Party Favours

Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy #1

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

Chapter One: Killer Queen

Summary:

Eddie just wants some new damn strings for his Fender.

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

Looks like no one is getting what they want today.

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

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

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

What was he doing again?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

“Eddie.”

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

He-

He’s even wearing the dumb fucking shirt.

He… looks puzzled.

“Have we… met?”

Lord help you not commit murder in this bookstore today.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You been stalking me, pretty girl?”

This time it’s your turn to choke.

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

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

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

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

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

Great.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay. I’ll take it.”

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

“… Really?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You regard him dubiously.

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

You arch your eyebrow.

“Donuts?”

Your lips begin to quirk.

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

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

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

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

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

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

...Shit.

The person I reblogged this from deserves to be happy

I tried to scroll past this. I really did

❣️ 16k slow burn, childhood best friends to lovers Eddie fic ❣️

Posting Aug 14th, night time, BST

𝖂𝖊𝖑𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝕳𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖋𝖎𝖗𝖊 𝐈𝐈𝐈

pairing: Eddie Munson x gn!reader

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

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

word count: 1858

parts: [𝐈][𝐈𝐈][𝐈𝐈𝐈]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

when you press me to your heart

dynamic: best friend!eddie munson x fem!reader

rating: G

contains: internalised mental health stigma, this one's for the readers with depression, shamelessly indulgent comfort and fluff, brief alcohol mentions, eddie being the only man allowed, reader being absolutely clueless about his feelings, two idiots yearning for each other

words: 1.9k

a/n: this is my first eddie fic and i am still a baby writer so pls be gentle! reader is a cheerleader, but not popular, but not not popular either. i’ve seen fics on here where reader is either the HBIC or an outsider who gets bullied, so here’s to all of us who aren’t really either of those. not proofread and no beta, we die like alexei

You wake up with a start, feeling like an invisible monster has taken residence sitting on your chest. Something weighs heavily in your stomach as you curl into the pillow, unwilling to acknowledge the waking world or the sunlight outside. A strange ache surges through your chest as unwelcome thoughts begin to gather in your mind, dark clouds warning of an incoming storm. It gets like this more than you’d like to admit. How are you supposed to be the sunshine-filled, happy girl that everyone knows like this? How are you going to plaster a winning smile across your face and shout about victory and team spirit at practice this afternoon? Not that you’ll even be visible from your spot at the back of the formation, you suppose. You’ll spend the parts of the routine you weren’t in watching Chrissy Cunningham, an angel if there ever was one, spinning effortlessly in and out of basket tosses and laughing with the other girls. It’s not like anyone has ever been mean to you, exactly. You still go to the squad sleepovers and the drunken post-game parties with the basketball team. You’ve just… never felt like you were meant to be there. Like any second, someone will look up and realise you’re some kind of impostor, just pretending to be a pretty little doll and saying the things that girls like you should say.

