indefinite hiatus

Somna | 30s | they/them | queer | writer here for the cake (It's Eddie. Eddie is the cake) nsfw 18+ | anti-AI space

[somnambulic-thing]

Hi, I'm Somna, and I enjoy spending my time typing stories about Eddie Munson into the void. Sometimes, a fic makes it out of there and onto this blog.

I'm pretty friendly, so feel free to say Hi and/or share your Munson Boy-thoughts with me. 🜏

  comments and reblogs are highly encouraged and appreciated. <3

|| ao3 || Stranger Things meta || fic recs ||

I'm a queer creature and my characters - reader inserts and canon characters alike - are crafted through my own personal lens of gender, sexuality and other aspects of life.

My version of Eddie is silly, soft and caring, yet prickly and wild.

        latest

eat me drink me pt II flood | 1.5k E

hot & cold 1.8k || Eddie x gn!reader

the curse pt I | 1.4k || Eddie x chronic migraine!reader |comfort, fluff|

not this time | 1.5k || Eddie x reader |meta fix-it fic|

        series

come as you are | Masterlist || Eddie x gn!Reader | paused | E +18

Watershed Moments | Masterlist || E +18 paused

        multi part

Smoke and Cherry Pop Rocks || Eddie x gn!reader smoke and cherry pop rocks | 3.9k, E |angst, fluff, smut, coming of age (everybody's +18)| in limbo | 400, E Hi Sweetheart | 1.8k, E

Paint it Black || life drawing model!Eddie x gn!art student!reader Paint It Black | 7.5k, E |smut, meet-wild, fluff, love at first sight| insane | 4.6k, E

eat me drink me || Eddie x gn!Reader | paused part I 2.1k, E part II - flood | 1.5k E |strangers to lovers, fluff, biting, blood kink, van life|

        oneshots

land in sight | 4.3k || Eddie x gn!reader |friends to lovers, first kiss, angst'n'fluff, post S4|

Neighbors | 1.3k || Eddie x gn!German!reader, post S4| |post S4, 1st meeting|

Scar Tissue | 1k || Eddie x gn!reader |post S4 post-apocalyptic setting, angst, fluff|

Long Way Home | 2.1k, E || Eddie x gn!reader |domestic, fluff, smut, nerdy|

page 622 | 3k, E || Eddie x gn!reader |reader has insomnia, established relationship, smut, fluff, comfort, pinch of angst|

warm like moonshine | 4k, E || vampire boyfriend!Eddie x gn!reader |consensual somnophilia, blood drinking, established relationship|

Pick up, will you? | 1k-ish || rockstar!Eddie x gn!reader |angst, hurt, open ending|

Boom | 694 || Eddie x gn!Reader |meet-wild in a moshpit|

trip to IKEA with Eddie | 1k ||silly fluffy chaos||

something is different | 1k, E || Eddie x gn!reader |smut, fluff, a little angst, soft!Fuckboy Eddie|

wrong number | 2.2k || Eddie x gn!reader

Doch ahnst du auch wie tief sich meine Seele im Ozean deines Haars verfängt? | 1k E || musician Eddie! x gn!reader |blurb, smut, pegging, strangers to lovers|

Agents of Chaos | fluff, Wayne pov, fun with raccoons

Siren Song | pining, Eddie pov

shhh | domestic, caring, fluff

All of you | angst, hurt/comfort, domestic

Jaws | blurb, biting Eddie :3

blurb reel

nerds in love tag

        gen

Snark and Hopes | 1.1k || Eddie & Wayne, |slice of life, slightly angsty, wholesome|

Good. Good! | 1.8k || Eddie & Dustin, Eddie & Wayne, Wayne/Claudia |Gen, found family, fluff|

of worth and value | 1.2k || Wayne & Al, background Eddie

Eddie headcanons nobody asked for

        unfinished fics from the vault

Studio Hellfire potter!Eddie x horror author!reader

nightmares and daydreams implied future Robin Buckley x grungy!f!OC x Eddie Munson

        misc

Eddie x Barb blurb

chronic migraine!Steve Harrington x reader

Eddie x Steve & Robin | 1.3k

Disclaimer: I don't give permission to repost (as in creating a new independent post), copy, translate or otherwise use my creations. This includes inserting them into AI tools.

[pastel-pillows]

Angst because I’ve been watching criminal minds

You don’t understand what’s happening at first.

At least, you were willfully pretending you didn’t.

Eddie’s weight is still in your arms, warm and heavy in the way he has always been. His skin hasn’t gone cold. His breath hasn’t stopped. Nothing about him feels like someone slipping away. Someone dying. If anything, he looks like he’s just worn himself out again, another reckless stunt at practice, another game gone too long.

His eyes are barely open, unfocused, but still tracking you in these small, stubborn flickers of someone who can’t seem to keep focus.

Death in stories is sharp and clean. A single moment you can point to. But this… this is slow. Cruel in its softness. He isn’t gone cold, his breathing didn’t stop when he’d dropped to the ground.

There was no dramatic swelling music like in the movies, only the sounds of Eddie’s haggard breathing, wet and painful, and the muffled sounds of Dustin and yourself crying.

He was still here.

You press your hand to his cheek, and he leans into it. His skin is hot, more so than usual, and alive. His curls stick to his forehead, slick with sweat and blood, and you keep brushing them back because your brain refuses to accept that this is the last time you’ll ever do it. A habit of comfort for both of you.

He was still right here.

“Eddie,” you whisper, because anything louder might break him, break you. “Hey. Stay with me. You’re okay. You’re going to be okay. Right?”

He gives you the smallest smile. Barely there. A twitch at the corner of his mouth. A smile that speaks of someone so bone deep tired that it’s all they can muster.

His fingers grip weakly in your shirt, not purposeful, not dramatic, just instinct for you, for comfort. You hold his hand against your chest, trying to anchor him, and if you were honest, yourself as well, trying to keep him here by sheer force of will.

If you held him tight enough, he wouldn’t leave. Couldn’t leave.

The movies had one thing right. In these moments, everything was quiet, though you’re unsure if the world has gone silent or you’d simply lost focus on everything but the warmth seeping into your clothes and out of Eddie.

His breathing stutters. It doesn’t stop — just falters. His chest rises again, but shallow. The breath he was trying so desperately to take catching halfway as his body begins to wane.

You can feel his heartbeat under your palm, still fighting, still refusing to give up. That seems worse somehow. The way his body keeps trying. The way it doesn’t understand that it’s losing as the strong thud fades into a distant whisper.

“I didn’t run.” he murmurs, voice soft and frayed.

“I know,” you affirm, forehead pressed to his. “You didn’t. You were-“

You don’t finish. Not because you can’t, but because the chance is taken before the words can form.

You feel it in slow motion. The way his grip loosens, but doesn’t fully let go. The way his chest rises less each time. The way his eyes stop trying to focus on you.

He exhales, long and slow, and something in you goes with it. His eyes flutter, but don’t close. His body stays warm. His limbs stay loose. He looks like he’s drifting off, like he’s fighting falling asleep during a late night movie. You keep waiting for the moment, the final breath, the stillness that feels so final, but it doesn’t come. He just… fades.

And you feel something snap, break inside, as Eddie Munson, warm, soft, pliable, heartbreakingly alive in every way except the one that matters, slips out of your hands so slowly you almost miss the exact second he’s gone.

[somnambulic-thing]

This fic is part of my come as you are universe but can be read as a standalone.

Series Masterlist

hot & cold

Eddie Munson x gn!reader with boobs&vagina | we're mid/late 20s, 18+

Words: 1.8k

Summary: Eddie and you are on a little vancation to sweetly waste some summer days together. Content: fluff, established relationship, van camping, silliness, banter, spoiling that little shit, sensual scratching, this is all basically just foreplay in my book, allusions to sex, silly nicknames for people and body parts :3

A/N: Thank you to @writinginthetwilight @bettyfrommars and @jo-harrington for their ears, hearts and shoulders.

go feast your eyes and souls on the wonderful artwork by @drac-harrington for this story, comissioned by the fine patreon of the arts @fracturedarkness

And suddenly, it looks like rain.

Smells like it too; slightly sweet yet sharp and a little dusty. You welcome the scent, lift your nose to the grey-purple sky and fill your chest with it and then you hold, hold, hold before you let it go again. The sigh you make even, in a way, sounds like rain, like melancholy and solace.

You want to be with Eddie when the rain starts.

So you leave the small store behind, equipped with two popsicles tucked between your knuckles; a cold surprise for a fiery fiend on a smoldering day.

Down the narrow set of concrete steps, soaked so full of sun you feel the heat waver around your calves as you ascend. The camping ground is a ring hugging a large lake with a small island not quite in the middle of it, but a little offset to the east. There is one main path, paved in sandstone, that eats its tail right at the foot of those stairs and you follow it past tents and motor homes of all shapes and sizes.

Not twenty minutes ago, when you had left Eddie and the van behind to use the restroom, the sky had been nothing but endless, mindless blue and the whole place had been brimming with people; bathing in the sun and water, old folks playing cards and young folks tricks on each other. But as fast as the clouds had crowded in, they had fled, no, deserted the place as if it was about to rain steak knives and rattle snakes.

The path carries you past the mini golf course. It’s an ancient thing, all chipped paint and wonky surfaces, decorated with large, wooden sculptures of animals so bizarre they elude classification and you think back to the night before. Hushed voices and conspiratorial giggles as Eddie climbed the horse-crow-beaver, a bit tipsy a bit tired but determined to take you for a ride on this monstrosity while the camp was fast asleep.

You both agreed it was not the weirdest place you had made each other come undone, but one of the more dangerous, probably, as balance seemed to succumb to ecstasy.

Thunder rumbles calmly across the sky and you continue your way across the lawn.

Almost there now.

The van is tucked away against a small thicket of bushes and fragrant trees in bloom close to the lake shore. It’s the perfect spot, really, catching shade from the trees when the sun is a at its peak and secluded enough that even with neighboring tents, nobody ever passes by.

The back doors are open wide, the folding chairs in front of them empty and so you slip around and find Eddie in bed, flat on his stomach, feet dangling just off the edge of the mattress, his arms folded beneath his head. He’s naked and still damp from the lake, or maybe it’s a fresh sheen of sweat; it’s hard to tell.

You take off your shoes, laces loose enough to just slip out, and shove them into the wine crate turned shoe rack-bedside table combination.

“At long last,” he nearly yawns, yet doesn’t move a muscle. “What took thee so long?”

He’s different shades of Eddie everywhere, separated by a harsh tan line where the hem of his swim shorts sits low on his hips and more of a gradient along his thighs. You can’t see it well from outside but you know his shoulders are pink and his nose is probably too.

He somehow always forgets his nose.

“The good porcelain was in high demand,” you say and smile, slowly bringing the icy treats close to the soles of his feet, ready to strike.  “Also took a little detour.”

“Adventures? Without me?— haaa,” he squeaks and jolts, pulls his feet away and throws a look over his shoulder that speaks of betrayal, considers revenge.

Again, thunder rumbles.

And you hurry inside, crawl in besides him while his eyes follow you, sleepy and soft but oh so watchful.

“Whatcha got there, Poltergeist?” he asks, turns on his side as you come to sit and looks up at you clearly still indecisive of your fate. His hair is dry and frizzy on top and the tips are still damp. His nose is pink.

“Something cold,” you grin and his eyebrows jump up his forehead.

“No shit.”

Straining against a wild laugh you finally hold a popsicle out to him, “I brought you cherry.”

He stares at you. That stare that lives right between saint and serial killer and it tingles on your face, more and more and more like you’re covered in ants and you’re about to tackle him to make him stop when he grins; dimples and teeth and crows feet and you still want to tackle him, but very differently.

“Hmm, my favorite,” he coos, snatches the thing from you and places his hand over his heart. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

It comes without warning this time, makes you both jump, a crash like all the china cabinets in the world just exploded. When it’s over, the quiet seems absolute. Then the rain starts pouring.

