cacoetheswriting

[cacoetheswriting]

is it terrible that I hope eddie never leaves and never goes back to being famous LOL. I want that boy with his son!

it’s not terrible at all! if we did a poll, i think most people reading want the same thing!

[cacoetheswriting]

[ stop scrolling, my fav show is on ]

yess exactly, eddie is for sure in his own head but he’s gonna make sure to get to know his lil family as best he can, while he still has the chance - especially his baby mama hehe

long and heavy conversation incoming soon

thank youuu <3

something has to change

chapter four from the little mess you made.

pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x singlemom!reader (modern au) word count: 3.5k

summary: slowly, settling into a new normal, eddie starts to think maybe his hometown isn't so bad. after all, you're here, with his kid. although, do you want him to stick around? especially since you've got steve.

chapter cw: suggestive & mature themes, implied intimacy | non-explicit, one night stand gone awry, secret pregnancy aka no-one told eddie he's a dad, forced proximity, mutual pining / yearning, jealousy, fluffy angst, emotional hurt / comfort, navigating family dynamics, adult language, mentions of alcohol consumption — pls let me know if i missed any!

psa: any images used in chapter headers don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also vaguely — if at all— described in the story.

As the days pass, the initial shock of varying emotions begins to recede.

The quiet, internal turmoils subside with each morning and a cup of coffee that warms the fingertips of those seated at the kitchen table: Wayne, you, and Eddie. The new normal, it seems.

Outside, the world also continues to spin.

Your weekly schedule resumes unbothered by the sudden arrival of a certain brunette rockstar, although you do find yourself thinking about him more than you probably should. Sitting at the front desk of the yoga studio, mind wandering to what Eddie’s doing now, at the house he’s bought for his uncle — the house you also occupy.

That first night, after bidding him a pleasant goodnight, you find him lingering outside the office door and staring at the pull-out with a sad glint to his brown eyes. He feels your presence almost instantly and corrects himself. An act of self-preservation he has done a few times since his unexpected appearance, but you choose not to point it out.

Clearly, there’s a lot on Eddie’s mind.

“You can take my bed,” you offer quietly. “It is supposed to be your room, after all.”

But the rockstar shakes his head, brown locks bouncing in perfect harmony.

“I’ll be fine here,” he reassures you. “Don’t worry about me, sugar.”

Perhaps you can’t get him off your mind because of the nickname that’s slipped his tongue. The one he’s called you repeatedly during that one night in New York. One you’ve not heard since, so you’ll always associate with him. “I’m yours, sugar.”.

Yours, yours, yours.

Or maybe it’s the unspoken. The doleful look in his eyes, telling a thousand different stories of something you’d associate with regret. The way his hand brushes yours ever so slightly as he passes, heading for the bathroom. A fleeting touch that sends a shockwave of electricity down your spine. 

Whatever the reason, Eddie Munson has etched himself into your thoughts yet again. A persistent melody you can't quite hum away and frankly, one you’re not entirely sure you want to forget.

Days pass and when an invite from Steve comes, for an evening of drinks and fun (as he put it), Wayne insists on babysitting. Urging you and Eddie out the door, into the warm evening.

“Time to enjoy your respective youths, while you still have them. Before I change my mind,” the eldest Munson says, although you know that’ll never happen because he truly is World’s Best Grandpa.

Eddie looks at you shyly. 

Despite spending a week and a half together, living under one roof like some sort of messed-up version of Keeping Up with the Joneses, there rarely was a chance for the two of you to talk privately again.

The rockstar slid into an established routine. Breakfast, preschool drop-off, work for you and household errands for Wayne, preschool pick-up, dinner, bedtime. Every day is the same.

Wayne tells you in a hushed tone how he’s worried about his nephew. When there’s a lull in activities, while you’re still at work and Messer in preschool, the rockstar stares at his phone until it rings and then continues hushed conversations behind the closed office doors. Something’s happened, outside of the kept secret his team most likely knew about — thanks to fucking Felix.

Then, at the weekend, so far the only one Eddie’s been here for, Wayne takes his nephew fishing on Saturday. They get back late, when you’re already cosy in bed. You hear them have a beer or two on the patio but make no attempt to join them, thinking Wayne deserves his time with his big-shot nephew more than you do. Plus you need the rest for Sunday. A day trip to the city with girls from the yoga studio and all of your kids. Three adults and five feral toddlers. By the time you arrive home, you are so rundown, you barely conquer bedtime with Messer and later, almost fall asleep under the shower.

So, Eddie looks at you shyly because you’re effectively a stranger. A stranger he shares a kid with. A kid he knows very little about, aside from what Wayne may have told him. Guilt trickles through your veins and you smile at him, earnestly.

In the car, you offer him your phone. More specifically, you open up Google Photos and scroll to the year Messer was born. Eddie takes the device, albeit hesitantly, but once his eyes scan the first image — you, severely pregnant, sitting on a yoga ball with a tub of ice-cream in one hand and a plastic spoon in the other — he settles into the passenger seat and begins to swipe through.

“You probably won’t get through all of them before we get to Steve’s,” you begin. “But you can start and just pick up wherever you leave off later on.”

The rockstar nods, glancing at you briefly to say, “Thank you.”, and his gaze locks back on the phone in his grasp. A timid smile circling his lips as he continues to scan each image, asking questions for context you’re happy to provide.

Steve’s house is on the other side of town. It’s an impressive three-story brick, featuring large windows that are accented with dark-grey shutters. A simple two-step leads to the front door which is under a cover of a marble-like balcony. Green ivy dangling between gaps of concrete. The whole thing is symmetrical as fuck. 

“Imagine the McCallister house from Home Alone, just on a slightly smaller scale,” that’s how Steve described it when he first put the downpayment on the property. Honestly, the king of modesty.

You’ve been here many times, yet as you make way down the pebbled stones, the house coming into view from behind droopy trees, it still takes your breath away. Eddie looks up from the phone, mouth slightly parting.

“That rich asshole,” he mutters under his breath and you can’t help yourself, you snort.

The rockstar’s head snaps in your direction at the sound. One brow raised, cocky grin plastered across his handsome face.

“I’m pretty sure you’ve got more money coming in,” you deadpan, killing the engine.

“I don’t live in a fucking mansion,” he replies, thumb popping behind his shoulder, pointing towards Steve’s home.

Opening the door, you tell him, “The market in California is just different,” before hopping out of the car.

Eddie follows suit, stepping around the dash, the smirk still playing on his lips.

“Last I checked, you lived in Brentwood, so don’t act like you’re slumming it, Munson.”

Handing your phone back to you, a playful glimmer lights his irises and you can’t help the smile that appears on your own expression. Finally, there’s lightness in his aura and you’re determined to keep it this way — if only for the evening.

“It’s about principal. I earned my money. Harrington was born into his.” Eddie states, his tone blithe, unserious. He takes a step closer, eyes bouncing between yours as he leans in to add, “But it’s nice to hear you’re still keeping tabs on me, sugar.”

Shoving past the rockstar, you roll your eyes. The crunch of gravel under your pumps drowns out the hammering inside your chest, caused by his sudden closeness just a second ago. By his presence overall. The magnetic pull you feel. The urge to make him happy by any means necessary.

“Steve’s worked for this.” you defend your friend, without turning to look behind at the rockstar close on your heel. You hear Eddie sigh, but you ignore the reaction and continue, “But what you’re saying is, if your parents were… comfortable, you’d reject the inheritance?”

He barks out a laugh and you bite back your own at the playful sound. 

“Now, let’s not get crazy. I’d take the money ‘cause I’m not a fucking idiot,” Eddie says. “But I’d invest it in, like, independent music labels and local venues. Not… whatever this is.” He gestures expansively at Steve’s meticulously manicured front lawn as you ring the doorbell.

“Steve invests too. He told you so last week, remember? This house is just a bonus.”

Eddie’s smile slips and his brows furrow.

“You take his side a lot.”

The sentence makes you blink.

For a moment that feels all too long, his words hang in the air between you, heavy and rather accusatory, causing a sudden shift in the comfortable rhythm of your conversation.

You want to tell the rockstar how Steve’s been by your side over the last few years, making it second nature to support him because he does the same for you. But you bite your tongue. Something tells you the last thing Eddie wants to hear is how close you and Steve are.

Luckily, the door swings open and the man in question greets you both with a wide smile. A warm embrace for you, gentle kiss to the top of your head, and a firm handshake for Eddie – whose facial features visibly jump somewhere between disdain and respect.

“Glad you could make it,” Steve says, oblivious to the odd tension.

“Thanks for having us,” Eddie mumbles and you notice how he forces the smile on his face to widen as he looks around. “Nice place you got here.”

Steve claps a hand on his friend’s back, leading him through the foyer.

“Really? I thought you’d shit all over it,” the brunette half-laughs. “Call me a pretentious douche or a rich asshole.”

Eddie glances at you over his shoulder, eyes twinkling once more, while you chew the inside of your cheek. The unsettling beginning of an argument you two almost had fades fast when he winks before looking back to Steve, listening (or maybe pretending to listen) to the story of how this extravagant purchase came about.

In the large, open kitchen, the three of you are greeted by some of Steve's old high school friends. Nancy, Jonathan, Robin. People you’ve met before at various occasions over the last few years. People who have not seen — or heard from — Eddie since he left Hawkins in search for a greater life. Although, from what you’ve gathered, the rockstar wasn’t entirely friendly with the bunch before he left either.

They welcome you first. Hugging kindly and asking about Messer. Then, one by one, they turn to look at the brunette man, who’s standing stiffly in the archway, unsure what to do with his limbs.

“Hey,” Eddie says, awkwardly waving his hand.

Nobody moves. The silence is palpable, only sound being a faint murmur of the wind outside.

Odd? Tense? Yes, and yes. Your heart aches for the brunette hanging around the entrance of the kitchen because this is clearly hard for him. Being back in his hometown for reasons still unknown to you, facing a life-altering secret on arrival, dealing with the betrayal caused by everyone — including you — in the form of keeping Messer away from him. And now, facing people he went to high school with, pretending everything is peachy keen.

Eddie oozes confidence. That’s his thing. A big reason why the rockstar skyrocketed to stardom and why millions of fans chant his name like he’s their version of God. Up on that stage, in front of a camera, no one does it like Eddie Munson.

Looking at him here, however, he looks lost.

Swallowing a breath, you amble towards him and only stop when the tips of his black-leather, most likely designer boots brush your much less fancy shoes. His brown-eyes flicker to yours, laced with confusion, and you try to offer him an encouraging smile before shooting a quick look over your shoulder. One that indicates for the group to engage in their own conversation, for the time being.

“You okay?” Once no one is paying particular attention, although you know they’re still listening in, the question rolls off your tongue in a hushed tone.

Eddie sighs quietly. “It’s uh, fuck…”

“Tell me,” you urge and before you can talk yourself out of your next move, you place your hand on his bare forearm, squeezing gently.

His gaze briefly jumps to where your fingers hold his tattooed skin. He proceeds to take a shaky breath, then looks directly into your eyes, searching deep. Perhaps for an answer to his own internal turmoil, or a way to answer your question without uttering a word. As if you held the quick fix to whatever he’s currently feeling.

“It’s everything and uh, nothing…” Eddie says, a hand rustling through his already messy hair. “This whole damn situation. It’s a lot, you know? And I don’t want to feel like people are judging me for something I had no control over.”

You detect a double meaning to the rockstar’s last sentence, but choose to focus on the matter you know first hand.

“No one here is judging you, Eddie.” You affirm, squeezing the muscle of his arm once more. His Adam's apple bobs at the sensation, but he doesn’t tell you to stop, or remove your gentle grip. “These are your friends and I know they feel like shit for keeping Messer from you. I definitely do.”

“You shouldn’t,” he says and places a hand on top of yours, trapping it on his forearm. “You tried. It’s not your fault.” Eddie’s voice is low, rough, although there’s a weariness to the tone, one he's trying to hide.

Nodding, you smile sweetly.

“Then you get out of your own head too, okay? Try to enjoy yourself tonight, because I’m pretty sure Wayne will kick your ass if he finds out you moped about.”

This makes Eddie chuckle and your grin grows tenfold, heart pattering behind your ribcage. He reminds you of Messer when he laughs and God, you’d do anything to bottle the sound.

Turning to face the group, your fingers slide down his skin until they reach his palm and you pull him away from the archway, deeper into the kitchen. 

You try to ignore the way your entire being is crackling in short, sharp bursts, like logs on a fire. Ignore your imagination, which is running wild with memories of that night in New York when you held his hand for real, guided it along your body. You force those feelings down because Eddie’s already feeling out of place, surely the last thing he needs is his baby mama acting a fool.

“Guys,” you call the attention of everyone else, then jokingly, to ease any sort of tension, continue, “This is Eddie. Messer’s dad.”

The hush eases and is replaced by a wave of titters as, one by one, Nancy, Jonathan, and Robin, approach the rockstar and re-introduce themselves.

You let go of Eddie’s arm, stepping away to give him space for quick handshakes and hugs. His gaze though, it follows you. Even as he’s embracing his old friends, his eyes don’t leave your frame.

Standing by Steve, you can feel Eddie’s stare and you desperately want to know what he’s thinking about. If you helped the situation, or made it worse. Frankly, you want to know everything about him, although, again, that’s not your place in his world. So, you opt to wonder.

Eddie’s wondering too. 

He's wondering about the comfort you offered moments ago, in a room full of his people. He's wondering if the faint glow he sees on your cheeks is a mirror of the warmth spreading through his own chest. And most of all, he's wondering if you noticed the way his hand instinctively followed yours after you dropped the physical hold you had on him because if Eddie had it his way, he’d have your hand in his the entire night.

But you’re suddenly next to Steve and the rockstar is feeling all sorts of confused.

He’s not really spent time with you since that very first day back in Hawkins. You lead a busy life, that much is clear, and Eddie’s not entirely keen to disrupt your peace. Has he secretly hoped for more opportunities to talk with you one-on-one? Absolutely. He’s not going to be a dick about it though. You’ve got shit to do, a life to continue. He’s just a visitor, stopping by until it’s deemed safe to return to the glitz and glamour.

Rationally, Eddie knows he shouldn’t get too invested in whatever you have going on. Yes, he’ll remain in Messer’s life to the level you’ll allow, but that’s where it should end. Yet, with every day that’s passing, he’s aching to be close to you in any capacity. Making breakfast, cleaning up, and bedtime with the kid you share. The little things. They’ve brought the rockstar more peace than he’s ever experienced.

And now, you’re calming him down. Prioritising him. Offering up kindness for nothing in return and Eddie’s not quite sure how he’ll be able to let that go, when the time comes.

There’s also Steve Harrington.

Your defensive stance earlier, and the way you cling to the King of Hawkins now, makes Eddie think there’s definitely something going on. Something that is more than just platonic. But again, it’s not his business. He has to remind himself of that fact when his jaw clenches and his stomach twists.

Eddie continues to watch you though. Less intense because he’s not a creep, but he pays attention. To the things that make you light up, make you laugh. To the topics that make you grimace, close your eyes as if you’re willing the image to leave your mind. He’s paying attention to your voice when you speak about the things you’re passionate about — photography — and the shift in tone when it’s anything less than. 

He notices the glimmer in your eyes when you talk about Messer and his pulse quickens when you catch his gaze whenever the toddler is brought into conversation. A silent confirmation, understanding, that you’re not ashamed the rockstar is his father. In fact, Eddie would deduce the look in your eyes as pride. Which is crazy because he’s not done anything to prove he’s worthy of the title. Although, he is trying.

Unbeknown to you, or Wayne, Eddie spent the better part of the week-and-a-half he’s been back, in constant conversations with his legal team. 

His agent, Smithie, called him in a panic the very same night Eddie texted Felix about Messer. The older man admitted to also knowing about the child — kudos to Felix — and continuously keeping the situation out of the press, killing stories and whispers whenever they circled the rumour mill. 

“We only had your best interest at heart, Edward.” 

Smithie’s confession only fueled Eddie’s resolve. He may not have been there for the first three years of his kid’s life, but he’s damn well going to make sure to be here now. Even if it’s only financially. 

Against the advice of his agent, the rockstar instructed his lawyers to prepare a comprehensive plan because this isn’t just about acknowledging paternity — which he’s not officially done since the public doesn’t know, yet. This is about ensuring his child’s future. So, a trust fund has been established and Eddie also demanded an evaluation of royalties, insisting on a significant portion being set aside for Messer.

He just needs to tell you. 

He knows this information will most likely send you into a frenzy, but he can make you understand. Eddie may not be ready to face the public scrutiny and potential career fallout over his last debacle, but prioritizing his child's well-being and your peace of mind, above all else, is a stance he’s prepared to fight for.

“So, Eddie…” Robin hails his attention from across the table. “What’s life like on the road?”

The rockstar swallows a bite of a fancy cheese Steve put out, and grins. 

“Oh man, it’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of,” he answers honestly. “There’s the highs. Venues bursting at the seams, everyone singing along, the sheer energy of it all. Nothing comes close.” 

Sneaking a glance in your direction, he takes a swig of his drink and continues, “Then there's the lows, long hours, truck stop coffee that could strip paint, and my bandmates' questionable hygiene after partying all night instead of showering post shows.” 

Robin chuckles, nodding along. “Gross.”

“Yeah.” Eddie nods with a smirk. 

“But it’s everything you’ve ever wanted, right?” Steve probes, “I’m sure even the bad parts are good since you're doing what you love.”

The rockstar looks to his left, meeting Harrington’s disarming gaze. Eddie’s sure his friend means nothing by the statement, yet he can’t help but feel there’s a question within. One that sounds something like: “when are you fucking off again, so I can enjoy my time with your baby mama in peace?”. Although, he’s being ridiculous thinking this.

“Why?” Eddie asks, slightly off-tone. “You thinking of joining the circus?”

Steve snorts. “Hell no. I’m happy here, dude.”

“Well, I’m happy here too,” Eddie tells him before he can think better of it. And as the table exchanges a set of glances that he’s not entirely paying attention to — busy looking at you again, to gauge your reaction — the rockstar realises that perhaps it’s true.

But that would be crazy since he’s only ever wanted to run away from Hawkins. His return is circumstantial, at best. He’s not happy, Eddie tells himself. He’s just in his head because he’s learned half of his soul is here. 

In the shape of a toddler (and the young boy's mom).

as always, thank you for reading! pls support your writers by commenting & reblogging <3

story masterlist

tagging some cool people that expressed interest (if you want to be removed, just let me know), and if anyone wants to be added- also let me know:

@tvserie-s-world @probablyin-bed @the-dumpster-fire-of-life @darknesseddiem @kellsck @althaiareads @streamafterlaughter @ali-r3n @ratsematary @alyisdead @kravitzwhore @aestheticsunflower19 @s1mp-4-ga11y @monstermunsonswife-blog @xingyuluvr @ari-joe @dearestro @spider-starry @vodkapetalz-blog @ilovetaquitosmmmm @angelbabyivy @cupidbloaterz @fishinsuits @thedoubleexposurephotography @thrashcam @kravitzwhore @maskofmirrors @taylorswiftsloverr @djodirt @reidsgubbler @wendyxox @obsessed-midwest-princess @mdurdenpitt @talknerdytome5391 @stitchlover324 @tigolebittiez

[cacoetheswriting]

something has to change

chapter four from the little mess you made.

pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x singlemom!reader (modern au) word count: 3.5k

summary: slowly, settling into a new normal, eddie starts to think maybe his hometown isn't so bad. after all, you're here, with his kid. although, do you want him to stick around? especially since you've got steve.

chapter cw: suggestive & mature themes, implied intimacy | non-explicit, one night stand gone awry, secret pregnancy aka no-one told eddie he's a dad, forced proximity, mutual pining / yearning, jealousy, fluffy angst, emotional hurt / comfort, navigating family dynamics, adult language, mentions of alcohol consumption — pls let me know if i missed any!

psa: any images used in chapter headers don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also vaguely — if at all— described in the story.

As the days pass, the initial shock of varying emotions begins to recede.

The quiet, internal turmoils subside with each morning and a cup of coffee that warms the fingertips of those seated at the kitchen table: Wayne, you, and Eddie. The new normal, it seems.

Outside, the world also continues to spin.

Your weekly schedule resumes unbothered by the sudden arrival of a certain brunette rockstar, although you do find yourself thinking about him more than you probably should. Sitting at the front desk of the yoga studio, mind wandering to what Eddie’s doing now, at the house he’s bought for his uncle — the house you also occupy.

That first night, after bidding him a pleasant goodnight, you find him lingering outside the office door and staring at the pull-out with a sad glint to his brown eyes. He feels your presence almost instantly and corrects himself. An act of self-preservation he has done a few times since his unexpected appearance, but you choose not to point it out.

Clearly, there’s a lot on Eddie’s mind.

“You can take my bed,” you offer quietly. “It is supposed to be your room, after all.”

But the rockstar shakes his head, brown locks bouncing in perfect harmony.

“I’ll be fine here,” he reassures you. “Don’t worry about me, sugar.”

Perhaps you can’t get him off your mind because of the nickname that’s slipped his tongue. The one he’s called you repeatedly during that one night in New York. One you’ve not heard since, so you’ll always associate with him. “I’m yours, sugar.”.

Yours, yours, yours.

Or maybe it’s the unspoken. The doleful look in his eyes, telling a thousand different stories of something you’d associate with regret. The way his hand brushes yours ever so slightly as he passes, heading for the bathroom. A fleeting touch that sends a shockwave of electricity down your spine. 

Whatever the reason, Eddie Munson has etched himself into your thoughts yet again. A persistent melody you can't quite hum away and frankly, one you’re not entirely sure you want to forget.

Days pass and when an invite from Steve comes, for an evening of drinks and fun (as he put it), Wayne insists on babysitting. Urging you and Eddie out the door, into the warm evening.

“Time to enjoy your respective youths, while you still have them. Before I change my mind,” the eldest Munson says, although you know that’ll never happen because he truly is World’s Best Grandpa.

Eddie looks at you shyly. 

Despite spending a week and a half together, living under one roof like some sort of messed-up version of Keeping Up with the Joneses, there rarely was a chance for the two of you to talk privately again.

The rockstar slid into an established routine. Breakfast, preschool drop-off, work for you and household errands for Wayne, preschool pick-up, dinner, bedtime. Every day is the same.

Wayne tells you in a hushed tone how he’s worried about his nephew. When there’s a lull in activities, while you’re still at work and Messer in preschool, the rockstar stares at his phone until it rings and then continues hushed conversations behind the closed office doors. Something’s happened, outside of the kept secret his team most likely knew about — thanks to fucking Felix.

Then, at the weekend, so far the only one Eddie’s been here for, Wayne takes his nephew fishing on Saturday. They get back late, when you’re already cosy in bed. You hear them have a beer or two on the patio but make no attempt to join them, thinking Wayne deserves his time with his big-shot nephew more than you do. Plus you need the rest for Sunday. A day trip to the city with girls from the yoga studio and all of your kids. Three adults and five feral toddlers. By the time you arrive home, you are so rundown, you barely conquer bedtime with Messer and later, almost fall asleep under the shower.

So, Eddie looks at you shyly because you’re effectively a stranger. A stranger he shares a kid with. A kid he knows very little about, aside from what Wayne may have told him. Guilt trickles through your veins and you smile at him, earnestly.

In the car, you offer him your phone. More specifically, you open up Google Photos and scroll to the year Messer was born. Eddie takes the device, albeit hesitantly, but once his eyes scan the first image — you, severely pregnant, sitting on a yoga ball with a tub of ice-cream in one hand and a plastic spoon in the other — he settles into the passenger seat and begins to swipe through.

“You probably won’t get through all of them before we get to Steve’s,” you begin. “But you can start and just pick up wherever you leave off later on.”

The rockstar nods, glancing at you briefly to say, “Thank you.”, and his gaze locks back on the phone in his grasp. A timid smile circling his lips as he continues to scan each image, asking questions for context you’re happy to provide.

Steve’s house is on the other side of town. It’s an impressive three-story brick, featuring large windows that are accented with dark-grey shutters. A simple two-step leads to the front door which is under a cover of a marble-like balcony. Green ivy dangling between gaps of concrete. The whole thing is symmetrical as fuck. 

“Imagine the McCallister house from Home Alone, just on a slightly smaller scale,” that’s how Steve described it when he first put the downpayment on the property. Honestly, the king of modesty.

You’ve been here many times, yet as you make way down the pebbled stones, the house coming into view from behind droopy trees, it still takes your breath away. Eddie looks up from the phone, mouth slightly parting.

“That rich asshole,” he mutters under his breath and you can’t help yourself, you snort.

The rockstar’s head snaps in your direction at the sound. One brow raised, cocky grin plastered across his handsome face.

“I’m pretty sure you’ve got more money coming in,” you deadpan, killing the engine.

“I don’t live in a fucking mansion,” he replies, thumb popping behind his shoulder, pointing towards Steve’s home.

Opening the door, you tell him, “The market in California is just different,” before hopping out of the car.

Eddie follows suit, stepping around the dash, the smirk still playing on his lips.

“Last I checked, you lived in Brentwood, so don’t act like you’re slumming it, Munson.”

Handing your phone back to you, a playful glimmer lights his irises and you can’t help the smile that appears on your own expression. Finally, there’s lightness in his aura and you’re determined to keep it this way — if only for the evening.

