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#i was working on this before the new trailer dropped
arolesbianism · 6 days
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Every now and then I remember that oni in fact will eventually have more lore added and I get so excited and scared for a moment and then I remember that it could take months until we see any of that and I proceed to forget abt it again and the cycle repeats
#rat rambles#oni posting#now it does sadden me a smidge that itll probably be in paid dlc but thats a problem for future me#the bright side of new lore is new lore#the downside of new lore is the eternal fear of canon jackie and olivia designs#not because Im opposed to them getting canon designs its just so scary#like what if klei made them white how would I move forward from that#and its not even a situation where I can say with any level of confidence if they would or not because god if I fucking know#like they have until very recently seemingly deliberately avoided including anything Too lore relevant in any animated trailers#but that can kind of just be explained by well. the fact that most of those updates didn't include any lore.#and those that do involve it stay strictly in the dupes perspective#so I can't rly use that as any sign that theyre deliberately avoiding giving olivia and jackie canon designs#I would highly prefer they dont get designs even without fear of designs I dislike mostly because narratively it just works better that way#but hey its not up to me so whatever happens happens#I mostly assume future lore is going to mostly relate to the dupe donors we havent met yet and elaborating on some of the ones we have seen#but dont see a lot of if anything at all#I hope they dont mess with jackie and olivia too much but I do think itd be nice to give jackie just a smidge more like Ive talked abt#and other than that I could see them adding maybe new story traits and if they're feeling real generous more dupe lore#oh and if we're mega lucky we could get a dr.holland first name#honestly I hope that for dr.holland specifically they either just do a hard name drop and move on or just dont touch him#rly my main concern with any added oni lore is I Really dont want them to start telling us too much#I really really like all of our information being very fragmented and unclear as it adds to the post end of the world vibe rly well#and this is in fact a problem that they had in older versions of the story that they seemingly went out of their way to solve#so I rly want to have faith that they wont fuck it up but I have been burned before and oni has yet to have fully earn my trust#its not far off tho just the scrapped logs themselves give me faith that they are aware what story theyre writing and what needs done#again the scrapped logs are cool but would have dampened the narrative quite significantly from how straight forward they are#so them being full one scrapped early on makes me hopeful that they realized that too#rly I just dont want too much expansion on the stuff we already know#some names and work ids would be splendid and Im all for new fragments to try to place in the timeline#I just dont want a log where nikola stares at the camera and monologues abt the duplicant project or smth
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eri-blogs-life · 1 year
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Stumbled across a high school friends blog and Twitter recently and she looks like she's doing well for herself and man it made me weirdly... nostalgic, but not for high school. Rather i felt this weird nostalgia for that feeling i had in high school of wanted to get to know her and a couple other people better. And like, i wish back then I'd taken more social risks and spent time with those folks in high school i thought were so cool and wanted to get to know better, but i cant make that bond now. We've both moved on, neither of us are those high schoolers who were friends but wanted to get to know each other better. Idk, it's a weird feeling i don't know how to elaborate on. But anyway I'm glad she's doing well (at least as far as an online presence can show how well someone is doing, obvs people do usually try and put their best foot forward on social media)
#i also definitely had a crush on her in high school#but so the big moment i remember#and we were friends through all high school so there's plenty of other little memories in my head too#but the one big one I'll never forget is i opened up to her about me feeling like i was strange for a way my brain worked#and she told me that everyone did that to some degree she thinks. and i... simultaneously felt a relief in that#and also felt even more embarrassed about just the mere prospect of opening up to anyone ever#we were just walking through the hall having run an errand after school for some project we were both working on#i think it was the prom outfits showcase fundraiser? doesn't matter what it was#and just that one hallway#and that one bit of our conversation#have been stuck in my memory for like 11 years now#also i have a photo of us at graduation which is a real nice photo#and we used to hang out with a little friend group in the graphics room before school started and that was fun#she and hannah would talk homestuck a lot during those days#and after high school i finally sat down and read a bunch of homestuck#and messaged her on Facebook when some kind of big hs news dropped saying id caught up and asking her opinion on the latest trailer or we#and she expressed she wasn't really into homestuck anymore and hadnt read it for awhile#and i had basically just read it to have an excuse to talk to her lmao#also her twitter bio said she was using she/her and he/him pronouns lately and like i stuck with just she here for simplicity but like#hell yeah dude. trans solidarity. i am glad he also found ways to be more comfortable in his body and presentation since high school#speaking of presentation from what Twitter scrolling i did her fashion game is on point. like real bowling alley in the 90s or clown vibes#love it#anyway i said my piece. im off to sleep way too late. hope y'all are sleeping well#eri blogs life
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cherrychilli · 3 months
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18+
Eddie Munson x AFAB reader, friends to lovers, mentions of nudity, brief mention of masturbation (m). Basically, Eddie finds you sleeping naked in his bed.
A/N: Idk I've had this idea in my head for too long now and I need to exorcise it out of me with this little drabble or I'll never be able to get on with my life.
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Forest Hills trailer park wasn't your usual stop after clocking out of work but after the day you’ve had you don’t have it in you to wait for the next bus back to your apartment. Your place is 30 minutes away but the journey is sure to take even longer in the current downpour.
Staying over at the trailer wasn't anything new. A spare key was entrusted to you years ago and you made use of it on days like this to crash at Eddie’s for convenience sake. The key came with the promise that you were welcome to anything you needed even if both Eddie and Wayne were away – shower, food, an extra change of clothes, what have you, and you needed them all today.
With Wayne out of town for a few days and Eddie due back in two hours you sink into auto pilot, weary down to the bone from your shift. Maybe that’s why it doesn’t feel as weird as it probably should when you started to undress in their kitchenette, hanging your work clothes over the back of a nearby chair, rummaging through the fridge in your bra and panties for a quick bite to eat before heading for the shower.
There wasn’t much in it besides beer since Wayne hadn’t been around to stock it. Eddie always preferred ordering take out over getting groceries – something you were going to nag him for again when you had the strength to do so.
Cereal it would have to be.
You located a box inside one of the cupboards, tipping the wheaty, sugary contents straight into your mouth without bothering with a bowl and spoon. It’s not lost on you how similarly you’re acting to Eddie right down to the unruly state of half undress, wiping crumbs off your lips with the back of your hand. If you finished off with a belch it'd be like he never left the trailer this morning.
The messy mouthfuls of cereal prove enough to silence the toad’s croak of hunger that'd been gurgling noisily inside your belly, putting the box away.
Traipsing through, feet dragging, you threw your clothes into the washer next along with your underwear, completely nude now in the Munson trailer as you made your way to the shower – but not before reaching out for Eddie's Garfield mug that sat on a nearby shelf, turning it around so that the cartoon cat's lazy smirk no longer faced you. For your modesty.
You try to keep the shower brisk, not wanting to use up all the hot water but with the way it sprays down on your aching body, the steam and heat combo soothing your poor sore muscles, it’s so blissful that you have to keep yourself from nodding off right there.
You did make use of Eddie’s body wash, some spicy, woodsy smelling thing in a jet-black bottle but you didn't dare use the two in one shampoo that sat in their shower caddy. It might have worked fine for Eddie and his wild mane but you knew better than to apply the stuff to your own hair. Fortunately, experience had taught you to carry a travel sized bottle filled with your own shampoo whenever you stayed over, working over your locks in a lather scented with cranberries and vanilla.
Stamina depleting by the second, toweling off and brushing your teeth takes the last sliver of energy out of you. Eyelids slipping, movements sluggish, limbs feeling too heavy for your own body to hold up – you’re shutting down whether you like it or not.
Dropping the damp towel on his bedroom floor, you intended to change, you really did. You’d even picked out one of Eddie’s washed t-shirts and a pair of boxers out of the laundry and set them down at the foot of the bed to put on before you made yourself comfortable but that’s not what happened.
Still nude, you crawl into bed, seeking warmth and soft comfort, numbed down to a kind of tunnel vision with rest being your one and only goal.
It feels all the more natural because you’re used to sleeping naked in your own bed, much too tired to remember that you’re not in your bed, draping a blanket that doesn't belong to you over your spent body, surrendering to sleep seconds after your head hits the pillow.
It'd still been raining when Eddie returns later. Dragging himself through the trailer, nearly as worn down as you had been, shaking the excess water out of his hair like a dog trying to get dry.
The smell of your shampoo still lingering in the air tells him you're there, finding you curled up in his bed, all bundled up to your neck. The sight makes him smile.
It doesn't take too long for him to join you, following a similar routine – a quick bite with the addition of a beer and then a shower, only he doesn't skip out on clothing himself in his PJ's first.
If he’d shared the blanket with you he might have found out about your lack of dress sooner but as the gentleman that he can sometimes be, he pulls out a spare blanket from the closet so as to not wake you, prolonging the discovery. Being friends for so long meant that sharing a bed was never awkward even after you'd became adults.
That was until the next morning came.
It’s not the stream of morning light brightening from a cool blue to a warm amber peeking in between the curtains that wakes Eddie, or even the tinny smack of his neighbor’s broken screen door gusting open just a few feet away from his bedroom window. It’s the warmth of your ass pressed flush against his crotch and his nose nestled in your sweet-smelling hair that pulls him out of a dream he wont be able to recall later if he tried.
He shifts closer, eyes cracking open, remembering the tiny bottle of shampoo sitting on the bathroom counter. Remembering the new toothbrush placed in the cup next to his own. Remembering the powder blue towel that neither he nor Wayne ever used laying on his bedroom floor.
And then he remembers that he’s not alone.
Oh...
And then he wishes that he was.
Panic snaps up like a beartrap around Eddie when he realizes he's hard – his thick, throbbing erection pressed right up against your body.
Growing clammy, cold sweat beads on the back of his neck but he’s in luck because you haven’t noticed yet, still sound asleep.
This close together, he knows the slightest movement could rouse you. But what was the alternative? Wait it out? Hope to hell his boner goes away? Fat fucking chance. Not when the soft swell of your ass and your body heat alone had him questioning how he could ever go back to his calloused fist after this.
Carefully, desperately, he tries to inch back without waking you but just as he feared, you begin to stir. Your back arches instinctively, seeking out his warm, solid frame even in your sleep.
Shit shit shit.
The covers slip as you shift, your bare shoulders coming into view, eyes starting to flutter open. With no other option, Eddie swiftly rolls on to his back, his hard on no longer pressed up against you but the problem persists.
“Oh, morning”, you greet him through a yawn, pulling an arm out to rub at your eyes, blanket slipping lower but the frantic boy hasn’t noticed yet, too busy whipping his pillow out from under him to place over his lap.
“Uh-hey. Shower’s free if you wanna go first”, he offers quickly, smiling hard, hoping to subtly usher you out because he's too afraid to get up and risk you getting a load of the tent in his pants if he were to go ahead of you.
“Thanks”, you yawn again, still occupied with rubbing at your sleepy eyes to notice your best friend's pale face turning beet fucking red in an instant as you clamber out of bed, blankets no longer concealing you.
Eddie doesn’t know where to look first. His eyes dart everywhere, every bare inch of you on display. So much soft, naked skin it’s making him short circuit.
His gaze eagerly travels over the slope of your breasts as they jiggle gently with your movements, taking in your soft nipples, moving down over your belly and hips, noticing a few new freckles and beauty marks there along the way to the soft curls between your legs.
His erection digs into the pillow, brain dangerously close to fizzing because he’d been pressed up against you like that all night and not even known it.
A shiver works its way through you, making you question why it feels so drafty in his room all of a sudden. You turn back to ask Eddie if there’s anything wrong with the heating, catching the shocked expression on his face.
Looking down, you're met with the sight of your nude body, breasts bare, no underwear. It's a good thing the occupants of the trailer park liked to mind their own business, even if sometimes you thought they did so to a fault because in any other neighborhood your piercing screech would have had everyone within earshot dialing up the cops.
The scream ricochets off the walls at an ear ringing volume, causing Eddie to jolt and lose his balance, falling out of bed while you leapt back in. Grabbing his spare pillow, you press one half against your chest and squeeze the rest between your thighs to shield yourself.
Now he slaps his hands over his eyes.
---
More than anything, you try so hard to push it aside. To pretend that it hadn't happened but it looms over you like a cloud on the brink of bursting with rain.
After three whole days of walking around eggshells around each other it's Eddie who breaks first.
"I can't stand this I don't know what else to do, Can we just talk about it please?"
“Eddie…", you sigh, a gentle warning.
"So what if I saw you naked? you saw my boner!...sort of. I mean, I guess that doesn't exactly make us even but it has to count for something, right? you're not alone in this"
You immediately set your wide eyes on the only other patrons in the diner to see if they’d overheard – two older women swapping pictures of their grandchildren over coffee and cheesecake. When neither of them take a pause in the middle of cooing about little Tommy's third Birthday or little Emily's first day of Kindergarten you redirect your attention back to Eddie.
“Eddie! Keep your voice down!”, you whisper shout at him from across the booth. "There are literal grandmother's here!"
He rolls his eyes. Not mean spirited, just unconcerned by the ladies and what they may or may not have overheard.
And then, even though no one’s paying either of you any attention, you lean closer over your half-finished key lime pie, one hand shielding the side of your face like you’re trying to avoid getting recognized by an ex who’s just walked in.
"I'm so embarrassed...please can we just drop it?", you plead, voice hushed.
He gives you this look of mild incredulity. "You have nothing to be embarrassed about. Trust me", and the inflection in his tone almost gives him away, prompting him to double back immediately.
The last thing he wants is for you to feel more uncomfortable than you already do. So he doesn't need you to catch on that he's got every moment of your unintended strip tease memorized. Or that he likes to replay what he's since thought of as the best 10 seconds of his life over and over again when he's fucking his fist in the shower.
“I just mean that it's nothing to be embarrassed by. It could have happened to anyone. Who among us hasn’t napped in just their birthday suit before, am I right?” he finishes with a slight wince, knowing none of this is exactly helpful.
And you know he’s only trying to be nice in his own, sweet, bumbling way but you still feel terrible.
"I don't know if I can shake this feeling", you cast your eyes down, looking too close to despondent for his liking.
"Listen I- I don't know how to fix this but I want to. Please just tell me what I can do and I'll do it, okay?"
God, he's sweet and it makes you feel a little flustered being on the receiving end of that gentle stare, needing to shift the mood lest you drown in all that earnestness pooling in his eyes.
It's moments like this that call for a bad joke to cut the tension, right? some momentary and well meaning deflection before you're ready to address the matter at hand again.
Letting out a half hearted laugh, you make your best attempt to inject some humor into the situation.
"I don't know. Maybe it might help if you got naked too", you nervously scraped your fork against the buttery graham cracker crust of your pie, dislodging a few golden crumbs.
It was so very clearly a joke. At least you had thought so. Eddie? not so much.
His brown eyes go wide, looking scandalized, his voice coming out a little more quite than you're used to.
"What?"
"I mean, I showed you mine after all", you tried again in a cadence that was wholly unserious but once again, he fails to catch on.
"You want me to get naked for you?"
You should correct him and you mean to but before you're able to do just that, something about the way he's staring at you makes you want to match his seriousness. The fact that he didn't say no right away strikes you as weirdly intriguing.
"You don't have to", you clarify, adding, "It's just that – well, you asked and I think it could maybe help? to really get us on even ground?”
The words that come out don't feel like you own – foreign to your ears even though they're said in your voice, with your own lips forming them and your own tongue curling around every syllable.
What the hell am I doing?
Eddie pauses. Seconds drag on like nails on a chalkboard as he taps a ringed finger thoughtfully on the edge of his empty plate smudged with faint traces of cream cheese and lime zest.
"Fine. On one condition", he leans back, arms crossing over his chest, smiling wide and megawatt bright.
Oh my god is this really happening?
“...Yeah?”
"You're going to undress me"
---
Part two? who knows. Certainly not I.
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corroded-hellfire · 2 months
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no bc cockwarming with older!eddie is soooooooo
Oh I agree 100%. It’s something I need in my life but I guess I’ll have to settle for only having it in writing. Older!eddie my beloved 😍
Warnings: older!eddie, smut, p in v, unprotected (wrap it up), oral, m receiving, cockwarming, brat and brat tamer
Words: 3.3k
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Eddie was never a sports fan. Never interested him, never played nor watched. His needing to be home to watch a game had never been an issue you’d had to deal with in your relationship. So, when the day comes that Eddie is more focused on something that’s on the television than you, you’re not having it. 
It’s a Saturday night and the two of you had finished off the pizza that you’d ordered, and you’d gone to take a shower. Halfway through your time spent in the steam, you start to feel a little lonely and wish your boyfriend would join you. Calling his name a few times doesn’t seem to work, even though the walls are thin in his trailer. With a pout, you step out of the shower and wrap a fuzzy towel around your body. Still dripping little droplets of water on the carpet, you pad down the hallway to see where your man is. Nothing Else Matters is coming from the television, and you find Eddie sitting on the couch with a beer in his hand. You’ve heard enough Metallica through him to know that’s what’s on the tv, but you’re not sure what he’s so transfixed on.
“Whatcha watching, baby?” you ask.
His eyes flit briefly over to you before returning to the screen. “Metallica documentary.”
“Oh.” You take a few steps closer to the couch and cock your head to the side. “Didn’t you hear me calling for you?”
“Hmm? Oh, no. You okay?” Eddie’s words are very monotone. You don’t doubt that there’s real concern for you there, but he couldn’t sound less enthusiastic if he tried.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just wanted some company,” you say coyly. There’s no reaction from your boyfriend. Figuring you’ll make it plain as day for him, you drop your towel, leaving your naked body on full display. He turns his head towards you, his eyes staying on the television until the last moment, then flickering your way as well. Arching an eyebrow, Eddie pats his jean-clad thigh and looks back to the television. It’s not exactly the reaction you were looking for, but you’ll take it. 
You stroll over to him and perch yourself in his lap. His hands rest on your hips, but he tries to look around you at the television. Your gaze is trained on him, not quite a glare but only a skosh softer. Eddie either doesn’t notice the way you’re looking at him or he doesn’t care. So, you rest your hands on his shoulders and gently press your nails into his t-shirt covered skin, adding pressure bit by bit until he frowns and meets your eye.
“Ow, babe,” he says. “What was that for?”
“You haven’t looked at me once since I sat in your lap. Am I bothering you?” It’s hard to keep the snark out of your voice, even though you’re aware you sound like a petulant child.
“No,” Eddie says with a soft sigh. “I just want to watch this documentary. I haven’t seen it, and you know Metallica is my favorite.”
A groan tumbles from your lips as you drop your head forward and rest it on his shoulder. Cold water drips from your hair onto his neck, sending a shiver throughout his body.
“You want a blanket?” he asks. 
His words have you jolting upright and, this time, full-out glaring at him.
“You want me to cover up?”
“That’s not what I meant,” Eddie says, suppressing an eye roll – he knows it will only make it worse. “You just got out of the shower, aren’t you cold?”
“A little,” you say. “So warm me up.”
“Babe, this is over in an hour, can we just–”
“Fine.” You move to get off his lap, but his large hands keep you pinned in place. The overly cheerful voice of a woman trying to sell some new workout video comes from behind you and it makes you huff. “So now that there’s a commercial you’ll pay attention to me?”
“You’re being a real brat, you know that?”
Your eyebrows pull together as you frown at him. “I just want to get some lovin’ from my boyfriend.”
“Oh, baby,” Eddie says with a sigh. “So desperate for my cock, huh? Be a good girl then, get on your knees.”
With how fast and hard your knees hit the threadbare carpet in the living room, Eddie suspects you’ll either have bruised knees or rug burn. But you don’t seem to mind one bit as you stare up at him with wide, eager eyes. Your hands immediately fly to Eddie’s belt, and you’ve undone that and his zipper in the short few seconds it took Eddie to lift his hips so you could slide his jeans and boxers down. 
It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve seen it—or stroked it, licked it, sucked it, had it inside of you, etc—the sight of Eddie’s cock still gets you immediately wet. The promise of the pleasure that he’s going to bring you. 
Being eye level with Eddie’s semi-hard cock has you licking your lips in greedy anticipation. Not able to wait one moment more, you lean forward and wrap your hand around the base of Eddie’s cock. His pubic hair brushes against the side of your hand with every stroke.
You push yourself up on your knees so you can let some saliva drip down onto Eddie’s cock, making it easier for you to work your hand over it. A groan slips from your lips as you eye the bead of precum gathering on the tip.
As if based purely on primal instinct, you lean in and run your tongue flat over the head. Eddie’s thighs tense around your head as you savor the salty tang that coats your tongue. 
You’re tempted to tease Eddie but with him already accusing you of acting like a brat, he might not let you suck him off. It’s been the toughest torture you’ve ever had to bear when Eddie makes you watch him get off all on his own. 
Not willing to take that risk, you engulf the head of his cock in your mouth, swirling your tongue around the tip. One of Eddie’s hands rests on the back of your hair, not pushing, just lying there. It puts enough weight on your head to make you sink a little further down on his cock.
“Good girl,” Eddie drawls out. 
The praise does nothing to help the wetness that feels as if it will drool down your legs any second. You bob your head, taking a little more of him in each time you go down. Tears annoyingly pool in your eyes and you blink a few times to get them to roll down your cheeks; nothing is going to distract you from giving Eddie the best head you can. Just as you’re about to take him into your throat, Eddie’s fingers dig into your hair, rings lightly scraping against your scalp, and he pulls you off of him.
A whine of protest reflexively flies out of your mouth at the loss. Your brain hardly has time to wonder why your boyfriend pulled you off of him before he tugs your head backwards so you’re looking up at him. His attention is not on you though, it’s back on the television that you hear once again playing music you recognize as Metallica’s. Eddie is looking straight ahead, not sparing you a glance as you pout up at him.
“Get up here,” he orders as he drops your hair. 
“What?” you ask. Using the back of your hands you wipe the tear streaks from your cheeks and the saliva that managed to leak out of your mouth. 
“Get. Up.”
You push yourself up on unsteady legs and Eddie groans in irritation as you block his view of the television. A strong hand grips your naked waist and pulls you forward until you’re tumbling into his lap. 
“Here’s what’s going to happen.” Eddie’s voice is low and husky, the dominance in it sending a shiver down your spine. “You’re going to sit on my cock and keep quiet until this show is over. If you’re good, maybe you’ll get rewarded. If you’re a brat, you can get yourself off tonight. Understood?”
“Yes, Eddie,” you reply, hardly above a whisper. 
Making sure to lean your torso to the side to keep out of his way, you straddle Eddie’s hips and reach behind you to line his cock up with your entrance. Slowly, you start to sink down on him, the initial stretch leading you to let out a low moan.
“Shhh,” Eddie chastises, never taking his eyes from the flickering screen behind you. 
Teeth gnash into your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood to keep yourself from making any other noises. Tense fingers dig into Eddie’s black t-shirt clad shoulders as you fully seat yourself on his lap. After you’ve given yourself a moment to adjust, you start to lift yourself up again, but Eddie immediately slams you back down.  
A sharp whine is forced out of you, and you grip the cotton material of Eddie’s shirt in your fists.
“Wha—” you start to ask but Eddie cuts you off.
“You’re going to sit here, completely still. You’re not going to move around or make a sound.”
You drop your head forward and rest your forehead on Eddie’s shoulder as you let out a small whimper. This is pure torture. Being so close to everything you want, but not allowed to rock your hips to make the dream a reality. 
Metallica music continues to play behind you and when you glance up at the older man, he has his entire focus on the show. You almost slip up and let out an irritated groan, but you know you’ll regret it if you do. 
A few minutes pass by but it feels like an eternity as you just sit there, half listening to the loud metal music coming from behind you as you slump against Eddie’s body. Just as a song comes to an end and yet another journalist begins to talk on camera, Eddie’s hips shift, causing him to move inside of you. The unexpected jolt has you gasping and burying your face into Eddie’s neck.
“Relax, I’m just making myself comfortable,” he says. 
You highly doubt that but keep your thoughts to yourself as you try to calm your body down again. Eddie’s a little shit and you’d put money on this being only the first time he messes with you, looking to see how far he can push before you push back. Sure enough, just as you’ve let your guard down and let your mind wander, there’s a sharp smack to your ass. The sting makes you jump, and Eddie’s hands instinctively move to your waist to steady you.
“Sorry,” he mutters. “My hand slipped.”
He’s full of shit and you both know it. Eddie’s playing dirty now and you have to think of a counterattack. Anything too obvious and he’ll make both of you get yourselves off tonight, so it has to be subtle. 
Moving slowly so as to not interrupt his television time, you curl against his chest so he can feel it when you expand your lungs and let out a silent yawn against his neck. As you yawned though, there may have been clenching of your walls around his dick. You feel more than hear the growl that reverberates through his chest. Now when you bite your lip it’s to keep the smile off your face. 
You peer over at the clock hanging on the kitchen wall and see that this documentary should be over in about fifteen minutes. So close yet so far. The chill from your still wet skin is starting to settle in as well, which is going to make this quarter of an hour tick by even slower. 
Thankfully, the end of the show has some of the Metallica songs you’re more familiar with, so it gives you something to listen to while you wait for this test of wills to be over. With five minutes left you feel yourself getting antsy. Eddie just said until the documentary was over, right? Does that mean the second it’s done he’s going to start fucking you like you’ve been craving for what feels like hours now? Or will he be a prick some more and pretend like he doesn’t know what you’ve been waiting for this whole time. You’d place your bets on the second option. Eddie never turned down an opportunity to be a pain in the ass. 
The last song fades out and the show is over. You immediately sit up and look at Eddie with wide eyes. You did it. You had done what he asked of you and now you get your reward, right? Right? 
As nonchalantly as you’ve ever seen him, he raises his arms up over his head to stretch out his back and abdominal muscles. Usually, you’d take the opportunity to stare at his tummy when his shirt rode up, but with his cock literally inside of you it feels like a moot point. 
“Eddie,” you say. It’s not quite a whine, more like a poke—a nudge.
“Yes?”
He was going to drive you insane one of these days.
“It’s over, right?”
“It is.”
“So…?” you trail off.
“So, it was pretty good. Wish they had more metal documentaries like that.”
You’re two seconds away from putting your hands around Eddie’s throat—and not in the way he sometimes likes. 
“And I was good too, right?” You’re practically batting your eyelashes at him, and it takes Eddie a moment to compose himself enough not to laugh. 
“I guess you were.”
“So…” you drawl as you lean in to press soft kisses against the side of his neck. “Do I get my reward then?”
“What is it that you wanted, baby? Was it this?” Eddie rolls his hips up against yours and your eyes flutter closed at the feeling.
“Y-Yes,” you manage. “Need you, Eddie.”
“God, I love when you get all needy for my cock. Should I make you beg for it?”
He knows you will if he demands it. Eddie enjoys moments like this when he’s in full control, knowing you’ll do whatever he wants. That his cock drives you so wild that you become putty in his hands. It makes a nice change since in every other aspect of your relationship you have him wrapped around your little finger. 
“Please, please, Eddie,” you whine, fingers grasping at the front of his t-shirt. 
Eddie takes in your pouted lips and your widened eyes. He can’t help but smile at how utterly adorable you are; but somehow still the sexiest woman he’s ever met. 
“Alright, baby,” Eddie finally acquiesces. He reaches up and cups your cheek in his hand. Slowly and delicately, Eddie swipes his thumb right below your bottom eyelid. “Take what you want.”
The permission unlocks an energy reservoir you weren’t aware you had as you place your hands on Eddie’s shoulders for balance and push yourself up, almost letting his cock slip out. But at the last moment you lower yourself back down, the two of you moaning in tandem as he bottoms out again. You set a relentless pace as you begin to bounce on his cock. Eddie’s eyes hungrily watch your tits as they bounce along with you, providing your boyfriend with double the pleasure. 
“Fuck,” Eddie groans and drops his head back against the couch. Teasing you was definitely worth it with the way you’re taking his cock for all its worth. 
Your hands move up Eddie’s shoulder and slide around to tangle your fingers at the dark curls at the base of his skull. 
“This what you wanted, huh?” Eddie asks and pauses to catch his labored breath. He can feel how wet you are and that tells him this is exactly what your goal was. “Needed to have me deep inside of you.”
“So deep,” you mutter with a nod.
“Mm, what would you do without me, baby?” Eddie taunts, lifting his hands to massage your breasts. 
“God, I would die.”
Eddie chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Nobody could make you feel as good as I do. I know.”
“Uh huh,” you pant. 
Eddie notices your movements becoming slower, the strength draining from your body. Persistent woman that you are, you keep going, moving up and down to take what you want. One of Eddie’s arms snakes around the small of your back and the other comes up to cup your cheek.
“Hey, I’ve got you,” he says softly. Eddie turns to lay you down on the weathered couch and slides an old throw pillow beneath your hips. A loud whine of protest comes from deep in your chest when Eddie slips out of you as your positions change. “Love how desperate you get for me. Only me who gets to see you wrecked like this. So fuckin’ hot.”
As Eddie pushes himself back into your soaked, throbbing pussy your whines turn much more pleasurable. Your boyfriend holds onto the arm of the couch behind your head and uses the leverage to piston his hips. 
“Shit, shit, shit,” you cry.
“Too much?” Eddie teases, slowing his hips. “Should I stop?”
“Fuck, no.”
A cocky smirk grows on the older man’s face, a breathy chuckle coming from him at your vociferous reply. His hips pick up speed again, just as eager to please you as you are to be pleased. The arm that isn’t holding him steady against the couch runs over your tits, up your neck, and his fingers meet your lips. 
“Open.”
You let your jaw drop, letting Eddie slip his middle and forefinger into your mouth. Just as you did to his cock before, you swirl your tongue around the digits, the feeling of something in your mouth only making you feel that much fuller. Reluctantly, you let Eddie move his hand when he starts to pull away, but not before letting your bottom teeth gently graze against the pads of his fingers. 
Eddie’s hand dips down between your bodies and rubs tight circles over your clit. The added stimulation has your muscles tightening, that familiar buildup soaring in you. Your right hand clutches Eddie’s arm, the grip hard enough to leave bruises that will linger for the next few days. 
“Eddie, fuck.”
“That’s right. Cum for me, princess.”
“W-Wanna cum with you.”
