There Will Be Blood? Like. You Promise?

𝖂𝖊𝖑𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝕳𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖋𝖎𝖗𝖊 𝐈𝐈𝐈

pairing: Eddie Munson x gn!reader

synopsis: You love listening to Eddie read- but someone had to confess their feelings and surprisingly enough.. Eddie beat you to it.

warnings: pg-13 if you squint [heavy kissing sortof], drug use, but really just Eddie being cute. Cheesy DnD reference.

word count: 1858

parts: [𝐈][𝐈𝐈][𝐈𝐈𝐈]

Your eyes were glued to the TV screen wide and curious as you listened, or tried to listen, to Eddie reading out loud to you. Ever since that first initial movie night it had become a regular thing, you going to his trailer or him showing up on your doorstep every other day just to read or watch movies. You always enjoyed the time you spent with him, whether it be curled against his side sat atop the old but comfortable couch in his trailer- or cuddled up on the stiff sofa your mother had bought just a few weeks ago that very badly needed to be broken in.. you always enjoyed being around Eddie. He had very quickly become a big part of your life, just as you had become a large part of his. He taught you the basics of DnD, even helped you build a character that you could use if you ever decided to join in on a campaign- you weren't ready but he was a patient man.

The two of you shared a love for fantasy, for castles and dragons and wizards and princesses. You shared a mutual love for Tolkien, and when you told Eddie he reminded you of Aragorn you swore he looked like he was going to lift you up in his arms and kiss all over your face.. but he didn't. If there was one flaw in your relationship it was that things never went past heavy flirting and cuddling. You could tell he was holding back, tell he wanted to do so much more- he wasn't exactly hard to read, you just weren't sure why he refused to take things even a fraction further. You had come up with a number of reasons all less plausible than the last, the most reasonable of the bunch being that he was just trying to take things slow but the more time you spent with him the less feasible that seemed. Eddie was not the sort to do anything slow.

With two fingers twirling in his hair and your head resting on his chest to listen to the rhythm of his heartbeat as he spoke. "Fire leaped from the dragon's jaws." He paused, pressing the joint to his lips to take a long hard drag. He held it in his lungs for a moment, a wicked grin pulling at his lips as you glanced up at him. You squinted your eyes knowing full well what he had planned, waiting for him to begin speaking again so you could watch. You loved it when he read the hobbit books to you, Smaug being both yours and Eddie's favorite antagonist of the series. Smoke billowed from his nostrils as he hunched forwards slightly, a deep guttural growl rumbling in the confines of his chest as smoke swirled around you and down over the book in Eddie's hands. "He circled for a while high in the air above them lighting all the lake; the trees by the shores shone like copper and like blood with leaping shadows of dense black at their feet."

As the seconds ticked on his words grew muffled, like static background in your head as you just stared up at him watching him speak. You weren't a heavy believer in true love, or love in general. It just seemed silly, unattainable and unrealistic and those that pursued it always seemed to wade right through it only to come out on the other side with tragic stories to tell. Your mother and father were no exception, and you'd had a long history of shitty relationships yourself. You had partners that cheated, lied, manipulated and used you. You'd had people talk to you as a joke, as a dare from their friends.. so the concept of love and being with someone who really truly unconditionally cared for you just seemed so wild. You weren't stupid, you could recognize the stirrings of a strong crush and normally you tried to squash them down but every time he smiled at you.. ever time his hands lingered at your hips after you hugged or whenever he brushed a stray hair behind your ear your feelings grew even more. Like wildfire they spread until Eddie Munson was nearly 90% of your waking thoughts. You dreamed about him, thought about him all the time and Dustin had relayed to you multiple times that Eddie was much the same. He always spoke about you, daydreamed about you which even trickled over into his DnD sessions which had ironically become quite an issue due to his party being sick of hearing about you whenever you would miss sitting in on a campaign. While you believed your little brother there was a part of you that was scared- terrified to confront him about your feelings but you knew it had to happen eventually.

A large ring-clad hand waving in front of your face pulled you from your not so momentary daze, cheeks flushing a light shade as your eyes met deep brown and Eddie raised a brow. "You alright there? Space out or somethin?" You just nodded a bit, clearing your throat as you prepared for the inevitable. You had to say something.. he wasn't going to- it had to be you. You opened your mouth to speak, jaw however almost immediately snapping shut as Eddie glanced off to the side. His leg was bouncing, something he did when he got too nervous or overwhelmed, and you pulled away slightly to get a better look at him. He had his lip wedged between his teeth, eyes glancing almost frantically around the room. It was your turn to arch a brow as he faced you, chuckling quietly as he whispered a soft "fuck it" and snapped the book shut. The noise startled you, causing you to jump slightly against him as he continued to stare into your eyes. His brow knitted, the both of you just sitting there in complete silence for a moment. He slid the book onto the cushion beside him, raising that same hand to card his fingers through your hair as he slowly dropped his head down to rest his forehead against yours. "Á mele ni, mecin.." he spoke so softly you had nearly missed it, your own eyes widening as his slid shut. Now you weren't exactly an expert when it came to elvish, quenya specifically. You'd picked up a bit from the books, enough to know the full translation of those words. Do love me, please. It was as if he were pleading with you, asking if his feelings towards you were reciprocated and wanted.. and for a second you were shocked into silence. Leave it to Eddie Munson to confess his feelings for you in a language damn near nobody fully knew yet or understood.. and after you were so convinced he wouldn't ever confess.

Eddie was nearly shaking with panic, his breathing controlled.. in through the nose out through the mouth as his eyes squeezed shut. He didn't want to face you, the fear of rejection nearly palpable on the back of his tongue. It sat there hot, heavy, and bitter as the seconds ticked on and then suddenly you were laughing and cupping his face in your hands. Slowly he cracked one eye, and once greeted by your wide smile he opened the other. Your smile was bright, so bright and warm and infectious that he found himself smiling right back at you. His fears were still there of course, still very real as he gently scratched at your scalp. "What's so fuckin funny?" His grin widened as you just leaned your head further into his hand, sortof nuzzling it as you hummed. "carinyë." And as quick as lightning his eyes went wide. You had understood.. and you? Liked him too?

You couldn't count the number of times you had thought about kissing Eddie on both hands. It was in the hundreds at this point, but who could blame you? With his big brown eyes and full lips- the way he looked at you, the way he listened to you.. like every word that came out of your mouth was the most interesting thing he had heard in all his life. He was your best friend within a matter of days, and so much more than that. Time seemed to slow as he lowered his face, lips brushing against yours so softly as the hand cradling the side of your hand slid down to cup your jawline. "You've been paying more attention to the books than I thought-" you couldn't contain the soft giggle that escaped you, smiling wider against his lips as your fingers slid up and through his mess of wavy chestnut hair. "What can I say- you have a nice voice. I like listening to you read." He just hummed, finally sealing your lips with a proper kiss. It was gentile and slow at first, even as Eddie lowered you onto your back without missing a beat. One hand found its way to your hip, sliding down to hike your leg up to wrap it around him as he pressed his body flush against yours.

It didn't take long for the kiss to turn heated, panting softly into eachothers mouths as your fingers tangled in his hair tugging at it as you greedily tried to pull him even closer. With his full weight on you, sandwiched between him and the couch cushions, you couldn't think of a single place you'd rather be. Having waited so long for this it was everything you'd wanted and more. Eddie rolled his hips, pulling a soft gasp from you as your body shuddered and your breath hitched. You wanted more, so much more- but your desire to tease him was much stronger, and as he pulled away to look down at you with nothing but adoration in his eyes a wicked smirk curled at the corners of your mouth. He just snorted, going back in for another kiss however you stopped him with an index finger pressed against his lips. He was shocked for a moment, head cocking slightly to the side as he watched you. "You.. want me to stop or? I mean we can stop.. we don't have to-" your finger pressing harder against his lips cut him off and his other brow arched in surprise. Your smile only widened, barely able to contain yourself as you very softly said "Roll for initiative." You swear you'd never seen a man roll off the couch so quickly, scrambling into his room only to return with a bright red D20. His hair was sticking up in every direction from having your hands running through it and he was panting heavily from having basically ran into his room but as he held up the D20, arching a brow to test whether or not you were being serious you just sat up, looking him over before he gave the little resin piece a quick kiss before sending it clattering to the table. No matter what it read.. you wanted to continue- but seeing him so eager was definitely worth the wait.

authors notes: tried to stay as close to canon Tolkien elvish as possible- and I will not apologize for the shitty DnD "Roll for initiative" bit♡ it's crucial for the next part which will be nsfw so I am beating the minors off with a stick! Seriously, stay back.

