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reading smut in public without showing an ounce of emotion like the lady that I am
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we don't talk anymore - e. munson
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eddie munson x female!reader
summary: after years of not talking, you see eddie at a party and things get heated. i suck at writing these lol
warnings: kinda angsty, a little bit of asshole!eddie, cursing, use of y/n, and arguements
fic is kind of inspired by the song âwe donât talk anymoreâ by selena gomez and charlie puth
also this was written on mobile so sorry if the formatting is off! thank you for reading!!!
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You and Eddie have always been friends. Ever since you were kids, you and him were inseparable. Long days at the trailer park during the summer, being outside and playing make believe with him. Cold nights in the winter where you would make hot cocoa and watch Christmas movies on your family's beat up couch together. Everyday you spent with him, was always your favorite. Him being about two years older than you meant that all the other kids at school your age would leave you alone, since you were always hanging out with the older kids like Eddie. But you wouldn't have it any other way. Eddie was fun, kind, and so brave that sometimes you felt that his courage would get him in trouble one day. He was your best friend and you were his. There wasn't a day that went by when you wouldn't see Eddie and his goofy smile.
Until now.
It was the summer before you started high school and Eddie was already going to be a Junior. You were excited to go into such an intimidating place already knowing someone. You knew Eddie would help you with whatever you needed, and would even let you sit with him and his friends during lunch. But as the summer went by in a blur, so did that excitement. You didn't see much of Eddie during that summer. He always said he was busy hanging out with his friends or planning his next campaign. You understood, but you still felt disappointed that you didn't get to hang out much during those two months. Before you knew it, it was already August and school was starting in three days. You were still excited that you wouldn't be completely alone going into it, but it all felt weird because you haven't really talked to nor seen Eddie in two weeks. He was never at his trailer when you went to see if he was free and he was ignoring your calls. On the off chance that you did see him, he was still regular Eddie. He was kind and always cracking jokes with you, but your conversations with him were always a quick "hi" and "bye" before he left. Because he always had something to do these days, other than hanging out with you. You started to think that maybe you did something wrong, or said something to upset him.
It was the Friday night before school started, and you were re-reading The Lord of the Rings for the third time, until you heard your mom calling and saying there was someone on the phone for you.
When you got to the phone you were a bit confused, because who would be wanting to talk to you this late at night? Until you heard his voice.
"Hey y/n."
You were surprised to hear from him right now, but happy that he called.
"Hey Eds! How are you?"
There was a beat of silence before he replied.
"I'm fine, but I wanted to talk to you about something."
You were confused what he wanted to say, since you haven't done much talking to him recently.
"Ok, what did you want to talk about Eddie?"
"I just wanted to tell you that I think it's best if we don't hang out anymore."
"Wait what-"
"I don't want to be friends with you anymore, y/n."
It felt like you got hit by a two ton semi truck in the heart when he said those words.
"What do you mean? What's wrong Eddie?"
"I mean that I don't want to be associated with some stupid freshman that follows me around like a lost puppy all the damn time. It's annoying y/n. You always want to hang out with me, but I thought you would get a clue by now since I've been ignoring you. We aren't kids anymore y/n. Yeah we were best friends at one point, but I don't want to be friends with you anymore."
"Eddie, I don't understand. What happened? Did I do something wrong? I-I don't know why you're changing all of a sudden?"
"Look y/n, please just leave me alone and stop trying to call me. I don't want to talk to you anymore."
"Eddie please I-"
"Goodbye y/n".
He hung up. He broke your heart and just hung up the phone, like it was nothing. I guess it was nothing, to him at least. You spent the weekend crying and trying to prepare yourself to see him on Monday morning. You always loved seeing him, but now every time you see his face you're reminded of the time you lost your bestfriend.
It was now your senior year, and Eddie's second. Freshman year felt like hell for you. Having to see his face everyday felt like pure torture, but by winter break you were starting to feel better about it each day. And as you entered your sophomore year, you had made some friends and joined the photography club at Hawkins Highschool. But now, sometimes it feels like you never knew him. He got taller, grew out his hair, and started growing into his rock star look. If you were any other girl, you would have a huge crush on him. But you're not, you know who he actually is. And sometimes you feel stupid that you ever fell for his act and actually liked him. But you grew up too. Puberty hit you hard the summer after freshman year, and you grew into yourself. You developed your own style, learned how to do your hair and the occasional makeup, and developed a wall of confidence that no one can break through. Not even him. You ended up becoming really good friends with Jonathan Byers through your shared love of photography. And when he started dating Nancy Wheeler, you guys got closer too. You would hang out them during and after school, and sometimes even Steve Harrington would join you guys. Since Nancy's little brother is in Hellfire club, you occasionally cross paths with Eddie. He always seems to ignore you, but every once in a while you catch him staring at you. You donât understand why though, it was his decision to cut things off. Every now and then when itâs late you think of showing up at his door, to really ask him after all this time if he still feels good about that decision but you know that would be wrong. Of course he feels good about it, especially when he has his hands all over a girl at a random party.
Just like right now.
One of the popular jocks at the school - probably Jason Carver - is hosting the usual friday night party tonight and you, Jonathan, Nancy, and Steve all decided to go. Steve already found his girl to take home tonight, a pretty blonde girl who is putting it on pretty heavily by laughing at the jokes Steve is telling that you know arenât funny. Nancy and Jonathan are outside talking about who knows what, but they always seem to be having fun with each other know matter what theyâre doing. Thatâs why youâre alone in the corner of the room sipping on a mixed drink that is slowly making you feel that warm feeling through your veins. That is also why you catch Eddieâs eyes as he dances with some girl. Sheâs pretty, skinny, and her hair is dyed a dark blue color. A girl you would typically think Eddie would be attracted too. So why is he still staring at you, when his hands are on her? You donât care enough to find out, so you walk away looking for something much better to do. To your surprise, you actually end up finding it. So now youâre the one dancing with a random guy. Heâs cute, at least cute enough to distract you from whatever was happening between you and Eddie. Plus with the alcohol fairly well into your system by now, youâre even thinking of asking him if he wants to go upstairs. As youâre about to ask said question, youâre suddenly pulled away by the arm by a strong hand.
âWhat the fuck-â
It wasnât till you got a look at the long curls of the person dragging you out of the house then you really lost it.
âMunson what the fuck do you think youâre doing?â
Once you were outside, you pulled your arm away and faced the person that all your anger is directed at right now.
âWhat am I doing? What the fuck do you think youâre doing?â
âDancing? Youâre mad at me for dancing at a party!?â
âNo! Iâm mad that youâre throwing yourself at some guy that asked me if I knew anyone that had coke at the party!â
Well you didnât know that. But that doesnât excuse what heâs doing right now.
âThat isnât any of your damn business anymore, Eddie! Or did you forget the fact that you havenât spoken to me for years?â
He got quiet after that. You finally looked at him. Really looked at his face and how much heâs changed over the years. You never allowed yourself to really do this before, afraid that it would open up the wounds that took you so long to heal. Suddenly you were a kid again. Waiting on him to say something. You didnât know how to describe the way he made you feel at the time. But now you do. He was like a drug. After every time you saw him, you wanted more. But then you overdosed.
âY/n I-
âI donât want to hear it, Eddie. You were the one who cut things off. You were the one who left me hanging. You donât get to care about me or stop me from dancing or doing anything with anyone.â
âI just wanted to stop you from doing something youâll regret. I didnât mean to upset you.â
âI donât understand why you even care, Eddie. Weâre not friends, and we havenât been for years. Itâs your fault. Youâre the reason why we donât talk anymore.â
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authors note: i know the ending is kind of bad but I just wanted to write something. If you read it all, thank you so much!!! I appreciate you all <3
#eddie munson#eddie munson fic#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson angst#eddie munson x fem!reader#angst#beginner writer#stranger things
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More Than 7 Minutes in Heaven - Rafe Cameron X Reader Smut
Req: rafe requests you say??đ i saw a tiktok edit of him and the caption said âhe definitely talks you through itâ and now i just need a smut of rafe talking reader through an orgasm (maybe with some degrading AND praiseđ€€)
Rafe x Reader Established Relationship
RAFE WAITS FOR THAT MOTHERFUCKIN' CONSENT! also he has hair here lol. no hate to the the buzzcut, tho
Warnings: fingering, oral f! receiving, language, not proof-read lol its 1:19am i ain't got time for that shit
Summary: Your boyfriend helps you experience your first orgasm.
"Truth or Dare?" Topper asked Rafe.
"Truth." The game had been pretty tame thus far. The small circle of Kooks consisted of you, Rafe, Kelce, Top, and a couple of girls that Kelce and Topper had brought over.
"What's the hottest thing Y/N has done?" You rolled your eyes at the crude question but couldn't lie. You were interested in your boyfriend's answer. You make eye contact with him as he gives you a devilish grin. He brakes eye contact to look you up and down.
"She's pretty hot when she yells at me, so sometimes I annoy her just so sheâll do it." The comment makes your cheeks burn in embarrassment and the boys snicker.
The game continues and you zone out until true guys get up to get drink refills and leave you and the touron girls alone.
"Y/N! Truth or dare?"
"Truth." You decide to keep it simple, way too tired to participate in whatever dare she had planned.
"Is Rafe the biggest guy you've been with?" The group quiets down, awaiting your response.
"What do you mean?" The girls giggle.
"Like sexually." Your eyes widen.
"Uh..." You didn't know what to say since you and Rafe hadn't had sex... yet. "I don't really-"
"Wait." The blonde interrupted you. "You haven't had sex with him? And you've been dating for four months?" You didn't know how to respond, as you hadn't had sex with anyone. Ever.
You remain silent, far too embarrassed to even offer a reply. The girls take this as an answer.
"Holy shit." The girls laugh and the brunette one can't fathom the idea that Rafe has "held out" as long as he has.
The boys return amidst the chaos and Rafe slings his arm around you, pulling you to his side.
The game goes on for a few more rounds until your name is called again. And this time, the brunette is the source.
You are scared of what would happen by choosing truth, and so you say,
"Dare." The girl rolls her eyes.
"I dare you to pick truth." Your eyes narrow.
Topper butts in,
"That's cheating! You can't force her to pick truth." The girl rolls her eyes.
"Fine. I dare you to go play seven minutes in heaven with Rafe." Your heart stops and Rafe stands, extending his hand out for you.
"C'mon, princess." You take his hand, no longer wanting to be near the two touron girls.
Rafe leads you to a bathroom and shuts and locks the door. You are frozen in place, back to the counter of the sink. You keep your gaze on the floor, not wanting to meet Rafe's gaze.
He steps toward you, his shoes kissing yours and his hands reach out to touch your arms.
"Baby..." He's practically begging you to look at him. "Are you ok?" His right-hand reaches up to brush your cheek and you finally look at him. "You know we don't have to do anything. Whenever you're ready."
How had you gotten so lucky? Rafe Cameron, from the wealthiest family in all of the Outerbanks, someone who is known not to date, has waited for the green light from you for months. He was perfect. Standing in front of you, his concerned eyes boring into yours, ensuring his girl is ok.
All you have wanted to do these past few months has been to have sex with your boyfriend but you were terrified. The constant thoughts swimming in your head...
What if he doesn't like it?
What if I'm not good enough?
What if Rafe doesn't want me anymore?
You decided it was time to push those thoughts away. You knew, deep down, that Rafe loved you, as he had said it many times already, and that he was willing to go as slow as you needed to. He would be ready whenever you wanted to do it. And those bitchy touron girls gave you the perfect green light.
"Rafe." It's a whisper. "I wanna..." You trail off, the ending of the sentence dying in your throat, watching as he registers your words.
"Hold on..." His hand drops back to your waist and he licks his lips. Suddenly, all you can think about is kissing Rafe. And how you aren't kissing him now. "Baby, don't think you have to do this because some shitty girls think you should."
"Rafe that's not why. They just helped e realize that I've been ready for a while. I've just been scared but you've given me no reason to be. I'm ready." You take his face into your hands. "I promise."
He doesn't budge.
"Baby, this is taking all of my self-control." His grip on your waist tightens. "Are you sure?"
You pull his face down to meet yours.
"Yes."
He kisses you, finally, and all of your blood rushes down. Rafe's hands slide down your torso, picking you up and placing you on the counter. He breaks the kiss, pulling back, chuckling a bit when you attempt to follow him.
"Hold on. I wanna make this good for you." He removes his hands from your body, placing them on the surface next to you. He swallows. "I need you to be honest with me right now, princess." You flush at the nickname. "Have you ever mast-"
"Yes." The sides of his mouth quirk up. "But I've never," His eyes catch yours again. "I've never, uh, finished." He looks confused for a moment, and then...
"You've never orgasmed?" You shake your head no.
Rafe looks stunned. He breathes a sigh of shock and pushes his hands through his hair.
"Fuck, babe." There is something about the way he's speaking that sends a funny feeling to your core.
He steps back between your legs, setting his hands on your thighs. You disregard the fact that your dress has ridden up and if he looked down...
"We're gonna take it slow, ok princess?" It isn't a question, and you find it incredibly sweet, and hot, that he is taking it slow for you. "I wanna make this good for you." His hands start moving up your thighs, sending goosebumps in their wake. His eyes never leave yours as his fingers slide around the sides of your underwear. "Is this ok?" He whispers.
You nod.
Rafe's hands pull your underwear down and you watch his every move while he keeps his eyes on you, taking in every movement you make. He gently pushes your thighs apart, more so than they already are, and his forehead drops to yours.
"Tell me to stop at any fuckin' time, and I will." You nod, unable to form words, only looking at his fingers dancing across your bare skin.
The two of you watch his hand disappear under the fabric of your dress in silence.
His finger brushes you, ever-so-slightly.
"Rafe." He pulls away, eyes wide but you are quick to pull him back. "Do it again, please." You are breathless by his simple actions.
Rafe takes a deep breath before continuing. Your hands grip his arms for stabilization as he does.
âFuck. This all for me?â You nod.
âYes.â He laughs and his fingers slide against you. Your head falls onto his shoulder, hips rolling into his hand.
âJeez babe, calm down, Iâve barely started.â Itâs then that the assholeâs thumb brushes against your clit, sending a shockwave through you.
âFuck, Rafe!â
He pinches your clit between his thumb and pointer finger, coaxing a moan out of you.
âShhhhh. Donât wanna let everyone outside know what we are doing in here do we?â You nod into his shoulder. âThatâs right baby. All for me. Doing so well.â
Though you arenât looking at him, Rafe is grinning at you. Heâs noticing everything - your racing pulse from your wrist, the little breaths you take, the sounds heâs pulling out of you, and itâs driving him crazy.
Since you are so wet, for him, he reminds himself, he lowers himself to the floor below you.
âOur seven minutes are up, but Iâm down to continue if you are.â
âPlease.â
Thatâs all Rafe needs.