“Woah,” Eddie says, frozen in the middle of tearing open the wrapper. “Felt that in my bones.”

You had felt it too.

And as the feeling fades out the noise of the rain swells and swells a little more until it’s a consistent murmur engulfing your small world. Some fat stray drops hit the roof harder, like a weak signal in the static. You unwrap your treat and push yourself back to the top of the mattress, dropping your head against the back of the seat behind you.

The first lick is messy; an effort to stop drips of molten sugar water from getting on your fingers that’s not fully successful. It’s so sweet, it’s an instant rush and the artificial flavor is so strange that you become unsure what kind you’d even picked at the store.

“That’s…” Eddie says, smacking his lips.

“Odd?” you supply. “Alien?”

He pops the tip in his mouth, suckles, then you hear a soft, moist crunch and he’s chewing a chunk, looking back at you with on eye squinting and the other in wide wonder.

“Was thinking, like, something more around, uh… perverse?”

Nodding, you have another thorough lick while more thunder rumbles. “So you love it.”

Already chewing a new chunk he grins from ear to ear, eyes black and tongue an alarming shade of magenta. “Oh, hell yeah!”

You reach out and cup his cheek, caress it with your thumb. “Your stupid face,” you say softly as he nuzzles into your hand, his lips a sticky kiss on your palm.

“You love it,” he says.

“Oh, hell yeah.”

He laughs that smooth, rich sound that comes from deep in his throat. Shuffling closer, he turns on his back, placing his head in your lap. You sink your hand into his hair, gently rake your nails across his scalp and smile when he purrs and wiggles and curls his toes when you hit the very good spots. Silently, you watch the rain together. It’s a thick, hazy curtain in front of the world, tinting it slightly blue and everything it hits much, much darker. The air is calm, yet the surface of the lake ripples and shudders; an empty boat rocks along, drifting further out towards the small island.

 Eddie offers you the last bit of his abominable cherry and you let him finish the rest of your mystery flavor. He suggests watermelon and kitchen gloves as he sucks the stick clean and you don’t contest this assessment.

“Fuuuck,” he suddenly groans, rubbing a hand across his chest. “This… is nice. T’s finally cooling down.”

There is sweat on your forehead and upper lip - and really everywhere - that disagrees. “Don’t know about that…”

Tilting back his head and baring neck doing so, he looks up at you. “What,” he crosses his arms over his chest and shivers, head to toe, rubbing his upper arms to go with it, “you don’t feel that breeze back there?”  

You snort, shake your head. “Well acted, Mun—“

“Nuh-uh,” he protests, wiggles one index finger into your face and with the other, he points to his crotch. “Mr Dick ain’t lying.”

And sure enough, nestled inside dark curls like a small, naked creature fleeing a storm, the evidence undeniable. You smile down at Eddie giddily looking up at you and awaiting response to his silly joke and rake your nails along the sides of his throat, leaving faint marks behind. ”Want a sock for him?”

“Nah,” he chuckles, then groans and his eyes roll before he closes them. “Mr Dick likes the v-view.”

“M’ sure I can find a sock with holes in it— wha—“ fumbly fingers roughly poke your lips and nostrils—

“Shit, sorry,” he laughs, eyes open again but heavy lidded, and re-aims, slides his hand gently along your cheek and to the nape of your neck. “You disrupted some critical functions there for a moment.”

“Want me to do it again?”

“Aye, please…”

Starting right above the dip of his collar bones, you move slower this time, savoring him and his delight. The motion below his skin; tendons twitching, pulse racing and the ripple of a swallowed groan as you inch closer to the edge of his jaw. Lips parted, wet and still tinted a little too pink he digs his skull into your thigh when he tilts his head back further, digs his nails into your neck as he holds on tighter, bracing himself before you—

“Fuck—“

— move back down again and his chest expands on a sigh, deflates on a moan and hitches when your fingers don’t stop at the base of his throat but venture further down down down across hot skin covered in ink and blush and hair. It’s magic how pale trails of friction turn dark and small gasps leave his shiny mouth when you graze one nipple, then the other.

He lets go of your neck, both arms flailing briefly as he reaches behind to grasp your hips, kneading your flesh as you draw wavy patterns across his ribs and back up again. Down below in the thick patch of hair, where your arms won’t quite reach, something stirs, grows, hardens.

When he’s covered in lines from chin to navel you switch nails for fingertips to soothe.

He’s so pretty when he’s a mess; you want to join him.

“Ed, is Mr Dick still cold?”

He lolls his head in your lap, eyes closed and mumbling just short of incomprehensible, “Why? Got a lil’ coat for him or somth’n?”

“Right,” you snort and mumble to yourself, “critical functions turned off…”

Calling his name again, you cradle his face, meeting his eyes as he opens them. His gaze is hazy and soft and he blinks at you like he’s surprised to see you, then breaks into a smile so disarmingly sweet it’s hard to breathe for a moment.

“You think they make top hats his size?” 

“Edward.”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“How about a vagina?”

He’s quick; up, around and on his knees, chuckling darkly as you yelp in surprise when he pulls you down the mattress by your ankles. “Oh, he’s freezing,” he says and spreads them apart.

[drac-harrington]

There’s a 15% off sale right now on my INPRNT shop! ☀️

[drac-harrington]

Summer tends to be a little quieter for commissions, so I figured I’d give them a little boost!

I currently have a couple of full-color pieces in progress, but I still have room to take on more. If you like the examples above, I’d love to bring your ideas to life! I can take on ship art (canon x canon, OC x canon,) character illustrations, scene redraws, and fanfic moments

I’ve been creating pieces for Stranger Things, the Pitt, and ER, but I’m absolutely open to other fandoms (or even original work)!

If you’ve been thinking about commissioning me (or know someone who might be interested) feel free to DM me with any questions either here, my instagram or twitter

tips are very much appreciated and cherished ☕️

I always appreciate a reblog 🖤

[munsondjarin]

eddie starts to do more accents after noticing how much it makes you giggle. he’ll start ordering pizza in a british accent when you’re at the trailer for movie night. when he catches you drifting off while studying, he’s quick to break in a high pitched valley girl accent as he reads “what was like the primary goal of the confederacy in fighting the civil war?” when he notices you trying to hide your smile he continues his theatrics. “whats your damage? do you like want to fail this test?” he’ll break into a french accent when you cook together, he even drew a moustache with a sharpie once (had to go to school the next day with it on since it wouldn’t come off and he didn’t break out of the accent till it fully came off). when he picks you up for school he greets you in a pirate accent, but sometimes it’s a southern one. it somehow never gets old and he’s rewarded with your smile each time.

[drac-harrington]

Just added some new art to my shop!

mostly ER/Pitt art + thought my Robby sketches would be cute stickers

Get your own prints/stickers of Summertime Carol, Beachy Carter, or a cheeky Eddie 🍑

[luvrxbunny]

eddie presses the back of his hand to his mouth to try and hold in his moans while you ride him

i know he does

[cinemabean]

the thing about boyfriend eddie is that he would leave love marks on the most random places of your body.

the little area near the bone on your wrist? hickey. a spot right above your knee? hickey. that area of skin juuust above your mound, and right beneath your tummy? hickey.

his reason is that they’re “little reminders of me throughout the day.” 🙄🥰

one of his favorite spots is just under your collarbone so you can be reminded of when he gave you those marks while you get ready for the day 😠

[writinginthetwilight]

Knock, knock.

Part 14 - Residual effects of adoration.

Coming July 1st

Snippet below the cut.

[writinginthetwilight]

Knock, knock.

Part 14 - Residual effects of adoration.

Coming July 1st

Snippet below the cut.

[pastel-pillows]

You don’t hear Eddie come in.

The trailer door clicks shut behind him, soft enough that the ambient hum of the air conditioner covers it entirely. You stay curled on the couch, wrapped in a blanket that feels heavier than it should, uncomfortable in the way it rests against you but not so much that you move or pull your eyes away from watching the dust drift leisurely through the shaft of afternoon light that peaks through the slats of the blinds.

Eddie stops when he sees you, when he sees the lazy slide of your eyes acknowledging him before going back to their previous spot locked on the empty space before you.

You can feel the way he takes you in, not with judgement, nor with questions, just a quiet understanding that settles between you like another layer of stifling warmth.

Has his gaze always felt so palpable?

He doesn’t ask what’s going on. He never does. Instead, he lowers himself beside you, close enough that his shoulder brushes yours. The touch is warm, steady, grounding. Nothing like the too warm blanket you haven’t had the energy to crawl out from under.

He lifts the edge of the blanket in a silent question. You move slowly, like your limbs are lead, but you move. Sliding in, he wraps the blanket around both of you, tucking it behind your back as if he’s sealing the two of you into a small cocoon where only the two of you exist.

His hand finds your forearm, thumb brushing in slow, rhythmic circles. At first your skin prickles, goosebumps rising along your arm at the change in temperature from his rings and the rush of air conditioning as the blankets settle before the welcome warmth of his touch sinks in.

The room hums with a quiet ambiance, the soft buzz of the refrigerator, the steady huff of Eddie’s breathing, the faint rustle of fabric when he shifts to pull you closer. He smells like cigarettes and oil from the shop with only a faint hint of the cologne he’d sprayed that morning remaining. You press your face into his shirt and inhale, feeling the worn cotton of his work shirt under your cheek as the familiar scent of Eddie surrounds you.

He rests his chin on your head. His face burying into the crown of your head “Hey.” he murmurs, barely above a whisper, the exhale as he speaks tickles against the tender skin of your scalp.

His fingers trace the back of your hand, following each knuckle, each curve, familiar and intimate. Your breath loosens, unwinding slowly in your chest where you hadn’t realized it had been building into a dull ache.

“Thought we could just lay here for a while,” he says, voice low and hushed in that way it gets when he’s trying to be gentle. “Is that ok?”

You don’t give a reply outside of the way you push against him more securely.

The light outside softens to something gentler, the gold of the summer day muting into cool tones of blue and grey as night crawls in at a leisurely pace.

Eddie’s thumb keeps its slow, steady rhythm on your skin, constant and grounding as he lets you breathe and come back to yourself.

Eventually, you exhale, a long, quiet release you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

You feel him smile against the top of your head, small and genuine.

“There she is.” he murmurs. “You ok?”

There’s still no judgement. No expectation for you to answer or move just yet.

Just happiness that you no longer feel tense, no longer hold the weight of everything in your mind throughout your body.

You lean into him, letting the warmth of his body and the softness of the moment hold you.

[drac-harrington]

Lakeside Eddie commission (@fracturedarkness) inspired by the fic Hot & Cold by @somnambulic-thing from their Come As You Are universe

I spent a long time staring at this one. Not because I didn’t know what to paint, but because I wanted to do justice to the feeling somna’s fics leave behind. Landscapes aren’t something I tackle often, and that uncertainty followed me through every step of this piece. But some stories inspire you to reach beyond what feels comfortable.

Somna writes those stories 🖤

[somnambulic-thing]

I must have you know, that this looks a shocking amount like I pictured it in my head when I wrote this story. Drac must have taken a gander in my brain when I wasn't paying attention. But it's also not shocking at all because Drac is just that good!

Go on, give this (and all their work) all your love. Eddie would want you to. He'd be a menace about it.

[jo-harrington]

The Gurgles - Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: You have a stomach ache and your boyfriend makes you feel better.

Word Count: 1.4k

Pairing: Older!Eddie Munson x Reader

Themes/Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Established Relationship, Stomach ache and associated symptoms, Probably a Fart/Vomit/Poop mention in association with previous stomach ache, Humor, Reader is too old to be Eddie The Iron Stomach's foodie Ride or Die anymore, I write these fucking tags before I write the fic if you didn't know

Note: Happy Sunday night (when I started writing this fic, and but not when I'm posting it) from my bathroom where I haven’t moved for the past 20 minutes (when I started writing). This is gonna be a quick one as I distract myself from the actual demon I’m exorcising from my body tonight. What’s a girl to do with no other cure but pepto and fanfiction?