[Sorry you're getting tagged in this one twice guys, Tumblr screwed me and removed all the hashtags so I'm reposting this]

tag list: @rome-alone @gamegirl1996-blog @mightiestheroes @what-the-heckin-heck @nerd-of-karasuno @ladychoco @intoanothermind @the-chocoholic-writer @my-infiniteuniverse @mymaraudersmen @kiszkathecook

If you'd like to be added to the tag list [or if I've missed you] please leave a comment!

Sabrina (1954) dir. Billy Wilder

what's he like?

pairing — stepbrother!eddie munson x stepsister!(f)reader

warnings — (18+) this is a soft dark fic with taboo themes. eddie is manipulative and coercive, gonna tag it as dubcon just in case, stepcest smut- fingering, dirty talk, public sex, eddies mean, innocence kink, dacryphilia, grinding (?) i never know how to tag it, eddie uses the readers panties to make her feel good,

word count — 3.2k (accidently double what I was going for)

a’s notes — i’m a pervert. oh and I like the shining !

Eddie Munson isn’t a good guy. He knew it was wrong, but he’s sick and twisted and so very perverted that he’ll sink into those sinful waters with stones tied to his feet if it means he gets to stay. 

An almost sister, far apart enough to break no laws and close enough that it was clearly wrong. Borderline criminal, wholly illicit. But Eddie wasn’t one to deny himself much, not when the world made it so easy; you practically fell into his lap, how was he supposed to ignore the opportunities? 

The infatuation to begin with was immoral but with Eddie’s reputation as the town ‘freak’, he thought what’s another notch on that continuous bedpost? He’ll be the drug dealer, he’ll play the weirdo, he’ll sing of satanic worship and whatever people think he’s capable of and behind closed doors he’ll treat himself to a delicacy so much worse. He’s told time and time again that he is the villain? Fine, he’ll be the villain. 

It’s ironic that you see him as the opposite. 

Family has never meant much to you. The word or the people. The people hardly stuck around and in the end, it became just you and your mother and that was doomed from the start. Your relationship with her was never great and after you both started working jobs to help pay for the roof over your heads it just deteriorated quicker. 

So it was out of the blue when you found out your mum had met someone and you were about to move in with them. She met the guy at her work and they had hit it off immediately, all of that love at first sight stuff that you adored. You had forever read about epic romances and world-shattering love so the idea that your mother, who you may not have been close with, was getting that sounded perfect. Your chance for the family that you dreamt of but never allowed yourself to look at in the harsh light of consciousness. 

Wayne was a nice man. You had no faults. He made your mother happy which was his strongest defender and he was kind, his dry humour made you giggle- when you understood- and he was a gentleman. You would have never expected it from the rumours about his relatives but after spending some time with him, you felt he was the perfect fit for your mum, and for the imaginary idea of your future. 

The rumours in Hawkins spread quicker than fire. At school, you kept your head down, or in a classic, and tried to be kind and polite whilst saying few words, so whatever was the big gossip of the week you never really cared about. 

It’s why you didn’t have any hesitations about Eddie. Sure the stories and list of offences against him were vicious but every time you looked up, if he caught your eye, he was stepping out of the way so girls could pass and hugging his friends with that adorable dimpled smile of his. The rumours never held any weight. None of it could be proven before you had met him and decided which truth to follow. And fortunately for both of you, Eddie seemed like an angel. 

It had been just over a month and your fantasy family was dripping into reality. More like pouring, every time you spent more time together it felt like everything would begin to sparkle as you’d read about. It made you fuzzy that you and your step-brother were the closest. Something in you just gravitated towards him and you were always received with welcome arms. Anyone could see that you adored him. To you, he was the strong male character in your life. He’d protected you, looked after you and doted on your constantly. For the first time in your life, you felt special. 

Eddie was your Prince Charming. To you, it was as simple as that. 

And there was no doubt on earth that you were his Princess. Eddie had no shame in flaunting that title around and taking great advantage of its powers. 

For example, using it as a knife to cut down any notions of boyfriends; 

“Princess he’s not good for you, he’s just going to fuck you and leave. You don’t want that do you?” a big hand cradling your teary face, he’s rock hard from looking at your wet lips and matching eyes. 

You shake your head dumbly, “N-No but Eds he said he really likes me.” You sniffled into his arms, feeling the pull to be closer to him more than usual. In such close proximity like this, it’s like you want to be permanently attached to him. Feeling an overwhelming desire to be touching him. 

“Trust me. You’re my princess and I only ever want what’s best for you.” you nod and wrap your arms around his lean torso. 

“Say that you believe me. Say you trust me.” 

Your voice doesn’t shake when you answer him. 

He also uses it as a lasso every time he wants something extra. Reeling you back in as you trail after the name. Utterly and unknowingly addicted to the way the syllables fall from his lips, the way those lips curve because he knows he’s in control. 

It was now Friday night, which had become the night Eddie’s group comes round and they always end up watching a movie. Sometimes you’re invited to stay but tonight you saw that they were watching The Shining and determined to opt for the comfort of your bed. Eddie understood, he’d cuddled you after enough nightmares to know it wouldn’t be for you. 

Which is why he’s so surprised to see you in the doorway. Lit mutely by the TV screen, rubbing your eyes in your little pj’s. The items that haunt his dreams. A thin white baby tee that thins every day by the way he swears your nipples get more noticeable each day, maybe it’s the impure thoughts but who’s to tell, and pink, practically panties you conveniently call shorts. They’re not that short. Eddie just can’t help but notice his hand is just the right size too big to slide under those shorts, or over, or rip them in two through. 

Shattered out of those recurring thoughts, Eddie looks up to you who is already looking at him. “Hi, Princess.” he smiles, becoming you closer with an outstretched arm. 

Your fingertips immediately graze his and work their way up his arm, not before getting distracted by his rings. “Hi, Eds.”

“You okay?”

You nod, staring down at your fingers tracing his tattoos. He’s watching your face, trying to figure out what you want, “Jus’ wanted to see you s’all.” he should’ve guessed. Before Eddie you had never been a contact comfort person, never had anyone to go to when you just need a hug. It was hardly a surprise when everything fell into place and Eddie became that person.

Eddie was your person.

“C’mere.” a simple command that has you rushing over to him. You completely forget everyone else in the room. Letting Eddie’s actions wash over you as he leads you to sit astride his legs, sinking into his back and the arm of the sofa. Watching with heavy eyes as he gets a blanket and throws it over the both of you and completes it all by wrapping his arms around your middle and tugging you into him. 

And then you look up. Eyelids barely focusing but making out the poorly concealed shock on one of the boys’ face. It’s almost movie-like when you watch as the guy beside him leans over and whispers something in his ear. The audience can just about make out a “they’re just close-” or something along those lines. It placates you. Just as the look Eddie is throwing them over your head would, staring at them with a gaze that puts them in their place; they don’t speak about you. 

Your hands are both sitting on his chest, fiddling with the fabric of his black sweater, breathing in the smell that is just Eddie. 

Eddie’s eyes are on the screen. Watching the flickering characters, the action the suspense and the only thing he’s aware of are your fingers pushing into the plush of his clothes and your ass tantalisingly close to his crotch. He would have been able to control himself, after all he’s not alone but when you start to shift and move, he hardly manages to conceal the groan pushing at his vocal cords. You don’t notice because you never notice, blissfully cluelessness of the effect you have on him; and too many other sleazy guys that had tried and failed to pursue you. 

But Eddie never claimed to be a good guy. So what was a little indulgence?

When the sensation of his hand moving on your leg catches your attention it’s because it keeps moving. Usually, he just draws patterns on your skin but this time the patterns extend. Instead of twisting back on themselves they keep going, up from your ankle blooming dangerously close to your inner thigh when they rest on the crease between your thigh and torso. And then he squeezes. 

The squeak that leaves you is surprised and loud enough for Eddie to hear you, immediately grinning and fighting to keep his eyes from rolling. You hope in vain that he didn’t hear but when he squeezes again you know he did. 

A chaste kiss is pressed into your hair before his lips dip, “Can you be quiet for me?” his fingers start to move again, dipping lightly into the insides of your thighs and then moving back. You look up at him with wide eyes, questioning him- what he was doing, what this was. “I need you to keep quiet. Because I’m gonna touch you and I want it to be our secret ‘kay?” 

His stare leaves no room for consideration and usually, that would work, but when his long fingers start trailing over the cotton underwear you have on, your brows furrow, “Eddie, this is- we can’t.” something in you knows its wrong and you use that to try and scrape away the sick pleasure you’re already receiving. 

