gloomweed

[gloomweed]

Entwined

Kas!Eddie Munson x reader

A/N: please please read the tags on this one, I know this isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. I’ve tried to tag it thoroughly though of course if I’ve missed anything please tell me and I will add it to the list.

I personally think this is pretty tame (at least in comparison to a lot of the fics I read) but it is still darker than my usual stuff so bear that in mind

18+ (minors dni) - Dubcon, some noncon elements, kidnapping, restraint, injury mention, blood mention, biting, death mention, blood drinking, oral mention, unprotected piv, mind control-ish, threesome maybe? (idk, if you squint), reader has a vagina and uses fem pronouns 8.6k

—————————————————————————

“Goddamit piece of fucking shit!”

There’s not a soul around to hear the expletives you hurl into the air. Your voice is strained and desperate, throat closing tight while angry tears burn at your lash line.

Your car - the aforementioned piece of shit, is unmoved by the abuse you spew at it, as it was by the prayers and pleas you had been whispering just moments ago.

Closing your eyes, your head falls hard against the headrest. If there’s anyone out there in the dark abyss of the night sky, if there is a god, or a guardian angel who looks upon you kindly, then please will they just let your car start.

You turn the keys one last time, fingers numb from the cold slipping and fumbling. This time there isn’t even the pathetic chugging attempt of the engine trying to start.

You’re met with total silence.

Jumping out of the open door you let another frustrated scream tear from your throat. You kick the door hard, a new dent to match the dozen others now left in the scratched silver metal.

If there was a god, you weren’t in his favour. Your guardian angel actually one of mocking, probably some winged asshole having a good laugh at your expense.

In some ways you know you can’t blame your bad fortune entirely on made up deities. Your Impala had been rattling for the last fifty miles. And the guy working at the gas station back in Bloomington had offered to take a look at the engine for you.

But there was something about him that put you on edge.

Call it intuition, a sixth sense, or just plain common sense, whatever it was you knew he was a creep. The way his tongue had swiped over his thin bottom lip, his eyes leering when he suggested “feeling around under the hood.”

No thanks.

You always trusted your gut. So you just shoved a couple of dollars his way, cringing when his clammy fingers attempted to close around your own, then hurrying out with two bottles of water. One for you, the other to dump in the coolant tank in the hopes that your old beat up vehicle would carry you just a little further.

Now here you were, with an overheated engine and a dead battery to boot, stuck in the middle of some anonymous strip of Indiana road. Either side of you fields stretch out, so far until the darkness of the night swallows them and you can’t see where the sky meets the ground.

Just an endless wall of black.

Despite the vast open nothingness, there’s something oppressive in the air. It’s claustrophobic. Like the dark was pressing in on you. It has you glancing over your shoulder, wrapping your arms around yourself in a feeble attempt at comfort.

Feeling hopeless, you stare back down the road in the direction you’d come from. The last town you passed through was at least ten miles back, maybe more. There was no way you’d make it that far.

You could sleep in your car.

You’d done it before, on nights when the dwindling dollars in your purse wouldn’t stretch to a motel room for the night. But that was different. You’d only ever risked it when you were near civilisation, a building full of people just a short sprint or a terrified scream away.

Here there was no one. And while that should mean you were safe, away from anyone who would want to hurt you, you didn’t like the thought of someone driving by and finding you alone and vulnerable out here. You weren’t about to be that stupid.

Pulling a cigarette from your pocket you clamp the filter between your teeth and light it. You exhale a thin cloud as you pull the passenger door of your car open, your road map spread out across the seat. Using the glowing cherry of your cigarette you follow the thin blue line that represents the road you’d been travelling along. As you trace your finger north you smile to yourself when you see a name just a few miles from where you guess you are currently.

Hawkins.

You’ve never heard of it of course. It’s just one of many small towns that you’d been planning on passing through. Slipping by unnoticed like a ghost.

That was where you would head. Maybe you’d get lucky, find a guest house or motel where you could crash for the night. Maybe a mechanic who’d take pity on you and accept what little you could pay them in exchange for a tow and a little tinkering, just enough to get you back on the road again.

You toss the butt of your cigarette to the ground and snatch up the map, folding it and stuffing it into your pocket. Retrieving your backpack from the footwell you slip the straps over your shoulders, and roll the zipper of your coat up to your neck in a fruitless attempt to keep out the cold.

Locking your car is somewhat pointless, but you do it anyway. If someone finds it and wants to break in there’s nothing much stopping them, although they’ll likely be disappointed once they dig through the rest of your bags and see there’s nothing of value.

With one last look at your broken heap of junk, you turn and begin the long, cold walk to Hawkins.

—————————————————————————

The road feels like it will never end.

There’s nothing to see, just a long strip of anonymous tarmac that disappears in the distance. No trees, no houses, no road signs. Nothing.

You have no idea how long you’ve been walking. The batteries in your watch died weeks ago, the hands permanently set at 6:45. All you know is your bones ache, from both the cold and exhaustion. You’re pretty sure a blister is forming on your heel, your sneakers rubbing your skin raw, but if there’s one advantage of the frigid winter weather it’s that your feet are so frozen they’ve lost all sensation, so at least you can’t feel the pain.

You just have to keep going, you tell yourself. Just a little further. One more step. And another. And another. And…

You stop. There’s a row of trees in the distance, thick and towering. The edge of an intimidating forest.

It’s somewhat of a relief. With your surroundings unchanging no matter how many steps you took, you were beginning to feel like you’d been going crazy. Like you’d step into some stranger otherworldly place, where you’d walk for eternity, doomed to go nowhere. The forest was a sign that you had at least made some progress.

The thought of walking through those trees wasn’t exactly thrilling though.

The closer you get the more you can see just how dense the forest is. It’s mostly pines and cedars, still holding onto their leaves despite it being the middle of winter. They form a shield across the sky, blocking the pale moonlight that so far has been your only guide. You fumble in your pockets for your flashlight, finding nothing but your keys, your lighter, and some balled up receipts. It’s then that you remember you’d thrown it into the glove box of your car a couple of days back.

“Fuck.” You whisper.

It feels strange to speak aloud, almost like you shouldn’t be breaking the eery silence. You continue on, trying to convince yourself that you’re not completely terrified at the way the last of the light is swallowed and you’re submerged into total darkness.

It takes a few moments for your eyes to adjust. You’re grateful that at least you can follow the road. As long as you stay on the tarmac path before you then you can’t get lost. The thought of trying to blindly navigate your way through the maze of trees turns your stomach.

You can just about cope with the lack of light, but there’s something else now that has you on edge.

The forest is alive with sounds, and you find yourself missing the quiet from before. It feels like you’ve wandered into the open jaw of some living creature, the slight wind rustling the branches over head sounding like breaths exhaled. Occasionally a twig will snap somewhere in the distance, causing you to flinch and quicken your pace. When an animal, something that you cannot name, cries out sharply from the left of you, it’s only the pain in your legs and sheer exhaustion that stops you from breaking into a panicked sprint.

Finally, just as your fear is reaching a fever pitch, you swear you can see a warm amber glow between the branches up ahead. Lights.

Lights mean houses, which means people. You’ve finally made it. Hawkins must be just up ahead.

You walk quicker now, the thought of escaping this place spurring you on. You just have to hope that who ever you find in Hawkins will be welcoming.

A winding dirt track branches off from the main road, leading to an isolated property nestled amongst the trees that part like old friends welcoming you with open arms.

The house stands alone. A humble looking place, but relatively well kept. Beside it there’s one smaller building, almost like a large shed, with a old Chevy parked out the front. Just beyond you spy an unusual glow on the ground. It’s only when you take a few tentative steps down the track that you can see it’s a lake, the still water reflecting the bright white of the moon, visible once more.

There’s no one around, but given the late hour you’re not surprised. Windows on the ground floor of the home show warm lights within, all the curtains wide open, but no sign of movement.

Most likely whoever lives here is asleep. It would make sense. They could have just forgotten to switch the lights off, or dozed off on the couch.

You can’t disturb them, you realise, with a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. You’d be relying on their kindness, and you doubt most people would be happy to be woken by a stranger on their doorstep at god knows what hour.

But you still need somewhere to rest. The wind is beginning to pick up, biting at your cheeks and whistling through the branches that line the property.

The shed is your best option. It won’t be a comfortable nights sleep, but it beats freezing to death out here.

You creep slow, keeping an eye on the house for signs of life, worried that at any moment someone will come barging out. But you make it to the door just fine, relieved to find it unlocked.

The hinges squeak when you push against the wood, the sound echoing in the quiet. A quick glance over you shoulder reassures you that no one seems to have heard.

It’s a boat house you realise when you open the door. There’s just enough light from the moon for you to see an old row boat in the centre, covered over with a cobweb decorated tarp. While you don’t like the thought of sharing a bed with spiders, it’s the only option available to you now. You can climb in and settle out of the wind for the last few hours of the night, and hopefully wake before anyone happens upon you.

—————————————————————————

Eddie’s surprised to hear footsteps approaching the house. Even from this distance, with some sitcom rerun playing on the TV he can make out the distinct sound of shoes crunching over gravel. This is strange to him for a number of reasons.

One, he did not hear a vehicle. Rick’s old place, now his, is far enough from Hawkins that no one comes here on foot. Eddie doesn’t have a neighbour for miles, and any tires turning off of the main road in the direction of the house are easy for him to pick up on.

Two, Eddie does not get unannounced visitors. The jumpy government agents who check in on him always arrive like clockwork, first of the month every month. They ask their questions, poke around a little just to make sure Eddie is holding up his end of the bargain and behaving, then they high tail it out of here as fast as their unmarked vehicles can take them. They don’t like to hang around.

The only people who are still comfortable around Eddie are the people who knew him before. Really knew him that is. Wayne, Steve and Robin, the kids. They always call before a visit. Eddie has pretty strong willpower these days, but it’s better not to take any unnecessary risks.

The third and final reason, is that it’s almost 3 o’clock in the goddamn morning. Most sane people would be tucked up at home in the safety and comfort of their beds, not wandering around the woods at the beginnings of what the weather man on TV had called a ‘particularly nasty blizzard’.

Eddie wanders to the window, peeking out into the darkness. There’s someone by the boat house. A woman.

Eddie watches as she fiddles with the latch on the door, can hear her sigh of relief over the now howling wind when it opens with little resistance.

She turns to look back over her shoulder, but Eddie’s one step ahead, shifting just out of view before he can be seen. He waits until the hinges of the boat house door squeak again before he looks out once more. She’s gone, hidden away behind the walls. He can hear the rustling of the tarp, a surprised squeal, and then muttering under breath.

“Fucking spiders.” A voice hisses quietly.

Eddie chuckles to himself. Whoever this mysterious girl is, she’s got a lot worse to worry about than a few bugs.

—————————————————————————

Eddie strolls along the path that leads from his front door to the boathouse. He’s barefoot, still just dressed in ripped jeans and a torn up tank top, but the cold doesn’t affect him. It might as well be mid July.

As he approaches the boat house he can hear the creaking of wood, the abandoned row boat inside shifting with the weight of a body climbing into it. The tarp rustles again, and there’s the sound of shuddering breath being blown through chattering teeth. His mystery guest settling down for the night.

Eddie moves silently, arriving at the door with whoever this intruder is on the other side none the wiser. He takes hold of the latch and slides it slowly, the metal grinding, and hears a panicked gasp come from inside.

Eddie opens the door, finding you huddled beneath the tarp. You’ve pulled it up to your chin like a dusty blanket. Your eyes are wide with fear, and Eddie can feel it - that panicked energy buzzing in the air around you.

“What are you doing?” He asks calmly.

“Oh my god. Oh - I’m s-sorry. I’m so sorry.” You stammer. Eddie watches in amusement as you throw yourself back out of your make shift bed. In your hurry you catch your foot on the edge of the boat, tumbling to the ground with a panicked yelp. When you stand you desperately dust cobwebs off your jeans.

“I’m really really sorry.”

“You said that.” Eddie replies.

“I just- listen, I didn’t mean to disturb you. I just needed somewhere to crash for the night and I didn’t think anyone would notice.”

“Bit of an odd place to spend the night don’t you think?” Eddie grins.

“I uh - yes, you’re right. M-my car, it broke down a couple of miles back. I was just looking for some help, but it’s so late, so I figured I’d just stay in here until morning and then.. well then I don’t really know.” You admit with a pained expression.

Eddie remains silent. He watches you twist your hands anxiously, bottom lip caught between your teeth. His lack of reaction seems to further fuel your worry, the palpable tension that surrounds you growing.

You’re studying him, pupils growing as your eyes adjust to the dark. You’ve noticed his bare feet, brows contorting in confusion at how he seems unaffected by the chill while you shiver beneath your heavy winter coat. Your eyes dart nervously up to his face, and for a split second you appear surprised.

Eddie loves the scent of fear.

Or at least, the feral, twisted part of him that now shares his body does. The moment just before a kill, when his prey has given up hope of escape and surrendered to the inevitable.

It’s intoxicating, almost sour in nature but far from unpleasant, the smell of despair and terror. He savours it, drinks it in and lets it cloud his mind in a haze before he goes in for the kill. It beats any strain that Rick used to supply him with.

But there’s something new now, something he hasn’t come across before. It’s subtle, woven beneath your unease so delicately he could miss it if his full attention wasn’t firmly set on you. Exotic and sweet, flooding his senses.

Desire, the low voice in the back of Eddie’s mind whispers.

Eddie’s so surprised he can’t conceal the laugh that bubbles up in his throat.

You take a tentative step back, that sweet perfume now drowned out by your spiking fear.

“What’s funny?” You whisper. Eddie catches the way you hurry to look left and right, searching for a potential escape. You won’t find one. He’s blocking the only door.

“Nothing.” He says softly. Each small step forwards he takes has you moving further back, until you’re pressed against the far wall with nowhere to go. He can hear your heart thumping against the inside of your ribs in a terrified beat.

“It’s just… if you’ve come looking for help, then I’m afraid you’ve chosen the worst place possible sweetheart.”

“Wh-what do you mean?” You whimper, pressing back into the rotting wood like you could ever hide yourself from him. From them. It’s too late for that now, even if Eddie was willing to let you go he knows that he would never let that happen.

“S-stay back!” You cry.

It’s a quite frankly pitiful attempt at intimidation on your part. You’re trembling, the stench of your terror overwhelming now, the organ in your chest pounding so hard Eddie hears every thump echo in his ears like it’s his own pulse.

Eddie smiles.

He opens his mouth, but the voice that comes out in a raspy hiss is unlike his own, because it isn’t.

“Sleep.”

The whites of your eyes flash as they roll back in your head. Eddie darts forward to catch your limp form just before it crashes to the floor.

—————————————————————————

Eddie has to leave you unconscious for longer than he would like.

He hadn’t exactly thought this through, whatever this is, and so he’d left you dreaming while he prepared the upstairs guest room. He had a feeling that his efforts would prove unnecessary soon enough, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

It takes the rest of the early hours of the morning for him to accomplish his set up, the sun high above the tree line by the time it’s ready.

When his work is done he moves you from the couch to the bed. The strength his slim frame now possesses makes it easy, he carries you up the stairs cradled in his arms as though you were made of feathers, rather than the dead weight of an adult woman. The old Eddie would have been wheezing and sweating from the exertion, if he’d managed to lift you at all, but now he copes just fine.

With your body tucked beneath the fresh sheets he takes a moment to study you.

You wear a calm expression. Peaceful.

Eddie can’t resist the urge to touch, just a little. He reaches for your cheek, cool fingertips meeting warm skin. He brushes gently over the softness, stroking down along the line of your jaw.

You’re too deep in sleep to react to his touch, Eddie knows that. It’s simply a figment of his wishful imagination when he thinks he sees you nuzzle into his hand.

The fear that soured the air around you is gone for now. Eddie knows it will return as soon as you wake and find yourself here. In your slumber your mind is no longer racing, and Eddie breathes in deep to capture the sweet scent of your dreams, floral and delicate, like camomile and mint. It tastes like safety on his tongue.

If only you knew.

You’d been running from something. That much was obvious from your dishevelled appearance, and the few belongs in your backpack that he’d rummaged through. A change of clothes, a small amount of cash, and a handful of IDs, each one with a different name and date of birth, none of them true.

Eddie knows your real name. He can see the letters clearly when he closes his eyes, lets the sound of it roll around in his head like a sweet melody on replay. How ironic that in your search for safety and anonymity you’d found yourself here. Like a helpless insect that wandered carelessly into a black widow’s web.

But you were lucky, in some ways.

Eddie had fed just a few days ago. It would be at least a week until that itch began prickling beneath his skin, a few more days after that before the ache in his belly became an inescapable roar. If you’d come to him then he would have been powerless to stop himself, to stop him from destroying you. But Eddie doesn’t want that. And for now he is letting him live out his little fantasy.

It had been difficult to adjust in the beginning. The concept of sharing your mind and body with another so foreign and frightening. But it got easier with time.

Now the two strands of personality were braided together. Weaved and knotted in an intricately binding embrace, old and new creating something altogether different.

Eddie, still tender hearted, yearning for connection.

Kas craving domination and power. A dark force wanting to crack open its jaws and devour all that it came across.

Eddie knows that it’s foolish to dream of keeping you. It will be hard to explain to his friends, harder still to convince the government agents when they next come to check on him. They’ll say it’s too much of a risk, they’ll try to take you from him.

The voice in Eddie’s mind growls possessively, his fingers curling on instinct into a harsh grip on your jaw. Still you don’t wake. You won’t until he instructs it.

No, it’ll be fine, Eddie tells himself. Those men in suits are easy to manipulate, he’ll have no issues persuading them to give him what he wants.

Eddie can’t help but chuckle at their stupidity.

They were instructed by the country’s brightest minds, yet none of them understood how this worked.

When they came they wore their stupid little headpieces, metal crowns strapped across their foreheads with blinking lights and monitors. They were still working under the illusion that Eddie, or rather Kas, could read their minds, and slip his own thoughts in there like notes hidden between the pages of a book.

But it was more subtle than that.

It wasn’t telekinesis or mind control. There wasn’t any scientific word that Eddie knew to describe it. It was deeper, chemical, like some kind of ancient dark magic he’d conjure up in his campaigns.

Kas could sense every emotion, taste and smell them like smoke in the air. And he had some kind of influence. Eddie wasn’t sure how he did it, he just knew that he could. Dustin had said that some animals could emit pheromones, a chemical signal that affected the behaviour of others around it. It was the closest Eddie could get to an explanation, and he’d sworn blind not to use it on anyone he cared about.

It wasn’t that Eddie didn’t care about you. He didn’t know you, but he was still protecting you from Kas, who he was sure would gladly rip out your throat and drain your body dry if Eddie gave him the go ahead. Eddie wanted more than that.

Sure, there was a part of him that felt guilty. From the moment he decided to keep you, that he would use these new powers he wielded to make you his, he knew that it was wrong.

He could still back out. He carry you back downstairs, drive you out to your abandoned vehicle and let you wake up alone. He doubted you’d come looking for an explanation. More likely you would brush it off as some crazy dream, and hightail it out of Hawkins as quickly as you could.

No one would ever have to know.

But when would he get a chance like this again? It was so unlikely that fate would ever send another pretty thing staggering his way. One who was clearly looking for a fresh start, or fleeing something that had to be worse than this. If he kept you, he doubted anyone would come looking for you.

And if he passed up on this opportunity then he was resigning himself to a life lived alone. His worst fear.

Not alone, Kas says in his head. If he’d used Eddie’s lips he knows he would be smirking, thinking himself funny.

You don’t count, Eddie thinks back.

This could be good for me. Good for both of us.

The concept of forever was terrifying to Eddie in a way it never had been before. Back when his life was simple he had assumed that he would never live to an old age. Live fast die young, that kind of stereotypical mindset of a man who only ever thought about the present, the future just some distant place that he needn’t concern himself with.

Things we’re different now.

It had only been a couple of years, but Eddie knew. He could see the changes in those around him: Dustin growing a few inches taller, Wayne’s wrinkles deepening, hell Lucas was sporting a beard these days.

But Eddie was unchanged. Frozen in time. Frozen in the body of a twenty year old.

Kas’ presence, brought on by the bites of the bats that nearly killed him, had made forever a very real concept for Eddie. The people he loved would grow older, and one day they would die. Eddie would be left behind.

But now he realises that he could have someone with him. Keep you to himself, so he didn’t have to face forever alone. And this sleeping young woman at his side clearly wanted to disappear. Eddie could make that happen. No one would ever find you. He could almost convince himself he was doing you a favour.

Eddie strokes your cheek once more.

Stalling. He’s stalling. He’s not sure what he’s waiting for.

Shall I wake her? Kas whispers.

Eddie swallows the lump in his throat.

“Yeah. Go ahead.” He says quietly.

—————————————————————————

You wake from a deep sleep.

Every muscle in your body feels relaxed, the ache in your joints from nights spent sleeping in your car or on lumpy motel mattresses a distant memory. Your head is nestled against soft pillows, warmed by your skin and fresh smelling, like the cases have recently been washed. With a contented sigh you stretch out your arms, hands feeling across silk like sheets. The tips of your fingers brush a rougher material, and your eyes peek open curiously.

Denim. Jeans specifically, a denim clad knee at the edge of the bed. You look up with a frown, seeing a man sat cross legged at your side, watching you sleep with a small smile on his face.

Realisation dawns, those memories of the boathouse flooding back. With a shrill shriek you scramble away from the strange man, moving so quickly you tumble from the bed to the floor. Still too weak or shocked to stand you crawl backwards away from the bed, until something unyielding tugs at you, preventing you from moving further. You stare down in horror at the metal ring clamped tight around your ankle. It’s connected to a thick chain that snakes back to a leg of the bed, which you’re now noticing is bolted to the floor.

“What - what is this?” You cry, pulling at the chain desperately.

The man on the bed hasn’t moved. He’s still watching you, with that same smile on his lips.

“Let me go!” You scream.

“Can’t do that I’m afraid sweetheart.” He says calmly. Unfazed by your shrieking.

“This is - this is crazy! You’re crazy! Why are you doing this?”

The palms of your hands are raw from tugging at the restraints, sweat coating your palms making it difficult to keep your grip. You sob in frustration, giving up on the chain and instead trying to slip your foot free from the shackle.

A whisper of your name has you freezing, your hands still and heartbeat pounding in your ears. You look up at the stranger in disbelief.

“It’s okay. You’re okay.” He says softly.

“How.. how do you know my name?” You whisper. The man gives you a look of pity, as though he could explain but you simply wouldn’t understand.

“Answer me!”

He’s unaffected by your shouts. Instead he merely tilts his head and pats the empty space beside him.

“You really don’t have to fear me. Come sit back up here and we can talk.” He says.

“Don’t have to fear you? You’ve got me chained up like some kind of dog.” You spit out, a fresh flood of tears spilling to roll down your cheeks.

“Stop that. You’ll hurt yourself.” The man says, gesturing to where you twist and pull at the shackle once again. His tone is full of concern, ironic considering he’s the one who bound you in the first place.

You ignore him, clawing at the metal in the hopes that it will give, that you will find some weakness in it.

“Stop.” He snaps. His voice sends a shiver down your spine, suddenly so harsh, with a slight hiss. Your hands instantly still, dropping limp and useless at your sides. It feels like your brain is screaming to your hands to continue, but they refuse to listen. You cannot move.

“Come here.” He repeats, in that same tone that has your blood running cold.

You shakily rise to your feet, walking back to the bed as though pulled by some invisible string, just a puppet to be toyed with.

The man’s features soften when he sees you doing as he’s asked. He pats beside him again, and you hesitantly take a seat.

You’re still crying, still desperate to get away, but you can’t. You want to hit him, claw at his face, force him to set you free. It’s like that hazy dream state, or closer to a nightmare, when you can’t make a fist, throw punches that are just light taps, try to run and find yourself moving so slowly like you’re wading through thick treacle. Instead of lashing out you match the man’s position, sitting cross legged next to him, so close that your knees touch.

“That’s better.” He whispers.

And it is, somehow. You have no idea what’s happening, but there’s a sense of calm washing over you. Your body relaxing like you’re safe here.

“I’m sorry I scared you.” The man says. He reaches out to brush the tears from your cheek, and you flinch.

“Shh. It’s okay.”

He keeps telling you that, but you don’t believe him. Still you don’t pull away, letting him cup your face in his cold hands.

This close you can see him properly. He’s not shrouded in darkness like he was last night.

Wild curls spill down across his shoulders, his bangs frizzy and in need of a trim. Just beneath them sit thick brows, framing round doe-like eyes, the colour of melted chocolate. It’s his skin that stands out to you. So pale, devoid of any colour in his cheeks. There’s a strange pattern across his flesh, faint but visible, his skin almost translucent. Dark veins stretch out like vines, on his face, his neck, and running down his arms.

“Who are you?” You whisper.

He smiles. Plump lips pulling back to reveal a row of shining white teeth.

