warning: idk what this is...angst? with comfort, breaking free, reader dissapears
pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader
summary: where you make the decision to leave hawkins without telling anyone.
note: english is not my first languaje so excuse any mistake! now enjoy your reading <3
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you were going to leave. you had already made the decision.
the hard part was leaving eddie.
he had been your support since you met when you saved the world of vecna.
but you didn't want to stay in hawkins. you didn't want to be just another small, unnoticed detail in the town's history.
so you weren't going to say goodbye to anyone. you were just going to disappear like dust in the wind.
you packed a small backpack with clothes and food and put some blankets in your car. you didn't know where you were going, but you didn't have to know, just feel it.
you spent the night at eddie's house, as a last memory of him before leaving.
eddie had noticed you were acting strange throughout dinner, but he didn't say anything; he knew that sometimes you wanted your space.
but while they were both lying in his bed, his head on his bare chest, skin to skin, he couldn't help but ask
"i can hear the gears in your head turning, what's wrong?"
you looked at the guitar hanging on his wall and exhaled.
"do you regret it?". you asked.
"you'll have to be more specific, love".
"i mean, you wanted to be a guitarist in a band... do you regret not following your dream?"
the silence lingered in the air, until his chest rose and you heard:
"sometimes i dwell on 'what if...' but i prefer to stay in the present and not in the future, that's how life passes us by".
his words were etched in your mind.
you repeated them as you got out of his bed in the morning, trying to make as little noise as possible to not wake him up.
you thought about them as you got into your car, and even more so when you saw the "come back soon" sign as you left hawkins.
no farewell letters, no phone calls, no visit to any of your friends.
eddie didn't take long to wake up after you left. maybe because of the cold emanating from your side of the bed, the feeling of your absence.
he looked for you, first in the bathroom, thinking you were there, then all over the trailer park, not caring that it was 7 a.m. and the cold was chilling him to the bone.
he called at your house but there was no answer.
the hours passed. the others joined the search: robin, steve, jonathan, nancy, and the children.
there was no trace of you.
they went to your home, everything tidy as always, your scent still present but not your essence. eddie noticed that some things were missing like your favorite blanket that your grandmother had knitted, food from the kitchen, and shower products.
and then he understood.
you had planned that.
it had been your decision.
he connected the dots and understood your behavior yesterday, the question you had asked him.
if only he had done things differently. paid more attention.
you were listening to the radio, the volume low like a faint sound amidst the noise of your mind. until you heard something that made you gasp. you turned up the volume on the radio.
"hey guys, this is rockin' robin"
the voice of a very good friend of yours brought a smile to your face.
"today we have a very special guest who would like to say a few words."
"hello everyone"
that voice froze you.
because you weren't ready to hear it yet.
"today is not a very good day for me, but my friend robin is doing me a favor by letting me participate in this."
you pressed your lips together when you realized you were the cause of the noticeable pain in his voice.
"i know you're listening to this because you spend all day with the radio on, so i don't see any other way to tell you what i think."
you were so afraid of the words that might come out of his mouth. you were afraid he would blame you.
"i do regret not being a guitarist. sometimes i imagine myself singing and playing those same songs we sang together, on a stage, with people shouting and clapping. but i know that if i had that life, i wouldn't have met you, and that's why i wouldn't change it for anything. but i need you not to come back. i need you to never regret anything, to try and not be afraid to try. because if you made the decision to leave, it was because you followed your heart, and there's nothing purer than that."
you didn't make a sound while he was talking. you didn't know what to do.
"don't blame yourself for your dreams"
he knew you so well that you wanted to cry.
"take care and follow the path that makes you feel best"
and so, without a formal goodbye, without hugs, but with feeling, he told you that he loved you without saying it.
they never heard from you again. you never called or gave any sign that you wanted to. when the group was together, they'd come up with theories about where you could be, laugh at dustin's ideas, and enjoy will's drawings of your adventures.
you disappeared one day and for months after. but all the goodbyes can become a see you later.
"this can't be happening, guys, look at this!" robin shouted in the livingroom.
as they had always met at steve's house, a tradition since the group was formed.
in robin's hands was a letter with many postcards on it and your strange way of writing your name on the front.
eddie hurried to robin's side and soon everyone surrounded her.
she opened the letter with trembling hands, read the letter inside, and everyone fell silent, listening through robin's voice to your life since you left.
you recounted the good days and the bad ones when you longed to return to them. but you explained that you couldn't go back to that city, and they understood.
one phrase that had stuck in everyone's mind was "i felt too young to make this decision, but too old to continue living something that didn't completed me."
the letter didn't have a specific address. you didn't want them to find you or send a reply.
they were relieved, some with tears in their eyes.
and eddie? he was happy as long as you were.
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i writed this while i listened to cico buff from cocteau twins again and again.
description: everyone in hawkins thinks you and eddie munson are already married. honestly? you can’t even blame them. between the shared garage, the constant flirting, and the way he cannot help but stare, it’s getting harder and harder to pretend there’s nothing going on between you.
pairing: mechanic!eddie x mechanic!reader (fem!reader)
tags: mechanic!eddie, eddie x you, no y/n, coworkers to lovers, unresolved sexual tension (until...), small town romance, flirtationship, mechanic core aftercare, old married couple energy, fucking on a '67 impala, workplace romance, tension tension tension, whimpering eddie, teasing each other mercilessly
TW: NSFW (18+) minors do not interact!!!!, PiV, unprotected, needy eddie
WC: 4.1k
A/N: requested by my beloved @bitterestwillow I HOPE YOU ENJOY QUEEN AHHHHHHH. reblogs are a writer's best friend <3
yes, i had to use this gif for this fic...it does something to me idk......
The bell above the garage door jingled as Mrs. Patterson dug through her purse for her checkbook, glasses sliding halfway down her nose, while you leaned against the counter with a rag tucked into your back pocket.
“So,” you said, tapping the invoice with your pen, “the rattling sound was your serpentine belt. Thing was practically shredded.”
The elderly woman gasped softly. “Oh, dear.”
“Yeah, but you caught it before it snapped completely, which is good. We replaced the belt, topped off your coolant, changed the oil, and Eddie patched that little leak underneath your radiator.” You smiled reassuringly. “She’s good as new now.”
Beside her, Mr. Patterson squinted out toward the garage floor where the familiar sound of classic rock echoed through the open bays. “Which one’s Eddie again?”
Almost on cue, Eddie emerged from beneath a lifted pickup truck with grease smeared across his cheek and curls shoved back with a bandana.
Sweat darkened the collar of his black tank top, coveralls hanging around his hips, while he carried over a sweating tray of lemonade cups.
“There you are,” he said, setting them carefully on the counter. “It’s too damn hot outside not to hydrate.”
Mrs. Patterson practically lit up. “Well, aren’t you sweet?”
“Tell her that more often,” Eddie said, jerking his thumb toward you. “She’s mean to me.”
You rolled your eyes. “I told you to stop using the good shop towels to wipe down your van.”
“They’re towels.”
“They are expensive towels.”
Mr. Patterson laughed under his breath while Eddie handed them their drinks with an exaggerated flourish.
“Anything for my favorite customers.”
Mrs. Patterson smiled fondly at him before looking back toward you. “That husband of yours is such a gentleman.”
You nearly choked on your own spit.
Eddie froze for exactly one second before slowly turning toward you with the most insufferable grin imaginable.
“Oh?” he said. “You hear that, sweetheart?”
“Oh my God,” you muttered immediately.
The poor woman looked horrified. “Oh! I’m sorry, I just assumed—”
“No, no,” Eddie cut in smoothly, leaning against the counter. “Please continue. This is the best day of my life.”
You shot him a glare while he looked seconds away from laughing himself unconscious.
Mrs. Patterson pointed knowingly between the two of you. “You’ve got the look.”
“What look?” you asked suspiciously.
“The ‘been in love for years’ look.”
Eddie outright cackled. You grabbed the invoice and shoved it toward them. “Okay! Your total is—.”
The elderly couple left smiling to themselves while Eddie leaned against the counter, watching you with entirely too much amusement. The second the door shut behind them, he pushed off the counter and followed you toward the office.
“Husband, huh?” he mused.
“Don’t start.”
“I personally think it has a nice ring to it.”
You dropped into the squeaky office chair with a dramatic groan. “You’re unbearable.”
Eddie leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms over his chest. “And yet you keep having me back every morning.”
“You work here.”
“Semantics.”
“Hey,” Eddie said suddenly.
You looked up, and he tossed something shiny toward you, and you barely caught it before it hit your face. Your keys, the little keychain Dustin made you years ago, swung between your fingers.
“You left ‘em by the toolbox again.”
“Oh.” You blinked. “Thanks.”
“Mmhm,” he hummed smugly. “Good thing your husband’s lookin’ out for you.”
You pointed toward the door. “Get out.”
Instead of leaving, Eddie just grinned wider, sunlight pouring in behind him from the open garage bays.
“Say it once.”
“No.”
“C’mon, sweetheart. Just one little ‘thank you, my husband.’”
You threw a balled-up receipt at his head while his laughter rang through the entire garage.
By noon, the July heat had turned the garage into a furnace.
Every bay door was rolled open, old fans rattling uselessly in the corners while the smell of motor oil, hot pavement, and cigarette smoke clung heavily in the air.
Foreigner blasted low from the radio perched near Eddie’s toolbox, occasionally cutting out whenever someone used the compressor.
You were bent over the hood of a Mustang, wiping grease from your hands while talking to a customer, your laugh carrying across the shop floor. And across said shop floor, Eddie was staring. Not subtly, either.
Steve had noticed immediately, mostly because Eddie had been holding the exact same wrench for nearly three minutes without moving.
Steve slowly lowered his sandwich. “Jesus Christ.”
“Hm?” Eddie hummed absently.
“You are down catastrophically bad.”
That got Eddie to blink. “What?”
Steve pointed dramatically across the garage where you were explaining something with animated hand gestures, sunlight catching the sheen of sweat on your skin.
“You’ve been staring at her this entire time.”
Eddie scoffed, finally looking away. “I have not.”
“You absolutely have.”
“I’m working.”
“You’ve been holding that wrench upside down.”
Eddie glanced down, and sure enough, he was.
“Shut up.”
Steve barked out a laugh and leaned back in the lawn chair they’d dragged outside for Eddie's lunch break. It was honestly kind of ridiculous to witness at this point.
Everyone in Hawkins knew something was going on between the two of you, except apparently the two of you.
The lingering touches, the teasing, the way Eddie always magically appeared beside you whenever some asshole customer got too flirty.
The way you unconsciously reached for his cigarettes to steal one straight from his mouth…and the constant staring, especially the staring.
Steve watched Eddie’s eyes drift right back over toward you again.
“Oh my God,” he groaned. “There he goes again.”
Eddie ignored him completely. You’d just looked up from the engine bay, pushing hair from your forehead with the back of your wrist, and the second your eyes met Eddie’s from across the garage, you smiled.
It was quick, maybe two milliseconds, but enough to make Eddie smile back immediately without even realizing it. Steve made a loud fake gagging noise.
Eddie finally tore his eyes away. “What is your problem?”
Steve stared at him incredulously. “Dude. I genuinely thought you two would be married by now.”
Eddie choked on his drink. “What?”
“I’m serious,” Steve continued. “Like three years ago, I would've put money on it.”
Eddie rubbed the back of his neck, trying very hard to act unaffected while heat crept up beneath the grease on his cheeks.
“Yeah, well,” he muttered. “Hasn’t happened.”
“Why not?”
Eddie began to argue, but froze up. Because honestly? He didn’t fucking know.
Somewhere along the way, the flirting had become second nature. So had the late nights at the garage together. So had sharing fries at the diner after closing. So, had you climbing into the passenger seat of his van without asking. So had you wearing his flannels whenever the shop got cold in winter.
It had all become so normal that crossing the line felt weirdly terrifying. Steve watched the gears turning in Eddie’s head and sighed dramatically.
“You’re both idiots.”
“Says you.”
“I’m serious.” Steve pointed between him and you across the garage. “She might as well have personally invented beer by the way you stare at her. It’s honestly kinda sad, man.”
Eddie snorted. “That’s dramatic.”
Steve deadpanned, “You literally stopped mid-cigarette yesterday because she walked by in shorts.”
“That is such a lie!”
“It is the truth.”
Before Eddie could argue, your voice cut across the garage.
“Munson!” Both men looked over.
You stood beside the Mustang with your hands on your hips. “You gonna come help me, or are you too busy staring at me again?”
Steve immediately burst into obnoxious laughter while Eddie nearly dropped his beer. And from the way you smirked before ducking back under the hood, you absolutely knew what you were doing.
The next morning was somehow even hotter.
By ten a.m., the air inside the garage already felt thick enough to chew through, every fan working overtime while the sun beat down through the open bay doors. You had your coveralls tied around your waist, a cropped tank clinging to your skin with sweat, as you worked under the hood of a Jeep.
And Eddie was being an absolute menace. It started innocent enough; he’d complained dramatically about the heat for twenty minutes straight before finally yanking his shirt over his head with a frustrated, “I’m gonna die in this godforsaken town.”
You had looked up at exactly the wrong moment. Because suddenly there was just, Eddie. Shirtless. Hair tied back messily at the nape of his neck. Grease streaked across his stomach and chest. Dog tag and guitar pic hanging against tan skin. His jeans slung low on his hips while he wiped sweat from the back of his neck with a rag.
And the worst part? The asshole noticed immediately. You looked away so fast you nearly smacked your head against the underside of the hood. From somewhere across the garage, you heard another mechanic whistle loudly.
“Ohhhh,” he sang. “How the tables have turned.”
“Shut up, Mark,” you muttered.
