daveythorntonslocker

[daveythorntonslocker]

Since I love Eddie and Mrs. O'Donnell so much I'd like to request a little blurb about these two.

Since Eddie has graduated they are free to be a couple. Eddie gets a job at a music store in town after graduation. Mrs. O continues teaching English.

After a few months of dating they move in together. Eddie and Duke become best buddies. (Because I think the thought of Eddie with that fluffy baby is adorable 🥰)

There's one week that's very stressful for Mrs. O. Eddie decides to book a romantic weekend getaway for the two of them to a private cabin for couples in the woods. It's December so there's some snow. He surprises her with this one night at dinner. The cabin is private for couples only. There's a Jacuzzi tub in front of a fireplace in each cabin and big windows so they can look out at the beautiful frozen lake and trees covered with snow.

Eddie and Mrs. O take full advantage of the Jacuzzi and the free bottle of champagne one night and end up having sex in the Jacuzzi. Something along those lines. You get it. Eddie is romantic as shit. Hahaha. Romance, fluffy and smut all in one.

Thanks 😘

Student Body: "Winter Break"

Story Request: “Sequel: Student Body Follow-Up”

Eddie Munson x Mrs. O'Donnell

Cover Fanart by ThePinkPanther83

💌 Author’s Note: This story is a direct sequel to "Student Body", which, if I’m being totally honest, is the favorite love child among my fics. I poured a lot of heart (and filth) into Eddie and Mrs. O’Donnell’s story, and the response from some of you was overwhelming in the best way.

A special thank you to @daveythorntonslocker for this request and for loving these two as much as I do. The second I read your idea, I knew I had to do it justice. A snowy getaway? Jacuzzi sex? Eddie being romantic as shit while still being Eddie? Say less. This one was written with the lights down low, a mug of warm coffee, and a smile on my face the whole time. 😉

Baby, it’s cold outside… but Eddie’s hot as hell.

Thank you for reading, sharing, commenting, and letting me write stories that are equal parts temptation and tenderness. I hope this one leaves you warm, a little flustered, and maybe even planning your own winter escape.

With love,

~Pinkie 🍒

Masterlist

Find me on AO3.

Read this story on AO3.

Summary: It’s been months since Eddie Munson crossed the graduation stage with a smirk on his lips, a middle finger for Principal Higgins, and his former English teacher’s lipstick still on his collar.

Now that he’s free from the halls of Hawkins High, and technically, so is she… the two of them have traded whispered rendezvous for something quieter, softer... almost normal. Almost.

She’s still teaching. He’s working at a local music store, flirting his way through guitar string restocks and dreaming up their future between shifts. They’ve kept their relationship under wraps, tucked safely behind closed curtains and low-lit dinners. But when the weight of winter, and a particularly brutal week at work starts wearing her down, Eddie does what any feral-hearted romantic would do:

He surprises her with a weekend getaway to a secluded lakeside cabin built for two.

Snowfall. Champagne. A private Jacuzzi. One big bed. And a man who still remembers how to weaponize charm like a scalpel.

This is a story about second chances, secret kisses, lazy mornings, and the kind of love that no longer needs to hide. It’s cozy. It’s filthy. It’s all theirs.

Click "Keep Reading" below the cut to read. 😘

Student Body: “Winter Break”

Hawkins, Indiana - Winter, 1986

The first snow hadn’t stuck yet, but the world outside Donna’s kitchen window was already powdered with frost, the garden beds rimmed in silver like the edge of a vintage mirror. The air smelled like coffee, buttered toast, and the faintest hint of Eddie Munson’s shampoo- something woodsy and masculine in a way that made her stomach flip for reasons she didn’t care to examine.

Eddie sat at the breakfast table shirtless, of course, like the concept of insulation didn’t apply to him. His hair was messy, tied into the world’s loosest bun with a bright green pencil he probably stole from her desk. His feet were bare. His black jeans were unbuttoned, hanging low on his hips, like gravity had personally declared war on her willpower.

He was also grading vocabulary quizzes for her. Badly.

“Okay,” he muttered, tapping the eraser against his lips as he squinted down at a sheet of loose-leaf. “What the hell kind of name is Chrysanthemum, anyway?”

Donna, standing at the stove with a spatula in one hand and her dignity rapidly evaporating in the presence of that much skin and sass, didn’t even look over. “It’s a flower, Eddie.”

“Yeah, well, it sounds like a disease.” He scratched out a student’s misspelling- 'crizamthemom', and snorted. “Honestly, I might give this one a pass just for creativity.”

“Absolutely not,” she said, amused. “And what happened to using the answer key?”

He lifted the stapled packet in his hand and flapped it dramatically like it offended him. “The key is boring. These answers are way more entertaining.”

She shook her head and turned back to the pan, flipping the eggs. “You’re incorrigible.”

“I’m adorable,” he countered, grinning as Duke the Cat purred louder and stretched in his lap, a big fluffy traitor. “And helpful. Look at me. House husband in training. You’ve tamed me, O’Donnell.”

She looked over her shoulder and raised an eyebrow. “Tamed? You left your socks in the fridge yesterday.”

“I was multitasking!” he protested, then paused. “...Wait, what was I even doing in the fridge? I forget.”

“Exactly.” She plated the eggs with a satisfied hum and walked them to the table, setting them in front of him like a reluctant offering to some tattooed pagan kitchen deity.

Eddie leaned forward and kissed her wrist, warm lips brushing skin just above her pulse. “Thanks, Teach.”

Her heart did that stupid lurch again, the one it had started doing sometime around June. Around the same time she stopped pretending this was just a fling. Around the time she started leaving space for his records beside hers. Around the time she stopped sleeping alone with Duke in her bed.

She sat down beside him, sipping her coffee as he ate like he hadn’t had a warm meal in years. Probably because when he cooked, he nearly set off the smoke alarm every time.

Outside, the frost was already melting off the neighbor’s roof. In here, though- between the lazy hum of the record player, the crackle of the eggs cooling on the plate, and Eddie’s big warm hand resting casually on her thigh, it was all heat.

And she wasn’t sure she ever wanted it to cool down again.

Later that day, Eddie had long clocked in at the music shop on Main, a narrow little building sandwiched between the bakery and the pharmacy. It smelled like vinyl and lemon polish, and the walls were lined with guitar strings, drumsticks, and aging concert posters yellowed with time. He liked it here. It was quiet, cool, and the owner let him play whatever the hell he wanted on the store stereo- so long as it wasn’t “Sabbath Bloody Sabbath” more than twice a day.

“Yo, Munson!”

Eddie looked up from restringing a Fender to see two juniors from Hawkins High poking their heads in through the door, cheeks pink from the cold. “Heard you flipped off Higgins at graduation, you're a legend, man!” one of them said, clearly impressed.

“I didn’t flip him off,” Eddie said with mock offense. “It was a peace sign done with only one finger. You know, peace and love, man. I was turning over a new leaf.”

They both cracked up and darted back out before Eddie could add anything else, the little bell above the door jingling in their wake.

“Legend,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head with a grin.

He finished up with the guitar, glanced at the clock, and gave a theatrical sigh. “Time for some urgent business,” he told the empty shop. Then he poked his head into the back room where the manager was buried in receipts.

“Hey, Frank?”

“Yeah?”

“I gotta dip early... Donna’s got, uh… a plumbing emergency.”

Frank didn’t even look up. “Romantic code for something, Munson?”

Eddie just winked and saluted. “I plead the Fifth.”

By the time he hit the sidewalk, his boots crunching over a thin crust of frost, Eddie was grinning ear to ear. The printout in his coat pocket was still warm from the library printer: one weekend reservation at Silver Pine Cabins. Private. Secluded. Romantic as hell.

And exactly what Donna needed.

“Plumbing emergency, my ass,” he muttered, smiling to himself. “You’re gonna lose your mind when you see this place, babe.”

It hit her all at once- exam week burnout, winter grading hell, the low hum of holiday panic buzzing at the back of her skull. Donna sat at the dining table, red pen in hand, surrounded by stacks of essays and scantrons. Her temples throbbed with the dull pressure of too much caffeine and not enough sleep.

Eddie moved around the kitchen with unusual grace, wooden spoon in one hand, pot simmering on the stove. The smell of garlic and basil hung in the air, rich and soothing.

“You okay over there?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder.

“Fine,” she murmured without looking up.

He arched a brow, then stirred the pasta with unnecessary flair. “That’s teacher for 'not fine,’ right?”

She sighed, setting her pen down. “It’s just… a lot. Deadlines. Exams. Faculty meetings. You name it.”

Eddie wiped his hands on a dish towel and padded over to her, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head. “Sounds like someone needs a break.”

“I will. Over the holidays.”

“Uh-huh.” He turned, reached into the drawer, and pulled something out, a folded paper. He laid it in front of her like it was an offering.

She stared at it. “What is this?”

“Don’t freak out,” he said, trying and failing to hide a grin. “But I may have used my entire paycheck and a coupon code from the bottom of a pizza box to book us a weekend getaway. You and me. A cabin. In the snow. With a Jacuzzi. And champagne. With zero teenagers.”

Her mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.

“Eddie-”

“I know, I know, I should’ve asked, but babe, you are one tense post-it away from snapping a red pen in half and flipping a desk.”

She laughed, even as her eyes brimmed. “You can’t just kidnap your girlfriend off to the woods-”

“Too late,” he said, kissing her cheek. “Already committed.”

She sighed, standing to wrap her arms around his waist. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” he whispered against her temple. “But I’m yours.”

The next morning was a flurry of scarves, thermals, and arguing over who got to pick the road trip music.

“I swear to God, if you bring that weird forest druid flute cassette again-”

"It's ambient soundscapes, Eddie! It's relaxing!"

"It's creepy!" he laughed, zipping up the duffel and tossing in a fresh bag of cat treats for Duke, who sat on the edge of the bed like a judgmental gremlin.

Donna zipped her own bag with less flair, checking her coat pocket for lip balm and her emergency migraine meds. She paused, looking around the room, taking in the scene- her home, now fully theirs. Eddie’s leather jacket slung over the banister. His old boots by the door. A pack of guitar picks on her nightstand.

