shiregoth

[shiregoth]

ALL of these have me YELLING hello!! hi!!!

every iteration of eddie cannot lie to wayne obv, but there's something SO funny. about pornstar!eddie specifically having the biggest crush on director and wayne just. Knowing TM. i looove thinking about the bts of the og blurbs now and imagening those phonecalls to wayne. wayne who does not want to know the details probably?? but also loves to hear eddie gush?? Oh To Be A Fly On Wayne Munson's Wall for all of this tbh shdgfhsdfs

next, lemme give you some unsubtle encouragement for the grandiose pollen fic:

ok thank u for ur attention i am EXCITED for every little morsel of this!!!! i am HERE for it!!

and re: rockstar!eddie. there's always angst for rockstar!eddie. and not all stories need a happy ending so if you do decide to write this i'm sure you'll figure out the vibe and the fitting ending. we'll all be here for the ride. 🫡

thank you SO MUCH for sharing info on all of these and your amazing writing in general!! <3

came here for "for your viewing pleasure" stayed for everything else but obv gotta ask - in the vol. 2 when director!reader meets wayne, does wayne like. know. how they n eddie met? 👀

ALSO we love a pollen fic it's a STAPLE of fanfic <3

ALSO ALSO "hold your peace in pieces" im always a slut for rockstar!eddie pls tell me about him pls pls

- love shiregoth <3

Omg omg so many good questions ☺️

Let’s chit chat under the cut, dearest.

For pornstar!eddie, I’ll be the first to admit I don’t have a solid plan for him 😅 The first drabble was just a Thursday night thot that spiraled out of control, and kinda took on a life of its own.

THAT BEING SAID—I think all the rumors of what Eddie is up to have defff made it to Wayne’s ears. He doesn’t like to participate in town gossip, but Eddie also started getting kinda cagey about exactly what he’s doing for work lately.

And he’s always sent Wayne some money when he could, but now it’s a lot more money and a lot more often. So when he asks him point-blank if it’s true, Eddie’s certainly not going to lie.

Which means he told Wayne about you long before the two of you got together, and while he wasn’t thrilled to hear how his nephew is making his money, he is relieved to hear Eddie talk about this wonderful person looking out for him and making sure no one takes advantage of him.

(Not to mention���you’re bananas if you think Wayne can’t tell immediately when Eddie has a crush)

And @tomtomslongdong made it canon that the calendar you two were in is hanging in the garage where some of Wayne’s buddies work.

So while Wayne does know what’s up when Eddie brings you for a visit…he’s much too much of a gentleman to dare to mention it.

Next: I looove a good pollen fic (even a not so good one is still pretty good to me 🙃). And I’ve been working on this one lately after getting some subtle encouragement from a few people 👀

Have a little taste:

“Do you honestly believe that anyone at Hawkins General is going to know anything about some virus or whatever she picked up down there?”

Eddie’s jaw clenched, his iron grip on the phone threatening to crack the plastic in his fist.

“Fine,” he gritted out at last, “but I’m staying here with her, and if she gets any worse—”

“Well, let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that,” Nancy sniped and slammed down the phone.

Eddie felt his face scrunch up, a low growl in his throat like when the kids in Hellfire were talking over one another at top volume and Eddie had to shout over all of them to get their attention.

He couldn’t blame Nancy for being so curt. She was stressed. All of them were. Steve and Robin were away on a supply run, and she and Jonathan had practically taken up residence at some of the numerous disaster relief and volunteer centers that had been set up all around Hawkins.

Meanwhile, the most Eddie could do was skulk around Hop’s cabin with his thumb firmly lodged up his ass. It reminded him of those couple days at Reefer Rick’s he spent the majority of hiding under a tarp, like a bug waiting to be crushed.

Not anymore, though. At least he could do this.

His head snapped up at the sound of your voice, soft and plaintive as you called out for him.

“Ed…Eddie? Eddie, are you…where…”

“I’m here, I’m here,” he said, trotting back into your room. You made a small, weak little sound. Not unlike a puppy whining for its mother.

