The Shire is burning…

20 | she/her | queer | infp

[munsondjarin]

🕯️Munsondjarin’s Masterlist🕯️

18+ MDNI

currently only writing for eddie munson

blurb requests are: open

fluff - 🕸️

blurbs:

eddie not wanting to let you go in the morning 🕸️

eddie sneaking into your room 🕸️

eddie taking every opportunity to kiss you 🕸️

eddie hosting the kids circle reading at the public library 🕸️

reader does eric draven’s makeup on eddie 🕸️

eddie doing accents 🕸️

diy project with eddie 🕸️

reader gets turned on watching eddie dm

rollerskating with eddie headcannons 🕸️

divider credits: @ianrkives

[garbagegarfield1]

First post I’ve made on here in forever but yes this is me guys :3

[gloomweed]

Scars - Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Eddie feels a little insecure about his scars. You kiss it better.

WC: 2.2k

Eddie stands in the cramped bathroom, staring at his reflection in the fogged mirror. He’s yet to put his shirt on after his shower, leaving him in a pair of dark grey sweatpants. His fingers trail over his bare torso, tracing the permanent marks that hold no ink. There’s a grimace on his face not from pain - not physical pain, that is - but from the grief of losing something he never realized he had until it was gone. 

If you were to ask Eddie if he thought he was attractive before bats from an alternative dimension ate his flesh, he’d probably make a joke. “Oh yeah. Nothing's hotter than denim and leather, baby,” he’d say with a charming little wink and devilish smile. It would be something that would give the impression he thought he was the hottest man on the planet in an effort to hide how insecure he truly was. Something that would make you laugh and change the subject altogether. But now? After? He doesn’t even have it in him to make the joke anymore. 

Because the truth is Eddie never saw himself as someone attractive. His hair was always a frizzy mess no matter what he did with it. He wasn’t especially tall. His limbs were thin and lanky. Half his clothes were older than he was and smelled like weed. Hell, he didn’t even have a proper clasping belt! As far as Eddie was concerned, there was nothing on him that screamed ‘boyfriend material.’

Of course that didn’t stop the animalistic part of his brain - the part with the innate desire to feel loved - from finding the next best thing to physical attractiveness; charisma. If he couldn’t look good, he could always act good. Obviously not in the follow-the-rules kind of act good, but the put-on-a-show-and-dazzle-the-audience act good. Feigning confidence, control, nonchalance, being funny, being unapologetically himself; that’s what made him attractive.

But as Eddie stares at the horrendous scars that mar his once untainted sides, he feels a sense of regret for not appreciating his body for what it was. It wasn’t perfect, but it was his. Now his body serves as a constant reminder of a time he only wishes to forget. It may fade eventually after several years or so, but it will never truly be gone. This is going to be a part of him for the rest of his life.

“What’re you doing?”

Eddie startles at the sound of your question. Your brow furrows apologetically. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” You murmur from where you peek at him behind the doorframe.

He breathes a soft chuckle of relief, wet tendrils dangling  as he shakes his head. “It’s nothing, really. Just thinking, I guess,” he shrugs before quickly putting his old Black Sabbath shirt on. The lights turn off with a quiet clack of the cheap light switch Eddie hits on his way to the bedroom. You follow behind him tentatively, unsure if he was wanting to be alone or not. It was obvious something was bothering him, and you hate to see that quiet sadness in his face. It rests in his eyes and the dark circles under them. His gaze seems confined to the lower half of his field of vision, his big doe eyes no longer so big.

When he doesn’t close the door, you take that as an open invitation. He sprawls out on his bed with a quiet huff, wet hair be damned. You sit on the edge beside him, wiping the damp bangs from his forehead. “What’re you thinking about?”

The softness in your voice betrays your concern. His eyes flutter open to take in your doting worry pinched between your brows. His chest rises and falls with a deep breath before he answers. “It’s stupid,” he mutters as he brings a thumb up to smooth out the tiny fold between your brows with a tender touch. “But I know you’re not gonna take that for an answer, so…” There’s a fondness in his voice along with his distant smile that has you smiling with him.

“Smart boy,” you praise before poking his side playfully, hoping for a laugh. “So, spill it.”

Eddie does chuckle despite his best effort to be brooding. He can’t help it when he’s around you. You bring out the best of what’s left of him. He sighs once more before telling you the truth. “I don’t like the way I look,” he says with a tinge of embarrassment soaking his words. “How the bites make me look,” he clarifies when he sees your confusion. The clarification doesn’t seem to do much though because you’re still staring at him with the same amount of understanding.

“How do they make you look?” 

“Like,” Eddie looks at the ceiling and tightly crosses his arms over his chest. “Like a freak,” he shrugs, like there’s no other way to put it. Despite his best attempt at trying to look like he barely cares about it, you can see right through it with a small frown.

Your hand runs over his arm soothingly. “You’re not a freak, Eddie,” you reassured softly. Eddie can’t seem to meet your eyes as he stubbornly refuses your comfort. He is too focused on the cobwebs in the corner, it seems. Your soft hand on his jaw pulls his focus back to you as you shake your head resolutely. “You’re not a freak.” 

Eddie’s mouth pulls into a subtle pout, his eyes watering as your words seem to cut deeper than you probably intended. He forces a wet chuckle, “but I am a freak though.” He moves to sit up, and it breaks your heart a little to see him scoot away from you. “That’s what everyone calls me. A freak. And they’re right! I don’t fit in. I can’t fit in. I’m not-“ he shakes his head. “I’m not normal.” He says it with the weight of something carried for too long. 

You let his words sink into the silence as you try to understand him. You’ve never seen him so torn up about something like this. He always wore a brave face, always acted so confident and sure of himself, but ever since he came back from the upside down, he’s been… dimmer.

It could be the exhaustion of his body stitching itself back together after nearly being ripped apart or the trauma that comes with witnessing a friend being brutally mutilated, but Eddie doesn’t have that same high energy demeanor anymore. Of course he’s still himself. He still makes jokes and plays DnD with his little hellions and plays guitar for his band and gets high to watch sci-fi movies, but he’s just a little more… real. He doesn’t hide behind a mask so much anymore.

 If someone suggests watching a horror movie, he’ll turn them down nonchalantly, telling them it’s too scary for him. The fake blood looks too real and the screams are too familiar. When the intrusive thoughts get too loud and his brain is telling him all the most horrible ways you could be dying at that very moment, he’s unafraid to call you at odd hours of the night to be sure you’re safe and at home. Instead of trying to fill the silence with empty words, or adding to the already chaotic atmosphere of his found family, he’ll simply enjoy the present moment from his spot in the corner with a grateful smile on his face. 

And you like that about him! You like that he’s more honest with how he’s feeling and he’s not performing for you to like him, but part of you can’t help but worry he’s falling into a darker place when he seems so unlike himself. 

“I love that you aren’t normal,” you say earnestly. “And I love your scars.” You scoot closer to him, putting a hand on the knee he has pulled up to his chest. His dark brown eyes meet yours, still looking unconvinced. “I love that you were so willing to risk everything to save a shitty town that would never know your sacrifice. You earned those scars, Eddie. In the most heroic way possible.”

Eddie looks at you from beneath his lashes, a subtle hint of a smile on his face. You inch closer to him to hold his face between your hands. “I love you, Eddie. You and your scars.” His eyes sweep back and forth over your face, admiring your determination. “Take your shirt off,” you hear yourself say.

Despite having taken his shirt off in front of you before, Eddie feels his face flush from the intensity with which you make your request. It’s more of a command really, and he’s never heard you use that tone. When he’s too slow to take action, you realize how that might have come off. “Please?” You tack on with an apologetic look, effectively making it a choice for him rather than a demand.

Eddie huffs a soft chuckle before reaching backward to tug his shirt over his head. The movement causes his damp curls to cover his face, but he isn’t in a rush to fix it. It makes it a little easier if he can’t see your reaction, but you make it clear that that’s not the point. Your delicate fingers part his hair like a curtain and the way you smile at him so warmly has him relaxing just a bit.

You tuck hair behind both of his ears with two deft fingers before giving him a quick peck on the lips. “Thank you for indulging me,” you murmur before continuing to kiss down his neck.

Eddie’s chuckle reverberates against your mouth as you continue. “Is that what this is? Me indulging you?” You hum your affirmative response against the column of his throat. He sighs contentedly, a soft hum coming in response. “Because it feels more like you kissing me while I wallow in my own self-pity,” he grumbles, only half joking.

Eddie can feel the way your lips upturn against his chest. You pull back enough to look up at him through your long, pretty lashes. “Give me time to work my magic, baby. You won’t be wallowing for long. Promise.” Your soft hand pushes him by the chest to relax and lie down. He’s slow to comply, but settles just the same.

He feels his heart stutter just looking at you like this. You have a hand braced by his side, the other trails down his abdomen. Your nails scrape his skin just enough to tease as you move from the light dusting of chest hair between his pecs to the coarser hair that makes up his treasure trail. His stomach instinctively flexes from the ticklish sensation before your hand makes a B line to his waist. 

You kiss the soft skin of his stomach as you go along, tender little love stamps left in appreciation of his body. Eddie is sat up on his elbows, watching you curiously as you go. He loves seeing the focus in your eyes despite the subtle discomfort of being your focus. 

Your thumb at his waist brushes over a patch of his newly formed skin, the color pinker than the rest of him. You can feel the way it dips, like a layer of him is missing. The kisses you leave there are softer, Eddie realizes. You're spending more time there, worshipping his very existence. 

“You’re so pretty, baby,” you murmur between kisses. “Your eyes, your hair, your dimples when you smile. So handsome. More than that, you’re so funny and sweet.” Eddie can feel the way his face flushes from your praise. He can feel the heat in the back of his neck and the very tips of his ears. “And these scars,” you whisper reverently before looking up at him again. “So hot, baby.”

Eddie feels his pulse quickens, but can’t help but to be suspicious. “Hot? Really?” He asks incredulously. Because there is absolutely no way this is hot.

Your grin widens as you sit back on your haunches, amused by his inability to comprehend the simple fact. “Yes! So fucking hot, Eddie!” Your hands slide from his waist down to his thin hips as you give him a sultry, half lidded look. “What do I gotta do to convince you that I’m being 110% honest with you?”

He doesn’t have an answer, really. When you huff a disappointed sigh, there’s a split second of panic before he realizes you’re only messing with him. “Guess I’ll have to make this a nightly thing,” you say like it’s a chore. “I gotta make sure I tell you every day how handsome and beautiful and funny and sweet you are.” Your delicate fingers run up and down his sides, making him shiver. “Hopefully you’ll start to believe me after I’ve thoroughly kissed you stupid.” Your mischievous grin has Eddie grinning back. He leans in for a kiss that you happily reciprocate. 

You giggle when he shifts to swap your positions. Now he hovers over you as you lay on your back. Your arms are wrapped around his neck as you hold him close. He peppers kisses over your face, along your jaw and down your neck. “I’ll show you stupid,” his voice rumbles against you.

You can’t help the confused giggle you let out. “Wait, what?”

Eddie lifts his head from your neck with an embarrassed look. “Shut up, you know what I meant,” he grumbles before diving back in.

[elegantpaperoperatormaker]

eddie with clingy!reader who likes to poke and prod at him, basically just touch him everywhere, cup his cheeks, and be all over him like a koala, even when hes smelly, sad, or upset, she sticks to him like glue

Not just physically clingy, but also wanting to do everything with him🙂‍↕️

And he loves it. Always makes room for you.

You're not used to being met with total acceptance.

That's a new experience only Eddie has managed to bring you. And anytime you mention that, he's baffled that someone could possibly say no to you.

He genuinely can't imagine it.

You even had him try one time.

"You do know, you don't have to say yes to me every time. It's okay if you're not up to do something with me or—"

"Sweetheart, I say yes because I want to," he shrugs easily.

You raise a brow at how quickly he dismissed the idea. "Okay, but you are capable of saying no, right?"

Leisurely sinking lower in his seat, he snorts. "Of course."

The word drags out and the longer each letter sounds, the more suspicious you get.

"Alright, let's see it, then."

His eyes widen, head cocking to the side. "Hm?"

"Say no to me."

"No."

Your glare has him straightening up. "I didn't ask the question yet."

He motions for you to continue. You think for a moment, then, "Eddie, can we get ice cream—"

"Sure."

"No!" He jumps at your outburst. "That was the question; practice saying no!"

“Right, right, okay, hit me again.” He steels himself, looking entirely motivated to reject you. 

You pause, making sure he’s ready, then, “Can we go to the movies later?”

His lips curl like he’s trying his best to hold the word in, but it looks like he’s two seconds from bursting when—

“Si!”

“What? What the hell was that?”

He lets out a breath of relief as if he completed the impossible. “I didn’t say yes. Phew, that was hard. Good game, everyone, good game," he calls, waving around the empty room. 

