defututus

[defututus]

Hey!! just wanted to start by saying I love your writing so much :)

just wanted to submit a request, and if you’re not comfortable with it, no worries at all. was wondering if you’d be interested in an Eddie Munson x fem!reader with a chronic illness. I have POTS, which causes dizziness, migraines, brain fog, and most notably, a very high heart rate with movement. I haven’t seen it in writing much, and was looking for like a comfort/angst smut fic with it or something similar included. doesn’t have to be crazy, just even if a small comfort and breathing break is needed!

thanks, sorry about the ramble, and again if youre not interested no worries!

⁀➷ The Long Haul // Eddie Munson x F!Reader

Summary: You didn’t expect Eddie Munson to notice you—let alone care. But when your chronic illness flares at the worst possible moment, he’s suddenly everywhere: loud, chaotic, and terrifyingly sincere. What starts as unexpected concern quickly turns into something deeper as Eddie refuses to back off, refuses to let you suffer alone.

Requested by: Thank you for the request! I hope my representation of POTS is correct. I'm sorry if I got any information wrong. I had to research it and went with symptoms that were on Google, so fingers crossed it's ok! much love <3 xx

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, reader has POTS, fainting, friends to lovers, caretaking/comfort, moaner!eddie, soft!dom eddie, praise kink, oral, gentle intimacy, aftercare

Words: 4.9k

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

You’d made it this far.

It wasn’t even noon yet, and you’d already survived a whole shift at the campus cde, your morning lecture, and now–if your heart wasn’t about to launch itself out of your ribcage–a surprise pop quick in Psych 204. All without anyone noticing how hard your body was betraying you today.

Your hands trembled faintly as you scribbled your answers. You were too aware of the way your pulse was racing, like a warning siren behind your ears. Like your blood had decided to run laps through your veins. There was a familiar weight pressing behind your eyes, the kind of pressure that made the fluorescent lights overhead feel ten times brighter than they were. If you could just finish this class, get somewhere quiet, maybe lie down… 

“Jesus,” a voice groaned behind you, loud as ever.

You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was—that unmistakable drawl, all gravel and swagger and unapologetic volume. You glanced at the edge of the desk and caught the tip of a beat-up boot sticking into the aisle. Great. Of course, Eddie Munson was in your psych class now.

You thought he’d dropped it. Skipped it. Got expelled from it—something chaotic to match his energy.

Apparently not.

He was muttering to himself about Freud and then laughing under his breath like he’d cracked the funniest joke in the world. Normally, you would’ve rolled your eyes. Maybe even smiled a little. But not today.

Today, your vision blurred just slightly, the edges of the room softening and shaking. A weird sweat had started at the base of your spine, sticky and cold. You could feel your legs tingle under your desk. Pinks and needles. The kind that came before you passed out. 

Your pen slipped from your fingers.

Shit.

You leaned forward slowly, as if every inch counted, your hand blindly searching the floor. You didn't dare move too fast. 

You knew your body like a well-worn enemy. Knew the exact sequence of steps that led from “not great” to “full-blown collapse.” You’d ridden that wave too many times before. There was a method now. A rhythm.

You’d hide it. You always did.

Except this time, when you sat up, the world tilted. Hard.

Your desk swam out of focus, your body pitching sideways. There was a dull thud, chair against tile, and then hands. Rough and warm and there, suddenly.

“Hey–whoa, hey, hey, sweetheart.” That voice again. Close this time. Closer than it should’ve been. “Hey, you good? You with me?”

Eddie. Your heart, already racing, kicked up another gear. Adrenaline mixed with panic. You tried to speak – ‘im ine, it’s fine, please don't make this worse, don't draw attention to me’-- but your mouth wasn't cooperating. And your legs? Gone. Just noodles. Your arms had gone cold. 

And eddie munson, chaotic, loud-mouthed, metalhead freak Eddie Munson, was crouched on the floor in front of you, big hands hoveringlike he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch you but really fucking wanted to.

Your professor was frozen by the whiteboard, chalk in half. The whole class was staring now. Perfect.

“Hey,” Eddie said again, gentler now. “Can you look at me?”

You blinked.

Good enough for him.

His dark eyes swept over your face, all frantic energy narrowed into razor-sharp focus. You realised, vaguely, that he’d grabbed your hand, one of his silver rings pressing cold against your clammy skin. His grip wasn't tight. Just grounding.

“I think you’re going to pass out,” he said, like he was reading instructions off the back of a cereal box. “Okay. Cool. You’re gonna sit back. Just lean against me. There you go.”

You didn’t have the strength to protest as he pulled you toward him, guiding your slumped body so you could lean against his chest. He was surprisingly solid. Warm. Smelled like leather, cigarette smoke, and the faintest hint of something sweet. His jean jacket scratched at your cheek, but you didn’t move.

He shifted again, grunting softly, and never thing you knew he was lifting your legs onto a chair he’d dragged over.

“Eddie–”, you managed, your voice weak.

“Nope,” he said. “Shut up. You’re not dying in Psych class. That’s the most embarrassing way to go.”

A weak huff of a laugh escaped you. God, no one had ever done this before.

Someone fetched the TA. There was a loss of noise. The offer of a nurse’s office, or someone calling an ambulance. But Eddie waved them all off like a knight in a Metallica tee. 

“She just needs to lie down for a sec. Right?”

You nodded. Your head felt heavy, but the worst had passed.

By the time the class was dismissed early and the room had cleared out, Eddie hadn’t moved. You were still half-draped against him, his hand still curled loosely around your wrist to check your pulse.

You opened your eyes fully and stared up at him.

And fuck. He was kind of beautiful.

His curls were a mess, pulled half into a hair tie that was losing the battle. His mouth was set in a firm line, chewing the inside of his cheek like he was still working out a plan. He looked like a man ready to fight God and your blood pressure at the same time.

But it was his eyes, those big puppy dog, brown eyes that stared at you with such concern that had you speechless.

“You okay now?” he asked. His voice was softer than before. Still rough, but not harsh.

You nodded again, pushing yourself up slowly. “Yeah. I'm… I’ll be fine. I just… need to get to my dorm.” 

“No way in hell I'm letting you go alone.”

You blinked. 

“I’m serious,” he said, standing and offering you both hands like a rockstar on stage. “You think I’m gonna just let you wander off after your body straight up shut down in my arms? Not happening, sweetheart.”

You hesitated. Then took his hands. He pulled you up with surprising gentleness, like you were something delicate. His hands were big, rough palms, ring-heavy fingers, but careful.

The hallway was quiet. He didn’t let go.

On the walk to your dorm, Eddie stayed right beside you, one hand on your elbow like a bodyguard and the other gesturing wildly as he told some story to distract you. 

“And I told O’Donnell that bat was a metaphor, but she was like, ‘No, Edward, it’s just a weapon.’ Like, excuse me? Have you seen the phallic symbolism–” 

You let out a real laugh. He stopped mid-rant and looked at you, visibly pleased, a dimple appearing in his cheek. “There she is,” he grinned.

Your legs felt a little steadier. You hated how comforting he was. How easy it was to let him guide you. You’d worked so hard to keep people out of this part of your life. But Eddie? he was already cracking it open with nothing more than a hand on your arm and a dimple when he smiled. 

You made it to your room, finally. Eddie hovered in the doorway, uncertain.

“You, uh… gonna be okay? Want me to stay?”

You stared at him. The absurd, messy kindness of him. And for the first time, you didn’t say no. “Maybe just for a minute.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eddie Munson had become a problem.

Not in the typical sense, not the kind of problem you could fix with space, or silence, or letting things fade like you normally did when people got too close. Because Eddie didn’t fade.

He stuck.

Lingered like smoke in your clothes. Since that afternoon in class, he’d appointed himself your unofficial handler. Not in a weird way. In a very Eddie way. Loud, a little reckless and overbearing in a way that wouldn’t annoy you if it didn’t also make you feel seen. 

Everywhere you turned, he was there.

Your next class? He claimed the seat next to you, sliding into the chair like he’d always belonged there and pulling a crumpled notebook from his back pocket. 

“What, you think I'm gonna not babysit the girl who nearly fainted into my lap?”

The cafeteria? He shoved a Gatorade across the table at you without a word, then launched into a story about a squirrel that stole his sandwich. 

The library? “Studying is more effective with moral support, sweetheart. I read that in a book. Or maybe it was a D&D manual.” 

He didn't ask questions. Not directly anyway. But you could feel them, hanging there and waiting. 

You'd spent years crafting a version of yourself that looked effortless and independent.. You didn’t like needing people. You especially didn't like explaining why, sometimes without warning, your body betrayed you, as it had that day. 

But Eddie didn’t give up. And when the crash hit again, you couldn’t hide it.

It started subtly, like it always did. 

You’d had a long day. Two lectures, one shift on your feet behind the register at the care, barely a break to eat. You’d ignored the signs: dry mouth, tremors, that deep pull behind your knees like gravity was trying to flatten you. Told yourself to push through.

You were good at pushing through.

Except tonight, sitting on the couch in your dorm, you felt the room start to slide sideways.

You stood, intending to grab water or salt or something, but your knees buckled. You barely caught yourself on the edge of your desk. Your chest heaved once, twice.

“Okay,” you whispered to yourself. “Okay, I’m fine. Just–just sit. Sit down.”

You stumbled to the floor, half-crawling to your bed.

And then knocking. A very specific kink of knocking.

Three beats. A pause. Two more.

“Hey! Are you alive in there?” Eddie called.

You tried to call back, tried to make your voice work, but the blood had rushed from your head too fast. Everything felt far away.

The door creaked open.

“Sorry– I know I should’ve waited for you to say something, but I got this weird guy thing, and–”

He froze.

“Shit.”

The heavy booted footsteps. And then Eddie, in your space, swearing under his breath as he dropped to the floor beside you, already pulling the throw pillow off your bed to shove under your legs.

“Jesus Christ, sweetheart.”

You shook your head. “M’okay. Just a crash.”

“You’re not okay,” he insisted, but his voice had calmed now as if he were trying to control his panic. “Tell me what you need, sweets?” 

You blinked heavily. “No, salt, water, cold rag, maybe. Just need to wait it out.”

He didn't ask questions or freak out; he just moved across your room, gathering objects as he went.

One minute later, he was kneeling in front of you with a half-empty Gatorade, a handful of pretzels from the vending machine, and a look that any other time would have melted you into the floor.

You sipped slowly, aware of how closely he was watching you. He sat on the floor beside you, legs stretched out long, one of his knees bumping yours.

“You scared the shit out of me,” he admitted.

You managed a whisper of a smile. “You're here a lot for someone who claims not to care about other people.”

He snoted, “Angel, I don’t do subtle. If I didn't care, I wouldn't be on your dorm floor feeding you pretzels.” 

You looked down at your lap. The warmth in your chest had nothing to do with the heat creeping up your spine.

“Why?” you asked.

He tilted his head. “Why do I care?”

“Why are you doing this? No one else ever… It’s exhausting, you know? Explaining.”

Eddie sat forward, elbows on his knees. His haze was heavy but kind.

“You don't have to explain,” he said. “Not unless you want to. But.. I want to understand. I want to know how to help. What to look for. How to not make it worse.”

Your breath caught.

“Don't give me that look,” he said, softer now. “You think I haven't been doing research since Psychoclass? I practically live in the library now. I know what POTS is. I mean, it’s fucked, but like… makes a hell of a lot more sense now. Why do you vanish sometimes? Why you always look like you’re fighting through a storm even when you’re smiling.” 

You swallowed hard.

“I’m used to handling it alone,” you said quietly.

“I know.”

There was a long silence. The kind that pulled something taut between you. Then Eddie nudged you gently. “Get on the bed.” 

You blinked. “What?”

“You're half-dead on your dorm floor. Let me be a good Samaritan or a weird little goblin or whatever you wanna call me, and help you into bed.” 

You shook your head, but you didn't fight him when he helped you up. He tucked your blanket around you. Brought your favourite hoodie from the desk chair.

Then, instead of leaving, he kicked off his boots and sat on the edge of the bed.

“Don’t you have better things to be doing?” you asked, hoping he didn't.

He glanced down at you with a cheeky grin. “Nah. I'm gonna sit here until I'm sure you're okay. Or until you tell me to leave. Which, by the way, I won't take personally. But you should know I make an excellent heater.” 

You sighed, “You're annoying.”

“You love it.”

You didn't argue. You just scooted to his side. “You can stay. Just don't hit the blanket.” 

His grin was blinding. And just like that, Eddie Munson was in your bed. Not in a sexy way. Not yet. But warn, and solid.

You let your head fall onto his shoulder. He went still just for a second. 

The one arm came around your back, and he said very quietly: “You don't have to do this alone anymore.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

You should’ve said no. You knew better. You’d felt it all morning, the warning signs.

The heat pricking at your skin despite the breeze, the shakiness in your hands when you tried to pour cereal, the way your heart wouldn’t slow down no matter how still you sat. You’d doubled your salt intake and chugged a Gatorade. Told yourself it was just a bad day. That you could still go. 

And when Eddie showed up at your door, all breathless excitement and wild curls and “you’re still coming, right?”, you couldn't bring yourself to say no. 

Because he looked at you like you mattered, your presence was likely something he wanted, not just tolerated. And for once, you didn't want to let the illness in. 

So you went to the Corroded Coffin concern. And now?

Now you were onthe verge of collapsing in the middle of the damn gymnasium.

The lights were strobing. The bass was thumping. Your ears were ringing. Sweat soaked your shirt. The sound of the crowd became too much, white noise and static pressing against your skull. Your legs had already buckled once. You were sitting now, half-sprawled against the bleachers, but even gravity felt optional. 

Your vision blurred. Your chest seized. You didn’t know where Eddie was. 

Don't panic, don't panic, don't panic– 

“Hey–”

His voice cut through the noise like a knife. Suddenly, he was kneeling in front of you, curls damp with sweat, eyes wide with something dangerously close to fear.

“Oh fuck. Of fuck. What happened?”

You opened your mouth, tried to answer, but no words came out. Your heart was pounding too fast to speak. You felt your fingers curl against the floor, legs twitching as your body went rigid.

“Jesus H Christ, sweetheart,” he half hollered. “Okay. Okay, you’re okay. I'm gonna get you out of here.”

The word sweetheart hit you like a bolt of lightning, but you were too far gone to respond.

Eddie stood and scooped you up in one fluid motion, arms around your back, your legs dangling uselessly against his side. He didn't care who saw. Didn't pause to explain. He just moved, storming out of the gym like a man on a mission, whispering under his breath. 

“I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

He didn't set you down until you were outside, behind the building, where the air was cooler and the silence finally hit. He sank to the pavement, settling you in his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world, cradling your head against his chest.

You could hear his heartbeat. Strong and fast.

“Breathe with me,” he encouraged, rubbing your back. “Just breathe.”

You clutched at his jacket, eyes wide, muscles trembling. You weren’t crying, but you wanted to. You wanted to scream. Because of this flare-up, this embarrassment, this is why you didn't go to the place. This is why you said no. 

“Im so–fucking–stupid,” you choked out between raggedbreaths.

Eddie pulled back slightly, just enough to cup your face.

“Hey, no, don't do that.” 

“You told me I should stay home if I felt like this–”

“I asked if you were okay,” he corrected, voice hoarse. “I should’ve known. You didn't have to pretend. You don't ever have to pretend with me.” 

You looked away, cheeks burning for a new reason. He was silent for a long moment.

Then, quieter: “You don't get it, do you?” 

Your gaze flicked back to him. His thumb brushed the edge of your cheekbone.

“I see you, angel. Not just the parts you show everyone. All of it. The way you hide how dizzy you are. The way you smile when you’re clearly in pain. The way you try so hard not to be a burden, like you expect people to leave when it gets hard.”

You blinked, throat tight.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said.

You didn’t speak. Couldn.t

Eddie leaned forward until your forehead touched. His breath was warm against your lips.

“You don't have to do this alone,” he promised. “You never did. You just didnt have anyone who gave a shit. But I do.”

He stayed like that, his hands cradling your face, his thumb catching a stray tear you didn't realise had fallen.

And that was the moment you broke.

You collapsed into him. Fully. Arms wrapping around his neck, body trembling, letting yourself be held.

