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sp0o0kylights · 1 year

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Indie horror filmmaker Eddie Munson, high off his first big (underground but notable) success, knows the movers and shakers of the film world have their eyes on him.

They're just waiting to see if he was a one hit wonder before they open all the doors he's been trying to kick down.

His next upcoming film is his chance, his shot at finally making it. Of being like Rob Zombie and the other creators he looks up to that masterfully blended metal and horror.

This is his golden ticket.

The project starts off smooth. His last success has greased the wheels, and things fall into place faster than ever before.

He's got the best idea for this insane haunted house story, a true "mazes in mazes" type of deal with a queer twist. A real look at how a place can haunt a person just as easily as a ghost can.

Everything's going swimmingly--until one of his leads drops out the day they're due to start shooting.

No call no show's, and later, Eddie will find out the guy got a last second call back to be a contestant on one of those Love Island bullshit romance gigs (and laugh his ass off when the main love interest takes one look at Billy Hargrove and goes on a five minute rant about ugly mullets on national television) but right now?

He's fucked.

He's called in every favor he has for this film. Maxed out every credit card he owns, tapped every contact, got on his hands and knees and begged his rising star journalist best bud to help him market it. (Which Nancy agreed too, for way less cash than she should have.)

Eddie can't get anyone on the phone, much less find a replacement actor and the amazing place they rented, that is so dark and wonderfully eerie, is booked out the rest of the year as an AirBnB.

If he doesn't film now, he loses it all.

Cue the other lead, unknown theater actor Steve Harrington, watching his hair pulling, tire kicking, 'cursing and hopping while holding a toe' mental breakdown and asks why Eddie himself doesn't act in it.

"Just go full Kevin Smith man. Act and direct." He says, with an easy grin.

Jeff, Eddie's tried and true videographer, trades glances with Gareth and Grant (Eddie's long used special effects and makeup team, who double for about twelve other jobs because they're also his best friends and they're all in this together, make or break.)

"We don't really have a lot of other options." Gareth hedges. "You're already using me and Grant as background characters."

Eddie, hands fluttering around his face as though trying to wave away this entire situation, squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a pained hiss.

"Fine, fine!" He announces with the air of a man running towards a fire. "Fuck it, this is our one shot and so help me I will be shooting it!"

Steve politely hides a laugh with a cough.

"Chuckle all you want big boy, I'm going to tragically romance you so hard people will forget both of our characters actually live." Eddie snarls.

Steve, the handsome bastard, just winks. "Looking forward to it."

Eddie blushes, but hides it with a surge of frantic energy, conveyed by lots of yelling and moving and getting the ball rolling.

Two days later, Steve would give the performance of a lifetime down on his knees, covered in a literal pound of fake gore, booty shorts and nothing else as he sobbed about how a lover could become a home. His hands clawed at Eddie's jeans before resting a tear stained face on a slim leg as he bent his body towards Eddie like it hurt to be away from him.

Eddie would later receive equal praise in his own acting during the scene, with the world and every reporter in it asking how he conveyed an otherworldly panic so beautifully throughout Steve's performance. What was he thinking, to evoke those expressions on his face?

The way his own pale hand, unmarred by blood and acting as a metaphor for the plot, would come to stroke Steve's cheeks.

Eventually he'd come up with a smooth polished answer that cheekily pleased his audience, but nothing would ever come close to the truth.

("Eddie I've known you since grade school." Jeff said that night, a scant few hours after they'd wrapped. "You can act man, but not like that."

Eddie made a wild "shut up" gesture, looking frantically over his shoulder before admitting; "You saw how close his face was to the prince of darkness!? I was seconds away from popping a boner next to his lips, in front of the 4K camera!”

Eddie bounced into Jeff’s face so he could hiss: “He fucking had his chin on my thigh, Jeff, and I am only a man. A mere mortal!"

"So we're gonna unpack all of that later." Jeff said finally, when he'd managed to get his mouth working and Eddie back out of his personal space. "But dude, we've talked about you calling your dick the prince of darkness."

Eddie flipped him off.)

One year later and critics named Corroded the best horror film of the year, praising the camera work, practical effects, and how there wasn't a soul alive who was surprised to hear Eddie and Steve were dating after their explosive on screen chemistry.

No one ever quite understood the prince of darkness jokes or why Steve mentioning it made Eddie blush, but that was a secret to find out later.

Today on WIP’s I have no intention of writing, indie horror movie AU!

#at some point this became a warmup for the warmup #and it feels very silly #LOL #steddie #Steve harrington #Eddie munson #horror movie AU #no upside down #eddie would have the STUPIDEST names for his dick #I will die on that hill #that is a man who has put googly eyes on his third leg #and then cried because they wouldn't come off #its why he loves steve bc steve would talk to it like a beloved pet #daddy misssess youuuu #corroded coffin as a unit hates them so much when they do this shit its the bane of their existance

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momotonescreaming · 7 months

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STWG Daily Prompt: Date Night

“Does Thursday work?” Jeff asks, voice tinny and sort of muffled. Eddie can hear the sound of flipping pages, the creak of the plastic from the phone's speaker.

“Shit, sorry dude.” Eddie says, looking at the loose pages of lined paper he's scribbled his schedule on. It works for him, and it's better than nothing. “That's date night.”

A pause. For a moment, all Eddie can hear is the sound of Jeff breathing through the speaker.

“Date night, huh?” Jeff eventually asks, and Eddie can hear the smarmy grin he's wearing. It's leaking into his voice, the absolute delight in it all. Just the right side of teasing, the bastard. He'd hate it, would snap and snarl and throw it all back if he wasn't also fucking delighted.

He could say that now. He had a boyfriend, who holds his hands and kisses him and schedules date nights. He gets this. He gets to talk about it with his best friend. Can mention he has a date and doesn't have to hide the fact that it's with his boyfriend. He gets to share in the gentle ribbing for once. It's not just him on the outside looking in — as they tease Gareth for getting a date with a girl from his English class, or Jeff hitting his anniversary with his girlfriend.

Eddie's been domesticated and he doesn't mind in the slightest.

“Yes, it's date night,” Eddie retorts, trying to send as much faux malice down the phone as he can. He's smiling though, as he sits at the kitchen table, phone cord absently tangled through his fingers. “And Steve's been working hard planning it, so I will not be rescheduling.”

“I didn't ask you to,” Jeff laughs, tone light.

“Well good.” Eddie teases, wishing they were having this conversation in person so he could stick his tongue out. Really ham it up.

Another pause, and Eddie uses the silence to flip through his papers, looking through all the events and dates and times he's scribbled out. Fuck, he really needs a calendar.

“So?” Jeff prompts, drawing the word out. “Tell me about date night.”

“You sound like your mother,” Eddie laughs, holding the phone in between his ear and his shoulder, pinning it there so he can free up his hands. So he can sort through his papers and fidget with the phone cord at the same time “Begging for gossip.”

“You love my mother,” Jeff retorts — snappish — but it's obvious he's smiling. Laughing through it. “And you say that like you aren't gagging to talk about it. Come on.”

“Okay fine,” Eddie relents. Sighing as he sinks into his chair, slouching, his socked feet skating across the floor. “You caught me.”

“Not hard,” Jeff laughs.

“Steve’s been talking a lot about wooing me lately,” Eddie starts, ignoring Jeff’s teasing. He finds himself smiling as he talks, creeping across his face uncontrollably. Fuck, the things Steve does to him. “As if he hasn’t wooed me already. So he’s planned this like, romantic dinner at home. Instead of going out to Enzo’s he wants to like, bring Enzo’s to us? Said he was going to treat me right. Have the fancy dinner I deserve, where we can play footsie under the table and hold hands without, y’know, worrying.”

By the end of his sentence Eddie’s feeling like he’s melting into his chair, insides melting into something soft and gooey. Pulling his hair across his face to hide his blush. Jeff can’t even see him, but he can’t help it. He wants to giggle and kick his feet. Jump and scream and flail around. It’s all building up inside him, this honey sweet affection. He doesn’t quite know what to do with it all.

“He going to light candles? Have soft music playing in the background?” Jeff asks, teasing melting away into something softer.

“Literally yes,” Eddie exclaims, dropping his hair and trying not to wiggle too much in his seat. “He’s so sweet, I’m going to throw up.”

“He’s good for you, man.” Jeff says simply, and it means a lot. That other people can see it — can know — just how happy Steve makes him.

[Part Two]

#steve harrington #eddie munson #jeff stranger things #steddie #steddie ficlet #stwgdailyprompt #My Writing

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marblepasta-creepyhornet · 3 months

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Hey, could you do some headcanons for the creepypastas x lonely reader? Thanks, and welcome to tumblr!

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A/N: Awwww, thank you ❤️

Characters used: Toby, Jeff, BEN, EJ

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Toby:

he was bullied when he was younger in school by kids his age, so it was hard for him to fit in so he was alone most of the time, not much changing after he was homeschooled.

He understood what it was like to be lonely, so he started to try and spend more time with you!

Despite your initial weariness in letting him in, he proved to be very trustworthy and nice the more time you both spent together

He’d even talk with you about his experiences, y’know, to help you feel less alone 🥺

Taking you on missions, late night walks through the forest, mini-sleepovers- the whole nine yards to make you feel less lonely.

Jeff The Killer:

Now, let’s not kid ourselves! Jeff’s a sadistic bastard and he could care less about how you feel-

But, let’s just say you’ve been at the mansion for a while; barely talking to anybody, not even responding when others need you/are trying to get your attention. Then it becomes an issue with Jeff (especially when he needs something)

What started out as annoyance from him soon morphed into worry then a weirdly overprotective side of him started showing.

A lot like Toby, he started spending time with you and hanging out (minus the extra effort, because, well, it’s Jeff. He doesn’t do anything extra unless it’ll benefit him)

Overall, Jeff starts out as not giving a fuck to then caring a lot (but won’t admit it 😒)

BEN:

Even after being in the mansion for so long, you still isolated yourself from everyone (Bad past issues), rather than joining everyone, you opted to stay in your room.

That was until Ben started to join in, showing up on the screens of your electronics to talk to you!

You couldn’t get this man away from you 😔

You’d be playing animal crossing and his character would show up like “Hey, bitch” and start hitting you with a net 😭

It’d start out as annoying, but just wait till you grabbed an axe and slowly turned to him-

Overall, he’d be smitten with just waiting for you on your own time. But, for now, he was okay with just appearing in your games :)

Eyeless Jack:

He couldn’t explain it, but he felt very overprotective of you.

He wanted nothing more than to talk to you and get to know you more.

But, he knew you struggled with loneliness before the mansion and as a result, isolated yourself.

On the rare occasion you were out of your room he’d have a note pinned to the fridge with your name on it, followed by a dark blue heart 🥺

When you opened it this time, it was a letter from Jack saying to check your pillow.

With confusion written on your face, you made your way back to your room, and when you opened your door you gasped.

Now, I personally headcanon Jack as a guy of many talents and that includes (I’m totally not projecting-) crochet!

On your pillow was a little Jack doll he crocheted of himself 😭😭😭

Next to it was another note, yet another blue heart scribbled on it.