You watch with glossy eyes as his large hands push your dress up further. You watch as he looks at you for the first time. You watch as he grins at you like the devil.
âI lied before.â
âWhat?â His gaze travels down, landing on where you are waiting for him.
âThis is the hottest thing youâve ever done.â
âWhat is?â He grins again.
âLetting me do this.â Your response is lost in your throat as Rafeâs mouth connects with your lower body.
Itâs the single best thing youâve ever experienced. And heâs so good at it.
Your hands absentmindedly tangle into his hair, pushing his head into you more which Rafe thoroughly enjoys. His hands pull you closer to him, clearly having a good time below you.
His tongue slides into you and he groans.
âFuck!â
The vibrations make you even wetter, which adds greatly to Rafeâs ego.
He pulls away and you whine like a kid.
âAre you enjoying yourself?â The cheeky comment, along with his shiny lips and chin, makes your heart soar and your core throb.
âRafe if you donât continue I-â He doesnât wait for you to finish the sentence, diving back into your cunt, intent on bringing you your high and getting every last drop from it.
Your mouth betrays you when Rafeâs lips wrap around your clit, and you let out the loudest moan Rafeâs ever heard.
âBaby, you gotta keep it down. Save those pretty sounds for me.â
The sight below you is unholy. Rafe between your legs, feasting on you, telling you to shut up.
Heâs back to it before you respond and when he slips a finger into you, youâre done for.
Rafe can feel it to. He manages to fit another finger into your tight cunt, the new sensation making you see stars.
âFuck, fuck! Rafe! Iâm gonna-â
Your first orgasm covers all of your senses with a feeling of euphoria. Itâs a high youâve never experienced before.
But Rafe doesnât stop. Heâs intent on giving you the best of the best, and one just wonât cut it for him.
âRafe, God I canât-â He brakes away, just for a second.
âYes, you can.â His mouth returns an instant later. Youâve read about this before, even watched it, but nothing could prepare you for the real deal. Rafeâs tongue was talented, slipping into you one second and then circling your clit the next. Every little thing he did set you on edge.
Your second orgasm hit faster than the first and Rafe was there to catch every ounce of it.
He let you recuperate, grinning at you as he stood up.
Rafe watched you as you caught your breath. He brought his fingers to his mouth, wanting to savor every bit of you.
âDâya wanna leave?â He takes in how âfucked outâ you look. Your cheeks rosy and flushed, sweaty, all while attempting to calm your breathing.
âHell yeah.â
PART 2? ANYONE??
??? Did you enjoy ???
I sure did ;)
please i just started rereading and already found a typo
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This series is so good!! I've loved reading it so far, but this chapter is just amazing!!!
đđĄđ "đČđđŹ" đ©đšđ„đąđđČ.
singledad!mechanic!eddie x fem!reader
â¶Eddie's month began with a rough start, but as the days passed, and your time together grew, his mood improved. He opened up to you, and you listened. Then things escalated. Slow dancing in the garage? Openly flirting while hanging Christmas decorations? This wasn't what he was supposed to be doing with his coworker who was leaving in a few months. And to make matters worse..
"I swear I didn't hang that," he promised while Adrie held both your hands, giggling under the mistletoe.â¶
NSFW â slow burn, fluff, flirting, mutual pining, mild sexual tension, light angst, depictions of poverty, mention of blood, reader wears eddie's work jacket, 18+ overall for eventual smut, drug/alcohol mention/use
chapter: 6/? [wc: 16k]
âł part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07
AO3
Chapter 6: May I Have This Dance?
Eddie opened the cabinet above the coffee machine in the breakroom, and took out his mug to replace it with a themed one of Garfield attempting to coax Nermal under a sprig of mistletoe for a kiss. He stepped back, admired the change in seasons, and clung onto the giddy elation before the impending stress wove knots into his muscles.
Heâd be getting a lot of use out of that mug in the coming days..
ââââ
Eddie disguised his crisis well.
He knocked on your desk while keeping the glass door open with his foot, âHey, can you make me another pot of coffee?â
It was a favor you were happy to oblige. Pausing from thumbing through the filing cabinet, you smiled at him over your shoulder. âSure!â
And later, he came to you againâdiverting the stress from entering his eyes by focusing on the kindness in yours.
âDo you mind if I eat alone today?â he asked, flopping his black notebook back and forth for you to frown at.
âFine, but you owe me.â And of course, he made it up to you the next afternoon, eating his sandwich made with the scraggy ends of the loaf, and no side container of leftovers, and downing it with a mug of coffee.
Adding onto that, Eddie concealed his problems through other means. Blocking out his suffering, disallowing it from bothering others, but to you, it was no bother.
You leaned over your desk to look into the garage, and asked Mr. Moore when he was passing by on the way to his office, âDid Eddie leave somewhere?â
âAwh, heâs probably out on a smoke break,â he said, rubbing his knuckles along his grayed beard.
âAnother one?â
âYeah, guess so.â He shrugged, inadvertently confirming your fears. âBeen takinâ alottavem the past coupleâa days.â
You had an inkling of what was going on when you caught Eddie eating his lunch earlier. Alone, scribbling in his notebook for the third time that week, dipping a knife into an unbranded metal can labeled PEANUT BUTTER and slathering the Government supplied commodity on a plain saltine cracker.
Sustenance to live, and hardly at that. You werenât about to let him hide his misery behind excuses meant to keep you ignorant.
After closing, when everyone went home but you and Eddie, he poured himself the last of the coffee to stave off his hunger, and you shot up from your desk.
âHey! Iâm going out for a sec. Iâll be right back, âkay?â
He backed his lips off the mug mid-sip in order to remind you to be safe because it was dark out, and you really should wear brighter colors for cars to see you, and to slow down before the sharp turns because there could ice on the road and you could get hurt, and, andâ
âBye!â You cut off his worrying by riding past the doors with your eyes on him, not where you were going, narrowly missing a street pole by centimeters.
~~~
Back in record timeâbeating the previous record by default because youâd never had this idea beforeâyou hopped off your bike, loaded your hands with the two paper bags sitting in the handlebar basket, and ripped the stapled receipt off them. You finagled your way into the garage.
âEddie!â you shouted his name as you entered. And louder again as you approached him from behind. Tempting as it was, you didnât want to scare him, but part of you hated raising your voice, as well. It felt blasphemous to disturb the scene which captured your heart time and time again.
He was at the workbench in the back corner, sat on a stool with his heavy boots on footrests, knees angled out, bouncing his legs in a rhythm offset from one anotherâmost likely parroting the drumbeat of the tinny music funneling from his headphones so loud heâd surely lose his hearing one day.
The smooth expanse of his shoulder shifted and flowed under his coveralls as he worked, hunched over a set of parts he was cleaning. He settled his forearms on the edge of the creaky wood and swirled an old toothbrush into a bowl of cleaning solution, and scrubbed at the hunk of metal in his hands, setting it aside on the stained towel when he was finished to let it dry. A diligent worker, through and through. Tendons in his tired hands straining to hold the next slippery piece as he circled the bristles over the grooves craggy with grease. Muscles in his jaw tensing from the way he clenched his teeth in between mouthing the lyrics to the music vibrating his brain.
Concentration bundled itself between his eyebrows and above his scrunched nose.
It was endearing to watch him work; watch the menial things he was good at for no other reason than to familiarize yourself with all assets of him.
But good things must come to an end, for you had a better one in store.
You caught him right as he was dropping into a reserved headbang on a chord progression you could hear wailing from where you stood. âHey there, handsome.â
He panicked, and knocked the headphones around the back of his neck. âShit, I didnât hear you come in.â He paused the cassette player clipped to his pocket with a sharp click, and after fixating on your sly grin for a second longer, he dropped his gaze to the oil-soaked paper bag in your hand. âFood?â
âThe burger place down the street messed up my order,â you replied in soft amusement. âDo you want the extra?â
He didnât need convincing.
~~~
The sounds of your togetherness filled the open roomâwheels rolling on concrete, crinkly wrappers in your hands, and the grateful noises of him devouring his dinner. Sitting parallel to one another on the creepers, you rolled back and forth, brushing shoulders with Eddie on each pass, stuffing your faces until your taste buds dulled with french fry oil, and sparked with blooms of tangy ketchup.
Wordlessly, he told you he was ready to talk by coming to a stop past the point of your shoulders touching, and resting his arms atop his wide-spread knees, holding the last bites of his burger in front of his face.
You twisted around to observe the width of his back rise with a deep breath.
âChild support is late again. Happens every December, but itâll come a day or two before itâs officially considered late in January.â Deepening his voice, he put an edge of distaste when speaking about Adrieâs mom, âShe has the moneyâher and her husband have good jobsâso itâs just to be petty and get back at me, or whatever. Like being tied to me years later should affect our kid when I donât even speak to her.â
âEddie..â
He shook his head to dismiss the pointless pity imbued in your tender whisper of his name. âDoesnât matter. Moneyâs tight, but we get paid tomorrow, so thatâll help.. I figured you knew something was up when I stopped eating with you, but anywhere I can save helps. I want to make sure Adrie has a good Christmas this year.â
Realizing something, he raised his hand to ward off any criticism you were about to give him, having been trained to expect it from others since his daughter was an infant. âI want to make it clear.. Adrie always has food,â he stated slowly, and from a place of loathsome apprehension in his chest.
âIt never crossed my mind she wouldnât.â You pushed yourself backwards on the rolly board, and leaned into him, bicep to bicep, gazes met. âI know youâre a good dadâ âHe glanced awayâ âYou are, Eddie, and I know how well you take care of Adrie, even when shit like this happens. And Christmas will always be special because of how much you love her, not because of what you buy her.â
âBut I want her to keep up with her friends, and bond over whatever theyâre into.â
âI know you do..â
Even to his detriment, through the sacrifices he made, heâd make sure his daughter had whatever she wanted.
You ran a purposeful knuckle along his tensed tricep. It didnât earn his eye contact, but he did relax his hand, dropping it to peel down the rest of the wrapper and finish his burger while you spoke. âMaybe theyâll mess up my order again tomorrow, and we can eat lunch together.. And maybe Robinâs mom will make an extra casserole for dinner tonight, and I can leave it in the breakroom, if thatâs okay?â
âIâd appreciate it.â No malicious pride. No toxic masculinity. No senseless denial. Eddie accepted your offer with gratitude, and packed his trash into the paper bag while you still ate, settling in with his arms hugged around his knees, ensuring some part of your bodies remained touchingâin this case, it was your shoulders again.
The sweet, trusting pressure of yourselves melding into each otherâs comfort.
Then, while the candidness was raw, it was your turn to point your attention elsewhere as you asked something you were shy to voice out loud, âUhm, when we were at Adrieâs school, her teacher kept saying something about, like, you not carrying her, and babying her, or whatever.â You gestured vaguely as if you werenât eavesdropping the entire time. âAnd Iâd been meaning to ask if Iâmâuh?âtoo affectionate with her? Like if itâs weird, or something I shouldnât be doing? Youâre the parent and I never really asked if it was okay before picking her up, and hugging her, andââ
He cut you off.
âNo, no, no.â His assurance was delivered swift, and earnest. âHow you are with Adrie is fine by me. More than fine. ItâsâItâsâSeriously, itâs great having her look up to someone who isnât me.â
âWhat about what her teacher said?â
âI donât care,â he scoffed. âI know she means well, but itâs not like Adrieâs going to be a kid forever, and if I want to coddle her, who gives a shit. Now, her teacher is great, and I donât want to diminish what my uncle, and people like Steve and Nancy have done for my family, but for most of Adrieâs life, itâs just been me and her, and even if she annoys the living fuck out of me sometimes, sheâs all I have, and if I want to carry her around, I will.â
âYou have me now, too.â
You heard yourself say it.
You heard yourself say it aloud, after he said his daughter was all he had, and now you had to follow it up with a tongue-tied spew of clarifications.
âJust, you know, itâs not only you, Adrie, your uncle, Steve and Nancy, and her teacher. You have me now, too, as your friend.. I mean, we are friends, arenât we?â
Warmth spread through your body. From your ribs, outward, where he jabbed his elbow into your side. Thrumming where his weight pressed into you, sending his hip into yours. Pleasureâbloomingâfrom his silly grin to your romantic heart, to your platonic fingers snagging the fabric of his coveralls around his thigh to stop him from shoving your board away. Yearning. Sprung from the grease dirtying your skin being the same as the black streak above his eyebrow where he wiped his bangs off his forehead.
âYeah.. Yeah, I think after this, youâre my friend,â he agreed, accidentally kicking over the takeout bag in his teasing. âNo qualifier of reluctancy, or addendums, or prefaces. Weâre friends.â
Yeah, definitely friends.
Friends who could calculate the exact degree of the arc of the otherâs smile through memory alone, having stared at their lips for longer than friends ought.
ââââ
And you played the part of companion quite well, you thought, when Eddie cursed as he came in from the garage with his hand cradled to his chest.
He ducked into the bathroom, and before the door closed, he was pushing it open on his way to the breakroom sink. âShit. Donât we have a first aid kit?â he asked.
âOh! I left it in the womenâs restroom after I got a paper cut.â You pushed yourself away from your desk, and found it in the cabinetry, bringing it to him as he scrubbed Dawn soap over his left hand, from upper wrist to fingertips. âIs it bad?â you asked cautiously. Blood was.. fine. But anything needing stitches was more than your red zipper pouch could help with.
âIâm okay,â he grunted, voice deep with the resonance of an inconvenience, more so than true pain. âJust one of those shitty surface cuts that doesnât stop bleeding.â
The moment Eddieâs hands were dripping with diluted red water instead of blackened motor oil droplets, you tore a paper towel from the roll, cupped his palm, and folded it over his pinky and outermost knuckles. You bent over to keep his hand over the sink, and accepted the sharp jut of his elbow tucked into the softness of your waist.
The scrapes were shallow, as he said. You pressed your thumbs over the superficial wounds until the white paper dotted bright crimsonâsame color as his cheeksâand he remained silent. He didnât deny your doting. Didnât disrupt the gesture, nor break the spell.
It was a nice moment. Until you opened an alcohol wipe and swabbed it over the afflicted area. His mouth twitched at the stinging liquid cooling on his skin. As it dried, you made brief eye contact and shied away from his suspicious squint, like you had a secret to tell him sealed behind your lips all morning.
âWhatâs that look for?â
While pulling out two beige bandages for his knuckles, you answered in feigned indifference, âOh, nothing. Just.. yâknow.. Mr. Moore promoted me to Office Administrator, and maybe it came with a little raise, and who knows, an extra sick day or two.â
âNice!â He angled his hand so it was easier for you to wrap the Band-aid around to the side of his palm where there was a wet, angry cut. He was trembling from the rush of adrenaline, endorphins, and relief he didnât get more injured from his strained muscles giving out while wielding a power tool without protective gloves on.
