I am your host with the most, Autumn Rain Embers, and I will be your guide. This club has been around since 2015, but admittedly, it's been shut down for quite a while. But now, the doors are open once again! With new renovations and creations by yours truly.
Here at Club Embers, there is a place for just about everyone, each room is curated to a different fandom with a variety of characters to dance with, as well as a variety of party favors to choose from.
Fluff-🍭
Smut-🍕
Angst-🥃
Before we get to the fun part, allow me to lay down a few ground rules that ensure club Embers remains a safe place for everyone.
Club Embers will not tolerate racism, sexism, bullying, harassment, bigotry, homophobia, or any toxic behavior
Club Embers is a place for chill vibes only
This isn't necessarily a rule, but you will not find any rooms dedicated to dubcon/noncon, or incest behavior, or anything involving minors. While club Embers will never yuck someone else's yum, this is not one of those clubs.
Now, without further ado, allow me to show you around...
Amber Danvers(stranger things OC)
Mcu OC here
Attack on titan OC here
Supernatural OC here
"Home Sweet Home" Amber x Eddie(ongoing series) 🍭🥃
Chapter One: Welcome to Hawkins
Chapter Two: Close Encounters
Chapter Three: Mayhem and Mystery
Chapter Four: Happy Halloween
Johnny Storm x Reader
In progress
Loki x Reader
In progress
Bucky Barnes x Reader
In progress
Sam Winchester x Reader
In progress
Dean Winchester x Reader
In progress
Castiel x Reader
In progress
Gabriel x Reader
In progress
Levi Ackerman x Reader
In progress
If you would like to see more, I highly encourage you to check out some of my favorite creators here, because they are always pumping out absolutely delicious content.
@5lutforeddie
@comfortwriting
@gem-writes
@hamilhansen
@renhwrites
@levislolita
If you wish to become a VIP member and get exclusive access to the clubs hangouts and it's characters then let me know in the comments and I'll add you to the list.
making out with eddie, and him being so lost in the sensation then reader playfully breaking it off just to see Eddie chasing their lips so when Eddie opens his eyes and glares at them, reader grips his nape with a wide grin and crash their lips again<333
OMG YESSSS I LOVE IT
like eddie is a sucker for making out with you. it’s his favorite thing in the world. he thinks he might actually enjoy it better than sex itself. the way you taste, the way your mouth feels, the little sounds you make as he’s kissing you so hard and so deep, it’s like kryptonite to him. he can’t get enough. he just keeps kissing you, keeps giving you everything that you both want until you’re both desperate and unable to take it anymore
and when you draw back from that kiss, as he chases your lips, he feels like he’s in heaven, but he also feels as if heaven is crashing down. he wants you so badly. he needs you more than he’s ever needed anyone. when you draw him back in, when your lips crash to his again, he swears he’s going to die right there on the spot. he thinks that this would be how he goes, but what a beautiful way to go if so. you’re kissing him so hard and so deep, both of you tasting each other, tongues swiping together as he pulls you down to lie flat on the bed. he’s on top of you at once, pinning you down with one hand and keeping hold of your head with the other. there’s no way he’s letting you pull back again. there’s no way he’s letting you go. he’s going to kiss you until he’s had his fill, and not a moment later
she’s terrified for her audition, and eddie’s standing with her in the hallway, trying to reassure her that she’s more than enough and that’s he’s proud of her no matter what. then he gets an idea, and barges on stage before her (“so at the very least, you’ll be better than the kid who went before you!”) he starts singing ‘hopelessly devoted to you’ OBNOXIOUSLY bad on purpose. he’s belting, dropping to his knees on stage, writhing around, hair a frenzy.
everyone in the theatre is like: 😧
eddie’s like: ☺️ THANK YOU, THANK YOU! see you for callbacks, mrs. shultles!
he runs back to you, laughing at your bewildered expression, and gently swats your ass. “knock em dead, sweet girl.”
J-DAWG, I am requesting one (1) Bat Plushie fic, in a Dress because yes, smelling like Cotton Candy (Reader is extremely touchy but it’s TOTALLY platonic 😏) and let’s wrap it all up with a Bow!
SingleGirlDad!Eddie? I’m already on my knees. In PRAYER, jeez get your head out of the gutter, this is a family show 🙄🤭
✨HAPPY 3,000✨
aisle thirteen
pairing: single dad! eddie x single mom! reader
w/c: 5.3k+
summary: have you ever met your soulmate in the snack aisle of a grocery store? well now you have.
warnings/tags: this is just a fluff fest. super fluffy fluff. tooth rotting fluff that pisses you off that eddie munson is not a real man.
masterlist // 3k masterlist // build a fic
You push your cart slowly down aisle 13, eyes scanning the middle shelf for the coveted bright yellow box of animal crackers. Clover had been asking for them since she woke up, the same soft little chant of “purple ones, purple ones” that always made you smile even when you'd barely opened your eyes to the day.
You’re so focused on the shelf that you don’t notice the other cart until the metal edges nearly touch.
“Whoa—sorry about that,” a voice says, low and a little rough.
You look up.
A man is standing on the other side of the cart, one hand still on the handle. Dark curls fall into his eyes. He’s wearing a soft black hoodie with some faded band logo and jeans that look lived-in. Behind him, a little girl with the same wild dark hair is standing on the bottom rack of his cart, both hands wrapped around a box of the exact same animal crackers you were looking for.
Your Clover peeks around the side of your cart, still holding onto the edge of her pink jacket.
The man offers a small, apologetic smile. “Didn’t mean to almost take you out. These aisles are way too narrow for people who actually need snacks.”
He glances down at the matching boxes, then back up at you, eyebrows lifting.
“You’ve got to be kidding me. These are Marce’s entire personality right now. She will have a full tantrum if we leave without them.”
The little girl leans further over the cart. “Daddy. I will not. They’re jus' the best ones. The purple ones taste like grapes.”
Clover steps closer, already nodding. “The purple ones are the best. And the blue ones. But not the green ones. Green ones are yucky.”
The man watches the two of them for a second, then looks at you again. There’s something warm and a little surprised in his expression.
“I’m Eddie,” he says. “This is Marceline.” He rests a hand lightly on his daughter’s shoulder. “We usually don't meet such cool people in the snack aisle.”
Clover and Marceline have already drifted a few steps away, still talking in that sserious childlike way about which animal shape is the fastest. Marceline is showing Clover how the kangaroo can jump if you tip the box just right. Clover is listening like it’s the most important information she’s ever received.
Eddie nods toward them, smiling. “They’re getting along better than most adults I know. You new in town? I don’t think I’ve seen you around Hawkins before.”
"Just moved here a couple weeks ago. Been kind of a hermit trying to get everything unpacked you know?"
“Well, welcome to the chaos,” he says. Then, almost casually, he asks, “Your husband usually handle the snack runs, or is this a mommy and me day?”
You shake your head. “It’s just me and Clover.”
Something softens in his face. He glances at the girls again, then back at you, and his voice drops a little.
“Ah. Okay. Yeah… same here. Just me and Marce.” He scratches the back of his neck, looking suddenly a little more open. “How long have you been doing the whole single-parent thing? If that’s not too nosy. Some days I still feel like I’m making it up as I go.”
You answer honestly. "It's been… since the beginning. Only really had my sister to help out here and there. But now that were alone here? Honestly some days we survive off of snacks and prayers. And Sesame Street. She cannot get enough of Sesame Street."
“Yeah,” he says after a moment. “That’s pretty much exactly where I’m at. Some days I feel like I’ve got it. Other days I’m just hoping she doesn’t realize I have no idea what I’m doing. Elmo definitely helps out in the Munson household too.” He looks at the girls again. They’re laughing now, quiet and bright. “They seem to have already decided they’re friends, though.”
Clover looks up at you. “Can Marceline come over sometime? She likes the purple ones too.”
Marceline is already nodding so hard her curls bounce.
Eddie laughs under his breath. “Looks like they’ve made the decision for us.” He digs in the pocket of his hoodie and pulls out his phone. “Here. If you ever want to set up a playdate or just… talk to another person who understands the importance of the purple animal crackers. I’m around.”