“I’m Eddie.” He replies.

“Eddie?”

He hums an amused sound, like he likes hearing you say his name. Cold fingers trace down from your cheek to your neck, the pads a little rough but the touch is gentle. It makes you shiver again.

“You still look so sad.” He comments. Like it’s surprising to him.

“You can let me go. I won’t tell anyone I was here, I swear.”

Eddie shushes you once more.

“Why would I want to do that?”

“Please.” You whimper, feeling panic build in your chest again.

“Sweetheart. Don’t upset yourself again. Just.. come here. Let me make it better.”

Eddie opens his arms. You look at him with disgust. Why would you want him to hold you? You hate him. You fear him.

But there it is again, that strange serenity. That magnetic pull.

Eddie looks so kind, so eager to help you. He wouldn’t hurt you, would he? Surely there was nothing to be afraid of.

You feel like you’ve been split in two. One voice in your mind screams for you to run, to fight, to do anything but submit to him. But there’s another voice in your head now. Soft and melodic, like a lullaby. It has you crawling closer, letting Eddie wrap you in his embrace.

You cry harder when your head presses to his chest, but they feel like tears of relief now. You can’t help but wrap your arms tight around your captor, letting him pull you until you’re sitting in his lap. He leans back against the headboard, rubbing soothing circles on your back while your fingers cling desperately to his shoulders.

“That’s it. See, you’re doing so good. This is helping, right?” Eddie says.

You nod in reply, your shuddering sobs slowly tapering off, your breathing becoming less erratic with every passing minute. You tuck your face against Eddie’s neck, his skin so cold against yours. Drawing in a deep breath through your nose you let his scent flood your senses. Comforting and warm. Like cinnamon, and the smoke when you first blow out a candle. It’s nostalgic in some way. He feels familiar, like he lives in a memory buried deep, just out of reach.

“God, you have no idea how happy you’ve made me.” Eddie whispers, his lips buried in your hair.

“We’ve been so lonely. We’ve been waiting for someone like you.”

You raise you head and look at him questioning. What did he mean by ‘we’? So far you’ve seen no evidence of anyone other than Eddie.

Just Eddie.

Eddie who’s holding you tight. Eddie who’s keeping you safe. Eddie who’s smiling at you so brightly, like you’re a wonder, like you put every star in the sky.

Your Eddie.

“My girl. My pretty girl.” He says. Almost as if he heard the words in your head.

Your heart rejoices. That’s right. You were Eddie’s girl. Always. Why had you been trying so hard to fight it? You can’t remember now.

He reaches over to the nightstand, retrieving a silver key. He slips it into the lock that’s restraining you, the shackle clicking open. Eddie pulls the chain away, letting it hit the ground with a solid thud. He rubs his fingers over the indent the metal left in your skin, smiling softly. You’re free, but he knows you won’t go anywhere now.

It doesn’t matter. Nothing before this moment matters. All you care about is that Eddie’s got one hand on your spine, pulling you close, the other hand tilting your jaw until your noses brush.

“Don’t you see?” He says.

“You were meant to be here with me.”

Is that true? If Eddie says so, then it must be. He wouldn’t lie to you, would he?

Your thoughts feel so jumbled, like nothing makes sense apart from his touch. You have a vague recollection of fear, of travelling with no real direction, weeks spent alone. But you weren’t alone anymore. You didn’t have to be afraid.

“I was meant to be here with you.” You repeat back.

That must be right. You’d been travelling before. You remember your car, the frustration and fear when it broke down. But there was that name on the map. Hawkins. You’d been heading to Hawkins. You’d been searching for Eddie, and you finally found him.

A genuine smile spreads across your face, the feeling almost foreign, your muscles not used to pulling this way. Eddie’s face lights up in response.

—————————————————————————

Eddie’s sick.

He knows that, there’s no other explanation for what he’s doing. He knows it’s wrong - knows it’s disgusted and perverted and he should be ashamed of himself. He should stop.

But he can’t.

He won’t.

Maybe he and Kas are more alike than he realised. Deep in the recesses of his mind Eddie hears the monster chuckle. Of course he would find this entertaining. Amusing himself at Eddie’s crisis of conscience, at dragging them both down to the same level.

But this is different, right?

Because if Kas had his way, you’d already be dead. You eyes lifeless, your blood staining the sheets and dripping hot down Eddie’s throat. From the moment Eddie’s fingertips met your neck and brushed the pulse that thrummed beneath the skin he’d felt Kas become agitated. Like a caged animal gnawing at the bars of its enclosure, desperate to get out, desperate to maim and feed.

With Eddie still in control you were alive. Better than alive, you were happy. Maybe it wasn’t genuine. But still, wasn’t this better? For the tension to melt away from your body, a smile on your pretty lips for the first time since Eddie had met you. He could only assume your life was hard before you came to him, you were running from something. There was no need for you to run anymore. Eddie would protect you.

If Kas devours his victims in death, then this would be how Eddie chooses to consume you.

With his lips hastily pressing against yours, warm breath fanning across his mouth when yours parts on a pleased sigh. It’s been a while since Eddie’s done this, but you don’t seem to mind his rustiness. Your hands slip up into his hair, curls knotted between your fingers, a safety blanket for you to cling to. You meet every desperate kiss with an eagerness of your own, licking hot into Eddie’s mouth, your tongue searing his cool flesh like a brand.

For once, Eddie’s mind is quiet. His companion seems to have been shocked into silence, offering no protests or snide remarks. Perhaps he’s enjoying this too.

The emotions that Eddie’s been feeding you seem to be working, all those chemical signals wiping out any shred of resistance left in you.

It’s like you can’t get close enough to him, that dam finally broken, now you’re whining high and needy when your hands tug at his hair and grab fistfuls of his shirt, your legs locked around his waist. Eddie drops his hands to your ass, feeling denim stretched tight over your curves. He pulls and pushes, guiding your hips to rock in a slow rhythm, every shift having your core press firmer against the bulge that’s growing beneath his own jeans.

You’re panting between kisses now, mewling whispers of his name on each exhale.

Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

He can’t find it in him to feel guilty anymore. This couldn’t be wrong, not when you’re begging for him.

It takes little of Eddie’s strength to flip you both, laying you flat against the mattress, his hips settling between your thighs that part for him so easily. You pout when his lips leave yours, but he can’t resist the urge to bury his face against your neck, breathing your scent in deep.

Eddie can almost taste your blood on his tongue, that metallic tang he’s come to crave.

He’s sure you would be so sweet, the most delicious ambrosia to ever pass his lips. But he manages to keep a level head, nipping at your throat gently, never enough to break the skin. Just enough to leave marks of possession, as if anyone could ever doubt who you belonged to with that way you continue to call out his name.

When Eddie raises his head to look at you he’s met with starry bright eyes, hazy like you’re still in a dream. He knows it’s what he’s doing to you, how he’s choosing to affect you and break down your walls, a manipulation of your senses. But he doesn’t care. He can fool himself a little, to believe that this is all real, and you want him of your own volition.

The air is thick with a saccharine scent, far more heady than the delicate notes of your piqued curiosity from the night before.

Its lust.

A ripe peach, its juices overflowing on first bite. Your obvious arousal overwhelms Eddie, makes him dizzy, has him throbbing in his jeans and his mouth watering.

“Please Eddie.” You cry, hooking your ankles over his lower back and guiding his hips down. He presses into you, an almost feral rutting, mimicking the action of fucking you while layers of clothing still separate your skin.

You take hold of his hair, pulling hard, a mean sting against his scalp that sends his eyes rolling back in his skull. He’s so close already, god he could cum so easily like this, grinding against you while you whimper and writhe.

Beneath him your body shudders, an echoing moan ringing out as you succumb to your orgasm. Eddie watches, rapt, studying the tremble of your jaw, the way your brows arch and knit, the glow on your cheeks. The beauty of the moment sharpens his mind to focus, a sudden clarity. He halts his movements, knowing that he can’t let himself go until he’s inside of you. He needs to have you completely. He needs to own you.

Eddie rips open the fastening of your jeans, tugging them down your legs along with your underwear, the garments carelessly thrown to the corner of the room. Still shaking with the aftermaths of your pleasure, you keep your legs spread wide, letting Eddie see the most intimate part of you, while he hurries to strip himself.

“Take your shirt off.” He demands, while he tugs his own up over his head. You’re quick to comply, so perfectly obedient, peeling the tattered t-shirt off of your body and unhooking your bra.

Eddie groans at the sight of your breasts, your nipples hardening to small peaks in the cool air. He kicks off his boxers, wasting no time in falling back over you, his lips sealed tight over one bud. You hold his head in place once more, sighing in pleasure while his tongue traces circles over your skin. Sucking hard enough to leave bruises, his teeth nipping at the tender flesh until you squirm.

You’re so warm. Burning up beneath him. Eddie can hear the blood rushing in your veins like a siren’s song, calling out to him, tempting him to taste.

He resists the carnal urges, instead giving in to something that he desires even more.

He shuffles down the bed, his lips leaving a trail of wet kisses across your ribs and your stomach, strong hands cupping beneath your knees and pushing until your legs are up to your chest. Eddie thinks he might die all over again if he doesn’t get to taste you.

Before Eddie can seal his mouth over your sex, you begin to wriggle and resist.

“No. No!” You whine.

Eddie’s surprised by your protesting, he thought he had you so completely under his spell. But you’re not trying to push him off of you. Instead you grasp his shoulders, trying to pull him up, your legs once more wrapping around his narrow hips.

“What is it? What do you want sweetheart?” He asks.

“You.” Comes your pitiful mewling reply.

“Want you now.”

You’re slurring your words. Head lolling to the side, eyes unfocused. Like you’re drunk. In some ways you are, intoxicated by Eddie’s influence, high on the feelings he’s implanting in your mind.

The old Eddie would have stopped. Hell, he would’ve never come this far. But he doesn’t feel guilty now. There’s an animalistic urge taking over him. He can’t think straight, couldn’t stop what is happening even if he wanted to.

He feels a small pang of disappointment at not getting to bury his head between your thighs like he’d hoped. It doesn’t matter. There would be plenty of time for that. The two of you would have nothing but time.

Eddie doesn’t bother to be a gentleman. He doesn’t open you up on his fingers, doesn’t give you any time to adjust to the intrusion when he breaches your entrance and thrusts impatiently into your heat. You’re so wet it doesn’t matter. Dripping for him, staining the sheets he’d only just laundered. Your body is searing hot inside, soft walls welcoming him in and squeezing tight around him. You want this. He knows you do.

His name continues to roll off your tongue. A babbling chant, repeated over and over until it just becomes a slurred sound, a pretty song that you sing just for him.

For us, Kas hisses.

Somehow, through the haze of his own lust Eddie manages to snap a reply.

You don’t want her like this. You’d happily kill her.

She’s ours, Kas insists.

It’s then that Eddie feels it.

The uncomfortable tingling in his limbs, like electricity fizzes in his veins. His skin feels too tight, suffocating. Kas is trying to take over, take control of the body he now occupies.

He’s never done this before outside of feeding. Eddie has always managed to reign him in, it was the unspoken agreement that they had. When hunger overtook and Eddie was too weak to resist, then Kas could use him, manoeuvre this body like a marionette, pulling the strings and guiding them to hunt and kill and drink.

But this moment was Eddie’s. Could he have nothing for himself?

If it wasn’t for me you wouldn’t have her at all, Kas snarls.

Eddie hates that he knows it’s true. It was Kas’ voice that had you collapsing in Eddie’s arms. His influence that took over your mind, breaking down your resistance so you were pliant and willing to Eddie’s touch.

You’re oblivious to the bickering taking place in Eddie’s head. Too lost in pleasure, your fingernails digging into his shoulders, hips rocking to meet every rough thrust.

“Kiss.” You whine.

“Kiss me.”

Eddie obliges. He focuses on the taste of your mouth, the way your tongue meets his in a messy dance, the pleased hum that you let out when he pulls at your bottom lip with careful teeth.

Eddie zeroes in on every sensation, his body feeling more alive than it has in a long time. His skin is warmed by your body heat, the thin sheen of perspiration on your flesh having your bodies stick together, your hands grabbing at him greedily like you can’t hold him close enough.

It’s enough to push Kas back. Eddie can feel himself winning the battle, your touch grounding him. He ignores the furious whispers in the back of his mind, choosing only to hear your sweet whimpers, only feeling the way that your cunt flutters around him, squeezing like a vice as another orgasm makes your body shudder.

“Fuck, yeah that’s it baby.” Eddie grunts.

If he could still breathe he’d surely be panting now, if he could still sweat he’d be dripping. He pounds away mercilessly, the headboard knocking hard enough against the wall to have the plaster flaking. Thank god he has no neighbours.

His own climax comes suddenly. A wave of pleasure so intense that for a moment Eddie swear his vision turns black. He moans loudly, hips stuttering as every last drop of his release spills into your heat. Claiming you. Making you his.

Ours.

Kas sees his opportunity and takes it.

Eddie’s distracted. By the time he registers the return of that tingling sensation it’s too late to stop it. He feels his jaw opening wide, his tongue tracing over his teeth, catching on the razor sharp fangs that have cut through his gums.

“No!” Eddie cries out loud, the last of his strength wasted on a protest that Kas will never listen to.

All he can do is watch. Eddie might have won the battle, but Kas will win the war.

You’re staring up at him in confusion, eyes wet with tears of pleasure now rounding in fear. The scent spikes, sour cutting through the sweet. The pulse in your neck is so loud, drowning out everything else. The object of Kas’ desire.

Eddie wants to close his eyes. He doesn’t want to see this, can’t bear to watch the life drain from your eyes when your blood finally spills. But he’s powerless to look away.

Kas forces Eddie up onto his knees, looking down at your vulnerable body. He raises one hand.

Please don’t, Eddie begs, unsure of his next move, but knowing that it cannot be anything good.

The pain is immediate, shocking Eddie to silence.

He hasn’t felt pain since that fateful night in the Upside Down, when hundreds of needle-like teeth tore at his flesh, venom burning like acid in his bloodstream.

Now it’s his own teeth, namely those two fangs, that sink into the side of his hand. No blood floods his tongue, without a heartbeat there’s nothing to push that sticky black substance in his veins to the surface. But when his hand leaves his mouth there are deep puncture wounds in the skin.

Your look of panic has morphed into one of pure terror. You begin to thrash, your fight returning but too late. A strong hand grabs your jaw, holding you in place and squeezing hard until your mouth is forced open. Kas presses Eddie’s wound against your lips.

“Drink.” He orders.

You comply instantly. No matter how terrified you were, there was no way that you could resist Kas’ will. Your lips form a tight seal around the wound and you suck hard enough to have the blood beginning to flow.

When the first drop lands on your tongue a groan reverberates from your chest, your eyes rolling back in your skull until only the whites are visible. Your fingers scramble to clutch at the hand pressed over your face, but to Eddie’s surprise you do not try to free yourself. You’re pulling him closer, forcing him to press harder. Blunt teeth bite at his skin, your hot tongue licking up every drop that spills. You slurp and choke, but you do not stop, swallowing down tainted blood greedily.

“That’s it.” Kas whispers, sounding more gentle than Eddie has ever heard him before.

His free hand sweeps almost affectionately over your forehead, a familiar chill spreading through the pads of his fingers. Your racing heart begins to slow, at first just a small lull. The gentle pace grows slower still, every pause between beats stretching on, the sound so faint that Eddie struggles to hear it. Your lips detach from his hand when you gasp quietly, the skin around your mouth smeared with dark stains, an inky trickle dripping down your chin.

The muscle in your chest contracts for the last time.

Kas retreats.

Eddie feels himself take control of his body once more. His limbs feel weighed down, and there’s a faint fizzing in his muscles. He stretches his fingers tentatively, pleased that the pain in his hand has subsided.

Beneath him you lay still, your chest unmoving.

Yet you are awake. Eyes studying Eddie’s face with a cautious curiosity, as though you are seeing him clearly for the very first time. You give him a small smile as your tongue peeks out to collect the last of his blood from your lips.

“What did you do?” Eddie whispers.

You wanted to keep her, Kas replies simply.

Now she is ours.

[gloomweed]

in this foolish lover's game

pairing: steve harrington x eddie munson (x reader)

summary: “And I was thinking about… maybe getting her something, for her birthday. Just like… surprise her, y’know?”

And that. That stops Eddie cold.

Because he’s seen things—blood, rot, fangs, psychic carnage. Hell, literal Hell.

But nothing—not a single goddamn thing—could prepare him for the image of Steve Harrington wandering wide-eyed through a dingy sex shop in rural Indiana, trying to pick out a vibrator for his sweet little girlfriend.

warnings: 18+, discussions of sex toys/adult store, sexual fantasies, heavy pining, yearning, light angst, eddie's pov, period-typical internalized homophobia, bisexual!eddie, eddie's kind of a horndog in this one but still so so sweet, friends to lovers, eventual smut, eventual steddie x reader but reader is only mentioned in this one. title by berlin.

It starts with a rumor, as most things do in Hicktown Central, Hawkins, Indiana.

Whispers turned into tales turned into legends, and before you know it, Eddie Munson can’t take a piss in the B-wing bathroom without hearing that damn story all over again.

Betty Callahan.

Now known exclusively—irrevocably—as Battery Betty.

A sophomore volleyball player with a college boyfriend and a neon scrunchie collection. Sent to the principal’s office on a random Tuesday for ‘behavior unbecoming.’ No one really knows what happened—just that it involved a locker, a hum, and some deeply repressed panic.

The rumor spreads like brush fire.

Tampon turned taser turned sex toy. Shame’s favorite game of Telephone.

By the time it reaches Eddie, the details are warped six ways to Sunday.

That a bullet vibrator buzzed to life during algebra. Fell out of her gym bag in the girls’ locker room and startled wriggling across the tile. Got lost between the bleachers and nearly gave Coach Walt another heart attack—poor bastard's already got a limp from the ’82 dodgeball incident.

Out of everything, Eddie will give that last one credit. It's got flair.

But he doesn’t dwell on it. Just tosses it to the burning pile of Hawkins-brand hysteria and moves on.  

Rumors, gossip, cheap currency—Eddie Munson doesn’t traffic in petty change. Until, apparently... now.

“Off Route 9?”

“Yeah. You know, that place with the cartoon pickle on the billboard?”

Steve Harrington’s voice floats over, casual as the breeze.

Eddie snorts, cracks open his soda with a sharp psssft.

“You mean the sex shop.”

 Steve nods, sips. “Yeah. You been?”

“Couple times,” Eddie shrugs. “Used to deal to a guy who worked there. Freaky little dude with a lazy eye. Big into latex.”

Steve laughs, quiet.

“You know if he’s still there?”

Eddie lowers the can. Leans back against the railing like a cat sensing a storm front. Eyes him, slow.

“What’s this about, Harrington? You finally caving to the dark side?”

“No, just…”  Steve huffs a laugh, reaches up to scratch the back of his neck—a tell.

“You uh… you hear about George Callahan’s sister?”

Oh. Oh no.

“Battery Betty?”

Steve nods. “Yeah. Just… the whole thing kinda got me thinking, you know?”

 Oh, no.

Eddie lifts a delicate hand to his chest, all slow, theatrical scandal. His voice dips into velvet.

“Steven Harrington, are you propositioning me?”

He expects a laugh. Hell, wants one. Needs one. But Steve doesn’t bite. Doesn’t flinch.

Instead, he gives Eddie this look—curious, a little amused, head cocked like a golden retriever hearing jazz for the first time —and then glances away, grinning into the dirt.

“No, man. I’m serious. I’m trying to do something for my girlfriend. She heard about the whole thing and she’s been…”

Steve trails off with a half-laugh, rubbing a hand over his mouth.

Fuck, it’s too hot for this. The cicadas are screaming.

Eddie licks his lips. “Ah, caught the little perversion plague, did she?” His fingers twitch. “It’s an epidemic, y’know. First sign of the apocalypse. That and Reagan getting re-elected.”

Steve chuckles, low and private, shrugging. His hands disappear into the front pockets of his jeans—too tight, always a little too tight.

“Yeah, well. Word really got around.”

A breath.

“And I was thinking about… maybe getting her something, for her birthday. Just like… surprise her, y’know?”

And that. That stops Eddie cold.

Because he’s seen things—blood, rot, fangs, psychic carnage. Hell, literal Hell.

But nothing—not a single goddamn thing—could prepare him for the image of Steve Harrington wandering wide-eyed through a dingy sex shop in rural Indiana, trying to pick out a vibrator for his sweet little girlfriend.

And then there’s the other part. The part Eddie wishes he could ignore even harder.

You. God, you.

You, laughing into Steve’s neck while he fumbles with a gift bag behind his back, red to the roots and trying to act tough about it.

You, sprawled across his bed like a sin-drenched cat, lips bitten, eyes sparkling. You, flushed and wrecked, Steve’s hand splayed over your stomach while the other holds something that whirs.

Fuck.                                           

Goddamn it.

Eddie clenches his jaw. The soda hisses in his grip. His lungs feel full of sand—hot, dry, impossible to breathe around.

Because he shouldn’t be thinking about it. He knows that.

But he is.

And it’s not just the filth—though, Jesus, that’s definitely there, loud and detailed and stupidly cinematic.

It’s the intimacy. The effort. Steve wanting to make you feel good, caring enough to ask.

And Eddie’s curiosity turns sharp. Hungry.

“So, what are you thinking?” he hears himself say, voice a shade too low. “Like a… starter kit?”

Steve’s face lights up. “Yeah, exactly.”

His smile is wide, boyish. Eddie’s head is pounding.

“Something fun, y’know? Something she’d actually be into. And maybe, like, something we could try together.”

We.

We.

Eddie’s pulse kicks like a mule. You. Steve. Trying things. He clears his throat, cracks his knuckles against his thigh like that’ll knock the image out of his head.

“Wow,” He plays it cool, because of course he does. Because Eddie Munson doesn’t rattle easy, not after Hell and teeth and gates and blood. “And they say romance is dead.”  

That makes Steve blush. Pink blooming up his neck, right to the tips of his ears.

And Eddie waits for that usual flicker of something—amusement, maybe— that smug little thrill when he manages to get under someone’s skin.

But it doesn’t come.

Just weight—something heavy sitting low in his chest, twisted and hard to name.

He shifts uncomfortably, kicking a pebble with his toe to watch it skitter off the trailer steps, bouncing across metal.

From beside him, Steve’s voice floats back over.

“I was thinking about checking it out. See what they have. But, uh…”

 He hesitates. Rubs the back of his neck again.

“… kind of feels like uncharted territory.”

There’s a pause. Heavy. Humming.

Then Steve lifts his gaze, infuriatingly steady, a slow smirk playing at his lips.

“You really gonna make me ask, Munson?”

Eddie Munson blinks. Once. Twice. The cicadas keep screaming. His soda fizzes in his palm, forgotten. It’s too hot for this.

And Eddie—poor, twisted, sharp-tongued Eddie—finds himself drowning in silence.

Mouth opening then shutting, useless as a landed fish.

He takes another swig, the prickle of metallic fizz doing absolutely nothing to shut up the noise in his head.

Steve's still watching. All easy elbows and sunlit forearms and that cocky half-grin that never quite hides how earnest he really is. Hair sticking to his temple, sweat darkening the collar of his shirt.

Like he didn’t just drop a conversational landmine and go right back to sipping his soda.

You really gonna make me ask, Munson?  

Eddie’s knee bounces. He wants to claw his skin off. Or maybe throw himself directly into the sun. That’d be simpler.

He could say no.

He should say no.

You’re Steve’s girl. Steve, who fought beside him. Bled beside him. Who’s seen him—like, really seen him—and somehow still keeps coming back.

And with you, well, Eddie’s already too far gone to think clearly when it comes to you. The softest laugh. Eyes so bright they nearly burn. And the biggest heart Eddie’s ever known.

He also knows, deep down, that this is playing with fire—not the kind you brag about, not lighters, or stage pyros, or matchbooks behind the gym. No, this… this is the kind that could scorch everything if he’s not careful.

He runs a tongue over his teeth. Wipes a hand down his jeans, where the sweat’s sticking fabric to skin.

He should say no.

But his voice betrays him, always does.

“You sure you want my input?”

Steve tilts his head, brows drawn, like it’s the dumbest question he’s heard all week.

“Yeah,” he nods. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Eddie barks out a laugh—short, bitter, ugly. His rings clap against denim.

“Gee, I dunno, man. Maybe ‘cause you’re shopping for a birthday vibrator for your girlfriend, and I’m...”  

He waves at the air around himself, trailer-park gasoline, but he’s not even sure what it’s supposed to mean.  

Steve just snorts, undeterred. “Exactly. You’re the expert.”

He says it with a grin, but there’s no malice in it. None of the shit other people layer into that word.

Just seasoned, expert freak Eddie.

“You’ve got taste,” Steve adds, a little softer now. “And you don’t weird out easy. I figured you’d be honest with me. Help me pick out something she’ll actually like.”

