#Ghost!Eddie Munson | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mrwinterr · 1 year ago

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Die Happy (Eddie Munson Version)

Pairing: Ghost!Eddie Munson AU x Female Reader; hint of Steve Harrington x Female Reader

Summary: You summon a really friendly ghost. 👻

Warnings: Smut 18+ (consensual vibes all around, masturbation, vaginal fingering, oral? [female receiving]) and language. 🚫 Minors DO NOT interact. Dabbling into the occult (use of a Ouija board).

Disclaimer: I’m a spooky bitch, but I would NEVER mess with an Ouija board. This is an AU. The upside down and the events that happen in the series Stranger Things (2016) aren’t entirely canon here.

Title Inspiration: “Die Happy” by Dreamers

A/N: This is a re-imagine of my Ghost!Bucky Barnes AU from years ago, but I wanted to convert it to fit with our dear boy Eddie. It’s only altered to fit a different narrative, but the smut is still closely the same. The inspiration came from an erotic audio on Reddit, so I owe it to that. There was a part two in the works, so if this goes well, I’ll continue writing it for this AU. Enjoy!

You sat there on your small couch of the trailer you had just moved into about six months ago, staring at the unopened brown rectangular box placed on your coffee table, contemplating on unboxing it. A part of you was scared to touch it again because of its contents and the other part was bullying you to just rip it open and get this over with. This was your idea after all. This was your last resort. This was the package that would, hopefully, help you find the answers you were so desperately looking for.

What exactly were you trying to solve?

Six months prior, you’d managed to save up enough money to move out of your parents’ home, away from a superficial city and into a small, quiet town. Albeit a trailer wasn’t your first option, it was something you could call your own. It was the most adult thing you’ve done in your life so far. Initially, you were excited because you would be able to decorate it the way you wanted for every holiday, host small gatherings with friends and maybe even bring someone home. However, you couldn’t exactly do most of that, not with all the strange things that have been happening and while you attempted to brush them off as mere coincidences, they were becoming almost too outstanding to ignore any longer.

First, it was the air conditioning unit acting wonky. You kept the place at a reasonable and comfortable temperature, but you found yourself often sporting hoodies or wrapped up in blankets. Never mind the breeze that blew past you here and there, the technicians couldn’t find a single problem with the system and besides whenever you scheduled a visit for inspection, it was magically working just fine.

Next, much like the AC unit, the electricity started to have a mind of its own. Before you could flip the light switch or press the button on your remote, it was always one step ahead of you. It was almost like you were living in a smart house, but instead of acting on voice command, it read your mind.

The most bizarre thing though, was things disappearing and reappearing. Small things like the morning paper would vanish from where you left it and if you couldn’t locate where you last left your keys, you never had to search too far because there they were. Maybe it was all in your head?

The eeriest one of them all was the unexplained smell. There was a distinct yet alluring scent that would trail behind when you felt that breeze pass over. You couldn’t pinpoint what it exactly smelled like, a composition of something woody with amber undertones that suggested a sense of strength and warmth from its presence. One thing was for sure, it wasn’t any like your fragrances nor was it from the only person that visited you. It was a pleasant odor and almost a calming one to you.

You didn’t want to believe it, but these weren’t just common occurrences - these were tall tale signs of a haunting. You came to the conclusion you were living with a ghost. The spirit wasn’t vengeful, that much you gathered since it didn’t make attempts to harm you in any way. If anything, it helped you out more than bothered you. Sure you could just either ignore these oddities or move out, but you’d worked too hard to get here and you weren’t going to let whatever entity run you out of your new home. Instead, curiosity won the best of you and you opted to take matters into your own hands.

Literally.

Pulling the Ouija board out from the box, you place it on the table and it seems to have a hold on you. How do you prepare yourself to summon a ghost? You don’t know how long you’d been staring but it was only when the sudden knock on your door does the spell break.

You get up and make the short distance to the front door and you’re briefly greeted by your close friend Steve. Your relationship with him was close to the point where you’re not even bothered that he just makes his way inside as if he lived here with you. He’s so busy rambling about something, probably about his latest shift at the video store he worked at, that he didn’t notice how uncharacteristically quiet you were being.

“Whoa!” He exclaims, stopping in his tracks once he sees the Ouija board laid out. Its presence was enough to effectively cut his story short. “What are you doing with that?” He asks, pointing at the object and taking a few steps away from it.

You roll your eyes, sitting back down and reaching into the box to pull out the remaining piece, the planchette.

“What does it look like I’m going to do with it?” You say, staring up at him blankly.

“Shit,” he starts, running his hands through his thick hair, “okay, uh, I knew you liked Halloween, but I didn’t think you were this spooky,” he says, his eyes bugging out in disbelief.

He stands in place as if the items in front of you were cursed, but seeing that you hadn’t actually begun anything yet, there’s a bit of relief. You’re not deterred by the Ouija board at all. It had quite the opposite effect because you were all too fascinated with the supernatural. It was just wild that it was happening to you.

“You really shouldn’t mess with that kind of stuff,” Steve warns as he cautiously makes his way back closer.

“I don’t know why you’re so scared,” you respond, blowing him off and kicking the now empty box aside.

“And you’re not?!” He says incredulously, “trying to speak to the dead is not right!”

Well, it certainly wasn’t normal, but so weren’t the things that were happening in your home lately.

“I need to find answers, Steve!” You bite back, the volume of your voice matching his, if not, louder. Your once calm demeanor switching to an intense one, cutting the tension of what you were going to partake in had brought about. You didn’t miss the hint his exclamations gave off and it bothered you. “What do you expect me to do? Continue living like this? I’m not in control of my own place.”

Oh yeah, he knew. Steve was the only friend you could confine in and the one person you could share your stories about your home and the experiences in it.

“You really think this place is haunted.” It comes off as more of a statement because he can see you’ve clearly made up your mind on how you’re going to prove this theory. He could see the inner turmoil you were facing and the vulnerability that cracked through your exterior after your outburst.

“I’m not going crazy! And I certainly am not going to spend another fee on having a technician tell me there’s nothing wrong with the units again.” If the frustration wasn’t visible in your features, it definitely was in your voice.

“Look,” Steve says, voice now careful, ”why don’t you just come spend the night at my place and we can think of another way to approach this?” You knew this offer all too well. It had always been on the table. When you decided to move to Hawkins and were looking for your own place, Steve had offered you a room, but you were hellbent on making it on your own. You were proud and independent…and weren’t sure about taking the next step with him.

Steve was everything your past lovers weren’t and you while you both weren’t official, a couple of dates happened here and there, something was holding you back. You cherished his friendship so much and even though you'd both crossed so many lines already, a part of you feared crossing anymore would jeopardize it. Worse, what if whatever it turned out to be would just fail miserably in the end. Then where would that leave you both? He made it clear how he felt about you, but you brushed it off casually each time. Steve knew you simply weren’t ready and he was willing to wait.

“Thanks, but I’ll be okay.” You reply, breaking away from seeing the look of concern on his face, the kind that made you feel guilty, and went back to fidgeting with the planchette in your hands. You knew he was a skeptic on these kinds of things and only worried for your safety. He’d always been protective of you and hated seeing you upset.

The nights he had spent in your trailer nothing strange ever happened. It’s like these occurrences were only happening to you. Steve wasn’t sure if he believed in ghosts or not, but he wasn’t about to stick around and find out today like this. He knew that you could be stubborn, but there was only so much he could do to change your mind from where he stood and he just hoped he hadn’t lost you yet.

The crack of thunder in the sky, slightly rattling the trailer, indicated a storm was coming and you took that as an excuse to convince Steve to leave for the night. You didn’t want to fight with him about this. The few times you did talk about a possible haunting were just humorous conversations to Steve, but you were always being serious. It was evident that you two were not on the same page.

“You should probably start heading home before the rain comes,” you advise, standing up , walking over to the front door, hoping it’d sway him, but he knew what you were doing. Steve wasn’t mad. He knew you weren’t going to change your mind this time, but he could be patient. He was always very patient with you.

He reluctantly nods, defeated, before following your lead. “I’m coming back first thing in the morning to check if you’re still alive though,” he jokes, before pulling you in for a hug and kissing the side of your head. His words elicit a light chuckle from you, but it mostly muffled against his biceps. You bask in the warmth of his embrace for a few lingering seconds, inhaling his fresh, clean scent, one that was a complete contrast to the one you were used to smelling inside your trailer, before pulling away and playfully shoving him out the door.

As soon as his car disappears from the end of the street, you jump, head snapping at a sudden crashing sound from the kitchen area. You make your way in that direction to find the mug gifted to you, on your last birthday from Steve, shattered in pieces all over the kitchen floor. The last roar of thunder must’ve been a strong one or the elevation of the shelf had been slightly off or maybe the house just didn’t like Steve… You shook your head at that last silly thought and sighed preparing to clean up the mess.

The gloomy weather quickly casted a blanket over the once clear sky and with the sounds of the fast raindrops against the windows and pavement, the lag in thunder chasing the flashes of lightning, you didn’t waste time on the mission.

What better time than now? It set the mood. Were you scared? You weren’t sure. You were already convinced you were living with something so what could’ve been scarier than that. You didn’t ponder long enough to think about the aftermath. Was this all just a bunch of hocus pocus or pseudoscience? Would you get possessed by a demon or would they be like Casper?

Would this even work? The use of a Ouija board, especially by someone inexperienced as yourself, was highly not recommended. You’d seen The Exorcist and not to mention this kind of activity was very much frowned upon during your upbringing. If only your parents could see you now…

The spirit in your home couldn’t be that bad though, right? If they wanted to possess you, they would’ve done so by now; unless they were just waiting for an invitation. Well, there was only one way to find out.

You dimmed the lights and lit a few candles around you. Was this insulting? There wasn’t exactly a guide on etiquette for communicating with the dead. You did your fair share of research, but most of what you knew about Ouija boards were credited to horror movies.

You take a deep breath in and out then begin to summon your supposed roommate.

Eddie felt bad.

He felt bad as he watched you clean up the mess he made in your kitchen. He knew you liked that mug, but he didn’t. He remembered when you were given that mug. He saw the way your face lit up after reading the stupid text on it that only you and the person who gifted it to you understood the meaning behind it.

He didn’t like Steve and he certainly didn’t like how Steve made you feel. Steve made you feel all sorts of things and Eddie knew that, which explained why Steve never experienced anything unusual in the house because Eddie didn’t like seeing you with him. He chose to not be present in Steve’s presence. Most of his kind would make it a point to make it known they hated them, but Eddie didn’t want to spook you.

He was aware of how silly it was. A ghost jealous of two living humans. He had his turn, but it was tragically cut short. He was so young, barely in his 20s before he left an ongoing cold case behind, providing no closure for his friends and his uncle.

But why did his afterlife have to consist of seeing the most angelic living human being just waiting to fall in love with the perfect living man? He didn’t get a chance to live out that part of his life, so was he bitter? Yes. He’d grown so attached it outraged him to see any distress that was brought upon the current tenant of his home.

Eddie wasn’t sure why he was able to roam around his old stomping ground over the last couple of years. He tried his best to communicate with his uncle before he finally managed to move into a better place. He was proud of Wayne for working hard to get a real house for himself. He took assurance that he was able to live more comfortably now. He should’ve known his own flesh and blood wasn’t bothered or spooked out by his attempts to get his attention, so when he left, Eddie was alone for nearly three years. No one was exactly in a rush to move into a trailer, his trailer, until you came into the picture. That day you walked in, if he wasn’t already dead, and you could’ve seen him, he just knew he would’ve been as pale as a well…ghost. He made sure to not send you running for the hills.

He tried to subtly help you with everyday things. He didn’t even spy on you during private moments like in the shower or on those lonely, needy nights. He proved himself to be a ghostly gentleman.

He even tried to not eavesdrop on your conversations and almost always disappeared when guests were present, but he heard you raise your voice earlier at Steve. He wasn’t sure what you two were arguing about and sure it was petty on his part, but before he could summon enough energy to knock over the mug, Steve was already gone.

