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Eddie Munson X Fem!reader Fluff - Blog Posts
Rock star eddie, you're his drummer. One of his songs requires moans in the background. He wants it live. Wear special panties during show, boom live moans or if that's too much maybe just has you in the sound booth since he doesn't want some random chick's moans, the grand finale is the sound of you coming during the climax of the song 👀
Glitter Girl
Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Reader
Based on Glitter Girl by Dixie Dragster (Eddie's song in the fic)
A/N: I was editing this and I was like ugh this is ass, but then I got to the smut and I was like okay this is good actually lmao. This is my attempt at not answering a request with an overarching storyline like I did here, but this still ended up being about 4.6k Thank you for the request it was very slutty, perfect for rockstar!eddie.
Word Count: 4.6k
Warnings: SMUT 18+ mdni!!! unprotected sex, PiV sex, masturbation (fem), voyeurism, ass slapping, cum eating, oral sex kinda (fem rec), cum swapping lol, kinda dirty talk, edging, talk of fingering, audio recording sex, some feelings
My asks are open, come talk to me about Eddie!!!
Masterlist
You came into the studio looking for Eddie, finding him next to the band’s producer, Jared, at the soundboard.
Gareth had left a message on your machine saying Eddie needed some more backing vocals for the new song. The song was a little different from what the band had done before—more eccentric, more glam-rock—but Eddie said it would be a blast to perform live so you didn’t mind, always up for making the shows more electric.
Eddie told you he wrote the song in two hours after the insane New Year’s Eve bash the band threw at a club. You remember bits and pieces of the party—glitter falling at midnight, spitting a shot of vodka into Eddie’s mouth, making Gareth give you a lap dance, watching Jeff motorboat a bottle girl. Definitely one for the books.
But as daybreak neared and guests began drunkenly shuffling home, the night became a little clearer in your memory—leaving you and Eddie covered in glitter and confetti, giggling about how he’d be finding that shit in his hair forever. Three days later, he played the song for you and the rest of the band.
You laid down the drums for the song last Friday and your vocals the following Monday. Eddie had told the band it was a wrap, but it seems he’s changed his mind—deciding something was missing, rendering the song incomplete in his eyes.
Music is the only thing he’s ever been picky about, the one area where his usual chaos shifts into precision. It’s like he develops a Type-A personality just for that.
When he hears the door open, Eddie looks up to see you walking in, tattered jean shorts and an old band tee hanging loose on your body. He waves you into the room, ushering you over to the soundboard with him and Jared.
“Hey! Glad you got my message, sorry about the game of telephone. Apparently there’s no landline in this fucking place.” He exclaims, throwing a pointed look at Jared—like the poor guy owns the building and has a say in its architectural decisions.
You huff at his attitude, tilting your head, giving him a reprimanding, deadpan stare. Eddie loves to give the guy a hard time, much to your chagrin. It’s only because Jared’s genuinely the nicest person all of you know, especially in the LA music scene.
“No problem, although I am confused because I thought we finished everything.”
You watch as Jared starts fiddling with some buttons, getting the sound booth ready.
“Yeah, okay. See, I thought it was good–great even!” He obfuscates, “But then I had this idea…and now I wanna see how it’ll sound, and you’re the only girl…”
Your brows furrow as a confused smile overtakes your face. It sounded like he said a whole lot of nothing just now, and what does being the only girl in the band have to do with anything?
“What are you talking about?”
“Okay, force my hand,” he groans dramatically. “I think some moans would sound really fucking cool on the R–O–C–K part.”
He says it so fast, you have to take a moment to replay what you heard in your head to understand. Nervous for what you’ll say, he’s shoving his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and eyeing you intently. You hesitate, gauging whether he’s serious or not, but he doesn’t back track.
“Alright, I mean–,” you gesture to him, deferring, “you’re the musical genius.”
It’ll be a little weird moaning in a sound booth by yourself, having poor, innocent Jared monitoring the levels and Eddie coaching you, but if it’ll make the song even cooler—you’re in.
Eddie appears shocked at your deference, he really thought he’d have to run down the list he made of why it would be sick as fuck. He’s suddenly feeling very thankful to not only have a talented female drummer, but one who appreciates his artistry as much as you.
“Really?”
Shrugging, you respond, “Yeah, if you think it’ll sound cool. I trust you.” The last part is so simple but it makes him grin, excited that you’re down for this.
“Yes! Thank you!” Rushing to hug you, he lifts you off your feet in a bone crushing embrace.
When he sets you back down, you’re laughing at the child-like giddiness written all over his face. Jared lets you know the booth is ready for you, heading in there you stand behind the microphone, placing the headphones over your ears so you can hear the backing track and cues.
Jared counts you in over the master microphone, hearing the metronome. you nod your head to the beat, keeping time. When the part approaches, you stand up straight, breathily moaning the letters, spelling out ‘ROCK.’
Once you’ve done it, Jared cuts the music, turning on the soundboard mic for Eddie to give notes. You watch through the glass window as he leans down, sounding less than satisfied. “Okay…that was good, um–let’s take it from the top, okay? Gimme a little more oomf.”
Nodding your head—only slightly understanding what he means—you begin keeping time with the metronome again. You do it about three more times for him before Eddie starts running his hands through the roots of his hair, clearly frustrated at your inability to portray the tone he’s looking for.
“Eddie, I’m sorry. I don’t know what you want me to do differently.” You don’t mean to be so difficult, honestly not comprehending what’s off about your performance. And he’s not being very helpful with his notes, you’re pretty sure you’re all out of ‘oomf.’ You’re certain the last two renditions are as oomf-y as he’s going to get from you.
He shakes his head, curling his lips into his mouth, “No, it’s–uh, hold on.”
The sound from outside the booth cuts out, you watch as Eddie leans down to Jared telling him something. The guy looks at him, appearing to ask him something before Eddie nods his head, then the guy stands up and leaves. You frown at the sudden exit, Eddie sits down into the command chair, clicking the microphone back on and leaning in.
