#Eddie is a heathen

[morganbritton132]

Eddie posts a TikTok from a really nice hotel room. It’s very clear that he’s just woken up and also, that he’s hungover as shit.

Actually, he might still be drunk when he says, “You know what the most interesting thing about being married to a sleepwalker is?”

He heaves himself up into a seated position and yeah, judging by the way the world tilted. He’s still drunk. Fun.

He flips the camera around to show Steve asleep on his stomach on the other side of the bed. He’s laid out on top of the covers, sleeping like the dead. Eddie runs his hand into Steve’s hair like, “Look at this beautiful man.”

“Look at him,” Eddie hums, panning the camera from Steve’s messy hair down his bare back, passed his underwear and down his legs to his shoes.

Eddie zooms in on Steve’s white Nikes like, “Why is he wearing shoes??? Where did he go?”

There’s genuine stress in Eddie’s voice but it’s gone a second later when he points to a freckle on Steve’s back and says, “This one is my third favorite.”

[wheels-of-despair]

Corroded Coffin v. Slip 'n Slide Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: Eddie and Evil Woman find an old Slip 'n Slide at a yard sale, and Corroded Coffin is super excited to try it out. Contains: Summer fun, Eddie getting to live out a childhood fantasy, Evil Woman being surrounded by morons. Words: 1k

"Always wanted to play on one of these."

You put down the ceramic figurine you're inspecting for chips and look at the box Eddie's holding. Another yard sale in the next town over, so big it was advertised in the paper; the only thing that'll get Eddie out of bed before noon on a Saturday.

"You've never been on a Slip 'n Slide?" you ask.

"Nope. Rich kid thing. When it got hot, Wayne would sit on the porch with the hose, whoever was around would run through it."

"That sounds more fun than this thing, actually."

"You've been on one?"

"Once. Hated it."

Eddie hums in acknowledgment and stares at the box that's been sitting in someone's attic for twenty years with a sort of longing.

"How much?" you ask.

"It was just a thought," Eddie shrugs, putting the box back on the table. A little orange sticker reads 50¢. You reach over and snatch it before someone else can.

"We're getting it," you say with finality.

You tuck the box under your arm and keep browsing. Eddie ducks his head and grins, following you along the rows of packed tables.

You end up spending close to $10, acquiring a decent amount of records and 8-track tapes for your shared collection, but the crown jewel is Eddie's Slip n' Slide. He's so excited about it, you even set it up while Corroded Coffin practices that afternoon, so they can strip their shirts and cool off afterwards.

You'd angled it down the hill, to give the boys a little extra zoom. You brought the hose out and put it in position. You set up a lawn chair in the shade near the bottom and brought out a magazine, an icy drink, and your camera. For when the boys ended up skidding across the grass. Because every single one of them would ride it down the hill, one after the other, and think they were going to be the one to stop before the slide did. Morons.

The heat is reaching the unbearable point by the time they wrap up practice. You put your magazine down when the music stops. They file out of the garage, already stripped down to their boxers.

The boys stand at the top of the hill and cross their arms, staring at the twenty-five foot long yellow strip in the grass.

"Turn the hose on first, dummies," you call, readying your camera. Gareth scampers to the spigot and turns it on, then runs back to the slide and sprays the hose around until he's sure it's wet enough. They play rock-paper-scissors to determine who goes first. Grant wins. The boys clear the runway, and he takes a runner's stance. He takes off and makes a glorious swan dive…

and skids to a painful stop on his stomach, about three feet in.

"Fuuuuuck!" he groans, rolling over to reveal a red chest and stomach.

A collective "ohhh" comes from the trio.

"It didn't do this last time," Grant whines.

"When was last time?" Jeff asks.

"I don't know, it was some kid's birthday party," Grant grunts as he picks himself up off the yellow plastic.

"You're heavier now," Jeff observes. "It's for kids. We're bigger than kids. We just need more slip so we can slide."

"Like soap?" Gareth asks.

"Baby oil?" Grant suggests.

"Wait!" Eddie yells, running toward the van.

Jeff and Gareth lean in to inspect the red on Grant's chest. It looks painful.

Eddie returns to the group, slathering something across his chest. He squirts some in the other boys' hands, and they all coat their chests, arms, and legs. Oh, boy. They're gonna end up in the neighbor's yard.

Grant takes his position again, and takes off running. This time, his swan dive turns into a graceful slide. He laughs as he zooms down the yellow plastic. When he hits the grass, he goes sideways and rolls down the hill. You, of course, get what you're sure is an amazing photo of it.

"Fuck yeah!" he yells, standing up and raising his arms triumphantly.

Jeff goes next, sliding down the hill with a whoop and landing in a heap in the grass. They high-five and wait for Gareth, who slides down with a "yeeeeeah!" before going sideways and rolling with such force, he knocks down Grant and Jeff. You cackle and snap away, wishing you'd brought a backup roll of film with you.

They help each other up, laughing the whole time, and turn their focus back to Eddie. He looks a little nervous.

"C'mon, man!" Gareth yells.

"You got this, babe!" you encourage him.

He grins and takes off, jumping a little weird and landing a little off-center, but Eddie Munson gets to ride the entirety of the twenty-five foot slide. He pops up in the grass with a loud yell, and your heart bursts with pride. Eddie Munson finally got to ride a Slip n' Slide.

"That was awesome!" he grins, glistening in the sun.

"Let's go again!" Jeff yells.

"Should we reapply the magical slippy slidey stuff?" Grant asks.

"What was that, anyway?" Gareth rubs his hand over his shiny chest, testing to see if it's still slippery.

"Uh…" Eddie looks at you with mischief on his face.

Oh no.

"Yeah, man, that was perfect!" Grant chimes in. "We need a tub of it!"

Oh no.