“I know it’s taking time for you to warm up to everything, but if you ever feel lonely, you can talk to him” -EJ

#creepypasta #creepypasta fandom #creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta x reader #ticci toby #ticci toby x reader #jeff the killer #jeff the killer x reader #ben drowned #ben drowned x reader #eyeless jack #eyeless jack x reader

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whats-her-quirk · 14 days

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Lover, You Should’ve Come Over

The two of you aren’t exactly quiet when you sneak off to the bathroom together at all hours, but Zoro has always been quick to turn the corner and walk away. Seeing is very different. There’s nothing left to imagine anymore. He knows exactly what it looks like now—the cook picking you apart, piece by piece, until you shatter.

roronoa zoro x reader x black leg sanji

rating: explicit, 18+

warnings: jealous zoro (who doesn’t quite understand his emotions), exhibitionism turned threesome, oral (female receiving), vaginal sex, fingering, hand jobs, slight belly bulge, cum play, praise, size kink, multiple orgasms, the boys kiss too, not quite gay panic just cook panic, welcome to the zosanwich

word count: 2.7k

welcome to the fantasy that has been keeping me going while sitting in my drafts for over a year

♪ lover, you should’ve come over by jeff buckley

divider by @/cafekitsune

You’re sitting in the cook’s lap again. The dirty plates from dinner are stacked up, everyone except your bottomless pit of a captain finished eating. As you lounge around the table to rest and chatter over drinks, you slide into his lap, one arm draped over his shoulder while his hand wanders your hip and waist.

Zoro doesn’t believe it. He doesn’t buy that in the weeks since you joined the crew, the shitty cook managed to not only catch your attention but actually seal the deal. What could you possibly see in him? When you got here, he was still chasing after Nami and Robin. Now that idiot’s so busy touching and kissing you that he hardly glances at anyone else.

It just can’t be real, Zoro thinks, even as he watches the cook pluck the cigarette out of his mouth so he can plant a kiss on your neck. You’re focused on something Chopper’s saying, so it catches you by surprise, making you giggle and tug at the front of his shirt. He steals another kiss from the corner of your jaw before taking a long, satisfied drag from his cigarette. Zoro stares, unnoticed, and feels his face getting hot.

He truly doesn’t believe it, and when the kitchen clears out, he pins the cook against the wall and tells him so.

“Did I forget something? Your midnight snack?” Even with Zoro’s forearm across his chest, the cook is smirking.

Despite his annoyance, Zoro keeps his voice down. “Tell me what’s really going on between you and our new crewmate.”

The cook blows smoke out of the corner of his mouth. He pushes Zoro’s arm away, but only because Zoro lets him. Now that he’s asked the question, Zoro knows the other man can’t simply walk away from it.

The cook takes the cigarette from his mouth and rolls it coyly between his fingers. “What’s there to tell? We’re together now, I thought that was obvious.”

“Give me a break. What would she want you for?”

“So you’re asking about the dirty details then?” he clicks his tongue, turning his back to leave. “And they call me a pervert.”

Zoro scoffs. “Don't expect me to believe you can please her. You couldn’t please anyone.”

The cook turns on his heel. His brow creased, he looks Zoro up and down at point blank range. “Really? I’ll prove it.”

Zoro is watching you again, this time from one of the plush chairs in the women’s quarters, pointed at the corner of your bed. Though he can hardly believe he agreed to this, he can’t leave now. You’re a feast for his eye, stripped bare and legs spread on your mattress, even if he has to look past the cook to see you.

Robin and Nami have been persuaded to take lookout duty together, and the door is locked, ensuring your privacy. Regardless, Zoro feels more like an intruder than a fly on the wall. He’s supposed to be here to make a point, to scratch an itch and satisfy his curiosity so that maybe seeing the two of you together will stop bothering him so goddamn much. But no matter how good you look like this, no matter how much it makes his cock twitch every time you gasp and moan and writhe underneath that bastard cook, he can’t shake the feeling that he shouldn’t be here.

Yet he can’t tear himself away.

It’s something like torture to watch the cook bring you to your first orgasm with his hands and his mouth, every wet sound and throaty groan lewder than the last. He kneels on the floor at the end of the bed, your legs thrown over his shoulders, skillful fingers thrusting inside while he devours you like he’s starving. You fist the sheets and the cook’s hair like you’ll tear both to shreds. Zoro has to lean back in his chair, cross his legs, and put one hand over his mouth just to keep himself in check.

If there’s one thing he has, it’s willpower. He can get through this. If he has to take care of himself in the shower later on, so be it. The scene in front of him will be burned into his memory for eternity anyway.

After you finally break with his name on your lips, the cook rushes to kiss you, pushing you up the bed so he can crawl on top. He praises you between messy swirls of his tongue, dry humping before he’s even inside you like he can’t help it. You guide his head down to your chest so you can catch your breath, and he kisses the tops of your breasts instead. Zoro bites his lip.

It’s pathetic. Zoro should be disgusted. Instead, he’s out of breath and embarrassingly hard. He’s just grateful you’re not looking at him.

Once your hips are rolling just as desperately, you take his cock in your hand and lead the cook to you with a shuddering moan. Even from a few feet away, Zoro can hear how wet you are. It makes him shiver. Shallow thrusts become deeper, familiar bodies slotting together until your hips meet and begin to grind. When the cook starts to whine, Zoro starts to lose himself.

He’s heard it before, though he pretended not to. The two of you aren’t exactly quiet when you sneak off to the bathroom together at all hours, but Zoro has always been quick to turn the corner and walk away. Seeing is very different. There’s nothing left to imagine anymore. He knows exactly what it looks like now—the cook picking you apart, piece by piece, until you shatter.

He can’t help it anymore. Zoro’s knees are shaking, he’s so turned on. He stares at your fingers, at the way they’re digging into the cook’s lower back, and presses the heel of his own hand between his legs. The relief is instant, and so is the hiss that escapes his lips as he throws his head back. It’s shameful how badly he needs to be touched right now.

So is the way he finds you watching him when he looks up again.

His entire body pulses—is his heart pounding as loud as he thinks it is?—while you scramble for the cook’s shoulders, pawing for his attention. Is this it? Should he just leave? As ashamed as he is, he really doesn’t want to.

“Sanji, baby,” you ask, your eyes locked with Zoro’s. “Can he come over here?”

The cook slows to a stop. You cup his face while he pants for breath. Zoro swallows thickly, frozen, waiting. He’s never felt like this, like his head is barely above water, and that alone scares him.

The cook halfheartedly chuckles, wiping some sweat from your brow. It’s easy to forget he’s still inside you until his voice comes out soft but wrecked at the same time. “Didn’t know you wanted him too, my love.”

You nod, coy but enthusiastic. Zoro nearly chokes.

The cook kisses your cheek, then your neck. “As you wish.”

Over his shoulder, as if he knows Zoro can’t resist, the cook calls, “You heard the lady, moss head.”

Undressing is a blur. Boots are tossed aside. Swords clatter to the floor. Earrings clink together as Zoro pulls his threadbare shirt off his back. Before he realizes it, he’s standing there naked next to the bed, practically panting, not knowing what to do with himself.

You reach for his hand. He lets you take it and pull him in. “Come closer,” you beckon. “You can touch me. It’s ok.”

He sits down, leaning against the headboard, and lets you settle between his legs, only a little self conscious that his boner is touching the soft, slick skin of your back. You nestle yourself so sweetly in the notch of his shoulder, right over the edge of his battle scar. You place his hands around your middle, then drape yours around the back of his neck, securing yourself in place.

“Keep going, Sanji,” you purr.

From this angle, looking down over your shoulder, Zoro watches the cook slide back inside you. He feels filthy for groaning, but he can’t stop it from tumbling out.

His hands shake against your stomach as you find your rhythm again. The cook curls himself over you, watching too as he sinks his cock inside you again and again. His head is tilted down, hair covering both eyes, but he’s moaning so close to Zoro’s face with each forward thrust. Each sound burns in the pit of Zoro’s stomach.

You said he could touch you, right? Experimentally, he paws just below your navel, pressing his big hands into the soft flesh there. Your head rolls to the side, your lips grazing the side of his neck as you beg, “more, Zoro.”

He can barely breathe as he pushes just a little harder. Oh god, he can feel the cook inside you, the slight bulge pushing in and out. The weight and the sound of it, this melding of bodies, is all too much, and yet Zoro needs more.

Zoro slides one hand down and wraps it around the base of the other man’s cock where it disappears inside you.

“Fuck, oh fuck,” the cook swears. His head rolls on his neck, his chin craning back. His hair falls away from his face, giving Zoro the clearest view he’s ever had of both his eyes at once, his heavy lids fluttering and both curly brows knitting together in the center of his flushed forehead.

Zoro torques his hand over, putting his thumb on top, doing his best to swipe against your clit as you grind up. You press your face deeper into Zoro’s neck, your moans higher pitched and more broken than before. He thinks he hears your choke, “please.”

“I got you,” he promises, huffing against your temple. He cradles your face with his free hand, needing to hold you, desperate to give you anything you want. “You’re ok, I got you,” he groans as the underside of his own cock slides against your back.

He doesn’t know what the hell he’s saying, but he has to say it. He feels the heat of your face against his lips and stares right at the cook’s open, wet, whimpering mouth and says, “Both of you. I got you.”

The cook cries out, his hips jutting forward, and finishes, shaking. Zoro tightens his grip, tries to prolong the other man’s peak until he’s spent. Your back arches sharply against Zoro with your own release—he can feel a string of his precum pull and snap between you. It’s disgusting; it’s so hot he can’t stand it.

The room feels too quiet, suddenly. All Zoro can hear is huffing breath and the pounding of his own heart. Finally, the cook seals his mouth to yours with a needy, humming kiss. You mewl as the cook pulls out—a low, guttural noise that Zoro takes like an uppercut. He lets his head fall back against the headboard, his stomach in knots.

He thinks it’s over. He’s painfully hard and leaking while trying to get his head back down from wherever he floated off to. He holds you, preparing to walk away.

Tenderly, you stroke the cook’s hair as you relax against Zoro’s chest. When you speak, your voice is scratchy but unmistakable.

“Zoro. Do you want to fuck me?”

Zoro’s mouth turns dry. His cock jumps hard against his abs.

“Yeah,” he says.

The cook rolls over and hums again. “You want one more, baby?” He asks. He sounds almost delirious. “You want me to watch him fuck my cum deeper inside you?”

Your body shivers. “Yes.”

The cook looks up at him. “Is that what you want?”

“Fuck.” Never, even in hell, would Zoro have used those words. But something turns over in his brain, and that’s exactly what he wants. He craves it.

Clumsily, he slides out from behind you. The cook takes his place, and he crawls over top you, gaze roaming from your face to your breasts, down to your messy, beautiful pussy. He’s not sure he’s ever seen anything better.

Your knees bob a little in the air; you’re getting tired. That’s fine. He’s not sure how long he’ll be able to last anyway. He fists himself, spreading his pre down the shaft with his thumb.

Your eyes wander to his groin. “Big,” you mumble.

He knows. “If you want to stop, just say so.”

“No, s’ok.”