You give him your number. He types it in carefully, then sends a quick text so you’ll have his too.
“Eddie,” he says again, almost like he’s making sure. “And this is Marce.” He looks at you for a second longer than necessary. There’s something soft and a little stunned in his eyes, like he’s still catching up to the whole conversation.
You start to turn your cart toward the end of the aisle. Clover waves at Marceline the entire way, and Marceline waves back until you both disappear around the corner.
Eddie stands there a bit longer, one hand still resting on the cart, phone warm in his other palm. The yellow box of animal crackers sits in the basket like a small, ridiculous miracle.
He can still see the way you smiled when Clover and Marceline started talking. The way you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear without thinking. The casual, confident way you handled the whole conversation like it was the most natural thing in the world.
And the fact that it was just you and your daughter—same as him—made something warm settle low in his chest.
He pushes the cart forward slowly, already imagining what it might be like to see that smile again. Maybe at the park. Maybe over coffee while the girls argued about which Disney princess was the strongest. Maybe just somewhere ordinary, where two tired single parents could sit for a minute and not feel so completely on their own.
Marceline tugs on his sleeve.
“Daddy. You’re smiling weird.”
Eddie blinks, then laughs under his breath.
“Yeah, kiddo,” he says, ruffling her hair. “I think I am.”
Your phone buzzes in your pocket before you’ve even finished loading the groceries into the car.
Clover is already buckled in the back, swinging her feet and humming about the purple crackers. You glance at the screen.
Unknown number: hey it’s eddie (again). marce hasn’t stopped talking about clover since we left. if you guys are free saturday, park at 10? we can let them burn energy while we pretend we know what we’re doing
You type back almost immediately.
You: saturday works. we’ll be there :)
Three little dots appear, disappear, then:
Eddie: perfect. see you then
Saturday morning is cooler than what Indiana normally is mid May. . The park is already dotted with other families when you arrive, Clover’s hand warm in yours. She spots Marceline the second the other little girl comes running across the grass, dark curls bouncing.
“Clover!”
They collide in a tangle of giggles and immediately race toward the swings like they’ve been secretly planning this all week.
Eddie walks up a few steps behind his daughter, hands in the pockets of a soft gray hoodie, looking a little like he still can’t believe this is happening. He offers you a small, crooked smile.
“Hey. Made it without any near collisions this time. Progress.”
You both settle on a nearby bench while the girls claim the swings. The conversation starts easy—what brought you to Hawkins, what Clover likes best about the new house, how Marceline still insists on wearing mismatched socks every single day. Eddie talks with his hands a little, voice low and warm, and every so often he glances over to check on the girls like it’s second nature.
At one point he turns back toward you mid-sentence and you notice a faint smear of something dark near the corner of his mouth. Probably chocolate from whatever Marceline talked him into for breakfast.
Without thinking, you reach up and brush it away with your thumb.
Eddie goes completely still.
Your fingers are already pulling back when you realize what you’ve done. His eyes are wide, lips parted just slightly, like his brain has short-circuited somewhere between the touch and the fact that it was so casual for you.
“Sorry,” you say, soft. “You had a little… something.”
He blinks once. Twice. Then he lets out a quiet, breathless laugh and rubs the back of his neck.
“No, it’s—yeah. Thanks. Marce and I had muffins this morning. Apparently I’m still wearing them.”
The girls shout for you both to watch them go down the slide. Eddie stands a second slower than usual, still looking a little dazed as he follows you over.
After that, Saturdays together become the new normal.
You meet at the park every week. The girls have claimed the same corner of the playground as theirs. You and Eddie sit on the same bench, talking about everything and nothing—work, sleep schedules, the way four-year-olds can turn a simple question into a forty-minute negotiation. Every so often your hand finds his arm when you laugh, or your shoulder bumps his when you lean in to point something out. Simple. Easy. And every single time Eddie goes quiet for half a second longer than he should, like the contact is rewriting something in his head.
Movie nights start a few weeks later.
You bring Clover over one Friday after she very seriously asked if Marceline could watch the second Zootopia movie with her. Eddie’s living room is lived-in and warm, a little cluttered with toys and a guitar case leaning against the wall. The girls fall asleep halfway through whatever movie played after, curled together under a blanket on the couch. You and Eddie end up talking in low voices on the other end, the only light coming from the television. At one point you reach over and brush a piece of lint off his shoulder without thinking. His breath catches so softly you almost miss it.
He starts showing you around town after that.
The good coffee place that doesn’t mind when kids are loud. The little bookstore with the big beanbag chairs in the back. The diner where the milkshakes are too sweet and the fries come out perfect every time. One afternoon he takes you both to meet a couple of his friends who have kids the same age. There’s an easy chaos of introductions and shared snacks and the girls disappearing into a pile of toys within minutes. Eddie stays close to your side the whole time, and every time your hand rests lightly on his back or your fingers brush his when you pass him something, he goes a little quiet, a little soft around the eyes, like he’s still not used to being touched like it’s nothing.
Like it means something.
One Saturday at the park, after the girls have exhausted themselves on the seesaw, Clover climbs into your lap and Marceline climbs into Eddie’s. You’re sitting close enough that your knees touch. Eddie glances down at the contact, then up at you, and the look on his face is so openly fond it melts something you didn't know was frozen in your chest.
“You know,” you say quietly, voice barely above the sound of the wind in the trees, “I didn’t think this would feel this easy.”
Marceline is already half-asleep against his chest. Clover’s head is heavy on your shoulder.
You shift just enough that your arm brushes his.
Eddie goes still again, the same way he does every time. His thumb moves once against Marceline’s back, slow and careful, and when he looks at you there’s something almost shy in the soft curve of his mouth.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Really easy.”
Summer stretches on and soon enough you're all gathered in the Munson residence backyard to celebrate Marceline’s fifth birthday.
You’re in the middle of the bounce house when Marceline shrieks with laughter and tackles you sideways into a pile of kids. The whole thing wobbles under the weight of too many four- and five-year-olds, plus you, and Clover is already climbing back up your back like a determined little koala.
Outside the mesh walls you can see the rest of the backyard in full birthday chaos. Streamers hang from the fence. A folding table is covered in half-eaten burgers and juice boxes. Nancy and Robin are standing near the gift table with their son, who is currently trying to open a present that isn’t his. Steve’s three kids are racing each other around the yard while his wife tries to wrangle the youngest. Gareth and Jeff are manning the grill with their wives, and Ronnie is somehow still carrying in more presents even though the pile is already ridiculous.
You’re laughing, hair stuck to your forehead, when you glance toward the house and catch Eddie watching you through the kitchen window.
Eddie glances away like he's been caught doing something he shouldn't— the same way Marceline does when he catches her up past bedtime playing on her Switch. He's so wrapped up on concentrating on adding the finishing touches to the cake that he doesn't hear when Steve sneaks inside.
He’s standing at the counter with a dish towel over one shoulder and a tube of icing in his hand, eyes fixed on the window again. Outside, you’re letting Marceline and two of Steve’s kids use you as a human jungle gym while Clover declares the bounce-house rules at the top of her lungs. Eddie’s mouth is curved in that soft, unguarded way he only gets when he thinks no one is looking.
Steve appears at his shoulder and says, way too close,
“So. When are you gonna ask her out?”
Eddie jumps so hard the icing splatters against the counter.
“Jesus—Harrington, what the hell—”
Steve leans against the fridge like he owns the place, arms crossed, that familiar smug little smile already in place. “You’ve been staring at her for ten straight minutes. I’m just asking the question everyone’s thinking.”
“I wasn’t staring. I was making sure nobody cracks their head open in the bounce house. That’s called parenting.”
“Uh-huh.” Steve glances out the window. You’re currently laughing so hard you almost tip over when Marceline launches herself at your shoulders. “And the part where you have literal heart eyes for her? That’s also parenting?”
Eddie turns back to the cake he’s supposed to be icing and mutters, “You’re the worst.”
