In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave.
In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just.
In the name of the Mother, I charge you to protect the young and innocent.
𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭 pt. i ✧ ˚ · . 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
summary: something that is desired all the more because it is not allowed—you find yourself torn between the idea that even though eddie is in a position of authority as your professor, he’s still what you crave the most.
cw: 18+ (minors, dni) teacher/student relationship, age gap (21 & 29), corruption!kink (eddie is well aware of what he’s doing), background ronance, max is readers bestfriend, eddie likes to wear his hair up for class and hates being formal, bratty!reader (sorta), angsty touches, a smutty cliffhanger, ect & lots more to come (pun intended)
word count: 11.6k - part two, part three
The campus was huge and crowded and everything you hated all wrapped into one—but you couldn’t beat the view, the pleasant Indians weather, and all the amazing classes the college had to offer. And normally, first days would be terrifying, crippling your anxiety, but there was nothing but excitement; for now, at least.
Most of your morning was spent combing through syllabuses and trying to find your classes, which is mostly your own fault, deciding on a major so vastly different from your main course work—by the time afternoon rolls around, you’re forced to walk clear across campus, nearly ten minutes late to your class and faced with a surprisingly unirritated gentleman, who’s three seconds away from shutting the door closed indefinitely.
The man steals a glance at his watch, arm twitching slightly to force his sleeve back. His eyes glance up to you for a moment and back down, “Not a great way to start off your first day,” He comments cooly, face void of any emotion, “is this gonna be a habit?”
“No—god, no,” You respond, slightly out of breath, hand clutching the strap of your book bag, “I’m just getting used to where everything’s at—I didn’t get a chance to visit the campus earlier, I have no idea where anything is or—“
“It’s fine,” He assures, beckoning you into the classroom, surprisingly full, forcing you to the front row, positioned almost directly in front of his desk—this was the beginning of your nightmare, “let’s just be mindful of time, yeah?”
Not that Eddie has ever been punctual a day in his life. But, he’s learned that being a hard-ass is more effective than not giving a shit at all, especially when it comes to his students.
“Yeah—yes, I promise.” You swear, forcing a thin smile before making an immediate line for your desk, hoping that the further you sink, the more unnoticed you’ll be. Unfortunately for you, that wasn’t the case.
The loud slide of the chalk against the chalkboard as he writes his name across the green slab is defeating, most of the class watching in fearful silence—like there was some impending doom about to descend upon them.
“Uh, sir—“ You can see him visibly tense at the word, “are we going to be learning how to play any instruments in this class?” The voice comes from a boy who seems naturally quiet and more reserved, mortified by the fact that he even found the courage to raise his hand and ask a question.
There’s a small roar of laughter from the others, but you look along stoically, watching his face upturn slightly.
“Don’t call me, sir—please,” He laughs lightly, “it makes me feel old.”
“Professor Munson,” He corrects himself, “sorry.”
“You’re fine,” He assures, “and look—this isn’t an intro to music, it’s intro to musical therapy. We’re not just studying instruments and music, we’re also studying behaviors, the mind, how all of this stuff connects and affects people’s thought process and aiding certain struggles they may have.”
His way of talking is animated and refreshing, a stark change from the usual monotone professors you’ve run into all morning.
“So, if you’re just expecting to learn how to play the piano or something, this class probably isn’t for you,” He explains, eyeing down about a quarter of the class that makes a collective groan, “hey—I’m just being honest.”
And you knew you wouldn’t see half of those people in a week, jumping at the first chance to transfer, but you couldn’t help being intrigued. It wasn’t necessarily your first choice for a major, but it took you by surprise; your love for psychology and mind studies mixed with your love of music, it seemed like the perfect storm. Plus, your professor wasn’t the worst person in the world—yet.
He easily snaps open the cuff links to his sleeves, rolling them halfway up his arm, revealing a rather striking depiction of bats, swarming around the expanse of his forearm.
He definitely seemed like a tattoo guy, but it was still odd to see so openly—his feet tap together as he takes a seat on the end of his desk, scanning the room. You can’t help but notice his lopsided tie, wanting so desperately to fix it—it was bound to drive you nuts.
“It’s probably best to get most of your question out of the way today,” He says, “so, shoot them at me while you have the opportunity.”
A few hands fly up, he points off to your right, a couple rows behind you.
“So—are you a therapist?”
He snorts a soft laugh, shaking his head, “No—I don’t have all the proper certifications, but I assist therapist a lot when they’re looking into doing stuff related to musical therapy. I know enough to get by.”
The smile he flashes leads you to believe that he’s trying to be humble.
“Do you play any instruments?” Another student asks freely, the heads of the rest of the class snapping in their direction.
“A few,” He answers, hand waving about in a noncommittal manner, “mostly just guitar.”
He adjusts his tie again, even more lopsided now and you can’t help but stare it down, focused on nothing but the black, shiny material of it—Eddie clears his throat softly, catching your attention.
He’s staring right at you, caught red-handed—quick, think of something—
“Who do you usually work with?” You ask suddenly, “In your line of work, I mean.”
Outside of being a professor, obviously.
Another laugh, more subdued. “Veterans, mostly, and a lot of children.”
Eddie claps his hands together very suddenly, startling most of the class, including yourself. “Anyways, let’s go over the syllabus so there’s no confusion—I don’t need you guys bugging me outside of my office hours, as much as I love to teach.”
You sense another jab coming, but it doesn’t.
The syllabus review is a breeze, setting you up for what most of the semester entails, including when he was available—again, making it very clear that he wasn’t available outside of office hours.
And then he’s adjusting the damn tie again, almost like it’s wringing his neck to death. By the time class ends, he dismisses everyone with a simple wave, a few students lingering around their desks, debating on whether they should drop the class or not.
The voice that trails from the front of the classroom as you take a step down catches your attention, pulling your head up to look at the culprit. “Staying or dropping?” He asks.
Professor Munson. It felt weird and unnatural as it rolled around in your mind, still not falling from your tongue.
“Staying,” You answer surely, “I knew what this class was before I signed up—I’m not about playing roulette with taking a college class.”
“Fair enough.” He’s leaning against his desk again, hands shoved into his slack pockets, shiny, gold watch resting on his wrist, and you can’t take it anymore, the frustration boiling from your chest
“Your tie,” You say abruptly, pointing at the material, “It’s crooked.”
Really fucking crooked.
He takes a glance down, finger slipping in the space between his tie and neck, pulling at the offense piece of clothing, loosening it until it’s snapping away.
He balls up the tie and tosses it behind me, landing messily on his desk. “I never wear those after the first day—hate them. They’re so stupid.”
“Or, you just don’t know how to tie a tie.” You point on, mouth speaking before your brain can catch up—realizing much too late that this was your professor, not a friend.
Eddie scoffs mockingly, “And I’m sure you do.” He counters, watching your face drop slightly.
You did, actually—but that wasn’t the point.
“No one ever taught me.” He tells you, “So I’m wingin’ it.”
You nod thoughtfully, surprised at how quickly you managed to embarrass yourself. “Oh.” You say simply, it’s all you can manage.
You save yourself for further humiliation by offering a wave of goodbye, breaking the uncomfortable tension that had grown between you both, excusing yourself immediately.
And if that was horrible enough, your night would be even worse.
☆.｡.:*
“The Hideout?” You ask curiously, twisting the flyer in your hand, “That place is still open?
Max snatches the paper from your hand, shoving it into the pocket of her jacket, protecting her from the biting cold of wind—the beginnings of Hawkins autumn weather creeping up on you.
It didn’t help that you were barely covered from the waist down, skirt leaving little to imagine as the slit ran high up your thigh, thankfully the long sleeve top you wore was enough to save your upper extremities.
“Nancy and Robin swear by that place—plus, they’ll be pissed if you don’t go.” Max explains in her usual ‘could care less’ tone.
The only reason she was going was because of Lucas—a boy she’d met during her first class that day, who she also invited out, despite barely knowing. You couldn’t blame her, though. Max could handle herself well enough, that was for sure.
The drive is long, further out of town than you expect—hidden on some rundown road on an empty corner, bare except for the small bar, yet the place was packed with cars.
“Okay, maybe this place isn’t as rundown as I remember,” You take note of, “or everyone really wanted to get drunk tonight.”
Either way, you were definitely heading toward the latter option, following closely after Max. It doesn’t take long for Max to be pulled away though, quickly distracted by the only reason she came here, abandoning you.
“Have fun,” You remind her, “seriously.”
You could take care of yourself, settling up at one of the empty tables before the stage, perched on the uncomfortably tall seat, ordering yourself a quick drink as a server passes you.
“Hey!” A perked up voice yells out from behind you, arms wrapping around in a gentle hug—no one had the nerve besides Robin, who quickly caught you in a fuller hug as you turned to face her. “How have you been? Where’s Max?”
“She’s busy,” You laugh, giving her a pointed look, which she catches on quickly. “Where’s Nance?”
“Right here,” Her delicate voice peaks out from behind Robin, watching as her hand sneaks into Nancy’s, squeezing firmly.
You smile to yourself, but Robin sees it, shoving you an annoyed look.
At least those two finally figured it out—almost ten years later.
“So, you two know who’s playing tonight?” You ask curiously, sipping on the beer that the server passes to you on their way through the crowd.
“Yeah, he’s an old friend—we haven’t seen him in a while, though.” They both frown at the mention of it, sharing a quiet glance. “We should’ve invited Steve, Nance.”
“He never wants to leave the house, you know that.” Nancy adds, “His kids keep him busy enough.”
And it seemed like Steve got the life he always wanted, for the most part—but it’s still somber to think about, wishing just as badly that you could’ve seen him once more.
“Maybe next time.” You offer, and both of them smile.
“I’ll have to remind him to invite you to his littlest’s party in a couple months,” Nancy says, “he misses you.”
The feedback startled all of you, pulling you from the conversation and toward the stage, light dimly over the center. The lights around the bar dimmed in contrast, adjusting everyone toward the men gathering in their places on stage.
You squinted carefully, watching the guitarist adjust the microphone, pulling it up to his height. His hair was long, unruly, and obscuring his face as he leaned forward, speaking into the microphone.
“How’s everyone doing tonight?” He asks with a decent amount of enthusiasm, receiving a hearty applause in return. “We’re Corroded Coffin.”
The name blanks in your mind, not ringing any immediate bells.
It was definitely a crowd full of fans—or family, at least. They excitement was palpable, everyone leaning on the edge of their seats.
“This is our first show in a couple years, so go easy on us.” He laughs, head flicking up to move the hair out of his face—again, he spots you almost instantly.
The intake of breath is involuntarily, getting caught in your throat. The blush that creeps up your cheeks is hot and burning, noticeable from a mile away.
Eddie fucking Munson, your college professor—of all the chances and fate in the world this is how your night was going to go?
Eddie clears his throat, immediately averting his gaze. “We’re just doing cover songs tonight—so if you’ve got a request, send it through Gareth.” He instructs, jerking his head over his shoulder.
And despite how mortifying this all feels, Eddie plays his heart out; you’ve never seen anything like it. He’s a person who expresses himself through his body and his music, clearly—thrashing wildly and putting every movement he can into his playing, bouncing on his feet. He can’t be bothered to stay still, which is a complete difference from his classroom demeanor.
From what you’ve seen, at least.
“You good?” Robin asks, nothing the ghostly look on your face.
“Yeahyeah, uh—“ You reply distantly, “The lead looked familiar, but I think it’s a coincidence.”
One hell of a fucking coincidence.
“Eddie?” They both ask simultaneously, “There’s no way.”
Eddie Munson. Again, your professor—but also, a friend of a friend, and a complete fucking stranger otherwise. You must’ve pissed someone off well enough down the line to end up in this position; the biggest dose of karma you’ve ever felt.
“Like I said—it’s probably a coincidence.” You assure them, eyes still locked on him.
“Yeah—I don’t think we started hanging out with him until after you moved schools.” Nancy supplies, further attempting to assure you.
Eddie catches another glance at you and you can’t help but down the bottle of beer in one go, immediately leaving your seat to ask for another, leaving your friends to congregate at the table.
The song ends abruptly, falling off of a long guitar solo, and you can’t even dare to look in that direction, faced shoved into the drink you gripped in your hand.
“Come here, come here,” You hear Robin call from behind you, but you know it’s not for you, another rumbling voice slipping through the many others, a weak protest, “Stop being like that.”
There really was no arguing with Robin and Eddie was smart to keep quiet, following her obediently to the bar. The hand that clasps your shoulder is light and gentle and Nancy shoots you an apologetic look as you look behind you.
“Ringin’ any bells now?” Robin asks playfully, holding her hand up under his face, like he was on display. Eddie makes a face, side eyeing her affectionately.
“No, sorry,” You lie easily, shrugging him off. Eddie seems to relax at that, half-expecting you to out both him and yourself—not that there was anything wrong, it was just another freaky coincidence, “What’s his name again?”
And really, it’s just to poke fun, the slight buzz creeping into your system.
“Eddie Munson,” Nancy replies, glancing between the both of you, “Edward, if that helps.”
Eddie rolls his eyes at that, hand held up in desperation as he called out for a drink over your shoulder, reaching around you to grab the bottle. You visibly tense at the proximity and he notices, still, he doesn’t try to move away.
This was too weird.
“Nope, still nothing.” You tell them, sticking to your story.
Robin shrugs, “Well, I should probably explain—Nancy used to babysit her when she was younger, her and Max and all those crazy little kids that we always told you about—“
It made you wince; babysitter, Nancy, kids. It was the worst sequence of words that could’ve been spoken in history, to your professor, in the middle of a bar, that he was also playing at.
“Robin,” You warn, “I’m sure he doesn’t care.”
“Nah,” Eddie shrugs, leaned beside you against the bar, metal chain clinking against the counter-top, lifting the beer to his lips leisurely, “It’s nice to meet you.”
And the smile seems forced, but his voice is steady, easy—you almost believe him.
But, then Nancy and Robin are pulled off in a different direction, catching up with another small group of friends and Eddie is staring at you.
And not secretly—very, very openly.
“I swear I didn’t—“ You start.
“I don’t usually,” He interrupts.
You both take a hard stop, looking each other down.
“You first,” He instructs, bring the drink to his lips once more, “then I’ll go.”
“I swear I didn’t know you were going to be here tonight,” You explain, “otherwise I would’ve skipped out.”
He wants to ask why, but the answer seems obvious—no one wants to see their teacher outside of school.
“I don’t usually make a habit of letting my students see me like this.” He motions to his get-up, hair loose and clothes even looser, aside from the obviously homemade jacket he wore, patches hand stitched and worn at the seams, but the weirdest part of it all—the ripped jeans. It felt out of place for someone nearing their thirties. He catches your gaze, the judgement evident. “My point exactly.”
“So, that’s why you don’t know how to tie a tie.” You challenge, taking a long sip of beer, eyebrow quirked in amusement as you swallow, cheeks puffed out by the liquid.
He scoffs softly, amused at your comeback. “We shouldn’t even be talking right now, you know that?” He points out, yet he hasn’t moved an inch, still close enough that if you decided to separate your thighs, he’d fit perfectly.
