✦—𝖐𝖎𝖓𝖐𝖙𝖔𝖇𝖊𝖗 2025 | 𝖉𝖆𝖞 31 — 🎃 𝖈𝖔𝖘𝖙𝖚𝖒𝖊 —✦
✦ Eddie Munson x Reader ✦ Rating: E ✦ Word Count: ~5,380 ✦ summary
𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: Halloween in Hawkins, a dimly lit room, you are watching a horror flick on the couch, when suddenly a crash and a very drunk “Count Munson” bursts in, cape, smudged makeup, plastic fangs and all.
Warnings/Notes: 🔥MDNI/NSFW, explicit sexual content, alcohol intoxication, consensual vampy roleplay, praise, oral (M→F), PiV, creampie implications, tenderness/aftercare, light marking.
Halloween in Hawkins always carried a little chill in the air, the soft buzz from strings of orange lights and the scrape of rakes over wet leaves and the far-off shriek of teenagers pretending to be afraid of each other in backyards.
The kids had already been hauled home, sugar-drunk and sticky. A few porches still glowed with jack-o’-lantern teeth. Somewhere, Metallica bled from a radio. The night had cooled into that October bite that felt cold when you breathed in and woke the skin.
Eddie slammed the door like a thunderclap and came in spinning, cape flaring around him like a curtain. It was thrift-store “velvet,” the kind that shed black fuzz over everything it touched.
The rest of him was a crime scene: chalky white foundation smeared to reveal skin along his jaw where sweat had licked it clean, raccoon-eyed black liner melted, and a mouth painted too red with fake blood. Plastic fangs visible as he smiled.
“COUNT MUNSON,” he announced in an obviously drunk Transylvanian accent, throwing his arms wide as the cape snagged immediately on the doorknob. “At your eternal...dammit...at your eternal...hold on—” He wrestled himself free, half tripping over his own combat boot and catching the wall with a ringed hand. “—service.”
Curled into the corner of the couch, you’d let the glow of the horror flick paint your skin in cold blue light, blanket tugged across your legs, while condensation slid lazy trails down the untouched glass on the coffee table. Two hours ago Eddie had disappeared out the door, off to Gareth’s party, you’d waved him toward with a smile, insisting you didn’t mind staying behind because you were tired.
You had expected him to tumble back through the door sooner rather than later, what you hadn’t expected was the dramatic assault of his cape trying to strangle him as he came stumbling inside. The sight made your teeth sink into your cheek as you fought a laugh, shoulders twitching with the effort.
He saw the smile anyway and leaned into it, hair shaken out like he’d been struck by lightning. “Fear me,” he said, narrowing his eyes in a way that was not scary or intimidating at all. “I am terrifying.”
“You’re terrifying,” you said solemnly, nodding, and then ruined the effect by letting your gaze wander deliberately down his body and back up. “Terrifyingly hot.”
The paint on his cheeks creased with his grin, as he stomped closer with the menacing dignity of a very drunk, very handsome Count Dracula. Eddie was still every inch a dramatic little shit, possibly more while intoxicated, he dropped to one knee by your feet, cape pooling around him and seized your hand.
“Ahhh, the pulse of a blood calls to me,” he purred, eyes glittering. He pressed damp, red-smeared lips to your knuckles. Then when he tried to bite you a plastic fang caught your skin with the gentlest possible pressure and then popped right out onto the carpet. You lost the battle against laughter.
“Oh no, Count,” you managed through your laughter, wiping away the tears collecting in the corner. “Your tooth.”
He dove for it, nearly planting his face into the coffee table leg. “Stop laughing,” he said also holding back laughter, before he came up victorious and shoved the fang back in. “I am a creature of the night.”
“Uh-huh.” you mumbled as you smiled gently at him, throughly amused by him per usual.
He leaned in so close his hair tickled your chin. “Tonight,” he whispered, and the whole performance had picked up a notch, “you are mine, my bride.”