“That doesn’t count,” you laugh. 

He shifts in his seat. “What do you mean it ‘doesn’t count’? I didn’t say yes!”

“Yes, you did. Just because it was in Spanish doesn’t mean it doesn’t count. Again!”

He groans. “Ugh, God, you’re probably the first girlfriend in existence to want to be told no. You’re sick. Sick, sick, sick. Just an ill-minded individual,” he mutters, turning his nose up at your incredulous look. 

You cross your arms. “It’s one syllable! Two letters! Come on, man! Get yourself together!”

“Alright, alright, go.”

“Here I’ll give you an easy one: Can I rip a page from your monster manual, I need some scrap paper.”

Surprisingly, it’s actually a struggle, but he manages a small, “Nnn—“

You perk up, leaning in. “What was that?”

“N-No,” he chokes out. 

You erupt in thunderous applause, watching his face light up. “Yes! Yeah, there you go!”

“Okay, this is pretty fun, gimme another,” he grins, eagerly waiting. 

“Can I borrow the van?”

The question seems to have thrown him off, but then he squares his shoulders. “No.”

“Nice! Okay, um,” you think of another, this time harder. “Can I braid your hair—“

“Yes. Fuck!”

The agreement came out like it cost nothing, and you throw your hands up. 

“What the hell, Eddie? You were doing so good!”

His shoulders are up to his ears as he hurries, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! But also you can’t possibly expect me to say no to that! A hot chick running her fingers through my hair? Sign me the fuck up!”

You shake your head, muttering a defeated, “You’re impossible.”

“Oh my God, sorry I love my girlfriend so much,” he grumbles, catching your eye roll. “No, you’re right— I should be put to death. Hell is not hot enough.”

Masterlist

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[glitter50000]

Byler fanfic s4 idea where Eddie accidentally plays matchmaker/wingman cause Will joins hellfire and Eddie immediately clocks his ass being like “hey I noticed every time I talk to Wheeler, you glare at me like you want to use Fireball on my head—hold on I’m not a cop (is bisexual)—and I’m gonna help you” and then his first step is dragging Will to Hot Topic or Spencer’s or some kind of store like that and being like “now go nuts” as sets him free in that place

[carolmunson]

LGDW!eddie x you - smutty. happy belated v-day.

He likes it so much when you’re on top. He feels stupid about it. Mind wandering every now and again and his mouth hangs open while he thinks about it. You just take him. His mind liquifies, turning into nothing but yesyesyesyesyesyesyes. Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease.

You got home from Valentine’s dinner and he set up the apartment to look like a five star hotel (as much as you can make a new one bedroom into a five star hotel on his salary). Rose petals on the ground, bouquet in the bed.

You didn’t make it to the bed. You took off your coat and shoved him onto the couch, straddling him in your heels and then all he could think about was you naked with heels and he yesyesyesyesyesyesyes.

You pull his hair and he whines, trying to steady your hips while they push against the fabric of his slacks. He doesn’t know why he tries to steady them, maybe he just doesn’t wanna come too quick. But then you start making those sounds while you wind against him, erection pressing between your legs — and then it’s just not fair of him to try and control your speed. Not now. Not while you’re starting to feel good.

He slides down slightly so you can really feel it, pushing his hips up to savor the friction. He bites his lip between kisses, eyes heavy lidded, “Baby, please…”

“What?” You coo back, he tenses his calves to try and hold back a moan.

“Let me, let me take you to my room,” he stammers out. You grin and it’s half sexy, half evil — his heart thunders, he knows that look. He loves that look.

“But we’re having so much fun out here,” you say back, head dipping to kiss his neck, tongue trailing over his jugular back down to just under his jaw. He knows what you’re gonna do and he almost wants to let out a ‘no’ but not because he doesn’t want it — he just doesn’t wanna get closer to coming before you can make it to bed.

Your teeth graze over the skin and his eyes roll.

“Doll, don’t — I’m gonna..uhn..” it comes out more like a whimper than a moan when your canines press down on his neck. Nipping just hard enough that it gives him a jolt of a sting; his cock twitches, ringed fingers gripping your hips with new vigor. His hips push up again, grinding back against you.

So close to his ear he hears it, that slight falter, a needy sigh escaping you before you kiss under his ear. Your nose grazes the shell and he lets out another soft moan, taken now by the rhythm of your hips in tandem. He could come just like this, dry humping in the ambient glow of the living room. But he has other plans, lips back on each others, he takes your lower lip between his teeth before letting it go. A challenge to your hand in his hair and the other on his jaw — guiding him while he kisses.

Your eyes catch, devilish, you both smirk. Fingers let go of one of your hips and trail beneath your dress, pushing between the fat of your thighs where they meet. Warmth engulfs him, knowing what’s next when he trails the pad of his finger over your panties before pulling them to the side.

“So wet,” he mumbles against your lips, your hand just below his neck flexes, nails pushing into his skin, in charge to needy. He pushes in, just a test, feeling you envelope him — clenching down almost immediately. Yesyesyesyesyesyesyes.

You reach for his belt while he starts a rhythm between your legs. Your hips are free now, bouncing back against the talent in his wrist, feeling another finger dip itself in to stretch you out.

He shimmies himself out of his pants and briefs, not fully getting up while he keeps you entertained — the glassy glaze in your eyes making him determined to get you there on the couch before he can finally coax you to the bedroom. Those rose petals were not going to waste the way Tatianna said they would. They were not cheesy.

Exposed, he reaches down with his free hand to stroke himself while his lips stay on yours. Fingertips deftly rubbing at your clit now. You shudder and huff and God you keep making all those sounds, you’re gonna drive him crazy.

You move out of his touch, adjusting to start on the ride of your life while you hold onto his shoulders.

“Woah, woah, what’s up?” He asks, brown eyes shining while he looks up at you.

“Look, I’m gonna sit on it or suck it,” you respond matter of factly, “That dick is gonna be inside me either way. Your choice.”

“Ex..excuse me?” he breathes out, face a surprised and bashful grin. He’s never heard you so direct before and he’s now so hard he might need medical attention. You both need to split a bottle of Cabernet more often if this is how you get after.

“Do you want me to repeat it slower for you, Ed?” you ask back, “Is that what you need?”

“Jeeesus,” he hisses back, curls cushioning the back of his head while it falls back against the back wall of the couch, “You gotta chill.”

“You don’t like when I’m mean?” you tease, one of your nails trailing from his cheek down his neck. He shuts his eyes tight and then relaxes them.

“I love when you’re mean,” he sighs, “God, I love when you’re mean.”

“You want me to be mean to you in your bedroom?” you ask in his ear, pressing a still glossy kiss to his cheek.

“Yeah, I decorated it,” he says bashfully, “Since it’s our first Valentine’s, y’know?”

“Okay, whatever you want,” you nod back at him. He palms your cheek, leaning in to give you a kiss that’s more loving than lustful.

“I have a gift in there for you,” he says, “I know we didn’t really like — say if we were doing gifts, but — I wanted to.”

“That’s sweet,” you say back, getting up off of his lap. He haphazardly pulls his pants back up before following suit, knowing they’ll just be off again in a couple minutes.

“I got you a little something, too,” you offer, making your way down the hall.

“Yeah? Where is it?” he asks, looking back at your purse and then at you. You look over your shoulder with a glint in your eye — half evil, half sexy.

“It’s under the dress,” you shrug.

Yesyesyesyesyesyesyes. Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease.

[vampirementality]

they really shouldve just given holly's plotline to mike.

imagine the chaos of the madwheeler duo running rampant in vecnas mind.

imagine them being forced to see each others worst memories and recognising the real reason they butt heads so often is because they just cant stand how similar they really are.

imagine they fight because theyre still in denial about their similarities because theyre both self hating idiots, and/or they have some sort of disagreement, maybe about how to escape or maybe max confronts him about how he's treated el in the past.

imagine that right as tensions are highest, they stumble into another memory and max finds out that mikes big secret is that hes in love with will. and he expects her to berate him. to yell at him, say she just knew there was something wrong with him, but of course she doesn't. she just hugs him and tells him its okay. and he's so caught off guard that he doesn't even react at first, but then piece by piece he just starts to break down and cry into her shoulder, because its such a relief to finally just admit it to someone, and the fact that max, someone who isnt very fond of him on a good day, still accepts him honestly just makes her the perfect person to admit it to.

imagine she opens up to him about how it wasn't the music that saved her at all, it was her connection, her love for lucas, and that if he wants to escape he has to accept the same thing for himself. he has to realize what love really tethers him to this world.

[spideynap]

Remember when they created the coolest character in Stranger Things known as Eddie Munson only to kill his ass off by bats that could not be escaped only to never show them or mention again. What the fuck was that about.

[elegantpaperoperatormaker]

When you and Eddie get married, he can’t stop referring to you as his wife.

My wife this, my wife that. 

It gets to a point where his friends start to think you’ve got him on a tight leash now because he won’t stop hitting them with, “I’ll have to check with Mrs. Munson,” any time they try to make plans with him. 

Meanwhile, he just wants an excuse to call you his missus. He’s certain he has never liked a set of words pressed together as much he likes my and wife. Also, he’s not even asking you. 

“Can I ask you something?” Gareth’s voice crackles through the receiver.

“Uh, yeah. I mean, you called, so go ahead.” 

You’re confused why he’s not just asking for Eddie like usual, but then he speaks up.

“Why is it that Ed needs your permission for shit all of a sudden?”

You jerk back, his words almost sound accusatory and you’re certain they’re unfounded. 

“What—“

“You used to be so chill, but what, now that you’re married, he’s all yours? I mean, come on, making him check with you about D&D nights? You never used to do that!”

“Okay, first of all, I still don’t do that,” you bite back, frustrated at how pointless his anger is. “And second of all, I would pay you to get him out of this house. I can’t get shit done when he’s following me around all—“

Eddie saunters into the kitchen and you immediately snap your fingers to draw him over to you. His eyes brighten at the invitation, and he’s already reaching for your hips when you pull the phone away from your cheek.

“Edward, your side piece is bitching at me. Control him,” you grumble, and his smile drops as he reaches for the phone. 

You can hear Gareth complain on the other end, but you snatch the phone back before he can fully take it from you. 

“Also, are you blaming it on me that you don’t wanna hang out with your friends?”

He straightens but doesn’t drop his grip on you. “What? N-No!”

You raise an eyebrow, and he tries to drag you into him. You resist as much as you can, but his hands sink lower, just above your ass, and he closes any distance he can’t steal from you.

“No,” he repeats, firmer this time. “I just— I just wanna spend time with you.” 

It’s then that he deploys his greatest weapon: those damn puppy dog eyes. All round and wet and completely pitiful. 

Gareth’s voice sounds faint through the phone, but you hear the disgust loud and clear. “Jesus Christ.”

“So just say you don’t wanna hang out. Don’t say I’m not letting you. Because now I’m hearing a lot of won-won-won from your scorned lover,” you shake the phone. 

“Hey!”

“No, baby, I’m not saying you won’t let me. I’m just— Okay, I think I get the confusion here. Two things.” He holds up a finger. “One: I wanna hang out with you because you’re my wife and I love you very much—“

“Flattery,” you mumble, rolling your eyes. But he kisses you quickly, shocking the annoyance off your face.

“Flattery,” he agrees, “and yet…true.” 

Instead of holding up the second finger, he just returns his grip to your waist, digging two fingers into you, kneading your curves. “Two: I just really like calling you Mrs. Munson, Mrs. Munson.” 

Another kiss, this time chaste in the corner of your mouth. And damn him, he always knows how to leave you seeking more.

“When I say I’ve gotta check with you, it’s just an excuse to call my fair lady her proper title.” 

“Ugh, gag me—“

His eyes carry that certain sparkle and you feel yourself being hoisted onto a pedestal with every word. It’s so hard to stay annoyed when he does that. And he knows that, the asshole.

He watches your face as you fail to stop the grin just itching to break out. He matches you immediately, kissing you once more.

“Just wanna be with you all the time, baby,” he mutters, pulling you even tighter to him. 

You squirm because you’ve got a reputation to uphold, but you know he loves the challenge, always squeezing you closer.

“Ugh, you’re like a tumor.”

“A sexy tumor,” he grins, nuzzling into your neck. 

“Oh, look! A pencil! Wonder if it’ll permanently damage my hearing if I just—“

“The Third is getting huffy. Better put out the fire,” you smirk, wiggling free as you shove the phone into Eddie’s hands. 

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[shandy-and-champagne]

AND THE TROPHY GOES TO:

Lumax, Jopper and—

*checks cards*

... *checks again*

Stonathan?

[yeah-iveheardofbears]

Hiii, I’d like to order a Eddie Munson, stirred. Rum with no mixer. Add a lime wedge, a sugar rim (for him) and can I get it with a bent straw please?????

