You have a confession. You’ve sort of always had a weird, perverted interest in The Freak. Something about his long hair and dark aesthetic and tarnished reputation really turns you on in a way your usual palate of meatheads doesn’t, although you would never, emphasis on never, let anybody know that. You’ll sooner die than let word get out that you have the hots for The Freak King.
But, Eddie’s nothing like you’d thought he’d be: aggressive, hateful, maybe a little cartoonish in his villainry. He’s human. He’s a boy that gets flustered when a girl comes onto him, who refuses to mess around when drinks are involved, who posts himself at the door to keep anyone from taking that wasted chance for their own.
This Eddie, the real Eddie, is nothing like you fantasized about, and you’re not sure what that means.
Pairing: Eddie Munson x F!Reader
Summary: A one-time attempt to scratch an itch turns into something you aren’t prepared for when you realize that Eddie “The Freak” Munson is more than he seems.
Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut, Hurt/Comfort
Content: no Y/N, Dual POV, opposites attract, secret relationship, friends with benefits to lovers, Bitch!Reader, 17415 words
Chapters:
1 - Feel the Rush - You - 1951 words
2 - Something There - You - 1445 words
3 - Dangerous Territory - You - 1820 words smut
4 - My Strange Addiction - Eddie - 4804 words smut
5 - Turn It Off - You - 1297 words
6 - Knocking on Heaven's Door - You - 1352 words smut
Henry was finally free. Free of the lab, of the restraint placed on his powers. Free to mold his surroundings to his desires - to make the world as it should be.
And then he found you.
He saw you out walking and his first instinct was to follow you. Instantly intrigued, he had to watch you; to know what you were doing, to see where you were going. The feeling washed over him so suddenly that he couldn't ignore it. You were special.
Henry watched you every day for a week. He knew that he had to have you. You had to be a part of his new world. To stand beside him. When he finally approached you, he was perfectly polite. A gentleman in every way. He was charming and direct, and he knew once you agreed to spending time with him that he had you.
He invaded your mind. He saw your memories and used them as a guide to form a bond. To make you want him. To make you need him. If you fell for him, he knew you'd see his vision.
Then things changed. He knew that eventually Dr. Brenner would come looking for him. He just hadn't expected to be so easy to find. He'd have to leave - and you were going to come with him. He hadn't yet gotten to show you how perfect things would be.
You were witness all at once to what he could do. Henry, who had been so gentle with you, wreaking carnage upon those that had been sent to take him back to the lab. A mess of mangled bodies strewn about, blood splattered here and there. Some of it had landed on you. The warmth of it surprised you when it splashed against your skin. The smell of rust and death. It felt like a nightmare.
You ran before you could process anything. Your instincts took over and you fled. You could hear Henry calling for you. "Why are you running? I did this for you!" Henry's voice was just loud enough to reach your ears; his tone almost pleading.
He let you flee for a moment - processing his confusion and pain. But he stopped you in the end. And as he held your wriggling form against him, he reminded you over and over that it was for you. Everything he did was for you. To keep you safe.
I knelled down in front of my cousin giving him a fist bump.
"Have the best day ever buddy."
"Thanks Yn."
Before any of the boys could say anything else a blue car pulled up, playing rock music.
A red head stepped out of the car and started skateboarding towards the middle school.
I glanced at Lucas and Dustin, completely swooning.
I eyed Will as well, glad he didn't seem to have much interest in girls.
My heart isn't ready for that yet.
A car door slammed shut near me and I looked over my shoulder to see a curly haired brunette dressed in denim with a cigarette in his mouth, began to walk towards the high school.
We made eye contact and he quickly winked at me.
what...
I shook off the weird feeling I was having and jogged towards me best friend.
"Yo Robs, who's the new kid?"
She glanced at the new guy and shrugged.
"I've seen him at the mall once..."
I waited for her to say more but she just gave me a blank expression.
"Oh your serious? Ha. Okay."
-
"I swear whenever boys fight they always look like their gonna kiss."
I mumbled to Robin as we looked at Billy and Steve on the floor, whispering threats probaly.
Robin shrugged with a smile on her face.
"Honestly, wouldn't even be surprised.
"That's what I'm saying!"
I grinned, accidently making eye contact with Billy again as he smirked at me.
Here’s a little teaser to a series I’m thinking about writing. It’d start with Billy’s entrance in season 2, and follow his adjustment to Hawkins as he tries to take over the social scene. It seems like it’ll be easy until something throws him for a loop: you. Your murky dating history and the rumors that surround you intrigue our soon-to-be King of Hawkins. Read on to let me know what you think, and let me know if you want to be tagged!
Also, no one can convince me Billie Eilish’s song you should see me in a crown wouldn’t have been Billy’s anthem when it came to Hawkins High so that’s the name inspiration here.
Words: 924 (remember, it’s just a little teaser)
Warnings: Cursing. Lots of cursing (but it’s Billy, so does that shock anyone?).
intro | pt. 1
Billy was no stranger to being the new kid. Between his mom and Neil’s divorce, Susan and her brat joining their “happy little family”, and his “behavioral issues”, the blond had been to more than his fair share of new schools. Throughout his time jumping from one school to another, he learned a few things: always maintain the badass vibe, never get too attached to anyone, figure out who ran the place quick, and dethrone them. Hawkins was just a drabby, pathetic excuse of a high school in the middle of bum-fuck-nowhere. He’d taken over bigger— and far fucking nicer—schools than this in weeks. The California blond took one look at the school and knew it’d only be a matter of time before he had the student body of this shithole just begging to bow down. Billy figured he’d barely have to do any work, that he’d have the information down before the end of the first week.
He was right. He had it in three days.
The funny thing about people growing up together, staying best friends with the same kids since pre-school, and all that other sentimental bullshit is that it makes them pretty easy to read. And if there’s one thing Billy Fucking Hargrove could do, it was read people. It was like reading through a kid’s book: the cliques and groups were so clear, it made California high schools look complicated (and those were some bitchy kids who didn’t even pretend to give a fuck about anyone outside of their little circles). Billy had his first target’s name before lunch on day one was over. Steve Harrington: the King of Hawkins High. By the end of the day, he managed to get all the gossip out of these two chicks who were just drooling over him in study hall. He sent them one smirk, and they were practically sitting in his lap by the end of the period. He knew Harrington’s basketball stats, his girlfriend, hell he probably could’ve even gotten the kid’s address. It was almost laughable how easy it was.
His second target was harder to suss out.
Every king has a queen, and Billy knew the social picture wouldn’t be complete until he figured out who the queen bee of this joint was. He assumed it would just be Harrington’s girl, but it quickly became clear that was very wrong. Whatever social status she must’ve had to snag Harrington seemed to have gone out the window the year before Billy got there (some shit about a missing kid, a crazy mom, and a stalker with a camera). It took him the first half of day two to figure out she wasn’t his second target. It took him until the end of the day before he’d heard another girl’s name enough to realize who the queen was.
(Y/N) (Y/L/N).
He’d heard it in a couple of rumors being thrown around, had seen it in a few articles in the pathetic excuse for the school newspaper, and had even heard it in a class or two of his. It didn’t really catch his attention until he heard some guys in the locker room going on and on about this chick after gym. He tuned into the conversation only halfway through, his ears picking up the name that had been thrown around so much that day.
