#drifter!eddie
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One More Night
older!Eddie x afab!Reader
Eddie survived the upside down and has been on the road ever since. one day he meets you and decides to stay in town a bit longer. He has a lot of scars both inside and out. This can be read as a smutty standalone but it was inspired by drifter!eddie and oregon!eddie. He is in the age range of 30-50 in these au's.
just more proof that Eddie Lives.
other short stories
18+ONLY, MDNI please, smut, unprotected piv, oral for all, fingering, creampie, use of she/her, mutual pining, monsterfucking only if you squint.
wc: 1.4k
“I haven’t done this in a while,” Eddie said, exhaling a shaky breath.
You were standing just inside the door of his motel room, hands fisting the t-shirt material at his ribs under the heavy leather of his jacket, wordlessly begging to feel his skin on yours. His hands were at your hips, kneading the meat there in time with his heartbeat, and he'd wanted you so bad for so long, he thought he might bust a seam on his jeans.
“It’s been a while for me, too,” you hummed against his throat, dragging your lips back and forth under his earlobe with the two hoop piercings before you sucked it into your mouth for a nibble. “But I hear it’s like riding a bike.”
God, he smelled so good. Not like the last guy you’d been on a date with who wore so much cologne it blinded your senses, but a mix of Irish Spring soap, motor oil, and campfire. The way skin smells after you’ve hiked in nature and soaked up the sun.
He’d been living at the motel for the past few months, pumping gas and slinging wrenches up the road, thinking he’d take off again in the spring, but then he met you, and something inside of him began to blossom out of the cold, dead rot in his veins.
He took your face in his hands and his kisses were starved; depraved, even. Clothing came off almost in a panic, each of you raw with the urgency to cure a bad case of mutual loneliness.
You made your way down his chest, hands caressing every inch of his bare flesh in the dim of the gold lamp light, reading the braille of a man on the run from himself.
You got to your knees when you pushed his jeans and boxers down, they fell to the ground with a thump from his wallet and chain. He groaned when your soft lips went around the head of his cock, aching at the warmth of your acceptance. A few searching kisses along his shaft and he was trembling; it had been so long since he’d let someone touch him.
You were being so tender, as if he were fragile, as if he could break at any moment—as if you knew.
“Tell me what you like?” You slowly stood to full height, stuttering a self-conscious laugh. “Maybe I’m not as good at this as I thought.”
“No, you're so perfect,” he blurted, easing you back onto the bed, nudging your legs apart gently with his knee. He searched your eyes, “I want to see you.”
You shivered when his knuckles found the slick mess between your legs. He was staring at your face, shifting his weight, watching your pleading reaction as you whimpered, “pleasepleasepleaseFuckplease.”
He licked in swirls down your stomach, you had scars there too. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” he whispered into the hair just above your prize, his hot breath on a secret place you hadn’t shared in a while.
His tongue found its home, and then rolled there like a crocodile with its prey.
The way he devoured you made you arch back on the mattress and wail.
“Th-that..that feels so good,” you clutched onto his head between your legs, digging your fingers into his hair, and he reached up to put his hand on top of yours, encouraging your guidance.
It had been days since he remembered smiling, but he did then, against your heat, reveling in the way you shook and clung to him.
He sank two fingers in and let out a long moan, unable to stop himself from thrusting against the bed, precum leaking from his tip.
“More,” you writhed, clinging to the comforter, and he slipped a third in.
He felt the fluttering contraction and went deeper, hungrily lapping up whatever you could give him. He heard you trying to speak but it only came out in gasps and whimpers, chanting his name like a prayer.
The hunger of the moment overtook him and, before he could stop himself, he growled.
It was the type of sound an animal would make, low and guttural, and it made your head snap up in surprise at the vibration of it.
Staring back at you from the end of the bed, his pupils glowed garnet red.
In a post-orgasm haze, you must’ve imagined it. In a blink then they were normal again; dark orbs rimmed in white, watching you curiously.
He lowered his head to brush his lips over your swollen, soaked cunt. “Do you think she could handle another one?”
“Come up here with me?” Your voice was a rasp, and you did not have to ask him twice.
“I’m all yours,” he said with a wiggle of his brows, scooping you up to roll you over on the bed, and you squealed at how strong he was.
On top, you wasted no time guiding his throbbing length inside, straightening to work your way down and ease into it, throwing your head back.
He cursed at how well you took him, darting his hips up to meet you. He loved seeing you like this, loved watching your face when you began to move. He licked his thumb and forefinger and plucked at one of your nipples.
What if he stayed another week?
Your eyes squeezed shut and he wondered if you had noticed what happened a few moments ago.
He’d lost himself back there, had felt himself going through the change at the peak of your arousal.
That...thing he’d been carrying with him all those years since he’d almost died in the Upside Down was awake, and it was at his door, knocking.
Bang bang bang.
Let me in, it hissed in a voice that sounded very much like his own. Let me have her.
It couldn’t have you, not ever.
You were a sweet piece of heaven to him, a safe haven where he could forget who he was for however long he had with you.
You screamed that you were close again, and his thumb was at your clit as you bounced. “Eddie, oh fuck, oh god!”
“I can't believe how good you feel," he grunted. "You gonna cum for me again baby, yeah?” He planted his feet on the mattress for leverage.
He’d been able to cum before without changing, but with you it was different.
You’d awakened something…feral.
Before he could think too much about it, your walls were rippling around him, and he poured hot and heavy inside of you. His whole body spasmed, and you were both making incomprehensible sounds, speaking in tongues.
There was so much cum, he could feel it spilling out, and he just kept pounding it in, lost in a release so intense, it felt as if he were melting into the bed.
Breathless, you collapsed to his chest, each of you sweaty and glistening and gasping for gulps of air.
“Holy shit, I don’t think...I’ve ever…cum so hard…in my life…” you were trying to remember how to speak with your cheek pressed into his shoulder, unable to move.
He curled his arms around you, turning to plant his lips on the back of your head as he spoke. “Does that mean we could do this again?”
What was he talking about? He couldn’t see you again, he had to get out of town. Hit the road. Get back to his longtime lover, the lonely highway. Eat dust and burn rubber. Everything he touched turned to shit, and the people close to him always got hurt
Or worse.
He cared about you enough to leave you.
But not that night
He would allow himself this, just a few more hours
To feel you fall asleep in his arms
To twitch and snore and breathe you in
He asked if you were comfortable when he pulled the covers up, painting kisses along your shoulder.
He spooned you like you were his missing puzzle piece, the one he thought was long gone, tucked down somewhere in the couch cushion, and you reached a hand up to intertwine your fingers with his.
You hadn’t been sleeping well at all the past few weeks, but as your breathing found his rhythm, your eyes fluttered, and you drifted. The last thing you remembered thinking was how long it had been since somebody held you.
You were too relaxed to notice that the hand you held was no longer human.
The hand you held had claws.
#Eddie Munson#Eddie Munson smut#drifter!eddie#oregon!eddie#Eddie Lives#Eddie Munson fic#eddie munson x afab reader#smut
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I like my men like I like my pizza.
Greasy, just the right amount of dough, and with pineapple.
#i unironically love ham and pineapple pizza#raleigh samson#eddie munson#arthur morgan#the drifter destiny#the spider destiny#destiny 2#red dead redemption 2#dragon age#anders dragon age
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Smorgasbord Blog Magazine - Music Column - The Breakfast Show Rewind with William Price King and Sally Cronin - Chart Hits 1960 - Part Two - Shirley Bassey, Elvis Presley, The Drifters, Eddie Cochran
Welcome to The Breakfast Show and the top hits of the 1960s.
Both William and I are working on new projects and as we complete those we hope you will enjoy the series which began in January 2021 again, or for the first time if you are new to the blog.
Each week William and I selected two top hits from the charts starting with 1960 for two weeks followed by 1961 etc..through to 2005. We then did a…
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thinking about oldman yaoi steddie like—
trucker eddie picks up drifter steve at a pit stop some where in the middle of cornfield ohio. they've both had pretty rough lives, but eddie's a softy and when a pretty guy (despite his ragged appearance) flashes him a smile and says "hey handsome, got room for one more?" eddie lets him up in the passenger seat
a hundred miles later, eddie loses him and the last $10 out of his wallet, but that's okay. to be expected really and steve was pleasant company for a while. he doesn't think he'll ever see steve again.
except that he does, nearly half a year later, and eddie recognizes steve where he's sitting outside a truck stop in new mexico. steve obviously recognizes him too by the way he's carefully not looking at eddie. still, eddie buys two sandwiches and drops one in steve's lap before he heads over to the well-graffied picnic table outside the gas station. it takes a moment, but steve follows, sits across from him.
"i don't want any trouble," he says, warily placing his sandwich in the middle of the table, like an offering if eddie wants to take it back.
"no trouble to be had," eddie tells him, and slides it right back.
they eat in silence after that, and when steve's done, eddie asks if he needs a ride anywhere.
he drops steve off near atlanta this time, sighing when steve refuses to take any money but leaving him with a number to Eddie's trailer if he ever needs it. eddie doesn't take much time off, so he's rarely there, but steve takes the little paper from eddie almost reverently all the same. if he calls, he never leaves a message, and he never calls when eddie's home.
so they don't see each other for maybe a year this time, until one day eddie's passing through tennessee and the roads are wet and icy and there's steve again outside another truck stop. he looks at eddie with wide eyes, like a man that hasn't seen a lot of luck in his life and whispers, "i never thought i'd see you again."
and eddie asks "it's almost christmas time. you might as well come on home with me."
"i don't want to cause trouble with your family."
"no family to trouble," eddie tells him seriously.
so he brings steve home, and they eat frozen pizza for christmas dinner and drink cheap beer for new years. eddie gets called out on the road again, but he leaves steve at home. he calls the first night and steve's still there. and the next night, and the next. and when he's next in hawkins, steve is waiting for him on the porch and eddie thinks he must be mirroring eddie's shock, the two of them surprised that steve's still there.
steve's still there though, 5 years, 10 years, 20 years later, long after eddie's retired from trucking. they got a little RV now and a dog and they roam far and wide, but always together
#steddie#dribble drabble#old man yaoi is my favorite#what decade does this happen in i Do Not Know i am but a ideas man but anyways def pre-cellphones#old redneck eddie in a trucker hat be still my heart#shush mal
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anyone else feel that the song "Hell's Comin' With Me" just fits Eddie at the end of Vol 2 (and linking with the Kas Theory)
#stranger things#eddie stranger things#eddie munson#ill make a more cohesive post than this i just need to draw a link between eddie and the drifter
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𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞’𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞
꧁ eddie x female reader
a multi chapter mini series— based on thoroughfare by ethel cain
listen here (apple music) + here (spotify)
summary: jumping into his truck at seventeen, eddie takes a journey in hopes to find love. years pass with no such luck, along the way he stumbles across you, a timid drifter who reluctantly agrees to join him, heading west. you’ve never trusted men, but something in those kind, deep colored coffee eyes stirs up a feeling you’ve never felt before. strangers to lovers trope, one bed trope.
triggers: 18+ smut
author’s note: no upside down, eddie was raised by his mom and dad in florida and they were in love.
The wet shell of a sunflower seed stuck to the tip of your finger. Slicked with salted spit and the tart bite of cherry chapstick, you hung your hand out of the passenger window, waiting for the western wind to blow the husk from your finger.
His thumb rubs against the rough edges of the flint wheel of his zippo, the sweet tang of tobacco invading your nose as the flame sparks leaving a burning cherry on the white paper. A slight chap to his lips from too much sun yesterday at the motel pool in BullHead City, you had supposed. Still, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. The only time you could was when his eyes caught yours, daring you to look away.
The way he stared at you with a smirk twisted on his mouth took every bit of breath from your lungs. Holding your gaze in a cozy embrace with the deep warmth of his russet colored eyes until you finally forced yours to break away and look out the window instead. Bottom lip bit between your lips as a growing heat travels over the apples of your cheeks.
If you would have looked back at him you’d have noticed the way he licked his lips as he watched you sigh as if you hadn’t been breathing. Snapping another sunflower seed between your teeth before putting them on the crest of your lips to put them out of the window— he had your movements memorized. Each more tantalizing than the next.
Neither of you were able to deny the tension between you lately, letting it build and fester, aching for relief in the form of pleasure.
The last eight weeks had started to wear heavy on your chest, and you found yourself daydreaming about the beginning of this adventure, like a record on an endless spin to your favorite song.
Not a single radio station would come in wherever the hell it was in Texas he was right now. With every crank of the tuning dial, only the agonizing noise of static strained through the speakers to keep him company as he drove along this highway that never seemed to end.
He cursed himself for not buying a map at the gas station he filled the truck up at this morning. His gut instinct usually guided him on which roads to take, and today was no different. Only today felt like he was pulled by something else, something deeper within himself.
The sky was a mix of cyan and cotton clouds, already hot for May, he was just about to give up on the radio before he popped over a hill and an oldies station came in clear as could be. And something else came into view, plenty far away yet.
Hot wind whipped at your shirt, providing next to nothing for comfort as you trudged along the broken asphalt. You now understood why this place was called the Lone Star State, because you haven’t seen a damn soul in miles. For today, you didn’t mind the loneliness. Leaving home, years ago, you didn’t have a destination in mind, only the knowledge that you needed to get the hell out.
Whatever highway you were on looked to be deserted. As if the state built a multi-laned monstrosity elsewhere and gave up on this slow, lonely stretch, leaving it to the elements. Prairie grass poked through the splintered road, tumbleweeds swayed in the ditches, collecting and tangling as one like a tawny bundle of barbed wire.
Looking behind you, a vehicle showed in the distance like a wavy mirage in the desert. You had half a thought to stick your thumb out and catch a ride to the nearest bus station, but when the vehicle got closer your conscience took over, and anxiety thumped in your chest.
Please don’t stop, please please.
The engine hummed to a lower gear, and you automatically put a hand on the pistol at your waistband. Moving further over to the side of the road where whoever was driving could see that you weren’t interested in their good deed, you kept your head down and kept walking.
Tires slowed and you went into a small panic, wishing you had something sharp to hold between your fingers, but the barren highway offered no such vice.
You heard faint music as the vehicle got closer, crawling almost to a stop as you quickened your steps hoping they would just keep going and leave you be.
“Pretty hot out today… need a lift?”
The voice felt like velvet on your skin, a warmth you’d never known. Endearingly charming, no southern twang like someone from Texas would have. You ignored him, letting the crunch of gravel on your worn boots answer instead.
You had never been given the luxury to trust someone, and you’d be damned if you were gonna start today with some stranger on the side of the road. Heart rate kicking up, you all but bolted to avoid him.
“Baby don’t run, I’ll take you anywhere,” his drawl wrapped around you like a vice, soft and pillowy, and finally your curiosity got the better of you, as you came to a halt. You wanted to look this asshole in the eyes and flash him the pistol you kept, maybe fire a warning shot over the hood of his truck so he’d get the message. That no, in fact you did not need a ride, not from him.
Stopping so his passenger window lined up with you in the center you eyed the only other beating heart on the side of the road.
His hair was past his shoulders, brown and wavy, more than likely frizzy in high humidity. Eyes that were shaped like Bambi’s colored like a bottomless cup of coffee without creamer. His nose sat with a fading sunburn painting along his cheeks, each dwelling a poked dimple in the center. And you swore the key to Heaven was buried in his smile.
When he spoke it was clear that his intentions weren’t to cause you any harm. Minutes ticked by as he waited for your answer.
“Hey, do you wanna see the West with me?”
It was a simple question asked from the quirked mouth of a guy you’d never met before, you would have remembered those eyes in any setting. He leaned an elbow out his window as he threw the truck in park, twisting in his seat to face you a little more. A cigarette dangling from his large hand.
The butter colored sun shone against his caramel curls like a breakfast roll full of sticky sugar, the same light changing his eyes into a whiskey auburn.
He was a complete stranger, but what was even stranger was your one word answer that spread that million dollar grin further onto his face than you thought humanly possible.
You moved your hand from that handle of the gun in your tattered jeans, bearing more holes than actual threads of denim. It was meant for situations just like this, and you had nabbed it from your dad right before you walked out the front door for the very last time.
Instinct told you to run, but something in those dark eyes brought you a wave of calm, whispering out as if you’d known him for years. Your boots had already blistered your heels from walking this far, so what the hell?