I adore your writing, can’t wait for all the new fics💘💘💘💘

unbirthday

pairing: eddie munson x reader

summary: you've always hated having a birthday so close to Christmas so you've decided not to celebrate. but your best friend has a different idea. and maybe you'll both get a gift in the process...

wc: 8.8k

order up: friends-to-lovers, canon-universe, smut & fluff, mutual pining, first time (for him), and slight post-hookup awkwardness/tender aftermath.

warnings: talk of drinking, mention of past violence, Eddie Munson eating pussy like his life depends on it, first time, virgin!Eddie, slight internal jealousy, p in v sex, fluff

masterlist

Holidays weren't your favorite time of year. 

In fact, the time from after Halloween until New Year's made you more irritated and stressed than happy and joyous. 

And maybe your birthday being right before Christmas had something to do with that, sure. Other people didn't have to worry about the biggest gift giving holiday being right around the corner from their own personal celebration. 

Parties always got canceled because of snow or holiday conflicts. People were too broke to go out and do anything. Combined Christmas/Birthday gifts felt like a cop out. 

So this year you decided to say 'fuck it' and not even mention your birthday. You were in community college for a couple years now, just outside of Hawkins. No one in your newer friend circles needed to know your birthday only to be too busy to celebrate. Hell, you were on break. You didn't even have to see them.

Unfortunately, for your plan, there was one person who never forgot your birthday. 

Who's voice was currently wafting through the house like this was a performance piece. 

Eddie was downstairs, chatting up your mom the way he'd done since freshman year, when you guys had your first school project together. And the rest was history. 

Except you graduated a couple years ago and Eddie... didn't. So you saw a little less of each other than you usually did. 

It bothered you more than you cared to admit, and it bothered him even more. 

"Thanks for the cookie!" You heard, a mouth half full but still booming voice yell from the stairs. Footsteps, heavy even without shoes and two at a time, came next before three distinct knocks at your bedroom door. 

"No solicitors." You say, deadpan, sitting on your bed reading the same line in your book for the past five minutes. 

"Even if I'm selling my soul to you for a very, very discounted rate? It is your birthday after all."

You sigh. "Come in."

The door opens with a loud creak and then a soft click as he shuts it behind him. He's wearing a flannel over a band shirt that's so faded you can't even make out the logo, and faded black jeans, the chain on his wallet jingling as he walks over. He slings his jacket over your desk chair like he usually does.

"Happy birthday." He's holding out a small, poorly wrapped gift.

"You didn't have to get me anything. I told you—"

"'Not doing my birthday this year', yeah I heard you. You tell me a lot of things." He cuts you off, but not in a mean way. He's smiling. "Doesn't mean I agree with all of them."

You take the gift and set it beside you on the nightstand with a soft but reluctant 'thanks'. 

Eddie flops dramatically backward across your bed, making you pull up your legs into a crossed position so he doesn't break his spine on them. 

"So," he starts, glancing over at you. "Twenty one, huh? Finally legal to… drink rum without a mixer."

The joke lands, you can't help but snort a little. He always remembered your go-to, the one you’d refilled with water in your parents' liquor cabinet since you were old enough to sneak sips. "Very specific."

He shrugs, shifting on the bed so he's propped up on an elbow, facing you. The movement brings him closer than you expected, close enough that you can see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes, the slightly chapped state of his lips.

"C'mon, you really don't want to do anything? Not even a 'finally legal' crawl to the Hideout? The sticky floors and three drunks aren't enticing you even a little bit?" He's grinning, all teeth and easy charm, but you know him better. You can see the flicker of something else underneath, something hopeful and a little worried that you’re actually going to say no to everything.

You sigh, closing your book for real this time and setting it aside. The spine makes a soft thud on the nightstand, right next to the present. "I don't know. I'm kind of just… burned out on it all. The whole song and dance." You pick at a loose thread on your comforter. "I'd rather just chill, you know?"

He's quiet for a second, just watching you. "Yeah," he says, the word softer than you expected. "I get that."

The silence that follows isn't awkward. It's familiar. It’s a thousand late nights spent in this very room, homework spread between you, music playing low from a tinny radio. It's a comfort you didn't realize you missed as much as you had this semester.

What is new is the small bruise forming under Eddie's left eye, that you just got to see in the light. 

"Eddie..." Your eyes narrow as you reach out and touch it lightly before he can stop you. When you pull your finger back there's a nude residue on it. 

You arch a concerned brow at him and he lays back with a groan. 

"Are you wearing makeup?" 

"I.. it's no big deal. I didn't want to... look like shit if we ended up doing birthday shenanigans, so Buckley put some of this stuff on me. She said it was good to help 'conceal'. I don't know." He gestures vaguely at his face. 

"You're wearing concealer on your face." You state simply, still processing.

"Yes." He confirms in a way that sounds like he's admitting to murder.

"Okay, the mental image of Robin trying to get you to hold still long enough aside... Why didn't you tell me you got in a fight?" Your fingers twitch with the want to touch him again, to check if he was hurt anywhere else.

"Because it's embarrassing."

"Getting in fights is kind of your thing."

"Yeah, when they're on my terms. And for self defense. And not against dudes twice my age and double my size." He rubs his hands down his face as he speaks. 

Your curiosity and concern are equally piqued, especially when he walks over to your vanity and bends down, squinting at the damage. 

"It's not that bad right?" He asks, still looking in the mirror. 

You unfurl your legs in front of you again, getting comfortable against your pillows as you watch him. 

It's not your fault your eyes travel down to where his flannel lifts a little at his back. Or to where his jeans fit just right on his lean frame...

"Is it?" He finally turns around, taking your silence as a bad answer. 

"No. Uh, it's definitely not the worst you've looked." You say, clearing your throat. 

If he caught you, he doesn't seem to care because he's sauntering back over to your bed and flopping down again. Next to you this time.

"You gonna explain why a large man in his forties beat you up, or no?" You push, wanting to keep him talking, keep him here with you.

"Look, it's not that big of a deal. I promise." He says, sounding less theatrical and more honest. "I probably deserved it. And honestly, he took pity on me." 

"Okay now you have to explain." 

He sighs. "Fine. But you're gonna think I'm an idiot."

"I already know you're an idiot. So no news there." You smile as you nudge him with your knee.

"Fair." He sits up straighter. "I was at the Hideout last night. As one young degenerate male does on a random Thursday." 

"Uh-huh..." You press, knowing he's being theatrical. 

"And there was this girl... woman really..."

"Oh a woman caller, huh?" You tease, but something tightens in your stomach.

"Shut up." He pushes back playfully. "And she was sitting alone at the bar. Maybe in her thirties? I don't know. Women confuse me with their age magic. But she was a knockout."

"At the Hideout?" You ask, trying to hide the weird jealous flash with skepticism. 

"I was as shocked as you." He snorts, clearly not noticing any issue with your tone. "But I had just finished my barback shift and... I don't know... it kinda felt like she was watching me throughout the night." 

"Because she found you hot? Or because you were wiping down the bar with a dirty rag and sweating into the beer cooler?"

"The latter, probably. A look of pity maybe? Not sure." He shrugs. "But anyway, after my shift was over, she told me to sit with her."

The story pauses, Eddie looking at you as if to gauge your interest. You don't have to fake it. You've leaned in slightly, waiting for the rest.

"And?"

"And she got me a drink. Which, you know, was mostly booze because Bev doesn't slack." 

"Bev loves you. In her own weird way."

"She loves what's left of my tips at the end of the night." He corrects you with a grin, the kind that doesn't quite reach his eyes. He's looking at you, really looking at you, and it makes your stomach feel like a flipped switch. "So we drank. We talked. She was… cool. Older. Like, she had a real job and an apartment."

"And you, what? Made her a mixtape of all your favorite Black Sabbath songs?"

"Blasphemy! You know I only make mixtapes for the two special girls in my life." His grin was big and genuine. "You and the van."

You roll your eyes but he continues. 

"One thing led to another and we're outside, by the cleaner dumpster. And she's... you know..." 

Your tone was clipped. "I certainly don't." 

"We were making out like... heavily. More than that one time with Nicole Summers under the bleachers after..."

"Okay, Jesus. I get it." You hold up a hand, not wanting to hear about that particular memory either. That was the summer before your senior year, and you'd had to hear all about it for a week.

"So anyway, she starts to... explore lower... with her hands...and then uh... she's... lowering herself..." 

It was weird to hear Eddie talk about this. Uncomfortable, even.

You knew he was a virgin. Not exactly a hot commodity in Hawkins. So you didn't hear this kind of thing from him often. 

"Look, I'm not gonna paint you a mental mural, but there she is." He gestures lower to his junk. "Eye level with the beast--" 

"No." You say, shaking your head. "Don't call it that."

"It's my dick." He laughs, but it's a nervous one. "It can have a nickname."

"It shouldn't."

He shrugs. "Okay. So she's down there, doing her thing and I'm just about to..."

He makes a face, a very unflattering one at that.

"... finish?" You wince, using the least crude term you can think of. “And hopefully not looking like that.”

"Shut up. And almost." He corrects you, then he covers his face with his hands. "And that's when the husband shows up."

Your jaw drops.

"The husband?" You ask, a little too loudly.

He nods from behind his hands. "The husband. Apparently she has one. And he's not too pleased that I'm receiving a uh...gift...from his wife." He finally drops his hands.

"Jesus Christ, Eddie." You whisper, the image seared into your brain. The poor girl, probably trying to reclaim some lost piece of her youth, and Eddie, your Eddie, caught in the crossfire.

"I know, right? So he shoves me. Hard. I fall back, hit my head on the dumpster. He screams something about a 'greasy little punk' and then he's just... wailing on me."

Your eyes dart back to the makeup on his face.

"And you just took it?"

He lets out a laugh that's more mortified than anything.

"See...he only landed one punch. Because the woman... she uh, she explained she was doing me a favor. Told him I'm uh... not what he thinks I am. She called me... a charity case." The last words are whispered, a confession.

It hits you like a physical blow. The casual cruelty of it, the public humiliation. The fact that Eddie, who puts on such a show of not caring what anyone thinks, had to stand there and take that.

"She was trying to stop him from hitting you more?" You ask, trying to understand the logic, trying to find a silver lining.

"Yeah. I don't know. I was mostly focused on trying to pull my pants up." He flops back on the bed, defeated. "Moral of the story: still a screw up, still a virgin."

You sigh slowly, wrapping your head around it as you lay down next to him more.

"I mean... did you really want to lose your v-card by the dive bar dumpsters?" You ask softly. The words are meant to be comforting, a gentle reframe.

He turns his head to look at you, your faces inches apart on the pillow. "No, not really." A beat of silence. "Did you expect a full, gruesome story of my near-deflowering on your twenty-first birthday?"

You can't help the small, breathy laugh that escapes. "No, not really." You admit, a grin tugging at your lips. "But I'm glad you told me."

His gaze is unwavering, full of a warmth that's been there for years but feels suddenly, intensely new.

As soon as it flashes it's gone. 

"Yeah well. In a couple months I'll be twenty-one, and I'm really hoping I'll have an actual deflowering by then. So maybe I should work on it." He jokes, but it doesn't land.

It sits in the air like something sour.

"You don't need to work on anything, Eddie." You say, your voice barely a whisper. "And you're not a charity case."

The look on his face is unreadable, a complicated mess of gratitude and something else, something you can't quite name.

"I know." He says, but it sounds like a lie. He thinks he's scraps, and it breaks your heart.

"It's not even that great. Trust me. I've had guys play dj with my labia for thirty seconds and ask me if it was 'good for me'. Or the one time the guy from band camp felt me up and then cried. And I only lost it last year in the backseat of this art student's van." You offer, trying to make him feel less like the odd man out. Trying to make him feel less alone.

Eddie looks at you, his head tilted on the pillow, a slow smile spreading across his face. It's not the big, performative grin he uses at school or in the Hideout. This one is smaller, softer, real.

"Art student's van, huh? Was it a good one?"

"The sex or the van? He had a futon mattress in the back, so... you know. It was a step up from your van. The sex was…adequate."

"Okay wow, shots fired to my second best girl? I wouldn't take you in the van for our first time at least. That's a third time kind of activity." The words are out before he can catch them. A beat of silence hangs in the air, thick with the weight of what he just implied.

His face flushes, a deep, splotchy red that climbs up his neck. "I mean, not that... fuck. That's not what I..." He stammers, sitting up abruptly as if to put distance between the admission and himself.

You don't move. You just watch him, a strange, warm feeling blooming in your chest.

"I knew what you meant." You say attempting to calm him, and yourself. 

Eddie stops mid-fidget, turning to look at you. "Right. Good."

He doesn't sit back down. He just stands there, awkwardly, by the bed. The space he created feels too big now.