Your palm comes up, cupping his jaw, thumb smearing a streak of chalky white from his cheekbone as you pull him the last inch to your lips. His lashes flutter once, twice, and then his mouth finds yours. The kiss is clumsy at first, he’s still grinning, still tasting of cherry fake blood and cheap beer, but his hands slide instinctively to your waist, pulling you in.
Eddie’s breath leaves him in a shaky, low laugh as he pulls back just enough for you to see his grin, lips smeared with a streak of red that looks a little too much like blood under the flickering TV light. One of his hands is firm on your hip, thumb rubbing slow circles through the thin fabric of your shirt like he’s grounding himself, the other sliding up to push a curtain of your hair back from your neck.
He lowers his head slowly, theatrically, until the heat of his breath ghosts over your skin. It smells like beer and sugar and the taste of the stage blood he’s been wearing all night. His rings are cold where they brush your collarbone, the pads of his fingers warm.
He sank his teeth against the soft of your throat. The fangs were plastic, harmless little toys, but the subtle scrape still set your pulse racing. His tongue dragged a hot path; his lips sealed; his bite real enough to prickle heat out of your skin. You felt his grin against your pulse when you shivered.
“So good,” he mumbled, words smearing against your neck, breath warm, the fang clicking faintly. “Fuck, you smell like…like sugar and vanilla and—” He kissed down your neck, and then up, painted you with red fake blood and sweat and laughter.
He straightened with a wobble, cleared his throat. “Mortal maiden. The night is my dominion and you—” His other hand, a traitor to his agenda, unconsciously slid up your warm thigh. “—are...shit...so fucking soft and warm.” The line he must have been practicing on the walk over derailed; he leaned in, involuntary, pressing his mouth to yours in a kiss that took out all the comedy of the moment, and heat smashed through you.
The plastic fang bumped your lip and you snorted into his mouth; he huffed a laugh and then groaned. He kissed you sloppy and sweet, When he pulled back, his eyes were damp and big and open. “God, I love you,” he said.
You thumbed a streak of paint from his cheekbone. “I love you too,” you answered. He pulled the blanket over your legs away like he was preferring a magic trick and put his ringed hands on your knees and squeezed, a low groan falling out of him as you parted your thighs for him with a small smile.
“Fuck,” he breathed. “Look at you.” and then he’s bending, pressing a kiss to your knee, his lips lingering there, eyes flicking up at you through the mess of his hair. “Sweetheart,” his voice is low now, no accent, just him, “can I please have a taste?”
Your breath catches, your thighs already parting a little under his gaze, and you manage, soft and shaky, “Mhm. Take care of me, my Count.”
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters to himself, his hands slide up to your hips, big and warm and trembling just slightly, then he reaches for the hem of his own shirt. The fabric rides up, baring a strip of pale stomach and happy trail as he drags it up to his face, using it to scrub at his mouth and jaw until the worst of the paint and fake blood is gone.
He moves to you, still gripping the shirt. “C’mere,” he murmurs, voice rougher, wiping away a smudge of foundation he’s left on your inner thigh with his thumb before switching to the shirt to clean away more of the mess, his movements are clumsy but careful.
His eyes never leave you, they trace the lacy edge of your panties, the silly little ghosts printed on the fabric, before zeroing in on the undeniable evidence of your arousal. The damp patch is a dark, saturated bloom against the light grey material, and his gaze seems to drink in the sight. His breathing getting heavier, shoulders rising and falling as he kneels between your knees.
The press of his lips is a brand against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, a slow open-mouthed kiss that leaves a shimmering trail of cooling spit. He follows the line of muscle, his breath a warm gust that raises goosebumps in its wake and has your hips rolling restlessly against the sheets.
When he finally reaches your core, he buries his face there, his nose nudging the damp fabric of your panties. He inhales, and lets out a a sound, a mix between a groan and purr, and you feel the vibration all the way up your spine. He sighs a long, shuddering exhale into the soaked cotton, as if the scent of your arousal could get him drunker than he already is.
Then, his teeth close around the elastic waistband, pulling it taut against your hip. A low ridiculous growl rumbles in his chest, and with a sharp playful shake of his head, the material snaps back against your skin with a faint thwack.
