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sp0o0kylights · 5 months

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Steve Harrington was wearing a Hellfire t-shirt.

It was far too tight on him, the name of the club stretched wide over his chest. The sleeves dug into his biceps, making them pop even more than they usually did, and that was before he crossed his arms.

Worse?

It was short.

Which meant the damn shirt was constantly riding up to give everyone a nice show of the smattering of hair that trailed down past the band of Harrington's jeans.

The same hair that Eddie was determinedly not looking at.

“Henderson, a moment?” He crooked a finger, a smile on his face that was more feral than welcoming.

Rather than cower or even acknowledge that Eddie was two seconds away from murder, Dustin just gave him a gummy grin, all too pleased with himself and his scheme.

“Sure Eddie. Steve, don't just stand there, go help set the booth up!” Dustin gestured to Hellfire’s sad little table, crammed all the way in the back of the gym.

Jeff and Gareth both reacted to the suggestion like a rabid squirrel had been set upon them, nervously inching towards the other side of the booth as Harrington sighed and--shockingly--did as he was told.

‘What,’ Eddie thought angrily, ‘in the everloving fuck.’

“Do you guys mind if I set this down on the table?” Eddie heard Harrington ask as he stormed away, Dustin on his heel.

They wandered just around the corner, out of sight and hopefully, out of the fallen king’s hearing range.

Eddie wasn't sure if Harrington would try and white knight the very much deserved dressing down he was about to give.

Didn’t want to chance it, considering the downright weird relationship he had with Hellfire's freshmen.

(While he’d heard many a tale at his table regarding King Steve since the newest recruits had joined Hellfire, most of them dissolved into arguments without ever really going anywhere.

Best anyone could figure out was that Dustin and Lucas had a bad case of hero worship, while Mike owned a begrudging amount of respect that hailed from a series of misadventures.

The very same misadventures that, despite all protests to the contrary, was clearly some sort of babysitting gig for Harrington.)

Either way, plenty of the King’s court would have loved to take this opportunity to fuck with Hellfire.

Given that Henderson was absolutely too old to require a babysitter at fourteen, Eddie would bet his lunch money that was what Steve was here to do.

Something the club couldn’t afford since they were forever and always two seconds away from being stripped of club status and banned from school grounds.

“I would love to know what went through that all A’s brain of yours when I said,” Eddie whirled on Dustin when they were firmly in the clear, voice low and furious. “no Henderson, do not invite King Steve to help, he is an invading force and would ruin our peaceful kingdom!?”

He clasped his hands behind his back before leaning into Dustin’s face. “Because clearly whatever you heard wasn’t that.”

To Eddie’s continued frustration and confusion, Dustin did not treat this like the threat it was.

None of the freshmen had ever truly treated Eddie like a threat--had somehow skipped that part of the usual onboarding ritual entirely.

Eddie, town freak and drug dealer, who had cultivated his looks and craziness to such a degree that most everyone steered clear, wasn’t used to it.

Everyone had been afraid of him at some point in this shitty school. Jeff, Gareth, hell even half the staff--and that the dorky trio of fourteen year old's clearly thought this all was play-acting made his eye twitch.

Even if it was--maybe, sometimes--welcome.

“I know what you said, but I’m telling you I’m right.” Dustin argued immediately, and oh God, he was using that tone again.

A hand went up into the space between them and Eddie groaned aloud, knowing what was coming.

“First,” Dustin ticked a finger up, “Hellfire really needs the money. Even thirty dollars would get us new figures, but more than that, if we don’t fundraise, we can’t go to Gen Con!”

Dustin's eyes bored into Eddie’s, full of fire and conviction

“Yes,” Eddie said through gritted teeth, “but--”

“Second!” Dustin cut him off, and God the little shit even threw him a look while he did it, like Eddie was the one being ridiculous here!

“We had to fight just to get our table! Principal Higgins was in algebra today practically begging the mathletes to show up, but then tried to tell us we couldn't be here? That’s messed up!”

As if denying them a spot to fundraise was the worst thing that asshole had ever done.

Eddie sighed, breath blasting out of his mouth like a dragon’s.

“Because people think we’re freaks and satanists, Henderson. You don’t typically invite freaks and satanists to the school’s annual Holiday Bazaar. Especially not when all the local moms are paying to hawk their bullshit crafts and tupperware!”

It was more than that of course. The Hawkins High Holiday Bazaar was a tradition spanning several years now. Starting in the gym and spilling clear into the parking lot, everyone from local artists to even some local shops came to host a small table for the day, thus growing the event from a small school fundraiser to a Hawkins' “must-do.”

Half the fucking town was here to sell, and the other half was here to shop, which meant Principle Higgins had wanted Hellfire banned from the fucking premise.

Eddie had been forced to pull out one of his trump cards he’d been saving--blackmail on Higgins that related to the man’s not--so--legal addiction to Percocet that he relied on Reefer Rick for.

(And bless Rick, that hadn’t been the only tidbit he’d shared with Eddie about Higgins. That information, however, Eddie needed just so the asshat wouldn’t give him the boot from school entirely.)

