#eddie munson x femme coded Reader

[briarberrythornedhart]

Sitting in his lap Part 2

Can be read alone I think. Fluff with a happy ending

CW: cursing/strong language, angst, yelling, lustful thoughts, backwash in soda (ew)

You cocked your eyebrow at him.

Eddie didn't…couldn’t … SURELY MUSN’T know what he was offering - what it would feel like to you? Maybe he just didn’t want to move his ass out of the throne for one minute? That would be a new level of lazy for Mr. ants in the pants.

“I’m serious.” He said, “ Sit down in my lap and see what it’s like- the view from here. Being in charge.” Eddie scooted backward to give you the most lap to sit on, spread his knees armrest to armrest wide and rolled his shoulders back. “Be their benevolent ruler... their peace-loving goddess.”

Okay. As if ignoring Eddie was possible, especially if he was close. As if you hadn’t dreamt of being on his lap.

“C’mon - Pretend I’m like your…grand vizier. Whispering evil advice in your ear but you can ignore me all you like because clever-you always finds the peaceful solutions which are probably smarter or whatever…” he trailed off, which was good because he was starting to sound a little sullen for some reason.

Only — in your dreams the guys weren’t nearby fighting over pizza like rabid raccoons and in your dreams Eddie was near-to-full naked and in your dreams he was removing your clothes… anyway… here you were with your friendly DM who didn’t intend this as a prelude to seducing you.

You ached with unshed tears inside. Hidden from anyone’s view. No one could know how Eddie made you feel, that would make it worse.

You settled yourself down on his thighs. Resigned to torture. You could cope with torture.

He felt too good.

He spoke low in your ear and it sent a shiver up your spine “Imagine.” His voice a purr. “All their eyes on you, hanging on your every word. Waiting for your planned session to unfold.” He moved a lock of your hair over your ear gently and your breath caught - hopefully he didn’t notice. “Heady stuff.”

“I know why you enjoy it, but I don’t think I would. Also, kinda doubt I could command the respect you get. I can’t do the voices and accents you do and all you have to do is clear your throat and we all snap to attention - which you LOVE.”

Eddie chuckled, “I do love that. I could coach you... give you tips, I’m just saying try it once, like... pineapple on pizza. Might develop a taste for it and It can’t hurt you.”

“Unless you’re allergic to pineapple.” You added. Making him snort. You turned towards him and looked (unwisely) at his lips. Gawd his lips. Then his eyes, back again to his lips. You could just lean in and taste them and ruin everything.

“Princess,” he was serious now. His voice pitched even lower. Eddie had called you ‘princess’ 3 times since you met and it was always very serious.

1 - ‘Princess, Chance Peterson was about to knock your ass right over, I had to scoop you out of the way.”

2 - ‘You know if you keep arguing with me at my locker, Princess, you’ll be late to Mrs. Guise’s class and she gives out detentions like she’s got a quota.’

3- ‘I don’t care if you saw a pretty wildflower out there, that part of the woods by Lover’s lake is rife with poison oak, gawd!! Princess, just... I’ll find you a pretty-ass flower, okay, just get out of the bushes, please?? You’re gonna ruin our Hellfire trip to the lake by making us all drive you home covered in a rash!’

Oh no. It was probably ‘I feel you squirming in my lap and caught you looking at my mouth but it’s not doing anything for me - we are just friends.’ or something dreadful along those lines. Cause you felt heat and pressure under your bottom, but it was probably not him getting an erection - like - wouldn’t his face show some sign... wouldn’t he grip your thighs and grind up against you and say your name in your ear...

You were saved by (your favorite, your self-adopted baby brother) Dustin returning to the gaming table. “Hey guys!” Making you both jump up - you personally feeling oddly guilty. “…there’s not going to be enough pizza for you if you don’t get over there. I know Eddie did the pizza math but I don’t think he reckoned on the bottomless pit of Gareth the Great’s stomach.”

“You had 4 pieces yourself, dingus!!” Gareth yelled.

“Only after I saw you go back for seconds!” Dustin threw his arms out pleading for justice to Eddie.

Eddie moved behind you, stage whispering “Talk to them, they need your divine guidance with resolving petty conflicts nonviolently.”

“Cease bickering.” You demanded. “There’s plenty of pizza left. Eddie’s pizza math is infallible.”

“Okaaaay ‘Mom’ don’t go and ground us...” Gareth started out with heavy sass. But he looked over your shoulder at Eddie and suddenly buttoned his beak.

You continued. “Dustin, go make a plate for Eddie. Three slices of pepperoni. And bring over that bottle of Dr. Pepper to refill his chalice before all that’s left is backwash.” You knew Eddie’s favorites. Of course.

“Ew. Backwash?? Gross.” Dustin shuddered but complied.

“Gareth, go get her Majesty three pieces of plain cheese. And the pepper flakes and the Parmesan flakes and one of the red cups with RC Cola and mostly ice.” Eddie ordered. Maybe he just guessed at your very favorite pizza night choices??

Your attention was fully back on Eddie. He nudged you in the arm with his shoulder. “So... before we were so rudely interrupted... I was trying to suggest thaaa....”

“We are out of cups.” Gareth interrupted with a grimace, bringing back a plate for you..

“Whaddaya mean we are ‘out’? I bought two sleeves of them at the beginning of the year... There were only 6 of you until the gals joined us. There should be plenty!” Eddie was more upset than you thought he should be.

