This is a story about family, pain, grief, love, and home. It’s a story about music. It’s a story about Eddie Munson, and you, and all the ways things can go wrong and right. A sometimes-fun and sometimes-heartbreaking record store AU.
This chapter 7750 words
This is a story about love.
The year before Eddie met you, Faith No More released their fourth studio album, Angel Dust. Eddie had a love-hate relationship with them. He could respect the ‘fuck you’ attitude, but at the same time, they didn’t seem to appreciate the privilege that came with their position as a band that had, quote unquote, made it. (Noooo, Eddie wasn’t jealous.) He liked the singles more than any of their complete records; We Care a Lot and Epic were obviously good tracks. And, it was cool that they covered Sabbath’s War Pigs. It was cool that they covered songs so frequently.
Incidentally, it was a cover by Faith No More that played over the Greyhound station's radio system that morning. Eddie and Dustin had stopped in for caffeine and Argyle’s danishes at Coffee Clash first, then headed to the bus depot. They had flipped each other off as the bus drove away, taking Dustin back to Hawkins.
Eddie was alone again.
He sat in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs, people watching for only a minute before Easy started to play.
Know it sounds funny, but I just can't stand the pain.
Eddie recognised the song by the Commodores. He listened to it, then to the radio D.J. Angel Dust had been re-released with bonus tracks days earlier. Easy was on an Australian exclusive, but the D.J. had a special place in his heart for the Commodores, so he’d got his hands on it.
Eddie thought about Angel Dust and how it didn’t even crack his top twenty best records of the prior year. Eddie thought about how he should tell Wayne about the cover, since he, too, was a fan of the Commodores.
Then, Eddie remembered.
He wiped his eyes on the back of his sleeve, the denim coarse against the fragile skin. A glance around the depot reassured Eddie nobody was paying attention to him. Slowly, he stood and made his way back to his van. It was worse in there, a coffin of Wayne’s things.
Eddie’s hands shook as he tried to put the key in the ignition; it took a couple goes before he got it and the engine stuttered awake. You’d not been at Clash that morning, but you would be soon. It was your first shift back. Eddie drove straight to you.
“Hellooooo… Hey!” the customer raised their voice and waved a hand in front of you.
“Sorry! Sorry… Uh, no sugar? Got it.” Money in the register and the customer only slightly annoyed, you leaned over the counter and watched Eddie’s van find a park down the street.
“You okay?” Nancy asked.
“Yeah… Eddie’s here…”
“Okay?”
What was he doing? Why didn’t he park behind Raconteur? Why wasn’t he getting out? Was he okay? Nancy was calling your name.
“Sorry?”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing… I don’t know…”
Nancy frowned and looked down the road too. “What are we looking at?”
“I’ll be back.”
Eddie sat gripping the steering wheel. His teeth started to chatter, and he didn’t bother pretending it was the cold. His nose tingled so badly it hurt. Spiked pins and needles. It was a glance in his side mirror that broke him, and not just that you were walking in his direction, but the way you were walking. Fast. Purposeful.
You watched Eddie nearly tumble onto the road, running across it and towards you. The force with which he crashed into you almost knocked you off your feet. He buried his face in the crook of your neck.
You couldn’t work out what you were feeling. There was wetness running down into your shirt, tears, but a hardness too. Teeth. Eddie’s mouth was open, the collar of your shirt between his teeth. He was biting down on it to keep his crying from getting any louder.
The angle of the hug was making it hard to breathe, but you didn’t move, just waited for the crush to loosen. When it did, you whispered, “Let’s go sit in the van.”
When you let him go and saw his face, you felt afraid because he looked afraid.
Pushing him into the back seat, you followed him in. Eddie dived for you again, his arms wrapped around your waist and his head in your lap. He sobbed. There was nothing to do but let him.
It took a little shuffling and squirming to get into a comfortable position. Once you did, you rubbed Eddie’s back and played with his hair, and waited it out.
Though you couldn’t tell exactly how much time had passed, eventually the sobbing subsided and Eddie stirred.
When he sat up, you rolled your sleeves over your hands and wiped his face clean of tears and snot. You folded the loose pieces of stringy hair behind his ears, letting your fingers gently slide down his neck and across the front of his shirt.
Eddie tried to smile, then sat back on the bench seat, his head slumped.
“I didn’t realise you’d miss Dustin this much already.”
Eddie choked on a chuckle and shook his head. “That’s mean,”
“But it made you smile… What happened? What was it?”
“A song…”
“It’s always a song, huh?”
“Yeah. It was a cover of a song Wayne loved. By the Commodores. Easy,”
“How does it go?” you asked.
“Um…” His head started to bob to a beat only he could hear, then he sang. “I know it sounds funny but I just can’t stand the pain. Girl, I’m leaving you tomorrow,”
“Oh! Yeah… That’s the one… uh… Easy like a Sunday morning?”
Eddie nodded.
“You said it was a cover?”
“Yeah, by… Fuck…” He couldn’t remember. “I was just thinking about them… They had a new album last year…”
“Doesn’t matter,”
“No, I’m gonna go insane if I can’t think of it. Album last year. American…” He had just been thinking about them, how could he not remember? His brain was fried. “They have that song that goes: You want it all but you can’t have it.” He had the strange whine of the vocals down perfect.
“Faith No More?”
“Faith No More!” Eddie repeated, clapping his hands together. “That’s it. Fuck,”
“They do a lot of covers,”
“Yeah, it’s my favourite thing about them,”
“What’s your least favourite thing about them?”
He did his strange little snort-laugh. “Everything else.”
You laughed.
Eddie took a sharp intake of breath, silent tears rolling down his cheeks. “I can’t… I can’t do this every time I think of him,”
“You won’t. I don’t think… I don’t think it will always hurt like this.”
He nodded. “But… What’s that mean? I just… think of him less? Things remind me of him less?”
“No. I don’t know. But, no… I don’t think it works like that.”
Eddie went quiet. You sat together for a little while. When you looked at him next, you couldn’t help it. It popped into your head, and you knew you could use it.
“I just had an inappropriate thought,” you told him.
Eddie chuckled. “You did?”
You nodded.
“Well, now you have to tell me,”
“Only because it will cheer you up,”
“Big prediction.”
You rolled your eyes. “Okay, well, I think you are always beautiful,”
“You’re right. This is cheering me up,”
“Told ya. So, always beautiful, but sometimes when you cry, like, when you’re just sitting there zoned out with a tear rolling down your face… You’re like…” You chickened out. Couldn’t commit.
Eddie looked at you seriously, then burst into laughter. “You think I’m hot when I cry?!”
“I told you it was inappropriate!”
He sat up straighter and looked at you, then took your face in his hand, pushing your cheeks together. “You are such a fucking weirdo.” He kissed your lips. “But you’re my weirdo now… We should move though.” The van was getting noticeably cold.
“You’re okay?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Will be,”
“What are you going to do now?”
“Work. I’ll be better off there than sitting around at home,”
“Yeah,” you agreed. “I’ll come over after my shift. Bring you guys the leftover pastries.”
Eddie walked you back to Coffee Clash, nodding a thank you to Nancy for holding down the fort. Eddie held you in another tight hug and kissed you greedily again. He didn’t care who was watching, and it made your heart flutter.
After he’d crossed the road and gone into Raconteur, Nancy asked, “He alright?”
“No. Not yet,”
“He’s lucky to have you.”
You looked at her with her sincere expression. “Hug me, Nancy Wheeler.”
…
The Rolling Stones had released a ‘best of’ record, while Wu-Tang Clan, Angra, and Rotting Christ all debuted. A Tribe Called Quest, Aphex Twin, and INXS all had new stuff out too. They were Raconteur’s best sellers of the month of November to that point.
Eddie looked over the list, wondered how Kate Bush wasn’t on it – maybe Max hadn’t been working much, and reminded himself he still hadn’t listened to Iron Maiden’s Live at Donington. He sat with Robin in the office and went over everything he’d missed at the store, and they started planning for Christmas. Music was a sure bet for a gift; they were already getting the early shoppers in.
When you closed up Clash and headed over, you had to dodge customers to make your way to the counter.
“This is good,” you said to Robin and Steve.
“Yeah. Definitely making budget. One less thing for Eddie to worry about,” Robin replied.
“How’s he been today?”
“Ah… you know…” She made a strange, high-pitched ‘eeeeeee’ sound as she thought. “Kinda sad but… committed to the bit… In this case, ‘oh, look at me, I’m normal, doing normal things, just normal Eddie over here, la-de-dah,’ is the bit,”
“He’s not good,” Steve clarified. “Some guy came in talking shit about Liz Phair, and Eddie didn’t kick him out.”
Frowning, you nodded at them and went to find Eddie. He was out the back, sitting on a deck chair with his stray ginger cat curled up in his lap.
“Thinking about letting her move into the shop,” Eddie told you. “I don’t know where she’ll go when winter really starts.”
You reached over to pat her behind the ears. “If you’re adopting her, you gotta take her to a vet first.”
Eddie nodded. “Yeah…”
“It’s busy in there,”
“Yep. We’ll make budget,”
“That’s what Robin said,”
“Mmmm. She’s got it all sorted.”
You dug your hands into your pockets and looked up at the clouds. They were thick, darkening, and almost morphed into one fluffy sheet. You’d learnt about cloud types in school but couldn’t remember anything. Columbus? Nimbus? Circus? Nope.
The cat’s purring was loud; it pulled your attention back to Eddie.
“Are you staying ‘till close?”
“Uhh… No. Nah. They’ve got it. I can probably go home whenever…”
“Are you-” You stopped yourself. It was a dumb question. You knew the answer. “What can I do to help?”
Eddie sighed, looking up at the sky. He saw the shape of a guitar in a cloud and a bunny in another. Cumulonimbus clouds, he identified. Might be a thunderstorm on its way. When he stood, the cat jumped from him and sped off back under her favourite dumpster. Eddie turned to you.
“Wish I knew,” he said in earnest. “Wish I knew so I could sort my shit out myself. But I’m…”
“It’s okay,” you told him.
He held a hand out to you, which you took.
“Can I take you out? On a proper date?” Eddie asked. His eyes watched your face for a reaction; he saw the little burst of surprise. “Not now. On a better day. That doesn’t start with a breakdown. I want to… I don’t know… Do this for real.”
Eddie had been holding back. He’d been holding back when he kissed you. When he said good morning or goodnight and didn’t add, ‘I love you.’ All the time, really. But it wouldn’t always be like that. He wanted a date. One date. Candlelight and romance. He could admit that to himself.
He saw it now. The things he had been telling himself about relationships and love. How they weren’t true. How he had been afraid that if he let someone close, they’d see the worst in him and run away. Like the girls in Hawkins. Like his father.
You didn’t just stay put. You ran towards the worst and kept coming back.
Eddie cupped your face in his hands, something he was growing more and more in love with doing. He loved how your eyes sparkled as you watched him for his next move.
“I want to pick you up with a bunch of flowers and tell you that you look beautiful in that dress. And I’ll open the car door for you. And the door to the restaurant. It will be somewhere nice. Maybe one of the places on your list. It will be fancy, but not like, douchebag fancy. Just nice. The food will be good. And we will definitely have dessert. It’s gonna be soooo good,”
“Then what?” you asked.
Eddie’s eyebrows shot up. “Then what?”
“Yeah. After dinner. What do we do then?”
He grinned. “Then I say something charming and you laugh. And maybe I strategically talk about a book or movie or something, and tell you that I have a copy if you wanna borrow it, and so we casually decide to go back to mine. To get the book,”
“Or movie,”
“Or whatever,” he said, smiling.
“Yes,”
“Yes?” He wasn’t shocked by your acceptance, just needed to hear you say it again.
“Yes, I will go on a proper date with you. That’s… that’s what I want to.”
You looked happy. Eddie hadn’t seen that carefree joy on your face in a while, and it emboldened him. Before he said it, you saw his stupid, cocky expression and knew whatever he was thinking was going to be dumb and annoyingly charismatic.
“In the meantime, though… We could practice the part where we go back to mine?”
After saying goodbye to Robin and Steve, you detoured to your place to pack a bag. Eddie followed you inside. He walked around your bedroom, picking up things, and tried to memorise every detail. He wanted to remember the books you’d bought yourself, the candles you like. They were clues. Information he needed to hoard.
“Small bag,” Eddie commented. He had your pink-haired troll doll in his hands.
“Should I be packing more?”
“If you want to,” he said nonchalantly.
Of course, you wanted to. But you wanted him to want you to. You wanted him to tell you that he wanted you to.
“I don’t want to intrude,”
“Oh, yeah, ‘cause if one of us is hijacking the other’s life, it’s definitely you, sweetheart,” he joked. He put the troll down and looked at you. “Seriously… I don’t care if it’s selfish. I feel… better… when you’re with me. So, pack a bigger bag.”
…
After Thanksgiving, a muted but wholesome night hosted by Joyce, everyone fell back into their usual roles and routines. The calendar page turned, and November became December.
“Hey, boss, can I put up some hooks in the wall?”
“No,”
“I told you,” Steve said to Robin. “It’s better to ask forgiveness than ask permission,”
“Wow, you’re so wise,” she teased. “Seriously though, Eddie. It’s for Christmas decorations,”
“We didn’t put up hooks last year. Or the year before. Or-”
“And that’s why the decorations sucked. This year, I have a vision,”
“We’re a record store, Robin. In Wicker Park. Not some shitty mall store that has two buck tapes. Christmas isn’t on brand,”
“On brand?!” she snorted. “You’ve turned into quite the capitalist there, Edward,”
“You get away with calling him that?” you asked, entering the Raconteur.
“She does not,” Eddie clarified.
“I thought you were meant to chill out now, you know? Now that the pining is over,” Steve said.
Eddie greeted you in a hug, ignoring Steve.
“What’s he not chilling out about?” you asked them.
“Christmas decorations. He’s being a grinch,”
“You mean, he’s being The Grinch,” Steve corrected.
“What?”
“He’s The Grinch. There’s only one of him,”
“So?”
“So, you said he’s being a grinch. Grinch isn’t like… a species.”
You and Eddie watched the back and forth.
“Steve, for the sake of getting Eddie to say yes, I don’t think this matters,” Robin told him.
“Uh, wrong. If anything, Eddie’s a nerd about shit like this. It could make or break the argument,”
“He’s right,” Eddie said. “Not about The Grinch. I cannot confirm or deny that. But about the nerd shit,”
“Whatever! Are you going to steal our Christmas joy or not?!”
Steve and Robin both comically pouted.
“Fine. Whatever. But no Christmas music!”
…
On December 6th, Depeche Mode released Songs of Faith and Devotion… Live. When the carton of stock arrived, Eddie smiled to himself. It felt a bit like a sign. Or a kick in the ass. It was time.
He threw on his jacket and wound the fluffy black scarf you’d left in his office around his neck. As he crossed the road to Coffee Clash, he watched the dead expression you were levelling at the customer standing in front of you.
“Sir, that doesn’t work here,” you told the man.
“But they’re all connected. That’s how it works now.”
Eddie lingered back, waiting his turn. He could see that the man was holding out a small rectangle of cardboard.
“Yeah, all the Starbucks are connected. But not, like, every coffee shop,”
“So, if you just accept it, you’ll get a new customer,”
“A customer that doesn’t pay,”
“I’m paying with this,” the man argued.
“Again, that’s a Starbucks stamp card. We are not Starbucks,”
“All you shitty little places get bought up eventually. So, just take it.”
Nancy was standing behind you, arms crossed, watching the interaction carefully. Eddie knew Nancy usually stepped in when customers were being… customers… But, you were holding your own. Quiet Babychino, no more.
“Please leave,” you told the man, exasperated more than anything else.
“Listen-” The tone of those two syllables alone launched Eddie into action.
“You heard her,” Eddie said before any more words could spill out of the customer’s mouth.
“Do you wanna mind-”
Eddie shook his head and held his hands up. “No. Nope. We’re not doing this. Take your fucking bullshit and briefcase back to Starbucks. Here. I’ll even point you in the right direction.” He snatched the stamp card from his hands, crumpled it up, and flicked it down the sidewalk.
For a blistering moment, it looked like the man was going to say something back. His spine straightened and his nostrils flared. He thought better of it, turning on his heels and stalking off down the street.
“I had it,” you told Eddie.
“I know you did.”
You raised an eyebrow.
“I didn’t like the tone he used. I know you had it, but… you know,”
“Oh, we know,” Nancy assured Eddie.
“And hello to you too, Nancy,”
“Munson. Coffee?”
“Sure, yeah.”
Eddie winked at Nancy, and she made a face like she was going to puke. He smiled, then turned his attention back to you.
“You look cute in that scarf,” you told him, reaching out to touch the fluffiness.
“So, you think I’m cute?”
“Among other things, yeah.”
December in Chicago could have been the explanation behind Eddie’s reddening cheeks, but you knew he was an easy blusher.
“I think you’re cute too… So cute, in fact, that I was wondering if you would do me the absolute honour of accompanying me on a date Friday night,”
“I’ll have to check my diary… I might have plans,” you teased.
Eddie just smiled. “I’ll pick you up at 6?”
You nodded.
“Wear something nice. Or don’t! Whatever.”
You nodded again.
Eddie leaned across the counter to kiss you, then trotted back across the road, entirely forgetting the coffee Nancy was making for him.
She put the cappuccino next to you.
“That’s not his order,”
“He wasn’t here for the coffee.”
…
On Friday the 10th of December, Eddie pulled up in a car you did not recognise. When you opened the door upon the knock, the sight of you pulled the breath from his lungs. He forgot how to breathe and how to be normal.
You bit back a grin. “Are they for me?” you asked, pointing to the bouquet of moonlight blue roses. They were a strange choice, but they suited Eddie well.
He nodded and held them out, still silent, which made you laugh. He followed you inside and stood while you found something large enough to fill with water and put the flowers in.
“Sorry!” he said suddenly. “You look… You look beautiful.”
The car was a friend’s, Eddie said. Something nicer than the van. He drove to a part of Chicago you’d spent very little time in. The restaurant had valet parking, which Eddie handled like it was totally normal for him to be wearing a suit jacket.
Eddie, even just the suit jacket, was a lot for your brain to process, though you weren’t sure that was the body part entirely in charge of the situation. He’d pulled his hair back into a bun, but it was neat, and a few delicate strands still framed his face.
He held your hand and guided you inside to where a waiter greeted you and didn’t need to check a book to confirm the reservation or remember which table it was for. When offered wine tastings, Eddie accepted for both of you, bullshitted his way through it like a pro, winking at you over the bottles to keep you in on the joke too.
The menu seemed to be in French, and there were no prices listed for anything. Eddie asked the waiter for his recommendations, then approved them without question. The food was amazing, but the portions were small. The bathroom was fancier than the majority of rooms you’d be in across the span of your whole life. It was all dizzyingly special, lovely but a little alienating.
After tipping generously, you left.
“Come home with me?” Eddie asked, the first words spoken since getting in the car.
You felt drunk, not just on expensive wine, but on the brilliance of it all. “Please,” was how you chose to answer Eddie, and for the second time that night, his breath was stolen.
Floating into Eddie’s apartment instantly put you at total ease. You leaned against the kitchen counter, pulling at the tiny buckles of your shoes, humming to yourself. Eddie walked around the room, sticking to the borders like a predator as he watched you.
He put a record on, and it was probably perfectly selected, but you were not listening to it at all. Once you were on flat feet, you looked at Eddie standing across the room.
The suit. His hair. The way his gaze had yet to settle, yet to choose somewhere to sit. Your eyes, or lips. Hips. Hands.
Eddie grinned, refused to move. You did the same. Game on.
“Are you happy now?” you asked gently. “Did you do it right?”
Eddie nodded. “I did,”
“Good. I think so too.”
There was a tightness across your chest that under any other circumstance, you’d be sure was a heart attack. Sometimes that’s just what loving Eddie felt like.
“Now what?” you dared to ask.
Eddie smiled. “I think now is when I tell you a couple of important things,”
“Oh?”
“Like… I got you some Ben and Jerry’s,”
“Thanks,” you replied.
Silence.
“What else?”
“What else?”
“You said there was a couple of important things. Ice cream is one,”
“Right,” he agreed, narrowing his eyes at you and smirking. “Of course… If you come here, I’ll tell you,”
“No, you come here,”
“Don’t you want to know?” he tried.
“I do. Buuuuuut… I wanna hear it and you’re too close to the speakers, sooooo.”
He just shook his head at you and gave you a look that was almost a command to go to him. You knew you’d lost the game when the look made you suck in and bite down on your bottom lip. It would have been embarrassing, how you threw yourself into him, if he hadn’t asked you to.
Eddie kissed you hard, his hands were everywhere, but no single place long enough to savour it. When you broke apart for oxygen’s sake, his pupils were blown.
“I am so, so fucking in love with you,” he said breathlessly.
“I love you too,” the words tumbling from your mouth. “I’m in love with you too.”
It’s all Eddie needed to hear. He was back on you, pulling you through the apartment to his bed, where he undressed you fast and kissed every part of you slowly. Everything else melted away. There was nothing. No pain. No grief. No memories. Nothing. Just you. Just this heaven.
Two nights later, after a weekend of being in a saccharine safe space of only each other, you were back in bed. The wind had been howling all day, the temperature dropping by the minute. It seemed a good enough reason as any to call it an early Sunday night.
“So… Tomorrow is the 13th…”
The corners of Eddie’s mouth twitched.
“Your birthday,” you continued.
Eddie shrugged.
“You’re a Sagittarius, a fire sign, which makes sense.” You paused, waited to see if you’d hooked him yet.
Total poker face. A casual, “Does it?” was all he gave you.
“Mm-hmm. You’re curious and like to learn. But on your own terms. Can be intense. But are surprisingly adaptable when you want to be. Honest. Good storytellers. A bit… go big or go home, kind of thing,”
“I see,”
“Eddieeee,” you whined.
He pulled you close and kissed you. “What do you want? Spit it out.” He kissed you again.
“Why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday?”
“Didn’t come up… How’d you know?”
“Robin. She’s got you something real nice. She told me last week.”
Eddie thought for a second. “I guess it’s just not that important to me,”
“It is to me. You are to me.”
The softness in your voice was beautifully suffocating. Eddie shrugged again.
“We’ll do something,”
“We did,” he replied.
“The date? That wasn’t a birthday thing,”
“No, I am, in fact, referring to the two days we’ve spent acting like stupid, drunk, horny teenagers. Because, if I’m being an honest – what was it? – intense, storytelling Sagittarion-”
“Sagittarius,”
“-Sagittarius about it, two straight days of finally being allowed to touch you is easily the best birthday present I could get,”
“That’s so cheesy. Stop!”
But it was too late. Eddie hijacked the conversation with the art of kissing, and you were not immune to it.
It had been a big year for him, you’d thought earlier in the week when considering his birthday. His first birthday without Wayne. You’d let him off the hook. A small gift. No party. Next year, though, he’d be fucked.
…
December, the fastest moving month of the year, was cold.
You were still spending long stints at Eddie’s, briefly punctuated with nights at your apartment here and there. Clarke didn’t mind. She was growing to love the feeling of living alone.
Though Eddie was entirely different now compared to how he had been in Hawkins, his grief was still so present. It wasn’t as if you were a little scared to leave him alone, but he seemed more settled and consistent with you around.
Coffee Clash fuelled people with caffeine and cake, sending them sated over to Raconteur to finish their gift shopping. Too soon, Christmas was upon you all.
“Last year, I lied to everyone and said I was going home for Christmas,” you admitted to Eddie. You were in the store, it was a little after midnight, and it was almost done counting out the cash taken that day.
His troubled face looked up at you.
“I was fine. Don’t look at me like that… Clarke actually did go home to see her family in Florida. I got drunk by myself and ate some Chinese take out and went to bed. It wasn’t bad,”
“Surprised you didn’t get roped into Joyce’s thing,”
“No, I did. Well, no. I was invited. And then Robin invited me to her thing… which is your thing… But I told everyone I was going home.”
Joyce’s thing was a very traditional Christmas day with gifts, food, and Santa hats. Everybody was invited, but only Jonathan and Will were forced to go. Nancy, of course, would go. The year before, Argyle even accepted the invitation.
Robin’s thing was actually the Raconteur thing. For whatever lost little weirdo out there, the doors were open. The price of entry was a bottle to share, or if you could, a lukewarm dish of food. Music was played, and everyone with nowhere to go got drunk together. It had been their thing for years.
“So, you’re telling me I could have met you sooner if you’d just come to our party?”
“A couple months earlier, not much,”
“Three. Three months earlier. That’s a quarter of a year,”
“I’m… sorry?”
“You should be. Depriving me of your existence. At Christmas, no less. Tsk tsk.”
The 1993 Raconteur party was the biggest yet. At some point, it wasn’t just the lost souls, but the who’s who of the local music scene. Eddie locked his office door and gave you the key so you’d have somewhere quiet to go if you want it. Ultimately, the key was used from the inside, so nobody would walk in on you, Eddie, and the festive spirit in action.
…
Eddie was twirling an unlit cigarette between his fingers like a drumstick. He hadn’t noticed you lingering in the shadows. After the countdown ended, 1994 rang in, he had disappeared. You’d been all across the confetti-coated club in search of him.
The ‘no way out – do not open door’ sign may as well have been a ‘please enter, Eddie Munson.’ You slipped behind the door and climbed the stairs to the small third-story balcony. It was mostly home to stacks of plastic chairs, milk crates, and other old hospo shit. Eddie was leaning against the railing, deep in thought.
“Hi,”
Eddie turned. “Hi,” he replied, flicking the smoke off the balcony and holding his hand out to you.
You took it, letting Eddie pull you in front of him, pressing his chest to your back. He sandwiched you between the railing, arms wrapped around you tightly, and his head resting on your shoulder.
“What was your New Year's wish?”
“Can’t say. Won’t come true,” he replied.
“Right. Resolution then?”
“Ah… You know… Same as every year. Smoke less. Sell more records.”
You nodded, accepted the cliché.
“You?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Don’t really have one. Probably should. Can’t just make coffee and scrape by forever.”
The city was loud, full of celebration. People were down on the street, drunk and happy and introspective and a little lost. Chicago’s population in the mid-90s was expanding, neighbourhoods were being gentrified, and everything felt a little unstable but exciting. A real livewire of a place. No night felt more like that than New Year's Eve.
Eddie didn’t want ’93 to be over. If he let the calendar delineate then from now, Wayne’s death was in the then. If his death was in the past, Wayne himself was in the past. He was history while Eddie was moving forward into the future.
It wasn’t the best measure of time, Eddie knew. The only other one he had was being with you, versus not being with you. That, too, probably wasn’t the healthiest framework.
“I love you,” Eddie told you, kissing your neck.
“I love you too.” Wriggling around in his arms to face him, you brushed the hair from his face and looked at him carefully. “I love you,” you repeated.
A few more stolen kisses on an out-of-bounds balcony, then you and Eddie returned to the party. The party where Argyle had strands of tinsel through his hair, Robin was giggling with a redhead in the corner, and Steve was fighting to keep his crown as king of beer pong.
Shots. Shots. Shots.
And, Eddie grinning, “I liiiiiied,”
“About what?” you slurred back.
If anybody were paying attention, they would not have described what you and Eddie were doing as ‘dancing,’ but it was close enough. There was swaying involved, and balance only achieved by holding up each other’s weight.
“I do have, like, a resolution. Or whatever. For the year.” In actuality, Eddie hadn’t thought about it in months and months. The deadline, though, was looming. The future was coming at him whether he liked it or not.
“What issssss it?”
“Ya know that place next to us? At the store? The… the fuckin’…”
“The map store? With the maps?”
Eddie nodded, “Turns out, cartography is dead. They’re not gonna renew the lease,”
“What’s carton-og-graphy?”
He snorted. “Maps. Map store’s going out of business,”
“Nooooooooooooooo. Map guy is so nice. He loves green tea,”
“Yeah, well, I wanna take the lease,”
“You wanna sell maps?”
He snorted again and stopped swaying with you to look at your face more clearly. He smiled. “No, sweetheart. Maps will go with map guy… I wanna open a recordin’ studio.”
The alcohol being absorbed into your blood stopped you from fully comprehending. Still, you nodded. Eddie laughed.
“Let’s get outta here. I’ll show you…”
The cab ride was quick and the cab driver hated you both, which was fair.
Inside Raconteur, you twirled around Eddie’s office while he searched a filing cabinet for something. Eddie pointed at you in a hilarious warning when you drunkenly dropped the record you were trying to put on. You giggled and managed to complete the task.
Side two of Strange Days by The Doors.
People are strange when you're a stranger.
Faces look ugly when you're alone.
Women seem wicked when you're unwanted.
Streets are uneven when you're down.
“Found it!” Eddie yelled.
Suddenly, blueprints with his handwriting and drawings all over them were shoved into your hands. The lines were a little fuzzy. No, not fuzzy! They were moving!
“Eddieeeeeeee.”
He had flopped down on the couch and was looking up at you.
“I can’t read.”
He laughed and pouted sarcastically at you.
“Don’t! Don’t laugh at me!” You handed him back the blueprints and sat next to him.
“Look, here.” He began to point out the rooms as he spoke. “I’d knock this wall down. Set up a studio in there. Sound proofin’ and that kinda shit. I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I haven’t really looked at the numbers,”
“The numbers,” you squeaked, giggling. “So serious. Businessman,”
“Alright… Well… yeah, I mean… I haven’t done shit since before… Whatever. But if I can. This… this would be cool. There’s some fuckin’ cool bands around,”
“Wait… This is for other people?”
“Yeah?”
“Ohhhhhhhhh, I thought you were gonna be a rockstar.”
Eddie laughed, rolled the blueprints up, and put them aside. “Come ‘ere,” he ordered, pulling you onto his lap. You straddled his legs, sitting with all your weight down. “I used to wanna be one,”
“But then?”
He reached up, ran his thumb along your bottom lip. “But then… I dunno… Bought a record store instead,”
“I’d buy your record store.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Oh, sweetheart, you already have.” Eddie nuzzled into your neck, leaving kisses and bites in a line.
…
“Steven,”
“Babychino… Ah, was wondering if you wanted to swap places for the afternoon?”
“You can’t make coffee,”
“Nancy can.”
Nancy’s face lit up. You’d started to take turns making coffee and serving customers. Hiding at the machine was the better of the jobs.
“Why?” you asked.
“Uh, well, you know how we’re sponsoring that battle of the bands or whatever? Eddie’s letting some kid band borrow some of his equipment. He needs to take over there. But, you know…”
You shook your head at Steve and shrugged.
“Gotta empty his van…”
“Oh…”
Eddie’s van still had the boxes of Wayne’s things stacked inside.
“I offered to like, move everything. Said I just put it in his office or whatever, but he just went all quiet. He’s been out the back for an hour,”
“Yeah, okay, but Nancy – this does not count for my machine-turn, okay?”
Raconteur was eerily quiet. The radio was tuned to a local station, but the volume was barely audible. Steve clearly hadn’t told Eddie he was leaving the store; it was completely unsupervised. Opening the back door, you lingered in the doorway in case a customer wandered in.
Eddie was leaning against the dumpster, watching his van like it was a sentient beast liable to attack at any moment. He looked over at you, then nodded resignedly.
“Wondered how long it would take,” he said, a little bitter for your taste.
“Kinda what happens when you make friends, Eddie. They care about you. Want to help you,”
“I don’t need help moving a few boxes. And they don’t need to go get my girlfriend whenever they don’t like my mood.”
It was strange to feel hurt by a sentence that referred to you as his girlfriend. That seemed like an implausible combination. You sucked on your teeth, the sound drawing Eddie’s gaze again, then went inside.
Eddie followed you in, feeling worse than he had a minute before.
“I didn’t mean… I’m sorry,” he said.
You leaned on the store’s counter and started to straighten up the pile of paper stabbed through the receipt spike.
“Where’s Steve?” Eddie asked.
“We swapped jobs for the afternoon,”
“Was I that much of an asshole?”
“That’s not what he said.” You turned to face him. “He didn’t know what to do. But he’s not stupid. He could see you need help.”
Eddie clenched his jaw and breathed hard through his nose.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
He shook his head and looked anywhere but at you. If he didn’t want to talk, it meant he wanted touch. You went to him, and it was enough permission for him to close the gap with a hug.
“Do you want me to move them?”
“No… I can do it…”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah… yeah… I can do it.”
Empowered by the kisses you gave to his forehead, nose, and lips, Eddie went back outside. Between serving customers, you listened as he piled the boxes in the break room. It didn’t take long. When he returned to you, he was holding something small.
“What’s that?”
“Must have fallen out a box… Just sitting in the back of the van.”
Eddie handed you a pocket knife. It was probably a very expensive thing when it was bought, but it had aged. It had weight to it, and a strange kind of beauty.