Eddie's arms tightened around you, not letting go.

Later, back in your dorm, Eddie was the one who helped you out of your sweat-soaked clothes. Not in a sexual way, not yet anyway.

He laid you down, brought you water, elevated your legs with a stack of books and sat at your side and whispered things you couldn’t remember, just soft sounds and comfort.

You were exhausted, vulnerable in a way that scared you.

But Eddie? Eddie looked at you differently, like he was scared that if he closed his eyes, you might disappear. Something had changed, and there was no way you wanted to go back. 

Hours later, your body was still buzzing from the crash. And Eddie had stayed.

You’d fallen asleep with your legs lazily draped over his lap, your cheek pressed against the soft stretch of his worn-out t-shirt. When you woke, disoriented and sore and wrung-out, he was still there. Fingers idly brushing your knee, eyes locked on you.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he spoke softly. “You back with me?”

You nodded, voice dry. “Yeah. just heavy.”

“You scared the shit outta me earlier.” he leaned down adn kissed your forehead until you were melting further into his touch. “Next time, if you feel even a little off, you tell me. Got it?”

You smiled weakly up at him, “You sound like a boyfriend.”

He stilled as your breath caught.

Then– “Maybe I want to be.”

Your chest ached, but not in a bad way. In the way that something new was cracking open. You shifted slowly, curling into his side, your lips ghosting over his clean-shaven jaw. 

“You already act like one, Munson.”

His hand found your waist. Big and warm, even his silver rings felt warm against your skin.

“You sure this is okay?” he asked, showing his signs of vulnerability. Voice rough with need but laced with restraint.

“I want you,” you admitted with a sharp breath. “Please, Eddie. Don’t go.”

That was all it took. Eddie Munson kissed you like he meant it. Like this kiss was all he needed in the world.

His mouth was warm and eager, tongue tracing the seam of your lips until you opened for him, and then the way he moaned into it had your thighs clenching together. That noise was desperate and needy, and it explained all his feelings for you. 

You whimpered back. He kissed you harder.

His hand slid under your shirt, thumb stroking slow circles just beneath your ribs. He moved like he wanted to memorise and learn everything about your body, not rushing. Your body was still tired, still weak, but the heat between your legs was intense.

He pulled back, breathing hard as his soft curls fell into his face.

“We don’t have to–”

“I want to, Eddie,” you said again. “Just… slow.”

“Sweetheart,” he rasped, eyes dark with arousal. “You think I’d ever be anything but gentle with you?”

He lifted your shirt slowly, eyes following every inch of exposed skin. His lips followed next, trailing kisses from your ribs to your navel, pausing to mouth over your sensitive hips. He worshipped you like it was the only thing he’d ever learned how to do.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, angel,” he groaned against your skin. “You have no idea.”

He helped you out of your clothes, checking in with every shift. “Okay, if I take this off?” he asked, and when you nodded, he’d kiss that spot too.

When you were bare beneath him, Eddie just looked at you. His gaze raked over your body with something more than lust, something tender and possessive in the most loving way.

“Lie back for me, sweetheart,” he carefully helped you back. “Gonna take care of you.”

He settled between your thighs like it was home and kissed the inside of your knee, then higher. Inch by inch until you were squirming.

And when his mouth finally met your pussy? You gasped loudly.

Eddie moaned at the taste of you, like he was the one being pleasured.

“Oh, fuck–fuck–you taste so good, angel,” he praised, tongue licking a slow stripe up your slit. “I could live here. Honest to god, I could fucking die right here.”

His mouth was hot and filthy. Skilled as his tongue circled your clit, his fingers spreading your labia giving him the perfect access to that special spot. His lips sealed around it, sucking it with an obsene slurp until your back is arching and hips pressing harder against his face.

You weren’t sure what was turning you on more, his devilish tongue that licked and flicked in all the right ways. Or his sweet little moans and whimpers, breathy praises between every lick.

“You’re doing so well, sweet girl. Fuck–youre so wet for me.”

You moaned his name, and he whined, a full-body shudder like he couldn't take hearing it. 

When he slid two thick fingers inside you, slow and crooked just right, you nearly cried. The stretch was perfect. He worked you open with that same steady rhythm, curling deep until you were clenching around him, mouth falling open, and your fingers gripped painfully into his hair. 

“Eddie–I'm close–”

“Go ahead, sweetheart,” he panted. “Come for me. Wanna feel you around my fingers.”

You shuddered with a cry, your hips bucking harder now. Eddie moaned again, louder, like your orgasm alone got him off. 

He kissed your inner thigh as you came down, whispering soft thingslike, thats it, good girl, fuck youre so perfect.

You reached for him with trembling hands, stroking over his handsome cheeks.

“Need you.”

He didn't make you say it again.

Eddie stripped out of his clothes with fumbling hands, leaving you breathless at the sight of him. Tattoos and scars. He was lean and strong, and you just wanted to lick every part of him.

He settled between your spread legs, forearms bracing on either side of your head.

“You sure?” he asked again.

You cupped his face. “Please. Want you inside me.”

He kissed you then, deep, messy and needy as he slid into you slowly.

And holy shit, the feeling was overwhelming for both of you. A full, open-mouthed moan punched out of him. “Fuck–fuck, baby–you feel like heaven, I swear to God–”

He bottomed out with a grunt, resting his forehead against yours.

“Tell me if it's too much,” he whispered against your lips. “I’ll stop. I’ll pull out. Whatever you need.”

“Don't stop,” you begged, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Feels so good.”

He moved in slow, careful thrusts, letting you feel every inch. His breath hitched every time you clenched around him.

“So tight,” he groaned. “So fucking good.”

Your fingers delved into his hair, pulling him closer, letting his weight settle on you. It wasn’t just sex, it was something more—a breakdown of every wall you've ever built.  

And Eddie? Eddie was losing his mind over it.

“Can't–can't believe I get to do this,” he panted against your neck before taking a soft bite to the sensitive skin beneath your ear. “Get to be the one touching you like this. Taking care of you. Loving you–” 

You gasped as he froze.

Then his hips continued to move slowly. “I meant it. I have for a while.”

Everything was happening at once, it was so overwhelming and so perfect that you couldn’t help but fall apart with the words, “I love you.”

Eddie didn’t slow down, even after your orgasm, he really fucked you with so much passion. He held your face as you came again, kissed you as your body pulled around him.

When he followed, it was with a gravelly cry, “Angel–fuck–im cumming, im cumming–”, as he burised his face in your neck and trembled through it.

He stated inside you afterwards, both of you panting, clinging to each other like the world might end if you let go. 

Aftercare was a blur of soft touches and whispered words of love. He cleaned you up delicately, made you drink water, then tucked you into his chest, his hand splayed protectively over your stomach.

“You’re everything,” he whispered into your hair. “Everything, baby.”

You finally believed it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

SIX MONTHS LATER

You woke to the sound of the kettle boiling. Not your alarm or the frantic beep of a med timer. Just the soft whistle of water and the low hum of a man quietly singing along to Iron Maiden from the next room.

You blinked your eyes open slowly. The bedroom was flooded with morning light, filtered through the sheet black curtains Eddie insisted on because they were “metal, but also, like sexy goth vibes.”

Your body ached, but gently, like a warming—a low battery alert rather than a full system shutdown.

And Eddie seemed to know already. You could feel it in the quiet. The way he hadn't nudged you awake. The way the bedroom door had been left cracked, not fully shit, just in case you needed him. 

You didn't have to ask. He always knew.

A minute later, the door creaked open.

There he was: sleepy curls falling into his face, a giant Hellfire t-shirt barely hanging off his shoulder, a mug in each hand.

“Hey, angel,” he said softly. “Figured it might be a down day.”

You smiled. “Kinda feeling it.”

“Figured,” he said again, sitting on the edge of the bed and handing you your mug. “Salted tea, caffeine free. I crushed the electrolyte tabs myself this time. Feel free to be impressed.”

You sipped. “Genuinely, that's the hottest thing you've ever said to me.” 

Eddie grinned, but his eyes still searched your face.

“Are you dizzy?”

“A little.”

“Nausea?”

“Not bad. Just heavy.”

He nodded, setting his mug down before crawling into bed beside you. He pulled you into his lap with practised ease, wrapping both arms around your waist and settling his chin on your shoulder.

You leaned back into him, letting yourself melt against his chest.

“I can stay in today. Cancel D&D. We can watch that dumb baking show where everything explodes.”

You tilted your head. “Isn’t that the one you said gives you anxiety?”

“Yeah, but watching British people politely cry about cakes is somehow less stressful than letting you be here alone like this.”

You twisted slightly to face him. “You've already done enough, Eds. I’ll be okay.”

He frowned. “It's not about enough, it's about showing up, every time.”

You stared at him for a long moment. Six months ago, that would've scared you. The way he really meant it. The way he didn't blink when it got hard, when your symptoms flared, when you cried in a CVS aisle because your knees gave out. 

But now? Now it just made you want to curl into his arms and never leave.

“You love me or something?” you teased, voice light.

Eddie rolled his eyes. “No, I just keep hand-making Gatoragepopsicles and researching compression socks for my health.”

You laughed. He pressed a kiss to your shoulder. Then another, this one slower.

You feel these fingers trace gentle patterns over your thighs, drawing idle shapes, not rushing. 

“You want cuddles today?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “Or… y’know. Cuddles.”

Your body still felt heavy, but your heart surged with excitement.

“I want you,” you whispered. “Slow, lazy, just us.”

He smiled, and that morning, tangled in his arms, your mug half empty and your legs across his lap, you both shared pleasure and love like it was meant to be. 

[defututus]

The Lasagna Lede Pairing: Tindle Builderback x Reader Summary: World-famous journalist Tindle Builderback conducts an interview with a frazzled cook in a local kitchen. Contains: An idiot, the person who loves/tolerates him, dinner, talk of infidelity and a secret love affair, and a lot of suggestive dialogue. Words: 900ish

"Good afternoon, miss."

Oh, God. You know that tone. You don't even have to turn around and see that stupid mustache to know that Tindle Builderback has come out to play.

"What?" you groan.

"It's lovely to see you too! Gosh, it's been a while, hasn't it?"

You love him. You love him. You are not going to turn around and hit him in the head with a frying pan.

"So anyway, sources tell me that it's nearly dinnertime. May I ask… what is that you're making?"

"Mr. Builderback, this is what we in the kitchen business like to call a lasagna."

"A lasagna!" he cries. "Fantastic!"

Damn his charm. Damn the smile that's trying to appear on your face. Damn this overgrown moron that you can't help but play with.

"Yeah, the guy I'm shackin' up with seems to like it," you say, trying to sound uninterested.

"Wonderful," he chortles, coming into your eyeline when he leans an elbow on the counter next to the mess that comes with making his favorite meal. He's put on his Tindle Jacket and his stupid mustache and his reading glasses. You hate how good he looks like this. "Could you walk me through what it is you're doing?"

"Of course, Mr. Builderback," you say seriously. "I'm layering noodles and meat and sauce and cheese, and then once all of those things are in this pan, I'm gonna put it in the oven."

"I see," he nods. "I can't help but notice that you're using sauce from a jar, instead of making it from scratch. Is it because you don't really love the man you're making this for?"

"You caught me, Mr. Builderback," you sigh, turning to him. "It is because I don't really love him. If I'd known you were coming, however…"

You wink, and his jaw drops scandalously. You step closer, sliding your hands up his arms and to his shoulders.

"Ma'am, this is highly unprofessional," he says shakily, trying to back away.

"Oh, Tindle," you sigh dramatically, leaping toward him and capturing him in a one-sided hug. He stands there, arms at his sides, stiff as a board. "When will you leave that awful wife of yours for me?"

"Leave my wife?!" he splutters, trying to peel you off of him.

"We could be so good together," you whisper sultrily, holding him tighter and refusing to let go. "Let's run away, Tindle! I hear Russia's nice this time of year."

"Russia?!" he nearly shrieks. "Ma'am, I am a member of the press! A brilliant, highly respected journalist! A pioneer in my field! I can't go to Russia!"

"Field?" you ask, pulling back to look up at him curiously. "Did you get promoted from the cave?"

His face splits into a grin, proud that you've remembered that little detail he made up the last time Tindle made an appearance. And then he looks down and gives the front of his pants a tug.

"Calm down, Little Tindle. You belong to a married man."

You snort, and he grins at you.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Builderback," you say quietly, sobering. "I don't know what came over me. You're just so handsome, and so talented, it's… it's hard to control myself when you're around."

"You're not the first dame to fall for the legendary Tindle Builderback," he says proudly, puffing out his chest. "And you certainly won't be the last."

You'd kiss him if you didn't know that fake mustache smelled like Doritos.

"I should finish this," you sigh, turning back to your lasagna. "My man will be home soon. Guess I better keep him happy, since you're not gonna run away with me."

"He's not so bad," Tindle shrugs. "He's kinda handsome. Not as much as me, of course, but he has a certain kind of charm about him."

"He does, doesn't he?" you smile, putting the finishing touches on your lasagna. You slide it into the oven and turn to Tindle once more.

"I have a question," he says.

"Yes, Mr. Builderback?" you ask.

"When will this lazy, sub-par lasagna of yours be ready?"

You briefly reconsider your stance on hitting him with the frying pan.

"About 45 minutes," you answer instead.

"Well," he says sleazily, leaning an elbow on the counter and sliding his glasses down his nose with his finger. "I can do a lot of amazing things in 45 minutes. And since you're such a big fan of mine… and that semi-charming fella of yours isn't home yet, to tend to your womanly needs…"

"Fine," you sigh, throwing a kitchen towel at him. "But this is the last time, Tindle."

He slings the towel over his shoulder and pretends to check his phone.

"Ah, yes," he says, putting it back in his pocket. "According to my records, you said that last time."

"You told me that was off the record."

"Did I?" he asks, tilting his head upward and putting his fingers to his chin as he ponders.

"Where is your journalistic integrity, sir?" you tease.

"Riiight…" he says slowly, dragging out the word as he comes closer. He grabs your hand and places it on Little Tindle, who seems to be very happy about the attention he's getting. "Here."

...so this is where I'm currently at in my fanfiction journey. Sorry/you're welcome.

[defututus]

Hi Jade! I absolutely love your writing, especially when you write for Eddie or Steve. Love these two. I was wondering if you could write about an insucure reader who has been rejected a lot and doesn't believe it when someone actually starts loving her for who she is. I'd love this with either Eddie or Steve . You can choose who you want to write for. If you don't wanna write something like this, that's fine too. Just know that I love your writing!

ty for requesting!! —you have a hard time believing eddie loves you, but he does. fem, 1.1k

“Oh my god.” 

Eddie freaks you out when he talks like that. His voice turns hoarse, almost grainy, like he’s in shock, or he can’t get a grip. 

“That’s what you’re wearing?” he asks. 

“It’s not alright?” you ask, looking down at your outfit. It’s just jeans and a chunky cardigan. He sounds like he loves it, but your brain goes straight to worry anyhow. 

“No, not alright.” He leans back against your pillows, his arms behind his head and his biceps doing something cruel against his shirt sleeves. “Not alright at all. Do a spin?” 

You shake your head severely. 

“Doll,” he says, pouting gently. “Please?” 

“No, if it looks bad, I’ll change,” you say. 

“It doesn’t look bad! I’m kidding. You look the opposite of bad, so do a spin!” 

You love his voice and the way he talks, and you love him —though of course he doesn’t know it— so you end up doing a slow spin for him in your bedroom. You’ve buttoned the top button of your cardigan and it’s a very static movement, but he oohs, ahs, and sits up quickly. 

“Yeah, you look fucking beautiful.” 

“Boo,” you mumble. 

“Just as I suspected you would.” He gestures you forward. “Wait, come over here a second.” 

Eddie says wait as an act of persuasion, or a white lie; he makes it sound as though there’s something urgent afoot, but there never is. He grabs your arm when you’re close enough, then your back, looking up into your face imploringly. “I just wanted to look at you.” Being held like this warms you from the inside out. His hand scrunches your cardigan and shirt, the other bringing your arm to his chest. “But you guessed that.” 

“No, I…” You smile in a flat line. “You’re sure I look good?” 

