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munsonburn3r · 10 days ago

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Soundtrack to Disaster

Chapter XXII: I’m Terrified, but I Can’t Resist

songs for this chapter: but not often, by microwave, finally // beautiful stranger by halsey, 2YL by the front bottoms, autumn dress by mat kerekes

chapter tags: fluff!, first date, swearing, drinking, smoking, adult language, flirting, making out, heavy petting?/dry humping, cumming in pants bc eddie’s pathetic. this chapter is LONG sorryyyyy love u mean it enjoy | fic tags: Angst, hurt/(eventual) comfort, (eventual) smut, slow burn, enemies to friends to lovers, Eddie Munson x Fem!OC!Reader, Modern AU | REMINDER: THIS FIC IS RATED EXPLICIT. 18+ mdni.

a/n: i really have not seen LOTR… dont be mad at me.

taglist: @children-of-the-grave @five-bi-five @kellsck @faggotinie @xplrnowornever @taccobelle @micheledawn1975 @mewchiili @dreamerjj @losingmygrasponreality @munsonburn3r @justalotoffanfiction @bl0ssomanddie @eddiesgirl1944 @longlivedelusion @aliensfeltmyjoy

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—

This time, you’re awake by nine a.m., mostly to avoid another interaction with Eddie while you’re in a towel. You stretch slowly, eyes adjusting to the sunlight streaming through your windows, the dull sound of your brother’s television floating through the walls, background noise in an otherwise quiet house. After rolling out of your bed and half making it, you dig through your dresser for an outfit. Having absolutely no idea what Eddie is planning to do for lunch, you stare at your closet at a loss for inspiration for about ten minutes before texting him.

>hey

Eddie: good morning : )

>holy shit ur awake

Eddie: what can i say ive got a hot date. too excited to sleep

>is this a date?

Eddie: i thought that went without saying! sorry. yes. i'm taking u on a date. : )

>ok smooth talker. where are we going?

Eddie: it’s a surprise

>can i at least have like, dress code parameters?

Eddie: wear something you’d wear on a date!

>ok then. guess i'll figure it out. see u soon

Eddie: cant wait : )

A date. You have a date with Eddie Munson. The word feels wrong, like a shoe on the wrong foot. You go back into your closet, sifting through the hangers of different thrifted items you’d bought without somewhere to wear them. Finally, you pull a piece from its hanger: a black, deep cut, form fitting dress that ends mid thigh. You pair it with a pair of chunky lace up boots, and a simple silver chain you clasp around your neck. You decide against taking your sweater, the air unseasonably warm for autumn lately.

Taking a deep breath, you observe yourself in the full length mirror. You look good, far too good for something that doesn’t even have a label on it. You groan, but decide against changing, and spray yourself with your favorite perfume instead before heading to the bathroom to do your makeup.

–

There’s a knock on your apartment door at noon, and you panic.

“Where you goin’ all fancy?” Chris asks, eyes not leaving his game on the screen.

“I um.” You can’t really lie your way out of this one, considering Eddie is on the other side of that door. “I have a date.”

“You what?!” Chris clicks a button on his controller, stopping the movement on the screen to look directly at you. “Is it with who I think it is?!”

This is it. This is how the entire town finds out you and Eddie are, well, the label is predetermined. You twist the knob and let the door fall open, and the sight before you is not what you’re expecting even a little bit. Eddie is dressed in a black, bicep hugging button down with its top two buttons open, and dark blue jeans with zero rips in the knees. Even his boots look a little shinier. He’s still wearing his worn out leather jacket over it, and his guitar pick necklace sits under his shirt collar, and his hair is fluffier than usual like he’s taken extra care to actually style his curls. He looks hot.

“No fuckin’ way.” Chris mumbles when Eddie hands you a bouquet.

“Holy shit. You look incredible.” Eddie’s smile stretches as he takes you in. “I um, I didn’t know what kind of flowers you’d like. I got these because I remembered you liked to pick ‘em as a kid.”

“They’re perfect. Thank you.” Little white daisies. You used to wear them in your hair during the summer, sometimes weaving them into headbands and giving them to Eddie. He’d wear them for you, every time. When you look up at him, you find him with bright red cheeks, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck like it’ll settle his nerves. “Let me put these in a vase, I’ll be right back.” Eddie nods, stepping over the threshold. “Chris, can you meet me in the kitchen for a sec, please?”

Confused, Chris pulls himself from the couch and follows you. “You’re dating him?! And you didn’t tell me?!”

“No, Chris. I am going on a date with him. One. Singular. And you’re not gonna say a goddamn word about it to anyone!”

“Why are you hiding this? Everyone already knows he’s in love with you, and we’re pretty sure you–”

“This is why I haven’t told anyone. Everyone thinks they know exactly what the fuck is going on, that they know me better than I know myself. I am giving him a chance. I want to see this through for myself without having you, Rob, and Steve breathing down my fuckin’ neck. Okay?”

“Will you at least tell me if it goes well?”

“Maybe, if I feel so inclined.” It would be nice to talk to someone about Eddie, but you’re definitely not too sure Chris is the right choice. “But don’t nag me about it. Or him, that wouldn’t be fair to Eddie.”

“God, this is so strange. Just weeks ago you two were at each other’s throats. I promise, your secret is safe with me.”

“It better be, or I’ll make sure you never know another thing about me again.” You place the flowers into a pitcher, realizing you don’t actually own a vase. “Go buy a vase for these, and your debt will be paid.”

“Debt?”

“If you didn’t live with me, you wouldn't know this information. Now that you know, you owe me.”

“Ugh, fine. Is my debt repaid with the vase?”

“Not even remotely. Thank you!” And you turn from him, making your way back into the living room. Eddie offers out his arm for you, and you take it, ignoring the stifled giggles behind you. You turn to face your brother once more. “Don’t wait up.” With that, you close the door behind you.

“Should I have waited in the car? I figured I’d come to the door, this being a date and all.” His tone is teasing, but his eyes betray the worry underneath.

“No, it’s okay. I just had to give my brother a rundown on all the things that would happen to him if he shared this information with anyone.” You scan Eddie head to toe as you speak. “You look great, by the way. Loving the hair.” You wince at your awkward delivery.

“Why, thank you. Steve helped me pick out some stuff to try.” Eddie must catch the way your face twitches, because he doubles back. “No, no. I didn’t tell him what I needed it for, he figured I was experimenting for future Coffin shows. Don’t worry, my lips have been sealed.

You give him a small smile when he opens the door to the parking lot. “Okay. Thank you, by the way. I just don’t need anyone in my personal business right now. I just wanna have something to myself.” You look up at him again, nose scrunched. “I want you, to myself.”

“I’m all yours, sweetheart.” He yanks the passenger door to his van open for you, and you climb into the seat. Before you’re even buckled in, Eddie’s stepping on the gas pedal, his tires kicking up gravel. “About those sealed lips though,” He starts, and you turn to look at him. His eyes are glued to the road, unblinking. “They’re aching to move, y’know. Wonder if there’s anything else I can be doin’ with ‘em.”

“Huh, sounds like you’re in a predicament.” You play along with his false nonchalance, keeping your tone casual like you can’t feel your heart suddenly slamming against your ribs.

“Guess we’ll have to brainstorm then.” Eddie just shrugs, and you have to look away, out the side window, not risking letting him see the way you’re grinning like an idiot right now.

–

It’s only forty five minutes outside of Hawkins, but Indianapolis feels like a distant land to you sometimes. Your parents had never taken you into the city as a kid, and Chris had never been one to invite his “baby sister” to the shows he and Eddie had frequented as teenagers.

“Where the hell are we going?” You ask finally as Eddie cuts the wheel.

“You’ll see! We’re almost there.” Eddie winks at you, then slams on his brake. “HEY, FUCKHEAD! In no goddamn universe do people turning left have the right of way!” The windows are rolled up, you know the guy can’t hear Eddie’s cursing, but you join him anyway.

“JESUS CHRIST, they’ll give anyone a fuckin’ license!” He then exaggerates his breathing; inhaling deeply through his nose with flared nostrils, blowing out slowly through his mouth. “Okay. I’m zen.”

“Totally.”

“And we’re here!” Eddie pulls his van up to the entrance and you can’t help the way your jaw unhinges.

“Oh my god.” Harry and Izzy’s. “Harry and Izzy’s?!” You whip around to gawk at Eddie, and he’s already got a look of glee on his face. “How did you–” Afford it? That’s rude, Bee. “This is insane.”

“Been savin’ for a rainy day. Turns out sometimes that means a first date with someone you… um, really like.” You feel insane. Eddie Munson is making you insane. “Shall we?”

“Ed, we can’t park here.”

“My dearest, sweetest Bee,” You blush at his cooing. “They do have valet parking here.”

Oh. “Right, yeah. Duh.” Eddie throws his van into park, and immediately an attendant is opening the door to help you out. “Oh. Shit, thanks.”

“Of course, miss.” You try not to betray your disgust at the way the man– or boy, probably no older than eighteen– addresses you. You have no idea how to act in this environment, and you feel like an imposter even setting foot into the restaurant. Once you’re out of the car, he lets your hand go and circles around to the driver’s side.

“Don’t go joyriding now, I know you’ve never seen such a sweet ride.” Eddie pats the kid’s shoulder, and you swear even he cracks a smile. No one can resist the Munson charm, not even snobby frat boy waiters in the city. Eddie skips onto the curb and offers you his arm, which you lace your own through. “Shall we?”

“Why the hell not!” You attempt to keep your nerves hidden, subtly wiping your clammy palm against your thigh. Eddie opens the door, and you let go of him to enter, reluctant to let go of him even for a second. He ends up stuck holding the door for a pair of exiting old ladies, who gush with praise at “The sweet young man holding the door,” and “Handsome, too!” before finally reappearing back at your side at the host stand.

“Welcome to Harry and Izzy’s. Do you have a reservation?” Shit. There’s no way in hell he’d have been able to make a reservation for only a day–

“Munson, party of two?” He leans against the counter, as if to block the waiter’s view of you.

“I’m not seeing–” Something cuts him off, and you pretend not to see Eddie slip the host a fifty dollar bill. Before he can finish his sentence, the guy is changing his tune. “Oh, of course. Right this way, sir.” He snatches two menus from the table top and punches in a few things on his tablet screen before motioning you and Eddie to follow him. Eddie takes your arm again, and you stifle a snicker at the absurdity of your circumstances.

“Emily will be right with you.” He places the menus and silverware down, pours you each a glass of water, and speed walks away before someone can scold him for taking a bribe from two hoodlums.

When he’s out of earshot, you turn back to your date. “You are something else, Munson.”

He shrugs. “Psh, that’s nothin’. You should see me talk my way out of a speeding ticket.”

“At this rate, I’m sure I’ll bear witness to that sooner than later.” You nudge his foot with yours under the table.

“Oh, yeah? Plan on stickin’ around?”

“Well, I mean… I thought that was kinda obvious?”

“The day is young, you still have time to escape.” Though he has a joking lilt in his tone, there’s a sharpness to his words, like he believes them to be necessary. He has to give you the option, the out.

“I’ve got nothin’ else goin’ on.” You shrug, tiptoeing around his offer. “I’ll let you know if that changes. Don’t count on it, though.” The way he looks at you as you talk shakes you a little. “What’re you lookin’ at?” You nudge his foot with yours under the table. Before he can respond, you’re approached by a waitress you can only describe as classically beautiful.

“Welcome to Harry and Izzy’s, my name is Emily. I’ll be takin’ care of y’all this evenin’.” Even the twang in her voice sounds like a crystal bell. When you look at Eddie, though, he still hasn’t taken his eyes off of you. Trying to ignore the butterflies flapping in your gut, you shield your face with the menu. Emily then looks to Eddie, and he finally looks up at this stunning, radiant woman and doesn’t bat an eye. She, however, seems to notice how beautiful Eddie is, because how could you not?

He orders appetizers and drinks with ease, and Emily seems to write at a sloth’s pace, nodding her head without breaking eye contact, and you watch it all over the top edge of the menu.

“Alright, I’ll be right back with y’all’s drinks!” She has the audacity to brush Eddie on the shoulder as she walks away, her perfectly manicured fingers sliding across the fabric of his shirt. At this point, you’ve gnawed a hole in your tongue with how hard you’re biting it. There is no valid reason for the rage you feel for your waitress, you can’t even blame her.

“You alright over there?” Eddie brings you back to the present, and you meet his eyes again.

“Mhm, yeah!” You say, a little too enthusiastically.

Of course, he sees right through you. “What, her? No.” He shakes his head as he laughs, and you roll your eyes. “What?”

“Oh, please! She wants it, bad. You’re telling me you can’t see that?”

“I only have eyes for you, sweetheart.” He clasps his heart with both hands as he says it, drawing out each word, tone thick with intent. You gulp. “But enough about that. How are you?”

Still reeling from Eddie’s sudden confession, you stutter. “I– um. Hm. I mean,” He stifles a laugh with an exhale, and you join him. “Sorry, this is just so jarring. Kinda hard to do the first date small talk thing when I already know your deepest, darkest secrets.” Emily comes back, placing your drinks in front of you. You’ve chosen to go non alcoholic this time, a freshly squeezed lemonade instead, and Eddie’s ordered a coke.

“Appetizers will be right on out. Y’all need more time with the menu?” She only looks at Eddie, like you’re not even there. For some reason that seems to hurt worse than the fact that she’s hitting on your date.

“Yeah, just a bit. Thanks.” His tone is curt, and it surprises you. Emily doesn’t seem to pick up on that, though, and taps the top of Eddie’s hand this time before walking away. You take a sip of your lemonade and wish for vodka. “Okay, that’s, like, super uncomfortable.” Eddie scratches the back of his neck, averting his gaze to the silverware on the table.

“You want me to say something?” You offer, and immediately wish you hadn’t. It’s not that you can’t confront people. You’re incredible at it, in fact. What scares you is the idea of Eddie watching you do that to someone, even if she has it coming.

“I can’t ask you to do that. If you choose to, however, I will not stop you.”

“Noted.” Permission granted. “She’s coming back. Quick, hold my hand.” You put your hand out on the table, and he grabs it in his just as she returns with the three separate appetizers Eddie’s ordered without your knowledge. There’s an array of finger foods including bacon with root beer glaze, toasted ravioli, and the “world famous” shrimp cocktail. As she sets them down, you catch her staring at your entwined fingers, and her expression softens instantly. You want to laugh, but you want to give her the benefit of the doubt.

“Alright, what can I getcha?” She perks back up, looking first to you this time. Her smile doesn’t meet her eyes as she looks at you, it looks more like she’s gritting her teeth in pain. Ignoring the way her eyes bore into you, you rattle off your order in a single breath.

“And you, handsome?”

“Oh, you’re fuckin’ kidding me.” You blurt, and quickly slap your hand over your mouth to stifle a cackle as Eddie snorts. Emily’s eyes are wide with horror as she looks back at you.

“Pardon me, miss?”

“You see me, right? You know I’m here? You must, you just took my order.”

“I don’t understand–”

“Answer the question.”

“Yes, miss, I see you.”

“You see me holding this guy’s hand then?”

“Well, ‘course I do, I–”

“So what the hell are you doing?”

“My job, darlin’! Chattin’ y’all up, workin’ my charm. I don’t see a problem with that. Much easier to fake it when the customers are pretty as him, though.” She winks at you, and your vision tunnels.

“You just flirt with people that are here on dates?”

Emily shrugs. “Makes my day more entertainin’. You got a good one though. Usually they’ll break their necks to look my way.” She looks at Eddie again. “You must love her, huh? How long y’all been together?”

“Oh we’re not–” You and Eddie both rush to correct her, and she laughs. When you don’t join her, she looks between the two of you.

“Seriously? So, you’ve just been in love with her for– wait lemme guess!” She brings her finger up to her chin, tapping as she studies Eddie’s face for clues. “Decade, at least.” You pretend not to catch Eddie’s eyes widen slightly when she says it. “Oh brother, I really stepped in it this time. Sorry, darlin’.” She smiles apologetically at you. “How about a round on me?”

At that offer, Eddie looks at you again and you shrug. “Why the hell not!”

The food is incredible, and things have been sorted with your waitress. The tension has completely disappeared from your bones, save for Emily’s voice on loop in your head: You’ve been in love with her for a decade at least. That can’t be true, can it? The pair of you end up ordering a second round of drinks, and have fallen down a rabbit hole of a conversation.

“So you’re tellin’ me you’ve never seen the Lord of the Rings movies?”

You shake your head, taking the final sip of your cocktail. “Nope, not once. Chris tried getting me to watch at least the original with him, but I fell asleep. Think he was too offended to even bother after that.”

“So your Halloween costume?”

“Was more inspired by the general idea of medieval elves. And Legend of Zelda.”

“Are you, like, completely opposed to the idea of watching them?”

You are absolutely loving the way Eddie’s looking at you right now, like a puppy begging for a treat. “Not entirely. I’m sure you’d be able to convince me.”

“Careful, I am not above groveling.”

“I don’t think I’ll make you do that. This time.” You giggle, and his head falls to his shoulder, smile stretching wider, giving way for deep dimples. You find yourself having to catch your breath after looking at him for too long. “You busy tonight?”

He shakes his head eagerly. “Not even a little.”

“Okay, that settles it. Movie night at yours, maybe I can stay awake long enough this time!”

—

Eddie pays the check without letting you help.

“Oh, c’mon. This place is so expensive, let me at least pay for my food.”

“Absolutely not,” He signs his name on the receipt. “I chose this place on purpose. Had some money saved for a rainy day anyway, this gives me an excuse to splurge.” He drops another fifty in cash on the table as a tip.

“That tip is massive, Ed.”

He shrugs. “She’s the reason you held my hand, gotta thank her somehow.” He says it so casually, but you can feel the tips of your ears warm at his words. “C’mon, doll. I’ve got more planned for us.”

You leave the restaurant with your arms linked, waving to Emily with big smiles and she calls out, “You better hold on to her, baby! She may not know it yet, but she’s head over heels!” You can only smile, unable to stop your facial muscles from betraying you.

Eddie opens the van door for you when the valet brings it to the curb, and you climb in to retreat from the chilly weather. The sun isn’t quite setting yet, but the air has gained a crispness, and you realize you’ve been inside the restaurant for at least a few hours.

“You cold?”

“Little bit. Didn’t expect it to be so cold today.” You shiver, and he gives you a smirk.

“Here,” He starts peeling his jacket from his form, and drapes it over your shoulders. “It’ll look better on you anyway.”

“Such a gentleman all of a sudden?” You poke his bicep and he winces dramatically.

“I’m tryin’ my hardest. You’re makin’ it real hard to be… polite while you’re wearin’ the hell outta that dress, though.” He lowers his voice, though no one’s around to overhear. “Been thinkin’ of how nice you must look underneath it.” You’re usually rather quick on the banter, but you can’t think of a single clever retort. It’s embarrassing, really.

“Slow down there, killer. The night is still young.” You glance at the clock on his dash, blinking 3:45.

“You’re right, I still have plenty of time to seduce you. The Rings movies have a total run time of nine hours.”

“Sorry, NINE?!”

“And three minutes.” He smiles teasingly. “And that’s just the theatrical versions. The extended cuts add up to almost twelve hours.”

“And we’re gonna watch them all? Tonight?”

He shrugs. “We can see where the evening takes up. But first, it’s taking us to the grocery store. For snacks.”

“I’m gonna need a caffeinated beverage if you’re expecting me to watch this entire trilogy with you.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged.”

The automatic doors to the grocery store slide open, and you’re met with the icy cold air of the industrial refrigerators of the dairy aisle immediately to your left. You shrug Eddie’s jacket the rest of the way onto your body and wrap it tightly around your core, surrounding yourself with his scent. Meanwhile, Eddie makes a beeline for the candy aisle, not even bothering to grab a cart or even a hand basket for his goodies.

“You want popcorn too? I might have some at my place but I can grab more just in case.” He’s holding two different brands of microwavable popcorn in front of him, debating on them like he’s voting for president. “This one says extra salty, but this one says extra buttery. Why must we pin two queens against each other?”

You cackle, plucking the extra buttery popcorn out of his hand. “I prefer butter to salt.”

“Then butter it shall be.” He puts the second box back in its spot, and grabs a bag of M&Ms instead. “You want anything to snack on?” You scan the shelves, not necessarily searching for something specific, but you lock onto the brightly colored packaging and snag a bag of gummy bears. He nods in approval. “Good choice. Drinks?”

You nod, and follow him to the back of the store, where they keep the alcohol. He grabs a six pack of Red Stripe for himself, and you choose a four pack of hard seltzer. He scrunches his nose up at your choice.

“What?”

“You like that stuff?”

You shrug. “It’s light enough, doesn’t make me feel like shit afterwards. Tastes less like piss than that does.” Pointing at his beer, you wrinkle your own features in disgust.

“Well, I guess we’ll never have to worry about one of us drinking the other’s alcohol.” Your expression softens at the image of you and Eddie being in a relationship where you keep your drinks in the same fridge. “Okay! Anything else we need?”

“Not yet, but we are absolutely gonna need a few fillings after tonight.”

“Psh, bring it on.”

–

Eddie closes the door to his apartment, setting the bag of snacks on his coffee table before turning to you. “Did you, uh, wanna change? Not that you like, have to. But if you wanna get more comfortable I… have stuff.” His smooth persona seems to have crumbled in the privacy of his home, and he looks at you like you’re glowing: too bright to stare at for extended periods of time.

“Yeah, sure. That would be nice.” Finding yourself wanting to take advantage of his shyness, you follow him into his bedroom, where he motions to his dresser.

“Take anything you want.”

You nod, and yank the top drawer of t-shirts open, letting them spill over the sides of the drawer as you dig for a specific shirt you’re not even sure he still has.

“Aha!” Finally, you yank the fabric from its spot buried in the back, under a plethora of Metallica, Deftones, and Slipknot shirts. “I can’t believe you still have this thing.” Facing him, you hold the shirt up to show him. You had made the shirt for him in middle school, and he had made you a matching one: A collage of old pictures ironed on in a collage on the front of the shirt, with the words “FRIENDS 4EVER” written in sparkly fabric paint. “A relic of its time, really.”

“Jesus christ. Look at this thing.” Eddie yanks the shirt from you and examines it. “We made these for spirit week.”

“Yeah, you didn’t even wear it.” You cross your arms over your chest, pouting at him. “Killed me when you came to class in a hoodie.”

“I will have you know, I was wearing it. I just didn’t take my sweatshirt off. And I wore it to bed that night. And every night from then until, well.” He doesn’t finish, but you can piece it together.

“That doesn’t count!” You argue mostly just to break the tension. “Little me had no idea your grumpy, brooding ass was such a softy. I’m sure she would have killed to.”

“Well, consider my confession a peace offering. A way to make it up to little you.” He takes the shirt from your hands, unbuttoning his own with a quickness that sends heat through your body.

“No laughing.” You had no intention, the flex of his bare muscles far too distracting to do anything but stare. He slides the shirt, which is way too small for Eddie’s current frame, over his head and onto his body before opening his arms. “Tada!”

You know you’re supposed to laugh. Obviously, it’s funny, the shirt being way too small and covered top to bottom in silly pictures of you and him from the ages of five to eleven. But the humor seems to be lost in your throat, because all you can do is watch the way the tight sleeves of the t-shirt hug his arms, making them look bigger. You can see the outline of the tattoo on his ribcage through the shirt, the fabric stretched taut enough to become transluscent. This should not be turning you on.

He clears his throat, and you snap your eyes to his face. “You good?” He yanks his pants down and kicks them to the side, yanking on a pair of sweat pants slung way too low on his waist, leaving a gap between the waistband and the bottom of the shirt, revealing the sliver of skin you’d kill to put your mouth on.

“What? Oh, yeah. I’m great! Movie?” You’re sweating as you move back to his dresser to pick another shirt.

“You want this one?” Eddie moves to take the shirt off, but you’re not sure you can take seeing him bare chested again.

“No! No, that’s alright, you wear it. As an apology. I’ll wear… this one.” You pull a random baseball tee out and hold it to your chest. “That okay?”

Eddie’s pupils are blown wide when you meet them with your own.

“That’s my Hellfire shirt.”

“Oh, I can choose another–”

“No!” He says a little too loudly. “That one’s totally fine.” And he’s blushing. Ball’s back in your court, as easily as you lost it.

“Okay! You wanna unzip me?”

“Sorry, what now?”

“I can’t reach my zipper.” You point to it, on the back of your dress from your neck to your lower back. “Help me out.”

“Oh, right. Sure.” Eddie waits for you to turn your back, and you swear you can hear him exhale as he pinches the zipper between his fingers. He unzips your dress with gentle hands, careful not to linger on your skin too long. Once he’s reached your waist, he hesitates before unzipping it the rest of the way, to your lower back.

“Great, thanks!” You move to slide the garment off your shoulders.

“Whoa, whoa!” Eddie slaps a hand over his eyes.

“Oh, you’re such a baby. Not like it’s anything you haven’t seen before.” You let the dress fall to the ground, grabbing Eddie’s Hellfire shirt from where it lay on the bed in one hand as you unclasp your bra with the other. You’re certain you hear his breath hitch. “Something wrong?”

He answers too quickly. “No! I’m good! Great, even. Uh, excuse me a sec. Need to. Um. Bathroom.” And he turns on his toes, bolting out of the room and leaving you to snoop through his things.

Slipping his shirt over your head, you move to the top of his dresser, where he’s displayed a few figurines you’re positive he’d made for Dungeons and Dragons campaigns. There are plenty of scary, bloody monsters, and heroic looking knights clad in chain link armor, but one catches your attention. She was obviously painted with care, every detail on her tiny face visible and crisp. Her eyes are the same color as yours, and so is her hair. She’s wearing a dress similar to the one you’d worn on Halloween, and you swear you don’t remember seeing her the last time you were at Eddie’s apartment. Placing her carefully back on the dresser, you move to the desk, facing the window of his room, and cluttered with all sorts of shit: crumpled papers holding half written campaigns, drawings of his characters, and a massive Dungeons notebook with his name scrawled across the front. His shelf is full of vinyl records old and new, each one protected with a layer of plastic. You browse his collection until you find one you recognize, pulling it from its spot in the alphabetical order on the shelf. You carefully release the vinyl from its cover, and place it on the player with a feather light touch. Just as Eddie comes back, you’re dropping the needle on the first side.

“Shit. Good choice.” You turn to where he stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed over his chest, staring at you like a lovesick puppy.

“Quit starin’, freak.” You throw the word out without any malice, and it bounces off of him with a chuckle.

“Can’t help it, y’just so pretty.” He tilts his head further to the side, eyes still unwavering. “Even cuter in my clothes, I gotta say.”

“What, my clothes aren’t cute enough for you?”

“Your clothes are perfect, doll. I just like how you look in mine. You could wear a garbage bag and still be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

“I’ll take note of that for our next date.” You try not to think about the implications of what you’ve said, but Eddie perks up at the sentiment.

–

Lord of the Rings is definitely not your favorite movie, but you’re willing to watch it if it means Eddie keeps looking at you like he is right now. You know he’s seen the films a million times, but he’s mesmerized watching you react to each scene, watching it play out through your lens instead of his.

At first, you had each claimed a corner of the couch, with Ethel asleep purring in the middle as you passed the bowls of candy and popcorn between each other. As the night progressed, you seemed to migrate closer to each other, eventually ending tangled together, horizontal across the length of the couch. By the end of the first movie, the world around you has gone dark, the sun long past setting as the credits roll. You’re more focused on the rise and fall of Eddie’s chest as he breathes.

“You still alive?” His voice is barely above a whisper, just in case you’ve dozed off in his arms.

“Shockingly so.” You mumble the response, senses hazy with his smell, his touch, his voice surrounding you, the thumping of his racing heart a soundtrack to the story on screen.

“Got it in ya for another?”

“Only if you can play it without moving. I’m comfy.” You nuzzle your head against his chest as if to prove your point.

Without making you get up, Eddie grabs the remote from the coffee table. A few clicks later, and the titles flash across the screen. With his free hand, Eddie traces down your back absentmindedly, fingers feather light as he taps your spinal cord along to the opening sequence. Feeling bold, you scoot your body up the length of his, positioning your head to reach the crook of his neck, where you rest your lips against the soft spot on his throat. You’re driving him crazy, and it’s emboldening you.

He chuckles under your touch. “Whatcha doin’?”

“Hm?” You peck kisses across his neck, losing focus on the movie, hypnotized by the softness of Eddie’s skin. “I’m not doin’ anything.”

He smells a little different tonight, more pine and less smoke. You melt with the sweetness in his voice as he talks to you, like honey in hot tea to soothe a sleepless night. “You’re gonna be the death of me, sweetheart.” His words sound like a blissful defeat. It’s not worth trying to convince you to watch the movie when you’re touching him like this, and it’s obvious he knows it, too.

“You can’t die on me now, I still have so much more of you I wanna kiss.”

“You cannot be sayin’ shit like that to me.” Voice shaking, Eddie speaks through clenched teeth. “Gonna make a damn fool of myself if you keep it up.”

“Yeah? How so?” You tease, feeling slightly evil, nipping at his earlobe. “You’ve been behaving pretty well so far.”

“‘M trying so hard to be a gentleman here.” He tenses each time your nose grazes his skin, breath ragged.

“Yeah, and I’m trying to break your concentration.” You peck a kiss on his jawline. “I think it’s working, too.”

“Alright. Fuck it. Jesus Christ.” The switch on Eddie’s caution is flipped instantly, he grabs you by the waist to pull you fully on top of him, completely horizontal. Giggles slip past your lips as he mouths at your neck, sucking and biting the skin there, claiming revenge for your teasing. With a careful hand, Eddie slips his way under your shirt, sliding calloused fingers up your back. “How d’you like it, hm?”

“Hm, almost as if this—,” you interrupt yourself with a sigh when he soothes a particularly harsh bite with a flat tongue. “was my plan the whole time.”

Underneath you, Eddie’s stopped his assault on your neck, his whole body now shaking with contagious laughter, loud and unabashed.

“What is so funny?”

“I’m a fuckin’ moron.” He untucks himself from your neck to look you in the eyes. He’s squished into the cushion to leave space between his nose and yours, and you poke at the skin under his chin as he tries not to laugh again.

“What makes you say that?” You’re too busy enjoying the way he’s holding you to see the way he’s looking at you, but you can feel it. His eyes are boring into yours with the weight of the entire world behind them. It’s freaking you out, honestly.

“I went way too hard on the first date, I’m never gonna be able to top this.” You try not to snort at the double entendre. “I can’t take you to fancy restaurants regularly. And you deserve to be treated like that.”

“Eddie,” You soften as you look at him finally, and you have to stop yourself from kissing the pout from his lips. “I don’t care about that shit, you have to know that.”

“Maybe not, but you should be treated like this all the time. I’m not the guy to do it for you.” The sudden sadness in his voice sends a stutter through your chest.

“You’re right. You are a moron.” You patronize, and his eyes widen, startled. “That’s not the part of tonight that made it special, Eds. I wouldn’t have cared if we sat on this couch and watched these ridiculous movies all day. It’s the fact that you planned something with me in mind. You cared enough to put something together, and you followed through. That’s what makes it a good date.” You plant a kiss on his nose, and before you can pull away, Eddie’s in motion. His free hand flies, whacking the popcorn bowl from the coffee table in the process, but doesn’t even stop to laugh and rests it on your cheek. He gently guides your face back to his, lips slotting easily into place against yours as his breath rattles his body.

“I can be your moron, if you like.” He says after breaking the kiss, and you take the opportunity to admire the way his skin has flushed, obvious even in the blue TV light.

“Ask me again in the morning. We’re both a little drunk.” Not really, but the idea of putting a label on it this late into the night makes it feel less serious, and more like sleep-induced insanity.

“Okay. I’ll set an alarm.” And he’s kissing you again with a new urgency, and you lose yourself in it. At some point it’s not enough to just be kissing him, so you slot yourself between him and the couch, pulling both of you onto your sides. In this new position, you’re able to more easily wrap yourself around him, sliding one arm underneath and the other around his waist. Taking the hint, Eddie slides his knee between your legs, notching deliciously against the thin layer of cloth covering your core. It takes everything in you not to grind against him like a bitch in heat.

“Use it.” You must be hearing things, you’re exhausted. “Get off. Use me. I wanna watch you.” He’s whispering these insane things between tender kisses, slow and lazy as the knot underneath your navel tightens. As if to daze you further, he slips his hand under your shirt again, resting firmly on your waist, guiding your hips to move against him. Your clit catches on the bone of his knee, clouding your ability to contain yourself. You kiss him again, hungrily as the lower half of your body moves longingly against his, fully out of your control.

And if that isn’t enough, Eddie moves to your throat again, marking it between whispers of sweet, dripping nothings.

“Doin’ so well, baby. You sound so pretty.” As you whimper each time your clit drags against him. His hand slides to your stomach, inching its way further up until his thumb rests just under your tit, halting as it waits for your permission.

You answer him with a broken “Please!” and he wastes no time grazing over your nipple, stiffening as he touches you, massaging it between his fingers as you moan desperately above him.

“Eddie, I’m gonna,” You don’t finish your sentence, he cuts you off, moving back to kiss your lips as you come undone, writhing against him.

“Shit. Fuck,” You huff the words between heavy breaths, coming back down only to realize the space between you and Eddie is much wetter than can be explained just by you. “Did you—?”

Eddie nods before you can finish your question. “Of course I did. That was fuckin’ hot.” Eddie’s out of breath too. “Now, as much as I’d like to stay here, I need to change my pants. Be right back.” He places a quick kiss to your forehead before stumbling clumsily onto his feet. You can only lay there, staring at his ceiling, replaying the last ten minutes in your head with a horribly cheesy smile on your face.

“I am so fucked!”

—

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munsonburn3r · 12 days ago

Text

Lotus Eater | chapter 3 - 2.8k words

my main masterlist - eddie masterlist - series masterlist

previous chapter - next chapter

summary: halloween comes around. you need to get some weight off your shoulders and eddie is fully willing to help you out.

warnings: slow burn, 18+ mdni, mentions of bullying, abusive parents, smoking the good stuff with eddie, some flirting (kinda?), staring at each other, eddie is a smartass, so is reader, talking about drugs, doing drugs. think that's it.

a/n: hey friends! welcome back. i am really trying to keep up with the taglist, so if i forgot you, i'm sorry! thank you guys for all the love you have shown so far <3

School was becoming a lot.

Every day, it just felt heavier. Whether it was being called a name or someone making a sly comment at your expense, it was all-consuming. You spent the last month trying to just ignore the bullying, but as soon as you got home and sat alone with yourself, the racing thoughts had you spinning out.

You needed a fucking break from it all.

It was Halloween, and while everyone at school had been talking about the big party at the Harrington’s residence, you were held up in your room and occasionally answering the door for the rare trick or treaters. The one instance you opened your door for an influx of kids, you took notice of Eddie’s trailer across the street. The door opened, and in the light of the door, you could see Eddie holding a bag of candy, all the while wearing a cascading vampire cape. It makes you laugh out loud as you give a handful of tootsie rolls to a firefighter and a Ghostbuster.

Your mom gets home, and she does what she always does. Make you feel like total shit. She tells you how annoyed she is that you’re taking up hours, how she’s sick of your car just sitting in the yard, how you need to stop eating all of her ramen.

As she’s yelling and slamming her to-go coffee mug down on the kitchen counter, you pull your legs out from underneath you. The couch was becoming uncomfortable, and you were beyond irritated with her, even though she had only occupied the space for less than a minute.

“Where are you going?”

Her voice shrills, and it makes goosebumps scatter across your skin.

“I am gonna go for a walk,” Is all you say as you slip on your flip flops and fly out the front door. You place the bowl of Halloween candy on the doorstep, letting the leftover kids in the neighborhood raid it. As you walk towards the street, Eddie’s door opens again, but this time not for a kiddo. He’s jingling his keys and walking to his van as you stand awkwardly under the street light.

