriate, thank you very much. You're determined to vilify me. Need to slow down with the cold medicine, I think."

You shriek as he tries to take the bottle. "No! No, please, my throat hurts."

He takes the bottle. It is a hurtful defeat. You curl your fingers around nothing and sulk, slouching down into a sanctuary of pillows and blankets to hide from him. Extra pillows provided by Eddie. With fresh covers, duh. They smell like him anyway. You turn your nose into it indulgently.

"You've had too much to safely be responsible for any further consumption."

"Further consumption," you echo, eyes closing in defeat as he leaves.

"You okay, June?" you hear him ask, voice occluded partially by the sound of the TV.

"Okay, Eddie?" she asks.

You grin to yourself.

"I'm great. This looks very fun. I'm gonna make mom a cold pack for her head and then you can help me make dinner, okay? Does that sound fun? Tell me, June."

The 'Tell me, June,' isn't a command so much as a gentle reminder that she can answer the question if she wants to.

"Fun," she says.

"Hey, great. Oh, thank you. Thank you."

They better not be cuddling without me, you think bitterly, grin swiftly replaced by a self-pitying frown.

You cough into your hand, roil in your own misery for a second and then grab the big glass of water Eddie had insisted on from the night stand. You tip it down yourself in your hurry.

"Missed your mouth," Eddie says, appearing at exactly the wrong moment.

"Don't baby me."

He pads into the room with a cold pack wrapped in a hand towel. "For your head."

"This is silly. I don't need to be in bed."

"Obviously you do. You're sick, did you notice? Stupid question," he adds regretfully, gesturing for you to lie back. He sets the pack to your forehead. "You wouldn't notice a hole in your stomach. You'd be dripping entrails in the freezer aisle wondering if Junie wants corn on the cob or mashed potato with dinner tonight."

"What does she want for dinner tonight?"

"Boo! Exactly my point."

"I'm gonna go ask her-"

Eddie puts an unapologetic hand in the middle of your chest and pushes down. "You will do no such thing." He lowers his face to yours. "I'm willing to get physical. So behave."

You flush with heat because you're sick and not because he says it a certain way, dropping back down into your fluffed pillows without another word.

Eddie's hand climbs up to your collar, your neck. His fingers slide one after another behind it. It's a blessed cold. You can't find a comfortable temperature today, moving between chills and hot flashes at the drop of a hat.

Or a bandana. Eddie unties the dark fabric from his neck and leaves it where it lands, staring at you without saying anything.

His thumb presses into your sore throat carefully, the barest hint of pressure, and his lips part. He doesn't say anything for a while. It looks like he wants to.

"Do me a favour?" he asks finally.

"Of course." Anything to feel useful right now.

"Take it easy." He again lowers his head, talking to you with a private smile. "The sooner you chill out, the sooner you'll beat this thing."

"Don't say that. Like I have something serious."

"The sooner you'll beat this moderate-"

"Mild-"

"-affliction." He strokes quarter-circles into your neck.

"I don't need to lie down. There's things I have to do."

"On a Saturday?"

"Yes. There's things I need to do everyday." You clear your throat. It's useless, the lump remains and your voice stays scratchy. "I have- I always have laundry. So that first. Gotta wash it and put it out and bring it in and press it. I gotta make sure Junie has lunch for daycare this week 'n if she doesn't I have to go get it, I gotta," — you cover his hand with your own thoughtlessly — "make sure her rash is getting better. And I promised we'd do a tea party tomorrow, I have to make sandwiches!"

"We both know she doesn't remember the tea party."

"I promised."

"And if I… If I tried to get all those things done, would you stay in bed?"

"You can't."

"But if I tried it? I can do laundry. I'm good at it. Get oil stains out of Wayne's coveralls every Sunday."

You slump into a lump of sadness and achy arms. "Don't do my laundry. Don't do any of that stuff. I'll punch you if you do."

Eddie bursts into laughter. "You'll punch me? You horrible woman."

"I will," you promise, fingers curling around his arm to hold him in place.

"Why don't I believe you?"

"I don't know. 'Cos you're a know-it-all who dislikes me."

"I far from dislike you." He grins at you, all dimpled and pretty. "I don't believe you'd hit me because I know you, idiot."

"Name-calling."

"Uh-huh. Are you sleeping or am I helping you out onto the couch?"

While you're happy for the compromise, you have one problem. "I don't think I can move."

Eddie lets his face fall amicably to your collar. "No, I bet you can't. More reason for me to get you on the couch. I think you've genuinely had too much cough syrup," he worries, warm breath fanning over your skin.

You bring your spare hand to his head. He has so many curls.

He lifts his head and you're close enough to kiss. There's no other reason anyone has ever been this close.

"I can see your beauty mark," you say, hushed. You don't wanna breathe on him too much.

"Freckle."

"Your freckle." You lift and drop his curls, fingers toying through the softness towards his roots, the frizz at the ends.

"You- You smell like fucking cherry syrup."

You abandon his hair to clap a hand over your mouth. "I'm sorry."

He covers his own mouth. "It's okay," he says, similarly muffled. "I like the sweet stuff."

What the fuck does that mean? Your stomach doesn't flip — it leaps right up into your throat. "You're an idiot," you breathe, caught off guard.

"What was that?" he asks, taking away his hand. "Didn't catch it."

"I said, 'You're an-"

"Amazing friend and confidante?"

You try to talk and he says, "A real stand-up guy?"

You try again and he says, "A total rockstar? Baby, if you really think all this you should've said."

You flop completely onto your back, away from his hands, his jokes and his lovely brown eyes where they bore into your own. Eddie hums and rubs brashly over the top of your arm until the skin glows with heat.

"Please stay in bed," Eddie says as he stands.

Medicine or his touch, you're feeling pretty tired. You pull up your blankets and sink like a stone, head disappearing into a mess of pillows and throws.

It's much later when you wake. You move into the land of the living abrupt as whiplash.

Eddie seems very sorry. "Sweetheart, June's past due for a new diaper, and I-"

"Oh, right," you say, sounding much more alert than you feel. You're a girl made of sandpaper.

"I would've, I mean. If it wouldn't make you uncomfortable, I would've tried. But I've never changed a diaper in my life."

You scratch your flaky eyes, disorientated and head like a boiling saucepan with the lid glued on.

"That's okay," you say. Your voice refuses to cooperate with you, gruff and too quiet. "It wouldn't bother me, but it's also not your job, so… Um." You yawn wide and cover your entire face.

You spend a minute rubbing your eyes.

"Fuck, what time's it?" you ask, squinting at him and bringing your hands to either side of your face.

"Like, seven. Ish."

"Eddie…"

"I know. I thought you could use the rest. I knew you could. And it's not urgent, you know? Come around, first. Everything's stellar."

You peel back the sheets. You're a clammy, too-hot mess with weak legs.

Eddie sees you wobble and rushes to wrap an arm around your waist. Completely unnecessarily, heart-achingly kind. You wince at the dampness of your shirt under his touch.

Junie sits on the couch in her jammies with a yellow-green soup stain down the front. She's propped up like a princess, a pillow behind her head between the armrest and her blanket covering her legs, cheek pressed to the cushions. Eyes trained on the TV and her bottle propped in a slackening grip, your baby is peaceful, near luxurious.

Only a little wiggle might suggest she's uncomfortable.

You part from Eddie's side and sit down beside her, the seat warm. She doesn't even look up.

"What, no hi for mom?" you ask tenderly, hand falling to the top of her head. She's lovely.

She gasps, little lungs fit to burst. It's pure excitement, her bottle dislodged and the blanket pushed away immediately. She doesn't bother getting to her feet, throwing herself into your lap and assuming you'll do the rest. Of course you will. You pull her up and kiss the top of her head, though you quickly hold her at arm's length.

"Sorry, mommy's still sick," you tell her, sympathetic at her crushed expression.

"Mis'd," she says.

"Yeah? You missed me?" you ask hopefully.

Her lips part in comprehension. "Missed you," she confirms.

You throw your gaze over your shoulder to Eddie. He stands by Junie's changing station with a smug smile. "What?"

"You're not very convincing."

"I'm not trying to convince you, thanks," he says, holding up two hands in surrender.

"She didn't learn that herself," you argue.

"She might've. You tell her enough."

You go back to your girl, pleased at her own smug smile. "I missed you, too, I missed you so much. Missed you millions. Sorry I've been sleeping all day, you've been such a good girl. She has, hasn't she?"

Eddie sorts through a nearly empty bag of diapers and brandishes one with fish printed on the back. "Oh, yeah. Junebug's been amazing. She came in with me to see you earlier, took your temperature." You frown. "From a distance. Kind of. I held her above you. It was… acrobatic."

You close your eyes at his absurdity, your laugh prompting another spike of pain.

Junie forces herself closer and gets both arms around your neck.

You sag into the contact, defeated. "Aw, June," you mumble ruefully. "M'trying to make sure you don't get sick too. Wasting my time."

"Mommy," she says into your neck.

"That's me."

You know she has something she wants to say. You can't wait for the days where she can. Exciting, to think that one day she'll be able to share all of her thoughts.

Right now, she's probably thinking, Woah, mom, you smell weird. And you look weirder.

You feel her back with your hand and cringe. Definitely time to get her changed.

Afterward, you sit with your back to the open front door on one of the porch steps. Physical exertion of any kind seems to be inadvisable; you're sweating up a storm. Junie sits beside you at her own insistence, her hand clasped in your hand and her head on your arm. You look down at her thighs next to your own and marvel at their small size. The evening breeze is a blessing.

Eddie stands in front of you with his backpack slung over his shoulder and a checklist.

"Tea party sandwiches are badly made and saran wrapped in the fridge. Junie doesn't have lunch for Monday but I can go tomorrow if you want me to. Her clothes are folded in the hamper. Uh, some stuff got left out, you might need to press them. Not tonight though, please."

"Thank you."

He talks around a smile. "Soup's on the stove. I'll come back later, if-"

"You don't have to."

"I want to. I wouldn't actually leave, but-"

"Eddie-" You cough into your shoulder. He waits for you to finish. "You- You didn't have to take care of me."

"What does that mean? Of course I did."

He hikes his backpack higher up his shoulder and pads back up the steps, not all of them but enough for him to lean down and stare at Junie.

"Thanks for the best day ever," he says seriously, looking out of the corner of his eye at you. "Almost. See you later?"

Junie nods voraciously and reaches up with her empty hand. Eddie takes it and kisses her temple. He does the same to you, lips brushing soft as downy-feather over your skin.

"I'll come back around ten? Is that cool?"

"Don't knock too loudly," you mumble, very aware of his proximity.

He backs up and bows like an idiot, hand moving in circles.

You and Junie wave him off.

"To work?" Junie asks.

Your eyebrows jump as you pull your gaze from his retreating figure. "Huh?"

"To work?"

You play with her fingers. "No, he's not going to work. He's going to take care of someone else, now."

Wayne, Eddie said, in a fondly exasperated tone that explained everything you needed to know. His uncle's self-preservation must come in similar disinterest to himself as yours does to you.

"We'll see him tomorrow," you say. It's not even a lie, you will both see him tomorrow.

But apparently he's coming back tonight.

True to his word, Eddie Munson knocks your door carefully at nearing ten o'clock.

Wayne's dismissal chases his heels. He'd spent an hour worrying about you at the dinner table with his uncle, fingers curling anxiously in his hair.

Wayne had been talking about some gab the boys in the shop had heard about killer mice or killer lice or something when he'd suddenly cleared his throat and snapped Eddie to attention.

"You're a good kid. Notice how I said good, and not smart," Wayne had said.

"Gee, thanks. You always did know how to make a guy feel loved, Wayne."

"You don't wanna be here."

