Chrissy, she/her, 40s, Sagittarius, multi-fandom writer. I’m a sucker for a love triangle, hell, give me a love square. I write exclusively x reader fics, no y/n.
This blog is 18+, so MDNI!
I’ll give it to you straight, my fics are ALWAYS self-indulgent and, for the most part, not strictly canon-compliant. I’ve been reading and writing fan fiction ever since Buffy, the Vampire Slayer was airing live on the WB (not the CW), but I’ve never really posted anything until recently. People like to ask me what I do with my English degree, and here it is in all its fangirl glory.
If you prefer the ancient texts, here is a link to my AO3.
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Summary: Complete re-write of Stranger Things in which Dustin Henderson’s fiercely protective older sister goes from clashing with Steve Harrington to fighting beside him as Hawkins falls apart around them. What starts as a reluctant friendship slowly turns into a romance neither of them is ready to admit.
Warnings: 18+ MDNI!, AFAB reader, canon divergence (mostly starting at Season 4), enemies to friends to lovers, SLOW BURN, canon typical violence, canon typical language, canonical character death, use of nickname, no y/n, eventual smut (warnings marked in individual chapters), underage alcohol use, drug use, dual POVs, and probably more that I will add later
Notes: A Henderson!Reader? In this economy? I know. My originality is off the charts. This is basically me staying decently canon compliant up until Season 4, or when I just really don't like the way something happened. I think the Duffers did some of these characters DIRTY and/or flipped their whole personalities and motivations in between seasons. If you feel how I do, and you're in love with our boy Steve, I think you'll like this.
Summary: In a rewritten version of Stranger Things, Dustin Henderson’s fiercely protective older sister goes from clashing with Steve Harrington to fighting beside him as Hawkins falls apart around them. What starts as a reluctant friendship slowly turns into a romance neither of them is ready to admit.
Warnings: 18+ MDNI!, AFAB reader, canon divergence (mostly starting at Season 4), enemies to friends to lovers, SLOW BURN, canon typical violence, canon typical language, canonical character death, use of nickname, no y/n, eventual smut (warnings marked in individual chapters), underage alcohol use, drug use, dual POVs, and probably more that I will add later
Word Count: 1748
Notes: This is basically going to be super self-indulgent. The Duffer Bros did some of these characters dirty, especially in seasons 4 and 5. I'm going to change that. I'm also a sucker for a Henderson!Reader. I really hope everyone enjoys.
You always know it’s a dream, but when it begins, you’re too happy to question it. It’s not perfect, but it’s “real”. At least as real as your father is to you these days.
Your dad is at the kitchen counter in the old house on Main Street where you used to live in Ohio. He’s rolling the sleeves of his work shirt up his forearms while spaghetti sauce simmers on the stove behind him. You can almost taste the onions and garlic.
His spaghetti was your favorite. Homemade sauce, homemade pasta, buttery garlic bread. It was a whole affair. When he was still around to make it.
The overhead light casts everything in a soft yellow glow. A perfect picture of the life you used to live. The record player in the living room is playing Simon & Garfunkel as always. Your dad was obsessed with Paul Simon. There is a soft, soothing rain that taps gently against the windows.
You’re sixteen and twelve at the same time. You’re still that little girl standing at his elbow, asking him what he’s adding and how much. You always followed him like a shadow. You’re also the girl who feels his loss so keenly as a teenager who is trying to find her place in the world.
For the smallest of moments, you feel safe enough to forget. That he’s gone. That he left you.
“You still burn the garlic bread?” he asks.
You scoff and then smile fondly, “I’m sixteen now, dad. I remember the garlic bread.”
He turns to you with narrowed eyes and a singular upturned eyebrow.
“Okay, maybe every once in a while. But Dusty’s so distracting.”
He grins, and it hits you like a punch to the gut. It’s so much like Dustin’s You forgot how easy it was to talk to him. When it was just the two of you in the kitchen. When you wanted nothing more than to absorb everything your father could teach you. In the time before everything became careful and strained and lonely.
Before he left you.
He gestures toward the fridge, and you move to grab him another beer. Always a Miller High Life. He unironically called it the “Champagne of Beers.” He would always chuckle when you asked for a sip. He never gave you one.
“How’s Nancy?” he asks.
He’s never met your friend, Nancy Wheeler, he was gone before you met her, but you’ve talked about her to him in your dreams.
Still, the question catches you off guard. Why your subconscious decided to have this conversation right now, you’ll never know.
You shrug, picking absentmindedly at the peeling label on an empty beer bottle, “Fine, I guess.”
This isn’t something you wanted to talk about. Not while he’s still here.
“Just fine?”
You hesitate.
It’s strange how your subconscious knows things you never say out loud – things you haven’t yet admitted to yourself.
“Nancy, Barb, and I used to talk about everything,” you murmur, “Now it’s like…” You struggle for the words, “like there’s a huge chasm where I’m on one side and they’re on the other, and I don’t know how to get across.”
Your father watches you without saying a word. He was always good at letting you get things out without interruption.
“She’s always with Steve Harrington now,” you continue, “Barb too! I try to hang out with them, but every time I’m around them, I feel…” you laugh mirthlessly under your breath, “I don’t know. It’s like I missed some meeting where everybody decided to grow up in this one specific way without me. I just feel so lonely.”
Your dad nods his head gently, “That happens sometimes, sweetheart.”
“And they know I hate Steve Harrington!” you mutter automatically.
That makes him laugh.
“Yeah?”
“He’s an asshole.”
Your dad lets you get away with that word. It’s your subconscious after all. And Steve Harrington is an asshole.
“He’s got good hair, though.”
Even your absent father knows about Steve Harrington’s perfect hair.
“Oh my god!” you cry like you’ve been betrayed.
Still, you laugh despite yourself. You lean into him and he gently pats you on top of the head, smoothing your hair back like he always did.
For a while, it feels normal again. Like maybe you can escape your neverending grief in your dreams.
You tell him about Dustin and his friends starting a new Dungeons and Dragons campaign and how last week he nearly set the microwave on fire trying to make popcorn. You tell him about your mom pretending she’s okay when she clearly isn’t. You tell him that you’re keeping your grades up, and you’re on track to be Valedictorian in a couple of years. You tell him about feeling angry all the time without knowing exactly why.
And your father listens. Really listens. He’s the only one who does lately. If only in your dreams. You smile against his shirt.
The rain outside grows louder. Maybe not exactly louder, but it sounds closer.
You didn’t notice it before, but the sound begins changing slowly. It sounds…wetter? It becomes something heavier. It’s less like rain and more like something dripping.
You look up and notice the kitchen wallpaper peeling near the ceiling. There’s a crack you’ve never seen before in the corner of the window above the sink. The overhead lights seem dimmer, the light no longer casting yellow, but maybe…red.
Then, you hear breathing. It’s not your dad. He’s still gently patting your head.
It’s…the walls? The walls are breathing?
Your smile fades.
“Dad?”
“Hm?”
In your peripheral vision, you see something black slither along the floorboard. You gasp and hold tighter to your dad. He doesn’t react. It curls along the edges of the walls like a snake.
Vines?
It’s a singular thin vine at first, but then you see it spreading.
Your father steps away to stir the sauce like he doesn’t notice anything. Your heart rate ticks up a notch. The record player skips. Simon & Garfunkel singing the same line over and over.
The sound of silence.
The sound of silence.
The sound of silence.
The now completely crimson overhead light flickers once. It flickers twice. You stare toward the window above the sink. The crack grows. You can hear the glass breaking. Then you notice something else.
Outside, the world is wrong.
Your backyard on Maple Street is gone. There are no lush green trees. Only dry, gray, leafless husks that shoot out of the ground toward a black sky broken only with the streaks of red lightning. There’s no fence that you helped your dad paint over the course of the summer before he was gone. Only darkness and drifting ash.
Your stomach tightens.
“Dad?” you whisper, fearing if you talk above that, something will notice.
This time when he turns toward you, something feels off.
His face looks thinner somehow. The shadows beneath his usually kind eyes stretch too deep. Veins creep slowly along his neck like the vines that have spread further across the walls.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he says softly.
Goosebumps cascade across your skin. The air has turned colder.
“What do you mean?”
The kitchen groans around you. The overhead light starts swinging, red strobing across your father’s face that’s not your father’s face.
You chance a glance away when one cabinet door slowly swings open on its own. Then another. The smell of spaghetti sauce curdles into something acrid and metallic.
Your father steps closer. Or something wearing your father’s face does.
“You’re feeling all alone again,” he says.
His voice is still your dad’s voice. At least mostly. Underneath it is something deeper. Something that feels like it’s vibrating in your bones.
“You think they left you behind.”
The vines crawl faster now, winding up chair legs and across the ceiling. The kitchen becomes inky black with them.
Your heart pounds.
The sound of silence.
The sound of silence.
The sound of silence.
“I want to wake up.”
His head tilts slightly, but too sharply. The angle is all wrong. Like a puppet being pulled by invisible strings.
“Nancy forgot about you. She has more important things to occupy her time,” he continues gently, “Barb follows wherever Nancy goes. And Dustin…” a smile that’s not a smile, on a face that’s not your father’s face, twitches unnaturally, “Dustin’s growing up, too. He doesn’t need you anymore.”
“No.” You want to shout the word, but it comes out as a croak.
“You’re becoming invisible.”
The lights flicker more insistently. The lamp swings violently.
Your father’s skin begins cracking at the temples, dark veins spiderwebbing beneath the surface. His eyes sink deeper into shadow. Bones sharpen beneath thinning flesh.
You stumble backward, nearly falling over. Panic makes your chest seize.
“No, no, no!”
The kitchen stretches suddenly and impossibly long. The walls pulse, almost completely covered black with vines. They slither unnaturally like snakes over almost every surface.
And your father – that is not your father. Someone, or something else, smiles at you with your father’s mouth.
“You miss being loved. You miss being cared for,” he says.
The voice is no longer human. It’s in your head, pounding like a drum against your brain. It pulsates through the room like thunder shoved and trapped inside the walls.
“You miss him so much that you built this place just to hear his voice again.”
Your breath catches painfully. Your stomach drops. Because somewhere deep down, you know whoever this person – thing – is, is right. You live night after night in a fantasy where no one has left you behind. It’s not real. Everyone leaves.
The sound of silence.
The sound of silence.
The sound of silence.
The realization hits like the slowest kind of falling, that awful suspended moment before terror fully lands. When your mind screams to wake up, and nothing you do seems to work. You’re just trapped in creeping animation.
The thing that’s not your father steps closer. His body unfolds like the most grotesque of flowers, five petals shooting open to reveal rows and rows of sharp teeth, the father you still miss and love desperately, disappearing piece by piece beneath twisting vines and exposed muscle.
“You know that everyone leaves eventually.”
Somewhere, a grandfather clock begins chiming. It’s too loud. It’s too fast. You back into the counter hard enough to rattle dishes.
“Wake up,” he whispers.
The vines lash out toward you suddenly. Aiming to strike.
12K words, FWB Eddie X fem!reader, 18+ Explicit Content -MDNI, use of "baby" as nickname, no use of y/n, little to no description of reader, set in Hawkins '90 -everyone's aged up accordingly, no mention of upside down.*fair amount of smut in this—it's a fwb plot... but also heavy angst & fluff!!
a/n: most of my ideas are inspired by a song - the concept for this came entirely through a playlist I made, so l added the tracklist. Feedback, comments, likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated! Thanks for reading and as always, I hope you enjoy! xo, scarlet 💋
Struggling through a dry spell, an idea comes to you when your attractive friend Eddie vents about his recent disappointing hookups. What starts as casual fun gradually complicates as physical and emotional boundaries begin to blur.
“I keep recalling things we never did / Messy top lip kiss / How I long for our trysts / Without ever touching his skin /How can I be guilty as sin?”
A few years ago, you met Eddie Munson, thanks to an introduction from your then coworkers, Robin and Steve. What began as a casual acquaintance in a larger group quickly evolved into a genuine friendship.
But as with many great friendships, a new romance - this time with Matt - changed the dynamics. As your relationship with Matt grew, so did the distance between you and Eddie. Matt didn’t like him, his dislike fueled by a few key grievances: he accused Eddie of overcharging for weed, could barely tolerate Eddie’s metal music - and was visibly irritated by the number of times you dragged him to Eddie’s shows. Yet, beneath it all, Matt’s discomfort had a more personal edge. He was convinced there was something more to your friendship, despite your insistence on its platonic nature.
“Okay, sure, whatever you say,” Matt mocked. “But I’m telling you, he definitely wants to fuck you.”
Matt’s evidence included:
• “He never makes you pay for weed.” - Ah, the classic move of the charming drug dealer - Robin and Steve are also lucky recipients of Eddie's personal stash. Generosity? Sure. A sign of deeper feelings? Unlikely.
• “He flirts with you.” - Eddie flirts with everyone. This isn’t a private act of seduction - it’s his default setting. And sure, before you dated Matt maybe you indulged in Eddie’s flirty nature but it was just all in good fun.
• "He call's you - Baby." - The nickname was not some romantic gesture, Eddie's just a menace. It all started after a shift at Family Video, you and Robin went back to Steve's house. Eddie made an entrance, a blunt was passed, and you started rambling about the ridiculousness of the name "Baby" in Dirty Dancing. "You know, it's funny you hate it because 'Baby' suits you perfectly," Eddie quipped. You shot him a look of annoyance, but Eddie, with that trademark grin, decided it was a keeper and has called you it ever since.
• “The way he fucking looks at you.” - This is where the plot thickens. While the other signs are easily explained, you didn't quite see what Matt was ever referring to.
Yet, every time Matt voiced his theories, your mind couldn’t help but drift to thoughts of Eddie in bed. He had quite the reputation as a good fuck and it was undeniable that he was incredibly attractive. But the guilt of entertaining these thoughts, especially while with Matt, was crushing. So, you shoved them aside.
In December of '89, Matt accepted a job that meant relocating out of state. By then, your relationship had lost its spark. Of course, that is except for the one area where it still managed to flicker - the bedroom. You both knew it was time to let go, the idea of a long distance relationship wasn't practical when the only thing holding you together required physical proximity that you would no longer share.
Despite it being the obvious choice - the end of nearly two years together was tough, but as the saying goes, when one door closes, another opens. With Matt no longer in the picture, your calendar quickly filled with late nights and laughter, surrounded by Robin, Steve, Eddie, and your ever expanding social circle. It was the start of a new era, as you entered the new decade.
"These fatal fantasies / Giving way to labored breath / Taking all of me / We've already done it in my head / If it's make believe / Why does it feel like a vow / We'll both uphold somehow?”
Four months into being single, and the dry spell was becoming a cruel joke. Every date you'd been on had left much to be desired, as none of them ever ended with you on your back. Ultimately a waste of your time.
It was an added frustration to be out with Eddie and watch him glide from one partner to the next with such ease. You even found yourself feeling a bit envious of his conquests, because the more time you began spending with him, the more you understood why Matt had his suspicions.
On quite a few occasions, you caught Eddie's gaze lingering on you. The stolen glances and charged looks sent your heart racing. Gone were the days of pushing these thoughts away. Now, you found yourself indulging in them, late at night, hand between your thighs, wondering if the fantasies might ever become reality.
“Don’t play dumb, I know you fantasize. You could have me on my back every night.”
One night, after having your friends over for dinner, Eddie decided to stay and chill after Robin and Steve had left. He sprawled on your couch, legs draped over the coffee table, grumbling about the monotony of his recent casual encounters and the lack of sexual chemistry he'd been experiencing.
Eddie looked at you, cutting himself off mid rant, his fingers deftly rolling a blunt. "It's cool if I smoke in here, right? Or d'ya want me to go on the balcony?"
You hesitated for a moment before nodding. "I don't usually love it, but why not for tonight?”
With a grin, Eddie continued on his ranting as he finished rolling. Lighting the blunt and taking a long drag when he finished his complaint.
"Okay, but bad sex is more often than not, still enjoyable," you said, in response to his last comment.
Eddie held out the blunt offering you to take a hit. While normally you’re pretty weary to cross fade, today was one of those 'fuck it' days, as you grabbed it from his fingers.
"I get what you're saying, but nothing's been like, mind-blowing. I was getting head the other day, and I was literally counting the minutes until it was over. I think it would've been more enjoyable if I'd just taken care of myself."
You let out a laugh, the smoke escaping in a light cloud. "You think counting maybe prolonged the experience a bit, bud?" Passing the blunt back to Eddie.
"No, Baby, the counting's what got me there." He smirked before taking another hit.
You rolled your eyes playfully, but his words sparked thoughts of your own dissatisfaction. It’d been too fucking long since you got laid.
The two of you sat there listening to the soft sounds of The Cure album you had on, as you took turns with the blunt. Eddie's gaze didn't leave you, his eyes focused on your lips - the movements of your mouth. He was entranced by the subtle way your lips parted and closed around the blunt. You were too lost in your own thoughts to notice his staring.
“Y’know I really think this is one of those grass is greener situations. l'd take the bad sex. There's only so much I can satisfy myself, and sometimes I- well, I just want to get railed." The words slipped out before you could fully think them through but as soon as they did, you felt a rush of heat flood your cheeks.
Eddie's eyes widened slightly, a blush of his own creeping onto his face as he exhaled smoke. "Oh sure,’ he replied.
You'd always been open about discussing sex, but this was a new level of candor for you and it caught him by surprise. It also made his cock twitch.
You weren't sure what it was- the alcohol, the pot, the adrenaline from your embarrassment. Whatever it may be, Eddie's complaints mixed with your own dissatisfaction had an idea brewing and now was the time to act. You set your wine glass down, turned to face him, criss-crossing your legs on the couch. Passing what was left of the blunt back, you finally asked the question that's been on your mind for weeks.
”Eddie… are you attracted to me?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady despite the flutter in your chest.
"What?" He asked as he put the blunt out.
"Eddie," you pressed.
He chuckled, the sound a bit shaky. "Everyone thinks you're pretty, you know that.”
"That's not what I asked," you countered. "I'm asking if you think I'm like, hot - not just pretty.”
A smirk played on Eddie's lips as his eyes scanned over your figure, nodding. “Yeah, you’re hot,” he said, taking a sip of his beer and letting his eyes linger on how the soft fabric of your clothes hugged your chest. Truth be told, he thought you were fucking heaven sent.
"So why haven't you made a move? I've been single for months."
"You know me, baby. No attachments. Couldn't have you falling in love with me.”
You scoffed. "Really, that's your excuse?”
His gaze met yours, a touch of defensiveness in his eyes. "It's not an excuse. It's just how I am. I don't hook up with friends, it can get messy."
"Got it," you replied, considering letting it go, but curiosity had taken hold. "Do you ever fantasize about them, though?”
A wry smile appeared on his lips. "Depends on the friend, I guess.”
"Cut the shit, Munson.”
His smile grew. "Alright, yeah. A lot more than I probably should have.”
You leaned in closer, your voice dropping to an intimate whisper. "If it's any consolation, I've fantasized about you a fair bit too.”
"Oh, yeah?" he breathed, his voice huskier than before.
"Mmm-hmm." You shook your head slowly, maintaining eye contact. You noticed the way Eddie's eyes darted down to your lips and then back up to your eyes.
"What about?" he asked.
"I could tell you," you whispered, "or I could show you.”
Eddie's laughter faltered as he looked away, running his hand through his hair. “Tempting," he whispered, leaning back trying to create some distance. His arousal, however, was unmistakable.
The room fell silent. You could see the inner conflict in his eyes: the struggle between desire and his self imposed boundaries. The sight of Eddie's hard cock straining against his jeans had your pulse quickening more than the conversation had. You felt yourself growing wet, the heat between your thighs demanding attention.
"So even though it's clear we both want this, you're willing to just let it go because of some vague principle?" you asked, clenching your jaw in frustration.
A dry, almost disbelieving laugh escaped him, his fingers drumming absently on his knee. 'I wouldn't want to complicate our friendship just to get off.'"
“And if I promised it wouldn't complicate anything, that nothing would have to change - it would just be a good time?”
His breath hitched at your words, his eyes locking onto you as though he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. His lips pressed tightly together, and he shifted uncomfortably, his hand instinctively rubbing the back of his neck as he fell silent for a moment, clearly lost in thought. “Then... maybe I’d, uh... maybe rethink some things.”
You nodded slightly, acknowledging his hesitation, but the urgency of your own desire remained, regardless of whether Eddie joined you or not.
“Well, think about it,” you said, standing and heading toward your bedroom. “You’re welcome to join me if you decide you’re in. If not, the spare key’s by the door. Just lock up, and I’ll get it next time.” You closed the door behind you, leaving him with his thoughts.
Eddie sat on the couch, contemplating for all of five minutes before making his decision. Of course, he wasn’t going to let this moment pass him by. He stood up, his mind racing, and walked toward your room.
When Eddie opened the door, he found you lying in bed, bathed in the amber glow of your lamp, only in your panties. You were lost in your own pleasure, hand moving beneath the fabric, eyes closed tight as breathy moans escaped your lips.
"Fuck," Eddie muttered under his breath, his gaze locked on the scene before him. He froze, taking in every detail. The gentle, desperate movements of your fingers, the soft sway of your breasts, and the way your lips formed an O with every soft whimper. He was mesmerized.
He moved closer, cautious not to disrupt the moment.
You whispered his name, soft and needy. “Eddie..."
The sound of your voice, so vulnerable and inviting, was nearly enough to push him over the edge. He groaned, a deep, guttural sound that came from the very core of his being. As he stood at the end of the bed, your eyes fluttered open, taking in his presence.
You kept your eyes locked on him, focusing on his face, the way his gaze was fixed on you.
Looking at you like this, made him feel as if he was witnessing the eighth wonder of the world.
"What are you thinking about?" Eddie asked, needing to understand what was driving you.
"That this is your hand instead of mine, just like l've been imagining for weeks," you admitted, voice trembling slightly.
Eddie let out a soft groan, one you would hold in your mind, replaying it every time you found yourself in this position again.
“Can I see all of you?" he asked, desperation lacing his voice as he sat on the edge of your bed.
You nodded, slowly sliding your panties down your legs and tossing them aside, revealing your glistening cunt. You returned your hand, teasing yourself gently. Eddie's eyes were focused on you, the sight almost too much for him to bear, a low whimper escaping his lips.
"How would you touch me, if it were your fingers?" you asked, seductively.
Eddie slid up from his spot on the edge of the bed, closer to your side, as he began directing you on how he would pleasure you, eyes glued to your movements. "I'd start by gently tracing my fingers, just like you are now.”
You whimpered as he continued his instructions, caught between the fantasy he was describing and the reality of your own touch. His guidance was driving you wild, but the need for his direct touch was growing unbearable. Breathlessly, you said, "Eddie, please.”
“Tell me what you need,” he rasped, his eyes locked on yours.
“Touch me,” you pleaded.
Eddie knew what you meant: you wanted him to replace your fingers - but he needed to kiss you and at the vague request for his touch he couldn't help but use that as his cue. He leaned in, his body hovering over yours, cupping your cheek and pulling you into a kiss. The kiss was rough, and raw as if years of restrained longing were unleashed in that heated moment. His lips were demanding, his tongue wrestled with yours, the taste of beer mixing with moscato. You bit his lip eliciting a deep groan from him. His free hand found its way to your thigh, gripping it tightly, driving you further into your own touch. The intensity of his actions only heightened your pleasure. You gasped into his mouth as your climax hit. Eddie’s grip on your thigh never letting up as you clung to him, struggling to steady yourself through your orgasm.
As the waves began to subside, you whispered raggedly, “I need you.”
Eddie trailed his hand from your thigh to your cunt, only for you to stop his hand. “No. I need more, I need you inside of me. Now.”
Eddie groaned at your desperate plea for him to fill you. Without a word, he began undressing. His breathing was labored as he quickly removed his shirt, tossing it aside. He fumbled with his jeans, eager and clumsy in his haste to free his hard cock. When he finally did, you let out an audible gasp, taking in the sight of him. He was so fucking perfect.
“How do you want it, baby?” He asked, eager to give you whatever you wanted.
“What have you fantasized about?”
Eddie hesitated, “We don’t have to -”
“Please, tell me,” you demanded.
“You, um, you’ve got great tits,” he all about moaned. “I think about you riding me a lot.”
The words were barely out of his mouth before you pushed him back to lean against the pillows, a sly smile on your lips. You reached for a condom from the nightstand, tearing open the wrapper with a quick, practiced motion, and rolled it over his throbbing cock. Eddie’s eyes followed your every move, sighing at your touch.
With a deep, steadying breath, you positioned yourself above him. Your hands rested on the headboard while his hands gripped your thighs, his fingers digging in as he watched you. Slowly, you began to lower yourself, the initial contact making both of you gasp. The incredible stretch of his cock stung as you lowered yourself down inch by inch. It was almost overwhelming, but so perfectly pleasurable. Eddie’s eyes widened, his breath coming in quick, ragged bursts.
“Fuck,” he said through gritted teeth. His hands tightened on your thighs, reminding you just how much he wants this.
You continued to sink down, savoring the sensation of being filled. Once fully seated, you paused to adjust, getting accustomed to his size. Eddie wasn’t the longest you’d ever had, but by no means was he small. Close to 7 inches if you had to guess. He was however, the thickest not by an absurd amount but enough to notice the difference. He felt phenomenal.
You began to move, lifting yourself slightly before sinking back down. The room began filling with the sound of your mingled moans. As you established a steady rhythm, Eddie’s moans grew more frequent, his grip sure to leave bruises. “Fuuuuuck,” he repeated, his voice rough with pleasure.
You shifted from leaning forward to putting your full weight on him, arching your back slightly as you moved your hands from the headboard to behind you, resting them on his thighs. In this position, you had better control and began to increase your pace.
“Aghh - just like that,” Eddie groaned. “Show me how much you want it." Eddie’s eyes were locked on you, taking in every detail - the bounce of your breasts, the flush on your cheeks, the intense pleasure on your face. You looked stunning.
He moved his hands to your breasts, groaning as he squeezed them gently. He adjusted himself so he was sitting up, his hands moving to roam over the rest of your body as he began kissing your skin. He started at your collarbone and moved along your chest until he reached your left breast. Kissing and nipping at the soft skin before enveloping your nipple into his mouth and sucking gently. You shuddered at the added stimulation, moving to rest your hands on his shoulder for better stability as he moved his mouth to your right nipple.
You were finding it hard to keep quiet, biting your lip to stifle your moans as the combination of his mouth and the fullness of his cock drove you closer to ecstasy.
Eddie, however, was having none of that. Removing his mouth from you chest, “Don’t hold back," he rasped. "Let the whole fucking building know how good it feels to have my cock inside you.”
Just like that, you let yourself moan freely, the sounds echoing in the room as you quickened your pace.
"Ooooohhh fuck,” you cried out as you could familiar the familiar sensation of your orgasm begin to build.
You swirled your hips, adding a tantalizing motion that made Eddie mumble curses of pleasure. His hands moved to your hips, gripping firmly as he reclined against the pillows. You leaned forward with him, placing your arms on his chest for support as you rode him with increased intensity.
“Such a good girl,” Eddie said in awe, his eyes locked on you as you chased your orgasm. The praise spurred you on, and you let out a loud cry. Eddie’s lips curled into a wry smile as he watched you, clearly enjoying the effect his words had on you.
“You like that, huh?” he teased, his voice dripping with satisfaction.
You whimpered a feeble “yes,” your voice barely audible as you tried to keep up with the intense pleasure.
“Thought you might,” he chuckled. “Be the good girl that you are and cum for me,” Eddie instructed.
That was all it took. Your hips began to falter as your orgasm ripped through you, sending your body into a shuddering climax. Eddie’s groans of satisfaction grew louder as he watched you come undone on top of him. He gripped your hips tightly, taking over control and thrusting into you with a fierce rhythm, pushing you seamlessly into another orgasm.
As you came down, your body collapsed against Eddie's, still trembling from the aftermath of your third orgasm. Tears gathered at the corners of your eyes, the intensity of the pleasure overwhelming you. Eddie, sensing your exhaustion, slowed his thrusts, his hands gently tangling in your hair as he lifted your face to look at him.
“Shit Eds” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I don’t know if I can come again.”
Eddie’s lips curled into a mischievous smile, his eyes gleaming with determination.
“Sure you can, baby. You haven’t even gotten what you wanted yet,” he said, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek before repositioning you both.
The sudden loss of him inside you made you whimper, the emptiness leaving you desperate to be filled again. Eddie lifted you, placing you on your knees, and then knelt behind you. His hands took hold of your hips, and he lined himself up with your entrance before thrusting into you with a forceful, deep motion. The immediate fullness made you moan, the new position allowing him to penetrate you more deeply and hit your g-spot perfectly with every thrust.
“Fuck, oh fuck,” you cried out, your voice raw with pleasure as he continued to thrust into you with a relentless rhythm.
“This is what you wanted, right, baby? To get railed.” Eddie teased, his voice a deep, gravelly whisper. His hands squeezed the flesh of your ass as he drove into you.
“Yes!” you cried out. “Please Eddie, harder,” tears streaming down your face. He responded by pounding into you just as you asked.
Leaning forward, Eddie kissed the skin along your back, his teeth grazing your flesh with gentle bites, adding another layer of sensation. Your hands gripped the sheets tightly, fingers trembling from the strain as desperate cries of pleasure fell from your lips. Eddie’s left hand slipped between your legs, fingers finding your clit and rubbing frantically.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, don’t stop,” you moaned, your voice quivering.
Eddie’s fingers worked your clit with determined precision, the added stimulation making it clear you were about to lose it. As the pleasure built to its peak, you screamed his name, your body shaking uncontrollably as you came. Eddie’s grip on you tightened, his thrusts remaining steady as he felt you clenching around him.
“There it is,” he groaned, his voice filled with satisfaction as he felt you coming undone.
Your mascara ran down your cheeks in streaks, merging with your tears as you reached the height of your pleasure. Eddie continued to pound into you as your orgasm subsided, savoring the way you responded to him. He was relentless, driven by his own need to reach his climax. He removed his hand from your clit, gripping your hips firmly as he thrusted into you with increased force.
“I want you to cum with me,” he growled.
"I-I ahhh..." Your words were swallowed by desperate moans as Eddie kept thrusting.
"You can do it," he encouraged, his voice low and smooth. "I know you can.”
Eddie's movements grew more intense, his rhythm never faltering as he drove you toward another climax. His hands gripped your hips tighter, his own breath coming in ragged bursts as he neared his release.
"Atta girl," Eddie growled as you clenched around him, crying out surrendering to the pleasure. The sensation was all-consuming, a wave of tingles from head to toe that left you gasping, his climax hitting him with equal intensity at the same moment. He let out a string of moans, his thrusts becoming erratic, as his grip on your ass tightened riding out his release.
As the pleasure subsided, Eddie collapsed beside you, both of you breathing heavily, basking in the afterglow. The intensity of the night had left you feeling dizzy and euphoric, your body still tingling from multiple orgasms - five mind blowing orgasms, to be exact. The most you’d ever had with a partner before was three — and while still sensational it was nothing compared to this. Making it clear that Eddie Munson was the best fuck you’ve ever had.
As you started to come down, you glanced over at Eddie. He was staring at the ceiling, his face a mix of disbelief and deep thought. "Eddie, what's going on in that pretty head of yours?”
"Can I level with you?”
"Of course," you replied.
"It's pretty obvious that what we just had was too good to be a one-off," he said, his eyes meeting yours. "And it's not going to be easy to just go back like this never happened. I mean, I can't just pretend I don't know you've got a praise kink." He teased.
"Eddie!" You laughed, giving him a playful nudge.
"I'm only half kidding. I clocked that shit when I tried to teach you guitar, this just confirmed it," he admitted with a grin.
You rolled your eyes, a smirk on your lips. “So, what's your point?”
He shifted, propping himself up on one elbow and looking at you seriously. “If you can handle keeping it casual, I think we should do this again.”
“Fucking hell, Munson, didn't we address this on the couch? I wanted to fuck you, I'm not in love.”
Eddie laughed. “Right, I know. But sometimes it can lead to that, and I just want to make sure you understand if we continue to hook up it will never be anything but physical. I can never offer you more, is that clear?"
You grinned. “Crystal.”
"So, friends with benefits?” He asked.
You nodded, a smile tugging at your lips as your eyes locked with his.
"It's a Sexually Explicit Kind of Love Affair"
Two months had passed since you and Eddie established your friends with benefits arrangement, and you had both adhered to a set of rules: open communication, no exclusivity, and keeping things private. Your frequent hookups had become a thrilling part of your routine, each encounter more intense than the last, and quite a few that were unforgettable.
Fucked You in the Bathroom When We Went to Dinner: It was Vickie’s birthday dinner, and you and Eddie both attended with your friends. Amid the celebrations, you exchanged knowing glances across the table. When an opportunity presented itself, and everyone was distracted with photos, you both slipped away in the chaos, heading straight for the restaurant’s bathroom.
As soon as the door closed behind you, Eddie's hands were on you, pulling you close. He pressed your back against the wall, as his lips found yours in a rough kiss. His mouth began trailing kisses along your jaw as you you reached down to unbuckle his belt. Eddie's pants were down around his knees, his hands hiking your dress up, growling when he saw you had no panties on. You lifted your leg, resting it on the sink, back still pressed to the wall as Eddie wasted no time before guiding himself into you. Your hands immediately threading through his hair as he sunk in.
Eddie's thrusts were urgent and desperate. "Fuck, can’t get enough of you," he gasped, his breath hot against your neck.
You could only respond with a series of breathy moans. The pleasure building rapidly as Eddie's movements grew more intense. His hands gripped your hips firmly, holding you in place as he drove into you.
Your climax was approaching quickly, and you couldn't help but let out shrieks of pleasure. Eddie's hand reluctantly coming to cover your mouth to stifle the sounds. He loved hearing you, but not here.
“Shh, baby. I know," he whispered, feeling you beginning to clench around him. You bit the palm of his hand to stop the scream that was desperate to escape you as your climax hit. His thrusts growing erratic as he came with you, burying his face in your neck.
As you both caught your breath, you quickly adjusted your clothes and fixed Eddie's hair. You walked out first, heading back to the table. A few minutes later, Eddie returned, drink in hand, as if he'd been at the bar the whole time, a satisfied smirk on his lips as he sat down.
Knee Deep in the Passenger Seat: It'd been a lively evening out at the bar playing pool with Chrissy, Eddie and his bandmates. You were keenly aware of the effect your outfit was having on Eddie as you'd chosen a particularly short skirt that barely covered your lacy black panties if you moved too much. So each time you bent over to take a shot, your underwear was tantalizingly visible.
As you lined up for another shot, Eddie approached, leaning in close. To any onlookers it would seem like he was giving you a tip to make your shot.
"You're such a fucking tease," he whispered into the shell of your ear.
You turned your head slightly, catching his eye with a sly grin. "I know, but you love it," you whispered back.
Eddie's eyes were transfixed on you as he walked back to his spot against the wall. As you knelt over the table to take your shot, a smirk tugged at your lips knowing he was clearly struggling to focus on anything other than the view you were providing.
If Eddie could have had his way, he would have sunk to his knees right there and ate you out while you were bent over that pool table. But patience is a virtue.
As you turned to face him after landing your shot, you couldn't help but giggle at the sight of him. A stoic expression was plastered on his face, as if he were maintaining his composure. But then you noticed the vice grip he had on his drink, and you knew you had him right where you wanted him.
When it was time to leave, Eddie offered to take you home. "Chris, I’ve got her. I pass her apartment on my way home anyway.”
While that was true, you knew that wasn't his plan.
You made your way to Eddie’s van, his eyes never left you, locked on the way your hips swayed with each step. He opened the passenger door for you, and you slid into the seat. As you settled in, you glanced up at Eddie, still standing beside you. A sly grin tugged at his lips as he stepped in, leaving you confused until he knelt in front of you, shutting the door behind him. His expression was one of eager anticipation.
Eddie’s hands came up to grip your thighs, pushing your skirt up. ”I've been wanting to taste you all fucking night," he hummed, his voice low and filled with need.
You looked down at him, a teasing smirk on your lips. "Aw look at you, did I tease you so much that you can't even wait?”
Eddie’s big doe eyes, looked a lot less innocent in this position, darkening at your words. Hunger was written all over his face.
In an instant he pulled your panties to the side, leaning forward so his head was nestled between your thighs. His tongue making contact with your bare slit, with a tantalizing slow lick. You gasped at the feeling. Eddie moaned against your pussy, "You taste so goddamn good,” his voice vibrating through your core.
The moment his tongue touched your clit, he was relentless, alternating between licking and sucking. Your eyes rolling in the back of your head as he savored you.
Within just a few short minutes you were a moaning mess, hands tangled in his hair, breath ragged, eyes screwed tight as you could feel yourself on the brink of your orgasm. Then, suddenly, Eddie pulled away, and your release was ripped from you. His face flushed and glistening with your essence, looked up at you with a smirk.
“Look at that, I can be just as much of a tease as you," he rasped.
You whined at the loss of contact. "Please, Eddie.”
“You’ll have to wait, baby.” He said, readjusting your underwear and skirt, wiping his mouth as he dipped out of the van and walked to the drivers side.
Truth be told, this was just as upsetting for him as it was for you. You were intoxicating and if he was being honest he’d love nothing more than to continue to devour your sweet cunt until you came all over his tongue - multiple times. But he thought it only fair that you feel the same strain that he had all night. He’d make it worth the wait when he got you to his trailer.
You're on your knees, I'm on the case: You had the day off, so what better way to spend it than in Eddie's bed? When you arrived at his trailer, Eddie answered the door shirtless, wearing only boxers with a towel draped over his shoulder. His face lit up with a smile as he greeted you.
"Hey, you," Eddie said, stepping aside to let you in, "I’m about to shower. I’ll be out soon. Feel free to watch TV, the remote’s on the table."
As Eddie went to shower, you settled on his couch, finishing the episode of Seinfeld that was on. After about ten minutes, restlessness began to creep in.
You could hear the shower running, steam leaking into the hall since Eddie hadn’t shut the door completely. You made your way to the bathroom, knocking lightly before walking in to let him know you were there.
"Be out in a second, just gotta rinse my hair.”
"Mind if I join ya instead?"
There was a brief pause before he responded, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Sure, come on in.”
You quickly undressed and slipped into the shower, the steam enveloping you. You faced Eddie as the water cascaded down his hair, some droplets hitting your body. Eddie glanced over at you with a grin.
You gave him a playful smirk before dropping to your knees, positioning yourself in front of his hardening cock. Eddie’s jaw fell slack in shock as his eyes locked onto you, filled with anticipation.
Without hesitation, you took him into your mouth. The warmth of the water mingled with the heat of your breath, and Eddie's response was an immediate soft whimper.
"Ahhh," he grunted, his voice thick with pleasure as you hollowed your cheeks.
You began to move, sliding your lips up and down his length with practiced ease. Eddie's fingers laced through your hair as he struggled to maintain his composure.
"Holy shit," he gasped. "You're so... ugh, so good. That feels so fucking good.”
You continued your rhythm, your mouth and tongue working him expertly. Eddie's groans grew louder, the pleasure clearly overwhelming him.
"Oh fuck, yes," he panted, his hips thrusting gently to match your movements.
The water continued to fall around you both, merging with the sounds of Eddie's pleasure as you pushed him closer to the edge.
"Don't stop, baby. Pl-please don't stop," he urged, his voice breaking. "I'm gonna, fuck, I'm-”
With a final, deep stroke, Eddie came hard. You kept your mouth on him, sucking every drop as he moaned and gasped, his hands gripping the shower wall for dear life bracing himself.
His face was flushed, a mix of steam and sweat glistening on his skin. He looked down at you with awe and satisfaction. "You're fucking amazing, you know that?"
You stood up, and Eddie cupped your face, pulling you into a heated kiss. As your mouths moved together, his cock began hardening again, ready for round two in his room.
"I know, "Baby, No Attachment!”
As the months passed the frequency of your encounters with Eddie had evolved beyond merely getting off. At first you considered that it was just your friendship deepening, but as time went on, you couldn't help but feel that these interactions between you were teetering the line of something more.
Eddie's band practices had effortlessly blended into your weekly routine.
“Want to come to practice again?” he’d ask, flashing a grin.
The first time he invited you, you joked about whether he had a fantasy of hooking up in Gareth’s garage or something. Eddie only laughed and said, “Nah, I just figured you might enjoy hearing us play and I thought it’d be nice to have you there.”
Of course, you went—and enjoyed every second of it, maybe even more than the shows. Seeing Eddie perform offstage, goof around with his bandmates, and brainstorm new arrangements was incredibly fun to witness.
By the third week of attending practice, Eddie extended another invitation.
"Want to come with me to visit Wayne this Sunday?"
You hadn’t seen Wayne since he’d given Eddie the trailer, and although the invite surprised you, you agreed. Wayne’s warm hospitality was a delight, and seeing Eddie with his uncle gave you new insight into his life—it felt special that he shared it with you.
Soon, you began noticing changes in your own habits. Instead of going to social events alone, you often found yourself riding with Eddie. Your weekend hookups had blossomed into near daily occurrences, leading you to spend a lot more time at his trailer which offered far more privacy than your apartment—especially since you and Eddie were rather loud. Eddie's loud anyway, but when he's inside you he doesn't shut up. Always talking you through it, telling you how good you're making him feel and he loves hearing what he does to you, so you never hold back.
On more than a few occasions you’d accidentally fallen asleep over there, and eventually Eddie just began inviting you to stay the night in the first place. Gradually, your personal items like a toothbrush, a few changes of clothes, and your favorite books made their way over. You were there so often that it was shifting from a convenient arrangement to something that felt more like a shared space.
The boundaries you’d set were being tested, and it was becoming harder to maintain the idea that this was purely physical. The line between attraction and emotional connection was blurring, and although Eddie had always insisted that things should remain casual, his actions often contradicted that.
In those soft moments with him—whether at practice, at Wayne's, or lying in his bed wrapped up in his arms after another incredible fuck—you found yourself dreaming of more. Every time you did, you couldn’t help but think back to Matt's insistence that there had always been something between you and Eddie. At the time, you’d brushed it off as Matt’s jealousy, eventually acknowledging the underlying attraction. But now, with everything that had happened between you two, you couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe something more had always been simmering beneath the surface.
You didn’t dare say it though. You wanted to remain the “chill girl” who didn’t push. But the more time passed, the more you found yourself caught between holding your tongue and addressing the growing complexity of the situation.
"It's fine, it's cool, you can say that we're nothing but you know the truth."
The summer heat was beginning to wane as you and Eddie arrived at Steve’s Labor Day party.
You were enjoying yourself, chatting with Nancy when you overheard a conversation nearby. Eddie was talking to Chrissy, who had just referred to you and he as a couple.
“Oh, no, we’re not together,” Eddie said, a dismissive edge in his voice as he responded.
The words hit you like a slap. You knew what you had signed up for, but it still stung, especially when the lines had been blurring for months.
You attempted to shake it off, focusing on the friends around you. However, as the evening wore on, the frustration you felt was hard to ignore. Eddie’s behavior had been increasingly confusing. And this comment felt like the final straw - if your friends could see it, why couldn't he?
When the party ended, Eddie drove you back to his trailer with Metallica blasting through the speakers. The music doing little to ease the anger you were feeling.
Once inside Eddie reached for you, his hands gripping your waist, as his lips found yours. The kiss felt good, almost intoxicating, but your anger quickly reclaimed its hold as the words "we're not together" echoed in your mind.
You pulled back, needing a moment to regain your composure. Eddie’s eyes searched yours, confusion on his face.
“What’s wrong, baby?” he asked softly.
"I'm not really feeling it right now,” you said firmly, pulling away from his touch. "I think I'm going to head home actually."
Eddie’s face fell for a moment before a small smile curved on his lips. "You don't need to go, stay the night. We can watch a movie.”
A few months ago, this invitation would have felt like a friendly gesture. After all, the beauty of a ‘friends with benefits’ arrangement is that it starts with a foundation of friendship. But tonight it was just a bitter reminder of how these nights have morphed into something much more complex. At the start of your arrangement, movie nights often transitioned from watching the film to fucking until the credits rolled. This felt natural, expected. But now the dynamic of movie nights has grown significantly more intimate; cuddling on the couch, Eddie softly playing with your hair, and gentle kisses between scenes. All gestures that are only typical in, well - relationships. You've had enough.
"Eddie, are you being avoidant or are you truly oblivious to what's going on?"
Eddie’s brow furrowed. “Wait, what? What are you talking about?”
