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waywardrose-archive · 1 year

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THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY | 15

stranger things

eddie munson x reader

rated e

spotify playlist

for @punk-in-docs

fem/witchy/goth!reader, magic, slow burn (for me), friends to lovers, no y/n only pet names, series-typical horror, period-typical sexism and homophobia, historical inaccuracies and anachronisms, drug dealing and use, smoking, alcohol use, masturbation, mutual masturbation, fantasizing, one-bed trope, making out, fingering, dirty talk, consensual pursuit and capture, oral sex, handjobs, condoms, piv sex, reader’s father is a dirtbag, mild spanking, magical violation, mental torture, body horror, aftercare, nightmares, strict parenting, panic attack, past child abuse and abandonment, semi-public sex, break-ups, angst with a happy ending, tags will be updated as needed

Eddie would have to wait until his lunch break to see this new, hot, weird chick. He wondered which flavor of weird she was. Art weird? Theater weird? Band weird?

Weird weird?

He shrugged. He liked weird.

In other words, you’re the new girl in town, and Eddie is intrigued.

note: More angst, but it’ll be worth it, I promise.

During the last Study Hall of the semester, Sheryl had revealed the secret New Year’s Eve party happening at this abandoned burger joint, Benny’s, on the outskirts of town. Everyone was going to be there. She’d been invited by Chance Lang, #23 on the basketball team. His parents were away on some couples-only cruise.

If everyone was going to be there, you’d joked, it wasn’t much of a secret. She, Heather, and Christy laughed. You’d smiled with a shrug. Heather had then teased Sheryl about her crush on Chance, saying the party was Sheryl’s opportunity to ride her way to prom queen. Sheryl had fluttered her hands as she stated the whole senior class knew who was going to be prom queen — and it wouldn’t be her.

You’d looked between the three of them and asked who they meant. Heather leaned in, Christy and Sheryl copying her. You leaned in as well. Sotto voce, Heather said Chrissy Cunningham was a sure bet for prom queen. After all, Chrissy Cunningham was the queen of Hawkins High.

Chrissy Cunningham sat diagonally from you in Western Lit. She was one of the least exasperating cheerleaders you’d ever encountered. At first, you’d avoided anyone who’d be featured in the athletics section of a yearbook. However, she was kind and humble. She’d even complimented your nail polish one time, which you thanked her for and told her the color.

She now sat on the second-hand sofa with her All-American boyfriend, Jason Carver. Chrissy sipped from a red cup that was most likely filled with Diet Coke. She didn’t seem the beer-chugging type. In contrast, Jason held a Pabst can high as he pontificated. The jocks lounging around them cheered when he said something particularly rousing.

Jason was a preacher without a pulpit, desperate for each hosanna to feed his bloated ego.

Keeping your annoyance to yourself, you filled your cup from the bucket of jungle juice at the old pick-up counter. Nearby, a game of beer-pong went into overtime. Heather and Christy were in the group of spectators. You joined them, bumping your elbow with Christy’s.

She brightened as she greeted you, her eyes glittering under the multiple strands of Christmas lights.

Heather curved around her to say, “Hey.”

“Hey,” you said, though the shouting spectators drowned you out. Christy got your attention and moved closer to speak in your ear. You smelled the whiskey-and-Coke on her.

“Look who’s talking to Chance Lang.”

You followed her gaze across the main room. Sheryl and Chance were talking. Beside them, a few guys played Horse at the indoor basketball hoop. Sheryl nodded at something Chance said. He pantomimed some sportsball maneuver that had her laughing and touching his forearm. Chance grinned, pleased with himself, and cocked a hip.

You shared a look with Christy before giggling with her.

The crowd roared as the beer-pong game ended. A fellow spectator knocked into Heather, who knocked into Christy, who then knocked into you. The three of you staggered together and laughed.

“God, I need another drink,” said Heather, with a nod towards the kitchen.

“Yeah, let’s go,” you said before leading the way around the crowd.

Christy latched onto your sleeve like a duckling.

In the kitchen, a couple made out by the defunct walk-in while a few people blew rails on the metal counters. Bottles of beer and wine coolers sprouted from the melting ripples of ice filling the industrial-sized sinks. Heather pulled a beer from the ice, placed the underside of the cap on the counter, and knocked the cap off. The beer foamed and dripped onto the already-sticky tiled floor.

You tapped your cup against her bottle as a toast and chugged your drink. No amount of fruit punch could disguise the burn of alcohol. You shook your head, nose scrunching, as you swallowed the last of the jungle juice. That must’ve been two or three shots at once.