He catches your eye, and you manage to peep out a small, “Hey.”

“What are you doing out here?” He asks, pulling his driver’s side open. He leans over the seat, rummaging around for something. You walk closer, looking around to see if anyone else is outside. You always got an odd feeling when you walked around the trailer park at night. You felt like you were being watched.

You cross your arms over your chest, “Mom pissed me off so I told her I’m taking a walk.”

He pulls himself out of the van, huffing as he flicks a lighter in front of your face, “In broken flip-flops?”

You furrow your brows, confused by his statement. You glance down at your feet and see that one strap of your shoe is completely hanging off. You did not even realize that your shoes were completely falling apart because you were racing out the door.

“Well, shit.”

He laughs at your response, slamming his door shut. “Why don’t you come join me? I’m watching Nightmare on Elm Street and smoking.”

You had never been in Eddie’s house before. You had stood at his front door and peeked inside, but never actually explored what was behind it. You also hated horror movies, they made you paranoid.

But you did not want to go home to your nagging mother. And walking around scared you even more, broken shoe or not.

“Sure, that sounds nice.”

The moment you walk into his house, it smells just like yours. Weed and cigarettes. His house was a bit more stale-smelling, probably from the other brand of cigarettes he and Wayne smoked as opposed to your parents.

He unties his cape, taking it off and balling it up on the kitchen island. You settle on his couch, the brown wooden table in front of you littered with paraphernalia. A small red bowl, packed with crumbles of bud with a hoard of lighters and ashtrays.

You start to think about the one time you consumed weed and how off it made you feel.

It was sophomore year, and Kacey dragged you along to some party Steve Harrington was throwing. You two passed around a joint with a couple of older kids, trying to appear cool and calm. After three hits, you started to feel something. A calmness. A thrill that was only occupied by the looseness of your muscles. You felt almost out of touch with your body, which made your anxiety creep up after 30 minutes. You needed to go home. You needed to get away from this crowd of kids. You needed to be alone.

The moment you came home, your parents were nagging you about being late. Using the front door always woke them up. But the yelling seemed to slip away from your mind, still very high and uncaring to your parent’s bitching.

Maybe you could feel that way again. Indifferent to your parents.

“I am taking you up on that offer,” You say simply as Eddie settles next to you on the three-cushioned couch. You take in his side profile as his wild brown eyes are trained on the small television across the room. He does not even look over at you. “What offer?”

You recall Eddie only ever making one offer to you.

Maybe he is just high? Or super forgetful?

You pause, still staring at him, “Smokin’.”

His head snaps in your direction, his long hair almost smacking you across the face. “I thought it fries your brain?”

Your body starts to run hot when you realize he is teasing you. You are pretty good about putting him in check, and your classic retaliation is making him feel guilty via manipulation. Your mother taught you that.

“My brain needs to be fried after hearing what my mom just said to me.”

Eddie gets quiet, looking away with a confident nod.

He lights the weed in the bowl for you. You observe his fingers shakingly keep the flame on the bud, burning it as you inhale slowly. You were an amateur after all. You did not want to embarrass yourself in front of the biggest pothead in school.

You pull the mouthpiece away, keeping the smoke in your cheeks. You looked stupid as you swallowed whatever you could manage before coughing out the rest of the smoke.

Eddie smiles, sitting back on the couch while your insides burn. You feel the high hit you almost immediately as your chest heaves. You could feel some anxiety creeping in, but Eddie’s voice cuts the scattered silence.

“Do you need to talk about it? Your mom, I mean.” You sit back with him, getting comfortable against his very springy couch. You need to find some way to relax, and while the couch was not pleasant, it was better than yours. Anything was better than your house. “No. Nothing new.”

“Copy that.”

–

After your second hit, you feel borderline sick. You decline another go at it as Eddie lights up and takes his third. Your dazed mind cannot look away from the way his jaw tightens and lips purse out against the mouthpiece. His rings curled around the chamber, the smoke lacing through the tiny channel.

“How often do you smoke people up?” You ask, trying to pull something else out of your empty brain. You needed him to talk so you would not hyperfixate on his mouth and freak him out. You did not need to make Eddie Munson uncomfortable somehow. He swallows his toke like a pro, smiling at you as he blows smoke out of his nose, “A few times a week, maybe. Usually, when I sell to someone, I’ll let them try it with me.” You throw your arms over your chest, noting the goosebumps that travel up your arms when Eddie’s voice gets deeper. You needed to get a hold of yourself, it was becoming awkward. “That’s mighty kind of you.” He nods sheepishly, like hair dropping across his cheeks, “I’m a very nice guy, I don’t think you get that.”

You knew Eddie was a nice guy. He was odd and disrespected authority at every chance, but he was never hateful. He was a bother to most, loud and boisterous. You were pretty good at paying no mind to him and his outbursts when they happened in your vicinity. Plus, you knew his family history, how he grew up, and that gave you enough perspective as to why he acted the way he did.

So maybe you called him a freak when Kacey mentioned him, but deep down, you did not really mean it. “No, I know you are,” You reply, your hands dropping to your thighs. You manage to look up at his dilated pupils, “You’re nice enough.” You can tell it catches him off guard, “Really?” “I mean…” You drift off, trying to regain your composure. But you are failing. The weed has made your bones like jelly. “You offered to take me to and from school every day. And you never complain. That’s pretty nice.”

“Yeah, I guess,” He shrugs, peeling his eyes away from you to glance at the gory scene on the TV, “That’s not a big deal, though. You are right across the street.”

He’s right. You start to panic for a response, not wanting to be too complimentary. But it was a big deal for you. You did not want to take the bus, especially because the last time it practically traumatized you. Picking gum out of your hair while hysterically crying over the bathroom sink. Eddie was your hero, in a sense, but he could not really know that. “You could’ve told me to kick rocks or something.” You anticipate a silly response, and that’s exactly what you got. His hands drift over his chest, gripping his left pectoral muscle, right below where his heart would be, “Now that’s just malicious. What good would that do me?”

You roll your eyes, his tone making your face get hot. He stands up and walks over to the remnants of the Halloween candy. He gestures towards it, almost to ask if you wanted any. You decline with a curt head shake. He picks out a lollipop, peels the wrapper, and pops it in his mouth. He comes back to your side, jostling you a bit as he aggressively plops down.

“So are you ever going to tell me what happened between you and that girl you used to be with all the time? You two seemed pretty close.”

You knew he was going to pry. It was simply in his nature to be nosy. You go to reply something snippy, but when you look towards him, he is dragging his tongue along the lollipop. It makes you completely halt all movements as your brain draws a complete blank.

You know you probably look like an idiot staring at his tongue and lips making work at that red candy, but you simply could not stop yourself.

It was the weed. It had to be the weed. He finally shoots you a look, and it brings you right out of your trance.

“K-Kacey?” You manage to sputter out, “S-She’s talking to this guy who’s a total asshole.” He puts the candy between his molars and holds it there as he talks, “So she got mad at you for that?” You shake your head, still trying to regain your senses. His lips are now red and painfully noticeable. “Well, she got mad I told her that he’s an asshole.” He scoffs, sitting back against the springy cushions, “Oh, that tracks.” You were not expecting that response. You are becoming a bit too easily instigated by his snarky replies, but you simply cannot stop yourself. The instant retaliation is deeply seated inside you.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

He is taken aback by your tone; you can tell by the smirk that spreads across his face. He thoroughly enjoyed getting under your skin. “You’re very blunt. And honest.”

You are instantly defensive, “And that’s a bad thing?” He’s quicker with his retaliation, “Did I say that?”

Your high is teetering on giving you a full-blown panic attack. Eddie looks at you, his head tilted down at you like he’s waiting for an abrasive counterargument. But you do not give in. “No.” As soon as you say that, he chuckles dryly, “Then no, I don’t think that.”

You somehow had to turn it back on him. You do not know why, but you equally wanted to get under his skin. “You had a tone.” He shakes his head, calmly, “I did not have a tone, sweetheart.”

You are silent, your gaze glued to his face. You notice a flicker in his eye contact. They go to your lips. You realize in that moment that you are practically panting out of your mouth.

The conversation has strayed away from where it started so badly that you are now wondering if Eddie even asked you something. What were you even elaborating on? Why is he even saying you are blunt, again? Did he actually have a tone with you?

“So you told her that he was an asshole and then what?”

Right, shit. That’s what he was talking about. You clasp your hands together, tucking them between your thighs. Get back on track.

“She doesn’t want anything to do with me, now I guess,” You rejoin. You feel like there’s no harm in being honest about the situation, too. Eddie would not run off and tell everyone that your ex-best friend now has a drug problem. “Plus, I saw her snort something in class and I don’t know if I want to be involved with… all that.”

You notice the way Eddie’s eyes have gotten heavier as you speak, his eyes now focusing on your mouth as you gossip. There’s a silence that hangs in the air, like he did not fully pay attention to a word you said.

Eddie was an experienced smoker, but why is he acting like a couple of hits threw him into the deep end? There’s no way he just looks at you like that. The hush is finally disturbed when he clears his throat, “Well, if you need a friend, or friends, you can always sit with me at lunch.”

You knew most of Eddie’s friends. They were weird, social outcasts. Nonetheless, they were harmless. But you cannot help that nagging thought in your brain. People at school ostracize that whole group, and you already had a target on your back. Did you want to make it worse for yourself? You scoff, trying to play it off, “Who? You and the nerd brigade?” “Hellfire Club. We call ourselves the Hellfire Club,” He reminds you, sitting forward so his elbows are on his knees. You note the way his t-shirt flexes over his back, and you hum to yourself. You are making it a bit too obvious that you are checking him out.

Stop it, brain. Stop doing that. “I’m aware.”

He looks back at you, smirking knowingly, “Yes. Me and the nerd brigade would gladly take in a refugee.”

Refugee. One loser providing space for another loser.

You look down at your picked-over cuticles, now wanting to avoid eye contact. It was becoming a bit too tense for your liking. “I don’t want your charity.” “It’s not charity to want you to have friends.”

His voice is hushed, almost like he’s whispering a secret to you. You are not sure why he cares so much about your high school experience. Or why he cares about you in general. You bite the inside of your cheek nervously, “It’s charity when it’s forced.”

He scoffs. You know he has probably had just enough of your quips, but you truly cannot help yourself when you are around him. “Why are you so stubborn?” You snap your neck to look over at him, “Because it’s… I don’t know. It’s a defense mechanism.” He giggles, his chest heaving quickly, his head thrown back. It’s dramatic, but you knew Eddie was known for theatrics. You watch as he flops over the side of the couch, propping his feet up onto your knee. It is like a switch in him flipped.

“And the weed isn’t helping that?” He ponders, gesturing towards the grinder of bud that’s directly in front of you on the coffee table.

You nudge his socked feet off of your leg, “Guess not.” “You should smoke some more, sunshine,” He states, nudging your leg playfully. You shake your head at first, but then you think for a moment.

If he’s offering…

“Hmm… maybe I should.”

divider by @saradika-graphics <3

taglist: @moon-esque @walleloveseve @kellsck @awkward00noodle @person-005 @emxxblog @mediocredreams @justalotoffanfiction @kelsiegrin @whenimhomealoneijustdance @cherryheairt @thejordiverse @3rd-conchord @micheledawn1975

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munsonburn3r · 14 days ago

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you’re now entering theatre 2!

NOW PLAYING; KNOWING NOTHING LAST FOREVER.

🍿 order; popcorn, junior mints, and bitter truth

🎟️ ticket; stranger things

content warnings; *does not follow stranger things besides some characters* — rockstar!eddie, not really lovers to ‘enemies’ but reader slowly regrets eddie, eddie is a slight jerk in this — so ooc!, comparing love to the sun and falling out of love with the moon, angst with no happy ending! an; i’m not for sure if this is any good but god do i LOVE me some angst — it runs in my veins.

The feel of sweaty bodies is almost as if everything had suddenly slowed, the feeling of something heavy slipping down your skin in a cold sweat.

The lights that fade into different colors — red, orange, and some other color that gives the illusion of fire — even slows in your mind, the music becoming distorted as you look up at the stage in front of you, the feeling of your heart in your throat makes you want to claw at your neck until it’s lined with red marks and welted as a reminder of how Eddie makes you feel.

Of how he makes you feel now, in the present.

He never used to make you feel this way. Not the impending doom feel that you have around him now.

To describe it simply; Eddie used to make you feel like how you feel on a lazy day. The way the sun would creep through the cracks of the blinds, touching everything in golden hue to add some type of warmth. The feel of the fan by your end of your bed, air pushing in waves as it brushes over your skin where your leg had found its way out of the heaviness of the blanket and instead found itself slightly dropped off the side.

It leaves goosebumps. And you could distantly feel Eddie there, next to you, the calloused fingertips he’d accumulated over the years brush over the arm that’s draped across his chest, his lips momentarily pressing to the inside of your arm. You can feel the vibration buzzing against your skin, a smile pulling at your lips at the hum you’d grown to love.

Eddie’s song. His. A song he’s written down and is currently working on the notes to string everything together.

But, the day comes to an end — warmth from a golden halo turns into something dark and slightly uninviting even though you can find comfort in the darkness some days, welcome it really.

The moment shatters, check-breaking you back into reality when the high pitched screams break through the memory, and neither you or Eddie are laying in a bed, close together, listening to him hum a song he had written for you, and the feeling of his fingertips suddenly slip and you’re forgetting how they felt against your skin.

He’s slipping from your grasp and you’re slowly slipping from his, even if he doesn’t realize it, and you know he doesn’t. Eddie isn’t clueless in the slightest when it comes to you — knows when you lie, when you’re hungry, when you’re sad or angry or anxious. You’re a book he’s read a million times over and over until the spine begins to crack and break at the seams.

In the back, Corroded Coffin is cheering a post concert chant, long and short limbs jumping as they let out a quick shout and loud laughter. Sweat soaks through their hair, dampening it down to their temples, some curls stick to the side of Eddie’s neck.

He’s in his element and you’re standing back, watching with a small smile before it falters just as quickly. You know Eddie has wanted this for a while — the lights, the adrenaline from the screaming crowd, money. You can’t blame him, not one bit, but you want to be selfish just once, just like Eddie has grown into.

Instead, you stand back, let him have his moment because in reality he deserves this. He does. But if you’d know how much things would’ve changed, you wouldn’t have mixed in with his dreams, filling his head with all the stuff he could do even if it would just hurt him in the long run, asking what if’s.

And the feeling that overwhelms you leaves you sick, nauseous.

You realized that love can slip away without a single fight.

Even as Eddie turns, brown eyes that used to have your heart racing landing on you, your heart breaks instead. He smiles and it doesn’t crease at his eyes like they used to — when your lips would press to the skin there before tracing over the skin there.

You smile the same.

You’re not sure when this feeling had begun because as far as you’re aware, you love Eddie and always would — why do you feel this way? Why does it ache when you look at him?

Fading out of love with someone is silent, an insidious fading.

You remember once, going camping with Steve, Robin, Nancy, Jonathan, and Eddie. Cheap beer cans had been tossed into a garbage bag Jonathan had brought and sat next to the small picnic area, the smell of melted chocolate lingers on your thumb when you bring the last bite of the melty s’more towards your mouth and it mingles with the smell of the burning wood.

The taste is unnecessarily overly sweet, almost giving you a cavity. But you can’t seem to care, not with the people around you. The laughter that echoes off the trees and into the night air from stories that Robin tells — much to Steve’s dissatisfaction — and somewhere not too far from here is the sound of a waterfall that you all stopped to look at today.

Eddie’s in front of you, eyes crinkled at the sides from where he laughs and the smile lingers, pushing his flushed cheeks up. He’s beautiful and it makes you sort of angry, sick, especially since he looks even more beautiful with the way the fire dances over his skin, carving out some features of his face and highlighting some.

It takes a moment, but he turns his head and his eyes land on you. Something in him leaves his body and he softens visibly — you will never talk about how that look makes your heart skip over itself. The first time you realized you liked Eddie, you were too nervous to even look at him, let alone speak to him. But here you are, talking, laughing, staring at one another even if it makes you nervous.

The fire is dying in the middle, the highlight that dances across Eddie’s face begins to dim. You can still see his face, the softness that his expression carries, but it’s dimmed. The last embers are dimming, taking the expression with him and burning it.

You can still see the warmth, map out the way his brows slightly furrow as something passes through his mind but it’s gone just as quick. The plush of his lips that part and that’s slightly cracked. The warmth is always there, but before you realize it, it’s gone. Eddie’s body still remains there, but it’s a shadowy figure. You’re not sure when it happened, you just blinked and the fire was out. And part of you wants someone to throw in a match and watch the fire spread once again.

But no one would. Not even Eddie.

There’s part of you that’s scared of letting go — letting the fire dim — but you’re tired and burnt from it. You know the longer you hold on to something that’s not there anymore, you’ll only keep hurting yourself.

The kiss he gives you almost feels like a stranger — or a chore for Eddie, you’re not for sure how he feels. But you know it doesn’t feel the same anymore, a brush against your lips that feels unfamiliar. But you brush your own lips against his in return, before pulling away.

“You did good.”

He smiles again, barely there, and nods. “Thank you, sweetheart,” His fingers graze against your cheek, tucking some hair behind your ear. “The guys and I were going to get some drinks. Wanna come with?” He points his thumb over his shoulder, head tilting.

Your eyes drift and look over his shoulder. The boys are still shouting and the sweat doesn’t make them look as if they had jumped into the pool with clothing on anymore, it just leaves a shine over their skin.

You look back at Eddie, swallowing thickly. “I thought you and I could do something?”

No matter how you’re feeling, part of you truly wants to fix whatever happened along the way. You know if you both truly try, you could see yourself with Eddie for a long while. But right now, your fear of waking up next to Eddie one morning and realizing that you’re both strangers, living in a life that you both have built from the ground is burning, and you can no longer really call it home.

Eddie doesn’t feel like home anymore.

Eddie almost grimaces at the question, scratching at his temple as he glances back at the group, chuckling a bit when they look at him, shouting for him to hurry. He then turns back. “I made plans for us tomorrow.” Is all he says.

You jaw clenches and you stare at him. There was no ‘yeah. I didn’t want to go anyway’ or no ‘it sounds lame. I’m going back with you so we can watch a movie in the room’.

And Eddie deserves to have fun, he does. But every night he has fun while you sit in the hotel room, waiting, worrying, for him to come back safe and in one piece. You had gone with him a couple of times, but the feeling of suffocating while not being under anything and just being around people, you didn’t enjoy it.

“What are they?” Your voice cracks as you speak and Eddie looks taken back from the question.

“What?”

“Your plans for us tomorrow, Eddie. What are they?” You know he’s lying. It’s subtle, the small crease that forms from a quick nose scrunch he gives and a small sniffle with a little clearing of his throat. Eddie might not know you anymore, but you know him still.

“That’s…” He shakes his head, brows pinching together. “I can’t tell you that, it’s a surprise.”

You let out a small scoff, before laughing to yourself. Your head shakes, a small, sad smile on your face as you nod. “Yeah. A surprise,” You look up at him. Eddie stares at you and his shoulders drop slightly and his face melts into something close to the night by the fire. “Have fun, Eddie.” You turn and make your way towards the other exit where you don’t have to push through the group.

Something hollow weighs in your chest and the ache from it is persistent. Your eyes burn from the sharp pricks that collect along your longer lash line, chin wavering from the heavy feeling that has gotten only heavier over time. Your fingertips press into the skin at your chest, over your heart, trying to ease the ache that hasn’t left yet.

Once you step into the alley, you pause and stare at the passing cars. Leaning against the wall, you slide down slowly and drop your forehead onto your knees.

Please, Eddie. Please — you’re pleading for him in your mind to do something, anything that might suggest he still needs you, that there’s something still there to fix.

Please.

Your legs begin to tingle and the door hasn’t opened. Lifting your heavy head, your eyes stare at the door with some type of graffiti over it. He’s not coming. He’s already gone.

Your fingers mess with the locket that dangles slightly over your chest. Wiping at your cheeks, you slowly stand and make your way towards the door. It’s quiet, except from the occasional sound of the radio. Pushing the heavy door open to the dressing room, your eyes stare at Eddie’s bags that’s tossed in the corner of the room.

Making your way over, your fingers shake as you unclasp the necklace. You don’t open it to look at the photo anymore, and you don’t as you drop it inside.

Looking around the room one last time, you inhale deeply and turn, walking out before you could change your mind.

This was for you. This was being selfish for the first time.

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munsonburn3r · 16 days ago

Text

Fracture

part 1

You fall in love with Eddie Munson the way you fall asleep—gradually, then all at once.

He smells like peppermint cigarettes and cheap whiskey, his voice is a gravel-coated melody, and when he leans against the hood of his van with those sharp cheekbones catching the moonlight just right, he doesn’t look real. He looks like the kind of boy your parents would’ve warned you about, if your parents had been around enough to warn you about anything.

Eddie calls you “trouble” with that crooked smile of his. You call him reckless. But he’s soft when you least expect it, careful with the way he touches your shoulder or laughs too loud at your terrible jokes. In his eyes, you’re not the mess you feel like—you’re the spark. The magic. The one worth writing songs about. And you love him for that. Even if you’re lying to him every day.

Because back home, nothing feels magical.

Your house isn’t a home; it’s a minefield. Every creak in the hallway floorboards makes you flinch. Your brother slams doors like it’s a sport, shouts like he’s being paid for the volume. He blames you for everything—your mother leaving, your father working himself to the bone, the silence that settles in the kitchen like dust. You don’t fight back anymore. You just absorb it.

Eddie doesn’t know any of this.

You craft stories like paper cranes, delicate and fleeting, each one meant to keep him at bay—away from the truth. He’s asked about your family a hundred times, probably more. Wonders why he’s never met them, why you always change the subject. He says it gently, with real curiosity, not suspicion. But the questions are becoming harder to dodge. And the excuses? They're running dry.

You tell him your cousin is staying over and you have to keep an eye on her.

That your dad’s an early riser and hates noise past nine.

That the dog pees everywhere when left alone too long.

That the landline is broken and someone might call with an emergency.

That you’ve got an early rehearsal with a classmate, a babysitting gig, a sick neighbor, a night class, a migraine.

Eddie raises an eyebrow now. He doesn’t buy it anymore—not really.

One night, as you’re leaning against the cold brick wall behind The Hideout, your arms crossed and breath fogging in the winter air, he turns to you and says, “You know… sometimes I think you’re secretly out there fighting crime at night. Like, you disappear right after the show. No warning. Very vigilante of you.”

He’s teasing.

But not entirely.

You force a laugh, make some vague comment about being mysterious. But your heart isn’t in it. Because there’s a question hanging in the air between you—one he’s too kind to press, but you feel it every time his eyes linger a little too long, every time he reaches for your hand and you hesitate just a second too late.

Eddie doesn’t want to push you. He never does.

You’ve done a decent job holding it all together until now. All the little lies you’ve told, the stories you’ve spun, they’ve worked well enough to keep the truth at bay, at least for a while. But tonight isn’t like the others. Tonight is different. Tonight is the night that might change Eddie’s life forever—if things go right, if the scout likes what he hears, if Eddie plays like you know he can. If he gets chosen, he’ll be working with the record label he’s dreamed about since you first met him, when he was still just a boy in a dusty garage with a guitar covered in stickers and hands that shook from too much caffeine and not enough belief in himself. A few weeks ago, when he told you about the audition, his voice was trembling—not from fear, but from how badly he wanted this. He said he didn’t care about the crowd or the lights or what he was wearing or even the label guy sitting in the back row with a clipboard. He only cared about you. He needed you there, no matter what, no more excuses, no last-minute disappearances or strange, half-finished explanations. He wanted to look into your eyes while he played, wanted to pull courage from the way you look at him like he’s more than he thinks he is. You said you’d be there. How could you not?

But the audition is at 9 PM. And that’s already hours past when you’re supposed to be home. It’s the kind of thing that makes your chest tighten even before the sun sets. All day, you try to come up with a way out. Maybe you can say you’re sleeping over at a friend’s house, though you know your brother would never believe it. He keeps a mental list of all your friends and judges them as if their names alone are crimes. Maybe you can say you have a group project, or that you got asked to babysit, or that someone’s dog got loose and you had to help find it. It’s all ridiculous. And you know it. But you also know that you’re running out of options. You think maybe, just maybe, you could sneak out, slip through the side door, walk the two miles to The Hideout and be back before anyone even notices. It’s risky. Insanely risky. But you’ve rehearsed every step in your mind like choreography—how fast you’d move, how quietly you’d shut the door behind you, where you’d hide your shoes so they don’t make noise on the tile. You even plan out which streets you’d take, which alleyways are dark enough to shield you from the world, how to breathe through your panic without turning back. Still, none of it feels real. Not yet.

What does feel real is the look on Eddie’s face when he talked about tonight—the way his whole body seemed to light up, like he could already see the stage and hear the applause and taste the freedom he’s been chasing his whole life. He doesn’t even care if he makes it or not, not really. He just wants to know he tried, and he wants you to be the person who sees him do it. The person who remembers how far he’s come. You know that to him, this is more than an audition. It’s a declaration. A moment he’ll carry with him forever, whether it ends in a record deal or not. And the fact that you might not be able to give him what he asked for—the fact that you might break your promise again—makes your skin feel too tight for your body.

It’s almost nine.

You’re still in your room.

Not where you’re supposed to be—not where you need to be.

You’ve already changed into the outfit you picked days ago, folded it under your pillow so it wouldn’t wrinkle, hid your shoes behind the curtain where he wouldn’t look. Your jacket’s zipped halfway. Your fingers tremble a little as you reach for the window latch. The cold from the glass bites your skin, but it only sharpens your focus. Your heart races. It’s not fear, not entirely. It’s adrenaline. A rising, shaking kind that threatens to spill from your chest.

Down the hallway, your brother’s music is blaring. Something angry and loud, distorted guitar riffs that rattle the picture frames on the walls. You hope it stays that loud. You hope it drowns out the sound of the window creaking open, the shift of your weight on the sill. If you’re lucky, he won’t even notice you’re gone until you’re already blocks away. Maybe not even then.

Just once. Just one night.

You want to do something for yourself.

You’ve spent your whole life under the shadow of other people’s choices, locked inside rules you didn’t make, punished for things you couldn’t control. You’ve never really had a moment to claim as yours. Not a birthday. Not a celebration. Not even a quiet second that felt like it belonged only to you. There was always a door slamming, always someone yelling, always a reason why you didn’t deserve it.

Eddie’s the only one who never treats you like you’re broken. The only one who doesn’t flinch when you go quiet or weird or anxious. The only one who’s stayed. And tonight, he asked for something. Just one thing. "No excuses," he said, cupping your face with both hands, his forehead pressed to yours. "I need you there. Just you."

And how do you say no to that? How do you let him play without the only person he asked for?

You open the window. And that’s when the door swings open.

Not with a knock. Not with a warning. Just the sharp crack of metal-on-wood as your brother barges in like he owns the place—because he kind of does. You freeze. He sees you immediately. You’re not out the window. You’re not even halfway there. But you’re dressed, ready, the curtain is swaying a little too suspiciously.

His eyes narrow. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

You turn fast, swallowing hard. "Nowhere. I was just—trying on clothes. For tomorrow. School stuff."

It’s a weak lie. But it’s the best you can come up with on short notice. You force a shrug, gesture vaguely toward your outfit. "I don’t know. I might wear this tomorrow. Just checking how it looks."

He stares at you for a long second, expression flat and unreadable. Then his lip curls into that familiar smirk. The one that says /you’re pathetic/. The one that says I see right through you.

“You? Giving a shit about how you look? Since when?”

You say nothing. You never say anything when he gets like this.

He snorts, shakes his head, mutters something under his breath—some insult that lands more like a slap than a word—and slams the door behind him as he leaves. The music goes up even louder.

You sit on the edge of your bed.

Your hands are still shaking. But now it’s not adrenaline. It’s defeat.

He didn’t believe you. Maybe he didn’t buy it, maybe he did, but it doesn’t matter. Now you can’t go. Not with him already suspicious. If he catches you trying again—if he decides to follow—who knows what he’d do. To you. To Eddie.

Tears well in your eyes before you can stop them. You blink hard, clench your fists, try to push the feeling down. But it’s no use. It burns.

You’re going to miss it.

You’re going to miss him. And he’ll be standing there on that stage, searching the crowd, looking for your face. And you won’t be there. Not because you didn’t want to. Not because you didn’t care. But because this house has always been a prison. And tonight, the bars are made of guilt.

You don’t remember exactly when your eyes close. One moment, you’re curled on the edge of the bed, face buried into your knees, tears soaking into your sleeves, and the next, the silence swells around you. The storm outside hums like a distant lullaby, rain pattering against the window while the shadows of your room blur into one another. You slip into a fragile kind of sleep—not restful, not deep, but heavy enough to pull you under. It's impossible to say how long you’ve been out. Maybe two hours, maybe three. Your room is still dim, lit only by the faint orange glow of a streetlamp filtering through the rain.

Then a noise cuts through the stillness, sharp and sudden.

You stir, at first unsure whether it’s part of a dream or something real. There’s another sound, and your breath catches—something tapping against the glass, light but deliberate. You sit up, heart racing, and glance toward the window, expecting maybe the wind or the tree branches scraping against the pane. But as your eyes adjust and you push the curtain aside, your breath freezes in your throat.

Eddie is standing outside in the rain.

He’s soaked, his curls flattened and dripping into his eyes, his leather jacket gleaming with water. He looks up at you, his expression hard to read—somewhere between heartbreak and fury—and in that moment, every bit of guilt you carry tightens in your chest. He had asked for just one thing. One night. One moment. And you couldn’t give it to him.

Before you can react, he moves. You watch as he grabs the lowest branch of the tree just outside your window, his boots finding balance on the wet bark. It’s not a difficult climb—your window isn’t that high—but the tree is slippery, and the rain hasn’t let up. Still, he doesn't hesitate. Like nothing else matters. Like getting to you is the only thing keeping him standing.

Within seconds, he’s at the ledge. You open the window with trembling fingers, and he climbs in without waiting for an invitation. Water trails behind him, dripping from his jacket to the floor, but he doesn’t seem to care. His chest rises and falls rapidly, and when he speaks, his voice is low, strained.

“Where the hell were you?”

It’s not yelled. It’s not sharp. It’s not even fully angry. It sounds... tired. Like the question has been sitting on his tongue for hours, festering, hurting.

You try to answer, try to form something like an explanation, but the words catch in your throat. And just then, something shifts in his eyes. He really looks at you. The tear stains on your cheeks, your swollen eyes, the way you’re standing frozen in your room like a child caught sneaking out.

“Wait... have you been crying?”

He takes a step forward, then another. His expression, already raw, collapses into something softer. Alarmed. Worried. He reaches for you without thinking, his hands brushing over your arms and shoulders like he’s afraid to find bruises he can’t see. His fingers trail gently down your sleeve, his touch hesitant but warm.

“What happened?” His voice is barely above a whisper now. “Are you hurt?”

He doesn’t wait for permission—he scans your face, your body, checking for something, anything, that might explain why you're here and not where you promised to be. There’s a kind of desperation in the way he looks at you, in how soaked and cold and wrecked he is. And yet none of it seems to matter to him—not the rain, not the cold, not even the show he missed. All he sees is you.

“Eddie, you have to go. Right now.”

Your voice comes out sharp, choked with panic, and your eyes dart toward the door like it might burst open any second. The air in your room feels too tight, too fragile, like the walls might collapse from the pressure of this moment. “Please. I’ll explain everything, I swear. Just—just not now, okay? I’m fine. I promise I’m fine. I’ll tell you tomorrow, I swear it on everything.”

Your hands are on his chest, pushing gently, not really trying to move him but begging him with every touch to understand. But Eddie doesn’t budge. His boots are still dripping on the floor, his hair plastered to his forehead, water sliding down the collar of his jacket, and yet he doesn’t move. His eyes stay locked on yours, wide and hurt and searching.

“No,” he says quietly, and that one word lands like a stone in your stomach. His voice is firm, but not cruel. “Tell me what happened. Why didn’t you come? You promised. You looked me in the eye and you said you’d be there.”

There’s a tremble behind the edge in his voice, a crack that gives him away. This isn’t just anger—it’s betrayal, confusion, fear. “You said no matter what. You said it like it mattered to you. And I waited. I stood there, and I waited for you to walk through that door. And every time someone came in, I thought—God, I thought it was you.”

You open your mouth, but he cuts you off with a sudden sharpness, the hurt finally bleeding through. “I hope you have a damn good reason, because I’ve been trying to figure out what I did wrong. Why you wouldn’t show up. Why you wouldn’t even call. I thought you might’ve gotten hurt or—or maybe you changed your mind, maybe I’m not worth showing up for, I don’t know.”

His words hang in the air, heavy and trembling, and when you meet his gaze again, you can’t look away. His brown eyes are locked on you, too deep, too honest, and too full of something that looks dangerously close to breaking.

“Eddie,” you whisper, your voice splintering. But what else can you say? How do you explain living in a house that feels like a prison? How do you explain the fear that sits in your chest like a loaded gun, the way your brother’s voice can shut down your lungs, how it felt like everything you are—everything Eddie makes you feel—is something that has to stay hidden behind locked doors and locked windows?

You want to scream the truth. You want to tell him everything.

But instead, you take a shaky breath and whisper, “Please. Just go. Please, before he hears us. I’ll explain, I promise. But not tonight.”

“Who’s /he/? Who the hell is he?” Eddie’s voice sharpens, confused at first, then clouded with something darker. His brows knit together, lips parting like he’s just been slapped. “Are you—” He blinks, shaking his head. “Are you cheating on me?”

He says it like it physically hurts, like the words taste bitter in his mouth. He stares at you in disbelief, as if he can’t believe those syllables even formed between his teeth. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters, dragging his hands through his wet hair. “Fuck. Fucking hell.”

He swears under his breath again, barely audible this time, and then suddenly—his boot kicks into the heap of clothes on your floor, not out of violence, not really, but because he doesn’t know where else to put the feeling. He looks like he’s seconds away from falling apart, chest rising and falling too fast, jaw clenched like he’s trying not to cry. One more word, one wrong move, and he’ll break.

“Eddie—” you start, voice trembling, reaching toward him, but the sound of approaching footsteps cuts through the room like a blade.

You freeze.

The floorboards creak just outside your door. Familiar. Heavy. Your brother.

Panic slams into you so violently that it knocks the breath out of your lungs. Your heart pounds in your ears, erratic and loud, like it’s trying to punch its way out of your chest. You can’t move. You /can’t/ move. Every part of your body turns to ice, like you’ve just plunged into the Atlantic on the night the Titanic sank and you’re waiting for rescue that’s never coming. There’s no lifeboat for you and Eddie. Hell, there isn’t even a goddamn life vest.

And before you even know what you’re doing—maybe it’s instinct, maybe desperation—you grab Eddie by the arm, spin him toward the closet. “In there,” you hiss, pushing him toward the wardrobe.

He starts to protest, confused and heartbroken, but you shove him inside and slam the door shut just as the knob on your bedroom door begins to turn.

The door bursts open without warning, slamming hard against the wall, and you flinch where you stand. It’s your brother—of course it is. His face is a storm, brows drawn low, jaw clenched, shoulders squared like he's preparing for a fight. His eyes sweep the room with practiced suspicion, taking in every corner, every shadow. You know that look. He’s sure you’re hiding something. And tonight, he’s here to catch you in the act.

“Who were you talking to?” he demands, voice sharp and low, every word laced with accusation. His gaze flicks from your face to the window, to the bed, to the closet. Your blood runs cold.

Your heart slams against your ribs so hard it hurts. Eddie. Eddie is in there. Silent. Still. Hidden behind a thin wooden door that suddenly feels like paper.

You swallow hard, force your voice to steady even though your knees threaten to give out. “No one. I—I was talking to myself,” you say quickly. “I do that sometimes. Just… out loud. Thinking things through before I sleep.”

