#eddie munson x reader imagine
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𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧
summary eddie munson is super weird. he holds your hand too tight, he has a fascination with your neck, and he can’t give a hickey to save his life. good thing you’re super weird, too. [20k]
warnings two losers falling in love!! vampire!eddie munson, ditzy!reader (kind of), fem!reader, smut mdni (p in v, unprotected sex, oral fem receiving, general heavy petting and kissing, praise), fluff, hurt/comfort, angst (eddie struggling with guilt and grief). canon divergent (the events of volume 2 take place but there’s a mostly happy ending i.e. everyone good lives and everyone bad dies) TW eddie doesn't have suicidal thoughts, but he does think about it briefly. not with intent or anything like that though. requested here for my halloween party <3
(㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)
Eddie Munson never wanted to be a vampire, and he wants that on the record.
It's a ridiculous existence. It's embarrassing. It's nothing like all the movies and books promised him.
He's looking at you, Bram Stoker.
In Eddie's mind, Stoker’s nothing less than a liar and a sycophant.
"Who's dick were you bouncing on, Stoker?" he demands to know, kicking fallen leaf mulch under his feet angrily. "Need'ta fucking impress some vampire lover with your over-exaggerated, over-powered, ridiculous descriptions? Great. Hope it was worth it. Meanwhile I'm here, self-esteem half the size of a grain of rice because I can't scale a building with my bare hands."
Eddie would know. He's tried.
He's not genuinely angry with Bram Stoker, but he'd rather take his frustrations out on a guy who's been dead for a hundred years than take them out on the demobats, because he doesn't want to even think about the demobats. They're all dead too. Not before they'd had (see: devoured) their pound of flesh and changed his life for the worse, though.
He shakes his head to drive out the memory like water in his ears. It's easier to pretend none of that shit in the upside down ever happened. (Impossible to pretend. He begs himself to try anyway.)
He’s pissed because science fiction has promised him a lot of things and reality has delivered on none of them. No super strength, no impermeable skin. He is faster, but that's more a reflexive thing than anything else. And being faster doesn't make running fun. That’s impossible.
Sunlight breaks through the treeline and his skin crawls. Science fiction didn't get that right, either. The sun doesn't hurt. It's just really, really annoying.
He covers his eyes, winces at his itchy hand, pulls his sleeve over his fingers and covers his eyes again. "This blows," he says, and means it.
In Dracula, the sun nulls Dracula’s supernatural abilities. Eddie doesn’t have any abilities worth nulling, unless you count echolocation.
He doesn’t.
He walks another five minutes up the road toward Forest Hills when he realises you're behind him. His senses are enhanced now as a bat’s might be, hearing fine-tuned and dialled up every second of the day — which makes living in a trailer park where everyone thinks he's a murderer an acute misery — but he's as prone to distraction as anyone else. Especially when he gets stuck in a memory.
Eddie throws his gaze over his shoulder and finds you thirty or forty feet away, talking to yourself under your breath. He knows you more for your sounds than your appearance. To be able to put a face to your mindless babbling is a mystery solved. Of course you look like that. A skirt made of soft looking fabric bounces over two cute thighs, a pretty lacy corset type of thing that isn't too tight outfits your top half. You look more like a vampire than he does.
"Hi, Eddie," you call.
His eyes widen, a deer-in-the-headlights kind of surprise. If you notice how he's frozen you don't show it, continuing to push your bike toward him. The tick of the wheels grows louder as you get closer, two hands on the handlebars with wrists draped in bracelets, both silver and fabric.
Besides your jewellery, your arms are bare. You must be freezing.
"Hey," he says.
He doesn't know your name. He doesn't know how you know his, and he’s too awkward to ask.
Your sounds peak as you close the gap. The wet scrape of your dirty black canvas shoes over shining asphalt, the soft puff of your breath, the clinking sounds of whatever trinkets you have in your bag. If he focuses, he can make out the tiniest pinches of fabric. Your short sleeves rubbing against your arms, your bra straps stretching over your shoulders.
Eddie takes a deep breath and tries to diminish his senses.
"Where's your van?" you ask curiously.
"Piece of shit kicked it in the middle of town. Just my luck."
You pause at his side, looking him up and down obviously but without the judgement or irreverent disgust he's come to expect from near about everybody in Hawkins.
"That's not good," you say succinctly.
It's such a genuine response that Eddie can't find it in himself to be sarcastic.
"God awful," he agrees sullenly.
You nod and start to walk again. Eddie falls naturally into step beside you, matching your pace without thinking.
"You should get a bike."
He laughs. Coughs to cover it up. "Yeah?"
"They're way more reliable than a car, and it doesn't hurt the zone."
Eddie squints. "The o-zone?"
"Is there another one?"
You're still so serious that he spares you the ridicule he might dole out to anyone else. If Dustin had said something like that he would've ripped the kid a new one, but you're rather sweet in an odd way. You have a soft manner of talking — each word sounds like you've thought its pronunciation through meticulously beforehand.
He ignores your question and points at your bike, ring catching the sun. "Why aren't you riding it?"
"My chain slipped."
"So much for reliable."
That makes you smile. Eddie feels it like a punch, a flat palm slapped into his chest.
"You can't put the chain on yourself?"
A brisk breeze whips your hair, your earrings. The left kisses your cheek, a silver heart-shaped hoop with pink beads that click together. You lean into it, face tilted to one side as a perplexed smile plays on your sticky lips. "You can do that?"
"Sure, you pull it back around the gear. It's easy." He hesitates for a moment, and then feels guilty about hesitating. "I'll do it for you, if you want."
"The guy in no. 62 has been charging me ten dollars." You don't sound as angry as you should, in Eddie's opinion.
"I'll do it for nothing."
You beam at him. His chest feels like a bruise.
Pretty girls don't like Eddie. Not before Chrissy, not after. He's trying to work out your angle, what it is that you want.
Or maybe you don't know.
As soon as you find out who he is, you'll turn your pretty nose up at him and walk the other way. He shouldn't smile at you, he definitely shouldn't fix your bike.
He can't help it. He's so starved for positive attention that he follows you all the way through the park, westside to east.
He checks the driveway of his own home and smiles mildly when he spots Wayne's new car. It's new in the sense that it's different. It's actually way older than the one he'd had before, the one he'd pawned to pay for Eddie's — well, Eddie's everything. His check-ups, his court dates, his goddamn bail. In the same way that this trailer isn't the trailer, but an older, smaller one as far away from their first as possible.
Kid, if I had the money…
Wayne hadn't needed to finish. If he had the money, they'd leave. Leave Hawkins, leave Indiana. Settle down in some other mediocre Midwestern state with all the same creature comforts and none of the "You were acquitted but literally none of us believe you didn't kill someone," motif.
All they have now is debt, each other, and the Great Munson mug collection.
Eddie keeps his head down as they pass the old trailer. Nobody lives inside now. Only termites.
He can taste blood by the time they reach your home. Far from the metallicity of his human blood, Eddie's blood now harbours a bitter taste. Not quite like coffee but with that same overwhelming earthiness. He pulls his teeth from the bitten flesh of his bottom lip and quickly raises a hand to his teeth, alarmed.
No knife-like points. Normal teeth.
"Are you thirsty?" you ask him.
Eddie flinches and drops his hand. You've parked your bike against the wooden lifts of your porch and are halfway up the steps to your front door, hand clasped loosely on the railing.
His heart fucking pounds.
"I have grape juice?"
"Right," he says hurriedly, "right. Yeah, that would be awesome."
Duh, you meant juice.
You send him another endearing smile and pop up the last of your steps and into the front door. It's not locked. He doesn't follow, thinking you must live with somebody (who's gonna know exactly who he is and tell him to get lost).
He turns his attention to your bike instead. It's easy enough to fix. He rolls the bike so its handlebars are resting against your concrete driveway and covers the top bar of the metal body with his sneaker to stop it from toppling. He rolls up his sleeves and bares his arms, but pulls them back down immediately when he remembers the white-purple whorls of scar tissue lurking underneath.
"Fuck," he mutters. Everything is a reminder, all of the time. He can't escape what happened.
It's everywhere.
He's getting his fingers under the chain when you reappear. You've layered up, bracelets and naked arms hidden by a black hoodie.
The wind blows and your skirt shifts. From his position he can see a ladder hiding in your tights where your inner thighs are pressed together. He whips his gaze up like a high-school perv caught sneaking peeks in the girls locker room and notices the stitching on your chest for the first time.
"You like Dio?" he asks excitedly.
"Who?"
He wilts. "Uh, your hoodie. Dio."
"I got it for three dollars in the bargain bins," you supply helpfully, all pep as you climb down the stairs and offer him a glass cup adorned in dainty enamel flowers. "Is Dio good?"
He waves his hand at the glass apologetically. "Two seconds…" Lifting the chain with the second hand, Eddie tugs and then feeds until the links are lined up with the bumps on the big chainring. The skin on his fingertips get pinched and his eyebrows pull together in pain, but it's a mild irritant at worst and after a moment the chain is back in place.
He pulls his hand away and wipes dark grease down the front of his jacket. "I think I did it."
You're glowing, earrings like a metronome as you ask, "That fast? You're awesome."
He turns the pedal and your back wheel spins in time with his heart. You're awesome. When was the last time somebody who wasn't Wayne said anything like that?
Although Dustin had told him he thought Eddie was a much cooler, more fucked up version of the guy from Van Halen the other day.
You're just saying that 'cos we're both called Eddie, Eddie had said morosely.
Learn to take a compliment, dude.
When they aren't pity compliments, he might.
Eddie lifts your bike back onto the wheels to show you that it's working perfectly. You giggle your evident pleasure. "Oh, thank you, thank you!" you say, super sweet even as grape juice sloshes over the rims of your flowered glasses and drips down your fingers.
"Here, let me," he says, taking the glasses from your purple-stained hands.
You kiss your hands clean which is a thing, a lot to watch. Eddie admits to himself that he thinks you're really pretty, recognises that that is a bad thing to think considering the likely very short life span of your acquaintance. God knows you won't be saying anything as friendly when you find out who he is.
"You're so nice," you say. It feels like you're talking more to yourself than him. "Thank you. It's slipped off three times this month, and ten dollars is ten dollars. Wait, do you want ten dollars?"
"My services were administered charitably.”
Your smile grows. You accept your glass and take a small sip, eyes lit up as Eddie steers your bike one-handed to rest against the porch.
"Do you wanna come inside? I don't have any of the Dio, but I have Blondie."
He holds in a throwaway comment about real rock and roll, astounded that you’d ask him. "Your folks aren't home?"
"I'm twenty-two."
Eddie squints at you. "Seriously?"
"You didn't think so?"
He shrugs. It's not that you don't look twenty two. Or even that you don't act twenty two. But it's been a long time since he met somebody living alone in the park. Forest Hills is where poverty comes to settle.
"A boyfriend?"
"Just me and mister Porterson."
"That your grandpa?"
"That's my pet fish."
He smiles. It's his first real, authentic smile in days. He's genuinely elated by your offer and your attitude, but he doesn't know how to handle it, struck with a sudden nightmare of you, afterward, telling somebody you'd invited him in and he'd tried to hurt you. It isn't fair of him to assume you'd do anything like that. You've been nothing but sweet and sincere this whole time.
Eddie hasn't let his guard down in a long time.
You're giving him this wide-eyed, imploring look that promptly suffocates any fear.
And in a week, when she finds out who you are and feels betrayed, feels tricked? What then, Munson?
"You know what happened?" he asks.
"What happened?"
"Two years ago. Chrissy… Chrissy Cunningham?"
Don't say her fucking name.
Your expression clears as clarity blooms. You take a step. He needs a second to realise you've come forward rather than away, fingers twitching toward his hand.
"I know about it. I'm sorry that happened to you."
He stares.
This is a trick. Two years and he can count the amount of people who believe him on his two hands, and only because they'd all gone through it with him. Sometimes there are outliers, logical people who seem to realise Eddie couldn't have killed all those people, couldn't have been in all those different places without leaving any evidence behind. And sometimes there are people who agree he didn't kill Chrissy, but he's a coward for leaving her to die. (She’d already been dead.)
Eddie doesn't know what he thinks. Wayne sets the record straight every now and then with a clap on the shoulder. You did what every parent wants their kid to do. You lived. I can't ask for more than that.
"You don't believe it?"
"That you hurt her?" You hold his gaze, face practically impassive. "No, I don't believe it."
He pulls in a breath that fills every inch of his chest. "I could learn to like Blondie," he says.
—
You're standing in the driveway of Eddie's trailer with a heavy bag over your shoulder, face to face with a man who kind of looks like him but not really. You assume it's his uncle because who else could he be? If you hadn't seen him here you'd never guess.
"Eddie's mom must've had strong genes," you say. You bring your shoulder up toward your cheek thoughtfully. "He didn't get any of your face. Was she pretty? Eddie's really pretty."
"She was," he says, peering down his nose at you.
"I got sandwiches. Do you want one?"
"What kind?"
"I have ham and cheese, or ham and lettuce and tomato, or I have pumpernickel cookies. Is Eddie a vegetarian?"
"Why?"
"'Cause I only brought one cheese and cucumber, and I have dibs."
He climbs down the last couple of steps and is still taller but definitely less imposing, face covered in scratchy salt and pepper stubble and crows feet deeply embedded into the corners of his eyes. He looks like a man who has been tired for a very long time. You make a mental note to bring him some lavender for his pillow on your next visit.
"You're Eddie's new friend?"
You nod your head briskly. "Yes, sir. I'm Y/N."
He opens his box of camels like a pro, bottom pressed to his chest. He tucks a cigarette between his lips and pulls his lighter out. He doesn't light it.
"It's nice to meet you," he says eventually, voice warming.
You search through the mess of your skirt for the zipper on your bag and peel it open, pulling out your tupperware of cookies and cracking them open to release the fragrant smell of cinnamon and almonds. It's a heady scent, fitting for the holiday season approaching.
You offer Eddie’s uncle a cookie.
"Thought pumpernickel was bread," he says gruffly, taking one.
"It is, but there's this little town in France that makes these every year at Christmas and they call them pumpernickel biscuits," — he takes a bite and winces at the hard snap — "you're s'posed to dip them in hot chocolate."
"You don't say."
You nod happily and he moves aside to let you pass.
"Thanks, kid."
You turn back to him with your fingers curled around the door handle. "Of course! It's really nice to meet you, Mr. Munson, sir."
"Wayne is fine."
You laugh and repeat his name in a similarly rough voice, letting yourself in as Eddie had told you to do. You find him immediately in a man-made corner of the living room, pale and in his pyjamas. The trailer is open planned, a living room they’ve divided by propping a couch against the kitchen counter, a slim hallway leading to a cramped bathroom and the single bedroom. It's exactly like in your home.
You're somewhat surprised to see him in pyjamas. Eddie doesn't wear comfy looking clothes out of the house — you've only ever seen him in jeans and jackets like a real rockstar.
"Are you ready?" you ask.
You've invited him to come and search for bugs with you. Catching any kind of bug, whether beetle or butterfly or spider, is really scary, but you need to be able to catch them to draw them.
You'd expressed this to him over the phone and he'd said, "I can come and help. I have good reflexes."
He rubs his hands over his knees. There's a blanket pooled around his feet, a quilt he must sleep with, and the room is decorated with not a whole lot of stuff but enough to make you take a step back.
"Is this your room?" you ask, enchanted.
"Kind of." He pulls his hair from behind his ear, obscuring a pale cheek. "I don't think I can come with you today, I'm sorry. I meant to call you."
You toy with a dark thigh high sock as you ease out of your shoes, height drastically decreasing. "That's okay, we can stay here. I brought you a sandwich. I brought you two sandwiches," you correct.
He nods. Rather sadly, in your opinion. "Alright. Thanks."
You step over a tented paperback and hand off the cookies before sitting down beside him on the couch he's occupying. It's smaller than the one against the wall and round like a clam, lots of room for your legs to stretch out.
"I feel like a pearl," you say.
You and Eddie have been friends for a little while now. Long enough for you to realise he's either depressed or mentally unwell in some way. You hardly mind keeping him company on his bad days if he needs somebody, so drawing bugs will have to wait.
His hair is limp, not totally greasy but not super clean either. His face looks fresh enough, though the bags under his eyes make you frown.
You pull your purse into your lap, thighs covered by the thin layers of your midi skirt. "I have just the thing for you," you murmur.
"Yeah? Bring me another bracelet?"
You like that he sounds eager. Making his bracelet had been a challenge, lots of knotting and double knotting, three restarts and one small under the breath tantrum. It's not anything special, black and white hearts seven strands wide, but he'd been very appreciative.
"No, but I can make you another one if you want. I mastered the inverse chevron last night."
He hums. You pull a saran wrapped sandwich from the depths of your crowded bag, glad to see it's mostly intact. When you open it up you find that it's the ham and lettuce and tomato one, so you drop it into his lap haphazardly and move onto the next.
"Aha! Here," you pull a cucumber from your sandwich. "For you."
He takes it between two tentative fingers. "Thank you?"
"For your eyes."
"There's cheese on it."
"I'll still work," you assure him.
"M'not putting cheese on my eyes."
You laugh because he probably shouldn't put cheese on his eyes, cucumber adjacent or otherwise. "Okay, don't. I'll make you a hot towel."
He drops his hand on your arm as you go to stand. You like how he touches you, soft but not scared. "You just got here. Stay here." He pats you nicely. "Tell me about work last night."
You settle heavily into the seat beside him, your thigh to his thigh, your hip squished against his hip, doughy flesh separated by nothing more than a strappy tank top and a cotton long-sleeve t-shirt. His heat quickly becomes yours, a sinking transference of warmth.
"Well," you begin, cheek turning into the couch to face him. "It was mostly okay. I dropped another plate, but this time it didn't have a stack of waffles on it."
He smiles ruefully and sinks back as you had. Neither of you eat your sandwiches. "Progress. Taking it out of your pay?"
"Yes, definitely."
"Discrimination."
"That's what I said! I said, Sarah, I was born with butterfingers and you know that."
"She didn't budge?"
"Dishwashing all week next week. Whatever, though, 'cause it's Saturday."
He laughs and shakes his head, his gaze dropping to your neck. He does that sometimes. You can't blame him; you wear a varying assortment of necklaces because you think they're pretty, and you're glad he likes them too.
"See my new one?"
"What?"
"New necklace." You look down at your chest and pull the newest addition from between the cups of your bra. "It's real silver."
"It's nice."
"It's surprisingly heavy. Wanna feel?"
"That's okay," he says, slightly strained.
Right, you think. I'm talking a lot.
You press your lips together in a mild pout and look at him through appreciative eyes. He's a very pretty boy, all soft and pale and sweet dark curls.
"Do you want me to put your hair up?"
His lips part before he talks. "I don't know if you should."
"Sure I should. It's getting in your eyes, right?" You take his hand where it's laid unsuspectingly in his lap and slip the hair tie from around his wrist, his fingertips tickling the inside of your palm. "Sit forward, Eddie."
He takes a deep breath, holds it, and sits up. You twist and then realise you need some more height, pushing a leg under yourself to kneel next to his lap.
You weave our fingers softly into the hair at the front of his face and rake away in lieu of a brush. After it's mostly tamed you pull it all into one hand and wrap the tie at the base of his head. You hum to yourself as you go, pleased when his lovely curls behave.
"Voilà," you announce, moving back on your haunches.
He breathes out. "Thank you."
