“you Better Not Be Pattie Boyd In A Cozy Little Hat When I Get There”

one of the most important things, perhaps the most important thing I have learned in my life is that nice people can fuck each other up in monstrous ways. people can be bone deep kind and loving and self reflective and still lash out under pressure. people can be earnestly neighbourly and charitable and hospitable and generous and still find themselves in situations where they become selfish. people can be well meaning and easygoing and gregarious and hold deep seated opinions that turn them into vicious little bullies under the right conditions. nobody is just one thing, and nobody stays one way. every person is a kaleidoscope and they will surprise you. you will surprise yourself. it's not a warning and it's not a judgement and it's not an excuse, and it's certainly not a reason to stop trying or to stop trusting. it is just a fact.

what's he like?

pairing — stepbrother!eddie munson x stepsister!(f)reader

warnings — (18+) this is a soft dark fic with taboo themes. eddie is manipulative and coercive, gonna tag it as dubcon just in case, stepcest smut- fingering, dirty talk, public sex, eddies mean, innocence kink, dacryphilia, grinding (?) i never know how to tag it, eddie uses the readers panties to make her feel good,

word count — 3.2k (accidently double what I was going for)

a’s notes — i’m a pervert. oh and I like the shining !

Eddie Munson isn’t a good guy. He knew it was wrong, but he’s sick and twisted and so very perverted that he’ll sink into those sinful waters with stones tied to his feet if it means he gets to stay. 

An almost sister, far apart enough to break no laws and close enough that it was clearly wrong. Borderline criminal, wholly illicit. But Eddie wasn’t one to deny himself much, not when the world made it so easy; you practically fell into his lap, how was he supposed to ignore the opportunities? 

The infatuation to begin with was immoral but with Eddie’s reputation as the town ‘freak’, he thought what’s another notch on that continuous bedpost? He’ll be the drug dealer, he’ll play the weirdo, he’ll sing of satanic worship and whatever people think he’s capable of and behind closed doors he’ll treat himself to a delicacy so much worse. He’s told time and time again that he is the villain? Fine, he’ll be the villain. 

It’s ironic that you see him as the opposite. 

Family has never meant much to you. The word or the people. The people hardly stuck around and in the end, it became just you and your mother and that was doomed from the start. Your relationship with her was never great and after you both started working jobs to help pay for the roof over your heads it just deteriorated quicker. 

So it was out of the blue when you found out your mum had met someone and you were about to move in with them. She met the guy at her work and they had hit it off immediately, all of that love at first sight stuff that you adored. You had forever read about epic romances and world-shattering love so the idea that your mother, who you may not have been close with, was getting that sounded perfect. Your chance for the family that you dreamt of but never allowed yourself to look at in the harsh light of consciousness. 

Wayne was a nice man. You had no faults. He made your mother happy which was his strongest defender and he was kind, his dry humour made you giggle- when you understood- and he was a gentleman. You would have never expected it from the rumours about his relatives but after spending some time with him, you felt he was the perfect fit for your mum, and for the imaginary idea of your future. 

The rumours in Hawkins spread quicker than fire. At school, you kept your head down, or in a classic, and tried to be kind and polite whilst saying few words, so whatever was the big gossip of the week you never really cared about. 

It’s why you didn’t have any hesitations about Eddie. Sure the stories and list of offences against him were vicious but every time you looked up, if he caught your eye, he was stepping out of the way so girls could pass and hugging his friends with that adorable dimpled smile of his. The rumours never held any weight. None of it could be proven before you had met him and decided which truth to follow. And fortunately for both of you, Eddie seemed like an angel. 

It had been just over a month and your fantasy family was dripping into reality. More like pouring, every time you spent more time together it felt like everything would begin to sparkle as you’d read about. It made you fuzzy that you and your step-brother were the closest. Something in you just gravitated towards him and you were always received with welcome arms. Anyone could see that you adored him. To you, he was the strong male character in your life. He’d protected you, looked after you and doted on your constantly. For the first time in your life, you felt special. 

Eddie was your Prince Charming. To you, it was as simple as that. 

And there was no doubt on earth that you were his Princess. Eddie had no shame in flaunting that title around and taking great advantage of its powers. 

For example, using it as a knife to cut down any notions of boyfriends; 

“Princess he’s not good for you, he’s just going to fuck you and leave. You don’t want that do you?” a big hand cradling your teary face, he’s rock hard from looking at your wet lips and matching eyes. 

You shake your head dumbly, “N-No but Eds he said he really likes me.” You sniffled into his arms, feeling the pull to be closer to him more than usual. In such close proximity like this, it’s like you want to be permanently attached to him. Feeling an overwhelming desire to be touching him. 