“Okay, so I asked Jared to take five. We’re gonna try this again, but—hear me out—do you think you could–,” he hesitates, working through how to make his request. “How about this, what if you—okay, this is gonna sound insane–”
Losing your patience, you speak up, “Eddie, just spit it out!”
“What about if you touched yourself? While you–you know, did the vocals…,” his words come out stilted, eyes squinting like he’s expecting you to blow up at him for his outrageous request.
Instead, you just laugh. He’s got to be joking, that’d be insane! Your eyes widen when he doesn’t laugh with you—just curling his lips inward again.
“Eddie, you can’t be serious…,” you shake your head incredulously. “Just get a porn star, or something, if you want real moans.”
He clearly rejects that sentiment, shaking his head and holding his hands out in front of him like he’s presenting at a business meeting, “No, I don’t want just any girl on this track! Plus, there’s like legal shit I don’t even wanna touch with a ten foot pole.”
Scoffing, your jaw agape, “What, and I’m easier?”
Frantically shaking his head, placating hands held out in front of him, “No! Of course not!” His voice lowers to a nervous mutter, but it still comes through loud and clear in your headphones, “I just think the muse should be on the track, that’s all.”
Your brows draw together, jerking your head back in confusion. “You wrote this song–about me?” He’s never written a song about anybody other than random hookups. Most of his songwriting is inspired by life stuff anyway. Not even his best friends got songs written for them, but he wrote this for you—about you?
When you think about the lyrics, your face heats up—to be seen in that way, to be romanticized like that…You had no idea he felt…things…for you. But now the way he stuck to your side at the party makes sense.
Usually, he’s all over the groupies and the women throwing themselves at him, he’s a gluttonous guy—he likes to have them all. But that party was notably different, he even took you to breakfast after the wild night, making you laugh as he shook more glitter from his hair into the pancakes he ordered.
Eddie shrugs, very clearly trying to seem passive, “Well, yeah, you’re my glitter girl.” He voices the nickname like it’s obvious, like it’s an endearment—he did put ‘my’ in front of it.
Huffing out a fond laugh, smile growing on your soft lips, you nod, “Fine. But you can’t watch, okay, perv?”
You tease him, but the thought of him watching is far too overwhelming for you. You just found out he feels a certain way for you. Unsure if it’s just fondness, care, like—love, even? No, that’d be preposterous. He’s your friend! Lead singer of one of the top bands right now, and you’re his drummer! You’re just like one of the guys—at least that’s what Gareth always says.
Now you’re not sure what you are—to him, at least. But you know you couldn’t handle him watching you do something so intimate.
He nods his head vigorously, “Yeah, of course! How about this, I’ll turn around and you–do your thing.”
Nodding at his earnest face, you move to unbutton your shorts. Shaking your head in disbelief that this is happening, you watch as he turns around.
“Although, to be clear—I do still need to listen to make sure I–,” he pauses, unable to choose better wording, “like–what I hear, I guess. Sorry.”
You huff, rolling your eyes at his poor choice of wording. “Yes, Eddie, I know. Don’t look!”
Raising his hands in surrender as his back is turned, “Let me know when you want me to start the track.” He wants to give you enough time to work yourself up—for lack of better words.
Taking a deep breath, shaking the nerves out of your body, you reach into your panties. It isn’t the best angle with you standing so you quickly turn around, pulling the stool up to the mic, adjusting the equipment to your new height as you sit on the edge of the wooden seat. Propping your foot on the rung of the stool, you spread your thighs, reaching back into your panties to gather the wetness at your hole.
Thankfully, Eddie is hot enough to get you going any time you see him—his long, dark curly hair, obsidian eyes, the contrast of black tattoos on pale white skin. Today, he’s wearing an old Dio band tee he cut into a muscle shirt and a pair of ripped black jeans.
Every time he leaned over the soundboard—reaching to fiddle with some controls—the gaping armholes of his shirt gave you a perfect view of his biceps, his body. It had you pressing your thighs together. Yeah, you’re good to go just looking at him.
Spreading the wetness across your folds as much as you can in the confines of your shorts, you bring your soaked fingers to your clit, catching the little nub just right, making your breath hitch. When your breath turns shallow and you’re biting your lip to withhold moans, you look up to see a hunched over Eddie through the glass. He looks like he’s straining, turned around with clenched fists, gnawing on the white knuckles.
“I’m ready.” He jumps into action at your breathy comment, reaching behind him for the button, starting the metronome track.
His strained posture doesn’t unfurl, in fact it looks like he gets even more stiff as you do the part. Circling your clit for maximum pleasure, you moan out the letters, stopping completely with shallow breaths as you wait for his notes.
Leaving your shorts unbuttoned, you remove your fingers, resting your arm on your thighs as Eddie turns around with a hand over his eyes.
“I’m decent,” you breathe, letting him know he doesn’t have to feel around the soundboard blindly to shut the track off.
Letting his hand fall, blown eyes take you in as he clears his throat, pressing the ‘on’ button for the microphone. “T–That was–good, uh, yeah, good,” clearing his throat again. “I think–okay you’re gonna hate me for this—and I swear, I’m not doing it on purpose—but when I was blind, I accidentally pressed the wrong button, so I recorded none of that.”
He bares his teeth in nervous expectation for your anger, but you just let out a shaky sigh, rolling your eyes. Par for the course with Eddie.
“Okay, fine. Just–start recording, then close your eyes this time, okay?”
“Yes. Yeah, I’ll do that, I’m sorry!”
Since you’re already worked up, you tell him to go ahead and start the track right off the bat. Precisely following your directions, he starts the track, quickly hits record, and swivels his chair to face the couch against the wall.
You do exactly the same thing as last time—running your index and middle finger through your folds before bringing it to your throbbing clit. You’re working yourself close to the edge, but never surpassing it as you moan the lines.
The notes you receive from him make you want to strangle him, he looks awfully jumpy, continuously letting his hand fall into his lap below the soundboard where you can’t see it. “That was good,” he says lightly, like it’s a consolation compliment.