“I’m the best, actually. And I’m also the only one willing to say it out loud. You’ve been hanging out with her for months. You introduced her to all of us like it was no big deal. You actually talked to another human being that you didn't grow up with. You’re gone for her.”
“I’m not gone for her.”
“You are.”
Eddie points the spatula at him. “We’re friends. She helps with Marce. I help with Clover. That’s it. End of story.”
Steve raises both eyebrows. “Friends don’t look at each other the way you look at her when you think nobody’s watching. News flash dipshit— someone's always watching.”
"Ominous, Harrington."
"You know what I mean."
“I don’t look at her any special way.”
“You literally still keep trying to look out the window.”
Eddie opens his mouth. Closes it. Tries again. “That doesn’t mean anything.”
“Sure it doesn’t.” Steve steals a cupcake from the counter and takes a slow bite. “What about the way you always find an excuse to stand next to her? Or how you light up the second her car pulls into the driveway? Or the fact that you texted me at eleven o’clock last week just to say she liked the same dumb band you do?”
“That was relevant information.”
“It was lovesick information.”
Eddie groans and drags a hand down his face. “Steve. Drop it.”
“Not a chance.” Steve leans in a little. “Come on. Just admit it. You like her. A lot. Your brain does that thing when she touches you. You short circuit. We’ve all seen it.”
“I do not short-circuit.”
“You went completely blank last Saturday when she reached over and brushed grass off your shoulder. Gareth timed it. Eight seconds of pure static.”
Eddie’s ears are turning pink. “You’re all terrible friends.”
“We’re excellent friends. You’re just slow.” Steve takes another bite of the cupcake. “Look, I’m not saying you have to propose tomorrow. I’m saying stop pretending you’re not completely gone for her. It’s getting painful to watch.”
Eddie stares down at the cake like it might offer an escape route. Outside the window you’re helping Marceline down from the bounce-house wall, one hand steady on her back, smiling at something Clover just said. The late afternoon light catches in your hair and for a second Eddie forgets he’s supposed to be arguing.
Steve watches his face and grins wider.
“Yeah,” he says softly. “That’s what I thought.”
Eddie doesn’t answer right away. He picks the icing back up and finishes Marceline’s name on the cake, voice quieter when he finally speaks.
Steve snorts. “You’ve already been doing the complicated part for weeks. The only thing left is the part where you stop being a coward and ask her if she wants to do it on purpose.”
Eddie shoots him a look. “I hate you.”
“No you don’t.” Steve pushes off the counter and claps him once on the shoulder. “Just think about it. Before Gareth actually wins the bet.”
"What the hell Harrington? You guys have a bet?"
He heads for the back door and laughs, pausing only to add over his shoulder,
“And for the record? She looks at you the same way. Just in case you needed that information too.”
Eddie is still standing at the counter when the door closes, eyes drawn helplessly back to the window where you’re laughing with the kids like you belong there.
Eddie carries the tray of cupcakes and the little chocolate cake outside just as the last of the afternoon light starts turning gold. The backyard is still loud with sugar-high kids and the low murmur of adults packing up chairs. He sets everything down on the table and clears his throat.
“Alright, everybody—time for the important part.”
Marceline is already bouncing on her toes, paper crown slightly crooked on her dark curls. You help gather the kids into a loose circle while Nancy lights the candles. Eddie steps back beside you without thinking about it, close enough that his sleeve brushes yours.
Everyone starts singing.
Eddie’s voice is low and a little rough around the edges, the way it always is when he’s trying not to sound too soft in front of people. He glances sideways in the middle of the song and finds you looking at the cake, smiling, singing along without any self-consciousness at all. Your hand rests lightly on Clover’s shoulder, grounding the little ones bouncing. Something in his chest pulls tight and warm at the same time, a quiet, unexpected flip that leaves him a little breathless for half a second.
He looks away before anyone can notice.
Marceline blows out the candles on the second try. The kids cheer. Cupcakes disappear in record time. Within twenty minutes the sugar hits full force and the goodbyes start in a blur of sticky fingers and shouted “thank yous.”
Steve and his wife wrangle their three out the gate first. Nancy and Robin follow with their son, who is still trying to take a balloon the size of his head. Gareth and Jeff and their families leave in a noisy cluster. Ronnie is the last of the big group, still carrying an empty present bag and promising Marceline she’ll bring more next year.
You’re one of the last to go.
Clover is half-asleep holding your hand, cheeks pink from running around all afternoon. Marceline is clinging to your other hand like she isn’t ready for the day to end. Eddie walks the three of you to the gate, hands in his pockets, trying to look casual and failing a little.
“Thanks for helping today,” he says. “Seriously. I would’ve lost my mind without the extra set of hands.”
You smile and without thinking—without even realizing you’re going to do it—you lean in and press a quick, soft kiss to his cheek.
It’s over in a second.
You freeze.
Eddie freezes.
Marceline and Clover both squeal at the exact same time, high and delighted.
Your eyes go wide. Eddie’s hand has lifted halfway toward his face like he isn’t sure what just happened. The air between you feels suddenly thin.
“I—sorry,” you start, voice small.
“No, it’s—” Eddie’s voice cracks on the first word. He clears his throat. “It’s fine. Really. It’s… yeah.”
Clover is already tugging you toward the car, still giggling. Marceline waves wildly from Eddie’s side. You manage a slightly dazed goodbye and get Clover buckled in. Eddie watches until your car disappears around the corner, one hand still resting against the gate like he needs the wood to stay upright.
The backyard is quiet now except for the soft creak of the bounce house settling.
Marceline looks up at him with the most serious expression a five-year-old can make. Her paper crown is sideways. There’s frosting on her chin.
“Daddy.”
“Yeah, baby?”
She takes a step closer, plants her little hands on her hips, and asks, clear and honest,
“Do you like her?”
Eddie blinks.
Marceline doesn’t look away. “You smiled at her the whole day. And your face went all weird when she sang. And then she kissed you. So. Do you like her?”
Eddie opens his mouth. Closes it. Runs a hand through his hair and lets out a quiet, helpless laugh.
“I… yeah,” he says finally, voice soft. “Yeah, Marce. I think I do.”
Marceline considers this for a long moment. Then she nods once, very decisively, like she’s just confirmed something important.
“Good,” she says. “Because I like her too. And Clover. A lot.”
She reaches up and takes his hand, already pulling him back toward the house.
“Come on. We have to clean up so you can ask her to come over again.”
Eddie lets himself be led, the place on his cheek still warm, heart doing that same funny little flip it did when you were singing.
Eddie shows up at your place for movie night with a tub of ice-cream and nervous energy pouring out of him. Marceline is already bouncing on the balls of her feet the second the door opens, shouting for Clover like they haven’t seen each other in years instead of days.
The girls take one look at the living room and immediately start negotiating.
“Blanket fort,” Marceline declares.
“And ice cream,” Clover adds, deadly serious.
You glance at Eddie. He shrugs, already half-smiling.
“We’re outnumbered. Might as well surrender now.”
Twenty minutes later the living room has been transformed. Every blanket and couch cushion you own is draped over chairs and the back of the sofa, creating a slightly lopsided but very official fort. The girls are already inside with bowls of melting ice cream, arguing over who gets to hold the remote. Moana is queued up for what has to be the hundredth time this month.
Eddie settles on the floor just outside the fort opening, back against the couch, close enough that his knee almost touches yours when you sit down beside him. The girls’ giggles filter out through the blankets. The opening notes of the movie start up.
For a while it’s easy. The kind of easy that still makes Eddie’s chest feel too tight in the best way. He keeps catching himself watching the way you smile at the screen, the way you absently fix the top blanket when it slips.
Then Marceline’s head suddenly pops out of the fort.
She looks straight at you, melted ice-cream still on the corner of her mouth, and says in the clearest, most matter-of-fact voice possible,
“My daddy likes you.”
Then she disappears back inside like she just commented on the weather.
The fort goes quiet for half a second. Then both girls dissolve into giggles.
You freeze.
Eddie feels his entire brain short-circuit.
“I—Marce—what—no—I mean—” His voice comes out strangled. He tries again. “That’s not—she’s just—kids say stuff—”
More giggling from inside the fort. Moana keeps playing like nothing just detonated in the living room.