Eddie had frowned. "Obviously I do."

"Kid, what I mean is, you gotta," — he'd nodded his head hard to one side and raised his eyebrows — "you know."

"Haven't brushed up on my mysterious gestures lately. Translate that one for me?"

Wayne had flicked up his newspaper and sighed. "Don't be dumb."

"You keep saying that."

"You keep being dumb, boy."

"I don't know what you want me to do."

"Think you better go look after your girl, don't you?" Wayne had asked finally, clearing his throat.

So here he is to look after you. A tad early, worried you'll be sleeping on the couch with a misbehaving baby in your lap or passed out in the bathroom after an impromptu cleaning.

Thankfully, you open the door in different clothes than he'd left you in, the neckline dark with run-off and face damp under your eyes and by your ears. You dab at your tacky skin with your index knuckle.

"You look better," he says. He wishes he could take it back instantly, though you don't take any offence.

"Hot shower," you explain.

You step back to let him in. Eddie closes the door behind him without turning, eyes glued to your fresh face. He's depressed by the lingering fatigue he finds lining your darling features.

"You okay?" you ask him, perturbed by his silence.

Eddie's better than okay.

He steps close. You look like you might step back, make room for him he doesn't want, so he reaches out for your face and holds it in one hand, the other landing in tandem on your arm.

Your cheek lists into his hand as he wipes away what's left of the dampness on your face. He's not sure you know you're doing it.

"Did you take any more medicine?" he asks quietly, rubbing under your eye carefully with the tip of his thumb.

"No, I- I think you fixed me, Munson. Me and Junie had your soup, and after a shower I felt way better. It was really nice. She slept easy."

He presses the back of his hand to your forehead. "You don't feel too hot."

"Like I said. Fixed me. My hero."

He looks over your shoulder at your life — at his life, or at least where a majority of it seems to take place. All his favourite parts these days happen right there on your couch, or at that table, or knee to knee with a baby that isn't his but- but-

"You said that to me the first time we met," Eddie recalls, shaking his head. It's like there's water in his ears. A few strands of hair drift into his eyes.

You catch his elbows in both hands. "It feels like a really long time ago now."

Months. Only months. "I feel like I've known you for years."

He strokes over your face, chin to cheek, the tip of his thumb pressed to the corner of your mouth.

"That's how I feel, too," you whisper. Utter. Hushed, your words ring loud anyway. "You're my best friend."

Eddie doesn't take it for a door closing because it isn't. It's a door kicked wide open. Split on its hinges. You and Eddie stand on equal ground, and, for once, the same page.

"You know I don't mind taking care of you?" he asks, hand passing over your ear to hide behind it. He wants to see all of your face.

Predictably, you drop your eyes to his neck, pupils wobbling as you search for somewhere to plant yourself. "I know. I'm not sure I deserve it."

"Why wouldn't you deserve it? Everyone deserves taking care of."

"Even murderers?"

"Maybe not murderers-"

"The evil guys from your game? Necromancers?"

"They're not all evil." His left palm skirts up the curve of your neck, encouraging your face back to his. "Don't change the subject."

You press your lips together, caught.

"I actually…" — he gathers as much bravery as he has — "want to take care of you."

"You do."

He holds your face in both hands. "You know you- You know you started it, right? You know it's- that without your-" He cringes internally at his stammering, but he has to get this part right. "You have gold where your heart should be."

"Y/N The Golden Hearted. Doesn't have the best ring to it," you muse, hands clinging to the crooks of his elbows like twin pooled teardrops waiting to fall.

Eddie stares at you, floored.

"What about you?"

"What about me?" he asks.

"What's your name?" you demand, grinning.

"Eddie the Subtle. Munson the Mad."

You huff a laugh. "That's a cop-out."

"Maybe."

"How about…" The air feels thick as jelly. Light from under the bedroom door stops short of your legs, your toes almost touching. His rubber soles, your socks. "Eddie the Indomitable?"

He crinkles his nose. "I'd almost think you were trying to flirt with me, that's how bad that is."

Your blinks are slow. Your eyes soften.

"What if I was?" you ask.

A stock-still silence pervades, filled only by the hum of the refrigerator and the droning of the bathroom light, left on. He could tell you the contents of this room by its sounds alone.

His hand moves of its own accord, up and down the slope of your neck. "I'd say you needed a better pick up line."

"Like what?" you ask, chest rising too fast.

Eddie takes a step and feels his jacket zipper cut into the cotton of your shirt. It's your matching band t-shirt.

Eddie drags his gaze slowly to your widened eyes, your lashes as they move almost imperceptibly upward. Taking him in as he inches closer.

"You're so fucking pretty," he says.

He leans in. He closes the gap. Eddie Munson takes the leap.

Your hand comes quickly to his upper arm and you turn your face just enough to force his lips, his kiss landing a centimetre shy of your nose.

He struggles to keep his eyes closed. His heart thrums like a blown amp.

"You can't kiss me," you say. Eddie struggles to discern your tone.

His nose presses to yours. Not desperately, but almost. "I can't?" he asks, throat thick with emotion, a stickying, cloying taffy.

"I'll make you sick."

He turns your face with his palm, lips hovering above yours, a hair's width. Close enough to feel their heat.

"Can I trust you'll nurse me back to health, in the event that that happens?" Would you take care of me? His hands tremble where they're touching you. He's too scared to open his eyes.

You don't answer.

You cover his hands and the seconds stretch endlessly, a thousand moments of terror and pining and want suddenly flattened into one as you kiss him.

He exhales against you. His relief is a palpable, viscous thing as he pulls you in and his nose digs into yours. Lips soft as he'd imagined, as he'd known they'd be, you kiss back tentatively. Sweetly.

You're kissing him like he's something that needs a careful touch.

Eddie screws his eyes shut tight enough to see stars, firecrackers, a shattering bouquet of colours as you move beneath him. He can't believe he's kissing you. He can't believe there was a time where he wasn't.

He yields, leaning back just enough to see your face. You keep your eyes shut, your eyelashes kissing the delicate skin beneath. They move like blades of grass in the breeze as Eddie tries to catch his breath, regaining some of his composure. It's hard while he's here, this close.

You make a small sound, a breath like a barb. The shaky demarcation of tears.

"Okay?" he asks, more movement than sound. His lips skip over your own.

You have to feel it.

A laugh bubbles up through your parted lips like a hiccup. "I'm definitely gonna make you sick," you mumble regretfully.

"Make me sick, sweetheart," he says, begs. Whatever.

Whatever word you want to use. He doesn't care if he pays for it afterwards, he wants to be close to you now, unapologetically close. And kissing you — kissing you like this, your reciprocation, it's everything because it means you feel the same as he does.

Or a fraction the same. He's reassured either way. If you felt a fraction of what he felt, that's enough.

It's a lot. To be touching you, finally. He grabs at the nape of your neck and kisses, kisses, kisses. He goes slowly, not quite sweetly. He's never been as sweet as you have, never as soft or patient.

It doesn't feel like it matters.

You pull his hands from your face, press his and your own, all four hands to the collar of your shirt.

"It wasn't just a, uh, pick up line, was it?" you ask breathlessly.

"Wh- No." Eddie massages the back of your hands. "No, you're the fucking prettiest girl ever. I think you're aces. Killer. Everything."

"Everything," you say, an almost indecipherable glassiness to your eyes.

"Everything," he says. He spreads his hand over your heart.

You don't throw yourself at him, but you move alarmingly quickly. Arms over his shoulders, hands crossed and buried in his hair. Your laugh is magic, a bright and exuberant sound loud in his ear and then the skin underneath. He's barely got an arm around the small of your back when you start to kiss him, repetitive, chaste pecks over his pulse. It capers under your lips.

"I don't know what kind of girl you think I am-" He begins deadpan and breaks abruptly, your second wave of laughter impossible to ignore.

Your arms tighten at his laughing, palm cupping the back of his head.

"You're my best friend, too," he says. "But you knew that."

"Maybe," you murmur, your smile wide against his skin. You're uncharacteristically mischievous.

He lets his back bend under your weight until your heels lift and you're scrabbling to stay on your own two feet and is rewarded by your shrieking laughter.

Oh, god, he thinks, ecstatic.

"Wait," you say, bargaining for freedom as he squeezes you hard enough to make you laugh again, and again, "wait, wait! Wait, let go. I have something to tell you."

Eddie sets you down. He's reluctant to let you go, almost desperate to hug you now that he knows he can, but his curiosity gets the better of him. What could you have to tell him now that isn't confessional? It's like being promised something good.

You stand sure and sweet in front of him.

"It's…" You look shyly at his lips.

"What?"

"I…"

He shakes his head gently from side to side. "What? Tell me."

"Nothing," you say, beaming. Act dropped, you take his face into both hands and kiss him soundly.

Eddie's barely got his hands on you before you're pulling back.

"Just wanted to do that," you say.

𓆩❤︎𓆪

thank you for reading! | my masterlist | this fic is multi-chapter

if you enjoyed (i I really hope you did), please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fic

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orpheusredux · 2 years

Text

call it even - eddie munson x reader

summary: due to medical issues with your grandma, you have to return home to Hawkins to look after her. little did you know that her neighbor is your old classmate, Eddie Munson and his daughter, Riley.

warnings: singledad!eddie, mechanic!eddie, roommate!chrissy cunningham, subtle illusions to readers past, mentions of hospitals, family member suffering from stroke, light cursing, eddie kinda being down on himself?, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 3k

a/n: this is gonna be a slow burn, folks, so strap in. there will eventually be smut and occasional talk of sexual themes but those chapters will be properly tagged once we get there.

May 1988

Sweat beaded on your forehead, a combination of the new summer heat and the nerves you had as you took your final exam of the semester. There was a week break before the beginning of your summer classes and you and your roommate had made plans to make a road trip to the East Coast for a little getaway that you both desperately needed. With few things still left to pack before your early morning departure, you quickly finished your exam and began to make your way out the classroom door, when you were greeted by one of the school’s secretaries.

Rushing to the nearest campus pay phone you called Hawkins General. Your words came out quickly, asking about your grandmother and the status of her condition. Nerves shot; you could have puked right there if you weren’t so intent on listening to the nurse’s words. Your grandmother had suffered from a stroke. Thankfully, her neighbor found her right away and called for an ambulance. They’ve put her in a medically induced coma to help prevent any more bleeding, while running some tests to better judge the damage that’s been done. The nurse reassured you that they would update you more once you arrived at the hospital. You made a quick call to your apartment, leaving a hurried voicemail to your roommate before bolting straight for your car.

You don’t really know how you hadn’t been stopped for speeding, turning the one-and-a-half-hour drive into less than an hour with how fast you were going. Everything was a blur from the time you left until now, suddenly becoming hyper aware of the overbearing antiseptic smell and sounds of beeping being drowned out by people talking around you. You stood outside the hospital room door before you, staring down at the floor. “We haven’t gotten the results back yet,” the same nurse from the phone’s voice brought you back into the moment, tone soft and sweet, “but I heard the doctors say that she should recover well since she was brought in so quickly.” The breath you didn’t realize you were holding escaped from your lungs at the reassuring words. “Push her call button if you need anything.” She placed her hand on your arm briefly before walking away.

Finally taking that step, you made your way to your grandma’s side. Tubes and wires clung to her as a soft beep came from a monitor from her bedside table. To say it was hard to see her like this was an understatement. Memories of flooded back to you of the last time you had to be in a hospital like this. Fighting back tears, you pulled up a chair taking one of your hands in hers.

As the sun began to set, you sat absentmindedly, staring down at your own hands for what felt like ages before a doctor came in to speak with you. “Good afternoon! Well, I guess it’s evening now, huh?” He spoke loud and cheerful tone, contrasting the dreary setting of the hospital room you were in. You forced a smile as he introduced himself and began going over your grandmother’s test results.

