guiltyasquinn

[guiltyasquinn]

HELLFIRE'S PREGAME - E.M.

Eddie Munson x Plus size Reader Summary: You decide to repay Eddie for the many times he made you feel good. Warnings: 18+ MDNI, porn with a plot

The air in Hawkins High’s drama room is thick with the scent of old wood, dusty curtains, and the faint tang of metal from the scattered props. It’s late, the kind of late where the school feels like a ghost town, save for the distant hum of a janitor’s vacuum. You stand just outside the door, heart hammering in your chest, a delicious mix of nerves and determination swirling in your gut. Your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag, the weight of your plan anchoring you. Tonight, you’re here for Eddie. Your Eddie. The boy who’s made you feel like a goddess more times than you can count, his hands and lips mapping every curve of your body with a reverence that still makes your knees weak. Tonight, you’re determined to repay him, to show him just how much he means to you.

You push open the door, and there he is—Eddie Munson, the Dungeon Master himself, sprawled across his throne at the head of the Hellfire Club’s table. The throne is less a chair and more a monument to his chaotic charisma: a high-backed seat scavenged from some forgotten school production, draped with a tattered black blanket and adorned with chains he’s pilfered from his own wardrobe. He’s leaning back, one leg kicked up on the table, his worn-out Metallica tee stretched across his chest, dark curls spilling over his shoulders. A pencil twirls between his fingers as he scribbles notes for tonight’s campaign, muttering to himself, completely unaware of your presence.

You take a moment to drink him in. The way his rings glint in the dim light of the overhead fluorescents. The sharp line of his jaw, softened by the faintest stubble. Those big, expressive brown eyes, currently narrowed in concentration. He’s beautiful, in that wild, untamed way that’s always drawn you to him. And he’s yours. The thought sends a thrill down your spine, pooling heat low in your belly.

You step inside, letting the door click shut behind you. The sound snaps Eddie’s head up, and when he sees you, his face lights up like a kid on Christmas morning. “Well, well, well,” he drawls, tossing the pencil onto the table and leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “What’s my favorite girl doing here? Hellfire’s not for another hour, sweetheart.”

You smile, a little shy, a little bold, as you cross the room. Your hips sway with each step, the soft fabric of your skirt brushing against your thighs, accentuating the curves you’ve learned to love because of him. Eddie’s eyes track your movement, darkening with interest, his lips parting slightly. He’s always looked at you like you’re the only thing in the room, and it’s intoxicating.

“I wanted to see you,” you say, voice soft but laced with intent. You stop just in front of him, close enough that your knees brush his where he sits. “Thought I’d drop by early.”

Eddie’s grin is pure mischief. “Oh, I like early.” He reaches for you, fingers grazing your hip, but you step back just out of reach, earning a playful pout. “Tease,” he accuses, though there’s no real heat in it.

You bite your lip, nerves fluttering again, but the desire burning in you is stronger. You’ve planned this, rehearsed it in your head a hundred times, and now that you’re here, you’re not backing down. “Eddie,” you say, your voice dropping to a husky whisper, “I’ve been thinking about you. About all the times you’ve made me feel… incredible.” Your cheeks flush, but you hold his gaze, letting him see the truth in your eyes. “I want to make you feel good tonight. Really good.”

His brows shoot up, and for a moment, he looks genuinely surprised, like he’s not sure he heard you right. Then his expression shifts, hunger creeping into his features, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Sweetheart,” he says, voice rougher now, “you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” you interrupt, stepping closer again, this time letting your hands rest on his thighs. The denim is warm under your palms, his muscles tensing beneath your touch. “Let me take care of you, Eddie. Please.”

He stares at you, and you can see the moment he gives in, the way his pupils dilate, his breath hitching. “Fuck,” he mutters, almost to himself, then louder, “You’re gonna kill me, you know that?” But he’s already shifting, spreading his legs wider, an invitation you don’t miss.

You sink to your knees in front of him, the cold linoleum biting into your skin, but you barely notice. Your focus is entirely on Eddie, on the way he’s watching you, eyes locked on yours, intense and unblinking. You reach for his belt, fingers brushing the cool metal of his buckle, and he lets out a low groan, his head tipping back for a moment before he forces himself to look at you again.

“Eyes on me,” you say, surprising yourself with the command in your voice. Eddie’s lips curve into a smirk, but he obeys, his gaze never wavering as you undo his belt, the clink of metal loud in the quiet room. You pop the button of his jeans, tug down the zipper, and he lifts his hips just enough to help you slide his pants and boxers down, freeing him.

He’s already hard, and the sight of him—thick, flushed, and all for you—sends a rush of heat through you. You wrap your hand around him, stroking slowly, and Eddie hisses, his hands gripping the arms of the throne so tightly his knuckles whiten. “Fuck, baby,” he breathes, his voice a mix of awe and desperation. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

The compliment washes over you, settling into the parts of you that still sometimes doubt, and you smile up at him, letting him see how much it means. Then you lean forward, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of him, and his whole body jolts, a choked sound escaping his throat. You keep your eyes on his as you take him into your mouth, slow and deliberate, savoring the weight of him on your tongue, the heat of his skin.

