#it's not like I make a livable wage | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pedgito · 17 days ago

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𝐃𝐎 𝐈𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐄 | Eddie Munson x reader

summary | Eddie had taken on the responsibility of watching over you when you were younger. But, now back home after dropping out of college, watching over you seems to mean something entirely different. Alternatively, seducing your dad's best friend who just so happens to also be a virgin.

author's note | this is as close to writing eddie as i think i can get anymore hdsjfk. thanks to my wives (@gracieheartspedro, @amanitacowboy & @chaotic-mystery) for the beta & support!

content warning | 18+ MDNI, set in the early 2000s, older!eddie, virgin!eddie, the double whammy everyone needs in their life, age gap (20s & mid 30s), DBF!EDDIE!!!!, eddie knew reader as a kid but nothing nefarious, internal conflict, money issues, dropping out of college, flirting, eddie catching you half-naked, confident!reader, screwing and screwdrivers amirite, fingers, couch sex, eddie comes in a millisecond, pull out method

word count — 9.5k

The email comes through Friday night.

The college name and yours bolded at the top and a sigh slipping from your lips as you’re already anticipating the inevitable.

This email is to inform you that your enrollment is being terminated due to outstanding financial obligations on your student account, payments must be continued in a timely manner for the issue to be resolved. — Warm regards

You’re packed up by Saturday afternoon and back home by midnight, settling back into the small and cozy childhood bedroom you were so desperate to leave, begging to escape the stuffy trailer park the moment you turned eighteen.

But, here you were, stuffing your feet into your fuzzy slippers as you took out the kitchen trash to the dumpster at the end of the short driveway, the frigid wind biting at your skin as you tugged the blanket tighter around your shoulders.

It was the time of year where mornings were unbearably cold and by noon, you were sweating.

The problem was that you had tried.

You sacrificed a few assignments picking up extra shifts at the diner near the edge of campus, barely minimum wage with the few and far between tips. It felt like life or death sometimes, deciding between studying, paying for a few items to enjoy a decent dinner, or paying on your tuition.

Eventually, it all became uncontrollable. It was like a giant, looming monster hovering over your shoulder at every turn, threatening you with the power it held. What came now was relief, but still the slightest hint of worry.

You had to find a job, pick up the slack—the trailer was, to no surprise, a mess.

Your father worked grueling shifts at the factory in Hawkins, twelve hours days that wore him out, enough time to grab a quick meal and shower before he was turning in for the night on the worn-out recliner in the living room despite his perfectly good bed.

He wasn’t working today, but he was having breakfast with a friend.

You got an invite but decided against, determined to make the place spotless by the time he returned and you do as much, picking up the mountains of growing trash, starting laundry, vacuuming, every possible task until the place smelt somewhat pleasant and livable, propping the windows open as the air started to warm, hearing the faint laughs coming up the drive as we’re spraying down the deck with a hose, washing away the caked up dirt between the slats of wood.

“She lives,” His voice is easily recognizable, married with the shake of metal from his litany of jewelry and trademark jacket, jingling like a cat with a bell on their collar, you’re smiling before you turn around, though it quickly fades as he continues, “how’s college been treatin’ you?”

Your dad isn’t slick, but he makes an attempt, his hand mimicking a slice over his neck as a warning for Eddie to cut the conversation dead, though he’s more focused on your face and the way it falls.

“Er, or not?” he guessed, “Or not, yeah—you doing alright?”

“I’m surprised dad didn’t spill the beans,” you admit, “an hour together and he didn’t mention his college dropout daughter and how she’s unfortunately back home, wasting away her genius,”

“Honey, you know I’m happy to have you here—if I could pay to put you through, I would,”

“I know, I know,” you soothe his worry, “so much for scholarships when schooling still costs a fucking fortune, I should’ve tried selling shit on the black market like everyone else, I can live without a kidney,”

Eddie chuckles at your efforts to lighten the mood, “Tough break, squirt,”

“Hey,” you retort quickly, “I’m not five anymore, quit it,”

“She’s all stuck up now,” your dad jokes, your mouth dropping in offense,

“Am not,” you quickly snap, “is this fucking open season on bullying me?”

“Sorry, princess,” Eddie offers a half-smirk as he shoves his hands into the pocket of his jacket before nodding a goodbye to your father, then you, softening you with a wink that has the same effect as it did on fifteen year old you, swallowing hard behind the unusual swell of nervousness in your throat.

“Language,” your father warns as he approaches, kissing the top of your head as he walks by, “and thank you, kiddo, for being’ here—cleaning up the place,”

You nod quietly, offering a smile as your eyes drag back toward Eddie’s trailer, the same one you’ve wandered toward many times before, his uncle Wayne sitting on the steps offering out a pre-packaged lollipop or candy that he never told your father about, so easily becoming a second family to you and your father, him raising you by himself from such a young age.

Unfortunately, Wayne had passed a while back.

You were nineteen now, a couple years older than your father was when you were born, kidless, and relationships nowhere near your radar for the time being, it felt odd. But, you were settled and secure with yourself in that regard, praying that things would fall into place in due time.

But, more urgently, you needed a fucking job.

–

As much as you don’t physically see Eddie the first few weeks you’re settling back in Hawkins, he’s everywhere; posters plastered on brick walls or taped up on the glass windows of stores in town, shoutouts on the local radio as you drove down the backroads to town, he’s a small celebrity around town no doubt, but to you, he was annoying Eddie Munson.

He’s the guy who liked to scare you as a child when you were giving your father a hard time about falling asleep, making up convoluted stories about monsters that came after bad kids that still had you checking over your shoulder some nights. He’s the guy who liked to tease you for being tone deaf but still insisted on teaching you how to play guitar despite you not retaining any of it.

You admired him more than you could admit—he’s never cared what people thought of him. Eddie made a habit of standing out and being confident in his choices, going against the fray of students fighting tooth and nail for college admissions.

It didn’t matter that Eddie was a super senior by the time he graduated, he’s made a name for himself now, kept to his roots, and was still the same person you knew before you could even reach his kneecaps.

