#I was fucking losing my shit when drawing this
Text
He would absolutely lose his mind…
18+, MDNI for a li’l filth at the end
“Shit, that one’s good…so is that one…oh, holy fuck…”
You giggled softly at Eddie, teeth pinching the end of the straw stuck in the milkshake you were sipping in the passenger seat of his van as you leaned back against the door to watch him.
His own sat abandoned in the cup holder, condensation beading on the outside of a cup from a fast food chain neither of you had heard of. He sat way forward in his seat, hunched over your phone as he poured through the photos you’d taken of him sitting on, in his words—
“The most metal fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my whole life.”
You had happened upon the chair and the thrift shop it resided in purely by happenstance. It was supposed to be just a quick stop for gas and to stretch your legs on your trip back to Hawkins.
But then you saw the sign for the consignment store at the other end of the strip mall. And just as you turned to ask Eddie if he felt like checking it out, you found he was already headed for it.
The place wasn’t anything special, the only thing they had worth any note was…The Chair.
It was tucked way in a far corner, likely so as not to scare away potential customers. You couldn’t imagine anyone in this tiny and random town having the kind of reaction to it Eddie was.
You found him staring at it raptly. Practically in a trance, his jaw just about skimming the linoleum. And you knew it had to be serious when he turned to you with a bashful smile and sheepishly asked if you would take his picture.
Taking his picture quickly turned into art directing him—taking what felt like a thousand photos, quietly coaching him to change his pose or turn more towards the light; crouching down to get as many angles as you could without drawing the attention of the lone employee at the front.
And for once in his life, Eddie actually sat still?
He let you snap away to your heart's content, not protesting in the slightest or pulling any silly faces or jumping up as soon as you hit the shutter so he came out as just a blurry blob.
It was like Christmas.
But as the perfect fading golden light dissipated and you remembered you wouldn’t get back to Hawkins until at least midnight as it was…you regretfully called for an end to the shoot.
And then had to tempt him with the promise of milkshakes and fries, figuring (correctly) that you might have to throw him over your shoulder and carry him out yourself otherwise.
“Can’t believe I wore my Garfield shirt today of all days,” he muttered, still scrolling trying to see if there was a picture showing the least of the cartoon cat splayed across his chest.
“Shoulda just taken it off,” you told him with a teasing smile. “That would have been hot.”
Eddie rolled his eyes at that, but you were still rewarded with a smattering of pink that colored the tops of his cheeks. The blood pulsing beneath his skin now making it warm to the touch as you leaned across the gap between the seats and your lips brushed against it in a kiss.
“This would make a really sick album cover,” he said, diverting your attention back to the photos.
“Oh, by far, the sickest,” you nodded. Only, like, 30% mocking him at this point.
He ginned and reached out a hand to pinch at your belly and make you squeal with laughter. He then nodded at the rear of the van that was filled to the brim with the reason for this impromptu trip—a metric fuck-ton of recording equipment he’d bought on the cheap from a studio that had declared bankruptcy and gone out of business.
"Guess we don't exactly have room to haul it anyhow," he sighed.
“I don’t think anyone is shelling out $1200 dollars for it anytime soon.” You told him with a scrunch of your nose and a smile. “I bet it’s still here after you record a demo and get all famous. And then you'll be up to your ears in skull thrones.”
Eddie smirks, nodding along and matching your playful smile as he finally hands back your phone so you can get back to your journey.
And you knew he was still thinking about it hours later, when you two finally got back to his trailer in the dead of night. The second he was able, he’d hauled you onto his lap, all needy for your soft warmth to surround him even after being together all day long.
He bounced you eagerly on his lap, and you watched the wheels turning in his head, just like you had from the moment he sat himself on the recliner instead of the couch.
“You’re thinking about your throne, aren’t you?” you cooed, all breathy in his ear. “Wish you were fucking me on a pile of skulls?”
“Ye-yeah,” he grits out, only getting more lost in his own head imagining it. "Yeah, I fuckin' do,"
He can almost feel the intricate carvings on the seat of the chair imprinting on his ass. And, god you’d look so fucking hot gripping those horns coming out of the skull at the top, holding on for dear life as you rode him into oblivion.
“Fuckfuckfuckfuck—”
The visual and your encouragement has him finishing embarrassingly fast, whimpering and moaning into your neck through the whole thing. His spend dribbles out of you, trickling down to collect in a pool on the cushion beneath him.
And suddenly you’re a little glad you couldn’t bring the chair home, because those vertebrae would be a pain and a half to keep clean.
#thrift shop eddie#eddie munson#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x reader#eddie stranger things#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson smut#eddie munson blurb
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