âSo now I have the confusing job of being both the person who cleans the toilets, and also organizes payroll.â You drew your eyebrows in. âWhatever organizing payroll means.â
Eddie watched you turn over the pouch to shake out the slots where the more grown up, adult bandages usually resided, and came up empty. Instead, a metal tin with Sesame Street characters clattered on the countertop. You popped it open.
âHope you donât mind,â you said.
Cookie Monster and Big Bird were gingerly wrapped around his pinky, protecting him from further harm.
Bright, cheery colors in contrast to the grime nestled into the crevices of his skin, and the dark blue coveralls he wore today. Your delicate touch. And his rough calluses. Your soft, chapstick-slick lips. And his cold-weathered mouth lifted at the corner. Your obedient body turning with his. And his face drawing near. Your tender, weak grip on his injured hand. And his sneaky fingers reaching past you.
He took three extra Band-aids and put them in the pocket below his embroidered name patch.
Eyelashes fluttering at the sensation of your forearm resting against his stomach, you chided him in the faintest exhale, âThatâs stealing from the company, you know. I could write you up.â
Pleading with you amidst a persuasive smile, he begged, âIf Adrie sees I have a cool Band-aid, and she doesnât get one too, sheâll be upset.â
âThatâs not fair.â Not like you cared if he took things from work, but if the Band-aids were for Adrie, youâd give him the entire tin, and he knew it. âYou play a mean game, Eddie, using my greatest weakness against me.â
He took another Bert and Ernie, and slipped them in with the others, patting his pocket flat.
In a defeated sigh, you crumbled under the smug display of his proud chest, gaze trained on the cursive lettering composing his name, the motor oil blackening his cuticles, and the grease stain on his coveralls from the french fry he dropped earlier.
âWhoâs the pushover now?â
âConsidering youâre robbing me of Sesame Street Band-aids to bribe your daughter out of a tantrum?â You looked him up and down, from his half-closed eyes to the ketchup stain. âStill you.â
He hummed a warm reply, and twitched his other hand closed, curling his fingers over yours for a split second. A movement stunted by the bandages. Likewise, you drummed your fingertips on the heel of his palm, and let go.
âWear your gloves next time, idiot.â
âYes, dear.â
ââââ
Taking on the role of Office Administrator meant one thing to the both of you: less time together.
The interactions were fleeting; sneaking a glance at each other when Eddie made an unnecessary trip to the breakroom to get his jacket for an equally unnecessary smoke break. But it meant heâd pass by Mr. Mooreâs office twice while you were being taught how to fill out ledgers and spreadsheets. Two possibilities for you to become enamored with his hair flowing from underneath his bandana, and two chances for him to capture your interest with his charmâhis larger than life presence stomping past the door with his chin held high and his hands in his back pockets, looking at you out the corner of his eye, and giving you that tight, knowing grin.
It was lonely working in the mornings, having a short lunch at your desk while scheduling business meetings with salesmen for Mr. Moore, and clocking out at 4PM to help take care of things at home while Robin was managing the night shift, and her dad was on bed rest.
You missed Eddie.
Eddie missed you.
ââââ
It was a cold, bleak mid-December night after a dreary day of clouds and wind. The service bay doors were closed, except for one to allow the draft to carry out lingering exhaust fumes. Darkness smothered the world beyond the auto shop, interrupted intermittently by the odd car stopping at the streetlight. Turn signals blinked. Headlights peered into the warehouse, shining light on the single truck in the empty garage.
Blissful, tranquil winter. Crisp, throat-aching air. Bites of frost sinking into flesh. Numbed fingers. Frozen teeth nipping at the bone. Undisturbed. Quiet. No music.
âMan, itâs freezing in the lobby,â you complained loudly upon entering Eddieâs domain and crouching in front of the space heater next to the workbench.
The pair of legs sticking out from under the truck shifted.
Surprised by your sudden appearance, and grumpy about the loss of hot air directed at him, Eddie beat his wrench on the wheel axle to show his annoyance when you giggled and refused to move. In fact, you hunkered down, rubbing your palms together, hogging all the warmth while having the audacity to wear his tan work jacket.
He tapped the heel of his heavy work boot at you. âI thought you left for the day.â
âDid you really not notice me at my desk for the past hour?â
After waving the tool at the underside of the truck heâd been staring at for the better part of the evening, he then tucked his chin to make a snide remark, âDo you think I keep track of your whereabouts at all times?â
âYes.â
No response except for a sour expression. Predictable. It was in his best interest to roll his head to the side, and pretend to be working by muttering mathematics to himself. You, however, stood up, and sidestepped the heater to read the buttons on the stereo radio, and dug for the cassette you slipped into the jacketâs pocket before coming out here.
Snap. Click. Whirr.
The black tape spun on the wheels, and from the speakers strung at the back corners of the garage, music began.
Eddieâs groan rose above the plucky piano keys. âOh, please donât tell me youâre subjecting me to Christmas music.â
You shushed him, âItâs just jazz.â
Ella Fitzgeraldâs warbling hum filled the concrete walls. Her stunning voice and evocative, blunt lyrics soothed your eyes closed. Face-burning words you werenât ashamed of. You let them take you. Dipping and swaying your shoulders side to side as the piano lulled you into its drunken blitheness. Guiding you two steps to the left, the right. A lazy turn. Paused on the cusp of anticipation. You stopped. Blinked lovingly at the boots beneath you.
âMay I have this dance?â
Metal clinked to the ground. Eddie gripped the edge of the car, and pulled himself out. Pushed himself into a sitting position on the creeper, focusing on your hand extended to him, and climbing his gaze upwards. To the smudges of pencil lead and blue pen ink on the inside of your fingers from where you gripped the writing utensils, to the coffee stain on the cuff of his jacket, the name patch, the roundness of your cheeks from your hopeful smile.
âMy hands are dirty,â he said.
âI donât care.â You urged in all gentleness, âDonât turn me down because youâre shy. Iâll teach you.â
Teach me, he mouthed.
A delicious secret emerged.
Excitement, charismatic boisterousness, unhesitatingâeagerâsincere excessive vulnerability, bursting to be the shameless youth he used to be and oh so endearingâEddie sprang into action at the upkick in tempo. The namesake of the song vibrated under his ribsâIâve Got a Crush On Youâand the garage blurred in your dizzy eyes.
Eddie, Eddie, eddie eddie eddie, eddieeddieeddie. Hawkinsâ reject, the townâs outcast, Eddie, in all his awkward, standoffish exterior built to protect his sensitive heart, swept your right hand into his left. Raised them. Compelled you into a fast, tight spin under his arm, and at the rotationâs completion, you sank into each otherâs embrace like a released breath.
You used the solid curve of his shoulder as leverage, and fit your other hand in the space between his thumb and index.
Eddie didnât lead.
He demanded you follow.
His muscles were braced with ego as he ushered you backwards. Large advances towards you, forcing you away from the truck, and half-turns to the side with an appropriate pressure at your waist to follow him to the unoccupied center of the garage. But his modest hand grew longing in the distance as you struggled to keep up in the short chase. The thick jacket meant for durability kept him wanting more, and he used it to reel you in. Draw you near. Bodies untouching, but radiating heat in the hushed sigh of winter rolling in from the service door.
Not once had you managed to sound the question on your parted lips, but he understood it, and answered.
âYouâre not the only theater kid,â he said softly. âIt was the only elective I liked. Had to learn to dance for a few parts over the years, and if I may judge by your reaction, Iâm not half-bad.â
You laughed, âWh-Why didnât you ever tell me?â
The smug grin he wore waned to something more humble in nature. âMm-nn. I never wanted to interrupt your stories. Itâs more interesting listening to you talk about how you played a witch in a slutty Off-Off-Broadway rendition of Macbeth where you managed to snap both your stilettos in the first Act, than it is for me to go on about how I played background character #4 in my second senior year of high school and mostly used the class as an excuse to make props and shit.â
âEddie,â you whined. Once upon a time, during your first days working here, he told you to leave him alone for jabbering on about the theater works you and Robin were a part of, and now he reveals this? âI didnât even think you were listening when I told you those stories. And again! Whyâdidnâtâyouâtell me?â Your words were minced from you shaking his shoulder.
âI didnât think itâd be relevant,â he explained, speaking in that shy mumble of his.
âWe couldâve been dancing this whole time.â
Eddie hung his head back, and bounced his brows upward. âMmm. You make it sound like youâve been wanting to do this since we met.â His hum, his words sent his Adamâs apple crawling up the deep shadows his jaw cast on his throat. Vibrating from within his alluring chest, and coming from the plump lips which appeared less blemished since the last time you were blessed with studying them up close.
The tube of Carmex you found in his pocket was doing wonders.
Basking in the overhead lights as flowers did in the sun, he listened to the end of the song fade. He willed his eyes half-open as it switched, dropped his face to lock onto your gaze, and obeyed the slower rhythm. Languid lurches into your compliant hips to the smooth saxophone. Step, stepâ With a pivot, guiding you around the floor in an unpredictable routine. One which kept you guessing. Had the rolled cuff of his pants brushing against your ankle, and his body coaxing you into a quick reverse turn at the piping trumpets on the following track. Broached the intimacy of his scent in your nose. Of course he didnât smell great after a long day of working, but.. By your racing heart rushing blood in your ears, you had to admit, you didnât find it as gross as you should, either.
Breaking you from your trance of staring at the frizzy baby curls sticking to the dried sweat on his neck, he suggested, âDip?â
Your surprised shriek bubbled into a scathing yelp of Mother Fuâ.
Impatient, ineloquent, and forgetful of manners. It was by the grace of your muscle memory you grappled for his upper body before your eyes could adjust to the upside down car cruising by the shop, puttering to a stop at the intersection. The arch he put in your back was wicked. Sinful, even. Supported by his strong arms.
Merciful, he righted your world. And in reconciliation, he observed you with the same obsessive interest he showed when he made you laugh. Watching for your reaction, and when it was adoring, he relaxed the apology from his features.
He hooked a finger around the lock of hair stuck at the corner of his mouth, and pulled it free; clasped your hand againâthe other was slipped under the back of the jacket, and he settled his forearm around your waist, hot palm on your spine.
You took the cue. You climbed the scope of his shoulder to wager your dignity on the tight muscle at the crook of his neck. When he didnât object, and his easy grin remained, you ventured under his unruly mane and found the back of his neck. You slipped your thumb into his collar, and rested it along the naked skin of his nape.
He shivered.
A car passed by.
The gossipers of Hawkins watched a mechanic and his bossâ receptionist-turned-Office-Administrator stare into each otherâs eyes, and sway.
The distance between you two was unassuming, except for the tastes of more when the music encouraged, twirling yourself under his lifted arm as two separate beings, and rejoining as a pair, rocking back and forth, side to side, smiling from the exploration into something new.
The drum beats ebbed to a drowsy cadence.
Minutes passed. The embrace became familiar. Your held hands were sticky with shared dust and nervous sweat. His exhale mingled with your inhale. The steady sway was a polite shuffle in either direction, any direction. It didnât matter. The embrace was the point.
âAs Office Administrator,â you started, âI wanted to throw a party next week, the day before our holiday off. Itâd be right after work, if you wanted to hang out, eat, and maybe bring Adrie?â
Before he could answer, you lowered your voice to an all-too-candid beg, âPlease? I promise it wonât be boring. Mr. Moore said no oneâs thrown a work party before, and Iâm terrified no one but Kevin and his three dogs will show up.â You put a compassionate squeeze on the back of his neck. âPlease donât let it just be me, Kevin, and his three dogs.â
The bottom of Eddieâs two front teeth showed as he spoke on the verge of a grin, âI thought he only had two.â
You whispered dramatically, âItâs three now.â
He pretended to think over the offer, shifting from foot to foot.
âEddie.â
As if he could keep up the act when you craved his name like that. âIâll go,â he placated you, but not before inclining his head, viewing you through his messy bangs and long lashes. âAnd of course Iâll bring Adrie.â
You celebrated by punching up your linked handsâyours smelling of pencil shavings, and his of burnt brake pads. Eddie used it to maneuver you into another turn. Smooth, suave. A true gentleman.
âWould you help me decorate too?â you dared ask. His answer was an apathetic grumble. âAnd maybe bring any non-denominational wintry decorations you have because all I could find in town were very red and green, and very Christmas-leaning.â
âYouâre not sweetening the deal.â
âBut itâs a âyes,â isnât it?â
Another dissuasive grumble.
Whimsy, breathless lyrics about fresh love trilled from the speakers. The cassette was on its last song before needing to be flipped.
âDo you really listen to jazz?â he asked, skirting into the territory of curiosity as his frame rocked you to the left.
âI listen to a little bit of everything,â you answered honestly, engaging in a fluid stride to the right. âAre you asking because of the music you listen to?â At once, your expression went wry, and his widened to barely constrained intrigue, like you were two steps ahead of him, reading his private thoughts. âThe kinda stuff you blast when you think Iâm not around.â
âYouâve heard that?â
Not helping the pink hue stemming from the hot base of his neck beneath your palm, you were quick to tease him, âWell, Iâm not exactly competing in the Tour de France, yâknow. You donât wait for me to ride away before starting up your little concerts in here when you tell me to leave early. Bet you play air-guitar ând everything when Iâm gone, like a dork.â
Visibly curbing his habit to lick his lips, not desiring the swipe of dust itâd come with, Eddie narrowed his eyes, and cocked his head back to regard you down the slope of his nose. âYeah? And what do you think of the music I listen to?â
âUnsurprising. Suits your image.â Engaging in a bit of intentionality, you worked your hand from his nape and introduced your fingertips to his other shoulder, wrapping your arm tighter around him, and you were enveloped by his warmth doing the same. The waistband of his coveralls rubbed against the metal zipper of his bulky jacket you wore as you moved in unison. âI recognize the big stuff. Metallica, Iron Maiden, Judas Priest..â You shrugged. âAccept?â
The tip of Eddieâs nose came into focus, then his big eyes searching yours as he turned his face side to side, examining you up close. âI wasnât even playing Balls to the Wall. No one just casually names Accept like that. You like them!â
âOkay, okay, slow down, donât get too excited,â you calmed him before he strained a tendon in the very finger he pointed at you. âIâve couch surfed with a lot of weirdos, and lived with six roommates at one point. Iâve listened to my fair share of music through thin walls whether I liked it or not.. But yeah, I like metal enough, I guess.â
Though he unlinked your waltzing hands in his rush to assert himself in your personal space, his arm around your waist persistedâand if he were wary of crossing boundaries, he showed no heed when he employed his strength to press your chests together through the layers of clothes in a sense of spontaneity.
Your view was eclipsed by the thrill in his boyish grin, and then, his hair was slipping from your curious fingers.
âWait hereâ!â
And he was gone. His body heat bounded away and out the back door. You were stunned with your hands still posed as if he were there.
You dropped your arms to your sides, and clutched the rugged canvas jacket around you, waiting, listening to the gravel crunch and a car door slam, peering out into the dark to see what became so important he left his dancing partner in the middle of the warehouse in utter confusion.