It was the rare nights as you grew older, just on the cusp of seventeen and listening to your father and he relive the times before you—how wild and carefree Eddie had encouraged him to be.

It wasn’t that he’d lost his life when you arrived, he just had different reasons to be happy.

Their mouths worked in tandem as they talked through their food, enjoying a shared dinner on the couch watching an old comedy from the 70s that you couldn’t remember the name of, the men finding great humor and joy in a movie you could care less about.

You remember the moment it happens, the skip in your heart as the smell of Eddie’s cologne wafts to your nostrils, admiring the straight edge of his defined jaw as he ate, the dimple that deepened as he smiled.

It was the same feeling you had when you found out you had a crush on sixth grade on a boy who was just as nervous to talk to you as you were to him, but this—it was in a league of its own, making you seek asylum in your room as you escape from dinner with a lazy excuse.

Eddie goes touring for the next few months after you arrive back, in and out of town, but you’re lucky enough to miss him by minutes, seconds, occasionally. Because as much as you had hoped that schoolyard crush would go away, it hadn’t.

The same sinking feeling in your gut returns with every appearance of his face, even the presence of his empty trailer, his voice echoing in the back of your head like he’s there.

You spent the most of his absence applying for jobs and praying for anything at this point, even if the pay was absolutely shit. You end up at the grocery store in town as a stocker, nothing crazy: the hours were flexible, the job was distracting, and you could keep to yourself.

The last thing you wanted was a familiar face from high school wondering how girl genius had dropped out of college, not that it was anyone’s business, but the judgement was the last thing you needed.

When you arrive home after a longer shift, feet scraping tiredly against the pavements as your keys jingled in your hand, trying to move quietly because you knew your father was sleeping after an equally long day, you hear the whistle from a few feet away.

You could mistake it for a bird, but given the time of day, you knew it was Eddie, the melodic hum to the whistle that has a smile tugging at your face.

“Finally pullin’ your weight I see,” he remarks with a grin, arms resting over his hood as he stares, you with no response other than your lips pulling into a tight line as you slump your shoulders, “tough crowd—‘lright, fair enough.”

“Gotta start somewhere,” you respond, gravitating toward the arm of the stairs that led to the porch of the trailer, “not all of us are gifted with the ability to perform, remember?”

Eddie chuckles at the thought, watching you fumble with his guitar, “Yeah…yeah,” he nods, fiddling with his keys and the chipped guitar pick on the key ring, “but—seriously, you’re doing okay? Your dad didn’t tell me much about what happened, so…”

“There wasn’t much to tell him,” you admit, “I’m broke, stressed, and life isn’t very forgiving to some of us,”

Eddie’s eyes squint in thought, averting awkwardly.

To you it seems as if he’s trying to think of how to comfort you, campaigning his next words on his head.

But internally, he’s fighting the thoughts that this wasn’t how he pictured you ending up; not because he thought you were above it, but because he'd always imagined you running far from this place—admittedly, you tried; away from the faded street signs and rusted trailer roofs. He stops himself from saying something stupid, knows that even if the words feel gentle or caring, they'd sting.

He can’t help but admire you either, despite that nagging feeling in his chest.

You’ve changed, grown into the permanent scowl on your face that matched your feisty personality, aware of how you carried yourself with a confidence that mimics his own, fake it ‘til you make it.

“Hey,” he says finally, voice softening. “If you need anything…well, you know I’m like—down the street.” He motions vaguely toward his own trailer, and you nod knowingly, “well, across…the grass, I guess. You get the idea, dollface,”

That was a new one.

You chew at the inside of your lip to hide the grin brought on by amusement and delirium from your long shift, wondering how you were still on two feet and listening to Eddie ramble, somehow you manage the energy to be teasing, easing back into the familiar playfulness you both threw at each other when you were younger and more naive.

“And what do I owe the great Eddie Munson for his generosity?”

He gives a dramatic sigh, flicking his wrist like he's dismissing the idea, “I’m all for charity, helpin’ out the needy.. Why? You feeling needy?”

It’s your turn to squint now, the skepticism easing into a smile. There’s a comfort in this banter and it lifts the weight off your chest in a way you can’t describe, rolling your eyes at his growing smirk.

“Careful,” you warn him, a glint in his eyes, “I’ll take advantage of you if you’re offering, just like old times,”

You wrap your grin up in a perfect bow of innocence, palms meeting at your chin to frame your face up with a picture perfect smile before you’re leaving him, yearning for your bed.

Eddie recognizes you, he thinks.

It was you, personality and mannerisms to match.

But, you’re different now.

He couldn’t admit it out loud though or even begin to linger on the thought out of fear and a sudden guilt that pinged in his gut, chastising himself over it.

–

A weekend and privacy came with a much needed bath, lounging in the comfort of the tub until your muscles stopped aching, eventually wrapping yourself in a towel after a quick shower as you walked through the living room, spending most of Saturday and Sunday alone as your father had escaped for his own getaway—the only difference this time was that you didn’t need a sitter.

It was a designated job of Eddie’s for many years, always offering to keep an eye on you.

But, you are an adult now. Fully grown, filled out. The towel is shit and thin but you hold it tight to your body anyways, readjusting it over your bare chest as the front door squeaks open on the rusty hinges and—

"Jesus!" you gasped, clutching the towel tighter.

“Oh, shit!" Eddie practically jumped back, hands up as if he were surrendering. "I thought you'd be gone. Sorry, sorry!"

You’re standing wet and unsteady, staring at him with a mix of embarrassment and amusement while he’s caught red-handed, looking increasingly guilty as he covers his eyes with his hands.

“Sorry,” he repeats, “Your dad wanted me to check in on the place, figured you’d be gone,”

You force an awkward laugh, the tension dipping into something easy and familiar despite the situation, “Well, I’m not..”

He turned to look away now, the tips of his ears burning red. “Seriously, I didn’t mean to, uh—”

He uncovered his eyes slightly, peeking at you with a crooked grin as you responded with a teasing, “Obviously, Eddie.”

