SD Card

“Uhm, this is Eddie, my boyfriend,” you continue, gesturing to Eddie, who waves a couple fingers that he doesn’t need to support the big box of books, boards, and trinkets in his hands.

“Hey, little dude,” he greets.

“Eddie runs a D&D club at the high school. We were wondering if you’d maybe want to join us for a campaign?”

Your brother stares at you, brow raised and lips tucked back in a sneer that’s between confusion and disgust. He shakes his head, eyes tilting closed.

“Whatever,” he says.

It’s not necessarily the golden ticket you wished for, but you couldn’t really expect much more. What it is, though, is better than you can ask for.

It’s hope.

Surrender to Dreams Taglist: @vampire-kissi3s Stranger Things Taglist: @ggdawgg Eddie Munson Taglist: @itzpixiebabe, @loonylups, @sisteramycatherine, @clairecrive Fic Taglist: @brrrainst3w, @bonnieprincess

What Eddie needs is tangible proof, and you’re going to give it to him.

When you storm into the lunch room ten minutes late, you’re not even sure that Eddie will give a damn what you have to say. Really, that’s all right because you don’t deserve for him to look at you another day in your life. He already forgave you once, but you couldn’t give him more than a halfway promise.

At this point, it doesn’t matter if Eddie forgives you or not. You need to prove to yourself that you can change, too. That you’re different than he thought you were, than everyone thought you were.

But getting Eddie back would be the cherry on top.

You climb onto one of the center lunch tables, stepping onto an empty seat and using somebody’s head as a handrail.

“All right, losers!”

The chatter bouncing throughout the cafeteria falls to a buzz of whispers.

“There have been some rumors going around lately,” you begin, walking up the length of the lunch table as heads turn to watch you. “I’m sure you’ve all had such a wonderful time calling me ‘Freak Slut’ and ‘Satan’s Whore’ in the hallways, leaving such affectionate little notes in my locker. Your creativity is actually baffling.”

“Well, news flash, fuckers!” you shout, pausing at the end of the table. Your eyes zero in on Ashley and Stephanie, who look absolutely appalled at your behavior. “It’s none of your business who I decide to sleep with. But since I’ve got a point to prove, you’re going to find out anyway.”

“So, yes!” you say, throwing your hands out. “I’ve been fucking Eddie Munson in secret. And not only that, but I ended up falling absolutely head over heels in love with him. And I don’t give a shit what any of you assholes have to say about it!”

You take in a deep breath, feeling the rumble of voices through the table at your feet. Finally, you shift your body to face the one group of students you’ve been too scared to look at this entire time.

“Eddie,” you say, looking directly in his untelling eyes. “I love you, and I’m so fucking sorry I was afraid to say it.” You release your breath, letting your eyes fall from his.

“All right. Show’s over,” you mutter, dropping down off the table. The whispers don’t stop just because you tell them to. You only allow yourself a brief glance at Eddie before you disappear through the doors leading to the football field. The empty look on his face lingers in your mind as you trail to the bleachers.

Your heart still races when you drop onto the metal. The sun’s rays have heated the seat to an uncomfortable warmth that doesn’t meld well with the chill in your chest.

Coming clean is an odd feeling. Burning bridges that were already weak on their supports has taken an unbelievable weight off your shoulders, but you’ve also never felt more alone. Bridges burned don’t amount to much when you’re the only one who’s left stranded.

You sigh, falling flat against the steel of the bleachers even though it burns your skin through the fabric of your shirt.

What the hell were you supposed to do now?

“I think you stole my gimmick.”

You jump up at the sound of Eddie’s voice. He grins back at you with his hands in his pockets, as casual as can be.

“Eddie,” you blurt. “I’m so sorry—”

“That was really metal, what you did,” he says. He turns back to the school building, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Screw you, Hawkins!”

Eddie turns back, tucking his hands away again.

You watch him with a gaped mouth.

He drops down beside you, knocking your foot with his. “You know, I thought that sort of thing only happens in romance movies. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

He laughs when you still don’t say anything. “You're just going to stare at me, sweetheart?”

“What are you doing out here, Eddie?”

“Offering the proverbial olive branch?” he says, shrugging.

“You—you’ll take me back?” you whisper, angling yourself just slightly toward him.

“As long as you promise there will be no more sneaking around,” he says, looking at you with his head tilted.

“I think I threw away any chances of that when I shouted out my love for you to the whole student body,” you scoff.

Eddie grins. “There’s that smart mouth.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you take his face into your hands. “But yeah, no sneaking. I’m all yours, all the time.”

“Then, we have a deal.”

Surrender to Dreams Taglist: @vampire-kissi3s Stranger Things Taglist: @ggdawgg Eddie Munson Taglist: @itzpixiebabe, @loonylups, @sisteramycatherine, @clairecrive Fic Taglist: @brrrainst3w, @bonnieprincess

“Uh, hey,” he says. Uncertainty coats the usually smooth tone of his voice. It’s so incredibly different from the Dean you know, but what’s important is there’s no pain in his timbre, no wound audible by a grit in his voice. The fact of it cools the panic that had prematurely begun to bubble beneath your skin. You take in a calming breath, hoping he doesn’t hear it over the line.

“What’s up?” you ask casually, although you’re sure he can intuit the concern hidden there. From the years spent together, he probably knows how to read the nuances of your voice just as well as you do his. While it’s not uncommon for Dean to call you at late hours, it’s also not common enough that you don’t worry each time it happens.

“I woke you, right?” he states more than asks. The fact is more than obvious from the rasp lingering in your throat.

“It’s all right,” you say, handing off the forgiveness he doesn’t ask for outright. You know that what he needs before he reveals the purpose behind calling you so late is to know he’s not a burden.

“Are you in town?”

“Yeah. We just finished up a hunt this morning. Yesterday morning,” you correct when you catch a glimpse of the clock. 2:11 AM.

“I’m—” he starts before clearing his throat, “Can I see you?”

Always is the answer your brain jumps to, but always is too strong, so you say, “Of course.”

“Okay,” he says casually, although there’s a relief in the word that isn’t casual at all. “I’m about ten minutes out.”

“Text me when you’re here.”

“Yeah,” he responds, both in agreement and as goodbye. The line falls dead, and you unfurl yourself from your bed to throw on a cardigan over the thin shirt and shorts you wore to sleep. Then, you sit on the edge of your mattress for the next ten minutes, unmoving and impatient as you wait for him to arrive.

Eventually, your phone buzzes with a message, though you don’t bother to check it as you slip from the bed. You tiptoe through your house, each step especially careful for fear of waking anyone as you pad to the front door. Your feet slide into some slippers tucked aside in the entryway before you escape into the cool night.

The sleek, black Impala he inherited from John is parked at the end of the driveway. Its metal curves shine under the moonlight, highlighting it to you like a guiding lighthouse. Dean is posted on the hood, staring up at the stars and allowing them to illuminate the panes of his perfect face. His head turns to you at the sound of rustling grass under your shoes as you approach. Suddenly self-conscious under his gaze, you close your cardigan tighter around your body and smooth over your hair.

Dean smiles through a soft chuckle, something that doesn’t reach his shadowed eyes. He looks down at his boots while you settle next to him on the hood. The chilled metal stings against your bare skin, but you refrain from flinching.

“Sammy’s gone,” he says suddenly.

Your eyes pop open in alarm. Of all the things you would’ve considered, this was not one of them.

“Gone?” you repeat. There are so many implications to the word, and none of them good. Even so, when you glance at Dean, his expression is cool.

“He left us,” he continues, voice constricting around the words. You notice that although he tries to smooth over his features, his jaw is tightly set.

“Got into Stanford,” he scoffs with awe that’s tainted with bitterness. “Didn’t even know he was applying to schools.” He shakes his head dismissively, and a dark laugh sputters from his mouth. His bottom lip trembles before he draws the betraying thing between his teeth. His whole torso lifts with a deep breath as he stares off to the left, away from you. 

You reach out for him, and his arm is a tight coil when you grasp it. Your touch triggers a clipped sigh that shortly gives way to a full-body release. The tension in his muscles falls away like sand through your fingers. His head droops back to look at the ground before his feet.

“Dad’s a fucking time bomb. He disappeared not too long after Sam did.”

The fact that John left Dean alone to pick up the pieces pisses you off, but you don’t let it show on your face. You just occupy yourself by soothing your hand up and down Dean’s arm until the intimacy of the motion warms your cheeks. You tuck both hands between your thighs, like if they were locked away the temptation would join them in their cell.

“Couldn’t get right, all by myself,” he says with a jerking shrug.

You bump his shoulder with yours. “That’s what you got me for.”

Dean looks down at you with a soft smile and somber eyes. “Yeah,” he says with a soft bump back.

He sighs again, staring at his feet as he adjusts them on the asphalt. The gears turning in his head are visible, but he shakes away whatever thought was brewing. A frown lingers on his lips.

You lean forward, forcing him to catch your gaze. “You can always come to me.” It’s a risk saying it. Anything too intimate, too sentimental, has a habit of scaring Dean away. But it’s true enough that you take the chance.

His features smooth over, and his lips part as he breathes in. “Right,” he agrees, although his eyes flicker away in a flash like he doesn’t quite believe it.

He’s a stubborn bastard.

“Do you want to come inside?” you suggest, feeling the goosebumps forming on your legs. You cross one over the other, hoping you can warm yourself a little.

“Can we stay out here for a bit?”

Whatever you need is too much, so you say, “Sure.”

“Unless, you’re cold.”

You shake your head, but refrain from speaking. Any denial that would come out would be a blatant lie, and Dean knows all your tells.

He laughs, seeing through you anyway, and lifts his arm in invitation. You scootch closer without a word, letting him tug you into his warmth. You lean your head against him, and he lets his fall onto yours. His hand runs up and down your arm, ruffling the sleeve of your cardigan.

“Thanks,” he says into your head, “For being here.”

I’ll always be here for you is too true, so you say, “‘Course.”

You allow the familiar ache of something that can never be spoken sink into your skin and let his painful embrace remain until the moment he inevitably pulls away.

Surrender to Dreams Taglist: @vampire-kissi3s Supernatural Taglist: @mrrayjay Dean Winchester Taglist: @itzpixiebabe

When you don’t respond soon enough, she continues. “Cause I called your place, trying to do the bigger person thing and apologize, you know? But your folks picked up instead, and your mom said you were staying with Steph.”

She pauses, watching you with a gaped mouth like you were some sort of puzzle she was on the edge of solving. 

Ashley grins with an amused huff. “But you know what’s funny? Steph was staying with me.”

“So, what? I lied to my parents. Big whoop,” you say, rolling your eyes that this is the big threat she’s holding over you. “I do that every weekend when I say I’m studying at yours instead of going to parties.”

“Yeah, true. True. But usually we get a heads-up when we’re used as a cover. So, I’m just wondering, where were you? What could be so bad that you wouldn’t even tell your best friends?” she says with a faux look of innocence, the kind she uses to win over teachers and parents.

“You’re not entitled to my business, Ash. And we’re hardly friends.” Friends are people you can actually stand to be around. Turns out you don’t have a lot of those.

“That’s all right. You don’t have to tell me,” she says, shrugging away the dismissal. “The thing is I already know what you were doing. Or should I say who you were doing. I just wanted to see if you would own up to it.”

You glance at her so quickly that she responds with a satisfied grin. She has the power, and she knows it.

“The Freak, really?” she tuts, sealing your fate. “I knew your standards were low, but I didn’t think it was that bad.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mutter, trying to bluff even though your heart pounds with dread.

“Right,” Ashley hums. You wish she would keep her mouth shut, but she just keeps going. “See, I dropped by on Sunday. That’s right. I saw you, so don’t play dumb.”

“Ashley,” you grit. “I would keep my mouth shut if I were you.”

“Oh, I bet you’d like that, huh? Don’t want everybody knowing that you’re such a fucking, depraved piece of shit that you went to The Freak King to get yourself off. Must be really fucking desperate to let that cock anywhere near you. Is the fucking Antichrist cooking inside you, right now?”

The bell rings before you can wring her throat between your hands. You push back from your desk. The metal studs screech against the floor, earning an admonishment from your teacher that falls on deaf ears as you storm through the door into the hallway.

How many people has she told? Ashley’s got a fucking mouth on her. By now, the whole upper echelon of Hawkins High is probably saying all sorts of things about you. A hot rage simmers beneath your skin as you march through the halls to your next class, glaring at people as you pass, wondering if they know something, too. If they do, they only shift their gazes, pretending they didn’t see you.

You hear a screeching laughter as you turn a corner and spin around to see Carol Perkins and Tommy H snickering against a locker like a pair of hyenas.

“I didn’t think you’d show your face today, Freak Slut,” Carol sneers.

“Oh, I’m the slut? Maybe you should be looking at who your boyfriend is before you throw those kinds of words around, Carol. Tommy sure didn’t seem to mind that I was a slut when we fucked in his car last December.”