âGot it,â he said in his stride to the stereo.
âGot what?â It was rude enough to abandon you, and now he was ignoring you in his frenzy. You followed him to the workbench, and turned to the side to rest your hip on it. The heater thawed your shins while Eddie pried open a cassette, but you couldnât read the front from how he held it in his palms.
Snap. Click. Whirr.
He leaned his ass on the table top and folded his arms over his chest, instilling a narrow distance between you two. His gaze was on the floor. Eyes falling closed. For once, he did not want to see your reaction.
The speakers crackled with static.
You startled.
It was a hard left turn from the somber jazz from before.
Drumsticks crashed on cymbals, setting the aggressive pace for a piercing guitar to enter on a screeching note, quickly devolving into thrashy chords sure to make the fingers sore, along with a bass and rhythm guitar that were getting lost in your pounding head.
Though he wasnât watching, you schooled the surprise from your features, and relaxed your shoulders. The music wasnât offensive in the least, but it was loud.
After the initial assault, and a quick bass solo, you were nodding along, enjoying the overwhelming beat pulsing in your throat making it difficult to breathe.
The shredding guitar wept to a softer bridge, and the vocals began.
The vocals began.
The vocals..
The lyrics were spokenâsungâwith the last word being dragged into a melodic ballad as the instruments went silent. A rich note held by a man whose voice was neither deep, nor falsetto. Perfectly in the middle. Perfectly fitting your preference. Perfectly matching the one you heard most days, and thought about at night, when your bed was lonely and your body was flushed with heat.
Perfectly matching..
You snapped your attention to Eddieâs face. His eyelids twitched with movement. Individual curls of his hair swung in time to his head dipping to the tempo. His cheek jumped at the start of the next verse, and he dug his fingernails into his sleeve until they turned white.
âThis is you,â you expelled in pure infatuation. âEddie!â You clasped his bicep, and leaned in to him, excelling at matching his enthusiasm from earlier, and surpassing it. âEddie, this is you!â He opened his eyes and slouched away from your efforts in a laugh, angling his face into his hair to hide his shy grin.
You ran your hand along his forearm and tugged, wheedling him out of the tight hug he had himself locked in, urging him to open up. âThis is you singing, isnât it? This is your band.â The cassette case was behind him. Corroded Coffin. Same name as what was on his sweatshirt on Halloween.Â
The second button on his coveralls snapped open, below the one he always kept unfastened. You didnât know at what point you were bold enough to put your hand on his chest, nor gather the fabric into your fist while shaking some sense into him, but you did. You really did expose the tight white shirt clinging to his sticky skin. All for the sake of validating Eddie.
When he continued acting far too humbleâshrinking into himself, and mumbling how it wasnât that coolâyou wasted no time embarrassing yourself by jumping on your tiptoes, telling him just how cool it was, you promised.
Reaching behind him, he slapped the volume knob down so you both could stop shouting.
âI appreciate the groupie attitude, but itâs not like weâre a big deal, or anything,â he said, awkwardly folding one of his arms on top of the workbench as he surrendered and turned to you. His other hand hesitated near the bottom of the jacket. âAbout once a month we get a gig in Indy. Doesnât pay much, but it covers the cost of the trip, and we get a decent crowd, I guess. Uhm, the venue sells out.. sometimes. People know some of the lyrics. We sell a couple of shirts..â he trailed off upon making eye contact. âWe only get to practice on the days I leave work early. Maybe on the weekend.. so.â
Overflowing with sincerity, you trusted your hands to behave themselves on his forearm, laying your decent fingers over the tensed muscle above his wrist where he wore his watch.
He canted his head, and gave you a cynical look. âItâs not like weâre famous or anything.â
âI think itâs so cool youâre in a band,â you stressed. âHow come you never told me?â
Shrugging, he glanced elsewhere. âBeing you, and being from New York, you probably know hundreds of bands whoâve made it big. Iâm sure youâve met way more impressive people.â
Is that what this was about? Not sharing his theatrical past, and now his band because he was insecure about not impressing you, of all things? Using a resentful tone when speaking about his life versus yours, as if the comparisons mattered when it took all of your willpower to not stare at his lips in this proximity.
âWho cares who Iâve met. You sound amazing. The music, your voice. Everything. Itâs uniquely yours, and I canât believe you didnât tell me sooner.â
Eddie sighed.
Cozying into the position, he leaned his weight on the arm you cupped your palms over, and there was a pull at the hem of the jacket. You shifted closer. He looped his finger into the pocket and rubbed his thumb along the edge of it, seeking an absent-minded distraction as he explained, âI also didnât want to, ahâI donât know.. Scare you off. Like, if you didnât like it, or thought heavy metal was Satanic, or some shit.â
âScare me off?â At least, you intended to repeat it back to him as a question, but your laugh interrupted you. âOh, Eddie. Light of my day, my neverending fountain of mirth, a true joy to be around,â you gushed at his exaggerated sneer. âIf you didnât scare me off the first week of meeting you, where you made it a point to glare at me for the mere act of speaking in your direction, I donât think your very obvious music taste would.â
He looked at his boots for a moment to reflect on his behavior, but forwent an apology, and instead asked, âSo, you donât think itâs lame for me to be pushing 30-years-old, and still playing in a garage band?â There was a truncated tension at the end of his question, like he wanted to add more self-deprecation to it, but stopped himself. Good thing, too, because you were about to voice your adulations until you were rendered to a puddle of embarrassment.
Sparing no sarcasm, you furrowed your brows and screwed your mouth into a snarky grin as you rolled your eyes. âYeah, girls find it totally lame when hot guys with long hair drive fast cars and play loud music and are in a band. Itâs totally the most unattractive thing, especially when they have tattoos and are good singers. Definitely isnât a turn-on at all.â
Too far, too much, too inappropriateâ
The last sentence was over the line, and you could see it in his surprised eyebrows wrinkling his forehead, and his wide pupils boring into yours, and his cheeks reddening as your words sank in.
The garage went viscerally quiet.
He stopped fidgeting with the jacket pocket.
Mistake, mistake, mistake.
âNot just the vocalist,â he said, voice cracking on the whisper. âI play lead guitar, too.â
You spat out, âVery cool,â desperate for the relief of his face cracking into a flattered grin.
But no, Eddie didnât grant you such comfort. However, he did spare you the chance to scratch at the anxious sweat dripping down your back when he rearranged how he was standing, and spun around to the stereo. âItâs pretty late, huh? We should probably get going.â He pressed his hips to the workbench as he organized the tapes into their cases. Then, he paused.
The case yours went to was blank. Nothing written on the dotted lines on the back, nor on the front of the tape.
âI need my jacket back,â he reminded you.
âR-Right.â
You shimmied it off, and handed it to him. He draped it over his arm, and clutched the bulk to his stomach, covering his front as he turned to face you again. âHere.â Holding out the black and white cassette with a stylized logo he drew himself, he gave you his personal copy of Corroded Coffinâs first recording session. âYou take mine. Iâll take yours.â
âAre you sure?â
Staring at the mixtape compiled of the cheesy love songs you made over the course of a few nights, he nodded. âYeah. Yeah, Iâm sure.â And as he dragged his feet backwardsâavoiding the space heater without lookingâhe said on his way to the tray where he kept his rings, âWe should do this again. The whole.. dancing thing.â He gestured with the tape. âIâll pick the music next time, too.â
With his back to you, he cleaned up his station, and let you know you could go. âIâll lock up behind you.â
âYou never answered if you were helping me hang decorations,â you found your voice. It was hiding behind a hammering heart, and shallow-filled lungs.
Outside, a car honked at a truck to take their turn at a green light.
The metal teeth on his jacket ground together as Eddie zipped it up. He sank his heavy hands into the pockets to weigh them down, and crossed his work boots at the ankle to about-face in a sort of pirouette, pinning you with his lopsided grin and mellow demeanor. âYou know, I thought with all the life lessons Iâve had to learn over the past five years, Iâd be able to resist a pretty girl asking me to do things for her.â He snorted and flicked his eyes to the ceiling, shaking his head. âBut when theyâre as beautiful as you, I just canât.â
His gaze came crashing down onto you, and your tongue froze at the tip of your teeth.
âAlright, Casanova,â you let out in a shaky breath. âIâll take that as you agreeing, and will see you bright and early, and without any complaints.â You left as fast as you could.
No, really. The Tour de France better have a spot open for you, with how fast you pedaled home to sit on your bed, cross legged, happily ruining your hearing from having the volume scrolled to the max on your Walkman, listening to Eddieâs voice, wondering at what point the endorphins would wear off and you were stuck agonizing over how blatant you were about calling your coworker hot. And how he called you beautiful in return.
ââââ
Talking amongst the sputtering coffee machine beginning its brew:
âThe fourth oneâuhâSolivagant, is definitely my favorite!â
âThat oneâs instrumental,â Eddie pouted. âAnd here I was under the impression you liked my lyrics.. Mm, a little lower on your side.â
You put blu-tack on your end of the banner, and pressed it into the wall. âI do! But that one really got stuck in my head. The way all the guitars came together to play the harmony was justâEddie! You did that on purpose.â
Stepping around to the other side of the lunch table, you threw your head back in a groan at the glittery Happy Holidays sign you wrongly assumed he would help you hang without turning it into a way to tease you.
âYouâre the worst,â you grumbled on your way to fix the banner so it was even, and his side wasnât higher by a few inches.
âSorry,â he said weakly between his snickering. âLet me.â
There was no letting him do what he wanted. He was going to push his way into your space, regardless. Literally, shoving a chair out of his way with his hip, and standing behind you to peel the sticky tacky off the wall, and raising it from your faceâs height, to slightly above your head, needlessly, infuriatingly, unhelpfully helping you. Barging in with his hand on your shoulder, and his body at your back. Closer, more intimate than the time at the grocery store.
His inhale swelled his solid chest against your shoulder blades, and his hum rumbled down your spine. âAm I supposed to dress up nice for your party?â
You twisted your head back to admire the underside of his freshly shaven jaw smelling of astringent spice. âOnly if you feel like it,â you guessed. âThe dress Iâm wearing is pretty casual, but you donât have to do anything special if you donât want to.â After circling his thumb over the tacky corner of the sign, he dropped his arms, grazing them over yours, if only in passing. âI think the other guys are wearing button down shirts.â
His gaze drifted as he visualized his closet.
You stared. âDo you really not have one nice shirt?â
âI might still have the one from my job interview,â he said, tucking his chin to look at you, creating a silly amount of wrinkles along his burgeoning grin.
The front door chimed. Either Carl, Kevin, or your boss just walked in, and it was then Eddie realized the position he had you in. It struck him when his peppermint-candy-and-cigarettes breath caressed your fluttering lashes, and he could discern the bubblegum flavored chapstick on your lips, just like you could observe the balm on his.
If someone saw him trapping you alone in the breakroom against the wall with your backside pressed to him, there would be no delicate conversation about consensual workplace relationships. Heâd be gone.
âSorry!â
Eddie made his swift retreatâthree, no, four steps away.
You widened your eyes at him, at his obviousness, and tried to communicate through your facial expression you knew what he was thinking, and everything was okay. You two were a bit too comfortable around each other, thatâs all. It wasnât something serious he needed to explain away. No one caught him. It was innocent, like slow dancing when no one was around. Innocent. Teasing.
âI, uhmâ Y-Yeah, the shirt.â He forced his fingers to unclench into limp fists at his side. Face pale, yet hot. âItâsâIâll wear it.â
Wringing your hand around the fridge door handle, you bent towards him, and raised your eyebrows higher, imploring him to chill. âEddie, you can come in a t-shirt and jeans. It doesnât matter. Adrie can wear whatever she wants, too. Itâs just a casual thing.â
Totally casual. Like the body heat fading from the back of your green knit sweater where his chest became acquainted with the acrylic. Dissipating on his skin beneath his coveralls where the crown of your head met his shoulder. Very casual.
âUhmââ
âSo..â
You both started, and ended.
âMorninâ!â Mr. Mooreâs gruff greeting came from the hallway.
Treating it as a warning, you each responded with an acknowledgement of your bossâ appearance as he walked into the room. âGood morning!â and âSalutations!â To which you shut your eyes in exasperation at Eddieâs unusual welcome, begging him to act normal while Mr. Moore poured sugar in his coffee.
After stirring in complete silence, he took turns smiling at you both, and meandered to his office, closing the door behind him.
Eddie shifted topics to the table where piles of garland remained coiled.
âShould weâ?â
âWanna just, uh, forget decorating for today, ând do it tomorrow?â you spoke over him.
âYeah,â he answered, nodding too enthusiastically. He tossed his hair out of his face, revealing the red tips of his ears for a split-second, and said, âTomorrow, yeah. We can do the rest of this shit tomorrow.â
A very graceful conversation between two people who just had a very ordinary interaction without any explicit implications.
âWeâre still having lunch together later, right?â you asked.
âDuh. Youâve gotta finish giving me your thoughts on the rest of our EP. The chorus for Taladasian Empire has some meta references to the other songs, I donât know if you caught onto that, but the second verse mentions..â
Oh, he was adorable when he hyperfixated. Not only did it steer the conversation away from the previous blood-scorching incident, but it was rather nice to have a reason to stare at his lips move a mile a minute as he conjured an unprompted dissertation about his musicâs lore, even as you were sitting at your desk, pointing at your ringing phone, and suggesting he should also get to work.
There were only two days left before the long holiday, and customers needed their cars before the shop was closed for the break.
ââââ
Kevin sipped his coffee in the early morning sunlight filtering through the garage.
You garnered Eddieâs help whenever he was available, and the current task was dressing up your receptionist desk to look like a big present, complete with a gold bow flowing over the ledge where the candy bowl sat. Eddie crouched at one end holding a roll of wrapping paper while you unfurled it to the other, and measured it to the side facing the lobby.
Kevin watched the interaction through a unique lens, noting how Eddie bounced on his heels, appearing both bored and anxious to get back to work, but when he glanced over at youâat your face pinched in concentration as you fought with the tape dispenser with one handâit was as if his worries melted away.
The boy calmed down.
Though Kevin didnât come in often, the effect you had on the misfit was overt in the sweetest way. It reminded him of his first and last love, who had since passed.
~~~
Carl sipped his coffee as he stood in the doorway to the breakroom.
The lobby was taken over by a cheerful wonderment.
Eddie was hanging white and blue streamers from the drop ceiling tiles, while you decorated the windows with silver snowflakes. At first, Carl thought Eddie was pinning them up around the perimeter of the room because he lacked direction, but then he saw why he insisted on following you around, setting up the step ladder directly behind you.
Without discussing it, you reached out for Eddieâs arm as you stepped onto the cushiony lobby chair customers sat in when waiting for their cars, and he was at the ready. He lent his balance to you, crooking his elbow for you to slot your fingers into, and once steady, you let go.
