hiscrimsonangel

[hiscrimsonangel]

vintage magazines 🔥

[hiscrimsonangel]

Getting Down in The Upside Down

A Slow Burn Excerpt - The Upside Down (18+)

Fandom: Stranger Things

Genre: Romance, Comedy, Smut

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Warnings: Eddie x Fem Reader, Flirting, Sexual Tension, Seduction, Close Quarters, Pining, Fantasizing, Porn with Plot, Dark Spaces, Language, Sex, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex

Summary: Well you and your boyfriend, Eddie Munson, need something to do to do while waiting for The Kids. Might as well be each other.

Part 1 ┃Part 2

Not a second passes before you find your hands entangled in Eddies hair. His lips crush yours, hid breaths heavy, growling as he slips off his jacket.

As soon as it hits the floor his hands grasps your hips, moving you backwards until he shoves you up against his dresser. His hands move under your shirt, making you gasp as he grips your skin.

“This is such a bad idea,” he murmurs between your lips.

You chuckle, “The worst.” Dropping your hands to the back of his neck.

Eddie inhales sharply, knotting your shirt in his fists. The coldness of his rings traveling up your back making you let out a small, quiet moan.

He breaks away from you long enough to toss your shirt on the ground. He stares at your breasts for a moment biting his lower lip, sliding one hand around your waist, the other at the back of your head. He pulls you back up against his mouth.

"You have any idea how hot you are?"

You pull away from Eddie, grinning as your fingers trace down his chest, stopping at his belt buckle.

“I made have some idea,” you say in response.

Eddie shudders, the back of his throat producing a half growl, half moan as the sultriness of your voice sending tingles through his body.

No sooner do you undo all the bits concealing him does he grab your pants by the waist, practically throwing you on top of the dresser.

"Eddie-! MM!”

Your gasp draws Eddie in, lurching his lips on top of yours. He places his hips in between your legs. His hardened dick pressing up against your covered but throbbing clit.

You moan against his lips, your skin set ablaze as his hands trace along your inner thighs; his fingers passing over the skin popping out between the tears.

Eddie can barely contain himself, his hands making quick work on your jeans, soon joining his on the floor.

You grab the collar of his shirt, no longer worrying about what your friends might hear on the other side of the door. Your thoughts lay solely on Eddie, his lips, his body, his love.

No sooner do you yank his shirt off him then he wraps his arms back around your waist. His lips melt against the flesh of your neck making every inch of your body dissolve.

“Eddie..." you moan in his ear overwhelming his senses.

He loses all sense of control. Everything from the softness of your skin against his to the sweetness of your lips take over his every urge.

He never wanted anyone so violently, so desperately.

He grabs the back of your thighs, nibbling your neck making you shudder and gasp, your slit begging for his attention. His fingers become entangled around the sides of your panties, ripping them off your body.

Before you know it, Eddie grabs your ass, making you yelp in surprise. He can't help but smirk at you as he drags you off the dresser, your back leaning up against the drawers as he stares hungrily into your eyes.

“Eddie... what- AHH!"

Eddie forces your body around, his chest up against your back forcing you to look at yourself in the mirror.

His right hand moves across your chest, teasing your left nipple through your thin bralette, making it hard.

He watches you in the mirror as you close your eyes, moaning softly as the fingers on his left hand trace down your abdomen, inching closer and closer to the flooded area between your legs.

His lips move up your neck to your ear, "You drive me absolutely crazy.”

Your breathing becomes hitched, your back arched as his fingers slip between your legs. He teases the slide of your slit, his thumb barely pressed up against your clit making you shudder and moan.

Eddie murmurs into your ear, “So beautiful.”

His low, raspy voice almost making you cum immediately.

He plunges his finger into you, making you almost cry out in pure bliss. The desire and lust for Eddies touch satisfied as he sends a wave of adrenaline with every thrust of his finger.

Eddie grits his teeth as he watches your body in the mirror. It twists and shakes making the tip of his dick produce a small wetness. You grind your hips against his hand as he dives another finger in, moving them harder and faster.

"Fuck! Eddie!" you nearly shout.

His chest tightens as he hears you moan his name. He can't take much more of this. Every inch of his body is screaming, begging him to fuck you and fuck you hard.

"Damn it Y/N I need you now!" he says as a desperate command.

You try to steady your breathing as you look into the mirror at Eddies eyes. He gasps, his muscles tightening as he sees your eyes slowly glance down to the quivering bulge hiding in his boxers.

