OBEY YOUR MASTER
SPRING BREAK SERIES - Gareth x Older!Fem!Mom!Reader
CORRODED COFFIN FEST ❤️🔥🦇🎸
AO3
Asks
Asks are open, but please know I am terrible at multitasking — it may take a little while for me to get a request out! If you’re okay with that, I’m totally open for any and all asks!
sing with me eddie x fem!reader
landslide virgin!gareth x virgin!fem!reader
salvate te in aeternum Eddie x fem!reader 5+1
she’s so cold eddie x chronic!illness!fem!reader
you’ve got diamonds for teeth (my love) Eddie x biter!fem!reader
pretty white jaws (older!husband!eddie x older!wife!reader)
fix you series corroded coffin fest rockstar!eddie x rockstar!gareth
idiot ball corroded coffin fest pep!band!gareth x basketball!player fem!reader
eddie munson x bats (fem!reader), alice & roan munson
word count: 1.4k+
summary: Corroded Coffin or Die Photo Prompt Server Challenge | While cleaning the garage, Alice finds some photos that has Eddie feeling some type of way.
warnings: none that i can think of!
notes: I don’t think Eddie talks about his parents with the girls often— but the call back to the car he’s got (to connect with his mama) is in this fic right here. I hope you enjoy! Feel free to let me know if I’ve missed anything!
The big door of the garage is rolled up, letting in the afternoon light. Eddie's got a rag thrown over his shoulder as he crouches in front of a tattered cardboard box that looks like it hadn't been opened since before each of the girls were born. His hair's tied back loosely in one of your hair ties, greying at the temples.
Alice is sitting on the steps by the door into the house, leaning back on the palms of her hands. Roan walks back and forth slowly, kicking a loose bolt on the cracked concrete every time she passes. "This is insane, dad." Alice sighs, leaning her head back on her shoulders to stare at the ceiling above her. "You know that, right?"
Eddie shuffles around, grunts when he stands, and moves the box to another area of the garage. "Enlighten me."
"You're famous!" She says, exasperated as she sits back up straight. She’s sure that one little detail should end this conversation right there. "You're rich! You could hire someone to do this."
Roan nods, agreeing with her sister as she kicks at the bolt again, watching it bounce out of her vicinity this time. "Yeah, dad. This is a job for like… some guy named Gary. Not us."
Eddie glances at them, raising his brows as he tries to find exactly where the audacity is coming from. This was just a regular Saturday in April back at Gareth’s for him, when Mrs. Mara Emerson would bribe them into a month’s worth of cleaning with the promise of their favorite burgers and a pineapple upside down cake. "Gary?"
"Yeah." Roan shrugs.
Eddie leans back against your car, crossing his arms over his chest. "That's pretty specific for two teenage girls who get anything and everything they could ever dream of." He shakes his head, "and also offensive to the many hardworking non-Gary's out there."
Alice groans, loudly, in response, "daaaad."
"What?" He frowns and dips his head, throwing his hands up, palms to them. "Maybe I like cleaning my own garage."
"You don't." Roan challenges.
"You don't know me." Eddie chuckles and shakes his head, pushing off the car to move towards another stack of soft and worn cardboard boxes. "I’ve been gone for two months. Maybe I want to spend some time with my kids, whom I love and cherish and wish that I could see more. Ever think of that?"
Alice snorts, pushing herself off the stairs and then lowering herself down in front of the built-in shelving until she can reach the bottom shelves. "Spending time with us? Or getting free child labor?"
Eddie rolls his eyes, sorting through a bit of knick knacks, "You're welcome for the time you get to spend with your old man."
Alice shakes her head, running her hands along the bottom shelf until she comes across a little blue tin. She pulls it out, confused, "I didn't know mom had sewing stuff." She shakes the tin, it doens't rattle in the way needles and thread would rattle. She looks at Roan.
Roan drops down beside her. "Open it."
"Don't open it. Your mom doesn't sew for fun. It's probably some of her doll shit." He says automatically, not looking towards them. "And if it's something spooky she picked up from a yard sale, I really don't have time for that today."
Alice rolls her eyes and pops the lid on the tin despite the judgement.
Roan tries to look over her shoulder, "what is it?"
"Pictures." Alice says and shrugs, reaching in to pull out a small bundle. The edges are worn and yellowing. She looks at the photo on the top of the stack. There's a red mustang in the background— much like her dad's that’s tucked away under a tarp in the second opening of their two car garage— the sun glaring off the windshield. There's a woman leaning against it with a little boy on her hip. She's wearing sunglasses, her hair dark brown and wild, just like her own. "Dad?" Alice glances over her shoulder at him.
Eddie turns his head to look at her for a moment, before turning his attention back to the box, distracted. "Yeah?"
She holds up the photo, staying quiet. Quiet enough that it gets him to look up again. He squints and steps a bit closer. "Let me see that." He says softly, holding his hand out. Alice hands it over quietly. When his eyes fall over the photo, something in his face softens. His thumb brushes over the worn in edges of the photograph and he chuckles, almost to himself. The girls watch him quiet and curious. "Girls… That is my mom." He says softly, pointing to the woman. His smile is so kind, the girls aren’t sure if they’ve ever seen him look like that before. Then he points to the kid in her arms, "and that's me."
Roan leans in, letting her eyes scan over the photo face. "You were pretty tiny."
"I was adorable once. Hard to believe, I know." He jokes softly.
Alice glances away from the photo and into the tin again, holding it up between them. "There's more in here."
Eddie glances down at it, "yeah?"
She nods and starts pulling photos out one by one. One's his mom, sitting on the hood of that same mustang in denim shorts. There's another one of her at a kitchen table somewhere with a man that looks a whole lot like Grandpa Wayne. His arm is slung around her shoulders and she has a lit cigarette between her fingers. In the final one they look at, she's holding who the girls decide is, Eddie, as a baby. He's cradled to her chest and she's looking at him like he was the best love she had ever felt in her life.
Roan smiles at that one, taking it gently from her sister. "She's pretty."
Eddie huffs out a breath that turns into another smile, nodding, "She is."
Alice looks at the photo, pinning down the kind brown eyes, dimples, and dark curls. The way she smiles, the same lines and dimples. "She looks like you."
Eddie laughs and shakes his head a little. "Other way around, kid."
Roan traces the edges of the photo in her hand as Eddie continues to peek through the stack. She bites the inside of her cheek and looks at her dad. "Why haven't we seen these before?"
Eddie leans his hip against the workbench along the back wall, not looking up from the photos in his hands. "Didn't know where they were." He says softly. "Thought I lost most of 'em when I moved out of Grandpa Wayne's before you girls were born, if I'm being honest."