The sheer absurdity of it makes you choke out a laugh that quickly dissolves into a moan as his fingers replace his teeth. Two calloused digits hook into the gusset, pulling the slick fabric aside to expose you to the cool air of the room, your breath catches.
You laughed and then forgot how to laugh as he licked a slow stripe from bottom to top, tongue broad and hot. You framed his head, fingers tangling into his damp curls; he moaned and dove back in, hungry, and your hips chase his mouth seeking more. He flicks his tongue over your clit and pauses to suck until your thighs tightened around his ears, then eases back with a kiss.
You hear a faint, odd click as the plastic of his ridiculous fang shift with the movement of his jaw. With a muttered curse of frustration, he rears back just enough. There’s a soft pop as he works them loose with his tongue, and then he flings them carelessly over his shoulder. They hit the wall with a plastic clatter. “Sorry, babe,” he grunts, the apology a gruff, distracted afterthought.
And then his mouth is on you again, and this time there is nothing getting in the way. His lips part, and he seals his mouth over your clit, sucking hard, making your back arch off the couch. His tongue delves inside, fucking you with shallow strokes, tasting every inch of you before circling back to the sensitive bundle of nerves.
One of his hands slides up your body, palm flat against your stomach, holding you down as his other hand grips your thigh, pushing it wider, opening you completely to his ravenous, unforgiving mouth.
“Eddie,” you whisper, and he answers with a moan of your name into you. You let your head thump back on the couch, as you direct him by his hair in a breathless gasp. He pulls back slightly, his jaw and lips wet with your arousal and slides two fingers through your fold before pressing them into your fluttering cunt. His rings are cool against your heated and swollen lips; as his finger curl and press and curl again, making sparks run up your spine. He never abandoned your clit, mouth maintaining a gentle suction.
You started to shake, trembling that climbs your spine like a ladder. He feels it and groans; rutting softly against the carpet, grinding himself down for relief. The sight of it, him licking into you, and denying his own pleasure, bloomed heat behind your eyes.
“Eddie,” you gasped, thighs clamping. “Don’t stop. Don’t...oh, god..don’t stop.”
“I’ve got you,” he mumbled, as the pressure building low in your belly broke, your hips jerking and hands shaking in his curls, the sound you made would have made the neighbors blush if any of them weren’t already distracted by their own sins. He moans as if he were the one coming, fingers still working, mouth easing you down. He kissed your soaked folds until the trembling subsided.
“Christ,” he said finally, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand looking up at you a proud smile on his face. “My Bride,... My Mistress, ....whatever the term of address is for the hottest person alive.” He made a grand, sweeping gesture with one hand that nearly upset his balance, a clumsy flourish aimed at all of you. A real, genuine giggle bubbled up from your chest, because sometimes he was a sex god and also sometimes a twelve-year-old. He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You taste amazing.”
“Eddie,” you said fondly, rolling your eyes with a soft smile on your face. You reached down, your fingers tangling in the wild mess of his curls, and gave a gentle tug. He came willingly, letting you pull him up the length of your body until his face was level with yours.
You dragged him into a deep kiss, your tongue sweeping into his mouth to taste yourself on his tongue. He made a small sound against your lips, a whimper that went straight to your core. You pulled back just enough to speak against his mouth. “Take your stupid cape off.”
He blinked, his dark eyes going wide with theatrical shock. He recoiled as if you’d struck him, his arms flying up to wrap around his own torso in a gesture of self-protection. A look of wounded, scandalized disbelief crossed his features. “Never.”
You hooked your fingers into his collar and gave it a hard tug. He made an undignified squeak that turned into a laugh, shoulders hunching as he let you peel the cape away. It slithered off and hit the carpet with a soft whuff, leaving him suddenly just Eddie again. Messy hair, smeared makeup, big doe eyes watching you. He climbed onto the couch in a scramble of elbows and knees, and then he was under you as you straddled him, kissing you so hard the world tilted.