Eddie’s eyes are dark, almost black, and they don’t leave yours for a second. It’s intense, the way he’s watching you, like you’re the only thing that exists in his world. You swirl your tongue around him, teasing the sensitive underside, and his hips twitch, a low moan spilling from his lips. “Jesus, sweetheart,” he gasps, one hand moving to your hair, not pushing, just resting there, grounding himself. “You’re so fucking good at this.”

You hum in response, the vibration making him curse under his breath, and you take him deeper, your lips stretching around him. Your hands rest on his thighs, feeling the tension in his muscles, the way he’s fighting to stay still, to let you set the pace. You love this—love the power you have over him right now, the way you can make him unravel with every flick of your tongue, every slow, deliberate suck.

You pull back slightly, letting your lips glide over him, slick and warm, before taking him deep again, your nose brushing the coarse hair at his base. Eddie’s head falls back, but he catches himself, forcing his eyes back to yours, his chest heaving. “Look at you,” he murmurs, voice rough with need. “My perfect girl, taking me so fucking well.”

The praise lights you up, and you double your efforts, bobbing your head, hollowing your cheeks, your hand stroking what your mouth can’t reach. His moans grow louder, more desperate, and you can feel him getting closer, his thighs trembling under your palms. You pull back just enough to speak, your lips brushing against him as you murmur, “You like this, Eddie? Like watching me on my knees for you?”

“Fuck, yes,” he groans, his hand tightening in your hair, not painful, just enough to make you shiver. “You’re killing me, baby. So fucking hot.”

You smile, wicked and confident, and dive back in, your eyes never leaving his. The connection between you is electric, a live wire of desire and trust, and it pushes you to give him everything. You move faster, your tongue teasing every sensitive spot, your hand working in tandem, slick with spit and precum. Eddie’s breathing is ragged now, his moans turning into broken curses, his hips starting to move despite his best efforts to stay still.

“Baby,” he warns, voice strained, “I’m close. Fuck, I’m so close.”

You don’t stop, don’t even slow down. You want this—want to feel him lose control, to know you’re the one who brought him there. You hum again, encouraging him, and his eyes flutter, but he forces them open, locking onto yours. “Goddamn, sweetheart,” he gasps, “you’re gonna make me—”

He cuts off with a low, guttural moan, his body tensing as he comes, hot and pulsing in your mouth. You take it all, swallowing around him, your eyes still on his, watching the way his face contorts in pleasure, his lips parted, his cheeks flushed. It’s beautiful, the way he falls apart for you, and you savor every second of it.

When he’s spent, you pull back slowly, licking your lips, and Eddie slumps back in the throne, chest heaving, looking like he’s just run a marathon. “Holy shit,” he breathes, his voice hoarse. He reaches for you, tugging you up into his lap, and you go willingly, straddling his thighs, your skirt riding up as you settle against him.

He cups your face, pulling you into a deep, messy kiss, tasting himself on your tongue and groaning into your mouth. “You,” he says when he pulls back, forehead resting against yours, “are fucking incredible. I don’t deserve you.”

You laugh softly, brushing a curl out of his face. “You do,” you say simply, because it’s true. He’s made you feel more loved, more desired, than you ever thought possible, and this was your way of showing him how much it means.

Eddie’s hands slide down your sides, lingering on your hips, your thighs, squeezing gently. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his eyes roaming over you, taking in every curve, every inch. “Every fucking inch of you. I could worship you forever.”

Your heart swells, and you kiss him again, slower this time, savoring the warmth of his lips, the roughness of his stubble. “Maybe later,” you tease, nipping at his bottom lip. “You’ve got a campaign to run, Dungeon Master.”

He groans, but there’s a grin tugging at his mouth. “You’re evil, you know that? Getting me all worked up right before Hellfire.”

You slide off his lap, smoothing your skirt, and toss him a wink. “Gotta keep you on your toes, Munson.”

He laughs, tucking himself back into his jeans and buckling his belt, but his eyes don’t leave you. “You’re staying, right?” he asks, a hint of vulnerability in his voice, like he’s worried you might slip away.

“Of course,” you say, settling into a chair at the table, crossing your legs with a playful smirk. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Eddie’s grin is back, full force, and as he starts setting up his campaign notes, you can’t help but feel a rush of pride. You did this—made him feel as good as he always makes you, right here on his throne. And as the Hellfire Club members start trickling in, you catch Eddie’s eye, the heat still simmering between you, a promise of more to come.

[guiltyasquinn]

quick! i poisoned you and the only antidote is heavy kissing and tongue sucking

[guiltyasquinn]

Lucilla & the emperors Deleted Scene

[guiltyasquinn]

with all due respect I want my tongue so far up your pussy you charge me rent

[guiltyasquinn]

Not a question but I’m ovulating and you’re fueling me right now babygirl (in a gender neutral way ofcccc)

I'm so happy I could be of service🫡

But you know who else would be of service? Eddie...