Roan and Alice exchange a look, he hadn’t seen pictures of his mom in that long? “How did she die?" Roan asks softly.
"She got pretty sick." Eddie says quietly and leaves it at that.
Roan nods a little, looking at the pictures again. Her heart stinging for her dad's younger self. She knew her grandmother had been gone for a long time. But she couldn't imagine life without you, her mom, and she's 14. "How old were you?" She asks.
Eddie glances over where his own red mustang sits under the white canvas, "six."
Alice sucks in a breath and starts to stack the photos back up to place back into the tin. "That sucks."
It's blunt and honest, but Eddie nods. Laughing lightly at the way it’s said, as he shrugs. "Yeah, It did suck. Just a bit."
From inside, the three of them hear your voice call out the door for dinner. So Alice scoops the photos Eddie isnt holding back into the tin, carefully, and tucks it under her arm. She smiles at Roan, nodding her head towards the door to give signal to her to let Eddie have a minute. They make their way inside and the door swings shut behind them. Eddie sighs softly.
He pushes himself off the workbench and pins the photo of him and his mom in front of her car onto the board hanging on the wall, right next to a picture of you and him at his first big Corroded Coffin show, Alice's first day of kindergarten, and one of Roan covered in spaghetti from head to toe. All his favorite girls in one place.
He looks around, giving the garage one last once over, before walking into the kitchen. Cleaning this up can wait until Gareth’s free and until he can bribe his wonderful wife into making a pineapple upside down cake almost like Mrs. Emerson’s. He smiles at the family waiting for him at the table, the blue tin of photos sitting on the counter, waiting for him to comb through when the time is right.
A/N: I vary from Corroded Coffin canon here — Gareth is depicted as the rhythm guitarist in this particular story. It makes a huge difference in the plot later, I promise 😏
You could hardly believe it, but there was something good about Hawkins. The tiny community college boasting the town’s name was what you could consider a diamond in the rough. Situated on the outskirts of town, the relatively new campus harbored three lovely new buildings that offered a variety of entry-level college classes for the wayward student seeking direction. It helped that it was primarily financed from some well-to-do donors, who made their identities no secret, as many of the rooms (or buildings themselves) were named in honor of their generosity. It didn’t matter to you how or why Hawkins Community College was built because you were grateful for it, as it offered a reprieve from the ever present shitshow that was your home life and a distraction from your ever-present anxious mind.
Your mother was unsurprisingly against it at first, citing finances (how original of her) as reason to forego higher education. She had a hard time arguing, however, when the multiple financial aid and scholarship applications you filed actually returned with some good news. Your first semester of Fall 1985 would be covered, primarily by First Financial Bank of Hawkins, as long as you were employed part time as their intern. It was an ideal situation: you chose to take classes that you were actually interested in, and you were making some money on the side.
Granted, as an intern, it wasn’t much, but any little bit was helpful. You weren’t really sure how much longer Susan would hold on to her job, anyway. It was going to be nice to have some money stashed away to get you and Max through the inevitable tough times.
Sorry. Inevitable tougher times.
Every weekday, you dropped Max off at school before making your way across town to the community college. Classes were Monday through Thursday mornings, ranging from the really boring Introductory Agricultural Economics (another stipulation of your FFBH scholarship) to the really cool Applied Music Instruction: Sound and Recording. Something fluttered deep in your belly at the thought of the Applied Music class, and it may have had something to do with how you were looking forward to telling your new partner in crime all about it tonight when he got home from school.
Maybe it would lead to actual recording sessions for Corroded Coffin and actual demo tapes full of your songs. Hell, their songs, too. If, that is, you were able to figure out what the shit to do in the actual studio. But that was what the class was all about, right? You could learn because you wanted to. Not that you wanted your songs to go anywhere—those were just for you and Eddie.
That was something, though. The realization hit you abruptly as you drive home from your Monday afternoon shift at the bank about a week after making your deal official with Eddie: Corroded Coffin is a band. With other members that are real, live people. Yes, you had the lead guitarist/singer on board with your plan—but did you have the others? You had their feelings to consider. The very last thing you wanted to do was step on toes.
You knew Eddie gave a shit about you, clearly empathetic to your mental and emotional struggles. The likelihood that the other members would care enough to be okay with some random chick thrusting a bunch of shit lyrics in their faces and making them use their valuable band time to write you some chord progressions was pretty low. This probably should have been considered more before you opened your damn mouth.
You mentally added this to the list to discuss with Eddie as you sit patiently in your spot on the picnic table, pen in hand busy molding phrases and verses into lyrics while the cicadas sang to you their last songs of summer.
It could have been a minute, or an hour; you were so engrossed in the progress you’d made on your newest page of lyrics that you almost didn’t hear the sound of crunching gravel pinging against the wheel wells of Eddie’s van as it careened way too swiftly into the trailer park. Bark at the Moon blasts heavily from the speakers, Ozzy’s patented sound permeating the air more clearly as Eddie cranks the window down.
“Mayfield!” he hollers at you over the music. “Get in, we’ve got somewhere to be!”
Your eyes widen, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “Um, what are you talking about?” You had to yell just as loudly back, and by Eddie’s reaction, it was clear he hadn’t heard a thing. You roll your eyes as you start towards his van, thumb and index finger snapping in the air to indicate to him to turn the fucking volume down. His eyebrows shoot up, mouth forming an O as he jerks across his seat to hit the stereo’s power button. Your ears whine with the abrupt loss of sound.
“Elder Mayfield, let’s go. We’re late!” Eddie shouts a little too loudly through his open window as you approach.
“Eddie,” you say as your forearms came to rest on the frame of the door. “You need to use your words. Exactly where am I supposed to be going with you?”
He tosses his head back over his right shoulder to indicate the large guitar case that inhabits the majority of his second row bench seat and meets your inquisitive eyes with a huge, jovial grin. Your eyebrow quirks, and Eddie lets out an exaggerated groan.
“You are impossible, Mayfield. We’re going to practice. C’mon.”
“Like band practice?”
Eddie’s face falls into a deadpan stare. “Y’know, for as genius as your lyrics are —”
You hold up your hands to stop his teasing. “Yeah, okay, I could be a huge dick and ask where you were all day.”
Eddie’s eyes glint. “Ah, you wouldn’t wound me so, sweetheart. You like me too much.” He throws in a wink for good measure, and you softly groan in mock indignation as your head rolls back on your shoulders.
“Just give me a moment, I have to tell Max where I’m going.” You hustle over to your trailer, and after informing Max of your whereabouts (and the leftover chicken and rice casserole in the fridge), you run back outside to see that Eddie has turned the van around and is waiting on the passenger side for you, door open and hand outstretched.