"Us. This," you said, gesturing between the two of you. "It feels different, and it has for a while now." You took a deep breath, struggling to steady your voice. "Eddie, even our friends notice it.”
"This is about Chrissy's comment?" he asked, annoyance seeping into his voice.
"You were so quick to dismiss it.”
"We're not a couple, so that probably has something to do with it," he said, with a laugh. "What was I supposed to say?”
You gave him a short nod, as you began to gather your things. "It's not even about what you said, it's about what you're not saying."
The frustration was evident on Eddie's face. "I thought we were both on the same page about this," he said, following you.
"Dammit, Eddie," you turned towards him, your voice rising. "We were, but it’s hard to feel like we’re still casual when my favorite bra lives in your dresser!”
Eddie’s expression shifted, a flicker of guilt crossing his face, but he still held his ground. "From the start, I told you I don’t do relationships. I never promised you anything more than what we agreed on.”
You scoffed. “I know, and that’s exactly why I’ve kept my mouth shut for so long. But you’ve pulled me into every aspect of your life, and it’s not the same anymore. If you weren’t so hung up on that concept, maybe you’d admit what you’re feeling.”
“Don’t," he said sternly. "Don't try and make me out to be the bad guy because you couldn't keep your own feelings in check.”
His words felt like a punch in your gut. You could feel the lump take perch in your throat, trying to swallow it back but the tears were coming.
Eddie’s expression softened as he noticed your your eyes glistening. He watched helplessly as you continued to pack, his frustration morphing into anguish as tears streamed down your face.
"Wait,” he pleaded. "Let's talk, we can take a step back.”
Your hands shook as you stuffed your clothes into your bag, sobs coming in ragged, painful gasps. “A step? We'd have to take twenty," you choked out, your voice breaking.
Eddie looked away, struggling to reconcile your pain with his own fears. "I just, I'm sorry I confused you. I didn’t mean to give you the wrong idea.”
"Maybe you didn't intend for things to change, but they did. We both let them. I did because I liked it, why did you Eddie?"
His stomach twisted at that.
“Every rule we set, you broke," you continued, bitterness lacing your voice. "It was all ‘let’s keep it discreet’ until you kissed me between songs at practice. What the fuck was that?! ‘We need open communication,’ but you never talked about any line we crossed." Your voice rose despite your sobs. "For fucks's sake Eddie, we haven't been exclusive yet for six months, you’ve called after me! Going as far as turning down others because you want me in your bed —whether we fuck or we don’t."
Eddie stood still, motionless, as the weight of your words sunk in.
"You can try to downplay this all you want, but deep down you know. And it's why your past hookups could never satisfy you the way I do.” Tears streamed down your face as you glared at Eddie.
The silence grew heavy between you as he struggled to find a response.
"I don't know what you want me to say. I can’t just flip a switch and become something I’m not. I made my stance clear from the beginning."
You shook your head in disappointment. "Got it." Your tears fell harder, and Eddie’s own eyes were on the verge of tears as he watched you zip up your bag.
“Baby,” he started, his voice wavering as he reached out a hand towards you.
“Don’t, Eddie,” you scolded. “You don't wanna admit what this is? Fine…. But this, us, it’s done.”
A look of confusion and frustration flashed on Eddie's face you finished speaking. He seemed to get only a fraction of what you were saying.
"Okay, okay," he said, his voice cracking with desperation. "We'll just go back to how it was before. I mean, we can just forget about all this..."
"You're not getting it, Eds," you replied, your voice steady despite the tears. "I can't be friends."
Panic was apparent on his face, as his tears threatened to burst free. "No, don’t say that," he pleaded. "Please don’t fucking say that. I’m sorry I led you on. But we can go back—just like it was. We can fix this."
"Eddie, it wasn't just that. This whole thing between us has made me realize that maybe… maybe I had feelings for you long before we hooked up.”
Eddie's face pales, his panic escalating as he struggles to process what you've just admitted. "What the fuck is happening right now?" His voice rises in distress. He collapses onto the couch, his body trembling as the gravity of the situation hits him full force.
”Before we, before this, you said you didn't," he mutters, almost to himself, as he tries to reconcile your words with his memories.
"I didn’t realize it then," you admit, your voice breaking.
Eddie’s cheeks were wet with fallen tears, his hands shaking as he held his face, listening to you explain.
"I never would’ve let anyone else call me a nickname I hated. Anyone else’s persistence would’ve been stopped, but it just sounded so pretty coming from your mouth..." Your voice cracks with emotion. "And I think being honest with myself about that, along with everything we’ve been doing... I've realized that maybe I was being a fool to think it was ever just attraction."
"Goddammit," he chokes out, voice thick with regret. "I can’t—"
You cut him off, knowing exactly what he was about to say. "I know, Eds. You've made it clear," you gasped, sobs breaking through the words. "You were right to worry this would get messy. I'm sorry I told you I could handle it." You take a deep breath and look at him one last time, the ache in your chest almost unbearable. You sling your bag over your shoulder and head for the door. "I'd probably do it again though."
“Baby, please. I don't want to lose you," he says, his voice a harsh whisper as he tries to hold back his emotions.
Your heart breaks at his words, but you know this is the choice you have to make, even if it's not what you want.
"I have to go," you say, turning and walking out of the trailer.
“You just need a better life than this / You need somethin' I can never give”
Eddie’s tears fell uncontrollably as you left. Watching you walk away was like a rift tearing through time and space, an unbearable ache that pierced his soul.
His mind spiraled in a loop, like a broken record that kept repeating the same line: It was a mistake. He knew better, he knew better than to get involved with you, but he had, and now you were gone. Eddie had wanted to believe that you could handle something casual, he risked it because he had an insatiable hunger that only you had satiated. His own denial ran so deep he hadn’t even fully accepted the magnitude of what was happening between the two of you until your words hit him like a freight train tonight. But as Eddie sat there, drenched in regret, his mind wandered to all things you.
Eddie had always been branded the freak for being a little outside the box, and while he stayed true to himself it was always a bit toned down when he met new people. However when he met you, he knew he didn't have to do that. While you could fit neatly into the box, you didn't care to. Eddie was instantly captivated by you, and it wasn't just because you were stunning - it was your wit, and charm that pulled him in.
He could never forget the first time he realized he wanted to kiss you. It was one of the early times you hung out, that night you were complaining about "Dirty Dancing." You just kept rambling - so comically irritated, he found it hilarious and he wanted to just shut you up with his lips. He couldn't help himself coining, "Baby" for you. It felt right rolling off his tongue, and even though you shot him an annoyed look, he could’ve sworn he saw a hint of a smile. He then proceeded to try and get you to reenact the lift scene from the movie, but you refused with a firm “Fuck no, Munson.” Robin wouldn't either, but Steve, high as a kite, agreed. Of course it ended with them flat on the floor and the four of you laughing your asses off.
For whatever reason, that night marked a turning point for your friendship. The two of you began spending time together outside of your shared circle. It was always a little touchy, a little flirty, and Eddie constantly had to push the urge to kiss you out of his mind.
Steve was always trying to persuade Eddie to just go for it, but Eddie wasn’t interested. He typically only hooked up with the same person about three times — if ever more than once. He feared that if he ever got involved with you, he wouldn’t be able to go back, and commitment was something he wasn't into. Fast forward three years and nothing's changed. Still, one night around two years ago he nearly let his guard down.
A group of you had gathered at a nearby bar before Corroded Coffin’s first paid show at The Hideout.
“Let me buy a round for you guys, a little liquid courage before tonight!" you insisted. Gareth joked that it wasn't necessary when they had Eddie's good luck charm — you. “Is that why you keep me around, Munson?” you teased, planting a playful kiss on his cheek. “For a little extra luck,” you said with a wink before heading to the bar.
In that moment, Eddie was certain he had no choice but to finally kiss you, like the tension between you both had been building up to this very point.
When you returned with a round of tequila shots, your cheeks flushed and your smile bright, you explained that the handsome guy at the bar — Matt — asked you out and then proceeded to pay for the round of shots when you'd said yes.
As Jeff raised his shot and toasted, "To Matt!" Eddie looked at you, realizing that it was better this way. It would have been foolish to kiss you. You deserved someone who could offer you more.
Eddie’s mind whirled, jumping from that almost-kiss to the moment everything changed on your couch. He should’ve left that night. He should’ve walked out before anything happened. But he didn’t. Instead he gave in to everything he had always wanted. You were sensational— the way your body responded to him, the way you sounded, the way you made him feel —it was indescribable. He shouldn’t have done it because he was right to know himself. After that one taste, he never wanted to go without. He felt selfish for this.
The last six months together had shown him things he’d been trying to ignore. He recognized the subtle shifts —the moments when it stopped being solely about the raw thrill of pleasure. Looking back it was probably June when things first moved from casual to a connection that hinted at something more. Your presence had turned his bed into a sacred oasis, where he felt truly seen and understood. The laughter, the warmth, the intimacy — it was different. It was something he came to cherish. Yet, every time it felt like it was too much, he would push it out of his head, trying to drown out the truth that he felt something more. Even if he wanted to risk it all for you, he couldn’t. He wasn’t good enough to make you his.
This painful realization was a truth he had to face. His fear of inadequacy and his belief that he couldn’t sustain a meaningful relationship had driven a wedge between you. And now, with you gone, he was left grappling with the reality that he had pushed away the one person who had made him question his own defenses. Sitting on his couch, a headache pounding from his tears, he tried to sleep, searching for some sort of peace.
In the weeks that followed, Eddie rarely visited his bedroom. It was a space tainted by your absence. His home felt hollow, so he picked up extra shifts at the diner and crashed at Gareth’s when he could. He thought about reaching out to you, admitting that you were right, that he loved you too, but he knew it wouldn’t change a fucking thing. He still couldn’t give you what you wanted. He wasn’t ready for a relationship, not when he didn’t believe he was enough.
Eddie knew that you deserved the best. And he, well he was still a pot dealer, bussing tables to make ends meet and for some free food while dreaming of a future with his band. How could he be the right person for you when he didn’t have much to offer?
Eddie had been so absorbed in his regret that he had drifted from the usual social circle. The only time he’d seen Steve and Robin since your departure was after one of his shows the last weekend in September. They approached him, and Eddie, looking weary and regretful, apologized for not being around much. He wanted desperately to ask about you—God, he did—but he struggled to find the right words.
When Steve and Robin happened to mention they hadn’t heard from you either, Eddie’s heart sank. You were probably avoiding them, likely to keep from running into him. Steve, with a knowing look, asked if the two of you had gotten involved. Eddie gave a brief, vague answer that painted a picture of your arrangement without exposing too much.
“Maybe try reaching out to her though," Eddie suggested.
Robin nodded solemnly. “Of course,” she replied, understanding the complexity of the situation without needing more.
The weeks blurred as Eddie threw himself into the band, trying to escape the gnawing emptiness. He poured his frustration and guilt into every gig, hoping it would drown out the pain. While it was an escape, it never lasted—the minute he was offstage, it came rushing back. The real struggle was when he had no choice but to go home, to a space haunted by the memory of you, and what he almost could've had.
“Back when we were still changin' for the better / Wanting was enough / For me, it was enough"
It was the kind of night that makes you want to crawl into bed and pull the covers over your head, except you weren’t in bed. You were behind the wheel of your car, heading home after leaving the man that you loved.
As the tears flowed freely, your mind drifted to the most serious relationships you’d had: your college boyfriend, or your relationship with Matt - both seemed like mere practice compared to what you shared with Eddie. He wasn’t just the best fuck you’d ever had, he was the best person you’d ever known. The thought of never being around him again was agonizing.
Returning to your apartment felt like a warm welcome from an old friend. You had spent nearly all of August entwined in Eddie’s bedsheets, living for the hope that maybe, just maybe, you could have a future together.
You uncorked a fresh bottle of Riesling, not even bothering with a glass as you tried to drown out the fact that Eddie was never truly yours.
Weeks after leaving Eddie, the silence was deafening. The ache of not hearing from him, of not knowing how he was, ate at you incessantly. You knew that this was your choice, but you'd still expected some sign — any sign — that he was still there, still holding onto something, still thinking of you.
You threw yourself into work, hoping that staying busy would numb the pain. But this came at a price —you isolated yourself from your friends, avoided their calls, and shut yourself off from the world that might remind you of Eddie.
When Robin buzzed your intercom one evening, her arrival was a welcome disruption to your self-imposed exile. She stood at your door, pizza and ice cream in hand, a silent understanding in her eyes.
"Hey," she said softly, a warm smile breaking through her concern. "I thought you could use some company.”
You invited her in, your heart heavy as you tried to muster a smile. You sat together in the living room, and for the first time in weeks, you let your emotions spill out.
Between sobs, you managed to ask, "How is he?"
Robin took a deep breath, clearly choosing her words carefully. "He hasn't been around either. But Steve and I saw him last weekend. He’s been busy with the band. They're doing really well, working hard to catch the eye of an A&R rep to help develop them. When we told him we hadn’t heard from you, he briefly explained why that might be... and not that I wouldn't have anyway, but he was the one who suggested I come by.”
He had thought of you. That was enough to make you break down again. Robin wrapped her arms around you, offering what comfort she could.
“It’s okay," she whispered.
She stayed with you for a few hours, reassuring you that in time, things would get better. As she was getting ready to leave, you told her that while you missed everyone, it was still too hard to face them right now. You needed more time
She nodded, understanding. "We’ll be here whenever you’re ready.”
As Robin left, you felt a glimmer of hope amidst the sadness. But even with that hope, moving forward still felt impossible. You almost worked up the courage to attend Jonathan and Nancy’s Halloween party, but after getting dressed, you couldn’t bring yourself to go. A week later, you had plans to meet Steve and Chrissy for lunch, but the thought of confronting your emotions made you sick to your stomach. It was still too soon to be around the people who reminded you of Eddie. So, you stayed away, cocooned in your sorrow, hoping that someday the pain would ease enough for you to rejoin the life you had left behind.
“And from the outside / It looks like you're tryin' lives on / I miss the old ways / You didn't have to change/ But I guess I don't have a say / Now that we don't talk”
It was the third weekend of November, and you’d decided to go out for drinks with some colleagues. You were at a bar you’d never been to before, located on the other side of town — quite far from the usual spots you and your friends frequented. With the slim chance of running into anyone you knew, you let your guard down and enjoyed the evening.
You were so engrossed in your conversation that you almost missed it. At first, you thought you’d imagined it, but then you heard it again. Your stomach dropped, and a wave of heat washed over you as you recognized Eddie’s unmistakable voice. Looking around, it was Gareth you spotted first, and as you searched for Eddie, your heart sank. He looked drastically different —his once long hair was now a buzz cut, cigarette hanging out of his mouth, while dressed in a blue striped button-down. His signature leather jacket was draped over the back of his chair, the only remnant of the man you remembered.
Despite your attempts to refocus on your colleagues, your attention kept drifting back to Eddie and the band. They were celebrating with a round of shots, and you wondered if they were marking a milestone. Since the round of drinks you’d suggested for their first paid gig, you knew they had a tradition of celebrating this way. Your chest fluttered as you overheard Eddie’s toast. It seemed the local station had agreed to start playing their music, and they were promised a small tour around neighboring states in the new year.
Watching the band’s journey over the past three years — early gigs at house shows to paid performances at dive bars — you knew you had to say something. Not just to Eddie but to all of them. You were proud of their progress, and after witnessing their hard work at countless practices this year, it felt right to acknowledge their accomplishments. You couldn't deny that it almost felt kismet, that you were here tonight.
As your coworkers began wrapping up their night, you excused yourself. You made your way over to the band’s table, your heart racing. As you approached their table, Gareth’s eyes lit up as he saw you.
“Well, look who it is!” Gareth exclaimed.
Eddie turned, his smile dropping as he took in your presence.
“Of all the gin joints, you walk into the one I’m in?” you joked, attempting to ease the awkwardness. The band chuckled, and you continued, “I couldn’t help but overhear you guys. Just wanted to come over and say congratulations. I know how hard you’ve all worked.”
The band echoed their gratitude, and Gareth quickly suggested you join them. A sudden, overwhelming discomfort gripped you. This was a mistake. Every lingering feeling you had for Eddie came rushing back, and you struggled to maintain your composure.
“Oh, thank you, but I really should get going," you said, trying to mask the unease bubbling in your chest. "But I’m really happy for you all!”
As you turned to leave, Eddie stood and called after you. “Baby, wait!"
There it was — the nickname only he ever used, the one you’d been desperate to hear. You stopped and turned slightly, facing him as he reached you.
"I, um, just wanted to say thanks for that. I really appreciated you coming to the table.”
"Of course," you replied softly, your heart hammering in your chest.
His eyes roamed over your figure as he took in the way your dress fit, and a low, almost involuntary groan escaped him. "Wow, that dress, you... you look incredible.”
You gave him a thankful nod. It hurt you to hear him say that, knowing you'd bought this dress months ago solely with the intention of him taking it off.
"Me? Look at you. You look so... I don't know. Refined, maybe?”
Eddie raised an eyebrow. "Is that good or…?"
"Oh, y'know you always look good," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. "But I'd be lying if I said the hair didn't shock me a bit at first," you admitted.
Eddie's eyes softened, and he responded with a chuckle. "It's weird for me, still. I haven't had a buzz cut since middle school. But I just needed... a change."
His words hit harder than you expected, and you felt the sting of unshed tears prick at your eyes.
He smiled, weakly, one that looked forced and burdened with sorrow. “I want you to know I thought about reaching out, but I wasn't sure..." he trailed off.
You nodded again, appreciating the sentiment, a small smile on your lips as you tried to swallow the lump forming in your throat. "I really should go, but I am truly so proud of you, Eddie," you said, your voice wavering. “Since the moment I met you, I’ve seen how hard you work for what you want. I'm truly so happy that it's paying off.
The words seemed to break something in him. Instinctively, he reached out, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you against his chest. "I've missed you," he breathed into your hair.
You hugged him tightly, tears rolling down your cheeks. "I've missed you too," you whispered back, feeling the warmth and comfort of his embrace. For a moment, it felt like time had stopped, and you wished you could stay there forever. But as much as you wanted to linger, you knew you had to go. You slowly pulled away, forcing a smile through the tears. "I'm really glad I got to see you," you said softly.
Eddie looked at you, as if his gaze tore right through you. As if, he were on the verge of saying something more, but he simply nodded. "Me too," he said quietly.
“And I’d give up forever to touch you / ‘cause I know that you feel me somehow / you’re the closest to heaven that I’ll ever be / and I don’t want to go home right now”
The ride home felt like déjà vu. Another teary-eyed drive to your apartment after walking away from the man you loved.
Once you were home, you sank into the couch. Wrapped in a blanket, tears streamed down your face as The Smiths' The Queen Is Dead album played on the record player. For the 17th of November, the weather was a bit of a mess. It honestly felt poetic, the thunderstorm mirroring the emotions you were feeling. Every crack of thunder echoed your sobs.
About an hour into your pity party, you were starting to regain some composure when the buzz of the intercom startled you. You figured it was your neighbor, who often used the wrong buzzer, so you hit the button to let them in. Just as you were about to lay back in your spot on the couch, you heard a knock at your apartment door. Curious and a bit irritated, you peered through the peephole and froze. It was Eddie, drenched from the rain, with tears streaming down his face. Your heart raced as you swung the door open, and he walked in, shutting the door behind him.
"Eddie, what-" Before you could utter another word, he started rambling.
“What are the fucking odds you’d be at that bar tonight?” he began. “On a night that was supposed to be a highlight in my life, and all I wanted was to share it with you.” His words came out in fractured gasps, his tears mixing with the rain on his face.
“When you said I fought for everything I wanted, it felt like a knife twisting in my chest. Because baby, it’s... it's a fucking lie when I let you leave.”
“I should’ve told you this at the bar,” he choked, his tears falling harder now. “It felt like fucking fate that you were there tonight, and I still let you walk away." A bitter laugh escaped him. "Again, I let you walk away again.... I'm sorry. I'm sorry for the way things turned out. I should've fought for you, for us. I let you go because I couldn’t admit I loved you. Even though you knew —of course fucking you knew —because you see me, all of me. And you’ve loved me through it, even when I didn’t think it was possible.” He buried his face in his hands, wiping his tears and catching his breath.
“I was convinced I wasn’t enough for you,” he continued. “But you wanted me all the same. I’m sorry that I didn't say this weeks ago. I’m sorry for being so scared that I'm not what you deserve, that I let you walk out of my life —because every day without you has been fucking hell.”
He paused, his breaths coming in jagged, broken waves. Your own breaths were heaving, everything you'd wanted him to say, all the pent up tension, finally pouring out.
“I thought you were better off without me. I thought I could move on, try to forget it... but the goddamn world would have to stop before I could ever stop feeling this for you."
“Eddie,” you gasped.
Eddie stepped forward, his hands cupping your face. “It’s always been you, Baby." He paused for a moment; his big doe eyes swallowing you whole. "I'm not sure if I'm the man you deserve, but I'd like to try if you’ll have me.”
You nodded at his words, your tears streaming down your face.
You leaned in, a mere inch away from his lips, prompting Eddie to close the gap.
The first kiss in months —soft and tender, only to deepen instinctively as if fueled by the desperate need to reconnect and erase the distance that had come between you. Moaning into each other's mouths as your tongues met, Eddie's hands tangling in your hair.
When you finally pulled apart, breathless, and trembling you rested your forehead against his. His hands gently cupped your face again.
"I love you, Eddie Munson," you whispered.
A soft smile tugged at Eddie's lips, his thumbs brushing away the tears that stained your cheeks. "I love you so fucking much, baby," he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.
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Hi! I loved your series “The Longest Campaign”, I was wondering if there was any updates? No rush at all, I just love your fics sm!!
Yes! I’m hoping to have another chapter of “The Longest Campaign” out by this weekend. There will be a little time jump, and we’re finally going to dab our toes in the good stuff.
I also have a Steve one-shot for any of you Harrington fans in the pipeline.
Do you have a tag list for the fic everything after? I’m so obsessed with these two and their dynamic and how it’s been probably almost 35 years and they’ve raised this baby together while keeping it platonic. I just imagine of lizards’s birthdays and proms and when she got her first period.
Yes, I have a tag list, and I’ll add you! I’m down to tag anyone in anything.
I’m kinda obsessed with them too, and I have to keep cutting things because I am constantly going off on tangents related to raising Lizard. There will be more of that in Part 2, and I’m considering writing some one-shots set in the universe that revolve around those moments if anyone is interested.
Pairings: Single Dad!Eddie Munson x Best Friend!Reader
Summary: Years of loving Eddie is becoming harder to ignore as you and your friends celebrate his daughter's graduation
Warnings: 18+ MDNI No Upside Down AU, AFAB reader, mentions of teenage pregnancy, very brief mention of abortion (doesn’t happen), absent parent, language, mention of drug use, alcohol use, friends to lovers, yearning, angst, married Steve, reader has a nickname, dual POV, nipple play?, dry humping, fingering, handjob, cum play if you squint, semi-public, Byler mention, Lumax mention, Ronance mention, Henderhop mention, I think that's it
Word Count: 16,810
A/N: I suck at summaries. I'm also obsessed with Older Eddie Munson. We should've gotten him IRL.
Lizzie Munson just might be the one true love of your life.
Not in a romantic sense, no, but still in that deep down, in your bones, you can’t shake it, you will protect her from anything you can kind of way. The pride that swells within you as you look up at her on the stage, wearing her orange cap and gown, brings tears to your eyes.
She might not be yours biologically, but she’s yours in every way that counts. You were there when Eddie brought her home from the hospital, when she took her first steps, on her first day of kindergarten, when she got her driver’s license, and now as she graduates high school. And it only took her one try.
You’re sitting in the front row next to Eddie and Uncle Wayne, your poster that reads, “Congrats Lizard!” waving in your hands. Cameras are flashing, everyone is waving themselves with programs, and people are trying to pay attention to Principal Higgins, but it's hot as balls outside.
It can't dampen your mood, though. Your girl is about to take the podium and give her valedictorian speech.
Beside you, Eddie bounces his knee so hard it knocks against yours. You grab his hand and give it a squeeze.
“Calm down, Munson, you’re making the whole row shake,” you whisper.
“I can’t help it, Sweets,” he mutters, eyes fixed on the stage, “My kid’s about to give a speech in front of like, a thousand people.”
You look around exaggeratedly, “There are maybe two hundred people here.”
“Feels like a thousand.”
You grin softly and smooth an invisible wrinkle from the sleeve of his black button-down. He’d complained about wearing it the entire drive over, tugging at the collar like it was strangling him. He looked so handsome as you adjusted his tie before the two of you left your house, but now he looks terrified in it. Not for himself. For her. The poor man. And he’s not the only one you have to worry about.
On the other side of Eddie, Uncle Wayne sits stiff-backed in a suit jacket he only ever wears to funerals and weddings. He’s sweating profusely in the May heat. His rough hands are folded tightly in his lap, eyes glassy already. The second the perfunctory announcements started, he’d gone suspiciously quiet.
It’s a good thing you’re well trained in emotionally regulating the Munson men because you have a feeling you’re about to have to pat a couple of backs and wipe away a few tears.
Eddie goes stiff when Higgins steps back from the podium with a smile.
“And now, Hawkins High School Class of 2005’s valedictorian, Elizabeth Munson.”
The applause is thunderous. You scream as loud as you can and wave your sign wildly. Eddie sucks in a sharp breath beside you. Wayne is stiff as a board.
Lizzie crosses the stage in gold cords with black combat boots peeking out beneath her gown. Eddie had already cried when she walked downstairs earlier that morning dressed for graduation. Now, he’s crying because of the boots.
“Kid inherited my fashion sense,” he says proudly through tears.
You hand him a tissue and give his knee a squeeze.
Lizzie reaches the podium and adjusts the microphone. For one horrible second, she looks nervous. Then, her eyes find the three of you.
You. Uncle Wayne. Her dad. And she smiles.
“Okay,” she says, voice echoing through the crowd and Eddie sniffles, “So statistically speaking, most valedictorian speeches are supposed to include inspirational quotes, metaphors about journeys, and at least one overused reference to the spreading of wings.”
A ripple of laughter moves through the crowd.
“I didn’t really do any of that.”
Eddie huffs quietly beside you, “That’s my girl.”
“So instead,” Lizzie continues, “I figured I’d talk about the people who got me here.”
You can see her fingers tighten slightly around the edges of the podium.
“When people hear that I was raised by a single dad in a trailer park on the edge of Hawkins, they usually make assumptions about my life.”
The gym quiets, Eddie grabs your hand and interlaces your fingers.
“They think I grew up with less,” she says and makes sure her gaze roams over the entire crowd.
You see Eddie’s shoulders tense beside you.
“But I didn’t.”
Lizzie looks toward Eddie who is gripping you tightly.
“I grew up with a dad who worked himself to the bone every single day and still came home to help me study for spelling tests.”
Eddie ducks his head immediately, the tips of his ears going red.
“Who had someone teach him how to braid hair.”
There are some chuckles. You think you can hear Dustin’s laugh in particular.
“Who sat through every choir concert, every science fair, every nightmare, every heartbreak.”
Your chest aches and Eddie leans his head against your shoulder. You can feel the tears soak through the sleeve of your shirt.
“And when he didn’t know how to fix something,” her voice softens and your vision goes misty, “he made sure I never had to face it alone.”
Eddie presses his fist against his mouth as if he can staunch his emotions.
Lizzie glances toward Wayne next.
“My Uncle Wayne taught me that love doesn’t have to be loud to be life-changing.”
Wayne’s eyes squeeze shut. You reach across Eddie’s shoulders to give Wayne a pat.
“He taught me how to fish. He taught me how to drive, after I almost gave my dad a heart attack. He threatened a boy once for making me cry sophomore year.”
“That little asshole deserved it,” Wayne mutters under his breath, making you choke back a laugh. Wayne’s right, the little asshole deserved it.
“And then there’s…” Lizzie pauses, looking directly at you now.
The entire room seems to disappear. She says your name with an aching fondness.
“There’s the person who taught me what kindness looks like.”
Your breath catches and this time Eddie squeezes your hand.
“She’s been there for every important thing I can remember. School pickups, birthday cakes, movie nights, panic attacks before exams, taking me prom dress shopping for the third time because I kept changing my mind.”
Eddie sneaks a peek at you quietly, a look akin to reverence on his face.
“When people asked if I missed having a mom growing up,” Lizzie smiles shakily and shrugs her shoulders, “the truth is, I never really felt like I did.”
Your eyes burn instantly.
Lizzie’s biological mother Rachel was never around. She and Eddie were never even really in a relationship. They were only casual hookups until one night the condom broke. You can still remember how frantic Eddie was when he called you the night it happened. You tried to reassure him that nothing was going to come of it and everything would be fine. But you were wrong.
A few weeks later, Rachel called, told Eddie that she was pregnant, and that her parents were making her keep it. Rachel’s parents were uber religious and there would be no talk of abortion. Adoption was their preferred route.
In the beginning, Eddie agreed. He didn’t think that as the resident freak of Hawkins, Indiana, who still had yet to graduate high school, he was fit to raise a child. You remembered tearful conversations where you told him that you would support him no matter what he chose. In the end, after much back and forth with Rachel’s parents and with the backing of you and Wayne, he chose Lizzie. Rachel signed over her rights and she and her parents moved far from Hawkins, never to be seen again.
You were the only constant female influence in her life. Eddie’s eternal best friend. The girl who grew up in the trailer next door. Sure, Claudia, Karen, and Joyce were around, and they helped out wherever they could. There were also a few girlfriends who thought they had the wherewithal to handle a single father until they couldn’t.
But you were the one in the trenches with him.
When he made the final decision that he was going to keep Lizzie, the two of you made a plan. He had to graduate, get a better job (AKA stop dealing), and he needed his own place.
The last one was a no-brainer. You’d graduated the year before, and you lived in an apartment complex just down the way from Forest Hills. Your current lease was up, and you told him you had no problem moving into a two bedroom with him. The plus side was that the two of you would be close to Wayne. After that, the other two things on the list eventually fell into place.
In the beginning, neither of you knew what you were getting yourselves into. You didn’t know jack shit about babies, and neither did Eddie. Together, the two of you learned how to make bottles, change diapers, burp, administer children’s Tylenol, go to work on 3 hours of sleep, and how to make a rinky dink apartment a home for an infant.
You and Eddie lived together until Lizzie was three, when he finally saved up enough money for a down payment on a house. And even after you were no longer living together, you were still on Lizzie’s school pick up list, in her emergency contacts, and you went to her field trips and parent-teacher conferences when Eddie couldn’t.
Thinking back on those rough first years and how Lizzie has become such a huge part of your life, tears well up along your waterline. On stage, Lizzie’s own eyes glisten, but she keeps going.
“I got really lucky. I was raised by three people who chose me every single day.”
It’s completely silent now except for the soft fan of graduation programs and the occasional cough.
“And I think that’s what I want everyone graduating today to remember.”
She steadies herself with a breath. Next to you, Eddie copies her.
“Family isn’t always the thing you’re born into. Sometimes it’s the people who stay. The people who show up. The people who choose you every day. The people who love you so loudly that eventually you learn how to love yourself the same way too.”
Beside you, Eddie is openly crying, shoulders shaking slightly as he laughs under his breath in embarrassment. He wipes clumsily at his tears.
“Oh, this kiddo’s trying to kill me,” he whispers hoarsely.
Lizzie smiles one last time out at the crowd.
“So yeah, maybe I don’t have a quote about wings.”
A small grin spreads across her face. It’s so much like her father’s.
“But thanks to my family, I never really needed them to fly.”
The gym erupts. Everyone is on their feet instantly, applause crashing across the football field.
Wayne stands slowly, wiping aggressively at his eyes. Eddie doesn’t even try to wipe at his tears anymore. He’s crying and laughing helplessly as he claps.
“That’s my daughter,” he says, voice cracking completely, “Holy shit.”
You let go of his hand to wrap him in a hug, “You did good, Daddio.”
As the audience begins to settle, Lizzie gives one last shy smile and makes her way back to her seat as Vice Principal Clarke moves to the podium.
“Thank you so much for those touching words, Miss Munson,” he pauses like he can’t quite reconcile the fact that a Munson just gave a valedictorian speech, “Now, we will call each student up to receive their diplomas.”
Higgins goes to stand next to the table that holds the rolled certificates, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else, and you watch as student after student crosses the stage and takes their diploma. Fortunately, Hawkins was a small school, so you didn’t have to wait long for Lizzie’s turn to come.
She stands and her head turns to you sharply, she wants you to notice. You lock eyes and she gives you a half smirk and a wink. And you know. You know exactly what she’s going to do.
You shake your head at her, but you know she won’t be deterred.
“Oh no,” you whisper under your breath, but Eddie still hears you.
“What?”
“She gave me the wink.”
Lizzie saw the video of her father’s graduation at Eddie’s last birthday party when you’d gotten nostalgic and started pulling out every old picture and video you had. She knew all about her father’s three tries at graduating, she knew that he used to be the local freak, but she didn’t think he’d actually done what everyone chuckled about when they mentioned that faraway May day in 1986. Of course, after she was shown that clip of Eddie running up to Higgins, grabbing his diploma, and flipping him the bird, you had to show her the one of her Uncle Dustin doing the same thing in 1989. After she saw them, she told you she was going to do it, too.
If you were honest, you didn’t really believe her. Like her dad, Lizzie had her own wild streak, but it was mostly relegated to dying her hair different colors with Kool Aid and having her best friend Cassie Eatherly pierce her nose with a needle and an ice cube. Looks like Lizzie is proving you wrong.
Eddie turns to you fully, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Eddie, your child is on a stage with Principal Higgins on her graduation day. What do you think I mean?”
“She wouldn’t. Not my little Lizard.”
“Like I said, she’s your child.”
“Oh shit,” he mutters and Uncle Wayne turns to him sharply.
“Eddie, please. This is a serious occasion.”
“Then I seriously think you’re gonna want to close your eyes for this one, Wayne.”
It takes a second for the words to hit, but when they do, Uncle Wayne shakes his head. He’d long ago given up on the notion that nothing could surprise him after basically raising Eddie by himself. Now, he just tried to take everything in stride.
“She wouldn’t.”
Right on cue, you hear the crowd try and fail to contain themselves as the curly-haired girl stops dead in front of Higgins, snatches the rolled up paper from his hands, flips him the most elegant middle finger you’ve ever seen, and sprints off stage into the crowd of her classmates.
Eddie hangs his head, not because he’s embarrassed, but because he doesn’t want Wayne to see how proud he is. Wayne almost had a coronary when Eddie did it at his own graduation. Today, Wayne just shakes his head fondly.
You start laughing hysterically, “You, Dustin, and now Lizzie. They’re never gonna let us come to another one of these.”
“You’ve got to stop encouraging them, Sweets,” Wayne says with another shake of his head.
“Oh no, sir. All I did was show her a video. There was no encouragement needed. This was all Lizzie.”
With a barely contained smile, Vice Principal Clarke manages to get through the rest of the names, while Higgins stands on the stage with a mottled face, looking like a bull staring at a red flag. You’d think that since it’s happened to him three times now, he’d be used to being flipped off. He should probably start planning retirement..
After the ceremony ends, everything feels a little unreal. You’re still on the emotional high of Lizzie’s accomplishment. Even though you’ve always had every confidence in her, you still can’t quite believe it. She did it. Your girl did it. And she was valedictorian.
The bleachers empty in noisy waves. There are families shouting congratulations, balloons flying off into the air, teachers trying to organize photos as no one follows directions. In the background, “Eye of the Tiger” crackles through terrible speakers. You, Eddie, and Wayne go down to the grass to wait for your girl.
Lizzie disappeared almost immediately with her best friend Cassie into a swarm of classmates, and now the three of you are just waiting somewhat impatiently for her to appear. You want to say a proper goodbye before you go back home to put the finishing touches on her graduation party.
Eddie keeps staring into the crowd after her like he can’t quite process that the tiny little girl who used to fall asleep on his chest during late-night horror movies is suddenly a graduate. It’s a little bit adorable.
You touch his arm gently, “You okay?”
“No,” he says immediately, eyes still shiny, “I’m having a full existential crisis.”
“That seems a bit dramatic, even for you, Eds.”
“My daughter just gave the most emotionally devastating speech of all time in front of the entire town.”
You laugh softly and loop your arm through his, pulling him closer.
Then Eddie turns to you, and something shifts. Not dramatically, and not all at once. There’s just a stillness.
Because Lizzie’s words are still hanging there between you.
When people asked if I missed having a mom growing up…the truth is, I never really felt like I did. You hadn’t expected her to say that. Those words speak so much to the relationship you have with the two youngest Munsons.
You and Eddie have been best friends almost your entire life. You lived next door to each other growing up, and you’d been inseparable ever since Lizzie’s namesake, Eddie’s mother, forced him to say hi to the girl playing by herself on the rusty playground in the middle of the trailer park. You’d always only been just friends, even if you’d always known that you wanted more. That you wanted him to be more than just your best friend.
But you have also been doing the growing-up-Lizzie thing together for eighteen years. School lunches and scraped knees and parent-teacher conferences where teachers, who’d even taught the pair of you in high school, always looked at both of you like they were trying to figure out what was really going on in your relationship. It was one of the reasons you never tried for more. There was a kid, one you loved so, so much. You weren’t going to risk her stability or your relationship with her father for something that might only be one-sided.
You nod, “She did.”
Wayne wanders off to find Claudia, Dustin, and Jane, leaving you and Eddie standing alone even in the middle of the crowded field.
Eddie rubs the back of his neck.
“She really meant that, you know.”
You look down, “I know.”
You don’t really know why you’re suddenly so shy with your best friend.
“No, I mean it,” his voice softens, “You basically raised her with me.”
Emotion catches unexpectedly in your throat. You joke to cover it., “Well somebody had to make sure she didn’t end up eating gas station food every night.”
“Airing out my dirty laundry after all these years?” Eddie says with a laugh, but his smile fades after a second, “She loves you a lot.”
Your chest tightens because you love her, too. And her father. More than you ever let yourself say out loud.
Before you can respond, there’s suddenly a blur of orange graduation gown flying toward you. Lizzie crashes into you first. You barely catch her and your sign before she wraps both arms around your neck.
“You cried,” she accuses immediately.
“You cried!” you say into her hair as you draw her in closer, “I’m so proud of you, kiddo,”
“Even after that stunt I just pulled?”
You pull back to look into her eyes that are so much like her dad’s and laugh loud enough that some of the others gathered around turn to look at the two of you, “Especially after that. You’re just carrying on a sacred family tradition.”
“Give me back my child,” Eddie grumbles as he disentangles the two of you so he can pull Lizzie into a hug.
“Dad, I can’t breathe,” Lizzie giggles as Eddie picks her up and swings her around, their twin heads of dark curly hair flying carelessly.
He puts her down, but takes her by the shoulders, “I am so proud of you, Elizabeth Munson.”
She tilts her head down and she gets shy under her father’s praise, “Dad…”
“No, you’ve gotta listen. That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. Had all of us crying like little babies.”
“I know,” she says, “I could see you all blubbering. You almost cracked my unwavering composure.”
Eddie wraps an arm around your shoulders to tuck you in next to him and lean a cheek against the top of your head, “Sweets, was the only one blubbering.”
She looks between the two of you with an expression that instantly makes you suspicious, “Speaking of my speech…”
With that smirk on her face, it’s uncanny how sometimes she looks exactly like Eddie.
Eddie chokes and you nearly drop your sign. You both unconsciously take a step away from each other.
“Excuse me?” you barely manage to eke out.
“I’m serious,” she says, “Like, literally everyone.”
“Oh my god,” Eddie mutters, covering his face, which is becoming an odd shade of red.
“I think some of my classmates found out for the first time today that you’re not actually my mother,” she looks at you pointedly, “At parent-teacher conferences and field trips and everything, they always assumed – ”
“We know,” you and Eddie say at the exact same time.
Lizzie beams, looking between the two of you.
“That was very ‘couple' of you.”
Eddie points at her threateningly, “Do not start.”
But she’s already backing away laughing, spotting Cassie across the field.
“I’m just saying!” she calls, “You’re fooling absolutely nobody!”
Then she disappears back into the crowd.
“Bye, I guess,” you say after her sarcastically once she’s gone.
Then, there’s silence. Long, dangerous silence.
Eddie stares at the grass. You stare at the stage.
Somewhere in the distance, Wayne is loudly arguing with another parent about the correct way to smoke brisket.
Finally Eddie laughs quietly under his breath, “You know the worst part?”
You glance at him carefully, “What?”
He looks at you then. Really looks at you. His gaze is soft, terrified, honest.
“For a second up there…” he swallows, “when she was giving that speech…”
Your heart starts pounding.
“I kinda wished we were.”
The world narrows instantly.
All the noise around you fades into dull static.
Eddie looks horrified with himself the second the words leave his mouth, like he wants to shove them back in. And you can’t breathe because the truth is, you wished it too. You have for a very long time.
And now that Lizzie has graduated high school, you think you’ve finally gathered the courage to tell him. It’s probably just the emotional gravity of the day pulling you into its orbit, but you want to shout it from the rooftops and let everyone know that you’re in love with Eddie Munson. It’s on the tip of your tongue, and he’s looking at you like he knows what you’re gearing up to say and he wants you to say it as badly as he wants to hear it.
“Eddie,” you begin.
You’re going to tell him and not chicken out this time. Your lips are forming the words when…
“Eddie! Sweets! We’ve been looking all over for you!”
Dustin Henderson emerges from the dwindling crowd hand in hand with his wife Jane, walking toward you and Eddie like he’s on a mission.
“I think you have the coolest kid ever,” Dustin says as he drops Jane’s hand and pulls Eddie into a hug, completely oblivious to the situation he just walked into. Eddie gives him a stiff pat on the back, but doesn’t break eye contact with you.
Jane, however, is not oblivious. She clocks that the air is different as soon as she sees the two of you looking at each other. Bless her, she tries to intervene.
“Dustin, we should go. We need to pick up some things before the party,” she says as she takes his hand again and tries to gently lead him away.
“No we don’t. We already have Lizzie’s card and gift. All we have to do is change.”
“Dustin…”
“Eddie! Sweets!”
You turn and see Steve Harrington and his wife Emma coming up behind Dustin with the two Buckley-Wheelers trailing behind.
Whatever courage you might’ve found is now gone. You are not doing this with an audience. Another one bites the dust. You probably shouldn’t confess your love for your best friend right after his daughter’s graduation anyway. Seems like the least great idea you’ve ever had when you think about it. But at least now you have your friends around you as buffers to keep the conversation from getting too deep or too stilted.
Steve goes to join Dustin, Jane, and Eddie as the girls move to you.
“Our girl did so well!” Robin says as she holds out her arms.
Robin, Nancy, and Emma gather around and pull you into a hug that you return gratefully. Eddie is your best friend, but those three women, plus Jane and Max, are your tribe. In them, you had a wealth of knowledge to draw from when it came to almost any situation. They’d been invaluable over the years in helping you with anything life could throw at you, be it a situation with Lizzie, a stupid fight with Eddie, your pitiful love life.
And speak of the devil. It seems everyone in Hawkins wants to join your little post-graduation huddle.
You hear that specific voice call your name and you turn to see Mark Eatherly, Cassie’s dad, and the man who just so happens to be your former fiancé. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Eddie frown. You know he hates Mark. He has from the start, although you’ve never been able to get a good reason, other than “I just don’t like him” out of him.
With an instinct bred from being friends with Eddie for years, Steve and Dustin shore up beside him. It’s doubtful that Eddie is going to make a scene at his daughter’s graduation, especially with his daughter’s best friend’s dad, but emotions have been running high, and even almost two years post breakup, Eddie was still pretty pissed with how everything between you and Mark ended.
You’d met Mark at an eighth grade field trip to the zoo that you’d gone on in Eddie’s stead. Eddie was busy at the mechanic shop, and he’d just taken over ownership, so there was no way he could get away. Since Lizzie and Cassie were best friends, you spent the whole day with Mark being dragged around by two little teen dictators from exhibit to exhibit. During your conversation, you learned that he was two years divorced from Cassie’s mother, and when he learned you were neither Eddie’s wife nor Lizzie’s mother, he asked you on a date.
One date became two, which became ten, and before you even really knew what was going on, Mark proposed. In total, you were together almost two years before Mark broke it off.
It was partly because of your inability to set a wedding date, and partly because he wasn’t super fond of how close you were with your best friend. He was always going on and on about how Eddie was undermining his place in your life. Mark wasn’t exactly wrong, but you’d told him several times that you were never giving up your relationship with Eddie.