You reach for a curl you'd missed at the very front and encourage it behind his ear. He has subtle indents in his cheeks today like he's in need of a good meal, and his skin is colder than it should be when you flatten your palm.
"You need something to eat," you fret. Your fingertips stroke under his eye, your thumb his smile lines.
He moves away slowly.
You pull your hand back into your lap. "Maybe we can go out and get something, if you don't like the sandwich?"
"What?" he asks, pale lips taut as he simpers at you. "Are you kidding? This is about to fix everything that's wrong with me."
His enthusiasm emboldens you. "It so will! There's ham and cheese too, if you prefer that one."
"Get it! I'm gonna eat both of them." S
Eddie eats both of his sandwiches and you eat your own, the two of you with your heads dropped back against the couch as you watch TV. There's a guy you've never seen before running around the streets of Chicago city centre looking for people to be in his play. Eddie's seen it before. He repeats dialogue in time with the characters, performing each line. Impressive, what with how tired he looks.
"What did he just say?" you ask, mouth full of cucumber.
"He said he's gonna throw himself off a bridge," Eddie informs. "Poor guy. I know the feeling."
You swallow harshly.
"Seriously?"
Your sad tone surprises him.
"I- No, I'm kidding," he says, scratching the base of his throat, friendship bracelet his only adornment.
His nervous itching makes you even more worried.
"If you did wanna do that, you can talk to me-"
He baulks, tongue poking out past his lips as he licks the corner of his mouth. "Thanks, sweetheart," he says, pet name like a kiss. It sounds silly but it really feels like one, right in the centre of your chest. "But I'm fine. Promise. It was a bad joke."
"Okay," you say, letting your suspicion shine through. You hold his eyes.
You haven't known Eddie long. It feels like you met yesterday, though really it's been two or three weeks. You fit together in a way you hadn't expected and adore more than you can articulate, two funny puzzle pieces.
"Well, I just wanted you to know. I like being your friend, I don't want you to disappear."
He laughs and licks his lips, a rough, chesty sound. "I don't want you to disappear either."
Tires crunch outside, a shushing sound and then the sharp shriek of a jeep being put into park. Eddie perks up considerably, his shoulders straightening.
"Hey, Chief," Wayne calls.
Trailer walls. Basically made of cardboard.
"Hey, Wayne. Where's the kid?"
You can't hear what Wayne says after that, words stolen by the TV.
"Is that Chief Hopper?" you ask, trying to catch a glimpse of him through the mostly shuttered blinds.
"Yeah, he- He's friends with Wayne."
"Why's he wanna know where you are?"
"'Cause I got into so much trouble."
You bite your tongue. His tone is hard, not stern but almost, and you realise you've overstepped as you usually do. You want to apologise but you don't want to pick the wound, eager to gloss over and make him smile again.
"It's pretty cool, isn't it?" you ask him.
"What?"
You spread your legs wider to slide onto your thighs and make him the taller one again, legs bent in a 'W' shape. "Coming back from the dead! First Will Byers, then Hopper."
Something surfaces in his expression. An irony.
"The undead," you croon, aiming for a smile, a laugh.
He cracks. "The undead," he agrees, smiling in bemusement. His eyes are a funny shade of brown.
—
Eddie shoo’s you home early that night but tries to do it kindly. He feigns exhaustion, a facade that's difficult to uphold when his entire body is thrumming with want. If there's one thing Eddie hates about being a vampire (there are literally hundreds of things he hates, but this one's special) it's that he wants to hurt the people he likes a thousand times more than the people he doesn't.
He can't explain it. Your blood is more appealing than any lonesome stranger's. Your pulse is practically music to his ears when you sit beside him. He'd kill himself before he ever hurt you, though. Or that's what he likes to think. Whether he has that amount of control is debatable.
No. He would kill himself before he hurt you, or Wayne, or any of his friends.
Steve can see the way that he's feeling on his face.
Hopper's delivery set to one side, a tall glass with blood congealed in a sticky ring at the bottom, Eddie curls under his huge quilt and tries not to pass out. Blood sate feels the same as a thanksgiving food coma. It's awesome.
He hates how good it feels.
"Stop feeling guilty," Steve says.
"He doesn't look guilty to me," Dustin says beside him, taller than the last time Eddie had seen him but still miles off of Steve's tall stature. He's changed his hat again, this one a garish green. It's not a good look.
"He looks like he's napping," Robin says, delighted.
"Can you guys go home?" Eddie asks.
"Shithead."
"What Steve means to say," Robin corrects, grinning her huge, catching smile, "is that no, we aren't going home. We brought games."
"I don't wanna play games." He does. Eddie needs the distraction, because eventually the blood sate will fade and all that will remain will be self-revulsion and a cruel desire to do something awful.
"I do not care even slightly," Steve says, deadpan, as he sits right there next to Eddie where you'd been sitting before. Steve's nowhere near as soft and he doesn't smell as nice, but Eddie's honestly glad someone is willing to sit next to him at all.
"Ouch, what the fuck?"
Dustin looks up from where he's sat himself on the floor. Robin giggles in her seat on the coffee table.
"Munson, are you fucking shedding? I just got stabbed."
"They don't work like that. They retract."
Eddie feels at his broken gums with his tongue. There's a clean incision where his fangs come out and then snap back inside after a time. They're remarkably thin, fitting in front of his natural incisors neatly.
Steve grumbles, hips lifted and hand searching under his butt for whatever it is that jabbed him. He retrieves exactly what Eddie had been expecting but hadn't had the forethought to prepare a lie about with a shocked gasp.
"Is this an earring? You don't have your ears pierced."
He swallows, knowing it's a very guilty gesture, and meets Steve's eyes straight on.
Funny how Steve's hair speaks as much as his expression, bobbing as he nods his head to emphasise each word, "Munson, do you have a girlfriend?"
Silence.
"...Not really."
"Holy shit," Dustin says, sounding extremely pleased. "No way."
Robin tucks her short hair behind her ears, hands paused in disbelief at her neck. "Actually?"
"I have a friend," Eddie admits.
"Thank god," Steve says, dropping your heart earring onto Eddie's thigh. The silver feels extremely hot over his pyjamas, like it's been held in the centre of a blistering hearth.
"I really thought Steve was gonna have to take one for the team and give you a pity handie," Robin says agreeably, scratchy voice coloured by genuine awe.
Eddie groans, "Harrington, get this shit off of me. You know I can't touch that."
"I forgot," Steve lies. "Can you wait? My hands are busy."
—
He has Steve put your earring between two pieces of kitchen towel and holds onto it. He doesn't see you for a week, and he keeps your damn earring in his pocket that entire time worried it's gonna slip out and brand him at any second.
Finally, you call him. He pretends he wasn't waiting.
"Hello," you say, like you're announcing something.
"Hey. How are you?"
"Eddie, I need your help. Badly."
He flinches up where he'd been leaning casually, hard enough to make Wayne jump. Eddie smiles at him placatingly and mouths a poor sorry, turning away to pretend there's a semblance of privacy to be found in such close quarters.
"Are you okay?"
"I gotta find a rainbow leaf beetle. Do you have a torch?"
"...What?"
"They only come out at night, so I'm gonna go look but I don't have a torch that works."
He relaxes, the lilting cadence of your voice enough to make his whole night. You sound so pretty even through the phone. He suspects you could hold any pitch, deep or high, and you'd still sound nice.
It's all in the way you — he says this with love — perform the words. You speak like each word you're saying has equal importance, and it's calming.
Even when you say stuff that's nonsense to him.
Right now, you don't sound upset or even worried about not having a torch, simply curious to know if he has one. If he focuses hard (and he's been trying not to, as you deserve your privacy) he can hear you all the way across the park, shifting from foot to foot in your bedroom, carpet crushed under your heels.
The action makes him think this might be more urgent to you than you'd first admitted.
"I have a torch." He also has amazing night vision. Like, impeccable. "Can I come help?"
"You want to?"
"I'd love to. Are you going out tonight?" He leans back to glance out the window. "The rain is finally stopping."
"Yeah, tonight! Is that okay for you? We could go tomorrow if you can't."
You're willing to change your plans now that he's asked to go with you. It's a gesture as lovely as you are. Eddie doesn't think you'd ever think it of yourself; your kindness is so intrinsic you don't notice it, like the fine stitching of a leather bound book. Integral and widely unappreciated.
"That's perfect."
Wayne raises an eyebrow when Eddie relays the conversation. "You're going out in the middle of the night with this girl to… look for bugs."
Eddie crosses his arms over his chest. "I swear."
"Be honest with me, kid."
"I am!"
Wayne swirls his coke can around in his hand as he thinks, a reluctance evident in his scowl. Eddie knows he's way too old for a guardian's oversight like this but he lets Wayne have a say because Wayne loves him, and Eddie doesn't ever want to put his old man through the turmoil he went through when he ran away. If that means a curfew in his twenties, Eddie's okay with that.
"If you're going to have sex with this girl, I'd prefer you did it here. You have to treat women with respect."
Eddie shivers, full body. "Wayne," he groans, covering his face. He can feel his cheeks pink under his palms, that's how quickly his embarrassment rises.
"I know you're more responsible these days, and you're a grown up. If you want a girlfriend and you want to do adult things with her-"
"Jesus Christ."
"- then that's alright. You don't have to fool around outside."
He drags his hands down on his face, pained. "It's not like that. You met her, you know she's…"
"Strange?"
"Alternative."
"No, you're alternative. She's cooky."
"Don't," he says. He knows his uncle isn't actually being cruel, so he lets it lie and fights for his own cause. "We aren't messing around. She genuinely wants me to go find these bugs with her. And…" He hates himself. "She has her own place, you know? If we were going to-"
Wayne seems stricken by the same mortified embarrassment as Eddie, raising a calloused hand in surrender. "Spare me."
"Thank you," Eddie says, spinning on his heel to hide in the bathroom for a while. It's only when he's sitting on the closed toilet does he realise Wayne hadn't mentioned his more dangerous ailment. For a time, he'd been a normal (debatable) person having a normal (horrifying) conversation with his dad. Not a vampire. Not somebody who ruins everything he touches.
—
"It's so quiet," you whisper.
For you, Eddie thinks.
You're in the forest surrounding the aptly named Forest Hills trailer park, wielding your borrowed torch carefully into the dark. Eddie's following in your footsteps, trying not to smell everything that's on you today and failing.
You smell like a person as everybody does. Over that is your soap, a faint hint of milk and honey that sticks to your skin even after you've washed it away. Over that is your deodorant, 'unscented', and over that is your perfume, which he likes most. It's a mix of smells, some Eddie doesn't know and some he does. There's lavender, though that might be down to the bunch you'd brought for his uncle wrapped in newspaper, and there's something fruity he can't quite put his finger on, all of it wrapped up in a cloying pairing of vanilla and coconut.
"Eddie?"
"What?"
"Are you okay? You're almost as quiet as the trees."
If only you knew the trees aren't quiet.
"I'm alright," he says quickly, catching up to you where you stand a few feet ahead. "What are we looking for?"
Best change the subject. How to explain he'd been smelling the notes of your perfume?
"They rest on tree trunks. You have to be careful, any sudden sound or light will scare them away. But if you flash the torch on them, they shine like oil stains."
He loves when you talk. "Where'd they come from?"
"Place called Snowdon. They're so rare, they think there's only about a thousand alive there."
"Well, how did they get here?"
You laugh under your breath, so quiet he would've missed it if he wasn't enhanced. "I don't know. How do beetles get to different places?"
"They fly?"
A twig crunches under your shoe.
Eddie tips his head to the side, thinking. "If there's only a thousand, how-" He stops, your circle of torch light growing further and further away. "Are you sure that they live here?"
"No, but if they do we'll be the first to find them."
"So they've never found any out here? In- In the midwest?"
"Not yet. Where'd you go?"
He shakes his head in an affectionate disbelief. "Right behind you."
You search in silence for a while. Eddie wishes he could say he was mad, or even mildly annoyed, wishes he had even the slightest regard for his own time, but really he thinks any time with you is time well spent. Especially if it's helping you do something you want to do. Whether you find your rainbow leaf beetle or not, he feels better knowing he's out here with you to keep you safe and in company.
Conversation is sparing. He doesn't mind. Your footsteps fill the sound and he finds even that stupid detail charming, the crunch, the pick up. His own are silent, a rare advantage to his terrible affliction.
"Any other beetles you want me to keep an eye out for?" he whispers.
"I'm not sure…" You turn to face him, torch pointed at your shoes. Rubber toes touched together, you lean in until you're all he can smell. Perfume. Blood. "If you see any cool spiders, too."
"You have the mason jar?"
"You know I do."
More than you realise, he thinks. The glass clicks in your bag.
There's enough light reflected to see the most minute details of your face. Your nose, the circle of your irises but not their colour. He suspects Eddie from early '86 wouldn't have been able to see hide nor hair, and it wouldn't shock him if you were technically blind right now.
"Thanks for coming out with me. I was gonna ask you."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, but I didn't want to come on too strong." He can sense your smile even though he can't see it. It's in the way your breathing deepens. "I know I can be a lot to deal with."
"Who told you that?"
"What?"
Eddie doubles down.. "Who told you that?" he sounds heartbroken.
He kind of is. Yeah, you're weird — Who cares? Who isn't? — but you're not a lot to deal with. He doesn't 'deal' with you.
"Everybody tells me that. All the time."
"Everybody's stupid." To say it so loudly, scathingly, is sweet. It's therapeutic. "They are. This whole town is stupid."
Your fingertips touch his thigh. He's willing you to turn the torch up and see his face, because he has a lot of feelings on display that he isn't brave enough to say out loud.
"You never make me feel stupid," you say softly.
"You're not."
You giggle breathily at his vehemence, fingertips pressing in with a touch more pressure before you pull away and shine the torch deep into the trees.
"This whole town is stupid," you mumble. "But not you."
He thinks of his friends who are definitely stupid, but he loves anyways. He's about to add them to the not-stupid (subjectively) list when he remembers Steve's discovery: your earring burning a hole in his pocket. He'd been carrying it for long enough now to forget all about it.
"Hey, I have something for you."
"You do?"
"Don't get too excited. It's not a gift."
He digs in his pocket for the tissue paper wrapping and hisses in shock as the silver plating of your hoop graces his index finger. You shine the torch at him. His eyes ache like he's been stabbed and he slams them closed, hand pulled to his chest.
How embarrassing.
"Eddie, what happened?" you question loudly.
He winces at the sudden overstimulation. Slowly, he blinks, and finds you staring at him in a worry that softens every feature, even your nose. He doesn't know the logistics.
"It's okay. Stabbed a paper cut on the back. Your earring's in my pocket, the heart?"
"The hoop? I thought I lost it." Your worry turns to confusion and then melds into joy. You step forward and fish in his jacket pocket for your earring.
"Steve found it."
"'The hair'?"
"Yeah, the hair."
You both laugh and yours heightens when you find the earring, pulling it out like a knife to be brandished. "Yes."
"I meant to tell you a dozen times that I had it."
"You're the best."
There's a crunch of wood somewhere to the left like something heavy falling over.
The forest sprawls in every direction and the trees tower, their presence looming as skyscrapers. The wind ruffles the topmost branches and their trunks groan with pressure. It's enough to freak Eddie out super sense or not, feeling suddenly like he couldn't protect you. He could hear the individual droplets of drool dripping from a lynx's bloody maw, and he can sense each twig underfoot before he takes his next step, but none of that is going to keep you safe in the face of real danger.
"Maybe we should head back," he says tentatively.
"Okay. Do you want to come over?"
His breath catches. "You want me to?"
"Yeah, we can watch movies, I have leftover pasta."
That sounds more like what he should've been thinking. "I don't wanna keep you up."
"What kind of pasta?" he asks.
The torch flickers. "With the tiny tomatoes. You'll like it, super creamy."
"How do you know?"
"You like Alfredo," you say astutely, hitting the torch into the palm of your hand. It flashes weakly, the shadow of the trees flickering and so dark they're violet.
"Try tightening the handle."
You turn the barrel of the torch and the light switches off completely. You try to undo what you've done to no success, the sound of plastic rubbing plastic almost as loud as your heartbeat. Your pulse falters and then grows to racing when the light fails to come back on.
"Eddie," you say, sounding unsure. It's a new sound on you. "I don't know where we are. How are we gonna get home?"
Your admission is like a dousing of ice water over his head. "You don't know what direction we came from?"
"No, do you?"
Eddie wouldn't know if he couldn't hear the sound of the electricity pylon buzzing somewhere to the right. But how can he explain that? "Uh, we were turned around."
You creep to his side and grab his arm with both hands. "Are you sure?"
"Hey," he says gently. "Hey, it's okay. I know where we are. We'll be fine."
"Are you sure?" you ask again.
"I'm positive."
You take a deep breath that doesn't erase your shakiness, a failed attempt at self-soothing. "I really don't know where we are."
"You're not afraid of the dark, are you?"
"Not really… I don't wanna get lost out here."
"You won't. I know how to get back. C'mon," he prompts, pulling his arm to encourage you forward.
You let go of him and navigate a few steps by yourself. He weaves through the trees, waiting for your heartbeat to slow.
It doesn't. He opens his mouth to reassure you again when you gasp, kicking your foot against a root and tripping. You barely fall, catching yourself on the trunk of a tree, and Eddie remembers himself. You can't see the trees. That's why you're worried. You can't see anything.
Then the smell of blood hits him like a freight train.
—
Your hand stings where you caught yourself, palm scraped down against harsh bark.
"Shit," you mumble.
You're panicking badly, and you're confused as to why Eddie isn't. Not only was it fucking stupid of you to come out here with only one torch, it was stupid of you to assume you'd remember what way was home. It was stupid of you to come here tonight for that stupid beetle, and stupid of you to drag Eddie along. You're an idiot, and now you're bleeding.
Your eyes sting with tears, pain like a popped seal. I'm so stupid.
"Hey," Eddie says, his tone silky soft, "you're okay. Let me help you up."
You hold your hands out.
"Eddie, this is weird." Hopefully he understands that weird means scary.
He takes your hands, fingers closing slowly over your bloody palm. His breath is loud as he pulls you up toward him like he's panicked but his grip stays kind, and you abandon the notion when he rubs over your knuckles with his thumb. "It's alright."
He doesn't sound the same.
"Eddie, we can't see."
"We'll go slowly, okay? I'll put my hand out and we'll walk around anything that gets in the way."
"Yeah," you say hurriedly, heart bump-bump-bumping against your ribcage.
He keeps one hand, the injured one, and starts to drag you slowly through the trees. His grip tightens as you go until it starts to ache, until it feels like it might bruise.
"Ouch, Eds. You're hurting me," you say, going for a lightly teasing tone and missing the mark.
Instantly, he eases off. "Sorry, sweetheart. You hold onto me, alright?"
You do as he'd asked, hand clinging to him as he leads. He doesn't squeeze you again, walking slowly as he'd promised, and the closer you get to the edge of the forest the clearer it becomes. Light pollution from the centre of town leaches through the trees like water trickling from an overflowing basin.
His second hand is in his pocket.
"Here," he says after you've traversed to the very edge of the forest. "There's the park. We're bona fide explorers."
He looks out toward the park and you look at the side of his face. Something isn't right. Something uncanny.
You drop your gaze from his face to your joined hands. They come apart, blood smeared in both your palms like two halves of a dripping heart.
