bebe07011

[bebe07011]

I can't remember if you already answered or wrote this, but when was the first time Ryan and Luke called reader "mom"?

+ AYW request for ya--Eliza has started saying "mama," which prompts Ryan & Luke to discuss what they call Reader and whether or not they want to call her "mom."

+ When was the first time Reader referred to Luke & Ryan as her sons and when was the first time Luka & Ryan called Reader their mom?

+ What was the first time like when Ryan and Luke started calling Reader "mom"?

+ What was the first moment like when Ryan and Luke first called Reader "mom" or how did the Munson boys react when she called Ryan and Luke "my sons"?

I love how so many people wanted to see this 💜 This does get kind of cheesy and corny at the end (more so than usual), but I couldn't get the song out of my head while writing this, so it gets put in lol

Words: 4.3k

[As You Wish masterlist]

“Say it again, say it again,” you gush, grinning at your daughter. 

“Mama!” she gleefully replies.

You clap your hands together and she copies your motions with the same enthusiasm. 

“Still making her say it, huh?”

You look up and see your husband leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest and a playful smile on his lips.

“Like you didn’t have her saying ‘dada’ over and over when she first learned it last month.”

“Dada!” Eliza chimes in. 

“Hi, sweet pea.” Eddie steps into the room and leans down to press a kiss to the top of her head. 

The little girl preens at all the attention she’s getting. Her short legs happily bounce as she wiggles from side to side on the couch. 

“Mama, Dada, Mama, Dada,” Eliza singsongs. 

“My little smarty pants!” You grin and gently tickle her soft belly. 

“You girls have fun,” Eddie says, mussing up Eliza’s curls before heading down the hall. 

“Well, do you want to?”

The shaky tone of Luke’s voice has Eddie coming to a halt a few feet away from the younger boy’s bedroom. 

“I mean…yeah. I think so,” Ryan replies. “Do you think she would mind?”

“I don’t know,” Luke says. “I don’t think so. But it feels weird to ask.”

“We’ve said it a lot trying to get Eliza to say it. It felt…”

“Good,” Luke finishes for his brother. 

Eddie’s brow furrows as he tries to piece together what’s troubling his boys. He doesn’t intend to eavesdrop on the two of them, but it’s become second nature to pay close attention whenever Luke is talking in case there is a scheme in the works that needs to be foiled. 

“She’s always felt more like our mom than Mom does,” Ryan says. 

The words are the key Eddie needed to unlock the stronghold. It makes complete sense now. The boys have been encouraging Eliza to say “Mama” for weeks now, so they’ve been referring to you in that way in front of their sister. Eddie feels like an idiot for never considering the internal storm that must’ve brewed in his sons. It’s no secret that they feel that you’re their mother more than Brittany ever was, but it’s become so normal for them to just refer to you by name. But Eddie can’t blame them for wanting to use the more official title they’d like to bestow on you. 

Slowly, Eddie walks past Luke’s door, acting as if he was always going this way straight from the other room, without making a pitstop to solve a puzzle. 

A long yawn further reminds you of how tired you are as you pull the blankets down on your bed. Curling up between the sheets is all you’ve been able to think about for the last hour. 

Your husband walks into the room, unhooking the black watch from around his wrist. He’s already comfy in his green plaid pajama pants and holey Dio t-shirt. 

“So, um, I wanted to talk to you about something,” Eddie says, placing his watch on his nightstand.

“What’s up? You climb into your shared bed and get comfortable on your side, facing him. 

“Well, I heard the boys talking this afternoon.” Eddie lifts the blankets on his side of the bed and slips in right next to you. He clicks off his bedside lamp before getting comfortable and laying nose to nose with you. “They were talking about you.”

“Me?” you ask, a frown pinching your face. “Did I do something?”

“Not at all, baby,” Eddie is quick to assure you. He reaches out and gently trails the rough pads of his fingers against your jaw. “They were talking about how Eliza finally said “mama” and how they refer to you that way for her.”

Dread pools in your stomach. 

“Oh no. Did that make them uncomfortable? I never asked them to, they just started saying it to help her learn. I feel so—”

“Baby, baby,” Eddie says, gently cupping the side of your face. “No, that’s not it at all. Actually, it’s kind of the opposite.”

“What do you mean?” Your face is still pinched up in concern, so Eddie gently rubs his thumb over your scrunched up forehead.

“They were saying that it felt good when they called you that. That you’ve always been their mom more than the witch ever was.”

Love’s warming touch cocoons you in an embrace as you process Luke and Ryan talking about calling you “mom.” It’s not something you ever would’ve forced on them. They call you by your name, it’s been that way since you’ve met. 

“They were wondering if you’d mind. And that it would feel weird to ask you about it,” Eddie adds. 

“The boys…” you trail off, needing to clear the emotion out of your throat before continuing. “The boys want to call me ‘mom’?”

“It looks that way.” Even in the dim lighting of the bedroom, you can see your husband’s grin. It’s contagious. 

“I feel kind of speechless,” you admit. “I never expected it. I mean, they already have a mom. I guess I just thought that was her and I’m…me.”

“Do you not want them to call you that, princess?” Eddie asks, his tone completely devoid of judgment. 

“No, no, it’s not that!” you’re quick to assure him. “I would be…so honored if they wanted to call me that. I just don’t want them to think I’m trying to overstep or take their mom’s place.”

“Sweetheart,” Eddie says with a laugh, “they wish you would take their mother’s place. Brittany may have birthed them, but you’ve given them more maternal love today alone than she’s done their whole lives.”

“They’re my boys. My sons,” you say, unable to keep a smile off your face at the words. 

“And you’re the mom they always wanted. The one they deserve.”

That causes the tears to finally spill over. You lean forward and bury your head in the juncture between Eddie’s neck and shoulder. He slips his lean arms around you and holds your body against his own. 

“I’d be so happy if they called me that,” you whisper against Eddie’s skin. “Ecstatic. But I don’t want them to feel pressured to do it.”

Eddie nods, one hand rubbing up and down your back.

“Why don’t we wait to see if they bring it up? Luke said it would be weird to come out and ask, but they might bring it up in another way. I just wanted to talk to you about it so if they do bring it up, you’re not caught off guard.”

“That sounds like a good idea.” You tilt your head up to gaze at your husband through the pale moonlight shining into your room. “You raised such wonderful boys.”

“You mean, ‘we’ raised,” Eddie counters. “You’ve been around for more than half of their lives now.”

“Sometimes it feels like yesterday that Luke was four years old and trying to convince me he needed candy to live.” You chuckle at the memory. “They’re becoming little men now, though.”

“That they are,” Eddie says with a sigh. “Guess I should teach them how to use basic tools and shit then, huh?”

“Well, who’s going to teach you?” you tease with a playful smirk. 

“Wiseass,” Eddie mumbles as he rolls you onto your back and hovers over you. 

“I learned from the best!”

It takes just over two weeks for the subject to come up. Eddie is at work, Eliza is spending a little time with her grandpa before he has to get ready for work, and you’re picking the boys up from basketball practice at Hawkins Middle School. 

You step into the gymnasium and are immediately choked by the stench of over a dozen boys going through puberty, and not all of them have discovered deodorant yet. 

Luke is still running around on the court, where a few kids linger, and Ryan is sitting on the bench, talking to a friend. It doesn’t surprise you. Ryan was initially excited to join the basketball team when Luke first brought it up. But now, a few months in, Luke is loving it and Ryan would rather be doing almost anything else. But he made a commitment to the team and Eddie told him it’s the right thing to do, to honor that commitment. So, he’s counting the days until the end of the season. 

You catch Ryan’s eye as you walk over to the sign out sheet, so he says goodbye to his friend and comes over to join you as you scribble down your name. One of the parent volunteers glances down and then smiles up at you.

“Munson?” The perky blonde woman asks in a chipper voice. “You must be Ryan and Luke’s mom.”

Just as she says this, Ryan reaches you and smiles up at you in greeting. 

It’s not unusual for people to assume you’re Luke and Ryan’s mom, so navigating answers like that have become second nature, and in most cases, it’s just easier to say yes. But with this, you see an opportunity to broach the topic with the boys.

“Yeah, I’m their mom.” You grin and wrap your arm around Ryan’s shoulders. See? I’m saying it. I would love for you two to call me that. 

You feel Ryan lean more into you and you breathe a sigh of relief that he’s acknowledging what you said as well. 

“Luke!” The volunteer calls out onto the court. “Your mom’s here!”

The eleven-year-old turns his head in your direction, sweaty curls whipping around, and gives a smile when he sees you. He waves to his friends and jogs over.

“How was practice, boys?” you ask as you head with them toward the gym doors. 

“Good!” Luke says, an extra spring in his step because he’s wearing the new sneakers he just had to have. “I’m getting better at shooting.”

“Atta boy.” You muss his hair, then have to wipe the sweat clinging to your hand on the side of your jeans. “What about you, Ry?”

“Was alright,” he replies with a shrug. “Got bored.”

“Where’s Liza?” Luke asks as the three of you get into the car.

“At Grandpa’s. We gotta go pick her up so he can get ready for work.”

Ryan buckles his seatbelt in the front passenger seat and turns on the radio. It’s quiet except for Stacy’s Mom coming from the speakers as you back out of your parking space and head off school property.

As you pull up to the first red light you’ve encountered, you turn down the music a few notches so the boys can hear you.

“Is that blonde lady from practice a team mom?” you ask.

“Who?” Luke asks.

“The lady who called out to you that your mom was there.” Why do you feel so nervous? This is Luke and Ryan. Your boys. 

“Oh! Yeah, that’s Gavin’s mom,” Luke says. “I think she does sign-ups for if other moms wanna bring snacks or something.”

“Yeah?” you ask, glancing at him in the rearview mirror. “Would you guys want me to do that sometime?” The light turns green, and you start down the main strip of Hawkins, towards Forest Hills. 

“You wanna be a team mom?” Ryan asks, looking over at you. 

“Hell yeah,” you say with a nod. “Show those other moms what it’s like to raise the two best boys in Hawkins. But I’ll only do it if you want me to. I don’t want to embarrass you guys or barge in on your activities or anything.”

“No, it’d be fun!” Luke interjects. “Whenever you bring snacks, everyone will go, ‘Thanks, Ryan and Luke’s Mom!’”

“Um, if you want them to call you that,” Ryan adds softly. 

This is it. The opening you’ve been waiting for. So, why do you feel so tongue-tied all of a sudden?

“Guys,” you speak slowly and deliberately, wanting them to know just how much you mean this, and that it’s not some throw away comment, “I love when people call me your mom. But…does it bother you?”

“No!” They’re both quick to answer simultaneously. 

“We like it, too,” Luke adds. 

You nod and adjust your hands on the steering wheel, psyching yourself up to get the next words out. 

“Listen.” You pause to clear your throat. “If you guys ever want to call me that yourselves, that is perfectly okay. I would never force you to call me that, of course. But if that’s something you’d like to do, that’s good with me.” It’s actually much more than good with you, but you don’t want to bear down too heavily on them. 

“Really?” Luke asks, voice almost as soft as you’ve ever heard it. “We can?”

“Absolutely,” you assure them. “You’re my sons. You can call me whatever feels right to you.”

“Yeah?” Ryan asks.

“Yes.” You say the word with more confidence than you’ve ever said it before. The conviction of the answer rivals that of when you said “I do” to Eddie. 

“I’d like that,” Ryan admits, a sheepish smile growing on his face. 

“Me too,” Luke says.

“I think I just…” Ryan trails off, so you take a quick look at him before looking back to the road. “I think maybe another version of it. Because, like, when I think of calling someone ‘Mom,’ I can’t help but think of her.”

“Yeah, it’s like she ruined the name,” Luke agrees, nodding his head vigorously. 

“That makes sense,” you tell them. “There are definitely different variations of the word. Whatever feels best for you is fine with me.”

“What about, ‘Mother-I-Wish-I-Always-Had?” Luke suggests with a small playful giggle.

“That’s quite a mouthful!” You laugh as well, looking at your younger boy in the rearview mirror again. 

“I mean…” Once again, Ryan trails off, but this time he’s fidgeting with the hem of his t-shirt.

“What is it, Ry?” you ask. “You know you can tell me anything. Or ask me anything.”

“Well, it felt nice when we were trying to help Eliza say your name.”

“Yeah!” Luke seconds. “Calling you ‘Mama.’”

“Is that too childish?” Ryan asks, a slight tremble in his voice. 

You turn the car into Forest Hills trailer park and wait until you come to a full and complete stop outside of Wayne’s place before speaking. Wanting to see both boys better, you unbuckle your seatbelt and turn your body to look at them from your seat. 

“It is not childish,” you assure him—assure both of them. “I liked hearing you guys call me that, too. When you were helping your sister.” You smile and tilt your head to the side. “I actually feel like that name suits me better than ‘mom,’ anyway. It feels right to me. Like, I’ve been waiting my whole life to be called that.”

“You’re better than ‘mom’.” Ryan confirms with a nod. 

The urge to reach out for him is too strong, so you gently cup the side of Ryan’s face and gently rub your thumb back and forth over his cheek bone. Luke unbuckles his seatbelt and moves forward—closer to you, signaling he wants the same affection. You’re more than happy to give it to him. 

“You’re my sons,” you tell them. “You’re my everything. You, your sister, and your dad. You guys are my whole world. And there is nothing I wouldn’t do for you. So, if you ever want to talk about anything—and I truly mean anything, no matter how weird or uncomfortable you think it might be—you can come to me. I’ll always be in your corner, no matter what. And nothing you tell me will ever change the way that I feel about you. There’s not a force in this world that can do that. You guys are stuck with my love forever.” 

Trying to drive home the point as much as you can, you look them straight in the eyes to make sure they know how serious you are. Ryan nods and gives you a small smile. Luke has unshed tears gathering at his lash line, and when he nods as well, they pool over and run down his cheeks. You’re quick to wipe them away for him. 

“Is there anything else? Anything else you guys want to talk about while we’re here?” you ask.

“No,” Ryan says softly but strongly. 

“Nothing for me,” Luke echoes. “Oh! Except that I love you.”

Now your eyes start to fill with moisture. 

“I love you, too.” Your words are quiet because you know if you speak any louder, you’ll start full out crying. “Both of you. So much.”

“Mamaaaaaaaa!”

Little hands pound against the driver’s side window, and you look over your shoulder to see Wayne holding Eliza just on the other side of the car door. She’s leaning in towards you, possibly trying to figure out how to get through the glass.

With a soft chuckle, you roll down the window and raise an eyebrow at her.

“Is there something I can help you with, madam?” you ask. 

“Mama!”

“That’s me,” you tell her. A pleasant buzz in your stomach reminds you of just how true that is. 

“We were waiting for ya inside, but she knew you were out here and was adamant about seeing her mama,” Wayne says, adjusting the one-year-old in his arms. 

“I am sorry I took so long, Your Majesty,” you tell the young toddler. “I was having a conversation with your brothers. Is that okay with you?”

“Mama!” is her only response. Then she pauses, thinks about it, and adds, “Dada!”

“He’s not here, squirt,” Ryan says. “But I think next we have to get you working on my name.”

“Mine’s easier,” Luke argues. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Ryan says with a shake of his head. “She’s learning names from oldest to youngest.”

“She skipped me then!” Wayne laments.

“Cause ‘Grandpa’ is harder to say!” Luke informs him. 

“Alright, Little Miss, let’s get you buckled in your seat so Grandpa isn’t late for work,” you say. 

When you pop open your door, Wayne shakes his head and gestures to the back seat.

“You stay there, I can get her in,” he insists.

Luke leans across Eliza’s car seat to open the back door for his grandfather. Wayne leans in and Luke makes sure all the straps and snaps are out of the way, so Eliza won’t be sitting on any. 

When Eliza realizes her brother is there in the backseat, she squeals in delight as Wayne sets her down. Between the older man and the youngest man, they’re able to secure Eliza snugly in her seat.

Wayne presses a kiss to Eliza’s head and reaches to rub over Luke’s curls before he stands up straight and closes the car door. 

“See you kids later,” he says.

You’re included in that, you know. To Wayne, Eddie is still a kid, which means you’ll always be one in his eyes too. But that is something else that you are perfectly okay with. 

“Everyone buckled in?” you ask. 

The boys answer the affirmative and you shift the car into drive. 

“Let’s go home.”

Eddie was running late at work, so he doesn’t walk through the front door until you’re setting dinner on the table. 

He lets out a long sigh and rubs a grease-stained hand over his face. 

“Hey, baby,” he greets you. 

“Hi, gorgeous.” 

You walk over and give him a proper kiss hello, which has his tired face pulling up into a small smile. 

“Dinner’s ready. Why don’t you get cleaned up and then all you have to do the rest of the day is relax.”

Eddie grunts in agreement, nodding his head before he shuffles down the hallway.

You chuckle to yourself as you finish getting dinner on the table.

“Okay, Liza Bean!”

She’s happily roving around the kitchen and living room in her pink walker, but she scoots over to you at the sound of her name.

“Time for dinner.”

You scoop her up and bump the walker with your leg to make it roll into a corner and out of the way. Eliza gets set in her princess high chair and her tiny hands bang on the tray as she awaits her food.

“Gotta wait for the men of the family, you.”

She coos when you press a kiss to the top of her soft, downy baby hair. Eliza continues her drum solo as you take a few steps into the hallway and call, “Boys! Dinner!”

The middle schoolers make it to the table before their father, so you start doling out the food onto everyone’s plates. Eddie saunters out, looking much better and more energized now that he’s no longer covered in dirt and grime. 

Eddie takes his seat at the head of the table and manages to give your ass a light swat as you walk past him. You giggle, despite hearing Luke pretending to gag. 

Once you take your seat, you pick up your glass of water and take a sip. 

“Want some peas, Liza?” You spoon a handful onto her plate, and she immediately grabs one and smooshes it into her mouth.

“Mama, can I have some more applesauce?” Luke asks.

Eddie’s breath hitches as his eyes meet yours. The warm and elated smile you give him tells him all that he needs to know for right now. Pressure forms behind his own eyes and he clears his throat before spearing a chunk of meatloaf with his fork. He does his best to push the emotions down for now, but he can’t help but beam from ear to ear. 

“That depends,” you respond to Luke as you pick up the jar of cinnamon applesauce.

“On what?” Luke asks. 

Your grin grows to match Eddie’s.

“Say it again.”

It takes Luke a second but then he laughs.

“Mama, can I have some more applesauce, please?”

“Mama! Mama!” Eliza cheers.

“You guys,” Ryan whines, giving an over-the-top roll of his eyes to show he’s not being serious. “You're gonna drive her crazy. Be nice to Mama.”

You feel as if you could explode from all the happiness growing inside of you. All three of your babies calling you “Mama” right in a row? A giddy light-headedness takes hold of you, and you can’t help but giggle girlishly. 

“I’m Mama,” you say to no one in particular as you hand Luke the jar of applesauce. 

“Well, now I feel left out,” Eddie says, letting his fork drop onto his plate. 

“Mama,” Eliza says, looking at her father.

“Oh yeah, you little wisecracker? Rubbing it in?” Eddie narrows his eyes at her and the baby giggles.

“You can say, ‘mama’ too,” Ryan tells him.

“Ah, I’m not gonna say it just for the hell of it,” Eddie says with a dismissive hand wave. “There has to be a reason.” 

He picks his fork back up, but as soon as he spears another piece of meatloaf, he drops it again, the utensil clinking against the ceramic dinner plate. 

“Wait! I got it,” he says. 

You raise an eyebrow at your husband as he sits up straighter and clears his throat. Whatever is about to happen should be interesting.

“Mamaaaa, just killed a man! Put a gun against his head, pulled my trigger now he’s dead!”

Both you and the boys start laughing, which makes Eliza laugh as well.

“Mamaaaa, life had just begun!” Luke continues the song, “But now I’ve gone and thrown it all awaaaaay!”

“Mamaaaa, ooooooh!” Ryan picks up the next piece. “Didn’t mean to make you cry! If I’m not back again this time tomorrow, carry on, carry on, as if nothing really matters.”

“Okay, okay, okay,” you say as you stand up. “Bravo, everyone.” 

You give a slow clap as you walk over to your iPod dock on the counter. Its music kept you company while you were making dinner, but now it’s about to serve another purpose. Little clicks fill the quiet as you scroll through your small silver iPod and make sure to increase the volume from where you had it before. 

“If we’re going to do this, we’ve got to do this right,” you say as you come upon the correct song. “And we need to start teaching Eliza how to headbang, even if she doesn’t have a whole lot of hair to whip around yet.”

The moment you press play, the opening notes of Bohemian Rhapsody fill the air. As you walk back to your seat, you slowly wave your hands in front of you, as if you were conducting the tinkling music. 

Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?

Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality

Open your eyes, look up to the skies and see

Luke slides off of his chair and walks on his knees over to you, hands clasped together just below his chin as he sings the next line to you.

“I'm just a poor boy, I need no sympathy.”

His theatrics make you chuckle, and you run your hand down the side of his face. 

Because I'm easy come, easy go

Little high, little low

Any way the wind blows doesn't really matter to me, to me

“Okay, we all ready for the next line?” you ask, tugging Luke up off the floor and half onto your lap. 

Ryan nods and you grin as Luke wraps an arm around your shoulders and leans his head against yours.

“Two, three…” Eddie counts down before everyone at the table—sans the very confused and entertained baby—belts out the next line.”

“Mamaaaaaaaaa!”

[bebe07011]

thinking about eddie, leaned back and too fucking casual, while you straddle his lap with his cock buried deep inside of you. you’re so desperate, dripping wet and dying to get yourself to release.

eddie’s not even touching you. he has his arms folded behind his head, nonchalant, as he watches you bounce on him. he loves the little crease between your brows that always forms when you’re concentrating on trying to cum.

he almost reaches out to stroke your cute little pout with his thumb. almost.

“are you making yourself feel so good, baby?” he asks, knowing you likely won’t be able to get out a sentence in response.

you let out a breathy whine as an answer, hips moving faster on his lap. it drives you crazy, how he won’t touch you. the way he speaks, so cocky, knowing that he barely even has to try to completely unravel you.

“you’re such a good girl, working so hard on my cock,” he purrs, regarding you rather patronizingly down the slope of his nose.

his big brown eyes, now half-lidded, roam over your frame, like he’s analyzing you. you feel like your skin is blazing under his stare, your top teeth pulling at your bottom lip in a frenzied kind of urgency.

“what is it, baby?” eddie coos, mockingly. he can see your movements decreasing in precision, more sloppy by the second.

he finally gives in, just a little bit, wrapping an arm around your lower back and pulling you flush to him.

“cat got your tongue?” he teases into your ear, his hot breath fanning against it. you let out a shaky moan, whispers of ‘fuckfuckfuckfuck’ slipping past your lips.

he knows the signs, can feel your muscles tensing up. “oh, she’s gonna cum for me, isn’t she?” he asks, his mouth splitting into a wicked grin.

all you can do is nod, eyes pinched shut so tight you’re seeing bursts of color behind them. pleasure mounts in the pit of your stomach, building and building before it comes crashing over you in waves.

he revels in the way you babble mindlessly as your orgasm rips through you; brought on entirely by you, without his help.

“you did such a good job, sweet thing,” he says, letting his hand rub softly up and down your back. “think i should give you a break from doing all the hard work, hm?”

you nod lazily, slumped against him.

“lay down for me then. spread your legs, baby. let me taste you.”

[bebe07011]

SHUT UPPPP I MISSED THIS UNIVERSE SO MUCH

Don't Stand So Close To Me — Flip-Flopped AU

Eddie x Teacher!Reader

1k. Series Masterlist

My entry in the Flip-Flopped Summer Writing Challenge by @munson-blurbs and @corroded-hellfire in which a plot point happens differently in your story and alters the trajectory.

In this AU, Eddie and Teach got lost in the heat of the moment in Chapter 17 and both decided not to use a condom.

CW: pregnancy, big feelings, protective!eddie

If this is not your thing, feel free to scroll on past! This does not affect the main story whatsoever.

The days were getting longer. 

The changing of the clocks had sunlight stretching on past dinner time. Birds were making nests outside your bedroom window, singing as early as you woke. But they had been feeling longer even before now. Back when frost still clung to the windows of your classroom, you would find yourself slumped against your desk before lunch period—bleary-eyed with a tiredness that seeped into your bones, made you want to sleep forever. They were long because you were exhausted, and not just from work.

There were changes in your body. The early nausea had ebbed for you to discover your appetite again. You couldn’t wear underwire bras anymore, not that any of yours fit anyway. You could smell the ink from the Xerox machine over by the coffee table clear across the room; a superpower you never wished you had. When it finally stopped whirring, you got up from the table and sought to alleviate the pain in your lower back with a stretch. It did little good. With a tired sigh, you plodded over to the Xerox machine, grabbing the warm stack of copies and securing them with a binder clip before placing them atop three large textbooks. You hoisted the stack, wincing at the soreness in your breasts but thankful for the shield it provided. You’d noticed another change this morning that had you feeling anxious others would as well.

Like clockwork, Eddie was waiting just around the corner, leaning against the concrete wall pretending to read one of the novels you’d assigned last fall. He brightened as he saw you, stuffing the dog-eared book into his back pocket. “Hey,” he breathed, joining your stride.

You smiled, parroting the same in response, unable to stop the tingles at the sight of him from radiating down your chest to flutter low. That hadn’t changed at all.

“Let me grab that,” Eddie offered with a nod of his chin.

You clutched the stack like a safety blanket, readjusting your hands against the stiff covers. “It’s fine, I’ve got it.”

“Come on, you probably shouldn’t be carrying so much while—” Eddie glanced around the bustling hallway, lowering his voice, “in your current condition.”

You sighed, softened by the concern in his deep brown eyes, the way he hovered so attentively beside you. “Ok, fine.” Veering out of traffic, you halted by one of the bulletin boards and yielded the stack of books into his waiting arms.  

That was when he saw it—the swell under your floral cotton dress. 

It had appeared practically overnight. Or at least it seemed that way. You had been looking out for it for many weeks now, always checking in the mirror before you left, making sure your clothing covered anything suspicious. It was easy in the winter, but there hadn’t been much to hide then—aside from the truth to those closest around you. Now that the trees of late March were beginning to bud, your options were dwindling to dresses with empire waists and generous fabric, big t-shirts on casual Fridays. 

A lump caught in Eddie’s throat, eyes locked on the small bump. He almost dropped the books, hands burning with the urge to feel the evidence of his fatherhood. Your eyes met for a long, heavy second, welling with mutual recognition. Chatter echoed off the tile, lockers slammed, shoes squeaked and quickened with the approaching bell. Reluctantly, you broke his gaze to glance around, folding your arms protectively across your midsection before starting slowly down the hall again. 

It was a longer walk than usual, or maybe it just felt that way because of the weight of your predicament hanging between you, or maybe it was born out of the desire to be close as long as possible.

Suddenly, a freshman whizzed by, weaving in and out of traffic to bump past your left shoulder. You stumbled, clutching your belly reflexively as your feet righted themselves beneath you. 

Eddie felt a rage course through him like he’d never felt before. Icy like fear, but igniting to a blind fury that seared through his veins, made his vision narrow until he saw nothing but red. “HEY!” he barked. All of a sudden his shoes were pounding the tile as if moving on their own, books shifting to his left arm while his right reached for the handle on the freshman’s yellow backpack. He yanked the kid back, almost lifting him off the ground to face him. “How ‘bout you watch where you’re going, ‘kay?” he gritted.

Terror swept across the freshman’s pimpled face. “‘Kay,” he eked out. 

Nostrils flaring, Eddie held his gaze for a second to drive home his point before releasing his grip. The freshman clambered away, straightening his shirt and glancing over his shoulder as he slunk into one of the classrooms. Eddie stood there a moment, staring at the door he’d vanished into, steadying his breath before your voice broke the spell.

“Eddie,” you started wearily, unable to maintain your exasperation when you saw the worry so vividly in his eyes.

“You tripped.”

“I’m fine,” you soothed, resuming your place, close enough to brush the hair on his arm. Though you didn’t condone the outburst, you couldn’t deny it stirred a warm, buzzing feeling in you. 

You walked together carefully in silence as the chaos swirled around you. But the tension didn’t leave his shoulders, not even once he unloaded the pile from his arms with a thud onto your desk. 

The classroom was empty, but not for long. Beyond the open door was a commotion of footsteps, any one of them with the potential to breech the threshold. Eddie eyed your bump again, and the stiffness in his jaw softened slightly to longing. Stepping around the corner of the desk, he closed in until it was just about the only thing between you. 

“I’m coming over later,” he said just above a whisper, eyes flitting up to yours before resting on your belly again.

A smile cracked through the worry on your face for just a moment before a glance at the door made it return. You could tell from the heat in his eyes just how badly he wanted to touch you, just how close he was to letting the impulse take over.

He followed your glance toward the door, then back to the subtle swell, rising and falling with your bated breath. With a determined set of his jaw, and eyes that brimmed with unbridled wonder, Eddie raised his hand and placed it firmly on your belly. It was warm and soothing, thumb stroking gently over the smooth cotton.

And for a fleeting moment, on an exhale you both shared, all was right in the world.

______

A/N: If you loved this, please tell me! And lmk if you want to be added to the AU taglist (which will be separate from my main one) because I will be writing more of these! Just little vignettes.

I am taking requests for anything and everything in this AU, so if there is a moment or situation you want to want to see, send me an ask!

Also, there will be a celebration hosted by the lovely @teddiemunson86 and @ladylilylost on their discord server tomorrow Sunday, Sept. 1st at 2pm EDT where I will be talking about chapter 17 and what the future has in store for our forbidden lovebirds (and maybe the AU as well)! If you're interested in joining, the link to the server is here. Hope to see you there!