You groaned, “Fuck.”

Christy shimmied behind you to fix herself another whiskey-and-Coke as Heather offered you a wildberry wine cooler. It wasn’t good to mix different drinks, but who the hell knew what was in that batch of jungle juice.

You tossed your cup into the rolling trashcan in the corner, making a clean shot. A random guy encouraged you to join the next round of beer-pong. You brushed off the encouragement with a laugh, because you weren’t pouring beer on top of jungle juice. Despite the adage of ‘liquor before beer, you’re in the clear,’ you’d never been that lucky.

Wine coolers, though? Those were fine.

You turned to the counter to try Heather’s technique for uncapping a bottle. After a few thumps, the cap remained firmly attached. Heather snickered when you made a face at her and asked for help. She angled the bottle and showed you how to hit it with the heel of your hand.

As you nodded, the backdoor opened. A gust of cold along with a familiar, deep voice had a shudder going down your spine.

“Close the goddamn door!” screeched a nose duster.

You squared your shoulders and struck the cap. It popped off and sailed to the floor. Heather and Christy cheered as your wine cooler fizzled. You faked a laugh before the three of you toasted and drank.

Eddie said he could attend — and sell — if Corroded Coffin didn’t have plans. You guessed they didn’t. He most likely hadn’t expected you to show. True, a party hosted by jocks with shitty music taste wasn’t really your scene. However, you didn’t want to stay at home to have a glass of champagne with your parents, then find the right moment to leave before your father began reviewing his upcoming plans for the year — or coax you into praising your Christmas gifts again.

This year they’d given you cash, a few movies on your list, a new stereo for your car, and your own phone line.

Mom planned to call the phone company on Friday to schedule a tech visit. You’d wanted to tell her there was no point. The person you’d been tying up the main phone line with wouldn’t be calling until April. Or maybe ever.

“Oh!” said Christy as the backdoor clunked shut. “I think Munson’s dealing out there. You want to split the cost of a few joints?”

You pulled a five-dollar bill from your pocket and gave it to her.

“Sure, you two go ahead. I gotta pee.”

Which wasn’t completely untrue, but you weren’t ready to see him yet.

“Sweet!” Christy said and boogied to the backdoor.

Heather paused to ask, “You’ll be okay?”

You nodded and pasted on a smile.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine! I’ll meet you out front.”

She clinked her bottle with yours, her expression reassuring.

“If you’re not out there in ten, I’m coming to get you.”

With a smile, you said, “Hey, it all depends on the line.”

She smirked as you backed away.

On the way to the bathroom, you gave a thumbs-up to Sheryl, who’d joined Chance at the basketball hoop. She gave you an excited smile that was all teeth and twinkling eyes.

The line for the bathroom was short. While no one had puked over the toilet, the bathroom stank of old urine and boy-funk. As you washed your hands, you checked your hair and makeup in the graffitied mirror. You looked as good as you had when you’d left the house. You dried your hands on the sides of your jeans, collected your half-full wine cooler, and left the bathroom.

The main room was growing stuffy, smelling of beer and weed and those solid air fresheners. Smoke hung in the air and enhanced the cones of light from random lamps. You wove through the throngs of people until reaching the fogged front door.

Outside was brisk and sobering. A couple argued under the lone sodium light illuminating the parking lot. You breathed deep the crisp air to brace yourself for facing Eddie. You’d have to see him eventually, since you two shared a class. Better to get it over with now when you had the barrier of people and alcohol.

You rounded the concrete planter bed at the side of the building. Eddie leaned on a support post for the backdoor roof, back to the parking lot. Which was a relief. The tail of his flannel shirt hung beneath his jacket and vest to hide his ass. His black jeans were faded to the point of being gray. He conversed with Heather and Christy, though it was impossible to tell if they’d finished the deal or not.

Loose rocks crunched under your boots. You cringed at the noise and sidestepped to solid blacktop. Perhaps you could get away with not facing Eddie at all. However, Christy peeked around Eddie’s side, noticed you with a squeal, and skipped to you.

Eddie swung around the post to watch.

So much for not facing him.

You smiled at Christy’s excitement as she told you Eddie had given them a discount.

“How generous,” you said with a glance at him.

Heather sauntered around Eddie, the flawlessly rolled joints in her hand. He snuck a quick look at her back, i.e., he checked out her ass. You wanted to reprimand him with a look, but stopped yourself. Your relationship was paused, which meant he could check out anyone’s ass he wanted.

