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sanguineterrain · 2 months

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about a house | eddie munson

i am back with another installment of my about a boy series! you don't have to read them to understand this fic, so check them out only if you feel like it :)

Summary: You and Eddie have your first time together.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x gn!reader

Word count: 1.4k

Warnings/tags: insecure reader, unspecified trauma and poor self image, NSFW but it's not descriptive. reader's biology is unspecified. first time having sex, established relationship, hurt comfort.

if you enjoy this, please let me know through reblogs (and a comment, if you feel like!)

divider by firefly-graphics | i reblog all fics to @sanguinelibrary

Eddie tastes like rain.

You'd gotten caught in a thunderstorm on your way back from The Hideout tonight. Baby curls are slicked against his neck. His rings are warm from his body and the July heat. They're a comfortable weight against your arm.

He smells like a million things. Cheap beer. Bar peanuts. Smoke. Leather. The chalky Dial soap that's quickly become your favorite scent.

But Eddie tastes like rain.

Your arms are stiff beneath him. You want to move them. You like when Eddie kisses you. You like that he tastes differently each time.

But you're stuck.

"Baby?"

And now he's noticed.

Eddie lifts his head. He tucks a wet curl behind his ear. You reach to twirl it around your finger. He smiles at you. You feel monstrous. Like you've just crawled out from under his bed, in view when you shouldn't be.

You belong to the void. But Eddie's never been afraid of the dark.

"Hey, honey," he whispers, thumb sliding over your cheek. "What's up? Y'wanna stop?"

You asked him this morning. Eddie had made waffles, and he'd just finished inhaling three and was on his fourth when you asked.

"Can we have sex?"

He’d put his fork down, wiped a drop of syrup from the corner of his lip with his thumb and sucked it clean. Then he’d looked at you very seriously.

"Do you want to have sex?"

And, well. Yes. Obviously. That's why you asked, isn't it?

You're on his bed. There are too many things in his room that remind you of how none of this is yours and that you ought to let Eddie go soon so he actually has a shot at a real relationship. Those are definitely mood killers. You are definitely a mood killer.

"No," you say. "No, I don't want to stop."

You feel his eyes on you, feel him parse whether you're lying or not. Not even lying—just if you're unaware. Sometimes Eddie has to remind you that you can tell him no.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

You stare at his wall of metal posters. At things that make him Eddie. You clutch his t-shirt tighter. His thumb rubs circles on your hip.

"What if it's weird?" you ask.

"What is?"

"This. Me. My body."

You look at yourself, at your rucked up shirt, your sockless feet.

"All bodies are weird," Eddie says.

"No, they're not."

"Yeah-huh. You think my body isn't weird? My body's just as freaky as the ol' noodle."

He taps his temple with one finger.

"You're not weird, though," you say.

"No?"

You turn your head and stare at the single window in Eddie's room. It's pitch black outside. You kind of want the light to be off in here too.

"Maybe this won't be good," you say. "Maybe I won't like it. Maybe I'll be bad."

He eases your head back so you face him once again.

"Sweet thing, you could bite my lip off and I'd still love ya. And if you don't like it at any point, we'll stop. No questions."

"It has to be good," you say.

Eddie tilts his head. There's no trace of humor in his eyes now.

"Why does it have to be good?" he asks quietly.

"Because it's me."

"What?"

You sigh.

"You know what I mean," you say. "You know, Eddie."

"I'm not sure that I do, sweet thing."

You look at him, wishing he'd read your mind. But he can't, and it's not fair to expect him to. Eddie may not be afraid of the dark, but that doesn't mean he should stumble through your brain.

"You live in your body," you say, like it explains everything. It should.

"And you… don't?"

“I live…” You look down at your body. Sometimes you forget it's yours. “I live outside. It's like… like I'm a house. And I've lost the keys. So I watch through a window and wait to be let in.”

“Maybe you're already inside,” he says.

“How can I be inside if I don't know how to get to the kitchen or the bedroom?” You squeeze your eyes shut. “It's like I'm a ghost.”

It has to be another house because your house isn't inviting to someone like Eddie. You'll let him in and the decoration will put him off and you've never learned how to say the right things at the right time, and when you invite someone inside, there's an expectation—

“Baby. Hey. Hey, honey.” Eddie taps your cheek gently. “Can y’look at me, please? You're worrying me.”