“Your chariot, princess.”
You fight a grin as you take his hand, eyes fixing on the clunky rings that adorn his hand as the cold, smooth metal chills your fingers. He helps you in, and you're on your way. Better now than never, right?
You drive in silence for a few minutes, before curiosity gets the better of you. “So, does the rest of the band know I’m crashing your practice?”
Eddie throws in a nod as he bobs his head to the rhythm of the song. “They know that I’m bringing the genius that wrote Nightmare and Welcome to the Family, but ah, no. They don’t know who you are, exactly. I thought that would be fun, you know—element of surprise.”
You don’t exactly share the enthusiasm. “Eddie, I don’t know. . .”
“Oh, don’t get cold feet now, Mayfield! You don’t even know how practice has been this last week! I’ve never seen us so,” his hand waves in front of his face, helping him search for words, “synchronized? United? Possessed?!” You can’t help the snort that escapes.
Eddie’s words come as rushed as the van hurtles down the road, “I don’t know. I just can’t describe it. But it’s been different. There’s a fire that’s been lit, Mayfield, and it’s your words that did it.”
You stare ahead, silently, contemplating. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all? Maybe you were worrying over the band’s reaction over nothing. It was a comforting thought, but comfort wasn’t exactly something you were accustomed to feeling, having it ripped away at nearly every turn in recent years. It was easier to expect the worst.
You appreciate Eddie’s repeated glances over to where you sit, concern spreading across his face. His foot eases off the gas and the van slows.
“Um, tell me what you’re thinking there, sweetheart. It makes me nervous when you go all quiet like that,” Eddie speaks slowly and softly, voice wavering like his confidence in his plan.
He really thought it was a good plan. If only you’d been at their practice yesterday, he knows you wouldn’t be so far inside that head of yours right now. After last night, he knew without a doubt that you had to be at their next one. Plus, the guys were thrilled to throw in an extra Monday evening session and even more excited to meet the maker behind these lyrics that Eddie had brought to them a week ago. Grant had been out of his mind on the drums, and Gareth hadn’t shred on rhythm guitar like that, ever. These songs had breathed a new life into Corroded Coffin. You had to see it, you just had to.
You meet Eddie’s gaze with softness in your eyes that he hasn’t seen before. “I’m glad you’re bringing me. I’m just nervous, is all. Always expecting the bottom to drop out,” you confess.
Your vulnerability twangs Eddie’s heartstrings. “Ah, not with us, princess. Nothing is dropping or falling or going anywhere.”
His hand closest to yours twitches on the steering wheel, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by you. You feel the sweet beginning of a smile start to tug at the corner of your mouth as he rounds a turn into a rather upscale neighborhood.
To be fair, all of them are rather upscale by your and Eddie’s standards. Something about it, however, looks familiar. The question is out of your mouth before you know it.
“Uh, does Nancy Wheeler live around here?” You can’t quite control the way your mind drifts back to the events of the previous fall. You hadn’t known where Nancy Wheeler lived, either, until then. Life has a funny way of changing things.
Or, maybe just living in fucked-up Hawkins has a way of changing everything.
He chuckles. “Yeah. She does. Her house is actually at the end of this lane.”
Your interest is piqued as a tiny ember of something—jealousy?—threatens to burn in your belly. “How do you know where Nancy Wheeler lives?”
“I’m a known associate of a different Wheeler,” he explains absentmindedly as he maneuvers the van to reverse down a long driveway into an open garage adjoined to a modest white ranch home. And just like that, the ember is extinguished.
“Oh, I see,” you hum, smirking. “Karen?”
Eddie practically jumps in his seat, his eyes wide, and a falsely scandalized expression dances across his features. “Mayfield, was that you giving me some sass?” His hand splays over his heart.
You snigger. “You lobbed me a pretty decent softball.”
Eddie’s eyes roll dramatically as he leans over his seat and throws his arm behind yours to back up the van.
“Sports metaphors are dumb,” he mutters as he pokes his tongue out between his lips in concentration.
Maybe it was the confidence in his movements, maybe it was that the scent of Eddie hung heavily in the air around you, or maybe it was the small dopamine dump from the witty back-and-forth you’d just had with him, but as he expertly maneuvers his vehicle down Gareth’s drive, you feel a slight shift within yourself. You find yourself actually looking at Eddie Munson as if you were seeing him for the first time, and how you feel more than surprised you. He’d always been objectively handsome to you, sure. A fair amount of guys were at Hawkins High. However, there really wasn’t ever one that interested you enough to turn objective appreciation into genuine attraction. It wasn’t until Eddie threw that arm across your seat that you wondered how it might feel across your shoulders, or how much more you could inhale his scent if you were pressed against him, or what that tongue that pressed against his soft, ample lips could do to—
Wooooah. You feel your cheeks flame and you angle yourself away from him as he brings his arm around to throw his van in park. No, no, no. None of that.
He wiggles his eyebrows at you, nudging your shoulder gently. “Are you ready for Corroded Coffin to rock your world tonight, sweetheart?”
Jesus. He probably could not have chosen phrasing worse than that in this moment. You blanch slightly and your heart pounds as you stammer, “Um, y-yeah. Sure?”
He throws you a wink. “Don’t be nervous, seriously. It’s just the guys. Trust me, they want you here, too.” Then, he’s out the door and circling the van around the front to open yours and help you out. He grabs your hand, leading you toward the crew as they finish setting up their instruments in the garage. The contact threatens to further muddle your mind, and you muster up the energy to settle yourself down. You’re far from being ready for actual real-life, complex feelings.
Just stick to the feelings on paper, for now.
You can feel their eyes on you as you stumble behind Eddie, your eyes narrowing as you enter into the harsh fluorescent lighting of the garage. You appreciate Grant’s—or is that one Gareth?—wide-eyed expression as Eddie tugs you upright next to him.
“Gentlemen! May I have your attention—” Eddie addresses the band with his typical grandiosity, which Grant-or-Gareth is quick to interrupt.
“You always have the attention, man,” he jests as he stands from behind the drum set.
“Eddie, what is she doing here? No groupies allowed,” the shorter, curly-haired member says, his tone purposefully unpleasant as his eyes narrow fractionally at you. He looks familiar from school and you feel badly that you can’t place his name.
Eddie is a little taken aback. He shakes his head. “Uhh, not a groupie.”
“Well, I thought we agreed girls aren’t allowed to be at practices, man,” curly-hair retorts with frustration as he shoulders his guitar.
“YES!” Eddie’s toothy grin returns as he sneaks a glance at you before replying, “however, I believe an exception can be made for this fair maiden, Gareth.”
Ah. So that one’s Gareth.