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact unless you’re 18+.

Enjoy!

—

There's something about getting older where you can no longer digest food the same way you used to.

For the longest time, you believed that you would never reach that point.

What brought about a swift end to your perceived invincibility would be your boyfriend with a bottomless pit of a stomach: Edward J. Munson. He ordered extra, extra pepperoni on his pizza. Extra, extra cheese too. He made sandwiches with all sorts of condiments and spicy peppers and pickled vegetables. One time, he even said he would buy ice cream with extra lactose if he could, for the richness.

And still somehow, aside from the occasional appearance of the most rancid farts known to man, he was fine. You, unfortunately, were the unsuspecting bystander (read: victim, in more ways than one) along for the ride.

You tried to mitigate the effects. First, it was the travel size bottle of tums that you kept in the glovebox of your car. Next it was the bottle of pepto that you kept in the kitchen, in addition to the one in the medicine cabinet, just in case.

Then, one day, came the end. And, oh boy, did you think it was Capital-The, Capital-End.

Heartburn, the likes of which you'd never experienced before, took you by surprise. You were innocently sitting at your desk at work when it started. A hot sensation in your chest that slowly overtook your abdomen. Just a constant, searing feeling that practically took your breath away after enough time passed. You thought it would just go away; you figured a handful of tums and you'd be fine. Until you weren't. Until you were sitting through a meeting wondering if you were actually having a heart attack. Until you excused yourself and belched obnoxiously as soon as you crossed the threshold into the bathroom.

You could taste the taco pasta bake Eddie insisted on making the night before. Layers of cheese, meat, beans, sour cream and extra, extra pickled jalapeños on top. It was rich and decadent. Delicious.

And it was going to be the thing that killed you.

Your boss, thankfully, saw how miserable you were and sent you home. But home offered no respite.

You dropped your work bag haphazardly by the door, and you stripped down to your underwear; the tight waistband of your pants was doing you no favors. You had the foresight to grab a glass of ice water and place it within arms reach on the edge of the coffee table, before you fell into the squishy cushions of the couch. As you settled into the most comfortable position you could find, the heartburn subsided and the mother of all stomach aches began.

Time passed with only three certain facts: You were gonna puke. You were gonna poop your pants. And then you were going to die.

"Honey, I'm home!" Eddie's voice cut through your agony, and you slowly cracked your eyes open to stare at the ceiling. "I saw your car outside. And your clothes on the floor? You home early as a surprise? Are you naked in bed?"

No, you obviously forgot one certain fact; you were going to kill him.

But as you opened your mouth to yell, your stomach cramped painfully and you let out the most pitiful groan.

"Babe?" The playfulness in his voice was gone, replaced by concern. "You ok?"

"I'm dying," you muttered weakly.

He scoffed immediately, concern vanishing. You both had an understanding: if you were feeling good enough to be dramatic, you were feeling good enough. Typically, it applied to Eddie more than it did to you—he was the biggest baby when he was sick—but you had your moments. Regardless, he took pity on you as he dropped to his knees in front of the couch.

“Alright, the doctor is in,” he joked. “What’s the preliminary diagnosis? Terminal illness? A parasite? Do we need to amputate?”

His fingers reached your bare side and he tickled you gently, wincing as your instinctive laughter turned into another groan.

"Ah, I see." He stroked his invisible beard with one hand and flattened the other so he could rub over your sore belly with the utmost care. "Any other pain? Nausea, heartburn, indigestion, upset stomach, and dare I ask, diarrhea?"

"I took some pepto earlier," you explained. "Didn't help."

"Well of course it didn't." He now put on an invisible stethoscope. "You didn't have a proper examination."

"It's just a stomach ache," you deadpanned as he started to lean down and inspect you. "You put too much sour cream in the taco bake."

“Nonsense, there’s no such thing as too much sour cream!” He curled his fingers into his palm, and then kneaded your belly in a way not unlike a cat. Of course, a little too much pressure caused a very gentle toot to inadvertently escape you. He wrinkled his nose and you covered your face in embarrassment. “Ok, maybe in this case I was a little heavy-handed.”

He went back to gentle rubbing and then adjusted his invisible stethoscope.

“Let’a give it a listen shall we?”

He leaned his head down and gently placed his ear against your abdomen, readjusting his head a few times before he hummed.

“Ah, well well well.” He lifted his head for a moment. “Seems I found an extra terrestrial creature.” You rolled your eyes as he went back down. “Chest burster? Giant worm of some sort? We’ll get you the bottom of this. You’re lucky I’m a xenoglot. I’ll translate.”

Your stomach, clearly working with Eddie on this comedy act, suddenly made the most embarrassing sound. It was wet and bubbly, and you felt it rumble right below his ear. What did he do in return?

“Gur-gur-gur, blblblbl.” You couldn’t help but laugh as he mumbled stomach noises and resumed kneading and rubbing. He looked up at you, utterly serious, and shushed you. “I’ve made contact. I need concentration if I’m gonna make a proper diagnosis.”

Despite your condition, and the fact that said condition was his fault, you couldn’t help but look at him and be overwhelmed by all the love you felt. From the way he dropped everything to check on you as soon as he got home, to now when he couldn’t help but make you smile as you felt miserable. This idiot—your idiot—had charmed you beyond your wildest imagination, and you didn’t want him to stop.

“Alright Dr. McCoy,” you joked and rested a hand atop his head, giving him an appreciative little scratch. “Or are you Uhura? Communications officer?”

“My legs would look good in that dress.” Your stomach grumbled again. “It agrees. Now shut up. I need to do an advanced procedure. Very delicate.”

You thought his kneading was as far as he was gonna take it. But leave it to Eddie to commit to the bit. He straightened up, shook out his arms, cracked his neck. Then he leaned down and blew the biggest raspberry on your stomach, and in turn you couldn’t help but laugh. You also couldn’t help but pass gas through your poor, unsuspecting ass.

Oh, so you were gonna have the hot poops later. Take back everything you thought about loving him, this was not gonna be fun.

"See, gastrilitis superioris." Eddie nodded sagely, still touting some fake-doctor bullshit. "Also known as a stomach ache. Or, as I like to call it, a case of the Gurgles.”

Of course he had a cute little name for it.

“What’s the treatment doc?” You questioned. “Aside from never letting you cook again?”

“The treatment is 50cc’s of ginger ale,” he ignored your comment, “and letting me feed you saltines as I continue rubbing your tummy for the rest of the night. How does that sound?”

It sounded perfect.

“I think you’re missing something,” you lied. Well, it wasn’t really a lie.

“I am?” Eddie frowned, and straightened his spine. He looked around the apartment as though he expected to find the answer lying about. He saw the telltale pink bottle on the counter in the kitchen and his brows jumped. "Pepto? Because babe, I will pour that pink crap down your throat all night if you need it."

You rolled your eyes and forced yourself upright, just so you could gently cup his face in your hands.

"I hate to ask, doc, but I think the usual treatment also includes 10ccs of smooches."

It was a lightbulb moment, and you were sure that you saw hears in his eyes. His arms snaked around you.

"You already have a prescription for that, sweetheart. Endless refills," he muttered and leaned forward to press his lips to yours.

And you melted into him.

Until you felt your esophagus quiver with an impending burp. You pulled away to try and spare him, only to belch loudly right in Eddie's face.

"Ok," he winced. "Now that was pretty gross."

---

Tagging my WIP Weekenders for getting me to finish this: @sidereustales @rebelfell and an anon 👀 thank you guys

[somnambulic-thing]

smoke and cherry pop rocks read on ao3

follow up blurb: in limbo part II : Hi Sweetheart

Eddie Munson x gn!reader E 18+ with vagina&boobs

3.9k

Summary: You’ve been silently in love with Eddie for years and he’s leaving Hawkins soon. You want one kiss before he does. He gives you more than that.

||no upside-down, angst, fluff, first times, grief, open end, reader has regrets, coming of age (everybody is over 18 though), smut, piv penetration, oral for everybody, lovemarks/bruises, rough sex, sex in public places||

A/N: I hurt myself with this one, but growing pain is what it is. If you like and enjoy this little story, let me know. I’d love to hear from you.

It had been dry the past few weeks. So dry that your feet are kicking up small clouds of dirt where the paved roads of Forest Hills trailer park turn into gravelled paths, making your throat itchy and the inside of your mouth feel just as dry.

You’ve been to the trailer park before but never figured out which trailer was home to Eddie Munson. Had, in fact, avoided finding out. You have a rule when it comes to Eddie and you are about to break it.

The rule was simple enough: Don’t.

Don’t get too close.

Don’t get lost in those eyes, that wit, that kaleidoscope mind.

Don’t let him get too close.

Don’t.

He had been a Senior and you a Sophomore when you created that rule, your crush at first nothing more than a light tickling on the back of your neck and some innocent thoughts about a kiss from those ever-smirking lips. He’d been prickly, snapped at you more than once when he caught you casting not-so-secret glances across hallways until one day, he didn’t. Until one day, he said hi.

And then he had been a Senior and you a Junior and he had given you a ride home, picking you off the street with sweet words and gentle hands after your bike betrayed you and the asphalt scraped the skin off your knees and palm. He walked you to your door to make sure you wouldn’t faint or something even though you clearly felt alright, insisting on taking care of your bike.

“I know what I’m doing. That way I’m sure it won’t give up on you again. Don’t want this to keep me up at night.”

His graduation had been only a few months away that day - or so you‘d thought - and as he stood there, so close, smiling at you, arms crossed over his chest and unable to stand still your whole body had screamed Don’t. He’ll be gone and it will rip you apart.

And then he had been a Senior and so had you and Eddie slipped you pieces of paper during class; little silly drawings to make you smile on days you didn’t feel like it. He held doors for you when you were still half a hallway away and remembered your birthday without you ever telling him the date, singing for you in the school parking lot.

Despite your best efforts to stay away, there had been many and many small moments that had felt like lurking avalanches - a few close calls - but one way or the other, you had walked away unscathed. Right?

You had both graduated three days ago.

Eddie had walked the stage, snatched his diploma and raised two of the happiest middle fingers you had ever seen into the air and bolted like the devil was behind him. You wanted to kiss him. Kiss him so badly. While you still could.

But you didn’t.

Eddie would leave Hawkins soon. He’d found a spot as a roadie, hoisting equipment for a thrash metal band. “Not even a bad one,” he had smirked, radiating excitement. You remember the afternoon he told you about it with painful clarity. He was going to make connections, be a good sport, flex his skills on the guitar whenever an opportunity revealed itself. He had a whole plan.

Eddie would leave soon and you would go to college and so you had said so long tohim with a straight face that felt like it was on fire and that finally was the end of your ordeal. Right?

You already miss him.

So now you’re at the trailer park and your mouth is dry and no matter how much you tell yourself it’s just the dust or the unusual heat or the fact that you had walked here for almost an hour without so much as a sip of water, you knew the real reason was Eddie.

You spot his van first.

And then you spot him. Stretching out on his back on the floor of the small deck in front of the trailer. One arm under his head, his feet bopping to a tune in his mind, tendrils of smoke rising up from his face like ephemeral poems. Golden hour was only minutes away and already the sun tinted everything in this light that had the color of bittersweet memories.

You place your feet carefully, eager to stay unnoticed as long as you can, not ready to leave this limbo yet. He was just beautiful like this; even in inertia, Eddie was a wild thing.

He turns his head at last; you don’t stop, don’t falter even though inside of you everything screams Don’t.

You see him squint, the low and glaring sun behind you shrouding you just a little longer giving you a few more precious seconds to clear your mind, to prepare your words.

Except it doesn’t. He recognizes you anyway.

Over the distance, you hear your name spoken in that voice that had made you jump on your first day in High School; he’d been running late and barged into the wrong classroom. His hair had been shorter, sticking out in every direction like he was electric, made of storm. The voice is deeper now, rougher, but you would recognize it underwater. You hear it in your dreams.