The only reason Eddie had pulled it out to secure their rightful spot, was because of Gen Con.

It was Hellfire's White Whale, their grand adventure, and this was going to be his year to take his friends on one last epic quest to make memories of a lifetime surrounded by people who understood them.

Come hell or high water, Eddie was going to Gen Con--but being able to fundraise by selling wares and baked goods at the stupid Holiday Bazaar would go a long way to help.

Even if he had to listen to the band repeatedly play ear-bleeding renditions of Christmas songs.

“All the clubs get to have a table, and we’re a club!” Dustin continued, like it was that simple. “But you know, I get it. We look scary.”

He gestured down to his own Hellfire shirt, before gesturing towards Eddie’s entire outfit.

Like Eddie didn't know what he looked like, let alone that he'd made this outfit specifically to scare people away from him.

(And maybe add some rockstar flair to this dinky little hick town.)

“You know who doesn’t look scary?”

Dustin held out his hands and swiveled his body like he was presenting a prize instead of gesturing in the vague direction of;

“Steve!”

Eddie’s left eye twitched.

‘You can't kill him, you need his character for the campaign.’ He told himself firmly, even if he envisioned strangling Dustin like a chicken.

Cartoon squawking and all.

“The King isn’t going to help us fundraise, Dustin.” Eddie said, in an effort to break down why Harrington couldn't be here. “He's just going to cause us problems that we can’t afford to have.”

So many problems, half of which Eddie couldn't think of because if he did, he'd start spiraling.

“Really? Because as you keep saying, Steve used to be the King. People love him, Eddie! Mom’s love him.”

Eddie had pulled himself black up to his proper height a while ago, and now rocked back on his heels while he ran a hand down his face.

There was no getting through to Henderson when he was like this.

Not unless Eddie really lost it, and it was practically club lore that he only lost it when someone missed an important game.

One cannot keep a herd of sheep if their flock is terrified of them, after all.

(“Perhaps you’re just a giant fucking softie.” Tiff, one of Hellfire’s graduating members, told him once. “Honestly dude, I bet you throw up stuffing.”

“Shut up Tiffany, your choker is on backwards again.” He'd spat back, completely offended and not at all trying to distract from how true that was.)

“We can’t be satanic if Steve’s the one selling cookies!” Dustin finished doggedly.

“We’re not even selling cookies--that’s not the point!”” Eddie shook his head, hair flying. He was not going to be sidetracked, he wasn’t!

“Harrington is going to end up siding with all the moms about how we’re all wasting time with D&D, if he even spends the whole time at the table. Is that what you want?”

He stuck out a ringed finger, poking at Dustin’s chest.

“Every single person who comes by our table has to be convinced D&D is a writing and math based game. Good for the mind and souls of growing, impressionable children. A game that got a bad rep because of a few silly images.”

A pitch he and Tiff had come up with during the third or fourth time they had to convince an adult that no, just because their shirts had a dragon on it, didn’t mean they were summoning demons in the drama room.

“Harrington can’t do that because Harrington doesn’t even know how to play!”

This Eddie punctuated by throwing his hands in the air.

Given the startled look of the mother-daughter duo passing him by, clearly was louder than he’d intended--but screw it!

He was right!

Hellfire was in a precarious position to both fundraise and do a little damage control among the slightly smarter members of this shithole small town, and Harrington rolling his eyes and gossiping about how stupid it was would hinder that.

“Okay, first of all, Steve’s played D&D with me and he didn’t even kill his character.” Dustin said it like he was unveiling a smoking gun and not lying through his ass--which Eddie would absolutely be calling him on the second he was done talking.

Because King Steve? Play D&D?

'Ha!'

“And he’s not gonna say shit because we--me, and Lucas and even Mike!--asked him to help, and he helps when its serious. I know you have some weird grudge with him, but I’m telling you Eddie he’s our golden ticket to Gen Con!”

“You’re killing me. You are standing here, acting as a friend, when you are bringing a-- a dark force into the midst our of mission--” Eddie hissed, because he was losing the fucking fight and he knew it.

Dustin Henderson was not a man easily swayed.

Had never been, even when the odds were stacked against him (and Grant and Gareth were howling in his ear.)

The set of his shoulders and the glint of the little shithead’s eye meant Eddie wouldn’t be able to use him to oust Harrington--if he even could get him out without the dick causing a massive scene anyway.

As always when outgunned, Eddie flipped to dramatics.

“Betrayed! By my own chosen heir no less!” He moaned, pressing the back of his hand over his eyes as Dustin scoffed.

"Don’t be so dramatic! Steve will help, I promise! Just don’t be a dick to him.”

Conversation apparently over, Dustin turned around to head back to the table

Snidely, he added over his shoulder: “Plus we’ve all caught on to the heir thing Eddie. You tell everyone that so they do what you want.”

The dick.

“You’re too fucking smart for your own good. I’m gonna start feeding you paint chips to bring that IQ down.” Eddie muttered angrily as Dustin went back to their little table.