On the screen there’s blood on the walls and enough violence to make you cry so when you turn to look at the noise, Eddie’s large palm is there sweeping your vision back to him. And maybe it affects your judgement, because the action reminds you: Eddie is always protecting you, he knows what’s best, at least that’s what he’s always said. He’s done nothing to contradict that. When you do see him it softens you further. His eyes are like black holes, a pixel of the TV screen in them. It’s unsurprising when you get swallowed up by them, rendering into nothing beneath his gaze. 

He smiles, his hand has found home on your face again and his thumb sweeps under your eyes, and then his gaze melts into something darker. Like ink to oil, he says, “Princess. I know you’re not saying no to me.” 

And he’s right. 

Because then his fingers graze the sodden fabric and you’re caught red-handed. You want to cry, you want to hide, and he lets you for a moment. You want to get away but you’re nestling into his body confusing your mind further. You don’t know what you want. But Eddie does. 

“I know little one, I know.” he shushes you, appearing the comforting big brother as he strokes your hair and looks uninterested. All the while his fingers have explored to the band of your panties. They finger the little bow on them, he smiles to himself because it’s just so you. He takes ahold of the elastic band and you twist the fabric in your hand in confusion. 

You mumble something under your breath and Eddie doesn’t even feign attention, he carries on playing with you. With a harsh grip on the front of your panties, Eddie pulls them up towards you. The angle of the fabric means it’s rubbing directly on your clit, pulling everything tight, making you throb. Eddie watches what he can see; your little hands scratching him through his sweater and the way you curl in towards him, legs drawing up and thighs tensing around his hand. He knows how inexperienced you are, he has a list of everything he wants to teach you. This being one of them. 

Perhaps he should have waited longer, maybe this wasn’t the right time, but all of a sudden he feels your smaller hand encompassing his wrist, keeping him there. At the gesture he smiles, hiding it in your hair and kissing your head softly, because Eddie really does care for you; but he’s going to treat you like he doesn’t. 

That’s what he does for a while, manipulating the fabric to make you whimper. It’s causing you to drip. You can feel your button throbbing against the mean material and you wish it didn’t feel good. It shouldn’t feel good. It’s weird and it’s worse that it’s Eddie doing it; your step-brother. None of this is right, but you don’t release his hand, you can stop from clenching around nothing. You feel entirely powerless, the only thing you can do is try and turn your mind off and pretend the two of you are alone. 

But of course, the world has a cruel sense of humour. 

“Hey, Eddie, is she okay?” one of Eddie’s friends, his name the furthest thing from your mind given your current state, leans towards the pair of you to share his concern. He nods his head in your direction and there’s a questioning glint in his eyes as he looks at your brother. 

From his perspective it looks like you’re crying, your chest moving with added weight and your head has hardly left Eddie’s chest. A hand comes down to stroke your hair, the other concealed by the blanket still moves, and you feel Eddie’s sternum rise to reply. 

He drops his voice, playing into his part, “Oh yeah, she’s all good, jus’ had a nightmare.” he nods as his friend releases the subject. Returning his focus to the screen. 

Eddie should have stopped. But deep down, or not that far, neither of you wanted him to. Deft fingers crawl from their original place, smoothing down the fabric to cup you through it. His fingers move as he traces the outline of your lips, your clit, even going as far to prod at your hole over the top of the fabric. 

It makes you whine his name, he’s playing with you and it’s mean. You won’t ever tell him to stop, especially not when he’s rubbing over the fabric. But you lie nonetheless. 

Lifting your lips closer to his ear, “Eds, we shouldn’t. I don’t wanna get in trouble.” it’s pathetic and you both know it. 

Your hand is hardly pushing him away. His wrist is enveloped in your soft fingers, that just rest on the skin as if just to hold him, to feel him. You try to catch his eye but he’s already shaking his head. His tongue wets his lips as they curve into that smirk again that makes you feel damned. 

He breathes and thinks he’s going to be nice. There is a multitude of sins circling his hazy brain that would be much worse than what he’s going to do to you. It’s not like he doesn’t know he needs to be careful with you. You’re gentle and delicate and as much as he wants to split you open and make you scream on his cock, he won’t just yet. He needs to ease you into it. Thankfully you’re already halfway there. 

“And yet,” he starts, his voice is haunting and dark, disarming you completely with a tone you’ve never heard before, “you’re soaking through your panties, little one.” and it makes you want to cry, the whole situation, his condescending words, everything because he’s right. 

The fabric is ruined with your arousal and when Eddie lifts it to the side it pulls away with slick strings. He huffs a laugh at your broken face, tears welling up already and he’s hardly touched you. Ever since he saw you he knew you’d be heaven to break. 

Eddie dips a finger into the pool of arousal he’s summoned. Coating his digits in before breaching your hole. He’s slow at first but then he gets greedy and he lets himself off the hook because his last line of defence will always be: he wants to be worse. It takes you by surprise when you feel his finger thrust quickly into you, leaving no time in curling the digit until it searches for that special spot that even you haven’t discovered. You both know when he does; a high-pitched squeal leaves your bitten lips at the sensation, immediately pushing your face into his sweater to smother any other humiliating noises. 

Eddie shakes off his friends’ concerned looks and thankfully they don’t pry. Your face feels on fire and you submit to the torture as Eddie strokes and rubs at that spot. The blanket helps to smother the noises. You can hear them minutely, it’s overwhelming, the wet sopping noises coming from your cunt and Eddie’s fingers which are by now soaked in your desperation. 

He revels in it. The way your moans drown into his body, the hiccups he knows soon will turn in to sobs, you react so beautifully and he can’t help but feel it was meant to be. In a perverted way he thinks this is right, what he should be doing. And even if he knows perhaps morally its not, you clenching around his finger rhythmically is enough persuasion to carry on. 

Before long he’s sliding in another finger. Your eyes clench at the intrusion, not because its painful but because of how easy it went in. The whole thing is humiliating and you’re closer than ever. 

Jack Nicholson has an axe on screen, stepping up the stairs to the beat of Eddie’s thumb, which is now circling your clit. The two fingers inside you pump as the screen flashes. The man above you, inside of you, speeds up with every sharp camera turn. It’s getting increasingly harder to hold in your noises and Eddie can sense that. 

He does it unthinkingly and its ironic that thats the thing to break you. Something incidental. His hand leaves its place on your head and his thumb mindlessly slots into your mouth, muffling your pathetic noises. When he brings his hand up to keep it in there, it becomes the triggering sensation. 

Now Eddie is struggling to stay silent. At first he focuses on the way your cunt grips his fingers. Your clit pulsating under his thumb. Making it impossible to pull them out until your orgasm ceases. But then he feels something wet on his neck. And he realises that you’re fucking crying. 

He desperatly claws at breathing slowly and focusing his gaze on the screen, trying to figure out whats happening in the movie. But its futile. Nothing can take his mind away from the fact that you came so hard you’re mewling into his neck, wet little hole crying for him too, and it’s you. 

Once your orgasm slows its attack on your body you lay limp in his arms. Exhausted and high, you stay like that until the movie ends. 

You both know it was wrong. That it shouldn’t happen again, and you were going to try to do the right thing. But Eddie, well, 

Eddie Munson was a bad guy.

a’s notes — please reblog i beg of you WITH TAGS

kofi <3

Golden Eighties (Chantal Akerman, 1986)

- devil's advocate -

pairing: eddie munson x reader (no prns)

word count: 3.9k

content: spoiler free, sex but no smut (i'm struggling to commit to smut), tutor troupe, swearing, smoking, drinking, my rusty writing and horrible attempt to write from the r-r-r-readers perspective 🤢 also tw the reader is good at math

summary: after hooking up with eddie munson 3 seperate times in a month and never talking about it, you somehow get stuck tutoring him.

a/n: im alive i promise. are any of my followers alive? no. but i am.

Hooking up with Eddie Munson was a one time thing. 

Ok, maybe, a two time thing.

Well, if you were being honest with yourself, it was a three time thing. Three times in one month.  

It was supposed to happen once. 

Never once did you anticipate ever speaking to Eddie ever again after walking up to him at Vicki Carmicheal’s party. When he stepped closer, his alcohol-tainted breath fanning on you, you guessed he thought the same. You didn’t even think you would remember the night when you closed the gap.

—

“Eddie Munson, stay after class.” 

Thankful that you weren't in Eddie’s shoes, you gathered your stuff to leave school for the day with the rest of the class. 

“Oh,” your teacher’s eyes left his laptop to scan over the room, “And Y/n L/n.” 