Pressing a thumb into the release of the door handle, you swung yourself and your knitted bag into the moth-bitten navajo rug that covered the seat.
His smile didn’t fade, never so much as creased into a frown as he waited for you to get situated. Before he put his truck into drive he explained where he was going.
He was making the grand gesture of looking for love like the kind he grew up watching with his own mom and dad. Explaining that love like that was out there waiting for him, and he was determined to find it, no matter the distance.
Suspicion jumped to your brow, and you tried to stifle the scowl on your lip. “What?” he chirped, a little twist to his lips, “don’t believe in stuff like that?”
This bastard clearly didn’t know heartache the way you were practically related to it. You sigh lazily before looking over at him. Trying not to break his dreams before he even had the chance to realize what a waste of time it was, you simply murmur, “honey, love’s never meant much to me, but I’ll come with you if you’re sure that’s what you need.”
After years of living and growing without being loved, it had become almost useless, something heard in songs or read in books, surely it wasn’t real. But hell, you’d humor this man whose smile danced like a western sunset against a salty ocean breeze, what was the worst that could happen?
A large calloused hand reached across the cab of the truck, and you shook it with a small grin as his voice rubbed like silk across your soul, “I’m Eddie.”
And so it began, the journey to find a love daring to be something greater than anything he’d ever known, hell bent and determined it was out there, wherever that may be.
He had asked about your life. Never pushing when your answers were too short, or ended the conversation entirely. Letting you have your space, he built a trust between the two of you that you weren’t sure about at first.
The roads were desolate, and you couldn’t imagine walking along them alone. You thanked whoever cared that your thoroughfare crossed into his, almost as if destiny had placed you there. Knowing you needed a friend after leaving the only thing you’d ever known and not having a single soul to rely on.
But as time went by, you realized just how much you could rely on him.
That first day, he drove until the windshield bled to ink. Stars dotted across the sky once the sun went to rest, and he encouraged you to follow suit, pulling a hooded sweatshirt from behind his seat and tossing it towards you. Your hesitation told him all he needed to know, that the uncertainty of him was rooted deep. Too deep for you to let your guard down around him.
That pearl handle poked out from your hip and his kind eyes met the scared look in yours. He rubs his lips together before he speaks calmly, “you uhm,” he looks over at you to show how serious this was to him, even if you couldn’t see it in the dark, “you don’t have to worry about using that with me… I’m not that kind of guy.”
His innocence spoke through his eyes in words he hadn’t said, showing you that he wasn’t lying, that you could trust him. You took a deep breath, wondering if you were insane for feeling comfortable with a guy you just met, but it wasn’t long before you whisper, “okay.”
When you snuck a peek over at him, his face was lit by the dim lights of the dash, a smirk nestled on his lips, cheeks welled with the deepest dimples you’d ever seen, and your shoulders eased for the first time since hopping in.
Neither of you spoke for the rest of the night. Your head resting on the window, his sweatshirt rolled under your neck as you fell into a sleep so tender and warm you felt like a baby being lulled to bed as he sang along to the radio.
The heat from the window warmed your cheek when you woke, leaving a less than glamourous mark. Letting out an embarrassingly long yawn, you stretch your arms above your head, feeling your back crack into submission.
“Shit, ‘m sorry, how long did I sleep?” you ask, covering your mouth again from another yawn.
Eddie smiled tiredly, his hair was wrapped into a bun at the base of his neck, sunglasses topping his nose, pushing up from his cheeks as he grins, “don’t apologize for sleeping when you’re tired,” he said, shrugging, “besides, you probably would’ve woken up if I crashed.”
A chuckle hits your dry throat and you cough, “where are we?”
“Still in Texas believe it or not,” he groans, turning it into a long yawn, holding a hand to his mouth, swallowing a bit, “I hoped we could’ve made it to New Mexico before I pulled over but I’m starting to think that ain’t gonna happen.”
You figured he would have stopped to sleep at some point in the night, even if it was just for a few hours. Guilt throttled you at the thought of him staying up while you were asleep. “I can drive while you take a nap.”
“Nah,” he says with a lazy smile, looking over at you, “not that I care if you drive my truck or not, I just think we could both use some decent sleep, watch a little tv, eat, plus… I need a shower.”
Taking a whore’s bath in the gas station sinks had kept you clean, but you almost cried outright at the thought of water, cold or hot you couldn’t care less, running down the length of your body. But the lack of money burning in your pocket stopped that dream in its tracks.
You had a couple hundred bucks left after selling off your car before leaving home. The cost efficient option would be to drive while he slept. “It’s really not a big deal, I promise I’m a good driver.”
The charm you tried to emanate when pulling out your license to show him that you indeed weren’t lying, fell flat as Eddie waved you off, “deodorant only lasts so long before we’ll have to ride with our heads outta the window.”
He laughs in your place as you stare out of the windshield, mind racing over the trouble of being able to afford a motel room.
“C’mon,” he smirks, that same lazy smile stretched on his face, you wondered if he ever got mad. “We survived almost a whole day together, if I was gonna rob you I would’ve done it already.”
“It’s not that,” you say, picking at your nails, fighting the urge to bite them to shreds, “I wasn’t walking because I wanted too…”
Wheels turn in a tired mind as Eddie nearly chokes when he realizes what you meant.
“Don’t worry about it,” he confirms, brushing you off as if it wasn’t a big deal that you’d be bunking with him for free, and when your facial expressions didn’t change, he lowered his voice, and took off his sunglasses, “seriously sweets, you’re doing me a favor keeping me company, ‘m not gonna make you pay for a trip you didn’t plan, okay?”
You sighed, and shook your head yes.
The nearest motel was a hole in the wall type of place. Adhering to the kind of people that either paid by the hour or stayed for weeks at a time. The perk being it was next to a gas station where you refused to let Eddie pay for the armful of snacks he had carried to the counter. Including two hotdogs that you couldn’t be bothered wondering how long they’d been spinning in the warmer.
His boots clunked against the sidewalk as he jumped from the bed of the pickup hauling his duffle bag over his shoulder, the hotel keys wrapped around his forefinger. Outside of you both relieving yourselves on the empty shoulder of the highway last night, this was the first time you’d seen just how tall he was.
He squints in the sun and cocks his head, “bet you a dollar the carpet is orange.”
Room 8 consisted of two full sized beds, a lamp between the two, an arm chair and a small television. A stiff neon brochure for adult channels lay next to the remote, and you scrunched your nose as Eddie pushed it to the floor with the heel of his boot.
Laying out the snacks neatly on the table, you hand him the other hot dog, licking a drop of mustard from your palm. He thanked you, and took a bite consuming almost half of it before dropping onto the bed closest to the door, laying flat on his back.
Having four walls around you gave you a sense of peace you hadn’t been expecting. Slipping off your shoes you wiggled your bare toes and sat on the bed facing away from him, rolling your socks into one another.
“How’s the hotdog?” you asked over your shoulder, moving your bag between the side of your bed and the wall for the bathroom.
A muffled sound comes from the other side of the room as he shovels another bite in, “rubbery, but not too bad for having been made at midnight.”
You snort and swing your legs into the bed. Grabbing the hotdog from the comforter and peeling back the white paper around it, taking a small bite. It was warm, and tasted a hell of a lot better than the moldy ham sandwich you ate yesterday. A satisfied hum leaves your mouth and you giggle.
“Hotdogs for breakfast… don’t think I’ve ever had this before.” You laugh again before taking another bite of the squishy snack. Eddie looks up as he chews the remaining bite, realizing this was the first time he’d ever heard you laugh loud enough for him to hear, what a beautiful sound.
“Stick with me, we’ll have breakfast for dinner, too,” his tongue pokes out to lick a smear of ketchup from the corner of his lip, and he yawns loud and proud.
You cross your feet beneath your legs, a content little smile on your face. “Do I still owe you a dollar if the carpet is also brown and green?”
Your combined laughter echoes across the wood paneling and the pictures of dogs playing poker. The two of you joke about the severely dated room, agreeing that this was probably the place to stay in its prime. But the sheets were clean and that’s about all you could ask for at this point.
Eddie’s eyes were nearly closed as he scrubs large hands down his face, his voice strained, “mind if I shower ‘fore I fall asleep?”
“Not at all,” you say, jumping from the bed and looking through the snacks to find the licorice, “take all the time you need.”
He tosses the remote to your bed and unzips his bag, pulling out a toothbrush and a clean pair of boxer briefs, a minute passes and he scratches his head before diving back into the bag, yanking out a folded pair of sweatpants.
Sighing as he peels off his boots, he walks to the bathroom door and before shutting it, he pokes his head back out, a curious little grin on his lips as he asks earnestly, “you’re not gonna run away, are you?”
You swallow the bite of licorice and smile back, “think you’re stuck with me, if that’s cool with you?”
His grin broadens to a cheshire smile and he says he won’t be long, promising to save some hot water.
Neither of you can quit the grin on your lips until the door unlocks, and Eddie mutters “cool,” to himself before leaving the steamed bathroom.
Diners with smudge stained windows and siding that was warped from the sun's rays, came few and far between on those lone, dust covered roads. Eddie had pulled into almost every one. “Never know when the next one will pop up, sweetheart,” he smirked, sending a wink your way that had your stomach fluttering.
Each menu, although stickier at some places than others, was relatively the same. Eggs, Bacon, Toast. Waffles at the fancier joints or maybe a bowl of fruit alongside a flapjack.
He watched you intently as your eyes scanned the menu, keeping his promise of having breakfast for supper a few week into your trip. His own stomach had been grumbling since you packed up from the last motel somewhere on the border of Oklahoma and New Mexico. A wrong turn near McCamey had taken you North to Amarillo, three hundred miles in the completely opposite direction.
Instead of screaming about the wasted fuel, Eddie had only shrugged. He was excited to cross into the panhandle, and to make a check along the list of states you’d scribbled onto a napkin a few days into the trip to cross off as you came through them.
That quiet, suspicious drifter he had picked up three weeks ago seemed to blossom with life the more he peeled back the bricks that you had surrounded yourself with. But Eddie was charismatic, easy to talk to, and you found yourself deep in the throes of explaining things to him you haven’t talked about in years.
When your cheeks would heat and embarrassment creeped up your neck, you apologized for talking too much. He only shook his head, a small smile on his lips as he said that he didn’t mind, he wanted to know more.
The waitress strolled back over with a cigarette hanging from her lip, a gray ash practically a mile thick on it as she grumbled about the specials and set glasses of water on the table—ice already melted besides a sliver of a stubborn cube.
“I’ll take a cup of coffee,” he charmed, folding the menu placing his hands on top of it, “two eggs hard fried, a couple of sausage patties and wheat toast, also one of those slices of lemon meringue pie I saw in the display window.”
Without so much as a grunt, the waitress lifted her eyes to look you over. Setting down the vinyl menu, you place your order and lick your lips at the thought of the homemade lard crust on the rhubarb pie.
Looking out the window to the dry landscape, you sigh with a breath of content. You had never been this far west before, never been anywhere really besides the small town you grew up in.
Two coffees sit in front of each of you and Eddie thanks the waitress, a dimpled grin on his cheeks as he opens a packet of sugar. Warm eyes look at you as he stirs the coffee into a swirl, “Nothing like home, huh?”
A smile presses to your lips and you sip the bitter liquid, chipped porcelain against your front teeth, “definitely not, the air is dry here.”
“Yeah,” he agrees, slipping the spoon into his mouth to clean the coffee up, taking a big gulp of the burnt— probably microwaved— concoction, “it is, but that’s the beauty in the journey, exploring different places, meeting new people.”
He tucks a curl behind his ear, a tiny silver hoop in his lobe, you hadn’t noticed before and you ask, “you keen on picking up strangers on the side of the road?”
A laugh bubbles from his throat, and he smiles big showing all of his teeth, “in all the years I’ve been on the road, I never have, not until you,” he takes a sip of his coffee, a pretty blush rides on his cheeks, “guess I haven’t run out of luck just yet.”
You hide your own smile, itching your nose, “how long has it been?”
Eddie thinks for a minute, “well, I left Florida when I was seventeen..,” he adds up the years on his fingers with this thumb moving to each one, “… shit,” he says with a smirk, “almost nine years now.”
He was older, not by much, but you had both left at a younger age. Calling the open road and warm air home for years. Living like a Steve Earle song sporting a two pack habit and a motel tan, it seemed like fate put you on the same road that he was traveling that day.
But you push that thought away, Eddie was looking for love, and you were just tagging along like a pet, a friend at best.
“Do you ever miss it?”
He stretches himself across the booth, arms on the back of the peeling seat, pearl snaps straining against the denim from the broadness of his chest, and you find it hard not to look, “Nah, I’ll go back someday, me and my girl.”
That flutter happens again in your stomach and you feel almost nauseous at how infectious his smile is.
You spend the rest of dinner that way, trying to shove down a grin with each bite of breakfast food as the sun fell behind the mountains. Letting the butterflies swarm, with each time he looked into your eyes.
Not knowing that Eddie was also slowly losing his own battles, leaving with something more in his stomach that was sweeter then the stiff meringue on that damn lemon pie.
🌵 taglist: @joejoequinnquinn @micheledawn1975 @dashingdeb16 @hereforshmut @welc0me-t0-hellfire @aropodcastfuck
#eddie munson#eddie x fem!reader#eddie x you#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson blurb#eddie munson drabble#eddie drabble#eddie blurb
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North To The Future [Chapter 13: Don’t Look Back In Anger]
The year is now 2000. You are just beginning your veterinary practice in Juneau, Alaska. Aegon is a mysterious, troubled newcomer to town. You kind of hate him. You are also kind of obsessed with him. Falling for him might legitimately ruin your life…but can you help it? Oh, and there’s a serial killer on the loose known only as the Ice Fisher.
Chapter warnings: Language, alcoholism, addiction, murder, sexual content, medical stuff, discussions of suicide, chilling with the parentinis.
Word count: 6.5k.
Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.
Taglist: @ladylannisterxo @doingfondue @tclegane @quartzs-posts @liathelioness @aemcndtargaryen @thelittleswanao3 @burningcoffeetimetravel @hinata7346 @poohxlove @borikenlove @myspotofcraziness @travelingmypassion @graykageyama @skythighs @lauraneedstochill @darlingimafangirl @charenlie @thewew @eddies-bat-tattoos @minttea07 @joliettes @trifoliumviridi @bornbetter @flowerpotmage @thewitch-lives @bearwithegg @tempt-ress @padfooteyes @teenagecriminalmastermind @chelsey01 @anditsmywholeheart @heliosscribbles @elsolario @killerqueen-ofwillowgreen @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @tillyt04 @cicaspair418 @fan-goddess
Only 2 chapters left! 💜
“You need to go to the hospital,” Aemond says.
You’re sitting on the threadbare floral couch in Aegon’s apartment, melting snow dripping from your hair like rain out of a bleak sky. You’re still wearing Aegon’s parka, but you’re freezing; you feel like you’ll never be warm again. Sunfyre, whimpering and pacing restlessly, periodically nudges your arm with his nose. “No.”
Aemond studies you. “Why?”
“I don’t want anyone else touching me.”
Aegon looks up from where he’s kneeling on the floor in only his green flannel pajama pants, skin and scars and ink. When he lifts the towel he’s had pressed to the outside of your thigh, there is a six-inch gash in the flesh: silent inferno, scarlet lightning. His palms are stained with your blood. “I’ll kill him,” he says, low and fierce.
Aemond sighs. “No, you won’t.”
“I will.”
You tell Aegon: “No, really, you won’t. You’re not going to prison for Trent.”
“Well something has to happen to him!”
“The hospital is really not negotiable,” Aemond says. “You need stitches.” And he shudders, just enough that you notice.
“We could call the cops,” Aegon starts. “We could—”
“You get to leave,” you say, and neither of them understand. For the first time, your eyes snag on the pattern of the couch rather than just skate over it: ivy, red roses, calla lilies white like bones. You take a trembling breath and begin again. “In a week, or a month, or whenever, you both get to leave this city, and it won’t matter what anyone here knows about you. But everything I have is in Juneau. And it’s too small for secrets. If I tell anyone about what happened, they’re going to end up hearing Trent’s side of the story too. The cops wouldn’t see this as a warning sign or part of a pattern of violent behavior. They’d see it as a domestic disturbance, at least in part caused by me. I’ll spend the rest of my life as the girl who got caught fucking around on the local football hero with some degenerate drifter. The same drifter who Trent saved from drowning in the channel a month ago.”
