#fracturedarkness

[powderblueblood]

From your prompt list, for Eddie Munson, If it strikes anything in ya. 🖤🖤

" A woman falls in love with you and you think that's a curse?"

200 CIGARETTES SENTENCE PROMPTS! tripped and fell into hai verse sowwy!!!!!!!!!!!!!

eddie reacts in a way you think should be memorialized in history books, a full pantomime of his flailing hands, his rings catching the low light of the bar, his grimacing face with his tongue sticking out.

"blegh!" and, a lightning quick recovery to point at you directly in your face, "exactly. cursed."

you swirl your straw in your cranberry and whiskey which doesn't taste very much like either. you're helping drunk sam to prop up the bar at the hideout before the new year's rush starts; eddie had begged you to come keep him company, come keep him anchored because apparently shit gets weird here when the veil between this year and the next thins.

"you'll be a terrific anchor. all you have to do is sit there with that sour look on your face--exactly! that one!--and remind me that i'm not having a good time, no matter how many decrepit drunks tell me i am."

anyway, this is confusing. you knit your brow. "but why?"

"expectations!" eddie barks, fwipping a bar towel from his shoulder and grabbing a glass out of the drip tray to dry. "someone falls in love with me, right, and then i've got to like... keep them entertained. keep finding reasons to--..."

he trails off, mouth screwing up a little bit. hold on. hold on. there's something there. you try and reach for the thread before he tugs it out of your grasp. unraveling eddie munson's become an unlikely hobby as of late. he's like a ball of yarn someone let get tangled in a dump, so you keep finding all sorts of weird rocks and sticks and trash and ephemera every time you ask him a real question.

"hold on. what do you mean?"

"what do i mean what?"

"keep them entertained."

he sighs. really stepped in it now, because you're not a just drop it kinda girl, just like he's not a just drop it kinda guy. you two haven't read into that. might be worth cracking out the reading glasses, i don't know.

"i don't know!" eddie shrugs, "i'm-- you get someone to love you, and then you want them to keep doing it, right, so you need to like... it's a lot of pressure!"

"no. shut up," you wave your hand in his direction, "are you seriously trying to say that you think falling in love is a curse because you think you've got to perform a certain way to keep people interested? like no one--" you snort a little, tone going to the mocking zone, "--could ever love you for you?"

he puts his hands on his hips, partaking in your laughter a little too. but it's strained. "i don't need to take this from someone who hid a brain the size of a planetary moon behind a can of aquanet for the better part of her high school career so some haircuts would give her the eye, okay? you know aaaaall about performing."

eddie knows he has you nailed so you throw your straw at him. fucker.

"those come out of my paycheck, jackass."

"sorry for bankrupting you," you say, not done. "but eddie. c'mon."

"i'll come on anything you want me to."

"seriously."

"seriously, i will."

"no-- like, you can't possibly expect me to believe you think you're unlovable." you press your forearms into the bartop (ew, sticky) like level with me here.

eddie flings his bar towel around his neck, tugging at either end hard. "i'unno."

"unlikable, sure, you're the most irritating person i've ever met but--"

"--but i don't have the best track record for getting people to stick around." he lifts his shoulders, like it's nothing, like whatever. he's even smiling. pleading, in a way. drop it, for once.

no. anger bursts under your sternum like a tiny firework.

"so?"

eddie double takes, something like fear or frustration flashing in his dark eyes. they're only made darker by the shitty backlight of the bar. makes him look older, which makes you feel weirder. "so?"

"so none of that was on you." you say. like it's nothing. sipping your drink. "none of that was your fault."

eddie's eyes drop from yours. he stares at the sticky bartop.

"and you're never pretending. at least, i've never seen you pretend."

there is no act of anti-god, no dastardly intervention that will let you stop yourself from speaking. this is what you get for sitting around the hideout at six in the evening on new year's eve.

"you've always been horribly yourself to me and i still... can't stand you." a beat. because you're waiting for eddie to look back up under the glower of his brow. his mouth is kind of a snarl, kind of a smile. "so don't treat it like a curse when it isn't, asshole. don't jump ahead in the story."

don't jump ahead. he says it all the time, talking about dnd, talking about some dumb anecdote, talking about music. don't jump ahead in the story.

he looks at you like, you remembered, and pulls a bottle of no-name brand tequila and two shot glasses from behind him.

you shrug at him like, you're around, and have to get up and do a walking lap of the bar after that shot. disgusting!

#powder room talk #fracturedarkness #e. munson by powder #blurbs #hai brainrot #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fic #ABI i fell over and wrote some fluff and soft lacy like some kind of FREAK!!!!!!!!!!! #thank u so much <333333

[bizaar]

caught myself thinking about cruel summer today and Wayne's POV. I had to go reread that last chapter, just so fucking good. 😩

also hi, I hope life's been treating you well 🩶

Firstly, I’m electing myself President of the Wayne Munson fan club, we’re making bumper stickers and we meet on Tuesdays behind the 7/11 out on the interstate to discuss how he is the MVP 😤

Secondly, I’m just about done with edits for the final chapter, Chat, hold on to your butts.

#asks #cruel summer asks #fracturedarkness #Wayne munson #cruel summer #eddie munson

[myobmaya]

It's been almost 24hrs since part 4 came out and I have not stopped thinking about it. It was so fucking good. Seriously, you're so talented. I'm so excited to see where this series goes and so happy you decided to share it with all of us.

(ps: after your fic that I realized I am way more attached to him than I thought. Stood in my dark kitchen after reading part 4 just thinking of how absolutely devastated they must have been and it had me crying all over again.)

Also I can't stop thinking about their goodbye and how well you wrote it. Okay I'm rambling now so I'm gonna go - I am utterly blown away by you, tybye. 🖤

I want you to know that I screenshotted this and sent it to so many people because this touched me so much. Thank you, thank you for this. I’m so happy you like this series!!

Yes, he’s so special to us. I love writing for him so to not have him in this kills me!!

I was so nervous to post this because of their goodbye!! I kept going back in. Changing. Deleting. Rewording. I wanted it to be executed in a way that both emotions could be felt. Thank you so much for this I can’t say it enough!! I am blown away by you

😭💖

#MY HEART OMG #fracturedarkness #heart in hawkins

[cambria-writes]

@fracturedarkness thank you so much 🥹 I hope you’ll like it!!

#author’s note #ravenloft comments #fracturedarkness #it IS an accomplishment!! #thank you!!

[wroteclassicaly]

You're writing for Eddie (and Steddie) is flawless, tysm for sharing this with us! So hauntingly beautiful and melancholic? Which is a positive, I swear. 😭

(Also can I be added to your tag list for any eddie x reader or steddie x reader, please?)

Oh my goodness, honey! This comment has made me 🥹 You have no idea how much it’s made my day! Thank you so so much!!! And yes, added you! ❤️

#asks #fracturedarkness

[pastel-pillows]

another for your writing exercise 🖤

realizing you're falling out of love

Falling out of love

It was like the first sip of coffee on a morning you’d been rushing through only to realize you’d forgotten to add sugar or creamer, bitter, unpleasant and something you’d chug your way through. The barest tastes of something you’d enjoyed still lingered but the awareness that each mouthful was missing that key thing you’d craved.

Each kiss goodbye leaving a longing for the buzz you were so used to, the acrid taste of disappointment soothed only by the knowledge that it wasn’t the press of their lips on yours or the murmured “i love you, have a good day” that had changed but your own sentiments around the person who offered them.

#writing exercise #pastel’s asks #fracturedarkness ❤️

[ghost-proofbaby]

for what I remember you for as a writer:

how you got me on board with the miscommunication trope (I used to avoid it until 24 hours and you single-handedly made me realize how much fun it could be)

& that time you gave us poetic star gazing with Eddie. Specifically this passage.

ilysm 🖤

babe you’re going to make me cry i love you so fuckin much 😭🖤 i remember writing that star gazing one shot and thinking “oh this is a wee bit niche no one’s gonna vibe but me”

c’mere so i can give you a kiss my love

#that cannot possibly be written by the same brain that won’t write now #what in the fuck #also i do enjoy a good miscommunication president of swallow her feelings club #thank u ily <3 #sometimes i forget who uses their names on here and who doesn’t #fracturedarkness <3 #sometimes i slap my fics and say ‘you can fit so much miscommunication in this bad boy’

[blueywrites]

u-haul 'cause I might let you move in it (1/2)

dom dealer!eddie x sub fem!reader Inspired by @2jihiir0's fanart 'make it quick... baby's sleeping'. leave them some love! read part two here.

2.5k

cw (both parts): 18+. smut, drug use (weed), situationship becoming something more (???), shame kink, praise & degradation, pet names, exhibitionism-adjacent, no y/n, no physical descriptors, eddie's still a fairly soft dom bc I'm just not hard like that 😭

an: this is just the start of the filth, y'all - most of it occurs in part two 😌 shout out to @munson-blurbs @hellfire--cult @word-wytch and @the-unforgivenn for their feral support and @fracturedarkness bc this wouldn't exist without her.

enjoy part one! 🩵

The afternoon sun hangs heavy in the sky, casting a warm, golden glow through the dusty blinds of the trailer. The air inside is thick with the scent of smoke and stale beer, a heady mixture that clings to the walls. It’s the kind of smell that seeps into your clothes, your hair, your skin. It should leave you feeling slightly suffocated, especially considering the oppressive humidity also clinging to every surface, but somehow, there's a measure of comfort in the acrid scent.

You’re sitting on the threadbare couch, the fabric worn with age creaking as you shift restlessly, trying to find a more comfortable position in the heat. The fabric scratches your soles as you prop your feet up, leaning against the couch arm, fanning the neck of your thin tank top to peel the dampness from your chest. Beneath the old coffee table, your flip-flops lay forgotten, abandoned on the threadbare carpet. A beer bottle sits nearby, sweating rings onto the surface of the table, a testament to the lazy haze of the afternoon.

On the other side of the couch, your dealer lounges against the cushions, his movements fluid and practiced as he rolls a joint with deft, inked fingers. You look over at Eddie as he watches the TV, his head lolled back against the couch, his eyes heavy-lidded, relaxed. He looks good. You can’t help but spend a long moment staring at him: the angles of his face, his big brown eyes and puffy lips, his long, shaggy curls that frame his high cheekbones. He’s pretty, and he’d look downright innocent if it wasn’t for the long nick of white scar tissue kissing the edge of his lip and the scruff darkening his cheeks and jaw. Your gaze dips lower over his tight black jeans, lingering where they meet his rust-colored tank. The shirt is caught up around his hip, revealing a strip of pale skin and a tattoo that you can just see the bottom of. You want to run your tongue over it, then keep mapping all his ink until your mouth has touched each bit of darkness on him.

This thing with Eddie started when you broke up with Trevor and lost your go-to source for getting high. When you’d asked around, a friend of a friend recommended Eddie Munson, saying he was the best you could come by in the area: decent product, reasonable prices, and not a total creep. The first couple times were quick transactions, and then you started hanging around because the girl who hooked you up also told you Eddie would likely offer to smoke you out if you did. He let you hang around because he didn't much care either way, and he didn't find you hard to look at. That led quickly to casual sex whenever you saw each other, usually when you'd come by a couple times a month to restock your supply. And the sex is great– better than the weed, and Eddie's weed is always high quality. He just has this ability to make you feel special in the moment without having any expectations about whatever-you-and-he-were as soon as you pull your panties back on, leaving you free to date whoever you wanted when you left his trailer.

It’s ecstasy to have all of his attention focused on you in those moments because, though Eddie looks like a mean bastard, he gets off on your pleasure. He's not one to make you feel used or neglected; he's a thorough lover. And he has a knack for straddling the perfect line between sweet and sour. He'd praise you then humiliate you in the next breath, and it drove you wild. Kept you coming back even though he never expressed interest in taking you out or doing anything with you other than just getting high, watching TV, and fucking you 'til you screamed.

And then, at some point, you find yourself declining guys' offers for dinner or drinks. You just don’t feel like going out anymore, because trying to find Mr. Right was getting exhausting— at least, that's what you tell yourself. And Eddie starts calling you sometimes to let you know he had a new strain he thought you'd like, some of Rick's fancy shit. Soon enough, you go from seeing him twice a month to twice a week, sometimes more. And slowly but surely, you begin to notice a change in yourself. You start staring at all his tattoos and wondering what the stories are behind them. Feeling an odd flutter when you flop down next to him and he'd sling his arm around your shoulder without a thought. Laying tangled in his musty bedsheets, and when he leaves to go to the bathroom, secretly burying your nose against his pillow because the smell of him has suddenly become... comforting.

Things are changing for you, and you really hope they are for him, too. 'Cause if not, it seems your traitorous heart has determined you'll be in for a world of hurt.

"Y'want some of this?" Eddie's voice cuts through the haze, drawing your attention away from the television. You glance over to see him holding up the joint, a lazy smirk playing at the corners of his lips. The glow of the joint illuminates his features, soft against the curve of his cheek.

You nod, a small smile tugging at your own lips as you shift closer to him. He pats his thigh, a silent invitation, and you don’t hesitate to straddle his lap, the heat of his body seeping through your pajama shorts. His jeans are rough against your tender inner thighs as you shift, grazing the hardening bulge pressing against his zipper; your stomach tightens with the first whispers of arousal as you feel it brush against you.

"Gimme a show then, kitten," he murmurs, his voice low and husky, making that arousal bloom fuller as you grow excited. It’s a playful taunt, a challenge, but beneath the teasing facade, you can sense something more—a hint of possessiveness, maybe even of longing. That could just be your wishful thinking, but nonetheless, your heart races at the prospect as you meet his gaze, accepting his challenge.

With a coy smile, you slip off the couch, settling on your knees and running your nails up his thighs on your way to his lap. You take your time unbuckling his belt, keeping your movements slow and unhurried, though you secretly throb as you begin to unwrap him. It’s crazy how quickly he turns you on— how all he has to do is smirk and pin you with a look, or murmur a few words in that low, husky tone, and you’re already wetting your panties for him. 

Eddie waits just long enough for you to shimmy his jeans and boxers down to his knees, and then he catches you by the jaw with a broad, rough palm. You look up at him as he guides you back up with his light grip on your face. His eyes flick down to your mouth as he leans forward, curls swinging to kiss his jaw. You brighten, eager to feel his mouth on yours, wondering what kind of kiss he’ll reward you with— something slow and sweet, or wet and filthy. But he leaves just a peck on your lips before drawing back, tightening his hold on your jaw to keep you firmly in place when you instinctively go to chase him.

You fall immediately into a pout, slumping back on your heels as he breathes a chuckle at you. Eddie bends to lightly pat your cheek a few times in consolation before settling back into the cushions, his posture relaxed yet commanding. He must know the gesture would rile you up, and it does— you feel your disappointment churn in your belly, turning to petulance. In retaliation, you clamber up to your feet, abandoning your position kneeling before his boots. With narrowed eyes, you drop your shorts and panties together without ceremony, stepping out of them and kicking them to the side, denying him the chance to enjoy watching you strip. You cross your arms when your bratting only makes him smirk even wider at you. He quirks an eyebrow as if to say, “Well?” 

You resent how much you like his stupid face.

The couch creaks its protest as you climb up onto it, slinging a leg over his lap again, this time with nothing separating your skin from his, which is hot and slightly sticky with the humidity. His cock kicks subtly when your pussy grazes him, and you bite your lip, feeling an answering pulse of desire within yourself. When you mount him, reaching behind to grip him at the base and notch his fat head at your entrance, Eddie prepares for your performance: draping his arms casually over the backrest, fingers idly tapping against the worn fabric, his other arm hinging to bring the joint lazily to his lips. 

He looks like such an asshole, waiting for you to service him. And you might've goaded him more because of it, but you forget about being bratty the second you sink down on his lap, taking him all the way into you. 

