#those thighs are eddie munson’s personal chew toys

[gayphob1a]

*barking and snarling noises* i just- i wanna!! i need to bite!! steve thighs

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Sleep with one eye open

Written for the @steddiemicrofic challenge, February 2024 edition

Prompt: egde, 509 words

Rated: M

Tags: Post S4; sleep paralysis; monsters, nightmares; canon character death; monster Eddie Munson; Kas!Eddie Munson; body horror; blood and gore; biting; open ending

It starts as always, on the edge between sleeping and waking. 

One moment, Steve drifts on the first tendrils of dreams. The next, he plummets back into his body, eyes wide open in the dark of his bedroom. Every fiber of his being is on alert, every instinct screaming, but he can't move. 

Another one, then. 

He's had them for as long as he can remember, these waking nightmares. The only thing that keeps changing is the monster.

When he was a kid, it was a gangly shadow with no face and too many limbs. As he learned about the horrors lurking under Hawkins, it became a hulking beast with claws and a flowered maw. 

He's understood long ago that it's all in his head. The best thing he can do is keep calm, even as his heart tries to crawl out of his heaving chest. It will keep its distance then, just lurking in the corner of the room.

He's good at it. 

And then spring break happened and the monster morphed into something else again.

Ever since the day he stumbled through the portal, dragging a wailing Dustin behind him, his monster has taken a new shape. 

He was only a figure at the far end of the room at first. Steve still recognized him, even with the changes. 

Dark curls matted with blood haloing a sickly pale face. Clothes torn to shreds. Graying skin hanging from the festering hole in his jaw. 

Steve kept calm, drawing and releasing one breath at a time, telling himself that this wasn't real. He wasn't really here, just a figment of his grief and guilt. He fell back asleep to glinting black eyes watching him. 

He has been back almost every night since then. 

And he's been coming closer. 

This time, when Steve's eyes fly open, he is perched directly on top of him. Clawed hands bracketing his face, too-long legs straddling his thighs. The smell of the other place hits him like a bucket of rot and decay. 

Breathe. 

Relax.

The monster tilts its head, lips peeling back in a bizarre mockery of the smile he knew. Its hair falls around him like a curtain as it leans in. 

Relax, it's not real. 

One of those hands reaches out to run down his face, along the curve of his jaw. Its touch is cold and clammy and almost tender. 

It's not him. 

Except, he can pretend, if he wants to … right? 

Pretend those eyes are just a shade lighter, dark brown and warm instead of dead, black pits. 

Pretend the noise bubbling from that throat is a rumbly chuckle rather than a snarl. 

Pretend he doesn't see the fangs in that mouth as it leans down to nuzzle at his pulse. 

He's good at pretending. 

So good that the growl it lets out as it sinks its fangs into his flesh sounds a bit like words, even. 

“Miss me, big boy?” 

As Steve's world turns red, he begins to suspect that this may be no dream after all.

Listen, he doesn’t kill him. He just takes him to the UD and keeps him as his personal chew toy or whatever, it's fiiiine!

[pullhisteeth]

i just found this blog and i already love it, can i get a comfort fic with eddie comforting reader after getting broken up? im not sure if this is too vague of an ask, but thank you<33

hi, thank u so much! I hope this is what you had in mind ♡ you come to Eddie after a breakup and he tries to contain his own feelings. [2.1k] contains hurt/comfort, breakup, bad end of relationship, friends to lovers (kind of), fluff

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When Wayne shakes Eddie awake, it's half one in the morning. He knows this because the only light in his room is coming from the digital clock by his bed; big red numbers blaring 01:34.

"Eddie, son, you need'ta get outta bed," Wayne tells him, voice low. There's something else there, too; Eddie's not sure if he's still too far away from awake to really hear him properly, but he sounds worried.

"Wha- You alright?" he says, rubbing his eyes with his fist and sitting up on his elbow.

"Off to work, but she's outside," Wayne says, and Eddie knows what he means. He knows you're out there, knows the state you must be in. You're the only person besides himself who could make Wayne so concerned.

Without another word, Eddie tears off his comforter and makes his way through his room, shoving past his uncle, to the front door. When he swings it open he finds you, sat slumped on the step, and though your back's to him he knows you're crying.

