Empyrean

[therealpussybangs]

A safe space!!

Rules 2. Requests 3. Masterlist

• Not currently writing •

Hello! You can call me Wynn (she/her)

In my twenties!!<3 <<18+>> No longer writing but an avid reader and certified chatty cathy!! Feel free to send me any thots or ideas!!

Currently reading for: Eddie Munson, Jhonny Storm, Kas!Eddie

Finished: Youngblood | S. Rintarō

[twirlingfreckles]

kids these days don't know what it felt like to be bisexual and wear a stupid as fuck hawaiian shirt in 2017

[autisticallosaurus]

this post was ghost written by Dan Howell

[azaablue]

the best fanfiction you've ever read was written by a woman in her 40s before she made dinner for her kids. it was written by a teenager after school when they should've been studying for a history test. and a busser came up with the idea on their break and a barista fact-checked it while they cleaned the espresso machine and the post-doc edited between writing grant proposals and the nurse apologized for typos in the notes after a long shift and behind every drabble and one-shot and multi-chapter fic there is a person with a wonderful and interesting and chaotic life and it is such a privilege that we get to be apart of it because they decided to do this thing we all share, for fun.

[dathomireternal]

like a record, baby! | 3

best friend!eddie munson x/& reader

summary: eddie plays a song for his first and favorite groupie. 2.2k words.

warnings: eddie pretends to try and force a kiss on you, but it's extremely silly and not at all serious. suggestive content as per usual, so minors please do not interact!

a/n: i would love for this little blurb series to be audience-interactive! feel free to send me any ideas, prompts, or situations you'd like to see these besties put into... also, look out for a poll on my blog sometime soon if you wanna vote for the prompt of the next part!

series tag here!

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Everyone that knows Eddie knows he has a habit of playing his music way too loud, and it applies just the same when he’s the only one that can hear it.

When you knock your typical rhythm on his bedroom door and don’t hear a peep from the other side, you know exactly what’s going on. The way his room is set up, when he’s deep in practice mode, headphones on as he plays with all those amps and pedals you can’t make heads or tails of, his back is always to the door. This means that you could probably take an axe to it Shining-style and Eddie would be none the wiser unless a chunk of stray wood flew off and conked him in the head. 

You were going to ask if he wanted to throw that frozen pizza you’ve been saving in the oven and watch Alien one last time before returning it to the video store (all of which is really a strategic pretense necessary to succeed in your real goal of buttering him up enough to paint your nails for you again), but you’d never pass up such a prime opportunity to mess with him. So, instead, you hurry back to your room for a quick, minor wardrobe adjustment, and reapproach his door with even worse intentions.

Ever so slowly, you crack the door open, peek through, and confirm what you already knew. There he is; wholly oblivious, head bobbing, shredding the afternoon away. For a moment, you just watch him, charmed by the sight of him so deep in the zone, his hand sliding along the neck of his Warlock. Then, you creep through the door and gently close it behind you.

It probably isn’t completely necessary, but just in case he throws a random glance in his periphery, you lower yourself down and crawl your way to the far side of his bed on hands and knees, stopping momentarily to grimace at the sheer amount of clutter he’s kicked and shoved underneath it in his personal definition of cleaning. 

You peek over the top of his bed and find him bent forward, fiddling with switches or dials or buttons or what have you, and it’s the perfect window for you to slink your way on top of it, laying towards him on your tummy with your legs kicked up, waiting to be noticed. 

The lollipop is overkill for sure, but you spotted it on the counter and just couldn’t help yourself.

Eddie keeps on fiddling, leans back partway once or twice to test a strum before reaching down again to adjust further. When he finally straightens his spine to resume playing, it only takes a handful of seconds for him to notice something off in the corner of his eye, and his quick glance turns into a double take before his entire body jerks with a startle and an undignified squeak. He tugs his headphones down to his neck and gives you a cautious, wide-eyed smile, spinning in his chair to face you. 

“Uh… hi,” he says, eyes flickering all over you as he plays up the act of liking what he sees a little too much. “What, uh— Whatcha doin’?”

Girlishly kicking your legs back and forth, you suck hard on the lollipop until it leaves your mouth with a resounding pop that makes Eddie’s face twitch. “...Hiya, rock star,” you tease. “Can I get an autograph?”

His grins at you like he kinda wants to eat you. “I dunno. Depends on where I get to write it.”

You stifle an eye-roll. He never flirts with his actual groupies like that; or, at least, the occasional girl that tries to corner him after a gig to figure out if he’s single. They always get the sweet little jokester with the angel eyes and not a dirty thought in mind—the same one whose scheming bastard smile grows a little wider every time he catches your disapproving eye across the room. 

Meanwhile, you get saddled with this rotten perv.

You pout your lips at him. “But Eddie, I’m your biggest fan.”

“Really?” You nod eagerly. “And what is my biggest fan doing sprawled all over my bed with a sucker in her mouth?”

He starts to give you all of his attention, lifting the guitar off his lap, but you cry out around your candy to keep him in place.

“No, don’t stop on my account,” you insist. “Play me something, Eds.”

“Like what?”

“Whatever you were just playing with your headphones on.”

Eddie unplugs his headphones and tosses them onto his desk, shifts the volume down a little, and turns back to face you, guitar primed over his knee. He bobs his head in a four-count and then flies into a breakneck riff. It’s not a song you recognize, but it has a quality you recognize from other songs he’s written himself—for Corroded Coffin, for his own pleasure, and once or twice, even for you. He gets a solid twenty seconds into the song with apparent perfection before he glances at you again and promptly fucks up.

“Shit,” he curses through a laugh, pushing through the mistake. Another discordant note, and he stops entirely. “Fuck. You’re making me nervous, babe.”

“Why’d you stop? I was enjoying that.”

“Well, maybe if you weren’t sucking on a piece of candy three feet in front of me—”

“If you can play for all the pretty girls at your shows,” you cut him off, playing annoyed, “you can handle a private concert just for lil ol’ me, can’t you?”

“Alright, I’m sorry,” he says, tickled as he always is when you play jealous. “What d’ya wanna hear, then?”

You think it over. There’s a whole host of songs you’ve bullied Eddie into learning for you over the years, largely to provide accompaniment for your treasured living room performances. The first one that pops into your mind has been stuck in your head for a couple days, and better yet, Eddie can hardly stand it.

“...I wanna hear Hungry Like the Wolf.”

Eddie’s face drops just hearing the name. Then, he rolls his eyes. “Of course you do.”

“But you have to sing it too this time,” you request, pointing your lollipop at him.

His expression turns even more aggrieved, and you smile back with perfect innocence. “Absolutely not,” he says. “You’re trying to make a joke outta me.”

“No, I’m not,” you pout again. “You know I love that song.”

“Then why don’t you sing it?” he says. “You’re the one that knows all the words.”

“There’s like, ten words in the whole song,” you groan. “And I want you to serenade me.”

“With Hungry Like the Wolf. By Duran Duran.”

You bounce the lolly off your bottom lip a couple times, batting your eyes at him. “Yes, please.”

He lets out a long, rumbly, displeased hum, thinking it over, squinting his eyes at you. “...How about Just What I Needed? You like that one.”

“I do like that one, but that’s not what I wanna hear right now. You said you’d play whatever I wanted.”

The bold-faced lie makes him choke on a laugh. “No, I did not.”

“Please, Eds, I wanna hear it. Play it for me and I’ll give you something.”

His eyebrows pop up in interest. “...What kinda something?”

You give him your coyest shrug. “Only one way to find out.”

“...Jesus Christ,” he mutters to himself with resignation, and you celebrate your victory with a happy little wiggle.

It takes a moment for him to orient himself on the fretboard, sniffing out the riff you forced upon him. He hesitates again with an exasperated stare, watching you rock back and forth in excitement. You give the lolly an exaggerated, open-mouthed lick in encouragement and Eddie shakes his head at you, fighting hard against a smile.

Finally, he commits, and you beam at him all throughout. He really doesn’t know all the words, but he fills the missing pieces with whatever else comes to mind, and though you did intend to be serenaded, you can’t help but provide backing vocals, singing pretty much the entire chorus with him in pure glee. He refuses to go on after the first chorus, but it’s plenty for you—more than you expected, even.

“Thank you, Eddie,” you say, sugary sweet.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re welcome,” he pretends to grumble, as he turns in his chair to turn off the amp and set his guitar down. When he spins back around to face you, he’s sitting tall in his chair with his hands threaded together and an excessively smug look on his face. “Now, what do I get?”

“...You’re so greedy, y’know that?” you complain, pointing the lollipop at him in reprimand. “Isn’t the pleasure of my company enough for you?”

“You’re the greedy one if you think I ever would’ve sang that song for free,” he jokes right back, and your jaw drops in outrage.

“Fine,” you groan, grievously inconvenienced.

Popping the lolly into your mouth again, you push yourself up and crawl closer to the edge of the bed. Then you lift yourself up tall on your knees, spread comfortably apart, and stick both thumbs into the waistband of your sweatpants. Eddie watches with rapt attention.

“...You ready, Eds?” you tease. Holding onto the armrests for dear life, his head jerks up and down like his very life depends on it.

With deliberately unbearable patience, you slowly drag your waistband down until the front of your panties comes into view, dark red and lacy with a sweet little bow in the middle. Eddie’s initial reaction is genuine—his eyes popping wider and his jaw falling slack—but then, of course, he cranks it into overdrive. He lets his eyes roll back like he’s seizing up, eyelashes fluttering over pure white, and goes limp like a ragdoll, sliding bonelessly out of his chair until he flops onto the floor with an anguished cry that makes you giggle.

Settling your pants back in place, you sit on your heels and wait to see if he’s finished playing.

“...Uh oh,” you say when all remains quiet. “...Still alive down there?”

After a moment, one of his hands pops up, tense and shaking. It grabs onto the side of the bed and he pretends to drag himself up with immense difficulty, his other forearm planting itself on the edge to push his head above water. He’s wearing a tiny little smile that you don’t trust in the slightest.

“...Just one kiss, sweetheart, I’m begging.”

“Nuh-uh.”

He blinks at you a couple times; there’re those no-good angel eyes. “Just one little kiss,” he insists. “What’ll it hurt? I won’t even tell anybody.”

“No, cause if I give you an inch, you’re gonna try to take a mile, and I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Eddie smiles wider and glances down from your face, almost like he’s taking stock of the position you’re in. Your stomach tenses up about a second before he strikes.

You shriek like a little kid going overboard on the playground as he springs up to get you, and even louder as he stops you scrambling away from him with a sharp tug on your legs, dragging you closer as throws himself on top of you, one leg on either side of your hips.

“C’mere, gorgeous,” he says, and then he puckers his lips in an obnoxious kissy face, pretending to try and plant one on you.

“No! You’re crazy!”

Giggling up a storm, you plant one hand on his face to keep him back, but he tries his best to push right on through it like a cat that’s determined to steal a bite from your plate.

“Get off, you lunatic!” 

Fed up, you plant your other hand on his shoulder and push with all your might. Eddie reacts like you’ve suddenly developed the brute strength of an amazon warrior, flinging himself onto the bed beside you with a dumbstruck squawk. Naturally, you take the opportunity to follow through, clambering to sit yourself on top of him and pin his wrists beside his head. 

“Alright, I surrender,” he says, with his sparkly eyes and big dimpled smile. “Do your very worst. Don’t worry, I can take it.”

You tut at him, releasing his wrists to sit back on his stomach with your arms crossed. “...Why do I feel like you’re the one that got exactly what you wanted here?”

“Beats me,” he says with a shrug.

Smiling even wider, a devious look overcomes him as he reaches towards you, teasing one finger at the hem of your waistband like he’s trying to sneak another peek, and he peeps as you smack it away, pretending to cradle the wound with his other hand.

You let out a long sigh, shaking your head at the shameless face beaming up at you—the hint of delighted pink in his cheeks. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do with you, Munson.”

“Oh, that’s easy,” he insists. “...Whatever the hell you want.”

-

thanks for reading! feedback is always welcome 💞 likes, comments, + reblogs would be much appreciated!

taglist:  @dreamerjj @idontknowanythingatallsblog @petxrparksr-blog @thesoftdumbass @stickystrawbunny @lovealigned @therealpussybangs @z0mb1tch @lunaiswriting

lmk if anyone here *doesn't* want to be tagged in future parts!

[therealpussybangs]

genuinely when is it my turn what spells must I cast 😔😔

[dathomireternal]

like a record, baby! | 2

best friend!eddie munson x/& reader

summary: eddie hates Grease and wants to makeout. 1.7k words.

warnings: nothing in particular. lightly implied bi!reader i guess? this applies to the entire series, but the friendship dynamic is very relentlessly flirty and frequently suggestive (he acts like a perv for laughs) so minors please do not interact!

a/n: i would love for this little blurb series to be audience-interactive! feel free to send me any ideas, prompts, or situations you'd like to see these besties put into...

series tag here!

──── ⋆⋅💿⋅⋆ ─────

“You aren’t even watching, Eds.”

In all honesty, he put in a valiant effort—lasted thirty whole minutes this time before checking out entirely. Head tipped back and arm bent over his eyes, his left leg bounces out his frustration like a jackhammer, jiggling your crossed ankles over his thigh.

“Sure I am,” he insists. “You forget, I’ve got every goddamn second of it burned permanently into my retinas.”

“But it’s your favorite part,” you complain, glancing back at the TV where the T-dogs wage their synchronized, melodic abuse all over Kenickie’s new ride. “You like cars, don’t you?”

The snort it earns you makes you grin. “Cars, yeah,” he concedes, shifting around in his perpetual restlessness. “...John Travolta gyrating his hips all over them, less so.”

You pretend to click your tongue at him. “The way yours are rusted over, you should be taking notes. Maybe you’ll learn a thing or two.”

Eddie whips his arm off of his eyes and uses it to throw you a firm gesture. “First of all, my hips are fully functional,” he contends. “Just because I don’t swing ‘em around like that, doesn’t mean I can’t.”

You tilt your head, bat your eyelashes at him a couple times. “I’ll believe it when I see it, stud.”

He smiles at you until his dimples pop out, warm eyes crinkling—hesitating the way he always does when you beat him to his own game and he isn’t quite ready for it. “...Secondly, sweetheart,” he goes on, determined to see his kvetching through, “this is the third time this month. I don’t even wanna think about how many times in the last year. If I was ever gonna learn anything at all from this movie, you’ve beat it into my head so hard, it’s probably killing off brain cells.”

“No one’s forcing you to sit here and watch it with me,” you remind him without pity. “You’re welcome to go hide in your bedroom till it’s over any time you want.”

“Can’t,” he insists flatly. He stretches both arms along the back of the couch, and the hand closest to you starts tapping idle rhythms. “I’m on standby.”

“What for?” 

“Well, what if you get thirsty?” he suggests. “Or…you need a foot massage?” He brings one hand back to wrap it over the top of your foot and give it a squeeze.

“Yeah, you wish,” you laugh, worming your foot out of his grasp to kick his hand away and setting it back on top of the other.

“Or,” he continues on, bending one arm to prop his head up, gravely serious, “what if all these gyrating hips and pink ladies get you all riled up, and you’re overcome with a desperate, excruciating need to make out with someone? I’m supposed to just leave you here to suffer?”

“Oh, wow,” you sigh. “You’re saying you’d really do that for me, Eds?”

His hand flies earnestly to his heart. “I really would.”

“Even with tongue and everything?”

He sputters over a couple syllables. “I— Well— If that’s what it takes.”

“That’s sweet, Eddie,” you tell him with your eyes glued to the screen. “That’s real sweet. Now would you please shut the hell up? If I miss Beauty School Dropout because of you, you’re done.”

Eddie slumps deeper into the couch, claws both hands down his face and groans. “You’ve only seen it three million, four hundred and fifty-seven thousand—”

“Quiet!” you shout over him, reaching over sightlessly to flap your hand in his face. 

Though pouting egregiously, Eddie fulfills your request. The fidgeting can’t be helped, but he stays quiet during Beauty School Dropout, doesn’t say a word throughout the dance competition (though he does, as always, give in to an irresistible compulsion to participate in the hand jive once or twice), and makes it a couple minutes into the night at the drive-in before the agony of boredom wins out once again. 

“...I just got the best idea,” he announces. You know that tone of voice, and it’s nothing but trouble.

“Yeah, and what’s that?” you mutter. The glance you toss finds his smile twitching wider, and that’s more than enough. “Nevermind, don’t tell me.”

“One, we turn off Grease,” he goes on anyway.

“Not a chance.”

“...Okay, then, we mute Grease.” 

You dig your heel down into his thigh, and Eddie grunts. “I’d rather mute you.”

He lets out a big, inconvenienced sigh. “You’re really twisting my arm here, but fine—and don’t ever try and tell me I can’t compromise. Out of the kindness of my heart, we’ll just…turn the volume down a couple notches.”

You’re only loosely paying attention to him. “Okay, and then what?”

“Two,” he continues, holding up two guiltless fingers, “we take all our clothes off.”

“Pass.”

Eddie sags forward in your peripheral. “You didn’t even let me finish.”

“Third, we see how fast we can hide the damn salami,” you finish for him with faux irritation. “That’s the second time I’ve heard it this week, Eds.”

You can feel him grinning at you. “So you understand how I feel.”

You reach over to flick him in the side of his head, and Eddie grunts, flinging himself sideways with the force of the blow. 

“...What’ll you do for me then?” you ask lightly, eyes back on the screen.

Eddie twitches in his contorted position. “Huh?”

“If I say yes and we take our clothes off, what’re you gonna do for me?”

He straightens his spine as fast as you’ve ever seen him, and you have to suppress a snicker. Then, he starts leaning in your direction. “...What do you want me to do for you?”

He says it in that creepy voice he sometimes slips into to gross you out, so you raise your foot and plant the ball of it on his head, shoving him back into his space and pulling a giggle out of him at the same time. 

“You’re rotten,” you tell him, crossing your legs again. “...What about my laundry? You gonna do my laundry?”

“Yeah, I’ll do your laundry.” He’s smiling a little too wide. “How long?”

You squint at him. “...For a month.”

“Sure.”

“And the dishes, both of ours, for a whole month.”

“Done,” he promises. “Easy. I’ll mop all the floors, too. Vacuum.”

You’re starting to like the sound of this. “And you’re gonna drive me wherever I want, whenever I want.”

“Sweetheart, I already do that.”

Oh, yeah, he sort of does. “...Yeah, but now you gotta do it like a chauffeur.”

“I don’t know what that means, but absolutely. No problem. Your wish is my command.”

“...Tempting, Eddie,” you hum. “Very tempting.”

“Think so?” He starts gravitating towards you again with hearts in his eyes and a big, goofy, expectant look on his face.

“I do,” you say with a nod. “...So it’s a shame I’m not in the mood.”  

It cuts his strings—Eddie deflates, folding over himself with an anguished groan that makes you giggle. “You’re a tease,” he accuses.

You really are, but you know he loves it. Nonetheless, you give him a consoling rub on his shoulder. “Better luck next time, honey.”

When the movie finally ends, the leading lovers flying inexplicably towards the heavens in their cherry red hotrod, Eddie reacts with such profound, ecstatic relief that it’s probably the closest he’s ever come to genuine religiosity in his life.

“Thank fucking God,” he breathes, both arms raised to the sky in worship before they droop back down to rest behind his head. 

“Enough, you drama queen,” you scold, but your mind is still caught up in something else. “...Y’know, we’re a lot like Sandy and Zuko, if you think about it.”

Eddie scoffs pretty harshly for a guy who claims to hate this movie. “You know full goddamn well that we’re Kenickie and Rizzo.”

“No, no, cause listen,” you insist, holding up a finger. “I used to be such a good girl before I met you.”

Eddie’s eyebrows fly skyward. “You’re crazy.”

“I mean, I never would’ve touched a cigarette in my life if it weren’t for you, first of all—”

“I never offered any, babe. You’re a sneakthief.” 

“—and plus, you were a dirty, rotten scoundrel before I whipped you into shape.”

He pulls a monumental face. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You were a total heartbreaker.” He just keeps staring at you, wildly clueless and almost as offended. You raise your eyebrows at him very pointedly. “...That poor little girl from the theater club, with the polka dots, and the—”

Halfway through the sentence, Eddie explodes into misery, smacking both hands over his ears. “Stop, stop! Don’t remind me!”

“You stood her up!” you shout, happy to rub it in even harder. It isn’t very often you have him cringing at anything, shameless as he is. 

“Stooop!” He threads his finger into his hair, tugging at the roots in distress. “How was I supposed to know that she was asking me out?!” 

“She slipped a love letter into your locker, you dope.”

“It was a normal letter, okay?” he insists, rubbing his hands down his face. “I thought she just wanted to buy. And besides, I was a little…romantically preoccupied back then, if you recall.” 

It’s funny the way he talks about his crush on you in the past tense; as if he doesn’t still wave it half a foot in front of your face every single day of his life. “I have no clue what you’re talking about,” you tease.

“This is what I get, huh?” he laments. “You stand up one girl, by accident, and you’re doomed to a lifetime of torture and heartache.”

“Poor Eddie,” you coo with mushy sympathy. 

“‘Poor Eddie’ is right.”

“Don’t worry, sweetie,” you say. “One of these days, I really will let you rub my feet.”

He snorts at you, but catches something evil in his eyes a second later. He takes one of your feet and starts to lift it towards his face, flipping your stomach on its head.

“Stop it, you sicko.” You try to jerk it out of grasp, but his other hand wraps around your ankle. “What are you doing?”

Finally, with the most awful grin you’ve ever seen, he starts to stick his tongue out with an obnoxious “ahhh.”

“No!” you beg, horror in your eyes. “No, Eddie, don’t, that’s completely disgusting. I swear to God, I— No, cut it out! Eddie, cut it out!”

-

thanks for reading! feedback is always welcome 💞 likes, comments, + reblogs would be much appreciated!

tagging some folks that seemed to enjoy the first installment!  @dreamerjj @idontknowanythingatallsblog @petxrparksr-blog @thesoftdumbass @stickystrawbunny @lovealigned @therealpussybangs @z0mb1tch 

[therealpussybangs]

LOVELOVELOVE OMG

[filtheopathic]

how i look thinking about noncon

[therealpussybangs]

@elegantpaperoperatormaker ik ur on a much deserved break but when u come back im still drooling dreaming in support of ur dark!Eddie dolly fic 🤤😩

[beasbrain]

The Cue

description: you’re Nancy Wheeler’s twin sister, and you couldn’t be more different. while she’s wrapped up in late-night “study sessions” with Steve Harrington, you’re escaping out the window with a book, a cigarette, and zero interest in third-wheeling. the plan is simple: disappear for a few hours. that is, until Eddie finds you first.

pairing: eddie x you (fem!reader)

tags: eddie x fem!reader, no y/n, strangers to lovers, twin sister of nancy, late night meet cute, fluff but like make it silly-goofy, secretly soft eddie (only for you, duh), smart but chaotic, sneaking out, steve sneaking in (constantly), sexual tension go brrrr, flirty banter, eddie making up excuses to talk to you, mike wheeler is suffering, chaos siblings, clumsy smut

TW: NSFW (18+) minors do NOT interact!!, PiV, unprotected (i'm sorry im a raw sex girlie, SUE me), smoking, alcohol, excessive hickeys

WC: 10.2k

A/N: I AM SO FUCKING OBSESSED WITH THIS CONCEPT OKAY?!?!?! me plotting how & when to make a series of everything I write because I fall in love with the characters & dynamics. sorry! not! sorry! reblogs are always appreciated <3!! let me know how you all like this one:)

You and Nancy sit on your respective beds, her voice filling the room while you try, desperately, to focus on reading The Feminine Mystique for the Advanced Lit paper due on Monday. 

“Ohhh my god—”

“Oh. my. GOD. Nance, seriously? You can have this conversation literally anywhere else.”

She pauses, lowering the phone and covering it with her palm. “And you can read anywhere else.”

You huff a loud, dramatic breath before lifting the book back to your face, desperately trying to cover the loudest eye roll you’ve ever done. 

She carries on gossiping, giggling about Steve and his impending rise to Varsity basketball captain. That is, if Billy Hargrove doesn’t bulldoze his way into it first. Not that you care about Hawkins High’s sacred basketball throne.

You exhale another long sigh and place the book down in your lap, seconds away from giving her another comment, before a tap at your window stills both of you. 

Both of your heads snap to see Steve, arms resting on the outside of the sill, cheeky grin plastered across his face. 

“I’ll uh—I’ll call you later,” Nancy says before placing the phone in the holster, giddily walking over to the window. 

“Steve!” she hisses, though there’s no real threat behind it. “You can’t be here, what if my parents—”

“Isn’t Ted already asleep? And isn’t it your mom’s Friday night bubblebath and chardonnay routine?” 

She giggles, glancing over her shoulder at you. You sigh, already standing to grab your jacket from the back of the door and your shoes from the closet.

“You sure you don’t mind?” She asks, as if it really makes a difference. Either way, you suffer.

If you say “yes, Nancy, as a matter of fact, I do mind,” she will pout the second he leaves, and you have to listen to her bitching and moaning about how she misses him. 

And if you say “No Nancy, it’s okay!” you’ll have to sit through Steve and her pawing at each other while you’re “not paying attention.” 

Either way, all signs point to a graceful exit, going to the one place you always find solace in: the town park.

Specifically, the town park after dark. No kids, no noise, just you, your book, and a cigarette with your name on it. Perfect bliss; quiet, dark, and entirely yours.

You wave in Steve and exchange places with him, waving a final dramatic gesture before you scale down the trellis. 

The grass is still a little damp from the afternoon rain, soaking faintly through the soles of your sneakers as you cut across the park. 

Hawkins at night always feels like something softer, like the whole town is holding its breath instead of buzzing the way it does in daylight. You prefer it this way.

You find your usual bench tucked beneath the old oak, the one far enough from the streetlamps that it feels almost private, but not so hidden that it’s unsettling.

Your bag drops beside you with a soft thud, and you settle in, pulling your book back out like you never left it. The Feminine Mystique falls open easily, spine already bending to your will from overuse. 

You smooth a hand over the page, but before you start reading, you reach into your jacket pocket, pulling out a cigarette and your lighter.

A practiced flick, a small flame, and the quiet inhale.

You let the smoke sit in your lungs for a second before exhaling slowly, watching it curl into the night air. It feels like exhaling everything else, too. 

Nancy’s voice, Steve’s stupid grin, the constant feeling of being just slightly out of place in your own house.

From your bag, you pull the small flask, unscrewing the cap with a faint metallic click.

Cheap wine, stolen from the back of your mom's not-so-secret "secret stash" in the back of the kitchen cabinet. You take a quick sip, nose scrunching slightly at the bite, then settle back against the bench.

Book in one hand. A cigarette in the other. Flask resting against your thigh. Perfect.

You actually managed to get through a paragraph this time before—

“Well, shit.”

Your head lifts immediately, eyes narrowing just slightly as you turn toward the voice. He’s leaning against the tree like he’s been there the whole time.

Or like he just appeared.

Leather jacket. Chains catching what little light there is. That messy halo of curls that somehow looks intentional even when it definitely isn’t. And his eyes, wide for a split second, like he didn’t expect to actually see you.

Eddie pushes himself off the tree slowly, hands coming up like he’s been caught doing something he probably shouldn’t be.

“Didn’t mean to—uh,” he gestures vaguely between you, the bench, the cigarette, the whole scene. “Interrupt your… whole vibe you’ve got going on here.”

You stare at him for a second, then another.

Because, yeah, you know him. Everyone knows him. The freak, the drug dealer, the guy parents warn their kids about, like he’s some kind of urban legend. Hellfire Club. Lunch table speeches. The whole thing.

But up close? He’s different. And annoyingly attractive.

You take another slow drag from your cigarette, eyes still on him as you exhale.

“Were you just lurking in the shadows, or is that a new hobby you’re trying out?”

There’s a flicker of something like surprise across his face. Then a grin, crooked and immediate.

“Hey, I prefer the term mysteriously existing,” he says, stepping a little closer but still keeping his distance, like there’s an invisible line he’s not sure he’s allowed to cross. “Lurking sounds way creepier.”

“Debatable.”

He huffs out a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I didn’t think anyone else came out here this late,” he admits, glancing around the empty park before looking back at you.

“Usually just me and my incredibly profound thoughts about, you know, life. And stuff.”

“‘And stuff’, sounds deep,” you deadpan.

“Thank you, I work very hard on my intellectual image.”

Your lips twitch despite yourself.

His eyes flick down briefly, to the book in your hand, the cigarette, the flask, and then back up to your face.

“…You’re Wheeler’s sister.” It’s not a question.

You raise a brow. “Observant.”

He winces, just a little. “Yeah, that came out way less cool than it sounded in my head.”

“You had a cool version of that?”

“Oh, absolutely. Smooth. Mysterious. Possibly British.”

That pulls a small laugh out of you, quicker than you expect. His expression softens at the sound, like he’s quietly relieved.

“I, uh—I’ve seen you around,” he adds, more careful now. “You’re not… like, Nancy.”

You tilt your head slightly. “That obvious?”

He shrugs, a little sheepish. “Not in a bad way. Just—different. You don’t look like you’d survive a pep rally without committing a felony.”

“Bold of you to assume I haven’t.”

That earns you a full laugh this time, loud enough it echoes faintly through the empty park.

“Jesus,” he mutters, grinning. “Okay. Didn’t expect that.”

“Yeah?” you say, taking another sip from your flask, then holding it up slightly. “What did you expect?”

He hesitates, like actually hesitates. Like he’s weighing whether he should say it.

“Honestly?” he says finally, softer now. “I thought you’d be more like Nancy. You are Wheelers, after all.”

You glance away for a second, watching the smoke drift instead of looking at him.

“Funny,” you murmur. “I’ve spent most of my life feeling like the extra Wheeler.”

When you look back at him, something in his expression has changed again.

“Well,” he says, after a beat, shifting his weight as he gestures toward the empty space beside you on the bench, “for what it’s worth… I think the extra Wheeler is way more interesting.”

You hold his gaze for a second longer than necessary. Then you tilt your head slightly toward the empty space beside you.

“Sit,” you say simply.

There’s a flicker of surprise across Eddie’s face, like he wasn’t entirely convinced you’d invite him at all. But he recovers quickly, pushing off the tree and making his way over.

Careful, though; always a little careful. Like he’s still expecting you to change your mind halfway through.

He drops onto the bench, leaving just enough space between you to be polite. You take another drag from your cigarette, then glance at him from the corner of your eye.

“May I?” he asks, nodding toward it. Polite, unexpectedly so.

You raise a brow, studying him for half a second before handing it over without a word.

