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oneforthemunny · 1 month

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home is wherever i'm with you |hockey player!eddie munson x reader|

prompt: life on the road during hockey season is far less glamorous than you thought it would be. homesick and lonely, eddie tries to get you feeling better.

also special thank you to @angietherose for the name of the au hockey team :) eddie is officially on the indy reapers! thank you to all who voted as well!

contains: fluff, but there is slight angst at the beginning. mentions of loneliness, a little depression. slight-ish tension or strain on the relationship, but you know i make it happy at the end lol. language.

Pasadena, California - 1993

Day seventeen on your six week excursion with Eddie. Well, excursion was a generous thing to call what this was. You were feeling more like a groupie for the Indianapolis Reapers, a puck bunny as Eddie’s teammates snickered, brows raised in suggest when they’d pass jersey clad girls lingering around their buses. Stop after stop- press, practice, training, games, all over the nation.

A suitcase full of clothes you’d grown sick of already, longing to go home and trade them for something different, washing them in the sharp, sterile detergent of the hotels. You longed for your own sheets, perfumed with your own detergent.

Eddie was gone for most of the day. You tried to sightsee on your own, explore the cities but it was lonely, lacking someone to giggle with over lattes, to hold your hand in the street, just to talk to. The other WAGS that came along, stuck out the long haul across the states, clung to each other, comfortable in their own little clique. You were too new, an outsider to their group.

“Hey, babe,” Eddie pressed the key into the lock, twisting the heavy latch open. “Babe, do you have that stuff? Did you bring it?” He hummed, dropping his bag at the door, kicking off his sneakers.

His nose curled at the pungent smell, ripe from the warming weather of California. “Jesus Christ, I gotta wash this stuff. I’m sorry, I’ll put it in the laundry thing.” Eddie hummed, sliding the slotted closet door open. “Can’t believe how warm it is here already. Feels so nice outside. You’ve been outside today, sweetheart?” He rambled, sweetly, tossing the powdered detergent into the washer, shoving the workout clothes from his bag into the tiny machine.

The steady hum of the air conditioner filled the room, his only response. Eddie’s brows lifted, jamming the button of the washer, sliding the door back into place. He didn’t remember hearing you say you were leaving today, but he had taken a pretty hard hit to the glass during practice, ears still ringing dully.

“Baby?” Eddie called, opening the bathroom door, empty of you other than the scattered products on the vanity. Heavy steps on the patterned carpet, Eddie walked into the bedroom suite, halting at the edge of the crumpled sheets.

You laid on your side, still in what he’d left you in that morning, eyes puffy and red rimmed looking motionlessly out the window. “Hey, I thought you- I was, uh, I was just talking but-” Eddie’s heart beat in his throat, uneasy at the sight of you, crumpled in the sheets. “Are you ok?”

You turned, cheek still pressed to your arms under the pillow, just enough to see him- all wild curls, matted and frizzy with helmet hair. “Yeah,” You croaked, throat scratchy and sore with sobs that had stilled hours ago, still you were plagued with the aftershocks of weeks of suppressed emotion.

“I- I’m not trying to sound like a dick or anything here, but you’re clearly not.” Eddie said softly, slowly approaching the bed. The bed dipped under his weight, a warm hand rubbing over your ankle under the cool sheets.

“Baby,” Your face crumpled at the coo, so sweet, gentle, it made your nose burn. “What’s goin’ on?” Eddie muttered, thumb circling your ankle bone gently.

Your nose burned with a slow, shaky exhale that he felt, rattled all the way down your body under his touch. Eddie’s heart dropped. “Hey, look at me.” Eddie’s voice was softened but sharp, teetering on frantic. You turned, looking at his wide eyes, running over your frame in worry. “What’s goin’ on? What’s the matter?”

Your lip wobbled, head screaming words you couldn’t bring yourself to say- you didn’t know how to say. “I just-” You took a breath, chest stuttering. “I don’t… feel good.”

Eddie’s brows creased, crawling up the bed beside you. “Don’t feel good, like, sick?” He muttered, the back of his hand pressing to your palm. “You don’t feel hot t’me. What hurts? Is it your head still? I told you, baby, that hippie dippie shit only works so much. You have to take medicine-”

“-No,” You shook your head, eyes squeezing tightly to keep your tears at bay. “It’s-it’s not that.”

Eddie blinked carefully. “What? Is it, like, the time of the month? D’ya need me to go get some stuff for you? You know I don’t mind to. Not a problem for me, baby, just tell me what you need.” Eddie’s head tilted to the side, so sweet and doting, it made your chest heat with swarming guilt and adoration.

“I’m not on my period. It’s nothing, Ed.” You shook your head, curling back into your pillow.

Eddie stilled above you. “Are- Are you pregnant?” He whispered.

“No.” You groaned quickly, head shaking into the warmth of the pillows.

Eddie sighed lightly, a huff of relief that fell short, when your body turned from him, back towards the window with a long inhale. “Hey, can you- can you look at me? Please? Look at me, baby.” Eddie’s pitch raised, teetering towards scared, his hand on your shoulder, pushing you gently so you rolled on your back.

He hovered over you, curls falling down nearly brushing your cheeks. “Tell me what’s going on. Please? Tell me what’s wrong.” Eddie whispered, nearly a beg. “You don’t feel good? You don’t feel good here?” His throat swelled, tight with fear. “With me?”

Your silence had Eddie’s stomach twisting, dropping with fear, bile rising in the back of his throat- he was going to be sick, he was sure he would be.

“No,” You muttered, head shaking lightly under the pillow. “Not with you, just,” You reached up, nervously twirling his curl around your finger. “Just with this.”

Eddie swallowed, willing himself still, calm, though his heart felt like it might give out. “This? Wh-What do you mean this?” Eddie’s voice shook.

You blinked up at him, eyes rounding in a sad softness he hadn’t seen before. “I just… I miss being home.” You whispered, eyes glossing with a fresh wave of tears that pricked your waterline. “I miss seeing my friends, and being in my own bed, a-and even work. I just,” Your breath hitched, lip trembling. “I’m just really lonely.”

Eddie was sure his heart did give out, break right in his chest, sunk right to the pit of his stomach. “Do you- You wanna go home?” Eddie’s hand ran down your cheek gently. “That’s what you want? That would make you feel better?”

Your face crumbled, caved into itself at his tone. “I-I don’t know.” You admitted, eyes squeezed shut to keep the tears in. “I don’t want to leave you, b-but I don’t-” You pressed your palms to your eyes, taking a slow inhale through your nose. “I just don’t want to be alone so much. A-And I know that’s not your fault. I know you’re working.”

When your eyes did meet his, Eddie wished they’d stayed closed, heartbreakingly sad, vacant of that light that usually shone through, brightening anything cast in your gaze. “I just… I’m feeling homesick, ‘m sorry.” You muttered. “I just really miss home, and I’m having a bad day.”

“You don’t- Don’t apologize.” Eddie shook his head. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were feelin’ like this.” Eddie swallowed, pulling you up gently. Your body was slack, limp with unmotivated movement, but still, you settled into his arms. The tension in your body melted, nose buried in the material of his shirt, lathered in cologne and the hot California air.

“I have a half day tomorrow.” Eddie muttered, his heart beating fast, you could hear it, feel it. His hand smoothed up your back. “We’ll do something. Go exploring and stuff. Do some fun stuff.”

“You’re ‘sposed to rest.” You muttered, cheek squished to his chest. “It’s before your game, you’re supposed to be resting.”

“Yeah, but that is resting.” Eddie shook his head gently. “I’ll be alright. Promise. Played after way worse. Me and Josh used to come in hungover, vomited on the ice one time.” Eddie’s chest rumbled with soft laughter. “Pretty sure we’re the reason that rule’s in place now.”

Your lips curled, even through your sullen, dazed mood, you couldn’t help it. Clinging to him tighter, you moved into his touch. “Coach just means take it easy like, don’t go get fucked up and actually sleep the night before.” Eddie muttered, chin tucking down onto your head. “C’mon, lemme take you out tomorrow. Me and you. Go anywhere you want.”

You didn’t reply. Instead, sighed gently, settling into his hold.

Eddie was restless through all of morning practice, hands buzzing, ready to run to the rental car at the first dismissal. Shower be damned, he’d take a quick one at the hotel, he couldn’t be held up any longer.

“What’s goin’ on with you, Munson?” Elijah muttered, next to Eddie in the huddle on the ice, the coach’s droning about protocol for the game.

“Nothin’.” Eddie whispered back, twisting his stick in his hands. “Just wish he’d fuckin’ hurry up.”

Elijah’s eyes cut to Eddie, snorting lightly. “You got somewhere to be?”

“Yeah, I do actually.” Eddie sighed out. “Gotta get back. Promised my girl I’d take her out.”

Elijah’s brows raised. “Shit, you brought her with you?”

Eddie’s shoulders tensed. “She wanted to come.” He muttered defensively. “I mean, she wanted to. Now it’s kinda fucked, she’s-” Eddie’s eyes cut around him. “She’s kinda homesick.”

Elijah nodded slowly. “Yeah, that happens.” He fought back a smile. “When’s the last time you took her out?”

Eddie’s eyes cut to him, defensive with accusation. “It’s not like that. I take her out.”

“Yeah? On the off day? After we’ve traveled all day?” Elijah snorted, shaking his head. “C’mon, Munson. Believe me, that doesn’t count.”

Eddie ignored him, gripping his stick with furious annoyance. The fuck did he know? He didn’t know anything.

“Look, I’m not tryna piss you off. I did it, too. Just- believe me, alright? That one day shit doesn’t work.” Elijah pressed gently.

“Hey, I got it, alright? I’m good.” Eddie growled.

Elijah held his hands up in defense. “Alright, I’m just saying, when it was me,” He started. “I wasn’t meaning to. I just wasn't used to it. Had my own road routine and tried to fit her around it instead of into it. Thought it was going good until it wasn’t.”

Eddie stilled, silent but shoulders slumping lightly. “You gotta change your routine, find a way to fit her into it. She’s on the road too, not just you.” Elijah continued.

The coach whistled, waving them in dismissal. Eddie blinked, pulled out of his daze, lifting his helmet and stick with him. Elijah nodded at him. “Have fun tonight, Munson.” He smiled softly. “Make sure you take her somewhere nice.”

Elijah’s words rang in Eddie’s head all the way back to the hotel, only a short drive from the arena. Eddie nearly threw his keys at the valet, sliding into the elevator shamelessly, bouncing on the balls of his toes until he reached your floor.

You startled when he came in, sitting at the vanity, doing your makeup. “You’re done already?”

“Yeah,” Eddie muttered, ducking down for a kiss. “Just gotta shower real quick, but are you hungry?” He shimmied his workout sweats onto the floor, kicking his socks off with them.

Your eyes lingered over his bare lower half for a second, turning back to paint your mascara on. “I’m not starving.” You mumbled.

“Alright, good, I was gonna see if we could go to this place. I think you’ll like it.” Eddie grinned over his shoulder at you, the hiss of the shower coming to life. “Some guys told me if you’re in Pasadena you gotta go here.” His smile so wide, eyes sparkling in the dim yellowed light of the hotel bathroom, it made your tummy tingle with warm excitement.

“Promise you’re not looking?” Eddie mumbled, hands over your eyes, waddle-walking awkwardly behind you, pressed close to your back.

“Swear I’m not.” You grinned. Eddie was right, it was beautiful outside. Warm and bright, light illuminating his hands that covered your eyes with a reddish glow.

“I can feel you trying to. Your lashes are tickling me.” Eddie muttered, leaving you giggling. “Ok, just- you know what, this is good enough. I’m scared you’re gonna trip.” Eddie said, lips curling at your soft laugh.

“Are you ready for your surprise?” You could hear Eddie’s grin in his voice, a breeze floating between the two of you.

“Yes.” You giggled, Eddie’s chest swelling at the sound. “Just show me. Your hands are clammy. They’re gonna smear my mascara.”