"I'm not stopping you."

Eddie breaks. The feral, animal-like nature bursting as he tears off his boxers. His chest crushing against your back, positioning himself between your legs as you place your right knee on the surface of the dresser.

His arms wrap around you, holding you tight against him. You turn your head to meet Eddies lips, licking them as the head of his cock teases the opening of your pussy, making you both moan into each others mouths.

Eddie places his thumb against your cheek, his other hand grasping your hip, as he thrusts himself inside you.

"FUCK!" you curse loudly.

He quickly slaps his hand over your mouth.

"Shh!" He whispers loudly, "They'll hear us!"

This only excites you more, making you squirm as his low, rough grunts ripple through your ears.

Eddie grabs the back of your right knee, supporting you as his dick plunges deeper inside you. He pants hard, his body glistening with sweat as you hang your head back against his shoulder, producing a raw, intense, absolutely unrestrained moan against his hand.

The smell of your cum on his fingers intoxicate him, your labored breaths and pleased hums pushing him over the edge as he fucks you hard. The mirror on the dresser shakes, the vines snapping with each thrusts he makes.

"Fucking hell Eddie!!" you grunt.

He chuckles, watching your reactions to his movements in the mirror. The rhythm of his hips never swaying as his thumb traces the outline of your jaw.

You gasp as he grasps your chin, both of you practically left breathless as your lips meet. You can feel his dick swell inside you, his heart pounding against your back.

"You shouldn't have teased me," he murmurs between your lips.

You suddenly grab the guitar pick hanging around his neck, making him gasp as you force him to stare deeply into your eyes.

"You shouldnt have shoved me against that wall," you say in a deep, sultry tone, nearly making his dick explode inside you on the spot.

Eddies mouth curls into a grin. He grabs your wrist, yanking them off his necklace as he pulls himself out of you. He quickly spins your body back around to face his. His hands on your hips, he walks back, leading your body as his tongue dives deep into your mouth.

You suddenly find yourself backed up against a wall. For a moment you forget to breathe as Eddie lifts you as if you were weightless. Your legs wrap around his waist, drawing his dick into your hot, wet pussy.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head, you can hear Eddie's breathing become labored, tense. His hips grinding his hard, eager cock in and out of you.

"Jesus Christ you feel so fucking good Y/N!" he labors.

You tangle your hands in his hair, your legs shaking around his hips as you whimper against his mouth, begging him for more as the tension in your body begins to build.

Eddie dick can barely hold on. He doesn't want to stop, his thoughts obsessed with making you cum as he plunges into you hard and deep, making him moan your name.

You can only take a few more thrusts of Eddie's swollen dick, every movement sending a wave of ecstasy throughout your body as your climax reaches its peak.

"Eddie," you whimper, "I- I- I'm about to-!"

You can't finish your sentence as Eddie suddenly bucks his hips hard, hitting you just in the right spot to make you cum all over him.

Eddie bites his lower lip hard feeling your cum dribble down the length of his cock. He moans, his dick bursting inside you as he thrust in your pussy once more.

He holds your body tight against his, hugging you close as the feeling of relief and satisfaction sending a wave of pleasure through his body.

You let your legs slowly fall from around Eddies waist, making you collapse back against the wall exhausted. You both look deep in each other eyes before Eddie grasps your chin, kissing you deeply.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

"Damn, you're fucking amazing Sweetheart" he breathes softly.

You chuckle, wrapping your arms back around his neck to go for round two when you hear Dustin in the distance.

"Okay guys," he shouts down from The Rightside Up, "Its ready."

"Perfect timing," Eddie grins pulling away from you.

You pout, "No..." grabbing the guitar pick around his neck once more.

He doesnt bother resisting, murmuring between your kisses.

"We really- mm... need to- m-mhm- grab... that, ah, mattress now."

"Just a little longer," you request giving him more soft pecks.

Eddie cant help but smile as he lifts his lips from yours, "Youll have me all to yourself once I get you back home."

You sigh, watching him grab his boxers and jeans from the floor.

"Oh really now?" you flirt.

Eddie slips on his clothes, giving you a look when he reaches for his jacket.

"Yes really," he say bemused, "So stop looking at me like that and help me with this thing before Harrington-"

Theres a loud knock on the door making you both jump and turn your heads.

"How long does it to take for you two to get a damn mattress?!" Steve shouts from the other side.

