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not even in the show. never appears on screen. all we get is that he’s Eddie’s supplier, he’s got a house by the lake, and he spends his time watching stoned comedies.
and somehow that’s enough. that’s a whole vibe, a whole guy, built out of one throwaway line.
I use him constantly for atmosphere and I have no regrets.
Thank you @itzakicka for a songfic request, “Scotty doesn’t know” by Lustra is right up my alley.
You’re so sick of your boyfriend, and when the chance comes with Eddie, you don’t waste a single second.
Warning: cheating on your boyfriend with Eddie, protected sex, semi-public sex, oral male receiving.
It’s another night in the local bar, and you come to support your favorite band—Corroded Coffin. You sort of hang out with the same crowd, but you don’t know Eddie that closely. You’d like to get to know him, though. The band tears through their set, and the whole bar is buzzing with their wild energy; your ears ring just a bit. Your boyfriend is loud, banging his head in the front row the entire night, but by the time the afterparty kicks off in the back room, he’s drunk as a pig—slurring, stumbling, and barely able to stand.
Eddie, still high from the show with his hair wild and guitar-pick necklace dangling against his ripped shirt, helps haul your boyfriend toward the bathroom when he starts looking green.
“I got him,” Eddie says, shooting you a quick glance. There’s something in his eyes tonight that you haven’t seen before.
You follow them down the narrow hallway, embarrassed to the roots of your hair. The bathroom is small, dimly lit, and smells like cheap beer and chlorine. Your boyfriend collapses onto the dirty floor in one of the stalls, muttering something incoherent before his head lolls back against the wall.
For a second you and Eddie just stare at each other.
“You okay?” Eddie asks.
“Yeah,” you pause. “I’m sick of him.”
“Wanna forget him?” Eddie looks straight into your soul with his deep, dark eyes that you’ve never seen this close.
You should say no. You should drag your boyfriend home. Instead you step closer, like you probably always wanted but never got a chance. He smells like tobacco, sweat, and something like incense. When your fingers brush his bicep, the contact sends a jolt through your body.
“Fuck it,” you whisper against his neck. “Yes.”
Eddie’s mouth crashes into yours instantly. It’s messy, hungry, nothing like the careful kisses you’re used to. His hands are everywhere—gripping your waist, sliding under your shirt, palming your breasts while he backs you against the sink. Your boyfriend snores loudly just a few feet away.
“Wanna fuck you right here…” Eddie’s lips are red from your kisses and his voice is raspy after the show.
You nod. Eddie locks the door.
He spins you around, bending you over the sink so you’re facing the dirty mirror. Your eyes lock in the reflection of both of you as he yanks your skirt up and shoves your panties aside. His fingers check if you’re ready. He’s behind you, rock hard, cock pressing against your ass.
“Did you think about me out there?” he murmurs in your ear, and that’s all it takes for you to arch your back and spread your legs a little wider for him.
“Maybe.” Eddie pushes your tank top down so your tits spill out—a great sight in the mirror.
It takes a second to roll the condom on, but you’re writhing with need already. Eddie pushes in with one deep thrust, and you moan so loud he has to put his hand over your mouth. He looks so good like this, like a true rockstar quickly fucking a groupie after a show.
Eddie tries to check himself, to go slow, but loses it entirely in a minute, snapping inside you with the same passion he had on the stage. Every thrust rocks you forward, your hips banging into the sink. His cock nudges your cervix and you can’t help crying out.
“Quiet, sweetheart,” Eddie breathes against your neck, grinning like a devil in the mirror. “Wouldn’t want to wake him.”
He keeps hitting you right in the sweet spot and your knees tremble.
“Look at yourself,” he growls in your ear. “Taking my cock while your boyfriend’s passed out right there. Such a bad girl.”
His dirty praise sends hot impulses down to your core. You come first—shaking, biting his fingers to stay quiet.
“Fuck… you’re squeezing me too good.” Eddie follows right after, burying himself deep and spilling into the condom.
You barely have time to catch your breath before he fixes your top and pulls your skirt back down.
“Just leave him there and come with us.”
The next time you’re at the bar with your boyfriend turns into another disaster. You sit right next to him when he flirts with a waitress, her plush boobs jiggling in front of your face as she laughs at his joke. Well, you can play too. Eddie is sitting with the band, having a beer before the show. You catch his gaze and make a calling gesture with your index finger.
Stupid dick, your boyfriend barely notices you leaving, since you head toward the bathroom—there’s no suspicion. You don’t stop there, though, and wait for Eddie at the back door.
“Can I help you with something?” he asks, but the smile reaches his eyes when he understands. You take his hand and guide him to the dark alley.
The light barely filters through as you get on your knees. Eddie leans against the wall and looks down at you without any surprise, like he’s been waiting for you to come again. The fabric of his jeans tents too obviously. You feel a fresh wave of heat low in your belly.
You palm him over the fabric first, eliciting several moans that feel like music in your ears. You unbuckle his jeans and free him. Someone creaks the door and shuts it back. You don’t care. His cock is thick and heavy, twitching when your breath ghosts over it. You wrap your hand around the base and take him into your mouth, closing your eyes, losing yourself in the feeling of his silky smooth head on your tongue, the taste of his skin, and the sound of your own mouth stuffed full.
Eddie responds with a groan, hips jerking up. “Fuck—sweetheart…”
You work him eagerly, bobbing your head, sucking him deeper while your hand strokes his balls. He threads his fingers through your hair, holding on as his breaths turn ragged.
“Shit, just like that… your tongue feels so good.”
His voice, filled with lust, turns you on even more. You moan around him and grip his thighs to steady yourself. Your nails dig into the denim.
“Look at me…” you hear his broken voice.
You make an effort to open your eyes without taking his cock out of your mouth. Eddie caresses your cheek. He is so handsome, dark curls frame his pale face touched by feverish blush, hazy deer eyes under the long lashes.
“Such a dirty girl, blowing me in the alley.”
Encouraged, you swallow around him, choking just slightly. Either the sound or the sensation makes his thighs tense.
It doesn’t take long before his grip tightens and he comes down your throat with a low, wrecked moan of your name. You swallow every drop and take his hand to get up. Eddie gives you his bandanna to wipe your mouth.
“Can I buy you a drink?” he offers with a crooked smile.
“Please.”
It’s weekly arcade night, but your boyfriend caught a ride with some friends and tells you to drive or ask someone for a lift. At least he called.
You dial Eddie’s number. His van is rumbling next to your house before you’re even ready. He holds you a little longer than friends do, and the kiss on your cheek burns a little more than usual.
At the red light his hand lands on your thigh and you part your legs so he can feel how aroused you are.
“What did he do this time?” Eddie asks as his long fingers cup you.
“Does it matter?” It doesn’t at this point.
Eddie pulls the van behind the building. “Get in the back,” he says, and you can see he’s already uncomfortable in his jeans. The van has a blanket on the floor, to protect the precious musical equipment of course.
Inside, you climb into his lap, straddling him. A few kisses to his mouth and neck and a few rolls of your hips are all it takes to get him fully hard. Eddie lifts you just enough to get the silver square out of his pocket. You love the sight of his thick, pink cock waiting for you to sink down. Both of you groan at the stretch as he buries himself to the hilt and holds you there tightly. The van creaks as you begin to ride him hard, hands braced on his shoulders while he grips your ass and thrusts up to meet you.
“Fuck, you’re soaked,” he pants. “Is this still revenge or what?”
You answer with a broken moan, grinding down harder. The risk of someone walking by only makes it hotter. He flips you over and pushes your knees up to hit a better angle. Each time he thrusts into the perfect spot you gasp. Eddie reaches between you, thumb circling your clit until you come hard, clenching around him, shaking and trembling. You watch his face, eyes shut, lips parted. He’s so handsome you want to do it all over again.
“I can’t do this anymore… you feel so good. I can’t get enough. Oh fuck, I’m gonna come…” he mutters.
His cock gets even harder and fuller before Eddie comes and collapses over you with words that surprise you.
“We need to tell him.”
“Now?” you pant, crushed by his weight, blissed out.
“Why not?”
He ties off the condom, and you share another deep, filthy kiss, then head into the arcade both flushed and glowing.
Inside, the bright lights and electronic noises feel distant after everything. Your soon-to-be-ex is playing air hockey with Jeff, but his eyes lock on you the second you walk in with Eddie’s hand on your lower back.
You don’t hide it.
Halfway to him, while everyone’s crowded around the skee-ball machines, you turn to Eddie, grab the front of his jacket, and press your lips to his. You tilt your head to deepen the kiss, tongue sliding against his—right there in front of the entire group. Eddie kisses you back like he’s starving for it, one hand cupping the back of your neck, the other pulling your hips flush against his.
When you finally pull apart, your ex is staring, face red.
“What the hell is this?” he demands, voice cracking.
You look him dead in the eye, Eddie’s arm still wrapped around you.
“We’re together now,” you say clearly. “Eddie and I. It’s over between you and me.”
Eddie smirks, pressing another quick kiss to your temple. “Told you she deserves better, man.”
The entire group freezes. Across the air hockey table, Jeff leans over, his jaw practically hitting the floor. Over by the skee-ball machines, Gareth stops mid-throw, his hand dropping while keeping the ball cupped, looking between Eddie’s smug grin, your flushed face, and your ex’s red cheeks.
Gareth breaks the silence first, letting out a low, slow whistle. "Damn, Munson..." he mutters, a quick smirk cracking his face. Jeff just glances at your ex, wincing with a mix of secondhand embarrassment as he quietly takes a step back to give the drama room to breathe.
Someone in the crowd laughs nervously. Your ex looks like he wants to throw up on the nearest arcade machine, but finding no support from the guys, he curses under his breath and storms out instead.
Eddie laces his fingers through yours and squeezes. “Ready to go play, sweetheart?”
AN: Cheating is bad, but this is Eddie so no judgment.
You came to water Reefer Rick’s flowers and found Eddie in need of TLC.
Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, smut 18+ , oral f receiving, protected piv sex, drug use (weed)
The afternoon sun filtered weakly through the dusty windows of Reefer Rick's lakeside house, casting long shadows across the cluttered living room. Eddie Munson had been holed up first in the main house, then retreating to the boathouse when paranoia set in harder, but today he'd risked coming back inside for something resembling comfort. Rick was still in lockup, so the house was Eddie's temporary kingdom: mismatched furniture, posters on the walls, a half-empty bottle of cheap whiskey on the coffee table.
The door creaked open without a knock, slicing through the stale quiet. You froze in the doorway, keys in one hand, canvas tote with gardening tools over your shoulder. You wore cutoff denim shorts, and a loose tie-dye crop top that showed a sliver of stomach.
Eddie Munson shot upright on the sagging couch, switchblade flipping open in his fist. His eyes were wide, breath sharp, every line of him screaming ready to run or fight.
Neither of you moved.
“Who the hell are you?” The voice was rusty, like he didn’t use it in a long time.
You put both hands up, calming him like a spooked animal. "I used to buy from Rick. He lets me water the plants out back when he's... indisposed. Keeps the flowers alive so the neighbors don't get nosy. I have the key. Didn't expect company."
He didn’t lower the blade. “You know who I am?”
You glanced at his face—wild curls, tired eyes, something haunted flickering behind the bravado. “You look familiar, but I don’t get into town much. Just the lake and work.”
Eddie studied you. No spark of suspicion. No sudden fear. Just honest confusion. He exhaled hard, glancing at the open door—no lights, no cars—then back to you.
The switchblade clincked on the coffee table. Still within reach. “Eddie. Rick’s… friend. Laying low here. Family stuff. Needed quiet.”
You nodded and introduced yourself. “I live two houses down the lake path. Not here to rat you out. I can come back another time… or skip it… if this is bad.”
Silence hung. He eyed the door again. The house had been suffocating him with silence and fear. Even this awkward intrusion felt like a lifeline.
“You’re really just watering flowers?” he asked, half skeptical.
“Yeah. I do real estate—showings, listings. Houses lose value fast if the one next door looks abandoned. Overgrown yards scream ‘problem property.’ I just water, tug a few weeds. Nothing fancy. Keeps the comps from tanking.”
Eddie blinked, then let out a short, surprised chuckle—the first crack in his tension. “Didn’t realize real estate people smoked.”
You smiled, small and wry. “They do when the market’s slow and the clients are assholes. I know Rick keeps his private stash in a shoebox in the hall closet, though. If you’re desperate.”
He studied you another beat, then jerked his chin. “Door stays cracked. Go do your thing.”
You backed out carefully, went around the side. Through the blinds he watched you kneel by the beds: pouring water, tugging a stray weed, unhurried. No suspicious glances back at the house. Just you and the garden.
Eddie told himself he was watching to make sure you believed him. That lasted about a minute.
The cutoffs rode up when you crouched, exposing the back of your thigh — a long clean line of it, catching the afternoon light. The hem of the crop top lifted, baring the small of your back, the soft indent of your waist above the denim. You sat back on your heels and pushed your hair out of your face with your wrist because your hands were dirty, and something about that — the unselfconsciousness of it, the fact that you were completely absorbed in what you were doing and not thinking about being looked at, made it harder to look away.
Eddie had been alone in this house for days. He was aware that this was probably a factor. When you turned toward the house, he moved back from the window like he hadn’t been doing exactly what he’d been doing.
When you returned to the porch, hesitating, he spoke before you could leave.
“Wait.” Softer now. “If you know where that shoebox is… help me find it? I’m not digging through Rick’s shit alone.”
You gave him a warm smile. “Sure.”
You stepped inside, closed the door softly. He followed you to the narrow hall closet. The space was tiny—barely wide enough for one person. You both reached for the top shelf at the same time. His knuckles grazed your forearm, then your hip.
The air thickened. You could feel the heat of him, the quick rise and fall of his breathing, the faint scent of smoke. He didn’t pull away immediately.
Heat rushed to your face. You laughed softly, the sound shaky. “Sorry. It’s a very small closet.”
You rummaged together, shoulders bumping, hands brushing again and again as you shifted boxes and old junk. It wasn’t on the top shelf. Eddie muttered a dramatic curse and crouched lower, his body pressing closer to yours in the tight space. Your thigh brushed his as you both reached for a lower stack. Finally, your fingers closed around the dusty box at the back.
“Got it,” you breathed.
Eddie took it with a murmured “thanks,” but his eyes lingered on you a second longer than necessary, dark and heated.
Back in the living room, he nodded toward the couch. “Sit. If you want.”
You did, leaving space between you.
He rolled a joint with practiced flair, lit it, took a hit, and passed it over.
You inhaled slow, exhaled. The weed was Rick’s private reserve — strong, heady, the kind that hits smooth and then blooms deep in your chest, turning every sound softer and every color warmer. The high settled in like warm honey, loosening muscles you didn’t realize were tense and making the edges of the room glow faintly.
The TV flickered with an old VHS of Fast Times at Ridgemont High already in the player.
Eddie leaned forward as the movie started, he gestured wildly with one hand, hair flipping as he leaned closer to you on the couch. “And Spicoli enters, the stoner messiah, riding the waves of destiny. Legend!”
The weed made everything funnier, sharper, more vivid. Every time you laughed, Eddie scooted a little closer on the couch, closing the distance inch by inch until his thigh pressed warmly against yours and his arm draped casually along the back behind you. His fingers occasionally brushed your shoulder as he gestured, the contact light but electric, sending little sparks through the haze. For the first time in days, Eddie didn’t feel like he was waiting to die—he was just here, with you, laughing like the world outside didn’t exist. The paranoia that had been gnawing at him melted away into the warm, fuzzy glow of the high and your easy company.
Munchies hit hard, you craved something sweet. You raided the pantry together. Bisquick, evaporated milk, syrup.
“Pancakes?” you suggested.
He grinned. “Fuck yes.”