“Of course I am. I was kidding,” he says, softer now. “You know? I was being sarcastic, because you look that good it’s crazy to imply you look bad. I promise.” 

You sit down on the bed beside him. 

“You look so pretty,” he says. 

You nod as a strange ache blossoms in your throat. “Sorry,” you say, wishing you could explain it to him. You weren’t always scared of what people are thinking, but past dismissal has left you off kilter, and now he’s paying the price. 

“For what, angel?” he asks, though he’s not waiting for an answer. “You’re…you do look beautiful, you do, I’m not messing around. Well, I was. But I’m not now, so don’t be sorry, and don’t worry. I love this stuff, I fucking love the jeans, you have nice thighs,” —he laughs at your tired sigh— “and I love buttons. These buttons are great.” 

You let your cheek rest gently on his arm, still laughing. He’s such a sweetheart when he wants to be, but he’s not half as cool as he thinks he is. He’s too earnest to be a bad boy. “Thank you.” 

“I love you.” 

You shake your head. Eddie’s wrapping his arms around you, pulling you closer, face encouraged into his neck. “I do,” he says gently. “I’ve told you before, haven’t I?” 

“Yes.” 

He brings his hand to the back of your neck. “Mm. And have I given you any reason to think I’m lying?” 

“I don’t think you’re lying, I just think that… that I… you know.”

“I know. Doesn’t make it true.” He sounds a peculiar mixture of sad and happy at once. Find concern, perhaps, or loving derision. “I love you, and I’d love it if you walked around in bobbly sweaters and clogs. I don’t care what you wear, ‘cos it’s you.” 

“There’s nothing even that good about me to feel that way for.” 

“You don’t think so, but I do.” He turns his face down to you and presses the bridge of his nose to your temple. 

His t-shirt smells like clary soap. You curl your hand into the front of it, the soft wall of his abdomen underneath a familiar comfort. He hugs you tighter still. Eddie’s told you he loves you a few times, and you’d thought that when a guy finally felt the same way about you, everything would be fixed, you could say it back and live happily ever after, but it hasn’t worked out that way so far. Every time he tells you he loves you, you’re paralysed by the idea that he can’t. But then he holds you like this and you start to wonder if he’s telling the truth. 

He kisses the side of your face. “You okay?” he asks, kissing you again to punctuate. 

“Yes. Yeah.” You work your arms behind his back and squeeze him. 

Eddie encourages your head back carefully. He meets your eyes; all you can see is his irises, deeply brown, and his long lashes where they tent together. You’re too close to see his lips, but you can sense that he’s smiling from the warmth in his eyes and the slight droop of his eyelids. 

“Kiss?” he murmurs. 

You hum a yes. Eddie nudges your nose with his until there’s space to kiss you, your lips pressed tight and then less so, a dance of sweet kisses. You relax under his touch, the physical evidence of his affection, so totally that your back clicks. He smiles into your mouth but pulls away, too tempted by the opportunity to make a joke. 

“You need a masseuse,” he says, bringing his hand to your cheek. 

“No, I don’t.” You can practically see the steam radiating off of your cheeks. 

“You totally do. I could give you a massage, babe. I’m really good.” 

“No… we’re going to the movies.” 

“See, that sounds like you do want one. I can give you one later.” 

You look at him for too long, his brows pulling together in concern, but it’s nothing he has to worry about. “Love you,” you say quickly, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him in for another hug. 

His arm stutters at your side. “I love you,” you correct. The ‘I’ is important, especially when he’s never heard it from you before. It’s easy to love someone so patient, and so funny. 

He hugs you tight and sudden. “Yeah,” he says, “I love you too.” His watch digs into your spine. You don’t tell him. It’ll probably bruise, but you just don’t care. It’s nice to be loved fiercely. 

[defututus]

Mirabel

eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 1k

summary: Corroded Coffin Fest Day 2: Selling the Drama | You and Eddie love estate sales— and you happen to find a very dramatic porcelain doll at one.

warnings: Dolls (if you don’t like them), Spirits, Spooky & Possibly haunted items

notes: Submission for @corrodedcoffinfest! This one is simply inspired by the title (they’re selling this dramatic ass doll at an estate sale). This is a part of my Eddie & Bats AU! Hope you enjoy 🫶🏻 Thank you to @punkrockmlchael @robinbuckleywife & @iitsmandii for reading this over and @peachyproserpina for editing!

The LA heat’s already creeping up the back of your neck when you climb out of the van, the smell of dry grass and dust hits you immediately. You can hear birds chirping somewhere and there’s a little crowd gathered on the driveway of the two-story farmhouse up ahead. You nudge Eddie in the ribs with your elbow.

“Okay,” you grin. “How haunted do you think this place is, on a scale from one to full-on exorcist needed?”

Eddie squints, shielding his eyes with one hand taking in the sight in front of him. “I mean, she’s at least whispering Latin in the walls.”

“Perfect.” You lace your fingers with his. “Let’s go find something fun.”

Estate sales are your thing. Some people hit up farmer’s markets, some people go hiking, you drag your heavy-metal husband into the dens of the recently deceased, looking for the dustiest old shit you can find. Eddie always says he tags along for moral support, but you know he gets a kick out of these sales too. Inside, the house smells like bleach, citrus air-fresheners, and old paper. Eddie stays close to your side, his hand still curled tightly around yours.

You’re barely ten minutes into your search when you find her.

She’s in the corner of the back parlor, tucked behind a chipped vanity mirror. Her eyes are clouded— made of real glass— and her hair is stiff, an ashy blonde that might’ve been golden once. She’s wearing a once-pink dress with little pearl buttons. You gasp. “Oh my god, Eddie!”

Eddie leans over your shoulder and says, “Absolutely the ugliest fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

You let go of his hand to lift her and then clutch her to your chest. “She’s perfect.”

“I’m gonna have nightmares,” he sighs playfully, a grin spreading across his face as you start checking her over for a price tag. “That little Victorian hellspawn is gonna end up in our bed.”

“Jealousy’s not a good look on you,” you say over your shoulder.

She’s five bucks.

You’re about to dig your wallet out when a woman behind you clears her throat. She’s a bit older than Eddie, with pink glasses and a patterned skirt. Her hair is in a pony-tail, and she’s got that look you’ve seen at these sales a thousand times. “You’re buying that one?” she asks softly, her eyebrows raised in confusion.

You clutch the doll to your chest just a bit tighter. “Yep.”

The woman hesitates and then sighs heavily. “That used to belong to my grandma. She kept it locked in a cabinet in her sewing room.”

Eddie leans in, interested in whatever story was about to unfold. “Why locked?”

The woman sighs again. “Because weird shit happened when it was out. Lights flickering. The radio turning on. Movement.”

You try not to beam at her. “Seriously?”

“She said it laughed once,” the woman adds, “And it doesn’t have a voice box.”

“Oh my god,” you whisper, full of delight. You turn to Eddie like this is the best news you’ve ever heard. “She laughed.”

“You are—” Eddie’s already chuckling, rubbing a hand over his face. “You are so messed up.”

You roll your eyes, ignoring him completely and turn back to the woman. “Did anything bad actually happen?”

She shrugs, “Other than nightmares? No. My grandma said she used to wake up and it’d be somewhere else in the house. It only stopped when she put it back in the cabinet and locked the doors.”

Eddie looks at you like he’s waiting for you to reconsider bringing the little spawn of darkness into your shared home.

You grin. “I’ll take her.”

Back in the van, you buckle her into the backseat. She looks straight ahead, one glass eye is slightly misaligned, the other is locked on Eddie in the rearview. “This is gonna be the one that kills us,” he hums, drumming his fingers on the wheel. “Not the weird sushi we had that one time in Tokyo. Nope. It’s gonna be this fuckin’ freaky little demon doll. Death by porcelain.”

“She has a name,” you say softly, climbing into the front seat.

“She better not.”

You glance back at her. “She looks like a… Mirabel.”

Eddie sighs as he turns the key in the ignition. “Of course she does.”

You don’t put her in the doll room right away. You leave her in the living room overnight, perched on Eddie’s favorite armchair across from the couch. Eddie glares at her every time he walks by. 

That night, you wake up to the sound of faint whispering. You roll over. Eddie’s already sitting up, rubbing his face. “You hear that?”

“Is it Mirabel?” you ask sleepily, rubbing your eyes.

He turns, exhausted. “Why do you sound excited?”

“I’m just asking.”

The whispering stops before either of you can really track it down, and in the morning, Mirabel’s still sitting where you left her— except her head’s tilted slightly to the left now. Eddie puts her in the doll room before he leaves for rehearsal that morning. Three days later, the stereo turns on by itself and plays a single track— Dream On. Eddie stares at the speakers like they just sprouted legs.

“She’s a fan,” you say and shrug, not looking up from your book.

“She’s a terror.”

You sigh, closing the cover and lean over to kiss his cheek and whisper, “Jealousy.”

After a week, she’s comfortably nestled on the highest shelf in your collection. You try not to touch her often, but she moves sometimes. Slight things. Tilted head. Shifted foot. You just start shifting her back into place every morning. Eddie starts calling her your third roommate. But even through the jokes, he always says goodnight to her and the other dolls. Every night. He walks by the doll room, peeks in, gives them a little salute, turns his attention to Mirabel, and says, “Don’t possess my wife, freak.”

And you swear she smiles.

tags ;; @keeryhours @beau-hawkins @preciouslosers @amanitacowboy @emxxblog @crybabyddl @jeangeniex @thejordiverse @vinecstasy @kripkie101-blog @prettycalla @dancininseptember @robinbuckleywife @the-unforgivenn

[defututus]

may i interest u in some razor sharp anal teeth

ok fess up @munson-blurbs @corroded-hellfire which one of you sent this

THERE CANT BE TWO PEOPLE ON THIS HELLSITE WITH RAZOR SHARP ANAL TEETH

[defututus]

Hello wifey <3 I have a request

I was thinking about Eddie on his birthday. He wakes up in a great mood, obviously. He has never been happier. You ask what he wants for his birthday breakfast and when he tells you, you happily oblige. BUT!!! He wants to see you make it in nothing but a pair of panties and his battle vest, nothing else. You put them on and his plan was to wait until after you two finish eating to fuck you, but he has no self control and decides he has to use you like a sex toy until he’s completely spent. Idk, maybe he even breaks some furniture in the process. He just really loves our outfit, ok?

Love you bye <3

I love you more bye <3

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, Reader wears Eddie's battle vest but there's no mention of how it fits her, established relationship, Eddie is kind of a soft dom here but he's also a whimpering mess so...do what you will with that information 🫡

WC: 1.4k

Divider credit to @saradika-graphics

When you’d asked Eddie what he wanted for his birthday, your expectation was a list similar to the ones he���d given his friends. He mostly commonly requested a customized D20, a new denim jacket, or a six-pack of beer. 

“The good stuff. Not any of that ‘light’ crap,” he’d told Gareth sternly. 

You weren’t given that same warning. No, your boyfriend had smirked when you asked him, like he was just waiting for the opportunity to arise. 

“Sweetheart, you know exactly what I want.”

Morning sunlight shone through the blinds as you flipped a chocolate chip pancake. It landed in the griddle with a small hiss, leaving a smear of batter in its wake. 

That’s all he wanted from you—breakfast in bed. At least, that’s all he said aloud. But the lacy pair of panties that he’d laid on top of your dresser, strategically placed next to his weathered battle vest, told a different story. 

The denim felt unnatural against your bare breasts, and it certainly wasn’t every day that you cooked pantsless, but you tried to keep your focus on the pancakes. Setting off the smoke alarm was not part of the sexy wake-up call you had in mind. 

You were flipping the final pancake when you heard mattress springs creaking, followed by a dramatically loud yawn. 

“Hey, baby.” Eddie padded out of the bedroom, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He scratched the wisps of hair on his chest. “Somethin’ smells delicious—oh, holy shit.”

Smiling softly, you draped your arms over his bare shoulders. “Good morning, birthday boy.” You gently kissed his lips, savoring the taste of him. “How’d you sleep?”

“Pretty sure I’m still dreaming.” He pulled back, taking in the sight of you. “Jesus Christ. You look even hotter than I imagined.”

You bit your lower lip, dragging your fingernail over the scars that zigzagged across his torso. Permanent reminders of his courage, of the way he’d bravely taken the brunt of the injuries just to protect you. 

“I made your favorite breakfast.” You kept your gaze on the loosened drawstrings dangling from his waistband. “There’s butter and syrup in the fridge if you want it.”

Eddie shook his head, his lips curving into a smirk. “Pancakes later.”

“Later?”

“Later.” He pressed kisses along your neck, dipping down to your collarbone. The strands of hair that escaped his ponytail tickled your skin. “Got something else I need to take care of first.” 

Strong hands gripped your ass, kneading the flesh with wanting fingers. His hardening cock, unencumbered beneath his pajama pants, dug into your thigh. 

“Turn around.” The command was gruff from sleep and desire, with no room for argument. “Hands on the counter, baby.”

With a flick of his wrist, Eddie snapped off the stovetop burner. The sound of pancakes cooking on a pat of melted butter was replaced by the soft drop of his pants hitting the kitchen floor. 

Cool air tickled the curve of your ass as Eddie tugged your lace panties off to the side. “Bend over,” he growled, not waiting for you to comply before pushing down on your upper back. 

There was no hesitation nor patience in his movements until he slowly slid his middle finger inside your core. You sharply inhaled as he entered you, using your own arousal as lubricant. 

“Ed—Eddie,” you whimpered, breath hitching with each purposeful thrust of his finger. Every thought you’d had had already scattered. You were left to string together sentences with the words you could still recall. “S’post to—s’your birthday—”

He dropped a kiss where his vest laid atop your shoulder blade, setting off a flurry of butterflies in your stomach. “So it is,” he murmured, inserting a second finger. “Are you suggesting that this isn’t how I wanna spend it?”

Not according to the plan you’d concocted for a sexy birthday surprise. You were going to lick pancake batter off of his fingers and then apply the same treatment to his cock, sucking him off until he came all over your vest-framed breasts. Then you’d share breakfast, giving him enough time to replenish his stamina, before leading him back into the bedroom. 

“Sweetheart…” Eddie yanked your panties once more, audibly tearing the delicate lace. Neither of you cared. “Do you know how fucking hot it is to watch you come while you wear my clothes?”

You moaned in acknowledgment. Your hands were slick with perspiration, the heat from the stove no longer at fault. 

“You’re so wet. All for me, too. Christ.” 

An audible whine escaped your throat as he slowly withdrew. You turned to him in time to watch him pop his two fingers into his mouth, sucking off the damning evidence of your arousal. “Mm-mm,” he chastised lightly, “stay like you were.”

“But I–”

“Stay. Like. You. Were.” Eddie gave your ass a warning smack, not hard enough to leave a mark but still serving as a reminder of what could happen if you questioned him further. He pulled your panties down to your ankles; you could see where the lace had ripped as you stepped out of them.

With your forearms anchored to the countertop, Eddie knelt behind you. Sparks ignited every cell in your body as he parted your thighs and unhurriedly ran his tongue from your clit down to where his fingers had left you achingly needy.

His name fell from your lips over and over–Eddie, Eddie, Eddie–as he worked you with his mouth, drawing out your pleasure until both of you were shaking with want. He staved off his own release with sheer will, but the breathy grunts that hummed against your core told you that he couldn’t take much more.

On any other day, you’d keep his face between your legs until you finished, even if he meant he finished in his boxers. But since today was his birthday, you opted to take pity on the man.

“Eddie, I–I need you i-inside. Please.” Your voice rose two pitches as you pleaded with him. You squeezed your eyes shut as you once again felt the absence of his touch, but that longing was quickly replaced by that familiar, delectable stretch.

He buried himself to the hilt, swearing under his breath. “Christ, baby. You’re so goddamn…fuck.” He held onto you like a lifeline, setting you aflame, fingers practically leaving divots in your hip bones. “Baby…tell me…”

“S-So good.” You completed the sentence for him, knowing full well that he wouldn’t be able to do it himself. Not while he was drunk on you. “Do whatever…you need.”