Eddie followed you back into the living room, watched as you lit the candles scattered around and dimming the lights. He lightly smiled believing you were attempting to relax. You deserved a nice night in. If only seeing you in peace was enough to put him to rest - permanently. He was already trying to guess what kind of movie you were going to turn on but when he saw what was laid out in front of you as you sat back on your couch, his expression fell and he swore his heart would stop again if it could.

“Oh no,” he says as he stares at the Ouija board on the table. Eddie starts pacing in front of you, his hands bunching up his hair in a panic state. Anyone that had ever set foot in this trailer to scope it out knew this place gave off a spooky vibe. This was a tough trailer to sell because not only was it unsettling but so was the story behind it, which it was unbeknownst to you why it was so affordable. You weren’t stupid and you knew there was something or someone lurking, so this was almost bound to happen.

“Is anyone here?” He hears you ask the first question. He looks over your direction and sees your eyes are closed with both hands on the planchette. You’d close your eyes to mask your fear so that should anything bad happen you wouldn’t have had to stare death right in the face.

“Oh my God,” he barely whispers and realizes, “she’s really trying to talk to me.” He couldn’t believe you were willingly reaching out to him. He hadn’t been able to talk to anyone in years, so now given an opportunity to do so gave him a sense of elation.

“Yes! I am! I’m here!” She can’t hear you, idiot. “Fuck, of course she can’t hear me.” Eddie argues with himself on what to do before he remembers how Ouija boards work.

He almost can’t believe it when he does it, but he’s able to delicately and effortlessly move your hands to slide the planchette over the word ‘YES’.

Your eyes pop open and you gasp when you see that you received an answer. Now that was not your imagination. This wasn’t your mind playing tricks on you either. You’re frozen, but look up in front of you half expecting the spirit to show itself to you, however you don’t see anything.

At least that’s what you think. On the contrary, you’re staring right at Eddie or rather through him. His expression mirrors yours - complete and utter shock for two reasons.

First, he was never able to easily move or touch anything solid in years. The incident with the mug earlier, that kind of stuff usually required a lot of concentration and energy on his part. Secondly, he was in awe. He knew he was attracted to you, but even though you couldn’t see him, he could see you clearly and you were so beautiful to him.

He’s scared that he’s frightened you with that move, but at the same time it excites him that he’s successfully communicating with you.

You’re unsure if you should continue. You were half expecting this to be a bust, but it moved. It actually moved! While you were excited that this worked, the tiny voice in the back of your head had you thinking that maybe you shouldn’t go any further, but who ever really listened to them? If you were to get hurt or anything, you’d deal with Steve later. You blink a few times and refocus your attention on the task.

“What are you?” You ask next.

“What am I?” Eddie repeats the question, “I’m dead, sweetheart.” Wait. He starts to spell the letters ‘D-E-A-D’ with your hands on the planchette still. The corners of your mouth lifting, amused at that response, of course he was dead, had him comparing it to what angels must’ve felt like when they earned their wings. If anyone believed in that sort of stuff…either way he felt very blessed to pull such a thing as a small smile out of you.

“You liked that one, didn’t you?” Eddie said more to himself with a big smile on his face. He loved this! It was like he was having a real conversation with you. It was something he only ever dreamed of for the last six months.

A particular flash of lightning followed by a clamorous thunder startles you, breaking you away from the Ouija board. You weren’t going to lie. You were still absolutely spooked out and decided maybe that was enough contact with the dead for the night.

When your heartbeat finally returned to its steady rate, you got up to turn on the lights. You made sure you blew all the candles out and doors were locked before turning in. As you walked the path to his old bedroom, Eddie watched you look back to the living room and bid goodnight to seemingly nothing, but he knew who it was directed towards - it was meant for him.

The days that followed, you were growing more and more curious. In your spare time, you started digging into how much can come out of the Ouija board, but first you needed to figure out who you were dealing with.

You went from door to door of the trailer park doing your own investigation on who used to live in your trailer. You got mixed reviews from the neighbors, but you believed you got the gist of it down.

The trailer originally belonged to a man named Wayne Munson, who took in his nephew becoming his sole legal guardian. You dug deep at the local library, sifting through old Hawkins newspaper archives, to find out that his nephew had commonly gone by the nickname ‘Eddie’ and he wasn’t too far away in age from you. He went to the same high school as Steve, where he struggled in graduating, had a reputation of being a delinquent and someone who participated in satanic practices. The worst of his offense was being linked to the murder of a beloved teenage girl, Chrissy Cunningham.

The accompanying images of the girl and boy in the newspaper clippings, you assumed to be Chrissy and Eddie. She was undeniably pretty and he was…cute. The tips of your ears burned and turned red as you caught yourself staring a little too long at his picture.

Why’d that make you feel weird? You’re thinking things about someone you’d never met. You didn’t know anything else about him and what you had learned, it didn’t sound good either. That couldn’t have been the same Eddie in your trailer, right?

To your surprise, Chrissy had brutally died in your very own living room. Were you living with her? Something didn’t make sense though. What was her unfinished business? All the things you picked up on from the TV or movies, was that most spirits that wandered had some sort of “unfinished business” that prevented them from moving on. Right?

The news seemed adamant that it was Eddie who killed her, but it was her own boyfriend, some star athlete, Jason Carver, who had been found guilty of her murder. Eddie had been acquitted but the twists and turns never stopped as you read he himself had been found dead inside the trailer a few weeks later. The puzzling thing was the autopsy proved it wasn’t by suicide. He didn’t do this to himself. The saddest thing, aside from the loss of two young lives, was his uncle being the one to discover his nephew lifeless in their home. No one was ever charged for his murder and it didn’t look like there was a rush to locate the killer, which angered you as you continued reading. The real killer was possibly still out there free to live the rest of their life.

You’re so engrossed with your findings you barely paid any attention to Steve when he’d come in to check on you. He had the spare key in case of emergencies, and ignoring most of his unreturned phone calls, which seemed uncharacteristically you, to him was deemed as an emergency.

Steve was only less than thrilled to see your enthusiasm on all this. Normal people didn’t go around poking at the dead. He pointed out you were lucky you didn’t get possessed, not paying any mind or adhering to you claiming he was probably a friendly ghost.

“This isn’t an episode of Casper!” Steve shouts, fed up again. His face falters as he watches your shoulders visibly slump. He hated killing the vibe, especially when you were excited, but you were hyped about something all too unreal and that shouldn’t be messed with at all in the first place.

He looked around the small space seeing your notes scattered throughout the coffee table, some spilled on the carpet. There were so many he couldn’t see the Ouija board still laid out. It was just buried underneath.

“What if I can help him?” You try reasoning with him. “Did you know? Did you know Eddie? Or what happened to him? Did you know that he and someone else died right where we’re standing?” This was the first time you asked him about the person Eddie was, not the ghost. You wondered why he didn't say anything? He’d lived in Hawkins his whole life. Surely he’d had to have heard about this. It’s a small town, people talked.

“I barely knew him,” Steve sighs, guilty but admits, “he wasn’t exactly popular or well liked by most because of how different he was.” You watch as he brings a hand up to rub at his eyes, “but even I didn’t think he was capable of doing that stuff to Chrissy.” He was trying to erase the crime scene the media had released to the public from his mind. “I swear I didn’t know this was his trailer though. Like I said, I barely knew the guy.” You can hear the sincerity in his response and nodded. Had Steve known, he’d most likely had pushed harder for you to move in with him.

“What if I can help him pass on? Then I can live in peace…and so will he,” you start to persist.

“You’re not going to be able to convince Hawkins that Eddie Munson didn’t kill someone,” he says bluntly. “You’re already lucky that you’re unharmed,” Steve reminds you. “I’m just worried about you,” he brings his hands to your arms in an attempt to comfort you.

“I know you are, but I’ll be fine,” you assure him, hoping you could keep that promise. After all, you couldn’t even confirm you were really communicating with Eddie.

You were relieved that the conversation with Steve didn’t take a turn for the worse like it easily could have. You understood where he was coming from and you were lucky to have someone like him care so much about your wellbeing. The realization never fails to punch you in the gut for not allowing yourself to give in.

So why were you more scared to commit than of willingly reaching out to the dead?

Take two.

You sat perched, trying to hype yourself up to communicate once more. Eddie, on the other hand, is more than ready and the cool familiar breeze that passes you by lets you know that they’re here.

“Chrissy?” You ask, your fingers firmly on the planchette. You hadn’t figured out which one was actually still here or if both were.

Your hands move over to the answer, ‘NO’.

Shit. Eddie thought to himself when you said Chrissy's name. How much did you know about Chrissy? If you read anything about that night in the papers then it surely wasn’t good. What did you think of him now? You probably thought he was the devil. He thought you were going to end this, cut ties with him, cleanse the house or even move out after discovering it’s been him this whole time. The realization that you were living with a monster.

“Who are you?” The last revelation had to be obvious, but you needed confirmation. Eddie had nothing to lose, physically, but if this was the last time he’d get to communicate with you, he’d take every second until you stop. Your heartbeat starts to pick up as you’re slowly spelling out ‘E-D-D-I-E’.

“Eddie,” you whisper. Boy, did Eddie like the sound of his name coming from your lips.

“Is anyone else with you?” The answer points to ‘NO’. He was alone.

“How did you…die?” you had to swallow in between the last word in that question, hoping it wouldn’t trigger a negative response. Even in the afterlife, death couldn’t be an easy topic.

The letters ‘M-U-R-D-E-R-E-D’ give you your next answer. It was indeed him! Internally, you’re overjoyed that you’ve figured out your ghostly John Doe, but you try to remain at ease.

“Did you knock down my mug?”

Eddie rolls his eyes at that, but swiftly moves your hands over to ‘YES’.

“Okay. I mean that wasn’t very nice,” you couldn’t just bite your tongue as the sass flowed right out of you.

‘S-O-R-R-Y’.

The apology takes you by surprise, and suddenly you weren’t mad about the mug anymore.

“It’s alright. It was just a mug,” you try to assure him. You’d just have to explain to Steve another time that the ghost broke it. No biggie. Yeah, right. What with the tiny arguments, he’d most likely believe you destroyed it out of anger and frustration at him.

Your arms were getting tired from the position they were in. Several minutes had passed since you last said anything to Eddie and you weren’t sure of what to ask next, but you didn't want to stop talking to him.

Where does this end? Do you ask him to leave? This is his home. No, it’s not anymore. It’s your home now. How do you help him pass on? Did you have that ability? Do you hire a medium? Enlist the help of a priest? Call a ghostbuster? Your mind grew tired all too quickly, you slumped back in your seat, breaking away from the Ouija board.

Eddie watched as you rubbed the muscles of your sore arms. He felt helpless. He wishes he could ease or take away your worries and pain. Instead, all he could do was watch and make sure you were okay until you were ready to start talking again.

With your hands back on the board, you ask, “are you still here?” Eddie responds with ‘YES’. You take a deep breath and close your eyes, mentally preparing yourself, before proceeding with the next question.

“Can you show yourself to me?” There is the ultimate question and Eddie can’t help but ask why? Why were you interested in seeing him? He was a lost cause.

“No?” you ask more to yourself, still staring at the word through the eye of the planchette, and frown, defeated at his response.

Eddie wanted nothing more than to show himself to you, but he didn’t know how. He was nothing but a gust of air. No matter how hard he tried to show himself to those nearby, he was never successful.

You pull your hands back away and place them in your lap, unsure of where to go from here. Well, you couldn’t force a ghost to do something they didn’t want to do, but you hoped that maybe seeing him would make it less taxing while communicating.

There’s a sudden iciness that covers the side of your cheek, sending a chill down your spine. You flinch and your hand rises quickly to warm the spot. What was that? You didn't feel that when using the Ouija board. Was that Eddie?

Eddie almost disappears at the sudden reaction. He can’t believe it. You felt that. You could feel him. All he did was caress your face and it was different than pushing your hands in different directions because this time, neither of you needed the help of the Ouija board.

You’re not sure where he is as your eyes scan the room, you wanted to feel that again. Sure, the cold was a bit alarming, and as sharp as his icy touch was, so was the surge that flowed through you. It was unexplainable, but soothing.

It sucked for Eddie because he couldn’t keep your eyes trained on just him.

