your honor im a freak bitch.

“Just come right in, I guess!” he exclaims, slamming the door shut in your wake to keep out the cold air. Unfazed, you throw yourself back onto the living room couch, ignoring the look of utter annoyance that stretches itself across Eddie’s angular features when you do. “Now that you’re nice and comfy, what the hell do you need?”

As if the chip on his shoulder is unjustified, you let out an offended scoff. Stalling at his question, you will yourself to break contact with Eddie’s gaze. “…Weed.”

Eddie folds his arms in front of his chest, staring you down; he’s wearing a leather jacket with his Hellfire tee underneath, paired with gray-black jeans and combat boots. With the shitty yellow glow of his trailer surrounding him ominously as he looks down on you with near-black eyes, he almost appears intimidating, but in all honesty, you’d be more afraid of a golden retriever than of Eddie Munson in most situations. He likes to play himself off like he’s some kind of unpredictable bad boy, dealing drugs after school and wreaking havoc in the hallways by way of his wild antics, but you’re not stupid, unlike most of the other Hawkins high attendees.

You’ve been regularly buying weed from Eddie for a few months now; once a week you’ll meet him under the staircase at school to purchase a half-ounce, occasionally sticking around for some idle conversation.

He always struck you as a lonely kind of guy- somebody with a lot to say, but nobody to say it to. You’d nod along as he rambled on about his band, or the assholes at school he hated, or Dungeons and Dragons, which you would pretend to understand just to humor him. He was a nice, if not slightly geeky and eccentric dude, and you could never quite understand the fear your classmates harbored for him.

“Ouch, (y/n). And here I was thinking you just wanted to spend some time basking in my presence.” He shakes his head with a click of his tongue, his face contorting into an exaggerated display of devastation. “What the hell happened to the shit I sold you this morning?”

You grit your teeth into a wince, reminded directly of the cause for your bad mood. Flailing back dramatically against the throw pillows beneath you, you flash Eddie a helpless look. “God, don’t even get me started, Eddie.”

“The cops didn’t catch you, did they?” He knits his brows, voice dropping to a concerned whisper as his spindly frame hunches over you. “You didn’t rat me out, did you? My uncle will be so fuckin’ pissed if our trailer gets raided.”

“No. Worse,” you say flatly, stifling a giggle when his dark eyes expand cartoonishly with alarm. “My mom found it.”

You’d made the mistake of tossing the baggie of weed in your sock drawer before heading to your evening shift at the record store, only for your mom to come across it while putting away laundry that evening; when you’d arrived back home later in the night, you found your mother, red-faced and teary, sitting at the kitchen table across from a box of Kleenex and your stash. Blubbering endlessly about life paths and bad influences, any outsider would have assumed she’d caught you lighting a crack pipe redhanded.

He lets out a prolonged exhale in a combination of relief and exasperation, shaking his head at you like a disappointed parent. “And how exactly is that worse?”

“You haven’t met my mom.” You reposition yourself on the couch, sitting upright and crossing your legs in favor of a less unhinged approach. “She’s gonna be on my ass until the end of time now.”

“Sorry, I’m still having trouble seeing how that’s worse than getting raided by the police,” Eddie says, rolling his eyes as he starts towards the hallway, where you assume his bedroom is located. “So what do you want? Another half?”

“That’d be nice,” you say, chewing your lip apprehensively. You decide not to say anything else until he returns with what you want, spreading your hands out on your knees and drumming your fingers restlessly.

You wouldn’t consider yourself a stoner, though you’ve been smoking daily since your sophomore year of high school, after befriending a few punk-obsessed senior kids who introduced you to it; at this point you’re probably semi-dependent on the naturally occurring substance, but you can’t bring yourself to stop- you love the way it makes you feel, all cozy and content, your cheeks aching from smiling at every damn thing you cross paths with.

You know it’s mildly pathetic to have walked all the way to the trailer park after midnight with the sole intent of replenishing your confiscated stash, but you hate the thought of spending a weekend without any weed.

On second thought, maybe you are a stoner.