Eddie, meanwhile, looked entirely too pleased with himself. For the next hour, he became absolutely insufferable. Needlessly stretching, standing too close, asking you to hand him tools he absolutely could’ve reached himself.
At one point, he bent over the engine bay beside you, and you caught the smell of gasoline, cigarette smoke, and his cologne and nearly forgot your own name.
“Wrench?” he asked casually, but you evidently handed him the wrong one.
Eddie bit back a grin. “Sweetheart, this is a screwdriver.”
Heat flooded your face. From behind him, Mark made an obnoxious gagging noise, and you narrowed your eyes.
Fine. If Eddie wanted to play this game? Two could absolutely play. Play a stupid game, win a stupid prize, right?
About twenty minutes later, Eddie was halfway underneath a truck when he heard your laugh ring across the garage.
That’s not unusual. However, what was unusual was the guy you were laughing with. Some customer leaned against the front counter while you smiled up at him, twirling a socket wrench lazily between your fingers.
Eddie immediately rolled himself out from under the truck on the creeper.
“What’s that?” Mark asked innocently from nearby.
“Nothing,” Eddie muttered.
“Looks like jealousy.”
“Not jealous.”
“Mhm.”
The customer laughed at something you said, briefly touching your arm, which caused Eddie to sit up straighter. Then the asshole smiled.
“Oh,” Mark murmured. “He’s flirting.”
Eddie stood immediately.
Mark burst out laughing. “THERE he is.”
Before Eddie could storm over there and make an idiot of himself, the rumble of an engine pulled into the lot. All three of you looked over automatically, and then Eddie froze.
“No fucking way.”
The car rolling slowly into the garage was gorgeous: black paint gleaming beneath the sunlight, chrome shining, low growl of the engine unmistakable.
A 1967 Chevy Impala. The entire garage seemed to pause.
Even you looked impressed. “Well,” you said softly. “Would you look at that?”
The driver climbed out, explaining something about rough idling and overheating, but Eddie barely heard a word. Because holy shit, it was pristine.
You walked slowly around the car, fingertips dragging lightly over the hood appreciatively. “She’s beautiful.”
And unfortunately for Eddie? The way you said it sounded dangerously similar to the tone you sometimes used with him. Mark caught the look on Eddie’s face and immediately started grinning.
“You alright there, big guy?”
Eddie ignored him entirely, stepping beside you near the Impala. “Think it’s the thermostat,” he murmured, eyes flicking toward you instead of the car.
You glanced up, and there it was again: that stupid tension. Especially when your gaze dipped briefly down his bare chest before snapping back up. A smug little grin tugged at his mouth.
“Oh, now who’s staring?” he asked quietly.
You held his gaze for a long second before reaching forward and grabbing the grease rag tucked into the back of his jeans. Eddie blinked, then watched you slowly wipe your grease-covered hands on it while maintaining eye contact.
Mark made a strangled noise somewhere behind him while the customer looked wildly confused. And Eddie? Eddie looked like he was about two seconds away from losing his mind entirely.
By the time the sun finally started setting, the garage had gone quiet.
The OPEN sign in the front window buzzed faintly before Eddie reached up and flicked it off with grease-stained fingers, plunging the office into dim golden light. Outside, cicadas screamed into the warm Indiana night while the last of the heat clung stubbornly to the concrete floors.
Most nights ended like this lately. Just you and Eddie lingering hours after closing, claiming there was still work to finish when really neither of you seemed particularly eager to leave.
The Impala sat in the center bay now, hood propped open while you leaned halfway into the engine compartment with a flashlight between your teeth. From the radio near Eddie’s toolbox, a slow rock song crackled softly through static.
And across the garage, Eddie was still shirtless, still. All damn day.
You tightened something with your ratchet a little harder than necessary before finally glancing over toward him. He was bent over the workbench this time, curls falling loose from his hair tie while sweat gleamed across his shoulders under the overhead lights.
Honestly, it was getting ridiculous.
“You know shirts exist for a reason, right?” you called.
Eddie didn’t even look up. “Do they?”
“Yes.”
“Huh.”
You rolled your eyes, ducking back under the hood. “Pretty sure OSHA would have a field day with you.”
That finally made him laugh. Then you heard the scrape of his boots as they crossed the garage floor. A second later, Eddie appeared beside you, leaning against the Impala with crossed arms.
Still shirtless, and still oh-so-very smug. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?” he asked innocently. “You don’t like what you see?”
You made the mistake of looking at him fully then. Big mistake, because up close was somehow worse.
Grease streaked across his stomach, forearms flexing where they crossed over each other, and his stupid hair half falling out of the tie from working all day.
Your eyes dipped for half a second too long, and Eddie caught it immediately with a slow grin spreading across his face.
“Oh my God,” he murmured. “You do.”
You snapped your gaze back to the engine. “Shut up.”
“Nah.” He leaned closer. “C’mon, tell me.”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
“Mhm.”
“You’re sweaty.”
“Thought girls liked that.”
“I don’t.”
“Liar.”
Heat crawled up your neck as you tried very hard to focus on the engine instead of the fact that Eddie was standing close enough for his knee to brush yours every few seconds.
“You’ve been staring at me all day,” he said softly.
You scoffed. “You wish.”
“You handed me a screwdriver this morning because you were too busy looking at my chest.”
“That happened one time.”
“And then you wiped your hands on my jeans while making eye contact with me like a psychopath.”
A smile tugged at your mouth despite yourself. “That was funny.”
“It was hot.”
Your ratchet slipped loudly against the engine, then silence. Then Eddie laughed quietly under his breath. You pointed the flashlight at him threateningly. “Don’t.”
But Eddie just leaned further over the hood beside you until your shoulders bumped.
“You know,” he said casually, “if this is your way of admitting you’re into me, there are easier methods.”
You snorted. “Into you? Please.”
“Sweetheart, half this town thinks we’re married already.”
“That’s because old people are nosy.”
“That’s because you look at me like that.”
You frowned. “Like what?”
Eddie’s eyes flicked slowly over your face, enough to make your stomach flip and your face burn pink. “Like you want to kiss me every time I open my mouth.”
Eddie’s grin faltered just slightly when you stepped closer instead of backing away.
“Oh yeah?” you asked lightly.
His eyes flicked over your face. “Yeah.”
You crossed your arms, leaning against the Impala beside him now, shoulder brushing his bare arm. “What about you, huh?”
Eddie blinked once. “What about me?”
“You think I don’t notice?” you continued, voice quieter now. “The staring. Following me around the shop all day?”
“That is not—”
“You literally almost dropped a transmission last month because I called you pretty.”
“That was one time.”
A smile tugged at your mouth. “Mhm.”
Eddie opened his mouth to argue again, but you stepped even closer first, close enough now that he had to tilt his head down to look at you properly. And suddenly, he wasn’t smirking anymore.
Interesting.
“You wanna know what I think?” you murmured.
Eddie swallowed visibly. “What?”
You reached up slowly, fingers hooking around the chain of his dog tags. The sharp inhale he took was immediate.
“Oh, you like this way more than I do.”
His eyes went dark instantly. “Careful,” he said softly.
“Or what?”
Eddie laughed once under his breath, disbelieving almost, like he couldn’t decide if you were trying to kill him on purpose. Then, the tension snapped like a fan belt under too much strain.
You tugged harder on Eddie’s dog tags, pulling him down until his mouth crashed into yours. He groaned into the kiss; raw, needy, and immediately pliant.
His hands hovered at your waist like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch, even after years of circling this exact moment. You solved that for him by grabbing his wrists and planting his grease-streaked palms firmly on your ass.
“Kiss me like you mean it, Munson,” you growled against his lips.
Eddie melted. His mouth opened for you instantly, tongue sliding hot and desperate against yours while you backed him up against the Impala’s fender.
He tasted like cigarettes and the beer he definitely should not have had earlier, and he whimpered, actually whimpered, when you bit his bottom lip and sucked it between your teeth.
“Fuck… sweetheart,” he panted when you finally let him breathe. His cock was already straining against the front of his coveralls, obvious and aching. You shoved a hand between you and palmed him roughly through the fabric. Eddie’s hips jerked forward into your grip with a broken sound.
“Close the hood,” you ordered, voice low.
Eddie blinked, dazed. “Wh—”
“Now.”
He scrambled to obey, reaching over and slamming the heavy hood of the Impala shut with a solid thunk that echoed through the empty garage. The second it latched, you pushed him back, hopped up onto the glossy black hood, and spread your legs in invitation.
Your coveralls were already half-off, tank top shoved up, work jeans unbuttoned, and yanked down your thighs along with your underwear in one impatient motion. Eddie’s eyes went wide and dark, pupils blown as he stared at your exposed pussy glistening under the overhead lights.
“On your knees,” you said, hooking a boot behind his shoulder to drag him forward.
He dropped so fast his knees probably bruised on the concrete. The first drag of his tongue was tentative, almost reverent—then you grabbed a fistful of his messy curls and ground against his face, and Eddie moaned like he’d been waiting his whole life for this.
He licked broad and sloppy, sucking your clit between his lips exactly how you liked it once you told him, “Higher—there, fuck, just like that.”
His hands gripped your thighs, spreading you wider, but he never tried to take control. Every time you tugged his hair or rolled your hips, he whimpered gratefully into your cunt and doubled down, tongue fucking into you while his nose rubbed perfect circles against your clit.
Sweat and grease streaked his bare chest; his cock was leaking a wet spot through his coveralls. You came hard on his tongue, thighs clamping around his head as you rode his face through it, moaning his name loud enough that it probably carried out the open bay doors.
Eddie kept licking you through the aftershocks like he couldn’t bear to stop. When you finally pushed his head back, his chin was shiny with your slick, lips swollen, eyes glassy and adoring.
For a second, you thought he was going to stay soft, sweet, and submissive, but then he grabbed your hips, spun you around, and bent you over the warm hood in one rough motion.
“Eddie—” you started, but he was already kicking your feet apart.
“Please,” he whined, voice cracked and needy as he shoved his coveralls and boxers down just enough to free his cock. It slapped heavily against your ass, dripping wet. “Need to be inside you—fuck, I can’t wait anymore.”
He didn’t give you time to answer. He lined up and pushed in with one desperate thrust, burying himself to the hilt. The broken whimper that tore out of him was pure filth.
“Oh my god—oh fuck, you’re so tight,” he gasped, forehead dropping between your shoulder blades. His hips jerked forward again, shallow and frantic. “Feels so good… so fucking good—”
You gripped the edge of the hood, moaning as he started fucking you harder. He was still whimpering and panting with every thrust, but he had you pinned now; big hands gripping your hips tight enough to bruise, cock driving deep and relentless.
“Eddie—shit—”
“I’m sorry, I just—fuck—” He sounded wrecked, voice cracking as he slammed into you again, the car rocking under the force. One hand slid around to rub messy circles over your clit, too desperate to be coordinated, but perfect anyway. “Can’t stop…wanted this for so fucking long—”
You pushed back against him, and he sobbed a moan, pace turning sloppy and needy.
“Please—please let me come inside you,” he begged right in your ear, hips snapping faster. “I’ll be good—I'll be so good for you, just—fuck, I’m so close already—”
You clenched around him on purpose, and his rhythm stuttered, another broken moan spilling out as his cock throbbed inside you.
He came with a loud, shattered moan, hips jerking as he pumped deep inside you, shuddering and whimpering through every pulse. Even after he finished, he stayed buried in you, breathing hard against your neck, cock still twitching.
“Jesus Christ,” he rasped, voice hoarse. “I think I just died.”
You laughed breathlessly and gently tugged his hair. “Good,” you murmured.
You sat on the edge of the workbench, now wrapped loosely in Eddie’s discarded flannel, while he rummaged through one of the lockers near the tiny office bathroom.
“You alive over there?” he called.
“Mhm.”
“Liar. You sound deceased.”
You laughed tiredly, resting your cheek against your shoulder as you watched him move around the shop, half-dressed and still unfairly attractive. Honestly, it should’ve annoyed you more. Instead, your chest felt warm.
Eddie finally turned around, holding a towel triumphantly over his head. “Ha! Told you I left one here.”
“You keep towels at the shop?”
“Sweetheart, sometimes engines explode on me.”
He crossed back over toward you, hair falling loose around his face again now that the tie had disappeared somewhere in the chaos.
Up close, you noticed how pink his cheeks still were, how his lips looked swollen from the relentless eating and hungry kisses.
“C’mon,” he said gently, nudging your knee apart so he could stand between them. “Let’s get cleaned up.”
The bathroom attached to the office was tiny and honestly kind of terrible. Half the lightbulbs buzzed, the water pressure sucked, and the shower curtain had little motor oil stains near the bottom from years of mechanics rinsing off after long shifts. Still, with Eddie in there with you somehow, it felt strangely intimate.
You stood beneath the spray, rinsing soap from your arms while Eddie sat on the little built-in ledge beside you, lazily rubbing shampoo through your hair with surprising gentleness.
“There’s no way you know how to do this,” you mumbled.
“I’m multi-talented.”
“You use dish soap on your hair sometimes.”
“That is slander.”
You snorted softly while he carefully worked his fingers through the ends of your hair. His touch slowed after a minute, fingertips brushing lightly along the back of your neck.
“You okay?” he asked quietly.
The softness in his voice caught you off guard, and you turned slightly to look at him. “Yeah.”
“Yeah?”
“Mhm.”
Then he reached forward, wiping a little mascara smudge from beneath your eye with his thumb. “Pretty girl,” he murmured.
You leaned against the tile wall while Eddie stood close enough for the warm water to run down both of you at once. Then, after a long, quiet moment, he grinned suddenly.
“So.”
You narrowed your eyes immediately. “What?”