Gasps sound from the quickly forming crowd. You glance at them, body steeling at the way their eyes don’t shy away from you. They stare at you like a puppet in a show.

“What the fuck?” Carol says, glancing at Tommy in disgust.

“We were on a break,” he says, throwing his hands up in defense. “Doesn’t make you any less pathetic for letting the Freak make you his bitch.”

“I am no one’s bitch, Tommy.” 

“Bet you weren’t saying that when you let him hit it from the back,” Tommy laughs.

“Oh, God! Give me your babies, Freak!” Carol moans in a pitched jeer.

“Why the hell is everyone so concerned with who I’m fucking? Yes, we had sex! It’s not like I’m in love with the Freak!”

The words feel toxic on your tongue. You are in love with Eddie, but they don’t know that. They don’t need to know anything. 

What they need to do is get off your fucking back.

“Aw,” Carol pouts, looking over your shoulder. “Guess he didn’t know that.”

Over your shoulder, Eddie is walking away, slamming his body through the double doors leading outside. You flip off Carol, who’s cackling her witch laugh again, and follow after Eddie.

He’s almost made it to his van when you catch up to him, tugging his sleeve to stop his momentum. “Eddie, you have to realize I just said all that so they would back off.”

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that,” he scoffs, sliding his hand down his arm to dislodge your grip. “You’re ashamed of me. At the end of the day, I’m still just a freak to you.”

You clench the hand that’s been discarded, furrowing your brow at his dismissal. “That is not true. You know how I feel about you.”

“Do I? You sneak me around like contraband. You’re all sweet on me in private, but as soon as people find out you’re shacking up with the Freak, I’m worse than nothing to you. I’m the gum in your fucking shoe.”

“Eddie, you’re not gum!” you almost spit at the concept, fighting an eye roll that will do nothing in your favor. “You’re everything to me.”

“Doesn’t feel like it. I love you. I’d do anything for you. But you can’t even say my name in public. And you know what? I don’t deserve that.”

He takes a step back, looking at you like a speck of dust on his clothes.

“This whole time I’ve let you walk all over me because I felt lucky that you even looked at me. Who cares if you want to hide me like some guilty pleasure? Some perverted fetish? Who could blame you? No one in their right mind would want to be seen with Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson.”

You barge into his rambling, an anger starting to bubble in your veins at the way he’s putting words in your mouth. “It’s not that I don’t want to be seen with you! Do you understand what it felt like? To have all those people saying things about me, getting in my face when what we are is none of their fucking business?”

“Of course I fucking do!” Eddie screams, throwing his hands in the air. “That’s every minute of my fucking life! And the fact that you couldn’t take even a second of it proves that this would’ve never worked.”

Your anger is extinguished by the looming implication of his words.

“No. Eddie, don’t say that,” you plead, but the path has already been paved.

“I deserve better than to be loved behind closed doors. I deserve better than someone who will go back to calling me Freak when times get tough.

“I deserve better than you.”

It’s true, what he’s saying, but that doesn’t make it hurt less. You deserve it, the punishment he’s set aside for you, but you’re far from ready to be sentenced.

“Eddie, please. Don’t do this.”

“You did this to yourself.”

Next Chapter

Surrender to Dreams Taglist: @vampire-kissi3s Stranger Things Taglist: @ggdawgg Eddie Munson Taglist: @itzpixiebabe, @loonylups, @sisteramycatherine, @clairecrive Fic Taglist: @brrrainst3w, @bonnieprincess

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Summary: You've always loved Dean, but Sam might need you more.

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Content: no Y/N, alternating POVs, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, (eventual) emotional infidelity, 20000+ words

Chapters: (tentative) updates on Wednesdays and Saturdays

1 - Late Night Calls - You - 1246 words

2 - Long Haul Drives - You - 1235 words

3 - Whispered Conversations - You - 811 words

4 - Watchful Eyes - You - 891 words

5 - Shared Beds - Dean - 843 words

6 - Steady Hands - You - 888 words

7 - Reluctant Persuasions - Dean - 883 words

8 - Begging Forgiveness - Sam - 700 words

9 - Regretful Words - You - 1186 words

10 - Old Friends - Dean - 971 words

11 - Odd People - You - 1129 words

12 - Unsuspecting Victims - You - 974 words

13 - Unsevered Ties - Dean - 848 words

14 - Rookie Mistakes - You - 1022 words

15 - Relinquished Chances - Dean - 840 words

16 - Swapping Places - Sam - 1109 words

17 - Hollowed Hearts - You - 1077 words

18 - Happy Futures - Dean - 632 words

19 - Lingering Feelings - You - 599 words

20 - Looming Losses - You - 1051 words

Eddie throws his hands up, which means he drags yours with the one he’s not holding his ice cream cone with. “Um, hello? Candy canes? Peppermint bark?” He lets his hands fall back down. Your two joined hands swing between you.

“It’s not Christmas, Eddie. Santa can’t save you from that criminal taste in ice cream.”

“Well, you chose salted caramel,” he says, pointing at your cone with his own. “If my taste is plain criminal, yours is criminally boring.”

“Caramel is a classic, and you know it.”

“Hmm, maybe.” He mimics tapping his chin in thought with the ice cream cone. You laugh when the wind catches his hair and blows it onto his scoop, but you grimace when he uses both your hands to clean the mess and licks the sugar off your skin. “You’ll have to give me a taste to convince me.”

“Oh, hell no,” you say, pulling your cone away from him. “Maybe if you chose an actually tolerable flavor, I’d share, but you’ve got nothing to barter with.”

“Well, if that’s the case, I’ll have to figure out another way.”

You’re shocked when his lips meet yours. Admittedly, the chocolatey, minty taste isn’t half bad coming from his mouth. When you open your eyes, he has both cones in one hand. He licks a broad strip of cream off yours.

“Eddie!”

“You’re right. This is good.” He actually takes a fucking bite out of it before you manage to snatch it back.

“I ought to throw you off this pier,” you grumble, staring at the big chomp mark in your ice cream with disdain.

“Oh, but you’d miss me too much,” Eddie coos, leaning into your space so much you almost lose balance.

“You don’t understand how serious I am about ice cream,” you threaten.

“Oh, I can’t only begin to imagine the evils the sorceress might unleash,” Eddie teases.

“Horrors beyond your mortal comprehension.”

Eddie sighs wistfully, throwing his head back. “God, we really need to get you back into D&D. There’s a nerd buried under that tough outer shell, I just know it.”

“I’ve actually been thinking . . .”

Eddie looks at you over his ice cream cone.

“I was wondering if you might want to DM for me and my brother sometime?” you suggest, tucking your shoulders up your neck.

Eddie smiles, showing off his dimples. “I would be honored,” he says, tucking his hand, cone and all, to his chest.

“Stop playing around with that thing. You’ll make a mess,” you laugh, shoving his fist away from his shirt before he can manage to leave behind a green stain.

In response, Eddie chomps down the rest of the cone until there’s not a trace left behind except for the roundness of his cheeks before he manages to swallow it down. “Problem solved.”

“You’re such a boy,” you laugh, wiping a bit of cream from the corner of his mouth and licking it off your finger.

Eddie grins. “I knew you liked it.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Or do you just like me?” he teases. You can’t even begin to comment before he’s pulled you both to a stop to kiss you, taking advantage of his now free hand to hold your cheek. His lips are cold from scarfing down ice cream, but you couldn’t care if you tried.

“You got me, officer,” you whisper when he finally pulls away.

You shiver when a particularly harsh wind blows straight through you. “Ice cream was a horrible idea. How is it still this fucking cold out? It’s spring.”

“It’s also Chicago,” Eddie laughs, running his hands up and down your arms. “Want to head back to the hotel?”

“Yeah. I’m freezing my ass off.”

“Oh, my word! We simply can’t let that happen,” Eddie blanches, yanking the cone from your hand and shoving it into his mouth. “We must make haste,” he says through crumbled sugar and melting cream.

“You’re lucky I like you because that was the most unattractive thing I’ve ever witnessed,” you say as he tugs you back up the path.

“Don’t worry. I’ll make it all up when I show you how I look fresh out the shower. Literal Adonis.”

“You can’t call yourself an Adonis, Eddie, unless you’re Narcissus.”

“Nerd,” he scoffs.

“Dork,” you reply. The hotel appears around the corner.

Booking a hotel was easy enough since both you and Eddie are adults. You don’t know what the hell you would’ve done otherwise. Stealing one of your dad’s credit cards was the cherry on top. It’s bought you gas, breakfast, lunch, dinner with a live band that Eddie loved, a trip to the arcade, and, of course, ice cream.

“Thank you,” you say, shaking Eddie’s hand to steal his attention away from the door he’s propped open for you. “For agreeing to this.”

Eddie flashes through expressions, trying to find what to say. “Well, you know.”

You walk in silence to your room door, where Eddie unlocks it and lets you in first like the gentleman he is.

“I have a hard time letting people in,” you continue after dropping onto the bed like a bunch of stones.

“No kidding,” he gasps, sitting next to you. You punch him in the shoulder.

“When you let people in, they, sort of, gain power over you. They can hurt you. I think I prefer to be the one that does the hurting.”

You bump your knee against Eddie’s. “But I couldn’t keep you out, not without losing you. I thought I could play it halfway, but I just ended up hurting us both.”

“We can’t all be devilishly handsome, super well-adjusted individuals,” Eddie jokes.

“Right,” you say, rolling your eyes.

Eddie takes your hand in his.

“You know, for the longest time I couldn’t figure out why the hell I stuck with you when you treated me like absolute shit.”

You bite your lip, holding onto Eddie’s hand like he might vanish.

“That first night, I thought there was no way in hell a girl like you would ever look at me,” he continues. “I figured it must’ve been some joke, until you kept coming around, until it seemed like you actually cared about what I had to say. And I guess, even though I wasn’t sure if you wanted me for me, I really wanted to keep trying. I thought if I stuck it out, one day you might really see me . . . like I saw you.”

“I do see you,” you say, taking Eddie’s face in your hand. “I meant it when I said you were different from what I thought you were. You were sweet and respectful even when I was a bitch to you, and incredibly smart and funny, if a little weird. You’re the first person that made me feel like I was worth giving a damn about.”

“You might be the only person worth giving a damn about,” you finish.

Eddie smiles and kisses you on the forehead. Every time Eddie’s lips meet your skin it’s like the world falls away. All the background noise fades like shutting off a radio. The dust clears to reveal a clear, blue sky.

You pull him down to meet your lips, wondering if you can share that feeling with him if you try hard enough. You want to give him everything he deserves, everything you kept from him. His warm, brown eyes shine when you pull away. His hands hold you like you’re the most precious thing in the world.

“Eddie, I—I know I said no sex, but I really want to have sex with you right now,” you babble. “Only if that’s okay! I mean, if you want to. Because I want you to know that you aren’t just sex for me. You’re more than that, but I also, you know, I really—”

“Hey, it’s all right,” Eddie laughs. “I am not offended that you think I’m so totally irresistible that you can’t even wait a full week without sinking your teeth into me.”

“Well, I didn’t say all that,” you mumble out of the corner of your mouth.

Eddie grabs your chin, pulling you up from your pout. “This might come as a surprise to you, but I also really want to have sex with you.”

“Right. Cool,” you say.

“‘Cool,’” Eddie snorts.

You slap your hand over your eyes. “Oh my god. When did I get so lame?”

Eddie slides your hand back down. “That’s all right. I like lame.”

“You would—”

Eddie interrupts your comeback with his kiss. You fumble for each other’s clothes, letting pieces fall as they may. 

When he pulls back, it takes a moment before you realize why Eddie is smiling at you. A deep rush of heat bubbles up to your face when you’re confronted with your underwear choice.

“Hey. I was serious about the no sex thing,” you say, slapping him on the arm. Your bra is a nude color, and your underwear is worn cotton. Hardly sexy.

“You’re beautiful,” Eddie says against your cheek.

“Hard to trust you when you’re grinning like that,” you mumble.

He sits back. “You are beautiful. I can’t believe how fucking lucky I am,” he says, making sure you meet his gaze as he does.

“Considering I broke your heart, I would say I’m the lucky one.”

He laughs, kisses you once on the lips, and moves on to slide off the last bits of coverage you have left. You’re not surprised when he shifts down your body without a word, reintroducing his tongue to your body after a week of separation. It caresses and sucks at your breast until finding home between your legs.

He doesn’t abuse you like the last time, when he riddled your body numb with pleasure. Eddie’s tongue is gentle and savoring as he sucks at your clit and dips into your cunt. You soothe his hair, which he’s forgotten to tie back in his eagerness to undo you.

Eddie squeezes two orgasms out of you before he lets you tug him back up to meet your lips. The intimate taste of you lingers on his tongue, but you’ve started to get used to the flavor. Cleaning him up isn’t worth the wasted seconds you could spend kissing him.

“Need you inside me,” you whisper into his glistening mouth.

“I didn’t bring a condom,” he says with a hint of panic in his voice that makes you smile.