He narrows his eyes, unconvinced. “Since when do you think anything through?”

You don’t respond. You can’t. If you open your mouth, the lie might shatter.

He walks further into the room, slow and heavy, like a predator circling prey. His presence is suffocating. You step back instinctively, almost placing yourself between him and the closet without realizing it.

“You were getting ready to sneak out, weren’t you?” he accuses, nodding toward the window. “Thought I wouldn’t hear it creak open?”

“I wasn’t—” you start, but he cuts you off.

“Don’t lie to me,” he snaps. “You’ve been acting weird for weeks. Secretive. Jumpy. And now you’re playing dress-up in the middle of the night like some pathetic little freak.”

His words sting like ice water, but you say nothing. You can’t let yourself break. Not now. Not with Eddie listening to every word.

Your brother steps closer, lowering his voice but making it sharper somehow. “Is there someone here?”

Your heart stops. Your eyes dart to the closet without meaning to. Stupid. Stupid.

He catches it.

He moves toward the door—just a step—and you react without thinking. “No! There’s no one here!” you blurt out, panicked, stepping in front of him. “I just—god, why are you always like this? Why do you always have to control everything I do?”

He stares at you, his expression flickering—annoyance, suspicion, something darker. Then he scoffs, shakes his head, and turns away like you’re not even worth shouting at anymore.

“Because if I didn’t, you’d ruin what’s left of this family,” he mutters, moving back toward the door. “You’re just like her.”

His words hang in the air like smoke—thick, choking, impossible to ignore. The room feels smaller now. Your chest tightens. Your skin burns, but not from embarrassment or guilt. It’s rage. It’s pain. It’s the echo of a thousand unspoken things lodged in your throat all at once.

You take a shaky step forward. “Don’t you dare say that to me.”

He stops at the door. Turns slowly. A bitter smile plays at his lips, cruel and knowing.

“Why not?” he says, voice calm in the way that makes it worse. “Because it’s true? Because deep down you know you’re just as selfish as she was? Just as messed up? She left and now you’re trying to follow in her footsteps. Out the window in the middle of the night. Probably to meet some loser who doesn’t even give a shit about you.”

Your blood goes cold. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know enough. I know you sneak around. I know you lie. I know you flirt with disaster like it’s some kind of game.”

He steps closer again, pointing a finger at your chest. “And when you fall flat on your face, guess who has to clean it up? Me. Always me.”

“You don’t clean anything up!” you shout, voice cracking, hands shaking. “You just make it worse! You scream, you accuse, you break things and then act like I’m the one who’s ruining everything!”

His jaw tightens. “You have no idea what it’s like, trying to keep you in line. What people say about you behind your back. How you make this family look—”

“I don’t care what they say!” You’re practically sobbing now, voice rising with every word. “I’m not yours to fix! You treat me like I’m some kind of embarrassment—like I’m a burden you got stuck with, not someone you’re supposed to care about!”

He laughs. A cold, dismissive sound. “Care about you? How can I when you’re always acting like this? Like a damn child—”

“Get out,” you whisper.

“What?”

You’re trembling. “I said, get out.”

But he doesn’t move. “Make me.”

Then something shifts. A creak. A loud slam.

Before either of you can process it, the closet door bursts open. Eddie explodes out like a force of nature—wild eyes, clenched jaw, rain-slick hair falling in front of his face, his fists already flying.

Your brother barely has time to turn before Eddie hits him square in the jaw with a sickening crack. The sound echoes in the room like a gunshot. Your brother stumbles back, crashes into the desk, knocks over a lamp. Glass shatters.

“What the fu—” he tries to yell, but Eddie doesn’t give him the chance.

“You don’t talk to her like that,” Eddie growls, voice low and vicious, his breathing ragged with fury. “You don’t touch her. You don’t /get/ to treat her like she's nothing.”

Another punch lands, harder this time. Your brother hits the floor, dazed, clutching his face.

But Eddie doesn’t stop.

He drops to his knees beside him and grabs a fistful of his shirt, yanking him up just to slam his fist into his jaw again—once, twice—rage radiating off of him like heat. He’s not just fighting now. He’s unleashing. Every insult, every bruise you never showed him, every night you cried yourself to sleep—he’s pouring it into every hit.

Your brother groans, his head lolling, but with a sudden surge of adrenaline he swings wildly, catching Eddie in the mouth with a sharp right hook. Eddie’s head snaps to the side—blood instantly blooms on his bottom lip—but he doesn’t even flinch. If anything, it fuels him.

“Hurt me all you want,” Eddie spits, voice low and feral, wiping the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. “But you never touch her again.”

And then—another blow, this one to your brother’s temple. He tries to fight back, but he’s slower now, uncoordinated. Eddie pins him down with a knee to the chest and throws one last, brutal punch.

Your brother’s head slams against the floorboard. His limbs go slack.

Silence.

Only your breathing. Eddie’s ragged, thunderous exhales. The rain tapping softly at the window.

He stands slowly, shoulders rising and falling like waves crashing on the shore. His hands are trembling, bloodied. His lip split, oozing crimson down his chin.

He flexes his fingers, and you hear the wet pop of his knuckles realigning. He doesn’t even wince.

With a final look down at the unconscious heap on your floor, Eddie leans over and spits—thick, red, and furious—right onto your brother’s chest.

Then he turns.

His chest is still heaving, jaw clenched tight, eyes wild and wet and burning into yours. He steps toward you, his boot pressing into broken glass with a crunch, and grabs your hand—tight, protective, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

“You’re coming with me,” he says, voice sharp and low, thick with adrenaline and something deeper. “Right now.”

109 notes · View notes

munsonburn3r · 16 days ago

Text

Over the Years | e.m x reader [18+] | p. 15

-> The origin story of Eddie Munson, and how he fell in love with the worst person he possibly could - his best friend.

-> eddie munson x you (she/her)

-> friends to lovers, slow burn, angst

-> warnings - strong language, suggestive themes, smut [18+]

-> <-

June 1984

Wayne Munson is pissed. Anger bubbles inside of him threatening to stop his heart. The only way he can know for sure that the blood is pumping through his veins is through the pounding in his ears, and his chest.

At the beginning of this year, Wayne received a warning about Eddie’s behavior in school. A class or two that his nephew missed could be acceptable, but Eddie would take on weeks of missing assignments, projects and even tests! So, naturally, he sat Eddie down at the dining table one evening. Eddie promised that he would go to class, and that his grades would go back to passing.

But, just a month ago, Wayne was then brought into the school by Principal Higgins to have a meeting. This time Higgins didn’t hide his smug “I-knew-this-would-happen” look upon his face. If Wayne were him, he’d worry more about that pestering boil on the tip of his nose. If it kept growing, Wayne theorized, that thing would grow conscience and order off of a kids menu.

That man was too gleeful to tell Wayne that Eddie had not successfully completed his graduating requirements. He had failed his senior year of high school. Thus, today the Munsons have just come home after watching the entire class of ‘84 graduate without Eddie.

“You’re graduating,” the trailer trembles when Wayne slams the front door closed, nearly knocking it straight off the hinges.

Eddie flops onto the living room couch, as though his bones have cooked into noodles. Graduation was held on the lawn at Hawkins - the football field. The air is muggy, and Eddie nearly fainted from how hot he got. He couldn’t wait to shimmy out of his jeans, and maybe find one of those hair ties you’ve left at his place. Maybe he should cut his hair.

“Yeah, I know,” Eddie doesn’t have a choice, otherwise Wayne would make him get some crap job serving the people that hate him the most. Besides, it’s not like he failed on purpose - Eddie tries . . . sometimes.

There’s a box of cigarettes laying on the coffee table. It’s lid propped open facing Eddie like some sort of invitation. Eddie reaches out to pluck one loose of the packaging, and set it between his lips. Although, just as he patted himself over for a lighter, Wayne grunts and pulls the cigarette from his nephew’s mouth.

“You’re going to fry your brain,” Wayne puts the cigarette back in the box, before confiscating the whole carton for himself.

-> <-

Gareth is in his room stacking one too many things in a suitcase that’s too small. The zipper for one of the smaller pockets is ripped, so he can’t use that for any of his “toiletries” that his mother suggest he bring even though his dad keeps his own cabinet stocked for the summer.

Gareth’s father is much more responsable than his mother gives him credit for. When they divorced, Gareth was much too small to remember. But, they settled on one thing: parenting. That their son would have two parents that treated him similarly enough to which he wouldn’t realize that they are divorced. Or, arguing half the time.

Now that he’s older, Gareth understands the little ticks to insinuate a disagreement between them. His mom likes to emphasize that his dads’ new girlfriend is a bit young - heavy on the ‘g.’ Or, how his dad would like to hold onto him for more than a month and a half out of the year by suggesting he stay for ‘just one more week.’

Gareth brushes these things off of his shoulder, and pretends like he doesn’t notice.

“Hey,” your sweet summery voice comes from the archway between his bedroom and the hallway.

“Hey, babe,” he responds warmly, and stops what he is doing to plant a kiss to your cheek (he’s not tall enough to kiss your forehead yet).

“Your mom let me up,” you explain your sudden appearance, “what are you doing?”

Oh, dear. Gareth must have forgotten to tell you. Well, after all the years of splitting his summer back and forth, Gareth is used to being in Hawkins nearly all of his time and only a slim percent in Indianapolis.

“I’m going to my dad’s this weekend,” he scratches the back of his neck, “it’ll be for a few weeks.”

“Oh,” your shoulders fold inwards, and your lip juts out just slightly in a pout.

Gareth’s heart skips. You’re disappointed. Summer was supposed to be about your time to spend with him. Maybe you could go camping at the end of summer like last year with all of you guys. You missed being around everyone. Lately, you spend most of your time with Gareth, and Robin. Robin has a summer job - one that you also applied for, but the interviewer was clearly unimpressed.

“All summer?” You wonder out loud.

Gareth shakes his head, “a month and a half. Er-,” A light bulb shines bright overhead, “do you want to come with? My dad has space, and I know he wants to meet you.”

“You talk about me to your dad?” You straighten.

His cheeks turn rosy, “not all the time- er- a healthy amount-,”

You stop Gareth by placing your lips onto his. A sweet gesture that will calm his nerves, so he can at least get a breath of air into his lungs.

“I would love to meet your dad.”

-> <-

June 1984 (another day)

“Shouldn’t you be studying?” Jeff suggests with an ounce of teasing.

Eddie shoves him aside. His friend has been hogging the game for far too long. The deal was after a number of deaths, then they would switch players. Arcade games are never fair between them. They bicker like brothers.

“Shut up,” the sting of not getting his diploma still rests in his chest. Wayne’s sorrowed eyes when he found out that Eddie wasn’t graduating - ugh, Eddie wouldn’t disappoint his uncle again.

A group of boys tripping over themselves, bump into Eddie. Normally, Eddie would get upset and snip in their direction. When he does turn around to get a good look at them, Eddie realizes how young they are. Between the bowl cut, striped shirts, one of them appears to be built in the same shape as a q-tip - and, the other one has a fuzzy poodle on his head, and ‘Weird Al’ glazes across his t-shirt - Eddie concludes;

“Fucking freshman."

-> <-

Indianapolis is huge. You’ve been swallowed by the city. Construction signs set up at every corner of the town that suggest the end isn’t in sight for this town.

It’s Gareth’s first time driving into town, and he can understand why his mom was worried. The drivers are unforgivable. They cluster, honk and shout for driving the speed limit.

Lucky for him, he doesn’t embarrass himself with his driving skills in front of you. You’ve been asleep in the passenger seat for the last twenty minutes.

When you do stir, Gareth is shaking your arm with his right hand. You’re close to his dad’s house. The houses are plainly suburban with trees growing in the front of every yard. White picket fences. And, snazzy shiny cars in the driveway. Young kids can play in the streets, and they move away when they see a car coming. A neighbor is in his own driveway washing his silver Mercedes. He waves kindly to Gareth, who gestures back.

“Do you know him?” You check yourself out in the mirror overhead. Since falling asleep, you’ve not had a single smudge in your makeup.

“No,” Gareth says honestly. “Everyone’s really friendly around here.”

“Huh,” that’s different from Hawkins for sure.

“Stop worrying,” your fidgeting has gotten to him, “you look great. My dad’s going to love you.”

Gareth slows the car. You’ve come to appreciate that he has his license now. And, you’re fully confident in his driving. Drives now are mostly done by him, and you would like to not think he prefers it that way because you’re a bad driver. You’re not. Maybe you speed through some of the neighborhoods. Whatever.

The grandest house in the neighborhood had to be the two story nearing the end of the street. Huge bushes cover the front entry. They’re well tended too, along with all the other foliage in the yard. A flower garden blooms comfortably along the stone pathway that guides you to the massive front entry door. The garage itself is the size of your trailer - maybe bigger. And, the home. God, you could stack two or maybe three trailers before you get anywhere near the size of your place.

“Shit,” you gulp.

Gareth reaches out to squeeze your hand, while he takes a gentle left into the driveway of the biggest estate you’ve ever seen. It’s like the shit you see in Hollywood.

You can’t even catch a breath because as soon as you hit the pavement with your own two feet there is a woman just feet away dancing and squealing. By the shininess of her hair, the smoothness of her skin and the bounciness of her knees, she could only be in her late-twenties at the oldest. She rips off her muddy gardening gloves, and pulls down her hat to let it rest across her back.

“Welcome!” Her blonde hair flicks behind her. She’s recently had highlights put in between her thick layers of hair that shine with the sun.

“Hi,” you receive a crushing hug that nearly knocks the wind out of you. On the bright side, she certainly smells as rich as she lives.

“Gareth!” She’s on to her next victim, and this time she gets her hands so tightly on his cheeks, his hair and finally hugs him. “You’re so tall!”

“Hi, Mary,” Gareth and ‘Mary’ are around the same height now. Who knows how tall he was the last time they saw each other.

“Is that my boy, Gareth?” A voice bellows from the porch. He and Gareth have the same smile. The one that shows all of their teeth. It’s pure joy. “And, the little miss! Hello!”

The age gap between Mary and Mr Emerson is quite obvious. She’s a bit livelier, which compliments the statement pieces dragging her earlobes down and making her wrists weapons. Mr Emerson has enough aging wrinkles to prove he’s been around town for more than a few years.

Mary must be the girlfriend that Gareth has told you about on the way here (before you fell asleep). Mr Emerson has been able to keep this girl around for over two years. It's a record - according to Gareth's mom. Mary has a tough time being accepted. That doesn’t let her bring her down. Her shoulders are always high. Shirts are always ironed. Food is on the table. Laundry is attended too. And, the garden - of course - is trimmed and beautiful.

“I’ll get the bags, you two head inside,” after the little family reunion is finished in the driveway, and the sun beats down heavily - Gareth’s father suggests they migrate to the kitchen. Mary has made lemonade, and baked cookies. She can’t wait to share all of the new recipes she’s got planned with you two.

Gareth takes your hand, “I’ll show you around.”

“I’ll get the albums!” Mary suggests.

Gareth groans - boy, he cannot catch a break!

-><-

July 1984

“Gareth took her with him?” Jeff stares at your empty trailer. It’s been empty for weeks. “Man, they must be getting serious. I know I wouldn’t introduce a girl to my whole family without - you know- being serious.”

The weed has gotten to his head. Jeff is talking nonsense now. Gareth isn’t serious with you - and, even if he was - which he isn’t - you don’t have any proof. What - like you’re going to get married at sixteen? No, this little “playing house” would get old and you would break up.

Woah. Maybe the weed has gotten to Eddie. That was crueler than usual. He needs a cigarette.

“You got any cigarettes? I’m out.” Jeff practically reads his mind.

“Top drawer in my room,” Eddie replies, “Wayne’s been cutting me off.”

Wayne has become a lot stricter since Eddie flunked high school. He’d be pretty pissed if he knew Jeff was over right now, instead of Eddie hitting the books and learning about some war. It’s all a load of crap anyway - what they teach in schools. They only teach you what they want you to know.

“Yo,” Jeff calls from down the hallway. His footsteps nearing. “What the hell is this?”

Eddie shot up sober now. There are a number of things in his room that should be kept private. Whatever is under his bed shouldn’t be seen to the light of day. But, to him, what’s in his dresser might be worse.

You’re there. That’s your drawer in his home. When you couldn’t sleep, you would come over and sneak in through his window. Granted, the place is small enough that Wayne probably just let the shenanigans go. You’re Eddie’s best friend after all. An extension of him. No harm in letting you stay one night.

But to Eddie, just holding you closer was all he needed. It’s become increasingly difficult for Eddie to fall asleep. You’re spending your days and nights with Gareth. Yeah, Eddie is still bitter.

It’s the sourest fruit to chew on. Whatever.

That space in his drawer will stay empty, until you need him again.

Jeff comes through the living room holding a chain necklace. It’s silver with a couple jewels next to a letter. Your first name.

When Eddie bought you that gift for Christmas, he saved up what little money he could. It would look beautiful around your neck. And - and maybe - ugh, Eddie looks like a ridiculous lapdog.

“That’s nothing, man,” Eddie tries to humor him, “wrong sock.”

“You really think you can steal away your best friend’s girl? Man, you’re sick,” Jeff scolds.

Eddie points out, “but I didn’t give it to her because she’s with Gareth.”

“You bought it,” he retorts. “Isn’t that bad enough?”

“How do you even know when I bought it?” Eddie asks smartly.

Jeff rolls his eyes.

Eddie caves, “okay. I got it for her for Christmas. So, what? It can be a friendly necklace.”

“You gonna give it to her?”

“No,” Eddie sighs. “Just- put it back where you found it.”

-> <-

July 1984

“I can’t believe I’m about to see Van Halen,” your excitement bleeds across your face, and you bounce on your toes waiting in the endless crowd for the performance to begin.

Gareth waited in a long line that wrapped through the parking lot to get both of you t-shirts to commemorate this moment. The bright eyed look upon your face was totally worth his legs cramping up, and his bladder squeezing him.

It was his father’s surprise, initially, to buy tickets for the two of you to see great music live. Hopefully, his son would gain inspiration since he knows how much Gareth loves his band, and takes the music seriously.

A low rumble comes from the stage, as the lights bring the stage to life. You’re right up front - being crushed is apart of the concert experience, you learn. It’s worth it.

The familiar twang of a guitar sends chills down your spine. You loose all sense of balance, and shake your wobbles out through a series of bounces that go along with the excitement of the evening.

Gareth is also yelling his own fair share of cheers. Enthusiasticly, he swings his arms above his head.

The band begins to emerge from somewhere backstage, and their instruments start to hum. Vibrations sunk deep in the floor begin to rise to your knees - and then your neck. The blood pumps behind your cheeks.

You let out a yell to match the crowd.

This is the best summer ever.

-> <-

[to be continued]

tags -> @leelei1980 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @jesuisbuginette @starrywhitenight @meetmeatyourworst @munsonburn3r @5tud10-54r4h @pvdulmol @loveryanax @am0iur @naatggeo @chaoticgood-munson @littlemissholy

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munsonburn3r · 18 days ago

Text

Misty | Eddie Munson x You | Pt.15

Word Count: ~2.7k

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: The summer before college, the future was supposed to belong to the two of you—music, escape, a city that never sleeps. But then Eddie says a few words that change everything: She’s pregnant. And it’s mine. Now, your dream looks different, and so does he.

Single Dad | Friends to Lovers

| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 14.1 | 15

In Hawkins, Indiana. The cold had come early that year.

The trees had already shed most of their leaves, their bare branches bracing for snowfall ahead of schedule.

Wayne Munson stood outside with his sleeves rolled up, a dusting of sawdust in his beard and a cigarette tucked behind one ear, hammering in steady silence. The old trailer creaked and groaned beneath him, like it knew it was finally being fixed after all these years.

Inside, Claudia Henderson was busy fluffing cushions.

Wayne was selling the place. At last. And while it felt like the closing of a long, unfinished chapter, he hadn’t expected Eddie to be there, helping in silence without ever being asked.

Claudia stepped outside with a glass of lemonade, handing it to Wayne as Eddie worked on the roof, patching leaks with near-military precision. His hair was tied back beneath a knit cap, and he hadn’t said much of anything all day.

“I’m worried about him,” Claudia said softly.

Wayne shrugged. “I know. But he’s a grown man. He’s gotta figure this out by himself”

From inside the trailer, they heard Misty giggle—playing with a new My Little Pony toy. A small indulgence Eddie had picked up after eleven grueling hours on a bus with a tired, cranky kid who just wanted to go home.

Claudia was just about to launch into a maternal monologue to try and sway Wayne, when Dustin’s car pulled up—his pride and joy from a summer job well done. The vehicle wasn’t new, or big, or particularly pretty, but it was his.

He slammed the door and stalked toward Eddie, eyes blazing.

He pointed at him.

“Hey, Hender—”

“You colossal idiot, don’t hey me, asshole,” Dustin snapped, stopping just short of yelling. “You left.”

“Okay,” Eddie said, pausing mid-hammer. “That’s not really your business, so—”

“FUCKING MOTHER—”

“Dusty!” Claudia warned, about to scold him, but Wayne gently put a hand on her shoulder.

“Nah, let him talk. Misty’s inside anyways.”

Claudia scowled at him. “You said you wouldn’t get involved.”

Wayne lifted his hands, mock-innocent. “And I’m not. Am I?”

“She played at her damn recital,” Dustin shot at Eddie, voice sharp. “She’s been waiting for that since she started college.”

Eddie sighed, hands on his hips, taking the verbal beating with quiet resignation.

“You think Robin wasn’t gonna tell Steve? And you think Steve wouldn’t tell me?” Dustin let out a bitter laugh. “You’re a damn coward. You left her alone.”

“Everyone thinks you’re a moron, by the way. I made sure of it. Told everybody. Because you are a moron.”

“There’s this guy at her college—” Eddie tried to say, calm but clearly rattled.

“Oh, yeah,” Dustin sneered, curls wild around his flushed face. “Matthew.” He made a fart noise. “So what? You thought, ‘Oh no, now she has options, better run off like a little shi—’”

Eddie cut him off.

“Henderson. She can do so much better than me. You know it.”

“OH, trust me, we all know it!” Dustin threw his hands up. “We’ve known for years. But she doesn’t want anyone else, dumbass. You think she would’ve done all this, written that damn song, raising Misty, if she didn’t love you?”

Eddie’s breath caught in his throat. He didn’t respond.

Not because Claudia and Wayne were there.

Not because a kid barely eighteen was the one delivering the truth like a freight train.

Because he knew.

He knew exactly what he’d done.

And right then, Wayne’s phone rang.

It was your father. He’d heard Eddie was in town and needed help with a vehicle that wouldn’t start.

Saved by the bell.

Or maybe not.

The auto shop smelled like oil and wind.

It felt like the set of a life Eddie no longer lived in.

Your father was wiping grease from his hands behind a half-disassembled car, his expression unreadable. He didn’t smile, but his gaze softened a little.

“How’s the little one?” he asked.

“She’s with Claudia. I think she and Wayne are heading over to your place now,” Eddie said. “She’s missed you.”

He nodded. “How was the recital?”

Eddie swallowed hard. “She was… she was amazing. Jonathan filmed it. He’s mailing the tape. I know it’s not the same, but—”

“It’s not,” your father said, cutting him off gently.

He gestured to the ancient car battery, then leaned in again—though his next words weren’t about the car.

“When Misty was born, I made G promise me she’d go to New York and finish school,” he said quietly, still not looking at Eddie. “She didn’t say it out loud, but she didn’t have to. I knew. If we hadn’t pushed her, she would’ve stayed in Hawkins. She would’ve raised that baby from day one like she was her own. No questions asked.”

Eddie’s hands clenched into fists.

“She is hers,” he said, voice rough. “Misty. She’s always been hers—from the moment she held her in that hospital room. Always.” He pressed his lips together. “And I needed her.”

Your father shook his head.

“No. Three years ago, in that hospital hallway, you were a kid with a baby. And you needed to grow up. To learn how to take care of your daughter. And I—” he stopped, breath hitched with emotion, “—I had to take care of mine.”

“From me?” Eddie asked, startled.

“No,” he said, frowning. “From herself. From what she’d give up if we let her.”

He sighed.

“Let me tell you something, Eddie. The difference between a boy and a man—it ain’t just age. It’s whether he knows how to handle his own damn problems. A boy leans. A man stands.”

Eddie’s throat tightened.

“Boys don’t become men if their woman’s always there to patch things up for them,” your father said, finally meeting his eyes.

Then, quieter:

“I’m proud of you.”

The words landed like a solid wall—quiet, built from years of weather and care.

“You’ve become a man, son. And whatever’s going on between you two… don’t expect her to fix it.”

He paused.

“Because three years ago wasn’t the right time, Eddie.” He nodded slowly. “And now…”

Now it is.

Because it was never about them.

It was always about the timing.

A wrong time.

Until now.

But now… now it was on him to be the right guy at the right time.

The shop fell quiet.

Outside, the wind rattled the roof like bones in a drum.

Inside, Eddie held his breath. Then nodded.

It had been five days without Eddie and Misty.

The apartment had never felt so quiet.

Not just quiet—hollow. Vacuumed. A silence with teeth.

The grumpy stuffed bear still smelled like Misty’s shampoo. Her pink knit hat hung off the back of a chair like a ghost. You couldn’t bring yourself to put it back in her dresser.

You’d tried.

You tried to write.

To read.

To scrub every corner of the apartment until it sparkled like a showroom.

You came up with excuses for Mrs. Georgiu when she asked about the little goat—said she missed the kid’s wild jumping on her stoop.

You tried not to picture Misty, curls half-flattened to her forehead, walking through the door and grinning, “Hey Mommy.”

But on the sixth day, you stopped trying to feel okay.

You let yourself feel the anger.

Angry that Eddie had pushed you aside.

Angry you hadn’t followed him that night, hadn’t forced the conversation you both should’ve had years ago.

Angry at the guilt that gnawed you every time you imagined Misty crying in the dark without you there to soothe her back to sleep.

You were done pretending that your anger wasn’t valid.

Because love and grief were sisters.

And you knew them both far too well.

That morning, you poured coffee into your chipped mug and picked up the landline.

You dialed Wayne’s number.

He picked up on the third ring. His voice came through low and rough.

“Wayne Munson—”

“Hi, Wayne.”

A beat, then—

“Well hey there, little one.” Warmth bloomed in his voice. “How you doin’?”

“I’m good.”

You both knew it was a lie, but Wayne wasn’t the type to call you on it.

“How about you?” you asked.

“Oh, y’know... still patchin’ up the ol’ fort,” he said. “Claudia’s in charge of selling this tin box. Keeps bringing in more pillows. I told her we didn’t need a damn pillow army, but she said, ‘Wayne Munson, there’s no such thing as too many cushions.’”

You actually laughed—really laughed—for the first time in days.

“Well... I’m gonna have to side with Claudia on that one.” You hesitated. “I was hoping to talk to Misty. Is she around?”

Wayne was quiet for a moment.

“She’s been missin’ you something fierce. Has a rough time waking up without you. And we can’t get her to eat her vegetables—Eddie says you sing to her to get her to finish ’em, but... well,” he cleared his throat, “here she is.”

There was the muffled sound of shuffling. A pause. Then a tiny, tentative breath.

“Hello?”

You blinked fast. “Hi, my love.”

Silence—then a sharp inhale, like the kind that comes right before crying.

“Mommy. Mommy. Mommy.”

The phone trembled in your hand. Your knees gave out. You sank to the kitchen floor, gripping the cord like a lifeline.

“Miss you, Mommy,” Misty said, bright and breathless.

“Oh, baby,” you whispered. “I miss you too. So, so much.”

Misty giggled and launched into a string of nonsense only you could understand—half-made-up words and scrambled syllables. She told you about some raccoons, a cookie she split with Grandpa Wayne, and a drawing she colored that had something to do with a purple tree.

“Dusty say Daddy a dum-dum.”

You laughed through your tears, wiping your cheeks with your sleeve. “He is a dum-dum,” you murmured, “but we love Daddy.”

You did.

You both did.

You didn’t know how long you stayed on the phone. Time got fuzzy.

Eventually, Misty just declared she was sleepy, and Wayne got back on the line.

You hadn’t realized your chest was hollow until Misty filled it with her voice.

“She needed that,” Wayne said. “So did I.”

“So did I,” you echoed. “Thank you, Wayne.”

“She loves you, y’know.”

You closed your eyes, breathing in deep through your nose. “And I love her.”

Wayne added, steady and soft, “She’s not the only one. Don’t let him push you away.”

“I won’t,” you said. “Not anymore.”

“But make him sweat a little,” Wayne said solemnly—then the line clicked dead.

You stayed there on the kitchen floor, the dial tone buzzing in your ear.

And you cried.

Not because something was broken.

But because, for the first time in a long time,

you were ready to build.

It was after the call.

Misty had fallen asleep curled up in Wayne’s old recliner, clutching the cordless phone like it was a teddy bear. Her tiny chest rose and fell in slow, steady rhythm. One fist curled near her mouth, the other holding a drawing she’d colored that morning—three stick figures beneath a tree; Mommy, Dada, Me. According to Misty.

Eddie had heard every word.

He hadn’t meant to. He’d stepped in to grab the laundry basket and froze when he heard her squeal “Mommy!” like her whole soul had been waiting on that word.

He backed out slowly and stood outside the trailer, in the orange hush of late afternoon, hands braced on his hips, lungs refusing to breathe. Claudia was nearby in the garden, chatting to Wayne’s tomato plants like they were neighbors at a barbecue.

It wasn’t the silence that gutted him.

It was the joy.

That sudden shift in Misty’s voice—from flat-gray quiet to sunshine giggles, squirrel stories, sleepy yawns.

He had taken that from her.

From both of them.

He sat on the trailer steps long after the sun dipped behind the trees.

Dustin had gone home after giving him the silent treatment because, once again, Eddie was an “absolute goddamn moron”—and after reminding him that you had called him, not Eddie, the day after Eddie left New York.

Just to check if they’d made it to Hawkins safely.

If he was okay.

Not if he was coming back.

Not if he loved you.

Just if he was okay.

Because that’s who you were.

Even when you should’ve hated him.

Wayne joined him after a while. Neither said much. Wayne lit a cigarette and passed one over without a word. Eddie didn’t argue. The smoke curled up between them like a slow confession.

“She loves that little girl like she made her,” Wayne said eventually.

“Some folks spend their whole damn lives chasing the kind of love you’ve got, son.”

Eddie closed his eyes. “I know.”

“You gonna go get it back?”

Eddie flicked the ash into the gravel. His voice came out low and hoarse.

“I don’t know if I can.”

Wayne shot him a look. “You made a mess, kid. But you ain’t a coward.”

“I walked out,” Eddie whispered. “Just like my old man.”

Wayne didn’t blink. “Difference is, you come back.”

Eddie looked toward the window, where Misty was asleep.

He stood. Tossed the cigarette. Stared at the night like it might give him answers.

“I’m going back to New York,” he said, steady.

Wayne nodded. “You gonna beg?”

Eddie let out a dry, bitter laugh. “I’m gonna tell her the truth.”

“And if she says no?”

Eddie smiled, quiet and sad. “Then I’ll deserve it. But I’m not making the same mistake twice.”

Wayne clapped a hand to his back. “’Bout damn time.”

And for the first time in days, Eddie walked inside with a plan.

He packed slow. Quiet. Kissed Misty’s head.

The next morning, they both left.

They were coming back to you.

The road to New York had never felt longer.

But for once—

he wasn’t running away.

He was going home.

Tag list: @theladyhellfire @superlegend216 @moon-esque @blahox @daisy-munson @venuslayla23-blog @flashmountaindjo @ilovetaquitosmmmm @awkward00noodle @mugloversonly @hereforshmut @boebephridgers @javsan @emxxblog @chemicallady @scarlettrikstr @jjoppees @aol19 @mmmunson @hellfirehopeless @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes

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munsonburn3r · 19 days ago

Text

Misty | Eddie Munson x You | Pt.14.1

Word Count: ~1.6k

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Single Dad | Friends to Lovers

| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 14.1 |

Spring, 1985. Hawkins.

The Hawkins High gym had been hit by a storm of cheap crepe paper streaming down from the ceiling, fairy lights strung along the rafters casting a yellow haze over the dance floor—where teenagers would sway awkwardly to slow songs by weekend’s end.

You stood near the edge, checking that everything was in place. The Spring Fling committee had gone all-in on pastel and floral.

Big surprise.

“Hey, I heard Gregory Callahan’s gonna ask you to the dance,” Tammy Thompson chirped, fluffing the bangs of her bleached, immaculately sprayed hair.

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah… it’s sweet, I guess.”

“It’s more than sweet. He’s got that whole saxophone solo, broody curls, prep-boy-who-reads-Poe vibe going on,” she grinned. “Every mom in town wants him dating their daughter.”

You laughed, but your gaze drifted past the gym doors, down the hallway—to the theater room.

Hellfire Club was probably meeting right about now.

Eddie heard the rumor earlier that week—some jock in a letterman jacket whispering by the lockers.

“Greg’s finally gonna ask her to the dance. Took him long enough. Girl’s way too hot to be hanging around that cult freak,” he sneered. “Only thing he’s good for is scoring us weed.”

"And stole cars like his dad"

Laughs

Eddie had been standing just around the corner.

His jaw tensed instinctively, but he walked away like none of it had touched him.

But it stung.

Because Gregory Callahan had money. He had charm. He could play the goddamn saxophone and was probably headed for a full scholarship at some fancy university.

He always held the door open with a warm smile. His brother was a cop. His family owned that tech store downtown.

Gregory Callahan didn’t live in a trailer.

He didn’t deal.

He was everything Eddie wasn’t—and had everything Eddie would never be able to give.

So when he saw you at lunch that Tuesday—sunlit, excited—and you asked,

“Hey, so, is Corroded Coffin playing at The Hideout this weekend?”

He just grunted. A clipped nod.

You tilted your head. “You okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he snapped—too fast, too sharp.

You blinked, but didn’t flinch.

“I hope I can make it,” you said softly. “Mr. Hamilton asked me to close the store that night. Not that anyone’s gonna be shopping for records on a Saturday, but... I’ll try not to miss it.”

“Yeah. Sure,” he mumbled, already turning back to his tray. “Do what you need, G.”

You rolled your eyes, assuming he was just moody over some Hellfire campaign that didn’t pan out, or maybe frustrated over a guitar riff he couldn’t quite nail down.

You said you’d go grab your lunch tray, walked off with a smile. Still kind.

Across the table, Gareth leaned in.

“Dude, what the hell was that?”

“Nothing,” Eddie muttered, stabbing his burger. “She’s gonna end up at that stupid dance with Gregory Fucking Callahan anyway.”

Saturday night, The Hideout was buzzing.

Warm air, spilled beer, cigarette smoke curling near the ceiling fans.

Corroded Coffin was tearing through their second set, and Eddie was high on adrenaline, cheap whiskey, and the kind of bitterness that clings like smoke.

Just like he figured—you weren’t there.

Hadn’t shown up.

Because, of course, Callahan had probably swung by the record store just before closing to ask you to the dance. Maybe took you out for coffee, or ice cream.

All gentleman-like, the good boy he was.

You weren’t going to show up at The Hideout—not when you had a date with a decent future.

During the break, he saw Diane—the curvy waitress with the big laugh and sharper mouth—rolling her eyes at a pair of drunk truckers.

One of them grabbed her wrist.

Eddie moved without thinking.

Shoved the guy hard enough to knock him into a barstool.

Told him to keep his goddamn hands to himself.

Diane looked at him differently after that.

They were behind the bar when you rolled up on your bike, lungs burning from pedaling like hell. The spring night air stung your cheeks.

You had raced over from the record store, hoping to catch at least the final song.

Because you wanted to see him perform.

Support the band.

See him.

The side alley was dim, a lone bulb buzzing over the back door.

You slowed your bike.

Smiled.

And then—didn’t.

You saw him.

Eddie Munson.

Back against the wall.

Hands in someone’s hair.

Her mouth pressed hard against his.

