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It’s been four solid days of panic attacks creeping over your shoulder without warning—four days of bumming around enjoying the aftermath of chaos only to startle at the feeling of a heart stutter, a pulse of panic, or a sudden film of terror sweat. Even Eddie, well-medicated and unflappable Eddie, has been feeling the wear and tear over the past few months, especially this past week of being more on the lookout when it comes to your own shit than usual. You hate that for him, just as much as you hate the anxiety. The shame that follows the relief when the dread waves pass is getting worse, not that Eddie’s been anything but sympathetic. He just shushes you, towing you close with long, charting fingers through your hair, itching at your scalp until it’s all your conscious mind can concentrate on. Still, it doesn’t eliminate the pain or the expanding unease as you try to find patterns to predict each episode before they arise.
Behind you, crunching the pebble driveway to the lake house, you can hear Eddie’s van pull in with a sputter.
Of course, Eddie comes up with an idea for your anxiety. He mentioned shrooms at first, but you balked at the notion, only knowing the cuddle of skunk or that familiar blanket of downers. You couldn’t just keep eating pills, though, so this was the next best step on your journey to wellness and inner peace.
‘Just a low dose to see how you feel; it won’t be too intense. Much more mellow than chewing up peaches.’
And so you’ve been waiting, knowing Eddie will come through no matter if this works or not. You’re sitting on the dock’s edge overlooking Lover’s Lake, outside Reefer Rick’s, with bare feet skimming the smooth, moonlit surface of freshwater. It’s quiet but for the changeable splash of distant mullet popping in and out of the lake. You lean down, plunk your foot in the chilly water and watch as ripples of indigo starlight glimmer across the mirrored surface. Behind you, the well-worn but sturdy planks creak beneath Eddie’s sneakers, mixing with the din of crickets.
It’s just the two of you out here tonight, no high school D&D sessions or weekend night gatherings with the Scooby-Doo gang. Just you and Eddie and the lake and whatever he brought back from his dealer out by Brimborn Steel Works.
“Still feeling okay, sweetheart? It’s kinda cold out here…” Eddie pipes up halfway down the dock, then jogs the rest of the way to fold himself beside you, shoes tucked in under his legs with a warm, denim thigh against your blanket-wrapped one.
“ Mmhmm ,” you nod, giving him a small, nervous smile, “just preferred waiting out here than inside, ya know?”
You haven’t moved since he dipped in the van to pick up the edibles, not that he’s been gone long. There’s something more serene about the lake than the house… fewer memories to get lost in all alone without Eddie to strum you something new on his Warlock or smooch you just beneath the jaw or put on late-night cartoons while snuggling you into his chest—back to front—softly teasing your nipples until you either fall asleep or indulge the erection pressed to your backside.
Eddie pulls a sandwich bag out of his inner vest pocket, gives your cheek an affectionate peck then snaps the baggy out in his lap. The aroma of buttery weed and molasses whets your appetite, whereas Eddie’s kiss feeds your butterflies.
“What’d he make this time?” You ask, laying your head against his shoulder to look down into the cellophane hollow where several pale cookies sit, all folded and soft with buttery, sticky goodness. They smell weird but are no less appetizing than average everyday treats. And since Eddie moved in a month ago, it’s not the first time you’ve gotten a look or a smell of his new dealer’s edibles. These, however, were supposedly made just for you.
“Think they’re supposed to be snickerdoodles, but he put nuts in them.” Eddie pulls one out and turns it over under the moonlight. “You’d think that’d be against the laws of the universe or something… Oh -hey… walnuts! Man’s got good taste in nuts at least.”
You snicker beside him, “And how many am I supposed to eat?”
“His wife said one but let’s do half for tonight. Always wanna have too little than too much of this shit,” he says, breaking apart the palm-sized snickerdoodle with his tongue pinched between his lips. He hands you one half and shoves the other in his mouth, swallowing it in a few munches.
Eddie gives you a cookie-crumb smile that lights up his face—creases deep beneath his warmhearted eyes—and folds the baggy back into his vest.