—
There is something weird about Eddie. As a residential freak of Hawkins you think you're an authority in this, and you don't feel guilty for judging him. Your brain can't stop going over your night in the forest. For days you play the scenes back and for days you lose the details. You forget how the wind had tousled his hair, how he'd smelled, what he'd said.
You remember the way he'd squeezed your bloody hand. You remember the way he'd spoken, strained.
Not strained like he didn't want to comfort you, he had, but strained.
Restrained.
You're poking at the shallow cut half-healed now in your palm at work when a dude walks in, very tall, handsome, and gunning straight for you.
You straighten your badge and hide your bracelet heavy wrists behind your back, receding slightly as he approaches. He slows in front of you.
You have a light bulb moment.
"The hair," you say.
He scowls. "He told you that, huh. Typical."
"You're Steve?"
"That's me." Steve crosses his arms across his chest, his back to a booth, your back to the diner bar. "You're Eddie's new friend."
"What counts as new?" A month and a half doesn't feel so new to you.
"Trust me, you're new."
He has the strangest patch covering the outside of his left wrist, the same peculiar scarring that you can see on Eddie's waist when he reaches for a glass out of the kitchen cabinet. You don't ask because you're not a dick no matter how curious you find yourself, but it makes your heart skip. What is that? You'd assumed Eddie's was road rash. Now you're not so sure.
He tucks it under his arm.
You meet his suspicious gaze.
"You want coffee?"
"No."
You kick your foot, shoe sliding over the shiny waxed floor with a squeal. "Is Eddie okay?"
"Did you want to come to a party next Friday?"
"No," you say honestly. "Like a cult?"
"What?"
"Are you initiating me into your cult?"
He finally smiles, eyes creased with amusement. "I'm inviting you to our club."
"Club where you chew on each other?"
You look pointedly at Steve's wrist.
"No. Club where we play board games and drink jiffy pop. Come or don't, doesn't matter."
"If it doesn't matter, why are you asking me?"
It's a strangely intense conversation to have this early in the morning. Patrons chatter about work, coffee gets poured. The diner smells of syrup and sugar and bitter cold-press. You're both in work apparel, both refusing to move back. If this is some kind of shovel talk then that's fine, and if it's a test you're determined to pass, even if Eddie's been super weird lately.
"I'll come if you promise not to eat me," you say.
"It's really not that kind of club."
—
"I had the weirdest visit in the entire world today," you declare, stopping in front of Eddie's porch with a smile.
"Yeah?" he asks without looking up, guitar in his lap and pen scribbling over a lined notebook.
You wait for him to stop before you continue, leaning forward with both arms braced on the porch by his feet. "Steve Harrington came to see me, and he was super mean. You said he was nice."
He frowns at you. "I told you he was a dick."
"You like him when you tell me stories."
"How mean?" Eddie asks, patting the seat beside him.
You climb up onto the porch and plop down onto the couch, worn leather cold with the weather and damp in the seams.
You take a strand of his hair and curl it around your finger. "Not really super mean, but he was, like, acting like I killed a baby."
"He's like that."
You sigh and lean your cheek against the couch cushion, watching Eddie's stubble move as he tamps down a teasing smile. "He invited me to a party next weekr."
"It's not a party- Sweetheart, what are you doing?"
You tickle his cheek with the end of his hair. "Nothing."
"M'gonna sneeze."
You tickle him again, fine dark strands brushing over his pale cheek. He's a very ashen guy, you've found. Likely because he barely goes out in the sun and he doesn't eat enough. You draw circles around the apple of his cheek and grin softly at his growing smile, a sweet, silly thing.
"I'll tickle you back," he warns.
"Promise?"
He steals the curl back and tucks it behind his ear.
"You're not a cannibal, are you?"
Eddie chokes on air. You startle at his coughing and move to pat his back, palm slapping a steady rhythm into his shoulder. When he calms down you run your hand down the length of his arm, long sleeve t-shirt soft beneath your touch. You linger at his wrist and decide to hold it.
He drops his pen and your hand travels until he's caught your thumb. He kneads it in his fingers.
"I'm not a cannibal. Why would you think that?"
"I don't, but you and Steve are in your club, right?"
"Hellfire wasn't like that," he says heatedly.
"No, not- Not that one."
He doesn't say anything.
"You have… He has this scar, on his wrist. Like something bit him, or-" He turns to you and he looks formidable and upset and himself, not mad at you but raw emotion in his expression anyhow. It's gone as quick as it came.
"When all that… stuff happened," he begins quietly, "we got hurt. A couple of us."
You drop your head, ashamed at having pried. "I'm sorry, you don't have to tell me anything else."
"Don't be sorry…" He squeezes your hand and lets it go. "Don't worry about it."
"Okay."
"We usually call ourselves a party, these days. Not a club."
"Do you really play board games and drink jiffy pop?"
"Sometimes we get really crazy and order a pizza. You should come."
You realise as he says it how much his wanting you to go had mattered to you. Eddie's your friend, and you don't think that you're going to stay friends much longer.
"You think your friends will like me?" you ask, voice descending to a new kind of gentle.
He puts down his guitar and his notebook. His full attention is something you've come to really enjoy, not because of the hunger you often see flitting across his face — though that's neat —, but because of the inklings of adoration clinging to his smile when he looks at you. His blinking lashes. He smiles at you and just slows. A usually frenetic boy calmed.
"Maybe not Mike. Mike doesn't like anybody. Except for Will," he muses.
"What about you?"
"What about me?"
"Who do you like?"
"I like all of them." He juts his cheek toward his shoulder, conceding, " I think Dustin's my favourite. He's funny. He's funnier than I am, and he's the smartest kid I've ever met. And he knows it."
Your eyes focus on the pink outline of his upper lip as he speaks. It's a pleasure to be this close, and see him in this kind of crazy detail. When you go home tonight you might try to draw him. You'll probably forget.
It's the kind of smile that deserves to be immortalised.
"I really like your smile," you tell him, hoping it'll last a little longer.
It stretches. The pink outline turns white. "Shut up."
"I do. I've seen a thousand different smiles but I've never met someone who smiles like you do."
"How's that?" he asks, edging toward you, face a mirror in which you can see your own charmed expression.
"Like you," — you shake your head with your lips parted — "know a secret. Something you won't tell anybody."
His smile abruptly ends.
You've nothing if not a talent for saying the wrong thing.
"A good secret," you amend.
He picks up his acoustic and gives it an experimental strum. "Maybe one or two," he agrees.
Relief catches you. You nibble at the inside of your lip and watch his fingers work over the neck of his guitar, tipping your head so you can read the words he's markered over the body.
"This machine slays dragons," you murmur to yourself. "Yeah? How many?"
"Just the one."
"Save any princesses?"
"Not yet." He plucks at the strings, lost in thought, before turning to you with eyebrows raised. "Can you play?"
You exhale out of the corner of your mouth as he pushes the guitar into your lap, an arm coming around your shoulder, the other reaching to guide your curled forefinger to the strings. You turn to face him, watching him talk with a growing fondness.
"It's easy, I swear. We'll do Call Me. Blondie's basic, even a baby could play it."
He realises you aren't listening and raises his gaze, shiny brown irises stuck on your lips. This close, it would be worse if he didn't look at them.
You glance at his, an obvious thing, half a wish. If he only lifted his chin.
Your breath mingles.
"It's easy," he says again, a murmur of his usual volume as his gaze pulls back up to yours. "I'll show you."
You wonder if he can hear your heart pounding; it's deafening. You wait, and you wait, and you turn your eyes back to his guitar and clamp your fingers down against the struts so he can't see them shaking with adrenaline.
—
Eddie sits beside Steve and tries not to admit to himself that Steve Harrington is, horrifyingly, his best friend (along with the rest of the party, obviously). Steve is the closest in age and Eddie can't make excuses (though he tries and tries and tries), Steve understands how much Eddie doesn't ever want to talk about anything that's happened to them, so he talks about literally everything else instead.
"It was the weirdest pawn shop I've ever been in. They had, like, a wall of combi's playing the same video at the same time but all slightly delayed."
Eddie blinks.
Steve turns his head from the TV, having expected a response. "Did you say something?"
"No." Then, because he's not a dick. "Sorry, Harrington. Want me to sit on your other side?"
"What for?" Steve says. Not because he denies how he's hard of hearing, but because he denies having conversations with Eddie.
He does end up moving to Steve's other side with a pathetic excuse. "I can't see the TV."
Steve doesn't say a word until he's sat down again. "Sorry I was mean to your girlfriend."
"Yeah, what was that about?"
"I was cranky because it was early and I don't want her to damage the integrity of the party." He gives equal weight to both reasons.
Eddie snorts at him. "Since when do you care about the integrity of the party?" Steve barely acknowledges that they are a party. He thinks that's a very nerdy way to say friends.
"Since always, dipshit."
"And inviting her to join the party was the solution because…?"
Steve drinks the rest of his coke and pretends to really care about what's on TV. "If," he begins after a minute, refusing to look at Eddie, "something happens with her, and something happens to you, that damages the integrity of the party."
"Steve," Eddie says, jaw dropped down to his chest, "do you have a crush on me?"
"Oh my god," Steve mutters. "Oh my god," he says louder. "I can't stand you."
To prove his point, he gets up from the couch with a wrinkled nose, stops to tap his shoe gently against Max's where she's sitting in the armchair across from the coffee table, and disappears into his kitchen.
Steve Harrington cares about me enough to give Y/N the shovel talk.
He feels kind of great about it.
But he's not sure your the one who needs warning.
That night in the forest, Eddie had almost snapped. There are rules to follow if he wants to keep people safe, self-imposed, Hopper-imposed, and he's broken too many with you already, the most important being no close proximity when he's hungry. Eddie doesn't even realise he is hungry half the time. He'll be standing by you and he'll want to touch you, and suddenly it's like he's three weeks in to the month without sating.
He thinks about kissing you and suddenly he's thinking about biting you, and hurting you, and it's literally tearing him up from the inside out.
How can he want to do that to you?
"You look so depressed and pathetic," Dustin says out of the blue.
Eddie pouts and falls back into the couch, Steve's fancy throw falling onto his shoulder. "I used to like you," he says, taking in Dustin's outfit with a kind of parental approval. He's getting older and it shows, slightly more handsome than he had been — he's kept all his baby weight and it suits him, his full cheeks surrounded by the softest brown curls Eddie has ever seen. The outfit stays immature, a funny t-shirt and ill-fitting pants.
"Sad. You have a sad face," Dustin says.
"Go play with your nerd squad, please."
He doesn't listen, collapsing in Steve's still-warm seat like a cheap tent and crossing longer, thicker arms over his chest. He smiles at Eddie genuinely. "Where's your girlfriend?"
"No."
"Where's Y/N?"
Eddie tips his head so he can see past the coffee table and points to where you're almost hidden, sitting with Robin on the floor by Steve's sideboard. You have a basket of tapes in front of you, the two of you trying to choose what's going in the stereo. Eddie prays for anything but Blondie.
You will most likely choose Blondie.
"What does she like?" Dustin asks curiously.
"Everything, kind of. Why?"
"I wanna know what to say when I talk to her."
Eddie smiles at his friend's face, a soft, surprised thing. "I don't know if she knows anything about the radio but if you're happy about it she'll be happy too. She's a good listener."
Dustin picks at a piece of lint on his t-shirt bearing a white and black print of a dog wearing sunglasses. "So you talk to her?" he asks without looking up.
"I mean, yeah. What else do you do?"
"With a girl that likes you? Huh, let me think." Dustin laughs and ruins his own sarcasm, pointer finger laid against his chin in a show of thoughtfulness.
"It's not like that," Eddie says lightly.
"It could be."
"Could it? I mean… I don't even know if she'll stick around. And I feel bad 'cos I can't be honest with her."
"Why not?"
"Hopper said he would literally put me in the hole if I even thought about it." There's no need to expand. Dustin would know better than anyone what he's talking about.
He cringes at the thought, self hatred a hot poker down his throat. He must've said it to Dustin a hundred times when he finally came around from his coma (that wasn't a coma, but a death, and then a rebirth). I can't believe I put you through that. I can't believe I put you through that. I'm so sorry.
I'm just glad you're alive, Eddie.
And for a while, Eddie hadn't felt the same. The world he'd woken up to was hard. There had been lawyers and grief and guilt and becoming. He doesn't have the words to describe how it feels to become something new, something that needs to hurt people to live, something that will hurt people to live, whether Eddie wants to or not.
The loss of choice is suffocating.
Though moments like this with his friends– they don't make it 'worth it', they're just how it had to happen. There isn't a scenario where Eddie could give up. He can't leave Wayne, and he can't leave Dustin. He can live with the grief of what he is if it means other people don't have to live with grief of what he isn't.
"Eddie, are you okay?"
He's missed something. Dustin isn't the only one looking at him.
He curls a hand around his forearm subconsciously. "I'm fine. I think I'm gonna go to the bathroom, actually. Gotta piss real bad."
"Eddie-"
"I'm fine, Henderson." He puts on a good show, patting Dustin's arm. His heart, usually so slow these days, has enough life in it to ache.
He can't have been in the bathroom for five minutes when somebody knocks on the door aggressively. He's expecting Steve, pissed at his disappearance and likely preparing a speech on attention seeking behaviours and how they're hurting the youth of America, so he opens the door with a tired glare.
He finds you, beaming and pretty, dressed ridiculously nicely for his idiot friends.
"Hi," you say. He can hear something from Blondie's Parallel Lines playing from the living room, familiar because it's your favourite album. "Any room for me?"
Eddie moves back. You close the door behind you. The bathroom becomes a vacuum of your sounds and smells.
"They didn't have any Dio," you say with a smile.
"I honestly wouldn't expect any different."
"You could've brought some tapes, your mix from the van," you suggest. "I love that one."
"Which one?" he asks, and he can't help it, whenever he's with you his voice crops to a dulcet murmur. The urge to speak to you as you speak to him is unconquerable.
"One with the winking smile on the slipcase. I really like it."
"You can have it."
You lean against the sink. "I can?"
"Mm. Whatever you want." Especially when you look like this.
You smile at him, your 'thank you' smile, all sticky fondness and mischievousness. He has no idea what you're thinking.
"'S a small bathroom in a huge house," you marvel. Your voice echoes "Where does he shower?"
"There's an upstairs bathroom."
"Two bathrooms? That's-"
"Audacious?"
"I was gonna say overkill."
Your candidness has him shaking with laughter. He clutches at his sides, arms crossed and leaning forward. You visibly take in his appearance, eyes panning slowly over his clean hair. He'd taken care to look like somebody you might want to look at tonight.
"Why don't you sit down, Eds?" you ask, eyes creased with an unreadable emotion.
Eddie feels blindly for the toilet lid and pushes it down so he can do as you ask, wondering why you're asking.
"You look very handsome today."
He hugs himself. "As opposed to every other day, when I don't?"
You take a step forward, a second, hands playing with the hem of your shirt. Your outfit today is delightfully simple, a pressed black t-shirt long enough to cover the waistband of your pleated skirt. There's an expanse of thigh that makes his heart beat spin out, one longer than the other where your thigh-high is falling down.
He wants to pull it up.
"C'mere," he says.
You take that last step between his shoes and he reaches out, getting his fingertips under the elastic of your sock and tugging it upward over the soft fat of your leg. Your hands come up to his shoulders for balance, and you say, "No, you look handsome every day. Today you look very handsome. I made the distinction."
He covers your thigh with both hands, looking up into your face as you look down. "You look really pretty today," he says boldly, fingers spreading behind your knee.
"Thank you. Do you like my t-shirt?"
It's a screen print of Debbie Harry. Eddie tries not to roll his eyes. "I love it, but your dedication to Blondie is seriously worrying, sweetheart." He gives your leg a short squeeze and pulls the most giggly smile out of you yet.
"Like Madonna."
"No!" he bemoans.
You laugh and grow closer, arms on his shoulder, a hand threaded into his hair. "Cyndi Lauper?" you suggest.
He puts a hand on your waist as you move in for a hug. Your arms wrap around his neck and the tops of his shoulders, cheek crushed to the top of his head.
He'd ask if you were okay if he thought you weren't. You're not upset or seeking comfort. You're affectionate. You've been getting more and more touchy for weeks, as he has. Stolen touches, your almost-kiss on the porch last week.
"No, not Cyndi Lauper," he says, his hand skirting around your back to pull you in properly.
"R.E.M?"
"God, no. Where are you hearing all this junk?"
"The radio."
"Tuned into the wrong station."
You pet the back of his head. "Yeah," you say softly, "I think I was."
The hug is shorter than Eddie wants it to be. You make one of your happy sounds and pull away to get your hands on his face, stroking curls from his cheeks with a protective touch. "Handsome," you say, turning your hand to stroke his cheek with your knuckles. "Pretty. You have really big eyes, Eddie, so brown, and so…" You tilt your head to one side, face inching forward.
He turns his face to suit, to fit, breath held as you close the gap.
"So pretty," you murmur, and kiss him.
His hands are limp and then alive, one clutching your hip, one splaying against your chest. He can hear the thud of your heart clear as day — you're bumping with excitement as you kiss him. It's a delicate, tender thing, the party suddenly far away, the music drowned by the sounds of your breathing. You kiss as you talk, as you move, gentle but with bursts of ardency. Your lips are a blissful heat, the tip of your nose smushing into his as you part your lips over his.
He lifts his chin higher, his neck craned to receive you. He's savouring every movement. Each pause for breath that you take. The feeling of your inhales over his quick-bruising lips.
Your hands play in his hair so sweetly it makes his eyes burn with an embarrassing amount of emotion. He screws them closed and squeezes up your waist, steadying himself as you feel along his bottom lip with the tip of your tongue.
You don't get much further than that, seemingly pleased with your own brazeness or perhaps his touch, eyes glowing with mirth as you pull away.
"Sorry," you breathe, not sorry at all. "You just really looked like someone should be kissing you."
You're flushed. Eddie can practically see the heat emanating off of your cheeks. He can feel it.
He stands up, your pulse a ringing in his ears. The wet valves of your heart opening and closing.
"Eddie?" you ask quietly, lifting your head to meet his eyes as he walks you back into the door.
His gums sting. A click.
It's a compulsion.
His hands curl around your elbows, holding you in place. Your eyes are wide with confusion, your lightly swollen lips parted. He can see the tiniest slip of your pink tongue.
He holds your gaze as he leans in. Your eyelids flutter closed. You wrap your arms around him as he descends, totally trusting.
He's a meaner kiss than you are. He starts slow but swiftly loses a handle on it, kisses short but insistent, hot presses like little crescent moons against your barely open mouth.
His hands move up your arms, a near vice-like grip until he finds your sleeves. His fingers slip underneath, hands hungry for your warmth.
You make the worst sound anyone has ever made as he moves back, like something has been ripped from you. A gutted gasp, near silent.
He placates as he wades back in. Thumbs rubbing your arms, lips mouthing damp kisses down your face. The corner of your pout, the hill of your chin, the skin under your jaw. Your head tips back against the door with an audible thud. You exhale hard.
Eddie can't feel his hands.
Your pulse hammers under his lips. He kisses it once. He can't think. He can't breathe.
"You're always cold," you whisper, your hands drifting lazily under the fabric of his t-shirt. Your fingertips trail up his spine. "But your lips are warm."
He kisses your neck, his lips parting slowly, a hair's width a second as he sucks your skin into his mouth gently. It's barely a kiss. He does it a second time. A third. You start to laugh, a golden sound.