“Are you sure you can’t show yourself?” You ask again to the open area, this time convinced you didn’t need the Ouija board anymore.

However, Eddie still needed the board to reply. You sigh in defeat as you watch the planchette slide across to the word ‘YES’ on its own. You couldn’t allow yourself to get mad. You just couldn’t understand how it was possible for him to do all these other things, but not be able to show himself. Whatever it was, you’d just have to accept that you’d never understand ghost logic.

The sound of the planchette scraping against the board, offers you the word, ‘F-E-E-L’.

Feel? You definitely felt a presence and a touch, but now it was confirmed. He was trying to communicate through touch.

“Yes, I felt you!” you let Eddie know quite eagerly. The planchette remains unmoved after that and instead of what would appear to be awkward silence, the seconds that were passing by could be more appropriately compared to that of a ticking time bomb.

“Touch me,” you requested.

Eddie is stunned. If he were alive and well right now, he’d no doubt be on his knees for you with a command like that. He floats over to you and is only more than eager to touch you again, but he’s not sure of where. Feeling the soft anticipation of a ghostly tingle, he hesitantly places both hands on the underside of your jaw, in a cradle-like fashion, hoping it’ll stop your wandering eyes.

You are still, frozen in place, now seeing the breath of air that escapes your mouth in a cloud of smoke, his comforting scent invading your senses. It was him. It had been him this whole time and he’s definitely here in front of you.

“More,” you say barely above a whisper, not paying mind to the coldness.

Fuck. Eddie inwardly swears at himself as you unintentionally egg him on. Testing his limits, what more could he already lose? He was already dead.

He goes all in. He leans in and presses his cold, dead lips to yours in the most gentle and light kiss ever. When he pulls away, he sees that your eyes have closed and he can’t help immediately start to wonder if you actually felt that or not. He sure as hell felt it. He can’t be certain as he tries to gauge the expression on your face. Shit, why did he do that?

“Do it again,” and this time with a more affirmative tone, Eddie doesn’t question anything anymore and obeys. His lips back on yours, but with added pressure, you let out a small moan and purse your lips to respond. You don’t think about how silly it must look to be making out with practically nothing, not knowing what to do with your hands because there was nothing to hold onto, but despite that it all felt too real. He was real.

Eddie’s mind is reeling at the sound of pleasure that spews from your mouth, he can’t comprehend how this is even possible. He’d been dying to know what kissing you felt like - what you felt like at all.

When your lips start to get numb and turn blue, disregarding the temperature, you reluctantly pull away. You open your eyes to a dark room and wish you could at least hear him, the sounds of ecstasy played a pivotal role in intimacy.

Your body temperature returns to normal, blood rushing, mind a haze. You stand up and head towards your bedroom without another word. Would he take the cue to follow you? You can’t be sure. You can’t see or hear him, but your actions say otherwise and make you both feel as if he wasn’t dead at all. It was now a game of cat and mouse.

Eddie or not, you were unabashedly turned on. In moments like these, it was hard to be in control of your own body and the only thing you could do was give in to the desires. In this instance, your body couldn’t make up its mind because as if you weren’t just freezing your ass off while kissing Eddie, you were suddenly hot all over.

Flustered, you pulled down your shorts on the way to your bed, tossed them carelessly across the room, perhaps a little too harshly. If he wasn’t going to help you out, then you would do the job yourself. A mad smile on your face, surprised you weren’t the least bit embarrassed if he was going to watch you or not. It only added to the thrill and the excitement.

Trying to regulate your breathing, you lie down on the center of your bed and run your hands over your face down to where you need them the most. Your fingers experimentally graze along the wet spot of your panties, groaning in acknowledgment of the sudden arousal. There’s no sense in conjuring up a justifiable explanation as to how something so seemingly innocent as the kiss you shared with Eddie got you so crazed. Not wasting any time, you lift your hips up and bend your legs to slip the flimsy garment off.

No longer a thin barrier between, your entire body shivers slightly, a sharp gasp escaping your lips, when your fingers make first contact with your clit. Using your slick, you begin to rub slow circles over it. Your stomach sinks in with each relieving exhale, your breathing growing heavy. Your fingers run off course and dip into your folds, past the floodgates, resurfacing now coated by your own wetness as you use it to an advantage in invigorating your bundle of nerves.

Eyes closed, you start to think about Eddie. How his skin would feel against yours. How you’d tangle your fingers in his wild hair. How his hands would feel on your sensitive parts. You want to feel guilty or believe this was all wrong. Instead of getting off to someone like Steve or someone real for that matter, you lied there baring yourself to a ghost. You try to picture that baby face of his, and all that you could based on the lone image you found of him to get you through the finish line.

The curve of his full lips that you were fortunate enough to feel on yours moments ago. You already knew they were soft, but what about his other features? Did his eyes sparkle or were they like black holes? They had to be of a set that could hypnotize someone. Maybe it was okay that you couldn’t see him because if you had you just knew that you’d be at his mercy.

And that was just on the surface of it all. How was he like in other areas? How would his tongue feel against yours, on your skin, in you…The simulation causes your thighs to clamp up, knees involuntarily knocking into each other; your other hand clutching onto the bed sheets. He made it that easy.

A thin layer of sweat coats your skin from the increase in body heat, then you hiss at the abrupt familiar cold sensation that runs through you, his alluring scent filling your nostrils, your legs forcefully separate; all tells you that Eddie was here. You pick your head up, always a small hint of disappointment flashes through your features at the fact you still and won’t be likely to ever see him.

It shoots a wild pang through Eddie's chest because he doesn’t miss it; never knowing he could read someone so openly. He missed a few significant things in his life already. He missed graduating high school. He missed a chance to get a better car. He missed a chance to sell out venues. He missed playing music. He missed his uncle. He missed his friends. He missed Hellfire. He missed out on someone like you. He missed a chance to develop a deep connection with someone. Life was so cruel.

Your thoughts aren’t as far away from his as you start to wonder, why was it all so easy - seamlessly flawless - with him? Running with only first-party information and two silent conversations, you were already willing to go headfirst for halos for Eddie. The feeling had you wishing he had lived to one day cross paths with you. Would he have still been in Hawkins when you moved here? Would you be neighbors, friends or more? Would it have been him and not Steve? All the could've and would’ve scenarios sprouting in your head. You got too attached learning about him. Was it pathetic? You didn’t care anymore, whatever would ultimately bring you to him, you just knew in the end you’d die happy.

Your head falls back in defeat and you try to keep your emotions at bay, until you feel the hem of your shirt being lifted, exposing your midriff. Your lips cave in and you wince at each uncalculated cold peck Eddie’s lips leave on you. Whereas you felt minor stings at how cold his touches were in the beginning, for the first time, Eddie felt like he was on fire at how hot to the touch you were in this moment. This moment with him.

His lips create a path down to your core, and the contrast in temperature felt good. Not knowing what to do with your hands again, your arms lie sprawled on the bed on either side of your body.

Cool air brushes past your folds and your heartbeat spikes up again. Eddie never imagined he’d ever be able to make someone feel this way. It was pointless for him, but he dreamt about it countless times. And then he wickedly thinks how he was dumb to not spy on you during those nightly sessions. He was missing out. You were absolutely divine in his eyes.

“Eddie,” his name slips past your lips breathlessly when he makes contact with your swollen clit. It started off so innocently, but when he pulled his mouth back to ran a long, flat strip over your folds, giving him a taste of what you had to offer, he wanted more.

The cold, with each bit of contact from Eddie, was no longer a thing as your body quickly acclimated to it. Eddie uses his fingers to spread your pussy lips apart and allows himself to get a better taste. Your head lulls back, sinking deeper into your pillows.

There’s only so much you could do to communicate with Eddie, you want to feel his hands all over, but instead you pick up on the slack, pulling your shirt over your head to grab and squeeze handfuls of your breasts, massaging them and adding onto the sensation. Your groping proves to be successful when you draw out more noises.

Eddie’s eyes never tear away from watching your reaction, the way your body moves, squirming from pleasure - pleasure he’s bestowing on you. His mouth doesn’t require guidance as his tongue pulls all the right moves, weaving its way through and between your folds. He drags out a long moan from you when he finally dips his tongue inside your wet hole and back out, before capturing your clit between his lips, sucking on it. The sweet suction sensation on your clit as his lips enclose around it.

“I-I need...fuck,” you try to voice out your desires, but you’re reveling in so much, especially in being able to feel Eddie’s fingers digging into the sides of your hips; you bite down hard on your bottom lip, you could taste a hint of copper already, trying your hardest to not let out a crazed scream.

Eddie doesn’t want you to hold back though, so he introduces his fingers into the mix as they and his tongue take turns in you. The addition of his thick fingers start taking you closer to your impending orgasm. You wished you could hear him and all the sounds of his onslaught. To hear those pretty boy moans, the filthy pops and slurping noises. Was he a dirty talker? God. Imagine the filthy things he would say or do.

He gets the message loud and clear. You want to come, and so he quickens his actions until your body goes into overdrive. He could feel your walls closing in tight around his digits, your wetness pooling around them and spilling, he almost loses control of your withering body. When you reach your peak, your mouth and eyes snap open, a choked gasp transitioning into a straggling loud moan, pupils blown, the sweat beads trickling down, and your back arching up in perfect bridge-like fashion. It almost looks like you’re being possessed when your orgasm rocks through you before you come back down releasing choppy breaths from its intensity.

Exhausted, you struggle to stay conscious wanting to communicate with Eddie one last time, but it felt like the orgasm almost sucked the life out of you. His fingers slowly slipping out and the puffs of cool air against your pussy are an indication that Eddie is still present and he wasn’t going to go anywhere just yet. He hasn’t moved from his position and is short of breath, in awe of seeing you coming undone for him and more so the fact that this happened. This wasn’t just another one of his dreams.

For as long as he’d been an apparition, he’d always hoped to be able to finally pass on and if this was his actual last day on Earth or wherever he was, then he’d gladly accept it because one night with you was enough.

Eddie would die happy.

A/N: Reblogs, comments & likes are appreciated. 🥹 Do we want a part 2? Let me know! Thank you for reading! 🫶🏻

#mrwinterr writes #eddie munson smut #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #ghost!eddie munson #ghost!eddie #stranger things fic #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington

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ghost-proofbaby · 24 days ago

Text

the hat rule. (e.m. x fem!reader)

the hat rule (n.): you wear the hat, you ride the cowboy.

summary: when eddie dresses up as a cowboy to a night out with friends, you decide to steal his hat.

pairings: eddie munson x fem!reader

warnings: reader is described to be wearing a dress. reader is also dressed up as a black cat. premise is everyone is wearing 'slutty' costumes. overuse of pet names. public teasing, unprotected sex, choking kink, oral (f receiving), ass slapping. 18+.

wc: 13.3k+

happy early valentine's day, babes. shout out to @hellfire--cult for beta reading, as well as @andvys for giving me this idea to begin with.

If someone had told you last week that you’d be attending a slutty costume themed night at a club tonight, you would have laughed in their face.

And yet here you were, at Steve Harrington’s apartment, donned in a black cat costume that shows more skin than you have in years.

The elaborate plan had sparked on a random day after Steve encountered a flyer for the event. It was a nightclub your group had attended before, and one look at the line free drinks for participants had Steve running down your entire group to insist that you all needed to dress up, to participate in this, for the luxury of free Tito’s.

He’d never considered that the ad might not be targeted towards the male population. And now, you were all gathering at his apartment to pregame, ‘slutted out’ as Robin had so kindly put it – men included.

Nancy pulled out some sort of angel costume she claims she had bought but certainly not worn a few years back, Robin had conglomerated an alluring pirate attire from items you hadn’t even been aware were in her closet. Jonathan arrived in his erotic yet pensive writer’s costume (you’d hardly understood it, but he seemed confident, so you all went with it), Argyle in tow donning some sort of seductive surfer costume, in which you certainly recognized the unbuttoned shirt and cargo shorts that had had a pocket knife taken to them to disregard a few inches. Steve even stuck to his own demands, going all out – a sensual bunny costume.

And then, there was Eddie.

Eddie fuckin’ Munson.