A quiet moan sighs from between your cracked lips when you sit fully on his cock, your eyes slipping closed as you get lost in that initial stretch. He's not the only guy you've fucked— far from it— but there’s just something about the way he slots inside, nudging against the end of you, that always leaves you feeling more perfectly filled than anyone else. Eddie watches with a sly glint in his half-lidded eyes as you start to grind on him, letting yourself drift into the space he always brings you into. With him, you can be soft, sensual, and needy, but also desperate and pathetic. You can act out all your secret desires, know that Eddie will flay you open and force you to acknowledge them, and let the shame of it get you off all at once.

Eddie lets you be a freak, and better yet, he likes it.

Desperate to earn his approval, you run your hands up your body, dragging over your hips and up to your neck as you ride him. Your abdomen rolls as you grind with fluid, sensual movements, doing your best to put on the show he’d requested. You look at him through your lashes as your wandering fingers catch on the hem of your tank top, dragging it slowly up to reveal your soft belly. You hold it just below your breasts so Eddie can watch the way your curves bend and move while you work his cock. 

In some respects, the dance is for you as much as it’s for him because the way Eddie watches you with rapt attention, his eyes devouring every inch of your body, really turns you on. You bite your lip, your clit swelling with anticipation as you tease him with a glimpse of the underside of your breasts. He hums approvingly, taking a leisurely hit from the joint. As the smoke curls around him in a tantalizing haze, you give in sooner than you’d been intending and ruck up your top to let your breasts fall out. You start to play with them, squeezing and kneading as you rock your hips harder, your own need mounting.

Gradually, your performance ceases being a performance. Your nipples begin to ache, begging to be touched, and a moan spills unbidden from your lips as you tweak and pinch them, sending pleasure zinging straight down within you. You close your eyes, a tiny frown forming as you try to concentrate on the low flame of your arousal, but it remains at a frustratingly low simmer. You rock faster, grind harder, pinch harsher, your movements a silent plea for the sweet relief only Eddie can give. You’ve built your own pleasure as much as you can on your own, and now, you need him. The coyness is wiped from your expression, replaced with a begging pinch in your brow, a needy, wet shine in your eyes as you blink unseeingly at him, all pretty and pathetic on his lap.

At the border between satisfaction and desperation— that’s where he wanted you. 

A hand at your hip stills your movements, and as your eyes snap to focus on Eddie's face, you see he’s leaned forward, his nose scant inches from yours. His other elbow is planted on the couch arm, the joint poised tantalizingly nearby in his ringed fingers. Eddie squeezes your hip firmly, then again more gratuitously, and when you obediently fall still to sit motionless on his cock, he lets his palm slide up the curve of your waist in a drag that makes you gasp, you're so wired and ready for his touch. You watch, rapt, as he brings the joint toward his lips, salivating as a swipe of his tongue moistens them.

“Look at me.” 

Your eyes snap up to his, captured completely by his unwavering gaze. As he inhales, those brown eyes glitter in the orange that flares bright at the joint’s end. And he keeps that point of contact between you as his broad palm travels up, up, up— over the supple heft of your breast, grazing the hard peak of your nipple, skimming the thrumming pulse in your neck, his thumb catching on the underside of your jaw as he cups your cheek. He closes those scant inches between you, and when the bulb of his nose nudges yours, your mouth falls open as your eyes slip closed. 

He exhales, you inhale. When the warm rush of Eddie’s breath kisses your lips, you take it into you, your chest expanding as your lungs fill with smoke. The taste of him mingles with a heady rush of arousal, and you continue to take, even through the twinge of discomfort as your lungs stretch to accommodate it all. As Eddie gives you the last of his smoke, you close your mouth, keeping it all inside.

“Hold it,” he murmurs against your skin. His lips trail kisses along your jaw as you obey, fighting your diaphragm as it hitches, wanting to cough. You make a little noise in the back of your throat when he nips you, the brief sharp sting soothed soon after by the flat of his tongue. You hold as long as you can, and when you finally exhale, Eddie rewards you by taking hold of your hips, pulling you into a slow, sensual grind as he kisses you sloppy, wet lips wide and devouring. The friction and fervor crash over you in an intense wave of pleasure, one that has you whining, twisting your fingers in his hair, pressing your tits to his chest, ready to ignite—

The front door shakes with the pounding of a heavy fist.

#blueywrites #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson imagine

[myosotisa]

Us versus Them - e.m.

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

‖  summary: You made the mistake of telling your boyfriend Eddie you were having trouble using one of your toys because it was too strong. He's determined to help.

‖  notes: smut, it's porn without plot, graphic sexual content. 'sir' kink, rope bondage, overstimulation, sex toy use, spitting, slapping (face and body), choking, degradation (slut, whore, etc.), praise, unprotected p in v, implied creampie, implied squirting, mean!Dom!Eddie (with aftercare). it's messy y'all, let me know if i missed anything.

‖  word count: 2.6k

‖  this was written for @ghost-proofbaby because i said i would use all her kinks against her and this is my attempt. so here you go, babe. thanks to @fracturedarkness, @blue-mossbird, and @abibliophobiaa for proofreading and helping me write the ending. enjoy!

“If you don’t stop pulling on the rope it’s gonna break your skin, baby. Maybe I should get you some nice padded cuffs so you can struggle all you want without hurting yourself. But we can’t do that right now so,” the only warning you receive is the meat of Eddie’s palm touching your inner thigh, lining up the shot, punctuating the next 3 words with harsh slaps, “stop fucking squirming.”

“I’m sorry, sir, I’m so sorry! It’s just so, so much,” your voice breaks into a croak at the end, catching on the end of the sentence as your back arches away from the toy that Eddie holds relentlessly to your clit. He tied you up what felt like hours ago and has barely given you a chance to fucking breathe since he’d gotten the Rose Toy in his hand.

He pushes up onto all fours, moving from his prime viewing angle between your quivering legs to hover over your tear stained and flushed pink face. “Poor baby,” he coos in a mocking tone, his free hand running knuckles down your sweating cheek. “Too sensitive for her new toy. I told you I was gonna help you, didn’t I? Told you I was gonna tie you up and get you used to it, didn’t I?” The relentless buzz sends your eyelids fluttering again, a whimper crawling its way out of your throat as you try to process what he’d asked you. 

The next slap hits you across the cheek, lighter than the smacks on your thighs, but still harsh enough that your eyes shoot back open and your cracked lips break apart in a gasp. Eddie’s thumb and forefinger press into your cheeks on either side, locking your jaw wide as he leans in even closer. Reeling back an inch, he spits hard into your open mouth, hitting the back of your throat and triggering your gag reflex. “I asked you a question, dumb whore.”

“You did,” you mumble out through the way he grips your jaw, struggling to swallow the thick saliva that pools in the back of your throat from yourself and him. “You told me, Eddie.”

“There we go, now was that so hard?” He asks, eyebrows raising to let you know he does expect an answer. You shake your head the best you can given his hold and he rewards you with removing his hand and the press of a button, making the vibration swap from a constant swirl to a pulsing vibration that you feel from your scalp to your toes.

“Edd-ie!” You keen, your back bowing as your body tries to pull away from the overwhelming sensation. He’d learned that if he left it on one setting for a long enough period of time, it would start to lose potency, almost like a numbness, which made swapping the pattern that much more powerful.

“Eddie!” He parrots back to you in a high pitched tone. “Aw baby, you’re drooling all over your chin. Messy girl.”

Eyebrows pinching tight together, a broken moan echoes out into the room as your pussy clenches down hard on nothing. “Please, sir, it hurts.”

“You can’t handle it? It hurts?” His voice pitches up in a taunt, clicking his tongue and shaking his head in disappointment. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth and bite down hard, tears spilling out from the corner of your eyes as you nod. “That’s a shame baby. Because I need you to squirt all over your pretty blue bed sheets before we’re done.” The idea of needing to hold back in order to achieve that has you whimpering in the back of your throat – your last 3 orgasms had torn out of you like wild animals.

“I can’t – I can’t do it, Eddie. I can’t,” you babble, the words stuck on your tongue like a skipping record as your hazy and sluggish brain tries to make sense of anything.

A ringed hand grips your throat, not cutting off air or blood flow, but with enough pressure to pin you down and make you really feel it. There’s an absolute inferno of lust in his eyes, pupils blown out in an oil fire that shows no signs of stopping any time soon.

“You can, and you will.” His command is deep gravel, sending an electric shiver down your spine. “Don't be ungrateful baby, you take what I give you, understand?”

A sob tears from your throat, tears falling freely as your thighs clamp down on Eddie’s hand and the toy it holds. But you don’t answer fast enough, Eddie’s other hand tightening on either side of your neck to stamp the blood flow to your brain. “You really have lost all your manners, haven’t you, sweetheart? Not a single brain cell in that whole noggin’.” He lets go quickly after, huffing a little laugh at how you suck in air, and then flicks your temple with his middle finger. “Just a stupid slut that can’t think of anything other than how much you want to be filled up.”

The idea of some kind of stimulation other than the Rose has you begging before you can even second guess it. “Please, please sir, want to be filled up so bad. Want your fingers or your cock or your tongue, please, just anything.”

“Anything, huh?” He asks, manic gilt in his eye as his plump lips spread in a sharp grin. “Anything at all?”

“No, no no no no, please, want you Eddie! Want you inside me, please!” You know he would comply maliciously to your request unless you scrambled your thoughts together enough to make a more specific one. Attention wavering from your own body to him as you try to ignore the pressure building in your abdomen for the who knows how many-th time.

“Sounds so pretty, baby,” his sharp grin goes soft, just a bit of teeth behind bitten red lips. “Beg for it again. Better this time.”

The vibrator switches patterns on cue.

“Please!” Comes out as a screech, a burn crawling down your vocal chords that you know you’ll be feeling tomorrow. “Please, sir, want you to fuck me so bad. Want your cock, want your cum insi-ide me. Please, pleasepleasepleaseplease-”

A whispered “fuck,” is the first sign you get that Eddie’s resolve is crumbling. It has you gasping out, fingers twisting in the rope that still binds you to the headboard in anticipation. Whenever he got like this, wanting to bring you to tears and desperation more than anything else, it was hard to get him to change his mind. But once the first pillar cracked, betraying his carefully curated domineering persona, it was a short matter of time until all that remained was splinters.

His free hand flies to his belt, fumbling fingers trying to pull it loose. “Okay, baby, I hear you. I’ll give you what you want if you give me what I want, okay?” You nod harshly, a full body shiver coasting through you as another moan hits the air. Then a sharp pinch on your inner thigh has you yelping. “I said, okay?”

“Okay, yes, yes, whatever you want,” you rush out, the words tumbling over each other in your haste to not halt the progress of getting this adventure to finally be over, “I’ll do anything.”

“Good girl,” he hits a little love tap right where he pinched, sending another shock straight to your cunt, before he goes back to yanking his belt free. It takes an awkwardly long time for him to do with one hand but you know better than to tease him for it now. You just wait as patiently as you can while he undoes his fly and shimmies his pants and boxers down just low enough for his fat cock to hit the air. Just the sight of it, skin tinted with an angry red and pearly white pre-cum pooled in the foreskin that covers the tip, has your toes curling and your thighs tensing. All you can do is watch as he wraps his long-fingered hand around the top of it, easing the skin back so he can spread the substance down his shaft, a shaky exhale leaving him as he pumps his fist a few times before tilting his hips down toward you.

Realizing he’s going to fuck you fully dressed while you lie naked on your bed has your breath catching again before you even feel the hot mushroom head of him press into you below where the Rose still buzzes relentlessly. “Fuck! Baby, you’re so wet – shit, so fucking t-tight.” He stutters out, clearly affected as he starts to feed inch after inch of his hard cock into your fluttering cunt with a hand gripping the base to stop him from finishing before he can even get all the way inside.

The feeling of him splitting you open, how your own slick pushes its way out of you in rivulets as he bullies his way inside almost threatens to undo you immediately. Your gasp comes out as a croak, your eyebrows drawing tight together in near agony as he bottoms out.

“Sh-shit. Baby, I’m not gonna last. I can-” he cuts off with a groan as you clench down on his length when the vibrations come back to the forefront of your attention. “Can feel the vibe. Feel how close you are.”

“Eddie, please,” you whimper, fingernails digging into your palms as you lose the only control of yourself that you had left when he starts to pull back. He rears back only a scarce inch or two before his hips rush back forward, lips parting soundlessly as his face contorts in feeling. You prepare for the onslaught but curse loudly when he pulls all the way out, leaving you feeling even more empty and bereft than before. Before you can openly question it, he grips your leg and folds it back, knee towards the bedside table, and wedges himself beneath your hips and the bed. He reaches over and hitches your other leg up similarly, using the elbow of the arm that is still wedged between your legs to keep it in place.

Hips tipped up, he forces himself back inside your awaiting hole without warning. Positioned like this, he rubs directly up against the spot on the front wall of your cunt that has you seeing stars and trying not to scream. “There she is,” he sighs out, a satisfied smile gracing his face when he sees your eyes roll back. His hand goes back to gripping the underside of your thigh, pressing the fold deeper as he grinds down into you. “Now we’re giving her what she wants, isn’t that right?”

It takes you a moment to realize he’s talking about your pussy and that knowledge sends you spinning, barely keeping afloat as he begins to fuck into you in earnest. “Fuck, baby, never gets old,” the rough material of his jeans rubs against your ass, the metallic clatter of his belt slapping the sides of your thighs each time he bottoms out. “Like this pussy was made for me.”

“Yours,” you manage to squeak out, trying to focus on the way his cock splits you apart instead of the numbing pain of the Rose that still swirls against your overstimulated clit. “Yours, yours, yours.”

“That’s right,” a throaty laugh rumbles through him as he looks down to where the two of you are connected, “my pretty pussy that’s gonna gush all over me, just like I asked.” The vibrator swaps patterns again, the new one way past too much for you, and you can’t stop the scream that forces itself out of your dropped jaw. Eddie groans above you, feeling both the new vibration and how strongly your muscles clench around him as it reacts to the stimulation. “Can feel you, my little slut.” His fingers dig into the meat on the underside of your quivering thighs as he settles into a bruising pace. “You gonna give me what I want? Gonna soak my cock, make a mess of your pretty sheets?”

“Eddie!” Is the only response you have to offer as your eyes pinch closed, trying to focus on letting the pressure within you build beneath the pain of the overstimulation.

“Right here, baby,” he confirms, cold rings rubbing along your thigh to soothe you, “I’ve got you. Just gotta give it to me, sweetheart. Give me what I want. Make a mess.”

The wet squelch of your pussy is obscene as you squeak out an exhale each time he drives home, pressure tipping higher and higher until your fingers, toes, and lips go numb. “E- euh,” you try to get out his name, let him know you’re going to come, that you’re going to give him what he wants, but all you can do is moan out. Loud and long, voice pitching up as his satisfied grin returns again. It only takes a few more rolls of his hips against yours, the curls at the base of his cock flattened wet with your own slick, before you lose yourself entirely.

Vision whiting out, back bowing, muscles in your body clenching tight as all sensation centers around your bullied cunt and then explodes outwards in a rush of endorphins you simply cannot feel. If there was ever a moment that you would describe as ‘leaving the Earth’ it would be this one – and in the overwhelm of that rush, you abandon the ground, floating up amongst the stars until all goes dark.

Did so good for me, sweetheart.

So pretty, so perfect.

Come back to me, baby. Nice and easy.

When your eyes blink back open again, all you can see is the side of Eddie’s head, his hair tucked behind his ear. He’s looking down your body, and as you follow his gaze, the feeling returns to between your legs, where he is carefully wiping you clean with a warm, wet cloth. You're unable to stop the whimper from coming out as you instinctively twitch away from the gentle touch. His big, brown eyes shoot to yours at the movement, pulling the soft cloth away from your sensitive skin. “I know, I’m sorry, baby. I’m almost done. Doing so good.”

Nullified by his praise, you grit your teeth and bare it as he does 2 more soft swipes across your swollen folds and then tosses the rag back toward your bathroom with a wet slap. “Okay, now some water.” A hand tucked behind your shoulder to lift just your head off the mattress, a cold glass of water presses to your dry lips. You take a few grateful gulps before pushing back against his hand to let him know you're done. Not wanting to push you to drink more, he sets the glass down on the bedside table and reaches for your hand, gripping the tender skin of your wrist between his own fingers and pressing a kiss to the marks the rope left behind. “What else do you need, anything?”