He looks down again, eyes lingering on the spend that leaks from you. With a hitched breath, Zoro lines himself up. Despite his size, he slides in so easily it makes him shudder. He bites the corner of his lip with one canine, consumed by your wet heat. With nowhere else to go, slick dribbles out around him as he pushes further in.

You twitch as he bottoms out, so sensitive and pliant under him. And soft, so much softer than he could have imagined as he pushes your thighs up to your chest by instinct.

“So big…” you moan.

Zoro can’t breathe. He can barely think—he just moves where his body tells him, gradually picking up speed until he’s full-on thrusting, sandwiching you tight between him and the other man.

The cook cups your breasts with both hands, tweaks your nipples now and again to make you jolt. Zoro stares at his kiss-bruised mouth as he babbles out praise. “You take him so well, princess. So good for us.”

Zoro’s face hovers so close to the cook, he can feel his breath with every word. He’s like an animal, fucking you with a one-track mind. He can’t think of anything but how this feels—hard, hot, wrong, delicious. With your next moan, he drops his mouth to yours to swallow it.

As soon as Zoro pulls back, the cook replaces him, pressing two fingers in your mouth for you to suck on.

“You like that?” he groans, his gravelly voice even huskier than usual. “Fuck, you’re so perfect.”

Barreling towards the edge in the grip of your cunt, Zoro loses himself. He surges forward, feels his earrings slap against the side of his face, and captures the cook’s stupid lips with his own. Zoro bullies his tongue inside as the cook moans, opens up, and lets him in. He can’t get deep enough, can’t taste enough of the smoke and wine and lust to sate himself.

When you scratch your nails down his chest, blunt nails catching on his old, worn scars, Zoro snaps. With a thick growl, he cums so much that it pushes his cock halfway out of you. You convulse, leg muscles going stiff as you find one final peak before he pulls out.

Everything is a blur. Zoro’s heart and lungs are screaming for rest, and he drops his head to your stomach to catch his breath.

“Fuck,” the cook swears softly, like he’s half asleep.

Your nails rake over Zoro’s shortly cropped hair as sweat drips down his temples. “You were amazing.”

As the rush fades and Zoro comes back to his senses, his entire body buzzes. There aren’t words for it, the mixture of shock and relief he feels cradled against you as the cook reaches over to the bedside table and lights a cigarette. The world has shifted a little on its axis. You couldn’t have planned this, and not in his wildest dreams could Zoro have imagined any of it.

What the hell just happened?

#roronoa zoro x reader #black leg sanji x reader #sanji x reader #zosan x reader #roronoa zoro x reader x sanji #I’m normal about this #june writes

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aphrogeneias · 1 year

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kickstart my heart — one-shot

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: the first time eddie sees your bare chest isn't the way he imagined it would be, and he'd imagined plenty of times.

word count: 1.6k

warnings: smut (+18), dirty thoughts, suggestive dialogue, for the purpose of this story, eddie is a boobs man (but we all know he enjoys the whole package), allusions to sex but no graphic descriptions. jeff is implied to be gay because in my heart all of cc are somewhere in the alphabet mafia.

author's note: elaborating on this. i want to remind you that this is a silly piece and i hope you take It as such <3 also i am incredibly rusty when it comes to writing, i'm sorry if this isn't great.

There were thousands of people around him, including the band on the stage in front of them, but Eddie couldn't look anywhere else but at you, eyes wide with a weird mix of emotions.

As cold sweat made his previously hot skin shiver, all he could think was "this wasn't how I thought it would go". Believe him, he'd thought about it a million times. When he needed to stay awake in class, when you wore low cut tops and tight shirts, in the blessed days you decided to opt out of a bra, late at night with his hand gripping his hard length, leaking all over his mattress. He thought about it an embarrassing amount.

In his daydreams, though, the first time he saw them was very much different. He had visions of you sprawled out on his bed, him undressing you slowing, showing your bare chest little by little until it was revealed in the low light of his bedroom, or dragging you to the ever dirty man's bathroom at The Hideout and ripping your clothes off your body in a rush to worship it.

No matter how much he thought about it, nothing prepared him for the fact that the first time he saw your tits was at a Mötley Crüe concert, in the middle of a crowd of thousands of other people.

Eddie hadn't even wanted to go in the first place — he's not very fond of metal of the glam persuasion, but you and Gareth had convinced him and the other boys to go. Jeff and Grant never passed on an opportunity to watch a good concert, and Eddie just wanted to be near you, any excuse was good enough.

He had spent the night happy, hands tucked in the pockets of his leather jacket, enjoying the feeling of the music coursing through his body, running through his veins like an adrenaline high. The bass and drums beating in sync with his heartbeat, feeling it deep within his ribcage. It felt good, like it always had. It also felt good watching you in your element, hair a mess after headbanging all night, skin glowing from sweat and the glitter in your makeup, dancing without a care in the world. The way he thinks you always should be.

It was funny at first. When the band made a pause and the members started addressing the audience, he was about to turn to you when the drummer made some particular lewd comments about the "beautiful ladies" in the crowd, expecting you to laugh with him. The whole rockstar shtick doesn't work on you, he knew that much — whenever he tried pulling something like that you'd just roll your eyes, which only spurred him on because he loved watching your beautiful eyes roll up, though he'd like to do that in other ways. What he saw instead was you whispering in Jeff's ear, the pair of you cackling at each other, too conspiratorially for Eddie's taste.

With his brows joined together in confusion, he watched you lift yourself on Jeff's shoulders, and after that everything happened in slow motion. The drummer had gone and asked to see some tits from the girls in the crowd, and as ridiculous as that sounded, a lot of girls obliged. You included, for his shock.

Gareth blushed and looked down, Grant closed his hands over his eyes, Jeff was laughing — the bastard was the only one unaffected when you lifted your top up to your head for no more than a second, but it was enough to torture him for the rest of the night. He watches you get down to stand on the ground once again, still laughing, and Eddie could tell you were a little flustered, but mostly you looked like you were having a good time.

He couldn't blame you, wouldn't blame you. He had no right to tell you what to do or not to show your body, you could do whatever you wanted. But, as the band proceeded with their setlist, and your eyes met with his, a playful look and a tentative smile on your face, Eddie couldn't reciprocate. He felt jealous, jealous of everyone who got to see you like that too, and frustrated for being able to look but probably never being able to touch the way he wants to, he felt protective over you, afraid that some other guy would feel entitled to look at you or touch you disrespectfully after that. His mind started reeling, and he could barely distinguish the music anymore.

In his brooding, his fists clenching where they still rested in his pockets, he missed the way you looked down, eyes turning sad, unsure about what your best friend's strange expression meant.

"Are you mad at me?"

Your question caught him by surprise, because you'd barely talked during the whole trip back home. The guys were rowdy as usual, sitting in the backseat of his van, talking about the highlights of their night, making fun of you for your little groupie moment, which had you brushing them off with a laugh and smile that didn't quite reach your eyes.

Eddie felt guilty. He didn't mean to make you feel like that, but he couldn't stop his mind from wandering back to that moment, and he couldn't stop the blood from flowing downwards, his pants uncomfortably tight at that point. If you noticed his erection, he was ready to throw himself out of the car in shame.

It didn't help that you were right there beside him, thighs looking delectable sitting in his passenger seat, his hand itching to take place on your knee like it always did whenever he drove you places. He could feel the faint smell of your perfume, and see the way you crossed your arms in front of your chest, not helping with his problem at all.

You had only approached him when he'd stopped the van in front of your house, after he had dropped all the others at theirs.

"What? No, I'm not…"

You interrupted when he was about to start stammering. "Because if you are, I really don't understand why, and if it's about what I did earlier, you have no right to. You're not my dad, you're not my boyfriend…"

A bitter laugh escaped him before he could help it. "I'm well aware, sweetheart."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Still frustrated, he pinches his nose between his fingers. "I'm not mad at you, I'm not judging you", he looks at you then, pointing a ringed finger in your general direction, "I'll have you know I'm a feminist, 'kay?"

You snort. "Okay, Mr. Feminist. What is it, then?"

"I just…", he sighs, "It wasn't supposed to be like that."

Maybe it was the couple of joints you all shared on the way home that had his lips loose like that. Maybe he was tired of holding it all in, his feelings spilling out of him like a dam breaking. Either way, it was out there.

"What wasn't supposed to be like that?" You asked slowly, testing the waters after feeling a shift in the conversation.

"I wasn't supposed to see you like that, I thought the first time I'd see you naked would be different."

Eddie couldn't meet your eyes. He could tell you thought it was funny, with the way you looked like you were holding back a smile. He was never bashful around you, that was the first time you saw him like that.

A lot of firsts for one night, it seemed.

"You think about seeing me naked?" You raised your brow, spurring him on.

"Yes." He says, simply. Swallowing loudly, the tension grows inside the van. "And I never planned to tell you that, but now is as good a time as ever, I guess."

You scoot a little closer, putting an arm on the back of his seat. "Can I tell you a secret too, just to make us even?"

Eddie just nods, unconsciously getting closer to you as well. You can feel the heat of each other's bodies, an electric current running between you. You draw your mouth near his ear, and whisper "I think about you too."

"Yeah?" Eddie feels his confidence slowly return, his dream coming true right before his eyes. His pretty best friend reciprocating what he thought was his most perverted secret? Couldn't be real — but it was. "We should do something about that, shouldn't we? Gotta give you something other than your imagination to work with."

He wasn't able to resist tucking a fallen piece of your hair back behind your ear. You shifted on your seat, rubbing your thighs together. Eddie took that as encouragement, drawing even closer, hand finally moving to touch the soft skin of your thigh.

"Gonna do you one better, Ed." Your voice lowered, filled with promise. "You can look, and you can touch. How does that sound?"

"Sounds like we've waited long enough."

Later that night, after you were done riding him in the backseat of his van and he'd fucked you on the floor of your bedroom as you desperately tried not to wake the other people in your house, after his hands and mouth explored your body and mapped every inch of your chest, leaving his mark all over it, you'd joked, with a soft giggle at the memory, that you would do the same thing you did that night at the next gig he'd have at local bar.

The only answer you had was an unnecessarily long drag of his cigarette as he laid beside you on the purple comforter of your bed. "If you want me to not last through the set without dragging you out of there early, go ahead."

You'd just kept laughing.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader

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isuckatwritingsobenice · 8 months

Note

I loved your peter vs Alastor story, can we possibly get a part two? Like maybe Peter is looking for her and she hears about it through the news or something from missing persons reports. She’s changed her name and Alastor has told her there’s nothing to worry about, but keeps having dreams about Peter finding her? You can choose how it ends!

A/N: I didn’t think people would want a part two to that but since you asked you shall receive! I love writing about Yanderes going against each other it’s so much fun 🤗. I watched the first four episodes of Hazbin Hotel and guys i LOVE IT SO MUCH. I’m so glad I waited for this show, and I’m so glad other people are enjoying it as much as I am. Special thanks to @a-bookworms-teashop or also known as @forbidden-sunlight, for helping me with this short story! As per usual we all know I like cliffhangers so expect a part three soon <<33 happy reading & enjoy!