He gave himself a moment to get his shit together and stomp a foot like a child when Dustin was around the corner and thus couldn’t witness it, before following his wayward sheep back.

Could only pray to any deity listening that Henderson’s meddling didn’t blow up in Hellfire’s face.

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two-red-lungs · 2 years

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I'll See You (In My Dreams) Pt. 2

Eddie x Fem!Reader NSFW (hurt/comfort, resolution)

Part 1: X

Summary: Okay, so he’s alive. Eddie Munson is fucking alive.

...So now what the hell are you supposed to do about it?

Word Count: 5.6K

Song Inspiration: X

Dustin Henderson knew exactly where you would be. It was 7pm on a Thursday night, after all.

He popped the kickstand on his bike outside the new Munson apartment and jogged up the two staircases in the near-dark, purplish twilight. Sound filtered from the window, from the ajar screen door: conversation. Laughter. He paused. He hadn't heard that laugh in ages.

Mustering his courage, he knocked. Wayne answered, looking down at him with a comb in his hand and a tired smile on his face. "Well, hey. If it ain't the kid."

"I thought I was the kid!" Dustin heard a voice inside complain sarcastically.

"You're both kids, to me. Come on in, Henderson." Wayne held the door open wider and Dustin slithered in with a weak, watery grin. He was already sweating. Nerves.

There you were. Eddie's girl. Smiling at him from the kitchenette and waving fingers in his direction before going back to grating cheese and liberally dispensing it over a full casserole dish. The tiny living space already smelled like a home, again: the tang of a preheating oven, burnt tobacco, steamed broccoli. Such a sharp contrast to the empty, dusty bite it had months ago. Back when Wayne could barely get out of bed most days.

"Glad you're finding a use for that stuff." Wayne said to you, shrugging on his work jacket by the door as Dustin sat uncomfortably on the couch.

"Hey, don't knock government cheese. It might be rubber, but it's good rubber. And I make a mean broccoli and cheese casserole with it." You joked. With a grunt you heaved the glass dish off the counter and slid it into the oven, shutting it with your hip and turning the timer dial towards sixty. "I'll babysit it until it's done and then I'll pop it in the fridge. I'll lock up when I leave."

"I don't know how I survived without you, kid." Wayne said. With a huff he tightened his boot laces and hauled open the door. "You take care, alright?"

"I always do, Wayne. I always do."

And then he was gone, the uncle with the tired, sad eyes tromping down the uneven metal stairs to the courtyard and out to the parking lot for his night shift.

You rested your forearms on the counter. "So what brings you to chateau de Munson, Dustin?" Even from across the room, you could see the way he was shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Sweating buckets. Round face pale. "...Oh man. What happened? Are you okay?"

"Nothing happened. Nothing!" Dustin said quickly.

"Bullshit, man. You look like you're about to testify in court. Spill."

"I have to tell you something."

"Oh my god. You have cancer."

"I don't have- jesus, I don't have cancer!" Dustin squawked. "Can you just sit down? Please?"

Warily you slid into the loveseat opposite him, glaring daggers at the young teenager. His curls were sticking to his forehead and he wrung his hands like a guilty man. He took a deep breath. Steadying himself.

"They day of the earthquake," he began quietly, "a lot of... stuff, happened. More than just earthquakes."

"Yeah. The whole-" You gestured with your hands, "-alternate dimension thing. I try not to think about it too hard."

"And you know how Eddie died."

You went quiet. A brave sacrifice is what Dustin had told you, shaking and dirty and soot-smudged. He was the only reason Steve and Robin and Nancy got a shot at Peter in the first place. When he had told you about the bats.... jesus. Jesus. You were thinking about it. You squeezed your eyes shut. How many times had you imagined it, already? Blood? Fear in those big brown chocolate eyes? You banished the thoughts back to the dark corner they came from.

"Uh-huh." You croaked.

Dustin pressed his lips together. Hands clasped so tight in his lap they were bloodless. "Steve, uh... Steve and the gang helped me bring Eddie's body up through the portal a few minutes... after. A bunch of government people were already there, to study it, and they, um. Caught us. They had big vans, full of emergency stuff. For the people they were gonna send through the gateway." He blew out air between his lips. "Like, um. Bandages and blood and defibrillators. They took Eddie away from us, and I... I stayed. I didn't want them to just disappear him, you know? Like he didn't matter. Because he mattered."

You stayed dead-silent, watching him over hands steepled by your face. eyes wide. They had his body.

"But they didn't bag him. They, uh... they brought him to a van. He was just... covered in wires, and tubes, and stuff, and... they shocked him. I watched them. And they, um..." He was speaking like every words was painful. "They got his heart going again."

What?

The clock on the wall went tick-tick-tick. A car passed on the road far away. Dustin shifted in his seat, staring at you nervously, picking at his nails.

“He’s, uh. He’s alive.” He said quietly.

“Eddie’s dead.” You breathed.