Swallowing hard to attempt to find your words for the first time, you shake your head. “Just you, Eddie. Just you.”

- - -

Sneaking back into your shared apartment a few weeks later, you’re careful not to let the plastic bag in your grip make too much noise as you run as quietly as you can to the bedroom. 

Your new purchase is a bit different than the toys you and Eddie have played with so far, but your excitement is almost beyond measure.

After all, payback is a bitch. And it’s you versus him.

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let me know if you enjoyed, thanks for reading :)

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #dom!eddie munson #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #mean!eddie munson #myos ideas #i tried my best!!! and no one can fault me for that. #myo4munson

[pinkrelish]

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

[trashmouth-richie]

eddie x fem! reader

master list

summary: Christmas time is here, eddie + you dance around the fact you’re both in love, corroded coffin performs.

w/c: 15k

warnings: NO MINORS —18+ only- mentions of Chad and his awfulness, thoughts of sex

a/n: s/o to my lovely coven for helping me tweak parts of this story, beta reading + letting me insert them through out the story @jo-harrington @blueywrites @newlips @pastel-pillows @loveshotzz @carolmunson @mopeymopeymouse @br0ck-eddie @courtingchaos @fracturedarkness @word-wytch @hellfirehottie420 @chestylarouxx @big-ope-vibes 💋 @agentmarvel @hxllfired ♥️♥️

“Don’t peek!”

“I’m not!”

“I mean it, you’ll ruin it if you peek!”

Large hands cover your already shut tight eyes as you walk forward blindly through the crunch of ice and heavy snow. The soles of your chunky boots leave behind inch deep footprints in the parking lot of Boom’s Auto shop.

“Eddie! oh fu— your hands are freezing!”

A deep husky chuckle hums in your ear, skating across the air and landing warmly on your cheek. A flushed heat accompanying the welcomed tickle of his laugh.

“Just a little further,” Eddie says with a laugh, still walking behind you, big hands blind folding your eyes. Maybe you should have mentioned that you don’t like surprises. The last surprise you had trusted was from your parents. And that resulted in them moving across the country to be closer to Kevin, cutting you out and leaving you behind.

Practically stamping your foot and stopping altogether you let out his name in a small whine.

“So impatient, Tooty,” he whispered like a ghost into your ear, sending a flock of goosebumps down your neck. His calloused hands itched at your soft skin. Your eyelashes tickling his palms. “I promise it’s worth the wait, just a little bit further.”

Sighing with hmmpfed pout, you trudge on, squishing snow beneath your feet.

“Okay, are you ready?” Eddie gleams, hinted delight in his voice like a child showing his parents his cubby at school.

“No,” you tease, eyes still closed, “I think I’ll just turn around and go home.”

Eddie breathes out a groan and tickles his cold fingers into your neck, giggling as you squeal, “see you brought your infamous attitude, sweetheart.”

Gasping for breath from the cold and trying to get away from Eddie’s frigid digits you quip, “ah, you know me, I don’t leave home without it.”

“Brat,” Eddie jokes, moving your shoulders into the perfect position he sees fit. “Alright b—Tooty, open your eyes.”

The sun shines blinding against the frosted white ground, stinging your eyes as you open them from the darkness of your eyelids and Eddie’s sheltered hands. Nestled in the back corner of the parking lot next to a pile of snow sits your car, sitting on 4 brand new tires.

Stunned beyond believe, heart full and ready to burst you are at a loss for words.

“Uh—, sorry it took so long, I fixed it up a little bit more than what was initially wrong with it, replaced the tires—they were pretty bad, fixed the headlights, completely flus— ”

Eddie’s mechanical explanation of what was wrong with your car and how he fixed it goes dead with a grunt and a gasp as you throw yourself into his arms, forgetting his healing ribs you fully wrap your legs around his waist. Ignoring the way the snow on your boots is soaking through his shirt making his back wet, his leather jacket riding up from your sudden jump into his arms. He is completely consumed in this moment. He doesn’t care. The whole world is in his hands, and he doesn’t want the warmth of your body to escape him. Soul on fire and the barricade around his heart completely down, grass growing where they lay now, he is enamored by you. The smell of your hair, how tight you are squeezing him around the back of his neck. Your thighs clutching him. He’s a mess. Melting more than Frosty did on the warmest day of the year.

Welling tears spill from your eyes, you whisper shyly, “thank you,” Floored by your own emotions, you are speechless. Outside of the Wheeler’s, you haven’t had someone care for you on such a personal level before. Eddie made you feel safe, he gave you a sense of calm that filled you with hope, filled you with joy. Not being able to fathom how your life has changed so much since he moved in, the anxiety of everyday life washing away with his smile. His goofiness rinsing the doubt out of the air. The bruise around his eye is fading, color returning back to its original beautiful paled complexion. Emotions running high, you can’t convey with words how grateful you are, instead you pull your head from his shoulder and turn it slightly. Pressing delicate mauve painted lips to his cheek. It’s sweeter than sugar. A dainty quick kiss as sudden as the first drop of rain hitting your cheek in the summer.

Wiggling down his body with one last squeeze around him, he doesn’t register that you are sliding away from him on purpose until he releases his hands on the back of your legs. Thankful for his long hair more than ever today, his ears are tinged red much like his cheeks, one colored with a mauve set of lips he never wanted to wash away. Keeping you with him forever.

Looking into Eddie’s eyes you notice how big they are, a smirk is dancing across his lips. Not wanting to ruin the sentiment, but anxious all the same, you push his chest lightly, a coy smile on your lips, “hungry?”

Oh he was hungry. Starved for you. Your touch, your lips, your smile, the way the sunlight caught your hair. He’s never been so hungry for affection in his entire life, and you were feeding him crumbs. Couldn’t you see he was on his knees begging, pleading for more?

“Always,” he finally sputters out, desperately hoping you didn’t see the tiny hearts floating around his head like a cartoon character in love, “but you’re driving,” he says tossing you your key ring, “time to be my chauffeur, babe.”

It feels weird to be behind the wheel of a car again, considering you haven’t driven in months. The same yellowed tree scent hung from your rearview mirror, no longer full of aroma, fake blue and green Mardi Gras beads jingle together as you bump along the neglected roads of Hawkins. Polaroids of you and Nancy smile back at you from beneath the dash. Various materials of scrunchies litter the gear shift. Loose change fills one of the cup holders.

The sound of a window rolling down and the smell of burnt tobacco has you looking over at Eddie. He looks like he’s in a clown car. Bent bare knees from the holes in his jeans are cramped against the dash. His long arms lighting two cigarettes, a brown filtered end for himself, and a white one for you. He inhales deeply, pushing the smoke out of his lungs and looking out the window, arm bent lazily, palm up to hand you yours. Shamelessly flirting, you carefully place your mouth around the cigarette, your lips grazing his knuckles as you look up at him, with a wink you retreat from him, your lipstick leaving another mark on his skin. Burning into him, inking his skin better than any tattoo he had gotten so far. The bob of his throat is more than noticeable as he gulps deeply. He trails his eyes from your devilish lips to your innocent eyes. Wide enough that Bambi would cry at the sight of them.

Eddie shakes his head with a sigh, choking on smoke as you smile to yourself. You don’t notice the way he readjusts himself in the seat, desperately trying to cross his legs, a heat in his cheeks that he would blame on himself getting a cold if you were to ask.

He’s like a child at a fair, touching every single thing in his line of vision, jokingly grabbing the oh shit handle with every turn you take. Flicking his lighter, moving the visor up and down and to the side, pulling this way and that. Adjusting his seat all the way backwards and then all the way forward when you stop at a stop sign, hand still on the lever, a laugh stuck in his throat as he’s practically folded like an accordion in the front seat.

Blondie’s “Call Me” plays and Eddie grabs the hairbrush he found in the glovebox as a microphone. He’s moving his shoulders in a way that suggests he’s a seductive lounge singer, throwing his hair behind him, then in front of him. His eyes dipped in alluring sex appeal, throwing his head back and showing the expanse of his neck. He laughs a maniacs giggle and so do you. Relishing the time spent with him.

“Thought metalheads didn’t dig Blondie,” you question, inhaling the last of your cigarette and discarding it out of the window.

Eddie chuckles, “Surprisingly enough, one of the regulars at the Hideout plays it on repeat while we’re clearing the stage. Every. Single. Night. Speaking of which, uhh—,” he wasn’t sure how to ask you, not even sure if you wanted to go— but it was worth a shot and what would it hurt— worse thing that could happen would be you saying ‘no’, “ya got plans the day after Christmas?”

Thinking for a while you didn’t want to let it on that you in fact had zero plans. It’s not as if your parents came home to celebrate with a dinner or take you to a movie, fuck they never even bothered to call.

“Merry X -mom dad & kev”

Barely a greeting. Just slanted, chicken scratch handwriting inked onto a blank 99 cent Christmas card. The cheapest of pens was used to write the five words, noted by the scribble at the bottom of the card, when the ink went dry. The card itself was very basic, crimson red with a cartoon Christmas tree on the front. More than likely purchased at a gas station with a carton of Marlboros and a microwaved bean burrito. Cold fingers wrap around the envelope, cotton gloves smoothing over the handwriting as if it were a cherished love letter from your husband lost at sea.

Without fail, the one time a year you heard from them, left you more hollowed than the previous one. And as bummed as you were, when Eddie saw the card in the trash can when he tied up the garbage for the curb, he didn’t hesitate, didn’t pry, didn’t ask. Just tied up the trash and didn’t say anymore about it.

“Hmm.. well the salon is closed so I won’t be working, why what’s up?”

Eddie leans over and turns the knob of the radio down, insinuating how serious he was, “well the band is throwing a gig at the Hideout, kinda like a party for everyone who needs to blow off some steam after the holidays… and I thought maybe you’d wanna go? I haven’t seen you at a Corroded Coffin concert since the 80’s.”

He was right, you hadn’t seen them perform outside of your own garage since high school. Busting his balls a little, your lips curl in a sweet tease, “would I make the fifth or the sixth drunk there?”

Eddie rolls his eyes and makes a face, “I’ll have you know, we actually have to sell tickets now, but you? I'm making you pay double for that mean comment.”

“Oh kiss my ass,” you laugh as he shove him lightly, “I guess I can make an appearance.”

Eddie grins ear to ear, he can’t wait to see you in the crowd smiling up at him. Since he’s moved in, he’s dreamt of the day you finally went to see him play again.

“Well I guess I’ll see you there, maybe even buy you a drink, if you’re lucky.”

He thumbs through your cassettes oooing and awing over your beloved tapes, plucking Stevie Nick’s Bella Donna tape and flipping it over to read the song list on the back.

Head spinning you imagine how sexy Eddie would look on stage. Imagining the sweet aroma of sweat dripping from his hair on his bare chest has you practically drooling, thankful that Eddie is pre occupied with your cassettes, you squeeze your thighs tight.

Eddie begins to hum dumbly along as the end of REO Speedwagon sings about taking it on the run, the mixed tape you’d had since high school plays the next song, Tracy Chapman’s “Fast Car”. The beginning guitar melody rings into his ears, a song he hadn’t heard in years.

“You got a fast car, I want a ticket to anywhere. Maybe we make a deal. Maybe together we can get somewhere. Any place is better. Starting from zero, got nothing to lose. Maybe we’ll make something. Me, myself, I got nothing to prove.”

The lyrics hit your soul, Tracy’s gentle voice singing calmly to you, roped tight with Eddie’s deep serenade, must be what the gates of heaven sound like when they’re opening. Like the two people in the song, you were both tortured by your pasts, aching for something real something new. You ached for him. Did he for you?

Looking over at him, the cords of his neck stretched tight, prominent muscles jutting out around a chain necklace he never took off. It’s impossibly thick, veins lining it perfectly, the best candidate for a vampire’s snack. Stopping yourself from wondering what your teeth would feel like against his skin there, you tear your eyes away from him. Would your tongue tickle from the bitter taste of his cologne? Would the slight drag of your teeth beneath his jaw drive him wild, feral like how you’re feeling? Heat blooming along your cheeks and flooding your belly. You can practically feel the silk of his skin on your lips, daydreaming about the noises he would make if you were to flick the tip of your pink tongue along his adam’s apple. Sucking sweetly, softly… you spend the rest of the drive to Benny’s lost and dazed, desperate for any sort of relief. Body, and soul.

-

The aroma of bacon grease hung thick in the air when you walked into Benny’s. The sagging, water stained wall paper and faded formica table tops were a staple for the dingy diner. Anyone not from Hawkins, would turn up their nose and leave, fanning their face like a woman in church in the south in the 30’s at the sight of the disheveled diner that somehow kept passing inspections. Benny kept the kitchen area spotless, but could not be bothered with the decor and upkeep of the simple things such as wallpaper and art that dated back to borderline colonial times.

Eddie licked his lips as he eyed the sticky and tattered menu. His stomach was an endless pit, a never ending gaping hole the size of the Grand Canyon. Two baskets of fries, a patty melt, a stack of pancake and a piece of cheesecake, “it’s for later,” he said with a smile, only to devour it in two forkfuls once it arrived in its “to-go” box.

“Thank you, by the way,” you murmur around a mouthful of peach cobbler, voice growing small. “For my car, and well everything you do— oh shit, what do I owe you guys?”

Eddie swallows hard, throat coated with the velvety cheesecake, “Nothing,” he answers as if it were an insult you even asked.

“C’mon Eddie,” you say rolling your eyes, “what do I owe you?”

He enunciates the word again, making syllables where they are otherwise not needed. Moving his head left and right as he gets closer and closer, moving over the booth’s table like a snake, the ends of his curls dancing over the tabletop, a smug look pressed on his lips as he licks his fork.

Pulling your eyebrows in and folding your arms across your chest, you narrow your eyes at him.

“It’s not gonna work,” Eddie says, leaning over to take the last bite of your peach cobbler, savoring the warm peach and sugar infused treat on his tongue, “your pouting games won’t work on me, no matter how fucking cute you look.”

The scowl set on your face would have impressed Medusa, before his smile broke you. He was good at that, breaking you out of your shell and opening your eyes to show you that life didn’t always have to be taken so seriously. Your smile matches his and he reaches for the bill, sliding out of the booth. Twisting your body to stand from the under stuffed cushion Eddie is standing in front of you, leaning with one hand on the table, bill curled in his grasp, the other on the back of the booth. He looks like he’s going to say something but it’s lost on his tongue. Defeat and uncertainty cloud his eyes, not here, not now. He hangs his head, shaking his curls lightly. Shaking the nervousness from himself. He reached a ringed hand out to you, eyes dripping with want and cheeks pinked in the prettiest blush on his cream colored skin, along with the mauve lipstick he never wiped off, wearing your lips proudly, a prize greater than gold burned into his skin.

Words fail him, he notices how when you’re around just how much you steal the breath from his lungs. Almost as if he is prepubescent, full of acne and a buzzed head all over again. Scared of girls, a gangly freak who people made fun of. A lost sheep. It had been years since anyone has made him feel that way, usually women were throwing panties at him, bras, themselves at times. It wasn’t hard for him to fulfill his temporary needs. One faceless broad at a time. You? You were nothing like that. He respected you, trusted you, wanted you to feel safe with him. Wanted to take you out and show you off as his girl, his Tooty. Would you want that? Would you want to be his?

“Ready?” He asks, voice low and his lips dripping with a teasing smile.

Nodding, he pulls you up to him, your smooth fingers wrapped in his rough calloused hands. His face tilted downward to yours, yours up to him. And all of his questions are answered by the look in your eyes. They’re warm, dreamy, sucking him in like a magnet to your soul, frantically yearning to connect yours with his. And he’s ready to give it all to you.

-

Standing at the faint remnants of color of the checkout counter, a waitress locks eyes with you first. Smiling warmly and making chit chat. Eddie slides the check around you onto the smooth surface, her bubble gum persona fleeting immediately at the sight of him, her brown eyes staring heavily through her bangs at the stained lipstick on his cheek. Giving you and Eddie a quickened glance, she makes a beeline for the back, knocking the stack of rolled silverware over as the door slammed home behind her.

