oooh hate sex with eddie please! enemies to lovers vibes with a sub reader. Reader and Eddie butt heads constantly and he finally puts her in her place in the back of his van one day. Maybe she taunts him about not getting any bitches or not knowing what to do with a girl and he proves her wrong
Includes: mention of weed, angst, Eddie giving orders, oral (both receiving) degradation, squirting, facial, reader and Eddie are both assholes lol
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The words left your mouth before you could contain them: “You’re a real dick, Munson, you know that?” Eddie frowned back at you, looking confused. “What the fuck did I do?” he asked incredulously. “I’m literally getting your shit right now.” Eddie rifled through the glovebox in his van, trying to find the baggie of weed he’d stashed there that morning. “Why the hell else would you even be here?” You didn’t miss the slight hurt in his voice as he said what you both were thinking. Of course you were only there for drugs. You hated Eddie, and he hated you.
Getting weed from Eddie and annoying the hell out of you were the only things he was good for, as far as you were concerned. Although the idea of what he might be like to fuck had crossed your mind, you’d never allow Eddie the satisfaction of knowing you’d thought of him that way.
Today he was holding hands with another girl across the table at lunch. His eyes never left hers. His thumb rubbing the top of her knuckles. His laugh could be heard across the room.
Your eyes watery. Your emotions heavy in your chest. Your heart racing. Cheeks red from holding back tears. Top teeth chewing on your bottom lip. It’s only a break for now right.
4 monthslaterhis arm across her shoulders. Small kisses being exchanged between them. Her climbing into his van every afternoon.
Your stomach in knots. Seeing him possibly in love with another girl making you want to puke right there on the sidewalk. Hands going clammy.Its still only a break right..
7 months laterhe’s slowing dancing with her at prom to what was once your song. Her arms resting around his neck. His forehead against hers. Their smiles together could brighten up any room.
You sitting at the table not paying attention to anything your friends are saying. You can only focus on him. You notice shes wearing his guitar pick necklace. The one you used to wear. Your feet dragging you outside to be alone. The moon bright and stars filling the sky. Nothing has ever felt this wrong.Was it still a break?
1 monthlater he’s graduating with her by his side instead of you. Him spinning her as she runs to hug him. Diplomas in hand and he places the biggest kiss against her lips. “We did it baby.”
You sitting on the bleachers of Hawkins High alone. Nothing has felt normal since he walked out of your bedroom door that night. You could always move on from things but not him. Eddie was not yours anymore and you werent sure how to deal with that just yet. it definitely wasn’t just a break.
♥ Summary: Getting kidnapped from a grocery store wasn’t exactly on your to-do list, but neither was having sex with your blood-drunk vampire boyfriend on the dead bodies of your captors, so… [Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader]
♥ Warnings:18+, minors and ageless blogs dni. Violence, gore, kidnapping, gun related violence & violence against women, drinking blood, drinking blood in a sexual nature, biting, minor character death, derogatory terms used for the reader by someone other than eddie, unprotected sex, p in v sex, breeding kink, very brief dubcon, monster fucking, angst, fluff.
♥ A/N: holy fuck, i haven’t written a fem/afab reader in years. i’ve also never written smut before, so this is new.
♥ Word count: 15945
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You would think that in the two years following the murder of Chrissy Cunningham and the supposed death of Eddie Munson, Hawkins, Indiana would have calmed down a little bit. You would at least assume that they would put down their pitchforks and torches and give Eddie’s friends and loved ones some room to breathe- after all, Eddie’s name had been cleared of any and all crimes, and he was, as far as they knew, literally dead.
But nope!
Nope! No! No way! You still couldn’t leave your house without receiving a thousand angry glares from a thousand angry hicks. Really, you didn’t feel comfortable leaving the house alone anymore, and no one could blame you for that. Between the threats you’d received, the shit you’d seen, and the way the town banded together to hunt down your boyfriend in 1986, you were more than justified in feeling unsafe.
