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munson-blurbs · 13 days

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Summary: Your lab partner, Eddie Munson, might be the most irritating person in your life. But when he unexpectedly comes to your rescue at a party, his chivalry is too hard to resist.

A collaboration with the absurdly talented @corroded-hellfire 🥰

WC: 3.8k

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), fem!Reader, enemies-to-lovers, drinking, Billy Hargrove being a douche, fighting, blood, praise, fingering, accidental voyeurism if you squint, unprotected p in v, fluff because Red & I are some corny motherfuckers

Thank you @blueywrites for your idea that upped the spice 🌶️🌶️ Divider credit to @saradika

“Okay, so we need to mix the magnesium with hydrochloric acid,” you start, carefully measuring each substance and pouring them into a test tube, “and then we light the splint and see if it creates a squeaking noise.”

“Right,” Eddie says, not bothering to hide his disinterest. “And, uh, why are we doing this, exactly?”

You clench your jaw and exhale through your nose. Eddie getting under your skin is bad enough, but if he knew how much he annoyed you, he’d likely double down.

“We’re testing for the presence of oxygen,” you say with as much patience as you can muster. “And you need to wear safety goggles.”

He rolls his eyes and mimics you in a high-pitched and highly unflattering tone. “You need to wear safety goggles.”

He reaches for the matches, but you pull them away before he can grab them.

“I’m serious.”

Eddie scoffs. “Please. We’re not even blowing shit up. Besides, I have a gig tonight, and I’m not getting on stage with goggle marks on my face.”

Now it’s your turn to roll your eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure that’ll be the difference between your shitty band getting a record deal or not.”

“Whatever.” But he begrudgingly snaps on the protective gear, and you hand over the matchbox and the splint.

“So just li—seriously?” You watch, dumbfounded, as Eddie strikes a match and uses it to light the cigarette perched between his lips. Where had he kept it this whole time?

“What?” He asks with a smirk. “There’s, like, a million of these left. I’ll use the next one for the experiment thingy.”

He doesn’t get that far; Ms. O’Donnell marches over and yanks out the cigarette, snuffs it in the tray, and orders him to the principal’s office.

Leaving you to complete your work alone. Again.

Last week, it was because he’d kicked his feet up on the table and took a swig of Mountain Dew from a beaker. The week before, he’d blown up a rubber glove like a balloon and popped it right in Jason Carver’s ear, causing him to shatter a test tube on the ground.

You often felt more like a babysitter than a lab partner.

What you needed was a night out, so the party Steve Harrington was throwing tonight could not come any sooner. It wasn’t your usual scene, but all of your friends were going, and it certainly beat raiding your parents’ liquor cabinet alone.

Music blasts from an overpriced stereo system as you pull up to Steve’s house. Barely audible over the reverberating bass is the sound of drunken cheering as someone does a kegstand. You sigh, plaster a smile on your face, and make a beeline for the punch bowl.

Heather Holloway ladles jungle juice into an already pink-stained cup; you’re grateful for at least one kind face in a sea of Hawkins High students and recent graduates.

“Heather, hi!” You smile at her, plucking a new cup from the stack and filling it nearly to the brim. “How’s college?”

Heather takes a sip, wrinkling her nose at the vodka’s pungency. “Way better than high school,” she says with a laugh. “I’m taking an intro to biochem, and my lab partner actually shows up.”

You raise your glass in a mock toast. “Maybe you could take mine. He’s more trouble than he’s worth.”

She laughs. “Can’t be worse than when I was stuck with The Freak last year. He never showed up to class.”

“Really?”

“Mhm. And Ginny Anderson was his lab partner during his first senior year, and he pulled the same shit.”

Lucky them, you think wryly. Guess he decided to be a star student for his third go-around.

Frat boy-style cheering echoes from behind you and when you spin around you see Billy Hargrove strutting through the crowd, towards the kitchen. He throws a wink to a few girls and slaps five to one of the guys on the basketball team. If he’s coming into the kitchen, it’s the last place you want to be.

The living room is smoky and loud, but it beats getting stuck next to the booze with a jackass like Hargrove. Every thump of the bass has the little sips of alcohol you’ve taken sloshing around in your stomach. It’s hard to tell where you’re going or even what direction you’re going with so many people, so you just keep wading through groups until finally you come upon some space to breathe.

Unfortunately, this space brings you right back to where you began: in front of the kitchen. Just in time for Billy to sidle up next to you, the scent of whiskey and tangy cologne wafting off of him in waves.

“Where have you been all my life?” he asks, as if it’s supposed to be charming instead of nausea-inducing.

“Was better a second ago,” you mumble, not caring if he hears you or not. But when you move to step away from the blonde, the smarmy look slips from his too-pretty face and is replaced with a mask of set determination.

Strong fingers curl around your wrist, just tight enough to cause the barest amount of pain. The audacity and possessiveness are what piss you off the most, though.

A gentle tug of your arm does nothing to free it from his grip, so you try a little harder. Still nothing.

“Let go,” you seethe. The words are biting, but you’re a chihuahua up against a doberman.

Somehow, above your pulse pounding in your ears and the music thumping throughout the large house, you hear the distinct clang of a metal lunchbox snap shut and heavy boots on polished wood floors headed in your direction.

You sense Eddie over your shoulder before he appears in your peripheral vision. A moment hangs in the air where he and Billy stare at one another, and you watch them both, unsure of what is about to happen.

Eddie steels his jaw, unmoving. “Let her go,” he says, a slight rasp in his tone.

The jock remains unfazed, unthreatened. “Shouldn’t you be worshiping Satan’s asshole, Freak?”

“Shouldn’t you be worshiping Tommy’s? Or does he only worship yours?”

A cacophony of laughter stirs up an anger inside of Billy. He grabs Eddie by the jacket collar and slams him against the counter. “If you don’t fuck off in the next three seconds, I’ll kick you ass so hard that your uncle won’t even be able to identify your body.”

Eddie smirks. “One…two—”

Billy’s fist crashes into Eddie’s cheek with a sickening crack. Eddie returns with a punch to Billy’s abdomen, but not before his face sustains a few more hits.

Shock loosens its grasp on you and you call out for help, knowing it’s no use getting in the middle of their brawl. Someone—Tommy H, maybe—is chanting “fight!” and it takes all of your willpower not to clock him yourself.

Billy finally lets up when Eddie falls to the floor, clutching his stomach in agony. “Maybe next time, you’ll mind your fucking business,” he spits through his split lip—one of the few punches Eddie managed to land.

His smarminess is enough to provoke a reflexive response in you. As he gloats, you deliver a swift kick square to his crotch. A choked whine slips from Billy’s parted lips as he doubles over. You snort a laugh to yourself thinking about how the dumbbell is probably going to spin this story so he doesn’t seem like any less than the King of Hawkins High in front of his fellow party-goers. He’ll never be able to take away your satisfaction at using a pair of your nicest shoes to crush Billy’s balls though.

Eddie is still on the ground, wiping blood that’s trickled out of his right nostril onto the back of his sleeve. Turning your back to Billy, you bend down and offer your hand to Eddie. He accepts it with a weak smile and you help him to his feet.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Eddie says with a shrug and a sad smile that knots your stomach. He’s been hurt worse than this?

Unable to follow that train of thought, you reach out and slip your hand into Eddie’s. You give a small tug and he readily follows you down the hall of the Harrington home, the thumping beat of the bass becoming softer the further you walk.

In the back corner of the house you manage to find a bathroom that’s not occupied by someone puking the mixture of alcohol they’ve consumed or a couple hooking up, going at it like wild animals. This one looks like it’s been hardly touched all night and you click the lock into place once you and Eddie are inside.

Eddie takes a seat on the closed toilet lid, his calloused fingers coming up to gently touch the gash right across his chin. He winces at the tenderness of the wound while you crouch down and look in the cabinets underneath the sink for a first aid kit.

“Ah, here we are,” you announce as you pull out the small white box with the red cross on it. On your knees, you shuffle over towards Eddie and slide the kit along with you. “It’s not so bad,” you tell Eddie as you dab some rubbing alcohol on a small swath of gauze. “The face just bleeds more because—”

“Because the blood vessels in the face are so close to the skin,” Eddie finishes for you.

“Wow,” you say, raising your eyebrows at him. “I’m impressed.”

“We are in the same science class, you know,” Eddie teases with a playful smirk. It quickly turns to a grimace though as you begin to dab at his wounds.

“I thought I recognized you from the seat next to mine,” you joke back. There’s silence for a few moments while you clean off all the excess blood and bandage up the open cuts. “Why are you suddenly interested in science this year? I mean, I was talking to Heather before and she said you never showed up when you were her lab partner. So, what? Renewed attempt to graduate?”

“Uh,” Eddie says with an awkward chuckle. He avoids your eyes and rubs his hand along the back of his neck. “Something like that.”

“Got the hots for O’Donnell?”

He belly laughs at that thought, grimacing at the pain it causes. “Fuck, no!” He shakes his head. “She looks like a walrus and a naked mole rat had some sort of freaky baby.”

You wrinkle your nose. “Ew.”

“You were the one who suggested I’m into her,” Eddie rebutted, and fairly so.

“I didn’t make you compare her to a—”

A loud crash stops you mid-sentence, followed by someone drunkenly lamenting, “not the punch!”

“We’re probably safer hiding out in here for a bit,” Eddie says softly, “unless you want to volunteer to clean up whatever mess they made.”

“I think cleaning up your mess is more than enough for tonight.” To punctuate your point, you swipe a clean piece of gauze over a small cut you’d previously missed. “Besides, I wanna know what’s suddenly got you showing up to class.”

Eddie’s eyes roam your body far more conspicuously than he’d like, but the attention fills you with a newfound warmth. “You.” He snorts out a little laugh, startling you slightly. “Fuck, I’m drunker than I thought.”

“W-Wait.” You fight off the embarrassment that accompanies your stuttered words. “I’m the reason …?”

He noticed your reaction, mistaking disbelief for discomfort. “Does that make things…does that make you feel weird?” Nerves marr whatever joking tone he was trying to convey.

All you can do is shake your head. “No. It makes things…good.” Good insufficiently describes your reaction, though part of you waits for the other shoe to drop. It’s a prank, his way of getting back at you for—

A hooked finger in the belt loop of your jeans snags your attention, Eddie gently tugging you closer to him. “And now?”

“Still good. Better, actually.” Resting one hand on his sore chest, you lean in and add, “will it hurt if I kiss you?”

“Don’t care.”

Despite him not caring, you certainly care if you’re going to hurt him or not. Your mouth moves slowly towards his, lips just barely brushing against each other as your breaths co-mingle. It’s not enough for Eddie though, and he presses his lips against yours with more force, stealing the air from your lungs as your body melts against his. The back bathroom at the Harrington household is not something you would’ve considered romantic before, but right now it’s the only place you want to be. Tucked away in the corner with Eddie, trading explorative kisses as your hands roam each other's bodies.

Your body buzzes when Eddie’s tongue sweeps against yours, heat immediately pooling between your legs.

Instinctively, gingerly, you press your torso to his, one trembling finger hooking into his belt loop. A moan escapes you, soft but saturated with need. Eddie clocks it immediately.

“Mhm.” His smile threatens to break the kiss. “That’s it.”

You feel the button of your jeans unfasten, the sound of unzipping music to your ears. His hand slips between the denim and the newly exposed lace of your panties, grin widening when it reaches the damp patch.

Eddie’s hardness strains against the confines of his own pants, and you rush to relieve that ache. His exhale when you touch him—over his boxers, but not as gently as he touches you—makes you even wetter.

“Gotta have you.” He toys with your waistband but doesn’t explore further until he hears your ‘yes,’ pathetic and whimpering but consent nonetheless. “Good girl,” he growls, sending a shiver coursing through you.

The pads of his fingertips find your clit without struggle, rubbing precise circles over it that have you groaning his name. “Every time you say my name from now on,” he murmurs, “I’m gonna think about this.”

“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.” It’s part taunt and part truth; only his name is on your mind. Your back arches against the sink, porcelain digging into your skin, but you barely notice.

One strong hand reaches for the strap of your tank top, pulling it down so harshly that the fabric tears. He mutters a soft swear, tugs the rest of the shirt down until your bra is completely visible.

“Fuckin’ perfect.” Eddie kisses your chest, groaning when the sensation of his lips causes you to squeeze his throbbing cock. “Careful, or I’ll—”

He’s interrupted by the door swinging wide open, Billy and Heather wrapped around each other in drunken lust. Billy’s eyes widen, their blueness dulled from the liquor, when he sees that the bathroom is currently occupied—and by whom.

The intrusion startles you as well, but you’re much quicker at recovering than the inebriated asshole gaping at you from the doorway.

“Get the fuck out!” you hiss.

Heather turns her head to look in your direction, as if she hadn't been aware there was anyone else in the bathroom until you’d spoken up. It’s clear she’s had quite a few more drinks since you’d seen her in the kitchen.

Whether it’s the alcohol, the shock, or his own stupidity, Billy doesn’t make a move towards leaving, let alone tug Heather along with him. The blonde shakes a few curls out of his eyes, causing Heather to reach up and twirl one around her finger.

“Jesus Christ, is this douche even capable of hearing a woman if she isn’t moaning his name?” Eddie mutters to you before rounding on the drunken pair and raising his voice. “The lady said out. Now.”

Something finally snaps Billy out of his dazed state and he curls his lip, giving the two of you a half-hearted sneer. He pulls Heather out of the doorway so quickly that it looks like she gets whiplash as he slams the door closed behind them.

Eddie leans over and locks the door, giving the knob a twist for good measure. “Do me a favor, honey?” His voice is a ribbon of silk down your spine. “Turn around so you’re facing the mirror.”

You do as he says, hands planted on the sink ledge. Your shirt is torn, make-up smudged, and you’re out of breath from the impromptu make out session. Ducking your head, you’re determined to avoid your reflection until tobacco-scented words tickle your ear from behind.

“Be a good girl and look at yourself while I fuck you.” Eddie moves your thong over, exposing your pussy, and exhales with a tremble. His middle finger glides over your folds before pushing into you slowly. “You got wetter when I called you a good girl, didn’t you?”

“Mhm,” you manage, stifling a moan as his ring finger joins his middle.

A teasing pout graces Eddie’s lips. “Such a good girl. And only for me.”

“Only for you,” you echo.

He taps the head of his cock on your bare ass, leaving drops of pre-cum in his wake. “Gotta be inside you,” he growls. “Gotta fuckin’ feel what a good girl you are.”

The sensation of his cock dragging down along your folds mixed with him knowing just what to say to get you squirming has you dropping your head forward with a soft whimper. A strong, calloused hand quickly finds its way up to your throat though, and presses with just enough pressure to remind you that you’re supposed to be looking at yourself in the mirror.

When you lift your head, you’re greeted by the sight of a smirking Eddie behind you in the mirror.

“Atta girl,” he praises.

At a torturously slow pace, Eddie begins to push inside of you. A guttural groan slips past your gritted teeth as he stretches your walls, the pleasure causing you to curl your toes inside your shoes.

“Fuck,” Eddie breathes out before pulling his hips back. “Pussy’s even tighter than I imagined.”

The mental image of Eddie laying in bed with his hand wrapped around his cock, thinking of you is enough to make your knees weak. They can’t buckle too much; Eddie has one hand gripping you tight and the other trailing down to your clit. Each deliberate circle is punctuated by a thrust, pleasure from every angle.

He kisses your shoulder blade, groaning when you tighten around him. “Look at yourself,” he growls his reminder. “Look how beautiful you are, all fucked out like this.”

You catch another glimpse; this time, you see Eddie’s lust-filled expression along with your own. He’s even further gone than you are, so focused on burying himself within you to care about the sweat matting his bangs to his forehead or the way his teeth dig into his lower lip.

“Say it.” His voice is half-commanding, half-pleading.

“S-Say what?” Each word is a struggle, your orgasm building to a peak you’d never before reached.

“That you’re beautiful.” He tugs you even closer to him, and there’s no mistaking his dominance for anything else. “So—goddamn—beautiful.”

You follow his order without a second thought. “I’m b-beautiful, all fucked out like th-this.”

Eddie’s hips snap against the plush of your ass at a frenetic pace. “That’s it; that’s my good girl.” Not a good girl, you note. His good girl.

One hand atop his, desperate for as much contact as possible, you moan: “your good girl.”

“Oh, fuck.” Everything is you—you and him together, and it drives him to the edge. “You…you gotta…’m so close,” he rambles.

“Me, too.” Panting breaths mingle with his groans, your walls tightening around him as you come. It’s so much, so intense, and tears cloud your vision resulting from the overwhelming bliss. “Eddie, oh, Eddie.”

He spills into you with a cry of your name. “H-ohmygod, holy fuckin’ shit.” His thrusts don’t stop until every last drop of his cum is inside you.

Eddie’s chest presses against your back, but he’s careful not to put all his weight on you. The feeling of him so solid and warm behind lulls you from pure ecstasy to warm contentment, not wanting to move out from beneath him.

A few silent moments pass before Eddie pulls out of you, both of you disappointed by the loss of contact. But Eddie’s hands refuse to let you go entirely, gently running over your hips and up your sides. The touch is featherlight and sends a comforting tingle throughout your limbs.

“You with me?” Eddie’s worn-out voice asks you.

“Mhmm,” you hum in acknowledgment. “Don’t wanna move.”

Eddie gives a husky chuckle in reply before he stands up, reluctantly taking a step away from you. Your own muscles whine in protest as you stand straight, the tell-tale signs of a good fucking already settling in.

The two of you begin to clean up, each slipping back into articles of clothing along the way. One question prickles the back of your mind in the quiet room and you know your brain won’t be able to rest until it has an answer.

“Uh, Eddie?” you ask once you’ve cleaned up your smeared lipstick.

“Yeah?”

“Are you still going to come to class? Or, you know, now that you’ve had me you won’t have a reason to anymore?” You try to hide the insecurity in your tone but there was no mistaking the slight edge your words had.

Eddie pauses mid-buckling his belt and gives you a frown.

“Sweetheart,” Eddie says and the nickname alone already has your engine revving for a round two. “I wouldn’t sit through O’Donnell’s class for someone I only wanted to fuck. If I’m gonna listen to that hag drone on and on then there’s a damn good reason I’m sitting my ass in that classroom.” With a sigh, Eddie steps closer to you and after a moment’s hesitation, cups your face in his hands. “Can I take you out? Do things, ya know, the right way?”

A little trill of a giggle bursts out of you, which makes Eddie frown. But you’re quick to let him in on what you found amusing.

“You mean having sex in a bathroom at Steve Harrington’s house isn’t the typical way romances start?”

A grin slowly slides across Eddie’s mouth and you swear it’s one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen. All you want to do is keep that smile on his handsome face as much as you possibly can.

“A romance, huh?” He clicks his tongue. “If I’d known that’s what this was, I would’ve at least fucked you in a guest room.”

You let your fingers brush over the fly of his jeans, feeling a gentle twitch from behind the zipper. “How about for round two?”

Eddie holds your face in his hands as he kisses you deeply, only breaking it to smile and murmur:

“You read my mind, Beautiful.”

#eddie x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #fanfic #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things #smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader smut

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carolmunson · 2 months

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the boy is mine | masterlist

an ongoing collection of ficlets and blurbs by writers of the eddie munson x reader fandom using the same prompt. if you wanna take a crack at it, the guidlines are here!

the boy is mine (luna's edition) by @abibliophobiaa the boy is mine (bluey's version) by @blueywrites the boy is mine (bug's edition) by @munson-blurbs the boy is mine (jo's edition) by @jo-harrington the boy is mine (gab's edition) by @vvitchwords the boy is mine (powder's version) by @powderblueblood the boy is mine (leah's edition) by @eiightysixbaby the boy is mine (taylor's version edition) by @superblysubpar the boy is mine (ziggy's edition) by @trashmouth-richie the boy is mine (roe's version) by @hellfire--cult the boy is mine (amy's edition) by @rehfan the boy is mine (dalia's edition) by @eddiemunsons-missingnipple the boy is mine (cheese's edition) by @br0ck-eddie the boy is mine (hannah's edition) by @writinginthetwilight the boy is mine (amy's edition) by @bangaveragewhitewine the boy is mine (claudia's edition) by @jamdoughnutmagician the boy is mine (v's version) by @lonelysatellites the boy is mine (red's version) by @corroded-hellfire the boy is mine (h's version) by @be-ready-when-i-say-go the boy is mine (the wheels edition) by @wheels-of-despair the boy is mine (emmy's edition) by @upsidedownwithsteve the boy is mine (kittie's edition) by @mrsjellymunson the boy is mine (rose's edition) by @rosebudsgarden the boy is mine (viv's version) by @vivwritescrappythings the boy is mine (z's edition) by @uglypastels

the boy is mine (shiv's version) by @justmyheart the boy is mine (iona's version) by @eddiethefreakkmunson the boy is mine (hope's version) by @hopeluna the boy is mine (eddiessluttywaist's edition) by @eddiessluttywaist the boy is mine (chloe's version) by @doomsdaybby the boy is mine (meg's version) by @courtingchaos the boy is mine (betty's edition) by @bettyfrommars the boy is mine (icallhimjoey's edition) by @icallhimjoey (rpf edition) the boy is mine (carol's edition) by @carolmunson the boy is mine (belle's edition) by @angelgirlworld222 the boy is mine (jade's edition) by @jadewritesficshere the boy is mine (hannah's edition) by @rip-quizilla the boy is mine (manda's version) by @manda-panda-monium-writes the boy is mine (desi's edition) by @lilmissdoomandgloomfics the boy is mine (hdyagimr's version) by @howdidyouallgetinmyroom the boy is mine (mar's edition) by @serasvictoria the boy is mine (sienna's version) by @belokhvostikova the boy is mine (call-me-eds edition) by @call-me-eds

#the boy is mine challenge #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fan fiction

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pinkrelish · 10 months

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𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

rockstar!eddie x assistant!fem!reader

✶Tossed to the wolves of touring lifestyle, you'd had enough of Corroded Coffin's backstage antics one night after a show, and try to escape to the bus for fresh air. Eddie follows.✶

NSFW — 18+ drug/alcohol mention/use, eddie spits whiskey in reader's mouth, sexual themes, crude jokes, enemies to lovers vibes, secret soulmates au

[wc: 8.8k]

↳ standalone gift oneshot for the i will wait series written by @abibliophobiaa, @blueywrites, @breddiemunson, @myosotisa, @fracturedarkness

The methodical chaos—the mechanical creep of soundscape under the drums punching through your body, building to something bigger—ended forty-nine minutes and twelve seconds ago, and like the suspended chords he loved so dearly, you were left with a sense of foreboding.

Stage lights dimmed off. You were on the clock. Showtime.