“Thought…” your bottom lip wobbled, “thought you left me…”

“No, sweetheart, never,” he told you as he knelt beside your bed again. A single tear leaked out of the corner of your eye, rolling down your sweaty cheek. His fingers itched to wipe it away.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered to you. “I promise.”

Last but not least, rockstar!eddie. I think the big roadblock with him is that he’s kind of a dolt and (inadvertently?) stringing the reader along.

So not fun. Not funky fresh.

I had a very clear vision for the scene where the story opens and have written that, but the more I go back to it, the harder it becomes to convince myself Eddie should “get the girl” so to speak.

We’ll see what happens with him.

walk through my wips

[shiregoth]

came across this tiktok and had Thots TM. is this anything?

potter!eddie x fem!reader, no y/n, canon compliant so mentions of post!upside down recovery, but mostly tooth-rotting fluff with a bit of steam, 18+

wc: 840

eddie's good at working with his hands; always has been. it's no different now, as he works malleable clay through fingers just regaining their strength. you follow the line from their hypnotizing movement over his wrists up his arms, noting scar tissue over and between beloved ink. you trace along it even where they're covered by his shirt; where you know his skin is deathly white in large patches still, impacting muscles just slowly growing back to their proper function.

he's come so far since that crappy summer of '86, when he'd been mostly chained to a hospital bed and all the hush money from the government couldn't get him any closer to his dreams. sweetheart sits in your lap now, a little battered and dusty, but getting played semi-regularly again. you've never been much good at it, but you can fiddle well enough to restring and tune her; that much, at least, you can do for eddie, now that he's started practicing daily again. the talent, the skill is still there - only the body has trouble keeping up. the pottery helped; a doctor had suggested it as a way to loosen his finger and arm muscles, training that won't lead to cramps and anger and breakdowns. it's good for him; despite the initial reluctance, it brings him peace.

it brings you peace, too. from where you're lounging across the bed, your gaze travels up across his collar bones, up his focused face with bangs slightly matted across his forehead, curls up in a bun. you smile at your boy, so unusually soft in his concentration. can't keep it in any longer. "you're beautiful."

a blush creeps up his cheeks to his ears, the same speed as the grin creeps over your face. big brown eyes meet yours, slightly bashful, very adoring, carrying a glint you almost feared he lost. before you can say anything else, one of his hands dips into the bowl of water next to him to flick some towards your face. fake outrage quickly follows your surprise at his deflection - "and how dare you, good sir?" - before gently laying the guitar by your side on the bed.

"unprovoked attacks!" eyes and mouth go comically round; you stem your fists on your hips for added effect. "that's the thanks i get!"

eddie can hardly contain his snort at your act. concentration now broken, the cast on his potter's wheel looses shape; squeaking as the rotations slowly come to a stop and he turns half towards you. "yeah?" without looking, he fishes for a towel to dry off his hands, with middling success. "and what'cher gonna do about it?"

you make a go for the towel but he yanks it out of your reach, getting you close enough to grab your wrist, pull you into him with sudden strength and nimble fingers.

those nimble fingers spread in your hair, spear in your cunt. you cling to his shoulders, face in his neck, keening softly at every movement. "that's it, baby," he says, and you can feel the satisfied smile against your skin. your hips cant into his hand, pressing it down into his own crotch, creating friction for the both of you. eddie swallows a low moan, huffs. your very favorite song.

you'd sell your soul to keep hearing it.

one of your hands travels down, moves along with him in your rhythm, while one of his moves your head so he can look at you, kiss you, devour you fully. his tongue moves in time with his thumb on your clit, once, twice, three more times before you unspool like loose wire. ecstatic shudders; then you melt, boneless, malleable like his clay. eddie's fingers slip out of you but stay down, wrap around your hand wrapped around his cock. not changing your pace, just holding on; moving together. his head tilts back, eyes shut, and you can't decide what you'd rather sink your teeth into - the skin of his exposed neck, or his quivering bottom lip.