It doesn’t take an expert to put two and two together. She was either an ex girlfriend or simply an ex lover. Either way, at one point in time they meant something to each other— and you weren’t sure how much or how little that something was.

It hits you then just how inexperienced you are. Eddie has probably slept with 100s of women; being the lead singer of a small town band gave him that privilege of doing so. Of course he has, he practically , if not not so practically told you himself. Wheels spin in your mind and you’re embarrassed at the way your nose tingles trying to push down the small inkling of jealousy brewing in your belly. What the hell would he want to do with you if there were so many other women, better looking, and definitely sexier— ready to be his flavor for the night? Being with Eddie was a joke and you were the punch line— why would a guy like him settle down with someone as vanilla as you?

Suspicion creeping it’s ugly face in your mind and making room for all its baggage as a large hand meets your lower back guiding you gently towards the door. He’s talking but it falls deafly around you. Not wanting to know, but finding difficulty in keeping your mind from wandering, you stretch into the unknown of just how many women Eddie has slept with.

The number didn’t matter.

Shouldn’t matter.

But it begged the question looming in your mind for weeks: would you be enough for him? Walking in jaded silence back to the car, the crunch of snow beneath your feet, wind whipping your hair in your face, Eddie’s warm hand on your back, rubbing slow circles as he joins your silence. Desperately looking through the clouds of your mind trying to find where you went.

Eddie might be a lot of things. He may not be that great at math, knowing the ins and outs of fractions to make his sales when he was a dealer for Rick didn’t exactly qualify him as a mathematician, he struggled with making friends when he was younger, learning that being an obnoxious kid didn’t win any gold stars in the popularity department. But he was profoundly excellent at recognizing people’s emotions, any tiny slip, slow shift— he could sense it immediately. So when you shut down, leaving only nods to his never ending questions, he knew you were hurting.

Fumbling with your keys from your pocket they are plucked from your grasp by thick ringed fingers,”Eddie what the h—”

“Just—,” he pauses then, unsure of what to say, how to explain how he feels about you, the words are thick on his tongue but he knows he needs to explain something first, “wait,”

He runs a hand through his hair and points back at the door to Benny’s, “I— I’ve never given a shit about any girl I’ve been with.” The line is not at all how he wanted it to sound, what was meant to be sincere came out as cocky and like he was almost bragging.

“Oh—kay?” you answer even more confused than you were already feeling. “What the hell does that have to do with me?”

He huffs a breath and kicks around snow with the toe of his boot, “I’ve never w— fuck,” he takes a few steps backwards throwing his paled face to the now blackened charcoal sky, muttering to himself. This was not going well. He could feel you slipping from his fingers. What was meant to be a nice night was now being spoiled by his incoherent thoughts, mouth moving faster than his brain could think. He looks back at you, your eyebrows raised, weight shifted with your arms crossed. Whatever message he was trying to convey was spilling a capital ‘F’ of his blood all over the snow, crimson coloring the white ground.

Chewing his tongue, jaw tightening with aggressive anticipation that he’s just fucking everything up—he finally spits it out, his mind cooperating with his mouth and all in one heavy, heated breath he practically screams, “goddamnit, Tooty— I’ve never cared about someone like how I care about you.”

Stunned, you stand stone still, watching him with large eyes.

“You— you’re the— fuck.” He moves quick, wrapping his fingers around your cheeks tilting your head up to him, the breath stolen from your lungs as you watch his eager eyes swirl with browns and blacks, Dr. Pepper fountains of bliss. He hesitates, licking his lips. Looking from your lips to your eyes and back again. Deciding not to do what he so desperately craves. But it’s not the right time. Not here. Not now. Not before he asks. Not before you understand the multitude of his seriousness. Not before you make it known that you want it too. Taking a deep breath he finds the courage to press forward, voice strong and steady, no longer breaking, no longer unsure. Confident. “No other girl— no groupie, no ex girlfriend no past fling— no one means shit to me except you, okay?”

Heart exploding piñata candy allover your body, tootsie rolls flowing through your arteries, cotton candy dancing in your lungs, sugary mars bubblegum filled lollipops peak from your eyes as you fall hopelessly further in love with him. His fingers melt into your cheeks, burning and dissolving your candy coated insides into a liquid fire of a molten river filled with pinked sweet syrup. You want to swim in his chocolate eyes like August Gloop. Never full of him.

Would he taste sweet? Oh how your lips cried a sorrowful song not being able to lick the sweet words that drip from them.

Later that night your stomach flutters thinking of his lips on yours. That small kiss on his cheek meant more to both of you than could be imagined. Solidifying there in the parking lot of Boom’s Autoshop, just how much you meant to each other. A silent agreement. An understanding. The line was crossed. The only question now is: who would jump with both feet first?

-

The dusty overstuffed Christmas tree box slides across the kitchen linoleum with a drag as you shove all your weight into it from the basement steps.

“You’re a stubborn woman y’know that?” Eddie grumbles from the other side of the box, pulling it further into the kitchen, circling back and reaching his hand out to help you up the steps. “I told you I would get all of this up after I got off work.” His work coveralls coated with deep stains of motor oil and grease, snow melting slowly on his boots.

Huffing low and climbing the last step you explain, “yep, and I told you, mister,” a long nail poking him in the chest, “that I didn’t need any help.”

“Yeah yeah, just gonna do everything by yourself your whole life, never asking for help?” Eddie asks, matching your attitude, booping your nose with a dirty greased soaked finger, his toothy grin on full display, “always just a little shit aren’t ya?”

A heavy scoff leaves your mouth, fake shock from your lips as you place a hand to your chest, “me? Think you have me confused with someone else, Mr. Munson.”

Eddie’s face twists with gross turmoil at the name. “Christ, I haven’t been called that since high school in Higgins office,” he turns his nose up and scowls, “please sweetheart, consult a doctor you must be ill.”

Bantering back and forth for a few minutes Eddie agrees on taking a shower before starting to set up the tree. “.. and whatever other girly shit you have planned for us.” He says with a laugh as he shuts the bathroom door and turns the silver knob for the shower head.

It was Friday night and since Nancy had moved out starting her own Christmas traditions with Jonathan, you were left with her same traditions in the same house but with a new someone to make them special with.

Chili was simmering on the stove. Rich and spicy just the way Karen Wheeler had taught you to make it, the counter held her famous cinnamon roll recipe, rising gently on the counter. It was engraved in your mind after watching her make them every Sunday for years, and you had yet to make them for Eddie. The kitchen smelled savory yet sweet, the mixed concoction floating heavenly notes of hunger induced stomach pains to the bathroom as Eddie toweled off, pulling a pair of gray sweatpants low on his hips. His hair hung in wet lengthy ringlets, dripping down his back as he emerged into the dim lit kitchen, a hunger in his belly— but not holding a candle to the fiery burn of want in his stomach at the sight of you.

The flour dusted lightly on your cheek could be mistaken for pixie dust with how magical you looked to him, the sleeves of your baggy red velour knit sweater were bunched around your elbows, bringing a spoon to your plump lips as you made them into a small ‘O’ blowing gently on the contents of meat, tomatoes, peppers and kidney beans cradled in the the silver utensil close to your lips.

Eddie had never been jealous of silverware before but he would give his left nut and his guitar away to be that lucky heated spoon for just one minute. Slotting the metal into your mouth, you hum a sigh of satisfaction as you savor the delectable bite, chewing slowly and licking your lips, Eddie is gripping the counter tighter than an old woman gripping her life alert as she tumbles to the ground. Fuck, he’d break a hip— hell no, he’d break every bone in his body just to have you hum around him, any part of him, his earlobe, his fingers, his cock, he didn’t care. Reaching up and brushing his own cheek like a coy school girl, he still felt the way your lips touched his cheek— and that was weeks ago.

“Think Jonathan still does secret investigative pictures for Murray Bauman if you were looking to snap a few pictures you little perv.”

Head swiveling towards him at your last word, you can’t keep the act up anymore, your cheeks feel like they’re going to burst with how wide you’re smiling, your laugh echoes off his naked chest and hits the cabinets, pinballing around the room, striking him like lightning in a summer storm— bright first and the thunderous boom coming after.

Snorting at your own joke and the way his cheeks heat with shame—caught with his hand in the cookie jar, drool practically falling from his lips as his mouth hangs open. He has never looked better. Your boldness stays long enough to send him a wink, and your stomach flutters when he returns it, rubbing his cheeks to will away the blush implemented on his skin.

“Are we going to eat or are you just going to keep making fun of me?” Eddie presses, a light shade of pink still tinged on his cheeks, his smile bright and cheerful.

Walking closer to him you let your body take control, mind not thinking. Useless in your head as you move with sure steps closer to him. Not wanting to know the repercussions of your actions, yet something about him has made you so sure that what you’re feeling was real. That he felt it too, reassuring you with his body language, his words. He wants this and so do you. Time to dive in. But the ache of rejection, fear of making a mistake, afraid to let yourself be loved when you aren’t worthy of it. Has your stomach in knots. Stopping short of your hands on his chest, the confidence is gone, buried beneath the savory smells of the kitchen and the heated stares between you both.

Uncertainty soaring, you place your hands on your waist, head hung in a cloud of anxiety, “tree first, then we can eat.”

Silently moving through the motions, you unbox the tree monotonously. Eddie’s raging war against himself. Begging the question of what happened to make you turn the flirting dial off. The tree is up, and you’re busy fluffing the branches after a year of being squashed in a box and stuffed into a basement. Overthinking what you said to Eddie, you can’t move past how he makes you feel.

It’s not as if you have had a boyfriend other than Chad, or even had anyone other than him kiss you, touch you, and none of that was enjoyable. Being with him was crippling, suffocating in a way that you weren’t ever sure you’d ever be able to breathe normally again. Living in a state of constant fear for years, waiting for the day he would return. And when he did—Eddie was there to comfort you, hold you while the panic attack riddled your body, collapsing in on itself. Eddie was there to pick up your broken pieces and mend them together with his silliness, his arms wrapped around your body shielding you from demons he couldn’t see. Taking the blame for something that wasn’t his fault. He was impossibly charming, good-looking and even though he could be a pain in the ass— you couldn’t imagine your life without him.

“Fuck, ow ow, shit, Tooty! I’m not a genius or anything, but there is no way this is right!” A quick jolt back to reality has you turning your head sharply to see Eddie tangled in emerald green ropes of colorful christmas lights. Entwined in his hair, around his thick fingers, and arms. Christmas clashing with his tattoos he’s all furrowed brows and huffed breaths. You desperately try to stifle a smile but fail miserably. “It’s not funny! It hurts!”

“Eddie,” you choke out in between laughs, reaching up with delicate fingers, and a laugh buried in your chest you begin to untangle his messy curls from the strings of lights. Adjusting his curls this way and that his brows lax at your pretty face so close to his. There they are again, the lips that kept him up the last few nights. The lips that could be full of vinegary insults, and sweet sultry compliments. The silky skin of them call out to him in his dreams, purring his name.

Feeling the need to explain himself for earlier, “for the record, sweetheart, I was staring at the spoon, n—not at you.”

Smooth. Jesus Christ.

“The spoon huh?” Giggling at his lie, untangling his rings and fingers from the lights, releasing him from the holiday handcuffs, “really? and what was so interesting about it, hmm?”

Eddie grabs your hand as it slips from his hair, leaning close enough that his chest is brushing yours, “I have a grudge against it.”

Confused, you pull your eyebrows inward, “what?”

His lips are licked and he holds your hand palm to palm your fingers between his, hugging his rings in your small grasp. His other hand travels up to your chin, laying lightly against your delicate skin. Small strokes of his thumb outline your top lip, and you suck in a quickened breath. Your knees are weak, and you lean into his touch, pushing yourself closer, skimming your fingers along the charcoal outlines on his chest.

The satiny pillows of your lips against his rough calloused skin send him to heaven on angel’s wings. His eyes are trained on your mouth, thumb lining your Cupid’s bow. He circles downward, studying your lips like a map, following the path of Magellan to the corner of your mouth. Face studied hard he doesn’t see the way your eyes have closed, and barely registers the nails on your hand scratching his chest in delight. If your lips were a test, he’d pass with flying colors. Every line is memorized, the color is painted more beautifully than that asshole on tv painting sceneries of birds and rivers. He’s not even breathing, and you aren’t sure if you’re awake or asleep. His fingers act like melatonin lulling you to sleep with each sweep across your lips. Pulling your bottom lip down, a noise escapes his throat as he watches it pop back up against your teeth with a soft thump.

“The spoon is lucky,” Eddie admits through broken breath. His words flow through you like the smoothest water against a creek bed, rippling and bubbling in your veins pooling in your core and heating your body with lust.

“Eddie,” you hum, sending a vibration through his fingers to his now throbbing cock. The oven beeps and you jump in his hands. Forced back to earth from the ethereal spin of Eddie’s warm fingers massaging your skin. Pulling away from him is harder than erasing a permanent marker, getting year old puke stains out of a carpet, harder than overcoming the worst pain you’ve ever felt. Padding into the kitchen you straighten your sweater, lungs burning with aching want to be filled with Eddie’s essence.

Placing the cinnamon rolls into the center of the warmed oven, you turn to find him behind you, silver Christmas ornament bulbs hanging from his nipple rings. “Think Walt would hire me to dance on stage for Christmas?”

This was routine for you and Eddie, intense moments followed by giggling laughs. An endless circle on repeat. If you weren’t ready to jump he wasn’t going to push you. He’d wait for you, however long it would take for you to be ready to admit that he loved you and you loved him back.

-

The tree was up and lit, beautiful colors of red, blue, yellow and green shone brightly against the dark evergreen. Sitting at the table eating chili and cinnamon rolls, Eddie looks like a kid in a candy shop. Eyes blown wide and sparkling. “Y’know I’ve never done that before.”

“Put Christmas bulbs in your nipple rings?”

After the light fiasco Eddie hung the decorations with care and slotted two silver Christmas bulbs in his nipple rings, shaking his chest around, a twang in his voice, “my stage name is Elejandro but honey you can call me big E.”

“Well that either,” Eddie laughs, wiping a rogue dribble of chili away from his chin, “but no, I’ve never decorated a Christmas tree.”

Swallowing the mouthful of cinnamon roll you mull over his confession, “did I just take your Christmas virginity?”

“Guess so,” he grins, shoveling another spoonful of the hearty chili into his mouth using his cinnamon roll to soak up the tomatoey broth. “Aren’t you lucky?” It was your turn to battle away your thoughts as he licked the back of his spoon then his lips. Oh his wicked tongue would be more than delicious on more than a few places on your body.

“Who’s the perv now, Tooty?” Eddie gleamed, his smile turning upwards in a satanic smile. The heat from your cheeks would fill a cold room with warmth. A wink from his eyes has you both smiling again. Teetering towards uncharted waters but not quiet dipping toes into the waters of giving in, not yet.

-

After cleaning up supper and listening to Eddie thumb through the medicine cabinet for the Tums, you whipped up the sugar cookies and pulled them out of the oven.

They were cooling on a wire rack on the counter. Icing, sprinkles, Christmas themed m&ms and twizzler pull apart licorice were filling the brim of small styrofoam bowls. Hot chocolate was bubbling in mismatched ceramic mugs in the microwave. Awaiting their marshmallow floaties to join the rich chocolate bath.

“Cookies too?” Eddie asks, a shit eating grin on his face as he’s coming back inside from his after supper cigarette, the chill of the frozen air following him on his heels, “baby, you’re spoiling me.”

Baby.

The sentiment falling to the deep pit of your stomach making you clench your thighs tight, a skipped heart beat sending heat through your body. It’s definitely not the first time you’ve heard him say it but the way his eyes sparkle and are half lidded have you liquified into a soupy puddle of goo.