She felt the corners of her mouth lift, soft and involuntary.

Eddie appeared in the doorway, arms full of blankets. “Okay, I packed like six just in case the heat doesn’t work and you get cold. Also, I brought the good mugs and the peppermint hot chocolate mix.”

“You are absurd.”

“Absurdly prepared,” he countered, nudging her hip with his own as he passed. “Now come on, woman, time to hit the road. We've got a cabin to scandalize.”

She rolled her eyes, grabbed her bag, and followed him out into the crisp December air.

Let the winter break begin.

The private, snowy couple’s resort cabin looked like something straight out of a holiday romance movie cover. Eddie carried her over the threshold- because duh, nearly tripping on their bags in the process while Donna laughed into his neck.

Inside was warm and rustic-chic, all dark wood and soft light. Huge windows looked out onto a frozen lake. Steam fogged the glass. A bottle of chilled champagne waited in an ice bucket near the fireplace, and there was a Jacuzzi tub right in the living room, facing the fire. The bed, piled high with fur throws, looked obscenely inviting.

“Holy shit,” Eddie breathed. “I might’ve outdone myself.”

She turned in a slow circle, taking it all in. “You think?”

They fumbled with the luggage, trying not to knock over anything expensive-looking. Duke, very much not invited, had tried to crawl into the suitcase that morning, and was currently sulking at Donna’s friend’s house, being cat-sat and plotting revenge.

Eddie immediately flopped onto the bed, testing the bounce. “Good suspension. Excellent spring.”

Donna kicked off her boots and curled into the oversized armchair by the fire, cracking open her book.

“You gonna read me a story, Teach?” he asked from the bed, stretching dramatically.

“You gonna behave?” she shot back.

“No.”

He got up, barefoot and grinning, and started making a fire, fumbling a bit before getting it lit.

The vibe was soft luxury meets giddy intimacy.

And the night hadn’t even started yet.

Later that evening, firelight flickered across the walls, casting warm shadows as snow fell soft and slow outside. The Jacuzzi bubbled gently, steam rising to mix with the haze of the fire. Eddie leaned back, arms spread along the edge, his hair damp and curling, a flute of champagne in one hand.

Donna slid into the water opposite him with a soft moan. “Okay,” she sighed, shoulders sinking below the bubbles. “This was a good idea.”

He smirked, lifting his glass in salute. “Told you. I’m a genius. A romantic genius.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled as she clinked her glass against his. “You’re something, alright.”

They drank in easy silence for a few moments, the kind that only grows between people who’ve spent enough nights in each other’s arms to know the shape of quiet.

“You know,” Eddie said, voice a little lower now, “I’m really proud of you.”

Donna blinked at him. “Me?”

He shrugged. “Yeah. For sticking it out. Teaching. Holding it together. Even when the job's thankless and the kids are feral. You're still here. Still you.”

Her expression softened. “I’m proud of you too, Ed.”

He smiled, slow and full. “Glad I stuck around?”

“God, yes.”

The flirting escalated naturally. His foot nudged hers under the water. Her legs drifted over his lap. She sipped her champagne slowly, eyes dark over the rim of the glass.

“God, you’re beautiful like this,” he murmured.

“Like what?” she asked, head tilted.

“Like you’re mine.”

She flushed, visibly. Heat that had nothing to do with the Jacuzzi.

His hand slid beneath the water, fingers brushing her thigh. Her breath hitched.

“What if someone sees?” she whispered, breathless, glancing out the window.

“There’s no one out there,” he said, voice roughening. “Just snow and trees and you and me.”

The kiss came next- slow, exploratory. Champagne-sweet. His hands found her hips under the bubbles, pulled her forward until she straddled him, knees pressing against the slippery sides of the tub. Water sloshed.

“Don’t drown,” she warned between gasps.

“I won’t,” he panted, grinning. “But if I do, it’s a hell of a way to go.”

Their mouths crashed together again, wetter this time, needier. Eddie’s hands smoothed down her slick back, then gripped her ass under the water, guiding her hips. Her breath caught, lips parting as she rocked against him, slow and tentative.

She gasped when he thrust up, groaning into her throat. “Oh my god,” she choked out, arms winding around his neck, hips starting to move with more purpose.

Beneath the bubbles, water splashed, shifting with every glide and grind of her hips. Her breasts brushed his chest, nipples taut from the cool air above and the heat below. He couldn’t stop touching her- fingertips grazing up her spine, mouth dragging kisses across her collarbone, then lower, catching the swell of her breast with his tongue.

“You feel... fuck, Donna... so damn good,” he rasped.

She whimpered, holding his face between her hands, foreheads pressed together now. “Don’t stop,” she whispered.

“Not a chance.”

The tension built slowly, curling tight between them like the steam rising into the rafters. Every shift of her hips made him grunt, curse, murmur her name like a prayer. Her moans turned high and breathy, hands grasping his shoulders, nails leaving soft crescents in his skin.

“You close?” he asked, voice fraying.

She nodded, biting her lip. “You?”

His answer was a growl. One hand came between them under the water, and with a deft circle of his thumb on her clit, she shattered.

Her head dropped to his shoulder, trembling with aftershocks. “Jesus, Eddie-”

“Still with me?” he teased, panting.

“Barely.”

He surged up into her once more, and then he was cumming too, muttering broken things into her neck, voice rough and reverent.

It was messy, clumsy in places, bubbles popping between them. But it was also achingly tender. Her fingers tangled in his hair. His mouth traced the line of her collarbone. Steam curled around their silhouettes as they rocked together in a slow, syncopated rhythm- an unspoken promise whispered between moans and the crackling fire.

Outside, snow continued to fall, blanketing the world in silence.

Inside, they made their own kind of music.

And not once did either of them think about work or grading papers.

Donna woke first.

She was wrapped in his arms, head rising and falling gently with each breath he took. One of his hands was tangled in her hair, the other resting over the small of her back. The steady beat of his heart echoed beneath her cheek like the world’s most grounding lullaby.

The fireplace had burned down to soft embers, its warmth fading but still lingering. Outside, the snow hadn’t stopped, but it was falling slower now- gentler, as if the world itself was sighing into the moment.

The windows were fogged again. A silver glow spread across the lake as the first traces of dawn lit the sky.

Eddie’s hair had dried in soft curls during the night, slightly damp at the nape of his neck. There were pale pink scratches on his shoulder- hers. Evidence of how completely she'd let go.

The air smelled like firewood and leftover champagne and a trace of Eddie’s cologne- a scent she now knew by heart.

She could’ve gotten up. She probably should’ve. But instead she stayed still and listened.

To his breathing. To the hush of the snow. To the quiet inside herself that hadn’t existed before him.

She’d spent so long trying to do everything right. Be good. Follow the rules. Keep her nose clean and her career intact. And somehow, against all odds- she’d ended up in the arms of a smart-mouthed, tender-hearted metalhead who’d once been her most stubborn student.

And she wouldn’t change a thing.

She didn’t feel like she was falling apart anymore.

She felt like she’d fallen into place.

Eddie stirred with a soft grunt, eyes still closed.

“Think Duke’s mad I didn’t bring him?” he mumbled.

She laughed, low and warm, and pressed a kiss to his chest.

“He’s probably gonna destroy your guitar case in retaliation.”

He groaned theatrically. “Worth it.”

They stayed like that for a while- warm, tangled, hearts beating in quiet sync.

Eddie found her hand beneath the blankets, lacing their fingers together, rubbing slow, lazy circles into her palm with his thumb.

“You know,” he said, voice still hoarse with sleep, “I used to think I’d never get out of Hawkins without blowing something up.”

She smirked. “Technically, you still haven’t.”

“Yeah, but now I’ve got something to take with me. Or someone.”

Her breath caught, just for a moment.

“Where are we going?”

“Wherever you want,” he said softly. “Just… not back.”

There was a long pause, one filled with firelight and snowfall and the quiet ache of honesty.

She sat up and turned toward him, her voice a whisper. “I’m scared sometimes.”

His brow furrowed. She shook her head. “Not of you. Never of you. Just… of how easy it’s become to love you. How unapologetic I feel about it now.”

A slow grin pulled at his lips. “Good. That’s how you know it’s real.”

Then, teasing, “Besides… you knew what you were getting into. I’m still a little feral.”

“You’re housebroken now.”

“I shower, that’s not the same thing.”

She laughed, then lifted his hand to her lips and kissed his knuckles.

“Let’s stop waiting for the other shoe to drop. Let’s just… be.”

He tugged her back under the covers, wrapping himself around her like he never planned to let go.

“If it drops, baby… I’ll catch it.”

Outside, the snow kept falling. Inside, two bodies lay tangled beneath a blanket, the kind of knot no one ever wants to undo.

And for once, everything was exactly where it was supposed to be.

Who loves Eddie Munson, show of hands! 😂 Let me know if you want to be added to my tag list!

@justalotoffanfiction, @yorshie, @jackalope-in-a-storm, @v1per1ne, @daveythorntonslocker, @cokepowder55, @kelsiegrin, @ash-stardust, @meankenna, @kellsck, @chronicles-of-koystee, @micheledawn1975, @fckyeahlames, @cantstandya2000

Masterlist

[daveythorntonslocker]

Oh Dave you're killing me 🥵🥵🥵😭

https://youtube.com/shorts/eEmcf14FnDw?si=vRzyBx75QSGDa99B

[daveythorntonslocker]

Love Letters to You

Eddie Munson x reader

You find Eddie’s journal and realize that he is very much in love with you.

Thanks @the-witty-pen-name for this idea!

You enter Eddie’s cluttered room where you expect to find him, but he’s not there. You figure he’s just late getting home from work so you sit in his room and wait for him. You’re at the point in your relationship where you don’t feel weird doing that anymore. You sometimes even help yourself to a snack while you talk with Wayne.

You feel so comfortable in that little trailer, the place where you spend more time than your own home. And the Munson men always welcome you with open arms because to them, your family. Wayne loves that Eddie’s finally found someone who treats him the way that he deserves. He’s been kicked around quite enough so it’s about time that he got the girl.

You sit on Eddie’s bed, drumming your fingers against your legs as you look around the room for something to entertain you. Your eyes lock on a journal that’s amongst the clutter. You know you shouldn’t, but you reach for it and flip through it. Eddie’s always told you that what’s his is yours and you think that applies here.