He takes it carefully, like it’s something more valuable than it is, bringing it to his lips and inhaling. When he exhales, the smoke curls around him, catching in the low light like something almost cinematic.

“Didn’t peg you as the sharing type,” he says, glancing over.

“I’m full of surprises.”

“I’m starting to see that.”

You take a sip from your flask, letting the silence sit comfortably for a moment before…

“I thought you’d be mean,” you admit, eyes forward.

He chokes on a quiet laugh, turning toward you. “Mean?”

“And scary,” you add, finally looking at him. “You know. Cult leader. Devil worship. Sacrificial rituals behind the gym.”

“Ah, yeah, Wednesdays at five,” he nods seriously. “You just missed it.”

Your lips twitch.

“But no,” you continue, softer now, “people talk.”

He shrugs, passing the cigarette back to you.

“People love to talk,” he says. “Usually about shit they don’t understand.”

You take it from him, bringing it back to your lips.

“I thought you were mean too,” he adds after a beat.

That makes you pause. “Me?”

He nods, a little sheepish but not backing down. “Yeah. Thought you’d be one of those—” he gestures vaguely, searching for the word, “intimidating, untouchable types.”

You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head.

“Untouchable,” you repeat, like the word tastes strange.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that,” he says quickly, grinning. “You’ve got the whole thing going on. The hair, the attitude, the—” he motions toward your book, “—mysterious intellectual vibe.”

“Mysterious intellectual vibe,” you echo. “That’s new.”

“I’m workshopping it.”

You glance at him, immediately starting to see beyond the facade. The way he talks with his hands.

The way his eyes flick to you and then away, like he’s trying not to stare too long. The way he’s trying, even when he pretends not to.

“And here I thought you’d be something terrifying,” you say lightly.

“Oh, I am,” he shoots back immediately. “Just not, like… evil terrifying. More… misunderstood terrifying.”

“Tragic,” you murmur.

“Deeply.”

He leans back against the bench, one arm draped along the backrest behind you, not quite touching, but close enough that you feel it.

“You read that stuff for fun?” he asks, nodding toward your book again.

“For a paper,” you say. “But I don’t hate it.”

“Yeah?” he hums. “What’s it about?”

You glance down at the worn cover, then back at him.

“Women being miserable in their perfectly curated suburban lives.”

He snorts. “Sounds familiar.”

You raise a brow. “Oh?”

He gestures vaguely toward the direction of your house. “Big houses, nice lawns, picket fences… everyone pretending they’re not losing their minds.”

You smile, slow and knowing. Your knee shifts just slightly, brushing his for a split second before settling again. Neither of you moves away.

After a moment, he tilts his head toward you, studying you in that not-subtle way of his.

“So,” Eddie starts, voice light, “what’re you doing out here, anyway?”

You hum softly, like you have to think about it, even though you don’t.

“Escaping,” you say, taking a small sip from your flask. “Mrs. Perfect and Mr. Perfect are busy ‘studying’ for chemistry.”

He lets out a quiet snort, already catching on.

“Right,” he nods. “Studying. Very academic of them.”

“Extremely,” you deadpan. “I’m sure there are flashcards involved.”

He grins at that, shaking his head.

“Didn’t he fail chemistry?” he asks, glancing at you.

You turn your head slowly, eyes narrowing just a touch. “Didn’t you?”

His hand flies to his chest like you’ve just mortally wounded him.

“Wow,” he breathes, dramatically offended. “Okay. First of all—rude.”

“Second of all?” you prompt.

“Second of all, I didn’t fail,” he insists. “I simply have a complicated relationship with the American education system.”

“Mhm.”

“It’s mutual,” he adds. “They don’t understand me, I don’t understand them. Very tragic.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head as you look back out toward the empty park.

“Sounds like you just didn’t do the work.”

“Wow,” he repeats, pointing at you now. “You’re really coming for me tonight.”

“You started it.”

“I asked a simple question!”

“And got a simple answer.”

He huffs out a laugh, leaning back again, that crooked smile tugging at his lips.

“You know,” he says, glancing over at you, “you’re actually a lot meaner than your sister.”

“Good.”

That catches him off guard for a split second, then his grin widens.

“Yeah,” he says, a little quieter now. “Yeah, I think I like that.”

You glance at him, just briefly, before looking away again, but there’s a hint of something warmer sitting in your expression now.

Just the two of you, sitting a little closer than before, the space between you shrinking without either of you really acknowledging it.

“You always ditch them like that?” he asks after a moment.

“Pretty much,” you shrug. “I’ve learned my lesson.”

“Which is?”

“That I’m not sticking around to be the accidental third wheel in someone else’s soft-core, soft-porn romance.”

He chokes on a laugh at that, actually coughing a little. “Jesus, okay—yeah, that’s fair.”

You smirk slightly, bringing the flask back to your lips. “Figured you’d understand.”

“Oh, I definitely understand,” he says. “I’ve spent most of high school watching people make terrible decisions in dimly lit rooms.”

“Observation or participation?”

He grins, all teeth this time. “Observation,” he says. “Mostly.”

“Mostly,” you repeat, skeptical.

“Hey,” he lifts his hands in surrender, “I’m a gentleman.”

“Debatable.”

“Wow,” he says again, but he’s laughing now, shaking his head. “You really had me pegged all wrong, huh?”

You glance at him, eyes flicking over his face, the way his hair falls, the way he’s still half-guarded even when he’s joking.

“Maybe,” you admit. Then, softer, “Or maybe I just never actually looked.”

He doesn’t joke this time. Just watches you for a second longer than usual, something a little more thoughtful settling in.

“Well,” he says, after a beat, voice quieter but still warm, “kinda glad you are now.”

“You know,” he says, glancing at you with that crooked grin, “for someone who ditched a perfectly good ‘study session,’ you seem pretty content out here.”

“Perfectly good is generous,” you murmur. “I’m sure they’re doing very rigorous academic work.”

“Yeah,” he nods. “Real hands-on learning.”

You snort softly, shaking your head. “Jealous?” you tease.

“Of Harrington?” he scoffs. “Please. I’ve got way better hair.”

You turn, eyeing him deliberately, letting your gaze drag just enough to make your point.

“…Debatable.”

He freezes for half a second, then laughs under his breath.

“Wow. You wound me.”

“I’m just saying,” you shrug lightly, lips twitching. “The competition’s stiff.”

“Oh, I’m aware,” he says, leaning in just slightly, voice dropping like it’s suddenly just for you. “But I’ve got my strengths.”

Your stomach does something annoying at that.

“Yeah?” you say, lifting a brow.

“Yeah.” He doesn’t elaborate.

You take another sip from your flask, then pause. Tilt it again, nothing. You frown slightly, giving it a little shake like that’s going to magically fix the situation.

“Jesus,” you mutter, squinting into it. “I think I’m drunk.”

You tip it upside down for emphasis; empty, completely.

Eddie watches this unfold, trying very hard not to laugh.

“Yeah,” he says carefully, “I was gonna say, you’ve been hitting that thing like it personally offended you.”

You glance at him, unimpressed. “It did.”

“Of course it did.”

You huff, leaning back again, head tipping slightly toward the sky. The world doesn’t spin, exactly, but it’s looser. You’re also more aware of him next to you in a way that’s hard to ignore.

“C’mon,” he says after a second, gentler now. “I’ll walk you home.”

You turn your head toward him, narrowing your eyes just slightly. “I can walk.”

“I’m sure you can,” he says easily. “But you might end up in, like, Illinois.”

“Tempting.”

“Yeah, but I feel like your sister would hunt me down, and I’m trying to avoid that whole situation.”

“Fine.”

He stands with you immediately, like he was already planning to.

The walk is quiet at first. Your shoulder brushes his once, then again. Halfway down the block, you shiver slightly, the night air finally cutting through.

Without a word, he shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders before you can argue.

It’s warm. Smells faintly like smoke and something distinctly him. You pull it a little tighter around yourself, glancing up at him.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

You walk a little closer after that.

When you reach your house, the lights are low, the whole place quiet in that heavy, late-night way. You hesitate on the lawn for half a second.

“Guess this is me,” you say.

“Guess it is.”

Neither of you moves right away.

“I’ll see you around?” he asks, trying for casual and almost pulling it off.

You look at him, almost astonished at the soft porch light catching in his hair, in his eyes.

“Yeah,” you say. “You will.”

That’s enough for him. He steps back, giving you just enough space to climb back up the trellis, watching until you make it to the window safely.

Inside, it’s dim, quiet. You land softly on the floor, slipping your shoes off immediately. And then—You freeze. Because there they are.

Nancy and Steve, asleep.

You stare at them for a long, unimpressed moment. Nancy curled up against him, Steve half-sprawled like he owned the place.

You blink once, twice. Then you walk over and smack his leg, hard enough to wake him.

“Hey,” you whisper sharply. “Romeo.”

He jolts awake, blinking up at you in confusion. “Jesus—what—?”

“Get out.”

He squints at you, still half-asleep. “What?”

“You heard me,” you say, already moving to pull your jacket off. “Out.”

Nancy stirs beside him, mumbling something incoherent. You glance at her, your expression softening for just a second, then back to Steve.

“Go home,” you tell him, quieter now but no less firm. “Before my dad wakes up and kills you.”

He groans, pushing himself up carefully, trying not to wake Nancy fully.

“Okay, okay,” he mutters. “Hostile environment…”

“Extremely.”

He shoots you a look, but there’s no real bite behind it as he climbs back out the window. You wait until he’s gone before turning back.

Nancy shifts again, pulling the blanket closer. You sigh softly, grabbing it and tugging it up properly around her shoulders.

You stand there for a second, watching her. Then shake your head, muttering under your breath as you grab your things.

“Unbelievable.” But there’s no real heat in it, just habit. And maybe, somewhere underneath it, care.

Monday mornings at Hawkins High always feel louder than they should.

Lockers slam. Someone’s laughing too hard down the hall. The fluorescent lights hum overhead like they’ve got something against you personally. It’s all a little too much, a little too bright, a little too on.

You lean against the row of lockers, shoulder pressed beside Nancy’s as she twists the dial on hers, already mid-conversation with Steve.

“I’m just saying,” Steve is going on, running a hand through his hair like he’s in a shampoo commercial, “if Coach sees the way I’ve been playing lately, captain is basically a done deal.”

Nancy hums, halfway listening, pulling out a notebook. “Unless Billy—”

“—is overrated,” Steve cuts in quickly. “Thank you, Nance, glad you agree.” She gives him a look.

You hum faintly, not really listening, flipping open your book more for something to do than anything else.

“Hey, Wheeler.”

Your stomach drops just slightly, and you look up. Eddie stands a few feet away, trying for casual and only half pulling it off.

His eyes find yours immediately, like they knew exactly where to look.

You straighten just a little. “Munson.”

He nods once, stepping closer, hand coming out of his jacket pocket.

“You, uh… forgot something on Friday,” he says, holding it out.

A ring, one hundred percent one of his. A small smile forms as you look between his face and the ring. You don’t hesitate.

“Right,” you say, like it makes perfect sense, reaching out and taking it from him. “I was wondering where that went.”

There’s the smallest flicker of surprise in his eyes, then he’s grinning.

“Yeah?” he says, playing along instantly. “Figured you might miss it.”

“Sentimental value,” you shrug, slipping it onto your finger like it belongs there. “Can’t just lose things like this.” Your fingers brush his for a second longer than necessary.

Steve is staring. Nancy is staring. Eddie notices.

“Good thing I found it, then,” he says, voice dipping just slightly, something more intentional in it now.

“Good thing,” you echo.

There’s a beat where neither of you looks away. Then he leans back just a fraction, like he’s remembering where he is.

“I’ll, uh, see you around,” he adds, a little softer.

You nod, maybe a little too quickly. “Yeah,” you say. “See you.”

He lingers for half a second longer, then turns, disappearing back into the hallway like he was never there. Except he very much was.

The second he’s out of earshot, “Okay,” Steve says slowly. “What was that?”

You open your book again like nothing happened. “Nothing.”

Nancy doesn’t say anything right away, which is how you know it’s bad.

“…You’re blushing.”

You freeze. “I’m not—”

“You are,” she says, turning fully toward you now, eyes narrowed in disbelief. “Oh, my god.”

“I am not blushing.”

“Your face is totally red.”

“It’s warm in here.”

“It is not warm in here.”

Steve leans in, squinting at you like he’s inspecting evidence. “…You are kind of red.”

You snap your book shut, shooting them both a look. “Can you both relax?”

Nancy crosses her arms, clearly not letting this go. “Since when are you and Eddie Munson—”

“We’re not,” you cut in quickly.

She raises a brow. “Is that not his ring?”

You glance down at your hand. Right. The ring.

“It’s mine,” you say.

Nancy stares at you. Then lets out a short, incredulous laugh.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not—”

“You’re so lying.”

Steve, for once, looks entertained instead of confused. You groan, dragging a hand over your face.

“It’s not a thing.”

“Mhmm.”

“It’s not.”

Nancy just smiles, slow and knowing in a way that makes your stomach twist. “Sure,” she says lightly. “Whatever you say.”

You look back down at your book, trying very hard to focus on the words in front of you.  But all you can think about is the way he looked at you. And the fact that, yeah, you were definitely blushing.

By the end of the day, you feel like this day has wrung you out. The halls are quieter now, lockers hanging open, scraps of conversation echoing as people trickle out. 

You lean against your car in the parking lot, keys dangling from your fingers, watching the last of the crowd filter out like you’re waiting for something. Or someone.

You don’t let yourself think too hard about that part.

“Hey.”

You glance over to see Nancy jogging up to you, bag slung over her shoulder, hair slightly windblown like she’s been rushing.

“Hey.”

She slows when she reaches you, giving you a look, that look, that she’s been giving you all day.

You sigh immediately. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t even say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

She smiles, just a little too pleased with herself.

“Anyway,” she says, shifting her bag, “I’m going with Steve. We have… somewhere to be.”

You stare at her for a second. “Somewhere,” you repeat flatly.

“Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting anything,” you shrug. “I’m just deeply intrigued by this mysterious commitment you both seem to have.”

She rolls her eyes, nudging your arm. “Very funny.”

“Thank you.”

“Can you drive Mike home?”

You blink. “From where?”

“Hellfire.”

You let out a slow breath, already knowing where this is going. “Of course he’s at Hellfire.”

“He needs a ride,” she says, like that explains everything. “And Mom thinks I’m taking him home.”

You turn your head slowly, narrowing your eyes at her. “So you’re not taking him.”

She winces, just slightly. “I would,” she says quickly, “but Steve and I—”

“—have somewhere to be,” you finish for her.

“Exactly.” 

You stare at her, and she smiles. You sigh, long and dramatic, pushing yourself off the car.

“Fine.”

“Thank you,” she says immediately, relief washing over her face.

“You owe me.”

“I know.”

“And if Mom asks, I drove him.”

“Obviously.”

“Hey, Nance?”

She turns back.

“Try actually studying this time.”

She scoffs, cheeks pinkening just slightly. “Shut up.”

You grin, walking towards the school. “Have fun.”

She shakes her head, but she’s smiling as she heads off, already spotting Steve walking towards his car. 

The drama wing is quieter than the rest of the school, tucked far enough away that the noise fades into something distant and dull.

You’re stretched out across one of the benches in the hallway, legs dangling off the side, book resting against your chest.

One arm hangs lazily over your stomach, the other holding your place on the page as you read. Or pretend to read, rather. 

The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, and every now and then, you catch the rise and fall of voices behind the closed drama room doors. Dice clatter. Someone shouts. A chorus of groans follows.

Eventually, the door bursts open.

Noise floods the hallway all at once as a cluster of boys spills out, mid-argument, mid-laugh, mid-everything. Backpacks slung over shoulders, voices overlapping, the energy loud and chaotic in a way that feels entirely contained to them.

“—I’m telling you, that was a terrible move—”

“It was strategic!”

“It got us killed!”

Your eyes don’t lift from the page. Not right away.

“…Holy shit.”

The voice is quieter than the rest. Closer. Your lips twitch faintly as a shadow falls over you.

You don’t move. Don’t look. Not until—

“What are you doing out here, Wheeler?” comes that familiar voice, hovering somewhere just above you.

You tilt your head back slightly, and there he is.

Eddie is leaning over you, hands braced on the bench on either side of your shoulders, curls falling forward just enough to frame his face as he looks down at you.

Upside down, and way too close for it to be casual. Your heart does something annoying. You close your book slowly, using it to nudge lightly against his chest.

“Waiting for my brother,” you say.

His brow lifts. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You always wait like this?” he asks, glancing down at the way you’re sprawled across the bench.

“Comfortably?”

“Dramatically.”

You hum, considering. “Depends who I’m trying to impress.”

A grin pulls at his mouth, slow and crooked. “Well,” he says, leaning just a fraction closer, “it’s working.”

Your breath catches, just for a second. Then you recover, lifting a brow. “Good.”

Behind him, the rest of the group has mostly filtered out, except for one very familiar voice.

“…Oh my god.”

Mike is standing a few feet away, staring at the two of you like he’s just witnessed something deeply disturbing.

“What are you doing here?” he demands.

You don’t break eye contact with Eddie. “Picking you up.”

Mike makes a face. “Why are you—” he gestures vaguely between the two of you, “—like that?”

Eddie glances back over his shoulder, then down at you again, clearly amused.

“Like what?” he asks innocently.

“Like that,” Mike repeats, horrified. “Can you not—like—hover over my sister?”

You finally sit up a little, just enough to ease the situation, not that you really want to.

“Relax, Mike.”

“I am relaxed,” he says immediately. “I just don’t like this. It’s like, gross.”

Eddie straightens, but he doesn’t step far. Still close, still in your space in a way that feels intentional now.

“Your sister’s cool,” he says, like that’s supposed to help.

Mike groans. “Great. Awesome. That makes it worse.”

You snort softly, slipping your book back into your bag as you stand. “Ready to go?” you ask him.

“Yes,” he says quickly. “Right now. Immediately.”

You glance back at Eddie, just for a second. He’s already looking at you, naturally. 

“I’ll see you around,” he says, a little quieter now.

You tilt your head, a small smile pulling at your lips.

“Yeah,” you reply. “You will.”

Mike makes another deeply pained noise behind you. “Can we please go?”

You roll your eyes, wrapping your arm around his shoulder as you head down the hall. 

The house is quiet in that familiar, late-night way. Floorboards creak if you step in the wrong spot. The hallway light hums faintly. Somewhere downstairs, the TV is still on low, your dad having inevitably fallen asleep in his chair.

You’re in bed: book open, lamp on, and not reading a single word. Because your attention keeps drifting to the window. You don’t know why you’re expecting anything. You just are.

A soft tap finally comes, barely there, like whoever’s outside isn’t entirely sure they should be. Your head lifts immediately. You sit up, already moving toward the window, pushing the curtain aside, and then you blink.

Because it’s not who you expected.

Steve is perched outside your window like he owns the place, one arm braced on the sill, looking far too comfortable for someone breaking in.

He grins the second he sees you. “Hey.”

You just stare at him. “…You’ve got the wrong Wheeler.”

He laughs quietly. “Yeah, I know. Nancy said to come around back, but the window was closer.”

“Shocking,” you deadpan. “Truly.”

He glances past you into the room. “Is she awake?”

You jerk your thumb toward the hallway. “Bathroom.”

“Perfect.”

He starts to climb in, and then another voice cuts in from below.

“…You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

Both of you freeze. You lean out slightly, looking down, and there he is.

Eddie, halfway hidden in the shadows near the base of the trellis, looks up with a mix of disbelief and something that looks a lot like irritation.

Steve squints down at him. “…Munson?”

Eddie gestures vaguely upward. “Yeah. Hi. Didn’t realize there was, like, a schedule.”

You press your lips together, fighting the urge to laugh.

Steve, meanwhile, straightens slightly, fully committing to the bit.

“Occupied,” he says, nodding toward the window like he’s guarding it.

Eddie blinks. “Occupied,” he repeats flatly.

“Occupied,” Steve confirms.

Eddie lets out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Wow. Okay. That’s—yeah. That’s great.”

You lean further out the window now, resting your elbows on the sill.

“You gonna stand down there all night, or…?”

His eyes flick up to you immediately, expression shifting the second he sees you.

“Depends,” he says. “You planning on making this a double booking situation?”

Steve scoffs. “Absolutely not.”

You roll your eyes, pushing yourself back from the window. “Hold on.”

Steve looks at you. “What are you—”

“Don’t fall,” you say dryly, already heading for your door.

You slip into the hallway, quiet and quick, knocking once on the bathroom door.

Nancy’s voice comes through, muffled. “What?”

“Your boyfriend’s here,” you hiss.

“Just let him in!”

“Gladly.”

You head back, swinging your window open wider. “Alright, Romeo,” you say, gesturing Steve inside. “You’re clear for entry.”

He grins, climbing in as he’s done a hundred times before.

“Much appreciated.”

You glance out the window again, and Eddie’s still there. You hold his gaze for a second, then tilt your head, just slightly. Meet me.

His mouth quirks immediately, like he gets it without you saying a word.

You slip out of your room, quieter this time, grabbing your jacket on the way and easing down the stairs. The back door clicks softly behind you as you step out into the night.

He’s already there when you round the corner of the house, leaning against his van.

“Didn’t realize I had competition,” he says as you approach.

“Relax,” you reply. “He’s here for Nancy.”

“Yeah, I figured,” he mutters. “Still rude.”

You laugh softly, pulling your jacket tighter around you. “What were you even doing here?”

He shrugs. “Drove by. Thought I’d see if the mysterious, intellectual, ring-stealing Wheeler was around.”

You smirk slightly. “Lucky you.”

“Very,” he says, pushing off the van and stepping closer.

“Wanna get outta here?” he asks.

You glance back at the house once, lights low, everything quiet, then back at him.

“…Yeah.”

His grin spreads, quick and bright. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

That’s all it takes. He moves around to the passenger side, pulling the door open for you like it’s second nature.

You climb in, settling onto the worn seat, the familiar smell of smoke and leather wrapping around you again.

“Where to?” you ask.

He glances over at you as he starts the engine. “My place,” he says. “If you’re not too scared.”

You lean back, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I think I’ll survive.”

Eddie’s van crunches to a stop in front of his place, engine ticking as it cools. You don’t move right away, and neither does he.

Then he glances over, a small grin pulling at his mouth. “Home sweet home.”

You look out the window, taking it in. “Cute,” you say lightly.

He snorts. “Wow. Brutal.”

“I mean it,” you add, pushing the door open. “It has character.”

“Yeah,” he mutters, climbing out on his side. “That’s what people say when they’re trying to be nice.”

You round the front of the van, bumping the door shut with your hip. “I’m always nice.”

“Liar.” You smile.

Inside, his room is exactly what you expected, and not, all at once.

Dim lighting, a clutter of tapes and records, a guitar leaned against the wall, posters layered over each other like they’ve been there forever. It smells faintly like smoke, like him.

“Make yourself at home,” he says, tossing his keys down somewhere without looking.

You do, dropping onto his bed like you’ve been here before, shrugging off his jacket but not moving it too far from you.

He notices, and there’s a moment where he just… looks at you. Then he shakes himself out of it, moving toward the small table, rummaging around before pulling out a joint and a lighter.

He glances back over his shoulder. “You smoke?”

You lift a brow. “You’ve seen me smoke.”

“Yeah, cigarettes,” he says, holding it up. “This is different.”

You tilt your head, considering for half a second before, “Depends,” you say. “You offering?”

His grin comes back immediately. “Always.”

He crosses the space between you, dropping down onto the bed beside you. Not too close, but definitely closer than before. Close enough that your knees almost brush.

He lights it, takes the first drag, then passes it over. Your fingers brush again. It seems to be becoming a pattern.

You bring it to your lips, inhaling slowly, the smoke harsher, heavier than what you’re used to. You cough a little on the exhale, turning your head away slightly.

He laughs softly. “Easy, Wheeler.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, though there’s no bite to it, handing it back.

“I warned you.”

“You did not.”

“I implied.”

“Poorly.”

He grins, taking another drag. The room settles into something slower after that, quieter. You lean back onto his bed, head tipping slightly as you watch him from the side.

“What?” he asks, catching you.

“Nothing.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You’re just…” You trail off, like you’re not sure you want to say it.

“Just what?”

You shrug, lips twitching. “Not what I expected.”

“Yeah?” he says, echoing you from earlier, a little softer now.

“Yeah.”

He studies you for a second, then leans back too, mirroring you without realizing it. “Can I ask you something?” he says.

“Depends.”

“Are you and Nancy, like…” he gestures vaguely between his own face, “identical twins?”

You choke. Actually choke this time, coughing hard as the smoke catches in your throat.

“Oh my—are you serious?” you manage between coughs.

He’s already laughing, hand coming up instinctively like he might help, then stopping himself.

“What? It’s a valid question!”

“It’s not,” you insist, wiping under your eye. “Have you seen us?”

“I have!” he says defensively. “You look similar!”

“Barely!”

“Okay, not identical identical,” he amends quickly. “But like close enough that I had to check.”

You shake your head, laughing despite yourself. “God, no. We’re just twins.”

“Fraternal,” he says, nodding like he’s learned something important.

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you, I try.”

“You’re definitely the cooler one,” he adds.

You glance at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t let her hear you say that.”

“Oh, I absolutely won’t,” he says. “I value my life.”

You laugh again, softer this time, the sound lingering between you. The joint passes back and forth, slower now. Your shoulders brush, then stay. Neither of you moves away.

At some point, your hand ends up resting on the space of the mattress between you, and his is already there. Fingers close enough to touch, but not quite. 

“You know,” he says quietly, eyes flicking down to your hand, then back up, “you’re not what I expected either.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His voice has changed.

You turn toward him fully now, closer than before, without really deciding to be.

“What did you expect?” you ask.

He hesitates, not in a joking way, but in a real way.

“Like… I shouldn’t even bother.”

That does something to you; something warm and a little dangerous. You shift just slightly closer, your knee brushing his, staying there.

“Maybe you should’ve,” you say, just as quietly. His breath catches; you can see it. Hell, you can feel it.

The space between you shrinks without either of you naming it. His eyes flick to your lips, then back up. Like he’s asking. Like he’s not sure.

But you don’t pull away. You don’t say anything. You just stay, gaze meeting his. That’s all the permission he needs. He leans in slowly, giving you time to stop him. You don’t.

The kiss is soft at first, careful. Like he’s still half convinced you might disappear if he moves too fast.

Your hand lifts without thinking, brushing against his jaw, steadying him as you kiss him back, just as gentle, just as unsure for a split second.

Then less unsure, then not unsure at all. His hand finds your waist, light, grounding. The room feels smaller, warmer. Everything else fades out a little.

When you pull back, it’s not far. Foreheads almost touching, breath still uneven.

“…Not scary,” you murmur.

He huffs a soft laugh, eyes still on yours. “Told you.”

You smile, just barely. “Maybe I was wrong about you.”

“Maybe,” he says, just as softly. But he doesn’t move away, and neither do you. Instead, he lifts your chin and brings your lips to his again.

The kiss lingers, softer than you expected, but it quickly turns deeper. Eddie’s hand stays at your waist, fingers pressing in like he’s grounding himself.

You shift closer on the bed, one leg sliding over his, and the old mattress groans loudly under you both. He laughs against your mouth, the sound low and rough.

“Fuckin’ bed,” he mutters, not pulling away. “Always cockblocking me.”

You snort, nipping at his bottom lip. “Then shut up and do something about it.”

His eyes darken. “Bossy. I like it.”

Clothes come off in that messy, uncoordinated way that makes everything feel more real.

Your shirt catches on your earring; Eddie curses under his breath and helps untangle it, nearly elbowing you in the face in the process. 

When you tug his Hellfire shirt over his head, his hair gets caught in the collar, and he has to shake it free like a wet dog.

You both end up laughing quietly, but the laughter dies fast when your hands slide over his bare chest, tracing the tattoos on his chest and the line of hair disappearing into his jeans.

Eddie pushes you back onto the pillows, mouth trailing hot and wet down your neck. He’s not gentle exactly, he sucks a mark just below your collarbone that’ll definitely be there tomorrow. 

But there’s a hesitation in the way his hands move, like he’s still half-waiting for you to tell him to fuck off.

When he finally gets your jeans and underwear down, they snag around one ankle. He yanks a little too hard, and you nearly knee him in the shoulder.

“Shit—sorry,” he mumbles, tossing them somewhere toward the floor.

He settles between your thighs, broad shoulders spreading you open. For a second, he just looks, pupils blown, then glances up at you with that signature smirk. “You good?”

You nod, breath already uneven. “Yeah. Just… don’t overthink it.”

He huffs a laugh. “Me? Overthink? Never.”

Then his mouth is on you.

The first lick is experimental, a little too broad, but when your hips twitch, and you let out a shaky breath, he figures it out quickly.

He gets messier and more eager, tongue dragging through your folds, circling your clit with sloppy enthusiasm. 

One hand grips your thigh hard enough to leave marks, the other presses flat on your stomach, holding you down when you start to squirm.

Every time you moan, he hums against you like he’s proud of himself, the vibration shooting straight through your core.

“Shit, you taste good,” he mumbles, pulling back just enough to speak, lips brushing your folds. “Thinking about me often?”

You tug his hair, hips rolling against his face. “Nope,” but the breathy moan you just exhaled gives you away instantly. 

Eddie chuckles darkly, the sound muffled against your pussy. “Liar. You’re soaked. I can feel how bad you want it.”

He licks a slow stripe up your center, then sucks your clit into his mouth, tongue flicking in tight circles that make your back arch off the bed.

You’re panting now, one hand fisted in his messy curls, the other twisted in the sheets.

He slides two fingers into you without warning, curling them just right, and the sudden stretch pulls a louder moan from your throat.

“That’s it,” he groans, voice rough. “Make those pretty sounds for me.”

He picks up the pace, fingers thrusting deep and steady while his mouth works your clit relentlessly.

He’s completely lost in it, groaning and cursing softly against your skin like eating you out is the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

You can feel yourself getting close, thighs starting to tremble around his head. Every time your hips jerk, he presses you down harder, refusing to let you escape the overwhelming pleasure.

“Eddie—” you gasp, voice breaking.

He pulls back just enough to look up at you, eyes dark and mouth slick. His fingers keep moving, slow and deep, dragging it out on purpose. “Yeah? You close already? Let me taste you, sweetheart.”

The filthy words in that smug voice push you right to the edge. You nod frantically, tugging his hair harder.

“Then do it,” he says, voice dropping lower. “Come for me.”

He dives back in, sucking your clit hard while his fingers curl against that perfect spot inside you. The orgasm hits you hard: thighs clamping around his head, back bowing off the bed as you moan his name, hips grinding against his face. 

Eddie doesn’t stop, licking you through every pulse and aftershock, groaning like he’s the one coming.