“Shit, sorry.” Eddie muttered sheepishly, a blush spilling on his cheeks, pulling his hands away so they were still in front of you. “Ok, ready?”

“Eddie-”

“-Sorry, Alright, one, two,” Eddie moved his hands, smiling proudly in front of you, a pinkish looking building behind you. “Here it is! Surprise!”

You blinked. “Oh.” You quipped softly.

Eddie blinked, smile falling. “What? I thought you’d- You don’t like it?”

“No,” You shook your head. “I mean, no, that’s- Where are we?”

“Oh,” Eddie shook his head lightly. “Shit, I thought you’d know. Uh, apparently this place is supposed to be like the place for flowers, y’know? Pasadena has that flower festival thing, but it’s not until later and I know you like to go to the cool places, and-” Eddie motioned to the store behind him.

You took in the building, spilling over with plants you could see from the inside. “I, uh, I know you miss home.” Eddie said softly. “And I was just thinking, y’know, we can’t get houseplants like at home, but maybe some bouquets? Some flowers for the hotel room.”

Eddie waited a beat, desperately trying to read your face, eyes wandering over the building and the signs. “I thought maybe you’d pick out some flowers and-and it would make it feel like home.” Eddie’s hands slid down his jeans, hot from the sun beaming on them. “Plus, you wanted to see some around here, a-and y’know… one bird, two stones.” Eddie rambled, shrugging sheepishly.

You felt the familiarity of a cry bubbling back in your chest, swelling and suffocation, only this time the aching of sadness was gone. In its place, a bubbling, burning feeling of adoration was left, consuming you from the inside out with every nervous glance Eddie gave you. He’d listened, really fucking listened. He always did, but this time it was different. Relief, comfort washing over you for the first time in days.

It felt like home.

Like the two of you were back in Hawkins, or Indianapolis even, perusing the usual spots, happy and content to be together in a familiar place.

Eddie wasn’t expecting you to grab him, pull him into you with a fierce, sloppy kiss. Right there on the sidewalk, under the California sunshine. Lips melting into his, clawing and grabbing at his shirt, the back of his neck. Eddie’s cheeks burned bright when you pulled apart, a smile so wide and goofy it made you giggle.

He let you grab his hand, lead him around the flower shop like a lost puppy, picking out anything and everything that made you smile. A bright bouquet spilling out beautifully in the green vase, made just for you.

You sat it right on the small bedside table, beaming at how it livened up the room. Eddie wasn’t sure if it was the flowers or you. Either way, it revived you, made you happier and giddier. Made the sheets of the hotel less cold when you slipped beneath them, legs tangled in his, pinning him under you onto the stiff mattress. It made the room brighter, spilling with a new fragrance that felt familiar.

It was small, a miniscule way that meant the world to you; made you feel at home. Eddie knew it, planning how he’d do it with every next city, until you finally got back home.

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rosewaterandivy · 3 months

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hit the lot and skate

summary: so, noted. eddie and first impressions do not mix.

a/n: for your consideration, enforcer and all around brawler, eddie “the reaper” munson. he’s my disgusting lil meow meow and i love him! big up to @jo-harrington for entertaining this headcanon and letting me spiral. 🥹

Eddie is late, again, like always, and shuffled unceremoniously to the press room by Hop, the team manager. He’s got one hand splayed against Eddie’s back, all but frog marching him through the double doors, grumbling all the while.

“You’ll be late to your own damn funeral, kid.” He mutters, shoving Eddie toward the single chair at the table. “Just, play nice, okay? It’s pre-season and I’d rather not have to pay a fine. Think you can swing that?”

“Aye, aye, Chief,” Eddie says with a wink and sarcastic two finger salute.

He leans back in the chair, idly sipping from his gatorade bottle every so often while barely answering the reporters questions. It’s mostly just shrugs and raised eyebrows from The Reaper, as they’ve come to expect.

“Munson, why are you here if you’re not gonna answer any of our questions?”

“Wow, wonderful delivery as always, Ace!” He cracks his knuckles and rests his elbows against he table, leaning forward toward the assembled mics, “And it’s simple, really. I’m just here so I don’t get fined again.”

The gathered press sigh and throw up their hands in dismay— couldn’t even get him to bite by mentioning Carver and the brawl last season. What was the fucking use?

Eddie, pleased with himself, sits back in the chair and takes a long pull from the bottle. Most people just assume it’s water or Gatorade. Maybe, on occasion, a nip of whiskey.

But the reality is so much worse than that.

The press begin to pack up, and Hop feels a migraine coming on already. He’s pinching between his brows and completely misses someone approaching Eddie.

The Reaper watches in interest. A mystery woman with a murder-strut beelining right for him. Probably one of the newer reporters in the rotation. Thinking she can corner him and get a quote— amateur.

But instead, she ignores him completely and grabs his bottle and squirts a stream of liquid into her mouth. Eddie’s eyes nearly fall out of his skull. Hop, looking up, is too late to warn her of the mistake she’s just unknowingly made.

His water bottle concoction is an open secret among the team— a lotta Mountain Dew cut with a bit of milk. Mountain Dilk, if you will.

The press, now wise to the situation, has already pulled out their phones to record the interaction. Voices murmuring under their breath, not loud enough for Eddie to make out what’s being said.

People seem to recognize her, whoever she is.

And the woman in question, simply sets the bottle back on the table and pauses to gargle that shit before spitting it right back into Eddie’s face.

“That is fucking vile.”

All he can do is cock his head and blink, milky green droplets clumping on his eye lashes.

“Not a swallower, huh?” He asks, wiping his upper lip. “Gotta say, not a good look for a WAG, sweetheart.”

A slow smile creeps across her face. She huffs a soft laugh, and then: “Y’know Munson, sense has chased you your entire life, but you’re faster.”

She crosses her arms casually beneath her breasts, inadvertently pushing them up and sending Eddie’s blood due south. Her mouth twists as she eyes him up and down, assessing.

“Uh, thanks?”

A scoff and roll of her eyes, “Coach.”

“What?”

She steps toward him, slow and steady. Her head grazing just beneath his chin, Eddie has to glance down to maintain eye contact.

“That’s Coach to you, Munson.” She pokes him in the chest, a filed nail directly to his sternum, nods to Hop and turns to leave. “On the rink in five,” She tosses over her shoulder, “Lace your skates and grab a bucket.”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #hockey!eddie #fic: sots #Spotify

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teddyeyeseddie · 1 year

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The Draft

Part of the ❤️‍🩹🏒🦇Steddie Hockey AU!🦇🏒❤️‍🩹

A series by Teddyeyeswinchester x @lfaewrites

2.2k of tooth rotting fluff and smut

(A/N: I have slaved over this for days and days trying to get it perfect! Thank you to my lovely best friend @lfaewrites for writing this series with me and encouraging me while I wrote this. Hope you all enjoy this glimpse into the life of Bijou and Eddie!)

CW: fluff, nicknames (bonehead, bijou, sweets), eddie's missing teeth, oral ( fem & male rec), p in v, breeding kink, daddy!kink vibes, minors dni

I'd be so good to Ya- By @lfaewrites

You’re with him when he gets the call, the call that changed his life and set him off into a whirlwind of ice and pucks.

It sets a fire in his veins, and everything he has worked for is placed in front of him. His hard work all paid off when he heard the first ring. He answers the unknown call on your home phone with trembling fingers, your heart stops when you hear his voice croak out a soft, scared “Hello”.

Your heart picks up speed, and beats out of your chest when you see his mouth turn up into a huge Cheshire grin, his missing teeth on full display as a passionate “YES!” echoes off the walls and rings in your ears.

Shortly after he sees his picture displayed on your TV screen, fake teeth in, a smile on full display.

“And the first draft pick for the Hawkins Tigers…#69 Eddie ”The Monster” Munson!”

Wayne cries when he sees his picture, his Hoosier senior hockey picture bright on the screen.

Eddie hangs up the phone in enough time to see himself on the screen in your small house, he runs to you and picks you up off your feet, swinging you around with his forehead pressed against yours.

He's still swinging you around when he hears, “And the first draft pick for the Chicago TImberwolves #17 Steve “Le Loup Bleu Du Québec” Harrington!”

The next thing he can hear is the blood rushing in his ears, the squealing and jumping you are doing left to the back burner as his gaze is caught by the TV screen, a boy with perfect hair and the pinkest lips. He snaps out of it as fast as he fed into it, a familiar feeling of guilt and shame settling low in his belly when he looks at you, smiling up at him and smiling at the screen.

“That’s my Stevie! We grew up together, oh I’m so proud of him Eds!” He quickly settles down on the couch, nursing a beer as you skip to the kitchen to grab more wine for yourself.

In between wine and beer and soft kisses, you manage to squeeze Eddie into an old Hawkins Tigers jersey he had laying in his closet, polaroid out to take pictures of the boy. His smile is so bright it makes your heart bloom. He was so into the moment, he didn’t even bother to put in his fake teeth.

The two of you continue to sip your drinks, knotted up together on the couch and stealing kisses as he watches the rest of the draft. Wayne heads out halfway through, bidding you both a small “Goodnight” and jetting home.

As the draft bleeds into reruns of wheel-of-fortune, Eddie is distracted enough that he doesn’t even notice you slipping off the couch and into your shared bedroom.

You clear your throat, arms crossed as you look down at Eddie, his head shoots up, a smile cracking at his face as he realizes what you have on.

He lets out a goofy giggle, standing to grab your hand and place a kiss to it.

“Got one of my old Hawkin’s Tigers jerseys? Don’t even gotta worry about that old thing anymore, s’ from my fan days. Daddy’s on the team now- gonna have you decked out in all kinds of stuff, sweets,”

You shake your head, gripping his hand as you do a little twirl so your back is facing Eddie.

Hopper, being like a second dad to you and coach for the Hawkin’s Tigers, gave you the inside scoop on just who he was aiming for in his first draft pick. You immediately take this information and march to Joyce’s office, begging her to order you a jersey for a “special occasion”.

MUNSON

“Oh we’re so gonna sixty-nine..” He wolf whistles and spins you around, the oversized jersey skimming against your bare legs.

“Got another little surprise for you, bonehead,” You grab the edge of the jersey, lifting it just enough, pretty white lace thinly covering your center making Eddie’s legs go weak.

“S’ for me Bijou?” He questions, skin burning bright red on his cheeks.

“S’ always for you, Eds, My mean ol’ hockey player,” he grins at your words, hands gently extending to rest against your hips.

He whimpers at your words, his teddy bear eyes begging you to show him something more.

“Cmon’ now big boy, don’t get all shy on me…” You grab his hand, pulling him behind you as you guide him into the bedroom. You lead him to the bed, forcing him to sit down before you slot yourself between his legs and play with the hem of his jersey.

“M’ so proud of you baby,”

You pull at his top, striping it from his body before you lean down to kiss his full lips. You push at his chest, Eddie dramatically falling back with a little “oof”. Your hands rake down his sides, drinking in the ripples in his muscles, fingers tracing at scars, lips pressing into them softly which only makes him writhe.

“Please Bijou, need you so bad,” he gasps from above you, hips bucking off the mattress to chase some sort of friction. Your hands dip into his sweatpants pulling out his cock. It’s always been one of your favorite parts of him. So soft, thick and long.

You place kisses down his shaft, moaning loudly at how perfect he feels in your hand. You slowly move your hand up and down, his precum doing an ample job at reducing the friction that comes from tugging on his cock.

You lean down a little, taking one of his balls into your mouth, chin tickling against his hole. A moment flashes behind his eyes of the pretty little thing on his TV screen, slotted between his legs with you. He shoos the thought away, feeling guilty at the idea that he’d want two people in the bedroom. You’ve always been enough, why is he thinking about someone else in the equation, especially a man.