“We did find some bleeding in the brain,” he started, eyes going from his paper to meet yours, “but, the bleeding is minimal and will stop soon if it hasn’t already. If she had been left for any amount of time more,” he flipped a page on his clipboard clearing his throat, “The damage could have been irreversible.” His seriousness lasted for only a beat before he perked up again, “But, we’ve seen many people recover with a little physical therapy and close monitoring. She could even go back home and live her life normally with the assistance of a mobility device to help her get around.” Your attention turned to your grandmother’s face. It was hard to imagine her recovering with how she looked now. The doctor reassured you that she looked worse than she really was. He made some short conversation, letting you ask any questions or voice any concerns. Your grandma would wake up in a day or two, but she would have to stay in the hospital until they could test her more.

As you were wrapping up with the doctor, the nurse from before poked her head into the room. “Sorry to interrupt,” she said with a furrowed brow, “but visiting hours are over for this wing.” You could tell she felt bad for having to kick you out, looking between you and the doctor. He gave her a nod and she left, him handing you papers as you walked around the bed to exit the room. “Are you going to be returning to your school or staying nearby?” You lingered in the doorway for a moment, looking back at the hospital bed. “I’m going to be staying at her place for as long as I need to, I guess,” you shrug, feeling the stress weighing on you again, “so just call her house phone if you need to reach me.” The doctor nodded, assuring he would call if anything came up.

An hour had passed of you just sitting in the hospital parking lot, mind swirling with stress and worry. You barely had any clothes at your grandma’s place, and you didn’t want to drive all the way back home in case something happened while you were on the road. You also were certainly not going on that vacation now; just the thought of this happening a day later, being gone for an entire week having fun while your grandmother was in the hospital the whole time would have done a number on you. Not that your therapist wouldn’t mind you returning their calls again.

There was also a thought that had been sitting in the back of your mind. Several times the nurses and doctor mentioned that the timeliness of her being brought in was a major factor in preventing any further brain damage. The nurse who called you said that her neighbor was the one to find her. Grandma had talked about her neighbor before, but you hadn’t met him yet since he moved in the previous summer. When you graduated high school and moved closer to your college, your grandma was finding it hard to maintain the house by herself, deciding to sell it and buy a couple duplexes, settling into one herself. Her opposite side stayed empty for a while before someone she felt would be suitable to share a wall moved in.

She said he was young, early twenties, and that he had a daughter who wasn’t even 2 years old yet. Being the kind natured person she was, she couldn’t turn him down when he told her that he desperately wanted to take her away from the trailer park they previously lived in. Something about him helping her with general maintenance and keeping her car running for cheaper rent was mentioned at one point. Wracking your brain, you tried to conjure the guy’s name, it just sitting at the tip of your tongue. Edward…something?

On your way home, you stopped at a gas station to pick up some beer. You weren’t sure what he would like, so you just picked something you had seen people drink at parties. You also managed to stop in and grab a pie from the local diner. The waitress, Miss Betty, was a friend of your grandmothers, gave you the pie on the house after you told her what had happened, even when you insisted on paying. You gave her a small wave before finally heading back to your grandma’s.

Her half of the small duplex was eerily quiet as you pulled up. The lack of light from inside made you uneasy, especially in contrast to the window flickering on the left side of the house. A half white and half green van sat in the neighbor’s driveway that made you squint with an overwhelming sense of familiarity. This town is small, you thought, as you grabbed the things from your passenger seat. The likelihood of seeing a car like that before was high in this small town. You snook a quick peak inside as you walked by, catching the front facing car seat in the second row.

As you approached, you suddenly felt a bit foolish at the gesture of showing up unannounced to a person’s house, that you’ve still yet to meet, after dark, with beer, a pack of cigarettes, and a whole pie. You stood on his small porch for a moment, debating on turning around, when the porch light suddenly flicked on.

The door swung open, dark brown, almost black curls illuminated under the glow as the man backed out of the home, facing the door behind him. He was shirtless, his chest and arms littered with tattoos and small scars now visible under the lamp above him. When he finally turned to face you, making direct eye, you couldn’t move, frozen like a deer in headlights.

“Uuuuuhh,” he finally spoke, eyes darting between yours and the things in your grasp. He huffed a laugh, his hair swaying as he shook his head, taking a step closer to you, “I think you got the wrong house, sweetheart.”

You blink. “Eddie Munson?”

A look of surprise washes over him as his eyebrows rise up into his bangs. “Oh, okay, maybe you do have the right place.” He crosses his hands across his chest, tilting his head in curiosity, “Did someone send you here or- “

“Shit, no,” you snap back into reality. Eddie Munson was the last person who was expecting to be living next to your grandma. You remembered Eddie from high school. How could you not? He was loud, always in trouble; not that it bothered you as much as it did the people around you. You had minimal interactions with him other than a few shared classes, but he made an impression on you, nonetheless. “I, um,” you started as you gestured towards your gifts, “I just wanted to bring this stuff as thanks for helping my grandma. It’s not much but I don’t think you can buy anything equivalent to saving a life in Hawkins this late at night,” you chuckle.

His confused expression turns to one of brief shock, before softening. His hand rubs the back of his neck before meeting your eyes again, “So you’re Mrs. Ruth’s granddaughter? Is she going to be, okay?”

“I think so,” you say with a hint of uncertainty, “The doctor I spoke with seemed confident, but she’s in a coma right now, so they won’t know for sure until they get her conscious again.”

“Jesus Christ” he exhales. The look on his face seemed genuinely concerned, and a sense of relief warmed you. Knowing that your grandma really did have someone caring around her when you couldn’t be made you feel a little less guilty. “Well, if it makes you feel any better,” you lifted the beer and pie to him, “the doctor made it a point that she would’a been worse off if she didn’t get to the hospital so quickly. The nurse said you called right away.”

“Ah, yeah,” he shied away from the credit you were giving him, “I get off early on Fridays sometimes and decided to water Mrs. Ruth’s plants for her. I just happened to look up into the window and, “he wiped his hand over his mouth, “saw her just hit the ground.” There was a dry pause between you, eyes focused on the ground before you cleared your throat to speak. “Well,” you lifted the six pack, “I guess we could both use one of these then.”

You didn’t intend to stay on his porch for long, but the conversation came easy between you two. Eddie remembered you from your shared high school days. It made sense, being promoted to co-captain of the cheer squad in your junior and senior year made you well known to the student body. “You look different in civilian clothes.” He quipped. “Maybe if you showed up in your cheer uniform, I would have known who you were. Not that it would have been any more shocking to see you at my door.” The last 4 years in college did change you a bit, for the better in your opinion. It’s crazy what not being surrounded by teenagers all the time can do for you.

“Well, you haven’t changed a bit,” you poked at him, following with a swig from your beer. “I could’ve recognized you from a mile away. You’d think having a kid would’a made you at least wanna cut your hair or something.”

He flipped his hair over his shoulder and fluttered his lashes at you, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve got the best hair out of all the dads in Hawkins.” A wide grin spread across his face, leaning back into his chair, “Besides, Riley would be devastated if I ever cut it.”

“Awwwwwww” you say with a teasing tone, shrugging into another sip of beer, “at least you found a girl that likes guys with long hair.”

“Riley is my daughter.”

“Oh, whoops, sorry.” You hold a hand up, “I thought you were talking about your girlfriend.” You look over at him again, “Still, it’s wild that Eddie “The Freak” Munson has a kid.”

His eyes are locked on the can in his hand, hard to read expression on his face. “Yeah, I, uh, I guess someone wanting to be with a freak would be hard to believe.”

“Shit, no,” you grab his arm, his head whipping up to look at you, both of your eyes wide. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t calling you a freak. It was more my lame attempt at making a joke. I just assumed 4 years was long enough that it would be a joke by now.” You never even understood why your friends were so adamant about making fun of him in the first place. It didn’t matter if he was showing out or if he had been brought up in conversation, you did your best to ignore the name calling, even tried to shut the topic down all together at times. Not that you were above gossip or being petty, but it was usually over people who deserved it, not just because someone was different than you.

“Maybe it would be if it had been 4 years for me. I didn’t graduate until ‘86,” his voice quieted as he said the last part. “Oh,” you said with a hint of surprise, “You know my roommate then. She also graduated in ‘86. Chrissy Cunningham?”

Tension left Eddie’s body with a huff of a laugh, smile making his eyes crease. “You live with Chrissy fucking Cunningham? Do you cheerleaders thrive in packs or something?”

“We have to or else we wither away and die.” You say with a faux seriousness, face straight for only a second before your mouth curled into a small smile. His goofy laugh was cute, and you couldn’t help but laugh as well. “Living with Chrissy is great. I had to find a place to live on short notice and it was her idea for me to move in with her. Due to the…circumstances of me needing to move, she was the only one I could trust to live with anyway.”

“Does that mean you have to share a living space with Jason Carver, too?” Eddie looked at you with a grimace. “Hell no. I got her to break up with him before the end of her freshman year.” A prideful look on your face was met with a mouth open in shock from Eddie.

Jason was a dickhead even when he was a sophomore, so when you learned that he had only gotten worse when Chrissy had started going to the same school as you, you went into big sister mode. Him cheating on her with one of your classmates helped your cause, but you were confident you could have broken them up anyway.

“Wow, Jason Carver cheating? I would never have guessed.” Eddie sarcastically spoke into his beer as he took another sip. “Correction, I’m more surprised that he was finally caught. Guys like him don’t appreciate something good when they have it right in front of them,” he grumbled.

A look of amusement took over you with Eddie’s grovels. “Well, she’s still single if you’re interested.” You gave him a playful nudge. He waved your arm away, laughing as he shook his head, “If you had asked me two years ago, I would have jumped at the chance. But now,” he gestured to the door next to him, “I don’t really think she’d be interested in raising someone else’s kid.”

“That may be true for Chrissy,” you said knowing Chrissy wanted to finish school before even thinking about kids, “but I wouldn’t say that’s true for everyone. Plenty of girls think guys with kids are hot.”

“Not when the guy looks like me,” he made an overly exaggerated gesture down his body. “Especially not in Hawkins.” You pointed a finger at him, pausing to find the right words to say before sitting back defeated. “Yeah, you’re right,” you said solemnly, “not many girls can handle the hot rockstar look and the single dad combo anyway.”

“So you think I’m hot?” he says with a coy smile wiggling his fingers with hand under his chin. Only since the 11th grade history class you shared. But he didn’t need to know that. Was the beer getting to you?

“Well would you look at the time,” you looked at your nonexistent watch on your wrist, “it’s way past my bedtime. I guess I’ll catch you later.” Eddie smacked the arm of his chair as he laughed again. “Well before you go,” he giggled out as you got up to leave, resting his hand on his hand, “could you keep me updated on Mrs. Ruth. She’s done a lot for me, and I won’t sleep right until I know she’s okay.”

You wouldn’t be getting much sleep either. With a soft smile and a nod, you took a step into the yard behind you. “I think I can manage that.” thank you so much for reading! feedback is greatly appreciated <3

#orpheus reads

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orpheusredux · 2 years

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I just read that Joseph Quinn has felt like people meeting him are disappointed that he’s not 19 or Eddie. This is depressing as fuck. I mean… come on.

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orpheusredux · 2 years

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So, we’ve all seen these, right? #WonderlandMagazine

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orpheusredux · 2 years

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Thank you, lovely!

Ride the Lightning

Summary: Eddie is hanging out in his girlfriend's bedroom when he discovers something... naughty and delightful.

Rating: NC17

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Reader. Established relationship

Warnings: Very, very smutty. No Minors! 18+ only. Canon compliant.