He shrugs. Leans back like it’s no big deal. Like he’s not burning through every frayed wire in Eddie’s brain.

“And,” Steve adds, like it’s an afterthought, “I trust you.”

And that—that’s what does him in.

Not the shop. Not the toys.

Not even the unholy image of you moaning into Steve’s mouth while he shows you what he—they, fuck—bought.

It’s the way he says that. Like it’s just a fact. Like it’s always been true.

Eddie exhales. Looks down at his shoes, at the scuffed floorboards. Anywhere but at Steve.

His voice is quiet when it comes.

“…Yeah.” A pause. A swallow. Then:

“Yeah, okay. I’m in.”

And Steve smiles—god, he beams—like Eddie just agreed to help him move his couch.

“All right, Munson.” He pushes off the railing, stretches, dusts off his hands like this is all settled now. “We’ll swing by tomorrow? After Hellfire?”

Eddie nods. Just once. Tight.

“Cool. Later, man.” Steve nudges his foot against Eddie’s like a kid saying goodbye at recess, then hops down the trailer steps, whistling something breezy as he goes.

Eddie stays where he is.

His soda’s warm now. His shirt’s stuck to his back. The air’s thick with heat and cicada song and a thousand tangled thoughts he can’t quite name.

He shouldn’t think about it. About you. About the we.

But he is.

And he knows—he knows—he won’t be able to stop anytime soon.

He smirks into the lip of his can and drains the last sip, bitter and flat and nowhere near strong enough.

“Later, man.”

They pull up in front of the place just after seven.

The sign above the door reads THE VELVET PICKLE—a holdover from the billboard off the highway, complete with a smug little cartoon gherkin giving a thumbs up. Half the bulbs in Pickle are dead, so it just reads VELVET PI---E, like it's trying to be coy. A cherry-shaped neon light buzzes low overhead, red and tired.

Eddie slings the van into the lopsided parking spot, gravel crunching under his tires. The sky's bleeding out golden, streaked with wisps of pink and lavender. Neither of them has said a word since they turned off the main road.

Eddie cuts the engine, glances sideways.

“You ready, big boy?” he smirks, teeth sharp, ignoring the drumbeat pounding in his throat.

The entrance looks worse up close—blackout film peeling at the corners, and a laminated red sign that blares: NO RETURNS. NO EXCEPTIONS. DON’T ASK.

Eddie swallows as he pushes the door open, stepping into the blast of recycled air and fluorescent lighting.

The smell hits first: thick, stale—something between old rubber and dollar-store strawberry. The air conditioner wheezes overhead like it’s been smoking unfiltered Camels since '72. Swampy heat clings to the walls, and the dim red glow casts a sticky haze that makes everything feel vaguely pornographic, even the welcome mat.

A cardboard cutout of a nurse with D-cups and a 7-inch ‘thermometer’ greets them at the door, dead-eyed and faded.

Eddie whistles low. “Yep. Still classy.”

Steve steps in behind him, immediately knocking his elbow into a rotating rack of fishnet stockings and crotchless panties, the metal jangling like a wind chime in a haunted house.

“Shit.”

Eddie bites the inside of his cheek, turning to watch as Steve wrestles with a tangled pair of edible underwear.

He tries not to grin too hard. “You alright there, Harrington?”

Steve shoots him a look—half sheepish, half stubborn—hand stuffed back in those too-tight Levis, eyeing the mannequins by the door like they might start swinging their riding crops.

Eddie smirks. “Welcome to the jungle, baby.”

Inside, the shop is a claustrophobic maze, shelves so packed you have to sidle through. Old VHS pornos, glitter-labeled lube bottles. A bin near the front holds a bunch of novelty junk—fuzzy handcuffs, penis-shaped pasta, and a vibrating rubber duck that’s seen better days.

Eddie tries to walk like he owns the place. Not his first rodeo. Yet his heart is pounding so loud it feels like it could rip right out of his chest.

He eyes the guy at the register—new, definitely not Latex Larry.

This one looks like someone’s half-retired uncle; flannel rolled to the elbows, a pair of readers perched low on his nose as he flips through a wrinkled copy of Popular Mechanics. Doesn’t even glance up.

“Evening. Tuesdays are ten percent off if you don’t ask any questions.”

They move slowly past a shelf marked Couple’s Play—feather ticklers, leather cuffs, two dozen plugs in every color and shape you can imagine.

Steve briefly stalls in front of a black silk blindfold, fingers brushing the fabric.

“Think she’d be into this?”

Eddie’s mouth is instantly dry.

No, he’s fine. Shut up.

He raises a brow, deadpans: “Yeah, man. You’d look hot in it.”

Steve rolls his eyes. Eddie grins at the floor and keeps walking.

Then, they hit: The Wall of Dicks.

No other name for it—just rows and rows of dildos. Neon, glittery, shockingly pink. Others disturbingly realistic, veins and all.

Steve goes still, eyebrows somewhere in his hairline.

Eddie snorts—can’t help it.

If someone had told his fifteen-year-old self that one day he’d be standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Steve Harrington, contemplating a rainbow array of synthetic dicks…

Yeah. That kid would’ve laughed himself into a coma.

Steve snorts quietly from beside him, then keeps on moving.

“Nope. Definitely not.”

Toward the back, things mellow a little. The lighting softens. Shelves are labeled Personal Massagers in soothing cursive—toys in sleek lines and pastels encased in transparent clamshells.

Eddie picks up a box and clears his throat. Drops his voice to baritone, smooth and ridiculous:

“Ten speeds. Dual motors. Couples-tested. Prostate approved.”

Steve snorts. “Prostate approved?”

“Like a dentist,” Eddie shrugs, stone-faced. “Four out of five recommend this one in particular.”

Steve chuckles and leans in to scan the fine print, head tilted, mouth moving silently as he reads. There's a little crease between his brows that Eddie has zero business finding so endearing.

Steve flips the box over, then moves to the next shelf, picking up another toy and squinting at the label. His bottom lip catches between his teeth, and he makes this thoughtful humming noise under his breath that lodges itself squarely in Eddie’s chest.  

He points something out on the packaging—something about battery life, maybe, Eddie doesn’t really hear it—then gives him this half-crooked grin, like they’re comparing crushes instead of, y'know, vibrators.

Eddie nods mutely.

His pulse is doing weird things. His mouth is dry again.

No, he is absolutely fine. Shut up.

Then Steve goes right back to browsing, eyes focused, curious. And just, comfortable in a way Eddie never quite is, even when he's trying his hardest.

His throat feels tight.

His heart’s thudding like it’s pressing up against the back of his teeth. His palms are drenched, and when he shifts, he realizes he’s been leaning in without noticing. Like gravity’s got ideas of its own.

No, he’s fine. He’s fine.

“So,” he says, too loudly, too fast, yanking himself back. “What’re we thinking, Romeo?”

Steve glances at him, then at the shelf. He rubs the back of his neck, expression gone a little soft. “Something simple, right?”

He bends slightly, scanning the lower row. Eddie’s eyes follow without permission. The denim of those too-tight jeans strains across his thighs and—yep, abort. Look away. Look literally anywhere else.

“What about uh…” Steve says, a little hesitant. His fingers turn the box over once, then back. “What about this one?”

It’s small. Lavender. Smooth silicone, soft matte finish with a gentle curve.   

And the look on Steve’s face—focused, a little uncertain, lips pressed together like he’s waiting for approval—hits Eddie straight in the chest.

God, this guy.

If Eddie had a single working brain cell left, he’d say something smooth, something teasing.

Instead, he just stares, gaping like an idiot.

He clears his throat, desperate to push the air back into his lungs.

“Add it to the basket, Loverboy.”

Steve snorts and tosses him a look, bumping shoulders with him before moving past, and Eddie holds on for dear life.

On their way back, Steve lingers near the lube display. Bottles in all sizes, colors, flavors. Eddie makes the mistake of reading one labeled Glazed Donut Fantasy and physically recoils.

Steve notices and grins. “What, not a fan of dessert?”

“Not that kind,” Eddie mutters, ears going pink.

Steve picks up a cherry bottle. Holds it up between two fingers like a fine wine.

“This one’s safe, right?”

Safe. Like this is a normal, logical, harmless thing they’re doing together. Shopping. For lube.

Eddie tries to play it cool. His voice cracks: “Classic. Can’t go wrong.”

Steve nods and drops it into the basket next to the vibe.

That’s two. Two deeply compromising items in a basket that Eddie is now definitely holding more awkwardly than before.

And then—it happens.

Steve turns to look at something on a nearby shelf. Just turns. Stretches a little to reach for a different bottle, and the fabric of his polo shifts just enough to ride up over his hip, and Eddie catches the smallest flash of skin above the waistband of his jeans and—

Okay.

Okay.

He needs something.

A distraction. A shield. A miracle.

He reaches blindly and grabs the first thing within arm’s reach: a wrinkled old issue of Big Racks Quarterly with a glossy blonde on the front wearing nothing but whipped cream.

Steve turns back. Blinks.

“…Really?”

Eddie shrugs, real casual, slipping the magazine upright along the inside of the slotted basket. “What? Research.”

“Uh-huh.”

Eddie does not—will not—explain that he needed something large, preferably eye-catching, and definitely boner-concealing between his hips and the world.

Behind the counter, Flannel Uncle is still buried in his magazine, barely lifting his eyes as they approach. When he does, it’s just a slow nod—like two guys carrying cherry lube and a vibrator and a porn mag is just business as usual.

Which, for him, it probably is.

“Need a bag?”

“Yeah,” Eddie croaks. Then, with slightly more dignity: “Please."

Steve stands beside him, hands in his pockets, bumping Eddie’s shoulder lightly as they wait for the total. Easy, casual—like someone who’s never had to hide a thing this obvious. This shameful.  

Eddie doesn’t look at Steve. Can’t.

Just keeps his eyes on Steve's hands, instead, watching him slide crisp twenties across the counter. Follows the clerk’s fingers as he counts the change, like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.

Outside, the heat clings thick and wet, pressing in like the air's trying to suffocate them for their sins. The paper bag under Steve’s arm rustles with every step, loud in the quiet.

And Eddie tries not to dwell on it. On any of it.    

Partly for his dignity, partly for that deeply inconvenient problem growing in his pants, but mostly because… he can’t afford to.

Can’t afford to lean into it.

To mistake kindness for anything else.

Can't let himself think that he can, because hope is the thing that’ll burn right through, scorch him clean to the bone.  

Like how, just before they left, the cashier winked and said, ‘Y’all have fun,’ and Steve didn’t laugh. Didn’t try to correct him, didn’t even blink. Just thanked him and moved on, and that scraped something raw and stupid in Eddie’s chest.

Or how, outside, Steve bumped his shoulder again—easy, playful—and Eddie had to light a cigarette just to keep his hands from reaching back.

Or how, once they were back in the van, windows rolled down, Eddie made some half-assed joke just to kill the silence, and Steve laughed.

A real laugh. Thrown-back-head, sun-in-his-teeth laugh.

And Eddie didn’t know what to do with the sound of it stuck in his ribs.

Didn’t know where to put it except somewhere deep where he knows it’ll bruise.

It all gets buried in the same place, eventually. Like when they ended up shoulder to shoulder at some greasy drive-through after, sharing fries from the same bag, and Steve didn’t flinch when Eddie accidentally handed him the milkshake by the straw instead of the cup—fingers sticky, too slow to let go. Just leaned in, drank deep, then made a face and declared his was better.

Like none of this shit was weird.

Normal.

And maybe it is. Maybe to Steve, it’s just another night.

Another friend. Another milkshake.

But to Eddie?

It’s a little too warm in his chest.

A little too close to something he’s not supposed to want.

So he focuses on the road, instead.

White-knuckling the greasy steering wheel, mind locked dead-ahead.

On the glow of streetlights blurring through the bug-splattered windshield. On the static-laced hum of the song on the radio, something low and clean and feel-good.

Steve probably knows it by heart.

Eddie doesn’t care for it. Never has. Steve’s humming again—under his breath, off-key.

And Eddie keeps driving.

Tries not to turn and watch.

To let that warmth sink in too deep.

But damn if his eyes don’t keep drifting anyway.

a/n: and what started as an absolutely debauched steddie x reader idea has turned into, well... this. i hope you enjoyed. lmk ur thoughts! ur lovely comments and reblogs keep me going :)))

also, lmk if you'd want to be included on a taglist!

my masterlist

[gloomweed]

bestfriends to lovers broken ac unit at eddie's trailer with lots of mutual pining and tension would hit so hard mae, please quench this thirst

Thanks for requesting!

cw: semi-nudity, it's not really emphasized but it is implied there are sexual feelings between Eddie and reader

Eddie Munson x fem!reader ♡ 888 words

If you stand up, you can catch a bit of breeze coming in through the open window. But it’s a warm breeze, warm and heavy with summer dampness, and the floor is actually pretty cool. You go there instead. 

“Whoa.” Eddie’s eyebrows jump when you start peeling off your shirt. “Okay.” 

“Oh, shut up.” You roll your eyes, ignoring the tingle of unwelcome heat in your face. “I’m wearing a bra.” 

Eddie bobs his head a few times. A few times too many. “Yeah. Okay, yeah. Fuck it.” He takes his shirt off, too. 

Getting undressed in Eddie’s trailer isn’t a regular occurrence for you. You’ve changed here, of course, but usually crammed into the bathroom while Eddie changes in his room or turned around so you can’t see each other. But the window unit gave up the ghost on you just before the heat of the day, and Wayne won’t be home until after dark to fix it, and it’s way too sticky out to have anything between your skin and whatever cool surface you can find. Desperate times, desperate measures. 

You let out a sigh as your back meets the laminate wood floor, your damp skin melding to it so surely you don’t know how you’ll peel yourself back up later. Eddie’s eyes are glued to you. 

“You’ve seen me in a swimsuit,” you point out. “Put your tongue back in your mouth.” 

“Is it nice down there?” 

You shrug. “Cooler than up there.” 

He lays down beside you, groaning blissfully when he feels the same coolness you did. 

You feel your face heat again. “Don’t make sounds like that, either.” 

“Jesus, a guy can’t do anything in his own home,” Eddie says. You can hear the smile in his voice. 

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I just said.” 

“I’ll forgive you, because you’re a fucking genius for this.” 

You lay still, feeling the way your back expands and contracts on the floor as you breathe. Eddie’s trailer smells like must and weed. Breathing it in fills your lungs with the feeling of home. It always smells the same here. Even when the heater’s running in winter or that time Eddie spilled milk on the carpet in his bedroom and Wayne bitched him out for making the whole trailer smell ‘like a sick cow,’ you never really think it smells any different than this. 

It’s rare for Eddie to be so quiet. You turn your head to the side, and he’s got his eyes closed. He’s as sweaty as you are, skin shiny and hair all frizzed out around his face, and he’s really handsome, but you’ve known that for a while now. 

You can’t pinpoint when you started finding Eddie’s rings fascinating instead of just cool. When you started noticing how they look with his fingers wrapped around the steering wheel of his van, or the way his lips part just before he smiles, like he’s surprised by it every time. You thought his tattoos were stupid until you didn’t. You still think it’s stupid how he has to smoke every time he gets off work, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t think he looks stupidly attractive doing it, too. 

“What’re we gonna do?” 

You startle at the sound of Eddie’s voice. His eyes are still closed.

“What do you mean?” you ask. 

“Like,” he opens his eyes, and you turn quickly back to the ceiling, “it’s not getting any cooler out. Are we just gonna lie here all day?” 

You smile. “What, has this five minutes of doing nothing already been too much for you?” 

“Alright, hey.” He bumps his elbow into yours. You feel the always-surprising swell of his bicep slide against your slick skin. “You’ll get bored too. It’s fucking three in the afternoon.” 

You sigh. “We could…take a couple of beers from the fridge.” 

“Wayne’ll notice.” 

“Take a couple of beers from the neighbor’s fridge.” 

“Mm. That would be good,” Eddie acknowledges, “but they’re still pissed at me for driving over one of their lawn chairs last summer.” 

“What? It was an accident.” 

“Right! It’s not like I was aiming for it. And anyway, I had to pay way more to patch my tire than their shitty lawn chair was worth, so.” 

You make a lazy sound of agreement. “Okay, well if we can’t have something cold to drink I want to go to the pool.” 

You see Eddie’s head loll towards you in your periphery and have to bite down on a smile. “You asshole,” he says slowly. “Why do I even bother keeping you around when you’re nothing but a dick to me?” One corner of your mouth tips up mutinously. Eddie despises Hawkins’ communal pool like nothing else. “Fine. We can do whatever you want, except that.” 

“I want to walk down to 7/11 and get slushees,” you say. Because as much as you’d like not to have to go outside, you don’t actually want Eddie to get in trouble. 

“Okay,” Eddie sighs. “As soon as I can get up.” 

You lay there in silence for another long minute. 

“Eddie?” 

“Huh?” 

You look at him. Eddie’s already watching you, face flushed and cheek pressed against the cool floor. His lips part on a breath. 

“Scoot over. You’re too close, I can feel your body heat.”

[gloomweed]

Almost, Always

Part I of III [posting a new part every wednesday]

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: none, yearning!Eddie, tension, cursing [smut to come, no mention of y/n]

It was a buzzing Friday night in Hawkins. Any other jock or cheerleader was no doubt eagerly making their way to whatever party had been conjured up after the game—spending the night in a haze of cheap booze and whatever drugs they could get their hands on. You wish you could say you'd outgrown such things, but that was never the case. Your senior year felt like it passed in a blur of textbooks and quiet hallways, your presence seemingly unnoticed in what was the chaos of Hawkins High.

But those late afternoons when the bus dropped you off at that shitty trailer park your parents forced you to move into? Those quickly became the best part of your day. And maybe, just maybe, Eddie Munson had become a part of that. He had this way of existing like the world didn’t know what to do with him. Unapologetically loud, wild-eyed, forever in motion. And yet, in the quiet hours—when the town slept and the snow blanketed every sound—he always seemed to be somewhere nearby. Sitting on his own porch, strumming his guitar. Lighting a joint in his kitchen window. Throwing glances your way like he didn’t mean to, but did anyway.

You’d never admit it out loud, but you looked for him. Craved the spark of him in a place that felt so gray. The first time you met him, it was late—later than usual. The snow had built up more than you expected, and the wood beneath the frame was swollen from the cold. You hesitated at the window and gave it another push and slid both your legs out, trying to slip through like you always did. But something caught. Your knee bumped the windowsill too hard, and you let out a quiet "fuck,” wiggling to try and ease your way out. Still stuck. You cursed under your breath, both legs hanging out, ass in the cold air, chest still awkwardly wedged inside the room like a baby deer caught in some sort of trap. The cold wind bit at your thighs. And that’s when you heard him. A low chuckle.

“Need a hand there, sweetheart?” Your blood froze. Literally and metaphorically. Your heart jumped so hard you nearly hit your head on the window frame. You looked down—and there he was. Eddie. Standing just below, all bundled up in a flannel and his patched-up denim jacket, a cigarette dangling between his fingers. His hair was wild, curls caught with snowflakes, and his brown eyes sparkled with unspoken amusement.

Oh god. Of course, he saw. You wanted the earth to swallow you whole.

"Maybe,” you mumbled, trying to laugh it off as your boot slipped uselessly against the icy porch roof.

“Well, let me be the knight in shining leather,” he said, already stepping closer, arms outstretched like he might actually catch you. “Promise not to drop you unless you insult any metal band ever.” You snorted despite yourself.

“You think I’d dare?”

“Good girl.”That phrase. Two words. Good girl. And they knocked the wind right out of you. You bit your lip.                       

“Okay. Are you gonna pull me out or...?”

“Just fall,” he said. “I got you.” That last part—he didn’t say it with a grin. He said it quietly. Like a vow. You let go. And sure enough, he caught you. Sort of. His arms wrapped around your waist as your feet hit the snow, and for a moment, neither of you moved. Your back pressed against his chest. Your hands accidentally landed on his arms, wrapped around you. His face was so close, curls brushing your shoulder, breath warm against your cheek. God, he smelled good. Like leather, weed, and winter air.

And maybe it was adrenaline, or the way he was looking at you like he didn’t know what to do with all the feelings in his chest—but you couldn’t breathe right.

“…Thanks,” you whispered, not trusting your voice.

“Anytime,” he said, gaze lingering just a second too long. “Been watching you, you know. Climbing out that window every night.” Your stomach flipped.

“Watching me?”

“I mean, not in a weird way,” he said quickly, stepping back just enough to give you space, cheeks slightly flushed. “I just… noticed. Thought about saying something. But you always looked like you were on some kinda mission. Didn't wanna interrupt the vibe.”

“Uh, I noticed you, too.” That surprised him. His mouth parted just slightly, like he didn’t know what to say. You stepped back, wrapping your arms around yourself.

"Eddie." He introduced himself like it was the most casual thing in the world.

“I know.”

“Yeah?” He grinned again, his expression easy, charming, and a little smug. “Guess I am kinda hard to miss.”

“A little.” You laughed, teeth chattering slightly. He shrugged off his jacket instantly and tossed it over your shoulders before you could protest.

“You’re gonna freeze,” you said, tugging it tighter around you.

“I’m built different,” he said. You lingered there a second longer than necessary. There was a buzz in your skin. Not just from the cold—but from him. From this. From the way two weeks of sneaking glances had finally cracked open into something. He shifted on his feet, clearing his throat.

“So… what do you usually do after the window stunt? Smoke? Stargaze? Summon demons?” You grinned at the joke.

“Mostly just sit outside and pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist.”

He looked back at you.

“Well then, you have to let me join you.” Your chest fluttered. You started walking, shoulder to shoulder, and for the first time since moving here, the snow didn’t feel so cold.

From that moment on, everything changed. Every night, Eddie would sneak over with a half-smirk and a fresh blunt in hand, and you'd always find your spot beside him. You'd listen intently as he launched into theatrical retellings of whatever beast he'd slain in D&D that week. The weed made everything a little warmer. The laughter came easier. And around Eddie, everything was effortless.

Even at school, it was different. It was weird seeing Eddie in the daylight.

You were used to him half-lit by moonlight, cigarette smoke curling around his wild hair, laughter hushed. Not… fluorescent hallway lighting and the echo of squeaky sneakers and slamming lockers. Definitely not Eddie pressed up against the vending machine at 11:00 a.m., cursing it out because it ate his quarters.

"I just wanted the damn chocolate—” You had just turned the corner when he spotted you. His entire face lit up.

“There she is,” he called out, like it was the most normal thing in the world for the school freak to call across the hallway at full volume. Your heart dropped to your stomach—and then floated right back up into your throat. A few heads turned, including a couple of cheerleaders and one very annoyed teacher. You walked faster.

“Eddie,” you hissed, smiling despite yourself as he jogged to catch up with you, candy bar now miraculously in hand.

“What? I’m not supposed to acknowledge my secret nightly accomplice in public?” He wiggled his brows. “What will the neighbors think?”

“You are the neighbor.”

“Exactly.” He matched your pace as you weaved through the crowd. He wasn’t exactly subtle. Metal rings, loud voice, and a confidence that felt like it should be fake—but somehow wasn’t. Not with him. “You know,” he said casually, “it’s rude to sneak out, form a soul connection under the stars, and then ignore me in third-period Algebra.”

Your eyes widened. “You saw me?”

“Sweetheart, you sit two rows over. And you doodle on your notes when you’re bored.”

“What do I even doodle?” Your cheeks burned.

“Mostly stars,” he said with a shrug. “And guitars. A few skulls. Pretty sick, honestly.” You blinked. No one noticed that kind of stuff. “Where you headed?” he asked, nudging your arm with his.

“Lunch,” you mumbled, suddenly unsure. “But I'll probably eat in the library.”

“Nah, come with me,” he said, grabbing your wrist before you could spiral into shyness again. “Meet the little sheep.”

“The… what?”

“My boys. Hellfire Club. You’ll love ‘em. They’re way too obsessed with dragons and D&D theories, but they’ve got good taste in music.” You hesitated for half a second, then let him guide you toward the cafeteria.

The volume of the lunchroom was jarring after the hush of the hallway. Plastic trays clattered, someone shouted about tater tots, and the usual social boundaries were drawn like chalk outlines. Everyone had their place. Except Eddie. Eddie was a place. He slid into his usual seat at the far table with all the drama of a rockstar about to give a press conference. You hovered for a second before he tugged you gently down beside him, arm slung over the back of your chair like it belonged there.

“This is the girl I told you about,” he announced.

“You what?” Your eyes bugged.

“Oh, relax. I didn’t use your name. I just said there was this mysterious bookworm who climbs out her window like she’s in Heathers.”

Across from you sat two boys—one curly-haired with a big grin, the other tall, a bit more reserved but clearly curious.

“Dustin,” said the curly one, holding out a hand. “And that’s Mike.”

You shook his hand, offering a shy smile. Mike waved with a mouthful of sandwich. “Are you like… Eddie’s girlfriend?”