you choose the former, nipping and licking while your hand still works him between you, feeling the vibrations of his growl under your lips. your thumb flicks across his head, spreading precum in a messy pattern down his cock, and the noise eddie makes his heavenly. you play him like he does the strings of his guitar - slowly, this time, but not any less wonderful than any time before. there's so many ways to make music still.

a few strokes, another kiss, and he's coming between you. his beautiful eyes glow when they find their way back to you. you'll worry about the mess later; right now, time feels soft and fluid and sticky in the best way. you lazily pick a sprinkle of clay out of his hair, and eddie's grin spills into a giggle. his arms wrap around you, kneading softly at your hips, moulding you to him. he traces patterns into your back. you hum disjointed melodies into his neck. in the watery afternoon sunlight, a future is shaped.

[shiregoth]

call me g! 27, she/they, cryptic weirdo recently revived from my writing grave by one eddie munson. this blog's for curating fan stuffs mainly, but every once in a while inspiration strikes and i write something myself. can be found under #gothtales and also under the cut. feel free to ask whatever, but beware: 18+ so minors DNI. also don't be mean. elsewise there will be curses.

headcanons

eddie munson x diabetic!reader // gn!reader, pure self-indulgent fluff, wc: 500

blurbs

potter!eddie // fem!reader, fluffy to steamy, wc: 840, 18+

other tags

#fic rec / #gifs / #art

[shiregoth]

EDDIE MUNSON Stranger Things - 4.09: The Piggyback

[shiregoth]

Creature of Habit - Ex!Eddie x Fem!Reader

Hurt, no comfort Inspired by Dial Drunk x Noah Kahan Additional tags: mentions of past seggs, alcoholism, driving under the influence, break-up, 18+

Eddie's fingers grip the leather steering wheel of his van. It's only a ten minute drive back to the trailer park from The Hideout, but winter winds whip into his open window and snap at his face, making this the most uncomfortable ten minutes he's had since... Well, since the last time you broke up with him and he went on a bender.

His eyelids are drooping. Every time he blinks they take a beat longer to reopen. Not that it matters, Eddie doesn't even have the headlights on.

The radio though? That Black Sabbath tape you'd pocketed from your job at the record shop is the only thing keeping him from drifting off the road. Die Young vibrates the dashboard and rings in his ears, nearly drowning out the howling wind that's screaming at him to get it the fuck together.

Eddie swats his palm against his cheek. The quick, sharp sting electrocutes him for a second, wakes him up just enough to get within the lines — or at least he thinks he's between the lines. Faded yellow and white paint crawls up this backroad, winding across the pavement like a corn snake and making it hard for him to decipher what's real. Bald tires churn up dirt as he drifts toward the edge again. This time, he isn't given the grace of correcting his mistakes.

Blue and red lights flash in his rearview mirror. It's the first time Eddie has really been allowed to see in the past six minutes, and what he sees is Chief Hopper's Blazer riding his tailgate as if it's his job.

"Put it in park, Munson. Don't make me show up at Wayne's with a warrant for evading." Jim eventually says over his car's loudspeaker.

Not that Eddie was going to run. Sure, he'd considered it — but that would be so typical for a Munson. Wouldn't it?

Besides, he's gotten himself into enough shit lately. Eddie accepts that he's spending the rest of the night at the station, that he'll have to pay another eighty bucks to get his van out of impound in the morning, and slams his foot on the brakes.

Soon, the bright whiteness of a flashlight is burning his eyes. He shields his face as Hopper approaches his window and leans against it.

They don't say anything for a moment. This is the second DUI Eddie has caught in the past six months, the second time you've broken up with him, incidentally. And rightfully so.

Eddie can't blame you for breaking things off. He just... fucks up. Right? He's a Munson, it's in his blood. But he'd bleed himself dry for you.

"Eddie..." Hopper starts, his voice soft and disappointed.

That's the worst part. Eddie just can't handle being a disappointment.

"Yeah, I know..." He responds.

Hopper slaps his hand against the hood of the van and begins to go through the motions. Step out of the car, blow into this tube, walk this straight line and follow my finger with your eyes. Eddie's never been good at tests. He's especially worse when he's eight beers and a joint deep.