Pushing down the heat building in your body, inhaling deep through your nose, you try to keep it together. It’s getting more and more difficult. The feelings you have for Eddie have been steadily growing fonder since Halloween. That stupid Jesus costume had you thinking the unholiest thoughts for weeks. And now he’s sweeter than ever before. Looking like heaven’s fallen angel, Satan's favorite son. A cherub face with a demonic mind, the perfect disguise. There wasn’t a single square inch of him you hadn’t thought about in ways that would make holy water simmer on your skin. Fuck.

“—Tooty?” fingers snap in your face as you’re pulled from the fiery depths of pure joyful sinful lust filled hell. Eddie as the devil and you sitting at his right hand, his hands.

“Christ, you look possessed,”

Oh how you were.

“S-sorry,” you stammer out, a nervous laugh pushes from your lungs as he smiles at you.

Eddie and you were just two misfits, throwing together a Christmas like it was normal for you both. A normal that you could very easily get accustomed to.

-

“You what?!” Nancy shrieks in the booth next to yours as she rolls another perm rod into her mother’s hair. Her thin eyebrows are hidden beneath her straight bangs a look of disbelief planted on her face, “holy fuck, you’re serious?”

Explaining to Mrs. Nancy Byers and Karen Wheeler about your developing feelings for your roommate, left one of the related women stunned, the other with ecstatic delight.

Karen claps her hands, a fuschia smile on her lips, eyes bright and fighting back tears, “oh sweetie I am so happy for you.”

“Thanks,” you say shyly, fiddling with the combs on your counter, “and yes Nance, I am serious.”

Fingers moving rapidly she rolls the rest of Karen’s hair before saying anything else. “I’m happy for you, too ya know,” Nancy finally admits, “I saw the way he stared at you on Halloween.”

“Saw who stare?!” Robin chirps as the bell above the front door dings, announcing her Kramer-esque arrival, spinning chaos in a denim jacket. She slots her wirey frame in your chair, snowy boots plopped on your counter.

Nancy spins Karen around and motions for her to sit under the dryers. “Seeing Eddie stare at Tooty on Halloween,” she explains to Robin.

Robin nods and flicks through your brushes and hairsprays on the counter. “Oh for sure, he’s in love with her, it's so obvious.”

A bloom in your chest erupts as heat floods your cheeks. Robin’s confirmed words spread open your chest with adoration and love. It’s one thing to think someone might like you, hope they will reciprocate the same feelings, but it’s quite another thing to have multiple other people notice the feelings growing between you and someone you're crazy about.

Robin, Nancy and yourself gossip for the rest of your shift. Robin leaving with fire engine red hair, matching the blood pooling around your heart, beating for Eddie, aching for his touch, his smile, his stupid jokes. All of him. You were ready to take the dive.

-

“Oil change on this thing already?” Eddie laughs as Steve jumps out of the midnight black G-Wagon, tossing the keys in the air to himself.

Steve chuckles and threads his fingers through his hair, “yeah, new job has me traveling most of the time, and whenever I don’t want to fly— they provide me with this bad boy,” a sparkly gold plastic credit card is pulled from his wallet.

He goes into detail about how he has been taking Leighanne with him on his trips and just got back from seeing the Christmas tree lighting at Rockefeller Center in New York, how he’s sure he’s in love with her. “I’m happy for you, man.” Eddie says, “she seemed like she really was into you.”

Steve smiles, a cigarette between his teeth, “how’s the whole situation with Tooty? Make a move yet?”

Eddie lights his own cigarette, mulling over his answer. The short of it was, things were going … steady? They weren’t moving forward but not necessarily moving backwards either. He thought you felt the same way he yearned for you, but what if he made his move and you recoiled? He would die if he made you feel uncomfortable in any sort of way. You were his main goal, his end game, his one in a million, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he screwed it up.

His stomach in knots he feels like he could puke all over the patent leather of Steve’s shoes.

“I think it’s good?” Eddie blurts, confusion in his tone and a nervous hint of dread. “I care about her a lot— and I’ve told her that, I— ” he swallows hard, unsure of his next sentence but needing some advice, “I just don’t know how to show her that she means more to me than just a friend or a roommate or my friends’ sister.”

Steve looks at him confused, “dude,” he asks in all seriousness, “are you a virgin?”

The choked out bellering laugh Eddie emits from his body scares away the birds resting their feet on the telephone line. “Steve, what part of me being in a band and a cocky asshole screams virgin?”

“Well, you’re acting like one! ‘I don’t know what to do!’ Fuck man, stop being so scared and just tell her how you feel!”

Eddie's laugh turns sour, “I’ve never had to do this before, I haven’t been in a relationship in six years, and even then, I never once felt how I do about Tooty. So yeah I am scared because I don’t wanna fuck it up or have her think I’m just some creep like that fuckwad Chad.”

Steve shakes his head, and grabs Eddie by the shoulders, “you’re overthinking this, like a fuck load—she likes you, I know she does because whenever I talk to her she’s always telling me about something you did that day, but if you want some guidance— I’ll help you out.”

The greatest heads of hair in Hawkins, Indiana work for the next half hour, developing a plan for Eddie to make his move before he lost you.

-

Soft, pillowy blankets of pure white snow cover the cramped poverty stricken Forest Hills Trailer Park. Illuminating the impoverished community in a mask of Christmas spirit. White, and pristine. An illusionists dream, one so great that someone might have mistaken the rotting trailers and the broken down vehicles as heaps of snow instead of the decrepitness that would show truth when the masking snow melts and brings forth the ugly harshness of muddy roads and sinking foundations.

Spending Christmas Day with Eddie and meeting his uncle had brought a sweetness to your insides, eating away the sourness that the holidays delivered most years, a steady reminder that you were passed down like a pair of jeans. It had been Eddie’s idea to bring dinner over to his uncle's place and you were more than excited to get another peek at his world. Having talked to Wayne on the phone about what he would like you to make for food, his voice was gruff but serene, calling you ma’am and answering your questions between puffs of his cigarette.

“Darlin’,” Wayne answered after the second time of you asking if he was sure that it didn’t matter what you brought over; he didn’t want you to fuss over him, “we could have Surfer Boys pizza for all I care, but if you do make something— you make damn sure that nephew of mine is helping ya, alright? I ain’t raised no man to sit and watch work bein’ done, no matter what he thinks.”

Giggling with a hand to your mouth, Eddie rolls his eyes, cheeks burning crimson, “Christ Wayne,” he breathes, “pipe down or I’ll take your Christmas present back.”

A hacking cough rumbles from the other end of the phone as the two Munson men bicker back and forth.

Settling on garlic mashed potatoes, swedish meatballs, green bean casserole, dinner rolls, and the second pumpkin pie since Eddie ate the first one with a fork and a container of cool whip on the couch after work yesterday; you and Eddie stand at the door of the sky blue trailer the morning of Christmas Day, arms full with casserole dishes and desserts.

The door opens and the waft of a bachelor-esque aroma hits your nose. Stale cigarettes, and laundry soap combine is a surprisingly comforting smell as Wayne Munson meets you at the door. Icy blue eyes crinkled at the edges take a look at all the food balanced between four arms and immediately grabs the containers from you, cigarette planted between his fingers as he slides the food into his own arms. “Lord,” he huffs, “you been cookin’ all morning?”

Eddie holds the door open with his foot and ushers you in, hot on your heels to get away from the bitter cold. “Hell yeah she has been,” Eddie said proudly, showing you off like a 4H blue ribbon, “she wouldn’t even let me taste test it.”

Shying away from his compliments you place the mashed potatoes on the counter, turning around to get a full look at the tiny trailer.

Mugs of various assortments, sizes, colors and shapes decorate the wall above the door. A row of dusty long forgotten hats, balances over the window above the brown couch. A small tv is set in the corner of the living room, a table that has seen better days is wedged into a tight corner across from the cabinets in the kitchen, two matching chairs and a third aluminum folding chair propped against it, the seat hard cracking plastic, stuffing spilling out. The fridge is small but functional, a brass magnet with a clamp holds a hand written note of dates, some crossed out in red ink, others upcoming left alone, next to a calendar. The home is well loved and portrays everything you expected from a bachelor pad. Simple, tidy, cramped.

Imagining Eddie in high school living here, you wonder if the brown couch held more than just dust and well grooved ass prints. Memories of Eddie’s previous lovers? One night stands? The thoughts make you shiver with jealousy and disgust as you take lids off of containers and place aluminum foil from the meatball tray on the side of the counter. Eddie and Wayne are on your right talking about a leaky shower head, the cost of replacement parts and how much it would cost to get a new one.

“… agh,” Wayne argues, “it won’t take me long to take it all apart and figure it out, ain’t no need to go out and buy a new one.”

“Alright stubborn ass,” Eddie pokes, a toothy grin on his face, “just trying to make it easier on you.”

Wayne and him laugh, greeting each other with a hug. Eddie is a whole head taller than Wayne, their stark differences are completely night and day. Where Eddie is pale, Wayne’s skin is weathered and tan, the piercing blue eyes are ice against his tan complexion, meanwhile Eddie’s eyes are so dark they could be mistaken for black holes in the galaxy.

The Munson men pull away with slaps on the shoulders and jokes about frail bones and old age. When Eddie looks at you next Wayne’s eyes follow, his ruddy ringed hand gesture to you with a palm upwards, presenting you like a celebrity, “Wayne, this is Tooty, Tooty, this is my uncle Wayne.”

Smiling sweetly and stretching your hand forward for Wayne to shake you are enveloped with his warmth through his heavily calloused hands. “Pleasure to meet ya darlin’, Eddie ain’t ever brought a girl home for me to meet before.”

Never brought a girl home.

How could you be the first? Eddie dated Chrissy for an entire year, and you’re sure he’s had more than one girlfriend in the past. Including the waitress at Benny's. Why wouldn’t he have brought any of them to meet Wayne? Clearly his uncle means a lot to him, and you remember how Eddie was with Chrissy, how much he cared about her… why did she never come back to the Munson home?

Eddie interjects your thoughts, his cheeks pinked with embarrassment, “Wayne what the f—.”

“Ah hell, I forgot I bought some paper plates, let me go get ‘em from the truck.” Wayne tuts, walking quickly past you and Eddie, the cool rush of air fills the room and the snap of the screen door has Eddie shaking his head. Murmuring to himself about needing to keep his mouth shut as he busies himself with getting forks and knives from the wonky drawers.

-

Empty plates and full bellies coordinate into a sleepy haze between you all. Wayne’s contagious laugh fills the kitchen as Eddie groans when the small photo album is passed around the table. “Remember this one Ed? Damn you were madder’n a hornet that day when Mrs. Milford asked you to mow her yard.”

“Ya,” Eddie yelled, “that’s cause there is no yard she just made me pick up rocks, and most of it was dog shit from Rocko!”

Wayne’s bellering laugh brings tears to your eyes at Eddie’s misfortunes. A picture of a younger Eddie no older than ten years old, dirt and a scowl on his face, same big doe eyes and a bad haircut.

A smile finally breaks on his face seeing your smirk dance on your lips as you wipe the laughing tears from your eyes.

The three of you spend hours laughing, Eddie and Wayne clean up the table as you put food in Tupperware containers for Wayne, slotting them into the fridge and stacking them neatly.

The Christmas present Eddie had for Wayne was in the back of the van and was heavy. Wayne jumped in to help Eddie carry it in, tutting and making a fuss when you told him you could do it, “no ma’am, you sit down right there, I mean it!”

Once outside, the two Munson’s light up cigarettes, exhaling puffs of smoke into the chilled air, the crunch of snow beneath their boots.

“Sure was nice to meet your girlfriend Ed, I think she’s a keeper,”

Not missing a beat and rolling his eyes Eddie all but screams, “Wayne for fucks sake we are not dating, I told you this! Or did you turn senile since I moved out?”

“Well I just thought that if I’d tease ya enough about it you’d do somethin’ about it ‘stead of gawking at her all night like she’s gonna break.”

Eddie's ears burn, “I have a plan, it’s just not something I wanna ruin— I gotta do it right, she isn’t like anyone else— she— she means more to me than that.”

“I’m proud of ya son, finally grew up,” he claps a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, “you be good to her. Don’t know anyone of your other girly friends, or whatever you call ‘em, who'd dare step foot out in these parts.”

-

Eddie's gift to Wayne had been a bigger tv, one he could watch Gunsmoke on and be able to see it comfortably from the couch instead of squinting. Wayne smiled from ear to ear and kept on smiling when he stood at the door and waved goodbye to you both.

Cheeks sore from laughing, exhausted from the day you yawn behind a mittened palm. Watching the street lights bounce and sway as Eddie drives you both home.

“Can’t be tired already are you?” He asks, smoking a cigarette lazily, smoke billowing from his nostrils and around his curls.

You stretch your back, arching it against the cracked leather of his seats, a yawn slips from your mouth, “Just a little bit,” your voice is small and strained from the stretch, eyelids heavy.

He pleads with slight desperation in his tone, “don’t fall asleep on me yet,” his eyes are soft and tender, blinking slow and gazing into yours, “I still have to give you your present.”

“Present?”

Eddie and you hadn’t talked about getting each other presents even though you had one wrapped neatly in a small box in your bedroom at home.

His face lights up as your eyebrows pull into a quizzical ponder. “It’s nothing big,” Eddie shrugs nonchalantly even though his insides are fiery pools of gummy liquid, tangled knots of rope, “just something kinda silly.”

Heated cheeks and a delicate fluttering in your stomach keep you awake the rest of the way home, the fluttering increases anytime Eddie catches you looking at him, his lips pursed in a smirk.

Inside, you speak few words. Eddie tosses his keys on the table, a jingled clink as it skids and stops amongst the stack of mail. The creaking leather of his jacket is soft as it rubs with the flannel fabric of his shirt as his arms are pulled from it, tossing it on the back of the wooden chair. He sits to unlace his boots. The overhead light dances off of the silver of his chunky rings, highlighting his large veiny hands, working in a fluid movement of untying the laces from the eyelets. Those powerful hands. His talented fingers. Aching for them to be on your skin you are tantalized by them. Eyes never moving from the skin pulled taut on his knuckles, chapped and pink from the chilled air and the refusal to wear gloves.

Your own shoes are off, toes begging for warmth as you walk gingerly to your room and change into pajamas. What gift did Eddie have for you? Would he think your gift was weird? Pushing the negativity from your mind, you change into comfy pajamas.

Eddie was waiting in the living room with your gifts behind his back. His mind racing and heart thumping noisily in his chest. He had run this through his mind more times that he could count, obsessing over the fine minute details for days. He had calculated the perfect way to do this with the help of Steve. Tonight was the first part and tomorrow, after ‘A very Merry Corroded Christmas at the Hideout,’ he was going to ask you on a date, a real one. One that he borrowed fancy cologne from Harrington, cleaned his van out for, one that ended with him telling you how crazy he is about you, how he thinks you hung the moon, any and all cliches surmounting every horribly sad country song that Boom made them listen to at work, he’d sing them if you wanted that from him. He’s never felt more like a sap in all his life, but for you, he’d be everything and more. And if he was lucky— and you were ready—maybe he would steal a kiss.

His daydream is cut short when you shuffle from your room to the living room. Christmas tree lit behind him, makes him look fit to be an angel sitting atop the tree rather than standing in front of it, the same smirk he always wore skirting across his face.

The red flannel he’s wearing is rolled to his elbows, pushed up haphazardly. A silver chain hanging delicately around his neck and disappearing in the opening to his shirt. Heart nearly stopping at the sight of him, you walk the same way towards him that he’s standing, hands behind your back, fingers digging into the foiled Christmas wrapping.

“Okay,” Eddie says nervously licking his lips, “let’s countdown from 3 and we can exchange? Does that work?”

Nodding enthusiastically, your mind is screaming at you— your gift is too much, he’s gonna hate it, he’s gonna think it’s weird that you bought this for him. Stomach churning like butter, you hear Eddie’s low velvet voice counting down. At his voice dipping lower when he gets to one you slip the sweat slicked thin box from behind your back and lean hold it out in front of you.

Your chapstick smile is sweet and adoringly beautiful, Eddie nearly drops your present from behind his back at the sight, fingers clutching to the silky wrapped handles of the gift bag with Santa’s fat white ass climbing up into a chimney on the front. His arm swings forward and holds the bag by its handles on one thick finger, like a bomb ready to explode at any second.

