djoseph-quinn

[djoseph-quinn]

no one :

eddie munson :

[djoseph-quinn]

There is something about this fic

I absolutely love your writing!!!! Especially for Eddie

I loved your most recent drunk Eddie one I was wondering if you could do one but this time it’s eddie that has to take care of his really drunk girlfriend but she’s really emotional and upset while she’s drunk this time and just super fluffy story

kickstart my heart // eddie munson

Synopsis – Reader gets to lit at a party at Steve’s from Robin’s doing (isn’t that always the case), and Eddie’ gets to take care of reader.

Pairing- Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader, Eddie Munson x You

Warnings – protective Eddie, implied sick reader (but no actual getting sick, promise), angsty reader, some cursing, kissing, LOTS of fluff, sweet Eddie, nicknames, established relationship, cute ending.

Word Count – 2.3k

A/N- Bless Eddie’s heart. I loved this request, so I HAD to do it! Reminder that requests ARE OPEN! Any constructive criticism would be appreciated. Also, this is only edited by me, so apologies if there are typos. And of course, if you enjoy it, please reblog! Hope you enjoy! Thanks! <3

I do not grant permission for anyone to use my work. Under no circumstances, repost my work on any other sites. I do not consent to anyone taking my work and posting it as their own.

“Eddie, you gotta come with me. It’s Y/N.”

Robin burst in through the garage door right as Eddie was lighting up a blunt for Steve, Garreth and Jeff. His eyes widened as he handed off the blunt to Steve as he sprinted up the short flight of stairs leading into Steve’s massive house. Fear pounding through his chest.

“Where is she?” Eddie asks, panting.

Robin leads him upstairs, noise from the party fades into the background as they make their way to a quiet wing of the house. Walking down a long hallway, only a light from a cracked door at the end of the corridor lighting their way.

“She’s in here.” Robin says, pushing open the door, revealing a moderately sized bathroom. As she flips on the overhead light, Eddie pokes his head in, seeing you laying on the bathroom floor, head resting on some towels. An empty glass cup sits next to you, sweat dripping down the sides of it making a pooled ring on the floor next to you.

Your eyes closed and your breathing heavy, letting out a loud groan when bright white light fills the room. You squirm against the terrycloth towels as Eddie gets down on the ground next to you. You squint at your boyfriend, one eye open. “Eds…”

“Hey there, dollface.” He says gently, brushing some damp strands of hair off your forehead. “Have too much fun?”

You crack a soft smile, eyes heavy with alcohol. “Yeah.” You squeeze your eyes shut again, breathing in deeply.

Eddie half turns around, facing Robin. “Rob, what the fuck happened to her?”

Robin looks down, sheepishly scratching the back of her head. “Shots.” Her voice crackles as she shrugs her shoulders.

“Jesus Christ.” Eddie furrows his brow, rubbing the spot between his eyes, trying not to lose his shit on her. “It’s ok, I got this. You can go.” He waves her off.

“You sure? I can help-“

“It’s cool, I’ve got her. Really.” Robin nods at Eddie, before turning and walking back down the hallway and back to the party.

Eddie shakes his head before turning his attention back at you. Your curled up in a ball tighter than before. Eddie pries your hand out from under your chest, lacing his fingers in yours.

“Sweetheart, can you sit up for me?” He says gently, thumb stroking the topside of your hand. You moan softly at his request, shaking your head. “Please?” You tuck your chin down into the towels, desperately trying to escape the bright light.

“Too bright.” You whine softly. Eddie clamors over to the light switch, turning it back off. The warm yellow light from the mirror now cascading down onto the tiles, giving the room just enough illumination.

“Better, doll?” Eddie slowly moves towards you, putting your head on his lap. You nod, groaning when he moves you.

“I don’t feel good.” You lament.

“I know Angelface… I know…” Eddie says trying to soothe you. Hot tears prick your eyes, embarrassed by how drunk you got, that Eddie now has to take care of you and that you’re ‘that girl’ at one of Steve’s parties. You quietly start to cry into Eddie’s jeans, body shaking slightly.

“Hey, hey, hey, sweetheart. Hey….” Eddie shushes pulling your body into his lap and your head onto his chest. “Whatcha cryin’ for, huh? You’re ok. You’re ok.” He presses his lips against the crown of your head, his back pressed against the sink cabinet. With the little space he has, he starts to rock you.

You sniffle, gripping his band tee, crumpling it in your hand, your forehead pressed into the crook of his neck. You inhale his distinct, intoxicating scent.

“I got too drunk.” You slur into Eddie’s ear.

“You definitely did, dollface. But it’s ok. We’re all cool.” Murmuring against your head, lips still pressed against your long hair. Even though you’re slurring your words, and to be honest, a mess, Eddie thought you were still the most perfect girl in the world. Resting his cheek on the top of your head, grounding you there with him.

Hiccups takes him out of the fluffy bubble that had been built around you two for a brief moment. Eddie rakes his fingers through your hair, pulling it back from your face and tucking it behind your ears.  He reaches beside him for the cup still on the floor. Reaching back, filling it up with cold water, he brings the cup to your lips.

You shake your head, worried that if you drink more water you’ll be sick. “Angel, you’ve gotta drink more water. Please? For me? Just one glass and then we can go home. I promise.”

You keep your eyes close as you pout your lips out, not wanting to cooperate. “Kiss first.”

Eddie smirks, happily obliging your request, giving you a chaste kiss. You try to slip him tongue, but he pulls back.

“Naughty girl.”

Your eyes flutter open as he chastises you. “Pot calling the kettle.” Head dips back into his neck, eyes closing again.

“No, no, no. Sweetheart, comeon. We had a deal.” He pushes your head upright with his shoulder, putting the cold cup of water to your lips. You take a few small sips, before pushing it away.

“Comeon, doll. Finish this and then we can go. Please. Comeon…” He coaxes the cup to your lips again, getting you to drink the rest of the water. You lick your lips slowly, pulling your lips through your teeth, letting out a deep breath.

“That’s my girl.” He places the cup on the sink rim, smiling down at you. Peppering the top of your head with tiny kisses as he slides your arm over his leather clad shoulder, hoisting you up onto your feet. Your hand grips his shirt tighter giving you a solid foundation to get your feet under you.

Eddie’s hand pats your ass affectionately as you two start to walk. The walk down the hall feels like it takes eons. Loud music starts to bump louder as you make your way down the stairs and towards the front door.

Steve stops you two on the way out, making sure with Eddie that you’re ok. You close your eyes intermittently, the music giving you a splitting headache. The conversation was only a minute or two, but it was too long in your book and your patience was wearing thin.

“Eds.” You fuss against his warm neck. Eddie pats your butt again and gives you a silent understanding kiss on the top of your head as he said your goodbyes for the two of you.

As the door opens, the cool night air hits you like a ton of bricks. The sudden change in temperature makes you stumble over the short step out of Steve’s. Eddie wabbles with the extra weight, but luckily saves the two of you from some bruises and scrapes by grabbing the side of the house.

“Fuck.” He curses under his breath, readjusting you roughly. The swear word hit your heart with a deep pang, making your eyes water again. He leads you to his beat-up van, sliding you into the passenger seat.

The door slams closed next to you and Eddie makes his way over to the driver’s side. Hopping in, he closes his door forcefully, sliding the key into the ignition. A long arm is placed on the head rest of your seat, helping him back out of the driveway.

Putting the car in drive, he gives you a half smile before turning his attention on the road. The car was quiet other than the soft Dio cassette that was in the tape player. You lean your head on the cold window, looking out, lost in your thoughts. You couldn’t get Eddie swearing and how he slammed the door out of your head.

“Eddie...” You croak, voice breaking. “Are you mad at me?”

Eddie almost slammed on the breaks when you asked. He turns to you quickly, his face covered in shock and hurt. You were almost back to your house, but he pulls over anyways. He adjusts his body as to give you his undivided attention.