“He did what?” Aemond asks, confounded.
“It’s a long story.”
“Okay, okay, Appletini,” Aegon soothes. “Just tell me what you want. Tell me what you want and we’ll do it.”
“You should wash the blood off your hands.”
“Why? It’s just you.”
After a moment, you smile down at him. He smiles back. And suddenly you’re warm again, warm everywhere like there are embers tumbling through your veins instead of just biconcave cells and menacing lineage. Aemond’s gaze darts between you and Aegon, a little intrigued, a little scandalized, like it’s not something meant for him to witness. Sunfyre’s tail wags hopefully.
“So,” Aemond says. “Your preference for confidentiality notwithstanding, you do actually still need stitches.”
“I’ll do them,” you reply.
“You’ll…what…?”
“I’ll do the stitches myself. I have all the equipment at the vet clinic.”
“Okay,” Aegon agrees immediately.
Aemond stares at you, his lone eye narrow and incredulous. Then he turns to Aegon. “You think this is a good idea?”
“If she wants to do it herself, she can do it herself. She did a great job stitching up Sunfyre’s face. You can barely see where the bear clawed him.”
Aemond raises an eyebrow. “Why did I believe you might serve as the voice of reason? Why was I that delusional? Yeah, alright, let’s go do some impromptu surgery. That can only end well.”
You examine the wound on your thigh. It’s a relatively clean cut, but deep; it will leave a mark that you’ll carry for the rest of your life. It’s about the same size as Aemond’s scar, you think disjointedly, your skull clouded with shock and searing pain. The bleeding has slowed, but beads like rubies brim at the edges of the severed quilt of flesh. “I need to wrap it with something so it doesn’t bleed all over my Jeep.”
As you and Aegon improvise a solution—a fresh towel secured around your thigh with duct tape, the white fabric soon splattered with red—Aemond goes to the window, his arms crossed over his chest, his face grave and distant. Sirens build outside in the frigid darkness.
Aegon whirls to his brother. “Did—?”
“No. I didn’t call them.”
The police cars zoom by the apartment building in a screeching procession, heading north towards the lakes. Flashing lights paint Aemond’s ivory skin in shades of fire and sky. Lines etch across his forehead, perplexed, wary.
“What’s that about?”
“It happens a lot around here,” Aegon says. He tests the duct tape, making sure the towel won’t get jostled when you move. “It means they’ve found another body.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Lidocaine, povidone-iodine, scissors, forceps, tweezers, surgical thread, bright lights and no shadows. The bruises on Aegon’s face from where Aemond slammed him against that Dodge Ram last night are vivid blooms: violets, irises, blue-dyed roses, things that don’t grow here. He stands beside the metal exam table as you work, running his hands through his wild, white-blond, blood-flecked hair. You’re both wearing the clothes that you left on the floor of your Jeep; you’re both back in that moment, or at least halfway in it, soundless electricity in the florescent-lit air, longing drenched with maroon pain, rage, feverish anxiety. You cut the right leg off your blue flannel pajama pants so you could suture your thigh without being practically naked again. Aemond duct taped a black trash bag over the missing window of your Jeep to keep the worst of the wind and snow out. You’ll have to explain that to your parents eventually. You’ll have to explain quite a lot to them.
Aemond roams between the exam room and the lobby like a leopard behind iron bars, not really wanting to be in either. He is unnerved by your suturing, unnerved in a way that is obvious and deeper than words; yet he is irritated by the news coming from the television in the lobby. He’s turned it on to see if they’re reporting on the Ice Fisher’s latest victim yet. Instead, they’re covering the weather. The blizzard that’s expected to hit Juneau tomorrow has picked up speed, arriving by noon instead of the previously estimated late-evening. It will drop several feet of fresh snow, enough to shut down the city for two or three days. This is a great inconvenience for Aemond. This will delay his clandestine plans.
Aegon is watching you stitch with awe in his eyes. He’s nearly sober and must be desperate to remedy that, but he’s hiding it well. “You are so fucking badass.”
“I am so fucking stupid. I forgot all about the bear mace. It was right there in the front of the Jeep with my purse, I should have told you to grab it, I just…I wasn’t being especially logical at the moment. It completely slipped my mind.”
“I think that’s a very understandable oversight.” He skims his calloused thumb across your cheekbone, light and fleeting just like the rest of him. One of these moments will be the last time he’ll ever touch me. “How are you feeling?”
“Everything hurts. Not just the leg. My back, my ribs, all over.”
“Appletini,” he says, deadly serious. “What are we going to do if Trent shows up again?”
“He won’t come here.” You’re sure of that. “He won’t make a scene in front of my parents. He has a temper, obviously, and when it first hits it blinds him. We’ve seen that over and over again. But he’s not as stupid as he seems. He won’t want to ruin his reputation. Juneau is his whole world.” Just like it’s mine, you think unwillingly, horribly. “Maybe he’ll go home and unwind with a few Heinekens and realize the best thing he can do is move on. Maybe he’ll just consider us even and never speak to me again.”
“That’s optimistic,” Aegon says flatly.
“It’s a catch-22, right? He can’t tell anyone I was with you without it coming out that he attacked me and vandalized my Jeep. I can’t tell anyone he’s a violet psycho without admitting what I was doing when he found us.”
“But you didn’t do anything wrong.”
“You think that. I think that. But other opinions may differ.”
“You don’t belong in Juneau,” Aegon says suddenly, forcefully. “This place can be beautiful but it’s so fucking small. The people are small, their minds are small, any future here would be a waste of everything you’re made of. You feel that, right? I know you do. You don’t have to stay here.”
Aemond peeks into the exam room, observes that you’re still suturing, winces and vanishes into the lobby again. The news anchors are talking about snowfall, an estimated thirty to thirty-six inches.
“We should spend the blizzard at my parents’ house,” you tell Aegon.
“What, all three of us?” He remembers Aemond. “All four of us?”
“Definitely. We’ll have room to spread out in, we can shovel a section of the yard clear for Sunfyre, we won’t have to worry about Trent showing up for an encore. And…you know. I won’t have to be away from you.”
He grins. “You can’t get rid of me, Appletini. Not yet, anyway.”
“Not yet,” you agree, low and wistful. You finish suturing and bandage your thigh with gauze. Then you slide off the exam table, peel away your latex gloves, scrub your hands in the sink, and step out of your disfigured pajama pants. “Reach into that drawer. I keep an extra pair of jeans in there in case some animal gets its fluids all over me.”
Aegon passes you the jeans and pauses for a long time before he speaks. “Do you think Trent’s the Ice Fisher? It has to be him, right? After what happened tonight?” But his bruised face is full of doubt; his oceanic eyes are searching.
“I don’t think it’s him. I can’t really explain why, but I don’t.”
Aemond appears again, hesitating in the doorway. “Hey, idiot,” Aegon says. “We’re all going to wait out the blizzard at her parents’ house.”
“Why would we do that?”
“So I don’t have to spend three days alone with your oppressively stressful self, obviously.”
Aemond should jab back, but he doesn’t. He covers the damaged side of his face with one long agile hand and squeezes his remaining eye shut, flinching, uncharacteristically vulnerable.
“Nerve pain?” you ask.
“No,” Aemond snaps defensively.
“Here…” You paw though the cabinet and find a small white tube. “I have topical lidocaine, not just the injectable kind. It might help…”
“No,” he says again, stepping away from you.
“Aemond, let me—”
“No!”
“I’d leave him alone,” Aegon cautions you. You don’t listen. You follow Aemond as he retreats into the lobby and backs himself against a wall.
“Don’t touch me,” he lashes out, still holding his face in his hand, repulsed that you’re seeing him this way, repulsed by his own weakness.
“Fine. Then you do it.” Too swiftly for him to resist, you grab his wrist, squirt a plentiful amount of the lidocaine gel into his palm, and press his hand back to his ruined cheek, eyelids, forehead. He gapes at you, stunned. “Rub it in, then wait a few minutes. It should start helping.”
Aemond begins massaging the gel into the area around his scar. “Thank you,” he says huskily, averting his gaze from you.
“I don’t know what you have to be so shy about. You’ve basically seen me naked.”
Remarkably, Aemond smiles. He has dimples, you realize. He isn’t just marble or stone; he isn’t just formidable. He’s a little beautiful too. “I have things at home for it, but I forgot to pack them before I flew out of Miami.”
“Yeah, I bet you were in a real hurry to get here.” To find Aegon before he left for the next city. To bring back the long-lost prodigal son.
On the television, the news has pivoted to the Juneau Police Department’s latest discovery.
“Reports are coming in now that officers have found the eighth victim of the serial killer known locally as the Ice Fisher. The remains were recovered from Dredge Lake late this evening. While we are waiting for the victim’s identity to be publicly confirmed once the family has been notified, Chief of Police Eugene Baker has shared that the victim is a female in her mid-thirties. He has also reiterated the vital importance of Juneau residents not leaving their homes alone—no matter how briefly—until the killer is apprehended. The impending blizzard is expected to temporarily postpone the investigation…”
“Mid-thirties,” you consider. “Not Heather or Joyce or Kimmie. The Ursa Minor coincidence lives on.”
“The what?” Aegon says.
“No one from the bar ever gets murdered.”
Aemond watches the blue-white glow of the television, the edges of his face smoothing as the lidocaine gel dulls the erratic electrical signals of his severed nerves: fire, blades, tremors like tiny cataclysmic earthquakes. “Hm.”
The wheels in his skull turn, and then faster, and then faster.
~~~~~~~~~~
It’s 11:00 p.m., and your parents are still awake. They’re working on a 1,000-piece puzzle at the dining room table and sipping Earl Grey tea when you walk in. The puzzle box is propped up so they can reference it as they click the jagged fragments together. The picture shows the skyline of London.
“Hey, ladybug!” your dad calls. “Want to help us? I can’t seem to finish this fucking clock.”
Your mom laughs, slapping his broad shoulder playfully. “It’s called Big Ben, you caveman.”
“You don’t complain about my caveman ways when you need wood chopped for the firepit—”
“I have an unorthodox request,” you say. They both turn their full attention to you.
“What is it?” your mom asks.
“I would like Aegon to stay with us until the blizzard is over. And Sunfyre. And Aegon’s brother.”
“Aegon has a brother?” your dad says.
“Yes, and he’s…um…” What’s the word for it? Is there a word for it? “Kind of…different. But he’s very well-mannered and won’t cause any problems. He’s nothing like Aegon. He’s essentially the complete opposite.”
“What’s his name?”
“Aemond.”
“So Greek,” your dad marvels.
Your mom blinks at you, clutching her cup of tea with both hands. Steam curls up around her face like smoke, like fog. “And you and Aegon are…getting along again?”
“Yes.”
She looks to your dad. “As…friends…?” he says.
“No. Not as friends.”
“Oh. Okay, yeah, that’d be just fine.” Your dad is trying to act nonchalant, but they’re both worried; they don’t understand, or maybe they understand too well, and that’s worse. You can hear Jesse’s ghost in the next room, in the attic, in the walls. He’s like that type of silence that starts to feel loud.
“I really, really appreciate it. They’ll be here soon.” Aemond drove himself and Aegon back to the apartment in your Jeep to pack up some essentials and get Sunfyre. “I’ll find the extra sheets and pillows. Aemond can sleep on the couch. And…there’s one more thing.”
“There’s a third brother and his name is Aristotle Onassis.”
No, Daeron. “If Trent shows up, don’t let him in.”
Now they’re really rattled. “What happened, ladybug?” your dad asks softly.
“I tried to end things with Trent. He didn’t take it well. He found out I was with Aegon and he smashed the back window of my Jeep with a rock. There was a whole…situation. I don’t want to talk about the specifics. I don’t need a hug or anything. I just need you both to know that he’s not welcome anywhere near me or Aegon.”
“Oh my god,” your mom gasps, her palm pressed to her heart. “Trent did that? Really?”
“Did he hurt you?” your dad asks; and his voice sounds nothing like the man who raised you. He sounds red and serrated and vengeful. He sounds like when he spoke to you about Jesse.
“No,” you lie, apparently convincingly enough. “But I’m afraid of him. I don’t think he’d try anything in front of you guys, but just in case…”
“Understood,” your dad says with a nod. “No need to elaborate. Trent is hereby banished from the premises.” He makes a cross with his hand like a priest performing an exorcism.
Your mom shivers as she drinks her tea, peering down at the half-finished puzzle. “Horrible. Just horrible. And he always seemed so nice…”
People aren’t always what they seem, Mom, you think bitterly, treasonously. Jesse seemed like he was getting better.
By the time you’re finished putting out food and water for Sunfyre and readying the couch for Aemond—your dad insists on helping you, though you try to refuse—there is a knock at the front door. The Targaryen brothers enter along with a frigid gust of Arctic air that blows the door wide open. Sunfyre, shaking snow from his fur, immediately makes himself at home by jumping up onto the couch and rolling all over it, kicking pillows to the floor.
“Great,” Aemond says tonelessly.
Your parents don’t even register the bruises on Aegon’s face, the dried blood on his hands and in his hair…not with Aemond in the room. They gawk at him: lofty height, long white hair, scar, sapphire, green Louis Vuitton suitcase, black Christian Dior sweatsuit. Eventually, your mom pulls her jaw shut and rises from the dining room table. “Hello!” she manages in an overcompensatingly enthusiastic warble.
To everyone’s surprise, Aemond goes to her and folds both of her hands into his own. “I wanted to personally thank you for welcoming me and my brother into your home. We will not forget your generosity, and it will be greatly rewarded. You will forever have the resources of Targaryen Enterprises at your disposal.”
“Have you ever tried not acting deranged?” Aegon asks him. “For maybe five minutes?”
“It’s our pleasure,” your mom stammers, transfixed by Aemond.
Your dad flashes a smile and gives Aemond a fatherly pat on the back. “Hell, if you’re ladybug’s friend, you’re our friend too. Do you have any pets, Aemond?”
“Yes, a Norwegian Forest cat. Her name is Vhagar.” He pulls a photograph out of his wallet to show them. The cat is freaking enormous.
“Goddamn, I’ve never seen one of those!” your dad exclaims. “How much does she eat? Do you let her outside? Does she hunt? What’s the life expectancy…?”
As they chat, Aegon rummages through the kitchen cabinets until he finds a bottle of red wine. You offer to get him a glass. “No point,” he says, winking. He drinks straight from the bottle, taking frequent little nips like taps of Morse code, sanding the edges off the present, the future, the past. When your parents retire to bed—no doubt to do some stealthy gossiping about their temporary houseguests—Aegon stumbles upstairs to shower, leaving you and Aemond alone. He sits down at the dining room table and moves puzzle pieces around with one index finger, linking them together faster than you would have thought possible.
“I forgot to tell you about him drinking wine,” you say.
“Well, wine is a given.” The rippling blue water of the River Thames is taking shape. “Make no mistake, it’s still suicide, what he’s doing now. It’s just slower. It’s the scenic route, sure, but it ends in the same place. You think he’ll make it to thirty?”
“No,” you answer quietly.
“He’ll overdose, or he’ll drive off the road, or he’ll fall into the ocean, or he’ll pass out somewhere and get claimed by the elements. He’ll be bones wrapped in roots and soil and we’ll never find him, we’ll never even have a body to bury. I’m not trying to hurt him. That couldn’t be further from what I want. Do you see that now? Do you understand?”
“You can’t fix him, Aemond. He has to want to fix himself.”
Aemond shakes his head. “He’ll never do it on his own.”
“You don’t think I’ve tried?” you say, heat like cinders in your throat. “I want the same thing you do. I’ve tried to get him to go to rehab, I’ve offered to help, I’ve given ultimatums, I’ve left him, I’ve come back, I don’t know what else there is to do. I’m watching him kill himself right in front of me, just like you are. It’s excruciating, loving someone like that. It’s hell.”
Aemond looks at you, a cold, razor-sharp warning. “I know.”
And he does love him, you realize. In a harsh way, in a tangled way, in a way that is burdened with years of betrayal and disappointment. But he loves Aegon too. If only that was enough. “He said that you were trying to protect him on the night of the accident. That your parents were always screaming at him.”