“Jesus, Dustin—” Eddie choked on his soda.

“What? It’s a question.”

“We’re friends,” you said quickly, voice slightly too high. “Just—friends.”

Eddie made a sound that almost resembled a scoff.

“Yeah. Just friends. Friends who meet under the cover of night like vampires and share emotional secrets on porches while we make out passionately through the night. Totally platonic.” You gave him a sharp look under your lashes. But his teasing smile didn’t fade. It lingered. The others dove into a conversation about their latest campaign, something about a dungeon boss and a stolen staff, and Eddie leaned closer to whisper, “You’re welcome to join Hellfire anytime, you know. I'm sure the boys won't mind a pretty girl like you joining our party.” Your breath caught.

“Is that why you invited me? To boost morale?” He grinned.

“Nah. Just figured it'd be easier to flirt with you if you were sitting next to me more often.” You blinked, stunned for a second too long. Was he serious? Was that a joke? He took a sip of his drink like he hadn’t just lit your nervous system on fire.

“He doesn’t bring people to lunch. Ever.” Across the table, Dustin raised an eyebrow.

“Dustin,” Eddie warned. Mike nodded.

“He made Gareth eat outside once because he said his vibe was off.” You laughed, covering your mouth. Eddie rolled his eyes but looked…proud. Like he liked hearing you laugh. Like he was cataloging the sound in his head for later. You didn’t eat much that day. But you stayed. And when the bell rang, Eddie didn’t let you disappear. He walked you to your next class. Kept the jokes coming, even when you barely responded. He didn’t seem to care that you were quiet. Or that you looked at the floor when you were nervous. He just stayed.

And when you slipped into your seat in the back of class, heart hammering, you caught yourself writing his name in your notebook. Just once. Then you scribbled it out. But it didn’t matter. You weren’t sure what was happening yet. But you felt it. And god, you hoped he felt it too.

The cafeteria became your new comfort zone after that. You got used to the sound of Eddie’s boots trailing behind you in the halls, the way he always found a reason to stop by your locker, the way his fingers would linger just a second too long when he handed you a note or brushed past you in the crowd. So when he kept insisting you come to Hellfire, it almost felt inevitable.

“Come see how the chaos really happens,” he’d said with a grin, his fingers tugging nervously at a loose thread on his sleeve. You’d said yes before he could finish the sentence. And maybe he thought it would be just like always. That you’d sit at his table like you did at lunch, laugh at the dumb jokes, roll your eyes at his theatrics. But the moment you walked into that drama room, everything shifted. Eddie was already there, at the head of the table—his throne, really—decked out in full DM glory. The Hellfire Club tee, the rings, the hair that looked like he definitely ran his hands through it fifty times before you showed up.

“You made it,” he said, dramatically rising to bow. “The lady of the hour.” You rolled your eyes, biting back a smile as you sat beside Dustin, who was already enthusiastically setting up your character sheet.

“She’s playing a rogue,” Dustin announced proudly. “Total badass.”

“Oh, rogue, huh?” Eddie raised an eyebrow as he sat back down, tapping his pencil against his lip. “You would pick the sneaky one.”

You leaned back in your chair, pretending to think. “Guess I like getting into places I’m not supposed to be.” He choked on his soda. Again. The table erupted with laughter.

Time passed quickly, and the group welcomed you with open arms. Everyone was loud, hilarious, and way too smart. And even though you weren’t sure what you were doing most of the time, you loved watching the way they all lit up around Eddie, hanging on every word of his storytelling like he was some kind of god. But somewhere between the party's first dungeon crawl and your very questionable game decisions, something shifted.

His name was Tyler. He was new. A transfer. Tall. Soft brown hair. He asked if he could sit next to you since Mike was late. You didn’t think anything of it. Neither did Eddie. Until his gaze lingered longer, and Tyler leaned over and asked if you wanted help with your dice rolls.

“Here, try this one,” he said, handing you one of his own, grinning. “It’s my lucky d20.” You smiled politely and took it. Eddie’s eyes narrowed. He kept talking, narrating the scene, but his voice dipped a little lower. Tyler leaned in again.

“So, uh, you're the first girl I've met that plays D&D. You’re really good, by the way.”   

“Oh, thanks,” you laughed, shrugging. “I’m kinda faking it.”

“Well, you're doing a great job pretending.” Eddie slammed his notebook closed. Everyone looked up.

“Okay, okay,” he said, a little too loud, “time for a perception check. Everyone. Including the rogue.”

You blinked. “I don’t have to roll, it's not my—”

“Everyone.” His voice cracked a little. “Those are the rules.” Dustin snorted under his breath. You rolled your eyes and picked up Tyler’s lucky die again.

“Use your own,” Eddie muttered without looking at you.

You paused. “What?”

“I said—use your own dice, sweetheart. Wouldn’t want anyone else’s luck rubbing off on you.” You stared at him. Tyler cleared his throat.

“Didn’t mean anything, man, I was just trying to help her out—”

“She doesn’t need help,” Eddie snapped.

You rolled at an attempt to keep the night going and brush past whatever this outburst was. A seven.

“Cool. You miss everything.” He scratched furiously at his notes. “You walk into a fucking wall.”

“Okay. What is going on with you?” Now you were the one narrowing your eyes.

“Nothing.” He didn’t look at you. “We’re playing.” You didn’t push him then. Not in front of the others. But you felt it—that weird tension, the unspoken shift. The way his knee started bouncing under the table. The way he didn’t look at you for the rest of the session. But when everyone finally packed up and filtered out, Dustin whispering something about “testosterone poisoning,” you lingered. Eddie was still at the table, gathering his dice. Quiet. Avoiding your gaze. You stood in front of him, arms crossed.

“Are you mad at me or something?”

“No.” His jaw clenched.

“Then what the hell was that?”

“I just didn’t like how he was talking to you.” He exhaled slowly.

“He was being nice.” You frowned.

“He was flirting.” His gaze finally met yours. You raised a brow.

“And that’s… a bad thing?” Eddie leaned in just a little, voice low and smug.

“Only if you're planning on giving someone else a shot at flirting with you. ‘Cause sweetheart, I’ve been putting in the work—seniority has to count for something.” Your stomach dropped. The air between you went still.

You didn’t say anything at first. You didn’t have to. He could see it all over your face.

“I didn’t know you felt that way,” you whispered.

“I didn’t either,” he said softly. “Until someone else looked at you like I do.” You were still standing in a high school drama room, the air smelled like Doritos and teenage boys, and yet—everything felt brighter. Warmer.

“I only look at you, Eddie.”

His smile started small. “Good.” And just like that, the storm passed. He bumped your shoulder with his gently as he got up and brushed past you, eyes soft again. “C’mon. I’ll walk you out.” And he did. But not before knocking over his own DM screen in the process.

The walk home the following night, after spending the afternoon at the library, felt longer. You hadn't seen Eddie since the night before, thoughts of him changing his mind and doubt flooded your mind. The usual chill in the trailer park air was sharper than normal, biting at your cheeks as you made your way across the gravel. You didn’t even hear the music at first, just the quiet creak of your front steps under your weight as you climbed them. It wasn’t until you reached for the window that you saw the folded scrap of notebook paper tucked just behind the sill. Your name was scrawled in all caps with a little dragon horn doodle next to it. You unfolded it, fingers trembling slightly from the cold—or maybe not just the cold.

Hideout. Monday night. 8:30. I’ll be the one shredding the guitar. Bring your pretty eyes and that sarcastic mouth. I want a review.

- E.M.

You snorted, warmth blooming uninvited in your chest. God, he was such a menace. You read the note twice before pressing it flat against your chest and sinking onto your bed, trying to smother the ridiculous grin spreading across your face. Monday. You had until Monday.

[gloomweed]

Thinking about Eddie bragging to Steve about making out with a girl at a party and Steve is cheering him on and giving high-fives and shit. And then later when Eddie mentions her name. Steve freaks out cause as it turns out Eddie made out with you — Steve’s little sister. Steve would probably kill Eddie and then himself.

Anyway tell me if I should may this into a fic or not.

[gloomweed]

𝙿𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙸𝙲𝙰𝙻𝙻𝚈 𝙼𝙰𝚁𝚁𝙸𝙴𝙳 | 𝙴𝙳𝙳𝙸𝙴 𝙼𝚄𝙽𝚂𝙾𝙽

Pairings: Roommate/bsf!Eddie x Reader

Word count: 1, 173 words

Summary: You and Eddie Munson are roommates. He thinks that means something more. You just think he’s being Eddie.

Contains: roommate chaos, college setting, Eddie being down horrendously bad, delusional one-sided love (for now), sarcastic reader, mutual domesticity, a sprinkle of pining, and lots of goofy banter

A/N: I' m so sorry i haven’t posted in a while pls take this feral college era Eddie while I recalibrate my brain. Andddd, I just love writing quirky, goofy fics for Eddie.

masterlist |

After defying all odds and passing Ms. O’Donnell’s final with a suspicious number of lucky guesses, Eddie Munson graduated. You didn’t expect him to make it out of Hawkins High, but here he was, diploma in hand and clinging to your side like a caffeinated barnacle. When the college acceptance letters came, it made sense to be roommates. You were best friends. Eddie was harmless.

Except harmless didn’t exactly include the part where he kept calling you “babe” in front of the RA. Or how he bought two toothbrushes before you even moved in, one red, one black. “Yours and mine,” he said, totally casual, like you were an old married couple and this wasn’t your first day sharing a bathroom.

You? You thought Eddie was just being dramatic. He’d always been like this, loud, clingy, theatrical. You were used to it.

But Eddie? Eddie Munson thought he was living out his greatest fantasy, domestic bliss with the girl of his dreams, shared laundry and all.

You’d barely put your backpack down before Eddie kicked the door shut behind you, arms flung wide open like he was revealing a surprise party. “Welcome home, babe,” he grinned, eyes gleaming. “Look! I vacuumed.”

You blinked at the haphazard rugs, the lava lamp already plugged in, and the fact that he’d managed to hang a framed Dio poster next to what you hoped was a scented candle.

“You vacuumed the carpet once and suddenly you’re a house husband?”

He put a hand to his chest, wounded. “House partner, sweetheart. We’ll get to the husband and wife part later. Unless you want it that way, I ain't complaining..” Then he winks.

You dropped your backpack with a thud. “We’re roommates, Eddie. Just roommates.”

He saluted, completely ignoring you. “And I take my domestic duties very seriously. I already took the garbage out and I washed the dish you used for breakfast this morning. So, technically, I’ve been husbanding you for hours.”

You made a face, walking into the kitchen. “That’s not a verb. And stop saying ‘husbanding.’ You’re going to freak out the neighbors.”

Eddie leaned against the fridge with a smug look, still watching you. “You know, you’re lucky I’m this committed. Most guys don’t even make it past moving day without a breakdown. Me? I labeled our snacks.”

You opened the cabinet. Sure enough, a bright sticky note read “Eddie’s Secret Stash touch and DIE <3.”

“I see we’re off to a mature, healthy cohabitation,” you muttered, grabbing one of your granola bars.

Things only got worse (or better, depending on which one of you you asked) from there.

He insisted on walking you to class. He made your coffee in the morning, just how you liked it. He left notes on the fridge like Out of milk :( I’ll get some, don’t worry babe, as if you were a couple sharing groceries and not two broke college kids trying to survive Econ 101.

And the worst part? He looked so smug about it. Every time you rolled your eyes or called him ridiculous, Eddie just beamed at you like he was winning some secret game.

One day, you opened the closet to find his Hellfire shirt hanging next to your cardigans.

“Why is your stuff in my half?”

He shrugged. “Just trying out the married aesthetic. Feels more real when our clothes mingle, y’know?”

You chucked a slipper at him.

Then with laundry.

You don’t mean for it to. You really don’t. But one Saturday afternoon, your favorite hoodie is missing, and Eddie’s favorite band shirt is somehow tucked into your drawer, and before you know it, you were shouting.

“Did you put our clothes in the same load again?” you shout from the bedroom.

“Define ‘our,’” Eddie yells back, and you can hear the grin.

You storm into the living room. “Are you just washing everything together now? My delicates were in there!”

Eddie, curled up on the couch in your hoodie (your hoodie!), blinks up at you with zero shame. “What’s mine is yours, sweetheart. It’s just more efficient.”

You gesture wildly. “That is not how laundry or roommates work!”

He stretches his legs, bare feet propped on the coffee table like this is some kind of sitcom. “Okay, but consider: if you marry me,”

“I’m not marrying you.”

“you won’t have to worry about separate laundry loads ever again. Think of the savings.”

You deadpan, “You think this is a pitch?”

“It’s a lifestyle.”

You walk off muttering something about bleach and boy germs, but Eddie just smirks to himself and nuzzles deeper into your hoodie. He’s winning. Slowly. Deliberately. Like a fungus. A charming, metal loving fungus with a hopeless crush.

“It’s like we’re already married,” Eddie said, tossing a bag of off brand cereal into your shared shopping cart.

“We are literally just roommates.”

“Exactly. Roommates. The first stage of marriage.”

You gave him a look, the usual one. The one that said I don’t know what weird brain chemicals you’re running on today, Munson, but I’m too tired to argue. Then you just sighed, picked out your preferred kind of yogurt Eddie called it “girly parfait goop”, and turned the cart toward the freezer section.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like living with him. Honestly, you seemed pretty happy with your arrangement. You let him play Dio in the living room, you didn’t even yell when he forgot to take out the trash, and you always made a second cup of coffee in the morning, leaving it by his door without fail. You were sweet. You were golden. You were absolutely not in love with him.

Yet.

But Eddie had plans. Long game plans. Big, delusional, deeply unserious plans.

Your apartment wasn’t much. Just two bedrooms, a shared bathroom, and a tiny living room and a tiny kitchen with a microwave that sounded like it was dying every time you used it. But it was yours, and Eddie was thriving. His band posters were up in the living room. His guitar leaned permanently on the couch. And you, beautiful, radiant, confusing as hell, you left your fuzzy socks all over the floor like you were just asking him to fall harder for you every day.

“I fixed the shower pressure,” you said one night, walking into the living room drying your hair with a towel and wearing one of his old Hellfire shirts like it was no big deal.

Eddie, who was halfway through eating dry Cap’n Crunch and watching a horror movie, immediately forgot the plot and maybe his name.

“You did?”

You shrugged, plopping down beside him and stealing a handful of cereal. “It was just the nozzle. It was all gunked up.”

“My sexy little plumber,” he said, mouth full.

“Gross,” you replied, but you were smiling, and Eddie was pretty sure he saw God for a second.

A/N: hi hello I’m back on my clown shit thank you for waiting. I missed writing a painfully delusional Eddie so much. I'm planning on adding a few more parts, what do you guys think??

[gloomweed]

contents: gender unspecified reader; reader with a vagina; painful sex and understanding steve; size kink!!!

ok last thought before bed. just thinking about steve coaching you super sweetly to take his cock. missionary, one hand holding yours, the other guiding himself inside of you. he coos at you when you wince, a little frown pulling at his lips.

“it’s okay,” he shushes, stilling his hips. “you can do it, honey, breathe through it.”

he has you inhale as he pushes another inch in, and exhale when he stills again. you groan, both in pain and pleasure, his powerful body towering over you. you squeeze his hand and he squeezes back, pressing a kiss to your sweaty forehead.

“doing so good,” he praises. “lift your lips a little higher for me, there we go —“

he moans, slipping inside of your tight, wet heat even further. you’re strangling him. it’s almost impressive how tight you are, even after an hour of foreplay. but he knows it hurts, and he presses a chaste kiss to your lips in sympathy.

“steve,” you whisper, voice breaking. “i’m so full.”

your hand moves to your lower stomach and steve almost dies. his breath hitches, thinking of his cock that deep inside of you. he’s only a little over halfway in and you’re teary eyed and shaking, squeezing his hand harshly.

“should i pull out?”

you whine, petulant. “help me take it.”

he laughs and nuzzles his nose against yours. “what d’you think i’ve been doin’?”

you exhale harshly. “i wish you could just fuck me.”

he kisses you again. “it’s okay to need some time.”

you know that, but it doesn’t help. you breathe out shakily, thighs trembling.

“i’ll stay in your pussy all night if that’s what it takes.” he sounds a little wrecked. “gonna help you take it, baby, relax for me.”

[gloomweed]

sweet girl

6.6k | mechanic!Eddie Munson x coworker!Reader | Smut

Eddie's trying to rebuild his social life, with little success. When he finally has something to celebrate, he invites you and some guys from the shop out for drinks - his treat. When you're the only one who shows up at the bar, he finds himself seeing you in a new light.

anon asked: Eddie goes out one night and sees the funny kind but not attractive girl from work at a club. He sees her in a new light. NSFW idea

Notes: Reader is a little insecure. Soft dom!Eddie/needy sub!Reader. Gareth makes an appearance, but I (the author) am not very nice to him. Or his grandma.

Eddie's always been a little bit of a flirt. Nothing too crazy - he's always considered himself pretty good at reading the room - but sometimes just enough to get himself into trouble. Between that and his bad reputation, there's a reason his boss normally has the girl at the front desk handle all his transactions with customers.

Working at Kovach's took some getting used to at first. He's a social person, freak or not, and his coworkers… Well, they're outgoing in some ways, but they're not much like Eddie. Not nerdy, not big into his kind of music. And while he's been able to skate by with coworkers in the past by being charming and funny, the coworkers who've liked him the most are usually women. And, well, there aren't a lot of girls working at Kovach's Auto Repair. As a matter of fact, there's only one: you.

While Eddie knows his way around a car, he doesn't always know how to handle the sausage fest that is Kovach's. He's not an unmanly guy, but he's not exactly one of the boys, either. So more often than not, when Eddie's feeling social, he finds himself leaned against the front desk, teasing you about little things. How carefully you write when you total up parts and labor, the way you've actually got a preference for brands of copy paper.

Today's been a good day. Eddie's made a fair bit of cash from wrapping up a big repair - uninsured driver, hit a deer - and all that work has paid off. He's going out tonight to celebrate, and of course, you're invited.

"Me?" you ask, brow furrowing in disbelief as he plucks a cupcake out of the Tupperware dish beside you.

If Eddie notices your surprise, he doesn't mention it. "Yeah, duh," he says flatly. "You ever been to Crafter's?" It's a little brewery that opened up in the center of town. It's not the Ritz, but it's a little classier than The Hideaway. Over the last few years, Eddie drinks a lot less than he used to, so he prefers a quality drink when he does, instead of whatever glorified nail polish remover will get him drunk the fastest.

He's got no shame as he crams about two-thirds of the cupcake into his mouth. It's yellow cake and blue-dyed buttercream frosting. Eddie wouldn't just kill for the sweets you bring in on Fridays - he'd die for them. You gave up a long time ago on expecting Eddie to stick to one, so you've started bringing a little extra. For the whole crew, of course. Just in case.

You shake your head. "No, I've never been."

"Well, consider it a date," he says casually as he licks icing off his hand. "You, me, Gareth, and whatever other unlucky schmucks here don't already have plans for the night."

It doesn't go unnoticed by you that Eddie just assumes you don't have plans. Unfortunately, he's right, so it's hard to be mad. It's been a while since you've gone out anywhere, so you really can't blame him.

"Alright," you shrug.

Eddie throws a little side-eye your way. "'Alright'?"

You laugh at that. "What do you want me to say, Eddie? 'Oh, benevolent overlord, thank you for this blessing. I'd never be invited anywhere without you.'"

His grin is worth the teasing, and he throws a wink your way. "Now, that's more like it," he says, pointing in your direction. Then, he leans back in to snatch another cupcake, and you swat his hand away. He heads back into the shop with his hands up in surrender, wicked grin all but promising he'll be back to try again.

Surprising absolutely nobody, none of the guys from the shop come. Eddie's been trying to get to know his coworkers better, but it's been an uphill battle. Not everyone is keen to be seen associating with him in the first place. Plus, most of them have worked there since the shop opened. They're all somewhat older than Eddie and usually have wives to get home to or some sportsball event on TV.

But Eddie's been working hard to keep an open mind and an optimistic outlook. It's hard to do - harder than ever - but it's also more important than ever. Somewhere in the aftermath of all the shit that's gone down in Hawkins, he realized the only way he was ever going to have a life was to start acting like, one day, he might have one.

So he tries to let it roll right off his back, like a duck in water.

Gareth showed up, which is at least better than no one. And you should be here any minute now, assuming you keep your word. And he doesn't take you for a liar.

"What's this girl's name again?" Gareth asks, frowning at his cider. He doesn't love meeting new people and isn't very good at remembering them, either. He's already met you once, when he brought his car into the shop, but Eddie supposes maybe he wouldn't remember your name, either, if he'd only ever interacted with you once at the checkout counter.

It's not that there's anything wrong with you. It's just that he wouldn't exactly consider you memorable. You're punctual and diligent. You do a good job working the front desk, but Eddie's not sure what would even make a receptionist stand out in a place like Kovach's, or what would qualify one for employee of the month.

You're not what Eddie'd call a knockout, either. The guys at work don't make up excuses to come and lean against the counter all casual-like, just so they can lay eyes on you. They don't ask you out for dinner, or offer their "services" - the single employees or the customers. It's not like someone would take a look at you and run for the hills, but you're just… a regular person. Exactly the kind of girl Eddie would expect to see working the counter at Kovach's.

So no, you're not exactly memorable. But you are cool, in a sense. Your uncle runs the shop, so you're not afraid of making fun of the other mechanics with Eddie when you've got downtime. (What's he gonna do? Fire you?) And you're always willing to help Eddie squeak in last-minute orders for parts, even when you should tell him to wait until tomorrow. And the thing that makes you the coolest is that you look at Eddie like he's somebody, which is a lot better than he gets from anyone else at the shop, except for Kovach himself.

Eddie reminds Gareth of your name for the third time since he invited him to Crafter's in the first place. Says it nice and slow, then spells it for good measure with a mocking tune.

He never even sees you coming when you pull the barstool away from the high-top and climb onto it. One second, there was no trace of you, and now, here you are, in all your glory (or lack thereof).

"You spelled it wrong," you say by way of a greeting. You don't look directly at him, but you're not looking at Gareth, either. Instead, you lean slightly toward Eddie, bending over at the waist to place your purse on the ground between his seat and yours. Your hair brushes his arm, and he pulls back, trying to give you some space.

When you sit up straight, you flash Eddie a half-heartedly apologetic smile. "Sorry 'bout that." Then you look across the table. "You must be Gareth?" you ask.

Eddie blinks, realizing he's fumbled the intro already. "Oh, yeah." There's something about your arrival that's thrown Eddie off-kilter. It's probably just that he expected he'd see you walk through the door - that's part of why he chose this table in the first place.

Gareth, for his part, doesn't seem fazed at all. He just says "yep," as though having a bit of personality might actually kill him.

"No Greg?" you ask Eddie.

He shrugs. "They all said no, except for Michael, who said maybe, which means no."

Gareth whistles lowly at that and shakes his head, taking a big swig of his cider. Eddie wrinkles his nose in response. Gareth's never learned how to savor anything. He drinks to get drunk. Eddie used to, too; now, he doesn't remember what he enjoyed about it.

"Wow, Ed," Gareth drawls, "your social life is reaching new heights every day."

Eddie doesn't even dignify Gareth with a response. There's plenty he could make fun of Gareth for, but he knows this game well. Eddie's got the advantage of knowing both of his guests, and you and Gareth don't know each other at all. Leave it to Gareth to try and build a bridge by making Eddie the butt of the joke.

He doesn't mind, not really. It's probably better than Gareth ignoring you all night.

So instead of reacting to Gareth's stupid jab, Eddie looks at you intently. "Want anything to drink?"

You cock your head to the side and look at the glass he's got his hand wrapped around. "What are you drinking?" Your voice is soft; he can just hear you over the low thrum of guitar and voices of regulars.

Eddie's been experimenting with mixed drinks since he started coming to Crafter's, and he's challenged himself not to drink the same thing twice all summer. It started as a bid to make conversation with the bartender on duty during his first visit. Now it's turned into a collaborative quest to test the limits of what Bartender Nick can do with the supplies available to him. Eddie's had some real stinkers as a result - last week, it was some atrocity that had the consistency of egg drop soup - but this one's not bad at all.

"Coffee and Coke," he tells you, like that's a normal thing to be drinking.

You don't seem impressed. Even worse, from your expression, you're a little revolted. "Seriously?"

"Well, yeah. It's like an espresso martini but with Coke." You don't seem convinced. "Hey, don't knock it 'til you try it. I'll buy you one if you'll give it a chance."

"I think I'd rather have a drink menu."

Eddie sighs theatrically, but like a diligent host, he pushes his barstool back and stands. "Your loss," he says, waggling his eyebrows. "Food menu, too?"

"Yes," Gareth chimes in, looking bored as usual.