—

At the bonfire, when your blurred vision picked up the brown curls of Eddie Munson, you attempted to ignore heat that surged across your body. You blamed it on the alcohol. You blamed the way his chest wavered as he locked his eyes with you on the alcohol. Alcohol is what guided your hands under his shirt and what pushed his body flush to yours. You would blame a lot of what you did that night on the alcohol.

—

A tense silence stuffed the classroom as you, Eddie, and your teacher sat awkwardly across from each other. Eddie was intensely avoiding eye contact and you tried to keep your leg from bouncing as you all waited for somebody to speak.

“Mr. Munson,” your teacher started, “You, my boy, have the lowest grade out of any student of Hawkens High enrolled in Algebra 2.” He let his statement linger in the air, allowing the both of you to absorb his words, then, he continued.

“But, since I really do believe in you, I’ve taken it upon myself to get you a tutor until your grade has improved.” 

You could practically see Eddie's face curl up in anguish. 

“Am I not allowed to pick my own?”

Your teacher shook his head slowly, “No. I have picked out the perfect candidate.” 

—

When you heard Eddie Munson was coming to Hagan’s new years party, you couldn’t deny the flutter of excitement that had danced around your chest. His being tainted your head as you got ready, your eyes trained to how he would see you. A flash of him interrupted every blink. His voice whispered in your ear. Ghosts of touch lingered on your skin. 

When you finally got to the party, your eyes dodged every other person there, since they were desperately darting around. Music pumped through your veins as you grabbed a cup of whatever was in the punch bowl, eyes still scanning the room. Downing it as fast as you could, you let the buzz of the booze wash over you and resumed your search. A glimpse of leather, a black and white baseball tee, a flash of red. Finally, he was in frame. 

Your breath caught as his eyes slowly moved over your form, shyly meeting your own. Multi-colored lights glided across his body, his white shirt so shear the ink of his tattoos could be seen through it. Music drowned out your heartbeat. You could feel the blush that crawled up your cheeks, Eddie's own color reflected back. Carefully, you let one foot float in front of the other and walked over to Eddie. Alcohol already fusing with your body, you let your hand casually hook around his belt loop. Using your new connection, you guided him out of the house, a smirk pulling on the corner of Eddie’s lip as he let you lead.  

“Not even gonna say hi first,” he scoffed, hands raised. 

“We can talk when I’m high,” you countered, sitting down behind Mr. Hagan’s shed, and desperately attempting to cover up your flustered expression from the adrenalin. 

Eddie dawned a faux-concerned expression. “I think this drug problem is getting really serious.” 

“Shut up Munson.” 

His smirk reformed as he pulled out that stupid rusty box, and rummaged through it until he found a pre and a lighter. After straightening it out a bit, he gently placed the joint between his teeth. Each satisfying swipe of the lighter dragged your eyes down to his lips. The flame that danced over the sides of the joint lured your gaze to stray from Eddie’s deep eyes to focus on his mouth as he exhaled a puff of smoke, letting some stream into his nose.

After a couple more hits, he held the joint out to you between two fingers, glazed eyes watching the stars. You gratefully accepted it, attempting to clear your mind of the vision of the moonlight cascading down his face, sculpting each dip and grove. You breathed deep when your lips were sealed around the filter, letting the smoke fill your lungs. Each hit brought you back to him. Back to how close you were seated, how his leg felt against yours, how he'd begun to slide his hand closer to you.

His hand lingered above your exposed thigh, just grazing it with the skin of his palm. Chills swept down your legs as the cool metal of his rings brushed across your skin, and you could feel the curve of his satisfied smile at your reaction as he leaned into your shoulder. His hand carefully curled around your leg, slowly gliding its way up. 

“What are you doing Eddie,” you whispered. 

He replied lowly, so close you could feel each syllable against your skin as they left his lips, “Whatever you want me to.” 

—

The sound of yours and Eddie's shoes against the deserted linoleum of the school hallways was unnerving. Binders and spiral notebooks dug into your skin as you gripped them, hands white knuckled and clammy. You could just barely feel the denim of his jacket brush against your arm, and you half wished he would move further away as you walked. 

You had to tutor Eddie fucking Munson. Your teacher hadn’t spared either of you a moment before sending you off to the library, giving you just enough time to overthink the next hour. 

It wasn’t easy being near Eddie. You two had never interacted outside of sex, and it was difficult to interact normally, acting as if nothing had happened. But what were you supposed to say? How do you approach a conversation about that? Not even just that though, how do you approach any conversation with somebody you’ve never even spoken to outside of sex? You’ve never even had a conversation with him sober. Was he even going to listen to you teach? Would his whole view and respect for you be skewed? And how on earth were you supposed to talk to him when such a striking mix of weed and cologne permanently emanated from him. Your brain probably wouldn’t even work well enough to teach him math. 

He seemed fine. That familiar stupid smirk hung on his face as he held the library door open for you with a flourish.

The thank you said in return probably counted more as mouthing than speaking. 

Acutely aware of his intense gaze on you, you awkwardly led him to one of the old chipped tables in the corner of the library, far away from any remaining students. Your chair creaked as you pulled it out, breaking the silence you and Eddie had been drowned in since you left class. You finally unclamped your hands from around your notebooks and began to lay them out on the table busily while Eddie fished around in his pocket for something. 

Turns out it was a singular dull pencil without an eraser. 

“Alright,” you said uncertainly, sitting down and trying to organize your brain, “Um… where do you want to start?” 

“You’re the teacher here, where should we start?” 

Of course he was gonna make this difficult. 

“Ok. Fine.” You shuffled your papers around, not really for any reason, just to bide yourself some time. “Do you have any questions about today’s lesson?” 

His face instantly slipped into a deep troubled pondering expression. One that was much too dramatic for Eddie to be serious. “What did we learn?” 

“Matrices and transition graphs,” you almost deadpanned.

Gears began to visibly turn in his head, and he muttered, “Matrices and transition graphs… ahh…”

“You have no clue what those are, do you?” 

“Not one.” 

You sighed, not even shocked, not even angry. It was honestly sort of tough to conceal your smile. 

“I'm going to be your tutor for a while, aren't I." 

He shot you a grin, “Only if I have it my way.” 

—

Tutoring Eddie Munson was alright. 

That’s what you told to anybody who asked.

In reality, tutoring Eddie Munson was much more than alright. 

You had never really ever been around somebody like him. He exuded a disconcerting aire of cocky but comforting, cool but offbeat. At every moment when you thought that he would finally upset you, he would wheel in the exact opposite direction, driving your emotions through a startlingly enjoyable route. 

Shockingly, he was pretty easy to talk to. Never once did your past encounters get brought up, which you were endlessly grateful for, and he treated you just like any of his friends, with respect and kindness, which could not be said for some of your other past hookups. He said hi to you in the halls and smiled at you from across classes, he learned your favorite music and what food you hated, he made an effort to know you. Tutoring him barely felt like work. Most of the time that you spent teaching him math was overlaid with chatting mindlessly and giggling as he tried to secretly count on his fingers. Sometimes you could waste whole tutoring sessions listening to some grand dramatic story he told as he bounded around your table, morphing into different characters and voices, putting on a full one-man show before you. 

He was also, completely and utterly, gorgeous. 

The way his hair draped delicately over his shoulder, how his necklaces dangled from his skin as he leaned over the table, when he would tilt his head to the side as he listened, the glimpses of his tattoos. Every word you spoke and every syllable you uttered had his undivided attention as you talked, big brown eyes gazing at you, taking in every feature. 

On cloud-free days, the sun would beam down through the tall library windows onto the dark oak of the table you had both claimed and would reflect off of the silver of his rings. They would glint distractingly as Eddie wrote, catching your eye at every shift. It happened so often you had now memorized his usual jewelry selections. A great ugly boar rested on his middle finger, accompanied by one skull ring on either side. On his other hand, an ornate ring with patterns that curled up the side and cradled a deep blue stone in the center.

He knew you were staring at his hands, but you didn’t care.

His unflinching reaction towards your gaze gave you just enough of a push to one day ask, “Could I… try on one of your rings?” 

His eyebrows raised in shock, “You want to wear my jewelry? This is quite out of character…”  He flashed a toothy grin at you from across the table, “I love it.”

“Thanks for reminding me how much you love the real me,” you deadpanned, ignoring the excitement that was bubbling up your chest. 

“Forever and always,” another shining grin, “Now…” he said dramatically, face suddenly darkening, “Which one will you choose… your whole reputation depends on this one decision.” He waved his hands around with a flourish. “Will you still have your student’s respect after this? Will anybody ever talk to you again? We will see..” His hands stilled in front of you, and he held them out to give you a clear view of each band.