Warnings: violence, obsessive tendencies, mentions of blood, lots of manipulation, talks of mental abuse, lots of dark content ahead!!

Songs you can listen too while reading: Close to you by Rihanna. Slipping through my fingers by ABBA. Desire by Megan Myers. Love on the Brain by Rihanna. Forget her by Jeff Buckley. Meet me in the hallway by Harry Styles. The Grudge by Olivia Rodrigo.

Part 1

Navigation!! // Masterlist!!

Forget her

Living in New Orleans was nice. People were always so kind, and everyone was so welcoming. Getting a new name was easy, surprisingly. The government didn’t make it hard to run away from psycho ex boyfriends who didn’t know how to take a hint. Living with Alastor was nice. He was always a gentlemen, a gentle man, a good lover too. He made sure to never treat you the way Peter did.

In fact he was quite the opposite with you. Inviting you out to parties with him, keeping you out of the public eye as to not bring the wrong type of attention around. Everything felt like it was starting to get better. He would bring you flowers, take you to work with him even, or work from home. Alastor was nothing short of the perfect boyfriend. In fact he was perfect and more.

But lately, something seemed to have you on edge. He had been fidgety. Checking his phone constantly but always reassuring you with the polite smile. A reassuring one he tried to keep on, but you saw right through. He was hiding something and you wanted to know what.

According to Husk, Peter had since moved out of the apartment he had been living in, with no notice too. He had gone completely ghost. There was no sign of him anywhere, according to your knowledge. It was a Saturday evening when it had all happened. When your intuition had finally proved to be right.

“You said I wouldn’t be seen.” You said, the article about an appearance the two of you had made up on your phone. Alastor was walking through the kitchen, tossing various ingredients into a large pot, his jambalaya coming along nicely.

“ Dear please, there hasn’t been any sign of you for months. I doubt the bastard has even seen it, let alone have any access to technology.” He brushed you off with a chuckle, sliding the ingredients off the cutting board and into the pot. You sighed and put your phone down on the counter. Maybe you were being over paranoid. But ever since reading the article, a chill had ran up your spine that didn’t seem to be leaving any time soon. Alastor noticed you looking off to the side, lost in your own mind. He reaches out, hands brushing your sides gently. “Why don’t you take a bath, hm? Ill even set it up for you. What do you say dear?” He asks calmly, a hand on your lower back, ushering you out of the kitchen and past the open living room, making your way down the hall to the bathroom.

“ Alright fine. But we need to talk about this later.” You say, and he responds to you with a kiss on your cheek. You go to your shared bedroom, going through the large walk in closet to find a change of clothes for after your bath. The water is running in the bathroom, the smell of fragrances light on your senses. You make your way back to the bathroom to see Alastor leaning over the tub slightly, candles already lit on the sides of the tub to allow you to relax. There’s your favorite book next to a cup of wine, along with the radio playing light jazz. Everything is perfect, as it should be, and for a moment you can forget the feeling of strained eyes on you. You can forget it all as you’re embraced by a man who loves you. Who truly cares.

“ Take your time darling. I must run out for a bit to get some extra ingredients. Will you be fine without me?” He asks, taking the robe from you as you sink down into the tub, eyeing you carefully, enough to give you butterflies. You smile, one of his favorites and nod, reaching to the side to pick up your glass of wine, the red stains your lips slightly as you pull the cup away.

“I think Ill be okay, thank you love. Be quick please, I might just nap here.” You say jokingly. Alastor smiles, folding your robe up neatly in his hands before nodding to you lightly. He leans down to kiss you, a soft tender kiss, before leaving you in the bathroom alone. It’s when you hear the front door shut that you sigh, now knowing he’s gone. The water is just right, just warm enough on your skin for you to rest your eyes a bit.

A bit turns into an hour, and when you hear a loud glass shatter from the kitchen is when you wake up from your nap. You hadn’t been serious about sleeping in the tub, but mistakes happen. You quickly pull at the drain, the water slowly slipping down as you grab your towel and get yourself dressed, sliding a simple nightgown on before stepping out of the bathroom. “Alastor?” You call, but you’re met with silence. Your vision is hazy, the steam from the water seeming to create some sort of film over your sight, but you manage. Walking down the hall and into the living area, you see a vase shattered on the ground. What you don’t expect to see, is a distraught Peter standing across from you.

“Guess again Baby.” He says with a smile. He sighs and takes in your appearance, eyes completely devouring your appearance. “What are you doing here?” You ask, panic written all over your face.

“How did you find me?” You ask again. Peter tuts at you, standing straight up, revealing just how tall he really was in comparison to you. He has a folder in his hand, one he throws on the floor in between the two of you, and it just barely touches your feet as it slides across the floor. “What is this?” You ask, eyeing him closely. He grins, hands behind his back as he watches you pick up the folder.

“Your perfect boyfriend.” He responds. The pictures inside reveal themselves before you can even process whats going on. Pictures of Alastor and you about in the city. Ones of the two of you at home, the two of you at dinner. Intimate moments, things that were supposed to be private. All laid out right in front of you. A picture of Alastor and you at a friends wedding. His face was burned out of the photo, but you knew who it was. The more photos you looked through the more you found. Magazine clippings of Alastor with you in the town. Paparazzi seeing you both together at parties, dancing around each other like no one was watching but the worlds eyes were on you. Peters eyes were on you.

“He told me-“

“Told you what?” Peter snickered, stepping closer, the broken glass crunching under his feet. You kept going through photos, one right after the other. Then, one really caught your attention. Mimzy. She had been so obsessed with Alastor and how you were no good for him. Now, in front of you was a photo, the two of them with their arms around each other, almost like lovers, but not quite friends. How long ago was this? Why didnt he tell you about this?

“He doesn’t love you. Not the way I do.” Peter said, stepping closer, arms raising for a hug. “ Let’s just go home. We can put this all behind us. I can forgive you.” He said, a smile on his face. He was still the same. He thought he had done no wrong. He lowers his arms when he sees you don’t come closer, but instead reaches for your hands, pulling them to his chest. “What do you need? Money? I can give you that. If- if you want more freedom we can go out! We can do whatever you want-“ He pleaded, eyes begging for yours to look at him. “Please, just come back. He took you away from where you were safe. Now you have everyone judging you, when you don’t need that.” He said, hand cupping your chin to force you to look at him. “Are you really happy here?” He asks.

It feels like time freezes for a moment. Were you really happy? All the press, Alastor always being gone or out at parties. The social events. The liquor, the drugs. The dancers and the crowds of people together. With Alastor, it was always a party. But with Peter, things were different.

With Peter, you were quiet. Alone but without the drugs, the partying and the social interaction. With Peter you really never lifted a finger, not like you physically could. Peter always brought gifts home, even if he was upset with you. He always did laundry, had things neat and tidy, or as much as they could in the small apartment. With Peter, you were taken care of. With Peter, you lived a calm life.

Well, at least that was how he saw it.

With Peter, there was a constant fear surrounding you. Suffocating you. He never let you live, took away your freedom and your life to keep you tied down to him. He had hurt you on multiple occasions, raising a hand to the person he swore to love so dearly. He had threatened to kill your family, your friends, anyone who stood in between the two of you. Peter didn’t love you, no, he was obsessed. Did you really want that life back?

“I.. I am happy here.” You finally said, pulling yourself away from Peter. His eyes looked defeated. He looked, complex. In a matter of seconds his demeanor changed entirely, standing tall in his anger, his pride.

“Happy? Happy with a man who took you from me?!” He yelled, lunging forward and caging you between him and the wall. His eyes looked manic, like something had snapped. It was only then you noticed him reaching into his pocket, glass shard in hand. “I told you what would happen if you ever left.” He said, hand in the air as the shard came down quickly. A slice to your cheek had you sliding down the wall, tears streaming down your face as blood ran down your neck, fingers shakily holding onto yourself for some support.

“Peter please-“ you pleaded with a whisper. Even after all these months away from him he still managed to make you feel so small.

“I see what’s going on.” He said, chuckling a bit. He crouches down, eye level with you now. “He has you completely brainwashed doesn’t he. I’m sure he-“ He stops when he hears the front lock being turned. The door opens to reveal a humming Alastor, eyes shut as he hums a song to himself softly. He turns to lock the door, before turning back around, finally opening his eyes to see the sight of Peter and you on the ground.

Everyone is quiet for a moment. Peter looks panicked, Alastor looks, unreadable, and you look, frightened. Alastor drops the bag of groceries, and before you can process what’s happening there’s a knife being drawn from under his shirt sleeve. Not a large one, but a size big enough to kill a man. To kill Peter. Peter stands quickly, clutching the glass shard in his hand so tight he begins to cut himself. The two meet in the middle, Peter swinging to try to slice Alastors neck. Something about the way Peter misses, the way Alastor inhales sharply. His eyes widen but in a different way. One you’d never seen from him before. There’s a difference in the way his eyes gloss over, the shine in them just a bit brighter than before.

Nothing would ever be the same after tonight.

#hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin demon #alastor #peter vs alastor #ybf peter x reader #peter your boyfriend #your boyfriend peter x reader #ybf peter #yandere peter x reader #yandere alastor #Yandere alastor x reader

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ad-astrah · 22 days

Text

Finally Watched Cinderella's Castle Digital Ticket (Twice) and I Gotta Get My Feelings Out Somewhere, Somehow (Part I)

Feel free to light up my DMs to chat about it!

And now, for my personal highlights/live reactions:

immediately I'm drawn in by Nick Lang's silly narrator voice and the way he warns us of what's coming. Especially the "muRrrDder!"

Jeff Blim cut his hair. JEFF BLIM CUT HIS HAIR. Not that I didn't like the long locks, but something about his Aladdin Era short hair gets me, man.

Jeff Blim literally getting to own the stage like the man was born to

Jeff Blim's slutty bard getup with the artfully messy hair and the heavy guyliner. That sinful bastard.

"Let's go." I'll follow you anyway, slutty bard.

Okay 80s rock jam! Hell yes.

idk why but I just love the line "There are tales in those walls, are they true or are they tall?"

THIS SET, THO. 80s vibes. Muppets vibes. Princess Bride vibes. Spooky, ethereal fairytale vibes. I love it! Props to the team who designed and built it.

prance, slutty bard boy, prance around that stage.

Jesus Fuck, I've only seen Joey's puppet but I'm already SOLD. Nick and Matt Lang and whoever else had a hand in making these puppets fucking OUTDID themselves! Did they use the Black Book and resurrect Jim Henson?

Throughout the show, the muppet vibes just absolutely amaze and delight me. Makes me feel like a little kid, spellbound by this fairytale. Except it's much darker, more gruesome, way more explicit, and extremely horny.

Oh look, it's Joey's Jingle/Jangle (whichever elf he was) voice from Black Friday.

Love me some o' dat non-binary representation from Ragweed. Starkid once again screaming GAY RIGHTS bitches.

I'm getting some of Jeff's Aragog from AVPS in this Narrator. Anyone else?

Stupid STUPID butcher!

Jon Matteson's accent. *giggles madly*

Angela IMMEDIATELY having to pause for applause before she finishes her first freaking line. The queen deserves it all, though.