"What was it?" Jeff asks, looking between you and Eddie suspiciously.

"Lube," Eddie answers.

"What?" all three boys ask.

"Luuube," Eddie repeats, his face twisting into the evilest of grins.

"OH MY GOD!" the three of them shriek at the same time, running up the hill to the hose. They fight over it, trying to wash the remnants off themselves. You take a few more photos from your lawn chair, and Eddie plops down next to you.

"Must you horrify the children, dear?" you ask sweetly.

"Duh," he answers.

You snap a photo of the wicked grin still on his face.

[poughkeepsies]

9-1-1 as The Onion Headlines (Part 2) (Part 1)

[moonbeamsandmayhem]

pairing: steddie x fem!reader

warnings: cnc, predator/prey dynamic, blood mention (i think that’s it, please lmk if not.)

Your lungs were burning. Sucking in cold air hard enough that your chest felt it may burst at the seams. Your legs were equally aflame as they carried you through the wooded area of Lover’s Lake fast as they dared. You could feel their eyes on you; predators slowly biding their time. And it sent a thrill through you. You didn’t dare stop, even when you could hear their cat calls, their taunts, carried on the chilly wind.

You knew they’d catch you soon. They wanted you to have your bit of fun, to play out your fantasy as the helpless little rabbit.

You run for another five minutes, finally having to stop, you lean back against a particularly gnarled tree trunk, sucking in air into your oxygen starved lungs. Your body is covered in a sheen of cold sweat, clothes clinging to you as you try to reign control of the rapid thumping in your chest.

A snap of twigs to your left catches your attention, head whipping round. You’re greeted by the Cheshire Cat grin of Eddie, all teeth and so very smug. His hands are behind his back as he leisurely closes the distance between you. “Gotcha.”

“Not yet.” You snip, turning on your heel to begin the pursuit again but you’re met with something solid, something warm. And you bounce half a step back only to be met by Steve Harrington’s questioning brow. With the trained quickness of a learned athlete, he grabs a hold of your upper arm, bringing you to his chest.

“You were saying?”

You put a fight. A damn good fight. Both Steve and Eddie are impressed at how you’re able to land some solid hits, even drawing blood. Scraped fingernails claw against Eddie’s cheek, crimson blooming, dripping down to his lips. He holds your gaze as he licks them clean, securing handcuffs to your wrists.

“I know we said we’d bring her back to the van, but…”

“Here?” Steve looks around. But you all are quite alone, save for the things that go bump in the night.

“Here,” Eddie affirms. “You wanna be treated like an animal, sweetheart? Then we’ll fuck you like one.” His and Steve’s hands tear your clothes, groping appreciatively, the sound of ripping fabric permeating the air. They make quick work of it, leaving you in tatters. The swell of your breasts heave and you try to cross your legs to hide yourself from their hungry gaze.

Steve clicks his tongue, looking at you from beneath his lashes. “Gone all shy now, huh?”

They show you no mercy. Eddie ruts into you from the back, hand wrapped around your throat as he slams into you over and over, slick coating your thighs. You choke on your moans; his pierced cock finding that spot inside of you that turns you into nothing but a mindless hole.

Through your blurred vision you see Steve, tight acid-wash jeans pushed down as he fists his cock. His lips are parted, a rosy hue to his cheeks. Eddie bends you, until you’re face to face with Harrington’s third eye. You’re nearly salivating as a few pearls of pre-cum seep from his slit.

“Suck.” Steve’s hand finds your hair, grabbing a fist full of it. Fingers twining through it tightly. He shoves his way into the warmth that is your mouth, hitting the back of your throat. You moan around the thick flesh.

“Fuck, Stevie, I can feel you through her throat.” Eddie groans, his pace stuttering to a near crawl. His ring hand squeezes and you find yourself choking once more, causing all three of you to moan out into the night. Drool begins to dribble and pool and drip from your mouth, tracking down your chest. And soon enough, Steve is fucking into your mouth, a crude, wet, ‘guck, guck, guck’ coming from you.

Eddie smacks your ass once, than twice. You tighten around his dick. “You little pain slut. Like it when we mark you up, babe?” You mewl in response. Your body is enraptured, caught in the purgatory of pain and pleasure. The two men find a rhythm; in and out, in and out. “Fuck, I’m gonna come!” The metal head declares, and he does. Hard. His spend shooting into you, hot and thick. You scream around Steve’s cock as Eddie’s orgasm triggers your own. He grips you roughly, hands on hips, fingers digging into you hard enough to bruise.

If it wasn’t for the fact that Eddie had his hands on you and Steve with his in your hair, you would have collapsed. Your legs feeling like absolute jelly.

Steve rips you off his cock as Eddie takes a step back to admire his work, watching a mixture of his and your release trickles down your thighs. But you only have a moment to centre yourself before Steve is lifting you into his arms, hoisting you against the nearest tree trunk. You squeal, still so sensitive, but he doesn’t care. He almost folds you in half; the tops of your thighs squishing into your breasts. He lines himself up with your sopping entrance and plunges into you with a squelch.

Your eyes roll back as you scream to the high heavens for relief, but no one is listening.

You don’t even recognize the man in front of you as he picks up a punishing pace. He bites at your neck, the swells of your breasts, claiming you in the most animalistic fashion imaginable. His eyes are black, taken over by the feral need to come.

And all you can do is take it.

He comes in you with a guttural growl. So deep and so hot, you’re trying to push him away but he holds you fast, dumping his body weight against you. “Shh, baby, shh. I know it hurts. Take it all.”

Silence. All expect the panting breaths between the three of you. Steve holds you close for a moment longer, peppering much softer kisses all over your face and neck as he extracts him self, trying to distract you from the discomfort.