You swore he was blushing—you’ve never seen it before. Not like this. You raised an eyebrow, shifting your weight to one hip, watching him squirm as the towel parts slightly, revealing a risqué sliver of skin by your inner thigh.

Eddie clears his throat suddenly, looking up at the ceiling with a finger pointing randomly, like he’s doing an inspection of the place before he’s stumbling over his words, “I’m—gonna…go? Place is good, you’re good—I mean,”

“I know what you mean,” you interject, walking toward him as your fingers press against his chest on his backwards trek outside, pointing lazily toward his trailer as he fumbles for the doorknob, “now, if you don’t mind?”

Eddie knows he deserves a special spot in the worst parts of hell now, finding himself curious of how you’ve grown, something that has never plagued him until recently, seeing you back in town and nothing like the young girl he used to know.

Of course, you’re still you, but then again—not at all.

He can’t quite place it, but he knows this is bad.

Not good.

And he returns home to take a shower of his own, longer than necessary for a number of reasons.

–

Later that night, you perch yourself in the old, plastic chair on the side of the trailer and light the rolled joint, savoring the soft hum of nature as you wrapped the blanket tighter around your body, curled up barefoot and closing your eyes as you inhale the smoke until it burns, blowing it out through your nostrils.

"Didn't know you smoked," Eddie chirps, cigarette in his mouth as he approaches quietly, startling you slightly. He’s dressed for bed—a loose, tattered old band shirt and sweats hung low on his hips, black socks with a growing rip on the side of his left foot.

He’s always been broad, but the defined muscles of his biceps were new. Thicker, a little tanned, tendrils of muscle stretching underneath the skin as he crossed one arm over his chest.

As your heart settles, you smirk and add darkly but joking, "College changes people."

"Yeah?" He exhaled a slow cloud of smoke. "Guess I never really changed, have I?"

"You still play with the band?"

You already knew the answer, making conversation.

"Yeah," he grinned. "Not famous yet, though. Maybe next year. We’re just doing shows around Indiana—pays the bills and then some."

Eddie was well enough off, you knew that. There wasn’t a single person in Hawkins who didn’t know his name, negative connotation or not—you would have to be living under a rock to not know who Eddie Munson or Corroded Coffin was.

The conversation eventually drifted into quieter places, dragging the equally dilapidated empty chair beside you, closer, knees knocking.

He asked about school; you asked about life on the road. He admitted, too easily it seemed—that he never really caught up with most of the kids he graduated with. "Most of 'em settled down," he said. "Married. Kids. Guess I just... never did."

He'd never been shy, but something in the way he said it felt more vulnerable than usual.

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” you shrug, puffing quietly as his eyes track the movement, his cigarette long forgotten before you’re offering him the joint, the corners of his mouth turning upwards quickly as he snatches it from your fingers eagerly.

“Right,” he doesn’t entirely believe you, haunted by the idea of never being able to move on—stuck in this revolving circle of trying to make it big but just coming up short.

It’s been almost twenty years, something had to give way.

"You're much better company than the guys, by the way," Eddie smirked as he took a long drag, his eyes finding yours through the haze of smoke, “you should come out to a show, too—I’ll comp your tickets.”

“I’ll make an effort,” you tell him honestly, “but—with work and trying to make sure my dad isn’t running himself into the ground…I’ll—I’ll try, I promise,”

“Do you have plans to go back?” Eddie asks, passing the joint back to you, “Like, to college?”

You shrug, “I want to, but money is tight. I’d need a fucking miracle to happen before—”

“I can pay what you owe,” he responds like it was the easiest thing in the world to offer, “if—I mean, if you want. Or, at least a chunk to help you out. It helps, living in Wayne’s old trailer. Everything is paid, I just keep the lights on and the water running.”

You stare at him, momentarily speechless.

“Eddie,” you’re unsure how to continue as his name falls out like a breath that’s been held too long, “that’s not fair to you,” you tell him, unable to ignore the weird, twisting feeling in your chest that makes your heart flutter nervously, “I can’t let you do that.”

You knew Eddie wasn’t the type to expect anything in return, but the idea—just the thought of him helping in such a way, it was tempestuous. But, you’re stubborn.

“I think I need to give myself time,” you decide, “find out if going back is something I want to do—if it’s even worth it.”

Eddie never even attempted college, so he figures his opinion is null and void.

Instead, he pokes you with a finger to your ribs as you squirm, giggling softly.

"You should come on the road with us then. Be our groupie, for all intents and purposes."

You laugh, not sure if he's joking or serious or somewhere in between. "You’re asking me—the daughter of one of your oldest friends, to be your groupie?"

Eddie considers how it sounds, pausing as he tries to work it out in his head before he laughs, shaking his head with amusement, “Fine—bad way to describe it. You could just…come and help, or not. We don’t really have a manager, either. We’re wingin’ it. Weren’t you going to college for something in that field?”

“A minor in music management, yeah, but—”

Eddie’s eyebrows raise in intrigue and you look away with a flurry of emotions.

Amusement, forthright. You laugh, the sound bubbling around the joint between your lips, but his eyes fall so easily on you, wide and glazed over and it makes you nervous in a way you’ve never felt.

“Your dad asked me to keep an eye on you, take care of you when I could—” Eddie begins, legs spreading out as he leans back in the chair, memorizing the subtle curl pattern to his hair and his bangs that begged for a trim.

“I’m not a kid anymore,” You remind him, tilting your head to meet his eyes as he lazily pivots his head to look at you, a distant but genuine smile on his face.

“I know,” Eddie responds, his hand rubbing gently over your knee, the cold press of his rings into your skin as his knuckles curled around the bone, “doesn’t mean I don’t care or worry about you.”

It was such an innocent touch, reassurance wrapped in a perfect bow.

But, his hand doesn’t move immediately, slowed, almost as if hindered by the weed in his system. He watches the way your legs part, his hand slipping further to curl around the bend of your knee and around the inside of your thigh, fingers tucked between the space.