A/N: I have been writing this is fits and starts for weeks, but I just couldn't stop. I meant it to be a quick and dirty little drabble about a boy, and girl and her vibrator, but then I went and got feelings all over it and it turned out way longer than I intended too. Please consider reblogging, it really helps. Also, this way for my AO3 and my masterlists. 5433 wds

“Baby… what’s this?”

You look up from where you’re lying on your tummy on your bed reading a trashy romance novel to see your boyfriend of six months holding…

“Oh my God, Eddie! Put that back!”

…Your vibrator.

You met at a punk show in Indianapolis in the depths of Winter. Eddie was working the door, and when you walked up late to meet your pals who were already inside, he’d looked you up and down, given you a wrist stamp, and a wink, and ushered you in without asking for a dime.

It was almost as if he’d known the way to your heart was free gigs.

Later he’d “bumped into you” at the bar and bought you a drink. Then you bought him one. Then there were shots with the band. The next thing you knew the two of you were back at your apartment, sprawled across your ratty old sofa, his tongue in your mouth and your hand in his pants. You’d been dating ever since.

Being with Eddie was both delightfully easy, and head-fuckingly bizarre at the same time.

First of all, he was a metaller, and you’d only ever dated punks, stoners and on one less than stellar occasion, a party guy from California who wore pastel exclusively. You were not prepared for the level of energy Eddie brought to your relationship, the earnestness and often kind of confronting honesty. He told you he loved you three months in, and then proceeded to spend the next three months showing just how much.

“I learned the hard way not to fuck around,” he told you once, when you’d pressed him on how he could tell someone he loved them so easily. “I know for a fact you don't always get that tomorrow you're putting things off till. You know?”

Which brings you to the second thing: Eddie was from Hawkins, that town down state that had caught fire and burned to the ground - like the whole town. They called it Indiana’s Centralia, now, after that town out East that’d been burning for 30 years? That was Hawkins. Everyone had been evacuated and there was still a danger zone three miles deep around the place.

Eddie talked about it sometimes, not a lot, but enough for you to know he wasn’t over what had happened to him there. All you knew was he’d seen some shit, been badly hurt and never wanted to go back. Except… as much as he hated the place, as much as it scared him and he never wanted to see it again, it was like he knew one day he’d have to.

It was eerie, honestly.

He never took off his shirt, either. Not even in bed. You’d felt that the skin on his ribs and chest wasn’t entirely smooth, and once in bed he’d rolled over in his sleep and you’d glimpsed some shiny pink skin at his waist. You knew it had been bad, you knew there’d been fire, but those scars looked… well, they didn't look like burn scars. They almost looked like... well, it was silly what you'd thought. Besides, it had been dark and what the fuck did you know, anyway?

Glimpsing them hadn’t made you any less curious about him, but it did make you stop trying to get him to take his shirt off in bed.

You didn’t know how to tell him that he was safe with you, that he was the best boyfriend you’d ever had. Kind, considerate, thoughtful; that you thought it was quick, sure, but maybe you were falling in love with him.

He’d introduced you to his only family, his uncle Wayne, who lived in Wyoming now, but came to visit him a lot, and the guys from his band - Gareth, Jeff and Dave - Corroded Coffin.

He shared a place with them in Speedway, you'd stayed there a few times. You loved the guys, really you did, but it was kind of a dump, so you spent a lot of time together at your studio on Canal Walk.

He wasn’t perfect - he could be impulsive, your dad worried about his “fiscal stability”, and for someone with so many secrets, he sure was nosey.

Which was why he was currently standing in your bedroom holding your goddamned vibrator with a look on his face like he’d just won the sexual lottery.

In his defense - not that he deserved any - you are the one who left the draw open, which was practically an invitation to pry as far as Mister Sticky Beak here was concerned. But still, a girl could keep some secrets, couldn’t she?

You leap off the bed and make a grab for it - or try to - before he can push the little black button on the base of the thing.

Eddie, being Eddie, holds it above his head, just out of your reach and says, “Now now, let's not be hasty,” as you try vainly to grab it.

“Eddie,” you whine and consider elbowing him in the ribs - but the other thing that glimpse of his scars has given you is a healthy respect for his body. You’d rather die than hurt him. You’ll have to resort to pouting and pleading instead. “Give it back. That’s private.”

You give him a pointed look and hope he’ll pick up what you’re putting down. Naturally he doesn’t.

“Is it though?” He leers at you, trying not to laugh right in your face. “I mean, I am sort of in charge of delivering the orgasms around here now, aren’t I?”

You bark a laugh, despite yourself. “Oh, who are you, again? Cruise director of the love boat? My orgasms are my business, mister!”

“That’s not what you were saying last night,” he says slyly, before putting on the worst - also the most annoyingly accurate - impersonation of you in the throes of passion, pitching his voice just below a falsetto squeak. “Oh Eddie! Oh Eddie, you’re gonna make me… I’m gonna… Oh, oh, oh!”

Scars be damned, you poke him right in the armpit, and he drops the vibe with an “oof”. You grab it before it can hit the ground, and make to run away with it, but he grabs you - playfully - around the waist and mock-wrestles you onto your bed. You land on top of him, both of you breathless and laughing by now, the vibe clutched tightly in your fist, up by his head.

His hands slip down you back, over your hips and he grabs two good handfuls of your ass. In the six months since you started fooling round he has never missed an opportunity to show you how much he loves touching you, kneading your flesh, tracing all your curves. He likes it almost as much as he seems to like being touched by you. It’s one of the things you adore the most about him - he has a healthy respect and fulsome admiration for your big, bouncy body.

“OK,” he says. “Let’s settle this like gentlemen. Let’s play a game…”

You squint at him, not trusting him one inch - you trust him completely, but you also do. Not. Not one inch.

“Like gentlemen, old sport! What what,” you reply, in a mock English accent.

“Let’s play Quid, Pro, Quo.”

Now, you’ve never played a game called Quid, Pro, Quo before, but he just took you to see Silence of the Lambs last week - you don’t care what anyone says about psychological thriller, that was a dang horror film in disguise - so you think you have a pretty good idea what it means.

“Ew, Eddie, I am not role playing sexy serial killers with you,” you say, and put up a bit of a struggle to get off him.

That really makes him laugh, but instead of letting you get away, he wraps his arms around you and gives you a squeeze.

“Oh Jesus Christ, no. That does nothing for me, either,” he says with a theatrical shudder, that only serves to rub you forcefully all over his body, your soft squishy boobs against the hard, warm planes of his chest. It makes something delicious tingle deep in your core. How’s that for quid pro what-the-fuck-ever, you get plenty of pleasure and enjoyment out of his body, too.

“No, in my version of the game, we take turns offering each other something we think the other might want, and if they do, they have to…”

He lifts a hand off your derriere and waves it around suggestively.

“What like, I offer you a BJ, and if you want one - “

“If!” Eddie snorts.

“ - you have to offer me ‘something of equal or greater value’?”

“Yeah,” he says with a grin. “Something like that. And then you can counter it with something of greater value again.”

“Like a sexy version of ‘chicken’?”

“Well, I was trying to make it classy, but we can go with ‘Sexy Chicken’ if that works. My idea, so I start…”

“Nuh huh, Big Fella,” you say, tweaking his chin with the hand not currently holding a goddamned vibe. “Ladies first… OK, what will you give me to get the hell off you.”

“Oh no,” Eddie replies, nose scrunched up. “I wouldn’t even give you a dime for that. You’ll have to stay exactly where you are.” He grabs your ass again, and kind of settles in with a sigh.

“Ungh, OK,” you say, rolling your eyes. “What if I… take off my bra.”

“Without getting off me?”

“Without getting off you, you perv.”

He laughs and then bites his lip considering. “OK, I will give you a foot rub. Both feet. On… Thursday, straight after your shift at the coffee shop.”

You gasp. You work nights at the campus beanery and your feet are routinely absolutely battered by the end of the night.

Once, early in your courting, Eddie had been waiting for you at your place when you came home from one of those shifts. He’d waited for you to kick off your shoes, and slump in your favorite chair, before kneeling down next to you, and starting to knead your instep, heels, calves and the pads of your toes. Without being asked.

No offence to the many wonderful orgasms you’d shared with each other since you met, but that massage had been better than sex.

Now that he was working the door at the club more regularly, Eddie wasn’t around when you finish work much anymore, so this offer was kind of a big deal.

You start reaching behind yourself to unclasp your bra without saying another word - only to then realize you are still holding the Goddamned vibrator. You chuck it up the bed by the pillows, and he grins down at you cheekily.

“I’m on a goddamned promise, Munson,” you say, from somewhere inside your tee shirt.

“Yeah, yeah, you know I’m good for it.”

His eyes slip over your shoulders and arms as you wriggle and twist, pulling your straps off under your tee shirt and pulling the bra out the sleeve. Through two layers of denim you feel his cock twitch when your unfettered boobs press against his torso. He bites his tongue and sweeps his hands up and down your arms. His gaze is just as warm and soft.

“Ta dah!” you say, flinging the bra away. You’re immediately jostled a bit by his laughter. “My turn again?”

“Your turn,” Eddie agrees.

You take your time thinking, trying to remember some throw away snippet of kinkiness he’d hinted at, or a time when he’d wanted to try something, but you hadn’t. Finally, you mind settles on a movie you’d watched together one rainy afternoon that had ended in a mind blowing fuck on the floor of your en suite bathroom.

“I will let you do that - you know - that thing, from 9 1/2 Weeks.”

Eddie goes very still. “OK, I need to be clear here, are you talking about the striptease?”

“Nope… the other thing.”

“With the - the ice and the -”

“And the blindfold.”

“Holy fuck,” Eddie said, eyes like saucers.

You cross your hands on top of his chest and rest your chin on the back of them. “I play to win, Munson,” you say, all cocky.

He laughs at you. “Oh my God, what have I got that would match that?”

“What indeed?”

He looks at you thoughtfully, reaches up and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear tenderly, and then in the smallest voice you’ve ever heard him use, he says, “The next time we fuck - I’ll take off my shirt. I’ll take it off. For you.”

It’s so not what you were expecting, so not where you thought this teasing, titillating game was going, that for a second you’re too shocked to say anything. Your voice just deserts you, until finally…

“Baby, you don’t have to do that.”

“No, I know,” he says with a sigh, his eyes slipping away from yours, to focus on a tendril of your hair he’s playing with. “But I also know it’s weird - ”

You do push away from him then, because you’ve suddenly got this horrible weight in the pit of your stomach. Did you give him that idea? Had you made him feel pressured?

“It’s not weird,” you say. He sits up too, as if he’s going to argue the point. So you stop him, with a hand to his chest.

“It’s not weird,” you say, firmly. “It’s private. It’s none of my business, it’s - you don’t have to tell me or show anything you don’t want to.”

He covers your hand on his chest with one of his own.

“But what - what if I want it to be your business,” he says. “God, that sounded way better in my head. I mean - “

You turn your hand, take hold of his and squeeze, nodding for him to go on.

“I don’t want us to have secrets anymore. I feel like I’m keeping something from you every time we fuck, and I don’t want to any more.”

“Then I’m happy for you to tell me anything you want to tell me. But Eddie, you have to know -”

His eyes are so big and limpid in the dim light of your room and you just - you don’t want any secrets any more either.

“You must know I l-love you,” you say finally, tripping over the biggest four letter word in the language.

He smiles, warmly, but you can’t help noticing there’s sadness there too as he scoots up the bed.

“Sweetheart,” he says, reaching behind his head to pull the back of his shirt over his shoulders and off. “You really do play to win.”

The tee shirt sails off the side of the bed and then there’s just him, his arms out wide, head lowered so you can’t really see his face, just his mottled torso and the top of his dear, beloved head.