The frustration of touching yourself with no orgasm at the end is getting to you, you grit out an annoyed, “Eddie!”
“I’m sorry! There’s something off about it! You know? Like it’s too–I don’t know…,” he stops to think as you huff your chest, imagining exactly how you’d run out of this booth and strangle the singer. “It’s missing that oomf,” he repeats, as if that perfectly describes why your performance is not hitting.
Oh, you’re going to kill him. You’re going to skin the fucker alive. “You said that already!”
“Wait! I think I know what it is,” your eyes widen as he pauses, raising your eyebrows expectantly.
“Please, feel free to share with the class,” you bite, thoroughly annoyed at this point.
“How exactly are you touching yourself?” He asks the question so casually like he’s asking you which football team you’re supporting in this year’s Super Bowl, like he’s an engineer trying to figure out the faulty cog in the machine.
You throw your head back, eyes on a god you know isn’t watching, praying for enough strength to spare your bandmate from your fiery fury. You laugh—sharp, incredulous. “Oh, we’re doing this?” Resigning yourself to the present situation, you answer without shame—your frustration is far too overpowering. “Okay, I’m rubbing my clit.”
He shakes his head, unruly curls shimmying with the gesture, “No, see I want like–a thrusting oomf, you know?” He’s wagging his finger like he just cracked the case, grinning, “See, I knew something was missing!”
“Okay, well, I’m not gonna finger myself for you, Eddie.” You’ve given him enough, plus you know from experience—your own fingers are not going to give him the ‘oomf’ he’s looking for.
Eddie pouts at your rejection, jaw on the floor like an indignant child being told ‘no.’
“Why not?” He’s practically whining and you tilt your head at him in disbelief that this is the ‘man’ so many women drop their panties for.
“Because! Why don’t you do it,” you argue.
His pout is gone as he shrugs his shoulders, nodding his head, “Okay.”
“Wha–,” you’re thrown off by his response, but you watch him hit record and you hear the metronome start in your ears as he joins you in the booth, unbuttoning his jeans.
“I didn’t mean–what the hell are you doing?” You look at him like he’s lost his mind—because, honestly, he has. What exactly is he doing here? Freeing one ear from the headphones, you wait for his—sure to be interesting—explanation.
“You want me to do it,” it’s half–question, half him telling you what he got from that exchange.
Shaking your head, lips parted in awe at his absurdity, “No! I mean like–you do the moans yourself if you’re gonna be so picky about it!”
Disappointment clear on his face, he leaves his jeans unbuttoned, “Well, nobody wants that!”
Laughing at his absurd comment—you, you want that—you shake your head, “I don’t think me fingering myself is really gonna sound good–”
“I beg to differ,” he snorts, eyes shooting to your wet fingers.
Giving him a reprimanding look, you add, “You know what I mean.”
“Okay, but what if…I did help you,” he implores, it’s like he’s bargaining for your pussy.
“Eddie, you can’t be serious,” smiling at him, waiting for him to crack, but all you see is wide, earnest eyes. “You really want this?”
You’re mainly asking about how badly he wants the song to reflect his vision, but you realize the question takes on a whole new meaning with what’s on the table.
Nodding his head frantically, “Yes, it means a lot to me!”
Sighing at his genuine desire to make the song he wants, you let out a subtle nod. “Fine,” you pause as he pumps his fist in victory, “But don’t be weird about it.” He immediately collects himself, bringing his energy from ‘kid who just won a sweepstakes to Disney’ to ‘solemn mourner.’ It makes you crack a smile.
You can hear the metronome of the song repeating in your ear, you watch his quickly widening eyes as you shimmy your shorts down. A raised eyebrow alerts him he should be doing the same, you put the second pair of headphones onto his hair, flattening a line into his poofy hair. He starts removing his black jeans as you turn and adjust the microphone even lower, nearly at the level of the wooden stool.
When you turn back around, you see his hard cock, standing at attention, his shirt still on—same as you, not bothering to remove the article of clothing because that’d require removing the headphones, which was too much work at the moment. His eyes are lust blown as he looks down at your half-naked body, shallow breaths moving his chest.
“Cute,” you quip at his stiff cock, admiring the jump you get for the compliment. He’s not the first naked man you’ve seen and knowing him—his ego is already enormous. He doesn’t need to get another worshipping compliment on how pretty and big his dick is, he has the groupies for that. You always try to keep him in check, this’ll be no different.
Clearly, you had him remove his pants for more than just fingering, but he wants to make sure. “So you don’t want me to finger you?”
Snorting, you shake your head, “No, if you want this to sound good, it’s gotta be the real deal.” You’ve built up enough frustration that you’re giving him creative directions now, if he’s intertwining music and pleasure—he knows music, and you know your own pleasure. “And you get one take, got it, rockstar?”
Eddie sucks in a breath at the title, nodding his head, “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. And it’s recording?”
Another nod.
You smirk at his uncharacteristic silence, turning around to rest your elbows on the seat of the stool, making sure the mic stand is right in front of your face.
“Fuck,” he mutters, the view of you bent over, chest down, ass up—presenting your pretty pussy to him—has his dick jumping, twitching with need. He moves forward, caressing the junction of your hip, squeezing the fat of your ass.
You can’t help but hum at the feel of cold metal rings on his large hands, you’re so worked up you’re practically dripping for him.
He gathers himself enough to remind you the metronome is repeating, meaning you need to pay attention for the cue to the letters.
“Just fuck me already,” you’re almost whine, rolling your hips to jut your pussy out more.
“Holy shit,” he groans, grasping his cock and rubbing it up and down your wet folds. He nearly curses at the way your lips almost suck him into your greedy hole, the way you’re pulsing, trying to lure him into your warm, wet heat.
He teases just a little more, gathering as much of your wetness onto his cock as he can. When you whine, wiggling your hips back, trying to catch the head and slide him in—he decides to put you out of your misery.