Her leg—bare and tan in a short skirt—wedged between his.

They were reckless.

Like they wanted to be caught.

Your smile fell—slow and silent, like snow melting at the first kiss of spring.

Your heart ached, but not from the ride.

You turned around slowly.

Pedaled home.

Didn’t stop until you hit your dad’s driveway.

You didn’t cry.

You never told Eddie what you saw.

He always thought you never came.

And nine months later, you were holding Misty in a hospital room—your fingers trembling as the ten-minute-old baby let out a little giggle that changed your life forever.

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munsonburn3r · 19 days ago

Text

Misty | Eddie Munson x You | Pt.14

Word Count: ~2.3k

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Single Dad | Friends to Lovers

| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 14.1

The stage was bathed in the soft amber glow of the old theater lamps, their light caressing the polished wooden floor in a way that conjured both comfort and unease. As if Eddie were some dissonant piece in an otherwise perfectly assembled puzzle.

Outside, the wind whispered against the frost-laced windows, carrying with it the scent that always came before snow—the breath of the coming storm that would welcome winter into New York, cold-lunged and restless-hearted.

Inside, silence settled over the auditorium like a sheet of silk. Everyone was here for someone tonight.

So was he.

For you.

You sat on the piano bench, center stage, fingers hovering above the keys. From his seat in the third row, Eddie could see the way your breath stuttered in your chest—but your lips, pressed together with quiet resolve, told him you were ready. He held his breath with you.

Misty, nestled between Eddie and Steve, squirmed gently beneath a knitted blanket Robin had gifted her—a testament to how much her crochet skills had improved in the last three years. Her big brown eyes flicked from the spotlight on you to her dad.

Eddie’s jaw tightened; that easy confidence of his had vanished, replaced by something raw and vulnerable. Your eyes met his, just for a second, as the lights around you dimmed. Then you closed your eyes, drew in a breath, and let the first note fall.

He’d seen you sweat for this day.

The opening chords were a whisper, like the first blush of dawn on a still ocean. The melody unfurled slowly, as though you were unwrapping some ancient, fragile parchment—too delicate to tear open all at once. Your fingers moved gently across the keys, not striking but touching them, dancing around a tune that wasn't quite happy or sad—something in-between, suspended in a tender twilight.

Then came your voice: soft, but strong. You looked out at the crowd and told them something secret.

“There’s a ghost of something softer in my spine, a kind of grace that never asked for mine,”

your body leaned just slightly back from the piano, your hands fluttering like moths over the keys,

“She moves like morning through a dim-lit room, a truth that doesn’t need to prove.”

Misty stirred, her eyes wide as she pointed at you. “Mommy.”

Eddie nodded, kissing her small hand but never taking his eyes off you. The soft pulse of the song wrapped around them like a quiet kind of hope—threading the small miracles of your life into something sacred.

“Misty—like a secret I don’t speak. But carry every time I breathe. The part of me that learned to give Without expecting to receive. Misty—you’re the silence that forgave me, the soft that somehow saved me. The proof that love can give and leave— and we still believe.”

Steve glanced at Eddie, sensing the weight of tension coil around his friend’s shoulders. Robin stood near the edge of the stage—she’d played a Joni Mitchell cover earlier and stayed to watch the rest of the showcase from up close.

Your voice held steady all the way to the final line, the last chord suspended in the air—then falling into silence.

Eddie didn’t move. For a long moment, he just sat there, the full weight of his life pressing into his chest. His eyes stayed fixed on you—even as you stood from the piano, even as you bowed under the rising applause. You looked radiant. You sounded like everything he couldn’t say. And he was wrecked by it.

Pride. Pain. Love.

Twelve years of friendship, and still you felt so far from his reach. And he, so far from your radar.

Misty leaned into his side, her tiny hand searching for his. She whispered again, “Mommy.”

Eddie swallowed hard, his fingers curling gently around hers. As if holding on to her could anchor the ground beneath his feet.

You rose slowly, the echo of your heartbeat still thrumming like a muffled drum, and bowed again.

Then the applause came—warm and wide, washing over everything. But through the cheers and the crowd, your eyes searched until they found his. You smiled. And waved to Misty, trying to contain the ache burning inside your chest—the one shaped like a love too complex to speak in simple words.

A family stitched together in the quiet between songs.

Your eyes met his again.

Eddie didn’t know how to read them.

But it was longing. Fear.

And the fragile hope that maybe someday, you’d find your way through the silence together.

As the house lights came back on, people began filtering out with soft conversations and light laughter. There were hugs, small bouquets under arms—tokens meant for someone else. You stayed backstage after hugging Robin, still riding the fragile echo of your performance—the warmth of release humming through your limbs.

You spotted Eddie standing by the side of the stage and walked toward him. You hopped down lightly in your dress, graceful and sure. Misty was slumped against his shoulder, her tiny hand curled into the collar of his jacket.

You couldn’t read his face. He looked like he was holding something back.

He looked at you—at the simple blue dress dotted with tiny glimmers of light.

Like stars.

Like the night sky.

Like heaven.

God, he didn’t deserve someone like you.

Didn’t belong in your orbit.

Your hair was pinned up, but a few strands framed your face with a kind of quiet elegance. Misty was dozing in his arms when you opened your mouth to speak—but then, a movement from the corner of your eye.

Matthew appeared at your side, holding a bouquet—red and white roses, neatly wrapped in twine and tissue.

“Matt, hey,” you smiled.

“You were amazing,” he said warmly, offering the flowers.

“You too. Thanks, these are beautiful,” you murmured, bringing them to your nose.

“I mean it—your song… you killed us,” he admitted. “So, uh… you got time to celebrate? A few of us are headed to this restaurant down the block—nothing fancy. We added you to the reservation, just in case.”

You hesitated. And in that hesitation, Eddie stepped forward.

“You should go. Celebrate, I mean.” He shrugged, shifting Misty in his arms. “You busted your ass for this.”

“Eddie…” you murmured, frowning slightly.

He leaned in so the words were just between the two of you. Matthew stepped back, giving space—though still close enough to hear your answer.

“Hey,” Eddie said quietly, half a smile tugging at his mouth. “G, you were… you were fucking incredible. Really. You looked like a goddamn star up there. Your folks would be proud. I’m—hell, I’m proud as hell.”

“Thank you,” you nodded. “And thank you for being here, I…”

“Mommy singed,” Misty mumbled, and you smiled, kissing her little hand.

“Go”

He hadn’t brought you flowers.

He’d brought a baby in his arms.

A pacifier in his pocket.

And not enough spare change to take you to dinner.

“No, Eddie.”

“Come on—you deserve flowers. And a real meal with your friends,” he encouraged, voice steady, too steady. “We came to see you shine tonight, and that’s exactly what you did. You really did.”

“I don’t know, honestly. What’s a celebration without my Munsons?” you smiled, but it wasn’t a joke.

It didn’t feel like one, because he was pushing you away—and you knew it.

“You should go,” he insisted again. “Matthew’s great. And your other friends? They get it. He gets you.”

“Hey, come on, Eddie—” you tried, but he was already stepping back.

“This is bullshit,” you muttered with a bitter smile, hoping it might hide the sharp edge of your words.

“No, really. You deserve it. Go. Please. Go toast to yourself—because if anyone’s earned it, it’s you.”

You frowned as he pulled farther away.

He didn’t even let you kiss Misty on the temple.

Didn’t give you the chance.

You were just standing there, flowers in hand, watching him vanish with your daughter like a retreating tide.

Matthew came up to talk to you—warm, kind, smiling.

You nodded. Politely.

You agreed to go. Smiled like it meant something.

All while something restless began to uncoil in your chest.

If he was pushing you that hard... maybe it was because he didn’t want you. Not like that.

Maybe he was never going to be what you’d spent all these years hoping he could be.

So you went.

Detached. Numb.

It was fun. Or—at least, it was supposed to be.

Your classmates were all there. Not just Lisa and Jeff—others from different years, too. Even Robin came along. Steve had hit it off with some girl during the concert and left to grab dinner with her since Robin was already busy charming a girl from one of her classes.

You even managed a few laughs.

By the end of the night, Steve picked you both up and dropped you off outside the apartment.

They noticed something was off. Of course they did. But they didn’t push.

They gave you space.

Because underneath the laughs and the compliments, something inside you remained curled and silent.

Like a small bird refusing to sing until it was set free.

You were full—but not whole.

When you got home, the hallway lights were flickering again.

You saw the chipped paint on the walls, the scuff mark on the floor that had always been there—

and it struck you: this place felt like home.

You turned the key, pushed the door open—

and froze in the doorway.

Silence.

No lights left on for you, the way Eddie always did when you came home late.

No Misty’s dinosaur slippers scattered around the couch.

The couch—empty.

The kitchen—dark.

And on the little table beneath the low buzz of the ceiling bulb, a folded scrap of paper with your name on it.

You opened it with trembling fingers.

“We went to Hawkins. Needed a little air. Misty misses Grandpa Wayne. See you soon—Eddie.”

That was it.

No Love, Eddie.

No I’ll call you.

No We need to talk.

Just that.

You stood there in your heels and coat,

flowers in hand—already starting to wilt from thirst—

and the silence roaring in your ears like the sea.

You felt like the last page of a book that was never finished.

Like the echo of a room that only remembered being full.

Like a broken heart—old and new all at once.

You were tiptoeing on a cliffhanger.

You pressed the note into your palm, wishing you could crush it into dust.

For a moment, you thought you might cry.

But no—

All you let out was a soft, bitter laugh.

Because of course.

Of course he left on the night you sang about the day Misty came into the world and changed both your lives.

Of course he left on the exact night you’d finally decided to tell him you loved him.

That you needed to stop running from the thing you'd both been skirting around for years.

The thing that could’ve been everything.

Of course he ran.

Don't hate me, I love you 💕

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munsonburn3r · 21 days ago

Text

My best friend (who has never watched Stranger Things) just texted me about the S5 trailer and this is how she asked if Eddie was in it -

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munsonburn3r · 21 days ago

Text

up for the challenge

professor!eddie x adult!student!fem!reader

the semester's over. the grades are in. and with nothing left to hold him back, your favorite professor is ready to go from blurring the lines between you two, to making them non-existent.

a/n: long time no see, friends ;) coming in hot! this is inspired by my bb @mediocredreams ' prof eddie au! i hope i did it justice.

cw: p*rn with plot (in true maddy fashion), professor/student dynamic, dom!eddie, sub!reader, established age gap (eddie is probably early 40s, reader is mid 20s), p in v sex (protected), hair-pulling, fingering, orgasm denial, that rough and passionate shittt, briefly mentions drinking

It starts with a pat on the back.

Til it lingers and becomes a shoulder squeeze. And before you know it, your papers are being returned to you, heavily marked with suggestive feedback, allowing just enough real estate for plausible deniability, but also enough room to where the lines start to blur.

“Why do you always do this?” you’d roll your eyes playfully.

And he’d meet you right where you are. “Because I like challenging you.”

It becomes a dance, this little secret of yours. The sneaky glances during lecture. The double entendres of, "I like how determined you are" and "Looking forward to seeing you next week". The extended office hours disguised as mentorship, only for him to barely acknowledge you when class is in session.

You two have been intimate in every way possible except sexually. It’s electrifying. Professor Munson's got his craft — and you — all mapped out. Which is why he waits until you are no longer his student to begin his pursuit.

Layla's Tavern?

It isn't out of the ordinary for professors to go out to eat with their pupils. But doing so at a rooftop bar in the metropolis — alone and strategically away from campus?

Oh yeah. He’s done his research. Just as you knew he would.

You reply almost instantly.

I'll be there. 6pm?

“You were so wrong for that,” you say between giggles. “I thought about it for a whole week.”

You and Professor Munson are on the rooftop of Layla’s Tavern, a couple drinks in and laughing like cheeky, rebellious teenagers. You’re shoulder to shoulder, debriefing the semester while the patio heater casts warmth over you both.

It all felt so liberating, finally being able to say out loud what your eyes have been whispering for months.

“Hey, no pitchforks now,” Professor Munson says with a chuckle. He tosses his hands in the air. “The rubric clearly stated three academic articles — two of them peer-reviewed — and all published within the last five years. Your third one was SIX.”

You reject Munson's theatrical surrender, grabbing his large hands and pressing them back onto the booth. He smiles mischievously into you, enabling this quiet, deliberate moment of affection — a crack in the dam that would’ve held firm just a few months earlier. His eyes stay locked on yours as your hands hover above his lap.

“Ugh,” you gaze up at him through beady, flirtatious eyes. "Why do you always have to follow the rules?"

“I don’t always follow them,” he shakes his head in amusement. “Sometimes there are exceptions.”

You feel yourself flush as blood rushes to your face. It’s then that you start to wonder if it’s even the heater doing the warming. After all, his dark brown eyes and sultry stare have never failed to melt you into a puddle before. Amongst other things.

He bumps you with his knee.

"You ready to head out?"

Aged cigars and smoked whiskey greet you at Professor Munson's high-end condo.

You find yourself perched politely on his leather couch as he sifts through his vinyls — aged and seductively rugged, much like himself — set on cultivating the best mood possible for the occasion.

You both knew what you came here for. But there was still a need for feigned naiveity, a scripted buffer to preserve the illusion of its organic unfolding, despite how carefully orchestrated this all was.

"You do your class eval yet?"

"I did," you smile.

"Oh yeah?” he smirks, settling beside you with practiced ease. “How'd I do?"

You eye him up and down, tugging a heavy and restrained sigh out of him as he primally traces your gaze.

The thrill of it all feels like mid-semester still; but with a lot less limitations.

"10 out of 10.”

"BO-RING," he roars.

"What?!" you stumble back in shock.

"C'mon,” he cackles. “If I could do ONE thing better, what would you like me to do?"

"I can't think of anything!" you offer a smiley pout, the soft pitch of your voice getting higher with every syllable. "Your class is fine the way it is."

"Seriously? I don't believe that."

Now you’re challenging him.

"Tell me why you care so much, Munson."

You find yourself tracing his stubble with your delicate fingers, simply out of adoration, and he watches this like a favorite film that he forgot existed.

Munson shifts in his seat, matching this energy by reeling you closer to him by your waist, with nothing left but his conditioned restraint to hold him back. But the dam is straining now, against the pressure of this rising flood.

"I care," he says in the deepest register you've ever heard from him, his hand settling on your knee, "Cuz I'm always striving to better my craft."

He exhales, breath low and calibrated, as if a single breath alone might just set off the very desire threatening to unravel him. The desire of unraveling you. You and those beady doe eyes, that perky bust, and that mouth designed for sin. You, with that laugh and your barely-appropriate skirts. You and those not-so-accidental touches during didactic that made getting caught look like the objective. Munson’s eyes drop to your mouth, then snap back, clinging to control by the tiniest thread.

"Well,” you inch closer to him. “I don't think it can get any better than this."

And the floodgates have opened. With his impulse control gone awry, Munson initiates his long awaited leap into you.

"Mm."

It all happens so quick, so naturally, that before you know it your soft lips are pressed against his, submitting to his passionate tongue as he cups your face and lowers you onto the couch.

“Fuck.”

His stiff, growing bulge probes at your stomach as you moan into his touch, palming him needily as he glides his thick fingers across your folds.

And he does this as he’s kissing your jawline softly, smiling into you as he savors the scent of your floral body oil, a fragrance that brings him back to the butterflies — the new, profound excitement of syllabus week.

He’s wanted to bend you over his podium, and fuck you senseless since day one.

"You don't know how long I've waited for this," he breathes as your lips part temporarily.

"Oh, I KNOW," you tease. “Professor Munson.”

He looks at you through his hooded, enchanted eyelids.

"You do realize you can call me Eddie..."

"I know that too," you say. "It's just…I've been calling you Professor Munson all semester."

"That's fair," he nods. "Too long of a semester..."

Your breath catches suddenly, causing your lips to separate as Eddie introduces two fingers into your needy cunt, already soaked to the base of his knuckles with your arousal. There’s an immediate braveness with his pacing, steady yet unforgiving, your desire for him trickling onto your soft, black lace panties. Mindful of this, Eddie then eases them down to the hem of your mini dress.

“You don’t need this.” You giggle up at him. “You always used to say that.” “It lands a little differently now, yeah?” he quips, pulsing in further. “So…. much differently,” you muster, attempting a smile towards him. “Very…” he smiles back, his lips curling ever-so-connivingly. “VERY differently.”

Get rid of this. Get rid of that. You don’t need this. You don’t need that.

Eddie Munson — with his unwavering rubric-slash-doctrine — always used to make you work for every inch of praise you earned.

But when that praise came? That seal of approval in the form of a “well done” wink, and a little extra 1:1 time with him? It was a dopamine high you couldn’t help but chase.

And when you finally earned the full credit he’d been dangling in front of you — almost mockingly…like a carrot just out of reach — the payoff became addictive.

Translation: You want it? Better work for it, baby. I know you can. And I know you WILL.

So yeah, it lands differently now. But a part of you wonders if it was the meaning all along.

God, if admin saw this...

"Eddie..." you chant, whimpering into his ear. "Eddie... Eddie... Eddie… Fuck. Fuck, FUCK!"

His pace had quickened and you're a mewling mess beneath him, the profanities he’d normally disapprove of being all that you were shouting.

But he grins widely at this instead (surprisingly), satisfied by the notion that he was able to undo you so intimately, pushing your buttons further by inserting another digit.

Desperately trying to keep yourself contained, you tug at his hair, eyelids closing, brain numbing, your core hot and tight when…

Suddenly, he retreats.

"Why's it look like you wanna cum right now?" Eddie scorns.

You're thrown by the shift in demeanor. A stammering wreck, you rush to your own defense.

"I-I..." blood rushes back to your face. "I don't. Not yet at least."

"Good," he smirks. "Got a lot more where that came from."

Eddie pauses to skim your body, sifting through his mental catalogue of fantasies best suited for this very moment. Suddenly, his gaze ignites.

"Get on top."

Without any extra thought, you reposition yourself to perch upon the very lap you had been fantasizing about all semester. You await Eddie’s cue as he scrambles for a condom, taking this moment to collect yourself and stare around the estate that — indeed — belongs to your former professor.

You’re actually here. You’re actually doing this. This isn’t a one-sided ordeal either. Eddie Munson wants you just the same. Perhaps even more.

The sound of an opening wooden drawer, and snapping of some rubber brings you back. Out on a prowl — and painstakingly erect — Eddie eyes you carnivorously as you take the sight of him in. “Ready for the REAL test?” he winks.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” you respond coyly.

“You've got it,” he insists, fixing your position so that you were hovering right above him. His voice darkens. “Go on, now… Bounce on it for me.”

There’s no going back after this point. Sinking yourself onto his ruinous shaft, a silent gasp escapes you as you lower yourself onto him. Eddie grunts pleasurably, tossing his head back, slowly snaking himself inside you and pumping in and out of you balls deep, ensuring you felt every nerve of that initial sting, every intentional stroke, every highway of his thick veins, and every bout of praise that had spilled carelessly out of his mouth as he fawned up at your beauty.

“Oh god…” you breathe.

Gauging you intently, Eddie stops when he senses you’ve accommodated him, allowing you to take the reigns any which way you wanted. And to your shock, you could only watch as he reaches for your hands, assertively pinning them behind your back before fastening them in place with the belt that was initially around his trousers. He grins at your subtle uncertainty.

“You've got it,” he repeats, whispering you through it as you whimper softly. “’s nothin’ you can’t handle.”

“You sure?” you bite your lip seductively as you ride, causing him to grow even more inside of you.

“Yeah,” he tuts, his lazy eye devouring you at the sight. “I’ve seen you challenge yourself before. You can do it, sweetheart.”

So you keep bouncing, all while he calls you “gorgeous” and “stunning” through it. But the euphoric minutes slowly begin to feel like hours, your legs wobbling like jelly, though you’re determined to stick it through.

But Eddie’s watching… studying you. And no matter how much you try to hide it, he sees through you more than you realize.

You’re tired – and spoiled – and he knows it.

"So used to being a pillow princess, aren't you?" he tsks as you ride him needily. "Gonna have to work for THIS one, my dear.”

He watches with the smuggest look on his face, taking note of just how blissfully your eyes roll to the back of your head as you ride him out. You’re tempted to use his chest for leverage with your palm, but he gives his belt a tug, tightening how snug they felt around your wrists.

“She loooves a challenge,” he observes, pupils nearly blown from how pussy drunk he had become. He is but a slave to your moans. "Both inside the classroom and out, don’t you baby?"

You illicit a high-pitched grunt in confirmation, knuckles white against the confinement of his grasp, fixated on delaying your climax for as long as possible while your pussy encloses itself around his perfect cock.

Is it really a ‘power-play’ if you both knew the rules and still chose to break them? If the tension was mutual, electric, and stimulating in every sense? You didn’t just provoke him — you matched his energy, and well, neither of you retreated. Off limits, yes. But the door was always unlocked.

God, you’re obsessed with how he feels. He’s ruining you.

"Don't wanna fucking stop," you whine. "Feels too good."

Eddie chuckles at this, amused and impressed by how far you’re willing to go to get to your reward.

“Yeah? I feel that good?”

“Mhm,” you nod.

“I‘m sure I do.”

He draws it on for a while longer, just before you’re about to tap yourself out when he continues to speak.

“Alright. Move your hands.”

He’s released the belt now at this point, and once again you can only watch as Eddie begins to take control.

Once more, before you could register it, Eddie’s effortlessly flipped you onto your back, manually arching your spine with a moderate press to your lower hips. You beam up at him with lust, and he responds with a firm smack to your ass, before proceeding to tease your folds with the head of his greedy cock.

The challenge is everything you wanted. He’s deeper — and somehow feels fuller — when he rails you from the back, causing you to see stars from just the first few pummeling thrusts.

“Holy FUCK!”

Eddie chuckles — low and knowing — at the way your composure slips as he ruthlessly fucks himself into you, hips pistoning themselves into your ravaged cunt while your slick echoes off the walls of his glass house. You’ve reached a new threshold now.

“More,” you beg. “More, E-Eddie. Just don’t fucking stop!”

Eddie digs his thumbs into the small of your back for leverage, the exhilarating wet smacks of your bodies crashing into one another incentivizing him further. With a free hand, he gets a loaded grip of your hair, twisting it in his grasp before yanking your gaze upwards towards the ceiling, continuously — effortlessly — drilling you into the couch.

"Wish you could see how hot you look right now," he grunts. "Been needing you like this ever since class started."

How can a man — who’s barely even touched you as til now — who only just now began exploring the hidden crevices of your body — already know EXACTLY what to do?

It’s enough to send you over the edge. Your, pornographic cries sloppy, his thrusts even sloppier.

“Wanna cum, Eddie. I need to.”

"I know, I know," he soothes you, the cockiness of his tone slightly patronizing. “You can cum now sweetheart, don’t be shy.”

Just as promised, Eddie catches you when you allow yourself to surrender. His arms wrap around you instinctively, grounding you to the aftershocks. He rubs gentle circles along your arm, lips brushing against your shoulder in soft, repetitive kisses. Eddie then tenderly tucks loose strands of hair away from your damp, flushed face, murmuring quiet reassurances as you melt into him.

“Gooood girl,” he softly chuckles one last time. “That’s my good girl.”

You’re practically skipping around his abode afterwards, given the fact that Eddie essentially wined, dined, and fucked you right into summer break. As you help him tidy up, your ex-professor is back to his regular, joking self.

“Not bad for an old man, huh?” he tuts, issuing you a teasing, triumphant elbow.

“Not bad at all,” you giggle.

You shyly toss your clothes back on as he proceeds to give the area a proper wipe down. He sneaks another quick glance your way.

“If you wanna shower, you can use the bathroom upstairs,” Eddie offers. “I can get you some fresh towels and a t-shirt too if you’d like.”

“Cool,” you blush. “Thank you, Eddie.”

He blushes at this too, elated with how well his informal name melts onto your tongue. You glide your way back over to him, mind heavy with a proposal you’ve been rehearsing for weeks on end.

"So," you smile angelically. "Heard you're gonna be off for two whole months!"

earth toned divider from @saradika-graphics bow divider from @strangergraphics

taglist: @mediocredreams , @airandyeah bc they knew what i had up my sleeve hehehehe

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munsonburn3r · 22 days ago

Text

Soundtrack to Disaster

songs for this chapter: edge of the world by citizen, i don’t like who i was then by the wonder years, untitled by knuckle puck

chapter tags: dream smut. again. perv!eddie, less pervy!but still pervy!reader, more panty theft? mentions of (fake, mostly) blood, fake gore, sfx gore make up t’s a halloween party man idk what to tell u. angst per usual, flirty behavior, mentions of alcohol/weed/cigarettes | fic tags: Angst, hurt/(eventual) comfort, (eventual) smut, slow burn, enemies to friends to lovers, Eddie Munson x Fem!OC!Reader, Modern AU | REMINDER: THIS FIC IS RATED EXPLICIT. 18+ mdni.

a/n: guess what my fav holiday is. go ahead. bet u can't! anyway. this is longer than usual. idk, i got nothin. enjoy!

taglist (open!): @children-of-the-grave @five-bi-five @kellsck @faggotinie @xplrnowornever @taccobelle @micheledawn1975 @mewchiili @dreamerjj @losingmygrasponreality @munsonburn3r @justalotoffanfiction @bl0ssomanddie @eddiesgirl1944 @longlivedelusion @aliensfeltmyjoy

smut directly under the cut

–

“Feels s-so good, Ed. Fuck,” Through labored breaths, Eddie slides his cock in and out of your drenched, aching hole. He’s behind you on his couch, the arm that isn’t underneath him wrapped around your abdomen, hand snaking under the hem of your shirt, creeping towards your hardened nipple. Your head is thrown back on his shoulder, top leg raised to give him better access to you, grinding back on him. The only other sound comes from in the space you and him connect, filthy, wet noises you’d normally be embarrassed about making.

“You’re so warm, Bee. So f-fuckin’ wet, too. Shit, ‘m gonna–” His head falls forward, but he moves steadily enough to throw you over the edge first, and you moan loudly as you clench around his length, legs shaking on either side while Eddie unravels behind you, groaning and thrusting through his own orgasm.

“Christ,” He says the word through clenched teeth, and you can feel the sticky sweat of his skin against yours when he rests his forehead on your shoulder. “Best pussy I ever had.” He muses, and you giggle before turning your head to place a kiss on his nose.

–

There’s an unbearable heat between your legs. You’re in the same position you were in before opening your eyes, only you’re clothed. Eddie’s hot breath tickles your shoulder as he snores soundly, arm draped loosely on your hip. The kicker, though, is his knee, notched between your legs. You try to move, and realize quickly why you’re hot. You’d actually had a fucking orgasm in your sleep, from grinding on Eddie’s leg. You can feel his dick, hard against your lower back.

“Fuck.” You mouth the word rather than speak it, and dart your eyes around the room to reorient yourself. The lights in the living room are dimmed, and the drawn blinds don’t glow with the setting sun. You snatch your phone from the coffee table, and the time blinks back at you: 3:33 AM. So, you can’t go home now. Chris would absolutely hear you, and you’d be in for an interrogation before your head hit the pillow. But you can’t stay like this, not with your underwear this fucking wet. There would be no explanation if he were to wake up to that.

I have to move.

You take a deep breath, holding it as you gently grab Eddie’s wrist that’s resting across your body. You place it carefully on his side, and slide slowly off the couch. Eddie shifts, and you wince, waiting for him to wake up and catch you. He doesn’t though, only buries his head back into the cushion, completely oblivious.

Exhaling, you tiptoe to the bathroom, praying you can make this quick. You shed your sweatpants and underwear, and search wildly for something to clean yourself with. You yank a discarded towel off the floor in the corner. As it unfolds it releases another, smaller piece of fabric that drops to the ground at your feet. Bright pink, the gusset crusted with your arousal: the underwear that had disappeared weeks ago, coincidentally, on the day Eddie had come over.

“What. The fuck.” You want to be offended. You want to be grossed the fuck out, repulsed, scared, something that isn’t the despicably sinful way you feel right now.

You shake the filthy thoughts as best you can, and run the corner of Eddie’s towel under warm water to wipe the sweat and fluid from your legs, and toss it in his hamper. After you’ve cleaned yourself, you slide your pants back on and tuck your reclaimed underwear in the pocket. As a last minute decision, you leave your newly removed, black pair on the floor next to the tub.

“I’m a perv.” You mumble, unable to wipe the grin from your face. You decide at that moment, you won’t confront him about stealing your underwear. Not yet. He’ll notice the switched pair, and the ball will be in his court.

Unfortunately, Eddie’s not as heavy a sleeper as you’d hoped. When you come back, he’s sitting straight up and rubbing his tired eyes with his fist.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” You whisper as you approach, repeating a prayer to yourself.

“Not exactly, but I think my body noticed you were gone.” He slides his hand down his face before turning to look at you, and his eyes widen. “You okay? You look…” He tilts his head, confused. “Flushed.”

Shit. “Yeah, I’m okay. Woke up warm, I guess.”

He hums in response, patting the cushion next to him. You oblige, and sit, far enough away so your skin doesn’t brush his.

“You uh, wanna ride home?”

You turn your head too quickly to look at him. “Wh- do you want me to go home?”

He shakes his head. “No, sorry, that’s not what I meant. Just wasn’t sure if you were like, done for the day.” You’ve had a history of your social battery dying, and there’s a stutter in your chest when you realize Eddie knows that about you still.

“No, I’m alright.” And it’s true. You don’t feel the need to leave yet. You’re not sick of being with him, or even tired from spending a whole day away from home. “Might have to sleep somewhere else, though. My neck kinda hurts.” It’s not really a lie, but it’s definitely not the reason you need more space between you and him. “You mind if we move into your bed?”

“Oh, uh. No, ‘course. Not at all. Uh, ‘We?’” He asks, scratching the back of his neck nervously.

“Well, yeah. Not gonna make you sleep on the couch in your own house. That would be rude!” You offer out your hand, and Eddie takes it hesitantly. You pull him off the couch, and lead him down the small hallway, into his bedroom.

Eddie’s room in high school was what you’d lovingly call a rat’s nest. It was cluttered, disheveled, and sometimes smelled a little too much like weed, but it was very Eddie. He’d had metal band and movie posters tacked to the walls, an old TV on his nightstand, and drawers overstuffed with t-shirts and ripped jeans. Often you’d find empty beer bottles under his bed, or holes in the suspiciously stained sheets from dropping a cherry. It was a twin bed shoved in one corner, a dresser in the other, and a small path from the door to the bed, lined on either side by discarded clothing.

Eddie’s room in his apartment gives you pause. It’s clean, not even just for Eddie’s standards, but for someone like your mom’s. He has a bookshelf to display his records, knick knacks, and novels, and a TV mounted to the wall across from his bed, which is made with very soft, clean looking blue flannel sheets. His posters are in frames, of the same bands you remember him liking as a teenager. There’s still an ashtray on the nightstand, but this time the bed is against the wall, next to an open window that’s circulating a cool breeze around the room. It smells the way Eddie does, but far more concentrated: Pine, smoke, a little spice. You practically collapse into his bed, face first into the pillows, in the middle of the bed.

“Uh, uh. Scooch.” Eddie climbs in after you, shoving you further towards the wall before making himself comfortable on the outside.

“So comfy.” You mumble into the fabric, inhaling his scent deeply before even noticing you’re being weird.

But Eddie laughs to himself. “You’re so… cute.”

It takes everything in you not to melt into the mattress. “Yeah, totally. Hair’s a mess, breath probably stinks. I’m adorable.”

Eddie slides down so his face is even with yours, and you open one eye to look at him. His nose is practically against yours, both eyes wide as if it’ll help him see you better. “Yeah, exactly. I meant what I said, and I said what I meant, baby.”

You roll your eyes and turn your head into his pillow, mostly to hide the bright red hue from him. “Goodnight, Edward.”

He cackles, and yanks your body into his chest, causing you to freeze. He seems to notice, and loosens his grip enough for you to get away. You don’t move.

“You alright?” He whispers, and you nod, inching back into his touch. He flexes slightly, and you take his arm, wrapping it back around your waist.

“I’m okay.” You close your eyes again, and you feel him sigh next to you. Before you can even count to ten, Eddie’s fast asleep again, breathing soundly into your ear.

–

“Well, well. Look what the walk of shame dragged in!” You throw your middle finger up at your brother as you kick off your shoes. It’s already late afternoon. Eddie had left you in the morning for work, and you had taken hours to peel yourself from his bed. You’d wanted to swim blissfully in his scent, his sheets, in him for the rest of the day without a care in the world, but then you had the unfortunate luck of remembering what was waiting for you on the other side of that bliss.

“Aren’t you supposed to be moving out of my house?” You spit, dropping your bag on the table by the door.

“Relax, I move in on Saturday. For someone that just spent the night with her secret boyfriend, you seem pretty grouchy.” Chris throws a grilled cheese onto the stove and it sizzles. “You want one?”

“Yeah, please.”

“You gonna tell me what happened last night?”

“You gonna leave me alone if I don’t?”

“Nope!” Chris turns and grins at you. “But I’ll make you a sandwich!”

“Chris,” You sigh, turning your body to look at him from the couch. “Nothing happened. We just hung out. Talked a bit. I don’t see the need to give you every detail.” You’ve learned to lie from the best, but it’s still not something you like doing.

Instead of pushing back, your brother just shrugs. “Guess you’re right. Think Eddie would?”

You pause, biting your bottom lip. Would he? “I don’t know. I don’t see why he would. Nothing exciting.” A massive lie. But you’d asked him not to tell anyone. That includes your brother, right?

“Alright. I’ll take your word for it.” He clicks the stove off after sliding your sandwich onto a paper plate. “And to answer your question, I can move in on November first. So you’re still stuck with me for another week.”

“Oh, joy!” You exaggerate the phrase, swinging your arm in sarcastic excitement. “So, the show. Gore. Blood. Guts. You need help setting the stage up?”

“You’re working tonight anyway, right? I’ll just steal you before your shift starts.”

“No, absolutely not. If I’m working. I’m getting paid!”

Chris snorts. “Okay, I’ll give you half my tips for a week.”

“Deal.” You grin at him before taking another bite of your sandwich.

“Dressin’ up?”

“Ugh, I didn’t have a lot of time to plan a second costume. Plus I’m working, so I’ll probably just put some fake blood on my face and call it a night.”

“Lame!” Chris wipes his greasy hands on his jeans as he stands, throwing his paper plate into the trash.

“Whatever!” You pop the last of your lunch into your mouth as you flip your brother off with the other hand. “You’re lucky I’m workin’ at all.Who else is gonna save your ass when you break your sticks?”

Chris doesn’t respond, and you chuckle to yourself as you stand from the counter. You make your way to your room, off to stare at your closet for three hours before deciding on another black band t-shirt and jeans.

–

It’s the Tuesday before Halloween. At the Hideout. In Hawkins, Indiana. The whole goddamn town is here, it seems. And you’re about to freak the fuck out. There’s barely any space to move, the dance floor crowded with bodies covered in sticky fake blood, the chemical smell mixing with spilled beer and sweat. You’d decided on a white t-shirt you’d thrifted and haphazardly cropped, dousing yourself in fake blood in the parking lot because you hadn’t wanted to stain your car seats. Now you wish you’d avoided the substance altogether.

“Bee!” You hear your name over all the chaos, and you try to find where it’s coming from. “Marco!”

“Polo!” You call back, stepping further into the hellish bar.

“Marco!” It’s closer now, you shove past patrons, into a clearing on the floor of the bar. At the counter, Robin and Steve sit squished together, talking to your mother that’s overflowing a glass of Guiness.

“There you are!” Robin sings, opening her arms for you. It’s clear she’s already hammered, cheeks pink and eyes heavy, the straw of her drink gnawed almost to shreds. She and Steve are dressed in matching camp counselor uniforms, covered in fake blood head to toe, Robin’s throat made up to look like it’s been slashed, and Steve’s got a gash on his cheek the size of your fist.