He broke away to help you out of your shirt, his hands clumsy and shaking, and then bent his head to your chest. He kissed your breasts, open-mouthed murmurs falling from him as his tongue circled each nipple.
When you tugged at his belt his whole body jerked, a helpless moan building out of him in a rising series of sounds until it was nothing but a rough, breathless fuck, yeah, please. The buckle snapped open, you pushed his jeans down over his hips and he wriggled, kicked, and grunted, until the denim finally surrendered.
When you wrapped your hand around him through the boxers he made a strangled, broken sound and thrust into your grip without even thinking, head dropping forward to your shoulder, hair sticking to his damp forehead. You leaned in, lips brushing his ear, and whispered with a crooked smile, “I’m going to feast on your blood and flesh.”
A groan ripped out of him, raw and shaky, his throat working and hips rolling into your hand. “Jesus, babe,” he rasped, “I’m gonna… I’m… please don’t tease me too bad. I’m begging you.”
You bit back a laugh, nails grazing the waistband of his boxers as you tugged it a little lower. “ but you’re so cute when you beg,” you murmured, and felt him shudder against you, eyes half-lidded, mouth open on another soft curse.
When you pulled his boxers down her was already hard and desperate, his skin flushed. His cock stood thick and rigid against his stomach, the tip already beaded with a pearly drop of precum. You hummed your appreciation, a low sound of pure satisfaction that made his abdominal muscles clench. Finally, you wrapped your hand around him, skin on slick overheated skin. You stroked him with long, slow pulls of your hand, twisting a little at the head the way he liked; he shuddered and went crosseyed, as his mouth fell open.
A strangled, guttural sound was torn from his throat. His head dropped back, exposing his neck, and his hips bucked forward, fucking himself into your grip with a single, helpless thrust. “Oh, god,” he choked out, his hands fisting in the couch beside him. “Please… please…”
You began to stroke him a slow twisting glide from base to tip. Your thumb swiped over the head, smearing the wetness there, and he cried out. You leaned down, pressing a wet open-mouthed kiss to his sternum, tasting the salt and sweat on his skin. You kissed your way down his stomach, your hair trailing a path over his sensitized flesh. He was trembling uncontrollably now, a mess of whimpers and broken pleas.
You settled between his legs, looking up the length of his body at his lost desperate face.You stuck out your tongue and licked a broad, flat stripe from the heavy weight of his balls all the way to the weeping tip of his cock. His whole body bowed off the couch, a silent scream caught in his throat. Then, you opened your mouth and took him inside, sealing your lips around him and sinking down until he hit the back of your throat.
“Ffffuck,” he hissed, both hands flying to your hair. He was careful even in his desperation, fingers wide, giving you room to move, the best boy with the dirtiest mouth. “Ohh, god, sweetheart...uh...shit—” You took him deeper, swallowing around him, and he laughed which quickly dissolved into a helpless moan. “Oh my god, I’m...no, I wanna be inside you so bad, please—”
You released him with a wet, obscene shhlk, threads of pre and spit still connecting your lips to his cock. Sitting up, you casually wiped the glisten from your lips with your thumb. You took him in hand, his cock searing hot and impossibly hard, and guided him to your entrance.
Your own breath caught in your throat as the broad, flushed head of him nudged against your tight entrance, it made your inner muscles clench in anticipation. You held him there for a single heartbeat, then bore down his cock letting him push inside you slowly, opening to him inch by torturous inch.
His mouth went slack, his eyes rolled back in his head, the whites showing for a second before his eyelids fluttered shut. As you sank down, taking him to the hilt in one slow glide, he swore, a helpless groan against your skin. “Ohhh, holy fuck… holyshit—” He surged up, crashing his mouth against yours, kissing you like he was a drowning man and your lungs held the only air in the world. It was a bruising kiss, all teeth clicking and tongues wrestling.
When you were finally seated, when he was buried as deep as your body would allow, you both just stilled. His hands, which had been fisted in your hair, now trembled where they rested against your hips. “Okay,” he whispered, the word a puff of air against your lips. He said it again, like he was trying to soothe a wild animal, and that animal was him. “Okay. Okay.”