Babysitter. Handler. Assistant who knew better than to offer him water.

Nerves holstered your shoulders. Unease twisted your stomach. Your ears rang, your teeth ached. Your jaw clenched in throbs off tempo from your heartbeat running wild on the adrenaline feeding the racing pulse hammering in your chest.

The concert was over, but the noise never stopped.

Inside the venue’s backstage room, abrasive bursts of laughter collapsed in excited chatter after an individual cocked back an object, and threw it.

The true night began.

A mostly empty beer bottle smacked its intended target in an echoey clang, and fell in a spray of foam. Fine. You could handle that. Then someone grabbed a plastic chair with metal legs, hoisted it over their shoulder, and chucked it, stumbling after the trajectory in the sloppy way drug-encouraged drunkenness would imply. A cacophony of too-loud cheering was caught on tape by a sound engineer’s personal Sony camcorder, flattening himself against the wall to capture the reaction to the CRT TV dropping from its shelf in the corner, stage live feed long since dead. On its fateful descent, it clipped the edge of an EXIT sign, which now dangled by its chord like a pinata, becoming the next target.

The beige brick room dampened outside interference and amplified the rest, living between yours ears alongside the snappy demands, rude remarks, and crude jokes. Spoken down to, disregarded like caked dirt between boot treads. Anxieties buzzing, looming a presence at the back of your mind, always. On edge.

Shouts, thuds, broken glass. People had the sense to duck, and cower. A side table was lifted, and heaved in a barbaric yell. Beer bottle after beer bottle after beer bottle. Chair legs ripped off, slick from the boozy bubbles coating the floor, and hurled at the red blinking sign. A lamp from another room. An ugly trash can. A hairdryer. The telephone you used to make a phone call thirty-two minutes and forty-three seconds ago; ripped from the wall with its receiver, and added to the clutter of projectiles. A bucket of melted ice, nailed head-on, splashing two dots of cold water on your cheek.

Expendable bottles were gone, but the riot didn’t stop. Another case was ripped into. Hard liquor traded hands. White powder stung noses, earning bloodshot eyes. Rewards. Rowdy shoving. Boys will be boys behavior.

An unopened Pabst whizzed past your head, slammed like a bullet into the mirror on the opposite wall, launching itself in a jet of built-up pressure across the room, ending its route at the toe of your heeled shoes seemingly just to ruin your wool-blend Express pencil skirt with hoppy liquid.

Eddie kicked the can away.

He circled his thumb and forefinger up the sides of his nose, and sniffed hard. “Want some?” he asked as he leaned on the wall with you, posture lax and open in all the ways your crossed arms weren’t. You cut your glare to the clear bottle he offered you. His grip obscured most of it, but you could see a worrying amount of whiskey had already been drunk when it crested the sides between his middle and ring finger.

Remembering to answer, you shook your head. The amber liquid sloshed with his tut, “Suit yourself,” and two deep gulps bobbed his throat.

You weren’t opposed to drinking when around him, but you learned your inebriated lesson four stops ago when the bill from the hotel totaled a stomach dropping amount, and as much as alcohol made it easier to tolerate Eddie in particular, your sluggish tongue slurring over an authoritative reminder of the early start to the morning to make it to the next city on time only fueled his defiant attitude. Pink puckered skin marked the stitches he snipped out of his upper arm with a pair of nail scissors after he and Gareth decided to smash the Hilton’s wine glasses for fun, and was surprised when a sliver of glass bit him back. Under his stringy bangs was an angry red scab from yesterday’s mic throttle to his forehead at the end of a verse, screaming his voice to the point of cracking with emotion. Other self-destructive tendencies coated his knuckles in dried blood.

It was a lot to deal with.

Today’s toll was one ruined guitar, a broken bass after the fretboard was stabbed into an amp, a bent hi-hat stand, and a completely deboned keyboard; keys removed thoroughly by the sole of someone’s boot scraping them clean off in the midst of performance. Blowing off steam, Eddie called it. Boys will be boys, one of the returning tour managers shrugged at you.

So far, it was one of the lighter days of tour—

You flinched.

A loud pop flickered through the room. One of two fluorescent lights shattered, and the tube swung down from the ceiling, becoming the next victim to a corner store ham sandwich being thrown at it.

Staying as small as possible, the emotional support water bottle in your hand crinkled as you hiked your fists further up your biceps, eyeing the camera man in the corner. Your employer tilted his head at the sight too, admiring, perhaps, the scene of two guys puffing on cigars. They stood behind two young women dressed in short jean skirts and hot pink tops, leering over their shoulders as the camcorder zoomed in on the obvious body parts a crowd of men would be interested in. The cigars bounced in their mouths as they spoke an unheard instruction in the chaos surrounding you, and the halter tops came off, breasts dropping to the tune of their girlish giggles. The men cupped their palms around the assets, and bounced them as if they were weighing fruit. From their gross laughs, it appeared they were rating the groupies, and the ladies were just happy to be on camera, pouting their lips and arching their backs.

You drew a line from their tits to Eddie’s gaze, hating the sick kick of anticipation knotting your stomach, aware you shouldn’t care for an entire phonebook’s list of reasons if he was watching them with interest. But with clarity, you realized he wasn’t paying them attention at all. His lazy smile was aimed over the rim of his bottle, full lips moving in a goad to the mass of crew members clogging the doorway.

More property ready to be damaged entered over their heads. A couch. An entire fucking couch was carried, stood on its end, and lobbed at the sign, breaking loose a length of red and yellow wires. But it still held strong. Tenacious thing.

Two grown men wrestled beside you. Their sleeveless shirts tangled, riding up to show purpled bruises on their backs—one from a mic stand thrown at him, the other from who fucking knows what. At least Gareth’s was in the shape of a crescent moon.

You shifted closer to Eddie to get away from their kicking feet, and relaxed the frustration from your brows before he commented on it. He, likewise, was bumped into by his friends, but his stature didn’t waver. That’s just how it was. Your bodies were near enough for you to feel the heat radiating off his hot skin, but the moment his sticky elbow made contact with your nice blouse—forever marking it with oily sweat—he earned an apology from Jeff who fell into him, meanwhile you were increasingly worried about receiving a tennis shoe to the ankle.

Exhaling an overdue sigh, you glanced sideways at Eddie to gauge if this was an appropriate time to remind him he should shower and get ready to greet the fans waiting outside the venue, but your breath crumbled to a groan. An eager grin cracked his face, almost manic if it weren’t for his heavy-lidded brown eyes. An idea.

He stepped forward. Everything that wasn’t his tight lips on the bottle of whiskey was ignored; downing what he could in a long swallow, and shaking off his pinched features as it burned past his gritted teeth. He raised the rest over his head, and aimed. Perfectly. The sign smacked the wall from the force behind his pitch, spinning wildly on its cord, slinging the front EXIT display clean off, and dropping lower from the ceiling, ready to sever ties. Shouts for its demise pounded your headache. Many palms clapped the back of Corroded Coffin’s frontman. He held out his hand to his audience, and a fresh bottle of whiskey was produced into his grasp.

Intuitively, employees shuffled to avoid his uncoordinated steps backwards, but you didn’t have the luxury of options, thus he misjudged the distance to the wall and ran into it, and you.

Your poor toes were the first to scream out, stuck under his heavy heel. His elbow jutted into your stomach, digging the sharp corner of your laminated backstage pass into your sternum. Even better, his shoulder mashed your nose, and you didn’t twist your head in time to keep your mouth from coming in contact with his bare tricep, getting a lick of stale salt on your inner lip, and a whiff of boy scent assaulting your nose after his deodorant stopped working hours ago. Too much of his weight depended on you to keep him upright, so you grunted out, “Fucking—Eddie,” and pushed him when others wouldn’t. Laying your hands on him in annoyance when no one else dared. He wouldn’t remember it in the morning, anyway.

Eddie followed his stumble through, and spun around. “Whoops!” he said to you in a smile—a viciously sincere thing, betraying his status over you with a genuine shine to his heavy eyes. So innocent behind his sleepy blink, long lashes fluttering, fine lines creasing at the droopy corners from the happy grin teasing his dimple into coming out, freckled nose bathed in hues of pinky red darker than the places he chewed on his bottom lip. He appeared so earnest, so charming despite his current condition, that when his dilated pupils swallowed the rim of bitter coffee brown, you lapsed in staying alert, becoming enamored by his ability to steal the noise from the room when his gaze swept your expression in a slow study. Tender, almost. If he were anyone else.

That’s why it hurt more when the comradery in his features were a trick of the light, and you were reminded of your position as his paid bitch killjoy.

The uncorked bottle of whiskey made itself known under your nose. “Want some?” he asked with kindness he did not possess, easing into a higher register to lift the question to you. Knowing. Mocking.

You swatted his hand away, and answered flatly, “No.”

It was coming. You didn’t have to be looking at him to see his face slide into dull neutrality, dry mouth and wicked tip of his tongue swiping over the back of his teeth. The displeasure was felt. Living, breathing. Fracturing your resolve like the second lamp thrown against the wall.

“Y’sure? You look like you could use a drink to loosen that stick up your ass, and have a little fun.”

Maybe it was the fact Eddie’s day started with him bitching at you for waking him up, when yours started hours earlier, rebooking his hotel rooms after being banned from the chain after last week’s incident. Maybe it was his snide tone when he demanded coffee, and you glanced at the lobby’s carafe on instinct, only to be immediately humiliated in front of the interviewer who was sitting opposite him, festering an indignant response under your skin all day. You weren’t even intending it to be for him, you weren’t stupid enough to serve him such pedestrian coffee, you were thinking about getting it for yourself. Stupid fuckhead. Maybe it was the hours you spent oscillating between enjoying the travel to new places you’d never been, and wondering if the price of him getting this riled up whenever he pleases was worth it. Maybe it was the nauseous haze flogging the room from the cigars. Maybe it was the channeled aggression from the three guys who flipped over the fold out tables for no reason, sending plastic cups of backwash tequila across the floor. Maybe it was the collateral damage the venue was going to seek. Maybe it was the three days of disaster challenging your professionalism. Or maybe it was Eddie’s next comment which pushed you over the edge.

“If alcohol doesn’t do it for you, there’s prob’ly some guy who hasn’t left the parking lot yet, maybe he can loosen you up.” And to further imbue disrespect behind his comment, he leaned in and feathered the low dip of his raspy voice over the shell of your ear, speaking so quietly the syllables had trouble catching, “But if you fuck ‘im on the bus, I wanna watch.”

The sign snapped and crashed onto the heap of damp valuables, inciting a louder celebration from those participating.

You dropped your water bottle where you stood, and skimmed past Eddie on your way out. A firm departure with seething eyes aimed straight ahead. Chin strong, moving past him with a message. “Go to hell.”

And your backbone faltered when the mass of roadies blocked your exit. Security guards with big bodies jumped, rejoicing. Lanky lighting techs downed their beers and threw them over the small crowd with no aim. Your shoulders collapsed, tucking your arms to yourself. Avoiding elbows, meaty arms with enough muscle to floor you, testosterone laced boys will be boys behavior with a heavy dose of uppers. A wall of men who ignored your plea spoken so loud in your voice which did not carry.

But they obeyed the tattooed arm beside you. Minded the obnoxious rings when rapping on a man’s arm. Heard the hoarse voice commanding them all into a single file line for you to squeeze by, “Give her some room,” and their big bodies were already hugging the other side of the hallway with a laughed apology—to him, not you.

You shuffled out as dignified as possible, knees stiff and weight focused on the balls of your feet to avoid slipping on the tile. It was embarrassing enough as is being trailed with a bottle at your back—a far cry from a heroic palm guiding you forward—and his need to overtake you in a single stride. Eddie shot his other hand out and pointed down an unoccupied corridor, in essence blocking you from leaving. Not that you had much fight left in you to argue after being awake for twenty-one hours, thirteen minutes, and fifty-two seconds. You followed the lead he set for you.

Scarce lighting shone down on the two double doors leading outside, leaving the alcove he chose cast in a darkness your eyes had to adjust to. Musty warm air from the arena swept your face. A cleaning crew attacked the stands, creaking along the seating tiers. Sweeping, chucking empty cups. The pressure on the small of your back drove you to an open area near the instact and working EXIT sign allowing you to discern the back of the stadium, and his face.

Eddie’s features were glazed in a gentle omen of red.

There were thousands of scenarios churning in your mind at the situation of being stuck alone in a dark corner with a drunken man, but his slight smirk put you at ease, ironically.

The source of the painful knots between your shoulders spoke, “Aren’t you forgetting something?” He then had the gall to crowd you to the dusty drywall, and rest his arm atop your head, caging you there. Treating you as a nuisance. An insect. A little bee. A bug caught in his sticky trap. Gazing down at you with reptilian cold pupils behind his happily hooded eyes, substances battling in his body. Dangerous to no one but himself.

You squinted. “No?” The questioning lilt wasn’t intentional, but you had no idea what he was getting at.

He cocked his hip out with a dramatic sigh, and dropped his head forward to stare at you through his lashes, mouth hung loose. Waiting, waiting, waiting; acting as if he were the pinnacle of patience when you refused to play into his game, making you the bad guy. But worry not, he upheld the onus to inform you, his assistant, in a tone wallowing from the dregs of flat boredom with an edge of irritation and touch of patronization for having to spell it out for you, “I’m hungry.”

A polite, professional sneer lifted your upper lip. “Okay? Food should be here soon. I called it in a half hour ago.” About when the band came off stage, and Harry gave his honest opinion on their sloppy performance, while Eddie gave notes to the sound tech about Jeff’s mic not picking him up during Down In It. “Should be here in a few minutes.”

“What’d you order?”

Apprehension tensed through your back, perceived by his forearm mussing up your hair as the instinctual emotion stood you taller, defiant; knowing why his glinty grin taunted a show of teeth.

Pizza on Fridays. Texmex on Saturdays. Chinese on Sundays. That’s how it was every weekend. The consistency ensured you didn’t mishear him earlier when he requested his usual lo mein. “You asked for Chinese food,” you stated evenly, strongly. One step ahead of him.

“Mm.” Eddie scrunched his nose as he pretended to think it over. “Not feeling it today. I want pizza,” he said, the last word suffocated inside the bottle lifted to his lips, taking a long draw as your exhausted brain snapped to condescending him.

“So eat a cheese wonton and use your imagination.”

Utter elation gleamed in the steady eye pinning you in the crimson gloom, head tipped back to drink and drink and drink, cheeks sunken from sucking in liquor, pursing his lips around the glass rim from the smile he tried to suppress after succeeding in getting a rise out of you.

Your blood could only simmer for so long. Rolls of pent up anger, of festering disdain at his ability to find any opportunity to get under your skin, of fatigue from being ‘on’ for nearly twenty-four hours, stone in your gut from the constant passing glances when you were seen with Eddie; it all met its limit. You just wanted to leave. Your path to the hallway was blocked by the smooth contour of his bicep. Ducking under would mean an introduction to his armpit, and you weren’t thrilled by the idea of flattening yourself to the wall to slip by the untamed forest of black wiry hair. It would also be an admission of defeat, even further affirming your role as his spineless assistant to boss around. You could choose the other way and go around him, avoiding him all together, but there was no pride in that, either.

“Can you move your arm?” you asked, giving him the option despite better judgment when sudden pin pricks of uh-oh spiked your senses when he lowered the bottle.

A glistening line of whiskey traced his puckish smirk. Never menacing, but never a good sign. For a long moment the ghosts of the arena haunted the space in distant noises. Caresses of other humans around. Feedback other than the clutch on your heartbeat, and his troubled exhale into a strong inhale through his nose. Big breath filling his chest. Held. You took note of Eddie’s dimpled chin and the beads of water building at his lash line, and finally, he moved.

A sticky circle stamped the soft underside of your jaw, sliding his spit along your skin as he used the rim of the glass bottle of whiskey to lift your chin up, up. Stretching your neck, tipping your head back to the relaxed length of muscle along his forearm. Barely time to register the cherry-red halo striking the ends of his frizzy curls, or the ramping excitement overriding his already ruined impulse control.

Shy, you severed the intense eye contact when his face drew near.

Blank black soundless vortex rushing in your ears.

Drip, drip, drop.

Tiny splashes, one after the other, thumped on the locket of your lips. Mouth softly shut from the pressure under your chin. Tapping, tapping. Beat, by beat. Two, three, four, before your confusion determined what the sensation was, and the astringent scent cut its way to your sensitive nose.

You froze. Body clenching tight, fists sweating, nervous saliva pooling under your tongue too difficult to swallow. Jaw clamped shut and rejecting the liquid pooling at your lips, flooding it to the corners of your mouth, tickling the peach fuzz at the edges in tall walls of surface tension until, at last, they swelled, broke, and crashed. Thin streams flowed down either side of your neck, absorbed by your white blouse’s collar and trickling to the top of your bra cups, skirting to your cleavage. Brain overloaded. Clocked out. Warring with disgust, shock, and disappointment at the pathetic way you curled your fingers in some frustrated gesture at his actions, but ultimately, wrenched his tank top into your grip, and submitted.

You parted your lips, and Eddie poured.

Liquor, warmed from his mouth, filled yours. Burning, burning; drowning under the surge of spirits setting a blazing trail to your stomach, piquing a noise from you which would only draw the attention from those curious as to who the couple was fucking in the dark corner of the arena. You blocked the deluge from choking you with your fat tongue; rising onto your tiptoes while bending at your weak knees in the same involuntary whine as you tensed and squirmed—conflicted. Twisted your hands into the top of his shirt where the ribbed knit stuck to his chest, fabric damp with sweat and cool to the touch. You lurched him forward without thinking, locked in a panic. He complied. Easily.

Body to body, lazy weight on composed. Rubber soled boots dragging along the outside of your simple heels in a stuttered slide. Nudging the introduction of his bare legs against your skin; his hairy shins and the scraggly strings from the ripped hem of his shorts brushing the sides of your knees. Feeling his heavy arm flex as the front of his hips met you in the same stunted bursts as his steps, going from the man who frowned when you approached him, to the one who pressed himself between your thighs, causing the bulk behind his zipper to rock against you as he found his footing and stood tall, keeping his mouth aimed above yours, forgiving what spilt over your cheek in his stupor.

Dried salt and earthen dirt, embroidered texture of the fabric scraps he sewed onto his tank top rubbed your knuckles. The smooth pads of your thumbs landed above the neck hole as you centered yourself, tracing the duality of chilly perspiration on the heated skin of his sleek pecs, feeling the layer of muscle shifting underneath. Notes of oakwood barrels stroked your tongue before the sour punch of rye stung water to your shut eyes. You peeked through the wetness. Just to see.

His powerful lungs exhaled at a trained rate he could sustain in time with the runnel leaving his gently puckered lips paused above your own. Bangs stuck to his forehead. Sleepy faraway gaze. Calm, serene against the circumstances which had you questioning why you weren’t spitting the liquor back in his face. The scrunch of concentration between his brows was your last blurry sight before you were desperate for darkness again, letting your eyelids fall closed, lashes marrying.

Toofulltoofulltoofull.

The difference in your mouth size was apparent. Whiskey primed the inside of your cheeks, filling their fleshy stretch, stressing the brim of what you could hold. He’d only begun to dribble what had run hot and thick over his tongue when you untwisted your achy fingers from his shirt and served three warning taps in the vicinity of his heart. Feathery prods, like silk over the sparse hair growing in the valley between his pecs.

But, due to unforeseen circumstances, he forgot to stop.

Either you wormed yourself into stretching taller against the wall, or he leaned down. Perhaps both were true. Maybe you went rigid from the impending threat of irreversible stains on your new Liz Claiborne blouse, and maybe he shifted when the nuances of your hips slid against his own, dragging upward and reminding him of the cradle he had you in.

Richly flushed from booze, the tip of his nose thawed your thoughts as it grazed past your own, mashing a hint of tenderness you rarely witnessed from him to your cheek. By accident, of course, like the wet mid of his hair skimming the edge of your jaw where the bottle remained notched to your chin; amber glass a stark contrast from the plush give of his bottom lip flirting across yours.

Dry chapped against chapsticked satin.

The unintentional touch happened so fast, too quick to explore.

Mmm! Another antsy noise from you which rang sweet when amplified by the empty pit of coiled wires in the stadium. Mouth overfull. Stomach gripped, lungs clenching for unhindered breath. Realty checking in.

You put strength behind your forearms on his chest, shoving him and whirling your face away, keeling over what room he gave you to struggle through the largest gulp of your life, losing some of the liquor in the process, as evident by the splash on the concrete floor. Beyond brave, you drank it down, coughing, sputtering, and shuddering through the aftertaste for what felt like minutes. Huffing. Heaving. Working through the flood of drool coating your tongue, momentarily resting your dewy forehead on the thick vein drawn down his bicep by the red light, trying not to puke. Your shoulder pressed to his sternum. His heart beat, loud.

You used your sleeve to attack the wet streaks on your chin and cheeks, mopping up your pinched expression as the nausea of chugging his disgusting rye whiskey churned what patience you had for him. “What the—?”

“Hey, try not to waste any,” he commented dryly.

Voice raising, “What the actual hell is wrong with you?” You picked your head up from the crook of his elbow to pin him with your vehement glare. But the flash of temper at his drunken antics faded to the messy background of emotions when you remained in his pinion. Slotted between him, the wall, and the bottle.

Eddie’s nose bumped the bridge of yours. He pulled back slightly, and lowered the bottle. Still, his voice was one half of a sigh seeking its counterpart over your lax jaw and weak scowl. “Lotta stuff,” he answered. Still, your hands remained bound in his shirt. You couldn’t let go. Why couldn’t you let go? You couldn’t let go as the center of your bottom lip tingled like the buzzing wings of a bumble bee. Why didn’t you spit out the whiskey in his face? It was gross, revolting. Why did you swallow it?

Licks of black pepper and clove stayed on your tongue. Inhales went stale with his tangy scent, acrid and musky after giving his all on stage. His sweat clung to your fingers, mixed with the sheen on your forehead. When he breathed, his belly fought for the space between you, pressing into your stomach. Existing in the proximity you’d never seen the other in before; enabling you to hear the intimate loll of his tongue moving the spit in his mouth before he spoke.

Appearing more sober than before, with a strange amount of alertness in his glassy gaze trained on the minute changes of your features, he said, “You’re going to have a miserable time on tour if you keep being this up tight.” He angled away to sip from the bottle held by its long neck in three of his thick fingers. Rolling his lips inward, his throat bobbed a fierce line in the EXIT sign glow. “I was trying to work that permanent twist out of your panties. Get you to loosen up, have some fun.”

Just like that, the frustration was back. His words, his tone, his lack of apology for being a royal pain in the ass.

“You make me miserable,” you told him. For good measure, you pinched the sensitive underbelly of his tricep in case your voice didn’t carry the anger from the last hour of putting up with his shit.