You could too, though you weren’t inclined.

Heather suggested the three of you claim one of the picnic tables on the other side of the building. Christy complained it was too cold for that.

“If we go back inside, some mooch will want in on these,” Heather said, holding the joints between her fingers.

“Ladies, if I may be so bold,” Eddie said as he approached. “You could avail yourselves of my van.”

With a glare, Heather said, “We’re not fucking you, Munson.”

“Let’s just go to my car,” you said at the same time he said, “It wasn’t a metaphor.”

“What?” Christy asked.

Eddie took his keys from his front pocket. A front pocket with a shiny wallet chain swagged under it. Your mouth went dry.

He offered his keys and said, “I’m not done here, so go smoke and bring them back when you’re done.”

Christy asked, “You trust us?”

He met your eyes briefly.

“Of course.”

You turned to the side and took a drink from your wine cooler.

“Fine,” Heather said and snatched the keys from his hand. “Thanks.”

“Thanks, Eddie,” said Christy.

“I’m parked farther up on Randolph.”

You nodded, murmuring a ‘thanks.’

The three of you turned from Eddie. You took two steps before he called your name. You sighed. Heather frowned when you stopped.

“I got a class with him. It’s probably something dumb,” you said to explain. “I’ll catch up in a minute.”

Christy pulled Heather away, heading across the parking lot.

You faced him — as you dreaded you’d have to — and crossed your arms.

“What?”

“Can I talk to you after the party?” he asked.

“I have to be home by one.”

“I’ll make it quick.”

“I thought you wanted space?”

“I do, but... Throw me a bone here. I want to explain.”

“Okay, fine, bone thrown.”

The corner of his mouth quirked.

“That rhymes.”

“Yeah, I’m the poet laureate of Hawkins, Indiana.” You spun on the ball of your foot. “See you later.”

You caught up with Heather and Christy already walking on the side of the road. Despite the long line of parked cars, it was easy to spot Eddie’s van. Heather unlocked the back doors and threw them open.

“God, it already smells like weed in here,” she said, though she shuffled in while balancing her beer in one hand.

Christy followed her with a giggle. “And we’re gonna make it worse!”

You’d never gotten a good look at the cavernous back of his van. Band equipment had scuffed the carpet. He’d bound cheap, stained blankets to the interior walls with bungee cords. A legless bench-seat sat propped against the driver’s side wall.

“I hope one of you has a lighter,” you said as you cracked a window.

Christy said, “Got us covered, babe.”

You closed the doors after you. Fortunately, a street-light was close enough to shine through the windshield. After you settled next to Heather on the bench-seat, she distributed joints and lit hers. You took the lighter last and twisted the joint as you put flame to rolling paper.

Your muscles loosened with each drag. Heather griped about her younger brother and his crusty socks. With only older sisters, Christy didn’t understand what Heather’s brother did to his socks. She asked if he just didn’t clean his feet. You laughed as Heather explained. Christy’s look of absolute disgust made you laugh harder.

“And your mom washes his gross stuff with everyone else’s!?”

“Well—” Heather coughed through an exhale. “Yeah? It all gets washed in hot water, so...” She shrugged. “Yeah.”

“Ew!”

A moment later, Christy mentioned she’d begun working on a college application essay. Your parents had begun bugging you about writing one, but you didn’t know where you wanted to go. Heather said she was applying to Notre Dame and Indiana University. Maybe Purdue. She said she had the GPA for any of them.

You hadn’t dwelled on college since meeting Eddie. You made decent grades. You could write an essay. The registration deadline for the SAT was in February. If you showed interest, Mom would be thrilled to pay any fee or purchase any study guide.

You could work on an essay too, just in case. There was an expanding-your-horizons angle you could use. You’d moved to a small town, joined the community, learned new things, met different types of people. Yeah, all that had fueled your curiosity to discover more. And whichever colleges you applied to could support you in that, like, pursuit.

That was some decent, ass-kissing bullshit.

You smiled to yourself while Heather and Christy chatted.

But what would you major in? How could you hide your magic from a roommate? If you went, would you ever see Eddie again?

All those questions were hassles you didn’t need. No, you didn’t need to think about that now. You didn’t need to worry. What mattered was enjoying the last night of 1985 and relaxing with people who were becoming more than acquaintances.

You exhaled smoke towards the back window and stretched your legs.

With a side-glance at Heather, you thought it was cool — okay, well, maybe not cool, but it was fine — that Eddie checked out her ass. She was hot. She had a cute ass. More people should appreciate it. When she went to college in a bigger city, people would.