You’re still staring at the spot where Marceline’s head disappeared. Eddie can see the exact moment the words land. Your shoulders go still. Your eyes flick to him for half a second, wide and unreadable, before you look away again.
“I, um.” Your voice is careful. “I’m just gonna… grab more napkins. Or water. Something.”
You stand up a little too quickly and disappear down the hallway toward the kitchen.
Eddie sits there.
Completely still.
The girls are still giggling softly inside the fort. The movie keeps going. Somewhere in the kitchen a cabinet door opens and closes.
His brain is a full-blown disaster.
Oh god.
Oh my god.
She said it. She actually said it out loud. In front of you. Like it was nothing. Like it wasn’t the thing he’s been carefully not saying for weeks.
He drags both hands down his face and lets out a silent, panicked breath.
What just happened.
What the hell just happened.
Does she think he’s been weird? Has he been obvious this whole time? Steve was right. Of course Steve was right. Everyone probably already knew. And now you know. And you just walked away. And he’s sitting here on your living room floor like an idiot while Moana sings about how far she’ll go and his daughter has zero concept of emotional timing.
He can still feel the ghost of that cheek kiss from the birthday party. Can still hear Marceline asking him if he liked you. Can still hear himself answering yes like it was simple.
It is not simple.
His heart is doing that same stupid flip it did when you were singing, only now it’s mixed with pure terror.
He stares at the entrance of the blanket fort like it might offer answers. Inside, the girls have already gone back to whispering about the movie, completely unbothered by the bomb they just dropped.
Eddie lets his head thump softly back against the couch and closes his eyes.
Oh god, he thinks again.
What just happened.
You come back into the living room a few minutes later with two glasses of water and that same careful expression Eddie hasn’t been able to stop replaying in his head. He expects you to sit farther away. Maybe claim the other end of the couch. Instead you settle right back down beside him, close enough that your shoulder brushes his when you shift.
He doesn’t trust his voice yet, so he just accepts one of the waters and tries to look like a man who isn’t still internally screaming.
Moana ends and the sequel automatically plays. The girls’ giggles gradually soften into quiet whispers, then into the slow, even breathing of kids who have finally crashed. At some point Marceline’s foot is sticking out of the fort. Clover is curled against her side under a pile of blankets. The only light left in the room is the soft blue glow of the television.
Eddie is hyper-aware of every place your arm almost touches his.
You’re the one who finally speaks, voice low enough not to wake them.
“Was she telling the truth?”
He goes still.
You don’t look at him right away. You’re watching the screen like it might make this easier. “What Marce said. About you liking me.”
Eddie lets out a quiet breath that is half a laugh and half pure nerves. He drags a hand through his hair, then drops it again.
“Yeah,” he says. The word comes out softer than he means it to. “Yeah, she was.”
He risks a glance at you. You’re looking at him now.
“I…I've liked you for a while,” he continues, voice low and a little rough. “I kept telling myself it was just nice having another adult around who got it. The single-parent thing. The insanity. But it wasn’t just that. It’s the way you talk to Marce like she’s a whole person. The way you laugh at my terrible jokes. The way you just… do that thing where you fix my hair or brush something off my shirt. And every time you do it my brain just stops working for a second.”
He huffs a soft, self-conscious laugh and shakes his head.
“I’ve been trying really hard not to make it weird. Because this—” he gestures vaguely between the two of you and the sleeping girls “—this is good. And I didn’t want to mess it up by wanting more.”
You’re quiet for a moment. Then you shift a little closer, knee pressing lightly against his.
“You wouldn’t have messed it up,” you say.
Eddie’s heart does that same stupid flip again.
You keep going, voice still soft but steady. “I’ve liked you too. For a while now. The way you’re with Marce. The way you always make sure Clover has what she needs without making a big deal out of it. I've seen the way you look at me when you think I won't notice. I kept telling myself it was just friendship too. That it was safer that way. But it’s not just friendship. Not for me.”
Eddie stares at you.
“Yeah?” he asks, almost whispering.
“Yeah.”
Something in his chest finally breaks. He lets out a breath he feels like he’s been holding since the moment he met you.
“Okay,” he says, and the smile that pulls at his mouth is small and a little stunned. “Okay. Good. Because I’ve been kind of losing my mind over here.”
You laugh under your breath, quiet and warm. The sound does something dangerous to him.
Eddie turns a little more toward you. His voice drops even softer.
“I think about that day at the store. How easy it felt talking to you. And then every Saturday after. And movie nights. And every time I've seen you and her. And the birthday— the way you kissed my cheek without even thinking about it and I just… stood there like an idiot.”
“I didn’t mean to freeze like that,” you admit. “I just didn’t realize I was going to do it until I already had.”
“I’m really glad you did,” he says.
The movie is still playing, but neither of you is watching anymore. The girls are completely out. The fort is quiet. The whole house feels like it’s holding its breath with them.
Eddie lifts a hand slowly, giving you every chance to pull away, and brushes his thumb once across your cheek.
“Can I…?”
You nod.
He leans in carefully, like he’s still half-afraid this might disappear if he moves too fast. The first brush of his mouth against yours is soft and questioning. When you kiss him back he makes a quiet sound in the back of his throat and deepens it just a little, one hand coming up to cradle the side of your face.
It’s unhurried. Sweet. The kind of kiss that feels like an answer to everything he'd ever questioned.
When he finally pulls back it’s only far enough to rest his forehead against yours. His eyes are still closed.
“Hi,” he whispers, a little dazed.
You smile against his mouth.
“Hi.”
Eddie lets out a soft, disbelieving laugh and kisses you one more time, slower, like he’s already trying to memorize it.
Pairing: Boyfriend!Eddie Munson x Gareth’s Step-sister!FemReader
Summary: In need of new music for the band, Eddie uses your sex life as inspiration- and his bandmates are definitely not into it.
Content Warning: 18+ (No smut), Sexual language, suggestive language, profanity/swearing, hints at potential smut.
A/N: Credit to @hamilhansen and @spacejjunk for letting me bounce ideas off of them, throwing me some of their’s, and beta-reading this for me 💕 Love you both.
Dividers by @cafekitsune
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“Alright, fuckers!” Eddie announces, a wide Cheshire-like grin on his face as he enters Gareth’s garage- a piece of paper in his hand. “I’ve come bearing our greatest fucking hit. You, good sirs, are welcome!”
He waved the piece of paper around proudly, having been excited since late last night to show his bandmates the pure lyrical genius that he had plugged away on- pouring his heart out onto the page and creating, what he was sure to be, the greatest thing he has ever fucking written.
“You wrote a song?” Gareth asks, watching as Eddie beams with pride.
“Indeed, my young liege.” Eddie says “And not just any song. I wrote-“
“The greatest thing to have ever been written?” Jeff asks mockingly as he tunes his bass “You know you’ve said that before, right?”
“And have I been wrong before?” Eddie points out.
“I think the question is, have you ever been right before?” Jeff replies, raising an eyebrow judgmentally as Gareth laughs.
“Oh, come on!” Eddie exclaims “When have I ever written a bad song?”
“Eds, you’re joking, right?” Gareth asks.
“Now I really think the question is, have you ever written a good song?” Jeff challenges, causing Eddie to roll his eyes.
“Whatever.” He huffs, jutting out the paper towards his friends “Just read it and tell me what you think.”
Jeff looks at Eddie skeptically before taking the paper from his hand, holding it out in front of him so that he can read it. Gareth comes up to join him, looking over Jeff’s shoulder as they both skim through the lyrics that were scribbled out in Eddie’s chaotic handwriting. What they were met with was worse than bad. It was downright horrible.
A moment passes where they both just stare at the sheet of paper, too stunned to speak. Gareth swore that his soul left his body for a moment before Eddie’s voice finally breaks through the silence.
“Well?” He asks, waiting for his friend’s review of his so-called lyrical genius.
“It’s…um…” Gareth struggles, trying to find the silver lining while Jeff cuts right to the chase.