“No, sweetheart. Of course not. Why do you ask that?” He reaches his hand out gently putting it on your thigh. Brow furrowed created deep creases on his forehead.

You try to hold back your tears, but with all the extra alcohol in your body, they start to stream down your face.

“Well… when we were leaving Steve’s you cursed at me when I stumbled-”

“Angel, baby-”

“And then you slammed my door-”

“Oh sweetheart, I-”

You desperately try to get through the rest while blubbering. “And you haven’t even tried to touch me. You always have your hand on my thigh when you’re driving and you’re not even touching me-” Hard sobs wrack through your chest and you start to hiccup.

Eddie clamors over the center console, wrapping his arms around you. He knew you weren’t typically the emotional drunk, but tonight, there was a snowball effect. And he felt guilt ridden by contributing to it, even if he didn’t mean to.

“Angel, I’m so sorry I upset you. I swore when we stumbled because I was worried that you got hurt.” He mutters against the top of your ear, giving you petite kisses throughout the thought. “It honestly scared the shit out of me!” He chuckles softly.

“I didn’t mean to slam your door. As you like to say, I live my life fully committed.” That got you to chuckle slightly.

“And I didn’t put my hand on your leg, because I know you aren’t feeling good and I didn’t’ want to upset you.” He takes in a low breath. “But it seems that I did that anyway. I’m sorry, doll.” He laces his fingers in yours, kissing your cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Eds.” You sniffle, rubbing your nose against the sleeve of your shirt. Eddie grabs the bandana out of his back pocket and cleans up your nose for you. Once your nose was dry, he couldn’t help but give you a kiss on the tip of your pretty pink button nose. You scrunch it up, giving him a slight smile.

“There’s my girl.” He caresses the apple of your cheek before placing a warm kiss on your lips. He can still taste the tequila that you took with Robin earlier. “You wanna lay your head on my lap for the rest of the drive home?”

You nod quickly, feeling yourself sobering up. Cheeks flushed red from embarrassment, but you know Eddie would never let you apologize for expressing your feelings. Especially when drunk. He was good about that.

He gently places your head on his lap, stroking your cheek for the rest of the drive. After five short minutes, he pulls into your driveway. Other than the front porchlight, the house was dark. Eddie takes the key out of the ignition swiftly.

He comes around to your side of the van, opening the door for you like always.

“M’lady.” He gestures, sweeping towards the door. Eddie offers the space under his arm, hooking his hand around your shoulder, keeping you from swaying too much. You brush away the last of the wetness from your earlier tears and get inside the house.

Eddie guides you to your shared bedroom, where he plops you down. “You stay right there, young lady.” He points at you, before pointing two fingers at his eyes and turning them towards you. “Got my eye on you.”

Rifling through the few drawers of your small bathroom, he desperately looks for something.

“Where in the fu-?” He murmurs to himself. You slowly get up and stand in the doorway.

“Whatcha looking for?” You slur.

“Makeup remover. You’ve got mascara all over your face sweetheart.” He cracks a lopsided smile before going to back looking through everything like a racoon in an open trash can.

Rubbing your head slightly, you point to the blue bottle on the counter. He notices your discomfort and grabs the bottle quickly along with a couple of cotton rounds. You take them out of his hand and quickly try to rub off the rest of the mascara, groaning softly.

Eddie pulls you into hug, wrapping his long arms around you. “Shhh shhh…” The sound of Eddie’s comforting and leather creaking fills the room. He kisses your forehead gently, scratching the back of your neck.

“Let’s get cha into bed, yeah?” Eddie murmurs. You nod into his touch, letting him guide you to the bed. He kisses your cheek, throwing open the comforter, laying you down on the cold sheets, still fully clothed. Normally you’d insist of getting into pj’s or at least out of your outside clothes, but you make a mental note to talk to him about it in the morning.

After quickly sliding your shoes off, he throws off his outer layers on the floor, leaving them crumpled on the ground and hops in next to you. Immediately, you snuggle against him, wrapping your arms around his boyish frame.

“’m sorry about earlier, Eds. I just-”

He cuts you off. “Shhh it’s ok.” Tiny kisses pepper your temple. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about any of that. Let’s just make sure we drink more water next time, yeah?” He bops your nose playfully.

You scrunch up your nose and nod, agreeing with him. Your eyes start to flutter shut, as you let out a big yawn, burying your face into his shirt. The smell of amber, cigarettes and weed fill your nose, soothing you, helping you fall into a dreamless sleep.

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[djoseph-quinn]

I miss himmmmm

STRANGER THINGS S04E01 | Chapter One: The Hellfire Club

[djoseph-quinn]

feeling so normal about this

[djoseph-quinn]

A classic

𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary eddie drags you out to lovers lake for some fun [2.7k]

warnings smut, 18+ please no minors, fem!reader, praise kink, heavy petting, finger-fucking, giggly sex, soft but very teasing eddie, an extreme amount of hickeys, public but also no one is there so, aftercare, no s4 spoilers, eddie maybe has dacryphillia my bad

𓆩❤︎𓆪

"Listen to me," Eddie whispers. "Nobody is gonna come up here." 

"You don't know that," you argue back mildly, your neck kiss bitten and your chest full of melty hot pleasure. 

What he does know is that you're going to let him do whatever it is he wants to do to you, even if it's by the side of Lovers Lake in the velvet dark. He always knows what you're thinking. What you're feeling.  

"Would you rather get back in the van?" he asks. 

He's genuine and that's what makes you giggle, stroking the hair from his face where he's lying across your chest.

"I don't wanna fuck in the van again," you murmur. It gets stuffy from the heat. The lakeside breeze is nicer if you ignore the occasional bug.

He rubs his nose into your naked collar. "Who said anything about all that?" 

"So you don't want to?" 

"Your assumptions are embarrassing us both tonight."

You smile at him. He doesn't smile back until his mouth is at your throat. You can feel it, the shape of his lips pulled up like he just can't hide it.

"You're sure nobody will come up here?" you ask. 

"No," he says, vibrations tickling you.

You huff in bemusement as he kisses across your throat, his hand braced behind your ear. He turns your head towards his searching and leaves little half crescents of affection in a curved line to your jaw.

You're breathless by the time he's finished. 

"You're wearing this pretty skirt…" He starts suggestively, other hand at the tight waistband, his nail skipping over the hem. “I was thinking you could leave it on. That way, anybody takes a little soirée to our side of the lake, I’ll stop and nobody will know what we’ve been upto.”

“What are we upto?” you ask. 

He cups your neck and hovers above you, puppy eyes wide and bright even in the dark of the summer night. 

“Well, if you’re so inclined-“

“Quit with the formalities, Munson.”

Eddie squeezes your throat very lightly, eyes glowing with mirth. 

“Fine,” he says, in the rough way that almost makes you regret asking. “I’m gonna fuck you out with my fingers, and you’re gonna say my name when you cum.” He speaks each word slowly, quietly. His lips are barely parted when he adds, “Okay?”

"How can you say stuff like that?" you ask, flushing with heat. 

"You bring it out of me." 

He brushes his thumb over your throat. You dip your chin to your chest and smile, a tendril of excitement bursting through the sloven, slow pleasure of his closeness and his hickeys. 

"Okay," you say, voice low. 

"Okay," he repeats with a smile, catching your small smile with his lips. 

He readjust as he kisses, taking his weight off of your chest in favour of stroking his hand down your front. You sigh into his open-mouth, chest heaving under his hands, his fingers as they push over your boobs. 

He's gentle, his lips less so. 

You grow dizzy with it all, his massaging and his firm kisses, your heart racing as his hand travels down, down, down… 

He pushes his hand under your vest and spreads his fingers over your midriff, the heat of his palm seeping into your skin. 

"You're so soft," he says, pulling away a half inch, his exhales fanning over your chin.

He grasps the curve of your tummy, hands moving to the side. He follows over your hip, rubs a soothing path up your sides to your ribs. 