Eddie is largely unbothered by his bandmate’s clear disdain for your presence. His excitement is a stark contrast to your apprehension; this is exactly what you were concerned about.
“Everyone,” Eddie’s arm splay out wide as he slightly bows to indicate your presence behind him, “this is—”
“I know what her name is, Eddie,” snaps Gareth, interrupting him for a second time. “What is she doing here?”
Eddie is now visibly annoyed. “She’s the reason why we called this extra practice.”
“Oh, so you can show your new girlfriend our new songs?” Eddie blanches and Gareth presses on. “Dude, that’s so lame. We have a no girls agreement.”
“Yeah, as you've said like a thousand times. That no-girls agreement goes out the goddamn window when the girl is a badass songwriter! SHE is THE badass songwriter!” Eddie argues and his praise again brings a hot flush to your cheeks. You step behind him slightly, hiding yourself out of view of the cantankerous guitarist.
Gareth’s jaw clenches and he folds his arms across his chest. The other two, however, register what Eddie has just said and begin talking loudly over one another.
Eddie flails his arms wildly to catch Grant and Jeff’s attention. “GUYS! If you would just give me two seconds to introduce Elder Mayfield? Jesus H. Christ, I’m surrounded by a bunch of assholes and children.”
The bassist snickers. “Arguably, I think there’s only one asshole here. Hey, I’m Jeff. I think we had Econ together last year.”
You lean around Eddie and crook a soft smile as you give him a little wave. You open your mouth to reply when it’s abruptly cut off.
“Hey, I’m Grant,” the drummer calls to you, a little too loudly. He stumbles over himself slightly as he comes around his drum set. “It’s so cool you’re here, I can’t believe it’s you that wrote all of those songs, Eddie showed us that notebook last week; well, I guess then it’s your notebook that he showed us—”
“Ohhkay, there Grant, slow down there buddy. Don’t scare her off, she just got here.” Eddie tosses his arm across your shoulders and protectively pulls you flush against him. “So, as you’ve learned, Jeff is our bassist and Grant is on the drums. The asshole standing over there is Gareth, and he’s our rhythm guitarist. And, of course, you already know me, sweetheart.” Eddie’s crooked smile reaches those doe-eyes of his and it’s hard to stay nervous when he looks at you like that.
“And songwriter,” Gareth mutters.
Eddie grits his teeth. “And songwriter. Yes. Gareth the Man-Child songwriter and I write a lot of our stuff. Fuck, man, you were the one that was most excited to work on Nightmare this past week! What the hell is your problem?”
Gareth’s eyes are locked with Eddie’s. It’s a tense moment before Gareth relents and meets your gaze.
“We just don’t typically have chicks here.” He shrugs, like it’s a viable explanation for his behavior.
Eddie throws up his hands. “Jesus. Fucking children.”
“Hey, uh, are you Max Mayfield’s sister?” Grant asks as he maneuvers back to his place at his drums.
A shy smile sneaks across your face at the mention of your sister’s name. “Yeah,” you huff softly. “That’d be me.”
“Oh, is that the one Lucas is dating?” Jeff asks as he goes to plug in his bass.
You’re a little more than surprised at that. “I—maybe? They did, but I don’t know if they still are. How do you know that?”
“A few of the freshmen have joined our Hellfire Club,” Eddie explains. You raise your eyebrow. “It’s our D & D group? Lucas is one of them,” Eddie’s voice drops low so it’s only you that can hear, “Mike Wheeler is another. Hence my aforementioned association with the Wheelers, you wiseass.”
You bite your lip to stifle a chuckle. Suppose he got you there.
Gareth speaks up, and his tone is noticeably more even. “Hey, do we want to show her what we’ve been working on, or do you just wanna stay in here and keep chatting like freakin’ cheerleaders?”
Eddie snaps to attention and motions his finger guns at Gareth. “Absolutely, my friend! I, ah—gotta go get my guitar.” He turns and jogs swiftly back to his van.
Jeff rolls his eyes. “C’mon man, you were already late!”
Eddie returns and shushes Jeff. He tosses his head in your direction. “Have a seat over there, sweetheart. We’ll show you what we’ve got so far.”
He finishes setting up his guitar, and counts the band in. Eddie’s fingers pluck a gentle, mesmerizing melody for several frames before he and Gareth dive into the heavy, almost disorienting mirror image of the intro. It’s almost as if you’re hearing a lullaby played here, and then played again as a maddened version created by the Upside Down.
It was frightening how fucking fantastic Eddie was able to capture exactly what you wanted out of this song, and he wasn’t even eight frames in. You’re standing up, head bobbing and body swaying to the wicked tempo—like you could actually sit as your song comes to life. Grant plays like a man possessed, the way he crashes across his drums is otherworldly and Jeff’s bass sends vibrations through you that’re all consuming. Eddie’s vocals are disquieting and magnetic at the same time; you couldn’t tear your gaze away from him if you tried. You watch as his gritty voice belts your lyrics, eyes closed in concentration, head banging and shaking his curly mane in time with the beat.
You almost lose your balance when Eddie starts shredding the guitar solo about four minutes in. Your eyes can’t widen enough to take in the sight in front of you—the lightning fast efficiency of his fingers have you riveted and you’re completely unaware that you bite your bottom lip as you watch him play. Jeff clocks your reaction and grins widely as they dive into the bridge.
It’s an intense call-and-answer spin on your lyrics, and it’s beyond your expectations. Eddie’s eyes lock with yours as he growls,
Lost
Hit the wall
Watch you crawl
Such a replicable liar
He gets to his self-proclaimed favorite line, and that fucker gives you the most heart-stopping crooked smile as he winks — he throws you a goddamn wink — before launching into the final rendition of the chorus.
The song ends, and it feels like your life begins. The last chords hang in the air as the men of Corroded Coffin await your reaction.
“So,” Eddie breathlessly asks as he wipes his bandana across his sweaty forehead. “Does the Elder Mayfield approve? Did we do your Nightmare justice?”
You take a couple of steps toward the lead singer. “Elton,” your voice is hoarse with emotion, and you look to the other members so they know you mean them, too, before settling in on Eddie. You jab your index finger into his leather clad chest. “Not ‘my’ any longer. That’s our fucking Nightmare.”
Eddie’s nostrils flare and his eyes flash with something unrecognizable before he cackles and wraps you in a bone-crushing embrace. Even mushed against his guitar, you can feel the hammering of his heart, and you find yourself returning the hug. Over your mingled, lingering laughter, you hear Gareth bark a sardonic laugh and exclaim,
“Did she just fucking refer to our lead singer as Elton fucking John?”
The Beginning ✨
Next Chapter ➡️
My heart is forever grateful to @corrodedseraphine for designing these amazing dividers for the story!