“Trust me. You’re my princess and I only ever want what’s best for you.” you nod and wrap your arms around his lean torso. 

“Say that you believe me. Say you trust me.” 

Your voice doesn’t shake when you answer him. 

He also uses it as a lasso every time he wants something extra. Reeling you back in as you trail after the name. Utterly and unknowingly addicted to the way the syllables fall from his lips, the way those lips curve because he knows he’s in control. 

It was now Friday night, which had become the night Eddie’s group comes round and they always end up watching a movie. Sometimes you’re invited to stay but tonight you saw that they were watching The Shining and determined to opt for the comfort of your bed. Eddie understood, he’d cuddled you after enough nightmares to know it wouldn’t be for you. 

Which is why he’s so surprised to see you in the doorway. Lit mutely by the TV screen, rubbing your eyes in your little pj’s. The items that haunt his dreams. A thin white baby tee that thins every day by the way he swears your nipples get more noticeable each day, maybe it’s the impure thoughts but who’s to tell, and pink, practically panties you conveniently call shorts. They’re not that short. Eddie just can’t help but notice his hand is just the right size too big to slide under those shorts, or over, or rip them in two through. 

Shattered out of those recurring thoughts, Eddie looks up to you who is already looking at him. “Hi, Princess.” he smiles, becoming you closer with an outstretched arm. 

Your fingertips immediately graze his and work their way up his arm, not before getting distracted by his rings. “Hi, Eds.”

“You okay?”

You nod, staring down at your fingers tracing his tattoos. He’s watching your face, trying to figure out what you want, “Jus’ wanted to see you s’all.” he should’ve guessed. Before Eddie you had never been a contact comfort person, never had anyone to go to when you just need a hug. It was hardly a surprise when everything fell into place and Eddie became that person.

Eddie was your person.

“C’mere.” a simple command that has you rushing over to him. You completely forget everyone else in the room. Letting Eddie’s actions wash over you as he leads you to sit astride his legs, sinking into his back and the arm of the sofa. Watching with heavy eyes as he gets a blanket and throws it over the both of you and completes it all by wrapping his arms around your middle and tugging you into him. 

And then you look up. Eyelids barely focusing but making out the poorly concealed shock on one of the boys’ face. It’s almost movie-like when you watch as the guy beside him leans over and whispers something in his ear. The audience can just about make out a “they’re just close-” or something along those lines. It placates you. Just as the look Eddie is throwing them over your head would, staring at them with a gaze that puts them in their place; they don’t speak about you. 

Your hands are both sitting on his chest, fiddling with the fabric of his black sweater, breathing in the smell that is just Eddie. 

Eddie’s eyes are on the screen. Watching the flickering characters, the action the suspense and the only thing he’s aware of are your fingers pushing into the plush of his clothes and your ass tantalisingly close to his crotch. He would have been able to control himself, after all he’s not alone but when you start to shift and move, he hardly manages to conceal the groan pushing at his vocal cords. You don’t notice because you never notice, blissfully cluelessness of the effect you have on him; and too many other sleazy guys that had tried and failed to pursue you. 

But Eddie never claimed to be a good guy. So what was a little indulgence?

When the sensation of his hand moving on your leg catches your attention it’s because it keeps moving. Usually, he just draws patterns on your skin but this time the patterns extend. Instead of twisting back on themselves they keep going, up from your ankle blooming dangerously close to your inner thigh when they rest on the crease between your thigh and torso. And then he squeezes. 

The squeak that leaves you is surprised and loud enough for Eddie to hear you, immediately grinning and fighting to keep his eyes from rolling. You hope in vain that he didn’t hear but when he squeezes again you know he did. 

A chaste kiss is pressed into your hair before his lips dip, “Can you be quiet for me?” his fingers start to move again, dipping lightly into the insides of your thighs and then moving back. You look up at him with wide eyes, questioning him- what he was doing, what this was. “I need you to keep quiet. Because I’m gonna touch you and I want it to be our secret ‘kay?” 

His stare leaves no room for consideration and usually, that would work, but when his long fingers start trailing over the cotton underwear you have on, your brows furrow, “Eddie, this is- we can’t.” something in you knows its wrong and you use that to try and scrape away the sick pleasure you’re already receiving. 

On the screen there’s blood on the walls and enough violence to make you cry so when you turn to look at the noise, Eddie’s large palm is there sweeping your vision back to him. And maybe it affects your judgement, because the action reminds you: Eddie is always protecting you, he knows what’s best, at least that’s what he’s always said. He’s done nothing to contradict that. When you do see him it softens you further. His eyes are like black holes, a pixel of the TV screen in them. It’s unsurprising when you get swallowed up by them, rendering into nothing beneath his gaze. 