Eddie was by your side in an instant having already righted himself. He undid the cuffs, stuffing them haphazardly into a back pocket. He circles an arm around your waist as he awkwardly shimmies off his leather jacket to put over your shoulders. He presses a kiss to your forehead, muttering what a good girl you are for them.

The next thing you know, Steve has you in his arms in a bridal carry. Too dazed to speak, let alone walk, you snuggle against his chest, grateful for the warmth he and Eddie’s jacket provide. Cocooned by their scent, you find the heaviness of slumber rearing its ugly head.

And as the sun begins to creep its way into the night sky, making way for dawn, you vaguely wonder at the back of your head, how you got so lucky. Your two protectors keeping a watchful eye as sleep takes you into its depths.

[timeshareindestin]

thought too much about buck’s affinity for inflicting pain on himself because he probably doesn’t know what it’s like to not feel it at all and eddie building a life around treating pain to make up for that he caused and almost opened google docs about it

[stevethehairington]

eddie 100% buys those like logs of raw cookie dough and then walks around the house eating it like a burrito

[queerdiazs]

wip wednesday (except it's not wednesday and i'm impatient)

uhhhh, this is from that fic (series???) where eddie has a mommy kink and buck indulges it because he's a good sub top who wants to fuck eddie pregnant & i cannot be fucking calm right now

Okay, so, it goes like this— Chris starts seventh grade in a couple weeks, something Eddie’s agonizing over because his little boy is going to be a teenager in a matter of months, and so the school is hosting its annual open house where parents and teachers can meet and mingle to learn a little about one another before the chaos of August sets in.  Eddie avoids PTA meetings at all costs and has never cared for the open house events, either, but he makes it a point to go to every single one because Chris enjoys meeting his teachers and classmates before class starts.   Buck tagged alone, of course, and so did Chim since Maddie is out with Linda and May for the day, browsing boutiques and snacking on the warm cinnamon almonds sold from the vendor on the corner of Watson and Hickory that’s been his favorite since he discovered in months ago. Eddie’s a little jealous his invitation got lost in the mail, but Maddie handed him Jee-Yun and promised to bring him back a bag of almonds for his hardship.  He bitched and moaned for all of the two seconds it took Jee to settle against his chest, snuffling and hugging him around his neck, and then sent Maddie off with the guarantee of two bags of almonds.  It can’t be helped, you know. Jee-Yun is his princesita, something Maddie knows and uses to her advantage.  He and Chim have been standing next to the snack table since they arrived, stuffing their faces with mini pigs in blankets and slices of cheesecake; Buck’s off with Chris and his friends, chasing them around in a game of tag with Jee on his shoulders. He’s laughing, bright and deep, and Jee’s giggling maniacally, having the time of her life as she zooms across the expanse of the playground and tugs fitfully on her uncle’s hair.  Eddie crosses his arms over his chest and watches his boyfriend, content and so gloriously, obnoxiously happy it makes him tummy fill and swell and flood his whole body. Buck’s loud and brilliant, shining brighter than the north star; the setting sun paints his honey-blond hair in watercolors of red and orange and pink, fiery and warm.  “He’s so good with them.” 

Eddie looks over his shoulder and sees he’s not the only one observing Buck. A small group of parents stand near the edge of the snack table, picking through bite-size pecan pies and watching the way he plays with the children, darting here and there and allowing himself to be tagged nearly as soon as he passes it off to somebody else.  A mother sighs, and Eddie hates how dreamy it sounds. “They all love him, too,” she comments. “How lucky his children must be to have a father like that.”  Eddie’s gut clenches tight for several reasons all at once. “Are any of the children his?”  Eddie opens his mouth to speak, but before he can another father says, “Chris Diaz,” and throws a glance toward Eddie with a crooked grin and a gleam in his eye. “He’s wearing the red glasses.”    “Oh, he’s so adorable and kind,” the first woman says, pouring another cup of punch. “He made Addison a ‘get well’ card last year when he came down with the flu. It’s still hanging on the wall in his room.”  A couple of the onlookers coo at that. Pride wells up in Eddie’s chest and spills over—goddamn right his kid is adorable and kind, and he’ll never tire of hearing his opinions validated by others. He lucked out with Chris and it’s gratifying to see that others appreciate his son, too.  “I see where he gets it from,” another father quips, gesturing toward Buck once more. Eddie looks over and smiles when he sees Buck offering his hand to help a kid with pigtails up off the ground. “Where’s his mother?”  Startled, Eddie whips his head back around to the group of people. He knows they mean nothing by it—curiosity killed the cat and all that, and he’s found that even in LA quite a few assume mother-father relationships to be simple normalcy—and so when he opens his mouth to correct them, he doesn’t think he’s going to be too harsh, but then Chim steps on his foot and shuts him up.  He looks over at Chim, who smiles goofily and shakes his head. Eddie frowns. Chim shrugs and leans forward, keeping his foot on top of Eddie’s as if he’s a little kid in need of guidance.  “His mother is right here,” Chim calls to the group, laughing a bit too sharply, and pats Eddie’s stomach. Eddie goes hot all over. “And he’s a pretty good mom, too.”  The group stutters, wide-eyed and thoroughly chastised. Several of them open and close their mouths like they’re trying to catch flies, and the few who know the truth—know that Eddie and Buck as Christopher’s parents—roll their eyes and laugh, corralling the others and leading them away.  Eddie watches them go, warm and tingly and red. His stomach still prickles where Chim patted him, low like where a womb would be if he had one.  He spirals. He turns back to look at Buck because Buck has a way of making things make sense. Buck’s grin is huge and his face is flushed and sweaty, not unlike when he’s on top of Eddie, bullying his cock deep in Eddie’s guts, so hard and thick Eddie feels it in his throat, and, oh, when Buck shifts his gaze toward Eddie’s and smiles, dopey and lovely, and Eddie knows. He knows.  Eddie wants Buck to make him a mommy.  Fuck.  —and if anybody asks, it’s all Chim’s goddamn fault. 

hoping to have this up by tomorrow tbh but hmm, we shall see lmao!!