You insisted, “Both of us wash our hands first. I’m serious: never cook with dirty hands.”
“Yes, ma’am.”Eddie raised an eyebrow but complied with exaggerated obedience, scrubbing dramatically at the sink like he was getting ready to perform a surgery.
You worked side by side in the cramped kitchen, giggling. He flipped pancakes with theatrical flair, throwing them high in the air. You laughed brightly. When the stack was done, you drizzled thick syrup over them. Eddie watched you with open lust as you licked a stray drop of syrup from your thumb.
You both ate at the small kitchen table. When you tried to clean up, Eddie reached for the syrup bottle at the same moment you did. It tipped, and a thick stream of sticky syrup squirted across his fingers.
“Shit—” he started, but you caught his wrist without thinking.
Holding his gaze, you brought his hand to your mouth and slowly sucked the syrup from his fingers—one by one. Your tongue swirled around each digit, warm and deliberate, tasting the sweet maple on the rough skin. Eddie’s breath hitched, eyes going dark and hooded as he watched you, lips parted. The playful sarcasm vanished for a moment, replaced by raw hunger.
“Fuck,” he breathed, voice rough. “Feels so good.”
Plates forgotten, he stepped close, backing you gently but firmly against the counter. His hands framed your face, thumbs tracing your jaw, still slightly sticky.
“Sure about this?” he murmured, voice thick with desire.
Your fingers clutched in his t-shirt. “Very.”
Eddie lifted you onto the counter in one smooth motion, and kissed deeply, sweet with maple and bitter with smoke. Your legs wrapped around his waist. Clothes came off fast—your top tossed aside, his tee yanked away. His mouth trailed down your neck, teeth grazing, sucking a mark just below your collarbone while his hands roamed—palming your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples until they tightened under his touch and you arched into him with a soft moan.
He sank to his knees, tugged shorts and panties down, and paused — just for a beat. A slow grin spread across his face.
“Huh.” He glanced up at you, eyes bright with awe. “You really do tend a nice garden.”
The dirty joke, delivered with that signature sarcasm, made you laugh breathlessly even as pleasure spiked.
He ran a finger along the neat edge of the hairline till your clit covered between the folds.
You felt heat crawl up your neck. “Shut up.”
“I’m paying you a compliment.” He pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh, innocent as anything. “Let me take care of it.”
And then his mouth was on you, no more teasing, tongue diving in slow circles, then sucking firm till your hips jerked, ringed fingers entered you gently, setting a steady pace. Your hands fisted in his hair, breath quickened, he pushed deeper, faster, with intent, curving right there. You moaned and panted, pleasure building up inside while he ate you out like he craved it since the moment you walked in. Vision blurred and your body convulsed when you came hard with a cry.
He rose, mouth slick, eyes burning. One last glance down, almost fond. “Beautiful”he murmured.
He fished a condom from the wallet, rolled it on quickly, then lined himself up. He pushed in slow, watching your face the whole time, savoring every gasp and flutter of your eyelids.
“So fucking perfect,” he rasped when he bottomed out, buried to the hilt. He stayed still for a heartbeat, forehead pressed to yours, breathing you in. Then he started moving—deep, rolling thrusts that gradually built into harder, more passionate snaps of his hips. One hand braced on the counter beside you, the other gripped your thigh, holding you open as he drove into you.
You met every thrust, nails raking down his neck, whispering broken pleas—“Yes, Eddie, please—”
He fucked you with hard, dominant rhythm, pace turning desperate and intense, as he was trying to last longer, counter creaking under you. When you clenched around him again, shattering with a cry of his name, he followed right after, trembling as he groaned low and deep into the crook of your neck, spilling inside the condom with incoherent praise.
His arms wrapped tight around your waist. He pressed soft, lingering kisses to your temple, your cheek, the curve of your shoulder—tender now, giving way to quiet affection.
“Good?” he asked, voice wrecked but gentle.
You smiled against his skin. “So much better than good.”
He eased back just enough to look at you, eyes soft and searching. “Hey… you and Rick. Were you two ever a thing? More than just flowers and deals?”
You laughed quietly, shaking your head. “No. Never. Just neighbor stuff. He’s not my type.” Thumb traced his lip. “You, though… you’re exactly my type.”
Something lightened in his face. He leaned in and kissed you again, slow, deep, full of satisfaction.
Outside, the lake lapped gently against the dock. For now, everything was calm and quiet.
Girls just wanna have fun (Eddie, Robin, Nancy & You)
Contactless Delivery(Eddie & Reefer Rick)
Rent (Eddie & You & Hopper)
What is she doing?(Eddie & Dustin)
Language, Henderson (Eddie & Dustin)
Tis the season (Eddie & You)
Planned Parenthood (Eddie&You&The Whole Crew)
Pain in the butt (Eddie&Corroded Coffin)
She is special (Eddie & Karen)
Stay-at-home-dad (Eddie&Robin&Steve)
Air traffic (Final?) (Eddie & You)
A/N: For this series, I'm assuming WT (You) survived 'cause she developed self-awareness (classic trope: Creature against Creator) and those demobats that bonded with her survived too, now living as her familiars; the rest of them perished with Vecna.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Eddie Munson x Female Reader ~ High School reunion
AN: Written for this request. It took me a moment to figure out why Eddie, who doesn't give a single fuck about these people or school reunions in general, would actually show up.
AN2: I also got an anon request for biker!Eddie, I am not overly familiar with biker culture. From what I looked up, 90s bikers were either part of semi-criminal clubs with an almost military hierarchy or rich kids showing off, with the occasional lone wolf in between. This is definitely the lone wolf biker version. I cannot imagine Eddie as a rich kid biker, but I can see him getting involved with a club and trying to get away from it. I have a few ideas how. If you have something different in mind, please feel free to elaborate on your idea.
You didn’t plan to come. The previous five year reunion was the most boring show-off — universities, jobs, children, some people basically prepared a poster on how perfect their life was. Yours wasn’t.
By their standards you were supposed to go to uni just to get married and have a couple of kids already, to fit the three-by-thirty timeline. Now twenty eight and still focusing on your profession, living in a city and not a suburb, you’d suddenly become a black sheep. But you were visiting your parents anyway, so you glanced at the RSVP list.
Edward Munson — maybe.
Infamous supersenior, accused of several murders, cleared, but people still talked. Never bending for anything or anyone, funny, kind, and oh so fucking handsome. At least he was ten years ago. Your heart started to beat faster. Would he even remember you?
The cocktail dress in your wardrobe said that if he didn’t notice you before, he will now.
The gym looks smaller than last time. Why does it seem smaller each time you come? There are string lights now and a disco ball, and a banner that reads WELCOME BACK, CLASS OF ’86. It does smell the same though.
With a plastic cup of bad chardonnay in hand, you scan a room full of people you used to know and mostly don’t want to talk to anymore.
Then you see him.
Eddie Munson hasn’t changed much. Same wild hair, now a little longer and possibly better taken care of. Same absurdly cute doe eyes. Leather jacket worn soft, a black band tee with a logo you don’t recognize underneath, jeans without a single hole, and boots. He’s leaning against the bleachers with a beer in hand, grinning at someone from his old club like no time has passed.
Eddie notices you staring and nods. You nod back and try to hide a shy smile in your cup, but the disgusting taste has you cringing.
“Is the drink that bad,” he asks, pushing off the bleachers, “or is my presence offending you?”
“It’s the drink. I think it just won donkey piss of the year, gold medal.”
Eddie laughs wholeheartedly.
“Come on, I’ve got some good stuff.”
You follow him to some sort of closet where he pours your wine into a trash can and reaches for his flask.
“Like whiskey? Ten years of maturity, just like us.”
“Would you think less of me if I added coke to it?”
“Nah, suit yourself.”
Eddie pours a generous amount into your cup and you ask:
“Don’t you want some?”
“Not till I get home. Driving back tonight.” Eddie is confident, relaxed, and his eyes are soft and warm, looking at your lips for just a moment , or am I imagining it?
“It’s just a little weird to accept a drink from someone who isn’t drinking themselves.”
Eddie groans and pretends you’ve stabbed him in the heart.
“Sure. Drug dealer and murderer pours you a drink from a flask he’s not drinking himself. Got it.” He takes a big gulp. “Happy now?”
A burning heat rush across your face and chest, as you realize how badly that landed.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just… it’s a big thing in the city, the spiking, people talk…”
Eddie turns toward the door.
“Fuck. I really shouldn’t have come. I’m used to murderer and drug dealer, but rapist is a new one.”
It’s shocking how clearly you can see it in his eyes—the weight of being a pariah all this time, and the realization that even ten years hadn't changed anything. You don't want to be another person who hurts him.
“I’m sorry, I’m only making it worse.” For some reason, you don’t want to go back to the room full of your former classmates. You catch the sleeve of his jacket. “Stay.”
You take a sip of the undiluted whiskey and gasp. “Oh! It’s actually good.”
Eddie relaxes, the sharp tension draining from his shoulders. His gaze softens as your fingers linger on his sleeve.
“Told you. Who would even fuck a girl drugged unconscious? Only a loser. You are right to be careful though, you’re a total babe.”
“You think so? Thanks.”
“It’s a fact. Want to head back in?”
“No, it’s nice talking to you actually. I thought you’d be, I don’t know how to say it, hostile?”
“Me? Hostile? To a girl who never hurt a fly?”
Eddie leans heavily against the door and covers his face with his big hand, decorated with heavy rings and faint smudges of grease that didn’t quite wash off.
“Oh, I’m such a moron, Eddie.” You take another sip, and it emboldens you. “Can I tell you something embarrassing?”
“Always.”
“I had the hugest crush on you in high school. Like, humiliating levels of crush.”
Eddie goes still for a second, like he hadn’t expected that to actually be said out loud ten years later. Then he laughs, not at you, just at the absurdity of it.
“Okay, that’s …wow. Okay.” He drags a hand through his hair. “I’m gonna need you to know that I spent an unreasonable amount of my last senior year writing terrible song lyrics about a girl who never once spoke to me.”
“I spoke to you. Once. In line for the copy machine.”
“You said sorry because you dropped your binder on my foot. That doesn’t count as speaking to me, only as acknowledging my existence ”
“That’s why I dropped it. I panicked.”
“I used to specifically time my hallway route so I’d pass your locker.”
You stare at him. “You did not.”
“I absolutely did. Ask Gareth. He used to make fun of me for it.” He shakes his head, laughing at himself. “We were both just really, deeply bad at this shit.”
“We really were.”
Music drifts in from the gym: "Drive" by The Cars—slow, mid-80s, the DJ clearly trying to warm up a crowd that mostly didn’t want to come. Eddie looks at you with a mischievous smile.
“Dance with me?”
“You can’t be serious, they’re going to die.” But you’re already putting your hand in his.
Eddie guides you out into the gym. You settle your hands on his shoulders and he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you in closer than strictly necessary. His palms rest warm and solid on your hips. For all his chaotic energy, Eddie is a surprisingly decent dancer, leading you gently to the slow rhythm.
“Technically I have more memories in this gym than anyone else here,” he murmurs near your ear.
You laugh softly, aware of every point of contact. The leather of his jacket is soft under your fingers. His wild curls brush your temple as he spins you just slightly, steering you away from your former teacher, who is making faces at you to come to your senses.
“Why did you come? I thought you’d be touring with a band by now or something.”
“I was. Briefly. Turns out van life loses its charm around month four. To answer your question — I might have seen a name on the list and thought it would be worth coming, even if you still didn’t speak to me. Gareth, Jeff, and Freak convinced me to join the Musketeers for one last ride.”
“Does that make you D’Artagnan?”
“Aha.”
You keep dancing, bodies swaying together as people stare and talk. The heat of his breath ghosts your skin. Your fingers slide a little higher, brushing the curls at the nape of his neck. Eddie’s grip tightens fractionally, like he doesn’t want to let go. The rest of the gym fades into a blur of lights and distant chatter. For a few perfect minutes it feels like it’s just the two of you melting under the slow pulse of the music.
‘Who’s gonna drive you home tonight?’ he hums along with the music, lips warm against your temple.
“My mom dropped me off,” you admit, your heart skipping a beat at the timing of the lyric. “I was planning to catch a ride with someone.”
“Catch a ride with me.” A beat. “To my place.”
You look at him in surprise, did he literally just ask you to sleep with him? Because you had a crush on him ten years ago?
Eddie doesn’t press for an answer and leads you back to the edge of the gym. The lights dim slowly, and the squeak of a microphone echoes through the speakers. On stage, a former school president with a blinding smile clears her throat.
“If everyone could look at the projector screen, we have a little trip down memory lane prepared by the reunion committee…”
The projector casts a white rectangle onto the gym wall. First comes a collage of the basketball team, cheerleading pyramids, and embarrassing 1980s haircuts. The crowd oohs and aahs on schedule.
Eddie leans in from behind, locking his arms around you. He checks his watch, which is a mechanical piece now. “Three. Two. One,” he murmurs in your ear.
The screen blinks. Eddie Munson’s mugshot fills the entire screen. In bleeding red letters underneath it, the text reads: MISSED ME? — E.M.
The gym goes dead silent for one perfect second.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
A series of petards, definitely illegal ones, detonate right beneath the stage. Sparks explode in bursts of flame and smoke. Screams echo through the crowd as people duck for cover, but the chaos isn't over. The heat and smoke instantly trigger the ceiling sensors. With a loud hiss, the gym’s sprinkler system releases a torrential downpour.
It takes less than three seconds for the Class of ’86 to descend into total anarchy. Women in flashy dresses shriek as their blowouts collapse, and men in rented suits scramble for the exits like rats on a sinking ship. Water pelts down on you, cold and sobering. Within moments, your hair is plastered to your neck, and your cocktail dress is soaked completely through.
You look at Eddie. He’s drenched, his wild curls flattened, a stray drop hanging from the tip of his nose, and he is laughing so hard he can barely breathe.
“Come on!” he yells over the sirens and screams.
Before you can even think, his big hand clamps firmly around yours. His grip is warm and solid amidst the freezing downpour. He tugs you forward to the exit, and you both sprint through the corridor and out into the cool night air.
The parking lot is starting to fill with panicking classmates. Panting for breath, you follow Eddie as he weaves through the rows of cars until he stops beside a sleek, vintage black motorcycle. He lets go of your hand, only to lean back against the bike, wiping water from his eyes.
“You riding this?” you gasp, trying to catch your breath.
“Did you expect the old van?” he pants, a smug grin cutting across his face. “I upgraded.”
Eddie takes off his jacket and steps closer to you. The playful bravado drops away. He looks at you intensely, and it feels like you need to pick a side right here and now. His fingers trace the water dripping down your neck, his eyes dropping to the way the wet fabric of your dress clings to your breasts. He helps you into his heavy jacket, and you instantly feel warm inside.
“You look…” Eddie swallows, his voice dropping low and velvety, “fucking beautiful.”
Your heart does a violent flip. The ten year gap, the high school insecurity, the judgments of everyone inside that stupid gym, all of it just disappears under his gaze. You step into his space, closing the distance until your wet chest meets his.
Eddie doesn’t hesitate. His large hands cup your face, his thumbs wiping away the mascara streaks on your cheeks, and he pulls you into a kiss. It’s everything you wanted at eighteen, but a thousand times better. He kisses you deeply, hungriness mixing with a surprising tenderness that makes your knees go weak. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, completely oblivious to the frantic chaos of the parking lot.
You look up into those soft, doe eyes, your fingers tangling in the damp curls at the nape of his neck.
“Take me to your place,” you whisper.
“Munson!” someone yells.
You both look toward the entrance, where former jocks in poorly fitting letterman jackets are assembling in an attacking position.
“Right about time.” Eddie’s lips curve into a slow, soft smile. He reaches for his helmet and hands it to you. “It’s going to be a fast ride, babe.”
