“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
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?
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
7 - Just the Two of Us - You - 2416 words
8 - Cold Hard Truth - You - 1323 words
9 - Long Time Coming - You - 846 words 6/4/26
10 - Better Days on the Horizon - You - 161 words 6/4/26
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
Smut: making love, praise, cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, 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, you and Eddie get to be a couple, 2416/17415 words
A/N: Almost teared up skimming over this chapter. I love them so much.
Fic Masterlist | First Chapter | Previous Chapter
Chapter 7 - Just the Two of Us - You
“There’s something seriously wrong with you.”
Eddie turns his nose up at you. “Hate all you want, but mint chocolate chip is, like, top three ice cream flavors.”
“Mint doesn’t belong anywhere near sweets. It’s good for toothpaste and chewing gum and that’s it,” you say, staring at the stretch of Lake Michigan to your right instead of at the buffoon to your left.
Eddie throws his hands up, which means he drags yours with the one he’s not holding his ice cream cone with. “Um, hello? Candy canes? Peppermint bark?” He lets his hands fall back down. Your two joined hands swing between you.
“It’s not Christmas, Eddie. Santa can’t save you from that criminal taste in ice cream.”
“Well, you chose salted caramel,” he says, pointing at your cone with his own. “If my taste is plain criminal, yours is criminally boring.”
“Caramel is a classic, and you know it.”
“Hmm, maybe.” He mimics tapping his chin in thought with the ice cream cone. You laugh when the wind catches his hair and blows it onto his scoop, but you grimace when he uses both your hands to clean the mess and licks the sugar off your skin. “You’ll have to give me a taste to convince me.”
“Oh, hell no,” you say, pulling your cone away from him. “Maybe if you chose an actually tolerable flavor, I’d share, but you’ve got nothing to barter with.”
“Well, if that’s the case, I’ll have to figure out another way.”
You’re shocked when his lips meet yours. Admittedly, the chocolatey, minty taste isn’t half bad coming from his mouth. When you open your eyes, he has both cones in one hand. He licks a broad strip of cream off yours.
“Eddie!”
“You’re right. This is good.” He actually takes a fucking bite out of it before you manage to snatch it back.
“I ought to throw you off this pier,” you grumble, staring at the big chomp mark in your ice cream with disdain.
“Oh, but you’d miss me too much,” Eddie coos, leaning into your space so much you almost lose balance.
“You don’t understand how serious I am about ice cream,” you threaten.
“Oh, I can’t only begin to imagine the evils the sorceress might unleash,” Eddie teases.
“Horrors beyond your mortal comprehension.”
Eddie sighs wistfully, throwing his head back. “God, we really need to get you back into D&D. There’s a nerd buried under that tough outer shell, I just know it.”
“I’ve actually been thinking . . .”
Eddie looks at you over his ice cream cone.
“I was wondering if you might want to DM for me and my brother sometime?” you suggest, tucking your shoulders up your neck.
Eddie smiles, showing off his dimples. “I would be honored,” he says, tucking his hand, cone and all, to his chest.
“Stop playing around with that thing. You’ll make a mess,” you laugh, shoving his fist away from his shirt before he can manage to leave behind a green stain.
In response, Eddie chomps down the rest of the cone until there’s not a trace left behind except for the roundness of his cheeks before he manages to swallow it down. “Problem solved.”
“You’re such a boy,” you laugh, wiping a bit of cream from the corner of his mouth and licking it off your finger.
Eddie grins. “I knew you liked it.”
“Oh, shut up.”
“Or do you just like me?” he teases. You can’t even begin to comment before he’s pulled you both to a stop to kiss you, taking advantage of his now free hand to hold your cheek. His lips are cold from scarfing down ice cream, but you couldn’t care if you tried.
“You got me, officer,” you whisper when he finally pulls away.
You shiver when a particularly harsh wind blows straight through you. “Ice cream was a horrible idea. How is it still this fucking cold out? It’s spring.”
“It’s also Chicago,” Eddie laughs, running his hands up and down your arms. “Want to head back to the hotel?”
“Yeah. I’m freezing my ass off.”
“Oh, my word! We simply can’t let that happen,” Eddie blanches, yanking the cone from your hand and shoving it into his mouth. “We must make haste,” he says through crumbled sugar and melting cream.