The conversation picked up where it was left off, and the decorating continued.
Now that the glass door was unblocked, Kevin shuffled inside with his cold mug to get a refill, and stopped next to Carl on his way to the coffee machine.
âYou sure those two ainât datinâ?â he asked.
Carl shrugged with his mug on the way to his mouth. âApparently not. Ed said theyâre just friends.â
At a sound in the lobby, they craned their heads to the furthest wall to witness Eddie beaming down at you. His smile was a rarity, and watching the enormous emotion take over him when you touched his arm and laughed at his joke; it was a sight worthy of remembering.
Kevin scratched at the side of his head, then straightened out the bill to his baseball cap over his wispy white hair, and squinted at the mischievous glint in Carlâs eyes.
âBut David did say he walked in on them looking mighty flustered yesterday.â
âDid he, now?â
Swallowing the hot coffee with a wet smack of his lips, he emphasized a drawn out, âYep.â
Kevin suggested, âMaybe the holiday spirit will take over, and theyâll confess their feelings under some mistletoe.â
âUck,â he replied with a disgusted noise. âYouâre always such a romantic.â
âYouâre the one starinâ at them,â Kevin countered on his way to the coffee pot, shuffling from the arthritis in his knees, and focusing his energy into keeping his trembling hand still as he poured his drink. âBesides, I think his little girl would appreciate having someone like her in their lives.â
ââââ
Four hours before the party, the auto shop was swept into a flurry of activity.
Carl and Kevin each had vehicles to work on; driving a truck out to the parking lot for a customer to pick up after you called them, and driving a car in. Working in tandem to the jolly Christmas music on the radio. Crowding the garage with discarded packaging from parts that would be gathered to be burned later.
âGuhââ You hung up the phone, and pressed a button to erase what you previously recorded after you stuttered over part of your script.
This outgoing message thing wasnât going well.
Sighing, you picked it up and pressed the record button again. âYouâve reached Davidâs Auto Shop at..â you enunciated the number and address in an even tone. âWeâre currently closed for the Holidays, and will open at 8AM, Monââ
The smell of cigarettes shouldâve been your first warning. The hand tipping your office chair back shouldâve been the second. The general Eddie-ism of it all shouldâve been the third.
Eddie blew a raspberry directly into the receiver.
âYou! Why! That one was perfect. God, you are soâfreakingâannoying. I swear. Obnoxious little..â Fuming, you hung up, and glared at him.
He cackled on his way to the garage. âHey, since youâre not busy, can you help me roll this stack of tires to the Buick over there?â Before you could share the choice words you had prepared for himâbefore you could process the droplets of spit drying on your cheekâbefore the door could hit him on the way outâhe spun and caught it and ducked his head back in. âOh! Donât forget your policy. Canât say no to helping me, huh?â On his smooth exit, he winked and made a clicking sound with his mouth, flashing a gratuitous amount of teeth on the smirk.
âYou are the absolute worst.â You grabbed your hoodie and followed him, pointedly not thanking him for holding the door open for you. âAnd you know what? I seriously regret ever telling you about my dumbass policy.â
âReally? Iâve only just begun to actualize the potential for making you do things for me. Iâm loving it!â
~~~
Three hours before the party, you put the finishing touches on the breakroom before Robin arrived with the food you ordered from the bakery and deli at the grocery store. Some was excess that wouldâve gone to waste; extra cupcakes, and cookies. Other things were ordered, like finger sandwiches, veggie trays, and an arrangement of cheese cubes with those cute toothpicks that have red and green cellophane at the top. You also gave her money for the makings of smores, bags of pretzels, and crackers, themed plates and cups to match. The works.
You cleaned the countertop free of appliances, putting them away in the cupboards to make space and give outlets to the crockpots Mr. Mooreâs wife was bringing later.
Otherwise, you shoved a tall stool borrowed from the garage in the corner of the room, and placed the small TV from Mr. Mooreâs office on it, intending to play Holiday programs while people funneled in and out.
~~~
Two hours before the party, the sun was setting on the horizon. Eddie moved his car to the end of the alleyway, and Carl rolled out a barrel to be stuffed with leftover cardboard boxes, and firewood he brought from home.
He and Eddie moved the workbench to the service door, and set up the bigger TV so people could watch the football game while standing around the fire.
~~~
One hour before the party, the garage was cleared of anything that a child could hurt themselves on or with, and the shop was hushed in wait. Eddie left first to get Adrie from school, and go home to change. The other guys did the same, leaving to collect what family they were bringing, while you stayed behind to stress over having enough food to feed everyone, even after Robin dropped off more snacks than you remembered listing, along with your party clothes.
ââââ
The evening began trepidatious.
Guests filled the lobby like a sea of warmly-dressed sardines. Scarves, mittens, jackets brushed necks, hands, shoulders. Those recognizing each other hugged, while three rambunctious dogs wove through their legs. You introduced yourself to Mr. Mooreâs daughter, Misty, and waved at her newborn. Carlâs teenage sons took the opportunity of their mom being busy to throw pebbles at each other outside. Mr. Mooreâs wife and her brother and his eldest son were either setting up food or starting the fire. There was a moody girl of unknown origin moping in the corner. You lost track. It was hard to concentrate in the excitement.
You tugged your sleeves into your palms, and looked around the room for what mustâve been the hundredth time..
Eddie was late, and it was difficult keeping the concern off your face.
âDonât look so worried,â Kevin said, landing a hand on your back as he shuffled by, carrying the scent of lighter fluid and smoke. âYour dateâs still in his car. Probably workinâ up the nerve to come see you.â
âHeâs not my date,â you corrected with a comically repulsed frown, hoping heâd buy it. âWeâre friends.â
A twinkle danced in his stark blue eyes, and his open-mouthed smile peeked from beneath his thick mustache. âLook out.â
Look out?
A pair of tiny arms hugged you around your ass, and if it wasnât for the tell-tale giggle, your stomach would be flipping with a much different emotion.
âAdrie!â You twisted and subtly scooped her arms higher on your hips before cupping the back of her head, and hugging her to your leg in the warmest greeting you could muster while your brain went to mush.
âYou made it,â you said, staring, staring, staring.
Eddie pressed his lips together as he looked from his daughter to you. Happiness etched itself in every facet of his expression; in the tight smile he failed to control, to the tenderness of his half-closed eyes shining behind his lashes, his confident stance with his hands slotted into his work jacket pockets, in his washed hair falling to one side as he let his head loll from the heavy thoughts swaying his shoulders in a slow rocking motion. Everything about him was relaxed upon seeing you.
âYou look beautiful,â he complimented with a magnificent amount of ease, as if he wasnât a bundle of anxiety minutes ago. Yet, he didnât withhold his praise. In gradual secondsâeach longer than the lastâhe beheld your appearance in the highest regard, noting the vast departure from the jeans you usually wore.
The burgundy pinafore dress fit you snug, and the hem stopped high on your thighs. The thin white turtleneck underneath clung to your figure, and your black pantyhose matched your chunky Mary Janes.
It was one beret and a baguette short from being an outfit you wore for a skit with your comedy troupe, but he didnât have to know that.
âReally beautiful,â he said to himself, taking you in, his whisper lost amongst the beginning strums of Rockinâ Around the Christmas Tree playing from the garage.
Adrie grabbed at the dress around your waist, chaining herself to you in a needy act for attention, and you stroked your thumb over her hair in return, eyes refusing to leave her father.
âAnd what about you, handsome?â You signaled it was his turn to show off.
So far, the formfitting gray slacks with a faint plaid pattern were doing him justice, but you wanted to see the whole thing.
Peacocking, Eddie lifted an arrogant brow on the same side of his smirk, and put some confidence in how he unzipped his jacket, savoring the anticipation. Opening it slowly to unveil, unfathomably, a button up shirt. White with blue stripes. Untucked, of course. Dropping the jacket from his shoulders, he strutted in a circle, giving you the full view of his backâno rugged coveralls, no leather, no durable canvas, no sweatshirtâjust thin polycotton blend stretched over his frame alluding to his musculature.
Working the jacket back up his arms, he presented one of his legs forward. âThink I gained some weight since I last wore these. They used to fit better.â
Oh. Oh, no. They fit perfectly.
While he was busy looking at where the slacks tapered to his black boots, you were commending other areas. Like his thighs, where the pants gave a slim shadow where his boxers ended. And a little higher, to the place the fabric bunched around, and forced the zipper to curve outward. The real deal. The whole package. The big show.
Jesus..
âYou look good,â you croaked out with the last of the air in your lungs. He jerked his head up, and smiled his usual wayâtoo wide, a little askew, showing more teeth on one side than the other. âShouldâve known youâd be just as handsome dressed up as you are in a t-shirt and jeans.â
âYou hear that, Adrie? It was worth it being late, because I look extra handsome.â
âI didnât say extraââ
âWho cares,â she whined at him. After demonstrating an ounce of patience while her dad took a shower, washed his hair, shaved, spritzed on too much cologne, and stood in front of the mirror debating over wearing his nicer clothes or his usual ripped jeans for an excruciating number of minutes, she was at her limits. âMy outfit is way, way, way cuter,â she argued in her kid-like way, fighting for your approval.
You crouched to her level, and she twirled in a circle, copying him. âOh my gosh, youâre right! Your sweatshirt is way, way, way cuter than his boring clothes. What does it say?â Somewhere above you, you heard Eddie suck his teeth.
Adrie pinched the red pullover and held it out for you to read along with her.
âSantaâs.. Widdle helper.â The pronunciation wasnât her fault. Upon closer inspection, the text did indeed spell âlittleâ as âwittlâ.â
âAnd whoâs that?â you asked, pointing at the character jumping out of a Christmas stocking on the front.
âTweety Bird!â
âAlright!â You held your hand up, and she high-fived you.
Thrown back into reality at a dogâs yip, and Mr. Mooreâs survey of heads, you let go of the romanticized bubble you surrounded yourself in, where it was just you, Adrie, and Eddie, and took heed of the packed room lurching towards the smell of cooked meatballs wafting in the air.
âEveryone here?â Mr. Moore asked, and when a murmur arose, he rubbed his hands together, and announced, âLetâs eat! Game starts soon.â
The sardine conglomerate moved as one, making a concentrated effort to form a line from the breakroom, down the hallway, and ending where you stood at the glass door. Adrie struggled to accept being last in line, but you prepared many distractions for her; the first of which being Eddieâs present.
âI got something for you,â you said, and reached over the ledge of your desk, patting around in search of the special item. He expressed an unreasonable amount of suspicion. âYou have to promise to wear it. Or else..â You gave Adrie a look, and she had a pout at the ready if he didnât comply.
âI donât like it when you two gang up on me,â he mumbled, eyeing you.
âToo bad. Here.â
Eddie snorted at the red, white, fuzzy, jingly accessory in your hand. âReally?â he asked, and laughed, âWouldâve worn it anyway.â
After a pause where he held the Santa hat in strange contemplation, he humbly knelt on his knees to Adrie, and asked her to do the honors, âWanna put it on for me?â She did so enthusiastically, jamming the hat on his head, rattling the bell at the end of the cap, and calling him Daddy Santa while roughly combing his hair. He was sure to hold your gaze as he prompted Adrie, âNot real Santa, right?â
âNo, youâre Daddy Santa. Real Santa is coming in two days! And heâs bringing me lots of presents because Iâve been good.â
You understood, then, the glaze of fatigue in the look he gave you. Itâd be a few more years until Adrie thanked him for the miracles in her life, the food in her belly, the roof over her head, and as a father, he only hoped heâd fix his situation before she learned the full details of his sacrifices to raise her, to give her a room, to provide her with a bed of her own while he went without.
Still, he was in the constant battle of yearning for the acknowledgement, while fearing her growing up and discovering the real world.
A complex set of emotions to parse for both him and his daughter, and he had to do it alone.
âOw, Adrie..â
Coming to his rescue when she began pinching his cheeks to a rosy state, you got her attention, âDonât think I forgot about you, cutie pie.â From behind the ledge, you pulled out a pair of reindeer antlers on a headband, and slid them on for her, doubling as a way to keep her bangs out of her eyes.
Glee burst across her face in a smile which rivaled the dawning rays of the rising sun. Deep-seated satisfaction erupted in your chest at her joy over the small gesture. Her immediate desire was to be picked up by you, ready to be doted on, and in that moment, you wanted nothing other than to gather her in your arms. But Eddie stole her for himself. You were left Adrie-less. And the fact it bothered you, and the fact making his daughter happy affected you in a way youâd only begun to unpack last week when you asked Robin to drive you to the toy store at the mall, was complicated.
âYou canât coerce Miss Mouse into picking you up at your command,â he told her in a playful tone. âYouâre a big girl now, and only Daddyâs strong enough to hold you.â
âOh, puh-lease.â As if your tongue wasnât already stuck out in disgust, it certainly was when he made a show of flexing his biceps. Under his jacket. Like that would prove anything.
Now, if he were wearing less..
You latched onto the change of subject in your mind, and moved on with the night, away from the poignant feelings of longing for something you hadnât quite figured out yet.
For now, you made a sardine family. You, Adrie, and Eddie. Your hand in hers, she on his hip, and his kiss to her forehead, fond of one another. Huddled in shared conversationâthe type where everything faded away. No one else. Just you, Adrie, and Eddie.
You volunteered to make their dinner. With Adrie clinging to his side, she was able to boss you into putting whatever she wanted on her plate, and you checked Eddieâs amused face every time she added another carrot or ham pinwheel, knowing heâd be the one to eat it when she was full. After hers, you made his, and after his, you made yours. Balancing them all on your palms and forearm, and bringing them to your desk, assuring Eddie he could have the office chair while you took the black stool.
Poor him, though. He sat with Adrie in his lap, desperate to maneuver around her antlers to get a mini cupcake in his mouth while you freely ate your sandwiches, and answered her questions about if reindeer were real, and if they could fly. (Yes, and yes.)
Other guests were present in the lobby, you knew, but at the impact of your knee prodding Eddieâs thigh, and his sly grin over Adrieâs head, they faded away once more.
Until a flash startled you both from your ga-ga gazing into each otherâs eyes.
âJust saving memories!â Kevin exclaimed, scrolling his thumb over the disposable cameraâs film cog.
And before you could blink away the spot invading your vision, he was gone. âHope we looked good, at least,â you said to Eddie, not having a candid picture taken since you moved to Hawkins.
He snorted, and leaned around Adrie to see the meatball he was quartering for her with a plastic fork. âI donât think you have to worry about that, sweetheart.â
Your heart fluttered at the endearment. He said it in a casual manner, not like when he was trying to fluster you. And the compliment was sincere, not teasing. It was sweet, with his arm around his daughter to keep her from squirming away, and the warm comfort of his leg against yours, body heat transferring from his slacks through your thin pantyhose.
A moment youâd like to remember. Including..
âHere,â you giggled.