The second he finds out what ovulation is (and not in school because you know they didn't teach jack shit in sex ed other than: Don't™️), he's attacking you with a barrage of intrusive questions.

"Sweetheart, on a scale of existing to 'fuck me now,' how horny are you?"

"What the fuck, Eddie?"

"Fine, different question: On a scale of wet flour to snail trail, how's it lookin' in your panties right now?"

"You are on the thinnest of ice..."

"Any breast tenderness?"

"What are you, my doctor?"

"Do you want me to be? I can take a look under the hood if ya need. Baby, these hands are real steady, I can take good care of you..."

Oh, he'd be a menace. His one caveman neuron would fire when he learns the purpose of ovulation. Welcome back breeding kink!Eddie. He's gonna fertilize those fuckin' eggs, I tell you what.

You better be lookin' to procreate because he's tryna procreate all up in that pussy. Yurrrr🗣️ And I imagine him to have an awfully high libido, so he's gonna be following you around like a damn tom cat looking for a crumb of action. Ugh, he needs to be put in time out.

[guiltyasquinn]

i'll see a man with long hair and remember i'm not above temptations of the flesh

[guiltyasquinn]

Thinking about those first months with Eddie. Not being able to keep your hands off each other. Nothing in the entire universe is as important as the moments you get to lose yourself in those deep dark pools of eyes.

Your lips ache. They're sore; they burn from those exquisite kisses. You bought Carmex from the drug store yesterday and gave it to Eddie. He thought it was so cute that he grabbed your hand and dragged you around the corner to suck the chapstick off your bottom lip.

Nothing matters. Nothing but the smell of his skin and the weight of him against your back. You can forever stay in this bed. You can kiss him until your lips peel from your face and you starve to death.

[guiltyasquinn]

i miss you everyday

[guiltyasquinn]

[guiltyasquinn]

thinking about older!eddie with his soft and hairy tummy. i’d be bugging him all the time over it- going up and settling in next to him while he’s relaxing in his recliner, sliding a gentle hand under his shirt just to feel and grab at it while hums in amusement. or when he’s fresh out the shower, he’s got nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist, you’d go up to him to kiss and love (and bite) on the yummy fat and dark hair that rests there while he sighs in contentment. and what a cozy spot to fall asleep on! just before bed, or while taking a nap, you scoot your body down so you can rest your head right in that extra plush and thick spot that keeps you cozy and warm, giving smooch after smooch before you let yourself rest. and despite the humorous scoffs he’ll occasionally let out, he loves every second of your doting.

[guiltyasquinn]

so soft like silk chiffon

Eddie Munson x Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Contents: Sickeningly sweet and cosy domesticity. Female reader. Eddie and reader share clothes, but I see her as curvy. Librarian / Bookstore reader x Record Store Eddie. Food mention. Weed mention if you squint. 

Note: This started as a single line in doc, abandoned for months and months. Looking for anything to focus on and any distractions from life, I present the doc formerly known as ‘Eddie Munson makes you dinner while wearing your silky robe. Send tweet.’ Barely edited, certainly not beta’ed. This is as much a surprise to me as it may be to you!

PS - I like to think of these two as the same couple from The Boy Is Mine, but feel free to imagine otherwise. Enjoy!

The keys in your hand are skin-warmed, digging their teeth into your palm and leaving their tangy metallic bitemarks behind. So eager to get home, you do not feel their weight or their sharp edges. 

Home. 

The thought alone makes you smile. An easy curve of your lips, much more effortless and real than your customer service facade.

Home is more than the hot shower and fresh bedsheets waiting to wash away the day and welcome you home. It is more than the stocked-up cupboards and the cold bottle of wine that calls ‘drink me!’ so sweetly after a long shift. More than the couch that cradles your weight and the records stacked and spinning as you breath in earthy green to unwind a little more, sink a little deeper into the weekend.

All of those things are great, you cannot wait to scrub away the sheen of sweat and the dry feeling that lingers on your hands after hours of stacking returned books and settle yourself into the groove in the couch with a carb-heavy dinner and cold white wine, the perfect remedy for the summer programme planning meeting-induced headache.

Now, home is so much more than simple pleasures and little luxuries. 

It’s the man who kissed you goodbye on the stoop before you turned in opposite directions for work this morning, both sleepy-headed as you set the countdown until you see each other again. Tick tock, tick tock, two whole days together over the weekend.

It is the man who races you back to the apartment, waiting with a triumphant smirk and an invitation to share the hot water, or a smiley face in steam on the bathroom mirror. When you win the race, the sound of his key in the lock and his goofy ‘honey, I’m home’ makes your tummy flutter.

Home is more than four walls and a front door; a small apartment at the top of Lakeview, perfectly poised between the library and the record store, with friends and favourite bars dotted around the Windy City. 