Maybe if you went to college in a bigger city, people would appreciate you. In New York, you’d done pretty well at clubs. You’d heard plenty of pick-up lines. From ‘nice boots, wanna fuck?’ to ‘you’re the girl of my nightmares.’

You finished your joint, nearly burning your fingertips, and threw the tiny roach in your empty wine-cooler bottle.

Yeah, you thought and closed your eyes, you deserved to be appreciated. Not set aside by some dumb, muppet-haired guitarist... who was talented and funny and smart and usually really sweet. A small voice pointed out he’d let you use his van. He’d given you jewelry, which you wore nonstop under your clothes.

Those weren’t the actions of someone setting you aside, were they?

Heather nudged your arm. You hummed and turned your head to her, opening your eyes.

“You ready to head back?” she asked. “It’s a little after eleven.”

“Yup.”

You rolled onto your knees and crawled to the back doors. Someone wolf-whistled. You laughed as you shook your ass in reply.

The air outside tasted fresh and cool, like sparkling frost. You breathed through your mouth to chill your baked throat. The tranquil woods on either side of the road were full of mystery. If you crested the hill to your right, you expected to see a wizard’s castle or an ancient fortress. There was something akin to magic here. It fluttered over your skin, familiar yet arcane.

A slight breeze drifted from the woods, chilling your face, nipping under your jacket. And with it came a sonorous voice, deep with thunder, calling your name. It took the mellow of your high. Your skin crawled as your heart beat rabbit-fast.

Not again.

You hadn’t heard that voice in weeks. At least, you thought you’d heard it a moment ago. It shouldn’t be able to find you, though. Maybe you were really, really high. Also, the magic you’d manifested was different, weaker, so mundane. You didn’t feel really, really high. You had nothing it would want now. It had stolen everything.

Hands shook your shoulders. You flinched from the touch.

“Whoa, hey, oh my god,” said a feminine voice.

It was Christy. You blinked at her and put a hand over one of hers. Christy was safe. It was okay. You were awake. He didn’t have you.

You were just really, really high.

“Sorry,” you said.

“Where’d you go?”

“I...” You swallowed drily. “No-nowhere. Sorry. I just got in my head a little, I think.”

The van’s doors clunked shut. You flinched again, then internally berated yourself. It was only Heather, who was safe too.

Christy released your shoulders, a crease of concern between her brows.

“You know what?” Shaking your head to clear it, you said, “I’m gonna go home. Sleep this off.”

Heather asked, “You sure? I can drive you.”

“No, no, I’m cool to drive.” You nodded to the van. “We’ll leave the keys on the front floor for Eddie to find.”

“It’s okay. We’ll give them to him,” said Christy.

You almost laughed at your absentmindedness. They were returning to the party — where Eddie was.

“Of course, yeah, sure.”

You ambled down Randolph with them, grateful for the company. They asked where you’d parked your car. You replied on Cornwallis, where the woods bordered a sedate neighborhood. Christy commented her sister had gone to a party at King Steve’s — who lived on Cornwallis — before everything went down with that missing kid and the girl who died from some freaky chemical leak.

Your eyes widened at the gossip.

Heather waved that away with an insouciant hand, though, to joke at how close Christy had come to being family with Hawkins royalty. Christy cringed, asking not to be reminded, as she bumped into you. She giggled and looped her arm around yours.

Having noticed your previous expression, Heather told you King Steve was a douche-y jock and former king of the school. You were familiar with the type. Heather continued, saying he’d graduated last year, but still lived with his parents. He’d explained it as wanting to take a year off.

She gave you a loaded, if blurry, look.

You bobbed your head despite not being entirely sure what the look meant.

This was small-town life. There was loads of gossip and labels for everyone. As you looked at the barren trees lining the road, you figured you had a label as well. Probably something dumb, like ‘goth chick’ or ‘weird girl’ — or whatever.

The party was still going hard when the three of you stopped at the restaurant’s turnoff. Van Halen wailed through the half-opened front door. Some dude puked onto the wilted grass by the road. Eddie stood at the building’s backdoor, talking to a guy you recognized from Trig class.

Damn, Hawkins High was a small place.

Heather checked in with you to make sure you were good to drive. Even though you nodded with an assurance you were fine, Christy tried to lure you inside with the promise of snacks. There were chips and pretzels and someone had made a platter of Rice Krispy Treats, but who knew what had happened to those since you’d been gone.