He smiles, his hand has found home on your face again and his thumb sweeps under your eyes, and then his gaze melts into something darker. Like ink to oil, he says, “Princess. I know you’re not saying no to me.” 

And he’s right. 

Because then his fingers graze the sodden fabric and you’re caught red-handed. You want to cry, you want to hide, and he lets you for a moment. You want to get away but you’re nestling into his body confusing your mind further. You don’t know what you want. But Eddie does. 

“I know little one, I know.” he shushes you, appearing the comforting big brother as he strokes your hair and looks uninterested. All the while his fingers have explored to the band of your panties. They finger the little bow on them, he smiles to himself because it’s just so you. He takes ahold of the elastic band and you twist the fabric in your hand in confusion. 

You mumble something under your breath and Eddie doesn’t even feign attention, he carries on playing with you. With a harsh grip on the front of your panties, Eddie pulls them up towards you. The angle of the fabric means it’s rubbing directly on your clit, pulling everything tight, making you throb. Eddie watches what he can see; your little hands scratching him through his sweater and the way you curl in towards him, legs drawing up and thighs tensing around his hand. He knows how inexperienced you are, he has a list of everything he wants to teach you. This being one of them. 

Perhaps he should have waited longer, maybe this wasn’t the right time, but all of a sudden he feels your smaller hand encompassing his wrist, keeping him there. At the gesture he smiles, hiding it in your hair and kissing your head softly, because Eddie really does care for you; but he’s going to treat you like he doesn’t. 

That’s what he does for a while, manipulating the fabric to make you whimper. It’s causing you to drip. You can feel your button throbbing against the mean material and you wish it didn’t feel good. It shouldn’t feel good. It’s weird and it’s worse that it’s Eddie doing it; your step-brother. None of this is right, but you don’t release his hand, you can stop from clenching around nothing. You feel entirely powerless, the only thing you can do is try and turn your mind off and pretend the two of you are alone. 

But of course, the world has a cruel sense of humour. 

“Hey, Eddie, is she okay?” one of Eddie’s friends, his name the furthest thing from your mind given your current state, leans towards the pair of you to share his concern. He nods his head in your direction and there’s a questioning glint in his eyes as he looks at your brother. 

From his perspective it looks like you’re crying, your chest moving with added weight and your head has hardly left Eddie’s chest. A hand comes down to stroke your hair, the other concealed by the blanket still moves, and you feel Eddie’s sternum rise to reply. 

He drops his voice, playing into his part, “Oh yeah, she’s all good, jus’ had a nightmare.” he nods as his friend releases the subject. Returning his focus to the screen. 

Eddie should have stopped. But deep down, or not that far, neither of you wanted him to. Deft fingers crawl from their original place, smoothing down the fabric to cup you through it. His fingers move as he traces the outline of your lips, your clit, even going as far to prod at your hole over the top of the fabric. 

It makes you whine his name, he’s playing with you and it’s mean. You won’t ever tell him to stop, especially not when he’s rubbing over the fabric. But you lie nonetheless. 

Lifting your lips closer to his ear, “Eds, we shouldn’t. I don’t wanna get in trouble.” it’s pathetic and you both know it. 

Your hand is hardly pushing him away. His wrist is enveloped in your soft fingers, that just rest on the skin as if just to hold him, to feel him. You try to catch his eye but he’s already shaking his head. His tongue wets his lips as they curve into that smirk again that makes you feel damned. 

He breathes and thinks he’s going to be nice. There is a multitude of sins circling his hazy brain that would be much worse than what he’s going to do to you. It’s not like he doesn’t know he needs to be careful with you. You’re gentle and delicate and as much as he wants to split you open and make you scream on his cock, he won’t just yet. He needs to ease you into it. Thankfully you’re already halfway there. 

“And yet,” he starts, his voice is haunting and dark, disarming you completely with a tone you’ve never heard before, “you’re soaking through your panties, little one.” and it makes you want to cry, the whole situation, his condescending words, everything because he’s right. 

The fabric is ruined with your arousal and when Eddie lifts it to the side it pulls away with slick strings. He huffs a laugh at your broken face, tears welling up already and he’s hardly touched you. Ever since he saw you he knew you’d be heaven to break. 