Your reaction is delayed too, eyes locked on the movement of his hand before you’re forcing yourself to kill the tension, wrapping your fingers around his own and returning the gesture with a gentle squeeze.

“I appreciate it, Ed,” it bleeds sincerity, “thank you—but, that is something I’d really have to think about.”

“No rush, dollface,” he grins, slipping his hand away casually.

He moves to stand, but you stop him, hand pressed against his chest.

“Don’t—don’t tell my dad,” even if you were an adult, your father still had his ideals, “that I—that we, you know…”

Your finger circles the general area before you pick up the small remnants of your impromptu smoke session with Eddie and his tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek as he nods.

“Seems hypocritical considering how much weed we used to smoke in high school.” Eddie reminisces and you only persist, hand still pressed against his chest until he gives you the answer you were looking for, “Oh, come on—I can keep a secret. Don’t worry.”

You nod slowly, unsure. Eddie grins again, a half smirk as his fingers wrap around your wrist and gently push your hand away, “You seem a little…agitated,” Eddie ponders, “are you sure you’re alright?”

His look is smarmy and cocky, a mixture that gets under your skin like nothing else can.

You shake your head dismissively, stumbling slightly on your feet as you stand with him.

“Sick of me, aren’t you?” he teases.

“I mean, we’ve seen more than enough of each other today.”

“That shit wasn’t intentional and you know it,” Eddie defends, not an ounce of bite in his tone. It’s rather playful, feels like a mirage as his eyes crease at the corner and he smiles again, a trademark look for him but you since the admiration in his gaze, beyond what it should be for his best friend’s daughter.

And you catch yourself thinking about it, too. Looking, considering any other possibility that could have happened—a slip of your towel, if Eddie had gotten worried and progressed further into the trailer, if you had forgotten the towel entirely.

This wasn’t innocent and it wasn’t a crush.

“Watch yourself, Munson,” you warn, flicking a finger at the necklace hanging over the soft cotton of his shirt.

Eddie can’t describe how it feels like quicksand at his feet, unable to move as you corner him where he stands, intimidated but enticed by every single aspect of you.

He’s in such deep shit.

–

Eddie disappears for a few weeks—not without warning, though.

It was a short stint of shows around Indianapolis and he had asked you to watch over his place while he was gone despite there never really being any worry around this side of town—it was quiet anymore, eerily.

Still, it integrates into your daily schedule. A quick glance inside before work and another check after your shift, taking a couple days to throw out any moldy food in the fridge or water his dying plants, surprised by the fact that he even had any—though, the cactus seemed to thrive amongst the death and decay, centered at his kitchen table with a small figurine buried in the dirt resembling a mystical dragon.

It always makes your smile so big that your nose crinkles.

Eddie hadn’t changed at all, really.

A few days before Eddie’s due to arrive back, you hear a concerning sound coming from his fridge and immediately enlist the help of your father who had the magic touch for everything. There wasn’t anything that he couldn’t fix, really. And this was no different.

You tried calling, but Eddie never answers.

He was busy—understandably. You leave him a note on the fridge indicating that your father had fixed the condenser fan and you could thank him another time.

When he does arrive back in town, he does so quietly and in the middle of the night.

You hear the roar of his engine around midnight but don’t stir, followed by the crack of metal as the driver’s side door closes, some rustling of keys, and then you’re succumbing to sleep again.

“Sweetheart, I think I left my screwdriver at Ed’s,” your dad tells you from across the trailer.

“Got it,” you answer swiftly, “I’ll bother him later.”

Later that night, you do.

Eddie looks tired upon first glance, hair tied up loosely but it is a welcomed change to his usually untamed mane.

He invited you in, beer in hand as he returned to the couch and laid his guitar across his lap, an unspoken and hefty amount of empty bottles lining the table.

“I’m fine,” he reassures your silent thought, catching his glance as you stand, arms tucked behind you back loosely, “gotta unwind somehow, right?”

You shrug, indifferent. You weren’t going to judge him.

“Uh, my dad said he left a tool here,” you finally say, “did you see a Phillips laying around anywhere?”

“Drawer at the end of the counter,” Eddie instructs, not looking up as he fiddled with the strings on his guitar, “gonna have to give it a good tug, it likes to stick,”

You nod, moving toward the draw and giving it a sharp pull, watching as the screwdriver rolled toward the front.

Perfect.

“Did you want a beer?” Eddie ask offhand, “I’ve got a few left in the fridge,”

It was a silent invitation—but for what, you weren’t sure.

Eddie often seemed lonely back home, no real purpose when he wasn’t on the road and performing, attempting to fill his days with anything that wasn’t band practice or sound checks.

“I’m not twenty-one,” you respond, laying the Phillips screwdriver on the counter.

Eddie shrugs, hands held up in defense.

“I’m not the police, dollface,” he jokes, “I won’t snitch.”

It wasn’t like you hadn’t drank in college.

Fuck it.

The fridge cracks open as the seal separates and you reach for the bottle, finding that Eddie has approached in the flurry of motion to reach for the beer.

You watch as he brings it to his belt buckle, using it as a makeshift bottle opener before passing it back into your waiting hand.

“Show off,” you tease with faux disdain, taking a small sip from the beer as Eddie leans against the counter, one hand curling around the edge while the other nurses a bottle.

You both drank, talking about nothing in particular, until his words slurred a little and his smile turned softer, a faint flush to his cheeks.

“No plans?” he asks curiously

“It’s Friday,” you shrug, “I should make some, but I haven’t reconnected with anyone since I’ve been back.”

Except for Eddie, obviously.

“You’re all dolled up,” he notes, though there isn’t much to be considered notable aside from the dress shifting mid-thigh and your bare shoulders on display, bare-faced.

“I showered,” you laugh, brows knitting together in confusion, “but—thank you, I guess?”

He’s terrible at this, isn’t he?

Eddie clears his throat, chin tilting down as he his shoulders square and you feel the undeniable urge to tease him, though your eyes are stuck on the way the muscle moves underneath his shirt.