Eyes wide and bright he places the gift bag in your hand and exchanges his present for yours. “Eddie you didn’t have to do this,” you gasp at the sight of the bag, “you already fixed my car and wouldn’t let me pay you.”

“Yeah well,” Eddie starts rubbing the back of his neck, “open it and we’ll decide if I should have or not.”

Placing the bag on the ground and taking the crinkly emerald green and sparkly gold tissue paper out one sheet at a time, Eddie’s eyes never leave your hands as you reach the bottom of the bag and they hesitate. His heart jumps to his throat, stomach falling out of his ass. It’s too much, you hate it. Of course you do, it was a stupid idea to begin with. Why the fuck did he ask Gareth for his help? His original idea would have been better than this, and now look! You’re about ready to rip his goddamn head off like a praying mantis or some shit. SON OF A B—

A shrill laugh erupts from your lungs as Eddie feels a tidal wave of relief wash over him. Tucked into the bag, folded as neatly as Eddie could, you pull out a black t-shirt, safety pins decorate the hem, a homemade ripped neckline. Corroded Coffin's sadistic logo is printed on the front and beneath it reads, ‘Eddie’s babysitter’ in bold white lettering. Fingers tracing the lettering you haven’t stopped laughing yet.

“I—I was deciding between ‘babysitter’ or ‘manager’ but went with th— I just figured you needed something to wear for tomorrow and I thought this would be c— do you hate it?”

“Hate it?!” you squeak between giggles, “Eddie this is the best gift I’ve ever received, I can’t wait to wear it.” You meant that, the thought that went into this, the personalization. The almost possession of being anything of Eddie’s made you weak in the knees.

“Thank fuck,” he breathes, finally able to take a breath and relax, “shit I have something else for you too, but uh.. close your eyes and turn around for me.”

His breath on your neck drives goosebumps and flutters all over your body. The cool feel of a necklace tightens on your neck as Eddie latches it closed, and goes slack once he’s finished. His hands trail down your back and land on your hips to turn you back around. His fingertips digging into your flesh ever so lightly.

The necklace is heavy, something weighing it down but you can’t be sure what it is, it’s not until you glance at his hands that you notice one of his rings is missing, the chunkiest of them all, the pig head is no longer on his middle finger, but around your neck instead.

His fingers skate along your neck as he adjusts it into place, tickling your collar bones with his finger tips, sending shivers across your skin, he keeps this up and you’ll be permanently goose pimpled for the rest of your life. You’d wear them proudly if it meant his hands never left you.

“There,” he announces in finality, his eyes dip to your lips, the necklace and back to your eyes, “aren’t you just the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Core throbbing and pooling with molten hot lava at his complimentary words, his velvet, panty dropper voice. Fuck, he is so pretty it hurts.

“Better open your present before your mouth gets you into trouble,” you whisper, blinking long and slow as you stare back into the depths of his eyes, lost in the muddy galaxy.

He grins, his fingers walk up your neck and cup your chin, bringing you ever so slightly towards him, enough that you can feel his breath on your own lips, his tobacco voice pulling you in and wrapping you tight in a nicotine high that they’d make quit ads for in the upcoming future, “oh princess, I’d pay to be in that kind of trouble.”

and you’re floating, in this moment there is no sound, just two souls shedding the last layer of self doubt, the last inkling of the unknown as your toes dip in the warm pools of the burnt caramels of Eddie’s eyes. His lips are slick and you want to get a taste, want to feel the chapped crack in his bottom lip nestled against your tongue, busting the crack open and savoring his blood in your mouth.

The fervoring tension has never been this strong and you wonder if you’ll be able to pull away or if you’ll push yourself up on your tippy toes and close the inch gap between you, sealing your feelings with a kiss. But it’s Eddie who pulls away, taking a ragged breath and hitting himself lightly in the head with your carefully wrapped present.

He could feel the flames from your lips, the sweet venom of your tongue was sirening out to him, but he wouldn’t, couldn’t do it. He has a plan in place and no matter how hard all puns intended it was for him to pull away from you, he had to. Wanting to follow his plan, making sure his i’s were dotted and his t’s were crossed he’d never studied harder for anything in his life. He’d pass this test for sure, having obsessed and studied the material for months, staying up late most nights to tune out the fine details. He’d get this right.

Your eyes droop as he steps away from you tangled in his web of desire you can’t get unreleased from. His fingers slide along the taped edge of the wrapper and you’re certain you’re going to fold like a chair at the way the veins bulge in his hands. He’s looking at the gift you bought, a silence on his lips as you drool for the way he’s holding it. He’s stammering, suddenly an impediment in his vocal chords as his tongue twists thickly against his teeth.

“No way— No fucking way!” He’s screaming, pulling his hair and jumping around the room in a boyish giddiness.

“M-Metallica! Tooty!! No way, dude no way! These are fake right?!”

They weren’t.

Robin always had a craft for winning stupid shit and when the radio station out of Indianapolis announced they were giving away tickets to see Metallica in February to caller number 18, Robin just so happened to call the radio station requesting to do a shout out for Vicky and ended up winning the tickets. The night she came to you to color her hair, you exchanged the service for the tickets.

Before you can answer he grabs you up in his arms, spinning you around the room, holding you tighter than a safety belt on a rollercoaster. He spins and spins as you both laugh like kids.

“Merry Christmas Eddie,” you whisper in his ear when he stops spinning. He’s holding your waist, and you’re on the tips of your toes, his head buried into your neck.

“Why are you so good to me?” Eddie asks solemnly against your neck, his voice vibrating your skin in a heated pulse.

Not answering for a long time, you bathe in his musky scent, his hair tickling your face in silky curls. His strong arms holding you tight against him, your fingers playing with the opening of his flannel and the ends of his curls, your cheek right against his chest, moving with his breathing.

“Because I want to be,” you finally answer, pulling away and getting lost in his inky warm eyes, “you deserve it.”

He reels you back in, his chin atop your head. Minutes melt together and you aren’t sure how long you stand this way, hip bones fusing together as one with your hearts aligning, your eyes have been closed for a while and you feel cracked lips on your forehead, making you shiver as he whispers, softly into your hairline, “my angel.”

-

The next day is filled with chaos. The guys are in and out of the house at the ass crack of dawn bouncing speakers and other odds and ends you didn’t even know were in the house against each other into the back of Eddie’s van. Wearing Eddie’s necklace proudly close to your heart you make them all sit to eat breakfast burritos. They eat and leave with a flash, but not before Eddie comes back through the door. He grabs your hands, holding them softly in his calloused grip, “See you at the show?”

Smiling widely and trying to will the heat from your cheeks away, you answer, “wouldn’t be a proper babysitter if I wasn’t there to watch now would I?”

“Should have made you the janitor,” Eddie grins and as he sees you still wearing his ring around your neck, he tosses you a wink that could liquify smoke. His tall frame slinks out the door driving like a bat out of hell to go set up at the bar.

-

The jeans you’re wearing are so tight accentuating your ass to explicit levels, the worn docs you’ve had for years are perfectly broke in and comfy on your feet, the shirt Eddie made for you wrapped around your chest perfectly, the letters of bending the ‘C’ and the ‘N’ on either side.

Steve, Leighanne, Robin and Vicky pick you up around 6, Robin with her fire engine hair and fishnet stockings under holy jeans. Vicky in a plaid printed overalls and a beret. Steve and Leighanne are both wearing jet black, her in a sheer sleeved button up shirt and a long black skirt. Steve wore an old band shirt he borrowed from Eddie. Your nerves were frazzled but settled slightly when Leighanne and Robin cat called out the window as you paraded down the front steps.

The drive to the Hideout had you stifling a chunky vomit in your throat. Nervous beyond belief you couldn’t shake it. Eddie had asked you to come, made you your own shirt to wear just for tonight, he clearly wanted to see you, wanted to have you watch his band play. Breathing in and out in exaggerated breaths Steve parks the G Wagon and it’s time to go inside. Here goes nothing.

-

Eddie wasn’t kidding, the bar was busy and posters with the bands silhouette were sticking on every surface in the bar and outside of it. Outside the bar was a girl around your age, short in stature, her brown hair piled high on her head, brooding green eyes piercing your own as she smoked a cigarette, selling tickets.

Eyeing your shirt she rolls her eyes, “you must be Eddie’s special guests,” she spits, eyeing you up and down, a jealous pitch in her voice, “guest of honor my ass,” she mumbles to herself as she lets you in free of charge. The Hideout was exactly how you remembered it to be. Pungent smells of spilt liquor and cheap keg beer fill your nose, the smoky haze filling the bar is a welcomed reminder that this place was a legendary spot in Hawkins.

Eddie and the boys were on stage setting up amps and speakers. His long curls catch the light and showering the room with amber swirls of caramel and chocolate. He’s wearing a cut mid drift shirt that looks like it would fit a toddler, his tattoos and fine definitions of his hips and slight abs are on display. Every vein in his arms are protruding and river lined. He’s the single sexiest man on the planet and your body was running over with want.

“Let’s get a drink, yeah?” Steve motions to the sticky counter of the bar. A dark curly haired woman with enormous boobs and red lipstick wearing a t- shirt reading “daddy’s girl” is behind the bar. She’s familiar to you but only in passing, the more you think the more you recognize her as Max's older brother’s girlfriend. Her long red nails clack on the sticky counter as she waits impatiently for you to make a decision.

Steve orders for him and Leighanne and orders Robin a water with a straw, never living down her behavior on his birthday. Vicky and you both order beers that probably should have been cold but with the daggering stare the bartender drove into your skull you didn’t dare ask.

Pocketing the cash Steve slapped into the counter in her bra, she made her way over to the extremely intoxicated drunk girls there for a bachelorette party.

“You’re so fucking pretty, you’re like my bestfriend,” a girl with wavy brown hair and glasses slurs to her friend, her voice up an octave as they power slam fruity drinks that resemble melted skittles.

“I hope Greg realizes what you’re giving up to be with him,” the girl with pinked red hair shouts above the others her leopard print jumpsuit stretched tight across her heaving chest, fussing over her friend with cropped lavender hair’s appearance, holding her up like they’re re-enacting Weekend at Bernie’s.

The bride-to-be pouts and makes a face, “who said I’m giving up anything? This whole bar is free game and according to Jo’s guide for the night, we still have ‘make out with a mustache’ to cross off.”

Snickering as you pass them, Leighanne linked her arm through your left as you make your way to stage, sipping the lukewarm beer in the barely clean glass, its hop tickling your throat with each travel in your mouth. Corroded Coffin has gone backstage and are waiting to be announced. The bar is flooded with people young and old. Reliving their glory days one sparse balding mullet at a time.

“I had no idea Eddie was in a band,” Leighanne whispered loudly into your ear, “he was in such a bad mood when I met him I didn’t really get to know him.”

The memory of Steve’s birthday still stung but the moments after and the day after that were still singing sweetly in your soul. “He’s come around quite a bit,” you explain.

“Yeah,” she agrees, “Steve told me about the two guys he fought at work, said they were mouthing off about you and he just snapped.”

“Nothing that wasn’t deserved,” “I—uh—I took care of it.” He says in a final explanation.

The bruises on his face, the broken ribs, his cracked and bleeding mouth. That was for you? He fought two guys off because of you?

Mind spinning on its own axis you can’t grasp why he would do that for you. Why he would get himself severely hurt just because some douchebags said some shit about you. It wasn’t worth it. Your eyebrows pull inward and your heart aches even more for Eddie. He was hands down the sweetest man you’ve ever come across. Putting himself in harm’s way just to prove a point. He could have lost his job, could have gotten even more hurt than what he was. It was stupid, reckless and dangerous— but somehow you couldn’t think of anything other than your heart hammering into your chest.

A booming voice fills the speakers and coaxes your attention to the center stage. “Please welcome, all the way from Forest Hills Trailer Park, our own, Corroded Coffin!”

Eddie and the boys trot on stage, Gareth takes his seat behind his drum set, followed by Jeff picking up his bass guitar and Big D picking up his instrument, you notice him winking towards a girl beside you, the blush on her pale cheeks could be seen from another planet.

Eddie is the last out, strutting forward with his runt red warlock guitar slung around his neck and a bullet belt hanging on his slender waist. His smile radiates across his face as he approaches the mic. He looks through the crowd with twinkly eyes and when he catches your stare front and center he winks and bends down, voice low as he speaks only to you— as if no one else is in the room but the pair of you. “Prettiest girl in the world made it all the way from Cherry Lane to come and see me huh?”

“Well since you practically begged,” you quip, heat warming your cheeks as his smile spreads wider.

“Wait for me after?” Eddie asks, eyes dripping deeply into yours, cartoon hearts floating from each blink of his lashes.

His stare could heat a kettle it burned into your soul and cozied up with your heart, softening it to a beautiful graying ash. Nodding and smiling like a fool in love you can’t form words when he shoots you a wink and stands in a swift, fluid motion, grabbing the microphone and shouting, “Hawkins! Are you ready to get this party started?!” The lights beat down on the band as they begin their set for the night.

Thrashing on his guitar, Eddie starts the tinny opening to Metallica’s Wherever I May Roam, followed by Gareth beating into his drums. Having watched them play this song many times in the garage it never ceases to amaze you how deep Eddie’s voice can get in the beginning of the song, his liquid sultry tone curls around your skin and holds you tight. The cords in his neck are profound jutting out in delectable delight. A feast for the wicked. His fingers move deftly along the fretboard as he sings and plays. Hair already slicked with sweat and hanging in a curly wet curtain of onyx down his back and stuck to his face. He’s never looked better. Hardly recognizing anyone around you, you're completely enamored like a moth to a flame by his appearance, his sex appeal on fire, licking up your skin’s gasoline, orange hues in a smoldering fire.

The song finishes and Eddie yells into the mic, “I’m Eddie, and we are Corroded Coffin, if you don’t like metal or the 80’s…”

The crowd chants as Eddie holds the mic out to them, “THEN GET THE FUCK OUT!”

Screams, whoops and hollers are bouncing off every surface of the dingy blackened bar. The beginning bells of For Whom The Bell Tolls chime and the crowd goes wild. When Big D rifts the beginning of Love Bites, Eddie takes a giant swig of Jack Daniels and your tongue aches to lap up the drops coursing down his stomach and finding solace in the waistband of his jeans.

Does he need a chaser? If so, you know the perfect antidote. Hungry like a wolf for him you can feel the soaked panties between your legs, the friction of your jeans give little relief where it’s needed.

The band plays a few more songs, and you are surprised that Eddie’s voice never falters or cracks during the entire nine minutes of Freebird, he nails the guitar solo and his sweltering smooth voice hits your core with each belting ache of the sad song. Steve holds Leighanne from behind and they sway together through the lyrics, he’s whispering into her ear and she’s fighting back tears. Robin and Vicky are slow dancing in a drunken stupor of smoke, completely in their own world.

The drunken girls from the bachelorette party are each making out with men double their age, the bride is getting a piggyback ride from a balding man you recognize to be wait what? Wayne Munson, reliving his glory days and having the time of his life as her white veil is worn around his head, cigarette hung limply from his thin lips. It’s safe to say the entire bar is drunk and having one of the best nights. The bartender has a line of party go-ers to do body shots from her cleavage. It’s hot and humid in the bar but Corroded Coffin doesn’t take any breaks, they keep playing and you can tell exhaustion is evident in Eddie’s face as he sings his heart out.

Eddie’s voice booms as he grabs the mic with a maniacal laugh, he looks down at you and points to you with an outstretched palm, “this next one is for the biggest brat, pain in my ass, absolutely the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever known, we haven’t played this song in years, but I know it’s her favorite.”