This was the precipice. Years of late-night study sessions, shared secrets, and inside jokes all led to this one, charged moment. The air in the room feels different, thicker, humming with a new kind of energy.

You make a choice.

You swing your legs off the bed and stand up, crossing the small space to stand in front of him.

"You're not some charity case, Eddie."

"Yeah, you said that." 

"No I mean..." You sigh, taking his large hands in yours. "Girls in Hawkins are cowards. And if the Bible thumpers and hick idiots didn't run this town, you'd be a catch."

He looks at you skeptically, like you're full of shit, frankly. 

"A catch? Me?" He snorts.

"A catch." You confirm. "You're funny, you're smart when you're not being a dumbass, and you're... you're loyal. You're a good person."

"You just described a dog."

"A really, really good looking dog." You correct him, stepping closer.

You can feel the heat radiating off him, see the way his breath hitches in his throat. He's not deflecting anymore. He's just… watching you. Waiting.

"You don't have to do this." His voice is a low rumble, a last-ditch attempt at giving you an out. "Just 'cause I'm an idiot and said that out loud... you don't owe me anything. It was just... I misspoke. I don't...I don't want that from you." 

It feels like a cold shower. 

No, It feels like a cold tidal wave. 

'I don't want that from you.'

"Oh. Okay." You drop his hands and take a step back, the space between you feeling like a canyon. You cross your arms over your chest, a pathetic attempt at holding yourself together.

"I mean," he says, stepping forward again, trying to backtrack. "That's not..."

But you've already closed yourself off. The heat in your cheeks is gone, replaced by a cold wash of shame.

"No! No... it's fine. Just..." You turn to your bed away from him, pretending to fuss with the blankets. "I think I just want to be alone. Like I said. For my birthday." You need him to leave. Right now. Before you start crying in front of him.

"Wait. That's not what I meant. I'm sorry. I'm so bad at this." He's behind you, a pleading in his tone that would normally make you melt. Right now, it just grates.

"I'm just tired." You lie. 

"Okay," he says, and you hear him back toward the door. The rejection stings more than you expected it would. More than that, the embarrassment, the sheer mortification of putting yourself out there and being shot down so cleanly, it was a new kind of pain. A hot, prickling feeling behind your eyes.

You hear the jingle of his keys as he picks up his jacket from the chair. "Happy birthday, by the way."

The door clicks shut, and you finally let out the breath you were holding.

It’s short lived. 

"You know what? No. Nope."

Your door opens a moment later and he's pointing like he has a point to prove, before he flicks it shut. 

"What are you..." 

The jacket it's thrown over your chair once again and two large, ringed hands frame your face, callouses grazing your temples. 

His lips are on yours before you can finish your sentence. Soft and firm, like he's been thinking about it for a while. 

He tastes like the cookies your mom baked and mint, and he pulls back before you can really taste him. 

"What... but you just said..." 

Your brain is spinning and you know your confusion bleeds into your expression. Because Eddie's eyes are wide, like he's not sure he should have done that but is so glad he did.

"I'm an idiot." He states, and you nod a little in agreement. "I wanted it. I want you. I just didn’t want it if it was some pity thing. That's what I meant to say. I just... panicked. But then you looked so sad and I knew I fucked up. Because trust me, I have wanted that for longer than you probably want to know. Because if I say that out loud... it makes it real. And I... I'm bad at real. Real gets you punched by angry husbands in a bar parking lot." He's speaking in a rush, words tumbling over each other to get out.

"That wasn't real." You say, trying to calm him. "That was just... stupid. And not your fault."

"This." He gestures between the two of you. "This is real. This is us. And I'm terrified of screwing it up."

"I don't have a secret husband. I promise." You say, your hands coming up to rest on his wrists, feeling the frantic beat of his pulse against your fingers.

His gaze drops to your lips. "That's good to know."

He's not moving, though. He's still waiting. For you. Always for you.

So you close the distance.

This kiss is different. It's you who leads, a slow, deliberate press of your lips against his. You pour everything into it—years of unspoken feelings, of late-night comfort, of shared laughter.

"You think I'm good looking?" He says muffled by your lips, a dumb little smile forming as he kisses back.

You can't help but laugh into his mouth, a real, genuine laugh that breaks the tension into a million pieces.

"Shut up," you murmur, pulling back just enough to look at him. "You have terrible timing."

"I have great timing. It's your birthday. I'm giving you what you want."

"You don't know what I want."

"Yeah, I do." His thumbs stroke your cheeks, the gesture so gentle it makes your chest ache. He looks in your eyes like he's searching. "I'm not the most experienced guy but you know... I'm also not gonna..." 

He makes a little DJing motion with his fingers and you groan, remembering what you said earlier. "Oh my god, please stop."

"Right, sorry." He grins, leaning in to kiss your nose. "But seriously, what do you want? Your big twenty-one. Whatever it is, we can do it. Hideout crawl? Diner milkshake until we puke? Or... we can stay here."

The last part is a question, hanging in the space between you. He's offering you the choice, the control, and it's the most Eddie thing in the world to do.

He leans in, breath hot on your ear, voice lower. "Let me make you feel good on your birthday. Let me try."

You're nodding before you even realize it, a small, almost imperceptible motion. It's all the permission he needs.

His lips find yours again, and he's backing you up to the bed. You stumble a little when the back of your knees hit the frame, but you sit with a giggle. 

He pulls back to look down at you, smiling softly. Before you can say anything, he's already sinking to his knees in front of you. 

"Eddie, what are you doing?" You ask, your voice a little breathy.

"Shhh." He runs his hands up your thighs, squeezing gently. "Let me."

His fingers hook into the waistband of your sweats, and he looks up at you, a silent question in his eyes. You nod again, a little more confidently this time, and he tugs them down your legs.

The air is cool on your skin, and you shiver. His eyes are dark, watching you with an intensity that makes your heart pound.

His hands are warm on your bare thighs, and he leans in, pressing a kiss to your knee, then your inner thigh.

"What I lack in experience..." he says, trailing kisses upward. "I make up for in enthusiasm."

It’s a joke, a deflection, but it lands softer than it’s meant to, a genuine confession of sorts.

"You're doing okay so far," you whisper, your hands tangling in his hair.

He looks up at you, a small, proud smile on his face. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He leans in, and you feel his breath, warm against the cotton of your panties. "You smell so ready for me." 

He groans as he nuzzles into your panties, your clit throbbing with the need for direct contact. The slight stubble of his chin catches the fabric, sending a jolt through you.

"Eddie," you breathe out, your hips rocking forward, a silent plea.

He pulls back, looking up at you. "You want me to take these off?"

You nod, unable to form words.

He hooks his fingers into the sides of your panties and slowly, carefully, slides them down your legs. He’s careful with you, the way you’d expect him to be with something precious.

Once they're down, he's looking at you so intensely, it almost makes you nervous. 

"Is... something wrong?" You whisper. 

Did he not like what he saw? Or maybe it wasn't what he was used to seeing, if he'd only seen porn. Maybe you weren't enough.

"Wrong?" He asks, his eyes wide. "No. Nothing is wrong. I just... I can't believe this is happening."

He's on his knees in front of you, looking at you like you hung the moon.

"You're... wow."

"Thanks," you say, your voice barely a whisper.

He leans in again, this time with no fabric between you. His breath is warm against your core. 

"I've never done this like... came close one time before. But uh...contrary to my academic record, I am a quick learner. " He confesses.

"You have to stop telling me your sexual experience stats." You say, but it's without heat. "I'm not a job interview."

"Okay," he says, looking up at you with a grin. "But you are the job I want."

You almost laugh at the cheesy line, but then his tongue is on you and all thought flies out the window.

It’s not hesitant. He’s not tentative. He’s confident.

His tongue flattens against your clit, and he licks a broad stripe up, then circles the sensitive nub. Your small sounds are driving him nuts and he pauses just to look up at you. 

"Never heard you make that noise before." He says, a proud look on his face. "I like it."

Before you can respond, his tongue is back on you, more insistent this time. He’s exploring, learning you, committing every gasp and shiver to memory.

He pushes one of your legs up and over his shoulder, opening you up more to him. The new angle allows him to go deeper, and he takes full advantage, licking into you with a focused intensity.

Your hands tighten in his hair, holding him to you as he works. His hands never stop touching your thighs, the callouses and metal rings making each sensation feel new, making it feel like him.

"Does that feel good?" He asks, his voice a low rumble against you.

You nod, unable to speak, and he takes that as his cue to continue. He wraps his lips around your clit and sucks, gently at first, then a little harder.

A sound escapes you, somewhere between a gasp and a moan.

"Fuck," he whispers, pulling back just enough to look up at you. "You're so sensitive, baby."

The pet name is new, but it sounds natural coming from him.

He leans back in, a little more confident now, a little more sure of himself. He’s less a nervous student and more an eager apprentice. He's listening to your body, learning what makes you tremble, what makes your breath catch.

Your hips begin to rock against his face, a slow, involuntary rhythm. He doesn't shy away from it. He meets it, encouraging it with a hand on your ass, pulling you closer. The move shocks you a little and you let out a breathy giggle mid moan. 

He pulls back to look up at you, eyes full of genuine adoration, lips quirked into a soft smile, glistening with you.

"Why'd you stop?" You pant out, trying your best not to seem needy, but you deeply craved how his mouth felt a moment ago. 

"I love your laugh." He says softly, still looking up at you from the floor. "I've been trying to get you to laugh like that for years."

Your brain scrambles for a witty comeback, something to cut through the sudden, overwhelming intimacy of his words, but you come up empty. All you can do is stare at him, at the earnestness in his eyes, at the way he's looking at you like you're the most important thing in the world.

"I mean, I have. Made you laugh. Plenty of times. But... there's these moments where you just..." He trails off and you frown a little. 

"Where I what?" You ask, just as soft. 

His eyes soften and he starts to aimlessly drum his fingers against the soft fat of your ass. 

You know that fidgeting. He's nervous. 

"Where you uh... you just kinda let go. Stop caring about anything except the current moment. And, well hell, you know. You have to know." He shakes his head a little, wistful look on his features. "You look... you're so beautiful when that happens." 

It makes your breath hitch before you even realize it. The way he looks up at you, from his knees, no less, is something else. He's not trying to be anything or anyone but himself. Raw, open, and completely at your mercy.

The idea of him thinking about you like this, of him cataloging your laughs and your moments of unbridled joy... it was a secret you never knew you were keeping. You can't find it in yourself to be mad that he's been holding this in.

"You're a sap." You whisper, running a hand through his hair again. But your tone is far from teasing. It's gentle and so fucking fond. 

He looks like he's calmed down a bit from the weight of the confession. 

"Yeah well, you're easy to be sappy for." His eyes close and he kisses his way back up your inner thighs, alternating between them. "And God..." 

Another kiss, closer to where he was before.

"You taste so fucking good." 

His mouth is on you again but it's teasing, in between words. 

"I watch a lot of porn like this. Not gonna lie. The girls... they always look like they really like this part..." 

A kiss to your clit, but not with the flat of his tongue. A closed-mouth kiss. A tease.

"But the guys are always so... clinical. Like they're trying to find a leak in the sink. Or like they're too focused on fucking up." He's mumbling into you. "But doing this for real? With you? I'm just... I'm so hungry for it."

He licks a stripe up your center and your whole body shakes. 

"Eddie..." You plead for more quietly

"Hmm? Baby, I'm trying to have a very sinful makeout session here. Don't be interrupting."

You can't help it. A real, uninhibited giggle bubbles up from your chest, loud and unrestrained.

"Fuck... yeah that's the one." He groans, finally flattening his tongue against you. "Right there. That's the laugh I was talking about." He licks against you. "So pretty when you laugh for me."

His praise is dizzying, and the new confidence in his touch is even more so. He is a different person now that he knows he has your permission to be this way with you.

He wasn't lying when he said 'makeout session' either. Now he's fully in it, his tongue exploring you with a purpose, learning your folds and dips. He circles your clit again, this time slower, more deliberate. He's drawing it out, savoring the taste of you, the feel of you. The sounds you make.

The hands on your ass are no longer idle, they're kneading, encouraging you to rock against his face again as he groans against you. 

You comply and he rewards you so, so kindly with his tongue delving into your entrance, a gasp from your lips follows.

You've thought about his tongue more times than you care to admit. In fantasies just like this. Every time he made a dumb face or licked an ice cream in the summer, your mind wandered for just a second. 

And now, here he was, practically fucking you with it.

Eddie's enthusiasm is intoxicating. He's not trying to perform a scene from a movie, he's just... feeling. His movements are clumsy in their earnestness, sometimes too fast, sometimes too slow, but always, always sincere. It feels amazing and the thought alone is so overwhelming that it pushes you closer to the edge.