The point of his fangs touch your skin and you stop.
Eddie closes his mouth abruptly. His hand leaps to your neck and he feels your heart skip as he holds you still. "I'm sorry," he says, nose rubbing over the damp spot he's left behind, your teased skin.
Your heart hikes again.
"I'm sorry," he repeats. He pulls away, an agony.
"It's okay," you say. Your breathlessness says otherwise.
Eddie takes as many deep breaths as he can stand, wanting to clear his head and filling it with you instead. Your everything; your smell, your skin. Your limp hands against his back.
"I didn't hurt you, did I?" he asks when he gets a look at you, your unreadable expression. He takes care to keep his head angled down so you can't see the lower half of his face.
"I don't think you could."
You cup his cheek in your hand and he leans into it, his weight against yours.
"I wanted to tell you something," you confess.
"What-" He licks his lips, wincing when his fangs slide into his tongue and scrape grooves across his taste buds. "What was that?"
"I know you…" You pause, fingertips rubbing at his cheek.
Does she know? Eddie thinks, horrified. He hadn't realised how scary waiting could be. A thousand worries condensed into a handful of seconds. Does she know?
How could she not?
You press your palm to his cheek with more insistence. "I don't want you to think you have to hide anything from me. I know you have scars," you say, fingers sliding into the soft baby hair at the back of his neck. "You don't have to cover up. You don't have to cover any of it."
"I won't hurt you," he says, trying to convince himself.
"I know."
-
You stay a while longer. Eddie's friends pretend that you hadn't been alone in the bathroom for an inordinate amount of time together. You thank them all silently and less so, trying to talk to as many of them as you can.
There's Lucas, who's really, really nice, and his girlfriend Max, who's less so. She gives you an unimpressed look through her thick-lensed glasses, but you compliment her crutches and she comes around.
There's Mike, who actually isn't anywhere as bad as Eddie had described him. He's not frosty or standoffish, he's sweet and he asks questions. There's a girl with him that you don't catch the name of, and a boy on her other side.
There's Dustin, who you adore immediately, Robin, who you adore more, and then there's Steve.
Steve offers you a pretzel like you're more than familiar. He strolls right up to you with a bowl of them in hand and doesn't leave until you've eaten half of them.
There's a couple of people you don't manage to talk to at all, and you feel guilty about it all the way home.
"What if they think I'm rude?" you ask, tired eyes locking onto the stereo system. The time blinks analog in the dark, 12:59AM.
"They don't, don't worry about it. You have lots of time to get to know them, anyway."
You hum and turn to his face, indulgent because you know he can't look back. "You're not too tired to drive, are you?" He's spent. Yesterday had been one of his bad days.
"I'm fine."
"You say that all the time," you observe, dropping your cheek into the passenger seat's headrest.
"I'm fine all the time."
"Liar."
"Nuisance."
You huff a laugh through your nose. The strands of his friendship bracelet, the small beads at the ends, swing like pendulums in the gap between his arm and the steering wheel. You can see the rough skin of a scar creeping out from under his sleeve.
"Mike was really nice," you say.
"He has a bleeding heart."
That feels accurate. "He reminds me of you."
Eddie rolls his eyes. You feel for every detail, the strange tension between you like a gaussian filter over everything. He's gorgeous in a horrific way, heartbreakingly pale, eyes dark as pitch, hands restless. They squeeze alone the wheel, thick fingers curling tight until his knuckles are stark white. Running down the back of his hands are veins like rivers. They're more purple than green.
"Eddie," you say, playful, a tiny bit insecure.
"What?"
"Wanna stay the night?"
His hand moves forward on the wheel like he's revving a motorcycle, the tendon in his wrist rising to the surface. He clenches. "Not sure it's a good idea."
"Just to sleep. It's late."
"I don't know if I can sleep next to you."
You don't wanna say please. You don't want to ask Eddie to do anything he can't or doesn't wanna do.
He pulls up outside of your house with his mind already made up. He gets out of the car and you follow his lead. He locks it, shoves the keys in his pocket as you join him on the path up to your porch.
He's been in here enough times to know what it looks like, but for some reason you find yourself checking his face, worried about what it is he thinks of your things, all your mismatched trinkets, your stained glass lamps, your life as you let yourselves in. He ducks through the beeded curtain into your bedroom wary that they'll get tangled in his hair like they sometimes do.
"Do you wanna call Wayne?" you ask, gesturing to your telephone on the right hand side, nestled between a stack of books and a cup full of coloured pencils.
You pull your knee up to your chest and unlace your shoes one at a time. Eddie punches the number into the phone and holds the receiver to his shoulder to do as you're doing. It takes him less time to pop his sneakers off than for you to get out of yours. He's just taken the phone back into his hand when Wayne picks up.
"Wayne?" he asks softly. "Didn't wake you up, did I?"
You can't hear his response.
"I'm gonna stay with Y/N tonight. Yeah, we had a good time. Yeah…" His eyes drift to you as you peel out of your thigh highs.
"Yeah, I'm still here. What?" He meets your eyes and it feels accidental, because he throws his eyes to your bedsheets and turns his face to the wall. "No," he says firmly.
You scrape together something to wear for bed and some fresh underwear and leave for the bathroom, telling yourself that nothing is gonna happen so don't get your hopes up but not wanting to get caught out if it does. You freshen up, brushing your teeth and washing your face.
You stare at yourself in the mirror and wonder if you should've left your face-powder and your mascara on. Maybe even the skirt. You'd looked nice and pretty for the party. Now you look like yourself, still pretty but without those extra touches. Will he care? Does it matter?
You debate your pyjama pants considerably.
There's a lot happening.
Eddie is… Eddie is something else. He's different, you'd known that for a long time, and his kiss had confirmed it.
He's something out of a science fiction book.
Well, nobody's perfect.
Whatever he is, he'd kissed you. You'd kissed him and he'd responded, he'd come back for more, and now he's sitting in your bed when he could've gone home. You bring your hand to your neck and crane to one side, fingertips poking at your unbroken skin. His hickey's haven't even bruised.
You screw the pants up and drop them into your laundry basket. You take off every piece of jewellery on your person.
"Do you wanna use the bathroom?" you ask from behind the beaded curtain. "I left a new toothbrush for you on the sink."
"Yeah, desperately, I…" He takes you in as you emerge. Fresh-faced, bare-legged. As naked as you've ever been in front of him, physically and otherwise.
Eddie meets you where you're standing. He's ditched his jacket, and for the first time since you met him you can see the full length of his arms.
"You're not wearing your bracelets," he says, looking between your bodies. His hand twitches toward yours.
"You have tattoos," you say.
"They were better, before."
There's a misshapen mess of black splodges near the crook of his elbow broken up by scar tissue. One arm is less scarred than the other, an almost perfect flank of white skin.
"Is that a puppet? He's super spooky."
"Mh-hm."
You bring your hand to his tattoo and feel over the skin. It doesn't feel like it's there. Eddie holds your wrist and the two of you move together, your fingertips stroking up until you're wrapped around his bicep.
Eddie brings his free hand to your collar. His index finger straightens, encouraging your chin up so he can ease forward and kiss you. He's firm, eager, and your lips curl up into a smile underneath it. He turns his head to the right and you fall left, smile worsened when you feel his own start to form.
He nudges your nose. You take it for a telling off and laugh. "Sorry," you apologise, kissing his top lip.
"You're making this difficult," he chides.
Despite any sternness, Eddie loosens his grip on your wrists to slide his fingers between yours, pressing your joined hands to your chest. He leans back down and he's careful, almost methodical in the way he kisses. Chaste pecks, hot and precious as tiny stars.
You reach for his waist.
Eddie kisses you a final time and steps back. "I'll be back," he promises.
You lower your chin, flustered and perplexed by his sudden departure.
Walking around to the right side of the bed, you click on your bedside lamp — a beautiful glass and foiled contraption that throws dainty stripes of stars and hearts over everything close in the dark — before climbing in. You sniff one of your pillows experimentally, trying to remember when you last changed the bed. You decide they're acceptable even if they really smell like your hair oil and flip them around to be safe, plumping them up with your hands.
You've curled up on your side and almost succumb to your fatigue when Eddie returns, bringing with him the smell of spearmint and a fuzzy feeling in your stomach as he shuts off the light and sits on the opposite side of the bed, facing you. The hair around his face is damp with water, baby hair's limp.
"I'm sorry I don't have anything for you to wear, I-" Youre cut off by your own gasp as Eddie kisses you, his hand on your neck, his nose bridge sliding into your own. You hadn't been expecting it, and it's no less dizzying than any other kiss he's given you today.
"It's okay," he murmurs lowly, lips pressed to your lips, "have to wear you, is all."
You huff a laugh into his mouth. "I swear I'm always laughing when I'm with you," you muse as Eddie dedicates himself to your bottom lip. You cup the back of his head. "You're amazing."
Eddie groans and eases back. "I'm not good with words, sweetheart. To tell you how I feel about you."
You push one of your legs toward his knee. "...You can show me."
He shifts in the bed until he can lean over the entirety of your chest, hands cupping your face and lips poised hovering over your own, a millimetre of space between your mouth and his. "Okay," he says quietly.
He dips down. You can feel his bottom lip tremble, and then he's kissing you too hard to feel it anymore. You wrap loose arms around his back.
"Are you sure?" you whisper to him.
He rests his nose against your cheek, eyes closed, drawing the tiniest left to right. "I want you," he reassures.
"And you're okay?"
"Yeah, sweetheart. I'm okay. Do you want to?"
"Yeah. More than anything."
Another loving kiss against your cheek, Eddie moves down, down, down. "Tell me if I do something you don't like," he murmurs, top lip dragging and leaving a line of dampness to the base of your throat.
He adorns the canvas of your neck in half-moon contusions, big hands caressing your shoulders, your chest. You hold your breath as his fingers pass over your nipple, fighting to keep in any embarrassing sounds.
Eddie disagrees with his plan of action. You shiver as he brings his lips to a close and his bottom teeth scrape upward, as he pulls his head up and says, "C'mon, angel, breathe."
He follows his command with a manipulative touch, a circle over your nipple that makes you shudder. He kisses you and it feels like a thank you, pressure, a heat as his palm smooths over the bump of your tummy to your thighs. He squeezes the outside of one and for a while you can kiss him back, and then he pulls your thighs apart and you break away. Eddie follows, kisses you even when your reciprocation is weak.
He pushes your thigh flat to the bed.
You feel the heat of your excitement start to grow. Your stomach aches with the want to be touched.
"You're like a space heater, you're that warm," Eddie says, hand coasting down the inside of your thigh. He squeezes until fat melds under his fingers. "Are you scared?"
His whispering in your ear, his hand as close as it is to where you want it, it winds you up like a coil. You sigh as his thumb strokes the edge of your panties, sound coloured by an awful, devouring desire.
His face presses further into yours in reaction.
His touch is like the tide. He wades in, away. His thumb strokes inward over something soft and then his whole hand moves back to your thigh.
"Teasing," you utter.
"A little… Why, is there something you want me to do?"
His clueless whispering is infuriating and exciting at the same time. Your heart races and you can't discern if it's more lust or love.
"Touch me," you plead, pouting, knowing he's a pushover.
Anticipation stabs like a needle in your tummy as he slides his palm over your cunt completely. He rubs a careful, almost casual rhythm into your panties with the breadth of his fingers, lips kissing a lazy stripe up to your forehead, where he rests his face. You both watch his hand move past the valley of your rising chest.
"M'gonna pull these off, yeah?" He sits up, fingers pushing under the sides. "Lift your- yeah, thank you, sweetheart."
You buzz with his pet names, his soft voice, the feeling of your panties sliding up to your knees and his gentle exhale. You swear you can feel it fan over your slit. "Shit…" he moan, pulling at your spread cunt.
He looks like he's in pain, eyebrows pinched together and murmuring curses as he circles the wetness gathered at your entrance. You turn your head searchingly as he starts to ease his index finger inside your heat, a gentle probing.
One becomes two. He muffles your sighing with firm kisses, amorous praises, "That's it, baby, relax," as he works you open, fingers wet with slickness but not enough. He changes his position, pushing his middle and marriage finger inside and curving as his thumb slides up your slit looking for the bead of your clit.
Slow, slow circles. "There, huh?"
You shiver as he pushes in deeper, fingers as far as they can go. He spreads them wide, drops reassuring kisses all over your face when you keen. It's so new to have him kiss you at all, and to have him touching you — you're melting into nothing right there in his hold.
"I got you. Tell me if it hurts, okay?"
"Want you to- I want you to fuck me," you murmur, arms wrapping around him so you can hide your face in his neck.
"Fuck. Fuck, baby. Gonna fuck you just as soon as I can fit," he murmurs back, sinking three of his thick fingers into your snug cunt. He pulls wetness out with every thrust, a line of slick dribbling down onto the sheets underneath. He wipes it upward and pushes it back inside, his chest heaving. "Y'so tight, gotta take my time. Take our time." He rubs his nose against your head until he can kiss the highest point of your cheek. "Make sure you can take it."
"I can."
It doesn't bear repeating how quietly you're speaking, a mouthing inaudible under the wet, rhythmic thud of Eddie's pinky finger slapping your sticky cunt as he ups the pace of his finger-fucking.
"I don't think so," he coos, pulling his fingers from your cunt and making a show of spreading them wide. Your slick ribbons between them, almost invisible in the dark. "Ruin your sheets before any of that, maybe."
Eddie sits up and gets his hands under your armpits. You laugh as he tugs you up so your shoulders are on top of the pillows, but you don't have time to be confused. He quickly moves to kneel at your feet and pulls your leg over his shoulder, your back lifting unevenly from the sheets.
He starts with a sweet kiss pressed to the skin closest to his mouth, your lower thigh, and then works his way up, open mouthed, barely kisses at all until his hair whispers against your sensitive cunt and he's nipping at the stripe of skin between your thigh and the place where you most want his attention.
"Pretty," he says into your damp skin, lips shining. You reach down to stroke his hair behind his ears, worried he's gonna get it dirty.
He looks at you from between your thighs, his eyes dark in the dim light, their lashes long and soft where the outermost flutter into your skin. He's lovely.
He holds your gaze as he pulls back to your inner thigh. "Pretty everywhere," he says salaciously.
His lips part over your skin and you think he might bite you, a bruising hickey, but he pushes you down flat to the bed by your hips and kisses your clit, a simple kiss. Your fingers weave deeper into his hair. Your fingernails scratch lightly against his scalp, every tiny lick or kiss reflected in the minute tightening of your hands.
He goes slow, mouths down, kisses wetter and wetter as he reaches your entrance. "Poor girl," he murmurs, hands pulled down to further scandalise. He sinks two fingers inside and laughs into your cunt. You squirm.
"What happened? You're dripping on my fingers." Your thighs draw closed around his head as he curls his fingers against a soft spot.
"Eddie, can you-" You swallow. "Please. Please."
He pries your thighs open and rubs them soothingly, lapping at the heat of your cunt in face of your pleading. His tongue appears broad and flat up the centre of you until he's kissing on your clit, fingers pumping in rhythm. Your fingers work into his hair and he groans, the vibration enough to make you whimper under his mouth.
He laps at your clit messily and you tip your head back, breath coming in tight pants. You don't know what you say, only how you say it, desperate "please,"s and keening "Eddie,"s.
His thrusts grow in enthusiasm, fingers rubbing eagerly against something sweet. You pull your legs up and nudge his face to your cunt insistently, thigh shaking as you hold it up. Eddie doesn't need any more encouragement, his pretty pink lips suckling at your clit until you see stars. You make a pained little sound and try to move away from his kissing, startled at the intensity of your high.
Eddie lets your clit pop out of his mouth with a lewd, slick sound, his hands moving under your thighs and pulling you closer. "Good girl," he says, rubbing his wet face against the inside of your thigh. He inhales hard as you are, though he pauses to kiss your kneecap and pat your leg. "Good girl, sweetheart."
"I'm sorry," you say breathlessly, hands pulling his hair from his face. Pleasure rolls through you in hot waves.
"For what?"
"Tugging on your hair," you explain, shoulder pulled up to your cheek.
Eddie kisses your tummy lovingly and climbs on top of you to do the same just under your chin. "It’s okay, sweetheart, I like that shit. That was good, huh?" he asks, lips dropping down to yours all wet and warm.
He's not bragging, he's genuinely asking.
You nod into his kiss, your hands coming up to his sides. You swear your ears perk up as he unzips his jeans and eases them down, a hand disappearing into the mess of fabric. He moans quietly at the first touch.
You move his hair out of the way to watch. Eddie tugs at the length of his cock with a cruel hand, a short dribble of pearly precum sobbing down the tip and under his fingers. He spreads it as it goes, the slickness emphasising the ridges and veins of his cock. You can see it throb, if you look close enough.
He sits back and eases his jeans and boxers down enough to reveal a thatch of curls that brush his hand with every pump downward.
"You okay?" he asks, smirking.
You pull your shirt over your head and your chest warms at his adoring smile. "Will you take off yours?"
He doesn't hesitate like you worried he might. He sheds his t-shirt, pulling the fabric over the back of his head and dumping it off the side of the bed.
You take in his chest and it's abundance of ragged scarring still purpled with newness. He has a tattoo over his heart, a black whorl of legs and eyes. Fine dark hair crawls from the middle of his chest down his navel, joining with the thatch of coiled hair surrounding his aching cock. You shuffle forward and wait with two tentative hands held aloft until he says, "It's okay," before you touch him. You run your hands down the soft slopes of his waist.
"Does it hurt?"
"Not anymore."
"Can I kiss it?"
He snorts. "Prefer you kiss something else."
That really makes you laugh. You dot a kiss against his jaw and can't make yourself stop, dropping them all the way to the skin behind his ear. Your hand creeps lower as you go, held to the curve of his tummy. His skin is hot to touch the lower you go, and his stomach feels solid, a heaviness you know all too well.
"Can I touch you?" you whisper into his ear.
"Please."
You drop your forehead against his chest and he brings his hand up to cup the back of your head. His cock pulses as you wrap your hand around it, skin smooth and slick as you palm slowly up and down. You watch in awe as a bead of precum wells at the tip, Eddie's rough breathing loud overhead.
"Lie down, Y/N," he says, hand moving behind your naked shoulders.
"What way?"
"How do you want it, sweetheart? We'll do it whatever way you want."
You think about it. Whatever way you want. No matter how indulgent, you know he means it.
"Will you spoon me?"
He pushes you gently and follows behind, dragging your body into his front and angling your hips, cock hot and prodding your back. He gets his hand under your knee and pulls it up, splaying your cunt. You jump in surprise as he pushes his cock through your folds, tip rubbing against the still sensitive bead of your clit.
Eddie wraps his arms around you, hugging you from behind. "You wanna put it in for me, baby?"
You reach between your bodies and take his sticky cock into your hand, shifting until the head nudges against your hole. He sinks in inch by inch, arms tightening around your waist and grinding you down onto his cock until you're whimpering.
You grab at his arms with your hands and tether yourself to him as he starts to rock his hips, his thrusting tender and his face turned into your neck.
He presses his hand flat to your abdomen, an anchoring point as he moulds your weepy cunt around his length, each slovenly movement into your heat spreading you that little bit wider.
"Fuck," he says finally, sounding seconds from a black out. "Oh, fuck- You're tight. Gonna fuck you open slow, okay?"