The foreshadowing of the Stepmother cutting off Ella's feet. O_O

"It's furryyyyy and fouuuuul and full o' maGOTTTSSaaaaaggghhhh!"

Angela doing the little spinny finger thing in a guy's face to fluster them just like Max did to her character in Nerdy Prudes. I love these physical running gags. My fave being the Smoke Club, though.

OIIIINK oinkoinkoinkoinkoinkoink

Sir Preston asking for help from the audience. His "ELLAaaaaa....nooooo....."

The lighting in this entire show is SO COOL.

Again, Jeff just louging like a whore about the set like its his bitch. I live for it.

James' COSTUME. He looks SO FUCKING GOOD. Props to the costume folks...and to James' rockin' genes.

"But nothing compares to the juice and the hairs..." Oh no. Ohhhhh no I see where this is going. Don't say it, James, don't-- omg he said it.

er ee er ee er ee *window rolling down*

I thought the Prince drawing bewbies on the frosty window was funny already, and then he goes WAH WAH WAH and pretends to pinch them and I fucking lost it.

The Prince checkin' out DAT AZZZZZZ XD

"I'd wager she's wetter now than when I first found her bobbing in the river." OH MY GOD. PRINCE. THAT'S HER NOT-MOM.

If his highness has had every STD and beaten it, that's so fucked up but also damn, that boy's immune system is killin' it. Literally.

"Poor mad EllaAH"

"This is one thirsty FUCKING house." For real, omg.

"The offer stands firm. Come calling if you are!" *screams*

Jeff miming being crew and pulling the ropes for the curtains.

*audience member sneezes* "Bless you."

Angela's diction is next fucking level. PUNY. PINK. KIND.

The epic troll reveal! The puppets are SO GOOD.

THE FROG FUCKING TURNING AWAY AS SHE ASKED FOR IT TO DO SO SHE COULD KILL IT. CHRIST.

This bayou boogie song of Ella's is an absolute KILLER BOP. Holy shit. And it's SO perfect for Bryce's funky, sassy voice.

Speaking of which, BRYCE'S VOCALS. I'm gonna scream about them for forever and ever and ever. I love her voice SO FUCKING MUCH. I could listen to nothing else for the rest of my days and die a happy little gay.

"ohhhh woah woah waohhh" *flips the bird* She's such a queen for that.

"It needs oregano" WORK BITCH

Bryce's stage presence is fucking INSANE. I dunno how she's not on Broadway, but thank goodness we got her!

SIRE MANY TADPOLES!

GOD I love this absolutely depraved, horny little bastard of a prince.

It's amazing Tadeus hasn't murdered the prince yet. The man deserves a medal for the literal shit he's put up with.

Bugette?! I thought you choked on shit died and were consumed by the Hive Queen?

Rancilda being a typical troll and loving lurking under bridges and telling riddles.

Schuyler Sister vibes from the song with Justine and Lucy. So cute.

Justine and Lucy are SUCH real ones for IMMEDIATELY believing Ella about her family being trolls and for saying "fuck the ball, we're leaving NOW."

Shake dat ass, Mariah!

Lauren's physical comedy as Rancilda is NEXT LEVEL. I'm wheezing over here!

iSNn'tT it A BiiIItTcH?!

I LOOK GOOD IN THIS. What an absolute fucking BANGER. This song is gonna play in my head on repeat for the next decade. What a next level villain song.

Also this gives me some strongass Joan Jett vibes. "I love wearin' the skin of dead girls rock 'n' roll!"

and I hEEeaARr yoU'Re RiiiCCHhH

Seriously, is this the next Top Chart breakup revenge song? It should be.

"I really LIKE that song!" XD Putrice. I love how much of an absolute BIMBO she is.

Rancilda singing the song again. "SHUT UP STUPID BITCH, THE SONG'S OVER." "Okaaaaiiii"

Matt Dahan's ability to riff off the main songs and create motifs is otherworldly.

General MacNamara? Is that you?! Oh wait, nope. Still my slutty, slutty bard.

I LOOOOOOOVE this badass electric guitar intro, holy shit.

Kim Whalen, the queen, getting the bitchin' entrance she deserves.

Starkid is so, so good at their sound design to help immerse you in a scene without blowing a big budget or doing anything elaborate.

...Kim. My girl. Your arms must be tired.

She's just standing there, but Kim's stage presence is still so strong.

I can't get over how Jon's Sir Hops-A-Lot's voice is just a small...ahem. Hop, skip, and a jump away from Wiggly's.

JOEY. THAT ACCENT. You ABSOLUTE genius idiot. I love you for this stupidass voice.

Joey's bowl cut makes me giggle like mad.

I love these two puppets SO much.

GIT IT, KIM.

The call and response bit with Ella and the Goddess reminds me of Hamilton when Washington is dictating his Farewell Address. I know it's gotta be in other musicals, too, but that's the clearest comparison for this nerd at the moment.

Jeff sneaking in the "castle on a hill" song reference in this song.

Kim and Bryce dueting together is just Power incarnate. Holy cow. It's so good.

"You shall be as radiant and terrible as I." Ooooooh. Yes. Gimme.

The Narrator sneaking out from amidst the ensemble to finish off the song was really neat.

That fading spotlight before curtain for intermission with just Ella's face in view is so beautiful and haunting. What an epic close to Act I.

Also, it seems like this was also a strategic way to imply Ella's outfit being transformed there on stage during the song without actually having to do the tricky costume designing quick-change theater miracles of an ACTUAL outfit transformation. Which is really brilliant. Leave the audience to wonder until post-intermission about what Ella's starlight dress will look like.

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pokegalla · 8 months

Text

Another trade of the classic multiparted headcanons on my blog! But this time?

With the creepy bois✨ (Plus first post of headcanons for them! :D)

Trade/Requested by @tryslogic

(Warning: Slight nsfw and damn near borderline all things considered with these guys-)

How Touchy Can They Be In Public With Slightly Large Chested S/o!

Jeff:

* Bruh. Without a fucking doubt- this goddamn horndog. Walk him with a leash-

* He would sneak up on you and hug you from behind before just giving a big ass squeeze- you’d bonk him but that’ll just make him laugh. He’ll use your damn chest like a stress ball, having a shit eating grin because he just KNOWS how much of an asshole he’s being. (And he knows you just love him too much 😌✨)

* In private it technically can get pretty fluffy surprisingly. Using your chest like a pillow after a long day of killing? God it’s heaven sent to him. Just hope he isn’t too messy though- but of course he isn’t letting the opportunity go to waste to tease you. Littering your neck and chest with love marks? Drives him CRAZY. Yeah you ain’t walking if he’s in that mood-

* And man you are just a glutton for punishment if you wearing a boob window- he loves the view but he HATES how the others are gawking at you. You end up getting pulled to the side. “Fucking tease….better start screaming my name. I want them to hear who you belong too~”

* He’s a little possessive and protective buuuut in a more heartfelt way surprisingly. Will he admit it? Over his dead body-

Eyeless Jack:

* Ah now here’s a more respectable guy. For a kidney eating demon, he respects boundaries! He’s a monster but not THAT kind-

* Noooot saying he wouldn’t stare though. I mean kinda hard not to yknow? He’d probably tease you quietly about how good you’re looking right now. But he would never just outright just….grab it. Like why??? (Honestly he could though. Sneaky boi-)

* But in private he is WAY more snuggly. Hope you don’t mind black streaks on your shirts. Because he is diving into those twin peaks✨ he feels so safe in your arms….he can’t help but wrap his arms around your waist. You might be stuck for quite awhile. But in the meantime? You get a chance to see him without the mask! And you can’t skip out on that now can you~?

* Now here’s where you end up tipping the scale with him: Boob window. God you just look so good in it. He is biting his lip and even starts whispering teases in your ear. “Tryna grab my attention that badly~? It might just work~” I know yall definitely had a quickie in the forest. Hope you kept quiet~✨

* Overall he’s just a pretty chill guy! Who just can’t resist you~✨

Laughing Jack:

* Ok there’s no sugarcoating this. This is the worst motherfucker here. And THE biggest tease. FOR FUN-

* Does not help if you wear layers, his lanky ass arms will always manage to slip through. And his big ass grin just tells you he KNOWS this is pissing you off so he honks it before laughing like a maniac. He boops your cheek though to show you he’s just playing around.

* In private….I mean not much of a difference? Well other then straight up picking you up to plop his chin in your cleavage and looking up at you with a smirk. Orrrr having your chest on his head like a damn hat- he can’t really snuggle like the others without the risk of stabbing you with that sharp ass nose 💦 but he makes due with what he can✨

* Now the boob window he will SHAMELESSLY stare and even TUG on it to see more- “Heh~ What a pretty little view~ Might as well show it all~” and that bastard actually teases you to the point of being needy. He finds it amusing. But at least he’ll reward his little doll in the end~✨

* He just loves messing with you but really that’s just how he shows you his love✨

#my writing #self insert #funny #cute #fluffy headcanons #sfw #jeff the killer x reader #eyeless jack x reader #laughing jack x reader #creepypasta hcs #writing trade #request answered

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sp0o0kylights · 9 months

Text

Part One / Part Two--you are here/ Part Three

Hellfire did in fact, have cookies to sell.

More than cookies, which Dustin practically preened over when Eddie dragged himself back to their table.

The ornaments they had made were still there, but now the centerpiece was an array of baked goods. Spread out in a spiral, it started from the large cake in the center and spun out into miniature cookies held in tiny decorated bags, all while Harrington stood over them like a proud parent.

It smelled mockingly delicious.

Eddie glared at the display, resisting the urge to upend the whole thing onto the floor.

Cookies and cakes and (--was that frickin bread pudding?) whatever other treats Harrington had shown up with might look good, but Eddie didn’t trust it.

Didn’t trust Harrington, even if the bastard had never really done anything himself--but then, he never had to, had he?

That was the point of all that money, after all. So he could pay other people to do his dirty work while he kept his hands squeaky clean.

“Inch a bit to the left--there, stop!” Harrington was saying, like the bossy asshole he was.

Like he thought he could just come in and expect everyone to follow his lead.

“Perfect! Now don’t touch it.”

God, Eddie had to nip this in the butt, now. Before King Horrorton harassed his sheep all day, and cemented the club's undeserved bad name in the minds of Hawkins.

“Dustin what did I just say--”

Eddie stepped up to the front of their table, preparing himself for war.

Looked over to his friends knowing they'd likely need a nod of reassurance. A show from him that said he had this handled.

There was no cowering.

No pleading, helpless, 'What do we do Eddie!?' gazes aimed his direction.

Hellfire wasn’t even looking at him, and not because they were all avoiding Harrington's line of sight.

No, the fucking traiters were flanking the King. Like they were buddies with the bastard instead of mortal enemies.

“Hey, Ed’s, Harrington brought pies. Cakes too!” Gareth said around a mouthful of cookie when he noticed Eddie standing before him.

It came out a garbled mess, but years of experience had Eddie understanding him anyway.

Jeff was busy playing what sounded like twenty fucking questions regarding the setup, and even Grant appeared comfortable, happily letting Harrington order him around as they finished setting up.

Like this was some kind of cutesy Disney movie where they all held hands and sang songs instead of a hostile takeover situation.