You open the journal and it takes you a second to be able to read what it says. As soon as you can make out the words, you feel tears well up in your eyes. You just know it’s about you from the way it’s written. It’s so beautiful, so poetic and you don’t think anyone has ever written anything like this about you.

Our fingers are like puzzle pieces that fit together perfectly. I never thought I’d be able to hold my entire world in my hand, but here you are.

You feel so lucky to have found someone like Eddie. Everyone else always thinks of him as this evil person, but how could someone evil write something so sweet like this? This just further proves that he’s not at all like what they say.

Your voice is the perfect song. The kind that I want to play at full volume as I cruise down the highway with the windows down on a warm summer day.

You flip through the pages and they're all filled with little poems and lyrics-all about you. You seem to be the only thing that lives in his head and it warms your heart to have someone who thinks so highly of you.

My entire life I never felt like I had a place to call home. Then I looked into your eyes and realized that home isn’t a place, but rather a feeling. And that’s what I feel like when I’m with you.

You’re so engrossed in what you’re reading that you don’t even hear Eddie come in. He just stands in the doorway, looking at you with so much admiration, smiling like an idiot.

He clears his throat and you jump, almost losing your grip on the journal and he just laughs, making his way over to you. He sets the journal on the bed then pulls you into his arms, pressing a soft kiss to your lips before pulling you in for a hug.

You’re so overcome with all of these different emotions that you can’t help but cry into his shoulder. It’s the happy kind of crying-the kind where you feel so loved, so appreciated.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper into his skin and he just rubs your back like always, knowing that this is the best way to soothe you. “I just-I didn’t know you felt that way about me. I mean, you love me?”

“Sweetheart,” he chuckles. “I have loved you since the moment I saw you and I will continue to love you even after I take my last breath. You’re it for me.”

“I love you too,” you reply as he wipes away your tears.

You’re wearing matching grins and neither of you can believe that you actually got this lucky. You know it’s still early, but you’re sure that you’re going to be spending forever together.

“Now c’mon, let’s get washed up. Don’t want to keep Wayne waiting,” he grabs hold of your hand and pulls you into the kitchen where you wash your hands together, giggling as Wayne watches you with a giant smile on his face. He knew the kid would find someone eventually and god is he glad that it’s you.

[daveythorntonslocker]

Does anyone have that picture of David Howard Thornton wearing just the art mask and mopping the floor?

[daveythorntonslocker]

Preach!!

[daveythorntonslocker]

Damn you tryin' to kill me Mr. Thornton??

Him with animals or children is so attractive 😍

[daveythorntonslocker]

All the David Howard Thornton girlies post your favorite picture of dht in the comments and tell me why you like it.

He's so smiley here I love his smile and he looks soo good with glasses 🥰

@wordmade @sevikae @whisper-ocean

[daveythorntonslocker]

Hey, so this is actually insane, but could you write Eddie being a Magic Mike worker? And while he’s working on stage dancing, stripping, whatever reader comes into the bar/place and sees Eddie. She immediately finds him attractive and goes closer to the stage to watch. While he’s performing, reader takes a video and asks for Eddie’s number, he also found her attractive obvi and gave her his number, and after the show, they do it in the bathroom. (If you don’t want to write the smut part, you can leave it out!)

I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it! Thank you for requesting ❤️

⚠️smut

Magic Mike

Y/N walked through the crowded bar, looking for a place to sit. It was ladies' night, and Y/N was more than ready to drool over some guys and drink until all she thought was bad decisions. She eyed the few dancers, making her way towards the front.

She heard loud cheers, making her follow that direction. She slipped through the other bodies, and she understood why everyone was cheering.

This guy was the hottest person she's ever seen. He had long curly hair, tattooed skin, he was small but toned. He wore black pants, incredibly low on his hips, allowing them to see almost everything.

Her body felt warm as she watched him dance. She choked when his eyes looked up to meet hers. She shivered as he zoned in on her as she hit the front of the stage. A fire lit inside her stomach as he dropped to his knees in front of her, rolling his hips seductively towards her. She eyed him like a piece of candy, craving to run her hands down his oily chest. She wasn't sure if she was delusional or if he truly was looking her way the entire song.

The music died out, and the lights went dark. A quick transition into the next song, she was quick to grab her phone. She handed him the phone, mouthing "number?"

She tried not to squeal in excitement as he typed in what she hoped was his real number. He handed it back over with a smile. The girls around them were screaming and trying to throw their phones on the stage, but he was moving on to the next dance. She took a small video, loving how his eyes followed her.

~

The stage lit back up as he finished his performance. Y/N made sure his number was saved into her phone when she walked away from the stage. She walked to the small bathroom, unaware that someone was watching her closely, as she slipped inside, a body hurriedly entered with her. She went to freak out, but she noticed it was the cute dancer from the stage. She didn't get a word in before his lips smashed on hers. Maybe making out with a stranger in a bathroom wasn't the best idea, but it felt like a good one as her tongue swirled against his.

He eagerly moved his mouth against hers, the kiss wet and messy. She gasped when he rolled his body against her, immediately feeling his hard cock. She was glad she wasn't the only one getting turned on by his performance. He removed his mouth from hers, a lustful look in his eyes.

"I'm Eddie, and you are?" He asked. She didn't have a clear head to answer easily. She opened her mouth to answer, but nothing came out as he began to unbutton his pants.

Was she really about to have sex with a stranger?

"Y/N," she finally got out. Allowing him to push down his pants until his hard cock came into view. She practically moaned at the sight, reaching towards him as she softly ran her hands down his chest.

"Beautiful name," he complimented, not caring for a response as he smashed his lips against hers. She kissed him back, enjoying the way her hands were covered in oil as she made her way to his leaking cock. She clenched her thighs at the feeling of his hard cock in her hand.

He moaned into the kiss as she moved up and down on his cock, his body shivering in pleasure. He kept his mouth busy as he slid his hand down her body and into her jeans. She sucked on his tongue and gripped his arm with her free hand as his fingers teased her clit over her underwear.

He loved how wet she felt through the small material of her underwear. They pulled away for air, Y/N moaning loudly as his fingers slipped inside her underwear. He slid two fingers between her lips, coating them before he slid both inside of her.

Her touch halted on his cock as she threw her head back in bliss. She had no shame in how soaked she was as he fingered her. She enjoyed the feeling, but she wanted to feel him inside of her.

"Please fuck me," she whined against his mouth.

"Yes, ma'am." She whined as she lost his touch, but knew what was coming next would be so much better. She began to strip herself as he tossed off his pants. He helped her remove the rest of her clothes, happily.

She moaned as he turned her around, she faced the mirror, and gripped the sink as she waited for him to push himself inside of her. He guided his cock inside of her, giving her a few seconds to adjust before he began fucking her.

"Fuck yes," she moaned, loving the way his hands gripped her hips as he fucked himself inside of her. He was long and thick, and she could feel him just about everywhere.

"Damn, pretty thing, you're so tight," he said through clenched teeth. He placed his head on her shoulder, watching her reflection as he slid all the way out and slammed back in. He watched her mouth fall open with quiet screams, backing herself up against him to take his cock deeper.

"Eddie, you feel so good," she whined. She threw her head back as her vision got fuzzy. She shivered as he turned his head, lips sucking on her neck.

"Yeah? Pussy likes my cock, hm?" The feeling of her clenching around him answered his question. He basked in his pride, moving one hand off her hip to slide up the front of her body. He grabbed a handful of her breast, not caring to be gentle. He roughly gripped her breast and enjoyed the feeling of it in his hand as he fucked her as hard as he could.

"Mhhm," Y/N agreed. He fucked just as good as he looked. Her body was burning as she opened her eyes and dropped her head forward. She clenched around him as she took in their reflection, his eyes on her as he manhandled her body. His soft grunts in her ear and the animal look in his eyes drove her insane, her cunt pulsing and clit begging to be touched.

"Touch me, please," she begged. He enjoyed the weakness in her voice. His breath was hot against her ear as he softly bit her earlobe.

"I am touching you, sweetheart."

She groaned at his comment, now aware he was the teasing type. She ignored his response, using her own hand to add pressure to her clit but he moved faster. His hand left her chest and gripped her arm. He was quick to slam it against her back, bending her over.

"I didn't say you could touch yourself, sweet cheeks," he warned.

"I'm sorry. But fuck, please," she whined. He gave in, knowing his orgasm wasn't too far behind with the way she felt around him. He reached forward and circled her clit, feeling her body tense.

"Is that what you needed? Hm?"

She nodded as her teeth chewed away at her lip. He was in perfect rhythm with his hips and fingers on her clit. She rolled her hips to match his pace, loving the way he moaned into her ear.

"Fuck, baby. Gonna make me cum," he growled as he felt his body tightening. His words encouraged her to fuck herself on him, driving him insane as his fingers sped up on her clit. She reached behind, her hand landing on his ass as she shoved him against her.

He kept his focus on making her cum, trying to ignore how heavy his balls felt as they smacked against her. "Come on, pretty thing. Cum for me. Cover my cock in your cum like a good girl."

She whined at his words, feeling her stomach getting tight. "Yeah? You want it?"

"I've been wanting it since I saw you, baby girl. Don't be mean to me now. I think I fucked you nice and hard, I think I earned it."

His words sent her over the edge, she let out a loud scream of his name as she came all over his cock. He fucked her through it, keeping his pace on her clit as she squirmed. Her body was nearly giving out, the only thing keeping her upright was his body smashing her against the sink.

"Oh such a good girl," he praised as his fingers were soaked in her wetness, circling her clit until she couldn't take it anymore. "Fuck I'm going to bust, where do you want it?" He asked through puffs of air.

Even though she was fucked out and couldn't move, she tried her best. She pushed him off, hearing him hiss as his hard cock met the cold air. She quickly moved to her knees, not wasting much time as she popped open her mouth.

She held out her tongue, and Eddie growled at the sight. He fisted his cock, jerking himself to an orgasm as he placed his tip on her tongue. He watched as the hot spurts of cum landed on her tongue and face, clearly not bothering her. He finished himself off on her face, feeling his body relax as he emptied himself. She swallowed what landed in her mouth, licking her lips as she hummed at the taste.