Your dress is bunched up on your thighs and you cling tightly to Eddie as he navigates the dark backroads shaking off the chase, the summer night breeze playing with his hair. You wrap your arms tightly around his waist, pressing your chest against his back. The wet fabric of your dress dries slowly against the heat of his body.
When he finally pulls up to a small but nice house, you realize Eddie really did upgrade. The bike, the watch, the house, it’s all not flashy but he stands firmly on his own two feet now.
Eddie locks his helmet on the bike and guides you up the porch steps. “Welcome to my lair.”
The second the front door clicks shut behind you, cutting off the rest of the world, he turns. He doesn't even let you step into the living room. His hands find your waist, lifting you slightly as he presses you back against the wood of the door. The kiss is instantaneous, deeper and more urgent than the one in the parking lot. You gasp into his mouth, your hands tangling in his damp hair.
He pulls back just an inch, his chest heaving, his eyes dark and dilated in the dim entry light.
"Babe," he breathes, his forehead resting against yours. He runs a thumb over your lower lip. "You’re shivering. You need to get out of these clothes and into a hot shower. Through the bedroom, on the left."
You look at him, deciding right then and there not to wait another ten years. Your hands slide up his chest, your fingers wrapping around his familiar guitar pick necklace.
"Join me."
Eddie’s breath hitches. He doesn't need to be told twice.
The bathroom is small. As water heats up, your wet dress pools at your ankles and Eddie sheds his clothes too. In the shower he traps you against the tiled wall, his mouth finds your throat, grazes your collarbone, making you arch into him. His hands are warm, tracing the curves of your body with confidence that makes your head spin. Before you can think, he’s dropping to his knees.
"Eddie…" your voice catches, a breathless gasp as he hooks one of your legs over his shoulder.
"Shh," he murmurs, his dark eyes looking up at you through a curtain of damp curls. "Let me take care of you."
Eddie’s eager open-mouthed kisses on your inner thigh make your knees buckle, but his grip is steady and unyielding. When his tongue opens you, any remaining thoughts disappear. You grip his shoulders, digging your fingers into his muscles when he laps his tongue against your clit with a maddening rhythm. He knows exactly what he’s doing, shifting his mouth up and down, using his lips and teeth just enough to drive you over the edge, until you’re crying out his name into the ceiling and your body is trembling as an intense wave of pleasure crashes over you.
Before you can even recover, Eddie is on his feet, pulling you out of the bathroom and into the dark, quiet bedroom.
He falls onto the mattress pulling you over him, panting, looking up at you with a wicked smirk that is purely Eddie Munson.
“Condom?”
He is all spread out for you, strong, lean body, tattoos, scars and the happy trail to his beautiful, flushed at the head, cock.
You can’t spoil this moment you never allowed yourself to dream of fumbling with rubber. “I’m clean if you are.”
“Come on then.”
You climb onto his lap, straddling his hips, spreading a drop of precum over his cock. He reaches up, his large hands hold your waist as you slowly lower yourself onto him.
His eyes close for a moment, head back, throat exposed as his thick length is stretching you slowly. Eddie groans low. When he opens them, he is intensely focused on you. You move your hips in a slow, rolling rhythm that makes him tighten his grip on your waist, his knuckles turning white.
"Look at you riding me," he rasps through the pleasure. "So. Fucking. Beautiful."
The pace quickens, fueled by years of unspoken desire. You set the rhythm, riding him hard, your hair flying around your face as the heat inside you builds. Eddie meets every shift of your hips, until he flips you over and shoves a pillow under your butt. The new angle allows him to drag over the sweetest spot inside you, making you moan and cry out with each thrust. Eddie leans over to whisper in your ear:
“Where do you want me to come, babe?”
His slow, seductive voice makes you clench and answer “Inside, Eddie,” without thinking.
He reaches where your bodies join and pulses his thumb on your clit, as he pulls out almost entirely and then slams back in. The tension builds and builds until the tight coil inside you snaps and you convulse on his cock, your eyes rolling back as a second, deeper climax takes over you. Eddie lets out a choked sound, his hips driving up hard one last time as he lets himself finally fill you, his whole body going rigid before he collapses onto you.
For a long time, the only sound in the room is the two of you breathing, your chests rising and falling in sync.
He slides to the side and pulls you against his chest, listening to the rapid, steady thumping of your heart. You stay like that for a moment.
“Thirsty?” You nod and Eddie reluctantly leaves the bed, and disappears into the kitchen to grab a glass of cold water for you. You gulp it quickly under his content gaze.
“Something to eat before second round?”
“Sure, I’ll help.” You get up and reach for his flannel on the chair and follow him to the kitchen.
You look around. It’s just a little bit messy, coffee mug still on the counter, beer bottles by the couch. A few metal posters, a big shelf with fantasy books and an even bigger one with music records.
Eddie gives you a cold beer and you mostly sit on the countertop watching him put together grilled cheese sandwiches.
His hand caresses your knee while trying to catch up on ten years of each other’s lives in between soft kisses.
AN: I'm sorry we are crying so much in this chapter! I’ve been feeling a bit teary myself lately, but I think the emotion really fit the situation.
Also, a quick note on the carrying: I usually cringe at male characters carrying female characters around for long distances, but since our reader here is defined as petite and the distances are super short, it felt physically realistic for Eddie.
Warnings: teenage drama, petting, private viewing of Eddie’s tattoos, brief dr4g talk, Eddie is taking care of the reader …sorry, mostly PG.
Word count 4100
series Masterlist
You can’t go to the party with Eddie, but you still want to look your best. There will be all these girls in dresses that are not from the children’s section, and you simply can’t have that. You reach out to your banana friend for help.
When you tell her about the Chloraseptic spray, she laughs so hard that tears gather in her eyes.
“There,” she says, wiping her face, “let’s doll you up.”
You run through her wardrobe and figure out a cute top and a mini skirt. Looking in the mirror, you actually do look pretty and sexy. Pocket size sexy. Then you notice them.
The black stiletto heels.
Honestly, these were not designed for walking, but you don’t know that yet. Most of your shoes have platforms to give you some height, but thin heels are definitely not your go to.
You try them on and watch how, like in a spray of fairy dust, you turn into a sexy goddess with endless legs. Your eyes flicker with delight. You don’t have the smallest concern about the shoes being two sizes too big.
Slipping out of the window again is not an option. Not with your brother guarding you on top of the dog. You’ve been very good the whole week, extra chores and lots of studying, and honestly, you don’t go out that much anyway. After a long conversation outlining what not to do (basically you are only allowed to dance) your parents allow you to stay out until one in the morning.
“Where are you going dressed like that, Sis?” Colin looks you up and down, about to whistle.
“Shut the fuck up!” You whisper-yell and reach into your purse. You son of a… You stop yourself from proceeding and shove a crumpled bill into his hand. “I will tell them where you keep your magazines if you make a single sound when I get back.”
Bolt pricks his ears at the clicking sound the heels make on the floorboards. When you get closer, he lets out a growl followed by a few short, muffled barks.
Great, you say to yourself, even my dog is laughing at me.
You make it to the porch, where Eddie’s van is idling. He’s driving you, but you aren't going in together. You're keeping up the story about tutoring, hopefully long enough for people to stop paying attention.
“Wow, Tinker!” Eddie teases as you climb inside. “Another inch and I would have to reach up.”
“Reach up for what?” You’re still pissed off about losing that money to your brother.
“For this.” Eddie pulls you into a kiss. His lips are soft and warm. He’s freshly shaved, and he smells like something new. You open up to let his tongue dance with yours, closing your eyes and letting yourself forget all your worries. When he finally releases you from the lock of his arms, you are both panting.
“Screw the party. Wayne is on the night shift. Come over?” Eddie’s eyes are big and dark and warm. You are falling right into the depths like Alice going down the rabbit hole.
“I promised my friend. Plus I got all dressed up for this. Let’s stay for an hour and then go, okay?”
“Fine,” Eddie accepts without much enthusiasm. “I’ll have to watch you though.”
You sniff around his neck like a hound. His hand is still on your shoulder. “Is this something new?”
“What? No. Same extra strength deodorant for lumberjacks.”
You keep thinking about the unfamiliar, clean scent, then sniff his hand, picking up something lemony and chemical. A small spark of realization glints in your eyes. “Edward Munson, have you been cleaning?”
“Well, I do once a month, and it just happened to be—”
Now it’s your turn to grab his vest and pull him down to kiss you. “Tonight,” you whisper against his lips.
Eddie parks a little bit down the street from Harrington’s house. You leave first, shakily walking toward the sound of bass and laughter. It’s dark, chilly, and uncomfortable. You wish Eddie was holding your hand, or maybe holding your waist, saving you from falling down from the heights of your friend’s shoes. But he’s back in the van, counting sheep or whatever guys do when they get hard but need to save it for later.
You meet your friend and have a drink, listen to the latest gossip, accept compliments on your look (suddenly people notice), and generally have fun.
Eddie stands out the second he enters the house. There are whispers, eyes following him, and smirks from people who know he didn’t come empty-handed. He gets a plate full of appetizers, grabs a beer, and drops onto the couch like he just came for a free dinner, but slowly a thin stream of customers starts drifting over to him. You watch him from the makeshift dance floor, where you sway carefully between two familiar girls, ready to grab onto them if you lose your balance.
A cheesy romantic song starts playing. You are hoping to finally sit down, but a boy comes over and asks you for a dance.
You desperately look over at Eddie. He’s sucking on a chicken wing, looking very invested.
“You know, I can barely stand in these shoes,” you say. Hopefully this will be polite enough, but the boy steps closer instead.
“Hold onto me then.”
In the blink of an eye, his hands are on your waist, and you have no choice but to place yours on his shoulders. Nothing is wrong with him, but he isn't Eddie. You sigh quietly, already planning how to escape the second the song ends.
Mid-dance you catch Eddie’s eyes across the room. He’s watching you, looking thoroughly amused.
You make wide eyes at him, silently screaming rescue me, but he just smiles and pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his vest. You know you’ll be heading outside for fresh air in about two seconds flat.
“So, what do you do besides school?” your dance partner finally dares to ask toward the end of the song.
“I’ve been doing martial arts since elementary school. I really like kicking ass.” You smile, letting him process that information.
The back door leading outside is only about thirty steps away. You can make it.
Your friend catches you for another drink and quick questioning. “No, it’s not him, I just didn’t know how to get away,” you explain.
The night air outside is chilly and crisp, but you suddenly feel hot. Eddie is surrounded by three cheerleaders, caught right in the middle.
Five minutes earlier.
Eddie lights his cigarette, counting down the seconds before you storm out, likely ready to hit the van. He feels smug, already planning to pretend he is angry about the slow dance. The truth is, he knows you want him just as much as he wants you, but he sees this as a good chance to get a little revenge for that time you made him spiral with the silent treatment.
“Eddie, can I get a cigarette?” a cute cheerleader interrupts his thoughts, acting brave as she steps forward. Two of her friends stay a pace behind her. They are dressed for the party, but he knows they are on the squad by their heavy practice makeup, confident posture, and habit of moving in packs.
Eddie gives her one and holds the lighter up, looking at her face and trying to figure out what she actually needs. He is almost completely sold out of weed anyway and is ready to refill his stash tomorrow.
“Have you ever been in a situation where you need to look perfect, but you still have to work extra hard?” she asks.
“No, never,” Eddie answers honestly. “What’s up?”
“We have a competition next month.” The girl is visibly nervous now. Her sidekicks come closer, encircling him. “We need to lose a few pounds quickly and keep our energy levels up.”
She tries to play dumb, fluttering her eyelashes at him.
She is not dumb at all, though. He knows exactly what she is asking for. Black beauties. The holy grail of black market diet pills. Basically pure amphetamine, and a straight ticket to jail if something happens to them while doing high flying stunts, leading the trail right back to him.
“I have none of those, sweetheart. Too bad, because my specialty gives you the munchies.”
“Eddie, we know you can get them,” she presses.
“Just this once,” another one adds.
“We pay well,” says the third.
The first girl leans closer, leaving barely an inch of space between them. “And I will be very, very thankful.”
“No, girls. Not money, not thankful is going to change my mind. I have a moral code, you know? What if you drop the girl you throw around in the air and someone gets hurt? I can’t have that on my conscience. You are all already as slim as gazelles and as strong as—”
Eddie’s flowering speech on why this is a recipe for disaster is interrupted by a couple of jocks passing by.
You watch the whole scene. Your first reaction is jealousy, burning inside you like a furnace. An avalanche of thoughts hits you—how gorgeous these girls are and how you have to try twice as hard just to be noticed, not to mention what it takes to be taken seriously. You brace yourself, though. You already embarrassed yourself with the Chrissy situation, and this doesn't look like a romantic encounter anyway. The three of them surround Eddie, demanding something.
You brace yourself, trying not to run over to pull their legs off and shove them down their throats. Eddie can handle it. Still, your patience is stretched thin.
Two of the jocks you have seen before, Tommy's satellites, come over and smell the tension in the air.
“Munson! I told you to watch it!”
“We were just buying—” one of the girls starts, but the guy steps in between them.
“You girls get in the house and let us talk.”
To your surprise, the girls don't kick the guy in the head with their trained legs. They just watch as he shoves Eddie’s chest, backing him off toward the side of the house. You can't leave it like that.
You run toward them. Run exactly three steps before your foot slips inside the oversized shoe and you meet the ground. Your ankle twists hard, and a sharp pain makes you cry out.
The cheerleaders freeze. The jocks see a better opportunity to play hero, and Eddie turns to look at you with an expression full of pure worry and terror.
Both guys approach you, asking if you are alright.
“I’m fine! Get lost!” you snap.
One insists on helping you up, but you throw the loose shoe straight at him.
“Hey, no need to be rude. I just wanted to help. Gonna go tell Steve.”
As soon as the guys disappear back into the house, the cheerleaders surround you, offering stories about times they sprained their ankles and telling you that you need to apply cold and take anti-inflammatories.
“Eddie,” you finally say, giving up on pretending and calling out to him.
He has been watching you this whole time. Eddie drops down on one knee and gently frees your foot from the other shoe that is still on your foot.
“These things should be illegal,” he murmurs. “Can I carry you in?”
“Please,” you say.
The physical pain is bearable, but the weight of understanding that you ruined tonight with your own hands and feet finally crashes over you. Tears run down your cheeks. Eddie wanted to be with you tonight. He cleaned his trailer for you! But you wanted to show off how tall you could be at the party, and now it is all ruined.
By the time he places you onto the kitchen countertop inside, your face is covered in tears, mascara is running in dark tracks under your eyes, and you are sobbing uncontrollably.
“Does it hurt bad? I’m an idiot, of course it does. Do you need to see a doctor?”
“No,” you wheeze. “I think I’m fine.”
Eddie traces his fingers lightly over your ankle. “They said ice. Don’t move, let me look.”
Eddie opens the freezer, rushing through it and tossing useless frozen items aside.
Steve opens the kitchen door, taking a deep breath as he walks in. “Munson, I’m not even going to ask what you're doing here. What did you do to her?” Steve points at you as if you are a child or an object.
“I was minding my own business until…” Eddie shuts himself up. “…and then she fell. I’m looking for frozen peas or corn. Get the fuck out.”
“This is my house, Munson.”
Steve takes the recommendation to leave his own house surprisingly calm, handing Eddie a bag of frozen peas and a few paper towels. He watches Eddie wrap your leg carefully in paper towels and press the bag of peas against it, operating with an unmistakable sense of his right to touch you.
“You guys?” Steve asks, raising his eyebrows. “I just don’t want her getting into trouble.”
Steve opens the medicine cabinet and hands you two basic painkiller pills along with a tube of sports injury gel.
“It’s none of your concern, and I just fell because I wore these stupid shoes. Just fuck off, Steve, I’m not a child.” You wipe your face with your hand.