You hum quietly, “Yet, you’re still here.” Another beer down, another slipped into your hand like clockwork, throwing it back easily. “So, who’s fault is that?”
Him being the responsible adult and all, not that it really mattered here. This would be a level playing field outside of any other circumstance.
“Wait—can I ask a personal question?” And maybe it was the alcohol talking.
“No—“ He answers quickly, but your brain bypasses it.
“How old are you?” You ask curiously, “You look too young to be a professor.”
Eddie looks stunned, affected by your forwardness, but he takes it in stride. “I’m gonna take that as a compliment—I’m twenty nine, a couple years older than Nancy and Robin.”
You don’t press on the additional information, but nod thoughtfully, taking another quick sip of your beer.
“Sorry—it was bugging me. I have a bad problem with filtering my thoughts.” You admit sheepishly, cheeks flushed from the alcohol, fiddling with the flimsy zipper on your skirt.
“Clearly,” Eddie laughs, bringing the bottle to his lips slowly, stopping just as his lips pressed the rim, “Are you even old enough to be drinking?”
“Are you going to kick me out if I’m not?” You challenge playfully, Eddie doesn’t bite, looking you down accusingly.
It was as if he suddenly shifted back into teacher mode, judging your choices and feeling the need to scold you.
“I’m twenty one,” You tell him, “don’t have a fucking stroke over it.”
You don’t know why Eddie’s eyes shift, scanning full body, like he’s trying to take all of you in—both of your contrasting styles outside of school are a welcomed surprise; he doesn’t really expect it from you. But, you could say the same for him.
“Wasn’t gonna,” He assures you, nursing the beer near his mouth, forearms leaned against the bar now as he looks toward you, eyes catching the way your fingers fiddled with the label on the bottle, “you cold?”
Your leg crosses over the other, goosebumps riddling your skin—it’s like he’s a mind reader, the entrance door of the bar swinging open, a cold blast of air spreading throughout. “Not really.” You lie, gripping the end of your skirt to shift it down.
You could’ve been more practical, shown up in jeans and some worn out band shirt, but you wanted to look nice—feel cute and dressed up for once, was that a crime?
“Hey, there you are,” Max calls from behind you, scattering toward you with a wide-eyed Lucas in tow, “so you met Eddie?”
You turn in your seat, staring the fiery redhead down, a smile plastered on her freckle covered face.
“You too?” You ask incredulously, glancing toward Eddie, who seemed rather unfazed by it all now. “What the hell?”
“He used to live across from me, back in high school,” Max explains, which makes sense.
You moved after middle school, leaving most of Hawkins in your rear view, aside from the occasional letters to Max—both of you swore that despite the distance, college was your nonnegotiable; both of you applied, both of you got accepted, it was some sort of divine miracle, but neither of you questioned it.
“Small world,” Eddie shrugs from beside you, finishing off the last sip of his beer, “you staying out of trouble, Red?”
“Probably not,” She replies honestly, before turning to you sheepishly, “—do you think Robin will give you a ride home?”
“Max,” You groan, her look switching from hesitant to pleading, “fine—whatever, I’ll talk to Robin.”
“I love you,” She says endearingly, wrapping you into a quick forceful hug, nearly knocking you from your chair, “I owe you one.”
“Uh huh,” You reply sarcastically, waving her away, “See you tomorrow.”
When you turn, Eddie is slapping a fresh bill on the counter-top, returning his chained wallet back to his pocket.
“I guess I’ll be seeing you Monday.”
Saying it makes it even weirder.
“I won’t tell anyone.” You assure him, seeing the way his eyes catch yours, almost thankful. He doesn’t have to say it—he didn’t take you for the type to brag, but still, it’s a comforting confession. “I promise.”
The last part feels like too much, but Eddie smiles regardless, adjusting his jacket over his shoulders, preparing for the crisp, cold air that awaits him.
Robin, find Robin. Your brain scrambled, searching around for your friend—or Nancy, but neither of them are anywhere inside of the bar.
You’ve got to be fucking kidding.
“Everything okay?” Eddie asks softly, pulling the hair caught under the lapel of his jacket.
“I think they left,” You frown slightly, preparing yourself to walk several blocks until the nearest bus station, feet already sore and achy from the uncomfortable heels you wore, “Robin and Nance.”
And Eddie has the internal battle with himself for at least half a minute, weighing the odds of how uncomfortable this could be, or how creepy it may come off, but he wasn’t going to leave you high and dry—he wasn’t raised that way.
“Where am I taking you?” He asks suddenly, swinging his keys into his palm.
“Huh?” There was no way you were taking a ride from your teacher, of all people. “—I’m fine, really. I just need to walk far enough to the bus stop.”
“In those?” Eddie asks pointedly, staring down at the heels that hugged your feet like a vice grip, already sore from only a couple hours of use. “It’s not a big deal—are you going back to campus?”
You nod hesitantly.
Eddie motions toward the door and you follow obediently—your feet could thank you later. You knew there was no harm in a ride home, either, Eddie was far from the normal sketchy men around Hawkins, but it didn’t feel right. It felt like keeping a secret from your parents and doing something that had persistently told you not to, or how often the school system looked down on relations with staff outside of school, no matter the level or severity. It seemed that Eddie was hoping you’d keep this to yourself—he was counting on it.
☆.｡.:*
“Did you enjoy the music at least?” Eddie asks halfway through the drive, one hand gripping the steering wheel while the other fishes for his pack of cigarettes; a bad habit he’d yet to break.
“I mean—they were cover songs,” You shrugged, “Metallica is alright, but I prefer Bon Jovi and Quiet Riot—“
“Are you shitting on Metallica, right now?” Eddie asks, shocked by the admission. He manages to wiggle a cigarette out with one hand, tossing the box toward the middle console, “Do you mind?”
Part of you wants to say yes, just to be difficult, but you shake your head. He flicks his lighter opening, lighting the end of the cigarette until it burns a bright amber, ashes falling from the tip.
“You dress like you’re stuck in the eighties, dude.” Eddie seems offended by the comment, but takes it in stride.
“Says the lady who still listens to Bon Jovi.” Eddie sharks, pulling the cigarette from his lips, smoke billowing from his nose as he breathes, “
You hate how nice it is to watch, his soft lips pursing into a tight line. One more hit at him and he’d probably fail you out of spite, but you do it anyway.
“Says the guy still singing eighties cover songs.” Eddie winces at the jab, flicking away the ash from the cigarette, held out in the air as he searches for his retort.
“So you hated it?” Is all his brain can muster at a time like this, brain hazy from the amount of beers he consumed—you could say the same for yourself, the alcohol buzz is still ever apparent—you wouldn’t have ended up in a situation like this while stone cold sober, that’s for sure.
“No,” You reply honestly. The music was good, the performance was even better, but still—it seemed he was searching for your approval, like it would make all the difference, “but it’s the mid nineties, you need to get with the times.”
Eddie scoffs offensively, a few more puffs before he’s rubbing the cigarette to its untimely demise, pulling into the quiet campus.
“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that,” He says, coming to a stop, “—I hope this is close enough, the last thing I need is someone catching me dropping you off.”
Then he shouldn’t have offered a ride, which was his first mistake of many.
It’s offensive how handsome he looks under the dim lights radiating from the inside of his van—an odd choice for a teacher of his salary, but it still makes sense, somehow.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, sir.” You retort, throwing the last bit in for fun—he tenses again, visibly. He doesn’t correct you, though, which is even more difficult to understand.
He offers a simple wave, friendly and polite, then he’s gone and halfway across the campus before you can even process what happened.
It also doesn’t help that the first thing you see in your dreams that night is his face—ungodly in the way he worshiped your body, from head to toe; it was definitely the alcohol talking.
☆.｡.:*
Monday drags more than you expect, having nursed your hangover during the weekend, it felt like an aftershock was trying to overtake you, your focus lacking. It wasn’t unlike you.
You replay the conversation with Eddie in your head a few times that weekend, realizing that even through your drunken haze, Eddie was not attempting to be teacherly toward you—he was friendly, a natural conversationalist, it felt wrong.
It felt even worse when you fell asleep, his head stuck between your thighs as you dreamed that night, “She’s so pretty,” His voice is faded, muffled—like he’s stuck in a tunnel and too far away, “fucking soaking wet, too.”
And it feels too real as he licks a broad stripe up your cunt, moaning obscenely as his face is coated in your wetness, the tip of his nose bumping against your clit—it’s too much for you to process.
“Good afternoon,” Eddie’s voice carries through the door to his classroom, satchel and coffee in hand, looking just as worse for wear. His hair is tied back in a loose bun, no tie today, and his slacks look like they’re been worn for a week straight, wrinkles and all, “nice to see the class has downsized.”
It has, nearly half of the original class is gone—which really, it was better for you. You couldn’t focus in large classes and it felt less personal, more disconnected than you liked.
Eddie tries desperately to keep his energy up during the duration of the lesson, but he’s lacking on all fronts—maybe he had a rough weekend?
When he hands out the first assignment near the end of class, he stops by your desk, leaning on the railing to speak to the entirety of the class, “And don’t freak out—this is just a basis to see where you heads are at in terms of what music you like, how it makes you feel, it’s just a soft introduction into some of the stuff we’ll be covering over the semester.”
It’s a list of various songs, bands, genres—a mix of things dating back to the early fifties, up until more recently. “Go out, rent some of this if you’ve never heard of it, and write what you feel—that’s it. Easy enough?”
Eddie doesn’t acknowledge you most of the class, which is expected, but disappointing. He seems preoccupied, distracted, clearly bothered by something. But, it wasn’t your problem—the only focus you had now was your course work, which was the first thing you started on that night; a very giddy Max rummaging through your dorm room as background noise, so disorganized it could drive you insane.
“He drove you here?” She asks.
“Yes—but you can’t say anything, Max. I’m serious.”
You didn’t have anything to worry about, you knew that.
“I didn’t even know he taught here—or that he was even a professor. I mean, I know he finally graduated but—“
“Finally?” You ask curiously, swiveling in your chair to face her fully, interest fully piqued.
“He had a rough time in high school—he didn’t graduate until he was twenty, I think.” She explains, busy hands now stopped in their tracks. “He’s been through a lot.”
Your eyebrows raise in question, hoping Max would spill everything she knew—you couldn’t help but be curious about him, even if he was your professor.
“He probably doesn’t even know I go here,” She laughs slightly, “His mom and dad were never in the picture, though—at least I never saw them, it’s always been him and his uncle. He hung out with Nancy, Steve, and Robin a lot—closer to when he was graduating, they’ve stayed good friends, I guess.”
You nod slowly, absorbing the information.
“Is he mean?” Max asks randomly and you almost laugh, “My professors are the worst.”
“He’s fine,” You shrug, “It’s kinda nice that he’s not such a dick, you know?”
“What does he teach again?”
“Musical therapy?” You respond, wondering if that would surface any other tidbits of information.
“Oh—that kinda makes sense. He was always listening to music, then he just disappeared after graduation, but his uncle always talked about how he was helping people, doing something he really liked—I just never bothered him about it.”
There’s a long silence before Max can’t help herself, perching herself on the surface closest to you, pens scrambling to the floor as she takes a seat on the edge of your shared desk.
“What did you guys talk about?”
“The weather,” You say flatly, not receiving any type of reaction from her, “—-just music, that’s it.”
“But, babe, you love music.” Max reminds, like it wasn’t painfully obvious.
“And—he’s my professor, it’s fucking weird.” You explain, but even Max doesn’t believe you. “What—why are you looking at me like that?”
“You two are so similar,” She laughs, “It’s freaky.”
“Maxine—what are you trying to imply?”
“Nothing,” She shrugs, hoping from the desk, “—remember that I’ll be your maid of honor at the wedding, though. We pinky swore.”
“He’s my professor, Max.” You stress again, Max smiles wide, annoying you further.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, right?” Max asks, realizing that you’d used the same playful jab at him the night before.
“What?” The coincidence was uncanny.
“Eddie used to tell me that whenever I tried to justify doing something I wasn’t supposed to—I’ve grown, obviously,” That’s not entirely believable, but you keep your mouth shut, “the saying stuck with me—it’s kinda fun to use.”
“Whatever—did you get the music I asked about?” You ask, impatiently switching the topic to something less scandalous.
“Everything was spoken for,” Max explains, trying to let you down gently, “I really tried—but I guess everyone in that class had the same idea on where to go, unless you want to take a trip to the store and buy them—“
And it dawns on you, Eddie must have some sort of music collection, “Wait—what time is it?”
Max takes a quick glimpse at the alarm clock on her nightstand, “A quarter past five, why?”
Still open for office hours—you prayed silently, despite your lack of religion, hoping that he was still in his classroom.
“Give me a ride.”
Max doesn’t question it, being the best friend she is.
☆.｡.:*
“I’m busy,” He says before you can even knock on the door, your loud ascending footsteps giving you away, “come back in the morning.”
You peek through the window of the door anyways, seeing a perfectly relaxed Eddie reclined at his desk, feet propped up as he jotted something down in a book, tongue poked out in focus.
“Uh Professor…Munson,” It felt foreign and weird, “I just had a question.”
His demeanor changes on a dime at the sight of you, unbusying himself completely. It’s a little hysterical, but endearing nonetheless. It makes your stomach flutter at the sight, scrambling to button his shirt higher, seem more professional, not that you hadn’t already seen him outside of work.
The door creaks open, his head popping through as you back away, “What’s going on?” He asks, surprised that anyone would dare to bother him outside of normal class hours. It doesn’t take you long to realize that he only mentioned the office hours out of courtesy, he didn’t actually expect anyone to bother him.
“I was trying to work on your assignment—“ His eyes softened, and it made you flinch, feeling exposed, “I don’t really have the money to buy any of the music and everything was already rented out—-so I wasn’t sure what to do.”
“Oh,” He wasn’t sure what to expect but he finds himself opening the door wider, welcoming you inside, “Yeah—a few students raided my shelf before class was over but I’m sure there’s some left.”
“Thanks,” You reply shyly, squeezing beside him, watching as he lingered by the door still, hands shoved into fists in his pockets, “I didn’t mean to interrupt you, sir—“
“You can call me Eddie—here, at least.” And that definitely doesn’t feel appropriate, but if he’s insisting, well…
“Sorry, it just feels…strange, I guess.” It’s not how you wanted to describe it, but it’s the only word that comes to mind. “I can’t imagine how weird it is running into your students outside of class.”
“Probably as weird as it feels running into your teacher,” He adds playfully, lightening the mood. It’s nice that he’s not so bothered by all of it, “Oh—I’ve got some Elvis in there, a lot of classic rock. I’m not sure about the newer stuff, though.”
“Max has some of it.” You comment without thinking, sifting through the box of music, picking and choosing as you went.
“Max?”
“She’s—she’s my roommate here.” You answer quietly, unable to meet his eyes as he walks closer, leisurely making his way around his desk.