Tagging my main list just this once to gauge interest: @mermaidsandcats29 @toxicjayhoo @ooo-protean-ooo @jadequeen88 @wroteclassicaly

@kissmyacdc @storiesbyrhi @trashmouth-richie @carolmunson @keeponquinning

@blueywrites @alottanothing @bebe07011 @alizztor @godcreatoreli

@ethereal27cereal @munsonsgirl71 @mrsjellymunson @emxxxsblog @siriusmuggle

@sidthedollface2 @dollalicia @lma1986 @catherinnn @eddiemunson4life420

@readsalot73 @big-ope-vibes @3rriberri @princess-eddie @nightless

@eddieswifu @thew0rldsastage @chaoticgood-munson @hanahkatexo

@eddiemunsonsbedroom @beep-beep-sherlock @averagemisfit03 @vintagehellfire @haylaansmi

@liminalpebble @callingmrsbarnes @ajkamins @mimsthebannished @tssf-imagines

@eddiethesexy

[bebe07011]

A MASTERPIECE AS ALWAYS

Bikinis, Ice Cream and Other Ways To Torture Him | Older Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Harrington Fem!Reader | 18+

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Summary: The stories of Eddie Munson, front man of Corroded Coffin and his music filled the Harrington household, his albums on shelves and picture frames hung of your dad and him, young and dumb. You’re home for the weekend, which happens to be the same weekend Eddie is in Hawkins on a personal errand. The longtime crush bubbles to the surface as you meet him, giving into the temptation of small summer dresses and bubblegum gloss for the fun of it. Until your dad is called in to an emergency work meeting. Then the fun of torture becomes temptation.

Warnings: Older Rockstar!Eddie, Harrington!Reader (Steve’s daughter), use of excessive nicknames, no use of y/n, ambiguous ending, smut

Describes: long hair, shorter than Eddie by a few inches, reader is described to look like her mom (can be ANY race) with Steve’s freckles. No skin Color or body shape/type.

Word Count: 6.8k

This is the last chapter so…enjoy! Thanks for reading! Sorry for the delayed posting today! Parenthood is kicking my ass.

Chapter 6

You hesitantly accept his offer, getting up to sober up a little and grab a bathing suit as Eddie comes from behind you, hands grabbing your shoulders and resting his chin on one of them as he asks, “Where are you going?”

“Grabbing a bathing suit,” you answer, gulping at his stubble pressed directly against your cheek.

“Don’t think so,” Eddie jerks his head, not giving you a moment to wonder what he meant before you hit the icy cold depths of your pool, hearing Eddie also hit the water as you went under.

“Jesus!” You cry as you hit the surface, wiping your face from the water that got into your eyes. “Warn a girl!”

“We were going into the pool anyway, we got towels, where’s the fun in that?” Eddie asks, starting to swim circles around you.

“You could’ve at least let me take my shorts off, they are already falling off my legs,” you whine, grabbing the pair from below the waters’ surface around your shin to throw on the pool’s edge.

Eddie scoffs, attempting not to leer to your underwear under the water, wondering if the pool’s liquid had made it see through, or what kind you were wearing. It occurs to him he hadn't thought this impromptu swim very well through.

He swims to the edge to take another drink of his beer, offering you one as well when you pout to your beer still sitting by the dwindling fire. “Alright, I bet…” he trails off, his eyes shining mischievously, “I could beat you to the other end of the pool,” Eddie announces, already starting the race.

“Hey, it’s not fair if you’ve already started!” You huff, quickly starting some breast strokes right behind him.

He beats you by mere seconds, grinning at you cheekily when your face lifts from the water. “You got a head start,” you pout, splashing him childishly.

He splashes you right back at twice the force, a tidal wave completely drowning your head. “You’re just a sore loser.”

“Alright, then, one two three go!” You launch yourself off the wall, giggling when Eddie gives the same attitude towards your unfair headstart as you did to his.

Somehow, he manages to get ahead, out of breath as you reach the surface but grinning stupid all the same, proud of his besting you once again. “Cheaters never prosper.”

“Yeah, or you just have better lungs and longer legs, Munson,” you sneer, not letting him be too proud of his second win.

“Better lungs? Prove it. Wanna test it?” He teases, his eyelashes dripping with the chlorine water but not paying any mind how it drips into his eyes.

“By what, by seeing who can hold your breath under water the longest?” you joke, giggling when he nods in all seriousness.

You agree to it, but just as you could’ve predicted, he wins all three tries. He shrugs, saying something about you must’ve been right about his singer’s lungs.

You usually don’t take losing so well, a competitive streak from having three siblings who all succeeded in almost everything they did, but you were getting so much joy from your adventure in the water with him you forgot to be sour.

“You talk a big talk, but I could beat you in math any day, Munson,” you jeer, internally panicking when it doesn’t affect him in the slightest.

“Oh yeah? Well math ain’t gonna help you here, sweetheart.” He lurches forward, initiating a chase that sends a thrill up your spine, immediately turning away and freaking out when you hear his splashes grow closer and closer.

The pool wall ended up being much closer than you had expected, turning around to him nearly colliding with you from the full force of his momentum. He’s breathing heavily, his bare chest after complaining about his shirt dragging him down pale in the blue night lights, two hands right next to your shoulders on the tiles. He licks his lips, a playful grin still on his face yet slowly fades.

Your shirt has also dragged you down, having taken it off and throwing it just a few feet from where your shorts lie. Your underwear does little to hide what it’s meant to, two thin fabrics between you and the wall. You recall when you considered putting on a bathing suit after your shower earlier but thought it would be silly.

Now all of that seems silly.

The music, now faint, still carries on in the background as Eddie nor you move from the spots, the space between your chests seemingly smaller and smaller.

You’ve held back from this tantalizing temptation so many times, you’ve lost track. You don’t have the strength to hold back any more, so you don’t. You finally take a bite of the damn apple, whether or not there’s hell to pay for it.

Your legs wrap around his waist, tugging him in as you finally press your lips to his gorgeous pink ones. Eddie immediately tenses up, going stiff as a rod. Your first instinct is that you’ve obviously made a blunder, misreading all the signs and were waiting for the humiliation to start, for his apologies to bumble out.

When you attempt to let go and apologize profusely, he cuts you off, pinning your back against the pool as his hands work their way up your body, restless and careless until they stay still on your ass, rough and commanding as you feel his boner right on your desperate heat. His lips against yours take complete control, one hand landing on your cheek as he opens his mouth just a little bit more to allow your tongues collide, beers and smores and musk and watermelons and oh fuck he’s a good kisser.

His stubble collides with your cheek and burns in the best way, drinking in every moment as he kisses you slow but desperately, not wanting to waste a single second after burning for it, his lips on yours.

“Do you know what you do to me, you beautiful little tease?” He mutters, rutting himself as if to demonstrate what he meant.

“I have an idea,” you smirk, gasping the smile away as soon as the boner collides again, harder.

“Do you? Do you know that everytime I see you in a new slutty little outfit I get fucking hard? Every small action you make, taking joints out from your fucking bra, licking jam off your hand,” he ruts again swallowing a whimper that leaves your mouth, “the fucking ice cream, fuck, it is torture just being near you.”

Your legs cling onto him, heels digging into his thighs as one hand wedges itself between your panties and your hip, toying with the thin fabric, his hand roughly digging into the doughy skin of your thigh. “Tell me more,” you plead, chasing his full lips as they messily plant kisses all down your neck, teeth scraping against your skin while his nose nuzzles it, taking deep inhales on his trek.

“God, baby, everything about you had me ready to mark you as mine, I just needed you so fucking bad it drove me insane. Did you need me too? I-I fucking know the answer, but I need to hear it, you need me too, right?” He borderline begs, his voice gone from rough and aggressive to needy almost instantaneously.

“I-I need you, Eddie, I really, really need you,” you answer him in full honesty, overwhelmed by the force of vulnerability that rushes through you like a gust of wind.

The only thing that you can call what comes out of him next is a whimper, his brown eyes searching both of yours rapidly as his hand tightens on your bare hip. “Say it again?”

“Say what again?” you frown, your face close enough to his that the only thing that passes through it are the loud gasps in the quiet of the night. Even with the music still playing in the background, it really only feels as its you and him alone in the world.

“Say my name?” He licks his lips right before scattering kisses all along your collarbone, sucking and nibbling weaved with little whimpers, his wet hair brushing against your chin in the meantime.

You smile, not having noticed the subconscious attempt at distancing yourself. Referring to him as Eddie, even in place of Munson, feels too personal, too real. If he’s Eddie, he’s on your level. Attainable.

Something you have told yourself all weekend that he is anything but.

Your mouth opens to give him exactly what he wanted, but you decide against it at the very last second, “Make me,” husking out instead.

The breathy, seductive tone took him aback, his brow scrunching for just a fraction of a second until a change cascades over his face. Half of his open mouth quirks itself upward, and it’s dark out, the sun having said its final goodbyes, but his brown doe eyes darken as he collects himself. “Make you, hmm? S’that my pretty girl asking me to make her moan my name?”

You nod, out of focus but staring up at him through your lashes all the same, arching your back when he takes you by surprise as he gropes the soft skin of your ass.

“You have been a very good girl, I suppose,” he hums, as if still considering your offer, like he wasn’t just begging for it only moments ago.

You could argue against that, but you won’t if he’s offering you this leeway. “Mmhm,” you nod eagerly, your breaths growing shorter and faster biting your lip in anticipation.

“Alright, then be my good girl and say please,” Eddie mutters, landing one hand next to you on the pool tiles.

“Please,” spills out your lips before you even process it, your legs slowly wafering through the water as he remains still, his lips and hand once all over you now a simple tease in comparison to the touch he finally granted you.

“Please?” Eddie mutters, tilting his head in false curiosity. “Please, what, baby?”

“Please, please t-touch me,” it ‘s so simple, so delicate yet so intimate, crossing a boundary the both of you tried so hard to refrain from. “Want you to please make me moan your name with your fingers, Please.”

“See?” Eddie’s hands start again, hand on the tiles slotting itself on your cheek, the other abruptly slotting itself on your heat. “See, I knew you were a good girl.”

Just his touch alone sends a jolt up your system, a hot flash of lightning as your body jolts up weightlessly held up by his support but mostly the water. He watches you, his jaw dropping as his fingers start moving with purpose as the searing pleasure overwhelms and electrifies your nerves, starting to gasp out little mewls for him no more than two minutes after they started their pattern.

You leant in to kiss him but he keeps your forehead glued to his, turning away from your quivering bottom lip when you lean in again. “No, I know, I just wanna watch your pretty fucking face fall apart for me,” he whispers, his eyes raking across your increasingly ruined form. “Jesus your pussy is so fucking wet f’me. Did checking me out really get you this hot n’ bothered, baby?”

Your eyes start to close, fading out as that similar heat starts to build low in your stomach, as slow as his circles on your clit are, the impending orgasm is rushing at you in a record speed.

Your eyes jolt open as he shoves a long digit in as he barks out, “Nuh-uh.” You’re even more weightless as you practically float on his finger, jaw dropped as his actions have completely halted. “Keep those pretty eyes open and on me, got it?”

“Okay,” you whimper, clenching around the digit three knuckles deep.

“Good, good,” Eddie mutters, slowly moving his finger, watching your face carefully. “Jesus, you’re tight,” he bites out, adding a second finger without any warning. You sob through a little moan, the skin of his shoulders dimpling around your nails as they dug into it.

Slowly your moans have gotten louder, the temptation to allow your eyes to flutter closed fizzling at your vision but you push through it, bobbing up and down in the water in sync with his arm, giving your weight completely to him.

Your tongue laps across your bottom lip easily into a bite, still watching his face with his eyes on yours, what was just half a grin now spread into a manic smile. “You’re being so fucking good for me, sweetheart, just like you have all weekend. You take my fingers so well, can’t wait to see how you fucking take my cock.”

A whimper gasps through your lips, spasming around his fingers at his deliciously filthy words. “Fuck–Eddie–p-please–”

“See, making you moan my name wasn’t so hard,” Eddie whispers right as he leans in to capture your lips in his. His thumb starts rotating on your clit, quickly flooding you with an orgasm that you weren’t even aware you were that close to.

Eddie’s lips muffle the cry that otherwise would’ve been heard by the entire neighborhood, a shout of pure ecstasy that has you writhing up against his strong chest.

Your lips let go of his in a gasping breath, your lip trembling your elbows dig into the delicate skin between his ear and shoulder, pulling him closer as you bore into those big brown eyes. They’re as dark as the night sky yet they shine just as bright as the stars.

Smile lines and dimples are present as he stares up at you, his thumb still rotating slowly and fully responsible for the shaking of your poor thighs. His fingers are still in you, nestled and happy as he feels you flutter around them.

“You,” he drawls, slowly moving his fingers, “are radiant,” you can barely focus on the next kiss he seeks from you, your thighs clinging onto his hips, the momentum building even quicker and hotter than before.

“Oh m’god,” you whimper, throwing all your weight on one forearm as you suddenly have to get his fingers out, its too-too fucking much. “Ed–fuck!”

“You can take it,” he mumbles, one arm across your back as he peppers wet sloppy kisses along your collarbone. “Right? You can handle one more little orgasm.”

You buck into his hips as a silent confirmation, the splashing water around your forms loud from all your thrashing.

The kisses along your collarbone have moved south, the sudden scrape of his teeth against the curve of your breast a welcome shock as he starts to peel back the soaked fabric now glued to your skin like latex. “Look at these fuckin’ perfect tits,” Eddie growls, his hand movements turned sloppy as he wraps his tongue around the peaked nipple.

The added sensation clouds your head, bucking against him and practically sobbing into little whines while he perfectly works you like he already knows you.

“That’s it, fuck yourself on my fingers, you look so good like this, baby,” the praise lights your body ablaze, clutching onto him tighter.

Oddly enough the thing to send you over the edge again was a long lick up your sternum, an image you’ve seen time and time again on the edge of his guitar. Stars crash into your vision, knocking you senseless as you tug him in for a kiss, more teeth than lips as your legs shake but the giggles bubble out from your chest.

“Just one more?” He smirks, adding, Jesus, a third fucking finger.

“Eddie–” you startle, choking on your own oxygen.

“I really need to repay you,” he mutters, starting back on your jawline.

“Repay me?” You manage out, choking back a near shout when he curls his fingers just so.

He nods, focusing a toxic mix of his tongue and teeth against your racing pulse. “Mmhm. Repay you for every little time you managed to make me rock hard.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t worry.” he laughs, gnawing down your shoulder line. “I couldn’t repay you for every time, you’d be here for hours. And we both just found out how quick I can make you cum.”

You gulp, barely able to think through any of what he had just told you. “I-huh?”

“Jus’ one more, baby? Jus’ one more after being relentlessly teased by those fucking thighs of yours? Your pretty tits? That chokable neck–baby fuck you really make me fucking crazy–” his voice has somehow gone from commanding back to whining, his voice drowning in pure, needy, wanting.

“You are–” you start, cut off by a kiss he throws in as he becomes restless in his motions, “you are going to be the–” you giggle as he kisses you again, nipping at your bottom lip. “Ah–the end of me.”

“You fuckin’ like it, don’t you?” He laughs, one hand spread on the back of your neck as his eyes remain on yours. “You love how much my fingers can ruin you.”

“Your–your voice,” you choke out, eyes rolling into the back of your head. “Your voice does a lot-a lot a lot-of the work.”

He chuckles darkly, curling his fingers against your g-spot impossible harder, an impossible fire somehow hurling through your pussy still submerged in the pool. “I think I know why Hell’s Angels is your favorite album, hmm? It is a very carnal album.”

You giggle, somehow more cognitive. “My number one most played on Spotify.”

Eddie huffs out a chorus of laughter, leaning down to lick a wide fat stripe up your neck. “That is so fucking hot to me.” You shiver, blinded by the roll of ecstasy that just ran through you. “Would you believe I am just as obsessed with you?”

“It-it’s a high bar,” you admit, peeling your other arm out of its bra strap to completely expose yourself.

“Oh my god you’re fucking adorable,” Eddie hums, nibbling all down your chin, his lips seemingly unable to rest as they roam around you. “Now fucking cum for me so we can get out of this pool and I can finally fuck you.”

Something that’s only been possible under perfect circumstances while bonding with a vibrator occurs, you squirt all over his hand following a sudden heat that boils in your skin and acts like an anchor in your body weighing you down. The weightlessness water usually brings to you has disappeared swiftly, clinging onto him as he peels his fingers from where they sat still nestled as they finished working you through it.

He reciprocates the tight hug you give him, strong arms holding you close to his chest as your legs still spasm and quake.

“That’s my good girl,” he whispers encouragingly, gently petting your dampened hair. “C’mere, I’m gonna see if I–” he grunts, the muggy air engulfing you whole as he lifts you up onto the edge of the pool as if you weighed nothing, winking playfully as he lifts himself out.

“Ok, you obviously lift,” you mumble, being tugged by his hands and escorted into the house, leaving only the still lit embers of the pit and the scattered ingredients and clothes behind.

He chuckles, momentarily squeezing you as he wraps his arms and clasps them together in front of your torso. “Please, you weigh nothing.”

He stays like that every step on the cement to your house, playfully nipping at your neck, tickling it with his deep breaths until you reach the threshold of the double doors. Eddie lets go of you, watching your ass for a moment, your hand yanked by his hand in yours as he leans against the island kitchen counter.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he doesn’t give you a chance to respond, tilting your head as he lays a wet one on you.

“U-upstairs–” you sigh as he interrupts you again, magical, only the smell of beer left over but his lips so nice and plump.

“I don’t think so,” he mumbles, working his other arm around your torso to single handedly undo the bra clasp. It falls from your chest,Eddie eagerly kneading his hand on your left tit, two fingers playing with the nipple as you sigh into his mouth.

A whimper passes through your lips, gyrating your hips against his needily as you crave more friction despite your greedy cunt still soaked from its three releases. “Well then hurry up,” you huff, starting to play with the band of his boxers. “Can’t wait much longer.”

Your panties are yanked down, landing on the floor with a wet plop. Eddie lifts you effortlessly onto the counter, working his tented fabric against you roughly, watching your jaw drop as he rolls his hips against yours. “Please.”

“I would tell you to be patient but ever since I heard you yesterday I can’t think of anything else, baby,” Eddie sighs as you pull down his boxers, gasping as it bounces against his taut belly.

A sudden urge fills you to have its weight on your tongue, the girth down your neck, to fill your throat, the primal need alerting you as you never knew wanting a cock like this so badly was even possible. By pure instinct you reach out to grab him, basking in the moan he chokes out.

His voice could satiate a hungry belly, if you had one.

His previous confession suddenly sparks, looking up at him curiously as you work your hand along his devious length. “What did you hear yesterday?”

“Baby, your house has some thin fucking walls,” he husks out, watching your eyes go bug wide in the revelation. “I didn’t hear anything but moaning, but if it's any constellation, I hope you were thinking about me, because I sure as shit was thinking about you right outside your bedroom.”

You start to guide his leaky tip toward your mound, biting your lip as you peer up at him with doe eyes. “Please?”

“Were you?”

You sob out of desperation, your forehead landing on his shoulder. “Eddie, please–”

“Patience, slut.” You pause, pouting as you look up at him. “Were you thinkin about me while you greedily came over and over again?”

You nod, biting your lip anxiously as you glance down to his length only mere inches away from your weeping, begging entrance. “You used your tongue on the soft serve like it was–”

“I know I did, baby.” Eddie smirks, watching the shiver roll through you as the head collides with your clit. “So glad you noticed.”

You sigh impatiently, clawing your nails into his shoulder as he continues to tease you. “Eddie, pl–”

Your pathetic begging is turned off as soon as he pushes in, splitting you open as he slowly works his way to the hilt. “Jesus.”

“Eddie,” you moan, the heels of your hands digging into his collarbone. “F-fuck!”

His dark eyes bore into yours, labored breath piercing the air in the otherwise deadly quiet house. “I fuckin’ knew your pussy would be like this.”

“Like what?” You ask, pulling him closer as he did with you.

“Like a fuckin’ drug,” Eddie growls, rolling his hips against yours, the symphony of moans swallowed as he crashes his lips onto yours with an almost angry force.

It begins with a few stings, but the pleasure drowns it out before you even get a chance to revel in it, his cock hitting places you didn’t even know possible.

Your legs cling onto him, lapping kisses and nibbles down his chest hungrily as he works into you with choked out moans, seemingly losing himself in the heat of your pussy.

You slowly bruise your way down his chest, remembering every time you’d ever said how badly you’d wanted to bite him and to mark your territory as yours. All through the night he has called you his girl, but you finally get the chance to claim him. “Mine.”

“Feelin possessive, are we, baby?” He gasps out, curling his fingers through your hair and pulling at your scalp.”Wanting to claim this old man all yours?”

“You’re all fucking mine, Ed,” you claim again, moving to lap at one of his peaked nipples.

“As long as you’re mine,” he gasps back, pulling your head back up to where you can kiss him again.

You nod eagerly, the double meanings of the words seemingly lost on you to what he actually might mean. Regardless, the following kiss is desperate, even more so as his hips continue on their relentless pace.

You whine at the sudden loss, feeling empty and lonely when his body warmth leaves yours for the moment. “Bend over the fucking couch.”

It takes a minute to register, floating on the kitchen counter in a daze.

“Awww, my cock drunk slut,” his voice is sweet, malevolently so as his fingers dig into your hair and pull on your scalp as he leans in against your ear. “I said, bend over the fucking couch.”

You whimper, scrambling to climb down and run shakily to the living room. You’re guided by his hand in your hair again to the arm rest, using his foot to widen your stance. “Arch your back. More. There you go. Now be a good slut and tell me how fucking good it feels to be ripped in half by the rockstar of your dreams.”

Eddie lets go of your scalp to smack your ass, the thwack startling you in the best of ways as he watches it jiggle from the force. “Shove your face into the pillow, there we go.”

No more warning is provided when he pushes himself into you, making what you used to think was hard and fast into slow and pathetic. Eddie’s relentless hips are in their own fucking league. He sirens primal moans from you, your fingers digging into the cushions as he pounds into your pussy relentlessly.

“I just started, and you’ve already gone completely dumb? God I’ve ruined you for every bad fuck you’ve ever had.”

It’s true. Eddie Munson has ruined you in ways you simply could not comprehend, your torso practically flat on the couch as he tightens his grip on your hips. You push your ass against him, somehow communicating how fucking much you need him.

“Bet you’ve dreamed of this, yeah?” He mocks as his grip tightens on your hip. “Well for the last three nights I guess I returned the favour because I have dreamt of nothing but you. What you’d sound like, what you’d look like, god what you’d taste like— you’re in my fucking head.”

Your knees dig into his legs, your toes curled close to your ass as they possibly can be as you feel the impact of his hips start to form an ache against your thighs, your cheeks, fuck–your hole. Regardless of the spreading throb, you squeeze him tighter, silently begging for more. Just when you thought you understood what the term fucked stupid meant, you realize you had no idea as your brain starts to turn into mush.

“You’re taking it so fucking well, princess,” fuck, usually princess is a massive turn off but even you could tell the immediate reaction of you gushing around him. “Likes bein’ called princess, hmm? Give me your arm, then, princess.”

It’s a reflex how your hand raises backwards toward him, limply hanging as high as it can go which is barely a foot over your torso.

“Good, other one, too,” you whine, cut off by a sharp thrust as he grabs your other wrist to hold them both together in one hand. You think you’ve gotten the new position figured out when one hand moves up to your forearm, yanking it harshly so he has his good arm slotted between your elbows and the small of your back. “There we go.”

You’re practically standing on your two feet again, your back arched at an impossible angle as his other hand wraps itself around your neck. “Aah, that's much better. Look up.”

Your eyes flutter up to see a small round accent mirror on the wall directly across from you on the wall directly above a record player, yours and Eddie’s reflection featuring your faces, your hair tussled and eyes dazed. You blink to Eddie’s who’s smirking over your shoulder with hot cheeks and half-mooned eyes. You shyly look way from his possessive hold, having pulsed around him at how fucking gone you both look.

“Look back in the fucking mirror,” he commands, tightening his once lax grip on your neck so he constricts your airway just the littlest bit. “Look how fucking gone you are, you’re just covered in me, hmm?”

All you can do is bite your lip and push back on him, begging for his hips to continue that oh so powerful trek.

The following movement of his hips are barely noticeable, but your reflection gasps, her jaw dropping to the needed friction. “Ed–”

“Keep being my good princess and watch yourself be fucked in the mirror for me, won’t you sweet girl?” You nod, but Eddie doesn’t seem to care to wait for your answer, his hips colliding with your in a harsh slap, officially rendering any left over brain you might have had completely useless.

“Look at your fucking pretty face,” he shudders, starting to sound quite desperate himself. “There’s not a thought behind those gorgeous eyes of yours. Every muscle on your face is relaxed, your jaw falling open as if begging for me to shove my cock past those lips of yours, fuck you look so fucking perfect for me, princess.”

Your brain begs you to say something, to tell him how fucking good his cock feels, how he’s splitting you open as he feels impossibly deep as if he were kissing your cervix with every hit, how sex like this was only supposed to exist in softcore porn. How watching yourself get stupider with every hit with his hand wrapped around your neck in a claim of ownership turns you the fuck on, adding fuel to an out of control forest fire.

But your brain has turned into a puddle.

“That’s it, baby, keep bein’ good for me I’m almost done,” he lets go of your neck just to grab a handful of your hair once again. “G’nna fill that fuckin pussy up, s’ that ok?”

You find it in you somewhere to nod yes in direct juxtaposition against the grip on you, vision now fizzling as your eyes slowly fall closed. Whatever you have ever wasted time fantisizing clearly will never live up to the real thing.

Eddie’s words have warped into grunts and half finished sentences, hitting somewhere deliciously deep until his sticky ropes cover your walls up in him, filling you to the brim to make you impossibly, impossibly full.

He works himself through it, whimpering at his own sensitivities when the arm clutching yours sets you free but works itself on your clit once more, jerking you up from where you crumpeled forward onto the couch.

“Just need to feel you squeeze my cock while you cum, princess,” he mutters, sounding utterly destroyed as his voice croaks.

You try to wiggle away from him, feeling so oversensitive it forces its way up your throat in an intense sob. “Too-too much!”

“I know you can take it, princess,” he drawls, darkening his voice in the way he knows you like.

“Ed–”

“Please, jus’ for me?” He asks, his grip on your hip too tight for you to keep crawling forward.

“I-I c–” stars crash in your vision, thrashing as you feel his strong torso directly against your back.

“See?” he mumbles, peeling his arm around your tummy as he maneuvers you and him on your sides, spooning you on the couch, both covered in sweat. Eddie lifts your chin in his grip, shoving his tongue down your throat, the vibration of his humming helping you come back down to earth. “I knew you could do it.”

Somewhere in the kisses he slips himself out, distracting you with his marvelous kissing expertise as his hands find themselves enwrapping yours, fingers intertwined against your sternum fiercely as you get lost in his taste. Eventually you need to catch your breath, gasping as your head lands on the fabric of the sofa roughly, slowly drifting off to sleep.

Eddie gets up, ignoring your calls to stay with you. After some loud rummaging and swearing he returns, shocking you with a yelp as a wet cloth cleans you from the dripping cum out your full pussy. “Sorry. Didn’t want to ruin the nice couch.”

“Think we past ruined long ago,” you comment, peering up at him as he sends you a soft smile.

“Might be true.”

First thing you notice is he’s gotten dressed again, and just like that the spell is broken, and the aftermath of your adventures settle in.

His brown eyes tentatively meet yours, pensive and careful as you slowly sit up on the couch. What now?

He wears no smile on his face, searching yours as he leans in, his pointer finger hooked under your chin as he plants a gentle kiss on your lips that makes you miss the feel of him already. “I’m definitely not tired, would you like to watch a movie with me?”

You nod, eyes still closed as you reel from the whiff of emotions that repeatedly compound through you. “I don’t think I can stand.”

“I’d be insulted if you could,” he huffs, planting a sweet kiss on your nose. “Be right back. You want sweatpants or something more akin to those pretty dresses you’ve been flouncing around in?”

“Hmm, happy middle, please,” you ignore his jab, if just for the obvious amusement in his voice.

“Aah, a thong and a necklace coming up,” he jokes, running up the stairs before you could playfully glare at him.

He brings you a matching tank and shorts and a light blanket, setting up Smile for you two to watch as he curled you into his chest. When the movie is over you glance up at him, worried for what exactly came out his mouth next.

We probably should keep it as a one time only event.

You reluctantly agreed, crawling into a too big bed as you already miss his comforting weight right next to you. Sleep never comes, in fact, sleep has stopped texting you back because you have never been more wide awake.

Sweat seeps through the sheets and shines on your forehead as you wrap yourself up in an accidental burrito from all the turning and tossing, your emotions one puddle, thundering and storming into a lake of aroused confusion and clouded judgment as your weekend plays on repeat.

By the time the sky shines a periwinkle blue once again you’ve decided you could not take it for two more seconds, impulsively getting up to run back across the hall.

The door opens to a wildly disheveled head of curls, his hand raised as if he was about to knock. His mouth opens but you don’t give him the chance to tell you Yeah, no, fuck that, because your lips are on his in a flash, arms recklessly thrown around his shoulders and pulling him into your bedroom for some more of his lips, his hands, his hips, his tongue.

Neither of you had enough resolve to decide it would only be a one time thing.

-

Six Months Later

Eddie huffed a few bouts of laughter as you litter kisses all over his neck, refusing to listen to his out of breath protests as you nuzzle into his intoxicating stubble. “Babe, babe! I have to take a shower, I fucking stink!”

You giggle, working your hands up his fishnet shirt layered under the graphic tee. “Mhmm,” you hum, lapping up some rank sweat that has built up at the hinge of his jaw. “Smells amazing.”

“You’re a fucking freak, have I ever told you that?” He laughs, intertwining his fingers through your hair as he shoves his tongue down your throat.