Eddie wets a paper towel and gently wipes the dark tracks from your face with so much care that Steve just shakes his head.
“Oh. I can see it clearly now,” Steve says softly. “Are you taking her home?”
Eddie is about to say yes when a nameless jock pushes the door open.
“Get the fuck out!” This time it is Steve yelling at them.
The door slams shut.
“If you don’t want anyone else to know,” Steve tells Eddie, “take everything and carry her out to the van through the back alley. Follow me.”
A few kids still see Eddie clutching you bare feet to his chest, but at least it isn't the whole party. In a few minutes, you are sitting in the familiar back of his van.
You are propped on the edge while Eddie is next to you, smoothing the cooling gel over your ankle with his fingertips.
“Why did you even wear those death trap shoes?” He is finished, wiping his hands on a rag and settling behind you to cradle you against his chest.
“I wanted to be taller. I wanted to look sexy, to be like the other girls.” You start to sob all over again.
“I don’t have any arguments against tall, and sexy, yes, but you are already sexy in your normal shoes. Honestly, with that skirt you wore to the concert, I couldn’t wait to get my hands on you. But why would you want to be like the other girls? Where is the fun in that?”
“You don’t understand what it’s like. People always look at them. But it’s different for me. Half of my peers think I’m still a junior. They just see right past me. Teachers don’t take me seriously, and even with martial arts, it took me so long to prove I was capable. And then with you…”
“Hey, hey. I couldn’t imagine. Don’t cry again, please. What about with me?” Eddie wraps his arms tighter around you.
“As soon as you notice me, there are suddenly all these girls, Chrissy and everyone else, and I just wanted to be like them, tall and long-legged and gorgeous.”
Eddie releases you, climbing around to the other side so you are forced to face him directly.
“Listen to me, Tinker.” He takes a deep breath, blinking as if to clear his eyes. “You don’t need to try so hard. Not with me. I don’t need you to be taller, or sexier, or anything you aren't. I don’t want you to prove anything to me. I like you exactly as you are. Short and fierce, punching people, running off to fight cheerleaders and jocks, jealous as hell, fun, smart, tutoring me, and planning wicked strategies. You have so many skills, you can do anything. Well, except getting things down from the top cupboard, but that’s what I’m here for. Okay, Tink?”
He cups your face in his hands, wiping away another fresh stream of tears with his thumbs.
“You are enough for me. Just like that, with all your... I don’t know how many inches.”
You start crying harder, burying your face in the crook of his neck.
“Did I say something wrong?” Eddie asks, completely confused about how his speech could possibly make you cry more.
“You are so good to me, and I ruined everything,” you manage to whisper through your sobs.
“Nothing is ruined. You are going to be fine. I will take you home, and tomorrow if it swells up, you can go to urgent care. If it doesn’t, you just put an elastic bandage around it like the girls said.”
“I mean tonight. You wanted to go back to your place.”
Eddie strokes your back, continuing his futile task of trying to console you. “We can go next time. Wayne is out often. Wednesday, I think. I need to check.”
“But you cleaned!”
“Oh, it’s not just that.”
You sob again. “Tell me what else you prepared.”
Eddie teases you gently. “I probably shouldn’t. You seem to cry more the more I talk.”
“Tell me.” You demand.
“I like that. The feisty one is back.” He smiles. “I might have bought new sheets. Black ones.”
“Anything else?”
“What, that’s not enough? Well, I refreshed the condoms in my bedroom just in case. It’s been sitting in there a while.”
You lean forward and kiss him deeply, completely disregarding the fact that people outside might see into the van.
“Anything else?” you ask, panting against his lips.
“I went shopping and bought the same cheese your mom uses, plus some candy. I wasn’t sure if you would crave sweet or savory if you got the munchies later.”
“And I wasted all of that on this stupid party,” you cry. “Is that really everything?”
“Okay, last thing. I put string lights up over the bed, but that’s not just for tonight. That’s more of a permanent fixture.”
“Take me there.”
“Tink, we have like half an hour before your curfew.”
“Please take me there. Just to look.”
Eddie carries you carefully around to the passenger seat, arranging your injured leg with extreme care.
“Only if you promise to get it checked tomorrow.”
Everything is close in Hawkins. You know the trailer park, having been a couple of times. A few of the houses still have lights on, but Eddie’s is completely dark. He parks the van and turns to you.
“Wait a minute. I will turn on the light so we don’t aggravate your condition.”
He runs up the wooden stairs of the porch, turns on the front light, and disappears inside. In a minute, he comes back out, propping the front door wide open.
Eddie carries you inside. Normally you would protest and tell him it is too much, but it feels like the right thing to do at the moment. You briefly glance over the living room, but he takes you straight to the bedroom, where soft, melodic metal plays from his stereo.
It is so much like you imagined that you can hardly stop yourself from crying all over again. The music, the glowing string lights set along the ceiling, the fresh bedding, and the sweet scent of incense almost covering the fact that he definitely smokes in here. The ashtray is empty, but present. His effort to make this night special for you is so palpable that you gasp with despair, realizing it will all have to wait.
A worm of doubt creeps in. Are you worth waiting for? Should you just do it right now, fast, while trying to ignore the throbbing pain in your ankle? Fresh tears roll down your cheeks.
“Hey, hey, why the waterworks?” Eddie settles you down gently on his bed and kneels beside it to look at the damage. “Does it still hurt bad? I can take you to the 24/7 urgent care in the next town.”
“No, Eddie, it’s not the pain. I just really wish I hadn't insisted on going to the party, and just—”
“Shhh. You couldn’t have known. It will all still be here next time.” He looks down at his digital watch, calculating quickly. “We have about twenty minutes before I need to load you back into the van so your father doesn't kill me for not delivering you on time, especially in this state.”
You pull on his arm, tugging him onto the bed with you. He carefully climbs up beside you.
“I really don’t want to accidentally hurt your leg…”
“Shut up and give me a tour of your room, please.”
Eddie sits beside you and begins pointing around the room. The poster is from the first concert he went to with Uncle Wayne. There are books, cassette tapes, and his D&D materials. He brings over a box, showing you his hand-drawn maps, figurines, and notebook entries. The handcuffs hanging near his desk are a trophy.
You stroke his thigh upward, moving higher.
“And I will use them to restrain you if you don’t start behaving,” he warns, though his voice drops lower. “Can’t have you hurting yourself more.”
You sigh softy and ask, “How about a tour of your tattoos?”
Eddie laughs. “That’s a cunning plan to undress me, but I can’t say no to you.”
He pulls his shirt off over his head. He tells you about when he got the flock of bats flying up his arm, explaining that the spider on his left arm and the skull on his bicep are classic heavy metal pieces. He tells you the demon on his forearm is his newest piece and that it actually has a name, and points out that the dragon design near his shoulder is technically a wyvern. You trace the dark ink with your fingernails, catching his nipple as your hand brushes past. It perks instantly at the contact. Eddie jerks slightly, clearing his throat as he glances back down at his watch.
“You have got ten more minutes, you cruel little…”
You stop him up with a deep kiss, and he gives in completely. You lay almost on top of him, kissing everything you can reach without moving your injured leg—his tattoos, his chest, and his nipples, biting them gently just like he did to yours in the van. He hisses softly through his teeth, muttering that he is going to have to take care of himself as soon as he gets back home tonight.
“Thinking of me?” you ask, leaning down to lick right over the face of his demon tattoo.
“Oh, absolutely.” He stops your teasing hands and pulls you up to kiss you with all the pent-up desire he has been holding back. His lips press tightly against yours, his tongue insistent and deep, as if he wants to give you a full preview of what is coming on Wednesday.
He bites at your lower lip and tugs when the digital watch lets out a sharp, annoying beep, breaking through the music tape he clearly made just for your special evening.
“I can’t believe you put us on a timer!”
Eddie unglues his body from yours, pulling his shirt back over his head.
“Time to take you home. Can’t have you grounded and missing out on our next meeting.”
series Masterlist
P.S. The story is reaching its end! Love to hear your thoughts. The arc of the Reader going from jumping over her head to be noticed to being cherished the way she is—over. But I will not leave you hanging, and I will write a bonus episode for when they finally do it!
Eddie Munson sweeps in five minutes early to the Friday night session, carrying his battered DM binder under one arm and a shit-eating grin that could’ve lit the whole basement. It is very late for him. Hellfire’s weekly campaign is the only thing in his life he comes twenty minutes early for.
The party is already gathered around the table: Dustin, Mike, Lucas, Gareth, Jeff, and the two nervous freshmen who still jump every time Eddie slams the table for dramatic effect. They look up as Eddie drops into his throne.
Dustin’s eyes narrow first. “You’re… glowing.”
Eddie freezes. “What?”
“You’re literally glowing,” Lucas says, pointing like Eddie has grown horns. “Like, your face is doing that thing. Like you just won the lottery and got laid in the same hour.”
Jeff snorts. “Gross. But accurate. Spill, Munson. Who’s the girl?”
Eddie tries to play it cool: leans back, kicks his boots up on the table, and clutches a d20 between his fingers. “No idea what you’re talking about. Just had a good week. Campaign’s gonna be fire tonight.”
Mike crosses his arms. “Bullshit. You’ve been humming since you walked in. You never hum. And your hair looks… good.”
“She told me to squeeze it with a t-shirt… shit.”
The table goes dead silent. Eddie’s d20 slips from his fingers and clatters across the table.
Lucas’s jaw drops. “No. Fucking. Way.”
Dustin leans forward. “The bratty girl? The one who called us virgins and stormed out after Vespera’s sacrifice? The one who told everyone you couldn’t run a cult?”
Eddie rubs the back of his neck, cheeks actually flushing. “Yeah. That one.”
Jeff cackles so hard he nearly falls out of her chair.
Eddie holds up both hands. “Whoa, whoa. Boundaries, sheepies. Let’s just say… she came back for round two. And three. The point is, she doesn’t hate Hellfire anymore.”
Dustin’s eyes are huge behind his cap. “Did you make a private campaign? Like, just for her alone?”
Lucas and Mike punch him and lift their brows in silent explanation. Realization slowly comes to Dustin’s face.
Eddie’s grin turns smug. “Oh, she played. Last night. Different rules.”
The freshmen gasp in unison.
“I need therapy,” Dustin says.
Mike asks, “She’s coming tonight, isn’t she?”
Eddie checks his watch. “Should be here any minute. I told her the campaign starts at 7. Said she could sit and learn. Observe. Maybe roll a few times if she behaves.”
The campaign wrapped twenty minutes ago, and the rest of the party’s long gone. Lucas left with a sly, knowing wink, Dustin got shy and rosy, and Mike muttered something about “get a room.” They scattered without a fight. They know better than to linger when the air gets this charged.
Eddie’s sprawled in his throne, as always, legs kicked wide, one arm slung over the armrest, the other between his legs. His ripped black jeans and faded Corroded Coffin tee scream chaos, but there’s natural ease to him. His dark curls spill over his shoulders. He’s all relaxed on the surface, but you catch the glint in his eyes. He is waiting for your next move.
The lock on the door turns with a click.
You step toward him, slow, hips swaying just enough to make his gaze flicker. In your hand is the black silk blindfold, the same one he’d spun between his fingers with a devilish grin days ago, daring you to play his game.
“Hands behind the backrest, Munson,” you say with just a hint of a challenge.
His lips twitch. “Well, well, look at you, stealing the Dungeon Master’s script.” His voice is sceptical and teasing, and you are dying to teach him a lesson. He complies though, leaning back, hands behind the throne, wrists crossing. “Go on, then. Direct the scene, princess.”
You step behind him, leaning close enough that your breath brushes his ear as you tie the silk over his eyes.
The knot’s tight, no give. His head tilts slightly, chasing the sound of you, but he doesn’t speak, he just lets out a low, theatrical hum, like he’s savoring the suspense as you tie his hands behind the throne.
Eddie hears the soft click of your heels once, twice, and then nothing as you kick them off, bare feet quiet on the floor. Your fingers graze his rough jaw, light as a whisper, and you feel the faintest shiver.
“Eddie, the banished was gullible enough to drink from the bottle of wine Vespera sent him as a token of her gratitude,” you murmur, letting your voice curl around him, “and now you wake up captured. The mighty dungeon master, all that fire and flair… mine to play with.”
He lets out a sharp breath, half-laugh, half-groan. “Careful, sweetheart,” he drawls, voice dripping with mock menace. “You keep talking like that, you’re gonna start a riot in these jeans.” Even blindfolded, he’s all bravado, leaning forward just enough to test the space between you, like he’s daring you to push back.
You drop to your knees between his spread thighs, and whatever quip he was brewing dies in his throat.
Your hands unbuckle his belt. You drag the zipper down. His jeans part just enough; you tug them down with the boxers and his cock springs free, already hard and flushed at the tip.
You wrap your fingers around him, stroking once, slow and firm. His hips twitch up, and he can’t stop himself from groaning:
“Fuck… Vespera,” he starts, but you cut him off.
“Shh.” You lean in, letting your breath fan hot against his cock. “No talking. Or I will have to gag you.”
Then your mouth is on him.
No teasing, no games, deep right from the start. Your lips stretch around him, tongue pressing flat along the underside as you take half his length in one glide. His head snaps back against the throne with a thud, a hissed blasphemy slipping out before he can stop it.
You hum a little, the vibration making him tremble slightly, and start to move. Slow at first, savoring the heat and weight of him, how he gets even harder against your tongue. Then faster, head bobbing, cheeks hollowing, one hand stroking the base, the other cupping his balls, rolling them with a gentle twist.
His hands tense behind the backrest. You know he’s itching to grab your hair, to take control, but the blindfold and the tie keep him pinned and completely at your mercy. Frustration mixes with delight in his grunt.
You pull off with a wet pop, dragging your tongue underneath, then swirling around the head like you’re savoring something delicious. Back down, you go deeper, until your nose brushes the dark curls at his base. You hold there, throat working around him, and he chokes out a string of half-curses, half-praises.
“Fuck… where the hell did you… so good,” His voice cracks, and you pull off just enough to speak, lips glossy, voice husky.
“Maybe I was a virgin two weeks ago, Eddie,” you say, stretching the words. “But not clueless.”
He barks a laugh, bright and delighted, that melts into a groan when you dive back in, sucking harder, moving faster. “You little… fuck… minx,” he manages, voice tight with awe. “Gonna suck my soul out.”
Instead of an answer you take him all in again, throat fluttering. His thighs tense, hips jerking in short, helpless thrusts. The throne creaks under him.
“I’m gonna… fuck… come,” his voice is wrecked, his throat dry.
You don't stop. You double down, sucking hard, tongue flicking the sensitive spot just under the head, free hand slipping up under his shirt to graze nails across his chest.
He comes with a choked “Holy shit,” back arching off the throne, hips snapping forward, spilling down your throat. You swallow every drop, until he’s oversensitive and moaning.
You slowly rise and drink from your water bottle. Eddie hears it and silently begs you for a drink. You give him a sip directly from your mouth, then press the bottle neck to his lips. A few drops escape and you lick them away, your eyes never leaving his blindfolded face. Slowly, you reach for the hem of your top and pull it over your head, taking your bra right after and dropping it on the floor. Sitting on his lap, you bring your hands up to your breasts and squeeze them gently, sliding your palms over the curves and rolling your nipples between your fingers.
The sound of your clothes coming off makes Eddie’s ears prick. “Princess, you’re torturing me,” he rasps, his voice rough. “Tell me what you’re doing.”
“I’m looking at you,” you murmur, sliding your skirt and panties off. “And I’m playing with my boobs. My nipples are so hard right now, Eddie.”
A low groan rips from his throat. Right before your eyes, his cock twitches, hardening back up until he’s fully erect again, pink and glistening.