“They did a lot more than that. They hit him. My father harder, my mother more frequently. My grandfather broke his arm when he was ten.”
You can see Aegon as a sullen boy in a hospital bed, as an untamed streetlight-glowing teenager with the night wind in his hair, as a body floating in cold water. “And you think it’s a good idea for him to go back to that kind of environment?”
“Things are different now,” Aemond says, in a tone that offers no further explanation. “Is there a place where I can get some work done tomorrow?”
“Sure. The study is down the hallway, the second door on the right. There’s a desk and a phone in there and everything. Knock yourself out.”
“Oh, I don’t think it will come to that,” Aemond says, a sly smile on his half-ravaged face. And then he goes to the couch—not shooing Sunfyre away but merely shoving him aside to make sufficient space—and turns on the television so he won’t miss any of the news coverage, sliding his BlackBerry out of his pocket and clicking away on it.
When Aegon wanders into your bedroom—black Foo Fighters T-shirt, fresh green flannel pajama pants, dewy and flushed, aggressively rubbing his hair with a towel—you’re waiting for him. He holds up his hands to show you, grinning and proud. “No more blood. Happy now, vet lady?”
“Very.”
“It’s a problem, you know. I never seem to want to wash you off me.” His racoonish eyes flick to the mirror. It’s still decorated with the photographs he remembers, but there’s something missing: the magazine cutout of the Pacific Coast Highway, of California. “What happened to the convertible guy?”
“He got demoted.”
“Since when?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
But still, he knows: since New Year’s Eve, since everything started going wrong. Aegon glimpses his reflection in the silver glass and quickly turns away.
“Your face isn’t that bad. The bruises should start fading soon.”
He smirks. “You’re always looking in the mirror because you’re still trying to figure out who you are. I don’t like looking because I already know.” His eyes catch on the cardboard box full of Jesse’s journals, jutting out from under the bed like the monster of a child’s imagination. “Old birthday and Christmas cards? High school yearbooks? Hot Wheels? Legos?”
���No. Journals.”
His eyebrows shoot up, intrigued. “Yours?”
“Jesse’s.”
“Oh,” he says tentatively, treading lightly, not wanting to offend. “You’ve read them?”
“Bits and pieces. I think it would take years to finish them all.” And then you add: “If you’re ever curious and want to take a look, I don’t mind.” Maybe it would be good for you. Maybe it would show you what you have to look forward to if you don’t change. “Now come here.”
Aegon crawls onto the bed; the mattress shifts beneath his knuckles and knees. He takes your face in his hands and kisses you gently, unhurriedly, like you’re made of glass that’s already beginning to splinter. You hurt everywhere, yes, but one ache is worse than all the others. It is an emptiness rather than the pressure of trapped blood or the mending of skin and sinew. It is the cavernous void of a missing piece in the shape of him.
You reach out, graze the backs of your fingers over his bruised cheekbone, tuck his damp lock of hair behind his ear. “I guess we got interrupted earlier.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Aegon murmurs. He smells like wine and soap, your soap. The heat of his skin is rising and infectious, a swelling wave, a fever. He’s holding himself back. He always seems to be holding himself back with you.
“I won’t be yours forever. But I am right now.” You press your lips to his jaw, your fingerprints to the kaleidoscope of bruises on his face. “Take me, all of me, I want you to have it.”
Aegon drags off your jeans agonizingly slowly, mindful of the bandage. He lifts away your oversized T-shirt, your doubts, your pain, your fear of the future. You strip him bare like winter pillages the earth. He is careful not to put any weight on your right thigh. He is tender and whispering, and when his hand slips beneath your blue silk panties you are stunned by how starved you are for him, how desperate, smothering moans against his throat, Aegon swearing that he won’t fuck you until you’ve come first; and then you do, so hard you see pinpoint stars like an unnamed constellation, like the glimmer of the Northern Lights. And then he is inside you, covering you like ivy, growing over you and through you and into dark needful corners that you hadn’t even known were there. He is freeing like an open sky, like the infinite line of the ocean. He is a memory you’ll never be able to mine from your bones.
When you wake in the morning to see white powdery snow falling heavily beyond your bedroom window, Aegon is sitting cross-legged on the floor and flipping through an olive green journal. The pages, riddled with spikes and loops of untidy ink, rustle against his calloused fingers.
“He’s funny,” Aegon says. “I don’t know why I didn’t expect that. I should have.”
“Why would you expect it?” Why would you expect anything but ruin, but tragedy?
He smiles. “Because you’re funny too.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Your parents are in full entertaining guests mode; the kitchen rings out with clangs and thumps as they try out new recipes, cookies and muffins and reindeer chili with green chilies and cheddar cheese. You and Aegon are playing Mouse Trap on the coffee table in the living room, one of practically endless board games your parents kept from your childhood. Intermittently, as commercials appear on the television, Aegon jots down notes on the back of a Taco Bell receipt he found under the couch. Sunfyre alternates between collecting pats from you and Aegon and licking up fallen scraps in the kitchen. He trots around the house buoyantly, tail wagging, eyes bright and twinkling; it’s not often that all of his favorite humans are in the same place. An Oasis album rotates on your dad’s record player. Don’t Look Back In Anger reverberates through the house like a heartbeat.
Aemond is working in the study. You can sometimes hear the low melody of his voice, or the beeping of his BlackBerry, or the jangling of the phone. Each time it goes off, he picks up on the first ring. About once per hour he appears in the living room to switch the tv channel from the X-Files or Buffy to the local news before retreating back into the study. The Ice Fisher’s eighth victim has been officially identified: Nikola Kozlowski, an adjunct professor of Marine Biology at the University of Alaska. She was snatched, strangled, sunk into water too cold for you to imagine. Aemond stares at the television, artificial light dancing on his face.
“Hey, you want to play Don’t Break The Ice?” Aegon says, swigging red wine straight from the bottle.
“That’s in poor taste,” Aemond mutters as he leaves.
Aegon shouts after him: “It was a joke!” He sighs, flips the channel back to the X-Files, observes the commercial with peculiar interest. “You like Chia Pets?” he asks you.
“I don’t know, I’ve never had one.”
“Interesting.” He makes a scribble on the receipt, takes another gulp of wine.
Just before lunch, you and Aegon venture out into the blizzard together to clear a space for Sunfyre to run around in, tilling fluffy mounds of snow until you can no longer feel your cheeks or your noses, catching snowflakes on your tongues, dashing back inside for steaming cups of Earl Grey tea and bowls of reindeer chili.
“Aemond?” your mom calls, knocking timidly on the study door. “Dear, would you like some chili? It’s homemade! It’s a brand new recipe! We have bacon bits!”
Perhaps reluctantly—although he tries to disguise it—Aemond emerges for a lunch break. At the dining room table, he sits next to you instead of Aegon. Your mom attempts to compulsively feed him cornbread muffins; your dad asks him about Targaryen Enterprises. Aemond answers quite a few of the questions, gracefully evades others. He is someone who has a genetic gift for holding cards close to the vest. After a while, Aegon takes his half-empty wine bottle and staggers off. He’s wearing his black crewneck sweatshirt, cuffed jeans, combat boots, and his white-blond hair in a man bun. Aemond palpably disapproves of this.
“That’s a fascinating setup you’ve got there,” your dad tells Aemond, pointing at his sapphire. “I hope I won’t offend you by mentioning it, but I couldn’t let you leave without ever saying how brilliant I think it is. It’s the sort of thing a tech magnate would come up with. Innovative. Futuristic, even. In a humble Alaskan’s terms, it’s really goddamn cool.”
“No offense taken.” No, and in fact, you think Aemond is trying not to let on how pleased he is, how…touched. “I was given something disfiguring and pathetic and made it an asset. Now people look at me with astonishment instead of pity. Tech and finance companies name their products after sapphires, after me. Teenagers dress up as me for Halloween.”
“I bet the women like it too,” your dad notes with a grin.
“Well…” Aemond stirs his chili, avoidant. “I’m a little too busy for women.”
Your dad mumbles, rubbing his forehead: “A sexy genius billionaire…too busy for women…now I’ve heard it all.”
And Aemond smiles, even blushes, dunking a cornbread muffin into his chili. It’s the strangest thing: you don’t suspect that he had any desire at all to eat lunch with your parents, but now he doesn’t seem to want to leave. When Aemond at last returns to the study, Aegon plods down the stairs and throws himself onto the couch, flipping lazily through the television channels. Within two minutes, Aemond bolts into the living room.
“Where’s my Visa?”
“Oh, whoops.” Aegon takes it out of the pocket of his jeans and tosses it to his brother. The credit card sails across the room like a paper airplane. Aemond grabs it off the floor.
“What the hell were you doing with it?”
“Buying thank you gifts to show the Appletinis how appreciative we are for their hospitality.”
“Thank you gifts…?”
“Yeah. A George Foreman Grill, a Rainbow Art set, some Ginsu Knives, a lifetime supply of Zoobooks, a BeDazzler—”
“A what?”
“A BeDazzler,” Aegon repeats impatiently. “It bedazzles things. A Kidz Bop cassette tape, a Betty Crocker Bake n’ Fill, a Chia Pet…five Chia Pets, actually…oh, and a Psychic Reading with Miss Cleo for me. She said I recently received an alarming and unwelcome visitor. Sounds like she really has talent.”
“You’re useless,” Aemond says, glowering at him.
Aegon guzzles his wine. “How’s Mom?”
“Oh, you’re suddenly interested?”
Aegon shrugs, gesturing vaguely with his wine bottle. He’s very drunk. “It’s polite to ask.”
“She’s terrible,” Aemond says. “She misses you, she worries about you, she blames herself for everything. It never gets better. It only gets worse. Every year it gets worse. She wants to make things right. She wants a second chance. We all do. Mom, me, Helaena, Daeron—”
“Dad?” Aegon flings mockingly, like he knows it won’t be true.
Aemond watches his brother for a long time before he answers. “He’s dying.”
The shock hits Aegon’s face, slow but marrow-deep, spreading beneath the surface like dark tendrils of blood poisoning. “He’s…?”
“That’s not public information yet. People will panic…stock prices, you know…but the company is in good hands. The company will still be here in a year. But Dad won’t.”
Aegon shakes his head, not understanding. “What happened?”
“Cancer. Pancreatic, inoperable.”
“Jesus Christ,” Aegon whispers, swigging his wine.
“He wants to see you before it’s too late. He wants to apologize.”
Again, Aegon shakes his head. He stares out the window at the falling snow, at the cold grey sky. “I have nothing to say to him.”
“Aegon, please—”
“He never liked me, and if he thinks he does now it’s only because of the omnipotent, looming threat of the Great Beyond. Me showing up in Miami won’t fix anything. Not for him, and not for anybody else.”
“It will,” Aemond insists.
“Because you’re so happy to see me, right?” Aegon says; and he grins, a horrible, dazed, triumphant, venomous grin. “You’re so proud of the person I’ve become, the person I’ve always been. You’re beaming with it. You’re fucking ecstatic.”
“Stop.”
“Admit it, Aemond. You should have been born first. You should have been the heir. It always should have been you, and now it is. Can’t you just enjoy it? Can’t you just go back to your little conference calls and your conventions and your equity negotiations and leave me alone?”
Aemond’s hand juts out, seizes Aegon by the collar of his sweatshirt, wrenches him to his feet. Sunfyre growls, showing long canine teeth. “Why, so you can destroy yourself in peace?” Aemond seethes. “No, not a chance. You’re not going to be the weight we’re all forced to carry on our backs. You don’t get to become the Targaryen family ghost. You don’t get to haunt us. You’ve already done enough. Do you hear me? You’ve done enough.” He shoves Aegon back onto the couch, storms into the study, slams the door behind him.
Your parents peek skittishly from of the kitchen. “Everything okay out there?” your dad says.
“Yeah,” Aegon slings back. He drains the last of his wine, takes your hand, presses his still-healing lips to your knuckles. His face is a wasteland, miles away, years away. Sunfyre, whimpering, rests his head in his lap.
“Aegon,” you begin, laying your palm against his cheek. I would do anything to help you, to fix you. What can I do? What can any of us do?
“I’m not going back.” He gazes out the window, cold grey void filling up his eyes. “I’m never going back.”
~~~~~~~~~~
The days are seasons: silent colorless mornings, snow-glare afternoons, violet dusk peppered with star-fire, nights as black as volcanic glass. Rumbling, monstrous plows pass by on the street outside. Trucks and SUVs begin revving back to life, exhaust fumes melting icicles that hang like fangs. The long hours that Aemond spends in the study yield no revelations that you can see. He is courteous to your parents, jarringly so. Before he leaves, he places an envelope on their dining room table. You open it while he and Aegon are loading their luggage into your Jeep.
“Don’t bang my suitcase around,” you can hear Aemond commanding, muffled through the house’s frosted windows. “Hey, what did I say—?!”
Inside the envelope is a handwritten note and a check for ten thousand dollars. The note reads:
Thank you so very much for your remarkable warmth and hospitality. You have a beautiful home, and an even more beautiful family. Please don’t hesitate to get in touch if you ever require anything. In Targaryen Enterprises, you have a friend for life.
Yours most sincerely, Aemond
P.S. I apologize about my delinquent brother. I am indescribably mortified by his conduct.
P.P.S. Your daughter is far too good for him.
Once back in his apartment, Aegon sets a pot on the stove. He gets two mugs out of the cabinet—the large blue mug for you, the green mug with tiny gold stars for him—and dusts a kiss across your cheekbone, one of his swift weightless kisses, the kind that feels routine and limitless, like he’ll be doing it for the rest of his life. Sunfyre frolics around you both, panting happily, accepting ear scratches and high-pitched praises.
Aemond goes immediately to the television. He turns it on, flips through the channels, finds the local news. There is a flurry of words you can’t get a grip on right away: breaking news, the Juneau Police Department, the Ice Fisher, suspect in custody.
What appears in the little black box doesn’t make any sense. There are random, disconnected fragments—flashing blue and red lights reflecting off fresh snow, Trent’s apartment, officers in uniform, florescent yellow crime scene tape, Trent being led to a police car in handcuffs—and then they all come together in a boom like thunder. And then all the pieces fall into place.
“I made a call reporting Trent for suspicious behavior,” Aemond explains calmly. “I got a judge to issue a search warrant. They went into his apartment with dogs and UV lights and found hiking boots with blood on them. A lot of blood. Human blood.”
Trent?
“And not just boots. There are trekking poles too, and snowshoes, and chisels, and fishing lines, things that match evidence left in the areas where the bodies were discovered. All with blood on them.”
TRENT?
“They’re waiting for lab results to confirm that the blood matches one or more of the victims’ DNA, but I’m confident they’ll find what they’re looking for. He’s their killer, the worst one Juneau has ever seen. He’s not a mystery, and he’s not a legend. He’s just a man.”
You and Aegon are staring at the television, horrified, hypnotized; you can’t look away. Your heart is racing. You’ve forgotten how to breathe. Your pulse is a deafening roar in your ears, a storm over the ocean, crashing waves and winds that capsize ships. Trent’s face isn’t colored with rage, audacity, remorse. When he flips his long hair out of his eyes, he looks bewildered. He wears the blank, fumbling confusion of a child.
It can’t be Trent, can it? Can it?
“No more excuses. No more delays.” Aemond turns to his brother. His pale eye is savage and determined. His sapphire glints like a blade. “It’s time to go home.”
#Aegon Targaryen#Aegon II Targaryen#aegon targaryen ii#aegon ii#aegon x reader#aegon targaryen x you#aegon targaryen x reader#Aegon Targaryen II x reader#aegon ii x y/n#aegon ii x you#nttf#north to the future
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Listen....
As someone who used to play piano, sing in choirs, and did Community Theatre I'd 100% serenade my fave (or any) Twst boys. Hell, I'd do it for the bit or as some type of prank! I might find any and all opportunities to sing/play songs from a range of decades to my boys.....
Imagine teasing Trey by singing Build Me Up Buttercup by the Foundations while he's baking for you ❤️ and seeing him shaking his head with an amused smile. As long as you help around the kitchen, and don't mind a playful chase or two with the ingredients, 🧁 he might be willing to join in with I Can't Help Myself (Sugar Pie, Honey Bunch) by Four Tops as you clean up the mess the two of you made.