“Look at me, baby,” you commanded, your voice soft but firm. Your fingers came up to gently caress his cheeks, tracing the line of his jaw.
His eyes, dark and dazed, slowly focused, locking onto yours. Something deep inside him seemed to unclench, to break open. His hips pressed up in a deep, slow thrust, a deliberate roll that dragged his cock against every soft, spongy ridge inside you. Your breath hitched in your chest an audible gasp, and he felt the way your body clenched around him in response. He groaned his eyes burning with an intensity that threatened to consume you whole.
“Ride me,” he asked, and the words were stripped of all bravado, all performance. There was no accent, no theatricality. It was just Eddie, raw and open, his heart held out in his trembling hands. “Please.”
You began to move, a slow roll of your hips that made him suck in a sharp breath. His eyes were glued to your face, wide and dark, watching you like you were the most captivating thing he had ever seen, his favorite show playing out on a private screen.
You tested the rhythm, a shallow grind, and then a deeper circle, searching. Until finally you found the spot that made your own pulse throb in your fingertips. You found the angle that made him slam a fist into the couch cushion beside him with a muffled thump, his head falling back as he bit down hard on his own lip to stave off an orgasm that was already threatening to tear him apart. The sight of him, so utterly wrecked and trying so hard to hold on, made a breathless laugh bubble up from your chest.
“Count,” you panted, the word a smug, breathless tease as you moaned around it. “You holding up over there?”
“My Mistress,” he croaked, the title cracking in his throat. His fingers tightened on your waist, a delicious bruising ache. “I am clinging to my un-life by a thread.”
“Poor thing.” The words were a mocking coo, and you backed them up by rocking harder, faster. His head knocked against the couch cushions with a dull thud, but he didn’t even seem to notice, lost in the friction, the heat. You leaned forward, wrapping your arms around his neck, and braced the back of his head with your hands to cushion him. You rolled your hips in greedy, sloppy circles, grinding down on him, taking everything he had.
“I love you,” he started chanting, the words a desperate, broken litany against your skin. “I love you, I love you… god.”
Suddenly, his arms were looping around your back and over your shoulders, yanking you down flush against his chest. He held you there, a crushing embrace, and then he was fucking up into you from beneath. It was a deep and hard rhythm, that made the old couch frame creak in protest and sent tremors through your thighs. His mouth found the column of your throat, and he marked you. His teeth scraped, then sank in just enough to sting, sucking a dark hickey into your skin, then another, licking a path up to the sensitive spot behind your ear.
You slid a hand between your sweat-slick bodies, your fingers finding your clit. The shock of your own touch, amplified by the pounding of his cock, turned the entire world a blinding white. Eddie felt you claw at his shoulder, heard your voice climb from a moan to a high mewling cry, and he started to fall apart in earnest right along with you.
“There. Fuck. Beautiful… so fucking beautiful,” he babbled, his hips losing their neat punishing rhythm and becoming frantic and wild, chasing both of your releases. “Come for me, sweetheart. Please, I wanna feel you… wanna feel you milking my cock, ohhh—”
“Eddie,” you cried, your nails dug deep into the muscle of his shoulder as you crested, the wave pulling you under. “Eddie, I—”
A sound was ripped from your lungs, and your body seized, clenching around him in a series of powerful spasms. He held you steady through it, his own body a rigid trembling bow, swearing under his breath, his jaw shaking with the valiant effort not to go over the edge with you.
The attempt lasted perhaps four seconds. Then you felt it, the stutter of his hips, the way his whole face crumpled, his control shattering into a million pieces. A moan was torn from him, a sound that seemed to start in his toes and climb all the way up his spine before erupting from his chest.
“Fuck! fuck...ohhh, fuck yes—” He cried out, burying himself as deep as he could, clutching you to him so hard it was difficult to breathe. Then he was spilling into you, a warm flood, and a broken helpless noise escaped his lips, a sound you knew, with absolute certainty, he would never, ever make for anyone but you.