Eddie helped her up, giving her a deep kiss. He loved the way he could taste himself as he made out with her.

"TIMES UP! WE GOT A LINE OUT THERE!"

A loud voice came through the door, followed by heavy knocks.

They quickly rushed to dress themselves, and Y/N quickly washed the cum off of her face.

"Well, that was definitely something I'd like to do again," Eddie said as he buttoned his pants.

"I'll call you," Y/N promised as she landed a quick peck to his lips. She tried to hide herself as she ran out of the bathroom, embarrassed by how long the line was.

Eddie had no shame as he walked out. The line of girls screamed as he came into view, but his eyes followed Y/N until she was out the door.

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @somethingvicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @hargrovesswifee @cityofidek @silky-luxe @lokiofasgard616 @loving-and-dreaming @eddiemunsonsbitch69 @ashlynnkennedy @strangerthingsstories5255 @harringt8ns @pleasinghellfire @whoscamila @stusdollface93 @gretavankleep37 @bellaisswagger @arlxt @ineedmentalhelp123 @emxxblog @meetmeatyourworst

[daveythorntonslocker]

After reading your request blurbs/one shots and loving them. I decided to request my own.

Eddie lives by himself in an apartment building. You move in beside him and he's immediately smitten with you. You and Eddie talk in passing etc. Eddie is fed up having to hear the extent of the disappointing dates you keep bringing home. Eddie can hear everything going on in your bedroom/apartment because the walls are paper thin. You Eddie has had enough and decides he needs to show you how a good date is supposed to end so he asks you out next time he sees you.

You go in your date and hit it off. You two have great chemistry together. You end the night in his bed. You two barely spend anytime apart after that night. You and Eddie receive numerous noise complaints from your neighbors regarding noise levels coming from the bedroom but Eddie says he won't keep it down he can't help it.

You get the idea.

Thank you. Love your writing! 💕

The Girl Next Door

Story Request: “The Girl Next Door”

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

This one’s for @daveythorntonslocker -thank you so much for this delightfully sinful request. The moment I read it, I knew I’d have to dive in headfirst and let Eddie get a little loud, a little possessive, and a whole lot handsy. You handed me a premise too juicy to resist, and I’m beyond excited to bring it to life. Get ready for noise complaints, neighborly tension, and one very determined metalhead who’s about to ruin you… sweetly, of course. 💋

~Pinkie 🍒

Masterlist

Find me on AO3.

Read this story on AO3.

Summary:

Living alone was working just fine for Eddie Munson… until she moved in.

The new girl next door is cute, charming, and clearly incapable of choosing a decent man to save her life. Eddie learns that the hard way when he starts hearing everything through the paper-thin walls of their apartment building. The bad jokes, the worse dates, the awkward, unsatisfying hookups that leave her sighing instead of satisfied.

He tries to ignore it. He really does. But there’s only so many nights a man can listen to that and not fantasize about showing her how it’s supposed to be done.

When he finally works up the nerve to ask her out, Eddie’s determined to give her the kind of date… and the kind of night, she’ll never forget. But once that line gets crossed, there’s no going back. Not when the chemistry’s this loud. Not when he’s waited this long to finally make her his.

Thin walls. Thicker tension. Zero plans to keep it down. Note: This is a multi-chapter story (5) within one post.

Click "Keep Reading" below the cut to read. 😘

Chapter One: “New Girl, Thin Walls” The apartment door sticks. You wrestle with it, hip-checking the warped frame with a grunt, arms full of grocery bags and a rolled-up welcome mat that’s already shedding glitter. The hallway light flickers above you- buzzing faintly like it’s as new to you as you are to it.

“Need a hand?”

The voice cuts through the stillness, and you glance up to see him- your neighbor, leaning casually against the doorframe of the apartment across from yours. Messy curls. A faded Judas Priest tee. A cigarette behind one ear, unlit but clearly forgotten. And that look- half amusement, half something else, something you’re too busy to examine.

You smile, breathless. “I got it, thanks.”

You don’t, but you’re stubborn, and he seems to get that, because he lets you struggle for a moment longer before stepping in anyway.

He takes two bags off your arms- without asking, and ducks into your new place like he’s been here before. You watch his shoulders shift beneath his shirt, and you don’t mean to, but your eyes linger. A few steps in, he sets the bags down on your kitchen counter, then glances around like he’s inspecting it for you. Like he already knows how the light hits at different hours of the day.

“I’m Eddie,” he says, turning to face you. His smile isn’t flirtatious- at least, not outright. It’s casual. Easy. Like it’s just for you. “I live next door.”

You give him your name in return, and when he repeats it back to you, it sounds a little different in his voice- softer, like he’s already memorizing it. Tucking it away for later.

“You just moving in?” he asks, though it’s obvious.

“Yeah. Today’s my first real day here.”

He nods. “Welcome to the castle. The walls are shit, the radiator clanks like it’s possessed, and the upstairs neighbor walks like he’s wearing lead boots. But… the rent’s cheap, and there’s a halfway decent pizza place down the street.”

You smile again. “Noted.”

And then, just before he steps out, he catches you humming- something under your breath, something you didn’t even realize you were doing. He freezes, eyes narrowing.

“Wait… is that Iron Maiden?”

You blink. “Yeah… ‘Revelations.’ It was on the radio earlier and got stuck in my head.”

Eddie grins so wide it’s like someone flipped a switch behind his eyes. “Okay, I was gonna say welcome, but now I’m saying officially welcomed.”

You laugh, and he lingers in the doorway a second longer than necessary. You don’t mind. Not even a little.

“I’ll catch you around,” he says, casual as ever, already backing into the hall.

“You will,” you reply, just as breezy. You’re not sure what you mean by it yet, but something about the way his gaze lingers says he’ll hold you to it.

He disappears next door. The hallway goes quiet.

And you, completely unaware, have just moved in across from Eddie Munson- the man who’s about to hear every word, every sound, and every sigh through paper-thin walls.

He doesn’t mean to listen.

At first.

The walls are shitty- that much he warned you about himself. But now he’s learning exactly how thin they really are. Because he can hear you through them. Clear as a bell.

He notices it the first night, when your laugh trickles through the drywall around 8:30. It’s light and breathy, followed by the clink of glasses. Someone else’s voice responds, deeper, male. Eddie frowns. Turns up his TV. Turns it back down again.

He tries to ignore it.

He fails.

The guy sounds like a douche. Says something about “commodity trading” and “networking potential,” and Eddie nearly chokes on his soda. You’re polite- he can hear it in your voice, the soft “Oh, cool” you give like a peace offering. But it’s fake. He can tell.

Then comes the awkward pause. The forced shift in conversation. Another round of that uncomfortable laugh Eddie’s now learned to recognize. It's not the real one, the one he heard when you said Iron Maiden in that first conversation, like it was second nature. This one’s the filler laugh. The please leave now laugh.

Eventually, the guy does leave.

But he’s not the last.

Over the next few weeks, Eddie hears the door across the hall open and close at increasingly weirder hours. Different shoes. Different voices. One guy calls you “babe” on the second date. Another seems to have no idea what band is on your t-shirt. A third- Eddie’s personal favorite, can’t figure out how to unhook your bra, and stammers something about needing “more light.”

Eddie muffles a groan against his pillow.

He can’t stop hearing it. Every creak of your mattress, every embarrassed sigh, every clumsy kiss that lands too hard, too fast. He hears the disappointment in your voice- the quiet “yeah, that’s fine” after the guy finishes too quickly, the sigh when he doesn’t ask if you did.

It drives him nuts.

He tells himself it’s none of his business. That he doesn’t care. That he’s just being a nosy neighbor with too much time on his hands.

But when you giggle at something dumb one of them says- too high, too fake, and just a little too late, Eddie throws his arm over his eyes and growls, "Jesus H. Christ."

A moment of silence.

Then, softer, quieter, like a secret:

“Just give me twenty minutes with her and she’ll never go back to these assholes…”

The worst part isn’t the bad dates.

It’s hearing you talk about them later.

It happens on a quiet Sunday afternoon, and Eddie’s sprawled on his couch, chewing stale pretzels and thumbing through an old issue of Hit Parader when your voice filters through the wall- louder than usual, like you're on the phone.

“…I don’t know,” you sigh. “He was fine. Nice enough, I guess. But it’s like…”

A pause. He hears the rustle of your couch, the clink of a mug.

“…like I’m the only one trying. Every guy I go out with lately either thinks I'm gonna fall for the first bar tab they cover, or they’re trying to get laid before I’ve even sat down.”

Eddie blinks, magazine forgotten.

“Oh, and don’t get me started on the sex,” you say, laughing dryly. “I faked it. Again. I think I’ve forgotten what it’s like to actually enjoy it.”

You groan. “God, is that depressing? That sounds depressing.”

Eddie’s mouth goes dry.

He should stop listening. Really. This is absolutely crossing a line.

But you keep going, and something inside him just... crumples.

“It’s like nobody wants to know me. Not really. They just want the cliff-notes version. The girl with the band tees and the bedroom eyes. But the second I say something weird or get too into a song or ask about their childhood… poof. It’s awkward silence or they start talking about their dick size.”

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut. His heart is pounding in his chest. He presses his fist to his mouth.

And then, quieter- so soft he almost misses it:

“I don’t know. Maybe I’m just hard to love.”

That’s what undoes him.

Not the sex talk. Not the parade of guys.

That line. That goddamn line.

He sits there for a long time after you hang up, staring at the water stain on his ceiling, teeth clenched so hard his jaw aches. Then, sometime after midnight, after his third failed attempt at sleep, he throws the covers off with a frustrated grunt.

Rolls onto his back. Stares at the ceiling.

Pulls the pillow over his face and mutters:

“Just one night, sweetheart. That’s all I’d need. One night to show you you’re not hard to love at all.”

Chapter Two: “Enough’s Enough” The laundry room’s as grimy as ever- half-lit and humming, all chipped tile and lint dust. One of the overhead fluorescents flickers like it’s on its deathbed. Eddie’s elbow-deep in a busted vending machine, trying to coax out a rogue pack of gum with a bent coat hanger and absolutely not expecting company.