“It’s about principal. I earned my money. Harrington was born into his.” Eddie states, his tone blithe, unserious. He takes a step closer, eyes bouncing between yours as he leans in to add, “But it’s nice to hear you’re still keeping tabs on me, sugar.”

Shoving past the rockstar, you roll your eyes. The crunch of gravel under your pumps drowns out the hammering inside your chest, caused by his sudden closeness just a second ago. By his presence overall. The magnetic pull you feel. The urge to make him happy by any means necessary.

“Steve’s worked for this.” you defend your friend, without turning to look behind at the rockstar close on your heel. You hear Eddie sigh, but you ignore the reaction and continue, “But what you’re saying is, if your parents were… comfortable, you’d reject the inheritance?”

He barks out a laugh and you bite back your own at the playful sound. 

“Now, let’s not get crazy. I’d take the money ‘cause I’m not a fucking idiot,” Eddie says. “But I’d invest it in, like, independent music labels and local venues. Not… whatever this is.” He gestures expansively at Steve’s meticulously manicured front lawn as you ring the doorbell.

“Steve invests too. He told you so last week, remember? This house is just a bonus.”

Eddie’s smile slips and his brows furrow.

“You take his side a lot.”

The sentence makes you blink.

For a moment that feels all too long, his words hang in the air between you, heavy and rather accusatory, causing a sudden shift in the comfortable rhythm of your conversation.

You want to tell the rockstar how Steve’s been by your side over the last few years, making it second nature to support him because he does the same for you. But you bite your tongue. Something tells you the last thing Eddie wants to hear is how close you and Steve are.

Luckily, the door swings open and the man in question greets you both with a wide smile. A warm embrace for you, gentle kiss to the top of your head, and a firm handshake for Eddie – whose facial features visibly jump somewhere between disdain and respect.

“Glad you could make it,” Steve says, oblivious to the odd tension.

“Thanks for having us,” Eddie mumbles and you notice how he forces the smile on his face to widen as he looks around. “Nice place you got here.”

Steve claps a hand on his friend’s back, leading him through the foyer.

“Really? I thought you’d shit all over it,” the brunette half-laughs. “Call me a pretentious douche or a rich asshole.”

Eddie glances at you over his shoulder, eyes twinkling once more, while you chew the inside of your cheek. The unsettling beginning of an argument you two almost had fades fast when he winks before looking back to Steve, listening (or maybe pretending to listen) to the story of how this extravagant purchase came about.

In the large, open kitchen, the three of you are greeted by some of Steve's old high school friends. Nancy, Jonathan, Robin. People you’ve met before at various occasions over the last few years. People who have not seen — or heard from — Eddie since he left Hawkins in search for a greater life. Although, from what you’ve gathered, the rockstar wasn’t entirely friendly with the bunch before he left either.

They welcome you first. Hugging kindly and asking about Messer. Then, one by one, they turn to look at the brunette man, who’s standing stiffly in the archway, unsure what to do with his limbs.

“Hey,” Eddie says, awkwardly waving his hand.

Nobody moves. The silence is palpable, only sound being a faint murmur of the wind outside.

Odd? Tense? Yes, and yes. Your heart aches for the brunette hanging around the entrance of the kitchen because this is clearly hard for him. Being back in his hometown for reasons still unknown to you, facing a life-altering secret on arrival, dealing with the betrayal caused by everyone — including you — in the form of keeping Messer away from him. And now, facing people he went to high school with, pretending everything is peachy keen.

Eddie oozes confidence. That’s his thing. A big reason why the rockstar skyrocketed to stardom and why millions of fans chant his name like he’s their version of God. Up on that stage, in front of a camera, no one does it like Eddie Munson.

Looking at him here, however, he looks lost.

Swallowing a breath, you amble towards him and only stop when the tips of his black-leather, most likely designer boots brush your much less fancy shoes. His brown-eyes flicker to yours, laced with confusion, and you try to offer him an encouraging smile before shooting a quick look over your shoulder. One that indicates for the group to engage in their own conversation, for the time being.

“You okay?” Once no one is paying particular attention, although you know they’re still listening in, the question rolls off your tongue in a hushed tone.

Eddie sighs quietly. “It’s uh, fuck…”

“Tell me,” you urge and before you can talk yourself out of your next move, you place your hand on his bare forearm, squeezing gently.

His gaze briefly jumps to where your fingers hold his tattooed skin. He proceeds to take a shaky breath, then looks directly into your eyes, searching deep. Perhaps for an answer to his own internal turmoil, or a way to answer your question without uttering a word. As if you held the quick fix to whatever he’s currently feeling.

“It’s everything and uh, nothing…” Eddie says, a hand rustling through his already messy hair. “This whole damn situation. It’s a lot, you know? And I don’t want to feel like people are judging me for something I had no control over.”

You detect a double meaning to the rockstar’s last sentence, but choose to focus on the matter you know first hand.

“No one here is judging you, Eddie.” You affirm, squeezing the muscle of his arm once more. His Adam's apple bobs at the sensation, but he doesn’t tell you to stop, or remove your gentle grip. “These are your friends and I know they feel like shit for keeping Messer from you. I definitely do.”

“You shouldn’t,” he says and places a hand on top of yours, trapping it on his forearm. “You tried. It’s not your fault.” Eddie’s voice is low, rough, although there’s a weariness to the tone, one he's trying to hide.

Nodding, you smile sweetly.

“Then you get out of your own head too, okay? Try to enjoy yourself tonight, because I’m pretty sure Wayne will kick your ass if he finds out you moped about.”

This makes Eddie chuckle and your grin grows tenfold, heart pattering behind your ribcage. He reminds you of Messer when he laughs and God, you’d do anything to bottle the sound.

Turning to face the group, your fingers slide down his skin until they reach his palm and you pull him away from the archway, deeper into the kitchen. 

You try to ignore the way your entire being is crackling in short, sharp bursts, like logs on a fire. Ignore your imagination, which is running wild with memories of that night in New York when you held his hand for real, guided it along your body. You force those feelings down because Eddie’s already feeling out of place, surely the last thing he needs is his baby mama acting a fool.

“Guys,” you call the attention of everyone else, then jokingly, to ease any sort of tension, continue, “This is Eddie. Messer’s dad.”

The hush eases and is replaced by a wave of titters as, one by one, Nancy, Jonathan, and Robin, approach the rockstar and re-introduce themselves.

You let go of Eddie’s arm, stepping away to give him space for quick handshakes and hugs. His gaze though, it follows you. Even as he’s embracing his old friends, his eyes don’t leave your frame.

Standing by Steve, you can feel Eddie’s stare and you desperately want to know what he’s thinking about. If you helped the situation, or made it worse. Frankly, you want to know everything about him, although, again, that’s not your place in his world. So, you opt to wonder.

Eddie’s wondering too. 

He's wondering about the comfort you offered moments ago, in a room full of his people. He's wondering if the faint glow he sees on your cheeks is a mirror of the warmth spreading through his own chest. And most of all, he's wondering if you noticed the way his hand instinctively followed yours after you dropped the physical hold you had on him because if Eddie had it his way, he’d have your hand in his the entire night.

But you’re suddenly next to Steve and the rockstar is feeling all sorts of confused.

He’s not really spent time with you since that very first day back in Hawkins. You lead a busy life, that much is clear, and Eddie’s not entirely keen to disrupt your peace. Has he secretly hoped for more opportunities to talk with you one-on-one? Absolutely. He’s not going to be a dick about it though. You’ve got shit to do, a life to continue. He’s just a visitor, stopping by until it’s deemed safe to return to the glitz and glamour.

Rationally, Eddie knows he shouldn’t get too invested in whatever you have going on. Yes, he’ll remain in Messer’s life to the level you’ll allow, but that’s where it should end. Yet, with every day that’s passing, he’s aching to be close to you in any capacity. Making breakfast, cleaning up, and bedtime with the kid you share. The little things. They’ve brought the rockstar more peace than he’s ever experienced.

And now, you’re calming him down. Prioritising him. Offering up kindness for nothing in return and Eddie’s not quite sure how he’ll be able to let that go, when the time comes.

There’s also Steve Harrington.

Your defensive stance earlier, and the way you cling to the King of Hawkins now, makes Eddie think there’s definitely something going on. Something that is more than just platonic. But again, it’s not his business. He has to remind himself of that fact when his jaw clenches and his stomach twists.

Eddie continues to watch you though. Less intense because he’s not a creep, but he pays attention. To the things that make you light up, make you laugh. To the topics that make you grimace, close your eyes as if you’re willing the image to leave your mind. He’s paying attention to your voice when you speak about the things you’re passionate about — photography — and the shift in tone when it’s anything less than. 

He notices the glimmer in your eyes when you talk about Messer and his pulse quickens when you catch his gaze whenever the toddler is brought into conversation. A silent confirmation, understanding, that you’re not ashamed the rockstar is his father. In fact, Eddie would deduce the look in your eyes as pride. Which is crazy because he’s not done anything to prove he’s worthy of the title. Although, he is trying.

Unbeknown to you, or Wayne, Eddie spent the better part of the week-and-a-half he’s been back, in constant conversations with his legal team. 

His agent, Smithie, called him in a panic the very same night Eddie texted Felix about Messer. The older man admitted to also knowing about the child — kudos to Felix — and continuously keeping the situation out of the press, killing stories and whispers whenever they circled the rumour mill. 

“We only had your best interest at heart, Edward.” 

Smithie’s confession only fueled Eddie’s resolve. He may not have been there for the first three years of his kid’s life, but he’s damn well going to make sure to be here now. Even if it’s only financially. 

Against the advice of his agent, the rockstar instructed his lawyers to prepare a comprehensive plan because this isn’t just about acknowledging paternity — which he’s not officially done since the public doesn’t know, yet. This is about ensuring his child’s future. So, a trust fund has been established and Eddie also demanded an evaluation of royalties, insisting on a significant portion being set aside for Messer.

He just needs to tell you. 

He knows this information will most likely send you into a frenzy, but he can make you understand. Eddie may not be ready to face the public scrutiny and potential career fallout over his last debacle, but prioritizing his child's well-being and your peace of mind, above all else, is a stance he’s prepared to fight for.

“So, Eddie…” Robin hails his attention from across the table. “What’s life like on the road?”

The rockstar swallows a bite of a fancy cheese Steve put out, and grins. 

“Oh man, it’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of,” he answers honestly. “There’s the highs. Venues bursting at the seams, everyone singing along, the sheer energy of it all. Nothing comes close.” 

Sneaking a glance in your direction, he takes a swig of his drink and continues, “Then there's the lows, long hours, truck stop coffee that could strip paint, and my bandmates' questionable hygiene after partying all night instead of showering post shows.” 

Robin chuckles, nodding along. “Gross.”

“Yeah.” Eddie nods with a smirk. 

“But it’s everything you’ve ever wanted, right?” Steve probes, “I’m sure even the bad parts are good since you're doing what you love.”

The rockstar looks to his left, meeting Harrington’s disarming gaze. Eddie’s sure his friend means nothing by the statement, yet he can’t help but feel there’s a question within. One that sounds something like: “when are you fucking off again, so I can enjoy my time with your baby mama in peace?”. Although, he’s being ridiculous thinking this.

“Why?” Eddie asks, slightly off-tone. “You thinking of joining the circus?”

Steve snorts. “Hell no. I’m happy here, dude.”

“Well, I’m happy here too,” Eddie tells him before he can think better of it. And as the table exchanges a set of glances that he’s not entirely paying attention to — busy looking at you again, to gauge your reaction — the rockstar realises that perhaps it’s true.

But that would be crazy since he’s only ever wanted to run away from Hawkins. His return is circumstantial, at best. He’s not happy, Eddie tells himself. He’s just in his head because he’s learned half of his soul is here. 

In the shape of a toddler (and the young boy's mom).

as always, thank you for reading! pls support your writers by commenting & reblogging <3

story masterlist

tagging some cool people that expressed interest (if you want to be removed, just let me know), and if anyone wants to be added- also let me know:

@tvserie-s-world @probablyin-bed @the-dumpster-fire-of-life @darknesseddiem @kellsck @althaiareads @streamafterlaughter @ali-r3n @ratsematary @alyisdead @kravitzwhore @aestheticsunflower19 @s1mp-4-ga11y @monstermunsonswife-blog @xingyuluvr @ari-joe @dearestro @spider-starry @vodkapetalz-blog @ilovetaquitosmmmm @angelbabyivy @cupidbloaterz @fishinsuits @thedoubleexposurephotography @thrashcam @kravitzwhore @maskofmirrors @taylorswiftsloverr @djodirt @reidsgubbler @wendyxox @obsessed-midwest-princess @mdurdenpitt @talknerdytome5391 @stitchlover324 @tigolebittiez

[cacoetheswriting]

love love love love loveee you omg

something has to change

chapter four from the little mess you made.

pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x singlemom!reader (modern au) word count: 3.5k

summary: slowly, settling into a new normal, eddie starts to think maybe his hometown isn't so bad. after all, you're here, with his kid. although, do you want him to stick around? especially since you've got steve.

chapter cw: suggestive & mature themes, implied intimacy | non-explicit, one night stand gone awry, secret pregnancy aka no-one told eddie he's a dad, forced proximity, mutual pining / yearning, jealousy, fluffy angst, emotional hurt / comfort, navigating family dynamics, adult language, mentions of alcohol consumption — pls let me know if i missed any!

psa: any images used in chapter headers don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also vaguely — if at all— described in the story.

As the days pass, the initial shock of varying emotions begins to recede.

The quiet, internal turmoils subside with each morning and a cup of coffee that warms the fingertips of those seated at the kitchen table: Wayne, you, and Eddie. The new normal, it seems.

Outside, the world also continues to spin.

Your weekly schedule resumes unbothered by the sudden arrival of a certain brunette rockstar, although you do find yourself thinking about him more than you probably should. Sitting at the front desk of the yoga studio, mind wandering to what Eddie’s doing now, at the house he’s bought for his uncle — the house you also occupy.

That first night, after bidding him a pleasant goodnight, you find him lingering outside the office door and staring at the pull-out with a sad glint to his brown eyes. He feels your presence almost instantly and corrects himself. An act of self-preservation he has done a few times since his unexpected appearance, but you choose not to point it out.

Clearly, there’s a lot on Eddie’s mind.

“You can take my bed,” you offer quietly. “It is supposed to be your room, after all.”

But the rockstar shakes his head, brown locks bouncing in perfect harmony.

“I’ll be fine here,” he reassures you. “Don’t worry about me, sugar.”

Perhaps you can’t get him off your mind because of the nickname that’s slipped his tongue. The one he’s called you repeatedly during that one night in New York. One you’ve not heard since, so you’ll always associate with him. “I’m yours, sugar.”.

Yours, yours, yours.

Or maybe it’s the unspoken. The doleful look in his eyes, telling a thousand different stories of something you’d associate with regret. The way his hand brushes yours ever so slightly as he passes, heading for the bathroom. A fleeting touch that sends a shockwave of electricity down your spine. 

Whatever the reason, Eddie Munson has etched himself into your thoughts yet again. A persistent melody you can't quite hum away and frankly, one you’re not entirely sure you want to forget.

Days pass and when an invite from Steve comes, for an evening of drinks and fun (as he put it), Wayne insists on babysitting. Urging you and Eddie out the door, into the warm evening.

“Time to enjoy your respective youths, while you still have them. Before I change my mind,” the eldest Munson says, although you know that’ll never happen because he truly is World’s Best Grandpa.

Eddie looks at you shyly. 

Despite spending a week and a half together, living under one roof like some sort of messed-up version of Keeping Up with the Joneses, there rarely was a chance for the two of you to talk privately again.

The rockstar slid into an established routine. Breakfast, preschool drop-off, work for you and household errands for Wayne, preschool pick-up, dinner, bedtime. Every day is the same.

Wayne tells you in a hushed tone how he’s worried about his nephew. When there’s a lull in activities, while you’re still at work and Messer in preschool, the rockstar stares at his phone until it rings and then continues hushed conversations behind the closed office doors. Something’s happened, outside of the kept secret his team most likely knew about — thanks to fucking Felix.

Then, at the weekend, so far the only one Eddie’s been here for, Wayne takes his nephew fishing on Saturday. They get back late, when you’re already cosy in bed. You hear them have a beer or two on the patio but make no attempt to join them, thinking Wayne deserves his time with his big-shot nephew more than you do. Plus you need the rest for Sunday. A day trip to the city with girls from the yoga studio and all of your kids. Three adults and five feral toddlers. By the time you arrive home, you are so rundown, you barely conquer bedtime with Messer and later, almost fall asleep under the shower.

So, Eddie looks at you shyly because you’re effectively a stranger. A stranger he shares a kid with. A kid he knows very little about, aside from what Wayne may have told him. Guilt trickles through your veins and you smile at him, earnestly.

In the car, you offer him your phone. More specifically, you open up Google Photos and scroll to the year Messer was born. Eddie takes the device, albeit hesitantly, but once his eyes scan the first image — you, severely pregnant, sitting on a yoga ball with a tub of ice-cream in one hand and a plastic spoon in the other — he settles into the passenger seat and begins to swipe through.

“You probably won’t get through all of them before we get to Steve’s,” you begin. “But you can start and just pick up wherever you leave off later on.”

The rockstar nods, glancing at you briefly to say, “Thank you.”, and his gaze locks back on the phone in his grasp. A timid smile circling his lips as he continues to scan each image, asking questions for context you’re happy to provide.

Steve’s house is on the other side of town. It’s an impressive three-story brick, featuring large windows that are accented with dark-grey shutters. A simple two-step leads to the front door which is under a cover of a marble-like balcony. Green ivy dangling between gaps of concrete. The whole thing is symmetrical as fuck. 

“Imagine the McCallister house from Home Alone, just on a slightly smaller scale,” that’s how Steve described it when he first put the downpayment on the property. Honestly, the king of modesty.

You’ve been here many times, yet as you make way down the pebbled stones, the house coming into view from behind droopy trees, it still takes your breath away. Eddie looks up from the phone, mouth slightly parting.

“That rich asshole,” he mutters under his breath and you can’t help yourself, you snort.

The rockstar’s head snaps in your direction at the sound. One brow raised, cocky grin plastered across his handsome face.

“I’m pretty sure you’ve got more money coming in,” you deadpan, killing the engine.

“I don’t live in a fucking mansion,” he replies, thumb popping behind his shoulder, pointing towards Steve’s home.

Opening the door, you tell him, “The market in California is just different,” before hopping out of the car.

Eddie follows suit, stepping around the dash, the smirk still playing on his lips.

“Last I checked, you lived in Brentwood, so don’t act like you’re slumming it, Munson.”

Handing your phone back to you, a playful glimmer lights his irises and you can’t help the smile that appears on your own expression. Finally, there’s lightness in his aura and you’re determined to keep it this way — if only for the evening.

“It’s about principal. I earned my money. Harrington was born into his.” Eddie states, his tone blithe, unserious. He takes a step closer, eyes bouncing between yours as he leans in to add, “But it’s nice to hear you’re still keeping tabs on me, sugar.”

Shoving past the rockstar, you roll your eyes. The crunch of gravel under your pumps drowns out the hammering inside your chest, caused by his sudden closeness just a second ago. By his presence overall. The magnetic pull you feel. The urge to make him happy by any means necessary.

“Steve’s worked for this.” you defend your friend, without turning to look behind at the rockstar close on your heel. You hear Eddie sigh, but you ignore the reaction and continue, “But what you’re saying is, if your parents were… comfortable, you’d reject the inheritance?”

He barks out a laugh and you bite back your own at the playful sound. 

“Now, let’s not get crazy. I’d take the money ‘cause I’m not a fucking idiot,” Eddie says. “But I’d invest it in, like, independent music labels and local venues. Not… whatever this is.” He gestures expansively at Steve’s meticulously manicured front lawn as you ring the doorbell.

“Steve invests too. He told you so last week, remember? This house is just a bonus.”

Eddie’s smile slips and his brows furrow.

“You take his side a lot.”

The sentence makes you blink.

For a moment that feels all too long, his words hang in the air between you, heavy and rather accusatory, causing a sudden shift in the comfortable rhythm of your conversation.

You want to tell the rockstar how Steve’s been by your side over the last few years, making it second nature to support him because he does the same for you. But you bite your tongue. Something tells you the last thing Eddie wants to hear is how close you and Steve are.

Luckily, the door swings open and the man in question greets you both with a wide smile. A warm embrace for you, gentle kiss to the top of your head, and a firm handshake for Eddie – whose facial features visibly jump somewhere between disdain and respect.

“Glad you could make it,” Steve says, oblivious to the odd tension.

“Thanks for having us,” Eddie mumbles and you notice how he forces the smile on his face to widen as he looks around. “Nice place you got here.”

Steve claps a hand on his friend’s back, leading him through the foyer.

“Really? I thought you’d shit all over it,” the brunette half-laughs. “Call me a pretentious douche or a rich asshole.”

Eddie glances at you over his shoulder, eyes twinkling once more, while you chew the inside of your cheek. The unsettling beginning of an argument you two almost had fades fast when he winks before looking back to Steve, listening (or maybe pretending to listen) to the story of how this extravagant purchase came about.

In the large, open kitchen, the three of you are greeted by some of Steve's old high school friends. Nancy, Jonathan, Robin. People you’ve met before at various occasions over the last few years. People who have not seen — or heard from — Eddie since he left Hawkins in search for a greater life. Although, from what you’ve gathered, the rockstar wasn’t entirely friendly with the bunch before he left either.

They welcome you first. Hugging kindly and asking about Messer. Then, one by one, they turn to look at the brunette man, who’s standing stiffly in the archway, unsure what to do with his limbs.

“Hey,” Eddie says, awkwardly waving his hand.

Nobody moves. The silence is palpable, only sound being a faint murmur of the wind outside.

Odd? Tense? Yes, and yes. Your heart aches for the brunette hanging around the entrance of the kitchen because this is clearly hard for him. Being back in his hometown for reasons still unknown to you, facing a life-altering secret on arrival, dealing with the betrayal caused by everyone — including you — in the form of keeping Messer away from him. And now, facing people he went to high school with, pretending everything is peachy keen.

Eddie oozes confidence. That’s his thing. A big reason why the rockstar skyrocketed to stardom and why millions of fans chant his name like he’s their version of God. Up on that stage, in front of a camera, no one does it like Eddie Munson.

Looking at him here, however, he looks lost.

Swallowing a breath, you amble towards him and only stop when the tips of his black-leather, most likely designer boots brush your much less fancy shoes. His brown-eyes flicker to yours, laced with confusion, and you try to offer him an encouraging smile before shooting a quick look over your shoulder. One that indicates for the group to engage in their own conversation, for the time being.

“You okay?” Once no one is paying particular attention, although you know they’re still listening in, the question rolls off your tongue in a hushed tone.

Eddie sighs quietly. “It’s uh, fuck…”

“Tell me,” you urge and before you can talk yourself out of your next move, you place your hand on his bare forearm, squeezing gently.

His gaze briefly jumps to where your fingers hold his tattooed skin. He proceeds to take a shaky breath, then looks directly into your eyes, searching deep. Perhaps for an answer to his own internal turmoil, or a way to answer your question without uttering a word. As if you held the quick fix to whatever he’s currently feeling.

“It’s everything and uh, nothing…” Eddie says, a hand rustling through his already messy hair. “This whole damn situation. It’s a lot, you know? And I don’t want to feel like people are judging me for something I had no control over.”

You detect a double meaning to the rockstar’s last sentence, but choose to focus on the matter you know first hand.

“No one here is judging you, Eddie.” You affirm, squeezing the muscle of his arm once more. His Adam's apple bobs at the sensation, but he doesn’t tell you to stop, or remove your gentle grip. “These are your friends and I know they feel like shit for keeping Messer from you. I definitely do.”

“You shouldn’t,” he says and places a hand on top of yours, trapping it on his forearm. “You tried. It’s not your fault.” Eddie’s voice is low, rough, although there’s a weariness to the tone, one he's trying to hide.

Nodding, you smile sweetly.

“Then you get out of your own head too, okay? Try to enjoy yourself tonight, because I’m pretty sure Wayne will kick your ass if he finds out you moped about.”

This makes Eddie chuckle and your grin grows tenfold, heart pattering behind your ribcage. He reminds you of Messer when he laughs and God, you’d do anything to bottle the sound.

Turning to face the group, your fingers slide down his skin until they reach his palm and you pull him away from the archway, deeper into the kitchen. 

You try to ignore the way your entire being is crackling in short, sharp bursts, like logs on a fire. Ignore your imagination, which is running wild with memories of that night in New York when you held his hand for real, guided it along your body. You force those feelings down because Eddie’s already feeling out of place, surely the last thing he needs is his baby mama acting a fool.

“Guys,” you call the attention of everyone else, then jokingly, to ease any sort of tension, continue, “This is Eddie. Messer’s dad.”

The hush eases and is replaced by a wave of titters as, one by one, Nancy, Jonathan, and Robin, approach the rockstar and re-introduce themselves.

You let go of Eddie’s arm, stepping away to give him space for quick handshakes and hugs. His gaze though, it follows you. Even as he’s embracing his old friends, his eyes don’t leave your frame.