“You won't like my house,” you say, and open your eyes. Your vision blurs at the edges. “I don't even like my house.”

Eddie's wearing that pinched expression that resurfaces whenever you say something sad.

Outside, the rain keeps on. You're too sad for him.

“I think you've got a very beautiful house,” he says. “I've seen the outside and gotten peeks of the inside and everything I've seen has only made me want to see more.”

He leans in and kisses you like your paint isn't peeling, like the roof hasn't caved in, like you aren't beyond fixing.

“I like your windows and their shutters,” he says, kissing your eyelids. “And I like your door. I like the music and laughter that comes out of it.” He kisses your mouth, petting your hips.

“I like your door,” you whisper into his mouth.

Eddie smiles against your skin and kisses down your neck.

“Mm, what else? I like how strong your house is. How it's been rained on so many times and it's still here. I like the light that shines from inside, how warm and inviting it is. I like that you let me through the front gate even though it's scary to let someone in.”

“Eddie.” You’re begging. “Don’t have to like it. I’ll let you in anyway.”

Eddie reels back, dark eyes molten. “Don’t ever think you have to let me inside to keep me. Alright? This is your house, baby. Not mine. I come when invited. And I love you. I love every part.”

“I want you in,” you say. You do. You never thought you would but you’re sure that you want Eddie inside.

He cups the back of your head and your hip. It makes your bricks wobble. You never knew that living in your body could be a home and not a break-in.

Eddie’s house is beautiful, but you knew that. His skin is smooth, dotted with freckles and moles. Silver scars criss-cross over his stomach. He catches you staring.

“One day, I’ll tell you about ‘em,” he murmurs, tracing your cheek with his thumb. “But tonight‘s about you.”

“I like your house,” you say.

Eddie smiles. His cheeks tinge red.

“You’re my favorite person in the whole wide world,” he says.

He helps you take off your clothes. You take longer than him, but Eddie doesn’t rush. Just kisses your exposed skin.

“We can stop here if you want,” he says when you’re both bare.

“It might not be good,” you say again. “Remember?”

“Sweet thing, have you ever considered that maybe it’ll be good because it’s you?”

You pull him in by his neck, so you can whisper in his ear. You can’t look at Eddie’s windows right now.

“Inside might be scary,” you say.

Eddie makes a warm sound. “Everybody’s got an attic, baby. Nothing scary ‘bout ‘em.”

You search for his hand blindly. He links your fingers and kisses the shell of your ear.

“Come in,” you say.

So Eddie does.

It isn’t long before you’re both panting. Eddie’s pet you for a long while, sweet strokes that make you squeal and sigh. Your sounds make him grin every time.

“Do you—do you like my house?” Your ankles cross behind Eddie's back. The wind whistles against the window. This is not a break-in.

“Sweet thing, I'd love your house even if you never let me inside,” Eddie says, a moan stuck in his throat as he bottoms out. “You okay? Y’wanna keep going?”

You nod and tuck your face into his shoulder. Eddie’s curls are frizzy and they stick to his forehead. Words climb dangerously up your throat, words about houses and moving in and vows and picking furniture. Your eyes burn.

“Baby, are y—hey.” Eddie starts to pull out. You shake your head furiously and keep his hips lined with yours.

“No, ‘m fine,” you say, lightning in your belly growing. “Really, Ed, fine. Just feel safe. You’re safe. I love your house.”

Eddie’s answering hum is tender. He kisses you hard, salt on your door.

You find yourself in the window’s reflection again. The rain keeps on.

This time, you don’t feel locked out.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #Eddie munson imagine #gender neutral reader #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things imagine #stranger things #Eddie munson #about a boy

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sanguineterrain · 7 months

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about first place | eddie munson

hey guys remember when i wrote for stranger things? lol.

so this is another installment of my about a boy series. you don't have to read them to understand this fic, but idk, you might like those too! check them out if you feel like :)

Summary: Eddie asks you to change plans. You spiral.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x gn!reader

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings/tags: intrusive (violent and one self-harm) thoughts, self deprecating thoughts, reader spirals, eddie is hurtful (by accident) to the reader, but they communicate and it's resolved. reader feels like they are cast aside and there is trauma behind that feeling. reader is sensitive to rejection and has trouble communicating.

my fics aren't intended to be used as models for perfect communication or anything like that HOWEVER this fic is intended to be a story about communication and building trust and navigating a partner's trauma. if these topics are triggering to you, DO NOT READ.

if you enjoy this, please let me know through reblogs (and a comment, if you feel like!)

divider by firefly-graphics | i reblog all fics to @sanguinelibrary

Fridays are dinner nights with Eddie. Sometimes you do them on Saturday, but usually, every week, you two have dinner. It hasn’t gone on for very long; you’ve only just begun to feel comfortable eating in front of Eddie. But you like it. Sometimes Wayne joins you two. It feels like you have a home.