"Alright, well, I'll do you a favor and let you leave your car, but I gotta take you in this time, kid." Hopper reluctantly tells him while snapping a pair of cold, metal handcuffs behind his back. "You wanna use my car phone to call someone?"

Eddie lets Jim lead him to the Blazer by the wrists.

The only person he wants to talk to is you. The only name and phone number he can even remember are yours.

"Call my girlfriend," Eddie slurs.

He's wobbly on his feet, but the seat in the back of that patrol car is a hell of a lot comfier than the barstool he was just sitting on for three hours. Eddie settles into the back of the truck and listens while Jim dials those seven digits that he used to eagerly punch after school, after shows, after every single Hellfire campaign so that he could ramble to you about how it all went.

The line rings, and it keeps ringing. It's only ten o'clock, he knows you aren't asleep. Your shift ends at eight, so he knows you're home.

With each ring, Eddie sinks deeper into himself. He can't hear anything else. Not the angry wind outside or the Black Sabbath still blaring from his own radio. Just every long, eerie, unanswered ring.

After ten or so rings, Hopper ends the call. He's not good at these things — sympathy — and Eddie isn't good at receiving it.

"Do you want to... maybe, call your Uncle... See if he can—"

"Call her back," Eddie interrupts.

That fucking dial tone won't stop ringing in his ear.

But Hopper hesitates. "Son, I don't think that's such a good ide—"

"Call her the fuck back!" Eddie spits.

He's sweating, can feel it collecting beneath his messy bangs. Heavy heartbeats thump in his throat and his head is starting to spin.

Slowly, Jim dials the numbers again, and Eddie listens to it ring. And ring, and ring. He recalls that New Year's Eve party where he kissed you for the first time, how your lips tasted like vodka and how that was the only drink he would have for a month after. Eddie remembers when the two of you got your place, how you didn't have any furniture but you had a cheap bottle of wine so you celebrated by getting drunk and making love on the floor. He recalls it all. Every kiss, every screaming match, every goddamn ring that has never gone unanswered... until now.

Hopper ends the call one more time, and Eddie doesn't say anything.

"I don't think she's answering this time, Eds..." He eventually says. Cautiously, quietly, as if Eddie is an unpredictable dog.

He's not as unpredictable as people think, though.

When the phone rings on the side table next to your couch, it's completely predictable. No one calls you this late, no one besides Eddie. And you think about picking up the line. It would be so easy. Just give in to your aching heart and all will be right again. You're sick of crying yourself to sleep on the couch. Sick of hearing the fucking phone ring all. night. long. Sick of all those memories that keep plaguing your mind.

But you're strong, too.

You remember him taking you to your first show and sitting on his shoulders so that you could see, how he'd gotten way too drunk by the end of the night and you had to drive home. You remember the beer on his breath, thick and hot on his tongue whenever he kissed you. You didn't mind it at first, maybe you'd even liked it for a little while, but eventually it got stale.

Eddie isn't unpredictable. He's a creature of habit. Bad habits.

So instead of picking up the phone, you white knuckle the arm of the couch. You grit your teeth and clench your jaw. You let the tears fill your eyes. But for the first time, you recognize that you cannot save Eddie Munson from his own self-destruction.

Hopper flips off his lights when Eddie doesn't say anything. He pulls out onto the back road and starts toward the police station while Eddie rests his head against the inside of the door.

The shadows of trees stretch across the road, illuminated by silver moonlight. Eddie watches them come into vision and then disappear again, and it feels like you'd ceased to exist in his life just as quickly.

He's not unpredictable, Eddie is a creature of habit. Habitually getting himself in trouble, habitually letting you down, and habitually having to make it up.

Until now.

[shiregoth]

Sometimes I wonder if Eddie had ever found another maternal figure.