“Nuh-uh.” He shakes his head vehemently, a look of disgust on his face “Nope. We are absolutely not playing this shit.”
The harsh criticism takes Eddie aback.
“What? Why not?” Eddie pushes, looking over at Gareth as Gareth refuses to look him in the eyes.
“You’re joking, right?” Jeff says “Please tell me you’re joking.”
“Why would I be joking?” Eddie asks, throwing his hands up in exasperation “This is lyrical fucking genius. How are you guys not realizing this?”
“Wait!” Jeff says, eyes scanning over the paper again as it finally clicks for him- making everything ten times worse. “Is this…..Eddie, is this about your girlfriend’s pussy?”
Jeff’s face twists into a look of absolute repugnance while Gareth looks like he had just witnessed a cat get run over by a bus.
“Oh.” Gareth whispers “Oh.”
“Eddie…what the actual fuck?” Jeff says, the piece of paper pinched between his thumb and forefinger as he holds it out like it was covered in flesh-eating bacteria. Eddie rolls his eyes before snatching it back.
“And so what if it is?” Eddie snaps defensively, causing Gareth to rub his temples as if he were developing a migraine.
“Dude!” Gareth yells “That’s my fucking sister!”
“Step-sister.” Eddie clarifies, as if it made any difference.
“Eddie, please just shut up.” Jeff replies, shaking his head disappointedly.
“Seriously,” Gareth adds “It’s bad enough that I had to hear the inspiration for this last night. Now you want us to play a fucking song about it?”
“And, I’ll repeat; what’s wrong with that? Real artists write about their experiences! This-“ Eddie says, waving around the piece of paper for emphasis “Is art!”
“It’s disgusting!” Gareth exclaims.
“And perverted.” Jeff adds.
“Really?! You guys fucking suck!” Eddie argues “Kurt Cobain wrote a fucking song about Courtney Love’s vagina and guess what? It’s classified as one of the best songs that Nirvana has ever written!”
“Courtney Love also isn’t my fucking sister!” Gareth quips.
“Step-sister.” Eddie retorts.
“Look, step-sister or not, we’re not playing this shit.” Jeff says “End of story.”
“This is bullshit.” Eddie grumbles “I swear to god, I’m quitting this band.”
“Fine.” Gareth shrugs “While you’re at it, can you stop porking my sister? I’m so fucking sick of blasting the same CD at full volume every night to try and drawn out the shit that comes out of your mouth.”
“I can only fucking imagine.” Jeff gags, pretending to shiver in disgust.
“By the way,” Gareth adds “I don’t know why you even bother climbing through her bedroom window anymore. Might as well just use the front door, at this point. We all know when you’re here anyway.”
“Okay, this is getting way too gross for me.” Jeff says, holding up his hand, signaling for Gareth to stop.
“Okay, even if it is about my gorgeous sex goddess of a girlfriend-“
“Eddie, I swear to god.” Jeff sighs.
“Whatever.” Eddie says “You’ve gotta admit, though, that the song is great if you completely forget about the fact that it’s about her.”
Jeff turns to stare at Eddie, looking at him as if he were insane. “Again; you’re fucking joking, right?”
“Gare, what did you-“
“Eddie, I swear on fucking Metallica, if you don’t leave me the fuck out of this…” Gareth interrupts.
“I just wanna know how stoned you were when you wrote this.” Jeff berates, snatching the paper out of Eddie’s hand once again as he looks it over “You had to have been fucking obliterated to have written this and thought it was a lyrical masterpiece. Like, seriously? You wrote a song about Gareth’s sister’s vagina and titled it Tunnel of Love.”
“Again, I will reiterate,” Eddie sighs “What is wrong with that?!”
“Eds, I love you, dude, but I’m gonna need you to listen verrrry closely when I say this….it’s garbage.” Jeff states.
“You know what?” Eddie replies, deeply offended “You just don’t understand great sex and lyricism, that’s your problem!”
“Lyricism?!” Jeff laughs “You call this lyricism!? The chorus is literally ‘she’s got me drowning in her tunnel of love.”
“See?! Lyrical genius!”
“‘Submerging myself deep in her tunnel of love!?’ Eddie, come the fuck on…” Jeff judges.
“Why are we doing a poetic reading of this!?” Gareth agonizes “I don’t want to hear about Eddie banging my sister!”
“I mean…I would like to think that ‘making love’ is more accurate.”
“And I would like to think that I’m learning far too much information about you and my sister right now.” Gareth debates.
“Or ‘sailing down the river in her tunnel of love’” Jeff snorts “Oh dear god…listen to this one; ‘The only ride that never ends. Baby, how I’d cry if she ever only wanted to be friends. Come on, baby, she’s my tunnel of love!?’ Yeah…you might just wanna save this one for her, Eds.”
“Or burn it.” Gareth suggests “How about we just fucking burn it?”
“You guys fucking suck.” Eddie grumbles, snatching the paper out of Jeff’s hand as he was still too busy laughing at Eddie’s song.
Suit yourselves, assholes, he thought. They wouldn’t know real love if it hit them in the face.
The door to the garage swings open as you poke your head inside, checking in to see what all the noise was about.
“What’s going on out here?” You question, looking between all three of the boys who were all displaying very different emotions.
There was Gareth who looked like he wanted to shrivel up and die, Jeff who was doubled over in laughter and almost to the point of tears, and Eddie who looked as if someone had just kicked his dog.
“I can hear you guys arguing from all the way upstairs.” You complain before your eyes sweep back over to Eddie “Hey you.”
“Hey dollface.” He winks, causing Jeff and Gareth to begin fake gagging. You look between the both of them before giving Eddie a questioning look.
“Don’t worry about it.” Eddie replies, not even bothering to explain. He didn’t need to. He didn’t care what his friends thought about him or your relationship. All he cared about was what you thought- his muse.
“Why don’t we cut practice short today?” Jeff suggests “I need to go home and bleach my eyeballs.”
“Please take me with you.” Gareth pleads, watching as Eddie saunters up to you- wrapping his arms around your waist as he nuzzles his nose against your cheek.
“I missed you, babe.” He coos “Did you just get home?”
“Yeah.” You sigh, letting him peck sweet little kisses all over your face. He stops as soon as he hears your tone.
“What’s wrong?” He frowns “Who do I need to hunt down?”
“Ugh…” Gareth groans “This is so gross!”
“Shush! My lady is speaking.” Eddie orders, holding up his hand towards Gareth before turning his attention back onto you “Go on, princess. What’s bothering you?”
“Fucking gag me…” Jeff mutters under his breath.
“Just a rough day at work.” You explain “But I’ll be fine.”
“Oh Sweetheart…” Eddie pouts “Is there anything I can do to help? Do you need anything? A hug? Some kisses, perhaps? Maybe a back rub?”
“That sounds nice.” You hum, leaning into him “I could really use some attention. If you know what I mean.” You bat your eyelashes at him to further emphasize your point.
“Oh?” Eddie asks before it hits him “Oh.” A grin spreads across his face as his hands travel down to your ass, giving it an appreciative squeeze. “That can definitely be arranged.”
“Okay! Yup! I’m outta here! Let's go Jeff!” Gareth exclaims hurrying out of the garage as you watch in confusion. Jeff follows behind him, laughing his ass off before stopping in front of you and Eddie.
“Fair winds, Sailor.” He jokes, trying hard to keep a straight face “Enjoy your trip down your tunnel of looooove.”
He cackles even louder as Eddie flips him off, heading to catch up with Gareth who was surely already halfway down the block by now.
“What was that all about?” You ask, feeling completely confused and out of the loop before Eddie laughs, shaking his head.
“Nothing, baby.” He smiles, leaning in close to you “Now, where were we?”
Description: You decide to try red lipstick for the first time, unlocking a new desire from your boyfriend.
Genre: Smut 'cause I'm a slut(come on guys you know this)
You decided to treat yourself today—so you headed to the beauty store. It's easy to feel overwhelmed over what to buy with all the options presented—but you knew exactly what you wanted—something bold and fierce.
You haven't tried a red lip before—but there's a first time for everything. A customer service employee was gracious with helping you find your perfect shade.
