#I too am wondering about Eddie’s age now | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

steddieas-shegoes · 10 months

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Hi! I've spent hours reading your Steddie stuff when I honestly should have been sleeping because work and adulting. Gotta be some of my favorite writing! You have requests/prompts open? I have 2! If you like them :) 1. The Soulmate idea of people having a moving animal tattoo representing their Soulmate. Steve has hyperactive bat who loves to drape itself around his neck quite possessively. Eddie with a retriever pup or something that likes to curl up over his heart. 2. Always a sweetheart Steve? No King Steve era thing. He bugs Eddie to learn about D&D to understand his kids better qnd our poor metal gremlin melts :) I'm Soft Boi, so sorry for no angst.

I'm posting the 1st one here, but on the second one, I am gonna just give a rec instead. Last Man Standing by @griefabyss69 (GriefAbyss on AO3) is kind of this request but taking it to filth level 😈 But anyways, this idea is so fucking cool my dudes. I love a good soulmate AU, and when it's something super unique like this, I lose my shit. I definitely think someone could make a slow burn with this idea and if anyone does, please let me know! - Mickala ❤️

---------------------------------------------------------

He used to hate it.

A bat was such a menacing and disgusting creature.

Anyone who saw it would give him a look that was equal parts apologetic and concerned.

But when Steve started getting left alone at home, when he only had surface level friends, when he cried himself to sleep because the silence wasn’t enough to drown out the negative thoughts, the bat wrapped itself around his neck, and he didn’t feel so alone.

He’d started sleeping with his hand on his shoulder just to feel closer to his soulmate.

Hoped that whoever it was wouldn’t be disappointed that he was theirs.

————-

Eddie convinced himself for his entire childhood that the golden retriever tattoo that ran up and down his arms every day was some sympathy soulmate tattoo.

There was no way his soulmate was someone this hyper.

And then Wayne explained there was usually a story behind the tattoo, something more than just the personality or energy of a person.

At night, the retriever would pace across his chest, eventually settling right over his heart.

He wondered what his tattoo representation was.

He hoped it was a bat.

————-

“Dude, it’s not a big deal. Just show us!” Tommy yelled to Steve from the pool.

Steve had managed to hide it from his friends for so long.

He wasn’t ashamed necessarily, but he definitely didn’t need Tommy and Carol or any of the rest of the basketball team to see it.

The tattoo often stayed hidden pretty well during the day, usually hid on his thigh or stomach. He got away with always wearing shirts for practice and skipped post-practice showers with excuses that he had a study group to get to.

But his pool was a problem, especially now that he was at an age where everyone wanted to come over to swim when his parents weren’t around, which was often.

He tried to make excuses, said he was just worried about the sun, worried about a creepy neighbor watching.

It only worked a couple of times.

Now it was night, so no sun.

The neighbor was on vacation.

And everyone expected him to strip down and get into the pool.

So he did.

Everyone stared in silence as the bat flew from his stomach to his back and settled on his shoulder.

It seemed like it wanted to be seen, but still wasn’t sure how it wanted to be perceived.

Steve could relate.

No one commented on it, probably too afraid that one wrong word would get them kicked out of the pool permanently.

When he went to bed that night, the bat took its place around his neck, his hand rested in its place against his shoulder, and he sighed.

“I hope you’re being seen,” he whispered into his empty room.

——————-

The golden retriever was completely still for more than eight hours the same night Starcourt exploded.

Eddie tried not to panic for the first few hours, knew it could be any number of reasons the tattoo wasn’t moving.

But after hour six, he called Wayne at work, worry carrying over the line as fireworks boomed in the background.

“It’s not moving. It- you said when it stopped it meant- they can’t be, though.”

“Eds, take a few slow breaths, son. C’mon now, you’d have known if he-”

“But what if mine’s broken? What if the connection isn’t right?” Eddie tried taking breaths, but it wasn’t working.

The more he thought about it, the more likely it was that his soulmate was gone.

By the time Wayne made it home from work, the retriever had moved from his forearm to its usual place over his heart, and Eddie was fast asleep on the couch, his hand resting on top of it.

—--------------------

Being dragged into more freaky Upside Down shit was not on Steve’s to-do list. Then again, it never really was.

He wouldn’t have even bothered coming with Dustin and Max if not for the fact that Dustin was terrified something had happened to his new best friend Eddie.

He tried to hide his terrible mood, but knew he was failing.

He woke up this morning to his bat already on his leg, seemingly asleep, though it was normally still around his neck or on his shoulder when he woke up.

It hadn’t moved all morning, and he was a little worried about what that might mean.

He was also getting more worried by the day that he’d never meet his soulmate.

He knew it was dramatic, but most people he went to school with had met theirs by now, their tattoos now permanently placed in matching spots on their bodies.

“Dustin, this is so stupid,” he reiterated for the hundredth time as they walked up to the boathouse door.

He kept thinking it to himself as they poked around looking for Eddie, as he was being held against the wall with a broken bottle to his neck by Eddie, as he felt a flutter in his stomach at the way Eddie was watching him as they told him about the Upside Down.

He didn’t take the time over the next couple of days to pay much attention to his tattoo, didn’t really consider the fact that what little time he slept, he was so out of it he didn’t even notice whether the bat was on his neck or not.

Didn’t think about it until a moment in the RV alone with Eddie, when something in his brain told him to check on the bat.

“Sorry, just. Can you wait one second?” Steve interrupted Eddie’s thought as kindly as he could.

“Uh, yeah?” Eddie responded, confused.

He slipped to the back, not bothering to close the curtain that separated it from the rest of the RV.

He lifted his shirt in hopes of seeing it, but it wasn’t there.

He groaned and unbuttoned his jeans, rushing to just check and see if the bat had moved at all.

He shoved his jeans down and frowned.

It was in the same place still.

On his inner thigh on his right leg.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, or what he thought was under his breath.

“Everything okay?” Eddie’s voice was much closer than he expected, making him jump and rush to pull his pants back up. “Shit, was that your tattoo?”

“Yeah. It hasn’t moved in a while.”

“Neither has mine.” Eddie moved in closer. “Actually, mine’s on my thigh too. Kinda makes it hard to check.”

“Which thigh?” Steve couldn’t help asking.

“Right.”

“What is it?”

“Golden retriever. Can’t really imagine who it would be,” he admitted.

Steve’s first and only pet had been a puppy. A golden retriever named Daisy.

She was his entire world for almost a year until she chewed on one of his dad’s expensive watches and ended up being given to a man who worked with him.

He cried for days after that, didn’t talk to his dad for weeks, not that that was difficult to do since he was gone more often than not.

He vowed that he would get another one the moment he was an adult.

That didn’t quite work out.

But his nannies all used to call him a retriever, his energy contagious in the best way, his playful demeanor a relief. As he grew up, it got dulled by his parents, expectations, society, but he knew inside, all of that was still there.

“What’s yours?” Eddie asked, shaking him out of his thoughts.

“A bat.”

Eddie tilted his head and looked at him, eyes squinting to take him in.

“A bat?”

“Yeah. He’s a playful guy, but kinda shy it seems like,” Steve’s smile was fond until it was sad. “At least until he stopped moving.”

“When did he stop moving?” Eddie ignored the fact that it was a he for now.

“I guess I noticed it the day we found you in the boathouse.”

They both stared at each other for a moment, possibly coming to similar conclusions.

“What about yours?” Steve asked quietly, though something told Eddie he already knew the answer.

“The day you found me in the boathouse.”

“I-”

“How-”

“Dingus, we gotta go!” Robin was suddenly yelling as the RV door slammed open.

They could figure this out later.

They would have to.

—-----------------------

As Steve sat by Eddie’s bedside in the hospital, he thought about how often the bat tattoo had been the only comfort he had, the only thing that kept him from being completely alone.

He thought about how Eddie had always done his best to include the people who didn’t belong anywhere else, how he’d put on a show to protect himself, but hated being seen.

Wayne watched him from the other side of the bed, silently judging him, probably trying to figure out how to kick him out.

But he couldn’t.

He felt the pull now.

Now that he’d been around Eddie, somewhat gotten to know him, how he was fearless when it came to the gremlins, was willing to give up his own life if it meant getting Dustin to safety, he could feel the tug on his heart.

It was inconvenient since they didn’t know when or really even if Eddie would wake up.

So he waited.

He waited for Wayne to kick him out. He waited for doctors and nurses to have answers. He waited for Eddie to wake up.

He waited to know if he’d be able to have his soulmate or not.

—-------------------

Eddie’s first word when he woke up was Steve’s name.

Steve let out an uncontrollable sob, curling down so his head rested in the sheets of the bed.

Wayne’s hand was on his back, his voice trying to speak to him and Eddie at the same time.

They’d gotten closer over the last few days, Wayne’s calm presence enough to keep Steve from completely losing his mind with worry.

But the pain meds in the IV drip seemed to catch back up to Eddie within minutes and he was asleep again.

“He woke up though. Your boy woke up,” Wayne said to him, holding his hand.

“Yeah. He did.”

—-------------------

When Eddie left the hospital, Steve insisted on pushing his wheelchair to Wayne’s truck himself.

The nurse agreed with little argument; The hospital was incredibly understaffed and overrun with patients from the “earthquake” and she had a million better things to do.

The walk down was mostly quiet, but not awkward.

“I think some of my tattoo is missing,” Eddie finally said, barely more than a whisper.

“From the bats?” Steve asked.

“Yeah. I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault. Doesn’t change anything.”

“No?” he asked, voice full of hope.

“Not a thing for me.”

—------------------------

They dated.

It was unconventional in every way.

Steve had never pictured himself with a man, but now he couldn’t picture himself with anyone but Eddie.

Eddie had to explain that they couldn’t just go out and hold hands like any of Steve’s other dates, they had to be careful.

It wasn’t always easy; Steve got frustrated and Eddie got insecure.

But they always ended their nights with soft kisses, with whispered words of comfort and promises.

They fell in love like that, the tattoos only the beginning of something that no one could have expected.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #ficlet #request #soulmate au

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deathbecomesthem · 6 months

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You Can't Go Home Again

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader | 8.1K Words

Hawkins, Indiana - 2006. Reader and Eddie are both 40. The Reader has a 19 year old daughter that is mentioned.

Summary: You're both in town for a funeral. This is a love story.

Contains smut, death, love, booze, and weed. Just like all the best things in life, you take the good with the bad or your ass misses out.

+18 only. No one under the age of 18 has my consent to interact with anything on my blog. I am old enough to be your mother.

If you like this story, please let me know. Reblogs are strongly encouraged. If it doesn't get passed around, it dies in this spot. Thank you @jo-harrington and @br0ck-eddie for reading this over and telling me it's worth publishing on this blog. I love you both more than words can express.

---

You can’t go home again. Or so you’ve been told. Yet here you are, zooming down the familiar stretch of highway that leads back to that place. You turn the thought over in your mind while your hand surfs against the wind outside of your car window. You aren’t going home, not really. Hawkins isn’t your home anymore. It hasn’t been since you pulled out of your parents’ driveway over a decade ago.

At least he had the common decency to die as the leaves started changing color, you think to yourself while your hand surfs in the wind outside your open window. The view is really spectacular. The trees look like they’re on fire as the sun begins to dip below the canopy. Indiana is flatland, but it’s still pretty in its own way. Wide open, it bares itself to you. It is what it is. There are no hills to hide behind. Not in these parts, anyway.

As you cross the county line, you flip on the radio and tune to the local country station. Might as well acclimate, you think, but really, you’re happy to hear Bonnie Raitt’s bluesy voice as you pull off the highway. She’s singing about how she can’t make someone love her, and you hold up an imaginary glass to toast the sentiment. That’s something you’ve learned the hard way.

I’ll close my eyes, then I won’t see.

The love you don’t feel when you’re holding me.

You don’t realize a tear has escaped your eye until you feel it rolling down your cheek. You wipe it away angrily and wonder when every little thing will stop making the tears come. It doesn’t matter, not right now. Not this week. Tears are appropriate for a funeral, and it’s what everyone will expect to see from you. Even if they’re borrowed tears.

At the stop sign at the corner of Elm and Maple you sit longer than the 3 seconds required by law. It’s not until a BMW pulls up behind that you push up the indicator to hook a right. As you pass by the entrance to Forrest Hills, Deanna Carter is singing about Strawberry Wine and being 17. You can feel heat rising in your cheeks when you let your own memories flit across your mind. It’s true, the hot July moon really did see everything the summer of 1985.

You chuckle at yourself and turn the wheel, left this time. The old motel is up on the right, just at the Hawkins line. You’ve spent too much of your life thinking about a time that only existed for a moment. And it doesn’t matter anyway, because despite all of the daydreams you’ve had about running into him throughout the years, it’s never happened. And you’ve never taken the time to look. You’ve only seen him in your dreams, and what a delight that’s been.

The gravel crunches under your tires, and the feeling that something’s been forgotten rises like a wave. Every couple of hours, it comes unbidden. No, you haven’t forgotten her, she’s in her new apartment on the other side of town from your own. Right now, she’s probably out to dinner with Janey. It’s discount movie night, and that’s something every college student knows to take advantage of. You’re not forgetting her, but her absence leaves a hole that can only be filled with anxiety. It’s something no one really tells you, something that you wouldn’t be able to understand from words alone - your children are a piece of yourself that moves freely in the world. The further you move from them, the deeper the cut.

You’ve already decided you’ll try to call tonight, hoping against hope that she’s still at her place when you ring in. Hearing her voice will fill you a little, and maybe at least make sleep easier. Maddy told you she’d miss you, and you know that’s true. It’s a good thing to hear each other every day, even if it’s only for a moment.

When you come around a wide curve in the road, you’re pleased to see that the bar next to the motel is still standing, and that the lights are on. You’re getting drunk tonight. Why not? For the first time in a long time, you’re only accountable for yourself. Hawkins can swallow you up for the week, and no one outside of this place will see it. And then you’ll never step foot into Indiana again.

—

It’s stupid, and he knows it. He hasn’t been back here in years, and the only reason he’s doing this is because he liked the old guy. Wayne taught him to respect that. To show up for the family. Always go to the funeral, he’d told him, it eases the pain for the loved ones and makes ‘em remember there were people in the world that gave a shit about ‘em. When Eddie was a kid, he remembered how it felt to look out into the church and see so many faces with tears in their eyes. He remembered thinking that it was important that so many people turned out to say goodbye to his Mama, even if they were people that he never got to know outside of that mourning space. Wayne was right, it does matter. It does help. And he’s showing up, even if the thought of seeing you makes his stomach dip and his heartbeat faster.

It’s not about you, you fucking idiot. The words have been surfacing in his mind over and over this last week. It’s not about him, and he knows that. At least, his brain knows that, but there’s a place deep inside of him that can’t help but think about the possibility of something. Of what? Well, if he thinks too hard about it, his dick takes over. There have been many times over the years that Eddie let his mind wander back to his 18th summer, when the heat of your bodies rivaled the heat of the sun beating down on the two of you. Many times he’s touched himself, trying to find the right way to move his fingers to replicate the way your hands felt on him. He’s ashamed of it. He tries not to think about it, but the news of the funeral seems to have lit that spark inside of him again, just as he thought the old smoldering embers were finally snuffed out.

He told Wayne he’d be driving up for the services, hoping the old guy would be able to bring the rambler to meet him in Hawkins. It would save him the cost of a motel room, and the death of the old man’s friend is an unwelcome reminder that everything comes to an end eventually. But Wayne isn’t going to make it. Eddie should’ve known. As much as Wayne taught him about being there for the family, Wayne was closer to Jim than his blood ever was. Especially you. Wayne would be the first to admit that Jim made his bed, and now he’ll spend his eternal rest in it. Wayne will mourn in his own way, he’ll come down when no one knows he’s there to pour one out on his buddy’s grave. That’s alright. It’s how Jim would want it. The funeral will be a farce. People saying goodbye to an old bastard that no one really liked.

When Eddie passes the southerly Indiana border, his ass really starts to get sore. He should’ve flown in and rented a car. He’s getting too old for these long bike rides, and the Indian’s seat isn’t made for this kind of trip. He’s never seen the need to replace the warehouse installed seat, his daily commutes to the construction trailer are short, and he takes a work truck out to the job sites. Maybe it’s time to think about investing in a vehicle that allows for a little more comfort. His ass is only going to spread more from here on out. Turning 30 was like hitting a brick wall, all the years of fun have finally caught up. Now that he’s passed the 40-year mark, every day is a new opportunity to feel aches in parts of his body he never thought about in his younger years. Sometimes he would swear that he could feel his small intestine groan when he caught a whiff of something greasy. And sometimes he can’t go through the night without having to hop out of bed to take a piss. The most obvious reminder for Eddie is looking in the mirror and seeing the way his old tattoos have turned gray over the years, especially his beloved bats. Working outside in the sun has made them fade, and no amount of touch ups can bring them back to their former glory. Sometimes he thinks about you running your fingers over them, the way you ran them along the outline of the wings.

Time passes, and tattoos fade like memories. He knows too. He got to watch Wayne age, see the lines dig deeper and deeper into his face while he made sure Eddie kept a roof over his head. It’s amazing for him to think about the old guy, not really as old as he used to think. Eddie’s got more years than Wayne did back in those days. Close enough to be brothers more than father and son, but neither of them got a choice when it was time for his own Mama to go into the ground. The only one choosing in those days was Al, and every decision was a wrong one.