“Sure, Stacy’s hot, but did you see (Y/N)’s ass in those shorts? Fuck man. That’s where it’s at.”
That was when it clicked. Nancy Whatsherface might’ve been dating the current king, but she was just the spoilt little princess of Hawkins High. You, however, were the fucking queen. It was sorta weird for some chick whose only relationship to the king was her friendship with his girlfriend, but Billy didn’t waste any time thinking too much on it. Hell, if anything it just added at least a little intrigue to this boring fucking town. Something he was more than happy to discover.
Billy spent all of day three gathering as much information about you as possible. And he learned a lot. You were the captain for the Hawkins High cheer squad (which meant you were fucking fit). You were “close” friends with all the girls on the squad, closer still to Harrington’s chick, but didn’t really have any one best friend. You were apparently “nice,” and “super sweet,” and “bubbly” and some shit like that. Every time Billy heard about how smart or decent you were, he was thrown a little more. Girls didn’t usually become the top of the food chain by being “nice,” but he chalked it up to just being some weird result of being stuck in fucking Hawkins, Indiana. All of that was easy to overlook when he heard what he was really looking for: you were (supposedly) a freak in the sheets.
Not that anybody really knew for sure. Apparently, you refused to date anybody since your first boyfriend. Which was fine by him, since Billy didn’t want anyone’s sloppy seconds. All anyone knew were the whispered rumors, started by your ex and maintained by your cheer squad as they hissed back and forth about your “adventures” last summer. Honestly, Billy didn’t give a fuck about how easy you were to get in the back of his Camaro. There were plenty of girls to keep him occupied in the meantime. He just knew he wanted you there by the time the school year was up.
After all, what better way to unseat a king than by fucking the queen?
“My family would kill me if they found out about us. Not to mention what they might do to you.” You’re not avoiding his gaze anymore, which makes it perfectly easy to see the worry in your eyes. He fights the urge to touch you, tries to use his words to soothe you instead.
“Listen, they don’t have to find out. Hell, no one does. We’ll just go on one date. We’ll get to know each other, like you said, see if this works. And, hey, if it doesn’t? We just stop. No harm, no foul.”
The foul would be that Eddie would lose the girl of his dreams after just one date, but a man only has to drink from the Holy Grail once to be changed forever.
“And if it does work?”
“Then, I die happy.”
Pairing: Eddie Munson x F!Reader
Summary: The Princess of Hawkins High gets swept away in a secret romance with local freak Eddie Munson.
Genre: Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Content: no Y/N, dual POV, secret relationship, mutual pining, opposites attract, Golden Girl!Reader, 24814 words
Pairing: Eddie Munson x F!Reader
Summary: The Princess of Hawkins High gets swept away in a secret romance with local freak Eddie Munson.
Genre: Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Content: no Y/N, dual POV, secret relationship, mutual pining, opposites attract, Golden Girl!Reader, you set up a rendezvous with the local freak, it doesn't go like you hope, 2791/24814 words
A/N: This is probably my favorite fic that I've done so far.
Fic Masterlist
Chapter 1 - Social Suicide Hotline - You
Your heart is like a beast trying to break free from a too small cage. Deep breaths do nothing to slow its hyper spasms, and fiddling with your fingernails is a hopeless attempt at distraction. Eddie is only ten minutes late—no eleven now from the slim, pink digital watch you wear on your wrist, a gift from your father last Christmas—but your body is kicking into overdrive like you’ve been asked to enlist in the army, effective immediately. You’ve never even seen a gun before.
This was a ridiculous idea. Absolutely batshit stupid of you. If someone stumbled on you waiting out at the old picnic bench for a drug deal like some doped-up degenerate, your mother would lock you up like a princess in a tower.
You start biting your nails without thinking, a bad habit your mother has already scolded you for enough to last a lifetime, but she isn’t here right now. Thank God.
You’re considering the possibility that poor research has led to you waiting at the entirely wrong meet-up spot when you hear the rustling of footsteps coming from the direction of the school. Your body seizes like you’re being arrested at gunpoint. Then Eddie comes into view, and your heart flatlines.
He’s wearing a t-shirt for one of those metal bands he likes under the leather jacket and vest he wears daily like a wedding ring. Silver adorns his waist and hands in chains and rings. His curls bounce as he walks down the small decline to the clearing with an easy, careless stride.
He’s a vision.
Before he can notice the flush heating up your face, you turn your head to stare out at the foliage around you, urging your body to cooperate with you for once. He drops down onto the other side of the table, stealing back your attention as he releases his lunch box with a clunk and holds up a pink note between his fingers like a cigarette.
“You know, when I found this little guy in my locker this morning I would have never in a million years thought it was you summoning me to a midday rendezvous. All morning, I kept thinking to myself, what the hell does the Princess of Hawkins High want with me, Eddie Munson, because there’s no way it’s a baggie.” There’s a dramatic flare in his speech that’s signature to Eddie Munson. He talks with big gestures, like his hands can’t stand the idea of keeping still for a single word.
You realize too late that you’ve been too distracted with admiring him as he speaks to notice that he’s been waiting for you to respond. You jump to attention like you’ve been called on in class to answer a question.
“Hey, it’s okay. I’m not going to attack,” he says, clawing at the air like a bear.
“You’re late,” you say finally, meaning it as a statement not as reproach. Regret fills you immediately when your tone comes out more similar to that of a scolding teacher. This is a drug deal not an interview. Who cares if he’s late?
Oh, God. You’re at a drug deal.
The resurfacing panic is immediately quenched in confusion by the sight of Eddie standing with a flourish from the picnic bench. He touches his palm to his chest over his heart, hiding the other behind his back, and bends at the hip slightly in a bow.
“Pardon my tardiness, Your Highness. Madame Gargoyle of the dreadful Science Department held me captive after third period for inglorious reasons I shall not plague thee with. I made my way here posthaste, but, alas, there is only so much a man can do when coming across a fiend in his journey.” Following his chivalrous speech, he peeks up at you under his brow, looking much like a dog waiting to be served a treat for a trick.
You laugh at the show, which brings a full grin to his face. He climbs back over the bench to sit down again, assured that you’re not scared of or mad at him. “She got on my ass again about my grades, and I swear to you I am trying, but it’s like every time I open that textbook I go cross-eyed.” He demonstrates by turning his eyes inward. It's astonishing how easily Eddie slips into treating you as a friend when you’ve hardly spoken a word to each other in your years of seeing him across classrooms and cafeterias.
“Mrs. Goyle is tough,” you say, untucking your anxious hands from between your knees in favor of setting them on the table. With them on display, you can’t seem to find out what to do with them until you clasp them together by interlocking your fingers.
Eddie lets out a puff of air with a roll of his eyes. “You say that like you don’t have an ‘A’ in every class. The gargoyle loves you.”
“She loves my dad, you mean. My work ethic isn’t actually that good,” you say, staring at the wood grain because having Eddie look at you with those big, brown eyes is like sitting under a spotlight. “It’s mostly privilege keeping me from drifting into ‘B’ territory.”