Eddie's most likely home and settled down on his day off, so you decide to surprise him.
When he opens his door to see you, his eyes light up. The sweet, innocent smile on his face instantly becomes something else—an expression of hunger and self-discovery. His silence is giving you minor anxiety.
"Eddie? Do you like it?"
"…Yeah- can you come in?"
Not exactly the reaction you were hoping for—at least you thought so, at first.
You plop down on the couch, and he follows.
"You look…great."
"Then why are you looking at me like I'm hideous?" You tease.
"I'm just- wow-"
Your thumb strokes his cheek tenderly before you run it across his lips.
"Would you like a kiss, Munson? Or is the red too much for you?"
"It's just perfect, baby. It's where I want it that might scare you away."
"You're the most unscary person I've ever come across, Munson."
"In that case, sweetheart—I want you to suck me off."
"At least let me wipe this off first."
"No. With the pretty red, sweetheart."
Everything clicks for you. He wasn't under reacting because he's not interest. You simply unlocked something in him.
Without breaking eye contact, you slide to your knees in front of him. Eddie is infatuated with the sight. When you get to work on his cock, your lipstick smudges all over your face—and especially him.
He loves the lewd sight of tears in your eyes from choking on him—and the smudged lipstick getting messier from his cum with your drool.
"S- so pretty, baby- just like that."
You depart your mouth to stroke him eagerly—he crashes under the sight of your pretty eyes piercing right through him.
Description: Months after Eddie's coma, his loved ones—especially you—have grown deeply concerned about him. He begins to feel smothered.
Word Count: 1K
Eddie slightly recovered from his coma three months ago. No matter how much he's insisted that he's fine, your heart still aches at the thought of everything he's went through.
He's completely different after his near tango with death. The sweet, cowardly boyfriend you once has become a man who's rugged at heart—although he still loves you.
Vecna is still out there. The group has had several debates over whether or not Eddie should participate in the final battle.
"Eddie, you just almost died, who's to say this asshole won't go for the final blow?" Steve asks, ruffling his tense hand through his hair.
"Eddie can take care of himself!" Dustin counterpoints.
"I don't doubt that, but the risk is too high!"
"Why's everyone speaking for me instead of letting me decide?" Eddie seethes.
"Eddie, we're just worried about you-" You state meekly.
"I'm fine, why does nobody get that?"
Silence falls over the room. Pissed over everyone's inability to make eye contact with him, he decides to leave the Wheeler's basement for a breather.
"Are you going to check on him?" Steve's looking at you sympathetically.
"No- I think he needs his rest. Let's just talk about something else, okay?"
The empty-voided vibe of the room says enough.
"…Okay."
You're driving Eddie back to his place—and the van is uncharacteristically silent. You're unsure of what to say. You've been waiting on Eddie hand and foot out of caring for him—which makes you wonder if you've been making him feel smothered, too.
Eddie won't be able to drive for a little while, until he's approved by the hospital to do—due to his cognitive skills being a work in progress, despite him being relatively 'normal' for the time being.
"…Are you hungry?" You ask him.
"I wouldn't be opposed to grabbing a bite at the diner."
"Just be careful what you eat, okay? Your body's still recovering-"
"Honey, I can handle it."
"…Right, sorry."
Eddie worries he may have pushed you away too hard. His brows furrow with pain and regret right as he's going to apologize, but he figures you wouldn't want to hear anything from him. He's aware he's been snappy lately—though it has nothing to do with you, directly.
If the car ride wasn't silent enough—your table at the diner sure was. You figure that at least there's some sort of excuse—you're both stuffing your faces with something.
Eddie's silently reading your sulky body language. Nonconfrontational eyes; small, delicate bites—language he knows he caused.
"Would you like to talk?" He asks you.
Your eyes finally reach him. "About what?"
"Us…these past few months."
"I don't think this is the proper place to do it, Eddie. Besides…seems like I'm just a bother, anyway."
"…But you aren't."
"I wish I believed that."
You begin to feel pressure in your eyes from tears threatening to spill.
"Honey-"
"I'm just going to use the restroom."
Before he can possibly say anything else, you're already on the way.
You lock yourself into a stall to let out weeks of tears that finally wanted to overflow at the worst time .
The moment you return to Eddie's home, you just want to lounge from the emotional exhaustion. You hadn't said a word to him during the ride home.
"…Sweetheart?"
"Yes, Eddie?" You snap harsher than you expected.
"I'd like to hug you, if you're done hating me." He playfully grins.
"What? I-" You break into a small giggle. "I don't hate you. I'd love to hug you, too."
Eddie wraps his arms around you, then kisses your head. He's squeezing you, as opposed to your arms loosely draping him.
"You can squeeze me, you know. It's just a few scars."
But you can't.
"I can't, Eddie."
"I won't break, my love."
"My- my body won't let me."
Eddie cradles your head.
"It's okay, take your time."
Another time in Eddie's day that fiercely worries you is his shower time. The thought of him wincing in the shower due to his unhealed skin being irritated pains you.
The moment he declared he's going to take one, you're adamant on helping him.
"Seriously, Eddie. You need help—it's going to hurt."
"I can't expect you to do everything for me. I have to take care of myself in case you can't be here."
"But I'm here now! There's nothing to be ashamed of, Eddie—I've seen you naked before, if that's what you're worried about!"
"I got it." His sharp tone snaps again.
Your hurt doesn't even register effectively enough to make you cry—now you're angry.
"You're such an asshole, Eddie."
That seems to bite him, because it forces him to look at himself. You've decided you've been sweet to him for too long.
"All of these tantrums, pushing away people who care about you—trying to put yourself in danger? It's bullshit! And you're a ridiculous, selfish prick if you don't see that!"
Eddie swallows, trying to think of what to say—there's no way out of this for him. He's aware now that he's been the asshole.
"Baby-"
"No! You've been so rude- and you won't even say you're sorry!"
The way your voice quivers makes Eddie feel like pure shit.
"I've just-, I hate living my life like this—always needy. I miss my independence and- shit, it's no excuse for how I've been treating any of you—especially you. Everything's been piling up and I hate feeling like I'm being babied. Sometimes I just can't accept that people give a damn about me. I'm so sorry, sweetheart. For everything."
"I can't imagine how hard this must be for you. You need help—accept that." You wipe a stray tear that's rolled down your cheek.
"Hey, don't cry." He cradles your cheek. "You're a good girl—and I've been a piece of shit in return."
"Your brain seems to be working just fine to me."
"Ouch—going in for the kill I see- just like the bats-"
"Edward! Not funny!"
"Can't I joke about thoust own woes?"
"When you're 80."
Eddie chuckles. "I'll see you there, sweetheart. Now, how about that shower?"
"Sure, Eddie. I'll help you get in."
"Don't leave me to fend for myself too soon, honey.. I want you in there with me."
"Sounds interesting…but, if you're trying to butter me up about the whole Vecna thing, you'd better know I'm consulting the rest of the council for that conversation."
Eddie gives you a quick peck.
"You know what? I actually love it when you boss me around."
✧*。You and your rockstar husband have everything you've both ever wanted—financial stability and true, unwavering love.
✧*。Eddie's not sure how he bagged the hottest supermodel of the 2000's—and he sure as hell isn't complaining.
Whatever you want— he gives.
"Babe, I want a shopping spree." You confess, tossing down your fashion magazine.
"Oh, yeah? Where to, sweetheart?"
"Somewhere…expensive."
"You got it, baby."
✧*。He has your Playboy magazine covers—all 5 of them in a collage above the bed.
"Did you have those before we got together, Eddie?"
"That's confidential."
✧*。Always fucks you like he means it. Pins you to the bed with your legs over his shoulders, pressing kisses to your ankles.
When he's embracing you while fucking you, his guitar pick dangles in your face. You twirl the chain with your tongue to tease him. It surely gets a rise out of him—he fucks you harder.
✧*。Makes you the prettiest bubble bath for aftercare. Calls you his prettiest girl as he helps you walk to it.