“I guess I should’ve put that together,” He says, taking a moment to examine the sweater you’d shoved on, “You two share a closet?”
“Among other things.” You smile, grasping the stack of Cd's in your hand, “How did you know?”
You share a glance down at the faded sweater, reading off the name of some random skate shop back in rural Hawkins, a place you’ve never stepped foot inside of.
“I got that for Red on her sixteenth birthday, before I left.”
Eddie’s frowning now, nearly unnoticeable, but you see the way his mouth creases, eyes turned down. “It’s her favorite,” You say, in an attempt to make the mood less dark, “but I always steal it from her—she’s let me take residency over it at this point.”
“It looks nice,” Eddie says suddenly, feeling the slip up as it slides off his tongue, rambling even further as he says, “on you—I mean, it’s a nice sweater—that’s why I bought it.”
You laugh softly, bottom lip jutting out as your mouth curls into a smile. “Thanks, Eddie.”
He scratched at his temple, ringed finger shining against the light refracting from the lamp on his desk. You’ve never noticed it before—or them, since his hand was adorned with three, that you could see.
“Hey, those are cool—“ You point out, finger pressed in the direction of his upheld hand. He stops, views his hand, almost like he’s forgotten he was wearing them, “I’ve noticed them before.”
“I try not to wear them during class hours, the administration thinks it’s unprofessional.” The nature of the rings, not the fact that he wore them—if he had a wedding ring it wouldn’t matter, but the thought of marriage made Eddie want to vomit.
“Fuck ‘em.” You say crudely, shoulder shrugged In indifference.
Eddie’s mouth hangs open slightly at the sudden outburst, amusement flooding his face, “I’m still your professor—probably should keep that type of language to a minimum.”
You snort at his indication that he had any type of hold over what you do—he couldn’t be further from the point.
“Or what?” You say challengingly, “This isn’t high school—it’s not like you can give me detention or tell my parents.”
“I am the one handling your grades.” He counters, hip leaned against the edge of his desk. Your free hand travels to your waist, slipping underneath the sweater to rest against the skin.
“You don’t intimidate me—I hope you know that.” You remind him carefully, eyes narrowing in his direction. “The other’s are terrified of you, but that shit doesn’t work on me.”
And he should know better—you shouldn’t even be here and he definitely should be flirting with a student, if you could call it that. Was this flirting? Was this crossing the line? He’s studied body language for a long time, through the process of his treatment of people, and he can’t help but notice how relaxed you seem, almost enjoying the back and forth.
“You should go,” He says quickly, avoiding any further lines being blurred or crossed or misconstrued; you were his student and it was unprofessional, “my office hours are closing soon.”
“Uh huh.” You nod slowly, adjusting the stack of music under your arm, watching the way Eddie’s fingers drum against the desk impatiently, like he can’t wait to get you out of there.
If he was really that bothered, he could’ve said something.
“Thanks again, professor.” You say with grandeur, motioning to the stack of Cd's, “It’s greatly appreciated.”
Eddie tries to ignore the small sliver of skin that shows underneath your slightly raised top that was no longer obscured by your hand, almost like you’re doing it on purpose.
Which, yes, you absolutely were.
You slip by him silently, avoiding the way his eyes follow you. It felt predatorial, but not uncomfortable—and that’s what you hated about it.
He didn’t look at you as a student—he looked at you like something else; you couldn’t put your finger on it.
Eddie turns on the heels of his shoes, “I expect those back tomorrow,” He warns, but there’s no sense of actual ramifications behind it.
You don’t answer fully, a small nod that Eddie doesn’t quite notice. He grabs the sleeve of your sweater gently, his fingertips pressing against your covered arm. “I mean it.”
You look at the hand that gripped your arm for far too long, Eddie still holding on just as hard. “I know.” You appease him, “And if I don’t—you know where to find me.”
The glance to your desk is silent, but done in unison.
“Wanna let go now, sir?”
Eddie hates the way his dick twitches under the material of his corduroy slacks, releasing the bunch of material from his grip. You half-expect him to scold you for the remark, but he’s speechless, for once in his life.
“Sorry,” He apologizes, feeling like he’s made things uncomfortable, but it’s so far from that—he has no idea, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“On time, hopefully.”
It’s just another playful comment, but it has Eddie gripping his thigh from the inside of his pocket, muscles tensed in frustration.
You leave with a wordless smile that’s burned into Eddie’s mind for the rest of mankind—and it’s definitely not the first thing he thinks about when he slips his boxers down his thighs that night, cock still half-hard from earlier in the evening.
☆.｡.:*
He becomes a permanent fixture in your dreams as the weeks grow on, unbeknownst to him—not that he can say much for himself either, annoyed by the finite nerve you have to walk into his classroom, skirt pulled halfway up your waist, ass barely peeking out of the bottom of the pleated material.
He knows it’s wrong and going against all of the rules set it place for this very reason, but he can’t help himself. So, he suffers in silence—not that it was anything new to him, he’s done it his entire life; under different circumstances and situations perhaps, but the basics of it still remained.
“Fuck—spread your legs,” His voice is hushed, quiet against the skin of your leg as he sucks a deep purple mark into the skin, jerking at the touch of cold metal, the outside of his rings grazing your thighs, “wanna taste you.”
It feels too real—you toss and turn in your sleep restlessly most nights, dreaming about your professor with his hands around your thighs and his mouth buried deep into your cunt.
And with little to no interaction during class, aside from the occasional glance in your direction, he kept his distance—which wasn’t a surprise, he had no idea.
He had no idea that his student was practically pining after him. It doesn’t help that you’ve seen him outside of the classroom, dress downed and free of an inhibitions or rules; it was a special kind of torture.
It’s late October when Eddie speaks to you directly, alone—he’s got most of the class set up on various different instruments of their choosing, allowing them to feel them out and play freely, and somehow—by some fucked up fate, you get stuck with a six string and not a clue how to play.
Fake playing wasn’t working, Eddie could spot it from a mile away. You don’t chance the glance up at him, but the squeak of his shoes is enough warning, bracing for whatever remark was going to be sent your way.
“Have you ever played before?” He says instead and your eyes immediately shoot up to him, all previous restraint thrown out the window.
“No, not really.” You say truthfully, watching as Eddie pulled up a chair in front of you, facing the back of it in your direction, thigh swinging over the side—his jeans tightening with the action, along with your thighs. You really needed to get your shit together.
“Here,” His hands come out to rest over yours, adjusting your left hand over the base of the guitar, your right hand around the neck, “This is A,” He presses your finger over the cord, instructing your other hand to strum.
It’s slightly out of tune, but the guitar seems old—probably provided by the college rather than Eddie himself, “That’s good,” He praises calmly, “Now try playing an A sharp,” He guides your hand further down the neck, the warm, rough skin of his hand covering your own. He feels tough and worn and you notice the small cuts around his fingertips at this proximity, breath catching as his hand grasps around the wrist that was actively strumming the guitar, “it’s really complicated at first, there’s a lot to learn.”
“Clearly,” You say, forcing down the smile that threatened to break through, “how long have you played?”
He seems surprised that you cared or even tried to ask.
“Since I was about twelve, probably.” He answers honestly, “More than half my life.”
Eddie still hasn’t moved his hands, either—he can’t be bothered. It doesn’t look as incriminating as you thought, but still, you knew. He helps you play through a few more notes until he’s gotten you to the point of playing a small, five second tone—but it’s all you can really manage.
“It takes a while.” He assures you, not that you wanted to pick up a guitar again after this.
“Why don’t you play?” You ask sweetly, smiling flashing with nothing but devious intent, handing the guitar over toward your professor.
“Nono—I’m really not—“ He protests, setting the guitar back on its stand beside you.
“Not what? That good?” You ask curiously, he was worse at lying to himself than he was to you.
“Are we forgetting how I saw you play that night?” You ask quietly, nothing how his gaze lingered with yours, “Because if that wasn’t you then—“
He gives you a muted look of warning, wanting you to drop the topic of conversation, but you can’t be bothered. He wasn’t in charge of you, not really.
“You can play a Dio song blindfolded, I bet,” You point out, still keeping enough of a hushed town that only Eddie can hear, “Your eyes were closed that entire set.”
“It was my first time back home in a while,” He defends lamely, “It helps with the nerves.”
“I thought it was really good.”
Eddie’s eyes light up in a way you can’t ignore, bordering on shock and adoration, it’s the first real smile you’ve seen from him.
The end of class comes quicker than you want it to, forced to pack your belongings back into your bag in a rush, everyone’s already managed to file out before you can even think of zipping your bag up.
“Hey,” Eddie calls out, every other student already long gone, “here, take this.”
It’s a flyer, similar to the one Max shoved into your hands a few weeks prior.
A different bar, same band; one night only.
“I’m probably breaking a thousand rules by giving you that,” He explains carefully, “but maybe you and Max could come out and watch us play—tell her I’ll even throw in some free Kate Bush.”
Your smile is warm, folding the flyer and stuffing it into your pocket. “I told you—I’m not the type to blab, Eddie.”
You hate how easy it feels to say his name in such a setting, still dressed up in his ridiculous attempt at seeming studious and professional. You knew he hated it, he knew it too.
“I can ask her—if not, I’ll still show.” You tell him.
He was only inviting Max to be courteous, but that wasn’t up for him to decide whether or not you actually brought her along. Either way, he was appreciative. He knew that a lot of the support he received back home was mostly done out of obligation and sympathy, but with—it felt real. He didn’t know you, he didn’t have anything to prove to you, and more importantly, you were genuine and honest; he hated that you took up this class. Hated it.
“It’s not a big deal if you can’t.” He offers as an out.
There was no way you were going to miss it, not with how Eddie was looking at you now; despite the circumstance, it was so blatantly obvious to you how badly you wanted him.
“Eddie, I’ll be there.” You assure him once more.
And if the smile that spreads over his face isn’t something worth worshiping, you’d surely find something else.
☆.｡.:*
The bar is small, on the complete opposite side of town—but Max still offers to drive you, but it’s definitely not for your own benefit. She hasn’t shut up about Eddie since you’d told her the situation, the weird looks he gives you, and the horrible filthy dreams you’ve been having; sans the super embarrassing details. She gets it—it’s incredibly amusing to her, but she gets it.
“You sure you don’t want to stay?” You asks, fingers tapping nervously against the ripped denim of your jeans, frayed material pulled between your fingertips. “He did invite you.”
“Babe, I’m doing you a favor.” Max interjects, halfhearted smirk on her face.
“He’s my teacher—for the last time,” You begin, beyond desperation, the words falling from your tongue weren’t even believable to your own ears, “I’m not trying to fuck him, Max.”
“I did not say anything about fucking him,” She laughs amusingly, turning into the parking lot of the bar, “—it’s just not as weird as you’re making it out to be. I’ve known Eddie for a long time.”
“You’re really missing the point.” You say, rubbing the frustration on your face away with your hands, eyebrows furrowing in annoyance.
“Oh whatever, don’t tell me you suddenly have some strict moral compass,” Max replies flippantly, “you want to screw him and you know it.”
The suspense is enough of an answer. There was no lying to Max, she knew just about every deepest, darkest secret you carried.
She pulls to a stop outside the entrance, turning toward you carefully, “Also—I can’t pick you up so you’re gonna have to ask him for a ride. I love you.” She rambled it off in one breath, barely giving you time to process. “See you tomorrow?”
It’s the one fight you decide not to pick with her, because for some reason, you know it’s for your own good.
“Hey—you made it!” The familiar voice calls from behind you—Eddie, guitar case in hand, the rest of his band mates in tow. “Red.” He acknowledges, offering her a nod. “There’s parking in the back.”
“Oh—I’m not staying,” She shouts from the driver’s side, “take care of her or I’ll murder you, Munson.”
Max is pulling off before you have any last fleeting chance to run, leaving both you and Eddie at a loss for words.
“Pulled a fast one, didn’t she?” Eddie asks after a moment, gathering by your side, following you into the bar. “She’s sneaky as hell, I’ll give her that.”
“Yeah, you could say that.” You huff softly, watching your step as you crossed the threshold, hit in the face with the smell of cigarette smoke and cheap beer.
“A beaut, isn’t she?” Eddie asks sarcastically, but despite that, the bar still garnered a decent amount of attention, packed to the brim with older gentlemen—nothing like bars near campus.
“I think I found your target audience,” You joke lightly, catching the smirk that crosses Eddie’s face as you glance over your shoulder. “I’ll fit right in.”
Eddie slaps a twenty into your hand, “Here, drinks on me—since I forced you here,” You look at him reluctantly, “I don’t want to hear it.”
“I didn’t plan on drinking tonight.” You insist, forcing the bill back into his hand, “I’ll be okay.”
“You sure?” He asks, eyeing you carefully, like he’s trying to find a hint or tell, something to figure out what exactly your mind was fighting against—which right now, it was the fact that Eddie looked ridiculous with eyeliner, yet, still criminally attractive.
It’s exactly why you shouldn’t have come tonight, because whatever could happen—you weren’t sure if you had it in you to shut down.
You nod with finality. Eddie takes the money back reluctantly, stuffing it into his front pocket. He feels terrible that you have to sit there, alone—all to watch a shitty cover band play a few songs.
But to you, it was worth it.
You sit and wait, forcing away the bartender a few times until he finally gets the message, leaving you be. It’s quiet, aside from the hum of laughter and idle conversation, Eddie and his group setting up silently onstage—that impending feeling in your gut expanding further as you watch him move around, guitar strap swung over his neck, watching shamelessly as he adjusts the instrument against his body.
He catches your eyes then, sending you a cheeky smile that has you face burning on the spot—at this point, you care less about your professional relationship, if it could even be considered that.
Eddie plays with all the gusto you expect, belting out lyric after lyric on his performance high; it’s unlike anything you’ve ever witnessed. It’s hard not to compare him to his classroom demeanor, more restrained and relaxed—it was forced, that was easy to tell. But this—this was Eddie, unafraid and free to behave how he pleased, it was unfair how attractive he was, both in looks and personality. It felt like you’d know him longer than just a few weeks; months maybe? Years?
It was like hanging out with an old friend, discovering new and old things about one another; you’d spill your heart to him at a moment’s notice if he asked—and that’s why this felt so dangerous.
☆.｡.:*
“How was it?” Eddie asks as he rounds the corner, still slightly out of breath and face covered in a sheen of sweat. You hand him a napkin in silence and he laughs, but accepts the offer.
“Good,” You smile honestly, “I really enjoyed the gradual crescendo from Holy Diver into Living After Midnight—“
Eddie could kiss you on the spot, which is such a startling thought that it stops all thinking completely—you were absolutely too good to be true, it was a constant reminder every time you spoke, making him fight with this taboo feeling more and more every day.
“Do you still need a ride home?” He asks suddenly, interrupting your waterfall of compliments, “I was going to head out already.”
“Well, considering Max left me stranded,” You say with an empty bitterness, knowing that her attentions were mostly good, “yes, I do.”
Eddie nods a silent direction—and just like the first night, you follow without question.