He's moaning into you, getting lost in the taste and the feel of you, and the vibrations send another jolt through your body. You can feel the wetness building, the pressure in your core tightening, and you know you're close.

He can feel it too.

His eyes flick up to you as he's messily devouring his new favorite treat, and you can't look away.

Your eyes are locked as you come undone on his tongue. The pleasure is overwhelming, a wave of sensation that crashes over you, leaving you breathless and trembling. You're not quiet, and you don't even try to be. You let go, just like he said, letting the sounds of your pleasure fill the room.

He holds you so close to him, like he'd be a fool to waste a single drop, and it's that thought that has your body twitching from overstimulation. He finally pulls away, chest heaving, face slick and flushed.

"Wow." He says, looking up at you, a dazed, happy expression on his face. "That was... wow."

You're still catching your breath, your body humming with the aftershocks of your orgasm.

He pushes back his hair, almost a baffled look on his face. "God... I just made you... I mean, me? Holy hell. I kinda hate any guy who saw that before me." 

You're a little dazed still and let out a sound that may be a laugh. He snaps out of patting himself metaphorically on the back and moves to lay next to you on the bed. 

"You okay?" He asks softly, rolling onto his side to face you.

You nod, your brain still a little fuzzy. "More than okay."

"Good." He's grinning again. "That's what I was going for."

You roll onto your side to face him, mirroring his position. The air between you is charged, but it's a comfortable kind of charged, the kind that comes from years of unspoken feelings finally being put into words.

When you glance down, just taking in the sight of him, you can see how painfully hard he must be.

He follows your gaze and chuckles lightly, licking his lips. "Uh... you don't need to worry about him. He's been... patient for a while. He'll live." He's trying to make it a joke, but there's an undercurrent of something else, a sincerity that makes your chest ache.

"Eddie," you say, reaching out to trace the line of his jaw with your finger.

"Really, it's okay, " he says, cutting you off gently. "This wasn't a... transaction. I didn't do that to get something back. I did it because I wanted to. Because I've wanted to for a long time."

He takes your hand from his face, lacing his fingers through yours. His are so much bigger, the rings cool against your skin.

"And... look," he continues, his gaze serious. "Maybe one day we could-" 

You don't let him finish, you hands palming him over his jeans. 

"Fuck-!" He hisses.

"Do you want to sleep with me?" You whisper, nearly against his lips now. 

His incredulous face makes you stop your ministrations.

"Woman, I want to date you. I want to take you out on dates, and hold your hand at the movies. I want to meet your parents again, but as your boyfriend this time. I want to drive you to class, and then go to my own bullshit classes, knowing you're mine." The list falls from his lips, a torrent of romanticism that is so purely Eddie. "I mean, if you'll have me. Of course."

You smile against him, a real, genuine smile that feels like it’s been waiting years to break free. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah. Okay."

And then you're kissing again, slow and deep and full of all the words you haven't said yet.

His hands are on you, one in your hair, the other tracing patterns on your back, learning the landscape of your body. You begin to palm him again, this time with more intention, a slow, steady pressure that has him gasping into your mouth.

He doesn't try to stop you this time. Instead, he shifts, giving you better access, his hips rocking into your touch in a silent, desperate plea.

"Okay," he says, pulling back just enough to look at you. "Okay. Your parents are downstairs though and I know the TV is loud but I don't want to risk everyone in the house seeing my dick."

"You didn't seem that worried about them a moment ago." 

"I was a little busy."

You laugh. "Right. My bedroom door has a lock."

"You didn't seem that worried about them a moment ago." He throws your own words back at you with a grin.

"Touché."

You lean in, kissing the corner of his mouth, then his jaw, then the spot just below his ear that makes him shiver. He pushes you gently away for a second. 

"Pause. Let me utilize that lock." 

He's painfully quick about it, and you settle against your pillows, taking off your shirt and bra as he turns back around. 

"Wow." He says, frozen in place.

You were suddenly very aware of how you looked. Naked on your bed. For him.

He seemed to be trying very hard to keep his gaze on your face. He failed. His eyes trace your collarbones, your breasts, your stomach, with a reverence that is both thrilling and a little intimidating.

"You sure it's not my birthday? Cause this feels like a gift."

You can't help but laugh, a light, airy sound that fills the room. "Get over here."

He doesn't need to be told twice. He's on the bed in an instant, caging you in with his arms, his body hovering over yours.

"Hi." He says, his voice a low rumble.

"You're overdressed for this event." You smile up at him. 

"Ah, so you do want to see the beast." He jokes, but there's a nervous energy to it.

"I want to see you, Eddie. All of you."

The words hang in the air, a promise, a permission slip he didn't know he needed. He sits back on his heels, shrugging off his flannel and pulling his shirt over his head in one fluid motion. 

He reaches for his belt buckle and starts to hastily undo it but stops midway through. 

"You're sure about this? I mean... this is a whole other..." He can't find the words.

You push yourself up to sit in front of him, your hands covering his on the belt buckle.

"Eddie. Look at me."

His eyes meet yours, a storm of nerves and want swirling in their depths.

"I have been sure about this since you tried to explain the entire Lord of the Rings lore to me in the back of a van, even though I kept calling the hobbits 'the little guys'."

"I could be bad at it. Like, shockingly bad." His honesty is a punch to the heart, because you know it's not a trick to get you to say 'no, you'll be great.' He's genuinely terrified, admitting a vulnerability.

"I'm really not worried about that."

"Okay." He says softly, letting you help him with the belt and the button on his jeans. "Okay, then."

He shucks them off along with his boxers, and there he is. All of him. Not the 'beast' he joked about, just... Eddie. Pale skin, a scattering of dark hair, a trail leading down from his navel.

You trail your fingers down his stomach and he sucks in a breath, a sharp, audible sound. You follow the path your fingers just took with your lips, pressing a soft kiss to the warm skin just above his hip.

"Hey," you say, looking up at him. "Relax."

"I'm trying," he says, a little breathless. "It's just... a lot."

"I know."

You lean in, pressing a kiss to his other hip, mirroring the first. His hands come to rest on your shoulders, a gentle, grounding touch.

"Can I...?" You ask, your gaze dropping to his cock, hard and flushed against his stomach.

He nods, a little jerkily, and you take him in your hand. He's hot and heavy in your palm, and you give him a slow, experimental stroke.

A choked sound escapes him, a mix of a gasp and a moan. "Oh, God."

You smile, a private, triumphant thing. You like seeing him like this, undone and a little helpless. You like knowing you're the one doing it to him.

"You've got a dirty smile, you know that?" He says, a low growl of a thing that makes your stomach clench.

"Only for you," you murmur, leaning in to press a wet kiss to the tip. He curses under his breath, his hips bucking involuntarily.

"I... I won't last long if you keep doing that," he warns, his hands tightening on your shoulders.

"There's condoms in my nightstand." You say, pulling back slightly. "I'm on the pill but... you know."

He looks at you, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes, before he leans over you to rummage in the drawer. He comes back with a foil packet, his hands shaking slightly as he tears it open.

"Here," you say, taking it from him. "Let me."

He watches, transfixed, as you roll the condom down his length, your touch slow and deliberate. When you're done, you lean back against the pillows, pulling him with you.

"Come here," you whisper, and he follows, settling between your legs. He's heavy, a warm, solid weight that feels more right than you ever could have imagined.

His cock nudges against your entrance, and you both still, the reality of the moment crashing over you.

"Hey," you say, your hand coming up to cup his cheek. "Look at me."

His eyes meet yours, wide and dark with want.

"It's just me," you say, your voice soft. "It's just us."

He lets out a slow, shaky breath, and you can feel the tension drain out of him.

"I'm really glad it's you. And I'm really glad it's us." He says, then, as if to prove it, he slowly pushes inside.

The stretch is a slow burn, a pleasurable ache that has you arching your back, a soft sigh escaping your lips. He goes slowly, giving you time to adjust, watching your face for any sign of discomfort.

"Jesus... fuck, are you always this wet or is it just me?" He asks, the question a breathy whisper against your neck. He's trying for a joke, trying to deflect, but the awe in his voice is unmistakable.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper. "It's you."

A choked sound escapes him, something between a laugh and a groan. "Don't feed my ego. I'm already at risk of developing a complex."

You can't help but smile, a real, genuine smile that feels like it's been waiting years to break free. "Good."

He starts to move then, a slow, shallow rhythm that's more about connection than anything else. Each thrust is a question, and your body answers, meeting him, pulling him in.

He's not silent. He's never silent. He's talking, a constant stream of whispers and praises that are just so… Eddie.

"You feel... God, I didn't know it could feel like this."

"Is this... is this okay? Tell me if it's not okay."

"I'm trying to go slow, I swear, but you're making it really, really hard."

That last one makes you smile, mid moan. "You don't have to be so careful with me."

He stops, buried deep inside you, and looks down at you, his expression a mixture of concern and confusion.

"Are you sure?" He asks, his thumb stroking your cheek. "I don't want to... you know."

"Hurt me?" You finish for him.

"Yeah. That."

"You won't."

"Okay." He says, and he seems to take you at your word.

"I know what you're into." You tease. 

The choked moan that escapes him is devilish. "I swear I will cum right now if you keep talking to me like that."

"Promises, promises."

He looks down at you then, a slow, wicked grin spreading across his face. It's the same grin he gets right before he hits a particularly killer guitar solo, the one that says he knows exactly what he's doing and he's going to enjoy every second of it.

He pulls out almost entirely, then slams back into you, a sharp, deliberate thrust that steals the air from your lungs.

"Oh," you gasp, your eyes flying wide.

"Yeah?" He asks, a smug look on his face even when it's twisted in pleasure.

He does it again, and again, setting a pace that's anything but careful. It's rough and demanding, and it's exactly what you wanted.

He's kissing you all over your face as he hikes your thigh up over his hip. It's sloppy and wet and it's perfect.

"I'm not hurting you? You can tell me to stop." He insists, but he doesn't stop.

"Keep going." You pant out, digging your nails into the expanse of his back.

"I am, I am." He says as you both watch his dick sink in and out of you, a filthy, hypnotic rhythm. When he looks up and meets your eyes his lips are parted and his bangs stick to his forehead, but he's never looked more attractive to you. 

That's when you feel it. That familiar coiling in your stomach, a tightening that promises a second release.

"Shit, I think I'm gonna..." you start, but the words get lost in a moan as he hits a spot inside you that makes your vision white out for a second.

"Yeah?" He asks, a smug, breathless grin on his face. "You gonna cum again? For me?"

His words are a final, delicious push over the edge. Your body tenses, pulled taut, and then it snaps. The orgasm crashes through you, a wave of pleasure so intense it's almost painful. You pull him down by his neck, lips crashing onto his. 

The moan that he lets out into your mouth is sinful as he stills inside you, spilling into the condom with a shudder, a final, deep thrust that leaves you both breathless.

For a moment, you just lie there, a tangle of limbs and heaving chests, the only sounds in the room are your ragged breaths and the distant hum of the TV downstairs. He collapses on top of you, his full weight a comforting pressure, and you bury your face in his hair, breathing in the scent of him. 

His hands are rubbing your thighs, feeling them still slightly twitch from your orgasm. 

"Thank you... fuck, thank you." He says into your neck before he pulls out, making you both wince a little.

He gets up and pads across the room to your trash can, and you watch him move in the dim lamplight, all long limbs and pale skin, a smattering of dark tattoos scattered on his body. 

He comes back to the bed, and you expect him to reach for his clothes, to pull away now that the moment is over. But of course he doesn't. He isn't any of your exes or a hook up. 

He lays next to you, both of you fully naked, and pulls the blanket up over your bodies. He pulls you into his chest, and you rest your head on his heart, listening to the steady, rhythmic beat. He wraps one arm around your waist, the other coming up to play with your hair.

"So... " He says, his voice a low rumble in your ear. "New birthday tradition?"

You can feel the vibration of the words in your cheek, the beat of his heart a steady, reassuring thrum against your ear. A tired, happy laugh escapes you, a puff of warm air against his skin.

"God, I hope so," you mumble, your words muffled by his chest. "I don't think I can go back to just cake and ice cream after this."

"Yeah, well, we can do both." He kisses your forehead. "And I could even be persuaded to do this more than once a year. Just saying."

You shift, propping your chin up on his chest to look at him. In the dim light, his face is soft, all sharp angles smoothed out by the lamplight and the aftermath. He looks... content. A little dazed. A lot happy.

A thought bubble pops into you head and you look over at the nightstand.

"I never opend your gift.." you say softly, reaching for the small package.

"I'd say you opened a far better one," he says, waggling his eyebrows, the gesture so quintessentially him.

"You're ridiculous." You roll your eyes, but you're smiling as you sit up, the blanket pooling around your waist. The package is small, wrapped in what looks like the classifieds from the paper.

You carefully peel back the tape, trying not to rip the wrapping. He watches you, his hands tracing lazy patterns on your back.