He dips down and trails hot kisses from your chin, all the way down your throat. 
“You’ve been naked for the past hour,” he mumbles against your sweat covered skin. “Never mind how long I’ve been inside of you. You really think I’m gonna be able to last much longer? Come on, baby. Cum for me.”
The urging is all you need before letting your orgasm wash over you, back arching off the couch, and pressing your tits against Eddie’s shirt. The clenching and fluttering of your walls around him has Eddie following right after you, spilling into you and filling you up. Wanting to make sure you take every single drop, Eddie fucks his cum into you even after his orgasm begins to wane. 
The weight of Eddie’s body pressing on top of yours is exactly what you need in the moments as your bliss fades away. Contentment fills the both of you as you breathe together, both sweaty and satiated. Eddie uses the last of the energy he has left to lift his head and press a few kisses to your shoulder. 
“I love you,” you whisper, reaching up to move some of the hair that’s sticking to his face. “I’d apologize for being a brat, but it turned out to work pretty damn well.”
“You are a brat but I’m good at handling it,” Eddie says with a soft smile. “And I love you too.”
“I feel like I need another shower,” you say, your sticky skin feeling attached to Eddie’s.
He looks up at you with those doe eyes and a cocky smile.
“Want some company?”
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isbuckybarnesokay · 2 years
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Steve never turns the heater on in his car when he's alone. This is something Eddie picks up on fairly quickly, as summer turns to autumn, as the air cools down. The mornings are icy, now. There's a bite to each and every breath that you can suck in almost like smoke, and it's pleasant for all of two seconds before it chills you to the bone.
The first time he notices it, there's so much noise in the car that Eddie doesn't get a chance to say anything - Dustin is chattering on to Mike about god-knows-what. Instead, he just watches from the passenger seat as Steve clocks Will's chattering teeth in the rearview mirror and immediately reaches forward to crank up the dial.
The second time, it's just Steve and Eddie, and they're driving back from dropping Eddie's van off at the mechanics. Steve meets him outside the shop at a crisp 7am, and it's fucking freezing, honestly. Eddie slides into the passenger seat and winces at the way his breaths come out in a cloud. "Shit, dude," he groans, "aren't you cold?" Steve shrugs, focused on driving. "A bit, I guess. Help yourself." He waves at the AC settings carelessly. How the fuck are you not freezing your balls off? Eddie wonders, but he doesn't voice the thought aloud, though he very much wants to. There's something here, he thinks. There's something I'm not getting.
The third time it happens, Eddie doesn't even need to get in the car to know Steve didn't switch the heating on. He knows this because when Steve saunters into the new trailer, a 6-pack in hand, his lips are almost blue. He's wearing a too-thin jacket, undone over a plain shirt. Eddie frowns. "Jesus Christ, Steve," he murmurs, immediately rushing through to his room to grab a sweater. He throws it at Steve when he gets back out to the main room, chewing at the inside of his cheek. "What's this for?" "Because you're fucking freezing, man. Are you kidding me? You're turning to ice right in front of me, look at you." And it's so wrong that Steve looks so confused. It's so wrong. Because he's so clearly cold as hell. It looks painful, damn it, the way his hands are shaking, the way he can't quite move his fingers properly when he goes to pop the cap off of his beer. I am going to take care of you until you figure out how to take care of yourself, Eddie thinks, fierce and determined. And he does.
When Steve leaves that night, after the movie, Eddie makes him keep the black knit sweater on, makes him take it with him. "You look cute," he grins, aiming for playful, aiming for the misdirect. He likes the way it makes Steve blush, anyway. It's a win-win. Eddie follows close behind Steve down the steps of the trailer, catching the driver's door with a quick hand before it can slam closed. He waits for Steve to start the car before getting to work. "What're you-" Steve begins, falling silent as Eddie leans over him and switches the heating on. "You," he mutters, pulling back, tapping a finger on Steve's forehead. "You keep that on until you get home, you hear me, big boy?" Steve looks bewildered, but nods anyway.
Eddie starts bringing an extra jacket or sweater with him everywhere, after that, and it comes in handy more times than he'd like. He wishes it wasn't the only way to get Steve into his clothes. He buys Steve a hot water bottle with a cover that's the same yellow as that sweater that he loves so much. Eddie gets into the habit of calling Steve each night, and before he hangs up, he tells Steve to fill it up. Tells Steve to use it. He checks Steve's bed one day, pulls back the duvet a bit, and can't help but beam when he sees the hot water bottle tucked there. When he presses a hand to it, it's still warm.
One day, nearing Christmas, now, Eddie slides into the passenger seat of Steve's car, and the heater is already on, car toasty and warm. His cheeks dimple when he sees that Steve is already wearing Eddie's own black knit sweater; His smile only widens further as Steve comments, "Fucking freezing today, man. When did it get so cold?" Eddie just chokes out a laugh and throws the spare jacket he'd brought with him onto the back seat. He has to turn his head to look out the window so Steve can't see the proud tears in his eyes.
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calumfmu · 14 days
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sugar coated melting.
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Being assistant to the famous Steve Harrington wasn't an easy task, he was demanding as ever and made sure he was nice to everyone but you. But a job was a job, and it was the cost of working in Hollywood.
Famous!Steve Harrington x Assistant!reader (modern!au, with 40's Steve) 7.5k+ words
cw: older Steve Harrington, smut, loss of virginity, inexperienced!reader, AFAB reader, angst (what's new), mentions of death, swearing, 18+, mdni
Working with one of the most famous actors in the world was draining, exhausting, taxing, everything you could negatively describe. He was such a high maintenance person, he made your job seem like a constant boot camp run for the Navy Seals. Your best friend had cackled at that supply of information.
Steve wasn’t a bad person, no. He was handsome (obviously, he had been voted most handsome of the previous 2 years in a row), kind (to most people—who weren’t you), and compassionate (he let you eat his leftovers that one time you had gotten stuck on set for 16 straight hours). You were getting paid to say nice things about him if anyone had asked.
Life working as his head assistant was just a drag. It was everything you had dreamed of doing when you were a kid, working in Hollywood with big A-listers, attending red carpets, seeing the way movies worked. The job wasn’t the problem, it… was him.
A script was shoved into your hands as you thought of giving it to the man. The look on his face was burned into the back of your mind, irritation crossing his features as you imagined giving him the bad news. He always took things out on you, attitude forward as he said some slick remark.
Last minute script change, typical of productions like these. Something that anyone could expect while working on these things. Anyone with a normal level of patience would handle it well, take it with stride.
Your fingers rapped against the trailer door, aluminum warm to the touch from the sun beating down on it. Movement sounded behind the door, mumbling a few words out at you.
The door swung open, Steve rubbing at his eyes with his hair sticking in every direction. Fuck, he was asleep. It made it so much worse delivering the news.
“Heyyy, boss,” you beamed, voice raising a few octaves. You held out the script to him, cringing slightly. “Nothing too crazy, just a sliight chan-”
“No,” the door slammed in your face, your eyes closing as the bright reflection shone on you. Your smile immediately dropped, the reflection of your face on the white aluminum door looking back at you.
Red seethed through you, frustration prickling at the back of your neck. You knocked again, this day becoming even longer with each passing second.
“Mr. Harrington.” You were met with silence, ear pressing to the door to hear any movement. You waited a beat, knocking more urgently.
“Don’t want it, tell them no,” he grumbled behind the door, his voice sounded across the trailer, muffled through the closed door.
You took a deep breath, trying to find the patience to not go off on him. You were his assistant, not his agent, not the director of the film, not anything else. What did he realistically think you were going to do about a script change?
“‘M just delivering it, Mr. Harrington.” Your voice was level. “I don’t even think it’s your lines that changed.”
A faint note of music came through the door, Steve deciding to tune you out. Looking towards the sky, you squinted, finding prayer between the clouds.
“Mr. Harrington!”
Another PA walked by you, speaking into the earpiece she had with a clipboard in hand. You raised a hand to greet her, faux smile crossing your lips as you pretended everything was okay. She waved back, making her way in between the trailers and out of your eyesight.
As soon as she disappeared, your fist came up to bang at the door, louder than before.
It opened in the middle of your fit, you nearly stumbled into the trailer. You cut your eyes at your boss, biting your tongue at the swear words that threatened to come out.
The man was well past 30 years old, but still acted like a spoiled brat.
“Fine,” he said through his teeth, grabbing the stack of papers from your hand. He barely glanced at it before tossing it on the small couch behind him. Your eyes followed it, noticing the mess of bottles on the floor around it.
He followed your gaze with his own eyes, stepping into your eyesight as he closed the door slightly.
“Anything else, Yn?” A pinch of attitude at your name. Typical.
You smiled at the man, frustration disappearing as you were just grateful this episode of his didn’t last as long as it did last week.
“No, sir, that would be it for me,” you gave him a slightly bow, clasping your hands in front of you before swiveling on your heel. Descending the mini set of stairs, you rolled your eyes, back to him as you descended. “Fucking twat.”
“I heard that!” His voice was far behind you, your feet moving fast across the blacktops. You smiled back at him, waving as confusion crossed your features.
“Sorry sir, I said it was fucking hot!” You lied straight through your teeth. “Outside, you know? Pardon my language.”
You rolled your eyes once more, turning back on your mission to get back inside the building. You and him both knew what you said, but you didn’t have it in you to care. Nothing you did would get you fired, trust, have you tried.
It was like you were in your own personal Purgatory. You assumed Steve liked you, he wouldn’t fire you even on your worst days. You had fucked up many times, forgetting things, slipping up on his to do list, calling the wrong people for the wrong events. More recently, he had heard the rude nicknames you had for him, and he just didn’t seem to care.
You had heard him one time, whisper under his breath about “best help in Hollywood”. It was sarcastic of course, his eye roll you’ve been well acquainted with to follow.
The last few weeks have been more of a hell for you, Steve becoming more temperamental and moody, you becoming the worst employee on planet Earth. You begged to be fired at this point, your shot at unemployment looking more and more appetizing.
A sudden ring cut through the air, your back pocket buzzing. Pulling it out, you nearly ripped your hair out, Steve’s contact popping up on the screen. I could ignore it, you thought. This could finally be my chance at escaping him.
Your thoughts were cut short, the phone ringing again as Steve's name popped up. He didn't even let the first one finish before trying you again.
"Oh, Mr. Harrington," you breathed, hand pressed into your brow as you answered. "Hi, sorry, sir. Did you need me?"
"Need you to come back," you heard him say, voice muffled as he seemed to be doing other things on the other side of the line. Your feet responded before your brain did, autopilot in motion. "Script's not fucking working, and I just-"
Something fell in the background, and your footsteps faltered. You ignored it, rolling your eyes yet again at his antics.
"Are you okay, sir?" You asked, seeing his trailer in the distance. One of the trailer windows had its blinds half up, he paced back and forth.
You approached it, listening to him as he rambled on the phone, speaking about how much he hated this director and his damn agent for giving him these roles. Fighting back laughter, you cosigned with him, not choosing to mention that this stupid role was worth $13 million.
You raised your fist to knock at the door, it swinging open before you could even make a noise. The three dial tones of the phone call ending rung in your ears, Steve grumbling at you to enter.
"A-are you sure, sir?" Hesitation filled you, you weren't used to stepping into his trailer. You think you'd been in it once during the last seven months of production, grabbing his left behind cell phone before they traveled to location.
Steve didn't look at you the whole time, just muttering words under his breath as he held the brand new scripts in his hand. He was pacing, feet burning holes in the carpet of the trailer.
You slowly stepped in, apprehensively closing the door behind you. Hands clasped in front of you, you stood in close proximity to the door, eyes shifting over the large trailer.
He had clothes thrown over one end of the vehicle, previous scripts sitting on the makeshift table, and a half full glass of a dark colored liquid next to it. You eyed it, brow furrowing as you swore this man had been sober for the past few years--or at least, that's what the news outlets said about him. Not like you kept up.
"Sir," you interjected his thoughts, causing him to stop in place. He still didn't look at you. "Why am I here?"
Curt answers were the easiest way for you to pretend to be nice to him. You knew you couldn't be outright rude, this was your boss after all. Saying stuff under your breath and if he accidentally heard was another thing.
He ignored you.
"How is this supposed to be the Oscar nomination when they have me acting like this?" He exhaled a small shout at the end of his words, your eyes squinting at the volume. "Does this make sense to you? It's like they want me to make a fool of myself, no?"
You shifted uncomfortably, glancing at the floor. "I'm not sure how you want me to answer that, sir."
He waited a moment, sighing loudly as he collapsed on the couch, arm thrown over his eyes. You looked at him then, seeing the way his chest heaved as he shook his eyes. The sun was setting now, golden hour lighting inching through the windows over his figure. His bed head was still wild, even more messy than it was previously.
"W-what would you like me to do, sir?" You asked, arms crossing over your chest as you felt the awkwardness creep into the air. This was the longest you had been in a room with him, at least, with no one around.
Glancing at the watch on your wrist, you took note of your 'shift' being almost over. It was a quarter to seven, your freedom lingering in the distance.
"Sir?"
"Enough!" He cut out, breaking his silence. You jumped at the words, ducking your head as his outburst came. This was the Steve you knew, the short tempered boss who was always so moody whenever things didn't go his way.
You opted for silence, not daring to speak as you awaited his next choice of words.
His arm left his face, palm running down his features as he stared into the ceiling of the trailer.
"Sorry, I just," his voice was significantly lower. He sat up on the edge of the couch, his palms resting on his thighs. "I just need you to take me home."
Your eyes closed briefly, irritation quickly crossing you as you realized this was going to be a longer day than you imagined. If Steve had needed you longer than you were scheduled, then so be it.
"Why?" The word wasn't supposed to come out, replacing the 'okay' that sat on the edge of your mouth.
His gaze cut to you quickly, searching your face as you stood there. Eyes burning slightly, you felt tears prickling. The pint of Ben & Jerry's ice cream, and Friends rerun marathon looking further away from you could bring you to tears.
"Because I employ you, do I not?" The harshness in his words did nothing but fuel the 'Hollywood Tell All' feature you planned for the day you quit.
"You do, sir, yes," You muttered, hands dropping to your side in defeat. "I just thought you'd drive yourself like normal. You know, day ends, and I'll see you here the next day, eight sharp like normal."
"I can't--no," he answered, standing up as he gathered his things. "I don't have to explain myself to you. You just need to take me home. You can drive my car."
The words to protest him were lost in your throat. You complied with his actions, eyes to the floor as he finished gathering his things. Following him out of the trailer, you sighed, feeling like you were walking into a lion's den.
The walk to the private lot was silent, Steve grumbling to himself as he texted someone on his phone. You noticed his phone ringing several times, his thumb finding the red button to end it each time. Curse words came out of his mouth every few seconds, a few from your own mouth being added to the mix as you thought of ways to leave.
As the two of you came across an old school beemer sitting deep in the parking lot, he threw the keys at you, settling into the passenger seat. Reluctantly, you slide in the driver's seat, feeling the leather interior beneath your fingers.
"Nice car, boss," You whispered, checking out how the car didn't even look a day out of 1985. Steve side eyed you, nodding at the compliment before returning to his phone.
"Get us there in one piece, yeah?"
You sucked your teeth as his comment, shaking your head before starting the car. It was like it was impossible for him to be a decent person. Here you were, doing something for this man which may or may not be in your contract, and he couldn't even say thank you to a compliment about his car.
The ride was silent save for an old tape that played in the car. Some band from the 80's you noted, a little too old for your taste. Steve's fingers tapped away at his phone, not focused on the LA traffic you sat in for most of the drive. He gave you directions to his swanky high rise, ignored you as you struggled to keep up with him.
You pulled into an underground garage, valet men coming immediately, opening the door for you as they took the keys. Everything happened in such fast motion, you barely noticed he was half way to the elevator. Jogging to catch up with him, you turned your own attention to your phone, thumb hovering over the Uber app.
Steve took a call, fingers rapidly pressing the elevator button as he spoke (yelled) at the person on the other end.
"No, Robin, I'm not doing that, okay?" He said, voice gruff as he glanced at you. You heard the static voice of the person on the other line, seeming to be yelling at him too.
The elevator dinged, the two of your bodies stepping in as the doors opened. The transportation app on your phone lagged, loading bar stagnant on your screen.
"No, I get it, it's been years. Fine, I-" Steve groaned in frustration, eyes repeatedly shifting over to you as you tried to tune out the phone call. You stared at the numbers the elevator passed, the first floor blinking by before you could say anything. Your phone remain in your hand, screen dimming as it began to time out.
"Robin. I know."
The voice on the other line picked up, the woman's voice growing even louder. Steve pulled the phone away from his ear slightly, grimacing at the volume. The elevator stopped at a floor labeled 'P', doors opening to a mini lobby that ended in double doors. He went over to unlock them, key fob in his hands as a beep sounded through the empty room.
As he stepped through them, phone balanced on his shoulder with his ear pressed to it, he looked at you. You stood right outside the elevator, doors closing behind you as you didn't know what to do.
He held open his front door, hand waving at you in frustration. "Well, are you coming in?"
You pressed your lips together, another wave of irritation pulling at your teeth. Eyes half rolling, you nodded, entering the doors as he closed and locked it behind you.
Steve moved fast, throwing his jacket over a couch that lay in the middle of the giant room, toeing off his shoes by its side. You stood in place, not sure what to do as your boss made his way around his home.
You took note of the place, not picturing that he would live in a place like this. It was modern, with a touch of old school fashion. Retro furniture, expensive nonetheless. Floor to ceiling windows, overlooking the city. However, not a touch of life, no personal pictures, no sign of family, or anything personal that may shine light on what type of person he truly was.
You stepped in further to the place, watching as Steve made his way to a cabinet in his kitchen. Observing him over the breakfast bar, you saw into the open kitchen, watched him as he grabbed a rocks glass and a bottle of something pushed far back into a cabinet.
He continued on the phone, placing it on speaker as he began to open the bottle. He struggled at first, face turning up as his hands twisted on the cap.
Slowly making your way around the room, you glanced around, expecting him to yell at you for even being here, despite inviting you in.
"Steve," you heard the voice on the other line say. His eyes drifted towards the phone, pouring a hefty shot. "All I'm saying is, I miss you. And care for you. I love you. I want you to be okay today, alright?"
Steve grunted in response, not noticing your proximity to him. You cleared your throat slightly, wanting to gain his attention.
The woman on the phone waited for more of a response. Once it was clear she wasn't going to get one, she sighed. "If you change your mind, you know where to find us."
"Yeah sure," his tone was rude, eyes boring into the glass of dark liquid that sat in front of him. His fingers danced at the rim.
"Eddie would've wanted you to come."
Steve's body language immediately stiffened, finger moving to hang up the phone before throwing back the shot of liquor. His face grimaced at the taste, slamming the glass back on the table.
You didn't know what to say, looking anywhere but at your boss.
"Fuck, I forgot you were even here," he suddenly said, hand running through his hair. His hand was on his hip, eyes glossy as he looked at you. You chewed at your bottom lip, nodding as he stared at you. He pointed to the alcohol, shrugging. "Drink?"
Declining, your head shook. "I don't drink, sir."
"Ahh," he said, grabbing the glass and bottle as he headed towards the couch. "Good girl."
He threw himself down on the furniture, exhaling loudly as he stretched out. His eyes were closed as you stood across the room.
"Hey, I-I think I'm gonna go," you said, beginning to walk towards the exit. "I'll see you tomorrow."
As you crossed the room, Steve's voice called out to you. Your movements stopped, turning on your heel to look at him.
"Stay?" He asked you, eyes huge as they looked in your direction. You took note of his features, blinking at him as he awaited your response. Your boss was approaching his 40's, however, in this moment, he looked just like a little kid. Pictures of him in his teen years you had seen on the Internet were pushed to the forefront of your mind.
"I don't think that's a good idea, Mr. Harrington," you muttered, wanting to leave the scene.
His eyes fell to the floor briefly before he spoke out, "Steve."
"Huh?" You were confused, this sudden change in his attitude.
"You can call me Steve," he said, shifting his body as he relaxed into the couch. "We've known each other for a few years now, figured we should might as well be on a first name basis."
Fighting back the eye roll, you were reminded in the ways your boss had made your life into chaos.
"I bet you a million dollars, you don't even know my name, sir."
His gaze softened, laughing out loud as your hard exterior slowly came back.
"Yn." He muttered, smile dancing at his mouth.
You didn't know what to say, stuck between dashing out of his apartment or staying and seeing what type of Steve Harrington you were going to get today.
"I figure I should apologize for the way I've acted today," he said, turning forward as his gaze left your way. You didn't know why, but your feet followed it, walking closer so you could sit next to him. Lowering your self on the couch, you felt self conscious, like he was going to snap any second.
You snorted, "Today?"
He was staring at the bottle of alcohol in front of him, smile still on his face. Laughing at your comment, he shrugged.
"I have been a dick, haven't I?" He whispered, shaking his head as the smile slowly dropped from his face. His voice dropped to a whisper, eyes unfocused as he stared in front of himself. "Such a fucking dick."
You didn't know why, but you felt the need to comfort the man. He was clearly going through something at the moment, if the look alone on his face was any tell.
"Hey, not too bad of one," you wanted to reach out to grab him.
"Don't lie," he laughed, head turning your way. His eyes met yours, deep brown staring into the color of yours. You noticed moles dotting his face, slight lines of aging covering his features. He was still youthful, his eyes telling the tale of a once young boy who was within. "I've been terrible. And you don't deserve that."
A pang hit your heart, feeling the weight of his words. You didn't really deserve his treatment. No matter if he paid you or not.
He continued his words, eyes staring past you. "And yet here I am, sitting here with my assistant. Drinking for the first time in years." A laugh bubbled out of him, hands running down his face as he leaned further back into the couch. "You know I'm supposed to be in Indiana right now?"
You shook your head, not wanting to interrupt him. Making yourself comfortable, you took off your shoes, slipping your feet underneath yourself.
"Well, I'm supposed to be in Indiana, it's the 20th anniversary of, uhm," his voice cracked, eyes welling up with a tear that was blinked back. "It's the anniversary of one of my friend's dying, and I'm not there."
Breath catching in your throat, you didn't know what to say.
"I'm sorry, sir," you muttered, hand reaching out to rest at his thigh. The touch was inappropriate, but so was this interaction you could say.
He looked down at your hand, watching your thumb as it brushed over his jeans.
"It's okay," he responded, eyes finding yours again. "It's been so long."
You nodded, eyes scanning his face as he forced the corners of his mouth to be turned into a smile. You saw right through it, recognizing the pain of a lost loved one straight through. "I don't think that matters."
His face dropped, sincerity crossing his features as he dipped to glance at your hand once more. Silence over took the two of you, the faint sounds of the streets of LA below you, Steve's staggered breathing as he willed himself not to cry. You were patient, finding comfort in the air as he found his words.
"We were all so young, and it feels so long ago, almost like it doesn't exist anymore," he finally said, voice even. "But I know it does. I just have to face it, I've been running from it ever since it happened."
He gestured to his surroundings, and the puzzle clicked into place. This fame and jerk persona that Steve carried himself in, hid the real him. He ran from all of his problems, like anyone else would, especially when dealing with something as traumatic like he had.
You didn't know the details, didn't care to ask, since it seemed to affect him so much. All you knew was that person who had passed so long ago did matter to him, in ways that you couldn't imagine.
Letting him continue his mumblings about the person he used to know, you found out that his name had been Eddie, the one you heard on the phone before. Robin, long time best friend of his, was trying to get him to come out to reconnect with everyone, he hadn't seen much of them since the 'accident', as he had called it. He kept in touch with everyone over the phone, but seeing them in person was a whole different story. It opened up old wounds that he was afraid of what it might bring out.
The story was slightly confusing, him mentioning something about how they all had nearly lost their lives, details that would leave you wondering what this man had gone through. None of this information was available about him in the public, his childhood always being a vague story that never connected.
"So you have kids then?" You questioned, confused on how you never picked up on this detail. There had to have been at least five of them, names you had never heard before now.
Steve laughed suddenly, shaking his head as his hand rested on your own thigh. The two of you were much closer now, as his story unfolded. Your thighs were touching, each other's hands on resting upon each other, mere inches away from your faces.
"No, I don't have any. I guess, I should stop calling them kids now, you know?" His laugh was low in his throat. "They have kids of their own at this point, so they're far from it."
"Oh..." You were dumbfounded, all of this information being at a loss to you. You weren't here to understand, just here to listen.
"You know what, I'm sorry," he suddenly said, removing his hand from your leg. You wanted to whine at the absence, cold replacing his warm touch. "Maybe you should go, actually. This is pretty, uhm..."
"Unprofessional?" You supplied, inching closer as your boss sat there, wide eyed looking at you. In the dark light of his apartment, you could see the way his brown eyes glimmered at you. "I guess we're even then, me calling you a twat earlier."
Steve cackled, pinching the bridge of his nose as he thought of the events earlier.
"I knew you said that!"
You blushed, fighting back your own smile.
"It's not my fault, you were acting like one." Your lips pursed together, observing the older man in front of you.
Silence crept over you, the first break in conversation since his phone call ended earlier. Steve stared at you, eyes darting over your features as his teeth scraped over his bottom lip. You felt shy under his gaze, not knowing what to think of the moment as your boss was closer in proximity than he had ever been in your life.
"Can I make it up to you?"
His voice was low, and you were nodding before you even knew what he meant. Grabbing your cheek in his hand, the man leaned forward, capturing your lips into his. The gasp in your throat was lost in his mouth, a shuttering moan coming out instead.
His lips were soft, slightly chapped as they moved against yours. Fluttering your eyes closed, you leaned into the kiss, moving your hand so it rest at the curve of his hip, belt loop curling in your fingers.
He tasted of whiskey, the remnants of the few shots he had earlier lingering on his tongue. Steve pulled away slightly, muttering, "This okay?" against your lips as you nodded, pulling him in by his hair with your other hand.
Your breath grew more shallow as the kiss continued, leaning back as Steve began to tower over you. He shifted in his seat, covering your body with his own as he began to push you back into the couch. His figure was large over yours, scent of vanilla and cedar nearly suffocating you.
With your back flush against the couch, Steve removed himself from your lips, pressing a slight kiss against your jaw. You arched into the touch, palms running over the tight muscle of his back.
"S-steve," you moaned, squeezing your eyes shut as his lips kissed over your neck. Each press of his mouth sent fireworks down your spine.
He returned his lips to yours, moving with a passion that was lacking previously, confidence replacing the apprehension he once felt.
Your legs spread, inviting him to nestle in between, the thick material of his jeans rubbing against your own. A bulge was present, the thought of what lay underneath sending goosebumps over your skin.
Steve was lost in the kiss, his mouth nipping at yours as he reached down to unbutton your pants, slipping a hand to run over the front of your panties.
"W-wait," you muttered, grabbing his wrist as you pulled away from the kiss. He was confused, mouth red and swollen. His fingers pressed at your covered clit, a small shot of pleasure running through you.
"What's wrong, Yn?" The hand connected to his elbow that propped him up, ran through your hair, tucking a strand behind your ear. Concern crossed his features, searching your face as doubt crossed it.
"I just, uhh," you felt shy, avoiding his eye contact as the words stumbled out. "I've never really done this before?"
His eyes bulged out, sitting up suddenly as he leaned over you. Closing your eyes in embarrassment, you pressed the palm of your hand to your forehead. Way to ruin the moment.
"Oh," he breathed, eyes wide as he scanned you. "We don't-- fuck, sorry. I'm so, uh, wow."
He stood up suddenly, leaving you laying on your back as embarrassment colored your cheeks. You didn't know what to say as the older man panicked.
"Maybe, uh, maybe this was a bad idea," he shook his head, hand reaching down to palm at the front of his pants. Your eyes followed his hand, noticing the prominent bulge.
You spoke out, shaking your head as you didn't make any effort to move. The turn of events tonight made you realize how much you did want the man who stood before you.
"No, we can, it's okay," you said, reaching out to grab his hand that hung by his side. He looked down at your grasp before bringing his eyes to meet yours. "It's alright."
He hesitated, sputtering over something to say.
"Steve, it's okay," you pulled him down, his knees straddling the sides of your hips as he reluctantly settled into the couch. His eyes ran over your body, lingering at the spot where your pants were unbuttoned, cotton panties exposed.
"A-are you sure?" He questioned, moving to lean back down over you. You nodded, leaning up on your elbows to press a chaste kiss to his lips. His tongue darted out, wetting your bottom lip.
A breathy moan escaped your mouth, palm caressing the front of his shirt.
"I want to, it's fine."
You knew it was now or never, this moment with your boss being an opportunity that you couldn't have passed up. You always had a crush on him growing up, the face of Hollywood you would see in your teen magazines, posters covering the room of your friends. Working for him would've never had you imagining that it would lead to this moment.
Steve took control of the situation, kissing down your neck as his hand returned between your legs, pants thrown across the room somewhere. It had happened so fast, you barely noticed the cool air that pulled goosebumps from your skin.
"Tell me if you want to stop, okay?" He muttered, freshly shaved stubble prickling against your chin. You could barely get out a moan as your underwear was pulled down your legs, catching at the crook of your ankles.
You felt his fingers brush over your folds, pressing lightly at the slick entrance. His thumb rubbed in small circles over your small bundle of nerves, an eye-rolling feeling that spread your legs apart. His fingers pushed inside, his own moan coming out over yours.
The feeling of the intrusion had you panting, spreading your legs wider while his thick fingers worked you.
"M-more," you begged, throwing your head back as his fingers found a rhythm. He stretched you out over two fingers at this point, thumb collecting slick as it rubbed over your clit.
Steve's fingers curled inside of you, brushing against your sweet spot deep inside. The look on his face was one of admiration, mouth slack as he looked down at you falling apart under his touch.
"That's okay?" His voice was husky, deep with arousal as your hips began to move in time with his fingers. Your orgasm was approaching, hips moving on their own accord as you chased that high.
"God, yes, Steve."
Pushing your shirt up past your bra, Steve gaped at the sight before him, your fingers dipping inside your bra to toy at your own breasts.