“Ah. So, the princess does have her shortcomings, and it’s not just us peasants with want for talent.” He slips into the faux-medieval dialect with ease that suggests practice. You’ve caught him reading fantasy books more than a few times.
“I really hate that nickname,” you murmur, mostly to yourself. Hawkins High has a habit of giving out aliases you don’t ask for. Being called something like “Princess” only serves to remind you of what people expect of you. It clouds your own opinion of yourself to the point you can’t determine whether you should relish in or be ashamed of the fact that you set up this rendezvous with Eddie Munson.
“What, ‘princess?’ Yeah, no, right. Sorry. I totally get it. I’m none too fond of my own affectionately bestowed moniker.” He gestures vaguely in the air before his face like he could reveal the label of “Freak” by dispersing a magical veil.
The conversation lulls, and you know it’s meant to be your turn to speak. Talking is give and take, and right now you’re not doing a lot of giving.
“So, how much for one?” Another blunder, you’re sure from the second you open your mouth. You wince.
He nods, clicking his tongue like you’ve reminded him of something he’d forgotten, and flips open the metal lunchbox, pausing before he digs his hands around its contents. “One? Like an ounce or a bag? ‘Cause if I’m real with you, pr—” His body seizes like he literally chokes catching the word before it leaves his lips, eyes widening as he checks if you’ve caught him. Old habits die hard, but the gesture is sweet. He composes himself before finishing his thought. “If I’m real with you, I think an ounce is a bit much for your first foray. Not to be presumptuous or anything.”
“I’m pretty predictable, huh?” you say halfheartedly while picking at a loose chip of wood. There’s a reason you got the title of “Princess,” after all. Good girl with good grades and good habits and a good family with a good name.
“Didn’t say that,” Eddie covers quickly. “I was just making a, uh, educated guess.”
“Well, you’re right. This isn’t necessarily my thing,” you say, gesturing to the lunchbox on the table, realizing that the gesture seemingly includes Eddie and hoping that he doesn’t take it that way. He’s definitely “your thing,” not that he’s a thing.
“And, that’s totally cool. Little know fact, but I don’t actually partake much myself. Not one to ‘get high off my own supply.’ Uh, anyways.” He dips his hand into the lunchbox to present a bag of dry-looking buds. “I’ll give you half an ounce for twenty. I promise it’s a good deal. You’ll get a lot of mileage with this.”
You diligently pull out your clutch to dig out a couple tens, feeling a bit loath to part with such a significant part of your allowance.
Eddie watches you silently before speaking. “If you don’t mind me asking, what brings you over to the dark side?”
You flush, holding out the twenty dollars for him to grab. “It’s for a friend, actually.” A lie.
He freezes mid-motion at your answer, fingers clenched around the bills and, by extension, your hand. You try not to react to the contact, especially when he stares at you with furrowed brows. “I know your friends. I sell to your friends. Why would they send you off by your sweet lonesome to meet with The Freak?”
“I offered,” you say with too eager of a tone for it to pass as a good lie. Still, Eddie takes it, albeit with a confused flutter of his eyelashes as he sits back to tuck the money into his own beat-up leather wallet.
“You offered?” he questions after a moment of contemplation that obviously leads him nowhere productive, holding out the bag of weed to you. And just like that, your moment has finally come. Eddie’s tossed you the perfect pitch, and all you need to do is not drop the ball.
You take the proffered baggie with slow, hesitant movements. Holding it with as little contact as possible, you contemplate where the hell you’re supposed to put it. The pocket of your cheer sweater seems like a write-up waiting to happen, but you can’t stand the idea of it stinking up your bag for the rest of the day. Settling on neither, you lay the thing on your lap, pretending it’s not there as you elaborate.
“I wanted a chance to talk to you,” you say, softly as a voice carried on the wind. The implied “in private” lingers in the air, too heavy for you to say aloud but too light for him to pick up.
“You wanted to talk to me?” His jaw hangs comically at the idea.
You nod, taking the moment to think over a way of continuing without giving yourself away too quickly. “I really admire you.” The odd way it comes out sounds almost like a question.
Eddie shakes his head furiously in disbelief, curls swishing against his shoulders. “You’re pulling my leg.”
“I’m not! Really!” you blurt before you realize you’re being way too loud. With recontained nerves, you continue, “Do you remember the Junior Talent Show? I was in seventh grade and you were in eighth. Everyone else was doing these lame acts because they were forced to participate, but then there was you and your band. You had this buzzcut and a whole pencil’s worth of eyeliner on your face, and you guys were all wearing these awful hand-painted T-shirts. You played guitar and sang this song that was so loud and energetic, and even when Principal Coleman pulled you off the stage after, you just grinned and laughed like you couldn’t care less . . . and I thought you were so cool.” When you look back up at Eddie after your ramblings, he’s frozen like a statue forged in fright by Medusa.
“Eddie?”
He comes to slowly like he’s being defrosted, so when he speaks it’s as if he’s working at half-capacity, none of that Eddie Munson flair in his voice. “You remember all that?”
“I spent the whole summer trying to find that song,” you say instead of answering with the obvious. You’d wasted so many hours pouring over vinyls and tapes that all the names and logos had started to blend together.
“Judas Priest. ‘Exciter.’”
Your jaw goes slack. “Judas Priest? I thought that was like a Christian rock band, because of the religious iconography.”
Eddie stares at you like you’re an alien, half in awe and half in disbelief. In a way, you might as well be to him. As far as Hawkins is concerned, you and Eddie are from two different worlds. “I just can’t wrap my head around the idea that, not only do you remember me, but you thought I was ‘cool?’”
“Still do. I’ve actually . . .” You suck in a deep breath before taking one last leap of faith. “I wanted to talk to you because I’ve actually had this huge, stubborn crush on you since that talent show, and I thought maybe we could . . . go out sometime?”
“Go out? You and me?” The unbelieving smile falls. The tone that replaces it reads like a joke, and although it hurts a bit, you try to remind yourself that this came out of left field for him. Of course, he’s acting with less tact. He didn’t have much tact to begin with.
You nod, a little fearful of how your voice might sound with your girlish hopes and dreams laid lovingly beneath the sword of Damocles. Eddie stands again, beginning to pace like he’s pondering the best way to break your heart.
He pauses, arms crossed and facing away from you. “We don’t even know each other.”
“I know enough to like you. You’re sweet. You’re funny. You look after people, like those little freshmen you adopted this year when Tommy H and his goons were being absolute assholes to them. Not to mention, you’re killer on the guitar.” You add the last point in a weak hope that the flattery will bring back the jovial Eddie instead of the Mr. Hyde version standing before you.
He spins around toward you. “But I hardly know anything about you other than,” he begins to count off on his fingers, “you’re smart, you’re nice, you're way too good for me, and you’re in almost every club this damn school has to offer. Oh, and for some reason you like me?”
The “too good for me” brings a bit of light back to the quickly forming nightmare, like a gentle breath blown on embers. “Isn’t that the point of dating? Getting to know each other?”
Eddie bounces his head left and right as he struggles and fails to contradict you. Instead, he tries another tactic. “What, and your folks are okay with you wanting to date the town freak?”