Eddie hates coming back to Hawkins, it stirs up the old shit he doesn’t think about anymore. It’s easier to see those times through rose colored glasses when he isn’t smack dab in the middle of the town that cut him so deeply in so many different ways. But he’s showing up. He’s doing this thing because it’s right. It has nothing to do with the minute possibility that he might get to find out how the years have treated you. Especially since he knows how you left Hawkins. But time does heal. Eddie’s proof of that.

—

The roadside motel is in better shape than you expect, so you strike your mental chalkboard on the pro side. At least you have a clean bed to sleep in for the next 6 nights. At least you won’t be forced to sleep on Uncle Jim’s couch. You think about what it will feel like being in his little shack. You think about how his own kids won’t show up to sift through his shit belongings to pull out any hidden treasures before the bank throws it all in the dumpster. You’re doing this thing for your father, because he asked you to. You need to make sure the stuff that ended up with Jim when your grandma died doesn’t get lost forever. No cash value to any of it, but it’s worth something to your dad, and he can’t face the ghost of his brother. Not even for his mother’s wedding band, or the family bible.

Your first thought when you opened the door to your home for the week was that you could still smell the faint scent of bleach hanging in the air. Good. These kinds of places have more personality, but it’s always a roll of the dice about cleanliness. The bed is soft, and the comforter smells of Snuggle. Also good. The scent is nostalgic, you can feel the muscles in your shoulders relax. You’ll be able to sleep here. You think that’s exactly what you’ll do. The heavy shades are drawn, so it’s full dark and quiet. You’ve got the room at that butts against the woods, but it doesn’t matter anyway, your car is the only one in the small parking lot tonight.

You’re sinking deeper into the mattress, and you begin to float away. You sit on the edge of sleep, about to topple over it when your ears begin to register a distant sound growing closer. It’s a purr that grows into a deep growling rumble. You stumble to your feet to peek your head out from behind your curtain. It’s full dark now, but the orange glow of the lights at each door along the row of rooms illuminates the parking lot enough for you to see the bike and its rider. Leather clad, head to toe, he’s wearing a small bucket helmet - the kind your daddy used to say they’d have to scoop your brains out of if you wrecked - and sunglasses. You watch him make his way to the door next to your own and let himself inside.

Well, you can think of a worse neighbor to have. At least you know you’re not alone out here. Maybe you’ll make a friend while you’re stuck in the hell that is Hawkins, Indiana. Maybe he'll let you bum a smoke or two.

—

You think about your call to Maddy while you walk down the street to the Hideout. She’s fine. All good. She got her new set of pots and pans from the big Sears out at the mall, and she didn't even need your help picking them out. Her dad did a good job. You’re happy for her. A girl doesn’t forget her first move away from home, and you suspect she's more nervous than she's been letting on. You can almost feel the butterflies beat in your own belly at the thought of rent checks and overtime while making it to class every morning. You hope she knows she can talk to you about it. You hope she remembers that you promised to help her if she gets into any jams. Maybe. Maybe not. She deserves to keep her secrets if it's how she wants to go about life. You'll be there either way.

Before you even open the door to the bar, you can smell the smoke and booze wafting through the cracks. That’s perfect. It’s why you’re here. You look down at your black jeans and smile. It took a few good jumps to get into, but your ass looks fantastic in them. You think you might even manage to get a drink out of someone, as long as the clientele is the same as it was when you were here last. Tammy Wynette is coming through the speakers of the jukebox, and the old curtains are pulled across the jury-rigged stage at the back. No band tonight. Just a couple of old drunks passing time at the sticky counter. You take the stool at the end, back facing the door, and think about what song you’ll choose for the room.

“Hello, ma'am,” a bright eyed 20 something from behind the bar greets you as you shift your weight to get comfortable on the cracked cushion under your ass. Ma’am. You decide to let that one slide and give him a big smile. “What can I get for you?”

“Oh, I think I’d like a whiskey sour, kind sir.” The words escape your lips without much thought. You haven’t had one in ages. Possibly the last time you had a drink as sweet as a whiskey sour was in this very bar. It wasn’t hard to get served with Big Dave behind the bar, especially when Eddie and the boys played.

The boy nods at you and gets to work on your drink. You see him flip through a rolodex of cards hidden under the bar, cheat sheets. He likely spends his nights pouring pitchers of Budweiser, rarely having to figure out how to make mixed drinks. Especially when the customers are good ole boys between the ages of 35 and 70. Even back in your day, the girls only showed up when there were boys their own age on the stage. You wonder if Bev is around somewhere. If she’s still kicking. The way the place still feels the same as it did back in '84 tells you she's still the owner of this shit stain of an establishment. But it's her shit stain, and good for her.

The bartender sets the glass in front of you with a cocktail napkin under it, fancy, and you feel a draft when the door at your back swings open. The drink isn’t bad, but you wouldn’t know if it was wrong. You don’t do mixed drinks. You’re a neat bourbon drinker. The sweet liquor does what it’s meant to, because you swear you can almost smell something familiar from the past as a figure goes past you. Like smoke and Old Spice with a hint of weed. This place is full of ghosts, you think, returning your focus back to glass coated in ice sweat.

“Hey, man. Three Wise Men and 3 fingers of Jim Beam.” The voice of the newcomer at the bar makes your head snap up. You watch his profile for a second. You see his hand disappear inside his jacket and come out with a pack of Camels. With a flick of his Zippo, his face is illuminated by the glow of the flame. You’ve seen it so many times, but even from this distance you catch sight of the creases that didn’t exist the last time you saw him. You wonder if you really did fall asleep if you’re really back in your motel room having one of your dreams again. The too sweet liquor on your tongue is real, and so must Eddie Munson be real.

You can’t peel your eyes from him, so you don’t try. You keep your gaze fixed to his face and wait for him to notice you. There are no words in you, and you’re afraid your legs will buckle if you try to stand up and walk over to him. You look at his hand, black lines decorate his knuckles. The ring on his left hand is silver, and you’re happy to see it sit on his middle finger. You banish the thought and break your gaze for a second to shake your stupid head.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Eddie’s voice echoes through the room, and everyone looks at him, even the drunk in the corner that can barely keep his head up. “Jesus Christ.”

Blood rushes to your head as he stands and makes his way over to you. Your heart is in your throat. You’d refused to let yourself believe that seeing Eddie this week was anything more than just a fleeting fantasy. The same fantasy that’s been playing through your mind for years. Pinch yourself, you fool. Too late, you’re standing on wobbly legs and giving him the kind of awkward hug reserved for old classmates - and apparently old lovers.

You break apart slowly, and sink down into your barstools, eyes never breaking contact. You think if you look away right now, he might turn into smoke and escape through the air vents. Your hands are on your lap, body still turned towards Eddie, Eddie Munson, and you pinch the skin between your thumb and index finger on your left hand until it hurts. This is real.

You’re both brought out of your shared reverie when the kid behind the bar slides Eddie’s drinks down to his new spot, along with the ashtray holding his still smoldering cigarette. Without a thought in your head, you pick it up and take a long drag before pinching it between your fingers to hand it back to him, filter out.

“So.” You exhale smoke through the word and let it hang for a second while Eddie brings the filter to his lips. The smoke of a kiss between the two of you hangs heavy in the air. “Eddie Munson, what brings you here tonight? Is Corroded Coffing playing a set later?”

Eddie’s crooked grin sits on his lips the same as it ever has, but it’s complemented by more fine lines at the corners of his eyes. You think it would be something to run a finger along them and feel the texture of his skin there.

“You know, I had this-” Eddie shakes his head and makes a noise like a huff of incredulity at what he hasn’t even said yet, “-I had this idea that I might see you here tonight. I’m sorry about Jim.”

“Oh,” you can’t hide the surprise on your face. The sudden presence of Eddie has scrubbed your mind clean of your purpose in Hawkins this week. Uncle Jim is dead. You try for a small frown, but decide against it and say, “yeah. I’m here for the funeral. Also, I promised my dad to go through the house before everything ends up at the dump.”

Eddie nods. His eyes dart across your face and then down to your hands. You’re suddenly very aware of the way your ring finger on your left hand still holds the indent of a band that’s been missing for months now. You think it may never truly leave you. You wonder if he’s seen it.

“Well, I think this is fate.” Eddie slaps his hand down on the bar, still as sticky as ever, and waves over the bartender that’s drying a glass with a bar towel. He turns back to you and says, “We’re drinking to that old bastard tonight.”

—

“Do you remember,” Eddie’s voice is too loud, but the only person left in the bar other than the two of you is a drunk with his head resting on the counter. He doesn’t seem bothered enough to lift his head, “breaking into the abandoned warehouse? Oh god, you were shaking like a leaf ‘Eddie, we should leave. What if someone’s hiding out in here?’” Eddie’s impersonation of your 18-year-old voice is both insulting and wildly inaccurate.

“You fucking asshole, you were the one that hauled ass out of there when a squirrel crawled out from under a desk. The noise you made,” you snort at the memory, “you sounded like my mom that time she found a dead mouse in her sugar dish.”

“That little fucker went straight for me, you can’t deny it.” Eddie’s finger is pointed directly between your eyes in an accusation. On instinct, you grab it with your fist and twist his arm. This is an old routine, one that the two of you had down pat all those years ago. Except now, Eddie’s a lot stronger, and he’s able to twist his arm back. You find your wrist in his strong grip, and you have no idea how it got there.

This is when you notice it. This is Eddie in front of you, but he’s not a boy. It’s not just your body that’s changed since the last time you were together. With his jacket thrown on the stool beside him, his forearms are bare before you. Sinful. Old ink and new, black lines and gray. But right now, it’s the flexed muscle that’s caught your eye. Oh, to be held by him.

The laughter in your chest dies and Eddie releases you. He waves the bartender down before he can call out a last call. One more round for the road, and you’re wishing you had a way to freeze this moment in time and keep him here.

But you can’t, so you take your final shots and hug each other. Jackets are thrown over shoulders, and you make your way side by side to the door.

“I’m staying at the motel on the corner. You should stop by sometime, I’ll be here all week.” You shove your shoulder into Eddie’s playfully and find that the booze has made your feet a little unstable. He puts an arm around you to keep you from stumbling.

“Well, let me walk you home then.” His arm doesn’t leave your side. You’re both hyper aware of the way his thumb strokes against the patch of soft exposed skin at your waist while you wander up the sidewalk, a little zig zag to your movements.

It’s been a night of sharing memories with no talk of the present. No acknowledgement of that indent on your finger where a ring lived for so long. You let yourself drink in the cool autumn air with Eddie’s arms holding you close to him. You let yourself feel held by him. You let yourself imagine that maybe this is real, and you let a sliver of moonlight pierce the darkness you’ve been hiding yourself in for these long months.

“This is my stop.” You pull away and lean your back against the door to your room at the end of rooms that line the facade of the old motel. It’s dark out, and the pale orange glow of the light above the door frame does little more than cast shadows across Eddie’s face. He could be mistaken for that boy if not for the way his shoulders stand wider than you remember. “Will you come in, Eddie?”

He tastes like whisky and smoke, and that’s just how you remember him. Gods, his mouth. His tongue moves swiftly across your lips, and your knees begin to sink. Those strong arms hold you up, they keep you in your spot so he can take his fill. This is the kind of kiss, one that makes you weak in the knees, that you thought was a thing that only existed in your past.

“So, yes?” You break apart from his kiss and rest your head in his chest to catch your breath.

“Yes, please.” Eddie kisses the top of your head and breathes in your hair before spinning you around to face the door. “Open the door, Sweetheart.”

The clicking of the door, and the snap of the deadbolt. Those things are clear, the anticipation of what comes next makes you laser focused on the feel of the metal under your fingers. And then it’s a flurry of mouths and hands. Teeth clicking, noses bumping. A stumble over a shoe in your shared path. You fall to the bed in a heap, it’s surprising how many articles of clothes have been discarded in the short distance between door and mattress.

“Is this real, or am I dreaming?” Eddie whispers into your neck, hot breath on the spot that he remembers makes you keen. His teeth test the skin, and you reward him with a gasp and a roll of your hips. “Fuck, I don’t care if I wake in a mess like a teenager. If this is a dream, I never want to leave it.”

You’d forgotten the way Eddie uses his words, but your body remembers the steps. Fingers waltz along your wider curves, they’re a quick study and map out the places that make you whine. Make you catch your breath. This is what he thinks about so often, the way you get lost under his touch. Your trust in him is still alive, and his need reaches a fever pitch.

“Eddie, please.” It’s all you can say, but it’s enough to snap Eddie out of his reverie. His hands are stroking the valley at your chest while his cock throbs against the cotton fabric of his boxers, hypnotized by the way your skin gives under the pressure of his fingers.

As above, so below. Hot mouths reach into one another as he spreads your legs and sinks his length into your heat. For a fleeting moment, it's a perfect union of bodies. Two as one. You need your breath as he reaches deeper inside you. He rests his forehead on yours and snaps harder into you. His open mouth takes the groans that leave you as he hits that tender and hard to reach place inside.

“You’re so fucking beautiful. You feel so good.” Eddie’s words float around your face as you reach your peak. It’s the words, not the ecstasy, which draw the tears from your eyes. Beautiful. You believe him, how could you not? You want to tell him that he’s beautiful, because he is. Instead you wrap your arms around him and kiss him while he cums. The last rocks of his hips move in rhythm with the languid kisses you share.

—-

You wake in the morning to find crumpled sheets in the space that was occupied by Eddie Munson as you drifted off to sleep. It really was a dream, you think, but the stickiness between your thighs tells you that there was a man in this bed last night. The idea that he’s left without a trace doesn’t even pass your mind, because not Eddie. He doesn’t do that.

You ignore the pounding at your temple and drop your feet to the carpet. A full bladder is an urgent thing that can’t be denied. The freezing tile under your toes jolts you to attention. You map your next steps while you piss, and then wash your hands. You take the time to brush your teeth before heading back into the dark bedroom to find an outfit for the day. It doesn’t matter where Eddie has wandered off to, you need to head over to Jim’s. Eddie can find you later. Eddie will find you later. That’s something you know. Right now? You need coffee. It’s when you go to put your shoes on that you see it. A tiny scrap of paper on the side table next to your keys.

I didn’t want to wake you. I had some business to take care of while I’m in town. Dinner? I’m staying in the room next to yours. I’ll be back by 6.

You shake your head. Your boozy brain missed it last night. Of course it’s Eddie in the room next to yours. The thought of him on that bike makes your head spin. Makes you throb. Dinner, sure. Food is fuel and you’re gonna fucking need it. In the meantime, you have a job to do.

The way to Jim’s house is familiar but strange. Like trying to hold onto a dream as you’re starting to wake. The roads have the same names, but the trees are taller. It feels smaller, the houses closer together. In no time, you’re pulling up the drive to the shack that stands at the far end of Oak Street. It’s easy to forget it, set a little farther back than the other homes, hidden in the shade of the oaks the road is named for.

With a deep breath, you step out of your car and move swiftly to the front door. The smell hits you immediately. It’s not overwhelmingly awful, but it’s not good. Mildew and smoke. It smells empty. So you fill it with the fall air by opening every window. You’re happy to keep your jacket on to replace the smoke with the smell of the dry oak leaves that litter the yard around the house.

The soundtrack to your day digging through the life of your Uncle Jim is provided by the records stacked up by the player in his living room. Bob Dylan, CCR, and Pink Floyd. It could be worse, so you’re grateful. The treasures you discovered hold no true financial value, but they are priceless. Photo albums of long-lost family members, depression glass cake stands and punch bowls, and the piece de resistance - the family bible. You run your fingers across the leather cover and smile. You did good, kid. Grandma’s ring, though. You’ll come back at least one more time and truly tear the place apart before you hit the road. If it’s here, it’s going home with you.

—

Rick’s place is still home for Eddie, more so than the trailer park ever was. Wayne’s home was never Hawkins, and it served him well to be back in the wild mountains of West Virginia from where the Munsons hail. But Rick is a Hawkins institution, and he’s only ever had love for Eddie without the pressure of the constant concern that weighed on Wayne and Eddie’s relationship. That’s how it is with a father and son. Rick is the fun uncle that taught Eddie a way to bring in cash without being under the thumb of some asshole. It’s served him well throughout his life, even now. Eddie can find work anywhere, he carries his skills in his hands.

Rick is expecting Eddie, and he’s sitting out front when the Indian hums up the road that hugs Lovers’ Lake. It’s still pretty out here from Eddie’s perspective, especially with the trees still hanging on to the leaves of various colors. Eddie’s already thinking about getting you to come out here with him before you both leave town at the end of the week. As soon as he caught sight of you last night he had decided to wring out as much as he could from this brief reunion. No time to waste, especially if maybe there’s someone you’re going home to. He’s not going to ask that question. He doesn’t want to know. For now, you’re both here, and that’s more than he thought could ever be possible.

“Eddie! Oh man, it’s been too long, brother.” Rick’s on his feet and meeting Eddie in the driveway for a bear hug. “Sight for sore eyes.”

They sit outside on the back deck for hours, talking about the old days and the new. They watch the sunlight dance along the ripples in the water when the occasional fish comes to the surface for a waterbug. They pass joints back and forth, and sip on the instant coffee that Rick swears is better than that overpriced bullshit the coffee houses try to con people into buying. And then they get down to business for a few minutes over a game of pool. Like the old days. It’s healing to remember there is a place in this godforsaken hellhole that Eddie can feel like himself. It was never all bad, but nothing ever is. Eddie knows this, his own life is a mixed bag. He has to take the bad or else lose out on the potential good.