When he’d started making comments about you not needing to be so involved in Lizzie’s life because you weren’t her actual mother, and how you didn’t need to be a buffer against the real world for Eddie – that was the beginning of the end. There were a few more months of hurtful words neither of you could take back, and then he gave you an ultimatum and you gave him your ring.
You never did and never were going to love him like you love Eddie, and it wasn’t fair to either of you. It took you a while to come to terms with the simple fact that you never should’ve said yes to Mark in the first place. Despite the demise of your relationship, Lizzie and Cassie remained best friends.
Your girls line up beside you like tiny bodyguards, ready to protect you should Mark go off script. They were also a line of second defense against Eddie should he be inclined to step in.
Mark holds his hands up as if in surrender, your friends looking like a firing squad, “I come in peace.”
“Eatherly,” Eddie mumbles from his group.
“Munson,” Mark returns, then looks only at you, “I just came over to say hi and that Lizzie did an incredible job. I know you must be extremely proud of her.”
“We are,” Eddie says for the both of you.
Mark nods, and you appreciate that at least he’s not egging Eddie on.
“I guess I’ll see you later when I drop Cassie off at the party?”
“Yeah, I’ll see you then.”
Mark nods at everyone and turns to walk away. Thankfully, your group is smart enough to wait until he’s out of earshot to begin shit talking.
Eddie gives you a look asking if you’re okay, to which you reply with a nod. Then, not missing a beat, your two clusters turn back to each other to dissect the exchange.
“Please don’t tell me that man is going to try and get you back,” are the first words out of Robin’s mouth.
“What about that five second interaction gave you the indication that he wants me back?”
“Are you serious?” her voice drops down to as much of a whisper as it can, “He never for one minute thought you were going to give him his ring back. He was all swinging dick when he told you that you had to take a step back from Eddie, and I guess he thought you were gagging for it. He took a pretty big hit to the ego when you didn’t even hesitate to rescind your yes.”
“That’s because I never should’ve given it to him to begin with.”
“I never liked him,” Emma states as the four of you shore up your group into a small circle.
“Never liked who?” Jane appears suddenly at your right, weasling her way in once she managed to get away from the boys.
“Mark,” Emma tells her.
Jane sticks out her tongue, “He is a stupid man.”
“I agree with you on that, Henderson,” Robin begins, “And as I was saying, I hope he’s not under the delusion that you’re going to take him back.”
“That’s never going to happen. I don’t take kindly to ultimatums, nor am I ever going to not have the Munsons in my life.”
“It’d be even cooler if you were a Munson, too,” Nancy says under her breath, but everyone hears her and snickers.
“What are we giggling about over here?” comes a question to your left, and you all startle a bit.
The girls part a little to make room for Eddie.
“Girl stuff. Periods and all that,” Emma says with a perfectly innocent grin.
“Sure,” Eddie tells her with a smile then looks to you, “I’m gonna head out.” He pulls you into a hug and presses a kiss to your forehead, “I’ll be over at five to help finish setting up. We’ll talk then, yeah?”
Nancy throws a smirk your way as if to say “see what I mean?”
You decide you’re not going to analyze his words until you’re in the safety of your car.
“I’ll see you then.”
“Ladies,” Eddie bows with a flourish and goes to find Wayne.
“We need to get going too, babe,” Steve says to Emma as he and Dustin saunter up to the group, “I’ve got to give the kids the big bad dad speech about not burning the house down while we’re out tonight.”
Steve never got the six little nuggets he’d talked about when you were all younger, but he and Emma had three, and that was plenty for them. The couple were just getting to the point where they were letting their oldest, Lucy, babysit for extra money when they were going out or having a date night.
“Nance and I should head out as well, we’ve got to stop and pick up the cake at the bakery,” Robin tells them.
“Have you talked to Mike and Will?” you turn to Nancy and ask.
“Yes,” Nancy nods as the group starts walking toward the parking lot, “I saw them before they left. My mom had been begging them to stop and see her while they’re in town, so they had to bail right after Lizzie’s speech, but they’ll be at her party tonight. Jonathan, too. He rode with the guys, so he had to leave with them. He wanted me to tell you he wouldn’t forget his camera.”
Of the couple, Will was your favorite, not that you didn’t like Mike, but he was a little rough around the edges, and not in the Eddie-shaped way that you like. Will was the sun to Mike’s thunder. Will used to draw you detailed drawings of your bard back in the Hellfire days. You still had all of them in a scrapbook.
When you first met Mike, he wasn’t a fan, mainly because he didn’t understand your relationship with Eddie. He didn’t comprehend that while you harbored a crush for the teenage rebel boy that he spotted from a mile away, you also genuinely liked Dungeons and Dragons, and you weren’t just joining them after school to make Eddie like you. Eddie already liked you. The poor metalhead had been trapped in your orbit, and you his, since the day you met. Over the years, you and Mike bonded over your shared love of sarcasm, cleverly worded takedowns, and Will Byers.
Hardly any of you ever saw Jonathan anymore, other than Will, Mike, Jane, and Dustin. He was living in New York having the time of his life making movies and being thoroughly happy to leave Hawkins in his rearview. You, Eddie, and Lizzie had gone to see him a couple of times on vacation, but he loved to play the part of fun, somewhat mysterious uncle you only see on holidays.
When the group reaches the parking lot, you all take your turns saying your goodbyes. Even though you’re going to see these people again in only a couple of hours, it’s so rare now that you all get to see each other together, in the same space.
Lucas and Max hadn’t even been able to attend the graduation because Max was seven months pregnant and while she loved Lizzie almost as much as you did, there was no way she was sitting in the blaring sun during the mid-May heatwave Hawkins was currently experiencing. She’d called you that morning in tears because of the hormones, apologizing profusely. Of course you’d told her not to worry about it. Lizzie knew that the Sinclairs loved her, and there would be plenty of time for them to tell her that at the party.
The last hugs and handshakes are traded off and you get in your vehicles to venture toward your next destinations. You should be using the drive time to make an attack plan for setting everything up, but you don’t. Instead, your thoughts are tangled up in Eddie like they almost always are.
We’ll talk then, yeah?
Something almost happened in that moment right after Lizzie left. You almost had both legs in your big girl panties. You almost told him. And he seemed to be waiting for it. But yet again, something stopped you. You didn’t want to claim that it was fate or anything like that, but you were going to have to get your fucking self together.
There were going to be roughly ninety uninterrupted minutes where you would have Eddie alone at your house where the two of you would be setting up for the party. You needed to get that other leg in those panties and pull them up.
Because the two of you were supposed to talk.
You get home, showered, and changed in record time. You have the bigger backyard, so you told Eddie you’d have Lizzie’s graduation party at your house. And even with other things on your mind, everything has to be perfect.
So unfortunately, you’ve whipped yourself into a frenzy. Eddie dropped the ‘I kinda wished we were’ line on you and there you were poised to bare your heart on a football field where the two of you used to sneak off to get high under the bleachers. Now, you’re waiting for him to show up so you could decorate your backyard for his kid’s graduation party. And quite possibly tell him you love him.
You’re staring at the clock on your microwave as it inches toward five o’clock. At 5:01 you hear your front door open and the tell tale sound of boots on the wooden floor of your living room. Your chest seizes for a second, because it’s showtime, then you hear the sound of a second pair of boots.
“Honey, we’re home!” Eddie exclaims as he and Lizzie come through the entryway from the living room into the kitchen.
The dual feelings of both relief and disappointment flood you simultaneously. The thought crosses your mind that maybe Eddie brought Lizzie on purpose to be a buffer Had you read his looks wrong? Did he have a chance to think about what he said and realize that he didn’t mean it?
“When I got home, this weird little girl was there, and she started following me around saying she knew you. She insisted she come help set up,” Eddie says when he sees your face and he looks at you pointedly, “I told her she didn’t need to set up her own party, but she refused to see reason.”
You let out an internal sigh of relief knowing at least that Eddie wasn’t trying to renege on the talk. His daughter is just as bullheaded as he is, and if she decided she was coming over, there really was no stopping her.
Wrapping an arm around Lizzie’s shoulders, you pull her to you, “Well, weird little girl, I guess I’m putting you to work. You can help your dad hang lights while I start on the food.”
Everyone quickly gets to work, Eddie throwing you a shoulder shrug as he grabs the lights you’ve left on the kitchen table. Everyone and their brother seem to be intent on keeping you from talking to this man today.
Not that it matters anyway, because Wayne shows up only fifteen minutes later and you set up a station for him to inflate balloons. Then, surprise of all surprises, Jonathan shows up a half hour early to get his camera ready.
“Jonathan Byers, you’re an angel,” you tell him and get a shy smile in return, “Who would’ve thought eighteen years ago, that I’d have a famous movie director as a friend and I’d be able to twist his arm into filming a graduation party?”
“Only semi-famous, Sweets, and I wouldn’t miss it for the world. As the only two members of the Class of ‘84 and ‘85 Photography Club, I feel we are obligated to stick together.”
You’re no photographer, but you’d joined the Photography Club your junior year mainly because you thought it would look good on your college transcripts. You never would’ve imagined that it would spawn a lifelong friendship with the shy and solemn older brother of Will Byers. You’d spent countless nights sharing a joint with Jonathan while both commiserating about the two people (Nancy and Eddie) that you longed for with all your maudlin teenage hearts.
Robin and Nancy always voiced their suspicions that your feelings for Eddie ran deeper than just friendship, but Jonathan was the only person who knew.
Of course, Jonathan got over Nancy rather quickly after he moved to New York for film school. You, on the other hand, still carried a torch as bright as ever for your dear metalhead.
“I’m going to go around and get some establishing shots. Let me know if there’s anything in particular you want me to get.”
“Will do.”
The rest of the set up goes smoothly, and soon people are filtering in. Dustin and Jane are first, Dustin joining Eddie over where he’s trying to light the grill, leaving you and Jane idly chatting, waiting for the others.
Some neighbors and co-workers of both you and Eddie join, most of them only stopping by to drop off a gift or card. Claudia comes briefly to drop off a gift. Robin and Nancy set up the cake when they arrive, then join you and Jane. Max waddles in, followed closely by Lucas, Steve, and Emma. Everyone coos over Max while she loudly exclaims that if anyone touches her belly they’re going to die. Mike and Will are accompanied by Karen. They’re followed in by Joyce and Hopper. Eddie and Dustin join the group after they’ve filled a picnic table with nothing but meat.
Karen, Joyce, and Hopper reminisce over all of the graduations they’ve been to. Mike and Will share news about California. Robin and Nancy tell you that you simply have to see them in Massachusetts. Emma and Max talk about all things baby. Steve finally succeeds in getting Eddie to play cornhole with him against Dustin and Jane.
All the while, your girl is in the center of all of it, flitting between groups of people and conversations. Her personality shines brightest when she’s around her people. Jonathan takes the opportunity to get some good footage of Lizzie in her natural habitat and of the guests telling stories about Lizzie growing up.
You’re at the dessert table, grabbing one of the cupcakes Karen brought, watching Lizzie make fun of her dad and Steve’s horrible cornhole technique when you hear her squeal and turn to see Cassie and Mark coming around the side of the house. The girls embrace and jump up and down like they didn’t just see each other a few hours ago.
“Sorry we’re late,” Mark begins once he’s made his way to you and he grabs a cupcake, “Cassie’s mom and I took her out for dinner and it ran a little long,”
“How the girls managed to survive is beyond me,” you tell him with a laugh as Lizzie drags Cassie over to watch the now heated cornhole match.
This is the point where you hope Mark will simply say goodbye, and make his merry way home, but as he fidgets with the wrapper, your hopes are dashed.
“What have you been up to lately?”
Unfortunately, your squad is occupied and there’s no one to rescue you just yet.
“Same old, same old. The bookstore keeps me pretty busy. I’m probably going to have to hire two people to take over for Lizzie when she finally moves away for college.”
“I saw a new car in the driveway,” he says as he gestures toward the front of your house with his head, “I guess you finally had to replace the Camry?”
You don’t really like that Mark wants to bring up old relationship talk with you. He’d been trying to get you to buy a new car since you’d started dating. But you didn’t need a new freaking car, Eddie kept your old Camry running just fine. The only reason you have a new car is because you gave your old one to Lizzie as a graduation present.
“The Camry is still kicking,” you inform him, “It’s actually Lizzie’s now.”
“Oh.”
The conversation between the two of you is mostly Mark trying to engage you in any way he can think of, but every laugh is forced and all you want to do is scurry away to anywhere else. You keep trying to catch the eyes of any of your friends, but everyone is occupied.
All you can think is that it’s going to be a long night.
You’ve been talking to Mark for almost thirty minutes, Eddie knows because he clocked it as soon as Mark walked into your backyard. He can’t even concentrate on the stupid cornhole game because all he really wants to do is go over there and bodily move Mark away from you. Lizzie dragged Cassie off to god knows where saying that she couldn’t watch her dad lose so pathetically anymore.
He thought he’d seen the last of the man when you gave him back your ring, but Mark was like fucking herpes, always popping up when you least expected.
Eddie is concentrating so hard on trying to read your lips, he doesn’t even hear Steve coming and he jumps when Steve slaps him on the back.
“I always thought you and Sweets would end up together,” Steve says as he follows Eddie’s line of sight and looks over at where Mark is still standing next to you.
“What makes you say that?” Eddie asks as if he’s fooling anyone.
“I’ve seen the way you look at her.”
“What way, praytell, do I look at her?”
“Like she hung the fucking moon. It’s the same way I look at Emma.”
Eddie wants to have a snappy comeback, but he doesn't. Steve’s right. He does look at you like you hung the fucking moon, because to him, you did. You are his best friend, his partner in crime, you helped him raise his goddamn daughter. Everything good in his life exists because of you. Other than the birthing part, even Lizzie.
You were the one who told him he could do it, be a real father, when he told you that he didn’t want to give his baby up for adoption. You were honest with him. You didn’t mince words, you told him it was going to be hard as hell, but that if he stuck with it, it would all be worth it. And it fucking was.
There were no two people he loved in this world more than you and his daughter. But he definitely loved you differently than he loved Lizzie.
Eddie had been in love with you most of his goddamn life.
When the two of you were seven, you got “married” out near the creek that runs behind the trailer park – he had streaks of mud across his face and holes in the knees of his jeans, you had a crown of daisies atop your head. You’d proposed to him with a Ring Pop and told him you wanted to be his best friend forever. He’d said yes immediately. The two of you promised each other you’d be together for eternity, and then you celebrated by passing the candy back and forth until it disappeared. He didn’t tell you he loved you then.
The two of you shared your first and only kiss playing spin the bottle at Erin Carmichael’s thirteenth birthday party. When the empty soda bottle he spun landed directly on you, he’d been so nervous he thought he was going to puke and you’d blushed so prettily he also thought he was going to die. In front of the entire seventh grade class of Hawkins Middle School, he kissed you square on the lips and while everyone else “oohed” and “ahhed,” you’d stared at him with a look in your eye that was so much older than thirteen. He felt like he’d died and gone to heaven. He didn’t tell you he loved you then.
You were his date to all of his senior proms, and on the third one, when he was once again wearing one of Wayne’s old suits and you were wearing a sparkly dress, dancing under a disco ball to “Heaven” by Bryan Adams, he almost told you he loved you. You had your arms around his shoulders with your head tucked under his chin. You were wearing some fruity-smelling perfume that made him lightheaded in the best way. His mind had been clouded with thoughts of Rachel and the baby and what he was going to do, but in that moment, you were the only thing he could think of. He didn’t tell you he loved you then.
There was that moment just hours ago, right after Lizzie’s graduation, he felt that familiar tension between the two of you. You had that soft look on your face you only ever had with him. He’d been so sure you were going to say something. He could see the emotion swirling in your eyes, although he could’ve been fooling himself and it was only the leftover sentimentality of Lizzie’s speech. He told himself that he was giving you thirty seconds, and if you didn’t say anything, he was going to. It was right there in the back of his throat, ready for any acknowledgment on your part, then Dustin came rushing over and killed the mood. He didn’t tell you he loved you then.
He could never understand why he just couldn’t fucking tell you that he loved you.
Eddie’s reminiscing is cut short when Dustin, again, walks over and pats him on the back, “What are we talking about gentlemen?”
“About how Eddie loves Sweets,” Steve supplies with no preamble.
“Yeah, that’s not news.”
The casual way that Dustin says it gives Eddie pause, “What do you mean?”
“Eddie, a blind man could see that you love her. And she’s crazy about you, too. You both need to get your heads out of your goddamn asses already. I’m frankly a little sick of watching you two pine after each other.”
Eddie scoffs, even as heat crawls up the back of his neck, “Jesus Christ Henderson, subtle as always.”
Steve chuckles.
“I’m serious,” Dustin begins, “you look at her like the lead actor in a rom-com. I might start calling you Matthew McConaughey.”
Steve snorts into his beer, “That’s weirdly specific.”
“Jane’s been on a McConaughey kick,” he says to Steve before he turns back to Eddie, “You know what I mean.” Dustin points between Eddie and where you stand, still talking to fucking Mark, “Look at you right now.”
You’re laughing at something Mark says, but it doesn’t reach your eyes, and still Eddie feels a little queasy. You have your head tipped back and the lights he and Lizzie put up only a couple of hours ago cast you in a soft multi-colored glow. Mark drops his head toward you and says something else to which you lightly shove his shoulder.
Jealousy twists sharp in his stomach. Partly because Mark is touching you. Mostly because Mark almost had you. And it looks like he’s trying all over again.
There was a point where Eddie thought you were really going to do it – leave him and really be with Mark. It was the night Mark proposed. You’d come over after, and you were sitting on Eddie’s couch. Your eyes were shining, you were twisting that god awful ring around your finger. Lizzie was upstairs asleep, and the two of you were alone when you told him.
And Eddie just smiled. He smiled so hard his face hurt. Then he congratulated you with a bitter taste on his tongue. After you left, he got drunk alone in the kitchen and stared at the wall wondering if that heavy feeling in his gut was what missing his chance felt like.
“You’re doing it again,” Steve says with a nudge to Eddie’s arm.
“I’m not staring,” he mutters.
“You’re not,” Dustin corrects, “You’re yearning.”
“Shut up.”
“Seriously man,” Steve says quieter, not teasing like before, “What exactly are you waiting for? Lizzie’s graduated, and she’s going off to college. You have a house, a business, you’re not the freak of Hawkins anymore. You never really were.”
Eddie opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Because the truth is a little pathetic. He’s waiting for a sign. Some kind of permission. Some sort of undeniable proof that telling you how he feels won’t ruin everything the two of you have built. That he won’t ruin it.
You are woven into every part of his life. Your threads make up most of the beautiful tapestry that is his world.
And it’s not just about Lizzie.
You know how he likes his coffee. You know where he keeps the extra sheets. You know when his shoulder hurts because he slept wrong because he’s getting fucking old. You know Wayne’s medication schedule because Eddie hates to admit that Wayne’s getting old, too.
If he says something, and it goes bad, if he finally tells you and you look at him with pity instead of love, he’d lose one of the most important people in his life.
His eyes drift to you again. This time you’re not looking at Mark. You’re looking at him. Even from across the yard, he knows that expression instantly. There’s softness, fondness, maybe longing. It hits him square in the chest.
Dustin notices it too, because he groans dramatically, “Oh my god, just kiss her already. Put us all out of our misery.”
Steve laughs so hard he nearly chokes on his drink. Eddie flips Dustin off without looking away from you.
‘You’re a little asshole, you know that?”
“At least I’m married to the woman I’m hopelessly in love with.”
“He’s got you there, Munson,” Steve agrees.
Before Eddie can rattle off another excuse as to why he needs to keep his mouth shut for all eternity, your back screen door slams open.
“Daddio!” Lizzie screeches and comes jogging out of your kitchen with Cassie trailing behind her, but veering off to the dessert table where you’re still standing with Mark.
“Leaving so soon?” Eddie asks his daughter.
“I’m heading out with Cassie. I’m gonna spend the night with her.”
Eddie nods and throws an arm around her shoulders, “I know you’re all grown up now, but could you call me and let me know when you two get home.”
Lizzie gives him an indulgent smile, “Of course. And don’t worry Daddio, we’re not going to do anything stupid. There’s a bonfire out at Lover's Lake, then me and Cassie are going to her mom’s house.”
“Do you have everything? Clothes? Toothbrush? Bail money?”
“Dad…”
“If I call Cassie’s house later tonight, are you going to be able to answer the phone?” Eddie trusts his daughter, she’s a good kid, but he also wants to know that she’s made it safely home.
“If I call Sweets' house later tonight, are you going to be able to answer the phone?” she counters, and both Steve and Dustin snicker.
Eddie narrows his eyes and decides to ignore her comment. He doesn’t have the brain power to verbally spar with his daughter right now, “Ok, just be careful, and call me if you need anything, and I mean anything.”
“You know I will,” she tells him with a wink and then looks over to you, “I’m gonna go say bye to Sweets.”
For the second time that day, Lizzie Munson comes barreling toward you out of nowhere, but you’re especially thankful for it right now. Mark won’t stop talking to you, and not even Cassie trying to say goodbye has been able to distract him.
“Sweets!”
“Lizard!”
She grabs your hand, “Can I steal you for a second?”
“Sure thing,” you say, grateful to have a second alone with Lizzie, away from Mark’s banal conversation.
She pulls you far enough away so the two of you can talk without anyone listening.
“There she is,” you tease softly, fixing the mess of necklaces hanging around her throat. Rings are her father’s thing. Necklaces are hers.
Lizzie smiles, but it seems a little nervous around the edges.
“What’s wrong?” you ask immediately.
“Nothing’s wrong. I just wanted to say goodbye before Cassie kidnaps me for the rest of the night.”
“You’ll call me if you need bail, right?”
She snorts, “Do you and my dad share a brain cell?”
“I think one is a generous number.”
Lizzie laughs and goes quiet again.
“What is it, honey?”
For a second, she just looks at you. It’s not casual, it’s not distracted. She really looks. She’s so much like Eddie it almost knocks the breath out of you.
“I need you to know something,” she says softly.
“Okay.”
“You are family to me.”
Emotion climbs up your throat so fast it almost burns.
“Lizard…”
“No, let me finish before I chicken out,” she points at you the way you point at her when you tell her something she really needs to listen to, “I mean it. You’re not like my family. You are my family.”
For probably the hundredth time that day, your eyes begin to sting.
Lizzie swallows hard before continuing, “And I know you worry about changing things with my dad.”
Your stomach drops, “Lizzie…”
“I’m serious,” she says with a gentle voice, “I know you both think you’re hiding it, but you’re really, really not.”
Heat floods your face. You’ve been called out by a teenager. Again.
“Oh my god.”
She grabs both of your hands, “My dad has been in love with you literally my entire life.”
All you can do is stare at her, speechless.
“And you love him, too.”
You open your mouth to deny it, but nothing comes out. What’s the point? Lizzie knows. Everyone probably knows.
Your eyes drift over to where Eddie is standing with Steve and Dustin. His hair is falling into his face from laughing at something. Your heart does that stupid little thing it always does when you catch him like that, so lighthearted and carefree. Lizzie squeezes your hands tighter.
“I know that you had Mark, and he was okay, I guess. But the best thing about him is Cassie. And I’ve never seen him look at you the way my dad looks at you. You don’t have to be scared anymore,” she tells you quietly.
And that nearly undoes you. Because you are scared. Scared of losing him. Scared of ruining the best thing in your life.
“I just…” your voice cracks, “you and your dad mean everything to me.”
Lizzie smiles, and she looks so much like Eddie you could cry.
“Sweets,” she begins gently, “you’ve been in love with each other for years. I knew it as soon as I had cognitive reasoning skills. You two are just the last to formally acknowledge it.”
A watery laugh escapes you. Lizzie steps forward and wraps her arms around you.
“You deserve each other,” she whispers into your hair.
You hold her tight and press a kiss to her forehead, “That sounds ominous.”
She laughs, but it’s edged with tears, “You’re going to make me cry off all of my makeup.”
“Too late for that, kiddo.”
She pulls back, grinning playfully. Then, because she is Eddie Munson’s daughter, she tilts her head toward where her father is still standing with Steve and Dustin and says, “For the record, if you don’t kiss my dad soon, I think Steve and Dustin might actually explode from frustration.”
You burst out laughing, “Noted.”
“Good,” Lizzie says as you release each other, “Alright, I’m leaving before you get all weird and emotional on me again.”
“You started it!”
“Yeah, well someone had to,” she says with a shrug.
Lizzie skips away to grab Cassie and the two of them round the front of the house, off to adventures unknown.
Now, there’s a weight sitting in your gut that you can’t do anything with just yet. All it can do is grow heavier until you can finally get Eddie alone.
You look over to the dessert table where Mark is still standing, but you’re sure as hell not going back over there. Your patience with his particular line of conversation has run too thin. You spot Wayne out of the corner of your eye, throwing away empty plates left lying around and decide to join him.
“Don’t worry about the trash, Uncle Wayne. That’s what I have Eddie for,” you tell him as you slide a hand along his shoulder.
“Just doing my part, darling.”
“You did your part a long time ago. That was raising my best friend.”
He gives you a smile and leans into your grip.
“What would that boy do without you?”
“Live off of Chef Boyardee and forget when his light bill is due,” you tell him with a chuckle.
“Did Lizzie set you straight?” he asks as he ambles toward the back porch door.
Everyone really does fucking know, you think to yourself as the two of you walk into the kitchen where Wayne has left his jacket hanging on one of your chairs.
You nod as he slides into the well-worn piece of clothing, “Yes sir, she did.”
“Then I guess I don’t have to say anything else.”
“No sir.”
Wayne pulls you into a bear hug and when he steps back, he studies you a bit.
“Well, I guess I do have a little bit to say.”
You don’t know what it is about those words that makes you a little nervous.
“Go on.”
“Al Munson was a dumb motherfucker,” Wayne begins, and you would laugh at Wayne’s language if he wasn’t so right and so serious, “He had everything a man could want. He had Elizabeth, then he had Eddie. But he fucked it all up.”
You take a deep breath. You never really met the man, but you know that Wayne hates Eddie’s father with a passion. And by extension, so do you. He was a horrible husband and a horrible father. He didn’t deserve Elizabeth or Eddie.
“Unfortunately, Al had that boy long enough to put a lot of nonsense in his head. A lot of stuff that Al hated about himself that he pushed off on Eddie. Told him he was no good, that he would never amount to anything, that he was trash.”
Wayne takes your hands in his own. They are warm and his palms are calloused from years of work at the plant. They are working man’s hands. Hands that worked hard to give Eddie a home and a family. Wayne is just as much Eddie’s father as you are Lizzie’s mother.
You sometimes think it’s that truth that binds you and Wayne so closely. You both know what it’s like to love a child so fiercely even when you had no hand in their making.
“Eddie is going to try and convince himself that he’s not good enough for you. He’s going to tell himself that you can do better.”
“But I can’t,” you shake your head vigorously.
“I know that, darling, but that sonofabitch that was his father put those thoughts in his head, and it doesn’t matter what Eddie accomplishes, or how good he’s got it going, he always thinks he doesn’t deserve it. He feels like an impostor in his own life.”
Wayne squeezes your hand tightly, not to the point of pain, but enough that you know he’s serious, “Don’t let Al win. No matter what my boy does, no matter what he says. Don’t let that man hurt my boy more than he already has.”
You give him a nod, not sure if you can speak yet.
“I know you can do it, Sweets. I’ve been witness to the love you have for both of those knuckleheads. Just please tell me that you won’t give up.”
You swallow, your throat thick with love for this man who loves Eddie and Lizzie so much, “I won’t give up, Wayne.”
He lets your hands go and pats you affectionately on the cheek, “I know you won’t. Don’t let him give up either.”
You smile and together the two of you walk out to Wayne’s truck, your arms loaded down with leftovers for him to take home. After you have everything stowed away, Wayne gets in and gives you a single wave goodbye. He tells you to say goodbye to Eddie for him, and he’ll call him in the morning. Wayne has said he piece, and he’s a man who says what he means to say and lets it lie.
You wave right back as he drives off, leaving you both lighter and heavier.
Between Lizzie and Wayne, your mind is spiraling a little. There are so many expectations, including your own. And you can’t even seem to get your best friend alone for more than a couple of minutes so you can tell him that you fucking love him.
When you make your way to your back yard, you see that everyone has taken Wayne’s exit as a sign to start putting everything away. You can see Jane and Max through the kitchen window and decide to see if they need any help. Unfortunately, you don’t notice until it’s too late that Mark is in there, too.
His presence would be less annoying if he hadn’t spent the last hour hovering around you and if you weren’t so desperate to have Eddie and your house to yourself.
You go to grab some discarded napkins when Mark leans on the counter beside you.
“You really did all this by yourself?” he asks, gesturing with his hand.
“With help,” is your vague reply.
You’d planned most of it, but as always, the whole gang pitched in.
“You always were good at this kinda thing.”
Before you can respond, you see your saving grace from the corner of your eye in the form of a heavily pregnant redhead.
“Hey,” she begins talking to you, completely ignoring Mark, “do you still have ice cream?”
It’s a random ass question, but you decide to go with it. Plus she is pregnant and probably really wants ice cream, “Yeah, but if you eat all of the chocolate we’re going to have a Battle Royale at the fire pit. Pregnant or not.”
“Fair enough,” she goes toward the fridge, but stops and turns to Mark, “You’re still here?”
“Max,” you fake warn.
“What?” she asks innocently.
“It’s nice to see you too, Mayfield.”
She holds up her left hand, shiny with a diamond ring, “It’s Sinclair. I’m married.”
That’s when Jane takes it upon herself to interject as well, dragging over her trash bag to stand next to Max, “I think she means the party is ending.”
Mark blinks at her, and as she is wont to do, Jane just stares back, completely expressionless. Max coughs to hide a smile. Unfortunately, Mark notices.
“Have you two always been this hostile?”
“Yes,” is Max’s instant reply.
“Especially when people overstay,” Jane adds. She starts putting more trash in the bags.
You pinch the bridge of your nose to hide your grin, “Come on everyone…”
Mark straightens and tells the girls, “I’m just talking to her.”
He never got along with Max and Jane. They always made him bristly. He thought they were too headstrong. And they are too headstrong. That’s why you like them.
“And you’ve been ‘just talking to her’ for like an hour,” Max tells him.
“And she keeps trying to walk away,” Jane points out.
Mark scoffs quietly, “Okay, I guess I can take a hint.”
“Please take it far away,” Max replies.
She goes to the fridge and pretends to start looking for ice cream. Jane continues to stuff things in the garbage bags.
“See you later,” he tells you as he pulls his keys from his jacket pocket.
“Hopefully not,” Max says under her breath.
Mark still hears, but chooses not to reply.
“Yeah,” you tell him noncommittally.
Mark nods his head and makes a hasty retreat. You sigh in relief at seeing him go. The girls immediately drop their pretense.
“Finally!” Max exclaims.
“I agree,” starts Jane, “I never really liked that man.”
“Thanks for the assist,” you tell them as you go to take the bag from Jane, “Why don’t you two go outside. I’m going to start the dishwasher, and I’ll be right out.”
They both nod and Max quickly grabs a pint and a spoon, she always knew where the fucking ice cream was.
You take a second to center yourself as you load the final utensils in the dishwasher and get it running. As much as you’re dying to talk to Eddie, you also want to be present for your friends. It’s few and far between when you’re all together like this and you want to be able to actually enjoy them.
When you finally head outside, they’re all gathered around the fire pit. The people who stayed. Your family.
Steve is in the adirondack chair he always claims as his own, Emma tucked securely between his legs, a hand dragging lazily through her hair. Robin and Nancy share a blanket, their knees pressed together as Nancy is absentmindedly tracing patterns on Robin’s wrist. Jonathan sits a little apart from them on his own blanket. He’s quite content with his camera still attached to his face and a beer nearby. Will and Mike are shoulder to shoulder in their own two-person chair, speaking in low voices to one another. Lucas and Max are stretched out next to them, Max’s head in Lucas’s lap as he recounts a story to Dustin and gently rubs her belly. Dustin and Jane are crosslegged next to Eddie, Dustin listening intently to Lucas as Jane leans her head against Dustin’s shoulder.
Eddie looks up as you get nearer, “Wayne leave?”
“Yeah, he said he would call you in the morning.”
Eddie pats the spot next to him, “Been saving it for you, Sweets.”
You sit down right where you belong. Right now, it’s easy to just be present with Eddie, surrounded by your friends. There are no butterflies, just the warmth of the fire and easy conversation.
“Remember when Henderson tried to convince us that he found a new species of lizard?” Steve asks with a smirk as you sit down.
Dustin scoffs immediately, “Okay, first of all – “
“You did,” Max cuts in so sharply Lucas startles.
“I had a theory.”
“A nonsense theory, “ Nancy adds.
Everyone laughs, even Jonathan, who takes a sip of his beer then lets his camera trace over all your faces.
“It was almost groundbreaking,” Dustin insists, “If any of you had even the most basic grasp on science – “
“You wanted to call it a demogorgon,” Steve interrupts, “How did you even come up with a name like that?”
“The origins of the word begin circa 350 A.D. – “
“Let me cut you off there.”
“You’ve been cutting me off all night,” Dustin argues.
The laughter and conversation roll around the fire. There are years of stories and inside jokes. There’s never a dull moment amongst your people. It’s easy and familiar and much needed.
You glance over at Eddie without meaning to. He’s already looking at you, and now you can’t seem to look away. Your gaze is probably lingering too long, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
You’re knocked out of your trance by Robin’s voice, “Hey Sweets.”
She gets up like she’s going to get something.
“How can I help you?”
“May I interest you in a stroll to the cooler?”
You know, and so does everyone else, because Robin is the antithesis of subtle, that she has something she wants to talk to you about. Nancy smirks at you because she already knows what Robin is about to spill.
Despite how obvious the two of you are being, you get up and follow her the three steps to the cooler.
“So,” she begins and lowers her voice just slightly, “what was this I saw at the dessert table earlier?”
You cross your arms and narrow your eyes at her, “Was it me eating my fourth cupcake?”
She simply tilts her head at you, “Mark.”
Your stomach drops a little and you see Eddie’s back go straight. He’s definitely trying to listen. So is everyone else. The volume of their conversation has dropped dramatically.
“What about Mark?”
“I saw the two of you getting cozy by the dessert table.”
“Oh my god, Robin, no we were not. He was just making conversation, asking how I was and all that jazz.”
“That’s not what I saw,” she sing-songs.
“I don’t know what you think you saw,” you say as you rub your forehead, “but there was nothing untoward going on. We’re at Lizzie’s graduation party for chrissakes.”
“Well, you may think nothing is going on, but I saw the way he looked at you. He wants you back.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you see Eddie’s jaw clench, and even though you hate everything about the conversation you are currently having, you have a fleeting thought about how hot it is.
“First of all, you’re wrong,” you tell your friend, “Second, even if he did want me back, I’m not interested. Third, why do you even care? You hate Mark.”
Eddie seems to relax a little, and you see Steve glance over at him. Steve gives him a look that you can’t decipher, and Eddie seems to ignore him. Then, Dustin notices Steve giving a look to Eddie which makes Dustin give a look to them both, and you’re thoroughly lost.
“You’re not interested in the hot, single dad who practically worships the ground that you walk on?” Robin asks.
“Lower your voice, and I’m not interested in Mark.”
She does what you ask, but it doesn’t make her next statement any less devastating, “So it’s just not that hot, single dad you’re interested in?”
“Robin, honey, I love you, but could we please stop talking about fucking Mark? Grab a drink so we can at least pretend we were having a normal conversation, and let’s go sit down with our friends.”
She reaches down and in the most exaggerated way possible, grabs a water from the cooler, making sure to flick you with the condensation from the bottle, “Aye, aye, captain.”
Robin sits back down with Nancy, a big smile on her face like she accomplished something, and you plop yourself down next to Eddie.
“So what were you and Buckley talking about?”
Usually, you appreciate when Eddie gets right to the point. You’re not quite sure if you feel that way in this particular moment, but you still decide to just tell him, “She’s being a menace as always. Bringing up ancient history.”
“Such as?”
“She asked about Mark.” Might as well get it out in the open.
Eddie clears his throat, “What about him?”
“She seems to think he’s interested.”
“Oh.”
“I told her the same thing I’m gonna tell you – even if he is, I’m not.”
“Yeah?”
“Of course not,” you tell him with finality.
He smiles with all of his teeth and leans his head on your shoulder, and he stays like that as you both rejoin the conversations going around the fire pit. The thirteen of you reminisce for probably another hour before people start yawning and nodding, prompting the dad of the group to announce he’s taking his baby mama home.
“I don’t know about you guys, but I’m old and I’m tired. I need to get my wife home and we need to make sure our kids haven’t killed each other,” Steve says as he and Emma stand.
Dustin stands and reaches a hand out to Jane to pull her up, “We’re going, too. We promised my mom we’d go to breakfast in the morning.”
Thus begins the mass exodus of your back yard.
There are more hugs and handshakes. Everyone says goodbye. You promise the girls you’re going to meet for lunch tomorrow before Robin and Nancy go back to Massachusetts.
Then, it’s just you and Eddie. But before you let your mind get too far ahead of you, you ask him to put out the fire while you grab the trash. You need a little more time to hype yourself up for what you hope will be a defining moment in your relationship, and he seems to agree
You survey what’s left of your hard work as you drag the trash out to the back.
The fairy lights twinkle softly over your backyard, casting everything in warm orange and faded green. Half-deflated balloons that read “2005” drag across the deck in the breeze, and somewhere down the block, someone’s setting off fireworks, probably celebrating a graduation of their own.
You’re exhausted. Good exhausted. It’s the kind that settles deep in your bones after a night full of laughter, too much food, and watching a girl you helped raise beam brighter than the stars overhead.
Now it’s just you and Eddie.
Finally.
He’s sitting on the back steps with his knees spread, forearms braced against them, a beer dangling loosely from his fingers. His curls are damp and frizzy from the late May heat, cheeks flushed from alcohol and emotion alike.
You leave the trash by the door and go to sit beside him.
“Well,” you sigh dramatically as you drop down, “we survived.”
Eddie huffs out a laugh and chucks his bottle at the trash can, “Barely. Henderson almost lit the grill on fire.”
“Technically, he did light the grill on fire.”
“You and your technicalities,” he scoffs.
You grin, leaning your shoulder against his. For a moment, neither of you says anything. The silence isn’t awkward, despite what happened earlier after graduation. It never has been with Eddie.
Crickets hum in the trees. Music still plays faintly from inside the house. You instantly recognize the song. Fucking “Heaven” by Bryan Adams. Eddie stares out into the yard.
“She graduated,” he says quietly, like he still can’t believe it.
Your chest tightens, “I know.”
“I keep thinking she’s still that tiny kid hiding behind my legs after her first day of tee ball practice.”
You smile softly, “She cried for like twenty minutes.”
“She bit Steve.”
“She was defending your honor.”
“She was five!”
You both laugh at that. Then the laughter fades. And something changes.
Maybe it’s the alcohol. Maybe it’s the quiet. Maybe it’s the fact that there are no distractions. No timing issues. No almosts.
Just you. And Eddie.
He looks at you then. Really looks at you. There’s something dangerously open in his expression.
“You know,” he says softly, voice rough around the edges, “couldn’t’ve done any of this without you.”
It seems like that talk is starting now. You shake your head immediately, “You’ve already told me that, Munson.”
“No, I mean it,” he says and his eyes don’t leave yours, “I’ll tell you every day if I have to. Every science project, every fever, every nightmare, every parent-teacher conference where they thought I was gonna show up high out of my mind…”
You can’t help but snort.
“...you were there.”
His smile turns smaller and a bit softer.
“You stayed,” he all but whispers.
Your throat tightens painfully, “Of course I stayed. Never even thought about leaving.”
The words come out quieter than you mean them to.
Eddie’s gaze drops briefly to your mouth. Your pulse stutters.
There it is. That thing that’s always lived between you. Buried under years of bad timing and fear and almost-confessions.
His fingers brush yours accidentally, but neither of you pulls away.
“Jesus,” he murmurs, almost to himself.
“What?”
He shakes his head once, like he’s trying to clear it, but his hand turns, curling around yours fully now. It’s warm and calloused and familiar.
“Do you have any idea,” he says quietly, “how hard it’s been not to kiss you?”
Your breath catches. Eddie’s eyes light up.
“Then maybe,” you whisper, “you should stop trying not to.”
He squeezes your hand as he stares into your eyes like he’s looking for an answer to some kind of question he hasn’t asked yet. He pulls you closer, so close you can feel his breath against your face. It smells faintly of beer and mint gum. You wonder what his mouth tastes like.
“Fuck it.”
Eddie grabs you by the waist and pulls you the scant inch closer and kisses you like a man starving, his lips an almost bruising force on your own. His hand releases yours to slide up to the back of your neck so he can position your head in the way he wants. You barely manage a startled sound before you press your lips to his just as desperately.
Years, you think. years of this feeling. All of it crashes together at once.
His other hand slides around you farther to press against the small of your back, nudging you even closer to him as his tongue glides along the seam of your lips. You let him in and he licks into your mouth. His tongue is an insistent pressure on yours as they swirl together.
He presses gently against the underside of your jaw with his thumb, and you give in to the gentle pressure, letting your head fall back, disengaging your lips only so you can fucking breathe. His lips and trail across your jaw, down to your neck where he sucks lightly on your skin before tracing upward with his tongue. You feel the hiss of his exhale as he gently nips at your ear. It makes heat flare through your entire body and your nipples pucker. You can feel yourself getting wet and you squirm.
In your daydreams, you’d always thought your first real kiss with Eddie would be one of those slow, romantic things. A soft brush of lips, warm breath and gentle hands.
This is not soft or warm or gentle. This is hard and hot and rough. You’re undone and you want his tongue down your fucking throat.
But sitting side by side, the angle is awkward and you can’t touch him or feel him like you want. You let out a frustrated whine and he chuckles as he takes your bottom lip between his teeth.
It’s not enough.
Without even thinking, you throw a leg over both of his and climb into his lap, hands tangling in the front of his shirt to balance yourself, knees on either side of his thighs. He doesn’t complain. His hands move to your hips, gripping you tightly like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he loosens his hold for even a second.
Once you execute that move, the kiss turns messy fast. It’s hot. It’s breathless.
His teeth scrape lightly against your bottom lip as he tugs on it, and you feel him groan against your mouth when your fingers disappear into his curls and you tug gently at the hair at his nape. You experimentally rock your hips to get some relief from the ache building in your core, and when you do, you can feel the hard length of him pressing against you through two layers of clothing. He presses openmouthed kisses down the length of your neck as you arch against him.
“Fuck,” Eddie breathes, forehead falling against yours, breaths mingling, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted…”
You cut him off with another kiss, “Believe me Eddie, I know.”
One hand travels from your hip, under your shirt and up along the side of your waist to your ribs. It stops just below your breasts. You can feel the cool bite of his rings against your heated skin as his thumb gently brushes the lace he finds there.
“Shirt off?” he asks with an almost wild look in his eyes, and he waits until you give him an enthusiastic nod.
He grips the bottom hem like he’s gripping the last of his sanity before he lifts it off you with ease. It drops somewhere on the grass. Goosebumps spread across your body as you’re exposed to the cooling night air, and your nipples get impossibly harder.
He pulls back slightly to take you in, wearing what you’re glad is one of your good bras, straddling his lap, lips swollen and spit slicked from his kisses.
“Goddammit, you’re beautiful.”
The hand that isn’t holding you moves upward that tiny bit more to fully engulf one of your breasts over the black lace. He kneads the flesh, testing the weight and feel of it in his palm. His thumb and forefinger meet to tweak your hardened nipple and you moan at the sensation as his cock twitches against your thigh.
Your hips buck involuntarily at the contact and Eddie groans as he nips at your chin.
“You like that, baby?”
Baby. Fuck.
You can’t do much but nod silently as he takes the cup of your bra and drags it down, exposing you to his hungry view. His eyes have gone almost fully black, the pupil dilated by desire. You can feel your juices soaking through your jeans. It’s one of the hottest things you've ever seen, the wild look in his eyes as stares at you.
His tongue comes out to wet his lips as he pants, “Fuck! I want it in my mouth. Can I?”
“Please, Eddie…” you practically beg. You want nothing more than this man’s mouth all over you.
He wastes no time engulfing the bud between his lips, capturing it with his teeth, tongue flicking back and forth in a way that makes you clench your thighs around his waist.
“Jesus Christ, I love these fucking nipples,” he says as he draws down the other cup so he can tease the neglected one, “Tastes so sweet.”