Jokingly singing Hard Days Night by the Beatles with/at Ruggie after another long day of school, work, errands and babysitting.... 🌼 When finally you've got some time to just be in each other's presence. But even if the two of you can only get these small moments now, deep down Ruggie knows how lucky he is to love you. 🌠 Introducing Knock On Wood by Eddie Floyd would perfectly put words to just how lucky he is to have you.
Late at night, when Jamil finally has some time to rest, and finally being able to Serenade him in the moonlight 🌙 with Moonlight Serenade by Ella Fitzgerald. Sure, it's a little on the nose but he's still flattered. Save The Last Dance For Me by The Drifters would be another testament of how well you understood him; 🪭Jamil's first priority might be Kalim's by blood, but his biggest priority is YOU (and that's by choice).
Rook would be fascinated to know French songs on Earth like La Vie En Rose by Louise Armstrong! Even if you fumble through the words a little, as long as you show him the lyrics perhaps the two of you could work through it together.🌹He'd equally love hearing old Crooner songs like The Way You Look Tonight by Frank Sinatra.... And the way he looks at you while performing just about sets your heart on fire 🔥💕.
Old Man Lilia would appreciate just about any rendition of Dream A Little Dream Of Me considering his affiliation with 💭Diasomnia. But considering his love of music in general, along with the seemingly endless life he's already had up until he finally got to meet and fall for you 💘, At Last by Etta James would be almost too perfect.
(This wasn't perfectly done, but I LITERALLY couldn't sleep until I typed it all out. As you can tell my taste can lean kinda old school (because I was raised by a Baby Boomer) but I've also been listening to a lot of Jazz, Soul and classic musical numbers lately. These songs hold a lot of memories and nostalgia and I guess I just needed a space to project them on lol! And if you couldn't tell.... I fucking ADORE the Vice Wardens in Twisted Wonderland 💖😩🥰 These characters and so many others hold SUUUUUUCH a close place in my heart I literally can't.💜❤️ Lowkey, lemme know if anyone's interested in more songs that I associate (and dissociate singing to them lol) with these or any other characters!! It'd also be fun to try writing a drabble, ONE-SHOT, or full fic again 🥴😋)
- Aim's Ongoing Delusions 📜
#twisted wonderland imagines#twisted wonderland x reader#twisted wonderland#disney twst#trey clover#trey clover twst#ruggie bucchi#ruggie bucchi twst#jamil viper#jamil viper twst#rook hunt#rook hunt twisted wonderland#lilia vanrouge#lilia vanrouge twst#oldies#jazz recs#Aim's Ongong Delusions#creative writing#writing#fluff#song fic#but not really#it's been a while#slow jazz makes me emotional hard#nostalgia
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Charles Richard Moll (January 13, 1943 – October 26, 2023) Film and television actor known for playing Aristotle Nostradamus "Bull" Shannon, a bailiff on the NBCsitcom Night Court from 1984 to 1992 and voicing Harvey Dent/Two-Face in the DC Animated Universe series Batman: The Animated Series and The New Batman
In 1979, Moll played the part of Eugene, a gangster on the television series Happy Days in the episode "Fonzie's Funeral". In 1981 he had a small part in the Mork & Mindy episode "Alienation", where he appeared with future fellow Night Court TV series cast member John Larroquette.
Moll made an appearance in the first episode of Highlander: The Series as Slan Quince, the villain who reunites Connor MacLeod with his kinsman and the show's protagonist, Duncan MacLeod. Moll made a guest appearance on Babylon 5 in the episode "Hunter, Prey" as a lurker criminal who was holding a VIP hostage, and as a gangster on Married... with Children. Moll made another guest appearance in the TV series Hercules: The Legendary Journeys, playing the cyclops in episode two, "Eye of the Beholder".
In Super Password, Moll appeared with Judy Norton Taylor, Nancy Lane, Markie Post, Gloria Loring, Florence Halop, Debra Maffett, Elaine Joyce, and Kim Morgan Greene, with Bert Convy as the game show's host from 1984 to 1987.
Moll played himself in The Facts of Life (Season 9, episodes 1 and 2: "Down and Out in Malibu").
Moll appeared in The Flintstones and Casper Meets Wendy, both TV spin-offs. He played the drifter on the Nickelodeon show 100 Deeds for Eddie McDowd.
Other TV series and movies he appeared in were The Rockford Files, How the West Was Won, Buck Rogers in the 25th Century, Best of the West, T.J. Hooker, Fantasy Island, The A-Team, Due South, Combat Academy, Out of This World, Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman and many others.
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.:Survive the Tide:. (Eddie Munson x Reader) Ch 1
After discovering a portal to another dimension, infiltrating an underground secret Russian facility, and fighting literal monsters to save the world not once but twice, you'd think the bulk of your problems would be behind you. Enter: Eddie Munson. You thought you were done with long haired, leather jacket wearing men after dating Billy Hargrove, but Eddie seemed different. He was sweet, he was creative, he was honestly kind of a dork, and now he's convicted of murder. Needless to say, harboring a fugitive isn't exactly how you pictured your spring break going.
LINKS: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5
___________________________________________________
Ch 1 .:Resurface:.
“The suspect we're currently in pursuit of is Eddie Munson. All Hawkins residents are advised to. . .”
No.
No, no, no.
The world seemed to close in around you; you felt your stare at the TV screen shift in and out of focus, the sound of your blood roaring in your ears drowning out anything else the deputy had to say. You refused to believe that Eddie could do something like this. Eddie, who drove you home when your 'friends' ditched you at a party. Eddie, who lent you his cassette collection and beamed like the sun when he found out you liked the same music. Eddie, who insisted on slowly leading a spider out of his trailer instead of crushing it despite being absolutely terrified. He couldn't have killed Chrissy.
But the officer was there on the screen, holding up a cropped yearbook photo of him in his Hellfire Club t-shirt.
And they said the body was nearly unidentifiable.
After Starcourt you tried your damnedest to return to normalcy, and for a time you thought you had. There were some days that almost felt like your life before you knew what really lied beneath Hawkins' skin. Then there were days like this, where it felt like the weight of the world was returned to your shoulders, a crushing sense of doom pressing down on your chest. You thought this year would be peaceful. Relatively, at least. But so much had changed in so little time. . .
~Six months ago~
The school cafeteria at Hawkins High was less like the shitty buffet it was meant to be, and more like a gladiator arena. Students flocked together in protective groups, quickly sweeping the grounds and claiming their territory, but never daring to get close to the center table. No, that was reserved for the court— the cheerleaders and the basketball team. You affiliated yourself with neither, so how was it that you came to be sitting there? Simple: Chrissy Cunningham.
The two of you had known each other since kindergarten, practically growing up at each others houses. Although you drifted apart as you got older, especially as she started dating Jason and you became friends with Steve's group, you could tell that she'd been having a hard time lately. With what, you wouldn't push to know, but you could tell she was grateful to have someone by her side that she could trust, and you were happy to be that someone after you saw how the rest of the cheer team treated her.
And so, for the last week or so you'd taken up residence at the center table to make sure she wasn't getting shit from anyone. You'd expected to get at least some kind of backlash from the cheer team, but they hardly paid you any attention. That was one of the perks of being a social drifter— you weren't part of the popular group, but you weren't targeted by them either.
The basketball players, however, were a different beast.
You groaned as you spotted Jason Carver making his way down the hallway with the majority of the varsity team. People parted like the red sea for him while he smiled and waved to the other students like he was the goddamn mayor.
His eyes lit up as he spotted Chrissy, striding over and practically pushing you out of your seat as he wedged himself between you to kiss her.
“How are you, baby?”
“I'm-”
“Great! Party at my place this Saturday,” he cut her off, that smile still plastered on his face as he handed her a neon orange flier, “It's to celebrate our win earlier this week, wear something pretty for me.”
“Oh, right,” Chrissy said, managing a nervous smile.
You, on the other hand, felt like slapping him. Chrissy didn't like parties because of how anxious they made her, something she's told him multiple times. If Jason noticed her uncomfortably fidgeting with the cuffs of her jacket, he showed no sign of being concerned about it. He just gave her another unnecessarily intimate kiss for a school lunch room before walking off to grab his food. You glared at the back of his head until he reached the end of the line, turning to Chrissy.
“Remind me why you're dating that asshole again?” you said quietly. Jason never necessarily did anything bad to you; he was always just sort of in the background when you hung out with Chrissy, but you couldn't stand the way he treated people.
“Y/n,” Chrissy sighed, “I know how he can get sometimes, but Jason’s your friend too.”
“No, you’re my friend and he’s your boyfriend, so I’m legally obligated to tolerate him,” you supplied, “not the same thing. Sitting at this table doesn't make me his friend. I'm here for you, Chris.”
“I know,” she said sheepishly, “thank you. . . I'm sure you'd rather be somewhere else.”
“What, and let you suffer here alone?” you grinned, “not a chance.”
Right on queue Jason came back with his food tray, shouldering passing students out of the way as he did. Just as he was about to sit down, what looked like a blur of black few past him, knocking him off balance and sending a few items on his tray toppling over. As the blur slowed to a stop and turned around, you were met with a student that was both familiar and unfamiliar.
His hair was the first thing you noticed, dark brown tresses teased to the gods and falling in loose waves around his face. A chain hung off his belt, clanking against the studs whenever he moved. He wore a ripped denim jacket with a multitude of pins and patches of bands you recognized, and a shit-eating grin on his face.
You felt like you knew him from somewhere.
“Sorry, man,” he said to Jason, his expression telling you that while he really hadn't meant to do it, he certainly wasn't sorry about it.
“Watch where you're fuckin' going, freak,” Jason snarled. He slammed his tray down, making Chrissy jump as he got in his face. The other man didn't back down, his grin only spreading as Jason turned red from the neck up.
“You stay the fuck away from here, you got it, Munson?” Jason glared.
Munson. That's where you knew him. You recognized him from the Hellfire Club yearbook picture Dustin carried around in his folder. This must be Eddie, the guy the kids basically idolized. Even though Jason was threatening him, Eddie looked thoroughly unbothered. The look in his eyes almost dared Jason to hit him; you could tell they've done this same song and dance before.
“Last I checked, everyone's allowed to eat food in the place the school makes us eat food in,” Eddie said, gesturing around to the room with his arms as he turned to leave. Jason lunged forward, grabbing him by the collar of his jacket.
“That's it-”
“Carver, would you take the one-sided dick measuring contest somewhere else, please?”
The whole table seemed to freeze at your words, their focus moving to you.
“What?” Jason said, his jaw taught and his grip still tight on Eddie's jacket.
“Give it a fucking rest,” you reiterated, “you're starting shit just to start it, and I'm trying to eat in peace for once.”
“He needs to learn some fucking respect-”
“It's a pudding cup, Carver. Pretty sure you'll make it through this.”
Eddie couldn't help but chuckle. Even a couple boys from the basketball team snickered at your words, though they were shut up quickly by Jason's stare snapping to them. Jason let out a harsh breath as he loosened his grip on Eddie, his cross-hairs slowly shifting to you.
Now it was the whole cafeteria whose eyes were on you two. You stared back at Jason, unyielding. Although you were the one sitting down, there was no question that you were playing on even ground. Unlike Jason, you had friends in nearly every clique at Hawkins High, so while most of the cheerleaders and basketball players were firmly on Jason's side, you knew there were plenty of others waiting for him to be put in his place.
“Maybe you should mind your damn business, (L/n),” he said, fighting to keep his voice even.
“I will when you stop treating everyone around you like shit,” you fired back, ice in your tone, “that includes your girlfriend.”
A chorus of rising murmurs spread through the space— some shocked, others anticipatory.
This sure was an arena, and the audience couldn't wait to see who slaughtered who.
Suddenly the shrill sound of the bell rang out through the cafeteria, and you almost laughed at the timing. The other students began to disperse, scattering off to their other classes. Eventually Jason was pulled away by another one of the basketball guys, and you packed up your things for your next class. Eddie saw the glimmer of victory in your eyes as you did.
He'd noticed you right away, standing out like a sore thumb in your David Bowie t-shirt and denim jacket among the sea of green and gold varsity uniforms. You confused him, but not in a bad way. You'd always stayed out of the way whenever Jason went on one of his stunts, what made you say something this time? It couldn't have been because of him, Eddie was 100% sure you didn't know he existed before today.
His pulse leaped into his throat as you turned around to meet his gaze, that gleam in your eyes not having left. You gave him a small smile before slinging your bag over your shoulder and disappearing into the wave of exiting students.
All right, so maybe you knew he existed now.
__________________________________________________
You sighed as you strode quickly down the hallway before school started next day. Although your eyes were trained on the open book in front of you, you could practically feel the eyes boring into you from all angles; and although your headphones drowned out the noise, you could tell they were whispering about you. Your stunt in the cafeteria had people talking, and honestly you found it stupid that they were making it such a big deal in the first place. Jason's never had anyone talk back to him, and for what? The fear of a little social backlash? To be fair, Freshman year you would have done anything to avoid getting on the popular crowd's bad side, but after surviving the horrors of the Upside Down, you knew at the very least you could handle Jason Carver's entitled-white-boy wrath. Near death experiences had a way of giving you a little perspective.
With a good twenty minutes before your first class started, you decided to take the time for yourself away from the prying eyes and shit-talking mouths for a little while. You stopped underneath one of the trees by the edge of the schoolyard, leaning against the trunk and relishing the shade for a moment. You slipped your backpack off and set it on the ground, about to sit down when you suddenly felt a tap on your shoulder. You jolted, looking to your side only to find no one there. You whipped your head around, but there was no one behind you either. That's when you saw a hand clad in silver rings come from above you and tap you on the shoulder again.
You let out a small yelp and staggered back, the movement making your headphones slide down to your shoulders. Heat rose to your cheeks as your music played outloud, and you quickly paused your walkman. A chuckle reached your ears, and you looked up to see Eddie lounging comfortably between two branches in the tree above you, his legs swinging freely beneath him.
“You trying to kill me, Munson?” you huffed, your heart pounding.
“Sorry about that, princess,” he said, that impish smile ever present on his face, “didn't mean to scare my savior, especially now that I know she listens to Ozzy. That's Secret Loser off his new album, right? Definitely didn't take you for the type.”
“Well what did you take me for?” you said, your arms crossing defensively despite the grin that tugged at your lips.
Eddie tilted his head, pretending to think about it.
“Hmm. . . somewhere at the intersection of preppy and weird art kid, so Kate Bush I guess?”
“Well I like her music too,” you said, “Shockingly, human beings can be multifaceted.”
“Well don't blame me for being surprised when most of the people here have about as much depth as a blow up pool,” Eddie jabbed.
“You include yourself in that?” you quirked a brow.
“Duh, look how I'm dressed.”
He was joking, but he wasn't totally wrong. He was wearing his Hellfire club t-shirt, the sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms and exposing the tattoos you didn't realize he had. His hands were covered in thick silver rings, matching the chains hanging from his belt and his wrists. His black jeans were torn at the knees, and hanging off the branch next to where he sat was his denim vest and leather jacket with a picture of Dio's latest album cover printed across the back. Maybe it was the way he carried himself, or the fact that he genuinely didn't seem to care what other people thought of him, but you'd never realized how attractive he actually was.
“Could have just taken a picture for you,” Eddie said, snapping you out of your train of thought. You flushed as you realized how long you must have been blatantly staring at him. “Didn't know you were gonna size me up.”
“Just doing what you asked me to,” you said, sounding a lot more confident than you felt; a tactic that worked, if the blooming color in his cheeks was anything to go by.
“Every person has layers,” you finished your point, trying to get your heart rate under control.
“Not Jason Carver.”
“I said every person.”
Eddie laughed at that, the sound so warm and resonant you could almost feel it in your own chest. So much for your heart rate.
“Speaking of, never got to thank you for yesterday,” he said.
“Well, it was more about my not liking Carver than my concern and care for you, but I'll let you believe that,” you said playfully.
“Cold,” Eddie chuckled, swinging his legs over the branch and dropping to the ground, “Still, it takes guts standing up to the new king of Hawkins High,”
“With Jason it's more of a dictatorship, but thanks.”
“Well said,” he grinned, “starting an uprising against the dickish forces of the basketball team. Never would’ve seen it coming from (Y/n) (L/n), right hand of Steve Harrington.”