When Eddie emerges from his bedroom, he’s carrying a twisted-up Ziploc bag, a telltale earthy green shade visible through the transparent plastic. He swings it back and forth as he approaches you in the living room, humming something off-key to go along with his needlessly jaunty strides. “Should I even sell this to you? Kind of a waste to sell if mommy’s just gonna add it with the other contraband.”

“Hey!” You feel your cheeks burn in response to his teasing, which is embarrassing enough of a reaction in itself- why do you care what Eddie Munson thinks, anyway? “She isn’t going to find it this time.”

He examines the bag thoughtfully, holding it above his head so that it catches in the room’s sallow lighting. “I dunno, (y/n). I dunno.”

Eddie’s doing what he does best: putting on a show, and you don’t know if he’s merely acting on his ever-present impulse to behave idiotically, or if he’s purposefully being an asshole- either way, you can feel your patience gradually depleting by the second. “Eddie, seriously- don’t be a dick. I walked all the way here.”

“That was your idea!” he exclaims, visibly dumbfounded by the audacity of your demeanor. “What if I was all out, huh? Then you’d be shit out of luck, wouldn’t you?”

“Well, good thing you’re not,” you say defiantly, extending a hand in between the two of you with an obnoxious grabbing motion. He’s starting to really get on your nerves now, though you assume it’s intended. “Just give it to me, Eddie.”

He acts like he’s going to hand you the bag before he abruptly retreats his arm to loop behind his back, shoving it into his back pocket. “Not so fast. I want my ten dollars.”

Glancing down at your palms in an attempt to avoid Eddie’s expectant stare, you fidget uncomfortably in your seat, before blurting out, “Yeah, could I maybe get it for free? Just this once?”

Eddie lowers his chin towards his chest, his eyebrows raising in disbelief; you force yourself not to look at him, knowing fully well that you’re making a complete ass of yourself right now. “Sorry, I don’t think I quite got that. Did you say free?”

Fuck. Out of all the people you figured you could get free weed from, Eddie seemed the most likely to oblige, but obviously you’d misjudged him. Maybe you do need to cut back on the Mary Jane, because damn- you’re really starting to act like a corner-store crackhead. You’re growing increasingly more embarrassed with every moment Eddie’s dark eyes remain fixed on you, but you’ve already made the journey, so really, there’s no point in backing down now. “Well, yeah. I mean, I didn’t even end up smoking the other shit I bought. My mom probably threw it in the trash.”

Eddie laughs, though you get the impression he’s doing it at you, rather than with you. “Do you think drug dealers come with fuckin’ insurance or something?”

You stifle a frustrated groan, fully realizing the stupidity of your request now that you’re being called out. Still, you refuse to let him catch on to your self-awareness, choosing instead to double down on your argument. “C’mon, Eddie. I only make three-fifteen an hour and I already spent half my paycheck on cassettes.”

“Well, damn, (y/n)! Learn to manage your finances better, then!” He speaks with a lighthearted tone, but his body language communicates a prominent irritation, his arms crossed firmly over his slender midsection. “If I give you weed for free, then I’m going to lose money, and I’m already strapped for cash. Plus, if word got out that I gave you a freebie- I’d have a whole line of desperate potheads begging outside my door instead of just one.”

You gasp at the bluntness of his remark, huffing out when you can’t think of anything clever to come back with. “I wouldn’t tell anyone you gave it to me for free. I swear.”

“Like I said- I’m too broke to be giving away goddamn goody bags,” Eddie snaps, angling his head to glance not-so-subtly at the front door, before flashing back to assess your flushed face. “I know you probably thought I’d cave at the sight of a pretty girl at my doorstep since I’m a freak who gets no female attention and all that, but I’m sorry to tell you that I actually run my business with integrity.”

The whole of Eddie’s statement blindsides you, and you find yourself blinking wildly as your mind races to process it; he’d just called you pretty, to your face, as matter-of-fact as reciting the alphabet. You can only pray that your complexion doesn’t redden too drastically as you feel your cheeks prickle and flush, but you somehow carry on, feigning indifference to the best of your ability. “You’re a drug dealer, dude. I don’t think there’s any way you can do that with integrity.”