Like, that dude could be spewing chunks of tainted snacks. That was a thing that happened, you were sure. Your reason had nothing to do with the guy selling drugs.

You glanced at said guy. He hadn’t noticed you.

You shook your head, declining Christy’s invitation. She hugged you, regardless. You wished her and Heather a happy new year. They returned the well wishes before you continued down Randolph.

You wrapped your jacket tight around your middle. Maybe you should’ve told Eddie you were back, but you didn’t want to stick around. Not after hearing your attacker. Or hallucinating you had. Your mind was fuzzy, mouth cottony. You hoped your less-than-sober state deterred them — if you’d heard them at all.

And anyway, it wasn’t like Eddie had specified how much later after the party when he’d asked to talk to you. ‘After the party’ could be the same day or a week from then.

Yes, you were being an asshole.

No, you didn’t care. He’d started it.

The road darkened as the distance between streetlights lengthened. You were alone on an ill-lit stretch of road. You placed a hand over the charms Eddie had given you. This wasn’t the same as that night, you reminded yourself. You weren’t the same. Darkness wasn’t the enemy, either — and neither was the woods. It was peaceful.

A male voice interrupted that peace by calling your name. It was Eddie.

Of course.

You turned to see him jogging to you. His hair bounced with each step. His lunchbox swung from his hand. You opened your mouth to ask how he’d worked out you’d left the party. Then it dawned:

Heather had returned his keys.

When you weren’t there with her, he’d put two and two together.

“Leaving without me?” he asked as he stopped a few feet away.

“I was going to do that anyway.”

“Ouch.”

You shrugged since it was true.

He scuffed the heel of his sneaker on the blacktop. You raised your eyebrows at him, though you doubted he could see it. He remained quiet. You could just discern when he bit his lip. Light glinted off the lunchbox. It became obvious he wasn’t going to speak first.

Like ripping off a bandage, you prompted, “You wanted to explain?”

He drew nearer with a deep breath. Your first instinct was to back away, but you held your ground.

“I know I hurt you, but that wasn’t my intention. I thought you’d get it.”

“So, this is on me?”

“No, of course not... You left, though. Before I could explain.”

“So, it’s still on me.”

“No, dammit. Everything came out wrong.”

“Then make it come out right.”

“I’m trying, alright?”

You wanted to tell him to try harder, but that was something your father would say. You weren’t your father. You’d never be like your father.

With a sigh, you put your hands on your hips.

“Just...” You shrugged. “Say what you need to say, and we’ll decipher it.”

“I didn’t— I don’t want to push you away.”

“Then why do you need space?”

“Because I need to focus on making this band the best it can be.”

“And I can’t be there for that?”

“You are there!” He moved closer. “You’re in my head. All the time. You inspire me and distract me. And I don’t know how to balance it out. Distance is the only solution I got until I’m better.”

You dropped your hands to your sides.

“I don’t understand. I mean, I do. Kinda. But I thought we were getting to something good.”

You thought you two were something good.

“Sweetheart,” he said. “We are. We will.”

You shook your head. The sting of a week’s silence had turned into an ache.

“It doesn’t feel that way.”

He put his free hand on top of his head.

“I’m gonna be honest with you here. I think about you every day.”

Your eyes grew hot before tears blurred your vision.

His hand fell from his head as he said, “I’ve picked up the phone to call you so many times, but...”

You blinked the tears away as your chin jutted.

“But you don’t call.”

“Neither do you.”

“You pushed me away! I’m not crawling back to beg for your fucking scraps!”

“My fucking scraps? I’d give you fucking everything. I’m trying to give you fucking everything!”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about being good enough, goddammit!”

“What?”

“You’ve thrown my life... out of whack. The band is unhappy. I haven’t been able to concentrate for shit this past week. I don’t have a new module for Hellfire lined up.” He took a step closer, lunchbox rattling in his hand. “I didn’t ask for this, but I can’t...” He shook his head. “I can’t, ‘cause all I want to do is write songs about you. Talk through ideas with you. Show you some stupid thing I found or read some stupid article to you.”

“Then call me. I don’t have to come over.”

He drew his bottom lip between his teeth. With him this close, it was easy to see when his lip came back wet and full.

“I can’t. I don’t have that kind of willpower.”

“Then why are you telling me this? Just let me go.”

“It’s the difference between torture and agony.”

“Wha—? I don’t—”

“Torture ends, agony doesn’t.”

“And this is fucking torture, Eddie!”

“Yes, and it’ll end, I promise!”

“I’m so sick of this shit!” You threw your arms out. “I didn’t ask for this, either!” You poked his chest with a finger. “I just wanted you.”