“Yeah - I dunno - but Jeff just took the last one.” Gareth shrugged

You took the plate and made a ‘calm down’ gesture. “It’s fine - Don’t throw Jeff under the bus - I’ll be just fine. I’m more hungry than thirsty - it’s cool. ‘We’re all fine here... now’” You did your best Han Solo to try and diffuse the tension. But - It was mediocre at best. Not like Eddie’s.

“We can share.” Eddie made this a challenge, handing you his hellfire goblet- it must be said - very theatrically. His right hand was wrapped around the bowl of the chalice instead of the stem - rather like you wished he’d wrap those fingers around your.... Well.... suffice it to say you both had watched a lot of fantasy movies of one type or another. “Don’t look at me like that, it’s not tainted by my lips touching it or something. Or are you worried about backwash or whatever.”

“I’m not .... worried... just give it here.” You took the jeweled cup and tried not to react to the feel of his hand and yours touching. Even the littlest things involving Eddie got you worked up. You took a long sip while he watched you with his dark eyes - and then you handed it back. “Thank you.”

“You are most welcome.” There was a touch of something.... Sarcasm? In his voice. “See we can share and nothing bad happens. You don’t sink down to my level or anything.”

That was out of left field... or some other sports metaphor you didn’t fully grok, “What?? are you even talking about??”

“I know I know, I’m beneath you and everything, but it wouldn’t diminish you to, like, spend time with me outside of Hellfire club. I wouldn’t endanger your reputation, we could keep it secret. Like, you know, your other ‘normie’ girl friends probably think I’m trash, but I’m just a guy, j-just a normal guy...we could plan a one-shot, or... hang out like watch a movie or something.”

“First off - if any of my gal-friends - who are not ‘normal’ by the way - said you were trash I’d tell them what for. Secondly - I’ve asked you to hang out multiple times and you’ve oh so politely declined.”

“You asked me if I wanted to hang out with you and Dustin and Lucas... to go thrift shopping and do errands. I told you you could borrow my van if you needed it.”

“I didn’t want to borrow your van. I wanted to hang out with you. And I thought with them along, you wouldn’t say no - like - it’d be casual and safe.”

“Because you didn’t want me to get ideas.” he spat.

“No - just because you might be afraid I’d try and jump your bones, if it was just us two.”

“Jump my....Why would I think you’d ... jump my bones, you can barely stand me! You always run outta here after Hellfire!”

“I go right home so I don’t have to hear about you and your perfect pretty runway model Chrissy!!”

“I’m NOT with Chrissy!! She just buys from me, goddamnit! You are the one who keeps going out with the bland guy of the week!!”

“I have no control over the only guys asking me out being BORING as SHIT! And I haven’t been on a date in TWO MONTHS actually!! I’d rather not date than be bored!!”

“Then ::fuck:: WHy are WE Yelling!??!”

“Because I ADORE you, You DUMBASS!!” You blurted out. “You can’t just pull me into your lap and make me fuckin melt and play with me like a puppet and wonder why I’m upset??! yOU CAN’T BE that oBLIVIOUS!!”

Shit. See this - this right here - is why you avoid conflict like the plague. You know you are one second away from truth bombs that will blow up your life and You DIDN’T need Eddie feeling Sorry for you!! Or all the boys feeling sorry for you - all their eyes were on you for a bad reason and - only Erica wasn’t giving you a look like you were a pitiable creature. She was absolutely about to laugh at your ass, though.

“I failed.” Eddie bit his lips together, he reached out to take your hand and wove his fingers with yours. “I totally failed to pick up on that. Wow. Just crit fail on that perception check that you might ever like me back... But... um... I’m crazy about you... so... forgive me??” He closed the distance between you. He pulled your hand up to his mouth to kiss the back of it.

You were quiet - processing - did he just say he was crazy about... you?? Detect trap?? Retreat to safety?? Join a convent and abjure forever the company of men??

He raised his eyebrows and cocked his head slightly, waiting.

“I’m not mad at you.” You whispered.

“Let’s do errands sometime, but just us two. And - uh - I prefer to be called ‘smartass’ than ‘dumbass’, you know, in general.” He grinned the grin you recognized from when he made a particularly good roll of the dice.

“Fuckin finally.” You heard Jeff mutter. “Mom and Dad can stop fighting.”

“Yeah - just get it over with and real quickly kiss and make up, ya idjits!” Erica demanded. “We want to get back to kicking ass in the GAME.”

Eddie leaned in to say deep and sweet in your ear. “The first time we kiss-- it isn’t gonna be over with quickly.”

[urhoneycombwitch]

hands of love

Eddie Munson x greenwitch!Reader

foreword: omg been so long since I wrote for greenwitch!reader she’s baaaack. thx for reading if u do <3

cw: greenwitch!reader, R dresses very femme, referred to as ‘girlfriend’ once

wc: 1.5k

___

It’s the first sunny spring day in Hawkins, so when Eddie’s cursory call goes straight to your answering machine, he’s not worried. Wherever there’s sun, you’re sure to be found- dozing on his front porch like a cat in the sun, making daisy chains with rings sparkling on your pretty fingers, anywhere but indoors.

He hums along mindlessly to the radio on his way over, plucking at the neck of his cut-off tank for airflow. Metalhead fashion is a killer during warm months; he’s already regretting the choice of black ripped jeans over more weather-appropriate shorts.

Your dad’s house is just off Cornwallis, nestled in a forested area, gravel service road for a driveway that’s easy to miss. Eddie swings his van with a practiced wheel-flex, tires crunching down the lane when something catches his eye and he hits the brakes, hard.