He mumbled, “Ow,” probably not feeling the pain with how much alcohol was in his system.

Restraining yourself from reacting bigger, you tightened your fists and tried not to shake him. “I can’t relax, because the second I do Corroded Coffin gets stacks of lawsuits rammed up it’s ass, and you and I both know I’m hired damage control,” for you, you didn’t finish, getting too hot in the face to want to stand in your sticky clothes any longer, squishy inner thighs humid from being pressed together by his legs, shoes numbing your ability to feel the floor. “Would it kill you to stick to a schedule? Get cleaned up, meet some fans? Do the normal thing?”

The weight of his body returned, dropping the tension from his shoulders to curve them towards you, forcing your palms flat to his ribs. Another cage.

Unfortunately, his answer was a slow smirk. The bad kind. Sultry, and saccharine; dark like his purposefully narrowed coy eyes. “Kinda like it when you’re angry,” back to mushing his words together. “Lemme guess, you’re not even wearing panties to be twisted. You’re just naturally this…” Bitchy. “Pleasant.”

You pinched his tricep until you knew it hurt, until the roots of your hair tugged at your scalp from his forearm slipping away, and you used the space created to wedge past the areas of him which tempted a flicker of want in your core after a noticeable drag against your hip. “Don’t follow me.”

“C’mon, are you really..?” A pause. “Wait—!”

A productive conversation was a fruitless, futile thing.

You silenced the voice in your head telling you there was genuine remorse in his innate reaction to call for you. As if he were done pretending to be drunker than he was just to push things too far. Like he really cared you were walking away, in essence giving him permission to continue his night how he wanted.