"N'so pretty," he says, ducking down to kiss the corner of your mouth. "Fucking so pretty." 

You rake your hands through his hair and pull it away from his face, forcing him to look at you as you look at him, his eyes, with ill contained reverence. In the dark his pupils fade into his irises, a swell of black-brown, pretty lashes, pretty eyebrows. 

Says you, you want to protest, but the words get caught in your throat as he needles into the side of your neck, lips catching at your skin, sucking at a half-formed love bite with renewed interest. 

The hand at your ribs slides down slowly but surely, back to your hips and abdomen. 

"Gonna get my pretty thing feeling good," he promises into your skin. 

His words are smothered and yet each strikes you, sending waves of heat to your core. His kissing before likely would've been enough but this second round, knowing what he's going to do to you, is a sweet torture. You squeeze your thighs together for a relief you can't find, the whisper of a whine building in your throat as Eddie's fingertips run over the waistband of your skirt. 

He kisses your neck until it burns, letting your skin pop free lewdly. 

"What do you think?" he asks. 

"'Bout what?" You're breathless.

"Do you think I should make my pretty girl feel good?" 

You love and hate his teasing, a flush of heat rising to your cheeks as you say, "Yeah, Eds. I think you should." 

"You do?" 

His hands move to your legs. You shiver at his touch, hot hands on your cold skin. He doesn't do anything but stroke them, a rough pressure, thumbs pressing into the dough of your inner thighs. He draws near your cunt and then away, never quite touching. 

"Please, Eddie," you plead. 

He pulls your legs apart, sitting up so he can drop kisses into your kneecap. "Tell me what you want." 

"Eddie."

"You want help?" he asks knowingly. 

You nod, almost feverish. 

He kisses your knee again, his cheek pressed to your skin, looking demure. It's in complete juxtaposition with his evil teasing, in your opinion. 

"Tell me how pretty you are. Tell me you're so pretty, you deserve to get fucked out." 

You inhale hard. "I'm so pretty I… I deserve to-" you stop, feel the immense weight of his hand, his fingertips where they run along the elastic of your panties. "I deserve to get fucked out," you whisper.

His beaming smile is worth it. He manhandled your thighs enough that you think you might get little fingerprint bruises. You don't think you'd mind as long as they're his. 

"Yes you do," he agrees, rubbing the tip of his nose against your kneecap before changing course. "Come here, sweetheart." 

Eddie manoeuvres your back to his chest and you're sitting in the spread of his legs. You can feel his dick hard against your back and feel that lovesickness for him amp up. 

He takes the back of your thigh into his hand and pulls your leg up, splaying you open. 

"Hold your skirt for me?" he murmurs. 

"This is a compromising position," you say, and do as he asks. 

Eddie pushes his hand over the top of your cunt then  down, rubbing into the bump of your clit. "Be brave, babe," he says, softness replaced by a mild exasperation. "I'll make it worth your while." 

"If someone comes up that hill and sees you with your fingers in-"

You're cut off by his hand hooking under your underwear and pulling, running the fabric over his fingers. He laughs under his breath. 

"You-" He laughs again, then mimics your gasp. Your heart is in your throat as he mocks you. "All these pretty sounds and I've barely touched you." 

"That's not true." 

His cock twitches against your back. "No?" 

"No," you whimper pathetically, watching as he pulls your panties to one side. "You, you were kissing my neck, and-" 

He really laughs then. "It's so easy." His voice melts you. Smug, beggy. You can almost hear his eyes rolling back, can picture the look on his face. 

His fingers pet your cunt, careful, his lips coming to rest on your neck. "So easy to get you, huh?" More smug than beggy, you decide. The tone of someone who's about to ruin you. 

You turn your face to his, leaning back to take him in. He's smirking, but there's a familiar sweetness about him as he circles your entrance. 

"What?" he asks softly. You catch a sneak of his tongue as he licks his lip. 

You have a smirk all your own when you kiss the underside of his jaw. "Nothing," you croon. 

"Nothing?" he asks. "Now why don't I believe you?" 

"I'm untrustworthy," you say agreeably, pulling his skin between your teeth gently, a tiny love bite. 

Eddie runs a big hand down your arm and pulls the other from your cunt. 

"Kiss?" he asks. 

When you try to kiss his lips he evades. "Fingers, baby." 

You pout but kiss his fingers chastely. 

"We both know that's not the kind of kiss I meant." 

He drags your bottom lip down. You open obligingly, though shyness for something that feels this erotic keeps you from opening wide and his fingers scrape between your teeth. He draws a circle into your tongue, his knuckles pushing into your soft palate. 

"Suck for me?" Eddie asks. 

And oh, you're gonna kill him when it's his turn. You suck on his fingers and he slides them in and out of your lips, just once, enough to make you close your eyes 

"Thank you," he says quietly.

You shudder. 

"Thank you," he repeats into your neck, cheery, nearing sarcastic, taking his spit wet fingers back to your entrance. He rubs a slow circle and pushes in, at first one finger and then two. 

You seize up on instinct but quickly relax, eased by his lazy kisses over your hickied throat, his hand reassuring on your arm. 

"Tight," he says. "You okay?" 

"Uh-huh." 

"Just…" He curls his fingers, thumb rubbing circles into the bead of your clit. "Relax for me, sweetheart." 

For me. For me. For me. 

You let yourself go limp under his touching, weight holding heavy in his arms. He doesn't say a word that isn't encouraging, whispering little praises into your neck as he works you open. 

He rubs against your sweet spot and you keen, leg kicking up. He grabs your thigh in a cruel grip and spreads you open again, shushing you. "Right there?" 

You nod, unable to speak as he buries his fingers inside you and scissors them wide, rubbing emphatically into your walls, searching for the spot again. Your thigh twitches under his hand. 

Eddie works faster now he's found it, his index and pinky finger slapping into the soft skin of your cunt with every thrust, your body flinching into his. He rocks with you, teeth scratching at your neck. 

"You like that?" he asks. 

"Yeah," you say, something about his force making you teary eyed. 

He pulls his fingers from your cunt and holds them above you, spreading them wide. Your slick ribbons between them. "A little too much, maybe," he says. He rubs them down your slit, collecting the little puddle of wetness dripping down and pushing it back inside you. "Don't ruin the blanket, sweetheart. We wanna be able to use it again, don't we?" 

Slow, fast, searching and shallow, deeper when you beg for it, tormenting your clit until it's swollen under his touch, every right move. Eddie's an expert in making you feel good, attentive to your changing needs, observational. Constantly asking what you want, how he can make it better for you. 

He pinches your clit between wet fingers. 

You turn your face into his chest to mumble fucked out nonsense and he wraps a hand around your head, petting gently. 

"You're okay. You're okay," he says, pulling his fingers out carefully. 

"Don't stop," you say. "Please, Eds, I wanna…" 

He rubs your clit, tight circles that build quickly. "You wanna cum?" he asks. 

You nod into his chest, missing his fingers inside you desperately. 

"Remember what I said?" he asks. 

You nod again. He groans, kisses the crown of your head and then sits up, arms under your arms and pulling you tight to his front. 

He hooks his hands under your legs and spreads them wide before smoothing one of them over your naked thigh, adjusting your soaked underwear. You hold onto his forearms, squeezing dark tattoos and pale skin. 

"Gonna take three?" he asks. He sounds very confident. He sounds proud, you think, skin aflame with heat and clammy with sweat, kissed by the lake's cool breeze. He sounds very, very smitten. "Yeah? Fuck, sweetheart, y'always so good for me."

You're biting back awful, mewling sounds as Eddie works in his three fingers, stretching you out as his other hand pushes wet figure eights into your clit. He moves rhythmically, hands in tandem as he fucks into your g-spot and bullies your clit. 

You pant for air, feeling your orgasm growing until it's white hot, thighs pushing closed around his hands. He ignores this and pulls you through it, his breathing loud in your ear as you gasp. 