“Pick your jaw up off the ground, sweetheart,” he teases as he shuffles around you in the kitchen to grab a drink, “Gonna start catching flies otherwise.”

“There’s a joke in there somewhere about how sweet I am, right?” you blandly reply, keeping your eyes on your room temp cocktail that Steve had so graciously mixed for you upon your arrival, “Something where you call me honey or sugar, yeah?”

Eddie pauses, bottle of vodka in hand, looking at you with big eyes lined in coal, “Oh, baby, you know me so well.”

“Cut the pet names, Munson.”

You try to scowl. You really do. But you don’t mean a damn word you say.

Sweetheart. Baby. Hell, even honey would have done it for you when he was wearing that costume.

Tight leather pants, flared at the ankle. Worn leather boots that certainly had to have been thrifted, clicking with each of his steps. A cow print vest, and just a vest, over what looked to be an oiled chest.

And that fucking hat smashing down his curls, adding a shadow across his face that only built into the illusion.

You hate him. You hate this stupid party. You hate Steve for ever suggesting this.

“You don’t mean that,” he sing-songs as he pours his own drink into a red solo cup. The vodka mixes with cranberry juice, you think, before he’s dropping a few ice cubes out of the freezer. “Or maybe you do, and I should try saying them with a southern drawl,” Fuck, he does a good southern accent. Slow and syrupy sweet, molasses down the throat as he flutters his lashes at you, “That better, darlin’?”

You pluck the thin black straw that had been added to your cup for flare, probably stolen from a hotel at some point by Steve and positively meant for drinks of the coffee variety, and flick it in his direction without hesitation.

“Terrible,” you flatly lie, “Cowboys aren’t even from the south, idiot. They’re from the West.”

You have no desire to hear Eddie’s Western accent. No desire to hear Texan twang on those lips, putting on his best John Wayne impression. In fact, the faster you can get away from him, the quicker you can get yourself under control.

It had always been this way between you and Eddie. Push and pull. Will they, won’t they. A game of cosmic shores as the two of you toed at each other’s orbits and bantered effortlessly. Flirtatious threats, inappropriate compliments, lewd innuendos – you had done it all, specifically with Eddie.

That’s just how the friendship worked.

The friendship.

Friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

Eddie won’t leave you alone, though, choosing to lean up against the counter beside you, forcing his way into your peripherals, “Damn. You’re right. Wayne would kill me if he knew I mixed that up.”

“Oh, I think he has plenty of reasons to knock some sense into you.”

“Yeah?” he leans forward, tauntingly, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, “Why don’t you do it for him? I think I’d like a slap more coming from you, honestly.”

He’s acting like he always does. This is normal. The fact that his entire torso is on show and you can’t stop staring at the way his tattoo on his peck is shimmering doesn’t change that.

You play the role, knowing your part well as you lean in as well, forcing a smile right back at him, “Wanna kiss my knuckles before I do it, or am I gonna have to do all the hard work here?”

“Oh, trust me, you’d never have to do all the work with me, ba-”

“Can you two get a fucking room?” Robin interrupts as she enters the room, clearly coming in for a refill but getting more than she bargained for.

You’re aflame with the shame and embarrassment, feeling it lick from your ankles up to your throat, as Eddie only chuckles lowly.

“Sorry, Robs,” Eddie chirps, not sounding apologetic at all, “I promise I’ll behave myself the rest of the night.”

And yet, despite the words you’re hearing him say out loud, he does the exact opposite.

There’s no real need for him to do it. There’s plenty of space amongst the kitchen for him to maneuver his way out without laying a single hand on you – and yet he still fucking does.

His palm is shockingly warm when it curls around your hip, his other hand occupied with a drink, encouraging you to move a step forward so that he can brush behind you far too close for comfort. You nearly stumble over himself as he does it. The feeling of his barren chest barely bumping your bare shoulder blades sends your mind reeling, and his staple rings that have incorporated into his costume press right through the thin fabric of your dress.

Your breathing stops entirely as he pauses, the slightest bit of skin still brushing against yours, and leans in with a boyish grin, “We’ll both be on our best behavior tonight – right, kitty?”

Something clicks in your mind. The way the nickname rolls off his tongue as he’s looking at you with eyes flaming with mischief, hand lingering on your hip for far too long.

Your eyes flicker up to the hat on his head, and you smile slowly, meeting his toying gaze, “Right, cowboy.”

Best behavior, your ass. Tonight, you have decided, ends the will they, won’t they of it all.

It’s about to either be the best night of your life, or the worst.

—

Another shot with Nancy. Another smoke with Argyle. Another adjusting of Steve’s corset when he complains he can’t breathe (he certainly can, but you’re starting to think he just likes the attention). The pregaming continues on as more of Steve’s friends from work show up, the apartment slowly beginning to buzz with the chatter of more strangers than you can count on one hand.

You’re not even at the club yet and you’re already regretting your revealing attire.

Eddie stays mostly preoccupied with his own devices, and only gets scolded a handful of times by Nancy. You can hear every lewd joke he makes, of course. At some point, you make a private drinking game out of it; a sip for every time he makes the stereotypical joke of ‘save a horse, ride a cowboy’.

Well, it was a sip the first time. A slightly larger gulp the second time. A chugging of half your drink the third time.

“There’s no fucking way,” Steve laments at the table the boys as well as a few guests you don’t recognize have taken over for a game of strip poker, “Jonathan is cheating. Or counting cards.”

“I concur,” Eddie mutters around his cigarette, scowling at his losing hand.

“You’re also cheating, asshole. This is the first round you’ve lost the entire game.”

“Or maybe I’m just really good at cards, Harrington.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, maybe I’m really good at-”

“He’s not cheating,” Nancy interrupts with a sigh from the couch, lounging as she’s served as a referee of sorts for the group. Her entire body weight is draped against Robin, and you’re certainly not going to comment on Robin’s hands toying with her permed locks, “Stop being a sore loser and just strip.”

You get why Steve was the most upset. He was down to his underwear and socks, corset tossed somewhere far behind him and bunny ears placed on Robin’s head in place of her pirate hat that she had claimed became too warm.

“I think Steve should trade both socks and put back on the bunny ears,” she quips as she reaches up for the headband, flicking at one of the floppy ears, “He’d look cuter that way.”

“Fuck off,” he snaps, throwing up a middle finger as Argyle finally loses his shirt.

When your attention has drifted, you know he did exactly that, though.

The game had been boring you half to death, honestly. Watching Steve strip without fail every round, hearing the loud cheers from Argyle when he managed to win a few rounds in a row and exclaimed it was a turkey (it had taken a ten minute intermission to explain to him that was bowling, not poker), watching a few of the girls that Steve had invited fawn over him as they carefully removed boots and gloves when they lost – none of it sparked your interest. The only saving grace had been every smug look Eddie offered as he’d win, time and time again. So far, he’d only lost his boots.

He was hot when he was cocky. There was no way around it.

And now, as he carefully pondered as to which part of his precious costume to part with, you were on the edge of your seat. He was lovely and enticing when he was excited, when he was jubilant with victory, but as a sore loser?

Dear God, Eddie Munson was a gorgeous specimen with a pout on his lips.

“Trying to decide what to take off, Munson?” Jonathan notices the way Eddie is hesitating, even through the offset of conversations that had sparked up in the brief pause amongst the growing group.

You lean forward on the couch, almost subconsciously.

You don’t care what Stacy from Steve’s job thinks of their manager or the latest drama ongoing there, and Steve would probably agree with you if it weren’t for Stacy’s all-red, latex Devil costume.

Eddie scoffs, waving a hand over his attire, “Obviously. You know, it’s not easy to choose when you have a costume as damn good as mine.”

“What? Don’t think you’ll be as pretty without your hat?” you decide to contribute to the teasing, shocking yourself in the process.

The last thing you should do when you’re staring him down in this way, is bring attention to yourself. And yet you were, like some fucking idiot with a death wish.

“You think I’m pretty?”

It’s the fluttering of his lashes as he says it that gives you the courage. They match all that fluttering in your stomach, all that buzzing across your nerves. Because – yeah, you thought he was real fucking pretty. You’d spent the last half hour imagining how pretty he’d look in all sorts of places, too, especially between your sheets and between your thighs.

You’re up off the couch, taking confident steps towards where he’s seated at the ground on the other side of the coffee table. It’s a little inconvenient now, but it had been a blessing in disguise for most of the game as you’d had a front row seat to the sight of him.

“Oh, don’t get ahead of yourself,” you tease, entirely ignoring that lightheaded feeling you get anytime Eddie looks up at you this way. Half-lidded eyes, crooked grin. He’s dangerous and he doesn’t even know it, “I only meant you were pretty with the hat.”

“You wound me,” he gasps, dropping back on his hands dramatically, his pout now for dramatics rather than genuine, “Gonna stand there and tell me I’m not pretty when I dressed up just for you?”

You have to take a deep breath to compose yourself, cross your arms to steady your guard, “Just for me?”

He was playing that same old, tired game of yours. The same dance the two of you had memorized the steps to – and something inside of you has grown restless of it. You don’t want to keep skirting around each other with double-meaning jokes, you don’t want to keep painting humor over your flirtatious remarks. You want a damn answer to the age old question of will they, won’t they?

And you want that answer to be will they – terribly, terribly so.

His eyes trail along the room slowly, not avoiding you but trying to draw out the anticipation in you as he sucks in a breath, “Okay, and maybe for Steve. And Nancy. And Argyle. And Jonathan. And- Well, I’d say Robin, but I don’t think she’s looked twice in my direction all night.”

“I haven’t,” the brunette chirps happily from the couch, still letting the weight of Nancy comfortably dig into her.

You have no idea how she’s tuned into the conversation, given the way most of everyone else around the room was entirely ignoring the two of you.

“So,” you all but purr, leaning down to be more level with Eddie. You already know where his focus wanders when his eyes don’t meet yours, “Not just for me, cowboy.”

He’s distracted, staring at your chest as you notice him slip up in his brave facade for a second. Almost as though you’ve gone too far, pushed the limits a bit too hard. Good. You want to break this. You want to shatter whatever cage the two of you have built.

In one smooth movement, your hand reaches out and snatches the hat right off his head.

He lets out a yelp and tries to grab it away from you, but you have the advantage as you stand up straight once more. Your free hand reaches up and tears off the cat ears you had donned, and in their place, the hat is deposited.

It fits you a little big, and you nearly make a joke about the size of Eddie’s head.

“Hey!” he argues, moving as though he might stand up and put up more of a fight, “I didn’t say the hat is what I wanted to take off.”

“Took too long,” you shrug innocently.

“Yeah, well, just carefully add it to the pile,” he jabs his thumb over his shoulder, towards his boots, as he relaxes back into his recline.

You should probably behave yourself.

“No.”

But this is more fun.

Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up in shot, disappearing behind the bangs that are flattened far more than usual. The entire crown of his head is absolutely crushed. No sign of his usual frizzy roots and unruly volume, “No?”

“No,” you confirm a second time.

And you’re done with this game of back and forth.

The hat’s staying on your head. It smells ever so faintly of his shampoo, the slightest whiff of his cologne even, and it’s staying on your head for the exact reason he believes is about to be a gotcha! moment.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he’s just tipsy enough that he’s not putting on any specific accent. Instead, his natural Appalachian accent inherited from his uncle begins to break the surface, “Surely you know about the hat rule.”

Damn right, you know about the hat rule.

You cross your arms, huff a little, tilt the hat for effect, “The hat rule? Please, enlighten me.”

“You wear the hat, you ride the cowboy.”

Perfect.

You don’t even attempt any sort of surprised act. No exaggerated gasps, no fumbling to remove the hat. You knew all about this rule, and it had been one of the first things to come to mind when you’d seen him enter this damn party with the hat on.

“Yeah?” you question, mocking raising your eyebrows at best, “Hm. What a shame.”

And then you turn on your heel, not awaiting a single response from Eddie as you escape to the kitchen.

You almost wish you would have stayed an extra second to properly witness his reaction. There’s no doubt in your mind that he’s gone pretty and pink, a flustered mess for at least a second as low laughter sounds from the rest of your friends. A tell-tale snort from Robin, and a silent cackle from Nancy. You swear you even pick up on one of the extra guests muttering a confused what just happened? that goes entirely unanswered.