“Hi, Eddie,” says your mouth while your mind says Don’t.

“You, uh, got lost or something?

“No,” you say and come to a halt. With you, you bring your shadow and you cast it over his face. His features relax, the squint disappears and you look down into pitch-black eyes. “I was looking for you.”

“For me?”

“For you.”

“You, like, wanna… buy something green or…?”

“For you.”

Where once sleeves had been on his shirt were now big holes reaching down to his waist, the fabric rolling in slightly at the raw edges where he’d cut along. You can see the pale skin spanning over his ribcage, can see the rise and fall, can see the ink.

Eddie looks at you in silence. You even like the way he doesn’t talk.

Don’t.

He starts to move, eyes fixed on you as he sits up, places his palms on the floor, rings click-clacking softly, cigarette butt coughing bitter tufts of smoke from between his fingers. He pushes himself around in one swift motion, crossing his legs, bare feet covered in dust, and faces you.

Your mouth is dry, is arid, is a desert.

“What do you mean for me?”

DON’T, it screams.

Ah, shut the fuck up, you answer.

“Have you ever heard of anticipatory grief?”

He blinks, fast, tilts his head, tilts the corners of his mouth down.

“Hmm, nope,” he shakes his head, “but I think I… get the gist. Why? You came to ask me this?”

“I came to kiss you.”

“What?”

“That is, if you want me to... To kiss you.”

The cigarette has snuffed out between his fingers and he throws it away into an unseen distance, his eyes searching your face for clues. You give him a smile.

“Are you for— for real?”

You nod.

“You’re not messing with me? Because that would be a fucked up thing to do.”

Your heart rushes the blood through your veins like a torrent, you feel it pool in your cheeks.

“Eddie,” you say the way you always wanted to. Soft and longing. “I had a crush on you for so long…” You close your eyes. “Years... Still have.”

“Shit! I… uh, shit.” You hear only crickets and a lawn mower in the distance and you wonder if he has vanished into thin air. “Could you, like, look at me?”

 It takes effort, but you do.

“You… you never...”

“I know.”

“Why now? Why—“ You can see him think, putting crooked pieces together. “Anticipatory grief?”

“Fuck, you’re clever.”

His head draws back, his brows draw together; it looks like he’s drawing the wrong conclusion. “So you, what? Expected me to be an ass about it? To mess with you?”

“Not all that clever then,” you smirk and Eddie looks confused.

“Well, fuck you, milady,” he says with a tense smile and waves a hand through the air. You want to evaporate, flow through those fingers. “But you’re making no sense to me right now. Help me out?”

“You’re leaving soon.”

“Wait, wait, wait: you said years.”

A laugh is tickling you to let it out, you hold it back and sigh. “I thought for years you’d be leaving soon.”

“Shit,” he almost barks, fingers stilling an itch on his temple. Then he laughs and you do too.

You step closer, leaving only a few feet between you while the laughter is softly running out. And then he breathes in deep into his lungs; holds it holds it holds it. Oh to envy the air so much, it was embarrassing.

“Why now?”

“I don’t know—”

“Bullshit.”

“Eddie…”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

His chest expands again, you see him clenching his fists before he rests his hands on his thighs, ringed fingers splayed wide on black denim.

“Say my name like that—”

“I’m sorry—“

“Answer my question, sweetheart.”

“Don’t do that.”

It’s like a dance somehow, no, not quite, but you’re feeling out of breath and the rhythm is addictive.

“Answer my question…” and then he smiles, pulls his hands to his face, palms pressed together like in prayer, “…sweetheart.”

Asshole, you think losing the fight against a shiver.

“Because,” he says, propping his sharp yaw against his knuckles, “I would have been in on it in a heartbeat. On a date. Or something. Anything, really.”

You say his name like that again and hide your face inside your palms, seeking refuge from your past decisions. “Don’t do this to me.”

“Yeah, fuck that. You started this. I’m just, ahm, levelling the playing field,” he laughs a little bitterly. “T’s not like I won’t think about some if’s and could have been’s now, ya know?”

You can’t look up. You want to ask him if he heard of spontaneous self-combustion before but then he holds the match that sets you on fire.

“I always liked you.”

The groan escaping you is muffled by your palms. “So why did you never say something?”

There is a tap on your shoulder, the sudden touch startling you out of your stupor, and when you come up his warm palms almost feel cool on your heated face.

And Eddie kisses you.

A high-pitched noise escapes your throat, your hands fly to his wrists, holding on like vices because he tastes like smoke and cherry pop rocks and like endless summer skies and the world is spinning as much as his lips are soft and he sighs a little and—

Eddie is kissing you!

You take a step forward, your stomach hits the deck and you wind your fingers through his hair. The roots are damp with sweat and he sighs again when you pull. He opens his mouth to welcome you in, to lick at you with his cherry tongue and steal your breath right from your lungs and—

And then it ends. Time has never passed so fast.

The dissonance of your laboured breathing hangs between you like a chance, a peek, a warning; Eddie won’t let go of your face and you won’t let go of his.

And then he smiles. “Was good?”

You nod. “Too short.”

“Wanna come up here for more?”

Eddie’s laugh echoes through the trailer park as you scramble to climb up the deck. You knock him over, or maybe you don’t, because his hands are already on your arms and pull you with him to the floor. It doesn’t matter one way or the other. What matters is his tongue in your mouth, the hard edge of his teeth against yours and his skin under your wandering fingertips.

The sun is setting.

Eddie is still kissing you when it leaves this day for good.

Wedged between your thighs he now and then whispers little secrets to your skin.

        You are so pretty.

        You smell so good.

      You’re making me so hard.

Eddie’s throat tastes like salt and summer dust; he likes it when you bite him.

      I never said a thing because I thought you wouldn’t want me.

      Because wanting you scares me.

      Because you always were so distant—

      when I came close.

“I’m so stupid,” you confess.

“Not stupid, sweetheart.”

“Then what?”

“I don’t know.” He speaks those words into your mouth as if to share the bitterness.

     I’m glad you came.

          I’m glad you’re here.

          I want you to stay.

         I want you to stay.

         I want you to stay. And if it’s only for one night…

Eddie’s room is a mess but his bed is soft. So is the light, illuminating chaos you had imagined countless times before but it’s no match for the chaos inside you. There’s so much you want to say, but so much skin to kiss. You fill the spaces in between.

“Sometimes,” you pant, his lips against your throat, “I sneak into your concerts.”

“I’ve never seen you there,” he says, almost ripping your shirt, sucking on your breasts.

“I love the sound of your voice.”

“You mean that?”

You nod, straddling his thighs, unbuttoning his pants. “I wanna hear you moan.”

Eddie moans for you when you sink down on his cock.

     You feel so good.

            I can’t believe it.

Neither can you. For the day began with a dragging sense of emptiness and now you are so full of him it’s driving you insane. He moans your name while you ride him, while you show him how you feel in a way words can’t.

            You’re so warm.

            So soft.

            I wanna taste your pussy.

The secrets stop as he licks at you with fervour; but not the moans. Eddie is spoiling you with those and you’re spoiling him with praises.

He’s careful with his fingers, almost like he’s scared. You tell him where to touch, how to move and he thanks you with his eyes; shining and wide and full of pride and wonder as you tense around his fingers, twitch under his tongue.

“Fuck me, Eddie, please…”

Eddie is rough. You want him to wreck you.

           I want you to remember this with your whole body.

           I wanna make you breakfast.

           I’m leaving in two weeks. Two weeks. Gimme those two weeks.

“Yeah,” you moan against his neck. “I’ll give you anything.”

“Don’t— don’t do that.”

 “For two weeks,” you shove your hand under his chin, you make him look at you. He’s so deep inside of you it’s hard to think but this is easy: “For two weeks, I’ll give you anything.”

Eddie kisses you; he tastes like you, like you, like you and nothing else. With one hand he pins your wrists above your head and fucks you like there’s no tomorrow.

When he falls asleep on your chest, you whisper little secrets of your own.

                 I’m sorry.

                 I’m so sorry.

                 I’m so in love with you.

Eddie makes you breakfast. His uncle looks happy and confused; he wants you to call him Wayne. Dramatic eyes seem to be a Munson thing. Wayne makes you laugh with stories about Eddie, Eddie makes you laugh with being flustered and shy. When it’s just you and Wayne for a moment, he slips you a picture of a younger Eddie. Hair short, guitar too big for him. You hide it away like a treasure.

You promised each other two weeks so he gives the car shop an early notice to make time.

“But you need the money, Eddie.”

“I can’t buy this with money, sweetheart.”

“But—“

Eddie likes to shut you up with kisses. It’s not fair, you tell him. He doesn’t give a fuck, he tells you.

You have fourteen days and Eddie’s head is in your lap, a guitar on his chest and he plays for you; melody soft and sad, smile sharp and wide under your adoration. Even little quarrels feel like blessings because the make up is so sweet. Later, he takes you downtown where he never lets go of your hand and licks ice cream off your face.

            I wrote this the day you scraped your knees.

            I don’t mind you being stubborn when you kiss me like that.

            You taste better without it.

Twelve days and you wake up in his arms; he keeps you in bed for hours. Soft kisses, roaming hands and never a moment of silence, you and Eddie sharing everything your minds provide, making every second count. In the evening, Eddie takes you to see a movie. He makes you come twice. You walk back to the trailer park, barefooted.

            I still can’t believe you’re here.

            I could listen to your thoughts for hours.

            I want to fuck you in weird places.

Ten days and Eddie rolls a joint for you to share. You smoke on the roof of the trailer, making up silly names for constellations, laughing till your stomachs hurt. Then you fuck him, palms pressed to his chest, keeping him down. You draw it out till the sun comes up behind you, leaving him a mumbling mess, the corrugated metal of the roof leaving bruises on his back. You kiss them all; they are your favorite color.

            I don’t want to leave anymore.

“But I’m leaving too.”

“I know.”

Seven days and Eddie packs you a picnic. It’s mostly junk food and you both feel full and lazy, like turned-over beetles, giggling like children in the high grass at the shore of Lovers Lake. You find clouds that look like dicks and whales and guitars and it’s all a bit of the same, really, and you bully Eddie out of his clothes because the water looks so nice and cool.

            I used to come here with my mother.

            It’s good to leave here laughing.

            I’ll miss your laugh. So much.

Four days and Corroded Coffin play their last show. You are the first row in a crowd of twenty people; you cheer for twenty more. After, you give the band space, watching the end from the sidelines. There are tears, there are hugs, there are stories of days past and promises for those to come. In his van, Eddie falls into your arms and clings to you for twenty minutes. Then he kisses you, pulls you greedily into his lap and almost breaks his window when there’s no condom to be found.

            I didn’t think all of this would be so hard.

            I’m crazy about you.

            It’s not fair.

            I want to make you come with my fingers, please.

Three days and you take Eddie to your house. He needs to see where you live from the inside. Your mother loves him, like you knew she would. He pokes around your room, inspecting everything he can. Sadly, it’s not much; you already started packing. He gets quiet.

“What’s wrong?”

“I hate to see those boxes with your stuff.”

“You wanna sleep at your place?” you caress his cheekbones with your thumbs.

“No.”

Eddie can’t fall asleep. You find him wide awake at three in the morning, staring at boxes and crying silent tears. He hates it that you see them.

“Come on, get dressed. We’re leaving.”

“No.”

“I don’t want you to be upset.”

“Tough shit,” he huffs. “You said you’ll give me anything. Give me this. I wanna feel this.”

So neither of you sleep. The sun comes up when Eddie pushes your face into the mattress, your wrists in his hand on your back. He’s not gentle. You don’t want him to be. He’s everywhere. By noon he kisses the bruises on the back of your thighs. They are his favorite color, he says. He wants to leave the boxes now. So you leave.

      Maybe you were right. Maybe you are stupid.

            I don’t mean it!

            I’m sorry.

            I just want years of this.