You reach up to brace yourself on his shoulders and grind down again, seeking some sort of relief for your aching cunt. You think you could come just like that, moving yourself on Eddie’s lap as he licks and sucks you into a frenzy.
“Fuck, Eddie…”
He releases your nipple with a pop so he can look up at you, “Yeah, baby, tell me what you want. Do you want to ride me?” he grips your waist and thrusts upward with his hips, “Just like this? Like we’re in fucking high school?”
“P-please.”
“Goddamit you feel so good,” he says as he licks at your jaw, down the side of your neck, to your collarbone where he places his lips and sucks deep. Before, you’ve always hated when boyfriends left hickeys, you always thought they looked a little trashy, but right now you want nothing more than to be marked by him.
He runs his nose along the delicate skin, inhaling deeply.
“I can smell you,” he breathes out harshly against you, “Are you fucking wet for me, Sweets?”
“Why don’t you find out?” you tease. Where you gathered the boldness to ask that question, you don’t know. But sitting in his lap and seeing him look at you the way he is makes you feel wanton and wanted.
You lean back, offering yourself to him, and brace your hands behind you on his knees. His hands trail down over your breasts and your stomach to land at the waistband of your jeans. He looks up at you again, asking for permission.
“Touch me.”
He snaps open the fly and pulls the zipper down to reveal the lacy, black panties that match your bra. There’s a dainty, little bow on the front of them, and he gives you a wolfish grin. He can feel your heat where he lets his hands rest right above where you want him most, his thumbs stroking the sensitive skin of your stomach.
“Jesus Christ. A fucking bow.”
You almost giggle, but stop abruptly on a gasp as one hand delves between your thighs to cup your mound over your underwear. You throw up your hands to brace yourself on his shoulders.
Eddie sucks in a breath and he feels the drenched fabric beneath his fingertips.
“Fucking soaked for me.”
He glides his middle finger over the wet lace, barely tracing the seam of your lips and you shiver when he reaches your swollen clit. He only gives you the barest touch and you whine, seeking out his lips for another bruising kiss.
“So sensitive,” he murmurs against the tops of your breasts as his tongue delves between them to lick the sweat gathering on your skin, “So needy.”
You try to grind down on him, but he stops you with a firm grip with his other hand.
“Uh uh. Be a good girl and I’ll give you what you want. Just let me play.”
He rubs teasing circles over your clothed clit, and your hips jump, but you do your best to obey and not shamelessly rut yourself against him like you want to. Only a few brushes of his fingers and you already feel like you’re on the edge.
“That’s a good girl. I’m gonna finger fuck this pretty pussy until you cum all over my hand,” he says roughly as he slides the gusset of your panties aside with his knuckles. He runs one finger teasingly through your slick and you don’t even recognize the sound of your own voice as you moan.
“God, Eddie. Yes…”
You barely make out the words before he’s adding another finger to slide inside your fluttering hole.
“So fucking tight,” Eddie murmurs as his forehead rests against yours, his eyes aimed downward where his fingers disappear inside of you, “So fuckin’ pretty on my fingers.”
He presses his thumb down hard on your clit and your cunt clenches around him. You can feel every callous against your slick walls as he curls his digits just right, hitting that spot deep inside you that you can never reach on your own. You squeeze your eyes shut against the sensation.
Eddie tsks, “Open your eyes baby. I wanna see you.”
He twists his hand, bullying against your G-spot as he stares directly into your eyes, like a mystery he’s trying to solve, watching every emotion play across your face with rapt attention.
“Fuck, Eddie, right there,” you tell him on a ragged breath. You’re practically flooding him with your wetness.
“Yeah? Getting so worked up with just my fingers?”
He teases each nipple with his tongue as his hips start to rock. He feels impossibly hard and long beneath you, and all you can think about is how badly you want him inside you, stretching you to your limit.
He pulls his fingers out slowly, gathering your juices, and bringing them to your lips.
“Open,” he commands, “Taste yourself.”
You take his fingers into your mouth, licking and sucking on them greedily, the taste of Eddie’s skin just underneath yours. The mixture is heady. Once he’s satisfied, he removes the fingers from your mouth and replaces them with his tongue, shoving it down your throat to taste your essence.
His hands take up real estate on your ass, squeezing and molding the flesh as he moves you against him. You ride him shamelessly.
“Can you feel how hard I am for you? Got me leaking in my jeans.”
“I want to touch you,” you tell him as you trail your hands from his shoulders, down the front of his shirt to palm him over his jeans, “Please, Eddie.”
He bucks into you one last time before he nods, “Fucking take me out.”
You don’t waste any time popping the button of the black denim and lowering his zipper. You slide your hand into his boxers and gasp as you take him in your hand. His skin is soft and warm, and he’s hard as fucking steel. When you release him from the confines of his underwear, he swears under his breath.
“Goddammit.”
He’s beautiful everywhere – thick and long enough that you can feel a little flip in your stomach at the thought of him breaching your entrance and filling you up. The tip of his cock is a dusky red, leaking pre-cum that you desperately want to taste. There’s a bulging vein running along the underside that you want nothing more than to trace with your tongue.
“Ain’t that a fucking sight,” he breathes, “Your tiny little hand wrapped around my cock. Squeeze it, baby.”
You do just as he tells you and he growls as he presses his head into your neck, biting down softly where it meets your shoulder.
“Jesus Christ, I can’t even look at it or I’m gonna cum,” he grunts.
He lifts his head to look up at you between his lashes. Your hair is wild, your eyes are glassy with lust. He wants to ruin you.
“Spit on it,” he commands softly, “Can you do that for me?”
You nod and obey, spitting directly on his cock, right on the head. Your hands glide up and down, stroking the velvet hardness now slick with the mixture of your spit and his pre-cum. His hips jerk with your movements..
“That’s it baby. A little harder.”
You tighten your grip and stroke him a little faster. A little whine escapes your mouth.
“What is it pretty baby? Tell me what you need.”
“Need you to touch me.”
He tightens his grip on your ass, “I am touching you baby. You’re gonna have to be more specific. Use your words.”
“I need your fingers,” you practically beg.
“Where?”
He holds your gaze. He wants you to tell him. He needs you to tell him.
“In my cunt,” you keen, not breaking eye contact as your hand travels up and down the length of his cock.
He gives you no warning before he shoves two fingers in your pussy and you cry out.
“Holy shit!”
“Is this where you want me, baby? In this tight little cunt. Goddamn, she’s swallowing me up.”
He curls his fingers right against the spot inside you he’s already memorized and your vision whites out. You’re practically gushing on his hand, walls clamping around his digits as you grind down on him.
“I want you to cum like this,” he tells you, “Clothes still fucking on, letting me fuck you with my fingers, your hand wrapped around my cock. Both of us just desperate to get off.”
You twist your hand on the glide up and brush his tip with your thumb. He gasps as you tease the slit. Your lips meet again in a sloppy, open mouthed kiss, tongues tangling together recklessly. You tighten your grip and set a rhythmic pace, hardly allowing him to breathe.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he pants against your cheek and begins to rub tight circles around your clit with his thumb.
“Are you gonna cum? Just like this, with nothing but my fingers? Squeezing my cock so good.”
You give a jerky nod as he pumps harder, wanting nothing more than to feel your silky walls clamp down on him. He fucks you with his fingers like he has something to prove.
“Yes, Eddie, I’m gonna cum,” you cry out as you feel the pressure build low in your stomach. It increases with every thrust. You’re right on the edge, on the verge of tipping over when he curls his fingers, hitting your G-spot at just the right angle and your pace on his cock falters.
You can feel the pleasure rippling over your skin in waves. He doesn’t stop, working you through your aftershocks with a slow, come hither motion.
“That’s it baby, ride it out,” he says, eyes locked on where you’re still stroking his cock, “Did so good for me.”
He slowly pulls his fingers from you and takes your hand. He guides your fingers from his aching dick to your gushing cunt and smears your juices on your palm. It’s fucking filthy and you fucking love it.
You give him a grin and you once again wrap your hands around his cock and stroke. You grip him firmly. You need to see him come undone.
“Yeah baby, faster,” he gasps, rutting into your hand like a wild animal.
You pick up the pace and look down at your lap where you’ve got him in your hands.
“Cum for me baby. Wanna see it on my skin,” you tell him.
You can see the muscles of Eddie’s abdomen contracting beneath his shirt as you twist your hand one more time. His spine arches, pleasure arcing over him like lightning, flowing from the base of his cock as he spurts pearly cum all over your hand.
“Jesus. Fuck,” he curses as you slow your pace, slowly milking him as his cock continues to throb.
His forehead falls to your collarbone and you kiss the top of his head and you both try and even out your breathing.
“It’s about time,” you say against his hair.
Suddenly Eddie goes still beneath you and you feel his hands loosen against your hips.
“Eddie?”
He pulls back abruptly, like he’s been hit. He’s breathing hard again.
“No,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, “No, no, this is…”
Your stomach drops.
“What?”
He stands too fast, and you basically fall off his lap in the process. You awkwardly pull your bra back into place as Eddie tucks himself back into his jeans. He paces a few steps away like he can physically outrun whatever’s happening in his head.
“This was a bad idea.”
The words hit like a slap and you simply stare at him as you wipe your hands on your pants.
“A bad idea?”
“I didn’t mean – shit!”
“Didn’t mean what?”
He won’t look at you, “I just – this changes everything.”
“Yeah,” you say quietly as you duck your head slightly to try to get into his line of sight, “It does.”
“I can’t screw this up,” he says it more to himself than to you.
“You think what just happened is screwing up?” you ask anyway.
“No!” he snaps immediately, finally looking at you. Panic shows openly on his face now, “That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Then what are you saying, Eddie?”
He opens his mouth then promptly closes it. He doesn’t even have words for what he’s feeling. That’s always been the problem with the two of you, having feelings bigger than fucking language.
“I can’t lose you,” he says finally, voice cracking around the words.
“You’re not gonna lose me,” you tell him as you step closer to him.
“But I could,” His eyes shine under the patio lights, terrified and wrecked and painfully sincere, “And if this goes bad…”
“Why would it go bad?”
“Look what I just did to you.”
“What you did to me?”
He’s talking about making you come harder than you ever have in your life. Something you’d only dreamed about doing with Eddie. But the way he says it makes your stomach churn. Like it was a mistake. Like he regrets it.
Seemingly without thinking, he reaches for your jeans, which are still undone, like he’s going to zip them back up. You slap his hands away to do it yourself, feeling suddenly very vulnerable.
The silence stretches. Then, Eddie steps backward toward the front of the house, already retreating.
“I should go.”
Your chest aches and you feel a little dirty, and very exposed. You search the ground for your shirt, but Eddie beats you to it. You snatch it from him and throw it back on.
“Eddie, what the fuck?”
“I just – I need a minute.”
And before you can stop him, he’s gone. He’s left you standing alone in the glow of party lights, lips swollen from kissing him, the feel of him still between your legs. And now with your heart beating painfully against your ribs.
You don’t even know what to do. Eddie just gave you an orgasm and then fucking left basically saying that what the two of you had done was a big mistake. Usually when something greatly, horribly, monstrously awful happened to you, Eddie was the one you’d call. Except now, unless he’s on his knees, begging for forgiveness, Eddie is the last person you want to see.
Working on autopilot, you close down the backyard, basically ripping the string lights from the plug and throwing the garbage bags vaguely toward the trash can. All you can think about is taking a scalding hot shower and crawling into bed.
Not only are you pissed, you’re fucking hurt. What the fuck was going on in Eddie’s head? Why did he run away like he was being chased? Why wouldn’t he just stay and talk to you?
You don’t have the brain power to think about it anymore. It is going to have to wait for tomorrow. Right now, you have a checklist of two, shower and bed.
And you doubt sleep is going to come easy.
End Notes: I haven't written smut since I was a freshman in college, so if this sucked, I'm sorry. I will have chapters out for The Longest Campaign and Across Every Universe soon, I promise. I'm just trying to write myself out of some corners.
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Pairings: Single Dad!Eddie Munson x Best Friend!Reader
Summary: Years of loving Eddie are becoming harder to ignore as you and your friends celebrate his daughter's graduation
Warnings: 18+ MDNI No Upside Down AU, AFAB reader, mentions of teenage pregnancy, very brief mention of abortion (doesn’t happen), absent parent, language, mention of drug use, alcohol use, friends to lovers, yearning, angst, married Steve, reader has a nickname, dual POV, nipple play?, dry humping, fingering, handjob, cum play if you squint, semi-public, Byler mention, Lumax mention, Ronance mention, Henderhop mention, I think that's it
Word Count: 16,810
A/N: I suck at summaries. I'm also obsessed with Older Eddie Munson. We should've gotten him IRL.
Lizzie Munson just might be the one true love of your life.
Not in a romantic sense, no, but still in that deep down, in your bones, you can’t shake it, you will protect her from anything you can kind of way. The pride that swells within you as you look up at her on the stage, wearing her orange cap and gown, brings tears to your eyes.
She might not be yours biologically, but she’s yours in every way that counts. You were there when Eddie brought her home from the hospital, when she took her first steps, on her first day of kindergarten, when she got her driver’s license, and now as she graduates high school. And it only took her one try.
You’re sitting in the front row next to Eddie and Uncle Wayne, your poster that reads, “Congrats Lizard!” waving in your hands. Cameras are flashing, everyone is waving themselves with programs, and people are trying to pay attention to Principal Higgins, but it's hot as balls outside.
It can't dampen your mood, though. Your girl is about to take the podium and give her valedictorian speech.
Beside you, Eddie bounces his knee so hard it knocks against yours. You grab his hand and give it a squeeze.
“Calm down, Munson, you’re making the whole row shake,” you whisper.
“I can’t help it, Sweets,” he mutters, eyes fixed on the stage, “My kid’s about to give a speech in front of like, a thousand people.”
You look around exaggeratedly, “There are maybe two hundred people here.”
“Feels like a thousand.”
You grin softly and smooth an invisible wrinkle from the sleeve of his black button-down. He’d complained about wearing it the entire drive over, tugging at the collar like it was strangling him. He looked so handsome as you adjusted his tie before the two of you left your house, but now he looks terrified in it. Not for himself. For her. The poor man. And he’s not the only one you have to worry about.
On the other side of Eddie, Uncle Wayne sits stiff-backed in a suit jacket he only ever wears to funerals and weddings. He’s sweating profusely in the May heat. His rough hands are folded tightly in his lap, eyes glassy already. The second the perfunctory announcements started, he’d gone suspiciously quiet.
It’s a good thing you’re well trained in emotionally regulating the Munson men because you have a feeling you’re about to have to pat a couple of backs and wipe away a few tears.
Eddie goes stiff when Higgins steps back from the podium with a smile.
“And now, Hawkins High School Class of 2005’s valedictorian, Elizabeth Munson.”
The applause is thunderous. You scream as loud as you can and wave your sign wildly. Eddie sucks in a sharp breath beside you. Wayne is stiff as a board.
Lizzie crosses the stage in gold cords with black combat boots peeking out beneath her gown. Eddie had already cried when she walked downstairs earlier that morning dressed for graduation. Now, he’s crying because of the boots.
“Kid inherited my fashion sense,” he says proudly through tears.
You hand him a tissue and give his knee a squeeze.
Lizzie reaches the podium and adjusts the microphone. For one horrible second, she looks nervous. Then, her eyes find the three of you.
You. Uncle Wayne. Her dad. And she smiles.
“Okay,” she says, voice echoing through the crowd and Eddie sniffles, “So statistically speaking, most valedictorian speeches are supposed to include inspirational quotes, metaphors about journeys, and at least one overused reference to the spreading of wings.”
A ripple of laughter moves through the crowd.
“I didn’t really do any of that.”
Eddie huffs quietly beside you, “That’s my girl.”
“So instead,” Lizzie continues, “I figured I’d talk about the people who got me here.”
You can see her fingers tighten slightly around the edges of the podium.
“When people hear that I was raised by a single dad in a trailer park on the edge of Hawkins, they usually make assumptions about my life.”
The gym quiets, Eddie grabs your hand and interlaces your fingers.
“They think I grew up with less,” she says and makes sure her gaze roams over the entire crowd.
You see Eddie’s shoulders tense beside you.
“But I didn’t.”
Lizzie looks toward Eddie who is gripping you tightly.
“I grew up with a dad who worked himself to the bone every single day and still came home to help me study for spelling tests.”
Eddie ducks his head immediately, the tips of his ears going red.
“Who had someone teach him how to braid hair.”
There are some chuckles. You think you can hear Dustin’s laugh in particular.
“Who sat through every choir concert, every science fair, every nightmare, every heartbreak.”
Your chest aches and Eddie leans his head against your shoulder. You can feel the tears soak through the sleeve of your shirt.
“And when he didn’t know how to fix something,” her voice softens and your vision goes misty, “he made sure I never had to face it alone.”
Eddie presses his fist against his mouth as if he can staunch his emotions.
Lizzie glances toward Wayne next.
“My Uncle Wayne taught me that love doesn’t have to be loud to be life-changing.”
Wayne’s eyes squeeze shut. You reach across Eddie’s shoulders to give Wayne a pat.
“He taught me how to fish. He taught me how to drive, after I almost gave my dad a heart attack. He threatened a boy once for making me cry sophomore year.”
“That little asshole deserved it,” Wayne mutters under his breath, making you choke back a laugh. Wayne’s right, the little asshole deserved it.
“And then there’s…” Lizzie pauses, looking directly at you now.
The entire room seems to disappear. She says your name with an aching fondness.
“There’s the person who taught me what kindness looks like.”
Your breath catches and this time Eddie squeezes your hand.
“She’s been there for every important thing I can remember. School pickups, birthday cakes, movie nights, panic attacks before exams, taking me prom dress shopping for the third time because I kept changing my mind.”
Eddie sneaks a peek at you quietly, a look akin to reverence on his face.
“When people asked if I missed having a mom growing up,” Lizzie smiles shakily and shrugs her shoulders, “the truth is, I never really felt like I did.”
Your eyes burn instantly.
Lizzie’s biological mother Rachel was never around. She and Eddie were never even really in a relationship. They were only casual hookups until one night the condom broke. You can still remember how frantic Eddie was when he called you the night it happened. You tried to reassure him that nothing was going to come of it and everything would be fine. But you were wrong.
A few weeks later, Rachel called, told Eddie that she was pregnant, and that her parents were making her keep it. Rachel’s parents were uber religious and there would be no talk of abortion. Adoption was their preferred route.
In the beginning, Eddie agreed. He didn’t think that as the resident freak of Hawkins, Indiana, who still had yet to graduate high school, he was fit to raise a child. You remembered tearful conversations where you told him that you would support him no matter what he chose. In the end, after much back and forth with Rachel’s parents and with the backing of you and Wayne, he chose Lizzie. Rachel signed over her rights and she and her parents moved far from Hawkins, never to be seen again.
You were the only constant female influence in her life. Eddie’s eternal best friend. The girl who grew up in the trailer next door. Sure, Claudia, Karen, and Joyce were around, and they helped out wherever they could. There were also a few girlfriends who thought they had the wherewithal to handle a single father until they couldn’t.
But you were the one in the trenches with him.
When he made the final decision that he was going to keep Lizzie, the two of you made a plan. He had to graduate, get a better job (AKA stop dealing), and he needed his own place.
The last one was a no-brainer. You’d graduated the year before, and you lived in an apartment complex just down the way from Forest Hills. Your current lease was up, and you told him you had no problem moving into a two bedroom with him. The plus side was that the two of you would be close to Wayne. After that, the other two things on the list eventually fell into place.
In the beginning, neither of you knew what you were getting yourselves into. You didn’t know jack shit about babies, and neither did Eddie. Together, the two of you learned how to make bottles, change diapers, burp, administer children’s Tylenol, go to work on 3 hours of sleep, and how to make a rinky dink apartment a home for an infant.
You and Eddie lived together until Lizzie was three, when he finally saved up enough money for a down payment on a house. And even after you were no longer living together, you were still on Lizzie’s school pick up list, in her emergency contacts, and you went to her field trips and parent-teacher conferences when Eddie couldn’t.
Thinking back on those rough first years and how Lizzie has become such a huge part of your life, tears well up along your waterline. On stage, Lizzie’s own eyes glisten, but she keeps going.
“I got really lucky. I was raised by three people who chose me every single day.”
It’s completely silent now except for the soft fan of graduation programs and the occasional cough.
“And I think that’s what I want everyone graduating today to remember.”
She steadies herself with a breath. Next to you, Eddie copies her.
“Family isn’t always the thing you’re born into. Sometimes it’s the people who stay. The people who show up. The people who choose you every day. The people who love you so loudly that eventually you learn how to love yourself the same way too.”
Beside you, Eddie is openly crying, shoulders shaking slightly as he laughs under his breath in embarrassment. He wipes clumsily at his tears.
“Oh, this kiddo’s trying to kill me,” he whispers hoarsely.
Lizzie smiles one last time out at the crowd.
“So yeah, maybe I don’t have a quote about wings.”
A small grin spreads across her face. It’s so much like her father’s.
“But thanks to my family, I never really needed them to fly.”
The gym erupts. Everyone is on their feet instantly, applause crashing across the football field.
Wayne stands slowly, wiping aggressively at his eyes. Eddie doesn’t even try to wipe at his tears anymore. He’s crying and laughing helplessly as he claps.
“That’s my daughter,” he says, voice cracking completely, “Holy shit.”
You let go of his hand to wrap him in a hug, “You did good, Daddio.”
As the audience begins to settle, Lizzie gives one last shy smile and makes her way back to her seat as Vice Principal Clarke moves to the podium.
“Thank you so much for those touching words, Miss Munson,” he pauses like he can’t quite reconcile the fact that a Munson just gave a valedictorian speech, “Now, we will call each student up to receive their diplomas.”
Higgins goes to stand next to the table that holds the rolled certificates, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else, and you watch as student after student crosses the stage and takes their diploma. Fortunately, Hawkins was a small school, so you didn’t have to wait long for Lizzie’s turn to come.
She stands and her head turns to you sharply, she wants you to notice. You lock eyes and she gives you a half smirk and a wink. And you know. You know exactly what she’s going to do.
You shake your head at her, but you know she won’t be deterred.
“Oh no,” you whisper under your breath, but Eddie still hears you.
“What?”
“She gave me the wink.”
Lizzie saw the video of her father’s graduation at Eddie’s last birthday party when you’d gotten nostalgic and started pulling out every old picture and video you had. She knew all about her father’s three tries at graduating, she knew that he used to be the local freak, but she didn’t think he’d actually done what everyone chuckled about when they mentioned that faraway May day in 1986. Of course, after she was shown that clip of Eddie running up to Higgins, grabbing his diploma, and flipping him the bird, you had to show her the one of her Uncle Dustin doing the same thing in 1989. After she saw them, she told you she was going to do it, too.
If you were honest, you didn’t really believe her. Like her dad, Lizzie had her own wild streak, but it was mostly relegated to dying her hair different colors with Kool Aid and having her best friend Cassie Eatherly pierce her nose with a needle and an ice cube. Looks like Lizzie is proving you wrong.
Eddie turns to you fully, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Eddie, your child is on a stage with Principal Higgins on her graduation day. What do you think I mean?”
“She wouldn’t. Not my little Lizard.”
“Like I said, she’s your child.”
“Oh shit,” he mutters and Uncle Wayne turns to him sharply.
“Eddie, please. This is a serious occasion.”
“Then I seriously think you’re gonna want to close your eyes for this one, Wayne.”
It takes a second for the words to hit, but when they do, Uncle Wayne shakes his head. He’d long ago given up on the notion that nothing could surprise him after basically raising Eddie by himself. Now, he just tried to take everything in stride.
“She wouldn’t.”
Right on cue, you hear the crowd try and fail to contain themselves as the curly-haired girl stops dead in front of Higgins, snatches the rolled up paper from his hands, flips him the most elegant middle finger you’ve ever seen, and sprints off stage into the crowd of her classmates.
Eddie hangs his head, not because he’s embarrassed, but because he doesn’t want Wayne to see how proud he is. Wayne almost had a coronary when Eddie did it at his own graduation. Today, Wayne just shakes his head fondly.
You start laughing hysterically, “You, Dustin, and now Lizzie. They’re never gonna let us come to another one of these.”
“You’ve got to stop encouraging them, Sweets,” Wayne says with another shake of his head.
“Oh no, sir. All I did was show her a video. There was no encouragement needed. This was all Lizzie.”
With a barely contained smile, Vice Principal Clarke manages to get through the rest of the names, while Higgins stands on the stage with a mottled face, looking like a bull staring at a red flag. You’d think that since it’s happened to him three times now, he’d be used to being flipped off. He should probably start planning retirement..
After the ceremony ends, everything feels a little unreal. You’re still on the emotional high of Lizzie’s accomplishment. Even though you’ve always had every confidence in her, you still can’t quite believe it. She did it. Your girl did it. And she was valedictorian.
The bleachers empty in noisy waves. There are families shouting congratulations, balloons flying off into the air, teachers trying to organize photos as no one follows directions. In the background, “Eye of the Tiger” crackles through terrible speakers. You, Eddie, and Wayne go down to the grass to wait for your girl.
Lizzie disappeared almost immediately with her best friend Cassie into a swarm of classmates, and now the three of you are just waiting somewhat impatiently for her to appear. You want to say a proper goodbye before you go back home to put the finishing touches on her graduation party.
Eddie keeps staring into the crowd after her like he can’t quite process that the tiny little girl who used to fall asleep on his chest during late-night horror movies is suddenly a graduate. It’s a little bit adorable.
You touch his arm gently, “You okay?”
“No,” he says immediately, eyes still shiny, “I’m having a full existential crisis.”
“That seems a bit dramatic, even for you, Eds.”
“My daughter just gave the most emotionally devastating speech of all time in front of the entire town.”
You laugh softly and loop your arm through his, pulling him closer.
Then Eddie turns to you, and something shifts. Not dramatically, and not all at once. There’s just a stillness.
Because Lizzie’s words are still hanging there between you.
When people asked if I missed having a mom growing up…the truth is, I never really felt like I did. You hadn’t expected her to say that. Those words speak so much to the relationship you have with the two youngest Munsons.
You and Eddie have been best friends almost your entire life. You lived next door to each other growing up, and you’d been inseparable ever since Lizzie’s namesake, Eddie’s mother, forced him to say hi to the girl playing by herself on the rusty playground in the middle of the trailer park. You’d always only been just friends, even if you’d always known that you wanted more. That you wanted him to be more than just your best friend.
But you have also been doing the growing-up-Lizzie thing together for eighteen years. School lunches and scraped knees and parent-teacher conferences where teachers, who’d even taught the pair of you in high school, always looked at both of you like they were trying to figure out what was really going on in your relationship. It was one of the reasons you never tried for more. There was a kid, one you loved so, so much. You weren’t going to risk her stability or your relationship with her father for something that might only be one-sided.
You nod, “She did.”
Wayne wanders off to find Claudia, Dustin, and Jane, leaving you and Eddie standing alone even in the middle of the crowded field.
Eddie rubs the back of his neck.
“She really meant that, you know.”
You look down, “I know.”
You don’t really know why you’re suddenly so shy with your best friend.
“No, I mean it,” his voice softens, “You basically raised her with me.”
Emotion catches unexpectedly in your throat. You joke to cover it., “Well somebody had to make sure she didn’t end up eating gas station food every night.”
“Airing out my dirty laundry after all these years?” Eddie says with a laugh, but his smile fades after a second, “She loves you a lot.”
Your chest tightens because you love her, too. And her father. More than you ever let yourself say out loud.
Before you can respond, there’s suddenly a blur of orange graduation gown flying toward you. Lizzie crashes into you first. You barely catch her and your sign before she wraps both arms around your neck.
“You cried,” she accuses immediately.
“You cried!” you say into her hair as you draw her in closer, “I’m so proud of you, kiddo,”
“Even after that stunt I just pulled?”
You pull back to look into her eyes that are so much like her dad’s and laugh loud enough that some of the others gathered around turn to look at the two of you, “Especially after that. You’re just carrying on a sacred family tradition.”
“Give me back my child,” Eddie grumbles as he disentangles the two of you so he can pull Lizzie into a hug.
“Dad, I can’t breathe,” Lizzie giggles as Eddie picks her up and swings her around, their twin heads of dark curly hair flying carelessly.
He puts her down, but takes her by the shoulders, “I am so proud of you, Elizabeth Munson.”
She tilts her head down and she gets shy under her father’s praise, “Dad…”
“No, you’ve gotta listen. That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. Had all of us crying like little babies.”
“I know,” she says, “I could see you all blubbering. You almost cracked my unwavering composure.”
Eddie wraps an arm around your shoulders to tuck you in next to him and lean a cheek against the top of your head, “Sweets, was the only one blubbering.”
She looks between the two of you with an expression that instantly makes you suspicious, “Speaking of my speech…”
With that smirk on her face, it’s uncanny how sometimes she looks exactly like Eddie.
Eddie chokes and you nearly drop your sign. You both unconsciously take a step away from each other.
“Excuse me?” you barely manage to eke out.
“I’m serious,” she says, “Like, literally everyone.”
“Oh my god,” Eddie mutters, covering his face, which is becoming an odd shade of red.
“I think some of my classmates found out for the first time today that you’re not actually my mother,” she looks at you pointedly, “At parent-teacher conferences and field trips and everything, they always assumed – ”
“We know,” you and Eddie say at the exact same time.
Lizzie beams, looking between the two of you.
“That was very ‘couple' of you.”
Eddie points at her threateningly, “Do not start.”
But she’s already backing away laughing, spotting Cassie across the field.
“I’m just saying!” she calls, “You’re fooling absolutely nobody!”
Then she disappears back into the crowd.
“Bye, I guess,” you say after her sarcastically once she’s gone.
Then, there’s silence. Long, dangerous silence.
Eddie stares at the grass. You stare at the stage.
Somewhere in the distance, Wayne is loudly arguing with another parent about the correct way to smoke brisket.
Finally Eddie laughs quietly under his breath, “You know the worst part?”
You glance at him carefully, “What?”
He looks at you then. Really looks at you. His gaze is soft, terrified, honest.
“For a second up there…” he swallows, “when she was giving that speech…”
Your heart starts pounding.
“I kinda wished we were.”
The world narrows instantly.
All the noise around you fades into dull static.
Eddie looks horrified with himself the second the words leave his mouth, like he wants to shove them back in. And you can’t breathe because the truth is, you wished it too. You have for a very long time.
And now that Lizzie has graduated high school, you think you’ve finally gathered the courage to tell him. It’s probably just the emotional gravity of the day pulling you into its orbit, but you want to shout it from the rooftops and let everyone know that you’re in love with Eddie Munson. It’s on the tip of your tongue, and he’s looking at you like he knows what you’re gearing up to say and he wants you to say it as badly as he wants to hear it.
“Eddie,” you begin.
You’re going to tell him and not chicken out this time. Your lips are forming the words when…
“Eddie! Sweets! We’ve been looking all over for you!”
Dustin Henderson emerges from the dwindling crowd hand in hand with his wife Jane, walking toward you and Eddie like he’s on a mission.
“I think you have the coolest kid ever,” Dustin says as he drops Jane’s hand and pulls Eddie into a hug, completely oblivious to the situation he just walked into. Eddie gives him a stiff pat on the back, but doesn’t break eye contact with you.
Jane, however, is not oblivious. She clocks that the air is different as soon as she sees the two of you looking at each other. Bless her, she tries to intervene.
“Dustin, we should go. We need to pick up some things before the party,” she says as she takes his hand again and tries to gently lead him away.
“No we don’t. We already have Lizzie’s card and gift. All we have to do is change.”
“Dustin…”
“Eddie! Sweets!”
You turn and see Steve Harrington and his wife Emma coming up behind Dustin with the two Buckley-Wheelers trailing behind.
Whatever courage you might’ve found is now gone. You are not doing this with an audience. Another one bites the dust. You probably shouldn’t confess your love for your best friend right after his daughter’s graduation anyway. Seems like the least great idea you’ve ever had when you think about it. But at least now you have your friends around you as buffers to keep the conversation from getting too deep or too stilted.
Steve goes to join Dustin, Jane, and Eddie as the girls move to you.
“Our girl did so well!” Robin says as she holds out her arms.
Robin, Nancy, and Emma gather around and pull you into a hug that you return gratefully. Eddie is your best friend, but those three women, plus Jane and Max, are your tribe. In them, you had a wealth of knowledge to draw from when it came to almost any situation. They’d been invaluable over the years in helping you with anything life could throw at you, be it a situation with Lizzie, a stupid fight with Eddie, your pitiful love life.
And speak of the devil. It seems everyone in Hawkins wants to join your little post-graduation huddle.
You hear that specific voice call your name and you turn to see Mark Eatherly, Cassie’s dad, and the man who just so happens to be your former fiancé. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Eddie frown. You know he hates Mark. He has from the start, although you’ve never been able to get a good reason, other than “I just don’t like him” out of him.
With an instinct bred from being friends with Eddie for years, Steve and Dustin shore up beside him. It’s doubtful that Eddie is going to make a scene at his daughter’s graduation, especially with his daughter’s best friend’s dad, but emotions have been running high, and even almost two years post breakup, Eddie was still pretty pissed with how everything between you and Mark ended.
You’d met Mark at an eighth grade field trip to the zoo that you’d gone on in Eddie’s stead. Eddie was busy at the mechanic shop, and he’d just taken over ownership, so there was no way he could get away. Since Lizzie and Cassie were best friends, you spent the whole day with Mark being dragged around by two little teen dictators from exhibit to exhibit. During your conversation, you learned that he was two years divorced from Cassie’s mother, and when he learned you were neither Eddie’s wife nor Lizzie’s mother, he asked you on a date.
One date became two, which became ten, and before you even really knew what was going on, Mark proposed. In total, you were together almost two years before Mark broke it off.
It was partly because of your inability to set a wedding date, and partly because he wasn’t super fond of how close you were with your best friend. He was always going on and on about how Eddie was undermining his place in your life. Mark wasn’t exactly wrong, but you’d told him several times that you were never giving up your relationship with Eddie.
When he’d started making comments about you not needing to be so involved in Lizzie’s life because you weren’t her actual mother, and how you didn’t need to be a buffer against the real world for Eddie – that was the beginning of the end. There were a few more months of hurtful words neither of you could take back, and then he gave you an ultimatum and you gave him your ring.
You never did and never were going to love him like you love Eddie, and it wasn’t fair to either of you. It took you a while to come to terms with the simple fact that you never should’ve said yes to Mark in the first place. Despite the demise of your relationship, Lizzie and Cassie remained best friends.
Your girls line up beside you like tiny bodyguards, ready to protect you should Mark go off script. They were also a line of second defense against Eddie should he be inclined to step in.
Mark holds his hands up as if in surrender, your friends looking like a firing squad, “I come in peace.”
“Eatherly,” Eddie mumbles from his group.
“Munson,” Mark returns, then looks only at you, “I just came over to say hi and that Lizzie did an incredible job. I know you must be extremely proud of her.”
“We are,” Eddie says for the both of you.
Mark nods, and you appreciate that at least he’s not egging Eddie on.
“I guess I’ll see you later when I drop Cassie off at the party?”
“Yeah, I’ll see you then.”
Mark nods at everyone and turns to walk away. Thankfully, your group is smart enough to wait until he’s out of earshot to begin shit talking.
Eddie gives you a look asking if you’re okay, to which you reply with a nod. Then, not missing a beat, your two clusters turn back to each other to dissect the exchange.
“Please don’t tell me that man is going to try and get you back,” are the first words out of Robin’s mouth.
“What about that five second interaction gave you the indication that he wants me back?”
“Are you serious?” her voice drops down to as much of a whisper as it can, “He never for one minute thought you were going to give him his ring back. He was all swinging dick when he told you that you had to take a step back from Eddie, and I guess he thought you were gagging for it. He took a pretty big hit to the ego when you didn’t even hesitate to rescind your yes.”
“That’s because I never should’ve given it to him to begin with.”
“I never liked him,” Emma states as the four of you shore up your group into a small circle.
“Never liked who?” Jane appears suddenly at your right, weasling her way in once she managed to get away from the boys.
“Mark,” Emma tells her.
Jane sticks out her tongue, “He is a stupid man.”
“I agree with you on that, Henderson,” Robin begins, “And as I was saying, I hope he’s not under the delusion that you’re going to take him back.”
“That’s never going to happen. I don’t take kindly to ultimatums, nor am I ever going to not have the Munsons in my life.”
“It’d be even cooler if you were a Munson, too,” Nancy says under her breath, but everyone hears her and snickers.
“What are we giggling about over here?” comes a question to your left, and you all startle a bit.
The girls part a little to make room for Eddie.
“Girl stuff. Periods and all that,” Emma says with a perfectly innocent grin.
“Sure,” Eddie tells her with a smile then looks to you, “I’m gonna head out.” He pulls you into a hug and presses a kiss to your forehead, “I’ll be over at five to help finish setting up. We’ll talk then, yeah?”
Nancy throws a smirk your way as if to say “see what I mean?”
You decide you’re not going to analyze his words until you’re in the safety of your car.
“I’ll see you then.”
“Ladies,” Eddie bows with a flourish and goes to find Wayne.
“We need to get going too, babe,” Steve says to Emma as he and Dustin saunter up to the group, “I’ve got to give the kids the big bad dad speech about not burning the house down while we’re out tonight.”
Steve never got the six little nuggets he’d talked about when you were all younger, but he and Emma had three, and that was plenty for them. The couple were just getting to the point where they were letting their oldest, Lucy, babysit for extra money when they were going out or having a date night.
“Nance and I should head out as well, we’ve got to stop and pick up the cake at the bakery,” Robin tells them.
“Have you talked to Mike and Will?” you turn to Nancy and ask.
“Yes,” Nancy nods as the group starts walking toward the parking lot, “I saw them before they left. My mom had been begging them to stop and see her while they’re in town, so they had to bail right after Lizzie’s speech, but they’ll be at her party tonight. Jonathan, too. He rode with the guys, so he had to leave with them. He wanted me to tell you he wouldn’t forget his camera.”
Of the couple, Will was your favorite, not that you didn’t like Mike, but he was a little rough around the edges, and not in the Eddie-shaped way that you like. Will was the sun to Mike’s thunder. Will used to draw you detailed drawings of your bard back in the Hellfire days. You still had all of them in a scrapbook.
When you first met Mike, he wasn’t a fan, mainly because he didn’t understand your relationship with Eddie. He didn’t comprehend that while you harbored a crush for the teenage rebel boy that he spotted from a mile away, you also genuinely liked Dungeons and Dragons, and you weren’t just joining them after school to make Eddie like you. Eddie already liked you. The poor metalhead had been trapped in your orbit, and you his, since the day you met. Over the years, you and Mike bonded over your shared love of sarcasm, cleverly worded takedowns, and Will Byers.
Hardly any of you ever saw Jonathan anymore, other than Will, Mike, Jane, and Dustin. He was living in New York having the time of his life making movies and being thoroughly happy to leave Hawkins in his rearview. You, Eddie, and Lizzie had gone to see him a couple of times on vacation, but he loved to play the part of fun, somewhat mysterious uncle you only see on holidays.
When the group reaches the parking lot, you all take your turns saying your goodbyes. Even though you’re going to see these people again in only a couple of hours, it’s so rare now that you all get to see each other together, in the same space.
Lucas and Max hadn’t even been able to attend the graduation because Max was seven months pregnant and while she loved Lizzie almost as much as you did, there was no way she was sitting in the blaring sun during the mid-May heatwave Hawkins was currently experiencing. She’d called you that morning in tears because of the hormones, apologizing profusely. Of course you’d told her not to worry about it. Lizzie knew that the Sinclairs loved her, and there would be plenty of time for them to tell her that at the party.
The last hugs and handshakes are traded off and you get in your vehicles to venture toward your next destinations. You should be using the drive time to make an attack plan for setting everything up, but you don’t. Instead, your thoughts are tangled up in Eddie like they almost always are.
We’ll talk then, yeah?
Something almost happened in that moment right after Lizzie left. You almost had both legs in your big girl panties. You almost told him. And he seemed to be waiting for it. But yet again, something stopped you. You didn’t want to claim that it was fate or anything like that, but you were going to have to get your fucking self together.
There were going to be roughly ninety uninterrupted minutes where you would have Eddie alone at your house where the two of you would be setting up for the party. You needed to get that other leg in those panties and pull them up.
Because the two of you were supposed to talk.
You get home, showered, and changed in record time. You have the bigger backyard, so you told Eddie you’d have Lizzie’s graduation party at your house. And even with other things on your mind, everything has to be perfect.
So unfortunately, you’ve whipped yourself into a frenzy. Eddie dropped the ‘I kinda wished we were’ line on you and there you were poised to bare your heart on a football field where the two of you used to sneak off to get high under the bleachers. Now, you’re waiting for him to show up so you could decorate your backyard for his kid’s graduation party. And quite possibly tell him you love him.
You’re staring at the clock on your microwave as it inches toward five o’clock. At 5:01 you hear your front door open and the tell tale sound of boots on the wooden floor of your living room. Your chest seizes for a second, because it’s showtime, then you hear the sound of a second pair of boots.
“Honey, we’re home!” Eddie exclaims as he and Lizzie come through the entryway from the living room into the kitchen.
The dual feelings of both relief and disappointment flood you simultaneously. The thought crosses your mind that maybe Eddie brought Lizzie on purpose to be a buffer Had you read his looks wrong? Did he have a chance to think about what he said and realize that he didn’t mean it?
“When I got home, this weird little girl was there, and she started following me around saying she knew you. She insisted she come help set up,” Eddie says when he sees your face and he looks at you pointedly, “I told her she didn’t need to set up her own party, but she refused to see reason.”
You let out an internal sigh of relief knowing at least that Eddie wasn’t trying to renege on the talk. His daughter is just as bullheaded as he is, and if she decided she was coming over, there really was no stopping her.
Wrapping an arm around Lizzie’s shoulders, you pull her to you, “Well, weird little girl, I guess I’m putting you to work. You can help your dad hang lights while I start on the food.”
Everyone quickly gets to work, Eddie throwing you a shoulder shrug as he grabs the lights you’ve left on the kitchen table. Everyone and their brother seem to be intent on keeping you from talking to this man today.
Not that it matters anyway, because Wayne shows up only fifteen minutes later and you set up a station for him to inflate balloons. Then, surprise of all surprises, Jonathan shows up a half hour early to get his camera ready.
“Jonathan Byers, you’re an angel,” you tell him and get a shy smile in return, “Who would’ve thought eighteen years ago, that I’d have a famous movie director as a friend and I’d be able to twist his arm into filming a graduation party?”
“Only semi-famous, Sweets, and I wouldn’t miss it for the world. As the only two members of the Class of ‘84 and ‘85 Photography Club, I feel we are obligated to stick together.”
You’re no photographer, but you’d joined the Photography Club your junior year mainly because you thought it would look good on your college transcripts. You never would’ve imagined that it would spawn a lifelong friendship with the shy and solemn older brother of Will Byers. You’d spent countless nights sharing a joint with Jonathan while both commiserating about the two people (Nancy and Eddie) that you longed for with all your maudlin teenage hearts.
Robin and Nancy always voiced their suspicions that your feelings for Eddie ran deeper than just friendship, but Jonathan was the only person who knew.
Of course, Jonathan got over Nancy rather quickly after he moved to New York for film school. You, on the other hand, still carried a torch as bright as ever for your dear metalhead.
“I’m going to go around and get some establishing shots. Let me know if there’s anything in particular you want me to get.”
“Will do.”
The rest of the set up goes smoothly, and soon people are filtering in. Dustin and Jane are first, Dustin joining Eddie over where he’s trying to light the grill, leaving you and Jane idly chatting, waiting for the others.
Some neighbors and co-workers of both you and Eddie join, most of them only stopping by to drop off a gift or card. Claudia comes briefly to drop off a gift. Robin and Nancy set up the cake when they arrive, then join you and Jane. Max waddles in, followed closely by Lucas, Steve, and Emma. Everyone coos over Max while she loudly exclaims that if anyone touches her belly they’re going to die. Mike and Will are accompanied by Karen. They’re followed in by Joyce and Hopper. Eddie and Dustin join the group after they’ve filled a picnic table with nothing but meat.
Karen, Joyce, and Hopper reminisce over all of the graduations they’ve been to. Mike and Will share news about California. Robin and Nancy tell you that you simply have to see them in Massachusetts. Emma and Max talk about all things baby. Steve finally succeeds in getting Eddie to play cornhole with him against Dustin and Jane.
All the while, your girl is in the center of all of it, flitting between groups of people and conversations. Her personality shines brightest when she’s around her people. Jonathan takes the opportunity to get some good footage of Lizzie in her natural habitat and of the guests telling stories about Lizzie growing up.