Strip poker doesn’t continue on for long after that.

You refill your drink, this time sans the alcohol, and return to find Steve has officially begun to call for cabs to the club. He busies away on his phone as everyone debates who’s riding with who, the entire party slowly coming to life as everyone stands to prepare to leave for the main attraction.

When you meet Eddie’s gaze from across the room, the shadow of the brim of his hat cutting into your vision a little, his cheeks match the cranberry juice in your cup.

Good.

—

The ride to the club is a blur, and all that really stands out to you is that Eddie makes sure he does not ride in the same cab as you.

Which is fine. Really. It doesn’t cause a single spark of panic in your chest. Not one.

You’re definitely not working yourself up over the thought that your plan is crumbling right before your eyes, that you’ve gone too far and entirely misinterpreted everything Eddie has ever done during your entire friendship. You’re not mulling over every dirty joke, not dissecting every single line that felt like he was flirting with you and attempting to look at it with fresh eyes. No, the entire ride to the club, you are definitely not beating a dead horse dead.

Maybe you should have set off to ride the dead horse and not the cowboy. Maybe, then, Eddie would have gotten into the fucking cab with you.

Your anxieties only worsen once you get inside the club. Pulsing beneath your skin, right in rhythm with the music. Your entire group had each been handed a drink ticket on your way in, and you had noted the fact that the girls of the group were slipped extra tickets.

Nancy had given all her tickets to Robin, and Steve had given his singular ticket to Stacy.

“So,” Robin runs up to your side, Nancy not far behind, “Do we waste our drink tickets on shots or real drinks?”

“Real drinks,” you immediately reply, eyes scanning the bouncing crowd for a certain head of curly hair, “Shots are… well, they can be cheap. We can just avoid the top-shelf shit.”

Was Eddie really going to ignore you the entire night?

He needed his hat. He couldn’t ignore you the entire night.

“You’re right,” Robin shuffles the drink tickets in her hands, turning to Nancy, “On a scale of one to ten, how bad would it be me to ask you to flirt with men to get me-”

“Give me ten minutes and I’ll have us a round.”

Nancy’s smile is sweet, courteous, as she gives Robin’s shoulder a squeeze on her way past her.

Where the fuck is Eddie?

“Did you see where the guys ran off to?” you blurt out. Most of the guys, aside from Steve, took the same cab.

Robin also joins you in a quick survey of the club, lifting onto her tippy toes to squint over the current light show, “Honestly? I have no idea.”

Fuck.

As she drops back down onto her heels, Robin looks at you knowingly, eyes flicking up between your twisted expression and the hat on your head.

“Trying to find a certain cowboy?”

“What?” you look at her, already defensive, even if it was stupid at this point. Who cares if everyone knows you have a crush on Eddie? Who cares if everyone finds out the very foundations of your friendship with him were built upon quite a bit of truth? “I mean- yeah, he kind of needs his hat to complete his outfit.”

“Should have just given him your ears for an even trade,” Robin shrugs, clinging to your elbow to avoid getting separated as a few bodies push past the two of you, “I’m sure he’ll pop up soon enough, though. Besides, I don’t think anyone’s too focused on what everyone’s costumes are as long as they’re… well…”

“Slutted out,” you finish for her flatly, trying to not get jealous as your eyes look across the sweaty crowd, stomach churning as you wonder how many other sexy black cats in the crowd would be approaching your cowboy.

You fucked up. You shouldn’t have taken his hat.

“Exactly!” she’s excited, unaware of your crisis, already moving along from the topic as she spots Nancy somewhere near the bar top, “Look, free shots!”

The free shots don’t do much to quell your unease, but free alcohol is always nice.

You take the liquid down, burn and all, more than willingly. And then again, not even five minutes later when Nancy has caught the attention of another random man at the end of the bar. You almost partake in a third, but you finally hear a familiar voice saying a far too familiar joke.

“You know what they say,” he’s flirting – he’s using a tone of voice that he has never used with you, and it’s clear he’s fucking flirting, “Save a horse, ride a cowboy.”

Instead of continuing your drinking game from Steve’s apartment, you slam the shot back down and mutter some sorry excuse of being right back to Robin and Nancy before taking off in the direction of Eddie.

He’s stood a few stools down at the bar, hands leaning against the worn wood as his arms bracket a pretty blonde. It almost looks as if the line might be working on her.

“If you’re a cowboy,” she giggles, and you almost stop dead in your tracks, “Then where’s your hat?”

Well, that’s as good of a queue for your arrival if any.

“Good question,” you pipe up as you take a few brave steps towards him, “Where is your hat, cowboy?”

You’d expected him to be angry, or startled, or possibly even immediately take off running in the opposite direction of you. He doesn’t.

He slowly turns, and his flirtatious smile has turned into more of a salacious grin as he faces you, “Well, well, well. Nice of you to join us, Kitty.”

The blonde looks between you two a few times before shimmying down off her stool, “I think…. I’m gonna go. Nice to meet you, cowboy.”

You expect Eddie to react, but he hardly does. A quick glance in her direction, a pathetic wave.

You’ve just trampled over one of his chances of getting properly lucky tonight, and he isn’t even phased.

“Been lookin’ for you,” you mumble, looking over him. His hair seems to have been unstuck from his scalp a little, at least. As though he may have been running his hands through it repeatedly, “Thought you might have gone home without your hat.”

“Not a chance. I haven’t forgotten about the rule, you know.”

Something twists in you, deep in your gut, between your hips.

“No?” you hold your breath as he leans in a bit closer to you to be able to hear over the music, “Good thing I haven’t either.”

He tilts his head, eyes glittering in the multi-colored lights, “You haven’t? Then that means you’ll be giving it back, right?”

Over my dead body.

You’re on a mission tonight. You’ll either be ending this night in sore disappointment, drinking away your sorrows of rejection, or you’ll be ending up in a bed with Eddie. It’s up to him.

You lift a hand to the worn rim, tugging it a bit more securely onto your head, “Not a chance, Munson. You know where to find me once you’re done playing around.”

As soon as your fingers leave the rim, holding tense eye contact with him, his own hand is coming up. You tense, worried he’s about to steal the hat back now, but he doesn’t. Instead, his fingers pinch the same spot yours just had, slow tracing over the rim as his tongue darts out to carefully wet his bottom lip.

From the front point, around to the side. When he reaches the bit above your ear, his touch drops to your cheek and tucks back some of the baby hairs sticking to your skin with sweat.

“I do, don’t I?” he hums, voice dropping a bit lower, focused entirely on you. “I don’t think I’m the one playing around right now, though, Kitty.”

Does he think you’re joking? Does he actually, genuinely think this is all a game to you?

You nearly make the decision to grab him right there, right at this moment, and shatter all the tension. Get his lips on yours and drag him into the darkest corner just to prove to him how serious you truly were.

Suddenly, his hand drops away from you entirely, and you almost want to whine. You miss that warmth, that feathery caress, until it aches. “It’s okay, though. Always knew cats were playful things.”

Is there a dark corner somewhere near you two? Is there a dark hallway to drag him into? Just enough shadow to cover all the sins you’re desperate to commit, just enough light to see that blush rise across his cheeks again.

“I’m not playing,” you whisper, eyes drifting down to his hand cradling a glass. Something deep and russet, just like his eyes. Likely whiskey. You wonder if you’d be able to taste it all over his tongue before you had him putting it to work where you need him most right now. “Whenever you get that through your big head, come find me.”

“Big head?” he throws his head back in a laugh, and the tension mists away in seconds. “Who says I have a big head?”

“I do, as the one wearing your hat,” you readjust it for emphasis.

You thought the tension had misted away until he’s smirking, tsking a little, “Oh, thought you meant the other one.”

It’s a replay of the scene in Steve’s apartment, but this time, the roles are reversed. You’re the one left in shock, mouth agape, as Eddie spins around and walks away, leaving you to sit with what he’s just said.

“Bastard,” you breathe out as you watch him disappear in the crowd, eyes locked on his broad shoulders until one too many bodies separate the two of you.

A bastard you want awfully, terribly, bad.

—

You wish you could say you threw back drink, after drink, after drink. You wish you could say you danced with a hundred different beautiful strangers, and each one strayed your mind farther from Eddie.

You wish you could say you did anything but what the reality of your night had been.

A few men had approached you, only to be turned down repeatedly. Most of your night was spent all but moping at the bar, eyes diligently scanning the bouncing crowd for a certain curly haired figure that seemed to escape you. One moment, you’d catch him pressed against a flirty stranger, hands holding onto whatever bare skin was available to him. And then, his eyes would find yours, and there would be a spark; a wink, a smile, a whisper across a bustling room daring you to come out and play with him.

You never did. You’d look away, take a sip of your plain coke, and wait a few seconds until it was safe to look back and find him seemingly vanished.

That in itself had started to become a game. Just like the hat, weighing heavy on your head.

You’re starting to accept that maybe you had just been a bit too brave. You’d jumped the gun, flown feet first into cold and ragged waters you weren’t prepared to navigate. You knew you wanted a change with Eddie, but were you ready? If you had been, you would have accepted one of his various invites. Would have strode across the room, shoved away whatever man or woman he was dancing with, and slotted yourself into their place. You would have been swaying your hips in rhythm with his rather than allowing him to cycle through strangers, and you’d be reminding him that you wore his hat.

You’d be the one bringing up the hat rule to him consistently, not him to you.

When the night begins to wane, you’ve already talked yourself out of it all.

“I’m heading out,” you announce to Robin when she finally returns back to where you’ve sat at the bar to babysit their drinks, hopping down from the stool before she could argue, “I’m getting way too tired.”

“What?” your friend gasps, face pink from the heat of being in the crowd, a shimmering sheen of sweat across her forehead, “No! Stay! We can take turns watching the drinks, or just-”

“Robs,” you smile as sweetly as possible, patting yourself down to make sure you have all your belongings. A whistle sounds from a group down the way at the bar, and you ignore them, “It’s seriously okay. You’re having fun! I’m just a senior citizen who needs some sleep. My bedtime was like…. An hour ago.”

You highly doubt you’ll be getting any rest when you return to your apartment. Maybe some confidence can be built out of fantasies, letting your hands wander and sheets catch fire with all that could have been if you hadn’t talked yourself out of your perfect plan.

Maybe, imagining Eddie’s hot hands on you rather than getting to properly feel them will light a damn fire under your ass for the next opportunity that arises.

“I…” she sighs, glancing over her shoulder in the general direction of Nancy, “Okay, fine. But do we want to do brunch or something tomorrow?”

Not a chance, you think rather quickly, eyes scanning once more for the metal-head-turned-cowboy. Not if Eddie’s going to be there.

“Sure,” you lie, already knowing he will be there, “Just text me.”

With that, you make your grand escape.

Borrowed hat on head, phone in hand, you push your way out of the club with a newfound determination. You want to get home and take off this uncomfortable dress, finally do away with the thigh highs that have been rolling down at the most inconvenient of times, driving you insane the entire night. Trade the sexy attire for something comfy – stay true to the cat essence as you curl up beneath your blankets for the night. Hang that damn cowboy hat on your door as a cursed reminder-

“Where do you think you’re going, Kitty?”

You stop a few feet short of the curb, a cab ordered as you turn to find that bastard leaning against the wall. Cigarette smoke is still clinging to the air around him as he looks at you curiously.

“Home,” you shrug, trying to ignore your pounding heart. You’d figured you wouldn’t see him again tonight, that your fate had been sealed. “What are you doing out here?”

“Smoke break,” he lifts his hand with the cigarette pinched between two fingers casually, pushing off the wall to come closer, “It’s hard work, keeping you entertained all night.”

You scoff, falling back into what’s almost a normal rhythm for you two, “You were not the one keeping me entertained all night.”

“I hardly saw you dance with anyone at all.”

“I did!” you try to defend yourself, deciding this could be fine. Some casual conversation as you wait for your ride, a way to pass the time. This is fine. “Robin dragged me out into the crowd at least twice.”