Eddie’s eye twitched.

Sensing a disturbance in the force, Jeff looked up and immediately interrupted himself to point to a series of red and green cookies placed dead center, delighted.

“Check it out man, Steve made some shaped like dice!”

(And he did say ‘Steve.’

Not Harrington, or This Asshole, or The Invading Evil Forces of Darkness.

Just Steve, like Steve was someone Jeff hung out with everyday.

Jeff’s cleric was a dead elf walking.)

Eddie took note of what was in fact, dice cookies.

He hated how good they looked.

“There’s four flavors.” Steve told him, cocky little grin on his face as he observed his work. “Chocolate chip, peanut butter, snickerdoodle--and the dice ones are sugar cookies.”

He licked his lips before finally turning to look at Eddie, hair curling over his face and making him wave a hand to brush them out of his eyes.

Eddie hated how good he looked too.

‘Hate, hate, hate, absolutely loathe-’

“Great, sure, wonderful.” Eddie managed, though given the look Grant and Jeff both shot him it might have come out as more of a growl.

Dustin rolled his eyes, and Eddie couldn’t help but notice that Hellfire’s other two youngest hadn’t dared to show their faces yet.

Likely they knew Eddie was having an absolute meltdown over Steve’s presence and were waiting for his reaction to blow over.

(Their characters were dead too.)

“I have two full cakes--one chocolate, on vanilla--and a few individual slices we can sell.” Steve was continuing, as if Eddie wasn’t glaring a hole in his forehead. “Those did really well last year when I made them for the basketball team.”

Insults fought for space on Eddie’s tongue, but he managed to roll a 20 to pick the best one, opening his mouth to let it fly.

"Harr-" is as far as he got before he was rudely interrupted.

“Steve? Is that you?” A woman Eddie didn’t recognize but was clearly someone's mom came up cautiously to the table, side eyeing the Hellfire banner like a nervous horse. “That can’t be your famous tiramisu, is it?”

Steve beamed at her. “Well hi Miss Carpenter. It is!”

Eddie was bumped aside by a massive purse, the woman not even glancing in his direction as she stepped up to the table.

With a sneer, he finally slumped to the back of their little spot as Miss Carpenter looked over all Steve’s (not Hellfire’s and absolutely not Eddie’s) offerings.

Didn’t care to wipe it off right then, even if he knew he needed to if he wanted to make sales.

Jeff sent him a look.

The same one he usually aimed Eddie’s way when he thought Eddie’s antics were going to cause problems.

He ignored it, on grounds that traitors don’t get to be judgy.

“Oh,” Miss Caprtender tittered, the draw of Harrington’s baked goods clearly overcoming whatever fear she had about Hellfire. “Well I just can’t pass that up. The swim team meets aren’t the same without you!”

Eddie pretended to gag.

Waited for her to comment on Hellfire--their clothes, their music, hell even the length of Eddie’s hair--and found he was almost disappointed when there wasn't even a single question about why Hawkins precious golden child was slumming it with the weirdos.

Instead, Miss Carpenter's hand went fishing in her purse for her wallet as she loudly called out over her shoulder, to, presumably another annoying woman;

“Terry, Steve’s here! He’s been baking!”

For two terrifying seconds, there was a notable dip in the conversations around them.

Grant’s eyes went wide as several women responded to the announcement like dogs hearing food hit the floor, and within seconds their table was absolutely swarmed by the mothers of Hawkins.

Even Eddie was taken aback at the sheer number of them.

“Hold, men, hold.” Dustin cautioned as Jeff and Grant both flinched. “Come on, we need to get our gold!”

“They’re scary though.” Gareth whispered in horror as four women tried to talk at once, jostling each other so hard they shook the table menacingly.

“Ladies, ladies there’s enough here for everyone!” Steve laughed, showing off his disgustingly cute dimples as he did, getting several of the mom’s to blush at their own behavior in the process.

The sheer amount of attention of course, drew in even more people, and Dustin quickly took up directing, planting Jeff and Grant at either end of their table while he and Steve fended off the hoard from the front.

(Given the way he and Steve were equally ordering Hellfire around, Eddie finally knew where the little shit had picked that attitude up from. He was going to have to cure Dustin of it, ASAP. )

“Here you go Miss Harper.” Steve said sweetly, handing over yet another stack of baked goods.

Without turning his head, and in the tone of voice one used to warn a misbehaving dog, he added; “Gareth don’t think I can’t fucking see you, get back up here.”

Caught trying to sink under the table with another cookie in his mouth, Gareth found himself hauled back to his feet by his collar, putting a snarl on Eddie’s face immediately.

“Hey--” He started, defensive and more than ready to intercede, except Gareth wasn’t flinching or cursing or doing that thing he did with his mouth when he was desperately trying to hold in his temper.

Instead he was giving a sheepish grin and a half-assed apology while he hung in Harrington’s grasp, before doing what the guy told him to do.

(It did not help that Steve patted him on the shoulder when he released him, before handing Gareth a third fucking cookie.)

Eddie’s eye twitched a second time.

(He told it to knock it off.

It didn’t listen.)

No one acknowledged Eddie or his outburst, which meant he was just skulking behind the boys while they all worked.

Arms crossed, rings tapping a rhythm on his forearm, far too keyed up to do anything other than glare at the back of Harrington's skull.

The King seemed perfectly happy to ignore him.

Likewise, Gareth and Grant knew better than to bother him when he was in a snit.

Henderson made the occasional snappy little comment, but the brat had mostly left him alone now that they were well into the swing of selling, chortling over the increasing stack of cash Steve kept trying to get him to put into a “safe place.”

Eddie was seconds away from walking up and snatching the cash himself when Jeff decided it was on him to attempt the impossible.

Get him to help Harrington.

“More hands would be nice, Eddie!” Jeff called, looking more than a little harassed as the mom he was helping changed her order a second time, snaking out the last single slice of chocolate cake from another mom who was eyeing it. “Steve and I could really use your assistance over here!”

Eddie’s glare, which had been doing its level best to try and vaporize the King’s brain, switched targets instantly.

“I’m supervising.”

Jeff made a face like he was about to argue, but the King beat him to it.

“It must be tough,” Harrington said, tilting his head to look back towards Eddie, “to supervise people who are working so much harder than you.”

Which promptly set the mood for the next full hour.

xXx

Harrington was matching him tit for tat.

Every shitty, sneered word out of Eddie’s mouth was met with an equally mean toned barb, though given the repeated looks everyone kept shooting him, Eddie was very much considered the aggressor here.

A fact he cannot believe is coming from his own friends.

What happened to comradery? To Eddie stepping in and protecting them, from the likes of people just like Harrington?

But no, Eddie makes one fucking comment about how the cookies are probably half hair-spray and suddenly he’s the bad guy.

(Nevermind that Steve had fired right back, telling Eddie that any hair-spray taste was probably from all the drugs he did.)

Was somewhat, halfway--okay maybe amazing, Eddie might have snuck a cookie himself--food really all it took to get them all to turn on him like this?

Erase the years of Eddie being their shield?

Act like Harrington wasn’t just as bitchy and awful as he had been in high school (even if he was, admittedly, being nicer about it all right now? Almost--aloof, like he couldn’t figure out why Eddie hated him so much, but likewise wasn’t going to take even one eye roll sitting down--and no, no, Eddie wasn't derailing this by thinking about Harrington's stupid eyes, he wasn't!)

Frankly he would have flipped them all the bird and stormed off, if it weren’t for the increasingly weird little comments people were making.

‘Oh Steve, it's a shock to see you here.’

‘Are you doing someone a favor?’

‘You know Pastor Jim said something about this game…’

The last one had put Eddie’s teeth on edge, even if Dustin had brushed it off. It hadn’t been aimed at Steve directly but the women saying it had absolutely been looking at the King, as if waiting for his reaction.

Not that Harrington would take the bait this soon, though.

There were too many people buying fricken…cupcakes and shit, while Horrorton enjoyed the attention of the masses.

Eventually this tiny crowd would die down though, and that’s when Steve would change his tune. Start answering some of the questions he seemed to be dodging as more and more people got braver about coming up to the table.

This whole thing was a ticking time bomb, and Eddie would be ready when it inevitably blew.

To defend his table, his club, his friends.

Even Henderson, who absolutely didn’t deserve it just then.

“Dude perk up would you? You look like you’re going to stab somebody.” Jeff hissed at him ten minutes later, when there was finally a break in the flood.

Eddie ignored him in place of taking stock of the table. (And maybe, sneaking another cookie.)

“Hope you brought more than this, Harrington.” He said, knowing he sounded like a stuck up ass and not feeling an iota of guilt about it. “Unless you plan to run home and bake more like a good little housewife.”

“Dude.” Grant said, casting him a look like King Dick might leave and take the cookies with him.

“Oh I brought more.” Harrington dismissed, with a small flick of his fingers. “And I’ll have you know you’d never find a housewife more perfect than I am, Munson.”

Then he turned to nail Eddie with the most shit eating grin he’d ever seen the King wear.

Facing flaming a brilliant red, Eddie sputtered for a second before finally getting ahold of himself and spitting;

“How delightful. I--”

“Okay.” Jeff cut in, forever the mediator. “Gary, Dustin can you help Steve pull the extra stuff out from under the tables? While I go talk to Eddie?”

“Can I try the tiramisu?” Gareth asked, inching hopefully towards the treat while keeping an eye on Harrington’s hands, lest he get smacked again.

“Only if you’re a good boy.” Harrington told him sarcastically and goddammit why did that make Eddie blush harder!?

Jeff sighed, before grabbing his arm and hauling Eddie back, away from the table, right as a younger man in some stupid sport’s jacket asked questions about one of the dice cookies.

“Look I get it man, I do,” Jeff started, voice talking in the sort of wheelding, pleading tone it did when he really wanted something and knew Eddie was opposed. “but Steve’s been super cool. We might actually make money off this, and he’s giving us all of it. Can you just… not antagonize him for five minutes?”

Eddie stared at his best friend in abject horror.

“You couldn’t have talked to him for more than twenty minutes total. Half of which he spent bitching that you were bagging a cake wrong! At what point was Harrington "being cool!?"

The asterisks were made by his fingers, which Eddie mockingly framed his face with.

He got a flat, unimpressed stare in return.

“It was a very informative twenty minutes and he was right about the cake. Now are you going to help or are you going to glower in the corner?”

Eddie gaped.

“I cannot believe you right now--”

Jeff didn’t even wait to hear him out.

“You’ve chosen to glower. I can’t help you man, but we’d all have a much better day if you weren’t at Harrington’s throat every five seconds.” Jeff turned smoothly on his heel.

Over his shoulder he added; “Seriously, don’t come back until you’ve worked your way out of your snit.”

Shocked, Eddie watched Jeff float back to the front, inserting himself easily between Grant and Steve and immediately striking up a conversation.

With the enemy.

“I didn’t know you baked.” Jeff told Steve loudly (and very obviously, for Eddie to see.)

Steve gave a bashful little smile, then shrugged. “It’s a hobby. Got into it back when the basketball team needed to fundraise a few years ago and Tommy’s mom got it in her head we should sell home baked goods. Turns out its kinda fun.”