“You should know by now you don’t need one,” you remind him.

“Right. Right,” he mumbles between kisses.

You used to hate being on the bottom for the lack of control it gave you. On top, it’s you who picks the moment things start and end, the speed at which it happens. You’re the one who makes someone fall apart.

Eddie has never made you feel out of control, even when he’s the one setting the pace. So, you don’t say a word when he lines himself up. You don’t flip him over like you used to.

“Are you ready?” he asks, and it’s so sweet you could cry. You smile and press a kiss to his cheek. There’s no fear this time as you tell him to continue.

He slides in with ease. You’d like to think that Eddie belongs inside you because of the way your body never fights him, even though you know it’s thanks to his diligence in having you warmed up before he even gets near you.

“Always feel so good,” he whispers into your ear when he bottoms out. You whine as he takes up deep, grinding thrusts that provide a delicious pressure to your clit. He grunts when you respond by digging your fingers deep into his hair and tugging.

“Eddie,” you whine, circling your hips in time with his movements.

“Yes,” he moans. “Yes, baby. Say my name.” His hand slides down between you to massage your clit as he switches to fuller, faster thrusts.

“Eddie,” you repeat, ignoring the flush that builds at the intimacy of the word. He groans again, his deep voice rumbling throughout your whole body. It sends a shock through your cunt, something primal.

“That’s my girl. My sweet girl. So good for me,” he praises.

You keep moaning his name, body delighting in the rewarding groans and thrusts it coaxes out of him. You scream for him until your words melt into whines. Eddie smiles and coos as you reach another orgasm, slowing his thrusts to ease you through the wave of pleasure that leaves you spasming.

Clarity returns to you. Your chest feels full as you drag Eddie down into a kiss, rolling your hips against his and drinking in his moans. You crave him. You’ll never stop craving him.

“Eddie,” you murmur. “Come for me, baby.”

He whimpers through his panting breaths, meeting your hips sloppily as his own climax edges closer. You gasp as his come spills into you, some deep part of you thrilled at the idea of him leaving his mark on you. You kiss him through his broken moans, fighting the smile that breaks through on your lips.

“Eddie. Oh, Eddie.” You whisper his name until the syllables start to lose meaning. His hand drifts up to clench onto one of your arms, thumb running up and down your skin.

“Are you okay?” he asks, a bit of wonder in his voice and his eyes still closed from his orgasm.

You flip him over, smothering his face in kisses until the giggles racking through your body muddy your affections. Eddie laughs, hands latching onto your hips as you pummel him with kisses. He hums when you finally settle on his lips for a slow, tender kiss.

“Eddie,” you say when you finally pull away to sit on his stomach. “I think—” You freeze, smile faltering as that fear returns. “I think I love you, Eddie.”

You watch with a tender heart as Eddie’s face shifts from awe to pure bliss. He grins so deep his dimples catch the light. His knuckles brush against your cheek.

“I think I love you, too.”

Next Chapter

Surrender to Dreams Taglist: @vampire-kissi3s Stranger Things Taglist: @ggdawgg Eddie Munson Taglist: @itzpixiebabe, @loonylups, @sisteramycatherine Fic Taglist: @brrrainst3w, @bonnieprincess

“We asked where the fuck you’ve been all weekend? First, you didn’t show to Nick’s party—”

“I did,” you interrupt Steph.

“Well, I didn’t see you,” she snarks. “And then you weren’t there when we all went to the mall yesterday. It was literally Cass’s birthday party?”

You don’t tell her that you would’ve rather gagged on a spoon than suffer through a Sunday with them and whoever else at the mall after the rude awakening you’d gotten the day before. What you do tell her is that

“I was busy.”

“Busy? Yeah, right. What the hell could you have been so busy with that you would skip out on your friends two days in a row?”

“None of your fucking business, Stephanie,” you snap.

She gasps, murmuring “bitch” under her breath.

“Oh, lay off, Steph. The bitch was probably getting her shit rocked by whatever dick she settled on this week,” Ashley laughs.

“Shut the fuck up, Ashley. You don’t know shit.”

“I know you’re a fucking cockhungry son of a bitch, but who isn’t?” Ashley says with a smirk.

“At least we don’t parade it around,” Steph mutters.

“If you’re going to call me a slut, then fucking say it with your chest, bitch,” you say.

“Don’t have to say it. Everybody knows it.”

“Ever stop to think that the reason I didn’t show was because you two are fucking insufferable to be around? How about you look in a mirror before you start throwing words around.” You push your tray forward, slamming it into Steph’s. Her hand stops her tray before it can slide off the table, but it doesn’t save the milk carton from tipping over into her lap. You climb out of your seat before she can throw anything else your way, food or otherwise, storming through the aisle in the center of the lunchroom. Eyes follow you on your way out, but the familiar set of brown is still too far to grasp.

If he’s not going to give you an opening to apologize, you’re just going to have to make your own.

You can tell Eddie doesn’t expect you to show up at his trailer that afternoon by the way his eyes widen seeing you at the door. The shock only lasts a second before his brow firms up in defense. He squares his shoulders the same way he did that first day you spoke to him.

“What are you doing here?” His voice is so cold it’s almost like it’s not even his.

“I want to talk to you,” you say.

“Well, I don’t want to talk to you,” he says, moving to close the door. You slam your hand against the wood.

“Well, you don’t have to talk to me, but you’re going to hear me out,” you bite, shutting your eyes to cool the tension rumbling under your skin.

“You don’t get to boss me around anymore.” The door is closing again, creaking on its hinges.

“Please, Eddie.”

The creaking stops. When you open your eyes, Eddie is biting his lip through the widening gap of the door. He sighs long and hard like breathing out smoke. It’s hard not to cry when he steps back to let you in. You slide past him and watch as he clicks the door closed. He turns back to you with his arms crossed.

“I’ve been a complete bitch to you. I know that. You know that,” you begin, but his dark eyes don’t change.

“But I’ve also been a huge idiot because I—because I’ve been trying to convince myself that this didn’t mean anything, that we were just having fun, that I was just feeding this fantasy I had of you, when really—when this whole time—Fuck!” Your voice has never been so unstable. It’s like a humiliation ritual trying to get anything out, but you deserve it.

“I like you. Eddie. I really fucking like you. I want you, all the time, and it’s not just sex. I want more with you. I want to sit in your van and talk about random shit until the sun goes down. I want you to hold me and tell me I’m beautiful. I want to listen to you play guitar until I fall asleep. I want to call you my fucking boyfriend and do all that stupid couple shit with you. And that scares the hell out of me.

“And I know I screwed up, but I want a redo with you. If you’ll let me.”

You stare at him, playing with your hands and struggling to steady your breath. Your shoulders slope back down as you from the tension from your posture.

“And this redo? I’m guessing you’ll still want to sneak me around?” Eddie asks dully.

You don’t know what to say because he’s right, even if you wish he wasn’t.

He scoffs, running his hand along his jaw.

“Baby steps?” you blurt. “Hawkins is—well, you know how Hawkins is, and I don’t want people mucking this up before we even get the chance to start.”

“Then how is it any different than what we were already doing?”

“Well, first, we won’t have sex, so there’s no room for doubts about how serious I am about this. You, I mean. I’m serious about you. And second . . . I was thinking we go to Chicago.”

“Chicago?”

“We can act like a real couple there. Be, not act. You know, go on dates, hold hands on the sidewalk, whatever else people do. And we don’t have to worry about anyone getting in our business.”

Eddie still looks dubious.

“Please, Eddie. Give me another chance. Just one weekend.”

He shakes his head, looking at the popcorn ceiling like it might have answers. 

“All right. One weekend.”

You launch yourself into his arms, nearly knocking him over. You both laugh, though his is more sober than your exalted one. “Thank you. Thank you.”

“You’re hard to say no to,” he murmurs, running his hand along your hair.

“At least I’ve got that going for me,” you say, holding him tight enough to pop.

Something floats up into your mind. You bite your lip at the idea of revealing it, but you want to lay everything out on the table. Start fresh.

“I should tell you that I almost slept with someone. After you left,” you mutter, scared to pull away and see whatever expression is settling onto Eddie’s face.

“Almost?”

“I couldn’t go through with it,” you say, playing with the pilled cotton fibers of the t-shirt he’s wearing. “He wasn’t you.”

“Were you sleeping with anyone else before then?”

“No,” you firmly deny. “Just you since that first night.”

“I guess that should’ve been my first clue,” you joke as an afterthought.

“Yeah, probably. Good thing I didn’t fall for you because of your brains.”

“Rude,” you gasp, pulling back to look him in his gleeful eyes. “You’re lucky I still feel guilty, or I’d be showing you what for.”

“‘What for?’” Eddie laughs. “And you call me the dork.”

“You are a dork. It’s like your number one character trait. Right up there with huge fucking nerd.”

“And yet you still came begging this huge fucking nerd for forgiveness.”

“Yeah. Turns out I’ve got a soft spot for losers.”

“You are relentless,” Eddie says, tugging you back into him.

The two of you stand in the doorway like that for way too long. You’re glad his uncle works nights on Mondays.

“I really missed you,” you whisper after the fear dissipates from your chest.

“Yeah. I really missed you, too, sweetheart.”

“I don’t deserve you.”

“Well, you have me.”

Next Chapter

Surrender to Dreams Taglist: @vampire-kissi3s Stranger Things Taglist: @ggdawgg Eddie Munson Taglist: @itzpixiebabe, @loonylups, @sisteramycatherine Fic Taglist: @brrrainst3w, @bonnieprincess

It leaves you shrivelled, lying on your side with the ghost of his arms around you flashing in and out. You hear his soft words in your ear, so real it chokes your airways.

You can’t be with him, can’t be with anyone, but especially not the Freak. Even if it feels good, safe. Even if it’s the most real thing you’ve felt in a long time. Eddie’s not the kind of person you can fall for.

It would be better to feel nothing.

You claw at your chest as if you could rip the guilt and hurt right out of you.

The phone on your nightstand clatters as it rings. You’re not a fool to think it’s Eddie. You stretch your arm to take the receiver into your hand.

“Girl, where are you?” It’s Stephanie on the other side, one of the friends you skipped out on for Eddie. “We’re about to head to Nick’s.”

Usually the girls in your group would get ready together before heading to whatever party was going on that weekend. You being MIA was definitely going to raise some eyebrows.

“I got caught up,” you say.

“‘Caught up,’” Steph scoffs. “When have you ever missed a party? You better not be ditching. It’s not the same without you.”

That’s a lie. Everyone splits up as soon as the first shot goes down. It’s pretty much a ritual at this point. No one would miss you if you didn’t show.

“I’m not. I’ll meet you guys there,” you say, surprised that you mean it. Anything would be better than the sickness in your gut.

“You fucking better, bitch. See ya.” Steph hangs up before you can respond.

Your body is a ton of bricks when you drag yourself off the bed. Your legs don’t cooperate at all. They’re weak and slick between the thighs. You stumble on the way to the shower to clean off the remnants of sex and Eddie from your skin.

Nick’s place is only a couple blocks down, so you walk the way there after you’ve made yourself up again. The party is in full motion by the time you get there, which you know means your friends will be too far from the world to care that you showed, but you prefer to be able to slip in unnoticed anyway.

You find the kitchen first and down three red solo cups of whatever concoction is bubbling in Nick’s grandma’s heirloom crystal serving bowl. A guy whoops in the background as you do. You plow right by him when he tries to grab you as you leave the kitchen with your fourth.

You dance alone, trying to will the alcohol to do its magic but the ache in your chest is persistent. The fourth drink gets gulped down, and a beer is slid into your hand with a chuckle that rings so distant it might as well not be there. You glance up at the sound, vision swimming.

“You look like you could use another,” some guy with too short, too blond hair says. He must be from out of town because you don’t recognize him, and you know every guy in Hawkins. You watch him as you down the beer, something he finds amusing by the amazed laugh he lets out.

The laughter is cut off by you dragging him down for a kiss.

He tastes different. It’s the first thing you notice. There’s no nicotine on his breath, only alcohol. He also grabs you a little too forcefully when he catches on to your action. His tongue is too eager. But still, you let him do as he likes, fondling your ass, biting your lips, bullying your tongue with his. He’s so claiming you can’t confuse it with anyone else, and maybe that’s for the better.

He doesn’t have to follow at a distance when you lead him upstairs to find a bedroom. He grins instead of blushes when you toss your shirt to the floor. You pretend the absence doesn’t sting when you remove your clothes without ceremony.

He doesn’t ask to go down on you, doesn’t even try to finger you before he’s pulling out his cock. You’re almost too numb to remember to snap at him to put on a condom. He fights you on it, whispering about how it’s uncomfortable to wear or how it’s better without, but you win. You’d forgotten what it was like to fight for it.

His lips find your skin, sucking at your neck until you push him away. Eddie never marked you. This guy doesn’t deserve to.

It’s when he starts to line himself up that you’ve had enough.