For the @steddiemicrofic prompt ‘short’ | WC: 321 | Rating: E, 18+, NSFW, MDNI | CW: Ogling, explicit fantasies, switching POV | Tags: Pre-Steddie, gay disaster!Eddie Munson, bisexual disaster!Steve Harrington | A/N: Writing has been hard recently, so I'm falling back on one of my favourite devices, the ol’ repeat-and-switch. I hope you're not bored of them, but if you are there's no hard feelings 😊
Neither Eddie nor Steve are enamoured with this joint sportsball-plus-talent-show pep rally. But it's funny how opinions can change…
THE GAME
They're. too. fucking. short. Where does he even put his keys?? Can't be regulation; don't look comfortable; could even be illegal. But Eddie continues to stare…
Steve's tiny shorts showcase his thick, hairy thighs, golden skin, scattered moles. And the way the shiny fabric hugs those glorious cheeks? Kill him now.
Eddie thought the game might offer respite from his gay-disaster lusting, but now Steve's running around the court, everything jiggling. He turns, reaching, sizable junk on display, constrained as tightly as his ass.
In his head Eddie's on his knees, Steve twitching under his ministrations, groaning as Eddie swallows him down...
THE SHOW
It's. too. fucking. short. And where are the goddamn sleeves?? Virtually pointless, can't be comfortable, shouldn't be allowed. But Steve can't look away…
Steve thought the guitar might offer his yearning eyes some reprieve from the vision of his half-naked secret crush, but no. There's teasing flashes as he leaps around the stage, grimacing and flexing and swinging it in front of him.
Eddie turns, spreads his legs, arching towards the drumkit, still playing. Curls flailing, shirt riding up further, a pale expanse of lower back illuminated, skin taut and spine highlighted.
Steve imagines stroking his hands over it, pressing down, arching Eddie while he fucks into him, hard and relentless…
Later, Eddie disappears heading for a smoke, surprising a startled Steve leaving the locker room. Almost colliding chest-to-chest, Eddie can't help glancing downward, memorising the split-second view before awkwardly blurting,
“Nice outfit. Captain.”
He's moving away with a sarcastic faux salute when Steve grabs at his shirt, stopping Eddie in his tracks. Giving him a wink and an obvious once over, Steve replies, tone gravelly,
“You too… rockstar.”
Main masterlist | Steddie masterlist
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A/N 2: Is this anything? Is it terrible? Maybe? Fuck, I don't even know any more. Please bear with me as I try to extricate myself from this c*nt of a writing slump.
rated t | 1000 words | cw: alcohol mention | tags: i would die for gareth emerson, i don't think you understand, bisexual king gareth emerson
🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸
Gareth is the baby of the group, always has been, always will be. He's a year younger than Jeff and Frankie, and four years younger than Eddie. He was behind in everything, but it just was how it was.
He was a drummer and they needed one. The fact that he was the best drummer in a 100 mile radius helped.
But because of them hitting the ground running the moment he graduated, he didn't really get to have much of a regular young adult life.
He didn't really have much of a rockstar one either.
He had three extremely overprotective big brothers constantly by his side making sure he didn't do anything dumb, but they also made sure he didn't do anything at all.
"Promised your mom we would watch out for you," Jeff said.
"Last thing we need is you getting involved with some girl and ruining the band," Frankie said.
"Don't rush it, man," Eddie said.
But Gareth was now 20 years old and had never even kissed a girl. Or a boy, he didn't know what he was into. How could he? None of them would leave him alone long enough in the bars he was technically too young to get into to try.
Tonight. He would find a way to shake them tonight. He'd find a girl in the crowd, he'd buy her a drink, and he'd hope that she'd at least be willing to check this one thing off his list.
If he was gonna be a rockstar, he should get to kiss someone.
They were playing a smaller venue tonight, opening for a band that was bigger than them in theory, but not in talent. Story of their lives.
Hopefully, everyone would be distracted by the main act to not pay attention if he slipped off.
He was dripping sweat, cursing the fact that these small venues never had decent ventilation or fans for them to cool off, and the stage lights were always too close, building up a furnace on the stage.
His drums were packed, his shirt rolled up to help him cool off the best he could while he sipped on water. He hadn't even gotten a beer tonight, a nervous flutter in his stomach that he didn't want to make worse with feeling bloated from the combination of hops and heat.
"Gare!" Jeff's voice interrupted his walk towards the bar.
Dammit.
"You wanna head out? We're all so fuckin' hot."
"Yeah, yeah, let me just grab another water. Feeling kinda lightheaded."
That was definitely not the right thing to say. Jeff's mouth turned down in a concerned frown.
"Well, let's get you outside then. You need some fresh air. Eddie!" Eddie yelled back in acknowledgement. "Get Gareth a water!"
"I'm okay, I can get it." He argued, desperate to let his plan work. "You guys head out, be there in a few."
"Like hell am I leaving you alone when you're not feeling good," Jeff wrapped his arm around his shoulders and started pulling him towards the door. "You gotta speak up sooner."
"Jeff. Please."
Something in his voice must have alerted Jeff to the seriousness of his plan because he quickly pulled his arm away.
"What's going on?"
"I just need to be alone for a bit. Please?" Gareth wasn't afraid to pull out the pout. The pout worked on his mom every time. It had to work now, too. "Just for a little bit?"
Jeff searched his face, probably trying to see if there was something he should be worried about.
"I'll distract them for 15 minutes. But that's all I can guarantee," he finally agreed. "Whatever it is you're planning, please be safe. Please."
"What the hell could I possibly get up to in 15 minutes?"
Jeff sighed. "Don't ever ask that question to Eddie or Frankie."
He walked away and Gareth watched as he convinced them both to walk outside, probably to get some fresh air. He probably didn't have to be that convincing.
God, it was so hot.
The bar area of the venue was crowded, a lot of people taking the break between sets to throw back a shot or chug a beer. He genuinely did just need a water, so he forced his way through the people and got the attention of the bartender.
"Not a fan of beer?" A woman in a black dress and leather jacket asked him. She was smiling, sipping on something that could be water, might be a vodka tonic. The lighting wasn't good enough to see bubbles.
"Not a fan of being hot," Gareth smiled.
"Awful confident of you."
Oh. Oh shit. Was she flirting with him?
"Trying something new tonight, I guess."
"Oh? Anything in particular?"
Gareth liked her smile, her eyes. She seemed a few years older than him, closer to Eddie's age.
"Well…I've never actually kissed anyone before," Gareth figured honesty was the best policy.
"Never?" She didn't believe him, but that was okay. She'd figure it out if she let him make a move.
"Never."
"Let's give it a go then."
So he did.