Dustin shook his head. “No, that’s no-”

“No. He’s dead. Dustin. You told me. You told me, they never recovered the body, and he died there, in that fucking- that nightmare land, you told me he was fucking dead-” Your mouth was cotton, heart racing in your chest, sweat prickling your skin. God. Oh god. “Why would you- why would you lie to me, I’ve grieved for him already, he’s not alive.”

“He’s alive. God. Shit, I’m so sorry, man, he’s alive. He’s alive.”

Dustin looked like he was bracing to be punched. Bracing for you to unleash a torrent of fury and resentment on him. He went stiff when you launched across the room and pulled him into a tight, shaking hug instead.

What was a word for what you were feeling? Relief? Awe? Incredulousness?

Maybe there were no words for this. It was too big.

And just like that, you were crying again. Mashing Dustin’s curly head into your shoulder, holding him like a brother. He wrapped his arms back around you. “Thank you,” you babbled, short-circuited, “Fuck, thank you for telling me, oh my god- oh my god.”

“I didn’t want to keep it from you.” For a second, Dustin sounded his age. 14 years old. Far too young to have been keeping this weighing so heavy on his shoulders. No kid should have to hold a secret like that. “Nobody’s supposed to know. Nobody. I wasn’t even supposed to tell you.”

With blurry vision, you pulled back, unable to keep that stupid grin off your face. Giddy, almost. Maybe god was a merciful entity after all, because this was the best gift you could have ever gotten in your life. “Who else?” You said in a wobbling, tear-soaked tone, wiping your cheeks. “Who else knows?”

“Uh, a government team. Task force, I guess. You. And me.”

“...Not even Wayne?”

“Not even Wayne.”

He hauled the whole story out again, in full detail. How Eddie was hospitalized. How an agent came to his door, in person, to tell him Munson was being moved into witness protection, under the watchful eye of Big Brother. The least they could do, really, after handling everything so poorly. And it’s not as if they could clear his name in any reasonable way, anyway. He’d get a new name, in time. A new identity. A new life, far away from the Satanic Panic and fabled Munson Murders.

Eddie was in fucking Washington state. Across the country, in Rockport: a little logging village with one main street and a population of three hundred. The safest, most obscure place he could be.

You stood, when you heard that. You already knew what you needed to do. It was manic and impulsive and stupid, but it felt like a fucking magnet, a mystical force, tugging at your gut. Hauling you out the door.

“You can’t go there.” Dustin said immediately. “Dude, no way.”

“Just try and stop me, Henderson.”

Dustin’s mouth shut with a clack. He paused. Fidgeted. “...Will you tell him we miss him? If you do find him?”

You fluffed Dustin’s hair with a hand, heart more at peace than it had been for nearly half a year. “Of course, little man. Of course. Now. Held me find a goddamn duffle bag.”

The duffle went in the front passenger seat of your beat-up Honda. It bulged with stuff pilfered from the few cardboard boxes of Eddie’s belongings Wayne kept morosely in the closet: his favorite black dice, a few well-worn band tees, a rolled-up Dio poster. His battle vest, folded neatly on top. Your own luggage was in the trunk.

When you rolled out of the parking lot with a paper map on the dashboard, a full tank of gas, and a big plastic bag od road snacks, the universe finally felt right again. Fiery determination sitting heavy in your gut. Was this short-sighted and idiotic? Yeah.

Were you going to find the love of your life because you'd realized losing him once already had been one time too many? Absolutely.

It was a thirty-three hour drive from Hawkins, Indiana to Rockport, Washington. You cranked up the scratchy radio and got to it. When the “You are now leaving Hawkins” sign passed, you flipped it the bird.

Endless roaring highway. Scattered trees and cornfields, city skylines and rural towns. Your fingers, numb on the wheel. Only stopping for gas, wobbling out on tired legs and stumbling into convenience stores for a bathroom break and more pretzel rods. Taking washcloth baths in the sinks at rest stops. Sleeping in the back of your car, across the seats, rolled sweater serving as a god-awful pillow.

Highway 80. Highway 76. And then Highway 90, for miles and miles and miles.

It was surreal, finally encountering the mountains of Washington. They rose, thick with evergreens like shaggy hair, into the sky, far taller than anything you’d ever seen in your life. Snowcapped peaks and underbrush so thick with ferns it was unnavigable. The highway wound and twisted with the steep, verdant landscape. It was only when you passed the sign “Entering Skagit County” that it really hit you: you were here. So was he. Somewhere. Somewhere.

“Three hundred people. Close knit community.” You muttered to yourself on your last trip leg, when the highway exit ramp finally gave way to narrow asphalt backroads. “How hard can it be?”

When you entered Rockport, a sleepy place that barely had enough buildings to even really count as a place, it felt dreamlike. Car engine off, parked in front of the single diner. Strange birds calling in the air. A cold mountain breeze drifting down the street and cutting through you.

You took a deep breath of the foreign, pollen-laden air. It smelled like pine and lumber. And then you shoved your hands in your pockets and slunk into the diner. The bell over the door rang, and four heads turned in unison to oogle you. Three rough, lumber-hauler looking types, and one elderly waitress behind the counter.