The sun is starting to sink down below the trees when Eddie swings his leg over the seat of his bike to head back to the other side of town. He’s glad. He’s hoping that you’ve decided to accept his dinner invitation. The memories were fun to relive, but his mind is whirring with questions about who you are now. He’d like to hear it. He’d like to tell you about the bands he plays with on the weekends back in Charleston. Last night was nice, but he’d like to spend some time with you while the lights are on. He let his cock carry him away too quickly last night, he hopes he gets a chance to take his time with you tonight. His thighs vibrate from the hum of the engine while he weaves down the streets. He’s half hard remembering the way you smell and the sound of your voice when you get lost with him.

—

“You’d really like her. She’s a natural musician, like her dad. I’m just glad she’s sticking close to home for college. I worry enough even with her living less than a mile away.” You’re rambling on about Maddy while Eddie watches your lips move. He’d had a feeling there was at least one kid back home, he’s dated enough moms to recognize the signs.

“Oh, a girl after my own heart. I already love her.” Eddie’s thumb strokes the back of your hand, his arm reaching across the table. Your plates are empty, and your glasses are drained. Your concern about telling Eddie you have an adult child is forgotten now, and you’re gushing. Just as it should be.

“I’m sorry, I’ll stop talking about Maddy for a while. She’s the sun my life orbits around.” You tip back your martini glass, searching for any last remnants of gin. No luck.

“Yeah, you’re a good mom.” That thumb rubs again. “Of course you are.” Eddie looks around the restaurant and watches as the servers very purposely place chairs on top of tables, inching ever closer to the one where the two of you are seated. “I think we should probably let them shut it down, head back to the motel.”

Head back to the motel. That sounds really good, because Eddie’s wearing a tight black t-shirt that leaves little to the imagination. You can just make out the farmer’s tan that starts at the middle of his biceps. You hadn’t noticed it as much last night, but Eddie’s skin is sunkissed from years of working outdoors. A contract carpenter, he told you, and you could almost smell the sawdust and varnish when he explained about his special word working projects. You want to see them. You want to touch them. You have no doubt that they’re unique and special pieces. Eddie’s always had the ability to pull beauty out of the mundane.

“Will you drive, Eddie? Take me the long way home?” You’re already handing him your keys before he can answer. Of course he will. He’ll do anything you want, it’s always been that way. He’d stop the world if it would make you smile.

“Let’s go, Love. You can rest your head on my shoulder.” And that’s what you do. The walk to the car is slow, but Eddie’s arms need to stay around you. It’s where they belong.

He does take the long way, hooking a right when he pulls out of Enzo’s parking lot and heading for the back roads. One hand sits on your thigh. Your head can’t reach his shoulder in the car, so you lean it back and close your eyes. Linda Ronstadt’s been cheated and mistreated, she’s wondering when will she be loved? Some day, Linda, even if it’s for just a fleeting time. The idea pricks your chest, and you push it down. We won’t think about the end until it gets here.

“Will you be my date for the funeral, Eddie? I might not go if I have to do it alone.” You keep your eyes closed, and he squeezes your leg. He’ll go with you, you already know that.

“Yep. And then we’ll go back to the bar and get shitfaced. Bev will love it. Give the old gal something to be pissed about.” You snort at the thought of Bev trying to wrangle two 40 somethings trying to relive their youthful dalliances. Poor woman. But she would probably love it.

“I like your plan, Ed. Now tell me, did you smoke it all, or do you have some weed back at the motel?” You turn to face him, you want to see that crooked grin of his. “I’ve gotta call Maddy when we get back, but I think it’d be nice to sit outside and get nice and toasty.”

“Yeah, well, I might have a little. Can I ask you something?” Eddie turns the wheel and you’re looking at downtown Hawkins. You nod, but your mouth is dry thinking about the possibilities of what he wants to know that you haven’t already told him. “What kind of an asshole wouldn’t hold on tight to someone like you when you’re so fucking perfect?”

“Christ, Munson. Are you high already?” You pull a cigarette out of the pack sitting on the dash and light it. Just a drag before handing it back over to him. You’re both giggling, it was too much. “Well, you might have been the first to let me go, but you weren’t the last. But look at us now, hm? I think it’s better like this. Makes you realize that the grass isn’t always greener, ya know?”

Eddie blows smoke out of his nose and quietly mutters, “I was blind.”

“Nah. What I told you back then is still true, I’ll take what I can get from you, Baby. Any time, any place. It doesn’t have to be forever.” Eddie bites the inside of his cheek at your words but keeps his response in his mind.

—

Eddie sits in his room rolling joints while you’re on the other side of the wall talking to your daughter. All that talk about the kid, and no mention of the dad. Eddie knows who Maddy’s dad is because word travels fast. He’s never really thought about the guy much, but Eddie’s pretty sure he’s the one responsible for the sadness living behind your smile.

Eddie pulls the comforter off his bed. He’s taking it outside with him to wait for you on the bench that’s at the entrance to the cemetery across the street from the motel. There are no streetlights out here, and the dead won’t mind the company. They never do. The plans he had for this week are fading into one persistent thought - be with you as much as possible before it’s too late. The threat of Sunday coming too fast hangs over every second that ticks past.

It’s harder for Eddie to push those thoughts away than it is for you, because of the regret. He can’t help but feel it, even though he knows that 1984 Eddie is not the same as Eddie today. He’s learned how to spot a good thing, and that’s you. The idea of holding onto you with both hands doesn’t send a lightning bolt of fear through his guts like it did when he was 18. This couldn’t have happened then, whatever this is. It’s a battle in his mind, trying to see through the haze of the memories, how real can it be when everything is shrouded by the past.

The inward battle halts when he sees the door to your room open. He focuses on your form growing larger with each step closer to him. He watches each step of your feet until you’re looming over him, blotting out the weak light from the motel across the street. You have a soft smile on your lips, and he memorizes the way those lips feel on his forehead before you flop down on the bench next to him. He spreads the comforter over your lap, and pulls you into his side.

“This is so romantic, Eddie. You, me, and the sleeping dead.” You sigh and nuzzle your nose into his neck. “You smell nice.” Your lips brush against his skin and the hair stands up in answer.

“What time are we leaving tomorrow?” Eddie asks as he places a joint between your lips. “I’m hoping to wake up next to you again, but I don’t wanna make any assumptions.” Sparks fly out from his Zippo, and you breathe in the weed smoke before answering.

“Baby, as far as I’m concerned, you could cancel your room for the rest of the week and move into mine. You don’t even need to ask what I want. This is it.” You look up at him and place the joint in his mouth. It’s hard to see his features in the dark, but you think his eyes look a little misty. “Hey now, don’t give me sad eyes, Eddie. We’ve talked about this already. I’ll take what I can get.”

“That’s bullshit.” Eddie’s voice is low and you’re already feeling a little lighter. It’s been a long time since you’ve smoked, and you can feel the cloud starting to creep across your thoughts.

“Oh? Well never mind then. Fuck you, Munson.” Your retort, but there’s no bite. You pluck the joint out of his fingers.

“I just mean, you deserve better than that, and I’m sorry.” Eddie kisses the top of your head, an apology of sorts.

“We all deserve better than we get, Baby. You should know that. It’s easier to accept it than to try and demand what other people can’t give.” You think the words came out right and can’t muster the energy to care if they didn’t.

“Yeah, but it’s still not right.”

Right or not, it’s a truth you accepted a long time ago. It doesn’t stop the pain, but it kills the resentment. What more can you do? Life is hard enough.

—

The light stays on in your room tonight. The weed slows down time. It swallows you and Eddie up, and gives you the space to study each other. The rough calluses on his fingertips travel along the lines of your body, creating a roadmap in his memory. He needs to remember how to find you again, even when you’re a thousand miles away. He needs to taste you on his lips.

The hunger is as strong as the previous night, it’s why your center on Eddie’s face. It’s why your nose leads the way down his torso, inhaling the smell trapped in the dark hair at the base of his cock. He tastes how you remember. Your mouth wraps around him while his tongue and fingers make you sing. He keeps one wide palm planted on the fat of your ass, his rip is hard enough to bruise. He keeps you in the spot until hot tears spill down your cheeks with the intense pleasure of it all. He keeps you there until he spills himself inside your mouth. And you drop, head on his hip, looking at his softening cock in front of you. You lean over and kiss its tip.

Eddie’s giggles are music to your ears. He suddenly needs to see your face, but your legs are still spread in front of him. He slaps your ass, hard enough to sting, but it works. You slowly move your legs over to the side, freeing him so he can crawl down to the end of the bed. He can taste himself on your lips and is surprised to feel his cock jump. You need a little more time than that, Bud.

“I need to tell you something.” Eddie’s arms are wrapped around your sweaty body, and he’s peppering kissing along the bridge of your nose. You release a questioning hum, trying to focus on his words. Sleep is calling to you. “I’m going to the funeral with you tomorrow. I’m going to Jim’s with you to finish the scavenger hunt from hell. I’m spending every fucking second with you until we both leave this shithole. But I don’t want that to be the end.”

“Everything ends, Baby.” You mutter into the skin of his chest. You feel his breath hitch and wonder if there are tears to match the stutter. “But it doesn’t have to end so soon if you don’t want it to.”

“I want to hold onto this, Love. I think we both know this -” Eddie points a finger between the two of you, “- is something special. It always has been. I’ll fucking pick my shit up and move to wherever you are. I won’t even complain about the snow. At least not the first year.”

“I’ll complain enough for the both of us. I always do.” You kiss his chest and look up at him. There are tears, You reach up to rub them off his cheek. You look at the hair at his temple and see the way the gray hair threads through his dark curls. You think it would be something, wouldn’t it? To see the gray overtake the black over the years. And you know Eddie doesn’t say anything to you that he doesn’t mean. It’s not something he’s capable of doing. “For Eddie Munson, my door is always open.”

“What about Maddy’s dad?” Eddie chokes on the words a little, but he gets them out along with a fresh tear that leaks from the corner of his eye. That’s something you’ve always loved about Eddie, he’s never hidden the tears when they show up.

“That’s been over for a while, Ed. I should’ve told you that.” You stroke his cheek and smile. “You’re down bad, old man. Wow, that’s really something, ain’t it?”

Eddie’s laugh rumbles through both of you. The years in front of you don’t look so bleak when you picture Eddie’s arm around your waist. The tears won’t sting so much if you have each other to wipe them away. It’s not too late, you’ve got two feet above ground. You’ve got two hands to hold onto this thing, and Eddie’s hands are holding on just as tight now. The memories and the future swirl together, and you thank god for those years apart. It’s so much sweeter this time around.

You fall asleep with Eddie inside of you. I love yous breathed into your mouths. Eddie’s going to have to replace that seat on his bike if he expects you to ride on it with him. He’s adding it to the mental list he has running. Tell Wayne he’s moving closer. Pack his shit up in a Uhaul. Drive a couple hundred miles. Replace the bike seat. Wrap his arms around you and never let go.

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic #thanatos writes #stranger things smut #wayne munson

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once-upon-an-imagine · 4 months

Note

Hiii❤️, how are you?

I wonder if you can do a gareth x "cheerleader" reader, and they are dating in secret and the reader has a younger brother who plays dnd, but he has nobody to play with except reader and the brother is too shy ask them or eny one to play.

(the little brother is around Erica's age)

(Sorry, my English is not so good, and sorry if the request is too complicated or you are not able to right it. I hope you have a good day and night, sorry again if you can't make it)

this is such a sweet request, love! it's a bit short, since I'm only doing dialogues right now (although it turned into a drabble), so I hope that's okay 😊 your English was really good, love don't worry 😁 thanks for being the first one to request Gareth 🥰 Warnings: none Disclaimer: I don’t own Stranger Things 😊 gif isn’t mine 😊

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

New Player

"There you are, sweetheart" Gareth smiled and stopped playing his drums as soon as you appeared in his garage. "I was starting to think you'd forgotten about me" he pouted, making you smile and give him a peck on the lips.

"I could never do that" you argued as he kissed you again, a little deeper this time. "Sorry, love. Practice ran late" you explained while he led you to the sofa in his garage. When you sat down he pulled your legs to rest on top of his and placed his arm on the back of the sofa.

"It's okay, love" he smiled. "How was practice?"

"It was fine" you said, resting your head on his arm. "How was your campaign?"

"It was fun" he said, smiling.

"Yeah?" you asked, tiredly and he kissed your head. "Do you have band practice today?"

"Nope, not today" he shook his head. "Today I'm all yours" he smiled, kissing you again.

"Lucky me" you smiled.

"You wanna watch a movie?" he asked as he started to get off the couch but you quickly pulled him back.

"Um... can I ask you something?" you asked, looking at his hand between yours. "You can say no if you want to" you muttered, making him frown. It wasn't usual for you to be shy around him.

"I hardly think that will be the case. It's pretty impossible for me to say no to you" he said, pulling you closer and making you smile shyly at him. "What's going on sweetheart?"

"Well, remember when you told me that Eddie asked Mike and Dustin to look for someone to join Hellfire because Lucas wasn't showing up?"

"Yeah, it was a few days ago" he mentioned.

"And they got Erica, right?" you asked and he nodded. "Well, I just wanted to ask um... because I kind of thought that Hellfire was only for people in high school but um... well, since Erica joined I thought um..." you said, playing with his hand. "I was wondering if... maybe Charlie could join you sometime?"

"Charlie?" he frowned. "Your brother Charlie?"

"Well, he's friends with Erica and she told him about Hellfire and I thought-"

"He plays?" he interrupted you and you understood why he was so confused.

"Yeah, he does" you nodded.

"How come I didn't know this?"

"Well, I don't know, I guess it hasn't come up. Like I said, I thought Hellfire was a high school thing and-"

"You still could have told me he played" he chuckled.

"Well, it's just... he's really shy and he doesn't have many friends, and he doesn't think he's really good at it but I think he is" you explained. "Or... maybe he's regular and he's just good because I'm horrible at it-"

"Hold on!" he said, now completely shocked. "You play?"

"I uh- w-well, not really. I just play with Charlie because he has nobody to play with but I have died several times" you explained.

"Really?" he chuckled.

"Don't laugh at me!" you pouted. "There are a lot of rules and, I am really bad at it and-"

Gareth cut you off by pulling you closer and placing a sweet kiss on your lips.

"I'm sorry, love. I didn't mean to laugh" he assured you. "It's really sweet that you play D&D with Charlie" he said. "I sometimes get invited when my sisters throw tea parties" he confessed.

"You do?" you asked, smiling sweetly at him and he nodded, feeling his cheeks blush a little. "That's adorable" you said, kissing his cheek and moving closer to him.

"Well, if you want, and if you don't mind telling your brother about me, then maybe we can get together to play D&D, and if he likes, I can talk to Eddie about him joining Helfire" he suggested. "If Charlie wants" he added.

"Really?" you asked, excitedly, moving closer to him and wrapping your arms around his shoulders. "You would do that?"

"I told you it's pretty much impossible for me to say no to you" he said before you leaned in to kiss him again. "You can tell him we're friends if you prefer" he suggested.

"I think he would like to meet my boyfriend" you smiled. "If you're okay with that" you said.

"I'd like that" he smiled before he kissed you again. "And if you're okay with it... maybe... I can tell the guys in Hellfire?" he asked, hopeful. "Or just Eddie, if you prefer, he can keep a secret-"

"Do you he's gonna freak out?" you asked, nervously.

"Oh, yes, definitely" he chuckled, kissing you again. "I can't wait!"

The End

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A/N: hope you loves liked it!

#stranger things #stranger things imagine #gareth emerson #gareth emerson imagine #gareth emerson x reader #gareth emerson drabble

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morganbritton132 · 1 year

Note

The juicy drama of Steve still inviting his mother to things, though?

I know you said in the tags she has never come but I am living for a very petty Eddie seeing Steve’s mom after all these years and going “you look great, Helen. Haven’t aged a day since you begged me not to marry Steve.” (Not sure if you’ve named Steve’s mom yet. Helen is just my head canon name for her.)

I’m not sure if I’ve named Steve’s mom in this AU yet or not, but she is universally known as Angela in all my work thus far so I’m going to keep it the same here.

Steve might have had virtually no contact with his mother over the years despite numerous attempts to reach out to her, but Eddie has.

Eddie has a tour bus and final say over their touring schedule, and Angela Harrington still lives in Hawkins. Eddie is a petty bitch when he wants to be, and trust him. He wants to be.

He always ensures that Corroded Coffin plays at least one gig that’s close enough to their hometown that they can make a day trip. Some might say that he’s keeping close to his roots and others may say that he’s giving the band a chance to visit with family, but Gareth knows Eddie too well.

Wayne doesn’t live in Hawkins anymore and Eddie would only ever step foot in that town to cause a problem, so he tells him. He says, “Don’t get arrested” and then he goes to see his parents.

Eddie paints pentagrams on his fingernails and lines his eyes with the darkest liner he has, and then he makes his way up Loch Nora with the windows down and the music loud. He parks in front of the Harrington residence and he pounds on the door until someone answers it.

Angela never looks older than she does when she’s glaring at Eddie and it makes him smile, “Hiya, Mom.”

She never slams the door in his face despite how much she looks like she wants to. It would cause too much of a scene and Eddie has caught her in the middle of her book club – a bit of good timing on his part (and a lot of listening to Steve Facebook stalk everybody that has ever lived in Hawkins). She looks him up in down like she’s already annoyed, puts her hands on her hips and says, “Absolutely not.”