After he wills away the thought, bucking his hips up, cock hitting the back of your throat causing you to gag. You pull away from him and he takes advantage of the little distance between the two of you, sitting up and grabbing you under your arms. He lifts you, with ease, and plants you back onto the bed where it's his turn to kneel between your legs.

He licks a fat stripe from your hole to your clit, cherry red lips suckling around the hardened nub. Your hands card through his hair, tugging softly at his curly locks to which he offers the neediest moan. Eddie, if one thing, is a whore for having his hair pulled. Once you tugged on the hair at the base of his neck when locked in a kiss and a new door slowly opened for the two of you to explore. It was after one of the most important college games of the year, you had a whole “celebration” planned for when you got home but Eddie couldn’t make it there. He took you in the back of his truck, you riding him as you tugged at the same hairs adorning the nape of his neck. He never came as hard as he did that night.

Eddie continues sucking on your clit, calloused hands teasing their way up to your hole, fingers swiping through your mess before pushing one finger in. His college championship ring cold against you as he slowly fucks the digit in and out. Upon realizing his ring is still on he takes it off, leaning up to take your ring finger in his hand before sliding the band onto your left hand.

“One day you’re gonna have a rock on that hand, sweets. Gonna buy you the biggest diamond, gonna be able to flash that thing at me while I’m on the ice, you’d like that huh? A little symbol showing everyone you’re mine?”

You nod dumbly, the tables turning as you let Eddie take the reigns in order to take care of you. He slots himself back between your thighs, pressing kisses from your knee back to your center. His fingers find their way back inside you, this time there are two petting at your velvety walls. He draws circles on your clit, fingers fucking into you at a consistent pace bringing you closer to the edge. You come with his name on your lips like a prayer, soft whimpers of “Daddy” coursing through the air and into Eddie’s mushy brain.

He pulls up once he's content with how much your thighs are shaking, little shocks running through them as you try to come down from your high. His hand raises to wipe at the bit of slick that had dripped down onto his chin, his stubble catching most of it and soaking the hair.

“Gonna fuck you now, flip you over and come all over this pretty little number you got on.”

You whimper at his words, flipping over willingly and pushing back against his groin.

“Or would you want me to come inside? Get you all round with my babies? Jus’ another way to let everyone know what's mine.”

He discards your underwear, the tip of his cock bumping against your hole, his large hand gripping the base and guiding it into you. He bottoms out, pistoning in slowly as to let you adjust to his size. No matter how may times Eddie fucked you, you always needed time to adjust to his size.

“You can move faster, bonehead,” you moan out, a little bite to your words causing Eddie to harshly snap his hips into you.

“Mm nope. Gonna take it slow tonight. Want you to feel how much I love you. Gonna take my time,” He picks up the pace just a tiny bit, the new speed still slow and sensual but doing the job.

You’re a blubbering mess by the time he has you on the edge, whimpers being muffled by the crumpled up bed spread. Sweat beads at the dip of your back, Eddie’s hand leaving your hip to wipe at his forehead. It’s been what feels like hours of Eddie pushing and pulling you toward and away from your orgasm.

“Think I’ve teased you enough, sweets? Gonna let you come now, come on baby come all over Daddy’s cock, you can do it Bijou,” His hips snap into yours at a much faster, relentless pace. It finally puts you over the edge, fire igniting and rushing through your belly as you clench around him. The pressure that's built up in Eddie’s admoned is about to snap. He pulls out briefly before little begs of “Inside, please Daddy inside,” come from your lips.

He places himself back inside you , hips moving at a consistent pace before he starts to stutter.

“Fuck Bijou, gonna come,” he keens before emptying himself inside you. He stills for a moment, his breath ragged as he tries to regain some composure and energy. Eddie finally pulls out a few moments later, his fingers coming to collect some of his cum and your release, pushing it back inside you.

He pulls his fingers out, flipping you back over and raising your leg to press a soft kiss to your ankle. He retreats to the bathroom , returning with a warm cloth. Slowly and gently, he wipes at your center, the warmth doing little to nothing to soothe the ache between your legs.

He’s quiet as he gathers clothes for the two of you. He offers you a pair of his boxers and an old Hoosier’s tee before climbing into bed beside you.

“How’d you know I was gonna get drafted by the Tigers?” He finally asks as he props himself up on his elbow and smiles down at you.

“A little birdie told me, duh Eds,” You quip back with a small giggle.

“A little birdie named Hopper?” he questions, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before turning over and cutting off the lamp on his bedside table.

“Yes bonehead, a little birdie named Hopper,”

That night he dreams, dreams of ice and pucks. Dreams of you in white. Dreams of you and your kids happily playing in a big backyard. But, what throws him for a loop the next morning, is the pink lipped stranger that weaseled his way into every dream he had that night.

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flashyfucker · 2 years

Text

that chill divine | eddie munson ✷

MY MASTERLIST / vibe playlist summary: after he’s kicked out of a house party, you and your best friend plot your getaway from hawkins on his bedroom floor with his head between your thighs. eddie x fem reader. warnings: smut. drugs & alc. pretentious little bitches (affectionate). a little pussy slapping. facial. denial kinda ?? bye lmao 18+. word count: 4k.

One shot down chased with juice, weakly spiked, a puff of some guy’s weed, and it’s fun— Eddie rolls his eyes at the gaudy flirting, everyone making eyes all over the place, but he hits it, too.

Eddie buries a hand in your hair, tips your head back and laughs haughtily when someone pours a second shot down your throat. In a glittered moment, his scrunch-faced laughter gives way to focus, his fingers chasing a drop of whiskey that streams over your chin, pushing it back to your lips, open and wet and giggling, fingertips heavy and flirty on your tongue. But then you lose track of him, gone to the flashy show of rainbow light and bodies and music’s disco pulse, and you keep dancing.

You don’t even know who’s house this is.

Someone from the other side of town whose parents own a disco ball that spins in the basement and makes you all nostalgic for something you’d missed by only a couple years, and they’re throwing a farewell party or a welcome home party, or something? You don’t remember, Steve hadn’t really described it in the jumbled invitation: too busy plotting the return to his glory days. This party was to be the catalyst.

Robin let you spatter nothing but glitter on her eyes, and you bickered with a brooding Eddie from across the room while Steve preened in the full-length mirror, gargling peppermint schnapps before handing the flask around, promising the three of you it’d be fun, swearing it to your unsure little smiles: all so repetitive, you think he might’ve been convincing himself, trying to find his King Steve again.

Robin opens up with it all, overjoyed to talk and twirl and link arms with Steve on the chorus of a song, both oblivious to peoples’ eyes and assumptions while they do their dorky little dances, and King Steve is well and truly forgotten, but nobody minds.

You think nothing of Eddie’s sudden absence until there’s a mean outward rush of energy to a corner, voices moving up, and suddenly the music isn’t enough to entertain, there’s more on offer, some kids yelling fight, fight, fight over the song’s swelling drone.

For all his showy theatrics, Eddie’s not a fighter, but the sense of doom starts to swallow you ‘till you let yourself break through the bodies.

“There she is, woman of the hour!” Someone hollers when you breach the inner circle, and as quickly as a gross little chill carts your spine, Eddie’s lurched forward fists-first, and a guy’s shoved him back like he’s nothing, and then a voice wracks everything: “Get the fuck out, both of you.” and it’s over, the two of you, partners in a crime you’re unaware of.

On the street, suddenly, the air feels ever-expanding around your shoulders after that cramped basement, and the two foot distance between you and Eddie feels like it stretches forever. The moment drags: your expectant silence, waiting on an explanation: his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth then giving way to a tricky lie.

“I was stashing his fuckin’ pudding pies from the snack table.”

It’s comical how easily you see through it, his arms thrown out, head shaking, chuckling like duh, obviously in the theatrical way that’s so him. You’re left standing on the curb when he steps down, starts wading down the street, slow so you catch up.

Your stomach’s twisted, but you follow, crack the lull because you know he won’t. Following the gutter and dodging street-parked cars all the way back to the trailer park on Hawkins’ outskirts gets pretty boring without your best friend’s voice, his endless queries and ideas and nonsense: he’s a full body sensation. The quiet is weird, how you know he feels bad.

“That’s my first ever dishonourable discharge from a house party, Eds. Like a bite-sized appetiser for real punk rock.”

He smiles at the sky, first, then glances at you, head shaking.

“Bull shit. Whatever. What the hell is an honourable discharge from a house party?”

“Oh. That’s gonna be Steve in the gutter tonight after, like, 11 more Jell-O shots. I think that’s pretty honourable. Like a soldier, dying in battle, or something.”

Just like that, the party’s almost forgotten, its loud music thumping down the street an appropriate soundtrack to your walk, stepping between streetlights ‘till there’re more trees than houses and, energy hitting a different high, you and Eddie are near-skipping, just-dizzy tipsy and barely stoned.

Your energy finds its fuse in the promise of a six pack and a game of cards and maybe a joint, if you pull out all the stops: evil, evil tricks, Eddie calls them, the hiking up your skirt, the doe eyes, cross-armed huffiness, all to make him dip into his own stash for fear of what’d happen if he weren’t a little distracted.

You know his bedroom inside out, countless hours, stacked sleepovers, and tooth-pullingly hard studying, and writing mostly the worst songs ever composed, together, always the two of you. You know this place. Still, Eddie opens the door for you, exclaims an operatic “Welcome, welcome, no shoes on the carpet, thank-you!” that makes you giggle and god, the two shots feel like four or five as you stand, dumbly, staring at him across the floor, still feeling a little crooked.

And, well, it’s eating at you.

“Did they say something about me at the party?”

And the beat of silence answers it, the way his shoulders fall— a knowing moment of eye contact warms you before the ickiness sets in from imagining the lewd details that had bothered him so deeply. Eddie’s eyes look big from where he sits, catching warmth from the plastic ghost string lights that weave the room’s perimeter above your heads and glint off everything, glowing. He looks apologetic.

“I hate the way they talk.”

He twists his favourite ring with gentle fingers, voice wrapped around a humourless laugh, making light, or trying to.

“Hate that nobody stops them.”

You get it, you do. He’s pretty good at feigning carelessness, at not complaining, for someone who deals with a lot. You’re good at it, too, shouldering it all. You’re used to it.

Tonight, you don’t even need to pull out the evil tricks before Eddie’s making for his janky bedside shoebox, slathered thick with stickers and sharpie and the messily scrawled post-its you leave around for him, notes with words too sentimental to say aloud, gluey electrical tape keeping them safe. From beside his car keys and his DND journal and an engraved switchblade, a gift from his uncle, Eddie plucks a pre-roll.

“Hate this whole fuckin’ town.” You say, a grifting little excitement in your smirk that works to make light, prevailing over the tainted vibes. You toss him your lighter, and Eddie’s still tense, but he m-hmms and sparks the joint with the lacklustre crush of smoke and lighter fluid, and you sit, shoulder-to-shoulder on his red shag rug.

“You wanna skip town with me?” He asks, throat tight, tied up with smoke.

“Yeah, sure.” You deadpan, a little roll of your eyes. “S’my turn, Ed. Sharing, caring and all that.”

But Eddie gets serious, twisting to face you, not handing off the joint and snapping his fingers when your brow furrows, like garnering the attention of a dog.

“Nah, don’t fuck with me. Been thinkin’ ‘bout selling my van. And, I don’t know, I know a guy, a few bands out in California, It’s stupid, but. But.”

You think for a moment, imagine it, Eddie the musician, the stage presence he was built for, you his trusty sidekick, manager on the weekends, finding a job on the coast, somewhere ever-sunny, far away from Hawkins and all its bad vibes.

“I could be a really hot merch girl.”

You’re joking, first, but after the thought settles in, you’re not, the light in Eddie’s eyes tossing sparks up in yours, the excitement doubling, doubling again, whimsical thoughts swirling, everything warm and orange and swimming and trading songs on setlists, and your best friend since forever is there, his voice telling you you can do whatever, you can do anything you want, we’ll do it together.

Taken by it all, his wide-open face, overwhelmingly glad, you kiss him.