You're pretty sure you'd let him do just about anything. You bring his hand to your mouth and kiss every white knuckle, every freckle you can see on the back, and when he bottoms out your cover your lips with his stolen hand to smother a tearful gasp.
Eddie's thrusts are spearing in their steady rhythm, a dirty slap ringing with every punching thrust forward. You curl in on yourself and hide your mouth in the sheets, wet pants smothered by fabric. Eddie's grip falls to your hip, where he pulls your body back and forces your cunt open even deeper.
His cock pushes into your sweet spot sudden and emphatic. You moan and he stills, rutting into that same space without pulling out until you're babbling his name, body knocked forward with every thrust.
Eddie turns your face toward him as much as he can without hurting your neck, your moans echoing in time with each thrust. "There you go," he says, "wanna hear how good it feels."
If he cares that you can't answer him he doesn't show it, arm coming up under you arm to grasp at your chest, your breaststroke soft and aching under his hand as he squeezes tenderly. His cock kisses at the sweet spot inside you intermittently; you're dizzy with it.
Eddie can't keep quiet either, his moans breathy, his breath hissing between his teeth when you clamp down around him. "Fuck," he begs, dragging his cock out of your heat, "fuck, Y/N."
He says your name like the syllables alone are appraising.
You can tell when it gets too much for him. He slows. His face drops into your shoulder, and he matches his pace to the wet kisses he leaves behind. Your wetness feels stickying, each of his thrusts snug.
His breath hitches, ragged pants accompanying every slow push of his hips. "Where's my girl?" he asks, eyes still closed as his hand abandons where it'd been squeezing the bump of your tummy to search further downward, fingers disappearing into your folds, short curls wet with slick. He can't find any purchase. You roll your hips, chase his touch and the pleasure that comes with it.
He groans into your shoulder. It sounds more pain than pleasure.
"Are you okay?" you ask, trying to turn in his arms. He holds you in place. "Eddie?"
"Yeah, fuck, I'm okay." He grinds up into your cunt. "Fuck, you're perfect."
"Will you kiss me?"
He does. It's nowhere near the bruising press you'd wanted. It's too careful.
"Listen," he murmurs, "I'm gonna get you on your front, okay? Gonna make you feel so good," he promises, waiting for you to nod before he pushes your shoulder away from him and climbs up behind you. You lay flat on your stomach and Eddie settles on your thighs, a heavy weight.
He pushes into your cunt with two fingers first, the new position allowing for a new pleasure. He pumps in and out and swaps his fingers for his cock quickly after, bearing the full weight of his body into your back as sinks to the hilt.
You both moan in time, hands fisted in the sheets.
He kisses your neck, lips parted, and his teeth feel so sharp that your heart sinks as it had in the bathroom.
"Eddie-" you start.
He pulls away, stops every movement.
"Eddie," you say again. What are you supposed to say? You both know what he is.
There's a lull where neither of you knows what to do filled by your too-fast breathing.
"I won't hurt you," he says, hands rubbing up the length of your back and then under. He holds a hand over your heart. He drops his lips to your back. "Do you want me to stop?"
He must feel your pulse calm under his touch, but he still asks again when you don't answer. "Do you want me to stop? It's okay if you do. You're okay, baby, I promise."
You steal a pillow from against the headboard and rise up on elbows. Your admission comes weak but completely honest. "Fuck me, Eddie, please... I want you. I want you-" Your murmuring's interrupted by a sharp breath as Eddie starts to move again, the head of his cock pushing into your cunt, a slick, perfect feeling.
He moans from the back of his throat as his cock pushes into you again and again, hips smacking the dough of your ass as his pace quickens. You hug your pillow tightly, tears popping up in the corners as he ruts deep.
"Being so good for me," he groans, clamped down on your hip with a vice-like grip. "Fuck, you feel so good. Fucking clinging to me every time I pull out, baby, Christ." His blasphemy is punctuated by a thrust that has you sliding up the bed, sheets wrinkling under your arms. You spread your thighs and wetness pools at your clit as his pelvis thrusts into you, driving pleasure so deeply it aches in your hips.
You moan pathetically and reach back to hold his hand, wiggling your fingers. He takes it in one and presses your arm against your lower back with the other, struggling to maintain a steady pace as he gets close to cumming. You're a babbling stream of sounds as he fucks in deep, swollen sweet spot tapped against mercilessly.
He throws himself back on his haunches, cock dragged out of your heat.
You pull your legs out from underneath him and curl onto your side to watch, eyes wide as white spurts of pearlescence jump out of the head of his reddened cock and drip down the bumps of his fingers. He leans back, his stomach and thighs tensed with every pump.
He groans through a smile, moan's coloured by a happy, relieved laughter. "F-uck," he drags, fisting his cock dry.
He meets your eyes as the last of it slides down onto his stomach.
You smile softly. "Fuck," you mumble.
Eddie wipes his hand in his jeans like a fucking hooligan and tucks his cock back into his boxers with a wince, and then he collapses on top of you. He's sort of nice about it, his arm over your shoulder and his face behind your ear.
"Fucking beautiful," he praises, dropping his head back on the bed so you're face to face. "You're so fucking pretty. So perfect." He kisses you. "You're perfect," he repeats, staring intently into your eyes.
You pull a hand from between your legs, smelling of sex. Eddie literally couldn't care less if he tried, and he lets you take his face into your hand without complaint.
He gets his arm under your arm and starts to rub your back. "You want me to take care of you again?" he asks, eyebrows raised gently. "Yeah?"
And you would let him, you would, but you need to see them for yourself.
You touch your index fingertip to his lip.
"Can I see?" you ask.
He loses his boisterous joy, tamps it down. He realises that he can't lie, that he hasn't been lying, and he nods. You tremble as you pull his lip up over his canine tooth, excited and scared.
A sharp, exceptionally white tooth pokes out of Eddie's gums. You're taken aback, though you'd known exactly what you'd find.
A fang.
Blood oozes at the gums.
"You're bleeding," you worry aloud, touching your finger to the dark beading at the base of his tooth.
Eddie's eyes rove over your face thoughtfully. He pulls your hand away from his lip and sets it on his neck instead. "They always do that. The gum heals, breaks when they wanna come out."
"How often do they come out?"
"A lot more since I met you. Whenever my adrenaline spikes, they seem to think it's… feeding time."
That is a dizzying thing to learn.
You're not sure how you feel, but you know one thing: he's Eddie. "It's too bad," you say, forcing a lightness that turns real more easily than you expect. "I really want to kiss you right now."
He strokes your cheek with his thumb. "I really wanna kiss you too. Maybe a small one?"
You find yourself leaning forward, unafraid.
He kisses you once, twice, three times, the two of you holding each other's faces and covered in mess. Slick and sweat and blood. The hearts and stars from your lamp spray over his hip and paint him with pinks, greens, oranges, a rainbow cutting over his trim waist. You rest your hand overtop, feel his keloid scars like hills under your fingers.
"My boyfriend's a vampire," you mutter, bemused at fate.
Eddie blinks at you. "I'm your boyfriend?"
"Yeah, I think so. Don't you?"
Eddie pulls you into his chest and doesn't let you go for a long, long time.
-
Your first time watching a blood sate is weird.
For one, Chief Hopper is firmly against it. He's got his kid with him, the boy from the party that Mike had been so heavily doting on, and if he didn't you might think he was a pretty scary guy.
"I think this is stupid," the chief says plainly. "I think this is stupid, I think you're stupid," — he points at Eddie where he's sitting sickly in the round couch — "and I think you're plain crazy, kid." He points at you last.
You beam at him. "People have said that about me."
His kid laughs.
"Will," Hopper says tiredly, "go sit in the car."
"Look, Chief, I know I messed up, okay, but she kind of stuck her hand in my mouth and I didn't really have a choice."
Wayne looks at you with new eyes. "You did?"
You nod at him faux-seriously.
"And what gave her the inkling that you might have had something in your mouth worth looking at?" Hopper says, which is hilarious. You laugh behind your hand.
He gives you a disapproving look that you completely ignore. If you'd taken notice of disapproval you would've stopped having this much fun years ago.
"Uh, well, she might have… felt them?" His pitch rises.
Hopper looks like he's about to blow a gasket when Will says, "What was he supposed to do? Never talk to anyone new ever again?"
"He did a lot more than just talk to me," you say. There'd been a fixed bike, phone calls, lots of sandwiches, bug hunts, an entire sketchbook full of drawings.
"I told you to wait in the car," Hopper says.
Will grins and raises his hands in surrender. "Bye," he mouths. You wave.
Hopper waits for the door to close before he continues. "I get it, when you're a teenager you think your hormones are the end of the world-"
"I'm almost twenty three."
Hopper pinches his hand closed. "But you do not understand the danger that you are creating here."
"Like a stake-ing," you whisper, very very quietly. Eddie's the only one who can hear you, and he laughs so hard he snorts.
"I'm glad you find this funny." Hopper's tone could not imply the opposite any more.
He hands Wayne a paper bag that audibly sloshes and stalks out, his anger a palpable cloud of steam rising off of his shoulders. Eddie seizes up beside you at the sound, lips parting as his fangs come through. You don't touch him because you value your blood inside your body, only slide away from him and smile. "You okay, handsome?"
"Kid, maybe the chief is right. We don't know how Eds is gonna act with you here," Wayne says.
You nod respectfully. You like Wayne, and he knows about all of this stuff more than you ever could.
"No," Eddie mumbles, putting his hand out for you across the couch.
You take it without thinking.
Wayne sighs. You can hear him grumbling as he disappears from view into the kitchen and puts a pot on the stove. There's the sound of a bag being punctured with a knife, a wet slosh. Eddie's grip on your hand tightens.
You're still fascinated that he even drinks blood in the first place. That's wickedly sickening. Wicked, because it's cool that he's a vampire, with his impressive hearing, senses and smell. But sickening, because if you had to drink a pint of blood every couple of weeks you'd throw up.
"I read about a new blood-sucker."
Eddie raises his heavy head. "Another bug?"
"No, a finch! A vampire finch. They're really pretty, Teddy. They're small and brown with long beaks and they drink blood because there's barely any water on their island." You give him a loving smile. "They aren't parasites. S'just how they had to change to survive."
He squeezes your hand, this time on purpose.
"Are you gonna come and have it in here, Eddie?" Wayne asks, one last shot at separating the two of you.
"I'm okay," he says loudly. His eyes trace your smile. "Really."
It can't be fun to have two people watch you drink a warm mug of blood, but Eddie finds it funny. He keeps laughing every time he brings the rim of the glass to his mouth.
"I can't do it if you're looking at me," he says.
Wayne rolls his eyes and looks away. You cover your face with both hands and part your fingers to spy on him through the gaps. He makes it look easy, draining the mug basically in one long pull, though his hunger turns violent as the cup empties. He chokes. Blood trickles down from one corner of his mouth.
You automatically want to reach over and wipe it away. Wayne grabs your arm before you can and gives you a fatherly look that says, I wouldn't do that if I were you.
"Shit," Eddie says, slamming his now empty mug down on the coffee table. It makes a grating sound like a ground mortar and pestle. He sits as far back on the couch cushions as he can, nausea clear on his face.
"Deep breath," Wayne says.
"Fuck, Wayne."
"You're aces. Deep breaths."
Your heart hurts watching Eddie like this. He covers his mouth with eyes closed tightly and breathes hard through his nose. Already there's colour coming back into his face, not a lot but anything is an improvement. He'd been practically grey.
When Eddie pulls his hand from his mouth blood has spread over his lips and jaw. Your eyes widen.
"I'll get the shower running," Wayne says, slapping his knees as he stands. He stops before the hallway. "Good job, Eddie."
The boy in question slouches into a ball on the sofa and nods into a cushion. You wait for the sound of Wayne pulling the shower cord that turns on the hot water before you stand up, head tipped to one side.
"You okay, handsome?".
"Tired."
"You want a hug from me?"
"Is anyone else offering?" He opens one eye to peek at you and grins at your distraught expression. "I'm joking, I'm kidding. C'mere, before I start bawling." You sit and then flop onto your side, pulling your legs up next to his. "Such a frowny face." His voice is adorably tired.
"Better than yours. You look like someone from Night of the Living Dead, baby."
Eddie's arm lies limp like a dead fish over your waist. "Lemme nibble on your brains," he says, words thick as dark honey, eyes closed. "Just a snack."
You're waiting for someone to pull the rug out from under your feet. No way your boyfriend, your cries at the end of every movie, brings you flowers because he felt like it, won't step on cracks in the sidewalk boyfriend just skulled a glass of O-negative like it was a milkshake.
You feel guilty as soon as you think about it. He's not confined to all his softest parts and he never will be. He's snarky and angry and loud. He plays guitar like a real rockstar and he doesn't take anyone's shit. He's a survivor. A glass of blood every now and then was never gonna stop him.
You keep wondering if you should let him suck your blood. It could be hot. It could also probably be the worst idea ever, a relationship faux pas up there with proposing after a month or saying I love you on the first date.
"What are you thinking about?" he asks.
You brush the hair out of his eyes with your ring finger. "Embarrassing relationship fumbles."
"Oh yeah? Like letting your girlfriend watch you drink human blood from a mug shaped like Woodstock?"
"Least it wasn't Snoopy."
"God forbid."
"Is it always like this?" You stroke your hand down his face and rub along his jaw with your thumb. "D'you always get sleepy?"
"Yeah." He turns his face so your hand covers his mouth.
You've stopped wearing silver jewellery, your wrists bare besides the endearingly awful friendship bracelet he's constructed for you. Not a friendship bracelet, he'd corrected. You're not kissing other friends, are you? Because that's really gonna put a downer on this whole thing.
You dip your forehead to his chin and the two of you lay there in silence. You can smell blood, a thick, metallic stick permeating every corner of the room. It's especially strong between the both of you.
"Do you wanna bite me right now?" you inquire without opening your eyes.
"Not really. Blood sate kicks in quickly. It's the worst for, like, the first ten seconds after. Now I wanna sleep, but Wayne's gonna make me shower."
"Maybe I can shower with you."
"I'm sure he'd jump for joy if you suggest it."
"Really?"
Eddie kisses your hand. "No," he says with a giddy laugh.
"I'll pretend I'm gonna sit on the toilet. Keep watch."
"How will you stop your hair from getting wet?"
"I'll lean out."
Eddie laughs even more than he had been, peeling laughter that warms you from the inside out as he kisses your hand again. "That'll definitely work."
Wayne clears his throat.
"Shower's hot. I'm going out. For an hour." Eddie perks up. His uncle looks him dead in the eye. "Don't make me regret this."
And while Wayne had been under the impression you and Eddie were gonna have some grown up fun together in the shower, what you really do is an innocent act of affection: you wash Eddie's hair.
"You have to lean your head back," you chide.
"I am."
"More than that."
"There's no room."
You're lucky you both fit. You're freezing standing behind Eddie, the only relief the warm water that trickles down from your hands to your elbows as you draw circles in his scalp, working the shampoo into a fine lather.
"How did you get blood here?" you ask, scratching rusty flakes from the hair behind his ear.
"I don't know. It gets everywhere. Like eyeshadow."
You push your chin over his shoulder. "You wear eyeshadow?"
"For shows."
"Really?"
"Is it hard to believe?"
You encourage his head under the water and rake your hands through his curls, encouraging the soapy water down to the ends with patient hands. "Lip gloss too? Hey, can I do your makeup?"
"Maybe tomorrow," he bargains. While the shower has helped to wake him up, lethargy remains thick and unshakeable as adamant.
You kiss the wet ridge of his shoulder blade, picturing his pretty face decked out in dark liners and sticky balm. "Thank you."
"I haven't worn any in a long time. Haven't played a show in a really long time."
You wring the water out of his hair and search in the steam for his conditioner. It's mostly empty. "You could put on a show for me. I never got to see you play," you say, shaking it really hard. A dollop collects in your hand and you work the dregs through the ends of his long hair.
"You want that?"
"I think you're the best guitar player in the world."
You're not joking. He's the best, and he plays guitar. And he's pretty good, semantics aside. You love sitting out on the porch with him and listening to him play old rock songs off the top of his head. You could watch his hands move over the strings for hours.
"If that's the case, I can definitely put on a show. Make-up, costume, stage dives. The whole nine yards. Anything for my girl."
You roll the ends of his hair between two coated palms and step back. "There. You have to let it soak in for a couple of minutes."
Eddie turns with a grin, angling his chest and hair forward, away from the stream.
"Whatever will we do?"
You wipe an escaped streak of blood off of his bottom lip and smile. "I have no idea."
You kiss. Eddie leans down and you move up, damp noses glancing off of each other. You're used to short kisses, never enough to make his heart race in case it prompts an unnecessary appearance of his fangs, so when Eddie encourages your lips apart to wade in deeper you pull back questioningly.
"Blood sate. I'm 'sated'. They won't come out."
Your jaw drops. "For real?"
He shakes his head with a pleased smile. "For real. Kiss me sick, sweetheart."
You throw your arm around his neck and drag his face to yours, kissing with an ardency that both surprises and amuses him. He laughs into your open mouth until suddenly he's not laughing at all, only breathing, pushing against you with the same urgent force and the same adoring smile.
"Does this mean you can give me a hickey?" you ask enthusiastically. Eddie has yet to give you a proper love bite.
He leans back under the show spray and pulls you in with him, laughing when you dissolve like rice paper in his arms, finally warm. There's never been a sweeter sound.
/\^._.^/\
thank you for reading! | my masterlist | my halloween party
if you enjoyed reading his, please consider reblogging. i promise it makes a huge difference
#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x reader fluff#eddie munson x reader imagine#eddie munson x reader hurt/comfort#eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie munson x afab!reader#eddie munson x fem!reader smut#eddie munson smut#stranger things x reader#stranger things fic#stranger things#vampire!au#vampire!eddie#vampire!eddie munson#vampire eddie au#vampire eddie smut#vampire eddie munson#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fic#stranger things 4#stranger things 4 spoilers#eddie munson x reader smut#eddie munson x afab!reader smut#fem!reader#luveline's halloween party
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fluff and/or smut request based on the prompt “My God, you're fun to kiss.”
Eddie preferred but if Steve inspires you more for this that's okay too!
ily💖
eddie munson x afab!reader. 18+.
-
It starts as friends.
Acquaintances, really. People who pass each other in the hall. Glances as you go, simple pleasantries, a wave if you’re lucky.
But fate steps in. And soon it’s a joint project, it’s trying to care for an egg together, to make sure it doesn’t break, gentleness foreign to both of you. It’s handing off your pretend child at the end of an afternoon—it’s joint custody over an eventual grade.
Soon, it’s gentle brushes of flesh in science class. It’s an accidental touch after almost dropping a pipette, a borrowed pencil, a shared eraser. Awkward encounters become heated glances. They become chemical interactions like the science projects you share with Eddie Munson.
Bright, vibrant, and potent.
You think it’s a joke when you’re paired in English class. Some sort of cosmic arrangement in the stars, a joke from the gods, what have you. Because of all the people you could act out Romeo and Juliet with, Eddie Munson is the last one on your list.
He’s brash and unruly. He’s disorganized and frenetic. He’s…well, he’s charismatic and alluring. Infuriating and compelling. Intriguing and impossible. Handsome and absolutely grotesque. Charming and…
Well. That’s the problem, really. The more the stars align, the more you find you like him. The more you find yourself enraptured by the boy with curly hair and a dimpled smile.