“You think fucking on an Impala counts as our first date?”
anywayy... hope you all enjoyed ;) dean winchester fic coming later today if you're interested MUAHAHAHA
Pairing: Eddie Munson x Hopper!reader Word Count: 4.7k
Description: There’s two clear rules in your house. No boys while dad isn’t home and ALWAYS keep the door open three inches. Tonight Hopper’s out late and you decide to break both, until he’s banging at your door as Eddie trips over his own clothes trying to get out alive.
Tags/Warnings: smut, fem!hopper reader (adopted), secret established relationship, both adults, eddie being absolutely whipped, hot make out, having to be quiet, piv sex, hickeys, getting caught doing it, eddie running for his life with the help of El, talks about consent, weed and suggestive comments.
Note: I recently watched ST3 and seeing Hopper get so riled up with Mike made me think he’d absolutely lose it if his daughter dated someone like Eddie!! Enjoy this fun sexy piece, and happy Joseph day to those who celebrate 🫶🏼
masterlist | archive
Dad’s not home yet.
Still, you’re trying to be quiet. God knows you really are, for the sake of your half sister in the bedroom next door…but the boy on top of you makes it a very hard task.
“Baby you’re all that I want, when you’re lying here in my arms
I’m finding it hard to believe…we’re in heaven…”
The melody coming from your stereo muffles the sounds coming from your lips, every time Eddie leans in to kiss you again and again and again. His legs press the mattress between your parted thighs, tattooed arms caging you in as he hovers over you. Your clothes are still on, but with the way his knee keeps brushing against your shorts in that particular spot, it’s not gonna be for long.
“Isn't too hard to see…we're in Heaven…”
With Eddie all over you, you’re indeed in heaven.
You giggle against his mouth when he bumps his nose into yours for like the hundredth time. You’re not sure how long it’s been since he climbed up your window, only that your lips are swollen already. He kisses you again anyway. Then your cheek, then the other cheek, then your jaw and then lower.
His lips trail down your neck in wet, lazy kisses. His hand slides beneath your shirt to pinch your waist playfully, cold rings making you gasp.
“Eddie...” you whisper, melting under his weight.
He smiles without looking up. God, you can feel his teeth dragging slowly over your skin, before he finds the perfect spot and starts sucking like the little devil he is.
Your fingers run through his curls, torn between scolding him and letting him mark you all over. Thankfully, your survival instinct kicks in, and you tug his head slightly back.
“No hickeys this time, Munson,” you warn, but your breath gives away how much you were enjoying it.
How much you actually want it. Damn it.
Eddie notices, of course he does, his lips release your sensitive skin only to look at you, grinning. “Mmm…I don’t know. Can’t promise anything, sweetheart.”
“Eddie–“
“Shhh, pretty girl,” he hushes you, diving into your collarbone again. “I’m trying to savor this moment before your dad throws me in federal prison…”
You giggle against his hair. “He will if he sees your teeth on my neck, Eds.”
“It’s that so?” He teases, more focused on choosing his next spot to attack.
The way his lips wrap around your skin feels so good you forget how to keep protesting. Your fingers twist in his curls, your back arching up into him and the way his mouth claims you.
You just pray your father stays away wherever he is for longer. The only reason why you’re doing it here instead of Eddie’s trailer like usual, is because Wayne had the night off today and wanted to have one of his buddies over for beers.
To be fair you didn’t plan to hide your relationship from Hopper at the start. But he’s always been a little psycho when it comes to “boys” around you. Now, with an even younger daughter it’s worse. He hates Mike for even breathing close to El. Not to mention he also has access to one too many guns, and with the way the town already sees Eddie, it’s just…better this way. Better to stifle your uneven breathing as your boyfriend takes you to heaven right in your bed.
“Just–just keep it where my dad can’t see them, baby,” you pant, breathing becoming a hard task at this point.
He lifts his head with a dramatic gasp, that shit eating grin forming on his face again with a mischievous glint in those huge brown eyes.
“I knew you were a freak just like me,” he says proudly, shaking his head. “Freaks in love, what a beautiful thing,” he sighs dreamily, making you snort so hard you have to cover your mouth.
“Oh my God Eddie, shut up!” You slap his shoulder weakly, making him snort back, drowning the sound in the crook of your neck.
“Mmm yeah, I can put my mouth to better use…”
The next sound that comes out of your mouth is involuntary. But it’s not your fault when Eddie knows exactly what to do to drag sweet moans out of you.
“You’re gonna…you’re gonna get me killed–fuck,” you moan again when Eddie sucks harder to leave his desired mark on your shoulder. His head shoots up with a devious smile at your barely contained sounds.
“Would you keep it quiet, sweetheart? you don’t wanna alert the little witch…” he chuckles, shifting his weight above you a little too fast, the movement making the headboard tap against the wall.
You both freeze.
“Fuck,” Eddie curses with wide eyes. “You think she heard that?”
You lift on your elbows and tilt your head to listen for any shuffle outside the door, but all you can hear is the soft music still playing in your room. You shrug when you look back at Eddie.
“I don't think so.”
Eddie exhales, before amusement takes over again. “Do you think she even knows what it means?”
“She hangs out with Max all the time, Eddie. Yes, I think she’d know what it means,” you deadpan.
The statement makes him blink at you in surprise a few times, but it’s not long before both of you burst into “quiet” laughter. You place a hand over Eddie’s mouth, his head shaking against your palm from how he tries to hold it in.
“Stop–stop it!” you whisper-shout, barely keeping your own laughter in. “She’s gonna know you’re here!”
“Too late.”
The little deadpan voice coming from the other side of the door makes you both go still. Your heads whip toward the locked door.
“I know he’s in there. And I know what you’re doing,” she continues.
You close your eyes with a grimace, sighing in frustration. “El, you do not know what we’re doing.”
The girl doesn’t even hesitate. “Yes I do. Max told me when you sound like that it’s because you’re having s–”
“Don’t finish that sentence!” You scramble, attempting to sit up and almost bumping Eddie in the process, since he’s too busy caught between amusement and fear to even move.
“I’m telling him,” she says.
“NO!” You and Eddie yell in unison, both scrambling to get off of each other, knocking over your little bedside lamp in the process.
“Shit!”
“She’s bluffing, right? Please tell me she’s bluffing? We weren’t even doing anything…yet” Eddie whispers, pacing next to your bed.
“I don’t know!” you hiss, fixing your shirt and your hair before racing to the door. “She’s weird now, she has an attitude and all. For all I know she could do exactly as she says.”
“Great. Perfect. This is exactly how I thought my night was gonna end. Not inside you–oh no. Blackmailed by a fourteen year old and then shot by your father. Tell Wayne I love him–”
“Shut up!!” You snort, gesturing with a finger to your lips. “El, please,” you beg, cracking the door open just enough to see her unimpressed little face. “Please don’t tell dad.”
She crosses her arms, narrowing her eyes. She moves her head past you to see Eddie standing by your window, waving awkwardly at her. She remembers seeing you and him sucking each other's faces off a few days ago before you shut the door on her face.
“El?” You ask, moving your body to block her gaze on Eddie.
She seems to think about it for a moment, but you weren’t born yesterday, you know the look on her face and you know exactly why she’s there.
“Okay. But cover for me and Mike next time.”
There it is. You stare at her in silence, then you whip around to Eddie, curls wild, pupils blown and holding in his laughter. “Is this kid fucking serious?”
Eddie just raises his eyebrows in amusement. “Like sister like…half-sister?” He chuckles. “Being a freak runs in the family, I see.”
You flip him off before you turn back to her.
“Fine. Deal. I better not get grounded or I swear you’re going down with me,” you say. El just nods and turns to walk away. “And put some music on! You don’t wanna hear….anything.”
“The happy screaming?” She asks, right before scrambling to her room with a giggle when your eyes go wide.
Her door shuts, and seconds later Madonna starts blasting from her stereo at full volume.
“Jesus Christ, this girl,” you mutter, shaking your head before shutting your door.
Click.
You turn back to Eddie–and you both lose it. He throws himself dramatically on the bed, laughing into your pillows. You’re laughing too as you crawl on top of him, placing your hands on his chest with a grin.
“Now, where were we?” You tease, leaning down to kiss him again.
But he flips you over, making you giggle against his neck, and the music is just loud enough to cover the squeaking of the bed, the shushing and the soft little gasps when clothes begin to fall off.
You don’t hear the car pulling in the driveway. You don’t hear the front door open or the heavy footsteps following.
All you hear is Eddie, breathing hard on your ear, muttering curses and things like “You’re so fucking tight, baby–shit,” with every sweet drag of his cock across your slick walls. Your fingers dip into his bare shoulders, and your head tilts back against the pillow with barely contained moans as he hits every spot he has to hit.
“Ed…Eddie…” you choke out, completely drunk on the way his balls slap your ass every time he bottoms out. “R-right there…please”
“Right there sweetheart?” He coos with a chuckle, dragging out only to slam back again in a hard thrust, hitting that spot again. “How does that feel, huh?”
You gasp, back arching, eyes rolling back. “S–so big…so good Eds…shit…”
“Shh, shh, you’re okay angel–fuck you’re perfect,” he whispers, leaning back to hook his arm under your legs to lift your ass, then placing a pillow right under your pelvis. He snaps his hips harder, deeper, trying to make you cum because he knows damn well he won’t last much longer with the way your pussy clenches around him.
The change of angle makes a loud moan escape your lips, making Eddie bring his ringed hand over your mouth with a grin.
God, how he loves the way you come undone under him.
If it was up to him, he’d let you be as loud as you want. Lord knows when he fucks you hard in his trailer the whole park knows when you come. On the other hand, nothing compares to drilling you into your own mattress. Seeing the way you shake trying to muffle your moans while he makes love to you in secret.
The sheer thrill of it.
And as if it wasn’t enough, with one hand still covering your mouth, Eddie brings the other to play with your swollen clit. The overwhelming feeling is enough to make you cry out under his palm, feeling that pressure on your belly building quicker and quicker. He’s too focused on the way your juices start to drip down your cute bedsheets under him, that he doesn’t hear anything happening outside that room either.
Jim Hopper enters his household with slumped shoulders and dragged footsteps after a tiring day. But he doesn’t have much time to feel miserable about how shitty work was, when he realizes none of his girls are on sight.
Which always means trouble.
His eyes land on El’s door first. Loud music blasts behind it, the same way it does when Mike is sucking her face off and doing god knows what with his hands. He stomps over there with no hesitation, slamming the door open.
“How many times have I told you–”
He stops dead in his tracks when he finds El alone, laying on the floor as she flips through a comic, music still at full volume coming from her stereo.
“I–hey kid,” he says softer, clearing his throat when he realizes there’s no male threat in that room. “Why’s the music so loud?”
“New mixtape. She said I could play it as loud as I wanted.”
“She?”
“Sister,” she smiles.
That weird little smile makes him narrow his eyes, “What did your sister do?” He asks, because he wasn’t born yesterday either. He already raised a teenager.
“N-nothing!” She says, maybe a little too quickly.
That’s when he hears a bump on the wall coming from your room.
“I swear to god–” he rolls his eyes with an exhausted sigh, already walking to your door, ignoring the way El trails behind him with wide eyes.
“Wait–” she scrambles trying to stall him, but he’s already pressing his ear to your door.
And Jesus Christ, he did not need to hear any of that. His daughter’s panting and some dude’s groans muffled by music. His hand flies to the doorknob, rattling it violently.
“Young lady, you better open this goddamn door right now!!”
The booming voice makes you both stop.
“Shit!” you yelp, somehow pushing Eddie off, grabbing whatever you can find from the floor to get dressed.
“Who’s in there???” Hopper keeps rattling the doorknob with one hand, the other banging the door loudly. “El, open this door!”
“No!”
Eddie’s panicking. He’s hopping around, shoving his dick–condom and all–into his jeans, looking around for his shirt and trying to put on his shoes at the same time.
“He’s gonna kill me,” he hisses. All that confidence he had fucking you into next week now reduced to sheer human fear. “He’s actually gonna murder me. I’m gonna die too young.”
You ignore his dramatic monologue.
“Did you park far?” you whisper, tripping over your bra as you try to hide it under the bed. “Eddie, he can't see your van–”
“Yes yes I did–but I’m not worried about that! I’m worried about getting shot in the dick!”
BANG BANG BANG.
“Open right now or I swear to god I’ll break it down!!”
“Coming!” You yell back.
“Not yet,” Eddie snorts, he fucking snorts like he’s not about to be executed by the town’s sheriff.
You turn to him, mouth open in disbelief. He realizes his mistake when you stomp toward him and dig a finger into his bare chest.
“Do you appreciate your life?” You ask, he just nods frantically. “Then you need to get out of here, dumbass, now!!”
You shove him toward the windowsill, he clumsily puts one leg over the frame, when you spot his shirt on the floor. You quickly pick it up and hand it to him.
“What if I want you to keep it? As a token of our love.”
If your dad doesn’t kill him right now you’re the one who’s going to do it.
“Eddie–GET OUT NOW!”
“Okay, okay, fleeing the scene–”
But just as he’s about to swing his other leg over the frame, the door slams over with a harsh thud as Hopper almost breaks it off its hinges.
“MUNSON?”
He freezes. You freeze. Eddie freezes.
Hopper’s eyes go from Eddie mid escape, still clutching his shirt over his tattooed chest, to the pillow you’ve put between the bed frame and the wall, to your messy hair and the very fresh hickey stamped on your shoulder.
“…Hi, dad,” you say breathlessly, smiling awkwardly.
“Heyyyy, Mr. Hopper–I mean Sir uh…Iwasjustleaving!”
Eddie tries to jump outside the window, but it only takes your fuming dad a few strides to storm across the room and grab him by the ear before he can.