Just off the gravel, sittin’ pretty in the dirt, is you- deep green tank top hugging your chest, bare feet poking out of a long patchwork skirt, gold and silver jewelry dripping from your ears, sliding around your neck and wrists, glinting in the sun. 

You’re a fucking vision. Eddie swears, softly, then throws the gear shift to park and pockets his keys.

At the sound of the van door closing, you look up from your spot sat on the ground, the little crinkle of focus between your brows smoothing out into a devastatingly radiant smile- for Eddie. All for him.

”Hey! Was just thinkin’ about you!”

Eddie’s careful not to disturb the gardening tools spread out in haphazard array when he walks over, bending to his haunches for a kiss. 

You taste like fragrant oil and sunshine. He gives you another for good measure, then pulls back, bracketing your face between his palms- “You were thinkin’ about little ol’ me?”

“Always.” An honest grin for an honest answer. “I was making you a present and then wishing you’d show up, so it’s kind of like I manifested you. With my mind.”

“Freaky,” he replies, indulgent, giving you a forehead kiss then dropping to sit at your side. “Good thing I have a witch for a girlfriend, hm?”

“Uh-huh. Good thing.” 

He’s already lost your attention to the trowel you’re plunging in the dirt, churning up the earth, loamy smell filling the air. Used to chasing after your trains of thought, Eddie asks, “Whatcha doing? 

“In a minute.” The reply is kind but distracted, a sort of coded rhythm that Eddie’s good at breaking- I want to tell you but if I try to find the words, my focus will slip.

Your focus is a precious thing- especially when it comes to your craft. Unintentionally, you’ve taught Eddie more about the virtues of shutting up and taking the world in these past few months than he’s ever cared to learn before.

After reaching past him for an open mason jar, you carefully shovel in about an inch of dirt, hold it up to the light for inspection, then repeat the same motion for the other nearby jar. 

Eddie waits patiently, leaning back into his hands, watching you work. It’s soothing, seeing you interact with the nature that runs through your veins; having been on the receiving end of many of your gifts, he wonders if it’s a spell jar. Or a planter. Or-

“Terrarium.” As if responding to Eddie’s internal questions, your full attention envelops him, suffocatingly, wonderfully close as you lean in. “Was gonna make it for you as a surprise, but now that you’re here… wanna make it with me?”

Eddie’s still reeling from the steadiness of your eyes on his, the soft slip of bare arm pressing against his own. With a slow, dazed head shake- “Hold on. Give me a second.”

Your turn to be patient, jar of soil held at the space where your bodies are joined, paused, lashes sweeping with each curious blink.

Eddie blows out a breath, only half-joking as he says, “Goddamn. Really unfair. Thought you promised not to get prettier?”

Compliments only land with you half the time, so when a bashful smile pulls at the edges of your pretty mouth Eddie mentally fist pumps.

“I made no such promise.” The jar is thrust into his waiting hand, and you turn to pick up your own. “This one can be for your windowsill, maybe in the kitchen? It’s gotta have some light, but not too much. If Wayne likes it, maybe you can share-”

“Not sharing shit with that man,” Eddie says, grand in his petulance. “Wayne can get his own jar of dirt.”

Your squint straightens him out. Eddie folds easy for you, always has.

“Gotta find some moss,” you say, eyes still unerringly on Eddie’s, “That’s the substrate layer. And then little plants, maybe some grass, whatever we can forage that’s small enough to fit. Oh, and isopods, if we can find ‘em.”

“Iso-what?” Eddie asked, alarmed, but you’re already standing, moving past the edge of the forest in search of terrarium treasures while he scrambles to catch up.

There’s an easy, graceful lilt to your movements when you’re outdoors, as if you’re meant to be there- moss reveals itself to you faster than Eddie would’ve thought possible. One overturned rock later and your gleeful exclamation rings bright through the woods.

“Sheet moss!”

“Oh, sheet,” he jokes, lamely, but you laugh anyways.

A circular patch of moss gets pushed into the jars. Eddie’s fingers feel bulky and clumsy in comparison to your dexterous ones, but the praise you give him once the layer is settled makes it worth it.

He happily trails after you in search of more small greenery, listening to your lengthy explanations of each new addition, huffing in amazement when you come up with the scientific name for crabgrass.

“Christ, sweetheart.” He whistles low as soon as you’re done, reaching over to brush some sticky pine needles off your hip. “So fuckin’ smart. Would’ve killed to have you as my teacher back in the day, might’ve actually graduated on time.”

“I don’t think Hawkins High has a botany program.” Your reply comes distracted, but this time it’s because Eddie’s hand has found a home on the strip of skin between your skirt and top.

He rubs a thumb into your bare hip, moss jar hanging loose from his other hand as he pulls you towards him. “Yeah. Probably for the best. I think they frown on students who sleep with teachers. Couldn’t keep my hands off’a you.”

Chin tilted to meet him halfway, you give him a real good kiss, lips soft and smooth over his, parted slightly until the thrill of your wet tongue presses into his eager one.

“Gotta show you the best part.” When you pull back, sounding a little out of breath, you slip your hand into Eddie’s and lead the way to your original spot.

Two flat metal disks are procured from your pile of things; you hold one out for Eddie in your palm, explaining as he takes it- “Made this one special for you. It goes on top, like this-” you rotate the other disk until it slides into place over your jar. “Like a lid. But I had to make my own from scrap pieces ‘cuz the original mason lids didn’t take the markings.”