So it’s almost no surprise when you find yourself seated on a bench in the middle of spring, surrounded by dappled light and looming trees, books stretched out in front of you, practicing your lines. Only Eddie’s distracted. Has been for a bit. Since you arrived, really.
“Is there something on my face?” Your words are short. Staccato. Clipped. Brusque, without a real reason for them being so.
“Er—no.”
And that’s that. These weeks, these opportune moments—they mean nothing. Fleeting gazes, jovial banter, and brief looks? Those don’t make up a relationship. You know this. Yet it stings all the same. Sinks deep in your gut.
Or so you think.
The next time you meet in the woods, Eddie’s a live wire. Fingers tapping a pen on his notebook, brushing your cheek, curling around your jaw. He’s staring at you fondly. Like you’re the only girl in the world; like you’re his. And you would be—if he’d only asked you.
It’s on that day, as the sun sets and the sky glows orange, he leans down and kisses you the first time.
A gentle brush of his lips over yours as you sit on top of that wooden table. His knees press to the bench, your backside on the tabletop, his ringed fingers around your hips.
He kisses you like you’re precious—a jewel to be cherished, bright and twinkly, rare and his. And you find you like that; languish in it.
You get a B+ in O’Donnell’s class and the woods become your haven that next week. A place where you can run to him, your fingers in his hair, his arms around your waist. Whispers of hate and love, of frustration and adoration, of ‘will they’ and ‘won’t they.’
There’s a shlick of a zipper lowering. A hiss from the boy before you as you tug him forward by his belt loops, nosing along his throat, sucking purple hickeys into supple flesh.
He’s plush lips over your breast, whispers of, “My god, you’re fun to kiss.”
And you’re pliant. Heart a flutter as he slides your skirt up your thighs, parting you for him, brushing at your slit. He teases at your flesh. One finger, swirling in your slick, mouth swallowing your pitiful moans. And then another, sliding into you. Making you whimper and moan, gasps muffled against the column of his throat.
“Gonna be a good girl for me?” He asks, brushing his mouth over your ear.
Smirks into your skin when you tremble, thighs spreading wider, welcoming the boy as he prods at your center, groans when you whimper into his chest at the brush of his fullness against your hole.
“Y-yeah, Eds.”
“What do you want, baby? Need your words.”
Another brush. A nudge. A slight pressure where you want him most, but it has your toes curling, fingers tightening around his leather jacket, gripping fast to curls, teeth clenching around his earlobe.
“Need you to fuck me,” you manage.
“Yeah, baby?” He’s smirking. Dimples and cockiness, fingers curling around his base, pressing his head against your center. Collecting your slick and pushing in slightly. Enough to have you quivering, enough to have you begging for more. “Like this?”
And he’s sliding in. Inch by blessed inch, slowly and painstakingly so, until you’re a gasping, writhing, pleading mess. Tears prick your eyes, fingers in his hair, mouth against his.
“You like me,” he rasps.
Not a question.
Not at all.
A statement. Simple, just like breathing. Just like the way he slides in and out of you—like he’s always done so, like it’s what he’s always been made to, like he’s been doing so all along. 
“I do,” you gasp out, shuddering around him, curling your thighs around him, dragging him closer. You need him closer. “I like you, Eddie Munson.”
“Go out with me.” A brush of his lips over your heart, hips rolling against yours, drawing out your pleasure.
You hate him, you like him, you might even love him.
“I will,” you whimper, pulling him tighter, burning brighter. “I will.”
And it’s one week later you walk down the halls hand in hand with Eddie Munson. Your health partner, lab partner, english partner. Stranger, acquaintance, friend.
Boyfriend.
Yours.
-
-
#lunaloveseddie#eddie munson smut#eddie munson imagines#eddie munson blurbs#eddie munson blurb#eddie munson x reader imagine#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x reader smut#eddie munson x reader fluff#Eddie munson x you#eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie munson x afab!fem!reader#eddie munson x afab reader
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Imagine being with Eddie on the quiet days, no hellfire, no corroded coffin, definitely no school, just a peaceful day of domesticity, not really talking just enjoying each others company, Eddie not having to put on the performance he feels he has to at school or at d&d, you get to see Eddie with his walls down
sorry you had to wait 1.5 years for this, baby
no warnings only softness, 0.5k
title from tswift
It’s not often anyone sees him like this. Quiet. Still. Stretched out diagonally across your bed, head pillowed on your stomach, Eddie is the most peaceful version of himself. That’s not to say he’s unhappy elsewhere - he enjoys the dramatic show-boating of being Hellfire’s DM and loves the exhilarating energy of performing with his band - but there's something special about the quiet comfort in lounging around with you. No plans, no other people, no pressure. Just the blissful peace of basking in the company of your favourite person.
He shifts his head a little so he can follow the lines of your jaw with his gaze. He finds it difficult to look away from you most of the time, his eyes drawn to you like a magnet, so he’s given up on trying. You never seem to mind, anyway.
The movement of his head dislodges your hand from his hair, in turn drawing your own gaze from the open book hiding the top half of your face from his view. The hand holding the book tips it to the right as your head shifts in the opposite direction to look down at him.
“You okay?” You’re murmuring, as if speaking any louder will shatter the peace cloaking the two of you, but you can’t help checking on him.
Eddie’s mouth lifts up at the edges, smile growing until it can’t anymore, his lips parting to reveal his teeth and cheeks crinkling into dimples. He glows like this; transparently happy with a faint pink blush and chocolate eyes shining with adoration.
“Mhm,” he hums, twisting his head once more so he can press a soft kiss to your stomach. Your skin warms even through your (stolen from his clean laundry pile) t-shirt.
You take his word for it and return your hand to brush his bangs away from his forehead, drawing a soft line down the side of his face before tucking his hair behind his ear and sinking your fingers in to gently rub against his scalp. You drink in one last glimpse his soft, relaxed state before returning to your book, content to let him continue his appraisal unsupervised.
Eddie’s incapable of staying still for more than a short stint and this is proven when he reaches over to tap his fingers against your shoulder. Your eyes flicker over to him but he’s not looking for attention, just another point of connection, so you turn back to your half-read page. The rhythmic tapping of his fingers is soft and you just know he’s drumming out the beat of one of his favourite songs. Sabbath, probably. Maybe Dio.
The taps are soothing in a way you can’t explain but feel viscerally, and your eyelids droop without your permission, words blurring together in a sleepy haze. You give in immediately, closing your book and setting it to the side before looking down at the doe-eyed sweetheart currently pressed up against you.
“Wanna take a nap?” You offer, fighting back a yawn.
“Hell yeah,” he grins, shifting up the bed to share your pillow.
#making the dangerous decision to post from mobile so if it’s fucked up that’s why#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson x you#eddie munson headcanons#eddie munson blurb#stranger things#stranger things imagine#stranger things fic#stranger things fanfiction#eddie munson fic#stranger things headcanons#eddie munson x reader imagine#eddie munson drabble#eddie munson one shot#eddie munson oneshot#pretty little loserboy
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{Eddie Munson X Reader} Name Three Songs
A/N: i had a sudden realization that eddie would not stand for dudes asking anyone to name three songs if they’re wearing a band tee and i had to write this. hope you enjoy :D (gender neutral reader)
Warnings: none
Summary: You’re wearing one of Eddie’s Metallica tees when a guy tries to get you to name three songs. Eddie swoops in just in time to tell the guy to fuck off.
Words: 392
(not my gif)
"Do you even know who Metallica are?"
You turned to see an older man standing next to you with an annoyed expression. He was pointing at you, and that's when you remembered what shirt you were wearing. Eddie had let you borrow one of his Metallica tee's that morning. More like he pulled it over your head before you had much time to protest, saying it looked better on you anyway.
"Um, yeah?" you could hear the uncertainty in your own voice, and you knew the question that was coming next.
"Name three songs then."
"Master of puppets!" you blurted out the one you knew, quickly realizing you didn't know anymore, “and, um..." your voice trailed off as tried to remember back through all of Eddie's metal music rambling.
"You can't even name three songs? That's pathetic," he scoffed at you.
"You're pathetic, man. Get the fuck out of here," you were instantly relieved to hear a familiar voice to your left.
You turned to see Eddie glaring daggers at him. The man seemingly recognized Eddie, because he stuttered out a quiet sorry before turning and rushing off. You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding.
"You alright?" Eddie asked softly as he wrapped his arms around your waist.
"Yeah, I'm fine," you wrapped your arms around his neck as you responded.
"What an asshole. I hate when guys do that to you," Eddie said with a frown.
Unfortunately this wasn't the first time a guy had badgered you while you were wearing one of Eddie's band tees. It was even more annoying because you did know the bands, you just didn't know every single one of their songs. You almost always got shit from random dudes while you were waiting for Eddie to finish packing up the band's equipment.
"Me too," you said with a dry chuckle, "but I have you to not only save me from guys like that but also to tell me the names of more Metallica songs so this doesn't happen again,” Eddie smiled wide as you laughed.
"I'd be more than happy to,” he leaned down and placed a quick kiss on your lips, “we can have our first lesson on the way home. I'm pretty sure there's a Metallica tape already in the radio"
"Knowing you, I'd bet my life on it."
#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x reader one shot#eddie munson fanfic#x reader#stranger things#stranger things x reader#gender neutral reader#gender neutral pronouns#userbored-writer101#stranger things 4#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson x reader imagine
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High And Mighty
Imagine:
Being Billy's girlfriend and going on his 'supplie' run to eddies trailer but he doesn't have enough money so he has to make a deal and the deal was to let eddie fuck you but we all know billy can't keep his hands to himself.
"Aw her eyes are rolling back from the pleasure, you can keep your dam money hargrove all I want is her going dumb on my cock"
#stranger things x reader imagine#stranger things smut#stranger things x reader#stranger things imagine#stranger things#eddie munson x reader imagine#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson#eddie munson smut#eddie munson x reader smut#eddie munson smut imagine#billy hargrove#billy hargrove smut imagine#billy hargrove x reader smut#billy hargrove smut#billy hargrove imagine#billy hargrove x reader
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bartender!eddie x dancer!reader
just an idea i’ve been tossing around, lmk what yall think!!!
okay but imagine that eddie munson finds himself at a burlesque lounge on the sunset strip. he’s immediately entranced by the energy and the music and the women. he absolutely had to get out of hawkins so he made the trek to LA, hoping to find some smidgen of fame with his guitar skills. instead he finds burlesque. he finds the dancing, the jazz, the women, the drinks, the overall ambience and he just knows he has to be apart of it. so he finds the band manager, begs for an audition for the band only to be redirected to the owner who denies his request but offers him a position as a bartender. does he want to be serving drinks? no, but it’s a foot in the door.
so he stays, serving drink after drink, longing to be performing in the band, performing for the hundreds of customers that pay the overpriced cover charge of the burlesque lounge. he makes it a weekly habit to ask if the band needs coverage for the guitarist, and every week the band manager says no. so he falls into a monotonous loop, one that involves him creating cocktails, checking IDs, applying an almost ungodly amount of eyeliner (and subsequently never being able to get it all fully so he looks like a raccoon as he reapplies), acquiring a numerous amount of tattoos from his tips at the bar, continuing to write songs and aching to be on the band stage.
all of this causes him to slump. he would never admit it of course. but he’s single, in his mid-twenties, working at a bar that is continuously packed with some of the most beautiful people he’s every had the pleasure of laying eyes upon. the best view on the sunset strip with no windows. no way out. he’s slowly finding himself back in the monotony that he was trying to escape from in hawkins. he’s probably about two seconds from putting in his notice when you walk in.
you stroll in, hair bouncing against your shoulders, every bit of you looks like a dream. you stand in front of his station, eyes wide and watching the women dancing. you seem in a trance, the same trance that eddie was when he first witnessed the burlesque lounge. he knows it all too well. he can tell by your general vibe that you’re new to town so he offers you a drink “on the house, baby doll” you blush at the name, your shoulders raising in an effort to shrink yourself. “you from around here?” he knows the answer but he wants a conversation, a connection, a spark, something to make waves. “unless i’ve suddenly transported back to the land of cows and endless nothingness, no i’m not from here” “well dorothy, welcome to the land of oz” he toasts your drink before reluctantly returning to his job.
two hours later, you emerge from the backstage area, an excited look dawning your features as you approach the bar again. “you might be seeing me around here more often mr. bartender sir” his eyebrows shoot to his hairline as he cleans the wine glass in his hand. “and that would be because?” he prompted your answer while swinging the white towel over his shoulder. “because i have a dance audition” “oh you dance baby doll?” “mostly in the mirror at home, but i know that i can learn really fast” “that what you told ol’ nance up there?” “i did, and she agreed to at least let me audition” he leans against the bar top, his hands coming to rest just beside yours on the dark grain wood. “you’re ambitious, anyone ever told you that?’ he watches your lips curl into a beaming smile, clearly praise looks good on you “i tell myself that every day”
your finger taps the tip of his nose before you bounce off the barstool. he watches as you flit out of the door of the bar yelling a quick goodbye over your shoulder. he realizes now that his life is about to get a whole less monotonous with you around and he can’t help but smile about that.
#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson x reader imagine#eddie x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x y/n#eddie x you#eddie x y/n#eddie munson au#eddie munson x reader au#au eddie munson#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson slow burn#eddie munson x reader slow burn#eddie munson smut#eddie munson angst#eddie munson concept#eddie munson x reader concept#eddie munson series#eddie munson x reader series
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hey renee! I know you haven't been active for a little bit but whenever you do come back i have a fanfic request. maybe something where you and eddie have been dating in secret because your parents are stuck up and care about their reputation, but they find out and make you break up with him. but you love each other so much that you wanna get married someday. then he shows up at your house and the two of y'all fuck and it's so gentle and loving. preferably from a woman's pov. thanks!
ぺ word count ⋰ 2.6k
✰ tw ⋰ none :)
❍ cw ⋰ swearing, sex + fingering, top!reader, dirty talk, oral (female receiving)
✐ masterlist
⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★
It’d been a long week in Hawkins without Eddie. The two of you thought you did a good job of hiding your relationship and being as secretive as possible, but you’d gotten caught by your mom, who walked in on you on top of him in just your bra and underwear.
Considering you had to keep your relationship from them, you weren’t surprised that you got yelled at for being with him, despite both of you being twenty years old. They had always been concerned with their social standing, and they didn’t like that he lived in a trailer, that he had tattoos and long hair, that he listened to rock music and played electric guitar, or that he didn’t get straight A’s. They told you in front of him that if their daughter was dating someone “like him”, it would destroy their reputation.
Breaking up with him was the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do. You’d never felt this way about anyone, and the two of you had even talked about your future and possibly getting married which, for him, was a big deal. He’d said a few times that he’d been mostly against marriage for himself, believing it to be an unnecessary and stupid method to profess your love for someone and that it was something he was never interested in until he met you.
And, unbeknownst to you, he’d even gotten his grandmother’s ring and kept it in his sock drawer until just the right moment. The two of you were only twenty, so he had plenty of time to pop the question, but he wanted to be prepared.
Driving home with your passenger seat empty had been a strange feeling all week. Eddie was usually there, air-guitaring along to whatever song was playing on the radio or cassette he chose, usually Metallica.
But he wasn’t in your passenger seat tonight. Instead, he’d spent all week in bed, which concerned his uncle Wayne. He’d been broken up with by the woman who made his heart skip a beat when he thought of her, or who made him want to cry with pure love.
And he decided that this relationship wasn’t over just because your parents were more concerned about their public image than their daughter’s happiness. He knew that your parents worked the night shift and that you were the only one home, meaning that he wouldn’t have to confront them if he showed up.
So he took a deep breath before jumping in his van and speeding over to your house.
You were folding clothes on your bed when you heard the front door open and shut, assuming it was one of your parents coming home early from work. You wiped the tears staining your cheeks and hoped to avoid a long, self-preserving conversation with one of them.
Your door opened and you heard footsteps enter the room a few seconds before the door shut again.
“If you’re here to tell me that this is what’s best for the family and that you only did this to protect me, I’m not interested,” you stated as you put a shirt on a hanger.
“No, I’m not here for that.”
You turned around to see Eddie standing there, his hands in his pockets. You could tell that he’d also been crying, something he didn’t do much of.
“Eddie,” you whispered. You looked at each other for a moment before you turned back around, continuing to work on the pile of clothes. In your normal voice, you said, “You shouldn’t be here.”
He couldn’t see your face, but he continued talking. “I know.” He slowly began walking over to you, stopping when he was a few feet away.
“We can’t see each other anymore.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it.”
You hesitated. “Trust me. I know.”
“Y/N… I can’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“This. Break up. Neither of us wants this.”
“Yeah, well, my parents give more of a shit about what the public thinks about them than what I want. Just like when I was growing up and they would buy me stupid expensive clothes and gifts for my birthday and holidays instead of the ones I wanted so they could pretend they were rich. It wasn’t for me, and it wasn’t even for them. It was for everyone else, to impress them. And now they’re trying to control who I’m with so they can impress everyone else.”
“You’re an adult. You can decide who you’re with.”
“It’s not that simple, Eddie.”
“Why not?”
You shook your head. “It just isn’t.”
He moved closer, placing his hands on your upper arms. You froze, dropping the pair of jeans you were folding.
He turned you around and lifted your chin to make you look into his eyes.
“I love you,” he whispered. “I fell in love with you as soon as I met you. When you helped me find my class freshman year. You remember that?” You nodded. “What about when you invited me over to eat lunch with you because we were both alone? Remember that?”
“Yeah. I remember.” Your voice was quiet now, almost apologetic. “I remember all of it.”
“What about when you recruited members for Hellfire?” You nodded. “And you helped me really understand how to play Dungeons & Dragons?”
“I remember.”
“Me too. I remember all of it like it was yesterday. I remember realizing I was in love with you even though I swore I would never fall in love. I thought love was dumb and for people who settled. But you changed my mind. You did that. You singlehandedly changed my opinion on love and marriage and all that sappy shit. And now all I want to do is spend the rest of my life with you.”
You gripped his face with both hands and pulled him in for a kiss, feeling a tear drip down your cheek. His hands landed on your back and drew your torso in closer to him. You kissed him for a few more seconds before pulling away, putting a few inches between the two of you.
His expression turned sad, his eyes growing gentle.
“I’m sorry, Eddie. I just… I can’t.” You slowly spun back around, wiping your cheek. You crossed your arms, letting out a silent sob and sniffling. “You should go.” It felt like someone stuck a dagger through your heart as you said that, and it only made you cry harder.
He closed the gap between you, his hands gently gripping your sides.
“I’ve known you for a few years now, and I know when you’re lying.”
He was right. Your words told him to leave, but your heart yearned for him, and it felt like it would beat out of your chest.
He pulled the hair off of your left shoulder and pressed his lips to your neck. Your eyes automatically shut as you let out a shaky breath. Instinctively, you laid your head back on his shoulder.
His arms wrapped around you, the palm of one of his hands laid flat against your ribs, the other laid flat above your belly button. Your arms settled on top of his and you gripped them by his wrists.
“Eddie,” you whispered, almost in a moan. His kisses trailed up to your jaw, and then to your cheek. “Please.”
You weren’t sure what you were asking for, but he seemed to know. His right hand reached down to untie the drawstring of your shorts before slipping inside of them, and you let out a soft gasp as his fingers pressed to the spot where you needed his touch the most.
Your hips bucked backward, your ass pressing into his crotch. One of your hands gripped the arm around your ribs, and the other held onto the one whose hand was in your pants.