Eddie hears a zip. The corner of his mouth turning upwards at your blushing face as you quickly throw your clothes. He walks the few steps over to you, pulling you by your waist back up against his chest. He looks over you, his eyes resting on yours as his fingers comb through the new tangles in your hair.

"Long enough."

[hiscrimsonangel]

Lead Singer of Corroded Coffin, Eddie Munson, for Style Magazine Cover Shoot

[hiscrimsonangel]

Steve joining Hopper as a police officer and being perfect for the job.

That is, until Hopper sends Steve and Jameson, his partner, to deal with a call regarding a bar fight.

Because the bar is the same one Eddie and Corroded Coffin play every other night, the one he was actually playing that night, and when Steve finally gets there he finds his boyfriend with a bloodied nose and a split lip, black shirt torn on one shoulder. The rest of the band is in similar state and on the other side of the bar the owner is glaring and yelling at a bunch of guys; they too look pretty beaten up.

“What the hell happened to you?” Steve asks, alarmed, but his boyfriend just shrugs.

“Guys were being assholes, so I shut them up. No biggie.”

“Eddie! You can’t assault people like-”

“They called Eddie a fag and one of them slapped Josy’s ass when she passed by their table,” Gareth interrupts.

And, like flipping a switch, Steves stops. His gaze falls over Gareth, laser focused.

“They did what?”

“Called Eddie a fag.”

Two hours later, Steve sits quietly on the chair in Hopper’s office, as the older man yaps at him about being stupid and doing things without thinking first. He gets his first written warning for bad conduct that night because, apparently, beating up the guys you were supposed to get statements from is not allowed, even if you beat them up to protect the honor of your loved ones.

[hiscrimsonangel]

Wednesdays

Eddie Munson x reader

angst and fluff!!!

You and Eddie had a thing.

Not a label. Not a relationship. But… a thing.

Every Wednesday afternoon, you’d both end up at Scoops Ahoy, the ice cream shop tucked into the corner of the Starcourt Mall. Robin and Steve worked behind the counter. You and Eddie would claim the same booth every time.

You’d share sundaes, argue about movies, and talk about everything and nothing until the sun went down. It was kind of your ritual. Eddie would pick you up. You’d sit in that booth. You’d let your shoulder fall against his. And when you laughed, he always looked at you like you were a song he couldn’t quite play.

And you…

You were in love with him.

Had been for a while.

And it almost felt like he knew.

But he never touched you back.

You’d rest your hand on his. He’d pretend to be digging in his pocket. You’d lean your head on his shoulder. He’d shift away with a forced cough.

You tried not to take it personally. He was Eddie, after all. A little odd. A little closed off.

But God, it started to ache.

——

One Wednesday, it finally cracked.

You’d just told him about the song that reminded you of him, something soft and warm, about love and fear and wanting someone to stay, and you ended it with your head tilted against his arm and a soft smile.

Eddie didn’t say anything for a long time.

Then, he pulled his arm away and muttered, “Can you not?”

You blinked. “Not what?”

He kept his eyes on his half-melted sundae. “Stop being so… clingy all the time.”

The booth went silent.

Robin froze mid-scoop behind the counter. Steve stopped wiping down the machine. You stared at Eddie like he’d slapped you.

“Oh,” you said quietly.

He still wouldn’t look at you.

“I didn’t mean it like—”

“No,” you nodded. “It’s fine.”

You stood up.

“Don’t worry. You won’t have to deal with me next Wednesday.”

And just like that, you walked out of the ice cream shop.

Eddie never got the chance to explain that he was scared… scared of feeling things he didn’t think he deserved. Scared that if he let himself have you, he’d mess it all up.

So instead, he stayed in that booth. Alone. For weeks.

——

Three Wednesdays passed.

No laughter. No teasing. No soft smiles or ice cream-sticky fingers.

Eddie still showed up.

Same booth. Same sundae. Same empty side of the table.

Robin watched him sit there, eyes fixed on the door like maybe….just maybe…you’d come back.

Steve finally sighed and muttered, “He’s killing me, man. It’s like Eeyore with a guitar.”

Robin crossed her arms. “He’s never gonna fix it unless she knows he wants to.”

Steve raised an eyebrow.

Robin pulled out the shop phone.

—-

You didn’t answer the first call.

Or the second.

But when Robin called the third time, you finally picked up.