“They don’t know,” you admit meekly. You don’t have to mention the fact that they’d never allow it. Everyone knows the reputation that comes with the name Munson, him more than any of them.
He spins in a circle, hands splayed out in front of him. “Of course, they don’t know! Because it’s absolutely insane! They’d probably rip you a new one and send the mob after me, which I can tell you is not fun. Not to mention the fact that we’d be an absolute match made in hell. You’re the fucking Princess of Hawkins High. You should be dating someone like Steve Harrington until you tie the knot and have sweet little nuclear kids in some culdesac. Not schmoozing with the likes of me in a trailer park.”
“Maybe I don’t want that.” Your body begins to tremble so badly you tuck your hands back under the table, hoping to hide them, but only reminding yourself of the ziploc bag lying in your lap. You watch your fingers as they pick at the corners of the plastic. The contrast of the dead, dried buds against the pristine white sleeves of your sweater make you sick to your stomach.
“Sure, you don’t! You want to be unpredictable. You want to dip your toes into the dark side until the buzz wears off, and you come crawling back home to dear old mom and dad to repent for your sins.”
“That’s not true,” you whisper, voice constricted, and you realize that you’re on the verge of crying, as if this couldn’t get any more humiliating.
“Maybe not, but you’ve got to admit this is crazy, right?” Eddie talks to you like you’re in on the joke, and not the butt of it, like he’s not crushing you and your heart into stardust. “I mean, look at you, and look at me. It’s like oil and water. We don’t mix!”
“Eddie, please, just stop!” you shout, loud enough he freezes from his incessant pacing to stare at you for once, dead silent. “I get it, okay? I get it. This whole thing was just a stupid mistake.” The baggie is blurry in your hands as the tears start to slip down your cheeks. You keep your head ducked as you stumble off the bench, setting the dreadful bag on the weather wood table before you march back to school.
“Hey, no. Wait! I didn’t—That was harsh. I’m sorry.” Eddie’s pleas go unanswered.
You wish you’d never left that stupid note in his locker.
Pairing: Eddie Munson x F!Reader
Summary: A one-time attempt to scratch an itch turns into something you aren’t prepared for when you realize that Eddie “The Freak” Munson is more than he seems.
Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut, Hurt/Comfort
Content: no Y/N, Dual POV, opposites attract, secret relationship, friends with benefits to lovers, Bitch!Reader, you spot Eddie at a party, and both of you wonder why you approach him, 1951/17415 words
A/N: So, when I had the idea of doing secret relationship for Eddie, I plotted out two version based on different personalities for the reader. Dirty Little Secret was my favorite, but I ended up writing this version, too.
Fic Masterlist
Chapter 1 - Feel the Rush - You
The party is boring, and no amount of alcohol you down changes the fact.
You remember the first time you went to a party, some sleazy senior host with a preference for impressionable freshmen invited you thinking he’d get lucky. He did get lucky, unfortunately. You’d been just as impressionable as he thought you’d be, although at the time you thought you were so cool and mature. You’d thought it was you calling the shots, but someone else was lining you up.
The whole thing was a regrettable venture that’s haunted you since then, but at least it earned you a spot in the popular clique, something that’s carried through all the way to today. When your name floats around the halls, it’s with a jealousy caked into the word and not ridicule, although you’ve had your fair share of both over the years. You’re only grateful that the actual deed that secured your status in the social stratosphere lasted all of three minutes before he was crawling off of you to head back to the party.
Back then, the rush of underage drinking and the newness of letting it all loose was a thrill in itself. Four years later, it’s all become so bland. The same music. The same drinks. The same people. The same hook-ups. You don’t know why you go to parties anymore, let alone host them. The clean-up on its own is enough to have you contemplating nunifcation or whatever the term is for signing yourself up for a convent. Your little brother would certainly be all for it if it meant these parties would stop for good.
It’s like an addiction really. You’re always chasing that first high. The way you felt on top of the world for being so mature and so bad. The thrill of sneaking home and getting away with it. Now, it feels like you’re only here because you’ve forgotten anything else you could do with a Friday or Saturday night.
You’re going for another round of the generously spiked punch in the kitchen when you see him through the sliding doors leading to the pool.
Eddie Munson stands out like a sore thumb with his heavy leather jacket and patch-splattered vest. You would’ve thought that this sort of scene wasn’t his style, considering his whole personality is hating the mainstream or whatever. It’s enough to pique your interest for the first time the whole night.
You have a confession. You’ve sort of always had a weird, perverted interest in The Freak. Something about his long hair and dark aesthetic and tarnished reputation really turned you on in a way your usual palate of meatheads didn’t, although you would never, emphasis on never, let anybody know that. You’ll sooner die than let word get out that you have the hots for The Freak King.
You down the refilled solo cup and toss it to the side, not really caring that you’ll be the one to clean it up later. What’s one more piece of trash? Your feet know where they want to go before you even manage to gulp down the last drops. They carry you through the blur of a crowd to the glass doors.
A soberingly cool wind greets your liquor-flushed skin when you step outside. There’s no one out here other than Eddie, who’s taken to smoking a cigarette on the pool’s diving board. Beside him is a lunch box, one that has a reputation of its own, though you’ve never seen it yourself. You prefer to have one of the guys buy your drugs, another vice that’s gotten boring over the years.
Eddie adjusts his position slightly seeing you approach. His legs tuck in an inch closer to his body, and his shoulders roll into a more squared position. He watches you over the cigarette with wary eyes that play at indifferent.
You suppose you have a certain reputation, too.
“You know, it’s usually considered impolite to not only crash someone’s party but to also skip introducing yourself to the host,” you say with a teasing rhythm in your voice that does nothing to disarm the boy before you.
“Crashing parties is good for business,” he says, taking another long drag from the cigarette. As he pulls it away to release a cloud of nicotine, you pluck the little white stick from his fingers. Minute shock shifts his features as you suck in a good inhale and return the vice to his hand.
“You gonna dance?” you ask as he examines the red mark left by your painted lips.
“Not my thing,” he responds. “The music or the dancing.” The dry act is beginning to bore you. Where is the maniac you see at lunch? The guy who shouts at the basketball team from across the cafeteria?
“What about a swim?”
His brow tilts up. He gestures to his body. “Not exactly dressed for the occasion, I’m afraid.”
“Not yet,” you counter, which only wrinkles his brow more.
“Okay, what’s this all about? Don’t you have friends you should be getting plastered with?”
“Been there, done that.” You shrug. “I want to hang out with you,” you say, poking his chest. His jaw drops, and his eyes linger on your hand as it pulls away.
“And why might that be?” He extinguishes his used up cigarette on the metal lunch box, dropping the butt on top of it instead of onto the ground.
You grin. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
He huffs, a befuddled grin flashing on his face. Crossing his arms over his chest, he says, “Yeah, actually. I would.”
“Well, maybe I’ll tell you if you dance with me,” you say, holding out your hand with wiggling fingers.
He shakes his head. “So, so sorry to disappoint, but that’s not going to happen. Pretty sure if the basketball team sees me with you I’ll end the night with a fire poker lodged in my throat.”