Eddie flips the homemade lid over in his hands to find a five-pointed star hugged by a circle, raised and tamped by hand into the metal. He blinks up at you, in awe. “You did this?”

“Yeah, it’s-” you must misread his wonder because the words spill out like you’re nervous, fiddling with the sides of your jar like you don’t want to see his expression anymore. “It’s a pentacle. Like from your Judas Priest poster? But this one’s not upside-down like his, so I meant it more for protection and prosperity. Y’know. To help keep your little world safe. And make it grow.”

Gently, a little unsure, you clink your jar against his in the sweetest cheers he’s ever seen.

Eddie swears again, achingly in love, then spins the lid tight over his new terrarium and grins at you. “I’m gonna marry you one day.”

There’s no room for a buffer as a smile nearly splits your face in two, giggling, delighted with his affection. “Over a jar of dirt? Man, can’t wait to see what you promise me when I give you an even better gift.”

“I’ve got some ideas.” His voice pitches low, taking the jar from your hand to join his on the ground so he can wrap you up in his arms, properly. “Gonna have to come over a lot more and make sure I’m keeping it alive. Think of all those tiny ocelots depending on you.”

“Isopods,” you correct in a whisper, letting Eddie nuzzle into the crown of your hair, warm and smelling faintly of your bergamot shampoo. “And it only needs to be watered like, once a month, but I’ll come over way more than that.”

“You better.” Eddie puts on his best threatening tone. “I get crazier every hour we’re apart. Swear.”

He feels the curl of your smile against his sternum, and you let him hold you and sway in the afternoon sun. 

[starlightsearches]

Just saw your post for kinky prompts 👀 what do we think about hate-fucking Eddie 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀

Payback

Kinky Prompts

My friend, we think veeeeerrrry favorably about being hate-fucked by Eddie! Thank you for sending this in 💖 Requests are open; comments, likes and reblogs make me soooooooooooooooo happy!

Eddie Munson x Virgin! Femme! Reader

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, PIV sex, protected sex, spanking, virginity kink (kind of), corruption kink (kind of), fingering (f), orgasm delay (f), clothed sex, crying during sex, a little tender for hate-fucking whoops but i contain multitudes, mentions of canon-typical violence, language, season 4 volume 1 spoilers!

"You know you don't have to babysit me, right?"

Eddie pops around the corner from one of the bedrooms, awake from his third nap of the day and scratching at his skin under the collar of his hellfire shirt. The movement puts the top of a tattoo on display, but you can't identify it from this angle, not without catching the black collar in your finger and pulling it down a few more inches.

You tear your eyes from him, glancing at the windows out of habit, letting out a sharp breath through your nose. The curtains are still closed—just like the last time you checked—but his shadow could still be visible to someone passing by.

"It was Nancy's idea. Will you sit the fuck down?"

Eddie rolls his big dumb eyes, plopping down on the floor beside you. He keeps his long legs bent, pale knees poking from the rips in his jeans.

"Well at least you're not cranky about being stuck with me, princess. Because that would make my exile totally unbearable."

You meet his eyes, catch his mocking smile, and shift an inch to the side.

"First off, don't call me princess. Second, you smell like shit. When's the last time you showered?"

He huffs, pretending to think, chin cupped in his hand. "Probably around the last time you slept. If those bags under your eyes get any bigger they're gonna need their own zip code."

You just flash him your middle finger, resting your head against the cupboard and trying to ignore the throbbing pain in your eyes. It's not like you've been trying to stay awake, but stress could do that to you. Every time you closed your eyes, your brain went into overdrive—imagining the yawning horror you'd feel finding your friends' bodies with their arms bent at odd angles and their eyes gouged out.

Eddie nudges you with his knee just as a shiver travels through you, denim he wears brushing against your bare thigh, repeating the movement over and over again until you look at him. He ignores the glare you give him.

"Seriously though, how long have you been awake? 'Cause I'm pretty sure I can manage not to burn the house down for a couple of hours without your constant supervision."

"Right," you scoff, "and when Jason and his friends show up to beat your ass, you can annoy them to death."

"Sounds like a plan to me."

The sun's just starting to set beyond the windows—his cue to stand without you yelling at him again—and he does, navigating the darkening kitchen with ease and grabbing a cereal box from the counter. "Out of curiosity, how are you planning on protecting me? Besides batting your eyelashes and bending over in that little skirt?"

"Something along those lines, yeah."

Eddie still doesn't know about the baseball bat you borrowed from Steve, hidden under the couch. As far as you're concerned, he doesn't need to.

"Good to know they'll all be rock hard when they kill me. Wouldn't have it any other way."

You make a face—maybe just to hide the way your eyes go wide at the idea of anybody being rock hard. "You're disgusting."

"So I've been told," he says, spraying a mouthful of honey comb, "by you, actually."

You just stare at him blankly, watching him chew as you replay the last few days. A lot had happened since you'd saw him threaten Steve with that busted bottle, and you'd called plenty of names during that time, but disgusting wasn't one of them. "No I haven't!"

He's not looking at you, admiring the silver glint of his rings, fingers splayed.

"You're friends did though," he says, quiet enough that you have to stand just to hear him, "and I don't remember you going out of your way to shut them up."

Oh. He's not talking about your friends—Steve and Dustin and the others. He's talking about your friends, the ones from before—the little clique of girls you ate lunch with every day for four years without really knowing each other at all.