It was all too easy to flop down on a barstool at the counter. “Coffee, please.” You said weakly. She side-eyed you warily but nodded and headed to the pot. You knew how you looked: circles under your eyes like bruises, messy hair, chip crumb-covered jacket. A total mess.

“Rough day?” The waitress asked you, setting down a steaming white mug in front of you. You eagerly wrapped cold fingers around it. Autumn in Washington was achingly chilly.

“Rough three days, actually.” You rubbed a hand down your face: mmm, nice and warm. “I just blew in from Indiana.”

Her eyes widened. “Indiana, really? That’s one helluva trip. You headed for Bellingham?”

“Nope. I’m, uh. Right where I wanna be. Destination: Rockport.”

She laughed and wiped her hands on her apron. “Never heard that one before. Only people that come to Rockport are through-travelers and lumber workers. And you certainly don’t look like a log-yard gal. So. What brought you in?”

You took a long draught of the coffee. Old and stale, but infinitely better than the warm soda that had sustained you thus far. “I’m looking for someone. An... old friend.”

She raised her eyebrows questioningly.

“Moved in a few months ago, I think? I don’t, uh, have his address. Probably keeps to himself?”

She pursed her painted lips. “We haven’t gotten any new residents for a good decade, hon. Maybe you have the wrong town.” She tapped her fingers on the plastic counter, thinking. “Hey, Thompson?” The waitress called to a booth with an older bearded man nearby. “Have you heard of anyone moving in in the last year?”

“Nope.” He said gruffly. The man leaned back against the vinyl of the booth and stroked his wild gray beard. “...Well. Someone did buy up the old Merryweather place, ‘round five months ago. Come to think of it, I’ve seen a man at the general store couple ‘a times. Big, mean lookin’ fella with a holster. Buzzed hair. Not the friendliest.”

That was distinctly un-Eddie, but distinctly agent-like. You cleared your throat, clutching the coffee mug. “...The Merryweather place?” You hazarded to ask.

He nodded. “When the Merryweathers passed away, they left their home open. No next of kin, poor bastards. It’s just been sittin’ empty for what, five years now? It’s out west, end of the road, up the left backtrail.” He glanced out the diner window at your car. “Wouldn’t try and drive on up there in that, though. Terrain’s pretty rough. Might wanna to walk.”

Your chest was vice-tight. You barely got words out. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

With that you drained two more cups of coffee, scarfed down a slice of pie, and with well-wishes from the waitress and a handful of crumpled bills you hauled your bags out of the car, slung them both over each shoulder, and started down the narrow main street. Following the setting sun Westward.

There it was. Exactly where he said it would be. Nestled between high trees, deep in the woods, at the end of a long winding dirt road that left you panting and sweaty with the steepness. A ramshackle house with dusty windows and a rotting wood deck.

Your mind raced. Was he... was he there? Really? In there? Or was he somewhere else? What if Dustin had bad information? What if he wasn’t there, and you had come all this way for nothing, and you never found him ever again-

You squeezed your eyes shut. Willing the thoughts away. You were here, weren’t you? You at least had to try. Your shoes crunched on the gravel driveway, every step leaden. The house looked cobwebbed and uninhabited. No lights on.

Footsteps on creaking wood. Your body cast in shadow under the mossy eaves. The door, inches away.

“Just... knock.” You told yourself. “Just knock.”

You raised a fist. You knocked.

Silence.

You knocked again.

“...Hello?” You called. “It’s, uh. It’s me. Anybody home?”

More silence. And then, just when your lower lip was starting to quiver, a muffled thump inside. Running footsteps.

Several clicking locks unlatched, and then the door was thrown open with a gust of wind.

And there he was.

Eddie Munson stood in the doorway, chest heaving, chocolate eyes wide and mane of hair wild. Mouth hanging open like he was seeing a ghost.

You dropped the travel bags and then you were on him. You collided with him with an oomph, and god, he was solid. Tangible and real. How many times had your dreams taunted you with this? But now he was here, muscles warm under his loose black shirt and smelling like salt and sweat and old beer.

“Oh my god. Oh my god.” Was all he could say, and jesus christ had you missed that voice. Sweet, raspy, edible as caramel. Long, sinewy arms clasped you back, scrabbling at your body, pulling you so tight to him your ribs creaked. Eddie’s hair tickled your forehead and you mashed your face against his neck, already laughing: a giddy, stupid, incredulous laugh.

It was relief. Cool, gentle relief, like a clear babbling stream on a hot summer day. You could hear his wild heartbeat, feel his chest expand with each breath. You stumbled together into the darkness of the house and its cool wooden interior.

Eddie pushed away, grabbing you by the forearms, ducking his head to just look at you. “You’re here.” He repeated blankly, brows so high they disappeared behind his fringe. That big, pretty, megawatt smile on his lips. “You’re fucking... you’re here. You’re here.”

“I’m here.” You grabbed his face with both hands. Soft. Stubbly. Exactly how you remembered it, aside from the knots of pale scars dancing across his lower left jaw. “I’m here.”