"Be nice," Eddie warns Gareth, signaling that he's keeping an eye on him before weaving through bodies and chairs to the bar. That's all he needs, is Gareth scaring you off before you can even settle in.

For better or worse, before Gareth even receives the appetizer he ordered, his mom calls the bar, asking for him, and he has to leave. Grandma had a fall, and his mom had to take her to the hospital but forgot all of Grandma's meds at home. Eddie asks if he's going to be okay, but Gareth doesn't let on like he's worried. He says it doesn't sound too serious, and despite how much Gareth pretends he doesn't care about anything, Eddie knows he's a Grandma's boy through and through. If it was a big deal, he'd be acting like it.

"Poor Grandma," you say with a contemplative frown after Gareth leaves.

Eddie'd never given a lot of thought to the prospect of getting older and what that must be like until '86. He never really thought he'd live to be old. Now that he's determined to do so, that kind of stuff weighs on his mind more than he'd like. He makes a mental note to take some flowers to Gareth's grandma tomorrow, after sleeping off whatever level of hangover he leaves Crafter's with.

As if like clockwork, one of the servers brings out the appetizer sampler. Eddie asks her to put Gareth's purchases on his tab. Gareth tried to insist on paying for himself earlier, but Grandma's unfortunate fall means that he isn't there to stop Eddie from covering the bill.

You and Eddie split Gareth's appetizer, and you chat a bit about you. While you're always friendly at work, you don't talk about yourselves much at all - just small talk and the like, and those awesome desserts you bring. You talk about how you moved back to Hawkins after college, that your family had lived here for a while when you were young, and then when you struggled to find a job after college, your uncle agreed to hire you. You tell him about your little shoebox apartment above the general store on Main Street.

He tells you he plays guitar, and that he and Gareth used to be in a metal band together, called Corroded Coffin. You talk about music quite a lot, comparing notes - the unexpected things you have in common, the funny differences in your tastes. Eddie's softened up a little in the last several years and has been trying to expand his musical horizons. He confesses that he's got a soft spot for Madonna.

It's when you laugh at his admission that something shifts in his mind. When you arrived, you sat between him and Gareth at the circular table, meaning you're directly to his left. You're sitting so close, he hasn't actually gotten a good look at you - although, he guesses he wasn't really trying. But when you laugh, he sees up close the way your eyelashes flutter, the way your smile touches your eyes. And your eyes - they're full of affection instead of judgment.

Eddie's seen you nearly five days a week for months now, and talked with you at least once each of those days, and yet, he's never really noticed you. Not the way he's noticing you now. He can't help but smile at the sound of your laugh, and against his will, his eyes follow the slope of your nose, the curve of your lips. You feel impossibly close. He didn't even see it before, the way your shoulders are tilted in towards him, and the way he's also turned slightly on his barstool, leaving you only a few inches apart.

When you place your elbow on the table and support your cheek with your hand, he sucks in a breath and leans back, blinking. He's been drinking, but he's not drunk. Not drunk enough to cause the warmth in his belly and chest, or the muddled feeling in his mind.

"I'm gonna go grab another drink. D'you want another one?" he asks with a nod toward your empty glass.

"Oh," you say, perking up, "sure!"

"Alright, what do you want?"

You're already sliding off of your barstool behind him. "I'll come with you. I don't trust you with my drink." Eddie's brow furrows at that before you interrupt his train of thought with another laugh. "Not like that - I don't remember what's on the menu, and you clearly have bad judgment," you say, waving a hand at what used to be his drink.

Bartender Nick had called it a Monkey Gland, whatever that means. Eddie's not even sure what was in it, just that it was a lot in the flavor department.

Eddie lets you lead the way to the bar, and oh, man, that was a mistake. Now that he's more than a foot away from you, his curious eyes are quite busy, and that's not a good spot to be in when trying to keep up in a crowd.

You've done your hair, is the thing - not like you do for work, but something softer and more feminine. He noticed your makeup earlier, your striking eyes, but he failed to notice the hair. Or your dress, for that matter; it's a tight little thing that ends at your mid-thigh. It fits like it was made for you. He's never seen you out of uniform, or wearing anything but non-slip tennis shoes. Your strappy heels draw his attention, glinting gold in the overhead lights.

You look like you dressed up, is the thing. Yeah, your outfit is cute. Yeah, you're more relaxed tonight than you ever are at work - and more conversational. But you look like you tried. Do you try like this for all your social events? Did you dress up for Eddie?

Did you come to Crafter's with the intention of going home to a place you've never been? Or do you have an "afterparty" he's not been invited to attend?

By the time you reach the bar, he's sweating, and it's not just his hair. It's you.

"I thought you weren't having anything you've already had this summer," you tease as you climb back onto your barstool. You just got a refill of your usual, but Eddie's changed from some obscure cocktail to a piña colada.

"Maybe I've never had a piña colada before," Eddie says, raising his eyebrows at you.

"I don't believe you."

Eddie simply sips through his straw in response, pink lips wrapped nicely around the black plastic.

You're feeling warm from the alcohol, and making conversation with Eddie is as natural as anything. Eddie's always a little bit of a charmer at work, and sometimes you struggle not to blush, but this is different. His not just charming tonight - he's flirtatious. You wonder if he's like this with all of his friends. Although, you can't imagine he'd flirt well with Gareth.

After a little while if shooting the shit, Eddie's posture grows a little more stiff. He leans back on his barstool and rolls his shoulders. "Thank you for coming out tonight," he says, just loud enough for you to hear him over the music, but low enough that you have to lean in.

"Yeah, of course," you say with a smile, surprised at the gratitude. "I wouldn't have missed it." Although, it's just now occurring to you - none of the guys from work came, and Gareth had to leave early. If you hadn't come, Eddie'd be spending tonight at the bar all by himself. The thought reminds you of birthday parties from your past, the ones where everyone said they'd be there but nobody showed.

Eddie's so genuine and so lively, you can't imagine him sitting in a bar all by his lonesome, waiting for someone to come who never will. Maybe it's just your little crush talking, but Eddie is… He's friendly and witty and oh my God, he's even hotter with his hair down. Someone like Eddie - it's baffling to think he could ever be stood up, by friends or otherwise.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" Heat rushes to your cheeks as soon as you say it, and Eddie's brown eyes widen a little. You didn't exactly mean to ask. It just came out as soon as the thought crossed your mind. But you don't retract the question.

Clearing his throat, he says, "No, I'm not seeing anyone. Why do you ask?"

You feel a little bold, although not quite assertive. You look down at the table as you say, "I was just curious if anyone else would be coming to meet up with us."

After a beat of silence, Eddie's fingertips graze your thigh, just above the knee. When you look up at him, his brown eyes are warm like caramel. "It's just us."

Eddie doesn't know how it happened. It's like his fingers moved of their own volition, but he could swear he feels a spark when his skin meets yours. Your eyes haven't left his, but you take a sip of your drink through the little black straw, and then he feels you press into his touch, ever so slightly.

Every time Eddie's ever talked to you, he's noticed how kind you are, and how funny. But he's never before noticed the exact shade of your eyes, or—Jesus Christ—the scent of your hair. It's coconut. The smell is intoxicating, and it leaves him wanting more. So much that when his chest brushed against your shoulder at the bar, the only thing he could think about was coconut. He opened his mouth to ask for a lemon drop and ended up ordering a piña colada instead.

"Do you—" Eddie cuts himself off abruptly. For a moment there, he was almost so lost in your eyes that he forgot himself. You're his coworker. Your uncle owns the company he works for. The first place that's really given him a chance. It's a terrible idea.

But he doesn't miss the way your jaw drops, lips parting just slightly. "Do I what?" you ask. Slowly, you lift your leg up and cross it over the other, leaning just a bit closer in your seat. And Eddie can see it. He can see the way you want him, too. It's in your eyes. It's in your touch as you lay a soft hand on his forearm. It's in the flutter of your lashes as you look up at him, like you're waiting for him to give you something. Something he'd love to give.

Earlier today, Eddie had only ever thought of you as a friendly coworker, a buddy, maybe a confidant of minor indiscretions. Tonight, he can feel the charge of the static between you, can almost see the desire rolling off of you in waves. He knows what it feels like because it's vibrating at the same frequency of his own.

Eddie's been keeping a slow pace for his drinks, slower than he thought he would. His intention tonight was, despite his usual attitude, to get absolutely plastered. But he's been so caught up in chatting with you that he's only had three drinks, and it's been two and a half hours. And he's not even finished the third.

You're on your second, and he doesn't know your tolerance, but your eyes aren't glassy and your movements aren't that languid, too-slow pace of someone who's beyond tipsy. No, you're both a little tipsy at worst.

Your thumb brushes over the mottled scarring of his bat tattoo, and his breath catches in his throat. Finally, against his better judgment, he asks, "Do you wanna get out of here?"

Eddie's presence in your apartment is almost unnerving, with just how aware you are of him. You haven't had a guy over since you moved into the place six months ago, so for it to be Eddie, the funny guy from work who's way out of your league, is mind-boggling.

There's an awkward density to the air. It's surreal, is the thing. He's hanging his leather jacket up at the front door beside your raincoat, and your eyes are zeroed in on your feet as you undo the straps of your heels. Eddie takes his time unlacing his combat boots beside you. If he's as nervous as you are, he doesn't let on.

His hand brushes against your hip as you stand, ready to support you if you were to stumble. When you look up at him, he pulls you in close, one hand resting at your waist, and the other delicately cupping your jaw. His touch is gentle, like he's afraid you might shatter, or worse, run away.

You don't miss the way his gaze flickers to your lips and his own part slightly with anticipation. He leans in just an inch or two before stopping himself, big, brown eyes looking into yours. "Can I kiss you?" he asks, his voice a low murmur.

Your breath catches in your throat. This is the way you get out of this awkward feedback loop in your head, you think. The overthinking, the wondering what changed for him, why he suddenly wants this when he's never seemingly looked at you twice. This is how it ends - by you taking his cues. You've thought about touching Eddie close to a hundred times, at this point, and now that you've got the opportunity, you don't know how to close the deal.

So you nod quietly and follow his lead.

For all that Eddie's fingers are calloused from working on cars and playing guitar, his touch is gentle. He strokes the pad of his thumb over your cheek, his breath warm on your skin as he presses his lips to yours. Your eyelashes flutter as your eyes close, and you try to relax into him, hands finding his waist. His lips are softer than you would have expected, and he kisses you like…

It doesn't feel like an easy score or a one night stand, really. He moves slowly and methodically, but not without urgency. When he pulls back just enough to breathe, his lips find yours again quickly, and you inhale the scent of his cologne through your nose - bergamot and cinnamon. Your lips part slightly as his fingertips graze the soft skin behind your ear, and when they do, you feel his tongue brush gently against yours. It startles you a little, and you pull away, cheeks burning.

Eddie leans back to see you better. "You okay?"

Embarrassed, you nod and bite your lip. "Yeah, I'm fine. You just surprised me is all."

Cocking his head to the side, he asks, "Good surprise, or bad surprise?"

"Not bad."

His eyes search yours, and he cradles the back of your head with his hand. "You're sure you want to do this?" When you hesitate to respond, Eddie tips his head toward the couch behind you. "Why don't we go sit down and talk it out?"

As he leads you to the sofa, you complain, "I don't think we need to talk, really."

He shoots a look your way that says he begs to differ. "Honey, we're not getting anywhere if you can't talk to me about how you're feeling." When he sits, he turns his body to face you, one leg pulled up onto the couch and the other hanging off of it. Uncertainty all over your face, you mirror him, dress riding up your thighs.

Eddie politely pretends not to notice, instead taking your hand in his and leveling you with a look of genuine curiosity and a hint of concern. He hesitates to begin, not sure which route to take to steer the conversation in the right direction, but after a second, he finally just asks, "Are you attracted to me?"

Your cheeks burn hot at the question, but you nod. "Yeah, I am."

"Okay," he says, drawing out the second syllable. "Do you like me?"

Your brow furrows, like you're not sure why he would ask. "Of course I like you."

He strokes the back of your hand with his thumb and asks, "Okay, so what's going on? You seem nervous." After a beat, he says, "Is it because of Kovach?"

You wrinkle your nose at that. "Don't talk about him," you say quickly, like you're trying to put your uncle out of your mind as quickly as possible. "No, it's not that; it's just… are you actually, like, into me?" Eddie's taken aback by your question. You can tell from the way he blinks in response, so you continue. "You've never acted like you had any particular interest in me before, and then tonight, it's like something has changed, but—Do you actually want me, or do you just want someone?"

There it is, Eddie thinks, the big question.

He lets go of your hand and sits up a little straighter before asking, "Have you ever been somewhere before, like a neighborhood you drive through all the time, and thought it was a nice neighborhood but never thought too much about it?" When you make a face, he says, "Seriously, just humor me. Think about it."

Even though it's silly, you try to do as he asks. You imagine your drive to and from work. It's a short one. You follow Main Street, and then go out toward Maple, and then on to the edge of town. And between Maple Street and Kovach's, sure, there are some pretty nice houses, and some average ones, but overall, it's a decent neighborhood.

"Yeah, I guess so," you say hesitantly.

Eddie perks up a little at that. "Okay, so you're driving through this neighborhood that you go through every day, and part of what makes the neighborhood nice is all the individual houses. So you pass the first house, and it's decent, you know, you like the house alright. And you pass the second one, and it's pretty good, too. And you start thinking, okay, this must be an alright neighborhood. And then on down the street, there's, like, this beautiful house. It's got nice siding and brick, and the lawn is manicured really well, like the people who live there must really care about their house. It's got the white picket fence and everything. It's the American dream."

You laugh, a little awkwardly. "Eddie, I really don't understand what you're getting at here."

"You're the neighborhood," he says quickly, as though that makes perfect sense. "And it's like all the houses in the neighborhood are parts of you that I've seen before. But it's like, today, I saw this fucking beautiful house in the neighborhood, on a street I'd never gone down before, and all I could think about was how gorgeous that house is - and how much I like this neighborhood."

You make a face.

"Seriously," he says, leaning in a little closer. "I see you every day, and you know what? I like it when you bring cupcakes, and I like it when you make fun of the other guys and shitty, asshole customers with me, and the way you let me get away with putting in last-minute parts orders, and the way you get embarrassed when I catch you reading, and—"

He can see it in your eyes and the little crease between your furrowed eyebrows - he sees the way it's dawning on you now, but he says it anyway.

"I didn't realize how much I like those things, but tonight, when I got to see you really just be yourself instead of who you have to be at work - I loved that. And I love seeing you dressed like this, and acting a little more confident, but it's not just about the way you look. I feel like, for the first time, I'm really seeing who you are. And this isn't just a decent neighborhood to me anymore. I just realized tonight that this is a really nice neighborhood, a beautiful one, and I'd move there if one of the houses were up for sale. But before tonight, I just hadn't seen enough of the neighborhood to know."

Your voice is smaller, softer when you look up at him through your lashes. "Eddie…"

He licks his lips, brown eyes searching yours, and then he asks again, "Can I please kiss you?"

This time, you feel it - that electricity that binds you, the same spark that simmered in the current between you both at the bar. You don't bother answering him, just raise up onto your knees and close the gap between you. Your fingers slot themselves into Eddie's hair, that soft, curly hair you've been dying to touch for ages, and as your lips meet his, he pulls you in closer, standing to his feet. On paper, it looks like you're following his lead, but Eddie feels the insistence in your touch as your press your hands to his chest, guiding him backwards to the bed in the corner of the room.

When the backs of his legs connect with the mattress, you slide your hands up to the hem of his shirt and begin tugging it up his torso. Your lips part from his just long enough to pull the shirt over his head, and then you're back on him, pushing him down by the shoulders until he gets the memo to sit down at the foot of the bed.

A moan escapes you as your hands find his abdomen, palms pressed flat against the firm muscles you've only seen in glimpses at the shop. Eddie laughs at the needy sound that spills from your mouth, and he hooks one leg behind your knee, rolling over to pin you to the mattress. "Oh, honey," he coos, all sticky sweet sympathy. "You've been wanting this a long time, huh?"

If it was anyone else, you'd probably feel patronized, probably take offense. But you know Eddie, and instead of offending you, it only makes you want him more. Nodding emphatically, you tug him closer by the belt loops. "Think about you a lot," you confess, your breath catching at the end as he presses a soft, languid kiss to your neck, beneath your ear. Hitching your leg higher up his waist, you press your hips against his, searching for relief.

"Mm, do you?" His hands roam your body, caressing the outside of your thigh with one and hiking up the hem of your dress with the other. His smile is a little smug. "What do you think about?"

You don't think you could feel embarrassed right now if you tried. Your response spills out of you of it's own accord, on a breathy sigh, as he lowers the strap of your dress and kisses along your collarbone. "Think about your - mm, your fingers," you whimper. "Filling me up, getting me ready for you."

"Yeah?" he pulls you onto his lap, then. With his hand, he cups your heat through your panties. "These fingers?" he murmurs, stroking you through the thin fabric.

Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, you brace yourself for his touch, hips squirming slightly to give him better leverage. You're on fire now, pulse thrumming hard and fast in your throat. "Eddie, please."

"Oh, honey," he says, looking into your glassy eyes, "you don't have to beg. I'll give it to you, I promise."

You can't help it - when he hooks his fingers into the side of your panties, pulls them aside and grazes his fingertips against your clit, you whine and dig your nails into his back. This isn't just sensitivity after a dry spell. You need his touch like you need to breathe. Now that you have it, it feels so surreal that it's painful.

"Let me take these off, sweet girl," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. You do as he asks, and the maneuvering is a little awkward, but the anxiety is gone. When you settle back into his lap, he strokes the hair at your hairline and pulls you to his chest, letting you slump against his shoulder.

Eddie presses the pad of his thumb into your folds, and he listens to your sounds to help guide him. After just a couple of seconds, he finds your clit again - confirmed when you whimper and spread your thighs a little farther apart for him.

"That's it, baby," he coos, sweeping a broad circle around your clitoris before using his middle finger to trace a trail all the way down from your labia to your hole. Your walls clench at the sensation, and he must feel it because he hums soothingly when you do. Then, just as he presses one fingertip to your entrance, he asks, "D'you touch yourself like this?" You nod against his shoulder, shame and embarrassment completely absent from your mind. He dips his finger inside you, just to the first knuckle, before pulling out again. "You imagine it's me touching your pussy like this?"

He doesn't wait for your response before sinking his finger deep inside you, all the way down to the chunky, silver ring at his third knuckle. You cry out in response, thighs already shaking with anticipation. "Eddie," you whine, lifting your hips up to fuck yourself on his finger.

"You should have said something, baby," he says, syrupy sweet. "I'd have taken care of you a long time ago if I knew you needed me so bad."

Normally, his cockiness might be sexy, but right now, it's more frustrating than anything. You grit your teeth as he works another finger inside of you. The stretch is so delicious, you lose your train of thought for a moment, walls clenching tightly around him. It's made even more difficult to think when he resumes rubbing little circles into your clit with his thumb. For a few seconds, the only thing you can do is surrender to the pleasure and moan into his shoulder.

Just when you're starting to adjust, he curls his fingers forward, toward your pelvic bone, and you gasp at the sensation. He tries different angles, but it's only a matter of seconds before he finds that spot, the one that fills you with blinding, white-hot pleasure. Before long, you're chanting his name like it's a life-saving incantation, and you're barely able to get a grasp on what's happening before your climax hits, hard and fast and way too soon, and suddenly, you're cumming all over his fingers. When you cry out his name, your voice sounds ragged to your own ears, like it's coming from someone else entirely. Your hips buck against his hand, silently begging for both more and less at the same time.

He works you through your orgasm, tells you what a great job you've done, how beautiful you look while taking his fingers. Wrenching a sob from your throat with one hand, he uses the other to rub your back, soothing you with touch and praise.

When you finally finish, you push his hand away half-heartedly, clitoris too overstimulated to handle anymore of his ministrations. Eddie laughs and eases you down onto your back, then presses a soft kiss to your temple as you try and catch your breath.

He takes your hand in his and kisses the back of it, gentleman-like, as though he didn't just make you cum all over his lap merely seconds ago. Your brain is seemingly stuck in overdrive, thoughts incoherent.

When his hand grazes your thigh, you look over at him, where he lies beside you, and his expression is serious - the most serious you've ever seen it. "Can I touch you again?" he asks, and your mind races at the thought.

Of course he can touch you, you think, but you don't know if you can handle it. "I-I'm sensitive," you say, looking into his eyes for any hint of disappointment.

"Sensitive… here?" He taps a finger just to the side of your clitoris, and you nod, curling into him. When you do, he asks, "What if I don't touch you there? You think you could handle that?"

Headlights shine through the window above Main Street and ricochet off the walls, casting Eddie's face in just a glimpse of light. In that moment, you can see it highlighted all over his face, the desire smoldering in his big, brown eyes. And you know you'd give him anything he wanted, even if you felt like you were going half-insane with over-stimulation.

Swallowing thickly, you nod. "What do you wanna do?"

He walks his fingers across your arm and pulls you closer. His voice is low as he murmurs, "I wanna take my time with you… wanna see how pretty you look when you cum on my cock."

Normally, that kind of talk might make you feel embarrassed from it's crassness, but instead, it's the flattery that makes you bite back a smile. "I'm not pretty," you say. Your voice holds no conviction.

Eddie's fingers cup your jaw, tilting your chin up so you can't look away when he says, "You're beautiful to me."

[gloomweed]

I’ve been picturing this about the AYW universe, about Luke or Ryan’s friend having a little crush on reader and Eddie gets a little overprotective in a jokingly way…. (Not really) 😖😖

+ Just read through AYW and I loved it and the blurbs. Was thinking about how Ryan and Luke would handle having a young mom, like when Ryan brings guys over as a teenager and after is suddenly against having any friends over, being rude to reader. She starts getting really upset about it and Eddie investigates because it’s just so out of character, just to find out it’s because the guys keep making comments about how hot she is or how she’s a MILF, lol. Eddie tries to lighten the situation by saying it’s clear she likes ‘em older anyways, but Ryan’s still apprehensive.

+ We’ve gotta see more of the boys friends finding reader hot in AYW! shes young(er) than Eddie and cool and Eddie getting protective when he finds out in your hockey fic is so funny

+ Hey! I just binged the AYW series and I can’t tell you how obsessed I am with it. Not sure if you’re taking requests but I’d love something set when Ryan and Luke are in high school and maybe one of them has their friends over and reader and Eddie overhear the friend call reader a MILF lol. I just feel like Eddie’s reaction would be hilarious and the boys would be so quick to fight their friend.

I'm obsessed with this idea and everyone reacting to it. I am so glad others wanted to see it too lol

Words: 2.6k

[As You Wish masterlist]

The breeze blows in from the kitchen window above the sink as you wash out the bottles that you used to feed the twins this morning. The hot late July afternoon was a killer, even with the air conditioning pumping out cool air as fast as it can. You wipe your forehead off with your wrist, careful not to get any soap on your face. 

Despite the heat, Eddie comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist, placing a series of kisses against your neck. You giggle softly and tilt your head to the side.

“Isn’t it too hot to cling to me?” you ask.

“You’re too hot for me not to cling to.”

You huff a laugh and shake your head in amusement. 

“I’m just glad my old clothes fit again after giving birth,” you say. “I didn’t have any maternity shorts, so thank God I’m back to pre-pregnancy with twins.”

Eddie’s hands slide down your sides and grab your ass.

“They’re pretty short. I like it,” he mumbles against your skin.

“I’m glad you approve,” you reply absentmindedly as you dry off a bottle.

“Boys home yet?” Eddie asks, placing one more smack to your ass before going to the refrigerator and grabbing a bottle of water. 

“I don’t think so. I feel like we’d hear them.”

“True,” Eddie says with a laugh. “Speaking of hearing our loud children, Eliza down for her nap, too?”

“Yes,” you breathe out with a sigh. “A true miracle to get her to sleep at the same time as the babies.”

The sound of Eddie’s car rumbles into the driveway, and you know the quiet time in the house has come to an end, especially if Luke and Ryan brought their friends back with them from the lake. And by the sound of heavy tread and multiple voices shouting over one another, it sounds like they have.

“See ya,” Eddie says with a laugh before ducking down the hallway.

“Leave me to the wolves,” you mumble under your breath as you pick up another bottle to wash.

The front door opens, and you brace yourself for the teenage boy stampede.

“But that was so not on purpose!”

“No, it totally was!”

“Oh, shut up, we know it wasn’t.”

You chuckle to yourself, wondering which one of them wiped out and tried to play it off. The herd approaches the kitchen, which means you’ll soon be out of food and need to head to the grocery store.

“Hey, Ma!” Luke calls as they walk in.

“Hey, guys.” You look over and see your sons with four of their friends. Some look more familiar, like Ryan’s friend Owen, who comes over all the time to play video games with him. Another is Ben, you believe. You know you’ve met the other two before, but they look very similar to you, and it’s hard to remember who either of them is.