Three sharp knocks jolt you out of your thoughts. Throwing your fuzzy robe and slippers on, you peek around the door to see the smirking face of Eddie Munson on your front steps. His hair is as fluffy and out of control as always, his jeans perfectly ripped at the knees. You want to bury your face into his signature leather jacket and denim vest and inhale him, like the clean smell of his body wash could fill your head instead. “Eddie,” you breathe with relief, swinging the door open fully to allow him in. “Good morning, princess! Did the lady of the house sleep well?” he asks with only a hint of irony, sweeping his gaze over your cosy attire. Your brows wrinkle into a frown. “I’m gonna caffeinate. Do you want something?” you mumble, your comfy slippers shuffling against the kitchen tiles. “Black coffee pleaaaase,” he draws out, batting his eyelashes with mock coyness like you haven’t been buying coffee just for him the past few years. You roll your eyes at him affectionately, fixing your drinks as if on autopilot like you do everyday. The weight inside you seems to ease a little as he slides into his usual spot at the dining table, drumming his ring-laden fingers against it to a beat you don’t know. It seems insanely fast and chaotic, but his familiar tapping is strangely comforting in its own way.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Your mouth twists into a funny expression. You would never lie to him exactly, but what on earth could you possibly say? I don’t know, Eddie. I get really sad sometimes for no good reason and then have to go act like a normal person for hours so people don’t think I’m some kind of emo freak. “Didn’t sleep well,” you murmur eventually, sticking your face into the entrance of your mug to avoid his knowing gaze. Eddie ceases his tapping against the table suddenly. You look up curiously. He hesitates for a moment, hand twitching outwards as if fighting some internal battle with himself. Finally he reaches across the table and wraps his hand around yours, the cold metal of his rings soothing against the heat of his palm. “You don’t have to,” Eddie begins cautiously, “but I hope you know you can talk to me, mmkay? About anything that’s on your mind.” You attempt to assuage him with a little closed-lip smile, but his grip on your hand tightens a little. “I want you to feel like you can just exist around me, y’know? Like you don’t have to please anyone except you.”

Tears suddenly flood your eyes and you blink them away angrily, swiping at your cheeks with embarrassment. He rises quickly from his chair and wraps his arms around you wordlessly, swaying you both from side to side comfortingly. You begin to cry in earnest against his shoulder. One of his hands comes up to rub soothing circles against the curve of your spine. You expect him to launch into some kind of funny monologue, or tell you everything will be okay, but he doesn’t. He just stands with you in the silence, holding you through your pain. In a way, you think this might be better than anything he could’ve said. After a few minutes of sniffling and wiping tears, your eyes begin to clear. Eddie releases you from the hug and presses his forehead into yours, clasping your tear-soaked hands with his between your bodies. “Thanks for letting me cry on you,” you chuckle with a watery voice. “Pfft,” he scoffs, waving a hand like it’s no big deal. “Better out than in.”

“What?!” you burst in surprised laughter. “That makes no sense.”

“Exactly.”

Eddie grins at you, his big brown eyes crinkled with mirth. “Now do you need a few minutes, or do you want to get going? I hear pajama chic is really hot right now.”

A smile spreads across your face, a real one this time. “Yeah, sure, I’ll just get changed and get ready really quick.” You press a soft kiss against his cheek and he collapses against the table, hand pressed dramatically against his face where you kissed him. Today he follows you up the stairs instead of waiting, skipping three at a time before face-planting like a starfish into your bed, rumpling your sheets like nobody’s business. You can’t find it in yourself to even pretend to be mad, so you wash your face and change quickly into your cheer uniform in the bathroom before coming to sit in front of your vanity. Your hand hovers over your makeup and hair products, suddenly unsure. He’s never watched you get ready before, and you can feel his curious gaze lighting up the back of your head. Comfortable silence hangs between you as you begin a minimal routine, only doing as much as your little energy allows. You spritz perfume and go to grab your backpack as you notice Eddie running a hand tenderly over your shelves. His eyes dart from an old trophy to a stack of birthday cards, seemingly committing the mundane of your myriad belongings to memory. “I like your room. It’s real pretty,” he muses softly, staring right at you. You smile at him again as he takes your hand and leads you back down the stairs.

As you shut the passenger door of his van and move to buckle your seatbelt, you pause for a moment, turning to face him.

“What’s on your mind, princess?”

You hum thoughtfully in response.

“I was thinking… can you walk me to class today?”

A grin spreads across his face as he shifts the gear stick and begins to reverse out of your driveway, arm thrown casually across the back of your seat.

“You sure about that? You wanna be associated with Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson?” he warns dryly, drumming a new beat into the back of your headrest with his fingertips. He’s always been more concerned with your reputation than you are.

“I really don’t think anyone will care. Besides, it’s not like I’m Chrissy or Heather and people actually give a shit.”