“Wayne’s?”
Eddie nodded.
“Makes me think of the apple man,”
“Huh… Yeah, shit. A nice little flip knife would have been a way cooler present than a bag of fucking apples.”
You handed it back to him. “What did Wayne use it for?”
“Nothing… Don’t think it meant anything either. Just something he had,”
“You could give it to the apple man,”
“Wonder if he’s still there. Could be dead by now,”
“Eddie,” you warned.
“People die, you know,” he said with a shit-eating grin on his face.
“And, he’s back.”
…
It was February 1994, Black Sabbath had just released their 17th album, but once again, Dio was out and Tony Martin was in. Eddie was hyper-fixated on it. Despite the constant bitching about the record and Dio’s departure, etc. etc., he played it non-stop. The only real break from it was when you pouted and begged to hear Tori Amos’ new record, Under the Pink.
“You love Cornflake Girl!”
“Shhhhhhh!” Eddie would shush you, press a finger to lips if you were in reach.
His obsession was a glaring red flag to you.
It was a lie what they said about time healing a broken heart. You could see it in Eddie. The shadows under his eyes. The guitar that sat in the corner of his office hadn’t moved in a while. The lack of snark about Steve’s new haircut.
Eddie wasn’t scared that time wouldn’t heal. He was, however, scared of what it was likely to do. It could eat at the memories he had of Wayne. Erode them. Take the pieces of his broken heart and grind them down too. He’d be empty. A fucking ghost town.
He knew you saw it. Or more accurately, saw through it. The Black Sabbath discourse. The constant roster of Raconteur Records supported events. The masking. Eddie wanted to reassure you. He wanted to feel like he was getting better. He just didn’t know what to do or say.
As winter finally began to thaw, you started to think about what it would take to jumpstart Eddie’s mind into processing, into healing. There would be no tricking, no talking, no subtlety. If you were going to help, you had to take a risk.
…
Eddie hadn’t slept so great. He was still working out a way he could keep you in his bed every single night without being too clingy; it had only been about four months since your official first date. He was yawning as he drove through Wicker Park to open the Raconteur, your cassette copy of Let Love In by Nick Cave playing. Jangling Jack gave way to Red Right Hand.
The lights were on inside the store as Eddie drove past it and turned down the staff car park’s alleyway. It wasn’t uncommon for Robin to leave them on, she was sometimes scatterbrained, but there was no way in hell she’d have left the security gates up overnight like they were. Someone must already be there.
You met him at the back door.
“You okay? What’s going on?” he asked, dropping his bag in his office and grabbing your face to stare into your soul.
“Jesus. Eddie, I’m fine!” You giggled nervously.
He kissed you and looked at you carefully once more before letting the tension out of his shoulders. He nodded, convinced.
“Alright. What’s happening though? Who gave you keys? Whatcha’ doing here so early?”
“I have a surprise… for you. Um, no. That’s not what I… should say…”
Eddie frowned, said your name slowly. “You’re kinda freaking me out,”
“I know! I know. Sorry. Just. Um.”
Fuck. There was no real way of introducing it. A ‘surprise’ sounded too whimsical and fun. However, saying something like ‘I have done something’ was weirdly confessional and ominous.
You sighed and tried again.
“I had an idea and once I saw it in my head, I couldn’t just… let it go. If you hate it, or it makes you feel… bad… I can change it.”
Eddie’s eyes flicked to the shop floor, his head cocked in interest. “You did something to the store?”
You nodded but failed to move.
“Shall we… take a look?”
You nodded and followed him through, then positioned yourself far enough away from him that you could see his face fully and watch every micro expression. There was no way he could have been prepared.
Eddie was looking for major changes. He’d already put together that Robin was somehow involved. She had closed the night before and had been pushy about getting Eddie out of there as early as possible. So, major changes. Entire sections relocated to the other side of the store. Counter and register moved too. That kind of thing. But at first glance, it was still the store he knew and loved.
The emotion changing from a confused searching to confused recognition happened in a split second. Eddie’s face froze blank.
All the hooks that had been holding shitty Christmas decorations, then had been left empty over January and February, now proudly held Wayne’s baseball cap collection. There were the fourteen from the trailer’s wall, plus others found in the clean-up.
Above them, a series of thin floating shelves sat, the new home to Eddie and Wayne’s mugs. The 1977 plastic Star Wars, and the Chewbacca. Don’t bother me, I’m crabby. The Morton Salt girl. Campbell’s Soup, green cable knit sweater, the McDonalds, Maxwell House, and Disney. The Cleen ‘Kiss that Frog’ accordion gnome. And all the Garfields, grouped together.
As the seconds ticked by, you had to fight the urge to fill the silence with explanation and apologies. Your hands were held together tightly and you were rocking on the spot.
His face still entirely neutral, Eddie suddenly sat down with his legs arched in front of him. His eyes didn’t leave the hats and mugs.
Slowly, you knelt next to him. “I need you to say something,” you whispered.
“I’m scared that I’ll forget him,” Eddie whispered back, tears beginning to pool in his eyes. “That I’ll stop thinking about him, you know?”
Before you could tell him that he wouldn’t, he spoke again.
“But… It’s like… I’m too fucking scared to think about him on purpose. If I see his face or I talk about him then it’s… Real. Like, real real. And, and I know it is. It’s been… four months? Four months. And I think I’ve been… living in this space where… it’s not real. He’s not gone.”
You nodded; it was exactly what it looked like he’d been doing.
“But, um… Those should be in his home,” Eddie continued. “But they’re here… Jesus. Oh, fuck.” He pushed the heel of his palms into his eyes. “He’s gone.”
Swallowing hard, you shuffled closer to him. He looked at you.
“Do you want me to take them down?”
“God, no. No. This-” He waved over at the store. “-is perfect. It’s… I mean, I feel fucked, but maybe in the way I need to? I don’t know… It’s perfect. You’re perfect,”
“It’s not about me,”
“Actually, pretty much everything is about you. For me,”
“Eddie…”
“Come here.” He pulled you up with him, went back to his trademark position of holding your face in his hands and squishing your cheeks. “I love you so fucking much,”
“I love you too.”
Like a plaster cast cut from a healed limb, Eddie felt something inside him snap.
End note In case you've not seen it, here's Eddie's van. xo Rhi
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
•summary: the steve harrington y/n knew before was completely different from the steve harrington standing in front of her now. the conceited, snobby, entitled and arrogant boy she once hated was replaced by a clone, a clone that was caring, soft, patient and such a selfless man. this steve harrington was easy to love..which wasn’t good.
•tags: enemies to lovers, mean steve in the beginning, bullying, high school steve to adult steve, angst to fluff, mutual yearning, cuss words, use of y/n/she/her, height difference (unspecified), mention of steve and nancy being together in the beginning, no upside down, steve and robin still works at family video, platonic robin buckley and eddie munson, y/n mentioned wearing makeup, kind of spicy
might be lengthy to some!!
•a/n: i just love steve and wanted to write for him again, likes and comments are greatly appreciated, any typos and misspelling please ignore!
steve “the hair” harrington was an asshole, honestly that’s an understatement. steve harrington was conceited, snobby, entitled and arrogant and oh, did he know it, he was the school’s golden boy. he knew he was untouchable, unreachable and the only ones who were privileged enough to be around him knew that as well, never trying to get on steve’s bad side and getting replaced in a heartbeat.
y/n l/n wasn’t apart of the popular group, she wasn’t apart of any group. she never really seen why people would lose their individuality and dignity to fit in with a group of people who’ll grow out of each other right after graduation. y/n didn’t care for social status, she cared about sincerity and loyalty, something no one in hawkins had, including steve “haughty” harrington.
life wasn’t so bad for y/n, her routine was the same everyday, wake up each morning with a deep pit in her stomach, get ready to go to the one place that she dreaded most and survive until the final bell. a routine almost everyone had, well, everyone who wasn’t steve harrington and his minions. y/n didn’t know when the snarky “jokes” and the harsh teasing started but she wished they never began in the first place. as she walked into the parking lot of hawkins high, she immediately spotted the group she hated most, the group that caused so much damage to her mental and emotional state,leaning against steve’s sleek burgundy BMW, y/n quickly sped off towards the school’s entrance hoping they wouldn’t spot her, but it seems as though luck wasn’t on her side today, or any other day
“uh oh, look at who’s trying to run away like a punk!” yelled out a feminine voice, the voice y/n knew all too well, carol perkins, the red haired girl that attached herself to tommy hagan like a pathetic stray dog. y/n didn’t turn back, she knew that was targeted at her but it was best to try and ignore it, maybe this time they’ll understand that she wanted to be left alone, at least for today, to go completely invisible and be ignored by all those around her “did that bitch just ignore us? who the hell does she think she is!” another voice was heard, this time it belonged to tommy h, he was worse than carol with his insults but he didn’t compare to steve, he was the worse out of them all, he was cruel with his words and his physical actions, he didn’t care how harsh he got, he didn’t care who he provoked, he was steve harrington after all
behind her, y/n could hear footsteps approaching her then she felt a firm tight grip on her arm and was suddenly turned around roughly, forced to look at the one face she detested most “you’ve got some nerve today huh. ignoring people is ill mannered don’t you think? or do people as underprivileged as you lack manners by nature?” asked steve, grinning with his straight white teeth, he stood there confidently like the world was his, the chocolate hair perfectly styled slicked like always, his glowy skin covered with light beauty marks and freckles, his clothes freshly washed and polished, his signature shiny wristwatch gleaming in the early morning sunlight, the shell of a person he molded himself to be screamed perfect but y/n knew the real steve, the steve who hid behind all the money and ego, he was a little boy desperate for the attention he never was given at home, the love he sought out for that was never shown to him, not even by his own parents or the countless girlfriends he had, his latest victim being nancy wheeler “what’s wrong? can’t freaks like you speak? too dumb to hold a simple conversation” steve spit out, his squinted eyes staring deeply into hers, his pointer finger roughly tapped against her forehead nudging her head backwards, making her stumble back “it’s kind of pathetic of you to stand here and not even fight back. you’re just a punching bag no one seems to care for” steve laughed out, arms folded against his chest, everyone in his group laughing with him, as if he said such a harmless joke, as if they weren’t destroying her self esteem. it disgusted her, how humans could be so brutal with their words and actions, all because of their social status and wealth, all because the odds were in their favor
y/n just stared at the taller frame in front of her, pity swirled behind her irises “do you want to know what’s more pathetic, steve” y/n spoke, her voice low but steady, a smirk painted on steve’s rosy lips “i’m dying to know freak” he replied, getting closer to her, using his height to intimidate the girl in front of him “i find it extremely pathetic of you to take out your emotions on others,the lack of attention and love turned you into the worse kind of monster. until you heal that void in your heart, you’ll just continue living a soulless life being a fraud with fickle friends who leech onto you only for their own benefit. just admit you’re an insecure little boy seeking approval and validation and not this golden, godlike man you pretend to be” her head held up high, y/n knew saying that could either make the bullying stop or make it worse, but she couldn’t go down without a fight.
a moment of silence fell between them, neither could say anything and maybe that was for the best. steve stared down at y/n with his big hazel brown eyes, an expression she never seen before, it wasn’t anger, it wasn’t teasing, it wasn’t pride, it was something more like vulnerability, shock, and realization and y/n was more than satisfied with that, leaving him with nothing more to say, she turned around and walked through the entrance of the hellhole she was forced to attend until graduation without looking back at the boy who stood there shell shocked.
-
-
-
y/n thought she finally made it out of her slothful town. getting into her dream college and moving far from everyone who reminded her of her shitty teen years, making new memories, better memories with better people who weren’t small minded and judgmental, she grew into a well rounded woman with accomplishments under her belt but sometimes life knocks you down when you thought you’ve finally made it. after all her successes she had to go back to the place she ran away from the moment her diploma landed in her palms. the second her feet boarded off the plane y/n felt the pit of despair in her stomach return, the same feeling she thought was finally gone but something’s don’t change even after years of growth. the ride from the airport back to her childhood home was silent, there wasn’t much to say, the horrible memories came flooding back, younger her waking up everyday wishing she was born in another life, with different cards dealt to her, in a different place that wasn’t hawkins but there wasn’t anything she could do, she couldn’t change the past but but she sure as hell will change her future even if she was cursed to come back to this shitty place she unfortunately called home.
luckily the universe had gifted her an amazing mother who never made her life more miserable than it already was, a mother who cared for her more than herself. the moment the door to her childhood home opened y/n was pulled into a warm, comforting embrace, a reassuring embrace she didnt know she so desperately needed, it was a reminder that already was going to be okay, with tears in her eyes she knew through all the bullshit she had experienced, in this new chapter of life she’ll be in control of everything and show everyone the strong woman she had grown into.
the first step y/n decided she needed to do was find a job, she couldn’t stay cooped up in the room that had such depressing memories, staring at the same four walls from sunrise to sunset. she applied to different positions all around town, the run down supermarket, the local library, the old movie theatre, the local rental store family video, the diner only old people went to for lunch, literally anywhere. y/n didn’t care where she’ll be working at, as long as she had some sort of distraction and income, and after three weeks of painfully, desperately waiting near her house phone for any calls about getting a job, she finally got a call from the manager of family video asking if she could come in for an in person interview tomorrow at 2pm , without any second thoughts she immediately said yes.
the next day she got ready earlier then necessary, making sure her makeup was put together, her hair was perfectly style, her outfit was clean and simple, all while the nerves tangled up in her stomach got worse as the clock ticked slowly. by 1:30pm she headed out to her interview, hopefully things would go well. the walk to family video wasn’t long, she got there by 1:55pm, the sound of her heartbeat ringed louder than the bell above her head as she entered the outdated designed rental store. the walls painted in an off white color, with an obnoxious orange color and a forest green color striped across, it reminded her of hawkins high school colors, the tacky uniforms the cheerleaders and basketball used to wear around school to show off their popularity, the same uniform steve used to wear…steve harrington… y/n often thought of him from time to time, curious about how life treated him after high school. she hated herself for even wasting her energy thinking about that asshole, he’s probably living the perfect white picket fence lifestyle everyone in hawkins ended up living, working in a small cube all day then coming home to his dolled up pristine housewife and his big beautiful litter of kids. y/n doesn’t even know why her mind went back to her high school bully, but she hoped she’ll never have to see anyone from the worst time of her life, especially steve harrington
the store smelt of old carpet and dust, the lights weren’t bright, it was more warm and comforting. as y/n walked up to the dark brown wooden counter she spotted a pretty girl with short dirty blonde hair, a plaid button up shirt, and a green vest with her name tag on it “robin” there’s no doubt she attended hawkins high, everyone in town did, but y/n didn’t really care for making friends back then and she wasn’t really known anyway. the short haired girl was slightly turned facing the male behind the counter, wearing the same dark green vest but his back was turned, all y/n could see was the shaggy strands of hair that looked extremely familiar, call her crazy for thinking a head of hair looked familiar but something twisted in her stomach just by the sight of the wavy brown hair, it reminded her a certain someone
“hi! i’m y/n, i’m here for the interview” y/n said softly, not trying to spook the two workers with her sudden appearance, robin fully turned her frame to face y/n, a wide smile painted on her pinky lips “yeah hey! i’m robin, keith should be the one to do your interview, i’ll tell him you’re here” robin said, her raspy voice echoed throughout the empty store, her teeth perfectly straight as she smiled before walking towards the back of the store leaving y/n with the male in front of her, suddenly he turned around painfully slow, his body language oozing shame, he fully faced her and y/n’s heart dropped down to her stomach, her ears rang muffling any other sound around her
steve harrington was standing in front of her.
the steve harrington that spend years going out of his way to make y/n’s life a living hell, with his asshole friends who had nothing better to do then ruins another person’s life, the same steve harrington that constantly degraded everything she did, from the way she walked, the way she talked and even the way she breathed seemed wrong to him, the same steve harrington she hoped to never see ever again. he stood there with an expression she couldn’t read and she didn’t want to try. he looked different, he was older, taller, muscular, he looked more natural and unkept in a good way, he didn’t have his hair perfectly styled caked up in hair gel and hairspray, his hair was loose and free, his clothes still were clean and polished but it fit his from differently, more masculine and his signature wristwatch around his wrist, the watch still shining in the sunlight seeping through the tall glass windows. he’s changed but there’s still parts of his present appearance that reminded her of the immature boy who taunted her existence back then.
they didn’t speak, how could any of them speak. a former bully and the former bully’s victim, it’s borderline comedic. steve couldn’t stand still, awkwardly stepping from foot to foot while anxiously fidgeting with his callused hands, y/n just stared at him, unable to move or speak, she should’ve known he was the one behind the counter, of course he’d be the one behind the fucking counter.
he was a curse y/n couldn’t run away from. out of all places, he’d be here, looking healthier and stronger, more handsome than before and even happier. it’s unfair
“y/n.” that voice wasn’t how she remembered, it was deeper and smooth, it lacked the arrogance and obnoxiousness he used whenever he spoke to her or anyone he thought was below him, he sounded much more softer, she didn’t know if this version of steve was better or worse
“y/n. i-i, listen i-i’m so-“ steve spoke, his voice shaky now but before he could finish his sentence robin came back out with a smile, unaware of the thick tension in the air “so! he said to just go back there for the interview, but be prepared for him to ask you odd questions or force you to mention weird things like naming your top three favorite movies. oh! and he’s like always covered in cheese dust, it’s kind of gross but getting a job here isn’t hard at all so i’m pretty sure you’ll get hired, if this idiot can work here, so can you” robin whispered like she was sharing a secret, she pointed at steve behind her with her chipped polished pointer finger “o-okay. that’s good to know..” y/n whispered back, not in a playful way like robin, more in an unaware foggy way, to be truthful y/n didn’t hear most of what robin said, she was still shocked seeing the same face that churned her stomach and to make matters worse, she came to the realization she’ll have to work side by side with said male if she was unlucky enough to get the job.
-
-
-
y/n got the job, she’s been working at family video for a full two months now and it’s been hell.
steve has been on edge the entire shift, only speaking to costumers and barely acknowledging the freckled girl like he once did two months before. he couldn’t believe a piece of his past resurfaced like a reminder of many people he’s hurt because of the character he played back in high. school, hurting others in his past when he hated himself the most, during a time in his life where he thought making everyone around him miserable to fill that bleeding hole in his abandoned heart, he’s never forgotten the words said to him from that day back in high school
“i find it extremely pathetic of you to take out your emotions on others,the lack of attention and love turned you into the worse kind of monster. until you heal that void in your heart, you’ll just continue living a soulless life being a fraud with fickle friends who leech onto you only for their own benefit. just admit you’re an insecure little boy seeking approval and validation and not this golden, godlike man you pretend to be”
fuck, she was right, she was completely right. after she spoke those words to him, his life did a 360, karma was a pain in the ass. his ex girlfriend, nancy wheeler, ghosted him to be with jonathan byers, she seemed happier with him, all the colleges he applied to denied him, after he graduated his parents completely cut him off and forced him to work a 9-5 to “teach him a lesson”, his love life went straight into the gutter with every woman either flat out rejecting him or using him as a rebound just to get over the boyfriends they’ll eventually take back, his only friends are a group of teenagers he babysat whenever they remembered he was alive and an ex band geek who makes fun of him every chance she gets. steve knew his life wasn’t what anyone, not even himself, expected to be but that’s because the mask he used to put up was perfect, so perfect even he was manipulated by it, except for y/n. she seen past it, she knew him better than most.
“steve, what’s up with you? you’ve been acting more weird than usual” robin suddenly said while putting movies in order by genre “w-what are you even talking about, i’m fine, completely fine” steve replied, quicker than necessary “dude, stop being dense. you’ve been so stiff recently and barely even talking. normally you talk as much as i do, and that’s a lot, like a loooot” robin explained, now facing the male next to her, an eyebrow raised “it’s nothing, just drop it.” steve nervously said, not trying to explain how much his shame was eating him alive and how shitty he treated the woman who’s rewinding the returned tapes in the backroom “no i’m not going to drop it. ever since y/n started working here it’s like you’ve completely turned into a different person. what is it? do you like her? i mean i can understand that, she’s like super beautiful but if you were interested in her then you’d tell her a corny pick up like or something and you haven’t done that so what’s going on?” robin whispered, she was honestly fed up with the awkward tension in the air between her friend and her new pretty coworker “i-it’s complicated. we kinda have a past but not a good one, well i wasn’t the best person to her in high school..” steve whispered back, guilt painted all over his face “steve, you weren’t the best person to everyone back in high school, what’s the big deal now” robin laughed “no, no like i was super mean to her, i was so fucking stupid back then and i really feel like shit knowing all the crap i put her through. she left hawkins right after she graduated so i never really had the chance to apologize to her. seeing her again and knowing she remembers the version of myself i hate most feels like a slap in the face, i want to apologize but i don’t know when’s the right time or how she’ll react or-“ steve said, roughly tugging on his wavy hair
“dude, chill out. how much of an asshole were you to her?” robin cut him off, seeing him stressed out like this made her realize how serious the was to him “a major asshole. the biggest one. the last conversation was me calling her pathetic and a fucking punching bag. i’m honestly so shocked she hasn’t slapped me yet for how i treated her back then” he said while looking away from the short haired girl next to him
he couldn’t face anyone knowing how crappy he treated other in his past, especially someone like her, how could he treat her like she was discarding trash under his shoes. the girl who used to dot her i’s with little hearts, the girl who used to shyly smile to herself after the teacher praised her over something small, the girl who used to come to school with cute mismatched socks, the girl who used to nervously bite her nails when she focused too hard on something, the girl who still makes his heart beat out of his chest even after all these years
“look. i’m not sure how she sees you or how she feels about you but you need to fix it. not only because you now work with her, but because you’ve probably hurt her and you still haven’t given her a proper apology, i’m sure you probably left her with some kind of emotional distress and it’s clear the guilt is eating you up alive, you’ve been glancing over to her with sad puppy dog eyes” robin said, he didn’t even notice he’s been staring at her, his eyes seemed to always drift to the girl who definitely hates his guts, this was his karma but he’s going to try make things better, even if he had
-
-
-
“so…you want us to talk good about you so that she’ll know you’ve changed? that’s the most idiotic plan you’ve had yet” dustin said while shaking his head, his curls bouncing with the movement “yeah man i agree. that sounds pretty childish and that’s coming from me. just apologize to her normally, i mean, you apologized to me and we’re cool now” eddie smirked, smacking steve’s back firmly with his popcorn butter fingers “it’s not the same. first of all, dustin technically forced us to become friends and second of all, you had a reputation that you kind of lived up to, i went out of my way to purposely make her life a living hell” steve explained, his eyes glued onto his living room tv, mindlessly staring at the boring movie playing on it “you know, i applaud you for wanting to make things right with the people you’ve wronged but this seems different, you’ve put more thought into making amends with her than you’ve had with anyone else, shit, you apologized to me by saying “sorry for treating you like crap man” and awkwardly putting me on my back then offered me a beer” eddie said while shoving his face with a handful of popcorn “yeah, i remember that. wait so do you like her? is this way you’re trying so hard?” asked dustin curiously “no..maybe.. i don’t fucking know. i just keep thinking about to how mean i was to her and how one minute she’d have the sweetest smile on her face and then she sees me and her face completely changes to disgust. i know i’ve hurt her and i just really want to change that, even if she punches me it’ll be well deserved and worth it” steve said dragging his palms against his face
“yeah he totally likes her. okay fine, we’ll help but i think it’s a shitty idea” dustin said while shrugging his shoulders, eddie agreed with the curly haired boy.
y/n felt like her life was a roller coaster, high school sucked for her which was her low point, her moving from hawkins and actually enjoying life which was her high but now she’s back at square one, working at a shitty job with the man who seemed to have changed for the better or at least that’s what the curly haired boy at the counter is saying shouting
“yeah, it’s so amazing how much you’ve changed harrington! you’ve grown into such a well rounded man with a good heart!” dustin said stiffly, trying his hardest to get the attention of silent girl who’s placing tapes by genre, the girl steve has been staring at for the past 10 minutes “i agree! he’s such a great helper too, he helped me find a blunt i lost, true story!” eddie followed up with, aggressively nodding his head as a sign of appreciation and approval, y/n snickered at that, they both sounded so ridiculous to her and to anyone with ears. she knew they were trying to get her attention, i mean, she couldn’t ignore their loud talking and steve’s staring
her little reaction caught their attention immediately, eddie decided to step things a little further “steve’s really a changed man, right? completely different from the boy back in high school” now that made her laugh louder than she intended to, but who can blame her? here was eddie munson speaking so highly about steve harrington, the same steve harrington who once made fun of him for having a choppy haircut back in sophomore year and only calling him “the freak” instead of his actual name “what’s so humorous sweetheart?” eddie asked, now turning his attention to the sunkissed girl “i just find it funny how you can speak so kindly about him. maybe hell cooled over after all” y/n replied, still placing the tapes in its rightful place “maybe..or maybe the devil himself had a change of heart” eddie shot back, sliding his body next to hers, getting into her personal space with a grin “i highly doubt that” y/n quickly replied, ignoring his close proximity “wanna bet and put money on it? i feel like making some easy money on this beautiful friday” eddie laughed out “whatever munson, you might be brainwashed by him but not me” y/n rolled her eyes at the shaggy haired jester and walking past him into the break room “she’s a tough cookie, you think harrington will win her over?” asked eddie, walking back to the curly haired boy “probably not.” he said while walking towards the exit “wanna bet on it?” eddie asked as they both walked out of the rental store
as y/n cut a corner heading to the break room she embarrassingly bumped into a firm back, the back of steve harrington..of course
“woah sorry, are you okay?” asked steve, his voice soft and his big brown eyes connecting with hers, and of course her stupid heart sped up as his hands gently stabilize her stance, why wasn’t her heart functioning with her brain? there’s no way she could feel the blood rushing to her ears “y/n..?“ steve softly spoke, snapping her out of the daze she was in, finally coming back to reality and being hyper aware of how close he was standing, she took a small step back “sorry. i wasn’t looking” she said as she turned around, trying to leave the awkward tension
until she felt the same warm hand that was just holding her arm now being wrapped around her wrist, his touch was feather light “y/n..i want to apologize. i know it’s long overdue and pathetic but please, please just hear me out” steve begged, a wave of déjà vu hit y/n, this reminded her of the time where she finally stood up to him and left him standing there to face his true self, the self he was truly terrified of “i shouldn’t listen to anything you have to say harrington. i think we said enough before, don’t you think?” y/n replied, turning her body back to the taller man, his expression disheveled and vulnerable “y/n please. i know you should be punching me right now and i’d a thousand percent deserve it but please, i just-i just can’t go another day knowing i’ve hurt you and still haven’t given you a proper apology after all these years. i know i was an asshole and you were right about everything you said before, i was an insecure little boy who never had anyone who truly cared for me or even..loved me in my life, i took out my emotions on those around me because of it but y/n, i promise i’ve grown after high school, not only because life humbled me but because your words made me realize how how shitty my life was and how immature i was” steve spoke, both of his hands grasping onto her hands tenderly, hoping she felt his true genuine emotions in his words
“steve. this is-i can’t…i can’t see you as anyone different from the guy who’d make ruthless remarks about my appearance and my intelligence…you’ve said some things that seriously effects how i am now and not in a good way. there’s days i can’t even stomach looking at myself in the mirror without hearing the things you’ve said to me with a grin, taunting me and treating me like i was the dirt on your shoe…i need some time, i appreciate your apology greatly but, it’s just too much right now” y/n said, her hands trembled, steve slowly let go of her
he knew his actions had serve consequences but this was the worse thing he’d ever done, the sweet girl he thought was too good for him was so affected by his disgusting behavior and made him sick, he imagined her staring at her own reflection with shame all because of what he’s said to her back in high school where he’d do the same when no one was looking. his stomach twisted with shame and disappointment
“y/n, im so sorry..” steve whispered out, watching her frame leave through blurry eyes. he’s really fucked up big time
-
-
-
it’s been a week since the conversation happened, y/n avoided steve like the plague, not intentionally, it seemed like her body was programmed to do so, like flight or fight mode, she was a flight kind of girl apparently. steve thought apologizing would ease the tension in the air and the guilt in his heart but boy, did he thought wrong, he knew y/n was ignoring him, staying hidden in the back room throughout most of the shift and he knew he deserved it
“gosh, the tension in the air is more suffocating than before…” robin whispered under her breath, she looked at steve with pity, he just stared emptily at air while y/n unpacked new tapes stiffly, robin couldn’t handle seeing them like this anymore, an entire week passed with them doing the same thing they’re doing now, it was getting awkward for her to handle, she had to do something about it. robin walked towards the backroom, a slight frown on her chapped lips and sat on the ground next to y/n “hey stranger, how’s everything going back here?” robin sweetly asked, her raspy smooth voice danced in the air for a moment “it’s going good” y/n responded tightly, a faked smile on her lips “okay so now tell me the truth” robin replied, tilting her head slightly, y/n sighed softly deciding whether or not she should be honest with the freckled girl beside her “it’s…it’s been horrible. i’m pretty sure steve told you about him apologizing to me and everything. i just can’t seem to get his words out of my mind, i truly want to believe him, my heart does this stupid thing every time i think of him but i keep getting reminded of how he was, how he treated me and the words he’s said to me when i was already at my lowest… it’s too much” y/n admitted, the weight on her chest finally lifted after telling robin what’s been running through her head
robin understood y/n, she felt the same way back when she started working with steve at scoops ahoy, all she seen was an arrogant snobby rich boy who walked around school as if he was royalty but after getting to know steve harrington and seeing how much he’s grown as a person, as a man, she knew y/n would see it eventually as well but for now, a little reassurance and a nudge would help her see it a little faster “i understand. and your feelings and thought process is completely valid and understandable, the ball is in your court but..i just want you to know that steve’s genuinely changed, i know it’s impossible to believe me and trust me i was the same before but after seeing how much he’s grown into a better version of himself really was eye opening. he’s deeply disgusting with himself for treating you the way he did. just know he’s going to try his hardest to prove that to you” robin said, her ringed fingers lightly rubbed up and down against y/n back, comforting the emotional distraught girl next to her
y/n had a lot to think of while also fighting the battle between her heart and her brain, she was so confused on what else to do, she wanted to fully accept his apology and forgive him but doubt pulled her back, being fearful this was one of his tactics to get her to accept and trust him just to turn back into the steve she knew too well.
after having that conversation with robin, y/n couldn’t sleep. she stayed up throughout the night staring at her off white ceiling unsure, everyone around her has said he’s changed, and after his apology and seeing how hollow he’s looked for the entire week of her ignoring him, it seemed like he was genuinely…maybe she should give him the benefit of the doubt, maybe he’s actually changed and she was just too stubborn to admit that. y/n never was able to get her heart and her mind to agree with one another but something she able to get a hold on was her future, she wasn’t naïve and wide eyed anymore, she knew if steve was playing a role she’d see right through it and she didn’t see that with him anymore, he was more genuine and sure, even with his appearance. his loose deep brown hair moved freely, his beauty marks kissed his skin all across his neck and muscular arms, his big downturned brown eyes that followed her every move, his cupid bowed lips formed into a frown everytime she’d glance at him. he was handsome, he always was..tomorrow she’ll give him the benefit of the doubt and treat him like an actual human, she told her self it was because she wanted to move on from the past and not hold onto any trauma, it definitely wasn’t because her heart jumped every time she’d smell his musky,earthy cologne and he definitely wasn’t because her face would get all hot listening to his voice when he spoke to customers…
y/n was definitely fucked.