Only when you start twitching and weakly pushing at his head does he finally ease off, kissing the inside of your thigh softly before crawling back up your body. 

His mouth finds yours in a messy, desperate kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. He’s rock hard against your thigh, still trapped in his jeans, grinding down once without thinking.

“Fuck,” he breathes against your lips, voice hoarse. “You’re dangerous.”

You reach between you, palming him through the denim, and he hisses, hips jerking into your touch. “Then take these off already, or I’m doing it for you.”

Eddie laughs, low and ragged, sitting back on his knees to fumble with his belt. His cock springs free, flushed dark and leaking at the tip. He strokes himself once, eyes locked on you with that hungry, slightly dazed look.

He leans back over you, one hand braced beside your head, the other guiding himself between your legs. The head of his cock nudges hot and blunt against your entrance, and he pauses, breathing hard, forehead pressed to yours.

“You sure?” he asks, voice rough but surprisingly gentle underneath the usual bravado. “We can stop if—”

You wrap your legs around his waist and pull him closer. “I said take them off, not talk me out of it. Fuck me already, Eddie.”

That’s all the permission he needs. He pushes in slowly, both of you groaning at the stretch. He’s not small, and you’re still sensitive from coming, body shaking under him.

He pushes in slowly, both of you groaning at the stretch. He’s thick, and you’re still sensitive—he rocks his hips in shallow little thrusts until he’s fully seated, hips flush against yours. For a moment, he just stays there, panting against your neck.

“Shit… you feel incredible,” he mutters.

Then he starts moving, slow, deep rolls of his hips at first, like he’s savoring it. The old bed creaks with every thrust, but he quickly finds a steady rhythm, pulling almost all the way out before sinking back in. 

He lasts longer than you expected, changing pace whenever he feels himself getting too close, slowing down, grinding deep, sometimes just holding still inside you while he kisses your neck and catches his breath.

One hand slides between you, thumb rubbing messy circles over your clit. His mouth stays on your skin, sucking marks along your collarbone and the top of your breast, murmuring rough, broken praise between kisses.

“Taking me so fucking well… look at you,” he groans, hips snapping harder for a moment before he forces himself to slow again. “You’re gonna kill me, Wheeler.”

You come again with his thumb on your clit and his cock dragging perfectly inside you, clenching tight around him.

Eddie curses, hips stuttering, but he doesn’t let himself go yet. He fucks you through it, slower now, drawing it out until your breathing evens.

Only when you’re boneless and trembling does he finally let go. His thrusts deepen, a little erratic, his grip tightening on your hip.

“Fuck—gonna come,” he warns, voice strained. You hum in approval, locking your lips around his neck to send him over the edge.

He thrusts deep a few more times and comes with a low, guttural groan, hips pressed tight against yours as he spills into you, pulsing hot and deep.

He rides it out with lazy little rocks until he finally collapses half on top of you, both of you slick with sweat and breathing hard.

For a long moment, there’s just the sound of your breathing.

Eddie eventually lifts his head, hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, and gives you a lazy, satisfied grin.

He presses a soft kiss to your shoulder, then shifts so he’s not crushing you, though he stays buried inside you for a little longer, like he doesn’t want to pull out yet.

His eyes drift over your neck and chest, and his expression shifts, something between smug and sheepish.

“Shit…” he mutters, thumb gently brushing over one of the darker marks he left on your collarbone.

 “I, uh… got a little carried away with the hickies. Sorry about that.” He winces, but there’s a soft laugh in his voice. “You’re gonna look like you got attacked by a vampire. Nancy’s gonna kill me if she sees these.”

You snort, still catching your breath, and run your fingers through his messy curls. “You didn’t exactly hold back.”

“I know, I know.” He leans in and kisses the worst of the marks gently, almost apologetically, then rests his forehead against yours. 

“They look kinda hot on you, though. Like… property of Eddie Munson or something.”

He pauses, realizing how that sounded, and his cheeks flush a little. “Okay, that was fucking stupid. Ignore me, please.”

You laugh softly, the sound warm between you, and tug him down for a slow, lazy kiss. He melts into it immediately, one hand cupping your face like you’re something precious.

When you pull back, you smirk. “You’re such a dork.” 

For a while, neither of you says anything. The air in the trailer is warm, heavy, quiet except for the sound of your breathing slowly evening out.

Eddie shifts slightly, careful this time, easing his weight so he’s not crushing you, but he doesn’t go far.

Doesn’t want to. He stays close, really close, one arm draped loosely over your waist like it just belongs there now.

Your fingers are still tangled in his hair, lazily combing through the damp curls at the nape of his neck.

He lets out a soft breath at that, eyes fluttering shut for a second like he didn’t realize how much he needed it.

“…You trying to put me to sleep?” he mumbles.

“Maybe,” you murmur back. “You seem like you could use it.”

“Rude,” he says automatically, but there’s no bite to it. “I was performing.”

You huff out a quiet laugh, thumb brushing over his cheek. “Yeah, Munson. Stellar performance.”

“Thank you,” he says, voice a little smug now. “I aim to please.”

You roll your eyes, but your hand doesn’t leave him. He tilts his head slightly, looking up at you properly now, softer than before.

“You okay?” he asks, quieter.

You nod, just as softly. “Yeah.”

There’s a moment where he just studies your face, like he’s making sure you mean it. Then his expression shifts again, lighter this time, a crooked smile pulling at his mouth.

“Good,” he says. “Would’ve hated for my big moment to be a total disaster.”

“Your big moment?” you echo.

“Yeah,” he nods seriously. “Gonna go down in Hawkins history.”

“Oh, absolutely,” you deadpan. “I’m sure there’ll be a plaque.”

“Hey,” he points at you lazily, “you’re laughing. That means I did something right.”

You are laughing. You shift slightly, tucking yourself a little closer into him without thinking. Your leg hooks loosely over his, your head finding a spot against his shoulder that feels easy.

He stills for half a second, then relaxes into it. Like he’s trying not to make a big deal out of the fact that you chose to fuck him and stay.

His fingers trace slow, absent patterns along your side, not pushing, not rushing anything. 

“You always like this after?” he asks after a minute, voice quieter again.

“Like what?”

“Cute. Cozy. No ‘tude?”

You glance up at him. There’s a hint of something real under that question. You shrug slightly, fingers still playing with his hair.

“Depends who I’m with.”

That earns you a small smile. “Guess I’m lucky, then.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late.”

You both fall quiet again. Eventually, you let out a soft breath and sit up, stretching slightly as reality starts to creep back in.

“I should go,” you say, glancing toward the clock like you already know it’s late.

Eddie groans quietly, flopping back against the mattress.

“Or,” he offers, “you could not do that.”

“Tempting,” you admit, sliding off the bed to gather your clothes. “But I’d like to survive the rest of the week.”

“Fair.”

He props himself up on his elbows, watching you as you get dressed, not even trying to hide it.

“Eyes up here.”

“No promises.”

“Eddie.”

He grins, completely unashamed. “Worth a shot.”

You shake your head, but you’re smiling. By the time you’re ready, he’s pulled on his jeans, grabbing his jacket again like it’s second nature.

“I’ll take you,” he says.

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

The ride back is quieter than before, but not in a bad way. Your hand rests between the seats, and at some point, his fingers brush yours, then they stay.

When he pulls up outside your house, the engine idles for a second longer than necessary.

“You good?” he asks again.

You nod. “Yeah.”

“I’ll see you around?”

You glance at him, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“Yeah,” you say. “You will.”

You open the door, then pause, shooting him one last look, debating your actions. Then, you tilt your head back, landing a soft kiss on his cheek.

He turns his head down to face you, stunned, then that usual smirk grows once more. 

“Yeah, I’m definitely seeing you again.”

“You’re an idiot.”

Inside, the room is not quiet. You barely close the window before Nancy’s voice cuts through your soul.

“Oh, my god, finally.”

You freeze and slowly turn.

Nancy’s sitting up in bed, wide awake. And Steve is right beside her, looking way too present for someone who was definitely supposed to leave hours ago.

You stare at them. They stare at you.

“…Hi,” you say.

Nancy’s eyes narrow immediately. “You were gone for a while.”

You sink a little, then immediately point at Steve, “Yeah, and he’s supposed to be gone. It’s 1 a.m!”

“You just got back,” she retorts.

“I live here. He does not.”

Steve leans forward, squinting at you. “…Whoa.”

You blink. “What?”

He points. “Your neck.”

Your hand flies up instinctively. Nancy’s eyes follow the movement, and then widen.

“Oh my god,” she breathes. “Are those—”

“No,” you say immediately.

“They are,” Steve cuts in, already grinning.

“They are not.”

“They are so hickeys,” he says, delighted.

Nancy scrambles off the bed, grabbing your arm and pulling you toward the mirror. “Let me see—”

“Nancy—”

“Oh my god,” she laughs, covering her mouth. “You’re covered!”

“I am not covered.”

“You absolutely are,” Steve calls from behind you. “Munson really went for it, huh?”

You whip around. “Shut up.”

He holds his hands up, still grinning. “Hey, I’m just saying, respect.”

Nancy is still staring at you like she’s just unlocked the biggest secret in Hawkins.

“You and Eddie Munson?” she says, half shocked, half impressed. “You’re the one blushing earlier and now this—”

“I was not blushing.”

“You were.”

“You’re deflecting,” Steve adds helpfully.

You groan, dragging your hands down your face. “Can you both not do this right now?”

“Nope,” Nancy says immediately.

“Absolutely not,” Steve agrees.

You look between them, already exhausted. “…I hate both of you.”

Nancy just smiles. “Yeah,” she says lightly. “But you had fun.”

You pause, just for a second, and that’s all they need.

“Oh my god,” Steve says. “She did.”

“I’m going to bed,” you announce, already moving to shove him toward the window.

“Hey—hey!” Steve protests, laughing.

“Out,” you snap, pointing. “Now.”

Nancy is still smiling as she climbs under the covers. “This is not over.”

“It is for tonight.”

Steve pauses halfway out, shooting you one last grin.

“Munson, huh? Didn’t see that coming.”

“Goodnight, Steve.”

Morning comes too fast. You’re awake before the alarm. Not because you want to be, but because your brain won’t shut the fuck up.

You’re flat on your back, staring at the ceiling, one arm tucked behind your head, the other resting over your stomach like you’re trying to physically hold yourself still. It doesn’t work, by the way.

Because every time you close your eyes, it’s him.

The way he looked at you. The way he laughed. The way his hands felt, the way his voice dropped when he got quiet, the way his face looked between your thighs…It’s annoying. Deeply.

You groan softly, dragging a hand over your face.

“You’re thinking so loud right now.”

Your head turns. Nancy is propped up on her elbow, watching you like she’s been awake for a while.

“You can’t hear thinking,” you mutter.

“I can when it’s this dramatic.”

You roll your eyes, staring back up at the ceiling. “Go back to sleep.”

“No,” she says simply. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“Nothing’s going on.”

“Mhmm.”

Silence stretches for exactly three seconds.

“…It’s Eddie.”

You immediately regret saying it.

Nancy’s face lights up. “I knew it.”

“You didn’t know it.”

“I absolutely knew it.”

You turn your head, narrowing your eyes at her. “You didn’t know anything.”

“You were blushing at your locker.”

“I was not—”

“You had hickeys.” You freeze.

She raises a brow. “…Continue.”

“Shut up.” You say, but there’s no real bite to it. 

“Okay, okay,” she says, still grinning. “So what? You hooked up. That doesn’t mean you have to—”

“It’s not just that,” you cut in, quieter now.

That makes her pause. “…Then what is it?”

You hesitate, picking at a loose thread on your blanket. “I don’t know,” you admit finally. “He’s just not what I expected.”

Nancy softens, just a little. “Different?”

“Yeah.”

“How?”

You exhale, frustrated with yourself.

“He’s not trying to impress anyone. He’s not pretending. He just is.” You shake your head slightly. “And it’s… kind of hot. But, I dunno. You know what people say about him."

Then Nancy smiles. “Then go for it.”

You blink at her. “What?”

“Go for it,” she repeats. “He obviously likes you.”

You scoff automatically. “You don’t know that.”

She just looks at you.

“You don’t bring someone home, give them your jacket, and then show up at their locker with a fake excuse to talk to them if you don’t like them. And, the hickeys are like, a dead giveaway.” 

You hesitate. “…Okay, yeah. Maybe.”

“Maybe,” she echoes.

“Fine,” you sigh. “He does.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

You don’t answer because you don’t have one.

Nancy nudges your leg with her foot. “You don’t have to marry him,” she says, softer now. “Just… try.”

You sit with that. Long enough that it starts to feel like a decision instead of a suggestion. Then you swing your legs over the side of the bed.

Nancy’s brows lift immediately. “…What are you doing?”

“I don’t know,” you say, already standing. “Something impulsive.”

“That checks out.”

You move to your side of the closet, pulling it open and immediately frowning.

“Why do I have nothing to wear?”

Nancy snorts. “You have everything to wear.”

“I have nothing appropriate.”

“For what?” she asks.

You pause. “…I don’t know yet.”

She gets up, walking over and pushing past you to start flipping through your clothes.

“Okay, not that,” she mutters. “Definitely not that. Oh—wait—this.”

She pulls something out and holds it up. You eye it.

“…Really?”

“Yes, really,” she says. “It’s still you, just… slightly less chaotic.”

“I’m not chaotic.”

“You’re curated chaos.”

“Same thing.”

“Not even close.”

You take it anyway. You get dressed faster than you want to admit, checking yourself in the mirror once, then again, adjusting something small that didn’t need adjusting.

Nancy watches the whole thing. “You’re nervous,” she says.

“I’m not nervous.”

“You’ve fixed your hair four times.”

“I always fix my hair.”

“You’re doing it again.”

“…Stop looking at me.”

She smiles, stepping closer. “For what it’s worth,” she says, softer now, “he’d be an idiot not to like you.”

“…Thanks.”

She nods once. “Go!”

You grab your jacket and leave before you can overthink it. The drive feels shorter than it should. Or maybe you’re just not paying attention.

Before you know it, you’re pulling up to the trailer, engine idling as you stare at the door.

You could leave. You could absolutely just turn around and pretend this never happened, but you don’t. You exhale, pushing the car door open and stepping out before you can change your mind.

The gravel crunches under your shoes as you walk up, each step louder than the last. You knock once, twice.

A pause, then the door swings open, and there he is.

Eddie, hair a mess, shirt halfway on like he just dragged it over his head, eyes still heavy with sleep, and then he sees you. And freezes.

“…Wheeler?”

You don’t give yourself time to think. You tilt your head slightly, a small, confident smile pulling at your lips.

“Come on, Munson,” you say.

His brows knit together, still catching up. “What?”

“You’re taking me on a date.”

IM SO OBSESSED WITH THIS OKAY!?!? IM SORRY HELLO???

anyways....let me know if you want more, yk me and how I love making everything into a series LMAO

beasbuggies:

@bitterestwillow, @kozume-ko, @obsessed-eddie, @doomdabss, @julxsxx, @leelei1980@hexqueensupreme @ches-86 @plaidamoosette @bobiverses @meadows-of-asphodel @whitakerstorm @dreamerjj @sariahs-stuff

[lesservillain]

Track 01. Bad Reviews—ft. Post Season 4!Eddie Munson

track summary: A meet cute leads to getting his number, which leads to spending time together, which leads to more. But will his scars and mysterious past scare you away from a good man?

cw: smut, angst, fluff (we got it all here baby) season 4 canon divergent (Eddie lives!), virgin!Eddie, Eddie is self conscious, reader is not from Hawkins, Eddie being ostracized by Hawkins

wc: 6.2k

a/n: this is the song that inspired me asking for Sabrina requests! It’s loosely based on the song, but I did get inspo from it to write this, so please enjoy :)

request: DJ’s choice!

There was a really hot guy standing in front of you.

It wasn’t like hot guys didn’t come to the movies, but this one looked like he was full of piss and vinegar standing on the other side of your candy counter. Unfortunately that’s how you liked them though, plus the whole metal head aesthetic really got you going.

”Do you have a phone I can use?” He grumbles, not really looking at you.

“Oh, yeah, down there,” you say, pointing to the payphone on the wall at the end of the counter. He follows your finger and you watch his shoulders deflate. You instantly think maybe he meant a phone he doesn’t have to pay to use, but before you could correct the situation he was already walking away.

”Eddie!” You suddenly hear as your little coworker, Dustin, rushes up to the man with his broom and pan in his hands. “Everything okay? You don’t usually come inside.”

Ah, so this is the infamous Eddie that Dustin always talks about. He sounded like a great guy by the way he described him, but he omitted the part where his friend was a total hottie. Maybe you could get Dustin to give a good word about you to his grumpy friend.

”The damn van shit out,” you hear Eddie explain, “I’m gonna call Jeff and see if he can come give me a jump.”

”I can give you a jump,” you say, drawing both the boys' attention.

“Really?” Dustin says with a big grin. Eddie seems less amused, looking at you out of the corner of his eyes.

”Oh yeah, I have cables in my car,” you say with a psh. “Go let Greg know I’m gonna give you a jump.”

Dustin gives a small salute before running off toward your manager’s office, leaving you and Eddie alone. He doesn’t say anything at first, just sort of standing there with his hands in his pockets. You try and think of something to say, but he does end up speaking up before you can.

”Thanks for the offer…” He says lowly, still not looking at you.

”Yeah, of course,” you say as if it’s no big deal. “Gotta make sure my favorite coworker gets home okay.”

”He’s your favorite?” Eddie says as if he can’t believe it.

”Oh, yeah, that kid keeps me entertained for our entire shift. Major talker,” you tell him, and you see a smile cracking.

”That’s definitely Dustin,” he says with a small chuckle. “Kid never doesn’t have anything to say.”

”He’s told me some stuff about you, too,” you say, hoping that would open up some avenue of conversation. But Eddie goes rigid, turning away from you briefly before fully facing you.

”I can only imagine what he has said about me,” Eddie says with a tight lipped smile.

”Pretty good things, actually,” you say, looking up as you think back to all the stuff Dustin has told you about Eddie. But before you can list anything off, Dustin is rushing back and giving the thumbs up from Greg.

That leads the 3 of you outside, your car front to front with Eddie’s as he attaches the jumper cables to the two batteries. You and Dustin stand there shivering as you watch Eddie do this, but you’re more focused on the man for a different reason. You almost feel like a Victorian man when you see a small sliver of tummy when Eddie’s shirt rides up as he reaches into his van. But you must be strong, at least for now.

The two boys talk while they let the battery have a chance to charge. Eventually Eddie climbs inside the driver side, turning the key a few times before the engine finally roars to life. You clap excitedly as Dustin jumps up and down, both of you cheering for Eddie’s successful jump.

”She’s alive!” Dustin shouts when Eddie climbs back out of the van.

”Yeah, we better get going before it happens again,” Eddie says, motioning for Dustin to get inside.

“Got it,” Dustin says, thanking you and giving you a hug before climbing into the van’s passenger seat. You watch as Eddie unhooks your cars from each other. He walks over to you and gives you the cables, a big grin on his face.

”Thanks again.”

”Anytime,” you say, giving him a smile back. “I take cash and personal checks.” Your joke makes Eddie laugh, and it’s probably the cutest thing you’ve ever heard.

“I don’t know about money, but I can try and figure out something to pay you back,” he says, rubbing his neck. His hand pushing his hair out of the way exposes a big scar that runs from his right cheek all the way down to his neck. You didn’t mean to look, but it just happened to catch your attention. Eddie noticed this, pulling his hair in front of his face to hide it.

”Well,” you say, your eyes back on his, “I can think of something you can do to pay me back.”

He squints his eyes at you, like he’s trying to figure out what you’re going to say before you say it. “And what would that be?”

”You can give me your number.”

Eddie’s brown eyes go wide, and you think you can see a tint of pink in his cheeks even in the light of your headlights on him. He clears his throat before turning away from you, closing himself off.

”You don’t want that,” he says in a pitiful tone.

”Um, I definitely do,” you say, not backing down. “Look, I’m going to be up front with you Eddie. You’re, like, exactly my type.” This makes Eddie’s eyes go wide again, unable to believe the words you’re saying. “And with all the stuff Dustin’s told me about you, I think we would get along really well.”

”I don’t know—“

”I’m not going to make you, but I don’t think you’ll regret it. Even if you’re self conscious or—"

“I’m not self concious…” he says, but you don’t believe him.

”Well, I think you’re really cute, and I would really like to get to know you more, so…”

Eddie stops for a moment, looking like he might be thinking it over. After a beat of silence, you’re sure he’s going to reject you.

“Do you have a pen?” He finally says, and you perk up instantly.

”Yeah! Hold on—“ You get in your car and pull a pen from your school bag, handing it to him and an old receipt that you had laying in your console. He takes the items from you hesitantly, and you watch as he writes his phone number down on the paper.

Once he’s done, he hands you back the paper and pen. You look over the scrap paper and can’t help but burst out into laughter, making Eddie look at you like you’re crazy.

”What?” He asks with a confused giggle.

”You have awful handwriting,” you laugh, wiping your eyes. “Is that supposed to be a nine or a four?”

Eddie looks at the paper and scoffs with faux offense. “It’s a four, thank you very much.”

”Okay, okay, if you say so,” you say, smiling up at him. “But if you don’t hear from me it’s because I’m using the Rosetta Stone to try and translate this chicken scratch.”

”Hey, that’s an artist’s handwriting,” he says defensively. He starts pretending like he’s going to take the paper from you, making you back away from him playfully.

“Well, you can tell me all about your artistry when I call you…tonight?” You look at him to see if that was too soon, but he simply nods, making you feel relieved.

”Talk to you tonight then, Princess,” he says, giving you an exaggerated bow before leaving you to get back into the van. You don’t waste any time climbing back into your car so you can get out of his way, but you don’t miss the way Dustin is absolutely terrorizing Eddie for him giving you his number as they start to drive away.

With a new sense of excitement, you reenter the workplace to see Trevor standing at your counter to cover for you. He gives you a quick hey when you round the counter to take your spot back.

”Did you get Henderson’s ride going?” He asks, stealing a piece of popcorn from the maker.

”Yeah, but I don’t know how far Eddie’s van is going to get before breaking down again,” you say leaning up against the counter. Trevor’s face scrunches up and you look at him with a raised brow. “What?”

”Did…that Eddie guy…try anything with you?” Trevor says, as if he’s trying to pick his words carefully.

”No, but I did get his number,” you say, pulling the paper out and waving it triumphantly. Trevor looks at you like you’re crazy, and you’re not sure what the big deal is. “Look, I know he looks a little rough around the edges—“

”Uh, he’s way more than that,” Trevor says, looking around. Then he takes a step closer, whispering, “You know what he did, right?”

You try to think if Dustin said Eddie had done anything that justified this kind of reaction from Trevor, but nothing came to mind. ”Nooooo…?”

“He’s a—“

”Trevor, get back to cleaning the empty theatres.” Trevor snaps to see Greg walking over to where the two of you were standing, recoiling at your boss’s sharp tone. He gives you a look before scurrying off to do what Greg ordered him to do.

”Evening boss man,” you say, nodding to Greg as he approaches.

”Did you get everything squared away with Dustin?” He asks with a smile.

”Yup, got his friend’s van going. For how long, I can’t say. But it’s enough to get them home.”

”Good, glad to hear it,” Greg says with a nod. He looks like he wants to say something else, but must have decided against it. “Well, go ahead and get started on your closing tasks. I’ll be out to get register drawers soon.”

You wanted to question Greg, but the idea of getting stuff done so you can go home sounded way more appealing. So you did just that, not wasting a minute to rush out the door when Greg gave you the go ahead to leave.

You’re not even sure how fast you were going, but as soon as you got through the door of your apartment you were bee lining it to the phone. You pulled the paper out of your pocket with Eddie’s number and excitedly dialed it.

It rang a few times, and you were starting to wonder if he was even going to answer. Just when you were about to hang up, a voice on the other side speaks up, sounding winded.

”Hello?” Eddie’s familiar voice says.

”Hi,” you say, unable to keep yourself from smiling.

“Oh hey, movie theatre girl,” he says, sounding surprised you actually called. You give him your name, and he laughs, “I know, Dustin told me all about you on the drive home.”

”That’s not scary at all,” you say, making Eddie laugh.

”He only said good things, I swear,” he clarifies, making you sigh in relief. “You know, I didn’t think you were serious when you said you wanted my number.”

”I don’t know why,” you say with a shy smile in your tone. “You’re, like, really cute n’ stuff.”

”Me?” He says with disbelief. “Sweetheart, I’ve never been told that a day in my life. Well, maybe by some older ladies at the bar, but not by anyone in my dating range.”

”Good, the less competition for me the better,” you say, and you can hear Eddie scoff on the other line.

”I’m getting the feeling like there is little I could say that would make you change your mind about talking to me,” Eddie says skeptically.

“Well, as long as you haven’t killed anybody,” you say sarcastically. You didn’t expect the other end of the phone to go dead quiet, and it admittedly makes you a little nervous. “You haven’t killed anybody, right?”

”Depends on who you ask,” he says without an ounce of humor in his tone.

”I mean, if you did and the other guy deserved it—“

”Let’s just change the subject,” Eddie says, but you file this conversation away for another time.

The two of you do change the subject, and Eddie seems to open up much easier when you ask him about his hobbies and the music he likes. He asks you things about yourself, too, him listening intently as you talk to him. The two of you go on until you can’t stop yawning, and your eyes almost bug out of your head when you realize it’s after 1 am.

”Eddie, as much as I love talking to you, I do have class in the morning I have to go to,” you say to him, half yawning as you do.

”Awe, you love talkin’ to me already?” Eddie says with a flirty tone, making you giggle.

”How many beers did you have that your words are slurring like that?” You ask him, twirling the phone cord around your finger.

”Not many, I’m also just getting sleepy,” he admits, his words punctuated with his own yawn.

“We better get off here then. Can I…call you again tomorrow?” You bite your lip in anticipation of his response. You hear him sarcastically humming on the other line like he’s thinking about it, which only makes you roll your eyes at him.

”I mean, I may have to clear my schedule—“

”And I don’t have to call—“

”No, I’m just joking,” he says like he thinks you meant it. The desperation in his voice makes you giggle.

”I’ll talk to you tomorrow night then,” you tell him.

”Okay cool,” he says giddily. “Oh, if an old guy answers the phone instead of me, that’s just my uncle. I’ll let him know you’ll be calling so he won’t hang up on you.”

”Sounds perfect,” you laugh. It’s quiet for a moment before you finally tell him goodnight. He says the same to you, and you both hesitate before you finally hang up the phone.

Eddie lays under you, your legs straddling his hips as you kiss him into the mattress. It had been a few weeks of you dating, and after some toeing around getting anywhere, you think that Eddie is actually going to take the next step with you tonight. You’d been dropping hints that you were ready for a while, but you didn’t want to rush him into anything, so you’ve been taking things slow.

But tonight was different. You two couldn’t keep your hands off each other, and it finally boiled down to you grabbing Eddie by the hand and leading him to your bedroom. He seemed unsure at first, but he got over it quickly when you climbed into his lap. His hands roamed your body, grabbing at your chest before sliding down to your hips to grind your center against his hard cock that’s fighting against the material of his jeans.

“Mmm, fuck,” you gasp, growing more needy with each passing second.

”Shit, I really want this,” Eddie says, but he almost sounds like he’s fighting himself on something.

”But?” You say, looking down at his pained face.

”I’m afraid…” he swallows.

”What are you afraid of? I’m not going to bite,” you chuckle lightly, trying to sooth him.

”It’s not you, it’s me…” he says, looking away from you.

”What? I know you don’t have a small dick because I can feel you—“ you roll your hips, making him hiss in pleasure from the friction, “—so what could you be so worried about?”

”It’s nothing to do with that,” he says, still not answering you.

You pout at him, rubbing your hands over his chest. “Eddie, I don’t want to do this if you don’t want to—“

”No I do!” He says suddenly. “Trust me, I really, really want this. I’m just—I don’t know if I’m ready for you to see me.”

”See you? Like, your body?” He nods solemnly. “Oh, Eddie,” you coo, leaning down to kiss him. “I highly doubt that whatever you have going on under your clothes is going to scare me.”

”You say that, but you haven’t seen it yet,” he says with a self-deprecating tone.

”Eddie, do you trust me?”

He looks at you, and you watch the gears turning in his head as his face morphs between expressions.

”Yes,” he says after a beat, making you smile.

”Then, why don’t you do this at your own pace? And if I truly can’t handle it, I’ll tell you,” you propose to him.

He looks down, eyes darting as he thinks over your offer. But, after letting out a deep sigh, he nods. You quickly climb off of him, sitting in front of him instead as he sits himself up on the bed. He still looks like he might cry, so you tell him again he doesn’t have to do this. But, he seems determined now, ignoring your words as he goes to grab the back of his shirt.

Slowly at first, he begins to pull the long sleeve band tee off until it's sucking his hair into the neck hole. Then, in a flash, the material is thrown onto the floor, leaving your boyfriend exposed to you for the first time in your relationship.

And, you couldn’t lie to yourself, you were horrified by what you saw. It was like parts of his body had been chewed up, and other parts were meshed oddly like there had maybe been some kind of patchwork done. There was like a weird center line of skin that was untouched from the middle of his neck down to where his boxers peaked out from his jeans, but the sides were a complete mess.

He was even missing his left nipple, leaving the one on the right alone on his chest. You could see where a tattoo was still partially there on his upper pec, but the majority of it was gone and taken over by raised scar tissue.

You didn’t say anything, just sat there stone faced as you processed what you were looking at. As much as you wracked your mind, you couldn’t come up with the words to say to him. Sorry seemed stupid, what happened seemed too personal. And you definitely didn’t want to say anything to try and minimize the obvious. So what could you even say?

”Eddie—“

”It’s too much,” he says, covering his matching scarred arms over himself.

”It’a a lot,” you say, not wanting to lie. “But, not in a way that…I don’t know, disgusts me? Repulses me? Like you’re obviously thinking it would.”

Eddie chuckles humorlessly. ”You can’t sit there and tell me you find this attractive.”

”I mean, I’m not attracted to the fact that something happened to you, but I’m attracted to you for who you are,” you explain, hoping that it makes sense to him.

”It’s like this all over,” he says in a way that you think is supposed to make it seem worse.

”I believe you,” you say, not wanting to entertain the anger building up inside him.

”You can tell me how you really feel,” he says with a grimace, head turned to the side to not look at you.

You knew his proposition was a trap. Nothing that you could say to him was going to convince him that you really cared any less about him. You thought about it, and decided that…maybe showing him would be the better option.

So you got onto all fours, crawling slowly closer to him. He looked at you out of the corner of his eye, head turning slightly when he saw what you were doing.