“Hey,” his palm settles over your back, rubbing soothing circles into the line of tension between your shoulder blades, “Promise you it’ll help, just gotta fine-tune the dose, is all. And, hey, if you don’t like it… not like it’s gonna be that strong.”
“Okay,” you nod, staring apprehensively at the soft cookie half with a protruding walnut covered in sticky sugar. You end up folding it into a tiny, snickerdoodle sammich, popping the whole thing on your tongue where you let it melt into a sugary, oily tang. It’s earthy, sharp… like fresh-cut grass with the perfume of a prehistoric kind of plant mixed with caramel coloring and corn syrup. Not nearly as bad as you thought it’d taste.
“Good girl,” Eddie voices, so gentle and near, nothing sexual in it at all, making you blush… feeling a tingle run down your spine. Suddenly, the sofa inside sounds like the best thing in the world: laying with Eddie, dressed down at your back, movies, and cuddles. You can’t imagine a safer place waiting for the effects to kick in.
“I’m ready to go inside, I think.”
Eddie beams and slaps both hands on his shredded-denim knees, “Awesome! Cause I got Harrington to hide a copy of Big Trouble in Little China for us, and he finally delivered. Got it in the passenger seat… and a six-pack and The Goonies as a backup.”
Forty-five minutes later, with a belly full of leftover Chicken Parmesan from the night before and half a beer, you're spooning on the paisley sofa with Eddie as the first quarter of John Carpenter's latest dances in the television set. The living room is dim, smothered in comfortable shadow for the first time since even before Eddie showed up at your doorstep needing a place to hide.
Usually, every light is on, just to provide a visual reminder that neither of you are locked in the Upside Down anymore, but tonight, you’re feeling… okay… hopeful… besides, the glow from the television is more than enough to blanket the room and a multitude of lights.
Big Trouble in Little China has been a wild ride so far, and you’re not even past the twenty-minute mark.
“Could you imagine if Kurt Russel’s hair was as long as yours?”
“Could you imagine if mine was as silky as Kurt Russel’s??” Eddie counters, tap dancing his fingers over your ribs, having snuck his hand under your shirt ten minutes ago.
“ Eww ,” you murmur, “I love your frizzy mop. Never change, Eddie.”
“Deal.” He smiles against your cheek, fingernails gently tracing beneath the bottom curve of your breast. “How you feelin’, by the way? Anything yet?”
“Naw,” you say, though you find the word sticky on your tongue, “Hah-mmm …” not sure when it happened, but suddenly the gentle swipe of Eddie's thumb feels… different.
“Bet he’d get more ladies with hair like yours,” you say, hearing the ditzy slur in your words like the thought and vocalization of every syllable stretches taut.
“Kurt Russel could have Farrah Fawcett’s hair and still struggle pulling a girl half as metal as you.” The words are toasty warm on the top of your head as he presses four fingers into the base of your sternum, not coping a feel yet… but dangerously close.
“That feels… real good, Eddie,” you moan—the kinda moan you make when he’s got you pinned to the mattress, taking sweet, strong hits of cock to the very bottom of your soul.
“ Hmm ? What?” His warm hand cups your ribs, holding you close as he perks up. You can feel the edge of his palm rough and hot under your breast, dull contact teasing your nipple into hardness. “The edibles? They kick in already?”
“… dunno; you just feel really nice. Warm… soft, hard , like an Eddie Munson stuffed animal— maybe a dinosaur. You think you’d be a stegosaurus or a triceratops?”
Behind you, Eddie snorts, chuckling, “ Jesus Christ, your so fucking cute when you’re high.” His hand slides up beneath your shirt to cup your breast, finally , sending pulses of silky, undulating contentment through your tummy.
You moan and squirm, plastering your back against his chest until your ass finds the familiar divot of his hips, and… hmm , he’s not hard yet beneath his buckled jeans…
Weird . Usually, Eddie's at least at half-mast by now.