You’re kissing, which is something you do sometimes, but only when you’re both really stoned, or a little upset, or want to try this tongue thing you read about, I promise it won’t be weird. But, tonight, you’re both mostly in your right minds, and there’s no super important experiments, just his hand on your shoulder, pressing like it belongs there.

Quickly it’s all teeth and tongue and leaning in so hard with your whole bodies, like the one time on the couch when he’d accidentally slotted a leg between your thighs, and you had to stop kissing to take turns showering, and you’d never really bought it up again, but you thought about it, sometimes. A lot of nights. You’d never been so aware of his stupid wallet chain.

“This is actually bullshit, though, right?” You ask on a coaxing breakaway, fake-happy cynical smiling, nose to nose with him. “We’ll probably go to hell before we make it to California. Or, like, whatever we do in California will book our one way ticket downstairs, for sure.”

Eddie’s head dips, crown of soft waves frizzing at your jawline as he scoffs a little laugh, and he’s told you it a million times, what he’s thinking: you talk too much, think too hard about things in moments that don’t call for hard thoughts. He doesn’t need to say it for you both to understand, but he wishes he knew how to tell you he kinda likes it, the way your words fall. How even your worries feel like a well-told story.

“Fuckin’. Yeah, maybe.” Eddie’s hand stretches down, further on your ribs, and his fingertips dig in. “We're probably going to hell regardless of California, though. Most of Hawkins thinks so.”

His breath is hot on your mouth, brows bumping.

“So we try for California first?”

Eddie hikes up, quick, on his knees in the lurid scruff of the carpet: the spread of his thighs forms a strong A-frame pointing to the narrow of his hips, shirt rucked up, jeans low, tight. More in your face than he’d intended, especially ‘cause he’s a little hard, and you’re looking up at him, now, flustered and breathless and far prettier than he should find his best friend, he thinks, but he’s here, now. Too sober to find an excuse, you’re both in too deep.

He smiles, talks lower, serious.

“I’ll put an ad in the paper for that ol’ van come first light.”

Crawling on his knees, Eddie continues.

“Got a decent wad of cash squirreled away, too. Been saving for years, y’know,”

And you don’t know what’s starting, here, why your legs hinge open, let Eddie between. His wallet chain swings, glimmers on his thigh, and you don’t know what’s happening, but you’re clenching around nothing, embarrassingly, your hips liquid.

“Really? You wanna throw it on me, rockstar?”

Your loud breath trembles, and maybe it takes the sexed-up sting from your half-joking proposition, but Eddie licks his teeth and laughs a half-hearted fuck off, and sinks to his stomach between your legs.

“We’ll save those frivolous displays for when we are rockstars.” Eddie says. It should be hard to listen, what with your lips tingling, everywhere tingling, his face framed with your knees either side of his head, but his tone is so level, so rational: you eat his words right up. “For now, y’mind if I eat you out? Is that weird?”

“Please, go right ahead.” Both wry and blushing at the same time, your whole body is numb, high-strung, and you don’t know how you got here, but it’s been coming, for years, you think, try as you both did to feign ignorance.

You don’t mean to moan as he fucking nuzzles up, pushing your skirt higher, his breath fanning over everything: soft cotton panties damp with it, lace trim falling victim to his teeth, first, then impatient hands yanking around your ass, a desperate tug that tightens your fingers in his hair, then he whimpers, and his body ticks with a laugh.

Eddie kisses the crest of your thigh, rests his chin there for a moment, eyes fixed on nothing across the room. “Definitely going to hell.”

You swallow, taking stock of the situation, mostly just trying not to buck and kick and beg. You reckon with the ghosty string lights overhead, trying to come down off this crazy high, come back to earth, if only low enough in the atmosphere to conjure a thought witty enough to compete with Eddie and his ever-running mouth.

“Yeah. Yeah, premarital pussy-eating isn’t super God-honouring, Eds.”

And he thinks he could go on about honouring God’s creations, worshipping at your fuckin’ alter, or whatever, but he’s so hard, and your panties aren’t even around your knees yet. His brain feels like it’s been put through a sieve, nothing left but your skirt, the sliver of underwear, it’s right there.

“Yeah, well. I hear they do a tonne of it in California.” Eddie manages, air long gone from his lungs as he paws at your hips, scooting you down towards him, letting himself look, finally, properly. The white cotton, he’d caught the fluorescent flash of it while you were getting ready with Robin, earlier, a tiny shred under your corduroy skirt. He’d burned up at the sight, then, but the taut fabric is see-through, now, a wet spot that shows everything.

He’s mesmerised, the way it clings and contours, makes his brain fire like it’s under attack. He must be gulping for air like a goddamn goldfish.

“You’re making that up.” You say, fingers raking back behind his ear, not looking. Like watching him take up space, shoulders spreading your thighs, the sight of it would make it realer than the tickle of his hair or the heaviness of his hand, the weight of his eyes. You’re not often shy around him, anymore, but his slack-jawed wonder makes you blush a little, sink on your tailbone and giggle, unwittingly shoving your sex further into his face.

Eddie pecks the wet spot eagerly, breathes it in, eyes closed tight, and you gasp an oh my god, shivering. With his arms hooked under your knees, his fingers curl into the soft of your thighs, screaming little nail marks into your skin that ground you both. The pressure mounting in your pelvis is mind-melting, unbearable, and you are ticking up, now, the most minuscule rotations, searching for the heat of his face that’s so close, that keeps ebbing.

“The amount of premarital pussy-eating per capita will increase dramatically when we arrive.” He props himself up on his elbows, looking up at you, brown eyes mischievous and matter-of-fact.

You scoff a laugh but it’s clipped by his lips, a messy kiss to your core once again, thumb pushing under the hem to spread you a little, filthily, brandishing your panties with a thick torrent of your juices, then he’s suckling, mouthing at you through them.

“What the fuck, oh, Eddie. God.”

The edge of his mattress cradles your head, tipped back as he finds your clit over the thin fabric, and you feel him sigh into it, wandering hands fumbling for the waistband once more, a determined pull that exposes you all at once.

Air has never felt so cold despite your searing face, flushed skin, but then the chill is gone, soothed out by his hot mouth, desperately licking up and up and listening for the cry, the right there, oh, yeah that folds from you when his experimental motions find your bare clit right away.

And there’s usually not a lot gentle about him, and it’s barely there, hidden beneath the hard push of his hands against your inner thighs, painted fingernails raking scratches all over, but his mouth is endlessly soft and subtle. He watches you, eyes big and blinking, the crinkle of a kind of smile when he makes eye contact and and sucks, and it makes you feel all the more dirty: you wonder how you’re gonna get through this without spontaneously combusting.

It’s flooring how good it is, how good he is— the tongue flutter that should take so long to learn, only really practiced on the crook of your neck, one time after too many wine coolers.

(The girl who took his v-card didn’t count, you’d both decided, because she’d squealed and pushed his head away after ten seconds and said it was weird, said that guys don’t do that, don’t put their mouths down there, only girls do. But not Eddie, not you and Eddie. You both wanted it. And, ever-so best-friendly, you’d decided to let him practice, like it was the same, on the ridge of your collarbone, the curve, your vocal feedback whispered and drawn out, embarrassingly.

And somehow, apparently, he’d learned this from that.)

His fingers are something else, though, when he suddenly remembers he can use them, bury them in you, fuck you without fucking you. Two of them knuckle-deep right away, messy mouthing at your clit, still, and part of him wants to be gaudy and obnoxious and throw around taunting little “you like that?”s, but everything else in him needs to see you come.

Your body, once boneless, now pulls and kicks and you’re practically humping his face, open mouth wrapped around a gasped huh, fuck, all senseless babbles. Eddie’s grinding, body stretched out with a knee hiked up, climbing closer, leveraging his cock against the squeeze of his jeans and heat of that stupid shag carpet, and he’s definitely got carpet burn striping his forearms, red and raw, but he likes that, maybe too much.

The drop comes all at once, when you realise he’s getting off on this, then pulling off to slap you with a loud, messy clap, the unforgiving hard bite of a set of glistening rings, making you burn and sting and the blood rush, eyes rolling with a wracking sob, then his mouth is there again, insistent tongue easing the pain, a couple fingers thrumming deep to clench around, and you come so hard it shakes everything.

“Fuck, did you just... from getting spanked?”

He doesn’t need your answer, your body still jolts with it, nerve endings snapping, or something like it. You feel too good to find the embarrassment you maybe should wear. The frizz of his hair sticks to the mess of your inner thighs, and you’re stunned in it, body sunken and heaving with your breath, knees fallen. Eddie breathes hard, forehead dipping to your thigh, lolling momentarily, both in a kind of daze.

Your whimpers warp to a trembly giggle at the state of him when he finally looks up: lips swollen, wet, everything wet, and smiling. You feel your pupils blow out to red, throbbing cartoon love hearts, and shit, maybe you're more stoned than you thought, ‘cause the dazzled look in his eyes feels just the same.

Then Eddie crawls up your body fast and serious, tells you “Show me those eyes,”, and you do.

Kneeling between your legs atop the tangle of your panties that keep your thighs locked in place, still, Eddie slacks his belt, the noisy pluck of the studs and buckle pulling you up, chin level with the front of his jeans. Your knuckles pale, wrapped up in the carpet or your skirt or the slumped-off bedsheet at your back, you can’t tell, but then you reach for him, and your afterglow is long gone in favour of tension rekindling between your thighs.

“Can I, Eddie,”

Your hands try to wander, fingers make for his zipper, but he shakes his head, sharp and tight, wound all the way up.

“No. No, just need,” Eddie swallows, “Need to do, wait, fu-hck.”

He’s burning up, head spinning a million wild colours like a pinwheel in the sun, and the disappointed pinch of your brow pulls through it all in his mind’s eye, the pretty dew of your skin, flushed. He pushes your hair from your face, dragging his boxers down just enough, confident and careless.

You swallow the moan in a last-ditch effort to save face, like modesty has any place between the two of you, now. You think you might be dripping onto the fuckin’ floor.

“You’ve got the prettiest cunt in the world, y’know. You know that?”

He strokes himself slow, base to tip, jaw falling. His free hand holds V-shaped under your jaw, keeps your head up, like you'd ever elect to look away from it, ever, and words dawn on you only barely, too taken with the length and girth and the stupid hot mossing of hair and the way it glistens and pulses, leaks when his fingers ring the pink head tighter than you would, if it were you. God, you wish his hand was yours.

Eddie’s still talking, and you’re only picking up fragments, wetting your lips once, twice and again.

“So easy, so fucking wet,”

“’M not easy, you’re just,” There’s no room for shame, how you talk on the tip of your tongue, lips always a little open, a breath-held waiting for it, “Please, Eds, let me. Y’r cock is, like, so nice, Eddie, wanna make you feel, god,”

It’s a unique kind of torture, having him jack off over you, his pleasure grounded in your torment, your begging. You grasp at whatever, now, your hips helplessly thrusting, one hand white-knuckling the back of his thigh while the other tries, fingers working abrupt circles on your clit to chase a feeling even half as world-altering as the one his tongue had given you.

“Shut up, fucking—”

He’s a goner when it all strikes him, lewd wet noises all that resonates in the room, you saying his name, never fuckin’ listening: it’s all a wild shift from the typical riffs that make the walls throb when you’re together, here, the hyperactive bickering and laughter, but he’s always wanted this, wanted it to be like this, you both have.

It's a flourish in his mind for half a moment: what song you’ll argue over, later tonight, and then he’s striping your pretty face with cum, fingers curling into your scalp and pumping across your cheeks and lips and waiting tongue with a broken shout. It’s drawn out, fist squeezing his bucking cock, by the wonderment in your eyes, blinking up at him. The glossed oh of your lips teases at an excited grin, and Eddie whimpers, awestruck.

“Made a mess of me, Eds.”