“You’ve mentioned it,” you sigh, gasping against his minty breaths. “Helps having a smoking hot boyfriend, you know?”

“Baby, I really need a shower, I will meet you in the lounge,” he sighs, sounding like he’s about to give up.

“I could join you,” you suggest, pulling him in closer against you.

“As tempting as that is, we both know neither of us are getting any cleaner if that happens,” he sternly holds your face at a distance from his, his eyebrow flickering up pointedly when you attempt to lean in for more. “I promise to fuck you into the mattress, against the couch, and wherever else you might want later, okay, my sweet princess?”

“Fine,” you huff, grinning against his lips at the final sweet kiss he gives you, at the shivers down your spine that have never stopped, that have never shown signs of stopping.

The dressing room door closes behind you as the spray of the water hits the shower floor, a taunt that you are not in the cramped space with him, the one place you crave.

After offering his bandmates your best compliments, you act as a wallflower, watching the moon-eyed fans get their selfies as you played with the guitar pick chained around your wrist. You scrolled through your twitter app, saving photos of your gorgeous boyfriend in quality photos and the litter of hickeys you had spent hours giving him for hours the previous night.

A sudden impossible yet familiar laugh fills the air, your eyes snapping up to your dad’s familiar swoop of brown locks tossed back in a full body chuckle. Your stomach falls into the pits of hell.

You had checked with Eddie before hand that Steve hadn’t gotten any tickets emailed to him to avoid this very particularly sticky situation. You had agreed to keep it quiet until it started getting more serious.

Well…it had turned serious but you knew for a fact your dad wouldn’t be too happy with the coupling.

Your eyes jolt around the room to look for a quick escape, forgetting there’s only one door in, and unless you were going to turn unrealistically stealthy in the next minute, sneaking past him was not an option.

Your hesitation turns out to be your doom, just as you make a choice his brown eyes landed on you, lighting up in surprise.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“Sunshine!” He calls out, holding his arms out and reaching for a hug. “What are you doing here? Thought you were staying with your roommate for the week!”

You had specifically told him you were stuck with your roommate who was getting over an ex boyfriend. The ex boyfriend part was right, but you were assisting from afar, with your own boyfriend luring you off the phone.

You hug him back, a wave of guilt washing over you, unable to relax in his familiar arms. “I made it down last minute!” The lie is forced, reminding you of times you knew you were caught but chose to dig deeper rather than climb out.

Sometimes it's just easier that way.

Steve’s brows furrow, crossing his arms just as something occurs to him. “How-how did you even make it down so quickly, I just called you this morning—“

He is interrupted by a familiar set of arms thrown around you from behind, squeezing you tight until you weasel out of them, your nerves on a hotwire.

For a moment that stretches out, lasting forever enough for you to see the V between Steve’s brow deepen, his head tilting ever so slightly, a slight frown downturning his lips.

And the panic that shifts every muscle of Eddie’s face when he sees Steve.

Finally, things set back into motion as puts on a facade of surprise, well not a facade as he’s actually surprised, he certainly knows how to put on a face of delight.

“Steve, my boy!” He collides his chest with his best friend, back pats exchanged as they embrace one another. “I didn’t know you were coming!”

Steve shrugs, his hands slotted into his pockets once they separate. “You didn’t answer my email, but Gareth did.”

When you switch your gaze to the drummer, he winks, telling you he has been paying attention to the shit show the entire time.

A few beats in the conversation, Steve starts to wonder if he was making everything up in his head, if he was just imagining your awkward stances and the way you’re standing just an inch too far away from one another.

Because there is no other reason you’d have to lie.

But all the little things keep sticking out to him. Your disheveled hair, in a way that couldn’t be manufactured. A bruise on Eddie’s neck, no bruises, but this one seemed familiar—

Steve’s eyes dart to your smudged lipstick, just barely fixed.

The fidgeting of a bracelet around your wrist, your anxious swaying, Eddie’s nervous rambling.

The way Eddie rushed to hug you like an old friend yet can’t seem it dare keep his eyes on you longer than a second.

”Eddie Munson, tell me you are not hooking up with my daughter.”

-

Oop.

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This is the last chapter hope y’all loved 😭

[bebe07011]

IN THE MOOD FOR A SWIMMMMM

Ice Cream, Bikinis, and Other Ways to Torture Him | Older Rockstar!Eddie x Harrington Fem!Reader | 18+

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Summary: The stories of Eddie Munson, front man of Corroded Coffin and his music filled the Harrington household, his albums on shelves and picture frames hung of your dad and him, young and dumb. You’re home for the weekend, which just so happens to be the same weekend Eddie is in Hawkins on a personal errand. The longtime crush on him bubbles to the surface as you meet him, giving into the temptation of small summer dresses and bubblegum gloss for the fun of it. Until your dad is called in to an emergency work meeting. Then the fun of torture becomes temptation.

Warnings: Older Rockstar!Eddie, Harrington!Reader (Steve’s daughter), mult-chapter build up, excessive use of nicknames, perv!Eddie, no use of y/n, Eddie POV, references to readers mom, a nice slow build up

Describes: long hair, shorter than Eddie by a few inches, reader is described to look like her mom (can be ANY race) with Steve’s freckles. No skin color or body shape/type.

So the original chapter 4 was a lot shorter than I remember so I combined it with chapter 5 <3

Word count: 7.5k

Chapter 4-Chapter 5

Five weeks ago, as one of his oldest friends asked him what was new, Eddie offhandedly mentioned he would be making his way down to Hawkins sometime during the summer to help Uncle Wayne finally transition into the nursing home.

Steve laughed, jokingly asking how is it that the old bastard isn’t in one already? The answer was pure stubbornness, of course.

It was without question that Steve offered a bed whenever Eddie needed it, tutting away the nonsense of Eddie staying in the 8 Motel off ‘Sketch Valley’, aka where all dark corners Hawkins’ parents have spent their years warning their kids about. Not that it really needed the negative press, as the atmosphere was off putting as it is.

Eddie was grateful, to say the least. After earning some bang for his buck he’s gotten used to a lifestyle and the 8 Motel was the only place in Hawkins that resembled a hotel.

It was impulsively decided the week of Eddie would go and help Wayne move after he reluctantly admitted simple tasks like bathing and making toast was getting harder for him and he could use the help. He called Steve, betting on the welcome being open in any circumstance.

In the heat of the moment Steve accepted, more than happy to help out a friend, give him some place to stay and a soft bed in the middle of packing and figuring out the kinks.

You would think his one second eldest daughter who hadn’t been as nearly stealthy about her crush on the rock star as she thought staying for the weekend would off set his willingness to help, but he’s so eager to help your visit doesn’t even cross his mind. Until you show up, bag in hand, your mom’s smile on your face as you give him a big hug and he realizes this might be trickier than he thought it’d be.

Eddie’s trip is long and painful, many assholes on the road obnoxiously refusing to let him pass, long mindlessly winding roads, the urge to piss after spending long hours passing semis. Wistfully watching those same semis pass him as he hides in the bushes.

When the door opened, Eddie was surprised to see a pair of eyes a few inches shorter than he’d expected, framed by hair in a tousled bun, a bikini top peeking out from a pretty summer dress. The first thought was wow, she fills out her dress a lot better than I remember. The second thought, brought on by the freckles decorating your skin, was oh shit this is Steve’s daughter.

‘Aah, little Harrington’ was a way to remind himself and you that this was off limits. No matter how intoxicating your perfume was, or how inviting the knot tying your bikini top together was. Of course as an evil twist of fate Steve had to be showering when he had arrived only to be greeted by temptation personified, his presence needed as he found it stupid easy to fall in conversation with you, keeping his distance so he didn’t do something stupid.

You offer to grab him something, being a good host, but Eddie needed to tread carefully as he recalls Steve jokingly remarking how you had a small crush on him over the years.

He’ll get over the reminder that you’re now in your 20s, filling out a summer dress and making him wonder what present that string is possibly hiding underneath the thin fabric. He had to.

He denied your offer to make him something.

As your summer dress hit the cement, revealing the just barely there bikini he ripped his eyes away from your glowing skin, reminding himself what he was not there to do. Steve found him sitting on the couch absently strumming Carla, immediately accusing his daughter of not offering any hospitality.

He was out the backdoor before Eddie could even protest. At Steve’s insistence Eddie followed him back into the kitchen, forced to sit on the island as he worked at making a hot meal for him. Answering the basic how are you questions was easy, the hardest part was keeping his eyes off you through the still opened double doors.

It became impossible when the plate was set in front of him as Steve left the room to bring Eddie’s bags to the guest room.

The image of you gliding through the pool, droplets scattered on your shimmering skin as your legs broke through the water’s surface tension was alluring in a way that only depleted his appetite for lunch.

His one saving grace to prevent him from making any stupid decisions was Steve’s presence. Until it was gone. Fuck, Steve! Out of all possible weekends to have a work emergency you had to pick this one?

He wished he could forget how gentle you were with his things, how forgiving you were to his dorky heart in ways he himself was still so hard himself about. The teasing tone in your voice tugged at his heart strings and low in his stomach, taking him back repeatedly through the long day of packing.

Your tentative touch along his old doodling, listening to him about his favourite Dark Fantasy Novels, the knowledge about his old adventures, the questions you had asked about Wayne…everything you had dared to say only drew you closer to him.

It was a delicious taste of irony, how Eddie had told himself not to let the close proximity get to him but it turned out to be your curious nature and caring touch that made Eddie drawn to you like a moth to a flame, suddenly craving more intimacy.

The unbearable heat of the following day allowed him to gaslight himself into believing it was all circumstantial, but your tiny gym shorts and the sweat glistening along your skin had invited him, called out to him, before he knew it he had invited himself along on your walk.

Ice cream and a joint had sounded really good, finding himself in too deep when he took a deep nhale of the smoke just to smell your sweat still lingering in the grass, deliberately allowing his fingers to brush against yours.

A sweet whiff of your sweat lingered in the grassy stench, the majority reason for his deep inhale as the smoke filled his lungs. It hit the spot, smirking as he handed it over back to you, letting his fingers linger as a jolt of electricity ran right through him.

He found it too easy to fall into conversation with you, teasing and poking and finding a thrill out of the V that so easily formed between your brows. Found it even easier to use so much as his hand on your shoulder to fix your gait as you start to drift to the right or catch your wrist when you nearly nose dive.

He thought you must be trying to kill him when the smoke blew in his face, wanting to return the favor by planting his lips on yours and exhaling his next turn right to your lungs. The following sound you would’ve let out haunted Eddie, just the potential alone releasing an ache in his gut that he hasn’t felt in years.

He watched in real time as you lost your inhibitions, stumbling over your feet and repeating sentences and losing your train of thought. He wondered if you had felt your skin also ablaze when he kept finding the excuse to let your skin connect. At first it was just an excuse, soon became a necessity once you nearly nose dived, catching your wrist.

You seemed to barely notice.

He’d never quite felt jealousy as intense as it was when you mentioned your ex boyfriend, a concerning level of relief taking over him when he’d realized how little you even cared he was there, too distracted by the ice cream.

Eddie went through a world wind of emotions when you’d started lapping your tongue all over the sweet treat, humming delight at the taste and completely disregarding any present company.

He almost lost his mind when you had admitted your ex had only been mediocre with you in bed. The mental spiral he had gone through was swift and winded him, wondering how if anyone would be lucky enough to find themselves in such a position would they manage to mess it up so royally? Knowing if he’d ever give in to that most primal of desires of his, he’d take advantage of any possible moment he’d have between your thighs, make it his mission to have your legs shiver and shake for him.

He’d lap every drop of arousal you’d give him, taking every whine and moan as gospel, eager and willing to give you everything, craving the taste of you on his tongue, to watch you squirm and for him- it sent all the blood from his brain to his dick.

His spiral is squished, the fucker’s hand suddenly tight on your skin, audaciously demanding he have another trial in mediocrity. It was too easy to bend his arm backward, nearly breaking it in the process as he found great joy in how quickly his tough guy macho front collapsed.

Luckily, you forgot about it like it never happened. Unluckily, you made it your goddamn mission to eat the ice cream as erotically as you possibly could. Eddie didn’t even think you were aware of the drops on your tits, watching as you indulge so eagerly, all your slurps and hums of satisfaction going straight to his cock.

God damn the angel that had decided to fuck with him that day, the one that had told you to spend an ungodly amount of time cleaning up the ice cream which didn’t help had the same colour as a certain substance.

You’ve gone quiet as he is, but he starts to worry that maybe he overstepped or made you uncomfortable. That worry only intensified when you admit you’ve smoked way past your own limit, wondering if he had somehow pushed you into smoking more. He needs you to know its ok to listen to yourself, lifting your chin to look up to him— and fuck he takes in your beautiful face up close.

Eddie convinced himself he fucked up worse when you run off.

As he strums his guitar, the chords and melodies come out all jumbled as the nagging worry only grows. He can usually hear your shower from downstairs but the stream hasn’t started yet. Oh god, what if you’ve greened out? You didn’t smoke very much but he had no idea where that boundary for you was.

You could’ve been normally done after three puffs for all he knew. Maybe he’ll just go check on you, the incessant need to make sure you’re okay after withdrawing as hard as you did eating his brain away.

His knuckles nearly collide with the door when he first hears it.

He’s not sure what exactly he’s hearing until he hears it again, clearer and far more distinct.

Oh.

You weren’t going for a shower.

Eddie stops breathing. In the middle of the hallway, he doesn’t allow himself to move a muscle, two halves of a whole person fighting within himself.

He should move. He should put his ear against the door. He should put some pressure on this aching cock of his. He should offer you help. He should leave.

Your moans are intertwined with sighs and whimpers, no words to indicate anything and Eddie goes nuts wanting to see you.

What are you doing? Are you using your fingers in that tight little pussy of yours? Overstimulating your clit? Using a vibrator— no, he doesn’t hear any buzzing… A choked out swear passes through your lips, god those soft pillowy lips he just wants to spend hours kissing.

Images flash through his brain, your tongue wrapped around the ice cream, the drips landing on your tits you didn’t notice, your doe eyes staring up at him through your lashes— Eddie keels over, grasping at the frame of your door as he finally relieves some of the pent up pressure. Fuck—its not enough.

Your moaning has gotten louder, lost in the pleasure you’re giving yourself. Fuck, he wonders what has gotten you so worked up. Are you picturing anyone with you? Is it a side effect of the weed you smoked? Are you driven mad by him like he is by you? As it gets louder he realizes…oh fuck you’re about to— Jesus.

He hopes he has the privilege of seeing you go over the edge one of these days.

He thinks its over for a moment but you start again…and now Eddie really can’t help it anymore he has to fuck…he hisses loudly when his cock finally comes in contact with his hand, the head flushed with a bright red tint.

No wonder he’s being so careless, all the blood is gone from his brain.

For the first time since apprehensively seeing your nipples peaked from behind your adorable little bikini at the front door he allows himself to imagine himself with you with his hand around himself. He imagines its him, Eddie, making you whine as much as you are, the desperate whines and pathetic little cries coming from you the result of him situated between your legs and fucking you with his tongue.

It would taste better than the ice cream did, he knows it would.

His hand flexes, wishing he could play and grope your tit, watch how the you react to him tweaking your nipple playfully. Fuck— did you just cum again?

“Oh fucking hell!” You swear, not sounding in the least bit tired.

All the needs, the questions Eddie has been masochistically asking himself has him being needy, whispering out little pleases as he needs to touch you, to see you, to know what the hell is on your mind. “Please, please, baby, please, ‘need to see that hot fucking body wiggle and curl and shake and fuck please let it be for me. I want it to be for me.”

Eddie has never been so desperate that he needed something like this, more stoned off the moans that fill the halls rather than the joint he shared with you. It was like he was only a step away from his lips on yours, but that little allowance he gave himself earlier is no longer enough, needing your lips to be carnally captured by his, to hear the whimper you let out when he bites your bottom lip, to lick the swollen sting in an apology.

God he can’t remember the last time the thought of someone like this made him this viscerally desperate. Your moans grow louder, on the precipice of yet another orgasm and suddenly Eddie finds himself hurdling towards the finish line. “Come on baby, one more. Cum one more time for me. Let me hear you, just one more time, please.”

As if his wish was your command, you push over the edge in what sounds like an earth shattering, thigh twitching, eyes rolling orgasm. He’s willing to bet you made a mess on your bed, quaking limbs and gasping after shocks as you wear a prettily stupid smile on your face and turn over your sheets to look for your phone.

Eddie grips the door frame, staring at the sticky substance on his hands he wishes you’d lick up the same way you did with the ice cream soup. For now…he’ll wash it off.

As he shakily washes his hands, he finally reaches his eyes in his reflection, knowing that was the only time he’d let himself indulge in the fantasy you’re practically serving to him on a silver platter.

Twenty minutes later, you come down glowing, a bright smile on your face with wet hair and a new summer dress that has his hands itching to rake all over you. It takes five minutes of contemplating for Eddie to realize that this is what you look like after really good sex. He’s rock hard again, and you’re wearing too much clothes.

He’s flushed at your uncharacteristically good attitude, at the knowledge if you were his you’d be this upbeat all the time if he had anything to do with it.

You ask him if he wants pizza, smiling sweetly when he boops your nose and accept graciously. As the dress sways across the top of your thigh while you walk into the living room, Eddie lets out a small grunt as his forehead meets the cool marble counter.

He’s fucked.

-

The mouthwatering smell of pepperoni and green peppers with sausage made your good mood only increase, after effects of the joints and three orgasms now combined with the pizza turning your sour mood to euphoric. The sun still beats down in a horrid, blazing heat, but for now these things outweigh the muggy outdoors.

You slip the driver some cash, multitasking as you open the box simultaneously to take the first bite. You suffer through the first bite, much too hot as the driver compliments the front foyer in the Harrington house. The door shuts on him as you thank him, Eddie glowering at his wandering eyes over your shoulder that you missed through the entire interaction.

Eddie grabs the boxes from you, cheekily grinning as he insists you must be trying to hurt yourself. You shrug playfully, grinning through the bites that are still much too hot but oh so delicious.

His grin feels looser, more playful, something you wonder if its just a Jedi mind trick.

His hips collide with yours as he goes to grab a plate, serving himself some of his own pizza, (cheddar, chicken, and mushrooms) his hand lingering on your hip as he leans over to steal a piece from your pie, too.

“Who said you could have some of mine?” You ask, reaching for the piece to snatch it back.

He yanks it from your reach, his pretty dimples plain as day as you jump with no such success. “Is that really the best you can do?”

You scoff, jaw dropping as you reach for it again. “It’s easy for you to say when you’ve got—“ you huff, the piece just out of reach, “—3 or 4 inches on me at least.”

One side of Eddie’s pink lips curl up in a playful snarl, “Oh, more than that, I promise.”

You stop jumping, eyes going wide at the innuendo. “Fine, you can have it.”

“Didn’t ask for permission, but I appreciate it anyway, sweetheart,” he winks, taking a big bite from it. Ok, eating pizza should not be this sexy, you muse, watching the tomato sauce spill over his lips, and the tongue that pokes out to lap it up.

His cologne is back to overwhelming your nostrils, enveloping you in a sweet musky scent as you reach to grab some more slices for your plate.

“You know you can have some of mine,” he’s leant in, his voice low and hot breath right next to your ear sending a well defined shiver down your spine.

Your face twists in disgust as you glance at it, reaching for the garlic fingers, instead. “No thanks.”

He laughs, eyebrows raised inquisitively. “What?”

“Not a fan of mushrooms,” you shrug, moving around him for a soft drink. “Soda?”

“You’re missing out,” he insists, taking a big bite out of a particularly mushroomy piece. “Sure, sweets.”

Yesterday Eddie hadn’t gotten closer to you than necessary, always staying at least one pace away from you. Suddenly he’s in your space, leaning in and choking you with his velvet voice and overwhelming presence. That walk must’ve done really well in terms of familiarity, remembering how easy going he usually is with your dad.

“Rent a movie with me?” You ask, nodding your head toward the living room.

“As long as it’s horror and something you’ve never seen before,” he barters, picking up his plate as if he was already planning on joining you.

“Ooh, can we watch Smile?” You flick the tv to on Demand, showing rental options of movies that have just come out.

“Oh no, sweetheart,” Eddie easily grabs the remote from your grasp, switching the screen to Horror movies in stead . “It has to be something I have seen. Meaning I’m showing you a Classic. You ever seen The Poltergeist?”

You blanch, shaking your head quickly.

Laughs bubble up his throat, watching how worried your face immediately becomes in a split second. “Don’t worry. We can shut it off if it gets too much, but it’s just such a Classic.”

You roll your eyes, suddenly remembering he’s in his 40s. “Yeah, it came out when you were dropping out of college.”

He flicks your temple, huffing out a laugh at your yelp. “Shithead. Now sit and watch.”

You get comfortable, bringing the ice cold soda can to your lips as the movie turns on, increasingly aware of his presence on the couch next to you.

It was a fucking scary movie, but his consistent explanations made it worth it.

The temperature ended up cooling overnight, allowing for a deep sleep while a single top sheet frayed over your body, delicately protecting it as you sleep well into the morning. You barely remember falling asleep on the couch last night, the memory of Eddie waking you and escorting you to your bed replaying through your mind as you hug your knees and hide your wide smile against your kneecap.

His hand on your waist, thumb swaying against your cotton shirt as he asked how it is that someone manages to fall asleep during The Poltergeist, huffing out a laugh at the subsequent pout that took over your face. His low voice asked if you needed any water, his hand pausing right before it gently caressed your hairline as you drifted asleep.

The hot spray of the shower was just what you needed, doing your best not to over analyze his sudden closeness as you let the steam fill your bathroom. The too small towel barely covers the good bits as you walk towards your bedroom door, water beads scattered across your skin from your damp hair that you probably should’ve spent more time drying.

Not your fault your sister had a nicer en-suite shower than you did.

You’re only a few paces from your bedroom door when you hear what sounds like someone choking, followed by a coughing fit. You whip around to face Eddie covering his mouth with his elbow, hacking as he raises his finger to indicate he’s fine. You couldn’t be sure, but when he lowers his arm it looks like there’s a faint blush across his cheeks.

“Sorry! I was coming to check up on you it’s almost 1’clock in the afternoon,” he coughs, anxiously avoiding your stare as you stand still holding your towel up clenched in one fist. “So-sorry I’ll let you get back to it.”

You smile, taking advantage of his sudden nervous stature, looking suddenly a few inches shorter than he normally does. “You’ve seen me less in a bikini,” you deadpan, missing the way the towel slowly starts to reveal your hips and Eddie’s eyes zoning in on it.

“Right. In any case I made you lunch, if you’re up for it that is,” he tells you, clearing his throat as he plays with the scrunchie on his wrist.

“I thought rockstars all sleep in,” you joke, tilting your head as you look at him.

“I lost the ability to last year,” he quips back, smirking. “You also went to bed last night at 2 so it’s nearly been twelve hours, forgive me if I thought I had the merit to be concerned.”

“The merit?” You can’t resist it, his squirminess as you just stand in a towel is so entertaining you could burst, not even attempting to hide the wide smile on your face.

“I made god damned grilled cheese and tomato soup for you and this is how you repay me?” He exclaims, one pierced eyebrow rising. “Guess you don’t want it.”

“No!” You protest, your fun suddenly forgotten. God, how’d he know your favorite lunch? “Give me five, maybe ten minutes.”

“I’m timing you on that,” Eddie points to his watch, something probably more subtly expensive than you could guess. “9 minutes and counting!”

Eddie climbs down the stairs, finally able to take a deep breath at the bottom as he braces his hands on his knees. The image of you flashed through his mind, the towel hugging your tits pressing up against them perfectly to knock the wind out of him. As if that weren’t enough, the slit of your towel where at first your leg alone was peeking out became wider and wider, slowly revealing the droplets that still lingered on your skin, finding himself envious of water as it trailed down to where he couldn’t see, hands flexing as he wanted to trace that very pattern.

You apparently made no effort with the towel before making your way over to your bedroom because you were still soaked from your shower, hundreds of little droplets covering your skin, some trailing down from your still soaked hair. It was ethereal, watching the shine of your collarbone and that slow rising reveal of your hips.

Damn. Eddie can’t remember the last time he’s been hard twice within the same four hours. Morning wood is typical, though more uncommon these days, but a damn collarbone? Is he back in goddamn high school?

The temptation to retreat back to his guest room to relieve himself is too much, but for whatever reason he can’t bring himself to. Distraction…distraction.

Something that caught his eyes during his first day suddenly flashed through his mind, a mess of twigs and leaves and branches that has obviously gone years without any maintenance. By the time you get downstairs in yet another stunning summer dress, Eddie has found an old pair of gardening gloves and has already filled one large black garbage bag, already well on to fill a second one.

His hair is done in a loose bun that has already started to come undone, his tongue sticking out as he tries to pull apart one branch off to break the larger branch down into continuously smaller pieces. He has taken advantage of the Bluetooth speaker Steve keeps for the outdoors, blasting music reminiscent of many backyard sunny afternoons swimming and playing and tussling for hours.

His toned arms are practically bulging as he continues the yard work, glistening in a sheen layer of sweat in the hot sun, as he continually gathers weeds and the straggler branches that have blown into the fire pit over the years.

The fire pit is extremely overgrown due to lack of use, the regular use of the pit gone down significantly once your older sister moved out, no longer taking advantage of the extravagant backyard for major parties. You never had interest in hosting any parties, the clean up for the host not worth it in your humble opinion. Steve continued to hire one of the few pool boys available in Hawkins for the outdoor pool, but also saw no need to continue the maintenance of the pit.

By the time you had put the bowl and plate away in the dishwasher, Eddie had already cleared most of the fire pit and was deep in the shed, from the sounds and swears he was making it was clear he was looking for something.

You were sitting on your favorite poolside chair with a good book and some cut up watermelon you stole from the fridge when Eddie comes out pushing the lawnmower, arms fully extended as he struggles through the admittedly tall grass. A gush of watermelon juice runs down your chin as he wipes his forehead and bends to assess the machine, admiring how his hands gently rub any debris or dust that has collected over the years.

As soon as the loud motor of the lawn mower fills the backyard, it drowns the music so you turn it up on the speakers, reciprocating the single handed wave Eddie gives you in either gratitude or acknowledgement. Even with the pages of the filthy smut filled book opened, your eyes don’t stay on the pages for any longer than a second. It takes for Eddie to go from fence to fence (in a stupidly large backyard) twice for you to read a full paragraph that would usually have you on the edge of your seat.

Sorry, two characters who have finally brought their heads out of their asses and admitted their own feelings and are subsequently hooking up in a place they should not be hooking up with, Eddie Munson’s sweaty biceps are taking front row. You swallow a dry throat, the concept of water suddenly flashing through your stupid head.

You’ve been watching Eddie do manual labour in a hot sun for the better part of an hour now and he’s probably parched. You run off indoors, the air conditioned house tingling as you feel each and every goose bump that forms, looking through the fridge for something, you’re not sure.

For one moment you consider grabbing the lemonade powder from the cupboard, though that might be too on the nose. You scoop the neck of a beer bottle, dripping in condensation and the second tub of watermelon, your sandals flapping loudly until you reach the grass again, meeting him as he fills the garbage bag with the cut grass.

“Need some hydration?” You call out, holding the glass bottle to him.

“Oh, Jesus, thank you,” he sighs, tipping back the bottle, his adam’s apple deliciously bobbing as he engulfs it.

“Should’ve brought something non-alcoholic, if you’re gonna down it that quickly,” you mutter, licking your lips as you watch some of it spill and drip down his chin.

“Nah, beer’s perfec-hey, watermelon, fuck, perfect.” He grabs a larger piece from the tupperware in your other hand,one that by the time he rushes into his mouth has already begun to drip down his fingers, wrist, and forearm. When your eyes flicker back up to his face, he’s already messily chewing on the watermelon, the pink juice flowing down his chin. As he enjoys the juice that is supposedly bursting onto his tastebuds.

Eddie Munson eats slowly, he enjoys every possible second of what he eats. Not an ounce goes to waste, if he can help it from the stickiness to his thumb to the drool on his chin, he takes it all in. It drives you mental with sudden lust, squeezing your thighs together as he goes in for more watermelon. How has the pure erotic connotation of this fruit completely evaded your mind? You might as well have given him chocolate covered strawberries, you slut.

Every piece is worse than the last one, it’s like he’s purposely driving you completely mad with hormones and blinding any sense of logic you might have, your toes curling as he slowly makes his way through the chunks.

“You want some?” Eddie offers, quickly shaking you out of your trance.

You clear your throat, gesturing to the empty tub right next to your chair. “Oh, I already had a tub. Did you promise my dad you would perform free labor for a free weekend at his house, because that’s extortion, you know.”

He laughs, in the middle of taking a sip that quickly turns into a coughing fit. “No, believe it or not, I’m crazy enough to be doing this of my own free will. I also happen to have a lot of experience in landscaping.”

Your lips purse, your eyebrows furrowing as you attempt to recall any mentioning of landscaping in any magazine article or one of your dad’s many stories.

“I mowed lawns around town,” he deadpans, chuckling when he sees it click. “I also mowed lawns around LA when I first arrived. It paid for a few amps, some recording studio time, groceries. Working at the record store only paid so much, you know?”

You nod, grabbing one piece and ‘cheersing’ when he offers, picturing young Eddie Munson who’s still unknown, overworking himself to the bone so that he and his band could one day, hopefully make it. The long hours, the sore feet, the stress of hoping and working, it pinches at your heart, squeezing it but his face doesn’t give away any of the negative feelings that comes from working so hard for so long with such bare results.

He’s looking at it from a lens of nostalgia, how eager he was to learn, the eyerolls of his customers who overpaid him to simply trim their lawn at his answer ‘musician’ when they asked him what he did for work. How across those same lawns its a party trick. Eddie Munson once cut my father’s lawn in the summer of 91, true story.