She leaned in, closed her eyes, and he was having his first kiss. He didn't know her name, he was surrounded by hundreds of people, and he was certain that stars were exploding behind his eyes.
She pulled away after a few seconds, smiling, winking, and walked away.
"Damn, she didn't even give you a name?" A guy to Gareth's left asked, watching as she walked away.
Gareth shook his head. "Didn't need it."
The guy touched his arm and smiled at him, much like the woman had before.
"I'm Evan. You're the drummer, right?"
"Sure am."
"You wanna have a kiss with someone you know the name of?" Evan asked.
Gareth wasn't about to pass up this opportunity, so he nodded.
Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest Seven Deadly Sins pop-up event.
Front Page News
Prompt: Wrath | Word Count: 1313 | Rating: T | CW: Language, Property Damage | POV: Goodie | Relationship(s): Steddie, Background Buckingham | Tags: Modern Setting, Famous Corroded Coffin, Pissed Off Eddie Munson, Lavender Marriage, Steve & Chrissy, Secret Relationships, The Goddamn Prying Paparazzi, Chosen Families: No Matter How Unconventional
Goodie scrolls and scrolls and scrolls. His phone screen is getting hot in his hand because he's been reading so long. Continuously scouring for more information. Refresh. Refresh. Refresh. This can't be happening. Eddie's gonna lose his fucking mind. There are blind items, and a copy of Alex's birth certificate being posted for the world to see.
And the tweets.
Not to mention the fucking Reddit threads. Comment after comment.
Goodie wants to kill them all. Rain down a pox on them and theirs for doing this. For digging. For getting into things that are of no goddamn concern of theirs. They need to mind their own fucking business.
Eddie's gonna explode. The shower is still running, and Goodie's standing guard outside of the door. Staying between Eddie and his phone. Goodie'd reached in and swiped it off the vanity, just to be extra careful.
Jeff and Gareth better get their asses here, and soon. See if they can limit the fallout. Eddie's off social media, but this dam is gonna break and word is gonna trickle to him if they don't hurry up and get there first.
"Eddie," Gareth says, and they've corralled Eddie. Cornered him, and now all they can do is watch him rage. He's destroying his hotel room. But none of them are about to tell him to knock it the fuck off. Not today. Not over this.
He bounces off the wall and Goodie braces for impact. Catches and releases him in one fluid motion.
"Eddie, you can't do this," Jeff says, but Eddie's not listening.
But Eddie's got a temper, a short fuse, always has. But it's never manifested like this before.
"You're too old to act like this!" Gareth screams, and fuck if he isn't right.
But they've also never dealt with anything this personal before, either. And it spiraled into a major scandal in one afternoon. Their PR is working on a spin, but Goodie's not sure how they're gonna get Eddie out of this one. Enough of it's true, a straight denial is never gonna work. Eddie is on the birth certificate of a brand new baby. With a woman married to someone else. Living in the suburbs, with three other kids at home.
Those are just facts. There's no getting around 'em. Everything about this is bad optics.
It's just the context these fucking vultures don't know, and honestly, don't deserve to know.
Chrissy's been married to Steve for nearly twenty years, but he's been with Eddie longer. Chrissy, with Robin. Those kids? Shared in a way Goodie can't understand. It's a fucking mess, and not anything Goodie would want any part of, personally, but they did what they thought they needed to do back then. And until now it had worked.
Only this time, they used Eddie's sperm and his name on the birth certificate. Not realizing people would dig around, gleefully releasing that info.
A good marriage, as lavender as it may be, about to be blown to fucking smithereens.
Eddie, slandered, shamed.
Steve's not here. Steve's in the fucking Palisades, at home. Probably getting ready for a PTA meeting or practice. The perfect stay-at-home dad, with the perfect wife, who loves her job and works long hours.
Eddie screams at the top of his lungs, and they're gonna get complaints. Even in the middle of the day.
Gareth goes in, wrapping his arms around Eddie, trying to hold on, trying to calm him down. But Eddie shoves him off, and Goodie takes a fucking knee with a thud that fucking hurts, goddammit, but he makes it down in time to catch Gareth. The last thing they need is Gareth with two broken arms from catching himself on the floor under this thin carpet.
"Thanks," Gareth breathes, hands squeezing both of Goodie's shoulders, sprawled on top of him. It knocked the wind out of Goodie, but neither of them are hurt, and Jeff helps both of them right themselves. As much as they can, right now, anyway.
They might be done for a little while. This might not blow over. Eddie might get arrested if he can't pull his shit together. Quick.
Goodie supposes that depends on the route Steve and Eddie and Chrissy and Robin want to take. Come clean, or batten the hatches and take the onslaught until something more scandalous comes along in the news cycle.
"Sorry," Eddie says, reaching for Gareth, and Gareth reaches back, wrapping him in a hug. One that Eddie is ready for, this time. "I'm just so mad," he says, under his breath, but it's enough for them all to hear.
"I know," Jeff says, "we'll find a way to fix it. We will. You'll see."
Goodie goes back to his own room and calls Steve.
"Oh, yeah, they're here," Steve says, and describes the paparazzi standing outside of the gated house.
"At least they aren't on the lawn?"
Steve laughs, and Steve's not worked up in the slightest, it seems.
"Eddie's having some sort of mental breakdown, and you're just, what, fine?" Goodie asks.
"I'm not fine, but there's no reason to get so fucking worked up. Can you put him on the phone?"
"He's not in here, but I'll get him to call you."
"Tell him it's fine. We're fine. Whatever happens, it's all fine. I'm fine. Chrissy's fine. The kids are fine. Robin's fine. Tell him we're all good over here."
"I will," Goodie says, and he's not sure Eddie will accept good as an answer today, but he'll try.
They are past the point that being queer is gonna tank Eddie's career. So, Goodie doesn't think it's the coming out that has Eddie in such a goddamn tizzy. Goodie's pretty sure it's the loss of normalcy for the kids, for Steve, Chrissy, and Robin that he's furious about, that he's mourning. Steve loves Eddie, but he wanted a family, a life and a home.
He didn't want to spend a lifetime on the road. So, a plan was hatched. A deal in place, and it's worked so damn well. For decades. Eddie had a homebase nobody knew about, Steve has his three kids and a pool-full of age-groupers to coach.
Maybe if they were coming of age now, they wouldn't have taken this route. Adoption for two queer men would have been an option. But, twenty years ago, this was the best idea they had.
And now here they are. Freaks. Front page news.
Goodie basically scruffs Eddie like an angry cat, even if he's not currently shredding the curtains, and marches him right to his phone.
"Call Steve. He's good. You'll feel better after you do."
"What if our phones are bugged?" Eddie asks.