You put one hand up to your chin, miming contemplating the choice, and let your other hand drop down to his own, taking one finger and guiding it across his knuckles. His chest completely stilled.

“Hmmm…”

Your finger came to a halt over the intricate ring with the blue jewel. Eddie’s smile reformed and he faintly exhaled as your finger lost contact with his skin. 

“Good choice,” he said, not looking up at you. His eyes were trained at his own hand, slowly twisting the band off of his ring finger. They continued to avoid yours as, to your surprise, he didn’t give you the ring after he had freed it from his own finger. 

He took your right hand in his, his skin gently curving around your own, and brought his thumb beneath your ring finger, lifting it above the others. Your chest began to heat up at the delicacy with which he delivered this, and you urgently tried to blot out the earlier instances when Eddie had held you with the same touch. It felt like he was barely grazing your skin, and yet you could feel, with a searing intensity, each joint of each of his fingers shifting under your flesh, curling and stilling around you. 

Chills shot up your spine as the cool metal of the chosen ring finally met your skin, and at last, Eddie raised his eyes to meet your own. They remained riveted on yours as his fingers guided the band down your finger and, though the ring was fully fastened, his fingers remained resting against your skin. He let them stray up, delicately brushing against you as he cradled your hand.

The raw air chilled your skin when he drew away. 

You’re grateful he didn't say anything when you left that session with the ring still fixed around your finger, because you don’t think you could’ve gone through that again anytime soon. 

That night, you slept thinking of Eddie’s touch.

—

The issue with Eddie was, despite your best efforts, he would never leave your thoughts. Every sense was occupied non stop by his smell, his voice, his gaze. Intoxicatingly, you overdosed on every part of him, eventually giving up on blocking his presence and allowing him to consume each and every thought you produced.

He seemed to know that even after you left him, he remained a permanent fixture in your mind. It was written in his smug smile and his playful jabs, the knowing. 

His presence was so constant that it must’ve been on purpose. 

Each little thing. Him using your pencil casually during school, knowing you could see. Never mentioning the ring that still lay on your finger, allowing you the chance to keep it. The glances down your being as you passed, catching him staring across the class, touches that lasted far too long. He wanted you to be thinking of him.

There were nights when you, under the golden light of your desk lamp, would open your notebook to doodles dotted around the edges of your paper, snuck in while you were focused on something else. The pages of anything you brought to tutoring were lined with cartoonish devils and creatures with many legs and sharp teeth that lined their roaring mouths that Eddie had thought up. Vines curled around the lining of the page, and a little mix-matched group of elvis and wizards dashed across the top margin. In the very bottom corner, tucked between a crude drawing of a smiling clown and an ornate sword, was a drawing he seemed to have put a bit more time into. 

The more you examined it, the stronger that recognizable heat radiated across your chest. It was a bust's profile, with the head tilted slightly down and brows furrowed in concentration, pen carefully structuring the swooping bridge of a nose and curvature of lips. 

It wasn't flawless, but there was no mistaking that it was you.

That night, you slept thinking of Eddie’s thoughts. 

—

Eddie’s math grades had actually begun to improve, and in class you watched with pride as he started to listen to your teacher, sometimes even taking notes. He would show you his math tests with a huge smile, genuinely excited to see how you would react at his new shiny high score. 

Mid-way through April, he sauntered into the library, horribly concealing the giddy expression that was forming on his face and a hand behind his back. 

You inquired, your face beginning to reflect his smile, "Something terrible happen to you, Ed?"

“Oh it’s nothing,” he said, drifting around the table as if he was wandering through a lush garden, “just… this!” and the hand that had been hidden behind his back whipped out to reveal a paper with a great red “93%” scrawled on it. 

“Eddie!” you sprung out of your chair and ran over to where he was to snatch the paper out of his hand. “This is fucking g-” 

But before you could finish your sentence, he flung his arms around you and drew you into a hug. “I’m a genius now, thanks to you,” he whispered into your ear, as you brought your arms up to loop around his back. 

“You don't even need me anymore,” you whispered back, trying to fight the urge to bury your head into the crook of his neck. 

Eddie pulled away abruptly, looking at you as if you had just slid a knife into his chest. “Don’t you try and get rid of me.” His face was inches from yours, hands dropping to rest against your hips instead of fully pulling away. You let your head tilt to the side gently.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” 

He shook his head with a faux-anxious aire, “I’m gonna have to start failing my tests again so that you can’t escape, aren’t I?” 

You could barely even focus on what he was saying because of how vividly you were aware of how his hands rested against your jeans, how you could smell the weed in his hair and the leather of his jacket, how he hadn’t broken eye contact since he pulled from the hug. 

His smile had finally returned to his face, he had gone off on some tangent and was animatedly talking, clearly still giddy from his test score. That smile had become a very important part in your life as of late. They weren’t rare or extreme, but they were somehow better every time. 

That night, you slept thinking of Eddie’s being. 

—

Liking Eddie Munson was hard. 

Eddie Munson sticks to what he knows. Eddie Munson gets bored easily. Eddie Munson won’t ask you out. 

You knew he was going to Steve Harington’s birthday party. You didn’t know how he even managed to get invited but you knew he was going. And he knew that you were going too. 

But when you got to Steve’s house, he was nowhere to be found. You had spent the first 30 minutes, walking around and making brief conversation with people as you half-searched for Eddie. As you made your way around the house, still unable to find him, you began asking people off-handedly if they had seen the freak (under the pretext of giving him his math homework back). The few answers that you received that weren’t weird looks got you nowhere, and eventually you found yourself finally just aimlessly roaming through the upper floors of the Harringtons' house. 

It was useless. The top level was completely empty, save for a rather awkward encounter with Nancy and Steve as they were leaving his bedroom, and you knew it was time to leave. At the very least, you needed some fresh air if you weren't going to entirely go, so you returned to the first floor and into the foyer.

You flung the front door open with a huff and your eyes landed on a figure that was standing on the porch of the house across the street. Cigarette haze clouded around him, catching the moonlight in its smoke and giving him an almost dreamlike glow as he let his head hang back. Despite yourself, you let his name fall from your lips, shouting across the empty street, “Eddie?” 

He casually swung himself around to face you, eyes foggily making their way to meet your own, lighting up as they cleared. A smile had begun to spread across his face and he lifted up his hand to beckon you to him. Slowly, you floated across the abandoned road and up the few stairs to the neighbors porch, leaning over the balcony railing and basking in the cool spring night that you both found yourself in. Eddie gently leaned his back against it, taking a drag from his half finished cigarette as he did so. 

“Do you wanna go on a walk with me?” 

You didn’t try to hide the grin that tugged at your lips. “Where to?” 

“Just around,” he said with a shrug and a smile, and he set off, one hand deep in his pocket and smoke billowing from his lips. Following behind him, you quickly caught up and paced beside Eddie, melting into the mix of collonge and cigarettes that exuded from him. 

The faint murmur of music could still be heard coming from the street, pumping adrenaline and impulse through your bones as if it was the cold itself. You, again, could feel the leather of Eddie's jacket brushing against your bare arm, static branching from the skin. Lonely street lamp’s glow glinted on the shining leather and in the brown of his averted eyes. 

Eddie broke the silence first, eyes trained at the stars.

“I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately.” He let out some smoke with a puff. 

It took you a while to recover enough words to form a sentence in reply and, thankful for Eddie's avoidance of eye contact, you let yourself breath before giving an answer. 

“What… about me?” You tried to come off as nonchalant but you could tell he could hear the tenseness dripping off your voice. 

“About” and it was his turn to waver now, sucking in an uneven breath that you could only just hear, “your… whole being.”

He pushed his head into his hands and let out a laugh. An actual, honest, almost desperate, laugh. “Every waking moment I’ve ever spent with you,” he continued, “Every word you’ve ever spoken, every time you’ve ever looked in my direction.” With each word he spoke he seemed to be in less and less control of what he was saying, more and more frenzied.

You hadn’t moved. You stood stagnant, in the middle of the empty street, streetlights spotlighting you and him, blacking out the rest of the world into dark expanse, and stared at Eddie Munson as he said words you couldn’t dream of and looked at you like he never had before. 

As Eddie stood just inches before you, a lock of hair caught between his teeth, looking at you for a response with worry etched deep in his features. You knew what you wanted to say, and when you breathed in and readied to reply, you just hoped it would come out how you wanted it to. 

“Eddie,” you reached out and took his hand, “Would you go on a date with me?” 

The worry that had felt so ingrained in his face dropped at all at once, and he gazed at you, lips slightly parted and eyes wide. 

“Did you mean that?” he whispered, so softly it was barely audible.

You let your forehead meet his, “Of course.”