"Whatever," you shrug, trying to brush off the accusation, sorting through the food Dustin had picked out to keep your hands busy, "that was high school."

He's unimpressed with your defense. "Okay, well you were a bitch in high school."

It hasn't even been a year since your graduation, but the person you were then isn't someone you'd recognize anymore. Hearing him say that about you makes your stomach sink—remembering all the times you had been a bitch to Eddie and people like him. You'd never be able to take those moments back, no matter how often you and your new friends saved the world.

You do your best to hide the hurt, reaching for a handful of M&Ms. If defense wouldn't work, you'd have to go offensive.

"If we're gonna bring up high school, you fucking started it."

Eddie leans in close under the guise of snatching some of the chocolate from your hand, warm fingers dancing over the skin of your palm.

"How'd I do that?" he asks with mock sincerity. Your heart races watching the movement of his dark pink lips.

"You know . . . you were always kicking my chair in Mrs. Click's class, and sticking chewed gum in my notebook when I turned to talk with Jared or Ashley, and- and whatever."

You can't look at him and talk at the same time. Not when he's got a few strands of hair caught up in his ridiculously long eyelashes, luring you into the warm center of his gaze, trying to trap you there.

He brushes some of the hair out of his eyes, sliding a little closer, chest pressed up against your shoulder. His skin is warm enough you can feel it through his shirt. His voice gets throatier when he whispers.

"How else was I guy like me supposed to get your attention?"

The M&Ms are turning to mush in your palm, crunching a little when your fist tightens involuntarily. You drop the chocolatey glob on the table, sliding away from him and facing the sink, hoping he couldn't feel the heat in your cheeks.

"You've made funnier jokes, Munson."

He just keeps talking, even with your back turned to him, spewing out shit that makes your whole body tense.

"Not a joke, babe. I've always had a thing for pretty girls with sticks up their asses. Figured somebody needed to fuck that attitude out of you."

You've got a death grip on the towel beside the sink, dripping little puddles all over the counter.

"I don't have anything up my ass," you mutter under your breath, as if a weak attempt like that would stop him when he's just getting started.

"—and I figured I could do the job, since those dickheads always drooling around you looked too stupid to fuck their way out of a paper bag—"

You just scrunch your nose, talking to yourself, "like I would know anything about that."

You're sure he won't notice your mumbled response, not when he's having such a good time talking to himself. And you're busy—in your own way—thinking about how many of those same dickheads had left you drunk in party bathrooms or alone in the woods on moonless nights when you'd shoved their hands away from your hemline one too many times.

"What?"

Eddie heard you, somehow—the one time you didn't want him to. Shaking the thoughts from your head, you do your best to change the subject. "Nothing. We really should talk about something else—"

"Wait, are you—?"—Eddie's sidled right beside you at the counter, leaning forward on both arms, smiling so fucking wide your hand itches to slap the smug look from his face— "Holy shit, are you a virgin?"

Fuck.

"I said I didn't want to talk about it!"

You throw the towel at him, but it just smacks against his chest with a disappointing thud, doing nothing to tone down your anger or the stinging embarrassment. "God, don't you ever shut up?"

He's totally immune to your little tantrum, taking one of your hands in his own, bringing it close to him, playing with your fingers.

He's got big hands. They practically swallow your own with no effort, the boar's head ring smiling up at you. You don't want to think about what they'd feel like touching you elsewhere, his huge, hot palms cupping your ass, spreading you apart with his ring-heavy fingers.

"Aw, baby," he coos, "if you wanted me to be your first, you could've just asked."

"Don't be delusional, Munson," you say, yanking your hand from his grip. It tingles a little where he's touched you, nerves deadened when they're not feeling him.

It's not like you cared that much about who was your first; it was always more about how. All those other losers had been fine with a quick fuck in the back of a car and you weren't about that. It's not like you expected candles and rose petals and shit—just a guy who'd at least try to get you off.

With the way he's looking at you now, Eddie's seeming more and more like the perfect candidate.

"Yeah, delusional, okay," Eddie's tone is sarcastic as he rolls his eyes, coming in close, seeing right through you like a piece of glass. His hair is brushing against your cheeks, hot breath on your neck, and your whole body responds, thighs pressing together, a thick swallow in your throat. He smells like cigarettes, with the faintest faded whiff cologne underneath the sharp sting of sweat. The more you have of it, the more you want.

There's something sinful reflected in his eyes when you look at him; it takes a second for you to recognize it's your own expression.

"Five bucks says you're wet for me right now."

He's surprised the sarcasm right out of you, reading you like that—leaving your voice weak and breathless, without your usual bite. "In your dreams, maybe."

"Oh yeah, all the time,—" the tips of his fingers brush against the outside of your thigh, "—but that's not what we're talking about here."

His palm is like a brand, pressed just above your knee, thick thumb stroking across your bare skin.

"Stop that," you whisper. Your throat burns with the smell of him.

He just cocks a brow. "You want me to?"

No. You won't say it—swallowing the word down and staring at him in silence—but you can't say yes, even if you don't mean it. He's the kind of guy who would actually stop if you did.

And you can't have him stop.

His hand curls into a fist against your skin until you lose contact with the cool metal of his rings. Eddie's expression is almost stern.

"I'm gonna need to hear you say it, princess."

The nickname doesn't bother you this time, stoking the heat at your core enough to loosen your tongue, just in case he might say it again. "No. I don't want you to stop."