With a strong grip on your hips, Eddie thrusts in harshly, fully sinking his cock into your tight cunt. The sudden intrusion has a cross between a moan and squeal erupting from your throat, you thought he’d go slow—boy, were you wrong. He has to take a minute to steady his breathing, wishing away the impending orgasm. His body is curling over you, chest moving with stuttering breaths.
You’re so aware of his pelvis and thighs against your ass, how snug his cock is in your hole. Relishing the feeling of him balls deep inside you, you feel so full. He’s so thick, it’s driving you up the wall. Your pussy is gripping him like any moment he’ll pull out and leave you gaping.
“Oh, fuck, sweetheart,” he huffs. “Holy shit–best fucking pussy I’ve ever felt.” He’s babbling, gone completely out of his mind at the way your walls squeeze his poor cock in a vice grip. You mewl and whine at the compliment, so turned on from all the edging, you just want him to start moving already.
“Move–please, move! Fuck, Eddie,” you draw out his name, sounding pitiful and fucked out already.
He starts thrusting at a bruising pace, you feel every ridge and vein, you’re not even trying to temper your moans. Barely hearing yourself over the metronome anyway, you let him know just how good you feel.
Eddie reaches up, shoving one earphone off so he can hear your noises. All the moaning, mewling, and whining only spur him on. He’s breaking a sweat railing into your cunt, relishing the sound of skin slapping.
You hear the song start over again, knowing the cue is coming up, you try to draw your brain back from your needy pussy long enough to moan the letters. Apparently, you didn’t sound desperate enough because Eddie slaps your ass, eliciting a high-pitched yelp from your throat.
“Again,” he grits, reaching around to messily rub your clit through your shared juices.
The song is short so when it loops back around, you’re at the very precipice of an orgasm.
“Please–Eddie, please let me cum! Oh god, I need it, please!”
He groans when your walls suffocate his cock, needy and pulsing, on the very edge of the most mind blowing orgasm you’ve ever had.
“Be good, and I’ll let you,” he grunts, slapping your ass to cue you in. When you open your mouth to moan out the letters he starts vigorously yanking your body back onto his dick, meeting his already jarring thrusts. Ever the musician, he times each shove of his hips with the ticking metronome.
His hard cock knocks the air out of you as you moan every letter, sounding fucked out and desperate by the time you spell ‘ROCK’ fully.
Once you know you’ve done your part, you wail out in pleasure, “Oh god!”
Slapping your ass particularly hard, he urges you to cum, “Cum for me, baby. Lemme feel that fucking pussy choke my cock, give it to me, honey.”
The slap sent you over the edge and his words had you floating among the stars. You’re crying out in pleasure, absolutely beside yourself. Barely aware of the loss of rhythm, he shutters and jerks, drawing your attention with an urgent, “Where do you want me, baby?”
Feeling full and needy, you whine, “Inside! Please, Eddie, gimme your cum–I wan’ it so fuckin’ bad!”
He stutters out a string of curses, pumping rope after rope of warm cum into your greedy cunt. Slowing to a stop, he hunches over you. You can feel his hot breath against your shoulder blades, the softs wisps of his hair tickling your back.
Resting your chest on the stool, you let your mind come back down to earth. He moves to pull out but you reach behind to grab his hips, holding him to you.
“Hold on–jus’…wanna feel you still.” You’re exhausted, voice sounding utterly spent.
“Holy shit,” he breathes out in disbelief, thanking whatever is out there that he got to experience what he’s dreamed about for so long. Not to mention, the way you don’t want his cock to leave your pulsing pussy. He shudders as your walls twitch with aftershocks.
Eventually, he has to pull out, his soft cock no longer able to stay in. His heart rams against his ribcage at the soft whine you let out as he pulls out, he’d keep you stuffed forever if he could.
You don’t move, even though you’re free to. Staying bent over the stool, your pussy still captivating him as he looks down to see his load slowly inching out of your hole. Admiring the way the cum moves like molasses in the hot summer, he thinks about how many songs he could write just about the view of your gaping hole—still spread open from his girthy cock.
Since you don’t seem to be moving anytime soon—just resting on the stool, relishing his attention—he kneels down, spreading your ass cheeks. Leaning in to lick up the cum dribbling out of your hole, he makes sure to thrust his languid tongue in, scooping out the delicious, tangy combination of juices. A loud moan escapes your scratchy throat, not expecting such raunchy affection after everything that just transpired.
Once he gathers the juices, letting them pool on his tongue, he stands up. Reaching around your neck to pull you up, your back to his front, feeling his now half-hard cock against your ass, he spreads his hand on your jaw, effectively pushing your head to the side. He wraps his free hand around your pelvis as he thrusts his tongues into your open, panting mouth. You moan at the feeling of him swapping spit and the mix of cum into your waiting mouth. Messily kissing you, his tongue dominates your mouth, not letting your head go as he grinds against your ass.
When he pulls away leaving you breathless, you eagerly lick your lips, swallowing all the swapped spit and cum, humming at the taste. He lets you turn around in his hold—facing him, moving both hands to rest on your cheeks, leaning in for another firm kiss. Your eyes are lust blown, he’s panting, bobbing his head closer for another kiss. The kiss you’re wanting doesn’t come, though. Instead, he plants a sweet, chaste, smooch to the corner of your mouth.
“Will you go on a date with me?”
You huff out a laugh, eyes squinting with giddy humor at the backwards order of events. “Yeah.”
He grins at your hazy eyes, kissing you again.
Pulling away, your eyebrows knit with concern, “I think we just accidentally made an audio sex tape.”
“A sex mixtape,” he quips, unworried.
“Poor Jared, he’s gonna have to isolate my vocals over all the ass clapping,” you giggle.
“Eh, that perv will love it.”
A/N: Please like, comment, and reblog if you enjoyed it! Especially comments because they let me know I’m doing things right!!! Because right now I’m going a little coocoo crazy, judging my writing probably too harshly. Idk, y’all tell me what you think
Masterlist
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A/N: let me know below if you would like to be added to a permanent tags list!
Formula One:
Oscar Piastri (OP81) :
Traitor (Part One)
Traitor (Part Two)
That Night {Smut!}
Qatar Heat
Overprotective/Angry Oscar
Unexpected pet name (Requested by anon!)