[wheremermaidsdwell]

not me googling 80s shampoo products bc i might namecheck a brand for eddie and debating what level i want to read him for filth at

[appolloed]

Here, have an Eddie inspired aesthetic laptop background. Why not?

[chickensoupleg]

Random silly thought:

As a joke and because Steve is a rich boy, he buys like. Several cuts of steak, which he then stores underneath the Family Video counter. When Eddie comes to visit and chat him up, Steve and Robin both give as good as Eddie does, but periodically would... discreetly bend down, open the cooler that's sitting there, and place a slab of cold steak on the counter next to the movie Eddie's renting.

Eddie, being too deep into staring at Steve then realize what is going on in front of him, screams when he looks down and there's a sizable amount of beef sitting next to his left hand.

[morganbritton132]

Before Eddie got popular again with his Tiktok account, he gave a Zoom interview during quarantine about a virtual fundraiser that Corroded Coffin was participating in. He’s set up at the kitchen table because Steve turned it into his office for teaching and Eddie is using Steve’s laptop.

Steve, who just woke up from a nap, comes into the room and gets halfway through making a cup of coffee before he realizes that Eddie isn’t just talking to himself. Steve makes direct eye contact with the camera and then just slowly sinks down behind the counter.

Eddie clocked Steve the moment he came into the room and watched him in the screen sink out of frame. Eddie stops in the middle of what he was saying, turns around, and asks, “You okay?”

He’s get back the most embarrassed little, “Yes.”

The clip of Eddie Munson’s awkward ‘roommate’ gets included in all those Zoom bloopers compilations

[firewasabeast]

prompt: im not gay, but my husband is.

(I loved those scenes in 911 and lonestar where they only wanted the straight white guy to work on them, so I think it would be funny happening with married, bi buck!)

“No, I don't want you touching me.”

They'd been sent on a call to a woman's residence. She had fallen in her driveway on the way to her car. From the moment they pulled up, trouble had started. She didn't want Hen touching her, wouldn't accept help from Chimney, and the second she spotted Diaz on Eddie's uniform she stopped him.

“Well, you're a straight, white man, Bobby,” Chimney said with a smile. “You wanna take the lead?”

“Wait,” Eddie put his hands on his hip, “do interracial relationships matter to you too?” he asked the woman. “Because, if so, Bobby's out.”

She looked around at everyone in a panic. “You!” she exclaimed when her eyes met Buck's. “You can do it, right?!”

“Yes, I am capable of placing a splint on your leg,” he said with no enthusiasm as Hen handed over the splint.

He bent down to get started but she held her arm out to stop him. “You're normal, right? You're not married to someone,” she glanced up at Bobby, “different, are you? Not gay or anything?”

“Oh, no ma'am, I'm not gay,” Buck assured her, before adding with a flash of his ring, “my husband is though.”

“Y- Your what?”

“My husband.”

“So you are gay?”

“Ma'am, please don't get him started,” Hen begged. “He will not shut up once he gets going.”

“There are actually some people that believe bisexuality doesn't exist,” Buck began, waving a finger to emphasize his point. The groans from the rest of the 118 didn't detour him. “It has been proven to cause mental health issues for people who identify as such, and in extreme cases-”

“Okay, okay,” Bobby interrupted, patting Buck's back a couple of times to get him to stop. “This lady is very clearly “in distress” and we should be focused on helping her.” He stared over at the woman, “If she'll let any of us.”

“Can't you call another team or something? One that isn't filled with minorities and heathens?”

“The 112?” Hen suggested.

Eddie shook his head. “All women crew today.” He looked down at the lady, “I'm guessing you wouldn't like that?”

“They're just not as capable as men,” she whined.

“143?” Chimney asked.

Buck stood back up. “With Captain Garcia?”

“No!” She yelled.

“217?” Eddie offered.

Buck perked up at that. He smiled at the lady on the ground. “You'd get to meet my husband!” he exclaimed. “He's working ground ops today. I could call him, give him a heads up?” He bent back down to the woman's level. “He is the gay one though.”

The woman groaned before pushing herself up and grabbing her purse, jerking away at Buck's attempt to help. “You know what? I'm just gonna take myself to the hospital,” she said as she started to hobble away.

“Say hello to Dr. Cohen for us,” Bobby said, sending her off with a wave. She let out one more angry yelp before getting into her car and slamming the door.

*****

Tommy had gotten home about an hour before Buck, already dressed in a white button down shirt tucked into black dress pants for dinner reservations they had that night.

When he heard the sounds of Buck's car door shutting, he headed to the front door and opened it, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Hey you,” he said with a smile.

Buck smiled back, dropping his duffel the second he reached the porch. He immediately wrapped himself around Tommy, surprising him with a kiss that elicited a moan from him.

“I got to call you my husband at work today,” Buck explained between kisses as Tommy gripped his waist. He led Tommy backward into the house, kicking the door shut behind him. “Twice.”

Tommy breathed out a laugh, pulling back just enough to look into Buck's eyes. “This was your first shift back after our honeymoon,” he reminded him. “So you lasted, what, twelve hours into your workday before mentioning me?”

Buck shook his head. “It was our first call of the day,” he informed him. “More like two hours.”

Tommy hummed, running his hands up and down Buck's waist. “Your whole team owes me double then,” he said before pressing a gentle kiss to Buck's lips.

It was Buck's turn to pull back this time. “What are you talking about?”

“They were taking bets on how long it would take for you to mention you were married. I said it'd be less than twelve hours, and you'd mention it more than once. Wait-” He paused, then gave Buck's waist a squeeze, “did you mention bisexual erasure?”