Jeff starts thumbing on his bass guitar with Gareth hitting the drums, immediately you know the song. You can’t believe he remembered. It was months ago when you had mentioned it to him, asking shyly if they still played it. Eddie starts singing the first verse,

There’s a place just south of Witches Valley

Where they say the wind won’t blow

And they only speak in whispers of her name

There’s a lady they say that feeds the darkness

It eats right from her hand

With a crying shout, she’ll search you out

And freeze you where you stand

Lady Evil, evil

She’s a magical mystical woman

Lady evil, evil on my mind

She’s the queen of the night

Tears well in your eyes and you can’t help them from falling. Grabbing the necklace he had placed so delicately on you yesterday you rub the tarnished steel between your fingers. It’s not even a sappy song, but the fact he remembered from all those years ago when you were just a bratty sister to his best friend and he was an asshole teenager, made your heart soar. You were in love with him. More than just a little crush, more than just a one night fling, you wanted him as yours— yours and yours alone.

The bar is full of screaming fans, girls with their tops off, throwing their bras at the band, but Eddie’s eyes never leave yours. His soul reaches yours and tells you without words the same thing you are thinking.

The rest of the concert you stand in one spot still staring up at the beautiful man in front of you, utterly intoxicated on him. The valleys of his neck as it vibrates and stretches with his vocal chords, the veiny thick hands as they strum his guitar, his wet hair that would look so delicious wrapped around your fingers. You yearned for him, carnally desired to have those hands wrapped hotly around your skin, between your legs, on your neck. Fuck.

-

The gig ends and the boys slip backstage. “Fuck man! I haven’t seen that many people at one of your gigs ever, where the hell is Gareth?” Big D asks, squeezing a can of spray cheese into his mouth.

“Oh you know him,” Jeff chides, downing a warm beer, “he’s bumping’ uglies with his main, probably locked in the men’s bathroom again.”

They all chuckle and Eddie hurries to grab his stuff, anxious to meet you up front and buy you a drink, maybe take you out for midnight pancakes at Benny’s. Looking as beautiful as ever tonight he had a hard time keeping the gig going, all he wanted to do was jump off stage and kiss you so deeply your bones would sing from his fervor, and now that it was over, he moved into the final phase of his plan, making you his.

“Ash is waiting’ on me, you still riding with us Big D or is Em gettin’ lucky tonight?

Big D wipes his cheese filled lips, “ah I might give her the ol’ pickle tickle, hey man,” he says gesturing to Eddie, “a whole song dedicated to the most gorgeous girl huh?”

Eddie doesn’t miss a beat, “am I wrong? Tooty not pretty enough for you?”

Big D holds his hands up in surrender, “damn dude that’s not what I was getting at— I’m— we are happy for you. Don’t let her get away.”

Eddie smiled sheepishly, “that’s the plan my man,” he says slinging his worn duffel bag over his shoulder, “that’s the plan, gotta go.”

He makes his way down a narrow hallway back to the bar when he’s stopped by the twins. Arms crossed and looks of vengeance on their painted lips.

“Ladies,” Eddie greets, head down and making to pass them, but the stand stone still, blocking his way.

“Daddy,” Cece answers, “that wasn’t very nice the way you treated us the last time we played.” her lips pursed in a pretty pout, a tight faux leather mini skirt exentuating her curves.

Carol purrs as she walks towards him, her hip gripping leather pants and a denim vest adorned with band pins pushes her chest up and nearly to her eyeballs, soft Farrah curls surrounding her face and sway down her back. Her finger curled under his chin, “I think you owe us… a favor.”

“Ooh yes,” Cece agrees, “a big favor,” her hand wraps around the soft length outside his jeans. Lips pressing into his sweaty neck.

“I’m gonna pass,” Eddie says firmly, avoiding Carol’s needy fingers in his hair, “but Gareth might be up for another round, give him about a half hour or so.”

Carol grabs Eddie by his crotch and walks him back into the wall, pinning his shoulders with her arms, her lips tantalizingly close to his neck. “A song dedicated to that bitch roommate of yours?” she seethes, “how pathetic.”

Cece speaks now, her words laced with venom long slicked back pony tail cascading down her back, “bet she can’t fuck like us, word around town is her pussy was trashed by Chad Cunningham.”

Eddie instantly feels a fire in his belly; he's ready to tell them both off, ready to get to you and take you out for a meal. But when he looks up he sees you standing at the end of the hallway, eyes wide and a hand over your mouth. He calls your name but you ignore him, throwing a middle finger over your shoulder and swallowing the lump in your throat as turn on your heel and stomp away, down the hallway and through the loud chattering of drunks in the bar, passed the stage that you finally felt like you were getting somewhere with Eddie, and out the door.

The wind had picked up, blowing snow all around the parking lot. A white wall of opaque blindness, you don't have a jacket but you know the general way on how to get home. Crossing your arms across your chest you put your head down and began to trudge through the parking lot.

Not being able to fathom what you saw, you are pissed that you’re jealous. Pissed that your rockstar roommate, who was known for being a ladies man and a player, pulled one over on you. Made you think he loved you just for him to be sucking face with the twins who were at your house all those months ago. Tears sting and practically freeze to your lashes as you stomp further and further away from the hideout, heart frozen and rigid once again.

With the wind blowing hard you didn’t hear the door being flung open frantically or the loud music being sung by the drunks from the jukebox. Eddie barely catches a glimpse of your black shirt and barrels through the deepening snow to get to you. “Tooty!”

A warm hand wraps around your arm and pulls you around to face him, your eyes are like steel knives into his as he stares into them pleading with you to understand. “You gonna walk the whole way home?”

“What the fuck do you care?” you shout, trying to wiggle your arm away from him, “you must think I’m really fucking stupid huh?”

Eddie is perplexed, face twisted in confusion, “what the hell are y— Jesus Christ it’s freezing out here, let me take you home. We can argue and fight all you want without getting hypothermia.”

“No! I’m not going anywhere with you!” you cry, trying to shove him away but nearly falling in the snow. You didn’t want to be in his presence ever again. He hurt you, he made you feel like you were special, turns out you're just as common as a penny on the sidewalk, not even face up for luck.

“Tooty,” Eddie barks, voice angry, sharp and full of pain, “if I have to drag you by your goddamn hair into the van I will. I have no problem doing that. Let’s. Go.”

Shoulder checking him on your spin back through the parking lot, you stomp through the thick snow and climb into the passenger seat, shivering and pouting.

Eddie is close behind you, hands raw and red from the elements, trembling as he reaches for the knob to blast the heat. He doesn’t say anything as he pulls out of the parking lot, only looks your way to try and read your face, your peripherals catch him more than once— but you won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing your tears.

The ride home is full of slippery snow packed roads, at the stop sign before turning onto Cherry, Eddie looks your way, “are you mad at me?”

Are you mad at me? What a stupid fucking question.

“No Eddie I’m over the moon, jumping for joy, mother fucking delighted to see you with not one girl but two— groping you ready to feast on you like a snack.”

Eddie shakes his head, not wanting to argue but seeing no other way through it. “That’s all you saw huh? And where were my hands Tooty? Was I touching them?”

You think hard, unable to to process or give a shit what he was talking about. “I was too distracted to see what you were doing, sorry for leaving so soon and disrupting your rockstar ego in the act— I’m sure you’re into other people watching you fuck.”

Eddie lets out a taunting laugh that is anything but trying to be funny. He’s flabbergasted by how mean you’re being, 100% only seeing what you wanted to.

“You are seriously talking out of your ass right now, ya know that right?” Eddie sneers, pulling into the driveway, he’s hurt and like an animal, he’s lashing out, defending his pride, “Why do you even care if I am, which for the record— I’m not, with someone else? We aren’t dating, you’re not my girlfriend.”

The poisonous words sting worse than the first fight with him ever has. Not giving him a chance to explain, you throw open the door, not slamming it but leaving it wide open and stomp inside. Kicking off your boots you hear two doors slam and Eddie’s boots stomping behind you.

“Fuck!” Eddie shouts, “do you ever finish a conversa—”

“Fuck you! You wanna be some rockstar prick with his dick in anything that walks? Be my guest— but keep me out of it!” Turning to your bedroom, Eddie jumps over the couch to block your path, arms stretched across the door frame.

“We,” Eddie yells again, “are going to talk about this, stop running away from me!”

“No,” you chastise, “we aren’t!”

Eddie hears you but presses on, “why are you mad at me because you think you saw me kissing or touching those other girls?”

“Uhh,” you groan, defeated, “leave me alone.”

“Tell me,” he continues.

“No.” You announce crossing your arms.

“Tooty, Jesus Chr— tell me,” he’s losing his calm, agitated by your bratty attitude and refusal to talk to him.

Fidgeting and stamping your foot you don’t want to give in to him, can’t tell him why you’re so upset. How embarrassing to tell someone you’re jealous.

“Eddie— get the fuck out of my way.”

“Tell me why and I will, be a big girl, use your words,” his venomous teasing only fuels your fire.

“Jesus Christ you incessant fucking gnat! Get out of the way!”

Eddie presses forward, inching towards you, making you draw away from him, “are you jealous, Tooty?”

The word makes your cheeks heat, admission written all over your face as he keeps pressing into you further, your back is at the wall and his arms box you in, face inches from yours. “Did seeing me with someone else make you mad?”

Grumbling his name you try to push away from him but he is persistent. “Tell me I’m not crazy, baby.” His whispered tone seeps through your skin, flooding your panties even more, your heart screaming with each beat, mind inching you impossibly closer to him.

“Tell me you want this just as much as I do,” his hooded eyes, pour into yours, licked lips wet with spit.

Toes in the water, it’s surprisingly warm despite the frigid cold of the weather outside, but he’s been keeping you warm now for months.

Hands on his chest you finger the holes in the neck of his shirt. His cold wet hair tickling your hands as you yank him closer to you, practically bumping noses, “you’re not crazy, but I will be if you don’t kiss me.”

Hesitation long forgotten, the smooth silk of your lips are hugged tight against Eddie’s pinked and chapped ones. Floating higher to the galaxy he swore he would take you to, tank full of gas, dancing you around in his arms on Saturn’s rings, diving head first into Jupiter’s springs.

Blissfully euphoric is the language of your spilled lust infused love.

-

for readmore 🦋

#honey i’m home #eddie munson #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson/reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson fanfiction

[bizaar]

the most recent update of cruel summer has me in shambles. it was so fucking good, the Wayne POV just about wrecked me. I just

I both love and hate you right now 🖤🥺😭

I would say I’m sorry for the pain but we both know I’m not 😬

Anyway, I feel like this whole fic has just boiled down to be an excuse for me to try and write a story purely about the Munsons because their dynamics are ALL I think about — Netflix, hire me to write novels about the Munsons I will rip everyone’s hearts out 💙

#asks #cruel summer asks #fracturedarkness #I should write something nice from Eddie’s childhood but the pain sustains me

[abibliophobiaa]

Love You to Death

vampire!eddie munson x f!reader. 18+ only, because it’s 3.5k words and 95% smut. little bit of praise; blood; mutual blood drinking; blood kink. basically vampire eddie has sex with you in the bathroom at the harrington’s house on halloween - that’s it, that’s the plot. thank you @myosotisa for the beta read and your lovely, delicious suggestions, and @blue-mossbird and @fracturedarkness for the brainstorm sessions to tap into those sultry/ sexy vampire feels.

-

He’d been visibly hungry all night. Veins like little lightning bolts crawled down onto his cheekbones, shadows striking against pale skin. Those dark eyes of his scanned around the room, focused on the throb of the vein in a human’s neck he knew he could draw from to satisfy that animalistic craving…and yet he never would. 

That was reserved for you—only you.

You, however, had a certain craving for something else. The two of you already showed up late after he wrecked you earlier that night before the party, fingers pumping hot and dirty into your center as he held your back flush against his chest, your shared bedroom filled with the sounds of your slick and the slow drag of your blood from your neck. 

It wasn’t enough. The heady high of your blood letting had barely started to settle in, your neck only punctured just enough for your costume, a mere sampling of what he’d wanted to savor later. He’d promised as much; promised that once you got home he’d take his time with positively wrecking you. Images of your bodies twining conjured in your mind, thoughts of his teeth sinking into your flesh and your thoughts and minds becoming one. Intimate in a way you’d never be with anyone else but him. 

But you were growing impatient with him. 

And maybe you’d purposefully stared at him from across the room all night, your mind faraway even as the other guests at the party commented on how realistic Eddie’s and your costumes were, both of you dressed as creatures of the night. Him, wearing your blood on his lips and chin and you with his teeth marks in your flesh, dried droplets of blood clinging to skin. Him in his leather jacket and leather pants, chains flush against a dark tee shirt, those sharp fangs of his a mirror to the fake ones you’d worn in your own mouth, and you in your black shirt tucked within a bloodied plaid skirt, tights sliding against your thighs, hidden beneath the leather of your boots. 

Maybe you’d pouted when he’d given Steve and Robin the attention you’d been craving from him for the duration of the party. Maybe you leaned into him near the snack table and, hidden from the eyes of your friends, slid a palm along the flesh of his abdomen, looking up at him with a delighted smirk on your lips that showed your false fangs when he jolted at your touch. 

And maybe, just maybe, he wanted exactly the same as you did. 

You confirmed as much when his eyes had met yours as you passed that darkened hallway in the Harrington home, finger raising and curling in your direction. A ‘come hither’ you could only obey, body nearly melting into his as you tossed your fake teeth across the room and sunk into the shadows. 

-

“Fuck. Couldn’t wait till we got home, could you, huh?” He lets out a delighted chuckle at your scowl. “You look so fuckin’ hot, baby.” 

His voice is rough and gravelly, eyes impossibly wicked as they clash with yours in the dimly lit bathroom. The door slams behind you. Eddie’s barely able to lock the door before you’re on him once more, clutching at the leather of his jacket, lips claiming his own. It’s a wet slide of lips, teeth and skin. His broad arms come to wind around your hips as he walks you backward, hips bumping against the corner of the countertop. 

“So fuckin’ pretty walking around with my bite marks on your neck,” he groans, leaning down to kiss you softly. A peck against skin as those dark eyes meet yours. “Knowing I put them there. Thinkin’ about how sweet you taste.”

Shaky fingers move to grip at his belt, the sound of tinkling metal greeting your ears. You fumble in your rush of desire, frustration building in the spaces between you as he hastily replaces your fingers with his own. It’s a swift shuffle of leather down his hips, material pooling messily at his ankles. He’s grabbing at the soft of your hips once again a moment later, and whirling you around to face the mirror behind you. 

Your hands slap against the cool countertop, gasp breaking off into a moan as Eddie’s hips press flush against your ass, the heat of his need for you burning into warm flesh. You can feel the thick, hard outline of him through his boxers, shuddering breath breaking off into a pitiful mewl as he rocks into you and chuckles darkly.  

His face curls over your shoulder to rest near your ear, voice practically a purr as he whispers, “Tell me what you want, baby.”

“Want you to fuck me, Eddie. Been wanting you all night.” 

And it’s true. 

With his heightened senses he’s more attuned to you. At first, when he’d told you of his vampirism, it had understandably nerved you. But now there’s only the thrill in knowing he’s always eager to satisfy when your carnal hunger arises. Even now, even in the confines of this bathroom, he wastes no time in doing so. 

Those dexterous hands you’ve seen strum away at countless Corroded Coffin concerts now clutch at your plaid skirt covered in fake blood, hiking it high up over your back. Your torso hinges forward when a warm hand comes to slide along the trail of your spine, and then lower still to cup the curve of your backside lovingly.

That hand drags downward, the bite of his ringed fingers warm as they grip tight around the flesh of your thigh, tugging you closer to him before tearing straight through the crotch of your tights. The whine you let out is pitiful, a softly broken thing, as his other hand comes to push aside your underwear to slide against the slick pooling between your thighs. You instinctively arch against him, head bowing low when a finger slides in to up the knuckle, drawing a slow circle into your center. 

“So wet already, baby,” he murmurs, his other hand cupping your thigh tighter where it presently rests. “So needy for me all night. I could smell it on you. Wanted to get my mouth on you.”

“Don’t be—cruel.” Your words catch in your throat at the stretch of his second finger, heart hammering within your chest as you involuntarily clench around him. “You started this.”

“I guess I did.” 

You can hear the smirk in his voice as those fingers slide free from you. “Gonna have to be quiet for me. Don’t want Harrington to come knocking on the door. Think you can do that?”