Eddie’s groan reverberated in your ear; you clenched around him involuntarily. Part of you wanted to face him again, to watch as he unraveled. “Faster. H-Harder. I can take it, Birthday Boy.” God, could you take it. You would take everything he gave you—and then some. 

He slammed into you, his movements reckless and sloppy. Your body was under his control, binding you to him like a spell. 

“There you go. There you fuckin’ go.” Eddie hissed through gritted teeth. “Look so good in my vest…so fuckin’ good—” 

The pressure of his thrusts and the steadily climbing heat had you slipping from your position against the counter, the side of your hand colliding with a warm ceramic curve. From the corner of your eye, you saw the plate of pancakes topple off the ledge. It hit the kitchen floor with a crack, sending pieces skittering across the tile and leaving your breakfast in a steaming heap.  

Eddie either didn’t notice or didn’t care. He continued pounding into you, unable to hide his desperation. One middle finger snaked between your thighs again, circling your clit. “Baby—sweet girl—I’m close. You gotta—”

You let yourself go, rising until you reached that euphoric crescendo. Eddie came only a few seconds later, chanting a nearly unintelligible mix of your name and generous praise. 

“Ho-Holy shit.” He kept his chest pressed to your vest-clad back, no doubt leaving sweat stains on the patches he’d painstakingly sewed on. “That was…holy shit.”

A breathless laugh wracked your tired body. “Unfortunately, it looks like breakfast didn’t survive.”

“Huh? Oh.” Eddie’s arms tightened around your middle, his lips dancing along whatever exposed skin he could reach. “I can just order takeout from the diner. Or make a bowl of cereal. Don’t know. Don’t care.”

“You’re not hungry after all that?” You teased. “I thought you would’ve worked up an appetite.”

Whatever cheeky response he’d planned was overtaken by his growling stomach. “Gimme five minutes to scarf down some Honeycomb, and I’ll be ready for round two.”

--

[defututus]

Reader is sitting at the hellfire club table in the cafeteria when Eddie approaches with the intentions to make reader flustered but it backfires.

Please and thank you 😊

Error 404: Smoothness Not Found

One-Shot Request: “Error 404: Smoothness Not Found”

Eddie Munson x Female Reader

💌 Author’s Note: Huge thanks to @meankenna for sending in this funny and adorable prompt, I had fun imagining Eddie getting absolutely wrecked by a smooth, unbothered Reader. You’re keeping the Hellfire chaos alive and I love ya for it. 💖 Hope this flirty lil romp makes you smile! 💋

~Pinkie 🍒

Masterlist

Find me on AO3.

Read this story on AO3.

🎸 Summary: Eddie Munson doesn’t get nervous. He’s a Dungeon Master, a guitar god, a champion of cafeteria theatrics.

But when he sets out to fluster a cool, calm outsider at the Hellfire table with one of his classic lines, he gets hit with something he didn’t expect: his own game, turned on him.

A one-shot full of sharp banter, unexpected sparks, and the kind of lunchroom showdown that might just lead to love.

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

“Error 404: Smoothness Not Found”

The cafeteria was its usual midday jungle, linoleum floors sticky with mystery stains, the air thick with teenage body spray and tater tots, and the low roar of adolescent chaos echoing off the walls. But over in the far-left corner, where the Hellfire Club had permanently claimed their domain, the chaos took on a distinctly nerdy flavor.

Dustin was in full meltdown mode.

“I’m telling you, Jeff, if my d20 mysteriously lands on a one again, I’m invoking dice tampering and demanding a re-roll.”

“On what grounds?” Jeff snorted, clutching his carton of chocolate milk like it was a rare artifact. “Your own bad luck isn’t a war crime, Henderson.”

Mike chimed in with a muttered, “You’re just mad your rogue keeps falling in love with NPCs,” while Gareth and Grant broke into a cackling duet, drumming out the Jaws theme on their trays.

Amid the storm of mockery and snacks, you sat calmly at the edge of the table, a quiet satellite in the Hellfire galaxy. You weren’t a member, but you’d been absorbed into the gravitational pull somehow, maybe through mutual classes, or shared disdain for cafeteria food. Either way, no one questioned your presence anymore. You didn’t play D&D, but you definitely watched it like a sociologist. Or a cat observing a very lively fish tank.

You balanced a crossword puzzle on one knee, methodically chewing through baby carrots and ignoring the shrieking over critical failures. Your pencil tapped a rhythm against the paper as you searched for a six-letter word meaning charming but doomed. You smirked to yourself. The answer was probably Munson.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

The cafeteria doors banged open like the prelude to a boss battle, and there he was, Eddie Munson, leather-jacketed menace, King of the Freaks, and current front-runner in your personal list of “People Who Flirt Like It’s a Performance Art.”

You didn’t even have to look up to know he’d clocked you. You could feel it, that strange static charge that always rolled in with him like thunder before a storm. Somewhere between his combat boots and his wild mop of curls, the man managed to manufacture drama like it was a bodily function.

And judging by the slow curl of his smirk, he was already planning an ambush.

Eddie didn’t walk. He made an entrance.

Combat boots hit tile like a drumline. His rings clicked with every exaggerated gesture, like punctuation marks to an invisible sentence. The cafeteria didn’t look up, most of them had learned to just let Eddie Munson exist in his own dimension, but the Hellfire table definitely noticed.

Grant leaned toward Gareth with a muttered, “He’s got that look again.”

“Uh-oh,” Gareth whispered, catching the target of Eddie’s laser-focused attention. “Incoming flirt assault.”

You didn’t flinch. Pencil still in hand, you marked another square on your crossword as Eddie approached like a lion on a catwalk.

He came to a dramatic halt just beside you, resting one hand on the back of your chair and the other over his heart like he was preparing to recite Shakespeare.

His voice dropped into that low, faux-sultry register he used when he was laying it on way too thick.

“So, how’s the prettiest person in the world doing today?”

You didn’t even blink.

From across the table, Dustin made a noise like someone stepping on a wet clarinet. “Oh god,” he groaned, slapping his forehead. “Here he goes again.”

Mike muttered, “Please crash and burn,” under his breath like a spell, while Jeff and Grant leaned forward in quiet anticipation.

The table was holding its collective breath. But you? You were still calm. Unbothered. Pencil still tapping gently against your knee.

Cool as a cucumber in the middle of a microwave, you finally glanced up, lazily. Sipped your drink. Eyebrows lifted just a touch. Expression unreadable, and said flatly-

“I don’t know. How are you?”

It hit him like a crit to the chest.

Record scratch. System failure. Reboot error.

Eddie.exe had stopped responding.

He blinked. Once. Twice. Mouth parted like a Windows update was about to install. His brain buffer wheel was visibly spinning behind those wide brown eyes. For one glorious moment, the man was entirely speechless.

And the table?

Dead silent.

Even Dustin was in awe.

Eddie’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

The confidence? Gone. Swagger? Missing in action. Leather jacket? Still fabulous, but definitely not helping him now.

He cleared his throat once, then again, like he could cough the embarrassment out of his lungs.

“I’m…”

He tried again. Voice pitched slightly higher, cracked on the last syllable like an untrained choirboy.

“I’m fine.”

And just like that, the illusion shattered.

Grant choked on his apple slice.

Gareth slapped both hands on the table like he was witnessing a miracle. “Oh my god. He short-circuited.”

Dustin leaned across the table with gleeful menace. “Are you blushing, dude? Did we just watch Eddie ‘Nothing Phases Me’ Munson malfunction over a one-liner?”

“Mark the date,” Mike added, eyes wide, like he was witnessing history. “We just witnessed the fall of a legend.”

Eddie raised both middle fingers without breaking eye contact with you, the picture of performative defiance… except for the faint pink flush creeping up his cheeks, giving him away entirely.

You just sipped your drink again, one eyebrow arching ever so slightly.

You were enjoying this. Too much.

And Eddie knew it.

He was in trouble.

You watched him flounder, savoring every second of it like the first sip of something fizzy and dangerous. Eddie Munson, master of theatrics, king of the underdogs, flirt extraordinaire, was currently melting like a record left too close to a heater.

And he knew it.

Finally, after dragging the silence out just long enough to make him squirm, you tilted your head and really looked at him, slow, deliberate, eyes scanning from his tangled curls to the panicked gleam in his eyes.

Then, you smiled.

Not wide. Not dramatic.

Just the faintest upward tug at the corner of your lips, small, sharp, smug.

“Gotcha,” that smirk said without needing a word.

Eddie visibly twitched. He’d been bested. Checkmated. Absolutely wrecked.

And the worst part?

He liked it.

Your pencil returned to your crossword, but before you started filling in the next clue, you shifted slightly, nudging your tray to the side with just enough space to make the invitation obvious.

“You gonna sit or just hover there short-circuiting?”

He blinked. You watched the moment his brain reconnected with his body.

“Y-Yeah,” he muttered, trying to inject some cool back into his voice and absolutely failing. “I can… yeah.”

He slid into the seat beside you like it was his idea, like he wasn’t internally screaming, like this wasn’t the first time someone had flipped his game upside down and laughed about it.

Grant gave him a slow clap. Dustin made the international L hand sign for “Loser.” Mike stage-whispered, “He’s already down bad.”

But Eddie barely heard them.

Because now he was sitting next to you, and you were still smirking.

And he had no idea what you were going to do next.

But suddenly…

He really, really wanted to find out.

The moment Eddie sat down, you went right back to your crossword like he hadn’t just face-planted into a flirt trap of his own making. But there was a smug, satisfied ease to your posture now, and it was driving him insane in the best way.

Eddie leaned in a little, elbows on the table, trying to recover some semblance of control. “So…” he started, flashing his signature grin, though it wobbled at the edges now, like his pride had a dent in it. “You always this dangerous during lunch?”

Without looking up, you replied dryly:

“Only when provoked.”

That grin faltered again. He pushed on anyway.

“Gotta say, sweetheart, you’ve got some serious nerve turning the tables on me.”

You circled a clue. “Was that your A-game just now? Because if it was…” You finally met his eyes, head tilting.

“Should I be flattered or concerned?”

Grant wheezed. Dustin slammed his tray in approval. “SOMEONE GIVE HER A TROPHY.”

Eddie put a hand to his chest like he’d been struck. “Ouch. I come over here offering my heart, and maybe a little of my lunch money, and I get roasted like a damn marshmallow.”

“You came over here with a pickup line you’ve probably used on half the marching band.”

He gasped. “Now that’s just… okay, that’s fair.”

You turned to face him more fully, one leg crossing over the other. “Don’t take it too hard, Munson. You’re lucky you’re cute.”

For a moment, Eddie just stared. Like that one sentence had detonated whatever was left of his dignity.

“I… uh-”

He blinked rapidly. “See, now that’s just cruel. You can’t just casually say something like that. I’m emotionally fragile.”

You smirked again. “Yeah? You seem really delicate.”

“Emotionally, not physically!” he said, flailing slightly. “I’m tough. I headbang. I do mosh pits.”

“You cried during The Last Unicorn, Eddie.”

“Dustin promised he wouldn’t tell anyone that!”

“Oh, he didn’t,” you said, quirking a brow. “You did. Last week when you got drunk. Very dramatically.”

Dustin nodded solemnly. “You reenacted the scene with full narration.”

Eddie sagged into the table. “This is bullying.”

You nudged his elbow with yours. “No. This is flirting. Try to keep up.”

His head shot up, eyes wide.

Oh yeah, he was so down bad.

The banter didn’t stop, it just evolved. Sharper, brighter, like the two of you were passing jokes back and forth faster than the Hellfire boys could keep up. Eddie was grinning so hard it looked like it hurt. You were still smirking, but now there was a glint in your eyes, something softer, warmer.

It wasn’t a competition anymore.

It was a rhythm.

You reached for your juice box just as Eddie leaned over to grab a napkin, your fingers brushed.

Not full-on hand-holding. Just the tips. Just enough for his breath to catch.

And his heart? Yeah. That thing skipped like a scratched tape.

You didn’t flinch. But your eyes flicked up, met his. The faintest pulse, electric, unspoken.

He recovered fast, tossing you a wink. “Sorry, didn’t mean to cop a feel.”

“Eddie,” you said flatly, “your finger grazed mine. Settle down before you need a cigarette.”

“Oof. Brutal,” he grinned, tilting his head. “I’m just trying to build some romantic tension here. Let me live.”

“I’m still recovering from the Last Unicorn thing,” you teased, just as Eddie picked up Gareth’s half-finished can of grape soda for no reason at all.

He opened his mouth to respond, but he was laughing too hard.

It came out of him in a loud, sudden honk bark, surprised and delighted by you. He threw his head back and bumped the can with the edge of his palm, sending purple fizz skittering across the table and directly into Jeff’s lap.

There was a beat of stunned silence.

Jeff: “Dude.”

Eddie froze mid-cackle, still grinning like an idiot. “Oh my god. I swear that wasn’t planned.”

“I just washed these jeans!” Jeff wailed, jumping up.

But you were laughing now too.

Really laughing.

Head back, lips parted, one hand over your stomach. It hit you in a wave, sudden and genuine, the way good moments always do when you least expect them. It wasn’t mocking. It wasn’t cruel. It was just… joy.

And Eddie looked at you like someone had just turned the sun on.

For all the chaos, for all the fizzy embarrassment, he couldn’t stop staring.

“There it is,” he mumbled, almost to himself.

You glanced over, catching the look. “There what is?”

He blinked. Smile crooked. “Nothing. Just… I win.”

You rolled your eyes. “Sure you do, soda assassin.”

But your knee bumped against his under the table and neither of you moved away.

The table was still buzzing with secondhand embarrassment and grape soda residue, but Eddie had stopped noticing everything around him.

He was fully zeroed in on you now, watching the way your eyes crinkled when you laughed, the way you kept nudging him like the two of you had done this a thousand times before. Like it was natural.

You teased him again about the soda, something about “friendly fire” and “reckless endangerment of cafeteria fashion,” and he just grinned, all teeth and dimples and overwhelmed brain cells.

And then-

“Oh my god,” Dustin groaned loudly. “You’re literally drooling. Just ask her out already.”

Eddie choked.

Mike, who hadn’t looked up from his peanut butter sandwich in minutes, casually added, “Seriously. You’re embarrassing yourself and the dice gods.”

Eddie whipped his head around, eyes wide, face flaming. “I am not drooling!”

Dustin raised his brows. “Your mouth’s open. You keep staring. You just spilled a drink because she laughed. That’s a rom-com trifecta, man.”

Eddie looked like he was about to start foaming at the mouth out of sheer panic.

You, meanwhile, turned toward him slowly, resting your chin in your hand, eyes twinkling with dangerous amusement.

“Is that true?” you asked, voice light. “You planning to ask me out?”

The whole table went still.

Gareth’s spoon halfway to his mouth. Jeff frozen mid-blotting his jeans. Even Grant paused mid-sip of whatever mystery fluid he’d found in the vending machine.

Eddie swallowed hard.

You tilted your head. Not pushing. Not teasing this time.

Just… curious.

And flirtatious as hell.

Eddie’s mouth opened. Then closed. Like he was loading a save file from deep within his soul.

He cleared his throat, sat up a little straighter, and, miraculously, dialed it down. Just a notch. Enough that the swagger melted into something real beneath the surface noise. Less Dungeon Master, more Eddie.

“So hey,” he said, rubbing his palms against his jeans like he wasn’t sweating bullets, “if you’re not busy Friday night…”

You raised a brow, waiting. Dangerous glint back in your eyes.

“Wanna grab a burger and shake with me or something? Nothing fancy. Just... you and me. Maybe I don’t trip over anything or knock drinks over this time.”

The table leaned in as one collective being, holding its breath.

You let the silence stretch, just long enough to make him squirm. Not cruelly. Just a moment of power. Of play.

And then, with the faintest smile tugging at your lips:

“Only if you promise not to start with another cheesy line.”

Eddie exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for days. Grin spreading again, lopsided and a little dazed.

“No promises,” he said, “but I’ll try my best.”

From across the table, Gareth let out an exaggerated sigh of relief. “God, finally. I was about to start drawing hearts around your names on my character sheet.”

Dustin fist-pumped. “Hellfire matchmaking is real.”

You turned to Eddie one last time, eyes warm now, no teasing, just interested.

“Pick me up at seven, Munson.”