“Please never get out of it.” Gareth insisted, a piece of God knows what crammed in his mouth.

“Dude, how many of those have you gotten into!? Stop eating the merchandise!” Dustin commanded, smacking at Gareth’s shoulder.

“I physically cannot stop man.” Gareth dodged, reaching out for another cookie. “I’m not sorry.”

Steve just laughed. All charming and buddy-buddy, like it was natural for him to be here.

Wearing a Hellfire shirt. Making jokes and teasing the guys.

In Eddie’s fucking place.

He seethed, fingers twitching, and envisioned the very unsexy murder of one Steve Harrington.

Cartoon X’s for eyes and all.

xXx

Trouble didn't hit the table.

It in fact, seemed to stay away as if on purpose, to shove in Eddie's face that he was the one in the wrong here.

Even the questions toned done as the second wave of moms showed up, this round prompted by some former teammate of Steve’s Eddie didn’t recognize yelling about his apple pie.

Instead, Eddie’s wayward sheep finally made their appearance Mike and Lucas trying to sneak in as if Eddie wouldn’t notice during the new rush.

(Eddie himself almost caused trouble when he realized Lucas was wearing a Not-A-Hellfire shirt, which solved the mystery of where Harrington had gotten his.

He was inching his way towards them, a snarky word on his tongue when he saw Sinclair said something about how he was “already on Eddie’s shitlist for joining the basketball team,” in relation to what must have been a question about his Hellfire shirt, that caused Eddie to freeze.

With the air of a sad, wet kitten, Lucas followed it with; “I’m sure it won’t be long before he kicks me out of Hellfire anyway.”

Like he'd been punched in the gut, all the air left Eddie’s lungs.

Because before Lucas had said that, Eddie had been thinking it.

Not really--he’d never kick anyone out of Hellfire.

It was more that he'd thought about it in the way one does when you know you're in the right, and are having to resort to underhanded tactics to force the other party to come to their senses.

Like a sort of shitty, angry “I should kick you out, let you see what happens when you don’t have us!” kind of intervention.

The same kind he had heard the jocks sling before, when they were mad at each other and--God he wasn’t--he couldn’t be, like them...could he?

Like fucking Harrington, who oh fuck, was patting Lucas sympathetically on the shoulder and giving him some kind of whispered advice.

Sonovabitch.

“I’m going for a smoke.” Eddie bit out, vision tunneling.

He knew he needed to go sit down somewhere, before he fucking lost it in front of Hawkins, Harrington and everyone.

And wouldn’t that just be a treat for King Steve?

To watch Eddie realize he had turned into the very thing he hated, preached against, even?

That Steve was, maybe, possibly, doing a better job of following Eddie’s own Munson Doctrine than he was?

Eddie barely saw the room anymore--waived off whatever Grant was trying to say to him as flew past, shaking hands fishing for a desperately needed cigarette.

Maybe a hope and a prayer too, because apparently he needed it.

How long had he been like this?

Been a douchebag asshole?

Was it the whole year? More than? Or was it just now, with stupid Steve involved? Could he trace this back to that stupidly cute--no, no, annoying, asshole?

Was this some fucked up way of coping with his growing crush!?

Lost in thought and growing self hatred he nearly careened right into Robin Buckley.

Her slightly bent paper reindeer ears marked her as a memeber of the high school band, who had been absolutely butchering ‘Jingle Bell Rock’ a few minutes earlier.

Vaguely heard her yell Steve’s name as he ran off (because that’s what Eddie was doing. What he always did.

Run--from himself and his own fucking feelings, like a total cliche.)

--but didn’t take in that she was doing more than saying hi to, oh fuck him sideways--her friend.

Because she and Steve were friends now.

Good ones, if the freshmen were to be believed.

Rather than go outside and catastrophize in the cold, Eddie threw himself threw the doors at the end of the hall, then up the stairwell, to the second floor.

Tucked himself into a corner, right there by the stairs.

Sank down into a crouch, hands scrubbing up his face before tangling in his hair, head dropping between his knees, cigarette shoved into his mouth.

Somehow, Eddie decided, this was Steve’s fault.

He'd have come up with a reason for that, he was sure. A good one even, except he forgot one of the key features of his life.

He was a Munson, and as a general rule of life, nice neat things did not happen to Munson's--but they did get kicked while they were down.

“Okay, what happened?” Steve fucking Harrington asked, voice loudly echoing up the stairwell from down below, and Eddie threw his head back, nearly slamming it against the wall.

(Maybe he’d pissed off a witch. His life would make a lot more sense if someone had cursed it.)

“She gave me her number!”

That was Buckley, the shrill timber identifiable even as she whispered the words.

Eddie can’t really see them without giving himself away--could probably make his escape if he got down and army-crawled past the railing he’s huddled by, but figured this is their fault anyway.

Not his problem if he overhears a private conversation because they’re both too stupid to check to see if someone was seated literally right up above them.

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?" Steve was saying. "That’s what we wanted!”

“Is it!? What if she’s just, you know, giving it to me?”

“...I’m not following.”

“Like in a friend way. Not a--”

“Romantic way?”

Harrington has the smarts to say the words quietly. So quietly in fact, that had Eddie not been in the exact right position he wouldn’t have heard--but he almost swallowed his unlit (he should have lit it, maybe they'd have smelled the smoke and fucked off) cigarette anyway.

“Sssshh!” Robin hissed, and Eddie can’t see either of them but he imagined her jamming her hand over Harrington’s big fat mouth.

“Not so loud, Steve!”

“Sorry, God.” Sure enough, Harrington’s voice is muffled. “How did she give it to you? Did she say anything?”

“She asked if I want to hang out after band, but because I have that stupid family thing, I told her I couldn’t today, but I can literally any other day, and she said she’d call me, and I said--”

“Robs, breathe.”

“Don’t interrupt me, Dingus!” Robin said, voice shrill again, before she clearly listened to Harrington and took a breath.

It was big, and deep, and she blasted it back out loud enough for the fucking birds on the roof to hear.

In a calmer voice, Robin continued; “I said we never traded phone numbers so I didn’t have hers. She grabbed my arm and wrote her number on it. Look, she added a heart!”

“Okay, here you go! A hearts a good sign!"

And Harrington sounded--sounds happy for her, practically ecstatic, which doesn’t make much sense given Robin is talking about a ‘her’ and-

And-and-and--

Eddie’s always been quick to connect the dots.

It’s something he inherited from his old man. A Munson trait he’s tried to make his own through being an excellent DM (and not by robbing people blind or boosting cars.)

Here, the dots clearly screamed that Robin Buckley was trying to ask a woman out.

You know, in a gay way.

Which Harrington not only knew, but was supportive of.

Steve Harrington, who famously called Jonathan Byers' a queer before smashing the guy's beloved camera into the ground.

Eddie’s head exploded.

Or was in the process of exploding--he’s not entirely sure given the tunnel vision was back and his soul felt like it had exited his body entirely.

Just knew that his world was being remade for a second time in five minutes, and that he was dealing with it pretty damn poorly.

(Maybe God would be nice for once, and just give him the aneurism he clearly deserved.)

Which was of course, when trouble finally did decide to show face, in the form of Dustin Henderson barging through the doors and into Steve and Robin's little meeting.

Eddie knew, because Eddie could hear him.

“Steve! Steve we have a problem!”

“I’m busy Dustin--”

“Be busy later, we have an emergency on our hands!”

“And what, pray tell, do you think is an emergency?”

Eddie, who had instantly latched onto the conversation by the sheer need to have something distract him from his own thoughts, wondered the very same.

“Jason Carver showed up at the table, with a priest. They’re trying to do some whole kind of crazy sermon--is that a good enough emergency for you!?”

“Oh shit. ” Steve spat, at the same time Eddie yelled it from up high.

He sprang up, all thoughts of Robin and Steve knowing he’d eavesdropped vanishing entirely from his head as he lunged for the stairs.

Flew down them, because the thing he'd been waiting all fucking day for had finally happened.

He nearly crashed into Robin once again as he blew through the barely closed doors, Steve and Dustin already far ahead of him.

“Eddie?” Robin asked, voice noticeably nervous. "Were you--"

"Not now Starbuck, but we can talk later." Eddie told her, flying right past.

After he saved Hellfire.

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strangersteddierthings · 1 year

Text

Porcelain Steve - Part 7

Part One🦇Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four🦇Part Five🦇Part Six🦇Part Seven🦇Part Eight🦇Part Nine

((TW for this part; period typical slurs and internalized homophobia. Read the tags before clicking readmore if you want the details))

Steve has been a porcelain doll for seven weeks when disaster strikes.

"What is that," Jeff says, because even though the words are in an order which would suggest that it's a question, the tone of voice Jeff uses decidedly is not questioning.

"What is whaaa-AH! Nothing! It's nothing!" Eddie, who was torso deep into his closet throwing things around to find his backup amp cord, turns to look at what Jeff was talking about, and is now launching himself across his room to stand between Jeff and Porcelain Steve. Porcelain Steve, who Eddie had lain on his bed, propped slightly on a pillow, headphones carefully perched on his little head, hooked to a cassette player currently playing the first hour of last week's Top 40 countdown that Eddie had taped for him (all three hours of it, leaving out the chatter of the radio show host. He'd had to use two tapes to get it all).

"Nothing sure looks a lot like a doll in headphones, Munson," Jeff has an amazing poker face but Eddie's certain he can see a bit of judgement underneath the carefully blank expression Jeff is wearing.

"I don't know what you're talking abo- hey! Hey, no, no, don't!" Eddie tries to bodily block Jeff when he moves forward and the two end up wrestling, a match that Eddie almost wins, if not for the hazard that is his messy room. He gets Jeff walked almost to the door before he steps wrong on something, ankle rolling and sending him down sideways. He clutches at Jeff but can't make purchase and Jeff, the bastard, does fuck-all to try and catch him. Instead, Jeff leaps out of arm's length, then lunges onto the bed as Eddie collapses to his floor.

Eddie frantically tries to stand and, in his haste, ends up with his feet tangled in a pile of dirty laundry and that sends him crashing down again, this time forward onto his hands and knees, so he gives up on standing and crawls the few short feet to the bed, finally looking up to see that the damage has been done.

Jeff has picked up Steve, holding him inches from his own face, eyes squinted in suspicion. Eddie is frozen, horrified and afraid, and can't bring himself to do anything as Jeff examines Steve closely, turning him around, poking his torso, flipping him upside down to examine his shoes more thoroughly. It's only when Jeff reached for the shirt, pinching the hem of it between two fingers that Eddie kicks back into action.

He lunges up, one knee on the bed, leaning over to grab Steve and yank him from Jeff's grip. His first instinct is to throw Steve over his shoulder, out of sight out of mind mentality, but as soon as he does, he realizes his mistake and twists, lunging to catch Steve in midair. He does manage to catch Steve, but it sends him bouncing off his dresser and almost back to the floor before he manager to regain his balance, where he proceeds to cradle Steve to his chest, which is heaving from the adrenaline, wrestling match, and subsequent dive after Steve.