"Jesus H. Christ, Ed, so what if they are? Fuck 'em. There's no tap dancing out of this one. Some sort of the truth is gonna have to be announced. Don't fuck things up with your family because you're mad things aren't exactly as you want them to be."
That's a problem Eddie has, and they all know it. It's his way, or the highway, always. And they've all stupidly catered to it maybe a little too much over the years.
But Goodie watches him dial, and waits until he's sure he's connected and calm.
"Hi," Eddie says, then adds, "Anything new going on?"
And Goodie can hear Steve laughing through the phone, and Goodie's blood pressure plummets back to normal. It's gonna be fine.
Steve's got it from here.
Back in the safety of his own room, Goodie crashes into the chair, and pulls out his own phone. It's finally cooled down, though the battery is depleting.
He calls home, too.
"You're famous," she says, and he laughs.
"Fucking Eddie. My knee hurts," he says, and then starts gossiping in the way you only can with your spouse. Telling her everything he knows.
If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇
hi! i know these past months have been a little hard for many of us in the fandom, and i just wanted to send some love and appreciation to the writers here after all of the things that are happening
sometimes it feels like people forget that writers aren’t machines that exist just to produce content. you’re real people who spend your time, creativity, and energy creating stories for us simply because you love it, and that’s something really special
so thank you. thank you for every fic, every idea, every late night spent writing, every update, every little piece of your imagination that you chose to share with us
your work is appreciated more than you probably realize, and there are so many readers who care about what you create. please remember that your writing matters and that you deserve kindness just as much as anyone else in this fandom
and for those of us reading: let’s keep supporting our writers!! reblog their work, share the love, and help create a safe and welcoming space for everyone in this fandom 🫶🏻🩷
reblog this post and tag as much people you can, let's spread some love!!!
Unbelievable to be included on this list. I appreciate you so much, you have no idea 🥺 it’s been so hard to write lately, and this helps more than you know ❤️🔥
💗 Hi all, I'm doing some taglist maintenance and I just wanted to check that everyone who's on my general list still wants to be on it 💗
YES - like, comment, or do nothing at all (though confirmation would be appreciated)
NO - send me an ask or a DM to let me know no hard feelings, you do you boo
I WANNA BE ON IT - drop me a comment, ask or DM
I don't have conditions of inclusion (other than you must be 18+), however commenting and reblogging is a fantastic reward for sharing works (and necessary to keep this site alive) so the more you can interact the better 💗💖💗
RULES: make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous, and tag as many people as you have WIPs. People send an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and you post a snippet or tell them something about it!
Thanks to @cchapsticck for the tag.
Doing this in the vain hope that I will become interested in writing again.
Time travel break it worse
Eddie gets Vecna-d
Wasting Light
Prison fic
Plan all your moves in advance
Like a Stone
Seasons
Amnesia
I feel like I’m missing out by not having ridiculous file names.
No pressure tags:
@the-unforgivenn @tinytalkingtina @vthx @hbyrde36 @thisapplepielife @soaringornithopter @queenofshenanigans @jo-harrington @kikidoesfanfic and anyone else who has the inclination - I know there are a lot of WIP Weekend posts in progress!
I know it’s not really the weekend. I’ve been on vacation time to the point where it hasn’t existed for the last 12 days.
So… WIP Wednesday, 2 days early?
Sure.
❤️🔥 Waking the Fallen, Chapter 13
🩷 3 year old Gareth ask that I abandoned because I don’t know much about Sailor Moon and the ask-er wanted some references but looking back on it, it’s actually pretty good and maybe it could see the light of day? One day?
💙 My, My Part III
🩵 Gareth x older!reader Spring Break Series - many blurbs, many ideas… none completed
Getting caught up on some fun notifs (not be giggling and squealing to see a tag from you hehe) because… well, we’ve been here for the last 12 days. 🩵💙🩵💙🏝️🐋🌺🌊
Come play with us, @steve-loves-eddie @glassbxttless @sidekick-hero @mrsjellymunson @dreamwatch @rip-quizilla
OBEY YOUR MASTER
SPRING BREAK SERIES - Gareth x Older!Fem!Mom!Reader
CORRODED COFFIN FEST ❤️🔥🦇🎸
AO3
Asks
Asks are open, but please know I am terrible at multitasking — it may take a little while for me to get a request out! If you’re okay with that, I’m totally open for any and all asks!
sing with me eddie x fem!reader
landslide virgin!gareth x virgin!fem!reader
salvate te in aeternum Eddie x fem!reader 5+1
she’s so cold eddie x chronic!illness!fem!reader
you’ve got diamonds for teeth (my love) Eddie x biter!fem!reader
pretty white jaws (older!husband!eddie x older!wife!reader)
fix you series corroded coffin fest rockstar!eddie x rockstar!gareth
idiot ball corroded coffin fest pep!band!gareth x basketball!player fem!reader
I'm rereading Obey Your Master rn and idk how I've never noticed the picture of Luke in the header but I love it lol. 5sos has always been one of my favorite bands and Luke's lip ring was so hot. Also I love your writing and I'm so glad you also appreciate Gareth 🥰🖤
Beyond happy you recognized Luke up there!! I had to use his pic- he just has that presence, right?!! And that lip ring… 🤌🏼🥵
Love that you love that story and omg YES - will always appreciate our boy Gareth!!
Summary: Domesticity brings out a new side (and a new kink) of Eddie's.
WC: 1.4k
Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), husband!Eddie x wife!Reader, p in v, prone bone, breeding kink, kink discovery, mention (no description) of Reader's tummy, Eddie and Reader are in their 20s or 30s, not proofread because I just needed to get her outta the drafts
Based on this ask from @lesservillain (and encouragement from @clown420cunt)
Divider credit to @pixopix
Eddie Munson was not a morning person.
On the days he didn’t have to wake up for work, he could only be roused from sleep by the scent of coffee brewing.
That, and sex. Preferably both.
Eddie padded over to where you stood at the stove, his plaid pajama pants slung low on his waist and drawstrings untied. He haphazardly scratched at the wispy hairs on his bare chest before resting his hands on your hips.
“Morning, baby.” You kissed him softly, relishing the way his stubble tickled your chin. “Breakfast is almost ready. We got eggs and toast—”
Eddie shook his head, his messy curls swaying back and forth in indignation.
“Don’t want that,” he grumbled. His fingers curled into the hem of the t-shirt you’d worn to bed. It was just an oversized Corroded Coffin shirt; when Eddie’d moved out of his uncle’s place, he’d brought the box of the band’s old merchandise with him. “Want you.”
You raised your brows. “Right now?” Your gaze dipped down to your own sweatpants, baggy and stained and not the least bit sexy. Decidedly unsexy, in fact.