"Eddie," you say weakly, chest heaving as you cum. "Eddie." 

"There you go," he mutters. "Alright, you got it." 

"Please," you say, eyes wet, not sure what you're begging for as it fades. 

Eddie wraps an arm around your waist and hugs you tight as he pushes two fingers into your still-contracting cunt. "You sound fucking insane when you cum," he says conversationally, his hand rubbing your side a comfort as you come down.

"How do I look?" you ask. 

"Worse. You get this crease between your eyebrows like you're gonna burst into tears." He's murmuring. You're distracted by his fingers still in your cunt and almost miss it when he says, "You sound like you're gonna burst into tears. Fuck."

You grab his wrist and pull his greedy fingers from your cunt. He wraps that arm around you too, burying his face into the back of your shoulder. 

You take in a sharp inhale and giggle. "Shit." 

"What's funny?" 

You let your head hang forward, exhausted. "Nothing. Here, let me-" You pull his arms off of you to turn and tuck him into a hug, skirt falling back into place, hiding the evidence of his ruining like he'd promised it would. 

You push onto your knees so he can cross his legs. There's a kerfuffle as you climb into his lap, and then you're content. You breathe him in, tired and giddy and lovesick

Eddie laughs as he accepts your embrace. 

"I'm getting mess all over you," he says apologetically. 

"That's okay." 

He rubs your back roughly. Settling, you can hear the sounds of the lake again, the cicadas, the water lapping the shore, the shush of long reeds in the wind. You feel warm but won't consider moving, arms over Eddie's shoulders, the side of your face to his. His cheek is warm. You suspect yours is warmer. 

You brush your fingers through the ends of his ragged curls, eyes open and hungry for his details. The back of his neck, the ridge of his shoulder under his t-shirt. You covet the nape of his neck, brushing your thumb over the top of his spine as he begins to hum. 

"What are you singing?" you whisper. 

"You wouldn't know it."

"I might." 

He hums a few more bars. 

"What kind of song is it?" you ask. "Metal?" 

He pauses before he answers, hand moving to your neck to pull you away. 

"It's a love song." 

"That's awful," you say, awful as in lovely, as in sickeningly adorable, as in you need to kiss him silly. 

You try but Eddie's focused on your neck, knuckles knocking over the column of your throat. The concern on his face makes you groan. 

"How bad is it?" you ask. 

Eddie pushes his fingernail into tender skin, a charming uptilt to his lips. "Bruise of the year, babe." 

"You're in for it, Munson."

"I'd fucking hope so." He bares his neck eagerly. You suspect his theatrical excitement is ninety percent genuine. "Do your worst."  

𓆩❤︎𓆪

thank you for reading ♡

proofread but im tired so please forgive any awful mistakes, ill fix them eventually!

[djoseph-quinn]

𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

When Eddie asks you on a date, you don’t believe it. He probably meant as friends, right? Spoiler alert — Eddie wants to be more than friends, and he’s willing to prove it. [4k]

fluff, slight hurt/comfort, fem!reader, plus-sized!reader, reader feels undesirable, kissing, obligatory ‘don’t be cruel’ scene, eddie calls you pretty like ten times, requested here

𓆩❤︎𓆪

Eddie has one of those smiles that screams trouble. Every time he looks at you with that smile he might as well have "I'm gonna break your heart," written across his forehead in tandem. 

You sneak a glance at him across the atrium. Eddie’s paused bussing tables to talk to a patron, his customer service voice in play with a matching smile. It isn't the one you mean, but it's bad enough to make you flush red-hot. You cross your arms over the bar, regret it for its stickiness, and let your head rest against the crook of your elbow. 

You've been working together for a long time now, almost six months, and he's your favourite coworker hands down. He cleans up after himself, he brings snacks that you never accept (lest you look like the greedy chubby girl you worry everyone expects you to be), and he talks to you like a real person.

It's horrifying and it's not fair, but being fat means that sometimes guys don’t want to look at you. They don't want to be in the same room with you, and you can tell; they avert their eyes, or simply don't talk to you directly.

You've never had that feeling with Eddie. He meets your eyes, unflinching, and he sends you one of those pretty smiles and you think Fuck, because he should've been a movie star, he has the cheekbones for it, or a rockstar like that band he's always raving about. He'd have a slim LA girl on both arms, no doubt about it. 

He likely wouldn't waste his time with you. 

Not someone pretty as he is. Sometimes he'll lean over and expose the flat stretch of his stomach, his v-lines and the dark trail of hair peeking above his jeans, and you feel acutely miserable 'cause you know you'll never get to touch him. Workplace crushes suck. 

"Hey, are you okay?" a voice asks, a hand dropping against your shoulder. 

You pull yourself up quickly. Speak of the devil, Eddie stands beside you with his hair tied away from his face. He looks more entertained than concerned, his smile unfortunately genuine. 

"I'm fine," you say, stepping back. His hand falls away from your shoulder. "Sorry, just tired." 

Eddie leans into your space, squinting. You freeze up, but he's only checking the time on the clock behind you. "Gotta tough it out. Still an hour and a half 'til closing." 

Which means there's more than two hours of your shift left. Your face must show how unexciting that is —Eddie laughs, warm and quiet, and gives your hand a squeeze. 

"You'll live," he promises. "Are you busy tonight? Maybe we could go get pizza or something." 

"What, nobody else is available?" you ask. 

His head juts back a touch, put upon shock. "And why can't I ask you? I like you and I like pizza, that's a good combination. And even if you don't like me that much, you like pizza, right?" 

You know —you know, you do— that Eddie doesn't mean it as a slight. This isn't some thinly veiled insult on how you look. Why wouldn't you like pizza? Most people do, but his comment twists itself into an evil inky ball in your chest anyways, thick and hot as tar. 

You shake it off. 

"Who says I don't like you?" you ask, steering the conversation away from food altogether. 

His smile gets somehow better, which is to say worse. You're being punished for something, a childhood wrongdoing or a future crime, perhaps. Nothing else could warrant the mental torture that is being so close to him while he looks the way he does. 

"Good. Good, then we should get pizza. It's a date," he says, nodding. 

Morgan the shift manager calls for him to stop distracting you, though the Hideout is abandoned tonight, and there's nothing to distract you from. Eddie stands at full height, with a soldier's salute. "Yes, sir. No more lollygagging." He turns to you when you laugh, and you share a secret smile. 

He and Morgan disappear into the back of house. If you strain your ears, you can hear Eddie complaining about having to keep his hair in a bun, as it's totally against what he stands for, dude, it's stifling his self expression. 

"Count yourself lucky I don't make you wear a hair net, kid," Morgan says.

You turn back to your sticky bar, numb. It's a date? Did he mean, like, an actual date? A romantic date? 

Not a chance in hell. It's a colloquialism. Nothing more. 

Despite yourself, you stare into the silver reflection of a beer tap and try to liven up. You fix your hair, check your teeth, dig a lip balm out of your apron pocket and scratch the corners of your mouth just in case. The entire time you're heckling yourself about delusions. Eddie Munson doesn't like you. He's had a girl come around once or twice, and she'd been everything you're not: slender, confident. You'd wanted to dislike her, but she hadn't done anything wrong. There's no crime in being desirable. 

For the remainder of the night, you man the bar and serve the occasional patron. It's a Sunday night, so most stick to light beer or soft drinks. The live entertainment says goodnight and the Hideout empties like an opened floodgate. You clean the bar, Eddie buses the tables, and the kitchen staff turn on the radio and get to work cleaning. Soon, you can smell cigarette smoke and reheated mozzarella sticks. 

You wander into the kitchen to help. 

"Hi beautiful," Leon says, one of the cooks, "you want something to eat?" 

"No she does not!" Eddie says, helping the dishwasher Marcie with her last round of plates. Suds drip down to his rolled sleeves as he waves his hands around. "We're going to get pizza." 

"Yes!" Marcie says, delighted. 