“Before you hang up,” she blurted, “he’s here.”

You were silent.

“He’s here every Wednesday. Just sitting there. Looking like a kicked puppy. He hasn’t touched his sundae. He asked Steve last week if he thinks you hate him.”

You closed your eyes. “I don’t hate him.”

“Then maybe come tell him that.”

You didn’t promise anything. Didn’t even say goodbye.

But an hour later, the bell above the door jingled and Eddie looked up to see you standing there, nervous and fidgeting in the doorway.

His whole body froze.

You walked slowly toward the booth. He stood up like he was afraid you’d disappear.

“Hi,” you said softly.

Eddie swallowed hard. “Hey.”

“I wasn’t being clingy,” you said. Not mean. Just honest.

“I know.” He stepped closer. “I was being stupid. And scared. And cruel. And I’m sorry.”

You looked down.

“I missed you,” he added, voice cracking. “Every Wednesday felt like a thousand years.”

You finally looked up at him. “Then why’d you push me away?”

He hesitated. Then: “Because I felt everything, and I didn’t know if I was allowed to.”

You stared.

“I didn’t think I was good enough for you to love. So I told myself you didn’t. I told you not to. Because if you stayed and I messed it up, it would kill me.”

You didn’t say anything.

He reached for your hand. “But I miss you more than I’m scared now.”

You held his hand back.

“Good,” you whispered. “Because I still love you. Even if you don’t believe you deserve it yet.”

He blinked quickly. “I’m getting there.”

You smiled, tears threatening. “Let me know when you arrive.”

Eddie grinned, both shy and honest and leaned in to press a kiss to your cheek.

The booth was yours again.

Sundaes. Shoulder touches. Soft music.

And this time, he didn’t move away.

He moved closer.

[hiscrimsonangel]

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

[hiscrimsonangel]

Steve, sitting on the toilet, doing his daily green owl, learning Japanese.

Eddie, mumbling because he's brushing his teeth : I wish you'd do that somewhere else sometimes. You're going to Pavlov yourself.

S: Worried I'll only be able to speak Japanese when I'm sitting on the toilet?

E: No, I'm worried you'll hear some Japanese and then shit yourself.

[hiscrimsonangel]

If this were the 80’s and Eddie was real I would call the local radio station (WSQK? ) and have them play this with a dedication to him. Gorgeous little dungeon master that he is…

[hiscrimsonangel]

Day Two: Breeding

for @stmarchmm

Eddie assumes trying for a baby will involve lots of tender lovemaking with his beautiful omega.

He’s not prepared for Steve’s intense facial expressions, the fancy breeding pillow, or having to drop what he’s doing at a moment’s notice to fuck.

“We’re missing out on valuable ovulation time, alpha. If you can’t take your pants off any faster, I’m ripping them off you.”

Eddie laughs at the joke, still fumbling away at his zipper.

Steve’s apparently not joking though because his hands smack Eddie’s out of the way and then he tugs hard.

The tugging does very little to solve the problem because his pants are definitely still zipped and buttoned, but his omega does not seem to give a shit.

“Off,” Steve growls angrily. “Now.”

Christ, his omega is so hot when he’s horny. And scary too. A dangerous combination for Eddie’s already ridiculous attraction to his mate.

“I got it, sweetheart. You can lay down now, I can do this.”

Steve purses his lips and sends him a bitchy glare, not moving away from his chosen task.

At this rate, Eddie’s going to pop his knot before he gets anywhere near Steve’s fertile pussy.

“Apparently you can’t do this by yourself because your pants are still on and covering your dick.”

Eddie opens his mouth to defend himself, but his mate is not willing to be easily deterred.

“If your knot is not flooding my goddamn cervix with pups in the next 30 seconds, you won’t get to knot me for a month,” Steve states with an eerie calmness that conveys the seriousness of his threat.

Well, shit.

Miraculously, Eddie manages to get his jeans and boxers off without undoing a single zipper or button.

He loses a few brave pubes in the struggle, but it’s worth the momentary pain to hear Steve’s happy purring and see his sweet, satisfied face as he’s pumped full of their precious future babies.

[hiscrimsonangel]

I can’t help but love this silly man…

[hiscrimsonangel]

Hit the Ground (Running)

You can read part one right here!

Chicago, Illinois - 1989

Eddie wakes up to the smell of breakfast and sits up, surveying the room. He and Steve’s bedroom was covered in posters of their favorite bands, movies, shows, all the concert stubs and event slips. Backstage passes and the news article from the release of ‘Butterfly’s Blood.’