Eddie’s already slipping passed her by then and into the house. He looks around like he’s never fucked her son there before and says, “Wow, Ang, it almost looks like a human being with a functioning heart lives here.”

She hisses at him to get out of her house or she’ll call the police, but Eddie just got here. And anyways, he’s too busy introducing himself to her friends, “Hi. Hi. I’m sure you’ve heard a lot about me from Angie. I’m her son-in-law.”

Gosh, some of these girls are young enough to not know that Angela abandoned her son because one of the girls says, “Oh, I didn’t know she had a daughter.”

“Yeah, no,” Eddie says, pouring himself a glass of their champagne. “She doesn’t. A son. Hot as hell, great ass, wonderful person – he’s fantastic. That’s actually why I’m here, you see.”

“My girl, Angie, here married a violently homophobic man and when he kicked her son out, she didn’t do jackshit about it. Still hasn’t,” He continued, despite her actually picking up the phone to call the police. His smile dropped a bit when he made eye contact with her, “But Richard is dead now and there’s nothing stopping her from reconnecting with her kid, right?”

Eddie’s smile picks up again when he addresses the rest of the book club, “You see, a couple years ago, Stevie went back to school to get his masters. He’s has a few sets back - ‘cause he’s still got that head injury, Ang. The one you never ask about – but he’s set to graduate end of the semester. I just happened to be in town and though, you know what?”

“Wouldn’t it just mean the world if his mom came to his graduation?” Eddie continued. “You know, since you missed the high school one.”

“I think you’d do very well to leave now, Mr. Munson,” She tells him, and Eddie makes a big show of listening to her. He leaves behind an invitation to the party that Joyce is throwing for Steve and the info of when graduation actually is.

Eddie doesn’t see her if she’s there, but he doesn’t spend a lot of time looking for her. He’s there to see Steve walk across the stage and to cheer him on with his real family.

#Eddie gives her two months after Richard’s funeral to reconnect with her son before he decides to make himself her problem #eddie munson tiktok saga #steve harrington #eddie munson

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aida-sparks · 4 months

Text

Buddie fans are relentless (and it's a good thing)

Geez, I was not prepared for the rollercoaster of woe that comes from shipping a pair that is not canon (yet!).

I am not a new fan to the show, 9-1-1. I've loyally watched every week for years, cherished the members of the 118, cherished Buck and Eddie's special relationship. I just hadn't been involved in the fandom of it all up until recently. I was just a tv viewer. But being newer to interacting with the fandom, I admit that consuming social media about 911 and Buddie has thrown me for a bit of a loop. I keep seeing the same recycled tactics to argue why people who ship buddie are delusional and why buddie will "never happen". These arguments are off-putting and frankly quite poor. (I don't like to focus on the negative so this will be my only post dedicated to this.)

Argument One: "There's already a gay couple on the show." No kidding. The statement is problematic in and of itself; people don't go around limiting the number of straight couples on a show, do they? It's fantastic that we have a strong, integral gay couple in Hen and Karen, two beautiful and fabulous lesbians, that are vital to this show, but why can't there be more? One representation alone doesn't cover the spectrum of LGBTQ+ portrayals of different romantic dynamics.

Argument Two: "Why can't we have two guys be close without putting a romantic label on it? It's refreshing to see male friendship." Bro... Platonic male friendship is important (all friendship is). It's not all that uncommon, though. Male friendship is focused on a lot already in many shows. But two adult male friends discovering new aspects of their identify that shift their relationship with each other toward something romantic? That's the more refreshing take here; it's one that we don't get to see in media right now but should. Flip the script, 9-1-1.

Argument Three: "They weren't introduced as gay or bi-sexual. It would be too out of left field to go there now." Not true. The show has the creative freedom to explore this narrative and can do it plausibly. There is obviously a very large part of the 9-1-1 fandom that has already interpreted Buck and Eddie's story as having the potential to become romantic. The pair has many parallels to the other canon couples on the show. There are plenty of moments and scenes from prior seasons (post-tsunami with Christopher, the shooting, the Will, all of Eddie Diaz's fond gazes aimed at Buck, etc.) that can be referenced in future episodes via well-crafted montage/edit that will help shed light on any developing feelings from either or both Buck and Eddie. Besides, not allowing a relationship to evolve into something different just because it didn't start out that way? What kind of stunted outlook is that? We want a story about how individuals can question and explore their sexuality at any age. Heck, during the graveyard scene near the end of season 6, Buck and Eddie talked about how experiences have changed them. They're clearly still growing and changing as individuals. It is not a stretch for them to discover whatever they've been searching for this whole time is actually found in each other. ---- That's it from me on this. I'm going to try doing a better job of ignoring the negative talk out there. I hope all buddie fans stay positive too, and when they call us relentless, we take that as a good thing. I hope we all recognize and resect the other characters and ships of this wonderful, wonderful show of ours too! Most of all, I hope we respect each other.

#buddie #911 abc #911 buddie #buddie canon #buck x eddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #buddie thoughts #tv: 911 #shipping #fandom culture

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munson-blurbs · 1 year

Note

could you write about eddie and the reader suppose to be going out together but the reader thinks eddie stood them up but he got into a super bad car accident is in the hopsital and the reader doesn’t find out about it til a couple days later

I couldn't make reader wait too long because I couldn't do that to myself her, but I hope you like this! Sorry it took so long.

Warnings: car accident, mention of injuries, slight angst, some language

WC: 1.2k

Eddie was supposed to pick you up for your first date at 7:00 PM. You didn't expect him to show up on time; you'd been friends with him long enough to know that punctuality was not his forte, but he was now an hour and a half late. That was a lot, even for Eddie.

You dialed his phone number for the third time, listening to the ring until Wayne's recorded voice greets you.

You've reached Eddie and Wayne. Leave a message.

"Hey, Eds," you start. "It's me again. Just wondering if you were on your way, or if you forgot about...anyway, call me back when you get this." You hang up the phone, tears prickling in your eyes.

Maybe it was all a prank, or a stupid dare from one of the Hellfire guys. It made sense; why else would Eddie have asked you out after all this time? You'd been crushing on him for years.

You settle onto the couch, grabbing a bag of potato chips despite your appetite all but disappearing at the prospect of being the butt of their joke. You pick up the phone again, but you don't call Eddie this time.

"Henderson residence," Dustin's chipper voice perks you up briefly; the boy was always kind to you.

"Hi, Dustin," you say somberly, trying not to show how sad you truly are.

"Y/N? he asks, worry evident in his tone. "What's wrong? Aren't you supposed to be out with Eddie?"

You feel the tears slip down your cheeks as your emotions get the best of you. "He stood me up," you tell Dustin quietly. "Be honest with me, please--was this all a joke?"

"No. No, no no," he insists. "Eddie hasn't shut up about you or this date for ages. And he would never do that to you. The guy worships the ground you walk on."

You roll your eyes at his dramatics; carrying your books for you and kicking Gareth or Jeff out of the passenger seat of the van so you could sit there certainly was not worshipping the ground you walk on.

"Look," Dustin continues, "let me figure out what's going on. I'll call you as soon as I get info."

"Thanks," you croak out. "I really appreciate it."

"Of course," he says before hanging up with a click.

The phone ringing wakes you up from a dreamless sleep. You've passed out on the couch; the clock on the wall reads 2:37 AM. Who would be calling at this hour? Dustin was an intense kid, but even he would wait until the sun was up to call you back.

You snatch up the receiver before the bleating can wake your family. "H-hello?" you harshly whisper.

"Hi, is this Y/F/N Y/L/N?" an unfamiliar female voice comes over the line.

"Yeah? Who's this?" you question suspiciously. She didn't sound like a telemarketer or a crank caller.

"I'm Shelby, a nurse at Hawkins General Hospital," she explains. "Your friend, Edward Munson, was brought here earlier tonight after he was in a car accident." She pauses for a moment. "You were listed as an emergency contact on some previous paperwork he'd filled out the last time he was here."

You remember that; he'd broken his ankle last year while jumping off of the stage at the Hideout. Since Wayne was at work, he'd put down your name and number.

"Car accident?" you sputter, sitting up quickly. You're suddenly wide awake. "Is he okay?"

"He is now," she tells you gently. "His car was hit head-on by someone driving the wrong way, and it flipped. The paramedics had to cut him out of his seatbelt."

Your throat is dry and you feel your stomach lurch. "Oh my God," you whisper.

"We're still waiting on the scan results to ensure there's no internal bleeding," Shelby continues, "but he's awake now, which is a good sign. Keeps asking for you."

Your heart melts at this. "I'll be right there," you tell her earnestly. You technically weren't supposed to take the car without your parents' permission, but they would make an exception for this circumstance.

The drive there seems to take an eternity, and you run into the emergency room as soon as you kill the engine.

"I'm here to see Eddie--Edward--Munson?" you tell the receptionist, panting from your sprint. "I'm his emergency contact." You give her your name, and she nods.

"He's in room 110," she informs you, pointing down a quiet hallway. You quickly find his room, knocking gently at the already open door.

"Tryin' to sleep," Eddie's groggy voice floats by, thinking it's another nurse dropping by to take his vitals yet again.

"Eds," you say softly, "it's me."

His eyes widen as he unsuccessfully tries to push himself up on the bed. He winces at the pain and slumps back down.

"Don't get up," you tell him, pulling the armchair over to his bedside. You take his hand in yours, mindful of the IV needle taped to the back. A brace collars his neck and his left arm is wrapped in a sling. Bruises are forming around his eyes, and scratches mar his cheeks and forehead. "What happened?" you ask, rubbing your thumb along his.

He grimaces as he tries to look into your eyes, momentarily forgetting about his neck brace. "I was driving down Miller Road and this asshole comes barreling down, smashing into the van and sending it flying." He exhales, resting his good arm around his aching ribs. "Stupid schmuck didn't even stop. Someone else ran into a nearby store and called 9-1-1."

"I'm just glad you're alive," you murmur, gently placing a kiss on his cheek. "But wait," you pause, "why were you driving down Miller? You don't need to go that way to get to my house."

Eddie manages a small laugh. "Yeah, but I needed to go that way to get to the florist," he admits. "Wayne told me that if I waited all this time to take you out and didn't even bother to bring you flowers, he would smack me with my own guitar."

You giggle at the thought of Wayne threatening his nephew. "Knew that man was a romantic at heart."

"Nah, he just didn't want me to mess things up with the girl of my dreams." A blush creeps into his scarred face.

"Well," you sigh, looking around the room, "this wasn't exactly what I pictured for our first date, but it'll do." You stand up and release his hand. "Give me a sec, okay?"

"Where are y--" but he can't finish his thought before you dash out of the room, returning 15 minutes later with an armful of treats from the hospital cafeteria.

"All right," you start, placing the food on the table next to him, "we've got some sandwiches, pretzels, potato chips, and apple juice. Oh," you remember, "and this." You hand him a plastic container with a piece of chocolate cake. "The cashier said it's the best thing there, although he may have just been trying to get rid of me."

You fiddle with the radio until you find something resembling smooth jazz. Eddie wrinkles his nose. "What the hell is this?"

"It's mood music," you tease. "Did you think we were gonna listen to metal on our first date?"

Eddie chuckles lightly, careful of his sore body. "I'd listen to anything as long as I'm with you."

Your face lights up. "Even--"

"Not Madonna!"

#eddie munson #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie stranger things #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson angst #fluff #angst #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things fanfic #stranger things #eddie munson fanfic #fanfic #requests

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withacapitalp · 1 year

Text

Countdown Pt 3

Part One Part Two

Tw: Slight suicidal ideation and general grieving

--------------------------------------

They only carry a couple things with them on the run.

Surviving the apocalypse isn’t pretty, and it’s easier to make a quick escape if they’re always traveling light. Essentials only, with a few sentimental items so they don’t completely lose their minds.

Nancy had her journals, Max had her skateboard (even if she couldn’t use it right now), Will brought a pack of colored pencils, and Steve was pretty sure Hopper had somehow saved a half a pack of smokes.

And Steve….Steve has a shoebox.

It’s an old thing, held together with duct tape and decorated with sharpie doodles. Wayne had given it to him right before he left town, along with the necklace that Steve kept around his neck every moment of every day.

He’s never let any of them look in it. They think he’s insane, but they’re not the ones with zeroed out timers.

This shoebox is all he has left of his soulmate.

What’s inside would seem like junk to most people. A handful of rocks of varying size, shapes, and colors. A leather cuff with spikes that Steve had immediately put around his timer wrist to hide it from view. A matchbook from a gay bar in Indianapolis, a Spalding bouncy ball. Some hand-sewn patches with logos he didn’t recognize, three different mini figures, a dozen faded beautiful photographs, and a single mixtape.

Only Robin knew about the mixtape. He had only told her in case they needed a song for him. That mixtape was the only thing in the world that had the song that could save his life.

But the most important thing in that box was the letters.

He read one every night. He had promised himself he wouldn’t read more than one. It was routine. When it was his turn to be on watch and the rest of their family was sound asleep, Steve would open his shoebox, pull out a letter, and read it.

The first one is probably his favorite. It was written in dark red marker on yellow construction paper, the edges ripped and torn with age. The marker bled through the back of the paper where the child who wrote the letter had pressed down too hard, and Steve could imagine the way his fingers must have stained from the ink. Blood red. The same way his fingers were stained when he died.

7/4/1971

TWO SULMAYT,

HI.

I AM EDDIE MUNSON. I AM FIVE YEARS OLD. I LIKE TRUKS. YU SHUD LIKE THEM TO. WE CAN WATCH THE BIG TRUKS!

WHAT IS YUR NAMY?

BIE

LUV EDDIE

P. S. I HAD A NANA FOR BRIKFEST. YUM.

There was a picture of two giant monster trucks under the words, and a tiny thing Steve assumed was a banana under the postscript. Steve keeps that one tucked in his jacket pocket, just in case he ever loses his bag or his precious shoebox.

He keeps the first in his side pocket, and keeps the last one in the breast pocket right above his heart

6/13/1986

Hi Love,

The first one says ‘Two Sulmayt’ but every one after that starts with ‘Hi Love’.

Steve can’t help wondering if Eddie would have eventually called him ‘Love’ if they had gotten more time.

Well, if you’re reading this, then I guess my plan to be the one that lived really didn’t work out. Damn, that sucks. Probably a little bit more for you than for me.

I don't know how you dealt with knowing we only had five days, but I thought it was kinda fucked. Like damn, really? Five? The universe sure has a funny sense of humor, doesn’t it, Love? Or maybe it just hates me. That is also a very real possibility.

Maybe. But if the universe hated Eddie, then it must hate Steve more for making him continue to live. For giving him other people to love, people to care about, people to force him to not give up.

Anyways this is how I dealt with it. If you only get five days to have me, I’m going to make sure you know me. Or know who I was at least. One letter a month for the last 12 years, and a bunch of random one off ones from when I was little. Before I lived with Wayne it was kind of catch as catch can with paper and stuff, and I was also like seven, so how many letters do you really want from a seven year old who still can’t spell ‘Difficulty’?

I know how to now, by the way. Mrs. D, Mrs. I, yada yada. Do you ever wonder why all those women are married? I think that’s stupid. Forced conformity, even in our nursery rhymes.

That joke always made Steve laugh. He’s read this letter so many times it’s starting to come apart at the creases, but it still made him pause and chuckle.

Anyways. This is yours. Eleven letters a year for twelve years is one hundred and thirty two. Adding in the ones from before, it’s probably around a hundred and fifty. It’s not the same as having me around, but if you spread them out, you might get thirteen years or so before you have to start rereading them.

Or read them all in one sitting. Do whatever you want.

Steve had counted. It was one hundred and forty one. He read one new one a night, because every single day they survived seemed like a miracle right now.

He only had seventy three more left.

Not like I can stop you, haha.

That’s probably not as funny to you as I want it to be. Sorry, Love.

It wasn’t funny. Not in the slightest. Steve wanted Eddie here, wanted him to tell him to wait. He wanted Eddie to write him more letters.

Oh, I also included a bunch of stuff I thought was too cool to lose, and a mixtape with songs that I wrote for my band. I thought you might want to get to hear my voice. It’s probably stupid, but you don’t have to listen to them if you don’t want to.

Steve listened to it. They had been forced to scrounge up new batteries for his walkman three times because it kept dying.

Everything in this box is yours, Wayne has strict instructions to give it to you. And, anything of mine Wayne doesn’t want is for you too.

Wow. A whole trust fund of trailer park trash. Some people leave their soulmates huge inheritances. I left you rocks and pictures and a shit ton of letters. Aren’t you lucky, Love?

He was lucky. He had seventy three more letters. Seventy three more reasons to survive another day.

After that…Steve wasn’t sure if he would be lucky anymore.

Now if you’re good at math- which I hope you are, because I’m terrible at it- then you might be saying to yourself ‘Is my soulmate an idiot? Does he not know there’s twelve months in a year?’

No. I’m actually incredibly smart, even though my grades don’t really show it. I rewrite this top of the box letter every year on my birthday, and then I burn the last one. It’s a fun, extremely morbid, tradition.

I’m 20 today, Love. I wonder how old you are a lot. I hope you’re close to my age at least. Maybe you’re like fifty years older than me, and I meet you when you’re on your deathbed, and that’s why we only have five days.