“Graphic,” you comment. “Well, if you won’t dance, then you’ll swim.”
Finally, Eddie laughs, only it’s closer to a breath than a laugh. His head seems to be on a permanent swivel as he continues to shake his head while he speaks. “I already told you,” he starts, picking up his layers of leather and denim for emphasis. “These aren’t exactly water-friendly.”
You roll your eyes. “Oh my god. Where is your imagination?”
You hook your hands under the hem of your shirt, pulling it off in one motion to reveal your hot pink bra with provocative lace trim. It has the desired effect, of course. Boys are so predictable.
Eddie’s eyes bulge out of his head. “Jesus Christ,” he chokes.
You step closer, and with him sitting down, his gaze is locked just where you want it. Your hands slip under his jacket and vest, pushing at the materials. “Your turn, big boy.”
“I—I, uh—You—Holy shit,” he stutters. You don’t miss the way his hips shift in his seat.
You giggle. “You’re cuter than I thought you’d be,” you murmur, trailing a finger along his jaw and down his neck. He twitches under your touch.
“You thought of this?” he asks.
“I thought you’d be all domineering and rough, but you’re like a little kitten. A scaredy cat,” you tease, booping his nose. “You act like you’ve never seen boobs before . . . You wanna see them without the lace?”
Eddie laughs uneasily. “I’m getting the feeling that you don’t actually want to swim.”
“Ding, ding, ding. We have a winner.” You tug on the guitar pick hanging from his neck. You love guitar. You didn’t know he played, but now that you think of it, there’s a vague memory of him at the middle school talent show playing some weird song with his fellow freaks. Looks like he stuck with it.
“Out here?” he panics, looking to the sliding door behind you.
“Right, yeah,” you mutter, realizing it’s not a smart idea to hook up with The Freak in the open, even if there’s no one back here. “We’ll go to my room, obviously.”
You tug back on your shirt, struggling a little to get your head through until ringed hands pull the troublesome fabric free. “Follow me,” you say, and Eddie stands at attention with the speed of a bullet. The lunch box, an afterthought, gets ripped from its resting position, only after he tosses the cigarette butt inside and slams the thing shut again.
A few steps toward the door, you look over your shoulder. “At a distance.” Eddie nods obediently.
You have to really focus on not tripping up the steps as your last drink finally hits your stomach at the sudden burst of movement. When you finally make it to your door, you slam your whole body against it to open it. You give a quick glance around the room to make sure no one has slithered into your bed or bathroom. One time you had stumbled in for bed to find one of your exes with some freshman cheerleader. Scarred you for life.
There’s no one other than you until Eddie tiptoes into the room, locking the door behind him. He presses firm against it, observing your room at a distance with a quiet curiosity.
“It’s not a museum,” you laugh, beckoning him further in.
“Oh? I didn’t realize,” he jokes, giving in to your instruction and stepping closer to you.
“Yeah, here you can actually touch the artifacts,” you purr, holding your hand out for him.
“Is that right?” he grins, letting you guide his hand along your side, from under your breast to your hip. He sucks in a breath.
“Mmhmm,” you hum, latching your hands around his neck and pulling him down to your lips. He only kisses you back for a moment before he leans back, brows dropping.
“How much have you had to drink?”
You roll your eyes. “Practically nothing.”
“I can literally taste the alcohol on your breath.”
You scoff. “Oh my god, I’m not drunk, mom. If I was drunk, I wouldn’t be able to do this.”
You step away, standing on one foot and holding your finger to your nose. Eddie catches you when you stumble.
“That was a fluke,” you mutter, clenching onto his arms to steady yourself.
Eddie laughs wholeheartedly, the only time he’s done so the whole night. “Yeah, I’m sure. Let's lay you down,” he says, pushing you back until you sit on the bed. You grip your head at the sudden movement.
“That’s no fun. I want you to fuck me,” you pout as he rids your feet of your shoes. He coughs.
“Well—I—I’m not going to sleep with a girl who’s drunk off her ass,” he says after clearing his throat.
“Don’t be such a square,” you groan, falling back onto the bed. An odd tiredness seeps into you when the soft sheets engulf you.
“I don’t think that makes me a square,” Eddie scoffs. “Where do you keep your pajamas?” he asks, looking around the room.
“I sleep naked,” you murmur, tucking yourself farther into the bed and being welcomed by your pillows.
“Well, that’s an image I’ll never be able to get out of my head. Hey, don’t sleep on your back.” Eddie rushes over to the bed, pulling you onto your side.
“You don’t want to at least kiss?” you mumble, nuzzling your head into the pillows. Your eyelids droop against your wishes.
Eddie laughs. “I think I’ll take a raincheck.”
You respond with a dissatisfied grunt, but Eddie doesn’t care about your sourness. Instead of responding, he tosses a spare blanket over your body.
You drift to sleep with the image of Eddie Munson tucking you into bed.
Next Chapter
Surrender to Dreams Taglist: @vampire-kissi3s
Stranger Things Taglist: @ggdawgg
Eddie Munson Taglist: @itzpixiebabe
Fic Taglist: @brrrainst3w, @bonnieprincess
Pairing: Eddie Munson x F!Reader
Summary: A one-time attempt to scratch an itch turns into something you aren’t prepared for when you realize that Eddie “The Freak” Munson is more than he seems.
Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut, Hurt/Comfort
Smut: gentle sex, praise, cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, coming inside, PIV sex, protected sex (birth control)
Content: no Y/N, Dual POV, opposites attract, secret relationship, friends with benefits to lovers, Bitch!Reader, Eddie can't get enough of you, and it's not doing him any good, 4804/17415 words
A/N: Eddie Munchin
Fic Masterlist | First Chapter | Previous Chapter
Chapter 4 - My Strange Addiction - Eddie
Eddie doesn’t know what the hell he’s gotten himself into.
Sleeping with the enemy, literal Hawkins Royalty, has got to be the number one deadly sin, and yet he’s been letting you fuck him six ways to Sunday for the better part of three weeks.
And he has no fucking idea why.
Sure, the sex is good. Really good. And constant. Just an hour ago you had pulled him into some dingy supply closet and dropped to your knees to suck him dry until he saw stars. You wiped your mouth with a wink and disappeared while he was still slumped against the wall trying to catch his breath. What dude in his right mind would ever complain about that?
Apparently, Eddie would because he’s just too eager to look the gift horse in the mouth.
There’s something about you that just messes with his head, scrambles what little sense that’s left in the empty cavern where his brain is stored. He wants you, even though you still refuse to call him anything other than “Munson” or worse, “Freak.” He wants you, even though you have a habit of running off after you’re done with him. He wants you, even though you never let him kiss you after.
And he doesn’t know why. You’ve screwed him up royally.
Sometimes, it feels different. Sometimes, he catches you with your guard down and thinks there’s something more under that mean girl facade you wear like armor. You’ll share a part of yourself with him he never knew between puffs on his cigarette, a small comment you whisper so lightly it could slide right by if he wasn’t waiting desperately to catch it. He drinks those moments in, lets them pulse through his veins like heroin.