Inside is a small, wooden box, no bigger than your palm. It's plain, unadorned, but you can tell it's handmade. There are small, imperfect tool marks around the edges, a little burn mark here and there.

You run your thumb over the lid, feeling the smooth, worn wood.

"My uncle," he says, answering your unspoken question. "He's into woodworking. He taught me a few things. I uh... I made the box. He just helped with the... technical stuff."

You open the lid. Inside, nestled on a bed of faded, red velvet, is a guitar pick on a thin silver chain. It's black, with a small, white skull-and-crossbones etched into it. It's worn down, the edges smooth, the center slightly concave from use.

You look up at him, your throat tight.

"It's my favorite one," he says, his voice quiet. "I've used it for... God, years. Almost every show. It's kind of lucky, I guess. I wanted you to have it."

You lift the necklace from the box. The silver chain is cool against your fingertips, the plastic of the pick warm and familiar. It's such a simple thing, but it feels like the most intimate gift you've ever received. A piece of him, of his music, of his soul.

"Eddie..." You start, but the words catch.

"I had this whole...uh, fantasy I guess that you'd suddenly...I dont know, realize how I felt or something. When you opened it. And it would be this big, romantic moment." He laughs a little, a self-deprecating sound. "And instead I had a full-blown panic attack and nearly left. And then came back and ate you out on your bedroom floor."

You can't help but laugh, and winces a little.

"Which, I mean," he continues. "Arguably also a big fantasy of mine. I just..."

You can see him worry that it wasn't a good start to this new chapter for you two and you want to fix that right away.

He's sitting up now, the blanket pooled around his hips, looking at you with those big, anxious eyes.

"Here," you say, holding your hair up and turning your back to him. "Put it on me."

He's quiet for a moment, and you can almost hear the gears turning in his head. He's thinking about the weight of it, the meaning. Then, you feel the bed shift as he moves closer.

His fingers are a little clumsy as he works the clasp, the metal cool against the nape of your neck. You can feel the ghost of his breath on your skin, the slight tremor in his hands. He's nervous, even now.

When you turn back he gets to see you, fully nude in nothing but the necklace he made for you. You watch his eyes follow the chain down to your sternum.

"It looks..." He starts, then stops, as if the words are too big for his throat. He just shakes his head, a slow, awestruck movement. "It looks right."

You reach up, your fingers closing around the pick. It's smooth and familiar, a piece of him resting against your skin. "Thank you," you say, your voice softer than you intended. "It's perfect. All of this...it was perfect."

He reaches out, tracing the chain with one long finger. "I was worried I'd..." He trails off, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. "I don't know. That I'd be bad. Or that it would be weird. That we'd be weird."

"We're a little weird," you concede, a small smile playing on your lips. "But we were weird before. This is just... a new flavor of weird."

He laughs, a real, unburdened sound that fills the small space between you. "Yeah. Okay. New flavor of weird. I can live with that."

a/n I wasn't sure where this was going exactly when I wrote it, but I truly hope you guys like it!

and don't worry, I see the hype train. the next post is gonna be steve and his massive gift to the world.

[layla4567]

𝐂𝐚𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭?

Eddie!Munson x Fem!reader

Summary: Nobody knows you were dating Eddie, not even his mates from Hellfire. But masks always come off when the curtain drops. Warnings: just fluff, kissing/PDA, Y/n use, and likely to be a bit ooc (i didn't watch the series) Word.c: 2.1k

You'd been dating Eddie Munson for a month, and nobody knew. Or at least that's what you two were trying to pretend. It wasn't because you were embarrassed to be with the "weirdo" from Hawkins, and neither of you had a problem with PDA. But it was much easier to pretend you were just friends, that way nobody would come up with the usual stupid questions.

"You're dating Eddie? THAT Eddie?!"

"Hey dude, tell me the truth, how much did you pay her?"

"Are you sure this isn't an April Fool's joke?"

You were lucky to be part of your boyfriend's friend group, so no one suspected a thing. In fact, that's how the whole relationship started. You knew Robin, who in turn knew Steve, and he knew Nancy, and her brother was friends with Dustin, and Dustin had become very close to Eddie. It all snowballed. After spending time with Eddie, he realized you didn't look at him with disdain like almost everyone else did. And you realized he was really funny and entertaining, and you didn't understand why people rejected him so much. The rest is history.

Getting back to the secrecy, things with Eddie sometimes got a little complicated. Your boyfriend had a reputation for being clingy and dramatic, and sometimes he couldn't help but get a little too close to you.

"Edds someone could see us.."

Your voice was muffled, and your eyes darted around, focusing on everything but his face. Your boyfriend stood dangerously close, chuckling and brushing a strand of hair away from your face.

"Well, let them look" He smiled proudly.

You sighed, but couldn't help smiling. Eddie had you cornered, your back against the wall of a hallway near the restrooms, but far enough away to look like just two friends chatting from a distance. The place was pretty hidden; one of the restrooms was closed, so it was unlikely anyone would come near.

"I mean it"

Your tone was reproachful, or at least that's what you wanted. But a smile spread across your lips. Eddie tilted his head and smiled innocently.

"Me too" he said, placing a thumb on your chin. "Let everyone know I have the prettiest girlfriend."

Feeling self-conscious, you bit your lip and looked down. He always managed to make you nervous by saying sweet things. You knew, though, that he wouldn't go too far with you or risk being caught if you didn't want him to. He might be a bit of a show-off, but he kept his word. His hands were now on your hips, pulling you closer. You dared to wrap your arms around his neck.

"I have band practice today. Will you come watch me play?"

"Like always" you replied, smiling

"A kiss for luck?" Now her eyes had a mischievous tinge

You wrinkled your nose playfully. "Fine, you win, whatever you want."

You pursed your lips and gave him a tender peck on the mouth, which he quickly deepened, unfairly. Eddie smiled wickedly in your lips.

"Eddie!" you gasped, scolding him between kisses

He hummed and laughed, staying close to you, completely ignoring your anger, like a mischievous child. Suddenly, you heard quick footsteps approaching down the hall. Someone was running toward you. Startled, you opened your eyes and roughly pulled your boyfriend away just in time. Dustin, oblivious to the scene, came running, panting, followed by Mike, who was yelling for him to wait.

"I've finally found you!"

Dustin exclaimed, now close to you both, taking a moment to catch his breath. Mike arrived behind him, also tired.

"I told you he'd be here" Mike said to Dustin.

"I looked for you all over the school!" Then he noticed you were there too and greeted you with a big smile "Hi to you, y/n!". Mike imitated him.

You smiled at him affectionately. You liked Dustin and his friends a lot, but there was something peculiar about that boy with the messy hair. And Eddie thought the same; that's why he'd practically adopted him as his own. Your boyfriend patted both boys on the shoulders.

"Well, I'm here now, what do you want from me, little grasshoppers?"

"We have a D&D game this afternoon! Remember?"

Eddie's smile faltered slightly, and he had to blink a few times. Shit, he'd forgotten. He was going to take you to the movies right around this time. He hadn't invited you yet, but he was going to. He quickly put on his smile and chuckled.

"Of course I remember it!"

"You forgot, didn't you?" Dustin replied, a little disappointed.

Eddie shook his head several times, seeing the disappointment in his friend's eyes. "No, no! I really do remember. I was just distracted thinking about rehearsals with my band, that's all."

Dustin smiled in relief at the answer. Mike suddenly looked around and then at you and Eddie. "So, what are you doing in the most secluded part of the school?" he asked, sounding confused and suspicious.

Eddie froze for a moment, but you were quicker in your thinking. "I was telling Eddie some gossip and didn't want anyone else to find out." Then you moved closer to the children and whispered confidentially, "It's about Nancy and Steve."

Mike frowned. "My sister?"

You raised your eyebrows. "Oh yeah, so I can't tell you." You walked away and winked at them, then looked at Eddie with a forced smile.

"And don't you tell Steve what I said, okay?" You laughed nervously and playfully punched him on the shoulder a little harder than you meant to.

Your boyfriend put his hand to his shoulder, moaning softly. But it worked because the kids stopped asking questions. Dustin then grabbed Eddie's wrist and dragged him down the hall. "Come on, you've been gone long enough. We need to practice for today's game. Bye, y/n!" Dustin and Mike shouted.

Eddie turned around for a few seconds to look at you, smiled, and winked, amused.

After Eddie left, you met up with Nancy, Steve, and Robin outside the school. Of course you didn't mention that Mike and Dustin almost saw you two together, since they didn't know you were dating him either.

Suddenly Robin asked, "Do you have any plans for this afternoon? You could come and see us at the radio station" she suggested.

You pressed your lips together, hesitant. "Uhm, I'm sorry, actually I do have plans..." you answered evasively.

"What's more important than supporting your friends at work?" Steve joked.

This time you decided to be honest: "play D&D..."

The three of them blinked at the same time, looking at you as if you'd said you wanted to invade Europe. Nancy was the first to speak.

"the game my brother and his friends play?"

You nodded as if it wasn't a big deal

"And since when do you play that game?" Steve asked, confused.

You sighed. "Well, the other day Eddie was telling me about the roles in the game, and then Lucas and Mike and the others started talking nonstop about the different strategies and blah blah blah." Then you shrugged. "I don't really know how to play yet. But I thought it was interesting."

"You've been talking about Eddie a lot lately," Steve said, narrowing his eyes.

"Yes, because he's my friend, dipshit" you teased him

The girls laughed and Steve grimaced. Before anyone could put two and two together, you said goodbye and ran off to meet your boyfriend.

Nancy whispered when you were gone, "Do you think they're secretely dating?"

Steve shrugged and frowned, unsure. "I don't know," he said. Robin, smiling amusedly, added at the same time, "Totally." Steve was taken aback by his friend's words. She looked at him, a little incredulous at his naiveté. "Really? You had to be a guy..." she snorted.

That afternoon, you decided to wait for him at the old theater where your boyfriend and his friends played D&D. In fact, it wasn't the first time you'd waited inside or outside to watch them play. They were already used to having you around when they were playing. The funny thing was that, in their innocence, they thought you were doing it because you were interested in watching them play, not because your boyfriend was there. Which, well, you were actually interested in the games, and even though it all seemed complicated, Eddie had taught you at least the basic rules several times. But, of course, with him there, it was hard to concentrate on anything else.

You decided to move forward until you reached the interior where everyone was sitting in a circle. Eddie was on his throne, watching over and guiding everything like a bald eagle. Dustin had a die in his hand.

"Come on baby! Give me a D20!"

Dustin kissed his fist and then flicked his finger onto the table. Everyone, even Eddie, slowly approached, holding their breath, to see the result. When the die stopped rolling, the number appeared before them: D20.

"YES!!" Dustin jumped in his seat as the others hugged him.

Eddie smirked. "It seems that luck was on your side."

You smiled and giggled softly so as not to interrupt them. However it happened, at one point your boyfriend noticed you. When he looked up, he saw you standing there and smiled happily. "Y/N, it's so good to see you!"

The other children turned to look at you and smiled, waving. You approached slowly. "Good game, guys."

Eddie clapped his hands and then rubbed them together. "Right? Well, it's time to close the session. You're free to go, my chicks," he joked.

Dustin snorted, "Oh come on, just a little longer."

Your boyfriend shook his head so vigorously that his curls ruffled. "No, no. I have things to do," he said, glancing at you sideways.

Dustin rolled his eyes, and the others reluctantly obeyed, gathering their things and getting up from their seats. Eddie approached you, a little eager, with a goofy grin. You decided to ignore the way he was looking at you, a bit intensely, and smiled and waved to the kids. You waited until everyone had left, and only then did you decide to look at Eddie.

"Did you miss me?" You asked playfully

He grunted, laughing, as he hooked his thumbs into your jeans' belt. "You have no idea," he added mischievously, "but you did too, since you came to see me."

With your index finger you touched the tip of his nose. "Oh, how cheeky, dungeon master. And what if I missed you?"

His smile widened and a playful glint crossed his dilated pupils. "Oh then I'll have... to eat you!"

Then Eddie growled playfully and went to your neck to give you tickly kisses. You clung to his hair and threw your head back, laughing happily.

Outside, the children, oblivious to what was happening, were about to leave when Lucas stopped abruptly as his friends walked on. Noticing he wasn't following them, they turned around to watch him rummage through his backpack.

"Oh shit," he said while stirring at the bottom.

"What are you looking for?" Mike asked.

"My notebook and pen, I must have forgotten them on the table. I'll go get them"

"Wait, we'll go with you!" Dustin shouted as Lucas trotted back to the theater

When everyone arrived at the entrance and were about to go in, they suddenly saw the two of you standing very close to each other. They quickly decided to hide behind the curtain and spy. You were watching him, laughing, as he told you something they couldn't quite make out. What they did notice was Eddie hooking his thumbs into your belt.