And he’s still too gone to think of something funny or sharp, humming as he runs his thumb through the mess, but he fuckin’ folds when you move to lick his fingers clean, your hand so delicate around the cuff on his wrist, tongue working gratuitously against his stainless steel rings.

Even like this, you can’t help plucking at him. Can’t help the way the petulance ribbons warmth up inside you: the same kind of bickering feels like more, now.

“They do a lot of facials in California?”

Finally resting on his haunches between your thighs, Eddie rolls his eyes: a tell-tale sign you’ve bested him. It’s not hard to best a man who’s got his cock in his hand, even if he’s tucking it away, but, really, Eddie's been a puddle in the palm of your hand for years, long before he knew how your pussy tasted.

And facials per capita definitely see an increase when you and Eddie make it to the west coast.

#unedited rn i'll circle back to this if they don't MURDER HIM in vol2 :/#title from mystify by inxs because eddie would hate them and i would torment him with their cheesy ass music :)#ALSO: this is still a hockey blog i just couldn't help myself w this goddamn character lmao #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson imagine #stranger things #eddie munson x female reader #stranger things fic #eddie munson fanfic #ff.doc #cw: smut #eddie munson oneshot #stranger things imagine #eddie munson fanfiction

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theemporium · 8 months

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sorry but the fact that you said skater reader would be surprised to get that treatment by eddie and a few post before that eddie being the first to give her release is just,,, pls eddie knows how to treat a woman righttttt

Eddie is just THE boyfriend

Like just imagine you’ve been messing about for a while but then this man is taking you out on a date, being a total gentleman. He’s opening doors, he’s pulling out your chair, he’s complimenting you and making you feel like you’re the only girl in the world

And then he’s walking you to your door and kissing you goodnight and you’re kinda confused because he’s been in your flat before? Hell, he’s made you come on almost every surface

But he just has a cheesy grin on his face and is all like, “this was our first date, princess, it wouldn’t be gentlemanly of me to stay the night”

and you’re just baffled because you’ve never had a guy treat you like this and all past dates/boyfriends have always been so shitty or just not Eddie and it’s just refreshing to have someone like him🥲

#cece answers #hockey!eddie #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader

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parkermunson · 2 years

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oh man imagine Hockey Player!Eddie

-Eddie who starts out afraid to hurt anyone in the beginning of the season, and plays an honest game for a while. Then during the third game, the opposing team starts throwing insults around (not new, but these were more personal). One of the players starts cornering Eddie, talking about his parents being deadbeats. Eddie starts getting heated, but it isn't until his uncle is mentioned that he loses it. Then Eddie's throwing his gloves off and throwing fists. He gets a split lip and black eye that night.

-Eddie who becomes notorious as "The Freak" for starting fights every time he's on the ice. Constantly ends up bloody and bruised but he likes the idea of being brave and feared. The opposing teams lose at least one or two players to injuries caused by him every game.

-Eddie's team captain Steve always smiling and shaking his head when Eddie ends up in the penalty box (which their home stadium has re-named after him). Steve gives the pre-game speech about playing a good game and waiting until at least half time to shed blood. He says this while staring directly at Eddie who is smirking so big, Steve knows he isn't listening.

-Eddie who has thousands of fans, his name on jerseys being sold everywhere, interviews lined up constantly. He loves the attention but wishes he could be at home more often instead of traveling for games and being at practice all the time.

-Eddie who convinced the team to change their song to an Ozzy Osbourne song. "It's more intimidating and metal," he said. Tried his best to convince them to change their mascot to a bat, but it didn't work.

-Mike, Will, El, Dustin, Max, and Lucas show up to every game. They get so loud when Eddie gets on the ice. He'll look through the stands to find them, give them an air fist-bump and bodycheck some poor sucker (it was Jason). Hopper was apprehensive allowing the kids to attend the games but knew they would sneak in regardless.

#im the daughter of an ex-hockey player oops.#eddie munson #eddie munson fics #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson hc #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things headcanons #stranger things hc #steve harrington #joseph quinn #eddie munson imagine #mandi writes #hockey player!eddie #parkermunson

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ghost-proofbaby · 2 months

Text

when you know, you know. (e.m.)

summary: air hockey has never been so romantic.

warnings: it's alluded to that reader is wearing red lipstick. not edited.

pairing: eddie munson x reader

wc: 1.8k+

a/n: a very late valentine's day gift for you all (and eddie). also, the fact i've never written proper mechanic eddie... what a shame.

“Yes!”

If any of the nearby children flinched, you didn’t notice. You were too wrapped up in your victory, going as far as to partake in a terribly embarrassing dance on your end of the air hockey table as Eddie shakes his head slowly.

“You definitely cheated,” he deadpans, a twitch of a smile nearly giving him away as he leans down to pick the puck out of the slot below on his end, “There’s no way you’re about to beat me in under five minutes, again.”

You smile, lips painted red under the lowlights of the arcade as you lean over the table and taunt him, “Or maybe it’s just a skill issue. I wouldn’t keep beating you if you were actually a professional in air hockey like you’d claimed, Munson.”

Three dates – tonight makes four – and you still hadn’t quite worked out how you’d managed to capture the attention of the boy before you. When he’d originally asked you out to coffee, you’d swallowed down all your excessive excitement just to answer him. The local mechanic that you’d been making heart eyes at every few months when you’d go in for an oil check, the one who hadn’t allowed the others at the shop to oversell you on a damn thing when you’d get your tires rotated. Who always smiled shyly as he’d bring you back your keys.

You’d figured the coffee date would last an hour if you were lucky. The two of you would spend more than five minutes in the same room together, he’d realize how overbearing you were, and that would be the end of it. Ridiculous crush effectively squashed.

But it hadn’t.

It had lasted hours, plural. Coffees finished and second lattes nursed until they’d gone cold, the outcome had been the exact opposite of your expectations. Your conversation had flowed effortlessly, common ground and common interests found with ease, and suddenly, Eddie was more than just some cute mechanic for your friends to tease you over.

The first date had only ended due to his shift at the shop that afternoon.

The subsequent sushi dinner date, and then the movie night the next week, had also lasted hours.

“For someone who works on cars, you should be a lot better with your hands,” you poke gentle fun at him as he makes the first hit against the puck this time, far more careful than you had been when serving.

“Or maybe I’m just determined to keep letting my pretty date win.”

“And why would you ever do that?”

Another hit from your mallet, the sharp tapping of your aggressive push ringing out over the sound of nearby machines. You don’t dare to glance in the direction of the ruckus, but you’re pretty sure someone has just won an exciting amount of tickets based on the squeals of glee.

“I dunno,” Eddie pauses to shrug after he hits the puck once more, his guard dropping. You’re ruthless as you take the opportunity to shoot the puck straight into ‘goal’ on his side of the table. A straight shot, far too easy for your liking, but you still celebrate the victory with another embarrassing dance, “Maybe it’s because I’m into that ridiculous dance they keep doing whenever they score.”

You immediately stop your little jumps, eyes widening, a rush of embarrassment heating you up from the inside out as Eddie’s eyes stay glued on you. The table powers down as he makes his way around it, feet bringing him right to you.

You’d always thought Eddie would find you weird, or odd, or unappealing after that coffee date, but the outcome had been better than you could have possibly conceived.

He was an absolute weirdo as well.

Fondness overtakes his features just like it had on that coffee date when you’d accidentally snorted at one of his jokes, and your heart flutters eagerly. You can’t believe there had been a time you’d only watch him from behind glass, trying to not get caught as you would blatantly stare at him as he’d work on your car. A time when you’d only see his curls up in loose buns rather than framing his face as they were now, a time when you couldn’t even shake his hand due to it being covered in oil.

That had all only been a month ago, but you already couldn’t imagine your life without Eddie Munson in it.

“Don’t go shy on me now,” he chuckles as he stops in front of you, smirk deepening the dimples you’d only noticed on your second date with him. He’d been too bashful the first date, ducking whenever his grin would grow too wide on you, biting his tongue on half the flirtatious remarks you wished he would have said. “You won, fair and square, so what’s your prize gonna be, valentine?”

He also waited until the second date to kiss you. That had nearly killed you.

“It’s not very fair if you let me win,” you whisper, unable to look away from his eyes. They’re a soft brown, a smooth honey, a nice sight for sore eyes. You kind of like the crinkles beside them, too. Kind of wonder what it would be like to wake up beside him, roll over, and kiss them – all before the sun ever rose.

He reaches out and gingerly grabs your hand, calloused fingertips brushing your knuckles before he entangles your fingers with his. “Psh, who said I let you win? Maybe I just really suck at air hockey.”

“You just-”

You never get to finish your argument. He’s quick to swoop down, capturing your lips in his. The rudest of interruptions, and it still manages to weaken your knees.

Each kiss only grows sweeter. And more confident, more sure. The first one had been timid, exchanged on your doorstep with boyish hesitation and meek desperation. But now, several kisses experienced since that night, all apprehension has melted. He lets his lips meld to yours, captures your bottom lip just tightly enough to give it a brief tug when he pulls away. Still soft, ever so sweet, and leaving you wanting for more.

Four dates. All it took was four dates for him to make you a goner.

“Now, that wasn’t fair,” you breathe out, betrayed by the smile that you wear. Your chest feels shaken up, impending explosion of mushiness and flowers and hearts and every single cliche the love songs on the radio could squeeze out.

“It was your prize.”

“I never said I wanted a kiss for my prize.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he puts a dramatic hand up to his chest, leaning back so dramatically that your hand instinctively reaches out to loop a finger in his jean pocket to keep him upright, “Would you like me to take it back, my fair maiden?”

Four dates, and he makes it impossible to not imagine a future of this. Of silly banter, of gentle mornings spent kissing away crows feet, of cutting one another off with the most infuriating of methods. You’re starting to believe you’re just a hopeless romantic, and he’d spotted that from a mile away – he knew every single button to press to have you putty in his hands, and he was taking full advantage of it.

You giggle, an honest to God giggle, as you say, “Hm, I’m not sure. I heard the return policies on those are a bit wonky.”

If your friends thought you were insufferable when he was some stranger you just had a crush on, they would be vomiting at the sight of this.

He leans into your space, close enough to smell his faint cologne and mint on his breath, “Are they? Well, lucky for you, I’m friends with the shop owner. Can definitely accept the return without a receipt. It won’t be a problem, ma’am. I swear it.”

He’s weird. He’s goofier than you could have imagined, snarkier than you could have dreamed, and more romantic than you had yet to uncover. He’s kind of perfect, but you wouldn’t dare say that to his face. Not yet, at least.

You’re glad you had said yes when he’d asked days prior for you to be his Valentine. And you’re glad he hadn’t gone the boring route, showing up with just chocolates and flowers and calling it a day, but had instead dragged you out to this arcade for a night of adventures as he claimed.

“And how would one go about returning a kiss, kind sir?”

He answers wordlessly, bringing up a finger to tap on his lips. He goes as far as pouting them dramatically.

He wants you to kiss him.

Lucky for him, you want to kiss him, too.

Your kiss is more chaste. Teasing as you lift up onto your tippy toes and only press your lips to his for a brief second before falling back. You leave him wanting more – it’s written all over his face, along with a blush that races right over the bridge of his nose.

He’s cute. He’s cute, and he’s weird, and you really fucking like him.

“Now that that’s over with,” you have to change the topic, move right along before your heart truly bursts from your chest, “I know what I want my prize to be.”

He takes a moment to recover, pupils almost resembling hearts as he stares down at you. Eventually he pulls himself from your trance, shaking his head as he asks, “And what would that be?”

You’re the one taking his hand this time. If he gave you the time, you’d like to learn each callous and scar by heart. Trace over them in the middle of night, when it’s just you and him in the darkness beneath your sheets. Memorize the way they feel as he explores every curvature of your body and figure out which of the roughest patches would brush against your most sensitive bits in a way that would make you arch your back right into him.

The two of you haven’t even discussed if that’s where the night might lead, but you’re sort of hoping the luck in the air doesn’t run out.