Standing by Steve, you can feel Eddie’s stare and you desperately want to know what he’s thinking about. If you helped the situation, or made it worse. Frankly, you want to know everything about him, although, again, that’s not your place in his world. So, you opt to wonder.

Eddie’s wondering too. 

He's wondering about the comfort you offered moments ago, in a room full of his people. He's wondering if the faint glow he sees on your cheeks is a mirror of the warmth spreading through his own chest. And most of all, he's wondering if you noticed the way his hand instinctively followed yours after you dropped the physical hold you had on him because if Eddie had it his way, he’d have your hand in his the entire night.

But you’re suddenly next to Steve and the rockstar is feeling all sorts of confused.

He’s not really spent time with you since that very first day back in Hawkins. You lead a busy life, that much is clear, and Eddie’s not entirely keen to disrupt your peace. Has he secretly hoped for more opportunities to talk with you one-on-one? Absolutely. He’s not going to be a dick about it though. You’ve got shit to do, a life to continue. He’s just a visitor, stopping by until it’s deemed safe to return to the glitz and glamour.

Rationally, Eddie knows he shouldn’t get too invested in whatever you have going on. Yes, he’ll remain in Messer’s life to the level you’ll allow, but that’s where it should end. Yet, with every day that’s passing, he’s aching to be close to you in any capacity. Making breakfast, cleaning up, and bedtime with the kid you share. The little things. They’ve brought the rockstar more peace than he’s ever experienced.

And now, you’re calming him down. Prioritising him. Offering up kindness for nothing in return and Eddie’s not quite sure how he’ll be able to let that go, when the time comes.

There’s also Steve Harrington.

Your defensive stance earlier, and the way you cling to the King of Hawkins now, makes Eddie think there’s definitely something going on. Something that is more than just platonic. But again, it’s not his business. He has to remind himself of that fact when his jaw clenches and his stomach twists.

Eddie continues to watch you though. Less intense because he’s not a creep, but he pays attention. To the things that make you light up, make you laugh. To the topics that make you grimace, close your eyes as if you’re willing the image to leave your mind. He’s paying attention to your voice when you speak about the things you’re passionate about — photography — and the shift in tone when it’s anything less than. 

He notices the glimmer in your eyes when you talk about Messer and his pulse quickens when you catch his gaze whenever the toddler is brought into conversation. A silent confirmation, understanding, that you’re not ashamed the rockstar is his father. In fact, Eddie would deduce the look in your eyes as pride. Which is crazy because he’s not done anything to prove he’s worthy of the title. Although, he is trying.

Unbeknown to you, or Wayne, Eddie spent the better part of the week-and-a-half he’s been back, in constant conversations with his legal team. 

His agent, Smithie, called him in a panic the very same night Eddie texted Felix about Messer. The older man admitted to also knowing about the child — kudos to Felix — and continuously keeping the situation out of the press, killing stories and whispers whenever they circled the rumour mill. 

“We only had your best interest at heart, Edward.” 

Smithie’s confession only fueled Eddie’s resolve. He may not have been there for the first three years of his kid’s life, but he’s damn well going to make sure to be here now. Even if it’s only financially. 

Against the advice of his agent, the rockstar instructed his lawyers to prepare a comprehensive plan because this isn’t just about acknowledging paternity — which he’s not officially done since the public doesn’t know, yet. This is about ensuring his child’s future. So, a trust fund has been established and Eddie also demanded an evaluation of royalties, insisting on a significant portion being set aside for Messer.

He just needs to tell you. 

He knows this information will most likely send you into a frenzy, but he can make you understand. Eddie may not be ready to face the public scrutiny and potential career fallout over his last debacle, but prioritizing his child's well-being and your peace of mind, above all else, is a stance he’s prepared to fight for.

“So, Eddie…” Robin hails his attention from across the table. “What’s life like on the road?”

The rockstar swallows a bite of a fancy cheese Steve put out, and grins. 

“Oh man, it’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of,” he answers honestly. “There’s the highs. Venues bursting at the seams, everyone singing along, the sheer energy of it all. Nothing comes close.” 

Sneaking a glance in your direction, he takes a swig of his drink and continues, “Then there's the lows, long hours, truck stop coffee that could strip paint, and my bandmates' questionable hygiene after partying all night instead of showering post shows.” 

Robin chuckles, nodding along. “Gross.”

“Yeah.” Eddie nods with a smirk. 

“But it’s everything you’ve ever wanted, right?” Steve probes, “I’m sure even the bad parts are good since you're doing what you love.”

The rockstar looks to his left, meeting Harrington’s disarming gaze. Eddie’s sure his friend means nothing by the statement, yet he can’t help but feel there’s a question within. One that sounds something like: “when are you fucking off again, so I can enjoy my time with your baby mama in peace?”. Although, he’s being ridiculous thinking this.

“Why?” Eddie asks, slightly off-tone. “You thinking of joining the circus?”

Steve snorts. “Hell no. I’m happy here, dude.”

“Well, I’m happy here too,” Eddie tells him before he can think better of it. And as the table exchanges a set of glances that he’s not entirely paying attention to — busy looking at you again, to gauge your reaction — the rockstar realises that perhaps it’s true.

But that would be crazy since he’s only ever wanted to run away from Hawkins. His return is circumstantial, at best. He’s not happy, Eddie tells himself. He’s just in his head because he’s learned half of his soul is here. 

In the shape of a toddler (and the young boy's mom).

as always, thank you for reading! pls support your writers by commenting & reblogging <3

story masterlist

tagging some cool people that expressed interest (if you want to be removed, just let me know), and if anyone wants to be added- also let me know:

@tvserie-s-world @probablyin-bed @the-dumpster-fire-of-life @darknesseddiem @kellsck @althaiareads @streamafterlaughter @ali-r3n @ratsematary @alyisdead @kravitzwhore @aestheticsunflower19 @s1mp-4-ga11y @monstermunsonswife-blog @xingyuluvr @ari-joe @dearestro @spider-starry @vodkapetalz-blog @ilovetaquitosmmmm @angelbabyivy @cupidbloaterz @fishinsuits @thedoubleexposurephotography @thrashcam @kravitzwhore @maskofmirrors @taylorswiftsloverr @djodirt @reidsgubbler @wendyxox @obsessed-midwest-princess @mdurdenpitt @talknerdytome5391 @stitchlover324 @tigolebittiez

[cacoetheswriting]

stop it right now 😭😭😭

something has to change

chapter four from the little mess you made.

pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x singlemom!reader (modern au) word count: 3.5k

summary: slowly, settling into a new normal, eddie starts to think maybe his hometown isn't so bad. after all, you're here, with his kid. although, do you want him to stick around? especially since you've got steve.

chapter cw: suggestive & mature themes, implied intimacy | non-explicit, one night stand gone awry, secret pregnancy aka no-one told eddie he's a dad, forced proximity, mutual pining / yearning, jealousy, fluffy angst, emotional hurt / comfort, navigating family dynamics, adult language, mentions of alcohol consumption — pls let me know if i missed any!

psa: any images used in chapter headers don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also vaguely — if at all— described in the story.

As the days pass, the initial shock of varying emotions begins to recede.

The quiet, internal turmoils subside with each morning and a cup of coffee that warms the fingertips of those seated at the kitchen table: Wayne, you, and Eddie. The new normal, it seems.

Outside, the world also continues to spin.

Your weekly schedule resumes unbothered by the sudden arrival of a certain brunette rockstar, although you do find yourself thinking about him more than you probably should. Sitting at the front desk of the yoga studio, mind wandering to what Eddie’s doing now, at the house he’s bought for his uncle — the house you also occupy.

That first night, after bidding him a pleasant goodnight, you find him lingering outside the office door and staring at the pull-out with a sad glint to his brown eyes. He feels your presence almost instantly and corrects himself. An act of self-preservation he has done a few times since his unexpected appearance, but you choose not to point it out.

Clearly, there’s a lot on Eddie’s mind.

“You can take my bed,” you offer quietly. “It is supposed to be your room, after all.”

But the rockstar shakes his head, brown locks bouncing in perfect harmony.

“I’ll be fine here,” he reassures you. “Don’t worry about me, sugar.”

Perhaps you can’t get him off your mind because of the nickname that’s slipped his tongue. The one he’s called you repeatedly during that one night in New York. One you’ve not heard since, so you’ll always associate with him. “I’m yours, sugar.”.

Yours, yours, yours.

Or maybe it’s the unspoken. The doleful look in his eyes, telling a thousand different stories of something you’d associate with regret. The way his hand brushes yours ever so slightly as he passes, heading for the bathroom. A fleeting touch that sends a shockwave of electricity down your spine. 

Whatever the reason, Eddie Munson has etched himself into your thoughts yet again. A persistent melody you can't quite hum away and frankly, one you’re not entirely sure you want to forget.

Days pass and when an invite from Steve comes, for an evening of drinks and fun (as he put it), Wayne insists on babysitting. Urging you and Eddie out the door, into the warm evening.

“Time to enjoy your respective youths, while you still have them. Before I change my mind,” the eldest Munson says, although you know that’ll never happen because he truly is World’s Best Grandpa.

Eddie looks at you shyly. 

Despite spending a week and a half together, living under one roof like some sort of messed-up version of Keeping Up with the Joneses, there rarely was a chance for the two of you to talk privately again.

The rockstar slid into an established routine. Breakfast, preschool drop-off, work for you and household errands for Wayne, preschool pick-up, dinner, bedtime. Every day is the same.

Wayne tells you in a hushed tone how he’s worried about his nephew. When there’s a lull in activities, while you’re still at work and Messer in preschool, the rockstar stares at his phone until it rings and then continues hushed conversations behind the closed office doors. Something’s happened, outside of the kept secret his team most likely knew about — thanks to fucking Felix.

Then, at the weekend, so far the only one Eddie’s been here for, Wayne takes his nephew fishing on Saturday. They get back late, when you’re already cosy in bed. You hear them have a beer or two on the patio but make no attempt to join them, thinking Wayne deserves his time with his big-shot nephew more than you do. Plus you need the rest for Sunday. A day trip to the city with girls from the yoga studio and all of your kids. Three adults and five feral toddlers. By the time you arrive home, you are so rundown, you barely conquer bedtime with Messer and later, almost fall asleep under the shower.

So, Eddie looks at you shyly because you’re effectively a stranger. A stranger he shares a kid with. A kid he knows very little about, aside from what Wayne may have told him. Guilt trickles through your veins and you smile at him, earnestly.

In the car, you offer him your phone. More specifically, you open up Google Photos and scroll to the year Messer was born. Eddie takes the device, albeit hesitantly, but once his eyes scan the first image — you, severely pregnant, sitting on a yoga ball with a tub of ice-cream in one hand and a plastic spoon in the other — he settles into the passenger seat and begins to swipe through.

“You probably won’t get through all of them before we get to Steve’s,” you begin. “But you can start and just pick up wherever you leave off later on.”

The rockstar nods, glancing at you briefly to say, “Thank you.”, and his gaze locks back on the phone in his grasp. A timid smile circling his lips as he continues to scan each image, asking questions for context you’re happy to provide.

Steve’s house is on the other side of town. It’s an impressive three-story brick, featuring large windows that are accented with dark-grey shutters. A simple two-step leads to the front door which is under a cover of a marble-like balcony. Green ivy dangling between gaps of concrete. The whole thing is symmetrical as fuck. 

“Imagine the McCallister house from Home Alone, just on a slightly smaller scale,” that’s how Steve described it when he first put the downpayment on the property. Honestly, the king of modesty.

You’ve been here many times, yet as you make way down the pebbled stones, the house coming into view from behind droopy trees, it still takes your breath away. Eddie looks up from the phone, mouth slightly parting.

“That rich asshole,” he mutters under his breath and you can’t help yourself, you snort.

The rockstar’s head snaps in your direction at the sound. One brow raised, cocky grin plastered across his handsome face.

“I’m pretty sure you’ve got more money coming in,” you deadpan, killing the engine.

“I don’t live in a fucking mansion,” he replies, thumb popping behind his shoulder, pointing towards Steve’s home.

Opening the door, you tell him, “The market in California is just different,” before hopping out of the car.

Eddie follows suit, stepping around the dash, the smirk still playing on his lips.

“Last I checked, you lived in Brentwood, so don’t act like you’re slumming it, Munson.”

Handing your phone back to you, a playful glimmer lights his irises and you can’t help the smile that appears on your own expression. Finally, there’s lightness in his aura and you’re determined to keep it this way — if only for the evening.

“It’s about principal. I earned my money. Harrington was born into his.” Eddie states, his tone blithe, unserious. He takes a step closer, eyes bouncing between yours as he leans in to add, “But it’s nice to hear you’re still keeping tabs on me, sugar.”

Shoving past the rockstar, you roll your eyes. The crunch of gravel under your pumps drowns out the hammering inside your chest, caused by his sudden closeness just a second ago. By his presence overall. The magnetic pull you feel. The urge to make him happy by any means necessary.

“Steve’s worked for this.” you defend your friend, without turning to look behind at the rockstar close on your heel. You hear Eddie sigh, but you ignore the reaction and continue, “But what you’re saying is, if your parents were… comfortable, you’d reject the inheritance?”

He barks out a laugh and you bite back your own at the playful sound. 

“Now, let’s not get crazy. I’d take the money ‘cause I’m not a fucking idiot,” Eddie says. “But I’d invest it in, like, independent music labels and local venues. Not… whatever this is.” He gestures expansively at Steve’s meticulously manicured front lawn as you ring the doorbell.

“Steve invests too. He told you so last week, remember? This house is just a bonus.”

Eddie’s smile slips and his brows furrow.

“You take his side a lot.”

The sentence makes you blink.

For a moment that feels all too long, his words hang in the air between you, heavy and rather accusatory, causing a sudden shift in the comfortable rhythm of your conversation.

You want to tell the rockstar how Steve’s been by your side over the last few years, making it second nature to support him because he does the same for you. But you bite your tongue. Something tells you the last thing Eddie wants to hear is how close you and Steve are.

Luckily, the door swings open and the man in question greets you both with a wide smile. A warm embrace for you, gentle kiss to the top of your head, and a firm handshake for Eddie – whose facial features visibly jump somewhere between disdain and respect.

“Glad you could make it,” Steve says, oblivious to the odd tension.

“Thanks for having us,” Eddie mumbles and you notice how he forces the smile on his face to widen as he looks around. “Nice place you got here.”

Steve claps a hand on his friend’s back, leading him through the foyer.

“Really? I thought you’d shit all over it,” the brunette half-laughs. “Call me a pretentious douche or a rich asshole.”

Eddie glances at you over his shoulder, eyes twinkling once more, while you chew the inside of your cheek. The unsettling beginning of an argument you two almost had fades fast when he winks before looking back to Steve, listening (or maybe pretending to listen) to the story of how this extravagant purchase came about.

In the large, open kitchen, the three of you are greeted by some of Steve's old high school friends. Nancy, Jonathan, Robin. People you’ve met before at various occasions over the last few years. People who have not seen — or heard from — Eddie since he left Hawkins in search for a greater life. Although, from what you’ve gathered, the rockstar wasn’t entirely friendly with the bunch before he left either.

They welcome you first. Hugging kindly and asking about Messer. Then, one by one, they turn to look at the brunette man, who’s standing stiffly in the archway, unsure what to do with his limbs.

“Hey,” Eddie says, awkwardly waving his hand.

Nobody moves. The silence is palpable, only sound being a faint murmur of the wind outside.

Odd? Tense? Yes, and yes. Your heart aches for the brunette hanging around the entrance of the kitchen because this is clearly hard for him. Being back in his hometown for reasons still unknown to you, facing a life-altering secret on arrival, dealing with the betrayal caused by everyone — including you — in the form of keeping Messer away from him. And now, facing people he went to high school with, pretending everything is peachy keen.

Eddie oozes confidence. That’s his thing. A big reason why the rockstar skyrocketed to stardom and why millions of fans chant his name like he’s their version of God. Up on that stage, in front of a camera, no one does it like Eddie Munson.

Looking at him here, however, he looks lost.

Swallowing a breath, you amble towards him and only stop when the tips of his black-leather, most likely designer boots brush your much less fancy shoes. His brown-eyes flicker to yours, laced with confusion, and you try to offer him an encouraging smile before shooting a quick look over your shoulder. One that indicates for the group to engage in their own conversation, for the time being.

“You okay?” Once no one is paying particular attention, although you know they’re still listening in, the question rolls off your tongue in a hushed tone.

Eddie sighs quietly. “It’s uh, fuck…”

“Tell me,” you urge and before you can talk yourself out of your next move, you place your hand on his bare forearm, squeezing gently.

His gaze briefly jumps to where your fingers hold his tattooed skin. He proceeds to take a shaky breath, then looks directly into your eyes, searching deep. Perhaps for an answer to his own internal turmoil, or a way to answer your question without uttering a word. As if you held the quick fix to whatever he’s currently feeling.

“It’s everything and uh, nothing…” Eddie says, a hand rustling through his already messy hair. “This whole damn situation. It’s a lot, you know? And I don’t want to feel like people are judging me for something I had no control over.”

You detect a double meaning to the rockstar’s last sentence, but choose to focus on the matter you know first hand.

“No one here is judging you, Eddie.” You affirm, squeezing the muscle of his arm once more. His Adam's apple bobs at the sensation, but he doesn’t tell you to stop, or remove your gentle grip. “These are your friends and I know they feel like shit for keeping Messer from you. I definitely do.”

“You shouldn’t,” he says and places a hand on top of yours, trapping it on his forearm. “You tried. It’s not your fault.” Eddie’s voice is low, rough, although there’s a weariness to the tone, one he's trying to hide.

Nodding, you smile sweetly.

“Then you get out of your own head too, okay? Try to enjoy yourself tonight, because I’m pretty sure Wayne will kick your ass if he finds out you moped about.”

This makes Eddie chuckle and your grin grows tenfold, heart pattering behind your ribcage. He reminds you of Messer when he laughs and God, you’d do anything to bottle the sound.

Turning to face the group, your fingers slide down his skin until they reach his palm and you pull him away from the archway, deeper into the kitchen. 

You try to ignore the way your entire being is crackling in short, sharp bursts, like logs on a fire. Ignore your imagination, which is running wild with memories of that night in New York when you held his hand for real, guided it along your body. You force those feelings down because Eddie’s already feeling out of place, surely the last thing he needs is his baby mama acting a fool.

“Guys,” you call the attention of everyone else, then jokingly, to ease any sort of tension, continue, “This is Eddie. Messer’s dad.”

The hush eases and is replaced by a wave of titters as, one by one, Nancy, Jonathan, and Robin, approach the rockstar and re-introduce themselves.

You let go of Eddie’s arm, stepping away to give him space for quick handshakes and hugs. His gaze though, it follows you. Even as he’s embracing his old friends, his eyes don’t leave your frame.

Standing by Steve, you can feel Eddie’s stare and you desperately want to know what he’s thinking about. If you helped the situation, or made it worse. Frankly, you want to know everything about him, although, again, that’s not your place in his world. So, you opt to wonder.

Eddie’s wondering too. 

He's wondering about the comfort you offered moments ago, in a room full of his people. He's wondering if the faint glow he sees on your cheeks is a mirror of the warmth spreading through his own chest. And most of all, he's wondering if you noticed the way his hand instinctively followed yours after you dropped the physical hold you had on him because if Eddie had it his way, he’d have your hand in his the entire night.

But you’re suddenly next to Steve and the rockstar is feeling all sorts of confused.

He’s not really spent time with you since that very first day back in Hawkins. You lead a busy life, that much is clear, and Eddie’s not entirely keen to disrupt your peace. Has he secretly hoped for more opportunities to talk with you one-on-one? Absolutely. He’s not going to be a dick about it though. You’ve got shit to do, a life to continue. He’s just a visitor, stopping by until it’s deemed safe to return to the glitz and glamour.

Rationally, Eddie knows he shouldn’t get too invested in whatever you have going on. Yes, he’ll remain in Messer’s life to the level you’ll allow, but that’s where it should end. Yet, with every day that’s passing, he’s aching to be close to you in any capacity. Making breakfast, cleaning up, and bedtime with the kid you share. The little things. They’ve brought the rockstar more peace than he’s ever experienced.

And now, you’re calming him down. Prioritising him. Offering up kindness for nothing in return and Eddie’s not quite sure how he’ll be able to let that go, when the time comes.

There’s also Steve Harrington.

Your defensive stance earlier, and the way you cling to the King of Hawkins now, makes Eddie think there’s definitely something going on. Something that is more than just platonic. But again, it’s not his business. He has to remind himself of that fact when his jaw clenches and his stomach twists.

Eddie continues to watch you though. Less intense because he’s not a creep, but he pays attention. To the things that make you light up, make you laugh. To the topics that make you grimace, close your eyes as if you’re willing the image to leave your mind. He’s paying attention to your voice when you speak about the things you’re passionate about — photography — and the shift in tone when it’s anything less than. 

He notices the glimmer in your eyes when you talk about Messer and his pulse quickens when you catch his gaze whenever the toddler is brought into conversation. A silent confirmation, understanding, that you’re not ashamed the rockstar is his father. In fact, Eddie would deduce the look in your eyes as pride. Which is crazy because he’s not done anything to prove he’s worthy of the title. Although, he is trying.

Unbeknown to you, or Wayne, Eddie spent the better part of the week-and-a-half he’s been back, in constant conversations with his legal team. 

His agent, Smithie, called him in a panic the very same night Eddie texted Felix about Messer. The older man admitted to also knowing about the child — kudos to Felix — and continuously keeping the situation out of the press, killing stories and whispers whenever they circled the rumour mill. 

“We only had your best interest at heart, Edward.” 

Smithie’s confession only fueled Eddie’s resolve. He may not have been there for the first three years of his kid’s life, but he’s damn well going to make sure to be here now. Even if it’s only financially. 

Against the advice of his agent, the rockstar instructed his lawyers to prepare a comprehensive plan because this isn’t just about acknowledging paternity — which he’s not officially done since the public doesn’t know, yet. This is about ensuring his child’s future. So, a trust fund has been established and Eddie also demanded an evaluation of royalties, insisting on a significant portion being set aside for Messer.

He just needs to tell you. 

He knows this information will most likely send you into a frenzy, but he can make you understand. Eddie may not be ready to face the public scrutiny and potential career fallout over his last debacle, but prioritizing his child's well-being and your peace of mind, above all else, is a stance he’s prepared to fight for.

“So, Eddie…” Robin hails his attention from across the table. “What’s life like on the road?”

The rockstar swallows a bite of a fancy cheese Steve put out, and grins. 

“Oh man, it’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of,” he answers honestly. “There’s the highs. Venues bursting at the seams, everyone singing along, the sheer energy of it all. Nothing comes close.” 

Sneaking a glance in your direction, he takes a swig of his drink and continues, “Then there's the lows, long hours, truck stop coffee that could strip paint, and my bandmates' questionable hygiene after partying all night instead of showering post shows.” 

Robin chuckles, nodding along. “Gross.”

“Yeah.” Eddie nods with a smirk. 

“But it’s everything you’ve ever wanted, right?” Steve probes, “I’m sure even the bad parts are good since you're doing what you love.”

The rockstar looks to his left, meeting Harrington’s disarming gaze. Eddie’s sure his friend means nothing by the statement, yet he can’t help but feel there’s a question within. One that sounds something like: “when are you fucking off again, so I can enjoy my time with your baby mama in peace?”. Although, he’s being ridiculous thinking this.

“Why?” Eddie asks, slightly off-tone. “You thinking of joining the circus?”

Steve snorts. “Hell no. I’m happy here, dude.”

“Well, I’m happy here too,” Eddie tells him before he can think better of it. And as the table exchanges a set of glances that he’s not entirely paying attention to — busy looking at you again, to gauge your reaction — the rockstar realises that perhaps it’s true.

But that would be crazy since he’s only ever wanted to run away from Hawkins. His return is circumstantial, at best. He’s not happy, Eddie tells himself. He’s just in his head because he’s learned half of his soul is here. 

In the shape of a toddler (and the young boy's mom).

as always, thank you for reading! pls support your writers by commenting & reblogging <3

story masterlist

tagging some cool people that expressed interest (if you want to be removed, just let me know), and if anyone wants to be added- also let me know:

@tvserie-s-world @probablyin-bed @the-dumpster-fire-of-life @darknesseddiem @kellsck @althaiareads @streamafterlaughter @ali-r3n @ratsematary @alyisdead @kravitzwhore @aestheticsunflower19 @s1mp-4-ga11y @monstermunsonswife-blog @xingyuluvr @ari-joe @dearestro @spider-starry @vodkapetalz-blog @ilovetaquitosmmmm @angelbabyivy @cupidbloaterz @fishinsuits @thedoubleexposurephotography @thrashcam @kravitzwhore @maskofmirrors @taylorswiftsloverr @djodirt @reidsgubbler @wendyxox @obsessed-midwest-princess @mdurdenpitt @talknerdytome5391 @stitchlover324 @tigolebittiez

[cacoetheswriting]

something has to change

chapter four from the little mess you made.

pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x singlemom!reader (modern au) word count: 3.5k

summary: slowly, settling into a new normal, eddie starts to think maybe his hometown isn't so bad. after all, you're here, with his kid. although, do you want him to stick around? especially since you've got steve.

chapter cw: suggestive & mature themes, implied intimacy | non-explicit, one night stand gone awry, secret pregnancy aka no-one told eddie he's a dad, forced proximity, mutual pining / yearning, jealousy, fluffy angst, emotional hurt / comfort, navigating family dynamics, adult language, mentions of alcohol consumption — pls let me know if i missed any!

psa: any images used in chapter headers don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also vaguely — if at all— described in the story.

