𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐦𝐛!
pairings: eddie munson x fem!reader
summary: eddie munson feels terrible that a sweet girl like you has such a terrible boyfriend. it'd be a real shame if he couldn't help you out.
fic warnings (mdni 18+): reader is over 18, smut, cheating, blow jobs, eddie eating the shit out of you, fingering, teasing, heavy make-outs, mentions of weed/smoking weed, vaginal penetration, unprotected sex, creampie, eddie being a little bit possessive, corruption kink if you squint
Covered with ink, the smell of weed lingering in his hair, the Hellfire Club enthusiast could only leave so much to the mind's imagination. He liked to keep true to his name, to let people think their scandalous thoughts about him as he walked by, never asking because that would mean they were communicating with the sinner himself.
But Eddie Munson, alongside other things, was a fun person to hang around. He didn’t give a flying shit if the old ladies he passed by wrinkled their noses at his hair, or if people liked to gossip whether or not he made a deal with the devil. He was easy to talk to, comforting at times, and even caring if he truly tried hard.
With that, there were other things that only you could see. The little laugh he let out when you opened up your front door to him, shushing him as the two of you tiptoed to your room. Or the way he pressed a little kiss to your cheek before leaving out the back, waving farewell to you from your window as you suppressed the giddy smile that made its way to your face.
And it would be fine, really. Eddie could probably stay the night over, (maybe hide in your bathroom if your parents came up the stairs), but you two knew you could get away with it. And you could even stay over at his trailer if you wanted to, but both you and Eddie knew that there was one thing keeping you from spending the night tucked away in his arms.
It’s just that your boyfriend just wasn’t a big fan of Eddie Munson.
But you think that’s what spurs Eddie on even more.
Of being the sole person that everybody despises, of being able to defile you whenever he wants. Of being just too loud to raise suspicion, to have him look just around the corner and into your room to see you getting ruined by Eddie “the freak” Munson.
Sometimes Eddie likes to play with fire, to challenge the devil as he leaves dark marks just high enough on your chest and neck so that most of your clothing could just barely cover it, and most times you’d resort to having to conceal it with makeup.
Other times he’d like to write his name on the inside of your thigh, knowing that your pure and angelic boyfriend wouldn’t go looking down there anytime soon, but the thrill of your skirt being blown up by the spring winds and revealing the sinister acts that lay upon your supple skin.
But what Eddie finds funny about the whole thing is that most of the time, you don’t even try to hide it. Your hickies are almost always peeking through the layer of makeup or your clothing as if you wanted people to see them. Or how you wore the shortest skirt you could possibly find in hopes of having it scrunch up by accident, leaving people wandering eyes to zero in on the black marker lining your thighs.
Something Eddie noticed about you was that you were a lot more sinister than you let on. Sure you went to school every day, acting as if you enjoyed it. And made the teachers happy with your grades and preppy attitude, but you were honestly a little minx that Eddie had never expected.
Last week, for example, Eddie almost choked on the water he was drinking when you strolled into the cafeteria, not looking his way, caught up in something that your boyfriend was saying as you gave him a fake little laugh. But Eddie could see how you peeked over at his table, a sly grin on your lips as you went to rub your neck, his rings littering your finger as his eyes widened ever so slightly. Even worse was that you were wearing his shirt, the one he left at your house over the weekend. All while your boyfriend had his arm wrapped around your waist, holding you protectively to his chest as if you were his girl.
So when he came by later that day, knocking on the door, twice, letting you know it was him as you ran past your parents to open it, you cracked it open to see him leaning on the frame, his hands behind his back, a sneaky smile on his face as you shielded him from your parents view.
“Eddie!” You hissed, watching him gleam at your annoyance at his lack of caution.