They had only gotten five days because Steve hadn’t just taken Eddie and run. He should have just told Eddie to go as far from Hawkins as possible the second he realized. Fuck the rest of the world, fuck stopping the apocalypse. The best part of Steve was already dead.

Two whole decades, but somehow I’m still in high school. I failed. Again. I wrote a lot about it in my letter last month, so I’m not going to talk about it again. Suffice to say I’m pretty bummed. I mean, c’mon, even Steve Harrington managed to graduate last year, and that guy barely even went to class during senior year.

That part of the letter always made his stomach turn. He hated the reminder of all the wasted time, the little nudge that always told him it was his fault they barely had any time.

If he had only looked up.

Oh, well. This one is it. ‘86 baby! I’d say I want this to be the year I meet you, but I really want to graduate, so maybe hold off for just one more year? Stay wherever you are for just twelve more months, Love, just to be safe. Then I can put a picture of me flipping off my principal in this box for you. I’ll add my diploma in too, just to prove to you I did it.

Eddie wasn’t going to get a diploma.

If you wait a year, I’ll give you twelve more letters. So just wait one more year. By then, I think I’ll know what to say to make this better. I’ll know what to do to fill the gap I know you’re going to have. I’ll have something to say that will fix all this. I say that every year, and I never do, but hey, ‘86.

Nothing anyone said would fix this. Nothing Eddie could write would fill the hole left in Steve’s soul. Nothing.

I’m sorry.

I say that every year too.

Steve didn’t want apologies. He didn’t want letters. He didn’t want a hard to hear voice on a single mixtape.

He wanted Eddie.

Well. Happy birthday to me. One more year without meeting you. Eleven more letters. You better be doing something just as nice for me in case it's you that bites it, or I’m bringing your ass back just to kill you again.

Steve didn’t care if Eddie killed him. Eddie could reappear right now and immediately shoot Steve and he would die happy. He just wanted one more minute. Just a little more time.

…Wait just a little bit longer. I’ll have better words next year.

Can you do that for me, Love?

P.S. You should read the first letter I wrote to you, just to appreciate how eloquent and charming I am in this one.

Eddie called him ‘Love’. Eddie asked him to wait. Eddie wanted to have the right words. He wanted to live long enough to save Steve from his own broken heart.

Steve wishes he had waited.

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undreaming-fanfiction · 2 years

Text

We all know that Steve isn't big on reading, possibly because of all the head trauma. Eddie is the opposite, he basically lives in books. Sometimes he reads to Steve before sleep, or when Steve cooks, bakes, anything that requires his focus. Even when audiobooks become a thing, he says he can't fully focus on a book unless it's in Eddie's voice. That might be a lie, but Eddie never tries to disprove it.

What Eddie does, however, is note down interesting quotes from the books he reads. He scribbles them onto sticky notes in his messy handwriting and then leaves them for Steve to find - in his pockets, on the fridge, in Steve's favorite coffee mug.

Sometimes they are short. Sometimes they take up several sticky notes. But there is always an addition from Eddie, something to make it personal.

"What is love? There is nothing in the world, neither man nor Devil nor any thing, that I hold as suspect as love, for it penetrates the soul more than any other thing. Nothing exists that so fills and binds the heart as love does. Therefore, unless you have those weapons that subdue it, the soul plunges through love into an immense abyss." - The Name of the Rose, Umberto Eco. Made me think of you.

"He's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same." - Wuthering Heights, Emily Brontë. Shows that music taste doesn't reside in the soul, don't you think, big boy?

“I would rather share one lifetime with you than face all the ages of this world alone.” – The Fellowship of the Ring, J. R. R. Tolkien. I've read this so many times, but I only get it now, Stevie. You made it make sense.

Of course, there are funny ones too, inspirational ones, but the ones about the two of them are Steve's favorite. He keeps all the sticky notes organized in a binder, with dates and maybe even snippets of the books when he attempts to read them. He rarely finishes any of them, but Eddie finds himself not caring about it anymore. The moments reading for Steve are sacred and he often throws the party out of the kitchen when Steve bakes. Well, sometimes with the exception of Will and El, those two are always welcome to their quality book time.

As Steve bakes snacks for the latest Hellfire campaign and Eddie's voice carries him to a different world full of adventure, knights and doomed romances, Steve stops him from time to time. "Um, could you- oh fuck, wait a second, I don't want this to burn..."

And before he finishes saving the pastries, there is a sticky note ready for him, with a small note: for my cute pastry savior.

Steve wonders how many binders he'll manage to fill during their life together. He can't wait to find out.

#stranger things #strangerthings #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie drabble #steddiedrabble #steddie hc #strangerthingsdrabble #stranger things drabble #steddie ficlet

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familyvideostevie · 2 years

Note

Hii I was wondering if you could write a Steve Harrington x Henderson!reader where she’s like 2 or 3 years younger than him and she’s in love with him and he knows about it but he pushes her away because of the age gap but when they’re in the upside down she gets hurt and he freaks out and they have an argument and he realizes his feelings for her. Sorry if it’s confusing :)

thanks for the request lovely, and for your patience! reader is 17 in this and steve is ~19, since it's season 4. hope you like! | 1k, angst then fluff, a tiny confession, fem!reader, henderson!reader, cw: blood, injury, part 2

Rejection is no picnic, especially when it comes from your younger brother's...mentor? Friend? Babysitter? You still don't know what to call Steve and Dustin's relationship, but now you know what to call yours: nonexistent. You're sitting in your car in the Family Video parking lot with your forehead pressed against the steering wheel.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," you mutter to yourself. Maybe it wasn't that bad, you think. At least he was nice about it.

You'd gone in to the store to finally tell Steve that you're in love with him. Well, you weren't going to come on that strong -- you were just going to ask him on a date. When you did, his face did something complicated and he pulled you into the stacks away from any customers. Robin started to whistle and pretended she didn't see what was happening.

His hands twitched at his sides as he sighed. "Look," he had said. "I--uh. It's real nice of you to ask me out, and Dustin has mentioned that you, uh, like me." You closed your eyes and prepared for what was clearly a rejection, filing away the tidbit about your idiot brother for later.

"And you're a great girl," he continued, "Honest. It's just...you're still in school, a junior, right?" He clearly hadn't mean for you to answer as he plowed on. "And you're smart, even I know that, so you're going to apply to college and go somewhere really good, and I'm 19 and working here --"

You had heard more than enough by then. You stopped him with a tight smile. "Steve, it's okay. Forget I said anything. See you around, yeah?" You had held your head up as high as you could and stalked out of the store to where you are now still sitting in your car, twenty minutes later, wishing the ground would swallow you whole.

Until you see your brother plowing through the doors you had just left with his friends looking frantic. So you do the natural thing and follow him in, Steve be damned.

You barely have time to think about Steve's rejection over the next few days or so as life becomes more hectic by the minute. But when it comes down to it, diving in after him isn't even a question, and you don't really get to process what has happened until you all get to Skull Rock. Or, the Upside Down version.

"Fuck," you exhale as you watch Steve get bandaged by Nancy. Robin has her arm linked through yours and a small part of your brain registers that you're leaning on her a little too heavily.

"My thoughts exactly," Eddie mutters. "Uh, Henderson, did you know you're bleeding?" Steve's head whips around from under the outcropping.

"What did you say, Munson?"

"I am?" you wonder. You look down at the arm hanging by your side and realize there's blood dripping from your fingertips. You've left a crimson trail behind you on the dark, slimy ground. "Oh," you breathe out. "I don't--"

"Hey, sit down," Robin says, guiding you to a nearby rock. Eddie moves to help you out of your flannel but all of a sudden Steve is there.

"I've got it," he says firmly. Eddie throws his hands up and backs away, pulling Robin with him to stand by Nancy. Steve squats to pull your sleeve away. He hisses through his teeth, jaw clenched as he sees the mess that had been covered. You look down and find your forearm sporting a series of long, deep scratches. Clearly a demobat had gotten you and the adrenaline kept you from feeling it too much.

"Christ, Henderson," Steve says. "Why didn't you say anything?" He rips a piece of your flannel off with his teeth and starts to tie it around your arm, his furious tone at odds with his gentle movements. "I can't fucking believe you came down here. That was so stupid. Who is gonna look after your brother, huh?"

Your mouth gapes at him. "Are you serious?" you say.

"Deadly. This is no place for you. None of us should even be here!" He ties a knot with the fabric and stands up, though his eyes don't leave you arm as if he can still see the wound through his field dressing.

"Listen to me, Harrington," you say, angry now. "I know you don't like me and I came on too strong a few days ago but there's no need to be nasty--"

"No, that's the fucking problem," he sneers. "I do like you, don't you get that?" He runs his dirty hands through equally filthy hair. He's not shouting but it's a close thing.

"What?" You're genuinely confused. He clearly rejected you, you remember that much, though things are a little hazy in general right now.

"I do like you," he says again, softer. "But this isn't the time, okay?"

"No, I think it's a good time as any, Steve." You stand but wobble a little from the blood loss. He quickly moves into your space, a hand on your hip to steady you. His fingers are warm and his grip is a little too tight. You wonder how much pain he's in.

"I'm no good for you," he says, eyes on your lips. "You gotta get out of this literal hellhole town, Henderson. Leave it all behind."

"I think that's my call to make." You hover your hand over his bare chest, not sure where to put it. You settle for laying it over his heart, and you feel it beating fast.

"I--fuck," he says. You've never heard him curse so much.

"Let’s make it out of here first, okay?" you tell him. He nods. Well, at least you don't feel rejected anymore.

"Hey guys," Eddie calls. "Cute, and whatever, but let's not stick around for too long, yeah? Let's get the hell out of here."

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pullhisteeth · 8 months

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Hi! I saw your "Wise Words" fic and got so excited because it was inspired by one of my favorite songs by miss blondie herself 🤣 And I loved your writing so much I thought I could request for a fic if that's okay 🥹

So the "Vigilante Shit" performance in the Eras Tour has been stuck on my mind for AGES (and for good reason) and I was thinking...what if reader is a dancer and is besties with Eddie, and he sees her perform like THAT for the first time...I wonder how he would react and keep his shit together lmaooo

Can't wait to read whatever masterpiece you come up with! Ahhh thank you and ilysm ❤️

oh this one was lethal. checked my notifs at like 10pm and bam! I was off!!! and now it’s like 2am lol. I loved writing this - I took some creative liberties because I do not know a damn thing about dance but I hope it’s okay! thank you for the request (and your lovely kind words) ♡

contains fem!reader, dancer!reader, best friend!Eddie, best friends to lovers, bad knowledge of dance (it shows), fluff. 3k-ish

The heat beneath your cheeks can’t be kept at bay. You’re all flushed, palms clammy the way they used to get before recitals.

It has been years since stage fright could even try to get the better of you. Too many hours spent in front of crowds - whether they be three people small, parents and siblings crammed into your living room, or hundreds big, it doesn't matter to you anymore. You know this is all there is for you, moving across a stage like you own it.

Today is an exception. You’re standing - hiding - behind the curtain, nose inches from the deep blue velvet, right on cue but without your guts or your confidence. There’s a gaping hollowness there instead. You’re nervous.

It’s not like nerves have completely escaped you before now. On stage you’re stoic, but in life you’re… Less than self-assured. Especially when it comes to boys, or rather one boy in particular.

“Hey,” someone whispers to your left, “you’re up in five.”

Seconds. She means five seconds. Soon, the curtain will lift, and you’ll be released into the open arms of cheering onlookers, and you’ll have to try your hardest not to look for him among them.

You hear the familiar rattle of the rope mechanism somewhere distant, the lowering sandbag and the gear up high, and then the light descends at your feet. The fluorescence is blinding as the curtain lifts above your face, but this is easy. Comparatively, holding yourself together here, on this stage, is child’s play. Holding yourself together in front of him? Not so much.

“I thought you’d be happy!”

Eddie stands at the foot of your bed with his hands on his hips. You’re recoiling, knees up at your chin, at the headboard, whinging something cruel about this surprise he’s been keeping from you.

“I am, it’s just-”

“What are you hiding from me?” he asks, smiling, coy like he knows already.

He doesn’t. If it goes your way, he never will.

“Nothing!” you exclaim, too enthusiastically. “Nothing, I just…”

“Just what?” He’s getting impatient; he’s started pacing again.

“It’s nothing, Eds. I am happy. I promise.”

“Good,” he says, grinning. It’s a smile you love dearly, and if this is something that encourages it, so be it. “Nance is coming, too. We got four tickets, so Rob and Steve are gonna try and get the night off.”

Before you can protest he’s throwing himself onto your bed, chest-first, his arms winding around your calves and squeezing a shriek out of you.

“I’m so excited,” he tells you, muffled, face stuffed into the comforter by your feet. “How’ve we been friends all this time’n I’ve never seen you dance?”

“You have,” you respond, absentmindedly threading your fingers through his hair, nails gentle on his scalp. You feel him relax into your mattress and you smile.

“The club doesn’t count,” he says, turning onto his cheek to look up at you. “I don’t even know what kinda dancing it is.”

“You bought a ticket,” you giggle, “surely you saw the name?”

“Yeah,” he says, a little confused, “but what the fuck is chair dancing?”

Before Eddie even makes it inside the club, he knows he’s sticking out like a sore thumb.

“Nance,” he whispers, bending ever so slightly so he’s closer to her ear, “where the fuck are we?”

“Shut up,” she says, laughing her breezy laugh and lifting her shoulder to brush him off playfully.

He’s out of his depth, surrounded by a strange concoction of people - plenty of gaggles of young women, sashes reading bride to be or birthday girl, as well as innocuous older men, distinguished in their suits and pressed shirts, speaking to each other in hushed tones.

Where the fuck is he?

The line gets shorter, and inside the door, once they’re past the lacklustre bouncers, Nancy hands their tickets over and Robin takes her by the arm, giggling with her as they descend the stairs.

Eddie eyes the posters along the walls - comedy shows, open mics, oddly themed club nights - but doesn’t find what he’s looking for.

The four of them emerge into a dimly lit room, where small tables hold even smaller lamps and are surrounded by leather chairs. He feels a firm hand on his shoulder and turns to see Steve looking at Nancy and Robin.

“Okay, girls, find us a seat, me’n Eddie’ll get us drinks.”

Eddie follows him wordlessly through to the bar, where a cheerful - and very pretty - woman takes their order from Steve, who turns to him as she wanders off.

“Hey,” he murmurs, dipping closer, “what’s up with you?”

Eddie groans and holds his head in both hands, elbows on the bar. “I don’t know,” he says into his palms.

Steve’s hand is back on his shoulder, firm again, grounding. “She’s great, you know.”

Eddie twists to peek at him. “You’ve seen her before?”

“Only practising. I was over at their apartment and she was in the living room.”

Eddie groans again, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. “I feel… Nervous, for some reason.”

Beside him, Steve laughs, boisterous and accompanied by a squeeze at his shoulder.

“You should be,” he tells him, “she’s hot shit, Munson. Better be careful, or she’ll be gone before you can catch her.”

The music is your favourite part of dancing.

The dancing itself is fun, of course, but it’s nothing without the bass beneath your feet, the smooth curves of sound that seem to run straight through you like a livewire. You like all of it: jazz, rock, country, even metal, when Eddie’s playing it. But there’s something about that sultry kind of pop, the darkness and the sharpness, that turns you into some type of marionette, moving almost without thinking to the sound of gutsy women.

That’s doing yourself a disservice, of course; you’re a good dancer. You’re an excellent dancer. Eddie’s just never seen it before, and suddenly you’re quite sure you’re about to trip over your own feet.

The thrumming bassline distracts you for a flash, and you look over at the other dancers. You move seamlessly between one another, bare legs weaving and feet precise. Your hands lift in the air and run down your body, feeling the intricate beading of the handmade bodice gifted to you by the director. Every nerve is on fire, hyper-responsive and humming with energy. You flip your hair, bend at the hips, move your mouth in time with the lyrics.

Your hand curls around the cold metal of the chair at the front of the stage, and as you lift your leg, planting a heel firmly on the seat, you forget there’s anyone watching, let alone him.

Eddie’s knee stopped bouncing the moment that the curtain shifted.

He loves music, but while you’ve made him listen to his fair share of pop, he’s never heard anything like this. It’s darker than the other stuff. Sexier, even.

His mind empties as the bass kicks in and the curtain hits its peak. There’s a line of dancers, each one beautiful and sparkling under the spotlights, but once his eyes find you there may as well be no one else in the room.

He knows what it’s like to be on a stage - the lights are too bright, the act of performing too consuming; trying to spot someone in a crowd is almost futile. And yet, for the first time in his life, he feels that insatiable urge to be noticed. For you to look over, meet his eye, and shoot him a wink or smile at him the way you do when he picks you up from work.

The way you move up there is unlike anything he has ever seen before. He knows you’ve been dancing your whole life, and when you’re out with friends you still move effortlessly, often emboldened by liquid courage and a good song, but even his wildest dreams - of which there have been many - could not have prepared him for this.

Your body moves with its curves, swaying and bending in a way that seems so natural on you. There’s a confidence he’s rarely seen before, and it’s electrifying, lighting him up from the inside.

“Isn’t she amazing?!” Nancy whispers beside him.

“Yeah,” he breathes, eyes tied to you. Every move you make is slow, methodical, intentional. You lift your legs, tilt your hips, curl your arm upwards like you’re made of water, and Eddie is thirsty.