And then you kissed him, and everything was right again. Sweet saliva-slick lips, his wet mouth, the tang of burnt tobacco. Eddie melted into it, a keening, hurt, hungry noise in the back of his throat. He pressed to you, bending his tall self down over you, shaking hands grabbing and touching and roaming over your hips, your shoulders, your arms, like he was trying to convince himself you were really real.

You couldn’t keep yourself off him: arms firmly encircling him, trying to press as much of yourself to him as you could, trying to fucking meld with him if possible.

“Missed you so much.” You breathed against his lips, between kisses. “Missed you every goddamn day, Eddie, so much.”

He made another noise like you’d fucking stabbed him. “I wanted to tell you. Wanted to call you so fucking bad. Sometimes I’d, fuck-” He gasped shakily when you pressed a sloppy, wet kiss to his neck, roving skin you had been without for so long. “-I’d get so fuckin’ drunk and just... stare at the phone. But they wouldn’t let me.”

You pushed his words to the side, hushing him, fingers dancing across his collarbones. “Whatever, whatever, Eddie, whatever, I’m- I’m here now, okay? It’s whatever.”

He pushed his head forward and kissed you again, and you sighed, soft and content. Kisses like fucking medicine for everything that ailed you. Eddie’s hands held your hips tight, keeping you chest to chest with him.

“You know,” He said, words puffing against your face, “If I’d known a fuckin’ confession would make you hunt me down, I’d have done it five months ago.”

“A confession?” You asked breathlessly, kissing him over and over.

His lips paused. You opened your eyes to see that watery bambi gaze looking down at you. “...Shit.” Eddie said. “Dustin didn’t tell you, did he.”

“Tell me what?” When he stayed silent, you rolled your soft body against his and he swallowed hard, throat bobbing. “Eddie, tell me.”

A beat of silence.

“I’m so fucking in love with you.” He blurted. Voice breaking. “Like, holy shit. I’m so... jesus, babygirl, I’m so in love with you it drives me crazy.”

Your heart did a kickflip in your chest. Those words were like butterflies. Like summer fireworks and cotton candy and orgasms and jager and the best top-quality weed all rolled into one. Maybe you were dreaming. Maybe this was a coma.

And if it was? You didn’t want to fucking wake up.

“Eddie. I love you.” Was all you could get out, throat so tight, eyes so fucking full they threatened to spill any second. “God. I love you too.”

He seemed hypnotized by the need, the want in your voice. All at once Eddie was on you again, wet, sloppy kisses across your lips and cheeks like he couldn’t kiss you fast enough, a big broad hand coming to cup the back of your head and tilt it up towards him. Your words were a babbling mix of pleas and his name and he caved so hard to it, body vibrating.

You were so focused on him, touching him and stroking his hair and nuzzling into his face and chest and neck that you barely registered him even picking up the bags and the two of you stumbling through the tiny house, across the wooden floorboards, into a bedroom. Setting sunlight cut dusty, bright slats of light across it.

When the back of your knees hit a bed your hungry, euphoric hindbrain took over and you grabbed Eddie’s shirt with both hands and hauled him on top of you, falling to the bed in a jumble, him dropping the bags with a grunt of surprise. God, his weight felt good on you: warm and heavy, your own personal blanket. Eddie laughed breathlessly, using a forearm to prop himself up over you. Pulling away from your hungry mouth to just stare.

“Hi.” He said warmly. His eyes sparkled and his hair made a curtain that separated you and him from the rest of the world.

“Hi.” You replied.

“I love you.”

“Love you back.”

The metalhead wasted no time digging fingers under the hem of your shirt, hauling it up and over your head, groaning when he saw your breasts. “Hello to you too, ladies.” He muttered with a snicker, nuzzling his nose against them. The sight made you cackle, affection so warm in your chest it was addictive. The warm affinity sparked to something hotter when you felt his jean-clad pelvis rock against yours, lovely perfect heavy friction over your crotch.

“Oh.” You gasped at the sensation. It felt good. Your sex drive had all but disappeared for three months, and for the past two all you had been doing was miserably getting off by yourself a few times a week.

You wanted more. Wanted him.

When you tugged at the hem of his shirt he put a hand over yours, pausing his slow rutting. Eddie licked his lips nervously. “I, uh...” He voice lost its bravado. “I don’t know if you, um. Wanna see all of that. Right now.”

The scars. Your eyes widened. Without even thinking you pressed a feather-soft kiss between his eyebrows, staring him down. “Edward.” You said seriously- well, as seriously as you could with your legs practically wrapped around his waist. “I’d love you even if you looked like the one-eyed, one-horned, flying purple people eater.” When he hesitated, you doubled down. “Seriously. You really think I’ll be scared off by a few battle scars?”

He smiled tightly. “It’s more than a few.” Despite his unease, he let you slowly pull his shirt off, over his head.

Your breathing stilled. “Oh, Eddie.”