He looked at the napkin you held out to him, and where you tapped at the corner of your mouth. âOh.â
In true Eddie fashion, he used his tongue to edge at the green icing, following it with his thumb to get whatever he missed and sucking the rest from his fingers while still managing to entertain Adrie with questions about what she did in preschool today, and dipping a carrot in ranch, dropping some of it too onto his pinky and licking that off without hesitation too. A chaotic mess of a man.
~~~
As predicted, it didnât take long for Adrie to get bored, and she wandered off to play with Kevinâs dogs. Eddie took it upon himself to finish the monumental task of eating the assortment of leftovers she surrendered on her plate. A real hero of the times, scarfing down the butter ring cookies she wore on her fingers, and downing the sip of juice she didnât want.
The conversation between you two was the easy kind. Simple, flowing. He slouched to the side with his elbow on the desk, cheek to his fist, legs spread, listening to you talk about nothing.
âAnd as you can seeâ âYou pulled open the second drawer to the short filing cabinet under your deskâ âIâm all organized for the new year. Got my Post-it notes, a new set of highlighters, some of those fancy pens that make my handwriting look nicer. Living a life of luxury over here.â
âVery cool,â he replied in a hollow tone, implying it was in a mocking âyouâre adorableâ kind of way, and not a âwow, you bought the Bugs Bunny themed sticky notes, thatâs very cool of youâ kind of way.
You pushed the drawer closed with your foot, and rocked on your stool, grinning.
Beyond the circle of touching knees, fluorescent lights, and brave glances, there was an abrupt cheer at a scored touchdown. In the lobby, the mothers grouped the chairs together to adore the hiccuping newborn. In the parking lot, the teenage boys drove a remote control car around. The moody girl brought a skewer and marshmallows out to the fire. A Jack Russell terrier panted at your calf. Kevin patted Adrieâs head, and stooped to whisper a secret in her ear as they passed each other outside the glass door.
Eddie took the pom pom end of his Santa hat between two fingers and rattled the bell at you. He looked like he was about to speak, but someone special interrupted him.
âIâve been sent on a mission. You have to come with me!â
You both turned to Adrie.
When neither of you did anything besides raise your eyebrows expectantly, and she didnât give more context, nor information, she got impatient. âCome on!â she pleaded with a stomp, and grabbed your hand, and you grabbed Eddieâs sleeve on instinct, practically tripping him over your stool while she dragged you into the hallway.
After several feet, she stopped. You stopped, Eddie stopped.
âWhatâs the mission?â he played along, linking his hand in hers so you were one big circle. A sardine family.
She didnât speak. Only grinned, and giggled.
Not catching on, you exchanged a confused shrug with Eddie, and asked her, âIs it a riddle?â
More laughter. Harder, more persistent tugs around your pinky and ring finger where she snared you. And a direct, focused smile aimed above your heads.
Slowlyâslowlyâslowlyâ
You straightened up from how you were bent over, and listened to Eddieâs clothes shift as he did the same. You followed the invisible line to where she was looking, tipping your head back in curiosity to see what was taped to the doorway exactly between you, and her beloved dad.
There was silence all around.
From the sharp leaves and red berries of the mistletoe, your gaze began its slow descent to Eddieâs. Passing over the red hat, the wrinkled forehead with messy bangs flattened onto it, the worried eyebrows. His sickly pale cheeks, flushed red lips. Suspended in time. Heart in your tight throat, pounding pulse, stomach twisting.Â
You searched the frightened sheen in his eyes.
âI didnât hang that, I swear,â he whispered.
âI didnât either,â you promised just as quickly.
It didnât matter who did.
There was noise all around. The football game turned to a commercial, and heavy feet announced people entering the garage, and approaching the glass door, coming inside to refresh their drinks and nibble at the cheese cubes.
Quicklyâquicklyâquicklyâ
âShe.. Weâve been watching a lot of Christmas movies, and she mustâve seen it in one of them.â Lowering his voice, he brought his hand up in a sympathetic gesture, trying to explain her behavior. You let go of his sleeve. âShe doesnât understand.. The meaning, and everything.â He paused. âUs.â Another pause, a tic in his lower lip like a tremble. âWorking together, and stuff.â Voice almost mute. âThat w-we canât..â
As much as you wanted to smash your lips on his to stop him from overexplaining the multitude of reasons you two couldnât, or shouldnât kiss, (youâre at work, this place smells like meatballs, his daughter is right there, Mr. Mooreâs shadow breached the lobby, the fact Eddie chose listing coworkers as his rationale for not kissing you and not because you two were friends, but then again, what if he was about to say that, that he only saw you as a friend, and maybe being coworkers was an easier excuse than saying he wasnât into you like that, oh godâ), you had to get out of this situation with grace.
âNo, yeah, I get it. Uhm.â Think fast, think fast, think fast. âYou know who else is under the mistletoe, hmm?â you drew out the hum to build tension, setting your sights on your target.
Adrie squealed when you snatched her up and spun in a circle, attacking her cheeks with an unrelenting amount of kisses; the type that were quick pecks with lots of kissy noises, so saccharine and fawning and annoying to listen to. Tender and pure and tempting to the man who made a conscious effort to release the pinch of frustration from his face, and remorse from his discontent sigh before answering your question.
âCan she have one of these chocolate snowmen?â
âOnly if youâre willing to tire her out before we leave,â Eddie said, taking intentional steps towards you and Adrie on your hip, leaving the mistletoe and its implications behind. He placed a friendly hand along your shoulder blade. His other hand was more menacing on her back, as indicated by her eyes growing large.
He warned her in a stern tone, âIf you have too much sugar and keep me up all night, youâll never have another dessert again.â
She called him out, point blank, nose turned up in triumph. âYouâve already said that before, and I got cookies anyway.â
Your cookies, he said in a quick glance and eyebrow wag at you, before speaking to her again, âYou got me there. However.. I would hate for Santa to find out you stayed up past your bedtime.â He sucked his teeth with a pitying shrug. âThe consequences are steep. Heâs very strict, you know.â
Adrieâs frown was serious.
Eddie was having too much fun using his one seasonal threat to get her to behave.
âAw, donât listen to him,â you soothed her. You lifted your chin so she could burrow her head against your neck, and amended, âWell, do listen to your dad, but I have something special planned for us, Adrie.â She roused out of her heart-wrenching pout, and hugged you harder, kicking her feet around your waist in excitement.
You smiled at him, but your gaze fell elsewhere, passing over the men in the hallway, and taking a last, long look at the mistletoe, seeing it for the confusing event it created, not the romantic scene it was known for. âIâll take her for the night. You go watch the game, or something. Hang out with the adults. Iâve got her.â
The tiny room became overcrowded. Someone whispered, âOh, arenât they cute together,â and Eddie chewed on his inner cheek. He removed his hand from you, fingertips slipping over the back of your dress, catching the strap, then your side, below your ribs, above Adrieâs leg. Measured, methodical touches. Not accidents.
While his face lacked strong emotions, there were words in his eyes. Maybe they were an apology for the weirdness you now found yourselves in, or a thank you for taking her off his hands for a bit, or they were something else entirely. He didnât say.
âYou two have fun,â he expressed in his soft voice, and grabbed a cold soda on his way out.
~~~
A cold soda did not unwind him like a beer.
Eddie warmed himself by the barrel fire while the game played. Though any opportunity to talk with his peers rarely expanded past the usual topics of work and raising his daughter, and were frequently shadowed by what was happening on the screen, he didnât mind the interruption. He knew the rules of the game enough to feel a sense of camaraderie when they celebrated. And really, he just wanted the time to think. Or not think. Definitely not think about how he reacted earlier, stumbling over his words to assure you he wasnât some creep who hung mistletoe as a way to trick you into kissing him. Absolutely not agonize over his inability to articulate himself, and provide you with an out while also reminding himself why he shouldnât listen to his impulse clawing to be released, and kiss you on the spot. And certainly not consider your mild response to the whole thing, and how your gaze lingeredâfor a millisecondâon his lips before you scooped Adrie into your arms.
Eddie ran the heel of palm along his jaw, back and forth, and worked it to the back of his neck, wringing his nape in tight squeezes to release the tension.
A beer was definitely better than soda, but so be it. He downed the rest of it, and justified going inside for another. Of course, his motives for going through the lobby werenât to quench his thirst, but as he almost ran face-first into the glass door, his mouth went dry.
Your ass in the curve-hugging dress was the first thing he noticed. Noticed it because you were curled into the fetal position on the floor, pretending to die a dramatic death. Oh, and you were wearing a black cape adorned in shiny gold stars, and your mouse ears from Halloween, along with a crown.
The loud crunch of him crushing his soda can got your attention.
âYou donât always have to dress like a mouse for her; she knows who you are,â he said in cool nonchalance on his way to the fridge.
You pointed a pirateâs cutlass at him, regarding him down the plastic blade. âIâm the Rat King.â
The music on the portable radio changed moods from a battle march to a victorious, slow piece.
Ditching the mouse ears by throwing them aside into a small pile of other props, you instructed Adrie to exchange her rapier for a flower crown. âOoh, ooh! And this is where Clara and the Nutcracker Prince dance. Yeah, hold my hand, lift your leg in arabesque. Just like that.â You walked around her, spinning her in a circle while she posed with her leg behind her, and when you let go, you granted her the stage to improv what ballet moves she knew through pop culture osmosis, clapping and gasping and cheering her on, both of you panting from the exertion of playing an entire cast of characters.
There was a pang in Eddieâs stomach. The usual stuff: wanting to watch, wanting to join, wanting to stop it. The jealousy of being left out of the intimate moment, the yearn to add a third to his and Adrieâs life, the grief of when things donât work out and this was a mistake. Decisions, daydreams, the reality of you maybe moving away, maybe not. Maybe dating him, maybe not. Maybe making work a place he dreaded coming to again if he tried something and it ended in disaster.
He had no other job options.
And yet..
âHey.â Eddie traced the rim of the chilled soda in his hand, collecting condensation. âAh, the TV in there is playing those old claymation Christmas movies in a marathon. Dâyou guys wanna watch them with me?â
Teaching her to put her toe to her knee in the passĂ© position, you asked, âDonât you want to hang out and watch the game?â When he didnât respond, you looked up at him. Immediately, your focus honed in on his shy habit of chewing on his bottom lip.
âNah. Not really. Iâd rather be in here.â
~~~
The breakroom lights were off, save for the dim set on either side of the sink lighting the buffet, and the air was humid from steam curling off the crockpots. On the table were three marshmallow snowmen held together by melted chocolate and pretzel stick arms; remnants of an impromptu competition of which he lost.
It was a warm and cozy affair, made more so by the three of you squished together to watch Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer on the small TV in the corner.Â
Adrie nestled deeper into her baby blanket. She had the quilt cocooned around her, running her fingertips over her mouth while she watched. Beside her, you sat with your hands laced in your lap, and at the end, Eddie slumped diagonally in his seat, propping his elbow on the back of your chair. Half paying attention to the stop motion film, half congratulating himself on getting this far. It took all of Jack Frost to work up the courage to daintily set his elbow at the very corner of your chair, almost making contact with your shoulder without worrying if he sweated through his deodorant or cologne yet..
But what if his breath smelled bad from the weird combination of food he ate?
Fuckâ
The golden retriever lounging on the floor behind Adrie wagged his tail. Kevinâs distinct shuffle came down the hallway. âWell hereâs where you three gone off to,â he said. His dog lifted his head, and licked his lips in anticipation for a pet. âDonât mind me, just came in for another pepperoni slice, isnât that right, Coop?â
Cooper panted at his name.
Adrie mumbled around her fingers, âI love your puppy. Heâs the best.â
âYeah, she adores him,â you added.
âAw, youâre a good boy, arenât ya?â Kevin bent down to praise his dog with a couple of pets under the chin. And when he was finished, he made a fuss about his old knees, and the cold weather affecting them, and theâwhatever else he said.
Upon struggling to stand, Kevin sought a place to put his hand for assistanceâand wouldnât you know, the perfect spot was right in front of him. He clutched Eddieâs forearm for purchase, which incidentally took him off guard before he could brace his muscles, and pinned it to the back of your chair. Once the move was complete, Kevin stood and patted the spot he held until Eddieâs arm curved flush against your shoulders. Then he winked and walked off, no longer shuffling. Eddie stared open-mouthed at the determination.
His insides clenched with unreleased tension. The holly hung in the doorway. Things he wasnât supposed to do. Anxiety, nerves heightened with the sensation of your solid body breathing beneath the weight of him.
Adrie mumbled something about what was happening on screen, and you said something back, nodding.
Itâs not like this was the first time he put his arm around a girl. But it was the first time he did so with the burden of pessimism warning him not to.
He scrutinized the side of your face for any sign of acknowledgement that his arm was around you, but if you cared, you didnât show it. You remained poised as ever.
You didnât mind, outwardly.
So he didnât either.
It was only in front of his boss that he lifted his arm to comb the hair off his neck when Mr. Moore entered. And as soon as he was gone, Eddie strung it casually across the back of your chair again, twirling a curl of Adrieâs hair around his finger.
And when Carl came in, you sat forward for the entire duration of his stay, eating a marshmallow while he was in the room. And when he left, you sank back into your seat.
The third time someone came in, neither of you moved. You followed each otherâs lead and did nothing. Subconsciouslyâor consciouslyâfinding the courage to fit your bodies together in a purposeful way, relaxing towards one another, and slotting into the cushiony space his arm allowed against his bulky jacket.
Time went on like that.
The conversation between you two was the easy kind. Wordless, intuitive. Exchanged in the permanent grin affixed to his face, and your tender hums of affection when you looked at him or Adrie. Somewhere in the silent conversation, he summoned the balls to stroke his thumbâonly onceâover the soft slope of your bicep, and coped with the aftermath of studying the profile of your lips tugging up at the corners.
~~~
The party came to its natural conclusion when the game ended. Eddie scooped what was left in the crockpots into mismatched tupperware he brought from home, filling up an old butter container with chili, and rinsing out the cookware to give back to its original owner. He placed cupcakes in their plastic clamshell packaging, and downsized the veggie tray into a manageable load. You played the part of an amiable host, and wished everyone a happy holiday on their way out, insisting youâd take care of cleaning up. Really, it was no problem. You had Eddie with you, and Adrie was helping by falling asleep with a crayon in her hand.
Eddie listened to you usher them out the door, and lock it behind them once they drove away.
In truth, he preferred them gone when you both made trips to his car, loading the backseat with the leftovers. Didnât matter if they were room temperature carrots, or the mangled overcooked meatballs from the bottom of the crockpot, he accepted them.
He took inventory of the last containers on the breakroom table while you woke up Adrie, and for once, he felt okay.
Normally stress chewed holes in his stomach this time of year, but knowing the panic of not paying the electric bill before incurring another late fee would be eliminated by the generous bonus Moore gave him in the white envelope tucked away in his inner jacket pocket, Eddie felt.. alright. Like things would be alright. He put enough aside for his daughter to have one big present this year, and things would be alright.