“You should wear your hair like that more often,” you suggest, nodding toward his messy up-do as you sip at the beer, “it’s…cute.”

“Cute?” Eddie throws his head back and laughs, watching a few strands slip from the bun as he shakes his head.

You reach forward, invading his space, brushing a hair away from his cheek as he tenses slightly, reveling in the subtle effect it had on him.

“Undeniably…adorable,” you reiterate, patting his cheek gently, his eyes trained on the way your eyes linger over his face before you smile, stepping away.

“So, you tease me and ask me to keep your secrets,” Eddie says, counting on his fingers.

You feign innocence, looking him up and down in a way that Eddie could easily misconstrue, part of you prays that he will.

"You know," he said, gaze sliding lazily over you in a similar manner, "I always knew you'd grow up to be trouble."

"Trouble?" you laughed, but something tightened in your chest.

"Yeah." He drained the rest of his beer and set the bottle down with a thunk.

It was like a silent challenge, begging him to elaborate.

But Eddie just smiled, lopsided and knowing.

He leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms, nodding a subtle invitation for you to follow him to the couch, your task forgotten as Eddie shoved his guitar aside to make room for you beside him.

“How were the shows?” you ask curiously, one foot pressing to the couch as the other crossed behind your heel, separating your dress and exposing your skin, barely attempting to cover the slip of your panties underneath as the fabric fits between your thighs, your hand pressing against the cushion of the couch to keep it in place.

Eddie watches it happen, how easily you’ve slipped out of your shoes and made home on his couch, like you were always meant to be here, like this had always been your home, too.

He sinks into the couch beside you with a deep sigh, the furniture shifting with the weight.

Tipping his head back, he shrugs.

“Same old,” he replies easily, fiddling quietly with the thick skull ring on his middle finger, flexing them, your eyes watching the insistence of his movement, “things are weird though, lately—like we’re all feeling stuck but no one wants to bring it up.”

“Complacent?” you inquire and Eddie nods with a smirk.

“Complacent,” he tries the word out on his tongue as he looks over at you, an immense amount of appreciation on his face, “that’s the word—smart ass.”

“I think the words you’re looking for there are—thank you.”

Eddie shakes his head nonchalantly and the corners of his mouth turn down, “No…no, I think you enjoy being a smart ass.”

Your fist digs into your cheek as you lean against, “Okay, well—go and run to my dad and tell him how you’re being bullied by his daughter,” you reach a finger forward and poke at the dimple in his cheek, “that you’re feeling oh so threatened by me.”

Eddie has a limit—a bullshit meter if you will.

Before, it would end with him sending you on your way back home, a smug but annoyed expression on your face. But, as you sit here now, he doesn’t feel the urge.

He reaches forward, dexterous fingers attacking the sweet spot underneath your ribs before he’s tickling you into submission, jumping forward to latch onto his right shoulder, attempting to wiggle away from his grip.

He’s relentless, though.

One hand turns into two and soon enough you’re leaning over his lap with your hands on the empty cushion beside him and panting, begging for mercy.

“Stop—stopstop,” you plead, “Eddie—fuck, please,”

Something there lingers, trying desperately to shove his hands away but finding yourself slipping backwards in the process. A soft yelp rips from your throat as you slip back, but Eddie’s already got a hand on your thigh, tight and harsh as it digs into your skin to keep you upright.

Your face morphs from momentary fear to frustration, a harmless scowl forming on your face as you shove at his chest.

“Sorry,” Eddie responds playfully, trying desperately to ignore how warm your skin feels against his palm, maneuvering you back into your spot beside him, “shut you up though, didn’t it?”

“I think if you wanted me bent over your lap you could have just asked,” you retort with a fire in your chest as you readjust your dress, fixing the straps on your shoulders.

Eddie looks surprised at your outburst, eyes wide.

You shoot him a look that tears right through his ignorance, “What? It’s not like you’re some sexless virgin, we’re both adults, aren’t we?”

The silence is especially deafening on his behalf.

You quickly come to the conclusion on your own, “You’re the lead singer of a metal band and you’ve never had sex?”

Eddie avoid answering outright and instead attacks, “Okay, now you’re just being a little shit and judgy.”

He won’t meet your eyes as you stare at him, the faintest hint of a smile on your face, finding his innate shyness over the topic immensely endearing.

“Sorry, I’m sorry, it’s just—seriously? There’s no one just throwing themselves at you?” you ask curiously, “All this time and you’ve never once got caught up with a groupie?”

You sit back on your legs, having never been more interested in a conversation in your life, helplessly curious.

“Not ones that I want,“ Eddie admits, “besides, one thing or another happens and it just…doesn’t work out.”

Huh.

You’re quiet, processing the information.

You’re not sure why it shocks you, but it does.

Any idea or assumption you’ve ever had about Eddie was completely shattered, like you were staring at him for the first time, eyes averted. The chain on his wrist jingled as his knee shook anxiously.

You curl your fingers around his kneecap, similar to how he had weeks before, calming him.

“I’m sorry…for assuming,” you apologize, “it’s just…you’re—“

“Old,” he says deadpan and you can’t help but laugh.

“You’re not old,” you reply in defense, “what do you consider old?”

“I’m the same age as your dad, dollface.”

“My dad hasn’t worn an Iron Maiden shirt since ‘95, so I think you’re still safe,” you tease, squeezing his knee.

Eddie smirks, but there’s a touch of vulnerability in his eyes that makes your chest feel strange and soft. He’s silent for a moment, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

He should cut the conversation short, but then you’re opening your mouth again.

Another question, another step further.

“So, I mean,” you pause, adjusting yourself to sit criss-cross to face him, hands resting in your lap, “what qualifies?”

“I’m not having this conversation with you,” Eddie replies like an empty threat, wincing at how eager you look to receive the information, a split second away from a sticky situation.

“No sex,” you start to recite to yourself, thumb jutting out as you count on your hands like he had earlier, “oral is a no-go, I’m assuming,” pointer finger out as Eddie watches you work through the list in your brain and he’s nothing short of mortified as his lips part and he stares at you with a wild gaze, “fingering? What about fingering? Have you ever kissed anyone?”