As the days pass, the initial shock of varying emotions begins to recede.

The quiet, internal turmoils subside with each morning and a cup of coffee that warms the fingertips of those seated at the kitchen table: Wayne, you, and Eddie. The new normal, it seems.

Outside, the world also continues to spin.

Your weekly schedule resumes unbothered by the sudden arrival of a certain brunette rockstar, although you do find yourself thinking about him more than you probably should. Sitting at the front desk of the yoga studio, mind wandering to what Eddie’s doing now, at the house he’s bought for his uncle — the house you also occupy.

That first night, after bidding him a pleasant goodnight, you find him lingering outside the office door and staring at the pull-out with a sad glint to his brown eyes. He feels your presence almost instantly and corrects himself. An act of self-preservation he has done a few times since his unexpected appearance, but you choose not to point it out.

Clearly, there’s a lot on Eddie’s mind.

“You can take my bed,” you offer quietly. “It is supposed to be your room, after all.”

But the rockstar shakes his head, brown locks bouncing in perfect harmony.

“I’ll be fine here,” he reassures you. “Don’t worry about me, sugar.”

Perhaps you can’t get him off your mind because of the nickname that’s slipped his tongue. The one he’s called you repeatedly during that one night in New York. One you’ve not heard since, so you’ll always associate with him. “I’m yours, sugar.”.

Yours, yours, yours.

Or maybe it’s the unspoken. The doleful look in his eyes, telling a thousand different stories of something you’d associate with regret. The way his hand brushes yours ever so slightly as he passes, heading for the bathroom. A fleeting touch that sends a shockwave of electricity down your spine. 

Whatever the reason, Eddie Munson has etched himself into your thoughts yet again. A persistent melody you can't quite hum away and frankly, one you’re not entirely sure you want to forget.

Days pass and when an invite from Steve comes, for an evening of drinks and fun (as he put it), Wayne insists on babysitting. Urging you and Eddie out the door, into the warm evening.

“Time to enjoy your respective youths, while you still have them. Before I change my mind,” the eldest Munson says, although you know that’ll never happen because he truly is World’s Best Grandpa.

Eddie looks at you shyly. 

Despite spending a week and a half together, living under one roof like some sort of messed-up version of Keeping Up with the Joneses, there rarely was a chance for the two of you to talk privately again.

The rockstar slid into an established routine. Breakfast, preschool drop-off, work for you and household errands for Wayne, preschool pick-up, dinner, bedtime. Every day is the same.

Wayne tells you in a hushed tone how he’s worried about his nephew. When there’s a lull in activities, while you’re still at work and Messer in preschool, the rockstar stares at his phone until it rings and then continues hushed conversations behind the closed office doors. Something’s happened, outside of the kept secret his team most likely knew about — thanks to fucking Felix.

Then, at the weekend, so far the only one Eddie’s been here for, Wayne takes his nephew fishing on Saturday. They get back late, when you’re already cosy in bed. You hear them have a beer or two on the patio but make no attempt to join them, thinking Wayne deserves his time with his big-shot nephew more than you do. Plus you need the rest for Sunday. A day trip to the city with girls from the yoga studio and all of your kids. Three adults and five feral toddlers. By the time you arrive home, you are so rundown, you barely conquer bedtime with Messer and later, almost fall asleep under the shower.

So, Eddie looks at you shyly because you’re effectively a stranger. A stranger he shares a kid with. A kid he knows very little about, aside from what Wayne may have told him. Guilt trickles through your veins and you smile at him, earnestly.

In the car, you offer him your phone. More specifically, you open up Google Photos and scroll to the year Messer was born. Eddie takes the device, albeit hesitantly, but once his eyes scan the first image — you, severely pregnant, sitting on a yoga ball with a tub of ice-cream in one hand and a plastic spoon in the other — he settles into the passenger seat and begins to swipe through.

“You probably won’t get through all of them before we get to Steve’s,” you begin. “But you can start and just pick up wherever you leave off later on.”

The rockstar nods, glancing at you briefly to say, “Thank you.”, and his gaze locks back on the phone in his grasp. A timid smile circling his lips as he continues to scan each image, asking questions for context you’re happy to provide.

Steve’s house is on the other side of town. It’s an impressive three-story brick, featuring large windows that are accented with dark-grey shutters. A simple two-step leads to the front door which is under a cover of a marble-like balcony. Green ivy dangling between gaps of concrete. The whole thing is symmetrical as fuck. 

“Imagine the McCallister house from Home Alone, just on a slightly smaller scale,” that’s how Steve described it when he first put the downpayment on the property. Honestly, the king of modesty.

You’ve been here many times, yet as you make way down the pebbled stones, the house coming into view from behind droopy trees, it still takes your breath away. Eddie looks up from the phone, mouth slightly parting.

“That rich asshole,” he mutters under his breath and you can’t help yourself, you snort.

The rockstar’s head snaps in your direction at the sound. One brow raised, cocky grin plastered across his handsome face.

“I’m pretty sure you’ve got more money coming in,” you deadpan, killing the engine.

“I don’t live in a fucking mansion,” he replies, thumb popping behind his shoulder, pointing towards Steve’s home.

Opening the door, you tell him, “The market in California is just different,” before hopping out of the car.

Eddie follows suit, stepping around the dash, the smirk still playing on his lips.

“Last I checked, you lived in Brentwood, so don’t act like you’re slumming it, Munson.”

Handing your phone back to you, a playful glimmer lights his irises and you can’t help the smile that appears on your own expression. Finally, there’s lightness in his aura and you’re determined to keep it this way — if only for the evening.

“It’s about principal. I earned my money. Harrington was born into his.” Eddie states, his tone blithe, unserious. He takes a step closer, eyes bouncing between yours as he leans in to add, “But it’s nice to hear you’re still keeping tabs on me, sugar.”

Shoving past the rockstar, you roll your eyes. The crunch of gravel under your pumps drowns out the hammering inside your chest, caused by his sudden closeness just a second ago. By his presence overall. The magnetic pull you feel. The urge to make him happy by any means necessary.

“Steve’s worked for this.” you defend your friend, without turning to look behind at the rockstar close on your heel. You hear Eddie sigh, but you ignore the reaction and continue, “But what you’re saying is, if your parents were… comfortable, you’d reject the inheritance?”

He barks out a laugh and you bite back your own at the playful sound. 

“Now, let’s not get crazy. I’d take the money ‘cause I’m not a fucking idiot,” Eddie says. “But I’d invest it in, like, independent music labels and local venues. Not… whatever this is.” He gestures expansively at Steve’s meticulously manicured front lawn as you ring the doorbell.

“Steve invests too. He told you so last week, remember? This house is just a bonus.”

Eddie’s smile slips and his brows furrow.

“You take his side a lot.”

The sentence makes you blink.

For a moment that feels all too long, his words hang in the air between you, heavy and rather accusatory, causing a sudden shift in the comfortable rhythm of your conversation.

You want to tell the rockstar how Steve’s been by your side over the last few years, making it second nature to support him because he does the same for you. But you bite your tongue. Something tells you the last thing Eddie wants to hear is how close you and Steve are.

Luckily, the door swings open and the man in question greets you both with a wide smile. A warm embrace for you, gentle kiss to the top of your head, and a firm handshake for Eddie – whose facial features visibly jump somewhere between disdain and respect.

“Glad you could make it,” Steve says, oblivious to the odd tension.

“Thanks for having us,” Eddie mumbles and you notice how he forces the smile on his face to widen as he looks around. “Nice place you got here.”

Steve claps a hand on his friend’s back, leading him through the foyer.

“Really? I thought you’d shit all over it,” the brunette half-laughs. “Call me a pretentious douche or a rich asshole.”

Eddie glances at you over his shoulder, eyes twinkling once more, while you chew the inside of your cheek. The unsettling beginning of an argument you two almost had fades fast when he winks before looking back to Steve, listening (or maybe pretending to listen) to the story of how this extravagant purchase came about.

In the large, open kitchen, the three of you are greeted by some of Steve's old high school friends. Nancy, Jonathan, Robin. People you’ve met before at various occasions over the last few years. People who have not seen — or heard from — Eddie since he left Hawkins in search for a greater life. Although, from what you’ve gathered, the rockstar wasn’t entirely friendly with the bunch before he left either.

They welcome you first. Hugging kindly and asking about Messer. Then, one by one, they turn to look at the brunette man, who’s standing stiffly in the archway, unsure what to do with his limbs.

“Hey,” Eddie says, awkwardly waving his hand.

Nobody moves. The silence is palpable, only sound being a faint murmur of the wind outside.

Odd? Tense? Yes, and yes. Your heart aches for the brunette hanging around the entrance of the kitchen because this is clearly hard for him. Being back in his hometown for reasons still unknown to you, facing a life-altering secret on arrival, dealing with the betrayal caused by everyone — including you — in the form of keeping Messer away from him. And now, facing people he went to high school with, pretending everything is peachy keen.

Eddie oozes confidence. That’s his thing. A big reason why the rockstar skyrocketed to stardom and why millions of fans chant his name like he’s their version of God. Up on that stage, in front of a camera, no one does it like Eddie Munson.

Looking at him here, however, he looks lost.

Swallowing a breath, you amble towards him and only stop when the tips of his black-leather, most likely designer boots brush your much less fancy shoes. His brown-eyes flicker to yours, laced with confusion, and you try to offer him an encouraging smile before shooting a quick look over your shoulder. One that indicates for the group to engage in their own conversation, for the time being.

“You okay?” Once no one is paying particular attention, although you know they’re still listening in, the question rolls off your tongue in a hushed tone.

Eddie sighs quietly. “It’s uh, fuck…”

“Tell me,” you urge and before you can talk yourself out of your next move, you place your hand on his bare forearm, squeezing gently.

His gaze briefly jumps to where your fingers hold his tattooed skin. He proceeds to take a shaky breath, then looks directly into your eyes, searching deep. Perhaps for an answer to his own internal turmoil, or a way to answer your question without uttering a word. As if you held the quick fix to whatever he’s currently feeling.

“It’s everything and uh, nothing…” Eddie says, a hand rustling through his already messy hair. “This whole damn situation. It’s a lot, you know? And I don’t want to feel like people are judging me for something I had no control over.”

You detect a double meaning to the rockstar’s last sentence, but choose to focus on the matter you know first hand.

“No one here is judging you, Eddie.” You affirm, squeezing the muscle of his arm once more. His Adam's apple bobs at the sensation, but he doesn’t tell you to stop, or remove your gentle grip. “These are your friends and I know they feel like shit for keeping Messer from you. I definitely do.”

“You shouldn’t,” he says and places a hand on top of yours, trapping it on his forearm. “You tried. It’s not your fault.” Eddie’s voice is low, rough, although there’s a weariness to the tone, one he's trying to hide.

Nodding, you smile sweetly.

“Then you get out of your own head too, okay? Try to enjoy yourself tonight, because I’m pretty sure Wayne will kick your ass if he finds out you moped about.”

This makes Eddie chuckle and your grin grows tenfold, heart pattering behind your ribcage. He reminds you of Messer when he laughs and God, you’d do anything to bottle the sound.

Turning to face the group, your fingers slide down his skin until they reach his palm and you pull him away from the archway, deeper into the kitchen. 

You try to ignore the way your entire being is crackling in short, sharp bursts, like logs on a fire. Ignore your imagination, which is running wild with memories of that night in New York when you held his hand for real, guided it along your body. You force those feelings down because Eddie’s already feeling out of place, surely the last thing he needs is his baby mama acting a fool.

“Guys,” you call the attention of everyone else, then jokingly, to ease any sort of tension, continue, “This is Eddie. Messer’s dad.”

The hush eases and is replaced by a wave of titters as, one by one, Nancy, Jonathan, and Robin, approach the rockstar and re-introduce themselves.

You let go of Eddie’s arm, stepping away to give him space for quick handshakes and hugs. His gaze though, it follows you. Even as he’s embracing his old friends, his eyes don’t leave your frame.

Standing by Steve, you can feel Eddie’s stare and you desperately want to know what he’s thinking about. If you helped the situation, or made it worse. Frankly, you want to know everything about him, although, again, that’s not your place in his world. So, you opt to wonder.

Eddie’s wondering too. 

He's wondering about the comfort you offered moments ago, in a room full of his people. He's wondering if the faint glow he sees on your cheeks is a mirror of the warmth spreading through his own chest. And most of all, he's wondering if you noticed the way his hand instinctively followed yours after you dropped the physical hold you had on him because if Eddie had it his way, he’d have your hand in his the entire night.

But you’re suddenly next to Steve and the rockstar is feeling all sorts of confused.

He’s not really spent time with you since that very first day back in Hawkins. You lead a busy life, that much is clear, and Eddie’s not entirely keen to disrupt your peace. Has he secretly hoped for more opportunities to talk with you one-on-one? Absolutely. He’s not going to be a dick about it though. You’ve got shit to do, a life to continue. He’s just a visitor, stopping by until it’s deemed safe to return to the glitz and glamour.

Rationally, Eddie knows he shouldn’t get too invested in whatever you have going on. Yes, he’ll remain in Messer’s life to the level you’ll allow, but that’s where it should end. Yet, with every day that’s passing, he’s aching to be close to you in any capacity. Making breakfast, cleaning up, and bedtime with the kid you share. The little things. They’ve brought the rockstar more peace than he’s ever experienced.

And now, you’re calming him down. Prioritising him. Offering up kindness for nothing in return and Eddie’s not quite sure how he’ll be able to let that go, when the time comes.

There’s also Steve Harrington.

Your defensive stance earlier, and the way you cling to the King of Hawkins now, makes Eddie think there’s definitely something going on. Something that is more than just platonic. But again, it’s not his business. He has to remind himself of that fact when his jaw clenches and his stomach twists.

Eddie continues to watch you though. Less intense because he’s not a creep, but he pays attention. To the things that make you light up, make you laugh. To the topics that make you grimace, close your eyes as if you’re willing the image to leave your mind. He’s paying attention to your voice when you speak about the things you’re passionate about — photography — and the shift in tone when it’s anything less than. 

He notices the glimmer in your eyes when you talk about Messer and his pulse quickens when you catch his gaze whenever the toddler is brought into conversation. A silent confirmation, understanding, that you’re not ashamed the rockstar is his father. In fact, Eddie would deduce the look in your eyes as pride. Which is crazy because he’s not done anything to prove he’s worthy of the title. Although, he is trying.

Unbeknown to you, or Wayne, Eddie spent the better part of the week-and-a-half he’s been back, in constant conversations with his legal team. 

His agent, Smithie, called him in a panic the very same night Eddie texted Felix about Messer. The older man admitted to also knowing about the child — kudos to Felix — and continuously keeping the situation out of the press, killing stories and whispers whenever they circled the rumour mill. 

“We only had your best interest at heart, Edward.” 

Smithie’s confession only fueled Eddie’s resolve. He may not have been there for the first three years of his kid’s life, but he’s damn well going to make sure to be here now. Even if it’s only financially. 

Against the advice of his agent, the rockstar instructed his lawyers to prepare a comprehensive plan because this isn’t just about acknowledging paternity — which he’s not officially done since the public doesn’t know, yet. This is about ensuring his child’s future. So, a trust fund has been established and Eddie also demanded an evaluation of royalties, insisting on a significant portion being set aside for Messer.

He just needs to tell you. 

He knows this information will most likely send you into a frenzy, but he can make you understand. Eddie may not be ready to face the public scrutiny and potential career fallout over his last debacle, but prioritizing his child's well-being and your peace of mind, above all else, is a stance he’s prepared to fight for.

“So, Eddie…” Robin hails his attention from across the table. “What’s life like on the road?”

The rockstar swallows a bite of a fancy cheese Steve put out, and grins. 

“Oh man, it’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of,” he answers honestly. “There’s the highs. Venues bursting at the seams, everyone singing along, the sheer energy of it all. Nothing comes close.” 

Sneaking a glance in your direction, he takes a swig of his drink and continues, “Then there's the lows, long hours, truck stop coffee that could strip paint, and my bandmates' questionable hygiene after partying all night instead of showering post shows.” 

Robin chuckles, nodding along. “Gross.”

“Yeah.” Eddie nods with a smirk. 

“But it’s everything you’ve ever wanted, right?” Steve probes, “I’m sure even the bad parts are good since you're doing what you love.”

The rockstar looks to his left, meeting Harrington’s disarming gaze. Eddie’s sure his friend means nothing by the statement, yet he can’t help but feel there’s a question within. One that sounds something like: “when are you fucking off again, so I can enjoy my time with your baby mama in peace?”. Although, he’s being ridiculous thinking this.

“Why?” Eddie asks, slightly off-tone. “You thinking of joining the circus?”

Steve snorts. “Hell no. I’m happy here, dude.”

“Well, I’m happy here too,” Eddie tells him before he can think better of it. And as the table exchanges a set of glances that he’s not entirely paying attention to — busy looking at you again, to gauge your reaction — the rockstar realises that perhaps it’s true.

But that would be crazy since he’s only ever wanted to run away from Hawkins. His return is circumstantial, at best. He’s not happy, Eddie tells himself. He’s just in his head because he’s learned half of his soul is here. 

In the shape of a toddler (and the young boy's mom).

as always, thank you for reading! pls support your writers by commenting & reblogging <3

story masterlist

tagging some cool people that expressed interest (if you want to be removed, just let me know), and if anyone wants to be added- also let me know:

@tvserie-s-world @probablyin-bed @the-dumpster-fire-of-life @darknesseddiem @kellsck @althaiareads @streamafterlaughter @ali-r3n @ratsematary @alyisdead @kravitzwhore @aestheticsunflower19 @s1mp-4-ga11y @monstermunsonswife-blog @xingyuluvr @ari-joe @dearestro @spider-starry @vodkapetalz-blog @ilovetaquitosmmmm @angelbabyivy @cupidbloaterz @fishinsuits @thedoubleexposurephotography @thrashcam @kravitzwhore @maskofmirrors @taylorswiftsloverr @djodirt @reidsgubbler @wendyxox @obsessed-midwest-princess @mdurdenpitt @talknerdytome5391 @stitchlover324 @tigolebittiez

[cacoetheswriting]

what did i miss?

chapter three from the little mess you made.

pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x singlemom!reader (modern au) word count: 3.3k

summary: eddie tries to understand how he can fit into his old-new life in hawkins. with wayne, with you. what kind of role you want him to play for the kid you share. then again, maybe it's too early to decide these things. especially, when there's larger things at play. things that he's not wiling to address yet.

chapter cw: suggestive & mature themes, implied intimacy | non-explicit, one night stand gone awry, secret pregnancy aka no-one told eddie he's a dad, forced proximity, mutual pining / yearning, mild jealousy, fluffy angst, emotional hurt / some comfort, navigating family dynamics, adult language, mentions of physical violence & related injuries (+blood), alcohol consumption — pls let me know if i missed any!

psa: any images used in chapter headers don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also vaguely — if at all— described in the story.

Dinner is mostly uneventful.

The three adults wordlessly agree not to mention anything about the circumstance they’ve currently found themselves under. Instead, Steve talks about his work day, making jokes here and there that Messer is far too young to understand, but the toddler laughs nonetheless because he’s included in the conversation.

Sitting at the far end of the pizza place, Eddie has his back to the locale, head low to avoid anyone noticing him. Although, it’s mostly dead anyway. No one here to recognise his head of hair. Just a young waitress, staring blankly at her phone when she’s not needed, and an elderly couple on the opposite end of the restaurant.

He’s never been here before. Doesn’t recognise it actually and Steve confirms as such when he notices Eddie’s curious glances and tells his friend how Hawkins’ Home Slice opened a few months after the rockstar’s departure.

“I was an early investor, actually.” Steve says, not in a boastful way.

Eddie quirks a brow. “Thought you mainly did real estate these days?”

Harrington nods, then clarifies, “Yeah, man. Mainly residential, as you already know, but I also invest in some businesses. Focusing on local. Giving back to the community in my own way, I guess.” He finishes with a shrug and looks at you.

The rockstar does the same and there’s a smile on your face as you watch Steve with something Eddie would describe as adoration. His stomach growls. He tells the table it’s hunger, but he knows that’s not entirely true. A physical reaction for something akin to envy, actually.

Later, directly across from you, Eddie’s observing again.

You’re next to the young boy, helping him colour the paper kid’s menu in between bites of pepperoni pizza. There’s a small smile circling Eddie’s lips at the sight, a warmth in his chest he can’t quite shake, although he’s not exactly sure he wants to.

Harrington is beside his high school friend, opposite Messer. He playfully chucks french fries at the toddlers plate, urging him to eat up, while you scold the action with a very non-threatening scowl.

“We don’t play with food,” you tell the two of them.

“Yeah, uncle Steve,” Messer mimics the expression on your face and Eddie has to bite back a snort. There’s definitely no denying the kid is his, through and through.

Switching gears, Steve asks you, “How was work?”

You shrug, “Same old. Tuesday’s are the busiest, as you know. I led the morning class, then manned the desk.”

“Did you take your break?” Steve wonders.

“You know I didn’t,” you reply. “But I left early, so that counts for something.”

“What do you do?” Eddie asks, interrupting the back-and-forth, genuinely curious. Last he saw you, you were pursuing your passion. Photography. He hopes, despite the circumstances, that part of your life hasn’t changed much.

He’d be wrong.

“I run a yoga studio one town over,” you tell him, confirming in one short sentence that you really did give everything up to raise Messer, as he suspected. Dreams included.

Eddie swallows the lump in his throat, forcibly contorting his facial features into showcasing something different to guilt and surprise.

The memory of that first time he ever laid eyes on you flashes in his mind for the hundredth time in the space of a single afternoon, only this time, it hurts a tiny bit more. Knowing you exchanged the camera for a yoga mat, shoved your true self to the side while he galavanted around the world.

You put his dreams ahead of your own and Eddie isn’t quite sure what to do with that information.

“Mommy is super strong,” Messer tells Eddie from across the table. The roll of his r’s not quite there, but his small face beams with pride.

“I don’t doubt that, little man.” Eddie says, honestly.

“She punched uncle Steve. There was blood.” The toddler’s eyes glisten with mischief as he shuffles in his spot, raising onto his knees. “But I’m not allowed to tell anyone,” he adds quickly, glancing in your direction to make sure what he’s just revealed is okay.

There’s a smirk tugging at your lips before you lean to place a wet kiss on Messer’s cheek. Satisfied that he didn’t break your trust, the boy resumes colouring, dutifully ignoring the rest of the chatter.

With an intrigued brow, Eddie poses the question, “You punched Harrington?”

“It was an accident,” you answer.

“I deserved it,” Steve says simultaneously.

Eddie’s head snaps between his friend and the mother of his child, whiplash fast. Confusion settles somewhere in his core, replacing the resentment he’s felt this entire morning since being an unknowing participant in this family wasn’t on his bingo card.

“There’s a story there,” the rockstar points out, but no one else speaks.

You’re staring at Steve, who is staring at you. A telepathic conversation. He squares his shoulders, unafraid, but your eyes narrow as if you’re daring the brunette to speak.

It really was an accident, you reason internally. 

A few months ago, for your birthday, Steve surprised you with a trip to New York. He planned everything out. Agreed with Wayne, ensuring the older man was okay to look after Messer alone, only for two nights, found an outrageously priced hotel, arranged a meet-up with your old friends and Terminal 5 colleagues. A perfect birthday.

Only, Harrington neglected to mention he also extended the invite to his friend, Eddie.

Eddie who showed up, oblivious.

Thankfully, you saw him from across the bar before he saw you, and you hurried to hide in the bathroom (like the coward you seemingly are when it comes to this man), before eventually sneaking out.

You ignored Steve for the rest of the trip, angry for putting you in that situation, and once the two of you returned to Hawkins, you exploded.

Your fist collided with his face as he attempted to explain. How you’d been a shell of yourself ever since he met you and how he knew you thought about the musician every day, secretly regretting not telling Eddie the truth in the end. 

So, okay, maybe it wasn’t an accident. Maybe Steve did deserve it.

Exhaling, you reach for the half-empty glass in front of you. After only initially wrapping your fingers around the soft drink, wanting simply to have something to do with your hands, to stop them from shaking under the table, you take a large gulp. The fizzy liquid cold, almost burning, in such an extensive sip.

“He deserved it,” you relent and sneaking a look at Messer, to make sure he’s still playfully oblivious to the adult conversation, you begin to tell Eddie exactly what had happened. Watching as emotions flush his cheeks, as his lips part.

When you finish, hanging your head slightly ashamed, the rockstar turns to Steve.

“Is this why you were so fucking insistent I come out that night?”

Harrington nods. “Dude, it’s been eating at me, keeping this secret, and I-I don’t know,” he sighs, “Selfishly, I thought if I forced the two of you into a situation, we could just go on with our lives.”