Wayne pats him on the shoulder, giving him a sympathetic look as he leaves. Before he goes, he turns at the bottom of the stairs and crouches in front of you. Holding your shoulder gently, he whispers something Eddie can't hear, and gives you a light kiss on the crown of your head.

As he drives off, Eddie sinks down next to you, squatting so he can lean over and smooth your hair down.

"You gonna come inside?" he says softly, trying with all his might to keep his voice level, for your sake. His fingers toy with strands of your hair, and he notes that it's cold. You've been outside for a while.

You sniff and rub your hand across your face, before rising awkwardly to stand. You turn and follow him in, eyes trained down on your feet, taking his hand as it reaches for yours.

Eddie closes the door behind you and goes to the kitchen. While he fills up a cup with water, you toe off your sneakers and sit stiffly on the couch. The Munson trailer is like your own home, and has been for many years, but you feel like an alien in your own body, some contorted version of yourself possessing it.

Placing the cup on the table, Eddie takes a seat beside you, keeping his distance but angled towards you. He can't get you to look at him.

"How long were you out there?" he asks, unsure where to start but hoping this might ease you in.

You sniff again and wipe your cheek with the back of your hand. As you tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, you say, "only an hour."

Your voice is wet and thick, like swimming through treacle. It prises open a crack in Eddie's heart, the one that appeared when you came bounding into his bedroom to tell him Adam Jenkins had asked you out. It got bigger and bigger each time you told him about the dates you went on, grinning wide and gushing about this boy Eddie could not believe you'd settle for. It nearly split his heart in two the first time you came running to him with tears all down your pretty blouse, the first time he'd stood you up.

The good dates dwindled after that, and the bad ones became normal. In fact, the dates ceased altogether a few months ago, and instead you became quiet; insular. You stopped calling Eddie, and your visits to his home were few and far between.

Eddie had chewed Wayne's ear off more times than he could count over those months. But, much to Wayne's frustration, he left you to it.

"Why didn’t you just come in?" he asks you sadly, trying not to think about you outside in the cold crying over a stupid boy.

"I…" you start, but it won't come out. So he reaches for you, taking your hand slowly. When you don't protest he scoots over so your thigh touches his, and he locks his fingers with yours.

His thumb rubbing circles in the back of your hand seems to slow your breathing. He makes a note of it.

"I haven't been round for so long, I just… felt bad," you sigh, and if you crying on his front step hadn't finally broken his heart, the way your words come out all blue might just do it.

"You're allowed here whenever you want, sweets," he says, voice hitching when you hiccup another sob. Instinctively his hand leaves yours and winds around your shoulder, pulling you in, smoothing up and down your arm. You fit in like his other half, head resting on his shoulder as he lets you cry. It's thicker sobs than before, heaved between more hiccups and tormented sighs, and though it's so difficult to listen to he forces himself to, keeping the rhythm going up and down your arm.

"I'm sorry," you breathe out as the crying calms.

"Don't say that," he replies, his own cheek resting on the top of your head. "Don't gotta be sorry for anythin'."

"Yes I do."

"No, you really don't."

"I've ignored you for weeks, Eds, and now I'm crying all over your pyjamas."

"You could throw my pyjamas in the lake and I'd still love you," he says without thinking. If you notice his slip up you don't let on, though he thinks it must be because you've been saying it to each other since you met, two scruffy kids in middle school. You just don't realise what it means for him now, all these years later.

In fact, he gets a laugh out of you. It's a watery giggle, bubbling quietly up your throat, but it's still there and it makes him bite his lip to hold down a triumphant grin.

"I didn't know where else to go," you tell him. "I couldn't stay, not when he… He dumped me, Eds!"

"Oh, sweets, I-"

"No, you don't understand, he's been an asshole for months and he dumped me! That's not fair, I should have done it ages ago, I knew he was bad and I just couldn't and I-"

"Hey, hey," he coos as your breathing picks up, lowering himself to the floor where he kneels in front of you. He holds your arms in his hands and says, "c'mon, calm down, baby."

He can't help all the petnames. Each time he calls you one he wants to kick himself for being so crass when you're so shaken up, but old habits die hard.

"Deep breaths," he tells you in a whisper, hands now rubbing both arms, up and down in soothing motions. You do as he says, shutting your eyes tight and taking a breath in through your nose, holding it in, and blowing it slowly out of your mouth, just like he taught you when you had your first panic attack in high school.