Eddie dips a finger into the pool of arousal he’s summoned. Coating his digits in before breaching your hole. He’s slow at first but then he gets greedy and he lets himself off the hook because his last line of defence will always be: he wants to be worse. It takes you by surprise when you feel his finger thrust quickly into you, leaving no time in curling the digit until it searches for that special spot that even you haven’t discovered. You both know when he does; a high-pitched squeal leaves your bitten lips at the sensation, immediately pushing your face into his sweater to smother any other humiliating noises. 

Eddie shakes off his friends’ concerned looks and thankfully they don’t pry. Your face feels on fire and you submit to the torture as Eddie strokes and rubs at that spot. The blanket helps to smother the noises. You can hear them minutely, it’s overwhelming, the wet sopping noises coming from your cunt and Eddie’s fingers which are by now soaked in your desperation. 

He revels in it. The way your moans drown into his body, the hiccups he knows soon will turn in to sobs, you react so beautifully and he can’t help but feel it was meant to be. In a perverted way he thinks this is right, what he should be doing. And even if he knows perhaps morally its not, you clenching around his finger rhythmically is enough persuasion to carry on. 

Before long he’s sliding in another finger. Your eyes clench at the intrusion, not because its painful but because of how easy it went in. The whole thing is humiliating and you’re closer than ever. 

Jack Nicholson has an axe on screen, stepping up the stairs to the beat of Eddie’s thumb, which is now circling your clit. The two fingers inside you pump as the screen flashes. The man above you, inside of you, speeds up with every sharp camera turn. It’s getting increasingly harder to hold in your noises and Eddie can sense that. 

He does it unthinkingly and its ironic that thats the thing to break you. Something incidental. His hand leaves its place on your head and his thumb mindlessly slots into your mouth, muffling your pathetic noises. When he brings his hand up to keep it in there, it becomes the triggering sensation. 

Now Eddie is struggling to stay silent. At first he focuses on the way your cunt grips his fingers. Your clit pulsating under his thumb. Making it impossible to pull them out until your orgasm ceases. But then he feels something wet on his neck. And he realises that you’re fucking crying. 

He desperatly claws at breathing slowly and focusing his gaze on the screen, trying to figure out whats happening in the movie. But its futile. Nothing can take his mind away from the fact that you came so hard you’re mewling into his neck, wet little hole crying for him too, and it’s you. 

Once your orgasm slows its attack on your body you lay limp in his arms. Exhausted and high, you stay like that until the movie ends. 

You both know it was wrong. That it shouldn’t happen again, and you were going to try to do the right thing. But Eddie, well, 

Eddie Munson was a bad guy.

a’s notes — please reblog i beg of you WITH TAGS

kofi <3

1991 Anglo American Eyewear Frog Sunglasses (via: Pinterest/archive.org)

- devil's advocate -

pairing: eddie munson x reader (no prns)

word count: 3.9k

content: spoiler free, sex but no smut (i'm struggling to commit to smut), tutor troupe, swearing, smoking, drinking, my rusty writing and horrible attempt to write from the r-r-r-readers perspective 🤢 also tw the reader is good at math

summary: after hooking up with eddie munson 3 seperate times in a month and never talking about it, you somehow get stuck tutoring him.

a/n: im alive i promise. are any of my followers alive? no. but i am.

Hooking up with Eddie Munson was a one time thing. 

Ok, maybe, a two time thing.

Well, if you were being honest with yourself, it was a three time thing. Three times in one month.  

It was supposed to happen once. 

Never once did you anticipate ever speaking to Eddie ever again after walking up to him at Vicki Carmicheal’s party. When he stepped closer, his alcohol-tainted breath fanning on you, you guessed he thought the same. You didn’t even think you would remember the night when you closed the gap.

—

“Eddie Munson, stay after class.” 

Thankful that you weren't in Eddie’s shoes, you gathered your stuff to leave school for the day with the rest of the class. 

“Oh,” your teacher’s eyes left his laptop to scan over the room, “And Y/n L/n.” 

—

At the bonfire, when your blurred vision picked up the brown curls of Eddie Munson, you attempted to ignore heat that surged across your body. You blamed it on the alcohol. You blamed the way his chest wavered as he locked his eyes with you on the alcohol. Alcohol is what guided your hands under his shirt and what pushed his body flush to yours. You would blame a lot of what you did that night on the alcohol.

—

A tense silence stuffed the classroom as you, Eddie, and your teacher sat awkwardly across from each other. Eddie was intensely avoiding eye contact and you tried to keep your leg from bouncing as you all waited for somebody to speak.

“Mr. Munson,” your teacher started, “You, my boy, have the lowest grade out of any student of Hawkens High enrolled in Algebra 2.” He let his statement linger in the air, allowing the both of you to absorb his words, then, he continued.