His torso was a patchwork. His body was a patchwork. The knot of scars on his jaw paled in comparison to the swaths of carnage across his left pectoral and most of his lower abdomen: pale pink, white and red whorls of scar tissue, indentations and suture marks. A large tear, healed messily, on his inner right arm. You ghosted fingers over the sites: the skin was tight and shiny.

“I know what you’re thinking.” He said nervously. Trying to play it off with humor. “Those bastards took one of my nipples.”

“The scars are bad-ass, Eddie.” You replied quietly. “Very metal.”

“Y’think so?”

“Yeah.” You pressed another kiss to his forehead. “I do.” And then you rolled your hips up against his soft, half-ready erection and he huffed, his own hips jerking automatically in response. “Touch me?” You begged.

That pink tongue appeared between his plush lips, his pupils blowing wide. “Uh-huh.” He replied dumbly. “I can, uh, I can do that.”

Eddie was roving hands and roving kisses. Wet lips on your breasts, mouthing at your nipples over the fabric. Clever fingers snuck under your waistband, wriggling your pants off, undoing his own even while his mouth continued to roam. You got a handful of his hair, sighing and letting your head fall back against the covers when his tongue dragged across your lower stomach.

“Ohhhh man. Fuck.” Eddie hissed out when he ran fingers over your underwear. “Had so many wet dreams about this. Missed it so bad.”

You thumped against his head. “If you don’t touch me now, motormouth, I can’t be held responsible for what I do.”

“Pushy, pushy.” He said, pressing a kiss below your bellybutton. You could hear the smile in his voice. He dragged his lips down, following every inch of skin he exposed as his fingers slowly pulled down your panties.

“You don’t have to-”

“Lemme have this, baby.” He said over you. Another kiss, this time to your pelvic crest, his long hair tickling your sensitive abdomen and making your skin jump. “Lemme have this.”

Eddie’s furnace-hot mouth on your pussy wiped every logical thought from your mind. You let out an animal noise, completely out of your control: fuck, it had been months. His wet lips and flickering tongue dragging between your folds was euphoria. You could feel the sharp stubble of his chin dig into you when he lapped his tongue at your opening, spreading you open with clever fingers.

You were so sensitive, so alight, your stomach muscles were contracting involuntarily. You cried out, hissing and panting and sighing, hands woven into his wild head of hair, pressing his face deeper. So many memories, the good ones for once, came floating back: your long, sloppy makeouts in the back of his van. Picking up Eddie from school and kissing him hard in front of the other high-schoolers as if to say yeah, that’s right, he’s got a hot college girlfriend, motherfuckers. Eddie eating you out in the backseat of your cramped car, fogging the windows. Slow-fucking in his twin bed, Metallica blaring, the cold of winter storming outside the trailer.

“Fuck, Eddie, your mouth.” You whined into the open air when he suckled on your clit, tip of his tongue drawing maddening circles. One of his fingers slipped into you, easy and perfect and wonderful in your sloppy, aroused wetness. He crooked it. Your hips jerked.

Eddie looked at you from under his eyebrows, face already shiny with slick. Keeping his gaze locked on you while one finger turned to two and he pumped you, eating you like a man starved. “So pretty.” He moaned against your pussy.

Pleasure coiled in your gut, running down your thighs and up your back like superheated glass. “Stop.” You gasped, pushing at his head. “Stop, ‘m gonna cum, Eddie.”

He groaned again, directly against your clit. Jesus, he looked a sight, rutting against the mattress between your legs, sunlight turning his hair into a halo of dusty brown. “Mmm, want you to.” He said hoarsely. Those long fingers rubbed encouragingly at that perfect spot inside your pussy.

Christ, you were gonna cum. It was gonna hit you like a fucking freight train. “No, please-” You hiccuped out, nearly blind with pleasure, legs squirming. “I want-” You collected your thoughts when he lifted his mouth, looking at you. “Want us to do it together. I want you inside me.”

Eddie looked stunned. He dropped his forehead against the inside of your thigh and laughed incredulously. “Fuck.” He rasped. “You always know exactly what to say to me, huh?” He was off the bed so fast it made the mattress wobble, his cock bobbing and weeping in the air- jesus christ, you wanted that in your mouth- and he was hunting through your long-discarded jacket. “Do you still keep...” He rooted through the inside pockets. “Yeah. ‘Course you do.”

He held up a shiny condom package.

“Old habits die hard.” You replied sheepishly.

He jumped back on the bed, hair fluttering, ripping it open with his teeth and rolling it down over himself, blowing air between his lips as he touched his dick. The latex was bring and shiny, tight around him. You couldn’t help yourself: you scrambled forward and wrapped a hand around his length. Heavy, hot, throbbing. Just like you remembered.

“Ah. Shit.” Eddie whimpered, hips snapping up into your fist, fucking your grip. “I’m so fucking close, I’m... I can’t hold out, baby.”

“Don’t want you to.” You said. You crawled over him, shivering at the heady, addictive sensation of skin on skin, bare thighs pressed together, bare hands touching bare flesh. You handled his cock, flicking the head over your wet folds, back and forth. Eddie looked you were trying to exorcise him.