“There’s an awfully pretty ring in the case up at the ticket counter,” you muse, knowing damn well the ring was the ugliest thing either of you had ever seen in your lives, “Think you’ve got the tickets to spare?”

His hand gives you a squeeze. Something not too tight, something perfectly comfortable. It’s only the fourth date, it’s only the first month – it’s only the beginning.

“Anything for you, sweetheart,” he says, more earnestly than you’d expected, as he steals another kiss.

You let him. You have this aching feeling in your chest that you’ll probably let him steal an endless amount from you for the rest of your life.

When you know, you know. Or whatever the poets say.

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rafescurtainbangz · 3 months

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RAFE, JJ, & Zach

Masterlist

+18 Minor DNI

Taglist

Asks are Open 🌸

Rafe

Texting Dark!Rafe Rafe TikTok Edit Dark!Rafe Blurb Dark!Rafe Blurb One Shot - Breaking Dishes One Shot - Sorry, Top One Shot - Professor Cameron College Hockey Rafe Imagine You Up? Blurb One Shot - Mile High Club One Shot - Needy Rafe TikTok Edit fboy!Rafe Blurb One Shot - Professor Rafe #2 Rafe Dirt Bike GIFs Texting Protective Rafe Texting Drunk Rafe Rafe Dirt Bike TikTok Edit College Bar Blurb Toxic!Rafe & Toxic! Eddie Munson Text Chain Being JJ and Rafe’s Ex Blurb Rafe x Curvy Reader Driving with Rafe Blurb RC Thoughts - Snow RC Thoughts - Satin TikTok Edit Valentine’s Day - Blurb Texting Jealous Ex TikTok Edit Mean!Rafe Blurb Rafe x Rafe x Reader One Shot Part 1 TikTok Edit Valentine’s Day Moodboard Frat!Rafe One Shot Rafe x Rafe x Read One Shot Part 2 Boating Blurb Rafe x Rafe x Reader Moodboard Needy Rafe Blurb Star Lab Frat!Rafe Blurb Late Nights Moodboard Rafecoded Moodboard Texting ToxicFrat!Rafe TikTok Edit Rafe Cameron Thoughts Rafe S1;E1 GIFs Overstimulation Blurb Heartbroken Fluff Blurb Midsummers Moodboard Rafe x Golfer Blurb Perv Rafe Part 1 Rafe P Links Football Player Thoughts Mornings with Rafe

One Shot - The Château One Shot - House Sitting College Baseball Imagine JJ Tiktok Edit dark!jj blurb Drug Dealer One Shot Being Rafe and JJ’s ex blurb Shower Blurb Mine - One Shot Valentine’s Day Moodboard JJ x Mercedes Moodboad Riding JJ Thoughts

Zach MacLaren

Sub - Blurb TikTok Edit Zach GIFS Stargazing Headcanons

+++++++++

Other OBX content

Drew x Rudy TikTok Edit Drew Starkey - Flying Home From Italy Blurb Pope TikTok Edit Drew TikTok Edit Drew Starkey Moodboard Trevor Hellraiser Edit Scream Moodboard Drew GQ TikTok Edit

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joequiinn · 10 days

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The Dos & Don'ts of Fake Dating | E.M. x reader | pt. 5

[all chapters here]

summary: You propose a crazy idea to the resident freak of Hawkins, Eddie Munson. But maybe he was even crazier for agreeing to it…

notes & tropes: fem reader, slow burn, faking dating, opposites attract, bratty rich bitch reader, super minor revenge plot, not-quite-enemies-to-lovers

a/n: I'm very excited for this chapter because it's actually one of the scenes that inspired this whole fic! Before I knew what the hell I even wanted to write, I played this idea of a figure skating character over and over again in my head as I built up the story around it. I'm a little behind on writing the next chap, so it may be a slightly longer wait between this and the next one! Hope you all love it!

wc: 4.8k

taglist: @costellation-hunter @daisyridleyss @damon-loves-pie @damp4eddie @delilaaahhh @em0220 @fromasgardandback @kthomps914 @lotrefcp @marrowfrog00 @mewchiili @munsonssweets @no-bueno-writer @rach5ive @sav12321 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @steeldaisies @stormgrl19

You skated at least four times a week. You’ve done so since you were ten years old, when you decided that you wanted to take figure skating more seriously. Whether or not you had competitions, whether or not you were in the mood for it, you always stuck with your skating routine. With competition season coming up in November, you knew you’d have to start practicing more, putting in longer hours and more days in preparation.

Or maybe not. After all, competing was something that your mom enjoyed, that she encouraged wholeheartedly. Regardless of how much you enjoyed it, it didn’t exactly fit the teenage rebellion thing you had going on right now. Maybe you wouldn’t go to competition this year, maybe you’d skip out on your final season out of pure spite - now that would be cruel. Although a part of you hurt at that idea - because you really did love skating - you reasoned that it was something you had to consider.

Fridays were always very long days for you. While your peers would be set free to roam following the 3pm school bell, you had more obligations for the day. Once you left school, you crammed in as much homework as you could before hitting the ice rink by 4:30 at the latest to get your own practice in. Once that was done, you led a youth skating practice until 7pm, then you tried to squeeze in some more skating time before the hockey team took to the ice at 7:15. After arriving home at 8 o’clock or later, you crammed more homework so you wouldn’t have to deal with it over the weekend, and then by that point you’d be too worn out for anything else, so you generally slept late into the next morning.

This had been your routine for over a year now, ever since your own couch suggested that you needed to get more extracurriculars under your belt for your college applications. She had insisted that your resume would look far more impressive if you showed that you had teaching experience and “leadership potential,” an idea that really appealed to your parents, who were determined for you to get into a good school, maybe even on a figure skating scholarship. So, you ended up taking over the Friday night children’s lessons whether you wanted to or not.

You honestly despised it. You led children age 5 to 7, and they were a constant pain in the ass. You couldn’t raise your voice without one of them crying, you couldn’t leave them to their own devices without someone inevitably ending up hurt. Yet, you stuck with it because you were told to, because the adults around you insisted that you needed to. You couldn’t stand the way your coach would insist that this would help develop your skills, you couldn’t stand how your mother insisted “you’ll look back on this so fondly when you’re older.” These damned kids skating lessons were something else you’d probably drop soon, because you barely tolerated them as is.

While everyone else was at the football game, while Eddie was probably off playing his stupid fantasy game or doing something equally as nerdy, you were here at the ice rink, shouting instructions at children while parents and hockey players watched. Some of the parents had made it clear before that they weren’t fond of your impatient and mean teaching methods, but your coach always seemed to talk them out of pulling their kids from your group. She always argued something about you being the best skating in the county, but you weren’t sure how true that was - sure, you had your fair share of medals, but even with your ego you were pretty sure there were better skaters at your level.

“Come on, slackers, we’ve got five minutes left!” You taunted your group of 11 kids as they skated around the perimeter of the rink as a cool down. You zipped ahead of them, leading the charge as you skated backwards to keep an eye on them.

Many of the older kids had grown used to your abrasive coaching, but you could see that many of the newbies were still frightened of you, your loud voice, and your cold eyes. As a means of excusing your poor teaching style, you always said that skating was a tough sport and they needed to toughen up if they wanted to be any good at it. For how pretty and elegant figure skating could be, you knew from experience that competitive skating could be harsh, so you figured you were helping these kids prepare for it.

Because the Hawkins High hockey team had the rink after your group every Friday, many of them were already sitting on the sidelines, getting their gear ready or watching you work. The cocky part of you enjoyed the attention, but hockey players were stupid, so you rarely gave any of them a chance whenever they tried talking to you. Nonetheless, when you were in a good mood, you enjoyed putting on a bit of a show for them, shooting flirty glances their way or occasionally calling out remarks to them between instructing the kids. Tonight, you were paying them little mind, but that didn’t stop you from looking their way every now and again.

As you led the kids back to the center of the ice to wrap up the lesson, a lot of their parents were also waiting in the bleachers or out in the lobby. While you skated back and forth in front of your little army of children, going over some instructions for their next practice with your coach on Monday, your eyes roamed the bleachers. You gave a wicked grin to the hockey players that watched you, meanwhile you took in the parents with very little regards. It was as you looked over the clusters of parents that you saw a familiar face sitting at the penalty bench, and unintentionally you let your toe pick drag on the ice, which very nearly caused you to trip.

God damn Eddie Munson.

As you glared in his direction, hoping your momentary lack of balance didn’t make you look too stupid, you dismissed the kids before gliding towards the dasher board. Eddie, grinning like an asshole, stood up to meet you as children began to exit the ice. You braced yourself on the rail of the board, eyes narrowed at Eddie who appeared far too amused for your liking.

“What are you doing here?” You ask in lieu of a greeting. Eddie briefly glances over at the kids leaving the ice.

“You’re incredible with children.” He mocked, smiling far too wide for your liking; you narrowed your eyes while wondering just how long he’d been here, “Figured I might find you here.”

“That doesn’t explain why you’re here, though.” You respond coldly, gaze briefly looking in the direction of the hockey team to find a couple of them watching your interaction.

“You did say we needed to make plans, figure out how this was going to work,” Eddie started, taking in your red cheeks and slightly damp forehead that developed over the course of your skating lessons.

“I also said we’d talk about it next week.” You glowered a little, not worried if any of the hockey players saw it - maybe they’d simply mistake it for a lovers quarrel. Eddie grinned, holding his arms up as if he were a presenter on some dumb show.

“No time like the present, right?” Your unamused face gave him all the answer he needed, and his expression fell a little in annoyance, “And here I hoped I was being a good fake boyfriend by visiting you at the rink.”

“You’re being too good a fake boyfriend,” You jab.

Now that all the kids were off the ice, you slid towards the open gate; Eddie kept pace with you on the other side of the dasher board, meeting you at the gate and offering you his hand in assistance. You looked between his face and his outstretched hand with a glare, but eventually accepted his help, stepping over the barrier and onto the slightly cushy floor on the other side.

“I told you not tonight because I’m busy.” You walk over to the gym bag you left sitting on the nearest bleachers. As you sat beside it, Eddie shrugged with a carelessness that seemed almost false.

“Then I’ll go.” He answered simply as you removed your skates, “Just thought it might not be a bad idea to get to know you a little better. It’s not gonna be easy to fake date someone who you know nothing about.”

You shot him a harsh look while putting skate guards over your blades. You didn’t want to admit that he was right, but he had a good point, especially since you had already discussed it before. You sighed heavily through your nose, your cold eyes locked on Eddie’s.

“Can’t it wait? I’ve had a long day.”

Eddie studied you for a moment, leaning back against the dasher board before looking around the ice rink. You quickly put some worn sneakers on your feet and stood, picking your bag and turning away with the intention to leave. But Eddie’s gentle grip on your wrist stopped you from going anywhere, causing you to look between his hand and his face. As you two held eye contact, you realized that Eddie could be just as stubborn as you when he wanted; damn, was this going to be difficult.

“Let me buy you dinner - I’m sure you’re starving,” Eddie started, and for a fleeting moment you wondered if he thought your attitude was because you were hangry. You chewed your lower lip, eyes staring critically at Eddie for another few moments before you let out a defeated sigh, allowing your shoulders to relax a little. Considering that it had been nearly eight hours since your lunch break, it might now be a bad idea to eat something.

Eddie’s eyes softened at your silent resignation, the corner of his mouth pulling up. He finally released your wrist, nodding his head in the direction of the lobby, “Come on, you pick.”

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Your pick ended up being a 24-hour diner downtown. Eddie showed clear confusion when you mentioned it, so you explained that - for whatever reason - the diner had become something of a tradition, where students congregated post-Friday night football into the wee hours of the night. You’d joined that crowd a number of times in the past, but had no more interest in it - what you were interested in was having people see you and Eddie out together.