the next day at work went the same as the day before, steve and robin getting to work first since they car pooled together every morning, keith already sitting in his office drinking a bottle of mountain dew as if it was water then five minutes after y/n shows up and the long shift finally begins. y/n walked in giving robin her usual soft smile and wave but she decided to do something out of the usual routine “good morning steve” she said with a smile, then headed towards the backroom. steve stood there unable to process that three second interaction, robin was shocked as well, normally y/n would walk past steve like he wasn’t even there but she actually knowledge him and it was a nice interaction “dingus…she just spoke to you…on her own” robin said, her eyes wide “yeah…she did…i don’t know how to react, my heart is beating way too fast, it’s concerning” steve said, matching his friend’s expression, robin let out an airy laughed, maybe her words did give her a little nudge “i really am the best” robin whispered to herself with an accomplished grin
the rest of the shift went on like normal, customers coming in to either return the tapes they rented out or customers trying to find something new to rent out for family movie nights, speaking of movie nights that reminded steve of tonight’s movie night at his place, everyone was coming over to his place to see “who’s that girl” which wasn’t his pick, he wasn’t really a madonna guy but it was robin’s turn to pick the movie they were going to watch so it was only fair “so you’ve got all the snacks we asked for? because last movie night you didn’t get any snickers and that broke my heart” robin said, her soft palm pressed against her chest over her heart dramatically “yeah yeah, i don’t know how you guys can eat so much junk, are your teeth okay?” asked steve, genuinely concerned about her health and her dental care “they’re perfect! thank you very much!” robin scoffed, while rolling her eyes “hey…would it be crazy if i invited y/n? i mean…i know i’ll be pushing it but i think she’d love the movie you picked, she was always into madonna. i remember she’d always hum some of her songs during class” steve smiled to himself, reminiscing on the small moments of her where he’d watch from a far and didn’t make her frown “you’re so in love it’s gross man. but i do think maybe it’ll be a nice gesture to invite her. she’d have fun with us, we’re funny…well i don’t know about you but me and eddie are” robin said with a grin, she might not show it and hid it behind all the teasing but she was cheering for them, what can she say, she was a sucker for a potential good ending
y/n walked out from the break room and out to the front of the store, standing side by side with steve, steve seen this as an opportunity to invite her “hey y/n…i was wondering maybe, only if you’re free, you’d like to come..by my place to see a movie? i’m having movie night at 8pm with robin, eddie and some other friends, we’re going to watch “who’s that girl”madonna’s in it, i remember you used to listen to her songs back in high school so-“ steve rambled on but y/n cut him off “yeah i’d come over, just as long as you have kitkats and hershey’s” y/n teased, a slight smile on her pretty lips “anything you want, i’d get all the kitkats and hersheys in the store” steve said, half joking and half serious, this is the first time they were interacting with each other and it was positive, innocent, lighthearted, if this was a dream steve sure as hell didn’t want to wake from it “how’d you know i liked madonna?” y/n asked curiously, she never told him that “well, it’s embarrassing and kind of creepy to confess but..in mrs.adam’s class i’d listen to you humming songs and i remember you’d hum madonna songs more frequently, it was cute seeing you in your own world” steve admitted, his face beet red, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his navy blue levi’s, y/n smiled at his confession fondly, she never thought she’d hear the steve harrington say something like that, especially about her
“that was really dorky of you”
“yeah yeah i know”
-
-
-
y/n knocked on the brownish-reddish wooden doors of steve’s house, anxiety clawing at her heart, she knew there wasn’t anything to be anxious about but this was the first time she’s ever been at steve’s place, even back in high school she never stepped near his residence, the endless parties that she never attended to just so she wouldn’t be around his presence, all that effort was going down the drain tonight “well what do we have here, hey sweetheart, you decided to show up fashionably late” eddie munson teased the moment he swung the door open, his ringed fingers wrapped around the door “duh, how else would i show up munson” y/n teased back, a smirk on her glossy lips “i like you,very sharp on your feet” eddie laughed out, stepping to the side to allow her space to enter. steve’s house was exactly how she’d imagined it looking, nice furniture, beautiful paintings hung on the pearl white colored walls, a big wooden staircase, the living room was spacious and of course had a fireplace, it truly was a beautiful house “hey,i’m glad you showed up” steve said walking from the kitchen to the living room with a big bowl of popcorn, he looked surprisingly put together for a movie night, his hair had a little bit more volume, he wore a fresh pair of denim jeans with a butter yellow sweatshirt “yeah i’m glad too, he wouldn’t let us start until you ca-“ max said, y/n immediately recognized the red head because of her step brother, the boy who tried replacing steve place back in high school “anyway! you look really pretty, well, i mean, you always look flawless, i just that lipgloss color on you, and how you styled your hair” steve rambled out, his cheeks growing red and rosy “get a room!” mike yelled out through a fake cough, steve rolling his eyes at the kids antics, maybe inviting y/n to movie night wasn’t the smartest idea
“so, did you buy all the kitkats and hersheys in the store or were you lying to me harrington” y/n teased, a faked frown on her lips “never, i stayed true to my words” steve smiled, he rushed over the side of the couch and pulled up a big brown bag filled with different kinds of chocolates, mostly being the kind she asked for “do you guys see what a pretty girl does to a guy” eddie said to the group of teens, shaking her head with a grin “it’s sickly cute” robin said gnawing on a slim jim “okay enough with the cringy cute stuff, we have a movie to play harrington!” dustin yelled out to lovesick man “yeah steve, enough with the cute stuff, play the movie” y/n smirked while walking to the empty spot on the couch, steve following behind her like a lost puppy, sitting so closely next to her she could smell the fresh soap and his cologne she loved, this was going to be a long night for her but she definitely didn’t mind.
steve harrington was funnier than y/n thought, softly whispering stupid things about the movie to her, like how the father in the movie reminded him of his dad, how he’d be a better love interest because his style was better than the love interest in the movie, how’d he easily taken down the buff dude madonna’s character was fighting off or how y/n would look more beautiful in the white dress madonna’s character wore, that last comment left her face feeling hot and antsy but in a good way
the credits rolled in, the movie finally ended. y/n stretched her limbs out a little, as she looked around the room she noticed everyone was fast asleep, robin and eddie lying against each other on the couch, lucas and max were curled up against each other on the floor with mike and jane doing the same, will laid on the living room table snoring softly, her and steve were the only ones up “that was actually a good movie, robin picked well” steve whispered, a small smile on his buttery lips “i agree, the music was really good too” y/n whispered back, returning back a lazy smile. steve stretched his limbs as well before he started picking up the empty bowls from the table and picking up empty candy wrappers, y/n did the same “wait no it’s okay, you don’t have to pick up anything, i’ll clean” steve said, gently holding onto her hand “no no it’s fine, i want to help, this is some of my mess as well” y/n reassured him, truthfully she didn’t want the night to end yet and go home to stare at the same four walls
“i don’t deserve this. i don’t deserve you being kind to me, i want to say sorry again y/n. you really went through so much and i was so mean to you…i wish i was mature enough to realize i didn’t have to be the way i was before. i tried to play a character to please others around me, to keep a reputation i didn’t even want to have” steve explained while picking at the empty cups and placing them in the empty bowls “i couldn’t face my insecurities and immaturity until you humbled me, i deserved it, and i honestly am really grateful you did. who knows where i would be if you didn’t give me that reality check” steve said tenderly, fully facing her now, those big brown eyes looking at her like she was the only thing that mattered to him because she was “steve…you already apologized to me, it’s okay, i believe you and now i know you’ve changed. after tonight, i seen a side of you that i never thought i’d see” y/n said, her voice feather-like, walking past him and to the kitchen, steve hot on her feet “no, it’s not enough. i-i really messed up and i want to show you i’m genuinely sorry. i was an idiot, instead of facing my feelings for you and my real identity i decided to be a dick, and i waited so fucking long to apologize to yo-“ steve blurb out, his mind spiraling out of control, but y/n was there to put in back together or maybe break his brain completely, y/n placed the empty cups into the silver skin and turned to him, she brought her palms to steve’s stubbled cheek, softly rubbing her thumbs against the apple of his cheeks. she slowly pulled his taller frame closer to her,their noses a hair away from each other
“steve..”
“yeah..”
“can i kiss you?”
“yes, please”
y/n wrapped her arms around steve’s neck and pulled him down to her, pressing her lips against his hungrily, running her fingers through his soft chocolate brown hair and pulling softly. steve couldn’t hold himself back, his hands touched any part that was available, his big palms pressing her against him like she’ll disappear into thin air “steve, mmm fuck” y/n moaned out, feeling his hot lips all over her neck and her chest “you’re so beautiful, you’ve always been beautiful. i want to do this properly, would you go on a date with me friday night” i’ll do everything all you have to do is bring you’re beautiful face, i promise it’ll be the worth it, i’ve been planning this since high school” steve begged, his voice laced with lust and admiration “since high school? you’ve been planning for a while, who am i to say no to a the perfect date” y/n smiled up at the the flushed male in front of her, her hands caressing his prickly jaw “i think this is a dream” steve said, placing gentle kisses against her palm “well if it is, i hope we never wake up from it” y/n whispered, pulling him back down and pressing her lips on his, steve instantly melting into her kiss like a sweet, sticky marshmallow.
they were so wrapped in each other, no one else around mattered and they wouldn’t want to have it any other way. y/n never thought she’d be in the same room with steve without wanting to pluck his eyes out, let alone kissing him but once again, luckily, she thought wrong. this version of steve was so easy to love. the sweet, patient, gentle and selfless man that stood before her was such a refreshing change she needed, he was the missing part in her chaotic life.
“ugh come on, go take this up to your room steve, not in the damn kitchen” dustin’s voice echoed through the kitchen, making them flinch at the sudden sound, their hearts stuck in their throats “fuck dude, come on. go! go!” steve shoo’ed the teen back to the living room, hand pressed against his chest trying to calm his pumping heart “these damn kids…” steve said under his breath, y/n laughed at his antics “he does have a point though…we should probably take this upstairs, right?” y/n whispered, her eyes low lidded, steve pressed a quick peck on her kiss bitten lips
“fuck yes”
-
-
-
“you remember that bet henderson? pay up” eddie smirked at the teen, he won the bet fair and square, he bet that steve and y/n would end up together, dustin bet against it, stupid mistake
“asshole..i didn’t think you were serious..”dustin rolled his eyes, putting five bucks in the metalhead’s palm while flipping him the bird “awww don’t be a sore loser henderson, next time you’ll win” eddie laughed out, pocketing the five dollars in his ripped jeans
“did you know they bet against us?” y/n asked, wrapping her arms around his waist, craving his body heat “no i did not…but hey, atleast eddie had faith in us” steve grinned, placing a soft peck on her lips, y/n kissed back with a smile, butterflies fluttering around in her stomach. y/n didn’t know what to expect when she moved back to hawkins but she was happily surprised at the outcome, having a stable job, supportive friends, an amazing mother and the worlds most perfect boyfriend anyone could dream of.
Summary: Eddie has always loved messing around with you. Usually, you can dish it right back. After a shit day, you're looking forward to kicking back with your bestie and continuing your campaign, but Eddie takes his quips too far, all in the name of another friendship.
((I made my own campaign; I'm not digging into Vecna just for a 4k short))
WC: 3.8k
Warnings: Mean(ish)!Eddie, Mean!Gareth, author who hasn't played D&D in years but tried their best, use of Y/N, little bit of misogyny, language, fictional violence.
When you knocked on Mike Wheeler's door, you expected him to answer. The campaign had to be moved to his basement for the week, considering that the usual theater room Hellfire occupied had been overtaken by the cast of the school's spring musical. So, it only made sense for Mike to answer. Instead, you were greeted by Dustin.
Dustin was okay. He was a sweet kid, but if there was an award for hiding attraction, he would be tossed out of the competition before it could even start. With the way he looked at you, his eyes might as well have been cartoon hearts. Sometimes, it was endearing. Other times, it was awkward and slightly uncomfortable.
"Hey!" He greeted enthusiastically-- too enthusiastic for you. "You made it."
"Mhm," you hummed flatly, holding up the Tupperware container in your hands. "I brought cookies."
"Oh, sweet!" He exclaimed, stepping aside to let you in. "You always make the best stuff, you know that? Even when it's, like, regular food and not baked stuff. You remember when you made those mashed potatoes? And you had the browned butter, and the paprika, and the--"
"Dustin," you interrupted, trying to sound kinder than you felt. "Let's dial it back a bit, okay? I need you at a level four, and you're at, like, twelve."
"Sure." He popped a thumbs up, approaching the stairwell to the basement. "Level four it is. I'm totally cool."
That was the admirable thing about him. You'd made it abundantly clear that you didn't like him the way he liked you, and he never gave up. But if you asked him to tone it down, he would. Until he got excited. Then it was just a rinse-and-repeat scenario.
"There she is." Eddie smiled proudly when he saw you descend the steps. He was seated at the head of the fold-out table in a fold-out chair, yet he still managed to make himself look as regal as he did in the theater. "And you brought me a gift?"
"Not just you. They're for everybody," you replied, setting the box of cookies down on the table. Still within reachable distance of everyone, but just enough to the side that they shouldn't interfere with the game.
"Well, I get the first one, right?"
"Sure," you sighed, sitting down in the chair closest to Eddie. "If you want."
"You're the best." He leaned over and kissed your cheek. It wasn't a regularly occurring thing, but if he could tell you needed a little extra love, Eddie was always quick to deliver in whatever way he could. Usually, that was physical affection. Other times, it was sneaking into your room to watch a movie while he sat too close for your moms' comfort. One time, he tried to make brownies for you. One time. It didn't end very well.
"Is everyone here?" Mike asked, reaching for one of the cookies. "Can we get started?"
"I think we're still waiting for Lucas," Dustin said. "Has anybody heard from him?
"He called me this morning. Sinclair's got himself a fever. He made it sound like Medieval torture; you should have heard it." Eddie chuckled to himself before coughing, clearly in imitation of poor Lucas. "My mother's got me all but strapped to my bed, and she keeps forcing strange fluids down my throat. Erica's jabbering incessantly to her little boyfriend, and her voice is pounding in my skull! I think I'm dying."
Gareth laughed, as did most of the campaign. You couldn't find it in you. When Gareth noticed you weren't laughing, he scowled. He'd always had a problem with you. He though Eddie was picking favorites, and you were his top choice. It wasn't fair to him, and he tended to direct that jealousy displeasure towards you.
"What's wrong with you?" He demanded. "It's funny!"
"Mhm," you hummed in the same flat tone.
"Seriously, are you good?" Dustin asked. "I know you asked me to be at a level four, but you're not even at a level one."
"I bet it's hormones--"
"Can it, Gareth." Eddie made a suppressing motion with his hands. "You have hormones, too. We can see them all over your face."
Jeff snorted. When Gareth glared his way, he covered himself with a fake cough.
"Now, it just seems like someone's a little down today. There's no problem with feeling sad, is there?"
"No," Gareth mumbled.
"Exactly. Bards don't need to be funny all the time, so why should they be happy all the time?" Eddie put his hand on your thigh, rubbing the denim of your jeans gently. You almost smile, but then he continued. "Especially not a bard that isn't very funny."
Your eyes darted down in embarassment. He always laughed at your jokes-- even your dad jokes. He loved your one-liners, your stories, so why weren't you funny all of a sudden? You grabbed a cookie and quietly withdrew.
"Let's cut the chatter," Jeff groaned. "We came to play."
"Aww, the ranger wants to play." Eddie grinned. He took his hand off your thigh and opened his notebook. "Let's see where we left off, then."
It was a wonder he could even tell what the date on the page was. There were three-year-olds with better handwriting than Eddie. But somehow, after a moment of silent reading, he figured it out.
"Right. We just arrived in the village of Arculis. It's their summer solstice. Everybody up to speed?"
Murmurs of agreement filled the basement.
"Excellent. Let's begin."
For a while, it was fun. The party did a little bartering with an old hag in the village tavern, told a story for a free round of drinks, and took a short rest. During the festival, you were approached by a nobleman, who asked you to dance. You rolled an eighteen, enjoyed the dance, and only stepped on his foot once.
The trouble only arose after the party left Arculis and headed out towards what the villagers referred to as 'the Wasteland.' A desolate valley that seemed to never go above fifty degrees, even in the summer. They refused to discuss why they dubbed it the Wasteland, but the yellowed sky was enough to convince the party that strange things were afoot.
Eddie paused his storytelling for a moment, drumming his fingers along the edge of the table. "Pardon me a moment," he muttered, grabbing the D20 in front of you. He rolled it behind his binder, nodded solemnly, and returned the die.
This wasn't abnormal. Every hour or every scenic change, whichever came first, Eddie liked to role for a random encounter. Usually, nothing happened-- he was unlucky like that. You looked over at him as he surveyed his party. The glimmer in his eye told you that he wasn't as sad as his nod suggested.
He folded his hands neatly atop his binder. "The color of the sky shifts suddenly. While it's still a disturbing shade of yellowy-gray, a new color rolls in with the clouds. A deep, pitch black. Not of the night, no..." He paused for dramatic effect-- something he seemed to do in every other sentence during campaigns. "It is the blackness that comes with death. The black that fills emptiness. Lady and gentlemen, this is the black of..."
Yet another dramatic pause.
"Vecna."
Groans and curses sounded from each occupied chair. Eddie was a fun dungeon master. Eddie was a kind dungeon master. Eddie was a fair (enough) dungeon master. But as soon as a chance encounter actually went the way he hoped, all that was gone. There was no mercy. If you failed a death saving throw and lost, you'd better hope that your local cleric has a vial of liquid-CPR with them. Otherwise, your party would be hauling your mostly dead ass to the next safest location for a very long rest. And God forbid you fumble. If you aimed for the monster and hit a friend, they'd remember. He'd make sure of it.
"Roll your initiatives, my warriors," Eddie said in a terribly fake British accent. "It's time to play."
The fight didn't start too terribly. Jeff got one good shot at Vecna, his arrow lodging itself in the space where his nose should have been. Mike managed to slice into one of Veca's tendrils with his axe, which was promptly snatched away by the villain. Dustin got stomped on and used his bonus action to heal himself-- something Eddie would normally advice against until a party member was critically injured.
It was Doug, the quiet one, that put a new spin on things. He cast his favorite spell, the true name of which had been lost to time. For as long as you could remember, he (and everyone else) just called it 'Crazy Explosion.' Heating up the dry elements around him, he could form and throw a ball of fire that exploded upon impact. The more dry elements he could work into it, the better. And considering the fact that you were in a yellowed wasteland, the earth looked mighty parched.
When his Crazy Explosion collided square with Vecna's torso, Eddie grinned, impressed. Chance encounters never went this quick. And yet, here you all were, with Vecna in critical condition already when not everyone had had their turn yet. He turned his proud eyes over to you.
"You are in a very interesting position," he mused like a psychic. "If you play your cards right, you could kill Vecna right now-- or at least scare him off into the depths of wherever he came from. Or... you could run. That's always an option. So, what will you do, my dear bard?"
You pondered for a moment. You did have a spell locked and loaded that was essentially a sonic blast of bad music, which dealt psychic damage. That would definitely frighten Vecna away. But if you wanted to do some real, almost assured damage, you had to get up close and personal with your scimitar. Decisions, descisions.
"I... I want to cast Dissonant Whispers," you announced.
"Excellent," Eddie muttered, rounding up three D6's. "And your song of choice...?"
"I could probably do some damage with Careless Whisper."
"Right, then. So Vecna might never dance again, and..." He rolled the dice, did the math, and winced. "Ooh. Vecna has made a successful Wisdom saving throw against George Michael. He's so enraged by your terrible choice in song that he's deciding to override your bonus action and--"
"Wait, you can't--"
"I'm sorry, who's the DM here?" Eddie raised an eyebrow at you. It wasn't often that you disagreed. It was even less frequent that Eddie won the argument. But D&D was different. You didn't get the same love you usually did. And the small tweak of his softly defined brow sent a very clear message: this was an argument he wasn't losing.
"She's right, Eds," Dustin cut in. "That's not fair."
"All's fair in love and war, Henderson," Eddie sighed, taking his puppy eyes from you and directing them to the entirety of your fan club. "And this feels like battle to me. So, if Vecna wants to overrule Y/N's bonus action-- which she is not entitled to use, by the way-- then he can certainly do so."
Eddie replaced his three dice with a single D20. "Now, Vecna is furious. Above all other types of music, he despises Careless Whisper. In a fit of rage, he snatches you up in a web of tendrils, drawing you against his chest. He opts to use brute force rather than a wizardry spell and draws his fist back. He weighs his chances..." He trailed off, rolling on behalf of the demonic freak.
Nat20.
"And delivers a punch so powerful, you're flung from his hand and land twenty feet away, taking 53 hit points and three points of psychic damage."
You weren't alone in your cries of unjust. Even Gareth expressed his opinion, citing that the physical damage was much too high. "And where did the psychic damage even come from?" He demanded. "It's not like he pushed a tentacle into her ear and stabbed her brain!"
"Tendril, thank you. And I'm sure you'd lose some brain power if you got punched in the head by Vecna. Three points of psychic damage equates to one mild concussion."
"Eddie, you totally just killed her," Mike tried. "She was only at, like sixty points to begin with. Don't you think that's harsh?"
"I don't," Eddie responded curtly. "Jeff, it's your turn again."
"I'll, um... I want to cast Healing Word."
"That's a bonus action. You need to do an action-action first."
"Then I try to shoot him."
"Roll."
You sat back in your chair, a small pout on your lips. It wasn't like Eddie to be that harsh to any campaign member. And yet, here he was, killing you with some sort of super-punch on your first turn when the damn monster was already critical. Some bullshit.
The die came to a stop, the 1 face-up. Your pout turned to a frown.
"You shoot, but the arrow misses entirely. Instead of hitting Vecna, you hit..." Eddie rolled a D6, coming to rest with a 6 in clear view. "Y/N, dealing an additional five points of damage."
"Eddie, this isn't right," you finally spoke out. "I feel like you're targeting me."
"How can I be targeting you if everything I've done is based off random numbers?" He pointed out. "You made the choice to cast Dissonant Whispers instead of using your scimitar. That's not my fault."
"Yeah, but you overruled my bonus action. That's really not fair. I haven't met a single DM who would ever--"
"If you don't like the way we play, Y/N, then maybe you should find another campaign."
The words hung frozen in the air. Eddie's brown eyes locked onto yours, the usual warmth absent. You couldn't even be sure he was blinking.
You swallowed. "I-- I don't want to find another campaign; I just want you to play fair..."
"Is that the word of the day? 'Fair?'" Eddie fluffed his unruly curls, a habit you had with your own hair. Dear God, he was mocking you, too. "'It's not fair, Eddie. You're not being fair, Eddie.' I mean, maybe Gareth was right. Maybe you're not just sad. I think you're letting your hormones get in the way of everybody else having fun."
For a moment, you didn't reply. All you could think was, 'Is he deadass?' He had never, in the three years you had known him, said anything so rude and, if you really dug into it, misogynistic. He had never accused anyone of being on their period because of their attitude, never assumed anything was a hormone imbalance. It was always that they were just having a hard time. Never anything like what he had just said to you.
"I-- Excuse me?"
Eddie furrowed his brow at you, as if studying some sort of tiny bug. "Are you on your period? Is that the problem?"
Well, that's enough of that.
"You're an asshole," you muttered, standing up. "What's wrong with you?"
"You're not the one that should be asking that," Eddie countered. "I think we have a right to know what's wrong with you."
"You're what's wrong with me." You snatched up your cookies. "I'll see you guys later."
"Are you-- Y/N, come on..." Dustin called, rising from his own chair. "It's just a game--"
"Butt out, Henderson," you shot. "And kiss my ass, Eddie."
The walk home was quiet. Mike only lived maybe a third of a mile from you, but it felt like it took an eternity to even round the corner onto your street. You couldn't figure out what had gone wrong. Just an hour before, Eddie had stuck up for you against Gareth and given you a kiss. Now, you and Gareth could actually agree on something, and it wasn't something you ever thought you would even think: Eddie Munson is mean.
You deposited your cookies onto the counter, making the (rightful) assumption that your parents would tear into them when they got back from their errands. The old stairs creaked beneath you as you headed up to your bedroom, where you intended to hug the stuffed bear that Eddie got you for your birthday last year. Whenever he came over, he would stealthily spray it with his cologne, so you would always have a little piece of him with you when you needed it. You needed him now, but he was the problem.
You sat against the headboard and squeezed the bear tight, taking in shaky breaths of the fading sandalwood scent. It only hurt more. In an act of frustration, you hurled the bear across the room. It landed face-down in the corner by your door. You turned over onto your stomach, hid your face into your pillow, and cried.
~~~~~~~~
You lifted your head to the sound of something tapping against glass. When had you fallen asleep? Last you checked, you were busy crying your eyes out. You grabbed your clock and squinted at the red numbers. 7:24.
The tapping came again. You looked over to your window and saw someone squatting on the roof outside your window. They donned a tattered (but totally sick) denim jacket, black jeans, and a storm of curls.
With a sigh, you got up and opened your window. "What do you want?" You snapped, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. It didn't occur to you to step aside so he could come in.
"I wanted to check on you," Eddie said. "You left pretty upset today."
"Oh, we got a real genius on our hands," you muttered sarcastically, stepping away to sit back on your bed.
Eddie took the liberty of inviting himself in. He grunted as he squeezed through the window, not being very silent about it. "It's not just awesome riffs in this dome of mine." He smiled. You didn't. His disappeared.
"Look, I, um..." He glanced around awkwardly. His eyes fell on the discarded bear, and for a moment, he thought his heart really did break. "Y/N, why's your bear in the corner...?"
You didn't answer, instead opting to watch silently as Eddie stooped down to pick up the stuffed animal, smoothing its fur down. The frown on his face, however small, was hurt.
"Did you throw it in the corner?" He asked in a quiet tone, stepping over to you. "Did you throw the bear?"
"I was mad," you mumbled. "And it... it wasn't comforting because you were my problem."
Eddie sighed and sat next to you, holding the bear on his lap. "Yeah, I was kind of an ass today, huh...?" He admitted.
"You were a total ass," you corrected, laying down once more. "Not just 'kind of' an ass."
He took the chance to lay beside you. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. Your cheeks were irritated. Not from your sheets, those were silky smooth. He actually hated how smooth they were. In his eyes, sheets were supposed to be soft. Not like a slip-and-slide.
"Why are your cheeks all pink?" He asked, reaching out to rub one of them. The skin was warm to the touch. "Do you have a fever? Are you sick?"
You pushed his hand away as it migrated to your forehead. "No, Eddie. I was crying."
If his heart didn't break when he saw he bear in the corner, it certainly broke then. He had made you cry. He was the biggest douche in Hawkins. No, Indiana. Hell, maybe even the whole country. The one time Eddie had seen you cry, it was the saddest thing in the world. You'd gone all soft and, daresay, pathetic. You'd laid your head in his lap and held the hem of his shirt in your fists and cried and cried and cried. All he could do was stroke your hair and try to soothe you, but no matter how gentle his words were, his thoughts stayed mean. If he ever found out which shithead had tipped you over the edge like that, they would be paying full price for their weed, plus a traveling fee, and a baggage fee, and a security deposit. And if they weren't into smoking, then the next time they brought their car to the mechanic, they'd find that their brakes had been cut. Somehow. But, hey, that could have been anybody.
And now, that shithead was Eddie.
"Oh, my God, I made you cry," he whispered, stunned. "I'm terrible. I-- oh, my God." Eddie scooped you up tight, bear smashed between your chests. One hand held your head firmly under his chin, the other bunched up in your shirt against your lower back. "I'm so sorry," he muttered, pressing an almost shellshocked kiss to the crown of your head. "I'm so sorry."
"...why were you so mean, Eddie?" You inquired. "You're never like that when we play. Or when we hang out. And-- and the hormones thing? And asking if I'm on my period?"
"I was so out of line," he murmured. "Shit, I made my own line a hundred yards behind the standard. Doug mentioned that Gareth didn't like how I apparently favor you. I-- I was just trying to level the field. I didn't think-- God, I didn't even think..."
He wedged his face down into the crook of your neck, squeezing you tight. For a moment, neither of you said anything. You let him hold you, against your better judgement. You wanted to punish him for what he had said and deny him any comfort that came with holding you, but you couldn't. You yourself just wanted to be held, and Eddie was right there. He always made it better. Even though he was the problem this time.
"I'm very, very, truly, entirely sorry." He lifted his head from your neck and tilted your chin up, looking into your sleep-addled eyes. "I swear on my mother's grave that I won't ever pull something like that again. And if I do, don't throw the bear. Just... just throw something at me, okay? But leave Mr. Bear out of this."
You fought down a chuckle but allowed a smile to see the light of day. Eddie visibly relaxed upon seeing it. "Do you promise?"
"I pinky-promise." Eddie wrapped his pinky around yours, hooking them together. He tugged your hand up and pressed a gentle kiss against the back of it.
"Between you and me, though, you are my favorite." He drew your hand down to his chest, stroking it absently. He leaned down and kissed the tip of your nose. Instead of pulling away, though, he let his forehead rest against yours. For a moment, all that could be heard were your quiet breaths mixing together. Eddie's eyes were shut tight, like he was willing himself to get it together. You waited patiently for him to open them. When he did, he smiled gently down at you.
"And my favorites always get a little extra love."
in which… steve harrington loves his job. or steve knows what he’s doing.
warnings: oral(f!receiving),fingering, jacking off, pussydrunk!steve, sexedteacher!steve, no actual pinv, roleplay at the end if you squint,
you can’t help but whine as steve pushes your legs further apart, pinning them down on the mattress beneath you. the sheets beneath your body are definitely stained with both your juices and steve’s at this point, the result of multiple rounds of this exact same thing.
“s-steve. need a break baby please.” you pant, biting down on your lip as you push your fingers deep into the your boyfriends hair. his curls are scattered between your fingers, each with a mind of their own.
“don’t care.” steve replies, his voice muffled by your skin. his words vibrate against your clit, earning another moan from your mouth. steve can’t do anything but let out a moan of his own, his nails digging into the plush of your thighs.
“baby.. baby please please. if not for me than for you” you giggle, using the fingers still tangled in steve’s hair to pull him off. he groans when you do so, inching upwards to pull your mouth into a kiss.
the juices from between your thighs are switched to be in your mouth, alongside some of steve’s spit, but you don’t care. not right now. not anytime soon.
“why’d you make me stop hm?” steve whispers, pulling away slow enough to leave a string of saliva connecting your mouth with his. “school just ended but i have to keep myself educated. i’m teaching about this stuff now.. gotta know what i’m doing. you’re just the best way to do it.” he continues, moving his fingers to replace the actions his mouth was just committing.
“y-you’re teaching your students how to eat a girl out?” you joke, gasping when steve slips one of his fingers into your walls.
“not what i mean and you know it. stop being so bratty.” steve mumbles, kissing down your neck slowly, making sure to leave marks.
you can’t help but laugh as he speaks, moving your own hand down to jerk him off in tandem with his fingers on your clit. “mkay…sure mr. harrington.. mind teaching me some sex ed then?”
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
summary: And he wonders—just like he did that first night—and the one after that, and every night since—how long it’ll take for you to find out what really lives inside his head.
And if, when you do, you’ll still want him to stay.
warnings: softdom!eddie, sickfic, caretaking, eddie's pov, intense pining/yearning, guilt, praise kink (?), dom/sub undertones, angst, hurt/comfort, medical anxiety, mention of wealth gap/absent parents, reader is sick and soft dom+lovesick eddie is spiraling.
word count: 10k
prev pt here | series masterlist | series playlist
It starts with the empty seat.
Cafeteria, back corner, third table from the vending machines.
Yours.
The one by the window. Where the sun always catches your hair just right. Where you sip soda with your pinky curled loose and trace the little scar in the tabletop with your finger like it means something.
That seat’s been empty for three days now.
Eddie tells himself not to look. Which, of course, means he does.
Over and over. A twitch of his head, a flick of his eyes.
Still, nothing.
The cafeteria hums around him—clattering trays, bursts of laughter, the scrape of chairs on linoleum—but it all sounds muffled, underwater.
His sandwich sits untouched. Too much bread. Too dry. He stares at the condensation on his soda can instead, biting his nails, knees bouncing hard enough to rattle the table. Gareth’s talking about the new Mötley Crüe album again—something about the mix being trash—but his eyes keep drifting across the room, landing on that same stupid vacant spot.
You weren’t there Monday. Or Tuesday.
Now it’s Wednesday, and he’s starting to wonder if it’s something more than just bad timing or an off week.
You’re not the type to skip. Not like him. You do your work. You care.
You don’t just…. disappear.
His knee is bouncing again. He can feel it, the imbalance. Like the floor is tilting and he can’t find his footing again without the soft murmur of your voice finding him from across the cafeteria.
And then—god—he’s back there again.
Sunday. The day after your party.
The diner. The walk to his van.
The rain.
Not a drizzle. Not summer mist. This was biblical. Thunder growling low like the sky had a grudge. Pavement steaming, gutters choking on runoff.
But you had just smiled. Stood there with your palms turned up while the sky split open in two above you.
You, in your soaked shirt and storm-tangled hair, laughing like it was all some kind of gift.
He can still see it—rain beading on your lashes, hair plastered to your cheeks—shining under the streetlights like some half-drowned daydream.
He remembers the way you had looked up. Like the storm was yours.
You said you were fine.
You always say you’re fine.
But now it’s fucking Wednesday, and you’re still not here, and his stomach feels like it’s trying to turn itself inside out.
By sixth period, Eddie is practically vibrating out of his skin.
His leg won’t stop shaking. He chews the butt of a pencil clean off. All the what-ifs are crawling up his spine like ice water.
And when the final bell rings, he’s up and moving before the sound finishes echoing.
He corners Chrissy Cunningham by her locker like a man chasing his last breath.
She’s folding a jacket over her arm when he approaches, and he blurts out your name before he even says hello.
“Do you know if she’s like, out of town, or something?”
Too fast. Too desperate. He knows it, hears it, doesn’t care.