“First of all, never call me Steve's right hand again,” you scoffed.
Eddie was unable to hold back the string of surprised laughter that escaped his lips, not expecting the innuendo from you.
“And second, I only started hanging out with him after he stopped being an ass,” you finished.
“Right, got it,” Eddie said, tapping the side of his head, “. . . was I absent that day?”
You shot him a sharp look and he smiled, raising his hands in mock surrender.
“He's sweet,” you defended your friend.
“In all my time at this school I've never heard the words 'Steve Harrington' and 'sweet' in the same sentence,” he said, “and I've been here for-”
“Ten years, I know.”
“Ha, ha,” Eddie deadpanned.
You laughed, your smile seemingly lighting you up from the inside, and Eddie found himself smiling along with you. He surprised himself with how natural your back and forth felt to him. You were usually hanging around Steve and Nancy or Billy, and more recently Robin— people whose social circles didn't really overlap with his own unless they were really trashed at a party. Of course he knew who you were, it was impossible not to know everyone in a small school like this, but this was the first time you'd ever had a real conversation; one that Eddie was enjoying more than he'd like to admit.
“Y'know, that's not the first time you've stood up for me,” he said after a short while.
“It's not?” you asked, raising a brow.
Eddie drew in a long breath, crossing his arms and shaking his head in mock disappointment.
“Ouch,” he smirked, “Think back, (L/n). Dive into that memory palace. Back to about 6th grade, middle school talent show. You sang a Journey song, and I. . .”
“Played guitar, holy shit!” you laughed, the moment now vividly pictured in your head.
Eddie beamed, his index finger ringing an imaginary bell above his head and his smile impossibly infectious.
“Ding ding ding! Well, you seem to remember my performance on a generally positive note, so I'll overlook you forgetting.”
“Can you blame me? You were bald back then.”
“Buzzed, thank you very much.”
“Bald in comparison,” you snorted, reaching up to push a few of the unruly strands out of his face. He swatted your hand away playfully, trying to ignore the way his stomach flipped at the feeling of your fingers running through his hair.
“But you do remember?” he covered quickly, “Jimmy Hathaway made fun of me after the show-”
“And I tripped him into the wet pavement outside,” you finished, heat rising to your face again as you recalled your temper as a child, even shorter than it was now.
“Exactly. You know, I bet the imprint from his fall is still on that sidewalk to this day,” Eddie mused, “a great tribute to your heroic deed.”
“Jimmy's parents sure didn't see it that way,” you said with that sly glimmer back in your eyes that made Eddie unable to look away, “something about me being in correspondence with the devil.”
“There any truth to that?”
“I don't know, haven't seen him in a while.”
Eddie laughed breathlessly, staring at you with something akin to amazement in his eyes and wondering why he hadn't ambushed you from a tree sooner.
“Too far?” you coughed out awkwardly.
“You kidding?” Eddie blinked as he came back to reality, “You're talking to the school freak here. To the general student body, no one's more 'in correspondence with the devil' than me.”
“What, because you're the grand warlock of your club or something?”
“Dungeon Master, actually,” Eddie corrected with a flourish.
“Kinky.”
You grinned as Eddie's face flushed immediately.
“That's not what it-”
“I know,” you chuckled, “I just wanted to mess with you.”
Eddie huffed indignantly, but did little to fight the upward quirk of his lips.
“So you actually know about D&D?”
“I practically babysat the boys when we were younger,” you told him, “I was there when they were still designing their characters and figuring out what campaign even was. Besides, who do you think picks them up from Hellfire? I'm not gonna trust any of those twerps with a car.”
“You're something else, (L/n),” he said.
“So you thought I'd be boring?” you joked.
“Nah, just thought you'd be meaner,” Eddie admitted with a smile, “especially after watching you rip Carver a new one.”
“Mean in a pretentious kind of way?”
“Mean in a pretty, popular girl kind of way.”
“I'm not that popular,” you said, avoiding the fact that he basically just called you pretty like the plague for your own sake, “I've only been sitting with those jerks because I'm friends with Chrissy.”
“Yeah, but people actually like you,” he said, meandering around the trunk of the tree, “That's gotta score you more points than sitting at some stupid table. You're at the top of the leaderboard compared to me.”
“You don't seem to care about it that much,” you said.
“Neither do you,” he pointed out.
“Fair enough.”
You turned to look him in the eyes and Eddie could have sworn his heart stopped for a second. It's not like he's never noticed how beautiful you were— it was blatantly obvious to anyone that saw you— but he considered you so far out of his league that he never even entertained the thought for more than a second. Honestly, he was shocked that you even gave him the time of day. You, who were friends with people like Steve Harrington, Nancy Wheeler, and Chrissy Cunningham. Not people like the freak of Hawkins High who blasted Metallica from his beat-up van and ran a D&D club.
Your eyes were what kept him held fast. They almost seemed to glow; full of life and intelligence and mischief. He wondered how in the hell you were able to be so bright after last year. He'd heard you'd been inside Starcourt Mall when the explosions went off, and he knew although you and Billy Hargrove had a falling out the semester before he died, you cared for him in some way. But somehow that light inside you still seemed intact, always ready with a quick comeback or a witty joke, and he had no idea how you did it.
Eddie realized that the whole time his brain had been scrambling, you'd still just been looking at him. When he came back down to earth you seemed to notice, a small chuckle rising in your chest. Your gaze held his so gently, and there was something about the contact that made him feel oddly at ease. As he racked his brain for what it was, he realized that you didn't look at him like everyone else did: like you were trying to figure him out. You were just taking him as he was.
You shifted your weight slightly, your teeth catching your bottom lip out of nervous habit, a movement Eddie used every ounce of his willpower not to look down at. Then, just as you opened your mouth to say something, the morning bell rang, the sound considerably less welcome than it was yesterday in the cafeteria.
You wanted to slam your head into the trunk of the tree. Of course.
“Well this was-”
“I should probably-”
You both laughed softly as your words overlapped.
“I'll, uh. . . see you around,” Eddie said, grabbing his jacket from the tree.
You smiled, slinging your bag over your shoulder and picking up your abandoned book.
“Is that a promise?” you teased.
“Swear it on my grandmother's grave,” Eddie said, raising his left hand with his right over his heart, “She's still alive, but you get the point. Planning ahead.”
You laughed for what felt like the hundredth time that morning, a sound Eddie was determined to be the cause of again.
“I'll hold you to that, Dungeon Master.”
Read Chapter 2 Here !
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#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#stranger things x reader#eddie munson x you#stranger things reader insert#stranger things season 4 x reader#eddie munson x y/n#stranger things 4#stranger things fanfiction#billy hargove x reader#eddie munson fanfic#stranger things x you#reader insert#stranger things x y/n#steve harrington#stranger things 4 x reader#multi chapter#robin buckley#dustin stranger things#stranger things season 4#jealousy#eddie munson fanfiction
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Might be too much in line with I'm on fire.. but what about classic a classic motorcycle riding drifter.. that is more than meets the eye... maybe more monster than man and that's why he drifts... idk if that's enough maybe he's drifted into small town USA and he meets reader at like a Truckstop/ Diner that's across from the one hotel in town and over days of her waiting on him (EDS) they strike something up... spicy.. if you will.. maybe he finds her delectable and she finds him mysterious & charming idk just spit ballin
The Drifter
missed connections
out on the highway
monster!drifter!Eddie x dinerWaitress!Reader
18+ONLY, smut, blood, oral (f receiving), mention of drug and alcohol addiction, mention of physical abuse by an ex, mention of PTSD, emotional trauma, 2 lost souls finding each other, a killing, monsterfuqqing, but it’s also a really sweet, fluffy story if that makes sense. wc: 4.2
A/N: I was so excited to get this ask! I had to really pull back on the length of this story because I could've kept writing it forever and will most likely bring back Eddie The Drifter again in some oneshots. I did a quick re-read, but sometimes I just need to post these before I obsess over them for too long.
(Also, when Eddie is thinking about how "damaged" they both are, that is his perception, not mine. I think they are both perfect.)
Eddie had been drifting for a while. He didn’t want to know anyone, and he didn’t want anyone to know him. He hadn't been the same since the physical and emotional trauma he’d suffered in The Upside Down. Steve took him by the arm once and told him he understood what he was going through—that they all understood—and that he wasn’t alone. Eddie knew Steve and the rest meant well, but they couldn’t understand, and he was convinced no one ever would. Trauma affects everyone differently and for Eddie, it started to turn him into his father, and that was what scared him more than anything. Dark and brooding with a short fuse, there was a beast living inside of him that had not been there before the ordeal with Vecna; or perhaps, it had just been sleeping.
He lost his temper with Dustin once, and at the time, he thought he was having a very normal reaction to the situation. It wasn’t until he recognized the fear in his younger friend’s eyes–the way he backed away from Eddie and put his hands up as if he needed to protect himself—that Eddie knew he had to go. After years of silent struggle and becoming a hermit more and more, he decided to hit the road.
He started out in his van, sleeping in it, getting odd jobs wherever he went, staying in town just long enough to make some money, and then he was in the wind again. He called Wayne from payphones and sent postcards back home to Hawkins once in a while, but not often. In his mind, they were better off without him.
The second year he was on the road, he ended up getting involved with a biker gang and doing some jobs for them that paid well but were on the wrong side of the law. Before the Upside Down, he’d been more of a lover than a fighter. Sure, he had to defend himself a few times, especially from his old man, and he never took shit from people without giving it back, but ever since he almost died, he’d acquired some type of superhuman strength. There was a transformation that happened in him now, fueled by the adrenaline of his rage, and in the past decade, he’d been paid to hurt more people than he could count. The problem was—he’d started to like it.
Eventually, he was able to trade in his van for a Harley FXS 80, and he carried most of his early possessions with him. He put the rest of what he owned in a storage unit in Oregon, and he’d planned to circle back there again one of these days to get it all when he decided to settle down—but years later, he was still on the road. He’d been using his bedroll to sleep out under the stars the past couple nights, but the clouds told him it was about to rain, and he decided he could use a shower and a real bed for the night.
Red River Junction was less than a dot on a map, a truck stop town with a place to eat, a place to sleep, and a place to pump your gas, set right plop in the middle of nowhere. You’d grown up in a town not too far down the highway, and you were still there, in the same trailer your mother left to you when she passed. You worked at both the Sundown Motel part-time, and at Margie’s Diner, and in your free time, you dreamed about leaving town and never coming back.
You heard the rumble of his motorcycle before you saw it; chrome pipes growling to a stop as the rider found a place for his bike in the lot. A motorcycle, or even an entire MC, pulling into the junction was nothing new. You were the only stop for gas and food for a good fifty miles.
You were staring for so long out the window as he dismounted and took his helmet off, that you overflowed the coffee cup you were refilling and the elderly customer scoffed at you. He had long, curly hair tied back in a ponytail and bangs that had grown out just long enough to tuck behind his ears. Black leather jacket, and leather chaps over his jeans. Your attention was immediately drawn to his jewelry: the small hoop piercing in his ear and the chunky rings across his knuckles. My Boyfriend’s Back by The Angels played softly from the jukebox while you made your way to the front to greet him. The kitchen was slammed with only Big Joe behind the grill, and Leslie was the only other waitress, but she was on a smoke break.
You fumbled the big plastic menu in your hand when he took his sunglasses off to nail you with those star-flecked eyes. “Just one for lunch?”
He tucked his sunglasses into the front of his shirt and looked around. “You still serving breakfast?”
“All day long,” you assured him. Seats at the counter were all full, so you offered him a booth, and he slid in without another word or glance in your direction, taking the menu from you with a grunt. You tried not to stare at his scars: the angry, purple one on his neck, and the deep white slash across his chin. His hands were also flecked with scar tissue from various fights, and punching through mirrors every time he hated his own reflection.
50 year old Leslie was tying her apron and chewing gum when you moved behind her to grab a cup and saucer for his coffee. “Another grumpy one,” you whispered over the sound of clinking silverware and scattered conversations.
Leslie raised her eyebrow a few times, resting her elbow on the counter. “Hell, he can get grumpy with me any day.”
Eddie didn’t say much while you waited on him, and you didn’t think he was paying any attention to you, but he saw the way you splashed a bit of vodka into your soda can behind the counter. He also caught the way you used that same liquid to toss back a couple pills you scooped out of your apron pocket just before you turned to grab some hot plates from the kitchen hatch. He didn’t judge you for it or think it was odd being that he’d spent the past ten years trying to find ways to dull his pain.
He thought you were too beautiful for this deadbeat town; too sweet, too kind. He noticed the bruise on your forearm and the vacancy in your eyes and he felt an instant kinship with you: the damaged recognizing the damaged.
When you came to clear his empty plate, he asked you if the Sundown Motel was a decent place to stay. It was the only motel for miles and he didn’t care how decent it was, he just wanted a reason to keep talking to you.
“Sure, it’s great,” you shrugged. “If you like bedbugs and carpets that look like a violent crime took place recently.”
He met your eyes, and there was a moment of levity there that lightened both of your spirits if only for that moment.
“I’m cool with bedbugs,” he brushed his tongue between his lips. “It gets lonely on the road, it’s nice to have some company.”
He told you his name was Eddie after he read yours off of your name tag, and when you came back from seating a table full of seniors who were on a bus tour to the casino, he was gone.
He left you a generous tip, though, and after hours of getting tipped in quarters and loose change, it felt good to have some solid cash in your pocket. His motorcycle was gone too, and you wondered if he’d decided to hit the road or stay the night.
You told yourself to forget about him, that he was just another drifter you’d never see again, but the evening had other plans for you.
You were supposed to have the night off from both jobs, but Susan at the front desk of the motel begged you to come down and work the check-in desk for an hour while she went to pick her kid up. You wished you could say you had some big plans, but that was absolutely not the case, and so you rolled your car up to the back lot behind the dumpsters and changed out of your orthopedic shoes and into something less drab.
You thought it would be an easy hour to space off and read a book, but ten minutes after you clocked in, two guests locked themselves out of their room. It was a two-tier motel, and as you made your way up the concrete steps with the husband and wife in question behind you, fumbling with the keys, you caught sight of Eddie a few rooms down, and your heart jumped into your throat.
He was sitting in the plastic chair in front of the door to his room, smoking a cigarette, stripped down to jeans and a wife-beater. His hair was still wet from his shower, hanging down his shoulders, showcasing the patchwork of scars that covered his flesh.
He didn’t make eye contact, but he saw you. In fact, he knew you were on your way a few minutes before that, because he heard your voice, and it made him stay and light another smoke. He flicked his ash and waited for you to let the couple into their room.
On your way back to the stairs, the soda and snack machine blocked your view, but once you rounded the corner, there he was again.
“Is your room satisfactory, sir?” You put the keys in your pocket and stood tall, pretending to act professional.
Eddie met your eyes then, staring up through his lashes, and one side of his mouth lifted in a smirk. “Disappointed I haven’t found any bedbugs.”
You coughed a laugh, swaying on your feet. “Give it time. They come out at dark.”
Eddie didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, but he’d also learned never to miss an opportunity with how transient his life was. His attraction to you was not purely physical, which was a rare occurrence for him.
He shifted in his seat, a silky curl of gray smoke passing from his lips. “Are you free later tonight? Can I buy you dinner?”
Suddenly shy and baffled as to why he’d have any interest, you lowered your chin and shuffled your foot.
“I-I’ve got a boyfriend,” you cringed as you said it. Tony had cheated on you and left you more times than you could count. He took off a couple days ago after he knocked you around, and you had no idea where he was, but you continued to hold onto this strange sense of loyalty for him. Perhaps it was because you were convinced he was the best you could do.
“Did the tough guy do that to your arm?” Eddie asked in a low mumble, his eyes lingering on your bruises.
You covered the marks with your other hand, reflexively. “He’s been under a lot of stress lately,” you always felt like such an idiot when you defended that loser, but you didn’t know how to stop.
“Well,” Eddie smashed the butt in the ashtray by his chair and stood up to full height. One nipple under his white tank was hard, but the other one seemed to be missing. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”
You were too stupefied to move, you just stood there holding your arm, waiting for him to go back into his room.
But Eddie paused in the doorway and turned to give you one last look. “You deserve a lot better, sweetheart. If he puts his hands on you while I’m around, I’ll fucking kill him.”