You look up eventually to find him speechless, his cheeks reddening as you continue and you shrug so nonchalant he can’t believe this is reality, “What? I’m curious.”

“Well, get un-curious,” Eddie retorts with a lazy chuff of laughter.

“You were the one who asked me to be your groupie, remember?”

Eddie scoffs, slapping your hand down gently where it was lingering near him, fingers still laid out in count, “Bad choice of words, remember? This is—”

“What? Am I not your type?”

And, there it was.

Eddie gulps, his hand curling into a fist as his knuckles dressed into his thigh, the fabric creasing under the pressure and he doesn’t answer outright.

You hold your hands up in surrender, “Okay, fair—I’m not offended if I’m not—”

“No,” Eddie quickly interjects, “it’s not that.”

He flattens his hand against his leg, tension slowly loosening as he huffs out a breath.

So, you were his type?

“Is this a morality thing?” you cut through the tension, “Because if we want to go down the list of things that make us adults I think I might have you beat, you know—graduating, college, relationships, a steady job,”

Two of those were a shaky defense at best, but you were trying to prove a point.

Any qualms Eddie had were built solely around his hesitancy to defile his best friend’s daughter or even suggest the implication that he might want to—that he might even find your the slightest bit attractive now, grown up and incredibly sure of yourself, oozing a raw confidence that Eddie has learned to fake.

With you, it was genuine.

You knew exactly what you wanted.

“Is it?” you repeat.

“No,” Eddie breathes out, “I mean, yes—kind of. I just don’t want to take advantage of you.”

“Oh god, Eddie,” you say, exasperated. “I’m not a fucking kid.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he says desperately.

“Then what?”

Eddie’s mouth opens and closes twice before giving up altogether and just staring at you.

You stare back, unyielding.

He sighs again and shakes his head, “You really don’t get it.”

“I think I do,” you insist and then you hear yourself say, the words just tumbling out, “I’m into you too.”

Eddie’s eyes widen comically. “Shit,” he mumbles.

You can see the shift in his features, the way he’s chewing at his lip like he does when he’s working out a new song or trying to find the right chord.

Eddie always had this way about him—passionate, intense.

Your lips curl into a teasing grin, but there’s understanding behind it.

He’s struggling, caught in the moment, unsure whether to take you seriously or play off your relentlessness with humor and break the growing tension.

“Can I try something?” you ask curiously.

“Try what?” His voice is wary, but there’s a glimmer of intrigue underneath.

You pause for the briefest of moments and then decide to seize it.

You lean forward, resting your hands casually on his knees where he’s angled his body toward you. It’s enough to make him freeze, his eyes locked onto yours with a flicker of panic, like he’s suspended mid air and unsure if he’s going to survive the drop.

“Don’t freak out, okay?” you murmur and Eddie nods as you grin every so slightly on your approach.

His breath catches when you close the space and press your lips to his.

It’s tentative at first, slow and steady like testing the heat of running water, but sooner than later you feel his resolve slip. His hand ghosts upward almost involuntarily, right where it should be, finding its place at the back of your neck and pulling you closer.

He inhales sharply and parts his lips to meet your tongue with his own.

Alright, he’s not clueless.

You sigh softly into his mouth as your fingers dig into his thighs, an eager pace growing as you lick into his mouth, the faintest hint of beer on his tongue and thick layer of lust invading your collective brains before Eddie was pulling you fully into his lap from where you’re already halfway leaned over him, taking his silent guidance in stride as your thighs spread out over his and your arms fall over his shoulders, taking his face between your hands as you slow the pace of the kiss.

You pull back eventually, just slightly to gauge his reaction.

His eyes are still shut tight, as if he’s afraid that opening them will make you run for the hills.

Instead, when he finds that you’re not returning, he does.

It was tentative, a peek through one eyelid before he decided to open both.

You’re not smiling, rather observing, a curious wonder on your face.

“Your dad,” Eddie gulps, “he’s waiting for you, isn’t it?”

You nod quietly, his face still cradled in your hand.

A man you’ve admired for years suddenly feels small in your hands, delicate.

“You’re gonna go home,” Eddie instructs softly, “we’re not gonna talk about this, alright?”

Your shoulders slump in defeat but you understand—there were too many cons, too many worries.

“Say it,” Eddie encourages.

“I’m gonna home,” you appease him, “we’re not gonna talk about this.”

“Go on, dollface,” Eddie nods toward the door, helping you off of his lap like a gentleman despite the rejection he’s throwing your way, unknowing of the immense amount of self-restraint he’s using to end this before it starts.

He watches you leave, but not before pressing a kiss into your hair.

He’s done it before, a gentle gesture.

The door locks behind you and the blinds are quick to shift closed, the lights to Eddie’s trailer turning off soon after—from your point of view, he’s resigned to bed, kicking you out for the night.

But, for Eddie, it was an attempt to control himself.

To not let things ramp up so far he couldn’t find a reason to come down.

Usually, he’ll relieve himself in the shower but his cock was straining hard under the confine of his dark-washed jeans, belt jingling loudly as he struggled to rid himself of the fabric until it pooled at his ankles, sinking back into his couch with his shirt pushed halfway up his stomach, letting out a sharp curse as he wraps his hand around his cock.

He can’t deny the fact that he’s thought about you before like this, almost a constant paint imagine of you in his head after he’d caught you at home, a few quick flashes before then that he couldn’t even bring himself to admit—ever since you had showed up in town again, you were everywhere.

He felt you in the similar sense that you did with him, but the problem for Eddie was that he didn’t have a reason for any of this—and it was a suffocation of guilt trailing his immediate need for release before he blew his load in his jeans like he was a goddamn teenager.

It was long, hurried strokes with an iron grip; Eddie knows your hands would be softer, gentler. But, he doesn’t allow himself that thought for longer than a moment, white knuckling his cock until his head looks bruised, red and pulsing. It’s embarrassing, the melody of skin against skin matched with his pathetic grunts, chest heaving with hurried breaths until his cock twitched violently, pearly white strips of cum spurting over his stomach in mindless pleasure, eyes slipping shut.