Half those people he’s probably never met, but he’s willing to be someone’s little white lie, after all he dreamed about days like these.

“I considered getting into the pool cleaning business but it was too much to learn and too many bored moms looking for a fantasy in their pool boys. I’m good, I just needed the money. I heard that lost it’s merit after three.”

“Who’d you learn that from?” You grin, seeing a twinkle in his eye.

He laughs again, chewing on some more of the pink juicy fruit you couldn’t help but watch carefully.”Gareth,” he muses, speaking of his band’s drummer who bores a sick goatee and once blonde long locks he chopped off a few years ago much to the dismay of many fangirls. “He said it was the best gig ever then took it (and his gear) back the following week.”

From what you know about their band and their quirks, that sounds like Gareth.

“I’m gonna get back to it. I should be done at least the brunt of it in an hour or so. Do me a favor and keep checking me out, it’s doing numbers for my already large ego,” he winks, taking the final sip of his beer.

You go speechless, your mouth that was once somewhat hydrated from the melon now cotton dry. “I was-I was not–”

“I was teasing you, sweetheart. But hey me thinks the lady doth protest too much”

“I didn’t even protest!” you argue, bearing your forearms toward him feeling like you’re in the middle of a performance with how amazingly dramatic and tense the situation has become.

“Oh, no, you couldn’t even speak,” Eddie smirks, leaning over to yank on the cord of the machine, drowning out your argument.

Not like anything’ll happen, anyway, you shrug, walking back over to your book.

Sometime in the later afternoon after you help Eddie put all the garbage bags at a hidden corner of the yard, he decides to go in for a shower, his stinky musk acting as a strong pheromone.

You don’t even notice him come back down, sat on the cool couch indoors as the filthy scene has finally caught your attention. The character is overcoming her first orgasm and bewildered when her love interest goes in for more when your flow is interrupted by Eddie, as bag of marshmallows between his gritted teeth and cradling a few more indecipherable ingredients as he nods toward the outside.

When you hit the backyard the outdoor string of lights has been turned on, two chairs by the fire in the pit one with a blanket, soft rock music on in the background as Eddie puts down all the ingredients.

“Wh-what is this?” You ask him as your heart pounds in your chest hard.

“I uh–” he clears his throat, biting his thumb, “I just thought we could enjoy this fire pit that has spent so many years feeling useless. Let’s give it a night of change.”

“You cleaned out the fire pit because you felt sorry for it?” You clarify, shooting a pointed glance toward him.

“Not in so many words,” he reframes, scratching his neck. “Though I thought it must be jealous of his neighbor for still getting maintained all these years.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you muse, staring up at his brown eyes that don’t reach yours. “And sweet,” you add, biting back giggles when he breaks into a smile. “I’m sure our fire pit would love a night where he’s the center of attention again.”

“He?” Eddie points out, the eyebrow piercing hitting the sunset as they meet his hairline.

“You’re the one who said it must be jealous” you point out, walking over to the chair with the blanket.

As soon as your thighs hit the chair, Eddie wastes no time. “So, What was your dad’s opinion of what was it, Mark? Matthew?”

“Andy,” you mend, not caring if even got the name wrong.Getting the first letter wrong somehow made you feel better, as Andy was barely a blip on your radar as far as your weekend goes. “And he hated him. Tried to hide it, didn’t do a very good job of it, though.”

“Your dad has hated many boyfriends from what I can remember,” Eddie mutters, legs crossed as he stares right into the fire. The fire makes his brown eyes look brazenly dashing and a little on the wild side.

“My sisters and I didn’t all have the best track record of boys in high school,” you admit, suddenly feel the elephant in the room, or yard, that is your age difference that still has yet to be discussed. “College boys are even worse, honestly.”

“Men aren’t much better,” Eddie shakes his head, squinting comically.

“I think there’s a few good ones out there,” you mutter, only staring straight into the fire. “But back to my dad. Andy in specifically I think was his least favorite in the bunch because they just butted heads, all the time.”

“Why stay with a guy like that for two years?” Eddie asks. You look at him, having answered a question that feels accusatory from anyone else with defensiveness. The need to defend the seventeen year old girl dies in your throat when you see his expression, complete curiosity. “Expert in gaslighting and lovebombing and making an insult feel like a compliment. God all the time I wasted on him feeling like I wasn’t good enough–” you sigh, shaking yourself out of it. “Looking back it’s a parade of red flags.”

“Everything in hindsight,” Eddie amends, colliding his shoulder with yours as an act of comfort. “Sorry to bring it up he just seemed–he bothered me.”

“Acting like he’s too smart for college is so like him,” you admit, shaking your head. “What a dick.”

Eddie bursts out in laughter, handing you a cold opened beer bottle. Usually you turn down the wheaty drink if you can, but for his kindness and grand gesture you bring the bottle to your lips anyway after cheersing with him.

He’s in the middle asking about how you think you will do once you continue into your fifth year of college working towards your masters in psychology when the playlist shuffles into a song by Corroded Coffin, one of the only genuine love songs the band has ever produced.

“I love this song,” you muse, swaying to the start of a luck struck tale. It speaks of a girl at 18, wild smiles and pretty eyes meeting a boy of 19, lost and alone and aimless.

“I bet you do,” Eddie smiles, no malice behind his words.

You jerk, sending him the silent question of why?

“You really don’t know?” He asks, leaning back in his chair with wide eyes when you confirm. “Huh.”

“What?” You ask, staring to hum along when the upbeat chorus comes along, just two kids in a crazy world, how simple can this be just a boy and a girl, softly smiling at the hook and title of the song. “What?”

“I wrote this song about your parents,” Eddie mutters, looking off past the fire. “I started writing it early on in their relationship but only realized I’d release it when your dad proposed. I knew when he met her that she was the one for him.”

You smile, only vague memories of your mom flittering around in your mind, mostly hospital visits and playing cards with her and your siblings as she wore a beautiful vivid scarf on her head. “I didn’t know that,” the pressure that builds behind your eyes blurs the orange flames, the bridge suddenly making far too much sense and wondering how you’ve never connected it before.

Or why no one has ever told you.

“You okay?” Eddie asks, the beer bottle pausing on the way to his lips.

“I’m okay,” you smile, one stupid tear breaking free on the last chorus. “Just taken aback.”

“I’m sorry if I–” he starts, his voice drowning in remorse.

“It’s ok,” you nod, taking a sip of the alcohol to kill some of the grief you felt. “Really. Can we talk about something else now?”

He nods, walking around the fire to a few things you still haven’t noticed, pokey sticks. He sheathes a marshmallow on one of the prongs followed by another, hanging the pokey to you carefully. “S’more?”

You grin, nodding as you grab it from him and ignoring the warmth from his fingers brushing against yours gives you. “I suppose. Although it seems we are ignoring our dinner,” you joke, pointing out the hot dogs he also brought out.

“Dinner schminner,” Eddie dismisses, sitting back down. “We have s’mores, instead.”

“You’re a terrible influence,” you accuse, resting the stick on the edge of the pit. “Wait til my father hears about this,” you mutter in your best british accent, terribly butchering it.

“First of all,” Eddie huffs, unable to hold in his laughter. “That was the worst English accent I’ve ever heard in my life. That sucked.” Your fists collides with his knee, barking out laughter at his ‘ow!’ “Hey! I’m roasting marshmallows here, careful, it’s a very delicate process!”

“You deserved that, even if it’s true you just made me cry and now I’m emotionally vulnerable. I could’ve very well burst into tears from your insult!” You can’t even take yourself seriously, bursting into giggles by the halfway point. “Okay, what was second of all?”

“I don’t like to brag but I once met Daniel Radcliffe at one of my shows,” he shrugs, as if it were no big deal, failing to hide how gleeful it t ruly made him feel.

“First, you seem like the type of person who loves to brag, second, you seem very excited about it and I’m not at all jealous you got to meet him. He seems so cool and genuine.”

“That’s just the thing, he really is that cool and genuine and it was the most bizarre thing,” Eddie shakes his head, twirling the stick around. “The most random of people come to our shows and I’m always shocked when they say they like us because it still feels so unreal.”

“Twenty some odd years and it still feels like a dream?” You ask, watching a look of bewilderment take over his face that could never be faked. “That’s really cool, oh shit.” You tug in your marshmallows, one of them extra crispy as you blow out the flame. “Fuck,” you mutter, having hated burnt marshmallows.

“Wanna trade? I love the burnt ones,” Eddie grins, holding out the perfectly golden brown mallows.

You rapidly nod, biting on your bottom lip.

Its a struggle to get the gooey treats onto the chocolates and graham crackers, neither of you having the foresight to unwrap the damn things before roasting the star pieces of the treats. Eddie takes the trouble all in good stride, laughing as one of yours almost falls off the prong before he can get the graham cracker ready.

The first one of yours is already done by the time he sits with his own, having insisted he didn’t need help and to go fucking sit down already.

“How are they?” He takes a bite, nodding in approval before you can answer.

“Really good,” you hum, your voice muffled in chocolatey gooyness as your fingers continue to get sticky.

“Hmm, yeah that hits the stuff,” he appreciates, wet smacking as he works through his s’more so quickly you’re not even sure he was chewing. “Oh, just what I needed after a long day of yard work.”

“You did that voluntarily,” you remind him, taking alas the final taste of a delicious s’more. It might’ve been the best damn one you’ve ever had.

“Guess I just needed a reminder of what a long day of hard work looks like,” he shrugs, pausing in his bites as something crosses his mind. The thought goes away just as quickly, continuing to finish off his s’more.

The sun has nearly disappeared into the horizon, a beautiful dark blue starting to overhaul the once crystal. The conversation dwindles down, the loud crack of the fire pit and background music filling the air instead.

You think it’s the perfect ending to your days spent together.

Until.

‘“I have a stupid idea.” He says, his knee knocking yours.

“Hmm?” you ask, hazy from your third beer.

“In the mood for a swim?”

-

Thank you so much for reading! Remember replies and reblogs are the best way to support fic writers on tumblr!

Main taglist: @alastorssimp @mmunson86 @skrzydlak @thirddeadlysin @sammararaven @bebe07011 @prettylovely @josephquinnschesthair @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you @names-were-taken @oddussy420 @joequiinn @arlxtoa

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I can’t wait for y’all to read the next ch

I post each part every Thursday, the taglist is still open <3

[bebe07011]

I’m in ✨love✨

hi, babes! i saw that you’re open to some AYW blurbs so i wanted to shoot my shot 🥹 i am YEARNING for jealous!eddie sooooo bad so could we pretty please with cherries on top have a lil blurb about him where a different dad hits on the reader while they’re picking up the boys from school or maybe while they’re doing some kind of errands like grocery shopping or something? it could be from when they’re already dating or from when they’re just pining over each other, it’s up to you! i just want possessive!eddie to come back lmaooo thank you in advance if you choose to do this! i love youuu and the entire AYW universe ❤️

Jealous!Eddie? Possessive!Eddie? Oh, you're definitely speaking my language. As much as I love Eddie being possessive after he and Reader get together, there's something about Eddie being a total jealousy monster while they're still just pining for one another that butters my biscuit.

Words: 2.9k

Warnings: age gap, Eddie is technically married to someone else but if you know this series you know what that's all about

[As You Wish masterlist]

The stoplight turns green, and you put pressure on the gas pedal of your gold Elantra. The car rumbles down the road as you bop your head and sing along to the radio. Everybody (Backstreet’s Back) by The Backstreet Boys is a great song, you don’t care what boy band haters say. 

It’s part of the usual routine for you to be early when arriving at Hawkins Elementary School to pick up Ryan and Luke, but since your literature class let out twenty minutes before it was supposed to, you’re extra early. You turn your car into the school’s parking lot and find a visitor spot that will allow you to easily swing into the pick-up line when the time comes. 

Car in park, you turn the volume on the radio up and tuck one leg underneath you. You’re so engrossed in the music that you have to do a double take when you see an attractive man walk past a few cars, headed toward the school.

It’s Eddie. Something is in his hand but he’s moving so briskly that it’s hard to tell what it is. Lead fills your stomach. Why is he here? What happened? Did something happen with the boys? Are they okay?

You yank the key out of the ignition mid-song and throw open the driver’s side door. 

“Hey, Eddie!” you call as you jog to catch up with him—his long legs striding further in one step than either of his sons can go in three. 

Eddie turns his head as he reaches for the handle of the door. He’s just reached the entrance, and he stops with his hand on top of the silver bar. You could almost swear his tense face eases into a smile when he sees you coming up behind him. But perhaps that’s just wishful thinking. Of course it is. What else would it be?

“What’s going on?” you ask. “Is everything okay?”

He sighs and pulls open the front door of the school, gesturing for you to step inside first. You do, and he follows in behind you. He lifts his other hand which is holding a pair of small pants.

“The school called me at work and said Luke spilled glue all over his pants, so I grabbed a pair from home for him to change into,” he explains. “I tried calling you when I got to the house, but I guess you were already on your way.”

It should probably surprise you more than it does that Luke got into such a sticky situation, but you’ve known him for long enough that this just seems par for the course.

“Oh, Luke,” you sigh as you and Eddie stride side by side down the hallway.

“He keeps life interesting,” Eddie says. He checks his watch and sees there’s less than half an hour left in the school day. He gestures toward a classroom door covered in student’s artwork. “Might as well grab Ryan from his class since it’s right here.”

You wait out in the hall as Eddie slips inside to get his oldest son.

“He did what?” you hear Ryan asking as Eddie opens the door on his way out. The little boy looks as if he’s going to say something else, but he sees you standing in the hall and immediately steps forward and wraps his arms around your waist. “Hi!”

“Hey, Ry.” You chuckle at his eagerness and ruffle his honey brown hair. “How was school?”

“Pretty good,” he says as he takes your hand. Both Munsons head down the hall, you tagging along since you don’t know the right direction to go in. “I played kickball in gym. I ran the bases so fast!”

“Nice!” You hold your free hand up for a high five, which he gladly returns.

Eddie stops in front of another classroom door and nods towards it.

“Okay, I’ll be right back.” 

He slips inside and Ryan swings your joined hands between the two of you for a few moments until the door opens again and Luke waddles out in a bow-legged stance, feet slowly shuffling him along.

“What did you do?” Ryan asks with a sigh. It’s in the same exasperated tone that Luke brings out of a lot of people.

“Nothing!” his little brother defends. “The bottle was clogged so I took the lid off. Then it slipped out of my hands!”

Eddie lets out a silent chuckle as he closes the classroom door behind them. 

“I think they’re stuck to me!” Luke says.

“Okay,” Eddie says, gently taking Luke by the shoulders and leading him towards a bathroom a few doors down. “I can help get them off.”

“Can Ryan?” Luke asks, reaching for the door handle.

“Ry?” Eddie looks at his oldest son.

“Yeah, let me help.”

Ryan holds the door open and Luke crab walks his way into the single bathroom. The door clicks closed behind them and Eddie gives you an amused look. You can’t help but giggle as the two of you wait out in the hall. 

Sounds of movement come from the other side of the door, along with the murmur of Luke’s voice as he speaks to his brother. A few minutes pass before the door opens a crack and Ryan sticks his head out.

“Daddy?” he asks. “Can you get a Band-Aid from the classroom?”

“He’s bleeding?” Eddie asks, slight alarm creeping into his voice.

Ryan sighs. “Glue pulled off a scab on his knee.”

“Alright, I’ll be right back,” Eddie says. He looks at you as Ryan pulls his head back inside, and you nod, letting Eddie know you’ll be here with the boys. 

Parents begin to trickle into the hallway. It’s the kindergarten wing so it’s not unusual for guardians to be waiting right outside the classroom to pick up their kids. Luke was more capable than that, he assured when he said that he could walk to the pick-up lane outside all on his own—or sometimes with Ryan. 

“Everything okay?” a voice asks from behind you.

“Oh!” You’re slightly startled as you spin around to see a man standing near you. 

A smile quirks up on one side of his mouth when he sees he surprised you. His smile is nice, you notice. In fact, all of his face is nice. He’s around Eddie’s age and height, with short black hair and piercing green eyes. Very attractive. 

“Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” you say with a wave of your hand. “Um, yeah, everything is okay. Just a glue incident.”

“Been there,” the man says with a gruff laugh. “Nail polish remover.”

“I’m sorry?” you ask.

“Nail polish remover will get the glue off of clothes,” he clarifies. “Just in case you or your husband didn’t know that.”

His words fluster you. Had he seen Eddie and just assumed he was your husband? Or was he just assuming in general? Either way, it takes a moment for you to compose yourself. 

Part of you doesn’t want to correct him. But it’s possible the boys can hear this conversation through the wood of the door. Also, what if the man says something similar after Eddie comes back? Eddie would obviously refute, and you’d be mortified all the way around. 

“Oh, uh, he’s um, he’s not my husband. He’s their dad. I’m the babysitter.”

“Ah, my mistake. Sorry.” He doesn’t look the least bit sorry though. “I should’ve guessed. You’re far too young to be their mom.”

He must’ve seen Eddie and at least Ryan, then. 

Again, you’re flustered. He’s clearly flirting with you, so why does part of you want Eddie to hurry up and come back? This man is handsome and charming and neither of you are doing anything wrong by having this conversation with one another. There’s not a ring on his finger either, you notice. 

You still haven’t responded though.

“You have a beautiful smile,” he says.

You hadn’t even realized you were smiling. 

“Thank you,” you say, your smile turning shy.  

The man takes a step closer to you and tilts his head to the side.

“Do you come by here every day? Or is it just my lucky day?”

Behind you, Eddie comes back with a Band-Aid in his hand. He hears the man’s question and immediately his hackles go up. His back straightens and his jaw sets as he purposely squeaks one of his black boots against the tile floor. 

The sound has the intended effect, and you spin around in his direction. Why do you feel as though you’ve been caught doing something wrong? An image of Brittany’s beautiful, cold face flashes in your mind and the trace of guilt disappears.

“You got it?” you ask Eddie.

“Yep,” he states curtly. 

He brandished the Band-Aid, realizing he had crumpled it in his fist in his irritation. He knocks on the bathroom door. “It’s me. Here’s the Band-Aid.”

Ryan opens it a crack and sticks his hand out. Eddie lays it in his palm as you hear a footstep right behind you.

Spinning back, you see that the handsome man is closer to you now. Eddie is not happy. But neither you nor the man notice. 

“I feel like I would’ve noticed you here before,” the man says to you.

“I’m usually in the carpool,” you explain. 

“See, I knew I would have recognized you,” he says with a bright smile. “You’re very pretty.”

Your face immediately fills with heat. So does Eddie’s, but for another reason entirely. 

“Thank you,” you say.

A fist banging on the door behind you startles you, and you spin around to see Eddie pounding on the wood.

“How’s it going?” Eddie asks loudly. 

“Good!” Luke calls back. “I’m almost all the way unstuck!” 

Eddie takes a breath and turns towards you.

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to stay here through this.”

Though he didn’t consciously intend it, there’s possessiveness in the pet name. It’s not uncommon for him to call you “sweetheart,” but this time there’s a harshness in his tone that whispers he’s staking his claim on you.

This may be the only time Eddie has ever wanted you to go away from him. And it’s not because of him, but because of the flirtatious father that is not him. The father who can’t leave with you because he’s still waiting for his kid.

“Oh no, I’m fine,” you assure Eddie. “I can take the boys back home and you can go back to work.”

Eddie waves a hand dismissively.

“Nah, I already took the rest of the day off.” 

The stranger behind you opens his mouth to speak, so Eddie makes sure to beat him to it.

“What do you say we go get some food once Situation Sticky Pants is solved?” Eddie asks. “The gremlins are always hungry.”

“If I had a nickel for every time Luke climbed into my car and immediately brought up food, I’d be able to buy this school,” you say with a fond smile. 

Eddie’s responding chuckle makes your heart leap into your throat. You’re so ensnared by the man you’re so infatuated with that you almost miss his eldest son calling your name through the bathroom door.

Quickly, you shake it off and press your ear up against the smooth wood.

“Yeah, Ry?”

While your focus is on the boy talking to you from inside the bathroom, Eddie looks at the man behind you, steel in his deep brown eyes. The man doesn’t react or respond one way or the other. It irritates Eddie even further. 

“What was the name of that movie we watched yesterday?” Ryan asks you.

“Flubber?”

“That’s it!” you hear Luke say.

“Okay, thank you!” Ryan adds. 

You pull away from the door with a soft chuckle.

“I really hope whatever conversation they’re having about that movie has nothing to do with getting Luke’s pants unstuck,” Eddie says. 

You lean back against the cool, white brick wall next to the bathroom door and the man sidles up closer to you. Eddie doesn’t have the chance to intervene before he speaks this time.

“I know it’s a shot in the dark,” the man says to you, “but would you want to get dinner sometime?”

You’re stunned speechless. Sure, he had been flirting with you, but you assumed that’s all it was. Just some innocent, fun flirting. A date could also be some innocent fun, you tell yourself. And this man has been nothing but kind and respectful towards you. But…it doesn’t feel right. It’s hard to parse out if it feels wrong accepting another man’s advances in front of Eddie because of how you feel for your boss, or you just don’t want to go out with the guy, as nice as he seems. Just because he’s nice doesn’t mean you owe him anything. Regardless, you feel a sense of relief when you decide to decline his offer.

What you don’t know is that Eddie is ready to combust behind you. Waiting for you to answer the question is pure agony for him. He’s pretty sure he’ll burst into flames if you keep him in suspense any longer.

“Oh, that’s very sweet of you,” you say. 

Eddie’s heart seizes in his chest. He leans his shoulder against the wall, hoping it will help keep him propped up. 

“But…” you continue, and Eddie’s heart starts beating again, even if it’s at an erratic rhythm. 

“I actually have a boyfriend though,” you finish. 

Eddie feels sick. He half thinks he’ll have to barge in on the boys in the bathroom and empty his stomach into the toilet.

The man gives you a sad smile and nods his head.

“He’s a lucky guy.”

You offer him a small smile just as the bathroom door bangs open and the boys step out—Luke clad in his glue-free jeans.

“How we doing?” you ask them.

“Good!” Luke grins and gives you two thumbs up. His previous pair of jeans are slung over his shoulder. Eddie slips them off and rolls them up into a ball. 

“We ready to go?” Eddie asks.

Luke nods his head enthusiastically and slips his smaller hand into yours. He begins to pull you in the direction of the school’s exit. You turn your head as you’re pulled away and give the man a small smile.

“Have a nice day,” you wish him.

“You as well,” he replies. 

Once your gang makes it into the parking lot, the boys start bickering about whose car they want to ride in. They come up with Rock, Paper, Scissors as a way to decide.

While they play that, Eddie turns to you. 

“Boyfriend, huh?” he asks. It takes a Herculean amount of effort to keep bitterness from coating those words. 

Eddie knows he has no right to ask you about this and it’s completely inappropriate. Yet, he can’t stop himself from asking. 

“Hmm?” you question. As soon as his question registers in your brain, adrenaline pumps through your body, eager to let Eddie know that you’re very available—even if it doesn’t make a difference one way or the other. “Oh! No, no, I don’t have a boyfriend. My best friend taught me to use that excuse when I don’t want to accept. It’s a no, but the guy won’t get all bent out of shape or start harassing me because it doesn’t really hurt his pride.”

“Wow,” Eddie says, blowing out a breath. He’s immensely relieved that you’re single, but also annoyed that you’ve had to employ this trick for your safety. ‘I am so sorry that you have to do that. A ‘no’ should be enough.”

“Should be.” You agree with a shrug. “But it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

“Scissors!” Luke exclaims before he turns in your direction. “We’re riding with you!”

“Want to meet at the diner on Essex?” Eddie asks.

“Sure!”

Eddie ushers the boys into the back of your car and makes sure they’re buckled in before walking across the parking lot to his own truck. As he slips into the driver’s seat and turns the key in the ignition, Eddie replays the last fifteen minutes in his head. 

“She said no to that guy,” Eddie muses out loud to himself as he navigates through the traffic that’s collected in front of the school. “She said no to that guy because she has a boyfriend. But she doesn’t have a boyfriend.”

A large sigh of relief spills from his lips. The mere thought of you having a boyfriend created a multitude of knots in Eddie’s stomach. He can’t even bear to think about how much of a hypocrite it all makes him. 

“But…” Eddie continues to himself, a new sickening thought taking root. “Oh, fuck. What if she didn’t want to date that douche because he’s older than her. My fucking age.”

The thought disheartens him even more than the idea of you having a boyfriend does. He reaches up and rubs his calloused hands over his face as he rolls up to a red light. 

“Jesus Christ, Munson,” he groans. “You’re sitting here, talking to yourself about whether or not she has a boyfriend, or if there’s a possibility she could be into someone older. You’re fucking married, douchebag. It shouldn’t matter one way or the other if she's with someone or not. Or who she might want to date or not.”

The light turns green, and Eddie lets his foot rest heavy against the gas.

Maybe none of this should matter to Eddie. But it sure as hell does.

[bebe07011]

MHM MHM MHM

Ice Cream, Bikinis, and Other Ways To Torture Him | Older Rockstar!Eddie x Harrington Fem!Reader | 18+

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Summary: The stories of Eddie Munson, front man of Corroded Coffin and his music filled the Harrington household, his albums on shelves and picture frames hung of your dad and him, young and dumb. You’re home for the weekend, which just so happens to be the same weekend Eddie is in Hawkins on a personal errand. The longtime crush on him bubbles to the surface as you meet him, giving into the temptation of small summer dresses and bubblegum gloss for the fun of it. Until your dad is called in to an emergency work meeting. Then the fun of torture becomes temptation.

Warnings: Older Rockstar!Eddie, Harrington!Reader (Steve’s daughter), multichapter build up, excessive use of nicknames, no use of y/n, use of marijuana, perv!Eddie, this chapter has some forced proximity, tension and uh oh feelings.

Describes: long hair, shorter than Eddie by a few inches, reader is described to look like her mom (can be ANY race) with Steve’s freckles. No skin colour, body shape/type

Word Count: 3.7k (it’s the shortest one, I promise I’m so sorry 😭)

Chapter 2

The first thing you did when you got into Eddie Munson’s little red corvette was peel the window open, claiming you had just needed some fresh air. It was true, as his scent had choked you as soon as you sat down on the dark gray leather seats. It’s strangely intoxicating, an odd mix of smoke, woodsy, and pure man that has you wanting to take a big whiff like some little pervert.

Strangely even from the window of a rockstar’s corvette the little town looked no more glamorous than it did from your beat up car, the small town feel of it all suffocating as you fill with gratitude you managed to get out. He finally pulls in front of a three story apartment, white walls and balconies so small they make you claustrophobic.

“Uh, how are we supposed to fill this small car with all your uncle’s stuff?” You ask, peering into the backseat as you undo your seatbelt.

He smiles, his eyes momentarily switching between the backseat of the two door car and you. “My van is in the resident’s parking lot, it should have plenty of room to move stuff over.”

“So, donation, your place and your uncle’s place, I’m guessing?” You ask, walking a step behind him to the front door of the building.

“Pretty much. It just comes down to going through it which I know, will be a fucking pain.” He reaches your eyes, giving you a small smile. “Thanks for coming.”

You didn’t have much of a choice.

“Not that you had much of a choice,” he adds as he opens the apartment door, a small bout of laughter filling the halls.

Okay, that was weird.

His uncle lived on the first floor in the corner room in a furnished spot, so all it came down to were the knicknacks he had collected over the years. You didn’t think that’d be so bad until you walked in, your eyes landing on wall to wall collections of mugs and hats and other tiny sentimental things.

“Pretty sure we’re going to end up donating most of the mugs, he doesn’t use them anyway, it’s the hats he’s been fighting tooth and nail for,” he rolls his eyes, grabbing a moving box you haven’t noticed from a stack in a pile against the wall.

“How’d those get here?”

“My assistant brought them with the van,” he explains, setting the box up. “He’s hanging out around town until we pack the van up.”

“Must be nice to have an assistant to take care of that shit,” you muse, your voice only the teeniest bit bitter about it.

He passes you the box, his shoulders shaking in laughter. “I’m aware it sounds pretentious. I only hired him when I kept losing track of which fucking thing I had to do next. Interview, show, interview, photo shoot…it was fucking never ending at times. Sometimes I needed a reminder to fucking eat.”

You grab the box from him, ignoring the twinge in your gut as you walk up to a bookshelf in the corner of the small living room containing many little things. You know time is of the essence, but you can’t help yourself, leaning over to analyze the display his uncle had created. There’s a photo in the center in a simple wooden frame, a gruff older man who you supposed would be Wayne standing arm in arm with Eddie, a much younger, freer Eddie, at least, standing outside in front of a forest area.

Eddie has his hand on his hip, squinting his eyes against the sun with his uncle's arm wrapped around his shoulder. If you’d looked closer, you’d see their reddened faces, blotchy from tears shed but both gritting their teeth for the picture.

“That was the day I left for LA,” you jump at his voice, holding your chest tightly as you turn to look around to face him.

He’s still across the apartment, wrapping the mugs and storing them in a tupperware box. “I have never seen him cry like that in my life. I was scared shitless.”

You avoid his stare, the starry eyed version of him something you’re not quite used to, something stirs deep in your gut that you find oddly unsettling.

In an attempt to ignore it you look closer at the knick knacks surrounding it, suddenly realizing it was just Corroded Coffin merch, tickets, and even demos. “These would be worth a pretty penny,” you turn over the tape in your hand, imagining a rough draft of Eddie’s untuned, inexperienced vocals. “To you, they must be priceless.”

“I could release them if I’d really wanted to, but the songs suck and my voice was even worse,” Eddie shrugs, still moving mugs into their different boxes. You notice how much fuller the one on the left is, Eddie making actual progress in comparison to your dilly-dallied snooping.