“Alright,” he agrees eventually, a skeptical expression on his face. “Just don’t be surprised if your party invites start getting lost in the mail.”

You know he’s being silly, but something about that doesn’t sit right with you. A few moments pass as you stare out the window at the familiar trees and footpaths whizzing past.  “I don’t care if they do,” you blurt angrily all of a sudden. “It’s all bullshit anyway. We’ll all forget each other when we get to college.” Eddie’s eyebrows raise up and disappear behind his little fringe of frizzy hair.

“I see someone’s been paying attention to my cafeteria monologues. Biting social commentary is usually my thing.”

You tilt your head back against the seat and turn to face him. “Yeah, but… I just mean you’re the only one who actually, like, cares about me. You’ve seen me at my best and my worst and you’re still here. It’s easy to be friends with people when all you do is tumbling and getting drunk. What we have is – well it’s different.” He brakes a little harder than intended in his usual parking spot outside school. “It’s definitely… special,” Eddie replies tentatively, rubbing a hand across his jaw. “Listen, do you wanna come see me after the show on Saturday night? I know you’re not super into the shithole bar scene, but I think it could be nice to hang out.”

You nod quickly, trying not to read anything into it. “Yeah, sounds nice. Who else is coming?”

He grabs your hand suddenly and places it over his heart. “I’m dying here, angel. Help a guy out.”

You huff with laughter. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, y’know. Us. Hanging out. After the show.”

You side-eye him strangely. “Okay, yeah, I mean, we hang out every morning. I don’t see why not-”

“Like a date!” he bursts suddenly. Oh.

Oh.

Bravery rises up within you. You move your hand from his chest to cup his cheek where you’d kissed it earlier this morning. “That sounds really nice, Eddie,” you tell him softly. His big brown eyes meet yours and you think you might dissolve on the spot like sugar into tea. You make a point of hooking your arm around his as the two of you navigate the main hallway, attracting a couple of odd looks, but no one says anything about it. “See, I told you,” you point out, nudging him with your shoulder. “It’s not a big deal.” You both come to a stop outside your first class of the day.

“Well it’s a pretty big deal to me,” he responds with a toothy smile, guiding you backwards against a nearby locker and placing his hand by your head. Something deep within flutters delightfully at the way he cages you in. More of your classmates stream past the two of you, giving you a few more strange looks before greeting their friends like normal. You pull him into a hug suddenly. “You have a good day now,” you tell him sternly, smooshing your cheek into his chest. Eddie places a small kiss to the top of your head.

“Yes ma’am, I promise. Give Jason my love.”

You swat at him playfully, your heart considerably fuller than it had been when you woke up. The storm inside you might not ever really disappear forever, but you know that each one will pass eventually. And with each one, you know Eddie will be there.

sometimes it physically pains me to hold back my sarcastic comments 

Like excuse me-did you not hear what I just said 🙄😒

Dolly Parton photographed by Ed Caraeff, 1979.

restraint

premise: it’s not eddie’s fault that he wants you so badly, he can’t help it.

pairing: perv!eddie munson x (f)reader

word count: 1k

warnings: eighteen+ content, unaware somnophilia, so dubcon, dry humping, coming on panties, a bit obsessive!eddie.

etc: i guess i’m part of the pervy eddie club now, i hold no shame i just wish this idea didn’t come to me at five in the morning because i still have gotten no rest from it!

i do not give anyone permission to translate or repost my work, please be respectful — if you enjoyed please comment or reblog!

Eddie can’t help it, he really can’t. The little voice in the back of his head—the one that’s probably his conscience, that part of your brain that lets you know when something is morally wrong or just plain fucked up—is being steam rolled and turned into white noise as his cock hardens in his pants.

He can already feel the droplets of precum wetting the material of his boxers, making it cling to the tip of his cock.

He wonders if you can feel it, the way he’s throbbing as he grinds against your ass in slow gentle thrusts. Just enough for the friction to move your body with his, but not enough to wake you.