You smirk, straddling his lap and settling onto his thighs. You guide his thick length into your wet pussy, the stretch burning so good. You lean forward, rubbing your bare breasts against his t-shirt, tilting his chin to the side to kiss his jaw. “And now Vespera is taking her prize.”
You lift your hips and then press down, burying him deeper inside you.
“Fuck… you’re so warm… so tight,” Eddie pants, his face flushing pink.
You begin to move in a steady, grinding rhythm, the throne creaks loudly under the weight of you both. You lean back, arching your spine, your hands cupping your own breasts as you ride him.
Suddenly, with a sharp grunt of exertion, Eddie wrenches his arms forward. The hastily tied knot gives in. Before you can even register the shift, his hands lock onto your waist with a bruising grip.
“My turn to dictate the scene,” he growls against your neck.
With a feral jerk of his hips, Eddie thrusts up into you, slamming his cock in your worked up pussy to the absolute limit. Eddie pulls the blindfold away and looks at you with his eyes full of awe, an expression he will never recognize later. He kisses you with all he has got, the tongue, the teeth. The pace is his now, strong hands pulling you down as he jerks up with brutal force.
“You turn me on too much… I’m not gonna last,” Eddie chokes out, gasping like he’s run a marathon as he nears the edge for the second time. “I’m close… princess… fuck,” he reaches to rub your clit in tense circles. He somehow holds on until you come squeezing him tight. Seconds later, Eddie follows you over the cliff with a loud, undone groan, and pumps his release deep.
You collapse forward, resting your forehead against his shoulder, completely spent.
“Well,” he says, still inside, “you know how to make a goddamn plot twist.” He shakes his head, a grin tugging at his lips. “Thought I had you figured out, but, fuck, sweetheart, you’re full of surprises.”
You smirk, hiding how much you love his praise, and carefully get off him. “Now Vespera will let the Dungeon Master go, if he promises never to set her up for certain death again.”
Eddie laughs loud, and yanks you down into a messy, hungry kiss. “Only if I get side quests like this often,” he mutters against your lips, one hand tangling in your hair.
Your eyes flash with that newly discovered playful glint. “Next time,” you say, “I want you tied with something stronger. Handcuffs, maybe.”
His grin is all teeth, pure Eddie. “Oh, princess,” he purrs, leaning in to nip at your jaw. “Name the night. I’ll bring the hardware.”
You kiss him again, slow and lingering. “Next time,” you whisper.
how they met:
Curse of the City Brat
PS: There is a lot more where this came from, plot included! Editing is my least favorite chore, so please let me know if you want to see the rest of their story.
dividers by @sister-lucifer and @saradika-graphics
You've bullied Eddie since the day you met. Now you've lost a bet, and your "friends" dare you to kiss him for ten seconds.
Inspired by this post. I feel like there’s a few versions and each of them is great, but I still wanted my own, where it starts like a bet, but the sky falls on genuinely unlikable bully!reader when she kisses Eddie
WC: 2100
Warnings: forced kissing, bulling
The sound of the Hawkins High hallway in between periods consists of the student chatter merging into a monotonous buzz, the rattle of metal locker doors slamming shut, and the clackety-clack of the locks spinning. Today, the obnoxious laughter of Tommy H. adds to it, echoing right behind your ear.
"Tick-tock, princess," Tommy sneers, leaning his shoulder against the painted brick wall. "A bet’s a bet. You failed, so now you pay the tax."
Carol giggles beside him, crossing her arms. "Go on. Or you forfeit. And make it real."
Your jaw tightens. Your hands are trembling slightly, but you force them into your pockets so they won't see. They picked Eddie Munson on purpose. Not just some random, spineless loser. They know you hate him, and while you never physically hurt anyone, it was your idea to slip him a birthday card reading 'Happy "Found you in a dumpster" day' last year. And you certainly watched him and his friends being bullied or beaten up, cackling.
Down the hall, standing by his locker, is the King of Freaks. He is reading ragged comics, probably about the ridiculous fantasy world. Long hair, tattoos, rings on every finger, ripped jeans, and a denim vest over a t-shirt with an unknown band making terrible noise.
"If I get mono, Tommy, I’m blaming it on you," you hiss, your tense voice cutting through the noise.
You turn on your heel and stalk down the linoleum. Every step feels like a march to a firing squad, but you keep your chin up. Eddie doesn't even have time to register you approaching.
Before he can lift his head, you lunge forward. Your fingers dig aggressively into the lapels of his vest, and with all the frustration boiling in your chest, you shove him back.
The metal locker door warps under his weight with a loud, hollow BANG.
"What the—" Eddie starts, his dark eyes widening in pure shock, but the words are instantly cut off as you smash your lips against his.
“One… two… three…” Tommy and Carol begin a loud, mocking countdown from the hallway.
You expect him to taste like garbage. You expect it to be awkward, gross, and pathetic. But the second your mouth presses into his, your brain fails you. Eddie is warm, not sweaty or hot, just the nicest kind of warm. His lips are shockingly soft, and after a split second of total, paralyzed shock, his body completely melts into the contact.
He can’t help it. You are gorgeous, your hands are anchoring him by his jacket, and you are a highly rated kisser (yes, there’s a score). A muffled sound catches in the back of his throat. His hands instinctively fly to you, long fingers grip your waist, pulling you flush against his chest with an intensity that makes your own knees go weak. For a fleeting moment, the countdown fades. It feels entirely, terrifyingly real.
“Eight… nine… ten!”
"Munson! In the office. Now!" Mr. Braun’s voice booms down the corridor, shattering the bubble.
You wrench yourself backward, your breathing ragged, your lips tingling and completely flushed. Eddie stumbles forward half a step, his chest heaving, his curls messy and falling into his eyes. His puppy eyes are open wide, staring at you with a mix of shock and a raw, dazed hunger that sends a jolt of pure heat straight to your core.
He doesn't say a single word to defend himself as the teacher grabs his shoulder, hauling him away toward the office. Eddie just lets himself be dragged, throwing one final, unreadable, haunted glance over his shoulder at you.
Tommy and Carol are howling with laughter behind you, but you stand there fumbling to reset your own locker's combination dial, still feeling the taste of cherry lip balm.
The frosted-glass door of the principal’s office closes silently when you slip in. You shouldn’t be doing this. You are supposed to be gossiping with your bratty friends, mocking the less popular kids, plotting schemes, humiliating juniors and even soft teachers. But for some unknown reason, the jitters leave your stomach entirely as Eddie is taken away for your cruel joke, and now it feels like you ate shit.
Behind the cheap, flimsy desk sits Principal Higgins, his reading glasses on the bridge of his nose as he looks at an impressive stack of Munson's disciplinary forms. To his left, sitting in a plastic chair that looks entirely too small for him, is Eddie. He has his boots crossed at the ankles, his head tilted back against the wall, acting like he couldn’t care less. You can’t help gazing at his lips.
"I told you, Munson," Higgins sighs, not looking up. "Necking in the corridors is a violation. You are already on thin ice with your attendance…"
"It wasn't his fault." You blurt it out before even knowing why you followed Eddie to the office.
Eddie’s head whips around so fast his curls hit his eyes. He stares at you, his jaw dropping slightly as you march right up to the desk and lean over, exposing a bit of cleavage that quite often helps you get out of things.
Higgins slowly lowers his glasses, his eyes snapping shut to avoid your tits in his face. You’ve been here before for minor things, but as the bright student you are, your record is still pretty clear. "Excuse me?"
"It was my fault," you repeat, your throat feeling like sand. "It was a joke. A bet. I shoved him against the locker and I... I initiated the contact. He didn't do anything wrong, Mr. Higgins."
You cringe at yourself. When someone calls you a bitch you respond with “So what?”, not play saint. Why the hell you’re saving the freak from his 100th detention?
Eddie shifts in his chair, his eyes boring into the side of your face with sudden heat. He doesn't want your charity, and he certainly doesn't want to hide behind your back.
Higgins looks between the two of you—the resident degenerate and the golden-child honor student. For a second, you think your tits or your clean record will save you, that he’ll let you both off with a gentle warning and dismiss the whole thing.
Instead, Higgins lets out an unimpressed breath and pulls a second yellow slip from his drawer.
"Well, then," Higgins says, as he writes your name with satisfaction. "It seems Hawkins High has a new standard for comedy. If you are so eager to claim ownership of this... display, you can share the consequences. Room 104. Right after the final bell. Both of you."
He rips the yellow slip off the pad and slides it across the polished wood toward you.
"Dismissed."
You swallow hard, your fingers cold as you pick up the paper. You don't look at Eddie as you turn on your heel and push through the door. You’re upset to be disciplined and your parents will be mad, but the jitters are back at the thought of sitting next to Munson after classes.
You've only been in detention with your clique. It’s weird to be by yourself in a room with a tired teacher grading homework, Munson in the very back, and a few kids whose names you don’t even know. You immediately label them as Loser, Wanker, and Snotty for convenience.
Your legs carry you to the back of the room, completely out of your control. You sit directly to Eddie’s right. You really try to study for the test and not stare at how Munson's lips part when he doodles instead of doing homework. His fingers are quite entertaining, too; every ring is different, and he taps them in a pattern only he knows. You catch the movement of his neck as he notices you and looks away. You can’t read a single line. Eddie is slumped low in his seat, his long legs stretched out under the desk.
"I tried to get you out of it," you mutter quietly, wary of the unlucky weirdos. "But it completely backfired."
The tapping stops.
Eddie lets out a cynical laugh that cuts through the empty classroom. The teacher gives him a look. Eddie tilts his head to your side, his dark curls covering his face from your stare.
"Oh, you did me a favor. Truly. I’m trapped in a room long enough to actually open a textbook and get ready for that chemistry test."
“No talking back there.”
You don’t know what to say anyway. You've never felt guilty for your actions—like, what did they expect, showing off their ridiculous club shirts and nerdy chatter? Time passes, and you notice Eddie does turn to look at you, maybe twice. Your heartbeat quickens.
When the bell finally rings, you're free to talk. You have to chase him, though; Eddie is fast to leave.
"Look, I'm trying to apologize here, okay?" you snap, because something is gnawing at your heart. You lean closer, your voice a furious whisper. "It was just a stupid bet."
"A stupid bet," Eddie repeats.
The Munson grin slowly drains from his face. His jaw tightens, and his voice drops into a register you have never heard from him before—flat and bitter. He turns his whole body to face you and places a hand next to your head on the wall.
"Right. Because guys like me are just props for your little games. You spoiled kids are all exactly the same. You look at anyone who's different, anyone who doesn't wear a varsity jacket, and you decide we don't have a pulse. You wreck our week for a quick laugh, you get us thrown in detention, and then you say a and then you throw out a quick little 'sorry' that you don’t even mean."
He leans in a fraction closer, his eyes boring into yours with a fierce, quiet intensity.
"God forbid you stop to think that we actually have dignity, princess. That maybe I don't want to be the circus animal you poke with a stick just to see if I dare to fight back."
The absolute truth of it hits you like a physical slap. Your chest tightly contracts, a hot rush of humiliation flooding your cheeks. Because he is right, and your brain entirely panics under the weight of it. The feeling is new, but the jabs are always on the tip of your tongue.
You scoff, but your voice shakes a little—a detail that only you notice. "Oh, please! Don't tell me I wounded the pride of Eddie Munson. Since when do you care about dignity? You literally dance on cafeteria tables for attention. You play the freak for the whole school. Don't act like you have these feelings to be hurt."
Eddie doesn't fire back an insult.
“Just like I said.”
You notice it in his eyes. Big, dark, and shiny with… moisture?
He is breathing harder, his chest rising against his denim vest. Eddie turns and leaves without another word.
The silent hall closes in. You stay there, your stomach twisting into a sickening knot. You want to defend yourself, but looking at his rigid back walking away, you realize that you are dying to feel his lips again.
Eddie is smoking by his van the next day, and the Hellfire kids crowd around him.
“Man, it sucks you got detention, but… how was it?” asks Mike.
“How was detention? Try it for yourself. Boring.” Eddie takes a drag and lets a ring of smoke out.
“No, he means kissing the viper,” Dustin leans in, also curious about the experience.
Eddie furrows his brows and looks across the gravel parking lot like he wants to scrub the memory entirely.
“Like any other girl. Sweet, soft… warm. She’s a good kisser, I suppose,lots of practice. I should probably get checked, though, as I’m afraid her mouth has been on the whole basketball team, trainers included.”
The chuckle Eddie expects from the boys doesn't come. Mike shifts his weight, looking at his sneakers.
“Uh... okay,” Dustin mutters, rubbing the back of his neck.
“What?” Eddie snaps, defensive, taking another aggressive drag of his cigarette.
“Nothing,” Lucas says quickly, uncomfortable. “Just... you usually hate that kind of gossip, man. Like…I’m on the basketball team too.”
“I don’t care,” Eddie throws the half-burned cigarette to the gravel and crushes it beneath his boot. “Are you ready for the campaign? I'm going to have your asses fried.”
The kids exchange looks.
Eddie is a little off.
He will get over it.
PS: Ok, so the mean girl wants more… but it feels like a dead end. What would you do to fix it? Or don’t fix it and just corner him in private?
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Author's Note: Oh Billy... I miss you so much, but at least we have the fandom
Summery: You volunteer to help Billy Hargrove (of all people) study so he won't end up in summer school. He, of course, has other things on his mind, but you are here to make sure he doesn't get distracted... which isn't easy, because, well, have you seen him?
Warnings: 18+ only!! MINORS DNI, Smut, language, teasing/flirting, kissing, Billy being Billy, reader is a girl who likes pink, some boob play, tiny bit of spit, p in v
My Masterlist in case you need more Billy
Divider by @cafekitsune
Billy lounges against your silk, pink bedspread. A pile of lacy pillows supporting his head. His thick body sprawled out, legs spread wide, taking up the whole damn bed, and to be honest, his overt masculinity is in complete contrast with the girly decor of your bedroom.
But... let me be clear.
Your room might still hold some of your childhood in it, but you weren't at all childish. You knew what you wanted in life and Billy wasn't part of your plan. He was immature and kind of wild, drove way too fast, smoked way too much, spewed the foulest language you've ever heard, and probably carried some serious sexual diseases with the amount of girls who claimed to have slept with him.
You knew Billy Hargrove well, knew he was a charmer.
Could be so cloyingly sweet when he wanted something from you, like bringing you little flowers he picked outside your house seconds before he rang the bell, or bringing you your favorite bubble gum, saying he was thinking of you while picking up some cigarettes, or calling you the sweetest little nicknames, making you feel special. But you weren't dumb. Knew his game and you weren't falling for any of it. Besides, girls talk and Billy was a heartbreak waiting to happen.
Because you knew the truth:
Billy Hargrove wants one thing and one thing only.
Pussy.
You haven't given that to him and you were kind of hoping to keep it that way, but... you're not blind. He is the most beautiful boy you've ever seen in your life and having him here, alone in your bedroom wasn't making it easy for you to stick to your values. You did have something he didn't though, self control.
Truth was Billy thought you were different than the usual bimbos and easy girls he's used to hanging out with. Easy lays, no effort needed. You though, you're soft and lovely, kind of sweet, definitely different, in a good way, but also in a way that means he's got to work harder to get into your pants.
"Figures."
Billy snorts, picking up Mr. Squish Squish, the teddy you've had since you were a little girl, holding him up by his soft, worn paw. Your bedroom being pretty much exactly what he expected it to be. Like something out of the Sears catalog, little girls' dream bedroom section.
"C'mere, princess, keep me company."
Pats the pile of plush, cream colored blankets next to him, an invitation for you to sit, as his dark blue eyes look you up and down, stopping to ogle at your tits.
You grab your poor bear from Billy's grip and gently place him on the chair in the far corner of the room, where he'll be safe.
"Billy. We're here to study Shakespeare, not your libido."