It sinks in that he wants more with you, which is an awful, terrible idea that takes root in his heart even when his mind is whirling like a thunderstorm. He shouldn’t get wrapped up in a girl that refuses to even say his name, let alone be seen with him outside closed doors. He shouldn’t, but he wants to. Desperately.
And the worst part is that it’s all so unlike him. He’s the guy that doesn’t give a fuck what others think about him. The one who flips off and snarks at people like you in broad daylight, no hiding, no whispering. He’s bold in his indifference, but something about you shrinks him down into a worthless, writhing thing that dreams of days in the sun and sweet words whispered under covers. He wants you to see him, to approve of him, to think he’s worth the extra time.
So, when you tell him your parents are away for the weekend with that impish grin on your face, he has no choice but to let you shift his world around you. He calls off of work and gets a hell of a word from Bev because of it. He rainchecks band practice, which the guys don’t take very well since he never rainchecks anything. It takes bribing them with promises of bringing the good snacks next campaign to finally get them off his back—on his dime, mind you, which his wallet is less than happy about.
Eddie’s not allowed to come in through the front door. You have him park his van in the garage in your father’s spot, and you let him in the house through the conjoining door with a grin on your face.
“Welcome to paradise,” you say, swinging the door wide enough for him to see into the kitchen where there’s an array of foods so excessive and exhaustive it reminds him of the disparity in your tax brackets. There’s takeout from three different restaurants, five different drink options, and a countless variety of snacks. It’s like you’ve prepared for a party of twenty instead of two.
“Jesus. Was all this really necessary?” Eddie asks, flipping open a box of pizza with different toppings on each quadrant.
“Yes,” you respond, matter of fact, popping up on the other side of the kitchen island. Did he mention you have an island? “I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I figured I’d get some of everything.” You wave your hands across the array like he can’t see it clear as day in front of him.
“Everything is right. I would’ve been happy with just beer and pizza,” Eddie says, and then looks up at you with a grin. “I’m a man of simple tastes.”
You poke out your lips sheepishly as you bear your arms down onto the counter, holding your head in one hand and tapping your cheek with your manicured nails. “Yeah, I guess I could’ve just called . . . I’m used to hosting a bigger crowd.”
“Clearly. All this could feed a small nation. I didn’t even know we had a Chinese restaurant.” He peeks into a little box full of noodles.
“A small nation or five stoners. Are you carrying?” You look up at him through your lashes in a way that squeezes tight over his heart.
“No,” Eddie replies, occupying himself with reading various bags of chips instead of the look in your eyes. “I don’t actually smoke, remember?”
“Right, right. Just checking,” you hum. “Guess we’ll just have to make do with beer and vodka. Ever tried sex on the beach?” You bite back a grin.
“Is that a metaphor?”
You wiggle your eyebrows, smile breaking through. “You know, I rented like fifteen movies from Family Video—”
“Fifteen? You can’t rent fifteen movies at Family Video.”
“That perv Keith lets me do whatever I want when I bat my eyes and let these girls do the talking,” you say, cupping your hands over your boobs. “Sorry, Munson. You’re pretty, but not this pretty.”
“You think I’m pretty?” Eddie grins.
You laugh, walking around the counter to stand in front of him. “Yeah, I think you’re really pretty.” You step up to let your mouth reach his ear, setting your hands on his chest. “Especially when you go down on me.”
Eddie swallows.
“Now, like I said, I rented us some movies, but I think you and I both know we’re not really going to be watching those. So, why don’t we skip the facade, and get to my favorite part.” Your hands are playing with his belt buckle, which makes his brain shrivel up to the size of a pea and his dick, well, not shrivel.
“Y—Yeah,” he stammers. You have a unique way of crippling his usually overactive tongue. “Yeah.” Real eloquent.
You smile and take his hand in yours to trail it along your side. “I’ve actually got a surprise for you, since you’ve been such a good boy. I think you’ll really like it.” The lace pattern is tangible even under your shirt.
“You’ll be the death of me,” Eddie whispers. You giggle.
“I’m letting you take the reins today. Where do you want me? The counter? The couch? The pool? A little bit of everything?” You do a little shimmy with your shoulders that brings a smile to his face.
“Your bedroom?” Eddie suggests, raising a brow at the fact that you’d forgotten the number one sex venue.
“Aw,” you coo, running your free hand down his cheek in a soft caress. “Who knew the Freak was such a romantic? Come on, Romeo.”
Eddie is still reeling with whiplash from the two nicknames when you begin to lead him by the hand up the stairs and to your room. You spin around to pull him into a kiss before he can even attempt to close the door, but who cares? You’re kissing him, and it’s not like anybody’s planning on dropping by anytime soon.
“Want to unwrap your present yourself, big boy? Or should I put on a show for you?”
“As tempting as that is, unwrapping the gift is, like, the second best part of getting a gift,” Eddie says, replacing your hand with his own on the hem of your shirt. He pauses until you nod, and then he pulls the fabric free from your body to reveal
“Your favorite color, right?” you ask, but Eddie is miles away.
“Jesus H. Christ,” Eddie murmurs. Your shirt is still clenched in his hands. He can’t breathe, can’t move. He’s flatlined.
“Oh, come on, now. Stay with me, Munson. You haven’t even seen the rest of it,” you say, tapping his check. You’re right. He hasn’t seen the rest, and he’s not sure he’ll live long enough to do so.
Your bra is more lace than fabric, so he can see every detail of you, including your pretty nipples, which are perking up before his eyes from the room’s chill, like flowers blooming in spring. You’re also right that it’s his favorite color, a deep, blood red that looks absolutely sinful on your skin. If it wasn’t his favorite before, it sure is now.
“Fuck,” he says, blinking away the haze that’s falling over his thoughts. His hands move to undo your jeans, even though his heart is on the verge of cardiac arrest. You help him shimmy them down your hips, kicking off your shoes as you do.
Eddie actually falls to his knees seeing the rest of the lingerie, hands running down the length of your legs, which are cloaked in garters and stockings. You look like a fucking pin-up model. Better than a pin-up model.
“Jesus fucking Christ. You’re been wearing this the whole time?” He asks, looking up at you from his position on the ground.
“Mmhmm.” You trail your hands along your body. “Just for you.”
Fuck.
“Let me go down on you,” Eddie blurts.
You let out a shocked breath. For once, it’s him that’s caught you off guard.
“What? No doggy? Anal? This is supposed to be a gift for you. I’ll let you do whatever you want with me.”
“Well, this is what I want,” he says.
The truth is that he’s missed the way you let go for him when he gets his tongue on you. Since last week, every time he’s tried to go down on you, you’ve redirected him back to sex, which he loves. Don’t get him wrong. He loves when you get on top of him, but it’s different when he gets to just watch you feel good. Make you feel good.
After a moment, you release the lip you’ve tucked between your teeth to finally just shake your head with a smile, running your hand along his hair. He leans into the touch like a dog being pet. “You never cease to amaze me,” you whisper. “All right. I’ll keep my big mouth shut, and let you fuck me like a gentleman.”
Eddie laughs and jokingly barks, “Thank you.”
“No, thank you. I don’t know how I got this lucky.”
Lucky. Eddie’s heart fills at the thought that you feel lucky to be with him.