“I bet Wayne still wants this.” You sigh, placing the memorabilia gently in the cardboard box, admiring the faded ink from ticket stubs over twenty years ago. The following shelf had a full row of dark fantasy novels, every spine cracked to oblivion with yellowed crinkled pages. “Do you want these?”

Eddie looks over, absentmindedly wrapping a mug when he double, triple takes, his face lighting up like a kid on Christmas. “Oh I thought he threw those away!”

Suddenly the scent of his cologne invades your nose again as he leans right next to you, grabbing at one of the books on the shelf with a giddy grin. “I used to reread these all the time.”

“Princesses needing rescuing in some odd faraway land?” You tease, turning the dark green book over in your hand.

“Usually with some kind of twist,” he hums, analyzing the back of his paperback as he squats his ass an inch over the floor. “Dragons being in cahoots, noble knights acting selfishly, evil kings turning out to be righteously good… there was always some sort of twist,” his narration turned dramatic as the sentence moved on, a story teller’s voice.

It reminded you of one specific fun fact. “Uncle Dustin said you were his dungeon master in high school, were these any inspiration?”

Eddie’s brows furrow deeply, jerking his head as swivels sharply upward. “Somehow it’d slipped my mind that you would know Dust.”

You nod absentmindedly, taking in the fantastical names in the description. Lysandra the princess, Eletha the fae, King Alistair… “Unfortunately.”

“Hmm,” he peeps, fluttering through the pages. “Aah, Sorceress Nyrinn teaching Lysandra basic magic, this takes me back.”

You smile down at him, how his dimples are deeply embedded in his cheeks and his front canines peek from behind that wide grin as he skims through his harlequin equivalent chock full of fantasy and adventure.

“Any of these girls you’ve ever fantasized about rescuing?” You tease him, starting to toss the books in a box labeled Eddie Home. He remains silent, even a pink tinge dusting his ears. “I was joking, sire.”

“Just keep packing,” he grumbles, tossing the book carelessly into your very organized box. “I’m gonna go take a quick smoke break.”

You find yourself fallen into an easy pattern, having figured out what Eddie’s looking to keep very early on. He’s even willing to go through the boxes that have been long stored at Wayne’s apartment, insisting they don’t need any dead weight, not in Wayne’s small sized room, and not lugged across a few state lines back in LA.

One of the boxes stored in Wayne’s closet seems like it was just thrown together until you realize they were all belongings of a teenage boy. A soft smile graces your face as you imagine Wayne unable to part with the little part of seventeen year old Eddie he still had with him, even if it’s his messy room thrown into a box.

You pick up a small shoe box, the items clunkily jumping about when you shake it. It’s only logical that the box should hold a few dozen player’s dice and painted figurines. The box’s heavy weight is largely contributed to by the worn out and outdated version of the player’s manual.

You take note of the sticky notes curled and faded peeking out of the pages, messy scrawl noting a page Eddie must’ve used for referral once or twice.

One set of dice had a familiar red and plank pattern, painted to look like his prized guitar. You smooth your thumb along the ridged paint, putting the box aside for Eddie despite the protests he will so obviously yelp out.

He deserves to be a bit more forgiving of that side of himself.

There were a handful of items you picked up and put aside for donation, a few old music tapes, a guitar string placement poster, until something catches your eye; a well loved classified notebook.

Now, you might’ve been wrong, but you always had the feeling that Eddie wasn’t too interested in his school work, all items from his locker having been tossed in the garbage the moment the last bell rang each year. As you tentatively open the book, you realize it was probably the one thing that kept him going back.

Each lined paper was filled with his messy scrawl, an intriguing combination of cursive and print, extensively detailed plans for his run as, so Dustin called him, a vindictive and tyrannical dungeon master. Across the scrawl were doodles, well shaded pencil drawings of creatures and classes alike. One page caught your eye towards the end, a full page of scattered doodles that seemed eerily familiar to you.

“Wow.” You look up to face Eddie leaned against the door frame with his arms across his chest, his eyes trained on the notebook in your hands. “I haven’t seen that in a while.”

You glance back down to the page and its doodles, still trying to make sense of where you could’ve seen it. As if plucked out of thin air, a song starts playing in your head and it clicks. “Hey you used these doodles on an album cover.”

He nods, watching your hands gently touch the graphite on the paper. “You could totally donate these to a rock and roll museum; they'd think it's dope.”

Eddie shakes his head, as if the idea was ridiculous. “No one wants to see my ratty old notebook filled with my dateless evenings. There’s not even a single lyric in there.”

“But this is on one of your albums, isn’t it?”

He nods, smiling softly at the abstract doodles before glancing up to you. “I don’t want it, I would never look at it. Take it, if you want.”

You were already tempted to steal it, the notebook having a scent that’s so specifically Eddie with an added elixir of teenage boy added to the mix making maybe your one true Kryptonite. “Whaaaaat? Why would I take it?”

“Steve said you’re a fan of our music, yeah?” You nod meekly, still tracing the graphite. “Well if not, it's going in the trash.”

You put it in your purse.

Since your father left that morning, so did the tether that kept your head on straight, any lingering ideas kept at bay as you kept a safe distance. It was gone.

Keeping a safe distance as an act of self discipline all but seemed moot when your dad offered your services, now stuck in a tiny apartment working around Eddie as his gentle voice hums to the music blasting through his phone.

Maybe a dress isn’t the best choice to wear for manual labor such as packing and moving boxes, the length obviously not long enough to cover the bright underwear. Maybe it's the little allowance you give yourself to indulge in defiance against your own rule. Regardless, it was safer to stay as far away as possible.

Fate proves herself to be a cruel mistress as you find yourself on your tiptoes, reaching up to grab something on a shelf you wondered why someone elderly had a shelf stored so high on the wall, and you smelt him before you felt him, reaching to the shelf’s level to grab it for you.

“Why the hell did he have a shelf this fuckin’ high for?” He huffs, tossing the hidden box onto the bed.

He steps away as fast as he came, leaving the room with a few boxes you had packed and ready. The moment clouds your brain, his strong torso completely against your back, his hot breath on your neck as he stepped away. What the hell?

Your heart pitter patters, your whole body frazzled while you put a few more boxes by the door.

As you’re leaning down to pick up another box you hear Eddie swear loudly down the hall in disgust. He uses the lord’s name in vain several times, rubbing his hand on his pants as his face twists up in utter revulsion when you peek out to see the culprit.

“Somethin’ gross? I don’t see anything wrong with this picture,” you comment, looking around his setting for what might have set him off.

“Don’t–” his hands fly up to prevent you from taking another step. His overly wide eyes and panicked state would usually have you laughing if you weren’t so curious to what could possibly send him into this frantic state of disgust. “You don’t want to know, trust me.”

“Now I really do want to know,” you insist, still scanning the room.

“No. You don’t.” He shakes his head solemnly, his foot slowly shuffling slightly to his left. “Seriously.”

“Can I at least have a hint?” You plead, knowing the possibilities will drive you crazy all day.

“I just found a box of my old clothes,” Eddie starts, gesturing to a kaleidoscope of different shades of black with an occasional band font, unfolded as if thrown in a hurry.

He obviously is hinting towards something, but you need some more exposition. “...Ok?”

Eddie pauses to think, hands on his hips as he racks his brain for something. “Think of it this way. Think of the one item of clothing you don’t want to find under a teenage boy’s bed, twenty years later. Especially twenty years later.” He shudders again.

The one thing…oh. “Oh my god,” you giggle, hiding your obvious glee over his disgust behind your hand. “A…sock?”

Eddie nods slowly, nodding his head in what must be mortification. “Uh huh. I am burning this whole bucket of clothes that just–” he shudders, his left foot inching towards where you had to now guess what must be an absolutely petrified cum-sock lies, “marinated in it.”

A bout of laughter passes through your lips again, disguising the odd intrigue you found yourself in. You might be more perverted than even you initially realized.

No, put away the thought of inhaling in the 20-year-old musk–

“Hey, do you mind helping me with this box? It’s ridiculously heavy,” Eddie gestures down the hall to a tote seemingly filled to the brim with random shit, the sock supposedly tossed into the garbage by then.

“No problem.”

“You want me to walk backward?” He offers, reaching your eyes as you both bend over to grab at the awkward edges.

“Yeah that’d be great,” You cough, failing to ignore the cigarette on his breath just barely disguised by the mint.

Step by step you help him around the corners until you help lift the box into his van, refusing to allow yourself more than a singular moment lingering on how his arms bulge through the lift.

Wayne had a bedside table he hadn’t gone through, filled with momentums over the years. You grab one of the smaller boxes from the living room to hold them, wanting to take care of the things that Wayne had cared for. There were a few photos, Eddie in scattered years from an angsty teenager to a rowdy kid with a missing front tooth. It was obvious everything in his bedside would be moved back to Wayne, allowing him his precious memories of the boy he cared for.

Allotted between the table and the bed is a photo album, something you suspect is cover to cover filled with more photos until you get the glimpse of a brightly coloured pape, just a millisecond but enough to peak your curiosity.

By the second page you’re in tears, softly sniffling at messy scribblings with silly puns and elaborate doodles.

“Hey, when you get a sec–” Eddie stops mid-sentence, taking you in on the bare bed as you weepily turn a page. “You okay?”

“Oh,” you wipe away the tear that was shed, embarrassed. “I’m fine. It’s just— it’s so obvious he went through this a lot, some pages are worn out.”

“Let’s see,” he holds his hand out for the photo album, a drop of weight on the bed as he peers shoulder to shoulder with you as he reads over the pages in front of you. “Oh, wow.”

You put the book in his outstretched hands, watching his expression turn misty as well. The deceitful photo album is an album of father’s day cards, about twenty of them all lined in a row with Eddie’s well wishes in each one.

“I started sending them when I was 25,” he mumbles, his voice wet as he turns a page. “I figured since he raised me n’ all, he deserved the title and the recognition.”

“Seems like he felt honored,” you comment, watching page by page.

“I picked these cards out in less than a second but he puts them in a pressed fucking photo album,” he laughs, shaking his head. “Wayne is ridiculous. But he’s always been my biggest supporter.”

Impulsively, you nudge your chin on his shoulder affectionately, watching him flip through the last through the final few pages. You wondered if his vulnerability making you even crazier for him would be an isolated incident.

God sure had a sick sense of humor when he tied emotion and lust for women.

Turns out, you two work remarkably well together because by the time Eddie places the photo album in the box with a not so subtle sniffle, Wayne’s room, kitchen, and livingroom are all packed up and ready for distribution. The things going home with Eddie and to Wayne’s room are in the van stacked like tetris with your very ‘helpful’ commentary and the donations are piled up by the front door waiting for their collection.

The little red corvette has been sitting in the hot sun for a few hours by the time you’re back into it, ready for a night off your feet.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m starving,” Eddie comments, taking a turn away from your house.

Your stomach growls at the mention of food, still only two slices of toast being the one thing used to sustain your appetite for the day. “I could definitely eat.”

“Good, I need to thank you for your help.”

You avoid his intense gaze from the corner of your eye, staring holes into your thighs. “It was nothing–”

“What’s your favourite spot in town?” Eddie seems to be ignoring your protests, meeting them with an exaggerated huff as if you were acting foolish.

“I don’t mind if you take me to the nearest one, Munson. I’m starving,” you insist, laughing at the manic shaking of his head.

“I’m not taking you anywhere except your favorite spot,” Eddie insists right back, without missing a beat.

No wonder he and Steve had managed to stay friends for so long, he matches your stubbornness step for step.

“Fine! Take me to Miss.Tina’s I haven’t had their burgers since I’ve been back,” you think back to their fully stacked burgers paired with their crinkle fries drizzled in mustard. You still haven’t been able to find a burger from a local restaurant near your campus that even rivals Miss.Tina’s recipe.

“Oh, I know you’re fucking with me,” Eddie laughs, taking the left turn at the traffic lights.

“Nope,” you inform him, shaking your head slowly. “It’s always been my favourite place in town.”

“Well call that dumb luck, because it’s my fuckin’ favourite place, too.”

“I take it back.”

You laugh at his deadpan, noting the new decor around the walls since the last time you’ve seen it.

“It’s not that bad.” It is, you’re just hoping he doesn’t leave because of the change.

“Are you shitting me?” Eddie deadpans, glancing around to the updated insides now turned into a hollow husk of a restaurant. At least, it certainly felt like the funeral march of your once beloved restaurant. “It’s a horrendous study in interior design. Who the hell paints the inside of a restaurant bright orange?”

“Ok, it’s that bad, but I just need a damn good burger.” You lead the way into the line, noting their updating point of sale. Last time you were there the employee had still been using a notepad, this time an iPad had been stationed on a stand.

The employee now wears some updated uniform barring the design, a bright smile on her face as she greets the two of you. Definitely not the deadened stare you were used to.

The mustard packet you received was a third of the size of what they used to be. It seems Miss.Tina’s has finally met empty corporate capitalism.

The decor might’ve changed, but the recipes remain as always untouched, a collective groan in satisfaction in your first bites in the tacky booth confirmation that Miss.Tina’s still fucks.

“If they change their recipe they are so screwed,” Eddie says exactly what you’re thinking between bites, wiping his face from the sauces that splatters his lips. As he wipes it off, you start to think of making out with him in the booth and lapping up and cleaning his messy face for him. Some real good messy make outs.

You nod, taking a sip from the large soda that must be at least 5 ounces smaller. “Oh, they’d shut down within the week.”

“This was one of the only few places where every group in Hawkins High could be seen, because they didn’t care when we loitered and Miss.Tina treated us like her own.” Eddie glances upward at a sign right by the table, NO LOITERING.

“That’s kind of really depressing,” you sigh, munching on your fry through a fucking wooden fork. “I am not sure I want these fries lathered in mustard enough to also add the taste of wood to it.”

“Plenty of wood has been tasted in these walls before,” Eddie smirks, raising his pierced brow when you choke on the following fry.

It’s like he prides himself on how he manages to make your brain short circuit so easily. Thankfully, years of being raised in the Harrington household has trained a keen sense of wit into you. “Judging on those princess books, Munson,” you take another sip, letting the beginning of your sentence settle in, “doesn’t seem like yours was one of them.”

The fry that bounced off your forehead the moment after was worth it, and the rosy pink that bloomed across his cheeks was even more so.

-

I have 99% done at this point I’m so excited for y’all to read it!!!

Main taglist: @arlxt @alastorssimp @mmunson86 @pinkcowracing @yourthebrokengirl @skrzydlak @thirddeadlysin @sammararaven @bebe07011 @prettylovley @josephquinnschesthair @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you @names-were-taken @oddussy420

Taglist for Ice Cream, Bikinis, and Other Ways To Torture Him: @emxxblog @transparentenemypenguin @stylesxmunson @ali-r3n @mediocredreams @miaajaade @dreamerjj @prestinalove @pretty-pink-princess @alesiaaa @moonisu @love-anonymous-writer @marlena-marlena @bl1ssfulbaby @kellsck @rockmusiciscalming12 @eddie-munsonsbitch

[bebe07011]

YEPPPPP

Ice Cream, Bikinis, and Other Ways to Torture Him | Older Rockstar!Eddie x Harrington Fem!Reader | 18+

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Edit: this tagging system sucks. I just fixed it! Sorry if you weren’t tagged originally!

Summary: The stories of Eddie Munson, front man of Corroded Coffin and his music filled the Harrington household, his albums on shelves and picture frames hung of your dad and him, young and dumb. You’re home for the weekend, which just so happens to be the same weekend Eddie is in Hawkins on a personal errand. The longtime crush on him bubbles to the surface as you meet him, giving into the temptation of small summer dresses and bubblegum gloss for the fun of it. Until your dad is called in to an emergency work meeting. Then the fun of torture becomes temptation.

Warnings: Older Rockstar!Eddie, Harrington!Reader (Steve’s daughter), multi chapter build up, excessive use of nicknames, no use of y/n, (major) use of marijuana, perv!Eddie, general horniness

Describes: long hair, shorter than Eddie by a few inches, reader is described to look like her mom (can be ANY race) with Steve’s freckles. No skin colour or body shape/type

Word Count: 4.1k

Chapter 3

The heat is unbearable, the kind that provides the motivation not to do anything but lie in bed all day spread out so one could confuse them as a starfish. It’s hot enough the house wide AC feels too weak for a job this tough and needs to call in backup. The fan that stands alone rotating as it blows cold air through your room is nowhere near enough backup. 

Your skin feels sticky, your hair as far away as possible from your sweaty skin as you melt in the sweltering heat. One more than one occasion you’ve scooped under your tits to wipe at the sweat that has pooled there, coming up with miraculously slick hands. 

Fuck it’s too hot for clothes. 

The summer sun has been working late night shifts as of late, staying out until 8 or 9. As much as you revel in the longer daylight hours, today you’ve decided you hate the sun. You check the time, hoping it’s 3 or 4 in the afternoon already, having decided to forego your phone due to its inefficiency from distracting you from the heat and therefore lost track of time. 

It’s only 12:30. 

You swear softly, in a quick decision you can’t stay still anymore and need to go in your stash to fucking relax. You put on a light tank top and short jean shorts, lifting your hair off your sticky neck into a bun as you pocket your phone, some joints and some cash for an ice cream cone. 

Smoke a joint on the way, indulge on some delicious ice cream then stumble back home for what will probably be quality time with your vibrator. Seems like a decent plan.

When you get downstairs Eddie is lounging on the couch with one leg over the armrest, sunken in the corner as he watches the tv with a glazed look in his eyes in a muscle t-shirt and his long locks in a bun. He seems to share the same sentiment that it is too damn hot. His eyes shift to you as you put on your flip flops, sitting up with loud curiosity on his face. 

“I’m going to go for a walk and get some ice cream, it’s too fucking hot,” you tell him, one hand on the scorching door handle. You hiss, shaking it in a jerk move as you glance down at it. “Ow.”

”Yeah, I learned my lesson the hard way,” he observes, stretching as he stands up, his arms over his head as the lift of his shirt reveals a tuft of dark hair. 

You shake yourself out of it, opening the door quickly underneath your shirt before the handle has a chance to burn your skin again and step out into the blistering sun, putting the sunglasses over your eyes as you reach the end of the driveway. Behind you a set of running footsteps startle you, the slapping of sandals on pavement having you turn to face a set of wild curly hair falling out of its ponytail as its owner catches up to you.   

He’s smiling ear to ear, bearing those dazzling dimples when he sees your perplexed face. “A walk for some ice cream sounds really nice, when I thought about it.” You blink up at him, processing his words and distracted by the sheen layer of sweat on his toned arms. It’s a dangerous automatic shut down on your brain. 

Eddie falters, stepping back as you continue staring up at him, jaw slack and speechless. “Unless, you’d prefer to be alone—“ 

You finally snap out of it, almost swinging to grab his hand out of pure reflex. “No, um, it’s just a bit of a walk and I was gonna take my time and uh…smoke for a bit.” God, that sounded terrible.  

His eyes light up, his wild grin back on his face in a flash. “A joint and ice cream? Now that’s a hot day.” He starts putting his hair back into the ponytail, a god damn scrunchie, starting ahead as you stand dumbly on the driveway. ”Now you wouldn’t mind turning this into a blunt rotation would you?” 

Are you kidding me? Like are you actually fucking kidding me? 

“I only got two joints,” you hold them out from the stash in your bra apologetically, as you pretend to hesitate in accepting his offer. 

He yoinks one out of your hand, lighting it in a flash. “Joint’s a joint,” he states, warbled from the blunt in his half open mouth. He closes his eyes as he takes a big inhale, bliss taking over his face as it hits his lungs. “Oh that’s some good shit.” He passes it to you, clearing his throat. “Who’s the dealer these days, because that did not come from a dispensary.”

“How—“ you stop at his raised brow, grinning around the joint as you take your first inhale. God, that hits the spot. “Right. It’s some kid named Mickey. Mickey…Carver, I think.”

Eddie's fingers brush against yours as he takes it back, looking pensive as he breathes it in. “So you’re telling me that Jason Carver's son is the new dealer?” He breathes it out, grinning maniacally. “Fuck, that’s poetic.”

You’re about three doors down already, but you’re already feeling it. Usually you take much more time between inhales, not wanting to be stoned in the convenience store. It’s at least another three blocks away. “Right…I forgot his dad is the mayor. I think he’s like the black sheep of his family.” 

“Oh, sweet justice,” he mutters, yet you find yourself having no interest in the context. “Would your dad happen to know about this little past time of yours?” 

You take another inhale of the joint, absorbing the ache in your lungs for a moment longer than you usually do. “I don’t know if he does.” You shrug, stumbling past one of the sidewalk cracks. “I’m not all that covert about it.”  

“How much he smoked in college, I don’t think he’d care,” Eddie comments, chuckling. 

You stop, staring at Eddie with your mouth half open. Eddie is yanked back, tugged by his hand on your wrist. Huh, when did that get there? “You okay, there, sweetheart?”

You’re so fixated on your dad smoking you don’t even have time to process his use of the nickname. “My dad smokes pot?” 

Eddie bursts out laughing, his eyes crinkling shut as he throws his head back. “Your dad has absolutely smoked pot, sweetheart. Only every time he comes to see us in concert.” 

Yet another thing that short circuits your brain, staring at him as if he grew a second head. “When has my dad seen you in concert?” 

Eddie’s eyes go wide, his laughter stopping almost altogether. “Oh shit, I don’t think I was supposed to tell you that,” he mutters, seemingly fixated on the bushes right next to the house you’re standing in front of. 

“When does my father come see you in concert?” You glare, stepping forward more into his personal space with your hands arms tightly crossed. 

“Every tour since you were born?” He answers, giving you a weak smile as he grimaces. 

“What!?” You bark, tightening up your crossed arms. “Every concert? You’ve been going on tour consistently for the last 22 years!”

He throws his hands up in surrender, smoke floating up from the last remaining bits of the first joint still between two fingers. He holds it up for you, face just a bit cautious as he says, “You look Iike you need this.”

You yoink it from his fingers, taking a deep enough breath to kill the joint up to the filter. You’re not sure if its the company, the heat, or the weed, but this news really threw you off, and yes, you really needed it. The filter lands on the ground when you flick it, mindlessly pulling out the next joint and your own lighter from your bra.

As the end glows in amber, you take another deep inhale, forgetting Eddie’s still only a few feet away in front of you. You basically accidentally shotgun him. You pass it to him, seemingly completely unfazed by the puff of smoke you just blew in his face. 

You jerk your head, suddenly remembering you’re supposed to be going for a walk. “Walk, we’re supposed to be walking,” you mumble to yourself, stepping away from Eddie as he laughs out a cloud. 

A hand lands on your shoulder, startling you as you continue on the scorching pavement. You haven’t even hit the first crosswalk, yet and you’ve gone all fuzzy. You jerk your head back in surprise, turning your head to look up at him inquisitively. 

“Sweetheart, you’re drifting,” he answers, using his wrist to fix your diagonal gait. “I think you’re very stoned.” 

“It’s possible,” you muse, allowing the overwhelming scent of his cologne to float to the back of your mind. If it was the first thing, it would be the only thing. 

The conversation quiets down for a bit, Eddie still keeping you somewhat steady as he continues to pass you the joint back and forth. 

You’re in the middle of a mental spiral, thoughts coming and going, passing through like thoughts on a road until one particularly flashy thought passes by. “I had no idea he was going to your concerts,” you chirp out of nowhere, waiting for the light to indicate you can cross. 

“To be fair it's not the best place for a kid,” he mutters, trying to make you feel better. 

“‘M not a kid,” you deadpan, smoking a little bit of the last of the second joint. 

“Compared to me, yes.” You glare at him, wanting to wipe off that stupid little smug grin off his face. “Regardless I’m sure your dad just needed some time off. He’s a single father of four kids, for Fuck’s sake.” 

“I didn’t tell him to knock my mom up four times,” you mutter to yourself, earning another scoff from him. 

“Wow, your filter is down, huh?” He chuckles, leading you across the crosswalk and towards the convenience store. “Don’t give your dad a hard time, he’s trying his best.” 

You wanna move on from your dad so you’re no longer feeling guilty as you stare at his toned arms.  Like, right now. Your eyes fiddle around the sidewalk, looking for any suitable topic of conversation. Anything. A chorus of laughter fills the air, your attention snapped to it immediately. As soon as you see the culprits, you blanch in disgust, jerking your attention back as you approach the convenience store entrance. 

“Oh, god, gross,” you groan, stumbling as you push the glass door open. 

Eddie trails a few feet behind you, leaning down as he asks, “Wh-what just happened?” 

The repetitive motion of ice cream scooping hypnotizes you, catching you in a trance until Eddie bumps his hip into yours. “Hmm?” 

“Outside. What was that?” He asks, pointing towards the door. 

Oh, right, that. “Oh, my ex boyfriend,” you explain, wondering if you’re swaying on your feet or if the store just turned into a boat all the sudden. “Two years of my life I’ll never get back.” 

“Which one was he?” He asks, putting one hand on your shoulder to steady you again.  

If he were anyone else, you’d shrug him off, literally and metaphorically, offended at their need to ‘take care of you,’ so to speak. But your lowered inhibitions and inexplicable draw towards him allow the words to free flow out your mouth. “The idiot with the Oakley sunglasses hitting on what is probably the youngest girl he can without getting arrested— ooh they have cookie dough.”

Eddie chuckles, one hand on your shoulder as he pushes you forward. “They called for you about five times now, sweetheart.” 

Oh, oops. 

The teen with braces and her hair in braided pigtails, clearly working as a summer gig, looks annoyed as you stumble forward. “I um, want one scoop of cookie dough and one scoop of cookies n’ cream in a chocolate covered waffle cone, please.” 

As she gets to work, pulling on gloves for what is probably the thousandth time for the day, reaching up for a cone off where they sit stacked Eddie leans in to say, “You know that’ll melt by the time you get home, right?” 

You watch the girl scoop the ice cream, your grin growing wider with each addition of ice cream. “That makes it all the more fun to eat,” you smirk, biting your lip playfully. 

The teen, Emma, you hazily notice from the name tag, holds out the cone with a measly single thin napkin. You have the foresight to understand the single napkin won’t be enough, but not to grab more. 

You dig in humming as the first taste of cookie dough has a perfect little chunk of doughy goodness as Eddie orders a chocolate and vanilla soft serve swirl. 

In mid bite you cough, almost exaggeratedly looking back and forth between your ice cream and the soft serve coming from its machine onto the cone. “What?” He asks, rocking on his heels. 

You take another taste, “Nothing,” taste, “just,” holy shit this is good, “um…”

“Just…?” 

He interrupts a rather delicious lick, eyes closed as you tilt the cone for a better angle. “Wha?” 

“Oh, my god, thank God Steve’s out of town, or he’d kill me,” Eddie chuckles, grabbing the cone from Emma. 

”Why?” You ask, the ice cream remaining on your lips as you take another bite. 

“Because you are outrageously stoned- here you go, sweetheart,” your bottom lip pouts out at the use of the nickname toward the blushing teen, crossing one arm across your stomach as the cash register dings. 

You have half a heart to thank him for paying, glad you wouldn’t have to hand over sweaty underboob cash as you start your way out when you hear your name, vaguely, then loudly. Oh god. You are not prepared to be hounded by—

“Andy!” You grimace, wiping some excess dessert from your jaw. “Hi! You here on break?” 

“Oh,” he rolls his eyes, that same old cocky look smeared on his face. On Eddie it’s charming. On Andy it’s nauseating.  “I dropped out in the first semester. I did not need to stay very long to know I know more than any of those pompous assholes.” 

Hmm. You’re astounded. At his gull and that he knows what pompous means. “Guess all that talk about getting out of Hawkins was just talk,” you mutter, sloppily taking another bite.  

You must’ve mumbled, as Andy leans in like he has no idea what you’ve said. “Huh?”

“Nothing,” you dismiss, missing Eddie glowering at him over your shoulder. 

“Well, now that you’re in town,” he starts, brazenly grabbing you by the elbow, “what do you say we take some time and uh, revisit old times, yeah?” 

You jerk your elbow away from him, your face squishing up at disgust by his sleazy voice suggesting you lie under him one more time for a rousing, unsatisfying round of mediocrity. “Ew, I’m good.” 

“Now don’t be like that, pretty peach,” you always hated when he called you that, the reminder sending a chill down your spine that had nothing to do with the ice cream itself. “What’s one more night?” 

Only now do you realize he’s only tightened his grip on your elbow, ice cream in your other hand nearly forgotten as the hair on your arms rise. Eddie pops up, the memory of his prescience and the terror that takes over Andy’s face both send a rush of relief right through you. 

“Take your slimy little hand off her, you pathetic little weasel,” Eddie’s voice is rough and assertive, the soft serve ice cream miraculously held stable in his other hand as he starts to bend the arm that was on your elbow unnaturally backwards. “She said ‘ew, no’”

”Ow,” Andy’s once bravado is turned weak, wiggling like a worm on a hook as he cries out his little yelps of pain. “Okay, okay!” 

“If I want unsatisfying and awful sex, I’ll let you know.” Hmm, you glance back down to the cone that melted only the littlest bit, the top layer now softened and flowing down to the chocolate covered crust.You take a bite from the chocolate, the mix of cookie dough flavour with the chocolate exactly what you had in mind the whole walk over. ”Get lost, Andy.” 

You feel Eddie close behind you as the sweltering sun welcomes you, a town wide sauna you don’t think you’d ever be so glad to walk into after being engrossed in a fridge temperature. “God, if never see Andy Lewis again, it’ll still be too soon, fuck that creep.” 

“You dated him? For two years?” Eddie asks incredulously, having already eaten a chunk of his sweet tasty treat. 

“Low self esteem and a parade of gaslighting would have you believe that he was the best boyfriend ever,” you sweetly smile, squinting your eyes as you take yet another bite of the cookie dough starting to blend with cookies n cream. As the blend explodes your taste buds, some trails down your fingers messily in the hot sun, completely rendering your soaked napkin useless.   