And after every dinner, you confirm with Eddie that he'll come over next week too. People like when you confirm plans in advance. You like when people confirm plans and keep their commitments.

You like that Eddie comes over. You like that he wants to come over.

The phone rings. You put down the wooden spoon and answer.

"Hello?"

"Hey, sweet thing!" Eddie says. "Hey, so, I'm at Gareth's place right now, and our campaign is running long. It's so good, babe, I just created this new storyline and everybody loves it! Wheeler even said she might join next week. Am I a genius or what?"

You smile. "You're a genius, Eds. Nancy appreciates a good story; I’m not surprised you wowed her.”

"Aw, you flatter me, sweet thing. So, uh, I know I'm supposed to come over for dinner, but would it be okay if I took a rain check? Only because…"

You don't hear the rest of the sentence. The only thing that rings in your ears is rain check. Eddie's canceling. Eddie's sick of you.

"...Is that alright?" he finally asks. "I'll take you out to dinner tomorrow."

Your chest constricts. Eddie's expecting agreeability. He's expecting your acquiescence to the fact that he's sick of you.

"Sure," you say tightly.

There's a pause. Then, "So, I’ll swing by tomorrow?"

"No." You haven't prepared to interact with people tomorrow, you prepared for today. And tonight was planned a week in advance, but Eddie wants to change plans. Eddie cares more about Hellfire than spending time with you.

Eddie is just like the rest of them.

"How ‘bout Monday? Or later next week? I wanna spend time with you, sweet thing."

Your throat feels tight. You need to end the conversation now or your guts will unspool all over the floor and Eddie will hear you try to stuff them back into your stomach.

"It's fine. We don't need to reschedule. Bye."

You hang up. Immediately, your stomach hurts. Why should you feel guilty? Eddie abandoned plans that you made a week ago for his other friends. Eddie doesn't care about you. That's always how it goes. People hurt you and they don't care, and then you're the one who feels guilty for hanging up on them.

Thoughts of Eddie crashing his van or Eddie getting struck by lightning flash unbidden into your mind and your stomach ache gets worse. What the fuck is wrong with you? Why would you think those things? You don't want that to happen to Eddie. You love Eddie, even though you were bound to eat too much love and get a stomach ache.

You feel like doing something that would make your mother mad at you. You feel like digging your nails into the bathroom tile grout and scraping until you see the sun. You feel like carving scars into the kitchen table.

Goddammit, you need to stop the bad thoughts. Think good thoughts. Think thoughts normal people have. Pretend you're normal. Pretend you're loved.

You look at the pot of boiling water. Would Eddie come over if you stuck your hand in?

No, God, what's wrong with you? You fucking psycho. This is why no one keeps their plans with you! Eddie's job isn't to take care of you, to hold your hand and pet your hair and tell you he's happy to be here with you.

You're wrong, you were born wrong, and that's your problem, not his. That's why he's gone. That's why everybody leaves.

Knock knock.

You look at the door, spooked. Did someone hear your thoughts? Are they finally here to take you away?

"Sweet thing, you there? Can I please come in?"

If you let Eddie in, you'll have to tell him it's okay, and your guts will be there for him to see because you haven't cleaned them up yet, and he'll know you've been crying over him even though he called first which is more than you've ever been given before, and your stomach ache will triple and and and—

"It's open," you say.

Eddie comes in. Your face is impenetrable. Stone. No, concrete. No, obsidian. Your face is obsidian, and Eddie's got a plastic hammer. You'll win and you can scoop up your guts later.

"Hey," Eddie says softly. "Hey, sweetheart."

You take a step back. This is a trick.

"Why aren't you with your friends?" you ask, crossing your arms.