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Stranger Things
Eddie Munson:
Broken Nails and Broken Promises
Shackled to you (part two of Broken Nails and Broken Promises)
Shackled To You
Eddie Muson x Reader
Part 2 to ‘Broken Nails and Broken Promises’
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Prologue:
Eddie Muson was a pain in Jim Hoppers ass, but when the boy comes to him broken and desperate to fix your relationship; the older man literally has no choice but to help.
Warnings:
angst, hurt, comfort, slight reader x Steve, Father figure Hopper, mentions of drunks and alcohol, mentions of violence
Word count: 2.9k
A/N: Here we go y’all, part 2. I hope you enjoy!
Please send me some requests! I need inspiration I’ll write for pretty much any character as long as I know enough about them ☺️🥹
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Eddie lays uncomfortably on Jim Hopper's couch. Lumps and bumps wreaking havoc on his body, the smell of old beer and sweat invading his senses. His left arm lay above him, cold metal of Hoppers cuffs biting at the skin of his wrist, the other side securing Eddie into this position.
Jim had cuffed Eddie to his couch, haphazardly tossing the boy a musky blanket and floppy pillow.
”Sleep.” Hop demanded of Eddie, tightening the cuff around a single wrist. A precaution just in case Edddie tried to run, tried to get to you before Hop could get a read. Hop couldn't risk that, he would never admit it out loud, but you're the best thing that ever could have come into Eddie’s life. Ever since you two have started dating, most of Eddie's nights have been spent with you. Walks through the dark and empty Main Street of Hawkins, gatherings with friends and family, late nights spent wrapped in each other's arms. These days Eddie was always with you, present and accounted for.
Yes, Hop had begun to enjoy his quiet nights now that Eddie Munson, the devil of Hawkins, was preoccupied by the angle on his shoulder. You kept him in check, something Hopper and the entire Hawkins PD couldn’t manage.
“And before you argue, you don’t have a choice.” The older man sighed as he swept his keys and wallet from the dining room table. Gesturing a point finger at the boy, tone stern and eyes serious.
“You sleep. I'll get eyes on the girl.”
Hop was expecting Eddie to throw one of his usual smart ass remarks his way. But was met with silence as the younger man stared off into space, seemingly weighing his options to his predicament. Eyes blurry with sleep and body heavy with fatigue. He was exhausted, yet sleep evaded him. Without you next to him, your soft body pressed against his, heat emanating off every curve. Your sweet scent filling his lungs, swirling his mind into a fuzzy haze. What was the point of even trying? It hadn’t even been a full day and already Eddie felt he was going mad. His every thought is consumed by you.
When Hopper returned an hour later, having spotted you downtown with Steve, arm in arm as you skipped into the video store. Eddie still hadn’t slept. Eyes wide and wild when the door is kicked open. Rusted hinges squeaking in distress as the split wood made contact with the nicotine stained walls. A large thud echoing throughout the small house.
“I thought I told you to sleep?” Hop interrogated, looking down at Eddie as he shook his head a soft, sad smile pulling at his lips. Hopper has to admit, the boy looked like crap. Dark bags had formed predominantly under Eddied eyes, Skin clammy and somehow even paler than usual. His body lay heavy on top of the worn cushions, long limbs stretched in every direction. Eddie's hands kept fiddling with his rings, fingers shaking as they rotated the cold metal around each digit, before moving to tug at the strands of unruly hair. The sting on his scalp comforted him. A grounding mechanism he had developed when he was young, the pain bringing him back to reality. Pulling him away from the floating feeling that had encompassed his weak body, it wasn’t enough. Eddie began to rub his hands over his face aggressively, as his breathing started to waver. Mumbling to himself as he pinched harshly at the soft skin of his cheeks, causing small red blemishes to form. He felt numb, the sharp sting from the nails now running down his face proved as a reminder. Even though his world had crumbled, his body working on autopilot while his brain went into damage repair mode, he was still alive, for now at least.
“Now.” Hopper began, standing tall in front of Eddie.
“I’m not going to uncuff you yet, mostly because I don’t want to. Partly because what I'm about to tell you may strike a nerve.” The man finished, watching closely for Eddies reaction. Now seated on the couch, legs curled under him. Hands placed on his lap, sunken eyes desperately searching Hoppers. The boy didn’t move, didn’t speak.
“I saw her walking down town with Harrington.” Hop had moved to throw his heavy body on the couch next to Eddie with an exaggerated huff.
Running a stressed hand through his hair in the process. Eddie scoffed, eyes rolling hard in his skull.
Harrington. Steve Harrington. King Steve.
The same King Steve who has an almost crippling crush on you. Eddie used to watch the way Steve's eyes never seemed to leave your frame whenever you were together. Raking over every curve and indent, burning holes through your clothes. Eddie has confronted Steve about it one drunken night in the park. Grabbing him by his collar and shoving Steve hard into the rough bark of a nearby tree. Tone cold and deadly. He would never tell Steve to leave you alone, that wasn’t Eddie's place. Eddie just gave Steve a -not so- gentle reminder that you were HIS. Patting Steve on the cheek with one hand, the other used to push Steve in the sharp bark of the tree, piercing his skin in the process.
Eddie seethed with rage at the picture of you and Steve, holding hands and laughing in the sun. Your hands roaming his skin, just like the rich boy had always wanted, always planned it seemed. Eddie's jaw clenched, body jerking in a fast motion to move up from the tattered old couch. Feet planting fast on the floor, Hoppers cuffs doing their job as the metal clanged from the tension. Eddie let out a short, sharp breath through his nostrils. Face flushed with rage and eyes boring holes into Jim.
“You see.” Hopper smirked, gesturing towards the boys trapped position.
“This is exactly why I didn’t uncuff you. What’s your plan here exactly? You gonna’ go jump Harrington in front of her, sweep her of her feet with your manly brutalistic ways?”
That’s exactly what Eddie was planning on doing.