You’re back to doodling with Messer when Eddie says, “She was right to punch you.”

And you can’t help the laugh that escapes your throat. 

You don’t look up from the page as your lips twist into a genuine smile because you’re afraid if you catch Eddie’s eyes again, the regret you feel will sink deeper, heavier. You’ll begin to reconsider all of the reasons you made up over the years, for why his world isn’t fit for a child. Yes, him making you happy (if only momentarily), that puts a splinter in the works. So, you remain focused on the yellow sun on Messer’s paper. Colouring within the lines and doing your best to ignore the weight of his gaze.

After a moment, Eddie tells Steve, tone hushed, how he’s grateful his friend kept trying. He thanks him for it and the two share a silent understanding that all is forgiven. 

There’s still the unanswered question of who exactly Harrington is to you, but the rockstar decides that for now, he doesn’t want to know.

Obliviousness has served Eddie well for years, he can continue circling the unknown until you’re ready to give up more information — another attempt to show everyone, you especially, how he’s grown. He can be trusted.

His phone pings.

Felix the fuck-tard: Heard the good news, pal. Felix the fuck-tard: Between you and me, Smithie asked to get my ducks in a row which can only mean we’ll be back on the road sooner than later. Felix the fuck-tard: How’s all back at the lair? Need anything?

Fucking hell, he thinks, but the dread dissipates as quickly as it appeared when the rockstar lifts his gaze from the device in his grasp to see you looking at him, concern etched in your expression.

Then, you mouth: you okay?, and Eddie’s heart skips a beat because it’s been a while since someone genuinely showed that they cared.

He has to remind himself that you’re just being polite since it’s been years since that night in New York and currently the only tie he’s got to you is the little boy at your side. A kid he’s realistically got little claim on, aside from blood. But the way your brows crease and nose puckers up while you continue to stare, waiting for some sort of response to your wordless question, Eddie lets himself hope.

Although, he doesn’t want to drag you into anything you don’t need to be a part of. Especially not the shitstorm he’s created for himself. The drama he’s hiding from. So, he nods and never has a bop of the curls felt more nauseating than this lie.

A LITTLE BEFORE

Unwinding after a show usually involves a packet of cigarettes and any bottle of booze Eddie can get his hands on. Tonight however, his usual post-performance haze feels different. As the roar of the crowd echoes in his ears, beneath the rockstar’s closed eyes, is a growing unease and that fucking smile.

He was unable to find any information on the mystery girl. Asking around didn’t help, no one seemed to know who he was talking about, or they were reluctant to tell him. After all, despite his stature, Eddie is just a stranger to these people. They’re protecting one of their own. 

Draining the last of the cheap whiskey, the burning sensation doing little to quell the gnawing feeling in his gut that something, or someone, is missing, Eddie decides to pack it in for the night. Move the party to his hotel room — and by party, he means drinking alone until he passes out. Everyone else has already left, he thinks as he slowly makes his way towards the back door of the venue. Fingers on the metal handle, he pushes down, disappointed that he’ll never know the girl behind the lens.

“Shit, sorry.” A gasp.

Someone bumps right into him, barely outside the door. He shakes his head, also about to apologise, as his tipsy gaze traces the figure before him. From the worn off-white converse, to the legs wrapped in loose denim and a plain white tee, delicately tucked into the waistband of said jeans, and upwards to the single gold chain hanging down the bare neck, until finally... That fucking smile.

“No, I-I…” Eddie stumbles, willing himself sober. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t really looking. In a world of my own,” he explains, own lips circling upwards.

The smile in front of him doesn’t falter, only adding its own explanation to being here this late at night.

“I forgot my phone.”.

Eddie nods, hastily moving to the side, allowing passage. Then he waits. A part of him thinks he’s being a creep. Standing here in the dark alley while this girl he’s been obsessing over all night, a girl that’s not personally met him until this moment, is inside, alone, looking for her phone. But that’s just it. She’s inside alone and he’s being a gentleman by waiting to make sure she finds what she’s looking for, safely.

Outside, surprise graces the smile upon noticing that Eddie has not left his spot by the door.

“Thank you for waiting. You didn’t have to.” 

He shrugs, showcasing indifference. “New York is dangerous.”

A laugh so sweet bubbles to the surface, Eddie’s heart is somersaulting inside his chest. The smile, the light crease of brows, the happy lines. His gaze is memorising every single feature, just in case this is his only chance and yes, now he feels like a fucking creep.

“My hero,” the tease is modest and the rockstar can’t help but scoff, lightheartedly.

“Far from,” he says, “It would really be bad press if something happened to you and people found out that I was the last person to see you.”

“Ah, of course you’re only covering your ass. Typical B-lister behaviour.”

Eddie’s mouth twists further into a smirk. The nerve on this girl, he thinks, excitement rushing through his entire being.

“B-lister?” He feigns offence. “Did you hear the amount of people screaming my name tonight? Nothing B-list about me, sugar.”

Internally, he grimaces at the slip of the old-fashioned nickname, but there’s no deterrence from his new sparring partner. With a sly lick of the lips, the smile in front of him only widens.

“Apologies. I’ll be sure to tell everyone I know this little fact, Eddie Munson.” His name falls in a soft drawl and the rockstar has to steady himself.

Trying to play it cool, he rests one arm on the wall behind. His gaze quickly scans for signs that he’s reading this all wrong, but no, there isn’t any. This is flirting, for sure. He concludes that his name was supposed to sound borderline pornographic and his dick twitches in his briefs.

“Which way are you heading?” Eddie asks.

“Assuming you’re asking just in case something happens to me? So you can continue to keep your good name from being tarnished in the press, right?”

He rolls his eyes. “At least tell me your name. Then, if you inevitably get hurt on these brutal New York streets, I’ll know to tell the cops how I tried my best. Sir,” he mocks, “I swear officer, I told her not to walk alone. This generation and their damn stubbornness.”

Laughter, again. “Aren’t you like my age?”

“Oh, do we have a fan on our hands?” Eddie teases, weakly since his brain is fucking short-circuting from simply staring at that gorgeous smile.

“I’m not into cocky B-listers.”

The mahogany of his gaze glistens with mischief.

“What are you into then?”

Five minutes later, Eddie’s kissing that smile away. 

What started as a playful back-and-forth, morphed into a dizzying moment in the back of his Uber Black — exactly as the rockstar intended. As the city lights blur past the tinted windows, your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling gently when he nips at your bottom lip. 

Soft moans, lost in the thrum of the engine, and in between shallow breaths, Eddie learns the name that’s been taunting him since he got off the stage earlier tonight. He repeats, once, testing it on his own tongue and finds himself pleasantly surprised because he really likes how it sounds.

A LITTLE AFTER

Later that evening, outside on the patio of Wayne’s house, Eddie sips on an ice-cold beer and engages in small talk with his uncle.

He knows the particular question that hangs on Wayne’s lips — “what the hell are you doing back here, son?” — but they dance around it in every way. Eddie, unwilling to give up that piece of information just yet. Embarrassed. And Wayne, despite not knowing the reason for his nephew's return, is just glad to have him here.

“I’m still wondering…” Eddie begins, then takes another sip of his beer.

“Yeah?” Wayne probes.

The rockstar swallows.

“I’m still wondering how it’s not come out. That I have a kid,” he says. “People around here have to know that he’s mine?”

“Oh, they know,” his uncle confirms. “He’s got your name, son. He’s a Munson.”

A smile appears quickly on Eddie’s lips and something pleasant tugs at his chest because of course you made sure Messer be tied to his dad, one way or another. From his own chair, Wayne eyes his nephew — a young boy once more as he lamely trying to hide the happy expression behind the rim of his glass bottle — and a knowing smirk spreads across the old-man’s mouth, but he doesn’t comment.

After a beat of silence, “You gotta ask your team, Eddie.” Wayne adds instead, quite matter-of-factly. “Someone on your end is keeping this quiet. That’s our suspicion anyway.”

Eddie nods slowly. “Yeah,” he exhales. “Yeah, maybe.”

His mind now traces the thoughts of how Felix knew. You told his tour manager, hoping he’d pass the message along. Unfortunately, that didn’t happen, but maybe Felix filled Smithie in on the situation, or anyone else on the team in charge of Eddie’s entire life. Maybe they all know and are actively keeping this secret from him, together.

Fucking twisted if it’s true, Eddie thinks. The idea that his closest associates, his circle, the people he trusts with his career and well-being, could be conspiring behind his back sends a chill down the rockstar's spine. How could they? And more importantly, why would they? Questions swirl, unsettling and chipping away at the foundation of trust he’s built with his team.

After Wayne bids him goodnight, telling Eddie there’s a duvet and cushion ready for him on the pull-out in the office, the rockstar retrieves his phone and chewing on the inside of his cheek, he types out a message.

Eddie: we need to talk Felix the fuck-tard: Uh oh. Felix the fuck-tard: What kinda trouble have you landed yourself in now? Felix the fuck-tard: Smithie is gonna be pissed. Eddie: I know Eddie: about the kid

His phone instantly gleams with an incoming call, Felix’s name on full display.

Eddie stares at it for a minute, but ultimately decides to flip the device over. Ignore. Let the dickhead sweat, which is minor payback for his actions.

Eddie knows in his heart how nothing would ever be enough to truly settle the score for what Felix had done, but this small and deliberate refusal to engage, feels like a tiny victory. He pictures Felix on the other end, most likely pacing his ridiculously expensive apartment, wondering why Eddie isn’t answering since he’s the one who sent the first message and a grim smile touches his lips. Good, he thinks, let him wonder. Let him feel a fraction of the emotional turmoil Eddie has been living with for the past few hours.

A faint knock on glass has Eddie ignoring the buzz of his phone and glancing towards the back door, now sliding open as you step out into the night.

“Sorry,” you say softly, “You looked pretty deep in thought. Didn’t want to startle you completely.”

The phone stops buzzing.

“What’s on your mind?” You wonder, brow raised.

Sitting in the chair Wayne abandoned minutes prior, you reach for the rockstar’s beer without asking and take a sip. He smirks at your boldness, but doesn’t point it out. This is your house just as much as it’s Wayne’s, whether Eddie intended things to be this way or not. That means the beer he’s drinking is also yours. Straight from the fridge in your kitchen.

Yours, yours, yours.

Once upon a time, Eddie used that word to describe himself to you. Under the cover of a cotton duvet, where no one else could reach the two of you. Where, for one blissful night, he was back to being just a guy, gently crushing on a pretty girl, and he made that word true. “I’m yours, sugar.”, Eddie whispered into the crook of your neck and kissed the spot until you began to tremble underneath him.

Here, in the present, his jeans tighten at the sudden flash of memory. He clears his throat, an attempt to regain control of himself and remain inconspicuous. The last thing this day needs is him acting a horny teenager.

“Just… life, I guess.” Eddie answers after clearing his throat.

You snort. “Relax B-lister, you’re not Socrates.”

He laughs and fuck, for you,  the mother of his child, the prettiest smile on Earth, he’s a goner.

There’s no denying.

as always, thank you for reading! pls support your writers by commenting & reblogging <3

story masterlist

tagging some cool people that expressed interest (if you want to be removed, just let me know), and if anyone wants to be added- also let me know:

@tvserie-s-world @probablyin-bed @the-dumpster-fire-of-life @darknesseddiem @kellsck @althaiareads @streamafterlaughter @ali-r3n @ratsematary @alyisdead @kravitzwhore @aestheticsunflower19 @s1mp-4-ga11y @monstermunsonswife-blog @xingyuluvr @ari-joe @dearestro @spider-starry @vodkapetalz-blog @ilovetaquitosmmmm @angelbabyivy @cupidbloaterz @thedoubleexposurephotography @thrashcam @kravitzwhore @maskofmirrors @taylorswiftsloverr @djodirt

[cacoetheswriting]

hi babe!! i've been missing the new fic you've been posting, but i'm back now and i'm gonna devour that thing

just wanted to say that i love everything you write and that you're one of my favs on this app, love you hun 🫶🏻🩷

🥹🥹🥹 stop that’s so nice, thank you! i sincerely hope you enjoy it !!

you’re literally so sweet and kind and im gonna cry 🫶🏻 ilyyyyyyyy 🤍

[cacoetheswriting]

Would love to be added to the little mess you made tag list!

I can’t wait to see what happens!!!

of course! thank you for reading <3

[cacoetheswriting]

ehm excuse ME this is golden and tearing at my heart in all the right ways !

A Moment Apart (refurbished lol)

6 months after the "Earthquake" in Hawkins. 6 months of waiting for Vecna's inevitable rebuttal. 6 months of pushing your pain away to be ready for anything. 6 long months evaporate instantly at the sight of him.

Here we go again. Back on my bullshit as one would say. With the help and editing of the ever so lovely & kind & amazing @eternal-sunflowers, I am reposting this fic I wrote almost 2 years ago. This is super vulnerable for me, and I will not lie and act calm, cool & collected about posting this when I am in fact anxious, sweaty & panicked<3 so pls be gentle with me :') let me know what you think!

***CW: I don't think there's much other than talks of grief & some curse words. If you think I missed anything pls let me know and I'll add it. :) I also tried to keep reader as gender neutral as possible! But if you feel I didn't accomplish that, once agin pls pls pls let me know.

I do not consent to my writing being copied and reposted anywhere.

You didn’t think your life would be like this. One minute you were trying to help your nextdoor neighbor find her cat, the next your boyfriend was dead and the town you spent your whole life in was split in 4. When everyone started to pack up and leave, you just couldn’t bring yourself to follow. You couldn’t give up on Hawkins just yet. This town brought you everyone you love. 

First, it brought you your nextdoor neighbors, Claudia Henderson and her son Dustin. He was a handful of years younger than you, but he became your little brother the second you laid eyes on him. With him being so young, you just knew that you would always look out for him. The Hendersons filled an empty spot in your life that you knew needed to be filled. Every birthday, holiday, or family dinner was spent with them for the last 15 years of your life. 

Along the way, Dustin collected friends that you adopted as your own as well – Mike, Lucas, and Will. They were a true band of brothers who stuck by each other's sides through everything. Even after Will went missing, they never gave up on him and did everything they could, going as far as risking their lives at the age of 12 for their friend.

They weren’t the only people brought into your life by that curly haired menace. You needed friends your age too, after all. This led you to Steve, who never even crossed your mind until you stumbled upon him and Dustin in the woods while you were trying to find Claudia’s - dead - cat. 

That's when you forced your way into the mess that is the upside down. Which snowballed into fighting off demodogs, finding out Hawkins lab was even shadier than you thought, and discovering that a young girl, named Eleven, had powers that she used to protect her friends. Who knew you could look up to a 12 year old? And that fateful night started a domino effect of bad things that led to worse things that led to losing staple members of your little army of misfits. Jim was presumed dead. The Byers moved, taking Eleven with them. You were supposed to leave for college after your gap year, but when Dustin begged you to stay after all that had happened in summer ‘85, how could you leave? 

So, you got a job at the arcade, working next door to your friends, Steve and Robin, at Family Video. You fell into a routine of normalcy and mundanity that you couldn’t bring yourself to mind after all you’d been through. You’d take that over fighting monsters any day, since that wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Plus, this meant you didn’t miss out on seeing Dustin live his high school years. Which, of course, meant you became his chaperone home when he was let out of this DND club he joined with Lucas and Mike. This was only because Steve refused to spend his Friday nights waiting around in the high school parking lot when he could've been out finding suitable dates to spend it with. And so, becoming Dustin’s personal chauffeur was your part time job. You didn’t mind. You didn’t have anyone to spend your Fridays with anyways. 

Until, Dustin led you to him.

Never having believed in ‘love at first sight,’ you thought you were going crazy. You know now that that was true, but not in the way you thought. You were crazy on him, and though you couldn’t quite wrap your head around it, he was even crazier on you. You didn’t get to love him for nearly long enough. Those three words only had just been exchanged weeks prior and boy, did you mean them. 6 months wasn’t enough time, but you wouldn’t take a second of it back. Maybe if you had known, you would’ve told him you loved him sooner, lived in that bliss for more than just a couple of weeks. 

Now here you are, on what would have been 1 year together, biking through the woods carrying duffle bags filled to the nines with rope, kerosine, and other supplies you might need for when Vecna, your newest monster, inevitably returns. You can’t be selfish today. You can’t sit in bed and cry and remember the love of your life today. You can’t do that tomorrow either, or the day after that, or the day after that. You can’t let yourself have a day to grieve when you are here, breathing. When you have other people to look after, to protect. So, even though your thoughts and emotions are heavier than the bags you’d been packmule-ing through the woods for the last 20 minutes, you keep pushing. 

His face keeps creeping into your mind, though. As hard as you try to will it away, it lingers. It hurts thinking about him and how beautiful he was inside and out. But sometimes, deep in that hurt, you find moments of peace that calm your ever racing thoughts. Still, you shake that peace away in hopes to maintain your composure. 

You finally see the barbed wire fence that surrounds Hawkins come into view and huff a breath of relief, dropping the bike to the ground. You place the bags on the other side of the fence before slipping your way in behind them through the cut you and Steve had made 2 weeks prior. It’s your only way in and out of Hawkins to get to The War Zone without being questioned by military patrols. 

Getting in and out of town had become harder than crossing the border into Canada, and obviously there was no way any of you would be dealing with that bullshit. Especially after hearing that people had been detained upon trying to leave, as well as enter, for as little as a pocket knife or an unauthorized camera. The outside world wasn’t allowed to know what was going on behind the closed gates of Hawkins. The armed guard towers and constantly rolling tanks made that obvious. What had happened needed to be controlled and confined to the space inside the 12 foot tall fence. 

Hopper, who had made his return, advised you all to not do anything stupid, of course. But, since when were any of you known for your listening skills? 

So, what did all of you do? Cut a hole in the government mandated fence that lined the town. It was established that you wouldn’t get caught when you realized the soldiers patrolling the town were only checking the main roads and wide stretches of woods that lined a handful of backroads. And behind Steve’s house was the perfect blind spot. His parents up and left Hawkins after the “earthquake.” But, much like you, Steve couldn’t just leave after everything that happened. You didn’t know it yet, but he felt like he needed to keep an eye on you specifically. After suffering such a big loss he knew someone needed to look after you, even if it was under the radar. 

You come bounding through the sliding glass door at the back of the house. Heavy bags occupy your arms that are ready to break off at any moment. Before you entered, you could faintly hear hushed bickering between Steve and Dustin, nothing too out of the ordinary you noted. 

“Hey guys, I’m back,” you announce with a huff. You expected the usual greeting of a ‘Hey’ or a ‘took you long enough,’ but any and all noise ceased at your arrival. With a furrowed brow caused by confusion, you turn the corner into the living room to find the two boys standing there looking almost stunned. 

“What are you doing?” You question the pair, brow raised high. 

“Nothing.” They respond in unison. Steve and Dustin are notorious for being weirdos, but this just feels…different. They snap to look at each other and you can tell there’s a silent conversation happening by the looks in their eyes. 

“You’re acting weirder than usual.”

“That's not true!”

“Maybe you're the weird one!” Steve lightly backhands the younger boy in the arm muttering a ‘dude’ before they both turn to look back at you with apologetic smiles. An uncomfortable tension falls over the room that you immediately try to shake out. 

“Whatever. Where’s Nance?” You ask while lowering the bags to the floor. As if on cue, she comes traipsing out of the kitchen.

“Oh! Y/N! When did you get back?” You tilt your head and take in her appearance. She has a slight shake to her voice and a nervous smile dawns her face. 

Hesitantly, you respond. “A couple minutes ago. What's up?” You eye her with suspicion, wanting her to know you’re catching on to the weird shift in mood from before you left to now. 

“What's up? Oh nothing! Um- I’m uh… all set up in the kitchen whenever you’re ready.” She finishes her sentence with her signature Nancy Wheeler smile and thumbs over her shoulder back towards where she came.

In the kitchen, Nancy has her notebooks that she uses to document the stock of equipment bought and what will need to be picked up on the next trip to The War Zone. You give her a single nod and haul the bags up and into the kitchen to be sorted through before being stored in their rightful place. You leave her to it, knowing not to get in her way, and make your way back to the living room where the bickering seems to have picked up, again, and subsequently drops, again, when you return. You don’t have the energy to take a deep dive into the conjoined brain of Dustin and Steve to try to understand their behavior, so you plop down on one of the couches and wait for Nancy to finish up.

Minutes pass before she returns to the living room with the bags of goodies. She mentions that she has to get Holly from a friend's house, but that she’ll be back later with Robin for the weekly check-in. The group gets together once a week to talk about updates on anything happening in town, news from the outside, and any changes in the patrolling schedule. It’s all necessary to stay two steps ahead so the plans made won’t be ruined. This is your life now, practically apocalyptic and always waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

Once Nancy is gone, you start gathering the bags to drop them in their storage area. “M’gonna bring these to the pool house.” You state simply. Not even a breath is let out before Steve and Dustin all but charge you while yelling ‘no!’ You look at the two of them as if they have 3 heads each. No one says anything. No one moves. Tension seeps back into the room, so thick it can be cut with a knife.

Steve straightens up and clears his throat, breathing out a laugh  as he starts to backtrack. “I-I just mean you know, uh - why do you need to bring them to the pool house?”

“... Because that’s where they go.”

“Yes. That is … true, but like … why do you need to bring them out there. Maybe Dustin wants to?” 

“I never said that.” Dustin goes to argue, but Steve shoots him a glare and grits out between his teeth “are you sure?” You see another argument starting to build and intervene before it gets anywhere. 

“It’s fine, I got it. No biggie”  You go to leave out the sliding glass doors that you had entered through not too long ago. But, it was never that easy with those two, was it?

“We just.. You know, want to take the load off of you.” Dustin is quick to respond. 

“Yeah! You’ve already done so much today, it's the least we can do." Steve adds.

“Yeah! The least.” 

Narrowing your eyes at them, you don't give in. Stubborn is your middle name after all. 

“I carried the bags all the way here. I think I can manage the 15 steps to the pool house.” Punctuated with an eye roll, you attempt to make your exit again and feel a tug. You look to see Steve's hands wrapped around one of the bag handles, a stern expression set in his features. 

“Steve. Let go.” 

“I can’t.” 

You’ve had enough of his outburst and cut to the chase. Going toe to toe with him, you call out his behavior. “What is your problem?”

He deflates and loosens his hold on the bag, sighing at your question  as he faces Dustin who is visibly panicked. You look back and forth between them awaiting an answer. “Hello?! What is the deal with you two?” They don’t spare you a glance and you take that as your chance to rush out while you can. As you're approaching the pool house, you hear a commotion behind you. A chorus of your name being yelled mixed in with a ‘stop’ and ‘don’t.’ 

“It’ll take me two seconds, relax!” You call back as you take  the last few steps towards the door to the storage area, shaking your head and muttering a quiet “assholes” under your breath. You turn the handle and step inside, quickly kicking the door shut as two sets of hurried footsteps gain on you. You immediately see movement out of the corner of your eye and snap your head in that direction.

A body is stood with its back to you, shoulders tense and unmoving. 

You know that body. You could pick that body out of any crowd. That all too familiar silhouette with untamable curls that cascade down and around his broad shoulders. Back raising fast with every inhale he takes. The sounds of his heavy breaths.

You know that body. 

That body turns to face you. Those brown eyes meet yours for the first time since the light left them all those months ago. A look in them that you can’t quite place. Pain? Worry? Relief?

The bags you’re carrying fall to the ground without a second thought from you. Shock invades your system as every memory, every moment with him comes rushing back. As every second after him, with all of the grief and the pain you’ve neglected, comes to a head. The six months that he was gone disappear, almost as if they never happened. 

That it was barely a moment apart. 

You're shaking, but you don't know it.

Tears begin their descent down your cheeks, but you don't know it.

Though, you do know that body. You do know those eyes. You do know the boy who stands in front of you again after that moment apart. In the breath of a gasp, you identify the only thing you do know.

“Eddie.”

. . . . . . . . . .

Thank you to anyone who took the time out of their day to read this!!! It means more to me than you could ever know. Likes, comments & reblogs are always welcomed & appreciated. As long as you're respectful of course. And again, a massive thank you and shoutout to @eternal-sunflowers for being an incredible help to me and an even more incredible friend. If it wasn't for you being so supportive I would've let this fic die in my google docs. I -must- appreciate<3

tagging a couple mutuals who might be interested. if you'd like to have your tag removed or even added, lmk!!!: @abitchyouhate @sidereustales @melodymunson @m0llygunn @strangerstilinski @thewayitalknj @thischarmingmandalorian @eddiesxangel @hellfiremunsonn @cinemabean

[cacoetheswriting]

I saw that reblogged post about books and wanted to ask what you're currently reading?

i finished deep cuts by holly brickley a few days ago (and im still spiralling), then yesterday i started drive your plow over the bones of the dead by olga tokarczuk

[cacoetheswriting]

😭😭😭😭😭 obsessed with you

what did i miss?

chapter three from the little mess you made.

pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x singlemom!reader (modern au) word count: 3.3k

summary: eddie tries to understand how he can fit into his old-new life in hawkins. with wayne, with you. what kind of role you want him to play for the kid you share. then again, maybe it's too early to decide these things. especially, when there's larger things at play. things that he's not wiling to address yet.

chapter cw: suggestive & mature themes, implied intimacy | non-explicit, one night stand gone awry, secret pregnancy aka no-one told eddie he's a dad, forced proximity, mutual pining / yearning, mild jealousy, fluffy angst, emotional hurt / some comfort, navigating family dynamics, adult language, mentions of physical violence & related injuries (+blood), alcohol consumption — pls let me know if i missed any!

psa: any images used in chapter headers don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also vaguely — if at all— described in the story.