Eddie winces. "I’m sorry, baby. That was a mistake. I realized that after we hung up. I shouldn't have tried to reschedule. You and I made plans, and they're important to me. I ended the game—we're gonna meet next week."

"You can go. I don't care."

Eddie's mouth flattens. You've hurt his feelings, but he hurt yours first, but you don't want to hurt his at all, but but but—

"I'm sorry I hurt you," Eddie says. "I don't want to reschedule or ditch our plans. I wanna spend time with you, I do."

"I don't want you here," you say. "I want you to leave, Eddie. I don't forgive you."

Eddie's face crumples. But he nods. "Okay, baby. I-I'll leave if you want me to go. I respect your space. You don't have to forgive me right now."

Oh no. Eddie came prepared. Eddie has a diamond-tipped drill.

"I'm never first," you blurt.

Eddie tilts his head. "What do you mean?"

He's still gentle. He's still here. Even though you didn't forgive him. Even though you're mad at him. Even though you'll never be normal. He's listening anyway.

"No one puts me first. You did, but then you didn't tonight, even though I made plans enough time in advance. A week is enough time. People are supposed to stick to plans when you ask them a week ahead. It's my fault when I don't give them enough time, and it makes sense when they don't want to spend time with me then, but this time it wasn't my fault. You're supposed to decide you don't like me before this point. It hurts less when you decide earlier."

Your chest heaves. Eddie's stepping all over your guts. He tracks them across the carpet as he gets closer. You watch the bloody intestine footprints slop behind him.

"But you said yes. But then you wanted out. I'm never—I'm never first."

Eddie's face splinters further. "Oh, sweetheart—"

You wipe your eyes, pulling the skin hard.

"I do like you," he says, and your sob breaks. "I do. Nothing'll make me stop liking you. And I love you still. I didn't ask that because I don't like you. It-it doesn't matter why I asked, but avoiding you wasn't the reason. It was a thoughtless thing I did. I thought you wouldn't mind, but you do, and that's okay. That's valid. I want you to tell me that. I want you to say, "Eddie, you dummy, I love ya, but let's keep our plans," and I'll come home."

"You didn't want to," you say, and cry harder.

"No, baby, it's not like that at all. I wanted to do both, I like the idea of both. I always enjoy spending time with you. I thought maybe since we do this regularly, you wouldn't mind something different too."

You're overreacting. You're scary. This is wrong. This isn't how norm—fucking fuck that word!

"I'm sorry," you blubber, quivering in place.

Your legs feel weak. You lean against the counter for support.

Eddie shakes his head. He's a foot away.

"What're you apologizing for, baby? You don't have to apologize. I hurt you, not the other way around."

"I'm guilty," you say, crying into your hands. "I'm guilty too. I thought bad thoughts. I didn't mean to, but I did, and now you're here, but I want you to be here because you want to be, not because I… I…"

"Is it okay if I touch you?"

You nod, and Eddie's arms slide around you. Every time he hugs you, you're certain you won't fit together. But you always do.

"It's okay if you thought bad thoughts," Eddie says into your ear. You feel his voice vibrate through your chest. "You're not your thoughts. And it's okay if some of those thoughts were because you were hurting from what I said. I’m really sorry, sweet thing. I have angry thoughts too, sometimes. But that's all they are. Just thoughts. Just noise. They don't make you bad. You're good. So, so good."

You wrap your arms around Eddie's neck and hug hard. He squeezes you back just as tightly. The pressure feels good.

"I w-want you to hang out with friends, but I want you to k-keep our plans first," you say, and then brace yourself. You take great, big, shuddering breaths.

"That is a very reasonable ask, my love. I’ll do that from now on. And how 'bout if we want to change plans, we'll ask at least three days in advance? Is that fair?”

You nod against his shoulder. You stay like that, Eddie rubbing circles on your back. His curls tickle your wet cheek.

"Sorry I ruined it," you say.

"No, no, you didn't ruin anything. I made a mistake and we're learning how to communicate better. We’re learning.”

"I was scary."

"I don't think so, baby."

You're quiet for a moment. "I want you to stay and eat with me."

He squeezes your arm. "I would love nothing more, sweet thing."

You take the colander out of the cabinet. Eddie pushes your guts back into your stomach. No one's ever done that for you.

Perhaps you are loved. No pretending necessary.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x gn reader #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things x you #stranger things x reader #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things imagine #eddie munson angst #about a boy

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