Until your voice floats in, bright and breezy.

“You know they restock that thing on Thursdays, right?”

He freezes. Turns.

And there you are.

Hair done, face glowing, outfit absolutely illegal. Skirt swaying just enough to give him heart palpitations, little boots clicking across the tile. You’ve got a laundry bag slung over your shoulder and your headphones around your neck, humming something he recognizes- a little Bowie, maybe? Or Talking Heads? Doesn’t matter. You’re a vision, and he’s a guy with a coat hanger and stolen gum in his hand.

He schools his face into something nonchalant.

“Yeah, well. Some of us like a challenge.” He drops the coat hanger into the basket beside him, straightens up. “What are you doing down here? I thought you had your laundry day pegged for Tuesdays.”

You shrug, brushing past him to toss your load into the next washer over. “Got off work early. Thought I’d knock it out before my date tonight.”

Eddie pauses.

Date.

The word lingers in the air, sharp and unwelcome, like cigarette smoke in a closed car.

You don’t notice the change in his expression. You’re too busy tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, humming again, setting your phone on top of the washer like it’s just another Thursday and not a knife to the gut.

And that’s when it hits him- how many little run-ins there’ve been since you moved in. Elevator chitchat. Passing in the hall. That time you helped him pick up his spilled groceries, he never fully recovered from the glimpse of your Ramones tee and pink Converse. The way you always smile like you see him. Not just nod-and-pass neighbor courtesy- like you really see him.

And still, here you are. Getting dressed up. For another idiot.

Another idiot who isn’t him.

You’re loading your detergent when Eddie leans back against the machine, arms folded, the faintest smirk tugging at his mouth.

“So…” he starts casually, eyes flicking to your outfit, “this date like a boyfriend or something?”

You shoot him a glance over your shoulder. “Nuh uh. Another first date.”

He raises an eyebrow, letting that hang for a moment before he deadpans: “Let me guess- date number six, some guy who talks about money laundering and calls his mom ‘babe’?”

Your head snaps around, eyes wide. “What?!”

Eddie shrugs, looking entirely too smug. “I’m just sayin’. You’ve got a type.”

You laugh- an actual, full-bodied laugh, caught so off guard by the sheer absurdity of it. A little blush creeps into your cheeks as you turn back to the washer, hiding behind the clatter of the lid.

“Okay, ouch,” you say, amused. “He didn’t call his mom ‘babe,’ he just… he had a weird relationship with her.”

Eddie gives you a look like, yeah, that’s not better, and makes a quiet mmmhm sound, clearly biting back more commentary.

You shake your head, but you’re still smiling. “Wait- how’d you even know about that one?”

He falters for the briefest moment, then recovers with a smirk and a low, teasing:

“Thin walls, sweetheart.”

Your cheeks darken just a bit more, your posture straightening. “Oh god, you’ve heard…?”

He holds up both hands in mock surrender. “Don’t worry, it’s not like I keep a journal or anything. Just… you know. Patterns.”

You give him a playful glare, but there’s a new flicker of something behind your eyes now. Curiosity. Embarrassment. A touch of heat. And a dawning realization.

You’re still half-laughing, half-cringing at the idea of Eddie overhearing your greatest dating hits when he leans in, eyes flicking over you- not just your outfit this time, but you. The way you tuck your hair behind your ear when you're flustered. The curve of your lips trying to hide that smirk. The way your perfume wraps around him, subtle and maddening.

He licks his bottom lip and drops his voice just a touch lower. Still teasing, but now there’s something molten underneath it.

“Tell you what…” he murmurs, fingers tapping the lid of the washer like a drum roll, “Why don’t you let me show you how a date’s supposed to end?”

The line drops between you both like a match in gasoline.

You blink, startled. “Wait- what?”

His grin widens, cocky and earnest all at once. “You heard me.”

“I… thought you weren’t interested.”

Eddie tilts his head. “I’ve been one bad date away from kicking down your door and offering my services.”

You stare at him, caught completely off guard, and when you don’t say anything right away, he softens- just slightly. “Look, if I’m outta line, you can totally ignore me. But I’ve been listening to you settle for the worst guys in town and thinking… if you gave me one shot, I could show you it doesn’t have to be that way.”

Your mouth goes dry. “You mean like… a date?”

“Yeah,” he says, stepping a little closer, voice quieter now- less performance, more intent. “An actual date. No weird money laundering, no calling my mom ‘babe.’ Just… you, me, maybe a good record spinning and something decent to eat. And if we end up back in one of our beds, it won’t be disappointing, I promise you that.”

You stare at him for a moment- longer than a beat, honestly, and then: “…Okay.”

He blinks. “Wait- okay okay?”

You nod, tucking your lip between your teeth. “Yeah. Okay. Surprise me.”

And oh, baby, the way he lights up at that? You’d think he just won the lottery. He runs a hand through his hair, trying to look casual and failing spectacularly.

“Cool. Cool cool cool. Uh, how’s tomorrow?”

You smile. “Looking forward to it, Munson.”

“Don’t go on any more bad dates until then.”

“I won’t if you don’t let me down.”

He holds your gaze, all confidence now. “I won’t.”

Chapter Three: “One Good Date”

You don't know what you expected when you said yes to Eddie Munson, but it wasn’t… this.

Not the warm, buttery curl of a guitar riff rolling from his tape deck. Not the way he opens the car door for you like a total gentleman, only to hop around and fist the air when his van actually starts on the first try. Not the way he grins like your laughter is the entire point of the evening.

“You like Patsy Cline?” he asks, sliding a glance your way as her voice croons through the speakers. His ringed fingers drum against the wheel in rhythm, loose and casual.

“Only when I’m wearing cowboy boots and crying on a porch.”

He lets out a bark of laughter. “Damn. You’re dangerous.”

The diner he takes you to is nothing special- a hole-in-the-wall joint tucked between a pawn shop and a laundromat, but it’s his. The waitress knows him by name, pours his coffee before he even asks, and gives you a subtle up-down like she’s trying to solve a mystery.

He orders a patty melt with extra pickles. You get a burger, fries and a milkshake. He steals one, boldly, right off your plate without asking.

“That’s a felony,” you say, mock-gasping.

“You’ve got sauce and no defense system. I had to.” He shrugs. “This is a war crime, actually- your ketchup-to-fry ratio is criminal.”

You toss a balled up napkin at him. He catches it. Smirks.

After dinner, you walk. The streets are quiet, painted orange and blue under flickering lamps. Your hands brush once, twice, before his pinky hooks yours on the third try and stays.

Neither of you talk about it.

Instead, he makes you laugh. He does impressions- bad ones. Bowie, Kermit, your nosy old neighbor with the crusty poodle. You toss your head back, shoulders shaking, and he looks at you like you’re a sunrise made just for him.

“What?” you ask, catching him staring.

He shrugs again, slow and a little shy. “You’re just… really easy to be around.”

You look away, hiding a smile. “Yeah. You too.”

And somewhere between laughing at his God-awful Walkman playlist and mock-threatening to steal his jacket, it clicks.

Not a loud, obvious snap. Just something soft. Natural. Like a puzzle piece sliding into place.

He gets you. And you’re starting to realize you might want to get him too.

Eddie unlocks his apartment with a flick of his wrist, kicking the door open gently with the toe of his boot. He steps aside to let you in first, and the moment you cross the threshold, it feels like something changes.

The air is warm, thick with quiet music drifting from a record he must’ve left spinning earlier- The Kinks, lo-fi and crackly. The lights are low, golden, and everything smells faintly like cedarwood, weed, and the cherry cola he spilled on the rug last week and never really cleaned up. It's lived-in. It’s him.

You glance over your shoulder, amused. “Didn’t take you for a mood lighting guy.”

He shrugs off his jacket, tosses it onto the couch. “I contain multitudes.”

You walk in slowly, fingertips grazing the top of his bookshelf, the side of a worn amp, the edge of his dining table that clearly hasn’t seen a proper meal in months. Every corner tells a story.

Behind you, he hovers. Watching. Waiting.

You turn to face him- just the two of you now, silence settling soft, and curious in the space between.

“So…” you murmur, head tilted, a ghost of a grin on your lips. “Is this where the good date ends?”

Eddie’s gaze drops to your lips, then back to your eyes. His own smile curls slow, dangerous.

“Nah,” he says, voice low and thick as honey. He takes one step closer. “It’s just getting started, sweetheart.”

Chapter Four: “Walls be Damned”

The moment the bedroom door clicks shut behind you, it’s like gravity shifts. Like the entire night has been leading to this- not just a kiss, not just the buzz of good chemistry and lingering stares, but this crushing inevitability between you.

Eddie’s eyes darken as they lock onto yours, and for the first time since this date began, he looks unsure of what to do with his hands.

You solve that for him.

You step forward, curl your fingers into the collar of his flannel- his second favorite one, the one soft with wear and smelling like weed and laundry soap, and you tug him down just enough to kiss him.

It starts slow. Careful. Testing.

But it ends messy.

Teeth. Tongue. A soft moan into his mouth like you’ve been starved for this, like you need him closer than physics should allow.

“Fuck,” Eddie mutters when you part just enough to breathe. “Been thinkin’ about this since the first time I heard you laugh through the wall.”

You lean in again, tugging at his flannel. “Then take it off.”

He does. Fast. The flannel hits the floor, followed by the black tee beneath it. You step back to drink him in- pale, inked, lean. He’s wiry muscle and soft belly, and those arms, those veins, that trail of hair down his stomach that disappears into his jeans. Your mouth actually waters.

“Jesus Christ,” you murmur.

Eddie grins, cocky and pink in the cheeks. “That good, huh?”

You answer by lifting your own shirt, slow and deliberate. He watches every inch of skin as it’s revealed, eyes glazed, lips parted.

When your bra comes off too, he stumbles forward like he forgot how to stand still.

“Fuck me, you're-” His mouth finds your neck first. Then your collarbone. He takes his time, open-mouthed kisses that drag lower and lower while his hands slide up your waist. “Been thinking about this. About you. Every goddamn night…”

You gasp when he mouths at your chest, teeth grazing just enough to make you twitch.