☆.｡.:*
The foot that isn’t pressed on the gas pedal is shaking insistently, leg bouncing against the leather of Eddie’s seat, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. He can hear you humming, mumbling the song on the radio to yourself, another classic—one of Eddie’s favorites, and he really can’t help himself anymore.
It was just a small, innocent indulgence. Who could it really hurt? You were both consenting, capable adults—and the worst thing you could do was turn him down, which Eddie really hoped wasn’t the case, but he was beyond caring about norms and rules, driven by the pure fact that he just wanted—wanted you, in any sense of the word.
“What are you doing?” You ask curiously, watching as Eddie searched idly through his stack of music, somehow still managing his focus on the road.
“Changing the song,” He comments simply, pushing the disc into the player—the soft synth of the song pushing through the speakers of his van, “do you know it?”
“Corey Hart, right?” You ask, taking a wild guess. You’d only heard the song once, but it was still catchy enough that it stuck around in your brain, “I didn’t picture you as the type.”
“You’d be surprised.” He comments oddly, turning the volume up slightly.
He notices the humming again, the small head bop along to the beat. “You like it.”
It’s more of a statement, rather than a question. You catch the side of his face, the small glint in his eye as he focuses back on the road.
“That's presumptuous of you,” You retort, hands twisting in your lap, “it’s alright, I guess.”
“Mind if I do a little study?” He asks hesitantly, breath catching in your throat for half a second.
“Of me?” You ask with a laugh, “I mean—if you want?”
“Your heart is racing, for one,” Eddie points out slyly, watching the rapid rise and fall of your chest as the beat picked up, chorus running through the silence that filled the air, “and you’re squeezing your hands.”
“Okay, genius,” You remark, “You’ve got eyes, good for you.”
He’s not really using his degree in this situation, it’s more of an innocent observation of the already underlying tension that Eddie couldn’t help but notice—the obvious body language giving you away. The song was just a secret favorite of his, but you didn’t need to know that, not yet.
“Mind I make one?” You ask, “An observation, I mean.”
What was the harm in it anyways? Eddie nods for you to continue.
“You’ve been shaking your leg since we left.” You point out, the bouncing coming to an abrupt stop, “and I’ve never seen you do that—ever.”
“It’s the after performance buzz.” He replies cooly, but you can’t be bothered to believe it. “It’s not that unusual.”
“Eddie—you’re making that up,” You tell him, eyeing burning into the side of his face, “what’s your deal?”
“My deal?”
“Yeah—why are you lying?” It’s a bold question to ask, heart fluttering in your chest. But, the way he looks at you has your legs crossing in frustration, squeezing together to relieve that ache growing between your legs.
“So, you want to pretend I didn’t notice that either?” He asks, eyeing the full expanse of your body before stopping on your legs, still firmly crossed in the seat, hands white knuckling each other under the long sleeves of your shirt. “Uncross your legs.”
“What? No.” You scoff, offended by his forwardness for a brief moment.
Eddie slips his hand under your knee wordlessly, prying your legs apart. You can’t help but look at him as if he’s lost his fucking mind—that doesn’t stop your legs from following his order. It made the ache that much worse.
“Don’t,” He warns hesitantly, the small shift in your leg giving you away, “it’s not gonna help.”
“Help what?” You reply dumbly, “I can’t cross my legs? Is that a crime?”
Eddie’s gaze lingers for far too long, noticing the flush of your chest and the way it creeps up your cheeks—they felt like they were on fire. In the midst of all the back and forth, it’s hard to keep focus on the main fact at play—teacher, student, your mind screaming, wrong.
Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.
“I can help.” He makes a subtle nod toward you.
It didn’t take a genius to know what he was talking about. You were very well aware of the issue. You want to weigh your options, come up with some stupid reason to wiggle out if the situation—but nothing comes to mind. The way Eddie’s fingers tighten around the steering wheel has you digging your nails into your own thigh—you’re going to cave, you can feel it.
“Eddie.” You warn, watching as his hands lingers toward the gear shift, resting against the cracked and worn down plastic covering.
“Our secret, right?” He teases, like this whole situation wasn’t built on secrecy. You nod willingly, legs spreading a few inches wider. His fingers trail the seam of your jeans, stopping on the button, popping it open with deft fingers. “Move this way—yeah, there.”
And when his fingers breach the seam of your underwear, your mind sings a soft praise of release, watching as his hand forces its way into the tight space, leaving him no other option but to cup your cunt with his full palm.
There was no turning back now.
His middle finger drags through your folds testingly, matching the slow undulating beat of the song, like this was a game to him. You have no idea how to handle your hovering hands, too afraid to touch him, so they wrap around the headrest behind your head, fingers gripped tightly together.
Your legs spread wider, giving him better access—you were rutting into his hand at the shift of position, feeling that familiar tingle of pleasure as it shot through your body, mixed with the feeling of a bite of forbidden fruit, avoiding Eddie’s heated gaze as he shifted between you and the road.
It feels reckless and stupid, but you can’t find the courage to stop.
The first dip of his finger is like heaven, feeling unfamiliar after so long, despite how often you touched yourself, you couldn’t remember the last time there had ever been anyone else but you—not since the first summer after you graduated; freshly eighteen and naive, letting a much older man have you how he wanted—it’s uncanny, the situation your in now. But this, it doesn’t feel like that.
“Fuck—“ Your voice catches, stomach clenching at the curl of his middle finger as it slipped inside of you and back out, pace so insufferably slow, “—need more.”
“There she is,” He smiles to himself, confidence oozing in his tone, “—shit, you’re such a liar.”
It takes you a minute to realize that he’s not talking to you at all—which sends you down a different wave of emotions, pussy clenching around his lone finger, gasping at the way he curls it against the soft walls of your cunt, searching desperately for something out of reach.
“How long has it been like this?” He asks curiously.
Since the moment you met him, is what you want to say.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You reply breathlessly, back arching away from the seat, cunt pressing further against his hand as he slips a second finger inside.
At the lie, Eddie stops without warning, and it gives you a headache, that slow build of pleasure deflating immediately.
“The truth,” He says, though, it’s more of a demand, “tell me.”
And fuck, if you weren’t putty in this man’s rough, calloused hands.
“Since earlier,” You reply, rewarded with the soft brush of a fingertip over your clit, you quickly unzip your jeans to allow for more room, “when I saw you onstage.”
Eddie’s groan in response tells you everything you need to hear. He slows to a stop at a red light and it’s the first real glance you share with him the entire evening, both of you seeing straight through each other, bodies overran with pleasure.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” He says, and it seems a little late for a realization like that, you can’t help but laugh, “what—you think it’s funny?”
“You’re the one with your hand down my pants, sir.” You retort, earning a disciplined squeeze as he shoves his two middle most fingers back into your cunt, molding around him like glue.
“Sorry—I know you hate that word,” You say playfully, “But do you mind if I use it? Or, do you prefer professor?”
It was your turn to play into the guilt he was feeling, though it didn’t seem to be concerning if he still had his hands shoved down your pants so willingly.
“Shut up,” He forces out, swerving slightly at the way you cunt clenched around his fingers, insides fluttering as he curves his fingers wildly, grazing that sweet spot deep inside of you, “don’t call me that.”
His hands were larger than yours, making up for all the work you missed out on.
“Too far?” You ask teasingly, knowing that was the least of your worries; all moral lines crossed, blurred, forgotten about entirely. Eddie’s fingers pull back to graze over the sensitive nub, rubbing in small, leisurely circles, “Fuck that—that feels—“
Your moan is so unashamed that it surprises you, hips bucking up into his hands as you nearly leapt out of the seat.
Eddie can’t take the suffering much longer, pulling off onto the winding side road, tucked into a nest of trees. He unbuckles his seatbelt, allowing fuller access as he turns toward you, switching his hands with practiced ease—you couldn’t even open your eyes, face drawn up in pleasure. You knew the moment you looked at him you were done for.
“Look at me,” His voice echoes alongside the melodic tune of the song, his fingers matching the catchy beat—the damn music aficionado he was, toying with you, fingers strumming against your swollen clit like the strings of his guitar, “—I said, look at me.”
Your body works for you, eyes opening on instinct—his voice was rough, authoritative, leaving no room for argument.
“Good girl—It’s what you wanted, right?” He asks with a semblance of a smirk on his face, “It’s why you came tonight?”
You laugh weakly at his words, double entendre, unable to go unnoticed, “As far as I’m concerned, no one’s came tonight.”
His eyes darken, shifting toward your cunt, covered by your clothes, his wrist poking out above the thin material of your underwear.
“You can stop—stop acting like this is my fault,” You hiccup, gasping as he applies heavy pressure to your clit, rubbing steadily, hating how shameful it feels as your cunt clenches around nothing, wishing his fingers were still buried inside you. “Please—fuck, I just—“
All self restraint forgotten, you hand searches for his face, finding its way into his curls, pulling gently at the root, the softest hint of a grunt falling from his lips—the first noticeable sign all evening that he was even slightly affected by this—by you.
And maybe you’ve gone too far, the idea of touching him is where things go wrong, but you can’t be bothered to hold yourself together anymore.
“It’s okay,” He assures you, leaning over the middle console, hand working quickly against your cunt, moaning loudly into the confines of the car, ashamed at how wrecked you sound, “I like it.”
He must’ve noticed your expression, lingering on his face—you could do anything and he’d fall to his knees.
“It hurts—“ You plead, begging for release, “—please?”
It sounds too pretty coming from you, deciding that putting you out of your misery was easier than watching you suffer, on the verge of a mind-blowing orgasm, Eddie’s hands feeling so much better than your own, or anyone that’s touched you before.
Your mouth hangs open on a wordless gasp, eyes squeezing shut at the force at which your high hits you, his fingers gently coaxing you through the descending pulse of your orgasm, near the point of over stimulation.
“Okayokay—“ You ramble, fingers wrapping around the length of his wrist as you pulled him away, heart skipping in your chest at the sight of his fingers flexing against your stomach as he pulls away, fingers covered in your wetness as a result of what just happened.
Your head rests against the back of the seat, chest heaving rapidly as you try to catch your breath. “Not that I’m complaining—“ Eddie’s voice pulls you out of your hypnosis, “but you might wanna let go.”
“Shit—I’m sorry,” You apologize softly, letting go of his hair, looking at him sheepishly, hands returning to your lap to fix your pants.
The song had ended long ago, the gentle rumble of the engine filling the quiet like an ambiance, realization settling between you both.
Who speaks first?
He’s quiet, wiping his hands on a black handkerchief that he seemed to have pulled out of nowhere, before stuffing it into his back pocket—where it must’ve been all along.
“I’m—“
“Should I—“
The stare you hold is long and tense, brimming with even more sexual tension than before, searching for some way to cope with whatever just happened.
He glanced down at the hard bulge of his jeans, noticing the way your gaze catches. He shifts, pulling at the front of his jeans to adjust himself. “It’s fine.” He lies, not ready to allow this to go any further than it should have.
“I don’t mind,” You reply slowly, voice hesitant as you lean forward, “I want to.”
He feels himself flex at the thought, the idea of your mouth—or even your hand, wrapped around, he was ruined. But, he’s insistent.
“I need to get you back to campus, right?” He asks, though the answer is obvious. It was a grasping at straw attempt to change the subject. “Red’s probably worried about you.”
Not a fucking chance.
“Yeah—you’re right.” You answer, trying to hide dejection, wanting nothing more than to touch him, as intimately as he had you. “We should go.”
It’s like he’s turning on his classroom demeanor before your eyes—and frankly, it’s ridiculous. He’s regretting every choice he just made and you know it, watching as he flips the gear into place, back on the road with one swift twist of the steering wheel.
And it could’ve been the heat of the moment or the copious amount of drinks that Eddie had been offered that night, obscuring his rational thinking—but he didn’t reek of alcohol, not a single drop on his breath. So, if anything, it was regret, obvious and plastered over his entire face.
But to Eddie, it's shame.
Shame at the idea of breaking so many rules, risking his job at the hands of some young women—who he couldn’t help but be lured by, entranced at how much of an enigma you were. He couldn’t describe it, couldn’t even put it into words.
And even after he drops you off that night, he comes in his hand, against the soft expanse of his stomach, the image of your face in his mind as you come apart by the work of his own hand.
He knew there was no going back, allowing himself to fully succumb to the idea that if you were willing to let him have you like that, you’d let him do just about anything.
It was exactly what you wanted.
author's note: and an extra special thank you to @hellfirehoe for dealing with my nonstop horny thoughts about this and helping me proofread.
You and Eddie laying down together on his bed while he writes up the next arc of his dnd campaign????
He’s shirtless. Propped up just enough to be able to write comfortably and you’re (in your comfiest pjs) fully laying down between his legs with your head on his tummy. Your time is mostly spent listening as he mumbles little ideas to himself, humming along happily whenever he has any sort of break through, and pressing little pecks to his pretty, soft skin whenever you feel the need. Sometimes he get so excited about an idea and literally uses your head to stabilize his notebook so he can scribble it down faster— his legs wiggling all hyperactive on either side of your body like he’s gonna explode if the words don’t get out of him fast enough.
Pretty boy lets you take a peek at whatever he’s got written down bc he knows you aren’t gonna spoil anything for the rest of hellfire (no matter how much Dustin tries to beg, bribe, or blackmail the details out of you) His face lights up with the biggest, fondest grin whenever you make any comments on the parts you like or even when you ask questions about the things you don’t quite understand yet bc he’s just SO happy you’re taking interest in something he cares so much about.
You always end up giving him endless amounts of praise for his writing/storytelling abilities. And, you leave NO room for him to argue or deflect— eyes so honest and true as you stare him down, tone of voice showing every inch of admiration you have for him in a way that makes him feel like there’s a lump in his throat. Gets his eyes all shiny and he has to look away before his bottom lip starts to wobble or something silly like that. By the end of the night you’re all tucked up in his arms as he reads his ideas out loud to you, because even though you’ve already read through most of it you insist it’s not the same if he isn’t doing the character voices himself. (And secretly you just like having an excuse to hear him speak lol)
He’s got one hand resting on the back of your neck, warm and grounding while he balances his notebook in the other. He’s animated as always, albeit a little toned down as to not disturb you too much. Presses a little kiss to the top of your head to punctuate the end of each paragraph/idea.
You don’t always fall asleep like this, but when you do it’s really not your fault. You can blame the way his thumb rubs little soothing circles in the juncture of your neck. The low rumble of his voice that only gets deeper as he switches between characters. The warmth of his bare skin or the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek.
He doesn’t stop reading, even when he notices you’ve begun to lull, but his voice does get softer. Fonder, somehow. He’d never have the heart to nudge you awake, even when you eventually get so comfortable that you start to drool a tiny puddle onto his chest.
He’ll always have the heart to tease you about it whenever you wake up, though.
summary: out of all the girls Eddie could like, of course he'd pick Jason Carver's girlfriend. He kept ignoring the warnings, and now he's in too deep.
tags: Eddie x fem!reader, pining!Eddie, friends to lovers, requited love but both parties are idiots, Dustin trying to talk sense into Eddie, cw for Jason being a misogynistic asshole, song fic, pure fluff, slow burn ish, oneshot
☆ word count: 6.5K+ (she's worth it i promise) ☆
It's sprialed out of control. Eddie knows that now.