"You look so perfect, angel," he muttered, leaning down to capture your lips into his as you fell apart. That white blinding of your orgasm crept in, starting at the base of your spine and blossoming through your entire body. Against his mouth, you shouted out, squeezing your eyes shut as he fingered you through the high.
It took a minute for you to catch your breath, legs spasming from the shocks of the orgasm. You hissed at the over stimulation, Steve pressing into your clit one last time before removing himself from you.
You felt shy suddenly, the haze from the orgasm clearing as you realized you had just done unimaginable things with your boss. Seeming to read your mind, Steve pressed small kisses around the perimeter of your face.
"It's alright," he said, hovering over you. Against your thigh, you could feel his bulge rub against you. "How are you feeling, good?"
You nodded, words at a loss in your throat. You reached up to place a hand on his neck, the other at his waist as you played with the hem of his shirt. His eyes fluttered close briefly before glancing down at where you were slightly tugging his shirt up.
He made eye contact with you, chewing on his bottom lip. "I need words, angel. Gotta make sure everything is 100% okay, okay?"
"I'm alright, Steve," you gasped, looking down where your own hand rubbed at the exposed part of his abdomen. You needed more, wanted to feel him all over you. You began to pull his shirt over his body, watching as he glanced down at you with hooded eyes. "Just need more of you."
He slowly nodded, sitting back on his knees as he unbuttoned his own pants and slid them down his legs. You giggled at him as he struggled to get them off, the smoothness he had previously disappearing as he nearly toppled off the couch.
You pulled your own shirt and bra off of you, dropping them on the floor next to the couch. "Nice own, old man," you laughed, returning to your spot against the couch.
He frowned at you, lip jutting out in an over exaggerated pout. "Heeyy, I still got it."
You were left breathless, the laughter disappearing at the tip of your tongue as his figure returned to cover your body. The tip of his cock nudged at your entrance, the wetness pooling at the head leaving you gasping.
Steve reached down to rub his cock against the length of your cunt, spreading the slick all over as you arched into him.
"Fuuckk, Steve." You hooked your ankle over his hip, warmness pooling in your belly at the thought of him being inside you. His eyes raked over you, lingering on your nipples as they shook with each moan you gave.
"You sure about this, Yn?" He asked, leaning down to dart his tongue over the skin of your breast. It sent shivers down your spine, another wave of heat rushing to your core. "I don't want to do anything you'll regret."
"'M not gonna regret this," you gasped, feeling the way the head of his cock slightly pushed at you. It burned, fuck, he was big.
The slight intrusion had you gripping at his back, leaving crescent moon marks in the skin. Your breath came out ragged, a whine scratching at the back of your throat.
Steve grunted at you, pushing in slowly as he buried his head into your shoulder. He stopped every few inches, hips stuttering slightly as he fought back to urge to fuck back into you full force.
Being an all new feeling, you couldn't help but mewl at every burn of the stretch, a fullness you had never experienced before.
He pressed to the hilt, hips flush against yours as Steve gasped for air in tune with you. He pulled his head back to make eye contact with you, forehead resting against yours. You felt the slight grinding of his hips against yours, the fullness becoming too much as you were stretched over him.
"You gotta bare with me, baby." The nickname had you moaning, fingers reaching down to dig at the plumpness of his ass. You could barely keep your eyes open, senses overwhelmed with Steve. "'S been a while for me."
Nodding, you gasped as he reared his hips back before they stuttered into you again. The movement sent a wave of slick between your thighs again, pleasure blinding you.
He found his rhythm, hips fucking into you slowly, languidly as you fell apart beneath him. You rocked with every movement of his hips, hands running over the tan skin of his body above you.
Finding his lips, you moaned against his mouth, savoring the feeling that was building up in your abdomen as the two of you moved in sync.
Steve gave you words of affirmation, hips drilling into you over and over as his cock brushed over your deep bundle of nerves. Bliss approached you once more, wetness dripping all over him as you were brought to that high again.
"Gonna cum, Steve," you whispered against his mouth, back arching into him. He reached down between you, fingers toying at your clit as they began to rub in small circles.
"Cum for me baby," he breathed, voice low as your eyes rolled back. His voice brought you over the edge, high shout escaping your lips as that pleasure took over you again.
As he fucked your through your orgasm, his own approached, hips losing their rhythm as you felt his release deep inside you. A low groan of his came out, a breathy fuck being the last thing you remember before you closed your eyes.
Your body felt light, head foggy as you came down from your orgasm. It was pure bliss what you felt, heart pounding in your chest as sleep took over you.
You shot out of bed, frantically searching for your phone as you realized the sun was creeping through the curtains. Crisp, white sheets were pooled around you, swallowing you up whole.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you muttered, trying to search for your device in the darkness of the room. The dark curtains were drawn, only allowing a sliver of light in, but enough for you to realize how late in the morning it was.
As your eyes adjusted to the darkness, anxiety crept over you, realizing you weren't in your room. A tossing figure lay next to you, his body half covered as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. In that moment, everything from last night came crashing back, embarrassment flooding your cheeks.
"Hey, Yn, what's wrong?" Steve's voice was groggy, as he blinked in the darkness of the room. He glanced towards the curtains and then to you, noticing the way you covered your frame with the corner of the sheet.
"What time is it?" You half shouted, looking on the bedside table for your phone. Steve was no help, slowly stretching out his limbs as he yawned.
"Too fucking early for you to be that loud," he muttered, sitting up on his elbows. The sheet pooled around his waist, exposing his bare abdomen and a deep V that cut below his waist.
You quickly looked away, blush deepening on your face. "We have to go, Ste-Mr. Harrington. We're gonna be in so much trouble."
You heard him chuckle at you, sighing as he relaxed once again in the bed. His arms circled your waist, pulling you down into him as you continued to panic. He lay behind you, your head resting on his chest as he buried his face into your shoulder.
"Shhh," he whispered, tightening his grip on your waist. "Called in today, came down with something apparently."
You shook your head, resting your hands on his where they rested on your stomach. "Can you even do that?"
"What are they gonna do? Fire me?" He laughed, pressing a light kiss to your shoulder. The anxiety that built up in your spine disappeared at his touch, the familiarity of his body replacing it. You turned in his arms, now chest to chest with the man.
His eyes were closed, sleepiness still evident over his features.
"Are you going to fire me?" You whispered at him, watching as his brow furrowed before he squinted open his eyes at you.
"What? No, what are you talking about?" He seemed genuinely confused at your question, hand rubbing at your waist. Relief took stake in your chest.
"I slept with my boss last night," you laughed at yourself, voice dropping even lower as you saw a smirk cross his face. He was smug, shaking his head with laughter as you playfully slapped at his chest.
"Pretty sure I'm the one with a lawsuit pending if anything," he said, laughter dying as you placed a small peck to his lips.
As you pulled away, he leaned into it further, tongue darting out to lick at yours. A wave of arousal pooled in the pit of your stomach.
He towered over you, mouth nipping at you as you sighed into the kiss. The two of you moved in sync, you moving onto your back as Steve leaned over your figure. A breathy moan escaped your lips, only to be cut off by his phone ringing.
"For fuck's sake," he grumbled, separating himself from you as he reached for it on his side of the bed. He answered it quickly, realizing it was his publicist as he placed it on speaker. "What d'you need, man?"
His lips returned to yours briefly, before kissing down your neck. The sheets were slowly pulled off of you as he made his way down, nipping at your chest, then your nipple, and soft kisses pressed to your stomach.
Your mouth fell open in a silent moan, trying to stay as quiet as possible as his publicist droned on about some appearance he had to make in the next week. Steve was staring up at you, making small confirmation 'mhm's' in response to the phone call. A coy smile was on the corners of your mouth as you looked down at him wide eyed.
'Stop' you mouthed through gritted teeth. He nipped at your hip bone in protest, shaking his head at you.
You couldn't tell if it was Steve's mouth pressing to your heat or the next word's of his publicist that made your stomach drop.
"While we're at it, Steve, how about we talk how Page Six has pictures of you with a mysterious somebody in your apartment building?" They grumbled, voice staticy as it came through the phone. You felt Steve smirk against you, tongue lapping between your legs. "Aren't we a little too old to bring people back to your own place like that?"
A moan escaped you as you gripped at his hair. Steve looked up at you, wide eyed as he reached up to slap a hand across your mouth. 'Shhh', he mouthed, his own laugh threatening to spill out as his publicist's voice faltered at the noise.
"St-steve?" It said, apprehension in the tone. "Are you doing what I think you're doing? Really, man?"
Steve laughed as his hand remained over your mouth, muffling the sounds of your own laughter. They would recognize it if they heard it. He grabbed the phone from where it lay abandon, speaking into it as his thumb hovered the 'end call'.
"Something came up, gotta take care of it," he grimaced at you as you licked his hand. "Bye!"
He hung up right as the voice protested, tossing his phone aside as he leaned over you once again. His long hair hung in his face, eyes raking over your naked body.
"Now... where were we?"
an: I had to sneak in a line from All of Us Strangers because that movie was so moving. If you know, you know. I promise one of these days, I won't make Steve an asshole right off the bat, he'll be lovable.
masterlist. inbox and requests are open!
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pinkrelish · 1 year
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𝐭𝐡𝐞 "𝐲𝐞𝐬" 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐲.
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singledad!mechanic!eddie x fem!reader
✶When Eddie gets a call at work telling him Adrie is sick, he rushes to pick her up from school, accidentally leaving his black notebook behind. Being you, you find the means to return it to him. But while at his trailer, you ask him the question he's been avoiding for months.
"Let's get down to those rumors, hm?"✶
NSFW — strong tw for a dark conversation surrounding eddie's past (accusations of murder, rape), heavy angst, comfort, drug/alcohol mention/use, slow burn, fluff, flirting, 18+ overall for eventual smut
chapter: 8/20 [wc: 14.1k]
↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11 / 12
AO3
Chapter 8: The Munson Name
Leave it to Eddie to make your day special not two minutes into work.
Upon entering the garage, the back door was ajar as usual, but instead of phantom wisps of smoke swimming in the sunshaft, a shadow moved, and Eddie’s arm curled around to knock on the aluminum siding for your attention. His chain bracelet clinked from the motion, and his rings caught the light as he gestured for you to come over.
You peeked through the opening and saw him standing against the wall, but his morning smile wasn’t aimed at you, it was elsewhere, off to the side. You wrapped your fingers around the doorknob, and followed where he was looking.
A bright red cardinal sat perched on the round side mirror of Eddie’s car, chirping and hopping while fluttering its wings, spinning around in search of something, and after several twittering singsongs, it flew away.
“That was precious,” you whispered, breath fogging in awe.
“I’m glad you got to see him before he took off.” Eddie grabbed the door from you and pushed you both inside, shaking his arms in an intense shiver, and shrugging his jacket up around his neck while he hugged his hands around himself in his pockets. “Uhm..”
The goofy smile he wore was mutual, as was the dear silence. The energy between you had changed; it was charged with a new development in your relationship. One that did not need to be articulated in words. It was there, in his well-rested eyes owning a playful gleam when you looked at him, and his need to rock from foot to foot in a measured sway, like a subconscious impulse to recreate that beautiful night.
Then, he cleared his throat. You averted your gaze to the floor.
“You, uh, you said it was one gift,” he recalled with an audible wince squeezing the oxygen from his sentence.
Unsure on how best to approach you buying his daughter a generous amount of presents, and hearing the impassive edge to his voice, you shut one eye and opted for a joke, “It was one gift.. bag.”
“It was too much.”
Your demeanor sagged. “Oh.”
“No, no! Not in the bad way–No.”
You perked up. “Oh?”
A soft laugh poured from the snuggly place he had his chin tucked behind the tan canvas. He dropped his shoulders, and drove his weight forward into jaunty little steps towards you, closing the gap between your bodies. There were affectionate nuances to his fond expression when he corrected himself, “Sorry, I didn’t mean for it to sound that way. The gifts were great. Like, real home runs. Uhm, she loved them, and they were really thoughtful. Just.. really sweet of you.” Immersing himself in the steady eye contact you were both proud to uphold, he licked his lips, and raised his eyebrows. “You’re so sweet, in fact, it’s piling onto that thank you I owe you at a ridiculous rate.”
“You don’t owe me anything. I just like doing things for you and Adrie. Besides, I live rent free in a tiny town with an abysmal lack of nighttime entertainment for me to waste my money on, so I figured why not spoil my favorite four-year-old.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know I don’t owe you, but” –he moved his hand around in his pocket– “I’m gonna figure out a way to repay you. Do something nice for you. Something big. Until then, your favorite almost-five-year-old made you this.”
He presented his palm to you. Cradled in it was a bracelet made of plastic beads in an assortment of colors, some shaped as stars, some with glitter, and at the middle was a name arranged in white blocks with black lettering. M-O-U-S-E.
“I had to help her spell it,” he said, tugging up his sleeve, “but it matches mine.” D-A-D-D-Y.
There was no masking the effect the bracelet had on you; breath hitched on a raw noise, chest falling on the exhale, muscles tensed on the cusp of a bigger reaction–but you tamped down the wealth of feeling wanted, and spoke beyond the heaviness in your heart, through the strain in your throat, and behind the blurriness of tears, “A true Adrie Original. I love it, tell her thank you for me.”
You slid the elastic band over your trembling left hand. He wore his on his right.
Eddie leaned in to get a better look at you, and the amusement in his face was replaced by genuine surprise. “Are you crying?”
You crossed your arms over your chest and gripped your shoulders, laughing, smiling through the embarrassment of being caught. “Maybe! It’s–It’s really sweet.”
“I’m gonna tell her you cried!”
“Don’t!” you yelped, running away from his evil fingers advancing towards your ribs.
“But it’s cute!”
“Stop chasing me!”
Luckily for you, refuge was on the other side of the glass door you managed to lock before he could grab the handle. You guarded your safe space with a glare. He pouted, and said something. You cupped your ear. He grew more passionate, flapping his lips at a rapid rate and putting his hands up in a prayer, but you couldn’t hear what he was saying. You shouted you’d only let him in if he apologized for making fun of you. “I’m sorry.” The sincerity was lost on his smirk, but you gave in so you could make coffee and get to work, and so he could get said coffee and take your pen cup and put it just out of reach on the ledge of your desk while on his way out to the garage.
And unluckily for you, the first thing on your to-do list after the break was checking the flashing buttons on the phone. You picked up the receiver, pressed the playback for messages, and listened with a pen hovered over your new set of index cards.
The first one began with a startled, “U-uhm, right.”
The second one began with a confused laugh.
The third was a long pause before telling someone else in the room they’d try again later.
Dread pooled in your stomach. The recording button. The fucking recording button for an outgoing message taunted you. Faded yellow, and ugly.
With a clenched jaw, you prepared your racing heart, and pressed it. And oh God. You covered your eyes, more and more mortified as it played.
“We’re currently closed for the Holidays, and will open at 8AM, Mon–” Raspberry. “You! Why! That one was perfect. God, you are so–freaking–annoying. I swear. Obnoxious little..”
————
Standing at a respectable distance from where Eddie sat at the breakroom table with his notebook, you held up three calendars for the new year. “I’m replacing the one in the garage. Which do you want? Mythical Creatures drawn by Eric Carle, Coca Cola, or hot chicks posing on sports cars?”
He dropped his head back, and tipped his chair to balance on its rear legs. His bangs fell, showing his wrinkled forehead as he looked at you upside down. “Interesting options,” he commented.
“The mall didn’t have much left.” A lie. The calendar kiosk at the mall was stocked to the brim, you just had a hunch Eddie would go for one in particular.
“Does the mythical creature one have a dragon for a month?”
“Yes,” you said without checking.
“I’ll take that one, then.”
Predictable.
“Cool, I’ll give Mr. Moore the hot chicks, and I’ll take the Coke for me.” Speaking of–the front desk phone was ringing, and it was in your job description to answer it, you supposed.
You left him to get back to his writing, and put the receiver to your ear. The voice on the other end was politely stressed in the customer-friendly way. You left it in the cradle on hold, and called down the hallway, “Hey, Eddie, it’s Adrie’s school calling for you. I’m sure–” Stumbling out of his way, his jacket softened the blow of his shoulder knocking into you. He reached his hand back in an apologetic gesture, but his focus manifested in the flash of panic crossing his pale face. “I’m sure she’s fine,” you finished sympathetically.
He answered the woman on the line, and you waited along the wall, eyeing the scuff marks around the floorboards you should probably buff off at some point, and after his short conversation, he hung up.
“Adrie’s sick,” he said quickly, patting down his jacket. “Wayne’s not answering the phone, so I gotta go pick her up, and uh, I–” He pivoted in a circle, glancing around, fumbling for his keys in his pocket. “I–I’m sorry. She needs me.”
You drew your eyebrows in, and waved him off. “Yeah, it’s okay. You can leave. I’ll clock you out and let Carl know when he’s back from lunch.”
“Thank you,” he said in breathless earnest, leaving so quickly his boots left black streaks on the tile.
~~~
Lunch came and went. Carl came and went. The end of the hour posted under the CLOSED sign came and went. Eddie had yet to call the shop to update you, which was fine and dandy (aside from your anxiety over whether or not Adrie was okay), but in his rush, he left behind something important..
His black notebook with the devil-horned skull laid in the middle of the table like an ominous item from a horror movie.
And much like the horror movies, you as the final girl should leave it alone, right? Just.. walk away, and forget about it, and leave it for him to pick it up tomorrow, or whenever he’s able to come back to work..
But.
You were worried about Adrie, and when you went to the garage to replace the trash can liners, you saw his rings still on the black tray near the tool cabinet. Now, it’s not like he needed those either, however, what if you just.. returned them for him? And the notebook fell open while you were at it?
It was wrong. Everything about what you were doing was all so very, very wrong. Going inside Mr. Moore’s office and flipping the lightswitch, making your way to his desk in an innocent saunter, and–oops!–kneeling down to pick up a stray pen, and if the bottom drawer happened to be opened, and the plastic folder with the employee’s details from when he hired them was inside, who could blame you for taking the quickest, tiniest glance before closing it?
Yours was in there, of course, along with–
“Edward Munson,” you snorted. “Dorky name.” Duh his full name was Edward, but it was still funny to see.
You read over the top of the file where his address and phone number were. Thankfully, from your various car rides with Robin, you recognized the street name, placing it in your memories as the rusted sign next to the Forest Hills Trailer Park entrance.
The phone number you imprinted into your brain as a recreational activity, and put the folder away.
Closing the door behind you with a hefty jingle of heavy rings in your pocket, you approached the notebook, and gave it a pitied sigh. Having committed many sins in the past minute alone, you figured why not. You didn’t even feel shame opening the stupid thing after months of being teased by it. Besides, what’s the worst he could be hiding in it? It couldn’t be that embarrassing, right?
..Right?
“Okay, can honestly say I was not expecting a big tittied bird lady.” The drawing wasn’t overly detailed, but the artistry was above average. Small details etched the feathers covering her avian legs, and a gleam shone on her talons coming to a sharp point, posed to attack with milky white irises. Above her was Eddie’s stylized font: HARPY, with abbreviations and numbers in a column. His rushed handwriting filled the rest of the page. Reading it over, it appeared you opened to the middle of a story.
Thumbing through, you encountered your first dog-eared page.
IF CHEST IS CHOSEN, GO B
IF DOOR - ROLL FROM INDEX CHART POISON
Absolutely lost, you did see a box labeled B further down with a short bullet point list of what would happen, and more options to choose from on the next dog-eared section.
Flipping deeper towards the back, it was pages and pages of his handwriting. Names of characters fighting dragons. Fantasy towns housing creatures you’d never heard of. Countries with too many syllables and apostrophes. Whatever it was, you were more than happy to hop on your bike and ride it over to the trailer park, only second guessing your sense of direction three times, and releasing a grateful, “Thank God,” when you spotted it up ahead.
The place had an eeriness to it despite the slanted beams of afternoon sun gracing it in gold. Homes were tarnished with dents and algae staining the outside. Trailers slumped on their cinderblocks, buckling under the weight. RVs had permanent brush growing under their parking spots. A child’s scream echoed around the tree-less lot, but you couldn’t see them through the orderless blockade of dilapidated residences and abandoned cars. People watched you: glancing out their windows, or gathered around a charcoal barbeque. Curious eyes followed your trail down the main road. Bumping your bike around potholes, avoiding tetanus ridden nails and petrified clothes molded to the ground as if they’d been there for years.
Dogs walked their fences as you passed.
You were beginning to have some regrets when a beacon welcomed you. After a curve, an old van parked out front of a blue and white trailer came into view, but more importantly, dwarfed next to the Chevy behemoth, was a black car you’d recognize the red interior of anywhere.
The heat of parent’s concerned stares burned into the back of your neck as you rode up to the concrete stairs, leaned your bike against the metal handrail, and approached your fate.
Even though you were absolutely sure this was the correct address, you knocked with as much confidence as a dormouse. Any harder and the sound of your knuckles striking the aluminum would’ve been too loud in the creepy-quiet trailer park.
No answer.
You knocked again. Harder. Louder.
There was movement inside. Footsteps. A muffled voice. Your heart leapt. In your throat. Closer. Closer. This was so stupid. This was a mistake. This was a bad idea. The excuse in your mouth was weak, and you were about to embarrass yourself in front of your coworker by surprising him at his house, which you only knew where to find because you were snooping, and there was no amount of explaining that would help you out of your spot in hell–
Eddie swung open the door, and his heavy-browed, distrustful, annoyed, apprehensive, suspicious glare jumped to wide-eyed shock.
Your cheeks went hot.
“Nope!”
You winced at the slam, but nothing–no God’s will, no Devil’s agreement–would convince you to blink at the shuttered window where he once stood. No. No, no, no. No, never. Never would you want the searing glimpse at Eddie’s naked chest out of your sight before it was engraved into every second of every day of every night of every dream for the rest of your years.
In some part of your mind, you knew your gazes connected long enough to see the blood drain from his face, but your attention was soon urged downward, to the overwhelming amount of skin.
His hair was tied back, exposing a poetry of shadows. Hollow of his throat, to his clavicle, to the swell of his shoulders. Biceps twitching under a prominent vein when he caught himself on the trailer’s frame, and gripped the door handle. Muscles straining with fear, then soft with relief, then strong with fear again when he realized it was you who caught him in this shirtless state, discovering the beautiful line between his pecs when he flexed. Witnessing the fine wisps of softly auburn hair on his chest, juxtaposed to the wiry dark curls creating a blessed trail to the top of his sweatpants. Drooling over the eclectic collection of tattoos sporadically placed over his body. Too many to decipher in the brief encounter, aside from the dragon crawling up a sword etched into the subtle planes of his abs and curving around his slight stomach, with the blade ending at his waistband–a full picture of the tattoo you spied at the grocery store when he stretched his arms above his head.
The door creaked open again, and you’d yet to recover. But thinly obscured in the darkness of his home, he was visibly flustered as well.
Eddie hunched over, struggling to get the zipper of his tan jacket up, tugging it harshly, grinding the metal teeth in his anxious fight to cover his chest; and when it was snug to the splotchy kiss of pink on his neck, he squinted at you. “What’re you doing here?” he asked, voice gone hoarse from his dry mouth.
Knees locked, and oh so staring him directly in the eyes, you took the black notebook from under your arm (not remembering when you tucked it there), and showed it to him. “You left this at work.”
He took it from you slowly without a thanks.
“And, uh,” you continued, gathering the clinking jewelry in your jacket. “These too.” You dropped them into his cupped palm, brushing your pinky over a scratchy callus, experiencing the zing of intimacy of skin on skin.
And he felt it too, with how he curled his fingers in to seal the fleeting sensation.
Pocketing his rings, he stood meek in his doorway. The pain of expecting someone different to be knocking at his trailer had dwindled, but the tension was there in between his eyebrows, weighing on the slope of his gentle frown, painting brilliant highlights on the long line of his nose in the blazing dayglow threatening to invade his home.
The dull brown of his eyes glinted aside the honey as his mouth hung slightly open, tip of his tongue curled against the pearly dam of his teeth. The lined pages of the well worn notebook fanned out, flopping in his grip. “Did you read what was in here?”
Shifting your gaze to the sharp edge of the tin roof decorated in elaborate dangly fish hooks, you clasped your hands behind your back in a cute way, and delivered the answer he awaited with an inflection like it was a question, “No..?”
“For an actress, you’re bad at lying.”
“Or I’m being obvious on purpose so you tell me what it is.”
Working his jaw back and forth, he bided his time, each grind a consideration at his options in regards to how vulnerable he should be, and if this would be the final nail in the corroded coffin where you’d realize what a giant loser he was. “It’s..” You leaned towards him in interest, and he looked away. “It’s notes and stuff for Dungeons and Dragons,” he admitted in a mumble.
“Nerd! Nerd!” You jumped up and down, pointing, shouting, “I knew it! You’re a nerd!”
Twisting his mouth in a sarcastic sneer at your childishness, he snatched the side of the door and began shutting you out. “Okay, okay. I get it. See why I didn’t want to tell you?”
“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie,” you exhaled, switching on a dime from your teasing to a serious tone. You caught the door, and pleaded for him to stop being an idiot, “I knew you were a dweeb when you held me hostage for an entire thirteen minute lecture about your song lyrics. The Dungeons and Dragons shit is the third least surprising thing you’ve ever told me.” You clasped your hand over your heart. “Truly.”
“What’s the second?”
“Your music tastes.”
“And the first?” he asked, despite his better judgment.
“That you’re single.”
He announced his displeasure in a deadpan expression. “And I’m beginning to see why you are, too–” All of him went rigid, withdrawing slightly into the trailer with his head lowered, ear angled towards the right of him, listening as his gaze went unfocused.
After a few seconds, his lungs reawakened with a relieved breath. “Just coughing,” he said to himself. Dragging his attention back to you, he gestured weakly at his jacket to indicate his lack of clothing, still embarrassed at the situation. “Adrie, uh.. She puked on me earlier. That’s why I wasn’t–uhm–dressed.”
Worry edged its way into your question, “Is she okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, she’s fine. Kids get sick from daycare all the time. Basically just sentient germs running around, licking their hands after touching everything.”
Your eyebrows ticked up at the memory of the awful Dayquil hangovers following the weekends you worked as a clown for children’s birthday parties.
You asked, “And what about Wayne?”
“Hm? Oh.” Recognition, and the ease of a casual conversation overtook the near-permanent anticipatory hardness to his features, softening his bristly nature around you; finding you comforting when he was in the place where he was supposed to feel safest, but didn’t.
Home wasn’t home for Eddie Munson, and you felt that icy statement behind your ribs as you watched him pat his pocket as a way to check his rings were there for reassurance, acutely aware there was an hostile world at your back, and you chose to only see each other.
There was a tender innocence to his lip crooking up in a lopsided grin as he remembered you asked him a question. “Typical old man. Wayne was outside and didn’t hear the phone ring, that’s why he didn’t answer. He’s at work now, though.”
“Mm,” you hummed. “Do you have soup?”
“Soup?”
“For Adrie,” you clarified.
He glanced over his shoulder, assumingly at the kitchen, and after some mental deduction, he shrugged in vague nonchalance. “Yeah, there’s probably soup for her.” As if you didn’t know him well enough at this point to read past the nervous habits weaving their way into his fidgety unsureness.
You backed down the stairs as you spoke, “Okay. Well then, guess I’ll get going since you have everything on lock down here. Got your sick kid, got your soup, got your notebook, and your uncle’s at work. Sounds like everything’s in order.” Hopping off the last step, you swung around the handrail and guided your bike to the road, beaming. “See ya!”
“Yeah, see ya,” he replied, settling into his usual side-ways glance around the trailer park, challenging the gawkers who watched a girl willingly walk up to his home and leave it smiling. They did not dare to say anything, of course; returning to their lives with sealed lips, pretending to pay him no mind. Just how it should be.
He held his chin high.
————
And when Eddie next answered the door, it was in the low blue hue of a setted sun, and he did so in his black jeans and a white tank top. His unzipped work jacket swayed prettily around his torso, low bun at his nape loosened to a mess, short curls in a frizz over his ears, and cheeks flushed. “I figured you’d be back,” he forced out evenly, doing his best to disguise his panting breaths.
You hugged the brown paper grocery bags to your chin, and grinned.
He stuck his foot behind him in an awkward curtsy, and swept his arm for you to enter.
Walking into his place for the first time there were many things to comprehend, absorb, fawn over, and ask about until he was tired of explaining their origins–and since you were already crossing an entire notebook’s worth of lines today, you inquired about the most obvious. “You, uh, like collecting hats and mugs?”
“They’re Wayne’s,” he grunted, unplugging the vacuum he left in the middle of the living room by yanking the cord out of the wall, and dragging it on his way to the hallway closet where he kicked and shoved things aside to make room, rattling the thin door that definitely had been punched through at one point, patched and painted over, and was now a canvas for crayon squiggles along the bottom. “Before he worked at the power plant, he was a trucker. Collected them at every rest stop in every state, that sorta thing.”
“Ah.”
In a quick spin, he surveyed the rest of the trailer, and made a similar “ah” sound when he saw the cleaning products and balled up paper towels on the tiny table squeezed against the wall. He lunged for them, stuffing the evidence and other garbage into the overflowing trash can. “I still keep up the tradition by getting him a mug for Christmas.” Jerking his chin at the shelf above him, he specified the one on the end. “This year was Looney Tunes.”
“How cute.” The bags crinkled in your arms as you stood in the entryway, nodding expectantly.
“Shit–Sorry.”
You smiled. He finished clearing a space on the wrap-around kitchen counter for you to set the groceries down, scooting a candle out of the way, flickering the flame he may have burnt himself on while lighting, if the red mark on his thumb was anything to go by. And he was back to pivoting, scanning the area, desperate to latch onto the object which would jog his memory on where he was in his cleaning: dishes dripped in the drying rack, Wayne’s grilled cheese endeavor was out of sight, the bathroom radiated the nose-burning scent of bleach.
He snapped his fingers at the overflowing trash can, and almost slipped in his frenzy to tie up the bag and rush for his boots, saying he’ll be right back on his way out, leaping down the stairs.
“Alrighty..”
The steady rumble of a washing machine rattled every loose bit of metal in the museum of belongings.