You’re at the dessert table, grabbing one of the cupcakes Karen brought, watching Lizzie make fun of her dad and Steve’s horrible cornhole technique when you hear her squeal and turn to see Cassie and Mark coming around the side of the house. The girls embrace and jump up and down like they didn’t just see each other a few hours ago.
“Sorry we’re late,” Mark begins once he’s made his way to you and he grabs a cupcake, “Cassie’s mom and I took her out for dinner and it ran a little long,”
“How the girls managed to survive is beyond me,” you tell him with a laugh as Lizzie drags Cassie over to watch the now heated cornhole match.
This is the point where you hope Mark will simply say goodbye, and make his merry way home, but as he fidgets with the wrapper, your hopes are dashed.
“What have you been up to lately?”
Unfortunately, your squad is occupied and there’s no one to rescue you just yet.
“Same old, same old. The bookstore keeps me pretty busy. I’m probably going to have to hire two people to take over for Lizzie when she finally moves away for college.”
“I saw a new car in the driveway,” he says as he gestures toward the front of your house with his head, “I guess you finally had to replace the Camry?”
You don’t really like that Mark wants to bring up old relationship talk with you. He’d been trying to get you to buy a new car since you’d started dating. But you didn’t need a new freaking car, Eddie kept your old Camry running just fine. The only reason you have a new car is because you gave your old one to Lizzie as a graduation present.
“The Camry is still kicking,” you inform him, “It’s actually Lizzie’s now.”
“Oh.”
The conversation between the two of you is mostly Mark trying to engage you in any way he can think of, but every laugh is forced and all you want to do is scurry away to anywhere else. You keep trying to catch the eyes of any of your friends, but everyone is occupied.
All you can think is that it’s going to be a long night.
You’ve been talking to Mark for almost thirty minutes, Eddie knows because he clocked it as soon as Mark walked into your backyard. He can’t even concentrate on the stupid cornhole game because all he really wants to do is go over there and bodily move Mark away from you. Lizzie dragged Cassie off to god knows where saying that she couldn’t watch her dad lose so pathetically anymore.
He thought he’d seen the last of the man when you gave him back your ring, but Mark was like fucking herpes, always popping up when you least expected.
Eddie is concentrating so hard on trying to read your lips, he doesn’t even hear Steve coming and he jumps when Steve slaps him on the back.
“I always thought you and Sweets would end up together,” Steve says as he follows Eddie’s line of sight and looks over at where Mark is still standing next to you.
“What makes you say that?” Eddie asks as if he’s fooling anyone.
“I’ve seen the way you look at her.”
“What way, praytell, do I look at her?”
“Like she hung the fucking moon. It’s the same way I look at Emma.”
Eddie wants to have a snappy comeback, but he doesn't. Steve’s right. He does look at you like you hung the fucking moon, because to him, you did. You are his best friend, his partner in crime, you helped him raise his goddamn daughter. Everything good in his life exists because of you. Other than the birthing part, even Lizzie.
You were the one who told him he could do it, be a real father, when he told you that he didn’t want to give his baby up for adoption. You were honest with him. You didn’t mince words, you told him it was going to be hard as hell, but that if he stuck with it, it would all be worth it. And it fucking was.
There were no two people he loved in this world more than you and his daughter. But he definitely loved you differently than he loved Lizzie.
Eddie had been in love with you most of his goddamn life.
When the two of you were seven, you got “married” out near the creek that runs behind the trailer park – he had streaks of mud across his face and holes in the knees of his jeans, you had a crown of daisies atop your head. You’d proposed to him with a Ring Pop and told him you wanted to be his best friend forever. He’d said yes immediately. The two of you promised each other you’d be together for eternity, and then you celebrated by passing the candy back and forth until it disappeared. He didn’t tell you he loved you then.
The two of you shared your first and only kiss playing spin the bottle at Erin Carmichael’s thirteenth birthday party. When the empty soda bottle he spun landed directly on you, he’d been so nervous he thought he was going to puke and you’d blushed so prettily he also thought he was going to die. In front of the entire seventh grade class of Hawkins Middle School, he kissed you square on the lips and while everyone else “oohed” and “ahhed,” you’d stared at him with a look in your eye that was so much older than thirteen. He felt like he’d died and gone to heaven. He didn’t tell you he loved you then.
You were his date to all of his senior proms, and on the third one, when he was once again wearing one of Wayne’s old suits and you were wearing a sparkly dress, dancing under a disco ball to “Heaven” by Bryan Adams, he almost told you he loved you. You had your arms around his shoulders with your head tucked under his chin. You were wearing some fruity-smelling perfume that made him lightheaded in the best way. His mind had been clouded with thoughts of Rachel and the baby and what he was going to do, but in that moment, you were the only thing he could think of. He didn’t tell you he loved you then.
There was that moment just hours ago, right after Lizzie’s graduation, he felt that familiar tension between the two of you. You had that soft look on your face you only ever had with him. He’d been so sure you were going to say something. He could see the emotion swirling in your eyes, although he could’ve been fooling himself and it was only the leftover sentimentality of Lizzie’s speech. He told himself that he was giving you thirty seconds, and if you didn’t say anything, he was going to. It was right there in the back of his throat, ready for any acknowledgment on your part, then Dustin came rushing over and killed the mood. He didn’t tell you he loved you then.
He could never understand why he just couldn’t fucking tell you that he loved you.
Eddie’s reminiscing is cut short when Dustin, again, walks over and pats him on the back, “What are we talking about gentlemen?”
“About how Eddie loves Sweets,” Steve supplies with no preamble.
“Yeah, that’s not news.”
The casual way that Dustin says it gives Eddie pause, “What do you mean?”
“Eddie, a blind man could see that you love her. And she’s crazy about you, too. You both need to get your heads out of your goddamn asses already. I’m frankly a little sick of watching you two pine after each other.”
Eddie scoffs, even as heat crawls up the back of his neck, “Jesus Christ Henderson, subtle as always.”
Steve chuckles.
“I’m serious,” Dustin begins, “you look at her like the lead actor in a rom-com. I might start calling you Matthew McConaughey.”
Steve snorts into his beer, “That’s weirdly specific.”
“Jane’s been on a McConaughey kick,” he says to Steve before he turns back to Eddie, “You know what I mean.” Dustin points between Eddie and where you stand, still talking to fucking Mark, “Look at you right now.”
You’re laughing at something Mark says, but it doesn’t reach your eyes, and still Eddie feels a little queasy. You have your head tipped back and the lights he and Lizzie put up only a couple of hours ago cast you in a soft multi-colored glow. Mark drops his head toward you and says something else to which you lightly shove his shoulder.
Jealousy twists sharp in his stomach. Partly because Mark is touching you. Mostly because Mark almost had you. And it looks like he’s trying all over again.
There was a point where Eddie thought you were really going to do it – leave him and really be with Mark. It was the night Mark proposed. You’d come over after, and you were sitting on Eddie’s couch. Your eyes were shining, you were twisting that god awful ring around your finger. Lizzie was upstairs asleep, and the two of you were alone when you told him.
And Eddie just smiled. He smiled so hard his face hurt. Then he congratulated you with a bitter taste on his tongue. After you left, he got drunk alone in the kitchen and stared at the wall wondering if that heavy feeling in his gut was what missing his chance felt like.
“You’re doing it again,” Steve says with a nudge to Eddie’s arm.
“I’m not staring,” he mutters.
“You’re not,” Dustin corrects, “You’re yearning.”
“Shut up.”
“Seriously man,” Steve says quieter, not teasing like before, “What exactly are you waiting for? Lizzie’s graduated, and she’s going off to college. You have a house, a business, you’re not the freak of Hawkins anymore. You never really were.”
Eddie opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Because the truth is a little pathetic. He’s waiting for a sign. Some kind of permission. Some sort of undeniable proof that telling you how he feels won’t ruin everything the two of you have built. That he won’t ruin it.
You are woven into every part of his life. Your threads make up most of the beautiful tapestry that is his world.
And it’s not just about Lizzie.
You know how he likes his coffee. You know where he keeps the extra sheets. You know when his shoulder hurts because he slept wrong because he’s getting fucking old. You know Wayne’s medication schedule because Eddie hates to admit that Wayne’s getting old, too.
If he says something, and it goes bad, if he finally tells you and you look at him with pity instead of love, he’d lose one of the most important people in his life.
His eyes drift to you again. This time you’re not looking at Mark. You’re looking at him. Even from across the yard, he knows that expression instantly. There’s softness, fondness, maybe longing. It hits him square in the chest.
Dustin notices it too, because he groans dramatically, “Oh my god, just kiss her already. Put us all out of our misery.”
Steve laughs so hard he nearly chokes on his drink. Eddie flips Dustin off without looking away from you.
‘You’re a little asshole, you know that?”
“At least I’m married to the woman I’m hopelessly in love with.”
“He’s got you there, Munson,” Steve agrees.
Before Eddie can rattle off another excuse as to why he needs to keep his mouth shut for all eternity, your back screen door slams open.
“Daddio!” Lizzie screeches and comes jogging out of your kitchen with Cassie trailing behind her, but veering off to the dessert table where you’re still standing with Mark.
“Leaving so soon?” Eddie asks his daughter.
“I’m heading out with Cassie. I’m gonna spend the night with her.”
Eddie nods and throws an arm around her shoulders, “I know you’re all grown up now, but could you call me and let me know when you two get home.”
Lizzie gives him an indulgent smile, “Of course. And don’t worry Daddio, we’re not going to do anything stupid. There’s a bonfire out at Lover's Lake, then me and Cassie are going to her mom’s house.”
“Do you have everything? Clothes? Toothbrush? Bail money?”
“Dad…”
“If I call Cassie’s house later tonight, are you going to be able to answer the phone?” Eddie trusts his daughter, she’s a good kid, but he also wants to know that she’s made it safely home.
“If I call Sweets' house later tonight, are you going to be able to answer the phone?” she counters, and both Steve and Dustin snicker.
Eddie narrows his eyes and decides to ignore her comment. He doesn’t have the brain power to verbally spar with his daughter right now, “Ok, just be careful, and call me if you need anything, and I mean anything.”
“You know I will,” she tells him with a wink and then looks over to you, “I’m gonna go say bye to Sweets.”
For the second time that day, Lizzie Munson comes barreling toward you out of nowhere, but you’re especially thankful for it right now. Mark won’t stop talking to you, and not even Cassie trying to say goodbye has been able to distract him.
“Sweets!”
“Lizard!”
She grabs your hand, “Can I steal you for a second?”
“Sure thing,” you say, grateful to have a second alone with Lizzie, away from Mark’s banal conversation.
She pulls you far enough away so the two of you can talk without anyone listening.
“There she is,” you tease softly, fixing the mess of necklaces hanging around her throat. Rings are her father’s thing. Necklaces are hers.
Lizzie smiles, but it seems a little nervous around the edges.
“What’s wrong?” you ask immediately.
“Nothing’s wrong. I just wanted to say goodbye before Cassie kidnaps me for the rest of the night.”
“You’ll call me if you need bail, right?”
She snorts, “Do you and my dad share a brain cell?”
“I think one is a generous number.”
Lizzie laughs and goes quiet again.
“What is it, honey?”
For a second, she just looks at you. It’s not casual, it’s not distracted. She really looks. She’s so much like Eddie it almost knocks the breath out of you.
“I need you to know something,” she says softly.
“Okay.”
“You are family to me.”
Emotion climbs up your throat so fast it almost burns.
“Lizard…”
“No, let me finish before I chicken out,” she points at you the way you point at her when you tell her something she really needs to listen to, “I mean it. You’re not like my family. You are my family.”
For probably the hundredth time that day, your eyes begin to sting.
Lizzie swallows hard before continuing, “And I know you worry about changing things with my dad.”
Your stomach drops, “Lizzie…”
“I’m serious,” she says with a gentle voice, “I know you both think you’re hiding it, but you’re really, really not.”
Heat floods your face. You’ve been called out by a teenager. Again.
“Oh my god.”
She grabs both of your hands, “My dad has been in love with you literally my entire life.”
All you can do is stare at her, speechless.
“And you love him, too.”
You open your mouth to deny it, but nothing comes out. What’s the point? Lizzie knows. Everyone probably knows.
Your eyes drift over to where Eddie is standing with Steve and Dustin. His hair is falling into his face from laughing at something. Your heart does that stupid little thing it always does when you catch him like that, so lighthearted and carefree. Lizzie squeezes your hands tighter.
“I know that you had Mark, and he was okay, I guess. But the best thing about him is Cassie. And I’ve never seen him look at you the way my dad looks at you. You don’t have to be scared anymore,” she tells you quietly.
And that nearly undoes you. Because you are scared. Scared of losing him. Scared of ruining the best thing in your life.
“I just…” your voice cracks, “you and your dad mean everything to me.”
Lizzie smiles, and she looks so much like Eddie you could cry.
“Sweets,” she begins gently, “you’ve been in love with each other for years. I knew it as soon as I had cognitive reasoning skills. You two are just the last to formally acknowledge it.”
A watery laugh escapes you. Lizzie steps forward and wraps her arms around you.
“You deserve each other,” she whispers into your hair.
You hold her tight and press a kiss to her forehead, “That sounds ominous.”
She laughs, but it’s edged with tears, “You’re going to make me cry off all of my makeup.”
“Too late for that, kiddo.”
She pulls back, grinning playfully. Then, because she is Eddie Munson’s daughter, she tilts her head toward where her father is still standing with Steve and Dustin and says, “For the record, if you don’t kiss my dad soon, I think Steve and Dustin might actually explode from frustration.”
You burst out laughing, “Noted.”
“Good,” Lizzie says as you release each other, “Alright, I’m leaving before you get all weird and emotional on me again.”
“You started it!”
“Yeah, well someone had to,” she says with a shrug.
Lizzie skips away to grab Cassie and the two of them round the front of the house, off to adventures unknown.
Now, there’s a weight sitting in your gut that you can’t do anything with just yet. All it can do is grow heavier until you can finally get Eddie alone.
You look over to the dessert table where Mark is still standing, but you’re sure as hell not going back over there. Your patience with his particular line of conversation has run too thin. You spot Wayne out of the corner of your eye, throwing away empty plates left lying around and decide to join him.
“Don’t worry about the trash, Uncle Wayne. That’s what I have Eddie for,” you tell him as you slide a hand along his shoulder.
“Just doing my part, darling.”
“You did your part a long time ago. That was raising my best friend.”
He gives you a smile and leans into your grip.
“What would that boy do without you?”
“Live off of Chef Boyardee and forget when his light bill is due,” you tell him with a chuckle.
“Did Lizzie set you straight?” he asks as he ambles toward the back porch door.
Everyone really does fucking know, you think to yourself as the two of you walk into the kitchen where Wayne has left his jacket hanging on one of your chairs.
You nod as he slides into the well-worn piece of clothing, “Yes sir, she did.”
“Then I guess I don’t have to say anything else.”
“No sir.”
Wayne pulls you into a bear hug and when he steps back, he studies you a bit.
“Well, I guess I do have a little bit to say.”
You don’t know what it is about those words that makes you a little nervous.
“Go on.”
“Al Munson was a dumb motherfucker,” Wayne begins, and you would laugh at Wayne’s language if he wasn’t so right and so serious, “He had everything a man could want. He had Elizabeth, then he had Eddie. But he fucked it all up.”
You take a deep breath. You never really met the man, but you know that Wayne hates Eddie’s father with a passion. And by extension, so do you. He was a horrible husband and a horrible father. He didn’t deserve Elizabeth or Eddie.
“Unfortunately, Al had that boy long enough to put a lot of nonsense in his head. A lot of stuff that Al hated about himself that he pushed off on Eddie. Told him he was no good, that he would never amount to anything, that he was trash.”
Wayne takes your hands in his own. They are warm and his palms are calloused from years of work at the plant. They are working man’s hands. Hands that worked hard to give Eddie a home and a family. Wayne is just as much Eddie’s father as you are Lizzie’s mother.
You sometimes think it’s that truth that binds you and Wayne so closely. You both know what it’s like to love a child so fiercely even when you had no hand in their making.
“Eddie is going to try and convince himself that he’s not good enough for you. He’s going to tell himself that you can do better.”
“But I can’t,” you shake your head vigorously.
“I know that, darling, but that sonofabitch that was his father put those thoughts in his head, and it doesn’t matter what Eddie accomplishes, or how good he’s got it going, he always thinks he doesn’t deserve it. He feels like an impostor in his own life.”
Wayne squeezes your hand tightly, not to the point of pain, but enough that you know he’s serious, “Don’t let Al win. No matter what my boy does, no matter what he says. Don’t let that man hurt my boy more than he already has.”
You give him a nod, not sure if you can speak yet.
“I know you can do it, Sweets. I’ve been witness to the love you have for both of those knuckleheads. Just please tell me that you won’t give up.”
You swallow, your throat thick with love for this man who loves Eddie and Lizzie so much, “I won’t give up, Wayne.”
He lets your hands go and pats you affectionately on the cheek, “I know you won’t. Don’t let him give up either.”
You smile and together the two of you walk out to Wayne’s truck, your arms loaded down with leftovers for him to take home. After you have everything stowed away, Wayne gets in and gives you a single wave goodbye. He tells you to say goodbye to Eddie for him, and he’ll call him in the morning. Wayne has said he piece, and he’s a man who says what he means to say and lets it lie.
You wave right back as he drives off, leaving you both lighter and heavier.
Between Lizzie and Wayne, your mind is spiraling a little. There are so many expectations, including your own. And you can’t even seem to get your best friend alone for more than a couple of minutes so you can tell him that you fucking love him.
When you make your way to your back yard, you see that everyone has taken Wayne’s exit as a sign to start putting everything away. You can see Jane and Max through the kitchen window and decide to see if they need any help. Unfortunately, you don’t notice until it’s too late that Mark is in there, too.
His presence would be less annoying if he hadn’t spent the last hour hovering around you and if you weren’t so desperate to have Eddie and your house to yourself.
You go to grab some discarded napkins when Mark leans on the counter beside you.
“You really did all this by yourself?” he asks, gesturing with his hand.
“With help,” is your vague reply.
You’d planned most of it, but as always, the whole gang pitched in.
“You always were good at this kinda thing.”
Before you can respond, you see your saving grace from the corner of your eye in the form of a heavily pregnant redhead.
“Hey,” she begins talking to you, completely ignoring Mark, “do you still have ice cream?”
It’s a random ass question, but you decide to go with it. Plus she is pregnant and probably really wants ice cream, “Yeah, but if you eat all of the chocolate we’re going to have a Battle Royale at the fire pit. Pregnant or not.”
“Fair enough,” she goes toward the fridge, but stops and turns to Mark, “You’re still here?”
“Max,” you fake warn.
“What?” she asks innocently.
“It’s nice to see you too, Mayfield.”
She holds up her left hand, shiny with a diamond ring, “It’s Sinclair. I’m married.”
That’s when Jane takes it upon herself to interject as well, dragging over her trash bag to stand next to Max, “I think she means the party is ending.”
Mark blinks at her, and as she is wont to do, Jane just stares back, completely expressionless. Max coughs to hide a smile. Unfortunately, Mark notices.
“Have you two always been this hostile?”
“Yes,” is Max’s instant reply.
“Especially when people overstay,” Jane adds. She starts putting more trash in the bags.
You pinch the bridge of your nose to hide your grin, “Come on everyone…”
Mark straightens and tells the girls, “I’m just talking to her.”
He never got along with Max and Jane. They always made him bristly. He thought they were too headstrong. And they are too headstrong. That’s why you like them.
“And you’ve been ‘just talking to her’ for like an hour,” Max tells him.
“And she keeps trying to walk away,” Jane points out.
Mark scoffs quietly, “Okay, I guess I can take a hint.”
“Please take it far away,” Max replies.
She goes to the fridge and pretends to start looking for ice cream. Jane continues to stuff things in the garbage bags.
“See you later,” he tells you as he pulls his keys from his jacket pocket.
“Hopefully not,” Max says under her breath.
Mark still hears, but chooses not to reply.
“Yeah,” you tell him noncommittally.
Mark nods his head and makes a hasty retreat. You sigh in relief at seeing him go. The girls immediately drop their pretense.
“Finally!” Max exclaims.
“I agree,” starts Jane, “I never really liked that man.”
“Thanks for the assist,” you tell them as you go to take the bag from Jane, “Why don’t you two go outside. I’m going to start the dishwasher, and I’ll be right out.”
They both nod and Max quickly grabs a pint and a spoon, she always knew where the fucking ice cream was.
You take a second to center yourself as you load the final utensils in the dishwasher and get it running. As much as you’re dying to talk to Eddie, you also want to be present for your friends. It’s few and far between when you’re all together like this and you want to be able to actually enjoy them.
When you finally head outside, they’re all gathered around the fire pit. The people who stayed. Your family.
Steve is in the adirondack chair he always claims as his own, Emma tucked securely between his legs, a hand dragging lazily through her hair. Robin and Nancy share a blanket, their knees pressed together as Nancy is absentmindedly tracing patterns on Robin’s wrist. Jonathan sits a little apart from them on his own blanket. He’s quite content with his camera still attached to his face and a beer nearby. Will and Mike are shoulder to shoulder in their own two-person chair, speaking in low voices to one another. Lucas and Max are stretched out next to them, Max’s head in Lucas’s lap as he recounts a story to Dustin and gently rubs her belly. Dustin and Jane are crosslegged next to Eddie, Dustin listening intently to Lucas as Jane leans her head against Dustin’s shoulder.
Eddie looks up as you get nearer, “Wayne leave?”
“Yeah, he said he would call you in the morning.”
Eddie pats the spot next to him, “Been saving it for you, Sweets.”
You sit down right where you belong. Right now, it’s easy to just be present with Eddie, surrounded by your friends. There are no butterflies, just the warmth of the fire and easy conversation.
“Remember when Henderson tried to convince us that he found a new species of lizard?” Steve asks with a smirk as you sit down.
Dustin scoffs immediately, “Okay, first of all – “
“You did,” Max cuts in so sharply Lucas startles.
“I had a theory.”
“A nonsense theory, “ Nancy adds.
Everyone laughs, even Jonathan, who takes a sip of his beer then lets his camera trace over all your faces.
“It was almost groundbreaking,” Dustin insists, “If any of you had even the most basic grasp on science – “
“You wanted to call it a demogorgon,” Steve interrupts, “How did you even come up with a name like that?”
“The origins of the word begin circa 350 A.D. – “
“Let me cut you off there.”
“You’ve been cutting me off all night,” Dustin argues.
The laughter and conversation roll around the fire. There are years of stories and inside jokes. There’s never a dull moment amongst your people. It’s easy and familiar and much needed.
You glance over at Eddie without meaning to. He’s already looking at you, and now you can’t seem to look away. Your gaze is probably lingering too long, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
You’re knocked out of your trance by Robin’s voice, “Hey Sweets.”
She gets up like she’s going to get something.
“How can I help you?”
“May I interest you in a stroll to the cooler?”
You know, and so does everyone else, because Robin is the antithesis of subtle, that she has something she wants to talk to you about. Nancy smirks at you because she already knows what Robin is about to spill.
Despite how obvious the two of you are being, you get up and follow her the three steps to the cooler.
“So,” she begins and lowers her voice just slightly, “what was this I saw at the dessert table earlier?”
You cross your arms and narrow your eyes at her, “Was it me eating my fourth cupcake?”
She simply tilts her head at you, “Mark.”
Your stomach drops a little and you see Eddie’s back go straight. He’s definitely trying to listen. So is everyone else. The volume of their conversation has dropped dramatically.
“What about Mark?”
“I saw the two of you getting cozy by the dessert table.”
“Oh my god, Robin, no we were not. He was just making conversation, asking how I was and all that jazz.”
“That’s not what I saw,” she sing-songs.
“I don’t know what you think you saw,” you say as you rub your forehead, “but there was nothing untoward going on. We’re at Lizzie’s graduation party for chrissakes.”
“Well, you may think nothing is going on, but I saw the way he looked at you. He wants you back.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you see Eddie’s jaw clench, and even though you hate everything about the conversation you are currently having, you have a fleeting thought about how hot it is.
“First of all, you’re wrong,” you tell your friend, “Second, even if he did want me back, I’m not interested. Third, why do you even care? You hate Mark.”
Eddie seems to relax a little, and you see Steve glance over at him. Steve gives him a look that you can’t decipher, and Eddie seems to ignore him. Then, Dustin notices Steve giving a look to Eddie which makes Dustin give a look to them both, and you’re thoroughly lost.
“You’re not interested in the hot, single dad who practically worships the ground that you walk on?” Robin asks.
“Lower your voice, and I’m not interested in Mark.”
She does what you ask, but it doesn’t make her next statement any less devastating, “So it’s just not that hot, single dad you’re interested in?”
“Robin, honey, I love you, but could we please stop talking about fucking Mark? Grab a drink so we can at least pretend we were having a normal conversation, and let’s go sit down with our friends.”
She reaches down and in the most exaggerated way possible, grabs a water from the cooler, making sure to flick you with the condensation from the bottle, “Aye, aye, captain.”
Robin sits back down with Nancy, a big smile on her face like she accomplished something, and you plop yourself down next to Eddie.
“So what were you and Buckley talking about?”
Usually, you appreciate when Eddie gets right to the point. You’re not quite sure if you feel that way in this particular moment, but you still decide to just tell him, “She’s being a menace as always. Bringing up ancient history.”
“Such as?”
“She asked about Mark.” Might as well get it out in the open.
Eddie clears his throat, “What about him?”
“She seems to think he’s interested.”
“Oh.”
“I told her the same thing I’m gonna tell you – even if he is, I’m not.”
“Yeah?”
“Of course not,” you tell him with finality.
He smiles with all of his teeth and leans his head on your shoulder, and he stays like that as you both rejoin the conversations going around the fire pit. The thirteen of you reminisce for probably another hour before people start yawning and nodding, prompting the dad of the group to announce he’s taking his baby mama home.
“I don’t know about you guys, but I’m old and I’m tired. I need to get my wife home and we need to make sure our kids haven’t killed each other,” Steve says as he and Emma stand.
Dustin stands and reaches a hand out to Jane to pull her up, “We’re going, too. We promised my mom we’d go to breakfast in the morning.”
Thus begins the mass exodus of your back yard.
There are more hugs and handshakes. Everyone says goodbye. You promise the girls you’re going to meet for lunch tomorrow before Robin and Nancy go back to Massachusetts.
Then, it’s just you and Eddie. But before you let your mind get too far ahead of you, you ask him to put out the fire while you grab the trash. You need a little more time to hype yourself up for what you hope will be a defining moment in your relationship, and he seems to agree
You survey what’s left of your hard work as you drag the trash out to the back.
The fairy lights twinkle softly over your backyard, casting everything in warm orange and faded green. Half-deflated balloons that read “2005” drag across the deck in the breeze, and somewhere down the block, someone’s setting off fireworks, probably celebrating a graduation of their own.
You’re exhausted. Good exhausted. It’s the kind that settles deep in your bones after a night full of laughter, too much food, and watching a girl you helped raise beam brighter than the stars overhead.
Now it’s just you and Eddie.
Finally.
He’s sitting on the back steps with his knees spread, forearms braced against them, a beer dangling loosely from his fingers. His curls are damp and frizzy from the late May heat, cheeks flushed from alcohol and emotion alike.
You leave the trash by the door and go to sit beside him.
“Well,” you sigh dramatically as you drop down, “we survived.”
Eddie huffs out a laugh and chucks his bottle at the trash can, “Barely. Henderson almost lit the grill on fire.”
“Technically, he did light the grill on fire.”
“You and your technicalities,” he scoffs.
You grin, leaning your shoulder against his. For a moment, neither of you says anything. The silence isn’t awkward, despite what happened earlier after graduation. It never has been with Eddie.
Crickets hum in the trees. Music still plays faintly from inside the house. You instantly recognize the song. Fucking “Heaven” by Bryan Adams. Eddie stares out into the yard.
“She graduated,” he says quietly, like he still can’t believe it.
Your chest tightens, “I know.”
“I keep thinking she’s still that tiny kid hiding behind my legs after her first day of tee ball practice.”
You smile softly, “She cried for like twenty minutes.”
“She bit Steve.”
“She was defending your honor.”
“She was five!”
You both laugh at that. Then the laughter fades. And something changes.
Maybe it’s the alcohol. Maybe it’s the quiet. Maybe it’s the fact that there are no distractions. No timing issues. No almosts.
Just you. And Eddie.
He looks at you then. Really looks at you. There’s something dangerously open in his expression.
“You know,” he says softly, voice rough around the edges, “couldn’t’ve done any of this without you.”
It seems like that talk is starting now. You shake your head immediately, “You’ve already told me that, Munson.”
“No, I mean it,” he says and his eyes don’t leave yours, “I’ll tell you every day if I have to. Every science project, every fever, every nightmare, every parent-teacher conference where they thought I was gonna show up high out of my mind…”
You can’t help but snort.
“...you were there.”
His smile turns smaller and a bit softer.
“You stayed,” he all but whispers.
Your throat tightens painfully, “Of course I stayed. Never even thought about leaving.”
The words come out quieter than you mean them to.
Eddie’s gaze drops briefly to your mouth. Your pulse stutters.
There it is. That thing that’s always lived between you. Buried under years of bad timing and fear and almost-confessions.
His fingers brush yours accidentally, but neither of you pulls away.
“Jesus,” he murmurs, almost to himself.
“What?”
He shakes his head once, like he’s trying to clear it, but his hand turns, curling around yours fully now. It’s warm and calloused and familiar.
“Do you have any idea,” he says quietly, “how hard it’s been not to kiss you?”
Your breath catches. Eddie’s eyes light up.
“Then maybe,” you whisper, “you should stop trying not to.”
He squeezes your hand as he stares into your eyes like he’s looking for an answer to some kind of question he hasn’t asked yet. He pulls you closer, so close you can feel his breath against your face. It smells faintly of beer and mint gum. You wonder what his mouth tastes like.
“Fuck it.”
Eddie grabs you by the waist and pulls you the scant inch closer and kisses you like a man starving, his lips an almost bruising force on your own. His hand releases yours to slide up to the back of your neck so he can position your head in the way he wants. You barely manage a startled sound before you press your lips to his just as desperately.
Years, you think. years of this feeling. All of it crashes together at once.
His other hand slides around you farther to press against the small of your back, nudging you even closer to him as his tongue glides along the seam of your lips. You let him in and he licks into your mouth. His tongue is an insistent pressure on yours as they swirl together.
He presses gently against the underside of your jaw with his thumb, and you give in to the gentle pressure, letting your head fall back, disengaging your lips only so you can fucking breathe. His lips and trail across your jaw, down to your neck where he sucks lightly on your skin before tracing upward with his tongue. You feel the hiss of his exhale as he gently nips at your ear. It makes heat flare through your entire body and your nipples pucker. You can feel yourself getting wet and you squirm.
In your daydreams, you’d always thought your first real kiss with Eddie would be one of those slow, romantic things. A soft brush of lips, warm breath and gentle hands.
This is not soft or warm or gentle. This is hard and hot and rough. You’re undone and you want his tongue down your fucking throat.
But sitting side by side, the angle is awkward and you can’t touch him or feel him like you want. You let out a frustrated whine and he chuckles as he takes your bottom lip between his teeth.
It’s not enough.
Without even thinking, you throw a leg over both of his and climb into his lap, hands tangling in the front of his shirt to balance yourself, knees on either side of his thighs. He doesn’t complain. His hands move to your hips, gripping you tightly like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he loosens his hold for even a second.
Once you execute that move, the kiss turns messy fast. It’s hot. It’s breathless.
His teeth scrape lightly against your bottom lip as he tugs on it, and you feel him groan against your mouth when your fingers disappear into his curls and you tug gently at the hair at his nape. You experimentally rock your hips to get some relief from the ache building in your core, and when you do, you can feel the hard length of him pressing against you through two layers of clothing. He presses openmouthed kisses down the length of your neck as you arch against him.
“Fuck,” Eddie breathes, forehead falling against yours, breaths mingling, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted…”
You cut him off with another kiss, “Believe me Eddie, I know.”
One hand travels from your hip, under your shirt and up along the side of your waist to your ribs. It stops just below your breasts. You can feel the cool bite of his rings against your heated skin as his thumb gently brushes the lace he finds there.
“Shirt off?” he asks with an almost wild look in his eyes, and he waits until you give him an enthusiastic nod.
He grips the bottom hem like he’s gripping the last of his sanity before he lifts it off you with ease. It drops somewhere on the grass. Goosebumps spread across your body as you’re exposed to the cooling night air, and your nipples get impossibly harder.
He pulls back slightly to take you in, wearing what you’re glad is one of your good bras, straddling his lap, lips swollen and spit slicked from his kisses.
“Goddammit, you’re beautiful.”
The hand that isn’t holding you moves upward that tiny bit more to fully engulf one of your breasts over the black lace. He kneads the flesh, testing the weight and feel of it in his palm. His thumb and forefinger meet to tweak your hardened nipple and you moan at the sensation as his cock twitches against your thigh.
Your hips buck involuntarily at the contact and Eddie groans as he nips at your chin.
“You like that, baby?”
Baby. Fuck.
You can’t do much but nod silently as he takes the cup of your bra and drags it down, exposing you to his hungry view. His eyes have gone almost fully black, the pupil dilated by desire. You can feel your juices soaking through your jeans. It’s one of the hottest things you've ever seen, the wild look in his eyes as stares at you.
His tongue comes out to wet his lips as he pants, “Fuck! I want it in my mouth. Can I?”
“Please, Eddie…” you practically beg. You want nothing more than this man’s mouth all over you.
He wastes no time engulfing the bud between his lips, capturing it with his teeth, tongue flicking back and forth in a way that makes you clench your thighs around his waist.
“Jesus Christ, I love these fucking nipples,” he says as he draws down the other cup so he can tease the neglected one, “Tastes so sweet.”
You reach up to brace yourself on his shoulders and grind down again, seeking some sort of relief for your aching cunt. You think you could come just like that, moving yourself on Eddie’s lap as he licks and sucks you into a frenzy.
“Fuck, Eddie…”
He releases your nipple with a pop so he can look up at you, “Yeah, baby, tell me what you want. Do you want to ride me?” he grips your waist and thrusts upward with his hips, “Just like this? Like we’re in fucking high school?”
“P-please.”
“Goddamit you feel so good,” he says as he licks at your jaw, down the side of your neck, to your collarbone where he places his lips and sucks deep. Before, you’ve always hated when boyfriends left hickeys, you always thought they looked a little trashy, but right now you want nothing more than to be marked by him.
He runs his nose along the delicate skin, inhaling deeply.
“I can smell you,” he breathes out harshly against you, “Are you fucking wet for me, Sweets?”
“Why don’t you find out?” you tease. Where you gathered the boldness to ask that question, you don’t know. But sitting in his lap and seeing him look at you the way he is makes you feel wanton and wanted.
You lean back, offering yourself to him, and brace your hands behind you on his knees. His hands trail down over your breasts and your stomach to land at the waistband of your jeans. He looks up at you again, asking for permission.
“Touch me.”
He snaps open the fly and pulls the zipper down to reveal the lacy, black panties that match your bra. There’s a dainty, little bow on the front of them, and he gives you a wolfish grin. He can feel your heat where he lets his hands rest right above where you want him most, his thumbs stroking the sensitive skin of your stomach.
“Jesus Christ. A fucking bow.”
You almost giggle, but stop abruptly on a gasp as one hand delves between your thighs to cup your mound over your underwear. You throw up your hands to brace yourself on his shoulders.
Eddie sucks in a breath and he feels the drenched fabric beneath his fingertips.
“Fucking soaked for me.”
He glides his middle finger over the wet lace, barely tracing the seam of your lips and you shiver when he reaches your swollen clit. He only gives you the barest touch and you whine, seeking out his lips for another bruising kiss.
“So sensitive,” he murmurs against the tops of your breasts as his tongue delves between them to lick the sweat gathering on your skin, “So needy.”
You try to grind down on him, but he stops you with a firm grip with his other hand.
“Uh uh. Be a good girl and I’ll give you what you want. Just let me play.”
He rubs teasing circles over your clothed clit, and your hips jump, but you do your best to obey and not shamelessly rut yourself against him like you want to. Only a few brushes of his fingers and you already feel like you’re on the edge.
“That’s a good girl. I’m gonna finger fuck this pretty pussy until you cum all over my hand,” he says roughly as he slides the gusset of your panties aside with his knuckles. He runs one finger teasingly through your slick and you don’t even recognize the sound of your own voice as you moan.
“God, Eddie. Yes…”
You barely make out the words before he’s adding another finger to slide inside your fluttering hole.
“So fucking tight,” Eddie murmurs as his forehead rests against yours, his eyes aimed downward where his fingers disappear inside of you, “So fuckin’ pretty on my fingers.”
He presses his thumb down hard on your clit and your cunt clenches around him. You can feel every callous against your slick walls as he curls his digits just right, hitting that spot deep inside you that you can never reach on your own. You squeeze your eyes shut against the sensation.
Eddie tsks, “Open your eyes baby. I wanna see you.”
He twists his hand, bullying against your G-spot as he stares directly into your eyes, like a mystery he’s trying to solve, watching every emotion play across your face with rapt attention.
“Fuck, Eddie, right there,” you tell him on a ragged breath. You’re practically flooding him with your wetness.
“Yeah? Getting so worked up with just my fingers?”
He teases each nipple with his tongue as his hips start to rock. He feels impossibly hard and long beneath you, and all you can think about is how badly you want him inside you, stretching you to your limit.
He pulls his fingers out slowly, gathering your juices, and bringing them to your lips.
“Open,” he commands, “Taste yourself.”
You take his fingers into your mouth, licking and sucking on them greedily, the taste of Eddie’s skin just underneath yours. The mixture is heady. Once he’s satisfied, he removes the fingers from your mouth and replaces them with his tongue, shoving it down your throat to taste your essence.
His hands take up real estate on your ass, squeezing and molding the flesh as he moves you against him. You ride him shamelessly.
“Can you feel how hard I am for you? Got me leaking in my jeans.”
“I want to touch you,” you tell him as you trail your hands from his shoulders, down the front of his shirt to palm him over his jeans, “Please, Eddie.”
He bucks into you one last time before he nods, “Fucking take me out.”
You don’t waste any time popping the button of the black denim and lowering his zipper. You slide your hand into his boxers and gasp as you take him in your hand. His skin is soft and warm, and he’s hard as fucking steel. When you release him from the confines of his underwear, he swears under his breath.
“Goddammit.”
He’s beautiful everywhere – thick and long enough that you can feel a little flip in your stomach at the thought of him breaching your entrance and filling you up. The tip of his cock is a dusky red, leaking pre-cum that you desperately want to taste. There’s a bulging vein running along the underside that you want nothing more than to trace with your tongue.
“Ain’t that a fucking sight,” he breathes, “Your tiny little hand wrapped around my cock. Squeeze it, baby.”
You do just as he tells you and he growls as he presses his head into your neck, biting down softly where it meets your shoulder.
“Jesus Christ, I can’t even look at it or I’m gonna cum,” he grunts.
He lifts his head to look up at you between his lashes. Your hair is wild, your eyes are glassy with lust. He wants to ruin you.
“Spit on it,” he commands softly, “Can you do that for me?”
You nod and obey, spitting directly on his cock, right on the head. Your hands glide up and down, stroking the velvet hardness now slick with the mixture of your spit and his pre-cum. His hips jerk with your movements..
“That’s it baby. A little harder.”
You tighten your grip and stroke him a little faster. A little whine escapes your mouth.
“What is it pretty baby? Tell me what you need.”
“Need you to touch me.”
He tightens his grip on your ass, “I am touching you baby. You’re gonna have to be more specific. Use your words.”
“I need your fingers,” you practically beg.
“Where?”
He holds your gaze. He wants you to tell him. He needs you to tell him.
“In my cunt,” you keen, not breaking eye contact as your hand travels up and down the length of his cock.
He gives you no warning before he shoves two fingers in your pussy and you cry out.
“Holy shit!”
“Is this where you want me, baby? In this tight little cunt. Goddamn, she’s swallowing me up.”
He curls his fingers right against the spot inside you he’s already memorized and your vision whites out. You’re practically gushing on his hand, walls clamping around his digits as you grind down on him.
“I want you to cum like this,” he tells you, “Clothes still fucking on, letting me fuck you with my fingers, your hand wrapped around my cock. Both of us just desperate to get off.”
You twist your hand on the glide up and brush his tip with your thumb. He gasps as you tease the slit. Your lips meet again in a sloppy, open mouthed kiss, tongues tangling together recklessly. You tighten your grip and set a rhythmic pace, hardly allowing him to breathe.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he pants against your cheek and begins to rub tight circles around your clit with his thumb.
“Are you gonna cum? Just like this, with nothing but my fingers? Squeezing my cock so good.”
You give a jerky nod as he pumps harder, wanting nothing more than to feel your silky walls clamp down on him. He fucks you with his fingers like he has something to prove.
“Yes, Eddie, I’m gonna cum,” you cry out as you feel the pressure build low in your stomach. It increases with every thrust. You’re right on the edge, on the verge of tipping over when he curls his fingers, hitting your G-spot at just the right angle and your pace on his cock falters.
You can feel the pleasure rippling over your skin in waves. He doesn’t stop, working you through your aftershocks with a slow, come hither motion.
“That’s it baby, ride it out,” he says, eyes locked on where you’re still stroking his cock, “Did so good for me.”
He slowly pulls his fingers from you and takes your hand. He guides your fingers from his aching dick to your gushing cunt and smears your juices on your palm. It’s fucking filthy and you fucking love it.
You give him a grin and you once again wrap your hands around his cock and stroke. You grip him firmly. You need to see him come undone.
“Yeah baby, faster,” he gasps, rutting into your hand like a wild animal.
You pick up the pace and look down at your lap where you’ve got him in your hands.
“Cum for me baby. Wanna see it on my skin,” you tell him.
You can see the muscles of Eddie’s abdomen contracting beneath his shirt as you twist your hand one more time. His spine arches, pleasure arcing over him like lightning, flowing from the base of his cock as he spurts pearly cum all over your hand.
“Jesus. Fuck,” he curses as you slow your pace, slowly milking him as his cock continues to throb.
His forehead falls to your collarbone and you kiss the top of his head and you both try and even out your breathing.
“It’s about time,” you say against his hair.
Suddenly Eddie goes still beneath you and you feel his hands loosen against your hips.
“Eddie?”
He pulls back abruptly, like he’s been hit. He’s breathing hard again.
“No,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, “No, no, this is…”
Your stomach drops.
“What?”
He stands too fast, and you basically fall off his lap in the process. You awkwardly pull your bra back into place as Eddie tucks himself back into his jeans. He paces a few steps away like he can physically outrun whatever’s happening in his head.
“This was a bad idea.”
The words hit like a slap and you simply stare at him as you wipe your hands on your pants.
“A bad idea?”
“I didn’t mean – shit!”
“Didn’t mean what?”
He won’t look at you, “I just – this changes everything.”
“Yeah,” you say quietly as you duck your head slightly to try to get into his line of sight, “It does.”
“I can’t screw this up,” he says it more to himself than to you.
“You think what just happened is screwing up?” you ask anyway.
“No!” he snaps immediately, finally looking at you. Panic shows openly on his face now, “That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Then what are you saying, Eddie?”
He opens his mouth then promptly closes it. He doesn’t even have words for what he’s feeling. That’s always been the problem with the two of you, having feelings bigger than fucking language.
“I can’t lose you,” he says finally, voice cracking around the words.
“You’re not gonna lose me,” you tell him as you step closer to him.
“But I could,” His eyes shine under the patio lights, terrified and wrecked and painfully sincere, “And if this goes bad…”
“Why would it go bad?”
“Look what I just did to you.”
“What you did to me?”
He’s talking about making you come harder than you ever have in your life. Something you’d only dreamed about doing with Eddie. But the way he says it makes your stomach churn. Like it was a mistake. Like he regrets it.
Seemingly without thinking, he reaches for your jeans, which are still undone, like he’s going to zip them back up. You slap his hands away to do it yourself, feeling suddenly very vulnerable.
The silence stretches. Then, Eddie steps backward toward the front of the house, already retreating.
“I should go.”
Your chest aches and you feel a little dirty, and very exposed. You search the ground for your shirt, but Eddie beats you to it. You snatch it from him and throw it back on.
“Eddie, what the fuck?”
“I just – I need a minute.”