“You guys look fantastic! Rob, your special effects skills are crazy!”

“Thank you, thank you. These took all morning. I was gonna ask if you wanted to come over for one, but by the time I’d finished it was already six.”

“Well, pre-gaming while doing the makeup didn’t help your timing.” Steve adds, and pokes her shoulder playfully.

You snort a laugh. “No worries, I was…” You don’t know how to finish that, realizing the truth is not something you can just drop. Telling them you were with Eddie will lead to far too many unanswerable questions. “Busy.” Pathetic.

“Okay…” Robin extends the word out, and Steve searches your face over her shoulder.

“Bee, are you clocked in?” Your mom has returned to her spot in front of your friends. “If you aren't, could you please go help your brother with the stage?”

“He told me he’d come get me if he needed help.” Mostly, you don’t want to go back there. You don’t know how you’re supposed to act with Eddie around other people.

“Yeah he just told me to send you back, thought it would be quicker but I guess he didn’t account for your arguing with me,” She sticks her tongue out at you.

“Jeez, mom. You alright?”

She sighs. “No, Kev called out. I’ve been by myself for the last hour.”

“Mom!” You scold, and run to her side of the bar. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I’ve been asking you to work so much lately, I didn’t want you to feel like I couldn’t respect your time!”

“Mom. It’s Tuesday. All your mutual, much appreciated respect for me should go out the window! Especially the Tuesday right before Halloween!”

“Okay, okay. Could you just go help Chris? I’ll be fine until you clock in.”

You turn to your friends, slouched against each other as they observe you and your mom. “Cut these two off, it’ll be two less imbeciles to worry about.”

“Hey!” They exclaim in unison, like the twins from The Shining.

“Just temporarily. I don’t feel like cleaning your puke up tonight, I’m sure I’ll have plenty of that to worry about already. They pout but don’t argue, and your mom places two chilled glasses of ice water on their napkins. “Thank you. Behave. Please.”

“It’s not us you have to worry about.” Robin mumbles.

“What was that?”

“Nothing! Go, help chris! We’ll be okay.” And she shoos you away.

–

Backstage, your brother is pacing the old wooden floor, his fingers laced behind his head.

“What’s goin’ on?”

“We lost Eddie.” Jeff informs you, munching on a chip. “Haven’t heard from him all day, he won’t answer his phone. Called the garage, he left at the end of his shift three hours ago.”

It takes a second for the words to sink in, and when they do you feel your heart in your head.

“I might know where he is. I need one of you to come with me. Not Chris.”

“Why not?”

“Because if I can’t find Eddie, I’ll need someone here to stall. You know how to stall.”

“I’ll go.” Gareth speaks from behind you, a camera slung around his neck. “I have nothing better to do than wait around anyway.”

“Cool. Let’s go. But before you can leave the area, you stop. “Shit. Chris?”

“Yeah?”

“You gotta help mom, she’s drowning.”

He nods. “Alright, hope she’s okay with rubber intestines draggin’ on the floor.”

“Honestly I do not think she gives a shit right now.”

He chuckles, and places his sticks in the holder of his drum. “Alright. Operation Eddie Extraction is a go.”

You unhook your keys from your belt and motion for Gareth to follow you. Weaving through the crowd, you avoid greetings from old friends and snide comments from high school bullies, nudging through bodies cloaked in latex and polyester costumes until you shove your way through the barn doors and into the chill of night, music still throbbing in the building behind you.

“You said you know where he is?” Gareth tries to hide the worry in his tone, but you catch it.

“I might. I just don’t know why he’d go without telling anyone.” You click the Unlock button and your car blinks to life, all but creaking as you and Gareth whip into either side. You peel out of the parking lot, and into the wooded, unlit backroads of the Hawkins Forest.

“Is he… okay?” Gareth speaks after what feels like forever. “I mean, I haven't talked to him much since he left, and I graduated.” His words make your heart ache. Another person, scorned by the decisions of your brother and his shadow. “I miss him a lot.” Gareth had always been one of Eddie’s closest friends. In high school, Eddie had practically adopted Gareth as a freshman, bringing him into the folds of friendship, or “cult” if you’d asked the basketball team.

“I don’t know why he wouldn’t be.” You refrain from telling him he was fine last night, when his body had been wrapped around yours with a grip so fierce you were sure he’d snap you in half. “Hasn’t given me a reason to think otherwise.”

Finally, you pull into the clearing Eddie had parked in when he’d taken you. “Stay here, okay? Just in case he comes this way.” You search, but there’s no sign of his van, and that’s anything but reassuring. What if he isn’t even here?

Gareth nods. “Okay. Call me if you get into trouble, okay?” Gareth reads off his number as you type it into your phone. “If you’re not back in twenty I’m calling Hopper.”

You nod, and take off into the woods, armed with your phone for light and your vocal projection skills.

“Eddie! Eddie, can you hear me?!” You sound erratic, voice strangled as it leaves your throat. Eventually, you start to panic. He hasn’t responded to your calls, and you’re almost to his spot. If he isn’t there, you’re out of ideas. He could be anywhere. He could be gone again. That last thought sticks in your brain like chewing gum, and every time you try to yank it out it gets so much worse.

Eddie could be out of Hawkins entirely by now, halfway out of the state if he’d driven fast enough. You want to believe that’s not the case, but when you get to the clearing there’s no fire crackling in the makeshift pit. There’s no sound of a guitar, no note of his rough and tender voice floating through the trees. Only the crunch of dead leaves under your heavy feet.

“Eds?” It’s a quiet call, one that says you’re sure he can’t hear you. One of defeat.

“Sweetheart?” It’s quiet but you hear it, through the dark, exactly where you thought it would be. “What’re you doin’ here, doll?”

“Me? I was looking for you! You have a show tonight, why are you out here?”

“You know me, I like to come out here to think.” As you approach him, you can smell the booze, the weed. “Needed to clear my head, I guess.”

“With substances specifically made to cloud you head?”

He coughs a humorless laugh. “Yeah, I guess.”

“I didn’t see your van.”

“I walked from the garage.”

“Ed, that’s like, an hour walk from here.”

“Needed the time to think.”

“Hey.” You wait for him to look at you. Even in the dark, you can see his big eyes shine under the moonlight, and it takes all your strength not to soften. “Talk to me. Please, tell me what’s goin’ on. I got Gareth in the car like a fuckin’ dog worried sick.”

His face falls at the information. “Oh man.”

You’re already typing a message to him.

>hey, i found him. we’ll be back in a min.

Gareth: Okay, cool. I’ll be here.

You click the home button. “Talk. Now.”

He sighs, head falling into the hand not holding the joint. “I freaked out, I guess.”

“About what?”

“Oh, y’know, that whole thing where you kissed me on my lips and my face and my neck and made my brain go crazy with hormones for the last– well, twenty four hours. No big deal.”

“Oh.” You suck the skin of your bottom lip between your teeth, waiting for him to continue. When he doesn’t, your voice is barely audible. “Do you regret it?”

His head whips around to look at you, but you don’t meet his eyes. He cups a hand under your jaw, tilting your head up, forcing you to look at him.

“Not a goddamn second of it. I’m just so scared I’m gonna fuck it up again.”

“Why? Am I making you think that?”

He shakes his head, thumb rubbing soft circles on your cheek. “No, it’s not you. It’s me, it’s my stupid, nagging fuckin’ brain. That broken part that stops me from ever believing I deserve to have something good happen to me. The guilt ridden, ugly part. It’s so goddamn loud sometimes.” His voice cracks on the last word, and your heart with it. “I didn’t want to bring this to you, it’s too much. I don’t need you at my pity party, that’s just not fair to you.” He still holds your face in his hand, and your eyes are glued to his as he speaks. “Last night was the best thing to happen to me in a while. I don’t think I can handle losing you so soon after.”

“Eddie,” You take the hand on your chin in your own, bringing it to your chest, flattening his palm against your racing heart. “I’m not goin’ anywhere. I move at a snail’s pace, despite this marathon runner’s BPM.” You snicker, and his face twitches briefly into a smirk. “I don’t know what it is, I can’t promise you anything right this second, but it feels right. You feel right, to me. I know I like being around you, I like when you kiss me. I know we have a long, sad history we need to talk about, and I know we’ve both been through hell these last six years. But I also know I’d do it all again if it means ending up here. Okay?” You catch a tear reflecting in the glow of the moon as it falls from his face. You reach your free hand up and slide your thumb under his eye, wiping any salty remnants.

“Okay.” Barely a whisper, but he nods, leaning into your touch. “Thank you.”

“No need for that. Just come put on a show before my mom puts out an Amber alert.” You stand, and offer your hand out to him. He snubs out the roach and takes your hand in his, fingers intertwined with yours.

“Hey, Ed! Are you–” Gareth cocks his head. “Are you guys holding hands?”

You feel your face flush as you enter the clearing where you’re parked.

“Had to guide her outta there. Lots of shallow roots.” Eddie responds before you can panic. “Guess I don’t have to guide you anymore.” He says sheepishly, releasing his warm hand from yours, leaving it cold.

“Alrighty boys,” You slide behind the steering wheel and throw your seatbelt on as Eddie climbs into the back. “Time to rock and roll.” You flick your headlights on and shift the car into reverse, back on the road to the bar.

“You okay, man?” Gareth shifts to face Eddie. “We were worried about ya.”

“Yeah, I’m alright. Forgot my phone at the garage, I would’ve let someone know.” You catch his eyes in the rearview mirror.

“You like, hang out here?”

“Yeah, sometimes. I like the quiet. Fresh air, and all that.”

“Riiiight, okay.” It doesn’t sound like Gareth buys it, but he doesn’t pry. “You better hope Chris buys that hippie shit, he was losing it.”

“You let him know we’re on the way?” You ask, glancing at your passenger.

“Yeah, he knows. Said he somehow convinced Robin to come do a comedy routine to stall.”

“Oh god. Oh, no.” You add a little more pressure to the gas pedal. “A second rescue mission in less than three hours has got to be against some kind of law of physics.”

Eddie snorts, and Gareth giggles as you whip back onto the main road, tires practically screeching in pain.

“Thank fuckin’ god, holy shit.” Robin drops the mic when she sees you and the boys walk back into the bar. Quickly, Chris runs, sliding on his knees to catch it before it hits the floor.

“That was Robin Buckley, everyone! Isn’t she charming? And ladies, she’s single! Anyway, keep those drinks flowin’, we’ll be back with the main act in just a few minutes!” He jams the mic back onto its stand and makes a motion for Eddie to meet him backstage. Now.

Luckily, you can avoid your brother’s wrath, but you turn to the man beside you with a warning: “Don’t argue with him. Don’t try to explain yourself. Just nod. Say you’re sorry. He doesn’t mean any of it, he was just worried about you. He’s got a funny way of showing he cares sometimes.”

Eddie nods once, standing at attention. “Ma’am, yes ma’am.” And he makes his way to the stairs on the side of the stage while you turn back to your mom, who’s just spilled vodka down her shirt.

“Shit. Mom, go take a break! I got it.”

She doesn’t argue, just places the empty cup on the bar and tears off her apron, shoving the back door open and stomping into the employee bathroom. You yank a clean apron from the hook and tie it clumsily around your waist.

“Alright, listen up you fuckin’ ghouls,” You aim the remote at the speakers, pausing the music. You project your voice so those waiting for drinks a few rows back can hear you. “We’re gonna do this civilly or we’re not gonna do it at all! Line up across the counter, left to right. You will give me your order, I will make your order, and you will give me your tab name or your card. If you start shoving each other, cutting the line, or yelling at me, I will cut you off for an hour, and you will be charged an Asshole Fee. Understood?” The response is a collective grumble, but the crowd seems to morph, calm even in their drunkenness as they form a line across the bar, patiently waiting for you to take the first order. “I’m a fuckin’ wizard.” You admire your work for a split second before turning to the pretty girl dressed as a butterfly. “What can I get ya, hun?”

About twenty minutes pass, and the house lights finally dim, triggering the crowd to roar with impatience. The stage lights illuminate the stage, showcasing what looks like a snuff film on the screen behind the drum kit. The lights flash as the footage distorts, static screams radiating through the massive speakers before everything goes dark again, cutting off entirely. Finally, the stage lights up red, and the screen displays the band’s logo causing the crowd to erupt again as the guys make their way to their marks onstage. Jeff comes out first, dressed in a leather jacket and torn jeans, wooden stake tucked into his belt as he swings his bass around his shoulder. Grant follows with his guitar, wearing a Jason mask on top of his head, splattered in red. Chris comes out after, and you can’t help but whoop when you see his costume again: rubber intestines spilling from under his torn and bloodied shirt, with hands that look like he’d just dunked them in red paint.

There’s a build before Eddie walks out, where the crowd gets louder as Chris amps them up, waving his arms, demanding they welcome their “Cult Leader” with more and more noise. Finally, the room seems to explode when they catch the first glimpse of Eddie’s saunter, guitar strapped across his back. When the spotlight hits him, you can’t help but stare. His “shirt” is torn almost entirely to shreds, draped off his form like it’s clinging for dear life. He has a massive gash across his face, from his right temple to left jaw like someone swung the blade at a forty-five degree angle. It kind of unsettles you, how real the makeup looks on him.

Eddie snatches the mic, still in its stand, and growls at the crowd, “Hawkins, Indiana… are you ready to fuckin’ RAGE?!”

The response is deafening to the point where you pluck two of the free foam ear plugs from the bar, sticking one in each ear to avoid going prematurely deaf. You woop along with the fans, clapping as Grant strums a chord that vibrates through the venue, and Chris counts them off. The screen starts playing movie footage behind them, clips of horror films from across the decades, spliced with footage of the band from Gareth’s collection and you find yourself hypnotized by the show.

Admittedly, you’re barely able to rip your stare from the frontman. His presence is always captivating, but there’s something deeper to the way Eddie is performing tonight. He’s in the zone, despite the anxious mess he’d been only an hour ago. The way he plays his guitar, shredding heavily as he bangs his head, curls a wild blur around his face, saliva flying from his mouth as he screams his soul into the microphone.

“Hello? Earth to Bee?” A hand waving in front of your face snaps you from your daze, and you rip your eyes to the pair in front of you. “You in there?”

“What? Oh. Sorry. Hey, guys.” You give Steve and Robin a half smile, and they return it with looks of confusion. “God, you need to do something about those puppy god eyes before I do.” Robin teases. “It’s been an hour. Can I get another drink? Pleaaaase, Bee? I’ll behave, I promise!” She clasps her hands together under her chin, and Steve bats his pretty eyes at you, pouting.

“Fine, sure. You finish your water?” They hold up their plastic water cups, empty. “Good.” You go about making their drinks as the first song ends. You can’t help but let your eyes drift back to the stage as you pour the vodka into Robin’s glass, half paying attention to how much you’re giving her as Eddie approaches his mic. He fiddles with the knobs of his guitar, tuning it for the next song as he talks to the fans in front of him.

“Thank you guys for comin’ out on a week night! It means a lot!” He strums to test the tone and continues. “This is usually our biggest show of the year, and I’m so glad to be spending it with all of you.” Behind him, Chris drums an absent pattern, ambiance to Eddie’s monologue. “I’d like to dedicate this next one to the freaks and losers out there, and I know there are plenty of you.” There are scattered shouts of “Yeah!” “Right here!” “Woo!” “I’d also like to let you all know, Corroded Coffin is releasing a motherfuckin’ EP!” The screaming is more uniform now, a wave rushing through the room. “This one’s a new one. You won’t know the words, but I wanna see you lose your fuckin’ minds. OPEN THE FUCKIN’ PIT!” Chris hits his symbols and they start in on a song you’ve never heard. The guitars are distorted, gritty as Eddie and Grant strum a thick riff together, Jeff complimenting with a deep, low bassline. Chris is laser focused, whipping sticks around to match the pace, head banging around like the music is possessing him.

When Eddie steps to the mic again, you have no choice. Your attention is glued to him, all of your senses honed in because you don’t want to miss a thing.

“Grew up in a place that curses your name,

You learn to grow spikes, to shield from the shame.

This fuckin’ city can’t handle a loser like me

They wanna make me small, they wanna see me weak.”

You nod your head to the music, letting his words seep into your brain. The floor shakes as people jump, dance, and two step to the rhythm. You catch Steve and Robin, drinks dangerously close to spilling in their hands as they dance in the back, fingers pointing at the stage. Your mom has returned, and the line has dissipated to the floor, and you glance at her.

“Go dance. I got it.”

You mouth a thanks to her and throw your apron on the counter before running to meet your friends. You join them in jumping as The song continues, building to what you know is gonna be a gnarly breakdown. The pit opens wider, swallowing you into the folds of the crowd. You let yourself be pushed to the barricade, moving with surrounding bodies to avoid being knocked onto your ass, and eventually find yourself pressed against the metal, inches away from where Eddie stands above you. Behind you, Steve and Robin are shrieking excitedly as they’re shoved into your back, the pit behind you now just a mob of drunkards running in circles shoving each other. Eddie catches you then, just as the rhythm changes, preparing the crowd for the drop. Without breaking his stare, Eddie plays his instrument fluently, chords heavy and abrupt, staggered to build anticipation. Chris is banging on the snares, and Jeff’s bass buzzes behind your skull. You’re already drenched in sweat, fake blood sliding off your skin as your body temperature rises.

Then it stops, all at once, and Eddie fills that space with a scream that will replay in your head for the foreseeable future.

“I LET MYSELF BELIEVE I WAS SMALLER THAN THIS PLACE,

AND I CAN’T FORGIVE MYSELF FOR SEALING THAT FATE.”

Breath.

Silence.

“Thank you!” He breaks the tension and for what feels like the billionth time, the room combusts into ravenous applause. You reach your hands out as you slap them together, shrieking like a teenager when Eddie throws a wink at you.

“Heyo, we gotta groupie!” Robin slurs, nudging against you. “If he invites you backstage, make sure you got a rubber. You don’t know what’s been inside those tour buses!”

“Robin. They don’t have a tour bus, they’ve never played outside this state.”

“Not yet, but just you wait.” She wags a finger at you, and you chomp your teeth at her. “Hey! Down, girl. I’m not the one you wanna sink your teeth into.”

“Robin!” Before you can scold her, the music interrupts again, and the crowd sways back and forth, taking both of you with it.

–

You ring the bell over the register as your brother stands on one of the center tables. “Listen up! This is your last chance! Last. Fuckin’. Chance! One more round! Happy Halloween, folks! Please get home fuckin’ safely, and connect with my sister or myself if you need us to call you a ride!” He hops down to the floor and is very quickly swarmed by girls covered in glitter and fake blood, giggling as he takes pictures and signs tour fliers.

“Hey, sweet thing!” He slides into an empty barstool, resting his chin in his hand as he watches you bustle between stations making drinks.

Startled, you stare at him unblinking before your eyes dart around to make sure Robin and Steve hadn’t heard the nickname.

“Hey.” You give him a shy, barely there smile, but he returns it with a look of something similar to awe. “Show was great. You wanna beer? On me.”

“Well, since you’re offering. I’ll take a PBR.” You scrunch your nose. “What?”

“I offer you a free beer and you choose the worst one.”

“What can I say, I know what I like.” He shrugs, and you roll your eyes before turning to grab a clean glass. “I uh,” Eddie starts again, and you pivot to face him, pouring the drink in front of him. “I saw you. Looked like you were havin’ fun.”

“I was. Really liked the new song.” You can’t meet his eyes, suddenly too nervous to look at him.

“Thanks. I have a few more in the works. I can show you ‘em sometime, if you want.”

You talk to the stain on the edge of the counter, squeezing your hands together. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Also, uh.” He clears his throat and takes a swig of his drink before continuing. “You left your um.” He slides his hand down his face, and you realize then what he’s about to say. “You left your underwear.”

You can’t help but smirk at him. An insane choice, bringing it up in public like this, but you go with it. “Oh, I figured you could use ‘em. First pair kinda dried up.” You have to turn around right after saying it, suddenly extremely busy with sorting the liquor bottles on the back shelf.

“When did you figure it out?” No bite in his tone, not even embarrassment. Only curiosity, a tone you’d find cute if the subject wasn’t so… not cute.

“Can we talk about this not while I’m working, please?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, sure. Come to mine tonight?”

You shouldn’t. Chris will ask questions, and you’re not sure you’ll be able to answer him convincingly. “I dunno. I’m exhausted, I’m sure Chris will look at my location and ask a bunch of fuckin’ questions I can’t answer.”

“Alrighty, no big. We’ll get lunch tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at noon.” You can tell by his tone, he won’t take no for an answer.

“Okay,” You sigh and spray down the bar with disinfectant, following the mist with a rag until it practically sparkles. “I’ll be ready.”

He gives you that sickeningly sweet grin before bringing his glass to his lips, eyes never leaving yours.

–

50 notes · View notes

munsonburn3r · 27 days ago

Text

Stormy - Eddie Munson x Reader Pt 2

Stormy - Eddie Munson x (she/her) reader pt 2

Summary: After Eddie spent the night, he wakes up in the most inconvenient position, leaving him in an awkward position.

Warnings: MDNI 18+, Lots of smut, nasty, swearing, LONGEST SMUT EVER this beat the last record, a lil bit of fluff at the end.

Notes: You don't need to read part 1, but it would give more context

The morning light was soft—one of those pale golden kinds that crept in without asking, slipping between the curtains and painting quiet shapes across the living room. The storm was long gone, the skies now a calm stretch of blue, feathered with wisps of cloud.

Eddie stirred first.

Warmth. That’s what he noticed before anything else. The heat wrapped around him—cozy and grounding. His eyelids fluttered open, still heavy with sleep, and it took a few seconds for his brain to fully catch up to what his body already knew.

His arm was slung low around her waist, hand tucked just beneath the hem of her hoodie where soft, bare skin met his fingertips. She was curled in close, her back pressed snug against his chest, their legs tangled beneath the blanket like they’d done this a hundred times before.

His other arm acted as a pillow under her head, still half-asleep and tingly, but he didn’t dare move.

And then it hit him.

Fuck.

He froze, a jolt of panic ran through his still-waking body as he realized, with crystal clarity, that he was hard. Fully. Painfully. Inconveniently.

Morning wood. Stupid. That’s all it was. A biological betrayal.

But his heart had already picked up its pace, thudding loud in his ears as awareness sunk in. Everything about her was soft. Warm. Close. And his body had the absolute audacity to respond like this.

He held his breath, willing himself to stay still, to not ruin the fragile peace of the morning. Because it wasn’t going to last. She was going to wake up and he would have to pretend like everything was normal. He wanted to savor the moment, where she was still asleep. And she felt… Relaxed. Serene.

Meanwhile, Eddie was spiraling.

Because he could smell the faint scent of peaches and cream from her lotion. He could feel the way her fingers were loosely curled around his forearm, like they belonged there. Like she had reached for him in her sleep and decided to stay.

His brain short-circuited under the weight of it all.

They’d shared space before—movie nights that ran too long, sleepovers that ended with accidental tangles of limbs, giggles muffled in the dark. But this felt different. He felt different. Because lately, she’d been showing up in his thoughts more often—between guitar chords, between heartbeats.

Her laugh. Her eyes. Her lips.

He was in trouble.

Okay. Okay. Breathe, Munson. Don’t make it weird, he told himself. You're just friends. Best friends.

He scolded himself, squeezing his eyes shut again, but the feeling of her against him was electric—every point of contact lighting up like a fuse.

And then—she shifted.

Just a little. A sleepy adjustment. But it was enough to wiggle and press her hips back into him, and Eddie felt every single neuron in his body scream from the friction.

He froze, statue-still, heart in his throat.

She didn’t mean it. She’s just moving. She’s asleep. Relax.

He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, pleading for his body to calm down—even as his thoughts ran in the opposite direction. Fuck, his body wasn’t listening. It was a traitor, every nerve humming, every muscle strung tight. His mind raced for distractions—bills, the time he tripped over his own amp cord during practice, literally anything that wasn’t her.

Then, she sighed—a soft, content sound that escaped her lips like a breath of music. Her shoulders relaxed, her body settling deeper against him.

It took everything in him not to pull her closer.

His fingers twitched against her waist, craving more contact. More skin. Just a little.

But he didn’t move. Couldn’t.

This wasn’t about lust. Not really. It was something deeper. Something slower. The kind of want that made his chest ache. The kind that whispered stay, when every logical part of him screamed run.

Eventually, she’d wake. She’d stretch, smile, maybe tease him for being her personal heater. And he’d laugh. Pretend nothing had happened. Pretend like his whole world has changed and he’s just being confronted by it now.

And then—she stirred again.

A small groan left her lips as she blinked against the morning light, one hand rising to rub her eyes. Her body pressed closer, just for a second. Eddie didn’t move—didn’t breathe.

He felt it the moment she registered where she was, waiting for her reaction with bated breath—his arm wrapped around her, her body flush against his, the space between them nonexistent. Her breath caught, just a little. Not enough to panic, but enough that he knew she felt it too.

And she didn’t pull away.

Instead, she stayed right there, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Morning,” she murmured, voice thick with sleep, low and a little hoarse.

It hit him low in the gut. That voice—unfiltered, unguarded—felt like something precious. Something meant just for him.

“Hey,” he replied, managing a small smile, even as his heart tried to beat its way out of his chest.

She turned slightly, just enough to look up at him. Her eyes were still heavy with sleep, lips parted, a lazy warmth in her gaze. His breath stuttered, taken by her beauty.

Jesus H. Christ.

His eyes glanced down at her lips. Her lips were so close. He swallowed hard. He could kiss her right now. If he leaned in, just barely, he could find out what she tasted like.

Do not kiss her. Do not kiss her. Do not even THINK about kissing her.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” she said softly, a little grin tugging at the corners of her lips. “Again.”

“You always do,” he said, voice low and a little rough. “I don’t mind.”

Eddie’s heart was pounding like it wanted to stage dive right out of his chest. Loud enough he was pretty sure she could hear it. Say something, he told himself.

Make a joke. Break the tension. Be cool.

“You want breakfast?” he added, too quiet, too hopeful.

She hummed. “Mmm… later. Let’s stay like this a little longer.”

His breath hitched. His breath caught, heart skipped a beat. She wanted to stay in his arms a while longer.

“Yeah,” he said, pressing his cheek into her hair like it was no big deal. Like his heart wasn’t singing. “Yeah, we can do that.”

She nestled back against him fully, her body molding to his again beneath the blanket. He barely had time to savor the feeling before—

She froze.

And so did he.

Because she had wiggled. Just slightly.

And now—

Now there was no denying it. His morning wood, already inconvenient, was now… well. Flush against her. No buffer. No mercy. Just thin fabric and his rapidly unraveling self-control.

She let out a groggy groan and mumbled, “Move your arm, it’s digging into me,” her voice raspy and oblivious.

And then—she wriggled. Just a little, but enough to grind down, unintentionally, right against the worst possible place.

Eddie’s soul left his body.

“That’s… uh. That’s not my arm,” he muttered, dying inside.

Silence.

She stilled. Then, slowly, she turned her head, just enough to glance back at him. A sleepy smirk pulled at her lips—mischief and curiosity wrapped in one unbearably pretty expression.

His mouth went dry. His brain—gone.

It was the way he said it—so panicked, so mortified, like he genuinely thought she might kick him off the couch in horror. Maybe she should have been embarrassed too, or at least pretended to be. But instead, she found herself biting the inside of her cheek, trying to contain the completely inappropriate spark low in her stomach.

There was something about the way he stammered through it, voice cracking, face flushed. Hard against her, warm and twitchy and embarrassed. So honest. So Eddie.

It was kind of hot.

Her heart thudded hard in her chest as she stayed still, acutely aware of the way his body was curved around hers, of the way his arm still held her like something fragile. She could feel his breath, shallow and nervous, fanning gently against the back of her neck. It sent shivers down her spine and lit a fire beneath her core.

This was new.

Her cheeks flushed with the realization, but instead of pulling away, instead of teasing him or laughing it off like she might’ve before, she moved—just slightly. A gentle shift of her hips, enough to press herself back into him with intention this time.

Just to see.

A test.

Her fingers, still loosely curled around his forearm, tightened just a little. And she let herself feel it—the thickness of him slotted behind her, the warmth of his chest pressed to her back, the arm at her waist, possessive in a way that felt…good. Too good.

The reaction was immediate—his breath hitched, his whole body going rigid behind her like someone had flicked a live wire through his spine. He didn’t trust himself to move, to speak, to exist without setting the entire room on fire.

His hand twitched against her bare skin. “You, uh… You’re playing with fire.”

A shiver raced through her, goosebumps rising as her stomach fluttered in response. She swallowed hard, heart hammering, surrendering to the ache blooming in her chest that settled low in her belly. Because it wasn’t just about how he felt against her. It was Eddie.

“I like playing with fire…” she murmured, voice soft, playful, but breathier than she meant.

And that alone—just those words—felt like touching a match to gasoline.

Eddie exhaled shakily behind her, a sound low and rough, like it had been dragged out of his chest against his will. His fingers twitched on her waist again, tightening slightly, just for a second.

She could practically feel him holding himself back.

And that made something deep in her twist with want.

This wasn’t just tension. This was everything unsaid. Every long glance, every shared laugh that lingered a little too long, every almost-touch that had haunted her in the quiet moments when she let herself imagine.

And now… he was here. Tangled up in her. Shaking like she was going to break him if she moved the wrong way.

She wanted to lean in. Closer. Deeper.

“You’re evil,” he groaned. It came out rough, barely controlled, and it only spurred her on some more.

“Tell me to stop…” she murmured, her hand drifting to rest over his hand. Her fingers traced lightly over his knuckles and his rings, feather-light, guiding his hand to travel further up her chest. Every stroke lit up his nerves like flint and steel. The cold touch of his rings kissed her along her skin.

“I should. I’m hanging on by a thread.” His voice was hoarse. He didn’t sound convincing. Not even to himself.

“So stop me,” she murmured, her words barely a whisper but laced with provocation. Her body pressed tighter into his, fitting like something that had always belonged. Her legs tangled with his, skin against skin, warm and maddening. “Tell me no.”

Her pulse thrummed in her throat, in her fingertips, as she curled his hand over her breast. A low buzz coiled in her belly—something wild and electric and dangerously close to hope.

Because this didn’t feel like pretending anymore.

Eddie’s heart pounded, deafening in his ears. He knew he should’ve moved. Should’ve backed off before things crossed a line they couldn’t uncross. But her breath ghosted over his neck, and the soft weight of her breast in the palm of his hand—God, it was like they were made for each other.

A quiet gasp slipped from her lips as her head dropped back against his shoulder. The sound undid him. His arousal pressed thick and aching against her, drawn to every breath she took. He followed her lead, spellbound, barely daring to breathe. His touch came gentle—tender—as though she might break beneath his hands.

Then she shifted her hips, rolling them back against him in a way that left nothing to interpretation. Heat surged through her, fierce and rising, coiling tight in her core. She drew in a sharp breath, soft but unmistakable—and it broke something open in him.

Eddie groaned, deep and guttural, forehead falling against her shoulder like he could hide from the rush of heat, from the flood of want that nearly stole his ability to think.

His hands flexed around her. “You’re gonna kill me,” he rasped, voice hoarse and broken open.

She turned just enough that her lips brushed his jaw, the faintest touch—just breath and heat. “What are you waiting for?” she whispered, the words light but edged with challenge. A soft, dangerous dare.

Then, wicked and breathless: “Are you finally gonna fuck me, Eddie?”

It wasn’t just arousal that surged through her—it was power. Desire. A sweet ache that throbbed deep inside her. The look in his eyes—wide, wild, and wrecked—was enough to leave her breathless.

And then he captured her lips and pulled her into a deep and ravenous kiss.

Hungry, raw, devastating. His lips were firm, desperate, tugging hers apart like he wanted to consume every breath. It stole the air from her lungs. Her sense of anything except him. All the tension that had simmered between them burst free in a single, hungry kiss.

Her hands curled into his hair, tangling with his curls. His tongue tangled with hers, matching her rhythm like he’d always known it. Her body arched into him, moaning softly into his mouth as he kneaded her breast, rolling her nippled between his fingers.

She was dizzy with it. Buzzing, her body lighting up from the sensation. His kiss was messy and eager and so good it left her reeling. He kissed like he was afraid it would stop—sucking on her lips so roughly, she was sure they would be left red and swollen.

They pulled at each other, frantic and laughing between gasps and curses as their clothes were pulled off in a blur. Layers hit the floor without care, all until their bare skin was exposed. He guided her back down onto the couch cushion.

Their eyes locked—dark, wild, and hungry.

They moved together, tangled close, kissing like they couldn’t stop. Like they wouldn’t. Not until they ran out of air.

His mouth trailed to her collarbone, then lower, brushing soft kisses over her skin like he was learning her by heart.

His curls tickled her shoulders, light and unintentional.

She trembled beneath him, aching, breath hitching—alive in a way that made her skin feel too small.

Because she could feel it.

Not just how badly he wanted her body.

But how badly he wanted her.

And that—God, that—turned her on more than anything.

“Flip over, sweet cheeks.”

His hands were steady—firm, but gentle—as he guided her onto her knees.

She gasped, caught off guard by how easily he shifted her, how confidently he pulled her hips up, leaving her ass up in the air. Heat bloomed in her cheeks as her face pressed into the couch cushion, breath shallow, body humming, while he knelt behind her.

This new position lit something raw and primal inside him.

He took a beat—just one—to admire her, to run his hands over the smooth lines of her back, the curve of her ass presented so perfectly to him. His palm connected with a soft slap, a sting softened by affection, and her breath hitched when her cheeks jiggled under the force.

“Fuck,” Eddie muttered, eyes taking in every inch of her body.

His hands caressed her slowly, sliding up her spine and back down again. Her skin was hot, trembling beneath his touch. She shifted, embarrassed and shy.

He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the base of her spine. She shivered with anticipation.

He positioned his leaking tip at her entrance, savoring how wet she was as he stroked along her slit. Soft, beautiful whimpers escaped her lips while she wiggled her hips, chasing more pleasure.

“Eddie, please,” she whispered, heat rushing to her cheeks.

“What’s that, baby?” Eddie teased, voice low and syrup-slick as he took his sweet, torturous time with her.

His swollen tip slid through her soaked folds, slick and maddening, teasing her with slow precision. An arrogant smirk played on his lips as she moaned—sweet, desperate—at the slight friction he allowed her.

“Come on, Eddie,” she whined, writhing in the heat of her arousal. Her hand reached back to swat at him, more plea than protest.

He caught her wrist easily, chuckling. “Tell me exactly what you want, sweet girl,” he murmured, kissing along her wrist. “Say it. I’ll give you whatever you want.”

He punctuated his promise with a sharp smack to her ass, the sound sharp and deliciously obscene in the charged silence. Her body jolted, hips twitching from the impact, and he felt her clench in response—tight and ready.

When she glanced over her shoulder, their eyes met, and his breath caught. That look—dazed and wanting, with heat simmering beneath it—nearly undid him. He cursed softly, dragging his palm over the sting in slow, soothing circles. She sighed, grateful for the touch, knowing it would leave his handprint blooming across her skin.

“You know what I want,” she huffed, flushed and breathless.

“I can’t read minds, sweetheart,” he said with a wicked grin. “Use your words.”

Another smack. Sharper this time. Her thighs trembled.

She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction—but fuck, she needed him. All of him.

“I want your cock buried deep inside me,” she snapped, the words tumbling out in one shameless, breathless exhale.

He smirked—filthy, triumphant, and completely wrecked by her.

“That’s my girl,” he rasped. “I’m gonna ruin you.”

He pressed his tip to her entrance, firm and patient, the heat of her already drawing him in. Her body tensed, muscles flexing in anticipation, and he pushed—just the head at first—watching the way her back arched, how her breath caught like it had punched right out of her lungs. The stretch had her gasping, jaw slack, a groan muffled into the couch cushions.

“Ohhh f-fuck—too big…”

“You can take it, sweet cheeks,” he grunted, fighting to keep still. “Just a little more.”