"The worst part," you start, "is that I already miss him."

He just leans up on his knees and wraps you into a hug. He's at a loss, with no idea how to help you through this.

He settles on telling you it's gonna be okay over and over as he rocks you and you hug him back, crying softly into the shoulder of his t-shirt.

"Can I stay here?" you ask, mouth wetting the fabric.

"'Course you can," he says. "'S'your home too."

"Thanks, Eds."

"Stop that."

"Thank you," you repeat, and he feels the smile on your face.

"Stop it," he teases.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you." You punctuate the final one with a kiss to his neck – it's light, almost impossible to feel, but he does, and then he feels the way you stop stiff on your way back up to sitting.

"Shit," you breathe. "Sorry, I-"

"It's okay," he assures you, pulling you the rest of the way up so he can look you in the eye. "I'll grab you some pyjamas, you can clean up in the bathroom," he says, wiping the pad of his thumb under your eye where your mascara's run in watery black rivers down your cheeks.

Leaning into his hand, eyes fluttering, you says, "thanks."

He does as promised, fetching you a t-shirt and some clean pyjama pants from his room while you drink some of the water on the table. You slip into the bathroom, giving him a slight smile as you disappear behind the door, and when you close it he nearly screams into one of the sofa cushions.

Instead, he busies himself locking up the trailer, switching off lights and doing the last few dishes Wayne left behind. By the time he's done you're emerging from the bathroom, face clean if a little puffy, donning his clothes and he reconsiders the cushion-scream, because he can't believe someone can look as good as you post-breakup cry in clothes that aren't meant to fit you.

Holding his hand out, he pulls you to his room, kicking stray laundry to the corners as he goes.

"Need anything else?" he asks as you settle on the side of his bed by the wall, pulling the comforter up to your chin.

"You," you breathe, almost so quiet he doesn't hear it. Stopping still he looks at you with what must be a confused expression because you giggle at him and roll your eyes.

"Not like that, you perv," you tease and he relaxes, shoulders slumping in relief, because as much as he does wish you meant it like that, he's not an asshole who'd take advantage of his emotional best friend, and he's glad you don't think he would.

"Just need a hug," you clarify, and so he climbs in next to you after switching off the light and closing the door. He wraps you up with ease, pulling you in so you're slotted into his side, face at his chest.

"Thanks, Eddie."

"I told you, you don't gotta thank me."

"I know, but I want to."

"Oh." 

After a beat, you say, "He was an asshole, wasn't he?"

"Yeah," he replies. "But it's okay."

You groan into his t-shirt and tense up in frustration, so he rubs those soothing shapes into your back.

"I hate myself," you whine.

"Hey," he says, voice firm, pulling you back so he can look at you in the dark. "Don't you dare say that. 'S'not your fault he's a dick."

You're silent, showing no sign of stopping him.

"You're the best person I know. I dunno how he was so fuckin' blind to the fact you're literally amazing but that's his fault, not yours."

You're looking back at him with wide eyes, but there's no sense of surprise on your face. It's more like you're enthralled, entranced by what he's saying.

"You deserve everything, sweets. Not some guy who makes you cry."

"He really is just some guy, huh," you muse, and it makes him laugh, a loud, brash sound that you flinch at, before joining him. Soon, the two of you are laughing together, bent double, happy tears springing down your faces.

"He is!" Eddie agrees, voicing levelling as you continue giggling. "Just some dickhead guy. Seriously," he says as he wipes tears off your face, "I hope you don't think he has any sense."

"I just don't get why I stuck around for so long," you admit.

"Feelings are weird," he tells you, sounding far wiser than he feels. "Make you do weird things."

"You say that like you know," you say.

He hums in response, hand still on your face, holding it like you're threatening to leave him all alone.

"You should sleep," he whispers, dodging honesty, lying by omission.

It's your turn to hum, settling back into him. He lies still as you doze off, deciding to keep himself awake until he knows you're asleep. He's not far behind you, though, slipping into sleep with you wrapped around him. He doesn't mind if this is as far as it goes for now, doesn't mind waiting for you to get over this mess, but he'll do just that – wait. Wait until you're ready, wait until he can tell you the truth. Not yet, though.

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