“You can think whatever you like, sweetheart,” Eddie says as he taps your shoulder twice, signaling you to get up, which you do, albeit reluctantly. Once you’re back on your feet, you’re reminded of your height difference, though it had never really crossed your mind in the past; perhaps it’s your close proximity to him that makes it seem so much more conspicuous now, with Eddie looking down on you- literally- from mere inches away. “My answer is still absolutely fuckin’ not.”

“It’s just ten dollars worth of weed!” you yell, not unlike a child being denied a balloon in a grocery store.

“If it’s just ten dollars, why can’t you pay me, huh?”

He bows his head so that his dark, frizzy hair curtains either side of his angular face, shrugging nonchalantly, despite the pride that you can see gleaming within the mischievous blackness of his eyes. Check-fucking-mate.

It dawns on you that you’re probably just going to have to accept not getting your way, and you pout, giving up on trying to convince him. “Because I’m broke.”

“Well, so am I!” He looks at you like you’re out of your mind, and you can almost agree with him, though you’d never say so out loud. During the resulting lapse of awkward silence, you can see him start to ponder something, his mouth screwing up in earnest thought until his tone eventually shifts.“Y’know, if you showed up at any other dealer’s house at this time of night with no money, they’d probably think you were coming to fuck them for drugs.”

Your mouth drops open, and for once, you’re genuinely speechless. The worst part, however, is that he has a valid point- you really are acting like someone trying to whore themselves out for drugs, aren’t you?

“Oh, come on, (y/n). Don’t look at me like you have no idea what I’m talking about.” He chuckles, his eyes dropping to briefly scan you over. You’re not wearing anything scandalous, despite the self-consciousness that floods your body as he surveys you- just your thrifted jeans and an oversize corduroy jacket, hardly the appropriate attire for drug prostitution.

“Um, ew?” you manage to retort, stepping backwards until your calves are pressed up against the couch. There isn’t much space available for you to create any meaningful distance between the two of you, so you’ll just have to settle for the time being. “I totally did not come here to fuck you for weed, you pervert.”

“Oh, so I’m a pervert now for pointing out the obvious,” Eddie says, his hands splaying out theatrically in front of him. “I’m just saying what it looks like, not that I want you to! Jeez!”

You scoff without really thinking, insulted. “Oh, so if I did offer you something in return, you’re saying you’d turn me down?”

Eddie just looks at you with a perplexed expression, before his lips twitch upwards at the corners, giving way to a self-assured smirk. There’s a devious glint in his eyes that you’re not familiar with, and when you peer back up at him, your body inadvertently shifts and squirms. “Not necessarily.”

You attempt to back away but can’t, seeing that you’re cornered up against the couch with nowhere to go. The air is somehow thicker now, more tense, and there’s an invisible hum of electricity that gnaws at your fingertips; it’s like you’re frozen, your limbs stiff and unresponsive, and you gulp, hyper-aware of the sudden tilt in atmosphere.

Eddie’s smirk intensifies as he witnesses your bad attitude slip away, your disposition no longer bold, but trembling and timid. “I don’t normally accept trade offers in the form of sexual favors, but hey, maybe if you ask really nicely, I’ll consider it.”

“Fuck you.” The words come out immediately, desperate to mask  your humiliation with some sort of vitriolic statement, but the effect isn’t what you were hoping for; your voice shakes weakly, and there’s no punch to it, no bite to let him know who he’s messing with. “I would never fuck you, for weed or any other reason. You’re creepy and a freak.”

You’re a bit guilty for getting so nasty with him, but at this point you’ll do anything to prevent your pride from enduring any more blows. Eddie just poises a brow skeptically, cocking his head to one side. “Yeah, I’m so much of a creep that you felt safe coming to my house in the middle of the night to beg for pot, isn’t that right?”

“I wasn’t fucking begging you!” You stomp your foot to accentuate your point, though it just comes off like you’re throwing a tantrum.

“Right- you were just asking persistently, then,” Eddie quips, growing more smug with each second that passes while you cower. “You’re reaaaallllly digging a hole for yourself right now, aren’tcha, sweetheart?”