Her body was gripping him like a vice, hot and impossibly tight. “E-Eds—”

She didn’t finish his name—because in one slow, relentless push, he buried himself inside her, all the way to the hilt. His hips met her ass with a deep, heavy slap, his balls flush against her core.

A choked moan tore from her throat as her body fought to adjust, trembling beneath him. He stayed still, every muscle tense with restraint, his fingers sinking into her hips like anchors. His lips brushed over the curve of her spine, placing sweet kisses down the length of it, grounding them both.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, eyes squeezed shut. “You feel so fuckin’ good…”

He didn’t move at first. Just kissed along her shoulder, one slow breath after another, waiting. Letting her adjust. Letting her feel him.

And when her hips rolled—curious, testing—he groaned into her skin.

“D-Do that again,” he panted. “Fuuuck.”

She did, a slow grind of her hips that had him seeing stars. His eyes fixated at where they connected, transfixed. Her arousal glistened around his cock as she rocked back onto him.

“Like that, baby?” she purred, her voice thick with mischief.

He gritted his teeth, hands tightening. “Ohhh fuckkkk, just like that.”

He thrust—slow, deep, precise—and she matched him perfectly, hips rolling in a rhythm that made his vision blur.

Needing her closer—needing more—he leaned down, pressing his chest to her back. His lips found her neck, warm and damp with sweat, trailing kisses that were more like confessions.

“This deep enough for you?” he whispered, breath hot against the shell of her ear.

She nodded, frantic. “Yes—God, yes—”

He pulled back and slammed into her, hard enough to rattle the couch. The pleasure coaxed more of her moans—raw and carnal.

“So deep, Eds—just like that,” she whimpered, her voice breaking as she tried to breathe through the stretch.

Now he was moving with purpose. Each thrust sharp, deliberate, building heat between them like fire stoked to the edge of combustion. His thick throbbing cock filled her with each thrust, building the coil in her stomach—hitting all the right spots. Her moans and the slick, wet sound of their bodies meeting filled the room with something obscene and filthy.

He kissed anywhere his lips could. Her shoulders. Her spine. Her neck. Fingers bruising her hips as her walls tightened and fluttered around him.

He felt it coming—the tension in her thighs, the tremble in her breath, the way she gasped his name.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered against her skin, driving into her with a relentless, consuming rhythm. “Come for me, baby. Make a mess.”

“Ed-”

And then she shattered—body taut, walls clenched tight, mouth falling open in a silent cry—tears welling along the rim of her eyes. He relentlessly pounded against her. Hard. Deep. Raw. Coming so close to the way she unraveled below him.

“F-fuck, baby—I’m gonna—” he hissed through gritted teeth, forehead pressing against her shoulder as he drove into her one last time, deeper than before.

His release surged through him like a lightning strike, wrung out by her fluttering walls, the sound of her, and the sight of her. He filled her to the brim, fucking her through her climax until she whined and trembled, hips twitching from the overstimulation. His pace wavered—just for a moment—overwhelmed by the intensity of her, by how impossibly good she felt, how perfectly she fit.

His eyes dropped to their mess, their mingled release dripping down her thighs. His mind spun in a haze. He slowly pulled out, careful, mindful of her sensitivity. She winced, sucking in a breath as he slipped free, and he immediately smoothed a hand down her back.

She went boneless, collapsing onto the couch, breath ragged and body spent.

Eddie sank onto the couch beside her, gathering her into his arms without hesitation. He draped over her, arms on either side of her body, anchoring her beneath him without crushing her. His heart thudded hard against her back, each beat still catching up with what they’d just done.

Her back met his chest, and his hand found her waist, then her belly, gently tracing lazy circles over damp, flushed skin. He hooked his chin over her shoulder, content to breathe her in.

They stayed tangled—sweaty, breathless, still connected—his weight draped over hers, his mouth pressed to her skin as if letting go wasn’t an option just yet.

The air hung heavy and warm, thick with the scent of sex and something softer underneath.

She let out a soft, shaky breath. Her cheek rested against the couch cushion, eyes closed, lips parted in that blissed-out daze. He pressed a gentle kiss to her shoulder—then another, and another—like he couldn’t stop touching her, even if his body was trembling from release.

“You okay?” he murmured into her skin, voice rough but quiet.

She nodded lazily, a small smile tugging at her lips. “More than okay.”

“Good,” he whispered, exhaling into the crook of her neck. “’Cause I think I blacked out for a second.”

She giggled, the sound light and deliciously spent. “That good, huh?”

Eddie gave a soft groan and nuzzled into her shoulder. “That was… fucking unreal. You were unreal.”

She hummed, arching slightly under his touch as his hand stroked down the length of her arm. The ache between her legs was deep and lingering, but there was comfort in it—in how thoroughly he’d filled her, in how right it all felt.

His fingers brushed a strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear as he whispered, “You’re kinda dangerous, you know that?”

She turned just enough to glance at him, brows lifting in amusement. “Dangerous?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice dipping with that soft, post-coital affection that only came from being completely wrecked and totally enamored. “You make me feel like I’d do anything just to stay in this exact moment. That’s pretty fucking dangerous.”

They lay like that, limbs tangled, the room dim and quiet. Outside, the world went on—but here, in this little cocoon of warmth and tangled sheets, time didn’t matter. ------------------------

Taglist: @foreveranexpatsposts @jeangeniex

725 notes · View notes

munsonburn3r · 27 days ago

Text

Misty | Eddie Munson x You | Pt.10

Word Count: ~1.9k

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Single Dad | Friends to Lovers

| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

You’d cleaned the apartment twice.

Not to keep it tidy or to impress anyone — it was the nerves.

Anxious, crackling, persistent. Gnawing at your chest, prickling under your skin. They had you scrubbing baseboards and wiping down a brand-new microwave that clearly didn’t need cleaning. You cleaned until your fingers ached, until the old hardwood floors—floors that had lived many lives before you—gleamed, and the lemon-scented disinfectant clung to the surfaces like a second skin.

You’d found a decent place in a halfway-decent neighborhood because the landlady heard it’d be for you, your roommate, and his baby. People with babies, work and college? Respectable. Or something like that. You cut your summer in Hawkins a bit short to receive the keys in person, to make sure everything was up to scratch—by New York standards—for Misty.

Lately, everything had been about her.

You’d filled the fridge with care. Misty’s food took up the entire bottom shelf—mashed bananas, applesauce, tiny yogurt cups.

Diapers stacked in the closet. Night-lights still in their box. Cabinet locks. Corner bumpers.

It wouldn’t just be your place.

You wouldn’t be sharing it with Laura Dean, who was probably somewhere in Milan right now, eating gelato with a charming Italian man.

It would be yours. Yours, Eddie’s, and Misty’s.

Outside, parked slightly crooked on 21st Street, was a dented U-Haul and the makeshift caravan from Hawkins—Wayne’s truck, your dad’s Ford, and Steve’s Chevy pickup spaced out like a security perimeter.

Them driving all the way to New York was its own kind of love letter.

Eddie wiped his hands on his jeans, standing over a pile of boxes, exhausted but proud. His cheeks were flushed from the heat, curls frizzed and sticking to his forehead, his Dio shirt damp with sweat and clinging to his back. He looked out the window like he was taking in the view from Everest.

“Thanks for staying a few days,” he said.

Steve, crouched beside a half-assembled crib, grunted while tightening a screw.

“Well, gotta help you settle in, right?” he said, then added, “Besides, Robin’s taking me to some lesbian poet bar in the Village and there’s no way I’m missing that.”

He sighed. “Yeah. This is my life now.”

He turned toward Eddie, pointing a screwdriver at him. “Just don’t go knocking anyone up, okay? Especially not G. Not for a few more years. You just started sleeping through the night, man.”

Eddie didn’t move his gaze from the window. “Jesus christ, Steve.”

“I’m serious.” Steve stepped back from the crib, gave it a once-over, then looked at Eddie again. “You’ve waited this long. You can hold off a little longer.”

Eddie stayed still. Just for a moment. Then he scoffed, like he didn’t get it.

“I haven’t been waiting for anything.”

“Sure you haven’t,” Steve muttered.

He didn’t press further, but the air between them pulled taut—thick with the kind of truth they both understood, even if Eddie buried it under sweat and sarcasm.

Misty tottered in, still a little wobbly on her feet, and handed Steve a plastic tambourine like she’d just discovered joy itself.

“God,” Steve chuckled, scooping her up and kissing her cheek. “I’m gonna miss you so much.”

He looked into her eyes as she rattled the tambourine directly in his face, making him laugh again. He kissed her tiny hand. “You’re gonna forget me.”

Eddie glanced over. “She won’t. Don't be dramatic, She loves you.”

“I’m Uncle Tee-Tee,” Steve nodded solemnly. “She better.”

Misty gave him a smack to the face—her version of a cuddle—and Steve flinched, trying not to look too pained.

“Tee-Tee,” she repeated several times, earning another kiss on the forehead.

Steve would miss her. She was his little M&M—not just for Misty Munson, but because she was small and sweet and always crawling into his arms.

The moving storm carried on for a few more hours, with your mom hovering like a general, issuing instructions about Misty’s mustard-yellow sippy cup and how letting her nap past five p.m. was basically a death wish.

“I just don’t know,” she kept saying. “It’s a lot of responsibility. And we won’t be nearby.”

“He can handle it,” you murmured, placing a hand on her shoulder. “You said it yourself—he’s proven it, hasn’t he?”

Her eyes misted, and you knew it wasn’t about you living with a baby now.

It was about them living without one.

“Mom,” you whispered, pulling her into a hug. She leaned into you, letting out a brief, shaky sob before inhaling and hugging you back.

“You’ve always had it under control,” she murmured. “Your dad and I have just been along for the ride. I know you’ll be okay.”

Your father was handling it a bit better—quieter, more controlled. He stood near a small kitchen window like he was surveying the landscape: hospital, fire station, police, parks, subway—he was clocking it all.

His arms were crossed as he watched Eddie carry a box full of records, like a foreman keeping his eye on the new guy.

“I got an old friend, Jaime Harris,” he said eventually. “He’s got a shop out on Steinway Street. Told him about Misty. If you want it, he’s got a spot. Hours are flexible if you work hard. Call him Monday—you’ve got the job.”

Eddie blinked, setting the box down carefully.

“That’s… really generous. Thank you. I mean it, sir.”

Your dad nodded once, his gaze steady. “Take care of them, Eddie.”

Then he turned to you.

You walked over and threw your arms around his neck. “It’s not so bad, right?” you asked. “Good neighbors, crime rate’s not that terrible.”

He grunted. “What a relief,” he muttered dryly.

You kissed his cheek, making him crack a smile.

“It’s gonna be okay, Dad.”

He frowned—a habit more than a warning. “Remember your promise.”

“I do,” you whispered.

“You’re gonna finish college. You’re halfway there, kid. Just a little more.”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

“No excuses.”

“None,” you said. “You know that.”

Wayne, on the other hand, stayed quiet.

The anchor beneath the chaos.

He asked you to walk with him to a corner store to pick up a few things—said he needed air, but really, he just needed your full attention.

“He’s got a good heart, G,” he began. “Always has.”

A pause.

“You’re the best thing that ever happened to Eddie. Even before this. Before Misty.”

You let out a soft groan. “Wayne…”

He touched your shoulder as you passed a faded mural.

“It doesn’t mean you owe him anything.”

“Wayne,” you repeated.

“You’re the best thing that ever happened to him, G,” he repeated softly. “After his mom died and his dad turned out to be the biggest asshole on the planet... he came to live with me. And I didn’t have much of a better life than his old man. What did I have to offer a ten-year-old who’d seen too much already? What can a man give a kid when he’s been working since he was that age himself?”

You frowned.

“You gave him a chance, Wayne. You weren’t supposed to be his dad, but you were. In every way that mattered.”

Wayne looked at you, his eyes steady.

“That’s not the point. That’s not what I’m trying to tell you.” He paused. “Don’t let him push you away. He does that—when he’s hurt. You hear me? Don’t let him run. You care. You always have. But that doesn’t mean you stop caring about yourself. You’ve got a life. You’ve got a choice.”

He looked at you hard.

“He’ll catch up—Eddie, I mean. One way or another. You and the kid—you’re already here. You’re on your path. Keep going. He’ll find you.”

He hesitated.

“I hope you understand what I’m trying to say, ‘cause unlike you, I’m shit with wor—”

You hugged him with a soft laugh. “I understand, Wayne.”

When you got back, the sun was starting to dip—painting the street gold, catching in Misty’s curls as she toddled toward Wayne’s open arms. He scooped her up and kissed the top of her head, his eyes glassy as he held her close.

“Be good, little bean,” he said, kissing her again. “Grandpa Wayne loves you.”

His hands trembled slightly as he handed her over to Eddie.

“Call me, boy. Every week. Don’t let her forget my voice.”

Eddie nodded, jaw tight. “I will.”

“Take care of her. She’s the rarest thing in the world.”

“She is,�� Eddie agreed. “I’ll take care of Misty.”

“I know you will. I wasn’t talkin’ about her.” Wayne gave him a look, then turned to you, while you clutched a bag full of things your mom had forgotten to hand you.

It took Eddie a moment to process that, to remember how to breathe.

“Always, Wayne.”

They hugged—longer than usual, tighter. Wayne’s body trembled just a little as he let go, because he was letting go of his boy. The boy he’d taken in over ten years ago, grieving and quiet, who thought love meant being sent by your father to the corner store for cigarettes. He was letting go of the kid who’d nearly destroyed himself, the one who gave him more headaches than he could count. The one who’d also made him proud.

Wayne didn’t say goodbye. He just touched the brim of his cap and climbed into his truck. You saw him open his mouth, like he needed to gulp down air just to keep moving.

You stood next to Eddie as the cars pulled away, the silence blooming between you now that everyone else was gone. Misty was on your hip, babbling like she understood, still shaking her little tambourine.

“Is Wayne gonna be okay?” you asked, worried.

Your parents had each other.

Wayne was going back to an empty trailer for the first time in twelve years.

Eddie nodded.

“He’ll be fine. Claudia’s already got him covered. Trailer smells like vanilla now. She gave him pastel-colored cotton towels for the bathroom.” He paused, like he was trying to convince himself.

You laughed, brushing a curl off Misty’s forehead.

“Well… we always dreamed a Munson would come to New York. What’s this city gonna do with two of ‘em?”

Eddie looked at you both—his girl, his friend. His life, held in the arms of two people standing beside him under the amber light of that street in Queens.

“Yeah,” he said. “Let’s find out.”

“Tee-Tee,” Misty sang when Eddie turned and found Steve waiting on the building steps. She reached for him, smacking her lips, blowing kisses. He took her from you, burying his face in her neck with a sigh.

“Alright. Pizza, right? I mean, it’s the obvious move. I’m buying,” he announced, heading up the stairs.

You laughed, but it came out a little deflated—like what you really wanted to do was cry. It was dumb. You’d said goodbye to your parents a dozen times in the past couple years. But watching Eddie and Misty go through it hit different. You didn’t want them to hurt from the separation. You wanted to fix it. And the worst part was knowing you couldn’t.

Eddie stepped closer, brushing a loose strand of hair from your forehead.

“Hey,” he murmured. “We’re here. We did it. You, me, and M&M.”

And just like that, the chaos began to settle. The city pulsed around you, massive and indifferent. But in that little pocket of Queens, something solid began to root itself in the pavement.

A promise you were keeping—to be there for Misty, and for Eddie, one day at a time.

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munsonburn3r · 28 days ago

Text

Misty | Eddie Munson x You | Pt.9

Word Count: ~3.0k

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Single Dad | Friends to Lovers

| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9

It had been snowing since dawn—lazy flakes drifting through the air, clinging to the sleeves of coats, to hats, and tangling in hair. Claudia Henderson’s front yard looked like a postcard—everything was white and fluffy, perfectly capturing the upcoming Christmas spirit. Inside, the house was a warm chaos; the air smelled of meatballs mixed with the sweet, cozy aroma of a cake baking in the kitchen.

Your mom was working there with Claudia. Meanwhile, Wayne and your dad had been sent out to do the heavy lifting—moving chairs, tables, and hanging a few balloons, along with a huge handmade sign by El and Max in the living room that cheerfully read: “HAPPY 1st BIRTHDAY MISTY NORA MUNSON.”

The “M” in Misty was adorned with glitter.

Your parents had arrived just as early as Eddie, Wayne, and Misty to get everything set up. Eddie knew that all this excitement lit up the adults more than it did the one-year-old, who was currently tugging off her sock and stuffing her little toe’s thumb into her mouth. Misty—the birthday girl, a tiny menace and the proud owner of exactly seven and a half baby teeth—was wearing a white sweater that already had a mysterious stain (one that Eddie honestly had no idea where it came from), and her curls were a half-tamed halo of chaos: one part still a bit damp from her bath just minutes ago, the other standing stiffly as though she’d stuck her fingers into an outlet. A red clip clung to a lone lock of hair like a flag on a battlefield, holding on with dignity.

Then you entered the house, carrying a box of gifts from your dad’s car.

“Jesus, what did you do to the kid?” you asked, as you removed your coat—still clinging to your shoulders with snowflakes—and tossed your gloves onto the sofa. Your nose was tingling from the cold, your cheeks flushed, and Eddie felt like he’d been hit in the stomach at the sight.

You two hadn’t seen each other since you went back to New York. You’d arrived overnight—having bought your ticket three months ago when fares were cheaper for the season. Seeing you there, with your hair pulled up in a neat, elegant style tied into a red velvet bow that made you look—well, Eddie couldn’t quite put his finger on it, only that it hurt a little to look at you. And you did it again; that feeling of frying his brain over and over.

Bow. G. Beautiful. Gorgeous. Red velvet Ribbon.

“I’m a guy—the most I do for my hair is slap on some conditioner,” he joked.

You knelt on the carpet behind Misty and shot your best friend a sidelong look. “Really? It shows—you need a trim and some hair gel,” you teased.

“I tried, Giggle G,” Eddie murmured, gesturing hopelessly toward Misty’s head. “I swear I did. She was moving so much, and her hair is all… spongy, charged with static—and she wouldn’t stop trying to shove the hairbrush into her mouth.” He frowned. “And Steve helped.”

Steve, who was busy helping Wayne and your dad hang the sign straight, turned to look at you. “I’m not doing that again. I love her, but her hair is a total nightmare if anyone touches it.”

You shook your head, glancing at Misty.

“Come here, sweetheart; Auntie G’s got you,” you said as you began kissing her neck. “Let’s get you ready for your party.” Then, looking at Eddie, you added, “You got her little bag? We need to fix up that sweater situation.”

Misty squealed with joy, letting you lift her chin as if your very presence awakened the instinct to be good that she always forgets with Eddie. He handed you the little bag, and you watched as you removed the clip and gently ran the soft brush through the mess he’d left in her hair, carefully detangling the rebellious curls around her ears.

“Step one: detangled; done.”

Misty blinked at you, flashing her little baby teeth. You stroked her chin and kissed her nose tenderly. She was just too cute.

You noticed that Eddie was watching both you and Misty, and so you raised your eyebrows.

“You didn’t really think I was gonna let her show up for her first birthday with hair that looked like she’d stuck her tongue in an outlet, did you?” you said with a sideways smile, unbuttoning her white sweater and swapping it for a dark blue one—if it got stained, it’d be less noticeable.

“It’s just that you’re more popular with her than I am; look at her,” he argued, making you laugh.

“No, it’s just that girls always argue with their dads—it’s a rule of life,” you replied. “Besides, she knows I’m not gonna tie her hair up in a knot and call it a bun.” You laughed, a spark of fondness in your voice. Reaching into your pocket, you pulled out a piece of the red ribbon from your own hair and, with natural ease, tied it into a tiny ponytail on Misty’s head on an elegant bow.

Eddie looked at you. Really looked at you. The heavy snow outside cast a silver glow into the room, reflecting off your hair and the curve of your cheek as you leaned toward Misty to tickle her belly and test the integrity of her hairstyle. And when Misty laughed—that special laugh of pure, unbridled joy—Eddie felt his chest open up, just like every time he heard her.

The matching red bows. That chaotic calm. The way you never forced a moment—you simply slipped into it with grace. He’d managed to keep his reaction in check when you were miles away in New York, on the phone; that was safe distance. But with you here, smiling like that, looking like that, carrying his daughter… it was anything but safe.

You stood up, shaking out your knees.

“All set,” you announced. “Now she’s ready to welcome her guests.”

Eddie looked at his daughter—now calm and vaguely satisfied with her new sweater—and then at you.

And he thought: this. This is it. This exact second. In this room—this girl, this baby.

This.

But instead, he cleared his throat and said, “You look… good.”

You raised an eyebrow, clearly caught off guard by the comment.

“with the bow?”

“No.” Eddie said it too fast, then fumbled, “I mean, yeah, the bow helps. I mean—no, it doesn’t.”

Steve coughed—loud—just as the banner finally hung straight and Wayne and your dad wandered off to the kitchen.

“I don’t know, you just… look good. Christ, G,” Eddie muttered, rolling his eyes. “Can’t you just take a compliment?”

You laughed, amused by the flustered delivery, and shook your head. “Thanks, Ed,” you said at last. “I like the piercing.”

Eddie instinctively touched his nose.

“Yeah, that was some dumb idea Jeff talked me into a few months back.”

You smiled warmly.

“It suits you,” you said—because you couldn’t say the other things. The ones galloping wild through your chest just then.

“No—GUYS,” Dustin burst into the living room with a mix of panic and disgust. “It’s happening. They’re flirting.”

Eddie snapped out of his haze, and so did you, both turning toward the kid. Steve followed, munching on a cube of cheese stuck on a toothpick. You shot him a look.

“What?”

“That’s for later. Can you not?”

“I am a struggling college boy,” he reminded you. “I’m starving.”

“Hello? Help?” Dustin snapped his fingers.

Steve rolled his eyes, chewing. “Who’s flirting, Henderson?”

Dustin huffed, pointing toward the kitchen. “Wayne. And my mom.”

You and Eddie immediately looked at each other—and cracked up.

“No way, man. Wayne doesn’t flirt.”

Dustin groaned.

“She touched his arm. Like this.” He dramatically grabbed Steve’s bicep and mimed it. “Like, soft. And she made him hot cocoa—with sugar—and marshmallows. And Wayne smiled at the marshmallows.”

You barely held back a second laugh.

“All this drama because your mom’s being nice to Wayne?” Steve frowned.

“They’re not being nice—they’re fuc—” Dustin stopped short, glancing at Misty, who was still on the rug, once again fascinated with her foot. “They’re foreplaying.”

You wrinkled your nose. “Ew.”

“Seriously, Dustin…” Steve was about to launch into a correction when Dustin cut him off.

“No. I need to talk to someone with a brain, that rules you out,” he pointed at Steve, who clutched his waistband like he’d been personally insulted, “and you,” he gestured at Eddie, who snorted and crossed his arms.

Dustin’s eyes landed on you.

“G, they’re totally flirting.”

“You’re upset your mom gave Wayne hot cocoa?” you asked.

“No! I mean—yes? I don’t know!” He ran a hand through his curls in frustration. “It’s just—she’s my mom. And he’s Wayne! Eddie’s Wayne!”

Eddie raised an eyebrow.

“What’s wrong with my Wayne, Henderson?”

“Nothing!” Dustin said quickly. “I mean, he’s stoic and cool and full of weird Vietnam wisdom. But he’s also got the emotional range of a lead pipe. I’m not ready to see him being soft with my mom.”

He declared it like the end of the world.

“Can you imagine walking in one day and seeing them spooning on the couch? I’ll emancipate myself.”

Misty toddled over to Steve and lifted her arms. He scooped her up and as soon as she was face level, she smacked him.

“Misty Nora Munson!” Eddie frowned.

“That’s my bad. I taught her how to clap, and now she claps at everything.” Steve replied.

You smiled at her, earning a fresh groan from Dustin.

You turned back to him.

“Look, I really don’t think it’s flirting.”

Dustin scrunched his face, unconvinced.

“My mom moved Tews to the guest room because Wayne’s allergic,” he said, his voice dripping with scandal. “When I suggest maybe the cat shouldn’t eat dinner at the table, she hits me with the glare of a thousand deaths. But Wayne sneezes like a stabbed beer can and suddenly she’s hiding the damn cat. The same cat she hasn’t let out of her sight since it replaced Mews, who was tragically eaten by—”

Steve stepped forward with Misty in his arms and frowned.

“Tsss. Zip it,” he said, just as you and Eddie both shot Dustin warning looks. “You wanna break your mom’s heart? Jesus, Henderson.”

Silence settled for a second. Then you shrugged.

“Well, yeah. Maybe they do like each other. So what?”

“Yeah, man. Your mom’s a good-looking lady—for someone obsessed with her cat and lace doilies. And Wayne’s got that charming grumpy cowboy vibe. Total silver fox,” Steve said, lips pursed in approval. “Not bad.”

“It’s weird, sure. Like any change,” you admitted. “But I don’t think it’s a bad thing, do you?” You glanced at Eddie.

He was smiling. Genuinely smiling.

And you smiled too.

Because that’s how it worked.

“It’s apocalyptic,” Dustin muttered. The kid had seen the end of the world—and it hadn’t looked like two people getting a second shot at love.

“What if they get married?” he asked Eddie “Would that make us cousins?”

Steve laughed, Misty’s hand smacking gently at his chin.

“That’s not how that works,” he said. “Technically, you’d be, like, step-siblings or something.”

“Don’t make it worse, Steve.”

“Listen, Henderson. Wayne’s given up everything for me. He’s never asked for anything. He’s been alone a long time. And your mom—she’s done the same for you. If they can make each other happy, they deserve that. And you’ll have to get used to it.”

Dustin let out a long, wounded groan.

Steve patted him on the back.

“Could be worse, Henderson. Could be my dad.”

“Your dad’s married,” Dustin said, deadpan.

Steve snorted. “Like that’s ever stopped him.”

“And he’s a lawyer.”

“Soulless,” Steve said, shaking his head.

Misty giggled and blew a kiss toward Dustin.

“Yeah, thanks, Mist,” he grumbled, blowing one back. “You’ve got more emotional range than three—”

Slap.

“Ow, Misty.”

Eddie laughed, pressing a kiss to his daughter’s temple.

“And I’m not saying anything because, honestly, you deserved that one.”

You stepped closer to smooth Misty’s hair a little. Eddie looked at you and smiled—soft, unguarded, like someone who had just seen Wayne’s future and found no issue with it.

From the kitchen, barely audible, Claudia laughed at something Wayne said. A light, easy laugh. One that made Dustin quietly start walking toward his room.

“This is a disaster.”

You glanced back at Eddie.

Steve looked at both of you, grabbed another cheese cube on a toothpick, and walked off with Misty in his arms.

“Yep. A disaster,” he muttered, but he wasn’t talking about Wayne and Claudia.

It had been a good birthday. A real reason to gather most of the crew. Sadly, Jonathan, Nancy, and Robin hadn’t been able to make the trip with you—exams, holiday plans, life. You understood.

It was a birthday you’d always remember. Eddie, too. It was the anniversary of the day his entire life had changed.

By the end of the night, after the Henderson house had begun to empty out and Eddie had promised your parents he’d drop you off later—because neither of you really wanted the day to end, not yet, not when you’d be leaving tomorrow.

And he wouldn’t see you again until May.

He didn’t want to think about that.

After Claudia had packed Wayne a tupperware and he thanked her with a gentle pat to her shoulder.

After you got to the Munson trailer and Misty had fallen asleep in Eddie’s bed, out cold.

You both sat on the carpeted floor of his room. It was tidy now—clean, and every item seemed to have found its place.

You held Eddie’s electric guitar on your lap. He had a beer in hand. You looked a little older. Like someone who had been living and not just existing.

Eddie leaned back on his elbows. The small silver ring on his nose caught the warm glow of the room’s light.

“It was a good birthday. So good... and she won’t remember a damn thing.” He chuckled. “At least your dad took a thousand photos.”

“Misty throwing cake at Mike really tied it all together.” You smiled.

Eddie let out a quiet laugh. “She’s a menace.”

“She’s perfect.”

His smile softened. “Yeah.”

Silence. The gentle metallic pluck of his guitar strings under your fingers.

You were the first to break it.

“So, my roommate—Laura? You met her through phone call.”

“She calls me the hot metalhead with a kid.”

You laughed.

“She’s a force of nature. We were supposed to rent an apartment together and live that whole starving artist dream, but—traitor that she is—she’s moving to Italy. She got into the Milan Conservatory.”

“Italy’s a long trip.”

“Yeah. She’s not planning on coming back,” you murmured. “So now I either stay in the school dorms or, I don’t know, post a roommate flyer or something. Nancy and Jonathan are kinda moving in together next year. Robin’s waiting for Steve to transfer out there. I just hope I find someone who won’t freak out because I moved some crystal that supposedly channels the spirit of Saturn.”

You took the beer from his hand and sipped it. Eddie watched the way you licked your lips afterward and cleared his throat.

“I’ve been thinking about leaving.”

You turned your head slowly. “What?”

“I mean... Misty’s made it through a year with me. She’s got a routine. She sleeps—mostly. Wayne’s apparently doing more than fine.”

You laughed softly.

“Claudia Henderson,” you murmured.

He let out a low chuckle. “I know, right?” he whispered. “Anyway… I’ve been saving money. A decent amount, actually. I’ve been teaching guitar—did I tell you that?—and with that and the work at your dad's, it’s not a fortune, but it’s something.”

“And what do you want to do?” you asked, raising a brow.

“I’m not saying I want to be a rock star. Corroded Coffin’s on a bit of a hiatus right now… you know, life. Wayne keeps saying I could maybe, finally, go study. But honestly, I’ve just been thinking more and more about leaving Hawkins. I don’t know. I feel like I blinked and I’m more stable now than I ever imagined I’d be before Misty was born. And not being a total disaster? Scares the shit outta me.”

Your voice came out light, delicate, like you were afraid of the answer to the question you were about to ask.

“Where would you go?”

He looked at you. His eyes soft, but steady.

“You said you might need a roommate for that apartment…”

You laughed once. A short exhale. “Eddie—”

“I’m not asking to move in tomorrow. I’m just... thinking. For once. About something that isn’t survival.”

“Right.” You nodded. You were no longer strumming the guitar—your hands were shaking too much. You gently placed it to the side.

He smiled.

Your eyes filled with tears, and he knew. He knew you were going to cry, so you resorted to the old habit the two of you had always shared—forehead to shoulder. You simply breathed him in, that familiar scent of Eddie’s cologne.

The boy you’d known since childhood.

Now a man.

With a daughter. And a plan. And a goddamn nose ring.

And you could see it now. The plan you once made, but with a twist—Misty’s sippy cup next to your morning coffee. Eddie humming while folding laundry. Late nights with music bleeding through the apartment walls.

Not a fantasy.

Not just a dream.

A life.

“Would you really come?” you asked carefully. It came out like a weird little sob, but you didn’t care.

He shrugged, kissed the top of your head.

“Only if you can handle me. I’ve got a whole year’s worth of new quirks you don’t even know about yet.”

You nudged him. He leaned into it.

Snow was still falling outside. And suddenly, the thought of going back to New York didn’t hurt quite as much.

“Hey, Columbia.”

“Yeah, Eddie?”

“You’re gonna have to make room on your fridge for all of Misty’s baby art.”

“Deal.”

245 notes · View notes

munsonburn3r · 28 days ago

Text

the badge |cop!eddie munson x reader|

prompt: how eddie became a cop, and how he met you. aka the lore lol.

contains: cop themes. drug dealing. cops. the justice system is fucked up. hopper is a good cop. small town shit lol. nothing heavy but does deal with the justice system/cops. language. angst at the beginning, but really just fluff and lore.

January 1989

Eddie’s knee bounced, chains on his jeans rattling against the metal of the bench, rusted with the rest of the holding cell. He wondered how often his dad had been in his same position, sat in this same spot, probably not as peacefully- definitely not sober.

“Munson,” Officer Callahan groaned. Eddie knew him a little too well, countless warnings as a teengager for disturbing the peace, playing his ‘satanic panic’ music too loud.

Eddie scoffed lightly, tongue rolling over the side of his mouth when Callahan turned his key. “No way. Wayne bailed me?”

“Not exactly.” Callahan hummed around a slow exhale, the bars groaning when he opened the cell.

“What?” Eddie frowned, boots dragging across the cracked cement. “Who? Gare- I know Gareth didn’t. Who was it? Was it- Did Jeff?”

“No.” Callahan’s bored gaze met Eddie’s. “I didn’t say you were free to go. No one posted your bail.”

Eddie’s spine tingled with an icy panic of fear. He tried not to show it, not to let his eyes widen and face pale, but still, his steps stuttered.

He shouldn’t be surprised, he supposed, that he was getting booked- that he was going to jail. He was an adult, afterall, selling weed to high schoolers and burnouts at The Hideout. How was he supposed to know it was a sting? That the guy he’d known from Geometry in tenth grade was really working for the DEA? They just let anyone be cops then, Eddie barked at Hopper before he was shoved under into the back of the cop car and taken here.

“S-So what? I don’t- Man, I don’t get a fuckin’ trial?” Eddie spat, following Callahan down the long hallway, the lights ominously flickering with each step. Callahan ignored him, keeping his same, slow stride, keys jingling in his hand.

“This is- This is illegal. Alright? I have the right to a fuckin’ trial. I know I have the right to a fuckin’ trial, o-or a judge, or whatever.” Eddie’s voice boomed, echoing off the walls. “Innocent until proven guilty, right? Is that not a thing anymore?”

Callahan shoved his key in the windowless room, pushing it open. Eddie scoffed, stepping back with disgust. “You fuckin’ pigs, pigs, all the same. Think you’re above the law, huh? Well, I’m not goin’ in there without a fucking lawyer-”

“-Eddie,” Wayne’s gruff bark came from inside the room. Eddie stilled, squinting into the dark room, a single lightbulb over a desk like something out of a cliched cop show. His uncle sat in one chair, Hopper in the other, a single manilla folder in front of them.

“Take a seat, boy.” Wayne nodded, arms crossed over his short sleeve coveralls, the lines on his face harder than usual, more prominent.

Eddie hesitated, looking back down the hall before stepping in, taking slow, calculated steps towards the empty chair next to Wayne.

“Thanks, Phil. We got it from here.” Hopper nodded to the man at the door, the hinges squeaking before the door fell shut with a heavy thud. Eddie was furious at himself for flinching.

There was a painful moment of silence, so quiet, Eddie’s thudding heartbeat rang in his ears.

“So, Eddie, you’re looking at one to five right now.” Hopper’s fingers drummed against the manilla folder, lips pressed in a tight, intimidating line. Eddie steeled himself, meeting his eyes, but he didn’t dare look at Wayne.

“First offense with a relatively clean record, the judge might only have you do a few months here with probation- might.” Hopper glared when Eddie perked. “That’s the best case scenario, and unfortunately for you, the judge has been around long enough to already see a Munson come through, a few times.”

Eddie’s brows furrowed, head tilting in challenging question, arms folded in defensiveness. “He’s talkin’ ‘bout Al, boy.” Wayne grunted, glaring at his nephew with a hard stare that had Eddie uneasy. “He’s gonna throw the book at ya because of your Daddy. ‘S worried you’re gonna be like ‘im.”

“What? They- He can’t do that-”

“-He can.” Hopper shrugged. “You still broke the law, Eddie. The judge can give you the max, the minimum, whatever he wants- it’s in his hands when you break the law.”

Eddie’s foot tapped, sulking back in his chair, arms wrapping around his torso tightly, scared his heart might burst right through his ribcage with the way it was beating, thumping rapidly with fear. He was convinced through the thick silence that they could hear it.

“But,” Hopper said around a slow breath, his eyes cutting to Wayne’s before they met Eddie’s. “You’re lucky he also knows another Munson, and happens to play cards with him on Saturday nights.”