“Aren’t you going to get me ready first?” you snap. You start to wonder how you ended up on bottom in the first place.

“Oh, honey. You’re plenty ready. I can fucking see it,” he says.

The shower wasn’t enough to wash away Eddie’s touches. You still feel him between your legs, an echo of his smooth tongue, his gentle kisses, his slow thrusts. Your throat constricts.

“You’re desperate for it,” the guy laughs, but his laugh is taunting instead of adoring. You don’t even know his name. He hasn’t asked for yours.

He tries to line back up, and you shove him to the side. Caught off guard, his body slides off the bed onto the floor while yours scrambles off the other side to grab at your clothes.

“What the fuck?” he shouts. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I changed my mind. I don’t want this,” you say, shrugging into your clothes.

“The fuck you don’t. You’re fucking soaked,” he says, walking around the bed to grab your arm. “Come on. Don’t be a tease.”

You slap him across the face.

“Fucking bitch!”

“Oh, boohoo! Find some other bitch to get you off, asshole. I’m done.”

You push past him out the door, leaving him naked and nursing the red patch on his face. Good fucking riddance.

The music is too loud when you emerge. The stifling air is poison in your lungs. You find yourself in the backyard before you realize.

You gasp for breath with your back pressed to the sliding glass door. There’s a hint of smoke in the taste, but when you glance over at the pool’s diving board, there’s no metalhead sitting on it with a cigarette between his soft lips. You’re alone. At one point, it was a familiar feeling, but now it hurts just like the first time.

You stagger over to the diving board, dropping onto it like a weight. You crumple into your knees, shoving the heels of your palms into your eyes hard like you can physically push the tears back. 

Eddie’s not here. He’ll never be here. You screwed it all up. The one good thing.

Tears spill down your wrists.

You miss him like hell, but you’re the one that chased him away.

It’s all your fault.

Next Chapter

Surrender to Dreams Taglist: @vampire-kissi3s Stranger Things Taglist: @ggdawgg Eddie Munson Taglist: @itzpixiebabe, @loonylups, @sisteramycatherine Fic Taglist: @brrrainst3w, @bonnieprincess

Sure, the sex is good. Really good. And constant. Just an hour ago you had pulled him into some dingy supply closet and dropped to your knees to suck him dry until he saw stars. You wiped your mouth with a wink and disappeared while he was still slumped against the wall trying to catch his breath. What dude in his right mind would ever complain about that?

Apparently, Eddie would because he’s just too eager to look the gift horse in the mouth.

There’s something about you that just messes with his head, scrambles what little sense that’s left in the empty cavern where his brain is stored. He wants you, even though you still refuse to call him anything other than “Munson” or worse, “Freak.” He wants you, even though you have a habit of running off after you’re done with him. He wants you, even though you never let him kiss you after.

And he doesn’t know why. You’ve screwed him up royally.

Sometimes, it feels different. Sometimes, he catches you with your guard down and thinks there’s something more under that mean girl facade you wear like armor. You’ll share a part of yourself with him he never knew between puffs on his cigarette, a small comment you whisper so lightly it could slide right by if he wasn’t waiting desperately to catch it. He drinks those moments in, lets them pulse through his veins like heroin.

It sinks in that he wants more with you, which is an awful, terrible idea that takes root in his heart even when his mind is whirling like a thunderstorm. He shouldn’t get wrapped up in a girl that refuses to even say his name, let alone be seen with him outside closed doors. He shouldn’t, but he wants to. Desperately.

And the worst part is that it’s all so unlike him. He’s the guy that doesn’t give a fuck what others think about him. The one who flips off and snarks at people like you in broad daylight, no hiding, no whispering. He’s bold in his indifference, but something about you shrinks him down into a worthless, writhing thing that dreams of days in the sun and sweet words whispered under covers. He wants you to see him, to approve of him, to think he’s worth the extra time.

So, when you tell him your parents are away for the weekend with that impish grin on your face, he has no choice but to let you shift his world around you. He calls off of work and gets a hell of a word from Bev because of it. He rainchecks band practice, which the guys don’t take very well since he never rainchecks anything. It takes bribing them with promises of bringing the good snacks next campaign to finally get them off his back—on his dime, mind you, which his wallet is less than happy about.

Eddie’s not allowed to come in through the front door. You have him park his van in the garage in your father’s spot, and you let him in the house through the conjoining door with a grin on your face.

“Welcome to paradise,” you say, swinging the door wide enough for him to see into the kitchen where there’s an array of foods so excessive and exhaustive it reminds him of the disparity in your tax brackets. There’s takeout from three different restaurants, five different drink options, and a countless variety of snacks. It’s like you’ve prepared for a party of twenty instead of two.

“Jesus. Was all this really necessary?” Eddie asks, flipping open a box of pizza with different toppings on each quadrant.

“Yes,” you respond, matter of fact, popping up on the other side of the kitchen island. Did he mention you have an island? “I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I figured I’d get some of everything.” You wave your hands across the array like he can’t see it clear as day in front of him.

“Everything is right. I would’ve been happy with just beer and pizza,” Eddie says, and then looks up at you with a grin. “I’m a man of simple tastes.”

You poke out your lips sheepishly as you bear your arms down onto the counter, holding your head in one hand and tapping your cheek with your manicured nails. “Yeah, I guess I could’ve just called . . . I’m used to hosting a bigger crowd.”

“Clearly. All this could feed a small nation. I didn’t even know we had a Chinese restaurant.” He peeks into a little box full of noodles.

“A small nation or five stoners. Are you carrying?” You look up at him through your lashes in a way that squeezes tight over his heart.

“No,” Eddie replies, occupying himself with reading various bags of chips instead of the look in your eyes. “I don’t actually smoke, remember?”

“Right, right. Just checking,” you hum. “Guess we’ll just have to make do with beer and vodka. Ever tried sex on the beach?” You bite back a grin.

“Is that a metaphor?”

You wiggle your eyebrows, smile breaking through. “You know, I rented like fifteen movies from Family Video—”

“Fifteen? You can’t rent fifteen movies at Family Video.”

“That perv Keith lets me do whatever I want when I bat my eyes and let these girls do the talking,” you say, cupping your hands over your boobs. “Sorry, Munson. You’re pretty, but not this pretty.”

“You think I’m pretty?” Eddie grins.

You laugh, walking around the counter to stand in front of him. “Yeah, I think you’re really pretty.”  You step up to let your mouth reach his ear, setting your hands on his chest. “Especially when you go down on me.”

Eddie swallows.

“Now, like I said, I rented us some movies, but I think you and I both know we’re not really going to be watching those. So, why don’t we skip the facade, and get to my favorite part.” Your hands are playing with his belt buckle, which makes his brain shrivel up to the size of a pea and his dick, well, not shrivel.

“Y—Yeah,” he stammers. You have a unique way of crippling his usually overactive tongue. “Yeah.” Real eloquent.

You smile and take his hand in yours to trail it along your side. “I’ve actually got a surprise for you, since you’ve been such a good boy. I think you’ll really like it.” The lace pattern is tangible even under your shirt.

“You’ll be the death of me,” Eddie whispers. You giggle.

“I’m letting you take the reins today. Where do you want me? The counter? The couch? The pool? A little bit of everything?” You do a little shimmy with your shoulders that brings a smile to his face.

“Your bedroom?” Eddie suggests, raising a brow at the fact that you’d forgotten the number one sex venue.

“Aw,” you coo, running your free hand down his cheek in a soft caress. “Who knew the Freak was such a romantic? Come on, Romeo.” 

Eddie is still reeling with whiplash from the two nicknames when you begin to lead him by the hand up the stairs and to your room. You spin around to pull him into a kiss before he can even attempt to close the door, but who cares? You’re kissing him, and it’s not like anybody’s planning on dropping by anytime soon.

“Want to unwrap your present yourself, big boy? Or should I put on a show for you?”

“As tempting as that is, unwrapping the gift is, like, the second best part of getting a gift,” Eddie says, replacing your hand with his own on the hem of your shirt. He pauses until you nod, and then he pulls the fabric free from your body to reveal

“Your favorite color, right?” you ask, but Eddie is miles away.

“Jesus H. Christ,” Eddie murmurs. Your shirt is still clenched in his hands. He can’t breathe, can’t move. He’s flatlined.

“Oh, come on, now. Stay with me, Munson. You haven’t even seen the rest of it,” you say, tapping his check. You’re right. He hasn’t seen the rest, and he’s not sure he’ll live long enough to do so.

Your bra is more lace than fabric, so he can see every detail of you, including your pretty nipples, which are perking up before his eyes from the room’s chill, like flowers blooming in spring. You’re also right that it’s his favorite color, a deep, blood red that looks absolutely sinful on your skin. If it wasn’t his favorite before, it sure is now.

“Fuck,” he says, blinking away the haze that’s falling over his thoughts. His hands move to undo your jeans, even though his heart is on the verge of cardiac arrest. You help him shimmy them down your hips, kicking off your shoes as you do.

Eddie actually falls to his knees seeing the rest of the lingerie, hands running down the length of your legs, which are cloaked in garters and stockings. You look like a fucking pin-up model. Better than a pin-up model.

“Jesus fucking Christ. You’re been wearing this the whole time?” He asks, looking up at you from his position on the ground.

“Mmhmm.” You trail your hands along your body. “Just for you.”

Fuck.

“Let me go down on you,” Eddie blurts.

You let out a shocked breath. For once, it’s him that’s caught you off guard.

“What? No doggy? Anal? This is supposed to be a gift for you. I’ll let you do whatever you want with me.”

“Well, this is what I want,” he says.

The truth is that he’s missed the way you let go for him when he gets his tongue on you. Since last week, every time he’s tried to go down on you, you’ve redirected him back to sex, which he loves. Don’t get him wrong. He loves when you get on top of him, but it’s different when he gets to just watch you feel good. Make you feel good.

After a moment, you release the lip you’ve tucked between your teeth to finally just shake your head with a smile, running your hand along his hair. He leans into the touch like a dog being pet. “You never cease to amaze me,” you whisper. “All right. I’ll keep my big mouth shut, and let you fuck me like a gentleman.”

Eddie laughs and jokingly barks, “Thank you.”

“No, thank you. I don’t know how I got this lucky.”

Lucky. Eddie’s heart fills at the thought that you feel lucky to be with him.

“Lay back on the bed, sweetheart.”

You grin at the instruction and scamper away to tuck yourself into the mountain of pillows you have arranged on your bed. Eddie shrugs off his jacket and vest, letting them fall to the floor beside his shoes. He tugs a rubber band off his wrist to tie up the monster that is his hair. He doesn’t want any obstacles.

“Have I told you how sexy you are with your hair up?”

Eddie laughs. “Yes, and I still don’t understand it.”

“It could only get better if you took your shirt off, too,” you continue pointedly. “I want to see those tattoos.”

Eddie shakes his head but complies with the obvious request, careful not to disrupt his already weakly-fortified updo. He blushes at the wolf whistle you reward him with and focuses on climbing up the bed until he’s hovering over you.

“Hey, handsome,” you greet, running your hands along his exposed skin. One scratches the nape of his neck, sending a full-body shiver through him. “I think you’re in the wrong spot.”

“I’m right where I need to be,” Eddie says before kissing you. He’s learned your rhythm by now, how you start fast and greedy until bleeding into breathy and savoring. The way you melt for him is something he craves on those late nights without you.

You inevitably start to grind up against him, always so eager to rush to the next step. But he wants to take his time with you, and he might not get another chance like this. He wants you weak and whining before he even starts. He wants to see every side of you that he’s never gotten to before.

When your breaths blur into moans and your hands start to dig harder into his hair and shoulders, he drifts his lips along your jaw, listening to the catches in your breath as he presses kisses along your sweet skin. You’re wearing a new perfume today.

“You’re perfect,” he whispers against your sternum.

The lace of your bra is so pretty he can’t bear to remove it, so he settles with palming you through the material. You arch into him as he runs his thumbs along your nipples, and a moan finally slips past your defenses when he slides aside the fabric to suck one into his mouth. It’s rare for him to get you moaning this quickly, although he’s been getting better at it.

“God, Munson. It’s getting really hard not to boss you around,” you whine, trying and failing to grind yourself against him.

“You’re doing so good, baby. So good for me,” he says, nuzzling into your chest with his eyes closed. Whether your shiver is from the praise or the touch, he doesn’t know.

“Fuck,” you whisper. “God, just—just please. Please.”

You’ve never begged him for anything ever, so it breaks him down in less than a second.

“All right, baby. All right. I’m sorry,” he coos, spreading kissing along your stomach as he crawls further down your body, but not before tucking your boobs back into their pretty casings.

His lips peck along the exposed skin of your thigh around the stockings.

“Don’t want to say goodbye to these,” he murmurs.

You chuckle, body shaking slightly beneath his hands. “I knew you’d like them.”

“I love them. I’m so fucking lucky.”

“Well, good thing there’s buckles,” you say, before reaching to undo one yourself. “You can have your cake and eat it, too.”