His eyebrows furrow, giving you a look of what you assume can only be pity for a girl who thought that was a good boyfriend and had minuscule self worth until some dude in her freshman English class begged to eat her out. You still go to those receipts when you need the confidence boost. 

Unfortunately for you, when you’re stoned and the very idea of sex crosses your mind, it sends you down a spiral. The unsatisfying sex with a gross sweaty Andy isn’t the thing that set it off, but the first time your legs shook certainly turned the faucet on. Next to you, Eddie takes your silence in stride, allowing you to float in your own hazy brain as he works to finish his cold treat before it disappears at the unforgiving hands of the blistering heat. He’s seemingly lost in the taste, the desert already down to the hilt of the cone as his tongue scoops, disappearing as he focuses on the flavour.

The drop of ice cream splashing your toe alerts you of the multiple trails of cream coloured sugar, your ice cream starting to resemble soup. Dammit. You start cleaning up your hand, quickly stroking your tongue down your hand as you attempt to grab control of the situation at hand. Your hand remains sticky as you move on to the ice cream soup that has cultivated in the chocolate shell, no more semblance of where cookies and cream started and cookie dough ended. No matter, guess it’s just a melted milkshake at this point, you shrug, starting to drink, grateful you haven’t eaten much of the cone yet.  

Eddie starts slurping a little louder as he gets to the end of his soft serve, a noise you allow to simply exist in the background like white noise as arousal seemed to steadily pool deep in your gut. At this point you’re not sure if it’s the extra joint or the attraction you know better than to act on but his exuberant wet noises and grunts of satisfaction seem loud, flooding your ears until it’s all you can focus on. 

Maybe you shouldn’t have worn shorts, the arousal having surely made its way down your thighs and past their frayed edges right below your ass. “You that stoned or did your ex boyfriend just spook ya?” 

You blink back to Eddie, chewing on the last few bites of the chocolate cone. It's sadly not the same without the last little bit of ice cream tucked in. “Hmm?” 

He looks at you pointedly, raising his brow as he starts to brush the hair out of his eyes, fixing the wisps of black bangs. 

“Oh,” you giggle, the sentence finally registering. “I forgot I ran into Andy, honestly. I’m just super stoned and really need to—“ you cut yourself off, swallowing what is suddenly a very hefty case of cotton mouth, “take a shower,” you amend, ignoring Eddie’s intense stare. 

It could’ve been intense, but the more you focus on the ever increasing need for friction, the more you grow increasingly aware of everything he’s doing. 

“I just smoked a lot more and a lot faster than what I’m used to,” you mutter, fidgeting with your bun, at this point a mess of strands. 

Eddie leans in close, using his pointer and middle finger to lift your chin up to face him. He’s much closer than you expect, able to see the finer details on his face even the most HQ photos couldn’t reveal. You blink, suddenly unable to remember the basic function of breathing. 

“Next time don’t push yourself too hard when you know your tolerance isn’t as good as the person you’re smoking with. You could’ve told me.” Strange, he doesn’t sound disappointed, not in you, anyways. Just at your flagrant disregard for your own limits. His voice is smooth, yet demanding, sending a shiver down your spine. 

“O-ok,” you stutter, thinking about the pads of his two fingers against your skin, picturing him taking the pointer and shoving it past your lips. The mental image quakes your knees. God you should’ve known your body would react this extreme to Eddie, weed has always been a catalyst for raging lust. 

Unable to handle the eye contact for much longer, you rip your chin out from his grasp, recognizing the shrub you usually walked past on your way to school.

“I-I really need that shower,” you mutter, walking ahead of him to the long, windy driveway leading up to the Harringtons. Eddie’s flip flops smack against his heels step by step steadily behind you as you open the door, remembering Eddie’s haste as he tried to catch up to you. 

He says nothing as you rush up the stairs, slamming the door behind him as he saunters into the living room to fool around his guitar. 

The blasting air conditioner should be refreshing after spending an hour or so in the hot blazing sun with no water, but it does little to off-set the raging fire coursing through you. Your face feels hot, stretching to scratch an itch you know can only be scratched one way when you're as blitzed as you are. 

It’s one thing to picture him when he’s a million miles away in LA or on covers of magazines, but its another entirely when he’s right downstairs after a walk in during which he defended your honour. 

You switch back to it, his commanding tone and demonstration of strength as he so effortlessly pushed a boy whose name you don’t even want to think about in this cloud of overwhelming desire. You open your eyes, standing in the middle of your room, the weight of your hand trailing over your skin suddenly heavy but doing its job all the same. 

You kick off your sandals, having forgotten to at the front door. The shorts and thong come off as well, having no patience in teasing yourself as you normally do. Your head meets your pillow, legs spread as you start to make yourself comfortable. 

As soon as your core meets the air the stark realization of how wet you are sinks in, the arousal slick down your thighs at this point ready for something more… You feel the sharp exhale deep in your belly, rolling over you in an impatient wave begging for some kind of relief. 

As your fingers start to roll across your clit, you gasp in how wet you are. It usually takes a vibraor and some self teasing to get this far, Jesus. For some reason the fingers aren’t doing enough, whining needing as you attempt to get the friction you so desperately need. 

As two fingers slide through the weeping, begging hole you grind the heel of your hand against your clit, desperately lifting your hips up to meet it. Right now you don’t even have to picture him doing anything particularly dirty like his hips rolling against yours as he fucks into you or his pretty brown eyes peering up from between your legs. 

No.

Just the demonstration of his strength as he so easily yanked the asshole’s arm back and his commanding, harsh tone was doing it for you. His sun-kissed skin, the halo of bright yellow sun surrounding his curls, his toned arms…his lips so close to yours, that was enough to get you halfway there. 

And loud enough for any potential wandering ears. 

-

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She might get juicy next ch

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I post each part every Thursday!!

[bebe07011]

I have gotten to watch the birth of this story and LEMME TELL YA

Ice Cream, Bikinis, and Other Ways to Torture Him | Older Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Harrington!Fem!Reader | 18+

Summary: The stories of Eddie Munson, front man of Corroded Coffin and his music filled the Harrington household, his albums on shelves and picture frames hung of your dad and him, young and dumb. You're home for the weekend, which so happens to be the same weekend Eddie is in Hawkins on a personal errand. The longtime crush on him bubbles to the surface as you meet him, giving into the temptation of small summer dresses and bubblegum gloss for the fun of it. Until your dad is called in to an emergency work meeting. Then the fun of torture becomes temptation.

Warnings: Older Rockstar!Eddie, Harrington!Reader (Steve's daughter), multichapter build up, excessive use of nicknames, no use of y/n, use of marijuana, perv!Eddie

Describes: long hair, shorter than Eddie by a few inches, reader is described to look like her mom (can be ANY race) with Steve's freckles. No skin colour, body shape/type

Word count: 5.3k

P2 Will Be Up Next Thursday and every Thursday from then on!

The sounds of the morning Saturday cartoons fill the living room, background noise as you scroll through your phone while slowly working your way through your bowl of cereal. Droplets of milk occasionally drip onto your lap, landing on your bare thigh as the videos you scroll through don’t seem to compute. 

For the thousandth time you spill milk on your lap, you huff out of annoyance as you wipe it off with the edge of your sweaters sleeve. Maybe scrolling through your phone and eating something with liquids wasn’t a good idea for someone as klutzy as you.

From the kitchen, your dad walks out as he uses a T-towel to dry his hands. “You listening, sunshine?”

”Huh?” You blurt out, the video you were half paying attention to still playing. 

He breaks into a smile, shaking his head as he tosses the towel over his shoulder. “Guess not. You have any plans this weekend?” 

You shake your head, wiping your mouth of the excess milk of this bite when you had scooped too big of a bite. “Naomi is working for the summer and Marley got stuck watching her little brother all weekend.” 

Coming home to see your dad for the week is nice, granted it would probably be nicer if you could see either of your 2 friends. You’d have to settle for Steve being extra doting on you, given you’re only one of four of his kids in the house for the moment. What you would give to have your snot mouth brother in town just for two seconds to make the extra big house just a little bit smaller.

He nods, rubbing his hands together. You can see the slight hesitation in his eyes, watching the cartoon as if he had forgotten the conversation which he had started. 

“Dad?” His brown eyes switch to you, smirking at your expectant face. 

“Right. I was hoping you’d be out of the house a bit more,” he sighed, popping his knuckles anxiously. ”I have an old friend that will be staying with us for the weekend. I thought if you were out of the house it might make things slightly less awkward.” 

Your eyebrows furrow, curious as to what he might mean. You’ve gotten to know any old friend of his that might be expected to stay for the night, ducking their many attempts to ruffle your hair over the years. The only person you’d let do it ended up being Robin, as she is the coolest person you’ve ever met. 

“Why would it be awkward?” The question has a sarcastic bite to it, garbled by the cereal in your mouth. 

He sighs, placing a hand in his brown locks, ruffling them as he tucks his lips in. “Well, because it’s one of the friends you’ve never met.” 

There’s a few of them, having never made their return to Hawkins, you never had a chance to meet them. A few names from the stories your dad has told you over the years flicker through your mind, one name in particular standing out from the rest. 

Well, it's the only name that pops through your head.

His likeness on Late Nite TV interviews charming the audience, his solid tenor voice playing on the speakers during family barbecues, his band’s name plastered on some of the albums in your dad’s collection. 

You’ve heard stories, seen the photos of him and your dad together, but he’s never come around before. 

“Who?” You ask, your heart palpitating at the very thought of the long haired angel who haunted your dreams making his first in-person appearance. 

“It’s Eddie,” he answers, crossing his arms as his eyes switch back to the tv. “Eddie Munson, that guy in Corroded Coffin I’ve told you stories about?” 

You roll your eyes, fighting the smile that threatens to take over your face. “I know who Eddie is, dad. His name comes up every time his songs are on the family speakers. Given how many stories I know about him, is a lot!” You tease him, satisfied by the quick twist of annoyance across his face.  

“Not like I heard you complaining about those stories,” he chuckles, playfully feigning a throw of his T-towel at you. “He needs to come into town to help his uncle move into a retirement home. Wayne has finally given in, despite needing to be in one for at least a decade,” you blink at him, giving him that same deadpan stare he has given time and time again. He’s taught you well. “Right, so. He will be staying for the weekend.”

You nod, putting down the bowl on the coffee table as the remaining contents are only the milk and soggy cereal. What a nightmare of textures. 

As you lift your phone to unlock it again the day of the week flashes as a reminder. “So, he‘ll be here tomorrow?” 

He hisses, reaching out his hand for said bowl. You pass it to him, the silence would be awkward if it weren’t for how easily it rolls off his shoulders. 

Steve Harrington makes his living off of awkward moments. 

“Short notice I know,” he apologizes, in so many words, “I offered to him a few months ago when he brought it up, and he called the other day looking to cash in on the favor.” 

“And you said I’d be yours for the weekend. You liar!” You accuse, playfully crossing your arms at him. 

Your dad shrugs, walking back into the kitchen. “It seems I have double booked Chez Harrington for the weekend, but it won’t be so bad.” You hear the sound of the bowl being put in the water in the sink. 

You pretend to be annoyed, because it’s what he expects of you. The truth is since you were old enough to find someone hot Eddie Munson has intrigued you. On the occasion you have found yourself staring too long at magazine spreads he has been featured in, letting his sweet tenor voice enwrap you whole as you turn on his music. Sometimes he bares a love bite or two on stage, smacking you in the face with envy. 

This weekend is bound to be torture for you, a vision of a rock god whose body and chisled arms you’ve practically memorized by now up close in person with all those sick and twisted thoughts bouncing around in your head. To him, you will be nothing but a school girl with a crush. 

You’re surprisingly okay with that. 

“Ah, yes, an unruly rockstar coming over for a weekend. I think I’ve seen this film before, and I didn’t like the ending,” you sing the last part, smiling cheekily as he scoffs. 

“Taylor Swift references aside, he’s really gotten over his party hard rockstar days,” he insists, “or at least, that’s what he tells me.” 

You nod cynically, narrowing your eyes. “Fine. Not like I can tell you to refuse your friend a place to stay,” you shrug, acting a little too much. Relax, take it easy. You don’t need to overact out an emotion. “We have more than enough rooms.” 

“Well, your sisters don’t like to come home for whatever reason and your brother is gone away at camp for the summer, so, yeah, I guess you can say that,” Steve huffs, crossing his arms back at you. 

“Oh, I thought he’d just stay in the spare bedroom,” you tease, your arms flailing as he pushes you over on the couch in one last retaliation. 

The following afternoon there’s three knocks on the door, announcing the arrival of the person you’ve been waiting for all morning. You might have dressed for the occasion, a flowy summer dress that shows off your tits and just enough of your bikini top to keep him wanting more. 

You’d hoped the shine of your sunscreen on your skin will work in your favor, purposely messy hair and pretty lip gloss will do just the trick. 

You open the door, despite waiting a few seconds for your dad to come down so you didn’t have to, but the guest was impatient, knocking another three times and calling your dad’s name. 

“Alright, alright, coming!” You call out, swinging the door open to a real life legend. 

“Ah! Little Harrington!” He startles, his brown eyes wide, only adding to how comically yet gorgeously frazzled he is. 

But it’s not entirely comforting that the first thing he does when he sees you is jump. 

“Sorry, just thought you lot were gone for the summer,” he chuckles, fidgeting with his rings. Two seconds in and you’re already leering. 

“Decided to crash,” you shrug, stepping back so he might enter. “Not many places I can stay at for free that also have a pool.” 

He barks out a laugh at your attempt at humor, looking around your father’s admittedly sweet diggs. “Jesus,” he swears under his breath, dropping his gym bag on the floor. ”Forgot how big the Harrington house is.”

You laugh under your breath, keeping a comment to yourself. 

A V forms between his brows, having seen the thought cross your mind. “What?” 

“Nothing,” you dismiss, a tight lipped smile slowly spreading across your face. 

“I know a classic Harrington comment when I see one, spit it out,” he smirks, crossing his arms and raising his brows expectantly.

The comment spit it out raises a few images, but bite your tongue and ignore them.  

You raise your brows back, challenging his demand. You almost win, but the need to make a sarcastic remark, the one you inherited from a long line of sarcastic Harringtons, wins. “You’re a rockstar, aren’t you? Don’t you have a big mansion of your own?” 

He scrunches his nose, as if turned off by the idea. “A house, maybe. But a mansion? For one person? That’s excessive.” He moseys back over to the door, bending over the threshold to grab something from out of sight. His guitar. The prized one he wrote the song chopped full of innuendos Tasty Lick about. He carries it by the neck, the red and black pattern even more vibrant and captivating in person. 

You could say the same about him, especially how no photo seems to do him justice. The stubble on his chin is faint, but it’s there, looking ever so scratchable. His hands are rough, calloused from the hours of guitar playing. His forearms reveal a patchwork of black and white tattoos, all wrapped in a gothic theme or horror of some kind. 

You’re still leering at him. You should’ve known this would be a dangerous game. 

“Well what did you do with your riches, then?” You rebuttal as you peer up from under your lashes at a set of chocolate eyes that has your breath catching. 

“A really nice tour bus, good security,” he starts walking towards the kitchen, hands in his jeans pockets as he continues his observation of the surroundings. “As of recently, a damn good retirement home.” 

You smile at that, how charming it is that he’d rather spend his well earned dough on comfort for himself and others. It only adds to the boyish charm that overflows from him. 

“Oh, and a nice little red sports’ car,” he adds, completely nixing your previous thought about him. 

“I can make you something to eat if you want, you probably had a long road trip,” you offer him, leaning forward against the island counter.

Eddie’s eyes study you for a moment, his eyes flickering around your face. As they trail across your eyes, lips, studying your scattered moles you’ve inherited from your father, you nearly retract from his intense gaze.

The moment ends, Eddie leaning back in the barstool as he licks his lips in a quick movement. “No thanks,” his head shakes rapidly, sending a ripple down his wavy locks, “I’m good.” 

You hum, cheekily raising your brow. “Dad’s probably in the shower, which means you might be waiting a while for him to blow dry his hair.” 

Eddie laughs, broad smile wide enough to show those dangerous dimples. “Guess nothing really has changed.” 

You push yourself off the barstool, barking out one short laugh as you walk out the wide double doors to where your setup is. 

It’s best not to hover.

There are a few lounge chairs by the pool, each with its own glass table right next to it. Your phone is waiting for you, a singular AirPod right next to it, the music that was playing through the speaker earlier on pause and waiting for you to return. The hot sun blares on the 4th of July weekend, a chlorine blue water stagnant in the pool, just inviting someone to enjoy its icy depth, a shelter from the blaze. 

Your sandals protect your bare feet from the scorching concrete, the sunglasses that rested on your head are no longer forgotten as the sun sends daggers through your skull. 

You lose yourself in your Hot Girl Summer playlist, humming to an indie pop artist’s upbeat track that sounds like summer while mindlessly reading a magazine. Your dad blocks the sun, effectively announcing his presence after you couldn’t hear him over the music blasting in your ear. 

After you wave up at him with a smile on your face, taking the earbud out when he gestures for you to do so. “What’s up?” 

He tilts his head in a jerk move, his face shifting into a bewildered expression in a blink. “A-when did Eddie get here?” 

“Dunno,” you shrug, looking around him towards the double doors. “Maybe ten, fifteen minutes ago?”

His eyes widen, adding to the expression he’s given to you many many times in your adolescence. “And you didn’t think to tell me?” 

You lean back, switching your glance back down to your magazine, oh so coyly. “I figured you were in the shower.” You flip the page to a spread of heartthrobs. Somehow the rockstar has made his way into the mix. “Eddie can wait for fifteen minutes. He’s a big boy.” 

Steve blinks at you, considering this statement with a sour look on his face. “Did you at least offer a drink, something to eat while he was waiting?” 

“Of course I did! He said no. Now go say hi to your buddy,” you gesture back towards the house vaguely, playing closer attention to the glossy pages in your lap. “I’m not the one being rude, anymore.” 

He sighs, turning back around toward the house. The earbud is barely pressed into your ear when he turns back around, his long legs taking him back in quick steps. “This whole display doesn't have anything to do with Eddie visiting, would it?” 

“Display?” You parrot back to him, pushing your sunglasses onto your head. You gesture towards the pool, mirroring that same exasperated look he gave you. “Display? I’m sitting by the pool, like I told you I would. If I wanted a display, I would’ve worn a lot less than the dress I wore when I answered the door.” You pause, indicating to your pink bikini with a flourish. “I would’ve worn a lot less now.”

Steve falls out of his stern father pose, eyes closed as he throws his hands up in surrender. “Aah, okay I get your point.” 

“It’s hot, it’s summer.” You put your sunglasses back on over your eyes, shaking the product soaked hair you worked so hard to make look effortlessly messy. “I’m your daughter, I’m not a display.”

“Right, yeah. Just making sure, sunshine.” He leans in, lowering his voice as if so Eddie can’t hear through the open doors. “I just know you had a crush on him when you were younger. It ain’t happenin’, sweet girl.” 

You pull your head back, your jaw dropping as your dad does what he does best, come up with one more rebuttal just when you thought you’d won the battle. 

He always wins the war. 

It takes a minute for your mind to catch back up to yourself, blinking yourself out of it. “I-what!”

”You weren’t as subtle about it as you thought you were, sunshine!” He calls back, striding back into the house. 

You huff, watching your crystal blue painted toenails twitch as you mull the conversation over in your head. If nothing came of it, then at least Eddie would get to enjoy his view, and you’d enjoy yours. For a moment you wonder if you’re acting pathetic, but you toss your sunglasses and earphone aside, ignoring the glitch in self confidence as you approach the suddenly inviting pool. 

Were the set of eyes you felt on you as you made laps in the pool just wishful thinking?

-

The scraping of the knife against toast fills the kitchen as you slowly spread the strawberry jam, careful not to make more of a mess than you already have. 

“Mornin’’’ you hear behind you, your dad’s shampoo filing your nose as he leans in to plant a  kiss on your cheek. 

“Hi,” you greet him, pausing to ‘clean’ the jam off your thumb. You’re about to ask if he would like some toast when you see his suit on, perfectly tailored with his long hair groomed so specifically you clock it right away. “You’re all dressed up.”

He grins, walking around you to where you had a pot of coffee started. “About that.”

That’s exactly what you figured. “What?”

”Put some toast in for Ed, I’ll tell you both when he comes down,” he instructed, narrowly avoiding your pointedly annoyed stare. 

Your eyes remain on his to make your point, huffing as you place two pieces of bread in, adding more attitude in the action than was probably necessary. Your jaw locks, staring him down as he pours his cup of coffee, chewing on the toast with your arms crossed. 

Although Steve is apologetic, he eventually ignores your glare, wondering how all four of his kids managed to get his same attitude. 

Eventually you grow tired of glaring at someone who’s ignoring you so you sit down, waiting for Eddie to make his appearance as you pout at the kitchen island. 

The smell of his Irish Spring soap hits the kitchen before he does, walking into the kitchen mid yawn and fresh from his shower. Eddie’s shirt clings to his lithe torso like a second skin, showing off just the hint of a tummy with his sweatpants sitting low on his hips. You allow yourself one second to gawk at him and the hairs that peek out of his shirt until you reshift your focus back to your toast, panicking when you notice the jam that has dripped on your hand. Oh, shit again?

“What’s with the fancy get up, dude?” Eddie asks, pouring himself a cup as well.  

“Before we get to that, Sunshine has put some toast in for you.” Steve gestures with his coffee cup.

Eddie’s brows lift, looking just the littlest bit delighted as he turns toward the toaster. “Oh, thanks!” He snaps his fingers into a gun with his thumb and pointer finger, sending a wink your way. You’re mid-‘clean-up’ on your hand, rushing to finish before you nod to acknowledge his thanks. 

“Alright. My partner called,” he means work partner, “he needs help to close this deal. He’s having a really hard time doing it himself.”

”Who did you send?” You ask, knowing a little bit of his work drama. 

Steve hisses, wincing as he says, “Warner.” 

You roll your eyes, shaking your head as the toast pops out of the toaster. “Well no wonder!” 

Eddie has been watching this like a tennis match, completely out of the loop but entertained nonetheless. “What, what’s wrong with…Warren?” 

“Warner,” you correct him, cleaning up yet another spill of jam off your thumb. “The guy sucks. Why Warner, why not Tommy?” 

“Wait, why does he suck?” Eddie asks as he spreads butter on his toast, looking way too entertained about this.

“Because he’s a 22-year-old fuckwit that doesn’t know how to close and only got this job because his dad gave it to him when he retired,” you huff, not at all distracted by how Eddie is eating his toast; like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted, savoring every bite. His tongue occasionally pokes out to lap at the butter on his lips, his eyes closed as he muffles sounds at the back of his throat. 

He makes eating toast look depraved.

“Sunshine, you’re 22,” Steve squints, lifting his cup towards you accusingly. 

You scoff. “Yeah but I’m not an entitled dickwad who thinks just because his daddy had a job ‘oh, that’s my job one day!’. He has no experience versus his father who was in the game for 25 years.” You’re very passionate about this, more so than you had even anticipated. “Seriously, why him?” 

“He’s the only one who didn’t take the Fourth of July weekend off because he’s a 22 year old fuckwit with no family.” He takes a large sip of his coffee before setting it on the counter. “Well in any case, you are right. He has no experience and we need this account, so I gotta help him out.” 

“When do you think you’ll be back?” Eddie asks, giving you a fresh whiff of his soap when he walks behind you to sit on the other side of the island. 

Steve crosses his arms and leans against the table, mentally preparing himself before he disappoints the two of you, “Not til Sunday.” 

“Shitty,” Eddie sighs sympathetically. 

“Dad I can only take one week off,” you sigh, having only gotten two days with him. “When you get back I’ll only have one more day.” 

“I know, I’m sorry.” He does genuinely sound remorseful. You know he’d stay if he had any other choice, but he doesn’t. 

“You know anyone else in town who could…” Eddie starts, obviously reminding your dad of something he forgot about. 

“Shit. Hmmm.” Steve’s eyes flicker to you, “Sunshine can do it.” 

You pause mid-bite in hearing your nickname. “Sunshine can do what?” 

“I don’t wanna bother her on her vacation.” Eddie states, dismissing Steve’s offer. 

Your dad saved him off, “I’m sure she’d be happy to help.” 

“What am I doing?” You ask more assertively, finally grabbing their attention. 

Eddie finally speaks first, “Oh, I asked your dad to help me pack up my uncles things. It’s a tedious process, I can get—“ 

“No, she’d be happy to help,” Steve offers again, looking at you and jerkily nodding his head towards Eddie. 

You’d be happy to help, you’re just thinking about the amount of time you’ll be alone with Eddie. Your plan was to keep a safe distance from him, allowing a free show in your best summer clothing while enjoying the hot weather. The close quarters your dad is sending you into sounds dangerous, butterflies erupting into your ribcage as you picture the deafening silence surrounding the two of you knee deep in his uncle’s things.   

“I’m happy to help,” you tell him, getting up to put your plate away. 

“I don’t want to force her into—“ 

“My dad can’t force me into doing shit,” you scoff, ignoring your dads own scoff. Now Eddie on the other hand could demand you to bark and you would. Down on the ground, on all fours. “Besides. You two wouldn’t have gotten any actual organization done.” 

“Thanks,” Eddie lifts his mug, giving you a wink. Your neck hair rises, scanning his arched nose and the rebelling stubble already growing in despite having freshly shaved. His aftershave is intoxicating, the sound of a glass mug clinking as it lands on the counter snapping you out of your daze.   

“When are you leaving?” You suddenly remembered your dad’s presence in the kitchen, funny how fast you forgot about him. 

“I should get going within the hour,” he states thoughtfully, grimacing apologetically when you give him sad eyes. You know it's not his fault, but you’re not the adult here, and the disappointment you feel can’t help but twist your features. 

He puts his hands on your shoulders, petting them with his thumbs. “I do feel better knowing I’m not leaving you all alone in this big empty house.” 

You tense up, avoiding his gaze as you attempt to smile. Being left all alone with Eddie in the big empty house is precisely what is worrying you. Your dad’s constant presence alone is the thing that has prevented you from even being tempted into going any further than elongated stares and late night fantasies. 

“I’ve been alone in the house before,” you say, tilting your head. “You’re about to be alone for the rest of the month.” That sentence just makes you feel sad. 

He smirks, shaking his head playfully. “I meant at least if I’m ditching you for work, then at least I’m not leaving you all alone. I was trying to alleviate my own guilt.” 

“I’ve already forgiven you, old man,” you tell him. “Go, rescue those poor investors from Warner’s slippery hands.”

He pulls you in for a hug, his heartbeat familiar as he leans down to place a kiss on your forehead. Your head is swung back abruptly as he pushes on your shoulders, leaning in conspiratorially. “Hey, there are worse people to leave you alone than the man that was once on a poster on your wall, hey?” 

That poster was stared down many times, finally taken down when you were about to move away, kept only because of the autograph in the bottom corner.

Regardless, your dad is having too much fun with this. You wonder who would have more fun if Eddie ends up bending you over the couch like you kept envisioning. Said rockstar currently bending over the couch to grab something jolted you back to the present. 

“And who gave me that as a gift after introducing me to his music?” You shoot back, meeting those chocolate brown eyes across the living room. 

“My ears are burning,” Eddie grins, walking around the couch to plug in the amp. 

“Are your keys burning, because I need a ride to the airport.” Steve interjects, smirking at your widened eyes. 

Eddie sits on the couch, one foot resting on the coffee table as he starts playing his guitar absentmindedly. “I am your noble steed at your service, Harrington. Just tell me when.” 

Steve answers with something, probably somewhat sarcastic before climbing the stairs to finish packing. You probably would’ve heard it if it weren’t for how absentmindedly his fingers were moving, individually plucking the strings as his other hand shifts easily to each corresponding chord. 

He is delicate with the instrument, expertly working her and zoned out as the guitar’s gentle tune fills the house. His many years spent playing is evident through how easy he plays the melody, getting lost in the song with his hands working idly. If it weren’t for his eyes being shut for the whole time, you would’ve probably pretended to go on your phone. 

His effortlessness of plucking the strings sends a thrill down your spine, has your thighs squeezing tightly together as your mind starts to picture his fingers expertly working you apart. 

“Ow!” 

Eddie’s yelp snaps you out of it, making you jump as you hurriedly switch your glance back to your phone. He chuckles as he sucks his sore thumb, the very same one the guitar string snapped on. “Sorry, did I scare ya?” 

“No,” you answer, sounding not at all convincing to yourself. Eddie lifts his brow to you, his face comically twisted as he continues to tend to his wound. “Okay, maybe a little.” 

He chuckles, smirking as he adjusts the guitar on his lap again. “Poster in your room?” 

Fuck, you were hoping he didn’t hear that, despite him being in earshot. 

“Well it was signed and it just so happened to be one of my favorite albums.” Despite your nerves tickling the surface right under your skin, you do your best to seem unfazed by his magic fingers.  

His brows furrow, delicately playing a soft rock melody. At least, you think it's soft rock. “Which one?”

”Hell’s Angels,” you answer candidly. You do like the songs of Freak! More, but you specifically requested a poster of Hell’s Angels because of the dark look in Eddie’s eye while he’s looking directly in the listener. 

There may have been a night where you placed it perfectly on the wall so it appears he’s between your open legs to make it easier to picture him glancing up at you while he—

He tilts his head dismissively lifting one side of his upper lift in a sneer. “Not my best. If I had to pick a favorite, and don’t tell anyone I said this, it’d be Freak!” 

You blink in surprise, grinning to yourself as you listen to the gentle strum of his guitar. 

“I do remember sending that poster off though, Steve never mentioned who it was for, I just figured It would earn him some serious brownie points for a girl he was chasing.” It feels so weird to hear about your dad dating, even after all these years. 