"Where are we going?" Paul asks, another cook. 

"We," Eddie says, pointing at you and then himself, "are going to Marletto's. Yeah?" 

You startle when you realise he's asking you. "Oh, sure. Anywhere you want." 

His head bobs up and down, pleased. He goes back to his dishes. "Anywhere I want," he murmurs to Marcie, though he's saying it for everybody to hear, "hear that, Marc? I'm spoiled." 

You wipe down a few counters, label some leftover iceberg lettuce and put it back in the fridge. It's easy work, made better by the camaraderie of your coworkers, but you can't settle down. Your heart races at what's to come. "It's a date," is starting to feel less colloquial now Eddie's dissuading the other from joining you. That's how that works, right? He wants to be alone with you.

It might not mean anything. Maybe Eddie needs something from you he doesn't want the others to know about, like money. Maybe he wants girl advice, finally chasing that pretty girl who drops by sometimes. Or boy advice —there's a guy who comes around too, tall and blond and handsome. 

There's a logical solution. Any other girl would hear the word date and take it at face value, but you aren't them. You're you. You can't remember the last time somebody looked at you with desire in their eyes, if they ever have. High school was a shit show and work isn't exactly a hub for romance. Eddie joining the team here is the most excitement you've ever had in your life, for all his gentle squeezes and teasing elbows, his inside jokes and his tendency to burst into an air guitar solo at any given moment. He's a cheeseball, and you like him. It sucks. 

"Hi, are you ready?" he asks, coming out of nowhere. You're kneeling down near the lockers tying your shoelaces. 

It is a horrible position for him to see you in. You can't imagine what you look like, but you know it won't be pretty. You spring up with your shoelace untied still and smile weakly. "Yeah, I'm ready." 

"You need help with that?" he asks, eyes on your shoe. 

You burn with embarrassment. "I– no, I–" 

Eddie kneels down on the floor and reaches for your shoe. He ties it quickly in a double-knotted bunny-loop and pats the side of your ankle when he's done. When he looks up at you, you're in the middle of hoping a natural disaster will occur and put you out of your misery. 

He smiles at you from his position. Does he ever stop? 

"Cool," he says, standing up. He grabs his coat from his locker and doesn't bother closing it. "Let's go! I'm starving, man, Leon needs to mess up more often so I can steal the rejects." 

You follow him in a daze. Through the lockers and out of the kitchen, waving goodbye to the lingering closers and a grimacing Morgan. You aren't looking forward to seeing him again tomorrow. You're more than sure he'll have something to say about workplace fraternising and general dawdling. 

"You okay for us to take the van?" he asks. 

Eddie's given you rides home before, and what felt awkward before has lended itself to a familiarity. You nod your agreement and cross the small parking lot out back, your breath rising in the cold night air. 

Eddie pulls open the passenger door of his van with a strong-armed tug. 

"Been meaning to get the latch looked at. I'd rather it have trouble opening than trouble closing, though, so that's a plus." 

He waits for you to climb the short step and sit before he closes the door. 

“All limbs inside the ride?" he asks. 

You laugh. It comes out weird. You kind of sound like you're being held at gunpoint. 

Eddie gets in the van and makes small talk as he starts the engine and pulls her out of the lot. Your mind isn't there, exactly, or rather it's too close. You want to think about your answers but instead you're worrying about how you look while you say them. You're worried about the seat belt around your stomach, and the way you look from the side. Being around Eddie makes you more self-conscious than usual. 

Marletto's isn't the best pizza place in Hawkins but it's open until three AM. You and Eddie take the first empty booth you come across, and the agony of ordering in front of someone else begins. 

"Meat feast for me, obviously," he says, pulling off his jacket. 

The cracked vinyl seat beneath him crunches with his movement. You dedicate yourself to staying still. 

"I'll get a margarita," you say, glancing between him and the menu for his reaction.  

"Didn't take you for such a bore," he teases. "Drinks? Sides?" 

"Just water will be fine." 

"Are you sure? I'm paying. If you wanna take advantage of me, now's the time."

You shake your head, pushing your cold hands under your thighs. 

Eddie frowns. "If you're sure…" 

He gets up to track down the register. You sit there, wondering why you agreed to this, what possessed you, why you could ever think this was a good idea. You don't wanna eat in front of him, you don't know what to say, he's looking at you like everything's normal but this is so not normal, this is the opposite side of the spectrum. 

Eddie returns with your water and a coke, all smiles despite your clear nerves. 

He puts the drinks down and clambers into the seat with a leg folded underneath himself, his elbows halfway across the table. He looks you straight in the face. 

"That guy just looked at me like I was crazy. I'm hungry, sue me. Three orders of mozzarella sticks is a normal human thing to get, right?" 

"Three?" you ask. 

His hand reaches toward you. If your hand were there, he'd likely squeeze it roughly as he sometimes does, like a playful scolding. "I'm hungry," he repeats. "I didn't get any lunch on my lunch break. What's the point in that? Just sat down in the locker room thinking about it. It was actually worse than working." 

"You should've had Leon make you a burger. He's always offering." 

"Always offering you, maybe. The rest of us gotta fend for ourselves." 

"That's not true. He asks Marcie, too." 

"Yeah, well, Leon's a sucker for pretty girls." 

You look down at the table. 

"I got enough fries for both of us, I know you didn't want any sides but everyone wants fries. I won't be sharing the mozzarella sticks, so if you want some you better speak now." He raps the table with his knuckles. When you look up, his face softens. "Well, alright. Maybe I'll share them with you. I'm a sucker, too." 

"What's that mean?" 

"What?" 

"You know what," you say. 

Eddie crosses his arms across the table. His hands and arms are pale, the ink of his black tattoos stark. You could draw them without prompting, that's how often you've fallen into his trap. When he crosses his arms like this, his biceps bulge up a little bit, emphasising the pretty curves and ridges of his arms and the hints of greeny-blue veins hiding under his skin. He tilts his head toward his shoulder, his limp curls dragging against the table. 

"It means…" he says, holding your eyes, a gentle smile playing on his lips, "that you're pretty. You're so pretty, I'd do anything you asked me to." 

You flinch. You pull your numb hands from under your thighs and cover your stomach with your forearms, glaring at the table between you thoughtlessly. 

"That's cruel." 

"What?" 

"That's cruel, Eddie. You're being mean," you mutter.

"I–" Eddie stammers. "What? I'm just trying to tell you how I think about you– how I feel. I'm sorry if you don't wanna hear it, I'm not trying to be mean." 

Hurt creeps into the lines of your face, your eyebrows pulled down and the starts pulled up, your lips pursed. Heat bursts in your throat as a molten lump takes shape there. You don't trust yourself to speak, but you have to. 

"I thought you were my friend," you say quietly. 

"I want to be more than that." 

"You're making fun of me." 

"No." 

Eddie reaches across the table again. There's nothing for him to grab so he spreads his fingers and presses his palm flat. He ducks his head to meet your gaze. His eyes are ridiculously big, the black of his pupils blown and leaching into his dark irises until they're almost indistinguishable in the fuzzy lighting of the restaurant. 

"Come on," he says quietly, "when have I ever done that to you? I mess around, but I wouldn't say shit like that unless I meant it." His fingers lift off of the table. "I mean it. I think you're beautiful." His voice takes on a raw quality. 

You bite the tip of your tongue, fully frowning now. "I don't believe you," you say. 

"Why not?" he asks, frowning back. 

"Because I'm– I'm– I'm fat." You hate yourself for saying it out loud. 

People hate that word. Usually, if you admit to it, there's a rushed response. No, you're not. Pretty friends talk you down, loved ones wrap an arm around your shoulder and harp about puppy fat or big bones. 

Eddie doesn't do either. He sits back in his seat and smiles hesitantly. 

"Why's that a bad thing?" he asks. He shakes his head at himself. "I mean– I'm sorry, I should've said you aren't, you aren't–" 

"No, I am," you say. 