“Whatever,” you say flatly, finally gathering the courage to step out of Eddie’s way, awkward in your movements as you shuffle toward the front door. “A simple no would’ve sufficed, but I guess being a douchebag works too.”

You’re taken aback when he stops you, his long, jewelry-clad fingers wrapping loosely around your upper arm. There’s a friendlier appearance about him now, and you figure he’s trying to ease up on the intimidation. “Hey, c’mon! I didn’t tell you no, remember? I just said you’d have to ask me nicely.”

You jerk your arm back, scowling, even though your heartbeat inexplicably quickens when he touches you. “Yeah, you said that about me fucking you for weed, and that’s not happening.”

“Why’re you so shy all of a sudden, huh?” he asks, moving beside you to snake an arm around your shoulders. You can smell the cigarette smoke that clings to the inky leather of his jacket as you catch yourself inhaling deeply, and this time, you don’t pull away. “You’re saying you don’t want this?”

He retrieves the half-ounce of weed from his pocket, dangling it above your head like bait. Eddie’s weed isn’t even that good- there’s more seeds and stems than actual flower, and you have to smoke a whole joint’s worth to even feel anything, but damn, do you want it. There’s just something special about his supply, something that caused you to stop buying from all the other dealers in Hawkins and focus your business loyalty solely on him. You give the weed a purposefully-indifferent side-eye, commenting, “What happened to you being too broke to give away free shit?”

“See, hon, it isn’t actually free if I get something in return.” He leans closer to speak directly into your ear, giving you goosebumps when he uses one hand to sweep your hair out of the way. “I like you, (y/n). Like I said- you’re a valued customer. That’s why I’d be willing to work out a deal for you.”

He talks like a Wall Street broker closing in on a deal, which you’d probably laugh at, if you weren’t so fucking nervous. You don’t know what to make of the events that unfold before you like a scene in a bad porno, but you still have a hard time believing that Eddie Munson is actually trying to seduce you right now; part of you wonders if he’s putting on a show in an attempt to teach you a lesson for intruding on his space. “I already told you, Eddie. I didn’t come here to fuck you.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re too good for all of that trashy nonsense,” he deadpans, rubbing your shoulder in circles with his callused palm. “Pretty girls like you should never give more than a blowjob for some Mary Jane. Right, princess?”

It’s like you’ve just taken a blow to the stomach, with the way his words knock the wind out of you; you quickly turn your head to hide the unmistakeable rosiness that blooms across your cheeks, although the effort is futile. “I- I didn’t say that.”

“C’mon, babe. You really think I believe that you came all the way here just to ask me for a little favor?” He gives your shoulder a condescending pat, chuckling at your efforts to evade him. “You knew exactly what you were doing.”

Had you known what you were doing, at least in your subconscious? It wasn’t like you’d put much thought into your plan before carrying it out, but what if there was an ulterior motive you weren’t even aware of? Are you really so disconnected from yourself that you’d be this clueless to your own intentions?

The way your body reacts to his closeness, however, tells you that Eddie “the freak” Munson has a profound affect on you, perhaps on a far deeper level than you know.

“Sure, if that’s what you wanna believe,” you say dismissively as you place one hand on your hip, regaining a bit of your cool exterior to scan his face over in search of any sign that he’s fucking with you. He appears entertained by your flustered state, but there’s also an earnest look behind his dark eyes, signaling to you that he’s down if you’re down. “But if you wanted me to blow you in exchange for the weed, you could’ve just asked.”

“You’re the one who’s gonna need to ask me, sweetheart. I’m giving you a pretty good deal, don’t ya think?” He bats his lashes mockingly at you, apparently in the mood to drag this little power play out for as long as possible; you can tell it’s turning him on, just from how quick and sharp his breathing is becoming.

As much as you hate yourself for it, you’re turned on, too, with an aching warmth making itself known between your shifting legs; logically, you know you should be ashamed for partaking in such a degrading activity, but physically? Well, that’s a different story altogether.

“Fine, if it helps boost your ego,” you mutter, shocked with yourself for even retaining the ability to speak. You try to keep your words straightforward and unemotional, managing an even “can I blow you for weed, Eddie?”