“Nope,” you shrug. “Just his favorite daughter.” 

“Shit,” he laughs, a hiccup in his guitar play, “if you wanted an autograph you should’ve just asked. Only takes me two seconds.”

Your mind buzzes with the offer, probably a throwaway comment of his, but just the offer alone is enough to send you almost on a mental spiral. 

“Alright!” Steve saves you in the nick of time, running downstairs with a gray suitcase occasionally colliding every few steps or so. “Let’s go, Munson!” 

“Ok,” Eddie sets the guitar aside and turns his amp off, a stripe of skin nearly irresistible as he stretches. Aware of the company in the living room, who actually paid no mind, you memorize the pattern of his delicious looking treasure trail. God what would it feel like to nuzzle into those pretty little hairs. 

You’re still gawking. 

“Dude, leather jacket with sweatpants?” Steve reprimands, one eyebrow tilted as he looks at Eddie perplexed.

You hate to say it but he really makes it work. 

“What? Not like I’m really going anywhere,” Eddie shrugs, patting his pockets for a double check he has everything.   

The former glances at you, pointing at his friend. “Look at this get-up.” 

You pretend as if you hadn’t already, giving Eddie a one over. You take advantage of it, really taking your time. “I’ll give him a break, he wears leather pants on stage in 100 degree heat,” you answer, crossing your arms. “Just this once though. Don’t let us see you slacking again.” You were going to add a Munson at the end of it, but you figured it’d go too far. 

A chorus of soft laughter from both of them fills the room. “Yes ma'am,” he salutes, sending a jolt down your spine. Oh, that’s something you’ll need to dissect…eventually. 

Two steps away from the door, your dad turns back towards you to initiate one last hug. You let out a hum of contentment, giggling as he tells you to take it easy on Eddie. 

“Safe flight,” you wish him, one last squeeze until he reluctantly lets you go. ”Text me when you land.” 

Eddie appears with his hair in a low and loose bun, some curly strands framing his face. “Alright, Harrington. Get ready for your mid-life crisis.” 

The slick, low car that takes up one half of the driveway right next to your father’s Mercedes SUV stands out, probably one of the only flashy things he owns. (However, he also paid someone to drive up his van when he realized he still needed to move an old man’s house worth of clutter and valuables.)

As you watch the car drive to the end of the ridiculously long driveway, you can’t help but feel like a decision has been made for you. 

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood turn to one. There is no more coke or pepsi. The radio will only air one station.

Being alone with Eddie Munson suddenly feels like a temptation. 

You just hope he has the good sense not to feel the same way.     

-

Thank you so much for reading, remember replies and reblogs are the best way to support fic writers on tumblr

I'm so sorry how much of this was in the preview, I tried to give what was in the fic but I have most of the whole thing done and I can't wait to see some reactions to the later bits. Particularly the filthy smut

main taglist: @alastorssimp @mmunson86 @pinkcowracing @yourthebrokengirl @skrzydlak @thirddeadlysin @sammararaven @bebe07011 @prettylovley @josephquinnschesthair @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you @names-were-taken @oddussy420

taglist for Ice Cream, Bikinis, and Other Ways To Torture Him: @emxxblog @transparentenemypenguin @stylesxmunson @ali-r3n @mediocredreams @miaajaade @dreamerjj @prestinalove @pretty-pink-princess

[bebe07011]

Moodboard for next ch of BICAOWTTH

Bro I’m so excited 💕

[bebe07011]

Whatever aim you have left to offer him, it’s of the most tender degree. 

I’m crying, thanks for asking

SO SCARLET (IT WAS MAROON)

CHAPTER NINE: BACK TO DECEMBER

I'D GO BACK TO DECEMBER, TURN AROUND AND CHANGE MY OWN MIND.

☆ pairings: rockstar!eddie munson x fem!reader

☆ warnings: no use of y/n, strong language, angst, minors dni

☆ WC: 5K+

☆ A/N: if you're curious about the song eddie is writing & showing to sugar in this chapter, it's take aim by sleep token <3 also, if you saw the first oops post, no you didn't. <3

thank you to my love @hellfire--cult for the divider!

masterlist

Eddie never thought he’d get this far.

Not with the band, not in life, and most certainly not with you. 

It’s all he could think about as he sits in his studio, still reminiscing on the time he’d spent sat the edge of the bed this morning. Precious time spent as he’d watched you curl into his sheets, a faded trail of mascara still visible along your cheek. He’d expected you to up and run the moment it was all over; he thought you’d sprint to the finish line, to his front door, to the elevator. He had assumed you’d be eager to get as far from him as possible in the aftermath. But then, you didn’t. 

You’d clung to him for just a few moments longer than necessary. You’d let your nails sink into his skin for a few blissful extra seconds, and let your lips graze against his shoulder with the softest of panting breaths. And although he had enjoyed it, he doesn’t know what to do with that. He’s at a loss for where to go now that you still allow him the comfort of your presence as you stay wrapped up in the ruffled sheets of his bed, as you take intentionally deep breaths that he knows are laced with the scent of his cologne. 

He thinks you’re asleep. He hopes you are. 

He’d almost forgotten how it felt – the privilege of watching you in this state, face relaxed and chest rising and falling with every breath that veers just shy of becoming a snore. The way your lashes brush the delicate skin beneath your eyes, the way your hand contracts into a weak fist against the deep black of his sheets on occasion, the way your lips part more and more with every second you fall into a deeper rest. It’s mesmerizing – it’s homely. For the first time in years, since that last tour he had embarked on before losing you, he feels peace. It’s a sizzling warmth that crackles in his lower ribs first, gently licking its way up his spine until the emotion settles in the back of his throat. You’re here. He had felt you, held you, had you, even if only momentarily, and you’re still here.

It all haunts him, the only thing he can think about as he sits in the room across the hall from you now, a heavy guitar in his lap and a fractured memory falling off his lips in quiet hums. 

“So take aim,” his falsetto tone is so gentle, so whispered, it’s nearly broken as it rolls off his tongue. His teeth don’t grind together like they normally do during his writing process, his fingers don’t flutter and falter as they find the reach of a melody against strings entirely natural.

For once, the music is coming to him as easily as it once had. The way it had during summer days at your side, during late autumn nights while the two of you loitered on picnic tables at the edge of the forest surrounding the trailer park. 

It’s the simplest of melodies, the muddiest of lyrics, but they’re still coming naturally. 

“And when I see you waking up, and it sends me shivers,” he murmurs, voice hardly melodic as he plucks along a few individual notes, “How you love like weapons kill-” 

He cuts himself off with a sudden sigh. What the fuck does that even mean? Love like weapons kill? He can already hear the producers, all the men in business suits who throw money at him as they demand his heart and blood, scrutinizing the nonsensical poetry. 

“Like weapons kill?” he scolds himself outloud this time over the line, still desperately trying to whisper as to not wake you, “What the fuck does that even mean-” 

“Sounds like this person’s love is dangerous, especially in the wrong hands.”

Everything freezes as your voice carries from the doorframe. Eddie looks up in an instant, aware of just how ridiculous he currently looks. Clad in nothing but his boxers, hair still frizzy from your recent activities. 

But something instantly thaws just as quickly as it had chilled at the sight of you. 

You’re wearing one of his t-shirts, an older one that he’d buried in some drawer long ago when he’d first moved in. One of the first merch designs for Corroded Coffin.

The fabric has been stretched out in odd places from the years of previous wear, and the neckline exposes just enough of your skin for him to see traces of his bites he’d left behind, visibly blooming beneath the skin when the light hits them just right. 

He wonders how long it would take them to fade if you choose to leave now. 

“What?” he finally questions, aware of just how long he’s been staring. Each blink is slow, rhythmic as he begins to settle the guitar onto the stand to his right. 

You’re quick to shake your head, “No, uh, I- I didn’t mean for you to stop. Please, by all means…” You trail off, waving in the air between the two of you, motioning for him to keep the guitar in his hands. 

He’s under your entrapment, left with no defenses as he keeps the acoustic Yamaha in his lap. “What did you mean when you said it sounds like the person’s love is dangerous?”

He watches the fall of your face carefully, easily spots the internal war that begins to take place behind your solemn eyes. Maybe he’s gone too far, maybe he’s pressed further against the precipice than he should have-

“Weapons don’t always kill,” you say slowly, taking further steps into the room. He tries not to think about the way you’re the first person besides himself to be in here, in a space he considers so holy, “A gun is just a gun, a knife is just a knife. We all know what their purpose is but… well, they only kill when the person wielding them wants them to, you know?” your brows are furrowed, arms crossed as your fingertips dig into your flesh nervously. He catches the way you nearly bite your lip before deciding against it, and he also catches the apology on the tip of your tongue when your eyes shoot up to meet his, “Shit, I’m psychoanalyzing your lyrics, I’m sor-”

“Don’t be sorry,” he interrupts, trying to fight the grin wanting to spread, “I’m just glad it makes sense, since I was only… Well, it just sounded good, you know?” 

It’s exactly as he saw you. You had the power to kill him, to let him back in. To lay your weapons down as you gave up the fight or set your aim directly on his chest.

Selfishly, he’s hoping for the latter. He’s hoping you paint a bullseye right across his sorry existence, make him your chosen once more, especially after tonight. 

“You used to do that a lot back in the day,” he forces out around a lump in his throat right as the realization hits. This scene is a familiar one; if you were to replace the small makeshift studio he’s built in his home with his bedroom back in Hawkins, Indiana, it would be a frame-for-frame reenactment of how many afternoons went between the two of you, “I think at this point, you deserve writing credits on half our earlier shit.” 

“Just because I can tear your words apart doesn’t mean I did anything,” you’re quick to shake your head, and your steps are more sure as you sit down on one of the stools in front of him, “The words were yours to begin with. I’m just like any other adoring fan in the crowd.” 

Except you’re not in the crowd. 

You haven’t been for so long, he almost forgets what it’s like to look across a crowd flooded with the house lights and see your vibrant smile. It used to be his anchor during performances, and now it’s been nothing more than a ghost haunting him at every show. Always searching, always coming up empty handed. An empty, hollow ache to make his entire existence churn as he realizes not a single person in that sea of faces are the one meant to hear the words he was belting messily against a mic. 

They don’t get the little gasps of pain between lines, they don’t get why he’s played hard enough to make his knuckles bleed during a few performances. They just think it’s hot, according to the tabloids and online chatter. Another layer to the bad boy persona, to the version of him that has become so ostracized as a poor passionate fool with a nice face. 

“Are you okay if I join you?” you say suddenly, shifting as if you think his silence was meant to be an invisible nod towards the door, “I can leave-”

“Please don’t,” he nearly gasps out, desperate to keep you right here. In his line of sight, in his apartment. Just the word leave triggers his fight or flight. “I mean, you can stay. I don’t mind. I was just fucking around, anyways.” 

He’s missed doing that. Missed plucking aimlessly at an instrument with you nearby, humming pointlessly as he can see a serene grin spreading across your face in his peripherals. He misses when the music felt good. 

When you were both the muse and the audience. Guaranteed. Only one of those is a solid bet these days. 

You snort a little, and he notices the way your eyes are still bleary, “Just fucking around? If I were the one just fucking around with a guitar, it would sound way worse.”

“Oh, c’mon. It wouldn’t be that bad.” 

“Did you forget the one time you tried to teach me guitar?” you blurt it out so recklessly, like a photo album of memories spitting out an old faded polaroid. Something that’s gathered enough dust in the attic to make you both choke, “I was hopeless.” 

He remembers. God, he remembers. 

You, sitting on that shitty mattress in his old bedroom. All the creaks in that homely trailer and the smell of the summer heat just outside the window. Back in the days when there was always a pillow on his bed that reeked out your shampoo, back when he probably would hardly have to sift through his laundry to find one of your missing socks in the piles. 

When you kept a spare tube of chapstick on his nightstand. When there was a toothbrush just for you that Wayne had bought and never said a word about, a silent gesture to welcome you into the Munson home. When Eddie could almost guarantee he’d always be coming home to you, there, in his space and in his heart. A comforting blanket of security that was torn from him too quickly and by his own two hands. 

“You weren’t hopeless,” he scrunches up his face, even though he also remembers those had been his words, not yours. 

They had been said through laughter, though, that day. The guitar had looked so clunky, so awkward, from the moment he’d sat it in your lap. The two of you spent hours trying to teach you the simplest of chords. With Eddie perched in front of you, nimble fingers trying to guide yours to correct placement. And then, once the two of you finally began to slip down the precipice of giving up, it had been you sitting between his legs, his entire body cradling yours as his hand hovered over yours to ensure the right notes were played. 

“God, you’re hopeless,” he had cackled when you’d broken out of frustration and strummed violently at the guitar. 

Something about the simple notion had drained the aggravation, though, and you’d joined him as you laughed, “You’re the rockstar, not me! If you want me in the band, I can just play the triangle or some shit.” 

“You don’t have to lie,” you mumble softly, ghost of a smile tilting up the corners of your mouth, “I’m not very musically inclined. It’s okay.” 

He has an idea. A terrible, terrible idea. You’re going to say no. It’ll end even more catastrophically than when he’d asked to kiss you. 

“We should try again,” he says anyway, immediately standing and walking to the couch along the wall, nodding for you to follow him, trying to not overthink it, “C’mere.”

He stands and waits. Prepares himself for the rejection. Prepares for you to tell him a stern no before you race back into the other room to gather your things and leave him once more. 

“What?” you laugh instead, looking between him and the seat he’s motioned to. 

“C’mere,” he stresses, throwing all caution to the wind. 

The worst you can do is say no. The worst you can do has already been done. 

It’s all hesitation when your hand grips the edge of the stool, waiting till your knuckles turn right before you slowly rise. This is it, this is the part you reject him. You turn heel and run, and-

You walk over to him. Timid steps aside, the shake he can see in your hand when you fiddle with the hem of the shirt aside, you walk over to him.

“I haven’t gotten any better,” you warn him when you pause right in front of him, staring at the guitar he holds by the neck with wide eyes, “I’m still going to be hopeless.” 

“That’s okay,” he assures, and means it entirely, still stunned that you didn’t turn him down, “I’m still a shit teacher,” you open your mouth, clearly about to argue with him about that, but instead he just leans down and pats the cushion next to the one he drops down onto, “Sit, Sugar.”

You’re wringing your hands in front of him, “Won’t your neighbors get pissed off at people playing guitar at three in the morning?” 

“I don’t have neighbors,” he cringes the moment he corrects you. He sounds like a rich asshole right now in the grand scheme of things, and he knows it, “Besides, the room is soundproof.”

“The door’s open-” 

“I can close it. Don’t worry.” 

Your excuses have officially run dry. You both know it as your eyes finally flit back to that empty seat. 

“Fine.” 

You sit yourself down, or perhaps more aptly described as throwing yourself down beside him. There’s a huff of air that escapes from the action, laced up with all your defeat, but he also can still see that damn smile beneath the surface. As if you’re actually excited, and you’re actually about to enjoy yourself. The dramatics are all for show, but he still takes the time to pass you the guitar before he does exactly as he promised – he gets up and closes the door. 

Immediately, the air is heavy with a new sort of intimacy. 

It was easy to ignore earlier when he’d been distracted with his lips on you – on your lips, on your neck, on your cunt – but there are no diversions now. Neither of you can avoid the fact of the matter; you’re here, with him, alone in a confined space. Just the two of you and the four walls to bear witness to whatever was about to happen. It could end in tragedy, it could end in laughter, it could end in awkwardness – this story can end a million different ways, and at the end of the day, only the two of you will have to know. 

It’s always been like that when it comes to the two of you. You’ve always been an indirect secret of his, something not purposefully hidden but instead fiercely protected. All the songs never handed over to producers, all the lyrics that paint out all that has transpired in a scarlet maroon. 

You’ve always been a private matter for Eddie. An untouchable topic never up for discussion. Ending up here is fitting. 

He tries to not stare too long at the way the guitar is pressing into your bare thighs as he takes his seat once more, dramatically clapping and rubbing his hands together, “Alright, what song do you want me to teach you?” 

“I get to choose this time?” 

You’re teasing him. A sly smile has broken out of its cage, your eyes staying downturned as you trace over the body of the guitar. 

Maybe he shouldn’t have closed the door, not when it’s clear the two of you have become nothing more than a dusty book of memories to recreate. 

“Hey, in my defense,” he puts up his hands, putting on a show. Desperate to make you comfortable and to watch you thaw as he had when you’d entered the room, “Metallica is a perfectly reasonable staple to learn on guitar!” 

“For you!” 

“Oh, no, we are not doing this,” he holds up a warning finger that you instinctively reach out to swat away. The icicles are clearly dripping, and the warmth is returning to your face, “You loved Master of Puppets just as much as me, if not more.” 

“I-” you start to exclaim, before you stop yourself. He just thinks you’re being funny at first, but then he watches the grave look pass over your features. That misty look you’ve gotten in your eyes, the same one he knows he wears most nights as he writes in this alone in this room. Someone lost in the passage of time, recalling a place they can never go back to. 

“Don’t hold back on me now,” he tries to joke. He wants to hear the words you’re struggling to swallow down – needs to hear them. 

And he almost immediately regrets that selfish craving. 

“I loved it because you loved it.” 

Your words are a whisper in the night, and he’s not even sure if the walls could hear you. 

He’s quiet, and you’re clearly embarrassed. Nervously tapping at the instrument in your lap as one of your feet begging to bounce, lip being tugged up right between your teeth as you stare straight ahead. It’s hard. Being this vulnerable, learning one another again, is no easy feat. 

And then you have to go and do that thing he’d so terribly missed, where you can’t sit in the silence. Your mouth runs faster than your mind as you try to fill what was quickly becoming an awkward silence. 

“I don’t mean I don’t like Metallica. Who doesn’t like Metallica? I just mean- I meant-” you pause and take a deep breath, leaning into the guitar, almost crumpling into yourself, “I just mean that I loved the song so much because I saw how much you loved it, and you make it hard to not love the same things as you do. You have this way about you when you get excited about things. The way you would light up, and then you’d go and insist we drive around at night blasting it, and- I mean- how do I not fall in love with that song? Every time I hear it, all I can think about is you, in that stupid van with the windows down, screaming along to it.” 

Hear. Not heard.

Present tense. Not past tense. 

“I get it,” he croaks out, clearing his throat, nodding as though this type of information isn’t a stab to all the wounds he’s been nursing for years, “No, yeah, I get that. Makes sense.” 

I loved it because you loved it.

The inescapable process of love – to absorb the things the one you love cares for, to find joy in the things they find enjoyable. 

It makes sense, because he went through that process, too. Still does, even to this day. 

He still orders his coffee the way you used to, because the sweetness on his tongue reminds him of your sleepy eyes whenever you’d take your first sip of the day. He still pours his chocolate candy into his popcorn at the movies, because you’d once claimed on a date it was not only the best way, but the only correct way to achieve ultimate sweet and salty delight. He still prefers the winter to the summer because of you, he still uses your favorite brand of pen to write all his songs, and he still uses the guitar pick you’d gotten for him on your one year anniversary. He has better picks now – he has an endless array at his disposal, all varying in thickness and material in order to achieve what would be the perfect sound for each individual song, but none of them sound perfect except for the one you gave him. 

“Teach me the song you were just playing,” you suddenly insist, unaware of the spiral you’ve caused. 

“Huh?”

“I want to learn the song you were playing when I walked in,” you explain, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard it before, but it sounded nice. Talk of love being a weapon, you know, aside.” 

You don’t realize it. You don’t know.

“Oh, it’s not-”

“I don’t care if it’s not beginner friendly-”

“No, I mean-”

“I’m going to butcher whatever song you throw at me, anyways-”

“It’s an original.” 

Time doesn’t slow – it just stops. Pauses in the harshest of ways, with your lips still parted and his eyes still oversized as he looks to you. 

It’s an original, and it’s about you. 

“It’s from Corroded Coffin?” you ask, voice a bit squeaky with what must be humiliation, “Oh, I didn’t know. Sorry, I haven’t really… stayed caught up on your guys’ recent stuff. Sorry.”

You’re apologizing too much. He doesn’t even have the heart to tell you that he’d felt lucky you’d even remembered the band’s name, let alone would he have expected you to have listened to any recent music from them. 

“Don’t be sorry,” he dares to scoot just a bit closer, already waving it all off. If you want to learn the song, he’ll teach you the song. Or, at least, what he’s written of the song, “It’s unreleased. Not even finished yet, actually. You’re getting a Corroded exclusive. Fair warning, though - if you tell the press, Matt will hunt you down.” 

One snort from you, and the dust disappears. All the ice, all the dust, all of the past that clearly still had such a chokehold on the two of you is entirely forgotten. 

He’s done it – he’s made you comfortable again. 

It may take him a few tries to get it right, but he’s certain he can reteach himself this part. The part where he’d always been able to read you without a single word, and he’d always been able to make you feel better no matter what situation the two of you found yourselves in. 

“Oh, please,” you play along, lifting one hand as the other continues to balance the guitar, “Don’t sic Matt on me. I’m absolutely terrified.” 

“You should be. He may not seem like it, but he can get scary,” Eddie continues with the joke, half telling the truth as he begins to position the two of you. His hands hover away from your skin, but it’s a clear motion for you to turn just enough for he can have his hand hold the neck of the guitar instead of yours, “Speaking of which, please remind me to call him back in the morning. Also, maybe have an ambulance on speed dial, since I hung up on him earlier.” 

You laugh so hard your entire body bumps against his, back half way pressed to his chest. It’s a careful arrangement, and he wonders for a moment just how long he can draw this all out to keep you close to him. How many songs he can pull out of his ass, how many mistakes he can deliberately cause at a careful rate. Just enough to prolong the lesson, but not so many that you get frustrated enough to give up. 

He also wonders if you’ve caught on to the hidden question of your presence in the morning. 

“I’ll remind you after we get breakfast or something. Don’t want you dying with an empty stomach,” you jest, and you confirm.

Breakfast. You’re staying the rest of the night. 

You’re still giggling as he jokingly rolls his eyes, and he finally decides to focus on the task at hand, “Okay, okay. Enough fucking around. I’m gonna start off with me forming the chords, and your only job is to strum. Fair enough?” 

“With just my hand? I don’t have a p-”

Right on cue, he produces the pick. The only one he dares to touch when performing alone at home. As though he’d just been waiting for you to bring it up. 

And he had been. Waiting, pretty and patiently, for the big reveal. 

It’s another moment for you to swat him away or run away from it all, but all you do is look gently at the relic and smile. When you take it from him, pinching it carefully between your fingers, you take a second to just smile at it. 

You don’t have to say that you know the pick – the smile says it all.  

You switch it to your right hand just as Eddie’s left hand curls around the neck. His fingers are quick to press into the strings just as he had been before you’d interrupted, calluses finding familiar solace in the formation of a B note. 

“Alright,” he softly begins to instruct, “So, I’m still playing around with it. But, I was doing a pretty simple strumming pattern.” 

“Strumming pattern,” you hum, echoing his soft tone, “I remember that one from our first lesson.” 

“Good. The pattern was down, down-up, down-up, down,” As he explains it, he watches your hand try to follow along. You fumble a bit, moving slower than his mouth, so he just repeats himself, “That’s alright. You’ve got it. Down, down-up, down-up, down. Put some stress on that last downstroke.” 

The second time, you follow along a bit better. The pick still catches oddly on a few of the strings at random, and none of your movements are quite as natural as his had been, but you’re getting the gist. 

You stagger through the strumming a few more times, becoming more and more comfortable, movements becoming more languid before Eddie finally begins to sing out the lyrics that had been formulating before your arrival. 

“Wait,” his voice cracks a little with the falsetto, making a conscious effort to be quiet when his mouth is so close to your ear, “Won’t you wait for me?” 

He’s timing it to match your slower strums. Bending the song right at your will. 

“Don’t you bathe in rivers? Don’t you feel alive?” 

It works better like this. A calmer tempo, letting him draw out syllables until his breath runs out. 

“And when I see you waking up, and it sends me shivers,” he tries not to flush as his cheek nearly brushes your shoulder, praying to some nonexistent God that you won’t pick up all the hidden meaning behind the words. He even takes a deep breath when you nearly lose your grip on the pick, earning you a few extra seconds to reorient yourself before he continues on, “How you love like weapons kill.” 

You had had a choice. You had had the power to kill him, or to let him back in. A choice in choosing to set your aim directly to him.

You’d chosen the latter. Maybe not permanently, maybe not forever, but for now. 

For just a few seconds now, he gets to be your chosen once more. He doesn’t care how long it does or doesn’t last; he drinks it in like a starving man, desperate for every last drop of serenity you’re willing to offer him here during the witching hour. 

Somehow, with only that thought and revelry weighing on his mind, he can only get out one lyric for the chorus. The only one that makes sense, in the here and in the now, with you. 

“So take aim, at me for once. Just take aim, break me apart.”

His fingers work effortlessly with the strums still administrated from your hand. Positions changing so that you were strumming out notes of E, of a D minor, of a G sharp. He’s fumbling just as much as you are as it all comes together. It shouldn’t sound like a song yet – all the notes are sort of getting lost as Eddie tries to come up with them on the spot, and your strums aren’t entirely evenly paced with the same skill as a musician. Half the lyrics are a mumble or hum in lieu of actual words. 

But it does. It sounds like the best song he’s ever written, and he thinks it’s solely because you’re there. 

“Call, won’t you call out my name? Like a curse in this world? Like a battle cry?” 

Your actions stop at those lyrics, and he hardly has time to process when you turn your head to him suddenly. He was so caught up in it all, he hadn’t been thinking. Just singing, just whispering, just getting spun right into the web of the feeling of your body against his and the indent of the body of the guitar digging deeper into your thigh. 

“Sorry, was I too l-” he begins to apologize, worrying that maybe his tone had been irritating or too close to your ear. He could imagine how quickly it might get old-

“Eddie.” 

You don’t call it out. You whisper it out, softer than the smoke of a candle blown out in the dying light of an evening wasted. Nearly silent. 

You don’t say it like a curse. It falls like a prayer of wonder from your lips, as if there’s a space permanently left on your tongue, only for it. 

And it’s not a battle cry. It’s the raising of a white flag as you look at him with glossy eyes and bated breaths, laying all your weapons down, even if for only a  moment. 

Whatever aim you have left to offer him, it’s of the most tender degree. 

He’d whisper your name back to you, offer you the same formality and care you’re showing him, but you steal every word out of his mouth when you lean in and put your lips to his. 

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @mediocredreams @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin

@ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87

@thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @aysheashea @kellsck

@cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking

@witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore

@mikiepeach @ali-r3n @hawkebuckley @alwaysbeenfamous @darkyuffie-blog

@vintagehellfire @lilmisssiren @elvendria @loveryanax @stylexrepp

@princessstolas @fangirling-4-ever @eddiesguitarskills @babez-a-licious @josephquinnsfreckles

@writinginthetwilight @trixyvixx @kittydeadbones @munson-addict @bluejeangenies

@cryingglightningg @joannamuns9n @missmarch-99 @rhirojo @findmeincorneliastreet

[bebe07011]

Joseph Quinn for Interview Magazine (2024)

[bebe07011]

damn you guys loved the soft eddie thoughts ok here’s more

eddie’s favorite thing is when you’re soft to him. he loves pampering you, fawning over you, but when you do it to him? his heart nearly goes out every time.

specifically before he gets in the shower, you detangle his hair. it started after you heard him ripping his brush through his hair, yanking out clumps of tangled hair, cringing at the sound of it caught in the brush’s bristles.

“here, let me do it. you’re gonna rip all your hair out.” you flipped down the toilet seat, nodding at eddie to sit on the cover.

his shoulder’s slumped, curved at the tenderness you used to detangle each frizzed, fused curl. staring from the bottom, the brush’s bristles would rub against the bare skin of his shoulders when you’d work through each one. holding the top so you didn’t pull as much, you were an expert.

your nails would scratch over the top of his scalp when you were done, palms smoothing over his wild hair, detangled but frizzy and puffy.

“your hair is huge, ed.” you giggle, gathering it in your hands to make a ponytail. “maybe you should wear it like this.”

eddie would roll his eyes with a half amused snort, standing to slap on the shower’s faucet. always turning to you with a dopey, love sick grin. always giving you a quick kiss that lingered and left you both jittery with excitement. always following with a teasing smile and a, “you can join me if ya want. wash my hair f’me, baby, you’re so good at it.”

sometimes you’d roll your eyes, sometimes you’d join him. shampoo his hair extra good just so you could hear his heavy sighs of content.

[bebe07011]

I saw a video on Instagram of a girl who had a rough day at school because she got in a fight with her friend. And her little sister says I'm your best friend and wipes the girl's tears and then hugs her. I couldn't help but think of Ryan or Luke having a bad day at school and Eliza comes to hug them telling them that she loves them and not to be sad.

I immediately fell in love with this idea. Little Eliza has such sass and attitude, but she also has the biggest heart 💕

Words: 2k

[As You Wish masterlist]

The front door opens and a quick glance at the clock visible in the hallway, just outside of where you are in the laundry room, tells you that it’s Luke coming home from school. The familiar sounds of him kicking his shoes off and walking into the kitchen reach you as you transfer the wet clothes into the dryer. But instead of hearing him rummage around the pantry or cabinets like normal, the noise is surprisingly civilized as he pulls something out of the refrigerator and lets that door swing closed behind him.

The fourteen-year-old’s footsteps start coming down the hall, thumping louder the closer he gets to you. In your peripheral vision, you see Luke walk past the laundry room, a bottle of water in his hands as he heads towards the stairs.

“Hey, troublemaker,” you say. 

There’s no response. The sound of him climbing the stairs reverberates through the walls and you frown as you snatch up the box of dryer sheets on the shelf above the washing machine. 