You have been playing house with Eddie since you were both gap-toothed with scraped knees, making up magical lands and adventures from morning until the sun set and only re-entering the real world to raid your fridge or eat the sandwiches Wayne made with cold cuts and crispy salty chips. It made sense that you would always be home for each other. 

The final few steps do not feel so arduous when you know he is home before you; the sound of Black Sabbath already playing from the stereo beckons you back into the cosy confines of your apartment. Smiling to yourself again, you take a final step over the threshold, feeling weightless.

Through the shred of War Pigs, Eddie catches the jangle of keys and the quick click of the closing door. He skids on socked feet from the kitchen to the short hallway, smile wide and eyes sparkling. 

“She’s home!” 

Eddie’s arms span out wide, swathed in wide swishing satin. He’s wearing your robe again, half open over his bare chest and boxers. The check print and his inked-up hairy legs are a wonderful contrast to the delicate swish and sway of painted florals. 

When it’s not wrapped around your bed-warm body in the mornings or draped on your lotioned post-shower skin at night, it hangs on the back of the bedroom door like a silky waterfall. That is until the seasons turn and the printed satin is carefully laundered and folded away, replaced with teddy-soft terrycloth until the weather warms again.

It just smells like you, which justifies how often Eddie wears it when you’re not home, and sometimes when you are. It is not just your lotion and perfume, your shampoo and the coffee you mopped up with the edge of your sleeve the other morning. An indescribable essence of you has been threaded through the thin fabric, sewn through satin like a phantom thread. 

And now it smells like Eddie too; the collar holds a musk that you cannot name, other than it is totally Him. 

You can smell it now as he wraps you up, a gentle blend of his and hers. Eddie’s hug manages to drain every ounce of tension and stress from your body, loosening your clenched jaw and tight shoulders with a simple squeeze. 

“Missed you,” murmured against his neck, your cheek pillowed by satin and a spill of curls that escapes his scrunchie. 

“Bad day?”

The slow pass of his hands along your back melts away the tight ache that had settled just beneath your waistband. 

“No, just better now.”

Even with your eyes closed, you can feel his smile, hear it. 

“Aww, you like me or somethin’?” he murmurs, a wisp of warm breath tickling your neck that cries out to be kissed.

Eddie is a weak man, easily tempted at times, and presses three sweet kisses from the collar of your shirt to the base of your jaw. 

“Or something.” 

He feels your smile too, the curve of your mouth against his shoulder. He has to see it, pulls away just enough to sneak a peek at pure sunshine. Your teasing is taken with a grain of salt, betrayed by how down bad you are for him. 

“Hungry?” he asks, gliding his thumb along your cheek with an almost hypnotic gentleness.

“Yeah, are you cooking for me?”

Beyond the shower clean scent of him, you find notes of garlic and rich tomato. Your stomach rolls ravenously, mouth wet at the thought of his pasta sauce.

His coy shrug makes you smile, proud of himself for predicting that you needed a night off dinner duty and an obscene amount of pasta as your week draws to a close. Eddie had noticed the tightness in your jaw, the way your shoulders had crept higher and higher with each working day.

“Just somethin’ easy, carby. That okay?” 

The way your eyes sparkle - something between thrilled and touched by his kindness - gives you away before you can crush into him again, arms winding around the solid trunk of him to squeeze. 

“I love you.”

Your voice is muffled against his chest, but Eddie can feel it; the way your lips form those three words, the adoration that radiates from you into him. He drinks it up. 

“I love you.”

He kisses the top of your head, crowning you with his love.

You stand there, in the hallway of your home together, a slow rocking sway, foot to foot.

Before you let each other leave - you to the bedroom to strip off your clothes and wash the day away, Eddie to the kitchen - one more kiss, syrup-slow and sweet, is shared amongst the lived-in clutter. A box of books and clothes to donate, a borrowed amp to return, the rescued-from-the-sidewalk side table holding your keys, a vase of flowers and a framed photo of you, Eddie & Wayne at a barbecue in Forrest Hills.

Slowly you part, coming unstuck from each other so that you can come back together again over plates of pasta and plans for your weekend.

When you a shower-damp with hair dripping on the plains of your shoulders, you remember your robe has been stolen by a handsome thief. A wash-worn t-shirt lies folded on the counter with your pyjama shorts, waiting for you beneath the heart traced in steam, oozing with adoration. 

Butter soft beneath your fingertips, you bury your nose in the stretched-out collar and breathe in the scent of him. The scent of home.

Thank you for taking the time to read this! Your comments, reblogs and likes are cherised!

[guiltyasquinn]

Just a friendly reminder that Eddie is both a "don't be mean to me, I'll cum" AND a "don't be nice to me, I'll cum" typa guy. ✨✨✨

As you were, soldier...