“Bed?” you whisper, desperate now, your legs trembling from nothing but anticipation.

He nods, breathing hard, and leads you there- hand in yours like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go. Clothes come off in pieces along the way. Shoes kicked off. Your jeans shimmying down your hips. His belt undone with one good tug.

By the time you both reach the bed, you’re in nothing but your panties, and he’s down to his boxers. The sight of him- flushed, pupils blown wide, tattoos, ringed-fingers twitching with restraint- is almost enough to make you come undone on the spot.

Eddie pulls back slightly, chest heaving, voice rough. “You ready for this?”

Your answer is to cup the back of his neck and drag him down into another kiss- one that’s all tongue and need, one that says yes, yes, yes, more.

The mattress barely dips under your weight before Eddie’s hands are on your thighs, spreading you open like he’s unveiling a secret he’s waited a lifetime to see.

He settles between your legs, reverent. Slow. His hands glide up the backs of your knees, dragging your legs over his shoulders as he sinks to the floor in front of the bed- like a sinner ready to confess at the altar of your body.

“Fuck, look at you,” he breathes, eyes locked on the damp cotton clinging to your cunt. “You’re soaked.”

You squirm under his stare, your chest rising and falling in uneven waves. “Eddie-”

“No, let me,” he murmurs, fingers curling around the waistband of your panties. “Let me take care of you.”

He peels them down, inch by inch, and when he finally gets his first unobstructed look at you, his mouth falls open.

“Jesus H…” he whispers. “You’re perfect.”

Then he leans in and groans- a low, wrecked sound, before kissing the inside of your thigh. Then the other. Then just above your clit, warm breath ghosting over you like a tease.

You whimper, hips twitching. “Eddie… please.”

“Oh, baby,” he says, voice dropping to something soft and molten, “I’m gonna make you say my name a whole lot sweeter than that.”

He licks a long, slow stripe up your center- flat tongue, full pressure, and your body arches like it’s been set on fire.

Eddie moans against you, genuinely, like the taste of you is enough to short-circuit his brain. “Fuck, you taste so good. So fucking sweet. Like I knew you would.”

He doesn’t rush. No, he savors. Tongue working in tight, deliberate strokes, pausing to suck your clit into his mouth gently before letting go, dragging his tongue over it again until your legs are shaking.

And the whole time? His eyes stay locked on yours- dark, hungry, desperate to see what he’s doing to you.

“You’re already close, huh?” he murmurs, his voice husky, lips glistening with your slick. “I can feel you shaking, sweetheart.”

You can barely speak, fingers fisted in the sheets, moaning open-mouthed as he drags the tip of his tongue in circles around your clit.

“You think those other assholes could ever make you feel like this?” he growls, kissing your inner thigh again, then diving back in with more intensity- licking deep, sucking harder. “No one else gets to see you like this. Just me. You understand?”

You nod frantically, gasping. “Yes… fuck, yes, Eddie-!”

He slides one finger into you, slow and careful, then another. You’re so wet it’s effortless, but he’s still gentle- watching your face, gauging your reactions, curling them just right until he finds that spot that makes you cry out.

“There she is…” he smirks, his voice wrecked with want. “You gonna cum for me, baby? All over my tongue?”

When you do, it hits like a tidal wave- back arching, toes curling, hands flying to his hair as you grind against his mouth without even realizing it.

Eddie moans into it. Keeps licking you through it like a man possessed, one arm wrapping under your thigh to hold you still while the other fucks you slow and deep until your body gives out.

You collapse against the bed, trembling, chest heaving. And still, he doesn’t leave. He kisses your pussy like he’s saying thank you. Like he’s grateful.

He finally crawls up the bed, chin wet, pupils blown, and kisses you like he wants you to taste yourself on his tongue.

“You good?” he asks softly, resting his forehead to yours.

You nod. Just barely. “I- I think I saw God.”

Eddie chuckles, voice raspy. “Good. That was the warm-up.”

He’s still catching his breath when you pull him up, greedy hands tugging until he crashes into you- mouth hot, open, wet against yours. You kiss him like you’re starved for it, tongue sweeping past his lips, tasting yourself on him.

Eddie’s stunned at first- caught off guard by the force of it. The need. But then he melts into it, groaning low in his throat as you roll your hips against his.

“You tryna kill me, sweetheart?” he pants, lips brushing yours. “Because that might’ve just done it.”

You smile, eyes dark and dangerous. “You’re not the only one who’s been fantasizing.”

He doesn’t even get the chance to respond before you’re pushing him down onto the bed, straddling his lap with your thighs bracketing his hips. His breath stutters as your fingers take in the contours of his lean, wiry muscles that you’ve only seen in flashes before.

You rake your nails lightly down his chest and smile when he shivers under your touch. “God, look at you.”

Eddie smirks, cocky but flustered. “Pretty sure you’re the vision here.”

But that bravado slips a little when you rock against him deliberately, your bare heat grinding over the bulge in his boxers. His jaw drops open, hands flying to your hips.

“Holy fuck… d-don’t do that unless you want this to be over real fast,” he groans.

You lean in, lips brushing his ear, voice all sugar and venom. “Then maybe you should take your boxers off before I tear them open.”

He laughs- choked and breathless, but obeys fast, lifting his hips while you help slide his boxers down. And when you get your first look at him, thick and flushed and leaking just for you, you actually gasp.

“Jesus, Eddie…”

“Is that a good gasp?” he asks, sounding dazed.

You nod slowly, fingers curling around the base of him, marveling at the weight of him in your hand. “Oh yeah. Very good.”

He’s already panting when you stroke him once. Then again. His head tips back, his chest rising in short bursts, like he’s physically trying not to lose it.

“Fuck, baby, please don’t tease,” he begs, eyes fluttering shut. “I’ve been dreaming about this too long, I- shit… please-”

But you’re already shifting, lining him up. And the second he feels your slick heat start to take him in, his entire body tenses.

“Oh- oh my god- you’re- holy fuck, you’re so warm,” he gasps, one hand fisting the sheets, the other gripping your thigh. “So fuckin’ tight-”

You sink down slowly, inch by inch, watching his face the whole time- how his lashes flutter, how his mouth drops open around a groan that turns nearly into a whimper.

“Jesus Christ,” he growls, voice wrecked. “You’re gonna fucking ruin me.”

You smile, hips settling flush to his, full and stretching in all the best ways. “Good.”

And then you move- slow at first, rocking your hips in a steady rhythm, grinding down hard at just the right angle.

Eddie’s undone. Eyes wide. Mouth slack. Hands gripping your hips like you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to Earth.

“Goddamn,” he gasps. “Look at you- riding me like that. Taking every inch like you were made for me.”

You moan, back arching as he hits that spot deep inside you, over and over. “Feels- so good, Eddie… fuck-”

“You feel like heaven,” he pants, sitting up so he can kiss you again, sloppy and desperate, lips crashing into yours as his hands grip your ass, urging you faster.

It’s messy. Hot. Raw. Mutual obsession in motion. You’re clawing at each other, breathing into each other’s mouths, trading filthy words between kisses.

And just when it gets too good, when your rhythm falters and you fall forward, chests pressed together- Eddie wraps his arms around you like he never plans to let go.

“Mine,” he whispers into your shoulder, thrusting up into you now with slow, deep rolls. “You’re mine tonight. You understand?”

You nod into his hair, voice breaking. “Yours.”

And God help anyone who tries to break this spell.

You don’t even realize you’re getting loud until the bang hits the wall.

A sharp thud-thud-thud, angry knuckles pounding from the other side of the drywall- followed by a muffled shout that sounds something like, “Keep it down, Jesus Christ!”

You freeze for half a second, breath caught in your throat.

But Eddie?

Eddie fucking laughs.

A wicked, breathless sound that starts low in his chest and spills into your neck as he rolls his hips deeper, harder- fucking you slow, cruel, and possessive. Like he wants the whole building to hear you break for him again.

“Oh no,” he murmurs darkly, voice all grit and gravel, “don’t stop now, sweetheart. Let ‘em hear you.”

You whimper as he thrusts again, angled just right, pressure hitting deep.

“Not my fault they’ve got paper-thin walls and tragic sex lives,” he grits out, gripping your hips, holding you in place like you might float away otherwise. “You think I give a fuck if they hear you cummin’?”

Another thrust- deeper this time, grinding into that devastating angle, and your entire body tightens around him.

He groans, eyes wild. “Yeah, that’s it. You gonna cum for me again, baby?”

“Eddie-” You can’t even finish the sentence.

“That’s right,” he pants, licking into your mouth. “Cum for me. Right fucking now- let ‘em bang on the damn ceiling, I’m not stopping till you scream.”

Your orgasm rushes through you. Blinding. Overwhelming. You sob into his shoulder, clinging to him like he’s the last thing tethering you to the Earth as you come apart with a broken cry.

And that’s all it takes- he follows right after, buried so deep inside you he feels like part of your bones. His whole body goes taut, muscles straining, breath caught. And then-

“Fuck- fuck- fuuuck-”

He cums with a strangled moan, voice raw as he spills into you, hips still rocking in slow, grounding pulses.

Neither of you moves for a long time.

Just breathing. Holding. Sweating through the afterglow in each other’s arms.

Somewhere, a door slams. A car alarm chirps. The world keeps spinning outside.

But in this apartment?

There’s only the two of you.

Finally, Eddie pulls back just enough to look at you- his eyes all soft mischief and post-orgasmic haze.

“You think the whole building heard that?” he teases, thumb brushing your cheek.

You snort, barely able to catch your breath. “If they didn’t, they’re deaf.”

“Good.” He grins, kisses your jaw. “Maybe they’ll spread the word and your past dates will finally learn how it’s supposed to be done.”

You shake your head, laughing breathlessly, chest still fluttering.

“The neighbors can go to hell,” he mutters against your skin. “They’ll just have to get used to it.”

Chapter Five: “Standing Ovation”

You wake up warm. Heavy limbs tangled in bedsheets and another body. Eddie’s body.

His thigh is thrown over yours, weighty and relaxed, one arm slung across your waist like he’s worried someone might come in and steal you in the middle of the night. His face is buried in the crook of your neck, hair tickling your skin, breath coming in slow, warm exhales that melt through your ribs.