The smile he gives you is worth your pride a hundred times over.

"Good girl."

Eddie's hand moves painfully slow, tips of his fingers brushing over goosebumps like he's trying to read braille, doe eyes staring down at you, gaze flickering towards your lips. It could be ironic that the one time you were desperate for a guy to rush through this part, the guy in question is determined to take his time.

It could be ironic, if it wasn't so fucking infuriating.

"Eddie," you say—way too desperate—but he just smiles at the shift of your hips as you take the last inch between his fingers and the soaked fabric of your panties by force.

Fuck, he feels good between your thighs—even just this part of him. He strokes his fingers back and forth, pinching a little at your covered pussy, laughing at the gasping sound you make when one of his rings catches against your clit.

You don't even care that it was this easy for him. You couldn't give less of a fuck.

He's got dimples in his cheeks from the grin he wears. "I'm flattered, sweetheart. This all for me?"

He's still stroking you, a smooth back and forth with his long, beautiful fingers. It's hard to form words anymore.

"Sh- shut up."

"About this?" His hips are harsh against yours, "uh-uh, never. I'm never gonna shut up about this wet. fucking. pussy."

He's breathing hard, gripping roughly at your cunt, punctuating each word with a brush against your clit, the tip of one finger past your lips and stroking along your entrance. Even through the cotton it makes you squirm, the feel of the soft, wet fabric almost too much for your sensitive cunt.

Your clumsy hands meet at his belt buckle, just resting there, arms jellied by the way he's touching you.

"Eddie."

He's got his ear pressed up against your cheek, a few of his flyaways sticking to the sweat on your temples. It's good he's so close or he might not be able to hear you at all.

"Yeah?" His chest heaves, arm muscles tight where they press against your stomach. When you lean back enough to meet his eyes, he's got his tongue caught between his teeth.

"I don't—fuck—I don't have five dollars."

"What?"

He actually stops his assault on your pussy for just a moment, and you breathe a soft laugh. It's nice to know you're not the only one who can be caught of guard.

"The bet. I owe you five—"

The thrust of his hips cuts off the end of your sentence, alarm bells ringing in your head. He hadn't been carrying anything in his pockets, as far as you knew—no switchblade or flashlight or a fucking cucumber by the feel of it. Which could only mean one thing.

Eddie Munson is rock fucking hard. For you.

His hand still cups your pussy as the other takes you by the neck, palm easily spanning your entire jaw and there's no chance you'd even think about fighting him when he guides you closer to his lips.

"I think we can work something out."

Eddie's kisses are intoxicating—hot and wet and strong, putting a burn in your throat from the power behind it—body aching at the way he bends you, his jaw pressed tight against yours, guiding your body with every shift of his head. He's got his tongue past your open lips, tasting like cigarettes and sugary breakfast cereal and stale sleep and it's still got you weak at the knees.

Kissing Eddie is everything.

He's making little moaning noises against your lips, the pressure behind his hips denting your back against the counter, digging into you enough there might be print of his dick on your thigh when he pulls away. His hand has gone still as he's caught up in this kiss, and grinding down against his fingers isn't enough anymore for the gnawing heat in your cunt.

You pull back, turning your head a little to the side when he chases after your lips.

"Fuck me, Eddie."

Even in the fading light, you can see how dark Eddie's eyes have become—already deep irises swallowed by black pupils.

"Really?"

His adam's apple bobs with a harsh swallow, like he didn't even think it would get to this point. You don't have time to worry about the statistical likelihood of a situation where you'd be begging Eddie Munson to fuck you—not with the way your pussy is throbbing.

"God, Eddie. Yes."

The muscles in his throat tense, thin blue veins distended, and if he's nervous taking control, he doesn't show it. You, on the other hand, are shaking like a fucking leaf.

"Bend over," he tells you, and you comply without comment—just grateful you don't have to make any of these decisions yourself—stretching out long, arms at an angle against the wall and chest flat against the table top.

There's the heat of his body against your thighs as Eddie steps closer, hips looming behind you, just out of reach. The fabric of your skirt is shifted out of the way, bunched up around your waist, and then Eddie's broad palm cups your ass, thumb achingly close to your core again, whispered touch moving closer, closer, the flat of his thumb pressed against your dripping hole. His other hand reaches for the waistband of your underwear, pulling them down roughly over your hips with the scrape of his rings until they fall to your ankles, leaving you totally bare.

And then you feel the harsh smack of his hand against the swell of your cheek, hips forced into the counter and a low moan on your lips.

You're still reeling when you turn back to look at him.

"Jesus Christ, Eddie!"

"Sorry, baby, but I had to," he laughs, untouched by your anger as always, looking a little endeared by the glare you send over your shoulder.

"You could warn me first," you grumble. Then maybe you could have done something about the mortifying sound you'd just made.

His fingers rub gently at the mark he must have left against your ass cheek, soothing the ache as he presses his chest against your back. "Where's the fun in that?"

He grins—face framed by wild hair, big eyes shining—and it mollifies you, but only slightly.

"Are you gonna fuck me or not?"

"Patience, baby," —he leans off you, reaching into his back pocket for a little silver-foiled packet—"safety first."

A fucking condom. You roll your eyes. "How long have you had that on you?"

"Since you told me you were staying. Rick keeps a bunch lying around—figured it couldn't hurt to be prepared."

So he's been thinking about fucking you for the past two days. You're not sure if that makes you more desperate or more annoyed.