Speaking of butterflies, here are my cat butterflies I recently painted. They’ll be displayed in a coffee shop this summer so I had to take them off my shop, but if someone is interested in one, let me know! Aiming to offer some cards with them.
this is ridiculously late but belated happy birthday, mackie! (@stevethehairington) everything you do is golden and being able to call you a friend is an honor. here’s some cheesy fluff for my friend. ily. 💛
“Where’s this one from?” Featherlight warmth spreads through Steve’s core. Eddie’s finger touches his taut skin, a memory weaved in between blood and skin.
Steve presses against the touch, “That one is from when Billy Hargrove broke a plate in my head.”
Eddie’s mouth gapes open, blinking at him in disbelief, “What now?”
Steve laughs, pressing his head at the blade of Eddie’s shoulders. He basks at the heat, like a kid in a summer field, remnants of passion and magic still in the air.
“Have I never told you that story?” Steve says, muffled as he presses kisses into Eddie’s shoulders, skin and scars making up his person.
“No?!” Eddie yelps, pushing him away gently, his face slacked with confusion and concern, “Does this look like the reaction of someone who knew that Billy fucking Hargrove broke a plate on your head?”
Steve smiles, pressing his thumb against Eddie’s forehead and smoothing the furrow away, “Well, I told you that story, right? Our second time with the Upside Down. It was around that time, when Billy attacked Lucas and we got into a fight.”
“Oh.” Eddie sighs, “I really don’t want to speak ill of the dead. But— Billy.” Eddie makes a face of disgust and cringe, that makes Steve laugh.
“Let me do one.” Steve urges on, making Eddie smile and nod.
There is something so magical with the way Eddie maps out Steve. Some nights, they stay up way past making love to learn every bit of skin. Steve never understood why, no one really stayed long enough to learn the stories burrowed in his skin.
Eddie says— like a person from an actual fucking fairy tale— that Steve is a map, a map of constellations and stories, all formed from years of journey and life. If anything, Eddie says, he’s very happy that he’s the first one to do it, to discover it, to write stories about it. Steve isn’t the best explorer, but he does his best to do the same for Eddie.
Steve lets his finger dance on skin, weaving through stories he hasn’t learned yet. He wishes— hopes— that his touch is just as gentle and as warm as Eddie’s and that it brings him the same comfort his touch does for Steve.
Steve pauses on a scar too small under his jaw, barely visible now that it’s been swallowed whole by bursts of scars from where the bats gnawed at him.
“How about this one?”
Eddie smiles, brown eyes lighting up with recognition, “Oh. You found that one, huh?” Steve hums.
“Well, that one I got from dancing on stairs. I was holding a fire truck, and I slipped and fell down the stairs. My mom said I was very smart and I was trying to brace for my fall, but the fire truck got me instead.”
Steve caresses the scar, like it’s still healing and bleeding in his hands, like the same way he did some months ago, when he found Eddie bleeding to his— almost— death.
“Did you need stitches?” Steve whispers, scared that it might’ve hurt for a younger version of his Eddie.
Eddie chuckles, smoothing over his hair and leaving a kiss on his crown, kissing away the worries, “Nope. Just bled a lot, but it did stop. Left a scar though. Had so much worse since then.”
Steve nods, pursing his lips into a smile, as his hands explore against bursts of red painted on Eddie’s skin. It’s the biggest most prominent scar, the ones they’ve barely talked about since they started exploring.
“Well, that one, I am not ready to talk about yet,” Eddie says, his hands shaking as it makes contact with Steve’s scar, directly mirroring his scar, “But one thing is for sure, it’s pretty fucking metal that we have matching scars.”
Steve chokes out a laugh, batting his hands away, “One day, when you’re ready to talk about it, it’ll be a story of survival and bravery.”
Eddie doesn’t speak, but he does pull him closer, forehead against Steve’s. That’s okay, if Eddie doesn’t believe it right now. He will, someday. Because that’s what healing is, bleeding and healing and living to tell the story.
It’s okay, because Steve will be there, until stories wrinkle and fold. To explore every scar and bump and listen to his stories as Eddie writes stories about bright stars engraved on his skin.
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