“Mhm.” His lips brushed your collarbone. “Wanna eat you up. Lookin’ so damn good.”
In truth, this was all Eddie ever wanted: the stability and tranquility of a domestic life. He’d spent his early twenties playing in dive bars, finding women to sleep with every so often. But after a while, there was a hollowness that followed; sex was great, but he longed for something more.
And now he had it: a house of his own and a wife who made it a home.
“Eds…I…” you scrambled for words, “at least let me shower first.”
“No.” Eddie growled, his voice raspy with sleep and desire. “Just like this.”
With one smooth movement, he flicked off the stovetop burner. The eggs sat lamely in the pan, unevenly cooked, but Eddie couldn’t be deterred.
“You’re so…fucking…beautiful like this.” He punctuated each pause with a kiss to your neck. “My pretty…little…wife.”
A shiver slipped down your spine as his hands trailed beneath your shirt. His fingertips danced higher until he reached your breasts, cupping one and teasing the nipple of the other.
Your body instinctively pressed against his, melting into his needy touch. His pajama pants did nothing to hide his arousal, nor did he make any effort to conceal it. No, he wanted you to know exactly what you did to him.
Eddie groaned when your own hand slid under his waistband. “No underwear, Munson?” You asked, a teasing lilt in your voice, well-aware that he never wore underwear to bed.
“N-Nuh-uh,” he stammered. “Just…fuck, keep touching me.”
You stroked him, running your thumb through the pre-cum that leaked from his tip. “What’s got you all worked up this morning?”
He choked out a laugh. “You,” he admitted, “looking all perfect.”
“I look like I just crawled out of a cave!”
“You look perfect,” Eddie insisted. He kissed you deeply before tugging your shirt up over your head and tossing it aside. “Wish I didn’t have to work so I could wake up to this every day.”
You bit back a grin. “We kinda need the money for food, electricity…”
“We’ll live off the land,” he protested weakly, still fighting to focus with your hand wrapped around his erection. “Forage or whatever. And we’ll keep ourselves warm. Body heat and all that–holy shit.”
His train of thought veered off the track when you got on your knees in front of him. You figured he’d let you pull his pajama pants down and take charge, but to your surprise, he grabbed your wrist before you could take them past his thighs.
“I got a better idea.”
He helped you to your feet and practically flung you into the bedroom. You laid atop the unmade bedsheets, expecting Eddie to climb over you, but he once again threw you for a loop:
“Flip over.”
You did as he instructed, assuming the position for doggy-style. Eddie chuckled from where he knelt behind you.
“No, baby. Lay on that cute tummy.” He playfully smacked your ass, still clad in sweatpants. “There ya go.”
You felt his weight on top of yours, immediately embracing his warmth. Maybe skimping on the electricity bill wouldn’t be that bad if it meant staying like this…
One of his callused hands grabbed your hip while the other snuck below your panties. He didn’t even need to look to find your clit, expertly pressing circles against it.
“Love the way you shiver,” Eddie mumbled in your ear. “Every time, too. Lets me know I’m doing somethin’ right.”
Right didn’t even begin to explain the pleasure coursing through you. Right wasn’t strong enough; Eddie’s touch was exquisite. He knew exactly how much pressure, the speed, and the finger position needed to make you crumble in a matter of minutes.
“Mhm, f-fuck, s’good,” was all you managed. Eddie gently nipped at your earlobe, his cock nudging against the curve of your ass. You needed him inside you, needed him filling you entirely, needed him to claim you as his and only his.
Your legs trembled as you came, moving your hips into Eddie’s touch. His stroke slowed, bringing you down from the high of your orgasm.
“Eddie…” you whined, carelessly reaching behind you to yank at his pants. You didn’t care how his pants came off, as long as they did.
He got the message, shucking them down his legs and letting them fall off the edge of the bed. He pumped himself, groaning under his breath the moment his hand wrapped around his length.
“You want it, honey?” Eddie cooed, sliding his cock through your wetness. “Fuck, ‘m gonna give it to ya.”
He pushed into you, moaning your name as he sank deeper.
“Oh, fuck, baby.” Eddie moved slowly, settling in before finally bottoming out. “Y’always take me s-so good. My good girl. W-Wanna mark you up. Make you mine forever.”
You nodded, clenching around him needily. “Yours. ‘M yours.”
“Gonna keep you mine.” Eddie’s hair brushed your bare back with each thrust. “My pretty wife. Wanna make you a mommy.”
You stilled. It’s not that you didn’t want kids; Eddie never felt strongly about parenthood one way or the other, and the conversation hadn’t gone much farther than that.
Certainly, he’d never talked about making you a mommy.
“Wanna see you grow my baby in that cute tummy,” Eddie continued. “And everyone’s gonna know that you’re my girl.”
“Y-Yeah?”
“Mhm.” He growled, fingertips digging into your sides with enough force to leave half-moons behind. “Wanna come home and see my pretty little wife growin’ my baby.”
His hips snapped forward, burying every godforsaken inch of himself in your walls. You’d never seen him this feral before; not even after he’d worked nightshifts for a month and your schedules hadn’t allowed time for sex. Tonight was something different, almost primal.
“I-I’ll grow your baby.” As you said the words, you realized just how true they were. Nothing sounded more perfect than having his baby, one with his soft brown eyes or dark curly hair. “Give me your baby, Eddie. Make me a mommy.”
Eddie let out a string of curses, emptying himself into you with a few punctuated thrusts,
“That’s it. Fuck, that’s it, sweetheart. Take it.”
His fingers snaked around, finding your clit again and sending a shockwave of pleasure through your body.
He spoke through panting breaths. “Heard it’s more likely to take if you come, too.”
If that was all that was needed, he’d get you pregnant right away. You came harder than you did the first time, raveled up in the feeling of him inside and out.
The two of you laid there, unmoving, until Eddie finally worked up the energy to speak.
“You, uh…you’re still taking those birth control pills, right?” He asked sheepishly.
“Uh-huh.” You stretched out, careful to keep him inside you even as he softened.
Eddie sighed with relief. “Thank God. Because the thought of actually chasing around after a little rugrat…gonna need a second to think that through.”
“Same,” you agreed. “But we can still pretend until we figure it out, right?”
After a few years of marriage, you didn’t even need to look at your husband to know he was smiling.
“Oh, hell yes.” Eddie pressed a kiss to your shoulder blade. “Give me five minutes and I’ll be ready to practice again.”
God DAMN this is so hot 🤩🥰🤩 love me a breeding kink, especially when you write Eddie so damn into it. And how he can’t resist us? Jesus, Bug. JEEEESUS. Made me feel wanted through the screen