You lay your head back down, rolling your eyes even though he can't see them at this angle. "You're an ass, Eddie Munson."

Not that you care, not with the sound of his zipper and the clink of his belt—which definitely make you hornier—the crinkle of the condom wrapper and the way you hear him spit a piece of the shiny foil onto the floor after opening it with his teeth.

With your cheek pressed to the table, you can't see what he's doing, shifting your hips side to side as you as you wait to feel him touch you again. It starts with a hand at your hip, pulling you against him, the white-hot pit in your stomach fueled by the feeling of his cock pressed between your ass cheeks, teasing you with a few soft strokes.

"You sure you want this?"

His other hand wraps around your waist, splitting your folds with his fingers, just barely petting across your clit. You can feel your pussy dripping for him.

"God, yes. Pl—"

He cuts you off, the end of the word lost in an ungodly moan as he presses the thick head of his cock past your messy entrance, and the stretch is already unreal—a searing sting that has your eyes rolling back in your head and your nails biting into your palms.

"Christ, baby, you're fucking tight," he says, with a hint of awe in his voice, sliding forward another inch, drunk on your little whimpered sounds.

You can't keep quiet as Eddie thrusts forward again, and again, and again, going until you're sure it would be impossible for him to have any dick left, cunt pulsing around him like its in cardiac arrest.

And then he gives you another inch.

"Fuck," —it's the only word you know anymore, the only thing you can think past the tremors running up and down your entire body, every brain cell you've got focused on the stunning pain stretching out your cunt, so full it's like you can feel the tip of him nudging at your lungs. "Fuck."

Eddie's not saying a word—a first for him—but you can tell he's thinking the same thing you are, can feel the letters F-U-C-K printed against your hip bones on the tips of his fingers. His breathing is loud and messy, shifting his hips just slightly until there's the soft slap of his balls against the backs of your thighs.

"Gotta, Jesus,"—two of Eddie's fingers press down against your clit, and you whine, wiggling a little at the feeling until his other hand tightens against your hips, "gotta loosen you up a little, baby. I'm 'bout to fuckin' bust."

He sandwiches you against the counter as he shifts forward to improve the angle of his fingers, circling your clit steadily. Your legs part, a little wider, hoping to make room for more of the feeling he's giving you.

"That's a good girl," Eddie groans.

You hadn't even noticed the way you'd been rocking your hips back against him, too absorbed by the feeling of his dick nudging at some shining point inside you, setting off fireworks behind your eyes with each brush.

He thrusts into you in earnest, and it's like you can hear the pop of your mind's pyrotechnics, the bass thudding in your chest, coming out of your mouth as long, throaty moans.

And Eddie must like those noises you're making, because it's got him pounding at you faster—slamming his whole dick into you hard enough to make the cupboards shake.

"Gonna ruin this fucking virgin pussy," he says, but you're not sure if you're meant to hear, or if it's a promise he's making to himself, "gonna ruin you for the next asshole who comes along."

"Fuck Eddie, I want you to . . . don't- don't want anybody else."

Jesus, where did that come from? Half an hour ago you were teetering on the edge of throttling him and now you're promising him a life-time unlimited supply of pussy.

If he replies, you can't hear him over your high-pitched whine as he pinches at your clit, strumming at you with his guitar-calloused finger tips.

"Gonna cum," you warn him, lashes fluttering at the way the heat is building in your gut and your pussy and your chest, building higher and higher, ready to take you.

Until he pulls back, totally still with his hands at your hips.

"Edddiiiieeeeeeeeeee."

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. The feeling's gone, and no amount of whining is going to get it back, the opening of your cunt trembling and dripping and empty.

He shushes you, one hand at your neck, ring biting at your throat and the chain at his wrist brushing against your chin as he pulls you close. Fat tears blur your vision until he's one big, brown smudge of hair and pink skin.

"Can't make it too easy for you, honey," he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your puffy lips. You blink the tears from your eyes.

"That was mean."

His chest shakes with laughter, and some of your spend smears across your cheek as he brushes a strand of hair back behind ear. "Let's consider it payback, princess. You wanna cum this time?"

I wanted to cum the last time, you think, but don't say it. He's fucked the antagonism right out of you. "Yes, please."

He kisses you, and the angle is awkward with you propped up on your hands, his tongue halfway down your throat as his other hand guides the head of his cock back to your throbbing entrance. He slides inside with ease.

It feels better with him this close, his thrusts shorter and slower but hitting you just right, hips slapping against yours, belt and chains jangling in time with the wet squelch of your cunt. It feels better when you can taste him, running the tip of your tongue along the edge of his teeth.

"You close again, baby?" he asks between sharp breaths. You nod, feeling hot, feeling used, thighs coated with your sticky wet cum, and body trembling in his grasp.

"Eddie," his name is like a cry on your lips, everything else stolen. You can't get the other words out, can't tell him that you feel it looming and it's heavier than the last time and it's strong enough to scare you, can't tell him that you don't know what's going to happen or who you'll be on the other side. "Eddie."

He's unphased, laughing, face mashed up against your cheek. "Tell me about it."

It takes you, fucking swallows you up and spits you out. Your whole body is pulsing, a ten on the Richter scale emanating from your pussy. Total devastation.

He thrusts into a few more times, fucking you through it, short bursts that make you whimper until the quaking stops and he groans, sliding from your cunt.

"God fucking damn," Eddie says, rattling around the kitchen, and you don't have a single brain cell left to wonder what he's doing, "how was that for your first time?"