Ryan comes over and presses a kiss to your cheek before grabbing a glass that you had washed a few minutes ago. He pours himself a glass of lemonade and snatches it away from Owen when he tries to steal it. 

“Get your own, zit head.”

You grab another glass and turn around to hand it to Owen.

“Here you go,” you say, slightly patronizingly. 

“Thank you, Mrs. Munson,” Owen replies, giving Ryan a pointed look. “At least someone in this house likes me.”

“Hey, Mrs. Munson,” one of the unknown two says.

“Hey, how are you?” You give him a smile.

“Good, how are you?” he asks. 

“Sweaty,” you say with a chuckle as you turn back to the sink.

Out of the corner of his eye, Luke sees the friend who just spoke, Jordan, let his eyes roam down your figure, lingering on the shorts covering your ass. Your younger son makes a sound in the back of his throat and bumps his shoulder against Jordan’s as he walks to the fridge to get a drink.

The next week, you’re getting groceries out of the trunk after you and Eliza return from shopping. She’s happily walking into the house with one bag in each hand, proud of her contribution. There are a few bags too many to make one trip into the house, but you can’t justify making two. You try to balance one bag on another when it starts to wobble. 

“Whoa!” Suddenly, a pair of hands grab the precarious bag and saves it from falling. 

A tall figure comes into your line of sight, and you see the boys’ friend Jordan. That’s it, right? You’d asked Ryan after the boys left last week. You learned to tell the difference between him and Miles because Jordan uses an unhealthy amount of gel in his short brown hair.

“Oh, thank you,” you say. “That would’ve been bad.”

“No problem.” Jordan gives you a smile, a little friendly for you barely remembering his name, you think. “Here, let me take some of these.” Jordan takes most of the bags in your arms and situates them in his.

“You don’t have to do that,” you say, despite the relief you feel.

“It’s no problem, Mrs. Munson.” He flashes you another bright smile. “Just got here to pick up Luke to go play basketball. Perfect timing, huh?”

“Yeah, guess so,” you say, closing the trunk. 

You take a step towards the house, Jordan apparently waiting to follow behind you, when Ryan steps out of the house. His eyes go from you, to Jordan, to the bags in his arms, back to you. “Uh, hi,” Ryan says, brow furrowing a little. “I was just coming out to help.”

“Guess I beat you to it,” Jordan says, walking past him with the bags.

“Yeah.” Ryan watches as both you and Jordan walk into the house, his brain trying to figure out what just happened. He tries to shrug it off and heads into the house, closing the door behind him.

“You could lift me,” Eliza is saying to Jordan as Ryan walks into the kitchen. It’s obvious his little sister was admiring how many bags his friend could carry at once—considering she never took more than two at a time. 

“I could,” Jordan says with a chuckle. 

There’s a bump to Ryan’s shoulder and Luke walks past him into the kitchen, nodding at Jordan when he sees him. “Hey. I’m ready, just grabbing a water,” Luke says.

“No rush,” Jordan replies, eyes never fully leaving you unpacking the groceries on the table.

Ryan and Luke share a look, a silent acknowledgment that they know what’s going on with Jordan and they do not like it. 

“Could you lift Mama?” Eliza asks Jordan, looking at him with wide eyes.

Jordan chuckles at her question and the sound burrows beneath Ryan’s skin.

“I sure could,” Jordan says, a slimy, smarmy quality to his voice. “With no problem at all.”

“Alright, Hulk.” Luke claps Jordan on the shoulder, harder than necessary. His other hand clutches at his water bottle and he tries to steer his friend out of the kitchen. “Let’s go to the park.”

“Okay,” Jordan says, doing a doubletake at Luke, almost like he forgot he was there. 

“Bye, Jordan!” Eliza says with a grin, waving at him. 

“Bye, Eliza,” Jordan says. His eyes go from the little girl to you, and Ryan notices how his gaze intensifies. “Bye, Mrs. Munson. Have a good day.”

You look up from where you’re taking boxes of cereal out of a bag and give him a quick smile.

“Thanks, Jordan. Bye.”

Ryan is the only one who notices Luke practically drag Jordan out of the kitchen.

Eliza watches them go, moving towards the hallway to keep her eyes on them, and Ryan quickly snatches his sister up in his arms.

“Hey, you,” Ryan says, loud enough for Luke and Jordan to hear before they walk out the door. “We don’t stare at people in this house.”

A few days later, Ryan, Luke, and their gang of four friends are sitting in the living room, two boxes of pizza between the six of them. Some action movie is on television, and they’re all engrossed in it. You are very aware of the mess that will inevitably occur, so you grab a roll of paper towels and stroll in to toss it to one of your sons. Eliza is right on your heels, curious as always about her big brothers and their friends. 

“Hi Owen! Hi Ben! Hi Miles! Hi Jordan!”

“Hi, Eliza,” comes back a chorus of four teenagers.

“Liza,” Luke whines.

“Don’t worry, she’s coming with me,” you say, bopping Luke on the head with the paper towels before dropping them in his lap. 

“Aw, you’re leaving?” Jordan asks, looking over at you.

Across the room from one another, Ryan and Luke share an annoyed look. This is when it clicks in your head as well. Jordan had been nice to you from the start but so had the other guys. This was more, though. This had a layer of awkwardness beneath it that you couldn’t wait to escape. 

“Uh, yeah,” you say. “You guys are having fun together, I don’t wanna intrude.” Jordan opens his mouth, probably with a rebuttal, so you also add, “Not my kind of movie, either. And Eliza and I have plans.”

“Oh, that sounds nice,” Jordan says. “What’re you up to?”

“Dude,” Ryan groans. “Shut up.”

“Yeah, we’re trying to watch a movie,” Luke snaps.

It’s rare to hear your younger son sound so annoyed. It even catches the attention of Eddie as he passes by the living room. He comes to a stop, takes a step in, and casually lays his arm across your shoulders.

“Everything good?” he asks.

“Ryan and Luke are being mean to Jordan just cause he’s trying to talk to Mama,” Eliza says.

Eddie’s eyes slide over to Jordan, and he immediately notices the way the high schooler avoids his gaze. It seems like Jordan is looking anywhere but at him. Eddie turns his head to look at Ryan, making sure to keep Jordan in his peripheral vision, though. That’s when he catches the flirty look that Jordan sends your way. 

You feel the way his arm tightens around your shoulders, and you know it’s in the best interest of everyone to get him out of there.

“Enjoy your movie, boys. Come on, Eliza.”

You grab hold of Eddie’s bicep and practically drag him out of the room, trying to muffle your laughter at the way your husband glares at the teenager with a crush on you.

“Bye!” Eliza waves to the room full of boys before following her parents out of the room, before wandering off in search of something else to do.

“Dude, Mr. Munson is going to kill you,” you hear Miles say. It’s hard not to let out a snort of laughter.

“I do not like him,” Eddie snaps the moment that the living room is out of earshot.

Now you can’t contain your laughter as you cup his face in your hands.

“Eddie, sweetie. He’s a kid.”

“He shouldn’t be looking at you that way,” he practically growls. 

“I know,” you say.

“Miles is right, I’m gonna kill him.”

“Eds, look at me.”

He does, his jaw clenched and dark brown eyes ablaze.

“Are you really jealous of a dumb teenage crush?”

“I’m not jealous,” Eddie grumbles. “I’m possessive.”

“My mistake,” you say with a roll of your eyes. 

“I think Jordan needs to learn about boundaries.”

“My love?” You squeeze his face a little between your hands. “You have nothing to worry about. You know me. I mean, you have a bigger chance of losing me to Jordan’s dad.”

Eddie’s eyes narrow at you in annoyance and it’s impossible for you not to laugh again.

“Eddie, it’s a joke! I mean, I do like older men, if you haven’t noticed. Or, more specifically, one particular older man.”

Your words seem to calm your husband a bit, as his shoulders lose some of their tension and he lets out a sigh. 

“I’m keeping an eye on that kid,” Eddie huffs. “Hitting on my woman…”

“Whatever makes you feel better, babe.”

A little over an hour later, the movie is over, the pizza has been devoured, and it’s time for the guys to head home. Eddie makes sure he’s right there near the front door as your sons’ friends leave, not being subtle by having you tucked into his side and his arm snugly around your waist.

Ryan’s the first one out of the living room, irritation written all over his face. Owen is right behind him, followed by Miles, then Ben. Luke comes out with Jordan, his hand on his friend’s shoulder, head bent down as he speaks softly to him.

“So, have you ever had a near-death experience before? Just curious.”

Ryan opens the front door, clearly eager to get his friends out. By the looks on Owen, Miles, and Ben’s faces, they completely understand why. Luke gently shoves Jordan forward so he can head out the door as well.

“Goodnight, boys,” Eddie says with a tight smile. 

There’s a little too much glee on his face as he shuts the door behind Jordan with a satisfying click.

The next evening at dinner, Eddie wants to bring up the subject of the boys’ friends, specifically Jordan. He’s trying to think of a subtle way to bring the subject up, but luckily for him, he has a blunt and curious daughter.

“When your friends coming back?” Eliza asks as she spears a carrot with her fork.

“I dunno,” Ryan says with a shrug, not looking up from his plate.

“I like them,” Eliza says, stabbing at a piece of chicken on her plate next. 

“You like Owen,” Luke says with a small smirk, eyes sliding over towards his little sister.

Eliza gasps, her cheeks turning pink as her brow furrows. She drops her fork and rests both of her hands on her little hips as she glares at her big brother.

“Christ, your friends and the girls in this house…” Eddie grumbles under his breath before taking a sip of water. 

“Owen will be back,” Ryan says, trying to diffuse Eliza’s mighty fury before she lunges across the table at Luke. “And Ben and Miles,” Ryan adds with a mumble that sounds suspiciously like his father. 

“No Jordan?” Eliza asks.

“No,” Ryan says. “No Jordan.”

“Why?” The five-year-old asks.

“Liza, eat your dinner,” you say, swooping in. “You only had one carrot.”

Ryan shoots you a small smile that says everything that you two haven’t said out loud. 

Luke, however, doesn’t seem quite done with the subject.

“Jordan said Ma is a MILF.”

Eddie’s eyes nearly pop out of his head while you choke on a sip of water. 

“What?” your husband demands, his fists clenching on top of the table. You can see the cords of muscles straining beneath the skin of his forearms. “That little assh–”

Luke’s laughter interrupts his father’s curse. He leans back in his chair, one hand resting on his stomach, and his face lit up in amusement.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” Luke looks at you apologetically. “I just wanted to see how Dad would react.”

“Jesus, Luke,” Eddie huffs. He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose.

You can’t help but give your son a smile and nod your head at him.

“That was good.”

“Why?” Eddie asks with a sigh. “Why are you encouraging this?”

“It was pretty funny,” Ryan adds, his voice filled with humor. 

“Can we just eat? Please?” Eddie begs.

You give the boys a look, telling them it’s time to quit it now. 

Quiet falls across the table before a small voice pipes up.

“What’s a MILF?”

[gloomweed]

Last Resort

+18

This is my first time writing a vampire fic, so bear with the author and be nice.

Slow Burn, strangers to lovers, Eddie is a vampire

Minors, I will hex you if you read my work. Eventual smut.

You’d barely been in Hawkins a week, and the house already felt like it was watching you.

Inherited from a great-aunt you barely remembered, it stood at the edge of town like a forgotten relic. Tall, thin, and silent, with ivy curling around its bones and windows that seemed older than the trees.

It creaked constantly. Groaned at night. The pipes spat air when they weren’t gurgling like something alive. And the lights flickered. Went out. Came back. Went out again.

You’d stopped trying to fix it after the third blackout. What could you do? You were a writer, not an electrician. You just needed somewhere quiet and rent-free to work on your deadline, and this place, haunted or not, had answered.

When your last candle burned out, you grabbed your keys and drove into town. The streets were mostly empty, long rows of houses swallowed in fog. Eventually, you spotted the only place still open , a large supermarket. Locals had mentioned it used to be part of a shopping center, before the big fire.

That’s when you saw him.

He stood by the fridges, bathed in the pale glow of flickering fluorescent light, like something that didn’t belong in this world. Leather jacket over a hoodie, hands in his pockets, long hair half-tied and falling loose around a jawline too sharp to be casual. He looked up. His eyes were already fixed on you.

Not in passing. Not like curiosity. It felt like he recognized you. Or was trying to.

You stopped walking.

He smiled. Crooked. Lazy. A little dangerous.

"You’re not from here." His voice was gravel and velvet, smooth and low, like the bottom of a whiskey bottle. It didn’t sound like something you were supposed to hear in a grocery store.

"No. Is it that obvious?" You smiled back, like he’d caught you doing something.

"You smell like the city." He took a few slow steps toward you.

You blinked. "Excuse me?"

He smirked.

"Sorry, sweetheart. That wasn’t meant to sound creepy. I meant your perfume. You smell clean. Sweet. Everything around here smells like wet leaves and old paper."

He moved in closer.

There was something off about him. Not wrong. Just… strange. His posture was too elegant. His scent was too rich, layered with warmth and something dark beneath it, like smoke and rosewood.

He didn’t smell like sweat or metal. He didn’t look like someone who did repairs. He looked like someone who could ruin you just because he felt like it.

Then he handed you a card.

E. Munson Repairs. Night calls only.

"You’re staying at the Creel place, right? That weird old one with the stained glass windows?"

"Yeah… how do you…"

"I notice things. That house needs work. You’ll go insane before Halloween if you try to handle it alone."

You stared at the card, then at him.

"Night calls only?" You raised an eyebrow, suspicious.

"I keep odd hours." He gave you that same smile, but deeper now.

"That’s one way to put it."

He chuckled. The sound slid down your spine. You opened your mouth to say something, but he was already walking away, slow and deliberate, like he wanted you to keep watching him.

That night, the house plunged into darkness again.

No wind. No storm. Just silence. The power was gone.

You lit one candle. Then another. Then another. But it wasn’t the shadows that unsettled you. It was the way the air felt like it was waiting. As if something just outside your vision was holding still.

Your fingers hovered over the card. You almost didn’t call. But you did.

"Eddie." He answered after a single ring.

"Hi. It’s the girl from the market. The house is…"

"Let me guess. Lights out again?"

"Yeah."

"Give me twenty minutes."

You left the door unlocked.

A quiet part of you questioned that. A louder one didn’t want to be alone.

The house felt colder in the dark. Not from temperature, exactly, but from memory. And you weren’t sure whose.

He didn’t knock.

You heard the slow creak of the front door opening. Then the low thud of heavy boots on old wood.

He walked in like he’d done it before.

When you turned the corner, he was standing in the hallway. Candlelight glowed against the lines of his coat, outlining sharp cheekbones and that jaw that looked carved out of marble.

His hair was down, slightly damp. Like he’d walked through fog and barely noticed.

"Told you not to wait too long," he said. "Houses like this… they don’t like being ignored."

He smiled, same as earlier. You couldn’t tell if he was joking.

You gestured toward the hall. "The panel’s this way."

"I know where it is."

You froze. He brushed past you slowly, shoulder grazing yours. Not an accident.

His scent lingered behind him. Too warm for someone who spent nights crawling through wires. Cinnamon bark, leather, something older underneath. Like dried roses trapped in pages.

He crouched by the breaker and pulled out a flashlight. No gloves this time. His fingers were long, pale, knuckles rough just enough to seem real.

No tool bag. No equipment. Just him.

He studied the panel like it had told him secrets. Touched wires like they needed calming.

You leaned against the opposite wall.

"You always work this late?"

He didn’t look up. "I like the dark. Fewer distractions."

"That’s why you only take night jobs?"

"Among other reasons, yeah."

He stood, fluid and silent. Too fast, but not jerky. He moved like he didn’t carry weight.

He was close now. The flashlight tilted, casting gold across his face.

"You don’t trust easily, do you?"

"Should I?"

He tilted his head slightly, his eyes locked on yours.

"No." He smiled again, slower this time. "But you let me in anyway."

You were about to reply. Maybe something sarcastic.

Then your shoulder grazed the frame. You hissed and pulled your hand back. A thin line of red bloomed on your fingertip.

"Shit."

He saw it. And he still went. Entirely still.

"Let me see." His voice dropped. Barely a whisper.

You hesitated. Then held out your hand.

He took it gently, palm upward. The cut was shallow. A thin stripe of blood across your skin.

He didn’t look at the wound. He looked at the pulse behind it.

His thumb grazed just beside the cut. Not to clean. Not to help. Just to feel.

His eyes didn’t move from yours.

Something wild passed between you. Wordless. Deep. You felt it low in your stomach. In your throat. In places that had nothing to do with fear.

Then he blinked. Whatever it was, he buried it.

"You should be more careful, sweetheart." His voice returned to silk. He let go of your hand. "This house has edges."

He turned back toward the panel. Flashlight sweeping calmly again. You stayed there longer than you meant to. Still feeling the warmth of his touch. Still wondering why his hands had been so warm in a house that felt like winter.

A few moments later, the lights came back on with a pop.

"There. That’ll hold for tonight." He stood up and wiped his hands on his jeans.

"I’ll need to grab a few supplies to fix this for good. But at this hour? Nowhere’s open."

He walked to the door, rolling his sleeves down.

"See you tomorrow? Same time?"

You only managed a nod.

"Good night, sweetheart," he said softly, disappearing into the dark that swallowed your backyard.

You fell asleep with the taste of candle smoke in your mouth and your fingertip still throbbing.

The wind groaned against the windows. The house creaked. Something, maybe in the walls, maybe in you, refused to settle.

You dreamt you were still inside the house. But older. Different.

The ceilings stretched too high. The furniture wasn’t yours. Everything glowed with an amber light, like fire coming from nowhere.

You walked barefoot down the hall. The air was thick, too warm, like someone had lived there with the windows sealed for years. Wallpaper peeled in places you didn’t recognize.

Your shadow dragged behind you, longer than your body.

Then you saw him.

Sitting on the edge of your bed, like he belonged there.

No coat. Just a dark shirt with sleeves rolled to his forearms. Hair messier. Jaw sharper. The shadows adored his face.

He looked at you like he’d been waiting.

"You let me in," he said.

His voice was soft, but it filled the house. He leaned forward, elbows on his thighs. You couldn’t move. Not out of fear. But because the way he stared at you made your knees feel hollow.

"You don’t even know what this place is, do you?"

You opened your mouth. Nothing came out.

"This house remembers."

He stood and crossed the room like the air didn’t touch him.

He reached out. His fingers grazed the cut on your hand. You hadn’t realized it was still bleeding.

He leaned close, not touching your face, just near. His breath was warm on your lips, your pulse crashed in your ears.

Then he whispered,

 "Don’t wake up yet."

But you did.

Your heart pounded. Your throat was dry.

The candles were all burned down. The air had gone cold again.

And at the foot of your bed, there was a single footprint. Damp. Heavy.

Right where he had been.

____________________________________________________________

Let me know if you like it, please.

[gloomweed]

Imagine,

BFF!Reader is asked by Eddie to do his makeup for a Corroded Coffin gig. Later that night, that she also attends, He shouts her out for doing his makeup and invites her up on stage, and kisses her infant of everyone. After the show is over, it's just complete fluff and cuddles.

Please and thank you.

❤️🖤❤️🖤❤️🖤❤️🖤❤️🖤❤️🖤❤️🖤❤️🖤❤️🖤

Stage-Ready, Heart-Steady

One-Shot Request: “BFF!Reader x Eddie Munson Request”

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

💌 Author’s Note: This one’s for the lovely @meankenna, thank you so much for this adorable and delicious prompt! I had fun painting this one up with stage lights, crop tops, and lap-sitting tension. Hope it makes your heart kick and your cheeks flush! 💋

~Pinkie 🍒

Masterlist

Find me on AO3.

Read this story on AO3.

💄🎸Summary: Corroded Coffin’s got a gig tonight, and Eddie Munson’s backstage buzz is only half because of the crowd, it's mostly because his best friend is sitting in his lap, applying his eyeliner like she owns him. They've always been close. Touchy. Flirty. But tonight… Tonight might just be the moment everything changes.

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

“Stage-Ready, Heart-Steady”

The air in the back lot behind the venue smelled like hot pavement, weed, and old amplifiers. You can already hear the muffled thud of the opening band through the cinderblock walls. But you’re not here for them. You’ve got a VIP pass to something way more important, Eddie Munson’s dressing room.

Technically, it’s a trailer. Half-rusted. Covered in old stickers and duct tape. But when you knock, the door flings open with the same dramatic flair as a velvet curtain, and there he is:

Eddie. Fucking. Munson.

Standing in the glow of shitty overhead bulbs like he’s already on stage, shirt cropped high enough to expose a happy trail of hair leading down into ripped black jeans, sweat glinting at his collarbone. His rings flash as he lifts his hand to push back his already-fluffed hair.

“Finally!” he grins, grabbing your wrist and tugging you inside like he’s just been waiting for you to arrive. “I was starting to think you bailed on me and left me to face the horrors of unblended eyeliner alone.”

You snort as the trailer door slams behind you. “You could always go with the raw look. Black smudge, tired eyes, y’know, punk’s not dead and neither is your sleep deprivation.”

Eddie gasps, mock-offended. “You wound me, princess. But if I show up looking like the inside of a raccoon’s asshole, our groupies will riot.”

He’s already set out the little beat-up tin you always use for his makeup, eyeliner pencils worn down to stubs, eyeshadow cracked in the corner, a compact mirror with a sticker of Ozzy Osbourne peeling off the back. You’ve done this for him before, backstage at bars, in the backseat of his van, once even in the green room of a pizza parlor that doubled as a music venue. It’s your thing.

Eddie’s already lowering himself onto the battered loveseat, legs spread, shirt riding up higher than should be legal. He pats his thighs, cocking a brow like he’s inviting you onto a throne made of denim and danger.

“C’mon. Deluxe treatment, remember? You sit pretty, I sit prettier.”

You roll your eyes, but your face is already warm. The way he’s looking at you, so unbothered, so casual about it, like it’s no big deal to let his best friend sit in his lap while she touches his face like she owns it.

You climb into his lap, knees on either side of him, your thighs bracketing his hips. You’re close. Too close. You’re both pretending it’s normal.

“Don’t squirm,” you warn, reaching for the eyeliner. “Or you’re getting a black eye instead of a smoky one.”

Eddie grins, hands resting innocently at your hips. “I’d let you beat me up if it meant you’d sit here longer.”

You shift forward just enough to balance your weight, your thighs hugging his sides, your breath catching as your stomach brushes his bare stomach. His skin is warm, too warm, and your hands aren’t exactly steady as you twist the eyeliner pencil open.

He’s quiet now. Watching you. Eyes half-lidded as you cup his chin and tilt his head back just a little.

“You gonna behave?” you murmur, voice soft with focus as you line up your strokes.

Eddie hums, the sound low and rich in his chest.

“If I say yes, I’m lying.”

His grip on your hips isn’t possessive, exactly, but it’s there, thumbs dragging slow, absentminded circles over the stretch of skin just above your waistband. Just enough to make your stomach flip. Just enough to make your hand falter for half a second as you draw the first line beneath his eye.

“You keep that up, I’m gonna draw a dick on your face.”

He snorts, smirking. “Then I guess I’ll have to keep it up. I won’t give in to your terroristic threats.”

You try to ignore the way your thighs tighten around him when he says that. You try to ignore the way he’s staring at your mouth while you concentrate on his eyes.

But you can’t ignore the heat in your cheeks. Or the way his breath catches when your fingers brush the edge of his jaw, tucking a loose curl behind his ear. Or how close your face is to his now, so close you can feel the subtle shift in the way he’s breathing. Slower. Deeper.

You pause with the pencil poised. He hasn’t looked away once.

“What?” you ask, barely above a whisper.

His gaze flicks up to yours. Not cocky, not playful… bare.

“Nothing,” he says, but his voice is hoarse. “Just thinking how dangerous it is, letting you get this close with sharp objects. Pretty girl like you could do some real damage.”

You swallow hard and go back to your work, but your pulse is skipping beats like it’s trying to keep time with the pounding bass from the show outside. His skin is smooth under your fingertips. He’s letting you paint him, touch him, like it means something.

And maybe it does. Maybe it always has.

You finish the liner on one eye and brush your thumb across the top of his cheekbone without thinking. He leans into the touch, actually leans, like a cat starved for affection.

“You’re gonna melt your mascara if you keep looking at me like that,” you say softly, half-teasing.

Eddie’s smirk curls slow and crooked.

“You’ll just have to fix it later.”

You lean in to finish the second eye, and he goes still beneath you, like he’s afraid even breathing too hard might mess it up.

But you feel it.

The shift in him.

The way his thighs tense just the tiniest bit under your own. The way his hands pause at your hips, like he’s just realized they’re there. Like he’s trying to decide if he should let go… or hold on tighter.

You brush against something firm between his legs, and the realization hits you at the same time it hits him.

His breath stutters.

You blink, brush it off. Maybe he didn’t mean to shift that way. Maybe you didn’t mean to press exactly there.