“Ow ow ow–” Eddie yelps loudly, feet tripping over each other as he gets dragged out of your room.
“Dad!!” you shout, trailing after them. “Stop it! you’re gonna rip it off–“
“That’s not the only thing I’m ripping off!” He snaps, turning to El. “And you, turn off that music right now!”
El, for once does as she’s told, the only sounds left in the house are everyone’s heavy breathing and Eddie’s little whines. She watches from her doorway with wide eyes, horrified as her dad hauls your shirtless boyfriend into the living room and finally releases him with a shove. Eddie stumbles back, holding his ear with one hand, the other still clutching his shirt for dear life.
Hopper turns to you, “Eddie Munson? Seriously?”
You try to look apologetic. It comes out more like a nervous laugh because you’re embarrassed as hell and don’t know how else to react.
“Oh, so you think this is funny?”
“Dad, I–”
“No, don't ‘Dad’ me!” he starts pacing, dragging his hand down his face because it physically pains him to be alive in this moment. “I decided to take in two girls. Two. I’ve set clear rules in this house. And now one’s blowing out her eardrums to cover for the other while she sneaks in boys to hookup with while I’m gone.”
Heat travels to your face. But it’s not from embarrassment anymore. It’s anger. Anger that simmers quietly.
“I just wanna say,” Eddie chimes in nervously, holding his hands up as if he’s surrendering to an arrest, “this wasn’t just a hookup thing, Sir. I care about her. A lot actually, I only mean well.”
Hopper laughs bitterly, crossing his arms and nodding condescendingly like it’s the funniest thing he’s heard.
“Well? You only mean well, right–and what exactly is ‘well’ about sneaking into my house, locking yourself in my daughter’s room, and doing that??” he closes the distance between you, gesturing at the hickey.
“Okay, fair, but–”
“Were you even using protection?”
“Dad!!” you groan, moving in front of Eddie. “We’re being safe! And I’m not sneaking in boys plural. It’s just Eddie. My–my boyfriend.”
“Oh yeah? Boyfriend? Well you’re grounded.”
You gasp. “What? That’s so unfair!”
“You’re grounded until you introduce him like a proper lady, not while he’s still trying to shimmy into his jeans behind a locked door!”
You glare at him with your arms crossed. Your hair’s still a mess, the hickey is still very much hickeying, and he looks like he’s not backing down no matter if you start stomping your feet on the ground like a child.
He brushes past you and turns his attention to Eddie, grabbing him by the collar until his untied sneakers lift off the ground.
“S–Sir?” Eddie yelps.
“You mark her again like that and you’re dead. Understood?”
Eddie nods frantically. “Understood, S–sir–absolutely!! Message received!! I love life. Biiig fan of living, actually. I’ll, uh–show myself out?” Eddie blurts out, hands flailing around him in an attempt to stabilize himself in the vulnerable position, but Hopper doesn’t put him back down.
“I’m not done with you yet, Munson.”
You groan again, covering your face with your hands. “God–I hate you.”
Before he can say you’re grounded for life, something falls in the kitchen. The noise makes him spin around, giving you just enough time to snap your head up and lock eyes with Eddie.
You mouth RUN.
And oh boy, he bolts. He slips himself from your dad’s embrace and sprints like hell out the front door, wild curls bouncing in the wind, laughing like a madman who just escaped the guillotine.
“TILL OUR PATHS CROSS AGAIN, MY LOVE!!” he yells at the top of his lungs, skipping the steps of the front porch.
Hopper whirls around. “Son of a bitch–COME BACK HERE!”
He storms after him, but the couch has already been moved a few inches so he trips, nearly eating the floor. It’s not a surprise when you both turn around and see the blood coming out of El’s nose.
“Damn it, El!”
You smile, running to the open door, just in time to see Eddie leap over the perimeter set for Eleven’s safety, almost losing a shoe, and keep running for his life.
You can’t help it. You stifle a laugh with the palm of your hand.
Behind you, Hopper’s face is red, looking at both of you in disbelief. He walks over to you, slamming the front door shut.
“You’re both grounded forever.” Before you can whine, he’s already spitting more words. “When I said you two needed to be more like sisters, I didn’t mean this!”
“Yeah, and what exactly did you mean?” You spit back.
“I don’t know, bonding, talking–painting your nails and going to the mall! Not conspiring to deceive me while your boyfriend sucks your neck like a lunatic!”
“Oh my god, Dad! Would you stop bringing it up?” You roll your eyes in annoyance. “El go to your room,” you say.
She doesn’t need to hear more of this.
He huffs, muttering to himself as Eleven locks herself in her room. “Now this–this is what I get. This is what I get for trying to raise women. Lying little degenerates, the both of you. Should’ve left you where I found you…”
This time you huff, walking past him to go back to your room. “Maybe then we could have boyfriends in peace,” you sneer, before slamming your door shut.
He curses, and bangs on your door one more time, “You’re still grounded! And you better take a shower, I can smell the weed from here!”
You sigh. Sat on the edge of your bed wrapped in only a towel over damp skin, still thinking about the way you were wrapped in Eddie just an hour ago.
Your eyes land on his forgotten jacket, crumpled on the corner of your room. You smile, walking over to it to pick it up and bring it close to you to take in the scent.
Leather, the cologne you gave him for his birthday and…weed? Who knows. It smells like him. Your safe place. You bury your face in it like a total sap, but the click of your door’s lock coming off startles you.
“Jesus, El!” you yelp, spinning around with the jacket clutched to your chest. “Just because you can open doors with your mind doesn’t mean you should!”
She stands there, with a cute little expression that makes you forget about being mad at her.
You sigh. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to snap, come here.”
You sit down on the edge of your bed again and pat the spot beside you. She sits next to you quietly, tucking her legs under herself.
“Listen uh–I’m sorry you had to hear all that. Me and Dad. And I’m sorry you got grounded for helping me…I’m sure he’ll forget about it in a few days.”
She shrugs, knowing that won't exactly stop her from seeing Mike either way.
“He…doesn’t like boys.”
You both snort at the same time.
“That’s true. I think he’s convinced we should just join a convent,” you chuckle.
El tilts her head in confusion, ready to ask what a convent is but something else catches her attention. Her eyes land on the mark on your shoulder.
“Did Eddie do that to hurt you?”
The question knocks the air out of your chest.
“What? No! No, no, no–God, no,” you blurt out, fiddling nervously with the jacket on your lap. “That was…um, that was consensual.”
“Consensual?”
“Yeah…it means both people want something to happen. Like, really want it. It has to come from both sides. Always.”
She processes the information quietly, and you know a million more questions are rattling inside her head. You take a deep breath. She eventually needs to learn about this anyway.
“Look, if you ever don’t like something, if something makes you feel uncomfortable, or weird, or confused, you say no. And when you say no, that’s it. It stops. Doesn’t matter who it is. Doesn’t matter what they want. I need you to understand that.”
She nods, still a bit hesitant.
“I’m sure Max has already told you way more than I ever could.” You laugh, shaking your head. That gets the ghost of a smile out of her as she keeps listening. “But just…remember this, okay? Whatever you do, whenever you do it, make sure it comes from love. From feeling safe. From being comfortable with each other. Not because someone told you to, or because you’re scared, or confused. Only when it feels right.”
She nods, still taking it all in. Then, in barely a whisper, she asks, “Does…Eddie make you feel safe?”
You smile. It’s inevitable. Just the mention of his name makes your heart flutter with that overwhelming feeling of knowing you’ve made him home.
“Yeah, yeah he does,” you breathe.
She smiles back, leaning her head on your arm.
You wait until it’s late, with El back in her room and Hopper too busy snoring loudly behind the curtain of his room, before you tiptoe to the living room. You glance around to confirm you’re alone, before reaching for the phone on the wall and dialing Eddie’s trailer number like you’ve done millions of times before.
You stretch the cord until you’re in your room again, shutting the door slowly before sinking down against it with the receiver pressed to your ear. It rings a few times, when you finally hear his voice on the other side of the line.
“Munson Residence, who am I speaking with?” He says in an over exaggerated posh tone, knowing damn well you’re the only one who calls at this hour.
“Hi, Ed,” you chuckle.
He gasps dramatically. “Sweetheart? Love of my life? You survived??”
You roll your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “Barely. I got a lot of shit for…today,” you sigh, twisting the cord between your fingers.
“M’sorry baby, didn’t mean to get you in trouble.”
“It’s alright,” you say quickly. “Apparently I’m grounded for life. He’s just–he got really pissed. Like ‘boarding up my windows’ pissed. I’m afraid he might actually do it this time...”
Eddie whistles low. “Wow. Love that for us.”
“Yup. And…I also had to give El the talk–or something like the talk.”
“No–” He gasps, “you gave the talk? To El?? Oh my god. Did she ask about the hickey?”
“She thought you were hurting me,” you snort, shaking your head even if he can’t see you.
“Jesus Christ,” he laughs into the phone, loudly. “Did you tell her it’s because I’m hopelessly in love with you?”
“Eddie…” you have to cover your mouth to stifle your own laughter, as your cheeks go hot from his words. “That’s not exactly what I told her.”
“So what was it? The bees and the birds? Safe sex? Consent? Oooh you gotta tell her about that, sweetheart. I know she’s young and all but there’s a lot of jerks out there and she should–”
“I told her you make me feel safe, Eds,” you cut him off, the line going quiet as he processes the words. A small, nervous laugh escapes your lips before you continue. “I told her consent is all about really wanting something to happen. And it should come from love, from…feeling safe. Like it does with you.”
The next sound you hear on the line can only be described as a thump. No words, just a soft thump on…drywall?
“…Eddie?”
“Sorry sweetheart–had to bang my head on the wall to make sure I wasn’t dreaming,” he says, and God you can feel his stupid smile through the phone. “Your dad didn’t get me today but you sure almost killed me with that.”
You blink a few times before giggling into the phone. “You’re such a goddamn dork, oh my god!”
“Yeah, well. You still love me though, right?”
“Unfortunately,” you tease.
He laughs. “Good. Then we’ll just be fine.”
“Yeah, assuming we do get to see each other again,” you sigh.
“Ohh, talking about that,” his voice gets lower, he’s probably got a hand around the transmitter as he whispers into the phone. “Wayne’s taking a double shift tomorrow. He’ll be gone the whole day.”
“…Okay?” You say slowly, but you’re already pressing your legs together from anticipation.
“Trailer will be all ours, sweetheart,” he drawls. “All day and aaall night. And I can get you home before your daddy even wakes up...”
You bite your lip. “Eddie Munson, are you telling me you want me to sneak off my house to spend the night at yours?”
He hums nonchalantly. “Uhum. Even got your favorite ice cream in the fridge and some whipped cream. If you get lucky I’ll let you lick the whipped cream off my d–”
“Jesus Eddie!” You cover your mouth to stifle another fit of laughter.
God, you never got bored with this man.
“You’re insatiable. Did you know that?” You pretend to scold, but your cheeks hurt from smiling so much.
“Oh I know, angel. But so are you. A freak just like me, remember? That’s why tomorrow you’re gonna climb out that window like a good girl and let me fuck you on my bed. You know you can be as loooud as you want here.”
You curse internally. But fuck yes you are letting him do just that. And hell yeah, you will be as loud as you want.
“You better have enough whipped cream, Eddie.”
Thank you so much for reading!! Feedback is always appreciated 🫶🏼
freak. you had no idea what the word meant, but someone called you it.
when you asked eddie what it meant, his face dropped. "did someone...call you that?" he waited for your answer just in case his worry was getting the best of him.
you nod casually. "is it...bad?"
eddie nods before verbally confirming you. "...yeah."
"what does it mean?" you tilt your head in a way that secretly makes eddie's heart swell.
"it means someone weird... someone that doesn't belong." he confesses it quietly, because he never wanted his fate for you. you're obviously a bit taken aback. you never asked for your powers. you never asked to be experimented on by doctor brenner.
"do you...think i'm a freak?"
your question makes eddie stop fidgeting with a little gadget he's working on, and he looks up at you as if your question pained him.
"freak? no. you're the most incredible girl i've ever known. your powers are just what you have, but they're not who you are."
your breath is knocked out of your lungs. you and eddie's bond is always platonic, but you can't help but to feel something romantic for him. even beneath the platonic bond, you can't deny there's been times where there's been romantic tension—including right now.
"do you know what it feels like to be a freak?"
eddie jumps up and begins to act dramatic to make you laugh. "well, i am the son of a criminal. i listen to metal. oh, and i play dungeons and dragons. if that's not freak, i don't know what is, milady!"
you laugh at eddie's theatrics, and he's happy to see that someone's mean actions isn't affecting you as much.
eddie's expression turns a bit more serious, and he sits next to you in his bed. "i get called that a lot. i don't say anything because i don't want the others to think it bothers me."
you tilt your head. "does it?" eddie nods and licks his lips. "yeah. i've accepted it for a while, but you and the others have given me a sense of belonging i never thought i would find. guess we're just a couple of "freaks" right?" his theatrics bravado slightly returns to his voice.
you set your hand on top of his, and you see his expression shift to one of surprise. "we are just 2 freaks." you smile.
the room goes silent for a bit because you're trying to decipher eddie's stare.
"someone like me...would you ever?..." he trails off because you're making him nervous. "would you ever like someone like me? like..."like-like? i guess what i'm saying is...love?"
he uses his free hand to take your other one. his grip is slightly firm, as if his body is tensing up in anticipation for your answer.
"i do."
eddie lets out a breath he's been holding, and takes you in for a hug. you both laugh happily, and you can feel each other's smiles when eddie pulls you in for a kiss. ♡
hi, how are you, good evening, I have not been able to stop thinking about this all day, especially with a thick & beefy eddie a la @urhoneycombwitch's husky dreamboat.