"You're so pretty," he says again, in a rush. "I don't care what size you are, I really don't. I just think you're beautiful and I wanted to ask you on a real date but I saw you and I couldn't wait anymore." He wraps his hand around the neck of his coke bottles and pulls it towards his chest. "Shit, I've made a huge fucking mess of it." 

You lean forward. Your body doesn't know what to do, the whiplash of hurt smothered by his enthusiastic, sincere compliments.

Why's that a bad thing? means more than anything else he said to you. 

"You really think I'm pretty?" you ask timidly. 

"Drop dead," he says. Hope flickers behind his eyes. "Morgan pulled me aside on my second week, you know that? Said if I didn't stop staring at you he'd put me in the back for the week." 

"He did put you in the back," you say, confused. 

"Exactly." 

Oh. You raise your head properly. Eddie's watching you, just you, obviously waiting for you to speak. The hope on his face is clear as day now, his lips parted, the tiniest peek of his tongue on display. 

"You promise you aren't messing with me?" you ask finally. 

"I promise." He holds his hand out, palm up. "I swear." 

Your heart a hummingbird, you take your hand from your waist and put it carefully in his. His fingers curl around yours like a prince, the tip of his thumb rubbing over your knuckles slowly, half an inch at a time. You exhale out of your nose as goosebumps race up your arm. 

He looks like he has more to say, but the pizza and all his sides arrive. You spring apart like teenagers, blood rushing in your ears. The server unloads his tray.

"Alright guys," he says, looking down at you both with a knowing smile. "Anything else I can get you while I'm here?" 

Eddie sneaks a look at you that holds way too much meaning. "No, I think we're alright." 

There's a tiny, awkward silence. You busy yourself with unfolding a napkin over your lap, not sure what to say to bridge the gap. 

Eddie takes the plunge. 

He slides a basket of mozzarella sticks at you. "Pretty girl privileges," he says.

You feel insecure eating in front of him, but the sheer ferocity of his compliments discourages any shame. He thinks you're pretty. He held your hand like it was made of glass and he got put in Hideout jail for staring. 

"I think you're handsome, too," you say. 

Eddie almost chokes on a handful of fries. "Shit," he says, swallowing roughly, hand thumping at his chest. "Thank god for that. I mean, of course you do. My devilish good looks are hard to resist." 

He's not wrong. 

—

Getting put on kitchen duty isn't half as bad as Morgan seems to think it is. Eddie kind of likes it, the noise, the chaos, the heat. Plus, he can steal fries hot and fresh out of the basket. He's only burned himself once. 

"What're you in for?" Leon asks him.

"Staring." 

"You're a freak, Munson, you know that?" 

Eddie shrugs. "If your girlfriend looked like mine, you'd stare too." 

"Uh-huh." Leon grabs up a spatula to flip a burger, pink meat down and brown side up. Fat sizzles dangerously. Neither man flinches. "She ain't going nowhere." 

"You don't know that. Some rockstar might blaze through here and snap her up. Who would I be to stop her? She should be a trophy wife, she's a stunner." 

"Christ," Marcie says from across the room. 

"How the fuck can you hear us?" Eddie asks. Over the sound of the overhead spray and the sizzle of the burners, Marcie must have superpowers or something. 

"Uh, 'cause you're fucking yelling," she says. 

Eddie looks to Leon for some defence, but Leon agrees. "You are super loud." 

"You would be too–"

"If I had a girlfriend as pretty as yours," Leon says, audibly grouchy. "I know." 

"Don't be jealous that I got there first." 

"How is this fair? You get in trouble and I'm the one punished." 

Eddie blows a big breath out of the corner of his mouth, one of his shorter curls dancing away from his warm face. Ridiculous. They're all awful, and jealous, and nobody wants him to be happy. "Losers," he mumbles. 

He's kidding, mostly. He knows that everyone is actually very happy for the both of you. How could they not be? Eddie's happier than ever and you've turned to mush. It's his favourite thing in the world. 

He thought you were pretty before. These days, you're gold dust incarnate. You see him and smile like you've been waiting for him, no more nervousness (which, he found out, was down to a raging crush on him) (he walked on air for days), no more shying away from his touch. Eddie puts a hand on your shoulder and you don't tense; you melt. Butter in the sun. 

It's glorious. 

And sure, Eddie ends up in the brig a lot. He 'hovers' apparently. So what? He'll say it again, if any of these guys were in his shoes, they'd fall victim to the same compulsion. 

He waits for an opportunity to arise, four dinner tickets and a dishwasher disaster, and sneaks away as silently as he can manage, creeping out of the kitchen and to the bar. You're busy pouring a beer and don't notice him until the customer's left and he's wrapping an arm around your waist. 

"Eddie," you scold lightly, leaning forward to accommodate his weight against your back, "come on. You might actually lose your job." 

"They can't fire me. I'm the best bus boy ever." 

You turn your face to look at him. Eddie wants to put you on TV, you look that sweet. 

"No, you're awful, you," —Eddie interrupts you, leaning down for a quick chaste kiss— "distract me, and you," —he steals a second— "don't actually bus tables when you should," you finish, disjointed. 

He brings his hand to your soft cheek, stroking a badly behaved baby hair back into place. You go lax like he's some kind of quick fix drug, and your eyes contain a tenderness that makes his chest ache. He covers his heart with his hand. 

"You're awful," you murmur. 

He takes your face into both hands slowly. One cups your cheek, and the other slides behind your ear. He pulls your face forward and down toward his chin, his lips by your ear. You smell amazing. His eyes close on instinct.

"A little. It's not my fault. You're just–" 

"So pretty?" you ask. "Yeah, you've told me." 

"I have, have I? Have to let me tell you again." He kisses the skin before your ear, more a press of his lips than anything. "You're beautiful," he mouths. 

You shiver, but ultimately end up planting your hands against his chest and ushering him away from you. 

"Stop it. I mean it! We're in public, at work, and you're gonna mess me up." 

"I want to mess you up," he says easily. 

"I know you do." 

Eddie sighs, agonised, but heeds your warning. "Alright," he says, squeezing your shoulder in goodbye. You smile and squeeze his elbow in return. It's your new thing, silent conversation in fond touches. 

He's a couple of feet away when the urge to turn back is too much. He jogs back to your side, gets his hand behind your neck, and kisses you with enough pressure that your lips part underneath his in shock. He adores the side of your neck with his thumb one sweeping stroke at a time, his nose digging sliding against yours as he inches in further, and further. The dizzy pleasure of your lips can't be understated. Eddie fights back a kiss-ruining smile with all he's worth. 

"Sorry," he says, pulling back. Your lips shine and you blink, dazed. "Sorry," he says again, leaning in to kiss them dry. 

You laugh quietly, a breath against his cheek, and he's a goner, dropping pecks all over your pretty face until you're giggling and sinking into his arms. 

"I really am sorry." He punctuates with a kiss under your jaw. 

"No," you say breathlessly. Your hand twines loosely in his hair. "You're not." 

No, he isn't. He's never felt less sorry for anything in his life. 

𓆩❤︎𓆪

thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed! If you did, please consider reblogging, it helps more than you know!! <3 

[djoseph-quinn]

This.

[djoseph-quinn]

thinking bout him rn

[djoseph-quinn]

your photos are incredible!!! do you have any more?

Yes.

[djoseph-quinn]

Never before seen photos of Joe Keery because I took them 😳

Literally in shock.

[djoseph-quinn]

To anyone who hasn’t read this yet- do yourself the favor. I come back to it every couple months. May be my favorite fic ever.

if the unraveling has 0 fans I’m fucking dead.

Unraveling - Eddie Munson

You always had control. Always. Until one random Thursday night with Eddie Munson... (18+ bc always)

CW: 3.2k words , pet name (sweetheart) , dubcon? (kind of? but not rlly), dom/sub dynamic implied, naive reader , spit <3 , fem reader, choking , enemies to... , angst angst angst

AN / This is one of my fav things I've written, and I might turn it into a full fic / series. Let me know your thoughts and if you want more &lt;3

-Vi .