And just like that, you turned back to your crossword. Calm. Casual. Still in control.

Eddie sat there stunned for a second, watching you like you’d just cast a spell he didn’t know how to break.

“Holy shit,” he whispered to no one in particular.

“Did that just work?”

The moment you agreed to the date, all hell broke loose.

“WOOOOOO!” Dustin shot up from his seat like a firework. “That’s what I’m talking about!”

Gareth banged a plastic fork against his tray like it was a gong. “Get it, Munson!”

Mike, ever the realist, just shook his head with a smirk. “She’s way out of your league, man.”

Jeff added dryly, “I think she just asked you out, technically.”

Eddie threw his hands in the air. “Okay, okay, calm down, you gremlins! You’re embarrassing me in front of my date.”

Dustin grinned. “You embarrassed yourself, dude. We’re just the backup dancers.”

You stood up slowly, collecting your tray with easy grace, as if you hadn’t just turned Eddie Munson into a walking heart-eye emoji in front of half the cafeteria.

As you passed behind him, you casually reached out, fingers threading through a few curls at the back of his neck, tugging lightly, just enough to make him sit up straighter.

Your hand drifted forward, fingertips brushing the edge of his jaw with the softest tease of a caress.

“See you at seven, Eddie.”

And just like that, you walked away, cool, unbothered, radiant.

Eddie was left blinking at the air you left behind, looking like he’d just astral projected. He turned slowly back to the table, eyes wide and slightly unfocused.

“Holy shit,” he whispered.

“Did that really just happen?” He looked around. “You guys saw that, right?”

Dustin patted his shoulder solemnly. “We saw, buddy. We all saw.”

Gareth nodded. “You okay? You look like you got hit with a charm spell.”

Eddie just stared into the distance, a soft, stunned smile curling on his lips.

“I think I’m in love.”

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, @totallysocially

Masterlist

[defututus]

Eddie Munson’s rough side is intoxicating—raw, deep, and utterly consuming. When he pulls out the handcuffs, your pulse races, but his warm, steady gaze never wavers. He’s in control, but always so attentive, his voice low and husky as he whispers soft check-ins between every heated touch. His hands grip you firmly, the slight bruises blooming beneath his touch only fueling the fire between you.

When he wraps his fingers gently around your throat, it’s both thrilling and tender—he reads every shiver, every breath, making sure you’re safe even as he pushes boundaries. His kisses are fierce but caring, pressing into your skin like a promise that you’re his, completely and utterly.

The way he moves inside you is slow and deliberate, deep and demanding, but never losing the sweetness that defines him. Between the gasps and moans, he trails kisses along your jaw, down your neck, leaving marks of possession that make your head spin. Every moment is a wild, beautiful balance of rough passion and gentle devotion, a dance only Eddie could lead so perfectly.

---

Masterlist

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

[defututus]

eddie with a pair of ripped up daisy dukes because he botched cutting the pantlegs off a pair of old jeans — just kept hacking away at uneven lines until they barely covered his upper thighs. he wears them anyway. eddie taking those scissors to a few tshirts, some trimmed enough to show his navel and others cut away at his biceps and ribs. happy trail and armpits out all summer long.

eddie spending hot afternoons sat in lawn chair outside the trailer, cooler of beer and ice planted in the grass beside him because the two minutes it would take to go all the way into the hot tin can he calls home to get a fresh can would take far too long. has to move the ashtray resting on the lid every time he opens the cooler. but he's got his hair tied back and a new swamp thing comic in his lap. he's got shit else to do and that's just how he likes it.

[defututus]

🐛 Choose the latter, choose the latter 🐛

Summary: Your dad has a fondness for vintage cars. You have a fondness for his mechanic. A collection of times you run into Hawkins' resident freak-turned-car-mechanic and can't seem to stay away from him.

Wordcount: 4.1k (fluff/smut)

Contains: fem!reader x mechanic!Eddie, teasingggg, oral (m receiving), dirty talk, eddie being down bad, incorrect car facts probably, woops 

A/N: This came to me in a vision, def let me know if anyone wants a part two because I loved making this and I have more ideas for this pairing, title is from Finn's song which is a BANGER, also, am I developing a mechanic kink? Is that a thing? Does anyone else share this? It's starting to become a problem lol

⋆⭒˚.⋆🐛 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

"You sure you need me today, Wayne? It's like, 700 degrees out." Eddie simply did not care enough to conceal the whining tone in his voice, already feeling the way his clothes stuck to his skin. 

"Stop complaining and be grateful you got a job at all, kid." Wayne tossed over his shoulder, used to Eddie's constant chatter by now.

"No, of course, yeah, yeah, but you see this? The soles of my shoes are melting into the pavement," Eddie clumsily put his foot in the air - soles completely intact - to show Wayne, who did not turn around. 

Slightly begrudged, Eddie continued his sulking pace. Not that he really minded his job, after all.

"Remember," Wayne said as he pushed the big doors to the garage open, "I need you to be on your best behaviour today. No antics, you get me?"

"Oh I got you," Eddie quips absentmindedly, too taken aback by the legion of vintage cars that awaited them. "These are all property of your supposed childhood friend? What is he? A mob boss or something?"

Wayne rolled his eyes, "Just a businessman, Eddie, and I mean it, no standing around either, he's been a customer for almost twenty years now, and I'd like to keep it that way. I even held his daughter when she was a baby, this is not someone you want to disappoint."

But Eddie was lost in the shiny contours of the expensive cars, trying to calculate just how much cash was gathered in this room alone. 

"Oh and make sure to keep an eye out for the neighbourhood kids, they like to sneak looks inside, so don't let them in, understand?" Wayne got no answer, "Eddie?"

"Yeah, yeah, let no one in, I'm not a toddler you leave home alone for the first time I'll be fine." He waved Wayne away, perusing through the rows of cars.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⋆⭒˚.⋆

Half way through the day, the first kids popped up at the large doors. At first Eddie just heard giggles, then whispers, then he saw three little heads poke through the doorway, eyes twinkling in the bright sunlight.

"No, nu-uh, out, you three!" He felt like an old man yelling for children to get off his lawn. But it worked, the kids scurried away again, giggling and screeching in the process.

Eddie wiped the sweat off his brow, again, as he had done every ten minutes since he had gotten here. He was eternally grateful for the faint breeze every once in a while, but the white tank top he was donning was - besides smeared with oil - now also almost drenched. Great. Just as he was about to bend back over the 1957 Porsche, he heard more footsteps approaching. Wayne had left to go get them some lunch in the supermarket down the street, leaving Eddie to deal with the greedy little onlookers all on his own, but he was getting tired of scaring them away.

"Just go already! How many more times do I-" his tirade halted when he turned around to find you. Huh, he thought, okay, not the normal crowd, but he wasn't one to judge. "Um, sorry, you can't be in here."

You cocked your head at him, cherry lollypop between your lips, your summer dress faintly blowing in the wind. "I can't?"

Eddie was somewhat taken aback. "This is private property" was his lame response, which even sounded unconvincing to his own ears.

"Is that so?" you replied idly, stalking forward and running your fingers over the hood of one of the cars. 

Eddie surged forward, "Hey! You can't just-" he grabbed your wrist, not hard, just to keep you away from the precious cars left in his care. All you did was smile up at him, completely unbothered.

Eddie was stunned, like all the files in his mind had been corrupted, and in pure desperation threw it back onto the old guy lecturing kids, "Listen here, missy," (missy, really, Eddie?) "You can't just barge in here, okay? I'm gonna need to ask you to leave, respectfully."

The cheshire cat grin on your face only grew at his words, "Ooh, respectfully? Well, if you ask so nicely…" Your tone was teasing, all drawn-out and suspiciously sweet. "I guess I'll see you around, then…"

"Eddie," he supplied, partly against his better judgement.

"See ya, Eddie." And then you were gone.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⋆⭒˚.⋆

"Wayne, I already know what you're going to say, but can I test-drive one of these babies?" Eddie harboured no hopes that the answer would be yes - ever - but daydreaming never hurt anyone.

All he got back from his uncle was a deadpan stare and a raised brow.

"Right, right." 

I was the next day, still doing check-ups on the cars, whose drivers' seats seemed to glint alluringly at him every time he popped their hoods. 

"Did I tell you about that girl who came by yesterday? That was weird,"

"Eddie. You've told me several times now, I think I get it." Wayne was changing the oil on one of the Ferrari's, wondering for the umpteenth time why, again, he had hired his own nephew?  

"Oh, right. Right." Eddie couldn't seem to get you out of his head, the way you had been so unfazed, your eyes trained on him the whole time, there was an undeniable pull towards the idea of you. See you around, you had said. Faintly, somewhere, Eddie hoped it was true. 

And it was.

Around noon, once again, you appeared in the door opening, this time with a different coloured lollypop and a dog circling your feet. Eddie took in the sight of you, radiant in the contrasting light of the doorway, but it wasn't him you were looking at.

"Mister Munson!" you exclaimed, a bright, honest smile taking over your features.

"Sweetheart, hey, how you been?" Wayne wiped his hands on a rag and came over to you, smiling almost affectionately.

"Not too bad, just making sure I don't melt, you know, in this weather. How about you? I see you brought help this year?"

"I'm good, honey, thanks, yeah, this is my nephew, Eddie." he gestured vaguely in Eddie's direction.

"Nice to meet you, Eddie," your smile was coy and well-practiced, with a glint of mischief behind your eyes that Wayne didn't seem to notice at all when he tumbled into a slew of questions, keeping you entertained. 

 "Tell me, how's your father, how are you finding college? Are you home all summer?" 

Eddie was gobsmacked. Could it be that he had commanded you to leave your own garage? Your own house? Oh how he wished the floor would grow teeth and swallow him right about now. Instead, he busied himself with polishing the same mirror roughly eleven times over, not so subtly eavesdropping on your conversation. 

"So, I'll be heading off now, gotta take this one out for a walk," you scratched the dog behind her ear, "See you later, Mr. Munson," you looked over your shoulder, smiling sweetly "and bye, Eddie." All Eddie could muster was an impressively fake smile until you rounded the corner.

"Wayne!!" Eddie exclaimed, throwing his dirty rag at his uncle, "what the fuck??"

"Hey!" Wayne scrambled to swat the rag away, "what now-"

"That's the girl! The girl that came by! The girl that I sent away!"

Wayne could hardly suppress his smile, "You sent the daughter of the owner away? Nice, Ed, real classy."

Eddie raised his hands in desperation, "You said his daughter was a baby!"

"Boy, I said I held her as a baby! Years ago! That's what you get for never listening to me," Wayne snickered.

Eddie groaned, burying his face in his hands. "I called her missy."

At that, Wayne couldn't help but properly burst out laughing, "Missy?! Well, you have only yourself for that one, don't ya?" This earned him another rag to his face.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⋆⭒˚.⋆

That afternoon, heat almost unbearable in the garage, Wayne had a plan.

"Eddie, fetch some water, will ya?"

"Water, from where? The store?"

"Nope," Wayne answered, barely looking up from the screw he was fastening, "the kitchen."

Eddie stood up straight, "The kitchen? You're kidding me."

"Nope."

"Why do you want to punish me, Wayne?"

"Boy, it's just some water, go fetch."

"I'm not a dog," Eddie mumbled as he wiped his hands and attempted to fix his untamed curls in the reflection of one of the windows. He stalked out of the garage and rounded the corner into your backyard. They had been given permission to help themselves to anything they needed, but normally Eddie made Wayde grab him stuff. Not that he was scared of you, or anything.

He climbed up the steps to your backdoor, looking down at his oil-smeared outfit that clashed starkly with the light blue kitchen tiles coming into view. If he was lucky, he would be in and out before anyone noticed him. He just had to find the cabinet you kept your cups in and get some water and he'd be a free man. Only, which cabinet?

This kitchen was about seven times as big as his own, with about seven times as many cabinets, which made the guess, somewhat… impossible. So he started opening doors, and shutting them as silently as possible after the so manieth cupboard of only decorative plates. (How many decorative plates could one family need?)

He was almost getting desperate, nearing the end of the row of doors, thinking maybe fancy people didn't use cups? Until he finally found them, shiny and sparkling. He grabbed the first one he saw, finally turning around towards the tap and-

"Jesus- oh my god, what the-" You were smiling at him from the other side of the room, languidly draped against the doorframe.

You cleared your throat, putting on fake wide eyes, "Um, sorry, you can't be in here."

"I, um, I just needed to get some wat-" he barely managed.

"This is private property" you mocked, a smile seeping through your tone. The twinkle in your eyes was what finally betrayed your agenda to him.

"Ahh, ha ha, real clever, I get it." he turned the glass over in his hands, trying to will his nerves away.

"Took you long enough," you chirped, pushing yourself off the doorpost and strolling towards him. "Thirsty?"

"Yeah, um, no, it's, it's for Wayne," could he sound any more like a middle schooler that got caught red-handed?

"Aah, then you'd want this," you said, pulling open the doors of your giant refrigerator and producing a bottle of sparkling water, "he likes this one the best." 

Eddie had never seen the drink before, probably too fancy to keep around in the trailer, "Thanks," he mumbled, taking the blue bottle from you.

"No worries," you started backing away into the doorframe you had come from again, while Eddie grew faintly more aware of a feeling blooming in his chest that somehow wanted you to stay. "Just, yell if you need anything else, alright?" 

And then you were gone. Again. The smile on your lips lingered in Eddie's mind for longer than he'd care to admit.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⋆⭒˚.⋆

The next day, Eddie was determined to strike up a real conversation with you. Preferably one where he didn't scold you like a mean teacher or came off extremely clueless, if possible. But the day rolled by, and no sign of you. He even volunteered to get more water in the kitchen, hoping to run into you, but to no avail.

He had all but lost hope, until he spotted you in the garden. You were sitting at the far end, reading a book at a picnic table underneath a wooden arch covered in flowers. You were a vision, in your short shorts and the soft sunlight on your face, you could have stepped into any of those mushy romance movies Eddie pretended not to like. 

"Hey, Wayne, you go ahead and leave without me, alright?" Eddie said, hoping to sound casual.

Wayne glanced up from packing his things, inquisitively at first, but then he spotted you. "Sure, kid. Just one word of advice-"

Eddie groaned in anticipation of the words to come.

"Don't call her missy, alright?" a grin taking over his face.

"Yeah, yeah, thanks, I'll try for sure." Eddie rushed away from his uncle, checking his appearance one more time in one the windows of a particularly shiny Mustang. He looked like he just worked an entire day in unbearable heat, which he did, so at least that checked out, but it would have to do. He slowed his walk, tried his best for casual, and strolled up to you in your large, well-kept garden.

"Hey there," he said, alerting you of his presence, and slid onto the bench opposite you.

You looked up from your book, not startled at all, Eddie noted, and smiled at him, "Hi." 

Eddie smiled back, already scrambling for words, swallowing hard at the sight of you, framed inside a border of roses.

But conversation seemed to come easily to you. "So, which of the cars have you been dreaming of stealing the most?"

Eddie let out a surprised laugh at that.

"I bet it was the red Porsche, or the Black Corvette?" You raised your eyebrow, "or are you more of a convertible type, Eddie?" 

"Aah, you got me," he threw his hands up in surrender.

"Hmh, then I bet you'd like, the dark green one," you snapped your fingers, "the uh, um, what's it called?" 

"The 1955 Ford Thunderbird, with the 312 cubic inch Y-block V8 motor," Eddie blurted out, too enamoured with the car to curb his enthusiasm. 

"That's right," your smile widened, "See, I got you all figured out."

Oh, Eddie was in looooveee. And very much unable to play anything cool, ever, though he was willing to die trying. "And you? Any favourites you'd run away with?"

"Oh, I'm not really a car kinda girl, only really know what my dad tells me about them."

"Oh really? But I bet you have a favourite, right?" He was trying to throw all of his charm in the ring.

"Hmm," you pondered his question, "I guess I have a soft sport for the Porsche, the light blue one?" 

"The 911 T? Good choice, good choice, a lady with taste."

You laughed at that, "Yeah, you know how cars kind of have a face?"

"I, um, I can't say I do?" but he was intrigued by where this was going.