—------
You thought about Eddie’s words for the rest of your shift. When it was over, you drove the ten miles back to your trailer, took a shower, and found yourself driving back to the motel, as if your will was no longer your own.
“What are you even doing?” You hissed aloud to yourself as you parked behind the Sundown in your usual spot. It was dusk now and you accepted the possibility that he’d probably invited a different woman out to dinner by then, but any amount of reasoning couldn’t stop you. You checked the scene first, looking up from the main parking lot to catch the flicker of the tv in his room to let you know he was, indeed, still up there. His motorcycle was safe in its place, too, and you realized you hadn’t even prepared what to say. You were an anxious mess, but you were also hungry for him in a way that was foreign to you.
You hadn’t known much comfort or safety in your life, but you felt those things when you were around Eddie.
After standing at his door for a good 5 minutes, you finally found the courage to knock.
Eddie opened the door while your knuckles were still on the wood. His eyes looked you over, offering a buck of his chin in appreciation. “Well, well. You are a gorgeous bedbug.”
Your cheeks burned hot at the complement. “I had some free time, so I thought I’d just check and see how you were doing, if you have everything you need.”
Eddie braced his shoulder against the door jam, giving you a squint. “So, you came to check on me while you’re off the clock? Damn, that is good service.”
You flexed your hands, forcing a laugh, trying your best not to just turn around and run away.
“Are you hungry?” Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Do you want to come in? Cause we can —”
“I’m not hungry.” You answered, bolting inside of his room when he extended his arm as an invitation, before you lost your nerve.
“Neither am I,” Eddie agreed. But, he was craving something else.
He locked the deadbolt and made sure the curtains were closed.
—-----
There were very few words left to be spoken as your lips collided with his, meeting with equal levels of urgency. You kept trying to kiss him deep and desperate while your hand palmed him through his jeans, but he held you off a bit with soft pressure. He cupped your face and caressed your cheek with his thumb while he kissed you, giving individual attention to your top lip and then the bottom one. He kissed down your neck, flicking his tongue out every so often to taste you, making you gasp—you’d never been worshiped with someone's mouth before.
Breathing heavy, he started to unbutton your shirt. “Is this okay?” He asked, wondering how far you wanted to take it.
“Yes,” you gulped. “Please.”
Once you had his shirt off, you bent down to kiss and lick his scars—it was an unspoken act of acceptance that made Eddie’s cock twitch. You weren’t used to being cared for in bed, and Eddie could tell by the way you hurried to push your jeans down and bend over so he could take you from behind.
“Not like that,” he whispered, using strong arms to lower you to the bed while he shimmied your jeans off. He got on his knees and scooped up your hips, nudging your pussy through your underwear with his nose, and then he planted kisses across the wet spot and along your inner thigh. The animal inside of him loved your scent; he wanted to bury himself in it, and he couldn’t help the growl that escaped him.
You fell back on the bed and covered your face with one hand. “Wait, I’m—not many people have done that—I’m not sure how to—”
Eddie finger pulled your underwear to one side, exposing your slippery lips for his tongue to flick. “Do you want me to stop?”
You arched back at the sensation of his mouth on you. “No, no, please don’t stop,” you urged, putting your hand on his head to gently cup his ear, the one with the silver hoop.
He moved away just long enough to pull your underwear all the way down your legs and off, maintaining eye contact with you. He didn’t rush, he took his time, and kissed his way back up your legs to the prize.
The gentle and precise way he swirled his tongue on your clit had you stammering his name with a few curses in between. As his attention to your bundle of nerves built your arousal and it spilled down your slit, he dove his mouth down a few times to taste it and drink you, shivering at the pleasure it gave him. He couldn’t help it, he had to reach down to grab his cock so he could fist it while his mouth brought you closer. The taste of your hormones in your slick had pre-cum wetting his tip already.
Tony had only gone down on you a few times, and he never really seemed to enjoy it. But Eddie was one of those who could eat a peach for hours, as they say.
“Right…there…” you hushed, startled as you felt the wave of an orgasm rise. Eddie zeroed in on that spot with just the right pressure, fluttering his tongue as he sucked. His other hand milked his cock in long strokes, taming the beast from cumming too soon, moaning warm breath against your cunt.
“Eddie!” You cried out just as the release took you and wracked your body, like a spring popping out of a tight coil, unraveling. Eddie pressed his mouth closer to lap you up, feeling your body vibrate as he held your hip in place.
He only broke the seal made by his mouth once you were too sensitive, and your limbs dangled off the bed for a minute, unable to move.
It didn’t take long for you to start coaxing him up on top of you, spreading your legs out, begging for him to be closer. He met your kiss with deep, soul-searching need, and you whined at the sensation of his tip sliding up and down your slick. But, then he hesitated, and pulled up to meet your eyes.
“Inside of me,” you begged, nodding. “I need you inside of me.”
And yes, that was what Eddie wanted too, but now there was another problem.
Eddie’s ears pricked at the sound of footsteps outside the door. He sniffed the air, trying to identify the presence. He slid off of you and stood, watching the door while he pulled his jeans up and zipped his stiff, aching cock into place behind the denim.
Shuffling up onto your elbows, you were about to speak, to ask what was wrong, but Eddie silenced you with a finger to his lips. He tossed your jeans over and motioned over his shoulder for you to put them on in the bathroom.
There was something about the whole situation, and Eddie’s sudden silence, that unnerved you, and so you scampered off the bed as quietly as you could and did as he asked.
There were no lights on in the room, except for the infomercial on the mute TV, but the bright moon illuminated the walkway outside enough for him to catch sight of someone pacing out there.
Finally, there came a heavy knock and a voice.
It was Tony, and he shouted your name. “ARE YOU IN THERE? HUH? You fucking whore!”
You buttoned your jeans and all of the blood ran from your face. Eddie turned his head to look at you. The adrenaline of pure fear pumped through your body as you froze in place.
Eddie put his hand out, motioning for you to stay right where you were, behind him.
Tony pounded on the door again. “YOU CAN’T HIDE FROM ME! One of my guys said he saw you go in here with some fucking dude. IF YOU’RE FUCKING SOMEONE ELSE I’LL KILL YOU, you goddamn bitch!”
By “one of his guys” Tony meant one of the other drug dealers in town, who were generally crawling all over the motel, leeching off of the clientele. Eddie looked deceptively calm as he stood at the end of the bed, breathing slow, and you walked over to grab his arm, to warn him that Tony was a crazy motherfucker, and you’d just go with him so Eddie wouldn’t get hurt.
But Eddie motioned for you to hide, so you did.
“Hold up, man,” Eddie was moving now, heading to undo the deadbolt and you cringed, pushing back as tight as you could between the wall and the bathroom door.
Once the door was unlocked, Tony stood there heaving, looking Eddie up and down. Tony was big in a stocky way, but not big like Eddie, and he enjoyed that flash of fear that lit over his adversary’s eyes at first glance. Sure, the guy had some obvious prison ink, but that didn’t mean shit to Eddie.
“Where is she?” Tony demanded, pushing in.
“Where’s who, man?” Eddie was being so casual about it, and you were trying not to scream.
Eddie shut the door and quietly locked it behind him
Tony’s eyes darted around the room, and then he spun on his heel; his eyes were pinned and doped-out. “Don’t act dumb, man. My fucking girl. Someone said they saw her come up here.”
Tony walked up to Eddie and started poking him in the chest. “Tell me where that fucking whore is before I make you my bitch.”
Nothing could have prepared you for what happened next—for the transformation and the carnage. You witnessed it all through the crack in the bathroom door as if you were watching a horror movie.
Eddie changed, in an instant; the muscles in his shoulders and arms bulged, the teeth in his mouth turned jagged and sharp, and his eyes went completely black. His massive, clawed hand wrapped around Tony’s throat, lifting him up so that his feet no longer touched the ground.
You muffle a scream with your hand, watching Tony gargle and spit, his limbs flailing.
Eddie’s lips stretched to speak around his fangs. “She’s not your girl anymore,” he growled.
Eddie strangled Tony with one hand until he lost consciousness, and then he threw him to the bed like a rag doll, pouncing on top of him. He proceeded to rip his throat open with his teeth; blood squirted on the wall and across the door where you were hiding, misting you in the face.
When he was finished, you made your way out of the bathroom.
Eddie was still a monster as he got off the bed at the sight of your approach. His clawed hands twitched at his sides, his hair dripped with blood, and his skin from nose to chest was bathed in crimson. His black eyes assessed you, waiting for you to scream or try to run—-but you didn’t.
You got close enough to touch him, to run your hand up his chest to feel the blood between your fingers, and then brush some bloody hair behind his ear.
Eddie frowned, wondering why you weren’t afraid of him, wondering why your desire for him didn’t seem to falter.
You parted your lips, watching the red drool drip from his teeth. “Are you okay?"
Your mouths found each other again, tasting the tang of your own blood as one of his fangs pricked your lip. You each did frantic work of unzipping each other’s jeans as Eddie scooped you up to lay you on the floor.
While the last few pumps of blood shot from Tony’s artery, monster Eddie spilled his seed inside of you, throwing his head back with a howl.
Now, there really had been a crime committed in that room, and Eddie would need to be on the road again, gone by daylight.
Maybe this time, you’d be going with him.
#Eddie Munson#Eddie munson fic#Eddie munson monster#monster!Eddie#drifter!Eddie#requests#biker!Eddie#eddie munson oneshot#eddie munson x reader#diner au#truckstop au
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「eddie munson X gn!reader • roadtrip!AU」
2.3k words | prev | next | masterlist | ao3
warnings: again - trauma bonding! mentions of violence, of torture and of near-death experiences. mention of the mind flayer (this guy is his own trigger warning). reader opens up about her background story in this one, so it gets a little more specific. also, once again google was my best friend for this.
songs of the chapter: motorhead's self titled album • rainbow's album straight between the eyes • drifter (and the entire album killers) - iron maiden • brown eyes (and the entire album tusk) - fleetwood mac
Saturday, July 26
Eddie Munson’s wristwatch woke you up at five thirty in the morning — your grandma would call it the ass-crack of dawn.
You both had slept in much earlier than you did so far, because Yellowstone was far away, all the way across the state, and you did have a deadline to meet this time: the check-in hours of the camping grounds.
So he had to basically manhandle you out of the van, and then you two had your breakfast alongside the birds at a picnic table, watched the slow rise of the Sun, said goodbye to Coop who was taking some other tourists on a little fishing trip, thanked Betty for the sandwiches she made you for lunch, and left the Keyhole State Park grounds at seven AM sharp.
You heard basically all the tapes Eddie had in the glove compartment, and he excitedly explained the story of every single band he loved. Your heart grew fonder as he seemed so joyful and thrilled about your journey, no longer the grumpy guy he had been just a few days before when you joined him without an invitation. You didn’t care much for metal music, but you didn’t mind him rambling about it for hours. Actually, for as long as he wanted to talk, you would happily listen.
You had to go north before going back south, so as you reached Billings, Montana, Eddie got off the road near a bridge to park the van so you could eat your sandwiches while looking at the Yellowstone River. Betty had given each of you a different sandwich, so you shared halves with Eddie so you’d have a taste of both. You spotted birds and fishes and talked to him about the nature, the species of fauna and flora that you recognized in the spot, and he seemed just as interested in your rambles as you were in his.
You wondered if your voice made something in his belly tingle as his voice did to you.
The I-90 had to be left behind for your correct course to the National Park, and you waved goodbye to the highway you were growing familiar with as you reentered Wyoming and headed south. The mountains welcomed you, their snowy peaks a funny contrast to the yellowish grass and Eddie let you blast Fleetwood Mac and didn’t complain about you singing from the top of your lungs.
As the river turned into the lake, you only caught glimpses of it through the trees, but you cheered at the sight anyway and Eddie laughed withyou; and once the trees gave way and you finally saw Yellowstone Lake in its entirety, Eddie cheered just as loud.
You reached West Thumb sooner than you thought you would.
Kept heading south until your campgrounds welcomed you, paid your fees, followed the plaques and soon you were getting installed in your own camping site. There was a picnic table and a small pit for a fire, nothing else. A few other campers were getting installed in their own sites, RVs and tents alike. The RVs reminded you of Steve, his heart-warming Winnebago dream, and you made a mental note to stop by the gift shop and get some trinkets for your friends.
You and Eddie decided to set up your tent with the mattress in it before heading to the area with the buildings, trusting that no one would mess with your belongings. You got the tent up without much talking, since both of you were having a bit of a hard time understanding the instructions, but it didn’t take long. You also left a bag with all your food and snacks in a shared storage box — you didn’t want any bears coming in at night for a visit. Then you gathered all your dirty clothes, since you knew there was a laundry area, and headed for it.
The laundry facility was your first stop, and you and Eddie didn’t mind sharing machines, only dividing the clothes by color and delicates. You headed for the Visitor Center next, read a few pamphlets and reserved and paid for a tour on the next day. Eddie got really excited about it, since he chose it based on name only (Circle Of Fire, oh, how metal).
You went to the gift shop next, Eddie got Wayne a mug — apparently the man had a collection —, and you decided collectively on the gifts for your shared friends. Once again, you were thankful for the NDA you signed that granted you so much money to spend.
By the time you returned to the laundry facility, your clothes were ready to go into the dryer, so you did that and headed for your dinner. The dining room was full of families and groups of friends coming and going, and the air was practically buzzing with enthusiasm from all sides.
“Looks fucking fancy,” Eddie noticed in a low whisper and you hummed in agreement. You didn’t think it would look so high and mighty. “Not coming back here tomorrow, please,” he asked and you chuckled.
“We couldn’t even if we wanted to, reservations were all booked. We’ll get back to our cheap snacks tomorrow, don’t worry.” He laughed as you were directed to your table by a waitress. “Today, however, let us feast as royalty!”
“Alright then, my liege,” he smirked as he sat across you on the table and you felt your face heating up, giggling at his response.
The waitress gave you menus and you both chose quickly. The afternoon was on its final stretch outside, and your table was a bit far from the windows but you could still see how beautiful it looked as the Sun set behind the lake. It took your breath away for a minute, before you looked at Eddie again and noticed how he was looking at you instead. Once again, you felt nervous, your face heating and your palms starting to sweat. A good kind of nervous.
You thought briefly about the last couple of days. About what led you there, to be sitting in front of him as he now looked away with a shy smile, focusing his eyes on his hands playing with the fancy tablecloth.
“You said you didn’t know me very well,” you started, getting his attention back to you. “And how I never talked to you when I bought from you-” he tried to interrupt you, calling your name, but you shook your head ‘no’. “I want you to get to know me, Eddie. We’ve been together in this for, what, four days now? And you were right, you don’t know me. And I want you to.”
He nodded slowly to your speech and smiled sweetly at the end of it. “Alright then,” he repeated. “Let me get to know ‘ya.”
You smiled back at him and opened up like a book that had been waiting for so long to be read. Told him about how your parents had died when you were so young you didn’t even remember them, and that your grandmother had raised you in Dayton. How she died just after you turned 18, and how you got angry at god, the universe or whoever about the fact that it wanted so bad for you to be alone. How you moved to Hawkins despite the weird shit happening in it because the weird shit made the rent prices go down, and you didn’t have much money — and how you couldn’t bare the thought of living in Dayton, of being haunted by your grandmother’s metaphorical ghost because she seemed to be in every place you looked at.
He listened to all that with so much attention and said he was sorry about your grandmother’s death. How he remembered the day you moved into the trailer park, Wayne’s concern about someone moving in all alone at such a young age; about how well received you had been there, getting all the attention and help from the small community you all had at Forest Hills.
The topic changed to how you became friends with Robin and Steve — and, indirectly, how you got pulled into the Upside Down crap. You told him that Robin’s favorite food was Chinese, so she’d stop by your first workplace at Starcourt almost every day for lunch; and your favorite dessert was ice cream, and so you’d stop at her workplace almost every day after lunch. How you got moved from the Chinese to three other different restaurants during your time at the mall, not the best at keeping jobs for so long but somehow always being hired somewhere else. How overtime, Steve’s silliness won you over and you’d invite him to lunch or ice cream too, even though Robin was still unconvinced by him. You finished with the fact that you and Robin were just hanging out in the back of Scoops Ahoy the day Dustin showed up with the whole Russian mystery, and you got into it just because it was a less boring way to pass time.