You waged war with your tennis shoes, wiggling out of them with the laces still tied, and stepped off the carpet dividing the trailer in half. The bubbling vinyl kitchen floor stuck to your socks, still damp from being mopped, and heaved the groceries onto the pale blue countertop, sliding them across decades worth of scratches scarring the material. Once you were sure you could let them go without a toppling situation, you took the goods out one at a time, but your attention was nosy and undivided.
Acting as foreground to the walls of hats and mugs was the rest of Eddie’s life. Laundry baskets occupied a couch with flattened cushions. A coffee table supported stacks of his daughter’s playthings after picking them out of the vacuum’s path. There was a fold out bed in the corner, and a modest TV situated on top of a VCR. To compensate for the lack of overhead light was an abundance of mismatched lamps on each surface.
It was a hodge podge, and it was cramped, and it was incomprehensible, and it was his house.
Turning, you began to guess at which cabinets he would store a bag of rice when you spotted the artwork hanging on the fridge.
Pinned under a teddy bear magnet was a decoupaged version of your Thanksgiving turkeys, cut out and glued to a single piece of construction paper, complete with the castle in the background. And secured safely under a smiley face magnet was a stick figure drawing of two people–one in a pink dress, one in all black scribble–and dated in neat ink by someone with less messy handwriting: 5/7/92.
Eddie came back to your wide grin, and two cans of baked beans held up in a question.
“They go over here,” he said, nodding at the skinny door next to where he stood at the small green table set for three chairs, organizing today’s mail in his hand.
You opened the pantry next to the recessed oven, and stacked the rest of the cans inside. Towards the back there were two white cereal boxes with plain blue text and nothing else, leaving you to deduce no one in his family stooped to eating unsweetened cornflakes even if that’s all they had. Meanwhile, he arranged overdue bills into a ladder style letter holder hung on the wall beside the phone, periodically taking one out and placing it down a rung, ordering them from most to least important.
“I was supposed to go grocery shopping yesterday, but I had to buy and install a new hot water heater,” he told you suddenly. Whether he was saying this because he was coasting on the fumes of his Christmas bonus until December’s child support arrived, or because he was simply too busy to go shopping, neither of you addressed it more than necessary. He accepted your help, and you didn’t pry.
“Unexpected shit sucks, huh?” you added for his benefit.
“Yeah,” he huffed in a short laugh, playing the same game.
And it was him who rested his forearms on the edge of the pale blue wrap-around counter, watching you commit good deed after good deed, guessing where groceries went in the cabinets, acclimating to his kitchen’s set up, and making room for a bag of grapes and three apples between his six pack of Pabst and block of Government cheese.
“Can I ask you kind of a weird question?”
You brightened at his voice, teetering on the edge of a smile just from that alone. “Always.”
He drew absent-minded circles with his finger as he tried to find the best way to word something he wondered about since the week you met. “When you saw Adrie for the first time, you had this really, uh, surprised look on your face.. Why was that?”
Your tone was dismissive in the wake of something that appeared to haunt him, “Oh, that?” You folded down the empty paper bags, and placed them on top of the fridge after he said Adrie would use them for arts and crafts. “Well, it’s like, Mr. Moore has dozens of pictures of his family on his desk, and Carl told me–approximately–ten different stories about his sons an hour after meeting him, and Kevin carries pictures of his dogs in his wallet. It just seemed like if you had a daughter, you would’ve shown me a picture too, like most dads.” You waved your hands around, and contorted your mouth in a silly manner. “I mean, it was just weird you never mentioned her.”
He took your assessment to heart, and opened the drawer closest to him. Amongst the clutter of junk was his black wallet resting on a coiled chain with clips on either end. Taking out the cheap leather, he cradled the width in his palm, and wiggled out a picture kept sealed behind a plastic window. He said, “Actually, I do carry a picture of her,” and handed it to you.
On instinct, you pored over the image of him first, prizing the crown of his head sporting the same wild haircut. He had his face tipped down to the newborn wrapped in a pink blanket in his arms, crooking her in their safety as he held a bottle to her lips. His knees were on display behind his ripped black jeans. His shirt was sleeveless. She was tiny and precious. He was decidedly emotionless from what you could see, sat on a couch that was not the same as the one across the room from you.
“That was taken at Harrington’s place,” he answered your unstated question, keen to the recognition washing over your face as you placed it as Nancy’s ugly pink floral loveseat.
You gave it back to him.
He looked over the captured moment in time, bleak gaze set on his little girl when she was so fragile, and small, and when he was so weak, and teetering on a long overdue breakdown.
“It took me a long time to carry this around,” he said, tone heavy with disappointment, regret, and shame. “Wayne and I were fighting constantly. And I mean, I don’t blame him. He gave up his life to take care of me when I was twelve, and I put so many gray hairs on his head that he went bald from my bullshit, and then there I was, bringing home a screaming infant I didn’t know the first thing about taking care of. Y’know, just proving I was a fuck-up right when he thought I was smart enough to get my act together.“ Tracing the sharp edge of the photo trimmed to fit his wallet, he placed it in its windowed slot and tossed it back in the drawer, closing the past from his sight. “I don’t have a lot of good memories from that time. Shit fucking sucked.”
“I can imagine,” was all you could say.
“I love her,” he said in the event you doubted him.
“I know you do,” you offered in return.
Steering the conversation in a different direction, you swung your index fingers at the extensive cabinetry, and asked, “Where’s a cutting board?” Right of the sink, he answered. “And a knife?” Top drawer next to your hip, he responded. But it took until you shook out the washed celery stalk, and snapped the ribs off, lining them up on the white plastic cutting board did he become suspicious.
He leaned more of his weight on his forearms, and kept his tone carefully neutral, “What’re you doing?”
Keeping your expression indifferent aside from your arched brows, you cut the celery into manageable sticks and began slicing them lengthways. “I believe I’m in Edward Munson’s trailer making him and his daughter soup.”
The crimson guitar pick at the end of his necklace swung forward, jostled from where it was stuck to the healthy sheen of sweat glistening along the top of his chest. “How do you know my full name?”
“A little birdie told me.”
He shifted his shoulders, head lowered, eyes narrowed, voice deep, “Better question. How do you know where I live?”
“A bigger birdie told me.”
“Someone told you about me?”
Rightfully confused, you pulled a face. “Huh? No. I was kidding. No one talks to me. Anyway, back to the soup.” You harnessed all your charm into impressing him by meeting his stare while you diced the celery, using your knuckles as guidance. “Are there any vegetables she won’t eat? Or stuff she’s allergic to?” Your flagrant insolence irked him: reading his notebook, inviting yourself to his residence, filling the voids in his kitchen with groceries, and now making him soup without ever asking if he wanted you to do those things.
Because of course he wanted you to do those things.
He surrendered to your kindness. “No allergies, and she’ll eat anything as long as it’s diced small–Yeah, like that–and cooked down to mush. It’s the one thing she’s always been good about.”
“And you?”
It took a few sad seconds for him to understand you were asking about his allergies and his preferences, not used to his needs being taken into consideration. “No, no, whatever you make is good. Uhm. Hey, you don’t have to do all of this. Don’t roll your eyes, I’m being serious. Adrie’s sick and I don’t want you to catch what she has.”
“Please,” you implored in thick sarcasm, “I’ve been coughed on by every disease known to man on the Q train. There’s not a cold or flu in existence I haven’t succumbed to. I’m immune at this point.”
You found a stock pot from the cabinet at the junction of the wrap-around counter and the sink, and set it on the cooktop to come to heat while you peeled and chopped an onion. Eddie dwelled in his observations; listening to you recount tales of working in kitchens because they were always hiring, collecting horror stories from being a dishwasher, a waitress, a morning food prepper; moving from title to title; birthday clown, bartender, craft store cashier. Flighty, flighty, flighty. He watched your hands move in quick chops and long sweeps down a carrot with skill he didn’t have the patience nor time to learn. He told you as much, how when he comes home he’s fucking tired, and doesn’t have the energy to make dinner.
“Now what’re you doing, sweetheart?” he asked in what he hoped was an exhausted tone, but he knew it was futile. The timidness was there, sneaking its way into his words when he made the leap to calling you an endearment in his own home. And how could he not when you pulled out a stack of tupperware, divided the piles of chopped vegetables between them, and wedged them into the freezer, still tending to the sweating mirepoix with a wooden spoon.
“It’s so next time you want soup they’re all ready to go. You don’t have to waste time cutting vegetables. Just dump a container in a pot and add broth and noodles, and call it a night.”
He made a fond noise in the back of his throat, looking at you through his lashes. “You’re really doing everything in your power to extort me for this ‘thank you’ I owe you, aren’t you?”
“You’re the one who promised me something good,” you reminded him.
Water splashed, sputtered in the pot, steaming into a cloud of savory humidity, filling the living space with earthy aromatics. You added bouillon cubes, and stirred the stock together while turning the dial on high to bring the soup to a boil.
“Yeah, guess I did,” he said, petering out into a mumble, straying further from the current topic. He wasn’t finished talking about the previous one yet, and he made it known.
Tracing his thumb along his plump bottom lip, he tested a boundary, tiptoeing into a realm he did his best to ignore. “So, uh, you employ the same strategy with jobs as you do dating, huh?”
“Oh, yeah,” you grinned. “Having an endless well of stories about shitty customers to pull from is perfect for stand up. Everyone loves the perpetually single girl who works in service or retail, and just can’t seem to find the love of her life, despite going on an insane amount of first dates with New York’s most average. It’s funny, and relatable.”
“And now you’re stuck as a boring receptionist in a nowhere town in a nowhere state.”
You released a sugary, syrupy, sweet giggle. “And now I’m stuck as a boring receptionist in a nowhere town in a nowhere state, and it’s the longest job I’ve ever held.”
His eyelashes fluttered from the nerves–the strong ache in his chest pressing down on him, stealing his breath. “And what about the dates? Gone on any with Hawkins’ finest?”
“Just one.” Though your back was to him while you washed and dried the cutting board, your smile was outlined in your banter. “But it was awful,” you emphasized in a dramatic sigh. “Worst date ever. He drank my Icee, wouldn’t stop talking during the movie, and, get this! He didn’t even tell me I was pretty. Not once.”
“What a jerk,” he agreed fullheartedly, scrunching his nose and twisting a curl of his hair over his stupidly smitten grin. “Sounds like a real asshole.”
“Actually, he was my favorite,” you corrected him, turning down the dial to where the coils lost their fluorescent glow. “Huge, huge nerd. Like, the biggest dork ever, but he was definitely my favorite out of any of my dates.” On your way to the green table, you bent close to his ear, and begged him in a whisper, “But don’t tell him I said that. He’ll get a real big ego about it.”
He made a zipping motion over his mouth.
“Soups gotta simmer until the potatoes are done. Might as well sit.”
He unzipped his mouth. “When did you cut up potatoes?”
“When you were staring at me all dreamy-like,” you supplied, words dipped in coy and flirt.
Undecided on which way to balk at your claim, he did them all: rolled his eyes, clicked his tongue, muttered a small “was not,” and slung himself into his usual chair at the table. He expected you to do the same, to match his silly theatrics with your own impassioned eye roll and smirk, but you didn’t. You sat across from him, poised, hands clasped together with the black notebook beside you.
The mood of the evening dipped visibly in your serious gaze set on him.
You tapped your knuckle on the metal spirals binding the worn pages of his latest campaign together. “No more secrets,” you punctuated. Three short words let go on an exhale. Three little words standing taller than the final barrier he built to keep others out. Not an ask, but a necessity if you were going to continue your relationship–platonic or not.
Your posture and expression were stern, but gentled by patience. “Let’s get to those rumors, hm.”
It was time.
No going back.
Whatever happens, happens.
Eddie took a shaky breath, and invited you over to the vulnerable truth. “Has anyone ever told you anything about me? Not like Harrington’s stories, but actual rumors?”
You shook your head. Between spending most of your time at work, or at Robin’s place, you didn’t have much opportunity to speak to random people, apart from small talk. And chit chatting about the weather was nowhere near as grave as what rooted itself in the solemn slow blink wherein he closed his eyes, and dipped his head.
“I’ll tell you everything, but can I ask you not to say anything while I explain?” he hesitated, knowing how it sounded. “I don’t know how else to word that to make it less rude, but this shit is difficult for me to talk about, and I’ll probably ramble, and go on tangents, and jump around the timeline, but, please, don’t interrupt me or say anything until I’m finished, okay? I don’t want to forget any of the details, and have to discuss this again. Can we do that?”
Digging your thumbnails harder into the flesh of your fingers, you agreed to the terms with a solid nod.
He swallowed. And when his tongue remained too thick in his dry mouth, he swallowed again, and sat up straight, pressing his back into the chair. “Okay.”
Two anxious stomachs twisted at once.
He cast his vacant stare around the room; never allowing it to land on you. This conversation was with himself and the green table and the shelf of mugs and the soup bubbling away on the stove and the washing machine entering its spinning cycle and the containers of Play-Doh on the coffee table; speaking to the non-judgemental objects instead of the person across from him.
“I’ll start with my reputation in school,” he said. “Probably doesn’t take much of an imagination to picture me as I am now with the same hobbies and opinions, just a lot louder about them. Heavy metal was the only music I listened to, and people called me weird for it. And I thought ‘weird?’ Was that supposed to bother me? I loved being weird! I wore the title ‘weird’ with pride. I didn’t want to be like everyone else. And when they saw I played Dungeons and Dragons, they called me a Satanist. Satanist? Like Ozzy, and all the bands I looked up to? Hell yeah! I thought being called a Satanist was so cool I sewed a Leviathan Cross on my jacket.” The corner of his lip jumped at a memory, smiling at something from long ago. Then, it faded. “Goes without saying I didn’t make many friends until I found other outcasts who shared those same views as me. We started a band together, and after some convincing, we made a DND club with me as the Dungeon Master. Of course people called me a cult leader for it, but being a cult leader sounded fucking awesome, so I encouraged it. Antagonized it. Weird, Devil-worshiper, cultist, freak. I wore them all like armor.”
He paused to crack his knuckles, expression falling blank as suppressed scenes unfolded in his head. “I got bullied a lot. Not that surprising. I was so aggressively opinionated about everything and never shut up. But the worst of it stopped when I got held back enough grades that I made “grown-up friends” and started dealing to help pay for my guitars and stuff.” He shrugged a single shoulder in apathy, and the tan jacket slipped down his arm, revealing a faded stick-and-poke viper above his armpit. “Unless it was Steve or someone in that friend circle, I was never invited to parties except to bring drugs. Weed, pills, whatever low scale stuff, nothing that serious, but I wasn’t very popular outside of that context.” The washing machine buzzed at the end of its cycle. “And as much as I told myself I didn’t care, I did. I did care when my friends were out on dates with their girlfriends, and I was alone, stuck in front of a record player learning a song just to give myself something to do, and something to say I did over the weekend when they all talked about the movie they saw together.. Made me feel like I was the outcast even amongst the outcasts.”
Listening, but not responding, you smoothed your thumbs over the divots in your skin your nails left behind.
Swallowing again, he faltered, “Girls didn’t like me. Even if I was the cooler, older guy who was so confident in everything he did, I was still off-putting. Or just weird in the bad way, because I didn’t know how to act, and came on too strong, or too–I don’t know–fucking dorky, doing shit like opening doors and bowing for them, laughing too loud at my own jokes when they didn’t find them funny.” It took everything you had to not to break your promise–to stay silent, and indifferent, and not gather him into a hug and assure him all those goofy mannerisms were exactly why you liked him. “I dated, y’know.. Had girlfriends here and there, but they never lasted more than a month.”
To close one chapter of his life and open another, he rubbed at his eyes, and ran a hand down his face, scrubbing over his chin as he spoke to the ceiling, “Now onto my old man.”
The hand he used to wipe the loneliness from his somber visage came to a rest on the edge of the table, and he ran the side of his palm along it as a way to fidget.
“He was in and out of jail for a number of things my whole life, but when I was twelve, he murdered someone. She was a nice lady. Well known in town, and well liked. Popular. Prom Queen, cheerleader type. Everyone loved her.. And he murdered her.”
Silence, silence, you remained in white-hot, visceral, sweat dripping, jaw-clenching silence.
“According to my criminal record, I was following in his footsteps. I had a penchant for stirring up trouble. It was fun. Stealing dumb shit, hotwiring an old car to drive us to the woods to get drunk when we were teenagers, dealing, begging Steve to throw ragers every weekend so I had an excuse to get shitfaced and run from the cops.. Yeah, it really looked like I was following in his footsteps. Following the Munson name.”
Eddie sat forward. Sleeved forearms sliding across aged coffee rings staining the green collapsible tabletop, and rubbing the backs of his fingers along the other. He was close enough for you to reach, to hold, to comfort when this was over, and the ghosts were put to rest from clouding his softhearted brown eyes.
“There was a New Year’s Eve party I was invited to” –he jumped his fingers in quotations– “on the rich side of town. It wasn’t one of Harrington’s, and I was out of my supply anyway, so I skipped out and spent the night here with my friends playing DND, and setting off fireworks in the trailer park, just having a good time.” The next inhale quivered his bottom lip, “I woke up in my bed to three cop cars blaring their sirens, and someone telling me I was being arrested for-for murder. Ah..”
You steeled yourself from blinking away.
“A girl died at that party. Prom Queen, head cheerleader. The type everyone knew, and everyone liked. And.. A-and, Jesus, I-I just need to get through this, I’m so sorry–but stuff was done to her body.”
The frankness hung in the room.
He screwed his eyes shut, and let the ugly reality spill from his mouth, “A guy from out of state went to that party with way harder shit than I sold, and she wanted to try some. They went to the bathroom together, he gave her too much, drugged her, she overdosed, and h-h-he..” His eyelids twitched with movement, and the tendons in his neck strained. You weren’t sure if he could hear the small, involuntary noise you made, but he chose the same words to avoid what you could infer. What all women could infer. “He did stuff to her body.”
His voice continued to crawl up an octave as his muscles braced in a reflexive cringe. “H-He left her there, and when her body was discovered, and the police were called, it didn’t take long before someone said they thought they saw me there, and once one person said they saw me there, suddenly everyone saw me there.” Hard swallow, palms wiped on jeans. “I was arrested the next morning, and even though I had three alibis, I didn’t have any hard receipts or any of that shit they wanted to establish where I was and at what time. And when my alibis were a bunch of Satanic cultist shithead troublemakers like me, they were brushed off. And why wouldn’t they be? It’s my friend’s word against thirty people who swore the long haired guy they saw at the party was me. Cops thought they caught their man, booked me, and had me in interrogation in under an hour from kicking down my door.”
He licked his lips.
“January of ‘88,” he said with an unsteady cadence, shooting out the sentences as they came to him, lurching faster and faster towards the horrid scars he’d never heal from. “I was so fucking lucky, so fucking lucky. DNA testing had only become a thing the year before. Mhm. That’s what saved my ass. But even then, it wasn’t like it is now. That shit took weeks to process.” He lifted his hands–fingers loosely curled, trembling. “For weeks they made me look at the pictures of her. H-Her body. The b-bruises around her neck.” He gestured at his own, and his voice swung higher pitched, “Interrogated me over and over again. For days, and weeks. Trying to get me to confess. It took weeks to prove I was innocent, and clear my name. Weeks, and weeks. A-A-And in those weeks–”
The trembling escalated to uncontrollable shaking.
“–Fuck–I don’t want to talk about this,” he said, volume fluctuating.
The air was too thick to breathe.
The wrinkles between his brows deepened, as did the lines bracketing his mouth. Red flush overtook his shuddering chest, his strained throat, his scrunched face with his eyes closed in refusal to acknowledge you sat opposite him, your expression slackened by dread.
“In the weeks between waiting f-for the DNA results,” each word wobbled worse than the last, “I found out Adrie’s mom was four months pregnant. And if I knew, then all of Hawkins knew. Everyone knew I knocked someone up, and.. and more rumors started..” He lifted his eyebrows, and his hands developed a violent shiver, hovering over the table, palms open, afraid and begging. “Because of.. what happened to the body.. People thought that she was.. That I..” each pause was a short wheeze.
Your blood ran cold with the slow realization of what word he was avoiding.
Desperation influenced his stammer, “I swear to you, w-what happened between us was consensual,” he stressed the last word in a whimper delivered straight to your dropped stomach. “She doesn’t answer my calls–but I could try, if you need to hear it from her–I promise, I promise, as soon as the rumors started, as soon as they started, she denied them. She tried to stop them from spreading. She tried. She told everyone it-it-it wasn't–that we both chose to–” he sniffed back the croaky sob, and without the grace of respite, he coughed the rasp from his throat, and ushered you into another apology you didn’t know you were owed, “I should’ve told you before we went to Adrie’s school. You had a right to know why people were staring. I’m so fucking sorry.”
In the room at the end of the dark hallway, his daughter who he sacrificed everything for rolled over in her bed, bringing the covers with her. In the belly of the trailer belonging to his uncle, you kept your feet tucked under your chair, letting the information wash over you in worse and worse crashes. In the lousy home he hated, Eddie held his breath until the aches reached their peak, and released them in a cough; and another, and another, until the pain subsided.
Deep breath, deep breath.
Your chair creaked from your uncomfortable shifting.
With time, the tension in his body waned to where his composed words could be heard in all the clarity they deserved, “I know this has been a lot to hear, and process, and I’m so sorry for unloading all of this on you at once, but I wanted you to know the whole story so you could make an informed decision.”
You weren’t sure if you were supposed to speak yet, but your whisper broke through, “Informed decision?”
Cheeks hot, but dry, and lower lashes clumped together from the rescinded tears, he answered you indirectly at first, “It took months to find and arrest the guy, and by then Hawkins didn’t care. Babe, you can be anonymous in the city, but this is how small town mentality works. All it took was one person to say I was at that party, and like that, my life was ruined. My name was stained. No one cared if I was innocent. The culprit was some other guy they’d never heard of from another state whose picture they flashed on the 6 o’clock news once. He might as well not even exist.” A pause. A change. A regret. “I want to protect you.”
There was pressure building behind your eyes, and you moved your gaze to the shelves above you in an effort to stifle the well of tears from falling–for him, for the dead girl, for what he was about to say next.
Eddie alternated between weakly slapping his hands flat on the table, then turning over to show his palms, then slapping them down again; guilt and shame and loneliness and fear working its way into every part of his gentle nature. “My name carries a stigma, and if you’re going to be coming around to my place, or be seen with me in public, you need to know there are consequences. Assumptions are going to be made about you. People are going to speculate, warn you, judge you. You don’t deserve that shit, so please, tell me, and I’ll accept just being friends at work, and leave it at that. I won’t ask questions. I won’t bother you. I won’t ask for more.”
“What?”
“I’ll understand,” he said, eyes tightening in a flinch.
“Eddie–” It came out broken. His encouragement for you to end the burden of this relationship at coworkers for the sake of your image stung like the tender throb of rejection–except, it was worse. It was him giving you permission to break things off because he didn’t see himself as worth the hassle.
Your poise collapsed. “You’re right, it is a lot to process, and it’s all I’m gonna be thinking about for the next week, a-and yeah, I wish you told me sooner, but Eddie–” His knuckles made a harsh sound when you grasped for his hand, knocking them on the table with the force of your messy coordination through the blur of true friendship disrupting your vision. “This changes nothing between us.”
Graceless under the circumstances, you took his right hand and wrapped your fingers around his thumb, fitting the meat of your palm into the curve of his. You delved your other fingers under his sleeve cuff, stroking them down, then up, slotting them beneath the stretchy bracelet. D-A-D-D-Y. He cupped his free hand over top of yours, enveloping them both, and waded through the entanglement to caress the prominent callus at the tip of his middle finger over the white blocks with black lettering. M-O-U-S-E.
“I’m with you,” you said. “I’m here. And whenever you want me here, whenever Adrie wants me here, ask and I’ll be on my bike pedaling as fast as I can.”
His face pinched in sentimental yearn. “Baby..”
Instead of suffocating the intensity of his emotions as he normally would, he slid his chair back and buried his head in the hollow of his outstretched arms; and in the pocket of space where he felt safest, he allowed himself the relief of two hot tears streaking through the fine sweat overtaking his puffy face. They clung to the tip of his nose, and dripped to his jeans in a loud splat.
He snorted, but it came out as a muted huff due to his stopped up sinuses. “Can’t believe I made it all the way through that sober and without crying, and then you just–went ahead and said something like that.”
You smiled. He probably did, too. Then as yours ebbed, his probably did, too.
The intertwined pocket where you clasped each other ran hot with body temperature, humidity, and the loaded implications of his confession and your subsequent acceptance. Heavy with the context for why people stared at him. Their significant glances at you, and the new depths and meaning beyond people thinking he was weird, and you were weird by association.
But at the same time, their stares didn’t last long. They were glances by every definition. A look over, a judgment, and then away, back to their own little world and their own little lives.
You asked, “Are the rumors still as bad as they were?”
The short curls at the crown of his head waved back and forth with his slow head shake. “I don’t think so. I think they’ve gotten better in a weird, fucked up way.” He sniffled, and wiped his nose on the inside of his sleeve before returning to the darkened confines of his arms, refusing excess stimulation until he could handle it. “Ever since Home Alone came out, my friends joke that I’m like that old man, y’know, the one all the neighborhood kids target, and turn one rumor about him into this entire narrative where he’s slayed over a dozen people, and keeps the bodies in his basement.” He laughed, truly. A warm, muffled thing. “That’s the sorta rumors going around now, I think; that I’m some Boogieman that gets blamed for every bump in the night. Adults probably know the accusations, but, like I said, Adrie’s mom did try to stop the other ones, but I guess I don’t know for sure if–when people look at you and me–that’s what they’re thinking. Uhm, I don’t know if I’m making sense anymore.”
“You’re good,” you consoled him. Your thumbs whispered sentiments on his skin, smoothing over the rough terrain from his labor, and catching on the excess sweat, wicking it away and creating more with each hindered brush across his inner wrist, trapped under the weight of his heavy hand copying you; running his fingers over wherever he could, needy, grounding himself to your presence, and seeking closure. “Thank you for finally telling me.”
“Thanks for listening,” he responded quietly.
Eddie shrugged his shoulders to his cheeks, and dried his face on his jacket to the best of his ability. Together, you sat in silence for a while longer, holding each other. Thinking. Decompressing. Plunging into the ice water of yet another development in your relationship, and emerging to the surface in unison, breaking the surface tension latched together by the same lifesaver.
You squeezed.
He squeezed back.
“I think I need a minute,” Eddie said, throwing his head towards the bathroom and letting go of you to inelegantly wipe at his runny nose. He drew further away from the table, standing up and walking in his odd, awkward way; playing with his bangs, and taking his hair out of the ponytail. “I’ll see if Adrie’s awake and wants soup, too.” The edge of the bathroom door flooded with yellowed light and a faucet was turned on high.
There was a nice moment where you nodded at the homely kitchen, lost in thought, absorbing the sounds and smells of the thick bubbling brew, and tomatoey pungence. Until it dawned on you.
“Shit, the soup–!”
Thankfully, as you stirred, the potatoes stuck to the bottom of the pot dislodged themselves, and nothing appeared burnt. Because, honestly, you couldn’t take the wound to your pride if the first time you ever cooked for Eddie Munson resulted in you burning soup.
After searching, you discovered the cabinet above the dish rack housed the dinnerware. You grabbed two mismatched bowls and hesitated on the shallow Little Mermaid one, until hearing the click of the bathroom door swinging open, and a squeak from the adjacent bedroom.
Soft footsteps announced his excitement before you could turn and see Eddie’s silly hand wave.
Come here, he mouthed, peeking from around the wall.
You dropped the serving spoon on the–had to be homemade–ceramic ashtray masquerading as spoon rest, and followed, hungry for new discoveries; the first being the (offensively ugly) pirate ship wheel chandelier hanging above the washing machine you had to have been an idiot to miss earlier. Deeper into the carpeted hallway was the coat closet with crayon squiggles, a shelf of kitschy knick knacks, and a thrifted painting of a lake scene with the curled-edge price sticker still on the corner of the glass. Passing the bathroom, you got a glimpse of a dark green shower curtain, a wet rag on a packed sink of various spilled products, and a bucket of rubber ducks next to the tub.
Eddie slowed, and you were confronted with his back. Slim shoulders on display from his oversized jacket falling further down his arms, thick canvas folding over itself around his tapered waist. The white tank top was stretched to fit him, hem of the armholes digging into his flexed lats as he eased the bedroom door open, back muscles contouring in the heavy shadows as he hunched and held his breath at the creaky hinges broadcasting his entrance. Edges of tattoos taunted you while he blinked into the darkness. And when the one who usurped his bed nearly five years ago didn’t wake, he straightened up and shook his hair out of his face.
He angled to the side, opening himself to you with his arm outstretched; an unspoken suggestion in his fingertips finding the edge of your cable knit sweater. You understood the glossy shine of unfiltered love in his gaze, and fit yourself between him and the doorway, stealing the soft filtered light brushing Adrienne’s sleeping form in tender illumination–made sweeter by the curls falling over her closed eyes, and the pale blue unicorn hugged in her arms.
‘Oh,’ you sighed in surprise, and clasped your hands on either side of your cheeks, craning to look up at him.
Just like the time he helped you hang decorations in the breakroom, your head made contact with the stick-and-poke viper, and his grin was instant.
His inhale cradled you. “She loves that thing,” he said, chest rumbling against your nape, stomach pressing to your side with an amused grunt, filling the gaps between you and him with warmth.
It was as if nothing changed. Not really.
Eddie canted his forehead to you with an expression of mild jealousy over your plush toy wrapped in his little girl’s arms when his cold plasticy ones sat at a miniature table in a pink playhouse pretending to have a tea party. His eyebrows were the same–raised, hidden beneath the wet stringy pieces of his bangs skimming his wrinkled forehead. His damp cheeks, jaw, and neck were the same after his cold water wake up call, splashing himself over the bathroom sink. His full lips were the same, pink and pulled back to show his teeth. His strong chin was the same, peppered with a recent shave. His handsome nose was the same, albeit red. The crinkles at the corner of his eyes were the same, if not slightly fuller from his recent cry.
But everything had changed.