”What are you—“

But you stopped him mid question when you pressed your lips into the exposed skin of his neck. You could hear him breathe in sharply and continued to kiss and mouth at him. With the way he was starting to melt and the fact he wasn’t pushing you away gave you the confidence to start to go lower, your lips touching both smooth and scarred skin as you left a trail down, down, down his neck, to over his collar bone, to his chest, and even lower until you were just at his navel. You chanced a look up at him, pleasantly surprised to see his cheeks super flushed and his lips parted as he breathes through the way you’re making him feel.

”Can I?” You ask, your eyes looking down at his crotch briefly before looking back to see his reaction.

”Are you sure?” He says, his tongue smacking in his mouth to try and wet it after it had gone dry.

”Mhm,” you say, your hands grabbing the button of his jeans and undoing them. You look back up at him again to see if he’s going to protest, but instead his eyes are laser focused on watching what you’re about to do to him.

So you waste no time unzipping his pants and tugging on them. He lifts his hips to make it easier for you, pulling them down until the only thing covering him was his checkered boxers. The tent was a sight, your mouth watering in anticipation to get him inside you, one way or another.

Grabbing the hem of his boxers, you look him straight in the eyes as you pull them down, freeing his cock from its confines. The sound of it slapping against his stomach had your eyes leaving his to finally see it, and—oh boy, it was big.

Wrapping your hand around it, you steadied it in front of you and opened your mouth to lick at the precum that was beaded at the tip. Eddie cursed under his breath, his head falling back as you took him in your mouth. He wasn’t too thick to cause discomfort as you bobbed your head on it, but he was long, and what you couldn’t take in your mouth you had to make up with your hand.

You gave him everything you had, taking him back as far as you could in your throat without gagging over and over. Drool leaks from your mouth down his shaft that lubes your hand around his base. Eddie is a complete mess above you, his hips bucking every once in a while because he just couldn’t hold himself back.

”Shit—Okay stop,” he gasps, grabbing your head and stopping your movements.

“What’s wrong?” You ask him curiously.

”I’m sorry, I was gonna cum,” he says, still trying to calm himself down.

”Is that a bad thing?”

”I still want to…you know,” he says shyly.

”You want to fuck me?” You ask cutely, making him swallow.

”Y-yeah,” he says, trying and failing at making eye contact with you.

”Well you should have just said so,” you say as you make yourself upright again. You pull your bottoms off unceremoniously, followed by your top and underwear, leaving you completely bare. Eddie’s eyes were so wide they looked like they were going to pop out of his head.

”Like what you see?” You tease him.

”Y-yeah,” he says with a gulp, eyes unable to decide where to look, roaming every inch of your body.

“You don’t have to be nervous, you know,” you tell him, climbing into his lap again. You lower yourself down so that his cock sits between you as you roll your hips slowly on him.

”I—I’m not,” he says, eyes screwing shut when you slide over his sensitive tip.

”Then why are you holding back?” You ask him, eyes going wide as he looks you dead in the eyes.

It’s quiet for a beat, you stilling your movements as you wait for a response from him. You couldn’t imagine what he was thinking that was making him struggle this hard. You really thought once you got past the body image issues that he would be okay, but that doesn’t seem to be the case.

”Listen, Eddie—“

”I’ve never done this before.”

Oh.

“Eddie, that’s okay,” you tell him, not wanting him to feel bad.

”Your boyfriend is a loser virgin who looks like he’s been in a blender,” he says blankly, as if that would make you have some ah-ha moment.

”Well, I know a way to fix one of those things,” you say, grinding on him again and making him gasp at the feeling.

”You still want to do this with me?” He asks, seemingly baffled.

”I’ve wanted this with you for a while now,” you tell him, and his head drops.

”I’m sorry, I didn’t want to scare you off,” he says lowly. You grab his chin and lift his head so you can look him in the eyes.

”I told you, I don’t just like you for your body,” you tell him, pecking him on the lips. “I like you because you’re a big freaking dork and I find it very endearing.” Eddie barks out a laugh, rolling his eyes at your words. It made you happy to see him smile, hoping that this was him finally feeling open with you.

”I don’t know how I ever got so lucky to have met you,” he says, pulling you into him so your chest was right in his face.

”Thank Henderson next time you see him,” you say, reaching between you to grab at his cock. He lets out a hum when he feels you grab him, hand pumping him with the slick you’d leaked onto his shaft. You go to line him up with your entrance, looking down at him and waiting for him to stop you. But he doesn’t, just burying himself in your chest even more

”You ready?” You ask him, and he nods his head.

”If I don’t last—“

”It’s okay, Eddie,” you tell him, starting to slowly lower yourself onto him.

You feel Eddie’s mouth opening against your skin, his grip on you tightening as you sink down on him. He splits you open nice, but he’s so long that you have to work yourself on him to get used to his size. This seems to be a lot for Eddie, his breath hitching as you move yourself up and down on him.

”I’m sorry, you’re just so big,” you tell him, and you feel him twitch inside of you.

”You’re so tight,” he says through gritted teeth, barely able to contain himself.

“If you feel like you need to cum you can,” you assure him, but he shakes his head.

”I don’t want to yet,” he says, his head rolling back to show the strain in his face.

”Do you want me to stop for a second?” You ask him, and he hesitates before finally nodding.

”Shit,” he breathes out as you sit yourself on him almost all the way.

”You okay?”

”Yeah, just, lemme have a second to get used to it,” he says, hands squeezing your sides in a self soothing way. So you did, giving yourself the chance to get used to the way he fills you in the meantime.

As you looked down at him, his eyes still closed, his face started to ease a bit. Seeing him relax more, you decided to do an experimental roll of your hips. Eddie groans, but in a way that tells you he really liked that, and you take this as a green light to keep going.

Starting slow, you grind down on him a bit before working up to a solid bounce. You braced yourself on his shoulders, moving yourself up and down on his cock in a way that was pleasurable for you, stopping occasionally to rub your clit against the thick patch of hair that sits on the base of his cock. Little moans escape you between breaths as you use his cock to get yourself off.

“Oh fuck—“ he suddenly gasps, his body tensing under you as you feel his grip on you hips harden.

”You gonna cum?” You ask him, picking up the pace to try and match his peak.

”I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—“ He repeats as you feel him cumming inside of you. You just needed a little more push, continuing to ride him through his high until you went over the edge yourself, moaning his name as you do.

”Fuck, that’s crazy,” he breathes, referring to how you feel as you cum on his cock.

There’s a beat of quiet until you can see straight again, whole body shivering before you fall into a fit of giggles.

”What?” Eddie asks, seemingly distressed.

“You’re so cute,” you tell him, and Eddie’s face goes from worried to straight lipped.

”Are you making fun of me?” He asks, and you giggle again.

”No, I mean it,” you tell him, leaning down to press your lips against his.

”Sorry, I didn’t last longer,” he says, eyes cast down in shame.

”It’s okay, Eddie,” you tell him, running a hand over his chest. “We have aaaaaaaalllllll night to work on that stamina.”

“Okay, so now we need brown sugar—“

”That’s down this way,” Eddie says, pointing down the grocery store aisle to where the baking section is. You follow behind him with the cart, trying to keep up with his long legs as he moves through the crowd.

It was a simple trip, just to pick up some things that he needed at his trailer so you could make him and Wayne some food for the week. It was the first time you two had been out like this together in his hometown of Hawkins. Eddie usually preferred to stay with you at your apartment as of late, but with his new job at the mechanic shop starting this week he wanted to stay at the trailer so he wouldn’t risk being late.

So, with a bit of convincing, you told him that the two of you needed to go to the store and get some things so you could make him and Wayne lunch for the week. He didn’t want to go to the Marsh in town, but you told him you didn’t have gas money to go back and forth so it was either the grocery in town or nothing.

You didn’t understand what the big deal was…until you had gotten to the store and started to notice some things.

People seemed to move out of the way when Eddie was around. You didn’t think much of it because he could be an intimidating looking guy (which made you swoon), but he was being his normal goofy self with you, so you didn’t know what was making people look at him like he committed a crime.

You also noticed people looking at you, seemingly concerned by your presence around Eddie. Some of the looks were of concern and maybe…pity? But you just ignored them, not wanting to entertain people who were so concerned over nothing.

But, just now, as you turn down the baking goods aisle that Eddie turned down, you were met with a woman pointing a finger at Eddie. “Murderer!” She shouts, causing all the attention in the area to be on Eddie.

”Mrs.Margarette—“ Eddie starts, but the woman gasps as if he called her a slur.

”Don’t speak to me, devil boy!” She says, backing away from him.

“Eddie—“ You put a hand on his arm, and he snaps to look at you, a frightened look on his face.

“I—I need to go—“ And he takes off, rushing out of the store and leaving you behind. The store erupts in voices talking, all seemingly about Eddie as their eyes are on the door he just ran out of.

“Ma’am,” a deep voice says, grabbing your attention. When you look, you see a police officer approach you, a look of concern on his face. “Are you okay?”

”Yeah, I’m fine, but…what the hell just happened?” You say, confused as hell.

”Did he bring you here against your will?” The officer asks.

You look at him as if he’s crazy, and shake your head. “God, no! If anything I dragged him here! He’s my boyfriend and—“

”Young lady, do you even know who your ‘boyfriend’ is?” He asks, and you tilt your head in confusion.

When you eventually exit the store, you’re relieved to see that Eddie didn’t completely abandon you, his van still sitting in the spot you last saw it. You pushed the cart full of groceries to the front, peering inside to see Eddie. He was sitting there completely still, eyes focused on his steering wheel as if completely zoned out.

You carefully walk over to his door and open it, him not moving in the process. You say his name and he flinches, but doesn’t look at you.

“Can you help me load these groceries?” You ask him softly. He sits there for a moment before he slowly slides out of his seat, still not looking at you as he walks over to the cart. You watch as he pushes it to the back of his van, the doors opening as he starts to load up the bags.

”Eddie,” you say his name again, and his eyes screw shut.

”I don’t want to talk about it—“

”I don’t think you have a choice,” you tell him, and he lets out a sigh.

He freezes when he hears the voices of some people talking as they walk past his van, and reactively he rushes to finish putting the groceries in the back before slamming the doors shut. You go to grab the cart to put it away, but he tells you to leave it and get in the car. Not wanting to argue you do, climbing into the car quietly as he starts the engine.

”Eddie—“

”I was accused of murder.”

There’s a pregnant pause between you, but you didn’t want to let the air get too tense. “I know,” you say, and Eddie finally looks at you.

”What do you mean ‘you know’?”

“I know all about the murder stuff. I looked into it way back when we started dating,” you tell him, and his eyes go wide.

”You’ve known this whole time?” He says with disbelief.

”Yep,” you nod confidently, clicking your seatbelt.

“And…you still pursued a relationship with me…?”

”Well, yeah, you didn’t actually do it,” you say with a shrug.

”I mean, I didn’t, but how do you know that?” He asks.

”Because I’ve taken the time to get to know you and I know for a fact you are not a murderer.”

The silence comes back again, but this time it’s not tense, rather calming and with an air of understanding.

“But you didn’t know that about me right away,” he says quietly.

”No, but I wasn’t going to let false accusations and a bunch of slander steer me away from someone as great as you.”

Eddie looks at you, and you can see the tears welling in his eyes at your words. “Damn.” The word comes out watery, followed by a sniffle.

“I wish you had told me why you didn’t want to come here instead of letting me pressure you into coming out,” you say, and he nods.

”I didn’t think it would be that bad,” he says. “I haven’t been in town much since it happened. Kinda thought everyone who hates me moved when it happened, but…”

”Why don’t you move in with me?” Eddie’s curls bounced with how quickly he looked up at you. “Move to Greenville with me and we can just…make that your safe place. People don’t bother you there, you can give Wayne his room back…”

”You don’t think it’s too soon?” He asks, referring to the fact it’s only been about 5 months since you became official.

”It might be for some, but it might be good for us. You stay at my place all the time anyway, what difference would it be if you just…never left.”

Eddie’s eyes drop, shifting back and forth in thought. “I’ll help pay bills, and I’ll make sure to clean up after myself, and—“

”Eddie,” you say with a smile, stopping him from his spiral. “It’ll be fine. Get through this first week at the new job, talk to Wayne and see what he says, and then we can look into getting you on my lease. Okay?”

Eddie smiles, leaning across the middle console into your space to kiss you on the lips, making you smile back.

”Okay,” he says softly.

And from that point on, you knew that you and Eddie would be inseparable, no matter what anyone says.

thank you for reading!

🏷️: @sorryharrington @steddie1993 @thepurplelovewitch @brrrainst3w @keeryhours @american-idiot-jpg @nowandajenn @raeofsunshine33 @kozume-ko @silenthappyplace @maskofmirrors @jessiemeows @alexxavicry @cpnsteverogers @akhenapv @person-005 @soph1e1234 @lover-girlxx @witchyhippysstuff @frickin-bats @non-binaryboss @lust4dying @mortalselfprojected @therealpussybangs @purplerainx1 @ali-r3n @dreamerjj @hexqueensupreme @powerpuffedbjtch @razzeith @wigglesenthusiast55 @hystericalbabe @fallingdownfaded @makebelieve531 @am0iur @kathypellar @sommie @spiidergwenn

[therealpussybangs]

ohmygod i love him so much hes such a sweetie i hate evil people 🫩🫩🫩 but i love this dont go making me tear up now 😫

[flwrsuh]

invisible string - e.m

୨୧˚- pairing: eddie munson x best friend! reader. no use of y/n, reader is occasionally referred to by she/her pronouns.

୨୧˚ -synopsis: you and eddie have been best friends for years, doing everything together. lately, though, things have started to feel different between you two. part two of the picture you series, read part one here!

୨୧˚- warnings : mutual pining, slow burn best friends to lovers, eventual smut, slight jealousy (on eddie’s part), jason carver being a dick, swearing, mention and use of weed, shared trauma from the events of season 4 (timeline is a bit diff, season 4 took place at the beginning of the ‘86 school year), basically everyone lives au, brief discussion of nightmares, reader comforts eddie, kinda self indulgent on the fluff (happy eddie is a must), slight angst, and so so so much tension. 18+ mdni.

୨୧˚- a/n ; i’ll try and make this quick bc everything else here is so lengthy, thank you so much for the love on chapter one!! i already had this chapter mostly finished, so i was able to get it out fairly quickly (and i was too excited to keep it to myself tbh), but starting now, updates will probably be about once a week depending! tyty everyone <3

୨୧˚- lowercase intended, not edited, 9k+ words.

ೋ✧ my masterlist

ೋ✧ send requests / asks here!

: ̗̀➛ listening to ; coming up roses - harry styles

the halls are chaos, same as always, students spilling out of classrooms, locker doors slamming, and mindless chatter in between classes.

eddie expertly navigates the halls, weaving through the sea of letterman jackets and high ponytails. his eyes scan the hall, searching. when his gaze finds your familiar face, he grins, quickening his stride.

he sidesteps a group of freshmen, nearly knocking over some of them in the process, before sliding up beside you with a dramatic flourish.

“miss me?" he teases, bumping your shoulder with his. “splat didn’t give you too much trouble last night, did he?”

his grin is infectious, the morning sunlight catching the glint of his rings as he tucks a wild curl behind his ear. you can still smell the faintest hint of leather and cigarette smoke clinging to his jacket, something distinctly eddie, something that makes your stomach flip.

you roll your eyes, but you can't stop the smirk tugging at your lips. “he cried all night. real tragic, demanded a lullaby. he’s definitely your kid.”

eddie clutches his chest dramatically. “our poor, neglected son." he leans in conspiratorially, lowering his voice to a stage whisper. “tell me it was at least a metal lullaby. please tell me you didn't subject him to, like, madonna or some shit."

his face is so close you can count his freckles, can see the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he's trying not to laugh. you shove him away, but your fingers linger a second too long against the worn fabric of his jacket.

“relax. i went with sabbath."

eddie beams like you just handed him a grammy. “that's my girl," he says without thinking, then freezes. his ears go pink.

you pretend not to notice, but your heart stammers traitorously in your chest. if eddie hears, he doesn’t say anything, just clears his throat, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“so," he says, a little too casually. “you, uh… got plans this weekend?"

you close your locker with a slam of metal on metal, shaking your head. “other than hellfire? just the usual,” you fall into step beside him, headed towards the cafeteria for lunch period. “oh, i do have an interview at the video store. you have robin to thank for that one,” you sound less than enthused.

eddie's eyebrows shoot up, lips curling into a smirk. “whoa, whoa, hold up. buckley got you a job interview?" he nudges you with his elbow, grin widening. “you? behind a counter? voluntarily interacting with customers? what happened to ‘i’d rather eat glass than serve jocks their shitty action movies,’ huh?"

you groan, shoving him sideways into a row of lockers, but he just laughs, dodging easily and throwing an arm around your shoulders. “relax, doll. think of it this way, now you can hide all the good flicks in the back before carver and his goons even get a chance to rent ‘em."

his voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper, “corporate sabotage. very metal."

you snort, but can't fight the smile tugging at your lips. it's stupid, this whole conversation is stupid, pointless, meaningless, but you can't help the warmth spreading through your chest. it's easy with eddie, too easy.

“corporate sabotage, huh? sounds more up your alley than mine.”

“me? a bad influence? never," he protests. “i'm the pinnacle of innocence. i've never done a single dishonest thing in my damn life."

you swat him on the arm, trying not to laugh. "right, and i’m gonna be nominated for prom queen this year."

he grins, eyes dancing with mischief, then his gaze snags on something over your shoulder, smile faltering.

“uh-oh," he mutters. “brace yourself."

you follow his eye line, jason carver cuts a path through the crowded hallway, flanked by his usual band of jocks.

his gaze lands on you, and of course he notices how close you and eddie are walking, of course he frowns, jaw tight, of course he nudges his friends, calling out to eddie mockingly.

“hey, munson. shouldn't your girlfriend be out in the woods somewhere? casting spells and sacrificing chickens, or whatever it is you freaks do in your free time.”

eddie stiffens beside you, his hand twitching like he wants to hit him, but he hesitates. instead, he leans in closer to you, voice big and theatrical, “careful, carver. she does know some spells." he flicks his fingers toward jason mockingly. “one wrong word and poof, your hairline recedes even further."

jason’s face flushes slightly red, but before he can retort, you lean into eddie’s side and add with a sweet smile, “and for the record? i don’t sacrifice chickens,” you pause. "goats, on the other hand..."

jason blinks in quiet shock, and eddie beams at you like you just won the damn lottery.

“that’s my girl," he says, bolder now, loud enough for everyone to hear, before steering you away from jason with a flourish.

by the time you reach the cafeteria, you're buzzing. every nerve in your body is alive, hyper-aware of eddie's fingers against your shoulder, the warmth of his arm around your shoulders, the way your hip bumps his as you walk. you shove down the feeling, forcing a smirk like nothing's different, as if you're not replaying his voice—“my girl"— in your head like a broken record.

the second you push through the cafeteria doors, eddie drops his arm, suddenly remembering where you are, who’s watching, but his fingers linger for a split second, brushing against the back of your jacket like he can’t quite let go.

jason’s voice still rings in your ears, girlfriend, and your pulse kicks up again, traitorous, hopeful.

eddie clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “so uh, video store interview, huh? when’s that?" his tone’s casual, but his eyes dart to yours like he’s searching for something.

you shrug, trying to play it cool. “saturday. robin said to ‘dress like a functioning member of society,’ so…" you gesture vaguely at your outfit, ripped jeans, battered boots, one of eddie’s old band tees you stole years ago and never gave back.

eddie huffs out a laugh, “good luck with that." then, quieter, more sincere, “but hey… you’ll kill it."

his smile is small, genuine, the kind that makes your stomach swoop. you open your mouth to reply, but—

“munson! quit flirting and get over here!" gareth’s voice cuts across the cafeteria, accompanied by the clatter of dustin dramatically slamming his lunch tray down onto the hellfire table.

eddie rolls his eyes, but there’s no real annoyance in it. “duty calls," he sighs, jerking his thumb toward them, but he hesitates, biting his lip. "you… coming?"

it’s a silly question, like you’d ever sit anywhere else, but you nudge his shoulder with yours anyway, grinning. “try and stop me."

eddie’s answering smile could power hawkins for a year.

lunch passes in a blur of chaotic debates, gareth insists aliens built the pyramids, dustin’s voice cracks mid-rant about star wars lore, and eddie steals fries off your tray with zero remorse. but every now and then, when the noise fades to background static, you catch him watching you — quick glances, the hint of a smirk when you roll your eyes at the idiots surrounding you, your own little kingdom of freaks and outcasts.

the bell rings too soon. eddie lingers as the others scatter, slinging his bag over his shoulder with deliberate slowness.

“so," he starts, rocking back on his heels. “saturday. you want, uh… moral support? before the interview?" he fiddles with one of his rings, avoiding your eyes. “could swing by your place, help you not look like you rob graves in your free time."

the joke’s weak, but the the offer isn’t. you bite your lip to hide the grin threatening to split your face. “are you saying my aesthetic isn’t professional?"

eddie meets your gaze dead-on, suddenly serious. “sweetheart, you duct-taped your boot back together last week."

you gasp, “that was an emergency! the sole was—"

he interrupts you by reaching out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, “say yes," he murmurs.

your breath hitches. his fingers linger near your jaw, calloused and warm.

"...yes," you whisper.

for an instant, a flicker of surprise crosses his face, like even he didn’t expect the answer. then he smiles, soft and slow.“great." there’s a pause. he rubs his neck, suddenly nervous. “i’ll be there. saturday. four…-ish?"

you nod, your heart pounding too hard in your chest. "four," you confirm, and try not to think about the way his fingers feel against your skin.

the rest of the week passes quickly, classes blend together, teachers' voices droning in the background while your mind keeps drifting to saturday, to eddie’s promise. to the way his hands hesitated near you like he wanted to reach out and never let go.

saturday afternoon finds you sprawled on your bedroom floor, surrounded by discarded clothes. your usual ripped jeans and band tees litter the carpet, nothing screams ‘hire me’ less than your usual style. you groan, flopping backward onto the mess.

“this is impossible," you mutter to splat, who watches judgmentally from your pillow. “what are you lookin’ at?”

a sharp knock at your door makes you jump. before you can answer, it swings open, revealing eddie, leaning against the frame with a smirk. his eyes rake over the chaos.

“damn," he whistles. “you do own clothes that aren’t black. who knew?"

you throw a sock at him. “shut up. help me."

eddie steps inside, kicking the door shut behind him. he picks through your disaster of an outfit pile with exaggerated concentration before holding up a dark green sweater, one you forgot you even owned.

“here," he says, tossing it at you. “pair it with those almost clean jeans. boom. ‘functioning member of society.’"

you catch the sweater, wrinkling your nose. “this is so boring."

eddie grins, crouching beside you. “yeah, well. play the game now, burn the place down later,” he nudges your knee with his. “you got this, sweetheart.”

the nickname sends a familiar warmth through you. you hug the sweater to your chest, suddenly unable to meet his eyes.

“thanks," you mumble.

eddie’s quiet for a beat. then, softly, “anytime."

you shove the sweater over your head, the fabric settling awkwardly against your skin, too soft, too normal. eddie watches with an unreadable expression as you turn to check yourself in the mirror, frowning at the reflection staring back.

“i look like a librarian," you groan, plucking at the collar like it's personally offended you.

eddie's laugh is sudden and bright as he steps up behind you, his hands landing on your shoulders, warm through the fabric. his gaze meets yours in the mirror, eyes dancing with amusement.

“nah," he murmurs, tugging lightly on the sleeve of your sweater to straighten it. “you look... good.”

there's something in his voice that makes your stomach flip, something uncharacteristically soft and unguarded that wasn't there before. his fingers linger for a second too long before he clears his throat and steps back, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“alright, let's go before you chicken out," he teases, already heading for the door, but you catch the faint pink at the tips of his ears before he turns away.

the interview goes shockingly well. robin vouches for you hard, the manager seems too tired to care about your usual ‘aesthetic rebellion,’ and by the end, you’re scribbling your availability on a crumpled napkin like some kind of responsible adult.

eddie’s waiting outside when you emerge, leaning against the side of the building with a cigarette dangling from his lips. he straightens when he sees you, blowing smoke to the side.

“so?" he asks, trying, and failing to sound casual.

you hold up the hastily scribbled sticky note with your new schedule on it, “you’re looking at hawkins video’s newest nightmare."

eddie’s face splits into that wild, unfiltered smile you love, the one that makes him look seventeen instead of someone who’s seen too much. he crushes his cigarette under his boot and pulls you into a one-armed hug before you can react, his voice muffled against your hair, “knew you’d nail it."

as he lets go, too soon, always too soon, you catch the way his fingers flex at his side, like he’s stopping himself from reaching back.

the ride back to your house is quiet, filled with the hum of the radio and the steady thrum of eddie’s fingers against the steering wheel as he drives. every now and then, he glances at you out of the corner of his eye like he wants to say something, but the words stick in his throat.

you chew your thumbnail, looking out the window, resisting the urge to fidget with the sleeves of your new-old sweater. you wonder if eddie can hear your heartbeat thumping in the silence.

he pulls up in front of your trailer, killing the engine. the quiet stretches between you, almost awkward in a way that it never was. eddie drums his fingers on the wheel once, twice, before turning to face you fully, reaching into his pocket for something you can’t see yet.

“so," he starts, voice rough around the edges. “celebratory smoke?" he holds up a joint between two fingers with a lopsided grin.

you should say no. you have homework. your mom will be home soon. a dozen reasons flash through your mind.

instead, you reach for it. “only if you don't hog it this time."

eddie's laugh is startled, delighted. he leans across you to pop open the glove compartment to rifle around for a lighter, close enough that his hair brushes your cheek, close enough that you catch the faded smell of his leather jacket, scented with weed and cheap cologne.

when he pulls back, his eyes catch yours. just for a second. just long enough to make your pulse skip.

the joint burns slow between your fingers, smoke curling into the twilight air as you pass it back to eddie. his fingertips brush yours, just barely, and the contact lingers, warm against your skin. he takes a long drag, exhaling towards the van’s roof with a contented sigh, tilting his head back against the seat. the seat creaks softly underneath him as he adjusts, his eyes finding yours instinctively, as if he could feel yours on him already. you swallow thickly, watching the way his adam’s apple bobs slightly in his throat.

“so," he murmurs, voice roughened by the smoke, “first paycheck comes in, you're buying me lunch at benny's, right?"

you grin, nudging his arm with your elbow. “pretty sure you owe me lunch for all the times you've mooched fries off me."

eddie clutches his chest in mock offense. “mooched? that’s harsh, sweetheart.” but he’s smiling as he says it, eyes crinkling at the corners in that way you know means he’s trying not to laugh.

the joint dwindles between you, the ash glowing orange in the dim light. when it’s finally down to the filter, eddie flicks it out the window and turns to face you fully, suddenly serious.

“hey," he says softly, “proud of you, y’know."

your breath catches. his expression is so open, so unguarded, the way he only ever is with you. you swallow hard and look away before you do something stupid, like pull him closer.

“yeah, well," you mutter, “don’t get used to it. still planning my corporate takeover from within."

eddie laughs, loud and sudden, and something in your chest cracks open at the sound.

for a moment it feels almost easy again. eddie, the streetlamps flickering on, the smoke almost fully dissipated by now. it feels normal; like you can ignore the way your breath catches when he smiles, as if you're not holding onto the ragged edge of something that could break you both.

then he glances at his watch and his expression softens. the air changes. “i guess i should go. don't think your mom would appreciate the town freak loitering in her driveway on a school night."

“oh, come on. you know she tolerates you,” you joke back, your fingers moving to the door handle but not quite pulling yet.

eddie smirks, leaning back in his seat with exaggerated ease, but his knuckles whiten slightly where they grip the steering wheel. “tolerates. what a glowing endorsement."

he flicks his gaze toward you, mischief creeping back in. “guess that means i’m still banned from sunday dinners, huh?"

you roll your eyes, shoving his shoulder lightly, your hand lingers just a second too long on the worn leather of his jacket. eddie notices, his breath hitches almost imperceptibly.

“only if you show up wearing that judas priest shirt with the sleeves ripped off again," you deadpan.

then eddie clears his throat and leans over, reaching across you, “forgot to unlock it,” he mutters, his arm brushing yours as he pops the door open for you.

the night air is cool against your skin compared to the warmth of the car as you step out, shoving your hands into your pockets to avoid the temptation of climbing back in, to be with him a bit longer.

“thanks for the ride," you say, kicking at the dirt.

“anytime," eddie says quietly.

you force a smile that doesn't reach your eyes, trying to ignore the disappointment sinking in your chest as you shut the door, speaking through the cracked window. “i’ll see you.”

he nods, his eyes lingering on your face for a second too long. “later, sweetheart.”

eddie pulls away with one last wave, the car disappearing just down the street.

you linger on the porch for a moment, the silence closing around you like a cocoon. you shake your head, shoving away the tangle of thoughts churning in your mind. it’s just eddie, you remind yourself. just your best friend. not your boyfriend. not some unattainable fantasy. just eddie.

just eddie, who always gets under your skin and never stays close enough to touch.

inside, the trailer feels too big. too empty. you tug off the stupid green sweater and throw it onto your bed, where splat sits judging you with his button eyes, a physical reminder of eddie, of what you couldn’t have.

“shut up,” you mutter, flopping down next to him.

the clock ticks, your neighbor’s dog barks. you close your eyes and pray for sleep. it doesn't come.

hours later, you toss and turn in a tangle of sheets, trying to find some way to shut your brain off, but your thoughts keep circling back to eddie; his laugh, his smile, his eyes the way they get when he’s teasing you, and your heart pounds against your ribs with each memory.

you run an annoyed hand through your hair, it mussed from shifting against the pillow all night. you feel utterly idiotic, like some dumb cliche in those teen movies you and eddie hate.

“god, what is wrong with me?” you sigh, your voice quiet as your fingers fiddle with a loose green thread hanging off of splat. you pull at it quickly, attempting to be rid of it. instead, it continues to unravel, more thread wrapping your fingers; this is like us, you think. us? stupid.

the phone on your bedside table rings suddenly, jolting you out of your spiraling. you grab it off the receiver, fingers still wrapped in the green thread. “hello?” you reply groggily into the phone.

eddie's voice crackles through the receiver, low and gravelly. you catch yourself sitting up straighter.

“did i wake you?"

you shake your head, despite the fact he can't see you. “no," you say, trying to sound like your heart isn't hammering in your chest. “just... couldn't sleep."

there's a pause on the other end of the line. he asks quietly, “nightmare?"