You knew it was going to be bad, but it’s actually even worse than that. He’s not looking at you, so you have time to school your face into a placid, relaxed gaze, to not to show what you’re really feeling, because you know the shock and horror would hurt him, even if he pretended it didn’t.

Now you understand exactly why he’d never shown you before; why it took him half a year to trust you with this. You’re honest enough with yourself to admit if you’d seen the ruin of his chest in the first few blushy weeks of your romance, you might have run for the hills.

Low, on his right side, there are gouges - not burns - angry-looking welts of pinkish, reddish skin that bulge and buckle like an infection that’s healed badly. Dotted around this scar are little rosy contusions, like blood has burst under the surface and congealed there. Deep scores - healed, but puckered - rake across his hip. They look like they could pop open again at the slightest provocation.

You can’t keep back the gasp that comes when you take in the extent of the damage to his right side, though. There’s almost nothing there but scar; no nipple, or curve of skin over fat, muscle and bone. Instead it’s just a horribly twisted rent in the flesh where those parts of his anatomy should be.

Without thinking, you reach out - to what? Sooth? Map? Verify? You don’t know - only to pull back before you can touch him. He catches your hand, pulling it towards his ruined pec, flattening your fingers, gently, like he’s trying not to spook you, and pressing them to the skin.

“It’s OK,“ he says. “It doesn’t hurt. It’s healed. It’s actually…I was going to try and say it’s not as bad as it looks. But, ah, it is - it was - exactly as fuckin’ bad as it looks.”

“Oh Eddie,” you whisper, because there’s really nothing else you can say. The skin under your fingertips is warm and hard, feels rubbery and artificial. You feel what’s left of his muscles flex a little under it.

He lets go of your hand and takes hold of your shoulders.

“You can’t tell anyone,” he says, urgently, whispering your name rather than one of his many pet names for you, squeezing your shoulders for emphasis. “Everything they say about Hawkins, the - the fire, the chemical spills. It’s all bullshit. I’ll tell you all of it, one day, if you want. But, it’s a long story. Can we - another time?”

You nod as if you understand, but you don’t. You’re not sure you ever will, or even want to.

“Do they - can you feel me?” You ask, sliding your hands so gently over the scars, touching. mapping each one.

“Yeah, I can feel you,” he says. “I always feel you.”

With your hand still on his chest, you kneel up, straddling his thighs, press yourself closer to him, leaning in to kiss to his mouth, slowly and thoroughly, so he knows - so he can be certain - this knowledge changes nothing except to make things more real, more sure between you.

“I'm so sorry this happened to you. And I am so glad you survived.” You hear your voice catch on that last bit, feel the tears choking up at the back of your throat.

He makes a soothing sound and wraps his arms around you.

“I was mad about it, for a long time,” he says, his voice muffled where his face is pressed into your neck. “But - this is going to sound fucking insane - everything that happened brought me here.”

He leans back and looks up into your eyes. You cup his dear face in your hands.

“I don’t think I’d change a fucking thing - not even losing my goddamned nipple - if it meant I didn’t get to have you.” His voice is gentle, soothing, and so full of love he’ll never need to say the words if he just keeps talking to you like that.

You kiss him then, because you’re not sure what will happen if you try to speak. You don’t want to cry all over him. He’d only end up taking care of your messy feelings, when you’re pretty sure he’s got big enough feelings of his own to deal with.

You lean back and smoothing your hands over his bare shoulders and back to his neck, you say, “so, I guess that makes it my turn again, huh?”

He barks one of his big braying guffaws, wraps his arms around you and squeezes.

“Oh, we’re still playing? OK, OK, sure, babycakes. Whaddaya got?“

Out of the corner of your eye you catch a glimpse of that goddamn vibe sitting by your pillow. The idea pops into your head before you’ve really thought about the logistics, but once it’s there, you almost can’t get it out. Could you? Should you? Really?

You pull yourself off his lap and crawl up the bed, collapsing onto your back, the pillows under your head. Eddie twists to watch, and his eyes go soft when you pick up the vibe and turn it over in your hands.

“What if I… ride the lighting, right here, right now, while you watch?”

You both stare at each other for a second, until Eddie cracks, snickering like a naughty school boy.

“Ride the what now?”

“Ride the - the lightning, baby,” you say, giggling and waving the vibe. “That’s what they call it right? ‘Cause it’s electrical? “

“Oh my God, seriously? What the hell have you been reading?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?

“I’m pretty damned sure I would,” Eddie says, bemused. He crawls up the bed after you to lie on his side looking down at the little pink vibe in your hands.

He reaches out, and thumbs the little black button on the bottom. The little thing starts up with a buzz that makes the breath catch in both your chests. Eddie hmms, and runs the tips of his finger over the soft, curved edge. You know he’s picturing it, picturing you spread out for him, pleasuring yourself while he watches.

“OK,” he says, lifting the vibe out of your hands, and gently rolling it over the curve of your breast. It feels so good, even through your tee shirt, you can’t help squirming a little at the sweet, tingling hum of it. “I see your offer of a wanton display of feminine lust, and I raise you… me fucking you with this - where does it - oh, I see where that goes - me fucking you with this, while we both watch.”

“Mmmmhmmm.”

Without saying a word, you start pushing your sweatpants down your legs and trying to wriggle out of your tee shirt at the same time, which ends up getting you all tangled, so Eddie has to put the vibe down and help you get the shirt off.

“Leave your panties on,” he says, breathless as he lies on his back to thumb open the button on his own jeans and start kicking them off.

“I think we messed up the game,” you say, as you scoot back on the bed, and watch Eddie pulling off his boxers and socks. “I think I got too many turns.”

“Hmmm?” Eddie hums, thoroughly distracted by your breasts and thighs, and his eyes are fixed on the damp patch you can feel slowly spreading across the crotch of your white panties. He’s not thinking about the game or his scars, or Hawkins. Just you. The joy floods through you like sweet honey in your veins, warm and delicious. You get to have him, have this. Fuck, yes. Life, God, the Universe - whatever - may suck ass sometimes, but sometimes, it’s also this good.

He guides you to lie back as he slides up next to you. His cock, half hard and leaking, is pressed against your hip as he leans over you to kiss your mouth. Then there’s a click, and a hum as the vibe starts again. Still kissing you he starts to roll it, so gently from your collarbone, over the swell of your breast, to your nipple.

“Eddie,” you hiss, arching your back. He pulls away from you, to turn his head and look down the length of your torso to the stiff, pink peak of your tit.

He hums again, almost to himself, like he’s considering where to go next. When it seems like he’s decided, he drags the vibe slowly across your sternum, to your other nipple, and rolls the buzzing silicone over your tender flesh. He looks down at your chest.

“God, baby, look at these pretty little titties,” he says, biting his plush lower lip.

You look down at yourself, but the sight of him holding the buzzing tip of the vibe to your quivering nipple is too much. You mewl, and grip the sheets beneath you in your fists, pushing yourself into the warmth the vibe is creating.

“Do you - oh, God - do you like them, Eddie?”

He leans down to suck the stiff peak of your other nipple into his soft, wet mouth and lets it go with an obscene pop.

“Oh Princess, you know I do.”

You’re just holding on as the buzzing against your tender flesh starts to verge on pain. But it’s the kind of pain that shoots right through your core to your aching cunt, makes it flutter and clench.

“Fuck, Eddie,” you whine, arching your back and rubbing your thighs together, before letting your legs fall open and tilting up your hips.

“Hmmmm, so sensitive,” he says, his voice deep and rough. He tilts his face again to look down your body to your sex and his hair brushes across your cheek like a butterfly’s kiss. “Oh ho ho, what do we have here?“

“Please, baby," you whine, canting your hips again. “Please.”

“Needy girl,” he sing-songs, and starts dragging the vibe across your sternum and down, over your belly to the edge of your white cotton panties. “Oh no, you’ve made a bit of a mess here, Princess.”

You know that by “mess” he means the damp patch. You’ve been wet since he started this game, and now you’re practically flooding. Any other time you’d be embarrassed about that, and the noises you're making as he rolls the vibe across your pubic bone and your mons, but you just can’t summon an ounce of shame right now. All you want is that vibe where it belongs, buried in your pussy, or on your clit. You fucking want it.

“Please, Eddie, don’t tease me,” you say, and your voice sounds so shaky, you’re shivering so hard your teeth are almost chattering.

He slips the vibe over the thin cotton, to the damp patch. He rolls the vibe around pressing in. It almost makes you jerk, like he’s touched a live wire to your core.

“Oh yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah,” you start chanting, pressing your hips up into that hot buzz. “Fuck, yes. Right there, oh, oh Eddie.”

Your head is thrown back, eyes clamped shut as you chase that feeling, fisting the sheets under you. You can feel it building so you chase it. If he keeps this up you’ll come just like this.

“Hold on there, sweetheart,'' he says, not removing the vibe, but easing some of the pressure. “We’ll get you there, but not too soon, OK?”

You can’t help the whine that follows. It sounds so needy and pathetic. Again, you’d be embarrassed, but it’s all you’re capable of right now. It makes Eddie chuckle, and worse, lift the vibe away from you altogether.

“Edd-ie,” you pout. But he just taps your hip and starts to slowly peel your panties down. You lift your ass long enough for him to get them out from under your butt, and then he’s drawing them down your thighs, and calves, over your feet and off. And then, like the wild goddamned animal he is, he smooshes them against his nose and mouth and breathes deep.

“Fu-uck, baby, you smell so good.”

You respond to his teasing by spreading your legs wide and slipping your fingers between your wet folds. “Yeah? How does it look, Daddy?” You ask him, as his eyes fix on your cunt.

He knows what a fucking buzz you get from him looking at your sex. You don’t know why, or what it means, but any time he looks at your pussy, you feel yourself get exponentially hotter, infinitely wetter. Part of you thinks you could just come from him watching you spreading while he tells you how good your little kitty looks, how much he wants it. Which is kind of what’s happening right now, God have mercy.

He throws your panties over his shoulder, and leans down to nose your hand out of the way and suck your little rose bud into his mouth. It’s kind of an awkward angle, but that just makes it feel even better, unexpected and strange.

“Taste fucking good, too,” he says, pulling off your clit, breathless and a little dazed. His cock, hard and red, is jutting up from his lap, the tip wet with pre-come. You want to suck it, but before you can ask for it, he rolls the vibe over your mons, and presses it hard, against the left side of your clit.

That really does make you jackknife up off the bed. You can feel the buzz everywhere, in everything, all at once. It’s humming in your cunt, your ass, even your nipples, it reverberates through your teeth and out the top of your head, where every single follicle is standing on end. There are thousand tiny bubble bursting under your skin, and you never want it to end.

“Fuck yeah, baby,” you hear Eddie say, as if from a distance. “Fuck yeah, fucking ride it.”

You realize there’s someone in the room wailing… it takes you a second to understand that that someone is you. You’ve got one hand fisted in the sheets, and the other is gripping Eddie’s knee. Your toes are curled into the blankets, and your eyes are clenched shut as the orgasm arcs through you like he’s just flicked the on switch and lit you up.

It seems to go on forever, every muscle in your body going into spasm for long, hot seconds of pleasure, until it slowly starts to ebb away.

You slap feebly at Eddie’s hand when it’s too much, when the intense pleasure has melded into a keen pain. He gently lifts the vibe away from you, thumbs the button and leans over to put it on your bedside table.

For a couple of minutes, you can’t open your eyes or move a muscle. It’s like all your bones have turned to jelly. You lie there, spread eagle, panting, your hand still gripping his thigh.

“Fucking hell, Eddie,” you whisper, finally. “Fucking hell.”

“Yeah?”