No heavy thudded steps chased after you. The double doors were up ahead. You leaned into opening them past the heavy gust of hot air pushing back, and you stepped out to excited faces falling flat in disappointment when it was just a lady in a blouse and skirt reeking of booze, not a member of their favorite band printed on their bleach-dyed Corroded Coffin t-shirts.

~~~

When the tour bus doors next hissed, it wasn’t a single body stomping vibrations through the overly large vehicle on their way to pore over the details for the next show, it was a steady flow of those who called the beast their home. Most slung themselves in the couches at the front, talking shop around the kitchen table. Some infiltrated the fridge for beer. Another used the bathroom which was too close for comfort, especially in the recycled air blowing through the vents.

A body approached, and you curled your toes in as he passed.

Eddie’s heavy black boots stopped in the aisle of bunks. The soles squeaked as he turned, creaking leather as he sank his weight to one side. Stalling, facing you before he sat heavily on his bed. As he did so, two sharp pops drew his attention. Checking behind him, the privacy curtain was stuck under his ass, and the plastic rings meant to hold it up were snapped into pieces. You avoided putting your gaze on his person as you watched him solve this mystery, and returned to the paragraph you were scrawling in your notebook, moving your pen across the lined page.

Two of the last three days were journaled down, catching up from the hectic weekend, and venting through your emotions by reliving them. Darker ink bloomed where you carved the tip of your pen through your explanation of your hurt feelings and the general flippancy you were subjected to by one person in particular. The roadies and other members of the band got less screen time than the star of the show in your tirades. He knew this, too, looking from across the aisle at your clumped lashes, spying the water spots on the pages when he was standing. He sat forward, much like you, but his thighs were spread with his hands in between them, palm open to whittle a nervous thumb in the cupped center, having the decency to appear ashamed.

Your clothes were folded beside you, undecided if you wanted to trash them or wear them in defiance.

“Do you want me to apologize?” he asked, not quite enunciating due to his uncomfortableness.

Unable to mask it, you blinked rapidly before opening your eyes wide, not withholding the contemptuous sigh released from deep within. You gripped your notebook harder, bending it, rumpling the pages to hide what you etched behind your tight hands. Who the fuck asks if they need to apologize?

Eddie’s washed curls fell forward with his hung head, nodding to himself.

He got up, and left.

Anger scored your face. Draped by your headache was your furrowed brows, flared nostrils, twisted pursed lips zipped up tight from saying anything you’d regret—a lesson he could do with. Your pajamas were the makings of nine heavenly clouds after being dressed in stiff business attire all day, but the blisters on your ankles stung. Your joints throbbed. Your muscles wore sore. Your spine cried every time you moved.

Tomorrow you’d start doing the stretches the stageside crew showed you that kept them limber. You made a note to fit this in your schedule, bypassing the silly daydream of stopping at a bookstore in the next city and reading up on a yoga guide for more pose ideas than what the guitar techs could teach you, aware the chance you’d find time away from your boss to pursue your own self-interests was slim.

Flipping a new page, you dated it in the corner, began your introduction, and started on the third day of spilling your heart out.

Your pen was mighty interrupted.

It’s difficult to say what came first: the mouth watering rush of saliva, or the passionate rumble of your empty stomach yearning for the white takeout box placed in your lap by the bruised hand sporting cuts from punching Gareth’s drum platform during the one of the more self-loathing songs.

A pang of humility gentled his nature.

The four-fold top was open, revealing your favorite noodle dish with extra green onion and sesame seeds sprinkled on top, plastic fork stabbed through the middle. You lifted the container to swipe the oil stains off your mid-sentence rant, shaking free the beads of condensation collecting on the sides. The cardboard had gone soggy after being nuked in the microwave, burning through to your fingertips, but you held your dinner nestled in your palms, regardless.

It didn’t come with extra green onions or sesame seeds, those would have to be found on the side and added, along with the sauce to keep it from drying out.

Eddie made it exactly how you liked.

Hunched in the minimal space between bunks, you stared at the long stem of a bean sprout sticking out from the swirls of noodles, processing his gesture. Beneath that, your journal was splayed open to a slew of harsh sentences. Lower, directly across from your bare toes was Eddie’s boots. Higher, one of the metal aglets of his laces was stuck behind the leather tongue. Fresh socks clung the bottom of his calves. You listened to him peel back the curtain before sinking to his bunk, and trailed your study over the silvery scars on his knees. Moving up, you spotted a fresh beer in his hand, maybe one or two swigs taken. His elbows rested on his thighs, body folded over, leaning in, mirroring you to some degree.

The harsh overhead lighting brought luster to the bright golds, rich reds, and deep strands of chestnut through his dark hair brushing the shadow of his clavicle over the black shirt clinging to him, hugging the slope of his stooped shoulders.

Finally, you met the depth behind his eyes communicating what he couldn’t.

The apology lasted just long enough for your consideration, and then he lifted the crinkly wrapper tucked between two of his fingers. “You want this?”

You shook your head at the fortune cookie. “You can have it.”

“Nice,” he whispered. The unassuming planes of his cheeks lifted enough to allude to the dimple on his left side, and bracket his mouth in smile lines. He was still drunk, you assumed. A merry blush persisted across his nose, and his eyelids were as sleepy as the bags beneath them. But there was a youthful glee under it all as he tore into the cellophane. A glimpse at someone from long ago; not the rockstar before the start of touring who would pull laughs from you, but further, before the conditions of fame chewed him up, spit him out.

You wondered if Chinese takeout was a rarity in his boyhood, a special treat saved for when he left his hometown on trips to the city.

Eddie flicked the wrapper to the floor—annoyingly—and ducked at an odd angle to lay his upper half into the cozy nook of extra pillows he made you buy on the first night of being on the road. He stowed his beer at the apex of his clenched thighs, fitting the cold bottle snug against the packed seam guiding your eyes to the hill of his zipper, provoking hot blooded thoughts. His shirt rode up as he brought his arms above him, fanning the thick trail of hair out from under the hem, impossibly soft in appearance, auburn tinted, growing less dense on the sides of his belly. He cracked the crisp wafer in half, and you watched his stomach tense on the snap.

Squinting in the dark, Eddie depressed the button on the tiny reading light with his knuckle, and unfurled the paper from half the cookie, scanning the faded red text.

He snorted.

Choosing a mystical-sounding rasp not far from his real one to invoke the guise of a palm reader in a smoky lounge reeking of incense sticks, he read the fortune aloud while waving his other hand about, “You will be successful in love,” he said. His wrist went limp, and he tucked his chin to congratulate you. “Lucky you.”

No amount of plastic forks shoved in your mouth would rid you of the smile tightening your eyes. “Lucky me,” you echoed, full of wryness. The food, amongst other things, worked wonders to lift your mood. You weren’t as much buzzed from the shots sloshing in your stomach as you were queasy, and greasy noodles filled the tumultuous void stupendously.

He stuffed the crunchy cookie in his mouth, and turned the fortune paper over, speaking through the gnash of crumbs, “Your lucky numbers are 35, 26, 56, 10, 32, 52,” he continued.

“Uh-huh.”

The noise across the rest of the bus was at a level you could endure. Shooting the shit at an appropriate volume, or nodding along to the conversation. The driver would give the signal soon, and the boys would, or should, go to their bunks.

While you ate, Eddie stayed laying with his legs off the bed, head crooked against the wall due to the narrow space. He held the fortune above him. Reading it, sometimes. Thumbing the edge other times, or rubbing the texture of the stiff paper across itself. Staring, staring, unblinking from whatever he was thinking as he wrung a hand around his face; eliciting a sense of comfort from the audible stroke of his knuckles scratching over his stubble.

You scraped the bottom of your container, and put aside your notebook to gather your trash, two feet planted to make your way to the kitchen. At the last second, a glint caught your eye, and you bent over to pick up the wrapper Eddie dropped, tossing it in the takeout box, too.

“While you’re down there, be a doll and take off my boots.”

“No.”

His disgruntled groan followed you to the front of the bus.

The guys gave you a mixed reaction of curious glances and uninvolved nods as you stuffed your garbage in the overpacked bin. Jeff in particular made a point to look from you to his best friend’s legs, though you didn’t have much of an answer to whatever he was searching for.

A goodnight wave would have to do, and you were back at your bunk, folding the sheets down in preparation for the dreamless state you wished to be in. You sat on the mattress, eyes closed and spine somewhat neutral. The structure of the bunks were unforgiving, but the small crawl space could feel cozy at times, like a blanket fort made from couch cushions. Except, the house moved throughout the night, and angry honks woke you up on occasion. Not to mention you were a light sleeper from the stress of a car crash, or being dumped onto the floor.

The fortune paper flitted. Regarding you over the imposed suggestion between his legs, he informed you, “It says here the best way to relieve some of that tension you’re always carrying around is by taking a ride on a nice, fat—”

You snatched the beer bottle from between his thighs, big fake hard-on standing tall. He startled from the sensation, darting his eyes from the phantom trace against himself, and hailing you with a sputtered laugh through his cheek-aching smile, denying you the reward of taking him off guard by covering his mouth with his hand.

“I earned this,” you said about the drink.

“Yeah?” he goaded, pleased at your forwardness.

In a valiant attempt to show off, you tipped the mildly hoppy bitter back. Two pulls in, you thought better of it. Not quite a chug, but he lost the war with his grin, pearly teeth shining behind the thumbnail he strummed over the center of his bottom lip, eyes almost closed entirely in a bout of crinkles.

You pulled your lips off the bottle; off his spit and off his drink, off his glass cock, and were emboldened by the confidence of his playful disposition to rib on him openly, like the guys would when his pendulum mood swung to the good side. You lamented in a dramatic sigh,”Maybe my love life will be so successful, I'll get swept off my feet, and be free from the burden of listening to your sloppy guitar plucking all night.”

His expression lurched towards impressed. Overacting with his mouth agape in surprise, lips curled over his teeth, and splaying his hand on his chest. With how he propped himself up on one elbow, his shirt stretched flush against his pecs, accentuating the two round shadows at the ends of the metal bars through his nipples.

Right, you remind yourself, able to forget their existence through most of his wardrobe choices, he has pierced nipples.

Your body ran hot at the memory from two short hours ago where you were inexplicably thrusted into a situation where you could’ve felt the jewelry by accident, pressed against a wall. Now you were able to think through the adrenaline, and acknowledge having another person’s touch on your skin did more harm than good for the loneliness lurking within, calling it to the surface.

The notebook beside your pillow drew your glance.

Eddie stabilized your position in the conversation, not letting your sudden reservation deter him from seeking retribution for your insult. “Think y’drank too much honey, there, Bee. That one stung below the belt.”

The moment it took for you to register the low leech of a tease sneaking its way through his croaky, whiskey-hoarse words was a long one. Longer was his heavy palm falling to demonstrate where exactly your insult hurt him, cupping and grabbing the afflicted area. “You wound me!” he dramatized, demonstrating the limits his fatigue green shorts flattered, cotton fabric scrunching under his grip, then slouching flat on the release. Longer, still, was the distance between the gaudy ring on his middle finger and the tip of his short nails, thick digit landing on the tattered seam splitting him down the middle. Letting go, he rested his hand above his belt.

Everything about him was victorious. Champion eyes glinting rum colored; a shade you’d never seen on him, and almost missed with your observance stuck lower, trapped by his overt flirtations.

His belly rose and fell with a sympathetic hum devised to rattle you.

When sober, the invitation to crude insinuations began and ended with intangibility. A calculated smile to fluster you when caught admiring how his tattoos twisted over the muscles in his upper arms when he leaned on his keyboard, a sentence spoken in the morning before his voice warmed to its comfortable register, a tossed comment in the midst of conversation with his band mates and the effect it had on you shifting uncomfortably just outside the ring of amity—quarantined behind the scope of his single-handed gesture pumping an obvious motion, pretending you were absorbed by the timetable schedule for the band inside your folder, appearing busy and decidedly not desperate to either be included or released from the task of being present, even when hot needles of sweat stressed the lack of consideration for your feelings with each sorry expression cast in your direction. You were his worker bee, paid to wait on him, and his teasing was rarely physical beyond an appropriate knock on your bicep for your attention in the off chance he didn’t snap his fingers at you like a dog. Or a tap on your knee under the kitchen table to get you to stand so he could leave; a light pressure which you could replicate days later with your own knuckles. His daily indifference was born of spite, and his drunken actions were bred of the same annoyance, bottle-deep perspective viewing you as the one who was ruining his night. Assuming he continued to push his tolerance with more drinks after you left the green room, his bold teasing made sense, you supposed, too unrestricted to deny himself the fun of riling you up.

The right thing to do would entail divorcing yourself from this conversation, and bringing up his conduct tomorrow. The wrong thing to do would involve taking another swig of his beer. The right thing to do would require reminding him of his meeting with Murray in the morning, who had a shorter fuse than anyone in the music industry. The wrong thing to do would include lobbing the bottle in his bed. The right thing to do would demand not giggling at Eddie’s poor reflexes when he made a bigger mess of the ale spilling on his blanket.

Eddie seized to catch it, but his hand-eye coordination was not up to par. He scrunched his eyes closed at the last second, jolting into a crunch with his chin tucked in an inordinate amount of wrinkles, and hands turned with his palms out, more keen on keeping the bottle from hitting his face than truly catching it. Which was a plausible excuse for his boot kicking your bunk in the process, and overall lack of poise as he brought his hands together after the beer had already bounced off his belly, and rolled where the bed dipped around him.

The wrong thing to do would consist of you running your knuckle along your shameless grin, prodding the flesh against your teeth as he dropped his head back and emptied the bottle onto his softly cradled pink tongue, thank you for sharing the drink, every last boozy drop.

Recognition curved the groove of his mouth.

Boys will be boys behavior.

“Here,” he said, rolling forward with his arm extended. The glass bottle in his hand drew your immediate wilt, but before you advanced too far into your frown, he alleviated your ire with the two fingers pointing at you, fluttering the damp paper between them. “You believe in this sorta shit, don’t you?” Despite the mock, you knew better than to refute his claim, not having the chops to sound convincing. Not that you really had faith in the mass produced slip of paper, but the affirmation that you’d find your soulmate one day produced a sense of ease before bed. Even when the word ‘successful’ was blurred from a drop of beer.

You placed the fortune in your notebook, feeling the ache of an unfinished entry.

At the front of the bus, the driver stamped up the stairs and gave the signal he was going to start moving soon, cuing the subliminal bedtime. The unbelonging technicians left, and the rest of Corroded Coffin stretched from the stiff cushions lining the booth seats around the table. As they picked up after themselves, Eddie untied the top set of his laces, and kicked his boots off, leaving them in the aisle along with the empty beer bottle.

He rolled onto the edge of the mattress to rip back his sheets and shoved his legs under, hesitating from drawing the curtain when he browsed the end of your bunk, where your feet moved under a pile of belongings placed atop your covers. “I’ll send your clothes to the dry cleaners tomorrow.”

Not an apology.

“You mean you’ll send me to the dry cleaners tomorrow,” you corrected, and his face smoothed flat from the accidental snub.

Harry moved between you two. Jeff divided the conversation further. Gareth cleaved whatever rapport you had with Eddie when he snorted at the two of you facing each other in your bunks, cuddled up like a sleepover.

Thinking harder as his peers climbed into their beds, Eddie relaxed onto his forearm supporting his upright posture, and sank into the jut of his shoulder, spinning his hand in the same flippant way the scrunch between his brows appealed to the snark loading in his throat. “I’ll just give you my wallet then, mm?” he offered, gravelly voice dusted with insincerity. “Then you can buy all the white blouses, and black skirts your pretty heart desires.”

Someone snorted again. It sounded like Gareth.

“And, uh,” Eddie endured as the plastic rings tinked across the metal bar, leaving a generous window visible from the top of his shoulders to his wild hair spread about his pillow palace, limp curtain hanging pitifully, “if you’d be so kind, don’t watch me sleep.”

“I won’t,” you said, and it sounded so sad. So soft, and faint, no bite behind it. No zest, no strength. Just confusion, though you understood the events leading to the pendulum swinging the other direction.

You closed your curtain, too.

The tour bus rumbled before sighing its characteristic hiss and chugging forward, pitching its cargo inside. You swayed in your nook. Laying on your back meant you experienced every roll of the tires cutting corners in the parking lot, but you weren’t ready to turn over yet. Your mind was swarming with cluttered thoughts. There were things you could be doing other than peering out at the depressing darkness where the dim ambient light didn’t pierce. You could brush your teeth, stow away your pocketbook before the pens rolled out, pick up the bottle before it tipped over and played pinball down the aisle all night. Your journal entry could be finished, you could sit up and read a book like Eddie, you could do some of those stretches for your hips and back. You could cry, you could count sheep for the next four hours and forty-seven minutes, you could cry some more; wet face wiped raw by the stiff sheets, and mouth buried in the unfeeling comforter to muffle the squeak of air leaving your lungs when you couldn’t suppress the emotions lodged in your throat any longer.

You could do many therapeutic things.

Instead, you pressed your knuckle over the center of your lower lip, replicating the pressure, and thought about the fortune.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #eddie x reader

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trashmouth-richie · 11 months

Text

Eddie x Fem! Reader

master list

tw: no minors gtfo i stg, kissing, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex piv. Etc

summary: it’s happening

a/n: we made it b holes and babes, special s/o to my beta readers @agentmarvel @blueywrites @jo-harrington @sweetsweetjellybean — this chapter is short and sweet. Hope you enjoy

His lips.

Your lips.

Firm.

Soft.

Cracked.

Smooth.

It feels like your souls are levitating off the ground. Hovering over your lip locked bodies and soaring higher to nap in the clouds.

He’s careful but sure, not pressuring you to open your mouth further but following your lead. His lips taste like bitter whiskey and Marlboro Red, a burnt sensation that has you coming back for more with each gentle brush of his lips against yours. The act is stoic. And coming from a very well experienced lover in the sex department, you didn’t see it coming. Prudent hands caress the warming apples of your cheeks, thumbs gliding over your soft skin every so often.

Having Eddie’s lips on yours could be compared to giving in while dieting, an addict trying to stay sober. You held off for as long as you could, telling yourself this shouldn’t happen. It would be wrong. But how could something so wrong, taste and feel so right?

Drunk— no dizzy. Head spinning like a carousel your mind is leading you now. Your hands find purchase against his neck, warm and sweaty from his hair. The other is snaked around him, bringing him impossibly closer, your bodies forming around each other like playdoh in a child’s tight grip.

You’ve never been kissed like this in your life. Every cell in your body is on fire. Simmering low and bubbling hot for him. Robbed of never having experienced something as sweet and tender as this in twenty-one years, you are overwhelmed with emotions at how right, how good, and how fucking fantastic Eddie was making you feel.

Opening your mouth slightly welcoming his tongue, you lick the underside of his top lip, the molten muscle sending chills down Eddie’s spine as you lightly massaged his lip. A moan shakes beautifully from his throat and he follows your lead. Coaxing his tongue gently against yours, a twirling tango of wet heat and fervor have you clutching his neck tighter. He licks into your mouth and you gasp, aware that although you’ve been kissed before it was never like this, lacking the passion that you are feeling while being kissed by Eddie.

No words are spoken and they don’t need to be. The high you’re on is pure euphoria, purple clouds and shimmery stars guide you as you pour your lust into Eddie’s hands and kiss him sugary sweet, your tongues interwoven like threads of yarn in a homemade set of mittens.

Hungry and trembling to feel more of him, your hands move leisurely to the front of his chest. His heart is pounding at your touch, his lips never leave yours. Completely occupied by your slicked lips cushioned between his. Your palms pressed flat against the cotton of his shirt as they navigate to his shoulders. The muscles in his shoulders and arms are well-defined, taut against your hands. Strength uncomparable from years of manual labor. Sculpted perfectly against your hands, arms capable of fighting two men at once, but tender enough to hold you tightly to comfort you. The same arms that wiggled around your thighs and your waist, never letting you go as you comforted him. They were powerful, majestic in a multitude of ways, but pliable and baby soft under his creamy, sweat slicked skin. Fingers moving gingerly downward, inching his jacket slowly off his shoulders, this was the moment, the one that would set off alerts to your brain and to Eddie’s on what you were needing from him. No longer hiding how you felt, no longer unsure or scared of the unknown, you shuck his jacket further down his arms. The creak of the leather squeaking a gentle song in your ears— beautiful harmonious notes of relief as it hits the ground and puddles at Eddie’s feet.

Goosebumps crawl against his flesh, and he works his magnetic lips from yours. Concern paints his face hiding a small trickle of want. Your face still in his hands, he pours his heart out into your eyes, but it’s not enough. If he was going to do this he needed to be sure you were on the same page.

His lips were wet and colored somewhere between the shade just before red but after pink, hungry and not quite full. Pupils blown wide, he tries to convey his thoughts in an unspoken way, but he needs to be sure this is what you want. Placing his hands in yours, fingers locked together in a softened callous grip of joined flesh, he looks from your lips to your eyes and back again.

His voice is husky and dipped low, dripping with sweet honey chords of desire when he speaks to you serenely, “tell me what you want Tooty.”

He’s leaving it up to you, never known as a gentleman before he would be just that for you, in any situation. But especially in this one. Out of respect for you and keeping your demons at bay, if you only wanted this— he’d die tomorrow with a smile imprinted on his face— never ask you to cross your lines of comfortability. Dice in your hands, he waits patiently, thumbs circling the top knuckles of your fingers.

Sure and ready you drop his hands to wrap your fingers along the safety pinned hem of your homemade gift from Eddie, threading the cotton fabric over your head you unthread your arms quickly, not wanting to waste a single second of seeing him. Coy in your delivery, you try your best to calm the wave of nervousness as it crashes around you, warm water soaking your skin as you stand in your bra before Eddie. But his eyes never leave yours, a soldier to his own word, guarding your dignity with everything he had— the last thing he wanted was for you to feel like he wasn’t taking this seriously and only wanted to fuck you.

Fingers skirting under his own shirt you pry it off his body gently. Staring into his eyes you finally speak, “I want you, Eddie. I’ve wanted this for a long time.”

He hums low with satisfaction, the fine lines of his brow flatten and smooth against his forehead, eyebrows receding from his bangs back into place. His calloused hands find your cheeks again, rubbing the pads of his thumbs against your cheeks in a windshield wiper motion, sliding against the smooth expanse of your cheeks, with no tears to dry.

The depth of his eyes are miles deep of rich chocolatey swirls, a fountain of yearning and longing as he whispers gently, “I'm gonna take care of you.”

Nodding along in a silent agreement, Eddie brings his lips to yours. Fruition and passion burst behind your eyelids, his lips are warm and cozy silk as he kisses his way down your neck. The sensation brings warmth to your core and goose bumps along your skin, heightened by the feel of his wet tongue on you. Angling your neck to the side for better access, his tender kisses deepen, whiskey colored curls tickle your shoulder blades and the top of your breasts as his descend down your neck capsizes. Large hands grip the back of your thighs and he pulls you up, hoisting you in his arms. You instinctively wrap your legs around his waist. His bare skin simmers hot against yours, burning with longing zeal. Electricity surges through you when Eddie moves towards his bedroom. Kicking open the door with his boot and back closed the same way, his mouth never leaving your body, tongue painting you with his slicked spit and wine colored bruising.

He bends down to his bed, carefully adjusting you down your back tickled by the comforter. Laying you down as delicate as a flower atop a loved ones coffin, he pulls back, eyes drunk on you and full of blissful lust, his dark curls hanging from him like a curtain, strong Oxford colored arms on either side of you, his chain necklace swaying in front of you, a taunting pendulum from his bare chest to the tip of your nose.

You timidly reach up to stroke his face, stubborn stubble that he keeps shaved is making a late night debut against your palm, he leans into your touch turning his cheek until it’s flush against your hand. His warm skin singing in your hands. He’s everything you’ve wanted and more. Kicking yourself silently for denying yourself the way he’s looking at you right now, you whisper to him, “you’re so handsome, Eddie.”

He pinks under your palm, he’d been called the name before, but under the weight of your sweet voice, your eyes shining under him, he melts like forgotten chocolate in a denim pocket in the summer. His heart shatters through the atmosphere and skids along the stars, only coming back down to beat wildly in his chest.

“Baby,” Eddie coos, holding your gaze, “do you know how hard it is to breathe when you’re around me?” you’re silent as a tear falls on your cheek, Eddie wipes it away with his finger curled inward, “you’re so beautiful it’s suffocating.”

Pendulum like necklace still swinging, you grab it in a fist and pull him into you, kissing him so abruptly a noise splutters from his lips as yours collide with his, tongues sliding sweetly in a waltz. It’s perfect. He’s perfect. Your body is tingling all over for him. An itch only he can scratch, hungry for him, a desire that you haven’t felt for anyone swells in your chest.

Your legs are spread wide to feel the full weight of his body mass on yours, an odd but satisfying comfort all the same. His scent surrounds you. Hints of Marlboros reds and tangy weed mixed with the burnt notes of cedar and amber. He’s consuming all of your five senses, and you’re broken with his touch, swayed by his tongue in your mouth and his fingers holding the back of your neck, swirling in the hair at the base of your head.

His fingers fall from your hair, tracing lines across your shoulder blades as delicate as snowflakes falling on your eyelashes, strumming lightly across the strap of your bra. Humming against his lips you whisper a whimpered plea to him. Deft fingers coax the straps out of the way, and his lips leave yours kissing your cheeks and making a path of wet lips and sloppy sweet kisses to your shoulder, spending lazy minutes soaking up every inch of your exposed skin. Letting you know with each pucker of his lips how important you are to him. Repeating the same slow motion on the other side, you are heated up. Tingling with butterflies drugged with cocaine in your core, throbbing for more of his touch. You are an addict for him. Eddie— your drug of choice.

Arching your back as he inches his way down your body, his large hands wrap around you, unclasping the bra from itself in expert speed, the relief around your rib cage is audible as you let out a small sigh, Eddie’s curls tickle your bare stomach as he sits up. You don’t realize you’re holding your breath as he’s on his knees between your legs, his hands on his thighs, lips kissed red and pretty, dark eyes searching yours, your bra laying on top of you barely covering your boobs, nipples peaked and ready for their debut under the black silk fabric, your arms still jailed by the straps.