The neighbor’s dog barked twice from the yard next door. Inside, the only sound was your blended breath a harmony that seemed to fill the small space. You sagged against him boneless, your cheek pressed to the damp skin of his shoulder. Sweat and other things stuck you together, a messy intimate glue.
“Best,” he said eventually, his voice a low, contented rumble that vibrated through your ear and into your skull. “Halloween. Ever.”
You snorted, a soft puff of air against his throat, feeling the frantic rhythm of your heart finally begin to slow.
“I concur, my ridiculous Count,” you murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the spot under his jaw where the white face paint had been completely worn away, leaving nothing but warm, slightly stubbled skin.
He hummed, a happy, cat-like purr that resonated deep in his chest. You shifted, a slight wriggle to ease a cramping muscle, and he groaned, a laugh tangled in the sound of pure overstimulation. He helped you ease off him, your bodies separating with a series of soft, undignified noises.
You winced at the sticky mess between your thighs, and he had the absolute audacity to look proud, a smug little smirk playing on his lips. “I'll be right back,” he said, levering himself up with a grunt. His hair was a complete disaster, a wild tangled halo of curls. He disappeared moving around the house for exactly one minute and returned like the hottest waiter alive, semi clean faced, bearing a warm damp washcloth and a tall glass of water.
He knelt on the floor before you, his expression one of intense concentration. He pressed the warm cloth gently between your thighs, his touch impossibly tender. He made soft, shushing noises as he worked, cupping your knee with his free hand, his thumb stroking slow circles on your skin.
He handed you the water, and you drank, the cool liquid a balm. He watched you the entire time, when you were done he took it from you and chugged the rest throwing it back like it was a shot, and he was dying of thirst. He then took the cloth and wiped his own chest and belly, then yours his eyes following the white and red trails smeared across your skin, mixing and turning a dingy gray. “Jesus, I got you filthy,” he said, his voice a mix of awe and genuine apology.
Once he was satisfied with your clean skin you tugged on his arm, and he flopped down on the couch next to you willingly. His damp curls were already drying into little tendrils against your shoulder. You traced the delicate shell of his ear, feeling his breath soft and heavy, fan across your ear.
“Did I scare you?” he asked into your skin after a minute, his voice deadpan.
“Terrified,” you deadpanned right back. “Horrified. Petrified.”
“Good.” The word was a low, smug rumble of satisfaction that vibrated through his chest and into yours.
He reached up behind him, fumbling blindly for a moment before his fingers found the edge of the throw blanket that lived permanently on the back of the couch. He yanked it down over both of you, cocooning you in worn fleece that smelled faintly of laundry detergent and him. Then, he pulled you into his arms as you found yourself sprawled atop him, your cheek pressed to the solid, warm wall of his chest. The steady, heavy beat of his heart was a drum against your ear.
You settled against him with a contented sigh, your cheek finding the perfect hollow between his pec and his shoulder.
You slid your palm down the plane of his stomach, feeling the last of the involuntary post-coital twitches rippling under his skin, the pleasing give of softness layered over hard muscle. Your fingers traced idle patterns through the light dusting of hair there, a lazy exploration. “So how many beers did Count Munson have?”
He held up three fingers, then wobbled a fourth, a comically uncertain gesture. “This many. And a half a shot of something that was honestly probably lighter fluid. Gareth dared me. I will not be doing that again…”
“Three and a half, huh?” you teased, your palm still circling low on his stomach. “I should’ve known Count Munson would never make it through the night unscathed.”
“Hey, hey.” His voice was rough but amused, he tilted his face just enough to look at you, curls sticking damply to his forehead. “It might have been like trekking to mount doom but I made it back here, didn’t I?”
“Mhm, Sure.” You dragged your nails lightly over the sensitive trail of hair that led downward, and watched, fascinated, as his entire abdomen contracted with a sharp, involuntary twitch. He made a weak, strangled noise of protest, his free hand coming down to catch your wrist, not to stop you, just to hold on.
He shifted and you felt him again, a slow lazy stirring of interest against your hip. You smiled into the darkness of the room.