“You’re lucky I like you because that was the most unattractive thing I’ve ever witnessed,” you say as he tugs you back up the path.
“Don’t worry. I’ll make it all up when I show you how I look fresh out the shower. Literal Adonis.”
“You can’t call yourself an Adonis, Eddie, unless you’re Narcissus.”
“Nerd,” he scoffs.
“Dork,” you reply. The hotel appears around the corner.
Booking a hotel was easy enough since both you and Eddie are adults. You don’t know what the hell you would’ve done otherwise. Stealing one of your dad’s credit cards was the cherry on top. It’s bought you gas, breakfast, lunch, dinner with a live band that Eddie loved, a trip to the arcade, and, of course, ice cream.
“Thank you,” you say, shaking Eddie’s hand to steal his attention away from the door he’s propped open for you. “For agreeing to this.”
Eddie flashes through expressions, trying to find what to say. “Well, you know.”
You walk in silence to your room door, where Eddie unlocks it and lets you in first like the gentleman he is.
“I have a hard time letting people in,” you continue after dropping onto the bed like a bunch of stones.
“No kidding,” he gasps, sitting next to you. You punch him in the shoulder.
“When you let people in, they, sort of, gain power over you. They can hurt you. I think I prefer to be the one that does the hurting.”
You bump your knee against Eddie’s. “But I couldn’t keep you out, not without losing you. I thought I could play it halfway, but I just ended up hurting us both.”
“We can’t all be devilishly handsome, super well-adjusted individuals,” Eddie jokes.
“Right,” you say, rolling your eyes.
Eddie takes your hand in his.
“You know, for the longest time I couldn’t figure out why the hell I stuck with you when you treated me like absolute shit.”
You bite your lip, holding onto Eddie’s hand like he might vanish.
“That first night, I thought there was no way in hell a girl like you would ever look at me,” he continues. “I figured it must’ve been some joke, until you kept coming around, until it seemed like you actually cared about what I had to say. And I guess, even though I wasn’t sure if you wanted me for me, I really wanted to keep trying. I thought if I stuck it out, one day you might really see me . . . like I saw you.”
“I do see you,” you say, taking Eddie’s face in your hand. “I meant it when I said you were different from what I thought you were. You were sweet and respectful even when I was a bitch to you, and incredibly smart and funny, if a little weird. You’re the first person that made me feel like I was worth giving a damn about.”
“You might be the only person worth giving a damn about,” you finish.
Eddie smiles and kisses you on the forehead. Every time Eddie’s lips meet your skin it’s like the world falls away. All the background noise fades like shutting off a radio. The dust clears to reveal a clear, blue sky.
You pull him down to meet your lips, wondering if you can share that feeling with him if you try hard enough. You want to give him everything he deserves, everything you kept from him. His warm, brown eyes shine when you pull away. His hands hold you like you’re the most precious thing in the world.
“Eddie, I—I know I said no sex, but I really want to have sex with you right now,” you babble. “Only if that’s okay! I mean, if you want to. Because I want you to know that you aren’t just sex for me. You’re more than that, but I also, you know, I really—”
“Hey, it’s all right,” Eddie laughs. “I am not offended that you think I’m so totally irresistible that you can’t even wait a full week without sinking your teeth into me.”
“Well, I didn’t say all that,” you mumble out of the corner of your mouth.
Eddie grabs your chin, pulling you up from your pout. “This might come as a surprise to you, but I also really want to have sex with you.”
“Right. Cool,” you say.
“‘Cool,’” Eddie snorts.
You slap your hand over your eyes. “Oh my god. When did I get so lame?”
Eddie slides your hand back down. “That’s all right. I like lame.”
“You would—”
Eddie interrupts your comeback with his kiss. You fumble for each other’s clothes, letting pieces fall as they may.
When he pulls back, it takes a moment before you realize why Eddie is smiling at you. A deep rush of heat bubbles up to your face when you’re confronted with your underwear choice.
“Hey. I was serious about the no sex thing,” you say, slapping him on the arm. Your bra is a nude color, and your underwear is worn cotton. Hardly sexy.
“You’re beautiful,” Eddie says against your cheek.
“Hard to trust you when you’re grinning like that,” you mumble.
He sits back. “You are beautiful. I can’t believe how fucking lucky I am,” he says, making sure you meet his gaze as he does.