When he spoke again his voice came out almost strained, as if he was trying to stay calm, "Then yes, yes, yes-" and, finally, he closed the gap between your lips, cupping your face and pressing against you like it was the last thing he would ever do.

And in that glorious moment it became very clear to you, hooking up with Eddie Munson was definitely not a one time thing.

Porter Wagoner amuses/terrifies everyone at his birthday party:

Lord, you should’ve seen their frantic faces They screamed and cried, please put away that knife

June 17, 1960:

Elvis wrote to the U.S. Army and requested that he be placed on standby rather than on active reserve, as his work required him to travel a lot.

Photo: Elvis in Germany, March 1960.

Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy #1

Hey! I'm fully committing to the Eddie Munson sin bin. Read chapter 1 right here or on Ao3!!

Chapter One: Killer Queen

Summary:

Eddie just wants some new damn strings for his Fender.

You just want a relaxing shift at Greene's Bookstore.

Looks like no one is getting what they want today.

Eddie was having a shit day. First, he had used up the last of his stash without even realising (and his next drop wasn’t until next Wednesday), then he’d managed to snap his D string while practicing some fucking solo for Corroded Coffin, and then the damn guitar shop had been shut when he’d got there. At 2pm. On a Saturday.

What the fuck kind of guitar shop is shut on a Saturday??

Sure, usually he isn’t even awake at 2pm on a Saturday – and if he is, he sure as shit isn’t functional. But he’d promised the Hellfire kids that he’d have tonight’s session planned and ready to go and – though he knew exactly where he wanted to get them to – he sure as shit didn’t have any of it written down. Not to mention needing to plan backup plans B through Z just in case the little shits decided to go off on a frolic of their own instead of the very neatly laid out and obvious plot in front of them. There was really no telling how any given session would go.

What was he doing again?

Right. Music shop shut. What now? His feet just seemed to keep going, despite having no real destination. The chains on his denim jacket clink aesthetically as he saunters down the busy high-street. It’s really too hot to be wearing the jacket, but he’d be damned if he gave it up. Fuck it. Cold six pack from the corner shop and he’d go back home and knuckle down on planning this damn session. He had big plans for this campaign. His last quest before graduating (or getting kicked out).

His swaggered walk is interrupted rather abruptly when a young woman in a light chequered dress suddenly hops from a doorway in front of him. She stops and blushes profusely, a small stack of dime novels clutched to her chest. She manages to eek out an apology while he sweeps his arm out in an exaggerated motion to let her past. He catches the names Linda Howard and Jude Deveraux on the spine of the books she carries as she scurries away.

Curiosity piqued, he leans forward to see into the mystery doorway. The door is painted an emerald green, peeling at the edges, and is held open by a stack of ancient-looking hardback books. The equally ancient-looking wooden shelves that line the walls of the store are nearly bowing under the weight of stacks upon stacks of books. What wall space is not covered by the truly obscene number of books this store contains is plastered with framed pictures – portraits, landscapes, a taxidermied butterfly or two. There’s a heavy-looking, round table in the middle of the room, stacked high with dozens of paperbacks and hardcovers alike. The windows at the front of the store are partially covered by heavy swathes of a dark fabric. The store is cool, but warmly lit, and smells strongly of incense.  A few thick carpets cushion his trademark white sneakers as he walks in. There’s a beanbag in the corner.

Behind an almost comically large and antiquated cash register sits a woman. She sits with her legs crossed on a bar stool, her floating foot bouncing rhythmically to a Queen song playing on a turntable in the corner. Killer queen, he thinks.

Eventually she looks up at him with a polite smile, “Can I help you, sir?”

You eye the guy who’s walked into your quaint little store. He looks thoroughly out of place. The dude is probably wearing more chains than fabric. He doesn’t say anything – yet – just stands and looks around with wide eyes. You collect the small stack of dime novels the young lady (Tanya, her name was. Lovely girl.) hadn’t bought from the front desk, and busy yourself with slipping them onto one of the higher shelves – away from any young kids’ prying eyes.

He eventually tilts his head towards you from where he’s scanning one of your bookshelves, scruffy long hair following his movement like a paid actor, “Yeah. You sell any real books or is it just the uh… smut?” Oh, you already don’t like him. He looks far too pleased with himself. Stupid smug look pulling his lips into a lopsided grin. It’s almost familiar – that smile, and those eyes.

“We cater to all tastes and interests here at Greene’s, sir,” you respond dryly, slotting the last of the paperbacks into the, frankly, stuffed shelf and turn to face your new customer with your best customer service grin, “Are you looking for something more romantic, perhaps? Or will the smut do?”

Your goading only serves to broaden that boyish grin, it meets his round eyes and—

Oh.

You totally knew this guy. This royal pain in your ass. This motherfucker. With his stupid brown eyes and, honestly, ridiculous band shirts.

“Eddie.”

It’s not a question – it doesn’t need to be. You definitely know him. This dick would beg you for answers in English and science, then – then!! – have the sheer audacity to commandeer whatever classroom, drama studio or back office you had booked for your writing club just to move his god damn Dungeons and Dragons game in.

He-

He’s even wearing the dumb fucking shirt.

He… looks puzzled.

“Have we… met?”

Lord help you not commit murder in this bookstore today.

You stare at him blankly, half expecting this to be some joke. Nope? Great. Fine. You turn back to your shelves and pretend to be busy organising the mess of paperbacks, “Something like that.”

He tucks his hands into the pockets of his skinny jeans (how he has the space to even fit them in there with the way the denim clings to his legs like a second skin – you have no idea) and takes a few slow, meandering steps towards you, “So I don’t even get a name? A hint maybe?”

“A… hint.” You try not to sound slightly pissed. You fail. You blame it on this book that simply refuses to go in its place.

“Sure. You clearly know who I am - yet I have no idea who you are. A tragedy if I may say so. One that I would very much like to rectify.” He leans one shoulder against the shelf to your right, hands still wedged into his pockets, all charm and wit. When had he gotten so confident?

And is… is he trying to flirt with you? Hell no. Hell. No. Absolutely not – not Eddie fucking Munson. The guy who once nearly choked on a fucking plectrum after carrying it around in the corner of his mouth all day to try and seem all cool and metal in eighth grade. You spent near a goddamn hour with him at the damn nurse’s office and missed a whole class on tectonic plates.

“Clearly not tragic enough for you to remember my damn name the first time around, Munson,” you snip back, “Shouldn’t you be playing knights and monsters somewhere?”

He almost rises to the bait. Almost. It was always a sure-fire way to derail him – misquote some lore or spout some nonsense about his fantasy game and he’d sit and prattle away at you, spilling facts and anecdotes like a broken faucet. Instead, he watches you walk stiffly back to your high stool behind the cash register and leans his elbows on some books stacked precariously high on the centre table. He leans his chin on one hand, continuing to watch you in that infuriating way.

“No. No I’d definitely remember you, so how…” he squints, deep in thought for a second, then something seems to click:

“You been stalking me, pretty girl?”

This time it’s your turn to choke.

You splutter at his jab – you’re not sure which you’re more offended by, the stalking accusation, his use of ‘pretty girl’, or the fact he still can’t remember your damn name. He’s got that glint in his eye. That one where he’s pulled off some clown act just for laughs – you saw it often in middle school.

“I- Of course not, Munson,” you glare back at him. God, you hope you aren’t red right now. Your face sure feels hot enough for it, “If you aren’t going to buy something, then leave.”

“Hey now, hey. I’m sorry, was that too far?” He backtracks softly, hands raised in front of him placatingly. The asshole even seems sincere about it. Weirdo.

Then, something clicks again – you can almost hear the cogs turning in his mind – and he cuts you off before you even get a chance to respond.

“Oh! Oh, shit, it’s you! The uh- the um… the book club girl!”

Great.

He has one hand pressed to his forehead, the other outstretched, alternating between frantic clicking and pointing as he desperately tries to remember your damn name. It’s almost painful to watch. He struggles for another few seconds, even starting to bounce on his heels amidst all the hmm’s and uh’s. You decide to put him out of his misery, biting your own name out from behind clenched teeth and crossed arms.

He throws both hands up dramatically, “Of course! God! How could I forget. Y’know, I think you single-handedly got me through ninth grade by letting me copy off you in all of Ms Davis’ quizzes.”

You arch a brow at him, “No shit Eddie. I don’t think I ever saw you write anything down. Ever.”

He laughs boisterously, “Yeah! I still don’t.” His laugh simmers down to that ever-present grin, “So hey, what are you doing here? I thought you’d have gone out of state for college the second you graduated.”

You fight off a wince, “Well. Plans change.”