"Yeah you do, the headlights are the eyes, the bumper is the mouth, and that one just looks, kind? I don't know," your laugh was getting bashful now, almost shy, "Maybe I'm talking nonsense."

"No! No, I see it, sure, you're right, even, very friendly car. Real sweetheart." You swatted at his arm, only making his lopsided grin more fond. "No, I mean it, didn't even give me any trouble during its check-up."

"Isn't it exhausting, all these long days in this heat?" You asked.

"Eh," Eddie waved his fingers, "had better days, but it's alright, honest work, you know."

You nodded, "Seems like hard work… you must be tired." Your eyes were flicking over his body now, but your smile remained kind and compassionate.

"I mean, well, yeah, kinda…" Eddie was slowly getting flustered by your attention.

"Working with your hands all day, can't be easy…" you trailed off, fidgeting with the edge of your book, "You know, I admire that, the craft, I mean." You slowly stood up, abandoning your book and walking around the table.

Eddie swallowed hard, trying to stay cool and collected, as he couldn't tell where this was going for the life of him. 

You came to a halt behind Eddie, still musing aloud, "Not afraid to get your hands dirty, and, you have to be quite strong… right?" 

You trailed your fingertips over his exposed upper arm, just like how you had done to the car a few days ago, but this time, Eddie didn't stop you. Instead, he inhaled sharply, tracking your movements with his eyes. 

"Right, Eddie? I bet you're really strong, carrying all those things, lifting the tires…" You bent down, your face nearing his ear, to whisper, "I bet you work really hard, Eddie, and I think- " your lips grazed the shell of his ear and Eddie thought he might faint on the spot, "I think you deserve a reward for that."

Eddie felt a shiver run down his spine at your words, his eyelids fluttering to stay open. Your hands were on his shoulders now, while your lips dragged over the hot skin of his neck. Sparks ignited all over his body upon the soft contact, rendering him speechless.

"Right, Eddie? Don't you think you deserve to be spoiled a little? For all your hard work?" You planted small kisses all over his neck, and when his head tipped back - involuntarily - you moved on to the column of his throat. Not satisfied with his lack of response, you purred his name again, "Eddie?", which poured oil on the flames igniting in his belly.

"Y- yeah, I do." His voice was hoarse, even to his own ears.

You smiled against his skin, satisfied with his reply, "That's right, so do you want me to take care of you, Eddie? Spoil you? Hmm?" Your voice was velvet to the touch, the words curling around him in an intoxicating spiral.

"Yeah, yeah, I- I do," his mumbling was interrupted by a low groan that left his throat as you planted hot, open mouthed kisses on his jaw. He was pretty sure he was in heaven.

"Turn around then," was all you said, and Eddie couldn't obey you any faster, swinging his legs over the bench to face you, no doubt red-cheeked and with dazed eyes. And you, you were a vision. So innocent looking, just standing there with your sweet smile and your gorgeous legs, looking at him, of all people. 

Then, you slowly, ever so slowly, got on your knees in front of him. And oh god. Eddie thought he might lose it, might wake up from this daydream, might get told this was all a cruel joke, but the way you held his eyes as you sank down, this was his ultimate wet dream come true right before his eyes. He swallowed, by lack of anything else to do, as 'casual' had gone out the window a long time ago. 

You looked so pretty sitting in between his spread legs, Eddie almost felt the need to stop you right there and ask to take a picture. But he didn't, because you were reaching your hands up to his belt now, carefully unbuckling it. The metal sounds of the clasps sounded out of place between the twittering birds in your garden, but Eddie couldn't care less, so entirely enveloped by your gentle stare and careful hands.

"May I, Eddie?" you asked, voice still as sweet as ever.

All he could do was nod, vigorously, and lift his hips to help you slide his jeans down his legs. He was hard. Of course he was, who could blame him? He had been living out his own personal wildest fantasies for the last ten minutes. 

His breath hitched once more when your lips got closer to his length, but instead you attacked his thighs, planting sweet, soft kisses on the pale skin there. You were driving him wild, insane, mad, deranged, you name it. All of it the work of your plush lips on his skin.

Suddenly, a clear thought made its way through the fog in his brain "W- what about your parents?" There was a clear wobble to his voice, but he was under strict instructions from Wayne not to screw this up. 

You laughed a little, maybe at his question, maybe at his disheleveld state, "Out of town, Eddie, don't worry." 

"Oh," he swallowed thickly, "right, yeah. Neighbours?" 

"What neighbours?" you giggled, as indeed, your house was located far away from the rest of the town.

"Right, right," he couldn't think straight with your lips so close to his aching dick that was straining his boxers by now. 

You smoothed your hands up and down his legs, "Relax, Eddie, lay back, let me take care of you, yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah…" he tried to chill, but the mix of nerves, butterflies and arousal in his stomach was a hard one to swallow. All of his efforts, though, went completely out the window as soon as you grabbed his dick through the fabric. A sinful, drawn out moan immediately escaped his lips upon the first experimental stroke you gave.

You giggled quietly, a matching heat catching on your cheeks as you leaned forwards and licked his leaking tip through his boxers. Another sound escaped him, and he was sure by now his mouth was hanging open, bewitched by the (un)holy sight before him.

"You like that, Eddie?" you purred, slowly working his dick over.

"Y- yeah, oh fuck, yeah."

"Good," you said as you finally hooked your fingers behind the waistband, pulling his boxers down. "Be as loud as you want, by the way, I think it's really hot."

The compliment, paired with the casual way you said it, made the burn on Eddie's cheeks even brighter, the blush now creeping down his chest as well. You looked absolutely angelic, and yet absolutely sinful, the way your beautiful face was framed between his thighs now, and your delicate hand wrapped around his dick. 

When you licked up his shaft for the first time, fire sparked right through his entire body, igniting something stronger, deeper, than he had ever felt before. Your tongue wrapped around his head next, while it glided between your soft, plush lips. Eddie was so gone, groaning in pleasure with every stroke. 

You worked up a steady rhythm, your mouth as warm and intoxicating as your touch. The way you looked up at him, all innocent and pretty, made Eddie's insides swoop, drawing a high-pitched whine from his which he didn't know he was capable of. 

His eyes wanted to roll back into his skull, but he fought to keep them open, not wanting to miss a single second. He carefully weaved his fingers through your hair, not so much steering you as just going along with your movements, craving more contact. "This okay?" he asked, voice raspy and deep.

You hummed around his dick, sending shivers of pleasure through Eddie's body. He was sure you'd be the death of him. 

Eddie was getting closer, though he tried to hold off from finishing for as long as possible, both to save his ego and to savour every last second of this moment. But your skilled movements and honestly just the mere sight of you kneeled between his legs alone made it extremely hard on him. 

His moans became breathier, and he knew that he was getting close. His heart was pounding in his chest, the muscles in his abdomen were flexing tight, and pleasure was clouding his brain to the point that the only thing that existed in the whole universe for him were you, and the way you looked, and felt around him.

"Fuck, fuck, sweetheart," he moaned the words rather than said them, "Oh, fuck, I'm so- so close." But you didn't stop. On the contrary, you kept going, even faster, sucking the head exactly the way he liked it. "Oh god, jesus, fuck," all kinds of profanities tumbled from hsi lips, feeling his high rapidly approaching. You looked up at him one final time, your big eyes locking onto his, and that's what did him in.

His orgasm crashed over him in burning, white- hot waves of pleasure, making him moan out your name over and over as he finished. His hands were still in your hair, feeling the way you carefully worked him through his high. When he opened his eyes again, he saw you wipe your mouth, a satisfied smile on your face.

Eddie was still beyond dishevelled, completely out of it, you name it. He watched you with wide eyes and pink cheeks as he caught his breath, still half in disbelief about what just happened. 

You licked your lips, still kneeling before him, "Was that good?" 

"Good? Good?" (Eddie's brain had stopped working like half an hour ago) "Sweetheart, 'good' would be the understatement of the century." He brushed your hair behind your ear, "That was, fuck, that was like, the best moment of my life." 

You laughed at that, finally standing up and dusting off your knees, "Ah, don't flatter me, Munson." Your smile was bright and warm, and Eddie found himself in deep, deep trouble. 

⋆⭒˚.⋆🐛 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

I am but a humble fanfic writer and i beg for your feedback guys :))))))) xxxxxxxx + If anyone has requests, tell meeeee, and lmk if I should make this a series :))))

[defututus]

I ADORE HIM SO MUCH

|| Owner of a Lonely Flaming Heart (Fan Club Card) ||

Pairing: Johnny Storm/Reader

Summary: Johnny finds out that you're a member of his fan club, and no, you're not going to hear the end of it anytime soon.

Word count: 2.3k

Tags and warnings: Fluff, Johnny's a nuisance (affectionate), established relationship, no use of Y/N.

(Once again, thank you so much to @getaapologist for the brilliant idea! And you should definitely check out @glassbxttless for her amazing version of this!)

Fic Masterlist || Taglist

There's not a lot that Johnny doesn't know about you.

For starters, it never seemed fair for you to keep secrets from him. Almost every detail of his life is plastered all over tabloid articles and gossip magazines. He's even got his own billboard downtown, which he's very proud of, by the way. Needless to say, you knew more about him before you'd even had the chance to introduce yourself, and so you thought it was only fair that he knew just as much about you - even if most of it wasn't remotely as interesting. (Johnny begs to differ, but then he always does have to be different.)

Not only that, but you couldn't keep a secret from him even if you tried. Once he sets his mind on something, he just can't leave it alone. He reminds you of a hunting dog sometimes - as soon as he catches the scent of something interesting, he's on it in seconds. You made the mistake of telling him as much once, and he made such a embarrassing show of barking and howling at you in response that you've never done it again. Ever the exhibitionist.

But there's one thing he doesn't know about you, and you'd rather like to keep it that way, thank you very much.

You're a member of the Flaming Hearts Fan Club.

Johnny's fan club.

Look, you know how it sounds. A diehard fan who managed to keep the obsession under control long enough to get the job as his assistant, and as luck would have it, actually catch the eye of the Human Torch himself? It's ridiculous, it's entirely unbelievable, and yet here you are.

But the thing is, you're not obsessed with him. Never have been. You just thought he was cute. A friend had pointed out the advertisement for his fan club in a magazine. Why not? you'd thought to yourself. It was just a bit of fun.

And when you were invited for the job interview, you'd known that if you were successful, you'd be working in the same building as literal superheroes, which, while obviously an incredible thing to brag about, wasn't exactly your main reason for applying.

The field you were trained in was pretty specific; you knew this even while you were in college, with a class that was barely in the double digits. But you had no idea how difficult it was going to be to get hired after you graduated, save for setting yourself up independently, which seemed a little (okay, a lot) out of your current financial budget.

So when you'd seen the job listing, you'd jumped at the chance, the thought of where you'd be working not really occurring to you at all.

Until you'd gotten the job, and walked in to find Johnny Storm himself waiting for you.

That was two years ago now. And well...things have definitely changed since then. The biggest one being that the two of you are now dating.

If you're honest with yourself, you're still not entirely sure how it happened, but you wouldn't change how things are for the world.

Well, except for one little thing.

One little, rectangular, laminated thing, that is now lying on the floor, right at Johnny's feet.

You'd been trying to pay Johnny back for getting you coffee (not that he would take it, but you're nothing if not persistent), and it had slipped right out of your purse. You'd forgotten it was even in there.

"Is that...?" he begins to ask, before trailing off.

He crouches down to pick it up, and all hope that he hadn't noticed it goes right out the window.

"Oh my God, it is," he says, with a breathless laugh.

"Johnny..." you start, wringing your hands together nervously.

"I can't believe this," he says, with a shake of his head. "You're a member of my fan club. You."

You let out a sigh. Hell truly is other people.

He flips the card over, and his face lights up like it's his birthday.

"Oh, you signed it," he says, his smile only growing wider. "That is so cute."

He looks up at you then. He's clearly having the time of his life. At least one of you is.

"When were you gonna tell me about this, huh?" he asks, turning the card over and over between his fingers.

"Um, probably never?" you manage to reply, your face burning.

Johnny tilts his head at that.

"You know, I thought the vetting process for this job was pretty strict, and now I find out you've been a Johnny nut this whole time?"

He's kidding, you know he is. It still doesn't stop you from wanting to slap the smug smile off his face.

"Cut it out," you reply, trying to snatch the card from his hand, but he's too quick for you.

He moves out of your reach, turning on his heel and walking away.

"Man, I can't believe this is the photo they went with," he says. "I look like Captain Kirk here. Though he's a handsome guy, so I guess I can't complain."

He turns around again, holding the card up to his face and striking the same pose.

"You see it too, right?" he asks, as he pushes his hair to one side in an attempt to style it the same way. "Captain Storm. I like the sound of that."

He's having so much fun, he's completely ignoring the fact that you've been glaring daggers at him the entire time.

"Are you done making fun of me?" you ask, holding your hand out.

Johnny frowns at you in confusion.

"Oh, that's what I was supposed to be doing," he says, as if in sudden realisation. "Thanks for the reminder, doll."

This is it. This is the day you murder him. It's finally arrived.

Johnny's expression softens slightly.

"Hey," he says gently, crossing the short distance between you. "You know I'm kidding, right?"

You let out a little sigh, before nodding.

"I know, it's just...Well, it's embarrassing," you admit quietly.

He reaches for your hand, giving it a little squeeze.

"Nah, it's hardly embarrassing. I've seen worse. God, I've done worse," he replies, without his usual bravado.

You can't help but roll your eyes at that. Oh, you're well aware of Johnny's antics.

"I just...I don't want you to get the wrong idea," you tell him. "I didn't apply for this job because I'm some delusional fan."

Johnny gently tugs you close to him, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

"Hey, come on," he murmurs. "I know that. You're nothing like my fans, and I love that about you. You don't treat me like I'm some sort of God. Which, if I'm honest, is fun up to a point. You treat me like me, and I appreciate it. Really."

You look up at him. You're one of the few people lucky enough to see him like this - without his usual cocky stance and snarky one-liners. Full of sincerity.

Human.

It reminds you why you fell for him in the first place.

"So, how did you end up becoming a member, anyway?" he asks.

So much for that, you think to yourself, albeit fondly.

"A friend of mine had seen the application form in a magazine, and we thought it'd be fun," you tell him. "I did always think you were kinda cute."

Johnny blinks at you in disbelief.

"Sorry, kinda?" he asks, tone exasperated.

"Okay, very cute," you reply, relenting. "Unbelievably cute. The cutest."

Johnny looks down with a little breath of a laugh. Rarely do you see him shy - you're not sure he even knows the meaning of the word.

"And, um, there was another reason I joined," you say softly.

At that, Johnny's focus is immediately on you again.

"Oh, yeah?" he asks, trying and failing to sound casual. "What's that?"

You lean in close to him, making sure you have his full attention.

"Reed's fan club wasn't taking any more applications," you whisper in his ear, and while he's spluttering to find a response, you manage to yank the card out of his hand.

You step out from under his arm, safely putting the card back in your bag and zipping it up. Johnny's face has turned very red, and you can't help but laugh. It's nice to have the upper hand for a change.

"C'mon, we really should get back to this," you say, nodding your head in the direction of the blueprint that's been all but abandoned.

Johnny just shakes his head in disbelief, and you bite back a smile, trying to refocus yourself on your work.

"This isn't over, by the way," he mutters, reaching for a pen to write something down. "Reed's fan club. Unbelievable."

Despite his little "threat", Johnny doesn't mention the card again. You find yourself a little on edge, waiting for him to bring it up, but eventually, you start to settle, pushing it to the back of your mind.

Not a great idea. You should really know better than to believe that Johnny has the capacity to let anything go.

You're in the middle of laying out the notes the two of you have been working on one afternoon, enjoying a rare moment of peace and quiet with Johnny still out on lunch, when the door opens behind you.

Speak of the devil.

"That eager to get started that you couldn't even wait for me, huh?" he asks, his tone light as his footsteps grow closer.

You shake your head, your attention still focused on the task in front of you.

"Just setting up," you reply.

You can sense him standing next to you, but he doesn't say anything more. Something's not right when Johnny's quiet, and you turn to look at him.

His hands are behind his back.

"I've got something for you," he says, with a coy little smile.

Knowing Johnny, this could either be very good, or very bad.