"Ok that's weird" Dustin whispered

"And close" Lucas added

Then they saw you brush a strand of his hair aside and stroke his cheek. He seemed to tilt his head and melt at your touch. The children frowned.

"Uhh she's just being nice... I've seen girls do that too..." Mike opined, not entirely sure.

"Yeah, but Eddie isn't a girl." Dustin looked at him as if he'd just said the dumbest thing ever.

They were still debating whether you two were dating or not when you suddenly did something that left no room for doubt. You put your hands in your boyfriend's back pockets, leaned closer, tilting your head back slightly, and pressed your lips to his as if glued on, in a long kiss. Eddie smiled softly against your lips and cupped your face in his hands. Each boy had a different reaction. Lucas was stunned, Mike looked somewhere between disgusted and surprised, and Dustin was confused and embarrassed, wondering why on earth he was eavesdropping on such an intimate moment.

The three of them slowly and carefully moved away and walked off without making a sound. They were in shock and didn't know what to say.

"Ok I didn't expect that..." Dustin finally broke the silence

After several long seconds in which no one said anything, Mike looked at Lucas. "Do you urgently need that notebook and pen?" He asked, a little awkwardly.

"Nah, I'll pick it then tomorrow.." he answered without hesitation

[sidereustales]

I’m thinking about Eddie during Christmas time.

He becomes obsessed with the mistletoe tradition, hanging them in the front doorway and the doorway to his bedroom to make you kiss him anytime you both walk through either. He even goes as far as carrying a sprig of it around with him so he can pull it out whenever he wants a kiss from you. He turns into a bit of a menace with it, finding any excuse to use the mistletoe to kiss you. It doesn’t matter what you’re doing. As soon as he hangs it over your heads he’s pulling you in and kissing you like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. He insists it’s one of the most important Christmas traditions there is.

One day when you surprise him with holding a sprig of your own over your heads and laying one on him, he turns redder than St. Nicks suit. It turns into a game, each of you trying to beat each other to see who will pull out the mistletoe first, and who can get the most kisses from the other. Year after year you play the mistletoe game, it becomes a tradition. A favorite tradition.

Until one year you both seemingly pull out a mistletoe at the same time, holding it over each other’s heads. You’re beaming but Eddie looks…nervous. When you look up at his hand you don’t see a mistletoe. But a ring. Before he can even get down on one knee you’re smattering him in kisses, tears of joy streaming down both your faces and giggles of excitement as he slides the ring on.

“I guess that means you won,” you sniffle.

“I won a long time ago sweetheart.”

[eddiemunsonnishotasf]

this is beautiful, absolutely beautiful

AND THIS WOULD DEFINITELY HAPPEN HONESTLTYYYY

[moonstruckme]

mae you’re amazing! and I really love the way you write eddie!!! here is my request that is very special to my heart:

something about established relationship reader hanging out at eddie’s trailer a lot and loving the coziness of it all (the knickknacks and the relationship between Wayne and eddie and the way eds expresses himself in his decor and music and his hobbies take over his room, etc) and reader telling eddie that his house has become reader’s safe place n he’s surprised bc it’s just his trailer! but he is definitely the kind of person to take in someone who doesn’t really have a safe place and lots of fluff and cuddles ensue w/a touch of hurt/comfort if you’re so inclined 💕

Thank you for your request lovely! I almost never write eddie but this one felt so perfect for him

cw: hints at reader not having a great home life

Eddie Munson x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

“Will you make it on the stove?” 

Eddie’s already taking a pot out from the cabinet. “Will I make it on the stove,” he says, turning so you can see his eyes roll from the couch. “And would you like some gold shavings on your spaghetti-os too, your highness?” 

You grin. “If you’re offering.” 

Eddie’s scoff is followed by the wet splat of your dinner landing in the pot. Eddie and Wayne don’t even really eat spaghetti-os. They keep a can in stock, along with a bunch of other non-perishables, in case of a storm that keeps them from going out, but ever since you discovered the lone can in the pantry Eddie’s had to keep buying more. And you always want it heated on the stove, too, like that makes it somehow better than the microwave, like you’re some kind of princess. And, well, you’re not totally off base. In Eddie’s cheesier moments he thinks of himself as your knight in shining armor. 

He sets the stove to a low heat and finds a lid decent enough to fit over the pot, and he’s on his way to find some distraction in you when Wayne’s door opens. 

“Now, listen,” Wayne starts.

Eddie turns, cupping his hands around his ears to show he’s listening. You prod the back of his knee with your foot like don’t be a dick. 

Wayne looks unamused. “I’ve told you damn near a dozen times to get those pipes wrapped up, and they’re still not wrapped. If that weather guy from WSIL is right it’ll be dropping below freezing tonight, so—”

“So, you could say I’m getting to it not a moment too soon,” Eddie points out. 

You poke him again, and Eddie fakes a fall down onto the couch next to you. “What’s wrapping the pipes mean?” you ask them. 

“It’s just, like,” Eddie snuggles his shoulder up to yours, “swaddling the pipes under the trailer in blankets so they’re all warm and cozy.” 

“It’s so they don’t freeze,” Wayne corrects him severely. 

“I’ll get them done, okay? Promise.” Eddie touches two fingers to his brow. “Scout’s honor.” 

“That’s not even—” You sigh, rolling your eyes. “I’ll make sure we do them tonight, Mr. Munson.” 

Wayne’s weariness (he loves Eddie, really) softens some when he looks at you. “Alright, I’ll trust it to you. Thanks, kid.” 

You try to play it off with a shrug, but Eddie can see how happy his uncle’s esteem makes you. You’re practically preening. It’s ridiculous, but what’s more ridiculous is how insanely it makes Eddie want to kiss you. Wayne can’t leave for work soon enough.

When he does, Eddie pounces on you (a slow, romantic pounce, he swears), and you sigh into his mouth. 

He laughs. “What?” 

“I just,” you kiss his cupid’s bow, “love it here.”

“Yeah?” 

“Mhm. Did I tell you, I found one of your guitar picks in the couch earlier?” 

Eddie backs off. “No shit, really? What color was it?” 

“Red.” 

“I’ve been looking for that.” 

Your lips curve. “I thought it looked special. I put it on your nightstand.” 

“Thanks, beautiful.” Your lashes flutter closed as he kisses you again, but Eddie can’t shake the feeling that there’s something weird going on with you. You’re radiating this pleasure, this thick, syrupy content. He pulls away again, cupping the side of your neck. “That what’s making you so happy?” 

You make a soft hum like this could be more or less true. “I was just thinking about how nice it is here.” 

Eddie’s shoulders jump with a laugh. “Nice?” 

“Yeah.” 

He’d think you were making fun of him—of them, him and Wayne—if you didn’t sound so totally sincere. Eddie likes the trailer fine because it’s where they live, but he wouldn’t call it nice. The walls have stains from old leaks. His bedroom is so small he can’t fit more than a twin mattress. When it gets cold out, you have to crawl underneath the trailer and duct tape blankets around the pipes. 

“What’s nice about it?” he asks you. 

You shrug again, but your expression is earnest. “I like that there’s so much of you here. I mean, you and Wayne, but mostly you. Your posters and stuff. I like that you can leave a bowl in the sink without anyone getting pissed about it.” 

Eddie’s fingers tighten on you unconsciously. He doesn’t like the idea of you getting yelled at for something as simple as a bowl in the sink. But this isn’t a totally new revelation; you’d been shocked, when Eddie explained the concept of soaking a dish to make it easier to clean, that Wayne allowed it. He takes care to loosen his grip, thumb stroking across your jaw apologetically. “Yeah, well, give Wayne long enough. After a few days he’ll bitch me out just like he did about the pipes.” 

You smile. “That wasn’t bitching you out.” 

Eddie feigns pique, blowing air out the side of his mouth. “I sure feel bitched out.” 

“I think it’s nice that you guys can talk like that, and you know he’s not really mad at you.” You take Eddie’s thumb, bringing it to your lips for a kiss. The action is simple, thoughtless, and yet his whole wrist goes tingly anyway. “It’s cool that he lets you put your stuff everywhere, and then you find things like guitar picks in the couch—” 

“You know that’s not, like, an intentional amenity, right?” 

“I’m just saying, it’s part of it.” You look down at his thumb, like the truth in what you’re saying is suddenly too much. “It’s quiet here. It’s homey. It’s nice.” 

Eddie lets that settle. He looks at you for a while, and thinks about you feeling at home in his home. The idea has warmth unfurling in his chest. 

He moves his thumb from your mouth, sweeping it across your cheek as he treats himself to a slow, sweet kiss. “Wanna know something?” 

“Hm?” 

“I like it better when you’re here.” 

It’s one of Eddie’s most privately treasured feelings, the feeling of your smile blooming against his mouth. “Cheeseball.” 

He could argue that point—you’re the cheeseball, really, even if you won’t own it—but he’s feeling too sweet on you to tease. He kisses the bridge of your nose before going to get your fancy-ass spaghetti-os.

[cassettedec]

every year I rewatch dash and lily and go fuck it. love is fucking real. whimsy is sewn into every little thing that you look at. and you just to take someone around and point at things that make you happy and just be yourself without trying so so hard and have it be okay. joyful even.

[aceofheartsssss]

BRO THIS IS SO ME ALWAYS??? Anyone else????

Found on a post by @fic-dumpster

[cabrona-en-un-cropcircle]

A Freak and a Basket Case: Chapter Two: Made in Heaven

From the Delulu Writer: You’re going to realize that I don’t write short fics. This was straight from Google Docs mobile. I don’t know how long this is, so fuck it we ball. I’m hoping the generous Eddie POV helps break this aversion to longer fics.

Warnings: Flight of Icarus spoilers, references to drug use, minor suicide mention.

[Masterlist] - Chapter One - Chapter Two (You are Here) - [Latest]

***

The ’85-’86 academic year had to be his year.

It had to be.

It was his last shot. The last hoorah. He had just barely made the cutoff age for the academic year, and it was a miracle in itself that Principal Higgins had a modicum of decency to give him a break and let him even try to attend school again. He would be cutting it too close for comfort, and during the summer Eddie Munson had promised his uncle that he would get his head out of his ass this time around. No more screw ups. No more bullshit scams.

That promise was made in summer, when he was still able to sleep in, hotbox the feelings of shame and guilt away in his van, and gorge on junk food during unholy hours of the early morning before passing out until noon.

Now that he was being jolted awake by both the shrill sound of the radio alarm, and his uncle was kicking his mattress to wake him up at four thirty in the morning before he’d even gotten a good chance at sleep, Eddie was ready to throw in the fucking towel. Bitter thoughts swarmed in his mind.

Fuck it. Kick me out of school. See if I give two shits.

He was at the point where he was forgetting what was important. Last year was a year of losses. Almost losing the Hellfire Club to bullshit blackmail orchestrated by a sadistic son of a bitch of a principal that he did not fully trust. Ronnie had at least reached out via letter after a time, and she sent a few clipped sentences written with an electric typewriter all the way from New York whenever she had enough money left over from dorm expenses to buy postage stamps. But Dougie had gone nuclear. Never quite forgiving his friend for what he had almost undone.

And then there was Paige…

Eddie had been thinking of that mess nonstop the first day back for some reason, running late stuck behind a green Dodge with wood paneling while also battling the commuters during the clusterfuck that constituted rush hour in Hawkins, Indiana. He didn’t know why he was in such a hurry when that morning he’d been ready to give up all over again. Emotions were running high and low, he felt like he was trapped on a broken-down roller coaster falling apart on a shoddy side of the road carnival. Wanting to jump off, throw up, scream, and cry all at once as the reality of everything set in.

Eddie Munson had fucked everything up. Once in a lifetime opportunities lost to the ages in the year of 1984.

’86 had to be his year. Otherwise, he had nothing else left.

He was on his way to his locker when a string bean of a freshman wearing khakis and a button down polo from the GAP slammed into him from behind. Eddie immediately turned around to catch him before he hit the ground, asking the dazed boy if he was okay, confirming it was so, then looking towards the source. He assumed it was a jock, it always was, but he saw no suspicious hunter green letterman jackets lurking in the throng of students looking to get to their classes.

And then there was the gaggle of girls laughing and pointing, but he couldn’t see the object of their teasing because once he came within five feet of their gaggle they saw Eddie the Freak and bolted. So far the first day back was shaping up to be one of those weird days, whispers abound of some bitch of a basket case wandering around dressed for a cold front in August.

For obvious reasons, Eddie was intrigued. A bitch of a basket case was new. Especially ones wearing winter coats in summer when the humidity drowned you before the heat got to you. He doubted there was any merit to the rumors truth be told, but he had to see it for himself. He searched high and low, ditching his first period class to see if he could catch a glimpse. And then like an answer to his prayers he heard a siren call:

Metallica on cassette. Kill ‘Em All Album. Side 1. Approximately thirty nine minutes and six seconds into the album. Track number nine. Seek and Destroy.