But your hand lingers on his jaw just a second too long, and he’s looking up at you with this wrecked, glassy-eyed stare, like the gig doesn’t matter, the crowd doesn’t matter, the band doesn’t matter.

Like the only thing in the world that does is you, straddling his lap with a pencil in your hand and your lip caught between your teeth.

He swallows. Hard. Then tips his head just enough to press a slow kiss to the inside of your wrist.

The move punches heat straight through your chest. You drop your hand to his shoulder, steadying yourself, and maybe you rock against him a little without meaning to.

Eddie groans, quietly, like he didn’t mean to let it out at all.

“Jesus,” he mutters, voice gravelly. “You tryna kill me before I even get on stage?”

You try to smirk, but it’s shaky.

“I’m just doing your makeup,” you whisper, but you don’t sound convincing even to yourself.

He huffs a breath, lets his head fall back against the chair with a thud.

“Yeah,” he mutters, eyes closing, “and I’m trying real hard not to do anything stupid.”

You’re both silent for a moment. Just breathing.

Knock knock knock.

“Munson! Five-minute warning!”

You flinch. He doesn’t.

Instead, he just opens one eye and smirks.

“Saved by the bell, princess.”

Your heart is thundering in your chest, your fingers still tingling where they’d traced the edge of his lips.

Neither of you say anything as you hand him the compact mirror.

But the way his fingers brush yours when he takes it…

Yeah. You’re both thinking about it.

You slide off his lap too fast. Too aware.

Your knees feel weak, your skin too hot, and you can still feel the weight of his hands where they’d rested on your hips. Like some invisible tether that didn’t let go when you stood.

You smooth your hands over your jeans, brushing away lint that isn’t there. It gives you something to do. Something safe.

Eddie watches you with a lazy little half-smile, tongue tucked in his cheek. He shifts forward to rest his elbows on his thighs, rings glinting in the warm light.

“Hey,” he says softly, pulling your attention back. “You’re gonna stay close tonight, yeah?”

You blink. “Course.”

He leans back, wide-legged and cocky again, the way he does when he’s about to say something that’ll live in your head for the rest of the damn week.

“Wouldn’t want my best girl too far away, now would I?”

You try to laugh it off, but it hits deeper than you’d expect. There’s a thud behind your ribs that has nothing to do with the bass you’re about to feel out there in the pit.

“Right,” you say, voice a little breathless. “Wouldn’t want to miss your big rockstar moment.”

He lifts one brow. “Nah. Wouldn’t want you to miss yours.”

Another knock at the door breaks the spell.

“Munson! Let’s go!”

He stands in one smooth motion and grabs his guitar, swinging it onto his back. Before he follows the others into the venue, he throws a wink over his shoulder.

“You look good with stage lights in your eyes, princess. Better than the ones I’ll be under.”

And just like that, he’s gone.

The venue is packed. Sweat-slick fans pressed up against the barricades, fists in the air, screaming every word. Lights pulse red and gold, the bass rattles your chest, and Eddie Munson owns the stage like he was born for it.

He’s electric. Crop top riding up further as he headbangs, those wicked fingers flying over his guitar like they’ve got a mind of their own. You’re off to the side of the stage, close enough to see the way his eyeliner’s already smudging, the shimmer catching the light, your handiwork shining under the spotlight.

And he keeps looking at you.

Every time the crowd screams louder. Every time the spotlight hits just right. Every time he sings one of those lines that makes your spine melt a little, his eyes flick your way, like you’re the only one in the room that matters.

Then the song ends.

He steps back, breathing hard, sweat glistening on his chest as he adjusts the mic stand.

“Alright,” he says into the mic, voice hoarse and hot with adrenaline. “Before we rip into this next one, I gotta give a quick shout-out.”

The crowd cheers automatically. But then his eyes lock on yours and he grins.

“This look I’m rocking?” he gestures to his face, running a ringed finger down his cheek. “All her. Makeup artist, miracle worker, and the only reason I don’t look like a sweaty raccoon up here right now.”

The crowd laughs, a few people whistle and cheer, and you bury your face in your hands for a second, mortified.

He isn’t done.

“My very favorite girl,” he adds, casual and easy and deadly, like he doesn’t even realize what those words mean. Like he hasn’t just shattered your ribcage and sent your heart scrambling for cover.

Then he jerks his chin toward you.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Get up here.”

You blink, shaking your head like maybe you heard him wrong.

But Eddie Munson’s holding his hand out, waiting, smirking like the bastard knows you’ll come.

The crowd's gone wild now, chants of “DO IT! DO IT!” echoing through the venue. Someone nudges you forward. Another hand pats your back.

And you... you take his hand and climb the stage.

The second your feet touch the platform, Eddie’s arm loops around your waist and he pulls you in.

You’re flushed, blinking in the lights, and then his mouth is on yours.

Hot. Open. Claiming.

The crowd loses their fucking minds. Someone wolf-whistles. A few people scream.

But all you can feel is Eddie, his hand splayed on your lower back, the faint scrape of stubble on your upper lip, his teeth tugging at your lower lip like he’s been waiting years to do this.

And then it’s over.

He leans back, grinning like the devil himself, presses his forehead to yours and mutters, just for you. “Felt like a good time to stop pretending, yeah?”

The lights dim, the last chord rings out, and the crowd roars its final approval as Eddie slings his guitar over his shoulder with a grin and a wave.

Backstage is chaos, roadies, buzzing energy, gear being hauled off in every direction. Gareth’s towel-slapping Jeff on the back, both of them whooping like idiots. Someone cracks a beer. Someone else yells for a cigarette.

Eddie walks off stage like he’s got tunnel vision.

You’re there, just past the curtain. Still in a daze, heart pounding, mouth tingling from that kiss. You can still taste him, peppermint gum, sweat and smoke, and it’s making your knees a little wobbly.

He doesn’t say anything right away.

Just walks straight to you and drapes an arm over your shoulders like you’re already his. Like nothing just happened, even though everything did.

The band’s hooting behind him, catcalls and howls and “Dude, finally!” from somewhere near the drum kit, but Eddie just grins, barely sparing them a glance.

“You okay?” he murmurs, nose brushing your temple.

You nod, then hesitate. “Yeah. Just… didn’t think you’d actually do that.”

He pulls back enough to see your face, eyes searching, expression soft.

“Yeah?” His lips curve. “Well… been thinkin’ about it since you sat in my lap, baby.”

Your breath catches, and he knows.

He chuckles low in his throat and leans in again, brushing your hair behind your ear, fingers dragging lightly down your jaw before he presses another quick kiss to your cheek.

“You looked so pretty on my stage,” he murmurs. “Think I might make it a regular thing.”

You try to roll your eyes. Try to play it cool.

But he sees the way your smile gives you away.

The teasing. The tension. The fact that maybe this was always inevitable.

The hum of stage lights has long since faded, replaced by the soft rustle of takeout bags and the clink of glass bottles.

You're both at your place now. The music’s low, something fuzzy and mellow playing from your cheap Bluetooth speaker on the dresser. Your bedroom smells like takeout noodles and Eddie’s cologne, and you’ve never felt more aware of someone’s presence in your space.

He's sitting on your bed cross-legged in that ridiculous crop top, half off now, tugged up just enough to flash more of his belly when he stretches. His eyeliner’s smudged, his rings are off and scattered on your nightstand, and he’s got a carton of fried rice in one hand and a plastic fork dangling between his fingers.

"You always eat like this after a show?" you ask, flopped beside him with your own container in your lap.

Eddie snorts, chewing. "Nah. Usually just crash. Or chug Gatorade ‘til I puke blue."

"Sexy."

"You know it."

A pause stretches between you, soft, comfortable. A new kind of tension now. Not anticipation. Not nerves.

Just something blooming.

He sets his food aside and rolls toward you, knee bumping yours. "Hey," he says, gentle now. "C’mere."

You blink. "What?"

His fingers brush under your chin. "Your makeup. Let me take it off for you."

You freeze a little, because it’s not just makeup. It’s something you use to armor yourself. Shape how you want the world to see you.

But when he leans in with that look, fond and almost reverent, you let him.

He grabs a tissue from your nightstand, and his touch is slow, careful. He swipes beneath your eye with the edge of his thumb, then brushes along your cheek with the gentlest pressure.

"Still beautiful," he murmurs. "Even without the war paint."

Your breath catches.

Then, it’s his turn.

You grab a tissue and lean over him, straddling his lap again just like before, but the energy’s different now. It’s less about tension. More about trust.

You wipe away the streaks of black smeared around his eyes. His lashes flutter, mouth twitching like he’s trying not to grin.

"You looked like a vampire who just got into a brawl with a Sharpie," you tease.

Eddie huffs a laugh. "Worth it if it got me that kiss."

You crumple the tissue and toss it. "You planned that."

He doesn’t deny it.

Instead, he grabs your waist, pulls you close, and kisses you again. Slow this time. Intentional. Like he’s not just kissing you, he’s choosing you.

Time blurs.

You end up beneath the covers, tangled together like limbs and breath and laughter are all the same thing now. His arm draped around your waist. Your head tucked beneath his chin. His heart pounding slow and steady against your chest.

He murmurs it into your hair when you think he’s almost asleep.

“Gonna make you my pre-show ritual every damn time.”

You smile to yourself in the dark, letting it settle in your chest like a promise.

Because yeah, this time, it’s not just makeup. It’s more.

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, @exasperatedsighohmy, @marianaissocool, @boggerslide, @sheneedsrocknroll92, @n3lly-h3artz, @comeonatmebruh, @goingxsteddie

Masterlist

[gloomweed]

ᯓ★ 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

sfw. fluff. eddie just can't get enough of you.

you can feel eddie’s eyes on you, watching you as you lay across his bed on your tummy, flipping through the book in your hands. he’d been staring at you for minutes now, not saying a word, just watching you as your eyes skim over the black inked letters on the pages.

it was getting to the point where it was beginning to distract you, and he’d start to let out little tiny sighs. you couldn’t take it anymore. 

“what‘s the matter?” you say, closing your book but keeping your hand between the pages to keep from losing your spot.

he immediately begins shaking his head, “nothing.”

he was lying, that much was obvious, but you couldn’t be bothered diving into it right now. not when you were on a deadline to finish the book you held, and especially not when you only had a couple of chapters left. 

narrowing your eyes, you continue reading — or at least you try to — but eddie’s stare only gets increasingly harder to ignore. 

“okay, munson. seriously, what do you want?” you flip your book over on the bed now out of frustration and move to sit up on your knees.

“what, am i not allowed to look at you?” he retorts, eyes narrowed, but there’s no true malice behind his tone, just pure sarcasm.

this was typical eddie behaviour, all fun and games, and the worst part was that the longer you stared at him and his big brown eyes, you could feel your tension resolve. he might’ve been a pain in the ass, but, oh god, he was your pain in the ass.

“no, it’s distracting me!” you grab one of his pillows and hit him with it, earning yourself an exaggerated ‘ow’ in return.

eddie let’s out a huff before looking back at you with that cheeky smile you oh so loved, “i’m sorry. i can’t help it… you’re just too darn pretty.”

[gloomweed]

hi!!! can i request an eddie munson x reader fanfic? id love it to be centered around the kas!eddie theory, where eddie comes back after being killed in season 4 as a vampire from the upside down. if that isn’t appealing to you, you could also reverse the trope! where reader died instead of eddie and then comes back, and now he has to save her.

Crawling Back To You

Pairing: kas!vampire!Eddie Munson X fem!Reader

Summary: Your boyfriend was dead, you knew that for sure, you’d watched him die in your arms a year ago. But was he really dead?

Warnings: Mentions of blood, death, trauma, grief, depression, a knife and crying, established relationship, readers apartment gets broken into, a few uses of y/n and some twilight and iwtv elements thrown in (in terms of vampire transformation and how being a vampire works for Eddie). 

Word Count: 3.5K

a/n: just a heads up, i’ve personally never played d&d before and don’t know much about it so i apologize if the info i mention in this isn’t the most accurate lol. but i hope y'all like this!

the gif below does not belong to me

It had been a year since Eddie died in your arms in the Upside Down.

365 days of grieving him, 365 days of intense heartbreak and sadness and 365 days of the most realistic, cruel nightmares you’d ever experienced that reminded you that he was no longer here every time you woke up in your empty bed. Only making you miss him more than you already had been. 365 days since you watched the light leave his eyes as his body went limp.

Ever since Eddie died, nothing had ever been the same without him, everything just felt empty and dull. Without him by your side, the light in your eyes was gone and never reappeared. You never smiled anymore, you kept to yourself and nothing ever interested you anymore. Not even hanging out with your friends or partaking in your hobbies so you were alone most of the time, keeping to yourself. You were quiet and only spoke when you needed to. 

All you did nowadays was go to work, cry, go to the grocery store, cry, go home and cry. You used to be so scared to cry in public but now it had become a part of your daily routine. So was the pity you’d get from your strangers and co-workers. “I’m sure he’ll be found soon, (y/n).” one of your co-workers sometimes said to you, reminding you of how much it hurt to not be able to be open with everyone about his death and instead to lie to everyone. No one except for you and the rest of the group was allowed to know about the Upside Down and what really happened to Eddie.

Steve, Nancy and Robin often checked on you throughout each week to see how you were doing and tried to give you the support they thought you needed but their visits never helped you. Their visits simply reminded you that Eddie was gone and that you were going to be alone forever.

Eddie was the one for you, you could never dream of ever loving someone even if you were able to fully get over his death someday.

Deep down, you knew this wasn’t living and that Eddie would want you to keep living even though he wasn’t there to experience life with you anymore. But the problem was, you still couldn’t figure out how to live without him. It seemed pointless if you were being honest. Your life was silent, cold, dark and depressing without him there.

You had always loved him with your entire being and his death only reminded you of just how much he meant to you.

You had attempted to deal with these extreme feelings by going to see a good psychiatrist Nancy recommended a few times but it was no use. You hated having to lie about what really happened to Eddie, having to give him a fake name and say that he was missing instead of dead so that it wouldn’t click who he really was.

All you wanted was for Eddie to come back to you and to you, accepting that he never would seemed impossible.

In the current moment as you stood in front of the mirror in your bathroom and brushed your teeth, a sad look took over your face instead of the numb one that had become your new normal. Staring at yourself as you did this soon reminded you of how you and Eddie used to brush your teeth together every night before you went to bed. 

This was just another way that he had been ripped out of your life and daily routine. You were reminded of him in so many ways throughout your day to the point where it sometimes felt suffocating. But you didn’t care because it showed you that him and your love for him were real.

Once you were ready for bed just five minutes later, your hair combed out, your teeth brushed and your face moisturized, that sad look remained present on your face as you turned off the light in your bathroom and slowly walked to your bed and laid down.

That’s when the tears started up again, they always did when you laid down and saw the empty spot in your bed that Eddie once occupied whenever he would spend the night in your apartment. The pillow he once laid on still smelled like him to this day and that broke your heart even more. You would never get to hold him, to kiss him, to hug him, to touch him again and that shattered your heart every time you thought about it. 

“Come back to me, Eddie. Please.” You whispered into your now tear-soaked pillow before falling into a dreamless sleep for once, your body exhausted from all the crying you’d done today.

—--------------------------------

A Few Hours Later

You abruptly awoke to the sound of someone removing the screen on the window in your living room and slowly sliding the window open as if they were trying to avoid waking you while they stole your things. But unfortunately for them, as a result of what had happened to you in the Upside Down you had become a light sleeper. 

Your heart pounded as you swiftly grabbed the knife you kept in your nightstand and went to investigate, knowing that the police probably wouldn’t get there until it was too late if you called them. Your breathing was quick as you slowly walked to your living room, now hearing the person who had just broken in trying to find their way around the room in the dark. 

As soon as you made it to the doorway of your living room, you took a quick breath in and out and flicked on the lights, hoping to shock this person. But what you saw once the lights were on and your eyes adjusted shocked you even more than this person could ever possibly be. Eddie was standing there in front of you, a large sword in hand. Your heart dropped and you immediately felt as if the wind had been violently knocked out of you as you let your knife fall onto the floor below you.

“Eddie?” you quietly said as you furrowed your eyebrows, convinced that you were dreaming. How was this even possible? 

“It’s just me, sweetheart. I promise.” he confirmed as he held his hands up in surrender and you got a good look at him. 

He was still wearing the outfit he had on the night he died, including the bandana you’d picked out for him years ago and his skin was still covered in dirt and blood as well. But something was very different about him. His skin was noticeably paler, his eyes were bright red and when he had spoken to you just a moment ago, his canine teeth appeared to be sharpened to a point. 

But before you could ask Eddie about this, he dropped his sword, surged toward you and took you into his arms as tears began to well up in your eyes. He’d wanted to keep his distance from you so that it’d be easier to resist the urge to drink your blood but after a year of not being able to see or touch you, he couldn’t control himself and he hugged you.

And when you wrapped your arms around him, you could feel that something else had changed. His once warm, comforting skin was now ice cold. 

You opened your mouth to speak while you slowly removed yourself from Eddie’s arms, “What happened? Where’ve you been all this time?” you asked, an urgent tone in your voice as anger began to wash over you. You felt extremely angry that you’d been grieving over him when he had still been alive this entire time.

“I-.” Eddie started, his hesitation very present as he turned away from you to sit on your couch, wordlessly encouraging you to sit with him and once you were, he spoke again. “Let me explain. After you and Dustin left me in the Upside Down, Vecna found me, brought me back to life and took me to the Creel House. He made me his right-hand man in exchange for eternal life as a vampire and I accepted. I accepted his offer because I knew that now that I can live forever, I would have the chance to defeat Vecna for good and get back to you somehow. I did all of Vecna’s bidding for months in hopes that it would give me the chance to set myself free. Eventually, I was able to take that chance and I used the sword Vecna created for me to kill him. Once he was dead and a hole in the Upside Down appeared, the first thing I did was walk to your apartment.” he explained as he looked into your eyes, a dejected expression on his face. 

There were tears rapidly falling down your face as you looked down at your hands in your lap and processed all of this information. Your boyfriend, who you’d just spent the past year grieving and crying over daily, was back and was going to live forever but you weren’t. 

“Eddie you have no idea how happy I am to see that you’re alive but at the same time, I’m furious,” you said as you looked over at him, “I’m furious because I’ve just spent the past year being depressed, grieving you, crying all the time, missing you more than anything else and becoming a shell of a woman. I’ve spent months not knowing how I could ever possibly live without you, life didn’t feel worth living without you; I begged for you to come back to me again and again and now that you have, I don’t know what to do. I feel like I’ve wasted time grieving over you since you’ve been alive all this time. Which I know is really harsh but it’s true. I’m sorry.” you tearfully told him as you tried your best to fight back sobs. 

Eddie took a deep breath and spoke again, “I’m so sorry and I’ll spend the rest of eternity making it up to you, I swear. I wish that I never died in the first place so that you wouldn’t have had to take on all this pain,” he replied, prompting you to nod in response and let him wipe your tears away, “But I’m still not alive technically, I’m undead and the only thing I eat now is blood.” he explained, causing another wave of shock to hit you. 

He then gently took your hand in his and pressed your index and middle finger to his throat so that you could feel his lack of a heartbeat. More tears fell down your face as your hand rested there, the organ that had once lulled you to sleep many many times was now still and silent.

You let out a deep breath as you took your hand away from his pale throat, “I want to forgive you, Eddie, it’ll just take some time. I love you and I’m willing to build up my trust again.” you made known as you looked into his eyes once more, now missing the brown color they had once been. 

“Whatever it takes to get you to trust me again, I’ll do it. I love you more than anyone and anything else and I will always come back to you, I promise.” he replied as he slowly started to hold your face in his hands. 

Before you could say another word, he pressed his lips to yours and softly kissed you, worried that he would be unable to resist the urge to drink your blood if the kiss was any more passionate. But as you placed your own hand on his face and pulled him closer, you soon made the kiss more passionate due to how much you had missed him over the past year. 

“Stop, please. I don’t know if I can control myself, I don’t want to hurt you.” he quickly told you in between kisses. So, reluctantly, you do. 

“I’m sorry. I just missed you so much.” you quietly said. 

“I know, sweetheart. I missed you too but it’s gonna take some time for me to get used to the scent of your blood.” he made known, a soft smile on his face while you nodded in understanding.

—--------------------------------

A month had passed now since Eddie came back to you and if you were being honest, you were starting to become a bit drained because of your new schedule as well as how much your life had changed. 

You started only working opening shifts at your job and slept during the afternoon and evening so you could spend each night with Eddie. Which meant that you only got five hours of sleep at the most each day. You even got blackout curtains for every window in your apartment so that Eddie wouldn’t burn to death when the sun rose. You also picked up more clothes for Eddie from his uncle's trailer, with the ruse of wanting more of Eddie’s things, so that he wouldn’t have to wear the clothes that reminded him of his time with Vecna anymore. 

But even though you were drained, you didn’t care. All you cared about was Eddie and spending time with him. And with the help of some difficult conversations over the last month as well as the fact that you were able to be together again, you’d been able to forgive and trust him and he’d been able to get better at resisting the urge to drink your blood. 

You had become a partially normal couple again.

Even so, seeing how drained you had become filled Eddie with intense guilt that he couldn’t ignore. He wanted to ease life for you so he decided that he would turn you into a vampire when you woke up after work the following night, something he’d been wanting to do since the night he came back anyway so that the two of you could be together for the rest of eternity.

He couldn’t bear the idea of ever losing you again when you eventually became old and passed away. He was terrified of waking up alone. 

—--------------------------------

Once you awoke the following night a few hours after sunset and got out of bed, you smiled at the sound of your front door opening and closing. This sound only meant one thing, Eddie had just gotten back from a night of hunting. You then quickly walked over the entryway to your apartment where Eddie was now waiting for you.

He brightly smiled at you once you came into view, his sharp white teeth gleaming in the light. “Hi, baby.” he said as he pulled you into a hug once you were within reach and pressed a kiss to your cheek, a little bit of leftover blood still present on his lips. 

“Hi.” you happily replied as a smile rolled out across your lips and you slowly left Eddie’s arms, causing him to chuckle at you. 

“What?” you asked him as an awkward laugh fell from your lips, wondering what was so funny. Eddie had accidentally transferred the blood that had been on his lips onto your cheek. 

“You just got a little something right there.” he answered, stretching out the last two words before he quickly licked the blood off of your cheek like a dog, making you laugh once you put two and two together. 

Later in the night while the two of you were cuddling on the couch, one of the many movies Eddie had gifted you on VHS over the years playing on your TV in the background the racing Eddie’s mind had been doing the entire time became more apparent. He had to tell you about his suggestion to turn you now or else he never would. He then grabbed the remote and turned the TV off, returning it to its spot on the coffee table seconds later.

“I have something to tell you.” he confessed as he turned to face you, removing his arm from the back of the couch as he did so.

You furrowed your eyebrows, “Go on.” you encouraged, a suspicious tone to your voice. 

“It makes me feel guilty to see how much it drains you to keep up with my nocturnal schedule so, I want to turn you into a vampire so that you won’t have to suffer anymore and we never have to lose each other again. Which I know is pretty selfish but I can’t stand the idea of not being by your side forever.” he explained, desperately hoping that you’d understand. 

“Okay, let’s do it,” you said, shocking Eddie, he didn’t think you’d be so open to this, “Ever since you came back, I’ve been wanting this, ever since I learned that there was a way we could truly be together forever.” you made known as you looked at him, mentally preparing yourself for the change your body was about to go through.

Now that he had your approval, Eddie scooped you up into his arms and took you to your bedroom where he gently set you down on your side of the bed. As soon as you were comfortable, you moved your hair out of the way and put your throat as well as the veins there on display for him. This sight of this alone caused Eddie’s pupils to dilate as the hunger he’d been ignoring for so long became stronger and stronger. 

“You ready?” he asked you, using what little restraint he had left to hold himself back. 

“Yes.” you simply answered as you looked into his eyes, your breathing heavy. 

And without another moment passing, Eddie sank his fangs into your throat. It hurt more than you’d expected but you pushed through as best as you could. He continued to drink your blood for a few more moments then stopped, wiping your blood off of his mouth with the back of his hand. 

Eddie could hear that your heartbeat was becoming slower already as he closed your eyes for you. Your transformation was almost complete, now it was time for the worst part, the part Eddie had been dreading ever since he came up with the idea to turn you. It was now time for you to go through three days of excruciating pain as you turned into a vampire.

To prepare for this, Eddie quickly began to hang blankets up on the walls in your bedroom while he let you rest, hoping they would cover up the sound of your screams. 

—--------------------------------

Three days had finally passed and your heart stopped for good, your transformation was now complete. 

Eddie’s ears perked up at the lack of your heartbeat as he sat on the couch, he’d been able to hear it so clearly ever since he returned and now that it was gone, your apartment was startlingly quiet, making him think of how painfully loud it had been just a day ago as your body transformed. 

It was now time for you to start your new life. 