Before, you lacked the understanding of the fear in his eyes when Mr. Moore had walked into the shop. How he had risked a painful bruise on his hip from the chair he knocked over in his scramble to get away from you. The tremble in his hands when he ran them through his hair in an urgent act to appear composed, and not like he was doing something worse with you. To you.
Everything was different, but it was felt, not seen.
The leftover adrenaline from the confrontation at his kitchen table faded, and in its place, rising from the truest, barest, rawest vulnerabilities of himself, was trust. A candid expression of respect in his palm at your back, fingers curled in to stroke his nails along the knitted design of your turtleneck. He confessed his secrets, you knew him to be an innocent man, and despite his worry for your reputation becoming infected by his, you promised him the same loyalty you always had, because there was not a lie in existence that would break the bond you facilitated months ago, born from your sheer desire to annoy the one mechanic who wouldn’t speak to you.
Felt, not seen.
A promise, and an urge.
The tingly pleasure of his nails scratching over your sweater advanced to a divine expression of affection.
He wrapped his arm around you, settling his hand in the curve above your hip. It lasted all of two seconds, long enough for him to bring you into the crook of his body for the purpose of whispering something in your ear, but it was a phenomenal improvement over the usual nervous flittering his fingers performed when in your company.
His voice was candy sweet after watching your face break into a smile for his daughter, “Maybe we should let her sleep, hmm?”
You leaned into him. “Yeah,” you sighed, rolling your head along his shoulder, guiding your silly grin from him to Adrie. “She looks so peaceful.”
“And quiet,” he observed in the wise tone of a single father after long hours of soothing his child’s headache when her cries created one of his own, and juggling the duty of cleaning up her puke from the floor, her clothes, his clothes, and bathing her while wallowing in the misery of doing it all by himself.
Eddie persuaded you into the hallway, and closed the door behind him, letting his arm fall to his side, ending the cocoon of warmth he provided with the harsh drag of the metal zipper scratching across the back of your jeans. He followed you to the kitchen and opened the fridge, muttering a string of words about deserving something as he snapped a silver and blue can from the plastic ring holding them together. “Want a beer? I don’t think you can get a DUI on a bike.”
“You actually can in some states.” You didn’t elaborate, and continued spooning soup into the bowls in questionable silence. “But no, thank you.”
Crack, tss. He held your stare over the rim as he tipped back a long gulp, pressed his lips together, and swallowed with a satisfied ‘ah,’ giving you ample time to ignore him. Finally, he moved his hand about, and asked, “Not gonna tell me why you know that?”
“Nope.”
“Okay.”
Moving on, you located two spoons from the absolute chaos of the cutlery drawer, and brought the bowls to the table while he reached into the pantry for an open sleeve of saltines, tossing them between the both of you and falling into his chair with a soft grunt.
“This looks great,” he complimented in earnest, voice and face alight with appreciation as he thrashed his arms to get out of his jacket, and took another sip of beer before crowding his side of the table with elbows, forearms, and hands; always holding the Pabst, or the soup, or reaching; always in motion, dominating the space you shared between your bowls, and beneath, where your legs were slotted in tight between his wide-spread knees.
His manners were about what you would assume after eating lunch with him many times, but that’s not what had you breathless.
He just.. took off his jacket like it was a completely normal thing he did dozens of times in front of you, sometimes accompanied by a hand rolled cigarette hanging from his lips, or joined by a sneer at some bad joke you told.
But it wasn’t normal. Not this time.
Hungry, hungry, hungry, you devoured the sight of his bare skin.
While he stirred the finely diced carrots and potatoes, you were afforded the time to admire the art no longer hidden by coveralls. Guessing at the older blotchy etches on his inner arm, theorizing about the origins of the souvenirs done in various stages between professional and very not professional, probably by himself or a friend. He didn’t have many, but it was easy to get caught up in the collection of motifs spanning from the top of his shoulders, and crawling in disorder downwards, to a tiny dagger at the apex of his bicep, two dice above his elbow, and a classic twist of barbed wire. Very cool and tough, but your roving stopped at one tattoo in particular.
Rather, one cluster of tattoos making up a whole.
“The bats..”
He perked up at your whisper–”Hm?”–and looked down at his arm. “Oh, yeah. These were my fourth, I think? Somethin’ like that. You like ‘em?” he asked, mouth cutting into the same delighted place a smirk originated from, but with more fascination as he too realized this was your first (technically second) time seeing his exposed arms.
Sucking in your cheeks to curb your habit of smiling at everything he said, you nodded in response, falling into a rhythmic head dip as you thought back to your first time meeting Adrie, and the picture she drew for you, and her Halloween costume, and how she chose not to dress as a princess like all her friends, but as a bat instead, because her daddy liked bats. “Yeah.. Yeah, I like them.”
He removed the twist tie from around the crackers and counted out three, stacking them neatly between his palms and, without warning, crushing them into his soup, sending a fine powder into the air.
It was obvious you were watching him on account of your untouched food, but it was beyond your control. Winter created a barrier between you and his skin. You needed to reap the beauty now while you could. Learn what you could, like the scorpion above his collar bone opposite the viper, and the eyeball monster with tentacles twisting over the bulk of muscles laying dormant in his solid forearms, and whatever the hell else was peeking out from under his tank top.
He scraped his spoon along the bottom of his bowl, and determined he needed one more cracker to make his soup as thick as he liked, and collected it from the crinkly pack. Yet another simple movement he had executed hundreds of times in front of you, and yet..
You stared. And stared. And stared. And made a sound of disgust. Rising from your chair, you loomed an impressive shadow over Eddie’s face as he gazed up at you with an expression of open confusion.
His eyes were trained solely on the pretty glint in yours. 
Shiver. Goosebumps.
He jumped at your bold finger slipping under the strap of his tank top to move it aside. You pinched your brows, narrowed your eyes, and pressed your palm to his skin, enthralled by the sensation of him existing under you, aware of the full breath he took to fill out his chest as you introduced the touch.
Humming, you studied your hand cupped over the black widow spider inked onto his naked pec, and concluded, “That one’s smaller than my palm.”
The pale saltine cracker shattered in his grip.
Acting oblivious, you scooted your chair under you, sat, smoothed your hands over your lap as if a napkin existed there, and slurped your spoonful of soup as if you had done something as natural as point out the weather.
He released his surprise in a huff, and brushed the crumbs from his palms. “You are the lamest person I have ever met.”
“Have you met yourself?” At his weak glare, you slurped more of your soup. An amicable silence followed–the sort of camaraderie communicated through full bellies–but there’d been something on your mind since he willingly opened himself up to you and shared his past, expecting his name to become a forgotten word in your mouth and nothing more. “Hey, since we’re like, baring our souls and shit tonight, do you want to know why I created my ‘yes’ policy?”
Instead of a comically over-quirked eyebrow, he showed genuine interest in listening to your story. He set down his spoon, and turned his full attention to you. “I’m intrigued.”
“I’m tellin’ ya now, it’s not as riveting as yours, but uh,” you faltered on a pause, and fostered the same sort of nervous shrug he did. “Growing up, my parents were really.. negative, I guess is the best way to put it. Like, they wouldn’t let me hang out with friends, told me I’d never amount to anything, said I was a disappointment. Y’know, normal stuff. Uhm, I wasn’t allowed to do much, only really leaving the house to go to school or go to my job when I was old enough to have one. They said I’d never live up to their expectations, I was a failure, I’d never get a boyfriend, I’d be a bad wife, I’m going nowhere in life, and I’m an annoyance and take up too much of their time, and I was never wanted.” You swiped your tongue along your top teeth, and popped your lips after perhaps sharing too much. “Anyway, I made good grades in high school, so I took a lot of electives, and one of those happened to be Drama class. This may come as a surprise, but I was really shy at first, but after a while I got used to playing different roles, and fell in love with the freedom of becoming whoever I wanted on stage. And one day my teacher taught us a lesson in improv, and yeah.. the moment she explained the concept of ‘Yes, and..’ I was hooked. Just the mindset of nothing being rejected, and no idea was made fun of, or shot down was brand new to me. And as you can infer by now, I adopted that ideology for my own life, and, uh, yeah, I’ve been saying ‘yes’ to everything since then and never looked back. Literally, I’ve talked to my parents like, once since moving out, and that was about my insurance.
“Uh, anyway,” you said, still talking a mile a minute, “it did kinda create a people-pleasing complex for a while. I wanted to say ‘yes’ to everyone because it made them happy, since, y’know, I was always told ‘no’ and it did the opposite. But it’s whatever. And, uh, while we’re doing this, I wanted to apologize for always pointing out that you’re single.” You avoided eye contact. “Kinda harsh in hindsight.”
He broke into a laugh–a loud clap like thunder, and curling in on himself–finding the humor in your flustered state.
“Well, I’m glad you find it so funny,” you deadpanned.
“No, no, sorry–” He concealed his giggles behind his knuckle crooked to his lips. “I, yeah, I’m sorry for pointing out that you’re single too.”
“Appreciated.”
The brief teasing commenced to a slight frown between his eyebrows. His gaze drifted to his soup, worry twisting at his lips as the bubbles of oil sloshed across the surface of the reddened broth, trembling in ripples from his bouncing leg.
Eddie was emotionally fatigued. Words weren’t coming to him–none that carried the weight they needed–so he offered an alternative to hollow apologies.
He brought a shaky spoonful of soup to his lips, and dribbled some off the side as he overcorrected the angle he needed to slide it into his mouth. The next dive for a potato proved just as awkward, trepidatious, but the struggle of eating with his non-dominant side was worth it.
Your fingertips brushed over saltine dust as you accepted the proposal of his hand resting at the center of the table, palm open, and fingers coaxing you to reunite skin on skin.
“I like your policy,” he said, voice gone gruff with the exhaustion of the day.
“Really? On more than one occasion you’ve called it stupid, irresponsible, absurd, the dumbest thing you’d ever heard of, naive–”
He shut you up by curling his fingers over yours, setting your cheeks ablaze with his unashamed thumb pressed to your bracelet. “You wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for your policy.”
A powerful move, and you matched the intimacy.
You hooked your thumb around to the scars lining the backs of his fingers, and lost yourself in the warmth of his embrace, giving yourself to him with each circle you massaged over his knuckles and between the joints. He did the same. Touching, touching, touching. Trusting. Melting into each other's palms. Holding hands with a man accused of so much, and forgiven so little. Holding hands with someone, just months ago, he brushed off as flippantly as her parents did.
He was sorry for the way he treated you.
You were sorry for the way the world treated him.
He squeezed.
You squeezed back.
~~~
“Are you sure you don’t want me to help?” you asked with a whine.
The pot of leftover soup still sat without a lid on the stovetop, and the serving spoon had a layer of scum dried to it. The dirty bowls and spoons were stacked in the sink, and Eddie hadn’t moved his wet laundry from the washing machine yet. Surely, you could help by wiping up the crumbs on the table, or cleaning up the spilled toothpaste on the bathroom sink, or–
He clapped his hands on your shoulders. “No,” he stressed slowly, “it’s late, and I’d prefer it if you got home before Buckley’s mom starts filing a missing persons report, and adding another rumor to my ass.” You cupped his elbows–barricaded from his body heat by his jacket–and opened your mouth, ready to argue. “And I swear if you don’t turn on your bike’s headlight, I’m gonna–”
You threw your head back, and groaned, “You’re so annoying.”
With the trailer’s door open, the quiet night penetrated the mix of air colliding from his warm kitchen and meeting the windless cold from the season, joining where your bodies connected on his cement steps. Your shoes dragged on the pebbly concrete in a woeful goodbye, making your effort to leave appear utmost arduous, tacking on a classic bottom lip pout when you both relinquished your holds on each other, and he shooed you off.
Not like you actually wanted to clean his house, it was just fun to annoy him into thinking you did.
Leaned against the doorway, he crossed his arms and tilted his head, mirroring your fondness in his gaze. “Yeah, yeah. Get out of here before people start gossiping about the pretty girl leaving my trailer, alive.”
The sudden belly laugh escaping you reverberated off the metal boneyard.
You slapped your hand over your mouth. “Sorry,” and after a thought, you asked gently while crouched to unchain your bike from the handrail, “Do you normally joke about what happened to you?”
His shadow shrugged over the hubcap hidden amongst the crunchy brittle grass. “Makes it easier, sometimes.”
“Noted.” You threw your leg over the seat, and made a big production of clicking on the headlight situated between your handlebars. “See you at work tomorrow, pretty boy.”
The scoff he was going for devolved into a snort. “Bye. Be safe. Please.”
Eddie locked the door behind him.
For minutes he stood at the center of his uncle’s trailer. It looked much the same as any other day when he came home from work, if not neater. But things had changed. As much as he liked eating across from Adrie, the two bowls in the sink were adult-sized, and it wasn’t the scent of stale smoke clinging to Wayne’s flannels that had Eddie throwing his arms over his head, locking his grip around his wrist, and twisting back and forth on the spot.
“Not exactly what I meant when I said I was gonna invite her over,” he informed no one but the darkness behind his closed eyes, remembering he promised Adrie that you’d come over soon.
Inhaling deep, he expelled a loud sigh and addressed the leftover soup. “But what a fucking night, huh?”
Inundated by the heaviness of feeling wanted, he opened the fridge and grabbed a tall boy stuffed behind the shelf of condiments. It wasn’t a drink of sadness as it usually was, but in celebration.
Afterall, he had much to celebrate. He held your hand. Twice.
And, not to mention, you know, how he showed you the gruesome details of the reality he lived in–his home, his reputation, his daughter sneezing into his open mouth when he was instructing her on how to take her temperature while you gagged from outside her bedroom. You knew it all, and you’d see him tomorrow. And the next day. And the next. Morning smiles, afternoon laughter. Maybe he’d even ask that question he’d meant to before you left.
But for now..
He ran his fingers over the old tattoo on his shoulder, and pressed his palm over it, replicating the weight of your head resting there when you so lovingly witnessed Adrie being his best wingman, hugging her stuffed unicorn while she slept. It’s what gave him the bravery to wrap his arm around you. And what did you do in return? You leaned into him with a smile, utterly charmed by his forwardness, if his cynical eyes weren’t playing tricks on him.
A voice in the back of his head whispered a seed of doubt, but after a sip, he dismissed it.
“Still fucking got it, Munson,” he complimented himself, downing a long gulp.
————
See you at work tomorrow..
You definitely didn’t see him tomorrow. Or the next day. Or the next.
“Here you go, my lovely,” Robin cooed. She entered your room on tiptoes, ever so quiet, and placed your requested bottle of Nyquil on the bedside table with a glass of water. “How’re you feeling, sweetheart?”
You broke from your nest of blankets for the lone reason of glaring at her saccharine voice; somehow sweating through yet another t-shirt, while still shivering as if you’d just emerged from an ice bath.
“Aw, don’t look so grumpy, baby,” she comforted you with a pinch to your cheek. “It’s what you get for locking lips with Eddie.”
“I did not–” You cut your own self off with a round of coughs, making your attempts at speaking scratchier, and scratchier. And by the time you’d recovered, Robin had escorted herself out of your vicinity.
Her giggles haunted you from downstairs.
“Yeah, she’s fine!” She yelled to her mom. “Just lovesick.”
You rolled over, and sighed.
Goodbye extra sick day.
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eddiesdreamgirl · 28 days
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Wilted Tulips
This is a repost from eddiesdreamgirl
Summary: This was my very first posted story, a sappy, cliche best friends to lovers tale between Eddie Munson and his childhood best friend. (Eddie is in his third senior year, reader in her first).
Warnings: Fluff, a little angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of weed smoking, mentions of bullying. Happy ending, and a part 2 coming. (part 2 has smut!)
wc: 3.5k
You look up from your spot on Eddie’s bed, laying on your tummy reading one of his worn out fantasy novels as he strums his old acoustic. His eyes avoid yours, but you aren’t sure why. He usually seeks your approval as he works through new songs. If you like something, he knows it’s good. And you’re never shy with your opinions. But today, he’s been acting weirder than usual. Too quiet, even ignoring you, almost like he doesn’t want you around, which is more hurtful than you anticipate, especially because he hasn’t even hinted at why. He’s never acted this way before, usually an open book with you. So you can only assume something is wrong. It just hurts that he doesn’t want to tell you for some reason.
“I should go home,” you murmur, not bothering to hide the sadness in your voice. 
Before he can object, you’re off the bed and heading for the front door of his trailer. You don’t even bother to dogear the book you’re reading, just dropping it on the bed as you leave. He’s too stunned to come after you as you walk to your car parked by his trailer. It seems like he’s letting you walk away, and that hurts just as badly as his perceived indifference tonight. Normally, you’d sleep over on Friday nights after Hellfire sessions, although neither of you slept much. He’d play guitar, and you’d read, then you’d watch movies together until someone, usually you, finally fell asleep. But not tonight. He’s never been this quiet, so you start to assume the worst. Maybe he’s mad about something or bored with you. You could have asked, and you probably should have. The words just didn’t come. So you leave, giving him the space you think he wants.
You don’t bother to turn on any music on the drive home, just sitting with the heaviness of being pushed away by your best friend. The two of you met years ago in middle school. He was two years older than you, offering you a place to sit at lunch on your second day. In return, you shared half your sandwich with the boy who didn’t have enough food. From then on, he was devoted to you. You learned Dungeons and Dragons at his side, and he dubbed you the Queen of Hellfire as soon as he created the club. He never played without you, even when he’d gone off to high school. He’d run up the hill after setting up the drama room just in time to grab you after your last class ended. You two were inseparable, and at some point after entering high school yourself, you realized you’d fallen in love with him. 
After a while, bottling up those feelings became second nature to you, and you could even forget about them sometimes. Telling him the truth had always been out of the question. You would sooner suffer in silence than risk damage to your existing relationship. He meant too much to you to be without him. 
He sits on his bed, his guitar resting beside him. He wanted you to stay, but he lost his courage as you bolted out the door, and now he wonders if you’re okay. You don’t usually leave before breakfast on Saturday mornings, so rushing out before midnight on Friday worries him. He’s tempted to call you and check in, but if you have something to tell him, you will eventually. He knows he can’t force you to open up. Even so, watching you rush off bothers him. Either you’re upset with him or you’re hiding something from him. Both options are equally distressing for him. 
The rest of the weekend passes uneventfully at home. He doesn’t call you. Maybe he’s giving you space, or maybe he really is upset about something. Normally, he’s not this hard for you to read. Whatever it is, hopefully he’ll want to talk about it Monday morning before school.
For the first time maybe ever, Eddie’s van is in the parking lot as you pull in. He’s never beaten you to school since you started driving last year. Knowing he's in the cafeteria with the Hellfire boys before classes start, you make your way down there, nerves pricking at your every step. Even after years of you two being completely devoted to each other, you fear the worst. Anxiety is in your nature, which has usually been in perfect balance to Eddie’s carefree nature. He keeps you grounded and reminds you that it’s never as bad as you imagine. Except for now, when he’s the reason you feel so much negativity creeping in.
In the cafeteria, you see him before he sees you, and it’s lucky that you do. He’s leaning against a table, very obviously flirting with a cheerleader in a super short skirt. The sight hurts, and you can’t hide it when your gaze meets his warm brown eyes that normally make you swoon a little every time he looks at you. All he sees now is a distressed look on your face before you turn and walk back the way you came. Of course he likes cheerleaders. Of course he’s never going to find you attractive. You never imagined he would love you back, but seeing him with the pretty, petite girl, your exact opposite, is a pain you don’t expect. If you looked like her, maybe he’d have developed feelings for you by now.
Eddie has never, ever let you feel othered because of your weight. He bullies anyone who bullies you, always so protective of his younger best friend. This somehow makes you feel worse as you lean against the wall of the girls’ bathroom, sliding down to sit on the dirty floor because you can’t even bother to hold yourself up anymore. Hot tears fall from your eyes of their own accord; you don’t even realize you’re crying until you feel wet on your cheeks and see a tear splash onto the floor. The realization makes you cry harder until you can barely draw in breath. It hurts in a way you don’t anticipate, a byproduct of forcing yourself not to think about how much you love him. There is a dull ache in your chest as you weep into your hands, and it spreads to your whole body. 
When the bell rings, you don’t even bother to get up and go to your and Eddie’s homeroom. Eddie is watching the door, waiting for you with an unfamiliar nervousness. You’ve never missed a class; you’re a far better student than he’s ever been. As you finally move to rise off the floor, Max Mayfield walks into the bathroom and meets your watery eyes. You vaguely know her through the Hellfire Freshmen, but you’ve never said more than a few words to each other. She does try to ask what’s wrong, but you’re already fleeing. You don’t stop running until you get to your car, peeling out of the parking lot and driving home before anyone can realize you’re skipping school for the first time ever. It’s not like your parents will ever know; they’re away in Chicago visiting a university as guest researchers. Again. They’ve barely been home for more than a long weekend in the last year, which is fine with you.
At lunch, Eddie waits for you at the Hellfire table, starting to panic when you never show up. The rest of the boys are nervous, too. You and Eddie are usually attached at the hip. Most of them assume you’re actually secretly dating. The sneaky cheek kisses and affectionate touches he bestows upon you regularly do nothing to deter this assumption.
Max sits in your vacant chair next to Eddie. “Do you know why y/n was upset this morning?” she asks. “She was in the bathroom crying.”
Eddie immediately looks even more worried. “I saw her for a second this morning, and she looked upset. She didn’t stay over on Friday night, which she always does. She hasn’t talked to me since she left my place.”
“She wasn’t in History, either,” Jeff mentions. You share a few classes with a couple members of Hellfire, frequently offering to tutor the boys in more challenging subjects.
All the boys know something is up. Your attendance record is nearly spotless, and your grades are excellent. You’ve even come to school when you didn’t feel well, only missing school in the most dire of circumstances. In all of high school, you’ve only taken two days off. Three now. 
Eddie shifts in his chair, looking at Max. “Did she say anything to you at all?” he asks desperately.
“She was out the door before I could ask if she was okay. I’m thinking she’s not.” Max looks at him pointedly, as if to ask what he did to upset you.
He sighs. “Should I go over there?” he asks no one in particular.
“What if I go over after school with Max?” Dustin offers.
“I don’t even know why she’s mad at me,” he laments. “You’ll probably have a better chance of finding out than I will.”
“Did you have a fight?”
He shook his head. “She was really quiet Friday night, and she just left without saying much. I must have done something, but I can’t fix it because I don’t know.” His voice is sad and soft. The boys have never heard him like that. “I’ll do anything to fix it.”
“We’ll find out, I promise,” Dustin assures him.
By that point in the day, you’ve worn yourself out completely, laying in bed like you’re fighting a bad cold. You want to numb the pain, but all you have is some of Eddie’s weed. That just won’t do right now. It feels too close to the hurt, even if it would help. Food doesn’t really seem appealing, and neither does finding something to watch on TV. While you’ve never actually deluded yourself that Eddie would love you anywhere close to as much as you love him, seeing him flirt with a cheerleader eviscerates the confidence you’ve spent years building up in the face of a world that looked down on you for failing to fit into a rigid standard of beauty. You have always done the best you could, altering clothes into something that actually flatters your shape, focused on tight jeans that showed off your thighs and ass. But you could never be comfortable in a cute, short skirt. It’s never actually bothered you until now, and it makes you feel more inadequate than you’ve ever felt before.
You know he’s a young man, and even though he’s never dated before, the reality seems to be barreling down on you. It’s something you haven’t been prepared for, and the shock still hasn’t worn off. You’ve even tried going on a handful of dates before, but the guys have been less than stellar. Maybe it’s because they made comments about your body or because they weren’t Eddie. You never bothered with a second date with any of them. But if he’s going to start, maybe you should try again. Anything to forget your feelings for him.
At the moment, putting yourself out there again isn’t in the cards. You just can’t offer your best self to anyone until you’re no longer desperately in love with your best friend. That’s a hurdle that seems insurmountable at the moment. With his warm, dimpled smile still fresh in your mind, you know getting over him will take time. Especially if you have to see him every day. There isn’t much you can do to avoid him, either. The thought brings fresh tears to your eyes.
You’re still crying when you hear a knock at the door, and it doesn’t surprise you to find Dustin on the other side of it. Dustin is the most devoted of the newest Hellfire members. You open the door, not bothering to wipe your eyes, and Dustin barges in followed by Max. “Hello to you, too,” you mutter as they walk past you.
“What’s going on with you?” Dustin asks pointedly.
“If I tell you it’s none of your business, will you drop it?”
“Is it Eddie’s business?” he snaps back. 
You sigh. “He does deserve an explanation, but I’m not ready-”
Max cuts you off. “He’s worried about you. He thinks you’re mad at him. Whatever’s going on is clearly about him, and it’s clearly a big deal to you. You at least owe him an explanation. He wants to fix whatever he did.”
A fresh wave of tears washes over you, and you can’t hide it. Dustin immediately reaches out to hug you. You’re a big sister to him. He wants to help as much as Eddie does. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. It can’t be that bad,” he whispers to you. “Why can’t you talk to him about this?”
You blink back tears, trying and failing to compose yourself. The words sit heavily in your mouth, and you can’t bring yourself to say them. “I can’t make this his problem, because it’s not. It’s too ridiculous anyway. ”
Max looks annoyed. “Quit being cagey and just tell us.”
You sniffle and wipe your eyes with the sleeve of your sweater. “If I tell either of you, you can’t tell him,” you try to negotiate so he’ll never find out. You’ve always worried about him finding out, afraid that it will change the nature of your friendship with him. Or worse, ruin it entirely. 
“Then how’s he supposed to help? You didn’t see him at lunch today. He’s so worried about you.”
“Fine. Once I tell you, you’ll get why he can’t know. I’m gonna lose him anyway. I feel so ridiculous because of all this shit.” You gesture for them both to sit. “He was really distant after Hellfire on Friday, so I left to give him space. He wasn’t interested in talking the way we usually do. I don’t know why he was being quiet, and I guess I did the same thing to him by just walking out. I wish I had just asked what was bothering him. Then this morning, I saw him hitting on a cheerleader. He doesn’t need me around if he’s trying to get a date.” The words spill out of your mouth, barely coherent, and you can’t contain your sobbing. But you don’t need to say anything else. They both figure it out immediately.
“How long have you liked him?” Dustin asks sympathetically.
“Love,” you correct, your voice still thick with tears. “At least three years. It’s hard to pinpoint exactly. Please, please don’t tell him. He can never find out. I don’t want to lose him; I just need to get over being in love with him first.”
Dustin and Max look at each other then back at you. “What are we supposed to tell him?” she asks.
“Fuck, I don’t know. Tell him I got a migraine and went home. He knows I get bad headaches sometimes.”
“You shouldn’t lie to him.”
“I know, but the truth would drive him away. I’m not ready for that.”
You shoo them out a moment later. They stayed too long, and you want privacy. Of course, you know they’re biking straight to Eddie’s trailer. All you can do is hope that they keep your secret.
They barge into the trailer loudly to find Eddie sitting at the table, his eyes glazed over. Normally, you’re here after school to help with homework, and it seems impossible to do anything without your gentle encouragement. Dustin sits across from him, trying to read his unreadable expression. “What did I do?” he pleads, slamming his geometry book shut.
Dustin sighs. He and Max decided very quickly to tell him the truth over your objections. “Look, it’s not what you think. What happened Friday? She said you were quiet. She left because she felt like you didn’t want her around. I’m assuming that’s not true.”
Eddie shakes his head. “Course not! I was just distracted. But get to the point, Dustin. What did I do? Why is she mad at me?”
“Mad is the wrong word,” Max tells him. “You were hitting on some cheerleader this morning, and it upset her because she’s in love with you. We weren’t actually supposed to tell you.”
He looks at her with utter disbelief. “You’re bullshitting me.”
“She’s really not, Eddie. Y/n is in a state right now. Maybe it’s a straw breaking a camel’s back situation, but it upset her.”
“I wasn’t hitting on anyone, though. Not this morning or any other time!” he objects frantically. “I was setting up a drug deal. There’s a party Friday night. Someone asked me to sell. That’s all.” 
“Still, you gotta understand where she’s coming from, at least somewhat. Being in love with your best friend would suck, especially when it’s unrequited.”
Eddie looks genuinely surprised. “Did she say that?”
“Well, yeah, obviously.” Dustin looks at Eddie. “She just needs time to get over you.”
“What if I don’t want her to?” he asks in a strangely quiet voice.
Max connects the dots immediately. “Go tell her that.”
“I was quiet on Friday because I wanted to. She left before I could get the courage to open up about it.”
He grabs the keys to his van, leaving Dustin and Max alone in the trailer. Now he knows you love him, and that gives him all the courage he needs and more. Driving even faster than usual, he pulls into the parking lot of the small grocery store on the way to your house. He’s visibly nervous as he wanders the aisles looking for the display of cheap flowers. None of the bouquets look very nice, but he eventually chooses a few wilted pink tulips and hopes it’s enough.
You’re sitting on the couch, worrying about when your world will come crashing down around you, when your best friend will angrily tell you he doesn’t want to see you anymore. Dustin has probably already told Eddie everything you don’t want him to say. The kid means well and has a good heart, but he’s a little nosy. By this point in the evening, you’re too drained to feel much of anything beyond total exhaustion. It’s an exhaustion you know that sleep can’t fix. Teenage hormones are crazy, making everything feel too intense. You want to control it, but it’s a losing battle. Right now, your feelings are running the show, and you hate it. Maybe eventually, you’ll be in charge again, the way you had been before when you could push everything so far down it never interfered with your friendship.
The TV hums in the background. You don’t even register what you’re watching when you hear a knock at the door. Instinctively, you rise to answer it, shocked to find Eddie hiding behind a small bunch of tulips that have seen better days, but the gesture is so kind. So Eddie. He still cares about you. “Can we talk?” he asks in an uncharacteristically meek voice, as if he’s afraid you’ll send him away. You step aside wordlessly, letting him pass over the threshold into your living room. Words fail you as you try to ask a million questions, settling for giving him a sad attempt at a smile. “Hey, it’s okay, I promise,” he assures you, holding out the flowers for you. You hope it’s not pity that brought him over. 
“Thank you,” you murmur. “I guess they told you what I asked them not to?”
“Why keep it a secret?” His tone is sincere and gentle. 