For a long moment, you don’t move. Just breathe. Soak in the sheer quiet of it all.

Then, a low, scratchy voice grumbles against your throat:

“Mornin’,” Eddie mutters, clearly half-asleep. “Still here?”

You smile. “Still here.”

He hums, presses a lazy kiss just below your jaw. “Good.”

Eventually, he rolls away with a dramatic groan and flops onto his back. His curls are a total mess, eyes barely open, chest dusted with sleep-warm stubble and lazy stretches. You try not to stare, but it’s hard when the man looks like an accidental centerfold.

“You hungry?” he asks, rubbing one eye. “I make a mean hangover toast.”

“You have hangover toast?”

“I call it that ‘cause I always make it when I’ve had too much whiskey or sex the night before.”

You snort. “Whiskey or sex?”

“Sometimes both. Last night definitely qualifies.”

He winks, rolls out of bed, and pads naked toward the kitchen, muttering about burnt bagels and “where the hell did I put the butter.” You throw on one of his shirts- band tee, faded and soft, and follow the smell of instant coffee and cheap toaster oven heat.

He hands you a chipped mug and leans in to kiss your temple. “You know, you look good in my clothes. Dangerous.”

“Gonna kick me out so I don’t steal your whole wardrobe?”

“Oh no,” he says with a sly grin, crowding you against the counter. “I’m planning on you staying long enough to earn full closet privileges.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Is that… a thing?”

He kisses you again, slow and sweet this time. “It is now.”

You don’t talk about it- don’t make any official declarations or have a drawer-clearing ceremony, but something shifts after that night.

Suddenly, it’s not your errands and his errands anymore. It’s just errands. Plural. Shared. Like everything else.

Grocery runs become a full-on operation. You sit in the passenger seat of his van, feet on the dash, helping him rank cereals based on their likelihood to survive a munchies binge. He complains loudly when you veto Count Chocula for the third week in a row.

“Why do you hate joy?” he groans, tossing a box of Shredded Wheat into the cart like it personally insulted him.

“Because I value fiber,” you say, and he rolls his eyes but still lets you sneak your favorite brand of tea into the cart.

And then there’s the laundry.

It’s not glamorous. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead. The dryers rattle. Some kid is crying over a broken gumball machine. But there’s something almost sweet about watching Eddie fold your underwear like it’s a sacred ritual. Half the time he holds up your panties and whistles, making a show of examining the lace or stretching the elastic dramatically.

“Now this,” he says, holding a pair up like it’s high art, “should be framed.”

You chuck a sock at him, but it just makes him laugh.

Movie nights are sacred. Pillows piled high on the couch, legs tangled under the same blanket. He insists on popcorn even when neither of you wants it and quotes The Evil Dead like it’s Shakespeare. You tease him when he jumps during Poltergeist- he swears it was just a “muscle twitch.” His arm slides around your shoulder like it belongs there, and by the end of the film, you’re practically sitting in his lap.

You leave your toothbrush at his place. Then your shampoo. A sweatshirt. A pair of fuzzy socks. One day he opens his fridge and there’s oat milk and pre-sliced strawberries and says, “Jesus Christ, I’m soft for you.”

But it’s not just the stuff. It’s the rhythm. The quiet, natural ease of it. The way he always grabs two forks without asking. The way you kiss his temple when he’s tinkering with his guitar. The way he’ll pause a song just to tell you, “Hey, you know I like you, right?”

You’re not just dating Eddie Munson now. You’re living in the same song.

There’s a knock on your door.

Eddie’s inside your apartment, barefoot, hair damp from a shower, one of your oversized sweatshirts hanging loose on his frame- claim enough already. He’s in the kitchen, spoon-deep in peanut butter, humming something low and off-key when the knock comes.

You don’t think twice about answering it.

But he hears the voice before he sees the guy.

“Hey… wow. You look good.”

Eddie’s head lifts like a dog catching the scent of a threat. His hum dies off. His body goes still.

You’re in the doorway, blocking most of the view, but not all of it. A guy- tall, forgettable, khaki-core, some pretty-boy smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, is standing there, giving you a once-over that makes Eddie’s grip on the spoon tighten.

You laugh awkwardly. “Uh… hey, J-Josh, right? What are you doing here?”

Josh. Fucking Josh. Eddie recognizes the name from a story you told- casual hookup, boring in bed, kept calling himself a ‘giver’ but never proved it.

“I was in the neighborhood,” Josh says, leaning against the doorframe like it’s supposed to be charming. “Figured I’d see if you wanted to hang out. Like old times.”

Eddie doesn’t wait for you to answer.

He steps into the doorway behind you, his presence like a pressure shift in the room. Heavy. Unignorable.

Josh looks past you, expression faltering the second he sees Eddie- damp curls, bruised lips, the telltale red scratches down his neck. He’s still holding the peanut butter spoon. Still wearing your sweatshirt.

But it’s the look in his eyes that does it- dark, slow-burning, wolfish.

Eddie licks the spoon, deliberate. “You’re Josh, huh?”

Josh straightens a little. “Yeah. And you are?”

Eddie smiles, all teeth. “I’m the guy who made her forget your name.”

Josh frowns. “Look, I don’t want any trouble-”

“Then don’t come to her door,” Eddie snaps, stepping closer. He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t have to. It’s the kind of cold that stings worse than heat. “Especially not with that weak-ass smirk like she’s gonna drop everything just ‘cause you showed up in your midlife-crisis cologne.”

Josh opens his mouth, but Eddie cuts him off.

“She’s not interested. Not in you. Not in whatever boring shit you think you’re offering.” He tilts his head, eyes dragging lazily over Josh like he’s sizing up a stain. “And just so we’re clear? If you knock again, she won’t be the one answering next time. I’ll just be the one slamming the door in your face.”

You’re frozen in place, blinking at him as Josh finally mutters something pathetic and walks off with his tail between his legs.

Eddie closes the door slowly, clicks the lock.

Then turns to you with a shrug, spoon back in his mouth like the whole thing was casual.

“What?” he mumbles. “He thought he still had a chance. That’s cute.”

You just stare at him, breath caught somewhere between aroused and amused.

He steps close, hands sliding to your hips.

“You okay?” he asks, softer now. “Was that too much?”

You shake your head. “No. That was… honestly kinda hot.”

His grin is slow and wicked. “Yeah? Good.”

He leans in, mouth brushing your jaw, voice thick with pride. “Had to remind you you’re mine now.”

You’ve barely taken a sip of your drink when Naomi zeroes in with laser precision. “So…” she sings, dragging the word out like it’s foreplay. “You and the guy next door with the sexy hair- are we finally gonna talk about it, or do we just keep pretending that isn't the reason you keep ghosting our lunch dates?”

You choke a little on your mimosa. “What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me,” she grins. “You’ve got that ‘freshly ravished’ glow and a neck hickey shaped like Texas. We know things.”

Bree leans in, fork mid-air. “Yeah, who is he? We’ve seen him. He’s hot in that scruffy, ‘definitely owns a leather jacket and a criminal record’ sort of way. Are you dating him or just… using him for protein?”

You blink. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means,” Naomi says with a smirk, “that man walks around like he’s been doing squats with your soul.”

You try to bite back a smile and fail spectacularly. “Okay, fine. Yes. I’m… seeing him.”

The table erupts.

Shrieking. Fist pumps. Someone slaps the table hard enough to rattle the silverware.

Naomi winks. “God bless ripped jeans, leather jackets, and that man’s hair.”

Later… You’re half under him on the couch- movie playing, legs tangled, his hand lazily stroking over your hip, when you casually mention brunch.

“They said what?” he asks, grinning like he already knows he’s about to be insufferable.

You groan, immediately regretting opening your mouth. “Nothing. I shouldn’t have said anything-”

“No, no, no.” He pauses the movie, shifts to loom over you like a smug panther. “Rewind. Play it back. Use the brunch voice.”

“Eddie-”

“Brunch voice, sweetheart.”

You bury your face in your hands. “They said... you walk around like you’ve been doing squats with my soul.”

There’s a moment of silence.

Then his entire face lights up.

“Ohhh my god.” He flops dramatically onto your chest, laughing like he’s just been handed an award. “That’s it. I’m getting that shit tattooed on my ribs. In cursive. With little sparkles around it.”

“You’re unbearable.”

“And sexy. Don’t forget sexy, apparently.”

He props himself up on his elbows, eyes dancing. “God bless your little feral crew of friends. What else did they say? Did they rank my hair? Compare it to a rock god’s? Please say they did.”

You swat at him, but you’re laughing too hard to commit. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t,” he murmurs, nosing along your jaw. “You told your friends about my soul squats. That’s real love, baby.”

It starts innocently enough. A spare toothbrush on his sink. A pair of fuzzy socks under the couch. Your lotion in his medicine cabinet. One of your oversized tees folded neatly in his drawer- by him. Not by you.

Then come the nights where you don’t even pretend to leave.

Your side of the bed gets a pillow that smells like your shampoo. Your name on the pizza delivery app. Your laugh echoing through his apartment while you load the dishwasher in your underwear, hips swaying to his music playing from the stereo.

You’re everywhere. And Eddie Munson is utterly gone for it.

He doesn’t just love having you here- he needs it. Like a drug. Like the high’s best when you’re sprawled in his bed, thighs sticky and breathless, curled under his arm while he counts the beats of your heart against his ribs.

But with great pleasure comes great volume.

And your neighbors?

They’ve noticed.

It starts with one note slipped under the door:

“Some of us have work in the morning.”

Eddie pins it to the fridge like a trophy.

The next week, it’s a three-paragraph manifesto on “respectable decibel levels.”

He reads it aloud- naked, while you’re still catching your breath, legs trembling, one hand dragging down your sweat-slick thigh like you’re trying to ground yourself. He smirks, eyes dark, body buzzing from the way you still flinch when he brushes his mouth against your bare shoulder.

Then one night, as you’re moaning his name into the mattress and clawing at the sheets, the banging on the wall hits an almost comedic level- thump thump thump followed by a muffled “Oh my GOD!”

Eddie barely pauses.