“But, since I really do believe in you, I’ve taken it upon myself to get you a tutor until your grade has improved.” 

You could practically see Eddie's face curl up in anguish. 

“Am I not allowed to pick my own?”

Your teacher shook his head slowly, “No. I have picked out the perfect candidate.” 

—

When you heard Eddie Munson was coming to Hagan’s new years party, you couldn’t deny the flutter of excitement that had danced around your chest. His being tainted your head as you got ready, your eyes trained to how he would see you. A flash of him interrupted every blink. His voice whispered in your ear. Ghosts of touch lingered on your skin. 

When you finally got to the party, your eyes dodged every other person there, since they were desperately darting around. Music pumped through your veins as you grabbed a cup of whatever was in the punch bowl, eyes still scanning the room. Downing it as fast as you could, you let the buzz of the booze wash over you and resumed your search. A glimpse of leather, a black and white baseball tee, a flash of red. Finally, he was in frame. 

Your breath caught as his eyes slowly moved over your form, shyly meeting your own. Multi-colored lights glided across his body, his white shirt so shear the ink of his tattoos could be seen through it. Music drowned out your heartbeat. You could feel the blush that crawled up your cheeks, Eddie's own color reflected back. Carefully, you let one foot float in front of the other and walked over to Eddie. Alcohol already fusing with your body, you let your hand casually hook around his belt loop. Using your new connection, you guided him out of the house, a smirk pulling on the corner of Eddie’s lip as he let you lead.  

“Not even gonna say hi first,” he scoffed, hands raised. 

“We can talk when I’m high,” you countered, sitting down behind Mr. Hagan’s shed, and desperately attempting to cover up your flustered expression from the adrenalin. 

Eddie dawned a faux-concerned expression. “I think this drug problem is getting really serious.” 

“Shut up Munson.” 

His smirk reformed as he pulled out that stupid rusty box, and rummaged through it until he found a pre and a lighter. After straightening it out a bit, he gently placed the joint between his teeth. Each satisfying swipe of the lighter dragged your eyes down to his lips. The flame that danced over the sides of the joint lured your gaze to stray from Eddie’s deep eyes to focus on his mouth as he exhaled a puff of smoke, letting some stream into his nose.

After a couple more hits, he held the joint out to you between two fingers, glazed eyes watching the stars. You gratefully accepted it, attempting to clear your mind of the vision of the moonlight cascading down his face, sculpting each dip and grove. You breathed deep when your lips were sealed around the filter, letting the smoke fill your lungs. Each hit brought you back to him. Back to how close you were seated, how his leg felt against yours, how he'd begun to slide his hand closer to you.

His hand lingered above your exposed thigh, just grazing it with the skin of his palm. Chills swept down your legs as the cool metal of his rings brushed across your skin, and you could feel the curve of his satisfied smile at your reaction as he leaned into your shoulder. His hand carefully curled around your leg, slowly gliding its way up. 

“What are you doing Eddie,” you whispered. 

He replied lowly, so close you could feel each syllable against your skin as they left his lips, “Whatever you want me to.” 

—

The sound of yours and Eddie's shoes against the deserted linoleum of the school hallways was unnerving. Binders and spiral notebooks dug into your skin as you gripped them, hands white knuckled and clammy. You could just barely feel the denim of his jacket brush against your arm, and you half wished he would move further away as you walked. 

You had to tutor Eddie fucking Munson. Your teacher hadn’t spared either of you a moment before sending you off to the library, giving you just enough time to overthink the next hour. 

It wasn’t easy being near Eddie. You two had never interacted outside of sex, and it was difficult to interact normally, acting as if nothing had happened. But what were you supposed to say? How do you approach a conversation about that? Not even just that though, how do you approach any conversation with somebody you’ve never even spoken to outside of sex? You’ve never even had a conversation with him sober. Was he even going to listen to you teach? Would his whole view and respect for you be skewed? And how on earth were you supposed to talk to him when such a striking mix of weed and cologne permanently emanated from him. Your brain probably wouldn’t even work well enough to teach him math. 

He seemed fine. That familiar stupid smirk hung on his face as he held the library door open for you with a flourish.

The thank you said in return probably counted more as mouthing than speaking. 

Acutely aware of his intense gaze on you, you awkwardly led him to one of the old chipped tables in the corner of the library, far away from any remaining students. Your chair creaked as you pulled it out, breaking the silence you and Eddie had been drowned in since you left class. You finally unclamped your hands from around your notebooks and began to lay them out on the table busily while Eddie fished around in his pocket for something. 

Turns out it was a singular dull pencil without an eraser. 