You peel open one eyelid to look at him, leaning by your side. “Yeah,“ you breathe, only just able to nod your head.

You attempt to sit up and turn to him. It’s a pretty pathetic attempt, all things considered and you end up sort of limply rolling towards him, the vision of that big, red, weeping cock of his is still fresh in your mind. “What about…”

He’s got one arm across his lap, covering his groin.

“Yeah, about that…”

“Oh my God, did you just bust a nut from watching me come?”

“You make sound so romantic,” he says wryly, reaching over the edge of the bed and snagging his Metallica shirt to cover his slowly deflating junk with.

“Eddie,” you say, reaching for him. “Baby, that is the hottest fucking thing that has ever happened to me.”

“Sure, sure,” he says, as he wipes up his lap and throws the tee shirt into the far corner of the room. But he lets you pull him on top of you, your loose, sweaty bodies sliding together a perfect fit.

“You’re just too… God,” he says, snuffling into the crook of your neck and wrapping his arms and legs around you and under you in a sticky, sexy bear hug. “Too fucking sexy. I had to bust.”

You both laugh, giddily.

Eventually he rolls off you, and leans up on his elbow, his tousled head resting on his palm as he looks down at you. He’s so lovely, those chocolate eyes, and his plush, beautiful mouth, even the road map of pain on his chest that leads all the way back into his past, all the way to you two here, in this bed… even that has a kind of raw beauty. He’s a survivor, your man.

“Eddie,” you say, reaching up to twine a lock of his hair around the finger. “I think I was wrong.”

He grunts a little as he leans over you to grab a pack of smokes from the bedside table. He pops two out and lights them both at the same time, like some Beatnik from the 60s, one for him and one for you.

He takes a lit smoke from between his lips and holds it out for you. You take it, wait for him to take his own out of his mouth and blow a plume of smoke over your heads, before you lean in and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Leaning back again, you take a drag, blow a plume of smoke of your own, and smile.

“Yeah,” you say, stretching languidly. “I think you are in charge of dispensing the orgasms ‘round here now.”

______

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orpheusredux · 2 years

Text

𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐥 || wayne munson x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 || things are almost perfect with your boyfriend eddie, but you're too weak to resist when his uncle offers to fill in that missing piece. (it's basically porn without plot I don't know what you want me to say lmao)

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 || 6.6k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 || smut (18+ only), dubious consent (the reader is into it but hesitant), infidelity (see summary, reader is dating eddie, but there's a twist...), enormous age gap (reader is an 18-year-old high school senior, wayne is well into his 50s), alcohol consumption (by wayne), unprotected sex, oral sex m and f receiving, breeding kink, daddy kink, spanking, hair pulling, degradation/dumbification ("slut" "whore" "dumb" "stupid"), overstimulation, somewhat inexperienced reader, somewhat creepy/aggressive uncle wayne

please read the warnings carefully before proceeding

It was always awkward when you came over to Eddie’s trailer too early and ended up having to make smalltalk with Wayne.

“So… how’s school?” he asked, standing by the kitchen counter as he nursed his beer.

“Good, good,” you nodded, chewing your lip. “I’m on track to graduate this year and everything.”

“That’s great,” he smiled politely, crinkles around his eyes becoming more pronounced. A longer silence followed before he cleared his throat. “Uh, you and Eddie’ve been goin’ out a while, huh?”

“Just four months,” you shrugged, “if you think of that as a long time.”

“For a couple’a kids, sure.”

“We’re not kids,” you denied, “I mean… I know we’re not really grown, but—”

“No, you’re right,” he reneged, “sometimes I forget how grown up you really are.”

You smiled slightly, twisting your sneaker on the carpet for a second.

“I mean, five minutes ago Eddie was just this punk kid who showed up at my doorstep,” Wayne recalled, “and now here he is bringing home his girlfriend. Never thought I’d see the day.”

You giggled a bit; “You’re not the only one,” you offered him with a smirk.

“Couldn’t believe my eyes when I first met you, honestly— cute, sweet girl like you? With a boy like him?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you frowned. “Eddie’s sweet and funny and—”

“No, no, he’s a good boy,” Wayne corrected himself, “but he’s just that— a boy. You could have anybody you wanted in this town. And I just… didn’t expect him to be your first choice.”

You glanced down, not sure if you should just accept the compliment and move on, or question his logic further. “I-I dunno about that,” you offered shyly.

“I do,” he hummed, stepping closer to you. “Does he not tell you? Honey, you’re perfect.”

You choked; Eddie did tell you that, but it sounded different when Wayne said it. It meant something different when Wayne said it.

It… felt different.

“Well, um… thanks,” you mumbled, still looking away.

“He’s a lucky guy,” Wayne decided, “that he’s got you all to himself. Hope he knows what he’s got.”

You nodded, clutching your arms over your chest which warmed with memories of Eddie’s effusiveness; apparently the Munson family thought you were pretty special, even if you didn’t always feel that way.

“I would say that I hope he treats you right,” he continued, setting down his glass bottle with a quiet clink, “but… I know he doesn’t.”

You glanced up at him with wide eyes. Did he know something you didn’t? “Wh-what does that mean?” you asked worriedly, and he stepped closer again— looking down at you with a dark stare.

“I can hear you,” he whispered, “when you’re in the bedroom—”

He wagged his finger over your shoulder, towards the trailer’s bedroom where you and Eddie spent some nights together; your breath caught.

“— thinkin’ you’re being all sneaky, like I won’t hear you. But I do, and y’know somethin’? I can tell he’s not pleasin’ you right.”

You stepped back, and he stepped forward, and in a second he had you pinned against the kitchen wall. “I-I’m sorry,” you began, but he wasn’t finished talking yet.

“You make such cute little sounds,” he grinned, “but a real man should make you scream. S’that what you need, little girl?”

“I… I don’t…” you stammered, feeling so girlish and dumb in that moment as you failed to think of anything useful to say.

“Does he give you what you need? Just tell me,” he pleaded, voice softening. “Yes or no— are you satisfied by him?”

Hesitating, you eventually shook your head— even though you hated to admit it. Eddie was amazing, in so many ways, but he struggled with a few things… including making you come.

“Didn’t think so,” Wayne chuckled with a tilted smile— it reminded you of Eddie’s, actually.

You jumped slightly when he leaned in and brushed your hair away, kissing under your ear gently. Breath catching, your back started to arch up from the kitchen wall already; he was so delicate, teasing you carefully as your thighs clenched together.

“Tell me to stop,” he purred as his lips traveled more confidently over your neck. “Tell me you can’t, ‘cause you’ve got your little boyfriend to stay faithful to. Tell me it’s wrong. Tell me you should stick to boys your age.”

You opened your mouth, imagining saying everything he had, but only a whimpering moan fell out from your traitorous, gloss-stained lips.

“C’mon, babydoll, just tell me stop if you don’t want it,” he offered again, a rough hand moving higher and higher up your thigh until his fingers tickled under your dress.

“Don’t stop,” you heard yourself sigh, and in an instant his mouth was on yours. He tasted like tobacco and beer, but your tongue still dove forward in search of more.

His finger dragged over your panties, starting at the damp patch that had formed by your opening and curling up to nudge your swelling bud. “Lookit you,” he chuckled proudly, “little button’s all firm for me.”

The dull edge of his fingernail scratched lightly through the cotton, making you jolt and curl your toes inside your sneakers. “F-fuck,” you choked, and his mouth was on your neck again, but this time his teeth were nipping at you, too.

His other hand gripped your waist for a moment, before sliding down and groping your butt as you whined. “Mm, this cute little ass,” he growled, “you’re always showin’ it off with those skirts and short-shorts. Shoulda known not to tease me like that.”

When he brought his hand down firmly, it was still more of just a pat than a spank, and yet you shamelessly moaned out loud.

“You like it rough, huh?” he noticed with a proud tint to his voice. "Innocent-lookin’ ones always do. Fuck, you’re just too sweet, babydoll…”

You gasped when he dropped to his knees, reaching up under your dress to pull your panties down to your ankles.

“Y’sweet everywhere, honey?” he asked with a smug grin.

Your head fell back against the wall with a bang the second Wayne’s mouth was on you. He was eager yet precise, dragging his tongue up your slit, rubbing your thighs almost too hard as he sucked on your clit.

His moans were low and gravelly and you could feel them, they made everything vibrate and it was already almost too much; he didn’t have a lot of hair, but you found something to grab onto as he greedily tasted you. And as for the hair he did have, well, his mustache was tickling your sensitive skin, even brushing up against your clit when he pushed his tongue inside you— which should’ve been too scratchy but it felt fucking perfect.

“Oh my god,” you panted, “oh— fuck, I never— oh!”

“Y’never what— never got your pussy ate?” he realized, biting down on your thigh for a moment. “Now that’s just a fuckin’ waste.”

“E-Eddie tried,” you explained, “once… but it wasn’t— it didn’t feel like this…”

“‘Cause he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doin’,” Wayne explained before diving back in and making your knees nearly buckle with the way he circled his tongue around your clit. You didn’t remember being this sensitive— maybe it was the forbidden nature of it, maybe it was the way he went back and forth from teasing you to overwhelming you.

Or, very plausibly, it was because you had this poorly-suppressed thing for older men. It was one of those things you’d confessed just once to a close friend only to get thoroughly judged, and you never told anyone again. But Wayne saw right through you.

“You’ve thought about this before, haven’t you?” he grinned up at you, making it clear in the way he asked his question that he already knew the answer.

“I’m more than twice your age, sweetie,” he reminded you, “you shouldn’t be thinking about things like that…”

In a specific way, you always thought Wayne was attractive— not exactly a pretty man, but rough in all the right ways. Though you never thought you’d admit it, you had wondered how his callused hands might feel on your smooth skin, how someone with all his experience would treat someone as delicate as you. Awkwardly, you nodded, and he let out a breath that tickled your most sensitive skin.

But then his tongue was on you again and you weren’t thinking about anything.

“Actually,” he mumbled against your skin, “I’m more than three times your age…”

You couldn’t believe he had the wherewithal to multiply in his head right now.

“Old enough to be your daddy,” he chuckled, and you whimpered.

“M-my dad’s not even forty,” you corrected thinly.

“Then I guess I’m nearly old enough to be your grandaddy,” he added with a laugh.

“Oh god,” you choked, “don’t say that…”

“Why shouldn’t I?” he grinned. “Makes your little pussy clench.”

He emphasized his point by tickling your opening with the tip of his finger, and you shivered.

Delicately pushing his finger in, barely to the first knuckle, he teased you with small movements and little licks on your bud. When he moved his finger just a bit deeper, he curled it against that ridge inside you that made your toes curl.

“F-fuck, why you gotta tease me so much?” you breathed. “If you know how bad I need it, you should just give it to me.”

He suddenly pulled away, standing up and making you feel terribly small as he stared down at you. “Give you what, sweetheart?” he asked darkly. You swallowed, melting into the heat of his body pressed against yours— his shirt was unbuttoned and he just had on a white tank top underneath, you could see his chest filling each time he took a breath… you could feel him getting hard through his sun-bleached jeans.

“Um…” you stalled.

“What do you need?” he asked again, tilting your chin with his fingers curled under it until you were blinking up at him dreamily.

“You,” you answered in a whisper, “need you… Daddy.”

The delicate brush of his touch under your chin switched suddenly to a tight grasp on your jaw, and he kissed you again; rougher than before, deeper, with his teeth grazing your lips and his tongue forcing your mouth open wider. It tasted different than before, too, because of what he’d done to you— and it made you even wetter to realize that.

You heard your own moans muffled by his mouth, and you felt his hands move down from your face to your waist, pulling you even closer— you found yourself desperate to feel his skin on yours, silently cursing all these clothes in the way.