He cocks a smile as you wiggle your arms out of the straps, keeping eye contact with him during the entire performance, thanking a higher power your arms didn’t get stuck in your pursuit of nudity. The bra drops from your pointed fingers like a used tissue on Eddie’s blanket, your lips twist upward with a grin when his eyes go wide at the sight of your tits on display. A bountiful feast of perky nipples and soft skin, still sporting last summer's fading tan lines.

Eddie’s adam apple bobs in his throat like a gear shift slammed into third, eyes wide as he mutters, “Jesus Christ,” to himself. Taking in your doughy tits, heaving like soft cinnamon rolls fresh out of the oven. Eddie is practically drooling at the sight of you beneath him.

Dragging his fingers up your curved sides, sending goose bumps in his wake, he cups the tender skin on either side of your boobs, squeezing the pudding-esque cups softly, bringing his face downward towards your chest. One fleeting look from his chocolate eyes to yours and you’re a puddle of melted ice cream. His touch is burrowed into your skin like radiation, his rough calloused hands feel like a cheese grater against your buttery skin. A sensation that has you moaning out loud once his tongue kitten licks one of your nipples and his hot breath blows gently against it, a warm breeze before a thunderstorm on wet sidewalk, flooding your panties at his touch.

He whimpers at your lacy moans, his mouth humming against you, face flush with your nipples as he rubs his tongue back and forth. Giving fair attention to your other nipple he repeats the process, his large hands engulfing your jelloy tits as his expert tongue teases you again and again. The sudden nip of his pearl teeth on your perked mound sends vibrations of electricity to your core.

He’s grinding down into you, and you gasp at his girthy length driving into your body.

Nimble fingers work his belt through the buckle between your two bodies, your appetite only increasing with each sucking bruise into your skin. Eddie follows suit and works fast against your zipper, breaking contact to pull your jeans off by the legs. A wet spot in your panties has him licking his lips, stroking himself beneath denim and cotton.

Eddie wastes no time when he grabs the delicate, silky black fabric on your hips and pulls them downward.

“Holy fuck,” he groans, when your pussy lips cling to the wet fabric, his dick kicks up in his boxer briefs, an impressive show of its own. He slides them down your legs and tosses them onto his dresser.

Lowering himself to your sex his hot breath lingers like smoke on water as he speaks, “if you don’t like something I’m doing— tell me.”

He waits for your nod of approval, which you give innocently. And when he lowers his mouth down to your heated center, fireworks explode behind your eyes.

His name falls from your lips at the first touch of his tongue. It plunges into your velvet drenched folds, and a symphony of whispered breaths and moans shuffle around the room colliding and mixing with the flick of Eddie’s tongue and the curve of his lips suckling on your clit.

Your hands fly to his hair, holding him tight like reins while riding a horse, you pull when it feels good, rubbing softly to dull the pain, and his eliciting moans send currants down to the tips of your toes. It’s shockingly arousing when you take a peak at Eddie between your legs, Dr. Pepper eyes carbonated with lust and desire. Trained on your face as it twists with pleasure and smooths into a smile when his devilish tongue strokes you in the right way, fast then slow, eager but coy, taking his time, expertly bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

Just having his mouth on you, feeling him vibrate as the muscle of his long tongue wiggles its way into your center, has your hands frenzied in his curls, nerve endings exploding with each flick of his tongue.

You’ve seen it in movies, heard about it from friends, Robin even being so kind as to go into explicit detail on how it’s done. But much like the kiss, you’ve never encountered the sensation of a lover’s tongue between your legs.

It’s mind altering, blissfully creeping closer to the edge of an orgasm as Eddie laps at your weeping folds. You’re whimpering at his touch, one hot hand holding your hip in place as your back arches from the mattress, the other replacing his tongue in your center, the stretch of his one finger makes him groan, whispered breaths against your core. It’s a pleasurable pain, welcomed by his wet tongue. It could be mistaken as an exorcism the way you're frantically canting your hips as his tongue rolls against your clit again and again. The deep moans choking out from your throat, tornadoing with his pleasantries and whispered praises, and that's when you break.

Every color, every shade, every hue unfolds in your vision against the black of your eyelids. Writhing beneath Eddie you ride out your high against his face, he dips impossibly deeper, connecting your souls with each slow drip of your arousal onto his tongue.

“Fuck,” he whimpers, his hands still gripping your hips loosening them to rub your soft thighs down to the bend in your knee. He sits up, kissing your thigh he murmurs, “so sweet, so beautiful baby.”

Your cheeks heat with his words, blooming across your face and spreading warmly in your chest. Opening your eyes for the first time since your orgasm, you peek at Eddie. His hair is a mess from your hands yanking on it. A pretty sheen of your slick is painted on his lips. His hooded eyes dip to yours as he plants wet kisses to your soft thigh.

Wiggling from his grasp, you sit up, pressing your lips to the column of his throat, your fingers working to push down his jeans and the waistband of his underwear. “Eddie,” you plead against his sweaty skin, “I need you,”

Arms tangled around your bodies, his lips lock with yours and a moan escapes his throat, the salty tang of your arousal mixes on your tongues. Shoving his pants down his legs and kicking his feet from them in a fevered effort, Eddie lays you down against the soft mattress, his face hesitant, concern lacing his prominent features. Eyes almost watery with turmoil.

Holding a warm delicate hand up to his cheek you coax him to look at you, your voice wavering between frantic and needy, “Eddie, what’s wrong?”

He shakes his head, the thick of his cock is heavy against your thigh, and by the sheer weight of it, you knew he wasn’t lying about the length.

“Tooty— I, I don’t want to hurt you.” You know by the look in his eye he isn’t talking mentally, “you’re…and I’m—”

“Please,” you beg, “I want you,” slinking your fingers between your two bodies, you reach for his cock and gasp at the girthy length of soft skin as you rub it back and forth with the palm of your hand, the tips of your fingers sliding against the bulging mushroom head of his cock.

“Fuck,” he moans, biting his bottom lip, his eyes open and turn hungry, all color flushing from them but revealing the deepest onyx hue outside of the Milky Way. Adjusting your legs around him, opening wide, he lowers his head and dribbles a stringy line of spit to his dick, smearing it slightly with his thumb, easing it towards your entrance.

The smallest push of his hips has your breath suffocating in your lungs. His lips capture yours in a sweet kiss as he whimpers at your noises and the way your heated center pulls him in deeper. Clenching around him, he’s stretching your walls to full capacity with every inching of his hips.

Lips breathe air into one another as Eddie hovers over you, two faces twisted in egregious pleasure, moans coating the walls and so sugary sweet they could peel wallpaper.

Each thickened inch pressing inside of you brings endorphins to your brain, swelling your body full of Eddie. His arms quiver and his lip is almost bit in half when he finally bottoms out. A final guttural groan releases from him and you pull him down to you, sealing the triumph with a kiss and speaking against his lips letting him know he could move.

The first drag out has you suddenly feeling empty and lonely, almost pouting at the gone fullness, Eddie hisses when he pushes back in, muttering explicits into your ear as you fill his with sappy whines and whimpers.

“Doing so good for me sweetheart, sh— oh fuck,” sucking him deeper inside your gummy walls Eddie bucks his hips to a steady rhythm, covering your cheeks in kisses as you tangle your fingers in his curls, heavenly moans surround him like a halo— held up by fire colored horns dipped in black as he licks his lips and picks up the pace.

His heavy sack slaps against you almost clapping along with his thrusts as you yell his name. Tits bouncing circularly with each punch of his cock into you. He groans when your nails dig into his shoulders, eight pinked lines marking where wings would be as you fly higher and higher together.

“I’m not— Christ— I’m not gonna last here much longer baby, where do y—” he groans when you swirl your tongue around his thumb, “fuck!” He pumps harder into you and before you can say anything you’re both coming undone. Screams and moans surround the four walls as Eddie paints your insides with his cum, your pussy clenching and sucking him in, a harmonious symphony of deep abated emotions shatter down walls and engulf you both as Eddie collapses on top of you. His sweaty hair tenting round both of your faces as you both pant into eachother. Love circulating the air with tiny hearts and fluttering wings.

You’re exhausted, mentally and physically. A feeling you could certainly get used to. Eddie was so caring, so sweet. The high of your second ever orgasm still throbbing in your core and leaking down onto Eddie as you shut your eyes.

Sleep envelops you both as Eddie rolls you on top of him, kissing your nose and rubbing your naked back with the tips of his fingers, he’s still inside you, his softened length growing tired and motionless as the delicate cotton of a cool sheet hits your shoulders and your skin.

His chest is warm and slicked with sweat against your cheek, a softened lullaby of his heart beating puts you to sleep in no time.

Eddie’s a mess. Wondering if he just messed everything up. Were you comfortable? Did you enjoy yourself? Judging by the noises you were making and screaming his name he would normally think yes, indeed you had. But this was new to him. Being so deeply in love with someone and sharing the most intimate sex he had ever had. Light snores assure him that you’re okay, in a peaceful sleep, your inner demons tucked away for the night.

On the cusp of dreaming you hear it.

It’s whispered. Barely audible. But it’s there. Butterflies kiss the crown of your head and rub your back with soft petal-like wings.

“I love you, angel girl, always have— always will.”

readmore line haaaay

see you in the prequel: 1985

#eddie munson #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #fic recs #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie fanfic #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie fan fiction

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abibliophobiaa · 2 months

Note

Velvet

my skin in your teeth

summary: you’re meant to eliminate creatures from the upside down, but something — or someone — has got a hold on you lately…

warnings: 18+, blood drinking, biting, allusions to sex, smut, maybe a bit of obsessiveness, and hint of implied soulmates. to be honest, i don’t really know what this is. just wanted to write something. also thanks @myosotisa and @blueywrites for the additional vampire inspiration. 🤍

vampire!eddie munson x f!monster hunter!reader

Chance and Andy cackle ahead of you, their feet rustling the leaves littering the grass, guns at the ready. Normally you’re on duty with Steve, Nancy and Robin, but the powers at be today have decided to put you together with the biggest assholes of the bunch. Cocky, rude, still bullies despite everything — and yet, some of the best shots in the Upside Down Elimination Team. You suppose there’s some comfort in that. Should things go awry.

Your one goal on today’s mission? Make sure the perimeter of area four is safe. Fortunately for you, it’s been a quiet night. For the guys? They’re not having fun with it. For two trigger happy individuals, an eerily quiet night is an oddity. During your last overnight shift, you, Nancy, Robin, and Steve had managed to take down at least fifty demobats that had come through the gate, along with a fully mature group of demodogs.

The hours tick by. Nothing out of the usual to see. A flicker of movement from a solitary demobat with an injured bat here, rustle of leaves there. But nothing major to note when you return to base once the sun rises and your shift ends.

That is, nothing until three in the morning arrives and you catch the familiar whistle. The crack of a twig in the distance. The rustle of leaves as they draw nearer. A pack of demodogs rush through trees, but the familiar glint of predatory canines draws your attention.

You draw your dagger and throw. The metal slams into the trunk with a loud thud and you shout over your shoulder, “You go on ahead, I’ll take care of this!”

The guys run along, practically bouncing in their steps at the mere prospect of taking down a pack of demodogs on their own. Giddy with it. But your mind? Your mind is drawn to the darkened silhouette in the woods, the one that, given the chance, Andy and Chance would rip apart bit by bit.

And you can’t allow that, because Eddie Munson is yours.

——

It was forbidden; fraternizing with the Upside Down.

Even more so slipping away in the middle of the night to entertain a dalliance with a creature harbored and hemmed in the place where the world had ripped into quadrants.

No one understood how it happened. You’d all seen him die. Had seen what happened when a man was ripped apart by those winged hellions. And yet he’d appeared one night, trembling and starved. A hunger that you’d managed to quench, despite Steve shouting at you otherwise, by slicing your own palm and offering it to your friend.

The friend who peered out from those darkened eyes, lines of deep hunger like spiderwebs crawling from beneath his lashes. You whispered that it was okay, that you wanted this when he stared up at you with worried eyes.

Don’t want to hurt you, he said, sounding so much younger than his now twenty-one years of age. Or twenty? None of you understood this magic. He died at twenty, heart stopped at twenty — but months had trickled by, his birthday passed, and it only felt right to honor it all the same.

Shaking hands had curled around the back of your palm, his lips sliding over wet, injured skin, dripping scarlet rubies onto the forest floor below. Steve whirled around, choked out a horrified breath as Eddie drew in your blood, drew in your essence.

Loud, hungry gulps met your ears, making Steve retch. But you leaned in closer, curled your fingers around his bicep, clinging to him as you slipped away in your mind.

Into that heady, rich, velvety, lush ether.

“Eddie,” Robin warned, as your eyelids drooped, body slumping further into his frame, “Eddie, I think she’s done. Let go of her.”

He fell back, ragged breaths pulling from lungs. And he sounded so familiar, you nearly weeped at it. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, sweetheart —”

Those eyes shifted, changed back into the ones you knew before all of…this. Less haunted, more him, and despite the world tilting on its axis as you fell back into Steve’s arms unconscious, it seemed worth it.

You carried on with it in secret. Your friends decided it was better if, until things got better around Hawkins, Eddie remained nothing more than a shadow in the night. They’d find a way to make things right, but in the meantime…you learned how to keep things secret. How to slip away beyond the outer lines of Hawkins — to find ways to sneak off during patrols. Often, Steve would turn a blind eye. Nancy would wave you onward. Robin would give you a little eye roll and tell you to run along.

It started with conversations in the night. Things you never talked about when you’d known one another prior. And yet — since the day he’d drank your blood, you felt a connection to him in a way you hadn’t before. You would sit side by side, laughing and reminiscing. Dreaming, on nights where the world was quiet and it felt like you were the only two people who existed.

Those meetings changed as the seasons did. His gazes lingered longer. Your hands wandered. His lips glided over yours. Your fingers threaded in his hair. He fisted the back of your thigh and dragged you into his lap, whispered he wanted you against your throat.

That first time had been quick and needy. A frantic thing, with buttons flying, his shirt nearly shredded at the hem to get it off faster. He rolled you over onto your back and pinned you there against the dirt, the ground biting into your flesh, reminding you that you were alive despite it all. And you kissed him, panting into his mouth as his hips rolled furiously against your own, your fingers clutching at blades of grass, nearly ripping them up from the root as your orgasm stole your breath.

It kept on like that for months. Secret meetings, whispered words. His teeth in your skin, your bodies entwined, heart to heart, chasing whatever this thing was between you.

He was euphoria and light in a world filled with darkness, and you were addicted, and nothing would rip him away again.

——

The sounds of the guy’s hoots and hollers of enjoyment over their hunt grows quieter as you approach Eddie. He’s leaning against a tree, the dagger embedded near his shoulder, those dark eyes of his crinkling at the corners as you draw nearer to him. Lips curl back over elongated canines, and you note the swirling lines beneath his lashes, deciding you’ll have to do something about that later when you have more time and there’s no threat of the jackass twins coming back and throwing a wrench into things.

“Sorry I tried to kill you,” you tease, falling into his chest as broad palms slide around your hips to tug you close, “needed to make it look believable.”

“It’s fine, but next time you should try harder.” He draws a sigh from deep within your chest as he leans in to claim your mouth. It’s a quick kiss, doesn’t linger long, his head pulling back to look at you in amusement. Mouth curling into a grin, hair in disarray, dark eyes gleeful in the night. “Didn’t know you could throw a dagger like that.”

“You liked that, huh? Been working on that for months now.”

Your smirk grows as he flips you around, your back hitting the trunk of the tree. He grunts out as you coast a palm along the front of his jeans, grinning ruefully at the way his erection strains against the fabric.

“You did.” A satisfied smile creeps up along your features, heart skipping as he grips the dagger hilt near your head and tugs it free from the bark. The metal glints, the sharpened edge twirling as he toys with it in his palm. It shouldn’t be as hot as it is, him playing with your weapon, but the way he’s so leisurely about it — like he’s maybe done this before…knowing how good he is with his hands because you’ve been a very satisfied benefactor of their skills many a time now —

“You okay there? You forget I can hear your heart racing.”

He drags the dagger along the hollow of your throat, the standard issue button up uniform loose there, and then lower still toward the first button. He flicks his wrist and a button clatters against the ground, moves down a few centimeters and does the same to the next, the next, the next.

The knife follows. Falls into a pile of leaves, rustles them. There’s a moment — a quick, flash of time before he’s cutting off your breath in a searing kiss. Lips and teeth and hunger — a ravenous type of love, a ruinous thing that you crave. Fingers curl around your throat, apply the perfect amount of pressure that has you moaning into his mouth. He tips your chin up, up, up. His tongue glides along the skin there, silly nips spliced between, the rake of a fang over the throbbing beat of your pulse.

Heat pools in your belly. The sort of heat you know he can sense, your heightened arousal never to be hidden thanks to newer senses. He chuckles to himself as his nose nudges beneath your ear, lips toying with the lobe, breath sending chills down your spine as you shudder against him when his free hand slides down the front of your jeans, dragging a lazy circle over the wet fabric covering your slit.

“How long do we have before those idiots come back to get you?” he asks, a sultriness seeping into his tone.

“Long enough for you to feed,” you rasp out on a gasped breath, “or fuck me. Maybe both.”

“What do you want?” he asks, teeth scraping deliciously against your pulse again.

A little bit more, if you push him down a bit and ask him to take what he needs, and he’ll have sunk them into you again, submitting you to the delectable liquid honey that’ll flood your senses once he does.

The anticipation is one thing, a clanging cymbal that heats your blood. The knowledge that you can do this for him — that you enjoy it. It’s frighteningly empowering. Knowing it’s you who has kept him for so long— that it’s your blood that sings to him. Some might call it wrong; your friends had their own reservations and fears about it, understandably so.

After that first time, you got better with it. Quickly made sure to learn when to stop, how to stop (even if you often didn’t want to).

Sex had been one point of connection for the two of you. And that had been wonderful in and of itself. You craved him in ways you had never craved another. But this? Him having a part of you within him, your souls quite literally becoming one every time he drank from you — that was another level.

A sort of intensity that often made you both lose control. Whatever it was, you were irrevocably changed. This wonderful man, this creature you were meant to kill — the love that drew you into the forest like this, his hands making quick work of your jeans, tugging them down to your ankles, as his mouth licked at you furiously.

A gasp heaved from your chest. Fingers clutch in his hair as he pushes your hips back against the bark, fingers gripping tight to the dough of your thighs, keeping you spread out salaciously before him. It’s thrilling, the waves of your orgasm robbing you of your breath at the dawning realization of it, that at any moment Andy and Chance could appear.

That they might see you tangled so deeply in the web of lies you’ve become so tangled with these months, wrapped in the arms of the man who…loves you.

Because it’s forbidden, yes. By all means, if you’re found out it could be dangerous for both of you. They could kill him — would kill him.

But you would rip them all apart for the man who made a mess of you for all others.

You wince. And there’s coo. Eddie’s hands loosen from around your thighs, his body coming up to its full height before you. He lifts your hand, turns your palm up to inspect the splinter wedged into a fingertip. Blood pools from the wound, a scarlet teardrop that coasts down the back of your hand, trails toward your wrist.

Eddie’s eyes darken, and your lips curl up. You say quietly, “Go on.”

It might be wrong, on many levels, the way he brings your hand up to his mouth, tongue dragging along your wrist, the back of your palm, erasing the trickle of blood.

And it’s downright sinful the way he drags your finger into his mouth, eyes hazy and hooded, sucking lightly. Your mouth drops open, eyes fluttering rapidly at the beginnings of that familiar euphoria sparkling around the edges of your mind.

“I want to be inside you,” he groans, making no effort to let go of your offended appendage, “and you know I prefer somewhere private for…that.”

You know he means when he sinks his fangs into you, when he’s inside you, and you both lose yourself to the magic in his bite. Wants to be alone for when that primal desire kicks up within him, and he loses himself in your body intertwined like that.

“Eddie,” you whisper, dragging him down to the ground, onto the jeans laying sprawled across the floor. “Please. It’s been days.”

“Yeah,” he sighs, hissing out a breath as you make quick work of his belt buckle, the sound of a zipper ramping up your heart rate, “because your schedule has sucked this week —”

“Please,” you urge him as he helps you up and over his thighs, sliding you down his length like the thousands of times you’ve done this before.

His breath stutters against the curve of your throat as you rise and fall steadily over him, injured hand splayed over his heart.

“Please.”

There’s always a sting. It’s only a brief moment. A soft prick of pain like that of a needle. Only it’s really two, and they immediately are replaced by his tongue to soothe away the ache. A healing balm that oozes into your bloodstream. When he latches on again, it’s a bubbly, almost buzzing feeling that spreads through you. The feeling of sifting slowly through sinking sand, like dragging your fingers through water. Your mind numbs, a feeling of floating — of lightness unparalleled has you sinking further into him, the rolling of his hips beneath you tethering you to reality. Here and there, on the precipice of something earth shattering. It’s always like this with him.

“You’re perfect,” he whispers against where he’s bitten into your collarbone, into the skin peeking out from the collar of your shirt, “God, I love you.”

And he’s rolling you over, hands on either side of your face, eyes closed in blissfulness. The forest floor at your back, your thighs around his hips, bodies connected in a practiced dance. You marvel at his features, missing that point of additional connection, cupping his cheek instead. He’s told you you taste like the sweetest nectar, like heaven itself. Says it’s not like this with anyone else. That you’re divine, velvet, rich. You’re ethereal and his. And it takes everything in him to restrain himself, to tamper down the throbbing of his heart when he’s drinking you in, to not take too much. He could lose himself in you, in the bliss of your coupling, in the perfection of your essence.

You both come with a cry, and, as always, hate when it ends. There’s no time to hold one another, to kiss along his bare skin as he keeps you close to him. Not with the fear of Andy and Chance appearing at any time, fresh from their hunt, with murder on their minds.

Instead he leans down and cups a hand around the back of your head. Presses his forehead to yours and whispers of his love, devotion, desire for you. It’s a promise for later, sealed with the softness of his lips against yours, and he’s gone…slipping into the shadows.

No longer next to you, and yet forever marked on your heart.

——

A pair of white, well-loved Reebok’s sit near the door.

Paintings and sketches are scattered around the living room.

Further in the home, Eddie listens to the familiar thump-thump coming from down the hall. Can hear the reassuring inhale and exhale of your breath.

It’s night once more, and you’re finally off work, finally able to catch up on some sleep. Have slept most of the day since you got home, now that he thinks of it.

The bed shifts as he joins you once more, kissing along a bare spine, blankets curling low around your hips. He chuckles at the memory of you earlier, nearly kicking the door open on the hinges, ready to reprimand him for showing up unannounced while you were on patrol, only to end up ridding him of his clothes on your way to rest for the evening.

“Hi,” you whisper, eyes blinking up at him, adjusting to the darkness of the bedroom, “How long have I been out?”

“Few hours,” he tells you, running a hand along your bare shoulder. “Missed those eyes.”

“Sap.” It’s a tease. You see him every day, and even then it’s not enough.

“I made you dinner,” he says, rolling over onto his side beside you, nose brushing yours gently.

“Thank you.” You lean over to kiss him, smiling against his skin. That’ll never get old. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Another kiss. “Today was fun.”

A smirk curls your lips. “It was.”

“I should visit you at work more often.” He’s grinning, the insinuation of his words making your heart stumble happily. It’s music to his ears. “You liked that, didn’t you? Could smell it on you. Bet if I touched you now you’d be wet just from the memory of it.”

He’s not wrong. And he proves that point with the teasing drag of his middle finger along your clit, relishing the soft cry of, “Ed —” that spills from your parted lips.

“Reminded me of that first time we were together,” he purrs, rolling over you. Rolling you over onto your back. Your body settles beneath him, form soft and warm against his. “Forest floor.”

“Sexy,” you tease, breaking off into a whine as he pushes inside, rolling his hips against yours slowly. “All the dirt, twigs and leaves. Nothing screams romance like a nice forest fling.”

“We worked with what we had at the time,” he chuckles, cock dragging along your walls, drawing another moan from your throat. “But I think I like this better. Our bed. In our home.”

Because, though it’s forbidden, you never could handle the thought of being without him.

Had asked him to move in here months ago, into your home on the outskirts of town, to live a quiet life away from prying eyes.

Here, where you could protect him.

Here, where you never needed to be parted from him.

Here, where for a year now, and forever still to come, he’d have a place by your side.

“Next time, just bite me somewhere else, will you?” you ask, when you tumble back onto earth when it’s all over and you’re left satiated once more, body draped over Eddie’s. Eddie’s brows arch high on his forehead. “By the time your freaky magic saliva started to heal the bite, the guys thought it was a hickey and teased me relentlessly. And I can’t be with you from jail if they keep it up.”

“Pretty sure we’ll always be together.”

Forever, he’s promised.

Because maybe it’s his new, more animalistic side. The part of him that recognizes a soul mate. Maybe it’s the way you fit in his arms, the way your lips feel against his, or the way your blood sings to him.

But he thinks, in a way, you feel like his.

And he knows, in his heart, he’s yours.

#lunaloveseddie #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #vampire!eddie Munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fanfic

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seatnights · 3 months

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Who are some of your favorite fan fiction writers?

i spent hours to collect usernames of authors i enjoyed reading from, and i’m sure i missed some, but i tried.

are u ready for this?

authors you SHOULD support:

oneforthemunny / icallhimjoey / jamdoughnutmagician / rosebudsgarden / willowsgri / joequinnisgod / eddiemunsons80sbaby / chrrymunson / eddiemunsonswhxre / lonelysatellites / loveshotzz / usedtobecooler / carolmunson / upsidedownwithsteve / sherifftillman / spicysix / emsgoodthinkin / retrobutterflies / tiannasfanfic / athena-writes-i-guess / shesinchargeareyoukidding / cooliestghouliest / singularattitudeofasafetypin / babybluebex / quinnyfairy / moonchildquinn / i-me-mine / luveline / myosotisa / silent-stories / blueywrites / steviesbicrisis / munson-blurbs / ficsbypix / lovejosephquinn / eddieschains / prettyboyeddiemunson / eddieandbird /pleasantlycrazyworld / corroded-hellfire / trashmouth-richie / justmeinadaze / mopeymopeymouse / munsonslilbunnie / keeponquinning / gatorstillman / allthingsjoeq / jadeylovesmarvelxo / mysticmunson / sugarsblurbs / taintedcigs / gag-me-munson / gravedigginbbydoll / ratskcoreddie / andvys / manicpixiedreamcurl / thruheavenandhighwater / joejoequinnquinn / munsonsreputation / upsidedownmvnson / hellfiresmaster / elightysixbaby / eddiessluttywaist / littledemondani / choke-me-eddie / eddiemunsonsmum / eddiemunsonfuxks / pinkrelish / hllfireclb / indulgence-be-thy-name / wheels-of-despair / hellfiremunsonn / filthyjoetini / ghost-proofbaby / havecourage-darling / forever-rogue / queenimmadolla / josephfakingquinn / roanniom / bimbobaggins69 / songforeddiemunson / munsons-hellfire / honey-flustered / eddie-van-munson / storiesbyrhi / lovebugism / neonghostlights / harrywavycurly / chestylarouxx / courtingchaos / galaxy-siren / harringtons-cupid / hard-candy-writing / wroteclassicaly / raccoonboywrites / dr-aculaaa / palomahasenteredthechat / palomahasenteredthechat / forevermoreharrington / corrodedcorpses / strangerquinns / sunnythevampireslayer / lesservillain / stevenose / eddiesxangel / stveharringtn / spookysteddie / keeksandgigz / darlingsfandom / her-power / idkidknemore / francisquinn / inkluvs / ashwhowrites / hellfire--cult / succubusmunson / v8mpstamp / stevieswhore / munsons-maiden / rustboxstarr / corrodedseraphine / reidsbtch / lexlec / katiemcrae / the-unforgivenn / keerysfolklore / appocalipse / familyvideowithsteve / tiannamortis / joekeeryswife / bettyfrommars / cinemamunson / munson-mjstan / teddyeyeseddie / lofaewrites / mediocredreams / leasstories