“I watched you swat a guy’s hands away not once, but three times.”

“Unsolicited touching isn’t a compliment. He should have taken the hint the first time.”

Eddie nods in eager agreement, taking another drag of his cigarette, “Damn right. If he had gone in for a fourth try, I was considering dragging him out here for an early smoke break.”

“Why do I highly doubt it would just be a smoke break?” you question, glancing at him with a smile. Scandalous plans aside for the night, embarrassment swallowed down whole, it’s nice to remember that Eddie is a friend. Albeit a bit flirty, and capable of driving you fucking insane, but he’s a friend.

And maybe that isn’t the worst thing in the world.

“Oh, no, yeah. You’d be posting my bail.”

“Why me?”

“Because you’ve got my hat, ” he reaches out and flicks the brim with his free hand, and you freeze up a little. You had hoped he wouldn’t mention it again, “Kind of makes me your problem until the end of the night. Speaking of….”

You already know what he’s about to request as he trails off. This is it. You either give up the bit, hand the hat back over, and go home for the night – or you make one final attempt to get what you had wanted.

Eddie. You wanted Eddie, as more than a friend.

“I’m gonna need that back, sweetheart.”

At least he’s asking politely, you consider, before it hits you why he’s asking rather than taking.

The looks across the room. The way he’d been unbothered by the girl he’d been flirting with running off at your appearance. The way he never just took back that fucking hat when he’d been provided ample opportunity.

He thinks it’s a game for you, and keeps bringing it up, because it isn’t for him. He’s giving you one last chance to back out, or to stand your ground. To say you really want this.

And fuck, you really want this.

“Nope,” you lean into his space, pressing closer, fully committed. Your phone dings with the notification of your ride approaching, and you fully ignore it. “My hat now, cowboy.”

He quirks an eyebrow, and you hear the crunch of gravel behind you. Your ride. “Is that so?”

“Yep.”

Another ding, another buzz of your phone.

Go ahead. Bring up the hat rule.

“That your ride?” he asks, tilting his chin in the direction of the car.

You glance over your shoulder, “Pretty sure it is, yeah.”

“And you remember the hat rule?”

Your stomach twists with excitement. Your previous pity party is long forgotten – you’re still hoping to get out of this dress, but you highly doubt you’ll be slipping anything on after it. “I do.”

“Great,” those hot hands you’d been fantasizing about the entire night suddenly reach out to you, gripping your hips tightly as he tugs you into his body. You collide with his chest as he leans down and whispers in your ear, “In that case, that’s my pussy now.”

His lips linger against the shell of your ear an extra second, warm breath sending chills up your spine before he’s keeping an arm around your shoulders as he guides you to the car. His cologne and the scent of tobacco is suffocating, and you crave to drown in it. You want him to consume you; you want him to take over every breath you breathe, every move you make, to finally get those hot hands and lips everywhere you’ve only dreamt of.

You barely hear him confirm with the driver that it is in fact your ride – you can only focus on that hand on your lower back, palm heavy on you as his thumb traces arcs that nearly spend you spiraling.

“After you, kitty,” he murmurs, motioning for you to slide into the backseat first.

In that case, that’s my pussy now.

You hope he ruins you.

In the backseat of the ride, it’s all polite distance and hands to yourself. You can’t even make eye contact with the driver, terrified he might be able to mindread and see all the filthy thoughts racing through your head.

Eddie between your thighs, mouthing at your hips.

Eddie hovering over you, pulling your knees to your chest as he stretches you out.

Eddie, proving that your pussy is in fact his for the night. That it was made for him, sculpted out to fit the curvature and every single vein of him.

Eddie simply fucking your brains out.

Some polite conversation is exchanged, mostly between Eddie and the driver. The classic questioning of how the night has gone, small talk that buzzes in your ears mindlessly.

The entire time, you can see Eddie’s hand in the space between you two, fingers tapping away at dark leather incessantly. His rings shimmer like a siren calling to you.

It’s a small movement, when your own hand drops near his. You keep your eyes trained forward once you begin your mission, inching your pinky closer and closer until it finally collides with his. You swear, you feel him fully jump out of his seat.

Slowly warming the water, you start off simple – playing with his fingers. Gentle caresses over his knuckles, little pricks to the pads of his fingers. He tries to capture your hand in his, but you have bigger plans at play here.

You’ve spent the entire fucking night waiting for this. You’re going to have fun with it.

He huffs after you deter his second attempt at properly holding hands, his knees falling apart a little further. You twist at the ring on his middle finger, a clunky skull you’ve always admired. It has minimal signs of wear, probably pure silver if you had to guess, and you can only imagine how cold it’s going to feel against your skin.

You can only imagine the imprints it’ll leave if he grabs your hips just right.

“You know,” the driver hums mindlessly over the low volume of the radio, “You guys are my first ride of the night, surprisingly. Thought it might be busier with all the parties and clubs, but I think it’s just barely picking up now.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asks politely, nodding as he looks out his window. Perfect, “I think you’re right. It is getting pretty late-”

He’s entirely distracted, your hand out of his line of sight as it moves in on its target.

His thigh.

Just a few inches above his knee, your hand grips at what is clearly sensitive flesh. You watch his entire body turn to stone when you do it, and he moves his head quickly to look in your direction.

You’re looking straight ahead.

There had been a time, a few weeks ago, where you’d learned Eddie had… sensitive knees. You’d been joking around about one thing or another, and when your palms had gripped at them through the torn fabric of ripped jeans, he’d nearly launched himself across the room. He just kept insisting they were ticklish, that that skin was just delicate.

You’d seen the tent in his jeans then. You’d just been a bit more polite, a bit better behaved that day.

“What are you doing?” he hisses in a whisper, reaching for your hand, but you’re quick to slide it even higher.

His hips jump a little, and the driver is none the wiser.

“Nothing,” you innocently say, still looking ahead, watching the passing streetlights with intense interest. “Absolutely nothing at all.”

The entire ride, at every red light, your hand inches higher.

And every time, you relish the way he squirms in your peripherals.

By the time you’re five minutes out from your place, you’ve riled him up to impossible heights. Every little noise has him on edge, constant twitching and shifting in his seat as he tries to get you to just look at him. You know he’s catching every sly smile that attempts to creep up on your lips – you’re pathetically failing at every turn to cover them up.

You think you have him like putty in your palms as you give yet another squeeze to his thigh, fingers starting to dance up even higher. When your eyes flicker to his crotch for just a second, you see him straining against that tight leather.

And then he flips the script.

You’re so focused on your own goals, you never see that ringed hand creep to your own thigh. It’s not until cool metal nips at you, briefly, before you feel the warmth of his hand overtake, that you realize the predicament you’ve gotten into.

Just as your hand was beginning to skim over his crotch, Eddie’s hand found solace between the meat of your thighs. Even as you try to clench them together, deny him the access he was seeking out, he finds his way in. Scandalous fingers dipping under the hem of your dress, fighting fire with fire when he lets his middle finger brush across the fabric of your underwear.

Your touch from him nearly retracts entirely.

“What?” he leans in closer to you, the driver still focused on the road, “Don’t like a taste of your own medicine?”

As he says it, his fingers dip lower. Hovering right over your protected clit, making your entire abdomen clench.

You swallow hard, a bit of your jagged pride somewhere amongst the spit as you turn your head to look at him, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Still playing games I see.”

In sync, the two of you lock eyes as you continue to test waters. You apply pressure with your palm and note the way his breathing hitches, and he draws a feather-light circle around the wet patch forming in your underwear. You can feel your bottom lip quiver as you try to refuse to give him any satisfaction, but when he’s this close, it’s a hopeless battle.

When had he gotten so near you? What happened to all that static distance from when you’d first crawled into the backseat?

You’re trying to only focus on your own hand. Eyes darting to guarantee the driver is still oblivious as you roll the heel of your hand harder against the seam of his pants, and biting your lip to hold back a successful grin when he has to cover a gasp with a cough. It’s all fun and games until the action is rewarded with his payback; his knuckle curling up against your cunt through your panties, pressing in hard before slowly sliding his way up, up, up.

He deliberately stops when he catches on your clit, and you’re the one coughing now.

“Had enough?” he mutters under his breath, looking at you with half-lidded eyes. He looks good in this lighting, flashes of the streetlights bathing him in soft yellow, headlights of other cars fluttering in through the windshield as they hit his brown eyes just right to bronze them.

“Never.”

You almost think you’ve won when his knuckle pulls back.

But suddenly, his entire hand is cupping your cunt, two fingers pressing against your fluttering hole as another drags up your slit slowly once more. This time, when he reaches your clit, he continues moving in small circles.

You have to bite your lip to hold back any noises, eyes closing for just a second as you hear him huff out a laugh.

The final damnation is when he brings his lips to your bare shoulder, merely grazing your skin with them as he mumbles, “You sure about that, Kitty?”

You clench around nothing, and you know when he feels it from where his fingers remain pressed against you. His own hand twitches as the finger circling your clit stutters for a moment.

“I-”

“We’re here!” the driver says, not having looked into the backseat yet as he finds a safe place to pull the car into. In an instant, you and Eddie remove your hands from each other. You’re both visibly flustered – you can feel how warm your cheeks have gotten, and you can see clouds of pink splattering over Eddie’s chest and neck.

“Thanks,” Eddie is the one to speak up as the car comes to a halt, not even waiting for the driver to put the vehicle in park as he throws the door open.

A bit rushed, but still polite as ever before he’s grabbing you by your bicep to pull you out of the cramped space right along with him.

You can hardly muster a weak wave to the man as Eddie is dragging you towards your apartment building, knees still a bit weak and mind still blank after getting a taste of your own medicine, as Eddie had put it.

He doesn’t let go of you until you’re at your front door, those cursed shaking hands of yours fumbling with your key ring.

“Here, let me-” he starts to offer, reaching for the keys that continue to clank together, just as you find the one you’re looking for.

“I’ve got it-” you try to cut him off, just as you drop the fucking keys in your haste. “Shit.”

You quickly drop to the ground to grab them, pausing once you have the metal digging into your palms once more. There’s no real reason for you to do it, but you do – you take a second to look up at Eddie from this position, and nearly drool at the sight of it.

Him, standing over you, still a bit flushed and still visibly uncomfortable in his pants. Pretty curls a mess and lips darkening from how much he’s been biting them.

You want him to ruin you. You want him to absolutely, entirely and utterly destroy you.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he laughs, chest heaving a bit as he watches you carefully, pupils slowly growing in the dim light of your building’s hallway.

You can see his bare torso clenching, the twitch of his hands at his sides – the same fingers that had just been caressing you over your underwear in the backseat of a stranger’s car.

“Like what?” you’re dragging out the moment, taking time to appreciate the sight of him.

“Like you want me to just press you up against the wall and fuck you out here, for everyone to see.”

That’s a new one. That’s a vision that hadn’t come to you in all your dirtiest dreams of the night.

It sends your clit throbbing.

You rise slowly, pushing the hat back a bit to see him better, keeping your voice quiet so your neighbors won’t hear as you ask, “Would you? If I asked nicely?”

He doesn’t let out a laugh, but a breath of air, like you’ve just sucked all of the oxygen out of his lungs.

No need to say it – you know he would. You probably wouldn’t even have to ask nicely.

You’re staring at him when he finally moves, one hand snatching your keys out of your hand and the other gripping you around the waist. Back to pulling you, man-handling you to get you right where he wants you – where he needs you.

One second, you’re pressed against his body in the hallway. The next, he’s managed to unlock your front door and throw you both into the safety of your apartment.

Hidden from the world, and you’re still reeling as you wonder what it’d be like for the entire building to witness you calling out his name. Or him calling out your name.

Here within these four walls, Eddie has put some space between the two of you, staring with blown out eyes and a shaking chest as he breathes out, “Sweetheart.”

A few seconds pass, the two of you just standing there, the click of the front door’s lock being the only thing echoing in the silence. If you focused over the roar of the blood pounding in your ears, you might catch every single gasp of his as he stares in awe – but your focus is elsewhere. Far away and out of grasp for the time being. You can only think of one thing, and one thing only.