âReady?â you asked, holding Adrieâs hand in the doorway.
âYeah, itâs just these two containers, and weâre good. Were we doing anything about the decorations?â
âNah.â You waved him off. âWe can take them down after the break.â
More than happy to get home and reap the reward of a full nightâs sleep, he picked her up mid-yawn, and you carried the last of the containers to the car for him. While you found available space to shove the tupperware without it spilling, Eddie swayed with Adrie. He rested his cheek on the top of her head, and closed his eyes, feeling himself meld into the drowsy moment, comforted by her weight in his arms.
He heard the gravel crunch from your movement, and your shivered exhale beneath your jacket. It was his turn to put Adrie in her carseat, but when he caught the dewy glimmer in your eye, he thought he might hold onto her for the next eternity if it meant he could earn that soft awe from you again.
However, it was cold out, and he should hurry up.
âUh, thereâs uh,â you started, standing back while he buckled Adrie in. âThereâs actually one more thing inside.â
âThere is?â he questioned dumbly. He glanced at your incessant finger guns pointed towards the back entrance door, and tried to picture what he left behind.
âYeah, if you could just help me real quick.â
He shrugged and tucked the quilt tight around Adrie. âIâll be right back, okay?â She nodded, and covered the lower half of her face with the blanket.
Still cool, calm, and collected, Eddie followed you into the garage, through the glass door, into the lobby, down the hallway, and stopped when you stopped. In the breakroom doorway. Under the..
He struggled to swallow around the lump in his throat.
Adrenaline raced to his nerves, to his brain, to his heart jumping in confusion. The addictive buzz enabled him to remember each detail of your lips parting, the sound of your shallow inhale, and the sting of doubt on his cheeks when you spun around and pried out the noisy keyring from your pocket, shaking them until you found the one to the storage closet.
You turned the key in the door opposite him in the hallway, and reached inside, into the dark. âI, uhm.. I got a present for Adrie, if thatâs okay..â
âYou..?â He went silent at the large gift bag you held out to him, with the giant portrait of jolly Saint Nick on the front bulging from what was inside.
Second guessing if you were overstepping boundaries with the gesture, you faltered, âIf itâs not okay, I can, I guessâ?â
âNo, no,â he finally said, screwing his eyes shut at realizing he just stood there like a moron. âNo, thatâs, thatâs so nice of you. I-I donât even know what to say. Just, yeah.. You didnât have to do something like that.â He accepted the bag, and hugged it to him, crushing the decorative tissue paper sticking out the top.
âI signed it as being from Santa. I figured that was appropriate.â
âYeah, yeah, thatâs perfect. Uhm.. wow.â
He was doing his favorite traitâwhere his smile evolved into an open laugh; a little obnoxious, and a lot flirtyâand he could tell when you beamed up at him and your cheesy grin overflowed into a giggle, it was your favorite trait too.
And you kept the presents rolling.
âAs Office Administrator,â you said with a spry loveliness in your sidling up to him, âI have some insider knowledge that someone put in a good word for you, and uh, it looks like youâre getting a pretty nice raise at the beginning of the new year.â There was no mistaking who. âAnd I heard through the grapevine that Mr. Moore is going to start pulling from his retirement in June, and Misty isnât interested in running the family business, so heâs seeking out a new owner,â you put more than a hint of inflection on the end of the sentence, and gave him a look.
You shrugged your shoulder to your chin. âAnyway, do with that information what you will.â
Eddie stayed stupefied, speechless, staring down at the bag. Because you were you, you ended the conversation with a weak punch to his arm when a car drove into the parking lot.
âThatâs Robin,â you said.
He watched you walk away. Down the hall, into the lobby. Putting distance between him and the doorway to the breakroom, where his regrets taunted him.
The sharp leaves and red berries were lost amongst the shadows, but their warning rang true. The reasons he shouldnât kiss you. The talk he never had with Adrie, the potential expiration date even if things did work out between you two, the issue of seeing each other every day and knowing he couldnât handle the habitual rejection of ignoring the otherâs existence if things went bad.
New year, same old coward.
Except.
An idea.
An impulse.
A vicious desire.
He rejected the rejection. âWait!â
You turned, and jumped at his sudden appearance. Eyebrows raised in surprise, a fresh smile lighting up your face in the gentle moonlight.
Eddie stopped you by grabbing your hand, wielding you closer with his rough fingers pressed into your sweaty palm until your arms entwined, and your jackets rubbed. He dropped his head to the side with a shameful shake, and ran the tip of his tongue along his teeth, building to an apologetic admission. âIâm doing that thing again where I forget to thank you,â he said, not needing to speak above a whisper as he gazed down at you, unafraid.
âThen thank me,â you replied, curling your fingers around his.
His wavering voice went deeper in his chest, âWords donât feel good enough anymore.â The bag under his arm crinkled as he lifted a finger at Robin who had come to peer inside the window, and very quickly made herself scarce after witnessing the moment she was intruding on. âYouâre too sweet, and I donât even get to drive you home.â
You encouraged him in a laugh. âThen think of another way to thank me thatâs not transportation based.â
A bad thought bloomed warmth across his cheeks. âI will,â he promised, nodding. âIâll find a better way to thank you for everything youâve done for me and Adrie. Something good.â
âLooking forward to it.â
You lingered for a second, waiting, and when you both remained kissless, you rocked your body into him, cozying your sides together with your joined arms squeezed between in a sort of goodbye hug. âSpeaking of Adrie, you might want to get back to her before she becomes a popsicle.â
He inhaled sharply and snapped his head up. âYeah, I should probably go start the car.â
âHave a good holiday, Eddie. Get lots of rest over the break, okay?â
âI will, I will.â
With an absolutely astounding amount of memories made today, you were both content to step away from each other and go home to begin the tossing and turning, sickly sweet, cold-side-of-the-pillow reminiscing about the brave glances, and daring touches.
You reached for the door handle.
âGoodnight, sweetheart.â
You stalled with your back facing him. Thinking you were sly, you checked the reflection to see what part of you his gaze was admiring, and you laughed.
Finally. He was making eye contact with you through the glass.
âGoodnight, handsome,â you answered, and left with your smile ducked into your collar.
The evening ended spectacularly.
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unattainable
dbf!bucky barnes x fem!reader
the reader and the terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day.
warnings: SMUT (unprotected vaginal sex, cunnilingus, dirty talk, degradation & praise kink), age gap (19-early 20s x late 30s early 40s), inappropriate relationships, cheating, hurt/comfort, toxic relationships, gratuitous smut
this came out a lot softer than intended, whoops
Youâve had a rough fucking day. And thatâs to put it lightly.
You woke up after sleeping through your alarm, twice, making you miss an online morning class and wildly late for another. The local brewery was all out of your usual order- which was the only thing that wouldâve brought you peace. To make matters even worse, your phone died when you needed it most, and when your boyfriend; who youâve been dating for over a year- handed you his cellphone to use instead, you were slapped in the face by sexually charged text messages between him and one of your closest friends. And all of that is just a brief summary.
Really, the last thing you needed was a stack of work given to you by your employer to do on your time off, but of course, thatâs what you were given.
Youâre sat at your kitchen island, home alone; your parents excusing themselves for a much needed date night, clad in nothing but panties and a shirt you had gotten at a concert years before, which was the only size they had leftâ a size too large for your frame.
The sound of the front door opening collides with your incessant tapping of keys, making you almost jump out of your skin. A relief washes over you when you see a familiar face, dressed for the fall weather and dropping a plastic bag by your side.
âYour dad home?â Bucky asks, almost grunting.
âNo,â You say, turning to face him, âWhatâs in the bag?â
âBread.â He says, opening it and showing you the round object wrapped in tinfoil. Buckyâs always been a good cook; at least when it comes to dough and grain. Your mother always insists he brings over extras when he bakes, and he always obliges, basking in her admiration for his skills.
When you reach to unwrap it, he slaps your hand away, making you yelp. âHands off. This is for dinner.â
âAsshole,â You mumble, rubbing your now slightly irritated hand. Youâre not usually like thisâ usually happy to see him, happy to see a warm, non familial face around the house to bring you conversation. But with a day like today, all chivalry is out the window.
âHey,â He says, eyebrows raised. Despite his surprise, his voice remains calm. âWhatâs with the attitude?â
âI just donât like getting slapped, surprisingly.â
âDonât be a brat.â He says, voice stern and stabbing. Heâs got his glare set on you, towering; it almost scares you, almost makes your heart drop to your stomach.
You donât respond, instead opting to avert your gaze, placing your attention to the work on your computer and the splitting ache in your head and heart.
âHey,â Bucky says, voice calmer, âWhatâs goinâ on?â
âNothing,â You breathe, barely audible.
Your reply makes Bucky tsk, shaking his head with a click of his tongue. âYouâre lying. Talk to me.â
You swallow, harsh and rough in your throat. You can barely help the way your lip quivers. Every piece of text on your computer is nothing but a blur, a mindless space of pixels thatâs clouding your head. Youâre almost staring past it, but desperate for a way to not look at himâ because you know if you do, it will just make everything worse.
âIâm just having a bad day.â Your voice is soft. Fragile. Barely there.
You feel his hand rubbing your arm, trying to bring you as much comfort as he can. He canât take your stress away, he knows that, but he just wants to put it to rest for now.
âWhat happened, hun?â
The nickname strikes through your chest, but simultaneously covering you in warmth. âI justâŠâ You can barely speak without choking, âItâs just one of those days where everything goes fucking wrong. I wake up too late, I miss my classes, get berated by teachers who donât understand that I canât control how my body worksâ and then I canât even get food in my stomach, let alone a fucking coffee. My parents wouldnât call me back all day, wouldnât even lend me a text, and Chase canât be there for me because heâs too busy sending photos of his dick to other girls!â
âHold on,â Bucky jets, tightening his grip on your arm, âWhat was that last part?â
âChase?â You ask, eyes watery. Bucky nods. âI- Heâs- He was texting- sexting my friend, Chloe.â
Buckyâs eyebrows tighten in a furrow, thumb stroking your bare skin. âHeâs a fucking idiot.â
âNo, I justâŠâ You breathe in, trying to catch your breath from the four mile sprint of a monologue you just did, âI havenât had time for him lately, yâknow? Iâve been busy with my job, and-and school, we havenât done anything in weeks, and yâknow- he has needs. I donât- blame him, I wasnât- I wasnât there.â
âWhat?â Bucky bellows, voice rising. You jump at the loudness, before he brings you back down with his grip. âIs that what he told you?â
You nod. Bucky sighs.
âListen, Iâm⊠Iâm gonna give you some advice.â He says. âTake it from me. Iâm a lot older than you, and Iâve had a fair share of weak moments- but never, ever would I think itâs okay to go behind a womanâs back just because Iâm not gettinâ any. Thatâs fucking cowardice. If a guy ever tells you itâs your fault he cheated on you, run in the other direction.â
âHe didnât cheat on me,â You hiccup, âThey didnât do anything, they-they were just texting.â
âDid he say that, too?â
You pause, staring at him- before nodding.
âThatâs bullshit. He went behind your back with someone else. Thatâs cheatinâ.â
You bite your lip, not hard enough to break skin, adverting your eyes from his gaze. You let the words sink in, let them fill you, let them sit in your body for now. Heâs right, and you know he is, but itâs hard for you to admit to yourself. Itâs how youâve always been treated by men. Itâs how youâve always experienced love. Itâs how everything has always been.
âWhatâs goinâ on in that pretty little head, huh?â
You laugh, breathy and broken, âIâm just⊠I feel like a shitty girlfriend.â
âDonât say that shit,â Bucky has your face in his hand, pulling your gaze back to his. Heâs staring at you with those steel eyes, intense in gaze; like theyâre reading your thoughts. âHe has a right hand for a reason.â
That makes you laugh. The sound of your giggle makes him laugh, his dimpled smile covering his features.
âIâm serious, okay? Donât do that for yourself. Heâs the asshole.â
âYeah,â You sniffle, âHe is.â
Buckyâs eyes are still on you when you look away, taken over by a soft gleam heâs had for a while now.
âI shouldnât be crying over a guy who thinks eating pussy is gross,â You laugh, wiping your slightly teared cheeks with your palms.
âWhat?â Buckyâs gawking, almost comedically, âGross?â
âYou donât think itâs gross?â
âFar from it.â
You smile weakly, only one corner of your mouth turning upward. You attempt to move back to your work, before he grips your arm again, pulling your gaze back.
âYou sounded surprised,â He notes, âHas every guy youâve ever dated thought that?â
âUhâŠâ You chew on your bottom lip, staring down at your lap, âYeah.â
The silence that follows is almost deafening. Buckyâs seen you with a couple guys- seen the boys you bring home to meet your folks, boys who pull up in your driveway and great you with a rough kiss. The thought alone that youâve just been taken without getting is enough to tighten his shouldersâ a pretty little thing like you, perfect ass in tight pantiesâ itâs insane to him. Insane that no ones taken advantage in the right way.
âSo,â He tuts, âYouâve never had anyone eat you out before?â
The question surprises the shit out of you. Sure, youâve had raunchy conversations with himâ but theyâve all been shitty jokes followed by âif you tell your parents I joke with you like this, Iâll kill youâ. Heâs always been the soft, teddy bear next door with a potty mouth, careful to not overstep boundaries or get into you personally. Heâs never even asked about the boys youâve brought around, or pointed out the actors you ogle in movies. Itâs always been behind a wall.
âNo.â
He hums, deep in his throat, bringing one of his fingers to lift your chin. Heâs got his gaze fixated on your mouth, nostrils flaring with his heavy breaths. âDâya wanna know what it feels like?â
Your heart drops down into your stomach, falling into an ashy pit. Your breathing gets harder, thicker, your thighs clenching at the very suggestionâ heâs always been the guy your friends have joked about being too hot for his own good, being a tease for remaining so forbidden. Youâve never said anything, never spoke a peep, knowing that if you admitted anything to yourself it would become real. He would become real. Instead of your dads friend who comes by with pastries, heâd turn into the man you stare at by swimming pools, praying heâs catching glimpses of how your ass looks in your swimsuit. And you had never been ready for that immature, young schoolgirl crush.
âWhatâre you saying?â Your voice is breathy, whispering. His free hand lays wait on your waste, itching to move down, tangled with the fabric of your shirt.
âGonna ask you somethinâ, and you can always say no, get up ân leave. Tell me to fuck off.â He says, still staring at your mouth, still holding onto you, âCan you get up ân bend over for me?â
Oh fuck. Suddenly every wall, every rule youâve made with yourself, every illusion of unattainability comes crashing down, falling apart like bricks. If you werenât clenching your thighs tight before, you are now.
You donât even respond. With a heavy breath, you stand up, and he follows behind, moving back to give you room. You pause, letting yourself breatheâ before placing your hands on the cold marble of the countertop, letting yourself bend down.