Buck sighed, his shoulders slumping. “It's an important topic, Tommy!”

Tommy simply smiled. “I hit the jackpot, Babe.”

“You placed bets on me?” Buck asked with his eyebrows furrowed.

“Mhm,” Tommy replied. He shrugged. “I won like five hundred dollars.”

Buck's eyes darkened at that. In one quick motion, he turned them and shoved Tommy against the door, pawing at his shirt to get it untucked. “That's so hot,” he moaned, smashing his mouth against Tommy's in a sloppy kiss.

They never did make their dinner reservations.

[steddieasitgoes]

Steve owning a sphynx cat who is antisocial and always hides when he has people over at his house to the point where people don’t even know he has a cat. Cue Eddie screaming in terror when she makes her presence known on a random Saturday in December.

Steve scolds him for yelling because he’ll startle Princess and Eddie looking at Steve with astonishment, going: “That thing is not a Princess. It’s an abomination! It looks like Gollum!”

Princess hisses before strutting over to where Steve sits on the couch and cuddles up on his chest. And Steve just looks at Eddie like: “She’s my princess if you have a problem with her there’s the door.”

Obviously Eddie’s not stupid enough to walk out on Steve over a damn cat but he’s not exactly thrilled about sharing him with the hairless monstrosity staring at him.

Jokes on him though because within two weeks he and Princess are best friends, always napping together much to Steve’s chagrin. “Guess she likes me better, Stevie.”

“Yeah because you’re both heathens!”

[blueywrites]

better in the dark

eddie munson x fem!reader it's movie night, and you get a little lost in your head sitting on eddie's lap down in the boys' basement.

1.9k

cw: 18+. exhibitionism, sex acts with others in the room (imagined/implied), no y/n, no physical descriptions. note: all characters are college-age adults.

This came from a 'naughty nights' ask that got long enough to be published as its own oneshot. Thanks for the idea, anon! The original ask can be found here.

enjoy xx

The room is dark aside from the flickering of the television, which slashes colors across your five faces in time with the screams of the characters on screen, desperate to escape the reanimated dead. Gareth and Jeff have the popcorn bowl wedged between them, each taking turns shoveling handfuls in their mouths, nudging each other as another person gets chomped down the same way by a zombie. They're seated on the gaudy floral loveseat which was banished to the basement of their rented house, a hand-me-down from Gareth's mom the guys wouldn't dare put in the living room to be seen by guests. Eddie and David don't count, though; years of high school, Hellfire, and Corroded Coffin have bonded them far beyond that type of judgment. You're only rueful that the two had snatched up the comfortable spot for this week's movie night, forcing you and Eddie to squash together on the narrow armchair since you'd insisted David take the recliner (you knew he'd be even more uncomfortable than you in this one, and you're not a total mannerless heathen).

At least the armchair has fabric cushions instead of leather, you think, snuggling down further into the knit blanket draped over you and Eddie, which is keeping you warm as you sit on his lap. It's not the most comfortable seat, mostly because you're sitting sideways across him and thus are perched right on his bony femur; the guy has no fat on his legs to speak of, plus the bare minimum amount of muscle to keep him walking around, so the padding under your butt is quite lacking. You purse your lips, sneaking a glance at Eddie's face from where you have your ear pressed against the front of his shoulder. His brown eyes are near black, gleaming as he watches the screen until he notices you looking and he glances down at you curiously.

"Your thigh's bony," you grumble quietly, close to his pierced ear so he can hear you over the movie; you lift your head to peer around his chin and survey the other occupants of the room, checking to see how engrossed in the movie they are. You're wondering if you can finagle your way into sitting straight on Eddie's lap without drawing their attention - not because you or Eddie would care that they see you in such a position, but because you don't wanna hear them giving you any shit about it for the next month. You can take a good teasing, but they just go on and on about it, and it gets irritating after a while.

When their eyes don't waver from the screen, you place your head back against Eddie's shoulder, scratching your fingers down his worn t-shirt, feeling along his soft abdomen in such a way that you end up teasing yourself as you think about how much more comfy you'll feel sat on his lap with your front pressed to his.

That wasn't originally your plan, but now that you've thought of it, you really want it. You don't even care that you won't be able to see the movie as you imagine his lithe arms wrapping around you under the blanket, the bud and spice scent of him in your nose as he keeps you close, how cozy and warm and deliciously held you'll feel. And a little bit of arousal blooms, too, as you consider how the position will allow the stiff denim of his jeans to drag along your panties, how delicious the friction would feel against your clit, how the naughty secret of it would heighten the pleasure since no one else would know, despite them being mere feet away.

You imagine how it'd go. How your knees would press into the back cushion as you straddle Eddie, teasing him with the subtlest brush of your pussy against his crotch, all concealed underneath the thick knit of the forgiving blanket. He'd probably buck up into you with a little aborted thrust of his hips, trying to keep still as his arms tighten around you. He'd look down at you with those big brown bambi eyes, wide and apologetic 'cause you know he'd think it was an accident until you did it again, slower, more deliberately this time.

Eddie would narrow his eyes then, and he'd grin at you, a crooked, dimpled thing to convey his piqued interest. And it probably wouldn't take much to convince him to make out with you like that, considering you've made out in front of the guys before, usually when you're all drunk or high or both. It's happened enough that they likely wouldn't even spare you more than a glance over it. So Eddie would cup your jaw with one hand as you nip at his chin, trailing little baby kisses up to the full pink lips he'd just licked in anticipation. Glossy and wet, they'd open to you as soon as you were in reach, capturing your mouth with intent after you'd teased him a little, 'cause Eddie is easy to rile up like that. You'd kiss him back with equal hunger, letting the frantic sounds of the movie conceal the smacking of your lips and the clicks of saliva as you lick into each others' mouths. You'd heat up quickly, working into a frenzy of need and pooling arousal that gathers where you bump against each other between your legs. When the blanket starts to sag, Eddie would pull it up over your shoulders again, tucking you in like a little bug in a cocoon as he devours you whole with his seeking lips and his wide, hot tongue while his cock chubs up against your hot pussy.