He waits for you to elaborate. You don’t.

“Very cryptic! I like it!” He carries on grinning, unperturbed by your loaded response, “So hey, got any recommendations? I’m thinking fantasy, but nothing too heavy or, y’know, smutty, can’t be blushing like a fair maiden in chemistry.”

Damn. Damn. Your one weakness. You love giving book recommendations – and he even seems sincere about wanting your opinion – even if he is making a joke out of it.

Fuck it. “Wasn’t aware that you could even read, Munson.”

He looks giddy as you get to your feet – despite your jab at his ability.

“Well, I thought you could teach me Beauty-and-the-Beast-style sometime. Until then at least I can look at the pictures.” He quips back, undeterred. He even throws in a wink at you (which you steadfastly roll your eyes at) when you make eye contact with him.

“Didn’t know you’d become a wit either.” You snipe dryly – though there’s no real venom behind it anymore. You’re tracing the shelves, looking for a familiar spine.

“You know me, pretty girl. Always full of surprises.”

You shoot him another withering stare before you crouch down to check the lower shelves – you swear that book was around here somewhere - “Use my damn name, Munson.”

“Only when you use mine, pretty girl.” You can see him rocking from his heels to his toes out of the corner of your eye. Oh he’s enjoying himself far too much.

“Ha! Found it,” you spring back to your feet, dusting your knees off and wielding a small but thick paperback in Eddie’s direction, “The first instalment of one Terry Pratchett’s Discworld Series: The Colour of Magic.”

“Terry… Pratchett?” He takes the book from your hands gently, turning it over after inspecting the front cover.

“Yep. Wrote Strata? Dark Side of the Sun? God, Munson, you been living under a rock? Fantastic Sci-fi books, if that’s your thing. This one is more fantasy-comic. I think you’ll enjoy it.” He nods slowly while you talk at him, appraising the blurb on the back.

“Okay. I’ll take it.”

If you’re being totally honest, you expected him to put up at least some kind of complaint. Maybe a jab or two at your expense. But no, he’s already rifling through his pockets for his beat-up leather wallet.

“… Really?”

“Yeah. You sold me,” He slaps a crumpled note into your hand, “You read a lot of fantasy, pretty girl?”

You’re still reeling as you round the cash register again, enough to not comment on the ‘pretty girl’ thing, “Yeah- yes, I do. I loved the Silmarillion – really, all of Tolkien’s work.”

You’re so busy with the rusty old register that you miss the way his eyes practically glow. He sidles up to the other side of the front desk, smoothly sliding his hands onto the weathered wood.

“You know…” you pause, midway through digging his change from the register. That was a very dangerous tone he just picked up. He continues, a sly drawl to his delivery; “D&D is like a fantasy book that you get to be in—"

“I’m not joining your damn goon squad, Munson.”

“Come on, you’d love it! It’s totally fantasy, you can be whoever- whatever you want, there’s romance, and action – and magic!” He’s leaning towards you now, hands still planted on the worktop, voice equal parts enthusiastic and whining.

You regard him dubiously.

He begins to try and sweeten the deal, “I’ll buy the beer?”

You arch your eyebrow.

“Donuts?”

Your lips begin to quirk.

“Fine. I’ll throw a joint in too. You’re really taking me for all I’m worth here.”

You continue your silence. You tell yourself you just want to see how far he’ll go just to get you to join his little game.

He tilts his head down, looking up at you with warm, doey eyes and dark lashes, “C’mon, pretty girl. I’m begging here.”

Oh no. You really don’t like the way that look made your stomach drop, like someone pulled that gaudy, patterned rug from the shop floor from right under your feet.

You consider it hard, “Just one session? And you’ll stop being weird about it?”

He breaks out into the most dazzling smile, “Fuck yeah. You busy tonight?”

...Shit.

“is something wrong with me?” | e. munson

best friend!eddie munson x fem! reader

summary: in which you got stood up, again, and eddie is determined to lift your spirit, even if it means admitting the one thing he’s been able to hide for years…

notes: not to be sad on main but i wrote this based on what actually happened today irl and i needed some eddie comfort so this is a tad bit self indulgent but we all need an eddie pick me up sometimes. im also a sucker for the best friends to lovers trope so- i copied and pasted from notes so it’s unedited, be warned, some insecure thoughts but just know you are loved and very much wanted <3

word count: 3k, i got carried away

it happened again.

you got your hopes up.

you woke up earlier than usual, you took extra time styling your hair and even picked out your favorite outfit. you had work all day and knew you’d be able to clock out and meet this cute boy downtown for a date. a first date.

you hated the dating game. it physically made you ill to admit you’ve been putting yourself out there in attempt to break the record for being single the longest in your friend group. after countless rejections and guys who straight up to your face said “you’re pretty and fun to be around but i just don’t have feelings for you,” you finally felt confident about this one.

you met when you passed by each other at the store. he flashed a smile and asked for your number. pulled all the right cards. this guy actually asked you out on a date. it wasn’t a “hey come over to my house and we’ll watch a movie” which was code for “i just want to get in your pants.”

so when you showed up to the small diner on the outskirts of hawkins at the time you agreed to over the phone the night before, you weren’t expecting to be left stranded. you waited an hour. the waiter took pity over you and gave you a free milkshake which you gladly accepted before making the trek back to your car where you drove home in silence.

it was around 10pm when you heard the ring of your house phone and you picked it up to hear the familiar buzz of metal music playing in the background.

“hello?” your voice gave away your sad mood.

“L/N, i’m in desperate need of a late night drive partner. been itching to get out all day. this final project has been kicking my ass. damn you, o’donnell.” your best friend, eddie, rambled into the phone.

apart of you wanted to nicely decline and continue your sad romantic movie bing with ice cream but another part of you knew eddie would help distract you from your problems.

the only thing was.

you didn’t tell anyone you had this date. you didn’t want it to be another tragic date story. so you kept it to yourself. it explained why eddie was clueless to your abnormal sad tone.

“sure, eds.” a small smile forcing its way onto your face.

“perfect! be there in 10.” he hung up causing the buzzing noise to suddenly drop and you were back to feeling that pull in your stomach.

-

“you look rough, girl. what happened to you?” eddie playfully asked as you jumped into his van. the linger of smoke and alcohol stained the leather seats. you took in the familiar scent with a long inhale before shrugging.

“finals been kicking my ass too.” you lied.

“it looks like you’ve been crying. seriously, y/n, what happened?” his voice was laced with concern now he turned to face you more in the van. you just continued to stare forward. almost regretting this. you didn’t want to think of the familiar feeling of rejection any longer.

“nothing, i thought we were driving?” you snapped.

leaving it alone and trying to pretend you didn’t practically bite at him, he started the engine back up and drove away.

you and eddie have been best friends since middle school. what started out as a talent show rivalry turned into life long friendship. now, as seniors, or one repeat senior and former junior, you were attached at the hips. you were the rhythm guitar and background vocals in corroded coffins and a current level 15 half-elf bard in the hellfire club. after being friends this long, the idea of being more was off the table. your middle school crush was pushed so far down in your mind, it was almost nonexistent. that was why rejection hurt so much more. no way did eddie see you that way and as it turns out, no one else did either.

eddie could tell something was eating you alive. maybe it was fate that he felt the urge to call you up and invite you for an impromptu late night drive. he missed you, it felt like lately you’ve been avoiding him. now, he realizes something else was keeping you away from him. he could feel you becoming distant.

it was his goal now to make you smile and to hopefully fix whatever was making you upset.

the idea that came to mind was one he should have thought of when you first got in the car. as he turned onto creighton road, trees on each side of you, he rummaged through to find the mixtape you made for these late car rides.

with a quiet aha, he put it in and a smile came to his face when the familiar favorite began to play.

heaven and hell by black sabbath.

you could see his premature head banging from the corner of your eye. the song yet to transition to the part where you both would normally go all out. you knew he was trying to get a reaction out of you.

“nothing? come on, L/N” he began to drum at the steering wheel. “it’s a crime to sit still in the presence of metal. and with dio? that’s just plain disrespect.” he joked around, poking at your leg as he drove.

he screamed the lyrics, occasionally singing in silly voices or purposely being off key which caused you to finally look over at him with a face of disgust.

“you sound terrible.” you laughed quietly.

“ah she speaks!” he exclaimed, taking his hands off the steering wheel for a slight second to applaud.

“shut it, munson.” you sat back in the passenger seat with your arms crossed, starting to relax with a comfortable smile on your face.

the transition you were waiting for took place and you found yourself slightly nodding your head.

“there she is! best part of the song come on now!” he yelled over the music that was way too loud.