“you could call it that, i guess.” your fingers absentmindedly begin twirling the green thread again as you reply, your other hand keeping the phone held up to your ear.

his voice drops impossibly soft, it almost feels like he’s in the room with you, “that bad, huh?"

you can picture him running a hand through his messy hair, frowning at no one in particular. your fingers tug too hard at the green thread, unraveling it a little more, not trusting your voice to be convincing in your white lie.

it's quiet for a second, like he's thinking carefully about what to say. “you wanna hear something funny?”

you smile faintly, despite the tension in your chest. “hit me.”

eddie clears his throat dramatically, like he's about to deliver some grand performance. “okay, so, what do you call a fish wearing a bowtie?"

you groan, “eddie, that's literally the oldest—"

he cuts you off, voice brimming with fake offense. “ah-ah-ah! let the master work!" then, with a terrible attempt at a posh accent, “sofishticated."

the silence on your end is deafening. eddie waits exactly three seconds before bursting into laughter, the kind that makes him wheeze a little at the end.

“you hate me right now," he gasps between chuckles. “i can feel it through the phone."

and god help you, you're smiling, actually smiling, despite the fact it's the dumbest joke in existence.

you glance down at the green thread still tangled around your fingers, looser now, less suffocating. “shut up," you mumble, but you both know you mean to say thank you.

eddie’s laughter settles into a quiet hum, the line crackling with static between you. for a moment, neither of you speaks, just the sound of his breath and yours, steadying in tandem. then he sighs, his voice dropping into something quieter, more sincere.

“seriously though,” he murmurs, “if the nightmare was real bad… i got my van.” a beat. “could be there in five… four if i run the stop sign.”

it’s late and you should probably just go to bed, but your chest aches with something tender and raw, and suddenly all you can think is, “which stop sign?”

eddie huffs a laugh. “the one by mrs. andrews’ mailbox. you know she hates when i-“

you cut him off, “come over.”

a pause. the line goes so quiet you think maybe the call dropped. then, “yeah?” his voice is rough, hopeful. “you sure?”

you glance at splat, at the unraveled green thread pooled in your lap. “yeah,” you whisper. “hurry up.”

the line goes dead, only leaving a soft hum in the absence of his voice. you put the phone back onto the receiver, the green thread now limp in your fingers, finally detached. the silence of the trailer feels heavier now, anticipation crackling under your skin. you count the minutes in your head, listening for the familiar rumble of his van.

one.

you notice your palms are weirdly sweaty.

two.

a car door slams outside.

three.

knuckles rap against your window, soft, trying not to wake your mom in the other room.

four.

you yank the curtains aside. eddie’s standing there, hair wild from he wind, cheeks flushed from sprinting across your lawn in the cold. he grins when he sees you, crooked and bright, breath fogging the glass as he leans in closer.

“told ya," he mouths through the window, "four minutes."

eddie tumbles through the window with all the grace of a bull in a china shop, landing with a thump on your bedroom floor, knocking over a stack of cassettes in the process. he freezes mid-step, wincing at the clatter.

“shit—"

you clap a hand over your mouth to stifle your laugh as he frantically gestures for silence, eyes darting toward your closed door. when no angry footsteps come, he exhales dramatically and flops onto your bed beside, limbs sprawling like he owns the place.

“so," he whispers, propping his head up on one elbow, "wanna tell me about this nightmare, or do i gotta guess?" his tone is light, but his eyes are serious, dark and searching in the dim glow of your bedside lamp.

you swallow hard. the thread is gone, but the weight of it lingers between you. eddie waits. patient. always patient with you. you lay down beside him, pulling the comforter over the two of you.

outside, the wind rattles the trailer park streetlights. inside, his knee brushes yours under the blankets, warm and solid and probably crossing some kind of line.

“just the usual," you finally mumble. your fingers find the blanket hem, nervously fiddling with it.

eddie nods. he reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, a gesture so gentle it makes your breath catch. his eyes hold yours, steady in the dim light. “you know that stuff isn't real, right?"

you take a shaky breath, shaking your head. “feels real," you admit.

eddie's expression softens further, like he can sense the things you aren't saying, the double meaning in your words. his hand lingers near your face, so close you can feel the heat of him, hovering in the narrow space between you.

“wanna know something stupid?" he asks quietly.

you nod, not trusting your voice.

eddie exhales sharply, almost like a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “i get ‘em too,” he admits, voice barely above a whisper. “not the…the vecna shit, not anymore, but… other stuff. the kinda stuff that sticks around even when you’re awake.” his thumb brushes your cheekbone, feather-light. “you never look at me like i’m crazy when i talk about it. that’s… that’s why i called. ‘cause i figured if anyone gets it…”

he trails off, eyes darting over your face like he’s seeing it for the first time. the confession hangs between you, raw and terrifying and so painfully eddie it makes your ribs ache.

“that’s not stupid, eds.”

he swallows, throat bobbing. his gaze snaps to yours like he'd forgotten you could hear him.

“thanks, but i mean, it kinda is a little." he clears his throat, suddenly sheepish. “i just… it’s bullshit, isn't it? i can beat the hell out of monsters, but i can’t shut my brain off at night? kinda pathetic when you think about it.” he offers up a half-smile that doesn't quite cover the vulnerability in his eyes.

“it’s not,” you shift a bit closer, laying your head on the pillow and rolling onto your side to face him. your faces are now just inches apart, you can feel his warm breath fanning your lips on every exhale. “you’ve seen shit that most people our age can’t even imagine. you’re brave, eds. always have been… even without the monsters.”

eddie's breath hitches, just barely, at the nickname, his gaze flickering from your eyes to your lips and back again. he doesn’t pull away, voice barely above a whisper when he answers, “brave, huh?" a smirk tugs at his mouth, but it's softer now, less defensive.

“could say the same about you, y'know. if we're handing out compliments tonight."

his fingers twitch against the pillow near your head like he wants to touch you but isn’t sure he’s allowed. the air between you hums with something electric, fragile, like the moment before a guitar string snaps.

“how so?”

he blinks for a second, the sudden closeness is throwing his thoughts off kilter, but he keeps your gaze, unwavering. “you're not scared, ever. you fight the whole damn world without even realizing it, and it's… it's pretty badass, y'know?"

your heart pounds in your ears, the heat rolling off eddie's body making you dizzy, as if you're standing too close to an open flame. you lean forward, just a tiny fraction.

“i’m scared a lot of the time, actually,” you admit quietly, eyes scanning his face in the dim light of your room.

eddie lets out an exhale like you just punched him in the ribs, the teasing glint in his eyes replaced with something softer, more serious.

“but you keep going," he says, voice low and rough. “when most people would have given up or run for the hills, you keep going. that's bravery, sweetheart, even if you don't think so. that's who you are."

you snort, “funny. i just copy you.”

that makes him pause. he shakes his head, something like wonder flashing across his face in the half-light.

“you give me too much credit." he wets his lips, eyes flickering between your mouth and your gaze like he can't decide which to focus on. “i'm not as fearless as you think i am."

“someone has to give you your flowers. god knows you’ll never do it yourself.”

he huffs, but you catch the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth, the same one that appears whenever you tease him. “who died and made you the flower-giver?"

it's a defense, you know that, a deflection, a way to play off how your words affect him so he never has to be vulnerable first.

your voice comes out barely above a whisper, but he’s so close he catches it anyway. “fate, maybe? if you believe in that stuff, anyway.”

eddie goes very still, eyes searching your face for a moment that feels like an eternity. his expression crumbles into something like disbelief.

“you don't honestly believe in that garbage, do you?" he lets out a low, disbelieving huff. “it's just a bunch of cosmic nonsense, sweetheart. no fate, no destiny. just chaos and luck and shitty timing." his tone is harsher than usual, bordering on bitter.

“maybe you’re right… but i can’t help but think,” you pause, exhaling shakily. “what if, you know? all of this feels like more than coincidence, doesn’t it?”

eddie's jaw tightens. his gaze flicks away from yours, your words are a hit he can't bring himself to dodge.

“so… what? we’re just pawns in some big show, some pre-ordained path? bullshit.” he lets out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. the movement sends his hair tumbling into his eyes as he looks back at you.

“what's the point, then? if everything's already been decided?"

his voice is rough, cracking around the edges. you wish you could take the words back, rewind the moment and not bring up something that clearly hits too close to home.

“eddie—" you start, but he shakes his head, sitting up.

“it's bullshit," he cuts you off. “the thought that there's no control, that no matter what i do… my life's already laid out, start to finish,” his hands flex against the sheets.

you sit up too, reaching for his hand before he can pull away completely. “eds, i didn't mean—"

he doesn't jerk away, but his fingers stay stiff in your grip. “then what did you mean?" his voice is quiet now, but the frustration still simmers beneath it.

you swallow hard. the words feel too big, too fragile to say out loud, but you owe him this honesty.

“i just meant…" you trace the calluses on his knuckles, guitar strings, fight scars, years of survival etched into his skin. "...that out of all the uncertainty, all the ‘chaos and the shitty timing’… i still found you. don’t know where i’d be if i hadn’t.”

the silence between you is thick. eddie stares at your joined hands like he's trying to decipher a riddle. then, slowly, still unsure, his fingers tighten around yours.

eddie exhales sharply, his grip almost painful in its intensity. his eyes flick up to meet yours, raw, unguarded, stripped of every sarcastic defense he usually wears like armor. “yeah," he rasps. “me too."

he doesn’t elaborate. he doesn’t need to. the words settle between you like an oath, like something sacred. his thumb brushes over your knuckles, once, twice, before he pulls his hand away with a shaky breath.

the air between you crackles with years of the unspoken. eddie leans back against your headboard, raking a hand through his hair as if trying to physically shake off the weight of the moment.

“christ," he mutters, voice rough with something like awe or terror or both. “we’re a pair, aren’t we?"

you lean back beside him, staring straight ahead at the wall. “yeah, guess so.”

he shifts next to you, close enough that his shoulder brushes yours. the silence stretches, but it’s not uncomfortable. it’s the kind of quiet that only exists between people who know each other down to their bones.

eddie nudges your knee with his. “still think we'd find each other in any universe?" he asks, voice laced with faux-casualness. as if it’s a joke; like it doesn’t matter, but you know him better than that.

you lean your head on his shoulder, voice coming out unsure, “feels like we already have.”

eddie inhales so sharply you think he might have stopped breathing. for a second you think he's going to pull away, or shove you lightly and mutter some sarcastic reply to deflect the moment, but instead, your best friend, your person, leans into you gently, his head resting on top of yours.

“y'know what’s stupid?" he says after a moment. his voice is uncharacteristically soft, the words whispered into the dark like a confession.

“hm?” you hum softly, fingers absentmindedly tracing the black ink popping out from underneath his shirt collar.

“every time i think i’ve got this life figured out, something comes along and proves me wrong." eddie shifts beside you, one knee coming up to rest against your thigh. he seems to be choosing his words carefully, a rare moment of vulnerability from the boy that hides behind jokes.

“like… there's this part of me that expects to wake up someday and this, all of this, is just some kind of dream. some cosmic joke being played on me because… because people like me aren't allowed to have this, right? this… peace. happiness. whatever."

he sighs in frustration, clearly having been thinking about this for a while.

you lift your head just enough to look at him, his face so close in the dim light that you can see every unguarded flicker of emotion, the way his lips press together, the quiet frustration in his brow. you reach up without thinking, brushing a loose curl from his forehead with your fingers.

“people like you?" you murmur, holding his gaze. “you mean people who are brave, and kind, and stupidly good at making other people feel like they matter? to those kids, you’re a hero, and you don’t even realize it. henderson practically idolizes you.”

eddie's breath hitches. his fingers twitch against the blanket between you, wanting to touch, but still not allowing himself.

“that's not—" he starts, but then stops when your thumb grazes his cheekbone. his voice drops to a whisper, “sweetheart..."

it sounds like a surrender.

“i'm not brave." he shakes his head slightly, eyes fixed on your hand against his skin. his jaw clenches. “and i’m not some kind of hero. i’m a third-year senior with a genetic unlucky streak, at best. at worst I'm a—"

“don't," you murmur, your thumb brushing just beneath his eyelashes. he blinks, eyes going impossibly soft. “don't call yourself that. god, eds, i can't stand when you do that. don’t downplay all the shit you’ve been through just so you don’t have to talk about it.”

eddie’s breath stutters. he reaches up to curl his fingers around your wrist, not pushing you away, not pulling you closer, just holding you there, needing you to anchor him in the moment. his pulse thrums wildly under your fingertips.

“fine," he whispers. “but you don't get to call me a hero either. deal?"

his voice is rough, but there’s a hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, trying to wrestle back some control, some semblance of the usual eddie, but his thumb strokes absently over the inside of your wrist, betraying him.

“can i think it?” you joke half-heartedly, trying to lighten the mood.

eddie groans, pressing his forehead against yours dramatically, but he doesn’t pull away. his nose bumps against yours, breath warm as he grumbles, “ugh, fine. just…don't expect me to start wearing a cape or some shit." he tilts his head slightly, smirking. “unless it's leather. then maybe."

just like that, the tension shatters because this is eddie, and this is you, and no matter how heavy things get, he’ll always find a way to make you laugh.

“nah, you’re more of a suit of armor kinda guy,” you joke, barely able to get through the sentence without laughing, picturing eddie clanking around in creaky metal, trying his best to stay upright under the weight.

eddie gasps, clutching his chest like you’ve mortally wounded him. “excuse you, i’d be a rogue, obviously. leather armor, daggers, maybe a cloak for dramatic effect,” he gestures wildly, nearly smacking you in the face before catching himself.

you burst out laughing, trying your best to stifle it with your hand while shoving his shoulder. he grins, victorious. the sound fills the quiet trailer, bouncing off the walls like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.

eddie leans back against the headboard, watching you with an expression so soft it makes your stomach flip. “there she is," he murmurs. he doesn’t have to say it, you already know— his girl. you realize with sudden, terrifying clarity, that you’d follow him anywhere.

you roll your eyes, but you’re smiling so wide your face hurts. eddie studies your expression for a second before suddenly leaning in close, close enough that you can see all the little flecks of gold in his eyes, the soft yellow lighting from the lamp bouncing off of his irises.

"...you’re blushing," he whispers, delighted.

you shove him again, harder this time, and he topples sideways onto the bed with a dramatic yelp, pulling you down with him in a tangle of limbs and laughter. he just holds you there, not wanting to let go so soon.

“you staying?” you say after a few moments of silence, shifting more onto your side of the bed.

eddie looks at you like you just asked the dumbest question on earth, raising an eyebrow. “uh, yeah?" he tugs you a little closer, throwing an arm around your waist to pull you back towards him.

“night, eds.” you reach to turn off the lamp beside your bed, settling back against him.

he smiles against your neck, his breath warm on your skin. “night, sweetheart."

you let your eyes flutter shut, listening to the wind outside, the rise and fall of his chest.

right as you're drifting off, you feel a gentle touch against your hair.

“you awake?" eddie whispers in the dark.

you hum sleepily, shifting a little closer under his arm. “hm?”

he hesitates for a second, his fingers still tangled in your hair. his voice comes out softer than you’ve ever heard him, “thanks for… y’know. not letting me spiral.”

it’s the quietest admission you’ve ever heard from him. before you can respond, he shifts, pulling the blanket over both of you and rolling over to face the wall.

you stare at his back, the rise and fall of his shoulders. you could reach out and touch him, tell him he doesn’t have to thank you, that you’d always be there.

you don’t, because he knows. he’s always known.

you lay there in the darkness, listening to him breathe. wishing, for a single selfish second, that words alone could be enough. that in the silence of the trailer, the weight of unspoken things could disappear.

his breathing evens out slowly, the tension in his shoulders unspooling as sleep finally takes him. you watch the way the moonlight cuts across his profile, the sharp line of his nose, the curve of his lips, the dark flutter of his lashes against his cheeks. he shifts onto his back, messy curls splaying across your pillow.

and then, because you’re weak, because you’re selfish, because you’ve always been a little in love with him, you reach out. just once. just to brush your fingertips against the back of his hand where it now rests over his stomach. his fingers twitch in his sleep, curling slightly toward yours.

you close your eyes, but sleep doesn’t come. the night stretches on.

outside, the wind hums through the gaps in the trailer walls, a quiet, familiar lullaby. the faint glow of streetlight bleeds through your curtains, painting gold across eddie's collarbone where his shirt has slipped askew and you have to stop yourself from running your fingers over it. you memorize the way his pulse jumps under his skin when your fingers skim his wrist.

“eddie," you whisper to the dark, just to taste his name on your tongue. he doesn’t stir, but in his sleep, his pinky hooks around yours, keeping you close.

sunlight spills through the gaps in your curtains, painting stripes of gold across the tangled blankets and the still-sleeping boy beside you. eddie’s face is half-buried in your pillow, mouth slightly open, one arm flung out around your waist, where it had stayed all night. his hair is an absolute disaster, curls sticking up at odd angles.

you’re frozen, suddenly hyper-aware of every point of contact, his knee knocking against yours under the sheets, the warmth of his palm pressed flat against your ribs. you should move. you should wake him up, but for one stolen moment, you let yourself linger, memorizing the weight of him, the quiet rasp of his breathing. his nose scrunches slightly, as if feeling your attention on him even in sleep, a soft groan escaping him as he stirs.

"...mmph. time’s it?" he mumbles into the pillow, voice thick with sleep.

you glance over at the clock on your wall, “almost ten.”

eddie groans, finally opening one eye at you. “ten? really? why didn't you wake me, dickhead?"

he pokes you in the ribs, not hard, just enough to make you jump. you swat at his hand, biting back a grin. “you just looked so peaceful.”

he gives you a halfhearted glare, but there's no real heat behind it. he drags himself up onto one elbow, scrubbing a hand through his sleep-mussed curls.

“that's a shitty excuse, sweetheart.” but he glances away, cheeks flushed, lips twitching.

“didn’t say it was a good one.”

eddie huffs, but he doesn't move away, just flops back onto your pillow, one arm thrown dramatically over his eyes.

“you're lucky you're cute," he mutters, muffled by his sleeve.

you both freeze, effectively stunned. the air between you goes electric with the weight of the words neither of you were supposed to say out loud. somewhere outside, a car backfires, effectively shattering the moment.

you clear your throat, attempting to move on without a hitch. “you mind driving me to work today? first day of corporate hell, can’t be late.”

eddie sits up too quickly, nearly knocking heads with you. “oh shit, yeah, today's the day you sell your soul to the man, huh?" he grins, clearly relieved by the subject change.

he scrambles off the bed, already halfway to the door before you can process him leaving your side. just like that, the moment passes, but the ghost of his warmth lingers on your skin long after he's gone.

as eddie disappears down the hall towards the bathroom, you collapse back onto the mattress, your pulse still hammering against your ribs. you press your palms to your face, inhaling shakily.

“fuck," you whisper to the empty room.

then you hear the sound of a door opening and shut, followed by the unmistakable noise of the shower turning on. which gives you an idea. a stupid idea. an absolutely terrible idea.

you stare at the bathroom door, the bathroom where eddie is currently standing under the spray in your shower.

your heart lurches, but not in the way you expected. the thought should thrill you, should make your pulse race. instead, something cold and sick twists in your stomach, your heart stuttering for a different reason entirely.

“fuck," you mutter again, rolling onto your side and curling into yourself.

because this isn't just some flirty game anymore. this is eddie. your best friend, and you're not about to ruin that for a stupid fantasy

the shower shuts off after what feels like both an eternity and no time at all. you hear eddie humming, some off-key metallica riff, as he pads back toward your room. you squeeze your eyes shut, pretending to be asleep when the door creaks open.

“sweetheart, you awake?” he whispers. when you don't respond, he sighs, voice softening. “alright, sleeping beauty. five more minutes."

his fingers brush your shoulder, light as a breath, before he pulls away.

you wait until he shuts the bathroom door again before finally sitting up, exhaling slowly. you can do this, things don't have to change. you can ignore the way your heart stutters every time he looks at you. you have to.

when eddie reappears, hair still damp, he takes one look at your face and stops dead in the doorway.

“jesus,” he says quietly. “you look like someone kicked your dog."

“just first day jitters,” it sounds like a lie, even to you.

he eyes you skeptically from across the room, not buying it. “uh huh. that why you're sitting there like someone pissed in your cheerios instead of getting dressed?"

you try forcing a smile, it doesn't reach your eyes. “maybe”

you shove yourself off the bed before you can say something stupid. “we’re gonna be late,” you say, avoiding his gaze as you search your floor for anything you can throw on.

“right, yeah,” he clears his throat, grabbing his jacket off the floor. “let’s roll.”

the drive to your new job is filled with music, eddie’s familiar mix of metallica and black sabbath blasting through the speakers, but the usual comfort of it feels distant today. you stare out the window, your knee bouncing restlessly.

eddie glances over at you, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “you sure you’re good?”

you nod, forcing another smile. “yeah. just… thinking.”

he doesn’t push, just turns the music up louder, filling the silence between you with something easier than words.

when he pulls into the parking lot of the video store, he shifts in his seat to face you, grinning. “aright, corporate warrior. try not to let ‘em break your spirit on day one.”

you roll your eyes but can’t help the real smile that tugs at your lips. “thanks for the pep talk.”

eddie’s grin softens, just for a second, before he reaches over and ruffles your hair. “go get ‘em, tiger.”

you take a deep breath and step out of the car, glancing back once to see eddie still watching you through the windshield. he waits until you’re safely inside the family video before driving away.

the bell dings cheerfully as you enter, spotting robin immediately behind the counter. her face lights up in excitement when she catches sight of you, “thank god, i totally thought you were gonna bail.”

you manage a laugh, shoving your hands into your pockets. “sorry. overslept." not technically a lie.

robin arches a brow, leaning forward on the counter with a smirk. “and by 'overslept,' you mean…?"

“that i overslept,” you reply back quickly, already agitated at what you know she’s implying. steve appears from the back room, dropping her a fresh family video vest on the counter.

steve squints at you, then at robin, then back at you again. “wait, hold up, were you guys talking about—"

robin smacks him in the chest with the back of her hand before he can finish. “no! nope. no we were not."

steve rubs his sternum, looking deeply offended. “jesus, fine." he tosses the vest your way. “just saying, if you were talking about munson, i have insider info. that's all."

robin kicks him behind the counter, earning a slight wince from him.

you stiffen, the mention of eddie sending a familiar jolt through you. you force a laugh, trying to play it cool. “oh yeah? enlighten me."

steve leans on the counter on his forearms, voice lowering conspiratorially. “well, i heard from henderson, who heard from brian, who heard from gareth, that a certain someone doesn’t want you working here. with me.”

you blink, processing.

“what?" your voice comes out sharper than intended, earning a surprised look from steve.

robin kicks him again, harder this time. steve yelps.

“i'm just the messenger!" he hisses at her, before turning back to you with a wince. “look, don't shoot me, i'm just repeating what i heard."

your pulse thrums in your ears. you can picture the scene so clearly, eddie pacing his trailer, grumbling to gareth about you working with steve harrington of all people. it’s ridiculous. it’s… possessive.

you swallow hard, schooling your expression into something neutral. “yeah, well. tell henderson, and gareth, and brian, to mind their own business."

robin shoots steve a warning look. “hey, steve, why don't you go start the returns?"

“what, why?" steve looks between you with a frown.

“just go, dingus,” she says, rolling her eyes at his inability to read the room.

he looks like he wants to protest, but finally throws his hands up in defeat. “fine, whatever. i'll go do the boring manual labor."

he disappears into the back room, still grumbling to himself, leaving you and robin in awkward silence for a moment.

she clears her throat awkwardly. you stare determinedly out the window at a car driving past.

finally, she lets out a huff. “can i be honest?" here it comes.

“you might as well." you mutter.

she leans forward, bracing her elbows on the counter. “look, you know i love munson. the guy's a total weirdo, but in like, a good way, you know?"

you nod slowly, waiting for the rest of it.

robin exhales sharply, raking a hand through her hair. “but this? him getting all bent out of shape about you working here? that's bullshit." her voice drops lower, glancing toward the back to make sure steve isn't listening. “you don't belong to him. you get to make your own choices, and if he can't handle that—"

she cuts herself off, shaking her head. “just… don't let him scare you off from something you wanna do, okay?"

the words land heavy in your chest. because she's right, but it's not that simple, not when the thought of disappointing eddie makes your stomach twist into knots.

before you can respond, the bell above the door chimes. you and robin end up, thankfully, interrupted by a customer. your first day goes by in a bit of a blur, robin trains you on rewinding the tapes, and you pretend like there’s not a pit in your stomach.

the neon family video sign flickers as you clock out, stepping into the dim parking lot. eddie’s van idles near the curb, exhaust curling into the cool night air. he’s leaning against the driver’s side door, arms crossed, cigarette dangling from his lips. the glow of the ember illuminates his sharp features when he spots you.

“told you i’d pick you up," he calls, grinning.

your stomach flips, equal parts irritation and something warmer, something treacherous. you shove your hands in your pockets and walk toward him. “yeah, yeah. just don’t make a habit of lurking outside my job like some kinda stalker."

eddie scoffs, flicking ash onto the pavement. “please. if i was lurking, you wouldn’t have seen me.” he pushes off the van, swinging the passenger door open with a dramatic flourish. “m’lady.”

you roll your eyes, climbing into the passenger seat. “oh, so you have an appropriate amount of stalker-like tendencies. that’s comforting."

“hey, stalking implies there’s some element of subtlety. that’s not my thing," he protests, starting the engine and cranking the a/c. the van rumbles to life, filling the air with the familiar sound of black sabbath’s war pigs.

eddie turns the volume down slightly, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as he pulls out of the parking lot. he keeps glancing at you out of the corner of his eye like he wants to say something, but can't quite find the words, continuing the dance that had become your new normal almost overnight.

finally, he clears his throat. “so, how was the first day?”

“it was fine," you say, staring out the window as hawkins blurs past. “steve and robin are... they're nice."

eddie stiffens almost imperceptibly beside you. “yeah, nice," he mutters under his breath, grip tightening on the wheel.

the silence between you grows heavier.

you glance over at him, taking in the set of his jawline, the way his bangs shadow his eyes just a bit. “you’re mad," you say, more of an observation than a question.

he huffs, eyes fixed on the road. “i’m not mad."

“eddie." you give him a sharp sidelong glance. he sighs, shoulders slumping a little. “fine, alright. yeah. i'm mad."

“mad at me?”

“no," he snaps, “not at you."

you watch him warily. “then who?"

“steve."

ah. “why?"

“because… i don’t know, alright?" he exclaims. “he just pisses me off."

“i thought you guys were cool after, y’know, everything?” you don’t need to specify, you were all there those few short months ago; the demobats, the upside down, all the things you’d both rather forget.

eddie scoffs, fingers tightening around the wheel. “we are cool. doesn't mean i gotta like the guy hovering around you all day."

you blink at him. "...what?"

he grimaces, realizing what he just said. the van slows at a red light, and he finally turns to look at you, really look at you, his expression caught between frustration and something far more vulnerable.

“look, i don’t—" he cuts himself off, jaw working. “forget it."

the light turns green. eddie exhales sharply and hits the gas. neither of you speak the rest of the way to your house.

when he pulls up to your trailer, the silence between you feels like a living thing, heavy and tense. eddie doesn’t turn the engine off, doesn’t look at you, just drums his fingers against the wheel like he’s waiting for something, like maybe he wants you to break first.

you unbuckle your seatbelt, hesitating before grabbing the door handle. “thanks for the ride,” you mutter.

eddie nods stiffly. “yeah. no problem.”

you should get out, go inside and let this, whatever this is, fizzle out like every other almost-argument you’ve ever had, but something stops you. you sit frozen. maybe it’s the way his knuckles are white around the steering wheel. maybe it’s the way he hasn’t looked at you once since that red light, or maybe it’s the way your chest aches at the thought of leaving things like this.

you take a deep breath. “eddie—”

he cuts you off with a sharp laugh, finally turning to face you. his eyes are dark, unreadable. “what? what do you want me to say?”

you swallow hard. you don’t know. that’s the problem.

the silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating. finally, eddie sighs, running a hand through his hair. “just… go inside, alright? i’ll see you tomorrow.”

it’s a dismissal. a gentle one, but a dismissal all the same. you nod stiffly, mimicking his precious actions and push the door open, stepping out into the cool night air. the van doesn’t pull away until you’re safely inside, the sound of the engine fading into the distance as you lean back against your front door, exhaling shakily.

something has shifted between you tonight. you’re not sure what it means yet, only that nothing will ever be quite the same again.

✧༝┉˚•★•˚┉༝✧ taglist ✧༝┉˚•★•˚┉༝✧

@daddyhetfield @hellfirehottie @mayawainfleet

@m-art000 @nubedeoctubreval @doomdabss @bonnieprincess

[therealpussybangs]

omg my chest hurt at the end there YEESH so excited for what’s next!!

[srdcovka]

ever since i was a little girl i knew i was tired

[levanswrites]

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: 𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐞, 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝

pairing: eddie munson x reader

summary: Friday night, you came to him looking for something to ease the pressure.

And Eddie knows he shouldn't want this. Not like this, not with you.

Because there’s something sacred in the way you’re breaking.

And he’s never been gentle with holy things.

warnings: 18+ mdni, softdom!eddie, bdsm, dom/sub dynamics, friends to lovers, slow burn, heavy mutual pining, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, underage drug use, guilt/shame, impact play, fwb, thigh riding, eventual smut | series playlist

(*denotes smut)

Ⅰ. troubled cure, for a troubled mind - “It’s called E. This is what you were asking about, right?”

Ⅱ. the things behind the sun - “I would always rather be happy than dignified.”

Ⅲ. look out, she'll pull you in* - “I’m proud of you.”

Ⅳ. mine's a tale that can't be told - “So this is… Dungeons and Dragons, huh?”

Ⅴ. crazy, for thinking my love could hold you* - “You like control? In bed. When you fuck.”

Ⅵ. in the midnight hour, I can feel your power* - “I had a dream about you.”

Ⅶ. every time it rains, you’re here in my head - "Yeah. Beautiful."

Ⅷ. can you help me occupy my brain?* - "I want to know what you imagine. When you’re alone, thinking about me."

[therealpussybangs]

ahhh!!! the emotion in this is so well written— I loooovelovelove Eddie and readers dynamic!! adorable xxx 💗💗

[flowersforbucky]

your self lingers

eddie munson x reader

trapped in a coma after nearly dying in the upside down, eddie’s brain replays his best memories. as his body fights to stay alive, he watches past versions of himself fall in love with you, not knowing if he’ll ever have the chance to tell you how he feels now.

word count: 5.4k+

warnings/tags: 18+ mdni, angst with a happy ending i swear, best friends to lovers, near death experience, season 4 fix it fic, brief marijuana use, hospital setting, kissing, hurt/comfort, hardcore mutual pining, eddie is a level 848389292 yearner, no use of y/n, reader has she/her pronouns, all flashbacks/memories are in italics!

author’s note: this was inspired by this request from @highlandhour! i’m so sorry this got away from me. huge thanks to @fru1t4fr0gs for reading over this and assuring me it isn’t hot garbage ily <3

˖⁺｡˚⋆˙✧⋆｡°⋆࿓ ˖⁺｡˚⋆˙✧⋆｡°⋆࿓

At first, Eddie thinks that he’s dead. He’s still not entirely convinced otherwise.