He'd get you so turned on, grinding up into you and making out with you in the basement next to his friends. He'd make you so fucking needy that your little fingers would trail down the front of his chest and fall to his belt. And Eddie would know what you want right away, too. He'd feel your heart skipping bunny rabbit-fast as he holds you flush against his chest, your nipples poking him straight through your bra and shirt, you're so excited. Moved by the danger and thrill and naughtiness of it all, your eyes would meet, both sets of pupils blown to consume all the color there— a moment of silent communication between you. Eddie would sneak a glance toward the loveseat as you pant against him, trembling with nervous excitement and throbbing with an insistent ache that has your puffy lips drooling through your panties onto his jeans.

You wouldn't be able to fuck, of course. Not properly, at least, not unless you want the guys to realize what you're doing, and you definitely don’t want to face the consequences of bouncing on Eddie's dick in front of them. But you could snake your hand down between you, skimming the front of your belly on your way, feeling down to your weeping slit until you find the edge of your panties by touch alone. You could tuck your nose against Eddie's pale neck, feel the quick thrumming of the artery there as you hook your index finger in and pull the fabric aside. You'd feel Eddie's dry, cracked knuckles brush your fingers as he works his belt open, moving slowly so his hands don't rustle the blanket around your lap and give you both away. Carefully, he'd pull down his fly, and you'd feel the subtle vibration of each tiny tooth splitting apart to let him that much closer to you. When he finally takes himself out, letting the dry velvet heat of his cock meet your soaked lips, you'd have to suppress the way your hips want to jump like he'd touched you with a brand.

This next part would be a bit tricky, but together, you and Eddie would manage it. You'd nudge your hips up, your thighs trembling as you move so slowly, hovering high enough to clear the length of his dick. Then, Eddie would help you by pulling your lower lips apart with his thumbs, opening your hole so when you line up his head, he can notch in smoothly. He'd tremble then, his biceps quivering under your hands as you lower yourself down onto him, stretching yourself tight around his rigid length, enveloping him in your sopping heat.

Three-quarters down, you'd both freeze when you hear a loud exclamation from the couch, waiting with bated breath to see if you've been caught. Realizing it's just Gareth's reaction to the movie would bring you mostly relief but also a tiny, sick little buried-down tinge of disappointment, too— a feeling you'd choose to ignore as you settle flush against Eddie's lap, his tip digging deep inside you, your body molded to every curve and notch of his thick cock. That cock would kick once inside you, but otherwise, Eddie would remain motionless, his jaw grit as you press the soft apple of your cheek there, his breath puffing from his nose to feather the hair at your temple.

You'd take a moment to grow used to the feeling of your secret joining before starting to kiss again, both as a public reason to keep you sitting on him like this in case any of the guys start to wonder, and also just to taste each other 'cause you’re burning for it. You'd nip Eddie's lip, and he'd lick across your teeth, and once your kissing turns heated and sloppy again, he'd reach down between you, dragging his middle finger down over your mound until he reaches the apex of your sex.

There, he'd start to rub tiny little circles into your sensitized bud. Slowly but steadily, he'd pet your little clit, and the feeling would be torture and pleasure all at once— frustrating because you can't move, but also deliciously arousing because you're cockwarming him while he touches you in front of his oblivious friends. You'd whine and moan and make muffled begging noises that Eddie would swallow up greedily. And when you'd start to pulse around him, clenching on his thick length as the tingling wave inside begins to crest, Eddie would groan against your lips, wordlessly encouraging you to cum on his cock.

And you would. You'd bite down on his lip, gripping the meat of his shoulders to keep yourself still as you gush and pulse around his length. You'd soak Eddie's balls beneath the blanket David found at a garage sale in town. And maybe David would spare you a glance when the television screen lights up bright for a moment, revealing how you've gone suddenly rigid on top of Eddie, your brow pinched up in painful ecstasy in a way that he finds curious.

Maybe, or maybe not. Who's to say?

"Hey." Eddie's whisper dissolves your fantasy, leaving you with the blanket clutched up in your fingers, your ass growing numb on his bony thigh, and your pussy awfully puffy and swollen, crying desperately for attention. You look up at him again, your pulse kicking faster as you see the new edge to his gaze— something quite hungry. Quite naughty.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" he asks you quietly, his eyes darting between yours as he tries to read you. You bite your lip as that thrill rises inside again, intensified this time by the fact that what you'd fantasized about would become real.

You nod.

A grin crawls across Eddie's face— wide, manic, and full of deliciously wicked promise.

[fleuraimer]

tw!!! messy, unhealthy family dynamic depicted.

started watching the bear and now i can’t stop thinking abt boxer!carmy, like southpaw but the bear.

next part.

boxer!carmy who started fighting because he watched rocky every day after school as a child (because kids can be quite cruel, can’t they? twinkling eyes and gummy smiles, expressive and vivid, raw, but that vast imagination is no stranger to destruction.)

small for his age, and maybe he liked the color pink more than the rest of the boys in his class, but mikey always said, ‘let it rip, kid. real men wear pink.’ as he wiped his little brother’s tears with the pad of his baby smooth thumb, so carmy never paid it much mind (not until his 10th birthday was coming up and his dad asked him what he wanted the theme of his party to be. he’d told him he didn’t care, “as long as it’s pink, and has cake.” he earned the first ass whoopin’ that left enough bruises for his teachers to notice. “fell off my trampoline,” he’d told them. the berzatto’s didn’t have a trampoline).