[guiltyasquinn]

sorry i came in 52 seconds i am obsessed with you

[guiltyasquinn]

𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐

[guiltyasquinn]

A RAINBOW IN THE DARK

summary: you and eddie have been best friends since childhood and the only place you've ever felt safe was at eddie's place.

pairing: eddie munson / f!reader

contents: friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, fluff, hurt/comfort, cw child abuse/domestic abuse, brief mentions of emotional abuse, swearing, mentions of violence

word count: 4.2 k

You’ve stood at Eddie’s front door more than you could recall, more than you could count on your fingers and then some…but tonight felt different. Something akin to adrenaline rushed through your veins like the purest drug causing your entire body to tremble and shake in place as you stared at the peeling paint of the trailer door; but it wasn’t adrenaline. It wasn’t fun and carefree and exhilarating–what you felt was the complete opposite. 

The only word that you could think of was dread… but it wasn’t because of what you were going to face inside.

You had known Eddie your whole life—lived in the same trailer park as him, grew up with him, played as children as you ran around and caused havoc together in the junkyard. You huff out a small laugh as the image of your closet trimming with black lines marked in sharpie with both of your heights written beside them as you two grew throughout the years popping into your mind… it was one of the only happy memories you had in that house. 

Eddie’s place felt more of a home to you than your own ever did and you spent a majority of your free time there instead. That’s why you’re here now, because this place was always your safe haven, a sanctuary on earth from all the cruelty and emptiness that filled the walls of the place you were supposed to call home. 

Glancing up at the door, you take a deep breath and raise your hand to knock. But just before your fist makes contact with the flimsy door, it swings open revealing the weathered face of Eddie’s uncle Wayne. He’s dressed in his usual plaid shirt and jeans, accompanied with the safety vest that serves as his uniform. His wary eyes soften when he sees you and he relaxes briefly, shoulders dropping from its tense posture. 

“Hey Wayne,” you greet, voice smaller and quieter than he knows it to be. 

The quality of your voice makes him quirk a brow, but it only lasts a moment and the natural weariness consumes his expression once again. 

Just like Eddie, you’ve known Wayne your whole life. Eddie’s father used to live here too, but one day, before the crack of dawn and a week after he had turned 14, he left with all of his belongings—left with everything except for Eddie. 

Wayne nods in his own greeting and then opens the door wide enough for you to step in. 

“He’s in his room,” is all he says as he slips past you and makes his way towards his truck. 

The door clicks shut behind you and the trailer is almost silent if it wasn't for the orchestrated hum of heavy music playing towards the back of the house. Quietly you wander past the small living room and even smaller kitchen until you come face-to-face with the door that leads into your best friend’s room, cracked open just a sliver; just enough to allow the music playing from the speakers to seep into the rest of the trailer. The door to his room is plastered with signs and posters, some handwritten or drawn and others professionally done. It’s chaotic and messy and every bit Eddie. 

You knock, only to be courteous, before gently pushing open the door. 

Eddie’s on his bed, laying on his back with his beloved guitar in hand as he strums the heavy riffs playing on the record he put on earlier. Holy Diver, you recognize, by the metal god himself Ronnie James Dio. 

His eyes are closed as his fingers are working meticulously on the guitar solo masterpiece and his curly brown locks are sprayed around his head like a halo. 

The sight makes you smile and even though you’ve seen him like this plenty of times—lost to the equally heavy and poetic melody of the music—and yet it always makes your heart melt. 

“You know if you put in half the energy and commitment into your studies as you do your guitar playing you would’ve graduated with me last year,” you say. 

Eddie's eyes snap open and he shoots up in bed, beaming up at you with the most boyish grin he could muster, like it’s the first time he’s seen you in ages when you quite literally saw him the other day. 

“Heya stranger, didn’t expect you to drop in tonight!” He says with a dopey smile on his face, totally ignoring your statement on purpose.

You thread a hand through your hair and tussle the locks slightly, “Yeah it was a slow night so Mick let me off early.”

“Ah,” he sighs in realization, fingers still strumming the guitar strings absentmindedly, “boss man didn’t want to pay you for standing around I see.”

You nod, “Probably, but I mean getting off early beats trying to find something to do for another hour or so.”

“Yeah because doing nothing and getting paid for it totally beats doing nothing with your best friend,” he jests playfully. 

“I mean as much as I love working at the record shop, sometimes I would rather be here with you.”

Eddie places a hand over his heart dramatically and gives you an over the top, almost cartoonish look of gratitude, “I am honored, truly, that you would value my friendship just slightly more than that shitty conformist, sell-out-corporate job you have. Seriously, I might cry!”

“How the hell is working for a dingy little local shop conformist or selling out to corporate? It’s not like I’m working for McDonalds or anything. And besides, the only reason I have that job is so I can make some kinda cash, not that I’m making enough to get by as it is…”

It’s true, ever since you turned 16 you were working to make enough to get the hell out of Hawkins. There was nothing here for you but misery and heartache—the only thing keeping you here was Eddie, but you’d never tell him that. 