It's as if he's been struck by lightning, the realization jolting him awake when your fingers deftly brush against his whilst you pass over the chemistry pop quiz. The touch lasts for less than two seconds, accompanied by a friendly smile and a quiet "good luck" thrown in, but it's enough for him to falter and almost let the paper slip from his fingers.
It reminds him of the first time you two met, late after school - you because of cheerleading practice, him because of detention.
Eddie was exhausted. Having shown up late to school with mismatched socks and his roleplaying notebook forgotten by the driver's seat of his van - not that it mattered anymore, considering he had to cancel tonight's session due to detention - he swore that the world was out to get him.
It was half past five and the spring rain was unrelenting, the pitter patter of water droplets against glass windows drowning out all other noise. Eddie scowled, not even the weather was on his side today. He'd have to make a run for it to his car, with nothing more than a floppy notebook to hold over his head.
His footsteps faltered, however, when he heard a feminine voice swear followed by the clattering of metal. Peeking his head around the corner, he was met with none other than the sight of you struggling to open up your locker, delicate fingers fumbling with the lock desperately.
"Oh for fuck's sake." you swore, trying the combination again and pulling the lock with all your strength to no avail. Dropping your duffel bag onto the floor, you tried again, this time grasping the metal lock with both your manicured hands.
No luck.
Sighing, you dropped your arms and fell forward onto your locker head first, before perking up and looking around for someone to ask for help - perhaps a janitor would know how to deal with this. Your eyes met Eddie's, and his eyes widened in an instant (fearing the worst, being caught staring wordlessly at one of the most popular girls in school) but your eyes lit up with recognition and joy.
"Hey! Eddie, right?" you called out, waving him over.
You knew his name? Eddie was simultaneously flattered and shocked, considering you two were separated by several stratospheres in the popularity pyramid. He was in your Advanced Physics class junior year before he dropped down to regular Physics, and even then you sat by the front row with the rest of the cheerleading squad whilst he doodled in his notebooks at the back.
"Do you think you could try opening up my locker for me? I left some important notes in there and my European History test is tomorrow, so I really need them." you sheepishly added, leaning against your locker. Eddie hesitated for a few seconds - was this a trick? Why were you being so nice to him? Why was the smile on your face so pure and so genuine, never once faltering?
Ignoring the sirens going off in his mind, he wordlessly nodded and walked up to your locker.
"The combination is 8-1-8-2."
He spun the dials around and tugged at the lock, but it remained stuck. He tried again, being extra careful to spin the numbers to the exact digit this time, but it still didn't budge.
"Nothing?" you questioned anxiously, peeking over from behind his shoulder. Eddie just grinned at that, hand flying to his jean front pocket to fish out an extra hairpin.
"Maybe not. Hold on."
Bending the metal pin straight, he fumbled with the little hole at the bottom of the lock, until a satisfying 'click' rang out. He was then able to finally unhook the lock and open it up to the contents of your locker - textbooks and folders spilling with notes neatly piled up at the bottom, with a Dior perfume, tube of lipstick and a jar of gummies sitting on the top shelf.
He was about to make a lighthearted joke about the gummies when the joke died in his mouth at the warm sensation of your arms wrapping around his waist, face buried in his shirt as you joyously embraced him.
"YES! Thank you so much, Eddie, you are a lifesaver!"
The sudden burst of affection was totally foreign to him and his senses were going haywire - overwhelmed at how your hair was tickling his exposed skin, your sweet scent (notes of caramel, honey and vanilla) evident but not too strong from this proximity. He fumbled over what to do with his arms, not knowing what was appropriate to do, before awkwardly settling on patting your back with his left hand.
"It's uh, no big deal." he managed to stutter out, small grin on his lips. A grin far outshined by the massive one on yours, bubbly laughter flowing as you quickly dug out the notes from your locker before slamming it shut and locking it back up.
There was another foreign sensation now beginning to register in his brain. Warmth, pleasant fires kindling in his lower stomach, an ache in his chest to have you close to him again. And his next sentence was blurted out before he could even think through all the repercussions.
"Do you need a ride home? Since it's raining and all."
"Yeah! That'd be great."
Following the locker incident, you began to wave at him and exchange quick greetings with him in the hallways. It was a minor change, a verbal acknowledgment instead of silent smiles and polite nods, but that didn't stop others from giving Eddie dirty looks. After all, why was the most popular girl in school giving any time of her day to the resident school freak?
Truth be told, he didn't understand it either. But he wasn't going to complain either, only returning the gestures wholeheartedly. This amicable state of acquaintance - knowing each other's names and being friendly, but never crossing the line into friendship - was broken less than a week later, when he was sitting in Mr.Wilson's office and being lectured about how he really needed to get his grades up.
"I've assigned you a tutor. She's one of my star students and she's kindly agreed to tutor you for free, so please do show up on time and try." the elderly man sighed under his breath, pushing his metal rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose before shuffling through a stack of papers.
"Her name's (Y/n). I'll leave the specifics of the arrangement up to the two of you, but the expectation is one session every week or two. Understood?"
"Understood, sir."
So here he was now. Standing in front of your house, double checking the address scribbled down hurriedly onto his notebook for the hundredth time, agonizing over what to do. Should he knock? Ring the door bell? He was a few minutes early, maybe it'd be best to just wait for you outside-
"Hi there!" you exclaimed, throwing open the door excitedly, making him jump back in surprise. "Come on in, we can go up to my room."
Your hands were preoccupied with drying your wet hair with a towel - it looked as if you had just emerged from the shower, the thought of which made his throat dry, a dirty sight he had to immediately scrub from his mind. Not that it worked particularly well, not when you were wearing an oversized Nirvana t-shirt that showed off your legs and the cheerleading shorts you had on hugged your thighs perfectly.
Carefully eyeing the living room and kitchen, he half expected for your parents to jump out and begin to interrogate him as to his identity.
"Are your... parents around?" he'd asked quietly, fingers anxiously twiddling by his sides. You shook your head sideways.
"My parents work out of state most of the time. My godfather drops by every few days though to make sure I'm fine though."
He raised his eyebrows at that, following behind you up the stairs.
"Doesn't that get lonely?"
You hummed, dabbing the last droplets of water from your forehead.
"I guess so. But Hopper - my godfather - has a lot of friends in the community so I get invited over to a lot of things. Plus cheerleading and school stuff keeps me pretty busy so it's not too bad."
You then pushed open the door to your bedroom with your shoulder, stepping backwards to let Eddie in first.
He marveled at how well organized your room was: sunflowers potted by the windowsill, a collection of vinyls leaning against a propped up vinyl record player playing a slow Whitney Houston song. White wardrobe pushed against the wall next to pastel pink drawers, makeup and skincare products neatly placed one after another.
Your cheerleading uniform was ironed and nicely draped over a cushy velvet chair, a full length body mirror with polaroids of you and your friends stuck to its sides on the white wooden frame.
You led him over to your study desk, pristine and white, and gestured to the chair to your left. He was still drinking in the sight of your room as you closed the door shut and hung your towel over the frame of your bed - which was complete with frilly lace sheets, pink and yellow cushions, bumblebee patterns stitched into the fabric.
In summary, Eddie thought, the whole room was so damn... clean and cute. A stark and sore contrast to his messy room, unfolded laundry everywhere and his walls crowded with his guitar and various metal band posters. He was just grateful now that he had insisted on doing the first session at your place instead of his.
"Everything okay?" you questioned, noticing his silence and awed expression. He blinked at you wordlessly at that, mind blanking in an instant.
"Yep! Amazing. Awesome, really. Just very stoked to get started on this exciting English Literature." he boasted, tapping his hand down on the thick textbook. You giggled at that, leaning against your chair.
"Listen, I know that Steinbeck and Fitzgerald aren't as exciting as Iron Maiden or Black Sabbath, but I promise you that there's a charm to these authors as well."
"You know about Iron Maiden and Black Sabbath?" Eddie perked up at that, pleasantly surprised. You rolled your eyes playfully, as if it was common knowledge.
"Duh, what else would I listen to whilst I jog? I can't say I'm as big of a fan as you, but I do listen to a bit of everything and metal is a cool genre."
It was his turn to chuckle, leaning forward onto the table to rest his head on his palms.
"You know, (L/n), you're not at all like what I'd expected you to be."
"What'd you mean by that, Munson?" you challenged, quirking up your eyebrows teasingly, his heart skipping a beat at the action.
"Nothing bad, I promise! Just, I don't know, your friends aren't as friendly or as cool as you."
You click your tongue at that, faux frown on your glossy lips.
"But aren't we friends? And you're plenty cool and friendly."
Friends. The word felt heavy on his tongue, goosebumps rising on his skin. Plus, you'd called him cool and friendly - by far the nicest thing any popular student had ever said to him. All logic flew out the window at that moment, walls tumbling down faster than the next words on his lips.
"Of course we're friends."
It was dangerous territory, a quiet voice was nagging him in the crevices of his mind that this was totally new and treacherous - accepting the friendship of the most popular and desired girl in school. The sirens were blaring in his head, red warning signs clouding his vision.
But Eddie consciously chose to turn the other way, running farther into your embrace.
"Cool. Glad to hear it, friend."
Once the initial hurdle was jumped over, the label of 'friends' hanging over you and Eddie, everything fell into place. Weeks flew by with tutoring sessions filled with inside jokes and excited ramblings, with Eddie taking every chance to insert a dirty joke in somehow to make you laugh.
He walked you from class to class at your insistence, your sharp glare at any staring passerbys enough to shut them up. Conversation was never awkward, there was plenty to talk about. His D&D sessions, the latest Metallica record, the next football game that Eddie would begrudgingly turn up to (but ultimately always would, just to be able to hug you in celebration afterwards).
It was all platonic, he told himself. Sure, he thought you were pretty and fun, but that didn't mean anything. He had it all under control, he reasoned, no, insisted. He was feigning igornace, arguing with his inner voice that it was all just excitement and nerves over having a friend who was popular.
"A lot on your mind?" you asked him a few months later, tongue swiping across the top of your ice cream, legs uncrossing underneath your cheerleading uniform.
You'd insisted on celebrating his first A in English Literature by going out for ice cream - "it's on me" you'd added, making it impossible to say no. It was a sizzling hot summer day and both of you were seeking refuge under the shade of a large willow tree, sitting on the roof of Eddie's van with him only a few inches separated from you.
'Yes.' Eddie wanted to say. 'I can't stop thinking about you.' he wanted to confess. 'I hear your laughter whilst I fold my clothes. I see you in the corner of my eyes everywhere I go, laying on my sofa with your legs dangling off the armrest, smiling at me in the rearview mirror from the backseat of my car.'
But he didn't say that.
"Not really. Just still reeling from the fact that I got an A." he joked, choosing to suppress his inner thoughts.
"Aw, well, you're a lot smarter than you give yourself credit for, Eds. This is just the beginning, I know it."
Humming, he shot you a quick wink.
"I'll take your word for it, doll."
Both of you fell into a comfortable silence after that, until a loud shriek was heard from inside the ice cream store. A girl Eddie vaguely recognized from one of his classes was nodding fiercely and hugging her boyfriend close, making his eyebrows raise in piqued curiosity.
"Oh, probably just a promposal for the dance next week." you commented lazily, tongue flicking at the top of your cone.
"Are you... going?" Eddie tested the waters, eyes cautiously picking apart your reaction.
"Yeah, I am! Jason's being really difficult about the color palette we're matching as though. He wants pink and blue, I'd rather we do yellow and blue or pink and white."
Eddie's vision flashed white at the mention of Jason's name, bone chilling cold seeping through his chest.
"Jason as in... Jason Carver?"
You nodded, and the pain he felt upon seeing the fond smile that spread across your lips instantly felt worse than a million needle pricks at his heart.
"That's him. He can be kind of difficult at times but... he's my boyfriend and I love him, you know?"
Eddie knew he'd never have a chance with you. He never deluded himself into that fantasy, but now it was confirmed, written in clear black and white: you were taken. Not only that, but you loved Jason Carver. He was your boyfriend.
It made total sense. How had Eddie not noticed it before? Perhaps you had mentioned it to him previously, an off the cuff comment here and there, but Eddie wasn't listening carefully. Too intoxicated on your quiet giggles, too busy admiring the golden sunlight kissing your hairline.
It was impossible to prevent the smile from dissipating from his face, a forced grin instead replacing his genuine warm smile.
"Yeah. Makes sense, I guess."
"How about you, Eds?" you excitedly asked, slapping him lightly on the shoulder. "Anyone caught your eye that you want to take to the dance?"
It burned his mouth to respond, heart throbbing, fingers strained by his sides.
"Yeah, but uh... I don't think I'll be able to make it, so I'm not going to ask her."
You frowned at that and there were a few drops of strawberry ice cream hanging from your lips, which Eddie reached out to wipe away with his thumb instinctively.
"S-sorry." he muttered out, retracting his hand quickly as if he'd been burnt.
"Yeah, you better be." Jason barked out from behind Eddie, making him straighten up in alarm, not having heard Jason's car pull into the parking lot.
The jock glared at Eddie as he walked around to wrap a possessive arm around your waist, pulling you right against his figure. Your widening smile was unmissable, so was the way you kicked your legs forward in delighted joy when Jason suddenly swooped down and pressed a harsh kiss against your lips.
Eddie awkwardly averted his gaze as Jason continued to glare at the metalhead from over your shoulder, deepening the kiss possessively, his vice grip only loosening from your waist when you patted him on the back indicating that you needed air.
"Ready to go, babe?" Jason asked, not even missing a beat. You nodded, scrunching up the paper cup in your hands and throwing it away to the nearest bin.
"I'll catch you round?" you asked cheerfully, linking your hands with Jason and shooting Eddie a hopeful smile. The smart answer to give would've been to make up an excuse, to cut the friendship there and for good - especially with how Jason was steaming with anger next to you, blue icy eyes narrowing in on Eddie's figure.
There was a storm brewing, toxic smoke billowing into the air. But Eddie stood there, unwavering, only nonchalantly rolling back his shoulders and winking at you.
"Yep. See you round."
Jason's hatred for Eddie only intensified as time went on - you'd tagged along to a D&D session once and the jock found you leaning over Eddie mid-dice roll, metal ring clad fingers on top of yours as he guided you. Eddie waited for you after school whenever you had late practice to drive you back home, only for Jason to then pop out of nowhere and insist on driving you home (though he lived in the opposite direction from you).
"I don't fucking trust you, freak." Jason once spat the moment you ran off to the bathroom, leaving the two men to be standing around your locker. "I don't know what the fuck my girlfriend sees in you, but you better not be dragging her into any of your shit."
Eddie clenched his jaw, fists grasping and ungrasping by his sides in an attempt to control his anger.
"Relax, Carver. We're just friends."
Jason just rolled his eyes at that, stepping forward threateningly.