“Considering I broke your heart, I would say I’m the lucky one.”
He laughs, kisses you once on the lips, and moves on to slide off the last bits of coverage you have left. You’re not surprised when he shifts down your body without a word, reintroducing his tongue to your body after a week of separation. It caresses and sucks at your breast until finding home between your legs.
He doesn’t abuse you like the last time, when he riddled your body numb with pleasure. Eddie’s tongue is gentle and savoring as he sucks at your clit and dips into your cunt. You soothe his hair, which he’s forgotten to tie back in his eagerness to undo you.
Eddie squeezes two orgasms out of you before he lets you tug him back up to meet your lips. The intimate taste of you lingers on his tongue, but you’ve started to get used to the flavor. Cleaning him up isn’t worth the wasted seconds you could spend kissing him.
“Need you inside me,” you whisper into his glistening mouth.
“I didn’t bring a condom,” he says with a hint of panic in his voice that makes you smile.
“You should know by now you don’t need one,” you remind him.
“Right. Right,” he mumbles between kisses.
You used to hate being on the bottom for the lack of control it gave you. On top, it’s you who picks the moment things start and end, the speed at which it happens. You’re the one who makes someone fall apart.
Eddie has never made you feel out of control, even when he’s the one setting the pace. So, you don’t say a word when he lines himself up. You don’t flip him over like you used to.
“Are you ready?” he asks, and it’s so sweet you could cry. You smile and press a kiss to his cheek. There’s no fear this time as you tell him to continue.
He slides in with ease. You’d like to think that Eddie belongs inside you because of the way your body never fights him, even though you know it’s thanks to his diligence in having you warmed up before he even gets near you.
“Always feel so good,” he whispers into your ear when he bottoms out. You whine as he takes up deep, grinding thrusts that provide a delicious pressure to your clit. He grunts when you respond by digging your fingers deep into his hair and tugging.
“Eddie,” you whine, circling your hips in time with his movements.
“Yes,” he moans. “Yes, baby. Say my name.” His hand slides down between you to massage your clit as he switches to fuller, faster thrusts.
“Eddie,” you repeat, ignoring the flush that builds at the intimacy of the word. He groans again, his deep voice rumbling throughout your whole body. It sends a shock through your cunt, something primal.
“That’s my girl. My sweet girl. So good for me,” he praises.
You keep moaning his name, body delighting in the rewarding groans and thrusts it coaxes out of him. You scream for him until your words melt into whines. Eddie smiles and coos as you reach another orgasm, slowing his thrusts to ease you through the wave of pleasure that leaves you spasming.
Clarity returns to you. Your chest feels full as you drag Eddie down into a kiss, rolling your hips against his and drinking in his moans. You crave him. You’ll never stop craving him.
“Eddie,” you murmur. “Come for me, baby.”
He whimpers through his panting breaths, meeting your hips sloppily as his own climax edges closer. You gasp as his come spills into you, some deep part of you thrilled at the idea of him leaving his mark on you. You kiss him through his broken moans, fighting the smile that breaks through on your lips.
“Eddie. Oh, Eddie.” You whisper his name until the syllables start to lose meaning. His hand drifts up to clench onto one of your arms, thumb running up and down your skin.
“Are you okay?” he asks, a bit of wonder in his voice and his eyes still closed from his orgasm.
You flip him over, smothering his face in kisses until the giggles racking through your body muddy your affections. Eddie laughs, hands latching onto your hips as you pummel him with kisses. He hums when you finally settle on his lips for a slow, tender kiss.
“Eddie,” you say when you finally pull away to sit on his stomach. “I think—” You freeze, smile faltering as that fear returns. “I think I love you, Eddie.”
You watch with a tender heart as Eddie’s face shifts from awe to pure bliss. He grins so deep his dimples catch the light. His knuckles brush against your cheek.
“I think I love you, too.”
Next Chapter
Surrender to Dreams Taglist: @vampire-kissi3s
Stranger Things Taglist: @ggdawgg
Eddie Munson Taglist: @itzpixiebabe, @loonylups, @sisteramycatherine
Fic Taglist: @brrrainst3w, @bonnieprincess
Pairing: Eddie Munson x F!Reader
Summary: Eddie falls for the shy girl with the beautiful voice.