“I mean, not that I think something happened, it’s not like—” he exhales sharply. “Shit. Sorry. Sorry. Rambling.”
He rubs the back of his neck, trying to laugh it off, but it doesn’t land.
Chrissy blinks. Cautious, kind. Her brow arches as she slides a textbook into her bag.
“Hey… Eddie. Yeah, she’s okay. Just sick. Caught something after the party.”
The words hit like cold water.
Sick. From the rain. After that night.
Shit.
Shit shit shit.
I’ll be fine Eddie, c’mon!
He’s a fucking idiot.
“She’s sick.” He echoes numbly.
Chrissy nods. “Just a cold, I think. I was gonna check in on her, drop by with homework after practice.”
“Right. Yeah. Cool. Awesome.” He nods like he’s trying to shake loose the panic in his chest. “That’s... that’s good.”
But he doesn’t leave.
Still clutching his bag strap, mouth half-open, hand twitching at his side like it’s got more to say.
Chrissy watches him for a beat, then tilts her head, eyes softening. She reaches into her backpack and pulls out a bundle—a blue binder with your name written in pen, some loose-leaf sheets, and a paperback copy of Jane Eyre, corners soft from wear.
“You know what?” She says. “I’ve got cheer today, so I might be late getting over there. You should take this. Probably better if she gets it sooner.”
She hands it over without hesitation.
He stares at it like she’s holding something radioactive.
“You sure?”
“Yeah. She’d probably rather see you anyway.”
And of course, his dumbass ego soaks that one right up.
He nods tightly. His fingers curl around the stack, careful not to smudge your notes or dog-ear a page you hadn’t marked yet.
“Thanks,” he says quietly.
She stalls for a bit, pursing her lips, then just smiles.
“Of course. See you around, Eddie.”
He sits with your things for a while in the van.
Puts a seatbelt over the stack on the passenger seat. Like that’ll keep them safe.
Your things. In his hands.
The weight of it feels heavier than anything he’s carried all day.
He stares at the binder sitting on top, at the scrawl of your handwriting on the corner of a worksheet.
He thinks about the sound of your laughter in the rain.
And then, finally, he turns the ignition.
By the time he pulls into your driveway, his hands are raw from gripping the wheel.
The houses on this side of town don’t creak like the ones he’s used to. They don’t buzz with bad wiring or smell like gasoline and mildew. Even the air feels different here—green, fresh, as if the lawns have their own oxygen supply. It’s the kind of neighborhood where people trim their hedges and return all their borrowed Tupperware.
He shouldn’t be here.
The second his feet hit your porch, he feels it—the eyes. Blinds shifting, heads turning. His van is probably already on the HOA blacklist.
Still, he knocks. Twice. Measured.
Waits.
No answer.
He shifts his weight, your binder slick against his palm.
Knocks again. Three quick raps this time.
Still nothing.
His heart starts climbing his ribs.
You’re probably sleeping.
Or in the shower.
Or maybe you’re not even home.
Maybe Chrissy was wrong.
Maybe—
A sudden, sharp bark explodes behind him.
Eddie flinches hard, twisting toward the source—a fence just a few feet to his right, with a dog pressed up against the slats, snarling like Eddie’s a threat to national security.
“Jesus H Christ!” He hisses, stumbling back a step, nearly dropping your things. The dog barks again, more insistent this time, loud enough to stir the whole neighborhood.
Eddie backs off.
He ends up squatting down on your curb, your binder tucked in his lap, knees bouncing like mad.
He sits there for a while before his mind starts running again, feeling the quiet weight of judgment pressing in.
Fuck.
This is how he ends up in a police report.
Strange boy in denim vest loitering at front door, agitating family pets. Possible drug activity.
He should leave.
He should.
He could just drop off your things on your porch. Slide it under the mat. Take it back to Chrissy so that she can bring it over instead.
But something grips in his stomach and twists, refusing to let go.
So he gets back up. Slaps his palms against his knees for courage.
The third knock leaves his knuckles cold against the door.
Still no answer.
The dog next door won’t shut up, and Eddie can feel the neighborhood turning its collective head toward him. Measuring his hair and rings and ripped jeans against the clean porches and American flags of this picture-perfect cul-de-sac.
He shouldn’t be here. Not like this. Not standing on your porch like a stray mutt with a stack of your homework and the full weight of his anxiety strapped to his chest.
Yet still—he just cannot bring himself to leave.
He adjusts your things under one arm, sighing softly. Knocks one last time.
And just when he’s about to give up—
The door creaks.
And there you are.
Backlit by the dim glow of your hallway, wrapped in a hoodie that’s comically too big—sleeves past your fingers, hem like a dress.
Your eyes are puffy. Cheeks blotchy from sleep and heat. Your hair's a wild tangle, part of it stuck to your forehead. You’re pale and flushed at the same time, like someone painted you with fever.
You look like hell.
And still the most beautiful thing he’s seen all week.
You squint up at him like you're seeing through water.
“E-Eddie?”
The sound of your voice—thin, fragile, confused—slices through his chest.
And then, before he can answer, you step forward on unsteady legs and press your face into his middle, arms wrapping clumsily around his waist.
“You’re here,” you mumble, voice muffled by his shirt. “...Eddie.”
Eddie goes very still.
You’re hugging him. In broad daylight. On your porch.
And your body is hot. Too hot. Feverish heat rolling off in waves. You’re trembling, clutching to his shirt like he’s the only thing keeping you upright.
His arms hover for a beat. Then settle, gently. One hand on your back, the other between your shoulder blades, unsure if you’re going to pass out on him or pull away.
Eddie tries to speak. Really tries. But all that comes out is a kind of breathy laugh—half relief, half nervous static.
“Y-yeah,” he finally manages. “I’m here.”
You hum against his chest like that’s all you needed to hear. Cheek pressed flat against his stomach, eyes closed like the effort of keeping them open is too much. He can feel the warmth of your skin even through all the layers—and now that he’s this close, really seeing you, his heart gives a hard thump of panic.
“You’re burning up.” He murmurs, brows furrowing.
One hand slips up, tentative, brushing your hair back from your face. His fingertips touch your forehead—damp and blazing. His frown deepens.
Shit.
You’re really sick.
Like, should be in bed instead of answering the door and hugging him, sick.
“Jesus,” he whispers. “You feel like you’re gonna melt.”
But you just sway a little in his arms and nuzzle closer. Mumble his name again as if the sound of it is helping you stay awake.
And Eddie—he doesn’t know what to do with that. So he just stands there awhile, holding you, one hand pressed lightly to your burning forehead, the other curled around your back, heart jackhammering against his ribs.
He wants to laugh. Or cry. Or lift you into his arms and carry you inside like a scene from one of those stupid romance movies Harrington pretends not to enjoy.
Instead, he swallows hard and clears his throat.
“I brought your things,” he says, because it’s the only thing that makes sense. “Homework and stuff.”
You mumble something into his shirt that sounds like ‘you’re better than homework,’ and his knees almost buckle.
“Okay, come on,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “Let’s get you back inside before you faint or your neighbor calls the cops on me for kidnapping a fever gremlin.”
You giggle softly, letting him gently shuffle you backward.
He kicks the door behind him with the heel of his shoe.
And even though your house is quiet and dim, filled with the unfamiliar scent of polished wood and something floral he can’t quite place, Eddie feels something in his chest ease for the first time all week.
You’re here.
You’re okay, mostly.
And you wanted him here.
He holds onto that, just as tightly as he holds onto you.
Up the stairs. Step by aching step.
You lean more and more of your weight on him as you go, mumbling half-coherent words into his side.
You feel like a wobbly space heater under his arm. Unsteady, lopsided. Like your body can’t decide where it starts and where it ends.
He murmurs soft encouragements into your hair every step of the way:
“I got you.”
“Don’t faceplant on me, ‘kay?”
“Almost there.”
“C’mon, one more step.”
You giggle sleepily the whole time, delirious, cotton-mouthed, your cheek pressed somewhere near his ribs. You’re not really walking anymore—more like leaning while he does the navigating, his free hand gripping the banister as he guides you step by careful step.
By the time he eases you onto your bed, his arms are quivering.
And only when your back touches the mattress does he realize—he’s in your room.
It smells like you. Like warmth and sleep and lemon tea. Posters on the wall. Open books on the nightstand. A chipped mug holding colorful pens.
A wildflower, delicate and sun-faded, pressed flat between the pages of a heavy book on your nightstand, peeking out like a secret.
His heart stutters when he realizes it’s that flower. The one he picked for you weeks ago at the base of Skull Rock. You’d smiled and tucked it into your copy of Jane Eyre like it meant something.
And it hits him all at once, sudden and blinding:
He’s in your room.
Where you sleep. Where you dream. Where you listen to music and lay on your stomach and scribble in the margins of your homework.
Where you cry when no one’s watching and sing when no one’s listening.
Where you press flowers into books and don’t tell anyone why.
Where you’re entirely yourself, in a way the rest of the world never gets to see.
And now he’s standing right in the middle of it—muddy Reeboks and all—like a bull in a sacred china shop.
He kneels beside your bed, heartbeat loud in his ears.
Your blankets are a mess, pillows kicked half off the mattress. You’ve sunk deep into the sheets with a sigh, cheeks flushed, fever-pink against pale linens.
He pushes your hair off your face with a shaky hand.
You lean into it, blinking slow and heavy-lidded.
Then, like it costs you effort but you’d spend it anyway, your mouth tilts into this soft, syrupy smile.
And Eddie—Eddie’s not built for this. Not for the way your leaning into his palm and looking at him like he’d hung the fucking moon.
Like it’s safe. Like he’s safe.
“You have a thermometer?” He clears his throat, glancing around your room.
Your gaze lingers on his mouth for a second before drifting to the nightstand.
He sees it, next to a half-empty bottle of Robitussin and a pile of tissues. Picks it up with careful fingers, holding it in front of you with a raised brow.
“Ready?”
You nod, parting your lips obediently.
And Jesus—fuck him and fuck his heart for stuttering at that.
His fingers graze the corner of your mouth as he eases it in.
Your lips are dry. Your breath is warm. Your lashes flutter.
And after about a minute you start to grow restless, giggling and mumbling incoherently around the glass.
“Sssh, don’t talk,” he frowns, trying not to meet your eyes. “Almost done. Be good, ‘kay?”
His throat immediately goes dry.
Be good.
Christ.
What is wrong with him?
You blink up at him, like you’re trying to process the command. Then you nod, slow and wobbly, lips curving around the thermometer.
Submissive in a way that has nothing to do with anything carnal, and yet—
And yet.
He swears quietly under his breath and tries to focus on the ticking numbers, watching the mercury rise.
Three minutes.
Three minutes of trying not to stare at your throat. Or your hands curled near your chest. Or the delicate pulse fluttering at your temple like butterfly wings.
When he finally slips the thermometer from your lips, checking the reading, his stomach drops.
Shit.
You smile faintly, not even looking. “Bad?”
“Yeah,” he nods, voice tight. “Real bad.”
He immediately grabs the medicine bottle from the nightstand, unscrews the cap, and starts measuring. You’re blinking slow again, head tipping back.
“Hey, stay with me, okay? When’s the last time you took this?”
“Mmm... las’ night.”
His jaw tightens. “Should’ve had more hours ago.”
He gets the dose ready and reaches for you, only to stop short when you make this little face, nose wrinkling in a quiet grimace.
“No,” you mumble. Petulant, sweet.
“Really?” he asks, head tilting. There’s a smirk ghosting his lips now, just enough to tease. “I know it tastes like ass. But you need it.”
Your gaze wanders again—unfocused, dreamy.
Then, whisper-soft, you ask:
“Kisses after?”
His heart just about seizes. The cap in his hand stills mid-air. His chest tightens like something just wrapped around it and yanked.
For one agonizing second he doesn’t breathe—just stares at you, bottle searing into his palm, heart somewhere near his throat.
Then you smile, small and dazed. “…kidding.”
He clears his throat. Looks away fast. His ears are bright red.
“Hilarious,” he mutters, pretending to busy himself with the medicine because he doesn’t trust what he might do if he looks up. “Very funny.”
He lifts the cap to your lips, hand trembling.
“Open.”
You do.
You sip slow, face scrunching like you’re swallowing gasoline. He watches the line of your throat as you gulp it down. Your tongue licking the corner of your mouth, brows scrunching as the taste hits.
He could kiss the expression off you, if he let himself.
“Toughest girl I know,” he teases, absently brushing the underside of your jaw as he pulls back.
“Mhm,” you hum, smiling proudly. Your head sinks back into the pillow like it’s gravity pulling you under.
He watches you for a long moment, then. The way your lashes rest against your cheeks, the way the tension fades from your shoulders. You look... younger like this. Bare. Unarmored.
And then it hits him—you were the one to answer the door.
“Hey,” he murmurs gently. “Where are your folks?”
Your lips press into a thin line. “Outta town.”
He frowns. “Still?”
A small nod. Sad, maybe. Barely there.
His jaw works as he glances down at his wrist—almost 5.
“Have you eaten anything today?”
Your eyelids flutter. Head shakes no.
“Jesus,” he breathes, standing up. “Alright. No more meds on an empty stomach. Gonna make you something to eat, okay?”
You stir immediately at his words. Eyes barely open but searching for him anyway, glassy and unfocused. The covers rustle as you shift, arms sluggishly pushing out from the tangle of sheets, fumbling in the air like you’re trying to find something in the dark.
“Wait,” you rasp, voice thin and hoarse and far too small for how much space it takes up in his heart. “Don’t go.”
He freezes.
“You were gone,” you mumble. “Don’t… don’t want you gone.”
Then quieter, so soft he almost doesn’t catch it, like it was meant for the pillow, not for him:
“Missed you.”
Something in him buckles. Just caves in.
He immediately drops back down, reaching for your arms. Palms pressed flat against overheated skin, gliding up and down, trying to get you to relax again.
You’re not dying. He knows that. But god, the way you reach for him like he’s the only solid thing left—it scrapes something raw in him.
“Yeah,” he nods, voice low. “Me too.”
He could say more. He could say—I’ve spent the last three days staring at your table instead of eating, or, I’ve bombed two quizzes ‘cause I couldn’t stop thinking about you during class—but instead he just lets out a sigh, stroking the back of your hand.
You paw at the blanket, reaching again, eyes half-lidded.
You never ask for things. Not like this.
“I’m not going anywhere, promise” he murmurs. “I’ll make you something to eat and I’ll be right back.”
Inside, he hears his heart split quietly in two.
This part of you, this soft, fragile, reaching part—it’s new.
The versions of you he’s seen before, they never let themselves be this unguarded. You’re always composed, clever. A little sharp when you want to be. And even when you’re hurting, you still carry it with your chin up, swallowing it down so it never becomes anyone else’s burden.
But right now, you’re warm and needy and unfiltered, and it’s doing something to his brain he doesn’t want to think about.
Carving something up inside his chest. Something he’s not sure he’s allowed to name.
You want him here.
You need him here.
You missed him.
He smooths your hair back again, letting his hand linger for longer than it needs to.
He doesn’t kiss you.
But god, he could.
He could kiss your forehead and pull the blanket up higher and hold you until you fall asleep again. He wants so desperately to say it back—not me too but I missed you too, in ways I don’t even know how to carry.
Instead, he reaches down, tugging gently at his ring finger.
His old mood ring—round black stone in the center, silver filigree curling around the band like vines. A little tarnished, a little beat-up.
He twists it free, placing it in your open palm and closing your fingers around it.
“There,” he murmurs softly. “Collateral.”
Your brows twitch. “’s your ring.”
“Yep,” he grins, tapping your closed fist. “Don’t lose it. That thing’s older than I am. If you lose it, a very grumpy ghost might start following you around.”
You giggle, soft and drowsy. He thinks about what he’d give just to keep hearing that sound for the rest of his life.
“Hold onto that for me, ‘kay? Stay awake, keep it safe. I’ll be back in ten, promise.”
You hum, finally laying back, tucking the ring close to your chest like it’s the most important thing in the room.
He wants to lean the rest of the way down and press a kiss to your temple.
He doesn’t.
Your kitchen is eerily quiet.
Too quiet.
Eddie flips on the light, but it doesn’t buzz and sputter like the one in his trailer—just gives off a low, sterile hum, casting the pristine white cabinets in this sickly, yellow jaundice.
He runs the sink, splashing cold water onto his face—once, twice—before letting it drip from his jaw like maybe it’ll shock his thoughts straight.
It doesn’t.
He rubs the water into the back of his neck anyway. Breathes hard through his nose. Keeps moving.
Fridge first.
It greets him with a hollow rattle and a puff of cold air that smells faintly of takeout.
Inside: a nearly-empty ketchup bottle. A sad squeeze of mustard. A limp celery stalk browning at the tips. One lonely slice of American cheese, stuffed into a baggie with the kind of care no one bothered to give anything else in here.
His jaw ticks.
The fridge door slams shut a little too hard.
His hands are starting to buzz again, restless. Not like stage-fright or a comedown, but the specific kind of agitation that comes when something’s wrong and he can’t fix it fast enough.
He checks the cabinets. The first one’s got a steel cocktail shaker, way too many martini glasses, and a bunch of copper-plated gadgets no one needs. The second: rows and rows of spices he’s never seen before in his life. Salt from the Himalayas, paprika smoked three ways. Twenty kinds of dried herbs, none of which are even remotely used.
Not a single goddamn thing to eat.
A tight, hissing breath leaks out through his teeth, his mind flashing to the faceless image of your parents.
Who the hell owns this many spices and no food?
Third try—there. Tucked way in the back, buried behind an expired box of pasta shells and something that might’ve once been instant grits:
Campbell’s Chicken Noodle Soup
Shining like a goddamn beacon of light.
He holds the can between his palms and kisses it, sending a silent prayer.
Then he gets to work.
Pot. Can opener. Bowl. Spoon. Glass of water, half full. He checks it twice for smudges before setting it on the tray.
And the tray—it comes naturally. He fishes it out from under the sink like it’s instinct. Like he’s done this before a hundred times.
Only not here. Only not for you.
He sets it all up, methodical and careful.
His hands won’t stop shaking.
So he makes them busy.
Clinks the spoon against the counter. Lets the drawer doors slam. Taps his rings against the pot handle as it heats. Makes just enough noise so that if you’re listening upstairs, through fevered half-sleep, you’ll know he hasn’t left. That he’s still here.
He stirs the soup, tastes it, blows on it even though it doesn’t need it. Finds the last slice of bread behind the toaster, peels the crust off and toasts it soft—not crunchy, just warm—because he’s not sure your throat could take anything rougher.
Every movement feels heavy and momentous.
Because you need to eat.
You need to get better.
You said you missed him.
That last part keeps looping in his brain like a skipping record.
He doesn’t know what to do with it. Can’t shake it. Can’t set it down.
So he sets the tray down instead. Soup, bread, water, spoon. A folded paper towel. Even a little napkin tucked under the edge because it felt like something he should do.
Something a mom would do.
Christ.
When he heads back upstairs, being careful not to spill, he lets his feet fall heavy on purpose. Wants you to hear him coming. Wants you to know he didn’t go far.
The door creaks as he nudges it open with his elbow.
You’re still there, half-curled in a limp cocoon of tangled sheets and heat. His ring is around your index finger now, fist curled tight against your chest like you’re holding a stuffed animal.
Your eyes lift, slow and glassy, then grow wide once you spot him in the doorway.
Like he’s walked in with a miracle instead of old soup from a can.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, edging toward the bed. “This is all I could cook.”
“S’okay,” you mumble, trying to sit up. Your voice is frayed, soft. You’re bleary-eyed and flushed, hair sticking up like it’s been electrocuted—yet somehow you still look stunning.
Not in a radiant or graceful or polished way.
Just real. And soft. And so far from how he’s used to seeing you, it knocks the breath from his lungs.
One of your hands fumbles with the comforter, like you’re trying to be more present, sit straighter, show him you’re fine. But you can’t quite get there.
He crouches beside the bed.
“Hey,” he says gently, voice quiet as he studies you—your color, your posture, the faint tremble in your hands.
Your skin has that over-warm sheen again. Fever clinging to you like sweat.
You blink back at him.
“You came back.”
His chest caves a little at the edges—and yeah, okay, that’s not gonna stop anytime soon.
“‘Course I did.” He says, setting the tray down on your nightstand. “Told you I would.”
You smile, woozy and warm, eyes heavy. And it makes his brows crinkle, because he can see how much effort it’s costing you just to stay awake. Because he’d told you to.
“I made you soup,” he says, adjusting the pillow behind you. His hand brushes your neck as he does—you’re still burning up. “Well, soup-flavored water. Courtesy of Grandma Campbell.”
That earns a soft hum from you. A crinkle of your nose. And god help him, he grins like an idiot just to see it.
He places the bowl in your lap with careful fingers.
You eat. One bite. Then another.
Three total before the spoon clinks against the side. Your hand goes slack. You sigh.
Eddie watches from the edge of the bed, fist pressed against his cheek, jaw working.
He tilts his head. “That’s it?”
You nod, eyes flutttering. “I’m full.”
You say it with this soft, sleepy defiance, like a kid trying to weasel out of bed time.
It’s almost cute.
Almost.
Except you still look pale, and your lips are dry, and you’re trembling a little because of the chills and god-knows-how-little water you’ve had the last two days.
Then, with a whispered sigh, you shuffle the bowl away from you, brows furrowed as you murmur a quiet “sorry.”
And he frowns at that, because you’re doing that thing again. Folding in on yourself. Shrinking into something palatable.
Like if you go small enough, sweet enough, the world might go easy on you.
He wonders who taught you that. What kind of world made you believe that’s the way to stay safe.
He hates them for it. Whoever it is, wherever they are. For all of it.
His fingers twitch.
Not now. No room for that now.
Not when your parents are still nowhere, and your fridge is empty, and your cupboards are filled with nothing but useless fucking powders that incite a rage so deep and unfathomable inside him.
Now, he leans in. Brushes your wrist—still too hot, still wrong.
“You need to eat more than that,” he says, voice low, trying to keep the sharp edges out. “Please.”
You make a soft noise in protest. Your arm slides across your stomach, eyes drooping like your lashes are too heavy.
He doesn’t stop to think about it.
Just gently lifts the bowl from your lap and sets it on the tray.
Then—slowly, carefully—tucks two fingers under your chin and tilts your head to face him.
You don’t fight it.
Whether it’s because you don’t want to, or because you’re too tired to push back, you let him.
You let him.
Then your eyes open.
And it guts him, that slow, groggy blink you give—like the light is too sharp, like it’s trying to hurt you. It shouldn’t make his chest ache like this. Shouldn’t make his palms itch with this raw, wretched fucking need to make everything soft and small and manageable for you.
All these feelings he has no fucking right to feel.
“Hey,” he says, nodding like the ground isn’t slipping beneath him. Swallows around something thick. “I know you don’t feel like it, but you’ve gotta eat a little more.”
You groan faintly. “But I did.”
“Three bites isn’t food, that’s a taste test.” He says, softening it with a smile. “If you don’t eat, that medicine’s gonna mess you up worse.”
You try to turn your face away. He gently guides it back.
“Hey.” Quieter now. Firm. “Look at me.”
You do.
And fuck, he wishes you hadn’t.
Because up close like this, there’s nowhere to hide from the details. The fever-glass shine in your eyes. The way exhaustion sits like a bruise under your skin.
He hates how hot your skin feels under his fingers. Hates how heavy your gaze is.
But what hits hardest is that flicker behind your lashes. Not resistance. Not even frustration.
Relief.
Like you wanted this. Like some aching part of you needed someone to take the wheel for a minute.
And maybe that’s what shoves him over the edge. Makes him lean too far into something he’s not supposed to name.
Falling like gravity, too fast to catch:
“Just do this for me, sweetheart,” he murmurs, barely above a whisper. “Can you be good for me?”
It drops like a stone.
He hears it in the silence after. The thud of it echoing in the space between your breaths.
Your lashes flutter. Your fingers twitch.
His heart stutters like a misfired engine, catching hard in his chest and jerking painfully against his ribs. Shame blooms hot and fast, unspooling like a thread pulled too tight, threatening to snap.
Too much. Too fucking much.
What are you doing, Munson?
You’re supposed to be safe. He’s supposed to be helping.
But then—
You reach for the bowl.
He freezes, watching you scoop another weak bite, barely holding the utensil steady, and guide it to your lips. You chew. Swallow. Then another. And another.
By the fourth bite, your arm gives out a little. The spoon dips, pauses mid-air before clattering back into the bowl. You let out a small, tired sigh and glance up at him through your lashes.
Your bottom lip juts out, just a little.
“’s heavy.” You mumble, eyes flicking to the spoon like it’s personally wronged you.
And god help him, you’re pouting on purpose now.
His mouth twitches. It could’ve been a smile—might’ve even been a laugh—if his chest didn’t feel like it was strangled in knots.
“What, you need me to feed it to you?” he jokes, trying to keep it light. Something to cover up the slow implosion happening inside his ribcage.
But then you look up.
And you nod.
Not even a single iota of irony in your expression.
Fuck.
“No, I—I was…” he starts, but the words catch halfway out of his throat.
He was what? Making a dumb joke? Pretending he hasn’t already crossed five different lines in the last ten minutes?
It’s the look on your face that stops him cold. Soft, honest. Expectant in the most devastating way. Like if he follows through on whatever he was about to say, you’ll fold in on yourself.
So he doesn’t.
Just grits his teeth, reaches out, and starts feeding you instead.
He tells himself it’s practical. Necessary. That it’s just food and you’re sick and someone has to make sure you eat.
But it doesn’t feel like just food.
Not with the way you part your lips for him, obedient and trusting. Not with the way your gaze lingers on his face every time the spoon leaves your mouth.
A small droplet rolls down your chin. You giggle. He grabs a napkin, carefully dabs it away.
“There you go,” he murmurs, because he has to say something. Has to pretend like his chest isn’t splintering every time your mouth opens for another spoonful. “Easy.”
But it’s not easy.
It’s starting to feel like that first night with you all over again. The one with the pizza bagels and the UNO cards and the ecstasy.
Because no matter how much he tells himself that it’s been long enough, that there’s history now, that you know him well enough that he can’t knock this off balance anymore—it still hits the same.
Still knocks the wind out of him in the exact same place.
And he hates that it does. Hates that some part of him still braces for the fall. Feeling like he’s borrowing something he’s not sure he’s earned. That every ounce of trust you give feels like a loan he’ll never be able to repay.
He should be focused on your fever. Your meds. Fluids and electrolytes and practical, measurable things.
But instead, all he can think about is how your eyes keep flicking up at him between bites.
Soft, quiet, waiting.
Like you’re expecting something.
His throat closes.
He’s falling—spirals leading down, down—everything else receding into static around one singular, terrible, magnetic thought:
“That’s my girl.”
And fuck.
That—that one is a mistake.
He flinches the moment it hits the air, like someone else said it with his voice.
Slipped off his tongue too easily, too gently, like it belonged there. Like it didn’t just split the line he’s been trying so hard to hold.
No, he shouldn’t have said that.
Not now. Not like this.
Not when you’ve barely eaten in two days and you’re just trying to fucking survive and not be alone.
He goes completely still.
Spoon in hand, frozen mid-air. Waiting for the fallout.
Then—
You lean forward. Mouth open, wordlessly letting him feed you again.
And Eddie stays exactly where he is, gripping the bowl so tight it could crack under his palm, shame burning like acid in his throat.
Still falling.
Each sluggish bite, each slow blink pulls the knot tighter around his chest.
A knot woven from guilt and shame and the aching knowledge that he wants—desperately—to be needed by you like this, even if he knows he shouldn’t.
Because he likes this.
Likes that you’re letting him in. Letting him take care of you.
That you’re needing him.
And it makes him feel like a fucking monster to admit that.
That a sick, vicious part of him is glad you're weak, just because it means he gets to stay close.
By the time he scrapes the bottom of the bowl, he’s lightheaded. Nearly drops it trying to set it down.
Then he reaches for the water, tipping the glass gently against your lips.
Because this is what he does now, apparently.
Feeding you. Wiping your chin. Praising you.
Calling you his girl—words weighted with something he hasn’t earned, desires he should never bring into a room with you like this.
Soaked in a kind of hunger he keeps buried—dark and familiar and ugly—thrumming through him in places it has no business touching.
When you finally sink back into the pillows with a soft sigh, there’s a new kind of flush in your face.
Less fever, more something else.
Something unnameable. Something terrifying.
Eddie tries to ignore it. Just shifts forward, unthinking, and uselessly brushes his thumb over your cheek.
Not because you need it.
But because he wants to. Because he can’t not.
Because he’s scared if he doesn’t keep touching you in these small, safe ways, he’ll reach for something that truly crosses the line.
“You did good.” He whispers.
And when you blink up at him, heavy and uneven, it feels like looking at a version of you he’s not supposed to have.
Like touching something that doesn’t belong to anyone—not even you.
And he wonders—just like he did that first night—and the one after that, and every night since—how long it’ll take for you to find out what really lives inside his head.
And if, when you do, you’ll still want him to stay.
Your kitchen doesn’t smell like lemon cleaner anymore.
Eddie’s staring at his palms, scrubbing the inside of a mug that’s already clean.
Suds up to his wrists. Water running hot until it stings.
Good.
He wants it to sting.
It’s your mug. The one you left on your nightstand, half-full with water he made you sip after your second dose of meds.
Chipped handle. Faded yellow paint. Good Morning, Sunshine peeling off in curls.
He’s checked your fever three times since then. It’s gone down, slow but steady.
He still doesn’t trust it.
A quick glance at his wrist—two hours and change.
Two hours and change since he left your bedside. Since he wrapped you in every blanket in the house, folded a damp towel across your forehead, and tucked a heating pad under your feet.
Two hours since he bullied you under the covers, even as you slurred, ‘I feel better now, Eds, swear. The soup cured me,’ then yawned so wide it swallowed the rest of your words whole.
You’d mumbled, half-asleep against the pillow, ‘How’d you even know I was home?’, and he’d told you.
That he knocked on your door like a maniac for ten minutes and nearly got his throat torn out by your neighbor’s dog.
You'd blinked at him then, smiling.
‘Puddles.’
It had took him a minute to realize what you meant. Then his chest swelled up with so much fondness he didn’t know what to do with it.
‘Puddles, huh? Kinda misleading for a dog that terrifying.’
‘Mm, he’s not terrifying. He’s sweet.’
Another yawn.
‘Like you.’
He didn’t kiss you then. He should’ve.
Instead, he’d scoffed and tugged the blanket up to your chin like a coward.
‘Well, as flattered as I am, Puddles thinks you should sleep. Can’t have you collapsing on him again.’
You’d whined faintly, giving him a weak little pout that nearly won him over, but he’d out-stubborned you. Cocooned you in fleece and cotton until you were giggling, feverish and fading.
Then, half-lost to sleep, still reaching, you’d murmured:
“You always take care’a me, Eds… you’re good for me, always so… good…”
He didn’t know what to say to that. So he didn’t.
Just stood there, watching your features slacken, watching the crease between your brows smooth out as sleep pulled you under.
Then, when he was sure you couldn’t hear him, he’d whispered back:
‘No, I’m not.’
And when that failed to dull the ache, he’d stepped into the hallway and quietly swung his fists against the wall. Not hard enough to make a dent.
Just enough to feel it.
Try and bleed the ache out of his chest.
Because this is his fault.
He’s the reason you’re hurting.
That first hour outside your room, he’d cleaned.
Anything to keep his hands busy while his mind circled the drain. Wandered every corner of your house, revisiting spots you’d both scrubbed just days ago.
Sunday morning, when everything still felt light. When he showed up bright and early, holding a box of garbage bags and a pair of medical latex gloves.
‘Eds,’ you’d laughed, ‘We’re just cleaning, not performing surgery.’
He'd wanted to kiss you then, too. Didn’t.
Just followed you around the house like a dog with his tail caught in a song. Vacuumed, swept, bumped your shoulder in the hallway. You’d kept the record player spinning—The Rolling Stones, B-side—and sang just under your breath. Soft, half-forgotten lyrics that made his ears twitch trying to catch them.
By noon, the house smelled like lemon cleaner and spring and sun.
Now?
Now it smells like the polished wood of your dining table and the lavender dish soap by your sink.
Eddie’s still there, scrubbing your clean mug like it owes him something. Uses too much soap. Rinses. Wipes down the counters again. Re-cleans the stovetop. Reaches for another sponge.
He thinks about the confetti he’d helped you clean from between the floobrboards. The sticky red stain from the punch bowl. How you sprayed him with lemon-scented Lysol and shrieked when he chased you through the living room.
Lemon. Laughter. You.
None of it lingers anymore.
Just wood and lavender.
Eddie shuts off the water.