You soon awoke in your bed just minutes later, now a vampire like Eddie, your senses heightened like his as well. Everything was so clear, so detailed, so beautiful, even the popcorn ceiling above you looked beautiful as if it had been carved out of stone. 

“Eddie?” you called out, your voice sounding more beautiful than it did before. 

He was there by your side in an instant, before you could even blink, “How’re you feeling?” he asked as he swiftly wrapped you up in his arms and sat down on the bed, feeling happy to see you awake. 

“I feel great.” you said as you smiled, revealing your now sharp canine teeth to him as you did so. 

Silence fell over the room as Eddie suddenly passionately kissed you, a feeling of relief taking over any other now that he no longer had the urge to kill you and he knew that your transformation had been successful. You placed your hand on the back of his neck and held him in place as you kissed him back, your increased strength taking Eddie by surprise. 

“I love you so much.” he murmured against your lips as you pulled away, feeling mesmerized as he observed how the transformation had made you more beautiful than you had been before. If that was even possible. 

“I love you too, Eds.” you told him as you got out of his lap, wanting to take a look at your new appearance in the mirror in the corner of your room. 

You were ethereal and the longer you stared, you soon started to adore the bright red color your irises now were. You felt vain, you just couldn’t stop staring at yourself. But before you could get too ahead of yourself, you stepped away from the mirror. It was now time for you to hunt for the first time, taking your first step into eternity with Eddie.

NAVIGATION send me a request!

[gloomweed]

Themes/Warnings: A little angsty existentialism plus a meet cute-ish

Imagine it’s a long day and you treat yourself to a night out because you can’t bear to make your way home to be confronted with another realization that life is long and days are short and sometimes you’d rather not exist at all than spend more time in this ambient place of meaninglessness.

A movie. Doesn’t matter what it is or how much the ticket is. Local theater so there’s nothing shiny and new playing like there is at the multiplex by the mall. But you’re not here for a movie. You’re here for a night out. You get a snack and the biggest drink you can. They updated with a real soda fountain. And grenadine to make your Roy Rogers dreams come true. Better than a cherry coke any day.

The seats are old and there are a ton of them. There’s one other schmuck sitting at the front of the theater. Right by the screen. He’s craning his neck up to see the previews. Your own neck aches just watching him . You run and head to your seat, your pick of the lot. Back row, right in the center. Perfect vantage point.

People tell you how brave you are to go to a movie alone. They tell you how brave you are to do anything alone. But when you have no one else. What are you but alone? One is, after all, the loneliest number. But you aren’t lonely tonight, are you. Or ever. Lonely is being lost. And you know exactly where you are. A tangibility that doesn’t exist in stacks of paper to xerox or endless numbers to crunch. You are something here. You can get up and stand on the seat if you want here.

Instead, you just sip your drink.

It’s cold and crisp and the taste of the carbonated liquid bursts along your tongue. It fizzes up and you are anchored back down.

Finally the show starts.

A comedy? A tragedy. There’s humor to it though. There’s purpose.

Front row guy laughs at the same time as you. He’s not quiet. Neither are you. You don’t need to be. It’s just the two of you here. Alone together and together alone.

He munches popcorn loudly. At some point your attention leaves the screen and focuses on him. His tub of salty kernels is his date. His arm stretched out over the back of the chair that the snack sits. Sometimes it dips down and fondles for a second before he leans close to shovel a handful into his mouth and cronch cronch cronch loudly.

One time you forget yourself and you laugh at the now-predictable action.

But since you and front row guy have the same sense of humor, he startles. He turns to the screen and then looks over his shoulder at you. Back to the screen. Back to you.

“Did I miss something?”

You almost get bashful. You almost shrink down into your seat. But you don’t. Shrinking and becoming one with the furniture is how you get through a day at work. This is not work. You are here. There is nowhere to hide. The brightness of the screen illuminates you flawlessly to his gaze. Super liminality. There is nothing but you.

So you dig a little personality that you’ve tamped down and you let it join you in the light.

“You look like you’re enjoying your popcorn. Makes me regret getting the nachos.”

If you are easy to see, easy to read, then he is the opposite. Just a silhouette. Shadowy motion on a bright background. You don’t know what emotions are flashing across his face. You don’t see anything except the figures projected on-screen.

But you don’t need to see his face to read him. Not when you see the shake of his shoulders or hear the smile in his voice.

“It’s pretty good popcorn but I think I would actually like some nachos. Might have to go get some.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Heard you crunching on them up there enough. They sound pretty good too.”

It was a fear of yours. Someone hearing you chew. An old reaction to a boss that stared at your mouth anytime you put something in it. Crunchy foods not allowed in the office with Michelle in charge. You got called enough names to last you a lifetime. Wood chipper. Buzz saw.

This seems different though.

You don’t mind the ribbing. Good natured as it is. And he’s giving you just what you gave him, a light hearted insult disguised as a conversation.

It isn’t scary. It’s human. So painfully human.

And maybe that’s why he sits in the front row. To stay grounded.

You take a page out of his book and pick up your belongings to move down a few rows.

“Not gonna come closer? I don’t bite.” There’s a click of his teeth as he chomps them together playfully.

“I'm not ruining my neck by sitting in the front row," you tell him, a little sassily. "This is just so we don't have to shout across the theater."

"Well..." He stands up himself and closes the distance, one row after another, just him and his popcorn. As he gets closer, the lighting shifts and now you're able to see him illuminated and not just a shadow. Long hair, denim vest over leather jacket, ripped jeans. He's hard edges and contrasting colors, but he has a boyish grin transforming his face into something softer. It's wonderful, although you're certain his face would still be wonderful without a smile. "Now we don't have to shout at all."

He plops into the seat next to you, presumptuously but you don't really mind. Suddenly, being alone is not as nice as it had been just moments ago. This is nicer. He shares his popcorn and you share your nachos.

He tells you that he's a yapper, which usually bothers you a bit in movies, but you don't seem to mind it now. Maybe because you've been yapping a bit already, and there's no real consequence to missing more of a movie that you've already missed a part of.

He tells you about some directorial difference that he would have done if he was in charge of the movie. "I know nothing about film, by the way, besides watching them. But I'm a damn good story teller, if I do say so myself."

"Sure."

"Sure." He says mockingly, changing his voice to match yours in tone and quality. "Oh ye of little faith. Remind me to tell you a story sometime."

"Next time we run into each other."

"Then I'll remind myself to run into you more often."

There's a weight to that sentence that makes your chest ache in a good way. So you turn your attention back to the screen, but you can't help the smile that blooms on your lips.

The theater goes silent at some point, heavy and dark and dramatic, as the story devolves into the promised tragedy.

And front row guy must see the sheen of tears in your eyes because he holds his hand out to you and whispers, "I'm Eddie, by the way."

You turn your head and stare at him, mouth open in dumbfoundedness. And you feel a lightness inside of you again, just like you did when you were still sitting on your own, way up at the top row. Like the world isn't quite as harsh when there is someone like Front Row Guy--Eddie--to soften it. Make it a friendlier place.

Maybe the tangibility of existing isn't so bad, when it means jokes in a theater and the feel of salt on fingertips as you slip your hand into his and shake it.

And maybe, just maybe, as you recite your own name to him and he smiles brightly and squeezes your hand back, he's thinking the same thing about you.

[gloomweed]

18+ Eddie Munson x f! reader, strangers to lovers, flashing(f), nipple piercings, bar fight, some moderate injuries, getting arrested WC: 1.5K Summary: A bar brawl ends with you and Eddie behind bars. What you both don't realize at first is that this terrible night is one big blessing in disguise.

The throbbing in his head is just about subsiding though the sting of his cuts and the ache of his bruises will remain longer than he'd like.

Two hours down, however more to go.

You seem to be faring much better in the cell across from him where he can see you curled up in bed and asleep, your knees drawn up to your chest and your arms wrapped around your shins.

Eddie used to think of himself as the type who could sleep anywhere, fitting his body in any space no matter the place, the angle or how narrow like some kind of game of Tetris but that was until he'd had a night like this.

Sleep would not come easily tonight.

Eddie didn't know what the creep whispering in your ear had said but he knew it couldn't have been anything charming when you emptied your long island ice tea all over his face with one quick swing of your arm.

He watched from nearby at the bar from the moment you'd walked in to when you'd tried to walk away from the man, only to be pulled back by your elbow, fury in his drenched scowling face. That was when Eddie stepped in, leaving his half finished beer behind, acting much quicker than he could think.

For a good fifteen minutes he'd been psyching himself up to come over and introduce himself to you, maybe even try out a pick up line. Nothing crude, just something to hopefully earn a laugh out of you. Not have your first interaction to be you watching him punch that dickhead in the throat, surprising all three of you.

What he had meant to do was strike the guy in his wet, boozy face. Unfortunately for him, the soggy prick happened to be an entire foot or so taller than Eddie who'd definitely miscalculated the blow.

Regardless, it was still an effective one.

Coughing wildly from having those four chunky silver rings make contact with his windpipe like that, the prick's eyes begin to water and he seemed to forget all about you as he glared down at Eddie next in the kind of way a charging bull might at a red flag.

He begins shoving people out of the way, lemon wedge stuck in his hair and ice that'd slipped into the collar of his shirt and journeyed all the way down his pants and into his shoe as he forcefully makes a path to the now very pale and shivering Eddie. That was until someone else stepped in on account of having their drink spilled, throwing a punch at the side of his head that connects with the brawny creep's ear.

That second punch is what set off some kind of chain reaction at the bar, everyone turning on each other, being shoved side to side, punches being thrown left and right.

In the struggle, Eddie catches one in the collarbone, the crowd listing this way and that. When he ended up on the floor, knocked down on to his knees and elbows all scraped up, someone else's knee sinks into his side and another fist lands between his shoulder blades.

Not the worst beat down he's ever had.

When the police sirens sounded out it only got worse, everyone trying to stampede out the back before the cops could get a hold of them.

It seemed your bad luck was yet to end, one officer getting you by the arm and another yanking Eddie back by his hair before you're both cuffed and hauled into separate patrol cars.

The few sips of your long island ice tea sit bitter in your stomach during the ride to the station. It's only when you get there that you find out that, of the whole crowd at the bar, it was just the two of you who were brought in, everyone else able to run to safety, even that overgrown knuckle dragging mule who'd started it all by getting too fresh with you. The only good thing that'd come of the night was getting to see him wheeze like a fish on land and his eyes tear up when the cute guy with the rings got him in the throat.

You were yet to learn his name.

During the time in which you're both taken in for processing you steal a few glances at him, your stomach in knots from seeing the tender plum purple bruise on his collarbone and his knuckles all red and scraped up. It's hard not to feel guilty about it.

You don't get to ponder on it too long though when one of the officers comes by to let you both know that it's time for your one phone call. Eddie uses his up on Steve who was an hour away, having a night out of his own though he's quick to drop it and begin the drive over to come bail his friend out.

Your roommate was quick to answer the phone too. You feel bad for making her worry when you tell her where you're calling from, the poor thing launching into a flurry a questions until you're able to convince her that it isn't as bad as it seems. She agrees to come over to bail you out after that, anticipating that it wont be too long of a wait since your apartment is not too far away from the station.

The stale, stagnant smell inside the cell and the stained pillow which you kick aside are two very minor things to deal with all things considered. And though his cell is across from yours, neither of you say a word. All you can do is lie on your side and wait.

Eddie refrains from breaking the silence for a few reasons. Maybe you're still shaken by the whole thing and are in no mood to talk. Or worse, maybe he'd scared you with the way he'd stepped in and thrown that first punch. The latter makes him want to curl up too but he remains as is, seated and rubbing at his sore knuckles while the minutes pass. He's not a violent man but making you think he might be makes his whole mouth turn prickly and sour.

It's the clanging of the officer's baton against the bars of your cell that gets you up, unrolling yourself from the little ball you'd curled into as she slips in a key to your cell door to get out for your release.

Out of the corner of your eye you can tell that the man with the long hair who'd intervened for your sake is gazing at you. It doesn't feel right to leave without speaking to him first.

"I should have said it sooner but thanks for trying to help. I owe you", you look up to make eye contact with him, managing a small smile.

His eyes light up at the sound of your voice.

"That's alright. It was no way to treat a lady.", he refers to the prick who'd got you both in this mess. "Specially one who looks like you."

You blink, a little stunned. And here you had been curled up and faking sleep because you guessed he might think you blameworthy for the whole incident. That maybe if you hadn't thrown your drink then he wouldn't have had to step in. Now knowing that he didn't find you responsible for how the evening turned out, your lips curve up into a bigger smile.

All you regret now is not having spoken to him sooner.

"Sweet talker."

He smiles back. "'m just being honest."

You catch the officer rolling her eyes at your flirting before she turns her back on you both, sorting out the ring of keys in her hands.

It's been a bit of a wild night and suddenly it feels like you're still riding that wave of adrenaline, blood pumping twice as fast in your veins. In that moment you figure out a much better way to say thank you.

With the few seconds that you have you act fast, turning around to pull the hem of your skirt up to let Eddie see, then twirling back around to lift your top up after.

Of all the things that could have happened following his arrest, he hadn't counted on getting to see your ass bounce and your cheeks spread to show you barely clothed in the tiniest lace thong and your jiggling tits, your pretty nipples hard and studded with glittering silver piercings.

He must have saved a Pope in a different life because this is by far the best reward he's ever received.

You pull your clothes back into place in time before the officer ushers you along towards the bullpen, your roommate busy filling out the last of some paperwork over there at another officer's desk.

"Come find me, okay?", you tell him with a big grin and a playful waggle of your fingers.

It's cute the way his jaw hangs slightly open and his face turns a very pretty shade of magenta.

Eddie springs up and brings his face up to the bars, his cheeks squished between them as he called out for you. "I don't know your name! how am I going to find you?"

That makes you giggle. "You know someone else with an ass and tits like these?", winking back like some kind of raunchy Cinderella on your way out.

Eddie grins.

Oh, he'd find you alright, and he won't rest until he can get his hands and lips all over you.

[gloomweed]

Side Effects (E.M. X reader)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Warnings: drug usage, f touching self, pantysniffer!Eddie, oral sex (f receiving), sex (P in V), bigdick!Eddie, casual intimacy

Summary: You and Eddie are mid-20s and good friends, known to smoke the Devil's Lettuce from time to time. Usually, it means you're gonna get giggly, get hungry, and then get tired. But what happens when one night you feel another side effect, one that is going to potentially change things for you and Eddie?

It's Saturday night. While Steve and the gang were all excited to go out and barhop, you and Eddie both had opted for something quieter. You were cleaning up your apartment while Eddie picked up the pizza and the herbal refreshments for the night.

You two hanging out together wasn't anything unusual. You two had always been close, having grown up in the same trailer park. Even when your parents moved you out in ninth grade, most weekends you could be found tagging along with Eddie. Listening to metal, reading, or helping him with Hellfire.

At 25, you'd both settled into adulthood more or less. And with adulthood comes the occasional crappy weeks. Both you and Eddie had been buried with work and deadlines this week, and had decided that a movie night in was needed. You'd picked up the movies this time, your typical B-level horror movies, while Eddie picked up the pizza and the joints.

You're tidying up your kitchen when Eddie lets himself in. You smile when you hear him call out, and when he bounds into the kitchen with hot pizza, you can feel the tension start to leave your body.

"You were fast," you mention as Eddie heads to the cabinet that has my paper plates.

"I walked in when there was a lull, but have no fear. I come bearing one cheese pizza, and another with pepperoni and mushroom, with banana peppers on the side for me," he says, and you can feel your stomach growl.

"Sounds good. What did you get from Argyle's stash this time?" you ask as you put two slices of pizza on your plate. Eddie smiles as he pulls out a baggie with four joints.

"Yeah, it's a new one he just got called Purple Panty Dropper." Eddie chuckles when you make a face. "Says its supposed to give the user a and I quote, euphoric and energetic feeling. He also said there was another side effect, but then the place got busy and he had to go."

"Well, Argyle hasn't let us down before. Now, grab your slices and head to the living room."

"And what did you pick for our viewing pleasure tonight?" Eddie asks as he grabs two beers and heads to the living room. You take one of the beers from him after popping the first movie in the VCR.

"Because I love a good theme, first we will be enjoying "Texas Chainsaw Hookers, followed by Frankenhooker." you say with a smile. While Eddie and you love horror, you really have a thing for the terrible B-movies that make even Eddie groan as you hand him the videos.

"I have got to stop letting you pick the movies." He says, while you hit the play button.

"Like hell you will, and don't act like you don't love this shit. Now shut up and watch the hookers." Eddie playfully shoves your shoulder as the opening credits start. You dig into the pizza, and it isn't long before the weariness of the week starts to wear away.

About halfway through the first movie, and when one of the pizzas is finished, Eddie grabs the baggie and pulls out a joint for you to share. He lights it up, and you can't help but watch him as he brings the joint to his lips and takes that first inhale. He holds his breath as he hands it to you, and when the smoke fills your lungs, you can feel yourself begin to relax even more.

The first movie is almost done when the usual side effects kick in. The weed makes you feel relaxed and your limbs heavy. You grab another slice and dig in, and Eddie does the same. When the movie finishes, Eddie offers to change the VHS when you feel it.

Usually, when you get high, it's almost always the same. There's that warm, relaxed feeling, a need to consume food, and eventual sleepiness. But sometimes, depending on the strain, there's another side effect that's now beginning to rear its ugly head.

You become horny as fuck.

You watch Eddie with eagle eyes as he kneels down to rewind the first movie and pop in the second. His hair is so thick and curly, and your eyes trail down his back, watching the muscles flex under his shirt before your eyes hone in on his pert, bubbly......

"Earth to space cadet!"

"What?" you ask, shaking my head as I realize that he is indeed trying to talk to you.

"I asked if you had any pretzels. What's gotten into you?"

"Nothing!" you say quickly, and he gives you a look after you tell him to go look in the cabinets. Once he's in the kitchen, you shake your head and take a deep breath, telling yourself to get it together. It's just the weed.

Eddie comes back, and you start the second movie. Minute by agonizing minute goes by, and you feel ready to jump out of your skin. Eddie is sitting right next to you, touching you from the knee to the shoulder. It's what he does every time you watch movies together. But as the movie progresses, it feels like you're going to burn from the inside out.

"You okay? You seem kind of fidgety." He asks with a concerned look in his puppy-dog eyes. You keep your eyes glued to the TV, sitting perfectly still, trying to look nonchalant and failing.

"Of course I'm fine, why wouldn't I be fine? Just watching a movie on a Saturday, just like we always do." Eddie looks at you like you're growing a third head, but he chooses to stay silent and go back to watching the movie. Halfway through, you pause the movie while Eddie goes to take a leak. Once you hear the door close, you let out a low groan as you squeeze your thighs together.

Your clit is throbbing, you haven't been this horny in ages. You weren't even this horny when you took that guy home from the Hideout two weeks ago. You rub your thighs together, hoping it will take the edge off enough to get you through the rest of the movie. Enough to last until you send Eddie home, and you can rub one out.

But it's not enough, and in an act of utter desperation, your hand moves between your thighs, and you press hard enough to try and get any kind of relief. But all it does is fuel that flame burning low. You start pressing in a slow rhythm, oblivious to everything else, including the sound of the toilet flushing and the bathroom door opening.

You're lost in that feeling, trying to make it better, when you hear a small gasp and your head snaps. There he is, your best friend, standing at the edge of the hallway with his mouth agape and his eyes like a deer in headlights. It's like a fucked up Mexican standoff as you both wait for the other to speak.

"Eddie, was the other side effect for this strain horniness?" You ask in a low, stern tone. Eddie takes a moment, his eyes honed on your hand between your thighs, before he meets your gaze.

"Uh, its name was Purple Panty Dropper," he says with a pained expression, a silent admission that he's in the same boat you are.

"Edward!" You groan as you toss a throw pillow at him.

"I'm sorry, if I had known, I would have picked a different strain!" He says, and I let out a sigh when he palms himself as he stands there, not knowing what to do. "There is something though, but if you don't want to you can fully tell me to fuck off and I'll go home with Rosie Palm and her fiver sisters."

"What could you possibly do?" You groan as you lean your head back against the sofa, eyes closing as you try not to focus on the need running through you.

"Let me help." He says softly, and you can't help it when you're jaw drops."

"Be serious!"

"I am, look, we both have an itch to scratch, and I promise if we do this, we never EVER have to talk about it ever again. I promise on Ronnie James Dio himself."

You have a retort ready, telling him that this is an absolutely stupid and crazy thing to do. That this will change everything, but when you meet his eyes again, all that wonderful logic goes flying out the window.

"Okay." Eddie's in front of you in two seconds, on his knees as he looks at you for permission, as his hands go to the button and zipper of your shorts. You nod, and you watch as he carefully pulls down your shorts, leaving you in your pale pink panties. His big hands slowly pry your thigh apart, a small huff leaving him when he sees the wet spot on the front. This time, you gasp as he leans in, pressing his nose against your mound and inhaling deeply.

His hands reach for the waistband of your panties, and you're coherent enough to lift your hips to help him take them off. Once they're gone, Eddie flings them to the side, and you let out a low moan as Eddie takes his first lick.

You've known Eddie for ages, and you know that he is enthusiastic about the things he really, truly loves. This includes metal music, D&D, Hellfire, and apparently eating pussy because within minutes this man has you seeing stars.

You don't know why you're body is humming so quickly. It could be the strain of weed amplifying every lick and flick of Eddie's skilled tongue on your swollen clit, and then a thought hits you. What if it's the fact that it's Eddie doing this to you? You're best friend, the one person outside of your family who knows you, who really sees you. You only have a moment to ponder before Eddie pulls a toe-curling orgasm out of you.

Your hips jerk against his face, and your toes curl more when he doesn't fucking stop. His tongue continues to lick, taste, and tease you as he guides you through your pleasure. He doesn't stop until you're boneless against the sofa. You're catching your breath, watching him with rapt attention as he unbuckles his jeans and eagerly pushes them down, your eyes wide when you see the almost obscene bulge in his boxers.

"Holy shit," you say, only aware that you spoke when he gives you a boyish grin before he kicks off his jeans and pushes his boxers down to give you a glimpse of the beast he's had hidden in his pants all these years.

"Had to get you warmed up." He says, a little bit of pride in his voice as he kicks off his boxers and takes himself in hand. He moves to cover you as you lie back against the sofa, your thighs parting instinctively as if you've both done this a hundred times before. He gives you a look, a silent plea for permission, and when you nod, he smiles so bright he could be the sun.

Nothing could have prepared you for Eddie like this. He keeps his face close to yours, peppering your cheeks and nose with soft kisses as he slowly fucks you open with just his tip. He can feel you get wetter for him, and he takes his time opening you up as if he has all the time in the world. By the time he bottoms out, you're locked in a deep kiss that makes your toes curl....again.

When he finally moves his hips, you feel your world shift. You can feel every inch, every vein as he fucks you slowly and it feels like you're being rewritten. You cup his face, letting him continue to kiss you as he slips his tongue into your mouth. One of his hands gropes your breast, gently squeezing as he sets a steady rhythm.

He's hitting that spot with a precision that has you moaning into the kiss, and he smiles as his hand leaves your breast and moves down to find your clit, rubbing tight little circles that make you squeeze him like a velvet vice.

"Shit, just like that, sweetheart," he mumbles against your lips. "Not gonna last much longer."

"Just a little more," you respond, and it only takes a few more rolls of Eddie's hips before you're both writhing in pleasure on your worn sofa. Moans and grunts fill the air until Eddie relaxes some of his weight on you. He's cuddly after sex, a fact that makes you smile as he nuzzles against your neck.

You're trying to wrap your brain around what just happened, that your best friend just ate you out and fucked you to two amazing orgasms when you feel Eddie's hand on your cheek. He turns you to look at him, and he's looking at you like you're the most precious thing he's ever seen. You can't help but smile as he leans down to kiss you again. You share lazy kisses, the movie playing ignored in the background. When he pulls away, you finally find your voice.

"I think you should stay the night," you say, and Eddie's lopsided grin warms your heart.

"I'd like that." He admits as he runs his finger over your collarbone.

"And, I hope that in the morning you're still here." You admit with a small smile.

"I'd like that too," He says, his fingers still tracing your skin. He's about to say something else when you put your finger over his lips.

"We can talk tomorrow," you say softly. "As for now, I'm still a little high, are you?" Eddie smiles at what you're insinuating.

"Seems like we should move this to your bedroom, make sure that when Argyle asks how we liked the weed, we can give him a very thorough review."

Eddie helps you off the sofa, and you let him lead you down the hall to your bedroom. The lights in the living room and kitchen are still on, and the TV is still playing a movie that won't get watched. When you and Eddie finally fall asleep, he wraps an arm around your waist. Drifting off to sleep with the steady beat of his breath against the back of your neck, you make a mental note to thank Argyle the next time you see him.

[gloomweed]

missing this goofball so much (I want him back on my tv)