18+ MDNI┃1.1k
cw: filth, filth, filth. just filth. no plot, no nothing. only filth.
Eddie comes over and he just…needs you.
He’s been thinking about it all day—longer than all day, he’s been thinking about it ever since he was dead asleep the night before, dreaming of being buried where he belongs between your thighs. His face, his cock, his fingers somehow all at once, feeling you every-goddamn-where.
Woke up so hard it fucking hurt.
Barely took him two full strokes before he sprayed cum all over his chest and belly, and feels almost sad amongst the euphoria because he knows it was all meant to go inside you.
He fires off a text en route to the shower, knowing you won’t get it for a couple more hours. He’s just relieved he didn’t slip in a Freudian ‘u.’
coming over 2nite.
No question mark, nothing up for interpretation. You guys talked about “maybe” doing something tonight, but he’s turned it from a vague possibility into an absolute mathematical certainty.
By the time you write back, he’s well into his day at the garage and you’re just getting up.
someone’s decisive ;)
He chuckles to himself when he reads it.
You have no idea what you’re in for.
You still don’t until he knocks on your door at 6:00 sharp and by 6:01, he’s kissing you. Kicking the door shut behind him, backing you down the hallway. Devouring your laugh and tugging at your clothes, leaving a trail of his and yours across the apartment and all the way to your bedroom.
And then he’s on top of you and pressing his lips wherever they can reach, his hands gripping and groping like he’s forgotten what you feel like. But how could he? Who could forget how smooth you are, how your flesh yields to his touch, how you fill up his palms with heat and softness that feels so right against the roughness of his skin. Built up with callouses and guitar string scars he lost count of decades ago, they shouldn’t fit with you so well but they do.
It’s like you’re clay he was born to mold, a sculpture he sees take shape a little more each time you’re together. Turning into something more beautiful than he ever imagined.
He worships you with his mouth, tastes the implumbable depths of the well at the center of you and drinks from it like it’s the fountain of youth—quenching a thirst he’s had since birth.
Your fingers weave into his curls, less to guide his movements and more to hold on for dear life. You ride out two, three highs before he even makes a move to enter you.
But god, when he does…something switches.
Some long-buried, purely animal part of his brain takes over. Some sweaty, wild, feral thing that’s only concerned with you. Feeling you, holding you, fucking you—owning you.
He’s rougher with you than he means to be, digging his fingers into your thighs to push them up and flush with your chest, squeezing your breath out of you so the only way you can tell him to keep going is by nodding as hard as you can when he looks to you with those lust blown eyes.
Wet as you are, you’re afraid he’ll slip out he’s thrusting so hard and so fast. But if he does, you don’t feel it. All you can feel is him, his arms caging you in, his biceps bulging and flexing through the layer of fat that covers them. The same fat that covers his thick thighs and his stomach and his ass and his broad, wide shoulders. The fat that makes him feel so big and solid around you, that lets him cover you like a blanket and smother you in the smell of sweat and woodsy cologne.
He huffs and grunts and groans and whines in your ear, a symphony of struggling to keep himself under control. Breathing getting heavier with every buck of his hips, the impact making his ass jiggle harder each time. Your hand like a claw clutching one cheek, the other wrapped around the back of his neck to keep his face close, safe in the little world between your jaw and collarbone.
He speaks softly, broken choked-off words just barely above a whisper. More like a sigh.
“Baby, I c-can’t—I can’t stop, m’so…mmmph—fuck…”
The words simmer in your ear, coupled with the wet slaps of skin on skin that fill the room with your moans and his, the slippery mess you’re making so noisy it’s obscene. You are gushing around him, your body pulsing and clenching trying to hold him inside as long as possible.
“M’sorry, I’m so sorry, I can’t help it, I need you so fucking bad—”
He’s coming apart at the seams. You can feel it in the way his body unspools into pleasure, the way all the tension he’s been carrying is leeched from every muscle and ligament. How his voice unfurls into this wanton plea, so loose and languid in stark contrast to the tightness of his limbs.
“S-so…so good… so nnngh, so good for me…oh shit…”
One last clench, one last powerful thrust, one last deep and resonant groan that reverberates through your chest that’s pressed so tight to his. One last desperate clutch at his crown of sweaty curls, one last gasp as you throw your head back. One last squeeze of your legs stretched as wide as they can go, ankles crossed at the small of his back to hold him close.
The last noise he makes is veneration, a final holy sacrament to his altar of you.
He stays buried inside, steeping in his own spend, feeling the slow trickle of it around the base of his cock. You should probably find it gross. You should probably take offense at being folded in half and getting pounded out like a piece of meat. And yet, you can’t find the will for either.
“Hey,” he whispers when he’s back in his body, and while he’s still in yours. “You okay?”
You just nod, sleepy and lazy and dazed, a little smile creeping across your lips he doesn’t see because he’s shaking his head, letting it hang like it’s hard to hold up all of a sudden.
“I didn’t…I didn’t mean for it to be so—”
You take his chin in your hand and turn him into a kiss. A good one. A thought-erasing one.
“I loved it,” you whisper back, and clench around him for good measure. His hand grapples at your waist, his body jerking with a violent shudder.
“Don’t you– ffffuck…”
The barely-there threat dissolves into laughter before he can even make it, his face smothered in the crook of your neck again so he can breathe in the smell of your drying sweat.
How do you think Eddie would react to a fwb reader who uses sex as a distraction from their feelings?? Like, they’ve been having a bad week an their mental state isn’t great but heyyy there’s sex. Reader doesn’t really care about the pleasure part of sex just the distraction. Worried Eddie would feel a little used ngl :P
((Dancy dances away nervously))
I know you started this with "do you think" but my brain said WRITE A BLURB so here we are. Also shoutout @corroded-hellfire for helping me make it cute without being cliche.
Warnings: mentions of smut (18+ only, minors DNI), friends with benefits, angst/yearning, idiots in love, made it fluffy because I'm a sap
WC: 747
--
You hadn’t thought anything of it the night he’d called you “baby.” He was deep within you, melding his body with yours. Lost in the moment.
Or the night he’d mumbled, “your pussy was made for me” while slamming into you from behind. It was just dirty talk; nothing more and nothing less.
Maybe you should have been tipped off when he’d growled, “mine,” his voice barely above a whisper as he pressed soft kisses below your earlobe. You’d figured the word, like the sex, was meaningless.
But tonight’s comment stops you in your tracks. Your legs are wobbling beneath you, exhausted from riding him, as you step back into your pants.
“Do you wanna, like, cuddle for a sec?”
A giggle escapes from your lips, swollen and kiss-bitten. He’s joking; he has to be. The two of you have a perfectly choreographed routine: you have a bad day, you call Eddie, you fuck, and then you leave. And his latest suggestion would definitely interfere with step four.
When your eyes meet his, you realize that he’s serious. Hurt and confusion at your laughter crease his brows, and he tugs the sheet up a bit higher.
“Sorry, I, um…” He shakes his head and rubs his face. “Never mind. You probably have to go anyway.”
You’re in no hurry to return home, fresh off of yet another argument with your roommate. That’s why you’d come over to Eddie’s trailer in the first place. And it isn’t as though you’d never thought about being in his strong, tattooed arms. The way he’d hold you flush against him, your cheek on his chest, the sound of his heartbeat in your ear. It’s something you’d once wanted—craved, even—but you couldn’t let vulnerability infiltrate you like that again.
You spent high school watching him pine over the cheerleaders. He unwittingly broke your heart over and over with each woman he hooked up with at the Hideout, overlooking you despite your presence at every show. Being friends with benefits is risky enough, and post-sex snuggling will send you teetering over the edge back into the rocky terrain of unrequited love.
And so you lean into humor as you shrug on your shirt. “I don’t think this friends-with-benefits arrangement includes cuddling.” Keeping your tone light and even, restraining every desire to crawl into bed with him.
“Right, yeah.” He sighs and offers a sad half-smile. “It’s just…I was thinking—”
“That’s dangerous.”
He flips you off and continues. “I was thinking that maybe we could be more than that. Y’know, maybe we could have sex when you’re happy, too.”
“I am happy when we have sex,” you counter.
Eddie shakes his head again. “I’m talking about before we do it.” He gnaws on his thumbnail. “It feels like you only want me when you have a bad day. A-And I’m glad I can be here for you and stuff, but sometimes I wonder if I’m a friend or just a good lay.”
You try to look at him when you speak, but he keeps his gaze trained on the ground. “Eddie,” you start, taking a seat next to him. His chest is slick with sweat, the soft hairs matted down. “Eddie, I had the biggest, dumbest crush on you when we were younger. And knowing I couldn’t have you tore me apart.” You let your hand rest on his. “I can’t risk having you and then losing you.”
“Losing me?” Eddie laughs softly and his free palm comes up to cup your cheek. “Look at me. Where am I going?”
“You could find someone new, someone better, someone who—”
He cuts you off with a searing kiss, remnants of your arousal still tinging his lips and tongue. “There’s no one better,” he murmurs. “You see me answering the door at two in the morning for anyone else? Think I’d miss out on precious sleep for them?”
One arm hooks around you back and pulls you in until you assume the little spoon position. Nimble fingers undo the button of your jeans, slowly and patiently, a stark contrast to the way he’d practically torn the denim removing them earlier.
“‘S that comfier?” He asks through a yawn.
“Mhm.” And it is. It’s the most relaxed you’ve been in a while, at least without him inside you.
His curls tickle the back of your neck as he nuzzles into you. He staves off sleep long enough to speak one last time.
Pairing: Eddie Munson x Hopper!reader Word Count: 4.7k
Description: There’s two clear rules in your house. No boys while dad isn’t home and ALWAYS keep the door open three inches. Tonight Hopper’s out late and you decide to break both, until he’s banging at your door as Eddie trips over his own clothes trying to get out alive.
Tags/Warnings: smut, fem!hopper reader (adopted), secret established relationship, both adults, eddie being absolutely whipped, hot make out, having to be quiet, piv sex, hickeys, getting caught doing it, eddie running for his life with the help of El, talks about consent, weed and suggestive comments.
Note: I recently watched ST3 and seeing Hopper get so riled up with Mike made me think he’d absolutely lose it if his daughter dated someone like Eddie!! Enjoy this fun sexy piece, and happy Joseph day to those who celebrate 🫶🏼
masterlist | archive
Dad’s not home yet.
Still, you’re trying to be quiet. God knows you really are, for the sake of your half sister in the bedroom next door…but the boy on top of you makes it a very hard task.
“Baby you’re all that I want, when you’re lying here in my arms
I’m finding it hard to believe…we’re in heaven…”
The melody coming from your stereo muffles the sounds coming from your lips, every time Eddie leans in to kiss you again and again and again. His legs press the mattress between your parted thighs, tattooed arms caging you in as he hovers over you. Your clothes are still on, but with the way his knee keeps brushing against your shorts in that particular spot, it’s not gonna be for long.
“Isn't too hard to see…we're in Heaven…”
With Eddie all over you, you’re indeed in heaven.
You giggle against his mouth when he bumps his nose into yours for like the hundredth time. You’re not sure how long it’s been since he climbed up your window, only that your lips are swollen already. He kisses you again anyway. Then your cheek, then the other cheek, then your jaw and then lower.
His lips trail down your neck in wet, lazy kisses. His hand slides beneath your shirt to pinch your waist playfully, cold rings making you gasp.
“Eddie...” you whisper, melting under his weight.
He smiles without looking up. God, you can feel his teeth dragging slowly over your skin, before he finds the perfect spot and starts sucking like the little devil he is.
Your fingers run through his curls, torn between scolding him and letting him mark you all over. Thankfully, your survival instinct kicks in, and you tug his head slightly back.
“No hickeys this time, Munson,” you warn, but your breath gives away how much you were enjoying it.
How much you actually want it. Damn it.
Eddie notices, of course he does, his lips release your sensitive skin only to look at you, grinning. “Mmm…I don’t know. Can’t promise anything, sweetheart.”
“Eddie–“
“Shhh, pretty girl,” he hushes you, diving into your collarbone again. “I’m trying to savor this moment before your dad throws me in federal prison…”
You giggle against his hair. “He will if he sees your teeth on my neck, Eds.”
“It’s that so?” He teases, more focused on choosing his next spot to attack.
The way his lips wrap around your skin feels so good you forget how to keep protesting. Your fingers twist in his curls, your back arching up into him and the way his mouth claims you.
You just pray your father stays away wherever he is for longer. The only reason why you’re doing it here instead of Eddie’s trailer like usual, is because Wayne had the night off today and wanted to have one of his buddies over for beers.
To be fair you didn’t plan to hide your relationship from Hopper at the start. But he’s always been a little psycho when it comes to “boys” around you. Now, with an even younger daughter it’s worse. He hates Mike for even breathing close to El. Not to mention he also has access to one too many guns, and with the way the town already sees Eddie, it’s just…better this way. Better to stifle your uneven breathing as your boyfriend takes you to heaven right in your bed.
“Just–just keep it where my dad can’t see them, baby,” you pant, breathing becoming a hard task at this point.
He lifts his head with a dramatic gasp, that shit eating grin forming on his face again with a mischievous glint in those huge brown eyes.
“I knew you were a freak just like me,” he says proudly, shaking his head. “Freaks in love, what a beautiful thing,” he sighs dreamily, making you snort so hard you have to cover your mouth.
“Oh my God Eddie, shut up!” You slap his shoulder weakly, making him snort back, drowning the sound in the crook of your neck.
“Mmm yeah, I can put my mouth to better use…”
The next sound that comes out of your mouth is involuntary. But it’s not your fault when Eddie knows exactly what to do to drag sweet moans out of you.