boxer!carmy who joins a local gym in 7th grade, because what the fuck else is he supposed to do with all this pent up, boiling angst, festering inside his body, running through the ichor of his being. mom was always screaming, dad was always drinking, sugar was always crying, mikey was never even there anymore…

the gloves cradled his hands the way a family should, hushed the tremble like a mother would to a child. calm.

the sand-bang took away his burdens the way a family could, carried the weight of his agony on boney, worn shoulders the way a father would for his son.

he beat on the bag until his sweat puddled at the floor beneath him, lights flickering as the owner (eddie, a bitter old man that took in “fuckin’ heathens” and gave them a place to call home) silently watched on from his place by the switches.

boxer!carmy who graduates high school, but doesn’t go to college, decides to focus on boxing instead. had already been going to the gym 4 times a week, but now, with school out of the way, he’s there almost every day. he prefers it this way, honestly, away from all the noise and calamity of his home life (can’t listen to another second of mom screaming about how she could have been someone if they hadn’t ruined her life. we could’ve been something, you hear me? and you all fucked it! can’t take sugar’s crying, sad little weeps that chip at his integrity. can’t watch mikey stumble in again, high off this that and the other and gone as fast as he came. can’t understand dad’s carelessness, more concerned with a bottle of bourbon and the ‘ball game than his own children). it’s nice there, anyway—with showers and a kitchen, he’s got all he needs.

he fights day and night, so often that sometimes it’s easier to just sleep there (and after the third time eddie stopped yelling at him about it so he thinks that maybe he might be warming up to him), curled up next to the heater with a blanket and a pillow he stole from mikey’s bedroom (he always had the fluffiest pillows. and besides, it’s not like he’d even fucking notice). he trains so hard and so long that by the end of what would’ve been his freshman year of college, he’s 62-0 in all his rookie matches from january to then.

boxer!carmy who, with his team of nacho (ignacio, a heavyset, easily sweaty sparring partner), benny (a skinny, white medic with frameless, 90s era specs, a hoop earring in his left ear, and a toothpick always in his mouth), and eddie, signs up to go pro, and by some fuckin’ miracle, he gets the headline event of the year.

pushes his ass to work harder than ever before, prove to himself (and mikey and sugar and mom and dad) that he is fucking doing something with his life, more than they ever had, and more than they ever will.

he knocks his opponent out in the 5th round, all teeth and bones intact. cries in eddie’s arms like a big baby, but for once, eddie doesn’t gripe. hell, he’s probably crying too, as he weakly tightens his hold around carmy, and hushes his incessant blubbering. i know, son, i know. y’did it. y’can rest now.

wipes his own eyes as he turns to face the crowd (let it rip, kid), fists pumped in the air in a show of triumph, victory, bittersweet in the absence of those who are meant to see his glory and realize, finally, he is someone, someone worthy of praise and some fucking apologies for all shit he’s been through.

boxer!carmy who fought his way in the ring, and fights every damn day for his spot on the floor. picks up a few more things than championship belts along the way. fractured fingers and broken noses, cracked ribs and misplaced shoulders, popped knees. none in vein, of course. oh, no—god, no—carmen ‘carmy’ berzatto, the beast—the bear—hadn’t lost a single match since entering the professional boxing league.

boxer!carmy who fights the heavyweight championship of the world, and fucking wins, just to find out later that night, after an evening of food, wine, sex, and celebration, that his older brother, michael ‘mikey’ berzatto, shot himself in the fucking head (let it rip, kid).

boxer!carmy who stops fighting after that. for a while (thinks about drinking and screaming the way mom and dad did to cope, but settles for short breathing and night terrors, instead). he doesn’t talk to the family, doesn’t pick up anyone’s phone calls (they hadn’t spoken in years (because he never picked up the fucking phone calls) and now suddenly because mikey’s dead everyone wants to fucking reconnect?), just comfortably sits in his big penthouse apartment, wallows and wonders on what could’ve been.

boxer!carmy who doesn’t touch a pair of boxing gloves for nearly 6 months, because what’s the point? but then, some little pussy decides to come and challenge carmy for his heavyweight title. he was in no mood, really. michael fucking died, he could kill somebody, for christ’s sake. but, even as a kid (the fuckin’ crybaby)—gettin’ picked on by his classmates for usin’ the pink chalk to draw on the pavement—carmy never really did know when to shut his fucking mouth.

he accepts the dickhead’s challenge, timothy grayson, after the second time he says some over the top, arrogant, macho white-trash bullshit on live fucking television (spews off some real intellect about never giving up fighting for anything or anyone, when he doesn’t even fucking know what happened. carmy’s fuckin’ angry, so angry he doesn’t notice the pretty broad beside him, not really, to busy picturing tommy’s or timmy’s or whatever the fuck his name is face beneath his fists).

boxer!carmy who sets up a pay-per-view fight against timmy boy to defend his heavyweight championship.

boxer!carmy who picks up his gloves again and feels the cradle and coo of a mother. fits the laces just right, finds his bag, and when he throws a right hook, feels his burdens being lifted from his back, protected and brave under the shield of a father.

this is who he is.

carmen ‘carmy’ berzatto.

the beast.

the bear.

boxer!carmy who shows up to the pre fight weigh-in at his absolute best physical form, ready to fucking devour timothy on a silver platter.

boxer!carmy who goes up to on the stage after timmy—nacho, benny, and eddie by his side (plus the others accumulated along the years) thoughts calm over the roar of blasphemy being shouted at him. quitter! pussy! fuckin’ pansy bitch! (we could’ve been something, you hear me?)