“Lay back on the bed, sweetheart.”
You grin at the instruction and scamper away to tuck yourself into the mountain of pillows you have arranged on your bed. Eddie shrugs off his jacket and vest, letting them fall to the floor beside his shoes. He tugs a rubber band off his wrist to tie up the monster that is his hair. He doesn’t want any obstacles.
“Have I told you how sexy you are with your hair up?”
Eddie laughs. “Yes, and I still don’t understand it.”
“It could only get better if you took your shirt off, too,” you continue pointedly. “I want to see those tattoos.”
Eddie shakes his head but complies with the obvious request, careful not to disrupt his already weakly-fortified updo. He blushes at the wolf whistle you reward him with and focuses on climbing up the bed until he’s hovering over you.
“Hey, handsome,” you greet, running your hands along his exposed skin. One scratches the nape of his neck, sending a full-body shiver through him. “I think you’re in the wrong spot.”
“I’m right where I need to be,” Eddie says before kissing you. He’s learned your rhythm by now, how you start fast and greedy until bleeding into breathy and savoring. The way you melt for him is something he craves on those late nights without you.
You inevitably start to grind up against him, always so eager to rush to the next step. But he wants to take his time with you, and he might not get another chance like this. He wants you weak and whining before he even starts. He wants to see every side of you that he’s never gotten to before.
When your breaths blur into moans and your hands start to dig harder into his hair and shoulders, he drifts his lips along your jaw, listening to the catches in your breath as he presses kisses along your sweet skin. You’re wearing a new perfume today.
“You’re perfect,” he whispers against your sternum.
The lace of your bra is so pretty he can’t bear to remove it, so he settles with palming you through the material. You arch into him as he runs his thumbs along your nipples, and a moan finally slips past your defenses when he slides aside the fabric to suck one into his mouth. It’s rare for him to get you moaning this quickly, although he’s been getting better at it.
“God, Munson. It’s getting really hard not to boss you around,” you whine, trying and failing to grind yourself against him.
“You’re doing so good, baby. So good for me,” he says, nuzzling into your chest with his eyes closed. Whether your shiver is from the praise or the touch, he doesn’t know.
“Fuck,” you whisper. “God, just—just please. Please.”
You’ve never begged him for anything ever, so it breaks him down in less than a second.
“All right, baby. All right. I’m sorry,” he coos, spreading kissing along your stomach as he crawls further down your body, but not before tucking your boobs back into their pretty casings.
His lips peck along the exposed skin of your thigh around the stockings.
“Don’t want to say goodbye to these,” he murmurs.
You chuckle, body shaking slightly beneath his hands. “I knew you’d like them.”
“I love them. I’m so fucking lucky.”
“Well, good thing there’s buckles,” you say, before reaching to undo one yourself. “You can have your cake and eat it, too.”
“You are a genius.” His fingers make quick work of the other clasps. When they hang loose around your thighs, he spreads your legs wider. There’s a dark patch on the solid satin swatch stitched into the otherwise lacey panties, made purely with the intention of hiding you from him no doubt. You jump when he dips his nose into the spot and breathes in your heady scent.
“Fuck. You are a freak,” you murmur, a wanton tone in your breathy voice. His dick twitches at the term. Is it sick that you calling him that has actually become a turn on?
Eddie slides the flimsy fabric off your legs, over the stockings that drive him crazy. He rebuckles the garters with reverence and kisses each knee before he finally pushes your legs open.
Your pussy shines under the sun’s warm light bleeding through your window. It’s a sight he never gets tired of seeing. You’re so wet that you’re at risk of staining your pretty bedsheets.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispers before slipping his body down between your legs with your thighs over his shoulders. Your voice carries with the beginnings of some smart comment before it’s cut short by his tongue sliding up the length of you, devouring his first taste of your addictive, tangy arousal. He closes his eyes as he swallows, and then he gets to work.
He’s memorized all of your favorite spots by now. They’re as second nature to find as frets on a guitar, although the music you produce when strummed is much sweeter. Your moans grow louder when he sucks at your clit. You whimper when he soothes the abuse with gentle laps. You gasp when he dips his tongue inside you. You scream when he finally makes you fall over that edge. Thighs squeeze around his head, and hips squirm under his touch. The echoing scream bleeds into whines until the harsh grip on his hair softens to rewarding caresses.
Eddie doesn’t stop after just one. He can’t help but wonder if he can bully you into saying his name, if after enough orgasms your mind will become numb enough you’ll finally cross that line you’ve set between you. He picks up speed again from the soothing massage he fell into when you came.
He doesn’t count each one, though he feels them in the way you clench and pulse, hears them in the way your moans lose structure. They come easier and faster each time. He keeps going until you’re trembling, yanking his hair so hard it might even come loose. Until your swears turn to slurs. His heart jumps at every soft vowel that could be an “E.”
Say his name.
“Munson,” you whine. “I can’t . . . Too much.”
Eddie relents, even if it crushes him a little. He presses soft, soothing kisses to your shaking, slick thighs, whispers apologies between each press of his lips. After his repentance, his head rests against you as he listens to your panting, lets himself rise and fall with you until you’re pulling him upward.
Eddie’s surprised when you pull him into a weak kiss, hands holding him in place by his still wet cheeks. You never let him kiss you after he’s gone down on you, too grossed out by the thought of ingesting yourself. Still, you hold him in place against you until your strength wears out. You fall back with a smile and a glimmer in your eye, giggling as you wipe away the mess on his face.
“You’re amazing,” you say. Your eyes bulge when he takes your hand and licks the remnants of you off your fingers. “Fucking freak,” you grin before pulling him down for another kiss.
“Have you come yet?” you ask against his lips, and all of a sudden he’s aware of the deep ache in his groin. He’s hard as a rock.
“No, but I’m okay,” he says.
“That’s no fair,” you pout.
“I’m all right,” he laughs. “I’ll live.”
“‘I’ll live,’” you repeat with an eye roll. “Just fuck me, Munson. I’m a big girl. I can take it.”
Do you know how hard it is to stand your ground when your girl is begging you to fuck her?
“You’ll tell me if it’s too much?”
You nod eagerly. “Show me that cock.”
“Jesus Christ,” Eddie laughs. “You are ridiculous.” He climbs back off the bed to start undoing his belt.
“What can I say? That thing’s a fucking monster.”
Eddie feels the heat in his ears from your intent stare as he undoes his jeans. He pauses before baring himself to dig in his back pocket for his wallet. His fingers latch around a condom. He’s had to start carrying them around since you came into his life, and he does mean them. You’re insatiable.
“You don’t need that,” you say. His eyes bounce back up to you.
“Uh, yes, I do, sweetheart.” He can’t imagine a world where you’d want to risk little Munsons popping out of you.
You shake your head and bite your lip. “No, I mean . . .” You sigh. “Look, I don’t usually do this, okay? As in never. I’ve never let anyone do this. But I’m on the pill, and I . . . trust you, and . . . you know, I want to. I want you to go without.”
Fuck.
Jesus.
Fuck.
“Are you sure?” It’s a fucking stupid idea, he knows. But he’s weak, and you’re willing, and he’s just a man at the end of the day, a fucking weak, horny man.