“Alright,” you said uncertainly, sitting down and trying to organize your brain, “Um… where do you want to start?” 

“You’re the teacher here, where should we start?” 

Of course he was gonna make this difficult. 

“Ok. Fine.” You shuffled your papers around, not really for any reason, just to bide yourself some time. “Do you have any questions about today’s lesson?” 

His face instantly slipped into a deep troubled pondering expression. One that was much too dramatic for Eddie to be serious. “What did we learn?” 

“Matrices and transition graphs,” you almost deadpanned.

Gears began to visibly turn in his head, and he muttered, “Matrices and transition graphs… ahh…”

“You have no clue what those are, do you?” 

“Not one.” 

You sighed, not even shocked, not even angry. It was honestly sort of tough to conceal your smile. 

“I'm going to be your tutor for a while, aren't I." 

He shot you a grin, “Only if I have it my way.” 

—

Tutoring Eddie Munson was alright. 

That’s what you told to anybody who asked.

In reality, tutoring Eddie Munson was much more than alright. 

You had never really ever been around somebody like him. He exuded a disconcerting aire of cocky but comforting, cool but offbeat. At every moment when you thought that he would finally upset you, he would wheel in the exact opposite direction, driving your emotions through a startlingly enjoyable route. 

Shockingly, he was pretty easy to talk to. Never once did your past encounters get brought up, which you were endlessly grateful for, and he treated you just like any of his friends, with respect and kindness, which could not be said for some of your other past hookups. He said hi to you in the halls and smiled at you from across classes, he learned your favorite music and what food you hated, he made an effort to know you. Tutoring him barely felt like work. Most of the time that you spent teaching him math was overlaid with chatting mindlessly and giggling as he tried to secretly count on his fingers. Sometimes you could waste whole tutoring sessions listening to some grand dramatic story he told as he bounded around your table, morphing into different characters and voices, putting on a full one-man show before you. 

He was also, completely and utterly, gorgeous. 

The way his hair draped delicately over his shoulder, how his necklaces dangled from his skin as he leaned over the table, when he would tilt his head to the side as he listened, the glimpses of his tattoos. Every word you spoke and every syllable you uttered had his undivided attention as you talked, big brown eyes gazing at you, taking in every feature. 

On cloud-free days, the sun would beam down through the tall library windows onto the dark oak of the table you had both claimed and would reflect off of the silver of his rings. They would glint distractingly as Eddie wrote, catching your eye at every shift. It happened so often you had now memorized his usual jewelry selections. A great ugly boar rested on his middle finger, accompanied by one skull ring on either side. On his other hand, an ornate ring with patterns that curled up the side and cradled a deep blue stone in the center.

He knew you were staring at his hands, but you didn’t care.

His unflinching reaction towards your gaze gave you just enough of a push to one day ask, “Could I… try on one of your rings?” 

His eyebrows raised in shock, “You want to wear my jewelry? This is quite out of character…”  He flashed a toothy grin at you from across the table, “I love it.”

“Thanks for reminding me how much you love the real me,” you deadpanned, ignoring the excitement that was bubbling up your chest. 

“Forever and always,” another shining grin, “Now…” he said dramatically, face suddenly darkening, “Which one will you choose… your whole reputation depends on this one decision.” He waved his hands around with a flourish. “Will you still have your student’s respect after this? Will anybody ever talk to you again? We will see..” His hands stilled in front of you, and he held them out to give you a clear view of each band.

You put one hand up to your chin, miming contemplating the choice, and let your other hand drop down to his own, taking one finger and guiding it across his knuckles. His chest completely stilled.

“Hmmm…”

Your finger came to a halt over the intricate ring with the blue jewel. Eddie’s smile reformed and he faintly exhaled as your finger lost contact with his skin. 

“Good choice,” he said, not looking up at you. His eyes were trained at his own hand, slowly twisting the band off of his ring finger. They continued to avoid yours as, to your surprise, he didn’t give you the ring after he had freed it from his own finger. 

He took your right hand in his, his skin gently curving around your own, and brought his thumb beneath your ring finger, lifting it above the others. Your chest began to heat up at the delicacy with which he delivered this, and you urgently tried to blot out the earlier instances when Eddie had held you with the same touch. It felt like he was barely grazing your skin, and yet you could feel, with a searing intensity, each joint of each of his fingers shifting under your flesh, curling and stilling around you. 

Chills shot up your spine as the cool metal of the chosen ring finally met your skin, and at last, Eddie raised his eyes to meet your own. They remained riveted on yours as his fingers guided the band down your finger and, though the ring was fully fastened, his fingers remained resting against your skin. He let them stray up, delicately brushing against you as he cradled your hand.