Jim signed once more, a deep yawn rumbling through his chest. For the first time in hours, Eddie spoke. His voice came out in a harsh crack.
”I just need to talk to her. Maybe-” The boy faltered. Eyes burning with fresh tears and he swallowed back the hot bile rising in his throat.
“I just need her to know that I didn’t want what happened to happen. I froze like an idiot and now she hates me. She is probably living it up with King Steve.” The name rolled off Eddied tongue with a vicious snap.
Hopper signed again, looking up to the roof in a silent prayer. Why him? Why did Eddie have to drag him into the middle of this lovers quarrel? Teenage drama? Bullshit. That’s the word Hop landed on.
“What if I can get you two in the same room together?”
—————————————————————————-
Hopper's van pulled to a slow stop next to you, driver's side window lowering as he shouted your name, beaconing towards you. You scoffed at Hopper's story, Eddie had gotten drunk and climbed through the wrong bedroom window. Landing him in holding for the night.
“You tell Eddie that I hope he rots in a cell for the rest of his life.” You spat in Hopper's direction, feet spinning as you turned away. Hop swore under his breath. Fucking kids.
He opened the door before stepping out of his truck.
“Hey!” He yelled harshly. Jaw clenched and he spoke through his teeth. “Don’t you walk away from me young lady. Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”
The cool metal of the cuffs on your wrist caught you by surprise, jerking in Hooper's grasp and you kicked and squirmed, demanding to know the charges. Hopper didn’t want to use force, he just wanted to go back to bed for God sake. He put you in the back of the truck as you were demanding a lawyer. Hopper wasn’t about to let your stubbornness get in the way of him and the soft mattress.
You were placed in a holding room, chair cold and sticky as you sat waiting. You seethe in anger, how is it that the entire time you and Eddie were going around you never got stopped by the cops. But, the second you call it quits he somehow gets you arrested?! It was bullshit. And, to top things off, you didn’t even know what charges were being placed on you, being met with silence whenever you demanded to know. A fact you made evidently clear as you continued to yell in your cell.
“Hey assholes! Seriously, I didn't do anything. What did Eddie say? I wasn’t with him last night. I swear, you can ask Steve!”
The door to the room swung open as Hopper walked in, unlocking your cuffs before placing a firm hand on the table in front of you.
“Now, you're not being charged with shit okay. I just need you to keep an open mind.”
You tilted your head in confusion at Hopper's words, hands rubbing absently at your wrist.
The large metal door opened one more time revealing Eddie, shoulders slumping as he kept his gaze fixated on the floor. You snapped your head in Hopper's direction, body tensing. Hop said nothing as he strolled to the door, a light whistle emanating from his lips. You watched as the older man placed a hand on Eddie's shoulder, whispered something, then turned to meet your gaze again. A grin now planted on his face.
“Okay kiddos, you two play nice. I'll be back in an hour.” The door swung close behind the man, a sharp locking sound bouncing through the walls.
——————————————————————
You didn’t say a word as you shoved passed Eddie, hands pulling desperately at the door handle. Fists banging harshly on the cool metal when it didn’t budge. You were pulled back to reality by a cold hand on yours. Eddie’s long nimble fingers reach out to grasp at your fingertips in a desperate attempt to touch you. You pulled your hand from his so fast, clutching it to your chest as if his touch had caused blisters to form on your skin. Eddie’s stomach twists into knots. His eyes screwing shut, his hand lowered to his side, balled into a tight fist as the boy began to shake.
You turned to face him, breath catching as you took him in. Fresh tears cascading down his face, lip quivering in worry. His body trembled in place and he breathed erratically through his nose, desperately trying not to break down right there on the spot. His hair was a mess, even more so than usual, he was still wearing the same clothes from yesterday. A dark pit forming in your stomach as a small patch of his jeans shimmers in the dim lighting, the pink patch of strawberry lip gloss taunting you as the glitter clings to the fibers.
“Baby please-“ His voice came out in a cracked whisper.
You turned away from him, chest tightening at the sight of Eddie, your Eddie, completely and utterly wrecked. You pull your arms closer to your chest in a pathetic attempt to soothe yourself.
“Princess-“ He started again, hand coming up to comb through his hair. He didn’t move towards you, feet seemingly glued in place. You turned your face away from his, refusing to meet his eyes as he spoke.
“Sweet girl, please. I- I didn't want that to happen. Crissy she-“ He stopped again as a hiccup bubbled in his chest.
“She stopped me to ask about getting some pot. When I told her my price she was on me in seconds. I-I didn’t know what to do. I just froze.” He stopped again, eyes dragging from the floor to your feet. Slowly scanning their way up your legs, crinkling at your arms crossed heavily in your chest. His breath catches as he meets your gaze, fresh hot tears streaming down your face.
The sight was a punch to the gut for the boy, your beautiful eyes becoming puffy and red, tears tracking down your cheeks. Eddied hated himself, god he hated himself so much right now. Knowing that he was the cause of your pain, knowing he had hurt you, something he promised he would never do. He wanted to punch himself in the face. Scratch that, his fists clenched hard and his nails dug deep into his palms revelling slightly at the satisfying sting of the thin skin bursting under his nails. No, he wanted to beat the ever living shit out of himself, wanted to feel the pain that he was responsible for causing you.
You bring a hand to your nose as you sniffle, wiping away the hot tears streaming down your face. Shaking your head in disbelief. He was lying, you know what you saw.
“An-and, should have pushed her away, should have stopped it the minute I knew what was happening.” He sniffled, shuffling his feet and kicking at an invisible rock.
“I just couldn’t. I don’t know why. It’s like my brain shut down ya know?” He looked up at you again, arms wrapped around yourself. Heart hammering hard in his chest and he took one slow, cautious step towards you. Scared you would turn away from him again, fucking terrified you would just dissapear before his very eyes.
Your gaze landed on his heavy boots, slowly raising your eyes to meet his. Suddenly forgetting how to breathe as you are encased by his presence. His tall frame towering over you, hunched slightly to meet your gaze. His breath, sour and hot, a nose burning mix of smoke and vomit. His cheap cologne, mixing with his natural musk. He was everywhere, pulling at the strings of your heart as he spoke one last time.