Your jaw slowly dropped and your breath quickened as he continued kissing your neck. His fingers were moving slowly, almost too slow. It made your entire body feel like it was on fire, and you could feel yourself getting wetter by the second.
“Fuck,” you whimpered, grinding into his hand. “Faster, please. I need- shit. I need you to go faster.”
He pulled his hand away and you pouted for a few seconds before he spun you around. His hands slid to the backs of your thighs and he picked you up, and your legs wrapped around him. He lowered you down onto the bed, swiping his hand into the laundry, sending most of it flying onto the floor.
You pulled your shirt over your head and tossed it in the same direction as the other clothes. His lips immediately attached themselves to your chest and left wet kisses on your skin. He hooked his fingers under your shorts and pulled them and your underwear off in one move, dropping them somewhere on the floor. You scooted up the bed and rotated so your head laid on the pillow and he could also lay comfortably.
He kissed up your inner thighs, his hands gripping the tops of them. The closer he got to your clit, the more the lack of friction made you want to scream.
You knew he knew how to tease you, but right now all you wanted was him.
The second he touched his tongue to the oh-so-sensitive bud, you melted under him. You shakily moaned and closed your eyes, throwing your head back.
“Fuck,” you whispered.
One of your hands reached down and tangled itself in his hair, and the other held onto one of his. He stared up at you, watching you writhe in pleasure.
He always loved eating you out, and had even told you that it was his favorite thing to do to you. He loved being able to make you feel so good with just his mouth, and he really loved seeing you after three or four orgasms when you were in a state of euphoria and how much you soaked the bedsheets.
So he was a little bit surprised when you stopped him.
“I need you inside me,” you begged. “Please.”
You sat up slightly as he stripped and turned over to reach into your nightstand, pulling out a condom and opening it for him. He wasted no time sliding it on and positioning himself above you, sliding his cock over your clit a few times. He kissed you deeply and you moaned into his mouth as he slowly pressed into you.
You wrapped your arms around his neck to keep his mouth on yours. One of his hands gripped your thigh and squeezed it tightly, keeping your hip bent to give him deeper access.
You didn’t lose your virginity to Eddie. You lost it to a boy in your geometry class sophomore year of high school when he came over to study with you for a test. It was underwhelming, to say the least, and it made you nervous to have sex again.
But with Eddie, it came naturally. He didn’t push you to have sex the first time, instead letting you initiate it. And it wasn’t that long into your relationship. He’d driven the two of you out to the woods in a spot with a clearing where he liked to go smoke sometimes and watch the sunset.
You kissed him at one point and didn’t stop, eventually in his lap in the driver’s seat. You accidentally blew the horn and suggested you move it to the back of his van, where he had some blankets and pillows laid out.
You didn’t expect it to be as nice as it was, but he paid attention to you and what you wanted. And he lasted much longer than the first boy.
You whimpered Eddie’s name in his ear and he grunted, still kissing your neck. The interrupted stimulation from him eating you out made you extra sensitive, and you could tell that you weren’t going to last much longer.
And when he began thrusting faster, you couldn’t help your pussy from squeezing him tightly.
“Shit,” he moaned, the extra tightness making his hips falter for a few seconds.
He picked up speed again and the bedframe began hitting the wall, but you could barely hear it over the sound of your blended moans and skin slapping against skin.
You almost jumped out of your skin at the feeling of him fingering you. He usually didn’t do this unless he was about to cum and you hadn’t yet, or unless he wanted you to cum more than once before him.
“Are you close?” you asked in a strained voice.
“No, I just want you to.”
Your heels pressed into the backs of his thighs as your right hand gripped his shoulder tightly. His fingers traced circles as quickly as possible and you felt like you couldn’t breathe as your orgasm built quickly.
He stopped kissing your neck and looked at you. “Cum for me, baby,” he commanded. He watched your expression change as you quickly went over the edge as your entire body trembled and your eyebrows contorted upward.
You were practically screaming as he fucked you through your orgasm, your nails pressing into his skin. He made sure to drag it out until you came down from your high, slowing down to a complete stop.
He looked at you with a smile on his face, chuckling when you opened your eyes. You were both short of breath, but you pulled him down to kiss him.
A few seconds later, he began thrusting again, but you rolled him over so you could be on top. He scooted both of you backward so he could sit back against the wall.
He gripped your hips tightly as you began to bounce quickly on him. You leaned down and kissed him, holding his face where it was. You both kept your eyes shut and moaned into each others’ mouths.
“God,” he grunted. His fingertips were pressed into your skin and his grip began to strengthen.
He usually finished faster when you were on top, and you could tell his was getting close.
“That’s it,” you whispered. “You gonna cum?” He nodded quickly, his moans getting even louder. “Cum for me, Eddie.”
You kept your foreheads together and he closed the gap between your bodies, holding you tightly. He thrust his hips into you as you bounced, shakily moaning as he released into the condom.
Neither of you moved for a moment, but you panted in tandem with each other. Once he calmed down a bit, he kissed you gently.
“I love you,” he said tiredly. “So much.”
“I love you, too.”
You pulled yourself off of him and he stripped the condom off, tossed it in your trash can next to your bed, then grabbed a tissue to clean himself off.
You sat in front of him and pulled your knees into your chest. You just looked at each other and he smiled.
“At least nobody walked in on us this time,” you said.
“Yeah, tell me about it.” Silence for a few seconds.
“What are you staring at me for?”
He shook his head with a small smile. “Move in with me.”
You furrowed your brows. “What?”
“Move in with me. You can bring all your stuff.”
“Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack.”
“Don’t you have to ask your uncle?”
“He told me to ask you. He likes you a lot.”
You smiled, getting up on your knees and crawling over to him.
“Are you sure?”
“I’ve never been more sure about anything.”
You kissed him. “I’d love to.”
“Yeah?” he asked with a smile.
“Yeah.”
Within a few seconds, you were on your back with Eddie showering you with kisses.
#fanfic#fanfiction#smut#imagine#eddie munson#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson smut#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x reader fanfic#eddie munson x reader fanfiction#eddie munson x reader imagine#eddie munson x reader smut#stranger things#stranger things fanfic#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things imagine#stranger things smut
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Eddie hurt comfort, you say? Hmm... reader is touch starved & both shies away & leans into touches. Eddie is as patient as he can be and gives Y/N what they need, but one day, Y/N will NOT calm down. Pacing, muttering to themselves, really really anxious. Glancing at Eddie, tearful, then away again super quickly. Won't look at him because they'll break. So Eddie takes control, grabs their face in his hands and makes them look at him. He's soft, sweet, but also he won't take shit. You will let him help you.
Hold me
Thankyou for this omg!!!!
Warnings: anxiety, anxiety attack, touch starved reader
A:N- this, um wow this hit me fucking deep anyway enjoy!! who needs therapy when we have eddie munson 18+ only thanku. Please be kind🥺
"Y/n". He's using his firm voice, a voice reserved only for serious conversations, usually at 3am when things get a bit too existential and your thoughts stumble onto the not nice ones you bury.
But eddie always manages to pull you back. He thinks it's cute, when you ramble,he chews on his hair, a lazy grin splattered across his face while he listens to you, laying on his bed staring up at the nicotine stained ceiling, him next to you leaning against the window his bed is shoved up against, only interjecting when he can think of something funny to say.
He picks his moments.
His lips move but you here no sounds come out.
Your in his kitchen which is small but tonight it is tiny, it is tiny and you can't breathe. You look over to him and turn away each time he feels your gaze because you cannot, absolutley not look at him now because he will be eddie and you will shatter.
Your chest heaves up and down, fingers in your mouth as you chew on your nail
Eddie reaches out to you and you flinch, it's okay because he's used to it now, you shy away even though you know you need it.
Eddie waits a few moments before placing his arms on yours again, this time he grips you, not hard but hard enough to make sure you feel.
"Hey" he says firmly again, he's looking right at you and you look anywhere but.
Eddie reaches to cup your face, swiping his thumb at the curve of your eye.
"Please, you gotta breathe for me sweetheart"
You scrunch your eyes shut and Eddie will be dammed he is going to help you out of this, whether in this very moment you want him too or not.
Eddie reaches for the chain around his neck, balling it up into his fist.
"Here" he says, he grabs your hand so now your touching it and the metal is cold and warm and a bit sweaty but it makes you stop. And look at him
Just for a second, but thats all he needs.
Eddie reaches for your other hand and places it on his chest.
No other words are needed, he holds your hand against his chest, the other still clinging onto his chain, Eddie's face softens.
Eddie moves his free hand to the back of your neck
"Your okay" he says and you swallow.
"Your gonna be okay" he says more firmly, his voice breaking slightly at the end.
You squeeze the chain in your hand tighter before you lean in and place your forehead on his.
"Come on sweetheart, let me hear ya" he whispers, swiping at a tear running down your face
"I, I'm gonna be okay" your voice is barely a whisper, comes out all broken.
Eddie smiles at you and you breathe a sigh of relief and it doesn't go unnoticed
"Hey, don't, don't do that, it's okay yeah? I will always always help you no matter what so don't you dare start thinking otherwise okay"
"I wasn't thinking-
"I do not"! You whisper,
"I know how your mind works y/n, and recently it's been very unkind to you" eddie pauses "and you don't deserve that, so please remember that"
Eddie
"we're gonna get in bed and I'm gonna hold you until you fall asleep and drool on my shirt"
"Oh yeah, you do, it's adorable" Eddie's voice squeaks as he says it and you can't help the small smile appear on your face
"There we go, there you are" eddie says sincerely, that signature grin across his face again, before grabbing your hand leading you to his bedroom.
Ever the gentleman eddie signals for you to get in first.
Climbing into his bed, he opens his arms for you and you curl into him.
Your still a bit shaky, and Eddie holds you tighter, reminding you he's there and you'll be okay.
And maybe not tonight, and maybe not tomorrow, but eventually, with eddie, you will be.
#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson fanfiction#stranger things imagine#stranger things 4 fanfiction#eddie munson x reader imagine#eddie munson hurt/comfort#eddie munson x gender neutral reader#eddie munson x gn reader#eddie munson x you
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big dick!eddie loves to be worshipped. he doesn’t have much self esteem, and praising his entire body makes him feel incredibly emotional. start with his hair, move down to kiss the tattoos the line his chest and arms. keep a steady hand rubbing the insides of his thighs as you leave marks all over the squish of his stomach. once you get to his cock, he loves it when you suck on his heavy balls while keying your fingers through his tuft of pubic hair. he thinks he could cum right there watching you pull the foreskin back and pressing a kiss to the underside of the head before taking him fully into your mouth.
agree for sure!
He loves to watch his partner touch him and loves it when you lick him -
He is not afraid to be vocal, little grunts at first but by the end he’s moaning like an anime girl
just absolutely wasted when he sees her with his balls in his mouth, wanting so badly for you to touch the rest of him, but alas your hands are on his thighs.
By the time your hands even touch his cock he feels so hot that just one touch makes him almost cream right then and there, and hes not even ashamed because he knows he’ll get hard in just a minute.
DONT JUST LIKE - REBLOGS DO MORE
send me more of big dick Eddie hehe :)
#elitalksshit#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson fic#eddie munson smut#eddie munson x reader imagine#eddie munson x reader smut#eddie munson x female reader#eddie munson x gn!reader
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Terror And Worry
Imagine: steve and eddie being to scared to leave you alone because they know vecna wants you.
#stranger things#stranger things x reader#stranger things imagine#stranger things x reader imagine#eddie munson#steve harrington#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson x reader imagine#eddie munson x reader#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington x reader imagine#steve harrington x reader
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Hiii I literally love you and your writing especially your Eddie writing!!! Anywaysss, could I request a shy!reader where they and Eddie are dating but they kinda kept it on the down low but reader was having a bad day and was being all clingy and like everyone found out and the hellfire club was just like 😮
hi i love u ty for ur request! hope this okay ♥️ shy!fem!reader | 1k words
You know you shouldn’t go to his club. It’s not fair of you. Hellfire is one of his sacred nerd rituals. As soon as he sees you like this he’ll put it on pause, and you also know – one of the only things you do know about Dungeons and Dragons — that stopping in the middle of a game interrupts the flow.
Still. You’re feeling a little selfish and a lot strung out. Today has sucked and all you’ve done is wish he was there to make you feel better, so you walk down the hallway to the club room and stand at the door, trying to summon the courage to open it.
On the other side, Mike Wheeler catches a flash of your clothes through the small glass panel and frowns. He jabs Dustin Henderson hard in the side, earning a, “What the fuck, dude?” that Mike quickly shushes.
“There’s a girl outside,” he says.
Girls are… uncommon, at Hellfire.
Dustin leans forward to look around Mike’s torso and forgets to whisper. “Is she crying?”
Eddie looks up, annoyed at being interrupted by the newbies and about to delve into a speech on respecting your dungeon master when his gaze slides past them. He spots your torso, your hands pulled up to your chest, and he knows it’s you. From the curve of your arm alone.
He’s half standing when you knock.
The rest of the group gawp as he stands. Usually, Eddie would either ignore whoever it is or have someone else answer, and his sudden willingness is downright shocking.
He cracks the door open. He’s barely had time to take in your tear stained cheeks when you’re whispering apologies. “I’m really sorry,” you say quickly, pulling the sleeves of your soft cardigan down over your hands. “I needed to see you.”
“What happened?” he asks, trying for hushed like you but missing the mark.
Mike and Dustin make incredulous faces at each other, eyes squinted in confusion.
“Who the fuck is that?” Mike asks.
Lucas Sinclair grins from across the table. “Who do you think?”
“You know her?” Dustin questions. He sounds pissed to have been kept out of the loop.
“Nope,” Lucas says, elbows sliding over the crinkling paper of his character sheet as he pulls in his chair. “I’ve never seen her before in my life. But that’s definitely his girlfriend.”
A handful of laughs from around the table. “Yeah, right,” Gareth says.
Lucas leans in even closer, practically conspiratorial as he points to Eddie’s dirty-white sneakers. “Look, see how close they’re standing?” When nobody looks convinced, Lucas glares. “I know what I’m talking about!”
He really does. The toes of your shoes are a hair's-width from Eddie’s, face to the ground as you scrub your wet cheeks. Telling him about your bad day has made it somehow feel better and worse, and your breathing comes shallow.
“I’m sorry,” you say again. “I know you’re playing your- um, your game.”
Eddie glances over his shoulder. The large majority of the group whip their faces back to their sheets, caught. He shoots a scowl at them all, though any annoyance slips away when he turns back to you. You look so sad.
Eddie doesn’t really think about it. He steps out into the hall and lets the door close behind him, arms wrapping around you placatingly. “Hey, it’s okay.”
“It’s been a really shitty day,” you say hoarsely.
“I know,” he murmurs, rubbing your back. Your shoulders tremble under his palm. “You should’ve found me earlier.”
“I didn’t want to ruin your game.”
“You haven’t. They’re on break,” he promises.
It’s a total lie but he couldn't care less about the campaign, not when you’ve come unraveled. You nod into his chest and worm your shaking hand around his waist, squeezing so tightly it aches. His head tucks over yours like it was made to and he wills some stillness into you, perturbed by your shuddering. He hates when you get like this. You're so wound up you can’t calm yourself down.
Inside the club room, there’s a riot of whispering, some quieter than others.
Lucas sits back in his chair smugly. “Dude, you have a girlfriend. You shouldn’t be so surprised,” he says to Mike.
Mike peers through the glass door with a mild disgust. “Me and my girlfriend don’t do that.”
“That is not true.”
“We don’t-“
“No, they really don’t,” Dustin agrees. “They’re too busy trying to swallow each other.
Anyone who’d been listening starts to laugh, worse when Mike’s cheeks flare red and he flips them all the bird. The laughter quickly dies when the door opens and Eddie returns, his sad maybe-girlfriend trailing behind him.
“Someone get a chair for Y/N,” is all he says.
You look like you might burst into flames on the spot. Everyone’s eyes are on you. You hate it.
“Thank you,” you say, though you aren’t sure who you’re thanking as somebody passes you a chair. Eddie sits back in his ‘throne’ and you sit beside him, cheeks dry but eyes still red and face downtrodden.
Eddie leans back and rolls his eyes at the silence. “She’s my assistant for today's session,” he says concisely, before any of them think they have the right to ask.
Eddie can’t hold your hand and you don’t think you could survive it in front of so many people, but when the game starts back up and everyone is distracted he pushes his foot behind your calf and pulls your leg toward him. There’s a smile on his face as he orchestrates the next dungeon, his pen scratching down notes you don’t understand.
He rips a page from his notebook and passes it to you covertly.
You take it and let it lie against your thighs. When you read it, you struggle to suppress a giddy smile.
Prettiest assistant ever. Think she'll let me take her out tonight?
He likes his chances.
#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x reader imagine#eddie munson blurb#eddie munson drabble#eddie munson x reader blurb#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson#stranger things fic#stranger things x reader#stranger things#stranger things 4#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x reader fluff#eddie munson oneshot
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We all know that Eddie's dad was a colossal dickhead to Eddie, so when his dad turns up again Eddie has a freeze response, completely shuts down, when his dad starts to hassle you, all hell breaks loose and Eddie unleashes many years of pent up resentment and anger onto his dad. His dad can mess with Eddie, but no one messes with Eddie's princess
all my homies hate eddie's birth father, thanks for requesting!
tw for violence (not very graphic), eddie's dad is gross, fem!reader, 1.1k
edit: 2 days up and it’s my first piece of writing to hit 1k notes i’m not saying i’m gonna cry but i’m gonna cry
The emptiness behind his eyes scares you. He’s normally so vibrant - even when it’s a negative emotion it’s always there, clear on his face and bright in his eyes. This complete shutdown is as new to you as it is disconcerting.
It’s instinct that drives you forward to Eddie’s side, one hand reaching out to hold his as the other wraps around his elbow. You don’t even spare a glance at the older Munson, your worried gaze laser focused on Eddie.
The leery “well, hello there, sweetheart,” barely even registers with you, but based on the way Eddie’s hand twitches in yours, he heard it all too loud and clear.
“Now, son, you didn’t tell me you had such a pretty little thing tucked back here with you or I might’ve visited a little sooner.”
This time you shoot a disgusted look over your shoulder at the older man. It’s wasted, though, as you see his gaze is well and truly fixed where your skirt stops midway down your thighs.
Gross.
But, honestly, you’re more mad at the way he’d casually referred to Eddie as ‘son’, as if he had any right.
You turn back to Eddie and find yourself half relieved and half worried at what you can now see on his face.
Anger is burning bright in his normally kind eyes as he watches his father leer at your legs. You’re glad to see the blank look has disappeared, but flashes of Eddie throwing punches at the men who get a little too handsy walking past you in bars run through your mind.
It didn’t happen often, but when it did it was always in defence of you, and you can’t imagine how much worse it could be with the rage he feels towards his father behind it.
The impressed-sounding “fuuucking hell, boy,” is the final straw.
One second Eddie’s in front of you and the next he’s gone, brushing past you to sucker punch his own father. The first hit just seems to surprise him, but before he can react there’s second contact and he goes down.
That’s usually where it ends when he’s defending you from a creep. It’s not where it ends tonight.
Eddie follows him down, grasping the older man’s shirt to lift him a little only to throw him violently back to the ground a moment later. He gets in at least four more punches before your frozen body finally reacts.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” you rush towards the men on the floor, managing to get a hand on the front of Eddie’s shoulder to manoeuvre him backwards as you squash your way in between them. “That’s enough, Eddie. He’s not worth it.”