And before you can stop him, he’s gone. He’s left you standing alone in the glow of party lights, lips swollen from kissing him, the feel of him still between your legs. And now with your heart beating painfully against your ribs.
You don’t even know what to do. Eddie just gave you an orgasm and then fucking left basically saying that what the two of you had done was a big mistake. Usually when something greatly, horribly, monstrously awful happened to you, Eddie was the one you’d call. Except now, unless he’s on his knees, begging for forgiveness, Eddie is the last person you want to see.
Working on autopilot, you close down the backyard, basically ripping the string lights from the plug and throwing the garbage bags vaguely toward the trash can. All you can think about is taking a scalding hot shower and crawling into bed.
Not only are you pissed, you’re fucking hurt. What the fuck was going on in Eddie’s head? Why did he run away like he was being chased? Why wouldn’t he just stay and talk to you?
You don’t have the brain power to think about it anymore. It is going to have to wait for tomorrow. Right now, you have a checklist of two, shower and bed.
And you doubt sleep is going to come easy.
End Notes: I haven't written smut since I was a freshman in college, so if this sucked, I'm sorry. I will have chapters out for The Longest Campaign and Across Every Universe soon, I promise. I'm just trying to write myself out of some corners.
pairing: gator tillman/f!reader
wc: 26.7k
tags: rivals to lovers, slow burn (there's just a lot of buildup), slapping, shotgunning (smoke/vaping), dirty talk, vaginal fingering, nipple play, oral sex (f + m receiving), pussy slapping, deep throating, vaginal sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, slightly unrealistic male refractory period but whatever don’t @ me
a/n: *laughs all the way to hell*
&&
IT'S A FRIENDLY COMPETITION.
At least, that's what they want you to believe.
Two departments, eighteen players, one charity softball game. For the good of the community.
Yeah, fuck that. It was about showing those pigs who was better, and you and your brethren knew: It was the fire department.
Your crew had been playing in the league for years, and you were defending the title. Yes, of course, you knew it wasn't all about that, but it was nice to win and be able to rub it in the police department's face.
This year, though, they were changing up the rules a little. In addition to the regular state police officers who were joining the team, they were allowing the sheriff's department to offer up a few deputies—young men, of course—to play and try to change the tide.
Wouldn't work. You and the other firefighters were a cohesive unit. You had each other's backs in every manner, every way you possibly could, and there were no ifs, ands, or buts about it—you were going to win, again.
The lead up to the game was tense. Things were taken seriously and then taken too far. Like, spying on each other's practices, standing vigil outside the police stations to intimidate the cops, trying to infiltrate the firehouse to plant stink bombs using some turncoat EMTs—no one said you guys were mature adults, because everything was fair game and this was gravely important.
One of the newbies on the PD squad was a deputy you knew by name only, simply because his father was the sheriff in Stark County. The circulating rumor was that he was a nepo baby who couldn't find his dick in the dark, but when you and one of your fellows, a middle-aged volunteer firefighter named Pete, did some recon on the guy, you had to admit you could see why they'd asked him to play in the game.
He was young, probably around your age, and spry, and while he didn't look like a bodybuilder or overly athletic in general, a quick Google search turned up plenty of articles about him from several years ago, touting his athletic ability in high school, though his sport of choice at the time had been football.
So, nothing to worry about from him.
No, what you had to worry about was how attractive you found him, and whether helping the FD team absolutely decimate the PD team would ruin your chances of getting him to rail you.
&&
Someone above your pay grade had made the brilliant decision to do some PR for the game, even though the entire county and even some neighboring ones knew about it. But publicity helps bring in more donations, and when you show up to the field where you'll be playing the game in just a few weeks’ time, the law enforcement officers are all there showing off, laughing, rowdy, some even shirtless and showing off their physiques. Even the handful of women over there are in sports bras and bike shorts, which—have fun trying to slide into a base in those.
You suck your teeth and sidle up to Pete, who's standing with the rest of the firefighters, watching.
“They're too cocky,” you say. “Look at them.”
“They think they're showing off,” Pete says.
“They are showing off,” you say. “But that's all it is. Show.”
Pete smirks and leads you over to the rest of your group, who are pulling their jerseys out of the garment bag where they're kept over the winter and spring. You only really need them for the charity game and home run derby in the fall, after all. Yet another indication that the FD squad is taking this way more seriously than the police.
They're organized by number, and yours is 14—the letters of your last name neatly stitched over the number, the patch with the emblem of the fire department on your chest and on your right arm. You leave on your jeans, even though it's unseasonably warm for spring and you have a pair of shorts in the gym bag in the back of your car, because you're a slider and you won't make the same mistake as the cops in the other dugout. Not that you're going to be doing much more than posing for photos today.
“You guys got a girl on yer team?” one of them calls, and though he's a little too far away to make out his face, you can see he's laughing.
“You have three!” the captain of your team, and the captain of your unit, who goes exclusively by his last name, Lopez, shouts back.
The cop who called that out to you shuts up, and you laugh, shaking your head. You're used to the sexism, the slights, and the chiding comments, but your boys always have your back, and as you fit a Minnesota Twins cap onto your head, you grab a bat just as the photographer that the charity provided ambles over.
“Good morning,” he calls, waving at you all as he ducks into the little covered bench that serves as your dugout. “Are we ready for some photos?”
Yeahs and Yeses resound from you and your fellows, and the photographer nods, walking through and introducing himself as Ashton every time he shakes a hand. You pause in buttoning your jersey to take his hand and nod, introducing yourself to him as well, and then leave the fenced-in bench to feel the sun on your face again.
The PD team's players are still laughing, throwing balls to each other and catching pop flies; the one who called out to your team is practicing pitching with their catcher, winding up and landing throw after throw right into the mitt. You quirk an eyebrow—this guy seems better than last year's pitcher. He must be one of the new deputies.
“All right,” Ashton calls as he emerges from the fire department dugout. “Let's get some team shots, and then individual shots.”
“Do we really need individual shots?” one of the officers calls, and Ashton just shrugs.
“That's what I was asked to do,” he says, and then motions for the teams to line up in front of each bench.
You all do, but the police finish their lineup first, not worrying about height order or blocking anyone who might be standing behind them—so Ashton heads over there, making placement adjustments as needed and then snapping several photos. He allows them to disperse and says he'll be walking around for individual and action shots once he finishes with the other group shot. The police scatter across the field, bringing gloves and balls and bats along with them, splitting into pairs or trios to play catch or bat.
Pete and Lopez flank you, and you all stand together, smiling for the camera as Ashton takes a few shots, then asks you to move to the middle of the group.
“For what?” you ask, looking at Lopez, who just shrugs.
“You're the star,” he replies.
“I play right field,” you say, laughing. “Tommy's the pitcher.” You point. “Threw a perfect game three years ago and almost again last year.”
“You also won the home run derby for the last three years,” Ashton says to you. “Stand in the middle, please.”
You bite your lip, then move over to stand in between Tommy and Lenny. You can't help but smile a little, because he's right—you might not be the best at fielding but you're a great fucking hitter, and you help the team just as much when you're at bat even if you're weak in your actual position.
By the time he takes a few more shots, the PD team is fully on the diamond, playing a little mini game where each batter is only bunting, just to keep things in the infield. Ashton walks right up to you as the FD team disperses.
“I'd like to get some solo shots of you first,” he says, and you laugh.
“Are you like—serious?” you ask, laughing. “I'm not the best player on the team.”
“You're a triple-time winner of the home run derby, and by my count, you're best known in these charity games for runs batted in, even if your own scoring isn't notable. Isn't that right?”
You shrug. Yes, he's right, but you also aren't really the type to brag about it, even if several of the charity game wins were the result of you driving in the game-winning runs. “I mean, I guess.”
“Grab a bat, please,” Ashton says, and you do, posing for some photos and feeling spectacularly stupid as you do. Last year's photographer had taken team shots and left as quickly as possible. This guy is super into it.
After your shots are done, he releases you to join the rest of your team and makes his rounds, grabbing solo pictures of each player on the field in turn. You make your way over to the three policewomen in the outfield and join them for a round of catch. They introduce themselves as Miri, Portia, and Ebony. They're so nice, actually, that you forget about the rivalry that fuels the feud that makes the PD vs. FD game so exciting and ask if they've ever played baseball or softball before. They all shake their heads no, saying they were asked to play and joined just for fun and a little exercise . You advise them not to even think about sliding unless they want a real fucking painful scrape on their thighs in those shorts.
The four of you head back to the group, both teams now congregating near the pitcher's mound. As you approach, you realize very quickly that you, and your new friends, are the center of attention, and that the guy who yelled about you being the only girl on the FD team is none other than the deputy you'd been staking out with Pete: Gator Tillman.
All fifteen of the men present are looking at the four of you, but you feel Gator's eyes locked on you, feel his gaze the heaviest. You pointedly ignore him.
“I'd like to get some duo shots,” Ashton says, gesturing toward both teams as they mill together. “Everyone, please find your counterpart. So, pitcher and pitcher, shortstop and shortstop, et cetera.”
Gator makes a beeline for you. He jerks his chin at you and sizes you up as he approaches.
“I'm not the pitcher,” you say, pointing at Tommy, who's watching all of this—you all saw Gator pitching to his team before.
“Don't care about this guy's fuckin' pictures,” Gator says, and you almost smirk before remembering he's technically the enemy. “Just wanted ta let you know I ain't gonna take it easy on ya 'cause yer a girl.”
You hold his gaze. “Um, did someone tell you to?” you asked, laughing a little.
“Nah, I just know how you ladies tend ta get,” he says. He jerks his thumb back toward Portia and Ebony, who have found their left field and first base buddies. “Them three ain't got no grit.”
“Well, I've been on this team for years,” you say, moving to step around him and to find the other right fielder. “Excuse me.”
“Wait,” Gator says after you, but you ignore him and approach Tommy, who's standing with one of the police officers, a young man—younger than you, he looks fresh out of the academy—who's bright eyed and bushy tailed and looks thrilled to be paired with a woman, toned arms and strong legs and a face that clearly impresses upon him that you take no shit—only supported by the way you dismissed yourself from Gator's presence when probably no one else ever has or ever would do such a thing.
Ashton makes his rounds, yet again, each team thinking up a funny pose—Tommy suggests putting Gator in a headlock, but the deputy absolutely refuses and so they just end up standing side by side, Tommy smiling widely and Gator just scowling at the camera—he truly did not care about Ashton's fucking pictures, he wasn’t lying. You and the other right fielder, a rookie cop by the name of Leon, mug for the camera, your elbow leaning on Leon's shoulder with your head tipped toward his, while he has his arm wrapped around your waist, his hand (inside his glove, of course) resting around your hip. It's cute and cheesy—the way something like that should be, you thought—but as you break apart from him and see the way Gator is still glaring, you just give him a small smile and turn to Leon.
“Hey,” you say, reaching out to tug at the drawstring of his sleeveless hoodie. “Do you wanna practice catching some pop flies? On the off chance one comes to us on game day?” Your eyes flick to Gator as you ask. He absolutely seems like the type to fall for this kind of thing, you blatantly flirtng with someone else in front of him. If you're right about Gator Tillman—and you think you are—it's a good way to get under his skin and keep him thinking about you, but also to throw him off his game even weeks before the first inning.
“Oh, um,” Leon says. “Yeah, ok!” He smiles at you and you head into the outfield, which Ashton loves because it offers him more opportunity for action shots. At this point, you're wondering whether he actually needs all these photos for whatever PR the charity is doing, or if he just likes baseball that much.
Other duos join you out there, and before long it turns into an impromptu scrimmage game. You all collectively decide to just play until someone hits a home run, and the PD and FD teams flip a coin to decide who bats first. When Leon from the PD team makes the correct call, they align themselves into their batting order while Tommy steps up to the mound.
It takes three innings for a home run to happen. Tommy is a great pitcher, but Gator honestly might be better. He strikes out three of the FD players in 12 throws total, sending Lopez, who hadn't even swung at any of his three pitches, back to the bench looking.
The sides switch, and you're third up. You stand outside the dugout, leaning against the chainlink, watching Gator as he takes the mound, turning his hat around backward and nodding to the catcher once he's ready. The FD's first batter, Pete, steps up to the plate. Two pitches in, he gets a hit, but it's actually a pop fly to right field and Leon catches it.
You catch his eye when he looks for you, and you give him a small “Whoo!” and a wink, then turn back to Gator as you step up to take a few practice swings in the area your team has collectively chosen as the “on deck” spot. Gator walks the batter before you, and you're almost surprised—he seemed better than that. Five pitches, four balls—not a great look. But maybe it was just a fluke.
You step up to the plate, eyeing the PD team as they all look back at you, Portia and Ebony waving at you while Miri blows you a kiss, and you just ready your bat, staring down Gator as he looks past you to the catcher. You wait, gripping the bat, ready to swing—or not—at whatever pitch he sends your way. Gator shakes his head once, then twice. He hesitates, then shakes his head again. You're glad he doesn't have sunglasses on, because it makes his expression a little easier to read. He's nervous, or at the very least, unhappy that he walked someone, but then he nods and readies the pitch.
Bracing yourself, you swing—feel the jump of your heart in your chest when the bat connects with the ball, and then grin, so wide your face hurts a little, because it's fucking flying out of the field. You start running toward first base, but you don't really even need to hurry—by your estimation, it's already over the fence. You and Jeff, the guy Gator had walked, both step on home plate and the game is deemed over, even though it was only a few innings.
You gratefully accept the pats on the back from the other firefighters, and then let Miri, Portia, and Ebony pull you in for a group hug, just as Ashton appears again in your periphery.
He looks smug, a smirk plastered on his face, and gestures to you and the other girls.
“Can we take a picture, ladies?” he asks, and the four of you accept, arms draped over each other's hips as you stand in a line, all of you glistening with a little sweat from running and standing in the heavy afternoon sun. Leon catches your eye, but before you can step away toward him, you see Ashton gesturing, beckoning over another player.
“What,” Gator snaps as he approaches the two of you, the three other women on the diamond making themselves scarce. For the first time since you've joined this softball team, you're regretting it.
“I just think a fun little rivalry like yours should be a focus of the game,” Ashton says, and you look at Gator as he looks at you.
“What rivalry?” you ask.
Ashton looks pleased that you questioned it. “Well—how Deputy Tillman was doing perfectly fine pitching until you stepped out of your dugout. And how you were the player who managed to get the home run.”
Looking from Ashton to Gator, you can't help the way the corner of your lips quirk upward.
“I guess that's true,” you say, as Gator spoke over you.
“This was a fuckin' practice game,” he says. “And what the fuck're you tryna say, anyway?” Gator asks, stepping closer to Ashton, even as you try to move in between to block them from each other.
“What do you want, more photos?” you ask, and Ashton looks from Gator to you, then nods.
“If you don't mind,” he says.
“I fuckin' mind,” Gator protests, but you just huff a sigh.
“It's for charity,” you remind him.
“The game is for charity,” Gator corrects you. “This is all just... fluff bullshit.”
“Just a couple pictures?” you ask to Ashton, who nods. “Let's just do it. We're both already here.”
Gator rolls his eyes, grumbling to himself and then turning away, spitting onto the field before he takes a step closer to you. He makes no move to touch you or even really enter your personal space.
“However you like,” Ashton says.
You're the one to close the distance between yourself and Gator, reaching out to put your arm around his waist. You feel him stiffen up, and then he relaxes—which for Gator still feels and looks like he's constipated—and drapes his arm over your shoulders.
Ashton steps back and readies his camera.
“So what makes you so special?” Gator asks you out of the corner of his mouth. His hand moves from your shoulder to your lower back.
You keep the smile on your face. “Excuse me?” you ask, tipping your head a little to the side as Ashton takes another photo.
“First one ta get solo pictures,” Gator says. “Stuck ya right in the middle of yer team.” He lowers his hand from your back to your ass. “Sleep with him?”
You laugh, just as Ashton snaps a photo of the two of you. “Guess I'm just that good.”
Gator also chuckles. “Guess we'll see about that,” he says, giving your ass a little slap before he pulls away from you completely, even as Ashton protests that he wasn't finished yet. “After the game. We'll see.”
You give him a small smile, then turn away, spotting who you're looking for after a moment, and jogging away from Gator, leaving him there unanswered and unhappy.
“Leon!” you shout, making your way over to the rookie. You glance back at Gator as you do, seeing him chatting up Miri now, but he's looking back at you too.
He can talk to whoever he wants—you're both looking at each other, and you both understand what that means.
&&
You blow off Leon, because he served his purpose and, honestly, you don't like cops just by default.
The game is about a week and a half away now, and you spend a lot of your free time when not at work with your girlfriends at the gym and your downtime while you are at work with your team in the grassy yard out behind the firehouse, practicing hitting and fielding. It's what makes you guys the best—the way you refuse to compromise and work your hardest to be the best players that you can be.
The call comes in late one evening, long after your practice is over: A brush fire next to a house out near the outskirts of the city, not sure if it was accidental, campers, kids playing with firecrackers, or what.
There are already police there, no reports of any people nearby other than the house, so you hop into the fire engine and speed off to the address provided. By the time you arrive, it's already getting way too close to the structure, and you get to action.
Hoses, water from the tank, shouting and coordinating while the family steps out of the house to look on, the police officers there making sure that they stay a safe distance away. The trees and bushes from the field are blackened and dead, dripping with water, steam pouring off of the damaged limbs and branches as Lopez steps through the area, making sure there's no embers that will catch and reignite or sparks that might blaze up again.
Thankfully, you don't need to head inside to the house—you got there in time to prevent the fire from spreading, and despite the chill of the spring evening, you're still sweating in your gear, heavy clothing and helmet, though you do take that off once the fire is out.
One of the police officers is talking to the family with Pete, while you stand beside the engine and take a few deep breaths, humming softly at the scent of smoke and dirt permeating the air.
The flashing lights from the fire engine and the police cars nearby are turning everything red-then-blue then back again, but even in the dimness of the moonlight, you're still able to make out his face when he approaches you.
“So ya ain't just a diversity hire,” Gator says, and you sigh in response, but you're amused anyway.
“I'm good at what I do,” you reply.
“Yeah,” Gator says. “Real good at workin' a hose.”
You meet his eyes, and then laugh right in his face. “That's your line?” you ask, positively basking in his scowl. “Jesus, the girls in town always talk you up but fuck, you leave a lot to be desired, Tillman.”
He opens his mouth, looks like he's torn between telling you to fuck off or to let him show you exactly what you should be desiring, but in the end he just clamps his jaw closed.
“Aw, come on,” you say, reaching out to push at his shoulder with your gloved hand, and then you just remove them both, tossing them into the cab seat in the truck behind you. “Don't be like that.”
“Like what?” he says.
“All pissy,” you say. “If you can call me a diversity hire but can't take a little negging, I think maybe you need to grow a pair.”
He scoffs. “I said you ain't a diversity hire.”
“I'm not parsing words with you,” you say, laughing. “You said what you said.” You lean back against the engine and he steps closer, to your side, leaning up on the truck, in a posture you recognize from every guy who's ever hit on you at the bar, or grocery store, or laundromat, or... literally anywhere you go.
“Said what I said but y'ain't hearin' me.”
“No, I think I can read between the lines of your hose comment just fine, Deputy,” you say, but you're still smirking, still laughing, still entertaining this.
“So what d'ya say?” he asks, leaning closer. You're still overwhelmed with the odor of burning wood, but as he leans in you smell leather and metal.
“About what?” You bite your lip to keep from smirking even wider.
“What, that ya need me ta spell out for ya?”
You shake your head once just for good measure. “No,” you say. “I just want to hear you say it.”
Gator, finally, smirks back at you, closing the distance, his hand landing on your waist, sliding into your open uniform coat, and moving straight to your lower back just like the photoshoot last week. He leans in close, and now you catch the hair gel, the cologne, the chewing tobacco he has tucked into his lip. You tip your face up to his as he speaks.
“Yeah?” he asks, and you nod, barely perceptibly. You know that there's not much time—the fire is out, the inspection of the area will be over soon, the family will go back inside and your fellow firefighters will return to the engine to go back to the station, but you don't pull away even when Gator says the most hideously filthy things right to your face.
“Ya wanna hear me say how I'm gonna have ya soakin' my cock wetter'n anything? How I'll finger that tight little gash'a yers until yer cryin' my name?” You inhale sharply, eyes wide, but he doesn't stop, his hand pressing tighter to your back, pulling you closer. You're almost flush against him, but not yet. “Gonna nut straight down yer throat, how's that? Let ya have a taste 'fore ya ride me.”
“Maybe,” you utter, trying to save face, and he laughs, loudly, definitely drawing attention from probably everyone else who's still at the scene.
“Maybe?” he repeats. “Yeah, maybe. Maybe I'll give yer pretty little kitty”—you almost laugh; you should, and you would, if you didn't feel every press of his fingertips like a brand, if you didn't feel your thighs pressing together because you were so stupidly attracted to him you wanted to die of embarrassment—“a second t'breathe 'fore I fit this fat fuckin' dick inside ya 'nd have ya bouncin' on it real nice.”
“Gator,” you manage to scoff, gasping a little as his hand slides down, his fingertips slipping inside the waistband of your pants since he can't very well fondle you through the heavy uniform you've got on.
“You asked, sweets,” Gator says. “Wanted ta hear me say it.” He moves even closer to you, his face right beside you, his cheek practically brushing yours as he whispers, right into your ear, “Wanna hear you too, so how's about it?”
“Deputy,” you hear Lopez' voice say, and just like that he's off you, stepping away, holding up both hands like he's trying to showcase his innocence.
“Captain,” Gator says, nodding to Lopez before turning around to you. “Have a good evening, miss,” he says to you, and the duality of him in that moment makes you turn away and briefly cover your face with your hands
“You good?” Lopez asks. “He giving you a hard time?”
“No,” you squeak out.
“About the game?” Lopez pushes, and you shake your head.
“Don't worry,” you say. “I'm not fraternizing with the enemy.” Not before the game, at least.
Lopez laughs and claps a hand on your shoulder. “Good girl,” he says, squeezing you a little. “Let's head back to the station.”
You climb into the engine and watch as the police cars start to drive away as well, the deputy's leaving last.
Pete leans over. “If he was fucking with you, we'll get him back at the game.”
“I'm fine,” you say, half touched that they care so much to want to protect you, and half annoyed that they think you'd let a guy make unwelcome advances (or otherwise) without standing up for yourself.
“Just another ten days,” Lopez says from the driver's seat. “It'll pass before you know it.”
&&
And they do—well, mostly. The days pass without you seeing hide nor hair of Gator—in person, anyway. You can't speak it aloud, even to your friends, but you replay the conversation, if you can even call it that, to yourself sometimes, at night if you're bored or lonely or, you know. Horny.
You still think he talked a big game that you'd love for him to prove. But you're not about to seek him out three days before the game during which you're hoping to destroy him and his copper friends. Like you'd been hoping since you staked him out—you just hope he won't be too sore a loser to put his money where his mouth is.
The night before the game is scheduled, you head to the gym with your friend Melissa, and, surprisingly, Miri from the PD team. Both of you promised that you weren't going to let the rivalry get between you, and since she doesn't really care about the game other than that it's for charity, it seems like that will actually be the case.
Miri heads straight for the treadmill while you and Melissa head over to the weights—you go for a run on your own time, usually, and get your cardio in that way, so lifting is what you primarily use the gym for.
You're spotting her while she does a set of bench presses, when suddenly you hear a loud wolf whistle and look up, because you hate when men act like dogs at the gym. You're ready to start a fight, honestly, until you realize that Miri is the one who whistled and she was, in fact, whistling at Gator Tillman, who apparently, coincidentally, also decided to work out the night before the game.
And once your eyes fall on him, you see exactly why she whistled at him: He's wearing a muscle tank and a pair of shorts, but not the kind you'd expect to see a guy like him wearing at the gym. They leave most of his legs exposed, and with the slits down the sides of his tank top, you can also see straight into his shirt to his abdomen, his chest.
Gripping the bar Melissa's holding, you help her set it back onto the rack and she sits up, whistling herself, but lower so only you can hear.
“Fancy seeing him here,” she says, and you look down at her. She isn't even looking at Gator—she's looking at you looking at him, and smirking. “He's playing in the game tomorrow, right?”
“Yeah,” you say absently, and she just sucks her lower lip into her mouth.
“How's his form?” she asks. You give her a look. “What? I see you sizing him up! Either you want him or you already had him.”
“Neither,” you protest, but it's futile—Mel knows you better than anyone. “Ok, well—”
“Already? When?!” she nearly shouts, and you reach your hands out to cover her face, smothering her a little as she laughs and bats your wrists with her palms.
“No, not—Jesus, no. We were just flirting a little,” you say, because that's the only way you can put it without sounding like a harlot.
“Ok, and?”
“And nothing,” you say. “I can't get involved with him, the game is tomorrow. I need to focus—FD needs to win.”
Mel pushes herself up off the bench, gesturing for you to lie down so she can spot you; you do so. “What if you got involved with him to... get in his head before tomorrow?” she suggests, and you look at her upside down, quirking your eyebrow.
“You mean cheat?”
“Nooo,” she says, singsong. “I mean use the assets you have to give yourself an advantage over a disgusting man-pig.”
You both laugh, and before you finish your set, you hear footsteps approaching.
“Oh, hello, Deputy,” Mel says, and you don't let yourself get distracted from your set. You extend your arms, then retract them, three more times before Mel helps you replace the bar.
“Evenin', ladies,” Gator says, and as you sit up, you can see he's not looking at Melissa. He's not really even looking at you—his eyes are fixed on your crotch, the leggings you're wearing clinging to your thighs—and everything between them, surely—and you know it.
“Gator,” you say, figuring that since he's already got you both fantasizing about fucking each other, you're officially on a first name basis for good.
“Mind spottin' me?” he asks you, and Mel only snickers under her breath and just steps away over to the leg press machine, which is far enough away to give you some semblance of privacy but close enough to absolutely eavesdrop, which you fully expect from her and would do too if you were in her position.
“Sure,” you say, sitting up to straddle the bench. “Let me just wipe this down for you.” You stand and step over the bench, and before you can even make a move to grab something to clean the bench, Gator steps astride it and sits down.
“Don't worry ‘bout it, sweets,” he says. “Little sweat never hurt nobody.”
You glance at Melissa, who scoffed at that statement to get your attention and is now making eyes at you, but you just ignore her and round the bench.
“How much more weight d’you want?” you ask, ready to go get some plates for him, assuming he'll want more.
“How much ya got on there?” he asks, turning to look.
“Seventy-five,” you say, and he looks at the weights, then looks at you.
“Double it,” he says, watching as your muscles flex as you lift the weights to secure them on the bar. You spot him, but he lifts it easily, obviously not really needing you, and when you look down at him, you can see he's just watching you as he lifts the weights. “Ready for the game tomorrow?” he asks when you make eye contact.
“Of course,” you say, shifting your weight a little. “Are you ready to lose?”
He chuckles and you help him place the bar back in its resting place. “You talk a big talk, y'know.”
“Yeah, 'cause I can back it up. FD team always wins the charity game.”
“Not this year,” Gator says, and he lifts up to face you, still seated, the bar thankfully between you, because even though he hasn't broken a sweat the way you did, he still looks like he's glowing a little, lit up, his hair loose and half down over his forehead, his hazel eyes sparkling with mischief and the freckles on his face so goddamn lickable that you have to look away.
Your eyes land on Mel, and she just shakes her head, mouthing FUCK HIM ALREADY at you. You just barely feel Gator's fingertips graze your thigh and you turn back to him. By the time you look at him again, his hand is already gone.
“Guess we'll see,” you say, echoing his words back to him.
“Guess we will,” he says, stepping away, over the bench, and you stare at his ass and thighs once his back is turned as he walks to the free weights, hands in his pockets.
Thankfully, considering you're in public, that exchange wasn't nearly as heated and blatant as the last one you'd had. You continue with your workout, catching up with Miri as she grabs a smoothie, and it's when you're heading outside to your respective cars you realize—you don't have your phone. You usually stick it in your leggings pocket when you're at the gym, but maybe it fell out. You let Mel and Miri know and wave away their offers to wait for you—you'll just be a second.
They both look like they want to insist, but you insist first: “I'll be fine, I swear. Besides, Nate won't let anything happen to me, right, Nate?” you ask, gesturing to the attendant at the front desk who also doubles as security and the smoothie-maker.
“Right,” Nate says, giving you a thumbs up. “I'll walk you to your car if you want.”
“Fine,” Mel says. “But you text me the second you find it.”
“I swear on Nate's life,” you say, all three of you laughing as Nate pretends to grasp at his heart through his chest.
Miri and Mel head out into the parking lot, and you return to the weights area, where—oh.
Gator is there, seated on the weight bench, leaning back against the bar you’d used earlier. He's got his arms draped over it nonchalantly, and in his right hand you see—your phone.
“I'd thank you but I don't think you deserve it,” you say.
“I don't,” Gator agrees. “Lifted it right outta yer pocket, ya didn't even notice.”
“Why?” you ask.
“Wanted to talk ta ya alone,” he says. “Without yer girl and Miri around.”
You look over your shoulder; it's late. Late enough that the gym has mostly emptied out, just one solitary figure with its back to you on a stationary bike with their headphones on.
“Then talk,” you reply, and he stands up, holding out your phone. You take it and stow it away in your pocket again.
“Honestly... ain't got much t'say after all,” he admits, keeping his face angled down a little but looking straight at you.
And you feel it, again, the little spark, the electricity between you. It's purely physical, you know that, you understand that, and you remember Mel's comment about getting into his head.
Seems like you're already there though.
“So all that just to let me walk away?” you say, holding his gaze even as you smirk.
Where you're standing, you're out of sight of Nate. You know it and he knows it.
“No fuckin' way,” Gator says, and his hands are on your waist before you can register it. You almost pull away, just by virtue of having unknown hands on you, but you give in because your brain wants it and also, more importantly, almost fundamentally more importantly, your body wants it. He tugs you closer by your hips and this time, you do end up right against him, standing as close as you possibly can in the middle of the gym, his hazel eyes fixed on yours, thick lashes half-shrouding his eyes, and you're wrapped up again in him, the smell of sweat and tobacco this time, his rough fingers moving over your skin as they dip into the waistband of your leggings.
“Here?” you ask, and he just snickers.
“I'll take ya anywhere ya wanna go,” he answers, and then his lips are on yours and you give in all over again.
Gator leaves one hand on your lower back, and the other comes up to cup your face. The way he kisses you is a stark contrast to the dirty words he was saying to you the last time you were in this position, his lips soft and slow on yours, tongue barely dipping into your mouth before he pulls back.
“So?” he asks, and shoves his hand a little further down into your leggings, groping your ass before he pulls it out, the waistband riding way too low, and gives you a playful little slap on your ass cheek. The act of it—of everything he just did—leaves you way, way more exposed than you'd ever want, though his hand on you is still thrilling as he rubs the tender flesh he just spanked. The ebb and flow of it make you want to let him take you home, but the way he's playing with your body in public like this pisses you off, and so you step back, fix your leggings with one hand and slap him in the face with the other.
“What the fuck?” he half-shouts, loud enough that you know Nate will come to see what that was about.
“Tomorrow,” you say, stepping backwards, away from him, fighting to keep your expression coy and probably failing—you do want it, after all, just on your own terms. “If your team wins...” You gesture to yourself, your body. “Wherever you want.”
You hear Nate's sneakers squeaking as he rushes around the corner. He's still far enough away not to hear.
“And if your team wins?” Gator asks.
“Guess you'll find out,” you reply, turning on your heel and waving at Nate as you make your way out of the gym, Nate skidding to a stop and following you, walking you out to your car like he promised while Gator just watches, rubbing at his cheek with his palm, grimacing a little.
&&
The sky is a beautiful baby blue, cloudless and clear, sunshine beaming down on the baseball field as the stands fill with fans, donors, police officers, and your fellow firefighters. The crowd's already raucous before the game even starts, as the FD and PD teams practice before the official start time of 11:00AM.
Last you checked, it was just about a quarter to, so you head back to the little clubhouse by the parking lot for a bathroom break beforehand and to refill your water bottle from the fountain.
You pause only to take a selfie in the mirror, waiting to post it in case the unthinkable happens and you don't win the game, and as you head out of the bathroom, you almost walk right into someone.
“Oh, sor—” you start to say, before realizing it's Gator. You back up a step. Look up at him. Suppress the smirk. “Did you follow me in here?”
He looks you up and down instead of answering, and you straighten your jersey even though it isn't askew, flattening it down over the baseball pants you have on. You stand your ground, not shrinking back under his surveying look, or letting him get under your skin the way you presume you've gotten under his.
“Just wanted t'wish ya luck before the game,” Gator says, and you laugh.
“Oh, yeah?” you say, not smirking now but smiling, in a way that says you definitely don't believe him.
“Yeah,” he says, moving closer to you even though you were already pretty damn close. “How 'bout a kiss fer good luck?”
You don't move, and he takes your inaction as permission, leaning down to try and steal a kiss. Just as he's about to let his lips touch yours, you speak.
“You think you deserve one after the shit you pulled last night?”
He stops, pulls away.
“You think it wouldn't getcha another slap in the mouth?”
Gator smirks this time. “Worth the risk.”
“Oh yeah?” you counter.
Instead of saying anything, he just steps right up to you, close enough for you to feel the warmth of his body from its proximity to yours, and he kisses you. Like at the gym, it's soft and slow, but it builds quickly, and before you really think about stopping, he's licking into your mouth to deepen the kiss right in the middle of the clubhouse lobby, where anyone could see you. And anyone might, because it's got to be almost 11 by now, the game will be starting any minute, and someone’s bound to come looking for the pair of you.
You just let Gator practically fuck your mouth with his tongue as you suck at it, your tongue moving over his as he kisses you almost savagely, and you manage to get a grip on yourself, your hands on his arms, pushing him back as you step away.
“Yeah,” he answers you, finally, and you look up at him before you just lift your hand and slap him again.
This time, he seems to be ready for it, but he doesn't dodge it, he just takes it like a champ. Though even you'll admit you didn't really put too much force behind it.
Gator just chuckles quietly. “Gonna make me start assumin' that's just foreplay t'you, sweets.”
You laugh and step around him, and he lets you go. At the door, you stop and turn to look at him; he's still standing there, watching you. “You coming?” you ask, holding the door open.
“Oh, yeah,” he says, walking over to you. “Just got used t'you walkin' away from me mid-conversation.”
You roll your eyes, but together you leave the clubhouse and approach the field to thunderous applause. You made a point to avoid any of the publicity stuff that Ashton had provided the photos for, but you heard from Miri and Pete that they were very heavily pitting you and Gator against each other for some reason. Stupid, you thought, but hopefully making you two seem like you were going to antagonize each other made more people take notice of the game and donate for the winner's charity.
When you walk around the side of the stands with Gator—not that you were even that close together, and he was a couple steps behind you—the crowd notices. The cheering increases in volume, and you almost have to laugh, because these people are acting like you're a legitimate softball star with an actual rival. You'd gotten decent attention from the crowd in years past, but not like this.
You chance a look back at Gator, who looks thoroughly miserable at being the center of attention. He'd hated having his photo taken, so it stands to reason that he would hate being watched by so many people too. Part of you hopes he'll choke on the mound; the other part hopes he doesn't, because you want to win fair and square, not by using your tits (thanks Mel!) or his nerves to your advantage.
The PD team is up at bat first, and you watch as they line up back into their dugout as your team takes to the field and the first couple of batters emerge, one to home plate, and one to the on deck circle.
All of the police officers are wearing brown t-shirts which you figure are supposed to be their “uniforms”—they all say Stark County Police on the back in lieu of a name or number, like the FD jerseys you're all wearing. It seems either the deputies missed the memo or weren't given any shirts, because they're all wearing mismatched clothing. Gator in a white t-shirt, the sleeves short enough to show off the tattoo on his left forearm and the barbed-wire lettering on his right; the other two deputies have on a New York Yankees jersey (Jeter; you roll your eyes), and a camouflage shirt. They couldn't even bother to look professional, cohesive; if that's how the day is going to start, you hope it's a sign of how it will end too.
Gator and Tommy are both on one in the first few innings alone. Gator is striking out batters left and right, and Tommy only lets up one hit which ends in an out as Jeff dives to catch it.
By the 9th inning, though, both teams have scored some runs, and it's 3-2 in favor of the police department. There are three batters ahead of you: Lopez, Donnie, and Jeff. If any one of them can just get himself onto a fucking base, you know for sure you can drive in two runs. And after that, it's game over. The FD team gets last licks, and you're known for making sure the game ends in a win.
You slink out of the dugout to watch the game without a chainlink fence in your way, leaning back against it from the outside, eyeing Gator, watching as Lopez heads to the plate, taking in the scene as Gator spins the ball in his hand. He happens to glance to his left and his eyes fall on you for just a second; he turns quickly back to the catcher. He shakes his head, shakes his head, shakes his head, then nods.
Lopez catches the first pitch square on his bat and takes off like a rocket. It bounces somewhere in the outfield and then it's sailing on its way to second base, thrown there by the left fielder. Lopez stays put on first.
Donnie takes his place in the batter's box while Jeff takes a few practice swings off to the side. Gator throws two strikes, and Donnie hits two foul balls before the fifth pitch is thrown, and then he manages to hit another single.
Jeff is up now, and then you. You take Jeff's place on deck, while he squares up with Gator. In a move that you should have expected but are amused by anyway, Jeff bunts and it's clear that Gator and the other infielders are not expecting it. Jeff laughs as he sprints to first base, moving Lopez to third and Donnie to second.
Bases loaded.
You're up.
As you step up to the plate, you can already feel the adrenaline coursing through you, excitement making you half-giddy. No outs, three men on. Facing the guy who you're pretty sure is fucking up consistently because of you. You just have to hope you don't fuck up because of him, too.
You settle into your stance and wait for Gator to ready himself for the first pitch. It goes wide, you think, but they call it a strike. You straighten, look to Lopez for assistance or a second opinion, but he just waves it off. So he agrees—strike.
Fine.
You raise the bat again, and this time, at the second pitch, you swing—and miss. You hear the umpire call it a strike, and you even see Gator clench his hand into a fist and thump it against his chest like he's hyping himself up for what could very well be his final pitch to you.
This is not good, but you can't focus on that, can't do anything other than hit that goddamn fucking ball.
You watch Gator, staring straight at him, as he shakes his head at the catcher, then nods. The third pitch—the potential third strike—is coming.
Gator throws.
You swing.
It connects.
Right away, from the resounding crack and the hush that falls over the crowd, you can tell. You know. It's a home run. A grand slam. Four runs batted in in the bottom of the 9th. Game over. You won. You won.
Lopez, Donnie, Jeff, and the rest of the FD squad are waiting for you at home plate when you hop onto it with both feet, and then you're surrounded by men, all hooting and hollering and smothering you with hugs and slaps on the back. You lose your Twins hat as they hoist you up on top of them, eight firefighters holding you up to crowdsurf you along the first base line.
You're still buzzing, still thrilling from the grand slam and the win and the sheer contagious excited energy of your teammates—and then you see Gator.
He's not on the pitcher's mound anymore; he's over near the dugout with Miri, sucking on a vape and blowing the smoke up and away from her. He's watching the spectacle of you being venerated by your team, by the crowd—hell, even by his team a little—and when he catches you looking, he offers Miri the vape and she takes it, grinning up at him. But he's not paying her any attention; he's watching for your reaction.
Like you'll be jealous.
Please.
You ignore the slight pull in your stomach and just throw your arms up into the air, losing yourself to the victory and the roar from the stands.
&&
The entire crew plus countless others—both teams, along with a bunch of volunteer firefighters, off-duty cops, and family members—are supposed to meet up at the local bar later that evening after the game for food and drinks.
You're definitely going; you want to, plus you promised Miri, Ebony, and Portia you'd show face, and Mel wanted to meet you there to celebrate too. Or to watch what happens with Gator, though she denies that one up and down.
When you arrive, freshly showered and dolled up in a sleeveless dress that shows off your arms and your legs, you can see right away that it's all-around good fun, revelry of the highest order. You're not the only one who went home and got cleaned up—you can see Portia's hair is freshly straightened, Ebony is wearing an adorable technicolor romper, and Miri has on a full face of makeup. You arrive the bar, linking arms with Mel in the parking lot, who drove separately from you because, as she put it, “Either of you could meet someone” and then gave you an exaggerated wink.
You know better than to rise to the comment, and so you just ignore her, walking in to the wall of sound emanating from the sheer number of people—even if they were all speaking at normal volume, it would have still been staggeringly loud. As it is, people are yelling, laughing, singing along to the jukebox, and all of it's spurred on by alcohol, so it's at least twice as loud as it should be. The trio of your new police officer friends rush over to you right away, drinks already in hand, and you make your way over to the bar to procure your own libations. You do a round of shots, and as you swallow the mouthful of liquor, letting the glass thunk hollowly on the bar as you put it down, you turn and spot Gator leaning against the opposite wall, pint glass in his hand, eyes directly on you, ignoring whatever Leon is yapping away about at his side.
It's a little too early in the evening to entertain leaving with him just yet, but you tuck him away into the corner of your mind for later. There's no music to dance to—not that kind of bar, really—but the jukebox is stocked with classic rock hits and when you crowd around it with Miri and Mel, you flip through the records until you find a track by Heart and immediately select it, then queue up another by the Stones (Mel) and then Blondie (Miri) for good measure. Ebony and Portia are waiting for you when you return to the bar, and the five of you chat about the game and the charity and work. Portia is pulled away barely ten minutes later by Jeff (you give her a nod, because he's a good guy), and Ebony decides she's hungry and wanders away to the opposite end of the bar to order food.
Miri orders a second round of shots for the three of you, and just as you're about to knock yours back, you feel a presence at your elbow. You ignore him and just drink the liquor, smacking your lips before you turn to Gator—
Except it's not Gator, it's Leon.
“Oh,” you say, surprised. “Hi.”
“Hey,” he says, and you can tell he's trying to keep it cool. Mel snickers behind you, while Miri looks on, biting her lips together from the inside. “You killed it in the game today.”
“Ah, thanks.” You smile at him and over his shoulder, you notice someone sidle up to the jukebox, flipping through the song selections, but he's looking back at you too often to really be subtle. That, of course, is where Gator got to. He's smirking at you, like this is all his doing.
“—a drink?”
“What?” you ask, looking up at Leon, whose smile falters a little. Behind you, you hear Mel laugh quietly even with all of the other ambient noise.
“Can I buy you a drink?” Leon asks, and you open your mouth to decline.
“She's sober,” Mel says, interrupting, like he didn't just see you doing a shot. “But I'd love one.”
Leon looks from you to her and back again, questioning. You nod, then shake your head. “No—I'm not sober, but, um, Mel's a lot more fun than me.”
“You... sure?” Leon asks, but he's taking in Mel's smile, her toned arms, the way she's stepping around you to get to him.
“I'm gonna go find Ebony,” Miri says, clapping her hand onto your shoulder, and then she's gone. Leon orders two drinks.
“You really did, um,” Leon says, turning back around with a glass of some amber liquid, neat, while Mel pulls the little umbrella out of her cocktail and tucks it behind her ear, “do well in the game today.”
“Thank you,” you say, smiling, and then giving Mel a look.
“I just saved your ass,” she mutters into your ear, pulling you in for a hug, giving you a kiss on the cheek, and then a pinch on the ass. “Have fun with the deputy!”
“Shut up!” you call after her, but she's already gone, her arm curled around Leon's, and you turn back to look for Gator at the jukebox at the same moment he steps right into your personal space, startling you. You jump a little and steady yourself against the bar, muttering, “Jesus Christ.”
“Lovin' all the attention?” he drawls, and you look up at him, taking him in from close up now. He's got a toothpick tucked into the corner of his mouth, and you don't detect the scent of chewing tobacco or leather clinging to him—no, now you smell a musky, deep cologne and mint mingling with beer. His hair is loose, falling just a little over his forehead, and as your eyes move over his face, he smirks, flicking the toothpick to the other side of his mouth with his tongue.
“Oh, yeah,” you say, pulling your gaze away from him and turning to the bar, signaling to the guy tending it that you want to order something. “It's what I live for.”
“Well, when ya hit a grand slam in the bottom'a the ninth... wha'd'ya expect?” Gator asks, leaning on the bar beside you, both elbows on the wood.
You scoff. “I don't know. It feels a lot different this year,” you admit.
“Why's that?”
You look at him, opening your mouth just as the bartender approaches, and you order a vodka cranberry. You look at Gator who asks for whatever's cheapest on tap, then looks at you expectantly.
“No one made such a big deal out of it before,” you say. “Last year, or... before that. I think it's 'cause they really played up... me and you.”