Two days and you just stay in bed. Eddie reads to you. Lord of The Rings and he’s doing different voices, and sound effects; narrates the rain, the hooves of pony’s and everything in between with gentle fingertips on the back of your hand. And it makes you cry. Makes you cry so hard that Eddie’s shirt is soaked where he holds you to his shoulder.

“Anticipatory grief. I get it now,” he says into your hair. There is something he doesn’t say. You can feel it, but you don’t ask.

This time when he fucks you, Eddie is nothing but gentle. You almost can’t stand it. You never want him to stop. Keep him inside of you forever.

            I’m in love with you.

            No, I mean it.

            I always liked you, remember?

“I’m in love with you too, Eddie.”

“Say that again.”

Eddie’s van is packed. He’s leaving in two hours.

Your lips are swollen from kissing, biting, sucking his cock and bruises into his skin.

“How can you be so perfect?” you ask him.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t let me leave.”

“Eddie…”

Eddie slides from your arms, slides from his room, out the porch door and flees into the forest behind the trailer.

You look after him, stunned.

Wayne sits on the deck, smoking.

“M’ sorry, kid. Really sorry.”

You know what he means. You’re sorry too.

“If he’s not back in twenty, you go after him.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. He’s my boy,” Wayne chuckles. There are tears in his voice.

You find Eddie sitting on a low branch, staring into the distance.

“You found me.”

“You’re leaving.”

“So are you.”

There are some nettles stinging your calves as you walk over, but the look on his face stings more.

It’s like the day you found him two weeks ago: you looking up at him, his eyes brimming with confusion. Except it’s nothing like two weeks ago.

“If this isn’t a pretty fucking case of self-fulfilling prophecy then I don’t know what is.”

“What do you mean?” you ask, brushing hair out of his face.

“You know what I mean.”

Of course, you do. It was you who made that prophecy.

“Do you regret it? That you gave me that kiss?” you ask in fear, a tear fleeing down your cheek.

Eddie kisses it away. “Don’t be stupid.”

Ten minutes and you lean against his van. His arms are crushing you, your nails leave red trails on his back and shoulders. You want him to remember.

“M’ going to miss you,” you sob.

“Gonna miss you too, sweetheart.”

            I’ll call you every day I can.

            I’ll let you know when I’m in the area.

            M’ gonna visit you. I promise.

Eddie kisses you. He tastes like smoke and cherry pop rocks and plain old sadness.

            You made me so happy.

            It’s almost cruel.

            I’d do it again. In a heartbeat.

Your mouth is dry as you watch him drive away, clouds of dirt rising from the dusty tires. Wayne holds you while you sob; he’s crying too. “Stop by for coffee b’fore you leave,” he says and you promise you will as you wave him goodbye.

The sun is low and golden as you start your way home. No. To the place where your boxes are waiting. You feel uprooted.

Two days later and the phone is ringing. You trip over a bag of clothes and bump your knee on the coffee table. You don’t feel the pain.

“Eddie?”

[somnambulic-thing]

t's been almost three years. wild shit. hip hip hooray to my fever dream. or whatever.

[somnambulic-thing]

page 622 read on ao3

Eddie Munson x gn!reader with boobs&vagina E +18

summary: It's the middle of the night and you just can't find sleep. Eddie wants to help. He wants to help so bad.

Words: 3k

||reader has insomnia, smut, fluff, pinch of angst, LOTR references, domestic, nerds in love||

A/N: This is for all of us who haunt the nights. <3

Page 622 is graced with not one, but two dog ears.

That’s nothing unusual for the thick heavy paperback in your hands. A copy of The Lord of the Rings, all three parts united in one book and littered with battle scars like a gnarly old Orc of Mordor.

It belongs to both of you, bought on that whimsical fleamarket by the side of the road with spare change collected from the nooks and crannies of the van. It hadn’t mattered that you already owned a box set each, it had been clear that this book wanted to go home with you. Once integrated into your shared collection, it became the copy that was pulled out when Eddie and you had an argument about the most minuscule details to settle. It wasn’t a rare occasion that someone got tackled before they could claim victory over the matter. That brave book had been ripped from victorious hands more times than you could count and flung over shoulders, into corners or behind furniture.

It was also the copy Eddie used to ponder ideas. When he was writing a campaign and the atmosphere he was eager to create didn’t feel quite right, he would go down into the Mines of Moria or deep into the thicket of Fangorn forest and seek inspiration between the lines. There he left marks with the heavy tip of his pencil, elbows catching on the edges of pages as he reached for his notebook, creating new dogears, sometimes small tears.

You loved those marks and never grew tired of discovering fresh traces of his adventures. They kept you company on those days you wouldn’t get tired at all.

The world between the worn covers was familiar, the motions of the adventures committed to memory in many places, the adventurers friends that comforted you on restless nights.

You chose this copy over the others you own because it’s an intimate object, because you could trust it to catch you should you fall asleep on its pages, trust it to be more beautiful in the morning with more kinks and wrinkles.

But there were days when even the unhastiness of Treebeard wouldn’t do the trick to coax you into slumber. Today was such a day; stuck on the sofa on a dark, restless sea and no sleep in sight.

You hadn’t heard him coming.

“Just flopped around the mattress like a fish out of water looking for you.”

Eddie’s voice is deep and raspy and a little cranky around the edges. Your eyes shift from page 622 to where he stands in the doorframe, all tousled hair and sleepy eyes. There are lines on his right cheek, a shallow relief in the mirror image of his pillowcase. His boxers sit dangerously low on his hips and it tickles in your fingertips to follow the trail of soft hair and tuck them further down.

“That’s an amusing image,” you say with a smile as Eddie rubs one eye with his flat hand, nose scrunched up and wrinkly. “Can you demonstrate that to me?”

“Do not mock me. I awoke all cold and lonely…” he waves the other hand through the air. “Forsaken by my love.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, the mirth in your tone slipping just slightly, but Eddie catches it.

“How long have you been up?” he asks, banter put aside in exchange for worry and makes his way over to the nest of blankets and pillows you’d made on the sofa.

You frown, not sure you know the answer to that question, feeling like you’ve fallen out of the stream of time; trapped in endless night, doomed to read the same three sentences on page 622 again and again with nothing but your thoughts for company. Until now.

You turn to check the thin green digital numbers on the VHS recorder while Eddie lowers himself to the ground in front of you. “Almost two hours.”

“That’s no good,” he says softly and fumbles with the blanket draped over your legs in search of your skin, nudging the book off balance. It slides down your lap with a soft rustle. Dark, heavy eyes search your face for clues he knows you’re reluctant to give him and a warm palm finds your thigh moments later, an epicentre for violent goosebumps. You shiver and he smiles. “What can I do?”

“Nothing—“

“You underestimate my relaxing properties.” He places a kiss on your knee. “It’s pretty annoying, actually.”

You shake your head. “Don’t want to keep you up—“

“Want me to take over the reading? You just rest and listen—” He lowers his voice to a soft rumble. “—let me hypnotize you.”

“You really don’t have to—“

“Shhh… would you please just let me help?” Without waiting for an answer, Eddie slides the blanket off your thigh and covers it in soft, slow kisses.

“Can’t—“ kiss “go—“ kiss “back to sleep—“ kiss kiss “knowing—“ kiss “you’re out here alone. Suffering.”

His hair is soft between your fingers. You loosen a few small knots while you rake your nails over his scalp.

“Eddie… I…”

It’s exhausting being a ghost, to haunt the wee hours of the night unable to find rest. It was also lonely. There was a hazy barrier isolating you from the people around you. From the man whose company you craved so much but struggled to accept in this circle of hell.

Eddie has had his fair share of sleepless nights, had done plenty of haunting himself; but not like this, not without a trackable cause that offered some degree of sense. And you’d never wish this on him no matter how lonely you get, but sometimes, you find yourself envying him for the way he just falls asleep on any surface most days and with the envy, there comes resentment. The disconnect between resentment and longing a rope binding your hands behind your back, keeping you from reaching out.

Dark eyes are staring holes into your body as Eddie is waiting for you to continue, to give him something.

“You what, sweetheart?” He’s rubbing circles into your skin. “You want me to leave? Like, actually?”

“I don’t want to take my mood out on you…”

“Why not?” he grins. “We could make it fun. Tire you out, air out some of that—“ his hands leave your legs to gesture wildly through the air. The cold creeping in where his warm palms had just rested feels unbearably cruel. You don’t want him to leave. “— some of that pent-up… whatever it is.”

“Okay.”

Eddie’s brows vanish under tousled bangs. “Okay? Shit, I had this whole speech planned about how we’re a team and that you’re being so stubborn is a waste of time—”

“You complaining?”

“No… no…” he smiles and runs his hands up your thighs. “So, you wanna be a little… mean to me?”

“No,” you breathe out. “Don’t want that.”

He hums and nods, leans down and licks your skin; from your knee right up to the hem of your shorts. It’s the slightest touch, just the tip of his tongue, but the sensation sinks into your body like warm summer rain falling onto dry and dusty ground.

“Let me love you,” he mumbles against your thigh, running the tip of his nose along the border of fabric you hide behind. “I hate it when you feel lonely while I’m right here and fucking crazy about you…”

“You’re right here,” you repeat like in a trance. Eddie looks up at you, so soft and wild at the same time and so sincere and you feel the last layer of resistance melt as if it had never existed.

“Right fucking here.”

“Fuck me.”

Warm gentle hands begin to free your legs from the tangle of blankets and you marvel at how much of Eddie’s essence resides in his touch; soft but rough around the edges where his fingertips have put on tough skin over the years. There’s so much love, so much passion lingering in those points where you end and he begins.

Accompanied by the soft rustling of fabric, Eddie runs those storytelling hands up and down your thighs, from the inside to the outside and up to the round of your ass where he ever so slightly puts his nails against your skin and runs them down down down to the back of your knees where he holds on and pulls you further down the cushion. You yelp a little and then you both laugh a little and you lift your hips to aid him rid you of your shorts and underwear.

“M’ gonna try a thing,” he says and spreads your legs just wide enough to fit in between.

“Try w-what?” you ask around a hitching breath as you watch Eddie slide two fingers into his mouth. They glisten with spit when he pulls them out and you can hear a few drops hit the floor as he lowers himself down.

“You know how I sometimes take ice-cold showers to shock spiralling thoughts out of my mind?”

“I… what? AH!”

One long finger enters you swiftly, moves in-out-in-out and is joined by the other. Heat expands like a shockwave through your pelvis as all the blood rushes to greet the pads of Eddie’s fingers. He moves with precision in quick pulsing motions against that soft erogenous spot deep inside you, watching you closely.

“Good?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Not too much?”

“No,” you grit out as your hips start to twitch.

There is no smug little smile, no told-you-so grin, only deep concentration and a bright red blush high on his cheeks and you desperately wish he’d kiss you. That thought is gone and forgotten as that penetrating pulse quickens, deepens and Eddie’s mouth inches closer and closer to your clit. There’s a sharp tingling in your cunt, not quite a sting, not quite pain and it’s hot and pulsing and as it spreads out into every corner of your body, the world gets smaller and smaller, shrinks countless miles each second until this sofa is the only place left in the universe.

“Holy shit, holy shit, those noises, sweetheart.”

You can’t hear a thing over the rush in your ears and as Eddie’s lips close around your confused, prickling clit, your eyes roll up and close.

And for an infinite moment, there’s nothing left but ecstasy.

When time starts up again, you’re re-entering the world shaking and gasping. Eddie is quick on his knees. One hand closing around your wrist and the other pressed into your back he pulls you into an embrace that you collapse into like a dying star.

“I love you I love you I love you…” he whispers into your hair and holds you holds you holds you until you feel solid again. “You good?”

You nod and hum.

Hands find your face and guide you up and you remember how badly you need a kiss when Eddie’s lips form pretty words so close to yours. “Now, let me take you to bed and—“ You interrupt him, pressing your mouth to his with desperate, sloppy urgency. He chuckles softly, catching your lower lip with his teeth for a gentle tug before he pulls away.