He’d always been such a mama’s boy. Wayne had the photos (and stories) to prove it. Endless nights of curling up in his mama’s lap while her nails gently scratched at his scalp- She’d always known the quickest way to get him to fall asleep- and endless days of watching her blues records spinning on the player while she took in the cool breeze drifting through their trailer’s screen door on those hot, Tennessee summer days.

But when he’d finally comprehended it all- that she would never come back, that he would never feel her fingers in his hair or smell her fruity perfume waft through the house,- I think he’d held that hole in his heart for so long.

But for a short while, there was someone who filled it- Melissa Buckley, the local librarian.

In such a small town, it’s easy to spot the newbies. It was no different when she’d seen a wild head of curls approaching the desk, peeking up over the tall stack of books with with eyes as wide as saucers and as dark as night that flickered to and fro as it explored the brand new environment.

“‘Scuse me miss?” A quiet voice beckoned, words drenched in a sweet, southern twang. “I’s just- uhm- wonderin’ if you had any Lord’a the rings.”

“Big books for a little kid, dontcha think?” She’d asked after she moved the stack of books to lock eyes with the new boy, all scraped knees and elbows, freckles and twinkly eyes, swimming in an old tee-shirt and held together only by the overalls slung over his slim shoulders. And he cracks a smile- a crooked little gapped-tooth grin.

“Maybe,” He begins, shoving his hands in his pockets and rocking back and forth on his heels. “Maybe, but I ain’t ever gonna let that stop me from explorin’ the shire. Uhm- I ain’t got a library card though.” He says quietly. “On account ‘a I just moved here. Can I still read em here?”

And Melissa knows she should tell him the truth- ‘Yes, but remember, people will want to check those books out too’ is the phrase that bumps around in her head. But his earnest grin, and his little accent, and the shy, freckled grin does nothing but kick on that maternal instinct of hers. “Well..” she mutters quietly. “Tell you what..You can read them, and I’ll keep them aside. And when you can, you bring your mom or dad in, and we can get you started.

“..Mighty kind of you, miss, but my mom n’ dad ain’t able to come in. Mama’s passed, and Dad ain’t been home the last few days. Dunno when he’ll be back. ‘Big job’.” He explains.

And that sentence alone breaks her heart- makes her think of her own little girl, who must’ve been the same age as he was, alone. It twists in her chest, it makes her feel a bit sick. And from that moment, even if Eddie didn’t know, she’d vowed to herself to keep an eye on him.

And she did- she’d turn a blind eye when he would curl up on the peeling leather chair in the corner of the fiction section and fall asleep with another thick fantasy book on his lap. She’d set him up in the break-room with a juicebox and graham crackers she’d packed when making Robin’s lunch and listen intently as he whispered about the chapter he’d just finished, and the characters he’d grown to love.

And she wonders how anybody could leave him be. He reminds her so much of her little girl- how he rambles excitedly, how his eyes light up a the mention of a brand new book to read. She wonders how anybody could see this little boy and somehow have nothing but love in their hearts. How anybody could possibly leave him alone.

And Eddie?

Eddie loves the smell of incense, and flowers, and old books on Melissa. He loves giving her a big hug before he leaves for the day. He loves being able to sneak behind the desk and watch her take inventory of the returned books. He loves when she brings him snacks, or reads him the big words he can’t quite figure out. How she encourages him to read to her to pass the time. It ignites his love of storytelling. It ignites his excitement for life.

It’s not his mama. But nothing will ever be his mama. And maybe he won’t be able to put his head in his mama’s lap and let her blues records lull him to sleep.

But resting his head against Melissa’s shoulder and listening to the quiet flipping of pages or her hushed narration was a new kind of comfort. A comfort he’d needed. A comfort he always wonders if his mama sent down just for him.