“Gah—fuck,” Eddie says in a guttural groan, “fuck!”

He’s not sure how long he lays there in the dark, breathing heavily with a slick mess coating his front and jeans still pooling around his ankles. But, he knows one thing—he couldn’t let you near him again.

–

You don’t hear from him for weeks and that’s fine.

Sort of.

Not really.

He’s been aorund the entire time, coming and going, but he’s been home.

He sees you when you’re coming back from work or when he’s leaning against the railing of his porch as he smokes his morning cigarette without anything more than a nod of acknowledgement.

Maybe you had pushed things too far, been too forward, overstepped some boundaries.

But, you know Eddie—he would have told you.

It was the weekend of your twentieth birthday when his silent treatment festers to a head, invited over by your father for a small cookout—it was only ever the three of you anymore, aside from a few lingering friendly neighbors that your father was more than happy to pass a plate or two of food too.

When you weren’t looking at him, he was always looking at you.

You feel it.

It was a heat that prickled the back of your neck and every time you turned to catch him in the act, Eddie was already haphazardly engaged in conversation with your father—talking about work or music or whatever.

An intentional silent standoff that lingered into the night, the summer bugs buzzing in the grassy courtyard as the two men and a small group of neighbors laugh amidst their supposedly riveting conversation.

You didn’t like the cake or big celebrations, so by the end of the night you were curled up on the stairs and staring down at the trail of ants that traveled through a crack in the pavement, bare feet against the grass and not hearing the voice that calls for you until the fifth try.

Your father tossed Eddie’s keys into your hand as you looked up, barely registering what was happening but able to snatch them before they hit you square in the face.

“He’s on a call,” your dad mouthed to you, “beers?”

Uninterested but compliant, you stand and make your way across the yard.

The kitchen is still close enough with the chattering of your father’s friends that you don’t hear Eddie trailing behind you until you’re stopped at the fridge, fingers curled around a handful of cold bottles.

“I got it,” he interjects and you pull a face out of habit, annoyance overtaking your features as you pull the beer away from him.

“So now you decide to talk to me?”

“I’ve been busy,” he replies defensively, scratching at his jaw. “I didn’t think—”

“You know, if you’re scared of me you could just say that—”

“Scared?” Eddie chuckles, “Of you?”

You drop the bottles on the counter, one nearly toppling over but Eddie catches it before it hits the floor. He sets it back upright and just stands there, contemplating. Eventually, he holds up a finger.

“Don’t leave, alright,” he tells you, scooping the beers into his arm, “I’ll take these to your dad and come up with some excuse—just, stay, alright?”

He’s standing there, waiting for an audible response before you eventually throw your hands up in frustration, urging him to move.

Eddie scrambles then, gone and back in under a minute, slightly out of breath as he closes the door to his trailer behind him and locks it, “I told him you needed some quiet,” Eddie explains.

“Are we…okay?” you ask impulsively, hand twisting anxiously around the edge of the counter.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t we be?” Eddie asks, taking a seat on his couch and placing his guitar carefully against the adjacent wall.

“You haven’t spoken more than a word to me in almost a months,” you confront his facade, “I kissed you and suddenly you wanted nothing to do with me, sorry if that gave me the wrong impression but—”

“It…wasn’t that,” Eddie explains, “things have been picking up for the band lately...kinda, out of nowhere. These big record companies in LA are interested in signing us but we’re all…older and they’re hesitant. I’ve been busting my ass trying to prove our worth, but,” he throws his hands up, “seems kinda pointless.”

“That’s good though, right?” You ask, seating yourself on the arm of the couch near him, whatever frustration you had toward him dissipates quickly, “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

Eddie leans his head back, eyes tracing the ceiling. “Yeah. Just didn’t think I’d have to sell my soul for it.”

“That’s a little dramatic, besides—s’kinda your brand,” You try to catch his gaze, but he’s staring to the side, lost in thought, “so you’ve just been busy?”

“Yeah,” Eddie insists, “busy.”

You study his face, trying to decide if he’s lying to you or himself.

And when he turns to you his eyes are sincere, pleading almost.

��And the kiss?” you press, unable to stop yourself. “You didn’t freak out because of that?”

Eddie sighs, his foot tapping anxiously against the leg of the coffee table. “I didn’t freak out,” he says. “I just—didn’t want to ruin things for you. I mean—your dad, and sweetheart, I’m twice your age.”

You roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest, looking down at him, “Well—if you make it out in Hollywood you might finally find the right one,” you tease him, “they can snatch that illustrious title from you.”

Eddie chuckles softly, “I don’t care about that,” he admits, “I never have. I don’t think about it…or talk about it. I’m not ignorant about it, you do understand that, right?”

“The way you kiss, I would fucking hope not,” you admit in a crass manner.

“Frankly, I think you’re only interested in defiling me,” Eddie jokes, your brows perking up at the mention before a laugh bubbles from your chest, “I feel like you’ve had it out for me since you got back.”

His eyes are focused on the bare skin of your thighs under your dress now, exposed by the way you were sitting, the back of your calf resting over his knee as you leg bounces idly, his hand grazing over your shin to stop that insistent movement.

“You know, I used to think it was because of what you were,” you explain openly, “I thought you were cool—cute, out of my league obviously and off limits. I dated and every time I thought I found the right one—I couldn’t help but think…well, they’re not as cool as Eddie. I had a huge crush on you but I almost admired you.”

“So, s’just because you think I’m cool?”

“I think you’re sort of an asshole now, actually,” you admit, “But, I know you think about me, too—I know you kept staring at me tonight. You always are…and the way you touch me,” your eyes linger on his hand now, his fingers molding against your skin.

“What about it?” Eddie asks.

“You’ve always taken care of me,” you remind him, ”let me take care of you.”

His thumb press gently into the sinew below your knee, his hand curling around the back of it.

Eddie slowly guides your legs apart, revealing the thin fabric covering your cunt.