He feels the warmth of Steve’s chest pressing into his shoulder. “Dude,” he whispers in Eddie’s ear, “shut your mouth. Gonna catch flies or something.”

Three songs isn’t many, but holding your own body weight the way you have to takes its toll, and the oppressive warmth of the dressing rooms only make you sweatier. So you race through your post-show routine, saying quick goodbyes to your friends and hanging the bodice carefully on the hanger with your nametag. On quick but tired feet you race through the dimly lit corridors, thankful for the simplicity of your sneakers, in search of the fire escape and some fresh air.

You know he’ll be out here. Part of you longs to linger inside, wait it out until you think he might have left with the rest of them, but you know it’s no use. He’d wait for you all night if you made him, and you’re not in the business of making Eddie Munson wait.

With your bag slung over one shoulder, you push firmly on the bar across the fire door and emerge into the dark alley, the air crisp - just the way you like it. The smell of pot and cigarette smoke drifts and you hear the familiar hum of late-night conversation from around the corner, so you close the door softly and follow it.

As you round the front of the small building, you’re met by thick, strong arms around your middle, lifting you into the air with a force you couldn’t fight even before a full dance routine. You squeal, your feet kicking up behind you, finding the shoulders of your friendly attacker.

“Here she is!” Steve booms, his voice a little muffled by your stomach.

“Steve,” you pant, grinning too wide to make the v sound properly, “let me down.”

He gives you one last squeeze and relents, lowering you slowly until your feet hit solid ground. You’re still grinning and he is, too, beaming at you so wide you can hardly bear it.

“You did good, kid,” he tells you, foregoing his boisterous grip around your waist for a gentle squeeze to your bicep.

“Thanks,” you breathe, eyes drifting as Robin and Nancy weave between the two of you and descend, fawning over you, giggling like children.

“You were so good!”

“Why’d you never tell us you could do that?”

“And that suit, oh my god-”

“Y’know the redhead? Do you think you could maybe-”

“Robin, stop it-”

“What?! She was hot! I'm only asking.”

“Hey,” Nance suddenly hisses, smiling something cruel and cunning, “someone else wants to congratulate you.”

She looks quickly over her left shoulder and you follow her eye line, finding Eddie standing a few feet away with his back to the wall and a cigarette at his mouth.

“We’re gonna head over there,” she tells you, nodding at a bar across the street. “Come find us, yeah?”

They saunter away, looking smug as ever, arms looped as they cross the street. You watch them go until you feel the phantom of someone behind you. It comes with the distinct scent of smoke, and underneath it you catch the bright, fresh smell of his washing powder.

“Hi,” you whisper as you turn to him. He looms over you a little, his head blocking the streetlamp so he looks like a haloed angel.

“Hey,” he says and you’re taken aback, because there’s a waver there. Something like nerves, except this is Eddie, and Eddie doesn’t get nervous. You do enough of that for the both of you. “You, uh… You were really good.”

“Thanks,” you say, smiling.

“I mean it,” he says, the words coming out all together like he might have stopped himself if he’d taken too long. “So good. I had no idea you… I didn’t know you could dance like that.”

“It makes me a bit nervous, I guess.”

“It shouldn’t,” he says without a beat. “You looked amazing.”

You smile at him, a little lost in this sea of nice words. Standing on the sidewalk outside a dingy dance club, under the gaze of your lovely best friend, what are you supposed to say?

“I saw you,” you tell him, voice quiet.

“Huh?”

“I was obviously concentrating, it was just a second, but you looked… Entertained.”

He looks down at his shoes, at where the toes of his boots meet your sneakers, and scratches the back of his neck. You dip your head down slightly to catch him forcing down a smile.

“It’s okay,” you laugh, “it’s kinda the point.”

“I know,” he says, laughing too, though it’s a nervous, unsure sound. “I know, I just…”

He can’t meet your eye. It’s worrying you, pulling your gut apart to make space for that black hole of panic. You stand back up straight and pull your bag up further onto your shoulder.

“I, uh, they went over there,” you tell him coldly. He looks up at you, still stooped a little like he’s being told off. “I’m gonna go meet them, um… You coming?”

You’re backing away on uncertain feet, suddenly acutely aware of the aches buried deep within your muscles and the burn of the soles of your feet.

“Wait,” he says, reaching out to wrap his fingers around your arms. You stop moving but look away, too filled with those wretched nerves to face him.

“Wait a second, I just…” He’s panting, stumbling, and you have no idea why. “I can’t… Fuck, sweets, I need to-”

“Eddie,” you snap, patience wearing thin.

He looks at you again, and you see it: the wavering of nerves in his eyes, though they’re hiding from you in the dark, dissipates into something deeper. Some miniscule movement of muscle in his face tells you everything, and yet you hang onto every word regardless.

“I lost my shit when you came out from behind that curtain,” he begins, a hand on each of your bent arms now, shifting lower to cradle your elbows. “I couldn’t… It was like my head went empty, except all that was bouncing around in there was this, like… Bouncy ball of regret.”

You can’t help but giggle. This fucking boy.

“I know, I know,” he says, smiling again, slowly stitching the rip in your anxious gut back together, “but it’s true, I can’t… I can’t believe I left it this long, and I can’t fucking believe it took me seeing you like that to get it together, I… I feel like a fucking teenager. But I just… I need you to know you looked so fucking hot up there.”

He’s as close as he can be without crashing into you. His hands are drifting and returning, like he’s restraining himself, but he has managed to walk you backwards so you’re sandwiched between his body and the wall.

“I-” you begin, though you’re the one with the empty head now and you have no intention of finishing your sentence.

“You can head over there,” he says, tilting his head just so towards the bar, “no questions asked. And I’ll go home and leave you alone for a while, if that’s what you want. I just…” He lets his left hand leave your arm finally, and you let out a weak breath. He hovers over your hip, not touching but definitely there.

You hear him, but you don’t move, aside from letting your arm straighten so your bag can drop to the floor. There are people hovering around, loitering after the show, but you couldn’t care less, because Eddie’s knee is knocking yours and his hand has finally landed on your hip and his mouth is so close to your ear you could die.

“Eddie,” you breathe.

“Yeah, sweets?”

Looking down at you like this, Eddie doesn’t know how he’s kept his composure all these years. He really did feel quite stupid for being moved to act by seeing you on stage like that, but now that he’s this close, so close he could kiss you, he’s not feeling too bothered anymore. You’re looking back at him with wide eyes and your mouth’s in a slight pout and, god, maybe he could kiss you after all.

You crane your neck and lift up on tiptoes until your nose bumps his. You feel him smile and you smile back, until his lips brush yours and you’re knocked silly.

This feels a lot like dancing. Less like the dancing you do now; more like the dancing you did when you were younger, the more traditional kind shared between two people. A duet of movement that, once perfected, feels completely natural.

You’re no traditionalist, but you’re happy to let Eddie lead this one.

When he finally gives in and bridges the gap you whimper, because his knee is settled between both of yours and his hands are spread wide across either side of your hips, and you feel just as warm as you had running through the corridors. There’s the same sense of relief, though, that you’d felt opening that door.

He doesn’t linger, pulling back after only a few seconds.

“Thanks,” you say. He laughs.

“What, for that?”

“No,” you respond, smiling again. It won’t go away; maybe you’re stuck with it. You think about your grandfather and how he told you that if the wind changed, you’d be stuck making that face forever. “For coming to see me.”

He leans back in and kisses you again, more playful this time, firm at first and then dotting them like bursting stars around your mouth.

“You’re amazing,” he says. “So amazing.”

“So you’ll come see me again?”

“Every night, if you’ll have me.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #stranger things #eddie munson x you #stranger things 4 #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson smut #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson requests #eddie munson request #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie fanfic #eddie imagine #eddie fic

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manicpixiedreamcurl · 2 years

Text

The More You Give ❧ (Part II)

Pairing | Eddie x reader

Warnings | 18+ minors and blank blogs don’t interact, drug use, grinding, brief mention of masturbation and sex. Reader is shy and full of doubt. Eddie is kind.

Word count | ~6,700

A/N | I am…very late with this. But my excuse is all of a sudden I had a social life I hadn’t planned for. That’s gone now so I should be more regular in updating from now on. It’s likely to be long, I’m at 20 chapters in the plan currently so I’m not looking to spread that out for ages. Thank you for waiting patiently.

Taglist

Previous Chapter

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Lying in bed last night, you felt something like the childish bliss of the night of your Birthday. Presents opened and enjoyed, full and satisfied by your favourite dinner and a cake made special by your Mom. The joy in the knowledge that, tomorrow, everything that had made you so happy would still be there.

Tomorrow, you thought. Tomorrow, Eddie will still be there.

But now you’re wondering if that’s true at all.

You were caught between feeling stupid, like you must be overreacting, getting yourself worried like you always do, and feeling, with certainty, that Eddie had realised he’d made a mistake. It was only a moment, a small thing, or it would be to anyone else, but you’ve been thinking about it all day.

You’d caught his eyes as you walked past Eddie in the hall, your hand coming up to give him a shy little wave. He did see it. His eyes were on you, but they’d only blinked. You might have said it was shock on his face, but he turned away so quickly you couldn’t get a proper read of his expression. Whatever it was, he ended up acting as if you didn’t exist.

“Once we have the posters up, we can get started on the banner,” Heather says, handing you a pile of yellow paper with her smiling picture. Running for Class President has been her main activity since the beginning of the year, and therefore your main activity, too. You look at the pile of paper in your hands. You helped design it, the pretty blue Vote for Heather! written under her picture is in your handwriting.

“Heather, does Patrick ever ignore you?”

“Since he went to college? All the time. But that’s just another guy thing. You got your blue tack?”

You nod and hold it up, accepting that she’s not in the headspace to be your resident boy expert today.

Being with Andy certainly hadn’t given you any experience of this feeling. He would disappear on you for days, weeks even. Then he’d be there, standing at your locker one morning, all apologies and hands clamouring for touches. He’d say he just got so busy the last week, he couldn’t really see you. You would tell him, smiling, that you understood, because that was the easiest way to end the discussion before he was asking to sneak away into a closet and make it up to you. On the weeks he was angry, after another failed attempt at caresses under your skirt, you only felt relief. It was a break from having to explain yourself, something you’ve never been good at, even at instances where you understand your own reasons. At the end, when Andy had laid out all the ways you had disappointed him, the tears had sprung from humiliation and hurt, but exhaustion, too.

But now, one missed moment, one turned head from Eddie. You’re terrified.

You’re still thinking about it after school, wishing you didn’t have to babysit, even if spending time as chief advisor to Princess Grace was often the great joy of your week. She’ll no doubt clock your mood the second you pick her up, and then it’ll be questions you can’t answer for the rest of the night.

If you weren’t so in your head with worry, you would have heard the engine of an approaching van, wailing electric guitar increasing in volume. It’s the sudden screeching halt of it that makes you jump, looking up to find Eddie grinning at you, arm moving in the effort to crank the window down. “You lost, Princess? Pretty sure this is not the way to your castle.”

Here he is, talking to you exactly as he was. Eddie brand kindness, complete with pet names that make your heart flutter even as it calls out, but why?

“I’m babysitting today.”

“Ah! That explains it. You want a ride?”

You curl your fingers in your sleeves, thumbs wrapped in soft cotton, wondering if he means it, deciding he surely can’t. “No, it’s okay.”

Eddie’s face displays his surprise. “Where you headed?”

“The church.”

“Well, can’t say I love it there, but for you-” Eddie jumps out of his van, hand pressed to his chest. “I’ll go wherever I’m needed. C’mon,” he says, grabbing your bag from your shoulder and taking your hand, helping you into the van. Just like yesterday, like there wasn’t a moment this morning where he pretended you didn’t exist. “So,” he says, letting out a little sigh when he’s back in the driver's seat, van speeding away from the curb fast enough that your body is pushed back into the seat. “This a preacher’s kid, or what?”

You blink at him.

“Babysitting at the church.”

“Oh. She’s at the after school club.”

“You like babysitting this one, or is she a little monster like most kids?”

“I like her.”

You see Eddie nod awkwardly in your periphery. “I’m just heading home to pick up an amp,” he tries. “I’m in a band, don’t know if you knew that. We play at the Hideout every Tuesday. You should come see us play, sometime.”

“I babysit on Tuesdays.”

“Right. Shit. Obviously. Of course you do.” He glances at you, his brown eyes searching. “Hey, are you okay? Did something happen today?”

You clench your eyes shut, rubbing the fabric of your sleeves, feeling stupid and confused and overwhelmed with the need not to cry in front of him.

“Baby?” His gaze moves to you, the road, and back again. “Can you tell me what’s wrong? I’ll try and fix whatever it is, I promise.”

His hand finds yours over your sleeve. Slowly, you free your fingers from the fabric, letting him clasp them gently. You swallow. “You didn’t-” God, it sounds so childish now. “I waved at you today, and you didn’t even- I thought-”

Eddie’s hand twitches. Obviously, he remembers the moment as well as you do. You move to let it go but his fingers tighten, linking around yours. “You thought I’d changed my mind?” You nod, sniffling. “No, sweetheart, Jesus. I was just…so fucking surprised, you know? I kinda assumed you wouldn’t want me to talk to you at school. I didn’t know what to do.”

“What?” You ask, voice watery.

“This may come as a surprise to you, but I’m not exactly well liked by the popular crowd. Being seen with me is not gonna do wonders for your reputation.”

“I don’t care.”

“You’re not worried about how all your cheerleader friends will react?”

“May’s my only cheerleader friend.”

“It’s seriously not a problem,” Eddie says with conviction, as if your last sentence had only convinced him he was right. “If you wanna keep it between us, I’ll get it. Here we are.” He parks opposite the church, and you spy Grace in the distance, skipping rope behind the fence. “Look, the last thing I want is to be, y’know, something that adds to your worries. It’s…so fucking sweet that it didn’t occur to you, but you should think about it, kay?”

The shame is overwhelming. All the times you didn’t defend him, this boy who would let you hide him away if it kept you happy. All the jokes you laughed along with, at the expense of a boy who was surprised you acknowledged his existence after he treated you with gentle adoration. All the people you sit with every day, who hate a boy who already sees what worry does to you, and would hate to cause any more. He hadn’t ignored you because he doesn’t like you, he’d done it because of how much he does.

“I don’t need to think about it.”

“Sweetheart-”

“Eddie, I think you’re so-” Amazing? Wonderful? Perfect? “I’ve never-” Felt this way before? Let anyone get so close so fast? Wanted someone this much?

You swallow, sigh, find an easier way to say it. “I won’t pretend I don’t like you. I can’t.”

There’s a pause while Eddie blinks slowly. Then he grins. “Well, shit.” Eddie leans in close, his hair falling over his shoulders towards you. “You actually have it bad for me, don’t you?”

You squirm, that pleasant embarrassment filling you up again, your cheeks burning with it. Eddie’s hand finds your face and you lean into it, covering his fingers with your own. His lips are smiling when they meet yours, and his grin is catching.

“Okay. It’s noted,” he says, breath warm on your face. His tongue peeks out once to lick his lips. “Always wave back. Otherwise, hell to pay.”

“Exactly.” You giggle, giving him one more quick peck before climbing out. You stand on your toes and curl your fingers over the edge of the open window. “Thank you for the ride, Eddie.”

“Absolutely any time, Princess,”

“Good luck with your gig.”

“Good luck with the munchkin.”

You bite the inside of your lip. When you don’t leave, Eddie just smiles, letting you take your time in finding the right words.

“I feel silly.”

“Yeah?”

You kick the ground, bouncing the rubber toe of your sneakers off the concrete. “Sometimes I…get in my head; convince myself that something is a disaster when it’s not.”

“Like me not waving at you?” Eddie’s eyebrows raise with the question, and he nods with understanding at the affirmative movement of your head. “Don’t worry.” He taps his temple. “That’s noted, too.”

“Okay,” you say through a sigh, giving one last little rock on your toes. “Bye, Eddie.”

“Later, sweetheart.” He watches you approach the church gates, stopping to talk to an older woman standing by the door. Further in, a girl in a sky blue dress entirely abandons a skipping rope in favour of running towards you, crashing into you with as much force as a girl her size can muster, legs swinging happily when she finds herself held up in your arms.

The next day, as you sort through your locker, you hear him across the hallway. “Hey, Princess!” Turning, you find Eddie with his dimples on full display. He waggles his fingers at you while you tense in joyful embarrassment, smiling at the playful glare he puts on until you wave back.

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“You look nice,” your Mom says, face appearing behind you in your mirror. You smile, feeling content with the glittery shadow that covers your eyelids, the shiny pinkness of your glossed lips. “What’s the occasion?”

“Going on a date.”

“Oh, wonderful,” she says, playing with your hair a little until you tilt your head away, whining in protest. “Does he have a name?”

“Eddie.”

“Is Eddie gonna come in for a while before you go?”

“Mom.”

“I’m only asking. I didn’t meet Andy the whole time and then all of a sudden I hear he’s a disgusting little- well,” she clears her throat. “He was disgusting.”

“Eddie’s not like Andy,”

She hums, unconvinced, still doubtful of your ability to pick the right boys since Andy left you sobbing on the doorstep after your final trip to his house.

The doorbell rings, and you blink, glancing at the clock on your desk in a panic. “Oh, he’s early is he?”

“Mom-”

But she’s gone, flying out of the room like a shot and you groan, searching quickly for your shoes. You hear the door open downstairs as you’re tugging them on, hear your mother’s surprised greeting, the low hum of Eddie’s voice in return. Too late now. You glance in the mirror, smooth your dress down and sigh.