You knew it would still be at least an hour before the football crowd arrived, but that wasn’t such a bad thing - it gave you and Eddie a bit of time to actually become acquainted, to learn more about each other beyond “ice princess” and “the freak.”

You studied Eddie while sipping on a chocolate shake, waiting for your food to arrive. He stared back at you unabashedly, and you figured you could be locked into this staring contest until the end of time given how stubborn you both could be. As if Eddie knew what you were thinking, he smirked, finally caving as he looked away from you.

“Not to sound cliche,” Eddie scratched the back of his neck, almost as if he were nervous, but you assumed that couldn’t be true, “but… tell me about yourself?”

You smiled at how dumb the question was - that was so cliche. It was as good a starting place as any you figured, but that didn’t make it sound any less silly and forced. You leaned back in your seat, still holding tight to your milkshake as if it were a lifeline.

Putting on your best Miss America voice, you replied, “Well, I’m freshly 18 from Hawkins, Indiana. I love long walks on the beach, snuggling up with a good book, and I hope one day we’ll have world peace.”

Eddie narrowed his eyes at you, although you could tell he was fighting back a grin, “You’re making this very challenging considering that it was your idea.”

You shrug, taking a big gulp of the chocolate shake, “I guess I’m just a challenging person.”

“You guess?” Eddie laughed mockingly at that, “You’re the most challenging I’ve met. So, how about you try relaxing a little or else no one’s going to buy that we’re together.”

You made a face at the near-insult, finally putting down your drink. You leaned your elbows on the table, taking in Eddie’s face for a moment, stubbornly resisting the urge to say anything. Again, he had a good point, not that you wanted to tell him that. Eddie appeared to have an idea as he mirrored your pose.

“Okay, we’ll go back and forth, a question for a question; how’s that?” You nodded, “Right. First question: Why me?”

Your brows furrowed a little in thought, pinning down a good answer while trying to recall what you’ve already told him, “Haven’t I already explained that?”

“Kind of.” Eddie rolled his hand in a motion that basically said “but go on.”

You bit the inside of your cheek for a moment while thinking, “Your reputation. People don’t know you, but your reputation is in the absolute gutter. No better person to turn to than the guy who everyone in the school already hates.”

Eddie nodded in acceptance of the answer, “Okay, your turn.”

You grinned a little, a question already on your lips, “Why’d you agree to it?”

It was something you’d speculated briefly throughout the week, as you thought that your trade offer might not have been a compelling enough reason for Eddie to agree to this stupid plan. And now you could finally get the answer you were looking for.

Eddie silently stared at you in consideration, and again it almost felt like he was able to read your thoughts somehow. Finally, he answered, “Curiosity.”

You raised a brow in question, to which he once more scratched the back of his neck - maybe that actually was a nervous habit, so you took note of it.

“We both know this idea is kinda crazy,” Eddie started, mulling over his thoughts before continuing, “But I wanted to see how it plays out. See if we can actually trick people into believing it. And I wanted to see if you were as awful as I thought you were.”

You balked instantly, an amused huff escaping your mouth, “‘Awful?’ Jesus, you keep acting like I’m the devil or something.”

Eddie made a face while shrugging, not disagreeing with you, “You thought the same about me. So, let’s call it square.”

Food was finally brought to your table, and you had to resist the urge to attack the greasy burger set in front of you; you didn’t need Eddie to see you act like a ravenous gremlin over some food, even if it had been over eight hours since you’d eaten anything. But you nonetheless dug in, albeit with far more control than your empty, growling stomach would have liked.

“Your turn.” You say around a bite of food, causing Eddie to smile in amusement and the unladylike action.

“Hmm…” He leaned forward, scrutinizing you as he contemplated his next question. Self consciously, you wiped at the corner of your mouth just to make sure there wasn’t any stray ketchup or grease sitting there, “Why ice skating?”

“Because it’s better than cheerleading.” You smiled at your own joke before giving a slightly better answer, “I always thought it was pretty. Nothing else to it, unfortunately; no deep story and significance to it.”

“Fine.” Eddie responded almost as if he was disappointed by the mundane answer.

“Why Dungeons and Dragons?”

“Your questions can’t keep being off-shoots of mine.” Eddie laughed a little, and despite yourself it caused you to smile smally as well.

“Says who?”

“Says me,” He responded while pointing at himself, “I get to come up with some of the rules now, remember?”

“Whatever.” You rolled your eyes with a degree of fondness, which you immediately found strange, so you tried to wipe the look from your face. Nope, you weren’t fond of Eddie Munson, not at all.

You went back to your food, hoping Eddie didn’t catch the amused look on your face. You spoke around another bite of food, “Do you have siblings?”

“None that I know of.” He replied around his own mouthful of food, “But I wouldn’t exactly be surprised if there were any out there.”

You cocked your head a little at the response; it wasn’t so much shocking or sad, rather it was unexpected and different from your own life. You made a mental note to learn more about Eddie’s family, if not tonight then at a later point.

“What’s your plan after graduation?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but then paused - what was your plan now that you were trying to make your own decisions? You hadn’t even considered it. Did you still want to go to college? Where? Studying what? You suddenly realized that you had no true plan for yourself, only the one outlined by your parents, and that realization made you nervous.

“Honest answer: not a fucking clue.” Eddie looked taken aback by the response, so you continued, “My plan before was getting into a good school on a skating scholarship, and studying something completely irrelevant. My parents expect my skating to carry me through life until some good, rich man sweeps me off my feet.”

“But that’s not your plan anymore?”

“That’s another question.” You give him a teasing grin, causing Eddie to roll his eyes, “First, answer me this: If you weren’t stuck in Hawkins, where would you go?”

Eddie grinned with an unexpected eagerness, “LA. The music scene there is insane, and I’d happily sleep on the streets if it meant I had a shot at making my own music.”

Your eyes softened ever so slightly at the unexpected, genuine response - admittedly, you didn’t peg Eddie as the type to have any real goals. But music? That was interesting to you since you weren’t even aware that he played any instruments. You wondered if he was actually any good at it, or if it was some foolish aspiration.

“Now, what’s your plan?” Eddie repeated, smirking at the look on your face - this was one of the few times you didn’t look like a total bitch, so he appreciated it. In fact, you looked relaxed and, dare he say, content; that was certainly unexpected from you.

When you shrugged, he shook his head, leaning forward again, “No, you come up with a plan right now. Don’t base it off what your parents want or what you think sounds like the right answer. What do you want to do with your life once we’re done with this shit hole?”

You contemplated, a mild concern washing over you as you stared at Eddie - what the hell did you want? And why did you suddenly feel so vulnerable because of the question. You had to rip your gaze away from Eddie’s, hardening your expression as you tried to think up an answer that felt right.

“I… I like art, I love clothes,” You started dumbly, glancing at Eddie through your lashes, expecting him to make a face at the lame answer, “I don’t know shit about them in a technical way, but it might be fun for college. Take painting or sewing classes during the day, skate until my feet hurt at night, maybe… I want to be somewhere big and interesting. New York, LA… fuck, even Florida for all I care, I just want out of Hawkins, out of this town.”

“Then I guess we’ll be those high school sweethearts that run off to LA together after graduation, huh?” Eddie smiled widely, and you allowed an amused look to cross your face.

“Oh, I’m sure.” You returned to your food as you tried to come up with a good question for Eddie. An intriguing one came to you, so you asked before you could second guess it, “How do you expect your fake girlfriend to act?”

Eddie’s brow furrowed; it didn’t appear to be due to him misunderstanding the question, but rather that it was unexpected; he even looked maybe hesitant to answer it. Again, he scratched his neck.

You lean forward a little, looking at him seriously, “Give me a good answer, okay? We’re just gonna keep going in circles otherwise.”

Eddie shrugged, “Maybe I don’t have any expectations.”

“Then come up with some.” You immediately counter, prodding the same way he had about your plans for the future. Eddie stared at you with scrutiny while chewing the inside of his lip, as if he didn’t want to come up with a response to the question. You waited, making a mock sweet face at him while you chowed down on your fries. You were going to demand an answer until he gave you one.

“Well, going off the rules you already established,” He made a bit of a face as if to mock the oh-so-sacred fake dating rules, “Aside from playing nice in front of others, it might be helpful if you were less stubborn; you’re like a damn bull.”

You gave him a joshing smile right back, “Fair. Is that it?”

Eddie quickly shook his finger; now it was just a back-and-forth game of you mocking one another, “Ah, that’s another question.”

“Oh, fuck off.” You rolled your eyes with a short laugh, “That is not another question.”

Eddie gave a fake look of apology, shrugging again, “Unfortunately, it is.”

You threw a french fry at him, which lamely hit his chest then landed in his lap. As he laughed and picked it up, you found yourself smiling fondly again, and you quickly tried to shake off the expression.

At that moment, the bell above the front door chimed, and immediately the diner was filled with rambunctious conversation. Your heart jumped a little, realizing the time, and you briefly glanced in the direction of the door; the group that had entered wasn’t your friends, although you recognized them. You turned your attention back to Eddie, who gave you another grin.

“Showtime.” He stated simply, and then a thought appeared to cross his mind, “You want another expectation? Tell me if anything I do is too much, but otherwise let me do what I do - you don’t need to be in control all the time.”

“Don’t I, though?” You countered haughtily, which was met by a flash of seriousness across Eddie’s eyes.

“No, you don’t. I know what I’m doing, okay?”

You studied him for a moment, not entirely convinced that he did, in fact, know what he was doing. Considering that you’d never seen him even interact with a girl before, you weren’t sure if he knew the first thing about dating or romance. But despite your doubts, you relented, relaxing your shoulders as if to show you were relinquishing some control.

“Fine,” You rolled your eyes nonetheless, forever obstinate as you mocked, “I’ll tell you if I don’t like something, but otherwise I’ll let you do what you do.”

“Was that so hard?” Eddie replied with a condescending smirk. You sneered before relaxing your face, knowing your friends were bound to appear any minute now.

As you stole another glance at the door, you suddenly felt Eddie’s fingers graze the back of your hand, drawing your attention back to him with a confused little knot between your brows. He held your gaze as if to make a point, as if to remind you of the conversation you just had, that he knew what he was doing. His hand simply sat on top of yours, your fingers ever so slightly lacing together - he raised his brows as if to dare you to pull away from him. You had to resist the urge to narrow your eyes at him and snatch your hand away, and in turn Eddie gave you a cocky grin before continuing to eat with his free hand.

Eventually, your friends appeared, although they didn’t notice you at first. They were all so full of energy as they excitedly spoke to each other, descending upon a few tables in the middle of the diner and pushing them together. The staff were used to it, although you knew from experience that they nonetheless hated it; you guys were always disruptive to the other patrons, and you figured that was never going to change.

You tried your best not to stare, but your eyes kept trailing over, kept studying the excited faces of the people you considered friends only a couple of weeks ago. After your eyes had drifted over for the umpteenth time, you felt Eddie lightly squeeze your fingers, causing you to unintentionally sneer at how strange it was to maintain this physical contact with him.

“Stop staring,” He instructed when you looked back at him.

With a quarrelsome look in your eyes, you did as Eddie told you, returning your attention to the half eaten burger on your plate, “Talk to me about something, then.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t care, just talk so I can pretend to be interested.”

Eddie looked mildly put off by that, and you realized that you’d taken your customary mean tone with him. You couldn’t seem to help yourself with your former cohorts nearby, it was as if their energy was rubbing off on you.

“You know what I’m going to talk about,” Eddie taunted with a wide grin.

Your face fell in realization, “Please not Dungeons and Dragons.”

“I’m gonna do it.”

“I wish you wouldn’t.”

“So, there’s this character, Kas, who has really interesting lore--”

You threw another fry at Eddie, and at that same moment, you felt someone come up alongside your table. You both look up to see Amelia there with a critical look on her face; your gaze drifts past her, noticing that a few people from her table were also looking at you and Eddie.

You met Amelia’s eyes again, giving her a wide, false smile, “Small world.”