You couldn’t imagine leaving him behind. Sure he had Gareth and Jeff and the rest of the Hellfire Club to keep him company but other than that he didn’t have any friends. People at Hawkins High didn’t understand him, they took him at face value and made assumptions based solely on that. If they took time to get to know Eddie, knew him that way you and the Hellfire Club did, then they would all know that Eddie was one of the most creative, funny, and caring people on the planet. It broke your heart that people were terrified of him, mocked him for not conforming to society's norms.

You kept mostly to yourself when you were at school, reading in the library or finishing up passable schoolwork that was due later that day during study hall; the only exception were the days and nights that the Hellfire Club met for their D&D campaigns or meetings to discuss the future of the club where you sat behind Eddie in a little foldable chair and basked in the social interaction and antics that pursued, but other than that you didn’t partake in the high school experience. You wanted to finish and then get the hell out of dodge, hoping to escape this shitty little town and never look back at all the shitty memories from over the years. 

And sure you had your fair share of name calling and bullying, but it was nothing compared to how they treated Eddie. While you were merely misunderstood and ignored by the teens and adults at Hawkins High, Eddie was villainized. 

You hadn’t realized that while lost in your thoughts momentarily you had crossed your arms over your chest and one of your hands had involuntarily squeezed your upper arm. A sudden jolt courses through your bloodstream and you wince at the pain that radiates there.

Eddie notices and quickly he leaps out of bed, tossing his most treasured possession onto the throw of pillows and pulls up the sleeve of your Led Zeppelin tee. His eyes widen at the relatively new, blotchy black and blue mark that blemishes your skin. 

When he glances up at you through his thick lashes there’s something frighteningly irate looming in his normally warm brown eyes. He lets go of your sleeve with a tender slip of his ringed fingers and takes a small step back. 

“He did this to you?” Eddie asks with a nod to the blossoming bruise, nostrils flaring slightly as he speaks. 

You nod back, unable to keep his gaze any longer and instead avert your eyes to the beer stained carpet. “Apparently he didn’t like the way I looked at him after he yelled at my mom for not washing his work clothes on time.”

“Well maybe he should do his own damn laundry then...” Eddie scoffs, the huff of a laugh that escapes his lips is laced with disgust, like venom dripping from his mouth. “… at least he learned to punch where it doesn’t show this time.” The sarcasm in his voice was hard to miss.  

“He didn’t punch,” you say, “he just grabbed me.”

“Hard enough to leave a mark.”

“It’s nothing,” you reply, “it’ll be gone in a few days.”

Eddie shakes his head, “Why are you so quick to defend that asshole?”

“I’m not defending him!” You all but snapped, the weight of the conversation becoming too much all of a sudden as your vision blurs from the hot tears that had welted up in your eyes, because you weren’t defending your father. You wouldn't defend him if your life depended on it. 

As much as you despised the word and think it has been misused, you hated your father. It was because of him you kept your head down just slightly enough to avoid the gaze of whoever it was you spoke to. It was because of him that you flinched whenever someone even remotely raised their voice in anything but joy or surprise (which even then sometimes startled you). It was because of him that you wanted to walk about life hidden in the shadows, hidden away from everyone’s view.

You hated that he made you act like your mother whenever you were around him, a woman you couldn’t fathom as a naive child who could stand to be with a man who treated her the way he did—who yelled at the smallest inconvenience, who threw plates against the floor like a deranged child when upset, a man who hurled insults under his breath like daggers. You always swore that you would never let a man treat you this way, yet here you were… afraid of the man who you were supposed to love and you let him throw you around like you were some mindless rag doll.    

But Eddie saw you, he had always seen you, and he made you feel the way a person was supposed to feel. He made you feel like you were your own person with thoughts and emotions and passions. That’s why you loved Eddie… that’s why you fell in love with Eddie… and you hated yourself for it because you felt deep down, at some point—eventually—he was going to turn out just like your father. 

You knew he wouldn’t, but that gnawing feeling still burrowed itself deep inside of your head and poisoned your thoughts. It was easy for a person to change, for whatever reason. There was a hopeful notion that your father wasn’t always this way, that something had changed him for the worse and he was the way he was because something happened to him. 

People weren’t born monsters, they became them. 

“You know you could always stay here,” Eddie says then, demeanor softening when he sees your teary gaze avoiding him. “You basically live here anyway, so I doubt that we’d even notice if you were around a little more than usual.”

It was true, when you weren’t slaving away at work you always found yourself here, and back when you were still attending Hawkins High you caught rides with Eddie before and after school (and his little entrepreneur endeavors in the woods) back to his trailer to hang out with Eddie and the rest of the Hellfire Club. You always found an opportunity to stay the hell away from home, grabbed it by its throat, and ran with it.

Any place was better than the trailer you called home, you thought bitterly. 

You give Eddie a small smile, “I made it through 19 years of this bullshit, I think I can handle a little more until I can move out on my own.”