[shiregoth]

Give this flailing drama queen a 20ft wingspan and he’s knocking everything over, taking out everyone’s ankles

[shiregoth]

i miss my boyfriend guys :(

[shiregoth]

older!modern!eddie - setlist

you were walkin' along, mindin' your business, when out of an orange colored sky -- flash, bam, alakazam, wonderful him came by. in which you meet older!eddie at the grocery store and a little love affair ensues. a collection of semi-blurbs inspired by @loveshotzz older!modern!steve series: 'all i really want is you'

orange colored sky songspiration: orange colored sky | natalie cole

we better make a start songspiration: everywhere | fleetwood mac

dip you in honey songspiration: daylight | harry styles

come get me, come love me songspiration: lovesick | banks

caught like a fool without a line songspiration: open | rhye and feelings | lauv

out on the moonlit floor songspiration: kiss me | six pence none the richer

must be a kind of blind love (interlude chapter)

agitated from the shadows, can i take it all back? songspiration: episode | gallant

it's like sugar sometimes songspiration: how sweet it is (to be loved by you) | james taylor fall frenzy entry

blurbettes: a couch snuggle a wedding mood board laundromat with gwen crafts halloween w/ gwen thanksgivin'

[shiregoth]

At the End of the World

Kas!Eddie Munson x Fem Reader

A/N: Don’t read too much into this. It struck me late and fast and now we’re here.

Warnings: Blood drinking

18+ NSFW No Minors

Another late night closing with just you and two other employees and all of Hawkins at the doorstep to Melvalds. The deeper fissures in the town still sat open but the government had shown up with all sorts of machines and now things could be delivered again and here you were, at work. At the end of the world.

Your keys jingle against the door and you wave off your coworkers who walk down the sidewalk ahead of you. The lock sticks sometimes and you’re left to struggle until you can yank your key ring free. A curse and a kick at the stack of cardboard you need to toss, you shove your hand into your purse to make sure you didn’t forget your wallet again. The main street stays lit by giant floodlights, the distant sound of road work and construction coming in with the late evening breeze. It’s cold now when the sun sets, October turning the weather and the leaves all the same like the earth hadn’t been split open just 5 months ago. You catch a whiff of a bonfire sprinkled on the back of the wind and for a moment you can pretend that everything is okay, that it’s all normal again.

10 pm and it’s later than anything in town stays open, Melvalds and the grocery store being the exception nowadays. Food and pharmacy to keep everyone afloat and stationary, locked in place by faceless government officials who tell you it’s for your own safety. For everyone’s safety.

You shake your head to clear it though, unwilling to linger on your pessimism any longer tonight. A long day full of half smiles and constant running back and forth to pull apart another pallet of Things Everyone Needs. Your room at your parents house, the one you’d moved back into after everything went to shit, calls to you from the cracked sidewalk and you hustle faster to toss your garbage and get to your car. The water mains have finally been repaired so you know you can actually look forward to a consistent hot shower tonight, can practically feel the beating of the water against your back.

You beeline for the alleyway so you can toss the empty cardboard, no thought given to a darkened path. Hawkins had been under curfew since the feds rolled in and with main street lit up you hadn’t worried about taking out the trash on your own in a while. You have to set the box down to to flip open the lid and that’s when you hear it. A muffled breathing from behind dumpster number two, something wet and ragged, something that makes you still completely. It’s human that’s for sure, heavy and big by the sound of it and you start yelling at yourself silently, cursing your placidity.

You take a single step back when you see a head rock into view near the wheels of the other dumpster. Too dark to make out anything yet, just a mass of hair that hasn’t seen a brush in too long. A rasp of a breath in and weakly, “D-do you work here?”

Frozen in place with your body poised to run, but that voice holds no malice. They stutter on their deep breaths, breaths that sound pained. “Y-yeah.” You don’t relax but you aren’t set to sprint anymore. “Are you okay?”

Neither of you move closer but the figure pulls themselves into view more, a frankly too thin hand wraps around the corner of the dumpster to pull themselves forward and you finally can make out a face covered in grime. Eyes shine in the light that bleeds into the alleyway and he, you can finally tell, looks close to tears. Face pulled into a grimace when he scoots out to sit on questionable concrete.

“I just…I need help.” His other arm hugs his middle where his shirt is torn and your mind goes fast, trying to remember the first aid you’d learned in Girl Scouts a thousand years ago.