He broke away and started to work on your neck again; he was relentless with the neck, that man, maybe because you moaned so loudly every time he licked along your pulse. "Taste how sweet you are?" he smirked. "Sweetest little pussy I ever tasted— I could eat you all night if I didn't have bigger plans."

He pulled you back with him as he crossed the living room and sat down wide-legged on the couch, guiding you into his lap which you straddled as you rested your hands on his chest through the undershirt.

“Naughty girl,” he groaned as you rocked your hips on him instinctively, “wanna be fucked already? I was just gonna play wit’ya, but you need more, hm?”

“Yes,” you panted.

“Need to be fucked hard and deep by a real grown-up?” he continued.

“Please,” you whined, gathering his checkered shirt into your weak fists.

“Need to be fucked raw?”

You choked, words failing you, and yet your hands were already at his belt.

“Mm,” he hummed as he watched proudly, “so fuckin’ needy. Y’know it’s not ladylike to be actin’ this way?”

You nodded, mouth falling slack as you reached into his open fly, finding his hot erection just on the other side of loose boxer shorts. “Daddy, please,” you whimpered.

"Why don't you put your mouth on it first, sweetie? Show Daddy what your little boyfriend taught you."

You hopped up off of his lap and knelt on the cheap carpet— it was a little rough on your bare knees, but you were hardly paying attention to that when you were at eye-level with his cock, stroking it in front of your face as you psyched yourself up for just doing it, just leaning in and taking it in your mouth…

“C’mon, nothin’ to be afraid of,” he soothed, “I know you wanna taste.”

And you did, so you leaned in and licked it like a lollipop— wide tongue, half-lidded eyes looking up at him as his smile faltered slightly.

You licked it a couple more times before you finally found the courage to tilt your head down enough to suck on the head properly. “That’s good,” he whispered to you, fingers brushing over your head gently, “there you go…”

He got even harder in your mouth, veins protruding and soft skin stiffening against your lips as you sat back on your feet.

He kept stroking your head, not quite pushing you down though you almost wished he would, humming proudly as you bobbed your head— taking a little more with each movement.

"Mm, fuck," he sighed, relaxing more until his head fell back on the top of the couch. "S'good, babydoll— can't believe that tiny mouth a'yours can fit all this dick in it."

Just to show off, you took him even deeper until you nearly choked, blinking up at him diligently to find a dark look in his eyes.

"I should give Ed some more credit," Wayne chuckled, "he taught you good. You suck cock like a proper little whore."

You pulled off when you needed air, smiling at him and wiggling your hips as you wished for more attention on your aching core. "You like it?" you assumed, and he didn't answer directly but did start to grab at your hair like he was about to pull you back down for more.

But you were one step ahead; you held his cock tightly in your hand as you moved your head down to suck one of his heavy balls into your mouth. You had to fight the urge to smile when he groaned and tilted his head back.

"Damn," he hissed, "I knew you wanted me, you made that obvious, but I never thought you wanted a taste of my balls. Such a dirty little girl…"

His fingers that had only been gently toying with your hair tensed into a firmer grip, and you felt his cock throb in your grasp as you moved to the other.

"Fuck, suck 'em harder, honey," he grunted. "Yeah— use your tongue, too, don't be shy. Daddy likes feeling your hot mouth on his balls."

So you kept going, hollowing your cheeks and fluttering your eyes shut as you drew random shapes with your tongue over the soft skin in your mouth. Your pussy was clenching on nothing, over and over— you were afraid you would start dripping on his floor considering your panties were around your ankles and couldn't protect you now.

"You like this, babydoll?" he prompted with a little grunt, and you released his sack from your mouth to give a long lick up the underside of his cock.

"They taste good," you gasped, "I can suck them some more, right? Please?"

"Yeah, sweetheart, go ahead," he chuckled, making you quickly lean in and lick a stripe over the seam between them.

Each movement of your tongue over his delicate skin made you needier, and your hips kept rocking helplessly in the air as you sought some friction to relieve the ache. Unfortunately, you didn't find any— and you were making the most pathetic, desperate noises as you lathed his cock and balls thoroughly with your tongue.

"I know you want more," he whispered, and you moaned again— you felt helpless to the desperation overtaking your body.

"Please fuck me," you sighed, "please—"

"Stand up and take that little dress off first," he told you, "Daddy wants to see all of you."

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand as you stood up, taking one step towards the door and facing him as he stared at you. He moved his hips slightly and gripped his cock as you finally took the panties off around your shoes and started to lift your dress. Having forgone a bra, you were left naked once the dress was over your head and tossed to the side, except of course for your—

"Shoes and socks too, babydoll," he instructed, and you bent down to untie the laces and slip the white tennis shoes off. Your cotton socks were next, and then you were just standing there, totally bare, his gaze trailing over you.

"Give us a twirl, honey," he cooed. "So cute… Eddie's got no idea what to do with all that, huh?"

You bit your lip and shook your head. He curled a finger as he watched you.

"Let me take care of you, cutiepie."

Approaching him again, you stood by where he was sitting as he reached up and rubbed your thigh, eyes drinking you in.

"I don't even know where to start," he laughed, "damn, I could touch you everywhere."

"Touch me here, daddy," you sighed as you straddled his hips again and guided his hand to your cunt. "Need you so bad…"

His fingers toyed with your clit and his free hand slid up your stomach to squeeze your breasts. "So greedy," he tutted, "this puffy little pussy of yours is just desperate for attention. Don't worry, babydoll, know just what you need."

He pulled your hips down and pressed your hot lips against his shaft as it curved up against his stomach. You sighed, trying to move so you could rub yourself on him, but his strong hold on you kept you still until you whined impatiently.

"You wanna get your hole stretched out by this big dick, don't you?" he noticed.

Biting your lip, you nodded.

"Then put it inside you, sweetheart," he ordered, "and ride me. Fuck yourself on my cock."

You lifted yourself slightly with your quivering legs, reaching down under yourself to grab him and guide the thick head to your waiting, lonely opening. Breathing quickly and feeling your heart race, feeling that pit in your stomach of searing hot guilt but ignoring it, you sank down onto him.

“Shit!” he groaned, pulling you down the rest of the way and snapping his hips up. “So fuckin’ tight, babydoll— god, Eddie’s a dumbass. Got this sweet, creamy little pussy to play with and he can’t even treat it right.”

You choked as you felt how deep he'd gone, whimpering as the gyrating of your hips forced your sensitive— almost sore— clit to grind on the rough patch of hair around his base. It felt so good already, your body on edge from being teased this long, and then you started really going.

Moaning unabashedly, you guided yourself up and down on top of him, unable to stop yourself with the friction felt so perfect. The ridge of his cock's soft head was so clear you could feel it inside you, stroking your walls— and you made sure to lift as high as you could each time so you could feel that ridge rub your spot perfectly. "D-Daddy," you sobbed, grabbing handfuls of his white undershirt to try to keep yourself in reality.

“Such an eager little thing,” he grunted, gripping your ass tighter as you rode him.

That you were— you felt totally out of control, addicted to the feeling, never wanting it to stop.

"Bounce on it, babydoll, jus' like that," he purred, "look at those cute tits while you ride— too fuckin' precious."

He sat up and suckled on one with a wide mouth, making you gasp and arch your back. As his lips moved to the other, his hands released your hips to massage each one as he sucked.

It made chills run down your back, it made more wetness gather and leak out around his textured shaft.

One hand kept groping your tits while the other slipped down and pressed on your belly gently, until his thumb found your clit, and with a proud smirk, he started to rub it in gentle circles while you rode him.

"Feels good?" he asked you softly, and you nodded. "I wanna feel how tight you can get, babydoll. You need to come, princess, I can tell— Daddy's here to give you everything you need, okay?"

"Mkay," you mumbled, melting under his touch as the movements on your clit enhanced every sensation.

"Daddy knows just how to stroke your cute little clit, hm? Gonna make you come so hard for me, right on my thick cock."

"Please," you choked, fists tightening; you opened your eyes, hardly having noticed you'd shut them, and looked down at him under you.

He had the slightest shine of sweat on his forehead, and a dark glimmer in his eye as he stared up at you; he looked prideful, of you and of himself. The more you tugged at his shirt, the more you revealed tanned skin, sun spots and freckles and scars, even a faded tattoo over his heart. You didn’t mind that it showed his age— not even the white chest hair bothered you.

"You're s-so sexy," you blurted out.

He laughed a bit. "I dunno about that— I'm just an old man, you could do better than me."

"Don't want better— I want this, I want you to fuck me like this," you whined.

"I know, babydoll," he offered with condescending sympathy, "y'get so horny you forget that the last thing you should be doing is getting your pussy filled by your boyfriend's dirty old uncle, huh? I understand— it's hard being eighteen, all that energy and nothing to do with it 'cause those high school boys can't make you come."

A shaky whine fell from your lips, but for all the conflictedness on your face, your body was more confident than ever as your hips sped up their movements. The hand still on your breast started to tease and tweak your nipple until you shuddered. Then he gave your breast a sudden slap— not too hard, but totally unexpected— and you gasped.

"Hm," he smirked, "you're a real wonder, sweetie. You look like an angel but you ride like a rodeo queen."

You smiled too, thinking that sounded extra funny in his accent.

"And you suck cock like a filthy little slut."

And it wasn’t quite funny anymore; you gasped a little and held tighter onto his shoulders, feeling shocks jump up inside you from where his thumb was still consistent and firm on your bud. It was building faster than it had before, hot and heavy and tingly at your toes and fingers.

"Feel so fuckin' good," he groaned through his teeth, "such a good little whore for me. Tight little thing, grippin' me just how I like— ah, fuck, a little faster, honey—"

You arched your back and slammed your hips down harder and faster, hearing the noise of skin on skin echo through the small space. "I-I'm… oh, god," you whimpered, trying to warn him about the pressure building inside you, but he picked up on it instantly.

"Gonna come? Good girl," he grinned. "Love making pretty girls scream— mm, just like that, keep going."

It was harder to keep your pace while the pleasure was beginning to take over, yet you were fighting for it harder than ever because you need more, just a little more and it would all break. And when it broke you knew it would feel so good.

"God, you're so fuckin' wet," Wayne grunted, "little pussy's soaking Daddy's dick, princess. Your juices are running down my balls."

It was so perfectly filthy, it made your whole body tense up even harder as your ecstasy crept up closer and closer.

"This whole fuckin' trailer's gonna smell like your pussy," he laughed breathlessly. "I could still smell you in the bedroom sometimes after you left, you know… wanted a taste of that sweet young cunt so bad…"

You felt a bit self-conscious hearing him talk about your scent; you'd always had an anxiety that it smelled bad or gross down there just because it didn't smell like cupcakes or lillies. "You… you really like how it smells?" you asked shyly between panting breaths.

"Yeah, smells fuckin' delicious," he snarled, nostrils flaring. "Smells like fresh, ripe pussy— best smell in the world, babydoll. Enough to drive a man crazy."

"O-oh," you stuttered, feeling yourself drip even more as he said that. "Oh, Daddy, I—!"

His thumb pressed harder on your clit and you sobbed shakily. “Nice an’ easy, baby, nice an’ easy,” he coaxed you gently, “just let go, let that little kitty make a big fuckin’ mess on me, hm?”

It hit you like a truck and your head fell back limply, tears falling down your temples as your eyes shut tight. His hands tightened on your hips, and as you stilled, he started to fuck up into you— forcing you to take more and more until you were worried you would scream loud enough for the whole trailer park to hear. “F-fuck,” you choked, mustering some strength to lift your head again and look down at him, “slow down, please…”

“God, that’s cute,” he laughed proudly, “m’not done with you yet, babydoll, not even close. That’s the best part of sweet young things like you, y’can go for hours and never tire out.”