You hear your Mom’s laughter as you walk down the stairs. She turns at the sound of you approaching, grasping a bunch of daisies. “Look what Eddie brought you, honey!” Eddie stands in the open doorway, missing his patched vest over the zipped up leather jacket. His rings, too, are curiously gone. He’s wearing cologne that, from a distance, masks any hint of his habits.

Eddie’s gaze on you is entirely too intense for standing in the hallway with your mother, but she’s distracted enough by the flowers. When she goes in search of a vase, you grab his hand, enjoying how soft his face gets every time you touch him first. You swing your hands and look up from under your eyelashes. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Dimples again, eyes crinkling at the sides.

“Now, I want her home by midnight,” your Mom says, placing the daisies on a table in the hall. “Don’t think I won’t be up waiting for her.”

“Of course, ma’am. Wouldn’t dream of it.” He only moves when you tug his hand, pulling him towards his van. “Very nice meeting you!”

“You, too, Eddie!”

Eddie pulls away from your house with a care you’re sure he hasn’t shown to driving since his test. His expression is all self satisfaction while he unzips his jacket, revealing the W.A.S.P. t-shirt, printed with the full band and a stretched out skeleton, and speeds up the second you turn the corner of your street.

Eddie is in his full metal regalia by the time you reach the diner. His hair, even, has regained its frizziness from the demonstration of his ability to headbang while driving. He looks just as you like him when he goes through his gentleman routine, holding the door of the restaurant open and allowing you to choose your side of the booth first.

You are unused to the comfort you feel in the silence while you read the menu, normally on edge when other people are quiet, wondering if they’re waiting for you to be the one to say something. In the limited time you’ve spoken to Eddie, it feels like he’s already learned exactly how to talk to you, what to expect. If he’s silent, it’s because he’s happy to be.

When you’ve decided, you play with the corner of the menu, watching him shyly. His plush lips, set in a content smile. His long, dark eyelashes on display from his tilted head. His big hands stretched on the table, thumbs tapping a rhythm. The back of his hands, lithe and pale, flex with the movement. His rings are back, of course, displaying the length of his fingers that such chunky jewellery barely covers them to the first bend.

That one there, the middle finger of his right hand, has been inside of you already. You felt the width and length of it stretch and play with you. Your toes curl, and when you glance up, Eddie’s watching you intently, expression playful. Your face heats, and you pull your own hands from the table to play with your fingers under it.

“I’m thinkin’ a burger.”

“Me, too.”

“What you getting to drink?”

“Just water.”

“What? Sweet girl doesn’t want a milkshake or nothing? You don’t like ‘em?”

“No, I do.”

“Yeah?” He smiles conspiratorially. “What’s your favourite?”

“Strawberry.”

“They got that right there!” Eddie says, pointing to the page in front of you.

“Sometimes they just make it with syrup.”

“Ahh, and you don’t like that.” He nods in understanding, smiling when the waitress approaches. “Hi there, we are gonna have two burgers,” he glances at you to get a confirming nod. “A Dr Pepper, and hey, do you guys make your strawberry milkshakes with syrup?”

You watch his polite smile, heart a little sore.

The waitress, name tag reading Dawn, is chipper, shaking her head. “No, we make ‘em with fresh strawberries and ice cream!”

“Great! In that case, we’d like a strawberry milkshake, too. Thank you so much.”

When she’s taken your menus, you find Eddie’s pretty eyes. “Thank you.”

He waves his hand like it doesn’t mean anything. “Don’t worry about a thing, sweetheart. I got you.”

You think he really does.

Eddie is good at talking. You like listening to him chat easily about his club and his band while you sip your milkshake. He clearly likes Dustin, one of the younger ones, who he talks about with the frustrated fondness of an older brother. He’s proud of the club, how it's grown, but says with charming humility that he’s aware it lacks feminine presence. Not his plan, he assures, though he’s not entirely sure how to fix it now.

Eddie is good at telling stories. You’re listening intently through each bite of your meal while he describes with impressive memory his first time DMing, overconfident and underprepared, something he’s clearly learned a lesson from.

Eddie is also good at prompting you, giving you space to speak as much or as little as you want.

“I don’t know if you remember, but uh, I played a middle school talent show with the band.”

“I remember,”

��You do?”

You nod, playing with your straw and smiling. “Thought you were brave.”

“Oh, Jesus, that fucking hurts.” You giggle as he clasps his heart only to return to full health a second later to eat seven fries together in a pile. “That bad, huh?”

“I meant that you were doing something different.”

“Different is one word for it. Kinder than most people, though, so I appreciate that.”

“Doesn’t it scare you?” He raises his eyebrows. “Letting people judge something you care about?”

“Yeah, but that’s why it’s metal to just do it anyway. Especially here, where they’re bound to hate it, no matter how good we get. What’s the alternative? Playing in a garage for the rest of my life, hoping we’re good enough but not taking the risk that we might not be? Nope. Nah, man. Not me.” He shakes his head in earnest, bringing his hand up to point at himself. “I know I might not ever be successful, or even make enough from music to live, but I am for sure gonna fucking try.” He eats a couple more fries, has another thought while chewing and continues with them shoved to the side of his mouth. “Same reason I haven’t dropped out, y’know?” Eddie swallows, looking intense and sure of himself. “Nobody is ever gonna be able to say I gave up, that I didn’t try.”

You are wide eyed in admiration of him.

“Besides,” he grins, leaning into you. “I am really fucking good.”

As if heated, Eddie shakes his hair out a little, and removes his jacket, sighing. His bare arms are pale and inked. A flock of bats by his elbow, a demonic puppeteer on the inside of his forearm. When he brings his right arm across his torso to stretch, you spy a third and blink in recognition.

“You like my tats?” He asks, mischief in his tone.

“Is that a wyvern?”

He blinks, surprise evident. “Uh, yeah- yes. It is. How did you know that?”

You chew a fry. “Two legs.”

“Oh, yeah of course, how stupid of me. I forgot everybody knows that,” he laughs, shaking his head a little incredulously.

You hum. “They pop up in old Celtic stories and poems.” You tap your feet a little, gearing yourself up, that feeling of knowing you have something to say and wondering if you really want to say it. “The word has a cool origin, too.”

Eddie gestures for you to elaborate, then rests his head on his open hand.

“Well, it’s- some people think it comes from, um, wivre, which is Old French for snake, essentially. And then other people think it’s Old English. Cause that language has, um, wiver, which is snake, and guivre, which means a javelin? So, a javelin snake, like a flying snake. A wyvern.” You sip your milkshake almost violently to shut yourself up, still tapping your feet under the table while Eddie stares at you. You shrug. “I don’t know. It’s not useful information. I just like stuff like that. I don’t know.”

“Things don’t have to be useful, if you like them.” Eddie leans forward. “Thank you for sharing something you care about, baby. Very metal.”

You twirl your straw in your milkshake, grinning at the table. “So, they’re used in your campaigns sometimes?”

“Of course,” he grins, starting to tell you about their powers, the way they can be used by somebody like him, a Dungeon Master, to add stakes to the worlds he creates. It’s like he knows, after your question, that you need him to be the one to talk for a while.

Eddie pays the bill while you’re in the bathroom, your resulting glare only making him more pleased with himself. “I’ll-” you start, stop, grab his hand and gain some confidence. “I’ll pay next time.”

“Next time,” Eddie agrees, squeezes your hand tight.

You glance at the time on his watch when you’re buckled up in his van. “Where we going, Eddie?”

“Well, that’s up to you. If you want we could go to my place? If I’m honest, usually around this time on a Friday I’m, well...high? Was wondering if you still wanted me to teach you how to smoke.”

You get a little fuzzy at the suggestion, remembering Eddie’s quip about what he might do when you were high. Just a joke, you knew that, but the thought of him touching you when you’re a little out of it is worryingly appealing.

“Okay.”

“You sure? Cause we can just watch a movie or something. Or if you’re tired I can take you home.”

“‘M not tired.”

Eddie’s pleased look is heat inducing in the evening light.

He warns you on the way, suddenly, that he lives in a trailer. Not ashamed, or defensive, just a mention. When you get there, he swings his feet on the way over to the door, holding it wide open and gesturing for you to enter in front of him. It’s nicely cool, a screened window open to let a gentle breeze drift through the air. You note a couch, chairs, a TV to your right, a little kitchen to the left that looks like it hasn’t experienced the presence of a woman in years.

“Eddie, do you live alone?”

“Nah, I live with my Uncle, but he works nights, so…we got this whole place to ourselves.” He grabs your hand, pulls you walking backwards down the hallway. “Bathroom,” he says, pointing to the first door you walk by. “Closet.” He taps the one opposite. You reach the end of the hall. “My room.”

If you had to guess what Eddie’s room would be like, this would be it. Posters and drawings line the walls, an electric guitar hanging by a mirror on the far wall. There’s tapes littered all over the place, a pile of records by a player. You smile at the clear attempt to condense the mess of clothes in one corner, a high pile lined with t-shirts to try and cover whatever else might be in there.

While Eddie opens a window, you sit up on his bed, leaning down to remove your shoes so you can tuck your feet up and cross your legs comfortably. Eddie turns and stares at you, giving a long blink. He watches you even as he crosses the room to start a cassette up, intense electric guitar and heavy drums filling the room until he turns it down for your more sensitive ears. Eddie takes one big step towards you, presses his fingers to your shoulder briefly. When he visibly pinches himself and flinches, you grab his hand, eyebrows creased in disapproval.

“Sorry,” he breathes. “Just really, really had to make sure this isn’t a dream.”

Eddie lies himself easily back on his bed, legs stretched out, toes wiggling in his white tube socks. Like this, spread out and comfy in his t-shirt and jeans, Eddie looks so boyish and handsome it makes you want to crawl into his lap and stay there forever. You think about it while he grinds weed fished out of a plastic bag, wondering how seriously he meant the promise of no funny business. He pats the space next to him without looking up from his work. “C’mere.”

You settle back into his spare pillow, keeping your legs tucked in, your knee just resting on his thigh. Eddie’s pink tongue peeks out, wet and wide, to get the paper ready, then it stays there, held between his teeth while he concentrates on rolling it up properly. “Okay,” he says, expression serious on you as he turns the joint in the flame of his lighter. “Want you to take a couple deep breaths through your mouth for me, yeah? In and out.” He watches you do what he says. “What you wanna do is, sorta, get it in your mouth first, then you breathe from there, like so.” You watch him, the sudden intensity of the cherry when he wraps his pink lips around it, then the slow movement of his chest. He blows the smoke away from you before holding the joint out for you to take. He senses some hesitancy and shakes his thigh under your knee. “You don’t have to, baby. No pressure from me.”

“I’m gonna cough.”

“Damn right. Looking kinda dumb the first time you smoke is a right of passage. But it’s only myself here to see it, so there’s nothing to worry about.”

You do cough, a symptom of breathing in too fast in your nervousness. Eddie pats your back softly, taking a couple pulls from the joint while you try to clear your throat from the burning sensation, looking up to keep your watering eyes at bay.

“That’s it, let it out. You gotta let it sit for a while. There’s no rush. Open your mouth even, get some air mixed in.” You follow that advice clumsily, but it’s easier, and followed after some time by the strange gentle wave that makes you want to settle back into his pillows and bury your face in them. Eddie watches some of the tenseness fall from your shoulders. “That’s it, huh? One more, baby, then you’re good.”

“Okay, Eddie,” you murmur, taking another drag before handing it back to him. He leans over your body to dispense some of the ashes in the tray on the table next to you. Your eyes stick to the porcelain column of his neck, stretched out and tense from leaning, relaxing as he sits back, settling the ashtray on the middle of the bed. You sigh, giving in to the need to relax entirely, slumping down until you’re only tilted at the shoulders. “I like your room.”

“Yeah? It’s a bit of a mess.”

“Did you do the drawings?”

“I did.”

“You’re so talented, Eddie.” You hum, turning on your side to look up at him properly. You reach out to grab the hand on the opposite side of you, the left one, covered in rings. You run your finger along them. A cross, a pig, a skull.

“You like ‘em?”

You smile a little, thinking yourself very clever when you reply. “I like you.”

“Me? You’re serious, baby?”

“You knew already.”

“Yeah, but it’s still hard to believe.” The weed is nice, makes you feel at ease, drifting instead of fighting to stay afloat. But you aren’t confident enough to list out all the reasons it should be very easy for Eddie to believe he is liked. Instead you keep playing with his rings, linking your fingers through his. “I like you, too, you know.”

Your sigh is deep and long. “That is hard to believe. I haven’t done anything at all to make you like me.”

There’s a pause, then Eddie’s detangling his fingers from yours gently, spliff hanging from his lips while he searches his bookcase. His fingers waggle, hand darting from shelf to shelf then a soft. “Ah, there you are.” You sit up when Eddie climbs back onto his bed, presenting you with his found book.

Sonnets to Orpheus. Beat up and a different addition to your own copy, but overall the same book. “I’ve sat through so many of those presentations, you know? You blew them all out the water.”

You tighten your fingers around the cover, shaking your head. Even like this, you couldn’t believe that for a second. “You must be confusing me with someone else.”

“Baby, I went out and bought the book. Read every poem in there, too. Thought I could,” he huffs a laugh and sits back, taking a long drag before he continues. “Thought I could, you know, impress you, maybe, one day. Which I’ve ruined now by admitting it, but it’s the truth.”

His tone, self consciousness mixed with sincerity as he tells you tried to understand something you love, did so entirely to impress you, fills you with fondness for him. The high is gently fading, but the confidence it brought is replaced by the growing feeling of safety that Eddie seems to radiate.

You rest the book on his bedside table, toes curling in your socks while you give in to what you’ve wanted since Eddie splayed himself out on the bed. You climb into his lap, calves pressed to the mattress either side of his thighs, feeling immediately right. That you are where you belong. His expression is all wide eyed surprise, especially when you take the joint from him and put it out in the ashtray, getting one final hit from what he breathes out across your face. You breathe it in, the bitter smell of it overtaken by Eddie’s aftershave, cheap but pleasant, sticking to the skin of his neck.

Safe, you think, leaning forward to kiss Eddie’s throat. You feel him swallow under your lips. Hands resting on his shoulders, you press kisses under his chin, the end of his cheek. His eyes are closed, letting your lips search the skin of his face until you reach his pink lips, giving the bottom one a quick taste with the tip of your tongue before you kiss him properly. Eddie’s hands come to your hips, smoothing over the fabric of your dress when your tongue finds his, fingers digging in a little at the soft, excited moan you let escape.

“I promised no funny business,” he says when you pull away to cast heavy breaths.

“Just kisses.”

Eddie fixes you with a look of disappointment that stokes the heat between your legs. “I think you’re looking for a little more than kisses though, aren’t you, sweetheart?” Your hips twitch, and the resulting laugh is harsh enough to send excited shivers down your spine. “Mm-hm, that’s what I thought. C’mon then, take what you want.” You blink, lips falling to a gentle pout that makes Eddie shake his head, hair moving about his face. “Don’t know what you want, do you, baby?” He pouts right back at you when you shake your own head. “No, course not.”

The hands on your hips press you down, spreading your legs wider on top of him until the warm place between your thighs is in direct contact with the denim of his jeans. You gasp, whimper a little at the stiffness there. “Been like this since I saw you sat on my bed, baby, looking all pretty and at home. Wanted to get you like this the second we walked in but, y’know, I was trying to be chivalrous.” His hands help you move in a slow roll over him, the cotton of your panties rubbing your weeping entrance, catching on your clit just a little at the end. “But what am I supposed to do when you sit yourself all wide eyed and willing in my lap, mm? I am but a man.”

You bear down a little, knees bouncing on his mattress to press the bulge at his crotch deeper, wanting him between your lips, wanting him inside. You whine low in your throat. “Eddie.”

“Know you haven’t ever had anything inside, but need you to tell me, sweetheart. You ever rubbed this little cunt on someone?”

“No, no. Nobody but you, Eddie. Just-” You gasp, finding the right tilt of your hips to drag the wet, sticky fabric of your panties across your aching clit. You focus on that angle, bouncing and rolling your hips against Eddie’s hard cock through his jeans.

“Just what?” You hum in question, mind already losing the thread of the conversation. Eddie digs his fingers into your ass, making you whimper. “What have you rubbed this pretty cunt on, baby?”

“Mm. Use my pillow sometimes.”

“Jesus Christ.” His eyes clench shut, jaw set in a way that would make you worried he was angry if you weren’t focused on how to rub your pulsing clit just right. Your panties are stuck fast between your lips now, exposing some of the wet skin to the air, to the roughness of Eddie’s dark jeans. “What do you think about?”

“Mm?”

“C’mon now. When you’re riding your pillow. What’s goes on in your busy head?”

“Oh,” your body clenches, thinking about the last time, just this week. Not as good as this, not nearly, but better than any time before because you knew what Eddie’s hands felt like, had kissed his lips and heard him speak to you, heard him call you good and pretty and sweet.

“Gotta know for my sanity. C’mon, please, tell me.”

“You,” you whimper, clit twitching happily at the sound of his groan above you. You press your face to his neck, hidden by his hair, deep in the smell of him that makes your head light. It takes you a second of gathering your thoughts, your bravery, but you continue. “You, mmh, saying I’m good.”