The mug sits on the drying rack, yellow paint peeling in silence.
Good Morning, Sunshine
He grips the counter, knuckles white, eyes squeezed shut.
He doesn’t go upstairs. Doesn’t let himself.
Don’t wake her. Don’t check. Don’t look.
But—
What if you’ve gotten worse?
What if your fever’s gone back up? What if he missed something and it’s too late?
Would he have to take you to the hospital? Would he even make it there with how low his tank is?
Would he have to call your parents? Would they blame him?
Would they be right to?
Should he have made you eat more? Less?
What if your stomach can’t take it? What if you get sick and choke in your sleep?
Would you hate him if he left to go get you something to eat? Something better than soup?
He thinks of that diner you told him about, the one with your favorite burger.
Sunday afternoon, when the cleaning was done.
'Seriously, their vanilla shakes should be illegal. C’mon!'
You’d climbed into his van, grinning like summer, and he’d driven. Windows down, warm air spilling in—you’d stuck your head out to shout into the breeze. He couldn't stop smiling.
You’d sat across from him in a cracked vinyl booth, sipping from a striped straw, your laughter curling between his animated retelling of last week’s Hellfire campaign.
‘I swear. Twenty minutes debating whether or not to open a damn glovebox.’
‘And?’
‘Nothing! It was just a glovebox.’
You’d smiled so wide he thought he’d forget how to breathe.
And then—
Then the sky cracked open.
He remembers the exact moment it started pouring. When he offered to run outside and pull the van around, and you’d caught his wrist:
‘What if we just… stayed?’
‘In here?’
‘No, silly! In the rain!’
And then you were gone—bolting through the door before he could stop you.
Rain. So much of it.
April rage. Cold. Breathless. Unforgiving.
It soaked you both before Eddie caught up, laughing.
‘Shit! C’mon, van’s this way!’
But you didn’t run.
You stopped.
Stayed.
Tipped your face to the sky, smile blooming like spring as you whispered:
‘Isn’t it beautiful?’
He’d looked back at you.
‘Yeah. Beautiful.’
And you turned to smile at him—rain spilling from your lashes, rivulets trickling into your collarbone—squinting through the downpour as you asked:
‘Have you ever kissed someone in the rain?’
‘Mm, does making out with my hand in the shower count?’
You’d laughed, fingers weaving tight with his, the thunder rumbling above like applause.
And then you kissed him.
Kissed him in the rain with your arms around his neck and your hands in his hair.
Laughing into his mouth, rain-slicked and sloppy, water clinging to your cheeks and your teeth and your smile. Messy, open-mouthed reveries until the downpour grew so heavy neither of you could tell where one breath ended and the next began.
He kissed you back until his spine hit the cold metal of the van, until your fingers twisted in his jacket and his hair frizzed with humidity and his lungs forgot how to ration air.
Until the only things left were the taste of your mouth and the sound you made when he tugged your lip between his teeth.
He kissed you again,
And again,
And again,
Until the clouds rolled overhead,
Until gray gave way to soft blue,
Until thunder softened to birdsong and the world remembered spring,
Until the sky stitched itself whole again.
And still, you didn’t let go.
You stayed—clinging, gasping, laughing into his chest, soaked through and shivering—until he finally coaxed you back into the van. Tried to get his busted heater running and warm the rain from your bones.
He watched you there—wrapped in his jacket, hair dripping onto the collar, lips still pink from kissing him senseless—and thought:
This is it.
Now—
Now he’s on your couch.
TV muted. Not watching. Barely breathing.
Upstairs, you’re sleeping.
Trembling. Burning. Hurting.
He checks his watch—almost three hours.
He should check your temperature again. Bring water. Tea, if your ghost-town cabinets have any.
Chamomile. You like chamomile.
After the kiss, when you looked over from the passenger seat, smiling wider than the stretch of sky beyond the windshield.
When you asked if you could dry off at his place.
‘My house still smells like bleach. Plus, it feels way too empty without you.’
You’d borrowed the blow dryer in his bathroom. Clothes on. Nothing scandalous.
Still, the door was cracked open, so he’d stayed in the kitchen around the bend, boiling water and rifling through every cabinet in search of tea.
You’d said chamomile.
He didn’t have chamomile.
Didn’t have much of anything.
So when you emerged around the corner, towel-damp and flushed, he’d offered you a tea-less mug with a sheepish grin.
‘Sorry, we’re fresh out of tea. Hope you like unflavored hot water.’
He doesn’t have the words to describe how he’d felt then—as you cupped the mug in both hands and smiled, soft and gracious, like it was the kindest thing anyone had ever given you.
‘Are you kidding? I love unflavored hot water.’
Now, he’s found it.
Chamomile. Unopened box. Back corner of your cabinet.
He puts the kettle on. Drums the counter.
Burns his hand when he pours the water. Doesn’t care. Doesn’t feel it. Wants to feel it.
Drops the bag in the mug. Rummages for honey.
Finds three antique corkscrews and a fondue pot manual with no fondue pot.
No honey.
Swears under his breath. Slams the cabinet door too hard.
Of course there’s no fucking honey. Why would there be—
“Eddie?”
Your voice.
His head snaps up.
You’re at the base of the staircase, swaddled in the blanket he tucked around you hours ago, one corner dragging behind like a cape. Your eyes are a little glassy, your hair still matted.
But you’re standing. Awake. Looking at him.
The relief feels so sharp it borders on pain.
“Hey,” he breathes, voice cracking. Blinks fast, wipes at his face—too late. “You’re up.”
“Yeah.” Your voice is soft, a little sleep-rough.
You look noticeably better, less flushsed and shaky.
Still, he scans you from crown to ankle.
“How’re you feeling?”
You hesitate, raking a slow hand through your hair, blinking like you’re still waking up.
Your eyes flick to the cabinets, to the half-wet mug in his hand, to the kettle whistling behind him.
“What… what are you doing?”
Eddie follows your gaze, then winces. Sees the chaos for the first time. Every cabinet open, half-ransacked. Counter cluttered with everything he dragged out while looking for the honey.
The tea bag floats in the mug like something drowned. Lavender soap and steam clings to the air.
“Making you… tea.”
You blink at him. Then the kettle shrieks louder, and you flinch.
“Eddie,” you say softly, “the kettle.”
He blinks. Jolts.
“Shit—yeah, fuck—sorry.” He fumbles for the handle, nearly burning himself again, and kills the burner.
The noise cuts off abruptly, like a door slammed shut. The silence it leaves behind is deafening.
You’re still watching him. Wrapped in your blanket, fingers unclenching from the banister as you shuffle a few steps closer.
Your gaze drops to the mug in his hand. “Is that for me?”
He blinks down at it, like he forgot he was holding it.
“Yeah. Chamomile.”
You reach for it like it’s something precious. Hands wrappping around the ceramic—still warm, still steeping—as your breath ghosts across the rim.
“Smells good.” You murmur.
“Couldn’t find honey. Sorry.”
Your lashes flutter. “No, it’s perfect.”
A beat, then: “Come sit with me?”
His first instinct is to say no—to say he should clean up his mess, re-check your fever, do something useful with his hands instead of washing the same damn mug for thirty minutes.
But then you tilt your head just slightly, eyes soft despite the fever-fog, and he sees it there—tucked in the crinkle of your brow, quiet as breath:
Worry.
For him.
You’re sick, feverish, flushed and miserable, and you’re worried about him.
“Yeah,” he whispers. “Okay.”
He forgets about the kettle and the cabinets and the clutter, leaving it all behind as you guide him toward the couch.
Trailing after you like a wayward chunk of space debris, pulled helplessly along by the comet-tail of your blanket.
You settle first—gingerly, curling into the corner with a quiet wince. Then you freeze, halfway to pulling the blanket over your knees.
“Oh—wait,” you frown. “You shouldn’t be near me. I’m probably contagious.”
He stops mid-step, halting like you’d yanked an invisible leash. Something in his chest knots up, tight and hollow and mean.
You shrink slightly, tugging the wool closer to your body. He just stands there, arms stiff at his sides.
Then he says it, quietly:
“…can I still sit close?”
You glance up at him, small furrow between your brows. “Eds…”
“Just—” He clears his throat. “I just wanna check your forehead. Make sure.”
A pause. Longer than he can take. Long enough that his heart starts hammering again, dumb and loud.
Then, finally, a small nod. “Okay.”
He sinks beside you, careful not to tug on your blanket.
Then, gently, he brushes a strand of hair from your cheek and lets his callused palm settle across your forehead.
Warm. Still warm. But not burning.
Better.
Not enough to quiet the storm in his chest.
Your lashes flutter beneath his hand. Not sleepy—watching. Curious.
He wonders if you can see it. That thing crawling just under his skin.
He doesn't move. Doesn’t drop his hand.
He’s not sure he can.
You’re getting better. He knows that. He’s seen it in your color, in your voice.
But something in him still won’t unclench.
This is his fault.
That’s what his brain keeps whispering.
If he’d gotten you dry clothes at his place, if he’d made you change, if he cranked the heat, gotten extra blankets—
If he hadn’t kissed you for so damn long in the rain.
This is his fault. He’s the reason you’re here.
You let out a small sniffle, and he finally lets his hand drop into his lap. Curls it into a loose fist.
“Sorry,” he murmurs. “Didn’t mean to…”
His voice trails off. He doesn’t know where that sentence ends.
Your eyes narrow, tired but sharp.
“Eddie, are you okay?”
His lips twitch—something that might’ve passed for a smile on a better day.
“You’re the one with the fever.”
“Eddie.”
His name again. Firm this time. A lifeline yanking him back from the edge.
He flinches.
He wants to tell you everything.
Wants to say how scared he was when you didn’t answer the door. How he thought about picking your lock, sitting there on the curb. How it gutted him to see you pale and shivering in bed. How useless he felt trying to fix a thing he couldn’t even touch.
But he doesn’t say it. Doesn’t know how.
So instead, he offers the one thing he can:
“I can sleep out here tonight. If you want.”
You go quiet. The silence stretches.
Then you nod.
“Yeah, sure, okay. Just… Eddie?”
He hums, barely. His voice has gone somewhere far away.
“…are you sure you’re okay?”
His fingers twitch. The rings clink quietly in his lap. His eyes blur, fixed on the edge of the blanket where your hand disappears beneath it.
“Yeah,” he lies. “’M fine.”
You shift closer, just a bit.
Then, your hand finds his. Pinky looping gently around his thumb, the ring still swaying around your index finger—a clumsy, lovely echo of him.
Your voice is barely a whisper when it comes:
“It’s okay if you’re not.”
His eyes flutter shut. The words sink deep.
“I just…” His throat clicks. “I should’ve known.”
And then it spills out. All of it. A messy, breathless, unforgiving torrent.
“I should’ve called. Or checked in. You weren’t at school for three days and you were out in the rain for so long, and I didn’t think, I just—”
“—Eddie.”
He stops. Mid-breath. Shoulders shaking.
You move again. Blanket rustling as you turn to face him fully. He doesn’t follow, just stares at the spot where the fabric pools in your lap.
And then:
“Edward Munson.”
His full name, in your voice—crisp and unfamiliar—cuts through the spiral like a blade.
He stiffens, looking up at you.
“Sunday was the best day of my life.”
You sit up straighter, ignoring the blanket as it slips off your shoulders,. Your gaze is steady, spine tall with conviction.
“The best day of my life,” you repeat. “Hands down. No contest.”
He blinks. You keep going.
“I’ve always wanted to kiss someone in the rain, you know.”
His heart trips.
“You have?”
You nod. “Yeah. Ever since I was little. Always thought it’d feel like magic.”
He swallows, fingers twitching where they’re tangled with yours.
“And it did.” You smile, squeezing your pinky around his thumb. “It was perfect.”
He swallows again, thick and tight. And before he can stop himself—before guilt can win or fear can shut it down—he hears his voice crack through the quiet:
“Can I kiss you?”
You blink back at him, eyes heavy but clear.
Then, slowly, a small smile spreads across your face—quiet and tired and unbelievably kind.
“We really shouldn’t,” you whisper. “I’m gonna get you sick.”
And god, even now—even now—you’re still worried about him.
His thumb brushes over the ring looped around your finger.
His mouth twitches.
And then, softer than a breath:
“…please?”
He hears himself say it. A stranger borrowing his voice.
Selfish. Unfair. Reckless and dumb and maybe even downright cruel.
But you just purse your lips. Then nod.
“Yeah. Yeah, okay Eds.”
And the second your lips meet his, he caves.
Leans in too fast, breathes too hard, cups your cheek with too much pressure—messy, trembling, drenched in relief. He kisses you like he’s trying to crawl inside you, pouring everything in—fear, guilt, longing, all the things he won’t name.
You smile against his mouth, trying to pull away, breath catching between hurried kisses.
“Eddie—I’m serious—” you mumble. “You’re gonna get sick.”
But he doesn’t move. Just holds your face in both hands because he can’t bear the thought of letting go.
“I don’t care,” he breathes, voice cracking. “I don’t care, please.”
Your name leaves him in whispered gasps, chased by broken apologies—hot, frantic, raining desperately against your skin.
And then he kisses you. Again. And again. And again.
Your fist curls in his shirt. His hands tremble where they hold your jaw.
Only when your breath begins to hitch—when the flush of your skin seeps into his palms like a reminder—does he tear himself away.
Rips himself off like a bandage that’s fused to flesh—raw and reluctant and too much all at once.
But he stays close. Nose bumping against yours, both of you gasping in the narrow space between. Still holding you, like his hands haven’t gotten the message his mouth is trying to speak.
His eyes close, tight. He counts your breaths, the rise and fall of your chest, trying to control his own.
And then he breaks.
Not loudly. Not all at once.
Just a quiet crack down the middle:
“…Wayne caught the flu a couple years ago.”
He feels you shift, but he keeps his eyes shut. Keeps talking.
“It got really bad. This one night, he… he couldn’t breathe right, so I took him to the ER.” His voice catches, jaw locking. “Thought I was being paranoid. Just a cough, right?”
He swallows hard. Shakes his head because he can still see it, even in the darkness behind his lids.
Blinding red. Hospital tiles. Wayne’s wheezing breaths and distant shouts.
“Turns out it was pneumonia. They kept him there for two weeks. Had him hooked up to all these tubes and wires, and I just remember… I remember watching him try to breathe through this mask and wondering if that was it. If that’s the last thing I was ever gonna get.”
And suddenly, the present peels away.
No couch. No blanket. No flicker of the TV screen.
Just him.
Eighteen years old. Scared out of his fucking mind. Knees bouncing in a stiff plastic chair, fingers yanking at his hair, whispering to a god he hasn’t believed in since he was nine.
Please, please, just let him be okay. I’ll do anything, I'll change, I’ll quit, I’ll stop being such a screw-up. I’ll be better. I won’t ask for anything ever again, just don’t take him. Take me. I’m the fuck-up. Just not him, not him. Please.
The words slip out before he can decide whether they should.
“…I thought I was gonna lose him.”
And then you're there.
Your arms rising around him like the tide—slow, certain, wrapping him in heat and weight and the gentle crush of comfort. The blanket falls to the floor in a hushed sigh. You tuck your face into the curve of his neck, warm and damp, your breath soft against his pulse.
“I’m sorry.”
He nods against your shoulder, slow and aching.
“You didn’t lose him,” you whisper. “And you’re not gonna lose me.”
He wants to believe you. More than anything.
Wants to let those words root somewhere deep and immovable. To hold onto the way you say it, like its the most natural truth in the world.
Because even while wrapped in heat and exhaustion, you’re still the one holding him up.
His fingers find your hair, feeling your warmth seep deep into his chest. Not fever-warmth—though he knows that’s still there—but the kind that lives at the center of things. The kind that says I’m here.
So he stays, too.
Nods a little harder this time, like repetition can make it real. Like if he agreed hard enough, the universe might listen. Might back off.
Might give him this one thing.
His hand is still tangled in your hair when he finally speaks again, voice worn soft.
“You scared the hell out of me.”
He feels the faint smile against his collarbone before he hears your reply.
“Yeah, I noticed.”
A huff of air leaves him—halfway between a laugh and a sob.
“You looked like death warmed over.”
You pull back just enough to meet his eyes, lashes damp. A weak but pointed brow lifts.
“Wow, Munson. So romantic.”
And despite everything, he grins.
Crooked and tired, but it’s not a lie this time.
He gently brushes your hair back from your face, knuckles grazing your forehead. Checks your temperature again without thinking, just needing to feel it—the pulse beneath your temple, the life still humming under your skin.
His gaze flickers to the coffee table, where the mug sits untouched and forgotten.
Chamomile. Your favorite.
“I think your tea’s getting cold,”
You hum softly, reaching down with one hand, the other still draped loosely around his waist.
A small sip. Just enough to taste. Let it settle.
Then your hand lowers, cradling the mug against your chest as you melt back into him. Cheek pressed to his shoulder, head tucked beneath his chin.
“Feel better already,” you whisper, lips grazing his collar. “Told you you’re good for me.”
He inhales—slow, deep—trying to catch the shape of this moment.
The air reminds him of the rain.
Not the kind that splits, but the kind that comes after.
The kind that drapes over everything it touches, soaking into skin and soil and all the roots underneath.
Warm. Gentle. Forgiving.
Gone is the sterile sting of hospital corridors. No more lemon, or wood, or lavender.
Now it’s just chamomile and wool. Damp cotton and warm skin.
Just breath and sleep and the lull of a heartbeat against his side.
Just you.
“Yeah,” he smiles.
“Maybe.”
a/n: so, i've written plenty of angst before, but something abt this one made me genuinely tear up. not even the part abt wayne, just them kissing in the rain. this chapter really reminded me of how much I adore this version of eddie.
from the bottom of my heart, thank you for following this story and sending me so many kind words about it. it truly means everything to me.
series masterlist | series playlist | general masterlist
all of us strangers; dir. andrew haigh + swan song; victoria canal // heaven, iowa; fall out boy // no plan; hozier // all the way down; biffy clyro // the taste of ink; the used
Eddie Munson x Reader (bouncer x bartender, frenemies to lovers) - Happy Hours series
Chicago, 1991.
When you’re not pouring beers and shaking cocktails behind the bar of Jackie’s, you’re fighting flirting balancing banter and bite with the metalhead bouncer on your break.
A busy Friday night changes how you see Eddie Munson. Maybe you were wrong about the bouncer with his silver tongue and Bambi brown eyes...
This is 18+. If you’re not 18 please hit the back button and read something else.
Word count: 16.7 K
Contents/Warnings: Frenemies to lovers. Misogynistic comments; objectification, men being men. Some violence; Eddie gets in a fight. This is an 18+ fic. Smoking, alcohol consumption & drug use. Oral (reader receiving). P in V sex. Excessive use of pet names.
Eddie & Reader are mid to late twenties. Reader is written as AFAB and uses female pronouns.
Author’s Note: One minute you’re daydreaming about cherry margaritas and Eddie Munson, and the next you’re writing 36 pages of how you fall in love with him... Just girly things? This is my first attempt at writing Eddie ❤️
I do hope you enjoy it, I had fun writing it! Thank you @specialagentmonkey for beta reading / being my hype woman.
Once again, this is an 18+ fic. Please do not repost my work to other sites.
Dividers by me ✌️
The cold fizz of vodka soda lime prickles your throat with a pleasant burn.
It’s August and it’s warm, too warm to be crammed in this little dive bar with too many bodies and not enough of them wearing antiperspirant. Way too warm to be working, slinging cheap drinks to the thirsty Friday night crowd crushed into Jackie’s. They can be stingy with their ‘pleases’ and ‘thank yous’ but the tips are good at least (thanks to the pulled-low hem of your tank top showing just enough and the hug of denim on your hips).
Jackie’s was a popular little dive you had visited during your first week in Chicago; a drink with your new roommate and some friends ended with you charming the owner Frank and promising to return for a trial shift the following evening. That was almost a year ago and you had settled in well, stepping up to be a supervisor after six months.
Now, bone tired and wishing just a little bit that you worked a nine to five, you long for a cool shower and something fried and crispy and maybe cheesy (not particularly in that order). You’re here until close, two a.m last call followed by another hour of cleaning. Then you’re home free. Until tomorrow night anyway.
You tip back the last of your drink and crunch the ice between your teeth. Those last few minutes of your break are dwindling and soon you will haul yourself back, to fill beers and shake-up cocktails, all tits and teeth and aching feet. The music from the bar is loud as you perch on your stool at the back door, but you hear him over it hum-singing something way more Billboard Hot 100 than his usual taste. It makes your lips curve into a smirk, your head leaning back against the cool brick wall.
“Don't you know, hmmhnn change. Things'll go your way. Hmmm hmm Hold On for -”
“Hey, hotshot.”
The small startle that shakes Eddie’s black-clothed body makes you laugh more than it should, particularly when he attempts to brush it off and play cool.
“Fuckin’ Christ, I should’ve known you’d be here.” His voice is a groan, head tipped back with hammed-up exasperation.
“Careful, Ed. They’ll revoke your metalhead licence if they hear you’re singing Wilson Phillips these days.” Your voice is a conspiratorial stage whisper as you cross your legs, stacking one over the other. His usual leather jacket has been swapped out for the hot summer nights, black denim over his usual tight black t-shirt and Dickies.
He rolls and flicks his lighter to set the cigarette between his lips aflame as he meanders toward you. You can hear the crackle of burning tobacco as he takes a long drag, eyes never leaving you. “Not shaking your tits for tips, sugar?”
“Aw, been thinking about me while you’re asking cute girls what their star sign is?” you snark, missing the shadow of something that passes over Eddie’s face as your eyes roll.
You switch your focus to the night sky above as Eddie comes to loom by you. The smoke swirls around him as he offers the cigarette out to you. Before taking it, you reach back and leave your empty glass on the sill behind you and swap a chilled bottle of Budweiser for the smoking cig.
It’s not an olive branch, just part of your usual ritual; trading acidic barbs, mean words, shared smokes and free drinks whenever you’re scheduled on the same shifts (which is most nights).
Eddie uses his keys to uncap the bottle and takes a long pull, head tipped back to show off his pale throat. A sliver of silver glints around his neck. The beer is almost half gone when he rips a truly boyish burp. Gross.
You take a drag, sighing the smoke into the warm air.
“What’s the sigh about, princess? Did someone not say please when they asked for their Cosmo? Your little apron tied too tight?” Eddie plucks at the wrap of black fabric around your waist. The way it hugs the curve and flair of your hips is certainly not lost on him.
You blow your second drag of smoke directly at him for that one. “Well if you could make sure we’re not packing the place out and breaching health and safety, that would be fuckin’ fantastic.”
“Simmer down, princess. I’ve got it handled. You just pour your little drinks and wink at the boys and we’ll get through tonight just fine, ‘kay? Leave the crowd control to me.” Eddie tilts his head, dripping condescension like the total asshole he is. He’s way closer than you even realised and you can smell the spicy Fahrenheit behind the smoke. There’s heavy silence as you both glare at each other in the back alley.
The heat and hectic night make your banter especially snarky but Eddie’s the first to break, nudging you with a little smile. You barely catch his gaze dropping to your lips as you take another drag from his cigarette.
“No one giving you any trouble tonight?” he asks.
“No more than usual. Just absolutely slammed in there. Just got done changing kegs again - they’re drinking us dry and it’s only Friday.” You roll your neck, sighing again when it cracks.
“Tips good?” He seems almost genuine until his mean little smirk returns, “Your tits are probably doing the real heavy liftin’ but..”
“Listen dickh-”
Just as you’re about to cuss him out, there’s a burst of music and crowd noise as one of the other bartenders comes to find you. Michelle looks between you and Eddie before rolling her eyes. “C’mon, you’re really pushin’ that ten-minute break tonight. Sorry to break up whatever this was,” she flaps her hand between you and Eddie (who’s grinning like a wolf as he finishes his beer), “but we have a bachelorette party in line and it’s already crazy in there.”
“Bachelorettes?” Eddie pushes off the wall and steals the smoke back from your fingers, “Sounds like I should probably get back to work. Ladies.” He winks before sauntering off, leaving you almost simmering with something like anger until Michelle scoffs and drags you back inside.
“The sooner you two just bang and get it out of your system, the better,” Michelle tuts.
“Ew. Pass.” You scoff and pause at the dingy mirror to fix your hair and pat the sweat away with a rip of trusty blue roll, scooping your breasts up in their cups and adjusting your top before scurrying after Michelle again. If you’re going to be busy, you may as well make it worthwhile and rake in the tips.
The bar is louder than loud but you’re energised from your vodka soda and little sparring session with Eddie and easily fall back into step with the other bar staff, working together like a well-oiled machine - despite the annoying rusty hinge manning the door.
Eddie rejoined the staff with his buddy Jeff in tow after they had spent some time on tour with their band. You had barely contained your eye rolls when the loud metalhead had waltzed into one of Frank’s staff meetings (conducted over pizza and pitchers of beers) unannounced and kicked his feet up on a table like he owned the place. Everyone was happy to see him (adding a round of shots to toast his glorious return) but you stayed wary of the flirty metalhead with a silver tongue and big brown Bambi eyes. Yeah, you felt warm all over when he looked you up and down and smiled like a wolf but you knew his type - total flirt, make a girl feel special and then move on to the next one. You didn’t move your entire life to a whole new state to get fucked over again, so you and Eddie settled into trading catty comments while you watch out for each other, allowing the occasional flirtation for balance. Getting under each other’s skin in whatever way seemed most annoying and fun? It worked, made the slow nights bearable, the busy ones more fun. Whatever it was.
An hour later the small of your back is nearly soaked with perspiration. The bachelorettes are in full flight, meaning you have been pouring shots and mixing cocktails non-stop. They’re sweet at least, good with their excited ‘thank you!’s for all the fruity drinks you made them - cherry margaritas, blue lagoons and strawberry daiquiris going down an absolute treat.
You’re shaking another batch of lemon drop shots for a girl's night group when you become hyper-aware of two yuppie finance bros with their gaze firmly fixed on your chest, trading little smirks and comments with each other behind their glasses. You’re overcome with an overwhelming sense of ick.
It’s nothing new, but it doesn’t make it any easier to ignore sometimes - even when you’re up-the-walls busy and the kegs need to be changed. You refocus and fix your gaze on the glowing EXIT sign, thinking about how many more cocktails you will make before close. Your eye is caught instead by Eddie standing by the door, already looking at you while he’s supposed to be making sure none of the patrons are being too dickish.
When your eyes meet he tilts his chin in a nod. Eddie smirks as he shimmies his chest at you, to which you mouth a very easily recognisable ‘FUCK YOU’ with a cheeky wink for good measure.
He shakes his head and you pour the line of shots, earning yourself a nice big tip and a rake of compliments from the drunk girls who make you promise to do a shot with them later. Not a promise you can definitely keep, but their enthusiasm is a balm for your soul.
As they shuffle away to give each other pep talks in the bathroom (gosh, you love them), one of the men who had been eyeing you up steps into their place. You don’t miss the way he drags his eyes over their bodies before his snake-like stare is fixed on you. You have already made plenty on tips so you dial back the smile, giving him a barely polite brow raise in place of a ‘What’ll it be?’
“Two whiskeys, top shelf. Whatever’s expensive in this dump,” he says, speaking to your chest rather than your face. You can smell the sour of his breath across the counter.
You square your jaw and suppress an eye roll that would surely render you sightless for the rest of your days. “If you don’t like it, the doors over there. Ice?”
He grunts affirmative and you pour the drinks from the barely touched bottle, slamming the glasses down just hard enough to startle him before you give him his total.
“There’s an extra fifty in it if you give me a smile,” he says, leaning his elbow on the bar with the crisp note in hand. “You been given’ out a lot more for a lot less all night. One little smile for me?” The man nods to your cleavage, and you refuse to feel self-conscious.
You can’t summon the effort to even fuck with him, come up with a comeback that his Neanderthal brain couldn’t possibly comprehend. You give him his total again along with your best deadpan glare. “You’re holding up the line. Pay up or am I going to need to cut you off, buddy?”
His face turns sour, acidic anger bubbling up. “You’re a hard little bitch, aren’t ya?”
You smirk at that, plucking the fifty from between his thin fingers to cash up before dropping his change back on the counter. “I am, thank you so much for noticing.” Your voice is nearly saccharine, and you play up the airhead facade for a moment before turning to the customer next to him. “Next please!”
His curses blend into the background as Michelle hip-checks you with a grin and wink, which you return while beginning to pour beers for your next order. If you let every slimeball get to you, you would have given up a long time ago.
On such a busy night, it was easy to be distracted and forget all about him, but the sharp brown eyes standing by the door saw everything - and he wasn’t so forgiving.
Almost another hour passes; another keg change, more cocktails to shake, another few visits from your favourite group of girls (who you take a shot of tequila with when they bat their lashes at you - you’re a sucker when it comes to girls who give you compliments and smell like vanilla).
The crowd thins a bit and you take a turn collecting empties, happy to have an excuse to get out from behind the bar and stretch your legs again, even if it is to balance too many glasses on a too-small tray. The ever-changing obstacle course of the floor on a Friday night is one you’re well practised at, dodging stray elbows and dipping in between patrons to take their spent glasses from the sticky tables, maybe chat a little if it’s not too loud or busy.
Paradise City is pouring through the speakers as your arms begin to protest the load they are carrying. You know your limit and pick up two more stacked pint glasses, catching Eddie’s eye as he bids goodnight to some regulars. His boot is already halfway out the door after them when you see his face change into something you can’t fully comprehend. Not because you can’t read him - you absolutely can - but your body is careening forward and down toward the floor before you can catch yourself. Your foot had caught on something that hadn’t been there before you met Eddie’s stare, sending you flying forward.
There’s a thud, crash, smash as you hit the deck alongside every single glass you had expertly balanced. The sound feels huge, ringing in your ears and it’s like the air is sucked out of the room, your body is winded by the unexpected impact. The music cuts and everything hurts - part ego, part ‘that’ll bruise tomorrow’ pain.
You wish for the sticky floor to just swallow you up as patrons form a little circle around you, crunching broken glass under their feet. A familiar pair of boots stops right by your head. Eddie. He crouches to kneel by you with one hand heavy on your shoulder and floods your already overwhelmed senses with his smoke and leather and spice.
He says your name, edged with panic until you open your squeezed-shut eyes. You manage to push yourself up with a small wince, hauling yourself with his help to sit on a quickly-vacated low stool. His hands feel huge as they cup your face, you hadn’t noticed how long his lashes were (unfair) or the freckles dusted across his nose.
“M’okay, Ed. Jus’ need a minute,” your murmur, head ducked to hide your hot cheeks and embarrassment. He stands and puts his arm around you, without thinking you rest your head against his hip but miss his slight intake of breath as your coworkers calm the crowd and start sweeping and gathering the glass, and thankfully turn the music back on.
Eddie bends a little to speak to you, low and quiet, “Just sit there a sec, okay? ‘Chelle is going to bring you to the staff room.”
You nod and take a few breaths before taking his hand to stand and be passed safely into Michelle’s care.
“I’ll be back to you in a sec. Don’t go gettin’ in any more trouble, ‘kay?” Eddie’s softness has an edge now, his eyes zeroing in on the man who had given you shit at the bar earlier. The one Eddie had been glaring at ever since; he had seen him stick his foot out to trip you.
You’re just about to push through to the back hallway when you hear raised voices. Eddie’s voice is louder than the others. You turn and see him squaring up to the slimeball who asked you for a smile earlier, not looking as clever or slick now that Eddie’s up in his face.
“Oh, what the fuck,” Michelle murmurs, pausing behind you to watch.
“I saw you fuckin’ trip her man. Get the fuck out.” Eddie is incensed. “Been givin’ her shit all night.”
Trip her? Oh. He means you.
“I wouldn’t touch’er. That bitch? Fuck off man, get out of my face.”
There’s a scuffle, another broken glass. More shouting before it really kicks off, fists swinging. Through the horrified crowd, you see knuckles connecting with Eddie’s pretty face. It hurts when you yell out his name, adding to the noise as Jeff rushes in to get the men under control.
Eddie lands his own punch, rings slamming into the man's jaw, raising a collective ‘ooof’ from the gathered crowd. Despite the blood on his face and hands, Eddie manages to haul him out into the street with Jeff, some beefy regular marching the second man out by the scruff of his neck.
“What the fuck…” you breathe, realising that you were holding on to Michelle’s arm way too tight. You apologise and she steers you back to the staff room in a daze of pain and confusion (more from the fight than your fall). The room is little more than a box with a wall of beat-up lockers, a sink and counter, a table with cracked Formica and creaky chairs and a squishy old two-seater. It’s cramped but it can be a haven on a busy night.
As you ease yourself into the corner of the squishy sofa, Michelle pours you a big measure of whiskey for the shock. She kneels in front of you, looking you over for any cuts or scrapes from the glass, and checks your pupils for good measure. You’re just shaken up and feeling the impact of the fall.