He grabbed your hand in both of his as his lunchbox clattered to the ground. You tensed, unsure what to expect. His calluses rasped over your skin. He uncurled your fingers to press your palm to his warm chest.

Softly, he said, “It’s not forever.”

“I’m not putting my life on hold.”

“Good.”

“I’m writing a college application essay and taking the SAT.”

He nodded.

“You’ll do great.”

Before your brain caught up, your mouth said, “My parents got me my own phone line for Christmas.”

“Can I have the number?”

“Only if you promise to call.”

“I promise,” he said as he walked you backwards.

Your rear met the cold steel of a parked car. You leaned against its solid support. The only thing separating your front from his was your arm sandwiched between your chests.

“We shouldn’t do this.”

“Probably not.”

He drew your hand up his chest, under the collar of his flannel, to the side of his neck. His skin was silky and hot. He was giving you the choice: pull him in or restrain him.

He whispered, “Let me touch you.”

“We are touching.”

“Then let me kiss you.”

You glanced at his lips.

“How can we do that if you want space?”

“Forget space for the night.”

“What about tomorrow, huh?”

“It’s not tomorrow.”

You focused on the ringer t-shirt under his flannel. It would be so easy to run your fingers under the collar and tug him against you. And you wanted to. You could see yourself doing it — again and again. You could also see him pushing you away, going silent, then calling when he can’t stand jerking off alone anymore.

“You can’t yank me around like this,” you said.

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. You give me this wonderful Christmas present, then say you don’t want to see me until April. It’s barely been a week, and you want to talk to me. You let me and my friends use your van, then you say I’ve messed up your life. Now you want to kiss me?” You shook your head. “You are yanking me around.”

“I know this is a shit situation, okay? But you gotta see it from my point of view. If the band doesn’t win this battle, we’re toast. We won’t have a clean demo or the money to get out of here...” His eyes turned glassy in the half-light. “I can’t do it, baby, I can’t.”

Your chest tightened in sympathy, but you had to advocate for yourself.

“Well, I can’t have my heart broken every time you need some stress relief.”

“You think it’s a relief to know it’ll hurt you?”

“Then why are you doing this?”

“Because it’s the only way to get the hell out of here with you.”

This circular argument was exhausting. You weren’t the type to make a musician choose between the band and the partner. That wasn’t fair. Eddie had to decide on his own. If you’d moved on, well, that was a risk.

You trailed your hand down his chest, then away.

“You know what? How about you figure out what you want and then come find me?”

You slid from between him and the car, banging your hip on the side-mirror. That must’ve looked super graceful. You rubbed at the sore spot as you trudged to your car.

Eddie called after you, but you couldn’t turn around. It would be too much.

He seized your upper arm to pull you back. In a move you’d only seen in an action movie, you spun around and propelled him to the next parked car. His hold disappeared as his backside plowed into the rear side panel, wallet chain clanking.

He looked as surprised as you felt. You’d done nothing like that before. Hell, you didn’t know you could do something like that.

Then you remembered he dared to keep you from leaving. Like you were some uncooperative puppy. You weren’t his to control.

You fisted his shirt and shoved.

“I’m sorry,” he said, raising his hands. “I’m sorry.”

“You can’t just grab me.”

You pressed your knuckles to his sternum. Your pulse thudded in your ears.

He nodded.

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“Fuck, Eddie, don’t grab me like that.”

You loosened your hold, but didn’t release his shirt.

“What was the plan, huh?” you asked. “Keep me here to listen to more of your shitty excuses?”

“I know what I want, alright?” He looked deep into your eyes. “I want you.”

“But not enough.”

“No, enough to work for it.”

He lay his hand on top of yours. You were shaking — and so was he. His other hand went to your hip and guided you between his spread knees. You wrapped an arm behind his back to rest against him. Though it hadn’t been long since you’d hugged him, it felt like ages. He smelled like you remembered: apple shampoo and cigarettes with the underlying scent of cheap aftershave.

Tension uncoiled from your chest as he wrapped his arms around you and settled his cheek on your head.

Into his shirt, you said, “I’m still mad at you.”

“Understandable.”

“You know, I’d never curse you or the band.”

“I know. It was a stupid thing to say.”

You looked at his face in the dim. The streetlight painted him in shades of orange. He looked back, eyes dark and sincere.

“Can I kiss you now?” he asked.

“Kiss me where?”

A corner of his mouth quirked.

“Anywhere you’d like.”