Steve’s personnel tour badge and his id hung from a lanyard on the wall by the door. Eddie smiled.

When Hope for the Worst was written, he never imagined that it would garner the attention that it did. But now they’re a real, actual touring band and he still has to pinch himself sometimes.

As he slipped on his sweats and made his way to the kitchen, he thought about the making of the album.

———————

The very first song he’d written for that album had been skyline. He was so angry at himself that he had basically stopped writing lyrics until Skyline came along. But the lyrics came easy, and noodling around meant that the melody and the rhythm came even easier. The bassline was written in two minutes, and the drums in only double that amount of time.

The new bass drum had a red butterfly on the front, splattered with paint from painting the rims black. Big black letters spelled CARNAGE where Corroded Coffin once sat. It was the end of something great, but the start of something even greater. They just didn’t know it yet.

The rest of the album was written and recorded in four weeks, taped on seven different cassettes and shipped out to different labels around the country. Two of them sent back offers to sign and four others offered to pitch their band for shows but wouldn’t sign them.

Eddie screamed like a banshee when the seventh tape came back with a letter offering them a contract, a touring program and six publicity shows in major cities. Steve had come running into the living room of the trailer half naked, terrified that something had happened but instead, stood with his jaw hanging open when he saw the letter. He screamed right along with Eddie before picking him up and spinning him; kissing him like it was the last time.

“Holy shit, no way!! Eddie, that’s fucking insane!! You guys did it!” Steve laughed, hugging Eddie tight. Eddie smiled all watery and threw his arms around Steve, waddling side to side with him as they hugged. Steve got dressed and went to get beers to celebrate as Eddie called the band.

Jeff screamed and whooped.

Freak lost his mind.

Gareth passed out.

It was one of the best moments of his life. And he wouldn’t have been there without Steve. The band was set to leave in four months. After the album was produced and released, they would start the publicity trail. They would go to Los Angeles, along the sunset strip, then circle back around to Austin, Kansas City, Chicago, Miami and Charlotte. From there, they had two months of downtime and then the real tour started. 86 shows in 75 different cities. A year of being on the road.

Eddie sat Steve down when he returned and begged him to come with them. He could quit family video and work with the tour crew. Or even just be there for the ride. None of this would have been possible if not for Steve’s words. And Eddie didn’t want a single minute of it if Steve wasn’t there too.

Steve had agreed without much persuasion and four months later he was front row at one of the sunset strip’s biggest stages, watching Eddie and the band perform. People loved them. They loved the way Jeff and Eddie interacted during performances, and Gareth’s drum solo during leatherback, baby! was a hit.

Hope for the Worst was the first music video filmed for the album and was released by Voyage records. Originally, they were supposed to start the video with a bar fight and Eddie was supposed to get hit with a bottle. The minute the bar fight was pitched to the band, Eddie asked their producer to get in contact with the Hideout and get the footage from Corroded Coffin’s last performance. Fuck the bottle, what about a stage?

Corroded Coffin may have met its end in 1987 but in 1988, CARNAGE went on tour. In July of ‘88, they dominated the stage at different cities all around the US. Steve became part of the tour staff and ran the merch table between segments of the shows.

Maybe, just maybe, making it looked a little different than Eddie had expected.

So what?

In 1989, four months after the tour finished and two 1/2 years after Eddie’s fall at the Hideout, the album rereleased with four additional tracks and the Demo of Skyline.

CARNAGE dominated the charts for months.

Tracklist for ‘Butterfly’s Blood’ (March 27th, 1988)

1. Skyline

2. Move along

3. Eat dust

4. Killswitch

5. Easy street

6. Kiss it

7. Leatherback, baby!

8. Pleaser

9. Hope for the Worst

[hiscrimsonangel]

Perfect. ❤️‍🔥

[hiscrimsonangel]

[hiscrimsonangel]

Does this look like a murderous Satan worshipping cult leader to you? He’s so doe eyes and yummy!

[hiscrimsonangel]

The prettiest boy in all of Hawkins… no all of Indiana… no all of the Midwest! 😘

[hiscrimsonangel]

*swoon* oh I could run away with him and never look back… 🖤. Eddie Munson, Metal muffin 🥰

[hiscrimsonangel]

Eddie 🖤

Such a cheeky boy he is…