"Yeah, friends. Just don't get your dick hard thinking she's yours. She shouldn't be wasting her time on you anyways."
Eddie's blood boiled at the way the basketball player talked about you, wanting to control and dictate everything you did.
"She's not property for you to fucking control, jackass." he retorted, only succeeding in causing Jason's nostrils to flare with fury.
"I'm back, and I- Oh." you paused, noticing the tension lingering in the air and the defensive postures. "Is everything alright?"
The boys stared at each other silently, hatred still tinging the air, but it all melted into fake smiles on both their faces when turning to you.
"Yep." they both affirmed.
"Everything's... perfect. Just as it should be." Jason slowly drawled, eyeing Eddie up and down. It was a threat, an alarm bell ringing right by his ears. It dawned on Eddie that this was becoming unavoidable now, the mess that he was in, his love for you an unstoppable tornado.
It was incredibly reckless to continue to be friends with you. But god, it felt so damn good.
So out of selfish nature or not, Eddie didn't pull away. He chose to clutch on to you tighter, grit his teeth harder, damn all the consequences that would follow. He'd wander closer into the eye of the storm, wholeheartedly and willingly, all for you.
Though Jason wasn't silent about his unhappiness over your friendship with Eddie, you never let it affect you. So Eddie continued to be your friend, maybe even best friend at this point after six months, what in between Saturday movie nights and late evening talks on the bleachers after practice.
Eddie forced himself to be content with being your go-to platonic company: of helping you pick out a dress for your date with Jason whilst leaning against the headboard of your bed, carrying your things for you at school as you rushed to class after cheerleading practice, laughing with you over a pack of cheep bear in someone's backyard during a loud house party.
It hurt - doing all the things couples did, but under the label of friendship and under Jason's persistent gaze. After all, Eddie was the one to hold your hair back when you'd had too much to drink at the end of year summer party, helping to wipe your mouth with a stray towel and gently guiding a water bottle to your lips.
Your boyfriend was nowhere to be seen, having ditched you the moment his fellow basketball players called him over. It made Eddie furious, how it seemed Jason only wanted you as a trophy to show off to the school before abandoning you in favor of his friends, but you seemed to be blind to it.
Besides, Eddie reasoned, who was he to intervene? Overall, you were happy, right?
The metalhead wasn't even in the bathroom with you for more than three minutes when Jason came pummeling through the door, chest heaving with anger upon having been told that you were seen stumbling into an empty bathroom with Eddie 'the freak' Munson.
The jock never said it - at least in front of Eddie - but it was clear that he suspected something more than friendship, you two always tilting dangerously close into romantic territory. Jason ordered Eddie out, insisting that you were in need of your boyfriend instead of him, and with a heavy heart Eddie sighed and wandered back into the party.
He still thought about you the rest of the night though, no matter how many jaegar bomb shots he downed.
Come autumn, and it wasn't just Jason who saw what was going on. At this point, you were beloved by everyone in the Hellfire Club and you'd even swung by Eddie's trailer multiple times. Wayne and the kids would all tease Eddie for his clear infatuation with you, which Eddie would vehemently deny, though he knew deep down they were right.
"So are you ever going to admit that you like her?" Dustin teased, knocking his shoulder into the older boy's.
They were sitting on the railings of the skate park, the boys having lost a game of rock-paper-scissors with Max to pick between going to the arcade or to the skate park. The redhead was busy coaching you on how to skate - your legs wobbly on the skateboard as Max held onto your arms, wide amused smiles on both your faces - whilst Lucas and Mike ran off to the corner store to get some water.
"What, (Y/n)?" Eddie tried to play dumb.
"Duh, who the hell else?" Dustin retorted, appalled that his friend would even try to feign ignorance.
Both boys picked up their heads at the sound of loud laughter, your back on the pavement as you seemingly fell, Max laughing so hard that she had tears in her eyes and was hunched over to clutch her stomach. The fond smile gracing Eddie's lips was instantaneous- you were always so good with the kids, they all adored you. The boys pestered you for gaming tips, Max and you bonded over music, Erica thought you were the "coolest adult" she knew.
It made Eddie fall even deeper for you, his heart now fully in the eye of the hurricane. You were ripping down all his walls, your laughter destructive and haunting. You left him dizzy and stumbling through the hallways, heart heavy with infatuation, lips aching to be on yours.
"There. Right there." Dustin commented, pointing right at Eddie's face. "You get that stupid grin on your face whenever she smiles or talks or shit, does anything really. We all have bets on when you're finally gotta make a move, so when are you?"
Eddie shoved off the curly haired boy, fingers scrambling to brush off the sleeves of his jacket in false boredom.
"For the millionth time, Henderson, she has a boyfriend. Said boyfriend, who by the way, hates me and frankly I don't feel like being a homewrecker." he spat, venom dropping from his voice at the thought of Jason. Letting out a short exhale, he flashed the younger boy a tired smile.
"Besides, we've been friends for like, what, over half a year now? The ship has sailed, I've got no chance."
"You're just saying that because you don't see the way she looks at you." the younger boy insisted. "Seriously. Friends don't look at each other like that."
Eddie had nothing to say to that, you looking up from the opposite site of the skate park to wave at the two boys with delight, which they both quickly returned. The fluttering in Eddie's stomach was easy to anticipate at this point, as was the heavy pang in his heart at the realization that Jason would be coming to pick you up in a short bit.
"She's just being nice, Dustin." Eddie muttered, running a shaky hand through his hair.
You looked ethereal whilst skating, so carefree, hair flowing in the wind as your knees bent and braced for the dip off the edge. Fading red orange sunlight accentuating the dip and curve of your facial features, autumn foliage stuck in your messy hair.
You'd come into his life, a tornado, and destroyed his whole being. He was wandering alone now, knees brushing up against green fields with nothing but trees surrounding him, but Eddie didn't mind.
So long as he got to continue to watch you smile like that.
Cut to the present, Eddie's mindlessly filling out the pop quiz, brain still fuzzy from your touch lingering over his skin, ghostly yet ever so present. The rest of the class flies by and it's the end of the school day, so Eddie quickly moves to shove his things into his bag, crushing all his paper notes with the haste with which he does so.
"Any plans for tonight?" you ask, tossing your bag over your shoulder.
It's Friday night, which to everyone else means parties and fancy dinners, but to Eddie it usually means going back to the trailer and watching a rerun of a shitty sitcom over a bowl of microwave mac and cheese. Not that he'll tell you that, though.
"Not really. Why, up for another spontaneous drive through town?" he teases, heart fluttering hopefully. You sigh and shake your head sideways.
"Can't - Jason's taking me out on a date, but... rain check for maybe next Friday?" you question, peeking up from your lashes.
"Sure, next Friday." the bitter smile and forced ambivalence to his tone is painful, but it's a dull ache he's made peace with at this point. "If anything changes, you know where to find me." Eddie jokes, cocking his head to the side.
And unexpectedly, things do change.
In the blink of an eye, it seems.
Eddie's mid-way through the rented copy of Evil Dead, hands stuck in a greasy bowl of popcorn as he lies chest down on the sofa, blue light from the television illuminating his tired face, until someone bangs against his trailer door furiously.
Jumping up at the sudden loud noise, he pauses the VHS tape, abandoning his bowl of popcorn on the couch before throwing open the door.
It's you, mascara running down your cheeks, arms crossed over your chest, clutching at your skin so harshly that the baby blue dress you're wearing bunches at your waist.
"I broke up with him." is the first thing you say, voice shaky, body still trembling. "He said some, fuck, awful things, Eds. Really awful things. I had no choice and I know it was the right thing to do but-"
Your voice breaks as another wave of tears overwhelms you.
"But then why does it still hurt?"
Eddie's quick to shush you and envelope you into his arms, not caring that your makeup is probably smudging against his shirt, his hands coming up to comfortingly cradle your head against his chest. Your body trembles with every sob that escapes your lips and Eddie presses a soft kiss to your hairline, wishing nothing more than to take your pain away from you.
His mind is whirring with a million different things to say to you, but your comfort is on the forefront of his mind above all.
"Hey... have you ever been to the park by Saint Street? You know, the one with the playground." he quietly suggests, pulling away slightly.
You look up at him, confused, wiping your eyes.
"I don't think so, why?"
Picking up the jean jacket thrown over his kitchen counter, he digs out his car keys from the side pocket and extends his left hand out for you to grab.
"Because. We should go. It's impossible to be sad at a playground."
It's a stupid thing to say, childish even, but it does the job of putting a smile back onto your face, your cold hands grasping his warm ones. It's a quick drive - no less than 15 minutes - but he can't help but look over at you at every intersection and red light, making sure that you're okay.
He jumps out first to open the car door for you before helping you climb over the metal fence - "no one comes by, I swear" he assures you - shaky feet meeting dead leaves and dirt, he's quick to tug you towards the swing set.
He refuses to let you talk - "play first, until you stop crying" - and he insists on pushing you on the swing as high as he can. He chases you down the slides then races you to the top of the jungle gym, drunk off of your bubbly laughter and the way your eyes twinkle in the moonlight.
Neither of you know how much time has passed before you two sit across from each other on the seesaw, ribs hurting from the lack of oxygen. You can faintly make out Eddie's features in the dark - moonlight illuminating his curls, amused grin on his handsome face (the same face you've been unable to stop thinking about for the past few months).
"So what'd Jason say?" Eddie asks, leaning forward. "But only if you wanna talk about it, of course." he clarifies.
You let out a slow exhale, nodding tiredly.
"No, no, you... you deserve to know. Jason was on edge at the restuarant - I didn't think much of it, he's always a bit on edge - but he just went crazy today. Like, the moment the waiter left he started screaming at me, accusing me of cheating on him."
"Cheating on him?" Eddie strains his neck with the speed with which he picks his head up to stare at you, wide mouthed. "You? You would never!"
You scoff at that, thumbs anxiously twiddling on your lap.
"I know. That's what I tried to tell him but he wouldn't hear it. Just kept on going and on about how I was clearly in love with-" you stop yourself then, the gravity of the situation falling into place like dominoes.
You just broke up with your boyfriend of nearly a year. You came to Eddie crying, showing up at his doorstep in a heartbeat. Now you two are staring at each other in the park, leaned over opposite sides of a fucking seesaw, pouring each other's feelings out into the chilly winter air.
"With who?" he furrows his eyebrows and you almost want to laugh at how oblivious he is. You suppose maybe you've been hiding it well - well enough for Eddie to not notice how your touch has always lingered a bit too long on his skin, how your head so easily found home in the crook of his neck, how you began to prioritize meeting up with him over your fellow cheerleaders.
But not well enough for Jason, eagle eyed and jealous, constantly hovering over your interactions with Eddie and deluding himself with the gossip around school that you'd gone further than that.
"You."
It's whispered, heart falling to the bottom of your stomach at the confession now lingering in the open, cold and heavy.
"M-me?" Eddie stutters, clearly taken back. You lick your lips, chapped and dry, your shaky breaths coming out in small whisps of white smoke.
"Yeah. Jason insisted that it was clear that I was cheating on him with you and that we were spending way too much time to be just friends, and he... he called me a lying slut. Straight up. Screamed that I was whore to my face, demanded to know how many times we fucked behind his back."
"W-we never even kissed!"
"Yeah, I know." you chuckle sadly, shaking your head sideways, blinking away new tears which spring to your eyes. "But Jason didn't believe me. I dumped him, left him with the check and... I don't know, didn't feel like going home to an empty house. And I just... all I could think about was how much I wanted to see you."
Eddie doesn't know what to say to that. So he takes the safe route, nodding sympathetically and flashing you a small grin.
"Well, I'm glad that you did. I hope me dragging you to the playground wasn't the wrong thing to do." he teases, attempting to lighten the heavy mood. It works, soft grin tugging at your face.
"Yeah it definitely wasn't. Coming here was perfect."
The night breeze blows against your bare shoulders and it hits you that you really aren't dressed for the outside. Even if winter is only beginning to slowly roll in, it's still chilly enough to see your breath in front of your eyes in puffs of smoke and you've been sitting still on this seesaw for a while. So Eddie steps off to shrug off his jacket, musky earth tones warming your senses as he places it carefully around your shoulders.
"Thanks." you mutter, fingers grasping the lapels of the fabric.
"Don't mention it." he responds, waving you off.
A few beats of silence pass and then you throw your head back, staring up at the night sky full of stars.
"You know, weirdly though, I'm kind of relieved."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Deep down, I knew it wouldn't last. Too many red flags, you know? I just keep on ignoring them because... I don't know, really. Don't like change."
"I get that."
"God, feelings suck." you chuckle, shaking your head sideways. "Don't they? Pining, infatuation, love."
Eddie hums, nodding along.
"I'm there with you. For example-" he pauses. He's staring the storm right in the eye now, he has to made a decision.
He's tired of running, he decides.
"The girl I've been fawning over for almost a year now has been totally blind to my love for her and I'm exhausted." he makes it a point to stare straight at you with an unwavering intensity. "But she's worth it."
It's a shot in the dark but there's a surge of courage and adrenaline pumping through his veins, and the dark makes him more bold. He blames it on the wind rush, the night high, how beautiful you look in that velvet blue dress.
"She sounds like a very lucky girl." you choke out, mind blanking unexpectedly. Eddie nods and walks up towards you slowly, your throat running dry under the intensity of his stare.
"Yeah, and she's incredible, too. Head cheerleader. Great English Literature tutor. So funny, so kind, so damn beautiful, especially in blue. Great with kids, loved by my uncle, and I just heard-" his left hand comes over to brush up against your cheek. "That she's single. Funny how things work out like this, huh?"
You nod wordlessly, entranced by his warm brown eyes.
"It is."
You stand up cautiously, never once breaking eye contact with him, leaning in closer and closer. Eddie's expecting you to pull away from him in any instant, disgust springing onto your face or apologies falling from your lips, but you remain still. Your lashes fluttering shut is the last sign he needs before he commits to closing the gap and kissing you squarely on your lips, knocking the cold air out from your lungs.
It's a cold night but his skin's on fire, left hand springing up to cup your chin, other hand supporting your neck as he tugs you in even closer. You taste like cherry chapstick and smell like French perfume, velvet fabric brushing up against his arms as he backs you up against a park bench.
It's a messy kiss, all teeth and tongue, but he can't give a fuck. Not when his heart is soaring, fingertips electric, mind hazy at the realization that he is finally kissing his dream girl after a whole year of pining.
"Holy shit." you manage to say when you two pull apart, hair slightly messied and lips wet and plump.
"I hope that's a good holy shit, princess." Eddie teases, the nickname causing your stomach to flutter with butterflies.
"It's a good holy shit. A really good holy shit." you confirm, nodding fiercely. You both laugh at that, warmth blossoming across both your chests.
"W-why didn't you ever say anything?" you stutter out, head still reeling from the passionate kiss.
"I wanted to. God, I wanted to so many times. I knew I was falling for you from the beginning, all these little indicators and signs and the intrusive thoughts. But I kept on ignoring them and by the time I realized I loved you, I knew you were with Jason and you two seemed happy. And I didn't want to be selfish and intrude on your happiness like that."