But that wouldn’t make sense. Because what he’s looking at right now looks too much like heaven, and Eddie never saw himself getting into a place like heaven. He thought the closest he’d ever get was you accidentally falling asleep with your head on his shoulder while watching Return of the Jedi in his living room.

There’s got to be some other explanation for the way he’s hovering outside of his own body, watching a past version of himself blush beet fucking red because you complimented his guitar playing.

God, had he really looked that giddy? Had he truly been that obviously down bad for you since the very first interaction? Had you really not ever noticed?

Standing before himself right now, even in this dreamlike haze that makes the whole room a little bit blurry, he can see his feelings for you plain as day on his face.

More importantly, he can see you. Every bit as beautiful as you’ve always been. In hindsight, he should have told you right then and there.

What if he never has the chance now?

He can’t stop himself. He says your name - loudly enough that you should’ve been able to hear him over The Hideout’s rowdy late night crowd.

But his voice sounds muffled. Like he’s trying to speak underwater. You don’t hear him - not him him, anyway. Your attention stays focused on the younger version of him with slightly shorter hair and a few less tattoos.

That’s when he remembers something you’d told him what feels like ages ago. He didn’t put too much stock in it at the time, but now he wonders if it’s true - that after death, a person’s brain can cycle through their best memories.

So maybe this isn’t heaven. But if he is in fact dead, he may as well enjoy this for however long it lasts before you fade away.

Before he fades away.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Eddie blinks and he’s no longer in The Hideout watching his past self blush and stutter his way through his first conversation with you.

When he opens his eyes, he’s in your kitchen. He recognizes the memory instantly.

The first time he ever came to your house - and also his first haircut in years.

“I’ve got a shit load of split ends right now,” Eddie observes, a lock of his dark curls pinched between two fingers. He sighs. “My own fault, I guess. It’s been over a year since I’ve had it trimmed.”

You’re focused on combining various cheeses in a mixing bowl. Yesterday, he’d let it slip that his mom used to make the best lasagna, and that he hasn’t eaten even a single bite of the dish since she passed away over a decade ago. He misses it, but he’s not much of a cook himself and his uncle is rarely home for dinner since he works night shifts.

Your response had been to go buy all of the ingredients for homemade lasagna from the grocery store and invite him over for dinner the very next day. Now he sits on a barstool at your kitchen island, watching you assemble the dish. He’d offered to help, of course, but you had insisted that he “sit there and look pretty”.

“I’ve heard good things about the barber in town,” you muse, cracking an egg into the bowl. “I can’t remember his name. Sam or something.”

“Sal?” He scoffs. “Not a chance. Wayne took me to Sal once - right before school started back. He told him to trim my hair and he gave me a buzz cut. I looked like a damn egg for the first half of third grade. Safe to say that Sal will never get my business again.”

You snort a laugh, your nose crinkling in the way that Eddie has come to adore in such a short amount of time. Adores it so much that he takes every opportunity he gets to make you laugh.

“I’m sure you were a cute little egghead,” you coo. “I’ll have to ask Wayne if he has any pictures.” You’re too focused on layering all of the ingredients in a casserole dish to notice the way it makes him blush.

“You wouldn’t dare,” he feigns indignation. You glance up with a look that very clearly says try me.

“Your uncle loves me. I’m sure if I asked sweetly, he wouldn’t hesitate to dig out any and all childhood photos he has of you.”

Eddie hums. He doesn’t even try to deny it, because you’re right. Wayne does love you. He thinks you’re good for Eddie, and reminds him of it often. If you go even a few days without coming by, Wayne asks where you’ve been.

Eddie tries to assure him that the two of you are just friends, but it doesn’t seem to do much good. Wayne never seems fully convinced.

After sliding the lasagna in the oven and setting a timer, you turn to face him. Your bravado from just moments ago seems to falter, a more hesitant expression taking its place.

“Well, we’ve got a whole hour to kill before the lasagna is ready…” You trail off with a shrug. “If you want, I could trim your hair for you.”

He says yes. Of course he says yes. Even though you’ve never cut another person’s hair before, even though there’s a chance you could completely botch it, he says yes.

If there’s an opportunity for you to touch him in any capacity, he’s going to take it.

It’s not like it could possibly turn out any worse than when Sal practically shaved him bald.

So that’s how he ends up sitting on a stool in front of your bathroom mirror, you behind him with a pair of scissors that definitely aren’t intended for cutting hair and look of concentration that Eddie wishes he could snap a picture of.

You take your time, working in small sections. It takes a while - he has a lot of hair, after all - but he doesn’t mind. He stares at you in the reflection of the vanity mirror the entire time, not really caring if his hair ends up a dozen different lengths, because he gets to sit here and look at you while you dote on him.

“There,” you say with a final snip. You back up a few inches, taking a look at your work. “I think I got all of the dead ends. What do you think? Does it look okay?”

But he’s still too busy looking at you. You look so concerned, like every individual strand of hair has to be perfect or he’ll be disappointed in you.

Fuck, how did he get lucky enough to end up here? How did he play his cards so right? With your fingers gently fluffing his hair and the smell of the lasagna that you’re making specially for him wafting from down the hallway—

The timer goes off in the next room, startling all three of you. You, his past self, and the ghost of him that observes the interaction from the bathroom doorway.

He watches as you brush your hands off against your pants before turning around and walking right through him, back to the kitchen where the timer buzzes incessantly. You, of course, remain completely unaware of his presence - calling back to past Eddie to tidy up and come eat.

He tries to follow you. He can’t stop himself - he catches a whiff of your perfume and his feet act of their own accord, following you down the short hallway towards your kitchen. He hasn’t even taken three steps when the room starts to waver.

He freezes. He knows he’s powerless to stop it. So he chooses to stand still and look at you for as long as he can, until the scene around him glitches like someone’s unplugging the memory one cord at a time.

Then there’s nothing but darkness and the faint hum of machinery from somewhere far out of his reach.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“Do you think you’ll stay here after graduation?”

The question takes him by surprise. He hasn’t really given it much thought. The last few years of his life have been spent trying to get to graduation, only to disappoint himself yet again each time. He had yet to let himself dwell on what comes after.

“Here?” He repeats, accepting the half-smoked joint that you pass back to him from where you sit in the passenger seat of his van. “Like in Hawkins?” He brings the tail to his lips and inhales.

“Yeah,” you laugh lightly. “Like in Hawkins.”

He holds the smoke in for longer than necessary as he thinks of his answer. When his lungs start to burn, he exhales. “For a while, probably. Not really sure where else I’d go.”

Not really sure I’d want to go anywhere without you, he thinks to himself. He passes the joint back to you. “What makes you ask?”

You shrug. “When I was watching you play tonight, I couldn’t help but picture you…somewhere else. Some big city, where more people have the chance to hear you. People with connections and opportunities. Connections and opportunities that The Hideout probably won’t ever give you.”

He can’t help but freeze and glance over at you. It’s a typical Tuesday night - Corroded Coffin had just wrapped up their weekly gig at The Hideout and, as always, you’d been watching from the corner booth that you always do. The same corner booth that you’d sat in the night he first met you months ago.

“Don’t underestimate The Hideout,” he teases. “I did meet you there, after all.”

“I’m serious,” you hum.

He knows you are. You wouldn’t say something that you don’t mean. Not something like this. Not to him.

You take another slow drag before speaking. “I just…think you deserve to be heard. By more than just the same small crowd of regular drunks every Tuesday night.”

He swallows. Hawkins is all he knows. He tries to picture anything else - some apartment of his own in a city that never sleeps, crowded sidewalks, bright lights. But he can’t. Can’t see himself anywhere that isn’t his trailer, his van, The Hideout, Hawkins. Can’t see himself anywhere you aren’t right next to him.

He’s always been a creature of habit. Since he was fourteen years old, he’s started every morning with a cup of black coffee and a cigarette. He falls asleep each night to one of the same five movies - he’s replayed them so many times that he can’t believe they still work. Every Tuesday night, he plays at The Hideout, and every Friday night is Hellfire Club.

And for the last few months, you’ve been at the very center of it all. Now when he wakes up and drinks his coffee on the front porch step of his trailer every morning, he thinks of you and wonders if you’re awake yet. When he drifts to sleep with Raiders of the Lost Ark playing for the fourth night in a row, he sees you when he closes his eyes. And when he looks out into the crowd of regulars that frequent The Hideout every week, your face is always the one he searches for.

You nudge him lightly with your elbow when he doesn’t respond. He glances up and you’re giving him a soft grin that would bring him to his knees if he weren’t already sitting down. “I’m not saying you have to leave,” you murmur. “I’m just saying don’t sell yourself short, okay? You’re allowed to want more than this place has to offer.”

The words hit him square in the chest. He doesn’t know if anyone has ever believed him that much, let alone so vocally. Definitely not his teachers or his dad. The most supportive person in his life - until you came along - had always been his uncle. But Wayne is a man of few words, and his support comes in the form of not complaining too much about loud music coming from Eddie’s room.

But you think he deserves more. You think he could actually make it as a musician. You believe in him.

He clears his throat, forcing a laugh to break the tension that had settled throughout the confined space of his van. “Well, if I did leave, you’d have to come with me. Who else is going to remind me to eat more than one meal a day?”

You laugh. He can’t help but think he hears a hint of relief. “That goes without saying. You’d slowly wither away without me.”

He doesn’t dare argue with that.

“Fuck!” Eddie curses from the back of his van. He’d watched the entire interaction in silence, drinking in the way that you sounded nervous to broach the subject of leaving Hawkins to him. He hadn’t picked up on the honesty, the emotion, the sheer adoration in your voice at the time, but he hears it now.

“Fuck, you idiot,” Eddie curses to no one but himself. His past self is blissfully unaware of how he watches from the backseat, focused only on you beside him. “Leave Hawkins now! Take her and get the fuck out of this town right now!”

It’s useless. He knows it’s a waste of what very little, very precious time he has left to bask in your presence, but he yells anyway. At the past version of himself sitting in front of him, at the version of himself that didn’t run away from those godforsaken bats, at you, at this entire surreal situation he’s in.

“I’m going to find my way out of here,” he swears to you. “I’m gonna find my way out of this place. I’m gonna find my way back to you, and we’ll get out of Hawkins. We’ll go wherever the hell you want to go. You hear me?”

But he knows that you can’t. You’re already gone again.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Eddie’s about to do the most cliche thing he’s ever done.

He’s giving you a mixtape for your birthday.

Not just any mixtape. A mixtape that he spent hours making last night, just for you. A mixtape with songs that reminds him of you, songs that he doesn’t necessarily like but knows that you do, songs that he loves and wants you to love, too. You name it, it’s on there.

Tucked inside the cassette tape is a piece of paper that lists all of the song titles along with the reasons why he selected each one, written in his borderline illegible chicken scratch that you like to tease him about.

It’s not much. He knows you deserve far more than a homemade mixtape for your birthday, and he wishes he could give you the world. You deserve it for just being his friend and making his days as happy as you do. But he also doubts that anyone else giving you a gift this year put as much thought into your presents as he did, so that gives him a small amount of comfort.

His hands are so sweaty that he nearly drops the tape from his clutches as he walks up your front porch steps. You open the door for him before he has a chance to knock.

How are you somehow even prettier on your birthday than you are the other 364 days of the year?

“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” he greets you. The smile that appears on your face is enough to make him nearly melt on the spot.

“You remembered,” you laugh, a lilt of surprise in your voice. You motion for him to come inside.

“Well, duh,” he snorts. “Of course I remembered your birthday. It’s kind of a huge deal.”

You close the door behind him, rolling your eyes. “It’s really not.”

“Disagree,” he says instantly, heart pounding at the prospect of handing you the mixtape still in his hand. “Strongly disagree, actually. The day you were born is very important. And that’s why I come bearing gifts…well, gift. Singular.”

You turn towards him with raised brows, your eyes trailing down and then back up in search of the gift he could be referring to.

He swallows and holds it out to you in offering. “I, uh - here.”

Smooth. Really fucking smooth.

You blink, then gingerly take it from his hand like it’s something fragile. The handwritten label catches your attention first. Your face softens. “You made this?”

He rubs the back of his neck, his eyes suddenly glued to a random speck on your floor. “I mean, yeah. Nothing fancy or anything - just some songs that I know you like. And some that I like that I hope you’ll like, too.” He exhales. “I dunno. It’s not much—”

“Eddie.”

You run your thumb along the edge of the cassette tape. “This is the sweetest gift that anyone’s given me in a very long time. Possibly ever.”

You pull the folded paper out, skimming the first few lines of his messy handwriting. You say his name again, softer this time. “You wrote why you picked each song?”

He clears his throat nervously. “I just…didn’t want you to be confused or anything. It’s a lot of songs.”

You smile at him and he swears it’s like looking at the sun. Before he can register what’s happening, you lean in and press a kiss to his cheek, just a few inches from the corner of his mouth. His entire body goes still.

It’s quick. Warm. And so, so soft. The imprint of your lips linger even after you pull away.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your gaze settling on the tape again like you can’t believe your eyes. “Really. You have no idea how much it means to me.”

He knows he’s staring, but he can’t help it. His hand twitches awkwardly at his side, forming a fist to resist the urge to bring the tips of his fingers to where your lips had touched his cheek.

Before the tension has a chance to suffocate him entirely, he forces an exhale and claps his hands together. “Alright, birthday girl. What’s the plan for today?” He aims to sound casual, but it comes out breathless. “We can do anything you want. The sky’s the limit.”

“Hm,” you hum, tapping your chin in contemplation but it’s just for show - he can tell by the smirk on your face and the twinkle in your eyes that you already know exactly what you want to do today.

“I want to go to the bookstore. And then the arcade. Then tonight, I want to go to the drive-in.”

He grins, not the least bit surprised by your answer. “Like I said - anything you want. I’m all yours today.”

And god, he means it. In more ways than you probably realize. Today and every day.

When the scene around him fades to black, Eddie’s cheek burns with the memory of your kiss.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

When he opens his eyes again, it feels like déjà vu.

This memory is more recent than any of the others.

All of the other memories have had one major thing in common - they’ve all been some of the happiest memories of his life. Because of you.

But if someone asked Eddie to list off all of his happiest memories, this memory wouldn’t make the cut. It probably wouldn’t even make the top thousand happiest memories.

No, it isn’t exactly happy. But it is one of his most recent memories with you. One of the most uncertain and hopeless days of his life, brightened only by you being by his side.

“You don’t have to stay here, you know,” he tells you for the third time in the last hour. “This place sucks. The expired Spaghettios suck. The godawful draft sucks. This scratchy couch sucks. I’m pretty sure there’s a dead animal somewhere in the walls because it smells rancid in here. You should be home. Where you’d be warm, and safe—”

“And where I wouldn’t be able to rest,” you interrupt his rambling. You’re lounging on Reefer Rick’s aforementioned sucky, scratchy couch with your feet resting in Eddie’s lap. You peer at him from over the edge of a random book that you’d found in Rick’s bedroom. Eddie doesn’t think it looks like something you’d normally read, but he supposes you can’t be too picky right now. It’s not like either of you are here for entertainment.

You sigh, closing the book. You sit up, removing your feet from his lap. At first, he hates the sudden loss of physical contact, but then you scoot closer to him, resting your arm on the back of the couch behind his head. “We’ve been over this, Eddie. I’m not going anywhere. If you’re here, I’m here. I’ll go home when you can go home, too.”

“But—”

“But nothing.” He feels your fingers thread through the thick curls at the base of his skull and he shuts his mouth. “If I went home right now, I wouldn’t be able to function. I’d stew in my own anxiety until I’m sick. I wouldn’t be able to eat or sleep without knowing you’re okay. I’d spend every second worrying about you.”

Your fingers move gently through his curls again and his eyes flutter shut.

He hates how much he needs it - your touch. Your comfort. Your presence.

He knows you simply being here puts you in danger. Yet when you run your fingers through his hair like that, he can’t bring himself to continue attempting to convince you to leave.

“Breathe,” you murmur.

For you, he tries. Even though his thoughts are racing with all of the unknowns, all of the ways this could end with you getting hurt because of him. With his eyes still closed, he breathes in, then out, focusing on the way your nails gently graze the skin of his neck.

“Thank you,” he breathes in a shaky voice. “For just…being there for me. Through all of this bullshit.”

You shake your head, shushing him softly. “You would do the same for me.”

And he would. Without a doubt, in a heartbeat, he would. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for you. He’d face every nightmare that the Upside Down could possibly conjure. He’d run, hide, bleed. He’d sacrifice himself to hundreds of bloodthirsty demo-bats so that you have a chance of getting away.

But most importantly, he’ll fight tooth and nail to hold on. He’ll drift through his memories for what feels like an eternity if it means he’ll eventually wake up for you.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“Brought you another coffee.”

You glance up from resting your head in your hands at the gruff, familiar voice.

“Oh. Thank you, Wayne.”

He grunts in response, taking a seat in one of the old, worn seats in the corner of the room. You take a sip of the gas station coffee he’d brought you from across the street. Over the last five days, Wayne has learned that you take your coffee with two cream, two sugars. It tastes burnt and a little too bitter, but at least it’s hot.

He looks as tired as you feel. The man has been surviving off of nothing but caffeine, nicotine, and unwavering hope for nearly a week.

At least one of you has been by Eddie’s bedside at any given moment. Oftentimes both, but only Wayne is allowed to stay overnight. Family only - hospital policy.

And there has not been a night that he hasn’t stayed. Every morning, when you arrive as soon as visiting hours allow, you find Wayne in the exact same chair that he’d been in when you’d left twelve hours prior.

For the most part, the two of you sit in silence during the day. It isn’t uncomfortable. Your shared love for Eddie makes it all a little more bearable. When you have to leave, you take comfort in knowing that Wayne is still with him. And Wayne only ever agrees to leave for short periods of time during the day if you’re there to be with Eddie in his temporary absence.

He normally only leaves for long enough to grab another coffee, a vending machine snack, and smoke a cigarette or two. His trailer had been destroyed in what news reports are referring to as an earthquake - so he’s in a motel for the time being, but he only goes to the room for long enough to take a quick shower every other day.

You’ve yet to hear him complain a single time. But as soon as you arrived this morning, you could tell that it’s all starting to get to him - the lack of sleep. The worry and uncertainty. The stress. The depressing and sterile environment of the same four hospital walls, day after day. Today, the dark circles under his eyes and the way he winces when he sits down in his chair are hard for you to ignore.

“You need to sleep, Wayne,” you say delicately. “Not here. In an actual bed. For more than a couple hours. And you need to eat an actual meal that consists of more than just Doritos and beef jerky.”

He looks at you like he wants to argue, but he’s too tired. Instead, he turns his gaze to his nephew in the bed a few feet away from him. “I have a good feeling about today. I gotta be here when he wakes up.”

He’d said the exact same thing yesterday, but you don’t remind him of that.

“I hope you’re right,” you sigh. “But you still need to sleep. I know that chair is killing your back.” You pause. To your surprise, he doesn’t deny it.

“I’ll be here,” you murmur. “I’ll be right here with him. If he wakes up, I’ll make sure he knows that I forced you to go take a nap.”

He continues to stare at Eddie’s sleeping form for a few more moments before he reluctantly nods, and pushes himself out of the creaky chair. He hesitates next to Eddie’s bed, giving his nephew’s hand a tight squeeze before forcing one foot in front of the other.

He pauses beside you before he reaches the door. “Boy’s lucky,” he grunts, not looking you in the eye. “He’s got someone that loves him as much as he loves them.”

The words knock the air from your lungs. A golf ball sized lump forms in your throat. You force yourself to swallow it down. At least until you’re alone.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I do.”

He leaves without saying another word. When the door behind him clicks shut, you let tears fall freely for the first time in five days.

“You hear that?” You half laugh, half sob. You drag your chair across the linoleum floor, closer to the side of his bed. Then, you take the same hand that Wayne had just held moments prior in your own and bring it to your lips. “I love you, Eddie. I never imagined that this would be the time or place that I’d be telling you that for the first time, but it’s true. I’m in love with you.”

You wipe your nose with the back of your hand, simultaneously relieved that Eddie can’t see you in this state and also wishing more than anything that he’d open his eyes and tease you about being such a snotty, blubbering mess.

“There were so many times that I almost told you. I always bit my tongue out of fear that it would ruin our friendship. And ever since me met, our friendship has always been the most precious thing to me. But I should’ve said it, Eddie. I should’ve told you that I love you. And if you wake up, I promise that I will.”

To no surprise, the only response is the steady, continuous beeping of a monitor that lets you know his heart is beating.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

He’s got someone that loves him as much as he loves them.

Yeah. I do.

You hear that? I love you, Eddie. It’s true.

I’m in love with you.

He chases the words. He sprints after the sound of your voice without knowing where the fuck he’s going.

He just knows you’re close. He can hear you, feel you. His left hand feels like pins and needles and something deep in his gut tells him it’s you. It has to be you. He’d recognize the feeling of your hand holding his anywhere.

I always bit my tongue.

Our friendship has always been the most precious thing to me.

I should’ve said it.

If you wake up, I promise I will.

When his eyes shoot open, the fluorescence nearly blinds him.

“Eddie?”

Your voice. His vision hasn’t come into focus, but he knows you’re here before he sees you. His fingers twitch, the tingling sensation gone because you’re here. Not a memory, not a dream, not a hallucination. You’re really here, holding his hand.

The room around him slowly settles, his eyes briefly darting around until they find the only thing he cares to see right now.

You. Eyes wide and wet with tear-stained cheeks, he would think that he’s seeing an angel if he didn’t know any better.

“Hey,” he rasps, throat so dry that he doesn’t recognize his own voice.

You gasp, a sharp inhale of disbelief. “Eddie,” you whisper again, but this time it’s a sob. You shoot up out of your chair, all but throwing yourself onto the edge of his bed. “You’re awake. Oh my god, you’re awake. I didn’t - I didn’t know if you’d wake up. You scared me so bad, Eddie.”

He wants to wipe your tears but his arms feel heavy and foreign. Tubes trail from the back of his hands and his whole body feels like it’s been taken apart and put back together. The only thing that he knows is working is his heart, because he can feel it swell inside his chest at the way you’re looking at him.

“Sorry for scaring you, sweetheart,” he mutters, voice still scratchy. “I’m here now.”

You sob in relief, leaning over to rest your head against his chest, careful not to brush against the stitches across his abdomen that he’s becoming more aware of by the second.

He nuzzles his face against your hair, inhaling your scent. Neither of you speak for a moment. He somehow gathers up the strength to lift a weak hand to the small of your back.

You’re real. Tangible. And he never wants to let you go again.

“There’s something I’ve gotta tell you,” he whispers.

You pull back enough to look him in the eye. “Me too. There’s something I need to tell you, too—”

“I know,” he stops you. “I know. I heard. I’m in love with you, too.”

You jerk back as if he electrocuted you. “You… heard me?”

He exhales a shaky laugh. “I don’t know how. But I did. I think it… I think it saved me. You saved me.” Tears well in your eyes again and your lips visibly tremble. “And I love you, too. More than anything, baby. I should have told you a long time ago.”

A dozen different emotions flicker across your face. Disbelief, bewilderment, joy. Beneath the tears, a smile forms. The smile that Eddie has fallen in love with.

“C’mere,” he whispers, voice still strained but certain. “Please, sweetheart.”

He doesn’t need to elaborate. Doesn’t need to tell you what he wants. You lean down, bringing your lips to his without a hint of hesitation.

Your hand cups his jaw, your thumb grazing along the scruff of his cheek. He’s sure that his breath is stagnant, but you don’t seem to care. You kiss him - the kind of kiss that he swears could have woken him up days ago, if you’d only pressed your lips to his.

And he lets himself melt into it. A quiet sound escapes him - half sigh, half moan. His fingers tighten at your hip and he has to resist pulling you on top of him entirely, the only thing stopping him being the sharp pains that radiate from his abdomen.

He tastes salt from your tears and the slight tang of coffee, but beneath that, there’s a flavor that’s uniquely you that he knows he’ll never have enough of.

You pull away with a shaky laugh when the beeping of his heart monitor spikes. You rest his forehead against his, both of you breathless. “You’re not allowed to scare me like that again. Promise me.”

“I promise.” He lifts a shaky hand to your face, brushing a stray tear away from your cheek with the backs of his knuckles. “I’m not going anywhere ever again. Not without you.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

thank you so much for reading. ily forever if you comment/reblog.

[cinemabean]

My Eddie 🥹😭🥹 literally I’d be confessing for as long as I needed to until he woke up. This was so sweet.

[therealpussybangs]

omfg the memories im actually heartbroken i love this so much!!!

[sparklesabbath]

if you still draw/write/edit eddit munson in the big 26 i love you and am kissing you on the forehead

[therealpussybangs]

you guys are forever important to me💗💗💗

[yeah-iveheardofbears]

motel afterglow

pairing: virgin!eddie munson x virgin!reader

summary: in the late night, post-concert rush, you and your best friend share more than just secrets in the dark...

wc: 6.7k

tw: best friends to lovers, loss of virginity (both m and f), explicit smut, p in v protected, eddie eats pussy because of course he does, hand jobs, mentions of bullying, tiny miscommunication, eddie has the nerdiest dirty talk but it works, very retro us of the word porno, sex toy mention, masturbation, fluff fluff fluff,

love notes: hi my munson loving babes, i'm back with another nerdy dirty talk filled oneshot! i wrote this the other day and never posted it. its from combining a couple of older drink order requests that were similar:

i'm a decrepit old lady (lol), so it's been a long time since i've been a virgin, so i hope i did this justice. it's definitely full of fluff and awkwardness

masterlist | consider buying me ko-fi

The motel room you guys could afford was exactly how you'd imagined it would be. Expensive enough to not be infested, but cheap enough that the sheets felt like tissue paper. 

Indianapolis had been loud. Loud enough that your ears still rang a little.

Your concert ticket was crumpled on the nightstand next to Eddie’s rings and a couple stray guitar picks he’d emptied from his pocket. Evidence of the night scattered everywhere. A denim jacket tossed over the back of the chair. Your boots kicked off near the door. Two plastic cups from the gas station down the road sweating onto the dresser.

The bed itself was small. Technically speaking, it was a full, but the mattress dipped badly in the middle, which meant there had never really been a question about whether you’d end up sharing space.

Eddie lay on his back beside you, one arm tucked under his head, the other resting loosely across his stomach. His hair was still a little wild from the humidity outside the venue, curls spreading over the faded motel pillow.

“You’re still smiling,” he said into the dim room.

“I am not.”

“You are,” he insisted, turning his head toward you. “You’ve been smiling since the encore.”

You rolled onto your side to face him, the thin motel blanket shifting between you. “That was a good encore.”

Eddie huffed a soft laugh. “It was an amazing encore.”

For a moment neither of you spoke. The muffled sound of a car passing on the highway filled the silence, headlights briefly sweeping across the ceiling through the gap in the curtains.

You became very aware of how close he was.

Close enough that you could see the faint crease between his brows when he squinted at you. Close enough that if either of you moved even a little, your knees would bump under the blanket.

“You know,” Eddie said after a second, voice quieter now, “most people after a concert like that would be out cold.”

“And miss the post-show analysis?” you said. “Never.”

“This is why you’re my favorute,” he murmured.

But he didn’t look away.

The quiet stretched between you, the small motel room seemed to shrink around the bed, until it felt like the rest of the world had slipped somewhere down the highway and left the two of you stranded in the middle of it.

"Well," you finally broke the silence. "As much as I hate that Gareth fractured his ankle, there would have been no way we'd all be able to sleep in this motel room together. So I guess it worked out money wise."

It was supposed to be the three of you on this little weekend road trip, but Gareth had gotten drunk and hopped on a picnic table one too many times before the show and had spent the evening in an emergency room getting a cast. You and Eddie had still gone.

"Yeah well, I came close to getting my own bones broken when he fell on top of me the second time." Eddie rolled his eyes with a huff of laughter. 

"Almost had to go all by myself and deal with my metal-induced euphoria alone."

"Perish the thought," Eddie said, a smile touching his lips. "I'm a vital part of your euphoria management system."

You watched the slow way he blinked, the way his lashes swept down against his cheek. 

"Eddie," you said, and you didn't know what you were going to say after that, only that you were going to say something.

But he was already moving, shifting onto his side too, facing you fully. The motion sent the mattress dipping again, bringing you even closer. The worn denim of your jeans brushed against the worn denim of his.

“Yeah?” he breathed out.

You opened your mouth to speak but pushed the thought aside and instead blurted out:

"I don't have pajamas." 

He gave you a confused look at the weird way you said it but then nodded slowly.

"Me neither."

You shifted your legs a bit, pulling your knees up closer to your body.

"I don't want to sleep in my jeans." 

"Yeah, I wasn't planning on that either." 

You raise an eyebrow and he goes on. "So...we could sleep in our underwear. I could look away for a second so you can get under the covers first. 

You think about the black thong you have on.

"Eddie?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm not really wearing underwear underwear."

"Uh... what?" He looked lost.

You took a breath.

"I'm wearing a thong."

He didn't say anything at all. Just kind of stared at you like you'd just announced you could fly. Then a slow flush started creeping up his neck.

"Oh," he managed after a solid ten seconds of silence.

"I could use my shirt to cover the top half. But still..." you trailed off. "My ass would be out." 

"Yeah... I uh, know how a thong works," he managed.

You just blinked at him. You hadn't meant for the conversation to go in this direction but now it was here and you didn't know how to get it back.

He swallowed, and you watched the movement of his throat in the dim light.

"Okay," he said, after a beat that felt longer than the entire opening act. "I mean, I'm not going to make you sleep in your jeans. That's a special kind of torture. So we can... you know. Do the underwear thing. I'll face the wall. And I swear on all my Judas Priest records I won't turn around."

You searched his face, the earnestness you found there making your chest feel tight.

"Right. Okay." 

You each get up from your respective sides and undress. Eddie kept true to his word, but you still felt the heat of knowing he was just a few feet away.

You slip under the thin covers and wait.

"Okay, done. You're good."

He turned around and got in. His briefs were black too, and hung low on his hips. He had also taken his makeshift tank top off and was only in his boxers.

"You're shirtless." You say as he pauses, halfway into the bed. 