Genre: Fluff, Light Angst
Content: no Y/N, Eddie POV, strangers to lovers, Eddie overhears you practicing, and gets an idea, 1724/5107 words
A/N: Based on this request.
Fic Masterlist
Chapter 1 - Siren Song
The box in Eddie’s hands rattles as he stomps along the empty halls of Hawkins High. Plastic, paper, and cloth bump and scrape against each other within the taped-together cardboard box he uses to store all his trinkets and notebooks for Hellfire in time with each of his bouncy steps. The noise itches at something deep in his mind, spurring him to drum his thumbs on the box and hum a senseless tune to drown out the unsettling clamor and ease the rising tension in his body. It doesn’t work, as he only becomes increasingly aware of the sound in trying to overwhelm it with his own.
Something joins in on his joyless concert, a muffled harmony drifting through the halls as he nears the exit to the school. He stops in his tracks, ears straining to decipher the noise.
It’s a voice, singing a melody that’s vaguely familiar but too distant for him to distinguish. He follows the music through the vacant halls until the song title is dragged through the murky waters of his memory to the surface. “Somebody to Love,” bleeding beneath the door to the music room in a girl’s voice and accompanied by piano. He peeks through the little window in one of the double doors to see you sitting at the school’s upright, too lost in the performance to notice that you’ve inadvertently acquired an audience.
Of all the faces he’s learned over his too many years in Hawkins, yours is one he doesn’t recognize, a feat especially unbelievable since Eddie likes to think he knows everything there is to know about the music scene in Hawkins. He hangs out with the band kids occasionally and goes to every talent show and Battle of the Bands that goes on in this town, and yet he’s never seen you anywhere. He racks his brain for a possible class or look shared between the two of you over the years and comes up empty handed. He has no clue who you are. You could be some sort of supernatural being for all he knows, a ghost who haunts the music room or a siren luring him to the cragged rocks of the sea.
Eddie listens with his ear pressed to the door as you sail through the climax of the song. Your voice is unlike any he’s heard before, except maybe for the fading childhood memory of his mother’s lilting timbre as she danced with him on her toes to the tune of Muddy Waters. Yours carries, strong and full with a hint of emotion that blankets Eddie like a warm embrace even through the harsh barrier of the music room door.
His eyes drift close as he lets the music wash over him like a cool breeze. With his back pressed to the door, the final chord resonates through his body, pulling him from a beautiful dream. Without hesitation, he reaches for the door handle, struggling around the box in his hands until he stumbles through the opening.
“That was amazing,” he blurts.
He’s greeted by a dissonant blunder of slammed piano keys as you jump in your seat, your head popping up from the piano to stare at him wide eyed. Your hand draws over your heart.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” Eddie says over the sound of the door rattling closed behind him. “I overheard you playing,” he says, gesturing behind him like the door itself served as proof.
“I didn’t realize anyone else was here,” you murmur in a voice antithesis to the strong belt you carried before. Eddie steps closer to hear you better.
“Yeah, my club usually finishes up pretty late,” he says, swinging the box side to side.
“Right. Hellfire,” you hum. The tone is unrevealing. Typically, people say the name with disdain, like the words were sour to the taste.
Eddie’s eyebrows lift in pleased surprise. “So, you’ve heard of us? All bad things I hope.”
A subdued smile floats up onto your face, and you look back down at the keys for distraction, idly pressing on the higher tones.
“You’re really good,” Eddie praises, the notes reminding him of the reason he walked in. “Didn’t realize we had this kind of talent in Hawkins.”
You tuck your hands back into your lap, eyes only meeting Eddie’s own briefly before flicking back down, a polite instinct stifled by embarrassment. “It’s really nothing.”
Eddie tosses down the box, causing you to jump slightly, and barrels over to you. He drops down onto the bench beside you, and you scurry to the edge like a spooked mouse. “No, seriously. You should join the talent show. Give us something good for once.”
The Hawkins High Talent Show was a mandatory attendance affair, although if it weren’t for the fact that it was the only time Corroded Coffin was allowed to perform at school, Eddie would’ve found a way to ditch it anyway. With the only “talent” coming out of Hawkins in the past six years being Tammy Thompson and her pitchy singing, it was obviously not a fun time for anyone.
But if you performed? Eddie would find a way to go even if Corroded Coffin was banned from showing their faces.