✧*。Asks the chef to make you whatever meal you'd like<3 whispers in your ear that you're his favorite meal
✧*。Tells paparazzi and gossip sites to kiss your asses and they can only dream of having you in their lives.
✧*。Loves licking the tattoo on your breast. Did it himself too, actually💕
✧*。Even supermodels have insecurities and bad days. He's there for you during each and every one of them, and vice versa.
✧*。Your wedding ring is the talk of the town. Eddie knows his lover deserves a huge rock—puts the cost of your wedding dress to shame.💕
✧*。When you and Eddie met, you were cast as a vixen for a Corroded Coffin video. He didn't want the only chance he had to get to know you, to slip from his grasp.
✧*。Very supportive of your beauty brand.
✧*。Pics, pics, pics. He takes pictures of you all day.
✧*。Notices the way you look at baby clothes during an outing.
He acts coy about the topic when he brings it up at home.
"I want a baby." He smirks.
"Do you want a baby or do you just want to make a baby?"
"A little bit of both, babydoll."
✧*。The moment Eddie finds out you're pregnant, the baby's room mansion is already made to be posh.
Eddie wants to give the baby everything he's never had—and more.
✧*。Your maternity shoot is just as fabulous as every other photoshoot you've ever had.
You've bedazzled your tummy with a few gems—you love showing off your bump <3
a cold draft brushed through the dark bedroom. dean pulled the heavy blanket up over your shoulders, too lazy to close the window.
he slid closer, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you flush against his chest. he buried his face into your neck, warm breath hitting your skin.
"dean...?" you mumbled, half-asleep.
"shh," he whispered, tightening his grip. "go back to sleep baby, i got you."
you shifted under the blanket, turning around to face him.
"can't sleep?" he rasped.
"no," you whispered, nuzzling into his chest. you wrapped your hands around his neck and hooked your leg over his waist. "i love this."
dean huffed quietly, holding you tight and kissing your head. "good, then don't move."
you were wearing dean’s oversize t-shirt, shivering a little on the cold motel floor. the door was left slightly open and after the hunt, every single shadow in the hallway was playing tricks on your mind.
you quickly pushed it shut until you heard the click, letting out a quiet breath of relief.
"the fuck...?"
a rough, panic-laced whisper cut through the dark.
you turned around to see dean abruptly sitting up, his hand blindly searching the empty bedsheets where you were supposed to be.
"dean, hey—i'm right here," you whispered, scrambling back onto the bed and diving straight under the covers.
the second your skin touched his, his hands locked around your waist, yanking you into his chest so fast you gasped.
"jesus, don't do that," he rasped, his voice thick with sleep and pure worry. "woke up and you were just gone. thought something took you."
"i just went to close the door," you murmured, melting into his warmth and wrapping your arms around his shoulders.
"it was cracked open. it was creeping me out."
dean let out a long, heavy sigh, the tension instantly bleeding out of his shoulders.
he gently cupped your face, his thumb softly tracing your cheekbone as his green eyes searched yours.
"you're safe with me."
"yeah," you fumbled for a soft smile. "you're right here. let's go back to sleep."
summary: dean craves everything you have and give, and he wants to receive it from you.
content: gn!reader, a very soft and touch starved dean, jealousy, light angst, fluff, not exactly friends to something more (if that makes sense)
note: finally sharing some dean fluff!! this is my birthday treat from me to myself and all the lover boy dean truthers out there.
read on ao3 masterlist
dean can't remember the last time he has felt the gentleness of a caring hand wrapped around his own— if we don't count the meaningless seconds he usually steals from each of his one-night stands, when he tangles his fingers with theirs, hopelessly praying that it'll burn down the ache in his heart.
it never did, probably never will.
dean feels stupid for craving tenderness this much, but when he sees how easy you have it, surrounded by the same care and affection you give out with closed eyes and an open heart, he can't help it, he's jealous.
an unforgiving, bitter taste lingers on his tongue when he watches you from the rear-view mirror, carelessly wrapping your cold fingers around sam's own before snuggling to his side with a yawn.
it's weird, how much he hates seeing you receive everything he's ever wanted, needed. dean hates himself for envying you so much, and he hates you even more for not sharing any of it with him.
maybe, he could just ask— for a hug, a gentle touch, the non-sexual intimacy of an heartfelt kiss.
dean knows this is stupid, that he can't appear by the foot of your bed in the middle of the night, with pleading eyes glowing your way like a miserable puppy.
this is not who he is, who he's allowed to be. dean should be reckless, selfish, not a soft hearted little boy who could beg for something so insignificant as a hug.
but selfish is all he is when it comes to his feelings. because even if, with the pureness of your heart, you accepted to hold him for the night, dean wouldn't be able to let go; he would melt, merge into you until you're both nothing but two puzzle pieces, with no other meaning than fit together forever.
dean forced himself to believe that closeness and affection are two very different things, both which he craves unconditionally, but one somehow feels less dangerous than the other.
physical closeness can be detached from the romantic aspects it sometimes carries, offering dean the opportunity to receive and give soft touches, quick embraces, innocent pecks, without ever considering his feelings.
if only you could give him one minute of this; sixty blessed seconds where you'd be forbidden to ask if there's an undertone to it, a motive. letting him bask in your scent until he's pleased enough to let go.
none of it will ever be more than shameful fantasies, comforting dreams that make his heart all mushy and warm.
dean is tired of dreaming, of hoping in silence for his pathetic prayers to be answered. as he lays on the itchy blanket of yet another old motel bed, his eyes are glued to the ceiling with no intentions of resting anytime soon.
his brain doesn't seem to be able to turn itself off, forcing impossible scenarios behind his closed lids each time he tries to find a moment of peace inside his own, broken mind.
the thin mattress is hard like stones under his bare skin, and the pillows are hot against his cheek, but dean's fingers are running cold, desperate for someone to hold.
the entire room seems unbound to all its oxygen, making it unable to breathe in. he needs a break, a distraction, but none of his usual picks seem to be the right one.
a quiet knock on your door shakes you awake, making you sigh as your sweet dream fades away. you shift under the covers before slipping out of them, carefully stepping closer to the sound.
the room is dark enough that you can't make out much besides the blurry shape of the door rising in front of you, your path faintly illuminated by the sole streak of moonlight shining directly through the tiny window on your left.
your fingers latch onto the knob, twisting it swiftly to pull the door open, and a chilly breeze hits your face, making you grimace at the sudden temperature change. you don't pay much attention to whoever is waiting outside, too tired and cold to spend another second away from the coziness of your bed.
dean's posture shifts from straight and confident, to pathetically slumped forward. his eyes follow your every movements as you simply make your way back to bed with squinted eyes, mumbling a soft 'lock the door' without ever looking back. his entire body is screaming at him to leave right now, to save the remaining of self-respect he has left in his bones, but he answers your request right away, and pushes the door closed with a soft click.
you slip under the covers, humming in satisfaction as you manage to retrieve the exact same position you doze in earlier. to your surprise, the mattress doesn't dip, no one tugs on the cover with a groan either.
the possibility of someone other than sam entering your room flashes in your tired mind, and you abruptly sit up, your shoulder blades hitting the thorny, wooden headboard in a thud.
you blink a couple times, the dimly lit room making it harder for you to recognize the shape of a visibly uncomfortable dean standing at the foot of your bed.
"dean?" you breathe, confused by his presence in the intimacy of your room. "what are you doing here?"
he smiles— or frowns, it's difficult to discern the expression on his face with half-closed lids—before sitting on the edge of the mattress, his spine crooked forward like a scared child. "i couldn't sleep."
"dean," you sigh, though your tone is soft. "seriously, why are you here in the middle of the night?"