"What is it?" you ask, trying not to sound concerned.

Judging by how Johnny chuckles, you've clearly failed. He theatrically moves his hands so they're now in front of him.

He's holding a little card. You pull a face.

"Were you going through my bag?" you ask, tone exasperated.

Johnny shakes his head, his smile only widening as he holds the card out to you.

"Maybe you should take a closer look," is all he says.

You tentatively take the card from him, and immediately burst out laughing.

"Is this- Johnny, this is ridiculous," you try to chide, but there's no denying the smile still on your face.

It's a fan club card. For you.

You know it's supposed to be a joke, but he's clearly put a lot of thought and effort into it. He even chose a photo of you that doesn't make you want to kick him in the shins, which, for Johnny, is a surprise.

"Turn it over," he says.

On the back is his signature. He signed it. Even drew a little heart.

"And if you'll look at what it says underneath..." he says, trailing off as he points to the small, bold print under his name.

Fan Club President.

It's so silly, and yet you can't help but feel a little overwhelmed. Johnny's a hard one for you to understand sometimes; the polar opposite of you in so many ways. You don't know how many times you've thought that your relationship shouldn't work, and yet somehow, despite everything, it does.

He knows when you need dragged out of yourself for your own sake, and he knows when he needs to rein himself in. There's the Johnny who poses for the fans and paparazzi, and then there's your Johnny, who goes out of his way to get dinner for you from that cute little pizza place you love that doesn't deliver, and makes himself the president of the fan club that he made up just for you.

He might drive you crazy at the best of times, but no one has ever made you feel as special as Johnny does.

"Y'know, the one downside of being the first member of your fan club is that I have to get all the other stuff for myself," he says cryptically.

You stop for a second.

"Wait, what other stuff? What do you mean?" you ask.

Johnny won't meet your eye. Like a dog that's been caught doing something it shouldn't have.

"Well...It's just..."

He taps the card with his finger.

"I know my fan club membership comes with posters and stuff," he says, still too vague for your liking. "I mean, you would know."

"And...?" you press.

"Well, all I'm saying is...When am I gonna get a poster of you?" he asks, finally meeting your gaze.

With his signature shit-eating grin on his face, of course.

Your eyes widen. So does his smile.

"You're not serious! You're- Johnny, you're in your uniform in that poster. It leaves nothing to the imagination!" you hiss in embarrassment.

"And...? What's your point?" he asks, leaning on the table with his arms folded.

His tone is innocent, but his eyes are half-lidded, and he's giving you that look, the one that always makes your stomach flutter.

"Can we...Can we please get back to work now?" you ask, almost desperate for this conversation to end.

Before you do something completely out of character.

Johnny rolls his eyes, but he relents. Much to your relief.

"Sure thing, doll," he replies, leaning in to give you a quick kiss on the cheek.

He turns back to the notes spread out across the desk, and the pair of you fall into a comfortable silence for a while. Until-

"Okay, so maybe not a full poster spread, but how about some polaroids?" he asks, with a sly glance in your direction.

If the pen in your hand just happens to slip out of your grasp and hit him on the forehead, well...

Accidents do happen.

Taglist: @iitsmandii @glassbxttless @getaapologist @fandom-princess-forevermore @samslvrgirl @magikdarkholme @spider-starry @peachyproserpina @robinbuckleywife @keaganz

(You can join the taglist here! If you wish to be removed, please let me know!)

[defututus]

𝚆𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙴𝙳 𝙲𝙾𝙽𝙵𝙴𝚂𝚂𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂 | 𝙴𝙳𝙳𝙸𝙴 𝙼𝚄𝙽𝚂𝙾𝙽

Pairings: Drunk!Eddie Munson x Reader (…kinda)

Word Count: 1,158 words

Summary: Eddie’s drunk. Eddie’s in love. Eddie thinks he’s confessing to you. He is not.

Contains: drunken rambling, dramatic confessions, emotional!Eddie, oblivious Steve, confused Robin, twist ending (you were never in the room), just a dumb little guy in love.

A/N: Haven't posted in days. I was battling with...laziness lol. Anyway, last fic I made was Drunk!Steve then I wanted to make Drunk!Eddie too, so here's a short one. (Lowkey Steddie, lmao)

masterlist |

Eddie Munson was completely, utterly, soul crushingly drunk.

He was seated on the floor in Robin’s living room, back pressed against the couch, beer long forgotten in his lap, curls a wild halo around his flushed face. They’d had game night. One drink turned to two, turned to eight, turned to Eddie trying to balance pretzel sticks on his nose while Robin egged him on.

Steve had just returned from a bathroom break when he noticed it. Eddie, staring dreamily across the room, eyes wide and glassy.

“Uh… is he okay?” Steve asked.

Robin looked up from stacking Uno cards. “He’s been like that for the last five minutes. Just… sighing.”

Then Eddie whispered, “God, you're so pretty.”

Robin snorted. “Oh no.”

Eddie leaned forward, eyes locked on something... or someone. “I can’t believe you're real. It’s like… you walked out of my daydreams and into this stupid living room.”

Steve glanced behind him. “Wait. Who is he looking at?”

Robin squinted. “Steve. He’s looking at you.”

“What?!”

But Eddie wasn’t listening. Eddie was enchanted. His gaze locked, expression lovesick. He clutched his heart dramatically.

“Hey,” he slurred. “C’mere.”

Steve pointed to himself. “Me?”

Eddie patted the floor beside him with a dopey smile. “Yeah, you.”

Robin blinked. “Oh my God. He thinks you’re her.”

Steve’s eyes widened. “Me?”

Robin nodded. “He’s that drunk.”

Steve hesitated, then cautiously sat down next to Eddie, who immediately grabbed his hand.

“Hey,” Eddie whispered, brushing Steve’s knuckles like they were made of silk. “D’you know… you ruin me?”

Steve’s whole soul left his body. “Okay…”

Eddie smiled softly. “Every time you smile at me, I feel like I’ve been hit by lightning. But, like, the good kind. Is there a good kind? Doesn’t matter. You’re it. You’re everything.”

Robin wheezed into the couch cushions.

Steve tried, “Uh… Eddie, maybe-”

But Eddie was in full spiral now, his eyes were even shut, “And your voice. Don’t even get me started. It’s like my favorite song and a bedtime story and a warm blanket all rolled into one.”

Steve's face scrunched. “Bro.”

“I think about you all the time. All the time. Like, when I eat cereal, I’m like, ‘She’d hate this cereal.’ And I eat it anyway, because I’m sad and in love.”

Robin was crying. Literally crying from holding back her laugh.

“Every time you walk into a room,” Eddie breathed, “I forget how to function. I’d build you a house. Out of, like, D&D dice and guitar picks. I’d learn to knit pretty sweaters and skirts for you, I’d die for you.”

Steve was frozen. “Okay, we need to-”

“And you smell so nice,” Eddie continued, practically moaning. “Like vanilla. Or flowers. Or flower vanilla. I don’t know. I’m drunk.”

“You don’t say,” Steve mumbled.

Eddie gripped his hand tighter. “Don’t ever leave me, okay? Even if you fall in love with a guy who’s better than me. Like a hot firefighter. Or a lawyer. Or, like, a guy with really nice handwriting. I’ll just be… here. Sad. Loving you from afar.”

Robin gasped, absolutely losing it.

Steve, trying to suppress the laughter crawling up his throat, gently said, “Munson, Buddy. You sure you’re talking to the right person?”

Eddie squinted. “Of course I am. Why would I say all that to someone else?”

“You are talking to Steve,” Robin managed, her face red from laughing.

“No I’m not,” Eddie said, fighting for his life to open his drunken eyelids, turning toward Steve with a sleepy smile. “I’m talking to her-”

Steve pointed at himself. “I’m Steve.”

Eddie blinked. Slowly.

Then blinked again.

“…No you’re not.”

“I am.”

Eddie sat up straighter, horrified. “Then where the hell is she?!”

Robin held up her hands, still laughing. “Literally not even here. She left an hour ago, dude.”

Eddie’s jaw dropped. “No. No! I saw her! She was right there!” he pointed wildly. “She was right there and I told her about the cereal and the house and sweaters!”

Steve nodded solemnly. “Yeah, you told me.”

Eddie looked absolutely destroyed.

Then he groaned, flopping backwards with his arm over his face. “I wanna die.”

Robin patted his leg. “We’ll let you live. But we are gonna tell her.”

“Please don’t,” he whispered into the carpet. “Please let me disappear.”

Steve laughed. “You called me flower vanilla.”

Eddie groaned louder.

Robin snickers, “She’s gonna love this.”

“I was confessing to the wrong person!” Eddie was drunkly reasoning out.

“At least you were sweet about it.” Robin added.

“I need new friends.”

Robin and Steve just clinked beer bottles above his head while Eddie melted into the floor.

[defututus]

hurry up and wait

steve harrington x fem!reader x eddie munson

honestly idk what this is, but I was clearly in A Mood.

18+, MDNI┃3.1k

cw: smut, cockwarming, piv sex, kinda sub!reader & sub!steve, kinda mean, dom-ish eddie, implied voyeurism, r referred to with she/her pronouns, hair pulling, one slap.

The air in the room had grown hot and stifling, condensation starting to steam up the windows and diffusing the muted blue light that filtered in through the glass. Steve’s broad hands rested at your hips, and you could feel every tremor of his body underneath yours. His muscles quivering, his grip tensing every couple of seconds so his fingertips dug into your soft, doughy flesh.

He kept his lips pressed together, trying to stifle the whines and whimpers that fell out of him with every torturous passing second. But you were so wet, so tight around him, he thought he might die right there enveloped in your heat.

And he would do so, happily.

“Eddie, p-please,” you mewled, turning your head trying to catch your boyfriend’s eye as he stalked around the bed. “Please let him move, it hurts…”

The pitiful lilt in your voice was laid on a little thicker than intended, but it seemed to have the desired effect. Eddie smirked as he came around to stand over you, his fingers snaking into your hair, to grasp it at the root and squeeze.

It made you clench around Steve and he huffed like a bull trying not to charge.

“What hurts, princess?” Eddie tutted. “Is Stevie’s big cock too much for you?”

Probably, yeah, you thought as your head shook against his firm hold.

It was certainly longer than any other you’d taken. Thicker too, excluding Eddie’s. Seeing it bare the first time, arousal surged in between your legs at the thought of it filling you. And as you straddled his lap and sank down onto him so, so slowly, every inch made you question your sanity.

He’d been nestled deep inside you for almost ten minutes now, both under strict instruction not to move. Not allowed so much as a wiggle to make yourself more comfortable, unless of course Eddie gave you permission to do so.

Even your hands were restricted to remain in one place, his on your hips and yours on his shoulders, palms brushing the edges of the soft down of hair in the middle of his chest, hot and sweat-slicked.

And with every passing minute, you’d only grown more desperate, more pathetic and needy, more pliant and willing to do just about anything if it earned you the sweet release you craved.

But you suspected it would be a while yet before you got it.

Eddie’s grip tightened again to yank your head back, and the sting on your scalp made you wail. Steve’s cock twitched inside you at the abject sound, his eyes trained on your parted lips and the vast expanse of your bared throat, practically begging for his lips and tongue and teeth.

He then had to watch as Eddie acted out the very thought currently running through Steve’s head, flattening his tongue at the base of your neck to lick from from your collarbone to the underside of your chin. Eyes slanted to stay locked on Steve’s, never dropping the other man’s heated gaze.

Steve’s hips squirmed, aching to thrust, his baser instincts begging to let them take control so he could fuck you like the animal he was.

It only made you cry out more, and Steve wished he could kiss an apology up the other side of your neck to your ear. If he could, he��d wrap you up in his arms as tight as he possibly could and babble out praise about how brave you were being, how well you were taking him, how long he had been wanting to do this—

“Someone else is having trouble too, huh?” Eddie chuckled, his dark eyes glinting as he tipped your head up to see the pained look on Steve’s face. “I know that pussy feels good, just look at him trying not to blow.”

Your clit throbbed, seemingly in time with every twitch of Steve’s cock. It felt as if you were trying to balance on the head of a pin, ready to fall off in every direction all at once. You shivered, the heat of Eddie’s breath in your ear as he pushed his face against the side of yours to whisper in it.

“Why don’t you do that thing I like?” he purred, loosening his hold and sliding his hand down the length of your spine. He splayed his palm wide at the small of your back and rubbed it in a circle.

Breathless, you nodded as your eyes met Steve’s, gaze softening as if to apologize for what he had coming. You didn’t lift off of him, just started to swivel your hips over his, panting as you felt his cock prodding your walls. The motion forced your clit to rub against his base, his coarse hair getting sticky with your spend. Eddie’s hand sped up, signaling you to do the same.

Steve’s head thunked against the headboard as it fell backwards, barely padded by his thick hair, the sensation of you on his cock threatening to make his brain liquify. His throat bobbed, veins in his neck bulging as blood rushed to his face, his freckled skin flushing a deep scarlet.

Eddie smirked hearing the plaintive sounds you made as you found your rhythm, a steady and yet determined grind as painful as it was pleasurable.

“Thought this is what you wanted, sweetheart,” Eddie cooed at you, a soft sound in your ear that only sent more chills running down your spine. “That’s how you got yourself in this mess, isn’t it? ‘Cos you couldn’t wait?”

He was right. If you really wanted to kiss someone, all you needed to do was ask. Eddie liked watching sometimes. Guys, girls. People he picked, people you picked. And he especially liked it afterwards, when he got free rein to remind you who you really belonged to. But that night, you’d been too reckless. Too hasty. Too greedy.

It was an accident. It didn’t mean anything. It was one little kiss—a kiss that was more than worth this punishment, if you were being honest.

You’d always kind of had a thing for Steve. It was practically impossible not to with his good looks and his boyish charm and his floppy hair and his kind eyes. But you would never do anything. You would never act on those feelings.

Not when you had Eddie to give you everything you wanted and more.

Had it not been for the party, for that unfortunate drinking game where you and Steve drained your drinks faster than everyone else, it might have never even happened.

You and Steve might never have stumbled into the kitchen looking for snacks. You might never have leaned into him or wound your arms around his waist as breathy giggles fluttered in your chest and butterfly wings flapped in your stomach. You might never have leaned in and let his lips brush yours when Steve’s nose nudged at your heated cheek, trying to get you to turn your face toward his. You might never have kissed him back.

But of all the people you could have kissed, Steve wasn’t the worst pick.

He wasn’t quite an “ex” but you knew that he and Eddie indulged in some...not so platonic activities in the past. Steve, who always had to act so tough and confident and cool and together, had found Eddie’s influence rather illuminating. He’d learned an awful lot about himself during those trysts.

How he liked to be under someone’s thumb.

How he liked to be told what to do.

How he liked to be used. 

And the stories Eddie told you only further piqued your interest in the former king of Hawkins High. Because, much like him, you’d also come to enjoy Eddie’s domineering side. It made you wonder on more than one occasion what it might feel like to be between them. A kind of middle ground…

Being used by one, and you using the other. 

The kiss had been good. Torrid and desperate and consuming. The feeling of it rippled through you like a live current, like lightning in your veins. It zapped your body with instant relief, and in the same instant you were overcome with a morbid excitement at the thought of being found out.

You and Steve were both far too shy, for lack of a better word, to do anything like this without the excuse of liquid courage to fall back on. And by doing it somewhere you could be caught so easily …it was almost like you wanted Eddie to see.

And he did see. When yours and Steve’s swollen lips parted, hot breath mingling as you panted heavily into one another’s mouths, the sound of Eddie clearing his throat was the only thing that stopped you from diving right back in all over again. He stood in the doorway to the kitchen, leaning on his shoulder against the frame, smirking into his beer as he took a swig.

He said nothing, though. Just let his eyes scan up and down your bodies still tangled up together, Steve pressing you up against the cabinetry.

It wasn’t until later, after the party petered out and all your other friends had gone home, that Eddie even acknowledged your existence.

He coolly instructed you and Steve to go upstairs and to take off all your clothes.

To sit on the bed and wait.

Now, here the two of you were. Just a couple of life-sized dolls for him to arrange and play with. A pair of puppets for your master.

“That’s enough,” Eddie said with a light tap to your tailbone.