"Uh... yeah? I don't usually wear a shirt to bed..." He trails off like he's just realized what you'd said. "Is that... is that okay?"

You just nodded.

He slid the rest of the way in and pulled the covers up.

There was a lot less space between you now. You could feel the warmth radiating off his skin, could see the way the dim light caught the tattoos scattered across his chest.

"You've seen me shirtless before, sweetheart. It's not some revolutionary event," he said, a note of humor in his voice.

"I've never been in a bed with you while you were shirtless. Different experience entirely."

"Right," he said, and then softer, "Well I've never been in bed with a girl and her ass cheeks were out, so I think we're even." 

"I told you not to look!" You shrieked, hitting him with a pillow.

"Hey! I said I didn't!" he laughed, raising his hands in surrender. "I'm a virgin not a monk, I can visualize what a thong entails." 

He says it so casually that you almost don't catch it. 

"...What?" 

"Okay..." he tries to backtrack. "I don't mean I'm visualizing your ass in the thong. Just an ass. Like a generic woman ass in--" 

"You're a virgin?" You cut him off.

The pillow fell from your grasp as you stared at him.

His whole body went tense.

The laugh had vanished from his face. He looked away from you, staring at the water-stained patch on the ceiling. He swallowed hard enough that you could see the muscles in his throat work.

"Uh... yeah." It comes out as a resigned whisper almost. Like, for once, he has nothing in his wordsmith arsenal to deflect.

You were too quiet.

And then your face did a weird thing that you couldn't quite control. Your eyebrows shot up and your lips parted and it wasn't bad. It wasn't mocking or judgmental.

It was just... shocked.

"Really?"

And for some reason, the simple, unadorned disbelief in your voice seemed to be exactly the wrong thing to say.

"Jesus, what, is that so hard to believe?" The words came out sharp, stung. He pushed himself up on one elbow, creating a sudden, unwelcome distance between you. "The freak, the dungeon master, the guy who sells drugs to kids isn't exactly a girl's fantasy. Don't tell me you're surprised."

"No! Eddie that's not what I meant at all!" You quickly try to sit up, while still keeping covered as well, but the blanket bunches weirdly around your waist and you feel even more exposed than before. "It's just... you're so..."

"So what?" He was genuinely agitated now, the vulnerable admission curdling into something defensive and angry.

"So... confident," you finished quietly. "You're always so... loud. And you command a room. And you're funny. And... I don't know. I just assumed..."

He stared at you, his chest rising and falling a little too fast. The anger seemed to drain out of him as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a deep-seated exhaustion.

"Being able to work a room doesn't mean you know what the hell to do when you're alone in a dark one with someone," he said, the words barely audible.

Silence crashed back into the room. This was heavier, weighted with things unsaid. You reached out, your fingers hovering just above the space between you, unsure if touching him would make it better or worse.

"And, let's be honest, if a girl is alone with me in a dark room, she's more likely to piss herself with the worry I'm going to sacrifice her to Satan, than be wet in any other way."

You scrunch your nose up at his verbiage. 

"Okay, one: ew. Two? Not true. Three?" You took a breath, deciding to throw caution to the wind. "I'm alone with you in a dark room. Piss free."

He blinked. "Thats different. You're not like, a girl." 

It was, in fact, now his turn to say the exact wrong thing. The tension that had just begun to dissolve returned twofold.

Your jaw set. "Right. I'm not. My mistake."

He scrambled, his words tripping over each other. "No, that's not what I-- Fuck. I mean, you're you. You're my friend. It's not... it's not like that. It's safe."

"Wow. Safe. That's every girl's dream. To be the safe, unfuckable friend."

You flopped back onto the pillow, turning your back to him with a huff. You pulled the blanket up to your chin, a thin, flimsy shield. You could feel the heat of anger and embarrassment prickling at your skin.

"Woah, woah, that's not what I meant either! I'm just... bad at this," he pleaded, his voice a strained whisper. The mattress shifted as he moved closer, a careful, hesitant movement. You could feel the warmth of his hand hovering over your shoulder, not quite touching. "I've never talked about this before. I mean, you know damn well none of the Hellfire guys are getting any. And I'm pretty sure they think I'm some kind of dark lord of getting laid. It's just... a lie. A story I tell. It's easier than the truth."

You stayed silent, staring at the ugly floral pattern on the wall. You could hear his breathing, ragged and uneven.

"And you're not... you're not unfuckable," he said, the words so quiet you almost had to strain to hear them. "You're... very fucka- I mean, you're... you know. You're great."

The clumsy, earnest correction almost made you smile. Almost.

"Look at me," he murmured. "Please?"

Slowly, you rolled back over.

His face was a mess of conflicting emotions in the dim light. The defensive sneer was gone, replaced by something more vulnerable.

"'Great' is what a teacher puts on your paper when you get a B+." You say, your voice small.

He let out a shaky breath, a sound that was half-laugh, half-despair. "Okay. You're right. You're not 'great' like a B+." He searched for the right words, his gaze flicking between your eyes. "You're... you're the solo in 'Master of Puppets'. You're the part of a song that's so good it makes you pull the car over. You're... the kind of thing that makes a guy want to learn guitar in the first place."

Your breath caught. That was not what you were expecting.

"Eddie..."

"No, I mean it," he pushed on, a desperate urgency in his tone now. "And being around you is... it's easy. Too easy. And then I get in my head about it. About saying the wrong thing. About being a disappointment. So I deflect. I make stupid jokes. I turn myself into the D&D nerd or the Satanist freak or--" 

"I'm a virgin too." The words were out of your mouth before you could stop them, a quiet confession that hung in the air between you.

The torrent of words from Eddie stopped. His jaw went slack. He stared at you, wide-eyed, as if you'd just confessed to being a secret agent.

"What?" he finally managed to breathe out. "I thought you lost it to that guy from the photography club."

"Tyler?" You couldn't help the small, humorless laugh that escaped. "No. We went on, like, three dates. He tried to stick his tongue down my throat in the back of the movie theater and then practically begged for a handjob in the parking lot. It was... underwhelming."

Eddie was still just staring, processing.

"Shit. Well, now I can tell you that I really hated that guy. For more reasons than just his terrible haircut."

A real smile finally touched your lips at that. "His haircut was pretty bad."

The silence that followed was different. It wasn't heavy or awkward. It was... quiet. A shared space.

"I didn't tell you because I was embarrassed," you admitted, your gaze fixed on a loose thread on the pillowcase. "I figured you like... I don't know, banged girls in your van after shows or something. I felt... left behind. Like everyone was growing up and doing all this stuff and I was just... still me."

"Sweetheart," he said, his voice soft. "I'm far from the van-banging king. I'm the guy who is currently panicking because he's shirtless in a bed with a girl in a thong and doesn't know the social protocol for what to do with his hands."

"So you admit I'm a girl now?" you teased, a glimmer of your usual self returning.

His eyes softened, and a slow, genuine smile spread across his face. It was the kind of smile that reached his eyes, crinkling the corners. "I've unfortunately been way too aware of that distinction for a while now."

"Unfortunately?" You raise a playful eyebrow.

"Because it was a lot easier to think of you as just... you. My friend. My partner in crime. The person I could talk to about whether Kirk Hammett was a better guitarist than Slash without getting a blank stare. Thinking of you as a girl? A girl I'm in bed with? That's... terrifying."

You feel a warmth spread through your chest that has nothing to do with the flimsy blanket. "Why terrifying?"

"Because I'm bad at this!" he exclaimed, gesturing vaguely between you. "This entire conversation is a testament to that! I say 'safe' and you hear 'unfuckable.' I say 'girl' and I sound like a caveman. The margin for error here is huge. And the thought of messing this up... with you..." He trailed off, shaking his head.

"Messing what up?" you whispered.

His gaze dropped from your eyes to your lips, and back again. The room suddenly felt a thousand degrees hotter. He swallowed, and the motion was so deliberate, so loaded with unspoken meaning, it made your breath hitch.

"You know what. Don't make me say it," he murmured, his voice raspy.

He was so close now. The dip in the mattress had eliminated all but the slimmest of gaps between you. You could feel the warmth of his breath on your cheek.

"I think I want you to say it," you breathed back. 

"Not going to." His smile was back, but it was different now. Shyer. More hesitant. But no less real. "I've said enough stupid things for one night."

Instead of explaining more, he started to lean in.

Slowly. Giving you every opportunity to pull away, to turn back to the wall, to put a stop to it.

But you didn't stop it. 

Not when his hand came up to cradle your face. 

Not when he used his thumb to gently trace your jawline, the rough callus on his finger a pleasant rasp against your skin.

Not when he finally, finally closed the last remaining distance between you and his lips met yours.

It wasn't a perfect kiss. It was a little clumsy at first, a misalignment of angles that ended in a soft, wet press against the corner of your mouth.

You giggled a little, ready to say something cheeky, but he didn't give you the chance. He tilted his head and tried again.

And the second one was perfect.

It was soft and tentative, the taste of a gas station slushie. The sigh he let out against your lips, a sound of pure, unadulterated relief, settled right in your core. 

His hand slid from your jaw to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair. The kiss deepened, a slow, gentle exploration that sent shivers down your spine.

You found your own courage then, your hand coming up to rest on the warm skin of his chest. He let out a soft hum of encouragement, and you let your fingers trail over the lines of his tattoos, the dark ink a stark contrast to his skin.

"Touch all you want." He murmurs against your lips before pressing another quick kiss to your lips and pulling back just enough to look at you.

His eyes were dark in the dim light, pupils blown wide. He was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that matched your own.

"Okay." You say quietly, letting your hand wander.

"Okay," he repeated, a dazed sort of smile on his face. "Okay."

He was still looking at you, a deep searching look that seemed to be trying to memorize every detail of your face.

"You're staring."

"Can't help it," he murmured, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your forehead. Your hands are all over him now, touching anything they can reach. His shoulders, his biceps, the small of his back. And he was doing the same. His hands were everywhere, tracing the curve of your spine, the dip of your waist, the soft skin of your thighs above the line of the thong.

He froze for a second when his fingers brushed against the string of your underwear.

You hold back a small laugh as your hand travels to grab his ass a little, the soft cotton of his briefs giving way to the firm muscle beneath.

"Hey!" He yelped, jumping a little.

"You said I could touch all I wanted." You say with a sly grin. "Don't be shy."

He stared at you for a second before a slow grin spread across his face. "Yeah, okay. Fair's fair."

His hands grew bolder then, sliding down to cup the fat of your ass, pulling you flush against him. The thin fabric of your thong and his briefs was the only thing separating you.

He kisses you harder this time, a hungry, desperate kiss that stole the air from your lungs. His hips rocked against yours, a slow, deliberate friction that had you gasping into his mouth.

He was hard. You could feel him. 

"Eddie," you breathed out, his name a plea on your lips.

"That okay?" His voice soft as his lips travel over your jaw and down your neck. "How I'm touching you?"

You could only nod, words failing you. He seemed to take that as an invitation to continue. He nipped at the sensitive skin of your throat, making you whimper. His hands were still on your ass, kneading the flesh, pulling you closer as he rolls his hips against yours.

You were the one to reach for the hem of your shirt.

He pulls away, breathless.

"Wait. You sure?" He's searching your face again, looking for any sign of hesitation. "You don't have to."

You could feel the heat rise to your cheeks. "Do you... not want to see me?" The words were small, laced with an insecurity you hated.

He looked like you'd just slapped him.

"No! God, no." He shook his head, a look of pure panic on his face. "That's not... I mean, I do. I really, really do. I just... I don't want you to think you have to. Because of... all this."

He gestures to his erection and then to the two of you in the bed. "He's kind of an idiot, and he has terrible ideas about timing."

"I kinda like his timing." You said, your hands back on his chest. "And I want to." You slowly lift the shirt over your head and toss it onto the floor with your jeans.

Eddie went completely still, his eyes wide, fixed on your chest.

"I knew you didn't wear a bra. I could tell," he said, his voice a hoarse whisper. "When you were jumping during the concert."

"Really?" You couldn't help but feel a little pleased.

"Oh yeah." He reached out a hesitant hand, like he was afraid you might disappear. "I was trying very hard to be a gentleman and not stare. But I failed. Miserably."

You let out a soft laugh as his fingers finally made contact, tracing the curve of your breast. His thumb was quick to find your nipple, brushing over it in a way that sent a jolt of pure pleasure straight to your core.

"Look at these pretty things." He murmured as he leaned down to take one in his mouth.

The feel of his tongue, hot and wet, against your sensitive skin was enough to make you arch your back, a gasp torn from your lips. He used his free hand to grip you ass hard, pulling you on top of him while his lips still wrapped around your nipple.

You were straddling him now, your knees on either side of his hips. The thin fabric of your thong and his briefs was soaked, the friction of him against you, even through the layers of clothes, was intoxicating.

You couldn't help the way your hips started to move, a slow, grinding rhythm that had you both gasping for breath.

"Can't believe you're wet for me," he said, his voice laced with a kind of awestruck disbelief. He lifted you up and adjusted you to where he could feel you better, a small moan leaving his lips at the contact.

"Can't believe you're this big," you shot back, more of a sigh than a statement. 

"Yeah? You like that?" The words were a low growl against your skin as he lavished your other nipple with attention.

"Mhm..." You could only manage a small hum, your mind going hazy with pleasure.

He's so hard. So hard that it's almost painful. You needed to feel him. All of him. You started to reach for the waistband of his briefs, but he stopped you, his hand covering yours.

"Hey, no." His breath hitched. "Not yet. Let me... let me do something for you first."

Before you could ask what he meant, he was shifting you, maneuvering you until you were on your back and he was settled between your thighs. He pushed your legs apart with a gentle pressure of his hands. And then he was leaning down, pressing a kiss to the inside of your knee.

"Is this okay?" he asked, his breath warm against your skin.

You could only nod, your throat too tight to speak. He moved higher, pressing a trail of open-mouthed kisses up your inner thigh, stopping just short of where you desperately wanted him.

"You really want to?" Your own surprise at the question was evident.

"I've been dreaming about this," he admitted, his voice a raw, honest confession. "For a long, long time."

And then he was there, his tongue sliding against the fabric of your thong. The wet heat of him through the thin lace was almost enough to send you over the edge.

"Oh god... no wonder girls like this in pornos." Your legs start to shake a little as your hands find their way into his hair.

"You watch pornos?" He looks up at you from between your legs, a slow grin spreading across his face. "My dirty girl."

He didn't wait for an answer, just hooked his fingers into the sides of your thong and pulled it down your legs. He tossed it over his shoulder, and it landed somewhere in the vicinity of your discarded shirt.

"I feel like I'm supposed to pray to this," he said, a teasing glint in his eyes. "Like a holy relic."

You let out a shaky laugh. "D&D references aren't exactly what I'm looking for right now, Eddie."

"No? So you don't like my DM voice? 'You enter a beautiful, damp cavern... the walls are slick with moisture...'" He was  on you then, his tongue finally, finally making contact with your pussy. The feeling was so intense, so overwhelming, you couldn't help but cry out.

His hands gripped your thighs, holding you open for him as he explored you with a desperate, hungry curiosity.

"Guide me," he mumbled against your folds. "I don't know what you like. Tell me."

"Your... your tongue," you gasped out. "On my clit. When I... touch myself I just focus there... "

He hummed in acknowledgement, and then he was following your directions, his tongue finding that sensitive bundle of nerves and circling it with a slow, deliberate pressure. He was a quick study, and it wasn't long before you were writhing beneath him, your hands fisted in his hair, your hips bucking against his face.

"Mmm, feels so much better than my fingers." You whined, the pleasure coiling tight in your belly. He was good. So, so good. Better than you had ever imagined. And you had imagined this. A lot.

He pulled back for a second, his chin shining with your arousal. "Show me how you do it," he said, his voice thick with desire. "Show me what you like."

You hesitated for a beat, the vulnerability of the request hitting you. But then you looked at him, at the open, eager expression on his face, and you couldn't deny him anything.

You reached down between your legs, your fingers finding your clit easily. You started to rub slow circles, the motion practiced, familiar.

"God..." He groans. "You ever think about me? When you do this?"

Your fingers stutter. You look down at him, at the hope and the lust warring in his eyes.

"Only since last year," you said, your voice barely a whisper. "When you wore that ripped t-shirt to the fair. I could see your... happy trail..." 

He just stared, completely floored.

"Fucking Christ..." He pinched his eyes shut as he palmed himself through his boxers before he dived back in with a new enthusiasm.

He watched you for a moment, and then he joined in, his tongue prodding your entrance and licking at your fingers as you pleasured yourself. It was a messy, clumsy, and incredibly erotic sight.

"Fuck, Eddie, I'm so close," you moaned, your hips moving in a frantic rhythm against his tongue and your own hand.

He redoubled his efforts, nudging your hands away with his nose and sucking your clit into his mouth and flicking it with his tongue. It was the final push you needed, and you came with a cry, your body shaking with the force of your orgasm.

He didn't stop, not right away. He kept licking you, his tongue gentle now, soothing you through the aftershocks. It was as if he just loved your taste, greedy for more. Finally, he pulled back, a look of pure, unadulterated pride on his face.

He crawled up your body and kissed you then, a messy kiss that tasted of your release.

"Damn, I'm gonna get addicted to that," he murmured against your lips.

You just hummed in response, your body still buzzing with pleasure. You could feel his erection pressing against your thigh, a demanding presence.

"Let me..." you started, your hands trailing down his chest to the waistband of his briefs. "Let me return the favor."

"Yeah?" His eyebrows raise.

You answered by tugging the briefs down, freeing him. He kicked them off the rest of the way, and then he was completely naked, the dim light of the motel room casting him in a warm glow. He was beautiful.

He knelt between your legs, giving you a perfect view. He was long and thick, the head flushed a dark pink, a bead of precum glistening at the tip.

"I've never seen a real one in person," you confessed, your voice filled with awe.

He flushed a little, a rosy blush spreading across his chest. "Well, it's not going to win any awards. It's pretty standard issue."

"It's bigger than my dildo," you blurted out, then immediately regretted it.

Eddie's head tilted, a slow, wicked grin spreading across his face. "You have a dildo?" He leaned in, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. "I'm learning a lot about your sexy habits tonight."

"I'm a virgin, not a nun." You said defensively, a call back to his confession earlier.

"I know. I'm not judging. I'm celebrating." He kissed you again, a quick, hard press of his lips. "Now, were you about to do something?"

You reached out and wrapped your hand around him. He was hot and hard, the smooth skin a stark contrast to how rigid he was. He let out a sharp hiss of breath, his hips jerking forward.

You started to stroke him, twisting your wrist on the upstroke, the way you'd read about in a magazine.

"Jesus, that's... yeah," he groaned, his head falling back. "Just like that."

You watched him, mesmerized by the way his face contorted with pleasure. The way he was so open and unashamed of it.

"You know, when you said the thing about your... toy," he said, his breath hitching as you ran your thumb over the head of his cock, spreading the wetness there. "Am I really bigger?"

You smiled, a genuine, sly smile. "Considerably."

"Fuck." He seemed genuinely pleased by this information. "That's... good to know. For my ego."

He watched you for a few more moments, your hand working him with a steady rhythm. Then he reached down, stilling your movements.

"Okay, stop," he breathed, his voice strained. "I'm not going to last if you keep doing that."

You looked up at him, a question in your eyes.

"I want..." He swallowed hard. "I wanna be inside you."

The words hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning.

"We won't be virgins anymore." You say, soft and immediately feeling stupid for it. Of course he knew that.

His expression softened. He leaned down and kissed your forehead. "I know." He was so close, you could feel the frantic beat of his heart against your chest.

"I want that," you said, your voice firm. "With you."

He let out a long, shuddering breath, as if he'd been holding it for an eternity.

"Is it weird I'm nervous? I feel like that's weird for a guy." He admitted.

"It's not weird." You promised. "I don't think nerves are gendered."

He kissed you then, a slow, deep kiss that was full of all the things he couldn't seem to say. All the want and the hope and the fear. He only broke the kiss, to reach over the other side of the bed and fumbled in the pocket of his discarded jeans.

"I swear I keep this in my wallet all the time. Not because I was expecting... well this." He said as he pulled out a little foil square.

The crinkle of the wrapper was the only sound in the room. He tore it open with shaky fingers and rolled the condom on with an efficiency that belied his earlier fumbling.

He settled back over you, his elbows on either side of your head, caging you in.

"I can't believe I'm going to have sex with you." You whisper, looking into those consuming brown eyes, your fingers tracing the dimples that start to form when he smiles down at you. 

"Me either," he said, and there was such a raw, honest wonder in his voice that it made your chest ache. "If I'm being totally honest? I'm pretty sure this is a lucid dream I'm having after eating all that bad gas station pizza."

You laughed, a bright, happy sound that filled the small room.

"It's real." You promised.

"Okay." He takes a deep breath. "Okay."

He positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his cock nudging against your wet folds. He paused, looking at you one last time, giving you a final chance to change your mind.

You answered by wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

He pushed a little inside you with a slow, steady pressure.

It was a strange, unfamiliar sensation. A stretching, aching fullness that bordered on pain. You couldn't help the small whimper that escaped your lips.

He stopped immediately, his whole body tensing. "You okay? Am I hurting you?"

"Are you all the way in?" You asked, your breath hitching.

He shook his head. "Not even close. You okay?"

You nod. "It's a lot. Keep going."

He pushed a little deeper, a slow, inch-by-inch invasion that made you feel like your body was being remade to fit him.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and he kissed up your neck and over your face. Each new press of his lips a welcome distraction from the dull ache between your legs.

He finally was all the way in, his hips flush against yours. He stilled, giving you a moment to adjust.

"Okay." You breathe out.

"You okay?" He repeated against your lips, breathless from his own pleasure. 

"Yeah just... don't move too much yet."

"You feel so... incredible. It's..." He trails off as he shifts a bit, pulling just out a little and pushing back in.

You both groan. The pain started to fade then, replaced by a different kind of ache. A deep, throbbing need.

"Okay," you breathed, your fingers tightening in his hair. "Okay, you can move."

He started to move then, a slow, gentle rocking motion that was worlds away from the frantic rutting from earlier. Each thrust was a hesitant exploration.

You moved with him, your hips rising to meet his, your body learning the rhythm of his.

"Sweetheart..." It came out as a mix of a groan and a whine, you've never heard him sound sexier.

He started to move faster, a little harder, his control starting to fray. He was panting against your neck, his breath hot and damp. His hands were everywhere, on your breasts, your hips, your ass. 

"Eddie... talk to me..." You whine as he hits a spot deep inside you that made you see stars.

"What do you want me to say?" he gasped, his hips snapping against yours.

"Anything... dirty talk... something... my ears..."

He let out a shaky laugh, a sound that was half-arousal, half-nervousness before leaning down into your ear. "You feel so good. So tight. All I've thought about for the last year is what it would feel like to be inside you."

You moaned. You felt your pussy clench around him, your body responding to the dirty words. He pulled back to watch your face, a look of pure, unadulterated lust on his face.

"Yeah? Want me to keep going? Tell you how I've jacked off to the thought of your tits?"

You could only nod, your words lost in a haze of pleasure.

"Or maybe it was your ass. In those tight jeans you wear. God, the things I wanted to do to you." He punctuated the words with a particularly hard thrust that made you cry out. "Wanna kiss you until you're dripping for me. And I did tonight. Dripping all over my tongue."

His words were filthier than you ever would have imagined, and it was pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

"You're so wet for me. You're taking my cock so well." He groans, his forehead resting against yours. "You're all I want. Just... you."

The last words were a raw, honest confession that went straight to your heart. You were the one to kiss him then, a desperate, messy kiss that was all teeth and tongue and need.

"Touch yourself again," he practically begged against your lips. "Please, I love seeing it." He didn't want to finish before you did. And he also liked watching.

You didn't hesitate, your hand snaking down between your bodies to find your clit. You started to rub in tight, fast circles, the dual stimulation of him inside you and your fingers on your clit almost too much to bear.

"Its too good, Eddie." You whine, a high pitched desperate sound he's never heard you make.

"Let go," he commanded, his voice rough and hoarse. "Let me feel your pussy wreck me."

His words were the final push you needed. You came with a strangled cry, your body arching off the bed, your inner walls clamping down on him. The force of your orgasm was enough to send him over the edge too, and with a hoarse shout of your name, he came, his hips pistoning into you as he emptied himself into the condom.

He collapsed next to you, both of you panting, your bodies slick with sweat. The room was silent, save for the sound of your ragged breaths and the ancient motel air conditioner.

After a long moment, he propped himself up on an elbow and looked at you, a slow, dazed smile spreading across his face.

"If you don't want to be my girlfriend after this, I think I might actually die."

You laugh, reaching up to push a damp curl away from his forehead. "Well, we can't have that."

He leaned down and kissed you, a soft, sweet kiss that was a world away from the frantic, hungry kisses from before.

"So... is that a yes?" he asked, a playful glint in his eyes.

"Are you going to go easier on me during Hellfire?" You counter.

"Never." He grins. "You have to earn your honor just like everyone else."

"Then yes," you said, and the word felt like a promise. "Yes, I'll be your girlfriend."

He looked so happy you thought your heart might burst. He kissed you again, and again, and again, as if he couldn't get enough of you.

"Gonna 'kiss me till I'm dripping'?" You tease, your fingers tracing the lines of his collarbones.

"Very funny. Give me ten minutes and another slice of that gas station pizza," he mumbled against your skin, making you laugh.

He eventually got up to dispose of the condom, and you took the opportunity to look at him. Really look at him. The long, lean lines of his body, the scattering of tattoos, the way his hair curled in all directions. He was yours.

He came back to the bed and pulled you into his arms, your head resting on his chest. You could feel the steady, reassuring beat of his heart.

"I'm never going to get tired of this," he said, his voice a soft rumble in his chest. "Of you."

You tilted your head up to look at him. "Me neither."

You lay like that for a while, a comfortable, easy silence settling over you. The events of the night replayed in your mind, not just the concert or the sex, but everything beautiful that had happened in this small, ugly motel room.

[therealpussybangs]

omfg the conversation before everything genuinely had my chest squeezing they are too cute!!! I lovelovelove this the banter im actually dead💗💗

[elegantpaperoperatormaker]

I would like to give to you, Eddie munson with a reader that is just super into biology in a way anybody other than him would find deeply concerning.

Sometimes, she'll stand over him while he's in his boxers and trace lines on his body while talking about dissecting him. Occasionally she'll poke at a specific spot on his stomach, going down the list of what's there under his skin and how she'd like to hold it all, measure it, give each piece of him a little kiss before jarring it all up and keeping them on one of her shelves.

The whole time he's bricked, like soooo bricked. This man has zero preservation instincts. All he's hearing is that 1. She wants to love every part of him and 2. She wants in his guts, and y'know, what more do you really need in a romance???

– ( ´-ω-)

LOL him being bricked up

[dathomireternal]

how does it feel? (to treat me like you do)

eddie munson x former bully!reader

summary: you bullied eddie in high school—not that you’re proud of it—and seven years after the fact, he still holds a grudge. now that your best friend is dating his, the constant cold shoulder and smart attitude is getting really goddamn old. when he drinks a little more than he should and crosses the line at a party, you decide it’s about time to take drastic measures. 6.8k words.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, AGE IN BIO OR I WILL BLOCK YOU <\3. DUB-CON WARNING! eddie is drunk in this fic. not like, wasted, but intoxicated to the point where it affects his balance and mildly impairs his speech/processing. similarly, he acts reluctant/stubborn at first because he’s embarrassed and hates your ass, but it’s made pretty damn clear that he wants it. you’re also very, very mean to him, verbally as well as physically. if any of this sounds potentially upsetting, please take care of yourself and do not read! dead dove: do not eat.

for general smut tags: hate sex, spit as lube, unprotected p in v, functionally a mean dom reader; lots of degradation/humiliation and name calling, hitting (slapping) and hair pulling, intoxication obv; eddie cums fast, forced orgasms, lowkey a pinch of cbt? pretty intense overstim w/ eddie crying near the end, spitting in mouth, very light choking, and no aftercare cuz y’all don’t like each other 😭💔

a/n: this is a wild one and was a lil weird to write cause it’s basically the polar opposite of the sub!eddie dynamic in supervixen 😭 but i hope all the mean femdom fans out there enjoy! thank u so much to @selenevesper both for providing the idea and for beta reading this for me! 🙏🏽💞💞

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Eddie Munson holds a grudge like you wouldn’t believe, and it’s really starting to get on your nerves.

Sure, it’s not like it’s baseless. You were a total bitch in high school—not the worst of the worst by any means, but you’d be the first to admit that your teenage self clung desperately onto the rigid social hierarchy, and happily took the opportunity to beat anyone below you over the head with it to secure your hard-fought placement. 

In other words, you were never very nice to Eddie. In the cutthroat halls of Hawkins High, you saw no sensible reason to be.

Obviously, nowadays, you’re more than aware that it was petty, needlessly cruel, and became largely meaningless from the moment you got your diploma and went on your way, but, most importantly, it was seven goddamn years ago. You’ve apologized repeatedly, admitted that it was wrong and he (along with all your other recurrent victims) didn’t deserve it more than once, and still, every single time he sees you, Eddie treats you like some hideous, wicked witch that purely and solely exists to ruin his day.   

And the worst part is, you wouldn’t remotely give a shit if you weren’t forced into proximity on such a regular basis. Nearly a year ago, a good friend of yours started dating a good friend of his, and because of it, your circles inevitably began to overlap. At any sizeable social gathering, you’re liable to run into each other, and no amount of casual friendliness or careful olive branches extended on your part has stopped him from glaring and grumbling, disrespecting you to your face, and sometimes, when the mood strikes him, making a fucking scene about it.

Just like tonight. It’s Jeff’s birthday—one of Eddie’s best friends, and your best friend’s boyfriend—and within moments of arriving, you’re locked in a stare with your reluctant enemy; looming in the kitchen doorway, eyes as dark and icy as ever. You make a point of smiling at him, and all Eddie does is roll the fuck out of his eyes and tip his beer back, downing the rest of it in one go. 

It almost makes you snort. At least no one can ever accuse you of not having an effect on men.

At first, you think it’s going unusually well. Eddie spends most of the night avoiding you entirely—the only other glances you catch find him, once again, glaring at you from across the room with another drink in hand—and you’re reassured to know he isn’t so shamelessly self-obsessed that he’d use his stupid grudge as an excuse to throw a fit and ruin Jeff’s night. 

Later on, when you try to use the restroom, it's occupied. Someone nearby and familiar enough with the layout directs you to the upstairs bathroom, and there, you find relief.

But as soon as you try to leave, you startle terribly to find Eddie fucking Munson waiting just outside the door. He doesn't say anything—just glowers—so with a breath of recovery, you close the door behind you and let a baffled smile pull at your lips. 