OK SO

here we have 137 authors, i didn’t tag anyone cuz i would probably have disturbed half of the fandom, sorry if it’s more difficult this way, but i hope i could help you a bit.

obviously, there’s no order of preference of any kind, and i tried to put as many authors as i could but i know i’ve missed someone. if i did, i’m deeply sorry, it wasn’t on purpose and i have nothing against you! if you wish you can message me or slide in my ask and ill add you immediately!

now, i’m a bit tired after all of this, and my hand hurts but:

DON’T FORGET TO SUPPORT THE AUTHORS!!!

they put their works for free!!! everyone can enjoy media and content for free thanks to them! and it cost you nothing to reblog and share their work.

thank you for every creators / writers/ artist out there to make every single works of yours and sharing them with the world. all of you deserve so much, and thanks to you for so many people the day gets better, it’s like having a sweet little treat, like taking care of yourself, like finding a place where you are understood. so, thank you infinitely. keep it up cause you’re doing amazing!

-🤍🌻🌱

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blueywrites · 2 months

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Thinking about spending Valentine's Day with older!Eddie.

18+, age gap (25ish - 40ish)

You're in your mid-twenties and he's in his early forties, and you've been dating for only a couple months before the holiday comes up. And Eddie had been surprised a pretty little thing like you would give him the time of day despite the fifteen-odd years between you. But you find him sexy, and sweet in a gruff sort of way, especially when he slings a protective arm over your shoulder when you walk down the sidewalk together, tucking you to the inside as he sucks on the end of his cigarette. His leather jacket smells like Camels and tangy motor oil, musk and home, and you must be getting soft on him because you don't even scrunch your nose anymore at the acrid sting of smoke in your nose. The world has left him grizzled and huffy, nearly perpetually tired, but Eddie's deep smile lines ease back into boyish dimples at the sound of your bright laughter and the hook of your small pinkie around his rougher one. He calls you 'sugar' and buys you the big milkshake when you asked for the small, husking a fond chuckle when you pout and whine about it being too much. You melt a little when his fingers graze the hem of your skirt as he walks behind you, just a little idle brush like he wants to remember how soft you are.

He shows up at your apartment door standing stiffly with a frilly pink bag strap clutched in his tatted knuckles, like he knows what an eyesore he must be with it. You don't think so, though. Not when you pull out the purple Jellycat bunny with a squeal of unabashed delight, nor even when he grumbles about 'how expensive a damn stuffed animal was' as you throw your arms over his broad shoulders, pressing kiss after kiss to his stubbly cheek until he scowls and goes pink up to his ears. "Lemme get the fuckin' door closed at least," he grumbles, "'fore that bitch next door gives me the evil eye again for defilin' you in front of the neighbors." But you know he's secretly pleased that you'd kiss him anywhere, anytime, no matter who sees.

You'd given him your Valentine's day present: his favorite meal and a tin of too-many cupcakes to take home and indulge in after his shifts this week. Now he's underneath you, warm and solid, body strong but gone softer in some places than he'd been when he used to be your age. He's beautiful there - his dark hair unbound across your duvet, streaked with gentle gray, faded in places like the tattoos that cover him in a tapestry of passed time and grim imagery. His weathered fingers press bluntly into the supple curve of your waist, and he watches with heavy-lidded eyes as his hips punch little mewls out of you from below, impacts that you take eagerly as you let him hold you in place and work you over. His voice is all husk and grit, rich like whiskey as he murmurs to you. "Got the sweetest little pussy, sugar. All for me, hm?"

Your head lolls back on a breathy moan, eyes slipping closed as your fingers tighten where your hands are planted on his chest. It makes him hiss with pleasure when they catch on and pull the wiry hair there. "Yes, Eddie," you sigh, soft where he is rough, your heart throbbing in time with his. "My pussy is yours. All yours."

He's fucking you fuzzy and near dumb, but you manage to roll your head forward and blink your eyes open to catch his heavy gaze. "I'm yours," you say, aching at the way his face shifts when you add so sincerely, "Want everything with you."

He doesn't answer you. But once he's rendered you boneless and sated, sticky with his release leaking between your thighs, you can feel that reply in the gentleness of his arms as they wrap around you, the slant of his lips as they press to your temple, the tender way he brushes back your hair and draws his thumb over your dewy brow.

The world has left Eddie grizzled and tired, but you are making him new.

happy Valentine's Day 🩷

#blueywrites #eddie munson smut #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #eddie x fem!reader #eddie stranger things #eddie munson fanfic

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strangersmunsons · 2 months

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💖 Eddie Munson x Reader Fic Recs 💖

I just wanna show some appreciation for a few of my all-time favorite Eddie fics! Here’s a handful of the series & oneshots that have really stuck out to me in all the time I've been reading - there's A TON of great writers on here who have posted really stellar work :^)

List under the cut!

june baby by @luveline - luveline jade u are a celebrity to me. this was the first Eddie story I ever read and it is so beautiful. it's tender. it's melancholy. it's realistic. it's gorgeous. it honestly makes me feel something I've never felt reading any other fanfiction.

oh, baby by @inknopewetrust - another one of my first Eddie fics! the feeling that this series invoked in me is what I aspire to invoke in others for my own writing someday. it's just so sweet and funny and made me nostalgic, in the same way that watching '80s teen films do, except it's even better because Eddie is in this one. I wanted so badly to just dive into the story and really experience it for myself.

hoping I'll find [a glimpse of us] by @inknopewetrust - this smashed my heart into 1000 pieces, and then promptly glued it very sloppily back together and I've reread it like six times just to reinflict the pain. I love rockstar!Eddie stories that maintain some realism about what that type of relationship would look like, and this fic does that SO perfectly. masterclass in angst right here.

dancing with myself by @ambrossart - this one hits close to home! and even though it hurts along the way, there's a happy ending that it builds so nicely towards! it's beautifully paced & the reader is very funny. you can just tell that the her backstory & relationship w/ Eddie was so carefully thought out, it really feels like this was written with so much love! and I LOVE that it doesn't paint Chrissy as a villain.

10 things I hate about you by @spideyanakin - so glad that we all collectively agree that Patrick is Eddie-coded. and in this fic the parallels are there, without Eddie sacrificing his own unique character - that part is handled really beautifully! and the ST characters are worked into the original movie's narrative so well. it's the perfect mix of fluff and drama!

freaky friday by @jo-harrington - I adore this series! I love this version of Eddie so much I could cry, he is so sweet and selfless, I want to give him the entire world. and an Eddie & Steve body swap? 10/10. lindsay and jamie lee, eat your hearts out.

to know you're mine by @blueywrites - oooohboy. I almost didn’t read this one (just because I would normally avoid swinging/cheating in a fic) but I'm so glad I did, because it was like being on the homer's odyssey of 18+ ST fanfiction. it’s wild. bluey girl u were insane for this. and i mean that as an extremely high compliment. i was so damn invested!

i will wait by @abibliophobiaa, @blueywrites, @breddiemunson, @myosotisa, @fracturedarkness - there's three chapters, it's on hiatus, I don't care, I will literally keep reading these three chapters over and over again and just fill in the blanks myself if I must. it's that good. you guys are amazing. I am totally enthralled.

rumor by @msgexymunson - this is what turned me on to older!Eddie. I love him, and I desire him carnally, and specifically this version of him. when I daydream about Eddie sweeping me off my feet, I think about Eddie in this series. he's everything to me. I even wrote my own older neighbor Eddie fic because of this!

trapped under ice by @munson-blurbs - the iron grip this fic had me in...I'm still going back and re-reading my favorite parts. it's beautifully developed. this version of Eddie is so real and believable. Harris is my favorite kid he's ever been given. an all-time, truly, I can't sing its praises enough.

siren!eddie by @parkermunson - a monster-ish Eddie fic! I'm a sucker for anything that incorporates mermaids and sirens and the like, so I really love this concept. it's a great story, I love our protective, doting fishboy, and hope to see more of him!

use me by @reysorigins - simultaneously the nastiest and sweetest fic ever. smut, but it's interspersed with these moments of such deep-seated love and yearning between Eddie and the reader that it made me want to cry! incredible piece.

mine and yours by @muertawrites - ahhhh this one is so so sweet! dating is so fucking hard, I think we could all use a comforting, reassuring moment with a sweetheart like Eddie, who is especially kind to us in this fic. I love the way he’s written here.

our patron saint of the arts by @storiesbyrhi - I love an artsy, crafty reader! I feel like Eddie would be sooo into someone who’s creatively-minded like him. this is the dream relationship, basically, these two are adorable together! (and Eddie in a dress! 😗)

And this is just a sample of what’s out there! Some of these are fics that I read very early on, even before I started this blog. I was more shy then, too, so I feel like I never showed them the appreciation I should have! You guys are all so talented, these works are very inspiring to me.

To readers: I encourage you to let the writers know how much you enjoy their work! Reblog! Leave a comment, even if it’s just in the tags! Write a reply, or send them a message, even if it’s on anon! I’m trying to get better at doing these things myself, too 💖

#eddie munson fic recs #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie x you #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson reader insert #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson series #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst

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deathbecomesthem · 4 months

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Trailer Park Blues (one shot)

MINORS DNI, STRICTLY 18+

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader | wc: 3.7K

*This is a reupload from an old blog. It's one of my most favorite stories.

Summary: You've lived in the trailer park as long as Eddie has, and you've been frenemies the entire time. Today, though, the heat of the summer drives you into the cool arms of the air conditioned trailer next door. (I am horny for summer as well as Eddie Munson)

Warnings: Smut with feelings. Teasing, before the smut, nothing overly mean. Depictions of poverty. There are no body descriptions of the reader, BUT she is wearing a string bikini, her body "jiggles" when she walks, she has breasts (no size mentioned), and she starts the story sunbathing.

A/N: I feel the need to thank @blueywrites and @pinkrelish for the initial encouragement to write this story after only reading the first 200 words when I literally had no plot in mind. There are many other friends that also encouraged and tossed ideas at me while I was figuring out if I even had something. Thanks, I hope it doesn't suck!

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Hot days like this push you out of the stagnant air of the trailer. Stuffy smoke-filled rooms and the occasional fly buzzing around the trashcan in the kitchen. Some of the neighbors have little ac units sticking out of their windows, promising a reprieve from the unmoving Indiana summer heat – but not your hovel. No, that was an expense you couldn’t afford, and your mother wouldn’t.

The string bikini was your idea of rebellion, despite being too old to rebel against a woman that was never home and wouldn’t care if her adult daughter walked around the park in the nude as long as she brought home her rent money. The upside was less fabric to stick to your sweaty skin, the downside was that every exposed part of you sticks to the reclining beach chair you use for sun tanning.

The baby oil you have slathered all over your body has blocked every other summer scent your nose might seek out while you let the sun beat down on you. You already know you won’t last long and begin to think about heading down to the Hawkins Public Pool for a dip, as long as you can scrape together the couple of bucks for entry. A movie was always a possibility, but that would cost you even more of what you don’t have. You’re ready to start digging a whole in the ground to settle into, any relief.

Just as you push your sunglasses to the top of your head, trying to mentally work out your path back into the hell that is your home, you feel a presence behind you. You know who it is, your bikini is his siren call. You also know that he might have a little scratch today, since last weekend was full of grad parties that needed some herbal refreshments provided by Hawkins best boy.

“Whad’ya want, Edward?” It doesn’t even require a turn of your head to know his presence, it’s second nature to recognize him. Every day of your life in the park since the age of 9 has included him, for better or worse. Never a real friend, and never a true enemy, just Ed.

“Booboo, you’re going to give everyone the wrong idea in that thing,” playful and light but tinged with venom, his words are what finally draw your attention. The shorts he’s wearing are an old pair of jeans cut just above the knees, and the shirt an old tee that he hacked the sleeves off of. You two are a match made in white trash heaven.

“Wouldn’t want that, huh?” You flick your sunglasses back down against the bridge of your nose to obscure your wandering eyes, but Eddie makes no attempt to hide his own. “You didn’t answer my question, Edward, what can I help you with?” Your impatient hand twirls in a come-on motion while your hot eyes rake across his exposed biceps traveling down to his boney wrists and big hands.

“I’m bored and I saw my old friend Booboo outside, obviously desperately seeking the attention of someone in the tiniest bikini known to man.” Eddie reaches a hand out to play with the string at the base of your neck where the halter ties before pinching the edge of your sunglasses and tugging them off your face.

“Wow, you’re really hung up on that. You’re lucky I’m wearing anything, it’s so fucking hot today.” No words about it exchanged, but you start to reach back for your glasses while Eddie’s long arm reaches above his head to hold them out of your arm’s length. It’s a natural thing, what you do next. Something you’ve done so many other times you don’t really think about how much older you both are now. How inappropriate it might be. He has something of yours and you want it back. Your quick hand reaches easily into the loose arm hole and find its prize on instinct. Pinch hard and twist.

A swat, a yelp, a leg kicking yours out, and you find yourself wrapped up in Eddie’s much stronger arms. A sudden thought, the fact that you’re wearing nothing more than strings with small patches of fabric covering your most sensitive places, flashes in your mind. It makes your knees want to buckle. A small stumble met with a firmer grip from the boy standing behind you.

“Woah there, you alright?” A strong hand moves to steady your elbow and you sink back into your chair for a moment, and he’s crouching down to take a look at your face. His concern makes you heat up even more, because the face so close to your own is not that of the boy that used to tease you and chase you around. No, this is the face of a young man, and you’ve noticed those changes so much in recent years. Those big brown eyes have remained the same, open and full of shared memories.

It's your chance, so you take it, grabbing the frames from his hand while he’s still searching your face for any sign of distress. You put them on your face again, letting them shield any secrets you might not want him to see.

“Listen, Edward,” you give him a light shove to his shoulder making him wobble a little, “It’s hot, and I’m fine. Unless you have some sort of brilliant plan to turn the heat down, I’m gonna go take my third ice cold shower for the day.”

“Uh,” he’s turning a skeptical eye at the trailer behind you, the one you share with your mother, while you stand again using him as leverage. He stays where he is, his face level with the front of your bikini bottoms. You can see a thought, not unlike the ones you try to hide from him, scuttle across his face, “you guys still don’t even have one unit in that trash compactor you call a trailer?”

A jab and a miss, you know how everyone looks at your place. Even for the park, it’s low living. It’s been a rough go for your mom, and you both make do together. “Sorry, Edward, some of us don’t live in the lap of luxury.”

His laugh, a bark of joy, rings out. He looks like the boy right now, the boisterous laugh turned giggle fit at the absurdity of considering the Munson trailer the “lap of luxury.” He’s on his feet in a flash, suddenly close again, face still beaming.

“How about you spend some time with me in the Munson mansion, eh? Have a little smoke, you can read or watch a movie,” Eddie subconsciously licks at his lips, giving away the thoughts behind the words, “whatever you want, Booboo. I’m not doing shit anyway.”

Whatever you want is what he says. None of it passes your notice, the looks, the lips, the subtle leaning into your space, the hand at your shoulder absentmindedly rubbing your baby oil slicked skin. He probably doesn’t realize he’s doing it, the summer sun boiling his brain right along with yours.

“Yeah, ok.” The gaze between you lingers for another moment until a mosquito lands on his cheek. He doesn’t notice, but you smash it with a slap and laugh at his reaction. You show him the residual bug guts on your palm as explanation, “sorry, didn’t want it to bite you and mess up that pretty face.”

A spin of your heels and a job back to the porch of your own trailer gives Eddie the perfect view of your ass. You make sure to exaggerate the movements of your hips, letting his imagination run off to thoughts of his face between your soft thighs. The way your sweaty skin would taste against his tongue. By the time you’re jogging back towards him with the other half of your jiggling body on display, he’s sporting a semi and wishing the shorts he chose gave him a little more wiggle room.

“Edddddddiiiieee,” you’re pulling an oversized t shirt by the time you reach his side, and you find him a little dazed, “let’s go inside. We can order a pizza later, as long as you don’t kick me out by then.” Your elbow is hooked in his, an old habit from the days of tromping around the woods together when you were kids, as you lead him up the stairs to the sweet relief of the dark and cool Munson trailer.

“Oh, Booboo, you can stay as long as you want.” His admission is a light exhale of breath as he watches your hips sway up the steps in front of him. And you think, you’ll stay for pizza, you’ll stay for a toke, and you’ll stay for whatever else might be on the table.

You had greatly underestimated the effect the cool air would have on your sweat slicked skin. Your mostly bare ass is sat on the carpet of Eddie’s room where a small window air conditioner is clanking out polar air into the room. A sweet and acrid smell hangs in the air, no doubt a leak from the unit, along with stale smoke and dust. Crumbs cling to your skin as you shift your position, and your nipples are pebbled standing out against the layer of swimsuit and cotton.

“Goddamnit, Ed, have you ever heard of a vacuum cleaner?” You brush off what appears to be Cheeto crumbs from the backs of your thighs when a head appears next to your own hanging off the side of the bed. His hair tickles your shoulder where your shirt hangs off, and he’s close. He always gets so close when he talks to you. You can see every individual hair across the pale skin of his cheeks, every freckle scattered across the bridge of his nose.

“Sorry, the maid’s on vacation. Uh –“ he scans your body awkwardly from his current position and clears his throat, “You feeling a little cold, Booboo?” Poniente, the question hangs for a moment until he nods his head to your chest where your body has betrayed you, and you feel your nipples peak even harder at the implication.

You give his head a weak shove as an effort to break the tension he created. He grabs his cheek in mock agony, and you stand letting your shirt drift over his face giving him a prime view for the briefest moment. You think you hear something akin to a snarl from Eddie before you crawl onto the mattress next to him. You grab the crochet blanket that rests off the far edge of the bed and wrap it around yourself.

“Much better now, thank you.” Your painted toes wiggle under the skin of his calves in an attempt to steal their warmth and you find that there’s a chill to his skin too. “You can turn that thing down, can’t you? You’re freezing, Edward.”

“Oh, we’re back to Edward again, hmmm.” He crawls his way up next to you, throwing back his comforter and covering himself. He holds it open in invitation to you, patting the spot next to him. “It only works on high, we can get warm under here if you want.” That tension is back, you both know what comes next, and your heart is thudding in your chest along with a deep and hard pulse in your cunt.

But this is Eddie, your Eddie Spaghetti, and he can’t take the tension either. A quick wiggle of the eyebrows at his obvious attempt to get you close to him, and you giggle and work your way under the big blanket. A reward he deserves for being his goofy self.

“Is this ok?” a quick and quiet whisper against the top of your head while a hand snakes around your center. You nod, not trusting your words at the moment. It’s so natural, the way you shift yourself into him. The way you tuck your nose into his chest and breath in the smell of him – sweat, smoke, old spice – distinctly Eddie. The rough pads of his fingers move along the exposed skin at the top of your hip and you’re feeling bolder, now that you know – this is real and so is he.

“I can’t believe I’m in your bed, Edward. How long have you been planning this, hmm?” Your own hand snuck its way through the wide arm hole of his shirt, and it’s playing with the guitar pick that always hangs at his chest. You let the back of your knuckles brush against his soft skin eliciting a little gasp from him.

“I wish I could say I planned this,” both of his hands find your hips to shift you, make you face him, “I never thought this was a possibility, Booboo.” Every inch, the turn of his face, hot breath on your lips – his eyes stay on yours watching to make sure it’s real for you. You want this too. He sees no hesitation, no concern, no confusion; only your honest to god lustful eyes and pretty lips hanging open in anticipation.

The kiss starts small, lips moving cautiously. Feeling each other with the tender skin, testing the waters until, until, until in unison your tongues enter the silent conversation and permission to move freely is granted. Eagerness quickly overtakes caution, your leg thrown over his sharp hip to pull him into you and press himself against you and your aching need.

Years of sexual tension and childhood crushing explode between your bodies. It’s not soft, the way his teeth bite at your lip, the way your hands scratch at his chest. It’s hungry and needy. You run your fingers through his soft curls and give a tug increasing in strength at the soft whimpering moan he lets go of at the action.

“Off.” Firm words from Eddie and a firm grip at the edge of your shirt, his eyes are black, lips red and kiss bitten. You sit up, and he plays with the folds of your soft stomach while you lift and toss the shirt, adding to a pile of clothes already in the corner of his room. He’s pulling you in again, fingers running against the small string that is the only remaining barrier between Eddie and your bare chest. “This is real cute, ya know? Real fucking cute.” He finds the knot at the back of your neck and expertly unties it with his nimble fingers, freeing you.

An immediate slow down happens as dark eyes wash over your form and fingers softly stroke up and down your torso, barely ghosting touches across your hard peaks. You feel your back lift from the mattress, chasing his touch, but he keeps moving lightly across your skin savoring the moment unbothered by your obvious need.

“Eddie,” the desperation in your voice would be embarrassing if not for the fact that the bottom of your bikini is so drenched with your arousal it’s sticking to your lips. It’s uncomfortable, and his barely there touching has is deepening the ache inside. His eyebrows are knitted together at the sound of your voice. He’s lost in you already, just the sight of you laid out before him in his bed, something he’s wanted since the first morning he woke up surrounded by wet drenched sheets – a memory of a dream that featured you in a yellow sundress you wore so often a few summers ago.

“You really want this with me?” His touch is gaining surety while he waits for your answer, gripping at the soft mound of a breast while you rock your hips against nothing. “How do you want me, my sweet Booboo?” The sound of your nickname on his lips, a name he’s used to playfully ridicule you with for ages, is almost enough to hurtle you over the edge.

“I just want you, Eddie. Anyway, everyway.” Your words are a gasp, his warm and soft mouth take a nipple in your mouth, juxtaposed against the chill that still settles over the other from the overly cold air of the room. His lips suckle and nip at you, and again you find your body is pushing its way closer to Eddie. It’s not possible to play a game, no amount of willpower can hide how much you’ve wanted this. How long you’ve dreamt about him taking what he wants from you. A flitter of a thought, this is a dream, floats in front of you and quickly vanishes as the slight pain of teeth dragging across your sensitive skin bring you right back to the present and obvious reality.

It won’t do, this won’t do. Your hands tug at his shirt and shorts simultaneously. It all needs to go, and you can’t choose what goes first. Your brain is swimming in a lusty haze, but Eddie is still steady in thought.

“Hey,” his hand has a firm grip on your chin, calling you back to him, “you gonna stay with me? Where are you?” His eyes dart back and forth between yours until you’re back and focused on him. “I need you here with me, ok?”

You nod, breathe deep, and with more calm pull at his shirt. It’s gone in a flash, landing on top of yours in the corner. Your hand finds the waist of his shorts, and fiddle with the top button. You keep your eyes on his, staying with him. His mouth opens as the button *pops* and you unhook the teeth of his zipper.

“I’m here, Eddie. I’m right here, and I want you. Did you know that?” It’s his turn to look hazy and unsteady. Your words and your hands working his shorts and boxers off in one movement, leave him speechless. He’s putty in your hands, elbow drops and now he’s laid flat on the mattress while you work your way down his body.

You’re careful with the nipple you badly abused earlier, kissing around the still reddened and slightly purpling skin. Whispered apologies against his body, not just for the pain, but for waiting so long to let this happen. You lick your wet tongue across the black ink scratched across his torse moving closer to your goal.

His beautiful cock stands firm against his abdomen, already leaking in anticipation of your touch, matching your own need. Your bodies slick and ready for each other, begging, please let us do what we’ve been wanting for so long. Your intention is to meet his need with your own as you throw a leg over him, finally letting him feel how much your body wants this.

“Oh my god,” his fingers move to find out for themselves, not trusting the skin of his thigh to tell him, moving the fabric of your swimsuit to the side, and dipping between your lips to feel. “Oh you’re so wet.” His cock twitches in answer to your own drenching arousal. He doesn’t make a move, he waits for you.

Your fingers reach for one of the knots at your hip, free yourself completely from the ruined suit, but his hand stops you. It’s your Eddie in front of you, and he’s shaking his head eyes wide a grin spread across lips that mouth, “keep it on”.

You’re giggling again and kissing him against your laughter. Until he undoes it again with a rock up of his hips, the length of his cock rubbing against your slit and your laugh ends in an obscene groan.

You sit up, eyes narrowed down at the smirking boy as he rocks up again into you. You reach your hand behind you, gripping him and watch his mouth open in a gasp. You don’t need anything more, you’re soaked already. You push the suit aside, and run him against your slit once, twice, three times before you twist your hips up and slowly sink down onto him.

“Oh my god,” an exclamation in unison as your bodies connect. You let yourself take him in completely, fluttering at the full feeling. You can feel him pulsing inside of you, the slightest curve of his tip touching that hard-to-reach spot hiding deep inside of you.

It’s sloppy and unpracticed, but you’re both so drunk on one another it doesn’t matter. The sounds of skin on skin, whines, and moans while you rock into each other. The coarse hair at the base of his cock rubbing against your aching nub send you hurtling towards a powerful orgasm.

“Eddie, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum,” you’re uttering on an inhale, and Eddie is practically crying at the sound of your voice. He’s pulling you down chest to chest, mouth at ear.

“Cum with me, baby, cum with me,” he’s panting against your skin, arms holding you tight against him and a flash of white spreads across your vision. Every part of your body is screaming out for him, and you only vaguely hear the literal scream coming from your mouth as your body tenses and you pulse around him. Every flutter of you around his cock brings his own release pumping deep inside of you, warm and sticky.

You stay with his arms wrapped around you and your pussy wrapped around his cock as you both ride out aftershocks and you slowly come back down to earth, to Hawkins, to this bed in this too cold trailer on the hottest day of the summer of 1986.