You should say no, should push away — or at least argue. Then you realized the argument had no end. It would continue until April. Maybe beyond. You didn’t want his absence for four months. You didn’t want to be without his touch, his thoughts, his laughter for that time. A week had created an ache. Four months would see you crumble to dust. You didn’t want that for him, either.

Yes, it was a weakness to give in, but you were weak.

You whispered, “How about we start with lips?”

“We can do that.”

You braced a hand on the cold trunk and hooked fingers under his collar to draw him in. He widened his stance to bring you near and tilted your face to his. As he moved in, you kept your eyes open to the last second.

His plump lips meeting yours knocked the air from your lungs. You angled for more, to kiss harder. A groan from deep in his chest egged you on. He pulled you in tight by the waist. Your breasts pressed against his front.

His tongue teased the seam of your lips. You grasped his ass to pull him impossibly closer. His lips parted with a gasp. His back arched, thighs spreading. You felt wicked as you sucked at his bottom lip. He tasted of beer and salt. You followed that predictable combination with your tongue.

He rolled his hips and cradled your jaw as his tongue slid over yours. A hint of stubble prickled at your skin. Whether from his absence or your high, everything was better than you’d hoped. His scent reminded you of basking naked in bed with him. It made you want to rub yourself all over him like a cat.

Distantly, you wondered why you’d avoided him earlier.

He broke the kiss, panting against your lips.

“Can I finger you? You know I’ll make it good, sweetheart. Let me touch you, yeah?”

The thought of those talented, dexterous hands between your legs once more had your cunt pulsing. You wet your bottom lip, tasting his spit. He looked at you like he knew how your body had reacted.

You nodded.

Perhaps it was a mistake, but you’d deal with the fallout later.

He closed his eyes and breathed out a ‘thank you.’ His hand went from your jaw to your chest as he nuzzled your neck. He cupped one of your breasts, squeezing and fondling. Your breath caught, nipples hardening. His familiar touch burned through your top and bra.

He whispered your name between kisses to your skin. You sagged against him, letting your head crane back. In reply, his hand snuck lower to unbutton your jeans. The heavy bulge of his erection dragged across your belly as he made room to unzip them. Memory flashed like lightning: you palming him through his boxers on Halloween, stroking his covered cock, the rocking of his hips.

You wanted that as well and trailed a hand up his inseam. He paused, legs tensing. You leaned back to meet his gaze. Shadows hid much of his expression, but you knew he was uncertain.

An internal petty streak liked his uncertainty, because he deserved it. He’d made you question your relationship. He’d been contradictory and confusing.

You wedged a hand between his legs. Through his jeans, you pressed the heel of your palm into the warm base of his cock while you cupped his sac with your fingers. He let out a little sound as you massaged the firm ovoids of his balls.

“No one’s ever heard you make that sound, have they?” you asked lowly.

He shook his head, and you mirrored him.

“Anyone touch you like this?”

“No.”

“That’s right. No one’s taken their time with you, right?”

He gasped, “No,” with big, bambi eyes and parted lips.

And you wanted to savor him. You wanted him in your bed again, wild hair fanning across your pillow. You wanted to touch and be touched.

“No,” you said in agreement. “Just me.”

His thighs parted a little more as his breathing quickened. He rocked into your palm. The faltering hand at your stomach moved away to make room.

“Don’t stop,” he said.

You hummed and watched yourself caress the length of his denim-covered erection.

“Why start?” you asked.

“What?”

“After we get each other off, it all goes back to silence.” You dragged your nails up his cock, which throbbed. “Fuck, what are we doing?”

He put cool hands on either side of your face to force you to meet his eyes.

“We’re doing what’s necessary.”

He kissed you. He devoured you. The universe revolved around his plush lips against yours. Instead of a bright center, it was dark. He slanted his head, lips smearing across yours — an asteroid made of diamond. His tongue invaded your mouth, like he was desperate for your particular flavor — a black hole to draw you in.

You held onto his hips and rested your front on his. He spun you to lean on the car instead — twin stars orbiting each other. One hand went to the fly of your jeans to unzip them. His fingers splayed at the waistband of your underwear, pinkie sneaking underneath.

That touch, though gentle, seared your belly. You angled your hips.

“Your skin’s so soft,” he said against your lips.

It was your turn to say, “Don’t stop.”

Eddie hid his face in your neck and inhaled deep. He hummed as you clutched his shoulders. His hand snaked under your underwear until two nimble fingers slid between your wet folds.

You gasped, eyes going wide. That single touch made you quiver.