“You are a genius.” His fingers make quick work of the other clasps. When they hang loose around your thighs, he spreads your legs wider. There’s a dark patch on the solid satin swatch stitched into the otherwise lacey panties, made purely with the intention of hiding you from him no doubt. You jump when he dips his nose into the spot and breathes in your heady scent.

“Fuck. You are a freak,” you murmur, a wanton tone in your breathy voice. His dick twitches at the term. Is it sick that you calling him that has actually become a turn on?

Eddie slides the flimsy fabric off your legs, over the stockings that drive him crazy. He rebuckles the garters with reverence and kisses each knee before he finally pushes your legs open.

Your pussy shines under the sun’s warm light bleeding through your window. It’s a sight he never gets tired of seeing. You’re so wet that you’re at risk of staining your pretty bedsheets.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers before slipping his body down between your legs with your thighs over his shoulders. Your voice carries with the beginnings of some smart comment before it’s cut short by his tongue sliding up the length of you, devouring his first taste of your addictive, tangy arousal. He closes his eyes as he swallows, and then he gets to work.

He’s memorized all of your favorite spots by now. They’re as second nature to find as frets on a guitar, although the music you produce when strummed is much sweeter. Your moans grow louder when he sucks at your clit. You whimper when he soothes the abuse with gentle laps. You gasp when he dips his tongue inside you. You scream when he finally makes you fall over that edge. Thighs squeeze around his head, and hips squirm under his touch. The echoing scream bleeds into whines until the harsh grip on his hair softens to rewarding caresses.

Eddie doesn’t stop after just one. He can’t help but wonder if he can bully you into saying his name, if after enough orgasms your mind will become numb enough you’ll finally cross that line you’ve set between you. He picks up speed again from the soothing massage he fell into when you came.

He doesn’t count each one, though he feels them in the way you clench and pulse, hears them in the way your moans lose structure. They come easier and faster each time. He keeps going until you’re trembling, yanking his hair so hard it might even come loose. Until your swears turn to slurs. His heart jumps at every soft vowel that could be an “E.”

Say his name.

“Munson,” you whine. “I can’t . . . Too much.”

Eddie relents, even if it crushes him a little. He presses soft, soothing kisses to your shaking, slick thighs, whispers apologies between each press of his lips. After his repentance, his head rests against you as he listens to your panting, lets himself rise and fall with you until you’re pulling him upward.

Eddie’s surprised when you pull him into a weak kiss, hands holding him in place by his still wet cheeks. You never let him kiss you after he’s gone down on you, too grossed out by the thought of ingesting yourself. Still, you hold him in place against you until your strength wears out. You fall back with a smile and a glimmer in your eye, giggling as you wipe away the mess on his face.

“You’re amazing,” you say. Your eyes bulge when he takes your hand and licks the remnants of you off your fingers. “Fucking freak,” you grin before pulling him down for another kiss.

“Have you come yet?” you ask against his lips, and all of a sudden he’s aware of the deep ache in his groin. He’s hard as a rock.

“No, but I’m okay,” he says.

“That’s no fair,” you pout.

“I’m all right,” he laughs. “I’ll live.”

“‘I’ll live,’” you repeat with an eye roll. “Just fuck me, Munson. I’m a big girl. I can take it.” 

Do you know how hard it is to stand your ground when your girl is begging you to fuck her?

“You’ll tell me if it’s too much?”

You nod eagerly. “Show me that cock.”

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie laughs. “You are ridiculous.” He climbs back off the bed to start undoing his belt.

“What can I say? That thing’s a fucking monster.”

Eddie feels the heat in his ears from your intent stare as he undoes his jeans. He pauses before baring himself to dig in his back pocket for his wallet. His fingers latch around a condom. He’s had to start carrying them around since you came into his life, and he does mean them. You’re insatiable.

“You don’t need that,” you say. His eyes bounce back up to you.

“Uh, yes, I do, sweetheart.” He can’t imagine a world where you’d want to risk little Munsons popping out of you.

You shake your head and bite your lip. “No, I mean . . .” You sigh. “Look, I don’t usually do this, okay? As in never. I’ve never let anyone do this. But I’m on the pill, and I . . . trust you, and . . . you know, I want to. I want you to go without.”

Fuck.

Jesus.

Fuck.

“Are you sure?” It’s a fucking stupid idea, he knows. But he’s weak, and you’re willing, and he’s just a man at the end of the day, a fucking weak, horny man.

You nod. “I want to feel you.”

Then, looking down at your thighs, “I want you to make me yours.”

Jesus Fucking Christ.

What the hell are you doing to him?

Eddie strips the rest of his clothes without a second to feel bashful about it. You laugh as he launches himself on top of you and smothers you in kisses.

“I might not last,” he warns into your forehead.

“You’ve done more than your part,” you chuckle. “I don’t think I could get there again, anyway.”

“Can I still try?” He grins.

You laugh again, loud and untempered. The smile on your face is so bright it could blind. “Be my guest.”

His hand reaches behind to undo your bra clasp.

“I thought you didn’t want to take them off?” you ask, although you still arch your chest into him to help.

“I want it to be just us,” he says, lifting the bra from your arms and tossing it on the floor with your panties.

“Such a romantic,” you tease, but you don’t know the half of it. He’s going to show you what it’s like to be cherished. He’s going to make love to you.

You help him shimmy the rest off your legs until you’re left in all your natural beauty. He sits on his knees and nuzzles the fabric to his cheek. “Parting is such sweet sorrow.”

You roll your eyes, tapping his side with your foot. “Oh my god. Stop soliloquizing and get over here, you dork.”

“Gladly.” He adds the fabric to the pile and settles between your legs. It’s close to never that he gets to have you in missionary. He’ll get to set the pace this time.

He kisses your forehead. “Are you ready, sweetheart?”

Your hands pull him down so you can properly meet his lips. You kiss him long enough he begins to forget the part that comes next, your tongue sliding along his lips and dipping into his mouth. He’ll never tire of this, of you.

You pull away, breath shaky as it falls in puffs against his lips. Your eyes are soft, almost fearful, as you say, “I’m ready.”

“I’ll take care of you,” he promises, lips pressed to your temple.

You nod. “I know. I know.”

Your body welcomes him with no resistance. You’re so fucking warm and wet it scrambles his brain. He twitches inside you, and the thought of his precum mixing in with your wetness drives him wild. He almost can’t keep himself from losing it right there, but he doesn’t want to come this soon. Not without knowing what it’s like when you come around him with no barriers.

The whimper that falls from your lips doesn’t help his cause. Your nails dig into his skin, and you clench on his dick.

“Is it too much? Should I stop?” he grits through his teeth, watching your eyes as they twist in painful pleasure.

“No. No, it’s okay. I’m okay,” you whine. “Feels good.”

 He lets himself trust you, even when you tremble as his fingers press down onto your clit, hoping he can squeeze one more out of you. He grinds his hips against yours, deep, and as slow as he can manage with his dick begging for more of you.

Your whimpers begin to blend with his own, and it’s like making music, a call and response phrase. You move with him, in voice, in grinding against his thrusts. Your sounds fall back into those loose vowels.

“Ah, ah, E—”

It’s almost enough to push him over the edge, until the could-have-been word dies on your lips. You’re still too far from him to let yourself say his name. He buries his head into your neck, pressing kisses there so you can’t see the tears building in his eyes.

Why can’t you want him?

“I’m close,” you whimper. The promise of it has him blinking the wet from his eyes, so he can watch you as you fall apart beneath him. There’s tears in your own eyes, from the overindulgence of pleasure.

You spasm beneath him, your whole body enclosing him so he can barely move in your embrace. He whispers assurances against your lips, kisses the salt from your eyes until the pulse of you on his dick becomes too much.

He says your name as he comes and hopes you’ll say his, too.

You don’t, but you do kiss him, the first time you’ve ever kissed him after sex instead of pushing him off or stumbling away. Your legs keep him buried inside of you long after he’s gone soft. The way you hold him so close, so tender fools him into thinking maybe you feel this, too. Maybe he’s gotten through.

Eddie might be in love with you, and it scares the shit out of him. He prays it’s just the orgasm clouding his judgment, but the truth is that it’s been creeping into him for a while now.

He slides off you with a kiss and tucks your back against him. As he breathes in your hair and runs his fingers along your stomach, he thinks of those quiet conversations and the glimpses of you that slip between the cracks. Your hands graze along his, and he can’t help himself from speaking a watered-down truth.

“I really like you,” he whispers into your shoulder.

The flinch that follows sinks heavy into his gut like a cleaver. Your hands retract from his skin, and he can feel the way you stiffen in his arms, like a door shutting. The tears rush back to the surface, and a rock lodges in his throat.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” The silky amber that had nestled into your voice after making love returns to that familiar, distant tone.

Eddie’s body goes cold. “What?”

“The romantic stuff is cute and all, but this is just casual.”

The feeling of your skin on his makes Eddie sick to his stomach. He rips his arms from you and sits up, staring at your unforgiving back. “Are you serious?” His voice is pathetic. The sound of barely held tears is tangible in his words.

You spin around, resting on your elbows. The near-disgusted look on your face pours cold water over Eddie. It’s the kind of look you give to a pesky sibling instead of the guy who just gave you his heart. “What? Did you think that just because we fucked a couples times that would make you my boyfriend?”

“A couple?” Eddie snaps. “We’ve been seeing each other for three weeks.” He chooses anger over the tears that fight him for control.

“Seeing each other?” You have the audacity to roll your eyes, the same eyes that had looked at him like he hung the sun only moments ago. “Oh my god, Munson. Chill out. We’re just having fun.”

Eddie’s heart shatters.

Fun. This is all just fun to you.

What the fuck was he thinking?

“You really don’t give a shit about me, do you?” he murmurs, sliding off the bed and standing with his eyes locked on the floor coated in discarded clothing. He starts retracing his steps, sliding his boxers back on, then his jeans. He can’t stand to be naked in front of you right now.

“That’s not what I said. Don’t be that way.”

“‘Don’t be that way?’ God forbid I catch feelings for the girl that’s been stringing me along for the past three weeks,” he snaps over his shoulder, shoving his shirt back over his chest. Even though it’s only cotton, the actions soothes like putting on chainmail.

“I have not been stringing you along. When did I ever say this was anything more than sex?”

“And all those conversations here and in my van and at Lover’s Lake were what? Just foreplay? Because it didn’t feel like that to me.” His face flinches at the way his voice catches at the end.

The worst part is that you didn’t promise him anything. He picked up on signals that weren’t there, so why the fuck should he be angry at you? This was his own fault.

You don’t say anything. When he spins around as he shrugs on the last layer, your legs tuck into yourself like you have the audacity to look timid.

“This whole time I thought maybe, just maybe, I was wrong about you. That maybe under all that mean you actually had a heart. But you were just fucking using me. Well, fuck that. Fuck you. You can find another guy to get you off because I’m done.”

Eddie turns before the tears can fall from his eyes. “We’re done.”

Even with him marching out the door, not once in your calls for him to come back do you say his name. 

You’re exactly who he always thought you were.

Next Chapter

Surrender to Dreams Taglist: @vampire-kissi3s Stranger Things Taglist: @ggdawgg Eddie Munson Taglist: @itzpixiebabe, @loonylups, @sisteramycatherine Fic Taglist: @brrrainst3w, @bonnieprincess

“They work together?” he asks. There’s a click, and the back of the van illuminates with the light from a little camping lantern to Eddie’s right.

You laugh dryly. “My mom doesn’t trust my dad to go alone after the last time. He got a little too close to a secretary half his age.”

“Oh.”

“The beauty of the nuclear family,” you hum. “Parents who barely love each other, and siblings who never speak to each other.” You could really use a beer.

“You and your brother used to be close though?”

“He used to look up to me. He was my little right hand man,” you say, with a somber smile. “But all boys learn to hate their sisters eventually. Especially when the sisters are bitches.”

“That’s harsh,” Eddie says.

“Harsh but true. I’m a total bitch. Everybody knows it.”

He shrugs. “You’ve been pretty tolerable the past twenty-four hours.”

“Just tolerable? And here I thought we were bonding,” you pout, kicking his foot.

He kicks you back. “We are. Just keeping your ego in check.”

You laugh softly, letting the moment hang in the air before you continue the conversation.

“You don’t have any siblings, right?” Eddie Munson’s home life has been pretty much broadcast to all of Hawkins, but you never know the full story unless you hear it from the source, right?

“No,” he answers. “But Hellfire is pretty close.”

“Right, your little ducklings.”

“I prefer to call them sheep, and I their shepherd.” He speaks with a haughty tone that resembles a medieval squire. He probably makes a good Dungeon Master. Better than you had, anyway.

“Sounds to me like you’ve got a bit of a god complex.”

“Uh, obviously? That’s like the number one requirement for being a cult leader,” he teases.

“Ugh, will you let that go?” you groan.