It takes a second, but his eyes slide to you and almost immediately his tense shoulders slump.
Eddie stands and you follow closely behind, reaching to place your hands on his chest gently, half to keep him back and half to steady him.
He’s looking past you to the man groaning expletives on the floor.
“You don’t even fucking look at her, asshole.” He spits at his father, one hand pulling you closer into him.
“Come on,” you say, blatantly ignoring the grumbled complaints of the man who seems to have given in and flopped straight onto his back. You take Eddie by his elbows and gently lead him over to the sofa. “I’ll call Hop.”
Another delayed reaction takes place, Eddie’s eyes snapping up to you just a moment too late.
“What?” His gaze flickers back over your shoulder as he seems to realise what he’s just done. “Fuck. This doesn’t look good.”
Your hands cup his cheeks as you gently encourage him to look at you, trying your best to make him see confidence and reassurance in your gaze.
“It’s self-defence. Strange man broke in, made unwanted advances on your girl...” You gently knock your nose against his once in a gesture of affection, smiling a little. “You got yourself a witness. Promise.”
His smile is small but full of relief.
After a rushed call to Hopper you pull out a few objects from the freezer. You’d invested in an ice pack after the second time Eddie had punched someone for you, so you grab that for him, but you also pull out a frozen dinner for one and throw it carelessly at the man still hunched on the floor.
He’s not as dazed as he once was, but hasn’t made an attempt to stand yet. The meal thwacks against his stomach and he lets out a loud huff of air at the impact before picking it up to press against his head, wisely keeping his mouth shut.
It’s not until after the cops have carted him away, Hop familiar enough with Eddie and his father that he barely even questions your version of events, that you finally get a minute to look Eddie over properly, gently looping your hands around his wrists to pull them closer to you.
His thoughts have apparently headed in a similar direction because you’ve only made one sweeping glance over his bruised, less swollen (thank you, ice pack) hands when he speaks softly.
“Are you okay, princess?”
Your eyes flicker up to where his are already looking at you.
“Am I oka– Are you kidding?” You sound baffled as your brows twitch into a frown. Eddie wants to brush the lines away with his thumb but your hands are still circling his wrists. “Are you okay?”
The obvious concern in your voice is reflected in your eyes and that’s what makes him snap. He feels his eyes mist up and, though you’ve seen him cry before, he hides his face in your neck, forehead pressed against the junction where your throat meets your collarbone.
Your hands don’t hesitate to come up and cup the back of his head, fingers sinking gently into his curls as you hum quietly.
“Hey,” you murmur comfortingly, one hand slipping down to rub the back of his neck softly. “It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you.” A moment passes before you speak again. “He’s gone and I’m here. It’s gonna be okay, sweet boy.”
You’ve just watched him beat the shit out of his own father and you’re still calling him things like sweet boy. Still holding him reverently. Still soothing the cracked pieces of his heart.
“I love you,” he mumbles against your throat, knowing the words pale in comparison to what he’s trying to express.
Thank you doesn’t fit either, but he’s too drained to try and uncover the right words for his complex emotions.
You twist your head a little, your cheek pressing gently against his temple as you feel the damp drop of tears on your shoulder.
“I love you too, baby. Always.”
requests are open but no promises i just go where the inspo takes me
#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson headcanons#stranger things fic#eddie munson x female reader#eddie munson x reader imagine#eddie munson drabble#eddie munson oneshot#eddie munson angst#pretty little loserboy
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Eddie Munson X Reader More Bats
A/N: this is a pretty self indulgent fic because the reader is an artist. i had the thought for this while staring looking at pictures of eddie. hope you guys enjoy :)) (gender neutral reader)
Warnings: none
Summary: you can’t stop yourself from drawing more bats down eddie’s arm in pen, but you didn’t think he was actually going to get them tattooed on him.
Words: 1194
(not my gif)
More bats. That's all you could think as you looked down at Eddie's bare forearm. The sleeves of his hellfire tee stopped right above the bat tattoos that were just below his elbow. More bats. You thought again as you twirled around the pen you were holding. You couldn't resist the urge to draw more bats, so before you could stop yourself, you clicked your pen and leaned forward.
The clicking sound had somewhat gotten Eddie's attention, but he was a little preoccupied with the metal magazine laying open on his bed in front of him. What did get his attention though, was the feeling of a pen against his skin. He furrowed his brows before looking down to his right arm.
Your tongue poked out from between your lips in concentration as you drew more bats down Eddie's arm. Eddie could feel his cheeks begin to heat up at the close proximity. "Uh... Y/N?"
"Mhm" you hummed in response, continuing to draw. "What are you doing?" he asked, even though he knew exactly what you were doing; he was watching you finish your second bat that was just below the first. "Drawing" you answered simply. Eddie chuckled, opting to not bother you and just let you work.
A few more minutes passed by before you sat back, satisfied with the three incredibly detailed bats you had added. You didn't notice Eddie had been looking at you until you looked up to meet his gaze. The realization of what you had just done hit you like a truck.
I just started drawing on him. I didn't even ask, I just started doing it! What if when he had asked what I was doing, he actually wanted me to stop? Your mind was racing as your eyes began to widen. It was as if Eddie could read your mind. He smiled warmly before looking down at his arm, brining it up closer to his face to inspect your drawings.
"These are fuckin' metal! They look even better than my old ones!" Eddie did his best to make sure you knew he appreciated them. He had wished you'd added more, just so he could feel the warm skin of your fingertips and watch the way your tongue stuck out of the side of your mouth as you concentrated on getting every line right.
"You like them?" you asked. "Like them? I fuckin' love them! You'll have to draw me some more stuff sometime" you couldn't help the smile that tugged at the corner of your lips. "Okay!" you said happily.
You glanced down at your watch, realizing you should have left at least fifteen minutes prior. "Shit. I'm gonna be late. My mom is gonna kill me" you mumbled. "I gotta go, but maybe I'll draw on you some more later" you got up off Eddie's bed before walking toward the door. "See you later" you said with a wave. "See ya" Eddie waved back before you turned and headed out of his trailer.
~
You didn't see Eddie for a few days after that. You had gotten busy with work, and he had gotten busy with school(a.k.a. hellfire club). The next time you saw him he had come over to your house.
It was late at night, and you had snuck Eddie in through your window. You talked in hushed whispers, trying to keep your giggles quiet every time Eddie made you laugh. After a bit he had finally pulled his jean jacket off and thrown it to the side. It hit your carpeted floor with a soft thump. "Oh please, just put that anywhere!" you joked, chuckling as your eyes wandered to Eddie's now bare arms.
Your laughter stopped abruptly as you noticed the bats you had drawn on Eddie's arm were still there. Had he really not showered in four days? You knew he wasn't the most hygienic guy, I mean you've seen his room, but he usually showered before seeing you. You remembered he had told you that after you teased him about not showering one time.
You didn't notice Eddie had stopped laughing and was looking at you with furrowed brows. You reached out and rubbed your thumb across one of the bats toward the bottom. Eddie smirked at your realization.
"I couldn't let those masterpieces go to waste. Besides, they matched anyway" Eddie said before you could speak. You looked up at him, noticing now that you must have leaned in closer. "I suppose I underestimated you when you said you loved them" you said with a quiet chuckle. "Haven't you learned not to underestimate me yet? There's nothing I won't do, sweetheart"
Sweetheart. The word echoed in your head as your eyes glanced down at Eddie's parted lips. You quickly looked back up at his eyes, hoping he didn't catch that, but the look on his face told you that he did.
His lopsided smile turned into a full on grin as his gaze admired all of you. You watched as his eyes scanned down your body. Even with your clothes on, you felt naked and venerable under his gaze. Your eyes were open wide like a deer caught in headlights.
Eddie laughed, a hand quickly coming up to cover his mouth to muffle the noises. "Don't need to look so scared, princess. I don't bite" you felt a shiver run up your spine at the pet name, and also at the close proximity as he leaned in to whisper in your ear. "Unless you want me to"
You couldn't take it anymore. You leaned back slightly so you could see Eddie's face, before you gripped the fabric of his already torn metallica tee and pulled him in. Your lips met in a messy kiss that was all tongue and clashing teeth. Eddie wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you into his lap as you wrapped your arms around his neck. You continued to make out as your hands snaked their way into his long hair.
You started to get lightheaded, but you didn't want to stop. You could barely believe you were kissing Eddie, and you weren't planning on stopping anytime soon. Eddie pulled away for both of you though, leaning back as you both panted, trying to catch your breath.
"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that" Eddie finally spoke, though he was still a bit breathless.
"Me too" you replied with a shy smile.
"How about tomorrow I take you out on a real date? And maybe you can draw me another tattoo" his grin made you melt, and you didn't hesitate before replying.
"I would love that" you leaned in and kissed him again, slow and sweet this time.
"Can I just stay the night? Please?" Eddie asked once you pulled away.
"I don't see why not. Just be prepared to jump out the window if one of my parents knock on the door" you said with as you stood to lock your door.
"Don't worry, sweetheart. After we almost got caught last time, I'm always prepared" Eddie said before you jumped back onto your bed, straddling his waist and pulling him close for another passionate kiss.
#stranger things#stranger things 4#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x reader one shot#eddie munson x reader imagine#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson x y/n#gender neutral reader#eddie munson one shot#eddie munson imagine
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Something A Bit More
Imagine:
Being paired with eddie and during the project you've expressed your displeasure with your boyfriend and wanting someone a bit more..... toxic.
"Oh I know what you mean like if you were mine I wouldn't even let you out my sight, I'll follow you home and make sure you get home safe I would make decisions for you and wouldn't let you hangout withother men unless you have my hickies all over your neck"
#yandere stranger things#stranger things#stranger things x reader#stranger things imagine#stranger things x reader imagine#yandere stranger things x reader#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x reader imagine#yandere eddie munson#yandere eddie munson x reader#series x reader
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Ok but how cute would it be for Eddie to plait his daughter's hair with reader's guidance? 🥰
ty for the request my love this was the cutest thing ever!!
1.1k words
just a reminder that reblogs are seriously appreciated as it helps my work get seen by more people! <3
@eddie-darling @vintageobx @m1vfs @katsukis1wife @pastel-abyss-x @levylovegood @simplymurdock @mayyvh @parasadic-blog join my tag list
“Daddy!“
Eddie grunted at the small body that collided with him as soon as he walked through the door, two small arms that had worked themselves underneath his jacket so that they could hug him properly and tightly. With a bag in both hands, he had no choice but to drop them in order to wrap his arms around his daughter instead. He hoped that there had been nothing breakable in the bottom of the bags.
“Hey pretty girl,” she let out a fit of giggles as he lifted her up into his arms – at six she was almost too big to pick her up with ease, but he made it work with an arm wedged underneath her butt as she tucked her knees either side of his waist to keep her held against him. “Did you have a good day baby?”
As she tucked her head against his shoulder whilst she nodded her hair pressed against his chin, noticeably damp, and when he took in a deep inhale all he could smell was her strawberry shampoo.
“You hairs all wet,” he told her, along with a poke to her ribs that left her wriggling and giggling in his arms. “Did it start raining in the house?”
“No daddy,” she told him like he was stupid, and leaned back to look at him with a toothy smile. “Mommy let me use one of the special bath bubbles.”
“Oh did she?” Eddie asked, and his smile grew twice as large when said mommy appeared around the corner. “Is that why you smell so nice? So nice I could eat you up?”
Another fit of laughter bounced off of the walls as Eddie pretended to eat the wriggling hand in front of him before he let her down once she had enough, his smile just as wide as hers. Coming home was always something he looked forward to when he left the house, whether that was for hours or just ten minutes didn’t matter.
“I just convinced her to let me braid her hair then she bolted to the door when she heard you pulling up.” Y/N pouted as his hands found her hips, but she wasn’t really annoyed. He caught her all the time watching him with their daughter, she found it as sweet as he did watching his two girls.
“Oh I’m so sorry,” Eddie apologised, all dramatic without an ounce of sincerity as he tugged her closer. “Want me to go back out?”
She rolled her eyes but relaxed into his grip when he kissed her, and held either side of his neck delicately. Eddie smiled pretty boyishly against her lips, and even still once she had pulled away, squeezing her hips before he let her go.
“Honey?” She looked over at their daughter, who had parked herself beside the shoe rack, where she was playing with the straps of one of her sandals. “I still need to braid your hair, come on.”
Her nose scrunched up in an expression he often heard was so much like her daddy, and she all but flung herself at his leg with a surprisingly tight grip. Some days he had to peel her off before he could do anything. “I want daddy to do it.”
Eddie looked down at her with a small laugh, and gently ran his fingers through her wet hair. It was partially dry, her hair was curling up slightly at the ends like his did after a shower. She had his curls. “Baby I don’t know how to do it, mommy does it best.” The extent of his hairstyling was a bun that he put his in when it was too hot to have his hair on his neck. He had done her hair a few times, but Y/N hadn't been overly happy when she saw him using their vacuum to put her hair into a ponytail. He thought it was genius.
“Mommy can teach you.” She told him, an annoyed obviousness in her tone that made him snicker.
Y/N sighed dramatically. She knew that she wasn’t winning a fight with her daughter, especially when she was already so tired. “Alright, why don’t you go grab the hair tie and brush from your room baby?”
She nodded excitedly and ran so fast up the stairs that they could hear her footsteps all the way up.
When she came back downstairs Eddie sat with his back to the sofa and sat her in his lap, and Y/N sat on the sofa to reach around and show him. He was tired enough to have just rested his head against her thighs and fell asleep. But instead he gently took the princess themed hairbrush out of his daughter’s hand and delicately ran it through her hair, careful not to tug. She was wriggling in his lap, unable to sit still, and his smile grew slightly.
“Split her hair into three parts,” Y/N spoke softly over his shoulder and Eddie did as he was told – which took a moment, granted – until he had three even parts of her hair. “Take the left one and pull it over into the middle, then do it with the right one, and take it in turns. Easy peasy.”
Turns out it was not easy peasy.
It took him a minute before he even held all three strands without dropping or mixing them, and then it took another couple times of explaining from Y/N, but he eventually got the hang of it, even though by that point her hair was mostly dry. Her hair – which was beautifully long – was soft as it slipped through his fingers, and all he could smell was strawberries. She never stopped wriggling about so the braid wasn’t perfectly straight, but he was happy with it. He was happy that she was happy.
Y/N reached over his shoulders to put the hair tie in the end when he finished, and he pressed a kiss to her wrist before she pulled her arms back.
“How’s that, princess?”
She reached her hand back and touched the braid, before she turned back to face Eddie with a huge smile. “It’s beautiful daddy!” She turned on his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck, and Eddie chuckled as he wrapped his arms around her waist.
“Not as beautiful as you,” he told her and kissed her ear, which left her giggling against his shoulder. “Or mommy.” He added with a grin, and tipped his head back against the sofa to look at Y/N, who leaned down to give him a quick kiss.
“Thank you daddy.” The small voice mumbled into his neck, tired.
“You’re welcome my angel.” He told her, palm spread out across her back, ready to put her to bed. Tonight he was supposed to read her the first chapter of The Magic Faraway Tree.
#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#father!eddie munson#dad!eddie munson#eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie munson x reader imagine#eddie munson x reader fanfic#eddie munson x reader blurb#eddie munson x reader fluff#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson x female reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fic#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson blurb#eddie munson drabble#stranger things#stranger things x reader#stranger things imagine
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heeeeeey!! so u know the scene of hopper n joyce outside the school during the dance and he gives her a cigarette and then they hug? i was wonderinggggg if u could do smth similar but instead it's with eddie and ur dustin's older sister chaperoning him, and ur just kinda sitting outside alone until he approaches, and yall talk for a minute. thanks!
ぺ word count ⋰ 687
✰ tw ⋰ none :)
❍ cw ⋰ weed
✐ masterlist
⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★
The cool evening Hawkins air made you shiver a bit. Goosebumps lined your arms and you regretted not wearing a jacket. You could hear the cheesy school dance music blasting from the gymnasium, wondering if Dustin, your younger brother, was having fun.
You drove him tonight, but promised that you wouldn’t come in with him, joking that you didn’t want to embarrass him. So, you sat on the hood of your car, your heels propped up on the tire.
Footsteps approached and grabbed your attention. You looked over to see the familiar curly shag belonging to Eddie Munson, one of Dustin’s best friends. He was sporting his typical Hellfire Club shirt with a leather jacket on top and jeans, and he greeted you with a small nod.
“Henderson,” he said, walking over to stand a few feet away.
“Munson.”
He glanced over at the school for a moment before back at you.
“You’re not attending?”
“I chaperoned Dustin.”
“Ah.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Dealing.” He pulled out a cigarette box and opened the top to see it was instead full of joints. “Want some? On the house.”
“I shouldn’t. I’m driving.” He raised his eyebrows, knowing you couldn’t say no to free weed. “Eh, screw it. I’ll take one.”
He pulled one of the slender joints out and handed it over, along with a lighter. You stuck it between your lips and inhaled, immediately coughing.
“Goddamn,” you choked out.
“Yeah, it’s strong this time. You okay?”
“Good.” You caught your breath and handed it to him. He stepped over closer and allowed himself a puff before cocking his head a bit to the right.
“Are you cold? You don’t have a jacket.”
“A little. I’m fine, though.”
“Here.” He stuck the joint in his mouth to hold as he pulled his jacket off, draping it over your shoulders.
“You sure?”
“I’m warm blooded.”
You relished in the warmth that his body heath left on the garment. He leaned against your car a few inches away from you. He passed the drug back to you, which is where it remained for the rest of the conversation.
“How are you, Eddie?”
He looked at you. “I’m fine. Why?”
You shrugged. “Just asking. I saw Jason and his friends being dicks to you today.”
Eddie sighed. “I’m used to it.”
“You shouldn’t be.”
He nodded. “I know. But what the hell am I gonna do about it, y’know?”
“Yeah. I know.”
“It does get kinda tiring after a while. Getting called a freak and all.”
“People in this town aren’t very open to people like you.”
He turned his head and looked at you. “People like me?”
“Yeah. People who aren’t afraid to be themselves. People who don’t want to live this... cookie cutter life that’s expected of us.”
“What exactly is the cookie cutter life?”
“You know, what everyone winds up doing. Feeding into the notion that to be successful you have to be this boring nuclear family who’s actually miserable when you pull back the curtain. From what I can tell, you don’t want to do what everyone else is doing. You want to be happy, and you want to do things for yourself. Not for everyone else. I like that about you. It’s like a breath of fresh air.”
There was a moment of silence. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Being one of the only people in this damn town that’s actually nice to me.”
“Can’t really bully one of my brother’s best friends, now can I?” you joked, nudging his arm, making him chuckle. “Why wouldn’t I be nice to you?”
He shook his head a bit. “Just... Not many people are.”
You didn’t respond, instead leaning your head over and resting it on his shoulder. A few seconds later, he lifted his arm and wrapped it around your shoulders, pulling you in close. You placed your hand on his and cuddled into him.
The muffled voice of Cyndi Lauper was comforting, and it made you feel like you two were the only ones in the entire world. And you wanted the moment to last forever.
#fanfic#fanfiction#fluff#imagine#eddie munson#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x reader fanfic#eddie munson x reader fanfiction#eddie munson x reader imagine#eddie munson x reader fluff#stranger things#stranger things fanfic#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things imagine#stranger things fluff
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