Masterlist | Part i | Part ii | part iii | part iv| part v.1 | final

-

“God you’re so fucking irritating.” You say , half under your breath, half not, as you wipe the counters of the coffee bar. 

“Right back at ya sweetheart,” Eddie says from across the room, sanitizing the espresso machine. 

This happened almost every Thursday night for the past few months, when you were stuck to close the coffee shop with Eddie. At some point in your 8 hours of being confined to share space with the idiot, you guys got at each other’s throats. 

Whether it was subtle remarks, sexual suggestions, or straight up insults, you both managed to almost always walk out of the store on the verge of killling each other. 

You drop the rag on the counter. “How many times have I told you not to call me that?”

Eddie just laughs. “How many times have i told you that i don’t fucking care? You’re so wound up,” he taunts you, throwing another rag toward your counter that you have to pick up off the floor. 

“I am not wound up- you’re just an idiot.”

Eddie just rolls his eyes and mutters something under his breath. But you’ve absolutely had it today. He’s been throwing insults your way all day, embarrassing you in front of customers and your boss. 

“What?” 

He just shrugs in response. You walk toward the machine, leaving some space between you two. 

“What did you say?” you ask again, your annoyance palpable. 

He’s so fucking smug. His boyish grin growing on his face the more annoyed you get. He looks you up and down, not subtle at all, making you scoff at him. “I said…” he starts, but doesn’t finish. 

“Oh my god,” you sigh, exasperated. Eddie walks toward you to head to the back to finish putting away dirty dishes, but you block his path. 

“Tell me.”

“Move.” 

“Not until you tell me,” you say, and he inches closer to you, your fronts nearly touching, making your head crane up to meet his eyes. His full height standing over yours, but you weren’t gonna back down. 

“Sweetheart,” Eddie coos condescendingly, “If you don’t move, I’ll just have to move ya myself.”

Your face twists in repulsion. “You wouldn’t.” 

But he does. He grabs your hips and nearly throws you against the wall to the left, out of his way, before passing you to head to the sink in the back. You gasp, not expecting the strength (or balls) he had to throw you in that way. And you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t hot feeling his touch linger on your hips. 

Fuck. 

Eddie? 

Hot? 

No. 

No no. 

“Uggghhhhh,” You groan, going to the register to finish counting and close the safe for the night. 

You and Eddie barely speak for the next fifteen minutes as you finish closing, he manages to bump into you three fucking times, but you decide to ignore it. ignore him. ignore the tightness in your stomach when his body touches yours -accident or not. 

“Are you done yet?” his voice startles you, breaking out of your trance as he leans over where you’re sitting, writing the money count down and putting it into the binder. Your lips purse as you turn to look at him over your shoulder. He was a lot closer than you thought. 

“I - Yes ,” you stutter, cursing yourself for getting flustered by his stupid presence. He smirks. You see his eyes flicker to your lips.  “Need anything else?” you pester him, trying to sound tough but it comes out in nearly a whisper. desperately needing space from his alluring scent, your anger getting muddled by the dizziness of his proximity. 

He just shakes his head and steps back, standing and waiting as you go to the back and put things away, gathering your backpack and heading to meet him at the front. 

You turned off the lights and saw Eddie waiting at the door. Sometimes the bumbling idiot does come off as intimidating - dressed in all black, his long hair and chains, standing tall with his arms crossed and foot tapping, waiting for you. You could feel his eyes on you as you approached the door. 

“Move,” you repeat his word from earlier, needing him to get out of the way so you can leave and lock the door. 

He chuckles. “You’re so fucking irritating,”he mocks you, putting on a high voice to mock your tone earlier, and staying still. You roll your eyes at him. “Just stop Eddie,” you whine, losing your patience . 

His big brown eyes are dark. The lack of light making the shadows of his features seem even more alluring. “You like it,” he dismisses you. Your eyes widen at his boldness. Who does he think he is? And when did he get this level of confidence to constantly come at you? 

“i don’t know what you’re talking about. Can you just-“

“Yes you do sweetheart”

“I said don’t fucking call me that ,” you say, pushing his chest with your hand, surprising even yourself at the small outburst. Eddie quickly grips your chin, making you look at him , before you can even try to walk away. 

“Aw, she’s upset,” he mocks you. You’re stunned in your place, shocked by his boldness and his grip on your chin. Your chest is moving up and down, but  you feel like you can barely breathe. 

He moves his face closer to yours, leaving little room between you. You can practically taste the cigarettes on his breath. 

“Gonna cry sweetheart?” 

You do it before you mean too, and maybe it’s just a survival flight or fight reaction, but before you could even think about it - you spit at him. It’s not a lot, but it’s enough to get on his cheek, making him flinch slightly. You’re shocked at your own actions, instantly regretting them and wanting to cower away. 

Eddie’s face contorts as he uses his free hand to wipe the wet substance from his cheek. Your face is red hot, feeling so embarrassed that you let him get to you like that, to act out so badly. 

“I-I’m sorry Eddie I didn’t-“ 

“Open your mouth.” He demands. His eyes are dark, and his jaw tense. His tone unwavering in a way you haven’t heard before. He has a sudden stillness, a control that is extremely intimidating. 

Your mind falters. “Wh-what?” you ask, feeling his grip on your chin move to your jaw and cheeks, squeezing hard. Your heart was in your throat. 

“Open. Your. Mouth.” he repeats, speaking down to you, each word pointed and clipped. 

You don’t know why, but you do it. Maybe out of fear, or maybe it was just an absolutely random response but you do it- You slowly open your mouth , eyes trained on Eddie, heat all over your body as you find yourself obeying him. 

He smiles darkly. “Good girl,” he praises you, and your core nearly twitches at the words. Then, without warning, he spits into your open mouth. 

You gasp, closing your mouth immediately, feeling dirty and violated. “Ah ah,” he says, gripping your face hard. You whine at the force. “Swallow.” he commands, and you do, unsure of what else to do, scared to disobey him. He releases your face, and you stare at him in  shock. You’re hesitant to move, hesitant to speak. 

“Speak,” he commands again, looking down at you with his arms crossed. You couldn’t exactly read his features. They were hard, cold, but also searching, searching you for some sort of answers.

His demand seems to make you regain some sort of consciousness, immediately backing away from him and shaking your head. “Wh- What the fuck?” You ask, incredulous. 

The boy just turns toward the door. “Just went off of what you did sweetheart- thought you liked spit.” The words were pointed, and they hit you hard. 

He walks out of the shop, leaving you extremely confused, and angry. and kind of turned on.

You follow him, turning to lock the door of the store and chase after him. 

“Eddie,” you call out, but he doesn’t respond, keeping his broad shoulders and back to you as he starts to blend with the darkness. “Eddie!” you yell. He looks at you over his shoulder but keeps walking away toward the car park, where his van sits next to your cheap car. 

“Eddie what the actual fuck was that? You can’t just do  shit like that!” You yell at him, your anger finally boiling up. The pit inside of you that hates him seemingly battling with the part that honestly loves having his attention. 

The car park isn’t lit very well, the hue of blue from moonlight and the slight orange of a shitty street lamp. And the only people around? You and Eddie. He arrives at his van, turning around and leaning up against it. He pulls a cigarette out of his pocket and lights up, taking a drag before speaking again. “Did you like it?” he asks, brown eyes focused on your figure a few feet away from him. 

“Did I like it?” You repeat, stepping closer to him, fists clenched at your sides. “Did I like that you manhandled me and spit in my mouth?” Your blood felt like it was boiling. You can’t believe it happened at all, and you felt like your mind was spinning. 

And yet, Eddie remains perfectly calm just a few steps in front of you. He’s the goddamn picture of cool as you are so -

Wound up. 

Fuck. 