His hand lingers on the inside of your thigh as if he was weighing his options.

You know that he is.

Too considerate and focused on all the other things surrounding you both to actually be present in what’s happening now. Always worried about the right thing to do, always considering everything.

His eyes flick up to look at you briefly, your hand pressing into the back of the couch as you lean back, balancing on the arm of the couch as you take a small breath.

“I’m just saying…this is a terrible idea,” Eddie sighs out, his voice low as he feels like a rabid animal, watching your skin tense under his touch, “we shouldn’t.”

“Suit yourself,” you tell him lazily, aware of how he hasn’t bothered to stop touching you, “but I think you’ll regret it.”

Quietly, you reach for his hand and cup your hand around the back of it, pressing his palm flat against your cunt, the heel of it adding a delicious pressure against your clit under the fabric.

Your mouth parts in anticipation, watching him repeat the action on his own a few times before he’s pushing the fabric aside on his own volition, fingers drifting through the short, but coarse patch of curls as his middle finger drags down the seam of your folds, the digit glistening with a sticky slick.

“You’ve done this before haven’t you?” you ask curiously.

“Specifically, this?” he asks, “A couple times...I’ve been told my fingers are like magic if that helps.”

You pull your lips together and let out a soft pfft as you laugh quietly, gasping when his finger breaches your hole, pressing inside with gentle pressure, wrist angled so his thumb can catch over your clit in the same, sinful motion.

“I…like more,” you direct him with a soft voice, “like, uh—”

“Like what?” he asks, genuinely curious.

“Just…more,” you explain, “I like the pressure, the stretch…it—”

“Feels good?” he finishes for you and you don’t have to look to know he’s smiling.

You nod jerkily and feel his pace quick, your head dropped back and eyes closed as his unoccupied hand holds your thigh open, the fingers digging into your flesh occasionally when you squeeze around his fingers.

“I like..the feeling,” you gulp quietly, “of being filled, you know?”

“Uh huh,” Eddie answers idly, focused intently on your pleasure alone as he pumps his finger, then two, eventually three, until your fingers are tight around his wrist and he has no other option than to focus on your clit, rubbing over it in tight, quick circles until your letting out a sharp gasp, his hand pulling away in an instant as you cunt spasms around nothing, thighs shaking as your orgasm washed over, completely unsatisfied but overwhelmed with momentary euphoria.

When you finally resurface, there isn’t a moment lost.

Eddie moves with you, just as eager.

You quickly unbuckle the belt to his jeans, bunching your dress up and lifting it over your head as Eddie shifts his pants down, cock bobbing free against his stomach as you pause, noticing the flush in his cheeks as a smile grows on your face, his eyes locked on you.

“This is probably a bad time to mention I don’t have condoms,” Eddie jokes, your hand reaching forward to wrap around his cock, thick and uncut, pulling the skin back as your thumb swipes over the slit of his head, rubbing the precum over the top.

“You’ll pull out,” you assure him with a smile, “don’t worry.”

Eddie nods obediently, suddenly aware of how fast his heart was racing, watching you position yourself over his lap, his hands raising up to squeeze at your hips nervously, chin tilted down in awe.

“Waitwaitwait,” Eddie interjects, eagerly waving you forward with a hasty motion of his hand, “c’mere.”

You’ll bite, leaning forward obediently, he latches his lips onto your neck, gentle kisses that trail slow until he’s reached the valley of your breasts, tongue curling around your nipple before he captures it between his teeth, squeezing dutifully at the other, squealing quietly at the sharp sting of his teeth.

Slowly, his cock presses inside with your guidance.

He chokes out a gasp into your skin, wet and hot against your breasts.

“Shit,” he curses, turning his head to lean against your chest, his hands returning to your hips as you begin a slow, gentle, and manageable pace for him to adjust, but also to allow yourself to adjust to the stretch of him.

Eddie was trying so desperately to not blow his load right there, focusing intently on the steady beat of your heart, fingers tangling into his hair as you kept him tight against your chest and moving your hips in slow circles, occasionally raising your hips for the inevitable descent that made Eddie’s chest tighten.

His moans are broken, soft gasps as you bounce on his cock with an eventual quickened pace, his hands roaming insistently for anything to anchor him, met with your softer gasps and the gentle murmur of his name, “Oh, Ed,” you whine, “you’re doin’ good, I promise.”

He nods dumbly, barely acknowledging your praise as he felt you squeeze down, a cry ripping from his chest as he squeezed tight at your hips, turning his head to look up at you, cradling his face in your hands as he stared you with glazed over eyes, lips flush and parted.

“Baby, I—” He breathes, eyes squeezing shut as your heart clenches at the sight and sound of his voice, “I’m not gonna last, m’sorry—I can’t—you’re so fucking…god,” he groans, his head falling back as he relaxed in your grip and let you take control, controlling the pace until it was nearly unbearable for him, the small hint of tears forming in his eyes as he desperately, but gently shoved you back.

He’s been in this position before, not so long ago, hand gripped tight around his cock and wish you were there—but this is reality even if it seemed like a fucking dream, jerking himself until the pressure at the base of his cock swelled and pushed to the head, coming in long, thick spurts over your stomach, his head rubbing against the skin as he squeezed from base to tip with a fucked-out expression, groaning through the high of his orgasm.

“That was fucking close,” Eddie says after a long pause, watching as you grabbed his hand—specifically a finger and dragging it through one line of his cum and gathered it on his finger, bringing it to your mouth with your tongue presented out, licking the digit clean, “oh, fuck—”

He laughs so hard it makes him cough.

“Fuck, I’m sorry—I didn’t even get to…while we…” Eddie begins, but is quickly silenced by your palm over his mouth, shaking your head insistently.

“I’ll survive,” you tell him, “seriously.”

Eddie laughs again, mostly out of disbelief.

“And here I was, thinking I’d be taking advantage of you.”

You smirked, leaning until you were a hair's breadth away from Eddie’s face, taunting, “Not a chance.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #stranger things #joseph quinn #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x y/n #my writing

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