“You dizzy or anything?” she asks, squeezing your knee. “You’re gonna have a big fuckin’ bruise, babe. Remember when I spilled that pitcher, slipped and fell on my ass back before Christmas? Black and blue well into New Year.” She squeezes your knee and encourages you to take a sip of your drink.
The whiskey burns but you barely feel it.
“Why did Eddie hit that guy? Did.. did he trip me? The floor was clear, I just… I didn’t see... My foot caught something but..” Your voice shakes from the adrenaline, the shock of the last few minutes.
She shrugs with a little smile. “I didn’t see either. You’ll need to ask Ed yourself.” A little frown etches between her brows. “He doesn’t… he doesn’t get pissed like that for no reason. He’s a good guy, babe. He looks out for everyone, staff and the drunks. He wouldn’t do that without a good reason. I know you get up each other’s ass but..-”
As you take another sip, the door swings open.
Eddie. Eddie with a bloody nose, lip swollen. Eddie with his jacket off, draped over his arm as he flexes his bloody knuckles around a bottle of Jack Daniels, a pint glass of ice in the other hand.
“Hey, you okay?”
His brown eyes are wide, but he’s trying to play cool despite the adrenaline coursing through him too. Eddie feels like his entire body is buzzing, not in a good way like when he plays a gig or when he gets you riled up at him, when you roll your eyes and give him that smirk - bad like when he used to get in fights in school, when a teacher would assume he was the troublemaker and send him to detention or the principal’s office.
You look at Eddie and he looks right back at you. You can’t look away from each other. It’s like your fall and his punches caused something to shift; you can’t name it but it weighs on you, both of you.
Michelle squeezes your hand. “I’ll leave you two to patch yourselves up. Be good.” A kiss is dropped to your head and she squeezes Eddie’s arm as she passes him by.
It’s just you now. You and Eddie, both hurting.
“Ed…”
He takes a long pull from the bottle of Jack and drops into the seat next to you.
“Eddie, what the hell was that?” Your voice is quiet and your eyes shine when you look at him. He is a ball of frenetic energy, knee bouncing. You take in the black ink on his arms, see the veins and muscles twitch beneath. His nose and mouth are stained bloody, knuckles and rings too.
He looks over you, sees how you’re holding yourself carefully after your fall. “He tripped you.” Eddie’s voice is quiet, not something you hear often. He’s loud and he’s brash, hear-him-before-you-see-him kinda guy.
“Oh.”
“Oh? He’d been giving you shit all night, you could’ve called me. Or Jeff.” He sips the whiskey again and tops up your glass without another word.
“Yeah, he was a creep. Nothing new there. If I come crying to you and Jeff every time someone gets fresh with me I’d never be behind the bar. People are assholes. I can handle myself, Ed.”
“And how’d that go for you tonight? You could’ve been really fuckin’ hurt.” His eyes blaze, nostrils flare.
Your jaw drops, “You’re blaming me?”
“No. No, fuck,” he growls in frustration. “I know you can handle yourself. That’s why you’re fuckin’ great at your job. If I had just taken him out when he gave you shit at the bar then maybe -”
“Jesus Christ, Eddie I don’t need you to save me or protect me! Shit happens! This was shit. It happened. You didn’t need to do that.”
“I know. But I wanted to... I want to..”
The air between you is charged and heavy.
I want to. What does that mean?
Eddie covers himself quickly.
“It’s my job. I want to make sure you, everyone here, can do their job without some fuckin’ guy with halitosis making it worse for you, waving his cash in your face like that.” Eddie nudges you gently, “I just want to do somethin’ right. I like working with you, even when you’re a pain in my ass.”
You scrunch your nose up, “Sap.” It’s easy to both fit back into your normal routine, ignoring the lingering something more that had just become quite clear to both of you.
“I might like working with you too. Don’t let it get to your head, I’m not sure your ego needs to get any bigger, Munson.”
He smiles, but the throb of his nose makes him wince and swear.
Eddie has made no attempt to put that glass of ice to good use so you ease yourself up to grab two clean bar towels, tipping the ice into one before wrapping it up. You pass it back to him before filling the empty glass with water.
“Thanks, princess.” Eddie flexes his fingers as the ice soothes the burning with cool unpleasantness.
You ease yourself back into your seat, facing Eddie now. “C’mere. Let me clean you up.”
He pauses, looking at you from the side of his big brown eyes before turning to face you. “It’s not broken. Just a little blood. You should see the other guy..” Eddie grins when you roll your eyes.
“My hero,” you deadpan, though you do kind of mean it.
With the damp corner of the rag, you gently begin to wipe the blood from Eddie’s face, sitting closer than you have ever really been to him. It’s silent between you, the quietest you have ever seen him. He’s too busy watching you, your focused face and how seriously you are taking your task.
“Very gentle,” he murmurs.
“Mm, don’t try me, Munson.” You’re quiet again, concentrating on wiping the blood and not looking into his eyes. “Not your first bloody nose after a fight then?”
“M’nope. High school… Mosh pits. Few angry drunks. The usual.” He doesn’t mention his father’s temper, his first bloody nose from a beer-soaked backhand. The whiskey tastes sour in his mouth at the memory.
You lean back a bit, assessing your work before wetting another edge of the towel. Eddie crosses his eyes, looking down his nose. “Am I pretty again?” He gives an extra cheesy grin for emphasis, making you laugh. It makes his heart soar; that sound, how you duck your head. But he sees your pained wince, bringing him right back to earth.
“Shit, sorry.”
“It’s fine. I’ll live.”
You bring your hand back to his face and wipe the last of the blood-stained around his mouth, taking one last slow swipe over his too-plump-to-be-decent lower lip. That was more for you than for him, though the spark of fire in his eyes said otherwise; it was the same spark lit low in your belly since you had first laid eyes on him and started your incessant teasing of each other.
“All done.” Your voice is just above a whisper, neither of you making any move backwards.
“Thank you, nurse.” You can feel the warmth of his breath on your face. “Hey, can you... wear one of those little white dresses next time?”
He’s grinning again when you shove at his shoulder to put some space between you, the skin beneath almost burning hot under your hand even through the black cotton of his t-shirt.
“No next time. You hear me? Your groupies will come for me if that pretty face gets all bashed up.” There’s that smirk of yours that sets the embers burning low in his stomach alight.
He rolls his eyes at you, stealing your move. “You heading home?” he asked, watching you again as you drained the last of the whiskey in your glass.
“Mm, soon. I’ll check if I can help close and clean, then I’ll go.” You lean your head against the back of the battered sofa and close your eyes briefly. You think you might just sleep here until your stomach growls like something from the seventh circle of hell.
Eddie’s big brown eyes shine with mirth, astounded at the inhuman noise that just came from your curled-up body.
“Shut up. I’ll make cereal or something when I get home.”
“Nuh-uh. You like fries?”
“Who doesn’t like fries?” you peek one eye open to look at him.
“Let’s get some and I’ll make sure you get home safe.” Eddie checks his knuckles and swipes some of the blood from his rings, acting far more nonchalant than he felt.
“You don’t need to.” Fries and a shake did sound amazing. Walking home while I felt like a human embodiment bruise? Not so much.
“I know. But I’m going anyway, and you need to eat. So let me.”
He pokes your arm as he speaks; you think fleetingly that you might let Eddie Munson do anything if he asked you nicely, spoke to you with that hushed husky voice. You think that you definitely must have hit your head when you start thinking about his eyes…
But he can’t know that, so you settle for an eye roll. “Ugh, fine.”
With far too much energy, Eddie pushes himself up and empties the ice into the sink along with the red-tinged water. He potters around the little staff room, chucking rags into the bag for the laundry and rinsing glasses. You watch him, curious and a little confused until you realise you are staring and don’t want to be caught.
You sit up and unlock your tiny locker, taking off and balling up your apron to throw in your bag, spraying deodorant under your arms before shutting and locking it again. Eddie’s got his jacket back on and you carry your own too-big denim jacket over your arm. You give him a nod, ready to go, and head out to the bar to check with Michelle that it’s okay for you to call it a night
The crowd had thinned to a few stragglers who were almost ready to call it a night. Jeff has the door under control and the bar staff are already cleaning tables and glasses. You promise Michelle you will call her tomorrow, that you will stay in bed if you hurt too much, and accept her gentle hug after she passes you your tips for the night.
“Get home safe. No more getting into trouble,” she says, eyeing you and Eddie together with interest (and some smugness).
“No promises. See ya tomorrow ‘Chelle,” Eddie says with a wink before you both head out toward the black ‘86 Dodge Daytona parked a little down the street. It’s still humid and warm outside and you walk in silence until you see him unlock the nice car, opening the door for you. Your stomach flip-flops when he gives you a slight bow. He’s only being nice because you made an ass of yourself at work, you tell yourself.
“Jesus, being a rockstar really pays off,” you tease and throw your bag into the passenger footwell before easing yourself in. “Or did you steal this?”
You knew he had worked in a garage before moving to the city, and you force the thought of Eddie in a grease-marked tank top out of your head.
“Nah, my days of grand theft auto are long behind me.” Eddie winks and closes the door before rounding the shiny bonnet to sit in the driver’s seat. His keys jangle before he turns the ignition.
The radio blares Iron Maiden’s The Number of the Beast so loud that you just about hear Eddie’s swearing over it until he gets the volume down. “Oops.”
“Dude, mind your fuckin’ ears. You’ll be deaf by thirty.” Your own ears are ringing after the onslaught of noise.
“Huh?” He holds his hand up to his ear and smirks stupidly before revving the engine.
You sink back into the low seat and shake your head; your own smile reflects at you in the window as he peels away from the curb. “You better not murder me, Munson. I’ll haunt the fuck out of you if you do.”
“Once again babe, kidnap and human sacrifice are also long behind me.”
He drives a little fast, but you don’t hate how you feel sitting in the passenger side of his car. He has a faded Black Ice Little Tree hanging from the rearview mirror alongside a skull keychain that cackles and glows red when you push a button on the back. The cramped back seat camouflages balled-up band shirts, a pair of beat-up Chucks, amp leads and guitar strings - a random accumulation that gives you a glimpse of who Eddie is outside of work. It’s easy for your mind to wander; Eddie, a back seat, what kind of girls he usually brings for a ride in his baby. Instead, you wonder about all you don’t know about the guy you spend a good part of your week with, the man currently driving you to get diner food at 2 a.m. after he punched a guy who was mean to you.
“Feelin’ okay?” he checks, flexing his knuckles on the steering wheel as he takes a left.
“Yeah.” You roll your head to look over at him. “Tell me something.”
Eddie glances across at you, brow raised under his bangs. “What?”
“Something, anything. A secret, a story. You always have something to say, so tell me something.”
“Mmm. You gonna laugh at me?”
“Probably.”
“Shit okay. Um... Okay. I almost got kicked out of my high school graduation. My friends were disruptively loud, like obnoxious motherfuckers - love them to death. And I flipped the Principal off instead of shaking his sweaty little hand.”
It does make you laugh, just a little - more of a really amused smile. “That’s fuckin’ cool, Munson. Were they your little Dungeons and Dorks friends?”
“Rude.” He pauses. “Dragons. Dungeons and Dragons.”
“Nerd. You’re from where, like Ballsack, Indiana?”
“Close. Hawkins - just north of Ballsack actually.”
“Can’t say I know it. Home of the Metalheads or..?”
“No. Definitely not. S’why I left.”
Your lower lip juts out just a little at the loaded confession.
“Your turn. One secret, please. Dirtier the better.”
“Perv.”
“Witch.”
You smirk, leaning your head back. “Been called worse tonight.”
You don’t see Eddie’s knuckles twitch while you think of a secret. Hearing that guy call you a bitch reminded him of all the times he had heard his poor mother called the same by the deadbeat he called Dad.
“Okay, you’re going to piss your pants at me. I used to work at this kinda fancy cocktail place before I moved here,” you say. “Totally lied about my experience before starting. Think… wannabe jazz lounge for yuppies. The menu was like this leather folder thing. Anyway, my first week and this like.. rich lookin’ guy comes in and asks for a Roman Coke.”
You see Eddie glance at you as he indicates and swerves the car smoothly to park opposite a little diner not far from where you live.
“I’m a few days in, super eager to get it all right. I’m like, ‘Yes, of course, coming right up’ and can I remember what the hell is in a Roman Coke? Fuck no. It’s not on the menu so I think ‘Hey this guy must know better than dumb little me’. I’m flipping through the recipe cards, everyone else is busy and kinda mean anyway so I stare at the liquors for like two minutes before I go back and ask him ‘What’s in that again?’.”
Eddie’s biting his lip. He knows where this is going. He sees how you light up when you tell your story, begs the butterflies to calm their swooping and swirling behind his ribs as you deliver the punchline.
“Rum. And Coke.”
His head falls forward, rests on the top of the steering wheel. His shoulders shake with silent laughter.
“Eddie. He was the owner.”
He cackles. That throaty yell of a laugh you hear ringing through the bar or from the staff room when he’s goofing around instead of working.
“Oh no..” He’s wiping tears from his eyes as you cringe in his passenger seat. “Oh princess, that’s fuckin’ terrible.”
You sit together in his parked car until you settle, faces hurting from smiling until your stomach growls again.
“Jesus, the woman needs fries - stat.”
“And a Coke?”
“And a Coke.”
Eddie is out of the car and opening your door before you even have your seatbelt off. He offers you his hand to help you out of the car, careful of your sore body after the fall.
“Feeling okay?” he asks, still holding your hand.
“A bit achy. I’ll have a hot shower and take something before bed.” You lift his hand to check his knuckles. “Sore?”
“I’ve had worse.”
He squeezes your hand gently before you let go and cross the street to the hole-in-the-wall place glowing with neon Coca-Cola signs.
“You get in a lot of fights then?” you ask as he holds the door.
“Not anymore.” Eddie shrugs and leads you to a little table, nodding politely to the waitress filling coffees at the counter. She says hi to him by name and you think about Eddie coming in here alone, or not, after his shifts.
The backs of your thighs catch on the red vinyl and you know you will need to peel yourself up later.
Eddie sits opposite you, looking immediately at home as he relaxes back in the booth. In the bright diner lights you can see where his lip is still swollen and sore, the lingering specs of blood in his nostril despite your careful clean-up.
The waitress, an older woman with thinly drawn brows, comes over and pinches Eddie’s cheek with motherly affection. “Hi hon, you two know what you’re havin’?”
Eddie scrunches his nose like a bunny. “Hi, Marie. Usual for me, and a big basket of fries and a Coke?” He looks at you for confirmation, and you nod. “Please and thank you.”
She eyes you up with a little smile as she writes the order. “I was wonderin’ when Eddie was going to bring a nice girl for me to meet. Make yourself at home, sweetheart.”
By the time you both open your mouths to set Marie straight, she’s already gone. Eddie’s cheeks tinge pink, but he shrugs it off. “Hate to have to break her heart and tell her you’re not a nice girl.”
You gasp in mock offence and put your hand to your heart. “I am so nice.” You can’t even keep a straight face as you say it. “Slandering my good name, Munson. I thought you were all about protecting my honour.”
Your close-to-the-bone teasing keeps the rosy tint on his cheeks.
“I never told you, your face when you fell? Fuckin’ hilarious. Should’ve taken a picture to put behind the bar.”
The jab puts you even again, not that either of you keeps score but it’s all about balance. Can’t be too nice, don’t want to be too mean.
You rest your head against the back of the booth and close your eyes for a moment, feeling the exhaustion from a busy and unpredictable night wash over you.
Eddie takes the opportunity to just look at you for a moment; even under the too-bright lights of the diner, he thinks you might just be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
“Tell me something else,” you say before opening your eyes. When you do, you catch a fleeting dreamy look on Eddie’s face and lean forward to rest your chin on your hand as Marie drops over your drinks and food; fries for you, a burger with oozing American cheese and crisp bacon for Eddie.
“So nosy,” he teases, shoving a straw into his fizzing Coca-Cola.
You shrug, feeling a burn in your stomach; maybe you were overstepping. “You don’t have to. You can sit and stare at me if you prefer,” You take a long sip through your own gently placed straw and raise your brows at him.
He can’t and won’t argue with that one and stirs the ice as he thinks, takes a sip.
“One of the first gigs I played out of our hometown, we had like thirty people instead of the usual five drunks in the Hideout. I tried to crowd surf, thinkin’ I was hot shit. Broke my wrist.”
Your eyes blow wide as you eat the best fry of your life - it’s perfectly crisp and fluffy, salted just right - but the punchline of Eddie’s latest confession had you wanting to know more.
“You want half?” Eddie asks, nodding to his burger.
“No, I'm good, thanks. Hold on, reverse to the breaking your wrist after thinking you were Iggy fucking Pop.”
He’s already a bite in but holds his wrist up before he flips you off. “See? Good as new,” he says, pausing his chew.
The fries are too good to waste so you push down the urge to throw one at him.
“I was eighteen. Stupid kid. S’the reason I didn’t graduate that year.” He sips his Coke again and watches your reaction from beneath his lashes.
“That’s shitty.” You feel the frown deepen between your brows, angry on his behalf about something he was long over. “No wonder you flipped the principal off.”
You share your fries with Eddie and eat until your stomach feels warm and full. You share another secret too, tell him about the time you got so scared in a haunted house that you punched some guy dressed as a zombie and got kicked out. He almost choked on a fry at that and laughed so loud that Marie looked over and shook her head fondly at her favourite customer.
It’s easy to drop the charade that you and Eddie don’t get along. A diner at fuck o’clock in the morning exists a world away from the little bar that pays your rent and bills. When you see him get excited telling you a story, letting you see Eddie beyond the bar, you know you got him wrong - he’s funny as fuck, sweet too.
Midway through a story about how his friend Robin had dragged him to do (very) drunk karaoke last week, Eddie catches you staring and scrunches his face a little. “Am I rambling? Fuck, sorry.”
“No. Well, a little, but I like it.” You sip the dregs of your refilled Coke and smile a little.
He smiles back, ducking his head just a little and he catches the time on his watch. His Bambi brown eyes blow wide when he realises. “Jesus, I oughta get you home. The sun will be up soon.”
You didn’t realise either, but you also don’t care. You’re still tired, still aching, but you feel lighter than you have in months, like a long-dead spark might just be coming back. The warm glow is dampened just a bit when Eddie gulps down the last of his drink.
He pulls his jacket back on and insists that he helps you put yours on when you wince. He settles the bill, kisses the back of Marie’s hand and promises to come see her soon. Neither of you let her down when she says she hopes to see you again sometime.
It’s cooler outside now, but the warmth in Eddie’s car and his gentle singing along to the radio rocks you into a light doze as he drives the few blocks to the address you gave him. It kills him to wake you once he’s parked outside.
The small frown lines on your forehead tell him you’re still in some pain after the tumble you took. The ache in his knuckles felt like nothing in comparison to the twisting anger in his gut when he saw that prick’s foot shove out into your path and you watched as you fell in slow motion.
He gives it a minute, tries not to stare like a creep, before reaching over to shake your knee gently.
“Hey.” He says your name so softly, so gently, and taps his fingers against your knee.
You startle slightly and realise where you are. “Sorry, Thanks for the ride, Eddie,” you say quietly. “And the fries. And everything.”
He smiles again, a gentle curve upward of his lips as his fingers rest on your knee. “Any time. We’re like two or three blocks from each other.”
Neither of you wants to burst the already waning bubble you have been in since you left the bar. For a moment, you just look at each other until the air becomes too thick, too heady to breathe easy. You’re not entirely convinced that you didn’t hit your head, that this whole night hasn’t been just some dream of yours. The heat of his hand on your leg tells you it’s real. This is something real.
And still, you make the first move. Pop the bubble. Too much. Too scary.
Your seatbelt clicks open and you grab your bag as Eddie does the same, coming to open your door and offering you a hand to get out.
Neither of you let go of the other’s hand, eking out the last of whatever this was before you have to go your separate ways and think about what it could turn into if you only had the bravery. You’re both standing so close and you watch the shadow of his stupid-long lashes under the street light.
“I’ll see you tomorrow. Today. Whatever. At work.” You want to slap yourself for stuttering.
“Only if you feel up to it. Don’t be a hero, princess.”
“That’s your job, Ed. I’ll see you at work. Thank you, again..”
You squeeze his hand, he squeezes back.
You walk to your door and Eddie rounds the car again to the driver's side. He raises a hand to salute you as you turn to give him one little wave before closing the door.
“Fuck,” you sigh with your back pressed to the wood of the door.
“Fuck.” Eddie growls as his head drops against the roof of the car.
You both take a minute. Need a minute before you can move on.
You drag yourself up the stairs and let yourself in, quiet enough to not wake your flatmate. Eddie waits to see your light come on before starting the car and driving the two blocks to his place.
After popping some painkillers you crawl into bed. Even your racing mind and pounding heart can’t keep you from falling into the deepest sleep you have had in months. Your dreams echo with Eddie’s happy throaty laugh, the gasp from the bar when he threw the first punch, the sound you made when you saw a fist crash into his pretty face.
You sleep late through the Saturday morning city sounds as they turn to afternoon and float through your cracked open window. You sleep until your flatmate knocks to check you made it home and are still breathing, then doze off again while she makes brunch for you both.
Over eggs and bacon, toast and fresh fruit, coffee and Advil, you tell her everything from last night and show her your bruises. She runs to CVS to get arnica cream and more painkillers while you strip your bed, shower and do laundry, keep busy to keep the recurring thoughts of Eddie from your head.
While you are folding clean clothes from earlier in the week back into your drawers, you come across a guitar pick Eddie had left on the bar one time before your shift started; once lost from his pocket, found again amongst the collection of shirts and shorts and jeans you wore to work. You had meant to give it back, then he had called you a brat for something stupid. Maybe he had burped too loud in your direction, and so you didn’t bother. As you run your thumb over the smooth curve of it, you think maybe he’s been at the back of your mind for a longer time than you even realised.
You’re sore all over but you call Michelle and let her know you will be in for your shift. You don’t tell her that you stayed out extra late with Eddie talking about stupid shit and laughing until your face hurt - you're not sure you could handle her sweet smugness over the phone.
After a long bath to soak your muscles and a huge plate of pasta for dinner, you get ready for work. Denim shorts, a tight black t-shirt tucked in, and your trusty Dr Martens (despite the heat). You add some jewellery, spritz your perfume, and fix your hair up off the back of your neck to keep cool. You swipe some Raisin Rage on your lips before wiping it off in favour of a slick of cherry flavour Chapstick. At the last minute, the lipstick makes its way into your bag - just in case.
It’s just after six when you step back into Jackie’s to help cut wedges of lime and lemon for drinks, make sure the barrels and kegs are hooked up properly, the mixers ready to go. It’s almost time to open up and you haven’t seen (or heard) Eddie yet. You chase your disappointment with a quick smoke break with one of the summer hires before Frank pulls you aside, making sure you’re okay after last night (and that you’re not thinking of suing the bar or anything).
“My wages wouldn’t cover a lawyer, Frank. Even with the tips,” you smirk before stepping from his office out into the hall, running straight into black denim and spicy cologne.
“Woah, easy there.” Eddie’s hands steady you, two wide palms on your arms that squeeze gently when you look up into his smiling face. “You’re a fuckin’ liability, honey.”
Your cheeks feel hot but you shove his chest gently. “I was wondering when you’d arrive. It was so peaceful and quiet, what a shame.”
Back to normal. Except Eddie’s hands are still on your arms, his thumb circling on the round of your shoulder. “Feelin’ okay?” he checks, speaking quietly just for you.
You nod and lift your hand, taking his chin between your finger and thumb, feeling brave alongside the little intake of breath Eddie just about hides. “No bruises. Good.”
There’s a beat where you and Eddie aren’t quite sure what you mean, what to say next. You’re glad that Frank calls for Eddie from his office, wanting to have the same chat with him as he had with you. It gives you both a good excuse to let go of each other, figure out what the fuck that was before your shift starts.
He squeezes your shoulders and gives you a little smile before letting you go. “Be good. Don’t get in trouble.”
“I’ll try, hot shot,” you say quietly, giving him a wink before going to join Michelle and the other bartenders for a quick pre-open meeting - but not before you dip into your locker to pat a layer of lipstick on.
The crowd begins to trickle in, slow and steady until it’s packed full and the music blares just loud enough. They’re a fun crowd tonight, and everyone is in good spirits now that it’s not quite so oppressively hot outside. You don’t have time to think about much else in between chatting to customers and mixing drinks; shaking cocktails is a bit more laborious when your body aches but you don’t complain.
It’s almost eleven before you take your break. You take another Advil before slipping past the Staff Only door. The air is tinged with smoke as Eddie leans against the brick, waiting.
His face lights up when he sees you and the two glasses you’re carrying. “Double fisting?” he asks, taking another drag.
“One for you, one for me. Mines the water.” You extend out the dark fizzing highball glass to him, which he eyes suspiciously. He passes you the nearly burnt-out smoke as a trade-off.
“What’s this?” he asks, “The witch's potion? I knew you’d take me out by poisoning me.”
You prop yourself on your stool and sip your ice water, smirking into your glass. “It’s a Roman Coke.”
Eddie’s laugh rings through the alley and he holds up the glass. “You fuckin’... Wow. What an honour.” His free hand covers his heart, silver rings glinting in the light. It would be easy to think he’s being condescending or playing around, it’s what you do. But Eddie is genuinely a little bit touched and a whole lot smitten. He can feel his heart beating faster under his palm.
You pass him a paper-wrapped straw before watching as he takes a curious sip of your special mix. You take a drag of his cigarette and watch his eyes blow wide as he computes the flavours.
“D’you hate it?” you ask carefully.
“What is in this? It’s insane! I really like it,” Eddie says, grinning.
His smile makes your tummy flutter.
“It’s rum - but like, a coffee-infused rum - and Coca-Cola, with Sambuca,” you list off the ingredients that had been turning over in your head all evening.
Eddie nods as he takes another sip, letting the flavours wash over his tongue. “Mm, I like it. You’re a real little alchemist, huh? Get it on the menu.”
You laugh and pass him back his smoke. “Nah. That’s an Eddie special. Just to say thanks..”
Eddie looks at you, watching your teeth sink into your stained-dark lip as you wait for him to respond. He’s a shade softer than the usual tough-but-fun guy who works the door, softer than when you’re usually tearing strips off of each other for fun on your breaks.
“Careful,” he says, voice quiet. He looks almost bashful.
You frown a little. Your gut twists uncomfortably. Had you read it all wrong?
“I don’t know what to do with myself when pretty girls are sweet to me,” he says, sipping his drink pointedly.
The knot in your stomach swoops. He thinks you’re pretty. Eddie thinks you’re pretty. Eddie who flirts with dolled-up girls all night while he’s checking IDs.
You look back at him, see how the light and shadows play on the slope of his nose and those long lashes. “You have plenty of practice, Ed,” you say, so quiet. “You always know what to say.”
He smiles just a little and shakes his head. “Not with you. S’why I say stupid shit. Anyway, no one’s as pretty or sweet as you,” he says. “Even when you’re mean. Especially when you’re mean - so fuckin’ pretty then.”
Your laugh is almost involuntary, cheeks feeling warm. “That was smooth, Eddie,” you say, teasing him again; that was comfortable, less scary.
“It was? Oh good. I’m fighting for my life here.” He laughs and leans against the wall beside you.
He’s taller than you as you sit on your stool, tuning your body sideways to look up at him. “Putting the moves on me, Munson?”
“Is it working?” Eddie raises his brows, pushing them up under his choppy fringe. There’s a playful twinkle in his eyes, hopeful and yet apprehensive.
“Yeah, I think it might be,” you whisper, biting your lip again. He wants to bite it for you, soothe the pinch of his sharp teeth with his silver tongue.
You reach a hand out, sliding your fingertips up over the back of his hand and wrist until they slip under the cuff of his sleeve. You bring his hand down onto your thigh, warm and bare in the summer evening heat.
You’re feeling brave. Eddie is too.
He leaves his drink on the sill next to your water and steps closer, his hand huge on your legs as he feels the smoothness of your skin and the frayed hem of your denim shorts. Eddie crowds closer, smelling the sweetness of your perfume as his leg slots between your knees. His eyes flick from looking at your lips to searching your gaze for any hesitation or hint that you’re just fucking with him. He finds none and feels braver than ever.
He dips down, brushing his nose against your cheek and hears your intake of breath, that little gasp he wants to swallow and consume. His lips press a kiss to the corner of your mouth, begging sweetly without a word.
You turn your head just a fraction to close the minute gap, bringing your lips together. With your hand on his neck, you feel his pulse race in time with your own beneath the stroke of your thumb, sliding down the strong tendon to where it meets his shoulder.
Eddie’s lips press and slot with yours, plush and gentle and tasting sweet like Coca-Cola. He kisses you slowly, savouring the feeling of your lips on his. You pull him as close as you can, your warm breaths mingling as he sneaks a look to make sure you’re real.
He is gentle behind the bawdy jokes and leather and silver rings. He’s softer than anyone can see. But you can feel that sweet softness in the way he cups your face before kissing you again. Eddie strokes his tongue against your lower lip to ask for permission he doesn’t need. It makes you shiver as that smooth-talking tongue slides with yours, making you gasp.
Before it can build pressure and turn any steamier, he slows it back down and kisses you in slow pecks again before leaning his forehead against yours. He can’t stop himself from smiling and doesn’t even try to pretend he’s not elated when he feels your shy smile too.
Behind that smile, you’re aching for more. You want to run your fingers up through his curls and tug, be kissed breathless by him. You want a hundred more soft kisses, feel his smile on your mouth. You want to feel him everywhere.
“You okay?” he whispers, and can’t resist pushing another kiss against your cheek before moving back to look at you again.
“More than okay.” You bring your thumb to swipe the lipstick transferred over from your lips to his. You want to see every shade you own smeared around his mouth.
Eddie kisses your thumb, before pretending to nip it to make you laugh. “Are you going to be able to go back to the bar?”
You shake your head, smiling before sighing over-dramatically and fixing a pout on your face. It drives him mad in the best way. “Mm, maybe give me one more for luck?” you whisper.
He puts you out of your misery with one more long lingering kiss. “I’m not done kissing you. At all.” Another peck, because he cannot simply stop himself. “I’ll wait for you after work.”
Your smile is too big to hide, rendered speechless by his confession. So you nod, giving his lower lip one last swipe to remove the evidence before patting his cheek.
Eddie reluctantly backs off for his own good. He had thought about pressing you against the bricks and kissing you stupid too many times to be decent. He still will - it’s at the top of his bucket list - but just not now.
He grabs his drink, downs it, and gives you a wink. “Don’t go sharing that recipe, okay? That’s for me only, sugar.”
“Cross my heart,” you tease, sitting on your hands so you don’t drag him back against you. You think he might just be okay with it if you did.
“Later…” As if he can read your mind, he backs away with absolute mischief in his eyes.
“Later.” You wiggle your fingers at him and laugh when he almost walks ass-first into the stacked crates of empty bottles. He swears at them and flips them off before throwing one last wink your way.
Once you’re sure Eddie has turned the corner of the building you cover your face with your hands and smile into them, murmuring ‘What the fuck, what the fuck’ as your cheeks heat up your palms.
When you have just about gathered yourself, you head back inside and fix your smudged lipstick. You tap Michelle’s hip when you get back, signalling for her to go take her break.
She looks you over, suspicious of where exactly that coy little smile came from. As she throws one last look over her shoulder, she sees Eddie at the open door, looking just as dreamy and pleased with himself.
The rest of your shift passes without incident, which is a miracle because all you have been thinking of is Eddie Eddie Eddie. Eddie’s lips, Eddie’s hands. Eddie’s strong inked arms and his sturdy thighs. His lips (again).
You caught each other’s eye a few times during the night, and it made you feel hot all over. Especially when he was being a total gentleman to some pretty girls, telling them to get home safe. You had felt his dark–chocolate stare on you as you laughed with customers, and shook up cocktails while he watched the strength of your arms and the subtle bounce of your breasts. Knowing Eddie was watching, thinking about how he might kiss you again later, made you slick with desire and excitement.
You ring the bell for last call at 2 a.m. as your feet burn, and arms ache. There’s a flurry of orders while Jeff and Eddie close the doors and stand inside shooting the shit together, bidding customers good night as they leave in pairs and groups. By three it’s kicking out time and the few reluctant stragglers take recommendations for pizza joints and all-night diners to soak up the alcohol. While the bouncers do one last sweep of the place, you work through your checklist with a singular motivator; kissing Eddie Munson.
With anticipation buzzing in your chest, you wipe spills behind the bar, refrigerate the mixers and hand-wash the muddlers and stirrers from the cocktails. The younger guys fill the dishwasher with glasses and barware. You thank your stars that it’s not your night on bathroom duty, refilling the straws instead and making a note for Frank of what’s running low before he does his full inventory and stocktake. It’s a well-oiled machine and your duties are finished in record time...