Your nails dug into the meat of Steve’s shoulders when you stilled your hips abruptly, shivering as you came down from the high you had steadily been building up to. Eddie pushed his face in close, not even looking at you this time.

“You ready to move, Stevie?” he asked, practically in a whisper.

“Yes, fuck, please, can I?” Steve let out a quick, shuddering breath and you felt how his muscles spasmed under your hands as his hold on your hips tightened.

“Okay,” your boyfriend conceded with a wicked smile, “but only when I say.”

Eddie straightened and crossed his arms in front of his chest, his biceps bulging and the tendons in his arms standing out gloriously under inked skin. You were positive Steve could feel you getting wetter just at the sight if the breathy little gasp he let out was any indication.

What followed was some perverted version of Red Light, Green Light.

In his low and gravelly tone, Eddie locked his eyes on Steve’s and uttered the solitary word, “Go.”

Steve inhaled sharply and his eyes cut back to your face, his brow raising in a final silent check-in. You nodded instantly. Eagerly.

After having to sit so still for so long, the feeling of finally pushing his hips up is enough to draw a deep groan of satisfaction from his chest. Even if he couldn’t draw them back all that much, it’s enough to feel the slide of his length inside your walls and the way they stretch to welcome him in.

It’s not enough, though.

He tries circling his hips instead and starts to grind them up into your heat, taking a few tries to find the right angle—but they’re all perfect as far as you’re concerned. You let out a long, low moan and your head rolls on your shoulders, unyielding ache between your legs finally subsiding.

But almost as soon as Steve got going, Eddie called out, “Stop.”

The boy inside you obeyed, but not without letting out the tiniest little huff of frustration. He tucked his chin to his chest, drawing in another deep breath as he struggled to bring himself down just as you had.

His head of messy, tousled hair was all you could see, innumerable strands of chestnut brown locks in an artful disarray, all piled on top of and criss-crossing over one another. It made you want to bury your hands in it. Your fingers literally twitched from wanting to so bad.

A few more rounds followed. Stop. Go. Stop. Go. You lose track how many times Eddie calls them out, how many times Eddie lets Steve get you as close to the edge as he possibly can before you’re unceremoniously yanked back from the precipice.

And however bad it is for you, it’s so much worse for Steve.

He’s twice as desperate as you are by a mile. Every time he has to stop, you can feel his core clenching and his legs twitching under you, like he’s trying to kick them and can’t. He’s long past the point of using words, his eyelids drooping shut and straining to stay open he’s so pussydrunk and braindead.

Only when Eddie stands over him, pushing a hand through his hair to rake back sweaty strays, does he seem to wake up a little.

“Okay, Stevie,” Eddie cooed, low and syrupy, “you ready to really fuck her?”

Steve nodded, sending the hairs Eddie just fixed flopping forward into his shining eyes. Eddie’s own glinted with satisfaction and he scanned over you.

Limbs trembling. Thighs shaking. Lips swollen from biting down on them hard enough to draw blood. Head hanging on its hinge like it’s too heavy to lift.

But you do lift it. Just enough to look him in the eye, to flash him your round and pleading gaze he loves so much. To give him the tiniest nod when he lifts his brow at you in a silent check-in.

To see him nod at Steve.

Steve shifted underneath you and planted his feet on the bed. His gaze cut sideways and his eyes locked with Eddie, poised for instruction.

“Go.”

Steve’s hips bucked, nearly lifting you off the bed. He thrust up into you as hard as he could, clearly having lost whatever semblance of restraint he’d been clinging onto the whole night. He used his hold on your hips to slide you forward to meet his every stroke, your bodies undulating together.

The wet plap plap plap of his thighs hitting yours grew faster, both of you sneaking glances over at Eddie to see if he was going to stop you again.

He gave no indication either way.

Your pussy clenched and squeezed around his length, hips struggling to match his pace until you gave up entirely, giving yourself over to his motions, the peak of your pleasure rushing towards you once again.

Close, you were close, you were so, so close, you were gonna—

“Stop.”

“FUCK!” You cried out, not even caring how feral you sounded anymore, “Fucking shit, goddamn it Eddie, just let me cum, please—”

The sharp crack of his palm across your cheek was shocking, but not a surprise. Your eyes welled with tears immediately, having been teetering on the verge of crying for what felt like an eternity. It was actually a relief to let off some of the pressure that built up in your chest, but it was short lived.

“Is that what you call me?” Eddie’s voice boomed, loud enough to rattle the walls, “Or are you so drunk on his dick you forgot who I am?”

“M’sorry, sir,” you blubbered, tears trickling down your cheek that still stung from his slap.

You felt Steve’s hands tremble on your thighs, like all he wanted to do in that moment was reach up and soothe the burn.

“That’s better,” Eddie said, eyes still steely as he reached out for you. “Now say you’re sorry to our guest for that dirty fucking mouth of yours.”

He laid his hand on your cheek, seemingly to turn your head forward, but the way he held it there for a few seconds after felt more like an apology. 

It still tingled when he dropped his hand, but his touch had dulled the pain.

“Sorry, Stevie,” you said, practically in a whisper. Eyes big, round and wet.

“It’s okay, angel,” Steve answered, giving your thighs a reassuring squeeze.

Then, sensing an opportunity in this moment of calm, Steve looked to Eddie.

“Sir?” he said meekly, the picture of an obedient pet, “c-can I kiss her?”

All the air rushed out of the room, the three of you falling deathly quiet in the wake of his question.

Eddie’s eyes were dark, his anger that boiled over briefly reduced to a low simmer as he weighed Steve’s request in his head.

At last, his chin dropped in a deep nod.

Steve lifted one of his hands and cradled your jaw tenderly. The pad of his thumb smoothed over your wobbly bottom lip, stilling it. He drew close to drag his nose along the apple of your cheek, letting his plush lips skim your skin that was still buzzing from Eddie’s strike. He licked his lips and they parted as he blew cool air on it, making shivers skitter down your spine.

Your mouth fell open and your eyes fluttered closed, giving yourself over to the feeling of his blunt fingertips stroking the sensitive skin behind your ear, his whole hand sliding back to hold you by the nape of your neck.

He could feel your excitement as you pulsed around his length, your hot center aching with need, stranded at the edge of your orgasm. His fingers slid into your hair, massaging at the roots until you let out a little hum of contentment. Your head dropped back, your neck stretched before him once again. Still begging for his attention.

This time, he mouthed at its graceful lines that flowed from your chin and jaw down to your collar bones and the slope of your shoulder. His lips left a trail of wet patches as he planted open-mouthed kisses all the way up, up... 

He found the sensitive patch of skin behind your ear and you gasped when he grazed it, shivers making you writhe and squirm on his lap. 

Finally, finally, he let your mouths meet again and your tongues twisted and swirled in a dizzying sort of dance. Head spinning like a carousel.

Eddie watched, silent and appraising, his gaze stern and hard. He kept his arms crossed in front of his chest, forcibly ignoring the insistent throb of his own cock in his pants. But when Steve’s other hand lifted from your other thigh and he cradled your face fully in his grasp to deepen the kiss, his strong brows drawn in concentration, not even Eddie could resist anymore. 

He palmed himself lightly, rubbing over the bulge in his jeans and along his zippered fly, grunting in approval at his toys putting on a good show.

The thought only made him that much harder.

[defututus]

not only is Eddie the best boyfriend for a chronically ill reader because he's sweet and doting and soft, but he's also a drug dealer and I know for a fact that a fat blunt rolled by Eddie Munson himself would cure me

[defututus]

“𝙂𝙚𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙛𝙪𝙘𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙨 𝙤𝙛𝙛 𝙤𝙛 𝙝𝙚𝙧.”

Commission for @munson-blurbs inspired by her Eddie x reader fanfic Living After Midnight 🖤

[defututus]

greetings from an undisclosed eddie x shy!reader doc...

He took your hand in his and carefully brought it up to the nape of his neck. He helped you thread your fingers into his hair and encouraged you to grasp his curls firmly at the root. Your breathing hitched as his touch trailed over your knuckles and down your forearm to your elbow.

“Don’t be scared to hold on tight,” he burred, low in your ear. “I like it when it hurts a little.”

Your fingers flexed shakily as his hands settled on your hips, squeezing gently as he backed you up to the brick wall. It felt gritty and cold on your back, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. 

Eddie’s hands squeezed again, sliding up a little higher to your waist.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he hummed, his gaze flitting anywhere it could at such close proximity. The curve of your cheeks, the edges of your jaw, the gentle and graceful lines of your neck.

His voice was so soft, so adoring, you felt your knees liquifying. You wanted nothing more than to believe him implicitly, but you couldn’t stop the little seed of doubt deep in your gut that quivered beneath the earth from peeking through the undergrowth until it had sprouted.

“Really?” you whispered, hating how mousey you sounded. How timid and unsure.

He brought up one of his hands to cradle the side of your face. Your eyes fluttered closed, leaning in to the warmth of his palm, interrupted only by the cool bite of his rings that dissipated quickly when they warmed to the temperature of your skin.

Still, you couldn’t help but shiver when your eyes opened to find Eddie’s gaze focused so intently on yours, squinting in a bemused sort of way.

“Do you honestly not know?” he asked you with a slow smile. “You really don’t see it?”

All you could do was shrug. You didn’t think you were, like, hideous or anything. But you had never been particularly impressed by your looks. And no one had ever looked at you or acted like you were some ethereal being who’d fallen to earth just to grace these mere mortals with your face.

Well, at least not until now.

[defututus]

Please have Reader and Eddie quitting a job in a SPECTACULAR way!

Nacht bestie 💚💚 Of course you can have Eddie!!

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Celebration Masterlist

Divider by @/strangergraphics-archive

"I swear to god, Stacy, if he wasn't there I'd quit instantly. Eddie's the only thing making this job tolerable anymore."

You fought the urge to punch the wall, opting to twirl the phone cord into knots instead as you paced your bedroom floor. You'd thought graduating would mean freedom and opportunity, but you were wrong.

My gods, how wrong you'd been.

Rather than the road trips with friends and infinite summer days you'd been expecting from life after 18, you'd run head-first into the brick wall called adulthood. You felt trapped - by your job, your family, by this podunk town.

"So quit then! You've been talking about leaving Hawkins forever, and I know you've got enough saved."

Stacy, bless her, had been trying to convince you to move to Indianapolis with her for months. And you would have left sooner, except...

"But what about Eddie?"

"What about Munson? If you're that worried, ask him to come with you. I bet he'd jump at the chance to get out of that shithole."

Your face warmed as you pictured asking Eddie Munson, infamous local metal head and your current secret heartthrob, to run away with you. You could see it now - the way he'd smile at you at first, his grin fading the longer you spoke, a ringed finger twisting a stray curl tighter and tighter. His hair would bounce as he shook his head and shattered your heart, scoffing at your suggestion. Yeah, fat chance.

"I can't. He’d never say yes, Stace. I don't think he thinks we're friends."

Your words hung in the air, an incredulous silence the only response on the other end of the line. You could hear Stacy's deep breaths on the other end, in though the nose and out through the mouth, and you just knew she was counting to 10.

"Honey." Her voice was a forced calm, a thin sheet over the frustration you could hear bubbling just under the surface. "I say this with all the love in my heart, but are you mental?"

You started to speak, to try and defend yourself, but she cut you off.

"No, I'm not done. Munson likes you! I can see it, Steve and Robin can see it, hell, even your idiot manager knows the boy's got a crush. Do you think he invites anyone to his gigs? I've never gotten an invite, and I've known him since kindergarten. Just ask him before I come down and do it for you!"

Leave it to Stacy to shake sense into you in the most brutal way possible.

"Jeez, ok, I get it. I'll ask him the next time we're on shift together."

--

You spent the rest of the night tossing and turning as you contemplated what you could possibly say to Eddie to convince him to come with you. It was a bold move, asking a man you weren't even dating to essentially run away with you. It was almost certain he'd refuse, would scoff at the very idea, but something even more horrifying roamed around the edges of your dreams - what if he said yes?

Half-formed dreams of Eddie in the passenger seat of your beater, smiling as you pressed the gas pedal to the floor, his pinky linking with yours, haunted you. You slept fitfully, but by the time the first rays of light crawled their way through the broken slats in your curtains, you'd settled on a plan. Eddie was working today - you'd pack your bag and stop by the record shop where you both worked on your way out of town. If he rejected you, you wouldn't have to deal with it for very long. You'd be with Stacy, licking your wounds by late afternoon.

Acid burned in your belly as you packed, nerves twisting themselves into a knot so large it felt like it took up your entire chest cavity. By the time you'd gotten everything loaded into your trunk, your hands were shaking and sweaty. It was surreal - you were really about to do this. The drive to the record store felt much shorter than normal, houses passing by in a haze as you ran through your speech over and over.

Hi Eddie! Do you want to move to Indianapolis with me? I'm leaving right now. No? Thanks anyway! Have a great life!

The sour taste of bile burned in the back of your throat as the record store's neon sign came into view - this was it, your last chance to back out.

He could say yes. He likes you!

The optimistic voice in your head sounded suspiciously like Stacy, but it was enough to steel your nerves as you pulled into the spot in front of the store. You could see Eddie through the front window, his face filled with a wild joy as he headbanged along to whatever was currently playing. It was now or never. The world narrowed as you exited your car and walked the five steps to the shop's door.

The chime of the familiar bell was nearly drowned out by the music inside, but Eddie still heard it somehow; it was a miracle his hearing was still as good as it was.

"Hey! There's my favorite coworker!" His infectious smile lit up his whole face, his eyes turning a beautiful shade of molten brown as he waved. "I didn't think you were working today. Did Ken call you in or something?"

It took a herculean effort to pull the corners of your mouth up into something resembling a smile. "Or something. I'm here to see you, actually."

His eyes sparked with something almost recognizable as his gaze whipped across your face, something you might be tempted to call hope if you were being particularly optimistic.

"And what," Eddie gave a silly little bow, curls bouncing along with the movement, "does such a fair lady need from a lowly jester like myself?"

He tilted his head to look up at you from under his unfairly long lashes. "Did you miss me that much? Couldn't go a day without casting your eyes on my handsome face, right?"

You giggled, and the gargantuan knot in your chest finally relaxed - he always knew exactly what to say to put you at ease. "And if I said yes? You are a very handsome jester."

A faint blush burned high on Eddie's cheeks, his smile wry as he shifted to lean agains the counter between the two of you. "Then I'd say you must want something from me. So, lay it on me, Sweetheart. What can I do for you?"

Now or never - you took a deep breath, summoned every bit of nerve you possessed, and let the words fly free.

"Have you ever thought about leaving Hawkins?"

"Only every day." Eddie sighed, his smile fading as some of the maybe-hope dropped away. "You thinking of leaving me, Sweetheart?"

"Yes. Well, I mean no - I mean." He looked confused, and you took another deep breath and steadied yourself. "Yes, I'm thinking of leaving Hawkins. No, I'm not planning to leave you."

You forced yourself to look directly into his eyes, willing all the sincerity and affection your body possessed for him to create a telepathic link between the two of you.

"I want you to come with me, Eddie."

"When?" His reply was quick, much faster than you'd expected, the maybe-hope back and stronger than ever.

You glanced back out at your car, then back to him, voice shaking slightly, "My bags are in the car right now."

He let out an impressed whistle, pressed his palms flat against the counter, and leaned back to shout down the hall, "Hey, Ken? You're gonna need to put the help wanted sign out again. Sweetheart here just quit."

You could hear muffled swearing from the manager's office as Eddie pulled his nametag from the front of his vest and threw it down before hopping over the counter, the chains on his pants jingling as he landed.

"And I do too. Come on, Sweetheart! Let's blow this popsicle stand!"

Eddie didn't wait for you to recover from your stunned silence and grabbed your hand as he passed, tugging you towards the door and throwing it open. He tilted his face up as he stepped outside, the summer sun beating down onto his pale skin as he let out a giddy whoop before turning to you.

"Steve said you liked me back, but I didn't believe him. For once, I'm happy he was right."

He tugged you close, your chest brushing his as he pinned you against the driver's side of your car.

"So, tell me, Sweetheart. Where's our happily ever after gonna happen?"