You eventually lift your hips enough to release him, letting his softened length rest against his thigh, but you stay in his embrace. He pulls the comforter, lost at some point while your connected bodies sought out pleasure, over your shoulders. His mouth is still close to your ear, and he’s humming in satisfaction. Neither of you care about the sticky and cooling mess between your bodies.

When you rouse, you find Eddie sitting in a folding chair, fingers moving against the strings of his acoustic guitar in silent and careful movements. You don’t move, watching the tendons of his fingers move, his lips singing a barely whispered tune. You think that maybe the summer’s not so bad, maybe the trailer park is actually the only place you’ve ever wanted to be. No where else has this perfect view.

#eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff

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munson-blurbs · 1 year

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Just a lil Eddie breeding kink blurb for your reading pleasure. You can thank @jo-harrington @myosotisa @blueywrites @dearest-readers @trashmouth-richie @big-ope-vibes @word-wytch @ghost-proofbaby @abibliophobiaa for encouraging this pile of filth.

“C’mon, baby,” Eddie groans in your ear, feeling your warm walls clench around him. “You’re so close; I can feel it. Jus’ tell me what y’need.”

It’s hard to formulate a thought with his hard cock thrusting into you, the spongy tip grazing your sweet spot over and over. “Please, Eds,” you manage, but it’s not enough for him.

“Please what? I thought you were smart, but just a few minutes of getting fucked, and that pretty little head is empty, huh?” he hisses, grabbing the plush of your thighs as he rocks into you faster. “Good girls use their words. What. Do. You. Need?”

“Fuck—need you to fill me up,” you breathe, digging your fingernails into his shoulder. “Need you to fuck a baby into me.”

Eddie pouts mockingly. “Aww, poor thing wants everyone to know who she belongs to. Wants this shithole town knowing that Eddie Munson knocked her up, put a baby in that cute little belly. Tits nice an’ full because I fucked you raw.”

“Yes—yes, Eddie!” You come undone and he follows, continuing to rut into you even as he softens.

“’S gonna take, I know it,” he mumbles before finally withdrawing.

You sit up, watching him as he carefully stuffs his load back into you, fingers plunging into your already overstimulated pussy. You moan at his touch, and he chuckles at how easily you fall apart for him.

“Y’good, baby?” he whispers.

“S’good, Eds.”

“Good.” He nods and gives a sly grin to the man on the bed next to him whose fist furiously pumps his own erection. “I think mine took, but fuck her real full, just in case, Harrington.”

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #steddie x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington smut #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #fanfic

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carolmunson · 2 months

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the boy is mine | a writing exercise

excuse me, can i please talk to you for a minute? do you know somebody named...y-you know his name. oh yeah, definitely, i know his name. well, i just want to let you know that he's mine. no, no, he's mine.

hi, this is carol and i wanted to create a fun blurb writing exercise a la @superblysubpar and @chechelia considering the current state of the eddie munson x reader fandom. i, personally, can barely stand the seemingly never ending infighting between writers and groups on here. whether it be writing style or characterization, it seems everyone sort of has a problem with everyone. (not me tho, i truly am vibing). in the words of monica and brandy 'you need to give it up, had about enough'. -- so instead of leaving, i wanted to try something fun, fresh, and cute to bring us together. we all have our own eddie munson head cannons that we hold near and dear to our hearts. but i think that's part of what's fun about fandom, there's a little something for everyone. so this exercise is a way for us to all be on the same playing field -- same prompt/dialogues we have to use. only written how your personally HC eddie, our og guy (no au versions pls). i loved how this manifested on cece's old blog because it was so fun to see what people came up with. below is the dialogue and prompt as well as the best way to participate. yes, if you are a steve girl you can participate lol. if you are someone who has me blocked and/or vice versa and would like to participate, please send your link to a friend so i can add it in an upcoming masterlist.

the scene: a romantic night in at the trailer. props included/mentioned (in passing or can hold bigger meaning): a throw pillow, vanilla frosting, a small notebook. dialogue included (can be manipulated slightly if needed, can be placed in any order): - "i ran out of like, nice cups, is this okay?" - "aw, don't be like that. that's not even true." - "and you like that?" - "if you don't stop, we're gonna have a problem." these don't have to be sexy. they don't have to lead to anything. it's just a romantic night in -- and it can end in anything. angst, fluff, smut, alien invasion. who cares! i just wanna see how you'd write in your world with YOUR eddie. so we can see all of our eddies!

to participate, please write a blurb or ficlet titled 'the boy is mine (____'s edition)' and tag me so that i can add you to the upcoming masterlist. share each other's ficlets. enjoy how they differ and how they are the same. what do we all think is true? what do we differ on? i think this could be really cool.

here's a list of people i'm tagging from different 'x reader' groups to spread the word -- but everyone feel free to do it, please! share with your friends, encourage your friends to do it too: @loveshotzz @chechelia @abibliophobiaa @aphrogeneias @jo-harrington @bewilderedbunny @impmunson @queenimmadolla @oneforthemunny @superblysubpar @sweetsweetjellybean @rebelfell @crappymixtape @lesservillain @courtingchaos @bettyfrommars @somnambulic-thing @bimbobaggins69 @blueywrites @lonelysatellites @wroteclassicaly @wheels-of-despair @rip-quizilla @upsidedownwithsteve @powderblueblood

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fanfiction

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rip-quizilla · 5 months

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Impossible to Hate You ~ Part 5

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!Reader

Summary: Everything is falling- leaves from the trees, rain from the sky, you for Eddie, and Eddie for you.

Word Count: 10.1 K

A/N: Big thanks to @the-unforgivenn (happy birthday❤️) for all of the help you gave me on this chapter, and honestly this whole fic in general. You've been an invaluable part of the writing process of this story, and the fact that you care so much about Eddie & Ace just makes me feel so loved... you don't even know. Ily wifey✨

Thank you @vintagehellfire for your priceless tattoo knowledge- I hope I did you proud!!

Also thanks to @blueywrites for helping me decide on what Eddie would tattoo on reader back in our Tumblr DMs in June😂 y'all that's how long I've had this scene in my brain. This part of the story has been a long time coming.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Part 5

Fall, 1983

“Rick, are you serious, man?”

“Dead serious, I’ll sell it to you for twenty.”

You caught the tail end of their conversation as you approached the red plastic picnic table in Forest Hills trailer park. Today was the first day of fall, and while it may not have felt like biting cold and crunchy leaves yet, it did feel like flannels tied around waists and long-dead grass that broke beneath the soles of your shoes. You hopped up onto the surface of the table, swinging your feet around to rest beside Eddie where he sat on the bench.

“Sell what?” you asked, producing three cans of Coke from your bag that you’d brought from home and handing one to each of the boys. Rick had grown accustomed to your presence since the spring, so he actually cracked a smile when he answered your question and nodded in thanks as he accepted the can.

“Munson wants to buy my old tattoo gun.”

Your jaw dropped. “Wait, seriously?” you asked Eddie.

He didn’t take his eyes off Rick. “And I’m wondering what the catch is if you’re selling it to me for so cheap.”

You cracked open your can of soda with a hiss, joining Eddie in his Rick stare-down. “Hmm,” you mused, “I bet he forgot to clean it and it’s staph-infested.”

“Nope,” Rick popped the ‘p’ after taking a swig from his shiny red can. “Never been used, so I can guarantee it’s staph-free. Always meant to use it, but after that brush with the cops I had last month, I don’t want to risk having it.”

You narrowed your eyes at Eddie, trying to discern whether or not he’d thought about the fact that if he bought it, then he would be in possession of paraphernalia for illegal Indiana activities.

Then again, you knew he smoked weed and that was most definitely against the law as well, and he hadn’t been caught yet. You trusted him not to be stupid enough to get arrested.

You turned your line of questioning on Eddie. “Why on earth do you need a tattoo gun anyway?”

“Well you see, Ace-” Eddie lifted one of your feet up from the bench, straightening your leg and presenting your right shoe- your white converse, half covered in mythical creatures and random doodles that Eddie had slowly been adding to with his fine-tipped Sharpie ever since you’d bought them in early August. “-it seems that I need a canvas for my art, and it won’t be long before I run out of shoe.”

You quirked an eyebrow. “So now people are the canvas?”

Eddie held up his arms, bare skin nearly translucent in the afternoon sun. His nearly-too-small Iron Maiden tee showcased just how much bare skin he had to spare along the contours of his limbs. “If by people you mean me, then yeah.”

“You’re going to tattoo yourself?”

“Yep!”

“Without practicing on someone else first?”

Eddie smirked, “You volunteering?”

You rolled your eyes, but for some odd reason the idea stuck. You decided to play along.

“Let’s say I am, what would the tattoo be?”

Eddie hadn’t anticipated this answer. He was so surprised, in fact, that he choked on the soda that he’d just sipped into his mouth before your question. In a cacophony of coughs and wheezes, Eddie managed to regain his composure as you smiled wryly, feeling as though you’d bested him somehow in some small way. To fluster him with something as small as this, something he hadn’t expected.

“You’re serious? You want a tattoo?” Eddie responded skeptically, before turning away from you to fiddle with his soda can still held in his hands.

You shrugged, as if he were asking if you wanted a pizza, not a permanent brand inked on your skin. “Why not? I think I’d look pretty badass with a tattoo.”

You weren’t sure what was making you feel so bold today, but you had a feeling it might be related to the thought of Eddie covered in ink that wound up and down his skin that was making you ache to touch it when it was still naked and peach-pale. You scooched a couple inches down the tabletop to the left, placing your seat directly behind Eddie’s neck.

Then, in a stroke of something between bravery, stupidity, and need, you carefully slung your legs over Eddie’s shoulders so that they sat in the bends of your knees.

It was a simple gesture- familiar, even. You made a point to lean back a little, bracing your hands behind you on the tabletop so that the apex of your thighs stayed a good distance from the back of Eddie’s neck. You felt Eddie’s shoulders stiffen, each muscle under your jeans tensing for a moment before relaxing into the closeness.

Then Eddie brought his hands to your ankles, his fingertips brushing the spare skin between your high tops and the cuffs of your jeans. The pads of his thumbs barely caressed the skin but they felt like a kiss- a thing coveted and then forbidden, then coveted even more.

His touch drifted over your legs, warm hands coming to rest over your shins and squeeze, heating the denim that separated his skin from yours. You were holding your breath. You’d been so confident a second ago yet here he was, knocking the very air from your lungs.

You waited anxiously for him to say something; if he didn’t you were sure you were going to do something stupid. Something that would involve more of his skin on your skin.

“Would you want this tattoo of yours to show?” Eddie asked at last, breaking the silence between the two of you- well, the three of you. Rick was still there, taking in the sight before him with a smirk on his face.

“Not easily, my parents would kill me.” you said, ensuring that your tone of voice was nonchalant, casual. “But I don’t see the harm in something small that I could hide.”

Eddie tilted his head back and up, earthen eyes flicking up to yours. “What happened to ‘looking badass’?”

You pursed your lips as you leaned forward, bringing your faces to hover parallel over each other. “You’re saying that taking my pants off to reveal a surprise tatty isn’t badass?”

You watched as Eddie’s eyes flashed darker for a split second- nearly imperceptibly so- before his lips stretched sinfully into a mischievous grin. “Oh, under the pants then, huh?”

His hands traced higher, ghosting on your knees and burning his fingerprints through your jeans.

“Easy to hide,” you said, struggling to keep your voice even. “It’s a practical placement.”

Eddie’s thumbs stroked absentminded circles into the flesh of your lower thighs, tight denim puckering with the motion. “Practical placement…” he murmured, low enough that it sounded like he hadn’t even meant to say it out loud.

“You could put it on your hip.”

Both of your heads whipped around to focus on Rick, who was grinning at both of you like he’d just discovered a fun new game to play. He shrugged, hopping up to sit beside you on the tabletop. “You want it to be hidden all of the time, right?” he leaned to shove you congenially with his shoulder. “When’s a good girl like you gonna be showing off some hip? I bet the only one who’ll see that will already be married to you when he lays eyes on-”

“Hey!” you interjected. “You act like I’m some prude, I’m not a nun.” Rolling your eyes, you looked back down at Eddie hoping to meet his gaze and laugh together over how ridiculous Rick was being. However, you looked down only to find Eddie’s chocolate browns trained on Rick with wide-eyed warning. A silent message was clearly being exchanged, but it wasn’t for you.

Rick was smiling smugly down at Eddie, unbeknownst to you, and Eddie was getting the message loud and clear:

It’s time to raise the stakes, kid.

“Perfect!” Rick chirped, smug eyes still trained on Eddie’s. “So you wouldn’t mind letting Eddie use your hip as his, uh… canvas, then?”

If Eddie’s looks could kill, Rick would be a dead man.

“Yeah.” you choked out, refusing to give yourself time to chicken out of what you’d gotten yourself into. “Yeah, why not?”

***

Rainy days in autumn just felt right.

Sure, you were in Latin class. Sure, you were supposed to be working on a packet the substitute teacher had just passed out. However, it was raining outside. The sub was easygoing enough that she hadn’t made a move to stop Eddie from doodling on your shoe that was perched comfortably on the crook of his hip.

You sat behind him in every class you had together- there were four of them this year- and Eddie had gotten into the habit of reaching back to tap you on the leg whenever he knew he was losing focus. Every time he tapped, you would carefully stretch your leg forward until his hand caught on your ankle, lifting it up until it rested on his lap. His sharpie would go to work on whatever blank spots he could still find on your white converse, and the mindless activity of his drawing would keep his mind awake enough to listen as teachers droned on and on.

The change in Eddie wasn’t lost on his teachers- they had all noticed the impact that your company seemed to have on him, and it was the only reason why they hadn’t had any issues with your constant companionship. When you were around, Eddie actually paid attention in his classes and turned in work- that was good enough for them.

The silence of the classroom and the soundtrack of rainfall beating against the roof and windows had created the perfect work zone for you, and your focus on your classwork was only interrupted when you noticed a folded piece of torn notebook paper on the edge of your desk.

Smirking as you felt Eddie continue doodling on your shoe, you unfolded the paper and read the slanted scrawl that you’d come to recognize instantly as Eddie’s handwriting.

Were you serious about the tattoo thing? It’s OK if you’re not.

Your cheeks heated, contemplating whether you were still serious about it or not. The only fears you had about it were completely logical- Eddie had literally no clue what he was doing. Yours would only be his second tattoo after his own. Worst case scenario, the tattoo would get infected and you go to the hospital. Eddie gets arrested for tattooing without a medical license. Best case scenario… you get to sit there while he grips your naked thigh for as long as it takes to leave a permanent reminder of him on your hip.

You blinked a couple of times, letting that mental image wash over you, before confidently penning your answer beneath his message.

I’m serious.

Folding the scrap of paper and handing it back to him, you felt his Sharpie leave your shoe as he took the note and read it. You watched him register the two words, glance back at you through the loose strands of hair that hung over his shoulder, then smile softly into a shake of his head. A second later, he was handing the note back to you.

If you say so, Ace. What am I tattooing, and where?

You had to think about it for a moment before passing back your answer

Hip is fine. What are you gonna do? We could match.

Eddie’s reply came faster than you’d ever seen him write any of his notes in class, that’s for damn sure.

You want matching tattoos?? Are you sure?

Your heart began to race. Was that bad? Was he judging you for wanting to match him? Maybe you were being too clingy, trying too hard… you glanced down at his jacket, which was wrapped around you almost every day at this point- it was practically a second skin. His handwriting was all over your shoes. You stared at your fingers, scarlet polish chipping from the tips of your nails, and you remembered that you’d chosen red solely because he’d mentioned it was his favorite color.

Were you coming across as desperate? Were you weirding him out? Maybe you needed to dial it back-

A new piece of paper slid across your desk, Eddie’s eyes glancing your way with nothing but warmth in his gaze before he returned his attention to your shoe on his lap.

I’m fine with it if you are.

Putting bats on my forearm.

You released a breath that you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, giving ways for butterflies to take flight inside your chest. You grinned, jotting down your reply beneath his writing.

I’m more than fine with it.

Could you do just one little bat on my hip?

Eddie took a little longer this time with his response, and you understood why once you saw the adorably small silhouette of a bat penned in black on the paper he’d passed back to you.

You leaned forward, letting your chin nearly brush the fabric of his denim jacket as you whispered low enough that the substitute teacher wouldn’t hear.

“It’s perfect.”

A snicker from the other side of the classroom caught your ear. Eddie and you both turned to see a cluster of letter-jacketed assholes staring at the two of you, whispering and laughing with each other.

You knew deep down that you didn’t care what they thought. You knew that you should just keep your head down. Ignore them.

But then you caught the tail end of one of their sentences.

“...fucking freaks.”

Two things happened simultaneously: your eyebrows jumped, and Eddie’s stomach dropped.

The ringing of the bell was all you needed to angrily shove your belongings into your backpack and march over to the other side of the classroom, stopping the jocks in their tracks. Eddie was right behind you, tugging you back by the crook of your elbow as you steadily ignored his pleas to sit down and ignore them, they aren’t worth it.

“You want to repeat what you were saying over there, Alan?” You stared up at the freckled boy, his harsh features sneering down at you from where he stood nearly half a foot taller than you. His height did nothing to deter you, however. Neither did Eddie’s death grip on your arm.

Alan snorted, raising an eyebrow at the sight of the two of you before him. His eyes flicked over you, appraising for about two seconds before directing his attention to Eddie behind you. “You letting your girl pick your fights for you now, Munson?”

Eddie didn’t have a chance to respond; you didn’t give him one. ��Don’t look at him.” you stepped forward, bringing you mere inches from the freckled football star. “I asked you a question.”

Alan and his cronies laughed, apparently amused by the show of dominance you were trying to make. You opened your mouth to berate him further, but the sharp tug on your arm from Eddie was strong enough this time to jerk you away from them and toward the door of the classroom.

“Wh- Eddie, quit it!” you tried to shake off his grip but it wasn’t going to budge; Eddie marched you out the door and down the hallway like a man on a mission.

“Yeah, Eddie, quit it!” You both could hear Alan’s patronizing whine from the classroom, his voice thrown into a reedy falsetto that made your blood boil. His voice trailed off, melting into the nasal snickers of his friends.

Eddie didn’t let go of your arm until the two of you reached his locker, at which point he finally looked you in the eye- and his stare embodied an intensity that you hadn’t seen from him ever before. You’d seen him intense, of course… just not like this.

This looked like fear.

“What the fuck was that for?” Eddie bit out, his teeth clenched and eyes wide.

You crossed your arms, suddenly defensive. Had you messed up, somehow? “I… I mean, they were calling us names, I wasn’t going to just sit there.”

“Alan’s an illiterate asshole, you don’t need to explain yourself to him.”

“I know I don’t need to, but…” You chuckled humorlessly, that familiar vengeful feeling from moments ago beginning to bubble back up. “You know what, no. I do need to. I’m not the kind of person who can just sit there while jerks like him run around slandering good people, it’s wrong!”

Eddie huffed, his hands on his hips as he glanced around and shook his head. “Slandering, huh? That’s a big word, Ace. What’s that, the college word of the day?” You raised an eyebrow, watching him closely and curiously.

He was fidgeting nonstop, repeatedly picking up his feet and replacing them on the floor only an inch or so away from where they’d been before. His eyes darted in every direction, as if scanning for potential threats so that he could run from them before they decided to pounce.

“Eddie, why are you so afraid of those guys?”

Big brown eyes widened to saucers, refocusing on you. “This isn’t fear, Ace, it’s just common sense.” Eddie checked over his shoulder to ensure the jocks were gone, then took a step closer. He leaned his shoulder against the locker, lifting his opposite arm to gently place his hand on your upper arm. You shivered, feeling his thumb trace small circles through his own black leather. Maybe that’s why he’s so scared all of a sudden, you pondered, leaning closer to Eddie. He’s given me his armor.

You lowered your voice, sympathetic to Eddie’s plight. “You know I wouldn’t let them hurt you, Eds.” Looking up into his eyes, you expected to see them soften, gratitude coating his gaze. Instead, they widened and crinkled slightly at the edges. Eddie huffed out a gaudy laugh, incredulous at your admission.

“Hurt me?” he shook his head, stunned, and began to rifle through his locker for the books he needed for next class. “Ace, I just don’t want them to hurt you!”

You balked. “Me?” an eyebrow raised, you crossed your arms over your chest, defensive once again. “You really think they’d hit a girl? They’re jerks but I don’t think they’d go that far-”

“Nah, they’ll only sick their girlfriends on you.” Eddie punctuated his sentence with a slam of his locker door. “Purebred harpies with matching scrunchies who’ll make your life a living hell and then pretend that you’re the crazy one.”

It was a struggle to keep up with him at the rate he was walking, strides each a yard wide as he tugged you along by your hand.

Your hand. Eddie Munson was holding your hand.

“You, uh… you speaking from experience?” You stuttered over your words, cheeks heating at the sudden skin-to-skin contact. He had just admitted that he didn’t want to see you get hurt- his blatant protectiveness of you coupled with the way he was decisively dragging you by the hand to your locker right now was nearly too much for you to handle.

“Trust me,” Eddie sighed, swinging you around as he reached your locker and (to your dismay) letting go of your hand. “You get asked out on a dare enough times, you figure out how their coven operates.”

Eddie wasn’t meeting your eyes. You had to actually place your hand on his shoulder to capture his gaze. “Eddie,” you said, making a conscious effort to keep your voice steady and be something stable for him to feel at least a little grounded on. “Deep breath.”

Surprisingly, he did as you said. Eddie closed his eyes, inhaling deep and allowing his lungs to fill long enough that his chest expanded before his exhale blew softly on your cheeks. It smelled like the apple you’d brought for him at lunch.

When you were once again treated to that warm hazelnut gaze, your hand acted without thinking and flew up to gently rest against his jawline. You were crossing some invisible line- you knew that- but the light in the hallway was causing shadows to take up residence in the dusting of whiskers that decorated the sharp incline that led to his chin. Your fingertips brushed his skin reverently, and he seemed frozen. Eddie didn’t dare move; you were like a butterfly that had deigned to land on him of all people, and damn it all if he was going to fuck it up and scare you off.

“I’ve got you, you’ve got me… right?” Your voice was barely loud enough to be heard through the noise of bustling students. “We look out for each other, Eddie, we’re stronger together.”

Eddie remained still under your caress, wishing he could focus on your touch. Wishing he could rip his eyes away from where they were trained behind you- held in terrified contact with a sadistic-looking Alan who stood with his cherry-lipsticked girlfriend across the hallway. Alan’s lips were curled into a sneer, watching as the thing that Eddie wanted most became his worst nightmare.

You were openly touching him, while wearing his clothes, standing in shoes covered with his drawings- and Eddie watched in horror as the harpy pushed up on her tiptoes to whisper something in Alan’s ear before both of them refocused not on Eddie, but on you.

They laughed like fucking heyenas, eyeing their next meal.

It took every ounce of self control Eddie had, but he gently took your hand in his and lowered it from his cheek. He ignored the way your eyes gazed up at him the same way a scorned puppy begged for some kind of affection, any confirmation that they are, indeed, loved.

“It’s the together part I’m worried about, Ace.” Eddie whispered, keeping his voice low.

You were quiet, which Eddie hated because it was his fault.

“Oh, and um-” Eddie raised his shoulders and shivered, rubbing his hands along his upper arms to warm himself with the friction. “-it’s a little chilly today… you mind if I wear the jacket?” His hand drifted down to the flannel that hung loosely tied around your waist, taking a corner of the material and feeling it between the pads of his thumb and forefinger.

“This’ll keep you warm, yeah?”

You stared blankly for a moment, stunned. You had nearly forgotten that the jacket was his to take. You’d assumed he liked that you always wore his jacket, but… perhaps you’d made that up. You were eager for him to want things like that, after all… ‘more than friends’ kinds of things. However, asking for a borrowed item to be returned was completely normal for friends. You chided yourself for reading too much into it and smiled warmly up at him.

“Yeah! Of course!” you sprung into action, setting your backpack down on the floor as you began to shrug off the jacket. “You’re right it’s frigid in here today.”

You handed the jacket to Eddie, who donned it with a thin-lipped smile. Parting ways for your next class, you departed in opposite directions down the hallway.

Upon arriving in your calculus class, you glanced out the window eager to zone out as you watched the rain, only to be greeted by a gray sky drained of its water. The rain’s reprieve left nothing in its wake but a tired sun, soft mist that obscured all surety, and packed Indiana dirt softened to mud too loose for one to find their footing.

The sort of mud that, should you try to walk through it, you’d be destined to slip and fall.

***

When Eddie thought of Halloween, he thought of blood and sugar.

It was a strange contradiction, the way that Halloween’s association with horror and gore had balanced itself out with candy corn and fun-sized Snickers bars, and yet the juxtaposition of the two brought a smile to his face. The combination of sweet and terrifying embodied the holiday perfectly. On Halloween, there was no need for any kind of steely exterior that might protect him from judgment. No need to hide the way he really feels behind the scary metalhead armor he’d so carefully curated as a defense mechanism.

On Halloween, he wasn’t just allowed to be a freak. He was celebrated for it.

On Halloween, he could just be.

It was the reason why Halloween just so happened to be the day he’d had enough courage to look through your bedroom window exactly four years ago. It’s the day when Hell meets Heaven to make something sweet, and anything can happen.

Anything- including matching tattoos on the floor of his trailer.

Everything was ready- Eddie had laid out sheets of newspaper to cover what he’d deemed the tattoo zone, and broken down a cardboard box to act as a stable surface on the soft carpet of his bedroom floor. Eddie had scrutinized every instruction he’d been able to wrench from Rick for how to work the tattoo machine. Grips, needles, fucking rubber bands that were apparently very necessary… he’d made sure he had it all. He’d even practiced on an orange that he’d swiped from the kitchen counter.

A thick black cable now snaked across his carpeted floor, connecting the machine to a pedal, the pedal to a power supply, and the power supply to the yellowed plastic outlet on his wall. Beside the machine sat a stack of paper towels and all sorts of other shit Rick had advised him to make sure he used. He was lucky that Rick had bought a bottle of black ink- Eddie wouldn’t have known where to seek out medical-grade ink in a state where it was illegal to ink your skin without a license.

Your knock at his door made Eddie jump; he wasn’t sure why he was so nervous. It would be easy to write his nerves off as adrenaline before his first tattoo, but who was he kidding- it was you. You’d gone from someone who made him nervous to someone who made him nervous for different reasons, and all of this was very inconvenient for Eddie.

“Trick or Treat,” You’d chirped when he opened the door, and it was at that moment Eddie realized that this night may very well be the death of him.