And yeah, he really shouldn’t be doing this but he really cannot help it. Not when you look this pretty in one of his band tees. The bottom of the shirt pulling up the more you move in bed, exposing your cotton panties, the curvature of your ass, the way the cotton clings and shapes your cheeks so perfectly.

How could he not reach out and touch?

His fingers were buzzing, burning to run along the material. His palm feeling like a furnace compared to yours when he lets it run along your back side, over the curve of your ass, your buttcheek sticking out from the bottom of the panties—index finger running along the back scheme right where your pussy hides, right where he wants to be, loves to be.

It wasn’t his fault that you looked so perfect like this, so pretty. Just as it wasn’t his fault that his cock had started throbbing to the point of pain, aching to the point of need that he had to rut against you. He would have gone insane if he didn’t.

And it wouldn’t be the first time, nor the last.

He would purchase a million tees if it meant he got this kind of show every night. Got to see your bare legs, your braless tits fill out the front so well.

God he loved the way you looked in his clothes.

Loved you like this. At his disposal, so fucking pretty for him, all his, his cock fitting perfectly against your ass—pressed between your cheeks when he finally can’t stand the pounding in his cock anymore and pulls down his pajama pants to position his cock between them. The cotton so soft. His nose buried in your hair as soft grunts fell from his open mouth.

His body even closer. Like glue to yours, your frame moving in tandem with his, quicker, harder the more pressure he puts in his movements. Enough to have your tits bouncing.

And he shouldn’t be greedy. Shouldn’t need—want—more. But you’re just so perfect and he can’t help how badly he wants you. He can’t.

So he doesn’t hesitate in moving his hand below the tee, his palm cupping your tit. Thumb running along your erect nipple, your small whimpers echo through him like a siren calling out to passing ships.

How could he not touch you like this? How could he ever stay away, not want to have his cock pressed to your body, inside of it, fucking you, feeling you all of the time.

How was it wrong to want you this bad, it couldn’t be.

“So perfect,” Eddie whines at the back of your skull. Whispering to you, hoping you can hear, feel how hard he is right now. How much he fucking aches for you to the point of frustration. “My pretty girl.”

He definitely shouldn’t come like this. On your cute little panties while you’re sound asleep. But he needs to come. Needs to mark you, needs to show you what you do to him, what you caused, why he can’t control himself around you.

And so he’s letting out a gutturaled sob into your hair as he paints the outside of your panties with his come. Wetting them, staining them with the seed you forced out of him. From making him crave you. Want you. What he couldn’t help. What your perfect body does to him.

When he pulls back to see a glob of it on one of your exposed ass cheeks he’s already growing hard again. Wants to wipe it up with his finger and push it between your lips, have you swallow it down without even knowing.

But, knowing you’ll wake up wondering, innocently clueless as to what’s on your skin, why your panties feel so weird; brings an amused kind of joy to him. Makes him want to hold you down to the bed and show you where it came from. Only this time he’d be coming inside of you.

He hisses at the sensitivity as grips the head of his cock, moves it along the wet patches of his come on the cotton. Spreads it along your purt covered cheeks. Wants you to wake up feeling soiled, soaked, wet because of him.

The ache deep in his balls is barely sedated. It never is when it comes to you. He could do it again. Ruin these panties to the point of unsavory. Or maybe he could pull them to the side, press the heat of his cock into your crack. Rub the head of his cock against it until he comes again.

Or even run the length of it along your pussy. Hear the wet noises of your folds opening up for him, greeting him like a warm embrace he wants so badly to be inside of—all of the time. You’d get so wet so quick, you have before when he’s done it. Have even come in your sleep just from the tip of his cock lightly brushing against your clit.

It never felt wrong to be with you like this. To take you like this, have you like this. You were his girl, so pretty, so perfect. He needed you, it wasn’t his fault.

And he never was any good at self control anyway.