“I love you.” You said in a small, soft voice. “Love you.” And then you sank down, slow, so slow, adjusting to the white-hot breech, the throb, the perfect fullness. When you got down to the hilt on Eddie’s lap, legs wrapped around his torso, you started to roll your hips.

And it was good. So good. He reached so deep inside you, always did, mushroom tip pressing so perfectly against that soft spongey patch that sent lightning bolts down your legs. Your pussy clenched around him, his wiry, arousal-wet hair scratching at your clit.

He made an animal noise. A weak, broken, relieved cry: like he’d been waiting months for this. Eddie wrapped you in his arms and pressed you to his chest, thrusting up into you as best he could with you in his lap. His heart thundered against yours, separated only by a few inches of blood and bone. Pleasure spread like wildfire over your skin.

“-love of my fucking life, goddamn angel, jesus christ-” He was babbling against the crown of your head, squeezing you so tight in those arms you could barely breathe. The two of you moved in tandem, rabbit-fast thrusts wild and wet, skin slapping lewdly against skin.

You were going boneless. “’M cumming.” You barely got out. More of a cry than a sentence.

It did hit you like a freight train. Like a goddamn mallet. Wiping your world away, breaking everything down to just this, to his cock pressing up into you, practically kissing your fucking cervix, his heart thundering by your ear. Eddie jackhammered you through your orgasm, and just when you were starting to fucking writhe with overstimulation and ecstasy he followed you over the edge, foreheads pressed together, his entire body going rigid.

The universe, finally, after a half year, was right. And it was just you, and him, and sunlight.

Ten minutes later you were tangled together again, freshly showered. You couldn't keep the smile off your face while you toweled off his hair and pressed a kiss to his hand. He was so handsy: hungry for contact and reassurance, which you gladly gave him. You laid together under the bedsheets, naked and soft and vulnerable. You played with a lock of his hair. He looked at you with an arm tucked under his head like you were the center of the goddamn universe.

“Hi.” He said again, for the fifth time that hour.

“Hi.” You replied dreamily back.

“I really didn’t know if I’d ever see you again.”

You hummed, fingers drawing patterns on his hip under the sheet. “I already lost you once, Eddie. I wasn’t gonna let you slip through my fingers again.”

“Because you looove me.” He sing-songed with an airy chuckle, brown eyes crinkled, so so utterly fucking pleased. A cat with cream.

“Because I looooove you.” You called back. You pressed soft kisses to each other’s lips, little pecks. After a minute of the pleasant, tactile silence, you asked him another question. “How long do you have to stay here?”

“Mmm. Till they say I can leave. Some lady told me they’re getting me a new, fuckin’, entire identity, or some shit? New name, new backstory. The works. Like something out of a TV show.” You kissed him again and his pretty eyes fluttered. “Uh... so probably like, another six months.” He finished weakly. Distracted by your mouth.

“Hmm.” You were back to playing with his hair, extending a curl out and back again. “That’s enough time for me to finish up my two-year degree.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I can get my diploma...” You snuggled closer to him and draped an arm across his side. His eyes were wide and wonderous in the pale evening light. “... Then I can come pick up my boy in my Honda. And you’ll have a new name. We can go anywhere we want.”

“Anywhere?”

“Anywhere.”

“California.”

“Sure, Eddie-bear. California.”

He pulled his head back, hair rasping on the pillow. “Is this your way of asking me to live with you, babygirl?”

You swallowed your sudden cluster of nerves and covered it with a scoff of bravado. “Not an ask. A demand. I gotta keep my eye on you, Munson. You have a bad habit of slipping into other dimensions.”

He nodded somberly, jokingly. “Ah. Yeah, understandable. Who am I to contest the will of my good lady?” He pressed forward again, a kiss to your left cheek, then your right, and you heart felt like it was going to fucking explode when he tangled his fingers up with yours. “We can get a real shitty apartment. Nice and cheap. And you can be a cute barista that I can hit on while you work.”

“And we can go to the beach, after our shifts.” You added to the fantasy.

“You know, I’ve always wanted to get high on a beach.” He said matter-of-factly.

“Really?”

“Yup. Always wanted to see the ocean, too.”

You touched his face, fingers on his cheek, laid parallel to the scars. “We can see the ocean.” You said softly. “Together.”

“Hmm. I’ll hold you to that.” He hummed against your skin. His mouth started to roam again, and you were relaxing and shutting your eyes, falling into the sensation, when he nipped at your neck and you squealed over his cackle. He stretched.

“Hope you like spaghetti-o’s, babygirl.” He grunted as he sat up, scratching at his bedhead. “Cuz that’s all we have till Mr. Angry Agent comes back.”

“Oh, love them. Who needs fine dining when you have Campbell?”

Eddie cackled, and there wasn’t a better sound in the universe. After all: who needed dreams, when you had the real thing?

#not pictured: eddie's agent bursting through the door because it's unlocked and finding them cooking together #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #stranger things s4 #my writing #minors dont look

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