“You’re gonna…you’re gonna get me killed–fuck,” you moan again when Eddie sucks harder to leave his desired mark on your shoulder. His head shoots up with a devious smile at your barely contained sounds.
“Would you keep it quiet, sweetheart? you don’t wanna alert the little witch…” he chuckles, shifting his weight above you a little too fast, the movement making the headboard tap against the wall.
You both freeze.
“Fuck,” Eddie curses with wide eyes. “You think she heard that?”
You lift on your elbows and tilt your head to listen for any shuffle outside the door, but all you can hear is the soft music still playing in your room. You shrug when you look back at Eddie.
“I don't think so.”
Eddie exhales, before amusement takes over again. “Do you think she even knows what it means?”
“She hangs out with Max all the time, Eddie. Yes, I think she’d know what it means,” you deadpan.
The statement makes him blink at you in surprise a few times, but it’s not long before both of you burst into “quiet” laughter. You place a hand over Eddie’s mouth, his head shaking against your palm from how he tries to hold it in.
“Stop–stop it!” you whisper-shout, barely keeping your own laughter in. “She’s gonna know you’re here!”
“Too late.”
The little deadpan voice coming from the other side of the door makes you both go still. Your heads whip toward the locked door.
“I know he’s in there. And I know what you’re doing,” she continues.
You close your eyes with a grimace, sighing in frustration. “El, you do not know what we’re doing.”
The girl doesn’t even hesitate. “Yes I do. Max told me when you sound like that it’s because you’re having s–”
“Don’t finish that sentence!” You scramble, attempting to sit up and almost bumping Eddie in the process, since he’s too busy caught between amusement and fear to even move.
“I’m telling him,” she says.
“NO!” You and Eddie yell in unison, both scrambling to get off of each other, knocking over your little bedside lamp in the process.
“Shit!”
“She’s bluffing, right? Please tell me she’s bluffing? We weren’t even doing anything…yet” Eddie whispers, pacing next to your bed.
“I don’t know!” you hiss, fixing your shirt and your hair before racing to the door. “She’s weird now, she has an attitude and all. For all I know she could do exactly as she says.”
“Great. Perfect. This is exactly how I thought my night was gonna end. Not inside you–oh no. Blackmailed by a fourteen year old and then shot by your father. Tell Wayne I love him–”
“Shut up!!” You snort, gesturing with a finger to your lips. “El, please,” you beg, cracking the door open just enough to see her unimpressed little face. “Please don’t tell dad.”
She crosses her arms, narrowing her eyes. She moves her head past you to see Eddie standing by your window, waving awkwardly at her. She remembers seeing you and him sucking each other's faces off a few days ago before you shut the door on her face.
“El?” You ask, moving your body to block her gaze on Eddie.
She seems to think about it for a moment, but you weren’t born yesterday, you know the look on her face and you know exactly why she’s there.
“Okay. But cover for me and Mike next time.”
There it is. You stare at her in silence, then you whip around to Eddie, curls wild, pupils blown and holding in his laughter. “Is this kid fucking serious?”
Eddie just raises his eyebrows in amusement. “Like sister like…half-sister?” He chuckles. “Being a freak runs in the family, I see.”
You flip him off before you turn back to her.
“Fine. Deal. I better not get grounded or I swear you’re going down with me,” you say. El just nods and turns to walk away. “And put some music on! You don’t wanna hear….anything.”
“The happy screaming?” She asks, right before scrambling to her room with a giggle when your eyes go wide.
Her door shuts, and seconds later Madonna starts blasting from her stereo at full volume.
“Jesus Christ, this girl,” you mutter, shaking your head before shutting your door.
Click.
You turn back to Eddie–and you both lose it. He throws himself dramatically on the bed, laughing into your pillows. You’re laughing too as you crawl on top of him, placing your hands on his chest with a grin.
“Now, where were we?” You tease, leaning down to kiss him again.
But he flips you over, making you giggle against his neck, and the music is just loud enough to cover the squeaking of the bed, the shushing and the soft little gasps when clothes begin to fall off.
You don’t hear the car pulling in the driveway. You don’t hear the front door open or the heavy footsteps following.
All you hear is Eddie, breathing hard on your ear, muttering curses and things like “You’re so fucking tight, baby–shit,” with every sweet drag of his cock across your slick walls. Your fingers dip into his bare shoulders, and your head tilts back against the pillow with barely contained moans as he hits every spot he has to hit.
“Ed…Eddie…” you choke out, completely drunk on the way his balls slap your ass every time he bottoms out. “R-right there…please”
“Right there sweetheart?” He coos with a chuckle, dragging out only to slam back again in a hard thrust, hitting that spot again. “How does that feel, huh?”
You gasp, back arching, eyes rolling back. “S–so big…so good Eds…shit…”
“Shh, shh, you’re okay angel–fuck you’re perfect,” he whispers, leaning back to hook his arm under your legs to lift your ass, then placing a pillow right under your pelvis. He snaps his hips harder, deeper, trying to make you cum because he knows damn well he won’t last much longer with the way your pussy clenches around him.
The change of angle makes a loud moan escape your lips, making Eddie bring his ringed hand over your mouth with a grin.
God, how he loves the way you come undone under him.
If it was up to him, he’d let you be as loud as you want. Lord knows when he fucks you hard in his trailer the whole park knows when you come. On the other hand, nothing compares to drilling you into your own mattress. Seeing the way you shake trying to muffle your moans while he makes love to you in secret.
The sheer thrill of it.
And as if it wasn’t enough, with one hand still covering your mouth, Eddie brings the other to play with your swollen clit. The overwhelming feeling is enough to make you cry out under his palm, feeling that pressure on your belly building quicker and quicker. He’s too focused on the way your juices start to drip down your cute bedsheets under him, that he doesn’t hear anything happening outside that room either.
Jim Hopper enters his household with slumped shoulders and dragged footsteps after a tiring day. But he doesn’t have much time to feel miserable about how shitty work was, when he realizes none of his girls are on sight.
Which always means trouble.
His eyes land on El’s door first. Loud music blasts behind it, the same way it does when Mike is sucking her face off and doing god knows what with his hands. He stomps over there with no hesitation, slamming the door open.
“How many times have I told you–”
He stops dead in his tracks when he finds El alone, laying on the floor as she flips through a comic, music still at full volume coming from her stereo.
“I–hey kid,” he says softer, clearing his throat when he realizes there’s no male threat in that room. “Why’s the music so loud?”
“New mixtape. She said I could play it as loud as I wanted.”
“She?”
“Sister,” she smiles.
That weird little smile makes him narrow his eyes, “What did your sister do?” He asks, because he wasn’t born yesterday either. He already raised a teenager.
“N-nothing!” She says, maybe a little too quickly.
That’s when he hears a bump on the wall coming from your room.
“I swear to god–” he rolls his eyes with an exhausted sigh, already walking to your door, ignoring the way El trails behind him with wide eyes.
“Wait–” she scrambles trying to stall him, but he’s already pressing his ear to your door.
And Jesus Christ, he did not need to hear any of that. His daughter’s panting and some dude’s groans muffled by music. His hand flies to the doorknob, rattling it violently.
“Young lady, you better open this goddamn door right now!!”
The booming voice makes you both stop.
“Shit!” you yelp, somehow pushing Eddie off, grabbing whatever you can find from the floor to get dressed.
“Who’s in there???” Hopper keeps rattling the doorknob with one hand, the other banging the door loudly. “El, open this door!”
“No!”
Eddie’s panicking. He’s hopping around, shoving his dick–condom and all–into his jeans, looking around for his shirt and trying to put on his shoes at the same time.
“He’s gonna kill me,” he hisses. All that confidence he had fucking you into next week now reduced to sheer human fear. “He’s actually gonna murder me. I’m gonna die too young.”
You ignore his dramatic monologue.
“Did you park far?” you whisper, tripping over your bra as you try to hide it under the bed. “Eddie, he can't see your van–”
“Yes yes I did–but I’m not worried about that! I’m worried about getting shot in the dick!”
BANG BANG BANG.
“Open right now or I swear to god I’ll break it down!!”
“Coming!” You yell back.
“Not yet,” Eddie snorts, he fucking snorts like he’s not about to be executed by the town’s sheriff.
You turn to him, mouth open in disbelief. He realizes his mistake when you stomp toward him and dig a finger into his bare chest.
“Do you appreciate your life?” You ask, he just nods frantically. “Then you need to get out of here, dumbass, now!!”
You shove him toward the windowsill, he clumsily puts one leg over the frame, when you spot his shirt on the floor. You quickly pick it up and hand it to him.
“What if I want you to keep it? As a token of our love.”
If your dad doesn’t kill him right now you’re the one who’s going to do it.
“Eddie–GET OUT NOW!”
“Okay, okay, fleeing the scene–”
But just as he’s about to swing his other leg over the frame, the door slams over with a harsh thud as Hopper almost breaks it off its hinges.
“MUNSON?”
He freezes. You freeze. Eddie freezes.
Hopper’s eyes go from Eddie mid escape, still clutching his shirt over his tattooed chest, to the pillow you’ve put between the bed frame and the wall, to your messy hair and the very fresh hickey stamped on your shoulder.
“…Hi, dad,” you say breathlessly, smiling awkwardly.
“Heyyyy, Mr. Hopper–I mean Sir uh…Iwasjustleaving!”
Eddie tries to jump outside the window, but it only takes your fuming dad a few strides to storm across the room and grab him by the ear before he can.
“Ow ow ow–” Eddie yelps loudly, feet tripping over each other as he gets dragged out of your room.
“Dad!!” you shout, trailing after them. “Stop it! you’re gonna rip it off–“
“That’s not the only thing I’m ripping off!” He snaps, turning to El. “And you, turn off that music right now!”
El, for once does as she’s told, the only sounds left in the house are everyone’s heavy breathing and Eddie’s little whines. She watches from her doorway with wide eyes, horrified as her dad hauls your shirtless boyfriend into the living room and finally releases him with a shove. Eddie stumbles back, holding his ear with one hand, the other still clutching his shirt for dear life.
Hopper turns to you, “Eddie Munson? Seriously?”
You try to look apologetic. It comes out more like a nervous laugh because you’re embarrassed as hell and don’t know how else to react.
“Oh, so you think this is funny?”
“Dad, I–”
“No, don't ‘Dad’ me!” he starts pacing, dragging his hand down his face because it physically pains him to be alive in this moment. “I decided to take in two girls. Two. I’ve set clear rules in this house. And now one’s blowing out her eardrums to cover for the other while she sneaks in boys to hookup with while I’m gone.”
Heat travels to your face. But it’s not from embarrassment anymore. It’s anger. Anger that simmers quietly.
“I just wanna say,” Eddie chimes in nervously, holding his hands up as if he’s surrendering to an arrest, “this wasn’t just a hookup thing, Sir. I care about her. A lot actually, I only mean well.”
Hopper laughs bitterly, crossing his arms and nodding condescendingly like it’s the funniest thing he’s heard.
“Well? You only mean well, right–and what exactly is ‘well’ about sneaking into my house, locking yourself in my daughter’s room, and doing that??” he closes the distance between you, gesturing at the hickey.
“Okay, fair, but–”
“Were you even using protection?”
“Dad!!” you groan, moving in front of Eddie. “We’re being safe! And I’m not sneaking in boys plural. It’s just Eddie. My–my boyfriend.”
“Oh yeah? Boyfriend? Well you’re grounded.”
You gasp. “What? That’s so unfair!”
“You’re grounded until you introduce him like a proper lady, not while he’s still trying to shimmy into his jeans behind a locked door!”
You glare at him with your arms crossed. Your hair’s still a mess, the hickey is still very much hickeying, and he looks like he’s not backing down no matter if you start stomping your feet on the ground like a child.
He brushes past you and turns his attention to Eddie, grabbing him by the collar until his untied sneakers lift off the ground.
“S–Sir?” Eddie yelps.
“You mark her again like that and you’re dead. Understood?”
Eddie nods frantically. “Understood, S–sir–absolutely!! Message received!! I love life. Biiig fan of living, actually. I’ll, uh–show myself out?” Eddie blurts out, hands flailing around him in an attempt to stabilize himself in the vulnerable position, but Hopper doesn’t put him back down.
“I’m not done with you yet, Munson.”
You groan again, covering your face with your hands. “God–I hate you.”
Before he can say you’re grounded for life, something falls in the kitchen. The noise makes him spin around, giving you just enough time to snap your head up and lock eyes with Eddie.
You mouth RUN.
And oh boy, he bolts. He slips himself from your dad’s embrace and sprints like hell out the front door, wild curls bouncing in the wind, laughing like a madman who just escaped the guillotine.
“TILL OUR PATHS CROSS AGAIN, MY LOVE!!” he yells at the top of his lungs, skipping the steps of the front porch.
Hopper whirls around. “Son of a bitch–COME BACK HERE!”
He storms after him, but the couch has already been moved a few inches so he trips, nearly eating the floor. It’s not a surprise when you both turn around and see the blood coming out of El’s nose.
“Damn it, El!”
You smile, running to the open door, just in time to see Eddie leap over the perimeter set for Eleven’s safety, almost losing a shoe, and keep running for his life.
You can’t help it. You stifle a laugh with the palm of your hand.
Behind you, Hopper’s face is red, looking at both of you in disbelief. He walks over to you, slamming the front door shut.
“You’re both grounded forever.” Before you can whine, he’s already spitting more words. “When I said you two needed to be more like sisters, I didn’t mean this!”
“Yeah, and what exactly did you mean?” You spit back.
“I don’t know, bonding, talking–painting your nails and going to the mall! Not conspiring to deceive me while your boyfriend sucks your neck like a lunatic!”