He tugs you down onto his lap, sitting both your bodies down on the metal bench. Your hands come up to carress his cold cheeks, trembling thumbs rubbing up and down his jawline, eyes admiring the freckles on his nose and the specks of moonlight in his hair.
"Well, no need to ignore those warnings anymore, huh?" you say quietly, voice heavy with adoration.
He just nods, head falling forwards to rest on your chest, hearing your soft heartbeat through velvet fabric.
"Absolutely."
Eddie ignored the tornado warnings.
But in the wreckage, you two found each other, hands desperately grasping each other's in the darkness.
Burrowing his head into the crevice of your neck, he's content to stay with you in the aftermath of the disaster, so long as you continue to grip onto him like this.
a/n: this was based on the song with the same title by Sabrina Carpenter! Please go stream and support her new album, 'emails I can't send', it is fantastic and there are so many other bangers on the album.
Speaking of which, the way that the metaphor of the tornado is used in the song is kinda different from how I used it here but idk, I thought it was a cute concept and the song motivated me to write it haha. Not sure how this fic will be received but I loved writing it :)
this was requested by @marauders3rawh0re enjoy babe! luv yuh angel!
my requests for eddie are open!
summary: eddie’s had enough of your bratty attitude. it’s just filth.
warnings: damn where do i start. very explicit smut and very dom eddie, language, spanking w/belt and pain play, slapping, heavy making out, oral f receiving, unprotected sex, orgasm denial, overstimulation, begging, fingering, a lot of hair pulling. p in v, dirty talk to the max, name calling, decrophylia and alot of crying, edging, forced orgasms. it’s dark i wont even lie. this is consensual, everything i write is. eddie and the reader would have talked about boundaries early on in their relationship.
taglist!
* again, i’m no longer adding people to my tag list. those who have been added are all who i will allow. *
Maybe it was because it was raining, that always tended to soil your mood. You had legitimately woken up on the wrong side of the bed, practically shoved off it, due to Eddie’s long legs. You’d barely gotten any sleep from how hot it was, so you tossed and turned all night. He always slept like a damn freight train, snoring right next to your ear canal.
You loved that man with everything you had, but you were having a horrible day. He knew it to, because you were practically snapping at everything he said, taking it out on him. This, created a tension between you two that could be detected from a mile wide radius. He’d say one little thing, you’d bit his head off. In turn, you’d say something, and he’d scoff dramatically, spouting something for the sole reason to piss you off.
The cafeteria that day was well made aware you two were having a spat, and when Dustin asked you what was wrong, well, it was a mistake, and you both had erupted into shouts and practically throwing food. You were both sent to the principals office.
You didn’t speak on the drive home, and as soon as you got inside his trailer, you slammed the door to the bathroom, turning on the shower with a loud squeak. The water boiled down your skin like your angry blood, your mind flashing images of how you could kill your beloved boyfriend in his sleep.
You threw on a pair of underwear and a free tank stop, letting your wet hair soak up your back without care. You sent him a glance as you walked out, making your way to the kitchen. He was sitting at his desk, pencil in his mouth as he scribbled down notes for hair next campaign. It was quiet, so you busied yourself making a bowl of cereal.
You stood on your tiptoes to reach the box, cursing when you couldn’t get it. You jumped slightly, flaying your arm about and wiggling your fingers. “Shit.” You muttered, looking at him from the other room.
“Eddie?” You pursed your lips. “I can’t reach the cereal box.”
It was on his to-do list to get a step stool so you could reach whatever you wanted, because the height difference between you was astonishing. You placed your hand on your hip, rolling your eyes as you glared at the back of his head. “Eddie?”
Still nothing. “Hello? I can’t reach the damn box!” You shouted, making him snap.
He spit out his pencil as he scooted away from the chair, his eyes finding yours with a sharp flare. He practically stomped his way over to you, reaching up to snatch the kind he knew you liked. “Here.” He shoved it to your chest. “Happy? Or you wanna bitch some more?”
“Excuse me!” You screeched. “How have I been bitching all day?”
“Are you joking me?” He raised his brows in disbelief, stepping away to make a dramatic show of his arms. “All day it’s this and that! Nothing has been good enough for you, and yet, you’ve blamed it all on me!”
“Well you- you,” You stuttered out, trying to think a snappy comeback. Really, you knew you were in the wrong. You were having a bad day, and you were most definitely taking it out on him. But still, you weren’t gonna admit it. “You’re annoying!” You held your head high. “All you ever talk about is your stupid campaign, that stupid fucking game! News flash, I don’t give a shit!
He scoffed at your pathetic attempt. “Real mature. Jesus, y/n, are you on your period or something?”
“Fuck you!” You spat sharply, causing his features to drop. You huffed out angrily, nostrils flaring. You watched as a stern look formed on your lover’s face, his brows etching into sharp daggers. You hated him, but god, you loved that look. He only ever gave it to you when you’d push him too far. Looks like you did that tonight.
You gasped when he shoved himself against you, pushing your backside to the countertops, his lips on yours. His pink, big lips sucked, bit and licked yours, and it was hard for you to keep up. It almost hurt your poor teeth. You tried to bring your arms up to his shoulders, but he pushed them down, the back of your head smacking against the cabinet as he came closer, his nose shoved to yours.
You groaned at the roughness, slobber pooling at the corners of your mouth. You were sure you’d have bruises on your tongue by morning. His hand came up to squeeze your breast, hard, and you whimpered into his mouth, barely being able to stand.
“No, babe,” He pulled away, a string of drool connecting your lips as he panted hotly in your face. “You’re the one who’s fucked.”
You gasped when he reached up, curling locks of hair around each of his fingers, giving a hard yank as he pulled you away. You tripped on your own feet, crying out as he dragged you across the floor, continuing to pull you into the bedroom as you stumbled. The door slammed open, slamming back as equally hard, knocking down a lone picture that held above the light switch. He let go of you hair, only to reconnect your lips, his hands going to your face. He allowed yours to explore his chest, choking on your breath as you tried to keep up with his heavy paced, sloppy kisses.
“So, is that what this was all about?” He tugged at your shirt, growling lowly. “You want some attention? Your jealous of the game?”
Even in the dark, he could tell your complexion was darkening. He smirked, pulling you both closer to the bed. “If you wanted my attention, honey, you should of just asked. now, you’ll get all my attention.” He twirled you around so that the bed was directly behind him, and he pushed you a few feet in front of him.
He stood there staring at you for a moment, hearts beating loudly and chests heaving. He could see in your eyes a bubble building with excitement, and he felt his stomach tense at the sight. His hands slowly traveled to his belt, and you watched in anticipation, biting your lip. He fumbled with the buckle, snapping it open as he pulled it through the loops, never once breaking eye contact with you. You knew you’d pay if you looked away.
He pulled it free, folding it in his hands, leveling it. You eyed the dark, heavy look of his belt, knowing that you were about to be in a world of hurt. Your stomach dropped between your legs, a fire trying to spark. Slowly, he sat down in front of you, manspread as he clasped the belt in hand. “Remember your safe word?” He lifted his chin.
You nodded, throat stuffed with cotton. “Yes.”
He nodded with you, rolling back his shoulders as patted his knee. “Then bend over.”
It took you a moment before you could move, his eyes solemnly focused on your figure. You shakily came closer to him, trying to mask up your uneasy gleam. Typically during times like these, you didn’t mind to let him tousle you about and treat you like a whore, and while you wanted him to now, you still fumed with agitation from the previous argument.
He kept from smirking at the sight of your defiance. How cute, he thought.
You lowered yourself down on his lap, and he lifted his arms to allow you to get adjusted comfortably. Your upper body dangled off his lap, your backside resting on his thighs and ready for his abuse.
Your stomach growled for his teasing, for his fingers to trail up your bare thighs and at your entrance. He always did this before he punished you, making you wet and desperate while he marked you. But not today.
You’d just gotten settled, and jumped at the heavy leather of his belt that smacked down sharply on the sheer cover of your panties. “Ouch!” You raised up and turned around to glare at him. You would have said something snappy, but his warning stare shut you up, so you obediently turned back around.
“I’d watch that bratty attitude of yours, y/n,” He peeled down your panties, and you blushed as they fell down your leg. “Stay still. This is going to hurt.”
Snap!
Your jaw fell open at the forceful sting, his other hand squeezing your waist.
Snap!
You winced, eyes closing briefly as you tried to squeeze your legs together, that sparking fire growing into a lowly lit flame.
The next two came quickly together, causing you to jolt sharply, your hand reaching down to grip his ankle. Your eyes began pricking with tears, the stinging pain of your ass only sending hot, pleasurable strips between your legs. He only continued, bringing down the sharp leather hotly, ignoring your sounds of pain. Your breaths grew louder, choked with each hit, whimpers beginning to pull on your lips as you started leaking tears.
After a particular hard one, he stopped at the sound of a choked sob, looking down on you with that same solemn stare.
“If it’s too much than say the word, otherwise I’m not going to stop.”
You almost considered it, because by now, you were fully crying, constantly sniffing to keep your nose from running. It hurt, terribly, but why, did it feel so good, too? The pounding between your thighs was far worse than your beating heart, your arousal sticking to your thighs and making them shine. A white hot ball was pulsing in your stomach, only begging for him. “Well?” He groped your sore skin, not a evidence of care in his voice. “Do you want me to stop?”
You shook your head no, shameful, and immediately yelped when he strapped you again. Your fingers gripped down at the carpet, whimpering and crying as he belted you. Your ass was seven shades of red, but he idolized his work, pressing down harder in certain spots. You weren’t sure how many more he’d given you, seven, maybe eight, and you were sobbing when he finally tossed the belt to the ground.
Snot leaked down from your nose, dripping down to the floor along with your tears. You knew you were dampening the blue material of his jeans from your arousal, and you cried for the desperation to be touched.
You felt your shoulder being pulled, and you allowed him to pull you into a sitting position on his lap, wincing at your sore backside. He smirked at your tears, face red and snotty. He lifted your chin, licking his lips seductively. “Did you learn your lesson? Or do I need to keep going?”
“I did.” You nodded tearfully, knowing you wouldn’t be able to take anymore.
He smirked, bringing up his thumb to wipe away a tear. He kissed you slowly, pressing soft pecks against your lips, down your neck. You moaned loudly without shame, so, so desperate for his touch. “Eddie,” You choked. “Please, touch me. I need- I need you so bad.”
His hands squeezed your ass, making you whimper and moan while he nipped at your neck. The urge to be touched was too much, so you started rocking yourself back and forth on his lap, desperate for any kind of friction. Your hand disappeared between your legs, raising up for the angle. You flinched when he quickly snatched your hand, breaking apart the kiss with a dominant look. “Uh-uh.” He pursed his lips.
You gave a pout of your lips, a tear falling down your cheek. You were an absolute mess. He placed his hand on your back, flipping you both onto the bed. “Put that lip away,” He said sternly, lowering himself between your thighs. “Or I’ll give you something to pout about.”
You moaned out pathetically, a high pitched tone that probably even signaled dogs. His nose pressed into your folds, and he began to have his way with you. Your back arched, tiny little huffs of breath leaving you, your hands pulling at his lions mane. It didn’t take you long before your muscles started to tense, your wetness making a puddle beneath you.
But before you could finish, his tempo slowed, and he moved to work at a different angle, simmering down the boiling bubbles in your stomach. You looked down to complain, but choked on your words when he entered his fingers inside of you, his tongue circling your clit. “Don’t cum.” His voice was gruff, deeper. It was an order.
You weren’t sure if you couldn’t. You started to nearly hyperventilate, eyes closing and opening as you tried to breath. The overstimulation was overwhelming, and the more he licked and bit on your sensitive bud, it began to hurt, your body jolting with each strip of his tongue.
“God- oh, god, please Eddie-” You sobbed, pulling at his hair nearly as hard as he did yours. “I can’t- I, it hurts- please, let me cum!” Your legs shook around his shoulders, the stubble of his five o’clock shadow ticking your skin.
“No.”
You blubbered like a baby, and even though you wanted to obey his orders, all it took was one solid stripe to your pulsing cunt, another curl of the four fingers that he had shoved inside you.
Your back arched so high it nearly touched his stained ceiling, and you came, hard. Your body trembled like a new fawn, strings of whines and pornagraphically strained mewls choking up your throat. Your eyes spit out new tears, sobbing out moans. Your pussy pounded and pulsed around his fingers that slowly pulled away, his nose leaving you. And when the cool air hit your abused skin, you opened your eyes.
You nearly flinched at the sight of him, directly above you. While yours was lustful and full of sweat, he just looked mad.
“I told you not to cum.” His voice was hard, yet barely over a whisper.
“I’m so-” You yelped when his palm collided with your skin, the rings on his fingers making your ears ring. You didn’t have time to react as he gripped your waist, spinning you around and pressing your face down into the pillow. “Remember the safe word.” He said gruffly, pulling up your hips as he hurriedly unbuckled himself, thrusting his throbbing cock inside of you.
He gave you no time to wiggle your hips or get adjusted, his palm fisting your hair as he drove himself into you. It felt like a sword had stabbed it’s way through your abdomen and up into your throat, a choked, whiny string of shock cracking open your jaw. “I don’t ever deny you anything,” He snapped his hips. “So, if you want to cum so bad, then that’s exactly what you’ll get.”
He pounded against your g spot, tearing falling down your face as he pulled at the roots of your hair, nearly suffocating you into the pillow. “Oh, god, fuck, fuck, oh, god-” You cried. “Eddie, Eddie, Eddie,”
He fought off his own orgasm, smacking his hand down on the bruising skin of your ass. You jumped with a squeal, and then he gave you another, and then another. Your pussy began clenching around his cock, your thighs trembling as you squeezed your hands into the sheets. “Oh, god!” Your eyes rolled into the back of your head. “God, Eddie- I’m,” You broke off into choked squeaks as he only continued to thrust into you.
His hair bounced and sweat rolled down his forehead, his shirt sticking to him like glue. He moved quicker, harder, working you up to your third orgasm. His fingers found your clit, and you jolted up onto your hands, reaching out to grip the headboard. “Eddie, I can’t- I can’t,”
“Have you learned your lesson now, bitch?” He fisted at your hair, and you whimpered as he pushed you back down. “Are you done with that filthy attitude?”
“Yes!” You cried, yet another tight, white hot ball glowing in your stomach like a light bulb. You thought you were going to faint. “Yes, yes, I’m sorry!”
“Fuck,” He groaned, looking up to the ceiling in ecstasy. He felt you clench around him, knowing you were close again. “Apologize to me.” He demanded. “Apologize for being a brat.”
“I’m sorry!” You begged, squeezing your hands into the blankets. “I’m sorry f-for being a b-brat! I’m sorry, E-Eddie! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m- sorry!” You wailed out as you came, his chest leaning against your back as he gave a final thrust, shaking in pleasure while you did the same.
