in the woods somewhere

lurker, tea drinker, lover of cheesy fanfics. kc | 18+ MDNI | she/her

[muschia]

𝐡𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞!

moodboard by @letchaes

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[urhoneycombwitch]

eddie thinks it's hehe giggling funny to make you a "I slept with the lead guitarist from Corroded Coffin and all I got was this stupid shirt" kind of thing to have you wear

like he didn't just put a down payment on a house for you two with his cut of the album sales...

even lamer bc he had the shirt custom made 🫶🫶🫶 it’s an annual in-joke now. last year for your bday he got you a plain white tee that he’d Sharpie’d his professional rocker signature in black ink over each boob 🎯🎯

[omegaverse]

women need gnocchi

[ent-is-indecisive]

Not enough robin on this account

[bgm05]

I want to go to Onion and garlic city

[fatalplants]

[florealegiardini]

Abandoned Winter Garden Of An Abandoned Mansion, Paris, France ~ jonjonkkkk

[chechelia-deactivated20260403]

give me one reason

eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: you just need him to say those three little words and you'll turn right back around

cw: 18+ ONLY, baby blurb, desperate soft breakup smut, piv, oral (f receiving), angst, heartbreak

notes: inspired by 'give me one reason' by tracy chapman — also, i didn’t reread this. i just kinda ~ shrug ~ wrote it.

Soft sounds, pleas and promises whispered from the middle of his bed where you both sit. The springs bend and grown beneath the weight of your knees. Damp hair, friction between flesh and linen, flesh and flesh, sweat that drips from the nape of your neck down your spine to where his hand is pressed to your lower back, firm and pushing.

His breath casts a dew like early morning across your collar, your neck hung forward just so you can press your cheek to his temple. Each sharp huff he earns from you is like a gun firing at close range making his ear ring with the reminder that this is the last time.

So much of your life’s accumulated here. Not two hours ago were your things scattered about his trailer. Your toothbrush in the cup on the bathroom counter, your hair dryer plugged into the outlet, bras hanging on his doorknob, makeup on his desk, two drawers stuffed with your clothes, and dresses in his closet.

Two bags sit by his door, stuffed hastily with all of your belongings. So much stuff neither can be zipped closed.

“Please don’t do this,” Eddie begs through a raspy croak, the bass in his voice makes your skin pebble.

He thrusts up to meet you on your way down and you whimper at the stretch, the bump to your furthest wall.

“Just say it,” you whisper, begging him in return. You’d stay if he’d just tell you, if he’d just say those three words.

But his tongue won’t allow it.

“Two years — ohh — I — mmm — I need’ta hear it.”

Eddie hands tighten, palmfuls of the fat of your ass as he guides you up and back down his cock, smacking against his hairy thighs.

“I show you everyday — fuhhck, baby — isn’t that enough?”

“No,” you whimper, fingers raking up his neck to grip at his messy curls. “How, huh? Wh-when you don’t answer the phone all day? Mm, when you don’t come home until three AM?”

You can feel his body deflate under yours. And maybe it’s not fair to bring up the few and far between instances of poor behavior, but they start to sting fiercer when he can’t even assure you with a simple phrase. Your chest aches with the sob you suppress.

In one smooth motion your sweating back meets his crisp sheets, head at the bottom of the bed, his hair a curtain around you that forces your eyes on his. Big and auburn, dark and watery; he closes them when his lashes feel heavy.

“Baby, please. Just— just give me some more time, huh?”

“M’only asking for one thing, Ed.”

Distraction is one of his most mastered qualities, or maybe it’s more like avoidance. It’s hard to tell when he starts nipping down your neck, hot kisses that sear a trail to your collarbone. You whimper as he licks over the peak of your nipple, and again as he slips from your core with an embarrassing squelch of arousal. He maneuvers down, callused thumbs spreading your folds open so he can kiss your sensitive clit.

“Eddie,” you sigh in a daze.