Your heart feels like it drops, a weird emptiness filling you at the thought. “Did you like losing control?” He clarifies, his voice low and dark. You hesitate, then quickly shake your head ‘no’ and he chuckles. He motions with his hand for you to come forward, and you’re not sure why, but you do, getting closer to him, only an arm’s length away as he leans against his van. 

“Did you like when I took control?” He asks.

The question rings in your head as Eddie snuffs out his cigarette on the bottom of his boot. Did you? You couldn’t help how you reacted , feeling small and shocked, unable to move or fight. It was so unlike you. You always have control, and are always the one to make things happen, get things done. You’ve always had to - always. 

“What I said earlier?” He says, standing up straight and putting his hands in his black jean jacket. “Was that I thought you needed someone to put you in your place.”

You scoff. “And what do you think 'my place' is?” You challenge, feeling your strength starting to come back, the wall starting to be put back up. You just wish it would build up faster. 

He saunters toward you, and you move backwards, like predator and prey. 

“I think,” he starts, eyes never leaving your face. You feel your back make contact with the side of your car. Trapped. “You belong under me,” he finishes, his smoke scented hand reaching up to trace your face. 

This time, though, you stop him. “You’re disgusting,” you say, swatting his hand from your face. But he’s fast, and he presses you against the car with his legs touching yours, his other hand finding it’s place grabbing your jaw, squishing your face. 

“Maybe,” he laughs. You still at the chill of his voice, finding yourself again feeling vulnerable against him. “But maybe,” he whispers, his hand slowly releasing your cheeks and moving downward. Tracing your jawline, until they find a strong grip on the sides of your throat. He’s not choking you, but he’s doing something, he’s making you feel…

“Maybe you like it,” he suggests. You can’t respond, your head feeling fuzzy. 

“When I keep my hand squeezing here, it cuts off some of your circulation. Your head starting to feel funny, sweetheart?” He asks. You nod lightly, as best as you can.Your hands come up to hang on his wrist lightly. You aren’t fighting him, because the feeling is unlike anything you’ve felt before. You start to almost feel drunk, and the only thing your senses see, hear, and feel are him. 

He releases for a short moment and you catch your breath before he squeezes again, analyzing your face. “Tell me to stop and I will,” he says, and you want to- you want to want him to stop. But you don’t. 

He can see it in your eyes. He’s seen it ever since you two met and started working together, when the random banter turned into some sort of faux disdain. He’s seen the way you look at him, eyes tracing over his tattoos. Or the way you manage to always find yourself next to him in a group, your bodies slightly brushing when walking by each other or handing one another something. Or how he’s always there to help you reach for something in the store, or step-in when a creepy fuck was flirting with you. He can see how much you’ve been craving to let go, to release some control. 

To submit. 

You don’t ask him to stop, but he releases your throat, and you miss the contact. Your eyes are almost a little blurry. You feel spacey, like you’re a little high. You feel sort of disoriented and strange, your body tingly. And the only thing truly keeping you grounded is looking at Eddie in front of you.

“I knew it,” he murmured, smiling as he reads your expression. 

“I..I can’t-I don’t know what…” you try to speak, but it’s hard, words not making sense in your brain, and you’re almost getting teary eyed.

Eddie reaches his hand to gently rub your jaw with his thumb, and you find yourself leaning into the caress. “I know. You feel floaty?” He asks sweetly. 

You nod. He gives a soft smile to you, your eyes wide and glassy, looking at him like he has all the answers in the world. “Can you give me a hug sweetheart? Is that okay?” He asks, which seems funny considering he just spit in your mouth and choked you, but he knows how vulnerable this space is, and if you’ve never really been dropped into it before it can be scary. 

You find yourself reaching forward automatically, and wrap your arms around him, letting him engulf you in the embrace. He rubs your head as you find yourself starting to tear up again, and centering into your body. Listening to his heartbeat, smelling his scent, the musk mixed with cigarettes and coffee. 

After what could’ve been five minutes or five days, you pull back. Stunned. 

“Eddie?” You whisper, feeling small. “What was that?” You ask again, softly, genuinely. Not laced with anger or hatred but with confusion and wonder. 

He backs up a few steps, giving you your space as you come down from the temporary high you both just experienced. “That was…complicated,” he sighs. “But the best way I can describe it is that I guess it was the tension finally breaking.”

You nod slowly, eyes wandering to the ground, then up to the dark sky. Your head feels slower than usual but not as empty as before. You can’t put your finger on it. You stay quiet, lost in thought. 

“Are you okay?” Eddie asks, breaking your silence. 

“Yes.” You answer without hesitation. Because you are, maybe even more than just okay. 

“Are you sure? I’m sorry if I, I don’t know, misread and overstepped,” he explains, and you knew he was being genuine. He was being so gentle and kind, the Eddie that you knew existed behind all of the black and anger and small battles. 

“I don’t think you did,” you say honestly. You would’ve never expected it, never done it yourself, but it doesn’t mean you didn’t like it. You just don’t even know what to make of what happened. 

Sure, you were turned on. But it wasn’t even inherently sexual. It was something else, and it was intense. You’ve had sex before, you’ve messed around with guys, hell you’ve even been in a 6 month relationship, but you’ve never felt something like this. And with Eddie? Eddie Munson? 

Eddie Munson, the freak of Hawkins. The kid you heard about since you first moved here to escape your family after high school. The kid who was ‘too old’ to be working in a coffee shop, but apparently too estranged to really be doing anything else. You knew nothing about him, and yet you knew everything. You knew how he worked and the ways to get under his skin - working together for 5 months, nearly 30 hours a week, makes you get to know someone. 

But this? What was this?

“Well,” Eddie starts, his gaze on you faltering, his intense demeanor suddenly turning back to boyish. “If you uh, want to talk about it or something, here’s my number. I should go before I do something really stupid,” he says, rubbing the back of his head. He places the piece of paper into your hand and walked to the other side of your car, motioning for you to come and unlock it. You move slowly, looking at the crumpled paper scrawled with his phone number on it.

“If this was…whatever it was, I’m scared to ask what really stupid would be,” you try to joke, but know that you’re also baiting him, asking for more. You step in front of him, reaching your keys down to unlock your car, as he opens the door for you. 

He leans on your door as you slink your way between it and the front seat of the car, not sitting yet, not ready to leave. “You should be scared, sweetheart,” he says, only a small hint of joking to his tone of voice. Your stomach flips at the pet name, and you mentally curse yourself, a blush coating your cheeks. You try to turn away, embarrassed, but he uses the tip of his finger to turn your face back toward him, a cheeky grin painted on his face. 

“Oh? Now she likes the name,” he chuckles. You roll your eyes at him. “Whatever Eddie,” you say, but can’t help the smile that creeps onto your lips. You see the way he inhales sharply at your attitude, and can’t help but wonder what he would do if he wasn’t holding back…But for now you slip into the front seat of your car and start the engine.

“Goodnight sweetheart,” Eddie says, closing the door right as you mutter a weak “Goodnight” back to him. You wait to leave until he gets into his car too, and the eye contact you make with the boy is searing. 

But you pull yourself together and shift into reverse, pulling out of the car park and onto the dark and familiar road before any other exchanges could possibly be made. You feel the crumpled paper in your pocket, as if it’s burning a hole, wanting to call him the second you arrive home, but you know better. 

You know to wait. Or ignore it - act like this never happened. But the strength you once thought you had, may suddenly be unraveling at the hands of one Eddie Munson, and you think you might like it. 

[djoseph-quinn]

God I miss the fluffy little curls

[djoseph-quinn]

He’s actually winking at me

[djoseph-quinn]

baby

[djoseph-quinn]

okay joe okay

[djoseph-quinn]

Those glasses turn me into a slut

this fucking man y’all what the hell!!! 😵‍💫😵‍💫

Shoutout to @johnnyst0rm and @tightjeansjavi for keeping me fed with these because I hadn’t seen them yet.

[djoseph-quinn]

HOLY SHIT.