You hyperventilated tears, shaking and vibrating as you sang strings of filthy song. He rocked about you slowly, nipping at your neck as he groaned and groaned against you, his seed spilling down your leg when he pulled out.
You collapsed when he let go of you, panting wildly in tears. You felt the bed dip beside you, his hand grabbing yours. Neither of you could say anything, so you just held each other’s hand.
summary: reader hooks up with Eddie, seemingly out of character for her, and accidentally steals his shirt.
pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader
warnings: 16+, a lot of swearing, kissing, suggestive dialogue, also they're both seniors so I wrote it as them both being 18.
word count: 2.6 k
a/n: yes, I know I basically fell of the face of the earth, but I binged st4 and this idea just immediately popped into my head because I'm so down bad for Eddie.
_______________________
If you ever told me that I would be in the back of a van, musty with the stench of old weed, I’d laugh. If you ever told me that the van in question belonged to Eddie Munson, I might have thought you hit your head on concrete to make you come to such a conclusion.
But no one’s telling jokes. And no one has a concussion.
I am, in fact, with a conscious mind, hooking up with Eddie Munson in the back of his beat-up van while the remnants of some of the senior class are sitting around a bonfire. Or doing what I’m doing, but with someone who isn’t him.
An array of cloth and blankets, which are more loose threads than actual blankets, are scattered under us. What a gentleman. The fabric scratches against my bare leg. Part of me wonders if these blankets are in such a condition from other sexual escapades. Or maybe he is just terrible at keeping his things neat and tidy.
My head rests on the back of the front seat, and I feel the worn fabric against my scalp. The metal from his rings feel cold as his fingers slip under the back of my shirt. His breath is hot on my neck, and the rational part of my brain is screaming, 'what the fuck are you doing?’ but rationality has left the conversation.
His hair is silky smooth, and he smells of the bonfire that is still burning outside. He smells good. Woodsy, of pine, maybe cigarette ash, all things I usually avoid. But, I guess today I’m plunging headfirst into a sea of foreign territory.
I have never been one to do things half-assed.
He pulls away for a moment, his dark eyes like a pool of ash that was previously ablaze. There’s a gnawing at me to trace the tattoo resting under his collarbone, to ask him how it felt. His stare ignites me because I’m realizing that he’s hot, and I’m confused, and maybe I do have a concussion.
“Eddie!” Someone shouts from outside. I’m suddenly more aware of my surroundings, the rational part of my brain coming to the forefront.
That’s enough to pull me out from whatever trance I was in and start gathering my things, aiming to get hell out of here before I do something else that I might regret later.
“I can tell them to fuck off. You don’t have to go,” he says, grabbing ahold of my arm. His voice is low and raspy at the edges of the syllables.
He uses his free hand to brush my bangs away from my eyes. I instinctively shiver. Partially from the coolness of the metal decorating his fingers but also because I feel myself almost wanting to stay — haunting in itself.
Get a fucking grip.
Eddie and me, for a lack of better words, run in different crowds. Sure, our paths have crossed a couple of times. Emphasis on a couple. Not enough for him to leave a lasting romantic impression. But enough of an impression, nevertheless, for me to never have entertained the idea of us ever becoming an us in any sense of the word.
“No, no. I should go,” I rush the words, almost as fast as I slip my sweater back over my head.
And that’s how I left a shirtless Eddie Munson in the back of his stuffy van. So fast that he barely managed to get a word out, and I hoped to god he never will.
I don’t even bother to close the van when I hop out. My shoes leave a skid trail on the dirt from where I’ve slid across the ground.
Robin leans against a wooden fence, surrounded only by a few people, none of which served any importance to me at the moment. I quickly march over, grab her arm and pull her hard enough to let her feet stagger against the dirt.
“Let’s go,” I say.
She doesn’t ask any questions and I don’t offer any explanations.
•••
The video store opens at 10 a.m., and I know Robin is working the morning shift because she has complained about it for the past two days. And I think that I’ve gotten this Eddie situation to settle in my brain long enough where I just need to let it out.
I grab my bag that’s resting on the back of my desk chair, the straps falling limply over the edge. I hadn’t taken out anything from last night, and I’m sure there are clothes tucked inside that desperately need to be washed. I unzip the top pocket and begin tossing some things into the laundry basket laying against my door, or throwing them on my bed to be put away later; socks, headphones, a beaded bracelet, Eddie’s Hellfire Club shirt.
Wait. Eddie’s Hellfire Club shirt!? The same shirt he was wearing last night. I see a light smear of my pink lip gloss under the neck hemline.
“Shit, shit shit,” I curse repeatedly.
I can’t throw it in the laundry basket because someone will find it. If someone finds it, they’ll ask me about it. I’m great at lying but not that great at it. Mom goes through my room at least once every other day, and I think my safest option – to ensure my personal dignity – is to keep it with me in that bag.
I roll it up real tight and smush it to the bottom in the tightest corner possible. If I press hard enough, maybe it can disappear, or disintegrate, and I don’t have to think about what happened with Eddie Munson again.
Wishful thinking.
I throw open the doors of the small storefront at 10:05 a.m. Robin, obviously anticipating someone else, sighs loudly, bracing herself for the day to begin. Her features relax when she notices it’s just me, but that’s quickly replaced with confusion: furrowed brows, narrowed eyes.
“You’re up early,” Robin says.
I saunter up to the counter, leaning all my weight on my elbows, resting them on the surface. It’s sticky. I recoil and move a few inches over.
“So are you,” I reply.
She surveys me for a few moments, studying my expression. She knows something is off.
“You can tell me while I restock these videos,” Robin says, reading my mind.
She wheels a cart from behind the counter, nearly running over my feet. I follow her around the aisles: romance, horror, sci-fi. Robin tosses them onto the shelves, not in particularly neat stacks. She takes some time to peruse, picking up a few flicks to read the short synopsis at the back that usually no one cares to read in full. Robin acts more like a browsing customer than an employee.
I attempt to work up the courage to explain this situation in the most sensible way.
However, it comes out most unpolished. “I hooked up with Eddie Munson yesterday and I accidentally stole his shirt.”
Robin whips around, her shoulder knocking over a display of copies of Back to the Future. She doesn’t make any motion or intention to pick them up.
“You stole Eddie Munson’s shirt?” Robin asks, eyebrows raised.
“That’s what you’re focusing on? About ten hours ago his tongue was in my mouth, Robin. What the fuck am I supposed to do now?”
Behind Robin, a woman makes eye contact with me, quickly ushering her child away from the situation. I attempt a friendly smile, but she scowls as she walks away and out the door.
“You just cost us a customer,” Robin jokes.
“Steve will understand.”
A group of kids come crashing in, faces smeared with remnants of the slushies they are holding with sticky fingers. They run to the section of R-rated films, touching it with their blue raspberry, cherry, and berry blast-covered hands. They can't be any older than twelve.
“Hey!” Robin yells. “I’m not losing my job over you twirps. Don’t touch those!”
Their eyes widen, but not before the herd of them charge right where Robin and I are positioned, which is conveniently near the exit. One of the kids loses his balance, sending his half-filled cup of flavoured ice sugar, that's nearly melted, all over my shirt. Which, of course, is white. And now see-through.
“Fuck my life,” I mutter, glaring at the little culprit. They disperse quickly, nearly falling over each other to push the glass doors open.
I walk back towards the counter, flinging my bag on top. I rummage quickly through it, hoping I didn’t take out every single item of clothing in there that could save me. The Hellfire Club shirt stares back at me, a little ball in the corner, taunting me.
Fucking Eddie Munson.
“Do you have an extra shirt?” I ask Robin, desperation riddled in my voice.
“I don’t think so.” She leans against the counter a few steps away from me, staring with a sympathetic gaze. I want to die.
“An employee shirt? Those little vests? Maybe Steve left a jacket or something behind?” I lay my hands on her shoulders, shaking her a little. “Any piece of fabric, I will take anything! I will wrap a scarf around my body and walk out of here with my head held high.”
Her lips make a thin line, and despite her feeling sorry for me, I know that she’s secretly amused. To be fair, if it was her, I’d think it was pretty funny. But this is the kind of funny story that we look back and laugh about in a few weeks time. Now is way too soon.
The door swings open again, and by the powers of the universe itself, it’s Eddie fucking Munson. What did I do to deserve this bad karma?
Though I am not an athlete, my immediate reaction is to hurl myself over the counter. I silently wince as I land on my knees. I don’t think he saw me. My bag tumbles with me and my keychain jabs me in the nose.
There are other voices, making me feel slightly relieved that it’s not just the three of us in here. Robin glides behind the counter and crouches down beside me.
“Thinking about joining high-jump?”
“Ha, ha,” I deadpan.
“You should just go talk to him,” Robin says. “You’re going to have to face him eventually. If not here, then at school, or maybe he’ll just drive by your house every day. Or ride his bike, like Duckie.”
“When did you watch Pretty in Pink?” I question.
“Steve,” we both say in unison.
I shake my head. “I’m not talking to him like this! Look at my shirt,” I gesture towards my chest specifically. “It’s practically see-through.”
“I mean, it’s not like he hasn’t seen it before.”
I narrow my eyes at her, hoping that if I stare hard enough, I can blow up her head. I smack her in the arm. She rubs at the pinkish hue, “Jeez, okay, don’t talk to him.”
“What am I supposed to say. ‘Hey, we’ve only talked twice, and the second time you were touching my boobs, so yeah, how are you?’”
“I mean, a little direct but laying it all out there, I like it.”
I roll my eyes at her. “Okay, now I’m staying here all day. You can deliver me meals via the trolly with that broken wheel. I can make a comfy home here.” I pat the black rug that’s speckled with multicoloured dots.
“Or you can get up when he leaves,” Robin offers.
“That too.”
“Like…” Robin peers over the counter, “he is right now.”
Thank God.
The fabric of my shirt is sticking to my skin. I feel gross. I’m going to have to take a shower when I get home. I peel it off quickly and dab the part of my chest that is still somewhat wet from the slushie.
Is this how Carrie felt?
Thankfully the side of the counter is blocked off by a sign advertising a new movie that I can’t bother to read the name of. I fish for the stupid shirt out of the bag, unroll the stupid fabric, and slip it over my head. And the stupid thing smells like him too, and I’m not put off by it.
I shoot up quickly, only to be met with Eddie Munson, who is not leaving.
“I’m never speaking to you again,” I say low enough so only Robin can hear.
He looks at me, his dark eyes looking a shade lighter in the daytime. His hair is fluffy as ever, and he toys with the ring on his index finger. He looks at me, the ghost of a smile on his lips, and then he smirks when he notices the shirt.
Fuck.
“So I’m going to be…” Robin trails off. “Not here.”
Eddie moves towards the counter like we are the last two people in a poker game and he thinks he has the winning set. But I have a few tricks up my sleeve. Though I want to slide onto the floor, crawl into a hole and die, I feign confidence.
“Nice shirt,” he says, smugly.
“This ratty thing?”
“You look good.”
I stare at him, attempting to figure out what his little game is here. You look good too, I think. “I know,” I say, instead. He laughs, and it's smooth.
“So…about last night,” he coyly gazes around the room before his eyes settle back on me.
“You dreamed about me and realized you couldn’t live without me?” I smile, the cheesiest and fakest smile I can.
His eyes flick from my eyes to my mouth, then back to my eyes. “Something like that.”
I bite my lip, hoping the pain distracts me from saying something stupid. Something that I shouldn’t say.
“I’ll give you the shirt back, just give me a sec,” I say, hoping that halting the conversation here will allow him to leave faster.
I bend down to pick up the white shirt, doused in a red cherry slushie-sized stain. I could probably get Robin to unlock the door to the employee break room.
He notices the stain, “Keep it.”
“No, I don’t want it.”
“What are you going to do? Strip in the middle of the store?” He chortles.
“I can do whatever I want, I don’t need your permission.”
“The public indecency charge will say otherwise.” I let my smile break with that one.
“Ah, she has a sense of humour.”
“Fuck you.”
“You almost did.”
“Not going to be making that mistake again,” I shoot back.
He presses his hand to his chest, his mouth forming an O. “Ouch, that hurt.”
“Sticks and stones, Munson.”
He walks closer to the counter, his arm resting on the surface as he leans his weight forward, close enough that I can make out the ring of honey in his eyes, the light pitter-patter of freckles haphazardly scattered across his nose.
“Free later?” He asks, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth. The indentation of dimples in his cheeks deepen.
“Oh, you’ll have to try harder than that,” I say, peering at him from under my lashes.
Instead of protesting, he nods. He slowly backs away, like if he moves slow enough, maybe I’ll change my mind. I’ve already made up my mind, I’m just making the chase more fun.
Steve walks in then. He looks towards Eddie, who is now leaving, then to me, then to Robin, then back to me, and then back to the empty space Eddie occupied.
“What did I miss?” He asks, slowly, attempting to piece together the dichotomy of the situation he just walked in on.
─ synopsis ⨾ eddie munson was never the relationship type. not until he saw you.
( eddie munson having a crush on you headcanons )
❛ warnings ∿ pure fluff because it's what we deserve!! abrupt ending because i have no idea when to stop.
❛ pairings ∿ eddie munson x gn!reader
❛ eli’s thoughts ∿ no thoughts, just pure eddie. enjoy these headcanons i whipped up!
This man gets so nervous around you. If he hasn't been loud and ramble-y at this point— trust that it'll get 2x as much when you're around.
He adores the sound of your laugh, its heavenly to him (and also gives him a little ehem ego boost that you think he's funny). His gestures and story-telling get more expressive, just to make you smile.
Cue tears for fears, because he's literally head over heels for you. He's thinking about almost as much as he thinks about D&D. Speaking of D&D, he'll always try to subtly ask you join his campaign.
"Y'know, we're needing a sub since Sinclair has officially joined the basketball team," he tilts his head to the side with a grin on his face. "And I think you'd be a great addition to the team."
Definitely would call your name loudly from across the cafeteria to invite you to join him at his table.
The only one he would ask opinions on songs he wrote. Sometimes he'd give you the ones he wrote about you, and hopes you like them. (Would be soul-crushing for him if you didn't, but he'd never say it outloud).
Purposely find ways to run into you (not very subtle about it either).
"Speak of the devil. Y/N! I didn't know hung out here," he crosses his arms across his chest. He prays you can't tell how red he is.
"At the grocery store?" You reply with a raised brow.
He comfort you if any of the jocks or cheerleaders made fun of you. Wrapping one arm around you, and you rest your head on his shoulder, his soft curls tickling your face.
"Y/N, c'mon. They're pricks who throw balls into laundry baskets, who gives a shit about what they think?"
Occasionally calls you 'sweetheart' or 'babe' just to see how you'd react. He thinks that's enough to show how he really feels about you. (Obviously not..)
In the end, he almost comes clean to you about his (massive) crush on you. But decides against it out of fear of rejection. He's a freak, and although he's against societal norms and cliques, he doesn't want you branded as a weirdo too.
areudirty
gamechangershow
vaporwave
germansingergirl
dailybridgerton
origamiaround
prguitarman
gummygunk