You nod your head frantically. “Ed, please.”

He’s grinning to himself over your shoulder in the reflective surface of the mirror, a little smug, fingers reaching up to tie his hair into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. “Always so noisy for me, but you’ll be a good girl, won’t you?” The light catches on the dangling earrings in his ears, little skulls bobbing as he shifts closer to your form. Your thighs clench tighter, your head nodding rapidly, knowing his sole intent is now on making sure your toes crawl within your boots until you’re spent and the both of you sated. 

You watch in the reflection as Eddie reaches down to free himself from his boxers, cock slapping up against his stomach. The fullness of your bottom lip pinches between your teeth, your chest heaving as his form shadows your own and he lines himself with your entrance, kissing your spine once, twice, wasting no time sliding in. 

You both swear out on your joint exhale, the stretch of him even after all this time delicious. Those first few pumps of his hips against yours always snatch your breath free from your lungs, thighs quivering beneath the weight of the intensity of him inside you, full to the brim like it’s where he’s always meant to be. 

Your head drops forward, mouth pressing against the sleeve of your sweater to muffle your sounds as he obliges your soft pleas of ‘faster, Eddie’ and roughly plunges into you from behind, the sound of your wetness soaking his cock and the lewd sounds of skin hitting skin filling the room. The booming bass downstairs does little to quiet those little moans that spill from your lips, plucked from you with each hard snap of his hips. 

It’s almost cruel, really, when he stills suddenly. His mouth brushes your earlobe, his cock still pulsing inside of you, your impatience driving your ass back against him to seek that delicious drag of him within your inner walls. He tuts and curls his arm around your hips, freezing you in place, robbing you of the friction you so desperately crave. “Shh. Someone’s coming down the hall.” 

His arm releases from around you, fingers trailing up along your abdomen, higher still across your breast, giving your flesh a soft squeeze, before those calloused fingers settle over your mouth. Your breath fans out, hot and frantic against his palm. 

There’s suddenly a knock on the other side of the door, body rigid within the cage of Eddie’s arms as Nancy’s frustrated huff calls out, “Is anyone in there?”

Your cunt flutters around him, drawing a stuttered breath from the man behind you. Nervousness and a darker thrill of excitement pools in your belly at the prospect of being caught in such a compromising position, knowing exactly what they’d see if the door hadn’t already been locked. You, eyes blown out, cheeks flushed, skirt up indecently about your hips, and Eddie buried to the hilt within you, flush against your form. 

Suddenly, and so very unexpectedly, Eddie’s hips start to move again, a slow roll up into you—into that elusive spot he’s become a master at finding, your eyes nearly rolling into the back of your skull. He finally shouts, “Gonna need a bit, Nancy Drew. Harrington’s shitty food. You know the deal.”

“Eddie! I didn’t want to know!” She slaps her palm against the door. Your eyes pinch shut as Eddie’s free hand slides between your thighs, fingers rubbing slow circles into the sensitive bead of your clit. “Have you seen Y/n, by the way? Robin wanted her as a partner for beer pong. She asked me to ask you.”

The slow, torturous pace of his cock impossibly deep within you, paired with the brushing of his fingers against your clit has you biting into his hand hard—hard enough to puncture flesh. A dark, satisfied growl builds in his throat, palm pulling back enough to take you in, eyes blown out, his blood like rubies glistening on your lips. That growl only deepens as your eyes meet, hot and heavy, his eyes nearly black now. Your tongue slides hesitant across your bottom lip, mixing his blood with your spit; rich, viscous and earthy. Unusual, unfamiliar—and yet the forbiddenness of it, the utter sinfulness of him filling your mouth has heat traveling to your core, not unnoticed by your boyfriend. The corner of his lip curls into a devastating smirk at the sight, a flash of white teeth catching your gaze as he lowers his face toward yours, lips merely centimeters apart. Your eyes flutter shut in anticipation of a kiss that never comes. Instead, that often skillful tongue of his swipes a long line across your mouth, head tipping back to take in his work. Satisfied, he drags his thumb along the remnants of his blood on your bottom lip in a crude line down your chin. 

Wild. You both look utterly wild, but it only heightens your arousal, drives your need for him to burn hotter.

There’s another knock at the door just as your hand reaches behind you to curl in his hair and tugs at his ponytail until his nose nudges at the corner of your ear. You can practically feel his grin unfurling against your skin, eyes pricking as his lips skirt lower, closer to your pulse point. He laves his tongue over your throat, knowing exactly what you want—what you need from him…what you’ve been aiming for from the moment you left your apartment earlier that evening. 

He manages out, “Nance, a minute please?” against that place in your neck that pounds frantically against the surface, straining so violently you’re certain it might burst. He waits a moment before those elongated canines graze against your warmth. 

“Fine! But if you see her, let her know she’s needed.” She’s silent for a moment, huffing out, “I thought you said you didn’t eat eat anymore!” He doesn’t, not always because it tastes like ash on his tongue, but he needs the excuse now.

You vaguely recognize the sound of footsteps trailing back from where she came down the hall. Once she’s gone, Eddie’s practically humming with need. A low sound builds in the back of his throat, a sinful purr that has your back arching against his chest, heart pounding as his pace shifts into something frantic. Nearly animalistic. Hips harsh and unyielding against your own, the fingers once circling your clit now moving to grapple your hip with an uncharacteristic disregard that you’re certain he’ll leave bruises for you to discover in the morning. The other palm moves back over your mouth, muffling your cries as he bullies your cunt. 

“You liked that. My messy girl,” he murmurs, nudging one thigh to open you further to him, rutting mercilessly against that part of you that has you already seeing flashes of white behind your eyes. “Liked tasting my blood.”

It’s not a question. You did. You really did. 

“Liked the thought of being caught by Nancy. I could feel you. Could practically taste it. Wanting our friends to know what we got up to—wanting them to know I fucked you over this counter while they’re only feet away from us.”

“I do,” you gasp out, desperately chasing that peak, wanting more, always more. “I do, Ed.”

“Wanted me to mark you right there while she was on the other side of the door.” His mouth trails lower down the side of your throat, nosing along the curve of your heated skin, your head moving to the side just enough to bare yourself to him fully. “Is that what you want?” 

“Yes.” 

It’s no more than a breathy gasp that falls from you. 

“Please, mark me.” 

You whimper at the delightful drag of needle-point teeth dancing along flesh. 

“Make me yours.”

It’s all you can muster as his teeth sink down, mouth closing over your pulse, and your head tips back against his chest. 

Bloodletting, which had started as a way for him to feed while he was on tour and blood bags were limited, turned into something you both relished. The combination of his mind and essence lashing against your own, mingling in the spaces between each of your heartbeats was unlike anything you’d ever experienced before. 

Even now, the groan he lets out on that first pull of your blood hits his tongue has your head spinning, his hand around your hip gripping you tighter if only to keep you tethered to the earth. Like this, with his mouth pulling your essence into him, and the sounds he makes deep within his chest as he drinks from you, your mind empties. There’s only you and him and the delicious warmth that oozes like honey into your blood system as you spill against his open mouth, your heart pounding in every inch of your body. It drives him to fuck into you harder; frenetic, fleshy smacks of his skin against yours, the feral rumbling from somewhere deep within him vibrating against your back, your pussy stuffed full of him, your wetness soaking his cock, those moist swallows of your liquid life fueling him.

It’s too much. Always too much, and still somehow never enough. 

“Oh shit, Ed I’m—” You manage to gasp out, his hips moving in tandem with the slow tugs of your blood into his mouth, heat coiling in your belly, burning bright behind your eyes. “So close—fuckfuckfuck—” 

His mouth pops free from your neck with an amused chuckle, teeth and chin stained dark red and full of you. His hand slides from your mouth and curls around your chin, dragging his nose down the line of yours, eyes locked on your own, lips nearly brushing yours and staining them red as he whispers, “Let go for me, sweetheart. Wanna watch you fall apart around my cock.”

You cum harder than you ever have with a loud cry that he fails to muffle. Stinging tears flood your eyes. Electricity dances to life along every nerve ending. And he’s falling out of rhythm as his own release races up to slam into him, mouth biting down at the juncture of your shoulder, canines piercing your skin, groans of ecstasy hot and heavy against your skin as he spills into you. 

Your legs quiver from blood loss and remnants of your orgasm, body humming as he leans down to brush his lips softly against your shoulder, chest heaving hard against your back. He slides out of you gently, letting your skirt drop back down around your thighs, those solid arms of his turning you in a slow circle to help you settle down on the edge of the shower. He quickly tucks himself back into his boxers and tugs on his pants, his form dropping down in front of you once his belt is buckled. You smile softly at the palm that moves to slide up and along your thigh. This part, the drop that comes after, has you resting your forehead against his, smiling up at him through your hazy, unfocused gaze. 

“There’s my girl,” he coos, thumb brushing at the corner of your lips. He parts from you briefly to grab a cup from the medicine cabinet, pouring tap water into the plastic container, before dropping down in front of you. Your fingers reach out to grasp, lips curling over the edge and sipping slowly. “Deep breaths. I didn’t take too much, did I?” 

You shouldn’t want it. You know you shouldn’t. Shouldn’t want to know what you taste like against his lips. Shouldn’t want the messy, dirty slide of your blood mixing with his. Yet your hand curls around his neck all the same, dragging his mouth roughly against yours, tongues swirling together in a filthy tangle. While Eddie is rich and earthy, smokey and utterly decadent, you’re bitter and acrid, metallic and human. Yet he licks it up, licks into you like he could never get enough, well past when you both should be pushing your way out of the bathroom.

“I love you,” he purrs against your lips, giving them one last brush just as another knock sounds from the wooden door. 

“Eddie, my dude, are you almost done? Gotta pee something fierce.” It’s Argyle this time. 

Eddie helps you up onto wobbly feet. “Yeah, man. Be right out,” he says, unlocking the door. It swings open to reveal your newest friend in the group, his eyes widening at the sight of the two of you. “She came to check on me. Harrington’s food, am I right?” 

Argyle’s hand raises to the general area of his face, palm circling around in front of him. “That blood looks real real, my dudes.” 

You smirk, and Eddie catches it, that rumble in his chest vibrating against your shoulder where it brushes his. Eddie grins. “We wanted to make sure it looked as realistic as possible.” He pauses, looping an arm around your shoulders. “The porcelain throne is all yours, buddy.”

Argyle chuckles nervously and shifts past the two of you, your feet carrying you down into the main room where the party is still raging on. Steve and Robin catch your gaze as you appear at the bottom of the stairs, Steve commenting on your enhanced costumes as Robin sadly pouts when Eddie pats his stomach and says he wants to get home as soon as possible.

“Didn’t know you could… get sick,” Robin mutters under her breath, hugging him goodbye before coming to loop her arms around your neck and wish you well. 

You bid the rest of your friends goodnight, passing curious onlookers trying to catch sight of the two oddly realistic vampire costumes as you make your way to the front door and into the fall air. Once buckled up inside Eddie’s van, his mouth dips back down to yours over the center console, fingers coming to curl around your thigh. “Can’t wait to get you home.”

You hum pleasantly, thumb dragging along his chin, along the dark, wine-colored droplets that are starting to dry against his skin. “And why might that be?”

“Because as soon as we walk in that door I want to make you fall apart against my mouth. Want to devour you.”

And oh does he. You didn’t think he could get more desperate to taste you, but something about having your blood mixed with your slick turns him into something else entirely. A something you’re all too happy to goad further—until you’re both panting, bloody, and utterly spent.

- 

(my line of defense against readmore)

#eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson imagines #vampire!eddie munson x you #vampire!eddie munson x reader #vampire!eddie munson #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fluff

[strangersmunsons]

💖 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

[courtingchaos]

This was just a little blurb I wrote the other night for a prompt competition thing however, I was stuck at a concert and wasn’t able to actually participate like that! So y’all can have it! Though I must say, @fracturedarkness has already claimed him as their boyfriend, so the slimy boy is off the market. Sorry ladies.

A/N and Warnings: It’s monsterfucking. I don’t know what else to tell ya. Mentions of said monsterfucking. Go cautiously, have fun, don’t complain about it, it’s just river monster Eddie, he loves you.

You can hear the chittering before before you see the flash of his eyes hidden under the mossy brown hair. The river is murky enough to keep the rest of him hidden until he wants you to see him, until he’s ready to pull you down the slick embankment. His hand is smooth and scaly, fingertips rough when they shoot up out of the water and snatch your knee, pulling you waist deep. You gasp at the cold, at the feel of his cool skin sliding against yours, waterlogged eyes curiously searching your own for recognition.

He can feel your heartbeat pressed up against him, can feel the rush of heat between your legs where his hand rakes up further. The pointed tips of his claws scratching lightly against sensitive flesh.

This is a game you two play, ever since you found him. Alone the way he thought he wanted to be until you came along, tromping through his underbrush and disturbing his peace. You smelled like sunlight and dry earth, things he rarely occupied. He’d only been curious at first but then you’d cut yourself on the rocks and he could taste that sunlight in the water. It hadn’t taken long to track you downstream, follow you up the rocks you’d climbed. His den wasn’t far and he thought he could have his fun with you before pulling you under the current, but something was different. You didn’t scream like all the other humans. You didn’t try to fight out of his grip on your bleeding ankle. You’d watched with wide, curious eyes. Run your mouth at him like he couldn’t understand you but when he pulled you close abruptly you’d stopped, watched his pale lips form around familiar sounds. Watched those sharp teeth move in closer to you.

He’d had his fun though, had let you go that first time to slink back to your civilization but you’d slunk back to him. Found him in his home, bringing that sharp sunlight with you and he was fascinated with your missing fear and warm skin.

You’d kept coming back and he kept playing along, tracking you down when he’d catch a whiff of you on the wind. He liked how you tasted after a trek through the woods, long tongue laving up the side of your neck to gather the salt there while you moaned. He’d drag his claws up your sides, pulling at useless clothing hiding you from him. His favorite thing was to get you laid out on the mossy rocks under his stars, nose buried deep in your cunt where you tasted the most like earth. He’d make you scream like the cicadas in the surrounding pines and then pull you down into the water, big hands keeping your head afloat and pinning you to the edge where he could fuck you, knows this is why you keep coming back to find him in the dark. He fights the urge to pull you under the surface, wants to fill your lungs with the same cool water and mate you but he knows he can’t. Not if he wants to keep chasing you, keep finding you. So he pins you and ruts into you hard, holds you in place until you’re clawing at the wet earth and getting it under your nails and in your hair. He wonders if you hold on to his scent like he does yours when he bites down on your shoulder, long row of sharp teeth breaking that fragile skin and filling his mouth with sunlight when he comes. He marks you in a lot of ways, ways he knows don’t matter to where you belong. Ways that matter to him though, and to you too. So he’ll pull you out of the water and bring you to your things and when you’re finally conscious enough to get dressed and leave, he’ll watch from under his rocks and wait. Wait for you to step on moss and leaves and mud again and bring him his taste of sunlight.

(Sacrifice for the read more)

#Eddie Munson smut #Eddie Munson x Reader #Eddie Munson fic #Eddie Munson Monster #??? #could I even tag monsterfucking without Tumblr nuking me 🤣 #my work #my fic

[storiesbyrhi]

Part 2 of 2.

Do you need more Eddie content?

Are you looking for hot babes in your area?

Look no further. Here are a few of my favourite people.

@munson-blurbs

@joejoequinnquinn

@breddiemunson

@imjuststeddietrashatthispoint

@word-wytch

@fracturedarkness

@hellfire--cult

@deadboyfriendd

@rip-quizilla

@neonghostlights

@eddiemunsons-missingnipple

@eddiemunsonbignaturals

@jemmacdraws

@vintagehellfire

@the-unforgivenn

@rosewaterandivy

@powderblueblood

@tomtomslongdong

@msgexymunson

@tenthmoon

@littlesubbyflower

@texasblues

@bettyfrommars

@jadehowlettthewolf

@abibliophobiaa

@urhoneycombwitch

@lonelysatellites

@hellfirenacht

@mrsjellymunson

@writinginthetwilight

#Rhi Talks #Eddie Munson