“This’s what I need,” he said as he found your clit.

You breathed a laugh. “Yeah? Creamed your jeans over this?”

“You got no idea.”

“Show me then.”

In silent acceptance of the challenge, he circled your clit how he knew you liked. It was the right pressure, fast and firm enough.

“So wet.” He dragged his teeth over your neck. “Wanna bend you over this car.”

You squirmed on his fingers.

“Maybe later.”

“Yeah, later,” he said before sliding a finger inside you.

His palm cupped your mound, finger massaging your slick cunt. He stroked your walls and teased your g-spot. You maneuvered him by the hair to kiss him. His mouth was lush and demanding and perfect. With one taste, you couldn’t get enough.

He rocked his hand, keeping the pressure on your mound and inching his finger in and out. You groaned into the kiss as you writhed. It wasn’t enough — and he had to know it.

“C’mon, gimme what I need.”

“Yes, milady.”

He eased his finger out and returned to circling your clit. You nodded while biting your lip and stilling your hips. He began slow, using two fingers to keep the stimulation going. Your legs wobbled. You jerked against him. An arm slithered between your back and the car.

“I got you.”

You clung to him and swayed with the motion of his fingers. You continued moving until he was working your clit too fast. Letting your forehead rest on his shoulder, band pins cool on your skin, you panted as pleasure grew. It licked like fire up your spine.

There was only heat and escalating tension. He held you tight through it. Grateful, you wanted to kiss him again, but you couldn’t move. You couldn’t break the spell, lose the thread. But you thought of his talented, ripe mouth — fuck, his tongue — thought of him bending you over and eating you out. He could do it right here, in the open, with the chilly air flitting over your exposed ass. Your cries would echo through the woods.

“Oh, shit...”

“That’s it, baby.” He kissed your temple. “Come all over my hand.”

You groaned as thoughts fractured like glass. You were going to come just like he wanted you to. It was right there. You teetered on that event horizon. The licking fire became stronger, hotter, until it blazed — a supernova. You muffled your moans in the soft denim of his vest as you came. Your cunt throbbed — a pulsar. It kept going and going as you burned and clawed and strained in Eddie’s arms.

His fingers came to a standstill, pressing on your clit. You shivered as your cunt pulsed one last time.

You grabbed his nape and pulled him in for a kiss. He kissed you deep and hard, nipping at your lips, tongue invading and teasing. His soaked fingers spread a honey-like trail over your skin as he gripped your hip.

“Take me home,” he said. “Sneak me inside. I’ll fuck you all night. Do anything you want.”

You blinked away the daze of orgasm as you caught your breath. Home meant getting his perfect cock in you. His hands would hold your hips, fingers digging hard enough to leave bruises. You could ride him on the window seat as the sun rose. Your parents would be sleeping off hangovers until at least noon—

A pop of a firework interrupted. Cheers and whoops rang from the old restaurant.

It was tomorrow — and now 1986.

“Can’t. We can’t,” you said.

He opened his mouth to protest, but you placed fingers on his kiss-swollen lips.

“Really. We can’t.”

You traced the edge of his lips as he stared at you with dark, gleaming eyes.

“This sucks.”

To assuage his suffering, and yours, you kissed him once more. His grip on your hip tightened. He sucked on your bottom lip and rolled his hips against yours. It nearly had you forgetting yourself, your surroundings, your self-respect.

You pulled his hair to break the kiss. He groaned. His erection pulsed where it pressed into the side of your belly. You shushed him, running fingers over his hair.

You asked, “Want me to drive you to your van?”

“Nah, I need to cool off.”

You hummed. “Not possible.”

He snorted. “It’s going to be a long four months.”

With a nod, you smoothed a thumb over his cheekbone.

“Happy New Year, honey.”

You released him and stepped back. His hands left warm stripes on your hip and back. You fastened your jeans, the wetness in your underwear uncomfortable.

You finally looked at him. His bottom lip quivered, as though he was just hanging onto his composure. You wanted to offer comfort, to give in, to take him home, to forget the past week. Instead, you took another step back.

Your throat was taut as you said, “See you in O’Donnell’s.”

He nodded and looked at his feet.

Your heart wrenched, making it hard to breathe. Your eyes flooded, making it hard to see. You didn’t know what else to say, so you remained quiet. You weren’t sure you could speak, anyway.

When he didn’t raise his head, you tiptoed around him. You made it a yard or two when he said your name. You turned to find him watching.

“Happy New Year.”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #stranger things #em tagd #waywardrose writes

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