“Are you hurt? I can go get someone.” You glance over your shoulder knowing there’s at least a cop or an agent doing rounds at this time. “There’s a patrol-“

That’s your mistake, you’ll own it, turning around for too long. For trusting a stuttering mess. You turn back to face him and are stunned at how quickly he’s standing in front of you, those bright wet eyes boring holes into your head. You’d thought it was the shadows maybe but they really are black, from corner to corner, deep abyss that tracks your jump backwards.

You hadn’t heard him stand or shift or breathe and he’s so god damn close.

“I don’t need a patrol.” His voice sounds like white noise. A tuning to your hearing that makes your ears flex backwards at the sudden foreign noise. You swear you can feel it vibrating against your eardrums and coiling deep inside, words made corporeal to slither into your skull. There’s two voices bouncing between you, a double speak that seems to run cold around your neck. “I just need one of you.”

You couldn’t move if you wanted to. It isn’t fear holding your feet to the stained ground but an invisible grip, ironclad and cold, just like his words. You can move your eyes though and you rake over his appearance and try to keep it in your memory.

Long hair, dark eyes, no shoes, ratty jeans, torn raglan with a devil-

“Eddie?” Barely breathed out, silently uttered. He was dead. Well, at least presumed. You’d seen the flyers his uncle had put up and you’d seen how the town had treated them; crude drawings and torn off of the bulletin boards. “Eddie Munson?” You ask again to the pale face in front of you. Four years of high school seated next to him in drivers ed and home ec and art class. Not friends but acquaintances. You know that face. Even when it splits into a formidable grin you can see the ghost of his warm smile under cracked lips.

“Sort of.” His hands come up slowly to hold your neck, thumbs resting under your chin to tilt your head back. “It’s complicated.”

You expect his hands to tighten around your neck but they remain gentle in their movement, too cold against your skin. Unnaturally cold under your jaw where he starts to turn your head to the side.

“I thought I smelled something familiar around here.” His breath moves over your neck like the cold autumn breeze, carrying the promise of dead things at its end. Your heart beats tirelessly against your ribs and you still can’t move except for when he manipulates you around, his head dipping into the crook of your neck.

Fear should be at the forefront of your mind. You should be screaming and shaking, yelling for the police you know are just outside of the mouth of alley. You should be fighting back at him, fist wailing into his chest to push him back so you can fly out of his grip. However there’s a creeping calm of sorts that weaves through your thoughts. It feels fuzzy almost against your brain and you don’t even flinch when his dry tongue scratches over your skin.

“I do need help.” He keeps a hand pressed to your neck while the other pulls at your work polo, baring your flesh to his mouth. “Thank you.”

You can hear him in that moment, Eddie, not whatever this thing is that’s sinking its teeth into you. It hurts only for a moment, like a prick of a needle, and you can feel your mind going blank. Thoughts slip quick like water over rocks and you catch yourself on his shoulder to stay standing. That invisible force that bound you to the spot has faded as soon he begins to suck and again you should be running but you cling. There’s a peacefulness that comes with absence of thought and worry, enough so that you barely notice him drinking your blood. You barely notice the gore in his hair or the deep scars along his cheek. Your hearing begins to fade to only the single sound of his lips attached to you.

A fade to black for all your senses.

And then you feel it. Black tendrils that sneak into your awareness. They swirl and thrash in their form, long fingers of doom that grow around you. It’s a rushing feeling like a thousand wings brushing by you, pushing air across your face and ruffling your hair.

“Do you hear it?” Eddie whispers against your ear, lips warm and tongue wet where it drags along your lobe. “Monsters in the sky, right under us.” You’ve been lowered at some point, his back resting against the dumpster and you clung to the front of him. “So many they’d blot out the sun.” His hands still hold you but they’re warm now too against your cooling skin. “They’re looking for me.” A drop of something on your nose, something thick that drips onto his filthy shirt. “For us.”

Everything is muffled except for his clear voice. Those black tendrils move steadily along your awareness still, vines creeping in to drag you under into oblivion. Your throat sticks when you swallow and you try to form words before you pass out or die. Eddie’s head tilts in close to your mouth and you can smell the dirt and viscera on him.