He looks at you like you’re stupid, letting go of his hold around your shoulder as he drops to sit down on the couch. “I, uh, think you might’ve forgotten something there, (y/n).”

Rolling your eyes, you watch as he unbuckles his belt noisily, leaning back against the throw pillows expectantly. He’s really having fun with this, isn’t he?

“Can I please blow you for weed?” you say through a pained wince, causing a triumphant grin to spread across his face as he continues to undo the front of his pants. Your question is ridiculous, pathetic even, but it’s music to his ears, his head falling back to let out a whoop of obnoxious laughter.

By now, you’re almost positive that this treatment is payback for calling him a freak, and while you probably deserve it, you can’t help but resent him for being an asshole anyway.

“See? Now, was that so fuckin’ difficult?” Eddie chides, eyeing you expectantly as he pulls his jeans and boxers partly down his thighs, exposing himself to you. He’s almost fully hard, and it’s evident that he’s packing a lot more than you ever would’ve guessed, with his thick, flushed length curving gently to one side. You sink onto the floor in front of him, wedging your way between his parted knees so that you’re face-to-face with his hefty dick, which is big enough that you’re actually intimidated by it. “Well, I guess since I’m in such a good mood, I’ll allow it. ”

He puts the bag of weed on the couch next to him, to provide with a good view of what you’re sucking him off for.

“You’re such an asshole,” you murmur, getting into a position where your mouth can reach him. You pretend to be fixated by the view of your own fingers taking hold of his cock, refusing to find out what sort of cocky expression is painted across his angled features.

“Yeah, yeah. I can act however I want,” he says while winding his fingers through your (h/c) hair, not implementing any real force to his grip just yet. “My house, my weed, my rules.”

“Whatever you say, dungeon master,” you say wryly, winking at him as you permit some saliva to dribble from your mouth and onto his cock, which twitches in response to your tongue-in-cheek nickname. You close your mouth around his leaking tip and suck on it lazily, your eyes heavy-lidded as they look up to drink in his admittedly pretty features.

“Yeah, that’s a good fuckin’ girl. You gotta earn it,” he encourages, his hand settling on the back of your head, still entwined with your hair. “D’you do this with all the dealers? Huh?”

You glare up at him resentfully, dipping your head to take him further into your mouth, his skin smooth and salty as you run your tongue along one of his prominent blue-green veins.

Taking advantage of the fact that he has a tight grasp on you, Eddie pushes your head down all the way until you’re gagging on him, causing you to move your hands to splay over his thighs; after a brief moment admiring you as you squirm, he moves you back several inches in a gesture of mercy. “Fuck. Yeah, you want it bad, don’t you? Fucking burnout slut.”

The harshness of his tone causes your head to spin, your panties soaked completely through; you’re sure he can sense how much you like it, because he jerks your head back down until your face is nearly flush with his pelvis once again.

“Must’ve smoked all your brain cells away if you thought you could pull one over on me,” he continues, and although you can’t see his face, you can practically hear the smirk within his voice. He lets up, allowing you the opportunity to bob your head freely up and down his thick cock, sputtering and drooling as you do so.

Hissing, he administers a sharp tug to your scalp, resting his head back as you explore him with your hot, needy mouth; his jaw is unhinged, giving way to a string of profane grunts, hips rocking up beneath you to make contact with the back of your narrow throat.

“Fuck, babe. Yeah, that’s it.” He uses your hair as reigns, guiding your motions to better suit his liking. You’re rendered temporarily speechless, your only sounds being the crude wet noise of your mouth being filled and fucked. “Goddamn, your mouth feels so fuckin’ good.”

The sound of his praise only fuels your avid movements, your fingernails digging through the denim of his jeans, clinging helplessly to him. You purr when he affectionately strokes you from your forehead to the base of your skull, the heavy metal of his rings assisting to cool your feverish skin. “Fuuuck, (y/n). Keep going.”

Doing as he says, you make an effort to take his cock all the way into your throat, peering up from underneath a veil of mascara-coated eyelashes. Eddie’s eyes are closed as he’s enveloped in your inflicted ecstasy, but they flutter open momentarily to meet yours, giving you a goofy half-smile when he notices you. He only abandons his douchey persona for a lapse before swiftly getting back into character, bucking his hips up fiercely into your mouth.