“Aside from the obvious?”
He reaches out to you, barely touching your shoulder. “C’mon, sweetheart, it’s me.”
“I don’t want to lose you.”
“Impossible. You’re stuck with me forever no matter what. This can only make things better for us. I was quiet on Friday because I was thinking about how to tell you that I’ve loved you since I was 13. You were so kind, sharing your lunch and your spot with me. I’ve never forgotten that. Then you left, and I lost my nerve.”
The words don’t sound real for a moment as you process them. “I thought you didn’t want me around. You’re never that quiet.” You laugh a little bit as he squeezed your shoulder, trying to soothe your obvious tension.
He laughs in return. “I just couldn’t figure out what to say. You’re the only thing that can render me speechless.”
That eases the heavy tension between you, and you finally relax enough to truly smile at him. “Seems like I have the same problem.”
He moves his hand from your shoulder to your cheek, touching you so softly as he gazes at you, a new, adoring look in his beautiful eyes. “I’m listening if you wanna tell me anything.”
“You really want to hear me say it, don’t you?” you tease.
A wide grin lights up his whole face. “I said it, didn’t I? Now it’s your turn.”
Time sort of freezes as you try to think of the right words, deciding that simplicity is best in the end. “I’m in love with you, Eddie,” you whisper cautiously, even though you know now that he does, too.
His smile gets wider, if that’s possible, and he pulls you into a tight hug. “Fuckin’ finally! I’ve waited years for you, sweetheart.”
Tagging @starksbabie @corrodedcorpses @stqrgirl3 @celestialserenity24 @ali-r3n @elvirasleftnipple
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Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!
Thank you for reading. Part 2 of this story will be shared next week <3
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anadiasmount · 2 months
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love struck - jude blurb.
request: yes! mix of my imagination and also @judesecret as well! 🤍
“you’re shivering, baby,” jude laughs, wrapping the towel around your body and rubbing his hands in your shoulders to warm you up. he pulls you into his chest, feeling great warmth. and beat from his embrace as you close your eyes and relish the feeling. you ignore the small nickname, still not used to the fresh relationship with jude.
“i-i-i know. i didn’t-t-t see the r-rain coming,” you say giggling, wiping your nose with the towel as you felt a water drop run along the skin. “you’re crazy, you know? walking in this storm just to show me the new minion movie trailer?” jude teases, resting his head on yours as you finally stop shivering from cold.
“despicable me four, actually,” you correct him, hiding in the crook of his neck embarrassed. “and, to see you before i travel to germany for a work trip,” you say shyly, leaning back to stare at his brown iris who shined even in the dark corner by the entrance.
“gonna miss me that much?” jude asks, kissing your nose, making you nod slowly and intimidated at the proximity of both of you. “gonna miss you too. wish you could stay here with me since our next game is here at home…” jude replies.
he could sense the nervousness, chuckling deeply before pulling away. “how about we have a movie marathon, tonight? i’m off tomorrow and i wanna spend the night here with my girl,” he says walking to the kitchen to retrieve something. you furrow your brows in confusing or maybe coming to the fact on what he said.
“you mean like spend the night over? like a sleepover?” you say walking to the kitchen, wrapping the towel tighter against you.
“only if you’re comfortable with it. i don’t want to rush you or make you feel uncomfortable,” jude says, knowing you. he knows how new the relationship is, and the last thing he wanted was to scare you away because of how shy and reserved you were. “if you start snoring i’m out though,” you joke agreeing to his suggestion, earning cheering of yes from jude.
“cmon let’s get you showered and changed.”
jude handed you some of his clothes as you took a hot and steamy shower. you let your mind wander to tonight and how it would play out. it would be the first time you spent the night at his. when you came over it was for the evening and to hangout but staying over was always out of the picture.
you could barely look him in the eye without feeling your head spin or get shy under his gaze. you’d drown yourself with his smile and big brown eyes. if he asked you to do anything, you would do it with no hesitation. he had a spell or daze that always drew you in no matter what.
jude would always be the one to initiate hand holding, hugs, even kisses. you appreciated him so much for that feeling nervous or overall giddy because you couldn’t believe he was actually yours. if he sensed you were nervous he would kiss your hands to distract you from whatever you thought.
out in public, jude gave you a small peck on the lips to reassure you he was here for you, not once leaving your side, letting you have the say when you wanted to call it a night. he kept you at your side, protecting you from anyone who wanted to be quick and jump at you. “you’re like my bodyguard,” you often joked earning a laugh from him.
you don’t know what changed, one minute you guys laughed and spoke quietly as you made a fresh cup of chocolate, eyes gleaming in happiness as you got to spend the night with him. feeling better then cuddled up quietly as you watched the movies, to now where you sat on the edge of the bed bitting your nails anxiously.
jude had finished taking a shower and brushing his teeth. he walked in and saw you sitting on his bed, shaking his head in amusement as you looked down not being able to meet his eye when he returned shirtless, abs in full show. jude caged you in on the bed, arms locking you in side to side as your eyes connected.
“what are you think about?” jude whispers making you clear your throat and smile. “how lucky i am to have a boyfriend who takes care of me,” you say hiding the anticipation and urge to kiss him first. jude smiles looking down after couple seconds of silence.
your hands cup his face, just above his jaw making jude look back up rapidly, seeing your flushed face and bottom lip bit. “baby what are-”
you cut him off with a rushed and urged kiss. closing your eyes sinking into his taste as your lips molded with his. it took jude a while to process what was going on, not believing you had finally initiated and kissed him first. he could feel your hands slowly fall onto the nape of his neck. jude’s stomach filled with butterflies, the chilling sensation running down his spine as he tasted your sweet taste.
jude kisses your further, making you let out a small whine and kiss him deeper, clashing teeth as you moved your head slightly. you felt the fire run along your veins, getting dizzy from how jude was kissing you, jude the same. he got nervous all of the sudden due to the fact you weren’t being all hidden away, letting you be in charge.
the two of you let out breaths, the room filling with the sound of your kissing and noises you made. jude got lost, lost in how you tasted, how you kissed him with urgency yet love, lost in how much he loved this new side of you. he wanted it all, more with you.
jude pulled away, out of breath and panting, lips red and plump from the kiss. you giggled resting your foreheads together processing what had just happened. you finally did it, what you wanted to do for a while. “you kissed me first,” jude said licking his lips making you squirm.
your hands traced his cheeks, feeling a sense of confidence inside you. “i know… been wanting to do it for a while,” you confess watching jude’s eyes go crazy in bewilderment and lust. he couldn’t believe it, his shy girl wasn’t so shy, and he was sure he fell even more in love with you. jude smirked kissing the inner part of your wrist before speaking up again.
“wanna show me again? i think i forgot how it felt…”
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rainylana · 1 year
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“Something you wanted.”
Eddie Munson x female reader
Summary: you show up to Eddie and Wayne’s with gifts.
Warnings: language, very soft eddie, eddie doesn’t know how to react to presents, some insecurities on his behalf, new relationship with him and the reader. i hope everyone had a great christmas!!<3 okay and also i’m not going to do my taglist anymore because that’s a pain in the ass so sorry for my laziness!!
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“Merry Christmas!” You beamed, lugging in bags of christmas presents in your arms, huffing a breath as you tried to cram yourself in the door.
“Uh- babe,” Eddie helped usher you through the door, eyeing your skeptically. “Why do you look like Santa Clause?”
You chuckled as you dropped your gifts to the floor, face red from the cold. “I look like mrs. clause, thank you very much. You like my skirt?” You twirled your red and white skirt, matched with a red sweater and a santa hat on your head.
“What are you doing here?” He started patting the snow off your shoulders, closing the door to his home. “Thought you’d weren’t coming over till tomorrow.”
“Well tomorrow won’t be christmas anymore!” You smiled, looking around the trailer. “Is Wayne here?”
Eddie gave you another weird look before turning. “Old man! Y/n’s here!” When he looked back you were on the ground shuffling through your gift backs.
“What are those for?”
You paused, looking up at him to give a funny look. “What do you think they’re for? They’re for you guys, dummy! Christmas presents!”
“All of these?!” His eyes widened. “Y/n- no way, you shouldn’t have.”
“I know that.” You chuckled, taking them out one by one at his feet. “But I wanted too.”
“Why is Santa in our living room?” Wayne announced himself, standing in the kitchen with a raised brow.
“Merry Christmas, Wayne!” You waved, sparking off your pearly teeth. “You guys go sit down so I can pass these out!”
Eddie looked to his guardian with confused eyes, not sure what to do. Wayne muttered under his breath as he made his way to the couch, nodding for Eddie to sit down.
“Okay, so I have these labeled.” You crawled over to their feet with two gifts in hand. “Read what it says.” You sat them in their lap.
Eddie was looking at it like it was a ticking time bomb, while Wayne fished out his reading glasses. “Something you need.” His voice came out in a deep hum.
“Are we supposed to open it?” Eddie said confused.
Wayne rolled his eyes as you laughed. “Yeah, Eddie, open it!”
He nodded before both of them started to tear open the paper, and you noticed how Eddie kept looking at you, then to the other gifts you had behind you.
“Underwear?” Eddie raised a brow, holding up a five back of boxers.
“Oh, thank god,” Wayne exhaled. “You’ve been living in those blue checkered ones for three years now.”
“I have not!” Eddie burned red, straightening. “Quit talking, old man, and open you’re shit.”
“Hey, I’m the one who does your laundry, boy, I outta know.”
You giggled behind your teeth, watching as Eddie felt the fabric at the opening, giving you an awkward smile.
“Batteries?” Wayne said skeptically.
“Uh-huh!” You nodded. “Because the last time I was over you were bitching about your flashlight dying with those old batteries, so know you don’t have to bitch!”
“Thank god.” Eddie praised. “Say, thank you, old man.”
Wayne gave his nephew a glare before giving you a grateful nod. “Thanks, kid.”
“You’re welcome.” You nodded back. “Okay, next!” You reached behind you to grab two other gifts, making their jaw drop.
“Y/n, you didn’t have to do all of this.” Eddie furrowed his brows as you placed another gift in his lap. “We don’t need-”
“Something to read.” Wayne read the label on the red paper before tearing it open.
Eddie hurried to catch up.
“Hey, nice,” Wayne chuckled. “Peanuts comics.” He showed to Eddie. Wayne liked to read the comics in the paper before work, especially peanuts and Garfield. “Thanks, doll.”
“No fucking way.” Eddie cursed, revealing a thick, brown book. “You did not.” His eyes were wide as saucers. “Y/n, this is-”
“Not as expensive as you think.” You finished for him, grabbing his calf. “Just look inside, it’s actually pretty cool!”
It was a collectors edition version of The Fellowship of the Ring, maps on the inside, facts of lore and inspiration from the author. Eddie had seen it once in a bookstore in Indianapolis. That was four months ago.
“Pretty cool?” Eddie’s voice rose an octave. “Babe, this is amazing.” He looked over at Wayne, holding up his book as the man smiled at him. “Look away, old man.” Eddie flung his hand toward Wayne as he leaned down to give you a peck on the lips. “Thank you so much.” Eddie allowed himself to smile. “Really, thanks a lot. This is epic.”
You blushed, your heart warming at his own happiness. “Okay last one.” You placed two other gifts in their lap as wrapping paper laid down at their feet.
“Something you wanted.” Eddie read this time, giving you a smile.
Wayne tore into his quickly, making you laugh as he revealed his present. “Now, just how and the hell did you know I wanted this?” Wayne chuckled, holding out his new leather wallet. It was expensive, but they didn’t need to know that.
“I specifically heard you say damn wallet one day when the zipper was stuck.” You smirked, patting his knee.
“New chains!” Eddie squealed that time, nearly jumping in his seat. “Holy shit, thank you!”
You smiled widely, then over to Wayne who looked very proud. “You’re welcome, Ed’s.”
“These will look perfect on my black jeans, don’t you think?” He asked, taking them out of the package.
“Without a doubt.” You tossed off your santa hat, getting hot. “Look right sexy.”
And then Eddie got quiet. Very quiet. Both you and Wayne noticed it, but he was the first to say something. “You okay, bud?”
He nodded, but didn’t say anything, keeping his head down. You tried to find his eyes but couldn’t, chewing on your lip nervously. He had seemed to like everything.
Wayne mentioned something about going out for a smoke, stepping over the wrapping paper and thanking you once more for the gifts.
“Eddie, what’s wrong?” You grabbed his ankle. “You’re quiet all of a sudden.”
Your heart sank when you saw he was crying. “Hey,” you said gently, moving to sit beside him on the couch. “Eddie, what’s wrong? I saved the receipts if you want to exchange them.”
“Exchange them?” Eddie looked at you, eyes tearful and red. “No, y/n, it isn’t that. It’s just…”
This wasn’t normal for him. Wayne and him would give each other something small sure, but someone coming into their home with gifts wasn’t normal. Someone thinking of them for a change wasn’t normal. You should of realized, but it wasn’t your fault. This was your first christmas with him.
“Hey,” You grabbed his red cheeks. “You deserve every little bit of this and more, you hear me?” You wiped his tears with your thumbs. “You’re my boyfriend and I love you. I wanted to do this.”
“I’m sorry,” He shook his head shamefully. “I just..well, I’m not very good at this stuff. I have something for you too, but it’s not near as good as all of this.”
“You have nothing to apologize for, baby.” You shook your head. “That’s not what this is about. I just want you to know how much I care about you, is all. That’s what this time of year is for. Both you and Wayne deserve it.”
Eddie allowed himself to shed one more tear before he buried his face under your chin, pressing his nose against your collar bone. “I love you so much. I don’t deserve you.”
“Yes, you do.” You wrapped your arms around him, kissing his ear. “Both of you deserve this.”
You could feel his tears slide down your skin, and you held him tightly close, knowing Wayne was outside probably close to freezing to death. When you heard his sniffled stop, you peaked down at him with a smile. “Should we go check on your uncle? He’s probably an ice block by now.”
Eddie chuckled and sniffled, using his sleeve to wipe his tears. “Yeah, let’s go check on the old man.”
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munson-blurbs · 10 months
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Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8
Summary: Thanksgiving brings back memories of happier times, and all you want is to recreate the past. But when those plans go awry, Eddie--and Harris, of course--are there to help you look forward to the future.
Warnings: mentions of Eddie's parents, brief familial conflict, Reader's grandma has dementia, most of this chapter is fluffy tbh
WC: 6.8k
Chapter 8/20
Scruffy!Eddie edit credit to @vexed-n-hexed Divider credit to @saradika
Thanksgiving, 1975
The sound of the kitchen timer beeping draws nine-year-old Eddie Munson’s attention from the television set. The local news network had been replaying the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade on a loop. It was now the third time that Eddie had watched Santa Claus make his way into Herald Square in a comically oversized sleigh, but he couldn’t get enough of it. The colorful balloons that hovered over the crowd, the marching bands playing in perfect unison, the feeling of excitement in the air—it was palpable all the way from his new home in Hawkins, Indiana. 
“Dinner’s ready,” Wayne announces, grabbing the worn mitt off of the counter and pulling two TV dinners from the oven. “‘S not much, but at least we got turkey and mashed potatoes,” he bashfully adds. 
Eddie nods, trying to walk without taking his eyes off of the screen. 
Wayne’s bushy brows pinch together as he watches his nephew. “You always get this into the parade?” he asks. 
“Never seen it before,” Eddie says softly. His parents had had a TV for a couple of years until they’d pawned it, but he doesn’t recall ever watching a parade. “Pretty cool.”
“We can keep it on while we eat, if ya want,” Wayne tells him, smiling when he sees the boy’s face light up. He places the plastic trays on the snack table and heads back to grab forks. “Ya got a favorite balloon? I’m partial to Snoopy, if y’ask me.”
Eddie nods, still transfixed on the TV. “Yeah, Snoopy’s good. I like him.” He takes the utensil from Wayne’s outstretched hand, absentmindedly dipping it in the congealed mashed potatoes. He pauses for a beat before bringing it to his lips. “Do I have to go back?”
“Hm?” Wayne mumbles, too focused on his own food to fully hear him. 
“Do I have to go back with them when they get out?” Eddie repeats, keeping his voice low and training his gaze on the floor. “‘Cause I like it better here. With you. ‘S nice and quiet.”
There’s a lurch in Wayne’s chest at Eddie’s request. “Technically, I only have ya till your folks are sprung,” he admits, scratching a nail against the table, “but I can talk to a lawyer or somethin’ about keeping you here longer. Only if you want,” he adds. 
“I wanna stay here,” Eddie confirms, spearing a pale turkey slice and popping it in his mouth without any attempt to cut it. “If it’s okay with you. I can sleep on the cot an’ you can take your bed back.”
Wayne shakes his head. “Room’s yours, Ed.” He takes a deep breath. “I don’t wanna promise you that the courts will agree to it, but I’m gonna try my damndest to keep you safe.” And it’s true. He’ll work double overtime at the plant if it’ll cover legal fees. When the social worker dropped Eddie off last week, Wayne had no idea how either of them would adjust. But aside from a few growing pains—like having to shave his nephew’s head when they’d discovered he’d had lice—things seemed to be alright. 
“I, um, I wrote something at school yesterday,” Eddie pipes up, traipsing to his backpack and pulling out a sheet of paper. In his sloppy, boyish handwriting is written:
I am thankful for my Uncle Wayne because he takes care of me. He’s really nice and he works hard and he doesn’t mind that I listen to loud music. He also lets me feed my dinner scraps to the stray dogs in his trailer park. My Uncle Wayne is the best. I hope he’s thankful for me, too. 
Wayne feels his throat constrict, and he clears it before Eddie can catch on. “‘Course I’m thankful for ya, Ed,” he manages. He reaches out to put his hand on his nephew’s back, flinching when the boy jerks away nervously. Eddie’s reflex to defend himself rather than embrace touch stirs up a reserved anger Wayne didn’t know he had, and he wills himself to simmer down before his nephew can sense it, lest he think he’s angry at him.  
He slowly brings his hand to the couch cushion, careful not to make too much noise. We’ll get there, he thinks as the parade starts up for a fourth time. We’ll get there. 
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Thanksgiving, 1978
Ten years old is a strange age. 
Too old to play with the little kids, but too young to hang around the teenagers or adults. You’re just kind of…there, like a piece of furniture that everyone absently walks around. This hiss of beer cans opening is barely audible over the men shouting at the football game on TV. You don’t know who’s playing, and you don’t really care, but it’s the only place you feel like you’ll be out of the way. Taking a seat on the floor, you remain there generally unnoticed until one of your uncles calls out your name.
“Couldja get me a refill?” Uncle Tim slurs, shaking his empty can of Bud Light to emphasize his request. Before you can respond, he throws a, “thanks, kid” and goes back to yelling at the football players.
It’s not like they can hear you through the screen, you snidely think, but you keep your comment to yourself as you pad into the kitchen. A collection of spices tickles your nose, the mixture of cloves and garlic and thyme and rosemary warming the room. You rummage through the refrigerator until you feel someone bump up against you.
“What are you doing in there?” Your aunt asks, disapproval carving her already sharp features. Her gaze drops to the can in your hand. “Seriously? Trying to sneak beer right in front of us?” she scoffs. 
Grandma quickly becomes aware of the commotion, and she wipes her hand on her sunny yellow apron as she assesses the situation. “Everything okay?” Her soft eyes are concerned, not accusing, and you feel your anxiety slowly dissipating.
“I caught her trying to steal some beer,” your aunt reports proudly, as though she’s caught some serial offender, and you have to fight the urge to roll your eyes. “Not even a teenager yet and already getting into this kind of trouble.” She shakes her head with a tsk. 
“No, I wasn’t,” you insist, setting your jaw in defiance. “Uncle Tim asked me to get some more for him. That’s all.”
“Tim!” Grandma calls out, tone thick with irritation. “Get over here!”
 Uncle Tim trudges out to the kitchen, head already hung low in anticipation of the tongue-lashing he’s about to receive. He may be a grown man, but his mother can easily put him in his place.
Grandma folds her arms across her chest. “Why are you having your niece fetch your drinks like a barmaid? Your legs broken or something?”
“No,” he mumbles, taking the beer from your hand and haphazardly tossing a “sorry” in your direction before returning to the game.
“C’mere,” Grandma beckons you, crooking her finger to join her at the counter. She’s got a bowl of Granny Smith apples, half of them peeled, their green skins piling on the cutting board in front of her. She hands you the peeler, picking up a sharp knife and cutting a peeled apple lengthwise and cubing each slice. “Help me out. It goes a lot faster when there’s two of us. And it’ll keep you out of trouble,” she adds with a wink.
You grab an unpeeled apple from the pile and drag the tool down its curve, repeating the motion until the inner fruit is exposed before starting on the next one. You and Grandma work in tandem; you peel and she chops in a comfortable silence. As you’re finishing up the last of the bunch, she leans over and whispers in your ear, “Don’t tell anyone, but you’re the best helper I’ve ever had.” She starts placing the cubed pieces into a pot, shaking the cinnamon container over it until she takes a satisfied step back, no measuring spoon required. “Mix it together for me?” 
You nod eagerly and pluck the wooden spoon from the canister behind the sink, dunking it into the pot and stirring until the apples are fully coated in cinnamon. “That good?” you ask, giving another stir for good measure.
“Perfect.” Grandma smiles, covering the mixture with water and setting it on an empty burner, twisting the knob until the coil turns red. “Once it softens up, you can mash it. Give these old arms a break,” she teases gently.
“You’re not old!” you protest, and she smacks a kiss to the top of your head.
“I love you, kiddo,” she murmurs, voice muffled against your scalp. “To the moon and back.”
You wrap your arms around her waist and squeeze her tight. “I love you, too. To the moon and back.”
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Thanksgiving, 1996
“Daddy, look! It’s Santa!” Harris points at the TV excitedly, bouncing up and down on the couch. He kicks his feet and squeals. “He’s gonna come to our house, right? An’ bring me presents?”
Eddie chuckles as he spreads mayonnaise on white bread, layering thin turkey slices on top. Three sandwiches for three Munsons. “I dunno, Har-Bear; have you been good this year?” 
Harris scrunches up his face in contemplation. “Um, I think so,” he answers honestly. “I can’t remember.”
“Hey, Wayne?” Eddie calls out as his uncle walks out of the bathroom. “Has Harris been good this year? I feel like he’s been a bit…mischievous.”
Wayne shakes his head. “My angel of a grandson? He’s never caused mischief a day in his little life!” He sits down next to Harris, letting out a small grunt as his bottom hits the sofa cushion. 
“Yeah! I never cause mischief a day in my little life!” Harris echoes confidently. He turns to his grandfather. “Grampa, what is Santa gonna bring you for Christmas?”
“A toupée,” Eddie says from the tiny kitchen, piling their plates with potato chips. Normally, he’d make sure there was a fruit or vegetable on there, but it’s a holiday. 
Wayne has to hold his tongue in front of the impressionable young boy, though he shoots Eddie an inconspicuous middle finger when he’s setting the plates on the coffee table. 
The three Munsons tuck into their sandwiches and crunch on the chips. This is how Thanksgiving has been since Eddie moved back with Harris: watching the parade followed by an early lunch so Wayne could pick up a shift at the plant. He always insisted on it, saying that the holiday pay helps offset the cost of Christmas presents. It was quiet, but nice, and Eddie couldn’t ask for anything else.
“Y’know,” Wayne says to Harris with a mouthful of sandwich, “the first time your Daddy watched the parade was with me. And now, we got to watch it with you.” He bumps his arm against Harris’s, making the boy giggle. 
“Oh, yeah,” Eddie muses, chomping on a potato chip thoughtfully as the memories flood back in. “Forgot about that. Is Snoopy still your favorite, Old Man?” 
Wayne considers this. “Hmm. Who’s our favorite balloon this year, Har?”
“Clifford!” Harris answers without missing a beat, kicking his little legs in excitement. Eddie should’ve known; the boy was damn near obsessed with dogs.
Once we can afford a house with a yard, I’m getting you that puppy, Har-Bear, he thinks, though he doesn’t dare make the promise aloud.
“Then that’s mine, too.” Wayne brushes the crumbs off of his lap, calloused hands scratching the worn denim of his jeans. There’s a twinkle in his eye as he adds, “I wonder what Ms. Sweetheart’s favorite balloon is.” He acts like he’s speaking to Harris, but Eddie knows it was aimed at him.
Harris claps his hands together gleefully. “I know! Let’s call her!” He turns to Eddie with the sweetest puppy-dog eyes the man has ever seen, lower lip jutted out exaggeratedly in the most precious pout. “Please, Daddy? Pleasepleasepleaseplease–”
“Okay, okay,” Eddie says with a laugh, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “Once you finish up lunch, we can call her.” Harris opens his mouth to protest that he wants to call right now, but Eddie cuts him off before he can start. “Ah ah; no whining, or we won’t call.”
Harris harrumphs but ultimately complies, taking another bite of his food. Wayne gives Eddie a small thumbs-up, and he preens slightly at the acknowledgment of his parenting win. They didn’t happen very often, and they rarely happened when someone was around to witness them. He takes a long gulp of water; as soon as he does, his son lifts his own cup to his lips and takes a sip. Another reminder that he’s watching, even subconsciously, wanting to be just like his dad.
For a split second, Eddie allows himself to believe that that might not be a bad thing.
“‘M done!” Harris chirps; sure enough, his plate is clean, save for the bread crusts. He squirms a bit in his seat, a gesture that Eddie has come to learn means only one thing.
“Go pee while I find her number,” Eddie tells him, purposely omitting the fact that he’s already committed those seven digits to memory. In case of an emergency, he thinks, and I don’t have the slip of paper on me.
Wayne can sense that his nephew isn’t being completely truthful; as soon as Harris closes the bathroom door behind him, he starts in with a shit-eating grin.
“Y’don’t need to find her number, do ya?”
Eddie flicks off an imaginary speck of dust on his shirts. “Knock it off, Wayne.” But he doesn’t move from his spot on the couch, further affirming his uncle’s point.
“Look, Ed,” Wayne exhales, adopting a more serious tone. “You clearly like this girl. I mean, all Harris did was say her name and you smiled–don’t give me that look,” he chastises lightly when Eddie rolls his eyes. “I know you two didn’t exactly get off on the right foot, but all that seems to be in the past now, right?”
“Guess so,” Eddie mumbles. “But not hating me doesn’t mean she’s into me. Maybe she’s only being nice to me because of Harris.”
The older Munson pauses, scratching at the stubble on his cheeks; his reflex when he’s deep in thought. “One date,” he challenges, holding up his forefinger to emphasize his point. “Ask her on one date, and see where it goes.”
“Fine,” Eddie relents, the nerves already churning in his stomach. You’d just found this good rhythm together, and he was going to risk messing it up. Again. “I’ll ask her. But on one condition.”
“Whas’ that?”
“Don’t say anything to Harris.” He crosses his arms over his chest when Wayne chuckles. “‘M serious, Wayne. I don’t want him getting his hopes up. For Chrissakes, I gave her a tape and the kid had us getting married.”
“Fair enough,” Wayne agrees, clamping his mouth shut when he sees the little boy enter the room. “You wash your hands?”
“Yep!”
“With soap?” he presses, narrowing his eyes.
Harris heaves an impatient sigh. “Yes! Can we call now?”
Both Wayne and Harris keep their eyes glued to Eddie as he punches in the numbers. When it starts ringing, he holds out the receiver to his son. “Say hi and your name when she picks up,” he reminds him, grateful for the opportunity to collect himself before asking you on a date. He takes a deep breath, shoving his hands in his pockets and gnawing on his lower lip so forcefully that he swears it might bleed.
You got this, Munson. The worst she can say is no.
But that’s not quite true, is it? The worst you can do is laugh in his face, leaving him a rejected mess. Scratch that–the worst you could do is accept the date, have him fall head over heels in love with you, then leave him in the dust to pick up the pieces while you move on with someone better. 
Maybe you won’t pick up the phone. Maybe he’ll have more time to–
“Hi, Ms. Sweetheart! It’s me, Harris!”
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It was a small thing. Miniscule, even. Just your meager attempt at reclaiming part of the past that had been lost to time and disease. A simple family recipe, apples boiled and mashed into a sauce that you’d hoped even vaguely resembled the way Grandma made it. A tiny cut on your fingertip serves as a battle wound from peeling, the sweet aroma of cinnamon still lingering in the kitchen.
You try to convince yourself that it isn’t a big deal. It’s just applesauce. But the thought falls flat as you stare into the trash can. You can still see all of your work literally tossed away through the tears that blur your vision.
You’d left the room for two minutes, two goddamn minutes, and when you came back, the plastic pink bowl that held the applesauce was nowhere to be found. You could’ve sworn you left it on the counter, but maybe you��d already put it away? A quick scan of the refrigerator gave you nothing but a chill. Where the hell did it go? Were you losing your mind?
A rogue apple peel had fallen to the floor, and you scooped it up, flustered at how you could have misplaced an entire bowl of applesauce. Sure, it wasn’t as much as when you and Grandma made it for the whole family, but it was still a decent amount. Your foot presses the pedal that lifts the bin’s lid, and that’s when you see it.
“Grandma?” you choke out, looking over to where she’s sitting on the couch. She doesn’t respond, and you raise your voice a bit to grab her attention. “Grandma, why did you throw out the applesauce?”
Her empty gaze briefly flits over to where you’re standing, not even registering the burgeoning frustration and sadness coursing through your veins. “Wasn’t me,” she says flatly, scratching at the side of her nose with a jagged nail. Before dementia, her nails were always painted bright hues of red or blue; now, it was difficult enough to get her to leave the house for essential doctor’s appointments. You weren’t going to put up a fight trying to get her to the salon.
You know you should just close the lid and walk away instead of torturing yourself by continuing to look, but your feet are glued to the linoleum floor. A cold drop of something lands on your toes, and that’s when you realize that you’re crying. Crying over goddamn applesauce.
All you wanted was some semblance of normalcy, something reminiscent of life before Grandma got sick and your family still felt whole. But what you got was a thickening realization that you can’t relive the past, no matter how hard you try.
The ringing phone startles you from your wallowing. You have half a mind to ignore it, but you know that Grandma will just grumble about how she hates the sound of it, so you pick up the receiver and answer with a shaky, “H-Hello?”