Eddie presses one of his hands to your cheek, bringing you up to face him. He tilts his head to you, eye contact intense and overwhelming, your chest tightening. “Talking to me like this? You’re so fucking good. I know it’s hard for you, baby, and you’re doing so well.” He nods as the tears build in your eyes. You are half wanting to look away, but the feeling there in his brown eyes is something you can’t get enough of. You want to see it all the time, the tenderness there, the pride. “Sweet girl, making us both feel so fucking good.”

You like that, smiling with pride. “Feels nice?”

Eddie laughs, finally letting you look away when he presses a long kiss to your forehead, hand moving to massage the back of your neck while his chin rests on top of your head. “So nice. S’fucking warm, bouncing all pretty on my lap. Your pussy’s gonna leave my jeans all wet, isn’t that right, baby?”

You don’t answer, can’t answer, mouth occupied by soft moans and little, begging whimpers. His hand is large and warm at the back of your neck, massaging points of pressure that make you feel like a kitten in his grasp, mewling for the comfort of his touch. Your hole clenches, missing him, gushing wet at the thought he might play inside again soon. You want him so much, the thought is distant but sure. If Eddie asked, he could lay you back and fuck you on his bed right now.

More than the perfect drag of your sodden panties over your clit, more than the hard press of Eddie’s thickness through fabric against your hole, the thought of Eddie above you, hair wild and falling around you, stretching you out on his cock and groaning, pushes you over.

“That’s it. Fuck,” Eddie laughs at the sudden change in rhythm, the desperate circling press of the top of your cunt against him, the sound of you bouncing on your knees against his mattress. His hand keeps rubbing your neck softly, keeping your mouth at the base of his throat while you clench up and cum against him, pussy leaking enough slick it’s starting to seep through the fabric, leaving even the check cotton of his underwear a little damp with you.

You breathe deep, Eddie’s neck perfect to press your face into and whine when you start your hips up again. You avoid your sensitive clit, but allow Eddie to guide your hips over him, firmly rubbing his aching cock. “That’s it, make me feel so good, baby- yeah-” You feel the moment he cums, a violent twitch against your cunt, his hands suddenly halting your movement altogether while he groans, low and desperate into the air. “Fuuuuck,” he breathes, then laughs, lips finding your forehead again. “Jesus Christ, you are a fucking temptress.” You look up at him, blinking in confusion. “Just made me break a solemn vow. I’m pretty sure this counts as funny business.” He sighs, head falling back on his neck. “Certainly wasn’t very chivalrous of me.”

“I needed you.”

His head comes back up with a grin on it. “Thanks for the loophole. Couldn’t just ignore a Princess in need. If anything, this should earn me the title.”

You rest your head on his chest, hearing the beat of his heart as it slows steadily. Eddie strokes your hair from your temple, hand hiding you from the world while you recover. You tilt your head, a silent petition that Eddie reads and grants within a second, lips finding yours in multiple kisses of decreasing length until he’s pecking your mouth, then your cheek, eyelids, forehead, back down to your nose, your chin. You giggle when he starts all over your neck, never stopping in one place until he finds a soft little spot at your collar bone which he pulls between his lips harshly.

Your hand tangles in his soft hair, keeping him there through the wide lick of his tongue against that spot, soothing the ache. There will be a mark there already no doubt, Eddie’s first claim on you. Ask me, a desperate, weak part of you thinks. I’ll let you do anything.

Instead, he holds you in his arms, lying back on his bed and letting you curl up at his side, staring at the serene expression on his face. When he opens one pretty eye to find you gazing at him, you aren’t even embarrassed.

Eddie lets you use the bathroom first when he starts shifting uncomfortably, needing to deal with the cooling cum in his boxers. The thought makes you a little giddy while you clean yourself up, that you made him feel good this time instead of getting trapped in your head. He runs in there when you’re done, holding a spare pair of underwear and jeans, but not before giving you another press of his lips to your forehead.

He finds you on his bed when he returns, swinging your legs a little and happy to see him back. Eddie stands over you for a minute, stroking your hair and watching for any signs of what happened the last time he touched you. All he finds is a sated, happy girl, so he clears his throat, suddenly turning to the piles of cassettes and picking one off the top. “I, uh, made something for you.”

He hands you the cassette, the white J-card reading METAL FOR BABIES written in scratchy black biro. Under that, a list of tracks and artists.

“Classic stuff on there. You might not like it. I mean, I have no idea what you’re into but I thought it would be kinda cool, you know? It’s nothing too heavy, so you might like it. And it’ll get you used to it, you know? Since you’ll be hearing a lot of it, probably, from now on.”

Your heart cries, yes please.

Eddie gets you home by half eleven, even after toning down his usual speeding violations to spend a little more time able to look at you, clutching your new tape, sitting comfy in his van, kicking your legs happily. With the warning that your Mom would no doubt make good on her promise to stay up, Eddie has lent you a black oversized hoodie, already big on him so it sits on you comfy, the arms long enough to cover your fingers, the neckline high enough to cover the mark he’d left on your collar.

He walks you up to your door, hands in his pockets, legs back to swinging. “I wanna see you again like immediately,” he admits, leaning right into your space the way he’s prone to doing. His face is close to yours, watching your agreeing nod. “You wanna do something tomorrow? We could go to the lake, maybe?”

Another nod. “I can make lunch.”

“I’ll bring beer.”

You give him a kiss, hand flat on his chest. “See you tomorrow?”

Eddie sighs dramatically. “Until then, sweet lady.”

You watch him drive away from your kitchen window, hands covering your warm cheeks. Your wet eyes close tight. Your heart sings.

Next Chapter

#eddie munson fic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #we cross our fingers this shows up in the tags this time #tmyg

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palmviolet · 2 months

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Hello, hello! Firstly: Happy New year! :D Secondly: Just wondering when BBY will start again? (Hope the ask comes not across as pushy/demanding. I'm just giddy for your volume 4. <3) And if you want to finish your hunger games ff first (which, absolutely understandable!) and it will take some time until BBY comes back, would you maybe bestow us with a little snippet from volume 4? Pretty please? 👀

hello, this is literally from january and i have since finished rope around the morning.... but i've been working on better by you and thought this would be a good excuse to share a snippet. so:

“How was work?” Eddie ventures.

Steve snorts. “How is it ever? Boring except when people surprise you, like when I had Principal Coleman in renting Annie–”

“Doesn’t he have kids?”

“Oh. Right. Yeah. That’s probably why. But anyway–”

“I feel like no one ever really has the capacity to surprise you. Right? Like– like people are what they are. Y’know?”

“I don’t know about that.” Steve shakes his head. He gestures with the cigarette when he talks and his hair is pushed artfully back. “How come we always end up having these conversations, anyway?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, like– the state of the world. Human nature and that shit.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows. “We’re not talking about the state of the world. You want to talk about the state of the world? I can talk about the state of the world. Even better, I can give you a direct line to my communist uncle who’ll tell you all the fuck about it–”

“You know what I mean,” Steve says, shaking his head. Is he annoyed? Eddie can read him pretty well but still there are moments, still there are lines that now, after everything that happened, the hot brush of Steve’s lips amid the taste of vodka orange, cannot be crossed. “Anyway. How was school?”

“How was school. Fuck. I’m too old for this shit, y’know?”

Steve smiles. “Yeah. You are. Nearing pension age, isn’t that about right?”

“Fuck off,” Eddie says, and breaches the barrier just enough to nudge Steve with his elbow. Steve nudges him back and that contact, warm, is all he’ll ever get. He has to be happy with that.

i'm afraid it's going to be a few weeks more at least before i start posting, but i am once again definitively working on it and i can't wait to share.

#better by you #bbybtm #my fic #asks #steddie

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muertawrites · 2 years

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Tequila Sunrise (Eddie Munson x Reader) [18+]

Summary: You get drunk with your best friend after his gig, and the only evidence you have of anything that happened after you blacked out is a stack of Polaroids you find in his dresser the next morning.

Warnings: tequila, naked Eddie, explicit descriptions of s*xual acts, anxiety, scrambled eggs (sorry vegans)

Word Count: 2k

Author's Note: inspired by / accompaniment to this photo edit by @eddieonfilm. it's an unofficial collab but a beautiful one. this might be my favorite fic i've posted. characters are aged up bc i am also aged up. also whenever i censor s*x in my descriptions i always imagine myself saying it like miranda hart. just. very awkward and tall and british. trying to be decent for bbc standards and practices.

(edit by eddieonfilm. original by @zerlinity )

The first thing that hits you is the pain. It's achy, throbbing, like a sinus infection conjured up by the devil himself. You roll over, groaning at the way your head feels like it's filled with bricks.

Something heavy shifts around your waist - a grip you don't notice until it tightens. Someone else's skin against yours.

Your eyes shoot open. You're not asleep on the pull out couch in Eddie's living room like you remember agreeing to last night. You're in his bed. And you think you might be naked.

Panic overrides your growing hangover and you sit straight up, trying to remember something, anything, from the previous evening. It was late when the gig ended, and Eddie didn't like the idea of you taking the long train ride back to your apartment alone - he offered to let you stay at his instead, which you did. You got slices of pizza from the place downstairs; came up and ate them with a couple beers. You were both already tipsy, and Eddie kept teasing you about what a lightweight you are.

And of course you opened your big stupid mouth and bet him you could drink him under the table.

That's when the tequila came out. That's where your memory ends.

To your relief, you look down and find your torso covered by a faded black t-shirt. You're horrified all over again when when you realize it's ridden up over your waist, everything south of it exposed. Your panties are on the floor beside the bed.

There's a sharp intake of breath beside you, followed by the rustling of sheets and a dip in the mattress. You look over and see that Eddie is also awake, shirtless, and now laying on his back, staring up at the ceiling. After a moment he side eyes you, not moving his head but meeting his lovely brown irises with yours. Despite yourselves, you smirk at each other.

"You look like shit," Eddie comments.

"I feel like shit," you reply.

He chuckles, running his large palm down his face.

"Yeah... me too."

His hand finds your back, rubbing it gently as you lean over with your face in your palm, trying to ride a wave of pain that crashes at the inside of your skull. You wonder how he can be so calm. Casual about something so intimate.

"... Did we fuck?" he wonders.

You let out a heavy sigh, the question making your headache that much worse.

"If we did you weren't very good at it," you remark. "I'm not sore at all."

The pillow he'd been laying on smacks against the side of your head. You shriek, and Eddie grins despite the grimace that pinches his brows.

"Not so loud," he groans. "I feel like I've got a knife between my eyes."

"Shoulda thought of that before you brought out the tequila."

"I'm not the instigator here, tuts."

He sits up and nestles his chin into the crook of your neck, giving you an impish smile.

"I think you lost your little drinking game."

You plant your hand over his face and shove him off you. He chuckles as he flops back down onto the mattress.

Tugging your t-shirt (which you now realize is actually Eddie's) down so you don't reveal anything more than you want him to see with sober eyes, you crawl off the mattress, intent on finding anything with caffeine you possibly can in his kitchen. You pause when something on his dresser catches your eye.

A Polaroid.

A Polaroid of your tits.

You snatch it up, staring at it in horror. What's even worse is that there's more of them, scattered across the cigarette-burned wood and stained carpet below. You sift through them, thankful at least for the fact that they aren't just of you. Many of them are of Eddie - holding a lighter to the cig between his lips, head flung back as he takes a shot, tongue hanging out and middle fingers up, mid-laugh.

His bare torso spread out on his sheets as he smirks up at you.

His hand gripping the small of your back while he tugs at the waistband of your panties with his teeth.

His head between your legs, lips pressed to the inside of your thigh.

You jolt when Eddie's arms curl around your middle, a gesture much more involved than what your relationship (or at least your relationship before the night previous) entails. He plucks one of the photos out of your hand, letting out a little cackle.

"Damn, looks like we did fuck last night," he muses.

His expression suddenly drops, going from amused to grim in less than a second. You catch the change in the mirror and whip around to face him.

"What?"

He swallows heavily, like his throat is full of sand.

"I, uh... We didn't... I... I don't have condoms."

You blink.

"... What?"

You smack at his chest, focusing on the slap of his skin against your palms so you don't faint.

"You're in a band!" you shout. "Why don't you have fucking condoms, Eddie?!"

"You've met my band!" he yells back at you. "We're fucking dorks! You really think we're all getting pussy 24/7? Women terrify me! And I don't want a fucking STD!"

"THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE CONDOMS!"

You slump back against the dresser, any bit of humor you could possibly find in having been drunkenly railed by your best friend completely vaporized. You're not on birth control, and as far as you know, your reproductive bits work exactly as they're supposed to - possibly even better than they're supposed to, since you've been ovulating for the past week and, subsequently, hornier than usual. Unless Eddie got a vasectomy he hasn't mentioned, there's no way you're not harboring a little stowaway.

"Hey."

The warmth of Eddie's palms settling against your cheeks snaps you out of your downward spiral. He gently tilts your head up so you meet his eye, his panicked demeanor replaced by the soft, calm side of him you've only seen a handful of times. It's enough to send the tears stinging your waterline spilling over onto your cheeks.

"No way in hell I'm letting you have a kid, least of all my fucking kid. There's a pharmacy on the corner. We'll walk down together, get you some Plan B - that I'll pay for - and have breakfast at the diner next block over. Yeah?"

You nod, sniffling and wiping at your now blotchy, tear-stained face.

"Yeah," you agree. "Yeah... yeah, okay. Yeah."

The journey to the pharmacy is silent, but not uncomfortable. Eddie walks with his arm linked in yours, keeping you pressed to his side as if trying to shield you from prying eyes; he doesn't leave you alone, either, a hand always at the small of your back or locked around your shoulders.

As you make your way out of the contraceptive aisle, he tosses a few pregnancy tests and boxes of condoms into your basket, "just as a precaution". The woman who rings you up takes one look at the scandalous haul and tsks, fixing you with a shaming, disdainful glare.

"Something wrong?" Eddie quips. He wraps an arm around you, tucking you behind him ever so slightly so you're out of the woman's eyeline.

"No," she responds through tight lips. "Sixty-two eighty, please."

At the diner, Eddie asks for a booth in the corner, away from the counter and the front door. You unwrap the medication and take it as instructed, swallowing it down with a cup of weak, slightly burnt coffee. The heavy, greasy plate of hash browns and eggs you're served stills your spinning headache, grounding you along with the feel of Eddie's hand on your thigh.

"How you feeling?" he asks once you return to his apartment.

You nod, too shy to meet his gaze.

"Better," you tell him. "... Thank you."

Eddie lets out a heavy sigh, taking the few steps forward he needs to reach you and wrapping you in a tight, tender hug. You don't hesitate to return it, your hands gripping at the thin fabric covering his back.

"I got you," he murmurs into your hair. "It's gonna be okay."

You can't bring yourself to leave him, so you spend the rest of the day on his couch, watching reruns of The Mary Tyler Moore Show and listening to him strum nervously at his guitar. Around dinner time, he offers to pick you up a pizza to share, which you say you'll pay for to thank him. He doesn't let you.

While he's gone, you take a quick shower, washing away the remnants of last night's debauchery. You step out of the bathroom to find him reclined on the sofa, legs kicked up on the coffee table, cigarette dangling between his lips as he sorts through the Polaroids that were left on his dresser. A box of fresh pizza lays open on the kitchen counter; three slices are missing, and there's a paper plate and napkin waiting for you (you're not sure Eddie even owns any actual dishes).

"You should quit smoking if you're gonna be a dad," you tease him in a deadpan, joining him on the couch with dinner in hand.

He chuckles, tossing a photo of your tongue licking at the head of his cock onto the table. You hate that the sight is so... appealing to you. That you're a little disappointed you don't remember doing it. That you kind of want to do it again.

"Maybe if I'm lucky it'll stop my balls from working," he mumbles.

His hands stop shuffling as he looks at the photo currently in them. He removes the cig from his mouth, exhaling long and slow; contemplative. You lean over to see what's caught his attention.

To your surprise, it's a picture of your face. You're pressed into the pillow on the right side of his bed, eyes lidded, lips curled into a blissful smile, hair knotted with traces of his fingers having run through them and yanked at your scalp. You're clearly fucked out. But you're also... gazing at him. Seeing him. Giving him the kind of heart eyes you only ever do when you're sure he's not looking.

"I remember why I took this one," Eddie says. "I thought... I thought you looked really pretty. My heart felt like it was gonna... fuckin' explode or something. I was wicked happy I finally had you in my bed and that you were gonna fall asleep next to me and... I wanted to keep that moment."

"... Finally?"

His eyes snap up, clearly shocked that he said that exact word out loud. For a moment he says nothing. For a moment you're unsure what the hell there is to say.

But then you're throwing yourself onto him, latching your arms around his neck and trapping his waist between your thighs, holding him like he's the last thing you're ever going to touch. He hugs you back, burying his face in your shoulder, his hands reaching up under your shirt to stroke loving patterns along your back.

"I love you, Eddie Munson," you whisper into his neck.

"I love you," he breathes. "God... I fucking love you. So fucking much."

BONUS:

you and eddie lean over the sink in his apartment, staring at the overturned pregnancy test inside it.

"ready?" you ask.

he nods.

you flip it over.

one pink line.

eddie shrieks - literally shrieks - with relief and lifts you into his arms, spinning you until you're dizzy.

"oh thank god," he gasps, repeatedly kissing your cheek. "ohhhhhh thank god thank god thank god. i'm gonna celebrate by fucking you dumb."

🌹💀get your eddie fix💀🌹

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