Dinner is mostly uneventful.

The three adults wordlessly agree not to mention anything about the circumstance they’ve currently found themselves under. Instead, Steve talks about his work day, making jokes here and there that Messer is far too young to understand, but the toddler laughs nonetheless because he’s included in the conversation.

Sitting at the far end of the pizza place, Eddie has his back to the locale, head low to avoid anyone noticing him. Although, it’s mostly dead anyway. No one here to recognise his head of hair. Just a young waitress, staring blankly at her phone when she’s not needed, and an elderly couple on the opposite end of the restaurant.

He’s never been here before. Doesn’t recognise it actually and Steve confirms as such when he notices Eddie’s curious glances and tells his friend how Hawkins’ Home Slice opened a few months after the rockstar’s departure.

“I was an early investor, actually.” Steve says, not in a boastful way.

Eddie quirks a brow. “Thought you mainly did real estate these days?”

Harrington nods, then clarifies, “Yeah, man. Mainly residential, as you already know, but I also invest in some businesses. Focusing on local. Giving back to the community in my own way, I guess.” He finishes with a shrug and looks at you.

The rockstar does the same and there’s a smile on your face as you watch Steve with something Eddie would describe as adoration. His stomach growls. He tells the table it’s hunger, but he knows that’s not entirely true. A physical reaction for something akin to envy, actually.

Later, directly across from you, Eddie’s observing again.

You’re next to the young boy, helping him colour the paper kid’s menu in between bites of pepperoni pizza. There’s a small smile circling Eddie’s lips at the sight, a warmth in his chest he can’t quite shake, although he’s not exactly sure he wants to.

Harrington is beside his high school friend, opposite Messer. He playfully chucks french fries at the toddlers plate, urging him to eat up, while you scold the action with a very non-threatening scowl.

“We don’t play with food,” you tell the two of them.

“Yeah, uncle Steve,” Messer mimics the expression on your face and Eddie has to bite back a snort. There’s definitely no denying the kid is his, through and through.

Switching gears, Steve asks you, “How was work?”

You shrug, “Same old. Tuesday’s are the busiest, as you know. I led the morning class, then manned the desk.”

“Did you take your break?” Steve wonders.

“You know I didn’t,” you reply. “But I left early, so that counts for something.”

“What do you do?” Eddie asks, interrupting the back-and-forth, genuinely curious. Last he saw you, you were pursuing your passion. Photography. He hopes, despite the circumstances, that part of your life hasn’t changed much.

He’d be wrong.

“I run a yoga studio one town over,” you tell him, confirming in one short sentence that you really did give everything up to raise Messer, as he suspected. Dreams included.

Eddie swallows the lump in his throat, forcibly contorting his facial features into showcasing something different to guilt and surprise.

The memory of that first time he ever laid eyes on you flashes in his mind for the hundredth time in the space of a single afternoon, only this time, it hurts a tiny bit more. Knowing you exchanged the camera for a yoga mat, shoved your true self to the side while he galavanted around the world.

You put his dreams ahead of your own and Eddie isn’t quite sure what to do with that information.

“Mommy is super strong,” Messer tells Eddie from across the table. The roll of his r’s not quite there, but his small face beams with pride.

“I don’t doubt that, little man.” Eddie says, honestly.

“She punched uncle Steve. There was blood.” The toddler’s eyes glisten with mischief as he shuffles in his spot, raising onto his knees. “But I’m not allowed to tell anyone,” he adds quickly, glancing in your direction to make sure what he’s just revealed is okay.

There’s a smirk tugging at your lips before you lean to place a wet kiss on Messer’s cheek. Satisfied that he didn’t break your trust, the boy resumes colouring, dutifully ignoring the rest of the chatter.

With an intrigued brow, Eddie poses the question, “You punched Harrington?”

“It was an accident,” you answer.

“I deserved it,” Steve says simultaneously.

Eddie’s head snaps between his friend and the mother of his child, whiplash fast. Confusion settles somewhere in his core, replacing the resentment he’s felt this entire morning since being an unknowing participant in this family wasn’t on his bingo card.

“There’s a story there,” the rockstar points out, but no one else speaks.

You’re staring at Steve, who is staring at you. A telepathic conversation. He squares his shoulders, unafraid, but your eyes narrow as if you’re daring the brunette to speak.

It really was an accident, you reason internally. 

A few months ago, for your birthday, Steve surprised you with a trip to New York. He planned everything out. Agreed with Wayne, ensuring the older man was okay to look after Messer alone, only for two nights, found an outrageously priced hotel, arranged a meet-up with your old friends and Terminal 5 colleagues. A perfect birthday.

Only, Harrington neglected to mention he also extended the invite to his friend, Eddie.

Eddie who showed up, oblivious.

Thankfully, you saw him from across the bar before he saw you, and you hurried to hide in the bathroom (like the coward you seemingly are when it comes to this man), before eventually sneaking out.

You ignored Steve for the rest of the trip, angry for putting you in that situation, and once the two of you returned to Hawkins, you exploded.

Your fist collided with his face as he attempted to explain. How you’d been a shell of yourself ever since he met you and how he knew you thought about the musician every day, secretly regretting not telling Eddie the truth in the end. 

So, okay, maybe it wasn’t an accident. Maybe Steve did deserve it.

Exhaling, you reach for the half-empty glass in front of you. After only initially wrapping your fingers around the soft drink, wanting simply to have something to do with your hands, to stop them from shaking under the table, you take a large gulp. The fizzy liquid cold, almost burning, in such an extensive sip.

“He deserved it,” you relent and sneaking a look at Messer, to make sure he’s still playfully oblivious to the adult conversation, you begin to tell Eddie exactly what had happened. Watching as emotions flush his cheeks, as his lips part.

When you finish, hanging your head slightly ashamed, the rockstar turns to Steve.

“Is this why you were so fucking insistent I come out that night?”

Harrington nods. “Dude, it’s been eating at me, keeping this secret, and I-I don’t know,” he sighs, “Selfishly, I thought if I forced the two of you into a situation, we could just go on with our lives.”

You’re back to doodling with Messer when Eddie says, “She was right to punch you.”

And you can’t help the laugh that escapes your throat. 

You don’t look up from the page as your lips twist into a genuine smile because you’re afraid if you catch Eddie’s eyes again, the regret you feel will sink deeper, heavier. You’ll begin to reconsider all of the reasons you made up over the years, for why his world isn’t fit for a child. Yes, him making you happy (if only momentarily), that puts a splinter in the works. So, you remain focused on the yellow sun on Messer’s paper. Colouring within the lines and doing your best to ignore the weight of his gaze.

After a moment, Eddie tells Steve, tone hushed, how he’s grateful his friend kept trying. He thanks him for it and the two share a silent understanding that all is forgiven. 

There’s still the unanswered question of who exactly Harrington is to you, but the rockstar decides that for now, he doesn’t want to know.

Obliviousness has served Eddie well for years, he can continue circling the unknown until you’re ready to give up more information — another attempt to show everyone, you especially, how he’s grown. He can be trusted.

His phone pings.

Felix the fuck-tard: Heard the good news, pal. Felix the fuck-tard: Between you and me, Smithie asked to get my ducks in a row which can only mean we’ll be back on the road sooner than later. Felix the fuck-tard: How’s all back at the lair? Need anything?

Fucking hell, he thinks, but the dread dissipates as quickly as it appeared when the rockstar lifts his gaze from the device in his grasp to see you looking at him, concern etched in your expression.

Then, you mouth: you okay?, and Eddie’s heart skips a beat because it’s been a while since someone genuinely showed that they cared.

He has to remind himself that you’re just being polite since it’s been years since that night in New York and currently the only tie he’s got to you is the little boy at your side. A kid he’s realistically got little claim on, aside from blood. But the way your brows crease and nose puckers up while you continue to stare, waiting for some sort of response to your wordless question, Eddie lets himself hope.

Although, he doesn’t want to drag you into anything you don’t need to be a part of. Especially not the shitstorm he’s created for himself. The drama he’s hiding from. So, he nods and never has a bop of the curls felt more nauseating than this lie.

A LITTLE BEFORE

Unwinding after a show usually involves a packet of cigarettes and any bottle of booze Eddie can get his hands on. Tonight however, his usual post-performance haze feels different. As the roar of the crowd echoes in his ears, beneath the rockstar’s closed eyes, is a growing unease and that fucking smile.

He was unable to find any information on the mystery girl. Asking around didn’t help, no one seemed to know who he was talking about, or they were reluctant to tell him. After all, despite his stature, Eddie is just a stranger to these people. They’re protecting one of their own. 

Draining the last of the cheap whiskey, the burning sensation doing little to quell the gnawing feeling in his gut that something, or someone, is missing, Eddie decides to pack it in for the night. Move the party to his hotel room — and by party, he means drinking alone until he passes out. Everyone else has already left, he thinks as he slowly makes his way towards the back door of the venue. Fingers on the metal handle, he pushes down, disappointed that he’ll never know the girl behind the lens.

“Shit, sorry.” A gasp.

Someone bumps right into him, barely outside the door. He shakes his head, also about to apologise, as his tipsy gaze traces the figure before him. From the worn off-white converse, to the legs wrapped in loose denim and a plain white tee, delicately tucked into the waistband of said jeans, and upwards to the single gold chain hanging down the bare neck, until finally... That fucking smile.

“No, I-I…” Eddie stumbles, willing himself sober. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t really looking. In a world of my own,” he explains, own lips circling upwards.

The smile in front of him doesn’t falter, only adding its own explanation to being here this late at night.

“I forgot my phone.”.

Eddie nods, hastily moving to the side, allowing passage. Then he waits. A part of him thinks he’s being a creep. Standing here in the dark alley while this girl he’s been obsessing over all night, a girl that’s not personally met him until this moment, is inside, alone, looking for her phone. But that’s just it. She’s inside alone and he’s being a gentleman by waiting to make sure she finds what she’s looking for, safely.

Outside, surprise graces the smile upon noticing that Eddie has not left his spot by the door.

“Thank you for waiting. You didn’t have to.” 

He shrugs, showcasing indifference. “New York is dangerous.”

A laugh so sweet bubbles to the surface, Eddie’s heart is somersaulting inside his chest. The smile, the light crease of brows, the happy lines. His gaze is memorising every single feature, just in case this is his only chance and yes, now he feels like a fucking creep.

“My hero,” the tease is modest and the rockstar can’t help but scoff, lightheartedly.

“Far from,” he says, “It would really be bad press if something happened to you and people found out that I was the last person to see you.”

“Ah, of course you’re only covering your ass. Typical B-lister behaviour.”

Eddie’s mouth twists further into a smirk. The nerve on this girl, he thinks, excitement rushing through his entire being.

“B-lister?” He feigns offence. “Did you hear the amount of people screaming my name tonight? Nothing B-list about me, sugar.”

Internally, he grimaces at the slip of the old-fashioned nickname, but there’s no deterrence from his new sparring partner. With a sly lick of the lips, the smile in front of him only widens.

“Apologies. I’ll be sure to tell everyone I know this little fact, Eddie Munson.” His name falls in a soft drawl and the rockstar has to steady himself.

Trying to play it cool, he rests one arm on the wall behind. His gaze quickly scans for signs that he’s reading this all wrong, but no, there isn’t any. This is flirting, for sure. He concludes that his name was supposed to sound borderline pornographic and his dick twitches in his briefs.

“Which way are you heading?” Eddie asks.

“Assuming you’re asking just in case something happens to me? So you can continue to keep your good name from being tarnished in the press, right?”

He rolls his eyes. “At least tell me your name. Then, if you inevitably get hurt on these brutal New York streets, I’ll know to tell the cops how I tried my best. Sir,” he mocks, “I swear officer, I told her not to walk alone. This generation and their damn stubbornness.”

Laughter, again. “Aren’t you like my age?”

“Oh, do we have a fan on our hands?” Eddie teases, weakly since his brain is fucking short-circuting from simply staring at that gorgeous smile.

“I’m not into cocky B-listers.”

The mahogany of his gaze glistens with mischief.

“What are you into then?”

Five minutes later, Eddie’s kissing that smile away. 

What started as a playful back-and-forth, morphed into a dizzying moment in the back of his Uber Black — exactly as the rockstar intended. As the city lights blur past the tinted windows, your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling gently when he nips at your bottom lip. 

Soft moans, lost in the thrum of the engine, and in between shallow breaths, Eddie learns the name that’s been taunting him since he got off the stage earlier tonight. He repeats, once, testing it on his own tongue and finds himself pleasantly surprised because he really likes how it sounds.

A LITTLE AFTER

Later that evening, outside on the patio of Wayne’s house, Eddie sips on an ice-cold beer and engages in small talk with his uncle.

He knows the particular question that hangs on Wayne’s lips — “what the hell are you doing back here, son?” — but they dance around it in every way. Eddie, unwilling to give up that piece of information just yet. Embarrassed. And Wayne, despite not knowing the reason for his nephew's return, is just glad to have him here.

“I’m still wondering…” Eddie begins, then takes another sip of his beer.

“Yeah?” Wayne probes.

The rockstar swallows.

“I’m still wondering how it’s not come out. That I have a kid,” he says. “People around here have to know that he’s mine?”

“Oh, they know,” his uncle confirms. “He’s got your name, son. He’s a Munson.”

A smile appears quickly on Eddie’s lips and something pleasant tugs at his chest because of course you made sure Messer be tied to his dad, one way or another. From his own chair, Wayne eyes his nephew — a young boy once more as he lamely trying to hide the happy expression behind the rim of his glass bottle — and a knowing smirk spreads across the old-man’s mouth, but he doesn’t comment.

After a beat of silence, “You gotta ask your team, Eddie.” Wayne adds instead, quite matter-of-factly. “Someone on your end is keeping this quiet. That’s our suspicion anyway.”

Eddie nods slowly. “Yeah,” he exhales. “Yeah, maybe.”

His mind now traces the thoughts of how Felix knew. You told his tour manager, hoping he’d pass the message along. Unfortunately, that didn’t happen, but maybe Felix filled Smithie in on the situation, or anyone else on the team in charge of Eddie’s entire life. Maybe they all know and are actively keeping this secret from him, together.

Fucking twisted if it’s true, Eddie thinks. The idea that his closest associates, his circle, the people he trusts with his career and well-being, could be conspiring behind his back sends a chill down the rockstar's spine. How could they? And more importantly, why would they? Questions swirl, unsettling and chipping away at the foundation of trust he’s built with his team.

After Wayne bids him goodnight, telling Eddie there’s a duvet and cushion ready for him on the pull-out in the office, the rockstar retrieves his phone and chewing on the inside of his cheek, he types out a message.

Eddie: we need to talk Felix the fuck-tard: Uh oh. Felix the fuck-tard: What kinda trouble have you landed yourself in now? Felix the fuck-tard: Smithie is gonna be pissed. Eddie: I know Eddie: about the kid

His phone instantly gleams with an incoming call, Felix’s name on full display.

Eddie stares at it for a minute, but ultimately decides to flip the device over. Ignore. Let the dickhead sweat, which is minor payback for his actions.

Eddie knows in his heart how nothing would ever be enough to truly settle the score for what Felix had done, but this small and deliberate refusal to engage, feels like a tiny victory. He pictures Felix on the other end, most likely pacing his ridiculously expensive apartment, wondering why Eddie isn’t answering since he’s the one who sent the first message and a grim smile touches his lips. Good, he thinks, let him wonder. Let him feel a fraction of the emotional turmoil Eddie has been living with for the past few hours.

A faint knock on glass has Eddie ignoring the buzz of his phone and glancing towards the back door, now sliding open as you step out into the night.

“Sorry,” you say softly, “You looked pretty deep in thought. Didn’t want to startle you completely.”

The phone stops buzzing.

“What’s on your mind?” You wonder, brow raised.

Sitting in the chair Wayne abandoned minutes prior, you reach for the rockstar’s beer without asking and take a sip. He smirks at your boldness, but doesn’t point it out. This is your house just as much as it’s Wayne’s, whether Eddie intended things to be this way or not. That means the beer he’s drinking is also yours. Straight from the fridge in your kitchen.

Yours, yours, yours.

Once upon a time, Eddie used that word to describe himself to you. Under the cover of a cotton duvet, where no one else could reach the two of you. Where, for one blissful night, he was back to being just a guy, gently crushing on a pretty girl, and he made that word true. “I’m yours, sugar.”, Eddie whispered into the crook of your neck and kissed the spot until you began to tremble underneath him.

Here, in the present, his jeans tighten at the sudden flash of memory. He clears his throat, an attempt to regain control of himself and remain inconspicuous. The last thing this day needs is him acting a horny teenager.

“Just… life, I guess.” Eddie answers after clearing his throat.

You snort. “Relax B-lister, you’re not Socrates.”

He laughs and fuck, for you,  the mother of his child, the prettiest smile on Earth, he’s a goner.

There’s no denying.

as always, thank you for reading! pls support your writers by commenting & reblogging <3

story masterlist

tagging some cool people that expressed interest (if you want to be removed, just let me know), and if anyone wants to be added- also let me know:

@tvserie-s-world @probablyin-bed @the-dumpster-fire-of-life @darknesseddiem @kellsck @althaiareads @streamafterlaughter @ali-r3n @ratsematary @alyisdead @kravitzwhore @aestheticsunflower19 @s1mp-4-ga11y @monstermunsonswife-blog @xingyuluvr @ari-joe @dearestro @spider-starry @vodkapetalz-blog @ilovetaquitosmmmm @angelbabyivy @cupidbloaterz @thedoubleexposurephotography @thrashcam @kravitzwhore @maskofmirrors @taylorswiftsloverr @djodirt

[cacoetheswriting]

i love reading a great book…. like why am i gasping and talking to myself rn

[cacoetheswriting]

thank YOU

what did i miss?

chapter three from the little mess you made.

pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x singlemom!reader (modern au) word count: 3.3k

summary: eddie tries to understand how he can fit into his old-new life in hawkins. with wayne, with you. what kind of role you want him to play for the kid you share. then again, maybe it's too early to decide these things. especially, when there's larger things at play. things that he's not wiling to address yet.

chapter cw: suggestive & mature themes, implied intimacy | non-explicit, one night stand gone awry, secret pregnancy aka no-one told eddie he's a dad, forced proximity, mutual pining / yearning, mild jealousy, fluffy angst, emotional hurt / some comfort, navigating family dynamics, adult language, mentions of physical violence & related injuries (+blood), alcohol consumption — pls let me know if i missed any!

psa: any images used in chapter headers don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also vaguely — if at all— described in the story.

Dinner is mostly uneventful.

The three adults wordlessly agree not to mention anything about the circumstance they’ve currently found themselves under. Instead, Steve talks about his work day, making jokes here and there that Messer is far too young to understand, but the toddler laughs nonetheless because he’s included in the conversation.

Sitting at the far end of the pizza place, Eddie has his back to the locale, head low to avoid anyone noticing him. Although, it’s mostly dead anyway. No one here to recognise his head of hair. Just a young waitress, staring blankly at her phone when she’s not needed, and an elderly couple on the opposite end of the restaurant.

He’s never been here before. Doesn’t recognise it actually and Steve confirms as such when he notices Eddie’s curious glances and tells his friend how Hawkins’ Home Slice opened a few months after the rockstar’s departure.

“I was an early investor, actually.” Steve says, not in a boastful way.

Eddie quirks a brow. “Thought you mainly did real estate these days?”

Harrington nods, then clarifies, “Yeah, man. Mainly residential, as you already know, but I also invest in some businesses. Focusing on local. Giving back to the community in my own way, I guess.” He finishes with a shrug and looks at you.

The rockstar does the same and there’s a smile on your face as you watch Steve with something Eddie would describe as adoration. His stomach growls. He tells the table it’s hunger, but he knows that’s not entirely true. A physical reaction for something akin to envy, actually.

Later, directly across from you, Eddie’s observing again.

You’re next to the young boy, helping him colour the paper kid’s menu in between bites of pepperoni pizza. There’s a small smile circling Eddie’s lips at the sight, a warmth in his chest he can’t quite shake, although he’s not exactly sure he wants to.

Harrington is beside his high school friend, opposite Messer. He playfully chucks french fries at the toddlers plate, urging him to eat up, while you scold the action with a very non-threatening scowl.

“We don’t play with food,” you tell the two of them.

“Yeah, uncle Steve,” Messer mimics the expression on your face and Eddie has to bite back a snort. There’s definitely no denying the kid is his, through and through.

Switching gears, Steve asks you, “How was work?”

You shrug, “Same old. Tuesday’s are the busiest, as you know. I led the morning class, then manned the desk.”

“Did you take your break?” Steve wonders.

“You know I didn’t,” you reply. “But I left early, so that counts for something.”

“What do you do?” Eddie asks, interrupting the back-and-forth, genuinely curious. Last he saw you, you were pursuing your passion. Photography. He hopes, despite the circumstances, that part of your life hasn’t changed much.

He’d be wrong.

“I run a yoga studio one town over,” you tell him, confirming in one short sentence that you really did give everything up to raise Messer, as he suspected. Dreams included.

Eddie swallows the lump in his throat, forcibly contorting his facial features into showcasing something different to guilt and surprise.

The memory of that first time he ever laid eyes on you flashes in his mind for the hundredth time in the space of a single afternoon, only this time, it hurts a tiny bit more. Knowing you exchanged the camera for a yoga mat, shoved your true self to the side while he galavanted around the world.

You put his dreams ahead of your own and Eddie isn’t quite sure what to do with that information.

“Mommy is super strong,” Messer tells Eddie from across the table. The roll of his r’s not quite there, but his small face beams with pride.

“I don’t doubt that, little man.” Eddie says, honestly.

“She punched uncle Steve. There was blood.” The toddler’s eyes glisten with mischief as he shuffles in his spot, raising onto his knees. “But I’m not allowed to tell anyone,” he adds quickly, glancing in your direction to make sure what he’s just revealed is okay.

There’s a smirk tugging at your lips before you lean to place a wet kiss on Messer’s cheek. Satisfied that he didn’t break your trust, the boy resumes colouring, dutifully ignoring the rest of the chatter.

With an intrigued brow, Eddie poses the question, “You punched Harrington?”

“It was an accident,” you answer.

“I deserved it,” Steve says simultaneously.

Eddie’s head snaps between his friend and the mother of his child, whiplash fast. Confusion settles somewhere in his core, replacing the resentment he’s felt this entire morning since being an unknowing participant in this family wasn’t on his bingo card.

“There’s a story there,” the rockstar points out, but no one else speaks.

You’re staring at Steve, who is staring at you. A telepathic conversation. He squares his shoulders, unafraid, but your eyes narrow as if you’re daring the brunette to speak.

It really was an accident, you reason internally. 

A few months ago, for your birthday, Steve surprised you with a trip to New York. He planned everything out. Agreed with Wayne, ensuring the older man was okay to look after Messer alone, only for two nights, found an outrageously priced hotel, arranged a meet-up with your old friends and Terminal 5 colleagues. A perfect birthday.

Only, Harrington neglected to mention he also extended the invite to his friend, Eddie.

Eddie who showed up, oblivious.

Thankfully, you saw him from across the bar before he saw you, and you hurried to hide in the bathroom (like the coward you seemingly are when it comes to this man), before eventually sneaking out.

You ignored Steve for the rest of the trip, angry for putting you in that situation, and once the two of you returned to Hawkins, you exploded.

Your fist collided with his face as he attempted to explain. How you’d been a shell of yourself ever since he met you and how he knew you thought about the musician every day, secretly regretting not telling Eddie the truth in the end. 

So, okay, maybe it wasn’t an accident. Maybe Steve did deserve it.

Exhaling, you reach for the half-empty glass in front of you. After only initially wrapping your fingers around the soft drink, wanting simply to have something to do with your hands, to stop them from shaking under the table, you take a large gulp. The fizzy liquid cold, almost burning, in such an extensive sip.

“He deserved it,” you relent and sneaking a look at Messer, to make sure he’s still playfully oblivious to the adult conversation, you begin to tell Eddie exactly what had happened. Watching as emotions flush his cheeks, as his lips part.

When you finish, hanging your head slightly ashamed, the rockstar turns to Steve.

“Is this why you were so fucking insistent I come out that night?”

Harrington nods. “Dude, it’s been eating at me, keeping this secret, and I-I don’t know,” he sighs, “Selfishly, I thought if I forced the two of you into a situation, we could just go on with our lives.”

You’re back to doodling with Messer when Eddie says, “She was right to punch you.”

And you can’t help the laugh that escapes your throat. 

You don’t look up from the page as your lips twist into a genuine smile because you’re afraid if you catch Eddie’s eyes again, the regret you feel will sink deeper, heavier. You’ll begin to reconsider all of the reasons you made up over the years, for why his world isn’t fit for a child. Yes, him making you happy (if only momentarily), that puts a splinter in the works. So, you remain focused on the yellow sun on Messer’s paper. Colouring within the lines and doing your best to ignore the weight of his gaze.