Coming back over to him and slapping his filthy Converse off of your pristine bed. Chuckles, voice deep and kind of husky, probably from the two pack a day habit he has, but you keep that to yourself. His biceps flex a little as he moves his body, still laying down, but feet off the bed now. Of course you notice those arms, who wouldn't, wearing that stupid black sleeveless like it's the middle of summer or something. He just winks, stupid smirk plastered across his lips like he caught you staring.
"Aww, come on, pretty girl. Thought we could work on... getting to know each other better."
God he's so cringe, you can't help but roll your eyes. Do girls actually fall for his bullshit? Sadly though, you do have to admit he looks kind of cute laying there, perfect dirty blonde curls splayed out against your frilly pillows. Why's he have to be so damn pretty. Are boys supposed to be that pretty?
While you're busy staring, his thick fingers slide up over your bare thigh, then tug at the hem of your skirt.
You swat his hand away.
"Behave."
You say, and he reaches for your wrist, but you pull away too quick and walk over to the desk, where earlier you set up everything you two would need for a quiet study session.
Billy sighs out of frustration, watching you organize your pencils. Smirks to himself. You got some nice legs, eyeing them up and down, stopping at your sexy bottom, watching it jiggle softly as you organize your things.
"Like two puppies under a blanket."
He cackles, mumbling to himself, but out loud at the same time.
"What?"
You ask, without turning around, just instinctively adjusting your skirt, pulling it down a bit. Even though you're turned away, you can feel those eyes on you.
"Cut the shit." (he says your name). "Been teasing me for fuckn' weeks, walking around in those tiny little skirts and tight tops like a slutty little princess who thinks she's too good for everybody."
There it is.
Gets pissy when he doesn't get his way. Didn't come here to study at all, came here to get your clothes off, which you knew already but for some reason you decided to help him not fail English class, though he probably doesn't deserve your help.
"Billy. Be serious. If you don't pass this test, Mr. O'Brien says you'll have to do summer school. Is that what you want?"
You watch his nostrils flare like a bull ready to charge. No he doesn't want to do damn summer school, he's got plans. Job at the pool, dates at the drive-in, girls, booze, and most important... freedom.
"Fine."
Mumbles, making a point to get up off the bed noisily, sulking over to the little white desk, sweeping the neatly organized notebooks and papers into a messy pile with one arm, just to be a little bitch.
Sits down dramatically, leaning the chair back until it hits hard against the wall, picking up Romeo and Juliet, opening the book so wide you hear the spine crack.
You adjust your skirt, softly sitting down next to him and picking up your own copy.
"Lets just read the first few chapters quietly for now, okay?"
You say and you hear him mumble something.
Within minutes he's already bored. Sleepy, blue eyes flick over to the pretty, pink cashmere sweater you're wearing, the way it hugs the soft curves of your full breasts. Can see the outline of your bra through the soft, thin fabric. Forces his eyes back to the paperback in his hand, but they drift back down to your tits every few seconds. One leg bouncing rapidly, up and down, like he has too much energy to sit still.
You chance a side eyed glance and see a vein protruding on his forehead and you smile to yourself. His frustration makes you weirdly happy.
"Tease."
Mutters, and you look over at him. He really is stupidly gorgeous, something about those eyes. Lashes longer than yours and they're just so soft and pretty in the lamp light.
"I'm just sitting here trying to help you not fail... ohhh I'm sooo sorry."
You say, slightly annoyed and suddenly wondering why you care at all.
"You expect me to concentrate on this stupid ass book when you got those poking out at me."
Nods his chin towards your cleavage. You squirm a little in your seat as he eye fucks you. Looks back at your face and for a second and you both just stare at each other.
"What do you want Billy? Want me to suck your cock or something?"
You say in this soft, sweet voice, kind of a half tease, half aggravation, as you turn your body to face his. It's a voice you don't exactly recognize in yourself and you feel your cheeks suddenly getting hot.
Raises an eyebrow. Something about the way your pretty plush lips say the word cock makes his jump a little in his jeans. Leans forward in his chair, wicked little grin, flash of those perfect white teeth.
"Well, well well, knew you wanted me."
Tongue sliding across his bottom lip, then biting it softly.
"That wasn't an offer, Billy."
Smirk fades fast, eyebrows narrowing, not used to having it dangled in front of him like that. Most girls can't help but give him what he wants the second he wants it. Doesn't hurt that he looks like a movie star and from what you've heard, has a pretty big...
"Can we be serious, Billy?"
You plead and he just blinks, likes he's registering what you've said.
"Fine."
Huffs, turning back to the book.
You sit a little closer to him, writing some notes down in the little notebook you set out earlier, hoping to go over them when you two finish your chapters. Your hair is pulled back in a cute ponytail, with little wisps falling out gently around your shoulders and the sides of your face. God you're really pretty, he thinks, staring at your profile. Why do you have to be such an uptight bitch.
Even if he wanted to study, which he didn't, you were making it impossible. Pink lip gloss shining on your pretty, full, pouty lips, which look so tasty he wants a lick... just a taste.. strawberries maybe... probably cherries. Your long lashes flutter softly as you read. And that beautiful smell... so fucking good, what is it? Flowers?Vanilla... baby powder? Fuck, his dick is starting to fill out in his jeans and all he wants is to bury his face in your neck and just...
Focus Hargrove, focus
"Smell nice."
Mutters quietly into the pages of his book.
"Thank you. It's Love's Baby Soft."
You smile sweetly, honestly you think that was kind of sweet of him to say, to notice your perfume. You bite your lip unconsciously, head tilted.
You were made to torture him.
"Course it is."
Scoffs.
"Look Billy... let's make a deal, okay? If you study for half and hour straight... for real! I'll give you a surprise."
You giggle excitedly, prettily bouncing a little in your chair, ponytail wagging from side to side.
Blue eyes go wide for a beat watching your tits bounce as you bob in your chair. Fuck you're cute. WTH. Wants to rip that sweater right off you and have you smother him with your beautiful titties.
Huge grin as you watch his eyes light up like a kid at Christmas.
"A surprise, huh?"
Asks, tongue peeking out from between his slightly chapped lips.
"Yes. But you've got to concentrate first."
You remind him.
Sighs.
"Better be a good fuckn' surprise."
Turns away, brows cutely furrowed as he pretends to read.
Other than the occasional tapping of his fingers on the desk, and that leg bouncing, he's relatively quiet for the next half hour. You see him scribbling something down on the piece of paper in front of him. At first you think you've gotten through to him, but then you see a bunch of Metallica doodles, like the ones he draws all over his desk at school.
After some time he finally sits back with a satisfied little smirk.
"Times up... where's my big surprise."
Leans in close, like he's going to get a kiss, one elbow on the desk, face hovering kind of close to yours, blue eyes falling down to your pink glossy lips, licks his slow and deliberate, then his eyes fall back up to meet yours.
It hasn't been exactly a half hour yet, but fuck he smells really good, like leather and cigarettes and maybe sweat? You should be grossed out, right? But you kind of want to see what it feels like to press your lips against his, they look so pretty, bet his mouth tastes so good, soft, warm, wet and...
You take a breath, refocusing, then bend down to grab your purse, smiling all goofy. You pull out a stick of Juicy Fruit and hand it to him.
Blinks for a beat, then laughs out loud, making you jump.
"You're fuckn' kiddin' me? A piece of gum? That's my big surprise after I busted my ass studying this shit for over half an hour. What the actual fuck."
Shakes his head, looking up to the ceiling, groaning loudly.
"Wanna see my new bra?"
You ask, surprising him, which isn't easy to do. Surprising yourself too, not exactly sure why those words just flew from your lips... and out loud. You watch his mouth hanging open slightly, voice drops.
"Fuck yeah, Wanna see a lot more than your fuckn' bra."
Whoa, what's he doing? Reaches out and brushes his thumb along your bottom lip, coating it in your lipgloss, and for a second you forget what you were going to say. Want to suck that fat thumb right into your mouth...
You pull back, clearing your throat.
"No touchies though."
His eyebrows raise.
"No what now?"
"Touchies."
You answer back.
"The fuck does that mean?"
Huffs in frustration.
"You know what that means, you can look, but don't touch."
Mumbles something you can't hear, lips pushed together tight, hot air coming out from his nostrils.
"You're killing me here, angel."
"You wanna see or not?"
You ask sweetly.
Blue eyes meet yours, you can see how frustrated he is, sits back in the chair again, big thick thighs spread obscenely wide, too big for the chair, too big for the desk, too big for the room, too much man, too masculine for this feminine space, but it's really nice and you kind of like it a lot. You want to straddle those big thick thighs and kiss him stupid. Want to throw out everything you told yourself before he got here.
"Obviously."
Mutters softly, arms folded across his broad chest.
You smile. Start unbuttoning your cardigan, little mother-of-pearl buttons coming easily undone. You instantly realize this is how to get Billy Hargrove to shut the fuck up. He's kind of cutely wide eyed, taking in the delicate lace that starts to appear from beneath the soft pink fabric of your sweater. Pressing against the sexy swell of your perfect tits. Seen plenty of tits in his time, but something about you... about those...
"Fuck."
Swallows hard, cock fully hard and throbbing uncomfortably beneath jeans that feel way too tight right now. Wishes he could adjust himself, but he's kind of too lost in the beauty in front of him.
"You like it?"
You ask, voice almost a whisper.
"Fuck. I love them, they're perfect."
Words catch in his throat, blue eyes glued to your full pretty cleavage. Pretty tits enveloped by the prettiest pink lace bra, tiny bow smack dab in between two perfect globes. God they look so deliciously soft. Whistles out low as he drinks in every detail of your smooth skin.
"I mean, my bra silly... do you like it? I just bought it at that new mall over on the other side of town."
You start buttoning your sweater back up, disappointment crossing his face.
"I mean, I'd like it better if it was on the floor right now, but yeah, it's nice."
Says, aggravated that you've covered yourself back up. You lean forward, your palms falling flat against his massive spread thighs and he gets a little sly smirk. Your hands a little too close to his rock hard cock.
"Okay. So if you study for another half hour, I'll show you the matching panties."
He glances down at your hands, leaning on his thighs, and you quickly remove them, sitting back up straight in your chair.
"Matching panties, huh?"
Chuckles like he just won the lottery.
"Okay princess, you show me those matching panties, maybe I'll let you see what's under these jeans."
Gives his bulge a little grab and squeeze, both for some relief and for effect.
"That stays in your pants."
You say and his smirk instantly fades, leans back roughly, tilting the chair back on two legs and hitting against the wall again. By the time he leaves you're sure there's going to be a big hole there from the amount of times he's done that.
"Fine, whatever."
Shifts in his seat, the chair smacking back down against the floor, hard, making a loud bang. Trying to ignore the way his dick is pressed against his leg uncomfortably and wondering why he's still even here. You're not even his type, probably a virgin... everything sweet and pink and delicate and perfect... but then he thinks about the promise of panties and his cock pulses and he picks up the book once again.
You have to admit after a while, that Billy is being a good boy. Every time you glance over at him he seems to be reading. Hopefully you can get him to be serious when you quiz him later. I mean what's not to love about Romeo and Juliet, right?
After what seems like hours, to him anyway because it was basically like 10 minutes, he slams the book down and turns his whole body to face yours.
"I've been patient as a fuckn' saint. Times up... even if it isn't."
Can't resist another second, his thick fingers reach out, touching your bare thigh, hand slowly sliding up under your little ruffle skirt.
"No touchies, remember?"
You remind him, pushing his hand away, then standing up before he can respond, slipping your skirt down your sexy legs, falling at your feet where you kick it across the room. You smile, all cute and kind of shy, head tilted to your shoulder, biting your bottom lip. Twirling around to show him the tiny pretty lacy panties that barely cover your supple ass cheeks. Matching the bra you showed him earlier, perfectly.
You stand there in front of him with your tight pink sweater and these pretty soft pink lace panties, with a tiny bow, not in the front like with the bra, but in the back, on top of a little opening showing the top part of your ass crack. Your legs are sexy and smooth, like you've slathered them in baby oil and his cock aches just looking at you. Better than any porn mag he's ever seen.
Billy is at a loss for words. Never seen anything so sexy in his entire life. You, little prissy good girl with these dirty panties on making him feel like he could cum in his jeans. Rubs his hand on his bulge, where there's a wet spot, looks down for a beat making sure he didn't actually cum, he's so overheated right now.
You. That soft sweetness lures him in, then you just so easily push him away...
Enough is enough.
Stands up from the chair, bending slightly forward, wrapping one arm around your bare thighs, hoisting you up and over one shoulder, picking you up, then throwing you down onto your bed, where you bounce softly, hair falling out of your pony tail.
Crawls over you, lowering his full body weight against you. Beautiful ocean blue eyes right there, staring into yours and your heart flutters. He's too beautiful up close. There's these tiny freckles you've never noticed before, across the bridge of his nose and dotting across his cheeks.
"I said no touchies, remember?"
Your soft sweet cherry scented breath hits his lips and his dick twitches.
"No touchies? You sure about that, princess?"
Laughs soft and low, hips grinding against your thigh, wants you to see what you've done to him. What he's been sitting with for the past hour. You do, you feel it and it makes you worry a little. You expected it to be big, but not quite that big.
Suddenly he's kissing you hard, all tongue and teeth. There's nothing soft and gentle about the way Billy kisses. Fat tongue pushes past your soft lips, deep and full of complete lust, fills your entire mouth, sloppy and achingly heady and beautiful. Kisses you completely breathless, until your head is spinning and your body is aching. Suddenly you're wrapping your arms around his shoulders and moving your hips back against his.
"Billy... we should probably slow down a little."
You moan against his lips, saying words you don't really mean. Dear Lord, how did you end up exactly where you said you wouldn't.... but his lips are so warm... and he smells so good... and his body is so heavy against yours and well... maybe you've earned a little break before getting back to studying.
"Come on, stop giving me that innocent girl shit. Wanna see my panties, Billy... wanna see my perfect tits, Billy."
He teases, mimicking your voice.
Just like his mouth is fast, his hands are even faster. Catches you off guard, opening your cashmere sweater with one fast pull, unclasping your bra like he's done this a million times before, pushing the delicate lace quickly out of the way. Your sweet soft breasts jiggling out of the cups. Mouth quick, sucks greedily on your hard peak. Other hand skimming gently across to your opposite tit, his palm is warm as he squeezes, you let out a soft little whimper.
"So soft, you this soft everywhere, angel?"
Mumbles against your tit and it tickles, flicks it with his hot tongue. Lifts his head, staring down, before spitting down onto your hardened nipple, watching his saliva pool, then slide slowly down the curve or your breast. Drags his hot tongue along the trail, lapping it up with the flat of his tongue, softly moaning at the way you taste and the soft little jiggle that happens as he licks.
You gasp, making him smirk. Can't believe he just did that.... that's weird, right? Then why do you feel all hot and dizzy?
You glance over at Mr. Squish Squish in the corner of the room and you can tell he's disappointed in you. Close your eyes against the warmth of Billy's mouth, the dampness of your pussy ruining your new panties, and you think... this isn't wrong at all, everything about this is just right.
Large palm runs down your belly, across your belly button, rough fingers leave a trail of goosebumps over your delicate skin. Stops at the lace, just below your naval, tugs them down, rough and fast. Thick fingers find your slick folds, makes this sound from deep in his chest when his fingers slide easily through your soaked pussy lips.
"Mmm... fuck... this all for me, angel?"
Angel.
Why's he keep calling you that and making you melt. You are an angel and him... he must be the devil in disguise because you know this wasn't your plan when you invited him over, yet somehow here you are. Lured in by the smell of cigarettes and tight denim. Who thought you'd be that easy.
Fingers tease, circling your swollen clit with his big thumb, watching your pretty face while he does it. Cock throbbing, desperate to rush things along, but he's been patient all this time, what's a few minutes more, wants to enjoy this. Plus you're really pretty and he's enjoying the cute little faces you're making right now.