Fuzzy and warm, you roll your hips down and feel an eruption of goosebumps when Eddie clutches your breast, drawing you closer, a ragged exhale warming down your temple. His palm squeezes, molding your tit in his hand, teasing callused fingers up and down the heavy slope several times before pinching your nipple between two knuckles.
“… cute fucking minx,” Eddie growls playfully in your ear.
Soft notes dance around your mind, just sweet lyrics near impossible to hear but incredible to feel as the edible hits a zenith so peaceful and satisfactory, you sob in relief.
Eddie’s half-desperate tweak and dry humping freeze at the sound, “Hey, you okay? Are you-you still good?”
“ Mmhmm ,” you nod and moan, feeling moisture slip into your lashes as a blissful blanket lands over every single last inch of all that is you, bare or clothed or touched or ignored… it’s all so…
“It feels so… so nice,” but nice doesn’t begin to describe it, and you want to share this—anyhow, and anyway, even though, technically, he ate the bigger half of the snickerdoodle—oh… snickerdoodles…
“You wanna snicker my doodle , Eddie?”
Eddie snorts a laugh against your head, squeezes you into a tight, boob-grabbing hug, and chuckles, rocking you with it until you’re giggling and dripping a couple of tears while Kurt Russel has a meltdown about blue lightning magic. What a wimp… if only he’d seen the Upside Down… if only Kurt Russel was as incredible as Eddie Munson… slaying all those bats, breaking necks, and shredding chords.
You’re lost in hazy memories, smiling stupidly and happily as Eddie’s hand slides down your tight nippled breast, over your relaxed stomach to dip into the hem of your dolphin shorts—the ones you put on after showers or before bed or on lazy weekends like these.
“ Mm ,” you sigh encouragingly, snuggling deep.
He gets just close enough to touch the heat of your pussy before ripping his hand out to fumble at your thigh. There’s almost enough time to ask ‘what the hell’ before he’s hauling your leg up over his thigh, spreading you apart only to dive his fingers back down, inside… parting your silky, soaked folds to roll your clit between two eager fingers.
“Edibles are supposed to make this feel better for chicks,” Eddie says softly in your ear, lips grazing the stiff, hot shell, “… tell me how it feels, sweetheart? Kinda curious cause you’ve been so quiet tonight… usually means you’re all up in your head, but it seems the cookie’s working? Shit , ‘n you’re so wet… wetter than usual…”
You nod, slack-jawed as Eddie asks you one-thousand questions while fine-tuning his touch to your body’s needs, smoothing his thumb through delicate wrinkles, fingers pinching and pulling back protective layers to rub raw then soothe over your hood until everything is vibrating color and sound under your skin.
“Talk to me,” Eddie begs in your ear, teasing downward, fingertip testing the waters below. You gasp at the sensation, moving like a ripple into his fingers. Eddie kisses you beneath the ear and presses one long, ring-dented middle finger inside your needy pussy. You keen, body going tight, then just… let it all go, relaxing into his arms.
Eddie finger fucks you until it’s all you can hear over the martial arts grunting and Chinatown soundtrack. The damp, squelch and slurp that’d generally be embarrassing only grows louder as you wiggle and moan, thrusting your body over his thick fingers and back into his-
Hang on…
“You’re not-“ you peer over your shoulder, noses meeting with a giggle, “ umm , why aren’t you hard?”
“ Uh , edibles do that to me… sometimes . Usually, I mean… I’m hard enough if you wanna-well, probably won’t feel great for you, but-“ Eddie's starting to ramble, which is cute and one of the many things about him you found surprisingly wholesome, but he’s still got two fingers stuffed inside you, pressing on that spongy cluster, and you wanna feel higher—higher and hotter with him.
“Hurry up… get inside me. I could literally come any second…”
“ Shit… okay.” You whine at the sudden loss of Eddie’s fingers, barely conscious enough to shift your hips forward, giving him room to unbuckle his jeans and shove them down his hips—just enough to release his limp cock.