“You know, life would be so much easier for us if people could just wrap their heads around the fact that Dungeons and Dragons isn’t satanic.”

“Yeah. If they knew you were all just a bunch of dweebs playing make-believe in basements they’d feel sorry instead of scared.”

“Exactly!” Eddie says, throwing up his hands.

“Do you ever miss it?” he asks. “Being a dweeb?”

“I was never a dweeb.”

Eddie flops over his hands lying in his lap. “Did we not just establish that playing D&D makes you a dweeb?”

“I didn’t play because I wanted to. I played because my brother wanted me to,” you correct. “But yeah, I do kind of miss it.”

“Do you ever think about reaching out?”

“I bully kids like my brother,” you mutter. The sentiment sinks into you like oil to silk. “Reaching out isn’t really on the table.”

“Do you ever think about changing?”

The question is sour to your ears.

“I’m tired of talking. Let’s make out,” you say, standing from your position against the van’s wall to step over and drop into Eddie’s lap. He jumps beneath you.

“Okay. I think we’re deflecting,” he stammers through an uneasy smile.

You tilt your head, looking at him impatiently. “Do you not want to make out with me?”

“I just feel like I asked a serious question, and you’re trying to distract me with your feminine wiles.”

“We’re not serious, Munson. You’re not entitled to my feelings,” you snap.

Eddie frowns. “You’re right. I’m not.”

“Okay. Now, do you want to fool around or what?”

Eddie bites his lip. You swallow your budding anger to plaster on a more seductive expression. Your hand slides up his chest, and you shift your body closer up on his legs.

“I promise I’ll make it worth your while,” you purr, causing him to suck in a breath.

“You’re trouble,” he whispers. “Real trouble.”

“I know,” you whisper back, right against his lips. He swings into your gravity but freezes short of contact.

Since he’s too sweet to initiate, you do the work for him. You take Eddie’s lips to yours, and he stutters to life like his van after turning the key three times in the ignition. His hands grip your hips, grunting as you grind down onto him. He tastes like cigarettes, and you’ll have to remember to ask him for one when you’re done with him.

Eddie is a clumsy kisser at first, but he’s also a quick learner. He falls into a rhythm with you, matching the speed you set and your use of tongue. You’re quickly realizing that something about his clear inexperience and eagerness is becoming a turn on for you. Kissing is so annoying when boys know what they expect to get out of it. Eddie kisses like he’s lucky enough to do just that.

You reward his good behavior by trailing your lips down his neck and sucking on a spot that drives a soft whine from his lips which far from matches his harsh exterior. You laugh softly against his skin when you feel him harden beneath you. “You like that, Freak?”

“I—” He moans again when you grind down onto him. “Yeah,” he chokes.

“Have you ever eaten a girl out before, Munson?” you whisper into his flushed ear. His panting breaths puff against your collar.

“Uh—Well—”

“Do you want to?”

“Yes,” he says. “Yes, please.”

You pat his chin, grinning. “Good boy.”

Eddie gawks at you as you remove yourself from his lap to undress, tossing clothes and shoes whichever way you please until you’re left in your underwear. He jumps to action when you start to lay yourself back on the floor, shucking his jacket to fold up and rest under your head. He holds soft eye contact as he slowly lowers you onto the makeshift pillow.

“You are so cute,” you say, hooking your hands behind his neck to pull him down into another kiss. His eagerness returns, although he has to slam his elbow into the floorboard to keep from falling on top of you. There’s more confidence in his body as he sets his knees on either side of you and trails kisses down your neck. He doesn’t suck or bite. His touch is almost alien, too gentle for a one time thing.

“Let’s just skip to the sex part. I’m ready,” you say, pushing him away so that you can climb back on top.

“No,” he says, gripping the hands you’ve set on his shoulders. “I—Can I . . . I want to . . .”

“Want to what?” you tease.

“Let me go down on you. Please,” he says. He stares so deep into your eyes it’s like he reaches your soul. Your breathing seizes. You can’t get any words out, so you nod and let him lay you back down.

He trails his soft kisses down your chest. One hand reaches to slowly draw down your bra strap until the cup is pulled loose enough to where he can slide it down from your breast. He peppers more kisses along the skin until finally suckling on your nipple, pulling a gasp from your lips. You’re surprised when he doesn’t need your help to undo the clasp, even more so by how quickly he manages the task. The general consensus that guitarists are pretty dexterous must be true.

Eddie cups both breasts in either hand, sharing his attention between them with his lips. The action feeds an ache that you haven’t felt this strong in a long time.

“Get on with it,” you snap.

Eddie laughs into your skin, popping back up to kiss your lips. “All right, sweetheart.”

He’s already halfway down your body again, too far to catch the way your brow furrows at the pet name. You bite your lip, considering the way the word feels as it settles on your skin until Eddie slides down your underwear and rips another gasp from your mouth when he slips his tongue between your lips.

Eddie needs a bit of help to find the right spot, but he takes instruction well, which is more than you can say for some of the hook-ups you’ve had in the past. He experiments with lapping and sucking, massaging and circling, until gasps turn to whimpers turn to moans.

You’re not usually this loud, at least not genuinely. Boys tend to get more energetic when they feel like they’re doing well, and that energy is your only chance at actually getting off, so you have a habit of playing it up. Well, with Eddie, you’re loud. No theatrics about it, and to the point that it would be embarrassing if Eddie didn’t seem too preoccupied to care.

Your hands latch into his hair, and his to your thighs. For a second, your fantasies have actually become real, from imagining pulling at his long curls to having them taut between your fingertips. He groans as you tug, fueling his steady ministrations on you. But, in your fantasies he’s rough. His hands bruise instead of soothe. His words taunt instead of praise.

This Eddie, the real Eddie, is nothing like you fantasized about, and you’re not sure what that means.

You come sooner than you expect, with a cry and a tremor that travels across your whole body. Eddie keeps going until you have to push him away. He lifts his head with a face that begs for affirmation.

“Fuck, Munson,” is all you say, tossing your hand over your racing heart. Your skin is dewy with sweat.

Eddie crawls back up your body, kissing here and there along your skin. You stop him before he makes it to your mouth.

“Ew,” you cringe. “Wipe your mug.”

“Sorry,” he says, cleaning his face with the back of his hand.

“All right, big boy,” you say, sitting up. “Let me repay the favor.”

You’re already in his lap when Eddie says, “I’m all right,” with a soft blush on his cheeks.

You freeze, fingers hovering at his belt buckle. “What?” No guy has ever turned down sex with you, especially this far into foreplay.

Eddie bites his lip. “I, you know, I’m . . . I’m good.”

“You came?” You gawk at him, jaw loose. “From that?”

He averts his gaze. “Uh, yeah . . .” The tips of his ears tinge red, and he tugs his hair to cover it.

You huff a laugh, and a flabbergasted smile encroaches on your face. “Wow. You really are something.”

Eddie clearly doesn’t know what to say to that since he bounces between facial expressions before settling on a shrug.

You pat him twice on the chest before climbing off him to find your clothes.

“All right. Take me home, and maybe I’ll consider picking up where we left off after dinner.”

Next Chapter

Surrender to Dreams Taglist: @vampire-kissi3s Stranger Things Taglist: @ggdawgg Eddie Munson Taglist: @itzpixiebabe, @loonylups Fic Taglist: @brrrainst3w, @bonnieprincess

Eddie’s nothing like you’d thought he’d be: aggressive, hateful, maybe a little cartoonish in his villainry. He’s human. He’s a boy that gets flustered when a girl comes onto him, who refuses to mess around when drinks are involved, who posts himself at the door to keep anyone from taking that wasted chance for their own. Your heart skips in a way you’re not used to, in a way that spells trouble.

The blankets tangled around your legs have you tumbling out of bed. Eddie doesn’t stir. You pad over to him until his snores, little more than shallows breaths, become audible, and you kick his leg.

He flinches awake, taking a sharp inhale and grunting. He blinks up at you, eyes squinting against the brightness of midday pouring through your window.

“You hungry?” you ask.

His brows furrow harder than they already were with the squinting. “What?” he grumbles. There’s a sexy rasp coating his voice after sleeping.

“I could go for a burger,” you continue. The greasy, filling food is just what your hangover craves.

“Are you really inviting me to lunch?” he asks.

“Obviously.”

He shakes his head and tucks in his legs to stand. “I really don’t get you.”

“What’s there to get? I want to have lunch with you,” you say.

Eddie throws his hands up. “That’s exactly it. You want to have lunch with me. Yesterday, you wanted to sleep with me.”

“Still do,” you correct. “But right now, I’m hungry.”

Eddie’s brown eyes bug out for a second, jaw loose on its hinges. “You—You . . .”

“Look, do you want to go or not? All this talking is screwing with my headache.”

Eddie scoffs in disbelief. “Yeah, sure. Why the hell not?”

-

Eddie’s van is an absolute death trap, even more so because he’s the one driving it. It sputters as it stops and goes. It rattles above thirty miles per hour and scrubs on corners. You almost faceplant right into the dash trying to adjust your hair in the mirror. You start to think it’s intentional when he only laughs when you clench onto the headrest of his seat after a particularly sudden stop.

“Do you have a death wish, Munson?”

“Obviously. I’m hanging out with you,” he laughs.

“All right, we’re here,” he says, parking haphazardly before the diner and yanking the key out of the ignition.

“I’ll take the special with fries and a milkshake, extra whipped cream,” you say, leaning back in your seat and kicking up your feet.

“You’re not coming in?” Eddie asks.

You look at him over your sunglasses. “No offense, Munson, but there’s no way I’m being seen in public with you.”

“So, saying no offense doesn’t actually make it less offensive,” he says, although he doesn’t actually look hurt. “Why did you ask me to come if you don’t want to be seen with me?”

“Because I want to hang out with you,” you say.

“But why? You have never once talked to me other than to make some rude comment or call me ‘freak.’ So, what the hell has changed?”

“You’re hot.”

Eddie laughs, not expecting an answer like that, clearly. “Thanks, but I’ve always been hot.”

Now, you laugh. “Not when you had that buzzcut.” He’d looked absolutely ridiculous then, like a skinny little wannabe soldier.

“Touche. Still, not good enough. I want a real reason.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, give it a rest.”

“I will not!” he exclaims with a theatrical timbre. “No answer, no burger.”

You scoff, letting your jaw hang at the disrespect. Frowning, you stare out the window, bouncing your foot in irritation and then anxiety.

“You’re not what I thought you’d be,” you mutter.

Eddie doesn’t say anything. You only hear the rustle of his jeans on his seat followed by the opening and closing of the door. The parking lot is empty outside the window, so you could have just gone in with him. Everyone must have given up the local businesses in favor of the mall by now. Still, you don’t make a move to climb out the van and follow him in. It’s not worth the risk.

“I come bearing heart disease,” Eddie announces when he climbs back into the van with food balanced under his neck.

“Thank god,” you say, ripping the already greasy bag from his hands and digging for your burger. When you sink your teeth in, it’s absolutely divine and just what the doctor ordered. “Do you want to park somewhere or eat at my place?” you ask through a barely-cleared mouth.

“Still on the discreet kick, I see,” Eddie muses, setting the drinks to the side to turn the van back on. It fights him, but he doesn’t give up.

“If someone saw us, it would be an absolute social disaster. For both of us.”

“Right, like I care about what your friends think of me.”

“You’ll care when they start to think you’re indoctrinating me into your little cult,” you say before taking a long, slow sip of your milkshake.

Eddie laughs, looking away from his task to make eye contact. His hand freezes over the key lodged in the ignition that has still yet to give in to his commands. “Do you actually think Hellfire is a cult?”

You swallow. “Is it not?”

“No? You think I’m a literal cult leader, and you still got in my van? You’re not scared I’m going to sacrifice you?” He lifts his hands to wiggle them in threat like a specter wanting to pull you into the depths of hell.

“Uh, no? Human sacrifices are always virgins. You might not know this about me, but I am no virgin.”

Eddie draws back his hands, nodding. “Right, of course. Silly me.”

“So, what do you guys do if not chant around summoning circles and sacrifice virgins at the devil’s sacrament?”

“We play Dungeons and Dragons,” he says, with a proud tone that suggests it’s the coolest thing on earth to be doing.

“Dungeons and Dragons? Really?”

“Yeah, it’s a roleplaying—”

“No, I know what it is,” you say, holding your hand out to stop him from ranting. “You guys are really just playing D&D?”

“Uh, yeah? You know what D&D is?”

“My kid brother is obsessed with it. He used to make me play with him, when he still talked to me.”

Eddie grins like he’s just discovered the Fountain of Youth or the Library of Alexandria. “You’ve played D&D? You?”

“Duh? I just said that. I can’t believe this whole time you guys were just a bunch of nerds.” You stir your milkshake with a pout on your lips.

“So, cult leaders are hotter than guys who play Dungeons and Dragons?”

“Oh, absolutely. I think you totally just killed my lady boner.”

Eddie breathes a laugh. “You are unbelievably crass.”