Eddie looked over at Wayne, his uncle’s face unmoving, glaring back at him with the same unimpressed, stoic expression.

“And we’ve cut a little deal with Judge Dixon.” Hopper slid the manilla folder over towards Eddie. “There’s been a… lacking of officer’s lately in our department. Hawkins is growing, more people are coming in with all the new stuff, and we’re swamped and short handed. We need officers for the lower level things. Traffic conductors, petty crime reports- the small stuff.”

Eddie didn’t move- he couldn’t. Frozen in fear, in shock, maybe, at Hopper’s words, more so, what he was insinuating with them.

Hopper flipped open the manilla folder, a small, stapled form that read: Hawkins Law Enforcement Academy, in bold, threatening letters across the top. The form was already filled out, stamped with approval for acceptance by Judge Dixon and Hopper. Eddie felt light headed.

“So, we came up with a compromise,” Hopper continued slowly. “Judge Dixon agreed that if you go to the academy, become an officer, he’ll wipe this completely. You’ll have a job- with benefits- and you’ll handle the lower level stuff. Help us help you kinda thing.”

Eddie didn’t speak, he couldn’t, too shocked to even form a thought let alone a word.

“Or,” Hopper sighed heavily, pulling another paper out from behind the form- Eddie’s booking papers and court appearance request. “You can go to jail.”

“Send me to jail.” Eddie spat, gawking at the paper.

“Boy,” Wayne grunted.

“I’m serious. I-I’ll be alright, just send me to jail, because there’s not a chance in heaven or fuckin’ hell I am being a cop.” Eddie scoffed.

Wayne only glared, looking at Hopper. “Give us a minute, will ya?”

Hopper nodded slowly, standing from the table. “Take your time. Just knock on the door when you have a decision.”

The door shut with a heavy snap again, the room falling still for a moment.

“I-I’m not being a cop, Wayne, I don’t care. I’m not- There’s no way-”

“-You’re goin’ to that Academy, son.” Wayne narrowed his gaze at Eddie, hardening with his tone.

“The fuck I am.” Eddie laughed humorlessly, scoffing.

”I-I mean, a cop? A cop? I’m not- I hate cops! Cops hate me! They’re fuckin’ power hungry bastards who use it to fuck with people because they’re the law.” Eddie threw his hands up in exasperation. “That’s not me, alright? That will never fuckin’ be me, and I’m not-”

“-There. You just said it.” Wayne rolled his eyes. “‘S never gonna be you, that’s exactly right, boy. You ain’t gotta act like all ‘em dirty assholes. ‘S not in the job description t’act like that, so don’t.”

Eddie’s lips pursed, hands buzzing with rage, maybe fear, he wasn’t sure. “I’m not doin’ it. I don’t care. I’d rather go to jail, be a criminal-”

“-Be like your Daddy?” Wayne scoffed. “Because he wasn’t a pow’r hungry asshole, was he? He was a real winner, real nice guy. Don’t you remember?”

Eddie’s heart fell, his face falling with it. Wayne rarely brought up Al, rarely brought up the situation that led Eddie to stay with Wayne permanently.

“I ain’t lettin’ you be like him, boy.” Wayne shook his head. “I won’t have a second one of ‘im runnin’ around-”

“-I’m not like him.” Eddie grit through a tight jaw, his throat burning with tears he was desperate to keep down.

“You know, this is how it started for him?” Wayne narrowed his eyes at Eddie. “Started small, just sellin’- we all gotta make a livin’, Wayne, don’t tell me how to make mine.”

Wayne scoffed, shaking his head. “You should be thankin’ me for gettin’ you this, and not just tossin’ you out on your ass. Thankful that nice cop out there,” Wayne jammed a finger at the door. “Knows you’re not a bad kid, that you just make some stupid choices.”

Eddie didn’t move, fist balled by his side, his gaze unmoving from his uncle’s. “That guy, he wants to help people. ‘S why he helped me, ‘cause he doesn’t want you endin’ up like your Daddy either.”

“You should wanna end up like ‘im instead, not like Al.” Wayne’s glare narrowed at him. “‘Least he tries to help people, not just hurt ‘em… Hell, he’s tried to help you more than that sorry sack of shit ever did.”

Eddie’s jaw tightened, so tight he was sure his teeth might snap, crack and break out under the pressure. Wayne stood with a small groan. “‘S your choice, boy. I ain’t gonna make it for ya. You’re grown ‘nough.”

Wayne rapped on the door, slipping out, leaving Eddie alone, in the same deafening silence that seemed to follow him. The two forms in front of him, both missing his signature. Whichever he signed, whichever choice he made, sealed his fate- his future.

Nearly an hour and a half later, a small knock came from the other side, leaving both Hopper and Wayne jumping. The two men shared a look, before Hopper pulled the door open.

Eddie’s face was stoic, unreadably cold and expressionless when he passed the manilla envelope to Hopper, avoiding Wayne’s gaze entirely. Hopper opened the folder, eyes widening before they cut back to Eddie’s. Wayne’s chest tightened, fear filling and sinking in the pit of his stomach.

“You sure? No changing it once I send it in.” Hopper lifted a brow.

“Yeah,” Eddie nodded, arms folding over his chest.

Wayne’s shoulders fell, slumped with disappointment, a calloused hand running down his face. He was sure he’d gotten through to Eddie. Sure, the kid was stubborn, but he thought maybe, just maybe he’d got him pointed in the right direction.

Hopper sighed slowly, tucking the manilla folder back under his arm, walking over to Eddie. His hand stuck out, and Wayne steeled himself, ready to watch the cuffs come on, hear his rights being read- he’d seen it a million times with his brother, he just thought his nephew would have a better fate.

Instead, Eddie took Hopper’s hand, giving it a firm shake. “Congratulations, Eddie.” Hopper said. Wayne’s head snapped up. “We look forward to you joining our crew.”

“I have one condition,” Eddie paused. “I’m not cutting my hair. I won’t fuckin’ do it. If it’s just the low level shit, then I’m not doing it.”

Hopper looked over at Wayne, back at Eddie with a shrug. “Fine by me. You just have to keep it back.”

“Fine.” Eddie nodded, letting do of his grasp. He turned to his uncle, Wayne’s face bright with a grin he rarely saw, beaming with pride though he tried to downplay it.

“Proud of ya, boy. You’ll do good.” Wayne clapped Eddie on the shoulder, pulling him in for a brief hug.

The uneasy feeling hadn’t left Eddie’s chest, he wasn’t sure it ever would, but he did know that Wayne was right- he wouldn’t be like those other cops. Disgusting and power hungry, abusing others for their own ego. He’d be someone who helped, who made Hawkins better- because it sure as hell needed it.

June 1989

Eddie hardly recognized himself. Sitting in a cruiser, not his van; his curls pulled back in a ponytail; not a stitch of leather on his body, instead he wore a khaki uniform, and the only patches on it were regulation ones that said his name and Hawkins Police. Six months later, and he was still queasy when he saw himself- a cop.

He would admit, it was less dramatic as he thought it would be. After he finished academy, Hopper stuck him on the truly low level duties. Crosswalk duty in the mornings for the elementary school, which was humiliating. Or writing tickets on cars that let their meters expire. Or his personal hell, speed control in the construction zones. Hot days filled with sitting, watching with his speed gun to make sure no one was barreling through.

This week, Eddie was already dreading his shifts, the days longer and hotter. At least school was out, so he was freed from crosswalk duties.

“Munson,” Hopper didn’t look up from his desk. “Need you to go speed patrol out on North Avenue. We’ve got a lot of complaints about speeding. You can do that today until it starts to slow down. I’ll radio you if we need anything else.”

Eddie decided there were worse things to do at seven in the morning. While he’d rather be sleeping, he did find it a little humorous hearing the panic screech of tires breaking when they’d round the corner and see his patrol car.

He’d stopped a group of teenagers, new drivers, letting them off with a warning to drive slow and safe, before he’d gone back to his car. It was growing boring, Eddie’s fingers tapping with boredom, until a car zipped around the curve in the road, not slowing or even hesitating when it passed Eddie.

Sighing heavily, Eddie pulled out of his spot, flicking on his lights, tailing the car until they pulled over on the shoulder. Out of town plates, Eddie noticed, walking slowly up to the car.

The woman in the driver’s seat cranked down the window, hands gripping the wheel nervously when Eddie approached. She looked his age, but he didn’t recognize her- he’d definitely remember seeing her before.

“License and registration, please.” Eddie tried not to sound bored or annoyed, there had been a few complaints about that already and Hopper was getting pissed.

“Here you go.” Your hands shook when you passed them to Eddie through the open window. He examined the license, taking in your full name and your out of town address.

“You know why I stopped you?” Eddie leaned in lightly, scanning the floorboards and seats of the small car- no guns, no weapons, nothing criminally suspicious, though Eddie was curious as to why there was an excess of laundry baskets piled in your back seat, spilling over with clothes and towels and clutter.

“I-I was going too fast,” You squeaked, lipstick painted lip tucking between your teeth, nails tapping against the cracked leather of your wheel. Your hands still trembled when Eddie passed your license and registration back to you.

“I know I was speeding, a-and I swear, I-I don’t usually speed- I’m a really safe driver, I promise. I just- I just moved here, an-and it’s my first day of work, and I couldn’t find my alarm in my stuff so I tried to set a timer on my over and it doesn’t work, of course.” You threw your hands up in exaggeration, Eddie flinching, drawing back for his holster.

“I’m sorry!” You screeched, lifting your hands up, eyes wide with panic.

“No, I-I wasn’t- I’m so sorry.” Your lip was beginning to wobble, eyes glassing with tears that filled your water lines. “I just- I’m late for my first day and… and I really need the job, and I’m just already having a really bad start to my day.”

Eddie’s heart leapt when you sniffed, wet and dramatic, a tear leaking out of the corner of your eye. Fuck, he hadn’t meant to make you cry.

“No, it’s-it’s okay.” Eddie lifted a hand softly. “I mean, wait- speeding isn’t okay. You shouldn’t do that, but it’s not- They have me sit out here, y’know? Try to catch the teenagers on their way to school and stuff. It’s just- You’ll get used to it.”

Your brows furrowed gently, sniffing again, but no tears fell this time. Eddie’s chest loosened. “It’s a small town, so ya know how it is- or maybe you don’t, but- sorry, I don’t. You’re late an-and I…” Eddie’s tongue felt thick and awkward in his mouth, flopping around words that jumbled.

“Where’re you working at?” Eddie cleared his throat, trying to still the pubescent shake in his voice.

“Delia’s- the jewelry store?” Your eyes cut to your watch, knuckles tightening around the wheel. “I’m the manager- well, just the store manager, for the one that opened in the mall, but my general manager will be there and I’m still on my probationary period, and-”

“-No, I-I get that.” Eddie muttered around a breath. “Um, let me- hold on,” He paused, leaning back to look at you fully. You flustered when he stood at his full height, and sliver of a tattoo peeking out from the khaki of his cuffed sleeve.

“Do you promise not to speed again?”

“What?”

“I mean, if I don’t give you a ticket, do you swear not to speed again?” Eddie kept his face stern, voice tight, though his lips twitched when you blinked at him, wide eyed, a little confused- Fuck, you were cute.

“Y-Yes. Yes, of course, I-I won’t speed again.” You babbled around your shock.

“Well, maybe one more time, alright?” Eddie’s crooked grin had your heart skipping with excitement. “But it’ll be legal-ish. I’ll give you an escort.”

“What?” Your eyes flashed towards him. “Seriously? You-You don’t have to-”

“-C’mon, there’s not shit to do here, sweetheart.” Eddie scoffed lightly. “Welcome to Hawkins.”

Your cheeks burned with a tingling thrill. “It’ll take me five minutes, I promise.” Eddie craned his neck, looking down at your watch. “Get you there right before eight. If we go now.”

“O-Okay,” You nodded, shifting your gear into drive. “Thank you!”

Eddie waved back, jogging to his cruiser, sliding into the driver’s seat. Hopper would kill him, maybe worse, for doing this. Put him back on meter maid and crosswalk duty for weeks, if he found out. But looking back at you, your small smile that brought a familiar rush of heat that Eddie hadn’t felt in so long, he decided it was worth the risk.

Flying through the stop lights towards Starcourt, Eddie began to wonder if you’d lied to him about your speeding record. Judging by how fast you kept up with him, taking each turn barely pressing your brake, he was beginning to think otherwise.

Seven-fifty-six on the dot, you and Eddie were parked near the south entrance.

“Thank you so, so much again.” You scrambled out of your car, balancing a bag in one hand, barefoot in your pantyhose, slipping your pumps on. “I- I really needed that, thank you.” Your gaze lifted to his, shoulders falling for the first time since he saw you.

Eddie’s heart swelled at your sincerity, the lump in his throat growing more and more by the second. “Hey, it’s no problem.” He gave a soft smile. “I’m a civil servant. Here to serve.”

You giggled, pulling at your skirt, smoothing your hand over the fabric. “Well, I appreciate it again. And I promise I won’t speed anymore.”

“Good.” Eddie nodded, leaning against the hood of his car. You hesitated for a moment, looking down at your wrist watch before starting towards the doors.

Eddie’s heart leapt, jumping to run before you. “Here, let me-” He pulled on the handle, boot propping the door open for you.

“Thank you.” You muttered around a smile, chin ducking shyly when you passed him.

“Hey, um,” Eddie called out, a white knuckled grip on the steel doors. Your heeled steps stopped, turning towards him.

“Look I know you’re in a rush, but uh,” Eddie fumbled, patting his belt until he felt his notebook, pulling it out with shaky hands. He cursed when the pencil slide through the wired loops, dropping to the ground. “Shit, um, if-if you ever need someone to show you around or-or want someone to show you the not bad places around here, or whatever, y’know? I, um, I could-”

Eddie’s hands shook, each number and letter and scratchy, jittery mess on the faded lined paper. “I’d be more than happy t-to show you around… if you want.” Eddie’s hands were sweaty when he handed you the paper. “Or if you ever want to get a drink or something.”

Your lips curled in a bright smile, looking down at his wobbly handwriting. “Thank you… Eddie?” Your head tilted slightly, squinting at the name you tried to decipher.

“Yeah, sorry, my handwriting’s…” Eddie took a breath, shaking his head gently. He was sure you could see his red cheeks now. “That’s me. If you ever need anything.”

“Thank you.” You smiled, tucking the paper carefully into your purse pocket. “Thank you for everything, seriously.” You turned with a wave, giving one last glance over your shoulder before scampering away.

“Good luck!” Eddie’s voice cracked when he shouted after you, wincing. Maybe you hadn’t heard that- maybe it only sounded like it echoed off the empty walls of the mall. Why the hell weren’t they playing music?

Eddie was sure he’d blown it. Sulking in the cruiser, forehead pressed to his steering wheel. You weren’t going to call. He was sure of it. Convinced himself of it. You’d throw his number away with a snicker, just like all the other girls did.

After his shift, limbs heavy, filled with exhaustion from the day, Eddie was ready to smoke a bowl he’d confiscated from some high schoolers, and call it a night. His messaging machine flashing greeted him, finger jamming into the play button, plopping on his bed with a heavy groan.

“You have one new message,” The robotic voice droned. Eddie rolled his eyes, tugging at his boots with a grunt.

“Um, hello, hi,” Eddie nearly choked, head snapping towards the machine.

“I think I got the number right- I’m sorry, I hope this is the right number, I couldn’t really read them, but, uh, if this is Eddie. I-I just wanted to say thank you again, and see if you could call me back? Whenever you get a chance, I know you’re probably busy, but, um… I’d like to take you up on getting that drink. Or showing me the not so bad places around here.” Your nervous giggle floated through the line, and Eddie thought he might kiss the machine.

“But uh, if this isn’t Eddie… I guess don’t call me back an-and I’m sorry. Anyways, thank you again, and… yeah. Call me, please. Bye.”

Eddie nearly broke the receiver punching the call back button, boot half off, cradling the phone to his ear with shaking hands.

“Hello?” Your voice came through on the second ring.

“Hey, uh, hi,” Eddie stammered, swallowing around his excitement, maybe nerves. “It’s Eddie. I just- I just got off and saw your message.”

“Oh, good,” You giggled. “I was worried it wasn’t the right one. I thought I left some crazy rambling on some strangers' voicemail. I’ll get a looney reputation before people even meet me.”

Eddie snorted lightly in laughter. “No, uh, it’s- it was the right one.”

“Good,” You hummed, a pause filling the line. “Um, well, I wanted to say thank you again, an-and also see if you were serious about getting a drink? I want to buy you one for everything this morning, but I don’t know where to go.” You admitted with a small, shy laugh.

“I figured I’d ask you and see if you wanted to go out tonight? If you’re free.”

“Yeah, yeah, that would be amazing.” Eddie winced, fist balling in embarrassment, pressing it to his forehead. “I mean, I’m free.”

“Great. How about, um, eight? Would that work for you?”

“Yeah, eight is great.” Eddie pinched the bridge of his nose at his own embarrassment. “How about Shirley’s? It’s- It’s close to the mall, actually. Right across from the flower shop. In that strip. Do you know where that is?”

“By the main entrance?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

“Sure. I can meet you there.”

“Perfect.” Eddie’s lips curled, heart hammering in his chest. “I’ll see you then,”

“See you then. Bye.” You hoped you hung up before he heard you squeal, slamming the phone on the hook, jittery with excitement.

Where your going out clothes were? You weren’t sure. Looking around the piles and piles of boxes, you flung through totes like a mad woman, ripping through the tape and cardboard until you found the neatly folded dresses you were looking for.

“So,” Eddie’s fingers drummed on the glass of his beer, knee bouncing under the table, his chains on his jeans jingling. “How are you liking Hawkins?”

“It’s good so far.” You hummed, bringing your own beer to your lips. “Still trying to figure everything out. I just moved here. I haven’t even been here a week.” You gave a small, soft giggle that had Eddie’s head swimming.

Your eyes rolled down his frame, taking in his attire. You didn’t know what you were expecting, but you didn’t expect it to be that. Ripped jeans with chains, a torn leather vest decorated in various band patches, a Megadeath tee, and rings on each of his fingers- the only part of his outfit that gave a ‘cop’ effect, was the belt made of chains and handcuffs.

“There’s not a lot to do here, honestly. Won’t take you long to figure it all out.” Eddie snorted lightly. “I mean, there’s more now than there was before. With the mall and the other things comin’, but still… Not a lot, I guess.”

You nodded for a moment, a shy, nervous giggle passing your lips that you hoped he didn’t notice. “Where’s your favorite place?” You asked, desperate to fill the silent tension that was looming around the two of you. “Like where do you like to go to have fun? This place?”

“Yeah, its-I mean, Shirley’s is fun.” Eddie nodded, looking around. The barstools and high top tables with tiny candles on each table to create the ambiance. The bar tenders shaking cocktails in their white dress shirts and ties- too posh for anything in Hawkins, in Eddie’s opinion, the drink prices certainly were.

“I’m more of a fan of The Hideout. It’s more my crowd.”

“Where’s that?”

“Uh, it’s more on the outskirts, towards the quarry. On the other side of here, actually.” Eddie pointed, rings catching in the low candle light. “It’s a bar too, but more of a dive one..”

“Oh, we should’ve gone there then.” You smiled at him gently. “If it’s more your taste.”

“No, it’s- sorry, no, I like Shirley’s. This is… This is probably better for- It’s less rowdy here, y’know?” Eddie’s palms were beginning to sweat, rubbing them on his jeans under the table, hoping you didn’t notice, hoping you didn’t hear his chains jingle. “Plus they have live music, so it’s kinda loud, not as good for talking.”

You watched him, the way his eyes darted back from your gaze to the green velvet walls, his leg bouncing under the table. “I see,” You nodded slowly, lips twitching in a grin. “Next time, then?”

Eddie’s heart skipped, mind blanking for a moment. “Ye-Yeah, absolutely.” Eddie hoped you couldn’t see his blush, creeping hot up his neck.

A silence fell between the two of you, both of you trying to look nonchalant to the other, minds racing to fill the silence gap. “So,” Eddie swallowed around the bundle of nerves in his throat. “Do you, uh, do you like jewelry?”

He didn’t expect you to laugh; nose scrunching and lips curling in a laugh, it was infectious, had Eddie nervously giggling with you. “Sorry, I- Yes and no.” You grinned at Eddie from across the table. “I mean, I don’t dislike it, but I don’t have a burning passion for it. I just needed a job.”

“I get that.” Eddie muttered, shyly ducking his head, eyes trained on the ring of condensation left behind by his beer. “I’ve got a small collection, but, uh, not a lot anymore. I can’t really wear ‘em when I’m working.” Eddie twisted the skull ring around his middle finger. You leaned over the table lightly to get a better look.

“You need to get it cleaned.” You hummed, fingers reaching out to twist the skull pattern towards you. Eddie’s heart nearly soared out of his throat when your fingertips met his skin. He was sure you could see him blushing now.

“The silver’s starting to tarnish around the eyes, see?” You tapped your nail next to the eye, filled with a greenish tint. “It’s oxidizing. It’ll start getting everywhere. Turn your fingers and clothes.”

Eddie grunted, forcing a sound of thought to come from his strangled throat, unmoving- scared that if he moved you might let go. “Bring it by tomorrow if you’re free. I work eight to five again. We have a big silver cleaning machine with all the solution and stuff. I’ll clean them for you.”

“Yeah? That’ll fix them?” Eddie looked up at you, both of you suddenly aware at your closeness. Leaned in together across the table, your pointer and thumb wrapped around his middle finger ring.

“Yeah,” You squeaked out a reply, chin ducking shyly, but you didn’t pull back. “I’ll do it for you. It won’t take me long, promise. But they’ll look brand new.”

Eddie actually liked the tarnish look, thought it made them look more metal and sick, though he didn’t tell you that. He wouldn’t dare. He’d get them cleaned, shiny and new, if that meant he got to see you again.

“Cool, yeah, that would be great. Thank you.” Eddie nodded, too eagerly to be cool, nose scrunching gently in a wince of embarassment. “Hopefully I don’t lose ‘em before then.”

“Why would you lose them?” Your eyebrows pulled together, a giggle of confusion fell around your words. Eddie chest felt warm, heat spreading to his cheeks in an adrenaline rush of excitement.

“I don’t- I’m not trying to.” Eddie grinned back- your smile was infectious, he decided, gleaming when he looked at you. “I just don’t have anywhere to put them, I guess. I’m on tomorrow, so I can’t wear them, and I’m really bad at forgetting where they’re at if I don’t have them on me-”

“-I’m the same way.” You laughed, voice raising in enthusiasm, your own ring clad hand pressing into your chest. “I lost one of my favorite rings because I put it in my jean pocket, but I forgot to get it out, and I washed them and it’s gone.”

“That’s the worst.” Eddie sucked in a breath through his teeth. “I’ve lost a few that way too. I had a bad habit of putting them in my pockets when I started working, because you can’t wear rings- ‘specially not like those. My boss would bitch at me, so I’d put them in my pocket and forget about them every time.”

You squinted at him lightly, lips rolling, head tilting to the side- studying him, sizing him up. Whatever it was, it made Eddie’s hands sweaty, nerves rattling in his chest.

“So, how long have you been a cop for?” You hummed.

“Not long, actually.” Eddie laughed nervously, leg bouncing under the table. “Only a coupla months. That’s why they’ve got me on speed trap duty.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Eddie shrugged. “It’s better than crosswalk duty, believe me. Or being a meter maid. There’s not a lot that goes on around here besides speeding and drugs, so I’m not missing out on much.”

You nodded, a silence falling between the two of you again.

“Besides,” Eddie added quickly. “I’m glad I got put on speeding today.”

“Yeah? Why?” You tilted your head gently, lips twisting in a smile you tried to fight back, like you knew what he was going to say- maybe you did.

“Well, I wouldn’t be sitting across from you if I hadn’t.” Eddie grinned, a dazzling smile that left you swooning, cheeks tingling with heat. It was cheesy, so, so corny, yet it made you swoon.

“I guess you’re right.” You shrugged lightly, lashes batting towards him sweetly. “I’m pretty glad you did too. Even if you did pull me over.”

“Hey, c’mon, I didn’t give ya a ticket.” Eddie grinned, throwing his hands out dramatically. “No ticket and a police escort? Can’t be that bad of a first impression.”

“You’re right.” You giggled. “I wouldn’t be here if it was.” You winked at him playfully, a dark yet teasing glint in your eyes that left Eddie’s tummy flipping with an excited rush of heat. It was a look, a tone, a feeling that he hoped he’d get to explore more of- get to know better.

Last call came before either of you were ready to go. Eddie paid for your drinks, waving off your insistence. “Next time is on me,” You pointed your finger playfully at him, slipping past him as he held the door. He didn’t fight you on that, heart bursting with excitement at the promise of next time.

Standing by your car, you watched him fidget, rambling about seeing you tomorrow and things to do, hesitating to move in- should he go for a hug? A kiss? Just shut your door and wave goodbye?

You didn’t give him a chance to dwell- pulling him in for a sweet, sloppy smooch against the driver’s side of your car. Eddie swore he was in love, even more so when you pulled apart, the same dark little grin that had him rushing with thrilling heat.

“See you tomorrow, Officer.” You winked at him playfully, climbing into your car.

“Drive safe.” Eddie waved, his voice cracking. He hoped you didn’t hear it, watching you drive away with a lovesick gaze.

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munsonburn3r · 29 days ago

Text

break my heart again | chapter six from right where you left me.

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader (modern day au) word count: 6.4K

summary: He realises in that moment how, although you’ve never said anything, you have feelings for him too. Back then, even stronger now. All along. All this time. And Eddie does next what he knows is wrong. He forces your hand — just like he did three years ago, but this time, he’s hoping for a different outcome. That’s all he’s got left. Hope.

content warnings: forced proximity, angsty, slow burn, suggestive & mature themes, adult language, emotional hurt / little comfort, some serious mutual pining, use of pet names, implied intimacy | non-explicit, plus mentions & descriptions of underage alcohol consumption / substance abuse, recreational drug use, discusses sobriety, also touches on topics of: death, grief, toxic relationships, gaslighting, self-doubt / insecurities, love triangle?, unrequited love — pls let me know if i missed any!

psa: any images used in chapter headers don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also vaguely — if at all— described in the story.

2:34AM.

The house is still. Quiet and empty. Everyone is hiding away in their own rooms, trying to get some sleep after a long and exciting day.

Except the house is not still. There’s shouting bouncing between the walls, keeping the group awake. Raised voices coming from one bedroom.

Eddie’s, to be exact.

Ding. Phones illuminate the darkness. The group chat.

Steve: They’ve been arguing for over an hour… Robin: should someone check what’s going on? Robin: not it

Jonathan sends a thumbs down emoji.

Nancy: Let’s leave them alone for a bit longer. Steve: I’m trying to sleep Robin: we’re all trying to sleep, Harrington Nancy: 15 minutes and I’ll go, okay?

Thumbs up reactions fly in. The chat dies down for a moment. Phones get locked, attempts at eavesdropping continue.

Robin: do we know what they’re arguing about? Robin: they looked mighty cosy this evening and now this? Steve: I can take a wild guess Robin: do enlighten us, detective Jonathan: Guys, it’s not our business. Steve: They’re kinda making it our business, Byers Steve: I suspect it’s got something to do with Chrissy Robin: of fucking course

Chrissy has had enough of being made to look like a fool. She felt as though she sacrificed enough for Eddie Munson during their time together and she wanted something in return, for the years she wasted on the metal-head. For all the instances he’d tell her you meant nothing, yet his actions proved otherwise.

Chrissy no longer wanted to be the butt of the joke.

Recording her version of the story, articulating it into words she’s been too afraid to feel, was therapeutic. She should have left it there. Let the past go and find someone who actually cares. But she couldn’t just let it be. Not so deep down, she wanted Eddie to hurt — you’re just collateral damage, a means to an end.

You pressed play without thinking too much about the implications because what could Eddie’s pretty ex-girlfriend possibly want with you. Issue some vague and empty threats, perhaps? Or maybe to tell you something along the lines of ‘good luck, he’s an asshole’ — typical ex-girlfriend stuff.

Only there isn’t anything typical about Chrissy’s message.

Listening to it once should have been enough for you, but no, you had to go and hurt your heart by playing it again and again and again, until the words made even less sense than they did the first time around.

It’s incredibly incriminating, to say the least, and you don’t quite believe that anything Chrissy has said is true, so you let auto-pilot take over and saunter down the hall, towards Eddie’s bedroom.

He opens the door before you even get a chance to knock, as if he knew you were coming. As if he felt your energy gravitate in his direction and he wanted to meet you halfway. A smile reaches his lips, cocky yet soft, and your heart clenches because you desperately want everything to remain on the edge of whatever the hell you two have been doing all day.

“Miss me already, angel?” He quips, arm above his head, resting against the frame.

“We need to talk,” you say and slide under his bicep, stepping inside his safe space.

Eddie shifts, his smile faltering. He gets the sense that he’s not going to like what’s about to come out of your mouth. He swallows a breath and shuts the door with the heel of his foot, a gentle thud vibrating against the floorboards.

“What’s going on?” Concern laced through his tone.

You don’t answer. Not really. Instead, you hold up your phone, the one you’ve been gripping tightly in your hand, imprints left behind on your palm.

Staring at the metal-head, you press play. Chrissy’s voice booms from the speaker and you observe Eddie for any sort of reaction: to prove she’s lying. She has to be lying.

“Okay, ugh. This is so weird,” Chrissy’s note begins. “You don’t have to listen to this. In fact, I half expect you’ve already turned it off because you don’t owe me anything. We were never friends, just friendly. Acquaintances by nature or some shit.”

She pauses. Eddie’s eyes dart between you and the phone. He takes a step forward, but doesn’t try to come any closer to you. Almost as if he knows what his ex-girlfriend is about to say and he feels helpless to stop it.

“Now that you seem to have reconciled with him. There’s something I think you ought to know. Something he definitely won’t tell you since he’s always been quite chickenshit when it comes to the truth and you - separately and combined.”

You play the second voice note, eyes not leaving Eddie’s brown ones for a second.

“Our graduation party. There’s not a lot I know about what happened between you, Eddie, and Steve. He never told me the specifics, but I can piece together a rough picture and I know there was a blowup, one he blamed you for.”

Shuffling in the background indicates she’s on the move as she speaks.

“Listen, I’m not here to make assumptions or whatever. I just think there’s been a certain double standard which you don’t deserve - coming from me, that must feel like a shocker.”

Chrissy chuckles. The voice note ends. You play the next one, but not before Eddie says your name which makes your insides curl.

“After you fought for everyone at the party to hear, and after Eddie took you home, I don’t know if you know that he came back. I found him ruffling through the bushes. I suppose he was looking for something, although he never told me what. He never told me much when it came to you.”

Your free hand lands on the guitar pick around your neck.

“Well, I invited him in.”

“Angel—”

“Eddie, shut up.” You interrupt, voice quavering because now, seeing the downcast expression on his face, you know what Chrissy is about to say next is true.

The note continues.

“I’ll spare you the details. We slept together. Bet Eddie would never tell you that, huh? He’s all high and mighty about whatever you did with Steve earlier that very same night, when in reality he’s not much better.”

A pause for dramatic effect.

“Then, word spreads that you’ve skipped town and Eddie comes around more often. I asked about you, you know? I asked if he told you about what we did because I’m not stupid, I know there’s always been something between the two of you, and I didn’t want to step on any toes in case you came back. All he did was shrug and say you didn’t deserve to know anything from him anymore.”

Tears wet your lashes.

“Talk about being a conniving asshole.”

In the last, shortest note, she adds, “Sorry you had to find out this way.”

With the click of a thumb, you lock your phone and go back to gripping it, tight. Anger seeps through your fingers, although that’s where it starts and ends. The rest of you feels borderline numb — which usually drives you to drink. You hate yourself for this setback, but more so for allowing this in the first place. For getting caught up in Eddie’s forgiveness and his laugh, his touches and kisses, his promises of a better tomorrow.

The sham is clear. Chrissy spelled it out in her voice notes.

Eddie Munson gave you hell for kissing Steve then jumped into bed with the blonde Cunningham. Whatever. He needed someone to make him feel better. That’s not what irks you.

What hurts the most is the radio silence that followed beyond the night. The years of no contact.

What hurts the most is allowing you to think everything was your fault. For allowing you to isolate yourself from your friends, your home. For letting you stew in misery, thinking you hurt him beyond repair.

“I was going to tell you,” Eddie says, taking another step in your direction. “I swear, angel. I-I just didn’t know how to go about it.”

You scoff although your voice wobbles as you say, “Well, thank god for your ex-girlfriend.”

Eddie’s now an arm-length away.

“Look, I-I know this looks bad, but this doesn’t have to change anything,” he half-pleads. “I mean, we dated after, so it’s not like—”

“Like me and Steve?” You interrupt in disbelief at this entire situation. “I thought we moved past that.”

“We did,” he agrees with a shake of the head. “Fuck! I-I am just trying to say how what happened between me and Chrissy is different.”

Slowly, you nod. “Right, because that explains it so much better.”

“Angel—”

“You think I’m mad because you had sex with her?”

He seems shaken by your question which answers it immediately.

“Eddie, I don’t give a shit about who you sleep with. Chrissy, those horny moms that listen to your radio show, whoever else.” You tell him, “I’m upset because I went years believing everything that happened to us was my goddamn fault!”

The yell slips and he flinches, not expecting such ferocity.

Eddie left you to your own guilt and that’s his prerogative. The secrets however, they hurt. First the Billy thing, and now this. And imagining how different things could have been if you knew all this information sooner makes you want to scream.

“You keep secrets, Eddie. Billy and this, and you fail to realise how these secrets impacted me and my decisions!” You accuse. “What’s worse, we had a heart to heart last night, which would have been a good opportunity to tell me about this thing with Chrissy, but you chose yourself over me, again.”

“That’s not fair,” he says. “You still left, remember? You didn’t have to do that. You could have stayed and we uh, we could have tried to work it out—”

“I left because of you!”

Something snaps then. The last string of forging forward.

“Okay, I don’t like the accusation when you’re the one who made out with my friend.” Eddie goes on defence.

“Jesus! How many times are you going to make me apologise?” You throw your arms up with the question. “I was drunk and sad. My best friend—” You point to the metal-head. “— just told me he had feelings for me at quite literally the worst possible time and I wasn’t ready to…”

The sentence fades as you shake your head. “No. You don’t get to say anything about me kissing Steve anymore because you forgave me, remember?”

He’s staring at you. Hands formed into fists at his sides.

The argument bounces back-and-forth like this. You’re hurt. He’s hurt. Neither of you willing to back down first because there’s a whole lot more to lose now than there ever was before — boundaries crossed, all those kisses and whatever the fuck they mean.

“Do the others know?” You ask, breaking a tension filled moment of silence.

Eddie shakes his head.

You smack your lips together. “That tells me you’re ashamed, which means you know what you did is wrong.”

“What do you want me to say?!” He half-shouts, feeling agitated and defeated all at the same time.

“You still haven’t said you’re sorry,” you answer, softer, sadder.

Eddie’s heart clenches. He can see the hurt behind your eyes, hear it in your voice. He should have apologised, but you came in hot and he felt blindsided — not like that’s a good enough excuse, although maybe it is considering some forty-eight hours ago, you two were hating each other.

Well, he didn’t hate you. Never ever. Quite the opposite in fact, all this time.

“I'm sorry, okay.” Eddie says eventually. “I am really fucking sorry.”

“If only that wasn’t so forced.”

He sighs. “We’re going in circles here, angel.”

And the argument starts again. At this point, it feels stupid, but there’s a gnawing inside your chest that’s not allowing you to let this shit go.

“You let me believe you were broken over me.”

“I was!” Eddie shouts. “What happened with Chrissy has nothing to do with how I feel about you, goddamn it!”

You blink. Feel, he said. However, not even a split-second passes to let you dwell on the word and his use of it because Eddie continues with his rant.