The raw air chilled your skin when he drew away. 

You’re grateful he didn't say anything when you left that session with the ring still fixed around your finger, because you don’t think you could’ve gone through that again anytime soon. 

That night, you slept thinking of Eddie’s touch.

—

The issue with Eddie was, despite your best efforts, he would never leave your thoughts. Every sense was occupied non stop by his smell, his voice, his gaze. Intoxicatingly, you overdosed on every part of him, eventually giving up on blocking his presence and allowing him to consume each and every thought you produced.

He seemed to know that even after you left him, he remained a permanent fixture in your mind. It was written in his smug smile and his playful jabs, the knowing. 

His presence was so constant that it must’ve been on purpose. 

Each little thing. Him using your pencil casually during school, knowing you could see. Never mentioning the ring that still lay on your finger, allowing you the chance to keep it. The glances down your being as you passed, catching him staring across the class, touches that lasted far too long. He wanted you to be thinking of him.

There were nights when you, under the golden light of your desk lamp, would open your notebook to doodles dotted around the edges of your paper, snuck in while you were focused on something else. The pages of anything you brought to tutoring were lined with cartoonish devils and creatures with many legs and sharp teeth that lined their roaring mouths that Eddie had thought up. Vines curled around the lining of the page, and a little mix-matched group of elvis and wizards dashed across the top margin. In the very bottom corner, tucked between a crude drawing of a smiling clown and an ornate sword, was a drawing he seemed to have put a bit more time into. 

The more you examined it, the stronger that recognizable heat radiated across your chest. It was a bust's profile, with the head tilted slightly down and brows furrowed in concentration, pen carefully structuring the swooping bridge of a nose and curvature of lips. 

It wasn't flawless, but there was no mistaking that it was you.

That night, you slept thinking of Eddie’s thoughts. 

—

Eddie’s math grades had actually begun to improve, and in class you watched with pride as he started to listen to your teacher, sometimes even taking notes. He would show you his math tests with a huge smile, genuinely excited to see how you would react at his new shiny high score. 

Mid-way through April, he sauntered into the library, horribly concealing the giddy expression that was forming on his face and a hand behind his back. 

You inquired, your face beginning to reflect his smile, "Something terrible happen to you, Ed?"

“Oh it’s nothing,” he said, drifting around the table as if he was wandering through a lush garden, “just… this!” and the hand that had been hidden behind his back whipped out to reveal a paper with a great red “93%” scrawled on it. 

“Eddie!” you sprung out of your chair and ran over to where he was to snatch the paper out of his hand. “This is fucking g-” 

But before you could finish your sentence, he flung his arms around you and drew you into a hug. “I’m a genius now, thanks to you,” he whispered into your ear, as you brought your arms up to loop around his back. 

“You don't even need me anymore,” you whispered back, trying to fight the urge to bury your head into the crook of his neck. 

Eddie pulled away abruptly, looking at you as if you had just slid a knife into his chest. “Don’t you try and get rid of me.” His face was inches from yours, hands dropping to rest against your hips instead of fully pulling away. You let your head tilt to the side gently.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” 

He shook his head with a faux-anxious aire, “I’m gonna have to start failing my tests again so that you can’t escape, aren’t I?” 

You could barely even focus on what he was saying because of how vividly you were aware of how his hands rested against your jeans, how you could smell the weed in his hair and the leather of his jacket, how he hadn’t broken eye contact since he pulled from the hug. 

His smile had finally returned to his face, he had gone off on some tangent and was animatedly talking, clearly still giddy from his test score. That smile had become a very important part in your life as of late. They weren’t rare or extreme, but they were somehow better every time. 

That night, you slept thinking of Eddie’s being. 

—

Liking Eddie Munson was hard. 

Eddie Munson sticks to what he knows. Eddie Munson gets bored easily. Eddie Munson won’t ask you out. 

You knew he was going to Steve Harington’s birthday party. You didn’t know how he even managed to get invited but you knew he was going. And he knew that you were going too. 

But when you got to Steve’s house, he was nowhere to be found. You had spent the first 30 minutes, walking around and making brief conversation with people as you half-searched for Eddie. As you made your way around the house, still unable to find him, you began asking people off-handedly if they had seen the freak (under the pretext of giving him his math homework back). The few answers that you received that weren’t weird looks got you nowhere, and eventually you found yourself finally just aimlessly roaming through the upper floors of the Harringtons' house. 

It was useless. The top level was completely empty, save for a rather awkward encounter with Nancy and Steve as they were leaving his bedroom, and you knew it was time to leave. At the very least, you needed some fresh air if you weren't going to entirely go, so you returned to the first floor and into the foyer.