Eddie sticks his hands into the back pocket of his jeans and sways in place, a small attempt to ease the tension that had built up in the room after the slightly heated conversation, “Well the offer is always on the table if you ever want to take me up on it.” 

The smile on your face grows a little more, “Thanks Eddie… for everything.”

He smiles back, eyes crinkling, “that’s what best friends are for… but seriously just say the word and I will beat the ever-loving shit out of him.”

“With what? Your guitar?”

“That beauty over there?” He gestures to the heap of intricate metal laying abandoned on his bed. “No, no, no… I’ll save that joyous moment for these bad boys right here,” he raises his ringed fists and starts punching the air with childlike animation.

A laugh escapes you despite all of the mixed emotions swirling around inside of you, “I know for a fact that you’ve never gotten into a physical fight in your life, Munson.”

“What are you saying? That I wouldn’t knock his candy ass straight to the ground with a single blow?”

You contemplate it for a moment, just to humor him, “Well considering that my dad is 6-foot, 200-and-something pounds and you have no fighting experience whatsoever outside of D&D, there's no way in hell you’d make it out of that fight alive, so that is exactly what I’m saying… but you might be able to smart-mouth him to death.”

He grins with comedic menace, “That can be arranged.” He claps his hands together, intertwining his fingers together and brings them to his chest, and looks over at you with devious delight. “Enough of this dreadful chitchat!” He exclaims theatrically. “We need to lighten this dreary mood and I know just the way to do so!” 

Eddie moves to the nightstand beside his bed and rummages through the mess inside until he finds just what he is looking for. Whatever it is, he’s hiding it behind his back until he saunters back over to you like a child anticipating to show their parents their artwork, waiting for a reaction. But before you could chide him for being overdramatic he pushes the VHS of Fright Night into your face.

“Up for a movie night?”

***

You and Eddie are sitting beside each other on the couch. You’re halfway through the movie and you find yourself enjoying it more than you thought you would, but you enjoy just being with Eddie way more. 

It reminds you of the late night spent next to each other just like this as kids: eyes glued to the screen of whatever Eddie managed to nab from the video store without his uncle’s knowledge as he slaved away at the plant to make end’s meet, stuffing an unholy amount of candy and soda down your throats, only this time instead of soda Eddie was babying a bottle of beer while you stuck with something a little less intoxicating (another thing you hated your father for, unable to enjoy something as dumb as teen drinking because you feared turning into the same breed of monster as him). 

The character of Peter Vincent comes on screen and Eddie’s hand darts out of the shared blanket covering the two of you, pointing towards the older man. “That’s what I want to be,” he says.

“A washed up actor?” You ask innocently, genuinely enough.

“No,” He shakes his head, “famous.” He continues without tearing his eyes from the television screen, “One day my band is gonna make it big, I can feel it, and when that day comes I’m gonna take you far away from this shitty little town filled with all of its shitty little people. We’ll travel the world and see cities way bigger than Hawkins, eat food that doesn’t come from a can, and be surrounded by people who look like us, think like us.”

“And I’ll be doing what, exactly?” You ask. with a weary grin “End up as a little groupie for you and your bandmates?”

Eddie's face scrunches up, eyes crinkling into mere slits, and mouth twisting into a strange contortion of movement as he shakes his head, “Nooooooo, being a groupie is way beneath you,” his eyes finally drift away from the screen and he stares at his blanket covered lap, thumbs twiddling underneath the heavy material, “I think the girlfriend of a rockstar has a better ring to it…”

If it wasn’t for the quality of his voice, you’d think he was joking. Throughout the years of your friendship you’d both been known to tease each other, playful banter and totally platonic flirting falling from both of your lips lightheartedly, but it was never anything more than two friends fooling around. 

This however… this felt different. 

“Yeah, I think it does too,” you whisper then, “or we could just shorten it to Eddie’s girlfriend.”

Eddie turns his head and glances over to you with a mix of surprise and confusion. 

He thinks he might’ve heard you wrong, that he was projecting his own wishful thinking onto your words. The TV volume was low enough that he can practically hear every breath you take, but still he doubted the words that fell from your lips.

His eyes dazzle in the television glow, like starlight in his warm brown hues, and you can tell by the way his body relaxes that he was relieved by your words, afraid that his feelings for you would be unrequited and not returned. 

“What?” You say with a timid smile and a gentle tilt of your head. Your eyes soften when you look at him and the look you give him makes his heart flutter. “Come on, like you didn’t know I liked you.”

Eddie shakes his head, the brown curls that frame his face swaying with him as he downcasts his gaze at his ringed fingers in his lap. “How long?” He asks with a huff of a laugh, trying to contain the joy that overrides his heart.

“Since forever, I guess? I don’t know… you’ve been my best friend for as long as I can remember, I just thought that this was how best friends felt towards each other, but then I realized that I didn’t feel this way around other people… around other guys. It was always only you.”