Gator smirks. “Oh yeah?”
You roll your eyes. “Not 'me and you' like that,” you say. “I just mean... the photos of us, and the story of what happened at the practice game. And... what happened today.”
“Yeah...” Gator says, his voice trailing off as he takes the glass of beer from the bartender, eyeing your glass as it's plunked down in front of you. “Choked.”
Sipping your drink, you look at him out of the corner of your eyes, waiting for him to elaborate. He doesn't. “Yeah, what happened?” you ask.
Gator scoffs. “Nothin',” he says. “Just choked.”
The drink is sweet and tart on your tongue as you lean over to him. “Thinking too much about me to focus?”
“You fuckin' wish,” Gator snaps, but there's no real bite in it.
“Shouldn't've kissed me before the game, Tillman,” you say. “Probably had a boner for all nine innings.”
“Jesus Christ, are we 12? A boner?” He huffs, disgusted, at you, then lifts his hand to pluck the toothpick from his mouth, and takes a long swig of his beer.
“What would you call it?” you ask.
“I wouldn't call it nothin', 'cause I didn't have one.”
“Have what?” You snicker a little. “Wanna hear you say it. Have what?”
“I didn't have a fuckin' boner, Christ. Lay off, woman.”
“From sweets to woman,” you say, raising your eyebrows as you sip your drink. “I see how it is. That why you sent Leon over? Tired of me?”
Gator laughs. “Nah. Just thought it'd be funny.”
“Funny to ruin your own chances?”
He looks at you then, sidelong and impudent. “Please. Y'know that kid wouldn't shut the fuck up aboutcha. What the hell happened?”
You bite your lip, because you both know why he's here. You both know why you're talking to him. You just have to decide how much you want to divulge.
“My friend Mel scooped him up.”
“Why's that?” Gator asks.
You shrug, but his eyes fix on you, looking like amber in the dim lights of the bar, and you're entirely unable to keep your mouth shut. “She wants me to hook up with you.”
Gator laughs at that, a genuine belly laugh that has him grinning, eyes crinkled at the corners, greatly amused. “I think you want you to hook up with me,” he says. “Speakin' of, your team won, 'nd I'm itchin' t'find out what that means.”
“Me too,” you admit, and he pushes off the bar to face you. He takes you in, a smirk playing at his lips as he takes another drink of beer—you mimic him, sip your cocktail—and then he puts the mostly-empty glass down on the bar.
“Well,” Gator says. “We got all night, sweets. How 'bout a little fun?”
You tip your head to the side, shrugging in a way you hope reads as coy, and follow him, still clinging to your glass.
A little fun, apparently, means heading over to the heavily populated area of the bar that contains the pool table and dartboard. You notice a handful of men circled around the pool table so Gator veers toward the dartboard, mostly because it's less crowded and not currently in use.
“Know how ta play?” he asks, and you shrug. He suppresses a smirk; you absolutely catch it. “All right. I'll take it easy on ya—let's just see who can score highest after a couple rounds.” He steps over to the board, grabbing six total darts, and hands you three.
“Ladies first,” Gator says, and you shake your head again.
“Show me how it's done,” you suggest, and he takes the bait, sticking the toothpick back into his mouth—you force yourself to avoid looking at his lips—and lining up a throw. He measures it out, taking his time, and his first shot lands and he gains 20 points. The other two net him a total of 43 points which brings him to 63 total.
“Nice,” you say, taking his spot as he grabs his darts from the board and stands off to the side. His gaze weighs heavy on you as he steps to the side, watching as you attempt to copy his posture and stance, and your first dart lands in one of the triple rings. “How many is that?”
Gator sucks the inside of his cheek. “Fifty-seven,” he says.
You grin at him and make your next two throws. Carefully, carefully... you gain another 13 points.
“First shot a fluke?” he asks, an edge to his voice.
“Beginner's luck,” you chirp.
“Mm,” he hums, flicking the toothpick with his tongue.
His second round ups his score to 137, one of his darts landing in the triple ring as well, and the other two in the double ring.
This time, when you trade places with him, you feel him scrutinizing you; there are other eyes on you now, too, police and firefighters alike watching. Some of them know what's going on and it's not the police.
You toss the first dart at the board and cock your head to the side when it lands in a spot that only gets you 6 points. “Darn.”
“Uh huh,” Gator says, because now he sees your fellow firefighters behind you snickering and nudging each other—you wish that they had even a pinch of subtlety—and you use your next two throws to just give it up, because there's no way you could keep pretending after this.
Your second throw lands in the triple ring directly above the bullseye: 60 points.
And for good measure, you make sure your last throw lands in the dead center of the board. Bullseye. Only 50 points, but enough to take you to 180 total.
You feel the hands of your colleagues on your arms, razzing you, laughing and hyping you up, as you make eye contact with Gator. You open your mouth to speak as the group of firemen leave you, but he cuts you off.
“You hustlin' me?” Gator asks.
“No...” you say, not quite able to suppress the giggle. “We didn't bet anything.”
He steps closer to the board, stabbing the three darts he's holding into it, and then approaches you.
“You were hustlin' me,” he says, and this time it's not a question.
“So I know how to play darts,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Gonna arrest me, Deputy?”
“Fuckin' should,” Gator says, once again crowding you, stepping right up into your space, and maybe it was the shots and the drink, lowering your inhibitions just enough to allow it even in public, just enough to not care that there could be any number of eyes on you, your colleagues and Mel and Leon and strangers—you let Gator put his hands on your waist and pull your front against his, his lips trailing over yours as you gasp a little, because he's got you up against the now-unused pool table, your ass on the edge of it as he boxes you in.
“You wouldn't,” you say against his lips, resisting the urge to hop up onto the pool table and let him step in between your thighs, even though the heat coiling in your belly really, really wants you to.
“Don't test me, sweets,” he says, and you laugh against his lips; your amusement lingers as he does kiss you, and his hands squeeze your ass through your skirt before someone behind you wolf whistles. Gator is unfazed by it, but you turn away, starting with your face and then your body, twisting yourself out of his hold. You blearily look around to maybe see who whistled at you—your eyes fall on Lopez who's laughing, but he turns back to the bar, giving you as much privacy as you can get in a crowded room, and you rest your palm on the pool table, fingertips skimming over the felt as you round its corner, now standing on the side perpendicular to Gator.
“You play pool?” you ask.
“Yeah,” Gator says, moving a few steps forward, like he wants to follow you but knows nothing can really come of it when you're still in the bar.
“Better than you play darts?” Your hand curls around the 8-ball.
Gator scowls at you, but then snickers—he'll give you that jibe, because it's kind of funny in a catty way. “Yeah, actually.” He follows you around to your side of the table, reaching for the rack to set the balls out on the table. “You?”
“Not a clue,” you reply. “For real, I swear.”
He racks the balls, gesturing for you to roll the 8 over to him, and you do. He settles it into the center of the triangle then grabs a cue and hands it to you, placing the cue ball.
“Break 'em,” Gator says, and you study the set up on the table, then lean over it and line up the cue with the ball at the point of the triangle. You hit the cue ball and watch as they scatter over the table—and then as the cue ball rolls right into one of the side pockets, scratching right out of the gate.
You laugh, and Gator groans behind you.
“That was so bad I almost think yer fuckin' with me again,” he says.
“There's no way I could have done that on purpose,” you retort, and he just gives you a look, reaching into the pocket for the cue ball.
“Get over here,” he says, putting the ball back on the table. “C'mon, let's try to sink the 5,” he says, pointing to the solid orange ball, precariously close to one of the corner pockets. “C'mere.”
Moving over to him, Gator steps back to let you lean over the table, and as you do, his hands end up back on your hips. You turn back to look at him, but his only response is to wink at you, toothpick tucked into the corner of his mouth, curved up into a smirk, and then he leans over you, your back tucked against his front, his hands sliding down your arms to guide you.
“Everyone can see us,” you mutter, as he jerks his hips against your ass just enough for you to know he's doing it on purpose.
“And?” Gator asks. “I'm teachin’ ya how t'play pool. Perfectly normal behavior fer a bar.”
You fall silent, letting him adjust your arms, your posture. One of his hands slides off of your arm and moves beneath your front, pressing against your stomach just beneath your breasts. Your breath catches, but he doesn't move it further. He just holds it there, holding you against him.
“Take the shot,” he says, and you move your arm with his—he keeps your elbow steady as you draw back, and when you hit the cue ball, it shoots into the 5 and you sink it right into the corner like he'd called for. The cue ball spins safely away from the pocket.
“Ok,” you say, grinning, expecting him to move off of you. And he does—but not before moving his hand from your stomach to your chest, surreptitiously squeezing one of your tits before he pulls back.
Without missing a beat, you straighten up, spin around, and slap him right on the cheek.
You hear several bar patrons whoop and whistle—a few even applaud, because you know they witnessed the way he was slathering himself all over you, even if they didn't see him cop a feel—but Gator just chuckles.
Leaning in, his breath warm on your cheek, you hear the laugh lingering in his words. “Must be doin' somethin' right if that's the treatment yer givin' me.”
He takes the cue stick right out of your hand.
“Gonna sink 10 in 'at side pocket, there,” he says, using the end of the cue to indicate which one he means, and then he artfully does exactly what he said as you watch, desire clouding your mind. He's such a cocky asshole, but that doesn't change how strongly you feel about getting him on top of you. Or under you. Or next to you. Whatever works.
“Gonna trounce me?” you ask, and he meets your eye, smirking.
“At pool, or...?” he counters.
“No,” you say, stepping away from the pool table, watching as he looks you up and down. “Don't think I'm much of a billiards girl.”
“Well, I ain't much of a darts girl,” Gator says, making you snicker. “So I think we exhausted our options.”
“Well, there's food. And alcohol,” you say, gesturing to the bar. You can see Miri and Ebony seated at the far end, while Mel and Leon are off in a corner, actually still chatting. Maybe in addition to helping you out, she's actually doing something for herself too.
“You hungry?” Gator asks.
You bite your lip. “Kinda.”
“Well,” Gator says. “When yer the softball MVP and a covert darts pro, I guess ya work up an appetite.”
“Oh my god,” you say, hitting his arm. “Shut up.”
“Nah, you like it,” Gator says dismissively, tossing the cue back onto the pool table, still littered with billiard balls. It knocks some of them out of place, the sound of wood clunking against the resin as you walk away. He drapes his arm over your shoulders, leading you back to the bar. You end up right next to Miri and Ebony, who give you knowing looks.
“Well, hi,” Miri says, raising her eyebrows at you.
“Hey guys,” you greet them, as Gator tries to catch the bartender's attention.
“Is this an impromptu date?” Ebony asks.
“No,” you say, hoping he's not listening.
“No?” Miri repeats. “Looks like a date.”
“It's not a date,” you say. “We're just...messing around.”
“You slapped him,” Miri says.
Before you can respond, Gator leans into you, his front against your back again. “That was foreplay.”
Miri gasps and Ebony shrieks out a laugh, and you elbow him in the ribs as he just laughs too.
“It was not,” you try to say, but Gator is nodding at the others, and Miri is coughing, trying to compose herself, and then the bartender's there with a small, cardstock menu for you to look at and you just absently order a burger and fries without even looking at it. Wanting to fuck Gator has been a net positive (your team won the game) but it's also proving itself to be a lot more trouble than its worth (you are, indeed, on an impromptu date with him at a bar, and pretty much everyone you see on a daily basis is bearing witness to it happening).
“I'll have the same,” Gator says to the bartender, handing him back the menu, and you realize that now you have to stand here even longer with the guy you're totally on a date-not-date with and two relatively new friends who you theoretically could ghost after this. Which would be totally fine, until Mel pops up beside you with Leon in tow.
“You guys getting food?” she asks, and you nod only because you can't lie to Mel. She always knows.
Gator is the one who speaks. “Yeah,” he says. “She's been working up an appetite fuckin' with me all goddamn day.”
“Hey!” you say, hitting him on the arm again, and he just laughs, stepping out of the small throng of people and over to a clear area of the bar to order a drink. It's less crowded than it was when you first arrived—many of the firefighters and police officers have left, along with their friends and family, so now most of the people in the bar are just regular patrons or townies. He leans over the bar, and you turn to Mel.
“Bathroom,” she says to you, hooking her arm in yours and leading you away from the little bubble of people surrounding you. Once you step through the door, it's immediately cooler and brighter, the air less stuffy even though it smells like disinfectant and dirty mop water.
“What?” you ask, and she steps closer to you in case any of the stalls are occupied.
“So things seem to be going well,” she says, voice low, smirk on her lips.
“I guess so,” you say, and she grins a little, wiggling her eyebrow at you.
“You're so in.” She squeezes your arm. “First the gym, and then the game, and now whatever the hell you guys have going on right now.” She sighs wistfully. “I'm such a good matchmaker.”
“You? You did nothing!” you insist, but she speaks over you, her voice staying quiet in the stillness of the bathroom. Behind you, a toilet flushes and you hear the rattle of the paper roll.
“Excuse me,” she says, “I put the whole idea into your head at the gym.”
“No you didn't, and it's not like that,” you say, and she pauses. “I didn't—use my 'assets' or whatever you said.”
The stall door opens and you push Mel back, away from the sinks, as the woman washes her hands. Mel waits to reply until she leaves.
“Ok...” she says, nodding. “Ok. Well, you know what to text me if you need me to come get you.”
“I have my own car,” you say.
“Then I expect a full rundown tomorrow morning,” she says, reaching out to fix your hair, then wiping a stray eyelash off your cheek. “Over coffee?”
“We'll see what time I wake up,” you quip, and she squeals, squeezing your arms as the door opens behind her and Ebony walks in with Miri.
“Oh, did we miss some girl talk?” Miri asks.
“Sorry,” you say, while Ebony just winks at you as you pass the two of them on the way out.
When you return to the bar, Gator and Leon are sitting on stools, far apart—there are two empty spots between them, and you take the one beside Gator while Mel hops up beside Leon. You watch as she places her hand on his thigh as soon as she settles down.
You turn to Gator just as he sips his beer, and once you're seated, he slides you a second vodka cranberry, which he taps with his beer glass as soon as you pick it up.
“Cheers,” he mutters, and you smirk before you sip the cocktail.
“To what?” you ask.
Gator leans in closer to you, his elbow against yours on the bar, his lips brushing your ear.
“To wherever the night takes us, sweets.”
He tilts his head a little to the side, and you feel the rush in your belly as you realize that he's going to kiss you, without any antagonizing or even any playfulness, any banter—but before he can, two plates are set down before each of you with a clatter. You spring apart, and without waiting for you to even survey your meal, Mel is already picking at your fries.
“Melissa, I swear to god,” you say, grabbing her wrist, even as she artfully plucks the fry out of her left hand with her right and bites it in half.
Beside you, Gator is laughing, picking up his burger, and Leon is watching, amused.
“You know, um, Mel, I can—get you some fries,” Leon says, and she just looks at him the way someone would look at a lost puppy.
“I don't actually want fries,” she says, and you move your plate a little away from her since she's distracted. “I just like ruining my best friend's night.”
“She's really good at it,” you say, leaning forward to look at Leon around Mel, then turn your bar stool toward Gator a little more. He's eating quietly, not watching you intently but keeping an eye on you. You both work at clearing your plates in silence, and once half of your burger is gone and you've stopped barring Mel from taking your fries, you shift on your stool to face Gator. Once you do, he sips his beer and clears his throat after he swallows.
“So,” he begins, “thought any more 'bout yer prize fer winnin' the game?”
You pick up one of his fries and pop it into your mouth, shrugging a little. “Maybe.”
“Feel like' enlightenin' me?” he asks.
“No,” you reply, and he just chuckles to himself, taking another bite of food and smirking as he chews. “Yer real fuckin' funny, y'know that?”
“Why?” you ask, taking a bite of your burger and looking at him with your eyebrows raised, waiting for him to explain.
Gator lifts his hand to rub at his mouth, his chin, before his cheek, and your eyes trail over the freckles on that side of his face. “Think yer bein' real slick actin' like this ain't gonna end the way we both know it's gonna end.” He picks a fry off his plate and holds it out to you, intending to feed it to you. You hesitate, hoping that Mel isn't seeing this happen, but you open your mouth and let him feed you the French fry. You close your lips, but his hand lingers there, his index finger tracing over your lower lip. It isn't particularly sexy, but you also know that he didn't really mean for it to be. He just moves his fingertip over your lip, then his hand over your cheek to thread his hand through the hair at the side of your head, the nape of your neck, and as he leans in, you move closer to him too. He doesn't kiss you, but his breath is warm on your cheek as he speaks, just low enough that you can still hear him in the din of the bar interior.
“Wanna head outside fer a smoke?”
“I'm a firefighter,” you joke, turning toward him and letting your lips just barely move over the two prominent freckles you'd focused on earlier. “Kind of anti-smoke by default.”
Gator laughs, pulling back from you, dropping his hand from the nape of your neck down to your thigh, letting it slip between your legs and disappear under your skirt. He's letting it rest on your inner thigh, but not trying to move too high up over your bare skin. You squeeze your legs together, feeling yourself react to his touch, feeling yourself clench up but you manage to save face.
“I ain't a real smoker,” he says, using his free hand to reach into his pocket and pull out the lime green vape you'd seen him sharing with Miri at the photo shoot. “So this ain't real smoke.”
“Guess you got me,” you say.
“Guess I do,” Gator retorts, sliding his hand back down to your knee as he steps off of the bar stool, pocketing the vape again and pulling out his wallet instead, tossing a few folded bills onto the bar to cover your food and drinks. “Need ta tell yer girly we're headin' out?”
“We're—leaving?” you ask.
Gator sniffs, then huffs a laugh through his nose. “Hey, this is yer show, I guess—yer callin' the shots. I'm headin' outside real quick, though.”
“Ok, wait, I'll—I'll come.”
“Sure fuckin' will,” you think you hear Gator say, but you ignore the warmth rushing to your cheeks as you also hop off your stool, then press yourself up against Mel's back and hook your chin over her shoulder.
“Babe, I'm going outside real quick,” you say, and she just nods, reaching behind herself to squeeze your hip.
“Text me,” she says, a reminder, and when you pull back from her, when you turn back around, you see Gator's still standing there, waiting for you, a faint smile curving his lips up at the corners and despite yourself, you feel a little tightness in your chest because you wouldn't have expected that kind of thing from him. Waiting for you, watching for you, reaching out toward you when you step closer—not to take your hand, but to lay his palm on your lower back as you walk together toward the door, the gesture possessive but still charming.
When you reach the door, he pushes it open but lets you step out first, not guiding you with his hand as much as just keeping contact with you in some way, and then you're out in the cool spring evening, a complete breath of fresh air after the hot, stuffy interior of the bar.
There are a few other people smoking outside beneath the darkening blue sky, the streetlights not on just yet so the whole parking lot feels a little bit dangerous, a little bit like somewhere you shouldn't be, but you still follow as Gator leads you around the side of the building, his boots scuffing over the blacktop. He leans his back against the side of the building, removing the vape from his pocket again and lifts it to his mouth. The blue light on the end blinks on as he inhales, and you watch as he lowers it, holding his breath for a long moment before he offers the vape to you.
You take it as he exhales, the cloud obscuring his face. You suck at the vape, not drawing off of it nearly as long as he did or holding it as long. It's cherry menthol, you think, which explains where the scent of mint clinging to Gator earlier came from.
“Tastes like shit,” you say, exhaling the vapor as a little puff with each word, pursing your lips and blowing the rest out in one final stream.
“Well, I'm real sorry 'bout that, princess,” Gator says, reaching out for the vape. “When you start buyin' my shit fer me, you can pick the flavor, how's'at sound?”
You hand him the vape, knowing he's joking, but you can't help playing along. You step closer, leaning your shoulder against the wall to face him even as he's facing out into the lot, taking another pull.
“Maybe I just need another taste,” you say, reaching up as he lowers his hand from his mouth.
He attempts to pass it over, but you cup his face instead, turning it toward you. He follows with his body, shifting so he's no longer perpendicular to you and instead facing you properly, and you lean up to press your lips to his before he can exhale.
As his lips part against yours, you breathe in the cool vapor he breathes out, letting your tongue move against his as you kiss him. It's slow and lazy, one hand still clinging to his vape, the other moving to your lower back. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you as you press yourself flush against him, and he deepens the kiss, licking further into your mouth, as you feel his hand creep down over your skirt, and then—you should have expected this—pull the hem up and grope your ass through the flimsy panties you have on. He's got your ass fully out, just like at the gym, but this time, you're in a parking lot and you don't think you care.
He's positively pawing at it, and you feel him shove the vape back in his pocket so he can get his other hand on your waist, though it doesn't stay there long. You pull away from him just enough to bite at his lower lip, drawing it into your mouth to suck at it as he trails his tongue over the cupid's bow of your upper lip, kissing you there while his hand moves from your waist to your lower back, holding you tight against him.
You sigh softly into his mouth and then he's muttering your name, and that, for some reason, affects you more than you thought it might. You lean further into him, hands moving to his shoulders; one stays there, the other moves to his neck, cupping the underside of his jaw as you lick into his mouth again, tongues sliding together.
Gator's hand moves over your ass, giving it a sharp little slap—you startle, pressing your front even harder against his, and you feel him smirk against your mouth even as you're kissing him—and then he's yanking your skirt up even further, his hand sliding into your underwear to touch you skin-to-skin. You whine his name and lower your hand from his shoulder to his front, feeling his chest through his t-shirt, before lowering it further to try and untuck it from his jeans.
“Ah,” he breaks the kiss, pulling away and grabbing your wrist to stop you, though he doesn't pull his hand out of your panties. “Nuh-uh. Little overeager, y'think?”
“You should talk,” you counter, trying for one more kiss, licking over the seam of his lips, but he holds your wrist tightly with his hand, then retracts the other away from your ass and takes hold of your other wrist, pulling both of your hands away from him.
“Enough'a that,” he says, and he kisses you one more time, the bastard. He keeps a hold of your arms.
“Thought I was callin' the shots?” you question him.
Gator snickers. “Might be able ta get away with plenty'a shit in this town,” he says, “but I don't think even I could get away with fuckin' ya in public, sweets, sorry ta disappoint.”
You struggle a little against his hold, and he smirks down at you.
“Relax,” he says, releasing your wrists. He steps back from you and plucks his vape from his pocket again, offering it to you—you decline—and takes one last draw before putting it back. “So, tell me,” he continues, “where ya takin' me?” As he speaks, his words are clouded with cherry menthol and he tilts his head back to blow it fully out of his lungs as he waits for your answer.
“Your place?” you ask, and he just clears his throat, shakes his head.
“Nah,” he says. “Too much fuckin' goin' on over there. My old man, the twins...fuckin' horses...”
Your mouth twitches into a half-smirk, but you dial it back. “Guess your car's off limits?” you suggest.
Gator laughs. “My car ain't conducive t'all the shit I wanna do t'you,” he says, reaching out to put his hand on your waist, sliding it down to your hip. “Ain't just foldin' y'up in my backseat 'nd callin' it a day.” He lifts his hand to card his fingers through your hair then, not pulling you in for a kiss or trying to get you to press yourself against him again; it seems like he's doing it just to keep touching you. “Y'got a roommate?”
“No,” you reply, and he drops his hand to your shoulder, fidgeting with the collar of your dress.
“Solves that, then,” he says. “My truck's right over there.” He nods his chin toward a pickup; you turn to look.
“I drove myself here,” you say. “Follow me?”
Gator smirks, and you get the impression that he's trying to contain how thrilled he actually is that he's going home with you, even if it's just to get his dick wet. He nods, then asks, “Lemme guess, you drive a cute lil' two-door somethin'-’r-other? Maybe a hatchback?”
You laugh. “Not quite.”
“Volkswagen Beetle. With a lil' flower in the dash,” Gator guesses, following as you begin to wend your way through the parked cars, stopping beside a white and red classic Ford pickup.
“Close,” you say, pulling your keys out of your shoulder bag, unlocking the pickup, and hopping up into it as Gator watches you, jaw dropped.
“This is yer car?” he asks, and you close the door, roll the window down, and lean your elbow onto it to tip your head as you rest your cheek on your hand.
“Just like yours,” you say—his Ford F-150 was just a little more modern. “Got a good, what...forty years on it, though, I'd guess.”
He just watches as you start the engine, slapping your hand on the dashboard to get the radio to start playing.
“Damn thing always gives me trouble,” you mutter, as it finally starts transmitting a warbling classic rock song. “Anyway.” You look over at Gator. “You're gonna follow me?”
“Yeah,” he confirms, nodding, staring at you in the classic truck.
“Hey, Tillman,” you say, snapping your fingers in front of his face to make him look up at you. “Don't be jealous that my truck's nicer than yours, ok? I got a whole squad of guys who think they know more than me about cars who love to beg me to see under the hood. Not really a fair competition on your end.”
“I ain't jealous,” Gator says.
“Your drool says otherwise,” you quip, then reach out of your truck to tug him closer to you by his collar. “If you play nice tonight, I'll let you look under the hood tomorrow too, how's that sound?” You have no idea why you're making promises to him that sound long term, when this is clearly going to be a one time thing based solely on physical attraction; you're not going to get your hopes up that he'll even be there when you wake up tomorrow morning, much less that he'll stick around long enough to even look twice at your truck.
But Gator only snickers. “Oh, I'm gonna play real nice, sweets. Promise.”
You lean out of the truck, just enough to let your lips brush his; that's all you really wanted to do, all you intended to do, but you linger and then turn it into a real kiss, and he kisses you back, not pulling away as soon as you'd expect, really, but he does after a few moments.
“All right, c'mon. Enough screwin' around,” he says, and you just move back into your truck, settling into your seat as Gator softly hits both palms against the window sill of the door then backs up a step. You roll up the window as he watches, and once it's closed, he turns to walk over to his truck.
While he's climbing in and starting his engine—you keep watch on him out of the corner of your eye—you pull out your phone to text Mel, sending her a quick message to let her know that you're heading home and you're bringing Gator with you.
Then, you put your phone on DND because you don't want to hear her thoughts or comments, even though you know she would be happy for you and undoubtedly sex positive—you just don't want her to get in your head and make you self-conscious. You weren't joking when you told Gator that the girls in town talked him up—he has a reputation, and after hearing it from more than just a few women, you know he lives up to it.
His truck's engine rumbles as he pulls out of the spot and idles just short of where you're parked. You start your truck and shift into gear, leading Gator out of the bar's lot and into town where your apartment is situated, above a laundromat which is closed currently—thankfully, because you get to have quiet nights rather than hearing people bustling around downstairs or shouting over the sound of the machines into their phones while they're switching from washer to dryer.
You park in your reserved spot—the laundry's owner Irv allowed you, as his tenant, to keep a spot to yourself, and Gator takes the one next to you. Might cause a problem in the morning if he's still there when the laundromat opens, but you also have a feeling that once Irv finds out the truck belongs to Deputy Gator Tillman, he won't have much to say about having the damn thing towed.
Hopping out of your truck, you slam the door and lock it, heading up to round the hood as Gator steps out of his too, the gravel of the parking lot crunching beneath his feet. He joins you, and without a word you lead him around the front of the building, keys jingling as you pass the plate glass window and door to the store itself, and step over to the solid wood door to the vestibule of your apartment instead, unlocking it. Gator reaches over your head to hold the door open, allowing you to step inside first; he follows you into the dark little landing, letting the door swing closed as you flick the light switch to illuminate the stairs leading up to your actual front door.
Gator locks the door behind you as you begin to ascend the stairs, stopping after a few steps up because he's still standing at the bottom.
“You good?” you ask.
“Yeah,” he says, tilting his head to the side. “Just tryin'a get a bird's eye view.” He winks at you and you don't understand what he means at first, until you remember you're wearing a dress—short enough that it stops above your knees—and by heading upstairs before him, you’re indirectly allowing him to look right up your skirt.
“Pervert,” you say, flipping him off—and then just turning right around and continuing to climb the stairs, now directly giving him the view he wanted.
“Takes one t'know one,” Gator says, waiting until you're a few steps higher before following you, the staircase creaking as he takes them two at a time. He reaches you just as you arrive at the second floor landing, which is a little more spacious and even has a window to the outside, with a small collection of succulents on the sill.
Gator pokes at one as you unlock this door as well, opening it and stepping in, waiting patiently for him to join you. He does, and you kick off your flats while he crouches down to unlace his boots, leaving them beside your shoes as you close this door too.
“Cute place,” he says, and you feel yourself get a little embarrassed, because it is a cute place—spacious for what you pay for it, since it's always a little warm during the day with all the machines downstairs running and all the foot traffic coming and going—but it's not straightened up. You left it a little bit of a mess—your pajamas and baseball uniform are still on the floor outside the bathroom, and even though you haven't gotten to your bedroom yet, you know that you left your bed unmade and there are at least three outfits you'd tried on for the bar still on top of your sheets, nixing each before settling on the vintage off-white cotton minidress you're currently wearing.
“I wasn't expecting company,” you say, hurrying away from him to pick up the dirty laundry outside of the bathroom. “Make—um, make yourself at home.” You gesture at the couch, which doesn't have anything untoward on it, but the blanket is askew, there's a book on one of the cushions propped open upside-down with the spine cracking, and an unfinished mug of tea sitting on the coffee table, definitely leaving a ring. Part of you wishes you made a better impression, but when you glance back at Gator before you disappear into your bedroom, he's not even looking at your furniture or the disarray you left. He's just looking at you, a faint smile gracing his lips.
When you catch him, he looks away immediately and crosses to the couch.
You just hurry into your bedroom, bare feet skimming over the carpet as you shove the dirty clothes into your laundry basket, tucked away into the closet, then pick up the other clothes you hadn't decided to wear and, in the interest of time, shove those in with your laundry too, even though they are most definitely clean. You straighten your bedsheets as best you can without properly making it, and then return to Gator—who's gone.
Your living area is empty, but you catch movement out of your periphery, and when you turn to your left, you see that Gator's in the little kitchenette, emptying your stale tea and putting your mug into the sink.
“Thanks?” you say, and Gator glances up at you.
“Figured ya might want coffee'r somethin',” he mumbles.
“Sure... thanks,” you say, which feels weird, because this is your house, your kitchen, your coffee—you don't have coffee. “Oh wait, I just have tea.” As you speak, you look back at the couch and notice that your book has also been placed neatly on the coffee table, with the receipt you were using as a bookmark sticking out of the top, keeping your page. You turn to Gator again, who's now at your refrigerator.
“Ya got beer,” he points and you just laugh.
“You didn't have enough beer?”
He shrugs. “Ya fuckin' scampered away so goddamn fast, thought you might need t'relax.”
“I'm fine,” you say. “Like I said I just—wasn't expecting company.”
Gator closes the refrigerator and steps over to you. “I ain't here t'be company, sweets. I don't give a shit what yer place looks like.”
Swallowing the lump in your throat, you nod. “Right.”
“Right,” Gator echoes you, his hands on your waist again, leaning down to kiss you, and you put your hands on his chest, leaning up into him, to meet him half way. It's different in your apartment—behind closed doors, it feels more real, like it will lead to something because now it can. You slide your hands up over his shoulders, wrapping them around his neck again to bow his back further toward you, and then he's pushing you backward, walking you toward your couch. He lays you down easily, settling above you and you sigh at the feeling of his weight atop you, the way he fits between your thighs, his tongue in your mouth and his hands on your sides, moving slowly up and up and up.
“Fuck,” you mutter, not quite meaning to, and you feel him snicker as he pulls away from you, lowering his mouth to your neck to suck a bruise there, leaving a trail of kisses along your throat and collarbones, the neckline of the dress low enough that he can do so with no trouble.
One of his hands settles onto your chest, squeezing your breast through your dress as the other moves back down, hooking his hand around your thigh and pulling it up and over his hip, letting him grind a bit against you even with too many layers of fabric between you. But your legs are more open now, and you can feel your skirt riding up—you whine quietly as he takes your lips with his again, kissing you slow and deep as he rolls his hips down into you.
He's groping your thigh, rubbing his hand over it, sinking his fingers in, squeezing it as you reach down between your bodies and tug at his shirt, trying to untuck it from his jeans and get it off of him for real this time. And this time, he does let you, the t-shirt stretching a little as you pull at it, yanking it up and over his chest, though it gets stuck beneath his arms since his hands are a little occupied.
You don't care—you leave it there and let your hands skim over his front, fingers tracing through the thick patch of hair on his chest, over his nipples, down to his slender waist, and up over his muscular back, which you can feel stretching and flexing as he keeps his hips moving against your core. You tip your head back and he follows you, wanting to keep kissing you, and you press one of your palms against his back before moving the other once again to his chest, tweaking his nipple with two of your fingers to hear the noise he makes when you do. It ends up being a small moan, which makes you smirk against his mouth, smug—and then you just touch him everywhere you can, his pecs and his stomach and up beneath the shirt too, fingertips trailing over his throat until he's had enough and pushes up and away off of you.
Kneeling above you, he straightens up and you watch as he pulls off his shirt the rest of the way. For some reason, it thrills you a little to see that the freckles on his face extend all over his body, and that there's also a thin trail of hair down from his chest to his bellybutton and then lower. You lick your lower lip unconsciously, not even really thinking about it, but Gator clocks it and he snickers.
“Tit for tat, yeah?” he says, and you don't understand what he means—truthfully, you're still a little caught up in having him on top of you—until he reaches down to the buttons adorning the front of your dress and starts to undo them. They stop at your bellybutton, just where the skirt begins, and he pushes the front of your dress open to expose your torso to him, still covered in the satiny, nude bra you'd chosen to wear beneath the white cotton. Wasting no time, Gator just reaches to push the cups up and off your tits, not bothering to try and undo it or take either garment off of you. No, he just frees your breasts from the bra and then leans back down, taking one of your nipples between his lips before it's even perked up from the way his hands slid over them seconds ago.
“Gator—” you gasp, because he's sucking at your tit like there's nothing else he'd rather do with you, and he has the other one cupped in his hand, thumb swiping side to side over your nipple as it hardens, pebbling beneath his touch.
He hums against your chest, pulling off your nipple with a pop to just lave over the pert bud, dragging his tongue over it as you watch, breath coming thin already, his mouth barely even on you for any time at all and already destroying your resolve.
Gator pushes himself up again, bending one of his legs at the knee to tuck it beneath your leg, the one he'd hiked up onto his hip, and licks into your mouth this time, your spit-slick nipple pressing against his chest, the hair he has there tickling you a little as he kisses you, sucking at your lower lip before drawing away.
“What was it I said?” he asks you, and you meet his eyes, wild, uncertain what he's asking. “The night'a that fire,” he reaches up to brush some hair away from your face. “Said, what...I'd letcha suck me off 'fore I fuck ya real nice, was that it?”
You nod, because you remember, vividly, the way he was saying the most vile shit right to your face, the way he said it without any shame.
“Y'know what?” Gator asks. “I think I wanna hear you say it this time.” He leans down again to kiss you, languorous, lips lingering against yours before he pulls back, his thumb and forefinger pinching your nipple a little as he plays with it, tugging and rolling it back to hardness. “Go on. Lemme hear ya spoil that sweet mouth'a yers.”
You huff a sigh, almost in disbelief, wondering if he's really going to make you, but he just settles his chin down between your tits, his hand still cradling the side of your head, the other still toying with your nipple, and it feels so good that you let your eyes flutter closed to lose yourself in it, the way the pads of his fingers squeeze it, the way his fingers gently card through your hair, the way his jaw flexes when he opens his mouth.
“I'm waitin', doll,” he says, and you take a deep breath, opening your eyes to look down at him.
Flitting your tongue over your lips, you speak. “You said...you said you were gonna finger me until I was crying your name.” His lips twitch at the corners, but he keeps his stoic expression. You continue. “Gonna let me taste you before I—ride you,” you breathe out, and he licks his lips this time, nodding.
“'S right,” he says. “'Nd what else?”
“Wanted me to take your—take your fat cock and bounce on it,” you say, and he grins, which makes the warmth in your cheeks ramp up to blazing heat, and even though you're feeling bashful after saying such filthy things right back to him, he seems completely unaffected other than to be even more into it than he was before you did: He surges up over your body and crashes his lips into yours, kissing you harshly as you lift your hips into him, his body aligned with yours well enough that you can, now. He groans quietly into your mouth and drops his hand from your face down between your bodies, sticking it between your legs and rubbing at your cunt through your panties, matching the satiny feel of your bra.
You curl your hips up against his hand, and he pulls away enough to speak.
“Ya gonna make me fuck ya on yer couch?” he asks, and it's such an unexpected question that you laugh, even though he's making your entire body light up with his hands and his mouth and his solid weight on top of you.
“Get off me then,” you reply, but he doesn't move, instead just tugging your panties to the side and letting his fingers slick through your wet folds, finding your slit quickly enough but not entering you. You take a sharp breath in, and he just kisses you in response.
“I thought you”—you try to say, in between kisses—“didn't want to stay on the couch.”
“I ain't puttin' it in yet, sweets, relax,” he says, and curls two fingers into your pussy, making you draw up, tighten up, shiver a little as he pushes them deeper, the pads of his fingers pressing into your front wall. “Ahh, now thatta girl.”
“Fuck,” you say again, and Gator chuckles.
“Gon' give me a big head,” he says, pulling away from your mouth and letting his chin and lips trail over your chest, over the swell of your breast—the one he isn't still playing with—and takes your nipple back into his mouth, sucking at it while he fingers you slowly, curling both digits inside of you again and again, not to make you come, but to rile you up, you can already tell. He told you it was his plan, and not only are you not in any position to fight him on it, you don't want to either.
Just as you lift a hand to curl it into his hair, Gator pulls back from you, moving away and down between your legs. You trail your hand after him, catching up to him when he lets his lips move over your thigh—not a kiss, just a glancing movement, as he slides his fingers free from your slit and then reaches up. He streaks your wetness over your stomach, curling his hand into the elastic of your panties to pull them down, maneuvering your legs so he can slide them off you, and then he's right back where he was, between your thighs, fingers sliding between your lips to spread you open before him.
Your hand cards through his hair and you tug at him; he moves with you easily, lips curled into a smirk as he buries his face in your pussy, his fingertips still spreading you open, and his tongue delves into your dripping hole before both of his fingers join it, stretching you around himself and you curl your other hand into your skirt, pulling it up and away so you can watch as he goes down on you, pressing his fingers into you as deeply as he can, feeling you squeeze down on them.
He pulls away, not really far at all, and latches his mouth to your clit instead, sucking at it, teasing entrance to your weeping slit with a third finger now.
“Gator,” you whimper, and he flicks his eyes up to look at you, to watch you as you writhe on the couch above him.
You feel his tongue moving against your clit, not bothering to come up for air as he presses his mouth a little harder against your mound, really exploring your folds with his tongue, teasing your clit, its hood, sucking everywhere he can close his mouth around, taking your lips between them and dripping spit and your own arousal onto his chin.
He curls a third finger into you, and your hips buck up into his hand, a sharp gasp of breath sounding from your parted lips, and then, to your dismay—he does pull away.
“Wh—” you start to ask, clenching down on his fingers as he stills them, deep within your pussy. He leaves them hooked there as he moves up and over you, tugging at your walls as he slips them out just an inch and then fucks them back in.
“Now, correct me if I'm wrong,” he says, his voice low, stern; you feel yourself gush a little around him. “I said I wanted ta hear ya cryin' my name.”
You stare up at him, just watching his face as he shallowly finger fucks you.
“Ain't that right?” he pushes.
“You—hah—aren't doing it right then,” you say, and he quirks an eyebrow, lips parting as he tucks his tongue into his cheek, looking just this side of pissed—and your chest swells a little in excitement, knowing you got him with that.
“Oh, yeah?” he says, almost sounding amused as he lets his fingers slip fully out of you; you whine as he does, missing the feeling of being stuffed with three of them. “Well, why don'tcha show me how it's done, since you know better?”
A smirk plays at your lips as you tug your skirt up a little higher, your dress half twisted around your body from how much he had you squirming, how much you were rolling your hips up into his fingers. With your free hand, you stretch your arm down your body and rub your palm flat against your pussy, feeling your warm slickness, the ease with which your fingers move through your folds, and then you press your middle and ring finger against your slit and sigh as you slide them home.
Gator watches, eyes half-lidded, as you slowly work your fingers into your own cunt. You gather the fabric of your skirt up into your hand, your chest exposed, panties on the carpet next to you, thighs spread open, one leg hanging off the couch to give Gator the view he'd wanted when walking up the stairs behind you—and finger your own tight little snatch just so he can watch you do it.
“Fuckin' Christ,” Gator mumbles as the first whimper falls from your lips. He looks up at your face and when he meets your eyes, when he realizes you've been watching his face the whole time, he closes his eyes and swallows, then looks back down at your hand between your legs.
“Help me,” you whisper, and Gator doesn't try to play like he doesn't know what you're asking for—he settles himself down between your legs, one hand on your thigh, splaying out to push you open even more, your hips straining at the position you're in, but you don't even fucking care when he adds his middle finger in along with yours, stretching you out, giving it to you deeper than you can reach, and you groan, loud this time, the sound punched out of your chest as he presses into you a little harder than you're doing it to yourself.
“Gat—or—” you half-shout, biting your lip at the last moment to keep your volume in check. He glances up at you, takes in your smirk, and immediately understands what you're doing.
“You little fuckin' brat,” he says, and leans down to suck a harsh kiss to your breast, just beside your nipple, just beside where you'd want him to put his mouth, and then pulls his finger out of you just to add his own ring finger in beside it.
You stutter out a moan, head pressing back into the couch cushion beneath you, as you let go of your skirt and now you have both hands between your legs, one further down, pressing inside of yourself, and the other with two fingers erratically moving over your clit, because you're so stretched out on four fingers you can't possibly keep an even pattern, not with the way your legs are twitching and your cunt is fucking soaked, your thighs tensed.
Gator's fingers work in tandem to yours, and harder too, still; he's fucking you with them deep and fast, in contrast to the way you're gently curling yours into yourself, your clit on fire as you rub at it, not even sure what you're doing to yourself because you're so fucking worked up already.
“Go on, sweets,” Gator says, taunting you, egging you on. “Y'know ya wanna.” He stretches himself over you, his free hand bracing himself on the back of the couch as he hovers above you, watching your face even as he works his fingers with yours, hears the obscenely slick sounds from between your legs.
“Gator,” you say through clenched teeth, and he leans down closer to you, lips trailing over yours.
“Go on,” he says again, and you sob with the feeling of it all, the overwhelming pleasure, the orgasm just flitting around you, ready whenever you are.
“Gator!” you half-sob, half-shout, and he smirks because he won, but even so he gives you your prize: He kisses you, hard, licking into your mouth as your hips flex up into both of your hands and one of his, his fingers slipping out of you even as your pussy tries to suck him back in, and he gives you a small little, harsh little slap right on your cunt.
“Ah—nn—” you intone, your body tensing, wound up beyond belief, and then you're coming, hard enough that you have to pull your fingers out too because you've never felt yourself tighten up like that, never felt your entire body snap the way it had. You're crying his name and then you're moaning his name and then you're sighing his name, and the whole time he's got his lips on your lips, soaking it in, taking it all as you shift a little beneath him, and then you slap him right on the cheek with your come-drenched hand and he looks down at you in shock, drawing back.
“That's for calling me a brat,” you say, and you laugh at the disbelief written on his face, before he snickers too.
“Guess that's fair,” he says, reaching down to rub his hand between your legs, smearing your release over your quivering pussy. He teases entrance again with two fingers, smirking when you clench up. “Nah.” He shakes his head, still rubbing over your cunt before moving sideways to your thigh. “Let's getcha somewhere more comf'table for my turn.”
He pushes himself off of the couch, looking down at you, limp and pliant, and he reaches out one hand to help you up while he reaches down with the other, adjusting his package in his jeans; he has to be hard by now—you'd be shocked if he wasn't.
Once you're upright, Gator keeps his head bowed just a little, watching as you slide the straps of your dress and your bra down off your arms. You lower the dress down around your hips, stepping out of it before crouching quickly to pick up your underwear too, and then you're bare in your own living room while Gator drinks in the sight of you, fully, for the first time.
“After you,” he says, not even trying to tear his gaze away from your tits, except to let them dip down to your crotch, the patch of hair between your thighs, tufted together with the way you both spread your arousal over yourself. You're still wet and him looking right at you makes you squeeze your legs together, just a little. And of course he notices.
“Don't worry,” he says, stepping closer, one hand moving to your lower back, the other pulling your panties from your hand. “I ain't even close t'done with ya.” He holds up your underwear, like you missed him taking them from the little bundle of clothes you're holding, and sticks them into the back pocket of his jeans. “Little souvenir if ya don't mind.”