After a moment, Eddie tells Steve, tone hushed, how he’s grateful his friend kept trying. He thanks him for it and the two share a silent understanding that all is forgiven. 

There’s still the unanswered question of who exactly Harrington is to you, but the rockstar decides that for now, he doesn’t want to know.

Obliviousness has served Eddie well for years, he can continue circling the unknown until you’re ready to give up more information — another attempt to show everyone, you especially, how he’s grown. He can be trusted.

His phone pings.

Felix the fuck-tard: Heard the good news, pal. Felix the fuck-tard: Between you and me, Smithie asked to get my ducks in a row which can only mean we’ll be back on the road sooner than later. Felix the fuck-tard: How’s all back at the lair? Need anything?

Fucking hell, he thinks, but the dread dissipates as quickly as it appeared when the rockstar lifts his gaze from the device in his grasp to see you looking at him, concern etched in your expression.

Then, you mouth: you okay?, and Eddie’s heart skips a beat because it’s been a while since someone genuinely showed that they cared.

He has to remind himself that you’re just being polite since it’s been years since that night in New York and currently the only tie he’s got to you is the little boy at your side. A kid he’s realistically got little claim on, aside from blood. But the way your brows crease and nose puckers up while you continue to stare, waiting for some sort of response to your wordless question, Eddie lets himself hope.

Although, he doesn’t want to drag you into anything you don’t need to be a part of. Especially not the shitstorm he’s created for himself. The drama he’s hiding from. So, he nods and never has a bop of the curls felt more nauseating than this lie.

A LITTLE BEFORE

Unwinding after a show usually involves a packet of cigarettes and any bottle of booze Eddie can get his hands on. Tonight however, his usual post-performance haze feels different. As the roar of the crowd echoes in his ears, beneath the rockstar’s closed eyes, is a growing unease and that fucking smile.

He was unable to find any information on the mystery girl. Asking around didn’t help, no one seemed to know who he was talking about, or they were reluctant to tell him. After all, despite his stature, Eddie is just a stranger to these people. They’re protecting one of their own. 

Draining the last of the cheap whiskey, the burning sensation doing little to quell the gnawing feeling in his gut that something, or someone, is missing, Eddie decides to pack it in for the night. Move the party to his hotel room — and by party, he means drinking alone until he passes out. Everyone else has already left, he thinks as he slowly makes his way towards the back door of the venue. Fingers on the metal handle, he pushes down, disappointed that he’ll never know the girl behind the lens.

“Shit, sorry.” A gasp.

Someone bumps right into him, barely outside the door. He shakes his head, also about to apologise, as his tipsy gaze traces the figure before him. From the worn off-white converse, to the legs wrapped in loose denim and a plain white tee, delicately tucked into the waistband of said jeans, and upwards to the single gold chain hanging down the bare neck, until finally... That fucking smile.

“No, I-I…” Eddie stumbles, willing himself sober. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t really looking. In a world of my own,” he explains, own lips circling upwards.

The smile in front of him doesn’t falter, only adding its own explanation to being here this late at night.

“I forgot my phone.”.

Eddie nods, hastily moving to the side, allowing passage. Then he waits. A part of him thinks he’s being a creep. Standing here in the dark alley while this girl he’s been obsessing over all night, a girl that’s not personally met him until this moment, is inside, alone, looking for her phone. But that’s just it. She’s inside alone and he’s being a gentleman by waiting to make sure she finds what she’s looking for, safely.

Outside, surprise graces the smile upon noticing that Eddie has not left his spot by the door.

“Thank you for waiting. You didn’t have to.” 

He shrugs, showcasing indifference. “New York is dangerous.”

A laugh so sweet bubbles to the surface, Eddie’s heart is somersaulting inside his chest. The smile, the light crease of brows, the happy lines. His gaze is memorising every single feature, just in case this is his only chance and yes, now he feels like a fucking creep.

“My hero,” the tease is modest and the rockstar can’t help but scoff, lightheartedly.

“Far from,” he says, “It would really be bad press if something happened to you and people found out that I was the last person to see you.”

“Ah, of course you’re only covering your ass. Typical B-lister behaviour.”

Eddie’s mouth twists further into a smirk. The nerve on this girl, he thinks, excitement rushing through his entire being.

“B-lister?” He feigns offence. “Did you hear the amount of people screaming my name tonight? Nothing B-list about me, sugar.”

Internally, he grimaces at the slip of the old-fashioned nickname, but there’s no deterrence from his new sparring partner. With a sly lick of the lips, the smile in front of him only widens.

“Apologies. I’ll be sure to tell everyone I know this little fact, Eddie Munson.” His name falls in a soft drawl and the rockstar has to steady himself.

Trying to play it cool, he rests one arm on the wall behind. His gaze quickly scans for signs that he’s reading this all wrong, but no, there isn’t any. This is flirting, for sure. He concludes that his name was supposed to sound borderline pornographic and his dick twitches in his briefs.

“Which way are you heading?” Eddie asks.

“Assuming you’re asking just in case something happens to me? So you can continue to keep your good name from being tarnished in the press, right?”

He rolls his eyes. “At least tell me your name. Then, if you inevitably get hurt on these brutal New York streets, I’ll know to tell the cops how I tried my best. Sir,” he mocks, “I swear officer, I told her not to walk alone. This generation and their damn stubbornness.”

Laughter, again. “Aren’t you like my age?”

“Oh, do we have a fan on our hands?” Eddie teases, weakly since his brain is fucking short-circuting from simply staring at that gorgeous smile.

“I’m not into cocky B-listers.”

The mahogany of his gaze glistens with mischief.

“What are you into then?”

Five minutes later, Eddie’s kissing that smile away. 

What started as a playful back-and-forth, morphed into a dizzying moment in the back of his Uber Black — exactly as the rockstar intended. As the city lights blur past the tinted windows, your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling gently when he nips at your bottom lip. 

Soft moans, lost in the thrum of the engine, and in between shallow breaths, Eddie learns the name that’s been taunting him since he got off the stage earlier tonight. He repeats, once, testing it on his own tongue and finds himself pleasantly surprised because he really likes how it sounds.

A LITTLE AFTER

Later that evening, outside on the patio of Wayne’s house, Eddie sips on an ice-cold beer and engages in small talk with his uncle.

He knows the particular question that hangs on Wayne’s lips — “what the hell are you doing back here, son?” — but they dance around it in every way. Eddie, unwilling to give up that piece of information just yet. Embarrassed. And Wayne, despite not knowing the reason for his nephew's return, is just glad to have him here.

“I’m still wondering…” Eddie begins, then takes another sip of his beer.

“Yeah?” Wayne probes.

The rockstar swallows.

“I’m still wondering how it’s not come out. That I have a kid,” he says. “People around here have to know that he’s mine?”

“Oh, they know,” his uncle confirms. “He’s got your name, son. He’s a Munson.”

A smile appears quickly on Eddie’s lips and something pleasant tugs at his chest because of course you made sure Messer be tied to his dad, one way or another. From his own chair, Wayne eyes his nephew — a young boy once more as he lamely trying to hide the happy expression behind the rim of his glass bottle — and a knowing smirk spreads across the old-man’s mouth, but he doesn’t comment.

After a beat of silence, “You gotta ask your team, Eddie.” Wayne adds instead, quite matter-of-factly. “Someone on your end is keeping this quiet. That’s our suspicion anyway.”

Eddie nods slowly. “Yeah,” he exhales. “Yeah, maybe.”

His mind now traces the thoughts of how Felix knew. You told his tour manager, hoping he’d pass the message along. Unfortunately, that didn’t happen, but maybe Felix filled Smithie in on the situation, or anyone else on the team in charge of Eddie’s entire life. Maybe they all know and are actively keeping this secret from him, together.

Fucking twisted if it’s true, Eddie thinks. The idea that his closest associates, his circle, the people he trusts with his career and well-being, could be conspiring behind his back sends a chill down the rockstar's spine. How could they? And more importantly, why would they? Questions swirl, unsettling and chipping away at the foundation of trust he’s built with his team.

After Wayne bids him goodnight, telling Eddie there’s a duvet and cushion ready for him on the pull-out in the office, the rockstar retrieves his phone and chewing on the inside of his cheek, he types out a message.

Eddie: we need to talk Felix the fuck-tard: Uh oh. Felix the fuck-tard: What kinda trouble have you landed yourself in now? Felix the fuck-tard: Smithie is gonna be pissed. Eddie: I know Eddie: about the kid

His phone instantly gleams with an incoming call, Felix’s name on full display.

Eddie stares at it for a minute, but ultimately decides to flip the device over. Ignore. Let the dickhead sweat, which is minor payback for his actions.

Eddie knows in his heart how nothing would ever be enough to truly settle the score for what Felix had done, but this small and deliberate refusal to engage, feels like a tiny victory. He pictures Felix on the other end, most likely pacing his ridiculously expensive apartment, wondering why Eddie isn’t answering since he’s the one who sent the first message and a grim smile touches his lips. Good, he thinks, let him wonder. Let him feel a fraction of the emotional turmoil Eddie has been living with for the past few hours.

A faint knock on glass has Eddie ignoring the buzz of his phone and glancing towards the back door, now sliding open as you step out into the night.

“Sorry,” you say softly, “You looked pretty deep in thought. Didn’t want to startle you completely.”

The phone stops buzzing.

“What’s on your mind?” You wonder, brow raised.

Sitting in the chair Wayne abandoned minutes prior, you reach for the rockstar’s beer without asking and take a sip. He smirks at your boldness, but doesn’t point it out. This is your house just as much as it’s Wayne’s, whether Eddie intended things to be this way or not. That means the beer he’s drinking is also yours. Straight from the fridge in your kitchen.

Yours, yours, yours.

Once upon a time, Eddie used that word to describe himself to you. Under the cover of a cotton duvet, where no one else could reach the two of you. Where, for one blissful night, he was back to being just a guy, gently crushing on a pretty girl, and he made that word true. “I’m yours, sugar.”, Eddie whispered into the crook of your neck and kissed the spot until you began to tremble underneath him.

Here, in the present, his jeans tighten at the sudden flash of memory. He clears his throat, an attempt to regain control of himself and remain inconspicuous. The last thing this day needs is him acting a horny teenager.

“Just… life, I guess.” Eddie answers after clearing his throat.

You snort. “Relax B-lister, you’re not Socrates.”

He laughs and fuck, for you,  the mother of his child, the prettiest smile on Earth, he’s a goner.

There’s no denying.

as always, thank you for reading! pls support your writers by commenting & reblogging <3

story masterlist

tagging some cool people that expressed interest (if you want to be removed, just let me know), and if anyone wants to be added- also let me know:

@tvserie-s-world @probablyin-bed @the-dumpster-fire-of-life @darknesseddiem @kellsck @althaiareads @streamafterlaughter @ali-r3n @ratsematary @alyisdead @kravitzwhore @aestheticsunflower19 @s1mp-4-ga11y @monstermunsonswife-blog @xingyuluvr @ari-joe @dearestro @spider-starry @vodkapetalz-blog @ilovetaquitosmmmm @angelbabyivy @cupidbloaterz @thedoubleexposurephotography @thrashcam @kravitzwhore @maskofmirrors @taylorswiftsloverr @djodirt

[cacoetheswriting]

😇😇 im SO glad you think so, thank you 🫶🏻

what did i miss?

chapter three from the little mess you made.

pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x singlemom!reader (modern au) word count: 3.3k

summary: eddie tries to understand how he can fit into his old-new life in hawkins. with wayne, with you. what kind of role you want him to play for the kid you share. then again, maybe it's too early to decide these things. especially, when there's larger things at play. things that he's not wiling to address yet.

chapter cw: suggestive & mature themes, implied intimacy | non-explicit, one night stand gone awry, secret pregnancy aka no-one told eddie he's a dad, forced proximity, mutual pining / yearning, mild jealousy, fluffy angst, emotional hurt / some comfort, navigating family dynamics, adult language, mentions of physical violence & related injuries (+blood), alcohol consumption — pls let me know if i missed any!

psa: any images used in chapter headers don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also vaguely — if at all— described in the story.

Dinner is mostly uneventful.

The three adults wordlessly agree not to mention anything about the circumstance they’ve currently found themselves under. Instead, Steve talks about his work day, making jokes here and there that Messer is far too young to understand, but the toddler laughs nonetheless because he’s included in the conversation.

Sitting at the far end of the pizza place, Eddie has his back to the locale, head low to avoid anyone noticing him. Although, it’s mostly dead anyway. No one here to recognise his head of hair. Just a young waitress, staring blankly at her phone when she’s not needed, and an elderly couple on the opposite end of the restaurant.

He’s never been here before. Doesn’t recognise it actually and Steve confirms as such when he notices Eddie’s curious glances and tells his friend how Hawkins’ Home Slice opened a few months after the rockstar’s departure.

“I was an early investor, actually.” Steve says, not in a boastful way.

Eddie quirks a brow. “Thought you mainly did real estate these days?”

Harrington nods, then clarifies, “Yeah, man. Mainly residential, as you already know, but I also invest in some businesses. Focusing on local. Giving back to the community in my own way, I guess.” He finishes with a shrug and looks at you.

The rockstar does the same and there’s a smile on your face as you watch Steve with something Eddie would describe as adoration. His stomach growls. He tells the table it’s hunger, but he knows that’s not entirely true. A physical reaction for something akin to envy, actually.

Later, directly across from you, Eddie’s observing again.

You’re next to the young boy, helping him colour the paper kid’s menu in between bites of pepperoni pizza. There’s a small smile circling Eddie’s lips at the sight, a warmth in his chest he can’t quite shake, although he’s not exactly sure he wants to.

Harrington is beside his high school friend, opposite Messer. He playfully chucks french fries at the toddlers plate, urging him to eat up, while you scold the action with a very non-threatening scowl.

“We don’t play with food,” you tell the two of them.

“Yeah, uncle Steve,” Messer mimics the expression on your face and Eddie has to bite back a snort. There’s definitely no denying the kid is his, through and through.

Switching gears, Steve asks you, “How was work?”

You shrug, “Same old. Tuesday’s are the busiest, as you know. I led the morning class, then manned the desk.”

“Did you take your break?” Steve wonders.

“You know I didn’t,” you reply. “But I left early, so that counts for something.”

“What do you do?” Eddie asks, interrupting the back-and-forth, genuinely curious. Last he saw you, you were pursuing your passion. Photography. He hopes, despite the circumstances, that part of your life hasn’t changed much.

He’d be wrong.

“I run a yoga studio one town over,” you tell him, confirming in one short sentence that you really did give everything up to raise Messer, as he suspected. Dreams included.

Eddie swallows the lump in his throat, forcibly contorting his facial features into showcasing something different to guilt and surprise.

The memory of that first time he ever laid eyes on you flashes in his mind for the hundredth time in the space of a single afternoon, only this time, it hurts a tiny bit more. Knowing you exchanged the camera for a yoga mat, shoved your true self to the side while he galavanted around the world.

You put his dreams ahead of your own and Eddie isn’t quite sure what to do with that information.

“Mommy is super strong,” Messer tells Eddie from across the table. The roll of his r’s not quite there, but his small face beams with pride.

“I don’t doubt that, little man.” Eddie says, honestly.

“She punched uncle Steve. There was blood.” The toddler’s eyes glisten with mischief as he shuffles in his spot, raising onto his knees. “But I’m not allowed to tell anyone,” he adds quickly, glancing in your direction to make sure what he’s just revealed is okay.

There’s a smirk tugging at your lips before you lean to place a wet kiss on Messer’s cheek. Satisfied that he didn’t break your trust, the boy resumes colouring, dutifully ignoring the rest of the chatter.

With an intrigued brow, Eddie poses the question, “You punched Harrington?”

“It was an accident,” you answer.

“I deserved it,” Steve says simultaneously.

Eddie’s head snaps between his friend and the mother of his child, whiplash fast. Confusion settles somewhere in his core, replacing the resentment he’s felt this entire morning since being an unknowing participant in this family wasn’t on his bingo card.

“There’s a story there,” the rockstar points out, but no one else speaks.

You’re staring at Steve, who is staring at you. A telepathic conversation. He squares his shoulders, unafraid, but your eyes narrow as if you’re daring the brunette to speak.

It really was an accident, you reason internally. 

A few months ago, for your birthday, Steve surprised you with a trip to New York. He planned everything out. Agreed with Wayne, ensuring the older man was okay to look after Messer alone, only for two nights, found an outrageously priced hotel, arranged a meet-up with your old friends and Terminal 5 colleagues. A perfect birthday.

Only, Harrington neglected to mention he also extended the invite to his friend, Eddie.

Eddie who showed up, oblivious.

Thankfully, you saw him from across the bar before he saw you, and you hurried to hide in the bathroom (like the coward you seemingly are when it comes to this man), before eventually sneaking out.

You ignored Steve for the rest of the trip, angry for putting you in that situation, and once the two of you returned to Hawkins, you exploded.

Your fist collided with his face as he attempted to explain. How you’d been a shell of yourself ever since he met you and how he knew you thought about the musician every day, secretly regretting not telling Eddie the truth in the end. 

So, okay, maybe it wasn’t an accident. Maybe Steve did deserve it.

Exhaling, you reach for the half-empty glass in front of you. After only initially wrapping your fingers around the soft drink, wanting simply to have something to do with your hands, to stop them from shaking under the table, you take a large gulp. The fizzy liquid cold, almost burning, in such an extensive sip.

“He deserved it,” you relent and sneaking a look at Messer, to make sure he’s still playfully oblivious to the adult conversation, you begin to tell Eddie exactly what had happened. Watching as emotions flush his cheeks, as his lips part.

When you finish, hanging your head slightly ashamed, the rockstar turns to Steve.

“Is this why you were so fucking insistent I come out that night?”

Harrington nods. “Dude, it’s been eating at me, keeping this secret, and I-I don’t know,” he sighs, “Selfishly, I thought if I forced the two of you into a situation, we could just go on with our lives.”

You’re back to doodling with Messer when Eddie says, “She was right to punch you.”

And you can’t help the laugh that escapes your throat. 

You don’t look up from the page as your lips twist into a genuine smile because you’re afraid if you catch Eddie’s eyes again, the regret you feel will sink deeper, heavier. You’ll begin to reconsider all of the reasons you made up over the years, for why his world isn’t fit for a child. Yes, him making you happy (if only momentarily), that puts a splinter in the works. So, you remain focused on the yellow sun on Messer’s paper. Colouring within the lines and doing your best to ignore the weight of his gaze.

After a moment, Eddie tells Steve, tone hushed, how he’s grateful his friend kept trying. He thanks him for it and the two share a silent understanding that all is forgiven. 

There’s still the unanswered question of who exactly Harrington is to you, but the rockstar decides that for now, he doesn’t want to know.

Obliviousness has served Eddie well for years, he can continue circling the unknown until you’re ready to give up more information — another attempt to show everyone, you especially, how he’s grown. He can be trusted.

His phone pings.

Felix the fuck-tard: Heard the good news, pal. Felix the fuck-tard: Between you and me, Smithie asked to get my ducks in a row which can only mean we’ll be back on the road sooner than later. Felix the fuck-tard: How’s all back at the lair? Need anything?

Fucking hell, he thinks, but the dread dissipates as quickly as it appeared when the rockstar lifts his gaze from the device in his grasp to see you looking at him, concern etched in your expression.

Then, you mouth: you okay?, and Eddie’s heart skips a beat because it’s been a while since someone genuinely showed that they cared.

He has to remind himself that you’re just being polite since it’s been years since that night in New York and currently the only tie he’s got to you is the little boy at your side. A kid he’s realistically got little claim on, aside from blood. But the way your brows crease and nose puckers up while you continue to stare, waiting for some sort of response to your wordless question, Eddie lets himself hope.

Although, he doesn’t want to drag you into anything you don’t need to be a part of. Especially not the shitstorm he’s created for himself. The drama he’s hiding from. So, he nods and never has a bop of the curls felt more nauseating than this lie.

A LITTLE BEFORE

Unwinding after a show usually involves a packet of cigarettes and any bottle of booze Eddie can get his hands on. Tonight however, his usual post-performance haze feels different. As the roar of the crowd echoes in his ears, beneath the rockstar’s closed eyes, is a growing unease and that fucking smile.

He was unable to find any information on the mystery girl. Asking around didn’t help, no one seemed to know who he was talking about, or they were reluctant to tell him. After all, despite his stature, Eddie is just a stranger to these people. They’re protecting one of their own. 

Draining the last of the cheap whiskey, the burning sensation doing little to quell the gnawing feeling in his gut that something, or someone, is missing, Eddie decides to pack it in for the night. Move the party to his hotel room — and by party, he means drinking alone until he passes out. Everyone else has already left, he thinks as he slowly makes his way towards the back door of the venue. Fingers on the metal handle, he pushes down, disappointed that he’ll never know the girl behind the lens.

“Shit, sorry.” A gasp.

Someone bumps right into him, barely outside the door. He shakes his head, also about to apologise, as his tipsy gaze traces the figure before him. From the worn off-white converse, to the legs wrapped in loose denim and a plain white tee, delicately tucked into the waistband of said jeans, and upwards to the single gold chain hanging down the bare neck, until finally... That fucking smile.

“No, I-I…” Eddie stumbles, willing himself sober. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t really looking. In a world of my own,” he explains, own lips circling upwards.

The smile in front of him doesn’t falter, only adding its own explanation to being here this late at night.

“I forgot my phone.”.

Eddie nods, hastily moving to the side, allowing passage. Then he waits. A part of him thinks he’s being a creep. Standing here in the dark alley while this girl he’s been obsessing over all night, a girl that’s not personally met him until this moment, is inside, alone, looking for her phone. But that’s just it. She’s inside alone and he’s being a gentleman by waiting to make sure she finds what she’s looking for, safely.

Outside, surprise graces the smile upon noticing that Eddie has not left his spot by the door.

“Thank you for waiting. You didn’t have to.” 

He shrugs, showcasing indifference. “New York is dangerous.”

A laugh so sweet bubbles to the surface, Eddie’s heart is somersaulting inside his chest. The smile, the light crease of brows, the happy lines. His gaze is memorising every single feature, just in case this is his only chance and yes, now he feels like a fucking creep.

“My hero,” the tease is modest and the rockstar can’t help but scoff, lightheartedly.

“Far from,” he says, “It would really be bad press if something happened to you and people found out that I was the last person to see you.”

“Ah, of course you’re only covering your ass. Typical B-lister behaviour.”

Eddie’s mouth twists further into a smirk. The nerve on this girl, he thinks, excitement rushing through his entire being.

“B-lister?” He feigns offence. “Did you hear the amount of people screaming my name tonight? Nothing B-list about me, sugar.”

Internally, he grimaces at the slip of the old-fashioned nickname, but there’s no deterrence from his new sparring partner. With a sly lick of the lips, the smile in front of him only widens.

“Apologies. I’ll be sure to tell everyone I know this little fact, Eddie Munson.” His name falls in a soft drawl and the rockstar has to steady himself.

Trying to play it cool, he rests one arm on the wall behind. His gaze quickly scans for signs that he’s reading this all wrong, but no, there isn’t any. This is flirting, for sure. He concludes that his name was supposed to sound borderline pornographic and his dick twitches in his briefs.

“Which way are you heading?” Eddie asks.

“Assuming you’re asking just in case something happens to me? So you can continue to keep your good name from being tarnished in the press, right?”

He rolls his eyes. “At least tell me your name. Then, if you inevitably get hurt on these brutal New York streets, I’ll know to tell the cops how I tried my best. Sir,” he mocks, “I swear officer, I told her not to walk alone. This generation and their damn stubbornness.”

Laughter, again. “Aren’t you like my age?”

“Oh, do we have a fan on our hands?” Eddie teases, weakly since his brain is fucking short-circuting from simply staring at that gorgeous smile.

“I’m not into cocky B-listers.”

The mahogany of his gaze glistens with mischief.

“What are you into then?”

Five minutes later, Eddie’s kissing that smile away. 

What started as a playful back-and-forth, morphed into a dizzying moment in the back of his Uber Black — exactly as the rockstar intended. As the city lights blur past the tinted windows, your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling gently when he nips at your bottom lip. 

Soft moans, lost in the thrum of the engine, and in between shallow breaths, Eddie learns the name that’s been taunting him since he got off the stage earlier tonight. He repeats, once, testing it on his own tongue and finds himself pleasantly surprised because he really likes how it sounds.

A LITTLE AFTER

Later that evening, outside on the patio of Wayne’s house, Eddie sips on an ice-cold beer and engages in small talk with his uncle.

He knows the particular question that hangs on Wayne’s lips — “what the hell are you doing back here, son?” — but they dance around it in every way. Eddie, unwilling to give up that piece of information just yet. Embarrassed. And Wayne, despite not knowing the reason for his nephew's return, is just glad to have him here.

“I’m still wondering…” Eddie begins, then takes another sip of his beer.

“Yeah?” Wayne probes.

The rockstar swallows.

“I’m still wondering how it’s not come out. That I have a kid,” he says. “People around here have to know that he’s mine?”

“Oh, they know,” his uncle confirms. “He’s got your name, son. He’s a Munson.”