It's a good question. You shift experimentally, aching in places you didn't know existed and numb everywhere else.

He's back at your side with a wet dish towel in hand. Eddie pets it gently between your legs, cleaning up everything sticky from your skin and your hair. You just hope Rick won't mind finding a towel covered in pussy juice in his house whenever he gets out of prison.

There's a soft look in Eddie's eyes as he cleans you up, tongue caught between his teeth, and it has you gnawing on your lips—a melty feeling in your chest no orgasm could cause.

"So . . . what happens now?"

You're not sure what you're hoping for—if you want him to kiss you, or tell you he'll fuck you whenever, no strings attached, or promise he'd never bring up the way you screamed for him ever again.

Actually, you know you don't want the last one. Beyond that, you're willing to take what you can get.

"Now," Eddie says, cupping your face in his hands, "you finally get some fucking sleep."

Maybe he's being stupid on purpose, saving your question for another time when you've got a little more mental prowess available and he's not being hunted for sport. Eddie leads you to Rick's bedroom, one hand at your waist, and your exhaustion hits you in a wave. You hadn't even realized how hard you'd been working to keep your eyes open.

The rest of you might be on the edge of sleep, but your suspicion is wide awake. "Did you only fuck me to tire me out?"

Eddie chuckles, crawling onto the big mattress and guiding you up with him, his body softer beneath yours in the darkness.

"Not only," he whispers, arms tight around your waist, "but I think it worked out alright."

You're breathing steadier already, having him here. There's no need to listen for him alive outside the door when you've got his heart beat beneath you. You'd never realized how much you worried about him whenever he was out of your sight.

"Eddie?"

He's lit a cigarette—you can see the red orange tip of it glow brighter in the darkness when he takes a drag.

"What, baby?"

"I'm sorry I was a bitch to you in high school."

His chest rises and falls with steady breaths. "Don't worry about it."

And then it's quiet again, your eyelids falling closed and staying that way. Eddie keeps a hand on you—sometimes stroking gently over your arm, or nestled tight at your waist. You would have thought that kind of movement would keep you awake, but you can feel your body grow heavier against him, muscles relaxing under his touch.

"Hey, Eddie?" You don't even bother to open your eyes this time.

"What is it now?"

"Can we do that again," you ask, sentence broken up by a soft yawn, "you know, when I wake up?"

"Sure thing, baby," Eddie promises, "whenever you want."

[streamafterlaughter]

Fundamental Differing

Masterlist

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summary: This is the sequel to New Kid, taking place in 1992, six years after you and Eddie graduate from Hawkins High. You’re the vocalist and songwriter for Death Dance Approximately, a punk band of femmes taking the scene by storm. Eddie and Corroded Coffin have blown up in the last few years, and are pretty much a household name. In the Spring, you’re given news of who you’re touring with this year: your ex boyfriend’s band. You haven’t seen Eddie since 1989, and seeing him in this environment has stirred up a lot of old feelings.

warnings/tags: rockstar!gn!afab!reader x rockstar!eddie munson, ANGST, adult themes (drugs, sex, and rock and roll baby) 18+ minors dni, smut will be tagged in each chapter. estranged lovers, mutual pining, mutual heartbreak. this work is in progress

disclaimer: you don’t need to have read NK to understand this one, but it would mean the world if you did! i do not give permission for my work to be posted on other sites. Please inform me if you see my writing posted anywhere besides my own blog (unless otherwise stated.) Reblog to support the author!

this fic is very lgbt coded in many aspects, reader is gender non conforming, has dated both men & women. i ask you be respectful of my choices, it’s fine to read even if you yourself aren’t lgbt, but don’t give my shit for making a character gay/gnc etc, just don’t read it if it’s not for you. thank you!🫶

taglist: keeping the taglist for NK, please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed! @children-of-the-grave @five-bi-five @wiildflower-xxx @beebeerockknot @champagne-glamour @xxgothwhorexx @therensistance @chonkzombie @brxkenartt @sidthedollface2 @bibieddiesgf @gaysludge @eddiesguitarskills @lilpotatobean2 @poisonedluv @kellsck @m-chmcl-rmnc

Prologue

Chapter I: Everybody Get Together

Chapter II: Like A Lover, Not A Dancer

Chapter III: Bleed the Freak

Chapter IV: All The Love Gone Bad

Chapter V: Why Are You So Far Away?

Chapter VI: You’ll Take My Soul Away

Chapter VII: Soft But Estranged

Chapter VIII: It’s Enough To Startle Us

Chapter IX: In The Morning You’ll Be Gone

Chapter X: It’s All Hate And Money

Chapter XI: Consider This The Slip

Chapter XII: I’ll Call You Beautiful, If I Call At All

Chapter XIII: Home Again

Chapter XIV: Away to Nowhere Plains

Chapter XV: Oh, Sweet Oblivion

Chapter XVI: You’ll Cry But You’ll Never Fall

Chapter XVII: Something In The Way

Chapter XVIII: I Gave My Life Away

Chapter XIX: Time Marches On

Chapter XX: A Fine Line Between Hope and Despair

Chapter XXI: Baby, What Did You Expect?

Chapter XXII: Blood Sugar Sex Magik

Chapter XXIII: I Just Might Give My Heart

Chapter XXIV: I’m Not Gonna Crack

Chapter XXV: Just Once, He Talked Back

Chapter XXVI: So Soft, You Make Me Hard OUT NOW AFTER MONTHS OF AGONIZING WAITING!