Your body isn’t your own as you move to get exactly what you want; you drop to your knees hard enough that you should cringe at the thought of the pain that will linger, possibly for days, but it doesn’t even cross your mind as your hands begin to fumble with Eddie’s pants. The oversized, gaudy belt buckle is in your way, glinting at you as if mocking the way your shaking hands can’t undo it fast enough. You’re about to give up and just start unzipping the leather pants, desperate to get your hands, and your mouth, and your eyes on him properly, when he stops you.

“Hey,” he sounds breathless - he is breathless - as his own hands quiver a bit and grab onto yours, “Hey, hey, hey. Slow down.”

Those hands let go of your wrists and reach for the hat, and you’re quick to try and swat them away only for him to grab at you, surprisingly gentle, as he drags you back up to your feet.

“Wear the hat, ride the cowboy – right?” you insist, chin held high, your gaze refusing to waver from his.

His slow and buttery grin makes you lightheaded, his low chuckle sends shakes through every nerve and bone. “That’s right, but maybe the cowboy wants to take his time. Ever think of that, hm?”

Were you moving too fast? Were you going to scare him off?

Small, baby steps are taken by Eddie, the click of his heels shattering against your wooden floors until his hips are flush with yours.

And - oh.

Oh.

That surely didn’t feel like you were scaring him off.

You could feel the outline of his cock, hard against your hip, as he gives a little roll. He catches his bottom lip between his teeth, nostrils flaring with a hard breath, and the fear leaves as quickly as it had arrived.

He wants this. You want him.

“I’m not a very patient person,” you murmur, eyes glued to his lips now as his head leans in closer, and his hands begin to explore your body. Taking their time as they travel down your arms from where he’d held onto your biceps, slowing as they reach your wrists. Even the press of his thumb against the sensitive inner skin there sends jolts up your spine, little gasps attempting to escape your mouth.

His fingers tangle loosely with your own for a few moments before his palms find your hips, and he continues his journey.

“That’s okay,” he whispers back, close enough now that his lips have begun to brush against your own. His nose bumps yours as his hands skate up over your ribcage, thumb sweeping out over the hill of your breast and intentionally avoiding your nipple, “I can teach you, baby.”

Your mouth finally collides with him at the words, nearly going limp in his arms at the words.

You’ve thought about kissing Eddie for a while now. Every time a snarky remark fell from his lips, you’d wonder how his tongue might taste afterwards. Every time he’d pout his lips at one of your comebacks, or blow a kiss teasingly in your direction from across a room, you’d wonder how hard you might have to bite down to make him bleed. Every drag of a cigarette you’d witnessed, every hard gasp in faux offense, every breathless chuckle at a joke he didn’t want to find funny but did – you had spent a lot of time wondering what it might be like to steal all the air from his lungs, to kiss him until the two of you were both blue in the face.

“Can’t the lesson wait until tomorrow?” you mumble against him as his mouth, your own fists now gripping onto the lapels of his vest. His hands have reached your shoulders, memorizing the outlines of the curve of your neck where it meets your collarbones, the slope of your chest as you take hot and heavy breaths.

“Nope,” he insists, pulling back from the kiss, a little bit of spit on his pink lips, “But it’s nice to know you’re thinking about tomorrow.”

A hand finally finds your chin and pinches it carefully between his thumb and fingers, a careful grip on you to angle you just right so he can all but devour you. Lips, tongues, teeth – it’s a messy ordeal, and you almost make a smart-ass remark that this kiss doesn’t feel very patient.

But you can’t. Eddie’s taken away all your breaths, all your words, as he starts to guide you backwards.

Your knees hit the cushions of your sofa, making you jump back from him with a gasp, palms going flat against his chest.

He feels good. Tender skin soft to the touch beneath your hand, tattoos tempting to trace the outline of. Later.

“Figured you might want a more comfortable ride,” he laughs against you, breath smelling ever so faintly of mint and whiskey washing over you, before he dips to mouth away at your neck.

You drop back onto the sofa, bite your tongue on a comment about how this cheap piece of furniture most definitely wasn’t the most comfortable option, simply eager at the fact he was letting this move along.

You want him, you need him, and you have no time for patience.

His exploration of touches have lit you aflame, and you’re growing a bit desperate at this point. It might be pathetic, it should be embarrassing, but you really don’t care.

“By all means,” you break out of his hold entirely, catching the way his hand holding your chin lingers a few extra seconds, reluctant to let you go, “Take your seat, Cowboy.”

He joins you on the couch, eyes never leaving yours even as he throws himself down. Knees spread wide, inviting lap on show, cock still straining against his pants.

The best seat in the house, as far as you’re concerned.

“You just gonna keep starin’,” he mocks lightly, looking you over slowly. Taking his time, you suppose, “Or you gonna get over here?”

His words are all you need. You’re quick to climb onto his lap, swinging your legs so that each thigh brackets his hips, your cunt pressing down on crotch carelessly. You love the way it feels – the outline of him hard against you, the cooling effect of the leather, the sharp edges of the zipper catching just right.

“There,” he huffs out, grabbing onto you when you give the slightest roll of your hips, “Now we’re both in our seats.”

When you go to press down harder, guiding yourself over his lap, hands steadying you by gripping his shoulders, he surprises you by his hips jumping up to meet your slow rhythm.

“What happened to being patient?” you try to tease him right back as your forehead meets his, hat comically struggling to stay on between the two of you, “Thought you were gonna take your time with me-”

“Between you and me, I’m not gonna last,” he pants out, hands finding your hips. Those rings you’d been fantasizing of leaving an imprint on you are doing just that as he guides you, “Been dreaming of you too long, sweetheart. Wanted this for so long.”

Your heart nearly stops. Your hips stutter, pausing as his words rush over you.

“What?”

Your head lifts away from his completely, grip on his shoulders tightening.

He’s wanted this, too? This entire time?

Eddie takes your pause as a bad thing, a terrible omen as his face pales, “I mean- I just-”

“Munson,” you say lowly, narrowing your eyes at him, “You’re telling me, this entire time, you’ve been flirting with me?”

Had that tone he used with the girl at the bar been flirting as you’d thought, or simple for show? You’d so cluelessly assumed he’d never used that tone with you because he’d never genuinely flirted with you – and yet, it seems, he’d never used that tone because he’d been genuinely flirting with you.

“I-” his cheeks are brilliant red, and the wide eyes are from something different than lust now, “Maybe?”

“Maybe?” you almost laugh, throwing your head back. The hat falls off, but Eddie is quick to retrieve it, “My God, we’re fucking idiots.”

“Hey, I’m not the one who stole my hat-”

“I like you, dumb ass,” you state plainly, “I wanted this for a while, too.”

He pauses, one arm outstretched as his hand grips onto the hat, “What?”

“Been thinking about this, too,” your voice drops a little, almost a whisper, even though you two are the only ones in the room. For all you know, you two might be the only two people left in the world with the way he’s looking at you, “Thinking about you and your lips. Thinking ‘bout your hands and the places they’d go,” as you point out every detail, his body seemingly reacts. A lick of his lips, a squeeze of his hand still on your hip, “Thought about your fingers and tongue a lot, too. How good they’d feel inside me.”

His hips thrust up at that, and suddenly, he’s placing his hat back atop your head.

That, it seems, was all the encouragement Eddie needed.

He deals with that belt buckle that had given you hell, bouncing you a bit on his lap as he fumbles with yanking the entire belt off and tossing it to the side. One hand busies with undoing the button and zipper of his jeans, as the other starts to bunch your dress.

“Nice and slow,” he insists, looking up at you, absolutely vibrant. Somewhere between the tightness between your hips, all the throbbing between your thighs and in your chest, you feel a sort of bubbly delight creeping up along your spine. “Got it, kitty?”

You nod once. Twice. On the third nod, he cuts you off with a kiss.

Your dress is up to your waist, and you don’t know how, but he manages to shimmy off his pants without throwing you off his lap entirely. It’s impressive, really. Probably a symptom of him having thought about this, dreamt about this. He’d probably thought up every scenario possible, and was prepared.

“Oh, and these?” his fingers find the waistband of your panties, tsking a little as he pulls at the elastic and lets it slap back against your skin, “Those definitely have to come off.”

“Whatever you say, cowboy.”

You take your time sliding off his lap, making sure to grind against him before you properly lift away. He throws his head back in a groan, Adam’s apple bobbing as you stand up straight. You take that moment to just admire him, capturing the clench of his jaw to memory, the way his eyes screw shut in pleasure at your influence.

He’s fucking perfect. You’re sure there’s others who disagree, but you’d pay them no mind. He’s perfect, and he’s all yours.

You make a show of taking off your panties only once he’s properly looking at you once more, craving his eyes on you as you keep all your movements fluid and steady. No rush, exuding all that patience he’d prattled on about.

You want to see his face when you gently toss the black lacey piece in his direction, watch him fumble with his own desperation to catch them.

“Seems a bit unfair that I’m the only one undressing,” you hum as you go a step further and begin to shimmy out of the dress.

“Yeah, well,” he grins cheekily at you, fisting your panties, a hand trailing down to the waistband of his boxers as he eyes you, “One of us was showing a bit more skin than the other.”

“Take off the vest, Eddie.”

Your command is velvet, and he’s quick to obey. His hand stubbornly refuses to let go of your panties as he rushes to shrug out of the thin fabric over his shoulders, tossing the vest to join his pants and your dress on the floor.

“And the boxers.”

You stand there, in nothing but his cowboy hat, as you wait pretty and patient for him to listen. And listen he does.

The moment his boxers are discarded, his cock is standing at attention, leaking from the tip and deep shade of pink that matches his kiss-bitten lips. You think it might be the prettiest color you’ve ever laid eyes on as you watch a drop of precum slip down his shaft.

He’s pretty, even in the fucking pants.

Girthy, thick enough you almost arch your back before you’ve even sunk down on him. All veins and soft skin, a sensitive tip that you’d trace your tongue over for hours if he let you.

“Gonna just stand there, or are you going to ride your cowboy?”

He surely meant to sound more cocky, but the words come out as more of a whine as you watch him twitch under your stare.

He’s right though, and you’d rather get him inside you than spend another second gawking. There will be time to pay more attention to him and his pretty cock tomorrow. Right now, you need to finish this god-forsaken mission.

Your thighs find his hips just as his hands find yours, choosing to grip the couch rather than his shoulders as you steady yourself.

Nice and slow, his words echo in your mind.

You could have prepared yourself more, but you’d already made it clear to Eddie that you are not a patient person. The fact that you even take your time as you sink down on him, going as far as to grab him by his base and guide his tip to smear precum across your clit, is impressive.

The stretch is a bit painful. A bit much. A bit dizzying. But you refuse to stop as your jaw drops, eyes fluttering shut in ecstasy.

“Fuck,” you breathe out softly as you feel him fill you, “Fuck, Eddie.”

“Feel good, baby?” he questions, reaching up to grab your chin just as he had before. Forcing you closer to him, forcing you to look him in the eyes just as he bottoms out.

You don’t answer him as you both moan out.

You stay there for a second, unmoving as you swim in the feeling. Feeling him press into the depths of you, the overwhelming warmth and the coil in your abdomen tightening ever so slightly.

It’s better than you had imagined it. No daydreams could compare to the feeling of Eddie’s cock finally, finally filling you. Stretching you out, making you his.

“Go ahead,” he grits out, entire body tense, clearly holding out on you, “Ride your cowboy, kitty. Don’t make me ask twice.”

Nice. And. Slow.

Three little words that ricochet through your mind as you start to slowly bounce on him. Lifting ever so slightly, dropping back down, aching to feel him even deeper inside of you. Feeling the quiver of his thighs to match yours as you repeat the action, gasps and whimpers falling from both your lips. You’re about to try and kiss him, try and swallow all those delicate noises from him, when he stops you.

“No, no, no,” he’s chuckling, giving your hips a few squeezes before his palms rub down your thighs, the friction sending you on edge, “C’mon, now. We both know that’s not how you ride.”

His hands rake over your skin, down to your knees, lighting scratching and squeezing along their entire pathway until they make their way back up to your waist and hips.

“Do it like this, sweetheart.”