“I wasn’t even supposed to be there anymore, my lunch break had ended ten minutes before that,” you noticed, looking at a girl at a table a few feet away from yours that talked with lots of gesturing and funny facial expressions, reminding you of Robin. “Sometimes I wonder if I weren’t there anymore, as I should, I wouldn’t have been dragged into all of this,” you whispered.
Robin and Steve were the first real close friends you’ve ever had, and you were so thankful for them. But, at the same time, when the nightmares would be too frequent and you’d have too many flashbacks to the gigantic monstrous ball of flesh you had to firework to death in Starcourt, you’d feel sorry and guilty for wondering if it was worth it.
You knew it was, of course it was. They were worth it. But sometimes you forgot that you knew it. As you usually did with many of your knowledges. You buried them deep inside your mind.
You shook your head, “Sorry, didn’t mean to sour the mood.”
“It’s okay. I had my turn, you’re allowed to have yours,” Eddie answered with a soft smile just before your waitress came back with your meals, thankfully interrupting the downer conversation. “Let us feast, my liege,” he repeated the line and the nickname, and you repeated your giggle before diving into your meal.
As you dined, you asked Eddie about himself and his life instead, and he chose to talk about his uncle, how he was the dad Eddie needed growing up. How he had saved Eddie from his actual father, Wayne’s own brother, because he was no good. How Wayne raised Eddie, taught him everything he knew, gave him everything he could and that Eddie didn’t have before — love, kindness, a family, a home. It was very endearing, the way Wayne looked so gruff and yet was one of the most caring people you’ve had the chance to meet. Before March, you talked more to Wayne than you did to Eddie, because he was always asking how you or Max were, if you or the Mayfields needed anything. He was a great guy, and now that you knew Eddie better you could tell that it was passed down from uncle to nephew. A great heritage to own.
The food was delicious — and expensive — and after you ate and stalled around on the balcony a little, admiring the lake illuminated by the moon, you went for your dry laundry. And, since you were right beside it and with clean clothes, you both took showers before bed. You finished your shower a little after him and were pleased to see Eddie waiting for you, his bag full of clothes on his lap while he was sitting on a bench near the building. On the quick walk back to your camping site, he hummed a song you recognized from when he played a Van Halen tape that afternoon on the road.
Clean clothes successfully stashed on each of your bags again, you settled for the night. Eddie went inside after you into the tent, and the forest around the campsite made the temperature drop a little, and so you were glad you had bought extra quilts at that store the day before. He laid down beside you, facing you, and so you also turned from looking up to look at him.
“Thank you for sharing with me tonight,” he whispered like it was a secret, just between him, you, and the stars above you. The night was dark, and there was no light around you, but you smiled at him and heard it in his voice that he smiled right back. “I’m glad you invaded my van and came with me.” His tone was teasing, but the words sounded genuine. He went a little more serious before continuing: “I like your company.”
“I’m glad too, Eddie. It’s been an honor to share these experiences with you.”
“Many more to come, right?” he asked hopefully and you beamed, something warm and lovely growing and thumping inside your chest.
“Many more to come.”
None of you said anything else, but you felt his hand resting on top of yours on the space between you. He closed his eyes and slept shortly after that, his steady breath denouncing him. The callouses of his fingers tingled you, and you repeated his humming of Van Halen in your mind like a lullaby as you memorized every inch of his hand on yours before falling asleep too at some point.
You couldn’t wait for another tomorrow with him.
end notes: y'all i took everything about yellowstone mentioned here from their website, but! keep in mind that maybe those things were not how they were mentioned here (or maybe didn't even existed back then). and how do we feel about that? that's right, we don't care! i've no idea if the laundry/showers facilities or the dining room already existed, but we'll all pretend they did, right? alrighty then
taglist (is open!): @amira0303 @rupsmorge @wyverntatty
#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson fic#eddie munson fluff#stranger things fanfic#stranger things fic#lui writes#ifligh
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Homeless runaway or musician drifter eddie who travels by railroad and jumps onto the train cars full of hay
#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson#stranger things#¤-munson-memories-¤#eddie munson headcanon#eddie munson au#stranger things au
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My personal headcanons about Eddie’s dad that the book may end up contradicting but at this point idgaf
Warning: Mentions of child abuse, loss of a parent, homophobic language
Masterlist
Feat young Jeffrey Dean Morgan as Al Munson
-He’s Wayne’s younger brother. Both their parents passed when they were young adults, so Wayne always felt obligated to look out for him, which was a lot easier said than done because Eddie’s dad has always been pretty wild.
-I assume the Munsons aren’t originally from Indiana, since Wayne’s accent definitely isn’t Midwestern. In my mind, Eddie’s dad was a little bit of a drifter that rolled into Hawkins one day when he was like 24 or so and started seeing Eddie’s mom (who was like 18 and freshly out of high school at the time) with the intention of moving on in a few months and forgetting all about her.
-Instead she winds up pregnant, and he definitely isn’t interested in settling down and raising a family, but Wayne ultimately talks him into doing the right thing and marrying her.
-Eddie’s dad was never really cut out for family life. He hated being stuck in Hawkins, and has always resented Eddie because of it. When Eddie’s mom was alive, he was pretty absent, always going out drinking or committing petty crimes, hopping from job to job, probably seeing other women behind his wife’s back.
-Then his wife died and he was suddenly the sole parent responsible for a kid he never wanted in the first place. Those few years where Eddie was living with just his dad were pretty rough.
-A non exhaustive list of shit Eddie’s dad put him through at the time:
When Eddie’s mom first died, his dad would want to go out drinking, so he’d just put little grade school Eddie in his car and have him sleep there in the parking lot of whatever dive he was hanging out at. (Eventually he gave up on this and just started ditching Eddie at home)
He hated spending money on Eddie. They barely had any to begin with, and the priority with what they did have was always booze and cigarettes. There were nights that Eddie went to bed hungry because his dad didn’t bother buying any food for him. Most of Eddie’s clothes and shoes were old and ill fitting because he wouldn’t bother replacing them.
Even when he wasn’t out drinking, he was neglectful of Eddie. He rarely put in effort to make sure he was properly taken care of. Eddie would come to school covered in dirt because his dad never made him take a bath, his clothes often went long periods of time without washing etc. His peers would often pick on him because of it, and at the time he didn’t have D&D or anything to fall back on.
Eddie’s dad had a nasty temper, and no matter how much Eddie tried, he’d always end up doing something to anger the man. He’d scream at and berate Eddie, and sometimes get physical. He’d also take this opportunity to throw their situation into Eddie’s face. He’d say Eddie was a burden, how he was unwanted and how it was his fault his mom was dead.
I’m a big Eddie has ADHD truther, and I’d imagine this was a point of contention between him and his dad. ADHD wasn’t really known back then, so his dad would just chalk his symptoms up to him being “dumb”. Eddie would struggle with school work and his dad would tell him he was just stupid and that he shouldn’t bother because it’s not like he’d ever amount to anything.
He made Eddie keep his hair buzzed. If Eddie expressed interest in growing it out he’d say stuff like “long hair is for women and f*gs”
-At some point, when Eddie was middle school age, his dad finally got arrested for something that came with serious jail time. He wouldn’t be out until Eddie was at least 18, so their options were either for a relative to take him or he’d end up in the system. Of course Wayne didn’t hesitate to take the boy in, and the rest is history.
-Wayne has forgiven his brother for a lot of the shit he pulled, but one thing he can’t ever forgive is the way he treated Eddie. It took a little while of living with Wayne before Eddie came out of his shell, all thanks to the abuse his father put him through.
-Wayne does still communicate with his brother though, sometimes talks on the phone and even goes to visit every once in a while. Eddie on the other hand doesn't. He has no interest in a relationship with his father and Wayne isn’t going to force it on him.
-Eddie’s dad dropped out of high school at 16. Part of the reason Eddie’s so insistent on graduating is because he doesn’t want to be like him.
-But of course, even with all Eddie’s efforts, it’s still hard to escape the shadow of his father’s reputation. People have always assumed that Eddie is just a no good delinquent like his father. They were even more convinced when Eddie started getting into “immoral” activities like D&D and metal music (never mind the fact that Eddie’s dad didn’t like either of those things).
-Overall, Eddie’s dad is just super bitter and jealous of his son. He’d never admit it to anyone, not even himself, but deep down he hates that he threw his life away and now he’s rotting in prison; he wants to see Eddie end up the same way because the thought of his son being a better person than him upsets him.
#stranger things#Eddie munson#feral raccoon boy#headcanons#Eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson headcanons#stranger things fanfic#stranger things fanfiction#Eddie munson fanfiction#Wayne munson#eddie munson x reader#stranger things headcanons#Eddie munson angst
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So uhh I know they are in different worlds bit like....
Marko x Reader x Eddie...
They are my doe-eyed idiots and I love them more than life
Thoughts?
*clears throat*
This is the good shit
Maybe Eddie finds his way to Santa Carla alone and meets you there. He loves the seaside town because it’s full of drifters and weirdos, and he can get anything he wants, whenever he wants it. It’s easy to make some cash selling drugs or picking up odd jobs, and there’s always live music down on the beach at night.
One evening, he catches wind of a metal show at the bandstand, and of course he has to go check it out. So he weaves through the crowd and that’s when he sees you there, looking so hot and just his type, and you’re all alone because your boyfriend is off grabbing himself a snack. But Eddie doesn’t know you’ve even got a boyfriend, of course, and he just can’t keep his eyes off of you…and when you notice, because you can feel his stare burning into the back of your head, you finally turn and see this adorable metal head who looks a little bit like he might fit in with the gang.
You hang out, and he’s so sweet and so fun, bursting with energy and constantly cracking jokes. He tells you about his hometown and you tell him about yours, and by the time things are starting to quiet down around the boardwalk, you realize you might have a little crush on him. He’s got a massive crush on you, of course, but when he offers to walk you back to the boys, he’s suddenly faced with your boyfriend.
Marko is a goofy dude. Not as goofy as Paul, maybe, but when he’s not shredding his prey, he’s just as funny as the others…so when he sees you walking up holding the hand of a guy who looks like he can’t go ten minutes without listening to Iron Maiden, he’s more curious and less pissed. He can tell you’re happy. Hell, he’d left you alone all night because he knew that you were safe on their boardwalk, and he would have felt it if you were in danger.
So even as he’s wrapping his arms around you and pressing a kiss against your temple, he’s checking Eddie out. He’s examining him, admiring the shape of his face and the rings on his fingers. He can see the confusion and then disappointment in his eyes and it makes Marko chuckle, because he knows that this guy from out of town must be thinking that he struck out and you were off limits now.
Except that’s not how things work in Santa Carla, especially not for the vampires who run things, and Marko invites him back to the cave to hang out for the rest of the night. Eddie agrees, of course, looking towards you hopefully, and then when David just shrugs because he really doesn’t give a shit what the two of you do in your free time, you all set off, racing down the beach towards the bluff.
And Eddie loves the cave. There’s so much to look at, layers and layers of decades worth of graffiti on the walls, piles of Knick knacks and things that the boys have gotten interested in and then grown bored of. It’s a treasure trove and a time capsule, a museum of all the coolest shit that’s existed in California for the past 80 years, and Eddie could sort through it for hours if he had the attention span.
And, most importantly, there’s plenty of weed.
The three of you smoke, getting nice and high, and by the wee hours of the morning, you’re a tangle of limbs that Marko is having to crawl out of in order to head to his roost and stay safe from the morning sun. When you wake up the next evening, Eddie is confused but happy, Marko is already teasing him nonstop, and you’ve got two boyfriends you get to watch kiss 😎
#the lost boys x reader#the lost boys#eddie munson#eddie Munson x reader#lost boys marko#Marko x reader#stranger things x lost boys#stranger things x reader#stranger things
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Flower Power pt.2
Eddie Munson x Fem Reader
Word count: 3.8k
Summary: who knew that a new neighbor meant the best summer of Eddie's life
It's been a few days since Eddie first encountered Y/N. He sat in his room, window open mindlessly strumming his guitar when he sees her, walking back from a near by field, wild flowers in hand. He let's out a whistle to get her attention. She turns her attention toward the sound and her face lights up once she sees him. Eddie walks to his door to let her in. "Hello there pretty lady" he flirts. "Hey tiger" she flirts back, mirroring his energy. He looks down at her hands to exam the flowers more. "Where did you get those?" He asked. "Oh I was just exploring and came across a field right up the road, I just had to stop and get some flowers for my room" she replied. Eddie nodded, and suddenly an idea popped into Y/N's head. "How about you come over for a bit, my family went into town to get some stuff so they should be gone a couple hours" she noted. Eddie started smiling like a Cheshire cat. "Yeah, I'd like that" he chimed.
They walked in into her kitchen which was mostly unpacked. Even tho this was a trailer park and most of the homes there weren't very, aesthetically pleasing, as one would put it, there was a certain charm to this one maybe it was the girl who brought the charm into the home or maybe it was the family pet, a little black cat he has seen scooping out its new world, or maybe it was the soft colors of the house that mixed with the summer haze. Everything about the girl and her home and a nostalgic warm vibration. Like you've been or seen this before but can't quite remember when or where. "Please come, sit sit, I have some lemonade and chocolate cake I made earlier if you want some" Y/N chirped while she got 2 vases for the wild flowers. One for the kitchen and one for her room. Eddie nodded while still taking in his surroundings. Has been here as a kid? No no, he's never even talked to any of his neighbors let alone go inside one of their houses. Y/N filled up the vases with water and placed one at the kitchen table. She glanced at him before turning away to fetch the lemonade and cake. "I like your rings" she commented. Eddie was shocked at the comment but flattered, to be honest he was shocked that she was being nice to him in general, most of the people in the trailer part never showed any form of hospitality and no girl would never even look in his direction. But here he is now, in this pretty girl's kitchen about to have a slice of cake with a glass of lemonade, and to top it all off the girl complimented him. The weird nostalgic feeling mixed with the scenario really made him feel like he was dreaming. He was brought out of his hypnotic state by Y/N putting the slice of cake and lemonade in front of him. She sat down at the chair next to him with her own glass when the little black cat jumped up on the table. It looked at Eddie, almost as to study him, read his mind, find out who he is. "Now salme, what have I told you about jumping up on the table" Y/N huffed. She picked up the cat and placed him in her lap. "I'm sorry about him, anytime someone new comes over he has to get up close and stuff" she stated while stroking the little creature. "It's OK I don't mind" he grinned before taking a bite of the cake. The rich chocolate flavor was like no other. Eddie never really got homemade cakes, or homemade food in general so this was a real treat for him. "Wow, this is amazing" he exclaimed. Y/N smiled that sweet smirk, so sweet Eddie could have sworn he saw honey dripping from it. "Thank you, it's my mom's receipt, if you want I can give you a few more pieces to take home" she suggested. "That would be great sweetheart" he purred. Y/N got up and started getting him a plate ready to take home. "So where are you from?" he questioned.Y/N smirk to herself. "I come from all around." Eddie raised an eyebrow at her response. "Oh? So you're a drifter" he joked. Y/N let out a laugh. "In my mind yes, I'm a drifter, I love exploring and just going places, but I'm actually from North Carolina" she said while finishing up his plate then turned around to lean on the counter."What about you, have you always lived here?" She questioned. Eddie slowly nodded "was born here, never even been out of this town but that's all gonna change" he muttered, voice full of confidence. Y/N's eyes seemed to light up a bit at his ambition. "Oh yeah? How so?" She asked. Eddie couldn't help but smile, he got so excited whenever he was able to talk about his passions. "Well me and my band wanna try and get a contract with a big record label" he boasted. "Oohh so you're in a band" she repeated. "Lead singer and guitar" he continued. "OK then James Hetfield" she teased but Eddie didn't laugh, his blood ran cold. There's no way this girl knows James Hatfield. No way in hell. He cooked his head to the side.
I'll be posting part 3 very soon🩷
#eddie stranger things#eddie x reader#eddie x y/n#eddie x you#eddie munson#eddie munson angst#eddie munson headcanon#eddie munson headcanons#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson x reader#eddie x fem!reader#eddie munson comfort#eddie munson headcannon#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson fanfic#eddie my beloved#eddie munson reader insert#eddie munson request#eddie munson stranger things#eddie munson series#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things#corroded coffin
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