Even if Luke didn’t hear you, it’s unusual for him to come home and be so quiet. It’s not uncommon for the boy to track you down as soon as he’s grabbed a snack so he can tell you about something he did in class or something funny that happened at lunch. Your Mom Sense starts to tingle. 

Freshly washed clothes all now in the dryer, you close the lid and press the familiar buttons to get your last chore of the day finished. Before you can even take a step towards the door though, a loud thump thump thump thump thump careens down the hallway. There’s a flash of two curly pigtails and purple overalls rushing past the laundry room before the surprisingly heavy tread for a four-year-old follows in her brother’s wake up the stairs. 

As much as you know Luke loves his little sister, if something is going on with him, he probably won’t want to deal with the preschooler. You wipe your hands off on the side of your jeans and follow your kids up the stairs, ready to wrangle in your precocious daughter if need be. 

The murmur of voices floats down the hall once you’re upstairs. It’s hard to tell what they’re saying, but you can make out the distinct pitches between the teenage boy and pipsqueak little girl. 

“You’re not okay,” you hear Eliza say as you silently approach Luke’s room. 

The door is open, but you don’t want to barge in on whatever they have going on, so you wait just on the other side of the door frame until they’re finished. 

“Eliza,” Luke says with a sigh. But his sister is right. The slight wobble of his usually strong and steady voice is a dead giveaway. 

Mattress springs creak and between Eliza’s little huffs of effort and Luke’s sharp inhale at a wince, you wager she’s climbing into his lap. One of the many things your daughter inherited from Eddie was her grace, which is to say, she doesn’t really have any. 

Careful not to make a sound, you lean into the doorway of Luke’s room to take a peek. The way the bed is situated your son isn’t able to see you from where he sits on it, socked feet planted on the sage carpet. Eliza is indeed on his lap, her legs draped across her brother’s thighs and her back to you. 

Luke’s arm is around her small frame so she won’t fall and Eliza rests her head against his chest, tilting her head up to look at him. 

“What’s wrong, Lukie?” she asks softly.

Your second oldest son doesn’t typically like that nickname and will always tell people to stop calling him that—except for Eliza. She’s the soft spot of the entire family. 

Luke lets out a sigh and you don’t think he’s going to answer his sister. You expect him to deny it again and tell her to go play with her toys. But instead, you watch his shoulders slump, and he lowers his head, starting to pick at a loose thread on the cuff of Eliza’s overalls. 

“I was supposed to hang out with one of my friends,” Luke starts, but is interrupted. 

“Who?”

“You don’t know—oh, yeah, you do. It’s Sean.”

“The one who looks like a chocolate chip cookie?” she asks. 

Luke snorts, failing at containing his laughter, and you cover your mouth to suppress your urge to giggle. 

“Those are called freckles, Lize,” Luke explains. Your son has lovingly referred to one of his best friends as “chocolate chip face” when his freckles become darker and more pronounced in the summer. It’s nice to know Eliza hears everything, though. 

“Anyway,” Luke continues, “he and I were supposed to go to the movies tonight. But he blew me off—uh, canceled on me.”

“Maybe his mommy is sick,” Eliza offers, unable to turn off her empathetic instincts. 

“No,” Luke says with a head shake. “He’s going bowling with someone else.”

Eliza sits up straight in her brother’s lap at this. You don’t have to see her face to know her eyebrows are pinching together.

“That’s not nice. Why can’t you go with them?”

Another sigh from Luke as he shakes his head.

“He’s going with a girl. A date.” The word sounds bitter as it rolls off your son’s tongue. 

“Date?” Eliza sounds confused.

“Sean likes the girl. He wants her to be his girlfriend. So, he picked her over me tonight,” Luke says. 

Your heart splinters as you listen to him. Memories of when you were fourteen are still vivid in your mind and when friends bail on you it hurts—especially when it’s to spend time with another person. It comes with the age and hormones though, you know that. Luke’s friend Sean is a good kid, and you know their friendship will be fine. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting right now in this moment. 

“I’ll go to the movies with you,” Eliza offers, your heart melting at her words. 

A small smile grows on Luke’s face, and he shakes his head.

“You’re too young for this one.”

Eliza huffs but nuzzles her face against her brother’s blue Indiana Colts t-shirt. 

“We watch a movie here?” Eliza asks. Before waiting for an answer, she pushes herself out of Luke’s lap and crawls over his legs until she’s able to stand on the mattress next to him. This angle gives you a better vantage point of the little girl’s face and Luke adjusts himself on the bed so he’s facing her as well. “‘Cause I’m your friend too, right?”

“Of course you are.” You don’t have to be able to see Luke’s face to know he’s smiling. 

“Luke and Liza movie night,” she declares, giving a definitive nod of her head, curls bouncing everywhere in the confines of the two pigtails. “I don’t want you to be sad.” Gently, she cups Luke’s face in her two small hands. “It’s okay, Lukie. I’m your friend an’ I love you.”

Your son isn’t even given the chance to respond before Eliza moves her hands from his face to wrap her arms around his neck and launch herself into him. She hugs him with all her tiny might and Luke wraps his arms right back around her. 

“Thanks, kid,” he says. “I love you too.”

Tears cloud your vision as you quietly take a step back from the door. You’ve always known all your kids have kind hearts and would do anything for one another. But seeing this display of affection from your four-year-old when she sensed her brother was upset has your heart bursting with pride. 

Using the backs of your hands, you wipe your eyes and the few rogue tears that have traitorously slid down your cheeks. On tiptoe, you make your way back to the stairs and go down with as little noise as possible.

Once you’re on the first floor, you feel you can let out a loud exhale and sniffle a few times as you take care of the remaining tears. One thing you’ve learned as a mom is that some of the most rewarding moments are also the most emotional. This was definitely one of them. 

The moment Eddie comes home, you’re buzzing around him like a dog who knows they’re about to get a treat. He doesn’t even have his boots off yet when you’re linking your arm with his and leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Hello to you, too,” Eddie teases. “What’s up?”

The last time you were this eager to get a hold of him as soon as he walked through the door you were in your second trimester with Eliza and practically dragged Eddie to the bedroom before he even had the front door closed behind him. But this wasn’t that, you weren’t trying to get into his coveralls—yet, anyway.

“The sweetest thing happened today,” you gush, taking care to keep your voice low. 

“What was it?”

“When Luke came home—”

“What’s for dinner?” Ryan interrupts, popping his head into the room from the kitchen.

“Spaghetti,” you tell him.

“Come on,” Eddie says, slipping his hand into yours. “Tell me while I get cleaned up from work.”

And so you do. Happily watching your husband undress and wash his body off as you sit on the bathroom counter, your legs lazily swinging over the edge. 

You relay the whole story to him and there’s a grin on his pretty face the entire time. Pride beams in his eyes as he slips into an old t-shirt and plaid pajama pants. 

“She's such a good kid,” he says. 

“I know.”

As the two of you exit the bathroom, you’re forced to step out of the way as Eliza carries the comforter from her bed towards the stairs. 

“Uh, whatcha doing, Sweet Pea?” Eddie asks her.

“Gettin’ stuff ready,” she says, adjusting the quilt in her arms. 

“For what?” you ask.

“Me and Luke are having movie night. Gonna put blankets and pillows on the floor so we’re comfy.”

“Want me to carry that for you?” Eddie offers.

“Yes, please.”

Once Eliza is empty-handed, she heads down the stairs, you on her tail, and Eddie bringing up the rear. As you enter the living room you see Luke’s comforter already spread out on the floor, pillows strewn about. It brings you back to the days when you were a kid and would have sleepovers with your friends in your parents’ living room.

Eliza makes grabby hands for her blanket and Eddie gladly gives it back to her. She unceremoniously plops it down on the floor and spreads the pink princess comforter out next to Luke’s camouflage one. 

“Here we go,” Luke says as he slips into the room behind you and Eddie. He’s got four pillows in his arms, and he dumps them in the middle of the makeshift nest. 

“Quite the set up you’ve got,” Eddie remarks. 

“Well yeah,” Luke says as he plunks himself down on the couch before sliding onto the floor. “It’s Luke and Liza movie night. We gotta!”

Ryan steps into the living room from the kitchen and his eyes roam over everything laid out on the floor in front of him—including his siblings.

“What’s going on?” he asks.

“Luke and Liza movie night,” Eliza and Luke say in unison.

Ryan frowns and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Can I join?”

“No,” they once again answer in sync. 

“Wow,” Ryan says with a shake of his head. “And to think, I bought ice cream today and would’ve shared it with you guys. But oh well.” The oldest sibling shrugs and makes his way back into the kitchen.

“Maybe we can reconsider!” Luke calls after him.

“Nope!” Ryan shouts back. “Too late.”

You and Eddie share an amused look, neither of you able to contain your smiles. It’s moments like these when I know I’m ready for another kid, you think to yourself. The love and craziness in this house will only get bigger—but why would I want it any other way? 

[bebe07011]

HOT HOT HOT OH MY GOD HOT

take a dip

pairing: lifeguard!eddie munson x bestfriend!fem!reader

word count: 4.3k (this was supposed to be a short little blurb lolz)

summary: eddie wants to get you in the water with him while you're alone at the community pool. he ends up getting a lot more than he bargained for.

cw: 18+ ONLY - SMUT. reader doesn't know how to swim, eddie is a relentless menace, brief food mention, use of pet names (baby, sweetheart), fingering, unprotected piv, creampie

“Get in the pool.”

“No!”

“Get. In. The pool.” Eddie's voice is deadpan, his expression flat. He holds out a hand, waiting for you to take it and let him guide you.

“It's cold! I'm going to freeze!” you whine, stomping your feet on the concrete like a toddler.

“Uuuuuuuuugh, you are impossible,” he groans, kicking off the wall and letting himself glide backwards, floating in the water.

He stops at the middle of the pool, going fully under the water before coming back up. He shakes his wild curls, blinking rapidly to get chlorine out of his eyes.

“Will you please come in? It's not even bad,” he begs, giving you his best puppy dog eyes.

He'd been tasked with getting the community pool ready for opening day, and he's spent the last several hours doing just that. You had stopped by to bring him some food, and ever since you both finished eating, he'd been trying desperately to get you in the water with him. He's entirely unsure why you're being so stubborn.

“Eddie, come on, I don't want to. Can we just go back to your place?” you ask, fingers worrying at the hem of your shorts.

“We can go back to my place once you get in this damn water with me,” he retorts. You know he doesn't mean anything by it, but his relentless insistence makes your stomach churn. It's not even his fault, it's not like he knows your reasoning. You should've known that by coming here you were in for it.

You're silent, shifting your weight from foot to foot as you debate what to say next. Luckily, you don't have to speak before Eddie notices your discomfort.

“Woah, hey.” He swims back to the edge of the pool, resting his arms on the concrete. “What's wrong? If you really don't want to get in you don't have to, we can just leave.”

He reaches a wet hand out to squeeze your ankle, cocking his head to the side as he looks up at you.

“It's just...” you start, voice suddenly much quieter than it had been. “I don't... know how to swim.” It feels simultaneously amazing and embarrassing to get the words out into the open, for Eddie to know.

“What?” he asks, making you shrink into yourself. You sit down on the pavement, tucking your knees to your chest.

“Yeah, I know. It’s humiliating, okay?” you snap, defensive.

“No, no, no. Hold on,” he interjects, pushing himself up and out of the water. “How come I never knew this?” he asks softly, scooting to sit beside you.

“Well, it wasn’t something that ever really came up until you got the lifeguard gig. It was an easy topic to avoid.” You shrug, watching water drip from his body.

This was only Eddie’s second summer working at the pool, and the previous summer you’d managed to dodge the task of going swimming with excuses about carting the kids around to and from the arcade or the Wheeler’s or the mall; having to work; being on your period and not feeling like it.

“Shit, I didn’t mean to act like an asshole,” he tells you earnestly. “If you don’t want to get in the water, we won’t. I’m sorry,” he searches your face with soft eyes, remorseful.

You sigh, resting your forehead on your knees, hiding your face away. “It’s not even that I don’t want to get in. I’d love to get in the water with you,” you say, muffled. “But I’m scared.”

“I mean,” he starts, leaning back coolly, “you are sitting next to the best lifeguard in Hawkins, Indiana.”

You snort, looking up from your hiding spot. “Between you, Billy, and Heather? Not a tough competition, champ.”

He gasps, mock offended. “Rude!”

You turn pointedly to face him. “Billy’s always distractedly flirting with someone and definitely couldn’t care less if any of the residents in this town live or die. Heather is always busy gawking at Billy, and she hates getting her hair wet.”

He thinks about this. “Okay, fair point.”

You laugh, a sort of sad sound. “But!” He stands, extending a hand to encourage you to join him. “I am still a lifeguard. One that actually cares whether you live or die, and I’d very much like it to be the former.” He pulls you onto your feet. “We can take it super slow, heck, we don’t even have to actually teach you to swim tonight. We can just stand in the water, get you comfortable being in it.”

“Isn’t that… I don’t know. Silly?”

“Why would it be silly?” he asks simply. “The more you’re in water, the less scary it will be.”

You think this over, eyes flicking back and forth from the pool to your clasped hands. “I honestly want to, but I didn’t even bring a swimsuit,” you say finally, feeling a bit dejected.

“I mean, and don’t hit me when I say this—” Eddie begins, taking a step back with a smirk. “But you could just get in in your underwear.”

You feel your face heat wildly at his suggestion, feeling simultaneously nervous and intrigued by the thought of stripping to your bra and panties in front of your best friend. The intrigue surprises you a little bit, your heart fluttering in your chest.

“Eddie—” you murmur, but he cuts you off.

“It’s no different than seeing you in a bikini. And I have seen you in one of those, at that car wash fundraiser for the cheer team in high school,” he says matter-of-factly, giving you no real reason to back out.

And truly, you don’t want to.

“Okay, fine,” you huff, playing up your reluctance. “Turn around,” you motion in a circle with your finger, and he rolls his eyes before turning his back to you.

You slip out of your sandals before peeling your shorts off, letting them pool around your ankles. Your shirt comes next, and you hoist it over your head before tossing it onto a lounge chair with your bottoms.

There’s a very subtle chill to the air, the full heat of summer not yet present. It kisses your skin, making goosebumps erupt all over.

“Okay, get in the water and close your eyes until I’m in,” you tell him.

“You do realize I’m going to have to look at you at some point?”

“I know! Just— not yet.”

“Fine.”

He lowers himself back into the water with a slight splash, covering his eyes with his hands. You giggle at the sight, feeling like you’re playing hide and seek and he’s counting.

Slowly, you step over to the pool’s edge, sitting down and letting your feet dip into the water. It’s cold, too fresh to have been heated by the sun, and it sends a shiver running up your body.

“Eddie, it’s really cold,” you whine, already knowing he’ll be having none of it.

“Yeah, ‘s why you have to just get all the way in in one go.” You hesitate, but as if he can read your mind, he goes on. “Your feet can touch here, nothing’s gonna happen. Promise.”

His eyes are still covered, and you bite back another giggle. You know you’re safe with him, and you swallow your nerves as you slip fully into the water. The level of depth keeps the waterline at the top of your chest, your head and shoulders remaining dry.

“Can I look now, your highness?”

“Shut up. Yes.”

He removes his hands, grinning at you. “Look at you! In the pool with me.”

You allow yourself to smile a little, too, although you feel silly for celebrating the mere fact that you’re standing in a pool.

The look on Eddie’s face doesn’t let you feel silly for very long. He’s practically got stars in his eyes. In fact, you can’t help but notice the way they seem to linger on your lips, trailing down to the soft hills of your breasts. Your heart beats rapidly in your chest.

He holds his hands out to you, and you take them, letting him walk backwards while you follow. He moves slowly into the deeper end, and your toes try their hardest to cling to the bottom of the pool the further you go. You’re about to back away, return to the shallow side, but he does damage control before you can run.

“C’mere,” he coaxes, pulling you close to him as he wraps his arms around you. “Put your legs around my waist.”

You oblige, albeit flustered, wrapping your limbs around his thin waist and letting your chests press together, your arms hanging loosely around his neck. You become acutely aware of the way your core rests barely exposed against the fabric of his swim trunks, and suddenly you feel like all of the oxygen has been sucked out of this portion of the world around you. You swear you hear a rather strangled breath leave him, and you wonder if this proximity is affecting him the way it seems to be affecting you.

You find yourself more enamored than ever with the tattoos littering his body, black ink scrawled into his pale skin. Your eyes trace constellation patterns between the freckles splattered on his torso, holding yourself back from reaching out to touch them.

In Eddie’s arms, you’re safe in the water, and your nerves ease as you try to shove down the butterflies that roam beneath your ribcage. It’s just Eddie, being close to Eddie isn’t anything new.

But being this close to Eddie while you’re both barely clothed, is.

He holds you easily; you’re weightless in the water, which allows him to maneuver fluidly. The water is still cold around you, but your body feels like it’s hot enough to start boiling it. Eddie’s fingers press into your thighs to keep you supported, and suddenly it’s the only sensation you can focus on.

“Still cold?” Eddie asks, and it makes you visibly startle.

“N-no, not really,” you choke out. If only he knew.

He raises a brow at your demeanor but says nothing more, and you wonder how long he’ll float around with you for. You wonder how long you can take it before you start clawing at him like a rabid animal.

Your lack of inhibition alarms you, your sudden hunger toward the man in front of you new and slightly terrifying. Eddie’s always been attractive, but in an objective way. In a way you never felt like you really needed to act on. You could admit that he was attractive and also remember that he was your best friend, and that trying to go any further than friendship would be moronic.

But right now, you think you’d let him swallow you whole.

You’ve zoned out, looking blankly at the illuminated blue of the pool, and when you focus back in you notice that Eddie is staring at you, unwavering.

“What?” you ask him, but it comes out as little more than a whisper.

“Would it be fucking crazy to kiss you right now?” he asks, his usual boisterous attitude gone. He’s nervous.

Your heart swells, battering against your ribs. “Maybe. But you should do it anyway.” You swallow hard, watching as his wild eyes search your face. You feel a peculiar sort of giddiness, like a child that's about to snatch a cookie from the jar when they know they aren’t supposed to.

You only hope this won't come back to bite you in the ass.

Everything seems to go quiet save for both of your shaky breaths, Eddie's hands curling into your half-wet hair as he presses your back against one wall of the pool. His lips meet yours so softly, encouraging your mouth to open and move with his.

Your brain feels like it's lagging, unable to catch up with what's happening. You would've expected this to be awkward, clumsy, embarrassing — but it's none of those things. His lips slot against yours like they were made to fit there, and you find yourself wondering why you never did this sooner.

He draws back, grinning wildly. You're sure your expression matches.

“I can't believe it took me so long to do that,” he admits, eyes eagerly searching your own.

They look especially dark now that the sun has set, yet something in them seems to sparkle.

“I was thinking the same thing,” you respond. He laughs and you join him, clinging tight to wet skin.

When the laughter subsides, you let him kiss you again, his tongue licking experimentally into your mouth. It makes you clutch him even tighter, deepening the kiss before he can think about pulling away; encouraging his tongue to test the waters further. You grind your core against him before you can register that you're doing it, pulling a throaty groan from him, and that's when you feel it. The outline of his hardening cock strains against his swim shorts, brushing up against you just right to create a delicious jolt of friction.

You pull back to look at him, grinding against him once more in hopes of eliciting more sounds from him. His eyes pinch shut, his mouth falling open in a curse. You can see the pink blush in his cheeks even in the fading light of day.

“Fuck, baby.” Baby, you think. That's new.

“Yeah?” you ask, taunting him just a little bit. “Does that feel good?”

“Fuck yes, god. Makin' me feel like a horny teenager,” he chuckles, a strained and breathy thing. You can tell he's trying hard to keep himself together.

But maybe you don't want him to.

You let your lips attach to his neck, wanting to see how far you can go before he gives in; before he can't hold back any longer.

He takes in a sharp breath when you begin sucking on his soft skin, aiming to leave a bruise in your mouth's wake. His head tips, further exposing his neck to you, and you move to cover more of the pale surface. His cock is fully hard now, or at least it feels like it, rubbing against your core as you continue to grind against him to the best of your ability.

“Shit, you're driving me crazy,” he says, digging his fingers into your hips.

“What're you gonna do about it?” you ask, challenging him in a moment of surging confidence.

His expression darkens, his index finger reaching beneath your chin and tilting it up, until you're looking at him. “Do you really want to do this?” he questions, arching a brow. His question holds a double meaning: Do you really want to try me? and Are you sure you want this, with me?

You're certain about both.

“Yes,” you breathe, barely audible. His lips are mere centimeters from yours, his finger still hooked under your chin. He stays like that for a moment, as if judging that you're sure, and once he seems to find his answer it's like something in him snaps. He lets go.

His lips press to yours, hot and urgent, his hands digging firm into your thighs. You swear every inch of skin he touches turns molten as his palms roam to squeeze fistfuls of your ass, new territory that sets you on fire. Your nails dig into his shoulder blades, your mouth open as he licks into it with a hunger like no other. His teeth catch your bottom lip, tugging it as a whimper escapes your throat.

“You're so fucking gorgeous,” Eddie nearly growls, his voice wrecked, like simply saying the words makes him want to bust. “Need to have you, baby, let me have you.” His mouth is dipped close to your ear, his hot breath sending a shiver throughout you.

“Please, Eddie,” you beg, rolling your hips into him yet again. He groans, eyes falling closed and hands digging harder into your skin. Like he's bracing himself.

When his eyes open again, he takes a moment to just study you, scouring every inch of you that he can see.

“Look so fucking sexy like this,” he murmurs, nosing at your cheek before pressing another kiss to your lips. His words make your cheeks burn. “Just so it's on record, I was a fucking idiot for not kissing you sooner. God, sweetheart,” he says, making your heart pound. Another kiss.

“I'm just as big of an idiot,” you reply, tangling your fingers in his damp curls.

When you tug on them, a low grumble of a sound leaves his throat. “Fuck, you're gonna kill me.”

He reaches behind you, gripping the edge of the pool with one hand as the other slips down to caress your breasts. He lets his fingers glide over the fabric of your bra before dipping them beneath the cups, squeezing one and then the other. You gasp, throwing your head back with a whispered curse of his name.

One corner of his mouth twitches up in smug amusement, his head tipping down so he can kiss at your neck, your shoulders, your collarbone. You let your legs fall from around his waist, feet planting on the bottom of the pool. His hand traces down your side, stopping to toy with the waistband of your cute cotton panties. You suck in a breath in anticipation of his next move, and you exhale when his warm hand slips beneath the fabric, cupping your sex in a calloused palm.

You let your own hands wander, trailing your fingers down his toned chest until you reach the drawstring of his swim trunks. His breathing grows shallow, his cock kicking up against your hand when you cup his bulge through the smooth material. It sends a wave of satisfaction through you, at the fact that you have the ability to make his body react in such a way.

Meanwhile, his fingers tease your core, drawing loops around your entrance, almost dipping in but not quite. You involuntarily rut your hips against his hand, body desperate for more.

“Aww, a little needy, are we?” Eddie smirks, squeezing your ass with his free hand.

You frown. “You're making fun of me,” you whine, looking at him with big sad eyes, exaggerated in your attempt to garner his sympathy.

“Nooooo,” he coos softly, folding entirely as he leans in to kiss your pout away. You smile, kissing him back and letting your hand dip beneath his bottoms.

He makes a little ‘aah’ sound, letting his hips roll against your hand, providing more friction that he so desperately craves. Your fingers wrap tentatively around the base of him, and your eyes widen. You don't need to see him to realize how big he is. Your hand runs up and down his length, your breath hitching in your throat at the thought of fitting him inside of you; the stretch he'd provide. You never thought you'd be experiencing this with Eddie of all people, but you're not about to complain.

He finally dips two fingers inside of your throbbing center, the sensation making your vision blur. You want him so terribly, more than you think you've ever wanted anyone, and it all seemed to come out of nowhere. He feels incredible, and he's barely done anything.

His fingers reach deep, curling at your sweet spot, making your back arch. You lose focus on the way you were teasing his cock, your hand freezing in place as he fucks you on his fingers.

“That feel good?” he murmurs, his eyes scanning your face expectantly.

“Yes, fuck, Eddie,” you praise, brow furrowing as his fingers start to move quicker. “So fucking good.”

He seems satisfied with himself, smiling almost shyly, and it only makes you want him more.

“Ed, please—” you croak. “Need you inside me,” you press, pawing urgently at his shorts in an attempt to push them down his legs.

“Fuck,” he curses. “Okay, baby, I got you,” he reassures, removing his fingers from your core and instead grabbing the base of his cock and tugging it free from its confines.

You're nearly trembling with desire, each second agonizing as you wait to be filled up by him.

“Take these off,” he instructs, tapping at your hipbone over the fabric of your underwear.

You do as told, awkwardly pulling them off and tossing the soggy garment behind you.

“God, that was so sexy,” he says, making you snort.

“Shut up and fuck me, Munson.” Your smirk reaches your eyes, a glint of recklessness coursing through them.

“Fuck. Yes ma’am.”

He instructs you back into your previous position, your legs around his waist, opening you up for him perfectly. He looks down, guiding himself to your entrance to the best of his ability through the wonky lens of the water. He isn’t sure if he’s quite got it until a gasp escapes your lips, your nails digging into his back.

And then he’s pressing further in, not too much but enough to get you to make more pretty sounds for him. You cry out from the feeling of him parting your walls, a delicious pleasure-soaked burn that has your eyes screwing shut.

Eddie’s having none of that, though.

“Nuh-uh,” he rasps. “Look at me. Need to see your face while I fill you up.”

Your eyes open slowly, head lolling deliriously to meet his stare. His eyes are heavy-lidded, lip sucked between his teeth as he gives you more of him. His cock is thick, an intrusion the size of which you’ve never felt before. You feel full to the brim and he’s not even balls-deep yet. The thought makes your head spin.

His eyes are so gentle, deep and familiar pools of brown that feel a lot like home. It’s obscene, the juxtaposition between lust and adoration you feel for him.

“God,” he grunts, “you’re so tight around me, baby. Can feel you squeezing me.”

You whine in response, his cock finally sheathing itself entirely within you. His name escapes you on a high pitched moan, and you see a blaze of fire pass behind his eyes. He’s feeling this aching desire just as much as you are.

“Please,” you beg. “Please fuck me.”

“Yeah?” he purrs. “You want it?”

It’s teasing, he’s mocking you and your impatience to be ruined by him. In any other circumstance you’d tease him right back, but you’re too drunk on him to care.

“I need it. Please, Eddie.”

“Shit, you’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me,” he replies, steadying himself with one hand gripping the concrete edge behind you.

Your back is pressed firmly to the pool’s wall, Eddie’s chest pressed to your front. You’re caged in, loving your proximity to him. He gives you one final glance before his hips begin to rock into yours.

His thrusts are fast, yet you feel them in slow motion. Every inch of his cock dragging out of you before pushing back in, the fat head of him pressing deep inside. Your body feels like it’s on fire in the best way, the water around you doing nothing to extinguish you. Eddie is the oxygen, bringing you roaring to life, and you don’t want any bit of it to stop.

You cling onto him, your wet hands not getting much grip against his wet shoulders. Your breath comes out in spurts with each thrust he gives you, a repetitive ‘ah-ah-ah’ with each snap of his hips to yours.

“Christ, sweetheart,” Eddie pants. “Feel so fucking good on my cock, holy shit.”

A half-smile graces your lips, and he leans forward to snatch them in a heated kiss. The combination of his warm tongue slipping into your mouth and his cock pressing perfectly against your sweet spot has you reeling, tension winding itself tight in the pit of your stomach. Your hands move to hold his face, keeping him right where he is. He smiles against your lips and it makes your heart soar, pulse pounding in your chest.

Every thrust sends pangs of pleasure straight to your gut, and you know you won’t last much longer. How can you last, when the sounds he’s making are sinful and his cock fits inside of you like it was made to be there.

“Fff-uuuuck,” he groans, eyes screwing shut. “I’m gonna cum, babe, where do you want it?”

“Inside,” you croak, barely getting the word out in your breathless state. Your head is lolling back, eyes closed in complete bliss.

“Shit, are you sure? Look at me — are you sure?” he asks, tilting your chin up.

“Yes, Ed. Please,” you insist, hurtling towards your release.

He gives you a few final thrusts, hard and fast before he’s twitching inside of you, giving you all that he has for you. Your name falls from his lips again and again; a chant, a prayer. You’re cumming within seconds of him, clamping down around his cock as pleasure crashes over you in heavy waves. Your legs grow weak, barely able to keep yourself wrapped around him. He senses it, holding you up as you ride out your high.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you pant, chest heaving with each breath.

Eddie’s watching you intently, waiting to make sure you’re okay, that you enjoyed yourself. That you aren't going to leave. That this wasn’t a dream.

When you meet his gaze, a lazy smile tugs at your mouth.

“Please tell me that was as good for you as it was for me,” Eddie says, leaning to press his forehead against yours.

You laugh lightly, arms looping around his neck. “Yeah. It was,” you chew at your lip, suddenly feeling shy again.

“Come on, let’s get you dried off,” he says, pressing a sweet kiss to your soft lips, before fully pulling out of you.

You wince at the loss of him, hands pressing against his chest when he moves to lift you out of the water.

“Wait,” you say, halting him.

He cocks a brow, hands resting on your hips.

“You never taught me how to swim,” you murmur, feeling a newfound boldness.

“Well shit, sweetheart. If all I had to do to get you to learn was fuck you, why didn’t you say so?” he jokes, bellowing a laugh when you slap him, more a spray of water than any actual impact.

“If you want the chance to do it again, Munson, I suggest you shut your mouth,” you quip, smirking as he gives you a mock salute.

“Once again — yes ma’am. Let the swimming lessons commence.”

[bebe07011]

Humping the air rn

[bebe07011]

I’m literally gonna cum