“What? Women can’t be sexual?” you challenge, tilting your head.

“Oh, absolutely. Totally cool. Metal even.” He parks the van in the middle of the woods. It’s probably good he isn’t a cult leader because it doesn’t look like there’s anyone nearby. “All right. Hand over the goods,” he says, stealing the bag from you.

“Hey, my fries are still in there!”

“Oh, these fries?” He stuffs his mouth with a handful, chewing open mouthed.

“Oh my god. You are disgusting,” you laugh.

“What? You don’t find this hot?” He tosses more into his gaping mouth.

“No! Now, give me my damn fries!” you scream, reaching for the bag.

“Sure! Be my guest,” he says, and suddenly you’re being pelted with greasy, salty fries. “Back! Back! Foul beast.”

“Oh my god, Munson. Don’t you know how to treat a lady?” you scold, throwing one of the fries back at him.

“Oh, is there a lady here?”

You scoff, throwing another fry, which he manages to catch in his mouth. He grins in triumph. You can’t bring yourself to be mad.

This is the most fun you’ve had in a long time.

Next Chapter

Surrender to Dreams Taglist: @vampire-kissi3s Stranger Things Taglist: @ggdawgg Eddie Munson Taglist: @itzpixiebabe, @loonylups Fic Taglist: @brrrainst3w, @bonnieprincess

The whole thing was a regrettable venture that’s haunted you since then, but at least it earned you a spot in the popular clique, something that’s carried through all the way to today. When your name floats around the halls, it’s with a jealousy caked into the word and not ridicule, although you’ve had your fair share of both over the years. You’re only grateful that the actual deed that secured your status in the social stratosphere lasted all of three minutes before he was crawling off of you to head back to the party.

Back then, the rush of underage drinking and the newness of letting it all loose was a thrill in itself. Four years later, it’s all become so bland. The same music. The same drinks. The same people. The same hook-ups. You don’t know why you go to parties anymore, let alone host them. The clean-up on its own is enough to have you contemplating nunifcation or whatever the term is for signing yourself up for a convent. Your little brother would certainly be all for it if it meant these parties would stop for good.

It’s like an addiction really. You’re always chasing that first high. The way you felt on top of the world for being so mature and so bad. The thrill of sneaking home and getting away with it. Now, it feels like you’re only here because you’ve forgotten anything else you could do with a Friday or Saturday night.

You’re going for another round of the generously spiked punch in the kitchen when you see him through the sliding doors leading to the pool.

Eddie Munson stands out like a sore thumb with his heavy leather jacket and patch-splattered vest. You would’ve thought that this sort of scene wasn’t his style, considering his whole personality is hating the mainstream or whatever. It’s enough to pique your interest for the first time the whole night.

You have a confession. You’ve sort of always had a weird, perverted interest in The Freak. Something about his long hair and dark aesthetic and tarnished reputation really turned you on in a way your usual palate of meatheads didn’t, although you would never, emphasis on never, let anybody know that. You’ll sooner die than let word get out that you have the hots for The Freak King.

You down the refilled solo cup and toss it to the side, not really caring that you’ll be the one to clean it up later. What’s one more piece of trash? Your feet know where they want to go before you even manage to gulp down the last drops. They carry you through the blur of a crowd to the glass doors.

A soberingly cool wind greets your liquor-flushed skin when you step outside. There’s no one out here other than Eddie, who’s taken to smoking a cigarette on the pool’s diving board. Beside him is a lunch box, one that has a reputation of its own, though you’ve never seen it yourself. You prefer to have one of the guys buy your drugs, another vice that’s gotten boring over the years.

Eddie adjusts his position slightly seeing you approach. His legs tuck in an inch closer to his body, and his shoulders roll into a more squared position. He watches you over the cigarette with wary eyes that play at indifferent.

You suppose you have a certain reputation, too.

“You know, it’s usually considered impolite to not only crash someone’s party but to also skip introducing yourself to the host,” you say with a teasing rhythm in your voice that does nothing to disarm the boy before you.

“Crashing parties is good for business,” he says, taking another long drag from the cigarette. As he pulls it away to release a cloud of nicotine, you pluck the little white stick from his fingers. Minute shock shifts his features as you suck in a good inhale and return the vice to his hand.

“You gonna dance?” you ask as he examines the red mark left by your painted lips.

“Not my thing,” he responds. “The music or the dancing.” The dry act is beginning to bore you. Where is the maniac you see at lunch? The guy who shouts at the basketball team from across the cafeteria?

“What about a swim?”

His brow tilts up. He gestures to his body. “Not exactly dressed for the occasion, I’m afraid.”

“Not yet,” you counter, which only wrinkles his brow more.

“Okay, what’s this all about? Don’t you have friends you should be getting plastered with?”

“Been there, done that.” You shrug. “I want to hang out with you,” you say, poking his chest. His jaw drops, and his eyes linger on your hand as it pulls away.

“And why might that be?” He extinguishes his used up cigarette on the metal lunch box, dropping the butt on top of it instead of onto the ground.

You grin. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

He huffs, a befuddled grin flashing on his face. Crossing his arms over his chest, he says, “Yeah, actually. I would.”

“Well, maybe I’ll tell you if you dance with me,” you say, holding out your hand with wiggling fingers.

He shakes his head. “So, so sorry to disappoint, but that’s not going to happen. Pretty sure if the basketball team sees me with you I’ll end the night with a fire poker lodged in my throat.”

“Graphic,” you comment. “Well, if you won’t dance, then you’ll swim.”

Finally, Eddie laughs, only it’s closer to a breath than a laugh. His head seems to be on a permanent swivel as he continues to shake his head while he speaks. “I already told you,” he starts, picking up his layers of leather and denim for emphasis. “These aren’t exactly water-friendly.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh my god. Where is your imagination?”

You hook your hands under the hem of your shirt, pulling it off in one motion to reveal your hot pink bra with provocative lace trim. It has the desired effect, of course. Boys are so predictable. 

Eddie’s eyes bulge out of his head. “Jesus Christ,” he chokes.

You step closer, and with him sitting down, his gaze is locked just where you want it. Your hands slip under his jacket and vest, pushing at the materials. “Your turn, big boy.”

“I—I, uh—You—Holy shit,” he stutters. You don’t miss the way his hips shift in his seat.

You giggle. “You’re cuter than I thought you’d be,” you murmur, trailing a finger along his jaw and down his neck. He twitches under your touch.

“You thought of this?” he asks.

“I thought you’d be all domineering and rough, but you’re like a little kitten. A scaredy cat,” you tease, booping his nose. “You act like you’ve never seen boobs before . . . You wanna see them without the lace?”

Eddie laughs uneasily. “I’m getting the feeling that you don’t actually want to swim.”

“Ding, ding, ding. We have a winner.” You tug on the guitar pick hanging from his neck. You love guitar. You didn’t know he played, but now that you think of it, there’s a vague memory of him at the middle school talent show playing some weird song with his fellow freaks. Looks like he stuck with it.

“Out here?” he panics, looking to the sliding door behind you.

“Right, yeah,” you mutter, realizing it’s not a smart idea to hook up with The Freak in the open, even if there’s no one back here. “We’ll go to my room, obviously.”

You tug back on your shirt, struggling a little to get your head through until ringed hands pull the troublesome fabric free. “Follow me,” you say, and Eddie stands at attention with the speed of a bullet. The lunch box, an afterthought, gets ripped from its resting position, only after he tosses the cigarette butt inside and slams the thing shut again.

A few steps toward the door, you look over your shoulder. “At a distance.” Eddie nods obediently.

You have to really focus on not tripping up the steps as your last drink finally hits your stomach at the sudden burst of movement. When you finally make it to your door, you slam your whole body against it to open it. You give a quick glance around the room to make sure no one has slithered into your bed or bathroom. One time you had stumbled in for bed to find one of your exes with some freshman cheerleader. Scarred you for life.

There’s no one other than you until Eddie tiptoes into the room, locking the door behind him. He presses firm against it, observing your room at a distance with a quiet curiosity.

“It’s not a museum,” you laugh, beckoning him further in.

“Oh? I didn’t realize,” he jokes, giving in to your instruction and stepping closer to you.

“Yeah, here you can actually touch the artifacts,” you purr, holding your hand out for him.

“Is that right?” he grins, letting you guide his hand along your side, from under your breast to your hip. He sucks in a breath.

“Mmhmm,” you hum, latching your hands around his neck and pulling him down to your lips. He only kisses you back for a moment before he leans back, brows dropping.

“How much have you had to drink?”

You roll your eyes. “Practically nothing.”

“I can literally taste the alcohol on your breath.”

You scoff. “Oh my god, I’m not drunk, mom. If I was drunk, I wouldn’t be able to do this.”

You step away, standing on one foot and holding your finger to your nose. Eddie catches you when you stumble.

“That was a fluke,” you mutter, clenching onto his arms to steady yourself.

Eddie laughs wholeheartedly, the only time he’s done so the whole night. “Yeah, I’m sure. Let's lay you down,” he says, pushing you back until you sit on the bed. You grip your head at the sudden movement.

“That’s no fun. I want you to fuck me,” you pout as he rids your feet of your shoes. He coughs.

“Well—I—I’m not going to sleep with a girl who’s drunk off her ass,” he says after clearing his throat.

“Don’t be such a square,” you groan, falling back onto the bed. An odd tiredness seeps into you when the soft sheets engulf you.

“I don’t think that makes me a square,” Eddie scoffs. “Where do you keep your pajamas?” he asks, looking around the room.

“I sleep naked,” you murmur, tucking yourself farther into the bed and being welcomed by your pillows.

“Well, that’s an image I’ll never be able to get out of my head. Hey, don’t sleep on your back.” Eddie rushes over to the bed, pulling you onto your side.

“You don’t want to at least kiss?” you mumble, nuzzling your head into the pillows. Your eyelids droop against your wishes.

Eddie laughs. “I think I’ll take a raincheck.”

You respond with a dissatisfied grunt, but Eddie doesn’t care about your sourness. Instead of responding, he tosses a spare blanket over your body.

You drift to sleep with the image of Eddie Munson tucking you into bed.

Next Chapter

Surrender to Dreams Taglist: @vampire-kissi3s Stranger Things Taglist: @ggdawgg Eddie Munson Taglist: @itzpixiebabe Fic Taglist: @brrrainst3w, @bonnieprincess

Pairing: Eddie Munson x F!Reader

Summary: A one-time attempt to scratch an itch turns into something you aren’t prepared for when you realize that Eddie “The Freak” Munson is more than he seems.

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut, Hurt/Comfort

Content: no Y/N, Dual POV, opposites attract, secret relationship, friends with benefits to lovers, Bitch!Reader, 17415 words

Chapters:

1 - Feel the Rush - You - 1951 words

2 - Something There - You - 1445 words

3 - Dangerous Territory - You - 1820 words smut

4 - My Strange Addiction - Eddie - 4804 words smut

5 - Turn It Off - You - 1297 words

6 - Knocking on Heaven's Door - You - 1352 words smut

7 - Just the Two of Us - You - 2416 words

8 - Cold Hard Truth - You - 1323 words

9 - Long Time Coming - You - 846 words

The sharp, unsettling sound of a guitar solo cut short by the cord being yanked from the amp crushed up all the adrenaline rush Eddie had been riding on seeing your shining eyes offstage and hearing Corroded Coffin’s music blasting through the room. Usually, Eddie got a bit of a rush in irritating the school faculty. The fact that he’d been cut off would typically serve as a marker of a job well done, but today was different. Today there were repercussions for more than just him.

So when Principal singles Eddie out and brings him straight to his office, it’s like a punch to the gut instead of a shot of heroin.

Eddie puts on a good act for the first ten minutes or so, hoping if he’s on good behavior he’ll be let off easy. He pretends to listen to Higgins’s usual raving about how Eddie is spreading the devil’s influence in his school and blah blah blah, trying to make it seem like this time, it gets through. 

His hands give away the truth with their tapping on the arms of the chair or their ripping at the loose threads of the cushions. His eyes wander to the clock hung over Principal Higgins’s head as act by act passes by in the other room, until Eddie starts doing math in his head trying to determine exactly when act six, yours and his, would start. He conjures up vague memories of the pamphlet he’d only skimmed through to find your name and his. How long does a lasso show take, whatever that was?

The minute hand marches on, and he starts picturing your anxious face as you spin the little ring you wear on your thumb, one he gave you after you said offhand that you liked his. You’d only had it for a couple weeks, and you’d already picked up a new nervous habit for him to lock away in the compartment of his brain dedicated to all your little quirks.

“Sir,” he says politely but poorly timed, as it cuts off Higgins in the middle of a brand new rant. The glower that follows already tells Eddie that he’s been shut down before he can even finish with, “I have another set that I need to go to . . . sir.”

“As if I would allow you to go back up again with more of that noise,” Higgins seethes.

“Sir, it’s not the same. I’m doing it as a favor for someone else. I’m not even—I’m nothing. I’m a guitar with legs.”