“ Fuck ,” Eddie sighs, giving it a couple of frenzied pumps, his fist bashing against the dimple above your ass several times before he’s yanking your shorts down the swell of your bottom cheeks.
It’s awkward, but not... a little—it's a little uncomfortable as he helps bend and lift your leg through one opening of your shorts, just enough for him to sling the back of your knee around his thigh, back open and spread and wet it against his soft dick. He nudges the thick, tender head against your opening, makes a funny, indulgent sound in his throat, and rubs his nose in the crook of your neck while feeding his flaccid, barely stiff cock inside you… which shouldn’t feel as lovely as it does—shouldn’t work, but it does…
Eddie exhales once he's snared inside an inch or so, deep enough he won’t droop out… then he pivots, pinching his base and nudging you back with a large palm over your stomach, slowly filling your pussy with heavy, pliable inches that make you smile intoxicatedly.
“I like it,” you mutter lazed and high, snuggling back as Eddie moans against the wiggling tug of your body. His fingers squeeze securely as you drop your leg and back up into him, taking great joy in the sudden whoosh of hot air down your neck.
“Y-yeah, totally . Heh , this is like cuddling with a NAT twenty... with advantage. You’re uh , fuck… you’re so warm and snug around it and… and fucking wet.” His forehead drops over your shoulder as he groans loudly, wrapping both arms around your torso while thrusting idly against your ass. “This doing ah -anything for you?”
Was it? A little, yeah. Mostly, it's the overall feeling of blissful relaxation and Eddie's unique brand of devotion.
“ Mmm , yess…”
Different… but still good , so much so that you wrap your arms around his own, hugging him, hugging you, and sigh blissfully into the moment while Kurt Russel and Dennis Dun prepare to win back their girlfriends from the evil Lo Pan.
As Eddie nuzzles you, warming his cock inside your tight, slick pussy, your eyes fall closed to the sounds of his heavy breathing mixed with action sequences over VHS static. With every unhurried, unpredictable move of Eddie’s hips—of his cock barely moving yet stirring all the same—a familiar pool of heat begins to swell in your tummy. That pull, all gentle and cozy, grows and grows…
“Eddie,” you moan, leaning your head back, feeling his lips brush your neck. He kisses the spot that makes you shiver, just under your jaw, which is— somehow —a dozen times more sensitive now than ever before, “… k-keep going—don’t stop.”
A sudden gush fills your pelvis, like hot melted soft-serve, and with it comes a thrumming twitch.
Eddie shudders, teeth hooked on your jaw, and groans so loud it vibrates your eardrums. “Oh, god… fuck… shit, shit! I’m… I just came—I’m sorry- fuck me… ”
Eddie's still apologizing even when he untangles your arms, reaching a shaky palm down to pull all those sticky fluids from around the seal of your pussy and back over your clit, swiping you into a panting mess with his own hot cum.
"Just," he gasps against your cheek, "feel so good and... you're so relaxed now, kinda infectious. Couldn't help myself."
“I-it’s okay… oh, fuck , it’s good!” You shiver, floating upwards with every pulse—every second—swallowing moans until you’re trembling beneath Eddie’s touch… contracting around his soft cock, tightening your walls to keep him from slipping away. Everything gently comes and goes like the lapping of waves on the lake. A disruption to the usual stasis that’s invigorating rather than unwelcome. Your eyes roll back, finding stars in the living room and Eddie’s mouth kissing along your jaw, finally meeting your parted lips as you start to come down.
Two rough fingers press into your clit, mashing over the sweet ache as you lick his tongue into your mouth, twisting enough to cup his cheek and draw Eddie the Hero deep—deeper into your kiss, your body… your throbbing soul…
Eventually, Eddie’s lips slide back with a warm puffy gasp, panting against your chin while the credits roll across the living room, “I… love you … snickerdoodle.”
You bite your lip and laugh, free and clear and anxiety-free and drag him back in for another kiss, wondering how good a whole cookie will feel while you watch The Goonies … well… barely watch The Goonies .
“Love you too, Eddie.”