"i'm serious," your name escapes his lips, and he says it like it has a meaning of its own, like the simple taste of it on his tongue will cure each one of his heartaches.
his pleading eyes pierce through your own, and for a long minute, you don't know what to to.
it's strange, how you've never been particularly close, how sam always felt life the safer option; he's easier to be around, in a way. but there's always been something about dean you couldn't name.
it's not like you weren't fond of him, on the contrary, you've probably always liked him, but there was a dangerous edge to it— the type that feels like you could drown at any given moment, if you allowed yourself if only one second of distraction.
you shift under the scratchy blanket, making enough room for a body to lay, and you timidly pat the mattress, asking dean to stay.
he lifts the covers slowly before laying down, facing you. his eyes still scanning your figure in search of any signs of regret or even annoyance, and a tiny lopsided smile paints his face when you rest on your side to face him.
you stay like this, in complete silence, for a minute or so, and it's oddly peaceful, comforting. dean's skin is burning, his insides are twisting and melting; this is everything he's always dreamed of.
it's nothing heavy in meaning, though. he's only laying there, sheltered from the the coldness of the winter breeze and the ache in his heart.
"what's wrong, dean?" your whisper reaches his ears like a subtle melody, and for once dean doesn't think before replying.
"i just wanted to be with you."
his words feel like a punch straight to your stomach, the shock barely offering you enough time to process the meaning behind them.
you raise a hand, fingers twitching in anticipation as they chase his skin before grazing the roughness of his cheek, his stubble poking you like slightly dull needles.
dean doesn't seem to mind the sudden brush of affection. in fact, he leans against it even more, his face pressing against your touch until you can capture it in your palm, thumb gently caressing the expanding blush on his cheek.
the sight makes your whole body ache. it is as sweet as it is painful to watch, and you're reluctant about withdrawing from his space, you'd hate to find a hint of deception in his eyes.
a simple 'come here' is enough to snap him out of his trance. dean's eyes glue to your own, following your every movements as you lay on your back, welcoming him in your space with a caring smile.
his arms impatiently wrap around your waist, gripping you tight as if you'd instantly vanish if he even dared to hold you too loosely. he carefully lays his head on your chest, before melting completely at the steady rhythm of your heartbeat—the satisfying proof that he isn't dreaming.
dean sighs in contentment when one of your arms wrap around his shoulders, and a soft hum escapes his lips when your free hand tangles in his messy hair.
"goodnight, dean." you whisper, although you're already convinced that he has fallen asleep as soon as his skin met the soft cotton of your shirt.
not receiving any response, you slightly bend until your eyes catch his features, laughing to yourself as you find him with closed eyes and parted lips. the visible side his face is sublimed by the faint glow of moonlight leaking through the curtains, and you wish the sun could never rise again.
Also, guys, please let me know what you think of my series and chapter 4. I want to know if I'm doing a good job writing Eddie and if I am characterizing him well. I thrive off of feedback(as long as it's not hateful)
HELLOOOOO!!! I’d like a bat plushie, wearing overalls, lavender scented (Just focus on my voice, baby) THANK U AND I LOVE YOUR FICS 💟
been far away for far too long
pairing: eddie munson x reader
w/c: 1k+
summary: what happens when everything gets to be too much? will you allow yourself to break?
warnings/tags: descriptions of a panic attack, mental health, eddie being a sweet baby boy
masterlist // 3k masterlist // build a fic
The trailer is quiet in that heavy, wrong way that only settles in when something’s been off for days. You’ve been moving through it like a ghost of yourself—half-there, answering Eddie in monosyllables, flinching when he reaches for you without meaning to. The depression has been a thick fog pressed against the inside of your skull. Everything feels far away. His voice, the smell of his hair, the way he always leaves the bathroom light on for you. Distant. Irritating. Exhausting.
You’ve snapped at him twice already this week for things that weren’t his fault. He just took it, hands raised, soft-eyed, and gave you space you never actually wanted.
Tonight it breaks.
You’re standing in the middle of the living room staring at nothing when the panic hits like a sudden drop. Your chest seizes. Air goes thin. The floor tilts. Your hands start shaking so hard you nearly knock the lamp over trying to steady yourself on the arm of the couch.
“Eddie—”
It’s barely a sound. More of a broken inhale.
He’s out of the bedroom in three seconds, hair still damp from the shower, wearing only the black jeans he never bothers buttoning all the way. The second he sees your face the playful tilt of his mouth vanishes.
“Hey. Hey, hey, look at me.”
You’re already spiraling. The walls feel too close. Your pulse is hammering in your throat and you can’t get a full breath. Tears blur everything. You try to back away on instinct and he doesn’t let you. He steps in close, both hands coming up slow, palms open, like he’s approaching a skittish animal.
“I got you. You’re okay. Just focus on my voice, baby.”
The words land soft and steady. He keeps repeating them while he guides you down to the floor with him, back against the couch, knees bracketing yours. His hands find your wrists and press them gently against his own chest so you can feel the solid thump of his heartbeat under your palms.
“There you go. Feel that? That’s me. I’m right here. Nowhere else. Just focus on me. Focus on your senses.”
Your breathing is still ragged, short and sharp. He starts humming under his breath—something low and wordless at first, the same soft melody he uses when you’re half-asleep and restless. Then the words come, quiet and unhurried.
“You’re safe. You’re with me. Nothing’s happening that we can’t handle. In… and out. Match me, sweetheart. Just like that.”
He takes an exaggerated breath so you can hear it, then another, the rise and fall of his chest pushing against your hands. You try to copy him. It doesn’t work at first. Your lungs keep hitching. A broken sound escapes your throat and he only pulls you closer, forehead resting against yours.
“I know. I know it feels huge right now. But it’s not gonna last forever. I’m not goin’ anywhere. Just keep listenin’ to me."
His voice stays low, almost a murmur, the metalhead rasp smoothed down into something private. He keeps humming between sentences—fragments of whatever song is currently living in his head, slowed and softened until it’s barely recognizable. One of his thumbs traces slow circles over the inside of your wrist.
“You’ve been in that head of yours, haven't you? I could see it. You don’t have to apologize for anything baby. I know you're going to try and I know it wasn’t really you. Depression’s a mean little bitch. I know it makes you feel like you’re floatin’ outside your own body. This isn't my first rodeo with you baby. You're okay.”
A shaky sob catches in your chest. He nods like he felt it.
“Yeah. I know. But you’re back now. You’re with me. Feel my hands? Feel how warm they are? That’s real. The cold floor under us is real. My ugly-ass trailer is real. You’re not stuck in that fog alone. You've got me. You've always got me.”
He shifts just enough to wrap both arms around you properly, tucking your face into the curve of his neck. You can smell the cheap soap he uses and the faint leftover cigarette smoke that never quite leaves his skin. His heartbeat is steady against your cheek.
“Just focus on my voice, baby. That’s all you gotta do right now. Nothing else. Not the week. Not the spiral. Just this.”
He keeps talking. Soft, aimless things. How the new campaign is coming along. How he almost set the kitchen on fire trying to make you toast this morning because he was worried. How he still thinks your laugh is the best sound in Hawkins. Every so often he slips back into the same quiet humming, the vibration of it traveling through his chest into yours.
Little by little the edges of the panic start to blunt. Your breathing slows to match his. The shaking in your hands eases. You stay curled against him on the floor long after the worst of it has passed, listening to the low rumble of his voice and the occasional soft kiss he presses to the top of your head.
“There you are,” he whispers eventually. “My girl. Still with me.”
You don’t have to answer. He already knows. His arms tighten just a fraction more, like he’s daring the darkness to try and take you again while he’s watching.
“I got you,” he says one more time, voice rough with feeling. “For as long as it takes. You don’t ever have to crawl out of that shit alone.”
Hey guys, just wanted to apologize for my continuity error in chapter 4 of home sweet home. I originally had her birthday be October 25th 1967 and Eddie's be January 26(Joseph Quinn's bday), 1966. This would make amber technically only one year younger but closer to two.
But with the recent drama involving a certain Tumblr user trying to justify relationships with minors. I didn't feel comfortable, so I adjusted Amber's birth year to be the same as Eddie's, so she's officially 18 when Chapter 4 starts. I know this conflicts slightly with the drama of Chapter 3, but I didn't feel comfortable writing Eddie and Amber's flirty, playful banter with her being 17. I still plan on having their relationship be a slow burn, but they have a naturally flirty and playful friendship, and I didn't want to make it weird or have anyone think I condone that, because I don't.