“oh what the hell” you shook your head before jumping up in the seat and fully head banging to the black sabbath song blasting from the speakers.

beneath the loud intricate melodies playing in the van were you and eddie’s laughs and off key singing.

a true distraction. for a second, the world stopped and it was just you and eddie.

when the song faded, eddie pulled into the empty parking lot you both would sneak to smoke when skipping class. it was your hang out spot outside of the hidden place in the woods where eddie did his dealings.

there were two sources of light at this hour. a light post and the flickering neon sign of randy’s music shop. the sign flashing green and red making eddie’s car light up like a christmas special.

once parked, eddie turned off the music with a heavy sigh.

“okay, trouble. spill it. what’s wrong?” eddie asked, his voice softer than before.

you went back to your defensive stance, with arms crossed and staring out the front windshield.

he didn’t deserve the attitude. he deserved the truth. he came to you when rebecca rejected him in front of the whole basketball team. he came to you when susan asked him out as a joke and ran off laughing when he said yes. you could tell him about being stood up.

for the third time. hoping he didn’t think it was as embarrassing and pitiful as you felt.

he just looked at you in silence as he saw the hesitation painted on your face. your eyes flickered between your feet and the light right outside the car.

“is something wrong with me?” you finally blurted out after what seemed to be years of silence.

eddie scoffed, “woah what? is something wrong with you? no, why would you think that?” you were his best friend of 6 years, his crush the majority of the time, and the sweetest most amazing person he’s ever met. of course there was nothing wrong with you.

you shrugged, tempted to go silent again.

“i’m starting to think there is. it’s the only explanation.”

“for what?”

“why today was the third time a date stood me up. i'm a complete joke.” you responded, so soft he thought he misheard you.

a date? you went on a date and didn’t tell him? he felt a pang in his chest.

he just looked at you with a sad face as he put the pieces together as to why the past few months you’ve had these small moments. three different times, three different dates have stood you up and you kept it to yourself.

“Y/N… nothing is wrong with you. you are pe-“

“you’re my best friend. i give you full permission to tell me straight forward. what is it about me that makes me seem like a joke?” you asked, genuinely. you stared at your hands that fidgeted in your lap.

eddie’s eyes widened at the question. how could he answer that?

he touched your shoulder to get you to look at him but you couldn’t. you knew if you did, the tears that you were trying so damn hard to hold back would finally let go. with a sigh, he grabbed your chin to force you to look at him.

his eyebrows were raised in concern and a frown appeared in his face, adding to his overall sad puppy look. it was his big sad eyes that got you.

“and no pity” you added, not fighting the small sniffle that came to you.

“sweet girl, there is nothing wrong with you. i mean that, full heartedly. cross my heart.” he ran his finger across his chest in an x-pattern. you rolled your eyes and tried to look away before he turned you back to him, staring into your eyes hoping it showed you he was serious. “those guys… they’re complete idiots. cowards even. and honestly, it’s their loss. they are missing out on one amazing girl.”

“you’re just saying that.” you wiped under your eye, trying to catch the tears before they ran down your cheeks. “you have to.”

“no i don’t, y/n. im serious. ive known you for six years now? im pretty sure i have the credibility to say that. any guy would be lucky to even be in your presence. so fuck those guys huh?” he laughed.

“then why do i feel like i’m never wanted.” you said quietly, the dark fear that haunts you being revealed. “i’m always someone’s second choice or entertainment for when they’re bored or until they find the next thing. i just want to feel desired for once.” you rambled, not caring anymore about the judgement of your best friend.

sure there was a small hint of pain in your voice caused by the boy next to you. the first hint of rejection was in fact the day eddie came home to tell you about this cheerleading captain from your class and how he couldn’t stop staring at her at lunch. but eddie didn’t have to know.

it hurt eddie to know that you have been hanging onto this feeling for awhile now. he didn’t like knowing his best friend was looking at herself in the mirror and telling herself she was undesirable when he in fact have been pushing away his own feelings toward her for years. he even forced an infatuation with chrissy cunningham, the queen of hawkins high, in order to get over you. he himself felt unworthy to be anything more than your friend.

that’s why it confused him as to who and why these boys were breaking your heart.

silence.

eddie cleared his throat.

silence.

when he finally spoke up, he said your name so soft as if it was fragile. as if, spoken at any louder volume, it would break. he mustered all the courage in the world to look into his best friends eyes and hope that what he said didn't make this worse. didn't make you feel worse.

"freshman year, we just started corroded coffins, right?"

you nodded, confused to what he was getting at.

"we played at whatever festival it was that year and that guy came up to us after just to talk to you."

the memory recollected in your mind.

a student, who seemed to be a year or two above you, came up to you clearing not interested in the band as a whole. he just thought it was hot to see a girl play guitar up on the stage. you didn't like the situation one bit.

"you came and wrapped your arm around me and called me babe." you snickered.

"thanks for coming and seeing the band, we appreciate the support."

"well, I was actually wanting to ask-"

"my girlfriend here was amazing. weren't you babe?"

"oh- uh- yeah she was." the dude walked away rolling his eyes and you laughed so hard as you took eddie's arm off you.

"good one, eds."

"yeah, well. if we're being honest tonight..." he started, clearing his throat to stall. "I was jealous."

"j-jealous?"

"I hated how easily the guy came up to you with confidence. I was scared he would sweep you off your feet. I did that not only to save you from a disaster waiting to happen but also because I didn't like the idea of another guy taking my spot."

"eddie..."

guilt from the way you responded that day creeped in, mixed with your own hurt from rejection.

"when you laughed, I told myself that we were clearly just friends. you didn't see me as anything more. so i accepted my place as the best friend."

silence.

he shook his head, chuckling nervously.

"no hard feelings, I promise. Im just telling you that to say..." he was scared to look into your eyes again, afraid he'd melt at the way you stared at him now. "you are very much in fact desirable. I would know, because I've had a stupid crush on you since the seventh grade. i've just been too scared to tell you. scared you would laugh in my face and i'd lose out on an amazing band mate, my best campaign partner, the one person that knows me more than I think I know myself sometimes. it makes me so angry to know that others don't see you the way that i do. god damn it, Y/N, you have no idea how wanted you are. there's nothing wrong with you. not one single thing. every part of you is my favorite. and if I just made this whole thing awkward, im so sorry I just- I hope it makes you-"

"eddie"

"feel better because I hate seeing you upset."

"eddie"

"what?"

"can I kiss you?"

he nodded with his wide eyes and slightly parted lips, wondering how you both got here. he wasn't complaining. not when the girl of his dreams was currently grabbing his face and pressing her soft lips against his.

years of mutual pining and the both of you being idiots led to this moment. a soft kiss that pushed to be more passionate. unspoken feelings being expressed by the way eddie gently grabbed the sides of your face, pulling you closer. you ran your hands through eddie's hair as you tried to get as close as the front seat would let you. pushing up onto your knees causing eddie to moan as you slightly tugged at his curls.

if breathing wasn't a vital part of living, you don't think you would have ever stopped kissing him. there were so many times during your friendship with eddie that you were scared he caught you staring at his lips. now you were able to finally say that his lips were softer than expected.

you pressed your forehead against his as you both slowed your breathing.

"in case it wasn't obvious-" you laughed between breaths, "i've had a stupid crush on you ever since you beat me in the talent show."

"i still think it was rigged, you should have won."

"not the time, munson" you both laughed. everything feeling peaceful.

"we're really big idiots aren't we, sweetheart?"

"i really had to get stood up three times to finally get a kiss from eddie munson."

you sat back in your seat and stared up at your best friend. his smile turned into a sympathetic frown.

"i'm sorry, again."

you shrugged.

"it's alright. it's their loss. i'm no longer available anyways."

"oh really now?" he asked, the biggest smirk on his face.

"mhmm."

"and who's the lucky fella?"

"i'm staring right at him." you smiled, both of you never daring to look away.

"can i take you out on a proper date? I want to do this right. i-i'm gonna get you flowers, i'll even wear a button up and tie. i heard there's this nice Italian restaurant downtown-" eddie rambled again. he swore he would never let you feel rejected or undesired ever again. this meant he would do any and all he could to make up for what the other guys took from you. what you deserved.

you reached over and grabbed his hand to give a reassuring squeeze.

"i was thinking we could go rent a movie and stay at your place." you shrugged. you didn't need fancy dates. you didn't need eddie to change how he dressed or waste his money on flowers and jewelry like all the other guys did to prove their love. you just wanted him. your best friend. "i just want you."

"is it too soon to say im in love with you?"

-

mutuals im manifesting the softest and most tender august for all of you