“Oh my god, Dad! Would you stop bringing it up?” You roll your eyes in annoyance. “El go to your room,” you say.
She doesn’t need to hear more of this.
He huffs, muttering to himself as Eleven locks herself in her room. “Now this–this is what I get. This is what I get for trying to raise women. Lying little degenerates, the both of you. Should’ve left you where I found you…”
This time you huff, walking past him to go back to your room. “Maybe then we could have boyfriends in peace,” you sneer, before slamming your door shut.
He curses, and bangs on your door one more time, “You’re still grounded! And you better take a shower, I can smell the weed from here!”
You sigh. Sat on the edge of your bed wrapped in only a towel over damp skin, still thinking about the way you were wrapped in Eddie just an hour ago.
Your eyes land on his forgotten jacket, crumpled on the corner of your room. You smile, walking over to it to pick it up and bring it close to you to take in the scent.
Leather, the cologne you gave him for his birthday and…weed? Who knows. It smells like him. Your safe place. You bury your face in it like a total sap, but the click of your door’s lock coming off startles you.
“Jesus, El!” you yelp, spinning around with the jacket clutched to your chest. “Just because you can open doors with your mind doesn’t mean you should!”
She stands there, with a cute little expression that makes you forget about being mad at her.
You sigh. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to snap, come here.”
You sit down on the edge of your bed again and pat the spot beside you. She sits next to you quietly, tucking her legs under herself.
“Listen uh–I’m sorry you had to hear all that. Me and Dad. And I’m sorry you got grounded for helping me…I’m sure he’ll forget about it in a few days.”
She shrugs, knowing that won't exactly stop her from seeing Mike either way.
“He…doesn’t like boys.”
You both snort at the same time.
“That’s true. I think he’s convinced we should just join a convent,” you chuckle.
El tilts her head in confusion, ready to ask what a convent is but something else catches her attention. Her eyes land on the mark on your shoulder.
“Did Eddie do that to hurt you?”
The question knocks the air out of your chest.
“What? No! No, no, no–God, no,” you blurt out, fiddling nervously with the jacket on your lap. “That was…um, that was consensual.”
“Consensual?”
“Yeah…it means both people want something to happen. Like, really want it. It has to come from both sides. Always.”
She processes the information quietly, and you know a million more questions are rattling inside her head. You take a deep breath. She eventually needs to learn about this anyway.
“Look, if you ever don’t like something, if something makes you feel uncomfortable, or weird, or confused, you say no. And when you say no, that’s it. It stops. Doesn’t matter who it is. Doesn’t matter what they want. I need you to understand that.”
She nods, still a bit hesitant.
“I’m sure Max has already told you way more than I ever could.” You laugh, shaking your head. That gets the ghost of a smile out of her as she keeps listening. “But just…remember this, okay? Whatever you do, whenever you do it, make sure it comes from love. From feeling safe. From being comfortable with each other. Not because someone told you to, or because you’re scared, or confused. Only when it feels right.”
She nods, still taking it all in. Then, in barely a whisper, she asks, “Does…Eddie make you feel safe?”
You smile. It’s inevitable. Just the mention of his name makes your heart flutter with that overwhelming feeling of knowing you’ve made him home.
“Yeah, yeah he does,” you breathe.
She smiles back, leaning her head on your arm.
You wait until it’s late, with El back in her room and Hopper too busy snoring loudly behind the curtain of his room, before you tiptoe to the living room. You glance around to confirm you’re alone, before reaching for the phone on the wall and dialing Eddie’s trailer number like you’ve done millions of times before.
You stretch the cord until you’re in your room again, shutting the door slowly before sinking down against it with the receiver pressed to your ear. It rings a few times, when you finally hear his voice on the other side of the line.
“Munson Residence, who am I speaking with?” He says in an over exaggerated posh tone, knowing damn well you’re the only one who calls at this hour.
“Hi, Ed,” you chuckle.
He gasps dramatically. “Sweetheart? Love of my life? You survived??”
You roll your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “Barely. I got a lot of shit for…today,” you sigh, twisting the cord between your fingers.
“M’sorry baby, didn’t mean to get you in trouble.”
“It’s alright,” you say quickly. “Apparently I’m grounded for life. He’s just–he got really pissed. Like ‘boarding up my windows’ pissed. I’m afraid he might actually do it this time...”
Eddie whistles low. “Wow. Love that for us.”
“Yup. And…I also had to give El the talk–or something like the talk.”
“No–” He gasps, “you gave the talk? To El?? Oh my god. Did she ask about the hickey?”
“She thought you were hurting me,” you snort, shaking your head even if he can’t see you.
“Jesus Christ,” he laughs into the phone, loudly. “Did you tell her it’s because I’m hopelessly in love with you?”
“Eddie…” you have to cover your mouth to stifle your own laughter, as your cheeks go hot from his words. “That’s not exactly what I told her.”
“So what was it? The bees and the birds? Safe sex? Consent? Oooh you gotta tell her about that, sweetheart. I know she’s young and all but there’s a lot of jerks out there and she should–”
“I told her you make me feel safe, Eds,” you cut him off, the line going quiet as he processes the words. A small, nervous laugh escapes your lips before you continue. “I told her consent is all about really wanting something to happen. And it should come from love, from…feeling safe. Like it does with you.”
The next sound you hear on the line can only be described as a thump. No words, just a soft thump on…drywall?
“…Eddie?”
“Sorry sweetheart–had to bang my head on the wall to make sure I wasn’t dreaming,” he says, and God you can feel his stupid smile through the phone. “Your dad didn’t get me today but you sure almost killed me with that.”
You blink a few times before giggling into the phone. “You’re such a goddamn dork, oh my god!”
“Yeah, well. You still love me though, right?”
“Unfortunately,” you tease.
He laughs. “Good. Then we’ll just be fine.”
“Yeah, assuming we do get to see each other again,” you sigh.
“Ohh, talking about that,” his voice gets lower, he’s probably got a hand around the transmitter as he whispers into the phone. “Wayne’s taking a double shift tomorrow. He’ll be gone the whole day.”
“…Okay?” You say slowly, but you’re already pressing your legs together from anticipation.
“Trailer will be all ours, sweetheart,” he drawls. “All day and aaall night. And I can get you home before your daddy even wakes up...”
You bite your lip. “Eddie Munson, are you telling me you want me to sneak off my house to spend the night at yours?”
He hums nonchalantly. “Uhum. Even got your favorite ice cream in the fridge and some whipped cream. If you get lucky I’ll let you lick the whipped cream off my d–”
“Jesus Eddie!” You cover your mouth to stifle another fit of laughter.
God, you never got bored with this man.
“You’re insatiable. Did you know that?” You pretend to scold, but your cheeks hurt from smiling so much.
“Oh I know, angel. But so are you. A freak just like me, remember? That’s why tomorrow you’re gonna climb out that window like a good girl and let me fuck you on my bed. You know you can be as loooud as you want here.”
You curse internally. But fuck yes you are letting him do just that. And hell yeah, you will be as loud as you want.
“You better have enough whipped cream, Eddie.”
Thank you so much for reading!! Feedback is always appreciated 🫶🏼
A/N: Back on my bullshit. I’ve had some really hard times with my normal writing while also finding myself in some shitty circumstances. So this is how this came about. Just a lot of feelings. Technically plus sized reader but you can do whatever you want.
18+ NSFW No Minors
“Am I pretty?”
“What?” Eddie sprays toothpaste on the mirror, he’s so quick to ask.
“Am I pretty?” You scrunch your face up over and over, drawing your eyebrows down and crinkling your eyes. Purse your lips and frown deep and finally look over at him staring at you, toothbrush hanging from his mouth and arms braced on the countertop.
“Are you pretty?” He reiterates with a deep sigh. “Of course you are, you’re gorgeous. Especially right now when your hair matches mine and we look like two electrocuted cotton balls.” He’s not flippant but he’s definitely brushing you off.
You aren’t done though. “I’m serious, and I’m not asking if you think I’m pretty. Am I pretty like…Anne Hathaway.” You pull down on your cheek and watch it bounce back, albeit slower than it did when you were 20.
“Well…you don’t even look-no.” He stops quickly and spits in the sink and rinses his toothbrush, viciously shaking his head the whole time. “This is a trap and I refuse.” He says as he leaves you in the bathroom.
“Eddie it’s not a trap it’s an honest question!”
“This is like the worm thing and I’m not doing that again!” He yells over his shoulder before closing himself in the bedroom to get dressed for work. You sigh and turn to look at your tired reflection. Your perpetual eyebags answer your question for you, and your dusting of sun damage yells it louder from the mirror.
Not pretty, subliminally average.
Standing in line at the grocery store, Eddie slumped over the handle and picking at stray grapes, you ask again only this time with a visual aid.
“Okay, I mean like this.” You shove a copy of Rolling Stone under his nose, a new pop star gracing their cover in something sheer and tight. “I meant pretty like this.” You say quietly next to him. He chews on another free grape slowly, staring at the cover and tilting his head. He doesn’t move, just slides his eyes way over to give you the look.
“You’re prettier than her.”
“What about Juno Temple?” You quip back.
“She’s shorter than you. And British, doesn’t count.” He quips right back. You huff and shove the magazine back in its slot.
“You’re not understanding me.”
“No, I am. You’re just not listening to me.” He pushes the cart up a spot and continues his easy lean. “You’re pretty like…that.” He searches the newsstand by the register and points at a baking magazine, perfectly circled apple tart dusted with sugared cinnamon and you bark a loud laugh.
“A tart Edward?”
“Don’t twist my words. I said you’re pretty like that.” He smiles, pops another grape in his mouth and starts tossing things on the conveyer belt.
Pretty like a baked good.
He’s elbow deep in the shelf of succulents, looking for something called a ‘Black Rose’.
“I know it’s in here, there’s four dead ones up top.” He’s pushing little green teardrops to the side to find his prize, a loud ‘Ha!’ when he whips his hand out, holding the little plant by its little container.
“It’s so tiny.”
“Yeah and in like six months it might not be.” He gives you a cheesy smile and sets in the cart with your other potential house plant failures. Somehow he’s managed to keep a giant flat pot of succulents alive for almost a year and every time you go to the plant store, he adds another.
“Okay, what’s its name.”
You hum at him, tapping your finger along the cart when you get distracted. A willow of a woman walks in, hair shiny like water and flowing over her thin, petite shoulders. She looks like she’s on a mission, perfectly manicured hand pointing her in the right direction when she heads for a batch of bright zinnias. Her smile painted a bright coral like the plant she picks up and places in her cart, three more following and off she billows to the next aisle full of ivy. Eddie saw it the moment you stopped listening to him listing off names. The swivel of your head and then the tapping of your finger ceasing, knuckles going white around the cart handle. He watches you watch her and he knows the question is coming before you turn back around with that frown hewn into your forehead.
“Like this.” He holds up the small succulent, barely formed petals burnished a deep purple in the afternoon sun.
“What.”
“Pretty like this.”
“You don’t even-“ You scoff and cut yourself off, heavy eye roll directed at no one while you turn away and sulk by the snake plants.
He doesn’t tell you, but he names it after you.
The Big One happens during the summer. Chrissy is engaged, and her new belle and her decide to have a joint bachelorette party, everyone invited. You know Eddie’s people, all these random characters drawn together through something you don’t quite understand. You meet Chrissy fiancé and she’s just as bubbly and sweet as Chrissy herself. Eddie gives them your gift and drops a kiss on Chrissy’s cheek and it barely bothers you.
They’d dated just out of high school. 15 years ago and before Chrissy had realized why men just never hit the spot. She floats around her party and you hang around behind Eddie while he walks the two of you around in conversation. At some point you’d gone past your standard three (3) drinks and the mango seltzers are starting to make you a little resentful.
Thankfully you catch it, excuse yourself to the bathroom and give yourself a stern stare in the mirror.
It’s not your party.
They’re just friends.
It’s not about you.
…Is it ever?
There’s a reason you stop at 3 lately, that rolling black pit of self loathing feeds on bubbly things and it’s feeding on a blonde tonight.
So when you come back you sit at a table by yourself. You tuck your hands under your thighs and admonish yourself for how wide they are. There’s a tug of war happening between your self pity and your self depreciation, a tear balancing on your lashes while you roll the wet eyes under them. Eddie finds you bent over your phone and all you can think about is how wide your shoulders must have looked from that far away.
“Hey, where’d you go?”
“I had to uh, go to the bathroom.” Your pause gives you away, just south of tipsy, and Eddie smiles, his big hand sliding under your chin to hold it between his fingers. A move that usually has you melting into his palm, but tonight?
You tug your head away and he frowns. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t think I need to be here anymore.”
“You feeling okay?”
“I’m just fine. I’m gonna get an Uber home, you stay.” You stand up and hate the feel of your clothes on you. Your hair feels too heavy and the makeup you spent an hour on is suddenly sticky and tacky and wasted on you.
“No, we’ll leave together.” Eddie has concern all over his face. He tries to give you a hand when you obviously stumble and you slap it away.
The fight only starts when you start crying, unable to control your emotions anymore. You spend the whole ride home feeling sorry for yourself, saying the most inane shit Eddie’s ever heard.
“You can’t ask me to compare you to Chrissy. That’s not fair!” He laughs humorlessly when you ask him who’s prettier. “One, it was 15 years ago! Two, I’m not doing this anymore!” He yells and it shuts you up. He can hear the click of your jaw with how quick you stop yammering on drunkenly about your thighs.
“If you want to play that game, let’s look at your past relationships, huh?”
“What relationships Eddie?!” You scream back at him. There’s a part of his being that can feel the backslide into the terrible habit of yelling to get his point across. Picked up from his father and quelled at every turn, but today you drag it out of him.