He guides you, no longer allowing you to lift up. You sink all the way down on his cock, whining out at the fullness, before he starts the pattern.

Back and forth. Gentle circles amidst the rocking. Your clit grazes his pubes, and the coil in between your hips has never tightened more quickly.

The motion feels familiar - like riding a bull.

This feels right. You still press down, still clench down on him hard enough to make you both slip out obscenities, but it’s getting you there.

At some point, Eddie’s grip on your hips slips, but it’s fine – you’ve got the rhythm down perfectly. Slow, intermittent figure eights between the rolls of your hips, his occasionally slamming upward to reward you with that deepness you need. You can feel him in your stomach, in your chest, in your throat.

You get a bit daring, and take one hand to his shoulders, as the other reaches up for the top of the hat on your head.

Just like a cowboy.

“Like this?” you pant out between harsher rolls, eliciting curses that continue to grow louder from Eddie.

“Fuck, baby, yes,” he groans out, head thrown back, mouth open in gratification, “Just like that. Keep- keep going just,” he thrusts up, “Like,” another thrust, “That.”

You nearly lose balance, falling forward a bit, too stubborn to let go of the hat. There’s a grin glimmering at the corners of your mouth, and it fully blooms when Eddie throws up a hand to catch you .

A hand on your throat.

He doesn’t squeeze, doesn’t cut off blood flow or breathing. He keeps that warm palm there at the base of your neck, cradling you, holding you. A reminder that he could squeeze if he wanted, that he held you in the palm of his hands currently, but he won’t.

“You like that?” his eyes shine as he looks up at you, the sight of his rings decorating your neck.

You nod.

“Tell me with your words,” he commands.

“I like it,” you whimper, looking up further, stretching more of your neck to be vulnerable to Eddie. “I like it so much, baby.”

When the pet name falls from your lips, you can feel him twitch inside of you. The sudden jut of his hips, the sharp intake of breath.

“You like that,” you laugh breathlessly, your hand atop the hat the only thing keeping it from falling as you lean your head fully back, eyes beginning to roll back into your head. “Wanna be my baby, Munson?”

“Always have,” he grunts, the hand on your throat slipping up to cup your face to drag you towards him, “Since the fucking moment I met you, sweetheart.”

When he kisses you, it tastes like the closest to Heaven you might ever get. Soft, plump lips, and an eager tongue. All the wasted time hiding behind jokes and teasing, playing pretend like the flirting was never serious.

It was serious. And if you’d just come clean sooner, you would have had this long ago.

Your hips are still rolling as your hands begin to roam. You’ve found your balance again, lips pressed to Eddie, and it’s your turn to explore all he has to give you. Your nails graze his stomach when your clit catches once more on that rough thatch of hair against the base of his cock. Your fingers dig into flesh wherever they can find it – his chest, his arms, his hips. At some point, you throw a hand out behind you, grasping for his knee. Learning every curve and every point of his body as he had done for you.

You wanna memorize the roadmap of him. Take a snapshot in your mind so that next time, none of it is unfamiliar territory.

Your touch is driving him insane; it doesn’t take a genius to pick up on the way his hips falter to meet your movements, or how he keeps breaking the kiss to gasp, letting his jaw fall slack when he hits a particular deep spot within you.

It’s when your lips finally trail down the stubble sprouting across his jawline, mouth sucking on the soft skin below his ear, that he’s finally a goner.

“‘M close,” he gasps out, almost sounding drunk as he slurs through his pants, “Ah, fuck, I’m gonna-”

“Cum for me, Eddie.”

Maybe it’s the way you had been touching him, or the way your cunt had been fluttering around him, or the persistent rolling of your hips that had become so focused on his pleasure. Maybe it was the sight of you in his hat, looking at him like that. Maybe it was the way his name sounded on your tongue.

Either way, when Eddie Munson comes undone, he’s beautiful.

Your own movements slow involuntarily as you gaze starry eyed, watching the way his face scrunches and feeling his grip on you tighten impossibly. Leaving their mark, making you his in yet another way. Warmth fills your cunt and every curse word under the summer sun is falling from his lips.

Your name, curses, prayers, gratitude – a jumbled mess, and it sounds fucking fantastic when it’s said in Eddie’s desperate tone.

“Shit,” he gasps out, finally coming back down to Earth, “Shit.”

You sit still on his lap, skin sticky with sweat, lips spread thin in a cheeky grin, “Sounds like I get to keep your hat, cowboy.”

His eyes shoot open, and for a second, you’re terrified.

Those aren’t the eyes of someone satisfied.

“You didn’t cum.”

“What?”

“You,” he says, stressing the word as he shifts you off his lap. You don’t miss the way he winces, clearly a bit sensitive, “Did not cum.”

You hadn’t really noticed, too wrapped up in him to notice your high slipping away from you. You’d been too focused on Eddie: on feeling him cum inside you, on watching him break apart, on tracing the outline of the blood rushing to his cheeks with your eyes and that fresh burst of violet on his neck in the shape of your lips.

“It’s fine,” you start to argue, feeling the warmth of him leaking down your thighs. You should be a lot more worried about making a mess all over your sofa. You should be, but you aren’t. “I can-”

“You’re not keeping that fucking hat until you cum for me, sweetheart.”

And, oh, maybe your own orgasm wasn’t racing as far away from you as you’d believed, because those words nearly push you over the edge for him.

“Get on all fours for me, baby.”

Yeah. You definitely could still be close. For him.

When you don’t move to follow his command immediately, he’s using those gentle hands to guide you. Encouraging a twist of your hips from how you’re reclining back across the couch, letting you press your cheek down against the cushion.

You open your mouth to argue, to insist it was fine, to say anything, but you’re cut silent when a sudden slap lands on your ass.

A silent command this time, and you’re finally listening.

You lift your ass up for him on shaky knees, elbows digging into the cushion now instead of your face. The hat on your head is lopsided, and you almost reach up to fix it when-

“I’ll be taking that,” For the first time since you’d stolen his hat, Eddie takes it back. Right off your head, too fast for you to protest. When you dig your chin into your shoulder to look back at him, he’s smiling, hat back in its rightful place atop his curls, “You can have it back after you cum for me, at least once.”

“At least once?” you mean to laugh, to sound cocky, but it comes out as more of a squeak.

He shrugs, leaning forward, his bare chest pressing against the skin of your bare ass – right where an imprint of his hand still sings, “At least. By all means, if you feel the need, don’t hesitate to give me a few. God knows you’ve earned it.”

You don’t have time to banter back; he retracts before bring his mouth down to your cunt, and your elbows quickly give out at the first long stride of his tongue.

“Gotta get you cleaned up,” he murmurs, a bit muffled, against your cunt.

Another stride, and this time, his tongue spends an extra second at your clit, circling it salaciously.

“Oh, God,” you moan out into a mouthful of couch cushion, tempted to bite down to hide all the noises creeping up your throat when his tongue draws yet another circle, tip of his nose pressed to your sensitive hole.

He brings his tongue back to that space, that hole that feels gaping without him filling you now, and you try to bury your cheek only to earn another slap on the ass.

“Don’t be shy now, kitty. Let me hear you.”

And let him hear you, you do.

Each lick, short and timid or long and confident, is dredging up obscene mewls from you. When he enters you with it, curling it and pressing as deep as he can, truly cleaning you up as he had said, you’re chanting his name.

“Fuck, Eddie,” you cry softly, rocking your body back against his mouth, “Your fingers. P-Please, use your fingers.”

Your wish is his command as he brings his hand up between your legs, breaking from having his tongue buried inside of you and using a calloused pad of his finger to trace over your clit before he begs, “Say my name again.”

You do. Over, and over, and over as his mouth and his fingers begin to work against you. Careful focus is placed on your clit, and his mouth runs amok between your cunt and thighs. You feel what will no doubt be hickies along the curve of your ass, nips of teeth against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh as he presses two fingers into you. With every thrust of his hand, your hips are rocking back to match his rhythm, wanting more.

More, more, more.

There’s nothing nice and slow about this. You’re chasing after a high, and Eddie is listening to you every step of the way.

Your thighs begin to shake terribly right around the time your vision blurs, unable to contain the whines that have grown to echoing volumes. Surely, your neighbors can hear. Probably confused as to who Eddie is, probably considering how embarrassing it would be to knock down your door and complain about the noises.

You really, really don’t give a fuck when white speckles flood your vision, even with your eyes screwed shut, and that tension between your hips threatens to snap.

Right before your knees give out, your entire body trembling, Eddie pulls back and grabs your hips. You cry out, so close yet so far, until he’s flipping you back over.

You get one glimpse of him before he goes to work to bring you over that edge – lips and chin slick with you, hair frizzing beneath his hat, a determined glint in his eyes that have your thighs clenching around his ears.

You were right. Eddie Munson looks damn good between your thighs.

He quickly returns to his mitigations, and this time, it’s all a bit more strategic. Lips suctioned around your clit and three fingers curling deep within you, a beckoning motion as he urges you to let go for him.

The white returns behind your eyelids. Your back arches up off the sofa. Your ankles lock as they cross behind Eddie’s back, almost effectively trapping him in place.

You cum hard for him.

You’re entirely unaware if you scream his name in the process, but you hope you do. As that relief, that ecstasy, floods your system, you hope you make sure everyone within a five mile radius knows who’s responsible. Your entire body continues to shake for far longer than you believe it ever has before. Your hips had lifted, begging for Eddie to keep going even as it all grew painful.

He does. He keeps going, sucking you dry for every drop you have to give him, until you’re physically having to shove him away.

Your hands are weak as you sink down into the cushion, eyes still closed as you hear him chuckle before you feel him crawl his way back up your body.

“There,” you don’t even need to see his face to see that smug satisfaction – his voice is dripping in it. “Now you can keep the hat.”

One of your hands blindly throws itself through the air to smack him, missing entirely as you drift through the afterglow of it all.

“I’m not sure I’ve earned it,” you mumble as he catches your wrist, limp in the air, “Pretty sure I didn’t break you when I made you cum.”

“Oh, you did,” he notes, hand curling around your wrist. You watch as he slowly brings it to his lips, peppering a few chaste kisses on the soft skin, “Just in a different way.”

You raise your eyebrows, smiling at the tingling feeling left behind on your skin in the wake of his mouth, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He tugs you to sit up despite your groan of protest, somehow smoothly maneuvering the two of you so that he’s now the one beneath you, letting the full weight of you bear down on his chest as you lay on top of him. The hand wrapped around your wrist brings it back up for more kisses, more repetitive gentle pecks of affection, as his other arm is quick to wrap around you. Holding you in place, as though he’s scared you might disappear.

“Well,” you whisper against the bare skin of his chest, nearly shivering when his free hand starts to trail slowly up and down your spine, “Good.”

Your cheek feels the vibrations of his chuckle, “That’s all you have to say?”

“Give me a few minutes to recover,” you insist, all but nuzzling into him, “I’m sure I’ll have a smartass comeback for you once I’m…” you trail off, heavy eyes looking up at him, the words lost on your tongue and in the air.

The gentle curve of his cupid’s bow. The roundness at the end of his nose, still a fading hue of pink. The freckle beneath his right eye. The way the phantom of the dimple of his left cheek never quite leaves his face.

All the things you’ve dreamt of seeing so up close, never knowing it could have been a reality.

He lets go of your wrist, smiling softly with a shake of his head, “Can’t believe you’re gonna fall asleep on me.”

“Am not,” you nearly say under your breath, sighing in content.

“Am too,” he mocks, a certain docility to all his teasing before he sighs as well, “It’s okay. You can. I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

You hum, eyes fluttering shut as you hear some rustling, “Promise, cowboy?”

“Absolutely, kitty. You said something about tomorrow, remember?”

You both laugh in sync as your couch suddenly becomes the most comfortable place in the world.

Just before losing consciousness, right as you feel Eddie’s breathing even out along with your own, you decide to open your eyes one last time to catch sight of the cowboy hat perched carefully on your coffee table.

Tomorrow. You hope for a thousand tomorrows as you decide that that hat is definitely yours now.

#ghost's stories #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #stranger things #emphasis on the smut. this is. just. a lot of smut.

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