You vigorously shake your head. “No. No, I couldn’t do that.”
“Why the hell not?”
“‘Cause my heart would explode playing in front of all those people?”
Eddie grins. “A bit of stage fright, huh?”
“A bit is a huge understatement. Don’t you remember the Junior Talent Show?”
A buried memory surges to the forefront of Eddie’s mind, pulling a gasp from his lips. “Oh my god! I do know you.”
A full body cringe overtakes your body as you let out a regretful groan at the reminder. Your hands clench against the side of your head and you keel over, resting your weight on the lip of wood above the piano keys.
Eddie had seen you before.
Back at the Junior Talent Show, not only was attendance mandatory, but so was performance. Each student had to participate at least once during their three years at the school, an absolutely malevolent thing to force insecure preteens to do. Eddie held out until his last year, leading to the formation of Corroded Coffin as well as their first performance, but you were also there that year, sitting at a piano like this one.
Eddie remembered watching you from offstage, thinking how small and frightened you looked with your feet not even touching the floor, probably a sixth grader yet to have their growth spurt. The curtains pulled back, and you stared, doe-eyed, at the auditorium of students. Murmurs built up among the crowd as the prolonged silence pushed the limits of preteen politeness. One snicker turned into barking laughter, and you burst into tears. In a scramble to get offstage, you tripped on the piano bench’s leg, the resulting bodyslam against the wood floor sounding out across the room and sending the whole student body into chaos. Your name was the butt of every joke in the hallways until school broke out for summer break and Eddie left for high school.
He’d completely forgotten about the moment, but it seems like you hadn’t. Not by a long shot.
Eddie pats your shoulder. “Hey, we all have our moments. I puked the first time I played in front of an audience.”
You turn your head to look at him, though you still remain slouched over. “Really?”
“Yeah. Ruined my favorite Metallica shirt,” Eddie says, gesturing to his chest like he was pointing out the area of impact, even though the whole thing is a complete lie. He’s never had trouble with performing in front of crowds because he’s never been scared of making a fool of himself. Didn’t mean you had to know that though.
You bite your lip and sigh, sitting back up and staring at Eddie with furrowed brows. It’s the longest time you’ve gone without breaking eye contact, and the intensity of it is making Eddie want to be the one to break first. “Look, uhm, Eddie?” He nods in confirmation, although he’s surprised you have to guess at his name, considering his reputation. “You’re really sweet, but I’m just not cut out for the spotlight. I’m good here.” You hover your shaky hands over the keys.
“What if you had someone to play with?” Eddie suggests.
Your brows furrow.
“What if I played with you?” he rephrases. “Won’t be so scary if you don’t have to do it alone, right?”
You tilt your head downward in muted disapproval. “Sorry, but I don’t even know you.”
“Yet!” Eddie bursts, holding up a finger. “You don’t know me yet.”
You breathe a laugh, a reluctant smile on your lips.
Eddie holds his hands up in defense. “Hey, baby steps. I’ll be your test run. When you can play in front of one person, what’s a couple hundred more?”
You shake your head, although your smile only widens. “You’re not as convincing as you think you are.”
“If I’m only half as convincing, I’ll consider it a win,” Eddie grins.
“Come on,” he says, shaking you by the shoulder until laughter billows through your mouth. He stands up, delighting in how your eyes naturally follow. “Just picture it. The rush of performing.” He stands behind you, puppeting your hands to slam against the piano keys. “The crowd of adoring fans.” He steps back to the side, clapping loudly and wiping an invisible tear. “Bravo! Bravo! Encore! Encore!”
You laugh, looking away from him in an attempt to hide the bright smile on your face. “Okay, fine! I’ll do it,” you surrender.
“Oh, come on. Show some enthusiasm,” Eddie shouts. He cups his hands over his mouth. “I’m going to join the school talent show!”
He watches as you mimic him, your hands more constrained around your mouth like you were hiding behind them. “I’m going to join the school talent show!”
“There you go!” he booms. “I’m going to join, and I’m going to win!”
“I’m going to join, and I’m going to win!”
Eddie laughs, which makes you laugh, too. Your eyes crinkle at the corners, and the harsh lights of the music room reflect in your eyes like stars.
He can’t help but notice how beautiful you are when you laugh.
Next Chapter
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Eddie Munson Taglist: @itzpixiebabe