Her eyes narrowed as she crossed her arms, “Yeah, I’m sure you just completely forgot we always come here after games.”

“Maybe she just wanted to see her dear friends.” Eddie chimed in mockingly, once again surprising you with his willingness to instigate confrontation. You laughed as a dumbfounded look crossed Amelia’s at his remark.

“I don’t know what the hell she sees in you.” Amelia snarked with a glare before turning her gaze back to you, “And I don’t know what the hell is going on with you, but it’s already getting pretty old.”

You shrug with exaggerated nonchalance, “Sometimes a girl just needs a bit of a change every now and then, you know?”

Amelia didn’t look convinced as she rolled her eyes with a dramatic sigh, “Yeah, well, this ‘change’ doesn’t suit you at all.”

Before you could respond with another quip, Amelia spun on her heel and briskly returned to her table. By that point, everyone there was watching and awaiting Amelia’s return, quickly huddling together to whisper conspiratorially once she sat down.

You and Eddie shared an amused glance; he went back to poking at his food as your gaze trailed back to Amelia and company. You happened to lock eyes with Duncan, who stared at you with harsh scrutiny, as if he wasn’t buying this thing between you and Eddie in the slightest. You gave Duncan a mocking while, starting to wave before flipping him off, causing Eddie to snort and choke on his food. You couldn’t help but laugh out loud as he hit his chest a couple of times, trying to clear his throat. The sound of such a genuine laugh escaping you was absolutely foreign to Eddie, but he decided it was a sound he enjoyed, even if it was at his expense; he made a mental note that he had to find ways to make you laugh more that didn’t involve him choking.

“You could’ve killed me.” Eddie croaked before laughing himself, his smile wide.

“You’re fine.” You teased, squeezing his fingers while giving him a false pout of sympathy, “You big baby.”

Eddie rolled his eyes in amusement, digging his wallet out while finally relinquishing the grip he had on your hand, “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

He tossed money onto the table and stood, offering his hand to you again. You quickly snagged one last fry before accepting Eddie’s hand, allowing him to pull you to your feet. He once again laced his fingers with yours as he led you through the crowded diner, and you had to fight back the desire to cringe in confusion at it. The both of you eyed the crowd of Hawkins High’s elite as they watched you back critically.

Once outside the diner, Eddie paused in front of one of the large windows and pulled a ridiculous face at the kids still watching you; he quickly tugged your arm, leading you back towards the van as you laughed again at his antics.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you #stranger things #em #dos and donts

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oneforthemunny · 4 months

Text

break the ice |hockey!eddie munson x reader|

prompt: a scheduling mishap leads you and eddie to meet. or how you and hockey!eddie's story begins lol.

contains: eddie au. fluff. that's it. happy one year!

The hiss of the puck gliding over the ice, skittering into the goal, skates whizzing to a stop. It was comforting to Eddie. He’d never really known what people meant when they’d say “get in the zone” growing up, until he started playing again, playing for real this time. It was easy to focus on the sounds, silence your brain by tricking it to listen to the claps of the stick on the ice, the pop of the puck soaring, the-

“Skidamarink a dink, a dink. Skidamarink a doo.”

A clean miss, startled by the sudden blaring of music from behind him. Skates wobbling, knees locking into place. Eddie turned, squinting towards the other end of the rink.

“Hey, hey!” Eddie skated, shouting over the music- horrendous at that, what was this song?

“Excuse me,” You looked up, adjusting the volume on your boom box. “Hey, uh, sorry this is a closed practice.” Eddie skated to you, hockey stick waving exaggeratedly behind him.

“Yeah it is.” You nodded, head tilting to the side slightly. “Are you… here to drop off?”

“What? No, no, I-” Eddie paused, brows furrowed at you lightly. “I- this is my practice.”

“Your practice?” You repeated, pointing at the ice below you.

“Yeah.”

“You’re here for the Snowflakes?”

“No, I play for-” Eddie shakes his head, hand running over his face. “Snowflakes? What-”

“-The three to four year old class?” You press, brow raised, face contorted in what Eddie could only assume was your best judgment masking, though by the scrunch in your nose, it wasn’t working very well. “For ice skating lessons?”

“Lessons? Sweetheart, c’mon, does it look like I need lessons?” Eddie grins, smug and sweet. His heart skips when you bite back a smile, lips twitching. “I’m- I rent out the time to practice.”

“Oh,” You frown slightly. “I, uh, I did too.”

“You know what, let me- let me just go ask Max.” Eddie flashes you a dazzling smile. “I’ll get it sorted out.”

“You’re both right.” Max droned behind the desk, flipping through a magazine lazily. “Both of you have the slot for today.”

“What? Why-Why would Bobby book up both spots?” Eddie frowned. “That makes no fuckin’ sense. I’m here every Thursday-”

Max huffed, snatching the scheduling paper off the back wall, slapping it on the desk. “Eddie Munson. Five to six-thirty. Left.” Her blue eyes raised in boredom. “That means, you’re on the left side.”

“Left? This is- That’s fuckin’ ridiculous, Max, c’mon-”

“-It’s Bobby.” Max rolled her eyes. “He’s trying to double book, make more money during the dead season. I don’t know what to tell you.”

“So I have to practice with a bunch of fuckin’ kids running around?” Eddie huffs. “How the hell am I gonna do that? Huh? Do you hear the shit they’re playing in there?” Eddie throws a hand out towards the rink. “I’m already about to lose my mind.”

“So get some ear plugs, Eddie, I don’t know.” Max huffed, throwing her hands up. “You know I can’t refund you, so either leave, or suck it up. I honestly don’t care, Munson, up to you.”

Eddie’s tongue poked the inside of his cheek, rolling furiously. Bunch of kids skating all around him, screaming and shit, he’d never get anything done.

Still, Eddie’s eyes wandered back to you. In your matching tracksuit, a powdery blue that seemed to shine even under the fluorescents of the rink. He supposed there could be worse people to share the ice with. He faced Tommy Raider again next season, and he’d rather be with a bunch of screaming toddlers anyday over him anyday.

Besides, the kids weren’t so bad. The occasional screech or laughter when you’d have them do something silly. It was cute, honestly, Eddie decided, seeing these little kids wobble around on skates while you cooed enthusiastically at them.

“Ok, my little flurries,” You grinned, cheeks aching from the amount of feigned enthusiasm you had to muster. “Next week we’re going to really work on our glide.” You pushed off dramatically, soaring a few spaces then stopping.

It was so exaggerated, over the top and made the kids giggle; Eddie was sure he was in love.

“So be sure to be practicing holding your arms way, way out!” You extended your arms, beaming at the few who mimicked you. “And I’ll see you all next week!”

Eddie had spent the majority of the time practicing what he’d say to you, how he’d ask you out. A classic chat up line always worked at the bar, always helped him score. Still, his knees wobbled, tight and a little unsure as he skated over to you.

You were waving goodbye to a student, stepping off to the bleachers to undo your own skates. “Hey,” Eddie’s voice cracked, wobbly and unsure in his throat, teeth clenching in a grimace.

You looked up, a tiny half smile in greeting. “Hi. Hope we didn’t bother you too much.”

“What? No. No, no, no. No, you didn’t-” Eddie took a breath, heart hammering in his chest, ringing in his ears. “It was… Yeah, that was really fun to watch actually. The, uh, seeing the kids in their skates and shit. You’re-You’re really good with them, and, uh…” The fuck is that Munson? The fuck are you doing? Eddie’s mind raced, furiously.

“Thanks.” You grinned, a wicked little smile that had Eddie’s cheeks flushing. He hadn’t felt like this in years. Felt like he was back in middle school, swooning any time Connie Donohue would swish her hair over her shoulder, letting it land on his desk and brush his hand.

“They’re a fun age. Super sweet. Not like the asshole eight year olds.” Your finger curled under the untied laces, shimmying them loose.

“Oh? Eight year olds, they're the asshole group?” Eddie grinned, leaning against the rink’s surface. He hoped you couldn’t tell how he was flexing, muscles protruding under the tight, black material of his shirt.

“Total assholes. I had them last year, and that’s why I switched-”

“-Excuse me?” A tiny squeak of a voice came from behind you. You turned, expecting one of your kids who had forgotten a mitten or jacket.

“Are-Are you Eddie Munson?” The small boy with wide eyes gaped at Eddie.

Eddie flushed, swallowing, eyes flickering to you. Your brows creasing, looking at the tiny boy then back at Eddie. “Yeah, yeah that’s me.” Eddie forced a smile, gripping the rink as he stepped onto the bleachers, settling on the ones across from you.

“What’s your name, little man?” Eddie grinned.

“Samuel.” The boy grinned, a little shyly.

“Samuel, that’s a cool name. How old are you?”

“Eight.” The boy beamed.

Eddie’s eyes cut over to yours, lips twisting, fighting back a grin. You blushed, turning away from his glances, cheeks burning with heat you hoped he didn’t see. “Eight? That’s a… that’s a cool age, right?”

“Right.” Samuel nodded. “I-I watch you all the time with my dad and my mom.” Samuel babbled in true kid fashion. “You’re my favorite hockey player.”

“Me? No way, c’mon.” Eddie shook his head playfully.

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re from Hawkins too.” Samuel nodded, matter of factly. “They said that on-on the TV one time when I was watching.”

“Yeah, that’s right.” Eddie nodded. “Used to practice here when I was your age.” He nodded over towards the rink behind him.

“We went one time to a game, and… and you lost a tooth!” Samuel giggled in true, eight year old asshole form. “The other guy knocked it out when-when you were fighting!”

Eddie laughed, a howling of a cackle that bounced off the walls of the rink, over the hum of the electricity and heat in the stands.

You watched carefully, interest piqued. You knew he was good, you’d watched him practice, it was obvious he had skill. And the name did sound familiar, plastered across headlines and the local news, one of Hawkins’ very own made it big.

Eddie signed Samuel’s jersey, left him scampering back to his awaiting parents with a triumphant grin. “What are the odds of that?” Eddie beamed, grinning ear to ear when he looked over at you.

You laughed, knotting your own skates together, reaching for your snow boots. “I, uh, I didn’t realize you-you played for the… Played hockey.”

“Yeah,” Eddie shrugged, inked hand running down his arm. You tried not to stare. “It’s alright, really. Not bad benefits, but work hours are a little crazy.”

“Yeah?” You laughed lightly. “I would say so. Pretty demanding.”

“Oh yeah. And you lose a tooth or two sometimes.” Eddie’s eyes cut to yours playfully, a dimpled grin that had your heart shooting with heat.

“Yikes.” You sucked in a breath dramatically. “That seems brutal.”

“You ever been?” Eddie asked, untying his own skates, letting the blade rest on the cement barrier in front of him.

“To… what? A game?”

“Yeah.”

“No.” You shook your head. “Not, like, a real hockey game. Not… Not one of yours.” Your knee bounced nervously, a little unsure even in your own answer.

“You should come.” Eddie shrugged cooly, hoping you couldn’t see the way his hands shook with adrenaline. “Come to the opener in a few weeks. I’ll get you tickets.”

“What?” You laughed lightly. “You- No, you don’t even know my name, and you’re gonna get me tickets? Yeah, right.” You rolled your eyes at him.

“Well, I was hoping I could get your name, maybe your number too.” Eddie’s lips pursed lightly. “Get to know you before the game. Can give you those tickets next time I see you. What do you think? You free Friday night? Saturday?”

You blushed, looking down at your boots, fiddling with the laces to avoid his gaze. “Saturday. I don’t have to work.” You looked back at him.

“Saturday it is.” Eddie beamed.

You scrawled your name and number on the torn corner piece of the schedule. Eddie had snatched it and a pen from behind the desk, ignoring Max’s huffs of annoyance. He’d clutched it the whole way home, paper a little soft from the dampness of his sweaty hands. The tiny slip of paper was taped to his landline, staying there long after Eddie had memorized the number. In your pretty, loopy handwriting for Eddie to see each time he called you.

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