“Yeah,” you panted, “but can you?”

He growled through his teeth as he pulled you down, until your face was so close to his, but his hand tugging your hair kept you and your needy, open mouth from kissing him. “Don’t give me lip, girl,” he warned, “or you’ll get a spanking.”

“Fuckin’ dare you,” you smiled, whining loudly as he brought a hand down hard on your ass. “Yes!” you sobbed.

“Fuck, that’s good,” he grunted, “your hole gives me a good squeeze when I smack this tight little ass.”

Another spank to prove his point, and you felt your hips rocking on top of him of their own accord.

“See? Knew you wanted more,” he laughed, “just need a little patience. M’gonna teach you so much, honey, gonna make you my little whore.”

Your eyes rolled back in your head, and he tugged your hair again. “Harder, daddy,” you begged, choking as he forced you to crane your neck with another pull on your hair. He sucked on your neck again, hard enough to leave a mark, and at the same time gave you two more firm spanks. “Fuck! Fuck, fuck, s-so good…”

“What’s good, babydoll?” he prompted.

“You— you’re so good,” you answered, “y’fuck me so good, dick’s so fuckin’ good, Daddy…”

“Uh huh,” he encouraged, “how good?”

“B-best I ever had,” you hiccuped, “better than anything— fuck, s’yours, yours!”

“Goddamn,” he grunted, “this sweet little pussy, all mine?”

“Yeah,” you panted, “whenever you want it— oh god!”

“Baby,” he sighed, “don’t make promises you can’t keep… I know good dick will make you wanna say all kinds’a stuff, but you gotta control yourself.”

He held you tightly and flipped you around, laying you on the couch on your back and pushing your thighs up to your chest. When he slid himself all the way inside again, he went so deep that you could hardly stand it. “Oh fuck,” you sighed.

“Y’see it now?” he groaned. “See all that pretty cream you got on my cock?”

The angle he had your hips at was so dramatic that all you had to do was blink your eyes open and you could see it, the ring of thick, white arousal around the base of him. It was embarrassing— in an erotic sort of way— to see what you’d done.

“Messy little pussy you’ve got,” he smiled proudly. “Should make you clean all that up when I’m done— bet you’d like that, slut.”

He fucked into you rough and fast, his balls slapping on your ass— still sore from the spanking— with each thrust.

"You know somethin'?" he said suddenly, voice gruff and broken up with heavy breaths. "I've been around a while, I've had a lot of pussy, but yours? This cute, dripping little pink hole you've got? Might just be my favorite."

"Really?" you beamed.

"Mhm," he nodded, licking his bottom lip. "So sensitive… sweet and tiny and begging to be filled up. And you let me fuck it raw, too, you're so adorable."

Your cheeks heated up quickly, and suddenly the bare feeling of his cock inside you— with nothing at all in the way— was especially noticeable, especially taboo, especially wrong but oh-so-right.

"I know you know where the condoms are," he laughed, "Eddie goes through them like potato chips with you. Why'd you let me get my dick wet in your little hole, babydoll?"

"I— I dunno," you stalled, "I just… wanted to feel you. For real."

"Mm? Wanted to feel this hot cock, is that it?"

"Y-yeah…"

"It's not like wearing a rubber would make this responsible anyways, right?" he continued, laughing when you nodded. "God, you high school girls are just too sweet. Stupid, but sweet."

"Ohh, I… I'm not stupid."

"No, not always," he agreed, "Ed says you make straight A's. But you still came here when you knew he wouldn't be home yet, you still wore that dress and tried to act innocent, and you jumped on my cock as soon as you got the chance. You're just dumb when you're horny, honey, that's okay."

His thumb suddenly found your bud again, pressing down on it far too hard for how sore it was— it was somehow both numb and hypersensitive, and your whole body jolted when he rubbed it roughly.

"W-wait! S'too sensitive!" you whined, bucking your hips wildly to try to escape from how much it was.

"Shh, shh," he soothed, holding your hips tight to keep you still, "c'mon, let Daddy take care of you, sweetheart, let me play with that adorable little baby pussy, hm? Gonna make it so happy, honey, gonna help your hole make all that sweet cream to coat my cock…"

"Hurts!" you hiccuped.

"Yeah? But it's what you need— it's what you fuckin' need, you dumb slut."

Tears welled in your eyes as the pain somehow started to feel good just at the same time that the insults felt like compliments. It was all a bit of both, really.

"Can tell this hole loves my fuckin' dick," he groaned lowly, watching your face with a heavy stare as he licked his lips. "Can tell this hole belongs to Daddy now."

"Yes," you sobbed.

"And Daddy knows how to keep a pussy satisfied," he chuckled. "Know what a slutty little girl like you needs. Do you know what it is, babydoll?"

You shook your head.

"It's to get bred, sweetheart."

"Nooo," you whined, "m'too young to get pregnant."

"Too young? Bullshit, you're the perfect age— young and fertile, sweet little body begging to be knocked up."

"B-but—"

"You'd look so cute," he grunted, fucking you even deeper then until you gasped and clawed at the couch. "Belly gettin' bigger, tits all swollen… don't you think it'd be kind of funny, for the innocent high school girl to get knocked up by some old man from the trailer park?"

Not quite your idea of a hilarious joke; it was, admittedly, the titillating sort of terrifying to imagine, but even your cockdrunk brain knew it couldn’t seriously happen. “Don’t scare me like that,” you giggled.

"If it's so scary, how come you're about to come for me again?" he noticed with a grin.

“Hng, Wayne, m’gonna come, just p-pull out,” you choked, “please?”

"Okay, okay," he relented with a chuckle, "I'll pull out, but you need to come over here and suck me off with that pretty mouth until I come."

You nodded with a quick sigh, and he gripped your hips tighter.

“Come for me first, babydoll,” he grunted, “gimme another big squeeze— uh huh, just like that, fuck y’look so cute when you come.”

You quivered on the outside and convulsed on the inside, inner muscles spasming uncontrollably around him as a second, harder orgasm hit you all over.

He fucked you so fast, right in the middle of it, that you arched your back and made noises you didn't even know a human could make, let alone yourself.

Apparently he had some sense of mercy, because he stopped assaulting your clit, but he kept the brutal pace of his hips as you tried to catch your breath.

"Hear that? Hear how it sounds?" he grunted.

"Sounds… sticky…" you panted.

"Yeah," he agreed, "that's what it sounds like when a perfect little cunt is getting treated right. Look at what you did to me, look at all that cream…"

You struggled to get your eyes open but you did, seeing the thorough mess you'd made— clear and cloudy-white arousal mixing together and truly coating him.

"Good job, babydoll," he praised gruffly, "Daddy's so proud— that sweet little hole of yours sure left its mark, huh? Not just on me— there's a stain under you on the sofa."

"I-I'm sorry—"

"No, no sweetheart," he cooed, "it's good, you did good! All I ever fuckin' wanted, to make you drip like that. Knew you were a wild one under the innocent girl act."

It hadn't felt like an act at the time, but it was certainly not believable now.

He pulled out suddenly and sat back, stroking himself slowly as you scrambled to sit up. "C'mon and suck me off, princess."

You got on all fours and put your head in his lap, sucking your own taste off his cock and stroking what your lips couldn't reach.

"Mhm," he encouraged lowly, grabbing a fistful of hair by the back of your head. "Fuck, gonna come all over that pretty tongue."

You moaned, carefully adjusting yourself to kneel on the floor again— it was a little less awkward of a position— without stopping your work.

"Mm, and you're gonna swallow it all?" he assumed. You couldn’t quite answer right now, you couldn’t even nod with his grip on the back of your head, so you just blinked up at him slowly and it seemed to get the message across.

His head fell back with a deep gasp, and he guided your head with his strong hold on your hair— using your mouth exactly how he wanted. And you let him, just doing your best to keep some suction on him while your drool ran down your chin.

"I'm close," he gasped, "keep sucking— nice and deep, babydoll, you can choke on it."

But then he made you choke on it, grunting deeply as you gagged, watching your eyes water from the stress on your throat. Maybe that's what tipped him over the edge, because he let out a long, deep moan as the first pulse of his cock shot come onto your tongue. You whimpered and bobbed your head even faster, tightening your grip on his shaft to try to squeeze every drop out.

"Such a good fuckin' girl," he growled. "Swallow all that come, sweetheart— fuck!"

It was bitter, even more than Eddie's, but you gulped it down with a smile, jerking him off to keep getting more and more—

He had to stop you by grabbing your hair and hand at once, laughing thinly and guiding you off of him. "That's all of it, honey, you got it all— fuck…"

He sighed and fell back onto the couch, taking a second or two to catch his breath before he grabbed a cigarette and lighter and lit up.

You watched him take a drag and exhale with a heavy breath. “Damn, girl…" he finally said, opening his eyes and then patting his knee. You smiled as you got up onto his lap, curling up into him as he kept smoking. "You're one hell of a woman, babydoll," he told you softly. "Haven't fucked like that since… shit, I don't think I've ever fucked quite like that. Never had a pussy soak me as good as yours."

You wiggled proudly in his one-arm embrace, but he had to let you go at some point to get his softening cock back into his jeans, refastening his belt with a grunt.

"Come over any time, sweetheart," he offered you with a smirk around his cigarette, "I'll keep that pussy satisfied."

He gave you a congratulatory spank to the thickest part of your butt, and you jumped before a giggle slipped out of your throat. His lip twitched into a split second of a snarl as he did it again, this time leaving his hand on your cheek afterwards and gripping it hard.

"God, this ass," he growled. "Next time, I'm bending you over that counter and watching it the whole time I'm fucking you. And spanking you until you cry."

You were barely reacting to his rough fantasy, you were still hung up on next time.

He stroked your thigh gently, smiling at you as he exhaled smoke through his nose. "Whenever Ed's not here—"

Speak of the freak, and he shall appear.

The front door clicked open and creaked, and your heart dropped into your gut.

“Eddie!” you yelped, reaching for a blanket to try to cover yourself as your boyfriend stared forward at the scene in front of him. “Eddie, oh god, I’m so— I’m so sorry, I—”

“Damn it,” Eddie interrupted with a frown— certainly not looking chipper, but still not giving the reaction you expected. It’s hard to say how one should react when you walk in on your girlfriend and your uncle moments after he was fucking her into the next dimension, but mild frustration probably isn’t it, right?

“Told ya,” Wayne smirked at him proudly. “You owe me twenty.”

“Bull!” Eddie shouted back.

“You lost the bet!” Wayne reminded him.

“Yeah, and you fucked my girlfriend! M’not givin’ you a fuckin’ twenty!” Eddie scowled.

“Fair enough,” Wayne shrugged.

You blinked through teary eyes— it was pretty easy to put together what had happened now, but you still didn’t quite believe it.

“You heard her outside, didn’t you?” Wayne realized. “I warned you, girl like this needs more, Ed. Fuck her right or somebody else will.”

"I don't understand…" you mumbled nervously, and Eddie gave you a sympathetic smile as he tilted his head.

“You were supposed to tell him you only wanted me,” Eddie informed you, “and I could’ve made twenty bucks!”

"I'm so sorry—" you began.

"Oh no! I'm not mad," he promised. "I mean… I'm a little disappointed, but I understand. I knew that I hadn't made you…"

He trailed off, and you cleared your throat, glancing down. "So… you aren't breaking up with me?"

"No, god no!" he scoffed. "Angel, I love you!"

You sniffled, your mind overwhelmed with emotions. "I love you too, Eddie…"

"C'mon, son, have a seat on the couch with your girlfriend," Wayne suggested. "I think it's time I taught you how to properly take care of a young woman."

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