Eddie made himself useful, staying out of your way (but watching closely, in absolute awe of you) in favour of picking up a broom and keeping the music going to keep morale up. He leans on the clean bar, chin on his hand as he looks at you standing with your hands on your hips. “Wanna get out of here?” he asks, tilting his head toward the back door.
You nod, “Gimme two.” You restrain yourself from running to your locker (a quick walk is sufficient and unsuspicious). You fix your hair, blot your shiny face and spray deodorant and perfume again before opting for cherry flavour Chapstick. Extra lipstick this late? Far too eager.
After a quick round of goodbyes, you notice Eddie and Michelle have both already gone and you rush around to meet him by the door. One taste and you are hooked, needing another kiss like your next breath. When you can’t see him, it’s like your lungs shrink. There’s no lingering scent of his cologne or swirling smoke, no glowing cherry or loud laugh in the back alley…
Breathe. In, out. Calm the anxious flutters. Is he already at his car?
Just as you’re about to round the building, the back door opens and an almost frantic-eyed Eddie nearly catches you with the door... “Hi,” he breathes. Relief. A sigh you both share before the smile, the relief.
“Shit, did I get you?” He puts his hands on your shoulders and squeezes when you shake your head. His hands skate down your arms to squeeze your hands. “Sorry, got distracted inside. Can I... Can I drive you home?”
Your nod is far too eager and you squeeze back, your rings tapping against Eddie’s. You drop each other’s hands but stay close to each other. This is new and unnamed and you don’t want the work crowd throwing questions at you before you have even figured it out yourself.
Your hands and arms bump as you round the building together and for once neither of you know what to say. When you look up, Eddie is already sneaking a glance at you; he smiles when you catch him and you both dissolve into laughter.
“What the fuck, you’re literally never this quiet,” you tease, elbowing him gently. “Say something.”
Eddie takes your hand again, swinging his arm with yours. “You looked hot tonight. Like, hotter than usual.” Eddie licks his lower lip and it makes your stomach flip.
“You think so? It must be the drink I made you. Pretty strong…”
“Maybe. Maybe it’s ‘cause I couldn’t stop thinking about you, how you kiss.” He’s so smooth and it makes you feel warm all over.
Close to his car now, you slow your stroll and lean against the passenger side. “Yeah? Maybe you should kiss me some more then, seeing as you can’t stop thinking about it.”
“Oh, I’m gonna.” He grins and crowds you against the shiny black metal, bracing one hand on the roof as the other loops around your middle to press your body close.
It’s like stars bursting behind your eyes when you feel Eddie’s lips on yours again. This kiss is eager and almost needy after hours of trying and failing to not eye-fuck each other. The hand lying low on your back slips lower and Eddie uses the leverage to step his thigh between yours with a delicious press of pressure. When you gasp he takes the opportunity to dominate the kiss a little more, licks his tongue against yours in a dirty slide.
You haven’t been kissed like this in a long time, all tongue and pulling soft gasps from each other. It has been even longer since you have been heckled while you’re kissing someone; Michelle breaks that streak as she wolf-whistles at you from across the street as she walks to her own car.
“Get a room!” You don’t see her grin and salute as you laugh into Eddie’s chest, hugging your arms around him beneath his jacket. He kisses your forehead and holds you after flipping Michelle off with a rosy-cheeked smirk.
“She made me late, by the way. Gave me the talk in the office.”
You rest your chin on his chest, pulling your eyebrows together. “The birds and the bees? Where do babies come from?” You laugh when he pokes your ribs and holds your squirming body closer still.
“Ha ha, jokes on you. That’s next week.”
You muffle your laugh against his black t-shirt.
“No, just that I better treat you good and not fuck around. Don’t want work to be awkward, blah blah.” Eddie squeezes your hips. “She also said ‘It’s about damn time’.”
You nod slowly, remembering her quips over the last few months about how you two should just shut up and get over yourselves, bang it out or something. It seemed like it was obvious to everyone but you and Eddie just what was going on behind your little frenemy routine.
“Well then…” you say quietly.
“Well then indeed…” Eddie echoes.
There’s a lot for you to figure out. You can’t just kiss your co-worker and expect everything to stay the same, but inside you think that maybe you don’t want that and Eddie doesn’t either. That’s something you both need to figure out, but right now you just might die if you don’t kiss him again soon.
“Eddie?”
“Yeah?”
“Can I come to your place?” you ask quietly.
Eddie nods, eyes sparkling. “Yeah. Yeah, fuck. I’d like that a lot. Are you sure you want to? We don’t have to...”
You rock up on your toes to kiss him again. “I want to. Let’s just... See where it goes?”
A little breathless, Eddie nods and roots for his car keys to unlock the door. He pecks your lips again before you both get into the car. This time he keeps his hand on your knee while he drives through the dark streets, only moving it to change gears. You keep it there, smoothing over the rings he wears with your fingers.
You recognise Eddie’s street - there’s the bagel place you go to, the camera store where you get film developed. You can’t believe he’s been this near all along.
He swings the car into a little parking garage under the building and takes the spot reserved for apartment 8. You twist in your seat to face him and see he looks a little lost in thought. “I can go home if you prefer?” you say.
“No no. Please, don’t. I’m just.. thinkin’ about how messy my room might be.” He twists one of his rings and you cover his hand again to stop the anxious little movement you recognised from your own fidgeting.
“I don’t mind. Being nocturnal can be pretty shitty for keeping your place clean,” you say.
Eddie nods, shoulders deflating now that he’s less worried you’re going to think he’s a total animal.
You pull his hand back over to your lap, fingers intertwined. “Anyway, I’m not here to snoop at your stuff, Eddie.” You shrug a little, hiding your smile as he thumps his head against the seat.
“You’re going to be the death of me, I know it.”
“You should be so lucky.”
Your lips meet again halfway across the centre console, smiling mouths and ringed fingers grasping at each other, wherever you can reach. A rogue elbow hits the horn, making both of you jump - Eddie yelps - then dissolve into a fit of giggles which Eddie gladly smothers with one more kiss.
“Lemme get your door, princess,” he says, lips brushing your chin and cheek one more time before freeing you from his hold to hop out and round the bonnet. You could get used to this…
There are more kisses in the small shaky elevator, crowded to the mirrored wall as Eddie’s lips get acquainted with your jaw and neck, finding that spot below your ear that makes you moan his name quietly, tug him closer by his belt loops.
You drive him crazy in the best way, he makes you feel wanted - perhaps craved is more apt - as his hands run over the flare of your hips and dip to your behind.
The elevator stops, dings, and you drag Eddie’s mouth to your own again to taste his tongue before he takes your hand and does his best not to drag you to the door marked with a brassy 8.
“Shit,” he mutters, fighting with his keys to find the right one as you slip a hand up the side of his t-shirt, feeling the trail of hair below his navel to scratch through.
“You’re a demon. An actual devil woman,” he hisses, resting his forehead against the door as he lets you distract him for a second. Before you can tease him anymore, Eddie turns and takes your face gently in one hand. “You actually want to come in or am I going to need to put you over my shoulder and bring you back to the car?”
His eyes are burning with want, lips pink and puffy from your kisses. He watches your pupils blow wide and sees the gulp in your throat.
“You gonna behave?”
All you can do is nod, brain static with want, accept a kiss on the pout he’s placed on your lips, and try not to swoon or combust on the spot while he wins his battle with lock and key.
Eddie flicks the light on inside and throws his keys in a saucer sitting on a little table inside the door. There’s a short hallway with a fairly full junk closet before you step into the apartment proper. You told him you weren’t here to snoop, but the urge to look around and soak in all you can about Eddie Munson is too good to pass.
A typical boy's apartment really - an open plan kitchen/living room with a second-hand sofa and mismatched chair, a coffee table cluttered with an empty mug and a full ashtray, a fresh pack of cigarettes and a forgotten Coke can. There are some amps stacked in a corner, framed posters yet to be hung as they prop against the wall. It’s kind of exactly what you expected.
Eddie twists a piece of hair around his finger, watching you look around. “Can I get you a water…?” he suggests, “Hungry?”
“Mind if I use your phone? I want to leave a message on my voicemail so my flatmate doesn’t think I died or got in another bar fight.” Sense prevails over your desire to get your fingers back under his shirt, find out what other ink he has hidden beneath.
“Sure, good idea.” Eddie points to the phone on the wall by the little breakfast bar. You notice a Garfield mug which makes you smile a little. “Back in a sec.”
While you’re leaving a message on your answer phone, Eddie stuffs dirty and clean laundry into some approximation of where they should be. He fixes the blanket and duvet on his bed - thankfully freshly changed - and strums his Sweetheart before hearing you hang up the phone. He takes a peek in the mirror after removing his jacket, shakes out his curls and gives his arms a quick flex before telling himself he’s an idiot - being friends with Steve Harrington has definitely altered his brain chemistry in some sort of way.
Meanwhile, you have already given your own armpit a sniff and fixed your hair in the reflection of Eddie’s microwave before you hear his boots on the wood floor again.
“Did you get prettier while I was..?” he looks between you and his left-ajar door glowing with the bedside lamp he had left on.
You roll your eyes at him before following him to sit on the sofa, leaving your bag and jacket on the well-worn cushion of the armchair next to it. He flicks some music on low and relaxes back into the cushions, watching you decide where to put yourself.
“Any time you want to go, just say. I’ll drive you home,” he says quietly. You can feel the warmth of his arm where it stretches across the back of the sofa.
Scooting closer, you turn your body to face him a little more. “Thank you. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be, Ed. Promise.”
He nods and welcomes you back under his arm, pressing his lips to your head while one big hand squeezes the top of your arm. “You smoke?” he asks, nodding to a little box like the lockbox you have for petty cash at work. When he flicks it open, you see some pre-rolled joints, papers and a bag of green.
“Oh shit, you’ve been holding out on me, Munson,” you tease, poking his ribs before he sits back next to you with a joint and his Bic lighter.
Eddie flashes his brows upward as he sticks it between his lips to light up. “Something something… Not mixing business and pleasure?” he says, muffled by the joint. He takes a hit before offering it to you, fingers brushing as you raise your brows in turn.
“Oh yeah? I think we’re doing plenty of that tonight.” You take a drag with a smiling mouth as Eddie’s eyes darken and flash mischief again.
“Yeah, think so. Been thinking about it a lot longer than I’ll ever admit though,” he says, watching how your breath catches and you cough a little. He tuts playfully, “Am I going to need to show you how, or are you pretending so I’ll shotgun you?”
You fan your hand in front of your face to give yourself some air before flipping him off. “Be nice, s’been a while.” You tap your fingers against his knee. “Wait, go back. How long have you been pining over me?” You’re more careful when you take your next hit, raising your brows expectantly at Eddie.
Eddie rolls his eyes as he takes the joint back; after another hit, he taps the ash off the end. “Not your business.”
“Absolutely my business. Go on. Was it when I wore that little dress to the Christmas party? Oh no, I bet it was when I spilt that pitcher of beer on my stupid white shirt… Fuck, I forgot that.”
Eddie remembers both vividly (especially the little dress) but no, it was way before either of those incidents. “You going to keep annoying me ‘til I tell you?”
“Yep.” You grin and watch him take a long slow hit. His lips wrap around the end and his cheeks hollow, showing off those sharp cheekbones. “Tell me,” you sing.
He holds the smoke in before sighing it out with his head back against the sofa to look at the ceiling. His head turns to look at you instead. “Maybe like… the first shift we worked together? Maybe the second, either way, you were shaking up spicy margaritas or somethin’, had this little smirk on your face. Then later you asked me for a cigarette and the rest is history…”
Your cheeks heat at his confession and Eddie’s do the same. He’s embarrassed and you feel like an idiot for letting your hang-ups get in the way of really seeing Eddie and giving him a chance.
“Jesus, Ed.” You squeeze his arm, just below the flurry of bats tattooed there.
His arm sizzles where you touch him - well, that’s how it feels to Eddie anyway. “We got a good thing going though, I mean I really do enjoy it. Making you huff at me and roll your eyes. Fuck.” His smile is cheeky, a little dirty as he licks his lower lip.
You laugh together and let him bring the joint to your mouth. Your eyes slip closed as you inhale before opening again to see Eddie watching you. It reignites the spark low in your gut as you begin to feel nice and fuzzy around the edges.
Eddie takes one last hit before saving the rest, stubbing the joint in the ashtray on the arm of the sofa. His eyes don’t stray from yours as you crawl into his lap.
You twist one of his curls around your fingers; his hair is soft and the curls springy. “Guess it was like…perverse flirting or really long foreplay?”
“Mm, hot.” He squeezes your thigh. “I’m good with both of those. That is if you let me take you out. A real date.”
You pretend to consider it, though you are already in his lap, in his home, ready to give him anything he asks for. “Yeah, I’d like that. Last night was real nice, just talking with you. Just… get me some flowers instead of punching a guy next time?”
He copies your faux-consideration and nods, “Deal.”
Said deal is sealed with a kiss; this one is sweet and warm, soft even. You both know you are skipping ahead of your date, but as you smile against each other’s mouths, Eddie thinks he might just keep you in his lap forever if you let him.
Your lips press and slide, tongues tangle and tease as the intensity simmers to a boil again. His hands roam up your thighs and around to grasp two handfuls of you, pulling you close as you press yourself against him. You can feel the hot breaths through his nose against your cheek, and Eddie wants to groan at the feeling of your breasts pushed up against him. Your bravery builds in tandem with how much you want and need him and you start up a slow roll of your hips.
Eddie swears against your mouth, “Shit, you feel good.” He squeezes his hands and pushes his own hips up, letting you feel how thick and hard he is for you.
Your whimper makes him crazy-mad with lust, Eddie’s lips feeling the vibration as he kisses your throat and finds that spot on your neck again. He wants to mark it, hear what noise that would pull from your pretty, kiss-bitten mouth. From the corner of his eye, he sees the flutter of your lashes, the way your mouth drops open. He thinks you are so pretty and it makes the ache in his chest pulse like a bruise.
You direct him back to your lips with a gentle tug, opening your eyes before you press a kiss to his lower lip before leaning back enough to untuck and pull off your t-shirt. Eddie’s jaw twitches as he feasts his eyes on the black lace cups you fill out so perfectly, the glint of your necklace beneath the hollow of your throat.
He moves both hands back to your waist where the denim cuts in, fingertips skating the bare skin above. “Can I?” he asks, looking up to your eyes.
Instead of answering, you cover both hands with your much smaller ones, guiding them upward until you feel the warmth of his hands cover and cup the weight.
“You’re gorgeous,” Eddie whispers, looking at your face again as his thumbs seek and stroke the pebbled nipples beneath.
Eddie had never been subtle when he checked you out at work; he made playful and bawdy comments his cover story to get away with letting his eyes linger a little too long on your chest. You let him away with it every time, knowing you would get him riled up another way later that shift or on the next one.
When you look down, the sight and feel of his guitar-scarred hands on your chest make you bite your lip hard. Your palms skate over the gooseflesh of Eddie’s arms, over the bulk of his biceps and shoulders as he learns how to make you keen for him with just his hands on your breasts. You pull him in for another filthy kiss and blindly glide your fingers down his chest to the top of his trousers. You have already felt how hard he is under the roll and grind of your hips, but it’s not enough. Eddie deserves to be touched and tasted after all this time, pining over you. Not because you pity him, you want to make up for lost time.
His hips press upward, seeking out your touch; you adjust yourself to straddle one of his thighs and flip the hem of his t-shirt up to get at the button and zip. Your eyes are fixed on the hard line of him pushing up against the fabric; your fingers brush over it before undoing the fastenings, making his breath catch in his throat.
“I want you so bad,” he murmurs, tilting his head up to kiss your jaw again. That makes you pulse right between your legs; you relish the firmness of his thigh pressing against you there as he kisses his way back to your lips. You pull away only to push the black work pants and tartan cotton boxers down enough to get at him, to see him.
Eddie watches your eyes flash when you see the thick length of him, brushing your fingertips up and down to watch it kick with arousal. You nuzzle against his cheek as you take him in your hand, telling him how big and pretty his dick is before beginning to stroke him. In your mind, you’re thinking about how he will feel inside you and in your mouth, but you try to focus on kissing his neck and learning how he likes to be touched. He’s rock hard and weeping at the tip, it makes your mouth water.
“You think about me when you do this for yourself?” you ask, pausing to lick your hand before grasping him again. The tinge of salt on your tongue makes you want more.
Eddie nods, eyebrows pinching together. “Fuck, I do. Tried not to, but I can’t help it.”
That makes you feel hot all over and you rock yourself against his thigh to relieve the pulsing between your legs. “M’here now, don’t need to pretend anymore, Eddie.” Your lips brush his jaw and the way he moans, the way he pulses with arousal in your hand, it makes you giggle.
“You’re literally gonna kill me,” he groans and rests his forehead against yours, eyes squeezed shut.
“I’m not. Promise. Just want you to feel good,” you say, and kiss him again when your hand picks up the pace.
Eddie’s hips rock upward into your fist. His hand stills your arm and he has to take a few breaths before looking at you - his chocolate-button eyes are consumed by dilated pupils. “This’ll be over real fast if you keep that up, baby. You’ll never let me live that down.”
His head dips to kiss across the tops of your breasts before running his nose up along your throat. His head tilts toward his room. “Can we? Been thinking about you in my bed.”
You nod, keep cool even though the butterflies in your stomach are back with a flurry of vengeance. Eddie grins, which sets you off too, and you tuck him back into his boxers before moving to let him stand.
He offers you a hand and twirls you once. “Hold on. Let me just..”
Eddie pauses, looks you up and down and you know he’s up to no good. Before you can figure him out he has you over his shoulder with a surprising show of strength. You squeal-laugh, slapping your hand on the back of his thigh. “EDDIE!”
His laugh is throaty and rough - like an honest-to-god gremlin - and he just about manages to keep his pants up as he carries you to his room. “You seemed to like the idea of that earlier, what you complainin’ about, baby?”
You can only laugh in response until you’re deposited onto his bed with more care and gentleness than anticipated. You lay back to catch your breath, cheeks warm and aching as you grin up at Eddie. You’re certainly not unimpressed by his ability to fireman-lift and carry you. He kneels to untie your boot-laces, then his own. You sit up and pop the button on your shorts before Eddie takes over, removing them along with your shoes to leave you in your only slightly mismatched underwear and bra - they’re both black, and Eddie doesn’t notice or care. All he sees is you, in his bed.
His t-shirt and pants are left in a heap with your clothes and in a moment he is with you, laying you back to kiss you everywhere. His hands and lips map your body, kissing freckles and stretchmarks, nuzzling the red mark your bra left around your middle when it’s removed and lost to the floor. He notes the ticklish spots on your ribs, saves them for later, and lavishes kisses on your bare breasts.
As Eddie lays his body between your spread legs, you wish you had longer to see the new ink revealed to you but take the chance to stroke his hair like you have been wanting to. He practically purrs and chases the relaxing motion, leaning against your hand when he breaks his trail of kisses to the band of your underwear. The light is too dim to see how soaked they are, a darker shade of black between your legs caused by him, but Eddie knows it’s there and teases his fingers over the damp heat. He smiles when your hips jump up at the friction.
His chin rests on your hip bone while he looks up. “This okay?” he checks, dipping his fingertips up past the elastic around the top of your thigh. He goes no further until you nod, breathe out ‘yes, please’.
You get the feeling that if Eddie was still wearing pants, your undies would go right in his back pocket. The thought of that alone makes you throb as Eddie looks at the feast in front of his eyes.
“Oh she’s pretty,” he murmurs, biting his lip. “And so wet f’me…”
You gasp when he finally touches you, stroking his finger down the seam of you. He swears and shifts his hips against the bed when he feels your wetness and watches his finger come away shiny.
He pushes one kiss below your belly button before getting comfy, manoeuvring one leg over his shoulder with his arm around for good measure. His curls tickle against your leg but all you can focus on is how his tongue strokes and licks, how his lips suck and press.
His name bounces off the poster-clad walls, your voice gaspy and ragged when his tongue circles your clit before pushing its way inside you to seek out your soak.
“So sweet, I knew you would be.” His voice is a murmur against your cunt, there and gone again as he seals his lips around your clit.
“Fuhhh- Eddie.”
One hand balled in the duvet, the other a crown atop his dark curls as you shift your hips and help him find the angle that is just right. He is rewarded with a scalp-burning tug and a guttural moan you can’t even begin to be embarrassed by as he feasts on you like a starved man.
His fingers squish your doughy thigh before he slows to a pause - it’s brief and yet you whine in complaint. You feel his breathy laugh against your folds, his murmured ‘easy, baby’. Eddie stopped only to remove the rings on his right hand so that he could push one, then two, deep inside seeking out your g-spot before you can comprehend that his rings are on your fingers for safekeeping.
His eyes are fixed on you; your heaving chest and breasts, the blissed-out expression on your face. He knows when he has found it, feeling you gush in time with a wet, wobbly moan of his name and the pained-by-pleasure look that graces your pretty face.
“That’s it, huh? Good girl,” he murmurs. He earns another loud moan as you arch your back to chase absolute bliss.
Eddie’s hips roll against the mattress - if you had the brain capacity to notice you would surely die on the spot. Your heart already feels like it is about to leap from your chest, blood pounding in your ears as he keeps up the pace and pressure. He can hear and feel how close you are as your voice gets higher, begging brokenly ‘yes, yes! Eddieeee!’ when you free fall over the edge.
Your body goes tense and then boneless as he works you through it, not letting up until you nudge his head with your thigh. “Too mm-much,” you slur, hips twitching. Eddie presses gentle kisses and murmurs words of praise against your sensitive sex; he leans into how you stroke his head while you come back to the land of the living.
“Y’okay?” he asks, smiling up at you with shiny lips. He eases his fingers out, marvels at just how soaked they are in the golden glow of the bedside light before kneeling up and licking them clean. “Knew you’d be sweet, sugar.” He winks and you curl in on yourself as you shake with laughter.
“You’re a menace, Munson. Remind me how you've been single all this time when you can do that?”
You take his hand, pulling him down so he is lying on top of you. He’s hard against your hip, but isn’t pushy with getting you to do something about it as he lies with you, holding you as you bask in the afterglow.
“Guess I had this really big weird crush on a pretty girl, got me in a dry spell,” he teased. He smacks a smooch to your cheek and makes a pleased little noise when you pull him in for a proper kiss, taking your cheek in his ring-less hand.
You let yourself feel a little smug as you drag your fingertips up his back, swirling and stroking until they brush the band of his boxers. “Do you have condoms?” you whisper against his lips, hoping that the dry spell won't ruin your plans.
Eddie nods and peels himself away to kneel up and reach over to his messy bedside table, digging an almost full box from the top drawer. He squints at the date and takes one from the packet with a pleased grin, “We’re in luck.”
You reach out to palm him through the straining cotton, feeling the growing damp spot and smiling up at him as his tongue darts out to lick his lower lip. You sit up, pushing his boxers down with both hands. They join the rest of the forgotten clothes on the floor while you get your hands back on Eddie’s body. You see more ink usually hidden beneath his clothes; you want to look at each tattoo, study it and ask him what it means, listen to him tell you more stories and secrets. But there’s plenty of time for that.
Eddie smiles against your mouth when you wrap your fingers around him again, chancing a glance to watch your hand - your hand heavy with his rings - stroking him. His hips jerk almost of their own volition; his brain has most certainly gone static. “Jesus, fuck,” he murmurs.
You catch on a moment later and giggle against his shoulder. “That got you going, huh? Me wearing your rings…”
“You get me going. That’s just extra hot.” His voice catches when you squeeze him again, and he calls you a devil woman one more time. You’re getting used to it, kinda like it.
The foil packet crinkles under Eddie’s knee. You push his chest gently, sending him to sit up against the headboard so you can make his lap your throne again. Without hesitation, you tear the foil and roll the latex down over the diamond-hard length that’s weeping for you to sit on it. He steadies your hips as you hold the base of him, sinking down through the stretch and pinch eased only by how soaked you still are.
It’s intense, the burn and the closeness. Eddie’s forehead against yours as you watch him watching you take him inside. The lingering tendrils of the weed you smoked together make it all so deliciously fuzzy and warm. Neither of you makes a move, settling into the tight heat and fullness of Eddie inside you.
His fingers stroke your hips while yours twirl the ends of his hair, touch his silver chain and brush up his neck so that you can cup his jaw and kiss him again. You hold on to each other tighter as you begin to raise and roll your hips, savouring the stretch until your body tells you to move faster, harder.
“Look how pretty you are,” Eddie murmurs, taking in the bounce of your breasts and the way your jaw hangs open as you move in his lap. “Yeah, that’s my girl. Are you my girl, baby?”
You whimper, holding him tighter and closer as you nod. “I’m yours, Eddie. All yours.” Your voice wobbles but not because you’re unsure, you’re just feeling so good, so full.
Eddie groans deep in his throat, squeezing your hips and ass tighter as he helps you to bounce. You pause, focusing on rolling rather than rising to ease the burn in your wobbly thighs; it makes you whimper against his neck. It’s so much but not enough; so good, it’s frustrating.
“Shhh, I got you. You’re just feelin’ too good, huh?” he murmurs, nodding with you when you give a small ‘uh huh’. “Yeah, good girl.”
Your brows crease as you keep rutting your hips. “You feel so big. Fuck, Ed…”
“You gonna let me do the hard work, hmm? You just lay back and look pretty for me, princess.” His voice is like hot honey, making you drip in his lap. He feels you pulsing, making his hold on your hip tight enough to leave a bruise as he gathers his composure. He’s wanted this so bad for so long, refuses to let himself (and you) down by busting early like a teenager.
You nod, blissed out as he runs his hands over your warm body. Eddie is careful, so gentle, as he helps you to move up and off of him. He guides you to lay back, comfy on the pillows that smell just like him. You can’t resist nuzzling into them as he makes his way back between your legs.
“Comfy?” he asks, palming your thigh as you hook your legs over his hips. He watches your eyes, sees that you are a little more with it now, with him. He can’t wait to see you dreamy-eyed and blissed out beneath him.
You nod and squeeze his hips. “Very comfy.” He sees how your lips pout, asking for a kiss without words.
As if he could say no, refuse you the very thing he himself is craving.
Eddie leans forward, arms braced on either side of your head and presses his lips to your cheeks, nose and forehead. He laughs quietly when you scowl all mean before you soften at the brushed blessing of his lips against yours.
He reaches down and takes himself in hand, stroking a few times before rubbing the tip against your cunt. He imagines how this would feel without the condom, feels the hot winding pull in his abdomen at the thought before your voice brings him back. He smiles and nudges his nose against yours, mirroring the rub down below.
“Please,” you whisper, lips catching Eddie’s. “Fuck me.”
The eye contact is almost too much, a burning intensity, but you feel hypnotised to keep your eyes on him as he pushes inside.
You squeeze your lips together, feeling that stretch again, and watch how Eddie’s brows pinch.
“You feel unreal, baby.”
He rolls his hips and pushes the rest of the way in. Lashes flutter and your jaw drops open. He feels so deep, it’s like he’s all the way in your chest.
After a moment he begins to thrust slowly, dragging himself halfway out before pushing all the way in again and again and again. Eddie drinks in the little whines and moans that spill from your lips.
“Don’t go shy on me now,” he whispers, brushing your hair back. When his hips rock again you feel him press against that spot that makes you see stars and there is no way you can keep quiet.
“There we go, is that it?” Eddie asks, repeating the motion. Your back arches and he hikes your leg higher, almost folding you in half as his thrusts get harder, faster.
You can feel tears pricking your eyes, feeling almost overwhelmed with pleasure. Through the sting, you see Eddie’s clenched jaw, the meaty cord in his neck straining and the rosy glow on his cheeks.
“Eddie, m’so close,” you whimper, almost tearful as you squeeze his forearm.
“I know, sweetheart. I can feel it. Fuck.” He huffs through his nose when you flutter around him and he leans over you more, spreading you wider still as he begins to pound his hips into you. He is barely holding on, feeling hot all over as he fucks you, wishes it could last longer but you’re both so tightly wound.
There’s a perfect press and drag against your clit that winds that cord of pleasure inside you tighter and tighter. Your mouths press together; barely a kiss, more a shared moan. One particularly hard thrust brings you to your climax with a broken moan against Eddie’s chin. Your nails press into his rear and pull him in to rut against that spot, fucking you through the most intense orgasm of your life as he meets his own peak with a husky throaty groan.
You feel like you're floating, fallen over the edge in each other's arms.
The weight of Eddie on you brings you slowly back to earth, breath huffing against your neck as you stroke up his back and up into his curls. You take a deep breath in; when you exhale it's shaky and wobbly almost like a quiet sob.
Eddie summons the strength to press up and look at you, seeing your dazed smile and warm wet cheeks. “Hey,” he wipes the tears gently, “Oh shit. Did I hurt you?” he asks, panic spiking the glowy daze.
You shake your head, almost giggling when you speak. “No, no. Fuckin’... amazing.” You pull Eddie back down and wrap yourself around him, holding each other as you come back to earth. A few more tears escape and Eddie wipes them away with such reverence. You stay quiet until you can string a sentence together. “That was incredible.”
He smiles, cupping your face, and kisses you before carefully rolling you onto your sides to face each other to run your fingers over each other's warm bodies and share more kisses. Once he is sure you’re actually okay, he excuses himself to throw the condom away and returns with water and a damp flannel. He spends a moment cleaning you up as you gulp the water down, then finishes the rest and fills it again before closing his bedroom door.
“You want a t-shirt?” he asks, pulling on a pair of clean boxers before throwing his hair into a low bun.
Despite the blanket, you feel a little shivery and accept the offer.
He helps you into a well-loved Dio t-shirt before pulling the duvet over you both. Your legs are tangled together as you lie together, as close as you can. Outside, past the closed curtains, the sun is already starting to peek on the horizon.
You hum tiredly against Eddie’s shoulder when you remember the weighty silver on your hand and tap his hip gently. “Hey, Romeo. Your rings.” Your hand comes up in front of his face, wiggling your fingers.
Eddie smiles, a lazy curl of his lips, and kisses the tips of your fingers before taking them off for you. He reaches back to drop them on his bedside table.
You want to stay awake, stay in the bubble of bliss, but the pull of exhaustion is too strong.
“Sleepy?” Eddie brushes a kiss on your forehead and flicks the lamp off when you nod.
“Eddie? Tonight was amazing,” you whisper against his chest.
He smiles in the dark, squeezes your hip. “Yeah, it was. I’ll make tomorrow amazing too if you’ll let me, but you gotta sleep first. Bet you’re really grumpy when you’re tired.”
“Shut up,” you laugh, hiding your face in the pillow. In the dark, you can just see the outlines of each other, shapes and shadows. “Lemme sleep and you can take me for breakfast. Like a date or somethin’.”
He hides his grin poorly, you can see his teeth flash even with your eyes almost closed. “Nah, breakfast is part of the package. Lemme plan something for our date.” He gives you one last kiss, “Sleep now, sugar.”
You feel warm, so happy and safe in his arms as you fall asleep. If Eddie asked, you would never leave his arms, leave his bed. And Eddie? Eddie lingers on the precipice of sleep, ready to drift once he knows you’re sleeping soundly. He kisses your forehead one last time before closing his eyes, both holding each other in an utterly blissful sleep.
Thank you for reading! Likes, reblogs and comments are absolutely adored and cherished ❤️
Currently sick and quarantined so just thinking about how certain characters would play nurse when you’re sick. For today’s thoughts, I’m looking at Eddie Munson.
Eddie is a messy guy for sure, but he cannot handle gross. He won’t say it but he finds himself gagging at the sight of snot or god forbid vomit. He walks around the house in practically a hazmat suit as he nurses you back to health.
The man can hardly cook either, no matter how much Wayne tried to teach him growing up. As your fever begins to break and the daze starts to clear, you can hear him clinking pans in the kitchen while on the phone.
“Wheeler, I’m gonna be so honest with you right now…I don’t think I can explain to you what a shallot looks like on my best day.”
Even from the bedroom, you can hear Nancy’s growls of frustration as she plays Martha Stewart. It makes you laugh, before those chuckles quickly turn into a coughing fit. Not a minute later, Eddie comes tumbling down the hallway to your rescue with a bottle of water.
He’d hold your head up as you took sips if he wasn’t banned from doing so.
After being assured you won’t choke to death, he heads back to the kitchen with Nancy on speakerphone coaching him on how to not burn the kitchen down.
Some time later, he wanders back in to set a steaming how tray of chicken noodle soup and crackers. Doesn’t say a word, even if he’s shaking with pride inside, and hands you a spoon. Cautiously, you taste some and find it surprisingly good.