“Oh don’t start with that shit again.”
“You mean all the guys that fucked me in the dark?! Or do you mean the ones that pretended not to know me in public?”
He gets to your apartment in record time, slamming the car in park and scrambling to hold your seatbelt buckled before you can run out.
“Let me out.” Your face is red from crying and from hatred and from loathing.
“No.” He says quieter but with finality. You stare at him, waiting for him to move his hand but he won’t, keeps his fingers locked around yours.
“You’re drunk, and you’ve been in a bad mood lately.” He knows he knows he knows that was the wrong thing to say. It spilled out of his mouth before he could throw the net out for those errant words and you give him the meanest smile he’s ever seen on your face.
“A bad mood?” You nod your head like you’re agreeing but he’s bracing for impact. “A bad mood. Tell you what, when I have a fucking roster of groupies and easy boys behind me, then we can talk about my bad mood.”
“You’re mad because of people I’ve slept with?”
“Look at me Eddie!” You scream and it breaks on his name, the sob you’d been swallowing for an hour finally surfacing. “I don’t fucking look like Chrissy and I sure as fuck don’t look like Steve! You still have that picture of that stand in drummer on your profile you fucked around with! Every single one of them is-fuck! Stunning!” You finally wrench the seatbelt out of his hand and free yourself. “I look like a fucking joke when you take me places. You think I don’t see people staring?” Another mirthless laugh before you kick the door open and wobble your way out. “Make someone else laugh, Eddie.”
He watches you stomp off inside and slap the button for the elevator. There’s enough time he could get out and follow you in and upstairs and finish the yelling match and maybe get you to see straight.
But he doesn’t. His grip tightens on the steering wheel so much it creaks. He feels on the verge of tears and when you disappear behind the closing doors he punches his door and drives home too fast.
The doorbell rings and Eddie answers it without thinking. You look small in your hoodie, your hair damp and braided over your shoulder. He’s so used to you standing tall with him, a sturdy pillar he can lean on instead of always having to be the support. To see your shoulders pulled in tight makes his chest ache.
“I’m sorry I haven’t answered your texts.” You say quietly.
“I shouldn’t have yelled like that.”
“God don’t-“ you wipe at your eyes and stare at your feet. “Don’t apologize to me. I shouldn’t have gone off the fucking handle like that.”
“Maybe, but you’re obviously feeling some kind of way that you aren’t telling me about.”
“It’s the normal shit, Eddie. I just let it get to me.”
He holds the door open wider and nods his head over to the couch. “You wanna tell me about it?”
You don’t, not really. It’s going to go the way it always does with you explaining a life long loathing and the few times you see daylight out of the pit it holds you in.
“I shouldn’t have started that pretty shit.” You shake your head and clutch the pillow tighter around your middle. Eddie sits on the other side of the couch, long legs tucked up under his chin and you wish you could fold in on yourself like that. There must be a twist to your mouth or a shift of your body because Eddie sighs deeply.
“You know you don’t have to ask me that.”
“I know, but that’s not what I was asking anyways.”
“What does it matter?”
You shoot him a puzzled look. “I mean, I just want-I’d like to know if-“ you start and stop and Eddie just waits until you stop floundering.
“If I think you’re pretty, what does the rest matter?”
“It just does.” Your bottom lip wobbles and you hide it behind your fist. Eddie catches it, of course, and crawls over to you, grabbing your quivering chin and making you look up.
“I can’t undo a lifetime of self loathing in one afternoon, but I can definitely help cut through that shit one compliment at a time.” He gives you a gentle kiss and feels the smattering of tears hit your face, his thumb coming up to wipe them away. He cradles your face till you bury it in his neck and quietly cry for a while.
You loose count of how many sorry’s you give him and he finally tells you enough with a smile. He gives you his phone and tells you to order dinner and he disappears for a few minutes in his room.
Later, after food and more talking and a quiet nap spent curled up against Eddie’s side he asks if he can take you to bed.
“Sure grampa.” He smiles at your humor, an improvement to the tears earlier. He gets you out of your Sad Clothes and you quickly get under the blankets. He wants to say something but he knows to start small.
Starts with the lights off and sheds his clothes before crawling under the blankets from the foot of the bed. It makes you laugh and wind your legs around him, a win in his book. He kisses up your legs leaving a wet trail from your ankles to your thighs before you feel your face growing hot the closer he gets to your center. When you think he might pull your underwear off he doesn’t, instead kissing up your soft stomach to your breast and it isn’t until his curls spill out from under the blanket that you can hear him murmuring against your skin. Chanting “beautiful beautiful beautiful” and laying down “I love you’s”. His nose runs along under your chin while he kisses up to your ear “so pretty so perfect”. He runs his hands up into your hair and hold you in place while he hovers, warm brown eyes staring lovingly into yours.
“You have no idea how lucky I am.”
“Eddie…”
“No, don’t start.” He kisses you long and slow and it makes you tear up in a good way. He notices them hanging in the corners of your eyes and kisses those away while you laugh at him, watery and light and he knows he’s winning. It isn’t long before he’s got you trapped under him, legs tugged up around his hips so he can fuck into you slow and deep, his fingers still carding through your hair and keeping your eyes on him.
“So good for me.”
“Keep your eyes on me baby.”
“Just me and you.”
You couldn’t close your eyes if you wanted to, anchored to his stare and his touch and the way he whispers at you such sweet things. He kisses you deep when he feels you tightening around him. Thighs pulled tight around his hips, hands grasping for his shoulders to hold him tight to you while you spasm and gasp around him. He follows soon after, dropping his head down to nuzzle into your neck.
“Sweet girl.”
“Always so good to me.”
“Love you so much.”
Eddie lets you unwind from him before he lays on his back beside you.
“Can I show you something?” He pulls you in next to him so you have to drape over his chest, tattoos swelling under his deep breath. He holds his phone over your heads and finds the photo album he was looking for. You catch a glimpse of one of you and start to turn your head into his chest before he tuts at you.
“What did we just talk about?”
Instead you give him the benefit of doubt and let him scroll through. He talks about all the photos he has of you and why he kept them. Why he took them or got them from Robin or Nancy or one of the kids on one of the many outings. He’s got pictures of sunsets and really good food and flowers and his succulent pot. There’s a skyline in the rain from a green room he was in that he tells you reminds him so much of you. Says something about composition and the rain and how it comforts him like you do and if you weren’t wrung out you’d start crying again. He scrolls for a half hour explaining every photo and why they’re all you or remind him of you and how he finds you in the things he finds beautiful.
“So yes, I do.” He grabs your chin and you melt into his touch as he pulls you in for a soft kiss. “I think you’re pretty and beautiful and stunning and I will remind you every day.” Another peck before he cradles your head against his chest.
One day, maybe, you won’t have to remind yourself that it doesn’t matter. That Eddie thinks you’re pretty and that’s all you need, but today you know it for sure and feel it for sure and it’s enough.
i like to think of eddie as the guy who tries so hard to hold back a little noise when he’s got just the tip inside you, and when he slides it all in and you whine, “make a little noise, eds,” he sighs.
you know— and he does, too— that’s not what you meant. eddie is so loud, he knows it gets you going, why’s he so quiet just now? now, after you’ve finally seen him after that crawl where he almost died, and you were so worried, but then he reassured you with the best oral sex you’ve ever had, ever.
why is he being so cruel?
you look down at him from your current position and think about pulling away before you decide not to— what’s the point if you’re just going to have to get used to all that girth again?— but still. you squeeze his cheek to make him open his eyes.
“what’s wrong sugar?” he hums, placing his hands on your hips, traveling down to squeeze your thighs.
“why’re you so quiet?”
he smirks.
son of a bitch, he smirks! is he up to something?! okay, he’s totally up to something.
your eyebrows furrow and you lean back for a moment, “what’s so funny?”
“nothin’, sugar, baby,” he whispers, still with that stupid smirk on his face. gosh, you want to slap him. but he likes that, so you don’t. although, he would understand the difference between an angry slap and a sexy one, wouldn’t he? but, then again, he’d be turned on nonetheless.
“c’mon,” he thrusts his hips up and you gasp, trying so hard, yet failing miserably, to resist the temptation, your hips meeting his with the second thrust, “i’ll make noise, if that’s what you want. c’mon, baby, ride me,” eddie gives your ass a light slap as if to signal you to move again. you oblige, of course.
you should’ve known better. it’s never your way with eddie munson.
when he thrusts up for the fifth time, and is almost balls-deep inside of you, he groans.
he groans loudly. like, super loud. i actually can’t emphasize how loud the noise he makes is.
your head, usually thrown back, is now facing him with a startled expression. what the fuck is he doing?
“eddie, stop,” you whisper-moan, “the— hahh— the neighbours—“
“fuuuuck, baby,” he moans (again, as loud as his dumb ass can), throwing his head back and hitting the headboard with a loud thump. despite yourself, you chortle.
still, he keeps going.
“oh my god, oh, baby,” a loud grunt, along with a sharp slap on your ass that echoes through his trailer.
then, a gasp when his tip hits your cervix (you can’t really fault him then, for you’re also quite loud when it happens).
“eddie,” you whine as quietly as you can, “i’m— i’m gonna— cumming—“
“oh, yeah, girl,” he roars, “cum f’me, yeah— mmph— gonna fill you up, oh— fuckfuckfuckfuckfuuuuck—“ with a final thrust, he comes, his seed spurting inside your walls.
sighing, you lay atop him, and fall asleep.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
you and eddie are abruptly awoken by the sound of passive-aggressive knocking on the living room door. groaning, you pull his soft shaft out of you and grab your panties from his floor, sliding them on along with eddie’s dio shirt.
you open the door and close your eyes briefly, eyes stinging from the sudden brightness of the sun. “ugh, what time is it..?”
“a bit past 8,” mrs. willer, eddie’s neighbour, replies.
she’s a total bitch— blonde hair totally fried from her incessant bleaching, that stupid drawn-on mole on her upper lip that she thinks it makes her look like marilyn monroe (with that hair? jesus, poor marilyn), and her horrendous dress with flowers imprinted on it, that don’t even look like flowers. overall, her existence bothers you, and you hate living on the other side of hawkins, away from eddie, but she makes it worth it.
“which means,” she places her hands on her waist, “i got only four hours of sleep last night.”
you frown. “mrs. miller, i’m sorry—“
“you know what? i won’t even bother. just ask your stupid junkie boyfriend to tone it down next time.”
the moment she steps away with her back turned, you flip her off and silently scream “fucking bitch” to her.
you close the door and turn around. you’re met with the impact of eddie’s chest on your face. he looks down at you with a smirk. the exact same smirk from yesterday.
“totally worth it.”
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
like & reblog if you liked this!!! show me some love ♥︎ (ew is this begging?! i’m sorry) also mrs miller was inspired on my 9th grade english teacher…. gosh i hate that bitch
thinking about men who start babbling out the cutest promises when they’re inside you. supporting themselves on their hands that are planted on either side of your head, hips moving in heavy thrusts and hair falling over their face and just endless moans of “‘m gonna marry you angel, fuck, and ill buy you a big house…ahh, gonna give you babies…we’ll grow old together yeah? make you so happy-” all while your back is arching and you’re creaming around him, nodding rapidly at his words and knowing his words are true when he pushes in to the hilt with a final groan of your name against your lips
A/N: Wrote this drabble while listening to Water Me by FKA twigs, so do with that what you will.
Warnings: smut, one thought about baby trapping, feelings, and cheating
Eddie is nothing.
But in your eyes, he’s something.
At least, that’s how you seem to see him.
So under your touch, he might become more.
That’s why he said yes. Why he welcomed you into his trailer. Why he dried your tears and helped you remove your clothes.
The hope that he’d turn into an option—a viable choice, something to genuinely consider—is what made him pliant beneath your lips. It’s what stopped his cautioning words and silenced his doubt.
Because if he let you have him in this way, maybe you’d decide to keep him. Test the model and take it home. Use him in any way you wish, if it’ll help you make up your mind.
So he lets you mutter about your useless, cheating, piece-of-shit boyfriend and kiss him in the very same breath. Because he needs to be tested.
“E-Eddie— Oh, god!”
He huffs—not a direct response, but something to let you know he feels it too. The burn. The searing of two souls, both broken. One shattered by the other, made up of thousands of hairline fractures glued together by years of convenience.
Wandering lips map out the new terrain, and exertion bleeds from your dewy skin as you writhe in his sheets.
He hopes the millions of fibers trap your scent. Though, that thought feels defeatist, somehow. As if he needs a souvenir. As if you won’t return.
“Harder—unh—h-harder!”
Your nails leave angry red streaks down his back. That, he thinks, is a souvenir.
He complies, drilling into you with focused thrusts meant to please. To burrow.
His cock glides along your velvety walls, throbbing with the need to stay. To change. To mold you to the shape of him. Until nothing ever feels right; until no one ever fills you like he can.
He’ll be your only source of satisfaction on this earth. You’ll search, you’ll look elsewhere—like you always do. But he’s burned into you now.
Every pulse, every minute tightening—you’re growing around him, stretching and trapping him.
And if you hadn’t reminded him to grab a condom, he thinks he really could’ve shown you a trap.
But he doesn’t need tricks. Because you will come back. Because he’s made for you.
“Touch me— T-Touch me, Eddie.”
He shivers as you drag his hand to your breasts, forcing a harsh, kneading grip.
You convulse around him, pawing at him like you can’t feel enough. He holds onto you until you slip from his bed.
When you leave, when you throw on your clothes and don’t bother to fix your hair, Eddie lets you go.
And he waits. For you to return. For you to be his. He waits.
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.