“Sweetheart, I’m sorry. God I’m so fucking sorry.” He hiccuped again as he tried to find the right words. A cautious hand raising to graze your cheek, your body reacting to his touch as you nuzzled slightly into his hand. Eddie's lip quivered, you were so close yet so far away, you were the hammering of his heartbeat in his chest. You were the air in his lungs, the blood in his veins. You were his everything, his knees buckling slightly and a whimper pulling from his chest as you took a step towards him, closing the gap between you.
He sniffles as he brings left hand up to mirror his other. Holding your face so gently in his calloused hands. His rings cool your flushed skin as you meet his gaze, eyelashes fluttering. This was Eddie's last chance.
“I’m not here asking you to forgive me. An-and if you still want nothing to do with me after this I'll leave you alone. You won't see me again I promise. Baby girl, you are my whole world. When you showed up it's like my whole life switched to colour after being nothing but grey. You're too good for me, I know that.” He shakes his head slightly, shaking the thought from his skull.
“But I promise you this, I will spend every second of every minute of every day making it up to you. I’ll get clean, won't sell to no one anymore I-“
Eddie’s desperate rambles we’re silenced by the sweet touch of your soft lips on his. Your hands pulling him by the collar of his shirt, having heard enough, having seen enough. You touch, your sweet sweet touch. As you run your left thumb over his cheek, he breaks. A sickening crack as his knees collide with the hard concrete of the floor, buckling from the soft, sweet warmth of your touch. His body shaking as sobs wrecked through him, arms wrapping softly around your legs.
You peer down at him, hand coming up to run softly through his hair. He pulled you closed, muscles of his arms tensing, straining against the thin seams of his shirt. Your body sinks to the floor next to Eddie,your gaze pulling him in.
“Oh Eddie-.” You whispered breathily, a small sign escaping you. Arms raising to wrap around the boys shaking shoulders, pulling him to your chest as he curled into you.
No words were spoken as you allowed Eddie to pull you in, time passed slowly as Eddie's mind cleared. The sobs that once wrecked him left him tired and sore, desperate for your touch. You knew there was much more to discuss, but for now you're reveling in the feeling of Eddie, your Eddie.
And that’s how Jim Hopper found the two of you. Edward Muson, the devil of Hawkins, curled up asleep in your lap as you sat on the cold, dirty ground of the holding cell.
Soft snores and quiet whispers escaping his chapped lips as you run your fingers through his hair, a content smile on your face as Hopper opens the door.
Hopper couldn’t help the small smile tugging on his lips when he opened the door, arms crossed and eyebrows raised as you sheepishly smiled up at him as he spoke;
“Tell him when he wakes up, drinks are on me.”
End.
———————-
Tags;
@ali-r3n @iyskgd @am0iur
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Okay so, I’m being dragged in a 4 day camping trip and I need entertainment. Send me some requests!
I’m really in love with Eddie Muson right now but I’m also bored and procrastinating uni deadlines. So if you have an idea I want to hear it!
Broken Nails and Broken Promises
Eddie Munson x Reader
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Summary:
Where Eddie Munson comes banging down Jim Hoppers door, desperate to fix you relationship. One he truly and entirely destroyed in a single moment.
Warnings:
angst! (I tried), Slight mention of cheating! Very minor mentions of violence! Eddie pining over reader! Slight father son bond between Hop and Eddie! I think that’s it!
Word count: 1.7k
A/N: Y’all, it’s been a while! Now I know I’m late to the party however, Eddie Munson is one of my many fantasy husbands and I’ll be damned if you think I’m not going to change cannon just to bring him back. Hope y’all enjoy!
PART 2 HAS BEEN POSTED! “Shackled to you”
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Eddie Munson is a royal pain in Jim Hoppers ass. An annoying, persistent, smart ass prick. Shoplifting, DUI, petty theft, assault. You name it, Hopper has caught Eddie doing it. But to be fair, Hopper had always been soft on the boy. Usually slapping him in cuffs before circling around the block and releasing Eddie with a few choice words and threats of actual, serious consequences next time. Hopper was always met with Eddies wicked grin and a mock salute as the boy stalked into the night.
But, that little prick did help save the world, and yeah he did try to be a hero and sacrifice himself, winding him up in the hospital for three months. Which is why, when Eddie comes crashing through Hops door, at 6am, on a goddamn Sunday, Hopper was ready to strangle the curly haired devil and drop his body in the lake. But he was stopped with an exaggerated raise of Eddie's pointer finger in his face. Eddies other hand lay perched dramatically on his hip as the boy heaved, years of smoking and minimal cardio was enough to wind the poor stoner. Who moments earlier had barreled out of his van, not even bothering to turn the damn engine off. The machine wining angrily in the distance at the decision.
“Okay I fucked up. Big.” Eddie manages to wease out, his hands emphasising his words with an exaggerated flap.
“And I need your help. And! Before you say anything, please just.” He stopped, eyes wild, scanning the room, looking anywhere but at Jim. Breath coming out heavy through his notisriles, lip pulled tight between his teeth. Still pacing the worn floor his fingers fly through his thick hair, curling into a fist at the back of his scalp. The familiar burn as his rings tug the unruly strands proves enough to ground him. His eyes flick up to meet Hoppers, desperate and wild.
He pushed out an exasperated breath as he started again;
“Please just, let me explain.”
—————————————————-
16 hours earlier:
You has been so excited, giddy even. Staring down at your freshly manicured nails. The ends rounded into a perfect point, coated in a deep, shiny crimson. Eddies favourite colour. A striking black “E” applied so delicately to your ring nail.
You had saved for months; pocket money, coins foraged from the depths of sofas, completing odd tasks for neighbours and friends.
Griminising at the memory of deep cleaning Steve Harrintons car, a tasks that most definitely wasn’t worth the twenty bucks.
All in an effort to surprise Eddie. Your Eddie.