He ignores you in favor of lapping wide stripes up your heat. You dare to look down, you dare further to push his fringe back from his eyes, but he’s not looking at you. He’s already glistening from nose to chin, swirling his tongue through your valleys until your hips twitch for more.

Eddie’s arms slip around your thighs until your legs are hooked over his shoulder and his hands grab your hips to hold you still, pushing you down into the mattress until you can no longer wriggle your lower half.

Your hands find his wrists, gripping, back arching as he sucks your swollen button into his mouth and rolls it between his lips at a torturous pace. It makes your nerves tingle like static, molten lava pooling in your belly and threatening to erupt the moment his tongue licks over your entrance. His tongue pushes in, darts out and back again.

His nose bumps your clit when he pressed his face closer, moving his head more enthusiastically the closer you come to melting until you finally do.

Thighs clamping over his ears, shaking, fingernails digging crescents into the thin skin over his wrists. You feel your spend seep, dripping out just for Eddie to drink it up.

You sigh his name once, then twice until he finally looks up at you with sparkling eyes. They always make you smile. And you wanna smile now, but the fleeting feeling vanishes as your peripheral picks up the silhouette of your packed bags and your heart skips a beat.

He wishes he could hold out longer so he could have you longer. Hold you longer. Smell you longer. Maybe his brain and tongue will finally cooperate with his heart. There’s just too much poison and not enough antidote.

Once he’s sheathed again it’s only for a few minutes — long enough to have you both in tears. Long enough for your heart to break against your best efforts.

In the silence you change into your shorts and his sweatshirt from the floor. He slings his sweatpants over his hips and ties his hair back into a low bun just to keep it from his flushed face.

The hallway’s longer than it’s ever been, closing in on you both as he carries your bags through the front door and out to the trunk of your car. Dust kicks up when he slams it shut, coming around to where you’re leaning against the car with twisted lips, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

His hand twitches towards yours, but ultimately he keeps it to himself.

“You can call me,” you tell him. “Anytime.”

[munsonsfairy]

nephew with emotionally unavailable parents 🤝 uncle who feels the need to take care of said nephew

[lgbtmadd]

When I’m concentrated daydreaming while I’m listening to music and someone talks to me

[jackiietaylor]

STRANGER THINGS LADIES APPRECIATION WEEK day seven: free theme — nancy wheeler as barbie

[muschia]

I saw you like sapphic stories and Hozier and I've just gotta ask you: have you heard of Burn the House Down by Kenna Jenkins? It's an alternate history novel abt the 1st woman president and her secret sapphic relationship/bearded marriage with her mlm best friend and has massive Hozier vibes (especially Francesca, Nina Cried Power, Take Me To Church, Arsonist's Lullaby, Damge Gets Done, The Wages, Better Love, and Nobody). It also has a subplot about arson at the White House, a pro-choice subplot with strong Swan Upon Leda energy, and ft. an entirely queer main cast and really fleshed out characters!

I haven’t but… wowie now I need to, thank you!

[m1ster1e]

I think what I love the most about Eddie Munson is the fact that I would absolutely hate him in a real life scenario, and that break from reality is wonderful. I can imagine myself hanging out in his place, but in reality the disorganization would make me uncomfortable, but in this fantasy I don't have to feel that way. I can just "be". I'm allergic to marijuana and have a hard time breathing correctly but maybe its fun to imagine a place that I could enjoy recreational drugs. I'm often afraid of men, especially if they're intimidating and pessimistic and loud, but I like to think there's an alternate reality where I feel confident and unafraid. I'd hate him if he was real, but I like the idea of a fictional me being free. Does that even make sense?

[lazylittledragon]

rockstar eddie gets invited to the met gala and brings that one guy with him

[daphneblqke]

Barbie + hitting a little too close to home

[jokerous]

#same

[muschia]

RIP Chrissy Cunningham you would’ve loved Barbie (2023)