“Hi, Ms. Sweetheart! It’s me, Harris!” A little voice chirps through the other end. You can hear Eddie mumbling something, though you can’t quite make out what he’s saying. “Happy Thanksgiving! What’s your favorite balloon?” There’s more hushed speaking from Eddie, and Harris huffs out, “Daddy, stop! I know what to say!” 
“My favorite balloon from the parade?” you ask, biting back a giggle. 
“Mhm! I like Clifford,” he tells you.
You’d kept the parade on in the background, catching glimpses of it every now and again. Shit, what balloons did you see? “Clifford’s a good one,” you agree, “but I think the Rocky and Bullwinkle one was my favorite.”
Harris laughs so loudly that you have to pull the phone from your ear. “The squirrel and the moose?” he guffaws. “Ms. Sweetheart, that’s so silly!” You’re about to ask him how his holiday is going when he says, “Hold on, my daddy wants to talk to you.”
Your heart skips a beat at the prospect of talking to Eddie, and you wipe the tears from your wet cheeks as though he’ll be able to see them through the phone.
“Hey, Happy Thanksgiving!” he says. Something resembling trepidation tinges his tone, though you’re not sure why. Could he still be anxious to approach you after he confided in you at the parent-teacher conference? After he’d watched you panic when Grandma locked herself in her room?
You swallow, trying to choke down the sadness rising within you. “Yeah, y-you, too.” Despite your best efforts, your voice breaks on the last word, and you hope Eddie doesn’t catch it.
But of course he does.
“You okay?” he asks with a nervous chuckle. “‘Cause it kinda sounds like you’re crying.”
“‘M fine. Just, um, chopping onions,” you lie, hoping you’ve done a convincing job.
“For the…applesauce you’re making?” Eddie sees right through you; you’d forgotten that you’d told him and Harris about your plan during your weekly post-tutoring dinner last night. “Not gonna lie, that sounds even nastier than olives on pizza.”
You manage a laugh, but it’s disfigured by the catch in your throat. “The applesauce was a bust, unfortunately,” you admit. “I left the kitchen for a second and Grandma chucked it in the trash.”
“All of it?” he asks incredulously, letting out a deep exhale when you confirm that she did, in fact, throw out the entire bowl. “Jesus H. I’m so sorry. Is that what’s got you upset?”
“Mhm. I know it’s stupid, ‘s just applesauce, but–”
“‘S not stupid,” Eddie interrupts softly, and you twist the phone cord around your pointer finger with the sudden drop of his tone. “I know you were really looking forward to it.” He pauses, and you wonder for a moment if the line’s gone dead before he says, “We’re coming over. Me and Harris. Be there in twenty; fifteen, if I don’t have to argue with him about wearing a jacket.”
Before you can protest, he really does hang up. You look down at the baggy sweats and college t-shirt you’re wearing; you weren’t expecting any guests today, let alone the Munson boys. You should probably throw on some actual pants, and a bit of mascara couldn’t hurt, either.
You find a pair of jeans that aren’t buried under a mountain of laundry and tug them over your thighs before quickly swiping some makeup on your face. It’s enough to mask your exhaustion while still looking natural.
It dawns on you that you’re not quite sure why you suddenly care so much about your appearance. Harris couldn’t care less, and Eddie…well, even if Eddie did care, why would that matter to you? He’s your tutee’s parent; a new friend at most. On more than one occasion, you’ve answered the door to Jess with a wicked case of bedhead. Why does Eddie Munson of all people make you feel the need to look halfway decent?
When the buzzer sounds, you nearly jump out of your own skin. “It’s us,” Eddie says into the speaker; the smoothness of his voice has your stomach in knots. “And we come bearing gifts. Well, one gift, I guess.”
“Fuck off,” Grandma mumbles from the couch, cranking up the TV volume to an ungodly loud level. One of the Law & Order detectives says–no, screams–something about a murder, and you quickly reach for the remote and click the power button.
“We have company,” you tell her, and she just grunts in response. Hopefully her mood will change in the minute it will take Eddie and Harris to get to your apartment. You can hear them down the hallway, so you open the door just as they’re about to knock.
Eddie takes a step back in surprise. “You psychic or somethin’?” he laughs, looking down at his son and giving him a small nudge. “Go ahead, you can give it to her.”
Your gaze drops to the curly-haired boy standing by his father’s side. He’s holding a brightly colored package of off-brand Oreos, which he brings closer to his chest, pressing it tightly against his zippered sweatshirt. “It’s s’posed to be a surprise,” he reminds Eddie, wide-eyed with genuine concern.
“Only until we got here,” Eddie says gently, soft brown eyes encouraging Harris to hand you the cookies. He brings his attention back to you. “I know it’s not the same as making applesauce with your grandma, but I’ve never been sad eating an Oreo. An oatmeal raisin cookie, maybe. But not an Oreo.”
Now it’s your turn to smile. “You may be onto something here, Munson.” You take the package from Harris and guide the two of them to the kitchen, calling out to Grandma as you pass by. “Grandma, Eddie and Harris are here, and they brought cookies, if you wanna join us.” Her non-response is familiar at this point; the sting is much easier to brush off than it was a few short months ago. But you still feel it.
Even though Grandma isn’t at the table, Harris still climbs onto his dad’s lap. “Daddy, can I have one?” he asks, resting his dimpled chin on his palms as he glances upwards.
“Gotta ask Ms. Sweetheart,” Eddie shrugs, tickling Harris’s ribs and loudly whispering, “and ask her if your poor, hungry dad can have one, too. She can’t say no to you.”
You open the package and shake your head at his antics, sliding out the flimsy tray and offering it to them. “Of course you can have one, Harris,” you say, tone saccharine sweet. His chubby fingers darting out and snatching up a cookie before you even finish your sentence. “But I don’t know about your dad. Do you think he should get one?”
“C’mon, Har,” Eddie urges him, “us men gotta stick together. All for one and one for all, right?” He flexes his bicep; it’s an attempt to emphasize the manliness that supposedly bonds him and Harris, but the gesture has your breath catching in your throat. You sputter and cough embarrassingly, excusing yourself to pour a glass of water. 
“Anyone else want?” you manage once you can speak again, holding up the ceramic pitcher. 
Eddie nods, lifting Harris from his lap and placing him on the nearest empty chair. “Here, let me help you.” He stands up and calls out over his shoulder, “Grandma, how about some water?”
You’re about to tell him not to worry about it, but to your surprise, she nods. “Ya.”
“So, four waters,” Eddie reports, taking the pitcher and refilling your glass. 
You grab another just like it from the cabinet before taking two blue disposable ones, plopping a bendy straw in each. “Grandma, um, she needs stuff that isn’t breakable,” you explain lamely. “And the other plastic one is for Harris.”
Eddie grins. “Thought it was for me. Y’know, always making a mess.”
“Ah, but only of your life,” you tease. “You’re pretty good with basic human functions.” Your face burns at what you’ve potentially implied, but Eddie isn’t fazed. 
“Y’know what? I’m gonna take my cookies back!” he pouts, crossing his arms over his chest in mock-indignance. A piece of curly hair sticks to his lower lip with his sudden movement, and you brush it away with your thumb before you can stop yourself. 
The crinkling of the fake-Oreo package draws both of your gazes, with Eddie poised to tell Harris that he’s only allowed one more. But to your surprise—and perhaps Eddie’s, too—Harris isn’t the one rifling through the tray. Grandma’s taken a seat next to the boy, handing him a cookie before taking her own. She just nibbles on it in silence, but it’s the most present she’s been in days. 
“Y’like Oreos, Grandma?” Eddie asks, pouring water into the two plastic glasses and carrying one in each ringed hand. He places them on the table, and Grandma brings the straw to her lips as she nods again. He pauses for a moment, lips tucked into his mouth as he ponders something. “What kind of music does she listen to?” he asks you. 
“She has a record collection over in the living room,” you tell him, pointing to the low bookshelf near the door, “but we haven’t played any in awhile. She’s kinda…weird with noises.”
He considers this, walking over to the records and thumbing through them until he finds one that he recognizes. “Could I put this one on?” He holds up the battered copy of Frank Sinatra’s It Might As Well Be Swing. “I’ll take it off if she gets upset. I just wanna try something.” He carefully slides the record from its sleeve, lifting the player’s needle and placing it on the space for the first track. 
There’s a soft static as the record starts to spin, and Ol’ Blue Eyes croons: 
Fly me to the moon
Let me play among the stars
Let me see what spring is like
On a-Jupiter and Mars
Eddie joins in with the next part. His voice still carries its signature rasp, but it’s noticeably smoother, warmer than the night he’d dedicated the Def Leppard song to you. 
In other words, hold my hand
In other words, baby, kiss me
His eyes remain trained on the record player, but you swear you can feel the lyrics drifting towards you. The melody wraps around you like a hug, and you momentarily lose yourself in a musical embrace. 
Another voice, low and timid, chimes in. You have to stifle a gasp when you realize that it’s Grandma, her lips curling into the smallest of smiles–the most joy she’s shown in a long while–as she half-sings the words. 
Fill my heart with song
And let me sing for ever more
You are all I long for
All I worship and adore
“Holy shit,” you breathe out, and before you can exhale the third syllable, the world shifts back to normal. Grandma goes back to mindlessly munching on her cookie as though nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. You turn to Eddie. “What was that?”
He shrugs, suddenly feeling shy. “I read somewhere that music can, like, bring back some memories. Not permanently or anything, but I figured it was worth a shot.”
You can’t stop yourself from flinging your arms around Eddie’s neck, nearly knocking him over in the process. He pauses before he returns the gesture, pulling you tightly into him. One hand is on the small of your back; the other gently rests on the back of your head, allowing you to rest your forehead on his chest. Your tears flow freely, leaving tiny wet spots on his shirt. He doesn’t let go until you start to pull back. 
“Thank you,” you whisper; when he pinches his brows in confusion, you elaborate. “You gave me back a little piece of who she was before…” you trail off, swiping at your cheeks messily. “Just…thank you.”
Eddie nods, swallowing the lump in his throat. His eyes are practically glued to your lips; this time, when his fingers brush against your palm, he hooks his pinky with yours. “‘Course,” he murmurs.
You’re not sure how long the two of you remain linked like this, joined hands swaying ever-so-slightly as Fly Me to the Moon fades out to I Wish You Love. It’s somewhere between ten seconds and ten years, because time seemingly slows to a halt. 
You might stay with pinkies hooked forever if Harris doesn’t bolt from his chair, hugging your waist and looking up at you with concern. 
“Ms. Sweetheart?” he asks. His wide, misty eyes indicate that he’s absorbed some of the emotion in the room, though he may not even be aware of this. “Why are you sad?” His chubby fingers grab onto the fabric of your pants.
You choke out a tearful laugh as you crouch down to meet him at his level. “I’m not sad…well, I’m sad and happy at the same time,” you try to explain, shaking your head when you realize you’re only adding to his puzzlement. “Grown-up feelings are weird sometimes, Har. But your hugs definitely help.”
With that, he squeezes you tighter, and you glance at Eddie with a full heart. He takes a step forward, scooping up Harris. You worry that you’ve crossed a line, that you’ve shown too much of your vulnerability to a four-year-old, but your fears are subdued when Eddie extends one arm and brings you back to both him and his son. Something brushes against your scalp, and you realize that he’s pressing a light kiss to the top of your head. 
Harris squirms, and when Eddie puts him down, he runs over to the TV set. “Can I watch something?” It’s clear that the moment has passed, and Eddie throws you an apologetic shrug as he waits for your response.
“Sure,” you say, trying to pepper cheerfulness into your voice. It’s easier now that the wave of loneliness has passed, taking with it some of the mourning you’d clung to earlier today. You click on the TV and flip through channels until a familiar cartoon appears on the screen. “I think we’re just in time to watch A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving!” you exclaim, and Harris mirrors your enthusiasm by flinging himself onto the couch, making his dad cringe.
“Careful, little dude,” Eddie says, clicking off the record player and gently placing the vinyl back in its sleeve. “You just got that cast off a few days ago. Don’t need you to break another bone.” Certainly don’t need another hospital bill, he thinks bitterly. He takes the spot next to Harris, silently begging you to join them. 
You turn to the kitchen table and put a hand on Grandma’s shoulder. “You wanna watch Charlie Brown with us?” But she rejects your invitation with a simple shake of her head, mumbling something about being tired and padding into her room. 
You take the empty space to Harris’s left so that the boy is sandwiched between you and his father. He’s a small kid, but it seems like there’s an entire ocean separating you and Eddie. 
“Why’s Lucy so mean?” Harris asks no one in particular. “She’s always yelling. Like Ms. Marion.” You have to stifle a giggle at that observation, and when you allow yourself a glance, you see that Eddie’s doing the same. 
The first half of the movie is filled with Harris’s constant commentary; he speaks more than all of the cartoon characters combined. But he tires out eventually, though in typical four-year-old fashion, he denies his sleepiness even as he’s yawning. He fights it pretty well, you’ve got to give him credit where it’s due, but eventually, the exhaustion takes over and he lays his head on your arm. His curls tickle your elbow, and you gingerly reposition him so he’s tucked up against your side. 
“You can move him over, if you get uncomfortable or somethin’. Kid sleeps like a rock. Except, y’know, when I need him to sleep.” Eddie snickers as Harris lets out the softest, tiniest snore. 
You return the laughter and shake your head. “Nah, I’m good,” you reassure him, smiling at the ruddy cheek pressed against you. “Don’t tell my other students, but Harris is the cutest kid ever.”
Eddie shrugs, but you can tell that the compliment tickles him. “Well, it makes sense, since his dad is a total stud.” He waggles his eyebrows before turning his attention back to Charlie and Lucy. You’re not quite sure how to respond to that; if you play it off as a joke, you risk hurting his feelings. If you tell him the truth–
“D’you like coffee?”
His sudden, seemingly arbitrary question snaps you from your indecision. “I teach four-year-olds,” you reply lightheartedly, hoping he can’t sense your mind continuing to linger on his stud comment. “I practically have coffee running through my veins. What about you?”
“I have a four-year-old, so, same.” He clears his throat, seemingly double-checking that his son is still sound asleep. His leg is bouncing up and down, and he nearly has to press on his knee to get it to stop. “Um, Harris is going to a birthday party next Saturday morning if you wanted to get some with me? Get some coffee, I mean.” He silently chastises himself, wondering if he’d ever been suave around women or if it had just been the unearned confidence of a young man in his early twenties convincing him that he had. 
“Like...like a date?” Fuck, do you sound too eager? “Because if you feel like you owe me a date after…after our night at the bar, you don’t have to. I forgave you after you gave me those M&Ms, remember?”
“Yeah…wait, no. Hold on.” Eddie holds up his pointer finger as he collects his thoughts. He could deny that it’s a date altogether and throw out some bullshit lie about it just being something between friends. But he promised Wayne, promised himself that he’d give this a shot.  “Yes, I’m asking you on a date. No, it’s not because I feel like I owe you one–although I definitely do,” he adds with a goofy grin that sends flutters to your stomach. “It’s because, fuck, I can’t stop thinking about you, and how happy you make me–and Harris, too–and how I get kinda nervous around you, which makes no sense because you’re, like, the nicest fuckin’ person ever. Oh my God, why can’t I stop talking?”
“Eddie.” The way you say his name is like a song he could replay forever. “I’d really like to get coffee with you. I just need to see if someone can watch Grandma…maybe Jess,” you surmise, biting back the fact that you’ll have to withhold your date’s name, lest she subject you to a lecture about sleeping with the enemy.
Eddie nods, swiping the tip of his tongue over his lower lip and smiling. “I can pick you up at noon? If Jess can watch Grandma, of course.”
“Noon works.” You want to kiss him right then and there; if Harris wasn’t nestled in the middle of you both, you might not hold back. “I can let you know on Wednesday when we have dinner together.”
Eddie’s not sure he can wait that long for an answer. What if you’re just buying time to get out of it? What if you’re only being nice to him because you’re afraid that he’ll get angry again and reignite the bitter feud you’d been locked in just a month ago? He swallows the insecurities, gaze flickering to your eyes.
And maybe it’s because you can sense his unease and self-doubt, or maybe it’s because you genuinely want to–Eddie doesn’t know for sure–but he feels you lace your fingers with his, resting your joined hands on his thigh. He shifts his grasp to weave them tighter together, learning back into the couch and allowing his body to relax. His shoulders let go of tension he hadn’t realized he was holding on to, and a contented sigh slips from his lips.
It’s you, him, and Harris. Sitting on the sofa and watching a holiday movie. An unconventional little family, but a family all the same. Eddie swears that he could stay like this forever, a thought that almost has him bursting out in laughter. The same man who had concocted an elaborate method to keep women around without actually committing to them was now reveling in domestic bliss. 
When the movie ends and Harris begins to rouse, Eddie begrudgingly stands with an exaggerated groan. “These old bones, y’know,” he laments with a mischievous click of his tongue. “Everything starts fallin’ apart when you turn thirty.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Yeah,” he chuckles, lifting Harris onto his hip and rubbing his back to help him fall back to sleep. “I know.” He grabs his keys from the shelf near the door as you walk them out. And before he can wimp out, he leans in and presses his lips to your forehead in a gentle kiss, stubble scratching against your skin. His hands are trembling when he pulls away.
“You’re the best,” he repeats the same statement he’d made on parent-teacher conference night. It’s even more true now than it was then. “We’ll see you on Wednesday for pizza?” And an answer, hopefully a ‘yes.’ “Wednesday,” you echo, still processing the fact that, for the second time today, Eddie Munson’s lips have been on you.
--
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dreamescapeswriting · 11 months
Text
★★★★★(5 star) ~ BC [M]
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WORD COUNT: 1.1K
GENRE: established relationships, sweet, cute, SMUT MINORS DNI, blow job, appreciation for bang chan, 
PAIRING: Chan x Fem!Reader
⤜Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - May 2023
⤜MASTERLIST
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Chan was nervous about your reaction to the trailer dropping, more nervous than usual that was. It was something new that he was trying with the new comeback concept and he was worried people were going to react poorly to it all. It was the first time he was going to be playing a "villain" of some sort and even if it was just a trailer he was still extremely anxious that some people weren't going to take well to it all. Maybe it was just him overthinking everything but he was just a little unsure if people were going to enjoy it. It was always the same whenever he had a comeback but somehow this was worse than the last few times.
"Fuck," You hissed out after watching Felix winking at the camera. Your reactions had been pretty vocal up until that point, you found yourself switching bias lanes faster than most people could blink but it was hard not to when each member looked so incredible. But it got to Chan's part and suddenly you were silent, your mouth hanging open as you watched him playing the piano and smashing them all, your eyes glued to him as he raised his eyebrow and your whole body felt as though it was jelly.
"Yn..." Chan trailed off when he noticed the end of the trailer, the screen letting everyone know the time and date of the comeback and you'd yet to say anything to him about anything. Your eyes were glued to the screen as you did your best to process what had just happened, like seriously. When had your mouth gotten so dry? Your heart was pounding against your chest rapidly as you skipped the trailer back in order to watch Chan's part again and again, your eyes scanning over every inch of the screen.
"Baby?" Chan chuckled lowly watching as you slowly turned around to face him, your eyes locking onto his as you let out a small whine at the sight of him. The man was breath-taking no matter what but there was something about the trailer that was driving you over the edge, you could hardly contain yourself. He'd been laid shirtless on the bed after getting ready for bed and he never looked better than he did right now, barefaced, shirtless and looking for your reaction.
"You liked it?" He questioned, arching his brow at you as you made your way over to the bed and pushed him to lay down your lips quickly finding his neck as you began to pepper it in kisses causing the sweetest whines to fall from your boyfriend's lips.
"Loved it," You whispered huskily in his ear before biting down on his lobe gently, dragging it as you began to kiss down his bare chest your fingers slowly undoing the knot in his sweatpants as he whimpered out for you.
"Can I show you how much I liked it?" You questioned looking up at him, your eyes were completely innocent while your hands worked on undressing him the sight alone was enough to drive Chan wild as he nodded his head frantically at you. His mouth ran dry as you smirked up at him enjoying the way you got him to react to you,
"You know I've always loved villians," You whispered, slowly peppering his hips in kisses as he let out a low hiss at the contact, his tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip.
"Yn." He choked out, his eyes on you as you took him into your hand and began to gently pump him up and down slowly - painfully slowly - he needed more from you he was so desperate but he resisted the urge to buck his hips.
"You look so fucking good in that trailer Channie, fuck," You groaned out before taking him into your mouth, his insides clenching as he watched you eagerly taking him. You began to bob your head up and down around him, closing your eyes as you gave him and worshipped him like you wanted to. Your hand getting more and more confident as you began to pump everything you couldn't fit into your mouth, smirking when you felt him twitching inside of your mouth,
"Holy fuck," He heaved out, his fingers tangling into the sheets as he looked down at you, his eyes widened just a little as you looked up at him to meet his gaze. His breath caught in his throat as he grunted, bucking a little as you continued to take him to the back of your throat ignoring the way you gagged. All you could picture in your mind was the way he looked so damn good in that video, the arched brow, the way he spoke it was sending you wild. 
"Oh fuck me," He grunted as you slowly took him out of your mouth with a pop, using your hand to pump him faster while your mouth found his balls drawing one of them into your mouth and sucking softly.
"S-Shit, Yn!" He grunted urgently, his fingers tightening on the sheets around him, you knew that was one of his weaknesses but you didn't care, you wanted to taste him - no, you NEEDED to taste him. To know you had the power to make this man cum with just your mouth, you stared up at him,
"Shit, Yn...I-I'll cum," He heaved out thickly as you continued stroking him hard and fast. His stomach tightened and you noticed his abs flexing as you switched to suck on the other ball, your hand never stopping as he let out the most beautiful strangled moans you'd ever heard him release.
"Yn, Yn," He repeated breathlessly over and over again as his head rolled backwards toward the headboard his eyes screwing tightly shut, you took him back into your mouth before he slammed his hips up ever so slightly, cumming into the back of your throat. You smirked continuing to suck him until his hips bucked and you knew he was completely empty, you slowly drew away from him and stared him in the eyes.
"You didn't swallow?" He questioned with a small pout, his thumb darting to wipe across your bottom lip but you slowly opened your mouth to show him you'd swallowed everything he'd given to you,
"Good...Good girl," He breathed out a little breathlessly running his hands over your cheek as you let out a small giggle at the sight of him.
"I loved it, the trailer was great baby," You promised him before gently kissing his lips and going to the bathroom to brush your teeth and get ready to join him in bed. Chan chuckled softly when he watched you through the door, your eyes finding him as you gave him a small wink.
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Tagline: @chiisaiblog @hanasonmi @sw33tnight @taestannie @army24--7 @acciocriativity @scarletemeterio @halesandy @aerastus @laylasbunbunny @critssq @lenfilms @btsiguess-kpop​
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talaok · 10 months
Note
Okay . What about pedro × reader
Hear me out ...
They are dating for a few months but keeping it a secret the reader is also an actress and in her new movie her Co star is into her and with the interviews everyone is talking about in in social media . So pedro gets jealous and show up at her work ... maybe they fight or idk . I'm not sure about the ending
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Pairing: Pedro Pascal x Actress!reader
Summary: Pedro’s jealous of one of your co-stars
Warnings: a tiny bit of angst because I didn’t feel like doing a lot, and allusion to smut
A/n: why do yall like jealous Pedro so much!?
Pedro was not a jealous man, he knew you were his, just like he was yours.
He didn't mind the stares you'd attract from other men, he didn't mind the shameless flirting everyone always directed your way, and he didn't even mind having to see you kiss other men on screen... but there's a limit to everything.
He'd stumbled by accident in the comment section of your most recent post, a picture with the cast of the new movie you were shooting, and god if he wished he hadn't.
He meant to write a cute comment, because even though nobody knew about you two, nobody ever seemed to notice the borderline flirty words he'd leave under your pictures, and now he understood why.
He wasn't completely oblivious to the online conspiracies about you and Andrew, you had told him about it, about all the edits and fans and ships or whatever, however, there was a small detail you had forgotten to inform him about: the guy obviously liked you.
And who could blame him right? 
Pedro. He could fucking blame him.
It didn't take long before he was furiously stalking his own girlfriend's Instagram.
you look stunning darling
Darling? When the fuck did he start calling you that?
I think I just had a heart attack
Oh, fuck off
And that wasn't even the worst part. Fuck no. The worst part was the fucking videos. the interviews. The way his eyes never left your fucking body. The way he touched your hand and lingered just enough for him to notice. the way he didn't even try to hide his pathetic attempts at flirting even when he knew he was being fucking filmed.
By the time Pedro shut his phone, he was ready to go have a “talk” with this guy
But first, he needed to see you. Now.
__ __ __
"God please if it's Gary tell him that I don't need to practice that scene again, I got it." you rolled your eyes as you instructed your assistant to open the trailer's door after hearing a knock.
"sure thing, but I don't think he can be so easily persuad-" her voice trailed off as she took in the man in front of her.
"Hi" she smiled at Pedro "It's-it's not Gary" she shot you a look.
"what, who is it?" you asked, momentarily forgetting the lipstick in your hand as you got up.
"Pedro?"
"hi sweetheart"
"what are you doing here?" you couldn't hide your confusion.
"Just wanted to see you," he said, entering the trailer.
"Oh," you smiled, before glancing at your assistant "I'm sorry Ana, could you give us a moment?"
"no problem, but remember you need to be on set in '15"
"yes ma'am" You joked, giving her a pretend salute.
She chuckled as she closed the door behind her.
"they have you on a tight schedule huh?" Pedro murmured, wasting no time before wrapping his arms around your back, forcing you flush against him.
"they do" you nodded, standing on your toes "So you're not gonna get what you came all this way for" you taunted, leaving a quick kiss on his lips.
He grunted, unsatisfied, and pulled you back for another kiss. This one much hungrier.
"Is that what you think I only think about?"
"well you don't make much of a case for yourself" you laughed softly.
"that's your fault" he breathed "If you weren't the most stunning woman on earth maybe I wouldn't be so all over you"
"maybe" you shrugged, lazily drawing patterns on his chest "Maybe not"
"I need to talk to you," he said, suddenly more serious.
A cloud of dread dropped onto you.
"oh," you murmured, taking a step back "about what?"
He looked around the place before finding your eyes again.
"I want to tell everyone"
You frowned 
"I want to tell people we're together"
You were taken aback.
He was always the one opposed to it. He didn't want you to get caught in all the drama and gossip inevitably heading your way, no matter how many times you told him you didn't care.
"What?" you smiled "Why- I mean why now?"
"I want everyone to know you're mine. And I'm yours" he said " including Andrew"
You shot him a look "Andrew?"
"You didn't tell me he's obsessed with you"
"what? He's not"
"he is baby,"
"how would you even know?"
"I saw it"
"When? You've never met him"
"I saw the comments, and the interviews, and the videos"
"And you think just because in an interview he did what? made me laugh, he likes me?" you scoffed "That's ridiculous Pedro"
"I don't want to tell everyone we're together just because you're jealous of a guy I work with," 
"that's not why I want to tell sweetheart" he reassured you, taking a step towards you " I want everyone to know just how much I love you, that's why. And if that means that guys like Andrew will back off... even better"
"He's not into me" you insisted
A sly smile pulled at his lips "God baby, you really have no idea what you do to men, do you?"
"He's not into me."
"Sure" he mocked "and tell me, when was the last time he didn't do something you asked him?" He asked, moving some hair out of your face.
An almost comical silence spread through the room.
"That's what I thought" he nodded, using his fingers to raise your chin.
"Maybe he's just polite"
He leaned closer, his mouth ghosting yours "Or maybe he's just in love with my girl" he breathed a moment before kissing you deeply, one hand to the back of your neck and one to your ass.
"so what do you say?" he asked once you parted "You ready to tell the world?"
"Only if you are"
"oh you have no idea" he murmured, suddenly picking you up and pinning you against a wall.
A small gasp fled your lips, but he silenced it with a kiss.
"Pedro..." you warned him, tightening your legs' grip on his waist.
"they can wait" he read your mind "You're the start after all"
You couldn't help but laugh at that.
"you're a bad influence" you breathed, causing a smirk to land on his lips as he kissed your neck.
"sweetheart?" he suddenly asked
"Yeah?" you murmured, already out of breath.
"Whose trailer is next to this one?"
You paused a moment, pondering your options.
"Andrew's" you finally spoke, going for the truth “Why?”
By the look of it, that’s exactly what he wanted to hear.
“Baby,I think you know why”
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lunartadpole · 1 year
Text
Eddie learned about two months into dating him that Steve is an active sleeper.
He was always a bit hurt when Steve wouldn't stay the night at the trailer park; dreaded watching Steve's car drive away after a night in. At first, Eddie thought it was a hit and run situation, a one night stand that spans more than one night. And yeah, it makes sense; King Steve probably just wants a new way to get his dick wet, got tired of all the babes and such. Of course this thing they have - whatever that is - isn't serious. It makes sense and still, Eddie's hurt.
But then he starts noticing things. Like Steve's reluctance to leave but his refusal to fall asleep no matter how late it is. And it's not just with Eddie either. He's noticed that Steve always seems to clock out early at any overnight event their little group have - DnD nights in Wheelers basements, Dustin's sleepovers, hell, even Buckley's movie nights. Steve is always first to arrive and first to leave.
Eddie just can't figure out why.
He goes as far as to ask Robin. Because if anyone can give any insight into the mysterious life of Dethroned King Steve Harrington, it's Buckley. But even she has no idea. She says she hadn't even noticed.
He gets his answer a week later.
They're in Eddie's trailer. Steve drove around after his shift, they're lounging in his room, Steve sitting up again the headboard, Eddie practicing his guitar, and it's midnight, bordering on Steve's usual check out time. But Harrington's been complaining about a rough day at work - something about being swamped and Buckley ditching her shift for boobies, Munson! She ditched me for boobies - and Eddie can see his eyes fluttering and his head lolling before quickly shooting up again. Rinse and repeat. Until Steve finally begins to bustle up and leave.