You whimper and moan. His hand making you feel like you could cum already and you kind of can't believe that he actually got you naked so fast. But all your friends warned you about being alone with Billy. He just has this way about him.
"So pretty like this... all soft and needy... ready for me."
Why's he talk like that? Say such beautifully dirty things. Things no other guy has ever said to you. His mouth is on yours again, fast and searing, tongue slipping into your mouth and at the same time his tongue goes deep, he pushes two long, thick, fingers into your tight heat, stroking your walls, feeling them tighten around his digits.
You gasp against his lips.
Thumb rubs firm around your clit, finger fucking you nice and slow, teasingly. His mouth pulls away from yours to kiss a hot trail down your neck, stopping to suck a bruise onto your soft skin. You'll worry about hiding that later.
What happened? You started the day perfectly, had these rules you promised yourself you would follow if he was coming into your bedroom, your rules... but rules that have long since gone out the window, as he adds a third finger to your tight pussy, stroking deep, nipping and licking you everywhere he can get his mouth on.
There's a heat in your low belly, coiling with this tension. He's winding you tighter and tighter with his skillful fingers and hot tongue and beautiful breath and a heat coming off him that feels almost feverish. Somehow you're completely naked and he's still fully dressed and it all happened so quickly, everything a blur of desire and lust.
You gasp, soft and sweet, these delicious little noises coming from your throat and your chest that you feel like you have no control over anymore. He's fucking you with his fingers faster, pumping in and out and, rubbing your clit harder, fingers curling and hitting against your g-spot. He's the only guy whose ever touched you there, like he was built to please you.
"Ohhh god... Billy... I don't know... I can't.... !!"
You lose it, back arches up as you push your cunt against his hand, moaning loud, body goes rigid, toes curling against your perfect pink bedspread. Your pussy flutters and squeezes round his thick fingers, your body trying to suck them in, get them as deep as possible, as wave after wave of ecstasy crashes over your entire body.
Groans, deep, feeling your cunt gripping his digits as he strokes and finger fucks you through your orgasm, watching your face as you cum for him.
"So fuckn' sexy, baby girl."
Sits up, quickly pulling down his jeans and briefs, thick cock pops out and you softly gasp at the sheer size of it. You heard the rumors, but you weren't quite sure if the girls in the locker room were just exaggerating, but clearly they were not.
You whimper softly, staring at the massive thing pointing straight up at you and you wonder how on earth that could possible fit inside you.
"Billy... there's no way that is gonna fit...."
You whine softly, lips parted, staring at it with big doe eyes.
"Just the tip, baby, promise, just the tip. Just need to feel you."
He says.
"You promise, Billy?"
You ask, knowing better than to trust anything he says.
"Yeah, just the tip, promise, baby."
Cock bobs heavy against his abs, thick shaft throbs and you swallow, nervous but also excited. So hard it looks painful, and the thing is huge, honestly it's the prettiest cock you've ever seen. Soft pink on top, glistening with precum that makes it kind of look like its sparkling, one long vein along the shaft. The color so pretty, just a shade lighter than his tan body.
Wraps his hand around it, stroking and you feel like you could watch him do this until he shoots his load all over you, but he positions himself quickly between your spread thighs. Fat tip nudges against your folds, sliding through your wetness and oh god it feels so good, so heavy, the pressure as he pushes against your hole is delicious.
Rocks his hips, pushing the swollen head against your hole more, feeling the slick folds part just for him. Fingers of one hand digging into your hip, fighting with everything he has not to slam deep into your cunt and fuck you stupid. Been such a tease, you deserve it.
"Oh, Billy... want you inside... please... hurry!"
You say, surprising him again. You can't take another second without it.
"Sure, baby?"
"Mmmm... yes, please."
Chuckles soft, circling his hips gently, letting the tip catch on your hole.
"So wet, baby... mmm... gonna slide right in, nice and easy."
Why's he still talking? You want it. You want him. Never been with someone so big before, how can you handle him, your pussy grips him. Can feel the size of him even though it's just the head. His body hot and heavy on yours, his hips rock soft, stretching you good around the girth of the tip, then it pops inside you, making your walls clench, gripping tight.
"Oh holy fuck!!"
You cry out. It fits snug, your body hugging him tight, the pretty delicate lips of your pussy swallowing him.
Billy looms over your, his body muscular, dwarfs your smaller form beneath him. He's quiet, but his heavy breaths wash over your face in hot little puffs, his eyes are intense.
"Fuck, you like that... sweetest fuckn' cunt."
His voice is raspy, gripping your hip hard as he slams into you, so lost in using your pussy for his pleasure.
Your face is beautiful, lost in your own pleasure beneath his heavy body, the way your tight cunt swallows just the head of his thick cock, rubbing past the most sensitive part of his dick, just under the head, before swallowing his length when he ruts, balls deep into your warmth. Could lose it in a heartbeat, but keeps his thrusts a little faster because if he goes too slow he'll cum from this perfect pussy, this perfect girl.
"More Billy... deeper... please, just a little bit."
You beg him and he chuckles. Taking your legs, holding behind your knees and pushing them down against your chest, squishing your tits. Your ankles wrapping around his shoulders as he lays his weight back on you, your legs sandwiched between your two bodies.
"Need more, baby... need more of my cock?"
Voice breathy and low. Your tight heat enveloping him, his eyes flutter close for a beat, feeling your walls stretch and squeeze around his cock.
Grip the sheets next to you, as he pounds you into the mattress, slamming into your pussy.
"You were made for this, sweet and tight, and so fuckn' pretty."
Pants, and you can't believe how sweet he sounds. Sexy, soft words spilling from his lips as he buries his thick cock deep into your cunt, again and again, setting a slow deep rhythm, sinking into your welcoming body, the head of his cock smacking against your cervix.
"Billy... so big.... feels so good... ohhhh!"
You whimper, pussy gripping his thick shaft ,tight, like she wants to swallow him. So lost in your own pleasure it doesn't really hit you how fast he's fucking into you now, changing speeds suddenly, how fucking deeply he's filling you up. You hear it, the lewd wet sounds filling your room, the pounding of the headboard against the wall, fucking into you so hard, giving you every last inch of his massive cock, fucking you good with his full length and powerful hips. He's athletic and god you can feel it.
Your second peak building fast.
"Taking my cock so well, baby. Making such a pretty mess all over me."
You stare up at him, kind of wide eyed. You moan loud as his cock fills you so completely. Swear if you look down you'll see him outlined in your abdomen. Your pretty polished nails scape along his tan skin, leaving pink welts as your hips meet his, seeking out that intense pleasure. His cock rutting against your sweet spot, your feet dancing around his neck.
Your back arched, his thick thumb back against your clit, your palms flat against his pecs. Overwhelming delicious pressure building in your core, moaning loud and sexy in his face as you cum again, thighs trembling, pussy milking his cock. Billy fucks you though your release, his eyes looking down to where you two are joined together. Loves watching it sink deep.
Loves how pretty you look when you cum. Loves how warm and wet you are for him, his dick twitching inside you. Overwhelms him and he loses it too.
Quickly pulls out, stroking his slick shaft.
"Fuck... gonna cum."
Hisses through his teeth, voice strained as hot cum shoots out and lands against the pretty skin of your belly, and up onto your tits. One particularly powerful shot lands all warm on your chin, making you flinch.
His hand works his shaft, mouth open with pretty huffs of heavy breaths spilling out. You watch him and god he looks so pretty. Soft eyelashes flutter, sweat on his forehead, making his curls cling there. You just sort of swallow, in awe of the amount of cum that coats your skin.
Kisses you, nipping at your already raw bottom lip, cursing under his breath, breathing heavy and hard.
Quickly rolls off, reaching across you for his pack of cigarettes on the bedside table. You notice his hand is shaking softly as he lights it and takes a long drag, exhaling slowly.
"You okay, baby?"
He asks. Doesn't look at you, just up to the ceiling, blowing out perfect circles of smoke, and you wonder if he's bored already.
You get up, grabbing your clothes, getting dressed, turning to him.
"Okay, you gotta leave now."
His eyebrows furrow, cigarette dangling, kind of confused. Used to being the one who makes a quick exit, the one who sets the terms. Girls always so desperate to have his attention, but here you stand, half naked and beautiful, telling him basically to get the fuck out.
Sits up slow, smirking softly around his cigarette, looking at your pretty face.
"Oh? You're kicking me out now?"
Stubs out his cigarette on your bedside table and you want to punch him. Stands up, stretching his arms over his head like he's in no hurry at all.
You don't respond, but the look on your face says it all.
"Fair enough, baby. Can take a hint."
Pulls on his briefs and jeans, buttoning them achingly slow, smirking at you the whole time as you dance around, fixing the bed and gathering the rest of your clothes.
Leans over your vanity, checking his disheveled curls, trying to tame them. He's stalling and he knows it.
"Ya know, most girls would be begging me to stay."
Says into his reflection in the mirror.
"Yeah, well, I'm not... you gotta go!"
You say and he chuckles as you push his shirt into his hands. Standing there with your arms folded across your chest.
A genuine smile spreads across his face. What the hell is going on here. Puts his shirt on super slow, you stand and watch it slip down over his head and onto that gorgeous tan body you just had your hands all over.
He's just smiling, watching you watching him.
"Yeah, yeah... you said that already."
Voice deep and teasing, grabs his keys that were lying on the bedside table, putting them in his front pocket.
"You're not a desperate little thing, begging for my attention, at least not when you're upright."
Smirks, standing there in front of you.
"Kinda like that about you, baby."
You smile all soft and pretty, pony tail long gone, hair soft and falling around your face.
"Yeah, well, Hargrove... you pass that test and maybe I'll show you what I can do with my mouth."
Laughs, running his hand through his hair again. This girl. You. Sweet and innocent looking little fawn, it's just an act, because you're a little whore, and you've got him under your spell, you just don't know it yet.
"You're fuckn' teasing me now."
Coming close and grabbing your hips, his eyes roaming over that beautiful face, a face that will haunt his dreams tonight, imagining your pretty lips wrapped around his cock.
"You know I'm not. Now get the fuck out of my room."
You tease. Pushing against his chest.
"Fuck. You're somethin' else, know that?"
Laughs low, shaking his head as he backs up, walking towards the door of your room. There's still this little reluctance to leave.
He pauses at the doorway, looking back at you. Would love to stay for another round, but knows he's got to be patient. You're going to make him work for it.
"For the record babe, read that book already."
Grins, white teeth flash as he winks and closes the door behind him.
"Brat!"
You stand there smiling, shaking your head in disbelief.
But Billy... he's already thinking about when he can see you again. Your Love's Baby Soft clinging to his shirt and making him lose his mind, knows he needs to step up his game.
You, pretty little thing, giving him a challenge, fuck that makes his cock twitch. Better go home and make sure he remembers absolutely everything in that damn book.
Too bad I can’t answer it twice. This is what happens when I read a question crosseyed and sleepy and answer immediately.
Now for real: there’s one gap in the Wild Thing main story — I never explained how they killed/sealed Vecna. So there’s a possibility of a part 4 where they go on a crawl and kill the bastard. Eddie’s not sure if she will survive when everything collapses… I’m finishing season 5 (took me a while), mostly just to know the whole canon story and for Holly/Max, Holly/Henry, Max/Lucas, and just a bit Dustin/Steve. No spoilers please.
For their life blurbs, I think I’m done, but an absurd idea can strike anytime.
One thing I’d like to explore one day would be Eddie and his son bantering about music while both being extremely passionate about their choices and Damien looking like WT is a xerox machine.
And just as I promised when I reached 666 followers on Instagram... here are my versions of Kas Eddie. And since I didn't want to just stick with the sexy vampire and repeat everyone else's formula... the dorky Kas was born. (And possibly the version that most closely resembles the real Eddie)
AN: I’m so sorry this story is getting longer and longer! I originally planned for the climax to happen in this part, but it would have rushed too many important scenes. I promise it’s coming in the next part. Right now, I'm planning on just two more parts total!
Word count 3500
Series Masterlist
Grandma’s crescent rolls can’t fix your crushed soul, but they manage to fix your body somehow. You look in the mirror and see yourself. Mostly.
You wish you had someone to share last night's eerie events with, but you know your friends would tell you that it was a nightmare. Eddie may believe you, and that’s exactly why you don’t tell him—he will do something stupid and reckless just to make up for leaving you with Billy in the parking lot back then. It wouldn't help you; it would only hurt him, and he’d absolutely lose his mind if he knew you were voluntarily walking into the wolf’s den.
You tell your grandparents you feel better. You lay chilled cucumber slices on your eyes and put Velcro rollers in your hair. When the Camaro roars in your driveway, you look perfect—dressed in a classic style, though your cleavage shows just a tiny bit. You have a plan. A very loose plan to be charming and sweet and find out something you can use against Billy.
Billy is at your door at five thirty exactly. He’s wearing a button-down, collar just lightly open, hair pushed back, and Nena takes one look at him and says, "My goodness," under her breath, which is her highest compliment. When he greets your grandmother, his posture straightens into something deeply respectful.
"Good evening, ma'am," Billy drawls, in a smooth, polite register that makes you want to throw up.
Grandma’s face lights up in a way she never smiles for Eddie, her eyes sweeping over Billy’s broad shoulders, his clean-shaven jaw, and the eager-to-please look he's wearing like a costume.
"Well, aren't you a handsome young man," Grandma preens, her tone practically purring with approval. She glances over her shoulder at you. "You look lovely together."
Billy puts on a humble smile, but his eyes flicker to yours for a fraction of a second.
"I told her it's not a big deal, but tonight’s important for me, ma'am," Billy says, stepping back to let you pass, his hand hovering just an inch above the small of your back, and you know it will tighten as soon as the door closes. "I promise to have her back at a reasonable hour."
"Take your time, Billy," Grandma says warmly, watching from the doorway as he walks you down the steps. "Have a wonderful evening, you two."
The passenger side door of the Camaro clicks shut, sealing you in. The interior smells heavily of the pine air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror.
Billy shifts into reverse. He’s driving smoothly, no screeching tires, no reckless acceleration.
He glances at you, his eyes sweeping over your dress, your styled hair, and the wrapped ceramic dish resting in your lap. A pleased smile spreads across his face, lighting up his eyes in a way that makes him look completely human. Completely safe.
"Look at you," he murmurs. "Dolled up. And you made a dessert?"
"A peach cobbler," you say quietly, clutching the dish like a shield. "My grandmother insisted."
"I like it," Billy says. He reaches over, his thumb surprisingly gentle as it lightly brushes a stray hair off your face. "You look beautiful. Seriously. Such a lady." He lets his hand linger near your neck for a second before pulling it back to the steering wheel, letting out an amused huff. "I’d lean over and kiss you right now, but I can't be ruining your makeup and hair before we get there. Not that I don't want to."
He reaches out to change the station on the radio, switching the heavy rock music to a station that plays mostly ballads. Billy’s being completely pleasant. He asks about your day, comments on the weather, and tells you that Susan made a roast beef.
For a few minutes, if you close your eyes, you can almost pretend this is just a normal Friday night with a normal boy who likes you.
The Hargrove house is not extremely impressive. You imagined something big or intimidating, but it’s so average, except the lawn is military-neat. Billy parks and walks around to your door, opens it, and offers his hand. You take it because Neil Hargrove is already on the porch.
Neil is tall, blond going gray, and he looks at you the way Billy looks.
"This is her," he says. Not this is who you've told me about. Just: this is her.
"Sir," you say.
“Good evening, welcome. Pretty," he says to Billy rather than to you.
Billy sits next to you, his posture unusually straight. He isn't leaning back with his usual lazy, arrogant slouch; he’s quiet, watching his father out of the corner of his eye.