A smile appears quickly on Eddie’s lips and something pleasant tugs at his chest because of course you made sure Messer be tied to his dad, one way or another. From his own chair, Wayne eyes his nephew — a young boy once more as he lamely trying to hide the happy expression behind the rim of his glass bottle — and a knowing smirk spreads across the old-man’s mouth, but he doesn’t comment.

After a beat of silence, “You gotta ask your team, Eddie.” Wayne adds instead, quite matter-of-factly. “Someone on your end is keeping this quiet. That’s our suspicion anyway.”

Eddie nods slowly. “Yeah,” he exhales. “Yeah, maybe.”

His mind now traces the thoughts of how Felix knew. You told his tour manager, hoping he’d pass the message along. Unfortunately, that didn’t happen, but maybe Felix filled Smithie in on the situation, or anyone else on the team in charge of Eddie’s entire life. Maybe they all know and are actively keeping this secret from him, together.

Fucking twisted if it’s true, Eddie thinks. The idea that his closest associates, his circle, the people he trusts with his career and well-being, could be conspiring behind his back sends a chill down the rockstar's spine. How could they? And more importantly, why would they? Questions swirl, unsettling and chipping away at the foundation of trust he’s built with his team.

After Wayne bids him goodnight, telling Eddie there’s a duvet and cushion ready for him on the pull-out in the office, the rockstar retrieves his phone and chewing on the inside of his cheek, he types out a message.

Eddie: we need to talk Felix the fuck-tard: Uh oh. Felix the fuck-tard: What kinda trouble have you landed yourself in now? Felix the fuck-tard: Smithie is gonna be pissed. Eddie: I know Eddie: about the kid

His phone instantly gleams with an incoming call, Felix’s name on full display.

Eddie stares at it for a minute, but ultimately decides to flip the device over. Ignore. Let the dickhead sweat, which is minor payback for his actions.

Eddie knows in his heart how nothing would ever be enough to truly settle the score for what Felix had done, but this small and deliberate refusal to engage, feels like a tiny victory. He pictures Felix on the other end, most likely pacing his ridiculously expensive apartment, wondering why Eddie isn’t answering since he’s the one who sent the first message and a grim smile touches his lips. Good, he thinks, let him wonder. Let him feel a fraction of the emotional turmoil Eddie has been living with for the past few hours.

A faint knock on glass has Eddie ignoring the buzz of his phone and glancing towards the back door, now sliding open as you step out into the night.

“Sorry,” you say softly, “You looked pretty deep in thought. Didn’t want to startle you completely.”

The phone stops buzzing.

“What’s on your mind?” You wonder, brow raised.

Sitting in the chair Wayne abandoned minutes prior, you reach for the rockstar’s beer without asking and take a sip. He smirks at your boldness, but doesn’t point it out. This is your house just as much as it’s Wayne’s, whether Eddie intended things to be this way or not. That means the beer he’s drinking is also yours. Straight from the fridge in your kitchen.

Yours, yours, yours.

Once upon a time, Eddie used that word to describe himself to you. Under the cover of a cotton duvet, where no one else could reach the two of you. Where, for one blissful night, he was back to being just a guy, gently crushing on a pretty girl, and he made that word true. “I’m yours, sugar.”, Eddie whispered into the crook of your neck and kissed the spot until you began to tremble underneath him.

Here, in the present, his jeans tighten at the sudden flash of memory. He clears his throat, an attempt to regain control of himself and remain inconspicuous. The last thing this day needs is him acting a horny teenager.

“Just… life, I guess.” Eddie answers after clearing his throat.

You snort. “Relax B-lister, you’re not Socrates.”

He laughs and fuck, for you,  the mother of his child, the prettiest smile on Earth, he’s a goner.

There’s no denying.

as always, thank you for reading! pls support your writers by commenting & reblogging <3

story masterlist

tagging some cool people that expressed interest (if you want to be removed, just let me know), and if anyone wants to be added- also let me know:

@tvserie-s-world @probablyin-bed @the-dumpster-fire-of-life @darknesseddiem @kellsck @althaiareads @streamafterlaughter @ali-r3n @ratsematary @alyisdead @kravitzwhore @aestheticsunflower19 @s1mp-4-ga11y @monstermunsonswife-blog @xingyuluvr @ari-joe @dearestro @spider-starry @vodkapetalz-blog @ilovetaquitosmmmm @angelbabyivy @cupidbloaterz @thedoubleexposurephotography @thrashcam @kravitzwhore @maskofmirrors @taylorswiftsloverr @djodirt

[cacoetheswriting]

When will little mess you made part 4 come out I hope Eddie stays with reader and his son

drafting the next part now so hope to have it with you next week ��🏼 as for the ending hehe not sure what will happen yet

[cacoetheswriting]

🥹🥹 that makes my lil heart so happy 🫶🏻

the little mess you made.

pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x singlemom!reader (modern au) word count: 3.9k

summary: five years after he returns home, eddie munson is greeted at the front door of his uncles house by a toddler with a head of dusty-brown locks. hoping for a break from the life he's built for himself, the rockstar is instead faced with another hard truth.

chapter cw: suggestive & mature themes, implied intimacy | non-explicit, one night stand gone awry, secret pregnancy aka no-one told eddie he's a dad, this chapter is kinda angsty, emotional hurt / little-to-no comfort, navigating family dynamics, adult language, some pining / yearning — pls let me know if i missed any!

psa: any images used in chapter headers don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also vaguely — if at all— described in the story.

story masterlist

The kitchen is a statement in itself, Eddie thinks. 

Wayne’s collection of printed mugs stands on the windowsill above the sink, on full display. Random postcards and colourful post-it notes are stuck to the fridge with plastic alphabet magnets. A calendar hangs by the doorway, a different vintage car on display for the various months and hard to read scribbles on seemingly important dates.

There’s a fancy coffee machine in one corner of the forest-painted counters and a collection of hot sauces in the other. In the centre of the space, there’s a wooden table with mismatched chairs placed around it. A stack of old newspapers lies in the middle, all open to the crossword page. The table also features a vase of tulips and a single ‘World’s Best Grandpa’ photo frame: Wayne, in hospital blues, cradling a newborn.

The kitchen is a statement in itself, Eddie thinks. The statement being: he’s a stranger in his own uncle’s home.

A stranger in the house he bought for Wayne; a brick-faced thank you for everything the rockstar's uncle did for him over the years. Expecting nothing in return, only thinking this could become the place Eddie could possibly return to when in need aka now more than ever. Instead, he doesn’t feel welcome. He feels like he’s intruding somehow.

Wayne has replaced him.

While Eddie was off touring and galavanting around the world, building himself the career of his wildest dreams, it seems Wayne has been busy too. His uncle created himself a family. Somehow got himself a grandson.

“So, whose kid is that?” Eddie asks, nudging his head in the direction of the toddler.

The little boy is kneeling on one of the chairs, the top half of his body is bent over a currently blank piece of paper. He’s gripping a red crayon in his left hand, the tip of his tongue sticking out in concentration as he doodles on the page.

Wayne places a mug of tea in front of Eddie then makes himself comfortable in the chair next to his grandson, across from his nephew. For a few minutes, as the two older Munson men stare at the toddler, it’s quiet. Only the scratching sound of crayon on paper. Wayne’s gaze is filled with adoration, while Eddie’s is laced with uncertainty. There’s something oddly familiar about the tiny head of dusty-brown curls.

Clearing his throat, Wayne gently nudges his grandson.

“Messer, what do we say when we invite someone inside?”

The boy lifts his eyes from the doodles. First, he looks at Wayne, who nods, encouraging. Turning his attention to Eddie, the toddler squeezes his mouth together and offers a timid smile.

“Hello,” he utters simply.

Eddie chokes back a scoff at the absolute insanity of this moment. He wants to ask Wayne what’s the reason for this charade. Why can’t his uncle just tell him what the fuck is going on.

“Hey,” the rockstar replies, forcing a smile.

“My name is Messer,” he introduces himself, not able to pronounce the r so instead, it sounds like he’s saying Messel.

Lifting a hand to his chest, the rockstar says, “I’m Eddie.”

Seemingly satisfied with doing a good job, Messer looks to Wayne for the same type of approval, once only reserved for Eddie and the sentiment makes the brunette rockstar shift uncomfortably in his seat. The eldest Munson ruffles the toddler’s hair and asks him to go play in the living room.

“I’ll join you in a minute, okay?”.

Once they’re left alone, Wayne faces his nephew completely and Eddie now notices the difference a five years can make. A few extra frown lines, wrinkles. His hair is a shade of grey that glistens under the light and the bags under his eyes are a little deeper than before. Overall however, Wayne looks happy. There’s no stress visible across his features and Eddie’s heart clenches inside his chest because maybe coming back to Hawkins was a bad idea.

“What are you doing here, Eddie?” Wayne asks.

“When I called for your birthday, you said the tour wasn’t supposed to be over for a few more months and then you had obligations to be back in the studio.”

Ignoring his uncle’s question, the rockstar fires back with his own. The same one from minutes ago.

“Whose kid is that, Wayne?”

Placing the mug down in front of him, after taking a sip, Wayne relents. He tells his nephew he loves him. Really. The highs, the lows. The crazy antics. Eddie’s dreams and passions, his intense drive for a better life, far away from Hawkins. 

“I know all that,” Eddie says.

Wayne sighs. “Your friend, Steve, introduced me to this girl. Twenty-something. Pretty as a sunset.”

“So, you’re playing grandpa to Harrington’s child?”

“No,” Wayne answers. “I am a grandpa to yours.”

The roll of Eddie’s eyes is almost instant. He huffs in disbelief, lips twisting into a smirk at the ridiculousness of the information his uncle is after putting forward because there’s a plethora of reasons why Messer being his kid is near impossible. Top of the list: Eddie Munson uses protection. That’s rule number one and no matter how wasted he finds himself to be, it’s a rule he never forgets.

For crying out loud, he even did a months-long ad campaign for Durex.

Seeing the disbelief spread across his nephew’s features, Wayne continues.

“Following one of your gigs, she found herself in a certain situation and with nowhere else to go, I took her in. There’s plenty of space in this big house you bought me and I won’t lie kid, since you never visit, an old man gets lonely.”

“So she says,” Eddie grumbles, reaching for his own mug of tea.

“Don’t make stupid comments like that, son. I for sure raised you better.” Wayne chastasies. “With your reputation, I had no reason to doubt her.”

That the rockstar can’t deny. 

Ever since his fast rise to fame, he's on the front page of every gossip site almost daily — usually with a different girl on his arm. He’s a constant topic of conversation on various pop culture podcasts and social media accounts, primarily Deuxmoi (a pain in Eddie’s backside). Everybody has something to say and it’s not always kind, or true.

Over the years, he’s been labelled a womaniser, an asshole, the lost cause. Satanist. He’s been called reckless, heartless, and brainless. People that have never met him pretend they know him best. The internet mafia. They write how he’s incompetent, a nightmare to work with, and worse of all, void of any real talent.

Yes, the rockstar is known by many names yet, despite his public list of conquests, Eddie never thought he’d add this one to the list: someone’s dad.

“There’s no way…” Eddie begins, but the words get tangled at the back of his throat. There’s no way I have a kid and no one told me. There’s no way I missed three years of his life. There’s no way I’m fit to be a dad.

Almost as if he can feel his nephew's mind spiral out of control, Wayne reaches across the table to grab Eddie’s shaking hand.

“When Messer was born, I knew.” Wayne states, full of emotion. “My heart expanded when I held him for the first time and in that moment, I knew. He’s half you, Eddie.”

They finish their tea in silence.

When the cups are empty, Wayne stands then asks his nephew whether he’s hungry. Eddie shakes his head no, even though he is, and tells his uncle to go be with the kid, that he’ll join them soon. He washes up the ceramics, heart still hammering inside his chest, and after wiping his ring-clad fingers on a kitchen towel, Eddie ventures deeper inside this foreign house.

The living room makes the rockstar feel even more uneasy, but he doesn’t digest every piece of decor upon entry. Instead, Eddie’s focus lands on the little boy.

Messer is playing with a collection of plastic farm animals and makes the different noises with his mouth as he moves the pieces around the carpeted floor.

“You be a cow, granpa,” he instructs, once again soft on the letter r, and passes Wayne the black-and-white animal.

Then his doe-eyes turn to Eddie. He doesn’t say anything, just lifts the hand holding a plastic horse in the rockstar's direction, patiently waiting for Eddie to take it from his grasp.

Hesitantly, Eddie steps towards the toddler and crouching down in front of him, grabs the toy. Messer averts his gaze and continues playing, just like he was seconds ago, while Eddie remains frozen because, in a single second, this kid has shown him more kindness than Eddie’s experienced in his life.

Then, a small smile breaks through Eddie’s features.

The three Munson’s sit on the carpet and knock the animals around. Using a colourful Lego Duplo set, they build what is supposed to be a farmhouse along with a red tractor (and some obscenely large fruit and vegetables). Eddie realises he can’t remember the last time he’s been this naturally relaxed. 

Afterwards, when Messer falls asleep in Wayne’s lap, Eddie watches his uncle gently scratch down the toddler’s back. Melancholy washes over him. A wish to be a child again, resting in his uncle's lap without a care in the world. No responsibilities, just afternoons full of play and laughter. Suddenly, he’s met with a new sensation. 

“Why did no one tell me?”

The question is almost a whisper, an undertone of sadness flows through it and it’s true, Eddie is holding back tears. Although, he’s not fully sure why. Perhaps it’s longing for the memories he has missed during his kids' life.

“Not you, not Steve, not his mom.” The rockstar lists, pointing to Messer. “I bet half this stupid town knows he’s mine and no one cared enough to fill me in.”

“You’ve been kinda hard to track down,” Wayne tries to reason, which only makes Eddie roll his eyes further into his skull.

“We talk nearly every damn day, Wayne. I’m not that hard to track down.”

Wayne sighs. “This is not a conversation someone wants to have over the phone, son.”

Eddie scoffs. Leg shaking, hand covering his mouth. He’s pondering the waves of different emotions circling through his veins. He’s sad, he’s angry. He’s confused. Sure, Eddie may not have been always available to Wayne over the last few years, and he may also have dodged hanging out with his high school friends on more than one occasion, but keeping this secret from him… That seems below the belt.

Especially because Wayne knows exactly what Eddie felt his entire life, growing up not being wanted by your dad. Surely his uncle wouldn’t want this kid to experience the same hardships.

“He didn’t recognise me,” Eddie says.

Slowly, Wayne nods. He can sense the question at the end of that sentence.

“Messer’s mom thought it best to not tell him yet.”

“Of course she did,” the rockstar mutters and sinks deeper into the large armchair. “So, who does he think his dad is? Fucking Santa Claus or some soldier that went off to fight in a war.”

This makes Wayne laugh. A quiet chortle, as not to disturb the sleeping toddler. He shakes his head at his nephew's dramatic sense of humour, something he has definitely missed quite dearly.

“A musician,” he answers honestly, “Off touring the world.”

Eddie blinks a couple of times, taking this information in.

“She told him the truth, son.” Wayne affirms. “She just didn’t use your name or show him what you look like. She didn’t want him pointing to your photos around the place and asking when you’re going to come home, only to be wildly disappointed.”

Guilt trickles in, another cold unwelcome visitor to the persistent emotions currently overflooding Eddie’s mind and soul. He tries to ignore it. Focus instead on the confusion from moments ago, or the anger, the sense of betrayal, but guilt’s icy current wins.

Eddie clears his throat and says, “That must’ve been hard.”

“What must’ve been hard, kid?”

“Seeing me everywhere while you lived… this life.”

Wayne presses his lips together. He nods again, once, slowly, then looks down at Messer. The curve of his earlobe, the tilt of his button nose. The brown locks and the miniscule freckles, reminiscent of Eddie’s dotted Milky Way.

“That’s not for me to answer, son.”

He wants to tell his nephew just how hard it’s been. The sleepless nights, the colic, the constant anxiety, the eventual weaning, the big emotions. And before all of that, the pregnancy and associated judgement. Wayne wants to tell his nephew he’s got years of making this right, but that’s not up to him. There’s only one person who speaks for how hard this has really been and that person — as he can see from the corner of his eye — is currently making her way up the front path.

The front door opens with a click.

Eddie snaps his head in the direction of the sound, palms of his hands now clammy against his dark denim jeans. There’s a few seconds of quiet shuffling. A bag being dropped and shoes kicked to the side, and then the rockstar hears it. A voice that could calm a storm. A voice imbued with inherent peace.

A voice he’s heard before.

One he thought he’d never hear again.

A LITTLE BEFORE

“Have a great show!” Felix, his tour manager, shouts over the drumroll and Eddie shoots him a quick thumbs-up, before jogging onto the stage with the usual bravado.

Effortlessly, the rockstar spins on his heel, facing the crowd, then throws his arms up in the air as they cheer from below. The screams get louder with each city, tickling Eddie’s second favourite spot: his ego. Tonight is no exception. Thousands of fans squeal and shout up at the stage. They jump in anticipation as Eddie looks to his band. Start.

New York, New York.

The most populous city in the United States and Eddie’s preferred choice, in terms of crowds. They know all of the words to his catalogue of songs, including all of the live chants. They move when he moves, get louder if he encourages. They boo him only when he steps off the stage because they always want more and Eddie’s fucking happy to oblige.

He lives for this. Yes, the fame and the money, but in reality, it’s the shows that keep him going. The control he has over the people that come watch him perform. Up on that stage, night after night, Eddie Munson can do no wrong.

As the third song draws to an end, the rockstar casts his eyes downwards, and for the first time in his to date relatively short career, he freezes.

The tight space between the barrier and the front of the stage is filled with photographers, most of whom Eddie recognises since, night after night, they travel with the band. There’s always the couple of strays, invited from local news outlets, but usually Felix will do quick introductions before the show so they can get a couple of quotes for the releases. 

Staring down, Eddie spots the familiar faces and in the midst, he notices a girl.

She’s looking at him through a lens, but even with the camera blocking half of her face, the rockstar sees a glint of pearly whites. Click. A flash. Then, slowly, the girl lowers the 35mm and Eddie’s throat dries — not to sound overly simplistic, she’s the most beautiful creature he’s ever fucking seen.

The next song's opening guitar riff snaps the brunette rockstar out of his sudden daze, albeit briefly. He does a hectic double take, eyes landing on the girl once more as the lights change colour and her smile grows wider. She lifts the camera back up. Click. Another flash. Now, Eddie’s smiling too, forcing himself to focus back on the crowd and the task at hand.

He can feel her eyes on him, however. During the entirety of two full tracks: Won’t Get Fooled Again and Broken Mirror. She’s chasing him around the stage spellbound, as if she was physically dancing next to him, and the feeling Eddie derives from this interaction is other-wordly. He’s floating through space and time. Through galaxies, like a comet streaking across the cosmos. Actually, he’s not just floating. He’s soaring. Powered by this girl’s absolutely insane aura and her fucking gorgeous smile.

Getting lost in the moment, Eddie doesn’t realise she’s gone until the following song wraps and his gaze searches below the stage. He tries to regain focus. A drum roll fills the silence he’s created while wondering who she is and where she went. Eventually, he snaps out of his daze, turning to the crowd once more. “How are we doing tonight, New York!”

They’re doing fucking amazing, is the answer.

“That girl,” Eddie says to Felix after the show, “One of the photographers, what’s her name?”

Felix claps him on the back of the neck, pulling him into a half-hug. “Great show, man. For a minute there I thought you were going to jump through the time-space continuum.”

“The girl?” Eddie repeats; so what if he sounds desperate.

Dropping his arm, Felix laughs. “Always about the ladies with you,” he teases, then adds, “Don’t know her name. Think she’s with the venue.”

Wiping the sweat drops off his forehead with a trusty grey towel, Eddie nods, taking this information in. He glances around his surroundings, wondering if he can spot the venue promoter he met earlier and ask them the same question, but he can’t spot any other faces, aside from the band's own crew.

Felix is still talking about the show. Going over the highs, the aspects that could be improved upon, and what to never fucking do again: which in this instant, is freeze.

“It’s that girl, man.” Eddie tells his tour manager. “I saw her in the crowd and my brain just short-circuited.”

“There’s always going to be another girl,” Felix says plainly, “Chances aren’t as high for another good fucking show.”

Fingers in a fist, he playfully bumps the rockstar on the arm and walks away to chat with the other band mates. Eddie’s in half a mind to yell after Felix, scream at the top of his lungs that somehow this girl is different, but would that be true? All she did was smile. And yeah, maybe it’s the most perfect smile the rockstar has ever seen. Doesn’t mean she’s anything special…

But God, does he wanna find out.

A LITTLE AFTER

“You’ll not believe the day I’ve had, Wayne.” The voice calls out. Close. For the first time in years, it’s within Eddie’s reach.

However, he remains fixed to his current spot.

He can feel his uncle's gaze burn into the side of his skull, waiting just as eagerly to see how this will play out, but all Eddie can think is: what an embarrassment.  Seemingly, he’s lost all control of his movements. Can’t even stand to greet the fucking girl. The mother of his child.

“And all before you texted me about the certain visitor.”

That wakes Eddie up. 

His brown-eyes lock with Wayne’s, wide. There was a time, not overly long ago, when the two Munsons would present a united front against everyone in this shitty town. A team. Nothing and no one could come between them. So, not only has Wayne gotten himself a new family that apparently doesn't include Eddie, he’s also got himself a new team. The betrayal Eddie’s sensed all afternoon deepens.

“You told her?” The rockstar whispers.

Wayne nods as if it’s the simplest answer in the world. And to the eldest Munson, it is. Because yes, Eddie has been a priority ever since he arrived into this world, screaming his little head off. Eddie’s now in his mid-twenties, with a life on his own. Far away from Hawkins, by design. The toddler sleeping in Wayne’s lap being, at times, the only remaining common thread. A new priority.

“Jesus,” Eddie exhales.

He runs a hand through his already disheveled locks, then down his face. His gaze jumps between the doorway and the window. He could run away and pretend this afternoon never fucking happened, but that would only prove the point they’re all thinking. That he’s a fuck-up, unworthy of being someone’s dad.

A mobile sounds in the hallway. The unmistakable sound of an iPhone ringtone. It’s picked up almost instantly, as if the call was expected.

Then Eddie hears her voice again and his attention settles back on the doorway. Despite his feet being fiercely planted to the carpet below, mainly out of fear, he’s unmistakably drawn to the raw sound. Like he’s a pirate and she’s a siren, calling him to sea.

“Are you on your way?”

Eddie hears and his brows string together. How many people in this godforsaken town have to bear witness to the rockstar facing this colossal mess he’s made for himself — and all because he borrowed a condom from Brick, the drummer from his band. Eddie remembers now. He’s placed the voice in his memory palace along with the night this all happened. 

New York, New York. A camera down below. Click. Flash. And the prettiest smile he’s ever fucking seen.

“Okay, ‘cause I can’t face him without you here.”

A moment of shuffling. Pacing, Eddie’s deducted. She’s nervous, he thinks.

“Ugh. Steve—”

The rockstar blocks out the remainder of that sentence because of fucking course. Harrington to the rescue. His gut twists in envy. Always the same old story: Eddie the screw-up and Steve the hero. They’ve circled this scenario since high school. The alibis provided to Hopper, the countless stacks of copied homework, the train of hearts Harrington mended. Even though — one could argue — Harrington is the bigger asshole in their unlikely friendship, his best friend always comes out on top because he has something Eddie thought he himself lacked. Charm.

Although, charm is not exactly an explanation for how Steve has landed himself in the middle of this particular situation. 

Casting his memory back, the rockstar doesn’t remember Harrington at the concert in question. In fact, now that he’s thinking about it, Eddie’s sure the two of them weren’t even speaking at the time.

Wayne made it quite clear that it was indeed Harrington who introduced the girl, but when the fuck did he meet her? More importantly, why did she reach out to Steve and not Eddie directly? The questions continue to pile in his head, nauseating.

Eventually, there’s quiet. The conversation has ended and after a beat of utterly anguished silence, light footsteps make their way down the hall. Towards the living room.

Then, for precisely thirty-three seconds, Eddie’s heart stops.

“Hi.”

There’s no smile behind the word. A blank expression greets him, but regardless the rockstar feels elated — if only for a moment.

You.

New York, New York. A camera down below. Click. Flash. And the prettiest smile he’s ever fucking seen.

You.

“Hi,” he says back, throat coarse.

Tongue pressed to the inside of your cheek. Eddie knows what it means, he’s seen it before. An anxious tick. Despite Wayne’s warning, you weren’t expecting him, the same way he wasn’t expecting you.

“We’ve got a lot to talk about, I guess.”

Eddie nods, slowly. His anger subsides with every spoken word that surrounds the living room because he may not have known there’s a kid walking around this world that is half him, but you…

Seeing you after all this time, knowing Messer is also half of you, well, the rockstar thinks to himself: what a fucking twisted little jackpot he’s just hit.

as always, thank you for reading! pls support your writers by commenting & reblogging <3

story masterlist

tagging some cool people that expressed interest (if you want to be removed, just let me know), and if anyone wants to be added- also let me know: @tvserie-s-world @probablyin-bed @the-dumpster-fire-of-life @darknesseddiem @kellsck @althaiareads @streamafterlaughter @ali-r3n @spider-starry