“Don’t wisecrack with me, boy,” Higgins scolds.

“Come on! We’re doing ‘Somebody to Love!’ That’s hardly offensive. I mean, who doesn’t love Queen? Everybody loves Queen!” Eddie blurts, getting desperate enough now that he’s forgetting to keep up the good boy act.

“I don’t care if you’re doing Baa, Baa, Black Sheep. You will not be returning to the talent show. I have half a mind to suspend you.”

“For what? Tell me, what little infraction are you going to scrounge up to put on my record this time? I’m clean, and you know it.”

“I’ll find something. Trouble seems to follow you, Munson.”

It’s more true than he’d like it to be. It seems like nothing can ever go Eddie’s way, not even this. Not even you. For once, he’s gotten the opportunity to prove he can be worth a damn, and he can’t even show up for you.

He’s failed you.

Eddie has just let his head fall in resignation when a boom sounds from the hallway, loud though indistinct, making it hard to judge whether it’s a crash or an explosion. Higgins glares at Eddie like he could somehow be the source of the interruption, so Eddie throws up his empty hands in defense.

With a scowl, Higgins stands from his kingly desk, using his hands to push himself up. He walks to the door, stopping beside Eddie momentarily to point at him directly between the eyes like he’s holding up a pistol instead of a wrinkled hand. “You stay right here.”

Though Eddie nods, it doesn’t stop him from peeking through the little window in the door the second it closes behind Higgins. When the worn-down principal disappears left, Eddie contemplates slipping right toward the auditorium. His thoughts are sharply interrupted by a sudden banging on the door that has him jumping away like a spooked cat.

Jeff’s face pops into frame, followed by his hands as they frantically point back the direction he appeared. Eddie pulls the door open only for Jeff to rush after Higgins, shouting over his shoulder, “You gotta hurry, man!”

Eddie takes the hint, realizing the ruse for what it is when Jeff turns the corner, banging on lockers as he sprints down the next hallway. Eddie runs the opposite direction, faster than he ever has before, straight back to the auditorium.

He bursts through the backstage door, the same he uses for Hellfire, to find you paralyzed at the piano in front of a silent crowd. The room is so quiet that a cough sounds like an alarm clock in the vast room.

You’re too frightened to even notice him, although heads begin to turn and murmurs brush over the silence as he scrambles to get his guitar back in action. He sets a gentle hand on your shoulder, meaning to comfort you only to have you jolt in shock. Your head flips to face him, tears collecting on your eyelids, threatening to spill over your cheeks. Eddie fights the frown on his face at seeing your pain and instead squeezes your shoulder with a soft smile.

He moves the mic stand that’s been set aside for him so he can post himself right within your view.

“Just me here,” he mouths to you, “Just us.” Your shoulders roll back as you take a deep breath through your nose, although the deep frown is no closer to falling off your lips.

You don’t move to start, even as his eyes urge you to begin, so Eddie carries the weight for you, hoping maybe it will do something to jumpstart your mind again. He opens his mouth to awkwardly sing the first lyric in your place.

Can anybody find me somebody to love?

Muscle memory takes over as your fingers find the keys for the melody without even glancing down, sad eyes still solid on his, which he tries to keep open and reassuring even with the fear creeping into his own chest at your ever distant expression.

Soon, though, the music takes over. Eddie can’t help the smile that forms as your voice steadies from the rippling tone to your smooth belt and your head falls to focus once more on the flowing movements of your hands.

There you are.

The ethereal bliss he feels is just like the first day he spied you through the small music room window, hanging from each easy syllable that reverberated against the door. Eddie jumps in where he’s meant to, his subconscious leading him when needed, but really all his attention is on you.

What surprises him is the voices that join in on his role of backing vocals, hopping onto the call and response in a way that ricochets against the walls. He rips his attention from you to see students swaying along to the music.

See. Who doesn’t love Queen?

With a wicked grin, he looks back to you to see if you’ve noticed the movement you’ve spurred as well. A sparkling look has surfaced in your eyes, but the smile bubbling on your face is even brighter than the stagelights glittering over your irises.

What happens next is pure magic.

An elated grin overtakes your sweet face, the sort born of an adrenaline rush from a daredevilish stunt. Your head bounces with the music freely, in time which each chord you push into the air. You go from playing to truly performing, something Eddie has only dreamed of witnessing so far in his few days of knowing and falling for you. 

The rockstar slumbering within you has finally grown wings. Your whole body moves with your playing and singing. Gone is the subdued, shy girl who stole his heart through a closed door. You’ve become something much wilder, happier, brighter. Radiant and free like a supernova.

You’re still floating even as you close the song, the crowd hanging on your words until the very last note. The room falls silent except for your soft breaths into the mic until the silent bursts with a blaze of applause throughout the auditorium. Some students even rise from their seats, not the entire room by any means but it’s probably the closest you could get to a standing ovation at a mandatory attendance school talent show.

An unbelieving laugh bubbles up your throat, muffled by the crowds’ cheers, although Eddie’s heart laps up the sound like ambrosia.

He swings his guitar over his shoulder, taking one step closer to congratulate you. He doesn’t even make it the full step before you launch yourself into his arms. Eddie stumbles back, barely keeping the two of you from falling, before he crashes into the wall offstage. The sharp thud against his back hurts, but he’s thankful for the privacy because shortly after your lips crash against his.

His brain fries instantaneously like being struck by lightning. He only has mind enough to lift his shaking hands to your face, barely grazing your skin before you pull away, laughing.

“Oh, Eddie,” you sigh so sweetly it kills before you burrow into the curve of his neck, swaying him to and fro. “That was amazing.”

“You were amazing,” he corrects, soothing his hand down your back.

“We were amazing,” you say, poking your head back out to look at him with warm eyes. “I couldn’t have done this without you. Thank you, Eddie.”

He’s prepared this time when you kiss him again. His lips chase yours, and he holds you tighter to him, if it’s even possible at this point.

Maybe you two will take home this year’s trophy. Maybe you won’t. It really doesn’t matter to Eddie.

He’s already won.

“‘Smooth Operator?’” you suggest in place of Eddie, before pausing again. “But maybe jazz is too boring. I mean, I like it, but maybe not everyone would want to sit through it, especially if it’s me. Plus, that’s mostly saxophone. We can’t really do much there.”

“We could do ‘Saving All My Love for You.’ That has a guitar part.” You cringe. “Oh, but that’s so much worse. I can’t sing as good as Whitney. No one can sing as good as Whitney.”

“Hey, hey. Slow down,” Eddie says, throwing his hands out to stop you, even though he can’t reach you from the stool he’s propped on. “We’ve barely played one song, and you’re already comparing yourself to Madonna and Whitney Houston. This isn’t about being the best. Or picking something other people will like. Do you think I play guitar just because I want to be like Jimi Hendrix? No. I play because it’s fun, and because I wouldn’t mind being a little like Jimi Hendrix.”

You laugh and take a deep breath to release the tension. “Sorry. I just want to do good, you know.”

“You’ll do good no matter what song we play,” Eddie says. “Now, why don’t we choose something you want to do? Who’s your favorite artist?”

“Queen,” you answer without hesitation.

Eddie chuckles, shaking his head. “I should’ve known. Well, how about we play ‘Somebody to Love?’ You already know it. You’re comfortable doing it. I already half-know the guitar part.”

“It would be much better with the guitar,” you muse. “Always sounds so empty when I play it by myself.” Your fingers find the opening piano notes with ease.

“I can even do backing vocals,” Eddie adds quickly, on a roll now that you two are getting somewhere.

You pause your idle playing to look at him. “You sing?”

Eddie shrugs, fighting the blush on his cheeks. “I dabble.”

“Sing for me,” you urge, with a hint of a smirk on your lips.

Eddie leans back, bringing his shoulders up to his ears. “I will,” he stammers, “When we start playing.”

You shake your head, smiling. Something about the fondness of your eyes as you glance up at him makes his heart hammer.

It’s no surprise that you already have a tape of A Day at the Races on hand. You pop it into the music room’s stereo and start an hours long session of figuring things out. There’s not much for you to learn aside from a couple switch-ups where you originally transposed some of the guitar rhythm and solos for piano. You hand those over to Eddie, except for the ones that would be near impossible to do on the same guitar.

The first practice session you hold brings forth a unique manifestation of teamwork, different from the type Eddie’s used to with his band and their designated instrument parts or with his club and their solidified character roles. The two of you learn the song through give and take, handing off parts, puzzling together harmonies, improvising where you can’t imitate directly. The rendition of ‘Somebody to Love’ you end up with isn’t a direct match by any means, but it’s beautiful in a new way, and better yet, it’s something you made together.

When you finally call it quits, all four hands involved are aching from relentless practice and night has fallen over Hawkins through the windows. Eddie cracks his knuckles, thinking about how you’ve made pretty good progress with just one session. The two of you could probably get by with a couple more just to polish up here and there, mostly on Eddie’s limited upper range with his natural baritone.

On one hand, it’s nice to have made it so far already. On the other, Eddie is already mourning the lost time with you.

Eddie watches you as he packs his guitar stuff, taking longer than he needs to to wind an amp cable. You rewind the tape in the stereo and gingerly remove it to store in your bag. There’s not much packing on your end, but somehow you finish at the same time, standing on opposite ends silently as if waiting for something.

“Can I give you a ride home?” Eddie blurts so suddenly you startle. “Unless you drove, I guess. You probably drove.”

You shake your head. “No, I usually walk. I don’t live too far.”

“You walk home even when it’s dark out?”

A shrug too casual for an admittance like that.

“That’s actually unacceptable,” Eddie says, turning to the door and holding it open for you.

You laugh, traipsing through the door light as air. “I usually don’t stay long enough for it to get dark, except in fall when the time changes. It’s your fault we’ve been here this long.”

“My fault!” Eddie gasps, running ahead of you to spin around and place his hand defensively over his chest, where his pride sits wounded.

“Yeah,” you nod, brushing past him. His skin heats under his jacket where your shoulder grazes his arm. “You’re not as good as you say you are, I guess.” He’s blessed with the flash of a cheeky grin over your shoulder.

“How dare you,” Eddie mimes offense, even though he’s too busy calming the palpation spurred by your smile to sell it as well as he might have done without a pretty girl there to fluster him.

It’s too late now to realize you’re bad news for him, so he follows his heart and opens the last door for you that unleashes the warm embrace of an early summer night onto the both of you. The silence lengthening between you as you walk to his van itches in Eddie’s mind until words bubble up to break it.

“So, where did you pick up piano?” he asks, staring down the distance from his far off parking spot. He usually doesn’t get here early enough to get a spot close to school, not that he needed one anyway.

“My grandma,” you answer easily before a somber look passes over your eyes. “She, uh, passed some time ago, but when I was a kid I used to sit on the floor and listen to her play.” You smile at him, as if to assure him the grief didn’t hurt so much anymore, at least not enough to outweigh the love. “Eventually, she started to teach me. And, uh, when she passed, I ended up getting her piano. How about you and guitar?” You look back at him just as he opens the passenger door for you. He holds his hand out to help you up into the van, avoiding your eyes as he answers.

“My dad. Not many good stories there,” he says before shutting the door and walking around the other side. He’s thankful for the timing and the break that gives him a moment to forget the bitter reminder of his father.

He climbs back in, noticing how you’ve been drinking in the interior of his van by how quickly you rip your eyes away when the door opens. “If you have a piano at home, why do you practice at the school?” he asks as he cranks up the engine, which takes more than a few tries. He really needs to take a look at it sometime.

“My parents don’t really like it when I play so late. They say it’s too loud,” you respond, and as if on cue, Eddie cuts his radio on, forgetting how high the dial had been. He never has it lower than fifty percent, but the loud interruption still comes as a surprise somehow with you in the seat next to him.

He lowers the dial, feeling how his ears burn red. “It’s not like you’re banging pots at 12 AM. When the hell are you supposed to practice if not after school?”

“On weekends.”

Eddie scoffs. “Cruel and unusual punishment. They should be thanking you for the free daily concerts.”

“Not everyone shares your love for music,” you say with the fondness people only hear if someone’s know you for years instead of days. The unfamiliar, endeared tone trips up Eddie’s brain. He does a double take at you as he pulls out of the parking lot.

“Not everyone. But maybe some,” he says a little too hopefully and steals another look at you. He clears his throat to ask where you live, and you point him to Sattler Place, which is only a couple blocks away, probably less than a five minute walk.

The song playing on his tape doesn’t even have time to finish before he’s coming to a stop in front of a compact, two-story house with fresh white paint and a neatly trimmed lawn. The drive isn’t nearly enough time for him to prepare for the goodbye, but he still smiles when you thank him and repeats “see you tomorrow” after you. He watches you through his windows as you step up the pathway to your door and grins like he won the lottery when you wave at him before disappearing through the door.

The grin doesn’t wear off until he drifts off to sleep that night.

Next Chapter