It’s not entirely terrible. The food is good, the questions are expected and reasonable. You have appropriate hobbies, applied to a local nursing program, they compliment your dessert, and you say your grandma serves it with vanilla ice cream.
“Not all girls know how to cook well these days. Billy chose well.”
You force a shy smile and look at Neil at the head of the table through your lashes.
"Being raised by my grandparents, I’m just used to a more traditional household, Mr. Hargrove."
Neil pauses his knife. He looks up, his cold blue eyes assessing your cleavage. The stern line of his mouth twists into a small, self-satisfied smirk. He likes the respect. He likes that you appreciate the order.
"Exactly," Neil says, leaning back a fraction, looking thoroughly pleased. "Kids nowadays have no discipline. Their parents let them run wild. It's soft out here."
"It must be a huge change from San Diego," you murmur, tilting your head and holding his gaze just a second longer than necessary. It’s very subtle—just enough to flatter him, but not enough to provoke Billy. "Hawkins is so small. What made you choose a place like this?"
Neil takes a slow sip of his wine.
"San Diego was getting crowded," Neil says, casual, but he’s hiding his eyes. "Too many distractions. The environment out there... it makes it easy for things to get sloppy. We needed a place where you can actually keep an eye on things." His eyes flick down the table toward Billy for a split second, carrying stark anger. "Certain elements require a much tighter leash."
A cold prickle of realization runs through your head. A tighter leash. They didn't move for a job. They moved to contain Billy.
You nod slowly, giving Neil one more delicate smile before looking down at your food. "I suppose that makes sense. Hawkins is lucky to have you."
A few minutes later, Billy stands up, carrying a stack of empty plates into the kitchen to help Susan. The moment the kitchen door swings shut, you lean slightly toward Neil, keeping your voice low and even.
"Mr. Hargrove... Billy is really great," you start, trying to sound like an innocent girl just looking for advice. "But sometimes... he’s just very intense. Everything feels like it's moving incredibly fast, and I get a little overwhelmed. Is he always like that?"
Neil doesn't look alarmed. "The boy likes you," Neil says simply, setting the napkin down. There’s a total absence of concern in his voice. "Girls your age tend to make a big thing out of a little enthusiasm. You're a pretty girl. You'll figure out how to handle it."
"It's not just enthusiasm, it's—"
"Just don't make a scene," Neil interrupts quietly, his voice getting firmer. "We don't need any scenes in this town."
Before you can react, the kitchen door swings open. Billy walks back in, his eyes darting between you and his father.
After dinner, Neil slips into the den, and Billy goes out to the garage to smoke. You find yourself alone in the living room with Max.
You lean towards her.
"I'm so tired of walking on eggshells," you whisper, not even lying. "I don't know how you do it, Max. Seriously. Every single day."
Max freezes for a second.
“What really happened in California? Was there another girl?”
Max looks around like a cornered animal, nods, and then says, “Don’t ask me, please.”
Moments later, Billy steers you down the hallway and into his bedroom, clicking the door shut behind you.
The room is dimly lit, smelling of tobacco and his stupid cologne. You stand near the door and look over his posters and stereo system.
"See? You survived," Billy says, recovering his usual cocky, arrogant drawl as he tosses his jacket onto a chair. He turns around, leaning back against his dresser, watching you. "Told you it wouldn't kill you to be a real good girl for once."
You take a ragged breath, crossing your arms tightly over your chest to hide the trembling. "Were you in my room last night, Billy?"
Billy lets out a low chuckle. He doesn't answer right away; he just paces toward you, crowding you against the doorframe until you can feel the heat radiating off him.
"What's the matter, doll?" he purrs, probably noticing the dark circles under your eyes. “You look like you didn't sleep a wink. Had some bad dreams? Or maybe..." He leans down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispers, "...maybe they were erotic dreams?"
Your stomach does a sick flip.
He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, a smirk hooking the corner of his mouth. "You're dyin' to know if it was real, ain't you?"
"Just tell me," you rasp.
"Tell you what, princess," he murmurs, his gaze dropping to your mouth. "Let's play a little game. You want an answer out of me? You gotta pay the toll."
You close your eyes for a fraction of a second. You have to know if your mind is playing tricks on you, if he let himself into your room last night. Billy will probably think you’re giving in. Yet you do it. As if in slow motion, your hand lifts to his hair, and your fingers dig into his hair, gently massaging his scalp. His eyes close and his lips part, the cruel twist leaving them completely. He breathes in with a tiny sound.
It's nothing more than he already had. You breathe in. Then you press your lips to his, and Billy immediately takes over—his hand landing at the back of your neck, another one on your back pulling you flush against his chest. He savors the victory, moving his mouth against yours, not rushing in with his tongue. He’s gentle this time, passionate like a caring boyfriend, not like the monster from the night before.
He’s breathing heavily, lips trailing down your neck, whispering:
"Yeah, I was there. Watched you sleep for a bit before I woke you up." His thumb drags across your jawline tenderly.
A wave of shock hits you, mixed with a dizzying sense of relief. You weren't crazy. It wasn't a nightmare. The terror was real, the threat was real, but your mind hadn't betrayed you.
"How?" your voice shakes, palms trying to push him away. "How did you get in? The locks weren't broken."
Billy smirks, his hand sliding down from your neck, trailing the front of your blouse.
"Ah-ah, doll," he says as his gaze turns dark. "That's another question. And you know the rules. This time, I think you owe me somethin' a little lower."
Billy's eyes flick down to the bulging front of his jeans, making it completely clear what he's demanding.
The relief instantly curdles back into pure disgust. You push his hand off your chest, and he lets you.
"No," your fingers are searching for the handle. "I'm done playing."
For once in your life you’re lucky, and the door opens out. Your heart hammers against your ribs, and you hardly catch your footing. Down the hallway in the living room, Max sits on the couch, staring at the TV.
Billy’s eyes narrow, the dangerous, metallic chill returning, but he doesn't grab you. "Suit yourself, there's always next time."
You don't wait for him to change his mind.
Driving back home, Billy has you alone again. Outside, the dark Indiana roads blur past as he drives just a little too fast and smokes out the window.
You wait until the house is dead silent, until your grandfather’s rhythmic snoring drifts down the hall, before you creep into the kitchen.
You lift the receiver of the wall phone, the cord stretching taut as you sit on the floor, pressing yourself into the dark corner between the refrigerator and the counter. Your fingers are trembling so hard it takes two tries to dial Eddie's number. Your cat, Aubergine, comes through the pet door and brushes against your shins.
The line rings once. Twice. Then a click.
"Munson residence." Eddie’s voice sounds awake, though it’s close to midnight.
"Eddie," you whisper, your voice cracking. You press your hand over your mouth to stifle a sob, breathing through your nose until you can steady yourself. "Eddie, it's me."
"Hey, hey, breathe," Eddie says, his tone shifting instantly from casual to hyperalert. The background noise on his end—the faint hum of a late-night TV show—suddenly goes dead as he mutes it. "Where are you? Are you safe? Did he do something?"
"I'm at home. I'm okay, I'm just..." You press your forehead against your knees, the darkness of the kitchen closing in. "I went to his house for dinner.”
“You went? Are you out of your mind? Why?” Eddie sounds angry, but he lets you explain this time.
“Billy made me… Eddie, may I ask you for a favor? You’re not sleeping early, right? Could you watch over my house? Make sure he doesn’t get in?” You don’t want to sound desperate, but you are. You don’t even know if you’ll be able to sleep knowing Billy can just let himself in somehow.
A heavy silence hangs on the line. You can hear the faint rustle of Eddie shifting on his mattress, the sharp clink of his lighter, and then a long exhale of smoke.
“You want me to come now?”
“Yes, Eddie. If you can… if you want.”
“Of course I do, but how long do you want me to stay? I’m afraid I will fall asleep in the van eventually…”
“Get in through my window. Stay here, sleep, and leave before dawn.”
“You must be really scared. I’m on my way, hold on please. Give me fifteen minutes and open your window.”
Later, Eddie climbs in and settles next to you over the quilt. You need him so badly, you can’t help shifting closer and resting your head on his chest.
“Eddie, Max told me something. His dad hinted at it, too. They didn't move here from San Diego for a job. They fled."
"Fled?" Eddie repeats. "Fled what?"
The words taste like poison. "There was a girl in California. Whatever Billy did, it was bad enough that his father had to drag the whole family across the country to cover it up. There must be a record, Eddie. There has to be a sealed file, or a transfer report, or something from his old school."
You can hear Eddie’s breathing getting shallower, a volatile edge in him rising. "Jesus Christ," he mutters. "I knew the guy was a psycho, but..."
“I don't know what he's capable of. We need to find out what happened in San Diego."
"Okay. Okay, listen to me," Eddie says, his voice cutting through your panic like an anchor. It’s steady, firm, and completely fierce. "We’re going to find out. I’m going to get into the main office at school. If there's a file from his transfer, it’ll be in the back vault."
Your heart leaps into your throat. "Break into the school? Eddie, no, if you get caught…"
"I won't," he interrupts fiercely. "But I can't just throw a brick through the window, sweetheart. It needs to be planned. I need a few days. My guys and Ronnie will watch my back."
"I don’t want you to get in trouble, Eddie.” Your grip on him turns stronger.
"I will make a copy and put it back. I’m gonna find whatever he’s hiding, sweetheart, and then we've got him," Eddie says. "I hate that I can’t just break his bones. I hate that I can’t do anything right now. I need you to hold on. Just play his game for a few more days, keep your head down, and let me do this. I will get that file. I swear to God."
You close your eyes, a tear slipping down your cheek. The fear is still there, but hearing Eddie's voice in the dark makes you feel safe.
"Okay," you whisper. "A few days."
"Go to sleep. I’m right here," Eddie murmurs softly, his tone turning very gentle. He strokes your head and brushes the hair away from your face.
The counselor's name is Ms. Harmon, and she has a poster on her wall that says EVERY VOICE MATTERS in block letters over a sunrise.
You stare at it while you talk.
You choose your words carefully. You tell her about the bathroom. About the hallways. About your room, the kisses, his hand on your mouth, and the heavy weight of his body on yours in your bedroom at night.
Ms. Harmon listens. She has the specific expression of someone who was trained to listen—the slight forward lean, the nod timed perfectly to your pauses.
When you finish, she says, "Have you contacted the police about trespassing?”
"There's literally no trace," you say, your voice tight. "I don’t know how he got in. My grandparents were asleep right down the hall."
Ms. Harmon is finally listening for real, holding her hands over her desk. "Well, that's the trouble, isn't it? Without a broken lock or something missing, the police can't really do anything. Which makes me wonder... do you know for certain it wasn't a dream? Sometimes, when we're under a lot of academic or social pressure, anxiety can manifest in very vivid, frightening ways…"
“It was not a nightmare! He admitted it!" You almost yell, but she stays professional.
"The thing is, and I want to be honest with you, because I think you deserve honesty, Billy came to see me last week. He mentioned you, actually. Said you two had become close. Could he have been just messing with you? Admitting he was there just to... well, I’m not sure why. He does seem a bit eccentric."
You stare at her. Become close. The sunrise poster blurs as tears gather in your eyes.
"Tell you what. I can call Billy into my office tomorrow during his study hall. Just a quiet, informal chat, completely between us. I'll explain to him that he needs to give you some breathing room. I'd hate for a little miscommunication to…"
"No," you say, the word slipping out fast and cold as panic spikes in your chest. "No, don't do that. Please."
Ms. Harmon furrows her brows but agrees. “I hope it works out. Please let me know if you change your mind, or if he crosses any lines.”
"Thank you for your time," you say.
You stand up and leave before she can respond.
The hallway outside the counselor's office is empty. You stand in it for a moment with your back pressed flat against the wall, wiping your eyes and forcing yourself to breathe to the count of six.
Billy drives you home as usual. You are not even surprised when he pulls onto a secluded road.
"Harmon talked to you?"
Your silence is its own answer.
"I'm not angry," he says. He sounds like he means it. "I get it. You had to try." He turns to you, his pale eyes shining like metal, and he leans closer. The Camaro feels too small. "It's not going to work. You know that now."
"Back up."
He doesn't. He puts one hand on the back of your neck and looks at you from close range. "You're so scared,” he says, almost to himself. "But you don’t need to be... I’m gonna take you back to California with me when we graduate. Leave this shit-hole behind."
"I said back up."
"I heard you." His other hand comes to your jaw, fingers curling around it. He tilts your face up. "I just don't want to."
You get your hands between you and push, and he doesn't move this time.
"Billy…"
He kisses you. It's not violent; it's patient, almost tender, his hand still at your jaw, your hands flat and useless against his chest. You turn your face away.
He lets you, pulling back just enough to look at you. His thumb moves across your cheekbone once.
"See," he says quietly. "I can be good for you."
"Get away from me."
Billy leaves you and puts the car in drive. "Steve has a party on Friday," he says.
"I'm not coming. I’m not invited anyway.”
"Yeah, you are," he says it pleasantly. "I'll pick you up at six."
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"See? You survived," Billy says, recovering his usual cocky, arrogant drawl as he tosses his jacket onto a chair. He turns around, leaning back against his dresser, watching you. "Told you it wouldn't kill you to be a real good girl for once."
You take a ragged breath, crossing your arms tightly over your chest to hide the trembling. "Were you in my room last night, Billy?"
Billy bubbles a chuckle. He doesn't answer right away; he just paces toward you, crowding you against the doorframe until you can feel the heat radiating off him.
"What's the matter, doll?” he purrs, probably noticing the dark circles under your eyes. “You look like you didn't sleep a wink. Had some bad dreams? Or maybe..." He leans down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispers, "...maybe they were erotic dreams?"
Your stomach does a sick flip.
He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, a smirk hooking the corner of his mouth. "You're dyin' to know if it was real, ain't you?"
"Just tell me," you rasp.
"Tell you what, princess," he murmurs, his gaze dropping to your mouth. "Let's play a little game. One question, one desire. You want an answer out of me? You gotta pay the toll."
You close your eyes for a fraction of a second. You have to know if your mind is playing tricks on you, if he let himself into your room last night. Billy will probably think you’re giving in. Yet you do it. As if in slow motion, your hand lifts to his hair and strokes his head, once, twice… his eyes close and his lips part, the cruel twist leaving them completely. Your fingers dig into his hair, caressing. He breathes in with a tiny sound.
It's nothing more than he already had. You breathe in. Then press your lips to his, and Billy immediately takes over—his hand landing at the back of your neck, another one on your back pulling you flush against his chest. He savors the victory, moving his mouth against yours, not rushing in with his tongue. He’s gentle this time, passionate like a caring boyfriend, not like the monster from the night before.
He’s breathing heavy, lips trailing down your neck, whispering:
"Yeah, I was there. Watched you sleep for a bit before I woke you up." His thumb drags across your jawline tenderly.
A wave of shock hits you, mixed with a dizzying sense of relief. You weren't crazy. It wasn't a nightmare. The terror was real, the threat was real, but your mind hadn't betrayed you.
"How?" your voice shakes, palms trying to push him away. "How did you get in? The locks weren't broken."
Billy smirks, his hand sliding down from your neck, trailing the front of your blouse.
"Ah-ah, doll," he says as his gaze turns dark. "That's another question. And you know the rules. This time, I think you owe me somethin' a little lower."
His eyes explicitly flick down to the bulging front of his jeans, making it completely clear what he's demanding.
The relief instantly curdles back into pure disgust. You push his hand off your chest, and he lets you.
"No," your fingers are searching for the handle. "I'm done playing."
For once in your life you’re lucky and the door opens out. You hardly catch your footing and look towards the living room where Max is on the couch, staring at the TV.
Billy’s eyes narrow, the dangerous, metallic chill returning, but he doesn't grab you. "Suit yourself, there's always next time."