Blasting so goddamned loud that from his distance it sounded faint, but he knew that whoever was listening to it directly would be deaf before their twenty-first birthday.

He saw you beelining for the front door, and instantly Eddie was fascinated by you. Sure enough you were all bundled up in your quilted Carhartt jacket like a blue collar worker braving a blizzard, gray skirt swishing as you power walked down the hall. The music beckoned to him, and the Black Sabbath patch on your blue backpack encouraged him to follow. Despite the stormy look on your face and the fuck off aura radiating from you, Eddie couldn’t help but allow the admiration to take over. He wasn’t intimidated, he wasn’t repulsed by your demeanor or appearance. Quite the contrary, Eddie could see something in the way your body communicated to the world:

You were a lost, pathetic little lamb trying to butt heads with everyone and everything, unaware that the world was fanged and scary and could spit you out in a malformed bolus should it desire.

And yet you still kept trying to fight back.

It was as if his body was moving of his own accord. His heart knew before his brain could logically process what was happening. A compulsion, his inner wild child, sent signals to his feet to quicken his pace as he raced after you, adrenaline coursing through him as he heard nothing but the steady pace of your gait matching the pulse of Seek and Destroy. Eddie didn’t stop until he was so close he was breathing in your scent, and in a sudden burst of confidence, both hands flashed out and snatched you by the backpack straps, pulling you in until you were flush against him. He yanked off your headphones, getting in close until his lips were grazing the shell of your ear.

“You’ve got bitchin’ taste in music there, princess. Metallica, right?”

Your scream cut off the last bit, and he held onto you like he was holding a wild stallion steady as you jumped nearly ten feet in the air. You were still pressed with your backpack to his chest, your own little chest heaving with fear.

“FUCK ME FREDDY!” You hollered. “You scared the shit out of me!”

Eddie laughed hard as he spun you around to face him, hands steadying your shoulders as he looked you in the eye with a large smile on his face.

“Sorry, sorry… Relax. Didn’t mean to scare you there. But hey, at least that got your attention, right?”

You hit the pause button on your Walkman and killed the music, looking up with a stormy and defiant expression. Eddie realized something when you looked at him: you had been hiding behind fear. Your eyes, minimized by the thick coke bottle lenses within the frames of your glasses, began to soften when you looked at him. He could see the tightly wound tension leave your body as you relaxed. Your facade was slipping. Before him was an individual army crawling through hell to survive.

“You uh… you heard my music huh?” you said quietly.

Eddie grinned, nodding enthusiastically.

“Oh yeah. From all the way down the hall. You like Metallica?” he asked.

“Uh huh…”

Eddie grinned at the shy answer. God… You were adorable.

“Hell yeah, good taste. Metallica is one of my favorites too.”

He noticed you weren’t much for eye contact. As much as he tried to meet your gaze you wouldn’t look right at him. It seemed as if you were closing yourself off from everyone, a purposeful and calculated act. Understandable if he was being honest. Your eyes were red rimmed and your nose was still dripping a little bit. The morning must not have been kind. For a moment he saw your vulnerability, and it endeared him to you.

“I’m Eddie, by the way.” he said gently, holding out his hand.

“Eddie?” You cocked your head to the side, sweet little face looking up at him as if expecting a trick.

“Yup.” he popped the consonant at the end, and he tried to give you a sweet disarming smile to show his sincerity, “That’s me, Eddie Munson.”

Gently, slowly, he felt your warm hand envelop his. He shook it just enough; not too firm of a handshake that he scared you off, but not so weak that it seemed he didn’t want to touch you. Because if the way his heart was racing at the feel of your warm palm against his was any indication, he very much did want to touch you, and he wanted to make sure you knew it.

A few seconds ticked by, and you finally told him your name after letting go of his hand. He noticed at first that you seemed to try saying something else, but you quickly corrected yourself. Eddie repeated your name slowly. It suited you. Very lovely. Silence for a beat, and then you gulped and spoke up to end the silence.

“My favorite person in the whole wide world is an Eddie…” you mumbled softly.

“Yeah? Who’s this other Eddie?” He raised an eyebrow, dimples showing with the big cheeser he had on his face as he noticed you still weren’t letting go of his hand.

“Eddie V-… Eddie Van Halen…” you stammered.

Eddie’s heart nearly stopped.

“No way, are you shitting me right now?” he demanded.

You shook your head.

“No… I’ve seen him live… he’s… he’s really cool.”

Inhale through the nose, hold for five seconds, exhale through the mouth so he didn’t start having a heart attack.

“How the hell did you end up going to one of those concerts?” He managed

“… my dad. Last year... He took me for an early birthday present…”

So you’ve got good taste in music, and you have a dad that takes you to concerts like Van Halen as an early birthday present…

“They were pit side. I got one of the shirts at my house.”

God dammit… No. There’s no way. There’s no way in the hell that you’re real…

“Which concert was it?” He croaks tentatively.

“The 1984 Tour… I saw them and Autograph play… in Albuquerque.”

He had to stop you right there.

“Okay wait hold on, your dad seriously took you out of Indiana all the way into the middle of nowhere in New Mexico just to see Van Halen for your birthday?! Where in hell do you even live where that seems like a feasible option?! That’s a twelve hour drive at least!”

“I used to live in New Mexico.” You said softly. “I’m not from here…”

Yeah, yeah of course you weren’t from Hawkins. There was no way in shit someone as cool as you, someone who had been pit side to Van fucking Halen, could be from Indiana. It almost gave him flashbacks to shades of his ex, and he nearly wanted to pull away from the conversation. Yet you were so sweet, so different, and he knew if he let you just become a random anecdote in the annals of time, Eddie would have thrown up for weeks and then jumped into traffic if he saw you being poached by someone else.

He pressed on. Heart racing and trying to maintain so that he didn’t spook you.

“Could have fooled me, you don’t have the accent for it.” Eddie said, leaning up against one of the tan lockers.

You hesitated and bit your lower lip, nodding and rocking side to side on your feet as you began to pluck at the loose threads of your jacket.

“… people here don’t like to hear it. So I cover it up…” you said.

“Good idea. Because honestly, it’s not worth the trouble… You’re in Hicksville now. Hawkins isn’t the first narrow minded white bread town, and it’s not going to be the last. Especially if you don’t fit in with their good ol’ boys club mold. Hell, I don’t even fit in it. I’m the biggest target for these bigoted assholes with my reputation. I don’t doubt you’ll get the same amount of bullshit I do.”

“You…?” You blinked, confusion written on your face, “Why would anyone make fun of you?”

Harsh laughter erupted from his throat, and he was so consumed by the absurdity of your question that he didn’t notice you flinch back. As if he was being crucified, Eddie held out his arms dramatically wide, his battle vest opening up to show off his Led Zeppelin baseball tee with a couple of holes in the fabric where the rivets on his jeans had been rubbing against them.

“Take a good look at The Freak of Hawkins High sugarplum. I’m a long haired satan worshiping metalhead cult leader. I play shitty Pantera and Slayer covers in a dive bar every week. I deal drugs to the preppy kids that have more money than sense. I lure innocents in to play my little satanic Dungeons and Dragons games, and then I hotbox it in my van afterwards with them. I’m a Munson, furthest thing from a good little schoolboy. No, no, we Munsons drop out of high school and go to jail young, and probably die young too.”

He went on and on, the word vomit not stopping. If he was going to be honest with himself, he knew this potential thing you two had was dead on arrival from the moment you opened your mouth and started talking about Van Halen. You were way out of his league, even by metalhead standards. From what he gathered, you had deep pockets, or at least your dad did if he was able to take you to shit like Van Halen concerts, something Eddie could only dream of. Everything about this was scary. It was scary and horrifying and the only thing he could think of doing was self sabotaging before he got too attached to you.

And then you frowned, still looking at the floor, until you spoke up, looking him directly in his eyes.

“That doesn’t make no sense… Sounds like a bunch of horseshit to me.” You said simply.

He watched it all happen so suddenly and he couldn’t look away. His large brown eyes widening and his heart turning cartwheels in his chest when he saw the little twinkles of light, the little pinpricks of stars beginning to glimmer in your eyes as you held direct eye contact with him. It wasn’t just that you were cute, because Jesus H. Christ you were the cutest thing he’d ever seen in his life. There were other things he’d never seen on anyone he’d dated: honest to god romance novel pining on your face, your soft lips parting slightly as if you wanted to speak but had lost the words. Your body moved in closer to him, and his own reciprocated purely on instinct, inviting you into his space.

Magnetism.

“None of it makes any sense does it?” He said, voice so low you had to lean further in to hear him, “But this is Hawkins. Judgemental jackanapes abound and people like you and me are lambasted for the crime of being different. Double for you I’m guessing, since you’re the new Hispanic kid in town.”

You nodded, looking hopefully at him.

“Let me guess, you had an easier time fitting in when you were in New Mexico, right?” He asked.

There was a brief hesitation as you gathered your thoughts.

“… Kind of. Maybe not towards the end, but there’s a lot of guys into heavy metal and leather and stuff. A lot of my tios- my uncles- are rockers. My brother likes it too.”

“Older or younger brother?” He asked.

“Older…”

“He get you into metal?” He grinned.

“Yeah.” You said, nodding, “He started me on Black Sabbath and Ozzy, my favorites other than Van Halen. My dad was the one who showed me Van Halen… oh, and Dio…”

“Rad… your dad and your brother got you set up with the best of the best. You have some of the most badass taste in music in all of Hawkins right now.” Eddie praised, and he’d wished he had complimented you sooner, because now that he saw you smile and giggle at his compliments he couldn’t get enough, “… and that’s a hell of a smile you’ve got there sweetheart. And a pretty laugh to match.”

“Quit it…” you giggled.

“Hell no, you can’t just tell me to quit it the second I give you a compliment. Gotta take the compliments where you get them.”

There was that smile, that goddamned cute giggle. The reaction he wanted. You covered up your mouth as you began to uncontrollably laugh, as if you’d taken a fat hit of reefer and had the permanent giggles. He loved people like you, who acted high and giggly without any external help. But he didn’t like how you were trying to hide those teeth from him. He wanted to see it. Wanted to see your smile and bask in the good feeling it gave him.

“Ah ah, none of that!” He scolded, holding up a finger, “You quit hiding that pretty face from me. What? You don’t want me to see it?”

“Nuh uh!” You giggled.

A devilish grin came over Eddie’s face.

“You gonna make me get forceful, sweetheart?”

“Noooooo…!” You whined, laughing harder as you shook your head quickly.

“Cut it out then. Put that damn hand down, lemme see that pretty face.”

Eddie began to wrestle your hand away from your face as you squealed in delight, shrinking in on yourself as he let out a mad giggle. He was enjoying this, enjoying the feeling of touching you and not having his face slapped or being punched in the stomach. You welcomed his touch, almost craved it, flying into a fit of hysterical laughter when he played dirty and grabbed your sides, tickling your soft plump abdomen so that you were forced to move your hands away from your face to shield your belly.

At the end of it, Eddie was breathless with laughter, holding your sides and swaying with you. Coming down from your fun, he saw your smile for the first time. No pearly whites. He could see the flaws and imperfect teeth as you smiled ear to ear.

Real recognizes real…

You are very much real. Very much so. You’re warm and soft and real underneath his fingertips.

“Princess,” he breaths.

You cock your head, swaying side to side and your grin never leaves your face.

“There we go.” He says softly, stroking your sides, “There’s that beautiful smile. See? Much better when you’re not hiding it behind your hands.”

Your eyes sparkled, starry eyes…

He’d only ever seen hungry eyes before. Only ever been desired like one desired a succulent steak or a rich slice of cake. Last year felt like he was giving up so many vital aspects of himself that he almost felt like an imposter when he kept trying to have a better year, a shot at a better life. Everyone had taken from him last year, gnawing at the bones of his corpse until there was nothing left.

Paige looked at me like she wanted to eat me…

But you…

You look at Eddie Munson as if you are awestruck by him, and as shocking as the feeling is, it makes him feel beautiful for a split second. He feels important. He feels valued, like he’s been the epitome of good alignment his whole life and the chaotic parts don’t matter. You look at him like you’re seeing a mythical hero. As if your village was burning to the ground all around you and he’d just come in the nick of time, clad in mithril armor, immune to the flames and devastation and ready to swoop you up to your feet.

But that defiance when you first faced him, the fire in you, it’s a strength, it’s a power he is drawn to. Realistically he knows if he were to swoop in it wouldn’t be to save you, it would be to help you pick up your own sword and fight alongside him.

He wanted that. He wanted someone to fight life’s battles alongside him.

He wanted that someone to be you.