“Come on,” he kisses the corner of your mouth. “Really wanna continue this.”

“Can’t move… you broke me.”

“Oh, well, pretty sure you broke my fingers with your pussy so we’re even. Get up.”

You laugh and reach for the hand cupping your left cheek; you kiss the palm, run your tongue along his fingers and kiss the tips. “Better?”

Eddie’s brows shoot up and he takes a sharp breath. “Bedroom!”

He scrambles to his feet and pulls you with him. In motion like that, you can feel drowsiness settling in, slowly taking hold of your muscles. Your legs still feel shaky, almost heavy, and Eddie wraps an arm around your waist for the moment it takes you to steady yourself.

“Looks like it’s working,” he says softly.

“Feels like it, too.”

Finally, there is the smug smile you have been waiting for. “And it took me less than two minutes. ”

“You… checked the time?”

“For science,” he says proudly and the smile turns into a grin.

“Ah, science. Alright, Doc,” you reach down, hook a finger into the waistband of his boxers and let it snap. “I’m ready for the next experiment.”

Eddie tilts his head, narrows his sleepy eyes and hums. You can hear the cogs in his mind take up speed and then he sidesteps you and begins to rummage through the mess of blankets and pillows on the sofa.

“What are you doing?”

“Just a sec, you gave me an idea— ha!” He whirls around and shoves The Lord Of The Rings into your hands. Your reaction is tardy and you feel the cover catch on your thumb and bend in a way that probably leaves a crease but you have not time to check because Eddie is quickly maneuvring you to the bedroom.

He sits you down on the bed and swiftly pulls your shirt over your head and you have no choice but to let go of the book. It drops somewhere on the mattress and out of your mind when Eddie flicks on the bedside lamp and strips out of his boxers.

“Never gets old”, you marvel at the sight of him, pale and lean but soft and the smile you just conjured with those words seems nothing short of diabolical with the way the light catches his features from below.

You recede onto the mattress and he follows you like you’re magnetic, crawling after you until he’s back between your legs, kissing his way up your body, taking his time to caress your breasts with his hands and lips. Only when you yawn he stops and comes up to face you, to kiss you and you drink in the sigh of relief that he places inside your mouth as he slides his hard cock against your folds, you hold on to goosebump-covered shoulders as he pushes inside you.

“Never gets old,” he moans as he rolls his hips against you in deep, slow thrusts and kisses your nose when you have to giggle.

You’re not chasing ecstasy now, but wholeness, you’re not searching for a high, but for refuge. All your thoughts slow down while Eddie occupies all your senses.

“How do you feel?” he asks into the soft spot below your ear.

“Good… Sleepy.”

“M’ not saying I told you so—“

A chuckle tickles your skin and suddenly, a bolt of guilt and fear flashes through you. “But we can’t do this every time—“

“Hey!” He lifts his head to look at you, presses a finger to your lips. “Shhh… Don’t go there,” he says and puts his forehead to yours. “Come back… come back to me. I got you.”

“I’m here.”

“You just have to let me in…” He kisses you like he’s sacred you could vanish from beneath him and you swear you can feel his heartbeat reach out for yours, swear you can feel it pound against your chest like it’s begging for entry.

“M’ sorry,” you whisper and sling your arms around his shoulders. “I’m trying.”

And then he moves, slowly pulling his cock from inside you—

“Eddie?”

and stretches long across the bed to grab the book right off the edge.

“On your side,” he instructs and manhandles you into position before you can comply on your own and slides back into you before you can process what’s happening.

“Fuck… oh fuck…” you moan as quick deep thrusts hit just the right spot over and over. You can hear the rustling of pages behind you and Eddie’s chest retreats from your back. “W-what are y- ah you…?”

‘It was not much more than a tall man’s height now…’  he reads the first line from page 622. You try to turn to look at him but he pushes you back. “Nu-uh, relax. M’ going to read to you and I’m going to fuck you till you pass out and maybe then you’ll think of waking me sooner the next time you pick up this book in the dead of night.”

You moan and laugh and there are tears in the corner of your eyes. “You trying to condition me?”

There’s no answer, he just keeps reading; shakily, punctuated in the quick rhythm of his thrusts and laced with moans of his own. You just close your eyes and let go and soon enough you’re close to the edge again.

’We are famisshed, yes famisshed we are, precious,…” he croaks in a toned down, breathy Gollum impression that’s highly confusing and you clutch the sheet, pulling it loose.

“Shit… you gonna make me come…”

After a few more lines he stops reading and you hear the book drop. Eddie presses close to you, softly bites your shoulder while a hand wanders down between your legs to play with your clit.

‘Yess, yess, nice water,’ said Gollum,’ he continues from memory.

“Oh, you asshole,” you groan.

‘Drink it, drink it, while we can! But what is it they’ve got, precious? Is it crunchable? Is it… tasty?’

One strangled moan falls from your mouth and then your insides tense violently. Eddie mercilessly fucks you through it and beyond and doesn’t slow down until he coaxes another orgasm out of you. He follows you this time. You feel him pulse and twitch deep inside of you, feel his hot breath on your shoulder and neck and one stray tear escape the corner of your eye. It runs down the side of your nose while you listen to both your mismatched breathing slow down again.

“I fucking love you,” you babble groggily. “So much… so much…”

Eddie places a kiss on the back of your head and picks the book back up, resuming where he left off. He stays inside you while he softens until he slips out. The distinction between characters fades, the gaps between words grow longer but you barely register it; it’s the sound of his voice that pulls you under into the depths of Morpheus’ realm and you’re finally ready to descend completely…

‘Look here!’ Sam whispered to Frodo, not too softly: he did not really care whether Gollum heard him or not. ‘We’ve got to get some Sleep—' Eddie pauses. “Precious? You asleep?”

Your slow, even breathing is all the answer he gets. He carefully reaches over you and drops the book on the mattress before he turns off the light and wraps his arm around you.

“Gonna find you in my dreams,” he whispers into your shoulder and follows you into sleep.

[cinemabean]

I love love love love love him.

[somnambulic-thing]

And I love you, Lucy. You have no idea how happy this made me. So, so, so, so good to know my stories actually stuck with someone. <3 Best feeling. This made my day.

[jo-harrington]

Stranger Than (Fan)Fiction - Chapter 6: Lemon

Previous Chapter: Friends to Lovers

Summary: Eddie wakes up with an unexpected surprise, leading you both on a very sticky adventure, courtesy of the Writer.

Word Count: 6.1k

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Fem!Reader

Warnings/Themes: No-Upside-Down AU, Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Chaos, Smut, Masturbation, Handjob, PinV Sex, Messy Sex, Unconventional Mention of Daddy Kink (trust the process), Satire, Isekai, Mentions of FOI-compliant events and characters, Various References to Movies and Television, Lore, Criticism of Fanfiction, Analysis of Fanfiction/Fandom, Meta Fiction, Self-Aware Fic

Note: Hey guys, remember when I said that I was sorry for posting AASB late? I'm even more sorry because it's been over a year without an update. Considering that I've written 3 whole series and completed another in that time, I don't feel too bad. However, I'm so sorry. So consider the rest of 2026 time for Stranger Than (Fan)Fiction to come to a close as well. Gonna put as many of my WIPs to rest as I can.

That being said, I am out of practice writing smut. So this is going to be fun. Please keep in mind that there is some satirical content in this chapter, as well as the serious parts. It's a rollercoaster, so just...enjoy the ride.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

You stared at yourself in the mirror.

At all of the lumps and bumps of your body; smooth skin, rough skin, hair, stretch marks, curves, dips, rolls.

It was foreign to you; you weren't a vain creature unless you were written to be, so you really didn't get the opportunity to observe your body the way you were now. It was a strange thing that you savored when you had the opportunity to explore. The small bit of will that this type of story afforded to you to observe a body that, in your world, was hidden beneath clothes.

Censored by clothes.

No. Not censored. Written that way. Created that way. Not meant to be perceived that way and by way of said creation, that aspect of you simply didn't exist.

Now, under the creative endeavor of some other Writer and not the one that created you, you became...complete. Not just face and personality and sense of style. But also body and pleasure and sexuality in all of its many facets.

A new sort of freedom...but also forced freedom. Freedom to do, not what you were created for, but to bend under the additional creativity of others. You had some control too, within reason, you just...didn't know what to do with that control sometimes.

How odd.

Creation vs creativity vs creator.

All engaged in conditional liberation.

You would've gotten philosophical with the thought if hands hadn't slid over your arms. Instead, you shivered at the unexpected touch, all contemplative thought gone in favor of sensation.

"Are you just staring at yourself?" Helen whispered into your ear. "Come back to bed."

You turned so you could look at her through eye to eye, instead of through the mirror, and she took the opportunity to cut off any of your words and kiss you instead.

For all the silly loverboys that you had been written with and fallen for, nobody kissed quite as good as Helen Magnus did, with her 200+ years of experience.

That was a new revelation too, but not an unwelcome one. To someone, it made all the sense in the world to put you, a seemingly-small town girl looking for the adventure of a lifetime, in the world of Abnormals and the Sanctuary Network with Helen. Little did they know, that beneath the words they had scribed on a page, you had your own decades of life experience to rival Helen's. But none like this.

It felt even more special to you because of it.

Would you have ever slept with a woman on your own? Not if you'd stayed in the safety of your primetime 1980's sitcom. But, beyond that...it was simply a fact of existence that you got to experience. Beyond the sexual. Beyond the physical. Because you didn't exist.

Had you not been written into these stories, you would have ceased to exist the moment the final episode of Port Geneva had ended. It had been something you'd come to terms with ages ago, an explanation for this series of events. You weren't real...so you would never get a real life, a real future.

So, you decided as you and Helen tumbled back into the sheets, giggling between kisses and moans, that you would enjoy this life, make the most of this life.

Because however bad it got sometimes, to live these moments was better than the alternative.

November 1985

Eddie woke up from a deep sleep feeling pretty damn good, if he did say so himself. It was a peaceful morning, one of many that he had with you in his arms. Snuggling, sleepy smooches, maybe some fooling around without a care in the world. He was always loath to peel himself away on mornings like these.

But, like all of those other mornings, nature called and he had to answer.

Actually, it seemed like nature was screaming at him.

There was an almost unnatural heaviness and pressure in his abdomen. Not necessarily uncomfortable but certainly not normal. He'd felt this way before, after a night of chugging a whole case of Mountain Dew as he tried to rewrite his plans for a Hellfire session at the last minute. Too much weed and too much soda, and then practically passing out on the couch had his bladder shouting at him come morning.

That hadn't happened last night, though. It was as normal a night as any other. So this was a bit concerning.

He carefully extracted his arm from your waist and shifted to the edge of the mattress; as he stood, he felt his equilibrium shift, center of gravity lower. Was this what it felt like to get older? God, he was gonna have to ask Wayne, wasn't he?

He tip-toed to the bathroom, rubbing the sleep from his eyes all the while; he closed the door behind him and lifted the seat of the toilet. Then, as he made to pull down his sweats so he could relieve himself, he was in for a shock.

"What the fuck is this?" he whispered. It was his dick.

Well, obviously it was his dick. His dick was always there. Trusty as ever. Old reliable. Except, the thing he was currently holding in his hand, was not his dick. Well it was a dick. But...it was...an absolute...sausage, for lack of a better word.

No wonder he felt so heavy.

He blinked twice. Two long, exaggerated blinks. Just in case he had a floater in his eye or something. He took a deep, cleansing breath, and finally opened his eyes as he exhaled.

Only for nothing to change.

"What the fuck is this?" He repeated, still sotto voce.

On a normal day, Eddie was pretty proud of his package. He would consider himself a grower, not a shower, and for a second he thought, surely, he had an erection. But his dick was just about as flaccid as you could get...and about twice the size it usually was when he was hard.

If he was in the right state of mind, he would have realized that there was a bit of cosmic interference in the Writer variety. However, panic had fully taken hold of him and logic was out the window.