Grins against your thigh. Keeps going like a man starved.

When he finally crawls up your body- mouth glistening, eyes blown wide with lust, he pants the words directly into your ear:

“Come on, sweetheart, I’m trying to make you louder. Every single knock on that wall? That’s a standing ovation.”

And the next sound out of your mouth? Applause-worthy.

Who loves Eddie Munson, show of hands! 😂 Let me know if you want to be added to my tag list!

@justalotoffanfiction, @yorshie, @jackalope-in-a-storm, @v1per1ne, @daveythorntonslocker, @cokepowder55, @kelsiegrin, @ash-stardust

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[daveythorntonslocker]

Reader (person A) and Eddie (person B) are hanging out in eddies trailer and the following below happens but they don't talk about it until reader thinks of the chapstick challenge which leads to them confessing and making out? You can choose the flavors.

Please? Thank you 😊

The Cherry on Top

One-Shot Request: “The Cherry on Top”

Eddie Munson x Reader

💌 Author’s Note: Huge thank you to the wonderful @meankenna for inspiring this one-shot with such a fun, and flirty prompt! This story was an absolute blast to write- equal parts sweet and shameless, and I hope it gives you all the butterflies it gave me while working on it. You’ve got great taste (in fic ideas and chapstick). 💋

If you enjoyed this story, consider leaving a comment or reblog- it helps more than you know! Stay soft, stay curious, and never underestimate a well-timed kiss. ~Pinkie 🍒

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Find me on AO3.

Read this story on AO3.

Summary:

A lazy afternoon at Eddie Munson’s trailer takes a turn when one little question about cherry chapstick leads to a moment neither of you can pretend didn’t happen. Suddenly, there’s tension where there used to be teasing, and silence where there used to be laughter. But when a certain “challenge” comes to mind, you decide it’s time to settle the score… with lips, not logic. What started as a joke, might just be the cherry on top of something real.

Click "Keep Reading" below the cut to read. 😘

The Cherry on Top

One-Shot Request: “The Cherry on Top”

The hum of the cassette player fills the trailer with the low, raspy growl of Dio’s vocals, humming like a heartbeat beneath your easy chatter. You’re sprawled on Eddie’s old couch, one leg tucked underneath you, the other stretched out dangerously close to where his thigh is angled across the cushion.

Neither of you are really talking about anything important. You’re just… there. Comfortable. Close. Too close, if you stopped to think about it- which you absolutely refuse to do.

Eddie’s sitting sideways, arm thrown over the back of the couch, rings tapping absent patterns into the upholstery behind your neck. He’s grinning, eyes half-lidded, face soft from the lazy rhythm of the day. There’s an open bag of pretzels on the table, forgotten. One of your hoodies is balled up at your side, still holding your body heat from earlier.

You’d watched a movie hours ago. Or at least started one. Now it's just staticy music and half-finished conversations, the kind that drift off when they get too honest.

And in a moment of autopilot, you fish out your cherry chapstick. Twist the cap. Swipe it across your lips.

That’s when everything shifts.

You don’t notice him freeze- not at first. But he does. Like someone hit pause on his whole body. His eyes flick to your mouth and stay there, lips parting the tiniest bit, as if caught in the middle of a thought he forgot to say out loud.

“…What flavor is that?” he asks, like it physically hurts him not to know.

You blink at him. “Uh. Cherry.” You roll the cap back on and toss the stick into your hoodie pocket. “It’s really good, too.”

Eddie nods once, slowly. Then leans in just a fraction. “Can I try it?”

You’re already reaching for your hoodie, digging out the chapstick again. “Sure,” you say, holding it out between two fingers.

He doesn't take it.

Instead, Eddie leans in, slow but certain, like gravity’s finally had enough of your mutual pretending. His hand brushes your wrist, lowers the chapstick gently. Then- without giving you a second to react… he kisses you.

It’s not rough. Not frantic. Just deliberate. Lips warm and firm against yours, tasting faintly of cherry and Eddie and a hundred things you’ve never had the courage to name.

He pulls back just a breath, close enough that you can feel the smirk forming on his mouth before he even speaks.

“Holy shit,” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours. “You’re right. It does taste good.”

You stare at him, brain officially fried. Function: unavailable. Thoughts: error 404. All you can do is sit there, lips tingling, mouth open just a little, totally wrecked by one kiss and a comment about chapstick.

You’re still staring at him.

He’s still staring at you.

The trailer is quiet. Like, you can hear the hum of the refrigerator and the flick of his thumb as he nervously picks at a loose string on the couch.

Then Eddie clears his throat. Loud. Awkward. Dramatic. “So,” he says, voice about an octave higher than normal, “you, uh… think Dio would survive in a bare-knuckle cage match against Ozzy?”

What.

Your lips are still tingling, and this man is asking about metal frontmen hypothetical brawls like he didn’t just bypass years of friendship rules and press his mouth to yours like it was nothing.

“…Are we seriously not gonna talk about what just happened?” you ask, before you can stop yourself.

He glances at you. Smiles. Shrugs.

“Dunno what you mean,” he says coolly, casually, the picture of someone who is not currently imploding on the inside. “I asked for chapstick. You gave it to me. I tried it. It’s good. Mission accomplished.”

You blink. “You kissed me, Eddie.”

He fake gasps. “I did? Oh no. Must’ve slipped. Could’ve sworn I was reaching for the stick.”

“Eddie-”

“Hey, d’you wanna throw on another tape?” he interrupts, already getting up, not looking at you. “I think I’ve got that W.A.S.P. live album somewhere in the crate. Or- wait, no- Queen! We need to appreciate the artistry of Brian May more.”

He’s practically scrambling toward the tape shelf, muttering nonsense, hair falling in his face, while you sit there in complete disbelief.

You don’t push. You don’t chase him down or beg for clarity. You’re too scared of what it might do to the delicate thread tying the two of you together- so you let him keep pretending. You help. You joke. You nod along when he makes some stupid remark about Freddie Mercury’s god-tier vocal range.

But neither of you laughs the same.

The air’s different now- tight, humming, like a storm you both agreed not to name. You make it through the rest of the afternoon with polite smiles and long, loaded silences where your knees accidentally touch and neither of you breathes.

Eventually, you say you’ve gotta head home. Something about chores, or helping your mom, or feeding your cat. It doesn’t matter. You just need to get out.

He walks you to the door, as always. He tells you to page him when you get home, as always.

He doesn’t mention the kiss. At all.

And you don’t either.

Not until you’re in your room later that night, lights off, fingers brushing your bottom lip like you’re checking to see if the feeling’s still there.

You try journaling. You write “HE KISSED ME” in all caps three times before ripping the page out and stuffing it under your bed like a confession. Then you pace. Then you lay down. Then you sit back up. Then you wonder what would’ve happened if you kissed him back just a little harder, or said something like, “Do it again.”

But you didn’t.

And now you’re spiraling, tangled in your sheets, a cherry flavored ghost still dancing across your lips, trying to figure out if he meant it- or if he was just being Eddie.

It’s been days.

Days since “The Incident.”

Days since the kiss he never explained. Days since you half-lost your mind and wrote a fake letter to him you’ll never send titled, Dear Eddie, please do that again, I beg of you.

Now you’re back at his trailer, like nothing happened- except everything did. You’re both pretending to be normal. Again. You’re on the couch. Again. He’s doing that dumb thing where he pokes your knee with his toe like a child seeking attention. Again.

But tonight, you’re ready. Tonight, you brought props.

You wait until the timing’s perfect- he’s mid-rant about how Ace of Spades was robbed at the Grammys' when you interrupt with:

“Hey, so… remember when you totally stole my chapstick with your mouth and then never brought it up again?”

He chokes on a handful of Doritos. “I mean, stole is a strong word-”

You raise an eyebrow. “Pretty sure there’s a federal charge for grand larceny of flavored lip balm.”

He snorts, a little sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright, alright, maybe I panicked. Maybe I got carried away.”

You lean forward on your elbows, casual but not really. “You know there’s an actual Chapstick Challenge, right? Where you’re supposed to guess the flavor by kissing someone?”

He freezes. “…That’s real?”

“Yup.” You pull a little zippered pouch from your bag and spill a rainbow army of chapsticks onto the table. “I brought options.”

His eyes go huge. “You’re kidding.”

You smirk. “Nope. Wanna try the official version this time?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely.”

He launches himself across the couch, lips crashing into yours with so much enthusiasm you laugh into the kiss. His hands find your waist like they’ve been waiting for clearance, and yours tangle in that ridiculous mop of curls. It’s messy and a little clumsy, both of you grinning like idiots between breaths.

You taste like strawberry first. He gets it right. Then vanilla mint. Right again.

“Okay,” he gasps between kisses, “I’m kind of a prodigy at this.”

“Shut up and kiss me again.”

He does. Over and over between applications. With gusto. With reverence. With the sort of soft desperation that only comes from finally getting the thing you thought you’d never have.

“Wait- what flavor is this?” he mumbles against your mouth.

You blink, confused. “I didn’t put anything on-”

He grins. “Hmm. Must just be ‘You.’ That one’s my favorite.”

You shove his shoulder. He kisses you harder.

Eventually, you’re a giggling, half-dazed mess on the couch, limbs tangled and chapstick containers strewn around like colorful evidence of the war you just won.

He pulls back only slightly, forehead pressed to yours, and whispers:

“So… you wanna, I dunno… maybe be my cherry-flavored girlfriend or something?”

You smile and kiss him again.

Translation: Yes.

Who loves Eddie Munson, show of hands! 😂 Let me know if you want to be added to my tag list!

@justalotoffanfiction, @yorshie, @jackalope-in-a-storm, @v1per1ne, @daveythorntonslocker, @cokepowder55, @kelsiegrin, @ash-stardust

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[daveythorntonslocker]

Dave got those big clown feet. 😜

[daveythorntonslocker]

Unicorn

[daveythorntonslocker]

I wonder how David Howard Thornton feels about everyone finally seeing his Willie 😆

[daveythorntonslocker]

The Many Faces of DHT

[daveythorntonslocker]

What a little flirt he is. 🥰 He's got so much game.

[daveythorntonslocker]

This is so true 🥰