The smile on his face grows, eyes crinkling at the corners at your confession. Always only you, your words echo in his brain like music. He feels like he’s in a dream—a wonderful, wonderful dream—but he’s afraid that this is just that, only a dream. He’s afraid that he’ll wake up in his bedroom alone and that all of this was just his subconscious playing a cruel joke on him. Because he was Eddie Munson, his entire life was just one cruel joke after another.

When his eyes finally meet yours, he finds himself lost in the way you look back at him. There’s a soft smile that graces your lips that solidifies the fact that you’re telling the truth, that you feel the same way about him that he felt towards you. 

“I guess that makes two of us,” he replies sheepishly.  

“Only took us long enough to admit it,” you laugh, feeling the heat spread across your cheeks. You’re glad that it's dark enough so that he can’t see the blush that appears on your face, embarrassed by how giddy this moment makes you.

He laughs too and he looks so boyishly happy, like a child who got the gift he always wanted for Christmas. 

One of his hands comes up to cup your face, his thumb gently caressing along your chin. It feels electric, having him touch you in such an intimate yet simple way. It was something you always wanted, always dreamed of, and now—finally—it was coming to fruition.  

“We can make up for it, you know…”

You lean in close, enough to feel his hot breath fan against your lips.

“I’d like that,” you whisper before closing the space between you.

The movie that still plays in the background fades into non-existence as his chapped lips mold perfectly against yours. He slants his mouth to kiss you properly despite the odd angle, not wanting to ruin this moment. He’s waited his entire life for this and if he were to fuck it up by kissing you like some inexperienced deeb he’d never forgive himself for it. 

Those doubts ebb away when he feels you kiss him back, feeling how you push up against the couch to press yourself even closer to him, your lips parting slightly to reclaim his in another kiss. A shiver runs down his spine at the feeling, not daring to pull away from the warmth of your mouth, even when he’s desperate for air. 

He tastes of beer, the scent of cigarettes and weed hanging off of his clothes like cologne, leaving you nearly intoxicated as the senses invade your mind, making you dizzy with delight. 

Eddie still holds your face in his hand, gently tilting your head so that his mouth can press against yours the way he wants, the way that just feels right. 

He wants nothing more than to pull you into his lap and have you straddle him, giving him better access to your mouth so he can deepen the kiss. He’s desperate to explore your mouth with his tongue and taste you, to leave you just as excited as he was as you do the same, but it's too soon he thinks. He doesn’t want to scare you away with his eagerness when he finally has you where he’s always wanted you. 

The last thing he wanted was for you to think that all he wanted from you was your touches, that your friendship and his feelings for you were purely driven by hormonal urges. 

Eddie loved you and he wanted to make sure that you knew it, even if he couldn’t muster up the courage to say it out loud.

It feels like an eternity when you finally pull away from him, making him groan at the loss of your heat, but he smiles at the punch-drunk grin that’s plastered on your face. Your eyes are glazed over with a happiness that he hasn’t seen in a long time. 

“You look tired,” he whispers, “tuckered out after just one kiss, huh?”

“Shut up,” you laugh, leaning forward to rest your head on his shoulder. His hand cradles the back of your head, caressing the nape of your neck tenderly with the pads of his fingers. “But I am tired, it’s been a long day.”

“Then let’s get some rest,” he says with a lingering kiss to your temple, “tomorrow’s Saturday, which means we can sleep in as long as you want.”

You nod against his shoulder, straightening up to place one last kiss on his lips before sinking down onto the sofa. 

The two of you maneuver yourselves on the couch so that you’re both laying on your side, facing the TV. There isn’t much space, but with your back pressed firmly against Eddie’s chest you both seem to fit. 

He drapes the blanket over your bodies, wrapping an arm around your waist while propping himself up on his elbow slightly so that he can continue to watch the movie that somehow hasn’t ended yet.

You try to focus on the screen too, but your eyes are heavy with fatigue and slowly they flutter shut until you drift off into sleep. 

Eddie tries to fight off the creeping drowsiness that seeps into his bones, but fails miserably and after a few moments he dozes off as well.

***

The next morning Wayne jingles the keys into the lock, pushing the door open to the trailer with a tired grunt and steps in.

The TV is still running though the VHS had stopped playing hours ago, leaving the living room in a dim blue-ish white haze, the gentle buzz of the static lingering in the air. 

He’s about to yell at Eddie for leaving the TV on again after he fell asleep, ready to scrutinize the boy for wasting electricity, but he stops himself when he sees the two of you asleep on the couch. 

Somehow during the night you had managed to turn and face Eddie, tucking your head underneath his chin, pressing your chest to his in a comforting embrace.

The sight makes Wayne chuckle under his breath, moving towards the TV and switching it off. He sneaks past the couch as quietly as he could and makes his way towards his room to get some rest of his own, but not before muttering an “about damn time” under his breath.

[guiltyasquinn]

A sweetheart 💖

[guiltyasquinn]

welcome back, eddie munson