You two tended to have wild conversations in his trailer, legs tangled together in the sheets. Bodies entwined so perfectly it’s as though you were made just to fit with him. ‘Sculpted from the gods like clay, moulded in their image’, thats what Eddie always said. It was one night, minds fizzy with a smoke filled haze, thoughts coming and going, bouncing between each other with smiles and quiet laughter. When he grabbed your hands in his, fingers tracing so delicately over yours.
“You know what would make you, like, even more breathtaking that you already are?” The boy pondered, that wicked grin encompassing his features,
“Oh. And what would that be, pretty boy?” You queried back, the nickname causing heat to rush to Eddies cheeks. His deep eyes meeting yours as he slowly lifted your hand closer to his face. You knuckles grazing lightly over his lips as he spoke.
“I’ve always been, distracted.” He hesitated, his lip becoming trapped by his teeth; “By a girls nails, you know?”
He answered his own question before you could speak.
“The way the look.” His free hand snaking around your waist, pulling you closer, ever impossibly closer.
“The way they feel.” His breath hot in your ear sending a shock down your spine as you arched your back.
“wrapped around me, dragging down my back leaving your mark on me. Pushing into my neck.” He had to stop, eyes closing as he inhaled in your scent. Fingers curling into the soft flesh of your hip. Bodies so close, his everything encompassing yours. Twisting together into one.
“Just something that crosses my mind is all sweetheart.” He nuzzles into your neck, stumble tickling your soft skin. Mouth inching closer to your neck, the area tensing as your heartbeat crashes against your eardrums.
Yeah, that night. That was the night you made your decision and began hatching your plan.
You were going to get your nails done if it was the last thing you do. For Eddie.
Which is why when you found him, lent so casually against a pole, with Crissy fucking Cunninghma’s tounge down his throat. He left hand pressed firmly on his chest, a perfectly manicured French tip of her right grazing his cheek. One single finger nail dragging down his neck. The fucker leaning into her touch, chin lifting to grant her more access.
Well, you lost your shit. Stalking up to the pair, reaching our to practically rip the petite blondes body away from his. Shoving her away, your brain went into overdrive, letting emotion take hold. Fist flying in the air before you could even comprehend your actions, colliding hard with the left side of Crissy’s dumb, perfect face. Her body hit the ground with a hard thud, a small steam of blood flowing slowly from the girls bottom lip. You sieved in anger, letting the emotion corse through your veins.
He had tried to explain, even dropping to his knees as he pleaded, begged. Hands clasped firmly together as he tried to be heard. But you weren’t listening, angry words spitting from your mouth in a hot rage. Crissy had come to Eddie to purchase from his illicit business. The girl practically coiled herself around him, limbs encompassing his like a cobra. She had tried to convince Eddie to allower her to pay him in a other way. Before he would refuse her lips were on his, stained with strawberry lipgloss.
He didn’t want this. But he didn’t stop her. He couldn’t, feet glued in place as his brain stopped communicating with his body. And that’s how you found him. Your anger was justified, of course he knew that. But what he didn’t expect was for you to just leave, to turn on your heels and walk away, as he sits on his knees in the dust.
“Princess. Please.” He pleaded, to wrecked to even pick himself up. One arm stretching slowly in your direction. Rind glad fingers grasping at the empty pace between you.
You turn, and for a moment, the boy has hope. He looks up at you, tears falling from his darkened eyes, staining his red face with hot tears. His arm lands pathetically in his lap, waiting, hanging on your every word.
You throw something at him. The impact as patietic as he feels as the small object bounces off his chest. His eyes darting to the small, burgundy oval, tip filed to a perfect point. A crack runs through a prominent ‘E’ in dark black block font. The letter stars up at him accusingly.
“You.” You point another sharp nail in his direction, his eyes widening in surprise at the new extension. “You, Edward Muson. Are an asshole. And I never want to see your face again.”
As you walked away Eddie slammed his palm over his lips. Wiping angrily at the lingering remnants of pink sparkled lipgloss. The sweet sticky substance clinging to his skin, mocking him as the sparkles engrave themselves into the deep filberts of his jeans. His stomach twisting and throat burns as electric stomach bile rises. He spits violently, doubling over onto his hands and knees and he gags and cries. The content of his stomach landing in front of him in a wet, steaming heap. And Eddie swear he will never taste strawberries again.
Eddie tried to talk to you. If only he could explain. If only he could just see your face again, even if it’s for the last time. To touch your face, to kiss your soft lips. Ones that taste of Vanilla Coke and dark chocolate, a deep lingering of smoke cutting through all your sweetness. He called what feels like a hundred times. Even drove to your house, which he found dark and empty.
No, he needs to see you again. He needs to hear your voice. He needs to explain. To say he’s sorry.
—————————————
So that’s how Eddie ended up in Chief detective Jim Hoppers living room at 6am on a goddam Sunday morning. Pacing the floor in a chaotic and unhinged fashion, long arms flailing around him, har bouncing wild with his movements. He hadn’t slept, too caught up in his plan. His plan to get you back.
Eddie knew that if you didn’t want to interact with someone, they would never know you even existed. Which is why he also knew that words wouldn’t work in you. No, actions speak louder than words.
Jim sits in his armchair, head placed heavily in his hands. Eyes screaming at him for sleep, head pounding as Eddies words bounce around his skull. Reverberating off every bone.
As Eddies words stop, his story coming to an end. He looks at Hopper, arms pressed harsh against his sides as he waits on the older man’s reaction.
“And what exactly do you want me to do about this?” The man grunts, annoyance and fatigue evident in his tone.
For the first time in a long time, Eddies thoughts screeched to a halt. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know where you are. And most importantly he doesn’t know why he even came here. Jim hoppers house of all places, to beg the older man to help him.
The feeling claws at him, the scars etched deep in his skin burn. A reminder of the battles he fought in the past. Of the people he saved, the ones he brought back, and the ones he lost along the way.
Eddies wasn’t about to lose you to.
No way.
No. Fucking. Way.