He rolls himself on your face, relishing in the sounds you make, the vibrations reverberating throughout his bottom half. You focus on taking your air in through your nose, ushering shallow gulps of oxygen that are only effective in keeping you from passing out.

“Gotta swallow it all if you really wanna earn it,” he groans, voice hoarse and gravelly. “You gonna do that for me, princess?”

He yanks your head off of his length, and you cough as spit strings rudely from your swollen lips, tears spilling out from the corners of your eyes. He waits for your composure to return, pursing his lips impatiently until you’re done wheezing.

“Yes, Eddie,” you say weakly, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand, completely forgetting that you’re wearing dark mascara (not that you looked any more polished beforehand). He basks in your disheveled appearance, petting your cheek and using his thumb to rid your face of tears, seeming drunk off the sight of you.

“Good girl.” He stands up from his spot on the couch, bringing you into an upright kneeling position by the root of your hair. Obediently, you open your mouth up for him, lolling your head back so he can slide himself deep. “Gonna make me- fuck- cum so hard, baby.”

You go limp as he fucks your face, enjoying the defenseless sensation of being used so carelessly. The arousal is loud and unrelenting as it burns through your core, your thighs squeezing together, needing friction. God, why the fuck had you only offered to blow him?

Eddie’s stomach flexes beneath the cotton of his shirt, and you know he’s about to climax, his head tilted back to fixate on the chipped ceiling. “Shit. Open your mouth.”

Once again, you’re taken off of his cock, which he angles above you, one hand working at his glistening length while the other holds you still.

It only takes a few more strokes before he’s releasing his hot cum into your waiting mouth, adorning the back of your throat with heavy ropes of white. Just like you promised, you swallow it all down with a slutty grin, licking your lips as you shrug your shoulders coyly.

“Holy fuck. Never woulda guessed that (y/n) (y/l/n) is a fuckin’ whore,” he laughs breathlessly, tucking himself back into his boxers and buttoning his jeans. He motions with his head to the half-ounce that still sits untouched on his couch, his fingers hastily buckling up his sturdy black belt. “That’s all yours, babe. I think you earned it.”

“Glad you think so,” you say with a sardonic raise of your brows, snatching up your prize and stuffing it into the inner pocket of your jacket like he might change his mind at any second. “So I guess this is when you tell me to get the fuck out?”

Eddie double-checks that is buckle is properly secured before squinting at you incredulously, seemingly put off by your suggestion. “Are you fuckin’ crazy? You think I’m gonna send you walking off into the night for any hillbilly with a van to snatch you off the side of the road?”

“Eddie, you are a hillbilly with a van.” You fold your arms in front of your chest, somewhat bashful at his sudden protectiveness.

“I am not a goddamn hillbilly, (y/n),” he protests, patting himself down until he hears the faint jingle of his keys from his coat pocket. “Y’know, I could always take my offer back if you’re going to be ungrateful.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so.” You hug your jacket tighter around you, a challenging expression situating itself over your features as you fight to stand your ground. “What, you think I’m your little slut now or something? I don’t need you to protect me, Eddie. This was a one time thing.”

“No, stupid,” he says as he slides his ring of keys into view. “It’s called not wanting to find your missing poster plastered all around town tomorrow morning. I’d be a piece of shit to let you go, blowjob or otherwise.”

“Whatever,” you mutter bitterly, tucking your hands into the corduroy material of your oversize jacket. “Just remember that this isn’t happening again.”

“Which part? You blowing me for weed, or just hanging out with me at my trailer?” He slips his hand around your waist as he walks you to the door, a hopeful ring to his words.

You stifle a grin, leaning into his shoulder unintentionally. “I’d hardly call what just happened hanging out.”

“Yeah, well. Maybe we can some time, yeah?”

It’s difficult to ignore the way your insides twist, your heart thundering wildly into your ribcage, threatening to break loose. Eddie Munson has successfully charmed you, a feat you never would have thought possible until now, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing it just yet.