he keeps his head down as he walks up the steps on the side of the stage, eddie’s hand settled on his right shoulder; grounding. and yet, as his eyes begin to lift from the ground beneath his feet, eddie’s grip on him doesn’t stop carmy from feeling like he’s floating 25 feet above the floor.

perfect, pointed, pink stilettos catch carmy’s eye, open toed with and big, chiffon-esque bow placed across the strap. his eyes trail higher.

deep, caramel skin, glinted in gold accents, fitting over knuckles and bangling from wrists. a mini skirt (shorter than usual, too short) to match the heels, and a skin tight, square neck top to accentuate a sharp, smooth collarbone. a couple stacked necklaces, some (unnecessary) cherry wine hued specs, and a sweet ribbon hanging from long, wistful curls, in that same damned pink.

his blue irises don’t stop fucking flitting around this unknown, ethereal figure until they land on a pair of rich, brown sugar eyes.

oh, jesus fuckin’ christ.

boxer!carmy who can’t keep his eyes off the pretty broad in pink for the rest of the show. he stands taller for her. flexes harder for her, puffs his chest with pride when his weight qualifies by a mile and a minute as the announcers read it from the scale. and the whole time, she’s lookin’ at him. fuckin timothy.

boxer!carmy who gets close to timmy when it’s time to showdown, closer than he has with anyone else. timmy’s yappin’, but it’s in one ear and out the other, nothin’ carmy ain’t heard before (could probably be considered kind in comparison).

he waits ‘til his trash talk subsides. until the silence he let bloom tangled with any single sliver of panic timmy might feel, and watches as it twists onto his ugly mug, brows furrowing. confused.

the corner of his lip lifts, and he holds timmy’s eye. “nice broad. pretty in pink, s’that your little girlfriend?” timmy’s stare hardens, but that deters carmy none. “quite the looker, shame she’s stuck next to your ugly fuckin’ mug—“

“keep her fuckin’ name out of you—“

“or what grayson? huh? can’t do shit now, can’t do shit after i whoop yo’ ass in the fight, and can’t do shit after y’pretty girlfriend dumps y’r s’rry ass because’a it.” nose to nose, breathing jagged, frustrated, a silence settles over them that speaks louder than any rebuttal timmy might’ve had.

carmy manages to press him further.

“i’m going to crush you, timmy. like a fuckin’ bug under my shoe. and after, i’m gonna take y’cute broad right over there back to my hotel suite, and fuck her like she wishes you could.”

boxer!carmy who walks off that stage with a bloody nose and a sore shoulder. but timmy left with a broken nose, an off set jaw, and crunched nuts.

he smiles as he stumbles down the stage steps, leaning into nacho and benny, a sense of dejà vu plaguing him as he recalls a shitfaced mikey falling through the doors of his childhood home (let it rip). but he’s swiftly pulled back into the real world when his eyes lock on a certain pair of wide, brown sugar, cherry red wine framed ones.

with a leaking nose and blood pooling at the seam of his lips, carmy grins, and shoots the pretty broad a wink.

———

a/n: can’t get him out of my head 🌚🧍🏽‍♀️

loosely edited/proofread!!

[im-robins-bitch]

16+ (gn) Dating Eddie Munson is:

Sharing a big bag of chips and Eddie catching your wrist and sucking on your fingers to get off all the crumbs that are stuck to them.

Eddie sneaking up behind you, pushing his icy fingers up your jumper and laughing hysterically when you cringe and shove him away. 

Baking together and both of you shoving your fingers into the mix to taste it when the other isn’t looking. Taking turns to lick the spoon clean. 

Smacking Eddie’s ass every time he bends over. 

Trying to throw food into each other's mouths and then fishing crumbs out of each other's hair. 

Eddie saying ‘Good yawn’ or ‘Good burp’ 

Alternatively, every time you yawn for a long time he’ll stick his fingers in your mouth. 

If he’s too tired to make it to the couch after work, he’ll collapse on his knees in between your legs and face plant into your lap. 

He doesn’t have an ulterior motive, apart from when he does, he just likes to be close to you. He claims you recharge him. 

Fake wrestling

He likes to bend at the waist when he runs towards you like he’s about to tackle you, but instead, he lifts you off the ground and spins you around. 

He’s an embarrassment at the airport if you ever need to go somewhere. Going and Coming back. 

Going he’s a blubbering mess. 

Returning he’s a blubbering mess, plus he’s delivering a monologue like you’re returning from war. You have received a ‘thank you for your service’ before because of his dramatics. 

The first time you fly together, he won’t admit it, but he’s terrified.

Will always pretend you need to hold his hand, rather than him needing to ask for it. 

Wearing an old comfy pair of underwear with a small hole or tear? Eddie finds that hole and digs his finger in to make it bigger and bigger. Likes that it gives him easier access. Will pull you towards him by the hole.

Like’s to have his hand down your pants just for comfort. He won’t even do anything just rest/cup his palm against you. 

If your is hand in or up his boxers? He’s dead. In heaven.

Goes feral when you rake your nails down his thighs or his happy trail. 

Hair-washing nights morph into self-care days, helping with his curls and painting his nails. 

Insists he does your eyeliner if you’re putting any on. Will straddle your thigh like a heathen and pretend he’s not borderline humping it while holding a pencil dangerously close to your eyeball. 

He believes in love boners. 

Wants a cat, but you’re worried about the responsibility so you get fish to get into the habit of feeding something daily. 

You both have names for the racoons that live in the trailer park and will gossip about what you saw them getting up to that day

Air guitar contests

Eddie writing you love letters in detention

Walking Eddie to the bathroom at parties when he gets too drunk. Holding one of his hands, the other wrapped around his waist. 

Sometimes he has literally asked you to hold his dick while he pees because he’s either too drunk to do it himself or thinks it’s funny. 

He’s a little fucking gremlin,

Your little fucking gremlin,

You love it.

masterlist