“Something’s…around…”

“What is it?” He makes a show of looking around the shadows of the alleyway before letting his eyes drop to your barely open ones. The deep black is gone, replaced again by the familiar brown you know.

“Not here.” You need him to understand. The fingers crawl into your vision now, the few specks of light left that you can see, great red eyes in the middle distance of your mind. “Inside.” A weak motion to your head and you see it dawn on his face.

“You can see him too?” He asks you but doesn’t wait for a response before he digs his teeth into his own wrist. Blood rushes from the corners of his mouth and he shoves the mangled skin at you, your wince doing nothing to get it away from you. He cradles your head now, knees drawn up to help hold you while he feeds you something of himself. The blood pushes past your slack lips, bitter tannin where you expected salt and copper. No fight left in you while the wind rushes in your ears and the dark fist closes over your minds eye.

“I need help.” He intones again when you latch on to his wrist finally. “Will you help me?” No double speak this time, no white noise to warp your thoughts. Eddie asks you for help while you lay in a cold alley on cold concrete and drink from his self inflicted wound. You’ve never been friends, just acquaintances, but the blood is heavy on your tongue. He holds you close and keeps you both hidden in the dark. He sees the same monstrous form you do and there’s fear in those brown eyes, still shining, still wet with tears.

Your senses stop whining like a flicked switch, your hands coming up to grasp more fully at his offered arm. You nod and keep drinking and there’s that smile again, the real one, the warm one. “Thank you.”

It’s silent now except for the sounds of your eating and the rush of leathery wings beating underneath your feet.

[shiregoth]

Rockstar Eddie for my mini magazine feature based on jq gq ♥️🎸🤘

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[shiregoth]

STRANGER THINGS 4.01 The Hellfire Club

[shiregoth]

Eddie the banished 🦇

[shiregoth]

hes the trash man >:)

[shiregoth]

the devil i know

♫ series playlist ♫ series tag

pairing(s): crossroads demon!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: To summon a demon at a crossroads, simply cast a circle, make an offering, and recite an incantation. What happens from that point on is subject to your desire... and the demon's.

In which the reader makes a pact with Eddie, a crossroads demon, for power and protection. He takes it a little too seriously.

cw: explicit, smut, dubcon elements, monsterfucking!!, making a deal with a demon, inspired by american and european folklore, way more plot than you'd expect, sacrilegious themes, horror, witch!reader, reader is 21+ in modern day, eddie is immortal, coercion (a bit), sex pact, marking, possessive behavior, demonic possession, murder, there are MANY minor character deaths, animal death, trauma, depictions of physical and emotional abuse, graphic depictions of violence, bullying/harassment, reader is ostracized by her very religious hometown, dark comedy, tfw your accidental boyfriend is a demon who is obsessed with you bc he doesn't know how to be normal about anything ever, dead dove: do not eat

please check individual parts for content warnings before reading. this fic contains dark themes. your media consumption is your own responsibility.

ALL OF MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

CHAPTER ONE: GOD YOU'VE GOT THE BLACKEST EYES

CHAPTER TWO: LOOK HERE ALL YOU WANT

CHAPTER THREE: I SMOKE OUT YOUR DARKEST SIDE

CHAPTER FOUR: CAN'T TURN WATER INTO WINE NEVER ASKED YOU TO

CHAPTER FIVE: SO IS IT YOUR PLACE OR MINE

CHAPTER SIX: I DON'T NEED TO FEEL THE SUN, LET ME TOUCH YOUR SKIN

CHAPTER SEVEN: FILL MY MIND WITH DIRTINESS, I'LL INVADE YOUR DREAMS

CHAPTER EIGHT: BACK IN HELL AT LEAST IT'S COMFORTABLE

CHAPTER NINE: NEED YOUR BODY WHEN MY FIRE'S COLD

CHAPTER TEN: I'M GONNA STAY FAITHFUL TO THE DEVIL I KNOW

[shiregoth]

[shiregoth]

certified rockstar 🎸