"Count," you said, your tone mild and conversational, "is your un-life in peril again?"
"I am afflicted," he said mournfully, playing along. "A terrible curse. There's only one cure."
"What, prayer?"
"More sex," he said, with the solemnity of a man delivering a terminal diagnosis.
"Oh really?" you hummed, grinning against his skin.
And then suddenly, In one surprisingly coordinated burst of energy he rolled, looming over you with a wolfish grin. His mouth crashed into yours, all heat and laughter, before he dragged his lips down to your neck. He bit, playful worrying the sensitive skin there while you squirmed beneath him.
You couldn't help it, laughter bubbled up from your chest as you both rolled around in the limited real estate the couch offered, a tangle of limbs and breathless giggles. His hands were everywhere, tickling your ribs, gripping your hips, steadying you when you nearly tumbled off the edge.
Then, with zero warning and the grace of a labor doodle who'd just spotted his favorite person, he flopped. His full weight dropped onto you, pinning you to the cushions and buried his face directly between your breasts.
You let out a soft oof as the air left your lungs, and he was already kissing and licking, his mouth warm and lazy against your skin. There was no real heat behind it this time, just affection. He nuzzled deeper, sighing like he'd found the perfect pillow.
He settled there on your chest, his breathing evening out, and his voice dropped softer, almost sheepish. "You really didn't mind me going, right? To the party?"
Your hand settled back in his hair, smoothing over the damp, unruly curls. “I kinda mind you drinking lighter fluid, dumbass. But no. I didn’t mind. I’m just glad you made it back safe to the shire.” You brought your other hand to his cheek, turning his face toward yours, and shared a slow, sweet kiss that tasted of sugar, vodka, and him. He made that soft, helpless sound again and pulled you closer, his arm tightening around you.
“Happy Halloween, My Bride.”
“Happy Halloween, My Count.”
His grin softened as your words faded into the quiet, his lips lingering over yours like he couldn’t quite bear to let the kiss end. He grinned, a crooked and boyish smile, before he dropped his head back to your chest with a sigh that spread warmth through your sternum.
The TV across the room was still running whatever horror movie you had put on, light and color pulsing in time with the streetlight outside, but the world inside your little cocoon had grown hushed and heavy.
He traced lazy shapes into your side, little spirals that slowed with every pass. His breathing evened, no longer laughing or groaning, just the deep heavy pulls of breath before falling asleep. You brushed a curl from his forehead and he murmured something against your skin, nonsense probably, before settling closer still, like he wanted to crawl right under your skin and stay there.
The last thing you saw before your own eyes slid shut was the heap of his abandoned cape on the carpet, the cheap thrift-store velvet glinting faintly in the flicker of the tv. Count Munson, scourge of Hawkins, slayer of beer, lighter-fluid shots, and his mistress, had been felled at last.
✦┈┈┈┈┈⛧┈┈┈┈┈┈✦ 𝖆 𝖓 𝖔 𝖙𝖊✦┈┈┈┈┈⛧┈┈┈┈┈┈✦
Whew!! and that's a wrap on Kinktober, everybody!!! 🎃 one final sweet romp with Eddie for Halloween (a little late but that’s okay lol). I can’t believe it’s already over!!
That was fun and stressful all at once, I really feel like that gif of Frodo... I’ve learned a lot this month, mainly that I seriously need more time to write. I definitely felt the crunch near the end and caught myself sneaking back to fix mistakes I couldn’t let slide lmao. Next year I’m absolutely going to prep even more.
After this, I’m taking a tiny break, like a week or so, to reorient myself and recharge, but then I’ll be back!!!🖤
…𝕻𝖗𝖊𝖛𝖎𝖔𝖚𝖘 𝕯𝖆𝖞 ✦✧✦ 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕰𝖓𝖉
✦✧✦ 𝖊𝖓𝖉 𝖔𝖋 𝖋𝖎𝖑𝖊 ✦ see you in the next life ✦✧✦
This post was brought to you by BUNI ✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦
₍ᐢ . ̫ . ᐢ₎
/つ🔪つ ～♡