“Hey, Eddie,” you say, looking him over head to toe as best you can while he’s standing so close. He seems a little off—not that you’d really know. “...Enjoying the party?”

He stares down at you with those big, hateful eyes, and almost sneers. “You're…so fucking full of shit.”

The scent of beer wafts out with his scathing accusation, and you wonder just how many he's gotten through tonight to have unhinged himself to the point of ambushing you like this. You only stare back at him, blank-faced and unimpressed, and Eddie’s shoulders tense up like that alone is more than enough to grind his gears.

His lips stretch into an awkward, caustic grin. “I don't know who keeps…inviting you to these things—”

“You know exactly who keeps inviting me.”

“—but it makes me…so goddamn sick to have to see your fuckin’ face everywhere I go.”

“Even in your dreams?” you joke, batting your eyelashes.

His eyes go dim and narrow; about as daunting as a butter knife. “You're not funny.”

“Neither are you,” you drone back with a shrug. “...What is this, Munson? Are you trying to intimidate me?”

The outright mocking tone of your voice makes his face twitch; his jaw twinges as his teeth grind together. Everything about this is fucking ridiculous. You haven’t done or said a thing to him all night, barely even looked at him, and still, he’s close to bursting a vein at the mere thought of you. Even worse, he seems to think you should actually give a shit about how upset you make him by merely existing; living your own life parallel to his.

“...You're not even sorry,” he says.

“Come again?”

He leans in even closer, speaking low and scornful, like the words won’t mean anything if he doesn’t spit them right in your face. “All the shit you did, you said—to me, and to Jeff, and now you're…in his fuckin’ house, acting like nothing ever happened.” He shakes his head with contempt, assured as always of your deliberate malice. “...You don't care at all. But I do.”

If he’s gonna act like a total child, you figure can have a little fun, too. You briefly check your nails, adjust your top over your chest, giving off every impression of pure apathy. “What makes you think I don't care, Eddie?”

Then, he surprises you. A hot, callused hand wraps around the offending wrist and yanks it aside. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s much bolder than anything he’s done in previous confrontations. Normally, he’d probably rather cut his own hand off than lay it on you. 

“If you did care,” he insists, eyes flaring, “you'd fucking— you wouldn't— you'd fuck off!”

You tear your hand out of his sweaty grasp. “Don't shout at me.”

“You'd…leave us the hell alone,” he goes on. “But you always show up. You show up, and you take, and you—fuckin’ smirk at me, like you know exactly what you're doing.”

A scoff jumps out of you automatically—as if you do anything with him in mind. “You're delusional.”

His eyebrows jump up, tight jaw falling slack. “...I'm delusional?”

“Mhm.” He’s a lot more than that, too—following you up here to get you alone, cornering and lording over you like a creep; he’s lucky you don’t just scream—but it’s a testament to your growth that you can hold yourself back from laying it on him.

Eddie huffs out a cold laugh and nods. “...Yeah, okay,” he mutters; deep and scathing, gravelly in his throat. “Sure. I'm delusional…and you’re a fucking bi—”

The crack of your palm across his cheek is gratifyingly sharp, and wipes the expression clean off his face. Returning his head center, cupping the affected cheek with one jittery hand, Eddie stares at you with the biggest eyes you’ve ever seen, every ounce of bitter animosity replaced with almost childlike shock.

“...What the fuck are you gawking at?” you scoff, chest held high, beaming with satisfaction. “...You really thought I would just stand here and let you insult me to my face?”

His brow twitches, his bottom lip quivers, but he doesn’t say anything. Between the alcohol and the unexpected slap, his brain is probably spinning around like a rotor ride blown off its hinges. 

“...I’m not like you,” you go on. “I didn’t have to wallow around and soul-search and make a gigantic fucking fool of myself every day of my life in order to scrounge up the slightest pinch of self-respect.

“Some of us just have it, Eddie,” you tell him, derisively sympathetic, “and you don’t. I’m pretty sure you only hate me so much because you’re jealous.”

Eddie breaks loose from his stupor and scoffs like it’s the most outrageous thing he’s heard in his life. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” he insists. “...You're the last fucking person I'd ever—”

“I bet you can’t stand it,” you cut him off. As you do, you take a bold step forward into what little space exists between you, and much to your delight, Eddie stumbles back with clumsy feet and wide eyes, like any collision between you might crumble him to dust. “...That you’re still hung up on everything, stuck feeling so goddamn sorry for yourself, and I’m not. Only one of us has changed at all since high school, Munson, and it sure as shit isn’t you.”

Again, you step forward and Eddie cowers back, and a thrill you haven’t felt in ages surges up your spine, tingling from your fingers to your toes. Your body moves on instinct; one itching hand smacks into his chest, scrunching up a fistful of his shirt collar, and a clipped, disbelieving cry slips out between his lips as you yank him closer—just as easy to push around as you remember.

“Let me tell you a secret,” you say, staring straight into his giant, dumbstruck brown eyes—dark, blown-out pupils reflecting your image right back at you. “…You aren’t special. I promise you that if you had just sucked it up and played the part like I did, you could’ve been somebody worth respecting. You might’ve even figured out how to like yourself. You can blame me and every other bitch who did you wrong if it makes you feel better, but the only person you have to thank for making you into this washed up, bitter, self-hating fucking freak is yourself.”

Eddie’s face strains further and further as you speak, taut and furious at every word out of your mouth, but he doesn’t push you off of him, or make any move whatsoever to escape the mistreatment. He just stares back at you, beer-flushed and smoldering, his chest rising and falling rapidly beneath your fist as his muddled brain fights to summon anything at all in self-defense.

“That isn’t… That’s— None of that is… I would never fucking—” 

He slurs and sputters so helplessly, you aren’t sure why he bothers trying. With a sudden, harsh shove, you release his shirt and knock him entirely off balance. Eddie shuts himself up to curse as he flails and stumbles backwards, catching himself awkwardly against the wall with a painful thud that makes you snicker.

“You’re pathetic, Munson,” you taunt without passion, proud eyes boring into his pitiful, sullen glare. Whatever he thought would happen here, it sure as hell wasn’t this. “...Always have been.”

With that, you really should just take the rush of having put him back in his place and go on your way—return to the party that surely someone has already noticed your disappearance from—but now that you’ve put more than a foot or two of space between you, something catches your eye. 

Something that draws your vicious gaze between his thighs and drops your jaw to the floor with dizzy incredulity.

“...Are you fucking hard?”

Eddie glances down and goes rigid, like the fact had escaped his own awareness as well until you pointed it out. He doesn't seem capable of doing anything more than staring at it in his state of violent disbelief, so you take the opportunity to do the same. It's bulging at the front of his pants, curving a thick, obvious imprint, dipping slightly down one pant leg. His jeans aren't excessively tight, but the strain of it looks more than uncomfortable, and the thought of doing him an unearned favor and letting it out to breathe ushers your body onto the same page as your mind—a sharp, aching stab of arousal plummets between your legs.

“...Jesus Christ,” you breathe with a chuckle. “I should've known this would be the kinda shit you get off on.”

Eddie can’t look you in the face, downcast eyes flickering around thoughtlessly, bright red in the cheeks and apparently mortified. He tenses up from head to toe as you close the distance once again, pressing himself flat against the wall on instinct, and when you reach out to cup your hand against him, feeling the bulge for yourself, he chokes on air. 

You stifle a moan at the feel of it, warm beneath your hand and practically throbbing through the denim. You give his swollen length a rough squeeze, and Eddie jerks and gasps at the feeling.

“What the—fuck are you doing?” he tries to spit out—mildly slurred in his alarm—but it’s quieter and weaker than anything else he’s said to you this evening. He looks at you like you’re completely insane, but within seconds of uttering his outraged question, his hips are twitching forward; subtly grinding into your palm, seeking more friction. You can’t even tell if he realizes what he’s doing, and that fact alone makes up your mind for you.

…You’ve spent eight fucking months trying to be civil with him. If none of that got through his thick skull, maybe this will. 

For all of his alleged hatred of you, he sure lets you drag him down the hall without a fuss. Pulling him along by a fistful of his vest collar, Eddie stumbles and nearly trips over his feet behind you, inelegantly cursing and questioning you until you get to the first door that seems likely to be a bedroom. 

You’re right. Queen sized bed, family photos on top of the dresser—it’s probably Jeff’s parents’ room. You yank Eddie inside, close the door behind you, and then advance on him again, pushing and tugging until you’ve positioned him at the side of the bed, and then dropping him onto it with another hard shove. He starts to wriggle backwards automatically as you climb on with him, gaping at you like he’s worried you’re going to eat him alive, but you sit yourself on his thighs to keep him still as you start wrestling with his corny fucking handcuff belt buckle.

“Whuh— what the fuck are you—? Why are you doing this?” His sputtering isn’t any more useful than before, but his ruddy face burns even darker. 

“Shut up,” you mutter distractedly, yanking at the stubborn belt in annoyance. “I'm gonna ride your dick.”

He goes stock still beneath you, and his cock twitches so hard you can see it through his pants. “...What?”

“Figure it might calm you down,” you go on, smirking to yourself. “Get you—off my ass for a month or two. Christ, this fucking belt.”

Eddie just keeps on staring, wide-eyed and frozen. “You're…sick,” he accuses weakly. “You’re… You can’t just— Jesus fucking—!”

The belt finally falls loose and you sigh in relief, making quick work of his fly and zipper. He isn’t wearing anything underneath, putting his wild, untamed bush on full display. The alcohol and agitation have probably had him overheating for a while now—freeing him releases a puff of sweat and musk as well, but thankfully, you’re already too turned on to find it revolting. Digging your fingers beneath his waistband, you give his jeans a useless tug.

“Lift your ass,” you say.

He blinks at you, stubborn and vaguely disoriented, and your eyes roll back into your skull.

“Are you really gonna sit here and act like you don’t want me to touch your dick?” you snap, giving another tug. “Lift your fucking ass, freak.”

Clenching his jaw tight, Eddie’s eyes flick deliberately away from you. A few more pigheaded seconds and he does as you ask, shifting his weight so you can yank his jeans down to his mid-thighs. His cock springs free, bobbing over his stomach, and the sight of it makes you click your tongue.

“Oh, fuck you.”

It’s nothing mind-blowing, but it's definitely more than this little shithead deserves. Uncut and webbed with soft veins, thicker than any guy you’ve gone steady with, curving slightly upwards like he was custom made to hit that gorgeous spot inside of you. Somehow, it feels unjust.

Wrapping your hand around him, you give his burning shaft a few languid strokes, tugging his silky foreskin back and forth, hiding and revealing the purplish head of his cock. Eddie grits his teeth and seems to clench up every muscle in his body as you do so, like he's trying desperately not to reward your behavior with any reaction. 

“Christ, you’re fucking hard,” you say with a laugh. You can see and feel him pulsing in your hand. 

Eddie squints his eyes closed. “Shut up,” he begs through his teeth.

“You shut up.”

You only climb off of him for as long as it takes you to shimmy out of your shorts. You hesitate before dropping your underwear too, not really feeling like he deserves to see that much of you, but ultimately, you decide it’ll be too awkward trying to keep them on. The seat of them sticks between your thighs, and a clear, sticky string of arousal stretches and breaks as you drag them down. The brief retreat made Eddie’s eyes pop back open, and he tries and massively fails to pretend he wasn’t watching you strip down as you climb back on top of him.

It’ll probably hurt to take him without working yourself up to it, but you really can’t be assed to. You’ve both been gone for a while now, anyway, so you don’t wanna drag this out any longer than it needs to be. With flippant urgency, you gather up as much saliva as you can and spit directly onto his cock. An odd, strangled noise gets caught in the back of Eddie’s throat, his hips bucking at the feeling, and you hardly even bother to spread it around before positioning yourself above him, but as soon as you notch his tip against your entrance, he jolts beneath you.

“Fuck—wait!” he cries, and you freeze, glancing up at his half-panicked face. “...M’not fucking you without a condom.”

It puts a wide smile on your face. “That’s funny. I didn’t think you wanted to fuck me at all, Munson.”

He has nothing to say to that, poorly deflecting his embarrassment with a scowl so weak you’d almost call it adorable. 

“...Relax, freak,” you tell him with an eye-roll. “I take the pill, obviously. You really think I would risk one of your little hellspawn growing inside me? Are you fucking crazy?”

The way he raises his hackles at you is so wholly unintimidating, it almost makes you laugh. “Stop—fucking calling me that.”

“Why?” you drone, cocking your head aside. “Gonna blow your load too fast?”

He curses something violent in an incoherent mumble as you start to lower yourself, pushing harder and harder until his fat tip bursts through your unprepared resistance. The sting of being stretched too wide makes you suck in a breath through your teeth, and Eddie stifles a ridiculous groan, gawking comically down at where his cockhead rests inside of you.

“Fucking hell,” you grunt, rolling your hips around, trying to adjust. Gritting your teeth to bear it, you start moving much sooner than you probably should, leaning back to prop your hands above his knees as you push your hips downwards, taking him a little deeper with each thrust. What’s a mildly painful ride for you must be an excruciatingly tight grip for him—Eddie writhes and twitches like he can hardly bear it, brow wrinkling and tense hands balling up in the duvet, and he breathes harshly through his teeth as he fights like hell not to make a sound.

He’s already sweating down his face and neck, but when you finally take him to the hilt and stay seated on his cock for a breather, the lack of movement seems to relieve him. He tilts his head back and lets out a deep, shuddering breath. The painful stretch is mostly gone now, replaced with satisfying pressure and a luscious, mind-melting fullness that’s a little hard to wrap your head around. It makes sense, you suppose, that he’d have to have at least one redeeming quality hidden away somewhere, but you never would’ve guessed you’d find it in his pants.

You don’t give him much of a break. Driven by your own need, you start riding him in earnest, alternating between deep thrusts and shallow grinding, letting soft moans escape whenever you smack yourself down on him just right. Eddie looks fucked out already, biting down hard on his lip as he stares up at the ceiling in a daze, like watching what you’re doing to him is more than he can handle right now; but you don’t like being ignored at the best of times, and certainly not by him.

“...God, look at you,” you decide to goad with a breathy laugh. “It’s…Jeff’s birthday, and you’re in here fucking some bitch you don’t even like on his parents’ bed. I can’t believe you actually think you’re better than me.”

His eyes snap down from the ceiling, just as present and incensed as you hoped for. “You’re fucking me!” he practically snarls. “I didn’t—shit—fuckin’ ask you to—!”

“Oh, give me a break,” you groan, lolling your head back in pleasure. “This is exactly what I’m talking about. Always the goddamn victim, aren’t you?” 

His hateful glare isn’t very effective when each wet stroke of your pussy along his cock squeezes a muffled whine out of him, his chest rising and falling erratically as he struggles to keep a hold on his breathing. You push yourself forward, resting your hands on his chest instead to give him no choice but to face exactly who he’s letting use him like a toy right now, but Eddie still turns his head away in defiance. With a click of your tongue, you grab him by the jaw and yank him back to face you.

“What’s the story gonna be if someone finds us like this, huh?” you say, a little stilted with exertion. “I just…held you down and forced you? Poor little Eddie didn’t have a choice? …No, you’re enjoying every second of this, you goddamn freak. I bet you’ve been stroking your cock dreaming of shit like this since high school.”

Stifled grunts and smothered groans are all you get in response, and it’s starting to piss you off. You rock your hips faster, moaning out at the endless, creamy squelch of wet arousal, desperate to break his resolve, and the glower he tries to keep pointing at you falters, contorting as the pleasure begins to overwhelm his spite.

“This is…the last apology you’re ever gonna get from me, Munson.” The smile you beam down at his stupid, splotchy face is sharp-toothed and bloodthirsty, your nails digging into the skin of his jaw hard enough to make him gasp. “So either grow some fucking balls and stop me, or just lay there and keep taking it like the pathetic—fucking loser we both know you are.”

Eddie’s eyes screw shut as a tortured groan very nearly bursts out of him unsuppressed; you’re so close you can taste it.

One more time you pull yourself all the way up, your cunt strangling the ridge of his tip, and you bounce shallowly over it as a tease; savoring his helpless squirming, the way his fists clench tighter in the duvet. One of his ring-littered hands moves to clutch at your thigh instead; neither helping nor hindering, just grasping on for dear life. 

Then, instead of pushing yourself back down, you drop your weight on him completely. He bottoms out in one brutal, unforgiving thrust, gratifying enough to make your cunt squeeze around him even tighter, and the dam finally breaks. He doesn't just give you the moan that you were looking for—he cries out in a loud, pitiful, voice-cracking whimper and seizes up beneath you, his balls clenching against your ass and cock twitching erratically as he paints your insides white. 

Your face lights up at the sight of him falling apart so suddenly—the humiliation he must be feeling for it. “Shit, Munson, I didn't think you were that close.”

He doesn’t respond, practically gasping for breath with his eyes screwed shut as he tries to recover. Merciless as ever, you start up again immediately, pounding down on his spent cock with even more enthusiasm. One of your old boyfriends could go for two rounds back to back so long as you didn’t let him stop, and you have no intentions of letting Eddie off the hook until you’re satisfied. 

“What was that, a minute?” you mock breathlessly. “Fifty seconds? You really are pathetic.”

Eddie squirms beneath you twice as bad, gasping and whining at the overstimulation, still clutching weakly at your thigh, but expectedly, he doesn’t utter any complaints. Focused more on your own pleasure, you stick mostly to short, shallow thrusts, grinding your clit against his bush, keeping his thick length stuffed deep inside. 

Eddie must be getting off on this much, much more than he’d ever admit—in part because it doesn’t take much effort to keep his dick hard inside of you—and now that he’s lost his muzzle, he can’t keep his mouth shut. Whines and whimpers, grunts and groans, and stiff, babbled curses pour out of him endlessly, and as pleasing as it feels to have broken him down like this, it’s also kind of fucking annoying.

You’re starting to feel close, the toe-curling stretch and electrifying friction steadily building up to something devastating, but not as quickly as you would’ve hoped. He probably won’t last more than another minute.

Eddie’s other hand joins the first on your thighs, and they both travel up to grab your hips instead, scalding hot and sticky with sweat. You don’t really like him touching you this much, but the way he tries to force you down harder on his cock, moaning shamelessly and desperately rutting his hips into you from below with the rhythmic, noisy clapping of wet skin together is worth the distasteful sacrifice.

Still, it’s more than obvious that he’s getting there much faster than you are. His head bobs around like the room might be spinning for him, pink lips slung open dumbly as his lazy, heavy-lidded eyes stare up at you in a pitiful stupor—drunk on more than just beer.

“Oh, fuck,” he whimpers, voice straining higher and higher; filling your stomach with dread. “Fuck, fuck, so fuckin’—tight, shit!”

“You better not,” you warn, grabbing a fistful of his shirt, stiffening up with anticipatory wrath. “Munson, if you cum again already, I swear to fucking God—!”

Out of pure desperation, you slap him across the face a second time, hoping the shock of it might reel him back in long enough for you to reach the end so close in sight, but naturally, it has the opposite effect. The abuse drives him instantly over the edge. With a groan so loud you’re forced to smack your hand over his mouth to muffle it, Eddie’s eyes roll back, his body arching and shuddering and his hands squeezing your hips with bruising force as he fills you up a second time. 

“God—fucking damnit, Eddie,” you hiss, grinding your hips down in frustration as he throbs inside of you. There’s no fucking point to any of this if you don’t get to cum on this stupid, undeserved cock. You try to force it—rubbing vicious circles on your clit, grinding your hips back and forth while he’s still hard—but it’s no use.

This time, you can’t keep it up for him, either. The tight seal of your walls around his thick length kept most of his first load plugged up inside of you, but the second quickly overflows, excess cum seeping out between you, leaking even faster as he softens. 

Gritting your teeth in frustration, you lift yourself off of him, grimacing at the way his spend seems to gush out of you, making a wet, sticky mess of his crotch.

“You’re more trouble than you’re worth,” you say, whipping your hand off of his mouth with disgust and wiping it on his shirt—somehow, he managed to drool on you.

Despite the state he’s in, the sweaty, twitching ruination, the little shit has the gall to quirk the corner of his mouth in a weak smirk; and why shouldn’t he, when he’s the only one getting anything worthwhile out of this? Your teeth grit even harder.

You had no intentions whatsoever of finding out what his rancid fucking semen tastes like, but at this point, he’s given you no choice. Like hell you’re walking away from all of this empty-handed.

With a sharp breath in preparation, you scoot down his body, frowning harder as your face falls level with his cum-soaked groin. Eddie’s brow furrows as he watches you, utterly clueless. Deciding to just bite the revolting bullet, you take his floppy, drenched, and irritated cock in your mouth and suck on it like you’re trying to pump the blood back into it by force, and Eddie starts damn near thrashing beneath you.

“No, no, fuck!” he cries. One of his hands grabs a clumsy handful of your hair, trying to tug you off, but you dig your nails into the back of it until he stops. “...Shit, it hurts! I can’t— can’t— fuck!” 

“Don’t whine at me,” you take him out of your mouth to spit without sympathy, squeezing harshly at his balls in the meantime—ripping another pained cry out of him. “It’s not my fault you’re a fucking wimp that can barely last a minute.”

Huge, weepy eyes flicker pitifully over your face. “M’sorry.”

You roll your eyes at him. “No, you’re not,” you scoff. “...Christ, look at you. Are you gonna cry?”

Wrapping your lips back around him, you suck on his flaccid cock as hard as you can, bullying your tongue against him as you do, and slowly but surely, he starts to stiffen once again. Eddie mewls and gasps and jerks around beneath you like you’re killing him all the while, and by the time he’s hard enough to ride, as you lift yourself up and prepare to take him in again, you find his big, bleary eyes just short of overflowing. 

The feeling of your cunt enveloping him once again with one slick thrust does him in—brow furrowing tighter, Eddie nearly sobs as the first shimmering tears begin to fall. 

Wasting no time, you start grinding with a vengeance, chasing your pleasure and soaking up his beautiful, pornographic misery in equal measure.

“...Think you can get in my face and call me a bitch,” you hiss. On impulse, you grab a handful of his ratty hair and yank, and Eddie winces, voice cracking in a whimper. “Who's the fucking bitch now, Munson?”

He sniffles and blubbers even louder, looking up at you with all the glassy-eyed, terror-stricken awe of a man caught staring his own creator in the eye, and God, it fucking does it for you. Your pussy spasms around him, throttling him mercilessly with each perfect brush, and it isn’t gonna take much more to get you there. Possessed by manic bloodlust, you curl yourself over him, giving his hair another cruel tug.

“Bet you thought this'd go differently, huh, Eddie?” you jeer, power-high and painfully aroused. “S’that why you followed me up here? God, I bet you…fantasize about it. Getting your…worthless fucking revenge. Shoving my face down into the mattress, pounding this thick fucking cock into me until I scream.”

You know it’s true, or at least close enough to the truth, by the piercing look in his eyes, the last smoldering embers of a flame snuffed out; the way that he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and bites down on it almost as hard as you would.

“But it was never gonna be like that,” you go on. “You don't have it in you. All bark, no fucking bite.” 

To prove your point, you grab an even tighter fist of his hair and jerk it, hard enough to make him cry out, quivery and tortured—singing for you on command.

“Ow, fuck!”

“…No, what you really need is this. Getting smacked around and degraded like a cheap fucking whore. You love this shit, don't you?”

All he does is snivel at you, big, wet eyes dancing over your awful, grinning face. 

“...Say it,” you repeat with a warning tug at his hair, but he remains stubbornly mute. “Admit you fucking love it, Munson, or I swear to God, I'll ride this wimpy cock until it falls off!”

The flash of pure dread that passes over his face nearly pushes you over the edge on its own. “I love it!” he whimpers. “Shit, I fuckin’ love it!”

“Yeah, you do.” You slap your hips down even faster, your voice pitching higher in strain as you close in on your peak. “You’re a fuckin’ toy. This is all you’ll—ever be good for, you stupid—fucking—fuck!” 

Your voice cuts out with a silent scream as your climax overtakes you, and you release his hair to rub tight, frantic circles against your clit, trying to elongate it. Your pussy clenches into a vice around his thick cock, every bit as blissful as you knew it would be, and Eddie’s anguished whining beneath you only heightens the feeling. A few dribbles of your own release squirt out of you during the brunt of it, making his messy crotch even messier, soaking a little bit into the bottom of his t-shirt.

Once the orgasm passes, Eddie still hasn’t cum yet—most likely the pain of overstimulation making him last longer than he should. You debate just ending it here and letting his abused dick soften naturally, but then you remember once again the series of idiotic fucking events that lead up to this situation and think better of it. With wobbling thighs, you lift yourself up and start riding him again in long, vertical strokes, meant for his pleasure more than yours. Eddie seems distressed, letting a frail, warbling little sound out as he realizes you aren’t finished with him, but he reacts the same as he has to everything else you’ve done to him this evening—by doing absolutely fucking nothing to help himself.

Your climax tightened you up somehow. The pain of his wide stretch returns and makes you grit your teeth, but it’s probably for the best in terms of forcing another orgasm out of him as fast as possible. It’s hard to tell how close he is when all he’s really doing is crying and whimpering, so you might as well experiment a little. One of your hands stretches around his throat, only lightly squeezing, and Eddie’s puffy, pink-tinged eyes bug out of his head with a strangled peep.

“Open your mouth,” you say.

He doesn’t want to. Threading your other hand into his fucked up hair for one more mean yank, your fingers squeeze around his throat, and soon, his jaw falls wide open. You award his obedience by spitting directly on his tongue—letting it roll lewdly off of yours, stretching wet and gooey down his throat—and it doesn’t take much more than that. Eddie gags and shudders at the feeling, teary eyes rolling back into his head, and then groans so loudly that you have to rip your hand off of his throat to cover his mouth again.

As soon as he starts cumming, eyes screwed shut and leaking fresh tears as he convulses with the force of it, you pull yourself off of him and scramble to the side, watching his swollen, deep-flushed cock pulsate over his stomach, spurting thin, pearly strings across his abdomen.

Releasing him completely, you sit on your knees and bask at how you’ve left him; his chest rising and falling with laboured breaths, dripping everywhere with sweat, red-faced and puffy-eyed; his stupid hair tousled to hell and back, frizzy and sticking up all over the place; crumpled and drained with his limp, chafed, angry-red dick on full display, and doused in three loads of his own cum. Ruined and thoroughly humbled. It’s enough to make your spine tingle—you smirk down at him like the devil. 

“...Want a kiss?” you tease after a minute, mockingly sweet.

Eddie’s eyes snap open to point a tired glare at you through dewy eyelashes. “Fuck off.”

“Christ, you’re like a fire hydrant, Munson,” you say with a disbelieving laugh. “Never seen a guy cum so much in one sitting. …Maybe you don’t hate me so much after all.”

“...I…promise you,” he mutters, still catching his breath. “...I still fuckin’ hate you.”

You care even less now than you did before, if that’s possible—his “hate” isn’t worth shit if he’ll sit there and let you treat him this badly. “All over your ugly t-shirt, too. What a pity.”

Eddie lets his eyes fall shut again with a deep breath, apparently deciding to ignore you, and you roll your eyes heavily as you climb off the bed on wobbly legs and gather up your discarded clothing.

Thankfully, Jeff’s parents’ room has an en suite bathroom. You take the time to pee (cause lord knows this geek would give you a UTI otherwise) and wipe up the mess he left between your thighs, redress yourself and freshen up a little—dabbing the sweat off of you, fixing up your hair and makeup as much as you can. When you return, Eddie’s almost exactly how you left him; the only difference is his hands covering his face, wiping back and forth, either in stress or to wipe away the evidence of all his blubbering.

“Here you go, freak,” you call, tossing your spoiled panties at him. 

They land on his stomach. Eddie drops his hands, picks them up with two fingers and frowns. “...Why?”

You decided you’d rather not sit in cold, stale arousal for the rest of the night, and it’s a pair you aren’t overly attached to, anyway. “Figured it’s only fair, since I’ve gone and ruined you for any other cunt in town.” 

He rolls his eyes and tosses them aside, but you don’t give a shit. You rise to your toes and stretch your back with a gleaming smile.

“Fuck, I feel so much better now,” you say. Eddie’s dull, exasperated stare only makes you smile wider. “...That was actually pretty fun. Maybe we should hang out more often.”

“You still aren’t fucking funny.”

“I’m not joking,” you insist. “...I’ve been in the market for a new dildo for a while now.”

He doesn’t react at all to the evil wink you throw at him, just glaring as per usual, and you sigh—the fun really is over. Unbothered and wholly guiltless, you turn your back on his sorry state and make for the door, debating how best to explain this extended disappearance as you go. 

“See you downstairs,” you call back with boredom, and the door shuts behind you with a click.

…

From then on, Eddie doesn’t bother you much anymore, but neither does he tend to make eye contact for long—more than a couple seconds, and his cheeks betray where his mind’s gone with an abrupt, unmistakable flush. He avoids you in a different sort of way now, cautious of a memory that burns too bright in his mind, unwilling to contend with it when anyone else is around, but from an outsider perspective, it really does seem as though Eddie’s finally softened his grudge. At least, that’s what you’ve heard from his friends.

It takes an entire month before Eddie gets you alone again. Someone else’s party, someone else’s house; you excuse yourself to the kitchen, intending to put your dish in the sink, and find it close to overflowing. Most of it seems to have been used in preparation for tonight, so you take it upon yourself to quickly wash a few plates and cups to keep the clutter manageable, and after no more than a minute, someone else enters the kitchen behind you.

You assume it must be your friend—or maybe one of the hosts come to stop you—until Eddie fucking Munson leans his ass against the counter beside you with crossed arms, watching you impassively. Once again, it makes you jump out of your skin, and you blink at him in disbelief.

“...Can I help you?” you ask, turning the water off, looking him up and down.

“Probably not,” he spits back.

A moment passes; you refuse to take the bait. If he wants to say something, he’ll have to come out with it on his own, because you truly, sincerely do not give a fuck. Eddie sighs.

“...Or, I dunno,” he corrects with a half-assed shrug that raises one of your eyebrows. “Maybe you can.”

Turning to face you entirely, his dark eyes fall lazy, and the corner of his mouth twitches, winking one dimple at you with the vaguest hint of a smirk.

“...If you’re not gonna be a bitch about it.”

-

thanks for reading! feedback is always welcome 💞 likes, comments, + reblogs would be much appreciated!

[therealpussybangs]

OUUUUUUU that last like got me good hes such a whore 😮‍💨😮‍💨 ofc outdone yourself again lovelovelove!!!💗💗

[oceanicgrunt]

my boner, it throbs for thee

[therealpussybangs]

eddie coded