What was a guy like Eddie Munson to do when he had an unexplained, magic, monster cock and was panicking about how to get rid of it? Well, he did what he always did.

Cranking the hog. Charming the cobra. Shaking hands with the milkman. Taking the self-guided tour.

Weird that he would typically be an expert guide on this tour. But he might as well be a first timer, given that the cock he suddenly found himself with was surely not his.

Except that it kind of was.

Same foreskin, same veins, same little thing that made him harder when he twisted his wrist just so.

"Yeah," he groaned slightly as he felt the shock of arousal go through him. "Just like that."

Soon all coherent thought was out the window.

If he didn't think it was big before, he really lived up to the "grower" name now too, as it hardened and thickened and became...inconceivable in his grasp. And the pleasure? The pleasure was immeasurable, he didn't think he'd ever felt so good servicing himself. He practically doubled over as he hunched and focused on, what he was sure was, the most epic jerk off session of his life. One hand placed against the tiled bathroom wall, the other pumping back and forth, his eyes wrenched shut and he threw his head back as he moaned. Electric sensations travelled up the shaft, through his body, making his toes curl.

Shit, sex wasn't even this good, was it? Imagine how it would feel with this new cock. Imagine how good this new cock would feel with you...

"Eddie?" There was a knock on the door and he actually jumped. Speak of the devil. "You ok? You've been in there for a while."

Whatever orgasmic trance he had been in was gone, and he suddenly realized the predicament that he was in. Huge, unexplainable, erect dong-in-hand, jerking off when he really should've just peed and went back to explain the situation to you.

There was another knock.

Maybe, if he just stayed quiet, you would go back to bed.

"I know you're in there, Eddie."

Damn it, you knew him too well.

"Uh..." Eddie took a breath and looked around for something to help him out of this predicament. Bottle of mouthwash? Washcloth? Plunger? No, none of that could help. It was really true what they said about all the blood exiting the brain when you were hard, wasn't it? "Yeah...I'm in here."

"Shocking." You deadpanned.

He took a breath to build some courage, and then carefully approached the door. He opened it just a crack and peered out at you.

"I have a problem," he confessed.

"Did you clog the toilet again?" you asked.

He let out the most diabolically sarcastic laughter. "I fucking wish it was the toilet, sweetheart. I'm going to open the door and let you in here. But you need to be normal about this."

"We live in a fanfiction, Eddie," you laughed at him. "I don't think anything is normal."

That's when it finally clicked for him.

Fanfiction. The Writer. They must've done this, either to give him the most embarrassing morning of his life. Or, and more probable still, they probably thought a penis of this magnitude--

God, he really needed to write this down for Hellfire. A potion for vitality that doubles the size of your dick.

--was normal. Appealing. Desirable.

All thought of his attempt at self-care aside though, it was pretty horrifying.

"Well?" you stared at him expectantly. "You gonna let me in?"

"You're gonna laugh," he prefaced, and then quickly pulled the door open, ducking behind it to shield you from the shocking view.

You quickly scurried inside and turned as he shut the door behind you.

Then, there you were, and there he was. Staring at each other. You, clothes mussed from sleep and eyes wide in shock. And Eddie, red-faced, sweaty, sweatpants still pulled beneath his balls, with his rapidly softening impossible-cock still in his grasp.

"What the fuck?"

"So lemme get this straight."

"Mmkay."

"The Writer can just...change my body however they want."

You took a thoughtful pause. "They're writing you the way that they believe you are--"

"Because I'm not real," Eddie interjected spitefully. He slammed his coffee cup onto the table a little too forcefully, causing the hot liquid to splash over the rim.

"--because you are just another outlet of their expression."

Eddie let out a judgmental hum and turned to look out the window, wanting to be done with this whole conversation.

After the incident in the bathroom, you had suggested going to Benny's--pancakes and coffee always made things better, after all. Once the food was served, you had regaled him with your own experiences in body alterations. You listed off unexpected changes to your hair and eye color, how you spent a whole summer with glasses because a Writer was sure you were far-sighted, and finally--the cherry on top, and most relevant to the conversation--the two years you spent with breasts about three-times your natural size as you experienced life as a cartoon high-schooler.

He let his eyes travel down to your cleavage for what was the 10th time that morning, but they snapped back up to your face as you cleared your throat.

"Listen, if the Writer is thinking about your dick in such a flattering light," you began. "It can only mean that they're probably inspired to write something a little...romantic."

"Bringing someone flowers is romantic," Eddie scoffed. "Reciting a poem is romantic."

You suddenly reached across the table and grabbed the lapel of his jacket to pull him closer. With your noses practically touching, you hissed at him. "Eddie, we're in public. I'm trying to be a little considerate of the families around us and not say that the Writer wants us to fuck each others brains out."

You pushed him away and he fell back in the booth with an audible oomph. You grabbed your coffee and raised it to your lips, shooting an innocent smile to the waitress as she walked by. As soon as she was gone, you leveled him with an intense stare, brow raised expectantly.

Eddie felt his cheeks heat up and he cleared his throat. "You're telling me that the same Writer who had trouble getting us into bed for the first time is suddenly going to have us go on some kind of...smutty bacchanalia?"

"You never know where the inspiration is going to come from."

He snorted.

"Are you objecting?" you questioned.

"Absolutely not! Listen any chance I get to--" The waitress walked by again and shot the two of you a suspicious glare. Eddie immediately lowered his voice. "Any chance I get to be inside you, I'm gonna take it."

Now it was your turn to act flustered. You stumbled over your words, agreeing with him in an adorably bashful way. He grabbed your hand and pressed a quick kiss to the back of it, then gave you a playful little nibble before he moved to take a sip from his coffee cup.

"Anyway," you tried to redirect the subject. "This is the fun part of this existence. Getting to explore aspects of yourself that wouldn't have existed outside of a screen or a page. I barely had my first kiss back in Port Geneva. Fanfiction opens a whole world you might never have had before."

"So far, it's been traumatizing at best," Eddie deadpanned.

"It'll get better," you promised. "Honestly, I'm shocked that you haven't noticed other signs yet."

"And what would those be, sweetheart?" He waved dismissively.

"Well, whenever I've been...subjected...to more desirous inclinations, I've had wet dreams, feel myself getting hot around the collar with whoever I'm paired with. It wouldn't take a lot to get my motor running."

It was Eddie's turn to shoot an intense stare your way.

"Look at who you're talking to, honey. Not only am I your local pervert, but I've been having wet dreams about you specifically since before you even had clips on the opening credits of Port Geneva."

You got bashful again and shrank on your side of the booth.

"Shut up, Eddie," you muttered.

He just winked as he finished off his coffee.

Eddie looked out for the signs. Anything out of the normal.

Unfortunately, as he mentioned, sex dreams were nothing new for him. Nor was him getting hard at the mere sight of you. However, he was a lot more aware of his body's reactions to you now.

Well, the fact that his upgraded package barely fit in his jeans in the first place certainly helped with awareness. As soon as he got the slightest stiffy, it was inescapably noticeable.

The real sign came one day as he sat down to lunch, threw open the lid of his lunchbox, and instead of finding his usual sandwich and ziploc baggie of trail mix, he found a box of condoms that he definitely hadn't packed.

It was like a death knell tolling for him. A sex knell. His eyes darted around the cafeteria, around the various tables, as though you would stand up from one of them and close the distance to mount him right then and there.

As crazy as that seemed, could he really discount the Writer from doing something like that?

He needed to call you. Warn you.

He immediately shut the lid and stood up; his friends shot him curious looks.

"I think there's pizza on the menu today." He thumbed over to the lunch line. "Gotta get in line before they run out."

"You hate cafeteria pizza." Gareth frowned.

"No, I hate cafeteria meatloaf." Eddie reached out and flicked his ear. "I love cafeteria pizza. Get your lore right, Emerson."

"Can you get me a chocolate milk?" Jeff called as Eddie walked away.

"Yeah, sure, whatever."

He made it seem like he was getting in the lunch line, but he quickly ducked out of the double doors and strode out towards the pay phones. He shoved his hands into his pockets to try and fish some spare change.

"Come on, come on," he muttered. "Just one fucking quarter."

Just as his fingers found the rigid edge of the coin amidst the pocket lint, he was yanked right off course. He fumbled as he was pulled into a dark classroom and his lips met the pliant planes of yours.

Had he called it or what?

His hands found your waist and he pulled you close; the heat of your body permeated the combined layers of your clothing and seemed to sink right into him, igniting his fire. Especially as your own roaming hands snaked around him to grab his ass and squeeze.

He yelped and pulled away from you, panting. "Hey sweetheart. What, uh, what are you doing here?"

There was amusement roiling in your eyes as you licked over the seam of your lips enticingly. "I think you know exactly why I'm here Eddie." You winked.

"But I have class," he said dumbly, "and you have work."

"I don't have work til 4." Your hands moved from his backside to his front, playing with his belt buckle. "Besides, I figured you wouldn't be opposed to skipping the rest of the day. Gives us, what, an extra 3 hours to have a little fun together?"

He was about to object, protest that this was too risky, that you shouldn't be at the school, let alone to have sex with him. Hell, he wouldn't even be opposed to a romp behind the Hideout on your break, Bev be damned. But he felt the tug of puppet strings on his limbs, the Writer taking charge of the situation against his will, and he knew that this was gonna happen whether he wanted it to or not.

Better play the part.

It's not like this hadn't been a fantasy of his at one point. Somewhere in the back of his mind, when you had still been a character inside of his television set.

Taking his silence as agreement, you started unbuckling his belt, but the shrill sound of the bell made him grab your hands and stop you.

"Not here," he whispered. "This is too risky, anyone could walk in at any time."

"So?" You grinned wickedly. "Live on the edge."

"The edge of expulsion," he laughed, and took a second to think. "My van!"

You bit your lip and considered it before nodding. "It'll have to do."

He grasped your hand with his and was about to pull you out of the classroom and into the throngs of students going to their next class. Then he paused and looked over his shoulder at you.

Standing there, spit-slick lips glistening in the low light, eagerly bouncing on your toes. But there was also some hesitation in your eyes. Nerves, maybe? Worry for him? Or for yourself?

"You good?" he whispered, fighting against the tug of the puppet strings that urged him forward. "You want this, right?"

You blinked and the worry softened; you squeezed his hand.

"With you?" you asked. "Always."

He'd really never thought of his van as the sex van.

Of course, when he and Paige had been back here once upon a time, that had changed. Now that you were currently dragging your lips down the planes of his body, he was setting a precedent.

Wait, was that a faux pas? To think of your...was she his ex? While you were about to fuck your new girlfriend?

He shook his head as you scratched your fingers along his happy trail and took one of his nipples into your mouth. He was immediately brought right back into the moment.

"Sex van it is," he muttered. You pulled your head away to throw your head back in laughter.

"Oh my god. Please don't call it a sex van." He took the opportunity to pull your shirt over your head, leaving you in a pretty purple bra that he didn't realize you owned. You worked the button of your jeans open and he spotted matching panties peek through.

Were they a gift from the Writer? He would have to send a thank you card.

"It's totally a sex van now." He couldn't hide the pride in his voice.

"You're insufferable." You leaned forward and placed a kiss against his spider tattoo. "A perv." Then another against his clavicle. You pushed him backwards into the pile of blankets he kept in the back of the van, then dove after him, and ran your nose along the length of his neck. "But you're my insufferable perv."

"Yeah?" He laughed. "You love m--ah!" Your lips brushed his pulse and then you were on him, suction pulling his flesh into your mouth, teeth grazing skin. It was a sharp, punishing sensation, but immediately had pleasure shooting through him, and his pants got exponentially tighter. In record time, too.

You worked with precision, pushing his jeans and his boxers down his hips, freeing him from their confines. Your hand was around him immediately, stroking him and squeezing. Lubrication be damned, there was a very unnatural smoothness to your touch, letting you glide over him easily, with just enough friction that made it delicious.

"C'mon," he huffed as you worked him faster. "Yeah, that's it."