Eddie begs him to stay, half because he wants him to and half because there's no way it's safe to drive home when you're two fleeting seconds away from dropping comatose. They argue back and forth, Steve typically reluctant and a bit…nervous? Scared? Eddie doesn't know. And it doesn't matter because he wears Steve down and soon enough Steve is wearing Eddie's pajamas and the two of them are cuddled up in bed together.
Using Steve as his own personal Teddy bear, Eddie sleeps soundly that night.
At least, until about three in the morning.
Ever since Vecna, Eddie hasn't been the heaviest of sleepers. So when he hears banging in the kitchen rattling through the thin membrane walls, he's upandatem pretty quickly, abruptly women up to the fact that his boyfriend isn't beside him in the bed anymore. Another bang comes from the kitchen.
Okay, he's panicking.
Armed with the old tire iron he keeps by his bed for just an occasion like this, Eddie creeps towards the kitchen, mind racing. Who the fuck is here? Did someone break in? Something? From another dimension? Images play in head like worn film, images of Chrissy Cunningham floating in his living room, the sound of her bones snapping eerily similar to the banging now.
What he is met with in the kitchen is nowhere near as scary, but ten times more weird.
Because Steve 'The Hair' Harrington is in the middle of his kitchen surrounded by what little pans and pots the Munson's own.
"Uhm…Stevie?" he calls, ever so softly. And then louder when he doesn't get a response. "Steve?"
Steve stands like a ghost in the shadows. Eddie can't help but stare at his face, so relaxed unlike anything he's ever seen before.
Then. He speaks.
"I swear I left it here…" Steve mumbles, to himself or maybe to the dark shadows surrounding. The words come out slow and monotone. Hushed, slurred together in a broken string of consciousness. It does nothing to ease Eddie's worry.
"Left what here?" he asks, looking around at the mess for some item of Steve's he might've lost. All the while Harington just stands there, dazed.
Then. "Flowers. Told Eddie I'd get him flowers."
Eddie furrows his eyebrows, pushing forward into his boyfriend's space and thoughtlessly cups his face in his hands, making him look at him. Steve's eyes are just barely open, and they're glazed over with this lost, far off look. He doesn't look at Eddie, rather through him.
And somehow, Eddie catches up, a scoff of disbelief leaving his lips. Who would've thought?
"Okay, alright sweetheart," the grin is prominent in his voice, dripping with fondness. "You're still asleep, huh?" Something inside him surges and he finds himself grazing his other hand faintly across Steve's forehead to brush his bed hair out of his face. His eyes are all the more clouded over in sweet nonsense as Eddie pushes his hair into something that doesn't resemble a sad brown mop.
"I can't…remember where…" Steve mumbles, trying to break free from Eddie's hold but ultimately failing. He lets his head drop against Eddie's neck.
"Okay, let's get you back to bed, alright?" Because that's what you're supposed to do with people who sleepwalk right? Never wake a sleepwalker, that's what they say isn't it? "Hold my hand, it's OK Stevie." Pressed up close against him, Eddie breathed in the smell of Farrah Faucet spray and citrus shampoo and led Steve back into his bedroom, hand in hand.
"How about you try to stay in bed now," he says, leading Steve as he leans against him, skin warm and citrus and weary against his own, feeling a little too much like something Eddie wants to keep holding onto.
"Got somewhere to be,"
"Not right now, cmon," Eddie gently eases Steve down onto the bed, and surprisingly, Steve lets him. Not long after, Eddie is beside him, holding onto him tight once more.
In the morning, Steve wakes up confused, like he's surprised he managed to stay in one spot all night, but doesn't mention anything about sleepwalking. He does ask Eddie, "Did you sleep well? I didn't wake you, did I?" and Eddie just kisses him, tells him, "Best sleep I've ever had. You should stay around more often."
And when Steve agrees, Eddie decides not to bring it up.
It happens a few more times after that. Not all the time but more often than not Steve will stay over Eddie will wake up to him wandering about the house. The majority of the time it's stupid stuff; Steve sluggishly pacing around the room, Steve mumbling sweet nonsense to himself, Steve trying to take a shower in the hallway. Pretty harmless stuff.
Except for the time it isn't.
That time, they're in Steve's house, big and empty. That time, Eddie wakes up at 4am and just barely catches sight of Steve's fleeting figure down the stairs. Like most times before, Eddie is quick to follow him down the stairs towards the living room, staring blankly out the window. A metallic glint flickers across Eddie's eyes. His eyes widen with concern when he realises it's a kitchen knife. Steve doesn't move, but he's breathing real heavy, like he's just waiting for something to happen.
"Steve, darling." He begins, hating how his voice is cracking. "Will you come back to bed? Please?"
This time, Steve shakes his head. Frantic. Paranoid. Eddie watches his grip on the knife tighten.
"Can't." Comes the raspy, hoarse reply. "The lights. It's out there. Swear I saw it. I swear-!"
Softly, Eddie shushes him before he can get more worked up. He stays put a good six feet away, entirely out of self preservation. Harrington's deadly with a weapon in his consciousness and Eddie wouldn't like to find out what he does in his sleep, thank you very much.
"Saw what, love?"
"I heard a thud. It's so cold."
Oh. Oh shit okay.
Eddie isn't unfamiliar with nightmares. God, after what he saw it'd be weird if he didn't have them. After Mike's apparently real psychic ex-girlfriend cut ties with The Upside Down, Eddie was a mess. He couldn't sleep, plagued with visions of terror bat's tearing away at his flesh bit by agonising bit. He can't count the number of times he called Steve in the late hours of the night in need of reassurance. To tell him that it is over now.
Steve was a rock for him. Eddie almost envied him, with how easily he managed to readjust back into normality. Never did it cross his mind it might've all been a facade.
"Steve," Eddie begins, firmly and unwavering. Slowly, he begins to etch more into Steve's space. "Listen to me. The gate is closed. Vecna and the rest of his little hell beasts are gone."
In front of him, Steve doesn't move. He doesn't even appear to have heard Eddie at all.
Eddie swallows, trying to push the thought that maybe, after so near death encounters, Steve's finally gone mad, come undone at the seams, and this is what his mental state has come too: armed with a scarily sharp knife, ready to fight any sudden movement.
"Do you think you could put down the knife, dear?" Eddie suggests lightly, gently touching the outside of his hand incase Steve needs some sort of anchor to come back to. Underneath the edges of his fingertips, Steve's touch is warm, his pulse comfortingly steady, and Eddie holds onto it, selfishly, a little longer than he should have, that tightness he is becoming so acquainted with returning to his chest. He then slips his hand further within Steve's own, carefully taking the knife from Steve's grip and interlocking their fingers as if it were the most natural thing ever. As if it had always been that easy.
"There we go," Eddie praises as he places the blade down on the coffee table. "See? All better now."
"Better…"
"You're safe, Steve. I'm safe. Everyone is safe. Those things can't hurt you anymore."
"But- the lights-"
"Are fine." Steadily, Eddie begins to back out of the room, gently pulling Steve along with him. "Now let's get you back to bed, yeah? You still gotta get your full twelve hours of beauty sleep don't you?"
A dopey smile ghosts across Steve's lips as he huffs a laugh. It's barely anything. But it's enough for Eddie.
"Yeah you do," he teases. They're in the bedroom now. Eddie guides Steve underneath the duvet. As soon as he hits the soft cushions, he curls around himself like a child, protecting himself from the intangible cold or phantom nightmares, while refusing to loosen his grip on his boyfriend's hand. Eddie feels his throat close.
He has questions. How long has Steve been having these nightmares? How many of them result in sleepwalking? How many of them are violent enough to grab a fucking kitchen knife? Why didn't Steve tell him sooner?
But they can wait until morning.
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the-offside-rule · 4 months
Text
Max Verstappen (Red Bull Racing) - Reconsider
Requested: yes
Prompt: 35) "Can I convince you to stay?"
41) "Do that thing I like"
52) "You looked great out there today"
Warnings: smut, 18+, douchebag Max, teammate x teammate, possessive Max, oral (f!receiving), edging
Christmas Day 7
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Y/n smiled as she took her helmet off. P2 in qualifying and it was what she expected to be her last race at Red Bull. While she loved the people there, she wasn't winning and that is quite frankly what she wanted to do. She didn't think she could do that having to play second fiddle to Max Verstappen. When she hopped out of the car, she was met with Lando who congratulated her and joked she should come to McLaren. She laughed along with him until she felt a poke at her shoulder and she knew exactly who it was. She turned to see her teammate with his helmet hair looking as hot as ever and a lazy smile on his lips. "You looked great out there, today. Pity you're not here next season." He said. Y/n smiled back and took her own helmet off. "Yeah, a real shame." She replied and placed her helmet onto the podium table.
Max moved closer and leaned down to her ear. Her heart beat in her chest. "Can I convince you to stay?" Max whispered lowly into her ear. She looked around at all the cameras snapping photos and videos of this moment, yet kept her composure. "Bold move." She replied, still smiling. He looked down to her lips. "I can."
As Y/n went around the media pen, she anticipated finishing up so she could get her convincing to stay by the dutchman. It wasnt the first time they would fuck and it probably wouldn't be the last. Neither of them did this for feelings, it was simply to blow off steam after sessions and it kept them both focused without getting frustrated. The team knew and they didn't care as long as it didn't interfere and it never did. Both drivers did their job, then left for a half hour only to come back as professional as they started the day. Sometimes, they'd even schedule to hook up in between weekends, just because they could and the PR would handle the media speculating about the closeness of the two. Their favourite was when the other would do well in a race or when both would DNF. It was good to celebrate, but it was good to angry fuck too. For today, however, Y/n didn't know which side of Max she would get.
She smiled as her last interview finished and she began walking towards her trailer. Y/n looked around slyly, trying to find where her beloved dutchman was and surely she saw him hanging closely by. She smirked and walked quicker to her driver room, lifting her phone to pretend she was answering a phone call to avoid questions from the fans and paparazzi. Shortly after she closed her door, Max barged in. "New record." Y/n joked. "What can I say? I like breaking records." Max said, walking towards her and almost immediately beginning to kiss her lips hungrily. Y/n unzipped her overall and wrapped it around her waist, her lips not leaving his, both their lips fighting for dominance. That was the problem for her. They fought for dominance both on the track and behind closed doors and that was a dynamic that wouldn't work for her.
"Please stay." Max said, unzipping his overall. Y/n's hand ran down his under armour before her hand lifted it and ran over his toned abs. "Will you let me dominate?" She asked, lingering dangerously close to his lips. "In what way?" He asked. He moved his forehead closer and they ended up touching. "You know what way. I want to beat you." He chuckled and let his own hand drop to her hips and pulled her closer. "And why would I let you?" Y/n turned and looked out the one way glass, before she took her hair tied off and let her hair fall. "Well it's more of a 'you scratch my back, I scratch yours' kind of thing." She explained, moving her hair over to one side, knowing Max was right behind her to begin nipping at her neck and he did just that. She grimaced as her teammate's hands glided up under her fireproof shirt and began caressing her breasts. "You know I can't do that. But I can let you dominate and beat me in my apartment." He whispered. Y/n turned again to look back to him. "That's a pity." She began pushing the driver backwards before he fell back onto the sofa.
Max couldn't comprehend what was happening before Y/n hopped on top of him and began grinding. They both felt his erection growing within seconds. They looked down and grinned. "Are you gonna take care of that?" Max asked, biting his lip and sighing as Y/n lowered her hand cupped the clothed area. "Do that thing I like." Max begged. "You're meant to be convincing me to stay and you want me to pleasure you? I may have to go sign with Mercedes now, I'm afraid." She chuckled. "You're acting like that would change what we're doing." Max replied boldly. "It might not, but I'm sure whoever my teammate is would love to do what you're doing. And maybe they'd do it better-" Max hopped up and lifted her over to the counter and slammed her down with such force, she felt shaken. Max spun her around so she was leaning against the counter before he grabbed her wrists, holding them behind her back and pushing down. "No one would do you better than I do you." He growled. "Prove it." She replied. Max grinned and undid the lower part of his race suit. "You're not going to be able to walk tomorrow, nevermind drive." He tugged at her race suit, chucking down to her ankles and taking his length out and delving into her. She gasped. He didn't give her a chance to adjust to him this time. She was getting angry Max, and that made her smile. His thrusts were deep and hard, just as she liked. He loved the sounds that fell from her mouth. Strings of curses, followed by his name. Heavenly. He let go of her wrists and wrapped his hand around her neck, pulling her back towards him. "Look out there, shcat." He demanded. Y/n looked out at the people walking around the paddock. She even spotted some drivers still doing their interviews.
"You're so loud, I wonder if the media pen knows how good I fuck you yet." He whispered into her ear. "Just keep going." She pleaded. His spare hand spanked her, making her moan in bed pain and please. "Look in your mirror, I want to watch you." He watched as her face contorted with each thrust she took. Her moans grew louder and louder before she crumbled and her knees nearly gave out. Her finger nails dug into the wooden countertop as her mouth fell open. Max leaned closer. "I'm not finished yet." She groaned. "I can't. Fuck me, I-"
He pulled out and pulled her up onto the countertop before dropping to his knees and looked up to her. She looked down to him through hooded eyes. "You wouldn't." She huffed. Max boldly kissed her thighs, inching his way closer and closer to her soaked pussy. "Max, don't tease me." She pleaded. "You wanted convincing, you're getting it." His mouth got to work, making her crumble yet again. Her fingers tangled in his dirty blonde strands of hair, her grip tightening with each swipe of his tongue. He grabbed her thighs and threw them over his shoulders. "Max, Max I'm gonna cum again." She whimpered. Max stopped and looked up at her. "New record." He smirked and stood again, her legs still on his shoulders. He stroked his cock, leaving it at her entrance. "Can you just fuck me?! I don't know what the problem is!"
He pushed in and started a quick pace. Y/n's fingers dropped to her clit, rubbing it to match the rhythm of Max. "Who's my good girl?" He asked. Y/n couldn't speak. She could only hum in response. "I can't hear you, schat." He said, edging her on to answer. "Oh my god, me! I am!" He grinned. "Max, can I cum?" She asked. "Wait for me, schat. You're taking it so well for me." She took her legs off his shoulders and sat up, gripping his shoulders now and kissing him again. She moved her hips to meet his thrusts and in no time, Max began moaning and his thrusts became sloppy. "Can we cum now, Maxie?" She pouted with a strained voice. That was enough for Max to come undone. Her begging and her using his pet name. "Ugh, fuck- yes!" He replied before they both came undone, holding onto eachother. As they rode through their orgasms, they simply kissed before Max pulled out and the pair went to change and get ready to leave the track. "Look, you've been a good teammate." Max said. "Well, yeah. I don't think any other teammate would suck you off in between sessions." Y/n replied. Max smiled and looked back but she wasn't laughing. She was tying her race boots. "Y/n, besides that. I mean this, you've been one of my better teammates." Y/n watched as Max walked towards the door and he looked back. "Just, consider re-signing?" He said, before closing the door and leaving.
A week later, Max scrolled through his phone when he came across an Instagram post.
Y/L/N RE-SIGNS WITH RED BULL FOR 2024 AND BEYOND
Max grinned and opened his messages
Congratulations on resigning. We should meet up to celebrate ; )
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french-goodbye · 6 months
Text
If you want it good, downright iconic
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Summary: your third date with Eddie goes even better than expected.
Warnings: kissing, masturbating. 18+, MINORS DNI.
Notes: title from Gibson Girls by Ethel Cain bc Eddie would’ve loved preacher’s daughter.
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The first time Eddie asked you out, you were honestly surprised.
He now had been regularly dropping by the record store where you work, all smiles and fleeting touches, usually backed by silly teasing jokes. At the beginning you thought he might’ve liked you, but then two months went by and you thought to yourself that if he was interested, he would’ve definitely asked you out by now… right?
Turns out you were wrong and he was just bidding his time to make sure you were interest before he made a move. That happened a month ago, when he stopped by the store in his usual leather jacket and a pretty wildflower bouquet in his hands, and nervously asked if you wanted to hang out sometime.
“Like a date?” you’d asked hopefully, considering the huge crush you’d been nursing on him ever since he first walked into the store, chains hanging from his black jeans and chunky silver rings.
“If you want it to be” was all he said, fiddling with those same rings on his fingers.
Now after two official dates and many non official hang outs, he was taking you on your third one. The two of you had decided on watching the movie Halloween on the drive in by the edge of town and he had picked you up at your house earlier that night, a beaming smile on his face and a bag full of your favorite snacks on the passenger seat. Then, you couldn’t be bothered to hide your desire to squish his cheeks together and press kisses to his face until he was flushing red and pushing you away, claiming you’d be late for the movie.
After the movie, he had invited you to his trailer claiming his his uncle was on the night shift at work once more and that “he needed you to hold his hand because of how scary the movie was”. Of course you said yes, and that’s how you found yourself being led to his trailer, his hand clasped in yours swinging between your bodies.
You’re not stupid. You know what the third date usually entails, and the fact that Eddie invited you to his house when his uncle isn’t home just all but guarantees he’s thinking the same thing. It’s not like you can reprimand him for that either, since he took the first step and asked you out, you haven’t been exactly shy on telling him how attracted to him you are.
You’ve kissed enough times by now to know what he likes and what he doesn’t, but tonight was the farthest you’ve ever gone. The darkness of the drive in and the privacy of his van making it so, so easy for you to climb over the gear shift of his van and onto his lap and kiss him, kiss him, kiss him, until his van’s windows were foggy and your lips were red and spit slicked and you could feel his hardness poking your thigh for a second, before he readjusted you on his lap as Michael Myers killed Laurie’s friends behind you.
“I really don’t understand why people always die after having sex in horror movies” you complain as you take off our shoes by the front door, his hand on your elbow so you don’t loose your balance. “It’s such a puritanical take.”
“It’s the satanic panic, sweetheart. Can’t have teenagers having pre marital sex” he answers as he toes off his own sneakers and guides you to his now familiar room, that you came to know at your other non official dates, when he had forced you to come over to listen to the new Metallica album and to watch him play guitar for you.
“It’s stupid, it’s what it is” you complain, walking into his room like you own the place. You start removing your jewelry and putting it on top of his dresser.
“Oh, so you are having pre marital sex, sweetheart?” His eyes are almost dancing and he’s wiggling his brows suggestively, teasing you.
Despite his teasing jokes, you can’t help the knot that tightens in your stomach just by thinking of sex and Eddie Munson in the same sentence. You want so bad to find out everything that makes him tick, how he likes to be touched and how he’d sound if you touched him. Tonight had been the farthest you ever got together, as you sat on his lap and felt his half hard cock almost burn a whole through your dress and felt him give you a particularly nasty hickey on your neck.
You throw him a bored glance over your shoulder, trying to smother the fire in your belly as he walks closer, cornering you against his desk as his chest presses to yours.
“Is that your way of asking if I’m gonna have sex with you?” you ask boldly, but smiling and wrapping your arms around his neck. “Since it’s our third date and all.”
“Oh no, I wouldn’t wanna do that” he shakes his head vehemently and you raise your brows. “I mean, you just said people who have sex in horror movies die. I’d never risk my life like that.”
“So you’d risk mine?” You scoff indignantly.
He shrugs, “yeah, sure. Why not?”
“You wouldn’t survive even if you didn’t have sex anyway” you sulk playfully, feeling his hands reach for your waist and pull you closer.
“Excuse me? I resent that statement.”
“You’re the town’s satanist, remember? You’re the first suspect,” you explain as he walks backwards towards his bed, turning you around when he’s close enough and pushing you around until the mattress hits your knees. “You gotta die so people can be sure you aren’t really the killer.”
“What about you? Are you the pretty girl who survives despite it all?” He asks, his nose rubbing against yours and his lips so, so close.
“It depends…” you begin. “Are you gonna make a move on me or are we just talking about horror movie tropes all night?”
He laughs loudly, gently pushing you backwards until you fall and bounce on his bed, squealing loudly as you do. He immediately throws himself on the bed and crawls after you.
“Oh, we’re feeling feisty today, aren’t we?” He asks, kneeling as you your legs spread wider so he can slot himself in the space between them.
“I’ve been waiting long enough for you, Munson” you tease.
“Excuse me? You could’ve made a move! What about feminism?” He complains, lowering himself until he’s on top of you and his hips are pressed between your legs and you can feel his half hard cock from your time at the drive in probing your inner thigh.
“I’m a lady!” you protest, your hands climbing up his back to pull him impossibly closer. “We don’t do that”
He smiles but leans closer and closer, until his lips brush yours, but still doesn’t kiss you. You try to kiss him but he dodges you, one of his hands sinking into the hair at nape of your neck to tug it and pull you away as he holds himself up with his other hand.
“Beg for it then, little lady”
“Eddie-“ you whine, trying to kiss him again as he grips your hair to stop you almost forcefully.
“Say please for me?” He asks pressing a wet kiss to each of your cheeks gently, a stark contrast to his hand on your hair.
“Please, Eddie. Please kiss me.” You beg, scrunching your brows almost a little desperately.
He smirks smugly but obliges, leaning down to kiss you and releasing the hold he has on your hair. You brush your tongue against his bottom lip and he lets you in, making your nails dig on his back and your legs spread open even wider so you can feel more of him.
His hand slips under your skirt and he grabs your ass, squeezing one of your butt cheeks hard. You whine underneath him, grinding your hips against his.
“Wanted you like this for so long.” He whispers when he breaks the kiss, rolling his hips to meet yours and finding you so hot and warm he can feel it through his jeans.
“Not longer than me.” You answer, wrapping your legs around his hips. “I’ve wanted to do this since you walked into the store.”
“Why do you think I walked in in the first place?” He murmurs against your lips, guiding your hips to meet his through layers of underwear and denim.
You feel infinitely more attracted to him at his admission and tug on his hair so you can kiss him again, again and again for what feels like hours, until you’re soaking through your underwear and his cock is rubbing a spectacularly good place around your clit.
He breaks the kiss to mouth on your neck, going lower until he’s reaching the neckline of your dress and sucking a mark bellow your collarbone.
“Thought so much about this,” you babble, your fingers sinking into his hair to keep his mouth on your cleavage, not really thinking about anything else but him. “Touched myself thinking about this.”
He immediately freezes on top of you and you regret your words as he pulls his mouth from your neck to see your face.
“Did you really?” He asks breathlessly.
“Yeah… is that- is that weird?” You ask self consciously and his hand shift from your ass to rub on your hip soothingly.
“Did you forget who you’re talking to? I’m the town freak,” he scoffs, squeezing your hip reassuringly. “That’s actually really fucking hot”
“You think so?” You ask, fiddling with his hair.
“Definitely” he nods rapidly, making his hair fly all over his face. You’re laughing quietly when he kisses you forcefully, but quickly. “Tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
“What did you think about when you touched yourself?”
“Eddieee-“ you whine, hiding your face in your hands.
“No, come on. Don’t hide from me.” He begs, pulling your hands away and holding them between his own.
“That’s embarrassing” you complain, playing with the rings still on his fingers.
“Why?” He shrugs. “I’ve done the same thing.”
You still, your brows raising in interest “you did?”
“Yeah,” he stammers, suddenly shy himself. “Is that weird?”
“No” you answer honestly, a hot star burning in your belly thinking about it. Thinking about him all alone in his room, getting hard and fisting his cock just at the mere thought of you, trying to keep quiet so his uncle can’t hear him. “What did you think about?”
“You,” he shrugs. You look at him curiously and he shrugs again. “What you’d sound like, what you’d look like if I got my hands on you… you know.”
“What else?”
“Why I am the only one baring my soul here?” He asks suddenly, his cheeks red and looking at you accusatorially.
“Sorry,” you say, scrunching your face in thought. “That’s not fair, is it?”
He shakes his head in no, “why don’t we make it a game? I tell you something and you tell me something?”
That sounds fair, you think to yourself. You do wanna know more, curiosity gnawing at your stomach to find out what he thought about you, if they’re the same things you did, if your fantasies match his.
“Fine” you agree, finally.
“So…” he teases, booping your nose playfully. “What did you think about?”
You look at him for a second, his bright brown eyes and flushed cheeks and his earnest expression. And you know in your heart Eddie would never betray you or shame you for whatever you’re about to say or do here in his room. Everything that happens in the private space between you is staying where it should be.
“Okay…” you begin, not sure where to start. “I thought about your fingers rubbing my clit, about how you’d feel with your head between my thighs.”
He looks like you’ve just told him Christmas came earlier, his hips unconsciously jerking against yours and the pressure of his grip on your hips increasing. You sigh and your hands climb up his arms to his back, rubbing your hands between his shoulder blades.
“Fuck, that’s so fucking hot” he splutters, his hips still moving slowly on top of yours and his hand digging, tightening his hold on your bare hips. “I thought about that too…how you’d like it, what you’d sound like. Thought about how you’d look with my cock in your mouth, with my cum on your tits.”
“I bet you looked so fucking good jerking off”
He suddenly leans down to kiss you again, all tongue and teeth, his hips still driving against yours. He roughly pulls away when you’re both breathless and you’re almost feeling dazed.
“Why don’t you show me what you look like when you touch yourself, pretty girl?” He murmurs, his lips still brushing against yours and tucking some loose hair behind your ear.
You nod avidly, wanting nothing but to relieve the pressure building in your lower stomach and to put on a show for him, show him what you could’ve been doing all this time if either of you had just made a move sooner. He leans away to be able to see all of you, his hands spreading your thighs when he kneels between them.
You slide your hand down your belly, lifting your dress up to your waist so your lower half is exposed. He watches avidly, following your fingers as you slip them under your underwear and find yourself wet and swollen, a moan leaving your lips at the feeling of finally being touched.
“The first time I touched myself thinking about you,” you begin, your previous shame turning into hot liquid licking down your spine at the way he’s looking at you right now. “Was after you told me you were in a band. You know what they say about guitarists, right? I kept thinking if that was true”
He exhales a laugh through his nose, pushing his hair away from his face. He squeezes your thigh meanly, like molding bread underneath his fingertips.
“You’ll find out” he promises.
“Can I take these off?” You complain, already pushing your underwear down your legs with his help and quickly getting rid of your dress too, baring yourself completely to him since you’re not wearing a bra. He casually throws your clothes over his shoulder, not caring where or how they land, his whole focus on you as he sprawls you open, forcing your thighs against his sheets so he can see your bare pussy, his hands spreading your legs so wide it almost aches.
You smear your wetness around your entrance to your clit and start rubbing it under your fingertips, slowly building a rhythm that leaves you breathless.
“Fuck, sweetheart. Such a pretty pussy, why’d keep it away from me for so long?”
He swiftly pulls his shirt over the back of his head, exposing miles of pale and inked skin. You barely have time admire him as he comes closer, so close you can feel his hard cock against the back of your hand over denim, one of his hands shifting up your thigh to brush his thumb over your ribs.
“Can I…?” He starts, looking intently at your breasts and you interrupt him.
“Yes, yes” you breathe out and increase the speed of your fingers over your clit, as he slides his hands up to experimentally brush his thumb over your nipple.
“Fuck, have been dying to get my hands on them” he admits, cupping the weight of your breast on his hands and then pinching your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “Looked so pretty with those tank tops, almost couldn’t stop looking”
You mewl underneath him, the feeling of his body so close, his fingers pulling and twisting your nipples and the knowledge of what you’re doing to him making you climb to your peak faster than usual. He takes notice of the way your hips are moving in time with your hand and squeezes your nipple harder, leaning down until you’re face to face.
“You’re gonna cum, sweet thing? Come on, show me how pretty you look when you cum for me.”
Your free hand pulls him closer by the neck so you can kiss him, exhaling into his mouth as you furiously rub your clit. Nothing but thoughts of Eddie, Eddie, Eddie echoing through your mind. He guides you through your high, whispering sweet nothings against your mouth, pressing his lips to your cheeks, your nose, your forehead as his hips grinding against your thigh.
When you’re finally done, your fingers moving away from your clit because of the sensitivity and his arms thrown over you as he lays on the spot next you, watching you in awe like you just played the sickest guitar riff ever.
“I knew you incredible before,” he says, his fingers stroking the skin of your ribs, tracing the bone underneath. “But damn, sweetheart.”
“Shut up” you complain laughingly, turning on your side to see him. His face is bright red, like he just came back from a run and his hair’s incredibly messy, more than usual and his brown eyes are so, so bright and happy.
You can’t help but lean over to press a kiss to his lips, a lingering one that goes on for a long time. The previously put out embers in your belly lighting up a fire again. You’re starting to slip your hand down his body to cup his erection when he stops you. You pull away to look at him questioning until you notice how shifty he is, and you look at his crotch only to find a wet spot there.
“Did you just…?” You begin.
“Y-yeah… listen, sweetheart, I’m sorry-” you interrupt before he can continue apologizing, pressing a quick kiss to his lips.
“That’s so fucking hot.” you claim matter-of-factly, still suffocating him with quick kisses on his lips.
“There’s no way you think that, you don’t have to spare my feelings-“
“Excuse me? I think the fact you were so turned on over me touching myself you came in your pants so incredibly fucking hot, thank you very much” you climb over him, straddling his body in all your naked glory and his eyes can’t seem to be able to stop roaming your body, his eyes constantly shifting from your tits, to your belly, to your hips and to your mound.
“Okay, okay. If you think so, sweetheart” he says appeasingly, his hands coming up to rest on your hips. You lean down again until you’re face to face and you can kiss his lips wetly.
“When does your uncle get home again?” You ask between kisses.
“Around 7am… why?”
You pull away to see his face and you can’t contain the beaming smile taking over yours.
“How long until you can get going again?” You question, slowly moving your hips on top of him. He watches you eagerly.
“Not long,” he answer and you can feel the damp patch of denim underneath you getting wetter as you grind against him. You also can distinctly feel his cock twitching through his underwear. “With the way you’re all over me”
You throw your head back in laughter and he digs his fingers on your hips painfully.
“Then maybe you can show me what exactly you were thinking about when you jerked off… something about my mouth on your cock and your cum on my tits?”
“You’re fucking perfect” he states seriously, like you’re the best thing since sliced bread. He pulls you down until he’s hungrily kissing you, all tongue and teeth and way too wet, but you can’t really complain.
Turns out, he doesn’t really need that long to get hard again. Who would’ve thought?
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