“I do, actually,” you say, even though the way he's touching you and looking at you and speaking to you is very much affecting your composure. “They're a matching set.”
He smirks as he lowers his hand and gently gives your ass a little swat to get you moving—and you go, stepping around the coffee table and leading him to your bedroom.
“Maybe ya got another pair I can swipe, then,” he says as he walks behind you.
“Should've figured you for a panty thief, Deputy,” you say, glancing back at him, and he just licks his lips, shrugging.
“I'm a simple man, sweets, don't take much t'make me happy.”
“Pervert,” you say, rounding the corner to your bedroom and flicking the light switch. As soon as you drop your clothes into the laundry basket, he's behind you, his arms wrapped around you, turning you so your front is flush with his, your tits against his chest as his belt buckle presses into your stomach, and his cock, still confined in his jeans, pressing against you even through the taut denim.
“Thought we already covered that one,” Gator practically growls, his forehead resting against yours. “Me 'nd you both, remember?” In the dimness of your bedroom—just one lamp, the low wattage of the bulb turning the light yellow and syrupy through the shade—his eyes look deep green, irises barely discernible from his pupils, and you can't even help yourself when you ignore his question and tip your chin up, meeting his lips in a soft kiss, one gentle enough that it defies the fact that you're naked, his hands are tight around your hips, and you can feel his erection, stiff against your thigh. His mouth moves over yours, not really deepening it but instead just pressing kiss after kiss to your lower lip, coaxing your lips to part, and once your mouth is open for him, he licks into you, his tongue moving against yours as you move your hands over his broad back, arms curling up to hold his shoulders from behind, your chests pressed together, his body warm and firm against yours.
He turns away, the strands of hair that fall over his forehead brushing against your nose as he does, and he steps back, moving you with him as he crosses from your closet to your bed. He sits on the edge and you sink down onto his thigh, your wet core settling onto the dark denim of his jeans, soaking them as you kiss him again, your hands on his chest now, one playing with his nipple the same way he'd done to you, and the other skimming through the hair adorning his belly, right above his waistband.
Gator sighs into your mouth as you curl your fingers around his belt, still worrying his nipple between your fingers, and since you're not showing any signs of stopping your ministrations at his chest, he reaches to help you with his belt himself, each of you using one hand to work it open. You slip the button expertly with one hand, tug the zipper down over him as you trail your lips over his tensed neck, and once his jeans have been worked fully open, you slip your hand inside them and cup him through the cotton of his briefs.
“Ahh...” you say, lascivious. “Thatta boy,” you tease, repeating what he'd said to you earlier, and Gator, bless him, tries to snicker but can't quite manage it now you've got a hand on him. You rub him with your palm, the drag of the fabric giving him the friction you can tell he's craving—he's pressing against your hand with everything he has, one hand on your ass to hold you still on his thigh, the other coming to rest gently on your forearm, not to try to force you to do more, but seemingly just to touch you, to feel you as you're feeling him.
You let your tongue flit over his Adam's apple and feel his body give a kick when you do, your nose bumping the underside of his chin, and then you're curving your hand around him, molding it to the underside of his length, as you lean up and kiss him again, pressing your hand harder into him, stroking him without actually stroking him, and he grunts against your mouth as he bucks his hips forward.
“God damn it,” he mutters, letting his head fall back away from you. “Fuckin' tease, gonna make me beg?”
“Maybe,” you say, but you don't hold to it, just slide your hand up and off his cock, palm flat against his stomach before easing it into his underwear, the elastic tight over your wrist as you finally, finally, get your fingers curled around him. Gator practically keens as you take him in hand, jerking him off for real, the skin of his cock velvet, wet and hot and so hellishly soft you know there's no way you'll stop touching him except to feel the silken weight of him on your tongue. “Let go.”
It's obvious he doesn't want to, doesn't want you anywhere but rubbing your sopping pussy on his thigh, but when you pull against his hold, he releases you and you lower yourself to your knees between his legs. Gator hurriedly lifts himself up as you begin to tug his pants down; he helps you get them to his knees, and you purposely don't look up, keeping your face angled down as you rid him of the rest of his clothes. Just as you're about to look, about to see everything he has to offer you, his index finger curls beneath your chin and he lifts your face up—to his face, not his body, and he holds your gaze as he speaks.
“Didn't ferget what I said, didja?”
You shake your head.
“Wanna hear me say it again?” Gator asks.
You inhale sharply through your nose—you remember every word, but that isn't the same as Gator saying it to you. The drawl of his accent, the words he chooses, the way he says it so matter-of-fact, like he could be talking about anything, when it's actually so depraved that it turns you on—yes. You want to hear him say it again.
“Yeah,” you manage, and he smirks, pulling his hand away from your chin and taking hold of his cock immediately, drawing your eyes to it. He's big—you could tell just by touch, it was blatantly obvious—but seeing his hand wrapped around it, your lips part at just the sight.
Gator drags his hand from the base to the tip, slowly, then lets himself go completely just to take hold of himself again right at the root. You watch as he does it twice more, precome beading at the slit as he touches himself.
“Gonna feed it to ya, sweets,” he says, and your eyes flick up to his face and back down to his cock just in time to watch him move his thumb over the head, smearing the wetness collecting in the slit over himself. “Gonna hold ya right in place and just... ease it on in, real slow. Watch ya choke on it.” Your tongue peeks out at the corner of your lips, pink and fleeting. “Oh, ya like that? Wanna feel it in yer throat?” You nod despite yourself. Gator chuckles, reaches out with his free hand, cups your face. He lets his thumb move over your cheekbone, back and forth. “Sweet thing,” he mumbles, shifting himself closer to the edge of the bed, legs spread wide to give you as much room as you could possibly want. “C'mere 'nd take it.” You shuffle closer on your knees, his hand moving to your jaw, and you open your mouth as he angles his cock down toward your parted lips. “Take it,” he says again, and you do.
His precome is the first thing you register, bright and salty on your tongue. You look up at him as best you can, eyes searching for his face above you, but the further you move onto his cock, the harder it is to see him. His palm stays cradling your jaw, and his other hand moves from his cock to your throat, feeling as it spasms a little even though he's not even that far into your mouth yet. It gives you a sick thrill that he's putting his hand there to feel himself when he enters it, and you hum quietly, feeling his cock twitch against your palate when you do.
Lifting your hands to his thighs, that's where you choose to touch him first as you keep drawing him into your mouth, keep sliding forward onto his length; he's massaging your jaw, your neck, and you swallow around the head just as he bottoms out into your mouth.
“I know that's fuckin' right,” Gator murmurs, leaning back enough that you can see him now, eyes angled up toward him, as he looks right back down at you. “Look'it you. Look'it you fuckin' takin' it, just like that.”
“Mmn,” you hum around him, and he sighs your name quietly, thumb rubbing over your throat. You swallow again so he can feel it, but even so, a thin dribble of saliva escapes from the corner of your mouth.
He snaps his hips forward just a little, and you moan around him this time, eyes slipping closed as you do almost choke on it, managing to suppress it; he doesn't seem to mind. He just holds you there for another few moments before he eases you off him, but only enough that he's still mostly in your mouth, and you take a deep breath in through your nose before you get to work, bobbing your head on his cock while you reposition your hands. You move one up his body again, reaching to push your fingers through the hair scattered across his chest, feeling him up before you pinch his nipple, playing with it as he huffs out a sigh; with your other hand, you press your palm against his bare thigh, using it to brace yourself each time you take him in a little bit deeper, letting the tip just barely graze the back of your throat before you pull off.
Above you, Gator makes a choked noise, like he's trying to hold back for your sake, or maybe his, you have no idea and you don't care. You lean back, the wet shaft sliding out from between your lips; just as you lift your hand off his thigh to stroke him into your mouth, he beats you to it and wraps his own hand around himself.
You look up at him, eyes wide, questioning, but he just moves his other hand from your jaw to the crown of your head, and you know he's not going to let you move now. Not that you even want to, really.
Precome is dripping from him as you suck at the head, your tongue teasing the slit, as he starts to jerk himself off right into your mouth. You hum weakly, eyes fluttering shut at how he's using you, using your mouth, just for his own end, and you hear his lips smack as he parts them to speak.
“Look at me,” he says, and you slowly open your eyes again, bringing your hands to his waist, holding onto him. He presses his palm a bit harder against your head, making sure you stay still. “Ya like it?”
You don't bother trying to nod, instead letting your tongue answer for you, licking slow and flat against his tip. He looses a shuddering breath as he starts moving his hand in earnest, the curl of his index finger bumping your lip each time he strokes himself. The taste of him deepens, darkens a little—you know he's close just by how quickly he's moving his hand now, and you suck at his head as he keeps going.
“Can—can I—” he stammers, and you don't know what he wants to ask but you tighten your hold on his sides, squeezing him, hoping he infers that yes, he can come in your mouth. “Lemme—lemme feel yer throat a-again, oh fuck—”
You blink, then try to drop your jaw a bit more, leaning forward, taking another inch or so of his cock into your mouth.
“Fuck yeah, fuck yeah, f-fuck—” Gator is repeating, absently; he doesn't even seem to mean to say it, and with his question as the only warning you really got, he pulls you right up against him by the back of your head, your nose pressing into the short, curled hair nestled at the base of his cock, as he enters your throat again and comes right down it, pulsing in your mouth as his hips twitch forward too, giving you everything he has, making you take it as you drool around him, lips shiny with spit as your cunt throbs between your legs, the arousal you feel for him, because of him, un-fucking-paralleled.
He pulls out of your mouth as one last weak, feeble spurt of come leaks out of his head, and you swallow that too as his wet prick leaves your lips.
You're panting and so is he, and you look up at him, legs numb from kneeling, as he looks back down at you. He cups your face with both hands, thumbs wiping away the wetness beneath your eyes, and then using the back of his hand to swipe away the residual saliva and come from your chin.
“Y'ok?” he asks, and even though your head is still swimming, you can tell he feels strange even asking it.
“Yeah,” you say, voice scratchy, and he hooks his hands beneath your arms to pull you up, back onto his lap. You don't straddle his leg this time, just sit on it as he keeps one arm around you, the other resting along the top of your knee. His fingers dip between your legs then, rubbing at your thigh, which tells you even with the check in on your well being, he's far from finished.
Good.
You're not done with him yet either.
“Do you need a minute?” you ask, turning to him, and he almost has the decency to look surprised, but just smirks.
“Do you?” he counters, and you laugh.
“No,” you reply, putting your hand on his cheek as you kiss him. He swipes his tongue into your mouth with no hesitation, a quiet groan rumbling in his chest as he tastes himself on you, and then you're standing up and pushing him backwards down onto your bed, standing above him on your knees even as you move to lean over him. You let your chest lower to press into his, but you keep your hips elevated, even as you meet his lips again, kissing him almost lazily.
“Said y'were ready t'go again,” he says, as you draw away for a moment. “What gives?”
“Nothing,” you purr. “I like kissing you, that a crime too?”
“Smartass,” he mutters, and you lower your face to his again; this time, he doesn't question you, doesn't protest, and when he moves his hands to your hips, you slide your knees down so you're laying on top of him properly now, his arms around you, squeezing your ass as you make out with him tangled together atop your sheets.
It turns into something quiet and easy, the two of you cocooned in the faint light from your bedside lamp, your hands exploring his arms and his front, one snaking down to reach for his cock again, and when you do, he gives your ass a quick slap, making you yelp.
“What is with you?” you ask, but you're not mad, you're smiling too much.
“Nothin',” Gator says, but he's amused too, and you can tell. “Just like pissin' y'off.”
“I think you like when I hit you back,” you say, hands sliding to his shoulders to push yourself up so you're sitting on his stomach. You lift a hand and Gator flinches, then realizes you're not actually moving it.
He grins. “Well, y'ain't that subtle about likin' it either, sweets. Forepl—” he says, but he's cut off as you bring your hand down against the side of his face, not hard, not nearly as fierce as he'd been when he hit your ass or—god help you—your pussy. Below you, he just chuckles. “Hey, if yer into it, I ain't gonna complain.”
“Shut up,” you say, sliding down his body, bowing your back to kiss him again even as your slick folds catch the length of his cock between them. He moans softly into your mouth, your wet heat surrounding him, and just as he's about to grab your hips to hold you there, his own body already trying to roll and grind up against you, you're off of him and pulling open your nightstand drawer.
Gator pushes himself up onto his elbows to watch you, and when you straighten up with a handful of condoms, he reaches out for one, snapping his fingers when you don't immediately hand one over.
“Patience,” you chide him, but he just snaps his fingers again.
“Ain't got none,” he answers, then rolls onto his side and crawls up the bed, settling himself down against your pillows. “That's one virtue I was born without.”
“And other virtues do you have, exactly?” you ask, turning to face him properly.
Gator scoffs. “If yer gonna be like that, yer doin' all the work.”
“I thought we already covered that,” you say, echoing him. “What was it, you were gonna give me a taste before you let me ride it?”
Gator scoffs. “Yeah, but way t'make it sound...clinical.”
“Clinical?” you ask, dropping the handful of condoms to the bed, save one, which you palm as you kneel on the mattress, moving closer to him. “How is 'ride it' clinical?”
“Listen, not everyone got the gift'a gab, sweets,” Gator says, and you roll your eyes, unimpressed. He reaches out for you, and you move into his reach, letting him caress your hip with one hand and your thigh with the other. “Why don'tcha give it another shot?”
You hum as his hands move over your bare skin, tearing the condom wrapper slowly. You tuck your chin down to your chest and look at him through your lashes. One of his hands comes up to cup your breast, thumb skimming over your pebbled nipple. “Wanna... let you fuck me,” you start, and he just nods, encouragingly, but you don't miss the hardened eyes, the quirk of his lips into a smirk because you're not good at this, just like he said. “Gonna sit on your cock. Your...” You bite your lower lip, drawing it into your mouth. “Your big, fat cock.” He exhales audibly, letting his other hand move from your thigh to your mound, trailing two fingertips through your folds. “Let you in my—my wet little pussy.”
“Uh huh...” Gator leads you, and even though you know he's just humoring you because it's really terrible dirty talk, you still appreciate him letting you try, even though you'd be certain you were ruining the mood if he wasn't still circling your clit with his index finger, eyes on where his hand is down between your legs.
“Gonna...get you soaking wet,” you try, and he flicks his eyes up at you. “Gonna come all over you.”
“Yeah?” he asks.
“Yeah,” you answer, firm and assured, and he withdraws his hand.
“Not too shabby,” he says, tugging you down into him by your wrist. “I'll give ya...an A for effort.”
“Fuck off,” you laugh, pulling the condom from the wrapper and rolling it onto him—he's hard again, or maybe still hard. He definitely didn't feel like he'd gotten soft when you were rubbing your pussy all over him—and when you look back up at his face, he's watching you closely, eyes on your hands.
You lick your lip, almost a little self-conscious, and you have no idea why, other than this has started to feel a little less like a one night stand and a little more like something substantial—which you force yourself to forget, because this is Gator Tillman, not someone like Leon who would take you for breakfast tomorrow morning. You're going to wake up, thoroughly fucked out but alone, because Gator Tillman doesn't do bitches more than once (or so is word on the street. His own word).
With one deft hand, you slide your palm up and down over his cock, then throw one leg over him, leaning forward. He reaches up to cup your tits, and you smirk to yourself as you take hold of his cock again, guiding the tip up against your slit; you both gasp at the same moment when the blunt head presses against you, and you meet his eyes as you lower yourself onto him, the stretch immediate and intense.
“Fuck,” you mumble, breath catching in your throat as he flicks your nipples with his thumbs, palming your tits as you press your hands against his shoulders, clinging to them as you spread your knees a little further apart, taking him in deeper—you're clamping down so tightly on him as your body both accepts the intrusion and rebels against it, clenching down like it could force him out, even though you want him inside.
“Tight little bird, ain't ya?” Gator asks, and you tilt your head back, rolling it to the side, the words affecting you and he knows it. He lowers one of his hands to your mound, searching for your clit again, rubbing his fingertip over it as you lift up and then push back down, his cock entering you even deeper this time. Your walls are sucking at him, and when you fit all of him in you, you exhale, chest stuttering.
“Gator...” you whine, and he presses against your clit harder.
“'S ok,” he tells you. “Yer doin' so fuckin' good, y'know that?” His finger traces figure eights over your clit, the throbbing little bead swollen where it's nestled between your quivering folds. “Perfect little pussy,” he says, and you tremble as you press the heels of your hands down against his chest. He pinches your nipple as you lift up off him, the slide eased with how wet you are, and even though most of him is still in you, you feel woefully empty. You drop back down onto him and it's like sliding right back home, putting him back where he belongs.
“Feel ya shakin' around me, sweets,” Gator says, and you sigh as you pull your pussy up over his length again, strong thighs working as you roll your hips back down, and now that you're used to his size, now that you've taken him in a few times, you fuck yourself onto his cock and he's the one who sighs this time.
“God, look at ya,” he goes on, almost like he's just talking to himself. His fingertips swirl around your clit, which you feel twitch against them. “How's—how's it feel, huh? Talk to me.”
“It's—” you begin, but smack your lips together as you swallow thickly, your arousal dripping down his shaft every time you lift up. “God, fuck, it's so good, Gator—”
“Uh huh,” he leads you, pressing his hand a little further between your legs, letting his fingers slide around where he's got you stretched around his dick, feeling the way your pussy tightens and spasms as he rubs your slit from the outside. “What else? Go on, tell me.”
“I'm so—so fucking...you make me so wet, Gat-Gator, I—” you break off to gasp, then moan as he finds your clit again. “I'm—I'm soaking it—you, just like you—like you said, r-right?”
“That's right,” Gator says, and you look at him through half-lidded eyes just in time for him to sit up and wrap his free arm around you, hold you tight to his front and roll you onto your side, and then your back; his cock slips free of you and you whine, mewl, cry for him.
“No, no—put it—put it back,” you say, reaching up to curl your hand around the nape of his neck, tugging him down to kiss you; he obliges you, but after you lick into his mouth, he ducks away and kneels between your spread legs, your gaping pussy on display for him as he props your thighs up on his. Between his legs, his cock is jutting out, shiny with your fluids as he reaches with one hand to ghost his finger over your slit, which clenches up around nothing.
“Put it back,” you say again, only realizing now how desperate that phrasing is, how filthy and uncouth.
He curls two fingers into you, ignoring his rigid cock, pink at the tip, so hard it's straining up and up, the tip nearly against his stomach.
“And you were gettin' on me for my lack'a virtue,” he teases. “Sounds like you ain't got no manners either, missy.” You can only goggle at him for a moment, because before you can really even formulate a response, he eases his fingers out of you, turns his hand over, and brings his palm down on your pussy in a hard smack, making you jump and moan simultaneously; you feel your pussy practically gush as he rubs his full hand over it, the sound of it reaching your ears and turning you on even more.
“That's one,” he says.
“Two,” you correct him, and he cocks his head to the side. “You did one before.”
He looks at you, then chuckles, smirking. “Two.” He pauses. “How many times didja hit me? Figure I oughtta make it even. You can dish it out, but let's see if ya can take it.”
You squirm a little, splayed open before him, wondering if he'd like it more or less if you made it clear you wanted it as much as he did. “Five.”
“Five,” Gator repeats. “Got three more for ya, then.” He moves his free hand to your thigh, rubbing his thumb over the folded skin where your leg meets your mound.
“Just three?” you ask, and he glances up at you. “What?” you ask, hoping you're not overstepping. “Foreplay, right?”
He laughs at that, then leans down to press a kiss to the valley between your breasts. “Yup, just s'more foreplay, sweets.” He straightens up and gives your cunt a quick swat, making you lift your hips up off the bed, your fists curled into the sheets below you.
“How bad ya want it?” he asks, taunting you, and you bite your lip.
“Want what?” you ask.
He rubs your clit with his thumb for a brief moment, then gives your pussy another slap, the sound of it hitting your ears just as sharply as his hand feels against you.
“You know what.”
“Your fat cock?” you ask, and he grins, smug.
“Yeah. My fat fuckin' cock.” He curls three fingers into you, and push your head back into the pillow behind you as he fingers you, his free hand now curled around his cock too, squeezing himself at the base as he fucks into you with his fingers, deep but not deep enough.
“Gator,” you whimper, and he pulls out of you, rubbing from side to side over your tight clit—you shy away, and he smirks.
“Answer,” he says, taking his hand away from you entirely, replacing it with the one he'd just had wrapped around his cock. He teases your clit with it, rubbing in tight little circles.
“Gator,” you try again, but he just raises his hand, palm toward you, readying the final slap, the one you know will ruin you—the one you want so, so fucking bad.
“Answer,” he directs you, and you flex your hips, parting your thighs as much as you can, giving him room for when he brings his hand down on you again.
You cup your own breasts, rolling your perked nipples between your fingers, and your voice is calm and quiet when you answer him. “Please,” you say. “I—want it. Bad.”
“You asked for it, sweets,” he says, and with one last flick of his thumb on your clit, he pulls his hand away, letting you wait in sweet, painful anticipation, and then he slaps your cunt one final time; you're so worked up and strung out and on edge that the shock of it makes you clamp down on yourself, the pressure between your legs so fucking much that it brings you to orgasm, your heels digging into the bed on either side of him as you arch up off the bed, shuddering and shaking as you come so hard you have no control over the sounds you're making or the words you're saying (or trying to say, really).
“Can I come inside ya?” Gator asks suddenly, and you nod, agreeing without even thinking, and as you feel him slide back inside you, your whole body tenses up again, another orgasm building even though you've barely come down from the previous one.
Gator hikes your leg up over his hip on one side, bracing himself on the bed with his other hand, and snaps his hips into you, so hard and fast that the sound of skin slapping skin makes you moan, would get you off even without how good he feels as he moves into you repeatedly.
You pull your other leg up, hand curled around the back of your knee, opening yourself up to try to feel him even deeper, and you do—he's got his knees up on either side of you, fucking into you half feral, animalistic, your fingernails dig into the back of your thigh as you grasp at his shoulder with your other hand and pull him down to kiss him. It's fierce and neither of you wants to yield control to the other, so your lips are around his tongue and his teeth meet your lower lip and you moan into him as he growls into you and then you're coming again, wrapped up in all of it, in Gator, in everything—your cunt flutters around him as he fucks into you even harder, harder, harder, one more time and then his hips still, pressing his full weight into you as he comes, fully sheathed inside of you, a sound punched from his throat that's half laugh and half gasp.
“Oh my fuckin' god,” Gator says after a moment, his lips still against yours, and he pulls out, fingers on either side of his cock to hold the condom on himself, making absolutely sure it stays where it's supposed to.
You breathe out slowly, then inhale deeply, untangling your limbs from his as he lowers himself down onto the bed beside you, limbless, flopping down to stare at the ceiling as his cock flags to one side. You roll over to face him, laying your arm over his stomach, and he turns his head toward you and kisses you back when you try for one more.
“Lemme get up,” he says, because your arm is on him and he doesn't really want to dislodge you. “'Nd you need ta get t'the bathroom.”
“Conscientious,” you quip.
“I ain't givin' no one a UTI,” he says. “See? Virtuous.”
You laugh and push yourself up, away from him, heading to the bathroom. You hear him pad into the kitchen as you close the door behind you and you wonder if he'll still be in the apartment when you finish cleaning yourself up. You do what you need to do, then wash your face and brush your teeth for good measure, and when you open the bathroom door, you see the light's off in your bedroom.
Stepping lightly across the hall, you peek into your room to find Gator back in your bed, under the sheets this time.
“Hi,” you say, and he looks up at you, smirking.
“Hi.”
“You, um. Staying?”
He looks at you like you've grown a second head. “You kickin' me out?”
“No.”
“A'right. Then what, you waitin' fer an invitation t'yer own bedroom?”
In lieu of answering, you cross the threshold, closing the door behind you as you round the foot of your bed and climb in beside him. You wonder for a moment if you should have put something on, but as you settle the sheets down, you notice—no, he's definitely still naked too.
“You always do this?” you ask.
“Do what?” Gator asks, turning toward you, his features starting to become more visible as your eyes adjust to the dark.
“Stay over. After.”
“After?” You see the apple of his cheek round up. “Sweets, we ain't finished yet.”
You have just enough time to formulate a question—the very eloquent “Wait, what?”—before he's back on you again, lips on yours in the darkness, but you can tell it's different this time. It's softer, calmer, like you earned the right to see a part of him he's never shown to anyone else.
One hand comes to rest on your waist, the other cupping your cheek as he kisses you, deepening it, his tongue against yours as he breaks the kiss but does not move away, leaning his forehead against yours.
“Think ya got one more in ya?” he asks, and as you kiss him again, tongue swiping over his lower lip, you smile to yourself at the fact that he now tastes minty just like your toothpaste.
“Do you?” you counter.
Gator laughs. “This shit again? Yeah. Scout's honor. I'm good fer it.”
You feel over the bedspread for one of the condoms you left there, but before you can move away from him to search for real, you hear the crinkle of a wrapper and know Gator already has one in hand.
“You were pretty sure I'd say yes,” you say.
“Hard pressed t’find someone that says no. And you… ain’t that hard t'read, 'f I'm bein' honest,” he ribs you, and you almost decide to slap him again, just for the bit, but instead you kiss him.
“Lie down,” he whispers against your mouth, and as you do, he joins you, pushing you onto your back and then away from him so your back is to his front.
Behind you, the sound of the wrapper tearing comes and you feel the bed jostle a little as Gator strokes his cock, fits the condom on, and then he's got his chest pressed to your back, the head of his cock poking between your thighs.
You reach back behind yourself to help him, guiding him into your slit again, and this time when he enters you, you groan at the feeling of it, a little sensitive but not too much to stop.
Gator's hips press up against your ass as he rolls them against you, his cock slipping in and sliding out, languid movements as he takes you again, slow and easy. He pulls you back against him, one arm beneath your pillow, and the other draped over your side as he rests his hand on your stomach, holding you close.
Sighing heavily, you close your eyes, pushing yourself back against him as he fucks you, unhurried, taking his time like neither of you have a care in the world, nothing to do besides this, besides each other, and as you relax into him, he stretches himself up around you, his lips tracing over your neck, the shell of your ear, giving you tentative kisses like he's shy about what they might mean, like they mean anything in the first place.
“Gator,” you sigh, and you feel his hips kick a little when you do, thrusting inside of you faster, harder, for just a moment before he eases back to the softer pace, the slower one, the one that feels like he feels something.
Shifting his arm beneath you, he cups your breast in his hand, playing with your nipple as he lowers his hand from your stomach down between your legs, feeling your whole body shiver as he rubs his middle finger over your clit. You lean into him, his cheek against the side of your head, as he makes small noises into your ear: whimpers and whines and little breathy puffs, most of which sound like your name.
“Y'gettin' there again?” Gator asks after the two of you move together, writhing beneath the bedsheets, your bodies joined as his arms encircle you, playing with your clit and your nipple in the same way, circling with his fingertip or rubbing over them both identically. It has you simpering for more, lips pursed as you turn your face toward his, and your lips meet just as the fingers between your legs skim over your clit just the right way, and you're coming on his cock again, your chest tight and your thighs squeezing together; you faintly register his hips stuttering too, behind you, as he groans your name into your mouth and then, for the second time, you two are tangled together, a sweaty, spent mess, all the desire you have to move from your bed dissolving into the sheets where you lay.
Neither of you stir for a long moment; it's only when Gator pulls his hips back from yours that you even realize you have to get up, a second time, and clean up—a second time. Gator moves to lay on his back, glancing at you as he eases off the second condom, and you wait for him to sit up before reaching out to graze his face with the back of your hand, very much a half-hearted slap. He gives you an indignant look and you giggle.
“Fuck was that for?” he asks. “Givin' you the best sex'a yer life? Twice?”
“For making me have to get up again,” you say, sticking your tongue out at him, not even sure if he can see you.
“Fuck off,” Gator says, but there's no bite to it at all. You giggle again. “Fuckin' brat.”
This time, when you pretend you're going to hit him again, he grabs your wrist and redirects the momentum to pull you into him.
“Y'don't have ta get up right now if ya let me give ya number...four, was it?” he suggests. “Might as well go fer five, that's the number'a the day.”
“Bullshit,” you say, even as he leans in to kiss you one more time. “You can't.”
“No one said shit about me, sweets,” he says. “Gonna have ya takin' that back right quick.” His lips find yours and you kiss him, letting him in. “Wanna hear ya say it.”
&&
The next morning, Irv wakes you up bright and early to complain about the truck taking up a space in the laundromat's parking lot, but Gator fixes that by 1) cursing Irv out, 2) informing Irv exactly who he (and his daddy) is, and 3) vacating the spot by pulling a Leon and taking you out for breakfast.
Summary: In a town ruled by quiet threats and louder men, you try to keep your head down and your cousin’s temper. But one reckless night puts you in Gator Tillman’s line of sight, and he doesn’t look away. What starts as suspicion turns into protection. And somewhere between shattered glass, small-town politics, and stolen moments in the kitchen, you both choose something neither of you were raised to believe in: love.
Note: Hadn’t really intended for this to become a whole thing but your girl got carried away. I’m a Gator simp, idc. Also, this is my first Gator fic, it’s also my first tumblr fic upload so be nice.
Part One - The Stop
Part Two - Eyes on You
Part Three - In The Open
Part Four - Damage
Part Five - Fallout
Part Six - Aftermath
--Complete--
I actually love you if you read all of this. Thankyou, thankyou, thankyou!
summary : They swear you’re their last hope to pass. You swear you’re just there to help. But the way they look at you over the textbook says otherwise. They’re your first taste of chaos, all smirks and half-meant questions. And every “lesson” somehow turns into a dare until you’re not sure who’s teaching, who’s learning, or who’s about to cross the line first.
word count : 48k
warnings 18+ : college au, no use of y/n, inexperienced!reader, protected & unprotected sex, oral (f & m recieving), public sex, anal sex, rimming, threesome, squirting, anal plug training/wear, praise & light degradation, overstimulation, use of sex toys, aftercare, jealousy, possessiveness + many more!! each part will have it’s own set of warnings <3
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Requests for Headcanons, one-shots, Imagines, or Miniseries ideas are welcome and much appreciated. You can find links for my Main Masterlist and instructions on how to get on a taglist above.
Happy Reading <3
✦ Eddie Munson x Bestfriend!Reader AU
✦ Eddie Munson Prison AU
✦ Crushing on you Headcanons
Headcanons for Eddie having a crush on you
Eddie Munson x Reader 𓆩♡𓆪
✦ Dating Headcanons
Headcanons for what it would be like dating Eddie Munson
Eddie Munson x Reader 𓆩♡𓆪
✦ NSFW Headcanons
Headcanons for everything NSFW with Eddie Munson
Eddie Munson x Reader ཐི♡ཋྀ
✦ Older!Eddie Headcanons
Headcanons for Older!Eddie Munson
Older!Eddie Munson x Reader ཐི♡ཋྀ
✦ Bestfriend!Eddie, who doesn't realize he's in love
Headcanons for Bestfriend!Eddie, who is entirely clueless that what he's feeling towards you is so far outside of friendship he couldn't find the door if he knew enough to try.
Bestfriend!Eddie Munson x Reader 𓆩♡𓆪
✦ Game Night with Eddie
Eddie game night headcanons
Eddie Munson x Pre-established relationship!Reader 𓆩♡𓆪
✦ Dealer!Eddie Headcanons
Headcanons for Dealer!Eddie, who is in love with you.
Dealer!Eddie x Customer!Reader 𓆩♡𓆪
✦ Single Dad!Eddie Headcanons
Headcanons for what I think Eddie woulld be like as a single dad.
Single Dad!Eddie 𓆩♡𓆪
✦ Sleeping next to Eddie Headcanons
Just some quick little headcanons about what it would be like to share a bed with Eddie
Eddie Munson x Pre-established relationship!Reader 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩✿𓆪
✦ Eddie x Country girl!Reader Headcanons
Headcanons for Eddie Munson dating a country girl who moved to Hawkins from Georgia for a request.
Eddie Munson x Country Girl!Reader ཐི♡ཋྀ 𓆩✿𓆪
✦ Reluctant care
Headcanons for taking care of Eddie when he's sick
Sick!Eddie x Pre-established relationship!Reader 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩✿𓆪
✦ Eddie Munson Fluff Alphabet 𓆩♡𓆪
✦ Eddie Munson NSFW Alphabet ཐི♡ཋྀ
✦ Echoes of Impact (TW)
Eddie's driving gets a little erratic when he picks you up after a fight with one of his friends. You get a blast from the past in the worst way.
Eddie Munson x Pre-established relationship!Reader 𓆩♱𓆪
✦ Saving the evening, one eyeroll at a time
Just a little Older!Eddie meet-cute when he comes to your rescue when a frat boy can't take a hint
Older!Eddie Munson x Younger!Reader 𓆩♡𓆪
✦ Brake it 'till you Make It
You convince Eddie to apply for a job at the local garage and talk your way into a job there too.
Eddie Munson x Bestfriend!Reader 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩✿𓆪
✦ Sit Still
When Eddie learns that you've never seen any porn, he takes matters into his own hands and somehow, you wind up cockwarming him while watching a dirty movie on his couch
Eddie Munson x Pre-established relationship!Reader ཐི♡ཋྀ
✦ Death's Grip to Gentle Arms
You have a nightmare that leaves you rattled, but Eddie's there to comfort you.
Eddie Munson x Pre-established relationship!Reader 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩✿𓆪 𓆩♱𓆪
✦ Lost in the threads of you
Eddie goes absolutely wild seeing you in his t-shirt during an unplanned sleepover.
Eddie Munson x Pre-established relationship!Reader ཐི♡ཋྀ 𓆩✿𓆪
✦ Take Care
Overwhelmed by work and finals, you crumble in your much older boyfriend's arms after he picks you up from a particularly draining shift.
Older!Eddie Munson x Younger!Reader 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩✿𓆪
✦ Witness to the Storm
Eddie witnesses his first depressive episode when he goes looking for you after not hearing from you in a few days. You're mortified by the state of yourself and your apartment, but he just wants to help.
Eddie Munson x Pre-established relationship!Reader 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♱𓆪 𓆩✿𓆪
✦ Ashes at your Doorstep
You wind up caught up in the Star-court fire when you go back inside after your shift to grab your jacket and end up getting the show of your life. You don't know what you saw, but you were terrified, traumatized, and fled as soon as you stepped out into the clean air to the one place you knew you'd find comfort. Your dealer's house.
Dealer!Eddie Munson x Customer!Reader 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♱𓆪 𓆩✿𓆪
✦ Dial Tone Drama Queen
One of Eddie's friends seems a little too keen on keeping you on the phone for as long as possible under the guise of needing help with homework. Eddie decides to take matters into his own hands.
Eddie Munson x Pre-established relationship!Reader ཐི♡ཋྀ
✦ Fractured by Misunderstanding
After you slip away to find the bathroom while Eddie makes a deal in the back yard of a party, he finds you kissing one of the jocks that had been picking on him for the better half of a year. Blinded by betrayal, He doesn't stop to fully process what he's seeing.
Eddie Munson x Pre-established relationship!Reader 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♱𓆪
✦ Sunshine
You and Eddie meet in the woods behind Hawkins high and find comfort in each other's company at that little picnic table out in the trees
Eddie Munson x Reader 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♱𓆪 𓆩✿𓆪
✦ The little girl and the Handsome Stranger
a little ball of brown curls slams into you while you're taking a shortcut through the local park and you find yourself staring down at a lost little girl who might just be the cutest thing you've ever seen.
Single dad!Eddie Munson x Reader 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♱𓆪 𓆩✿𓆪
✦ Breeding Kink With Eddie Munson
Eddie desperately wants you to himself and lets it slip that he wants to knock you up while you're being intimate.
Older!Eddie Munson x Pre-established relationship!Reader ཐི♡ཋྀ 𓆩✮𓆪
✦ Body Worship with Eddie
Eddie gets a little sappy while the two of you are watching a movie and shows you just how much he loves you.
Eddie Munson x Pre-established relationship!Reader ཐི♡ཋྀ 𓆩✮𓆪
✦ Sexting with Eddie Munson
After being abandoned in bed on a lazy Sunday so Eddie can spend the day at band practice, you decide to let him know exactly what he's missing
Eddie Munson x Pre-established relationship!Reader ཐི♡ཋྀ 𓆩✮𓆪
✦ Threesome with Steddie
You spend an evening playing truth or dare with your two best friends and secrets are spilled. Your night ends with you sandwiched between Steve and Eddie.
Steve Harrington x Eddie Munson x Best friend!Reader ཐི♡ཋྀ 𓆩✮𓆪
✦ Overstimulation with Eddie Munson
Amidst one of your often occurring 'who can go the longest', you and Eddie are both dead set on not being the first to cave. But, you're playing dirty, and Eddie... Well, Eddie is just a man. Eddie Munson x Pre-established relationship!Reader ཐི♡ཋྀ 𓆩✮𓆪
✦ Roll for Love
You and Eddie have been pining after each other for as long as you'd known one another. In the Fall of '84, you decide you're going to do something about it before he graduates and forgets all about you.
Eddie Munson x Hellfire!Reader 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩✿𓆪
✦ Tinsel among Tombstones
Eddie decides that it's time to put up the Christmas decorations. When you remind him that he has yet to take down the ones from Halloween, what started as a ploy to avoid clean-up detail turns into the most metal Christmas ever.
Eddie Munson x Pre-established relationship!Reader 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩✿𓆪 𓆩✮𓆪
✦ Warmth Forged by Determined Hands
You're spending your first Christmas with all of Eddie's friends, and take up knitting to make sure that they all get something special to open around the tree.
Eddie Munson x Pre-established relationship!Reader 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩✿𓆪 𓆩✮𓆪
✦ Oh, What A Mess We've Made
You're making cookie boxes for your friends and family. Eddie's help is enlisted to help you with holiday baking and makes you regret it almost immediately.
Eddie Munson x Pre-established relationship!Reader 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩✿𓆪 𓆩✮𓆪
✦ Windshield Warfare
Eddie catches you off-guard while trying to clear the snow off the van in the morning. An all out war ensues.
Eddie Munson x Pre-established relationship!Reader 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩✿𓆪 𓆩✮𓆪
✦ Learning to Skate, One Bruise at a Time
You try to teach Eddie how to skate, but overestimate his ability to keep himself upright.
Eddie Munson x Pre-established relationship!Reader 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩✿𓆪 𓆩✮𓆪
✦ Gingerbread Showdown
You and Eddie bring some Gingerbread house making kits to movie night at Steves and find yourselves in a competition that Eddie has in the bag.
Eddie Munson x Pre-established relationship!Reader 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩✿𓆪 𓆩✮𓆪
✦ Baby It's Cold Outside
You find yourself stuck at your dealer's house in the middle of a snowstorm. The power goes out and the chill in the air sets in quickly, resulting in the two of you cuddled up in his bed, forced to confront the feelings that have been having since you met.
Dealer!Eddie Munson x Customer!Reader 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩✿𓆪 𓆩✮𓆪
✦ The Tape-ocolypse
You and Eddie decide to get Wayne a Christmas gift, but insist on wrapping it yourselves.
Eddie Munson x Best friend!Reader 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩✿𓆪 𓆩✮𓆪
✦ Engineered Encounters by the Evergreens
The kids devise a plan to finally get you and Eddie together after watching you pine after one another for weeks.
Eddie Munson x New Girl!Reader 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩✿𓆪 𓆩✮𓆪
✦ Plastic Panic and late night fixes
Eddie is losing his mind trying to assemble a Barbie dream house for his Daughter on Christmas Eve. Luckily, you're around to save the day.
Single Dad!Eddie Munson x Reader 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩✿𓆪 𓆩✮𓆪
✦ A very Munson Christmas
You and Eddie have a quiet morning by yourselves exchanging gifts before meeting the rest of the gang at Steve's house on Christmas Day for a very loud and chaotic evening.
Eddie Munson x Pre-established relationship!Reader 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩✿𓆪 𓆩✮𓆪
✦ Tremors Between Notes
Eddie is sent home to get his shit together after overdosing while on tour. His friends have had enough and have given him an ultimatum. Luckily, Wayne is there to help him through.
Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Wayne Munson 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩✥𓆪 𓆩✮𓆪
✦ Welcome to Hellfire
When two freshmen convince you to come play D&D with them once they mention that your longtime crush Eddie Munson will be there. The two of you form an instant connection and go on a never-ending adventure
Eddie Munson x Reader 𓆩✿𓆪 𓆩♱𓆪 ཐི♡ཋྀ
✦ The Red String of Fate
You get an unexpected phone call and find yourself dragged into the mess of all messes thanks to that pesky red string of fate tying you and your boyfriend together.
Eddie Munson x Best friend!Reader 𓆩✿𓆪 𓆩♱𓆪
✦ Stranger Things x Lords of Chaos Crossover
When a familiar face from your past finds you across the world, Øystein gets incredibly jealous and refuses to believe that history will not repeat itself when he learns just how close the two of you were back home.
Euronymous x Eddie Munson x Roommate!Reader 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♱𓆪
1 2
✦ Eddie on the Internet Blurb 𓆩♡𓆪
✦ Inexperienced!Eddie Dirty Talk ཐི♡ཋྀ
✦ How Eddie Started Dealing 𓆩♡𓆪
✦ Eddie finding out you write Fanfiction Blurb 𓆩♡𓆪
✦ Eddie Finding your Erotica Blurb ཐི♡ཋྀ
✦ Eddie and Strays Blurb 𓆩♡𓆪
✦ Eddie on tiktok Blurb 𓆩♡𓆪
✦ Eddie at the Grocery Store Blurb 𓆩♡𓆪
✦ Eddie and Bra straps Blurb 𓆩♡𓆪
✦ Eddie and long nails Blurb 𓆩♡𓆪
✦ Best Friend!Reader and Eddie confessing to Wayne 𓆩♡𓆪
✦ Incorrect Tweets 𓆩♡𓆪
✦ Texting Eddie Munson 𓆩♡𓆪
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Summary: You and Bradley have been dating for a couple months now. You want him and he wants you. And it’s getting harder and harder to keep your hands off of him. So what is holding you back?
Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Female Reader
Length: 9K
Warnings: Fluff, Pining, and Smuttt
(This will be a 2-Part series for characters in the “Like I Can” Universe. It can be read without reading the original series first.) PART 2
You’ve seen Bradley’s thick, wavy hair in various stages throughout your life. He has a little cowlick tuft in the back that would always pop up if it was cut too short. You’d seen it in high school when he used a little too much product like most boys did at that age. You’d seen it smashed and sweaty from being trapped under a baseball cap for too long.
However, for all the ways you’ve seen it over the years, his hair mussed by your own hands is easily one of your very favorite looks on him.
There is an open bottle of some random red blend you had picked up from the grocery store on the table, you had been more drawn to the label than what was inside of it. Your glasses were mostly untouched, the only clue about whose belonged to who was the imprint of your lower lip left behind on the rim from your lipstick that’s long worn off from your mouth.
And you are straddling Bradley’s denim clad lap enthusiastically making out on his probably-from-Ikea-but-still-very comfortable dark gray couch. The short skirt of your flirty little ruffled red dress sliding higher and higher up your thighs with every movement.
Summary: After yet another bad date and tired of swiping on apps, the Dagger Squad steps in to help you out by setting you up on a series of blind dates. Much to Rooster’s dismay.
Warnings: fuff, slight angst. Minors DNI
Length: 3.2K
Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw X Female Reader
Part 2
(We’re kicking of Valentine’s Day a bit early❣️ Enjoy!)
“I’m all for growing the sport, but Brady buying an MLP team is ruining the integrity of the league. He may be the GOAT of football, but he has nothing on Ben John’s world-class pickleball game,” your date Max passionately states from his spot across from you at the Italian place he had recommended.
Or was his name Mac?
He’d already told you all about the CRBN paddle drama. At this point, you wouldn’t be surprised if he had already prepared a PowerPoint presentation on the topic complete with transitions and color-coded charts. He seems the type.
And he had yet to ask you a single question about yourself all evening.
You can tell he is gearing up for the next part of his rant, when your phone lights up on the table, the ringer on higher than you realized.
“Oh! I’m sorry, I thought I had this on silent. It’s my mom, I should probably take this,” you apologize to him, your phone already halfway raised to your ear.
“Hey, kid, how’s it going?”
“Hi Mom, I’m with someone right now. Is everything ok?” You let a little worry tinge the tone of your voice.
“Seriously?” Rooster drolly rasps on the other end of the line, “Are we actually doing this?”