He felt a molten heat spark beneath his skin and burn so acutely. It was a sensation he was unaccustomed to, this all-consuming fire. Usually, the buildup to an orgasm was electric. Adrenaline sparking, heart rate pounding, trying to outpace himself. Get there, get to the edge, and then rocket into oblivion. Not necessarily a sprint, but still quick. The blink and you miss it flash of lightning during a summer storm.

This? This was a slow, concentrated burn--the kind that came with seismic activity, and inevitably led to volcanic explosion--and he felt like he was about to melt through the floor of his van. Temperature rising, labored breathing, spirit blistering from the pressure and intensity the longer he was under your control.

He bucked into your hand, and you sucked at his pulse point harder.

He briefly wondered how the resulting hickey would look--if it would resemble something more of a burn than a bruise--and resolved to give you a matching one when it was your turn.

Your hand stopped at the base of his cock and squeezed, and that was enough to drive him to erupt. His eyes popped open just in time to see the impressive arc of his cum as it rocketed from him and splashed onto the door of the van; he moaned at the sight, at the way it dripped down the metal. In fact, you seemed eager to watch too, as your mouth detached from his neck with a wet pop and you sat up a little to watch as you continued stroking him through his completion.

The van was silent except for the sound of breathing and the barely-audible drag of your skin against his. When the spectacle was over and his release simply dribbled down his shaft and over your fingers, you turned your attention back to him.

You immediately went for his earlobe; there was one brief nibble before you whispered, "You liked that?" He let his head fall back and he wrenched his eyes shut.

"Uh huh."

You chuckled softly.

"This is the first time I've rendered you speechless, Ed. Guess I know how to shut you up from now on."

"That's cheating," he practically slurred his words, drunk on pleasure.

You pecked his earlobe a few more times as he came down from his high. Eventually, he looked at you with a little more clarity. You were still mostly-clothed, looking at him with a glimmer of mischief in your eyes as your head rested on his shoulder. Your hand was still around his shaft, and he reached down to pull it loose.

"You didn't...I didn't...take care of you."

You shrugged and teased. "Didn't we already establish that the Writer has been thinking about your dick? I think this was the top of the smutty checklist."

"Still..." He felt his cheeks get warm. "I like to make you cum too."

You leaned forward and pecked his lips.

"We have all afternoon for you to rectify that," you whispered against his mouth. "We have all the time in the world, actually. I think the Writer really wants us to take our time with this."

You then sat up and made quick work of your bra so he was staring eye to eye with your tits.

Wow. Eddie loved fanfiction.

"Bev's gonna fire me."

"She wouldn't dare. I'll protect you."

"She fired you, remember?"

You panted against his mouth but kept up the rhythm as you rolled your hips and Eddie bucked his.

A quickie, that's all this was supposed to be.

Actually, it was just supposed to be a "good luck, knock em dead" smooch in the green room before Corroded Coffin's set at the Hideout. But one thing led to another, and Eddie had sent his friends out into the bar to keep Bev occupied while the two of you engaged in a little TCB.

It started against the wall, with your skirt--the skirt, Rosemary Glass's skirt from the TV Guide feature--rucked up and your panties pushed to the side. His own pants were unzipped and halfway open, but forgotten as your mouths slanted against one another and his fingers pushed into your wet heat. He played you as well as he played his guitar, making sweet sounds come out of you as he fingered your frets.

Of course, as soon as the joke left his mouth, you decided enough was enough. You pushed him across the room, climbed onto his lap, and started riding him. As soon as you sunk onto his length, he moaned beautifully, and you joked about your own musical prowess.

"You can play me any time baby," he panted, hands on your hips. Not to guide you, just to touch you, to feel you there. The muscles of your thighs and your ass shifting beneath your skin as you used him. Shifting, squeezing. Just as you shifted and squeezed around him too. "Oh god, yeah."

You mashed your mouth to his to shut him up, but the kiss quickly turned soft and deep. Romantic. The two of you lost yourselves in it, all thought of fucking forgotten as the intimacy of the moment took over. You basked in the mingling of breaths, the prolonged skin-to-skin contact, the way you consumed him and he happily pushed himself deeper into you.

The world around you disappeared. All thought of the Writer forgotten, all strings leading you through this loosened. The predicament that you found yourselves in was a distant memory.

Until there was a frantic knock against the door.

You and Eddie pulled away from each other and turned towards the intruding sound.

"You guys gotta hurry up," Jeff's muffled voice came through the door. "Bev's getting suspicious. You've got 5 minutes before she comes to see where you're at. We've gotta start."

You waited to hear his footsteps retreating from the green room before Eddie snorted.

"5 minutes?" He scoffed smugly. "I'll do it in 3.''

You turned back to him, brow furrowed, but then the world went sideways as Eddie heaved you into his arms and laid you back along the couch. Your shirt slid against the leather as he started thrusting into you with reckless abandon. One hand held onto your waist while the other traveled downwards to play with your clit. Your own hand went to your mouth, covering it so you didn't moan too loudly.

It was a beautiful sight to see, and he made himself keep his eyes on you as he focused on the task at hand. Was it the most romantic? Was it the most practical? No. But he felt the puppet strings of the Writer guide him onwards and he knew if he didn't do this on his own terms, he wouldn't have the choice but to do it on theirs.

He felt your body tightening, around him, beneath him, as you got closer to your completion.

Then he noticed something wrong, something that made his heart stutter in his chest. You held the hand to your mouth tighter and wrenched your eyes shut. He still felt your hips buck upwards, meeting him as he pushed into you, but you were fighting it. Fighting something.

"What's wrong?" he panted. "Come on sweetheart, I need you with me here. Look at me. We were just having fun."

You simply shook your head.

"Talk to me," he hissed, slowing his pace just so. "I'll stop if you don't. I'll bring this whole story to a halt, I'll break the walls between universes for you if you don't. Am I hurting you?"

Your eyes shot open and you shook your head.

"Does it feel good?"

You nodded and he snapped his hips forward, somewhat dramatically, earning a moan from you.

"Then what?"

You hesitated, but peeled your hand away from your mouth and said, "I have to say it." You shook your head again. "The Writer wants me to say it. I hate it."

Eddie briefly thought back to the day he'd been jerking off to the picture of you, the intrusive fantasy that he'd been given, and the way he'd realized why he'd had it after the fact. He cursed the Writer for doing something similar to you now. Ruining this moment for you.

"What is it?" He asked. He stilled and hunched over you, pressing his forehead to yours. "Come on, tell me. Whisper it. I'm sure it's not that bad."

After some hesitation, you did. Your words were soft, barely audible, but he heard them.

That? The Writer wanted you to say that? What? Why?

But then he had an idea. A terrible awful idea.

He started moving his hips again, started picking up the pace, started driving the two of you back to the precipice of your pleasure. He kept his forehead pressed to yours, cupped your face with one hand and circled your clit with the other.

"You trust me?" he panted.

"Yeah."

"I've got you." With one particular swivel of his hips, and a complementary swirl of his fingers, you wrenched your eyes shut and whined. "That's it. Oh yeah. You feel that?"

"I feel it."

He drove you further, higher. Drove himself higher. Waiting for just the right moment before he could let go.

"I feel it too. Sweetheart, you feel so good. You're so good to me."

"Eddie!" There was an edge to his voice and he knew the two of you were almost there. Right there.

He pulled away from you and bucked into you once, twice, before he felt himself break.

"Oh fuck yeah, Daddy!" Eddie whined. He threw his head back and moaned it out loud. Putting the word out into the universe. So you didn't have to. "You fuck me so fucking good."

You squeaked in shock, but reached your own peak, spasming around him as he released into you. He beamed with pride and you held your arms open wide so he collapsed into your embrace.

Then you burst into laughter.

The blinds were drawn, the rising sun peeking around the edges, gently reminding you that it was a new day and whatever you were enduring would be over soon.

And enduring was certainly the right word.

No good deeds happened here.

Eddie’s bedroom was humid. Sweaty. The air was thick and stale with the smell of sex. Your bodies were sore, you were dehydrated, and above all, you were exhausted.

“Right there, yes.”

“Fuck. It feels so good.”

“Yes! Yes! Fuck!”

Your voices were hoarse, but you were forced to keep moaning and shouting at the Writer's will. You’d been at this all night, ever since you got home from your trip to the movie theater. Date night turned to fooling around turned into a never-ending fuck fest.

Eddie’s lips were chapped from too many kisses, you had stubble burn on your boobs, the both of you had fallen off the bed several times from a charley horse, only to keep fucking on the floor, and there was cum everywhere. Dried on skin, in both of your hair, leaking out of you, staining the sheets, abandoned condoms—which you ran out of quite early in the night—haphazardly littered on the floor.

There was even some on Eddie’s guitar. He wasn’t too jazzed about that but he could barely focus on anything but the task at hand.

Sex on a normal night was great. This was getting out of hand though. The Writer—or whatever cosmic powers that be—could’ve stretched this out over several nights in Eddie’s opinion. As wonderful as the orgasms were, the two of you were suffering.

Hadn't you said this was meant to be fun? Up to round 3 it had been. God, the Writer better have an epic novel full of the two of you fucking if they were making you go through this.

The only benefit to all this was that you were in it together. Each time you came, you would hold each other and take comfort in the proximity. Until the next wave of arousal plagued you. Then you would be at it again, like rabbits.

“Please. Please!”

“You’re so tight. Fuck. It’s like you were made for me.”

“Harder, Eddie. Yes! Harder!”

Eddie’s hands gripped your hips, clenching desperately as he pistoned into you. He felt the tightness in his balls as he got closer and closer to the edge.

How was he still going? How was there anything left to give?

He leaned over and pressed a kiss to the top of your spine. Wrapped his arms around you. He felt the way your own arms were about to give out, having held your position on your hands and knees for as long as you had.

“It’s ok,” he whispered. He gently maneuvered you so you were on your sides, and you shifted your leg so it was draped over his. “I’ve gotcha.”

You hummed, then moaned as he thrust into you harder, the angle giving him better leverage.

“You still with me?” He asked.

You leaned into him. “Always.”

He could see the light of day getting brighter just outside the window and knew in his heart that this was it.

“Alright baby, grand finale,” he muttered. “Let’s make it a good one. Scream for me ok? Let’s give ‘em a show.”

He was a performer, after all.

He ran his hands over you reverently, he moaned exaggeratedly and you followed suit. He shouted “yes” with every thrust and in the end, as he buried himself deep inside of you and exploded, you let out the most earth-shattering scream.

“EDDIE!”

And then it was over.

The two of you collapsed in your heap of limbs, weak and limp, breathing heavily. You shivered, sweat on your skin rapidly cooling, but were too tired to grab the comforter from the foot of the bed.

Eddie pressed a kiss to the back of your head and you lifted his hand and did the same to it. Once again clinging to one another in this impossible scenario. You whispered words of love to each other, and vowed not to touch each other for a solid week.

Well, you told him he wasn’t allowed to touch you and Eddie, who was sure the skin on his cock had been rubbed off but was too afraid to check, happily obliged.

There was the rumble of a car pulling up outside of the trailer, then a door closing, and distantly, the sound of Wayne’s footsteps out in the living room.

“He better not come in here,” you muttered. “I swear to god.”

Eddie was sure that he wouldn’t, but he begged the Gods, the Writer, and any powers that be to keep his uncle as far from the room as possible.

He pulled himself out of you and you shivered again, undoubtedly feeling his spend follow suit.

“We should shower,” he suggested.

“Mmmm, too tired.”

“I thought I was the gross one.”

“Ugh…fine.”

Eddie whispered words of reassurance, then lifted his head and surveyed the mess of his room. He flopped back down and groaned.

“It would be cool of the Writer to clean this up for us, though.”

You huffed a laugh and then moaned at the soreness that permeated your body.

“Don’t…don’t make jokes.”

“It is pretty funny though.”

“Eddie.”

“Sorry.”

Next Chapter: 5 Times COMING SOON

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