You can hear the shaky breath Bucky lets out, hear him fumbling to move behind you. The feeling of his hands on your hips almost makes you jolt. He moves you to where he wants you, before pulling you up, bracing your back flat against his chest.
âListen to me,â He says, speaking into your ear, voice soft. âIf you donât want me to do this, just tell me, okay? Not doinâ anything you donât want me to.â
You nod, but donât move. With your silent consent, he pushes you back down, laying you flat against the island. He hooks a prosthetic finger into your panties, pulling them slowly down your legs, letting you step out of them.
âMmm,â He hums, letting himself fall down to his knees. Heâs staring up at your pussy, glistening with your arousal, profited by his very presence. He slides a finger through your drenched folds, making you twitch, rubbing your slit from top to bottom in an experimental test.
The first slide of his tongue in your folds is heavenly. It has you keening, legs trying to move away, but he keeps you there with a tight grip of his hands. Heâs wrapping his lips around your clit, sucking lightly, finger teasing your hole with wide circles.
âOh fuck,â Youâre moaning, head falling forward and eyes rolling back. Itâs different from anything else, better than anything elseâ and heâs got you stuck, manhandling you the way he wants you. The way he knows is best for you.
When he slides his fingers in, you clench hard, making him moan around your cunt. The vibrations send a jolt of pleasure up your spine, leaving you whining- whimpering against the granite.
With him switching from sucking your clit, to fucking your hole with his tongueâ itâs not long before you feel the build up deep in your core, spinning wildly towards your finish. Youâre grinding against his face, practically smothering him, but he doesnât seem to mind. If anything, with the way heâs moaning, whining against your soaked pussy, youâd say he fucking loves it.
Then, youâre cumming, drenching his face with your wetness, his face buried deeper than you thought possible. It leaves your legs twitching.
As you come down, he goes up, fingers still sliding inside of your cunt as he pulls you back up towards him. With you leaning back against his chest, he leans down to your ear:
âYou know why Iâm doinâ this?â He asks, fingers still gliding inside of you, overstimulating you in the best way, âCause you drive me fuckinâ crazy.â
Youâre gasping, gripping his arms tight, his thumb flicking and rubbing your sensitive nub, fingers pounding away at that spongey spot deep inside your core.
âEvery time I come in here,â He grunts, âYouâre dressed like this. Tight ass in those fuckinâ panties, beautiful legsâ you have no idea what you do to me. Your dad would kill me, if he knew what I was thinkinâ, if he knew how I hard I fucked my fist thinkinâ about his sweet little girl. How bad I wanna stuff her cunt full, watch the way she cumsâ just wanna treat her right. Cause you deserve it, honey, you fuckinâ do. Tired of watching you get pushed around by little boys who donât know nothinâ about making you happy. Just wanna see you happy, wanna see you satisfied. Wanna see you get what you need. What you deserve.â
âPlease,â You beg, eyeâs shut tight, âBuck, please fuck me, please.â
It has him gasping, breath fluttering. âI canât, honey, this is about you.â
âPlease.â Youâre practically crying. âPlease, I need your cock so fucking bad, pleaseâ I need you to fill me up, want you to fuck me so good, Bucky, please!â
âFuck,â Bucky curses, grinding his already throbbing cock against your bare ass, âFuck!â
You hear him fumbling with his belt, the clinking of metal filling up the murderous silence. He pulls up behind you, gripping your hips, before stoppingâ
âFuck,â He stops, âDonât have a condom.â
âIâm on the pill,â You donât have time for this. Youâre practically dripping arousal onto the floor, clenching around nothing, cunt desperate for his cock. âYou can cum inside me, you can do whatever you want, please just fuck me.â
Youâre going to be the fucking death of him, he swears.
The first slide of his cock makes your body twitch. His cock stretches you almost to the point of pain, burying inside you to the hilt with a heavy moan. His balls are heavy against your ass, ready to burst, thrusting shallowly into your cunt out of desperation.
âFuck,â He moans, âGod, your pussyâs so fuckinâ good.â
âPlease, move,â You whine, âJust fuck me.â
Bucky places his hand on the small of your back, softly pushing you down against the countertop. After he places himself just right, he starts snapping into you, deep and hard.
Youâre reeling, moaning against the marble, the slapping of skin on skin filling up your ears. You can hear him moaning, grunting about how good you feel, precum dripping down in your inner walls.
âOh god,â Buckyâs grunting, thrusts getting faster. âGod, yeah, stay just like that for me. Let me fuck that pretty cunt, fuck, lemme fill you.â
âYes, yes,â Youâre moaning like youâre being paid, gripping the counter so hard your nails change color, âPlease, please fuck meâ fuck, harder, please, Bucky.â
The sound of your moans have him desperate. He feels feral, uncontrollable, unable to stop how recklessly he fucks you. He lifts your leg up, pulling his arm underneath it as leverage to fuck you deeper. Youâre both colliding in a symphony of moans, the sounds of your pleasure so loud you know the neighbors can hear.
âThis what you wanted?â Bucky slaps your ass, watching as the flesh jiggles underneath his thrusts, âThis what you were begging for? A thick cock in your tight little pussy? Fuck, how shitty those boys fuckinâ treated you, leavinâ you this desperate for cock, practically fuckinâ drooling against the counter. Fuck, take it like that, honey, youâre takinâ it so fucking good for me.â
Your moans are practically incoherent at this point. Youâre blabbering, unable to keep your mouth shut, desperately humping yourself back against him when he moves to rub at your clit.
âSo fuckinâ cock hungry,â Bucky laughs, âWhat would daddy think of you?â
When you clench around him, he knows heâs got you with his words. âYeah? What would daddy think about his sweet girl getting pounded in his own kitchen? Begging to be fucked by the only man whoâs ever gonna fuckinâ treat her right?â
âIâm a- Iâm a slut,â You moan, broken.
âOh god, yeah you are.â Bucky pulls you up, putting your leg down and pressing you against him by your throat. âBut youâre my fuckinâ slut. Donât wanna see anymore boys around hereâ the only cock youâre gettinâ is mine, okay? Only cock that can make you feel this good.â
âIâm gonna cum again,â You whine, grabbing onto the hand thats wrapped around your throat. âIâm gonna cum, please.â
âGood fuckinâ girl,â He moans, fucking you harder, faster, âCum around this cock, baby, fuckinâ claim it. Câmon, be a good girl and cum.â
The orgasm rips through you hard, your moans turning into screams as he fucks you through it. You can barely make out his praise, the way heâs commending you for coming around him. The chord snap is almost painful, almost has you trying to run away from it, but the feeling of your orgasm running through your core is enough to have you crying.
âOh god, here it fuckinâ comes, baby,â Bucky moans, eyes shut tight, panting breaths against your skin, âGonna cum so fucking hard, Iâm fuckinâ shaking,â
Youâre begging him for it, pleading for him to cum inside you, fill you upâ
With one hard thrust deep inside you, he lets out a loud yell, cum filling you up deep inside your body. Heâs shivering, humping desperately against your ass as he rides it out, light moans escaping his lips.
The aftermath of it scares you. You can feel reality set in as he slides his cock out, cum dripping down your leg and onto the tiled floor.
Before you can let your thoughts sink in, heâs grabbing you by the chin, pulling you to face him. He captures your mouth in a kiss, tongue finding its way in your mouth, passion setting in heavier than anything else. You moan against his mouth, letting him groan, pulling you against him by your waist.
When he pulls away, heâs followed by a string of salivaâ one of the many things connecting the both of you.
âIf you ever need anythinâ,â Bucky says, using his thumb to wipe up the spit on your chin, âJust ask me. Iâll give you everything.â
âCan you-â You stutter, embarrassment flooding you at how exposed you are, âCan you help me clean up, please?â
He smiles at the politeness you still give him even after all of that. Bucky turns you around to face him, before sliding down to his knees on the floor.
âI didnât mean like that!â
âMmm,â He hums, grin plastered on his face, âBut I prefer to do it this way.â
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đđđĄđđ€đąđ đ©đ€ đąđź đđĄđ€đ!
hi everyone! my name is hannah, and itâs very nice to meet you <3 Iâve been writing my whole life for school, and Iâve only recently started writing for fun (which is why i consider myself a beginner) and thought Iâd make my own blog to share my writing with you (and hopefully you enjoy reading it!). I admire all the writers on tumblr and I respect everyone who puts their work out there to be seen and enjoyed, which is why Iâve been inspired to finally share my own work. So with that in mind......
đđđ§đ'đš đ đĄđđ©đ©đĄđ đđđ© đđđ€đȘđ© đąđ!
~ Iâve loved reading my whole life and have dabbled with writing for fun since I was younger, but havenât been serious about it till now!
~ Iâm a big nerd who loves learning about pretty much everything!
đđđŁđđ€đąđš đđŁđ đđđ€đ„đĄđ đ'đĄđĄ đŹđ§đđ©đ đđđ€đȘđ©
đđąđŻđ„đ°đźđŽ đąđŻđ„ đđ©đąđłđąđ€đ”đŠđłđŽ
~ Marvel (Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Natasha Romanoff, Yelena Belova, Thor Odinson, Peter Parker, Loki Odinson, and open to more)
~ Criminal Minds (Spencer Reid only for now)
~ Game of Thrones (Jon Snow, Arya Stark, Sansa Stark, Robb Stark, Daenerys Targaryen, Yara Greyjoy, and open to more)
~ House of Dragons (Daemon Targaryen, Rhaenyra Targaryen)
~ Stranger Things (Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington, and Robin Buckley)
~ Euphoria (Elliot, Cassie, Maddy, Lexi, and Rue)
~ Outer Banks (Rafe Cameron and JJ Maybanks)
~ Spiderverse (Miguel Oâhara)
đđŠđ°đ±đđŠ đąđŻđ„ đ°đ”đ©đŠđł đ€đ©đąđłđąđ€đ”đŠđłđŽ
~ Chris Evans (Andy Barber, Ari Levinson, Lloyd Hansen, Frank Adler, and Ransom Drysdale)
~ Matthew Gray Gubler
~ Dominic Fike
~ Harry Styles
~ Florence Pugh
~ Drew Starkey
I will update this list when more names and fandoms come to mind, but for now this is it! Please donât hesitate to ask about a character not on this list, Iâm always open to anything :)
#about me#disclaimer#warning#what i'll write for#multi fandom blog#baby blog#beginner writer#please go easy on me lol#idk what to tag lol
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rhaenyra getting both criston and daemon this ep GIRL YOU DO IT FOR ALL OF US
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i love you purple i love you lavender i love you lilac i love you wisteria i love you violet i love you mauve i love you periwinkle i love you amethyst i love you
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A Taste of Summer
Summary: You canât think of a better to start your summer than to get railed by Ari. Who cares if heâs your dadâs best friend.
Pairing: Mean DBF!Ari x reader
Warnings: Smut, creampies, jealous/possessive Ari, rough smut, forced exhibitionism (reader is into it though), bratty reader, praise kink, size kink, spanking, slight degradation, age gap, ari is 6'6".
Word count: 2.4k
A/N: Second official sinday drabble, unbetaâd and written on my phone. Comments and reblogs are cherished.
|Masterlist|Ari Levinson Masterlist|Library| âïž
For as long as you can remember, itâs been a family tradition to kick off summer with a small get-together in your backyard. Your dad is adamant that everyone shows up. He called you three times yesterday to make sure you were still on your way. Of course, you would never miss the chance to attend the party, itâs a fun occasion with good music, even better food and one thing you canât find anywhere else, especially not at your college.
Ari Levison.Â
Heâs the best thing about these parties. Always has been. Sure, heâs your dadâs best friend, but frankly, that makes you want him even more. The semi-retired boxer is sex on legs and the reason you have a drawer full of toys beside your bed.Â
Standing in your childhood bedroom, the sounds of boisterous conversations and steaks sizzling on the grill float through your open window with the warm summer breeze. Notes of freshly cut grass and barbecue follow, sweeping across your face, and a grin tugs at your lips. Oh, you love the smell of summer.
Slipping the wide strap of your new summer dress over your shoulder, you stare at your reflection. You look incredible. It was worth the three hours you spent in the mall, dragging Wanda and Monica through store after store until you found the right one.Â
The soft, lacy material fits your body perfectly, enhancing your curves, the top cinches under your breasts, pushing them up. And the color makes your skin glow. And if you had any anxieties about wearing it, they were wiped away after Bucky got a look at you in it. Your roommateâs eyes bulged out of his head and he made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a moan when he asked you to twirl for him.Â
Hearing a familiar deep voice, you pad to your window, leaning on the frame as you pull on your sandal. Parting the sheer curtains with your fingers, you easily find the one man youâre constantly seeking out. At 6â6" heâs taller than every person in the yard.
 âDamn,â your eyes widen as they rake over his massive frame.
Even from a distance, he looks like a greek god come to life. Long legs that go on forever, his large hands flying through the air as he talks to your dad. A faded blue towel casually thrown over his bare shoulder. Water drips off his tanned, lightly freckled chest, thin rivulets that lead down to the waistband of his black swimming trunks, they cling to his thick muscular thighs, emphasizing just how big he is.
Keep reading
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you wanna talk about why content creators are leaving tumblr and leaving you high and dry without material to fantasize over? let's talk about it.
hmm, lets see!
first of all, none of you fucking care to reblog our work. we are all aware of how tumblr's algorithm is absolute trash. writers have been BEGGING for readers reblog their works bc it's the only way our works can be seen and in turn, we receive the fruits of our labor via followers and exposure. but no, lets make MORE THAN HALF of the likes to reblog ratios consist of fucking LIKES. on top of that, we don't we shit on writers for wanting the absolute BARE MINIMUM aka a REBLOG bc well, they're not entitled to it aren't they? while writers aren't necessarily entitled to notes, answer this; do you work for free? do you bust your ass doing something knowing that there will be no pay off what so ever? that's what i thought.
secondly, you treat us like shit. you expect us to spit out content like we're a machine and when we don't get to it on time bc we have - idk - LIVES, you send the shittiest asks demanding for more content that you aren't even paying for. do you think people are gonna neglect their real life responsibilities to write for YOU and for FREE? absolutely not. on top of that, when we start writing for ourselves and our own spaces, we get push back. yea, not an effective way to encourage your favorite fic writers to give you more content to consume.
and lastly, YOU STEAL FROM US. each and every fic that a writer puts out has taken hours, days, weeks, or even months to write. that's lots of hard work and time invested into one single piece for you. free of charge. people put their fucking hearts into their work. and what do you do in return? disrespect them in one of the most hurtful ways possible.
so yea, i don't blame a single fucking person for leaving this shithole and NONE of you should be surprised. this is YOUR doing.
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Me: wants to write a full fleged fluffy soulmate au, spanning multiple chapters.
Also me: all the interaction I do on this app is with smut and smut blogs.
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