“You and Nancy make a good team.”
He beams brightly, the tips of his ears red from your compliment.
~~~
“Eddie I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. And you will.”
You’re sat on the toilet seat cover in the bathroom while Eddie holds a suspiciously brown shaded drink.
He sets it on the countertop and you take a hesitant sniff before gagging.
Eddie jumps back to the door, holding up his fingers in a cross as though he’s trying to rebuke you.
“You will not throw up in my presence. I forbid thee!” You roll your eyes at his dramatics.
Even though Eddie can barely fry bacon without burning it, he did acquire one decent skill from Wayne: mystery concoctions.
Growing up, his uncle would create the most vile drinks for any ailment under the sun. They all tasted like something straight out of the sewer, but worked miracles.
“I swear it’ll help.” You stare at the cup and at him, not believing a word.
“Yeah, help kill me.”
It smelled like fish oil, onions, and straight battery acid with ambiguous spices floating around. It wasn’t exactly Michelin star worthy.
“God, Edward Munson you owe me big time for this.”
“Yeah yeah. Remember, no sips. Just straight down the gullet.”
Taking a deep breath, you prepare to chug the most disgusting thing you’ve ever laid eyes on. Eddie encourages you with words of affirmation as you chug the drink to the best of your ability.
The second it’s over, you barely take a breath and it nearly comes back up again.
“No no! None of that. Keep it down.” Eddie really is more scared of seeing you throw up than you are of actually doing it.
“Eddie…that’s like capital punishment,” you whine. It was more gross than you could’ve ever expected. He snorts, almost choking on his spit at your absurdity.
“Sweetheart, if I told you the kinda stuff Wayne made me drink as a kid you’d yearn for the death’s kiss without question. That was a mercy recipe.”
eddie finds you with a migraine and you're stubborn
eddie munson x fem!reader
cw: established relationship, a mix of angst and fluff (you just aren’t feeling well), migraines and talk of past medical experiences, there’s like a hint of a dom/sub relationship but only for a moment I swear
author's note: this is the first fic I've ever posted and it's for the migraine girlies. I have another migraine-related fic idea that I've been thinking about writing so we''ll see what happens. this fic a culmination of my personal experiences with migraines and wishing Eddie could be here and force me to take my medication when I act like I don't need it.
Thank you @munson-blurbs and @corroded-hellfire for reading it and pushing me every time I come up with an idea and yelling at me to write it, love you both <3
The sound of Eddie's boots echo through the hallways of his apartment complex as he finally arrives home from work, pulling his mittens off his hands and stuffing them in his jacket pockets. The weather this week has been horrible, the garage is freezing, and he nearly tripped over a creeper that someone left in the middle of the room. He’s pretty sure the new guy, Gunther, left it there when he went to grab some parts. Everyone in the room, including Wayne, saw the way his arms flailed and he almost fell on his face. The only thing that kept him going was knowing you would be there at home waiting for him at the end of the day. All he wanted to do right now was curl up with you on the couch under some blankets and watch some gory horror movies all night. You had mentioned trying out the new Chinese place down the road, maybe you guys could just have it delivered so neither of you need to leave the comforts of your warm home. He would have been home sooner but you needed a few things for a recipe you wanted to try soon and he offered to pick them up after work.
Eddie finally reaches the door to the apartment and fumbles with the keys, his hands still freezing despite the warm mittens he wore outside. He curses under his breath, eventually grabbing the right key amongst all the identical ones hanging on his keyring. Heaving a huge sigh of relief, Eddie finally unlocks the door and steps inside to find the apartment dark and chilly. The streetlights illuminate part of the living room through the half open blinds. A young chocolate lab runs over to greet Eddie, his nails scraping the floors as he skids across, excitedly jumping up to greet his human after being gone all day. Eddie bends down to give him some scratches and pat his pack.
“Hey Yogi, did you keep the place safe today? You really are the best dog, aren’t you?” After about 30 seconds of roughhousing with the pup, he stands back up to flick on a light. He goes over to your small kitchen and sets down the small bag of groceries. Eddie takes his time putting everything away, humming to himself as he shelves the chicken stock and adobo. Once all the items are put away, Eddie looks around and takes in the state of the apartment.
The faint scent of a lavender candle wafting through the area and your water bottle is left on the coffee table. His jacket is hung up in the small coat closet and he unties his boots, placing them in front of one of the heat ducts and swearing he’ll put them on the shoe rack once they’re fully dry. There’s no sign of you whatsoever apart from your bottle and the blanket you usually use haphazardly draped across the edge of the couch.
The place is oddly silent for this time of day. Normally if you were home you’d have some sort of music playing, usually a playlist split between the two of you with your preferred music in it. Either that or you would have some tv show on for background noise. The space heater wasn’t on and it didn’t feel like it had been on for some time now. All the heat coming from the heat ducts was leaving through the old windows so those heaters were necessary to prevent the apartment from feeling like a walk-in freezer every winter. Eddie knew you had to be home - your bag was hanging next to your coat and you wouldn’t go anywhere without at least notifying him. He turns around back to Yogi, happily wagging his tail and looking up at him, and whispers, “Hey, where’s mom? Go find mom for me.” He motions for Yogi to go ahead and he happily obliges, trotting towards the closed bedroom door.
It’s not fully shut, open only a crack so Yogi could come inside if he so chooses. The dog sticks his nose inside to open it more and pushes through it. Eddie silently follows behind him. The room is pitch black thanks to the blackout curtains on the window, a gift from your parents when you and Eddie finally found an apartment together. Eddie then realizes what’s going on.
You had struggled with migraines for a majority of your life with them getting progressively worse and more frequent in the last three years. You’re on a few different medications now to make it more manageable but you still have your bad days, and today is looking like one of them. Frankly, he should have known this was going to happen. Bad weather was always a trigger for you and you had commented on the barometer this morning as you both were getting ready for the day. He was stupid to just brush that off as small talk while you both were still half asleep. You knew a migraine was coming.
Eddie sees you curled up on his side of the bed with a sleep mask over your eyes. You’re grimacing under it in the fetal position and what sounds to be whimpering. Before Eddie goes inside, he tiptoes over to the light switch he just flipped and turns the lights off, the streetlights being the only thing illuminating once more. He sees some movement out of the corner of his eye coming from the bedroom and tiptoes back over to your room. Yogi is taking a step back before jumping up onto the bed, taking his usual spot curled up behind your knees with his head resting on your leg. He even lets out a little sigh when he settles into a comfortable position. Eddie steps inside the room and closes the door behind him. You pick your head up just a little bit and lift the sleep mask, wincing at the shooting pain from behind your eyes to the top of your head and call out a strained, “Ed?”
Eddie slowly walks over to his side of the bed, trying to keep as quiet as possible so the floor would creak as little as possible. Once he’s close enough, he reaches down and cups your cheek, stroking it with his thumb and replying with a quiet, “Hey bub, how are you feeling?”
You mumble, “Not great, but you’re home now so I’m already feeling a little better.”
His hands are warm in stark contrast with the cold air circulating the apartment. You nuzzle his hand with your cheek which makes Eddie smile. Eddie moves down to kneel in front of you. You look tired, your eyes only half open with no life in them. He had seen you like this countless times before but it still hurt him every single time. Migraines sucked all the life out of you and Eddie wished he could do something to help you. There were countless times you had to cancel plans because you had a migraine attack and felt so much guilt over it, but Eddie didn’t care. He’d rather lay in bed with you until you feel better than go out and do something when you’re obviously in pain.
He remembered an attack you had last year, it left you crying and asking Eddie to take you to the hospital. You were hyperventilating and complaining that your arm had gone numb. No amount of medication was working and you couldn’t take the searing pain any longer. He had to help you out to the car, only wearing one of his worn band shirts that you stole from Eddie a long time ago and a pair of pajama shorts. You two didn’t even make it out of the apartment parking lot when the medication you took finally kicked in all at once. It was one of the scariest times of his life and he swore it would never happen again.
Eddie nods, already going through his mental list of things that he needs to do to help you feel better, asking, “Have you taken anything today?” You shake your head no before a wave of pain hits you, causing you to shut your eyes again and bury your face in the pillow with a low pained groan. Eddie sits there, worried but also confused. Why didn’t you take anything? He got up and went over to your side of the bed to open your bedside drawer. It was split into two parts, one with the items you used before bed but the other half held all your medications, including every painkiller known to man. There was a giant unopened bottle of Excedrin, a bottle of Advil, and even the migraine medication prescribed by your doctor. You certainly weren’t low on anything. His attention is turned back to you when you roll onto your back, your migraine moving exclusively to the side of your head that was touching the pillow therefore it hurt too much to lay on your side. Unfortunately, you moving meant Yogi wasn’t able to lay on your legs anymore so he huffed and jumped off the bed.
“Sweetheart, why haven’t you taken anything?” Eddie gets onto the bed to sit down next to you, his hand going back to your face. Your eyes open once more, squinting at the minute level of light coming in from behind the curtains. You whine and answer tiredly,
“I don’t need them.”
Your boyfriend sits up, completely perplexed by your answer. Did he hear you correctly? He takes you in again, noting the noise cancelling earplugs in your ears and how much you keep clenching your jaw, something that he knows will only make the pain worse.
“Wait, what? Honey…,” Eddie stammers, wincing at the volume of his exclamation and watching you do the same. “Listen, I love you. I love you more than everything in the world, but frankly I think you look and sound like shit. You look like you’re in a lot of pain right now.”
He watches you pout and smiles a little bit, happy to see even a small sign of life in his girlfriend again. “Wow Eddie, rude.”
“Why won’t you take the medication?” he repeats.
“I don’t need it. The pain isn’t that bad, I’ve felt worse.”
“Ok but you have the means to stop the pain NOW so why not do that? Don’t wait until you’re in agony to take something.”
Eddie doesn’t wait for a response. He gets up and leaves the room with your dog following behind like the loyal pet he is. You hear two sets of footsteps walk through the apartment and then the faint sound of running water. You assumed he just left to let you rest so you pulled the blankets up over your head to try and get to sleep. He returns again a minute later, Yogi in tow and your refilled water bottle in hand. There’s a shift in weight on the mattress, which you assume to be from Eddie, followed by Yogi hopping onto the bed and just standing in the middle of it, as if he’s there just to watch you and make sure you do as you’re told.
Eddie slowly takes the blanket off your head and ignores your protests. He opens up the water bottle and places it on your bedside table. With his other hand he holds out a little pink pill, the medication prescribed by your doctor, as well as two Excedrin. “Cmon, take this,” he asks, moving his hand closer to you when you shake your head no, “Babe, you need to take this. Please.”
There’s no response from you this time. Eddie carefully puts the medication down on the table next to your water. He decides to make it so you can’t ignore him, pulling the covers up and climbs under them next to you. His eyes quickly adjust to the darkness and looks you right in the eye.
“Listen, I don’t understand why you refuse to take your medication. You have a chronic condition that is easily fixed by a few little pills. Also…” Eddie leans in so your noses are practically touching, maintaining eye contact the entire time. “Think about the creator of that little pill. That nice, strong painkiller. Think about the scientists that made that little pill for you,” he says. You’re looking at him confused as he continues speaking, “Think about how sad he must be that you aren’t taking that pill. He worked so hard to make it for you and you’re being a stubborn little brat.”
You mutter, “I’m not a brat,” and try to roll over, but a hand shoots out and grabs your arm before you could fully turn away from him.
Eddie leans into your ear and you feel his curly fringe tickle your neck. His voice deepens in a way that has always made you squirm and goes, “You’re gonna be a good girl and take your medicine, okay?”
You don’t turn your back to him, but you also don’t fully turn to face him again. The only part of you that turns is your head to look back at him. He’s giving you a look that he only ever gave you in the bedroom, the look he gave you when you were pushing his buttons because you thought it was funny and knew he was going to teach you a lesson when he finally got you alone - in a consensual way, of course. He can see it in your eyes that he got you, that once his demeanor changed you would be more likely to listen to him. To ensure you would really listen to him, he moves his hand from your arm to touch your cheek again and asks, more softly this time, “Take it for me, please.”
Eddie watches you think for a second before sitting up - slowly, because you were still in pain, and takes the covers off of your head. You look over at the dog laying at the end of your bed, now asleep. Eddie takes the covers off his head and turns to the bedside table to hand you the pills and water bottle. He watches you swallow the pills and drink around half of the water in your water bottle. Eddie places his hand on your inner thigh to squeeze it and is finally smiling again. Yogi seems to sense that things are better now so he jumps off the bed and trots over to his doggy bed and lays down there. Once you’re finished with the bottle, he takes it from you and places it back on the table. He asks, “Now, was that so difficult?”
“Extremely difficult.”
“Ok, well we’re gonna stay in bed until everything kicks in. Once you’re better we can take the pup out for a quick—” Eddie leans in to mouth the word walk, so Yogi doesn’t hear him, “—and then we’ll order some take out. Sounds good to you?”
You nod silently, finally smiling at him for the first time since he got home today. He presses a light kiss to your forehead and you flinch away from him.
“Ok, yeah. Forgot to not touch your head when it hurts, sorry.”
Eddie watches you settle back down in bed and reluctantly gets out of the warm bed. The cold is seeping in through the windows and all he wants to do at that moment is just stay under the covers with you, even if it means sleeping in his clothes. You roll over to watch Eddie as he softly treads across the room to the dresser. He starts off by removing his rings one at a time to place them in a little jewelry tray, listening to each piece clink as they hit the ceramic. His hair is taken out of the bun he kept it in all day and he scratches at his head to relieve the tension from having it pulled back all day.
His shirt comes next, pulling it over his head and revealing the skeleton wings tattooed across his back. You’re stuck there admiring the way his muscles move in the dim light. Eddie complains about how tiring it is being a mechanic but you can’t deny it’s doing wonders for his body. He used to be so lanky but now that he’s been doing this job for a while you’ve noticed how strong he has gotten.
He’s about to put his shirt in the laundry when you wolf whistle at him. Eddie whips his head around to look at you, smirking when he sees you giggling and crawling over to the other side of the bed now wrapping a blanket around yourself to keep warm. He balls his shirt up and throws it in your direction and you swat it away, making him cackle.
“Oh nothings wrong with you, you’re fine!”
You gasp at his accusation and reach down to the floor to grab the shirt so you could throw it back at him. As you’re grasping for it, there’s some shuffling and movement going on as Eddie goes back to getting changed. His work pants are thrown into the laundry basket with his underwear coming off moments later. You’re still watching him, now just admiring his body as a whole while he digs for a comfortable pair of pajama pants, eventually landing on a red pair with reindeer on them that your aunt gave him for Christmas this year. The winds outside from the storm are billowing, meaning more of the frigid outside air is leaking in through your windows.
Instead of coming back to bed like you thought he would, Eddie leaves the bedroom and goes out to the linen closet. You have a small collection of blankets in there and he pulls out the thickest one in there. He returns seconds later and lays it out on the bed before climbing in beside you. Your eyelids are already getting heavy when he returns to you. You instinctively reach out for him and he pulls you close, allowing you to rest your head on his chest with a hand stroking your hair. You roll over a bit to bury your face in the crook of his neck, mumbling, “I’m sorry for being a brat earlier. Thank you for helping me.” He pecks your forehead again and you don’t flinch this time.
“Don’t worry about it sweetheart, I don’t mind taking care of you. Now get some sleep, okay?”
You nod against him and Eddie notices your breathing changing a few minutes later when you finally fall asleep. It’s the first time you’ve been able to fall asleep, not that you would tell him. You didn’t want him to worry about you or become a burden, but Eddie would always be there for you if you needed him.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
truly nothing more magical than finding a good fic and then going to their profile and finding out there’s a whole goldmine in there of fics just begging to be read. what a beautiful world we live in.
When someone you love offers a bid for connection, you say yes every time. When someone sends you an article, a video, a funny post, it’s a bid for connection. They are trying to connect with you. When someone shares details about their day, their life, their thoughts, or their feelings with you, that is a bid for connection. They want to connect with you on a deeper level. They are trying to pull you into their world. If you love them, you say yes every time. Yes, even if the article they send is not particularly interesting to you. Yes, even if it means listening to them ramble about a game you don’t care about and think is stupid. Yes yes yes. And let’s hope they always say yes to your bids, too.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Hi would you feel comfortable writing like eddie and reader in a very dom/sub relationship and eddie suggests maybe bringing in another sub into the relationship and reader starts acting out and just being absolutely horrible 😕 when eddie goes to punish her she's pissed off at him bc she feels like she's not good enough for him especially since in the beginning of their relationship before they became serious eddie was constantly seeing other women idk I just love angst but could you throw in some fluff at the end too
hope you like this <3 sorry if it's bad
warnings: dom/sub established relationship but it's not too detailed, miscommunication, hurt/comfort, angst but ultimately fluffy because i'm a sucker for soft!eddie
~
the relationship you had with eddie was special. it was the kind of thing you wouldn't waste time trying to explain to people in depth because they simply wouldn't get it.
that was more than okay with you because you get it and so does eddie and that's all what matters.
when you first saw each other, something just clicked. a fire electrified your souls the moment your eyes met. despite how kind and chivalrous he was towards you, you still caught a glimpse of darkness within him. it was a mix of the frightening kind of darkness, the kind you'd get lost in and the kind of darkness that embraces you when you just need an escape from the world, the kind you secretly sought solace in.
he saw something in you too. in your tough exterior and how you walked like you had power running through your veins instead of blood, he saw right through you like clear water. he saw that you needed a place to take off your mask and indulge in who you really want to be, not who they tell you you should be. and he knew that the only place you'd be truly safe in, is his darkness.
it was great for a long time. experimenting with eddie. being open and unafraid to wander into a fantasy world where only the two of you exist. from the mutual respect, the understanding and the safety down to the sex and the passion that comes with it, it was all so good, almost too good to be true.
and on one dreadful night, you realized that it was.
"what the fuck is going on with you? huh?" he asks slamming the door after he's followed you into the room you two have been sharing. anger's evident on his voice, it wasn't new to you, you've made him mad before most times you did it deliberately but this time was different because you were mad too.
"you've been acting like a brat for days now and i just let it slide but now you go embarrass me in public like that?" his hand fumble over his belt, he takes it off and stares at you with his near black irises. "strip and get over here." he commands sternly, folding the belt in his hand, giving it more volume.
if this was a different occasion, you'd do what he says in an instance. fully aware that wasting one second would make things worse. you'd strip your clothes off and happily get to where ever he wants you to be, take your punishment as you deserved it until he's satisfied with you again. but it wasn't like that this time. "no."
he almost snaps his head turning it over at you, a deep frown taking over his face. "i'm sorry?" despite his rage, he gives you a chance to repeat yourself, to redeem yourself as he twists the belt in his hands, squeezing it so hard until his knuckles turn white.
you shrug at him nonchalantly, unperturbed by the sight of the madman before you. "are you?" you ask, crossing your arms over your chest.
your pretense negligence is like fuel to the fire of his fury. his chest is heaving as he takes a step in your direction, ready to put you in your place himself since you're refusing to obey. "you're going to make your punishment worse."
"maybe you should just leave me then if i'm so bad" you snap at him, no more dancing circles around the situation, no more sugarcoating it and waiting for him to taste the underlying bitterness.
"what's that supposed to mean?" his frown grows deeper as his fists loosen up now that he sees this is bigger than a problem that could be solved by spanking some sense into you, this is a real thing, something that you obviously need to talk through and get to the bottom of.
"what it implied! i'm bad and i embarrass you and i make things worse and you want to bring a third into our relationship because i'm clearly not enough for you" you blurt out, your voice begins to shake as you fight back the tears that are glossing over your eyes.
this has been weighing heavy on you since you were made aware of it a few weeks ago. you were staying over at eddie's for the night and he very casually ruined your life in the middle of making out with you.
he suggested bringing another girl into your relationship while he had his tongue in your mouth. you almost bit it off in shock but he was quick to withdrew it, taken back by your reaction. when you asked him what he meant, he said he doesn't mean harm, he just thinks it would be fun if there was a third party involved sometimes. it would only be for sex, nobody could take your place baby, he said but that didn't help put you at ease in anyway.
your relationship with him started out being only for sex. you weren't exclusive for a long time. you wanted to be but he told you that he couldn't commit at the time, he wasn't in the right mind and wasn't ready to become a one woman man yet. he didn't ask you to but you waited. you chose to wait for him while he slept around, hooked up with someone different every night. as much as it hurt you, you waited and waited and waited until he eventually realized that he doesn't want anybody else anymore. that sex doesn't mean a thing unless it's with someone you loved beyond the lust.
for him that was you, he loved you and he only wanted you. he left the only life he knew for you. or so you thought before he brought up wanting to bring some other girl into your bed.
you hadn't said anything that night, part because you were scared to hear him say it again, you hoped it was a nightmare trance and you imagined the whole thing and part because you feared that disagreeing with him would make him rethink your entire relationship and you'd lose him for good.
you couldn't lose him. he was the only one who ever understood and accepted you for who you are. he was the only one who never tried to change you. he was the only one you felt safe with. he was the only one whose love you never doubted until now.
the topic wasn't brought up again, not by you and not by eddie but its ache residue remained a stain on what you had. things weren't the same since, you've grown colder, eddie dismissed it as you being bratty and spoiled and you never corrected him.
you assumed that since you've waited once and everything fell into place the way you wanted, now you just have to do the same. have patience and the pain of his words and their meaning would slowly vanish from your mind and become a distant memory you can't remember unless you try hard enough.
but that didn't happen. no matter how many days went and how many nights passed. his i love you's started to feel like a noose around your throat and with each second you stay silent, it becomes tighter. suffocating you until you can't breathe anymore so you had to break the knot before it breaks you.
"just say it eddie. if you ever really cared for me the way you said you did then say it to my face. tell me that i'm not good enough for you and ask me to leave. don't go around dragging my heart through jagged ground, you know i can't take it." you say in one go and let go of a breath you didn't realize you were holding before bringing your hand to your cheeks to wipe your hot tears away, tears you didn't feel spill.
your words ring in eddie's ears like church bells, loud and shattering. he stares at you bewildered and dismayed. he tries to blink the confusion away but the more he repeats your words in his head, the less sense they make to him. all of this doesn't make sense to him until he connects the dots.
he remembers that night, vaguely. he didn't realize what was a meaningless conversation to him was causing you so much agony. if he knew how much pain his words inflicted, he would've never spoke. he would've swallowed them down and let them rot inside him.
he drops the belt on the bed and makes his way to you, "sweetheart.." his voice sounds nothing like it did seconds ago, the sudden tenderness in it almost makes you want to give in but you know better than to do that again. "baby.. come here." he grabs a hold of your wrists and pulls you into his chest, wrapping his arms around your body and cradling your head, letting you soak his shirt with your cries.
your mind screams at you for letting him hold you again, for letting the man who caused your pain to comfort it but the only thing you can do is bury yourself deeper into his chest, hoping you'd disappear in his darkness, somewhere even he can't find you.
once your crying turned to sniffles, he cups your jaw in the palm of his hands and lifts your face so he can look at it. his heart break further once he sees your tear stained face. each one pulls on his heart strings with terrible guilt and immense regret. he wipes them away with his thumbs and plants a soft kiss on your forehead. "do you feel like hearing me talk now or do you need me to give you some time first?" he asks and keeps a close distance between you two, close enough to make you feel enveloped by him but distant enough to make sure you don't feel overcrowded by his presence.
"i can't wait any longer, please talk" you tell him and he walks backwards to the bed, taking you with him and once he sits down, he pulls you into his lap with his arm wrapped around your waist, the other holds yours on your thighs, you hold it back tightly, scared it's the last time you'll do.
"doll i want you to look at me, need your pretty eyes on mine. can you do that for me sweetheart? can you look at me?" he asks, his voice as soft as cotton candy as he draws circles on your hand with his thumb.
you lift your face up, meet his eyes and they're as gentle as his voice. he gives you a small smile and mouths a 'thank you' before taking a deep breath.
"look i.. i know it's stupid to apologize now, it's too late, the damage i've caused is already there and it's been there for way longer than i've been aware. i fucked up and i was too dumb to even know it let alone fix it." he tries to maintain eye contact with you the entire time but he failed, his eyes would divert down to your hands every now and then before he forces them back up to yours. "what i said that night, about bringing in another girl into our relationship.. it was stupid and i shouldn't have said it, i don't even know why i brought it up, old habits die like rats or whatever that shitty saying is" he snorts out a bad attempt to make a joke but it only earns him a frown from you.
"it doesn't matter now, all of that shit i said, it doesn't matter because i don't want anybody else. never have and never will. there's nobody else for me, just you." he leans a little forward so your foreheads are touching, "you are the one i'm in love with, you're the one who made me believe in love. you're the only one i've ever wanted, only one i've ever needed." he pauses for a breathe then continues, "and you know what? you're right. you're not good enough for me." he says and your eyes widen but he speaks again before panic can fill you up again, "you're not good enough for me because you're too good for me. way too good for a jackass like me"
"eds you're not a jac.."
he cuts you off, "no i am. i am a jackass. what i did to you, that was jackass behavior, hell you should spank me for it" he reaches to the belt and hands it to you making you chuckle, he feels like he can finally breathe again once he heard the sound.
"listen to me sweetheart, i love you. just you. since the day we met, i knew i was gonna be yours and i am." he places a kiss on your cheek, "i'll be yours for as long as i'm alive", he dips his head down a little bit and gives your neck a small kiss, "only belong to you, the best girl, my dream girl." he looks up at you with his eyes sincere, pleading you to believe him.
that's the thing about darkness. it's a terrifying place to be if you wander alone, surrounded by the echos of your own worst thoughts and the ghosts of dead past experiences but once it's calm, it can be the most beautiful place to stay especially if you have someone by your side, someone who fights off the demons and makes it safe for you to fall into it, into him.
"i love you too teddy, more than anything just please don't do something like that again." you tell him and he immediately brings you closer for a hug, tucking your head under his chin, he kisses the top of your head.
"i won't baby, i promise. i fucked up once and i'll be damned if i do it again."
Summary: Eddie is rather annoyed you won't take your medicine one day... So, of course, he resorts to another form of motivation.
Word Count: 1.4k
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, medication mentioned (not specified what kind or what for), withdrawal symptoms mentioned, language, reader self sabotages, reader has unhealthy habits, dom!Eddie, dom/sub dynamic, spicy but no smut, teasing, i think that's all
A/N: Ya know, since I'm pretty sure we are all horny and mentally ill
You had never been one to take care of yourself, at least not willingly. You were always on the lookout for small ways to punish yourself. Doing so was like second nature. A skipped meal was no biggie. Not getting enough sleep on purpose was normal. Not taking your medications was commonplace.
That was until you got close to none other than Eddie Munson. It started out as a close friendship but quickly blossomed into something much more. You two had a dynamic you hadn't had with anyone else before. You cared for each other, yes, but he seemed to constantly be looking for ways he could better you in that area. Not necessarily out of competition, but simply because that was just the way he was. He wanted to care for you in any way he could, and he took any chance he got.
Sometimes it got rather annoying.
When Eddie figured out how much you didn't bother to care for yourself, you'd have thought you had called him a freak to his face. At first he was taken aback, then he quickly became indignant. From then on he was always on top of your habits.
"Eating a cheese stick isn't a meal. Come on, we're going to McDonald's."
"Three hours of sleep? Babe, you gotta be kidding me."
"Wait, before we leave, go drink a glass of water."
"When was the last time you ate?.... No, nevermind, doesn't matter 'cause I'm making you a fuckin' sandwich."
"Don't you dare leave that cut exposed, put a bandaid on it right this instant."
"You called to make that doctor appointment right?"
You hated to admit it, but he helped you learn to tend to your own upkeep. You found yourself wanting him to be proud of you, for his face to light up when you looked at him proudly to tell him the balanced meal you just had. To feel him hug you from behind as you cooked something for yourself and whisper praises in your ear. Or even just to see him smile softly when you told him you were going to bed earlier than usual. He'd usually join you then, cuddling you until your breaths slowed into a slumber.
The one thing you couldn't seem to get a handle on, though, was taking your medications on time. It wasn't on purpose, the thought of taking them just slipped your mind.
… At least that's what you always told yourself.
Sure, you had improved in other areas, but this was the habit you took some sort of comfort in. Taking your medicine for three days straight only to stop for two was your normal. In the mornings you'd look at the bottle, and without a second thought be able to determine if you deserved to feel better that day or not. Doing so would usually lead to headaches or dizziness as well as a mood change. You found yourself eventually hiding the withdrawal symptoms well from the people in your life, the self sabotage feeling like home.
Eddie saw right through you like a window. There was a certain demeanor you had about you on some days that kept recurring. Eventually, through prying questioning and careful observation, he narrowed it down to your meds. Or rather, not taking them. So, like the loving boyfriend he coined himself to be, he started making sure you took them. When he'd ask if you had, you'd clam up like a child caught red handed. Then you'd go take the pills like you were walking yourself into time out.
This kept happening and the span of time between missed meds kept shrinking… but it never disappeared.
One day, on an especially gloomy day for you, Eddie asked again if you took your meds. Of course you hadn't. It was chore day in the house after all, you didn't have time to take them. You'd rather spend the day doing laundry with Eddie as your medication than those dumb pills.
With the shake of his head, he softly reprimanded you, as usual. This time it didn't do the trick, the voices in your head insisting that one day without the pills was fine. Secretly, you resisted and continued pushing through the day.
After the fourth time of asking that morning, Eddie had had enough. Unknown to you, he had been watching your pill bottle in the bathroom. It hadn't moved an inch, not even rotated. Clearly, you still hadn't touched it. He grabbed the bottle, about to march into the livingroom to make you take your goddamn meds. But then he gave pause… and slowly put the bottle in his pocket. He knew a better way of how to get to you.
The next time you two crossed paths in the hallway, he grabbed you by the wrist and pinned it to the wall.
"Wh-, Ed's, what are you-"
"Did you take your meds yet?" He asked with a raised yet knowing brow.
Your heart fell into your gut and you looked away in shame.
His hand immediately gripped your jaw, forcing your eyes to meet his leering over you. "I asked you a question sweetheart. Did. You take. Your meds?"
Eyes wide, you shook your head. Suddenly it seemed now that your heart had dropped even further, causing a throb in your underwear.
"Well that won't do, will it?" He let your hand fall from the wall and dug into his pocket, pulling out the familiar rattling bottle. He raised it to face level between you both, turning yours to look a it. "You know, only good girls take their medicine, right?"
The throbbing reared it's head within you, a certain tingle in your chest igniting it. His stare was stern and authoritative, drilling into your cowering form relentlessly.
"You want to be a good girl, don't you?" He crooned.
You uncontrollably gulped, feeling like you were trapped in the corner of a cage… and fuck was it hot.
"Yes sir," You muttered, reaching up to grab the pill bottle.
"Ah ah ah," He pulled it from your reach. "I don't think I trust you to do it yourself."
You looked up at him, brow creased in confusion, yet you didn't protest.
"In the bathroom. Now." He commanded, stepping back to let you lead the way.
Obediently, you turned and walked down the hall to the bathroom.
"Grab a cup of water," He added, shaking the bottle as if to taunt you with your mistake.
After filling a Dixie cup, you held out your palm, expecting him to shake a pill into your hand.
He simply smirked and shook his head, opening the pill bottle. "You assume too much, princess," He tutted, then with a pill between his fingers, he forewent your outstretched palm and brought his hand to your mouth. "Open."
Slowly lowering your own hand, you opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out as was your habit.
"Good," He purred, dragging out the praise and placing the pill delicately on your tongue. "Now drink."
You sipped the cup gingerly as his hand lowered down to your jawline.
He squeezed your face. "Swallow."
You were positive your underwear was ruined by now, your thighs clenched together tightly. When you had pressed them so hard together, you weren't sure. It was safe to say you were worked up, and by the ghost of a smirk on his face, Eddie could tell.
Tentatively, you swallowed, the pill going down surprisingly smooth considering the lump in your throat.
His warm hand then gave you a pat on the side of the face. "Good girl."
Your stomach flipped at the admiration and you fought to keep your composure. You knew he liked it when you kept eye contact with him. All you wanted was to make him proud of you.
Then, as if a switch was flipped, his darkened eyes cleared and he gave you a self assured yet goofy smile. "Alright, I gotta go do dishes," He stated, putting your pill bottle on the counter, then promptly walking away, down the hall.
You stood there, absolutely awestruck, Dixie cup in hand, and panties literally in a twist. Gaping for a minute like a fish you then stomped your foot in frustration. "Oh come on, you can't do that!" You yelled, leaning out of the doorway. "You can't just tease and stop like that!"
Eddie smugly laughed from the kitchen. "Take your pills and I won't have to again!"
You groaned, crushing the empty Dixie cup in your hand.