You nod. “I want to feel you.”
Then, looking down at your thighs, “I want you to make me yours.”
Jesus Fucking Christ.
What the hell are you doing to him?
Eddie strips the rest of his clothes without a second to feel bashful about it. You laugh as he launches himself on top of you and smothers you in kisses.
“I might not last,” he warns into your forehead.
“You’ve done more than your part,” you chuckle. “I don’t think I could get there again, anyway.”
“Can I still try?” He grins.
You laugh again, loud and untempered. The smile on your face is so bright it could blind. “Be my guest.”
His hand reaches behind to undo your bra clasp.
“I thought you didn’t want to take them off?” you ask, although you still arch your chest into him to help.
“I want it to be just us,” he says, lifting the bra from your arms and tossing it on the floor with your panties.
“Such a romantic,” you tease, but you don’t know the half of it. He’s going to show you what it’s like to be cherished. He’s going to make love to you.
You help him shimmy the rest off your legs until you’re left in all your natural beauty. He sits on his knees and nuzzles the fabric to his cheek. “Parting is such sweet sorrow.”
You roll your eyes, tapping his side with your foot. “Oh my god. Stop soliloquizing and get over here, you dork.”
“Gladly.” He adds the fabric to the pile and settles between your legs. It’s close to never that he gets to have you in missionary. He’ll get to set the pace this time.
He kisses your forehead. “Are you ready, sweetheart?”
Your hands pull him down so you can properly meet his lips. You kiss him long enough he begins to forget the part that comes next, your tongue sliding along his lips and dipping into his mouth. He’ll never tire of this, of you.
You pull away, breath shaky as it falls in puffs against his lips. Your eyes are soft, almost fearful, as you say, “I’m ready.”
“I’ll take care of you,” he promises, lips pressed to your temple.
You nod. “I know. I know.”
Your body welcomes him with no resistance. You’re so fucking warm and wet it scrambles his brain. He twitches inside you, and the thought of his precum mixing in with your wetness drives him wild. He almost can’t keep himself from losing it right there, but he doesn’t want to come this soon. Not without knowing what it’s like when you come around him with no barriers.
The whimper that falls from your lips doesn’t help his cause. Your nails dig into his skin, and you clench on his dick.
“Is it too much? Should I stop?” he grits through his teeth, watching your eyes as they twist in painful pleasure.
“No. No, it’s okay. I’m okay,” you whine. “Feels good.”
He lets himself trust you, even when you tremble as his fingers press down onto your clit, hoping he can squeeze one more out of you. He grinds his hips against yours, deep, and as slow as he can manage with his dick begging for more of you.
Your whimpers begin to blend with his own, and it’s like making music, a call and response phrase. You move with him, in voice, in grinding against his thrusts. Your sounds fall back into those loose vowels.
“Ah, ah, E—”
It’s almost enough to push him over the edge, until the could-have-been word dies on your lips. You’re still too far from him to let yourself say his name. He buries his head into your neck, pressing kisses there so you can’t see the tears building in his eyes.
Why can’t you want him?
“I’m close,” you whimper. The promise of it has him blinking the wet from his eyes, so he can watch you as you fall apart beneath him. There’s tears in your own eyes, from the overindulgence of pleasure.
You spasm beneath him, your whole body enclosing him so he can barely move in your embrace. He whispers assurances against your lips, kisses the salt from your eyes until the pulse of you on his dick becomes too much.
He says your name as he comes and hopes you’ll say his, too.
You don’t, but you do kiss him, the first time you’ve ever kissed him after sex instead of pushing him off or stumbling away. Your legs keep him buried inside of you long after he’s gone soft. The way you hold him so close, so tender fools him into thinking maybe you feel this, too. Maybe he’s gotten through.
Eddie might be in love with you, and it scares the shit out of him. He prays it’s just the orgasm clouding his judgment, but the truth is that it’s been creeping into him for a while now.
He slides off you with a kiss and tucks your back against him. As he breathes in your hair and runs his fingers along your stomach, he thinks of those quiet conversations and the glimpses of you that slip between the cracks. Your hands graze along his, and he can’t help himself from speaking a watered-down truth.
“I really like you,” he whispers into your shoulder.
The flinch that follows sinks heavy into his gut like a cleaver. Your hands retract from his skin, and he can feel the way you stiffen in his arms, like a door shutting. The tears rush back to the surface, and a rock lodges in his throat.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” The silky amber that had nestled into your voice after making love returns to that familiar, distant tone.
Eddie’s body goes cold. “What?”
“The romantic stuff is cute and all, but this is just casual.”
The feeling of your skin on his makes Eddie sick to his stomach. He rips his arms from you and sits up, staring at your unforgiving back. “Are you serious?” His voice is pathetic. The sound of barely held tears is tangible in his words.
You spin around, resting on your elbows. The near-disgusted look on your face pours cold water over Eddie. It’s the kind of look you give to a pesky sibling instead of the guy who just gave you his heart. “What? Did you think that just because we fucked a couples times that would make you my boyfriend?”
“A couple?” Eddie snaps. “We’ve been seeing each other for three weeks.” He chooses anger over the tears that fight him for control.
“Seeing each other?” You have the audacity to roll your eyes, the same eyes that had looked at him like he hung the sun only moments ago. “Oh my god, Munson. Chill out. We’re just having fun.”
Eddie’s heart shatters.
Fun. This is all just fun to you.
What the fuck was he thinking?
“You really don’t give a shit about me, do you?” he murmurs, sliding off the bed and standing with his eyes locked on the floor coated in discarded clothing. He starts retracing his steps, sliding his boxers back on, then his jeans. He can’t stand to be naked in front of you right now.
“That’s not what I said. Don’t be that way.”
“‘Don’t be that way?’ God forbid I catch feelings for the girl that’s been stringing me along for the past three weeks,” he snaps over his shoulder, shoving his shirt back over his chest. Even though it’s only cotton, the actions soothes like putting on chainmail.
“I have not been stringing you along. When did I ever say this was anything more than sex?”
“And all those conversations here and in my van and at Lover’s Lake were what? Just foreplay? Because it didn’t feel like that to me.” His face flinches at the way his voice catches at the end.
The worst part is that you didn’t promise him anything. He picked up on signals that weren’t there, so why the fuck should he be angry at you? This was his own fault.
You don’t say anything. When he spins around as he shrugs on the last layer, your legs tuck into yourself like you have the audacity to look timid.
“This whole time I thought maybe, just maybe, I was wrong about you. That maybe under all that mean you actually had a heart. But you were just fucking using me. Well, fuck that. Fuck you. You can find another guy to get you off because I’m done.”
Eddie turns before the tears can fall from his eyes. “We’re done.”
Even with him marching out the door, not once in your calls for him to come back do you say his name.
You’re exactly who he always thought you were.
Next Chapter
Surrender to Dreams Taglist: @vampire-kissi3s
Stranger Things Taglist: @ggdawgg
Eddie Munson Taglist: @itzpixiebabe, @loonylups, @sisteramycatherine
Fic Taglist: @brrrainst3w, @bonnieprincess