You wore your favorite baggy sweater over a tight black tank top, which you’d tucked into some high waisted acid washed jeans. Unsurprisingly, the chucks on which he’d scribbled his claim were fastened securely on your feet. In your hands was a variety pack of halloween candies and a shopping bag from the local drugstore. Everything about you radiated warmth, and Eddie had to fight the urge to change tonight’s itinerary to movies and a blanket fort and spend the whole evening on the couch with you, surrounded by candy wrappers and the light of his television set.

“I brought antibacterial soap,” you said, bringing Eddie back to reality. You rifled through your shopping bag to show him your spoils as you stepped through the threshold and into his trailer. “-large bandages, and a little travel first aid kit just in case. Oh, and I did a little bit of reading at the library and I couldn’t find much on tattoos, but the one commonality between every book and article I could find said to make sure you wash the wound often and disinfect everything-”

“Ace,” Eddie interrupted, taking the bag from you and closing the front door. The corner of his mouth quirked up, keeping an amused chuckle at bay. “You went to the library to read about how to safely care for an illegal tattoo?” Your expression soured, shifting to a half-scowl, half-pout.

“Well one of us has got to do it,” you huffed, grabbing the bag and marching towards Eddie’s room. “And I know you wouldn’t set foot in the library unless you were forced.” You continued to yell at him from his room, “You’ll thank me when your kitchen-scratched tattoo doesn’t get infected, and you get to grow old with all of your limbs intact!”

Eddie stayed glued to his spot as his smirk grew into a goofy grin. You were fucking adorable.

You hadn’t argued when Eddie insisted that he start with his own tattoo- before he got started on permanently marking your skin, he wanted to be sure that he at least had gotten the hang of it first. He immediately started getting to work with his trusty fine-tipped Sharpie, sketching out a scattering of bats on his forearm and glancing every once in a while at his notebook for reference. You’d flipped through that notebook on several occasions when the two of you had sat idle during classes or study sessions. The drawings were always sprawling, sharp and gruesome in a way that wasn’t so much scary as it was fascinating to you.

You laid stomach-down on his mattress, positioned behind where he sat on the floor, his back leaned up against the bed frame and close enough that you could probably reach down and play with his hair if you were bold enough. You didn’t- no matter how tempting it was, you didn’t want to risk anything that might mess up his focus. You settled for watching Eddie’s reflection in the mirror that sat leaned up against the wall in front of him.

When the Sharpie stencil had dried and Eddie picked up the tattoo machine, you couldn’t deny the nervous uptake in your heart rate. You watched him gingerly begin the process of permanently inking his drawing into his skin, and before the needle touched skin, Eddie looked over his shoulder at you and winked, whispering a surprisingly shaky “Point of no return.” Before you could ask if he was having second thoughts, he was already outlining the first bat, his socked foot pressing decisively on the pedal that whirred his machine to life.

Minutes ticked by before you uttered a soft “Does it hurt?” to break the awkward silence. Normally, Eddie had some sort of music playing, Metallica or WASP or something along those lines spinning on his cheap old turntable- but tonight there was nothing but the electric buzz that filled the small bedroom, and it was starting to make you antsy.

Eddie huffed, and it was as much of a laugh as he could afford while holding still. “Well, Ace, it’s a needle sticking in and out of my arm repeatedly, so if I’m being honest it ain’t exactly sunshine and rainbows.” You watched him wince as he moved on from outlining the first bat and started on the second.

“Does it at least make you feel a little badass?” You watched his reflection in the mirror glance up through the curtain of his hair and raise an eyebrow at you.

“That depends,” He said, “do I look badass?”

“A little.” You teased. “You’ll look more badass when the tattoo is finished.”

That earned you a snort from him. “What, fifty percent of a tattoo doesn’t cut it?” His reflection flashed you a genuine smile, that lopsided grin affecting you the way it always does, spiking your body temp and rushing the thump of your heart.

“Nope. Though, if your intention is to tell the world that you have commitment issues-”

“I do not have commitment issues-”

“Then what kind of issues do you have?”

Eddie parted the needle from his skin, taking a moment to glance wryly over his shoulder in your direction.

“You.” It was punctuated by a tongue that peeked out from between his lips. You followed suit, shoulders shaking as you chuckled.

Silence threatened to fall for a moment then, but Eddie put a stop to that. “Keep talking.”

“Huh?”

His voice was quiet, muttered like he was biting the inside of his cheek as he spoke. “Hurts less when we’re talking.”

You smiled, watching as he avoided your eye contact in the mirror, focusing on his arm as a subtle blush began to creep onto his cheeks. Tempting as it was to tease, you opted for a more neutral topic.

“Which is better, sour candy or chocolate?”

You could barely see his eyebrows furrow behind his curtain of curls as he considered your question. “Chocolate.”

“You’re crazy.”

He barked out a laugh. “After all the ridiculous shit I’ve said, that’s what crosses the line for you?”

You shook your head, amping up your reaction for his benefit; he was laughing, and it was music to your ears. You were greedy for more of it.

“Sour candy is a whole experience, chocolate is just sweet! That’s all it has going for it!”

Eddie gawked but kept his eyes trained on his skin. “What do you have against sweets?”

You rolled your eyes, flopping from your stomach to your back and staring up at the water stain on Eddie’s ceiling. “I haven’t got anything against sweets… I just like a little tart to go with it. Oh hang on, that reminds me-”

You stuck your hand into the plastic bag you’d brought with you, producing a variety pack of cheap Halloween candies. “Do you normally get trick-or-treaters? I thought we could pour these into a bowl and set it out on the porch- you know, so we don’t have to keep answering the door.”

Eddie Shook his head. “Nah, not a lot of kids who live here. Those who do always high-tail it to the neighborhoods where the good shit is, like-”

“Loch Nora?” you finished, smirking.

Nodding his approval, Eddie echoed, “Loch Nora.”

“Well in that case,” you yanked open the bag of candy so hard that a few individually wrapped pieces were flung onto the bedspread as well as the floor below. “I guess we’ll have to eat all of this ourselves.”

Eddie paused his tattooing to glance at a fun-sized packet of sour gummy worms that had landed on the carpet beside him. “Gummy worms?” he asked.

You flicked the back of his head while the needle was off his skin. “Uh, yeah, they’re delicious.”

“Did you at least get candy corn?”

You gagged. “Candy corn?!”

The two of you passed the next hour like that, debating about various arbitrary topics and inevitably disagreeing on almost all of them. There were only three things that you both agreed on without any debate whatsoever: Santa Claus was the superior holiday mascot, Joan Jett could easily beat Cyndi Lauper in a fight, and The Empire Strikes Back was way better than A New Hope.

When Eddie was finally finished with his tattoo, you were off the bed in an instant and already reaching for the antibacterial soap.

“You should wash it under some warm water first before anything gross has a chance to get in there-”

“Hey hey hey, whoa hold on!” Eddie was laughing, eyes wide as he smiled at you. Your hand was already encircled around his wrist, tugging his arm (and the person attached to it) toward the bathroom. “Ace, you haven’t even looked at it yet, c’mon you’re bruising the artist’s ego here.”

You sighed but couldn’t hide the rueful grin that danced on your pursed lips. Softening your vice like grip on his wrist, you shifted your hands to cradle his forearm and survey the last hour’s work.

“It looks good, Eddie… really good, actually.” You absently swiped a thumb over the soft skin of his wrist. “If you’d told me it was professionally done, I’d totally believe you.”

“Yeah?” He looked up from where your thumb stroked the base of his forearm, eyes shining.

“Yeah,” you smirked. “Of course, I’d tell you to try and get your money back, but-”

“Oh shove it up your ass, Sweet Tart.” The playful shoulder-check had you letting go of his arm, but both of your faces were painted with ear-to-ear smiles.

Eddie washed his new tattoo in the bathroom sink, admiring the way the bats stretched and shifted with every flex of his forearm. Your mouth hurt, as did the muscles in your cheeks; you couldn’t stop smiling. He was so happy with his work, and you had to admit that he had actually done a really good job with that tattoo machine.

“We’ve got to get you out of Indiana, Munson,” you murmured to the mirror where he continued to scrutinize his work from every angle. “I think you may have just found your calling.”

His eyes were wide and shining with pride as they glanced your way. “You think?”

You nodded, that saccharine smile stubbornly staying put on your lips. To be fair, you didn’t fight it.

“You’re coming with me, then.” Eddie replied, his own smile glowing in the dying light above the bathroom mirror.

There it was- that familiar fire beneath the skin of your cheeks.

“Oh I am, huh?”

“Hell yeah.” Eddie braced his arm on the doorway, leaning over you until your faces were mere inches apart. “We’re stronger together, remember?”

Breathe. Breathe… Why can’t you breathe?

You’d barely managed a nod before Eddie was ducking around you through the doorway, grabbing your hand, and leading you back to his room.

“Your turn, Ace.”

Oh yeah, you were also getting a tattoo today. You’d almost forgotten. Were you nervous? You weren’t sure. Actually, yes, you were very nervous- not so much about the tattoo as you were for where the tattoo would be.

In minutes, you were both sitting on Eddie’s bedroom floor- Eddie readying everything he needed for your new ink, and you sitting eerily still as your soul started to feel like it might leave your body.

“Ace,”

Eyes refocusing, you blinked a few times. “Yeah?”

Eddie’s expression was calm, sympathetic to the inward freak-out he had a feeling you were on the verge of. “We don’t have to do this, you know. I wouldn’t hold it against you.”

You tried to laugh, but it came out sounding a little more strained than you had intended. “Hah…you saying I have commitment issues?”

The corner of his mouth quirked up, but Eddie’s eyebrows stayed knitted together above his big brown eyes. “No,” he murmured. His voice was soft, as if he were speaking to a stray animal and trying not to spook it. “I guess I’m just… trying to give you an out, so you don’t feel pressured or anything.”

You shook your head, “I don’t want an out.”

Eddie blinked, “No?”

“No.”

There was a second of silence between the two of you before you both took in a collective breath, exhaling simultaneously and giggling when you both realized that you were breathing in sync. Perfect harmony; sour and sweet, nervous but willing.

“You, uh…” Eddie stammered, his eyes flicking down to your lap and back up to your face. “...you still want it on your hip?”

Your heart rate doubled.

“Um, yeah.” you awkwardly shifted your weight onto your knees, grabbing hold of your waistband and unbuttoning your shorts. You shimmied them over your hips, revealing the rest of your leotard- leotard, Eddie realized. Not a tank top. You were wearing a black leotard. It was almost like the kind that he’d seen ballerinas wear, except it cut so high on your hips that he was sure it wouldn’t be allowed in any of the dance studios he could think of, and….yep. YEP, it was practically a thong. Your ass was out. You were sitting on the floor of his bedroom with your ass out.

Chill out, Munson! He screamed inwardly at himself, Chill the fuck out!

Of course, you couldn’t tell that there was a war going on between Eddie’s ability to function and the short-circuiting that threatened to render him unable to do anything but stare at you. All you could see was the way his jaw had gone slack and his eyes bugged out of their sockets.

You smiled shyly, a twinge of something between satisfaction and guilt nudging at your heartstrings. “I figured this thing would be less awkward than if I was sitting here in my underwear,” you laughed nervously as you gestured to your leotard.

Eddie gulped. He couldn’t see much of a difference. “Yeah, totally.”

A beat passed. You grabbed a bag of gummy worms from the floor, tearing it open with a crinkle of the plastic that would not have been so loud if the two of you weren’t dead silent. You bit into the candy where the color changed from pink to blue, then finally muttered through your chewing, “Ready when you are.”

Eddie blinked rapidly, taking his Sharpie in his hands. “Uh, yeah… yeah, okay.”

With your free hand, you pointed to the part of your hip where your flesh naturally creased as your thigh met your pelvis.

“Is here good?”

Eddie gulped.

“Yeah, that’s good.” But Eddie was very much not good. He was the opposite of good, he felt like he was malfunctioning. When he placed his free hand on your upper thigh, he almost apologized. Why the hell did he feel like he had to apologize? He had no clue. His palms were sweating- did you feel how sweaty his palms were? Oh god. He forgot what a bat looked like- you were trusting his artistic skills enough for him to permanently ink his drawing into your skin and he couldn’t even remember what a goddamn bat looked li- oh, wait, he had them on his own forearm now. Eddie glanced at his arm, reminding himself what a goddamn bat looked like.

He’s never felt like more of a nervous idiot than right now.

Meanwhile, you felt like you were about to explode.

His hand was warm. So warm as he grasped your thigh. Whenever he’d touched you before, there was always a barrier, some form of separation between his skin and yours- jeans, a sweater, a flannel.

A leather jacket.

That’s right- he had taken his jacket back. Maybe you were reading too deep into things, but you had this unshakable feeling that taking back that jacket had been a message.

We’re just friends. Nothing more.

But if that was true, then why was he looking at your thighs the way he was? Why had he looked at you the way he did when he said you should go with him when he leaves Hawkins?

He wasn’t your boyfriend… you knew that.

So why couldn’t you shake this undeniably girlfriendish ache in your chest?

“Okay.” Eddie’s voice jolted you out of your downward spiral into your very inconvenient feelings. “Check that out in the mirror, make sure you like it.”

You straightened up, walking on your knees until you faced the mirror leaning against the wall and inspected the tiny, perfect little bat that he’d drawn on the fullest part of your hip.

It matched the bats that now decorated his arm, now surrounded by an angry red halo that bloomed across his skin. Once that bat was inked, it would be something connecting you and Eddie forever- a shared experience, a secret that the two of you would always be in on.

Suddenly, you realized that in this moment there wasn’t a single thing you wanted more than a matching tattoo with Eddie Munson.

Well, there was one thing. But you had a feeling that wasn’t happening tonight. The tattoo, however…

“I love it.” You looked over your shoulder at Eddie, but his eyes were a little too busy staring at your practically naked behind to meet your gaze.

“Ahem.”

Breaking free of his trance, Eddie shook his head a tad, which drew a small chuckle from your smirking lips. Eddie couldn’t help but smile too, albeit more shyly than you.

“Distracted?” You teased, unable to hold back your glee at this kind of attention- any kind of attention- from Eddie.

He sighed, blinking rapidly while he finally met your eyes. There was something new in the way he was looking at you- if you didn’t know better you might call it frustration, but it was an amused sort of frustration. Almost like his eyes were saying “what am I going to do with you?” but through sunglasses tinted with desire.

You wanted to bottle that, stow it away for emergencies. Wanted to preserve the way that gaze made you feel so that you could experience it over and over again.

“No.” Eddie murmured through a rueful grin. “Lie down, it’ll be easier to ink the skin while it’s flat.” You did as he instructed, feeling the crinkle of newspaper underneath the skin of your rear. Once again, you found yourself staring up at the water stain on Eddie’s ceiling until his face came into view, looking down at you as he readied the tattoo machine.

“Are you?” You heard him ask.

You raised an eyebrow. “Huh?”

The pads of Eddie’s fingers poked and prodded at the skin around where your tattoo would soon have an indefinite spot on your hip, and you wondered if he could tell that your temperature shot up ten degrees each time you felt his hands on you.

“Are you distracted?” he clarified. “Because it hurts less when you’ve got something else to focus on.”

“Oh.” Suddenly, your mind went blank. Of course, the moment you wanted something to distract you, all ideas turned tail and ran. “Um…”

Snap!

Your jaw dropped as the elastic of your leotard snapped back to your skin from where Eddie had pulled it away with his pointer finger. “Where’d you even get this thing?”

Now it was your turn to short-circuit.

“Uh-” You stammered, interrupted by the machine beginning to buzz.

Eddie didn’t wait for you to finish your thought before reminding you what he’d asked. “C’mon, Sweet Tart, where’d you get the leotard?”

You knew he was trying to distract you so you didn’t feel the pain, but you couldn’t help the tensing of your muscles as the needle pierced your skin. You winced, staring at the water stain with a newfound intensity. “Dance store.” you gritted through lips that formed a tight line.

“Dance store, huh?” You could hear the smile through Eddie’s words. “And why were you in a dance store?”

You huffed out a short, breathy laugh, careful to keep your hip still as Eddie’s needle continued to do its work. “I was making a Flashdance costume. Heard about this Halloween party a few weeks ago, but then we made the tattoo plans… and I had already bought the leotard, so…”

It was disconcerting to speak with Eddie without looking at him; he was a very expressive person, always talking with his hands, always making sure that he looked you in the eyes when you spoke to him. But now he was focused on his work on your hip, leaving your eyes to shift between staring at his ceiling and fluttering closed.

“You were going to wear this thing to a party?” he asked, incredulous.

Your eyebrows wrinkled over your closed eyes. “I would’ve worn tights under it…”

He snorted. “That wouldn’t have made a difference.”

You winced, groaning as the needle hit a nerve that particularly stung. “What- ah, shit- what are you trying to say?”

The buzzing stopped for a moment. “Fuck, you okay?” Eddie’s face leaned into your field of vision, his frizzy brown hair backlit into a halo by the light from the lamp behind him. “You want to take a break?”

You shook your head, taking a mental snapshot of how ethereal he looked like this. “No, you can keep going, I’m fine.”

Cautiously, Eddie got back to work. A few wordless seconds ticked by before you spoke.

“What did you mean, ‘that wouldn’t have made a difference’?”

Eddie’s reply was matter-of-fact, but you could have sworn that you heard a hint of protectiveness in his voice when he said, “Tights or no tights, the whole party would have been staring at your ass, Sweet Tart.”

The “T” sound in “Tart” was soft this time. So soft, it was barely there at all, and it almost sounded like he’d just called you sweetheart. If only. You’d give anything to be Eddie’s sweetheart.

Whether he’d meant to blend that consonant or not, it made you brave. “Is that a bad thing?”

A pause. Then, “Is this a trap?”

“Answer the question, would a bunch of people staring at my ass be a bad thing?”

Eddie sighed. “This is definitely a trap,” he muttered, before replying “No, Ace, objectively it would not be a bad thing. But sometimes people view girls differently when they walk around with their asses out.”

“Do you look at me differently when my ass is out?” You were being cheeky, you knew it.

“No, I don’t look at you differently.” came his instant response, muttered through nearly-closed lips. “I just look at you.”

Nothing could stand against your smile, not even you. “Yeah, that much I could see in the mirror.”

“You don’t sound too upset about that.”

This was different from the flirting you were used to with Eddie. Your regular flavor of flirtation had always been surface-level banter; nothing past a jab here and there, a joke at his expense or a nickname thrown your way.

Now? You were talking about the way he looked at your body, and the fact that he could tell that you liked when he looked. The two of you were in uncharted territory, and you buzzed under his touch in time with the inky needle at the beautiful unknown of it all.

“Okay, the outline is done but I’m about to start filling it in.” Eddie warned. “This part hurts a little more. You wanna take a break?”

You nodded. While Eddie jumped up to get you both a glass of water, you sat up on your elbows and peered over at your hip to get a look at your new ink. When you saw it, you gasped so fervently that you startled yourself.

It was perfect. The perfect little bat.

It wasn’t completely symmetrical. The outline was a tad thicker in certain places than others. But those imperfections made it his. And the fact that it was on your skin made it yours.

You couldn’t wait to wake up and stare at it like this every single day.

Eddie returned a moment later with two mismatched cups of tap water. Once you’d both rehydrated, he got to work replacing the needle at the end of the machine with a new one, as well as changing out various attachments and fiddling with a knobby-looking piece until he seemed satisfied with what he’d changed.

You were impressed with how intensely focused Eddie was on this sort of work; it didn’t seem to be taking him long to get the hang of this. It also didn’t take him long to come up with another topic of conversation that teetered on the line between friendly and flirty.

“Ever played Fuck, Marry, Kill?”

You had not, but the title of the game brought an unexpected chuckle out of you. “Edward Munson, I am a lady! At least take me out to dinner first-”

“I’m going to take that as a no.” Eddie chuckled, and you could hear his deadpan in the tone of his voice. “I say three people’s names and you have to tell me which you’d fuck, which you’d marry, and which you’d kill. Comprende?”

“Uhh-” whatever you’d been about to say was cut short by a harsher buzz than before, accompanied by the aggressive sting of needles on your skin. “Mmh, shit, okay yeah sure let’s play.”

Eddie smiled to himself. He wasn’t sure why he loved the little noises and whispered curses that spilled from your mouth while he tattooed you, but he honestly thought they might be the cutest sounds he’d ever heard. You were taking the pain like a champ- he was actually pretty proud of you in this moment as you remained still through the sting.

“Lars Ulrich, James Hetfield, and Kirk Hammett”

You rolled your eyes. Eddie had ensured over your many rides in his van this summer that every Metallica song he’d played had been an educational experience. Eddie had picked up a cassette of their debut album in July, and ever since he’d become obsessed. Already, he was trying to persuade the other members of his band to figure out how to play The Four Horsemen by ear.

Needless to say, you knew enough about the band to at least answer the question.

“Well I’m killing Lars for sure.”

“Poor Lars never stood a chance.”

You grinned, willing the distraction into something great enough to numb the pain. “And I think I’m gonna have to fuck Hetfield.”

“‘Have to fuck Hetfield,’ such a sacrifice.”

You carefully stretched your arms up to rest above your shoulders, cradling your head on your hands like a pillow. “Hey, if someone’s got to do it, I’ll take one for the team.”

You heard him snort, then after a moment’s quiet he added, “So you’re marrying Kirk Hammett, then?”

“I guess so.”

“What makes Kirk marriage material? Over the other two, I mean.”

You thought about Kirk Hammett’s wild, dark curls. His build. His brown button eyes. The way he looked holding a guitar.

“I don’t know, there’s just something about him.”

Eddie thought about the way he’d been trying to make himself look more like a rockstar ever since he’d first seen the tiny, grainy picture of the Metallica members in the corner of a page of Rolling Stone; he’d been bumming copies off Jeff’s subscription since the seventh grade. How he’d started growing out his hair after seeing Kirk’s long, black mane. He smiled.

He must be doing something right.

“Alright, Mrs. Hammett,” He quipped, “My turn, hit me with bachelorettes one through three, please.”

You thought over your options, trying to think of women you’d heard him mention before. Wondering if he thought any of them had something in common with you, and praying to God he didn’t kill them.

“Olivia Newton-John,”

Already, Eddie was descending into a fit of giggles.

“Why are you laughing? She’s pretty!”

Eddie launched into a falsetto rendition of the chorus from Grease’s Hopelessly Devoted to You, and you were instantly fighting the giggles too.

“Shut up! I’m not done yet. Olivia Newton-John… have you seen Fast Times?”

His response came in a tone of voice that was the vocal equivalent of a side-eye. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I don’t know if you know who Phoebe Cates is.”

“Oh,” Eddie sighed dreamily, “I know who Phoebe Cates is.”

You rolled your eyes, but chuckled nonetheless. “Okay then- Olivia Newton-John, Phoebe Cates, and Carrie Fisher.”

Eddie barked out a joyous “Ah!” before answering, “Well this is easy, Ace, say goodbye to Newton-John!”

You mock-gasped. “You’re killing Sandy?”

“I’m killing Sandy.”

“That is brutal. She was so innocent, too.”

Eddie squinted at the half-filled tattoo, smirking into his explanation. “Okay, I see the appeal, Ace, I truly do. That outfit at the end is killer.” He paused. Should he say it? Would he be too obvious if he did?

Ah, fuck it.

“I’m a sucker for a woman in red shoes, let me tell ya. However-” Eddie quickly glazed over that last sentence, as well as any opening you might have gotten to think about how that might relate to you. “-I’ve gotta fuck Phoebe Cates. Because… y’know-”

“Boobies?” you beat him to the punch.

Eddie confirmed with a matter-of-fact “Boobies.” He glanced up at your face for a moment, curious to see if he could read what you thought of his answers, but you were staring pensively at his ceiling, expression unreadable. “And you have to have known I was marrying Leia the moment she was an option.”

“You have a thing for Princess Leia?”

“Are you joking?” Eddie asked, incredulously. “How could I not? The woman’s the definition of a spitfire, she kicks ass and takes names. Not to mention, she’s got a thing for scoundrels.”

You hummed. “Do you think you’re a scoundrel, Eddie?”

“Well I’m certainly not a scruffy-looking nerf herder, I’ll tell you that much.”

You winced playfully, “A nerf herder you are not… but you are a bit scruffy.”

“You’ve got me there, princess.”

Eddie went silent. The nickname had just slipped out- all this talk of scoundrels and princesses and strong women who weren’t afraid of a fight and before he knew it, he was seeing more similarities between you and Leia than he’d realized were there before.

Princess had just seemed right. It just slipped out.

The line between friendship and dangerous territory had been so clearly drawn in Eddie’s mind before tonight. Where had he gone wrong? That once clear line was getting blurry.

Eddie was absolutely convinced that he would probably find a way to single handedly ruin your friendship before he was finished filling in your tattoo- which you would inevitably hate, because it would remind you of the asshole who you used to be friends with before he made things weird between you.

“My turn,” your voice cut through Eddie’s downward spiral, drawing a relieved sigh from him that tickled the skin of your thigh. “Let’s make this round more interesting. Only names of people from Hawkins.”

“Hm, that is interesting.” he mused, the needle inching its way toward the last remaining centimeter of bare skin left within the outline. “Let me think… Chief Hopper-”

You barked out a laugh, “Oh great start, Eds.”

“Chief’s a good looking guy! I don’t know why you’re laughing!” but Eddie was smiling ear to ear, delighted that his awkward apprehension had already begun to dissipate. “Principal Higgins-”

“Are you only going to give me old men as options?”

Eddie was going to do exactly that, because he didn’t want to picture you marrying or- God forbid- fucking any men in Hawkins that you might actually enjoy doing either of those things with. He wasn’t jealous, per se… but none of the shitheads in Hawkins were good enough for you. Eddie wasn’t even good enough for you; not yet, at least. He could picture a future version of himself one day taking his chances with you, once you’d both skipped town and found your way in some thriving city somewhere.

You were both too good for this place- you were the first person to make him think that about himself.

“What was that security guard’s name at the mall? Average joe looking guy? Quentin? Quincey?”

“Oh, you mean Quinn?”

“Knew his name started with a Q.” Eddie softly bit his bottom lip as he finished the last bit of your bat’s wing. “Hopper, Higgins, and Quinn. Those are your options.”

You groaned. “These choices suck, can I just kill them all?”

“I kinda like it when you go all bloodthirsty, Ace.”

You rolled your eyes before letting them flutter closed. “Ugh, well I’m obviously killing Higgins… he’s never been nice to you and all he cares about are school sports. I guess… I mean if I have to, I’ll fuck Hopper.”

Eddie was beside himself with giggles, “I mean, that’s one way to get out of a speeding ticket.”

“You’re lucky I can’t smack you right now.” You ignored Eddie’s snickering and continued. “And I don’t think I’d mind being married to Quinn, he always smiles at me and asks how my day was. Plus he’s kind of cute, he’s got nice hair.”

Eddie wrinkled his nose. “I don’t see it.”

You laughed, and the jingling tone of your voice suddenly sounded too loud as the buzzing of Eddie’s machine stopped.

“Alright, Ace,” Eddie announced, leaning back to survey his work. “Check out your new ink.”

You didn’t need to look at it again to know it would be perfect, but you looked anyway. You stood on your sleeping legs and gazed at the little black bat on your hip- it sat beautifully balanced on the skin framed by your high cut leotard, and you knew at once that you’d think of Eddie each time you saw it. This was exactly what you wanted- a daily reminder of exactly how he made you feel, of who he was to you.

At this moment, it dawned on you exactly what it was that Eddie made you feel. The way you always wanted to be around him, and the way he had become a balloon that inflated your chest every time he made you laugh, and how you knew- just knew- that you’d follow him anywhere if he asked.

You loved Eddie Munson. You were in love with him.

And you couldn’t stop smiling like an idiot at that little asymmetrical bat.

Taglist: @emma77645 , @rustboxstarr, @josephquinnsfreckles, @rozxartaki, @sheneedsrocknroll92

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie stranger things #stranger things fic #impossible to hate you #ithy #friends to enemies to lovers #friends to lovers

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