“The facts are, you left. Despite whatever I said or did, and whatever you said or did. At the end of the day, you still left! And maybe I am a shitty person, shitty friend, for not reaching out and not telling you about getting with Chrissy that same night, fucking sue me!”

The metal-head approaches you as he speaks. He stops only when he’s toe to toe, hovering over you, demanding eye contact.

“I was heartbroken and I chose to react how I did to help me get over you!”

He fucked up, he knows, but you’re no better either. There’s been years of miscommunication and hidden information; that’s hard to fix over a few days.

“Eddie…” You whisper his name and search his gaze for absolution. An ending to this whole debacle.

“Which frankly, is a tough fucking thing to do,” he adds and clenches his jaw in anticipation of what you’re going to tell him next.

But you don’t get to reply. You don’t even have a minute for his admission to settle because his phone starts intensely vibrating on the bedside table.

Hanging his head, Eddie walks towards it and after glancing over his shoulder at you, a sad look on his face, he reads the texts that are coming into the group chat.

He types.

Eddie: We’re fine. Steve: Sure doesn’t sound like it, dude Steve: Heard my name a couple of times… Eddie: It’s fine. Robin: liar

He slips his phone into the back pocket of his jeans with a sigh, and as he turns back around, he says: “I’m sorry, angel. For my part, I am.”. But you’re not there anymore.

The door to his bedroom is wide open. You must’ve slipped out in the split-second he paid attention to his phone instead of what truly mattered.

He follows, looking for you. When he finds you outside, sitting on the lawn and staring ahead at the lake, you tell him you want to be alone. Eddie says he knows, yet plops down next to you because he’s not making the same mistake he did three years ago. He’s not letting you retreat and run away when he just got you back.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says earnestly, glancing at you from the corner of his eyes.

“So you’ve said,” you reply, choosing to focus on the reflection of the stars in the dark water.

He sighs. “You don’t make things easy, you know.”

“So you’ve said,” you repeat.

Suddenly, he’s in front of you. Parting your legs, so he can slide in between. His own knees bump your arms, keeping you in place, no escape, as his hands delicately grip your face and force you to meet his sad brown gaze.

“I should’ve fought for you.”

Not a simple sentence whatsoever. Hard to say, hard to hear. The words settle around you, within you. They hold your heart. Squeeze it and let the blood pour until you’re faint.

The weight of this is bigger than anything he’s ever said to you. Eddie knows this too. He feels the way your body sags in his embrace. How you’ve seemingly stopped breathing.

He realises in that moment how, although you’ve never said anything, you have feelings for him too. Back then, even stronger now. All along. All this time.

And Eddie does next what he knows is wrong. He forces your hand — just like he did three years ago, but this time, he’s hoping for a different outcome. That’s all he’s got left. Hope.

“I should’ve fought for you because I-I don’t think I’ve ever stopped… feeling things for you.”

“Eddie.”

“And I-I think the problem all along has been your fear of reciprocating anything real.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Maybe,” he says with a shrug, “Or maybe you’re just trying to find another reason, another excuse, to push me away so you don’t have to face what’s been in front of you all along. Me.”

He kisses you before the words fully escape his plump mouth. The fight’s not over. The argument, simply put on hold. His lips trace yours, then travel along your jaw and down your neck. He reaches your collarbone and kisses there too, slow and steady.

He wants to hear you say it. Admit the feelings you’ve been harbouring.

His movement is methodical. His hands now on your waist, splayed fingers digging into your lower back as he bites your flesh, coaxing a moan from your parted lips.

“Eddie,” you breathe, “This doesn’t fix anything.”

“Tell me to stop and I’ll stop.”

But you don’t. In fact, you lean forward.

“But we’re not having sex,” you mutter against his parted lips.

“Okay,” he breathes.

“And this doesn’t fix anything.”

“You already said that, angel.”

Since you have no further rebuttals — actually, you have plenty, but all you can think about right now is how much you want him.

Sure, the circumstances could be better, but fact remains. You want him to touch you and make you forget, make you feel better. Make you happy. And you want to return the favour, out on the grass, under the cover of darkness, because if nothing else, at least you’ll both have this moment.

3:17AM

Steve: It’s oddly quiet……… Nancy: Maybe they went to sleep? Jonathan: Exactly what we should be doing too.

He follows with a frown emoji, to which Harrington reacts with a thumbs down.

Robin: they’re not in their rooms Robin: and yes, I went to check because that’s what good friends do Jonathan: Not our business. Steve: The cars are still here, so they must be somewhere on the property Jonathan: Guys, seriously. Nancy: We should all go to sleep. Robin: fine Robin: but if they’re still missing in the morning, I won’t be the one talking to the cops Nancy: I’m sure they’re both fine. Steve: They’re in the backyard….. Robin: oh? Steve: They’re fine

He wraps the conversation up with a winky face and locks his phone. The rest of the group do the same, only after Robin sends one last message: “fucking finally”.

Finally.

That’s what you’d say to describe this moment too.

As Eddie’s hands gently slide under your top, as he works his lips along your jawline, as you tug his brown locks in your fingers, as he lay you down on the grass and wedged his denim-clad knee in between your thighs, finally is the thought that definitely crosses your mind.

Until it doesn’t.

“Eddie,” you mutter his name.

“Yes, baby?” He’s kissing down your neck, excruciatingly slow.

You exhale, eyes rolling to the back of your skull, turned on, but also nervous for his reaction to what’s about to come out of your mouth.

“What are we doing?”

He smirks against your skin. You can feel the twitch of his lips against that soft spot you didn’t even know you had until the metal-head found it.

“We’re not having sex,” he replies, teasing with your earlier comment.

The corners of your own lips twitch upwards involuntary. Happy, content. He’s funny. He likes you. Why is the devil on your shoulder trying to ruin this good thing?

“No.” Pressing your forehead to his, gently pushing away, you continue, “What are we doing?”

Slowly, the metal-head lifts his head, catching your gaze with his own. The gentle moonlight glow illuminates his face.

“There’s a lot riding against us,” you say. “And it doesn’t help that we’ve been avoiding this conversation.”

“What conversation?” He questions, although he already knows the answer.

“Eddie,” you whine. “We can’t keep pretending.”

Brows furrowed, he drops his hand to your lap, interlocking your fingers together. He squeezes once, twice, then swallows his breath. Nervous. A ticking time-bomb, this thing between you. That’s how he’d describe it. A lot of questions and excuses, not a lot of decisiveness out of fear, mainly.

“Pretending?” He ponders.

“Pretending it doesn’t hurt every time we look at one another,” you explain, “Pretending. everything is fine and we’re just two people who used to be friends.”

Eddie sighs. “That’s bullshit.”

And his lips are back on yours. Softer this time. A loving kiss. A loaded kiss. Making you forget why you were nervous in the first place because despite everything, he’s here and as are you. Together. Feeling… things. Liking each other. That should be enough.

Right?

Wrong.

Birds chirping and a cool breeze stir the brunette awake. He sits immediately because the first thing Eddie notices is how he’s alone — which is not how things ended at the ungodly hour of the night.

In the aftermath of a lovestruck haze, you fell asleep in his arms, but now you’re gone and dread spills into his gut.

Pulling his T-shirt over his bare torso, Eddie is on his feet and rushing toward the house. Inside, Steve throws him a look, a cup of coffee barely hiding the knowing smirk.

“Some night, huh?”

But Eddie ignores his friend. He’s got no time to entertain the teasing of it all. He needs to find you first.

“Fuck off, Harrington.” Eddie grumbles, albeit growing red as a beet.

Steve snorts a laugh, shakes his head, and dips out the back door to enjoy the rest of his morning coffee.

Eddie resumes his search.

The living areas are all deserted. Quiet. Upstairs, he checks his own room first, the common bathroom, and when they too prove vacant, he rushes down the hall until he reaches the door of the last place you could be.

He knocks. Once, twice. There’s no answer and his anxiety spikes. Calling your name, he helps himself inside. Also empty.

Worse. There’s no sign of you whatsoever.

Eddie circles the room, slowly. The bed is made. En-suite clear of any lotions and bottles alike. Hesitantly, he opens the wardrobe, only to find nothing at all. Free hangers and unoccupied shelves. Your suitcase is also gone.

Something catches the metal-heads eye. A singular item left behind. The plushy he won you at the fair. He reaches for it, then stops abruptly because a sound coming from downstairs catches his attention instead. The entryway. Hinges open, close.

Your laughter.

Hastily, Eddie grabs the toy and rushes out of the room. He stops at the top of the stairs when his wide gaze lands on the girl he was sure left him behind — again.

“You’re here?” He half asks, half says.

Your head snaps in his direction and a timid smile graces your features.

“Good morning.”

“You’re here,” Eddie repeats, stepping down the steps, until he’s an arms length away from you.

“Where else would I be?”

“Your room is empty,” he points out, then lifts the plushy in his hands, “This is the only thing that was left.”

You reach for the toy, but grab his hands instead. Fingers interlocking together and you squeeze.

“I packed up my car. The rabbit must’ve fallen out of my bag.” Slowly, you pull his knuckles to your chest.

He nods, once. Slowly.

“I-I just thought maybe you… The whole Chrissy thing and what I said last night…”

“Yeah, we should definitely talk before we leave today,” you say and offer him another smile.

Eddie takes it in, the twist of your lips, and relaxes slightly, but there’s a look in your eyes he can’t quite place. A certain detachment. He wants to ask you about it. He wants to double check that you’re okay because he doesn’t quite believe that you are. Unfortunately, he doesn’t get a chance because you slip away from him, into the kitchen where seemingly the rest of the group has now gathered.

The detachment is intentional. You’re just unaware that Eddie picked up on it. He wasn’t supposed to.

Truthfully, when you woke up this morning, tangled in his limbs on the hard grass, your insides curled with panic.

The metal-head kind of predicted it himself, with what he said. You’re afraid of falling. Love and other good things. You don’t want to feel them because they’ve hurt you before and he knows that. Which is why your instinct is to leave. Run to Las Vegas and forget about Eddie Munson once and for all. You can’t keep stringing him along forever.

You were almost free and clear, driving away without any goodbyes, when Nancy caught you.

She saw the look in your eyes and understood immediately because it’s the same look that you shared with her three years ago, when she told you to leave.

This time however, the Wheeler girl is telling you to stay. “At least say goodbye,” she says and you nod. “It’s the right thing to do.”

All through breakfast, you workshop a list of pros and cons to the internal turmoil of leave with Eddie or leave alone.

The Munson boy is staring at you from across the table and his deep brown gaze makes it all that much harder to think. Thoughts of he doesn’t deserve this, he doesn’t deserve this, he doesn’t deserve this, turn to, don’t leave him, don’t leave him, don’t leave. But no good will come of you staying, that’s what the devil is telling you. The dark part of yourself.

“This was a really good weekend,” Robin announces with a smile. “Thank you for organising, Nance. You’re the best.”

Steve lifts his mug. “To Nancy.”

“To Nancy,” the group echoes, you included.

“To us,” the brunette girl says instead.

Your gaze locks with Eddie’s and your heart drops. You don’t want to leave him. Not now, not ever. So maybe him coming with you to Vegas is a bad idea, because it’ll be that much more difficult to inevitably say goodbye?

His words echo in your mind: “Maybe you’re just trying to find another reason, another excuse, to push me away so you don’t have to face what’s been in front of you all along. Me.”, and despite the sinking sensation, you plaster on a smile and repeat Nancy’s sentiment, eyes not straying from the mahogany across from you for even a second.

“How about we each say what our favourite part of this trip has been?” Robin suggests, “Eddie, why don’t you kick us off?”

The metal-head swallows. He forces himself to look away from you, towards the remainder of the group and nods.

“Uhm. Sure.” He clears his throat. “I uh, I had fun at the fair.”

He doesn’t look at you when he answers because that would reveal too much to your friends. Although, judging by the snickers coming from Steve’s end of the table, they already know a lot more than they’re letting on.

“Good start,” Robin says and you can hear the smirk in her voice. “Who wants to go next?”

Argyle puts himself forward. He says he enjoyed canoeing the most and the whole table, minus you and Eddie, barks out in laughter. Jonathan reminds his friend that he never joined them on the lake, he was afraid, and Argyle disagrees.

“That doesn’t sound like me, dude.” He drawls.

The group continues to laugh.

“Okay, okay,” Steve interjects, ceasing his chortles. “My favourite moment was cutting onions that very first night.”

Your eyes snap in Harrington’s direction and for the first time all morning, the smile on your face doesn’t feel forced.

“Don’t be cute,” you tease.

Steve rolls his eyes. “What can I say, sweetheart. I loved reconnecting with you.”

“That’s been my favourite too,” Robin chimes.

“Guys, stop,” you force, getting slightly choked up about this sentimental moment you’ve found yourself in. “These feel like cop-out answers.”

“What’s yours then?” Robin asks.

You hesitate. There’s been a lot. Some bad moments too, although the good outweigh them. Eddie is at the top of your mind. Making out in the lake. Later, dry humping (etc.) on the grass. A burn in your cheeks at the sudden flashes of memory.

“It’s all been really nice,” is what you settle on.

Robin rolls her eyes. “Right, ‘cause that’s not a cop-out answer.” She huffs, a smile tugging at her lips.

“Nice,” Steve repeats. “I guess bumpin’ naughties—”

“Well,” Jonathan interrupts, “I agree. It’s all been really nice.”

You flash him a grateful smile and he tips his head in your direction. A way of expressing ‘don’t worry about it’ behind the look he’s sporting.

“Me too,” Nancy adds.

“You guys are no fun,” Robin half-whines. “Only Eddie understood the assignment, and even he’s not being a hundred percent truthful.”

“I am,” the metal-head speaks. “Being truthful, that is. I really liked the fair.”

Robin smiles at him. “I know, dude. But I also know you guys did something salacious last night,” she says, pointing between you and the brunette across from you, “And I would’ve thought that’s the favourite moment.”

“Robin!” Nancy breathes in shock.

“We… I-I…” You stammer, searching for the right thing to say since there’s no use in denying it.

“That’s none of your business,” Eddie huffs for the both of you.

“I told them that,” Jonathan says.

“Oh come on,” Steve laughs, “It’s not a big deal. We’re just happy for you two. It’s been a long time coming.”

Hesitantly, you look back at Eddie. His own gaze is fixated on the ceiling above, head resting on the edge of the chair. He’s thinking about that detached look on your face. How can he share the same energy as his friends when you feel like you’ve already slipped away?

“So, are you guys like, together?” Argyle asks innocently, pushing the conversation along. “Congrats either way, my dudes.”

You want the ground to swallow you up whole. For all the talking you’ve done with the metal-head, you’ve not discussed a lot about what any of this means. The plan was to do so last night, before Chrissy’s voice notes. Plans shift. Mere moments ago, you said you’d talk before it’s time to go. You certainly didn’t think you’d be having this conversation in front of / thanks to your friends.

“We’re not together,” you say, blinking the embarrassment away, and the whole table looks at you. Including Eddie, whose lips part as if to say something different.

And he does.

“We uhm,” the metal-head clears his throat. “We actually haven’t talked about it.”

“Not for lack of trying” You mean it as a whisper, for no one in particular to hear. It comes out a little more intense than that.

Eddie leans forward. A snap judgement.

“You really want to do this here?” He asks quietly.

“Okay,” Robin chimes, “Guys, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Yeah,” he clears his throat, the dryness becoming unbearable. “All the arguing last night, and one reason we didn’t talk, would be my ex-girlfriends fault.”

Steve shouts, “I knew it!”, while you flutter your eyes closed. Breathing in, then out.

Last night. You decide, a little too late, that last night would’ve been a good idea to finish the argument. Wrap this cursed graduation party topic up, once and for all.

Instead, you gave into deep confessions and Eddie’s beautiful chocolate-button eyes, his light touches and the sensation of his lips on yours.

The group is chattering. They’re pressing Eddie for more details on what his hell-of-an ex did this time. He’s trying his best to fend them off: intentions may be innocent, but it’s none of their business. Unfortunately, he’s not having much luck.

Eventually, he cracks.

“I slept with her.”

Opening your eyes at that moment, you look at him again. His attention is already on you. Apologetic, sad.

“Well, duh, dude,” Robin begins, “You dated her. We kinda assumed you boinked.”

Eddie shakes his head. “Before,” he says, pauses. You can see him swallow his nerves. “The night of the graduation party.”

Silence stretches across the table.

And then you realise something.

You have to leave. Alone.

The flight to Vegas, and everything in between, cannot happen. How can you entertain the idea of falling for someone who, aside from wild confessions, doesn’t want to talk things through?

He too is always finding an exit strategy. Later, later, later. Eddie says later and nothing happens because there’s something different that gets in the way. His own excuses since he too is afraid to get hurt.

“Dude,” Steve begins, “That’s like…”

“It’s fine,” you chime. “That’s one of the things we actually did talk about. Not completely, but more than other stuff. ‘Cause we’ve done a lot of catching up, but uh, it’s all been very surface level.”

“Surface level?” Eddie asks in disbelief.

“Aside from Chrissy’s confession, we haven’t talked about anything real, Eddie.” You continue. “And we probably won’t because one of us will always find an excuse. Plus, there’s just too many other variables that make things difficult and as nice as this weekend has been,” you pause, heart hammering inside your chest, “We should stop kidding ourselves.”

His jaw locks into place.

“If that’s how you feel,” he says, monotone.

You nod, then blatantly lie. “That’s how I feel.”

Eddie stands. Chair sliding, falling backwards with force. He leaves before anyone else can add to the shitsorm that’s just transpired. Steve follows after his friend, shooting you an apologetic glance before he leaves. Robin and Nancy are suddenly on either side of you. The blonde telling you how she’s sorry for pushing this topic and the brunette reminding you that this doesn’t have to end. You freeze their voices out. Focusing on only one thing: the heartbreak in Eddie’s eyes as you spoke the words you didn’t mean.

Only a few seconds, you think, that’s all it ever takes to ruin a good thing.

After breakfast, you don’t care to stay much longer.

Itching instead, to get back to Fort Wayne. See your mom. Cry about everything while she hugs you. Maybe you’ll stay there a couple of days. Call in sick to work. Fake an emergency. Have her piece you back together. Maybe, while you’re with her, you’ll change your mind— No.

One by one, the group exchange goodbyes. Quick and long hugs. Promises of staying in touch. Some tears. A lot of pained laughter.

Robin says she’ll call every day and she’ll see you soon, for her girlfriend's birthday bash.

Nancy reassures her and Jonathan will also plan a trip to see you, and once again tells you about the room at her future house with your name on it. You stifle a sniffle and embrace her for a second too long.

Jonathan offers some wisdom. The silent killer, Jonathan Byers. A man of very few words yet, as you have come to experience, they’re somehow always the right ones. His hug is quick and you appreciate that about him. No mushy things needed.

Argyle announces loud and proud how it’s been nice to meet you, get to know you. “Likewise,” you tell him honestly and exchange a fistbump.

Steve’s next on the goodbye train. This hug you don’t particularly want to let go of. His strong arms hold you tightly, as if he’s trying to take away all of your worries and pain. In a hushed whisper, he apologises for what happened earlier and says how he only wants you to be happy — a sentiment not so dissimilar to the first conversation you had together this weekend. You place a soft kiss on his cheek and tell him you love him, because it’s true. He smiles, forehead pressed to your own.

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

Platonically, the feeling is not as scary.

When you break apart, you glance between the group and a lump forms in your throat. These are the best people you have ever met and reconnecting with them this weekend is what really matters, at the end of the day.

This group, plus Eddie.

Because Eddie is currently not here. He didn’t come to say goodbye.

And as you stride down to your car, glancing over your shoulder one last time, at your friends, at the house, you feel a thousand times worse for wear.

Until the front door opens with a violent shake.

Eddie comes into view. He’s got a wild expression on his face as he barrels down the front porch steps, then the gravel which crunches underneath his sneakers.

He pushes through your mutual group of friends and doesn’t stop his pace until he’s face-to-face with you, peering down into your surprised eyes, slightly breathless.

“It’s not been surface level,” he says.

“Eddie,” you begin, but his thumb is suddenly pressed against your bottom lip and you stop dead in your tracks.

“I’ve been head over heels in love with you for a very long time, angel.” Eddie states, a nervous tick in his voice because you don’t do well with proclamations, but he’s not going to let you leave this time.

(Never. Again.)

“Long before this weekend, definitely over the last three years, and before the graduation party, before Billy. Probably, actually,” he swallows, “I’ve been in love with you since the very first time I saw you.”

Tears brim the corners of your eyes as the metal-head continues.

“And I know there’s a lot we haven’t talked about and a lot we need to figure out, but this thing we have, baby, I’ll be damned if I let you get in that car right now thinking that all we’ve done is surface level.”

“Eddie,” you try again.

He shakes his head. “Unless you’re going to tell me you’re staying to have a proper conversation, the one I owed you yesterday, I don’t want to hear it.”

Someone — Robin — shouts, “Kiss him, you fool.” and the rest of the group snickers. Well, Argyle and Steve snicker, while Jonathan and Nancy remprimend the lot.

Then they lead them back into the house, leaving you with this boy who is wildly in love with you, and who you perhaps love back, but how can you even begin to tell him that, since the last time you uttered those words, they were to someone who died.

“Please, angel.” Eddie pleads.

You open your mouth, then close it just as fast, chewing instead, on the inside of your cheek for what feels like eternity. In reality, it’s only a split-second while your brain works out what to do.

When you lean forward, inhaling his breath, his scent, him, you don’t intend to kiss him. You do anyway. Softly, tenderly.

And suddenly, your arms are around his neck and his hands are on your waist. He’s pinning you to the side of the car and his knee is wedged between your thighs. Your fingers pull his brunette locks and he bites your bottom lip, hungry, needy, pleading for something else entirely than a conversation.

“Okay,” you mutter against his parted lips, “Let’s talk.”

as always, thank you for reading & please support your writers by reblogging <3

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munsonburn3r · 30 days ago

Text

Misty | Eddie Munson x You | Pt.8

Word Count: ~2.9k

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Single Dad | Friends to Lovers

| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

The air had that edge again—wet and sharp, creeping through fabric and into bone.

Winter had arrived.

He loved winter. Always had his reasons. His mother had given him his first Tolkien book one snowy December. Later, after the tragedy and the rough adjustment to life in Hawkins, winter became the season when they’d hole up in Gareth’s garage for long D&D campaigns.

In winter, Wayne let him stay over at your parents’ house, and your mom would bake red velvet muffins and make the thickest, richest hot chocolate he’d ever tasted.

In winter, Misty came into the world.

He adjusted Misty’s jacket—too big, but she’d grow into it—and pulled down the knit hat your mother had made, tucking it gently over her tiny ears. She giggled, looking up at him with those beautiful eyes, cheeks rosy, brown hair beginning to curl—wild and warm with the lingering scent of baby shampoo.

“I’ll come get you this afternoon,” he murmured, lifting her out of her car seat and shutting the door as he walked up toward your parents’ house. “You ready to give grandma hell?” he asked under his breath.

She laughed excitedly.

“Jesus, kid. Good thing you can’t repeat that to Nana.”

November was a busy month at your dad’s auto shop. Everyone brought their cars in for tune-ups ahead of the first snow, which had come early this year.

The garage was packed. Some days passed in a blur; others dragged. Today had been the latter—three hours lost to a stubborn ’76 Chevy that fought him every step of the way. He wiped grease from his hands with a rag as he headed to the inventory shelves to double-check they had the spark plugs he needed.

In the pockets of his worn-out jeans: Misty’s socks. Little pink cotton ones, part of a mountain of baby clothes gifted in bulk by Dustin’s mom. God bless Claudia Henderson.

Eddie hadn’t had the heart to take them out when he found them there that morning, reaching for spare change to buy a coffee. It was ridiculous—sentimentally ridiculous—but that’s the kind of guy he’d turned into, wasn’t it?

The town freak. The kid from the wrong side of the tracks. The D&D weirdo. The single dad who smelled like motor oil and bought hypoallergenic detergent from the one store in Hawkins that didn’t irritate his daughter’s perfect skin.

His days had slowly molded into this routine. He didn’t complain. It fed his daughter and made him feel, if only slightly, like less of a failure every time she smiled at him.

“Long day?” asked Josie, the receptionist from the front office.

She was twenty-five, maybe thirty. Sweet, the kind of girl who wore office makeup to a job in a mechanic’s garage.

Eddie shrugged. “Long week,” he answered politely.

She leaned in the doorway to the stockroom, smiling. “There’s this great spot in Indianapolis,” she said. “You should come check it out sometime.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” she said, casually twirling a strand of her hair. “You could use a little fun, don’t you think? Lord knows you’ve earned it.”

It was subtle. Not exactly a proposition, but not not one, either.

Eddie looked at her—really looked at her. She was kind. Single (which, given his own record, was a definite plus). She wore perfume that reminded him of department stores.

And for a breath—a small one—he considered it.

Fun.

A couple of drinks. Maybe dancing to music, he wouldn’t be caught dead listening to unironically. Maybe a kiss. Maybe a little more—God knew it had been forever since Diane.

But in that breath, that one second of possibility, his life played out like a movie reel.

He’d go. Maybe they’d hook up. Maybe they’d have a decent couple of months. Maybe it would turn into something fast, something small.

But he couldn’t do that. Not again.

Misty—God, he loved that little girl—was the result of a mistake he could never regret.

But Diane? That one-night stand of a choice?

That part… he’d regret for the rest of his life.

He scratched his chin—there was some stubble now—and looked at Josie.

“I appreciate it, Josie,” he said gently. “But I’ve got a bedtime story to tell and a mountain of laundry waiting for me.”

She laughed, like maybe she’d expected that answer. “Well… if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

He wouldn’t.

But it was kind of her to ask.

When he got home with Misty, Wayne was already there.

The trailer smelled like chicken soup and freshly laundered clothes—his two favorite things to do the minute he got off work.

The TV was mumbling something harmless in the background, not that Wayne was really listening.

Sometimes Eddie thought the old man got more joy out of whatever lullaby was playing in his own head than anything they ever broadcast on television.

A high-pitched squeal from Misty snapped Wayne out of his trance. He turned from the kitchen, crossed the room in two long strides, and pressed a kiss to the baby’s cheek, making her giggle at the tickle of his beard.

It was impossible not to trade her off for the wooden spoon in Wayne’s hand. Misty lit up at the swap, cooing and babbling nonsense—nonsense that would someday mean something.

Without much need for words, they both settled at the table.

In her high chair, Misty held her own little concert, banging her tray with a spinach-smeared fist, decorating her face like a tiny soldier going full camo for jungle warfare.

Eddie slumped into his chair with a sigh, dragging a hand through his already wild hair.

Wayne, across from him, watched over the rim of his chipped coffee mug—black coffee with a splash of cheap whiskey, his usual.

That one raised eyebrow meant he had something to say.

“So,” Wayne started, casual as ever. “You turned down that girl from the shop, huh?”

Eddie turned his head slowly, like he’d misheard.

So your dad had seen that. And apparently ran off to gossip with Wayne right after.

“Oh, so that’s what we’re doing now?” Eddie asked. “You two forming the Neighborhood Sewing Circle? What, Giggle’s dad showed up and you let him in, brewed some tea, and talked about the youth of today over dessert?”

Wayne let out a dry chuckle, then got serious.

“Maybe you should date someone. I can take care of Misty. Little granddaughter–grandpa bonding time.”

Eddie stared like he’d just suggested juggling knives.

“You don’t remember what happened last time?” he said, pointing at Misty—who, at that moment, shoved a handful of mush into her mouth, her chin, her nose, and one cheek for good measure.

Wayne watched. At some point, Misty looked up from her green-smeared fist and glanced between the two of them before bursting into a squeal of laughter.

Both men cracked up too—caught in that small, sharp, honest joy that split your chest open just to fill it again.

But Wayne, without missing a beat, leaned in and lowered his voice.

“I’d like to think you’d be smarter this time. Use a—”

He clapped his hands gently over Misty’s ears. The baby immediately wriggled in protest, cheeks puffed out like a tiny revolutionary whose freedoms were under threat.

“—damn condom,” Wayne finished quickly.

Eddie snorted.

“I don’t wanna date right now, Wayne. Especially not someone I have to see every damn day at work. That’d be awkward. And honestly, I’ve managed to complicate my own life just fine these past twenty years, thanks.”

He offered a lopsided smile. “I’m good. Can we drop it?”

Wayne nodded, accepting the terms.

His eyes wandered to Misty again, now bored with her food and drumming her rubber spoon against the tray like it was a snare drum.

“You thought about what you’re gonna do with your life?” he asked, casual—too casual. Like he wasn’t planting the real question right there at the center of the table.

Because yeah. That’s where this was going.

Eddie laughed dryly, dragged both hands down his face, and stood to wipe Misty’s face.

“AAAAAH!” she shrieked in protest, her little face flushed red.

Eddie raised his brows. “Jesus, kid. What’s with the attitude? Come on, not with Dad. You’re breaking my heart here.”

Wayne chuckled, that deep kind that came from the chest.

“Wonder where she gets it from.”

Eddie shot him a look, then finished wiping Misty’s cheeks and chin. He kissed her nose, then scrunched his face like he’d smelled something foul.

“Ugh. You smell like spinach,” he muttered, blowing raspberries on her cheeks and earning another round of giggles.

“There. That’s better.”

“So?” Wayne asked again, a little more insistent. “What now?”

Eddie dropped the rag on the table.

“I dunno—be her dad? Doesn’t that count as a life plan?” he asked, gesturing toward Misty.

“Sure it does. But it can’t be the whole plan. Shouldn’t be.”

Silence fell like a weight.

Eddie knew this conversation wasn’t going anywhere. Not unless he died first.

“What do you suggest?”

“Don’t laugh,” Wayne warned. “I don’t need your smarta—your smart remarks.” He caught himself just in time, censoring for little ears.

“Have you thought about college?”

Eddie looked at him like he’d just been asked to run for Pope.

“You high off something from the plant? Or you having an aneurysm?”

“Da-da.”

Eddie took Misty’s hand, giving her his attention.

Wayne ignored the comment. He’d been raising Eddie too long to get derailed that easy.

“Eddie.”

“Da-da-da-da.” Eddie grabbed Misty’s other hand.

“I graduated high school at twenty.”

“So what? What matters is why. Why you pulled it off. Because you decided to. When you, Eddie Munson, set your mind to something and work for it—you do it. Robin helped you. You studied with her. And before that, with G. Remember that song you two won the school talent show with?”

Eddie squinted, like the memory stung.

“It was… fun,” he admitted.

“I’ve never seen you happier than when you were onstage with a guitar in your hands—well, except for Misty.”

Right on cue, another scream.

“DAAAA-DAAAA!”

Eddie blinked at her, wide-eyed again. “Alright, kiddo, this ain’t an Iron Maiden recording studio. Let’s bring it down a few decibels.”

“Jesus, those lungs,” Wayne muttered as Eddie scooped her out of the chair and into his lap. Misty immediately went for his hair, tugging and grabbing for the tiny stud in his nose—he’d gotten it pierced a month ago, maybe two.

“When’s the last time you wrote something, son?” Wayne asked, leaning in.

Eddie dodged Misty’s hand. “I play guitar sometimes—”

“Not play. Not ripping Sabbath solos or humming some ballad to get her to sleep.”

Wayne pinned him with a look—firm, not cruel. The kind of voice that belonged to someone who’d watched life pass people by one hesitation at a time.

“When’s the last time you wrote something that came from you?”

He paused.

“Before Misty. Before Diane?”

Silence.

Eddie looked down, swallowed hard, kissed Misty’s palm—anything to avoid being read like an open book.

Wayne sighed.

“You know G has to submit a graduation project soon? Her dad says it’s gotta be an original composition. The song’s called Misty.”

He let that sink in.

“Diane’s pregnancy shut you down. But G? I bet what happened hurt her just as much. And all it did was inspire her.”

Eddie turned his head toward his daughter, who was now watching him with a rare stillness, wide-eyed and intent, like she knew—somehow—that she was the center of the conversation. Her face still had traces of spinach, but her eyes… those big brown eyes held an entire universe.

A universe he hadn’t written a single verse for.

Not one song.

Not one line.

Nothing.

He had spent the last year living for her. Changing diapers, working double shifts, graduating, learning to soothe fevers and decode cries.

But he had never written her name in music.

And all of a sudden, the silence inside his chest weighed heavier than all the questionable choices he’d ever made in his life.

“Maybe it’s time,” Wayne murmured as he stood from the table. “Your most important audience is sitting right there in your lap. And one day, she’ll understand.”

Eddie looked down at Misty, who was now playing with the button on his jacket with an enviable kind of seriousness. He studied her thin brown eyebrows, her curly hair, her milk-soft cheeks and little pink lips. He kissed her forehead, and she smiled at him.

Like she already knew.

Like she was already waiting.

Eddie sat on the edge of his bed with the rotary phone cradled in his lap.

Please pick up. Please. Pick up. Pick up. Pick—

Finally, a breathless, bright voice.

“Hello? If this is anyone but Bryan Neal, hi. If it is Bryan Neal, you can go FUCK yourself”

Eddie frowned, trying to search his memory for any conversations you and he might’ve had about a Bryan Neal.

“Laura Dean, right?”

A gasp.

“You’re the hot metalhead with a kid,” she said, laughing.

“That’s what Giggle calls me?” Eddie asked, eyebrows raised.

“Awww, you call her Giggle?” she replied in a syrupy tone. “No, she doesn’t call you that. We saw your picture on her nightstand and just started calling you that. I assume you wanna talk to her?”

“Please.”

“Well, since you asked nicely.”

Shuffling sounds. Then laughter in the background. A pause.

“OOOOOOOh, Giggle,” the girl sing-songed. “It’s your long-haired hot baby daddy—ow! It hurt!”

Eddie exhaled and rolled his eyes, trying not to let that phrase get under his skin. And then—your voice. Sleepy, warm, achingly familiar.

“Eds?”

He closed his eyes. “Hey.”

“Is everything okay? Is Misty okay?”

Eddie smiled and glanced at his daughter, dressed in Care Bears pajamas Wayne had bought, sleeping soundly with her tiny fists curled and her lips parted in the middle of the bed.

“She’s perfect,” he said. “Out like a rock.”

He heard your soft laugh. “God, I can’t wait for her birthday so I can see her. I miss her so much.”

“She misses you too,” Eddie whispered. Then his eyes swept across your room—frozen in time—and he sighed. “Whenever I pick up the phone, she lifts her little hands and starts fussing. Thinks she’s gonna hear your voice every time.”

Silence.

“That’s adorable,” you murmured, like it hurt. “Did you wanna talk about something?”

Eddie realized that lately, when they called, it was mostly Misty who got your voice—though she couldn’t say much back yet. You and he hadn’t had much time for just… talking.

“I just wanted to hear you,” he said, quiet.

A pause. Then, gently: “Are you okay, Eds?”

“I am now,” he murmured. “How’s it going over there?”

“Well, still working on the recital project. They changed things up on us—it was supposed to be an original, but now that’s for later. The professor wants us to start it early and polish it until our last year’s performance,” you explained.

“Your dad was so proud he told Wayne, and Wayne told me,” he grumbled, making you laugh. “The song’s about Misty, right?”

There was a small silence, then a smile in your voice.

“She makes everything better.”

“She does.”

Eddie’s hand tightened around the phone.

“G, I haven’t written a song. Not even for her,” he admitted. “Can you believe that? Me. I haven’t written anything for her.”

“Well, you made her. That’s… one hell of a gift,” you whispered.

“Still,” he said. “Maybe it’s time I try. That I go do what we talked about. Something more.”

“You’d be amazing,” you said, instantly. "Really, wonderful.”

He chuckled, a little breathless. “You always say that like it’s obvious.”

“Because it is.”

“Like I could just—”

“You can.”

He didn’t say I love you.

You didn’t either.

But Eddie felt it there—thick and golden, stretching between New York and Hawkins.

That night, he began.

No one had ever made him want to be better just by existing—until Misty.

No one had ever believed in him the way you do.

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