You flung the front door open with a huff and your eyes landed on a figure that was standing on the porch of the house across the street. Cigarette haze clouded around him, catching the moonlight in its smoke and giving him an almost dreamlike glow as he let his head hang back. Despite yourself, you let his name fall from your lips, shouting across the empty street, “Eddie?” 

He casually swung himself around to face you, eyes foggily making their way to meet your own, lighting up as they cleared. A smile had begun to spread across his face and he lifted up his hand to beckon you to him. Slowly, you floated across the abandoned road and up the few stairs to the neighbors porch, leaning over the balcony railing and basking in the cool spring night that you both found yourself in. Eddie gently leaned his back against it, taking a drag from his half finished cigarette as he did so. 

“Do you wanna go on a walk with me?” 

You didn’t try to hide the grin that tugged at your lips. “Where to?” 

“Just around,” he said with a shrug and a smile, and he set off, one hand deep in his pocket and smoke billowing from his lips. Following behind him, you quickly caught up and paced beside Eddie, melting into the mix of collonge and cigarettes that exuded from him. 

The faint murmur of music could still be heard coming from the street, pumping adrenaline and impulse through your bones as if it was the cold itself. You, again, could feel the leather of Eddie's jacket brushing against your bare arm, static branching from the skin. Lonely street lamp’s glow glinted on the shining leather and in the brown of his averted eyes. 

Eddie broke the silence first, eyes trained at the stars.

“I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately.” He let out some smoke with a puff. 

It took you a while to recover enough words to form a sentence in reply and, thankful for Eddie's avoidance of eye contact, you let yourself breath before giving an answer. 

“What… about me?” You tried to come off as nonchalant but you could tell he could hear the tenseness dripping off your voice. 

“About” and it was his turn to waver now, sucking in an uneven breath that you could only just hear, “your… whole being.”

He pushed his head into his hands and let out a laugh. An actual, honest, almost desperate, laugh. “Every waking moment I’ve ever spent with you,” he continued, “Every word you’ve ever spoken, every time you’ve ever looked in my direction.” With each word he spoke he seemed to be in less and less control of what he was saying, more and more frenzied.

You hadn’t moved. You stood stagnant, in the middle of the empty street, streetlights spotlighting you and him, blacking out the rest of the world into dark expanse, and stared at Eddie Munson as he said words you couldn’t dream of and looked at you like he never had before. 

As Eddie stood just inches before you, a lock of hair caught between his teeth, looking at you for a response with worry etched deep in his features. You knew what you wanted to say, and when you breathed in and readied to reply, you just hoped it would come out how you wanted it to. 

“Eddie,” you reached out and took his hand, “Would you go on a date with me?” 

The worry that had felt so ingrained in his face dropped at all at once, and he gazed at you, lips slightly parted and eyes wide. 

“Did you mean that?” he whispered, so softly it was barely audible.

You let your forehead meet his, “Of course.”

When he spoke again his voice came out almost strained, as if he was trying to stay calm, "Then yes, yes, yes-" and, finally, he closed the gap between your lips, cupping your face and pressing against you like it was the last thing he would ever do.

And in that glorious moment it became very clear to you, hooking up with Eddie Munson was definitely not a one time thing.

send me song recs and i'll respond with:

couldn’t listen all the way through | not my thing | it’s okay | kinda catchy | ok i really like this | downloading immediately | already in my library

from Tiny Beautiful Things, adapted for the stage by Nia Vardalos. 

getting that august feeling (things that have ended endlessly are ending again)

TEAR YOU APART (Eddie Munson x Reader)

I want to hold you close / Soft breasts, beating heart  / As I whisper in your ear  / I want to fucking tear you apart

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Type: Multi-Part (1/?)

Word Count: 1.8K

Overview: He knew every single button to push to piss you off. He was arrogant, obnoxious, and impossible. You were cold, unavailable - a nightmare. So why couldn’t you keep your hands off each other?

Content: (Series) Slow-burn, enemies to lovers; smut (minors DNI or I’ll egg your house); no S4 context, but there may be some in the future. (Chapter) Mean!Eddie, dom!Eddie, brat!Reader, fem!Reader, v fingering, roughness/spanking, orgasm denial, a bit of degradation for zest. 

Chapter Summary: Hawkins’ Battle of the Bands was the only night of the year that the Hideout pulled a crowd. Your band was neck-and-neck with Corroded Coffin, and tensions were running high.

A/N: If you want additional parts, please let me know! I have an idea for several more chapters, but want to gauge interest first. Consider this a teaser.

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