Jeff is giving him a concerned look but something else piques his interest; Jeff reaches over and picks up the headphones, holding them up to one ear. His face goes through every emotion a human could possibly experience in less than fifteen seconds as he listens to whatever track was at the forty-ish minute mark on the Top 40 countdown.

Slowly, Jeff lowers the headphones, letting them drop to the bed before he gives Eddie a new, more judgmental, yet infinitely more concerned, look. "Eddie. What. The fuck."

Honestly, he's not sure there's anything he can say in response.

"Why- I don't... are you okay, man?" Jeff sounds both scared for Eddie, and scared of him, at the same time.

"I'm fine," Eddie manages to squeak out.

"Eddie," Jeff says seriously, "this is not fine. This is- this is insane behavior. You know that, right?"

"I've no idea what you mean," Eddie doesn't even know what he's defending himself from but his default response to anything is to defend himself. He grips Steve tightly around the torso with one hand and then moves both his hands to be behind his back so Jeff will stop staring at Steve.

"I mean this fuckin' insane shrine you have dedicated to Steve fucking Harrington. How did you even get a doll that looks like him. Did you- did you make that?"

Fuck. Holy fuck. What can he say to defend himself here? Is there a single way for him to come out of this not sounding deranged? If he agrees, let's Jeff's drawn conclusion be the truth, then that's all but confirmation to Steve about his big fat crush, so when Steve's back to being Steve he'll never look at Eddie again. Jeff might think he needs mental help, but he'll be here for Eddie. If he tries to deny the accusation, then he'll need an explanation. He'll have to tell Jeff something that make him seem less like a creepy stalker, but what? He can't tell the truth, not without letting everyone know he's going to tell Jeff. There's a whole other secret he'd have to let out to even have a chance of Jeff believing him.

Jeff must take his silence for acceptance or guilt, because he's speaking again. "I.... man, this is not healthy. Please tell me you aren't, like, hoarding a lock of his hair or his clothes or something."

Involuntarily, damningly, his eyes dart to the closet, where several of Steve's sweaters hang from when he'd borrowed them and never returned them. And it's not like Steve doesn't have several of Eddie's own articles of clothing, like his battle vest and a few shirts. But Jeff doesn't know they easily, willingly, swap clothes, so his eyes go wide and dart towards the closet, as if he can pick out which pieces belong to Steve on sight.

Actually, he probably can.

"This really isn't what it looks like," Eddie says because he has to say something. Being silent is too incriminating.

"I don't think you're aware of what this looks like," Jeff says, wiggling himself off of Eddie's bed to stand at the foot of it. "Of all the boys in Hawkins.... I knew you liked Steve but this is.... creepy. That doll looks so much like him that I recognized it. Does Steve know you're in love with him, or is this like a way to process your crush without having to-"

"Jeff!" Eddie yells, mortified. He can feel his whole face heat up, knows he must be bright red. Because Jeff just said, out loud and for Steve to hear, the thing that Eddie very much hasn't even said out loud to himself, even if he knows how he feels deep down.

Jeff must know he's overstepped some invisible boundary he wasn't even aware of because his face immediately shows regret. He takes a step forward and Eddie takes a step back.

Immediately, Jeff stops his forward momentum. "Shit, I'm sorry, Eddie. I'm sorry."

When Eddie answers, his voice sounds like he's been eating gravel, "Just, can you go wait in the living room? I'll be right out, and we can talk, or whatever, but can you just..."

A nod, and then Jeff is gone, closing the door behind him.

With shaking hands, Eddie brings Steve back to the front of him. Looks down at him. He's not even aware he's crying until he watches his tears mark Steve's tiny polo. He can't keep holding Steve. Can't keep looking at him. Not when- not when his best friend just outed him in the worst way possible. And Eddie can't even be upset or hurt about it because Jeff didn't know. He's teased Eddie about his crushes before, and in the safety of his own room, there was no reason for Jeff to have to watch what he was saying.

Even knowing that Steve is okay with Robin, loves her anyway, without the ability to confirm that Steve doesn't hate him right now, Eddie's going to freak out. But he can't. Jeff is waiting in the living room, and the band is waiting back at Gareth's. This was just- they were supposed to just grab the amp cable and get back, a fifteen-minute job at most, and now.

Now Eddie is staring down at Steve, willing himself to not have a panic attack.

"I'm sorry, Steve. I'm so sorry. You shouldn't have heard it like that, it s-should have come from me. It should- you-I'm sorry," Eddie gently underhand throws Steve onto the center of the bed. He lands face up and Eddie sinks to the floor because he can't stand anymore, and he can't really breath.

Steve knows Eddie's a fucking faggot now, and that he wants Steve, and there's no way he'll get to keep the friendship they had before this. There's no universe in which Steve isn't creeped out by this information. There has never been an instance where a straight boy found out about his crush on them and didn't abandon him. Not always cruelly, he'll admit. He's had friends that learned and just... slid from his life with no words and no fuss. Eddie just never spoke to them again because they never came back around, but they also never outed him.

That's what will happen with him and Steve. He'll quit inviting Eddie around, or calling when he's bored, and eventually it will get to the point that Eddie only sees him at BBQ's that Joyce drags him to.

Fuck. FUCK!

He's not sure how long he's on the floor but eventually, he finds the will to get back up and resume digging through his closet to find the amp cord. It doesn't take long, he was ridiculously close to finding it earlier, it seems.

Before leaving his room, he picks back up the cassette player and headphones. Silence comes from them, so he pops the tape out before flipping it to the B side and popping it back in. He puts the headphones around Steve's head again and presses play, doing his best to not actually look at Steve. He'll just have another breakdown if he does.

He trudges out of his room, closing the door behind himself before taking the short walk to the living room, where Jeff waiting on the couch, elbows on his knees, fingers steepled under his chin, eyes faraway as he stares towards the wall in front of him.

"Hey," Eddie says, to get his attention.

"Hey," Jeff says, sitting up straight and turning towards Eddie. "I'm sorry. Whatever I did, I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing? I'm the fucking psycho here," he sighs, leaning sideways against the kitchen counter, arms folded across his chest, hand clutching at the amp cord just for something to ground him.

"Forget that, whatever I did, or said, or whatever, you were- when you yelled my name. You looked terrified. Of me," Jeff almost whispers the last sentence, and if not for the stark silence in the trailer, Eddie wouldn't have heard.

"Not of you, Jeff," Eddie whispers back, but his voice doesn't stay quiet because 'quiet' isn't a thing Eddie does easily or often. "Of... of myself, and these- of how I feel- I'm a goddamned faggot and now that Ste- when Steve finds out I'll lose him! Like I've lost every fucking person who ever even suspected I was a fuckin' queer!"

Silence stretches between them, enough to make Eddie fidget, dropping his crossed arms to twist the amp cord about anxiously with both his hands.

"Look, man, I don't know what's, like, the appropriate thing to say so I'm just going for the honest thing. You got me. You'll never lose me. And all those other assholes that you think you lost? You're wrong. They lost you. And if Steve Harrington is gonna be another one of those, then you aren't losing him. 'Cause he was never really in your corner to begin with."

If this were anyone else, with the exception of his uncle, he would be able to hold it together better. But it's Jeff. His best friend. Who never believed Eddie committed unspeakable horrors over Spring Break last year. Who didn't question the strange, new friends he suddenly had afterwards; who accepted as the only explanation a softly spoken 'they saved me' and that was enough. Who had said 'ok, cool' in response to Eddie telling him he was gay, years ago now, and continued trying to find out if Eddie had a secret relationship, switching girlfriend for boyfriend like it wasn't a big deal (Eddie did not have a secret relationship; his good mood that week was the result of snooping for his birthday present and finding the guitar hidden under his uncle bed).

It's Jeff. So, Eddie does the most metal, manly thing he can and bursts into tears, blindly reaching for Jeff and pulling him off the couch so he can bear hug him and sob into his shirt.

"There, there, you big baby," Jeff rubs his back soothingly, "let it out. Then pull your sorry ass together, because Gareth and Brian are going to think we died in a car crash on the way here if we take much longer."

"Ah, fuck," Eddie manager to say around the sniffling he's trying to get control of, "you're right."

"You good, though?"

"Uh, I will be."

Jeff nods and steps back. "How about this. We go to practice, and then you can come to my place tonight and we can like, hangout and talk. If that's what you want."

He's already nodding as he says, "yeah. That would be good. I- uh, I have something to do after practice, but yeah, after that I'll come over."

Eddie tosses the amp cable to Jeff after they climb into the van and head off.

Halfway there, Jeff says, "you know Gareth and Brian are in your corner, too. If you ever feel like telling them one day."

"One day," Eddie agrees, "but today has already been... a lot."

Practice goes well, with some ribbing for their tardiness allowed. If Gareth and Brian notice Eddie's been crying recently, they keep it to themselves. Which is good, because Eddie cannot handle one more thing today.

A promise to meet up with Jeff later and Eddie's back home.

Back to where he left Steve, who will be laying in silence on his bed because it's been well over two hours since he and Jeff left, and the tape only held an hours' worth of music on each side. Back to the nightmare of not knowing if Steve hates him now, or if Eddie's, and this is the most likely scenario, being a bit overdramatic.

His uncle is home, so he greets him, asks after his day, gets told dinner is Fend For Yourself Night (which just means leftovers or a TV dinner), and gets asked about Steve. Because of course he does.

"You sure he went on a vacation willingly with those parents of his, and he ain't actually kidnapped and trapped somewhere?"

That's a little bit too true. If only Wayne knew. "Well, no. I'm not sure. All I know is what he said when he left."

Wayne gives him a look. One Eddie is used to seeing, that says 'I know more than you think but I'm waiting for you to tell me' and Eddie's a little afraid of what Wayne thinks he knows. So, instead of prying that box open, Eddie just says he's tired and goes to his room.

Steve is exactly where Eddie left him.

Suddenly, without reason or logic, Eddie is angry. He's so pissed at Steve for being gone for this long. For having transformed in the first place. For not being able to assure him they'll still be friends, regardless of Eddie's stupid crush.

He snatches Steve off the bed, hand clamping around one of Steve's arms and his torso so he can hold him up with one hand. Steve's face, permanently stuck into a blank expression, looks back. Even knowing that Steve sees and hears through this thing, Eddie's so angry at the doll. If Steve hadn't been turned into this stupid thing, if Eddie wasn't so helplessly in love with him, this wouldn't have happened. Eddie could have taken his own time telling Steve, instead of hearing his deepest secret spilled easily from Jeff's lips. Instead of this not knowing what Steve is thinking, or how he feels. Is he recoiling in disgust at the fact Eddie's making him look at his face? Or is Eddie being awarded the same kindness as Robin, a quiet acceptance that won't change their friendship?

Eddie doesn't know that answer and he hates it.

He's so angry with himself because he should know better. He's forcing his own insecurities onto Steve, about acceptance and caring, when nothing Steve's done since they've become friends is prove that he'll always be Eddie's friend and not even the apocalypse could change that.

"I'm going to hang out with Jeff, so you're gonna be alone a bit longer. Or maybe I should drop you off at Robin's when I go," Eddie goes to toss Steve back on the bed when something pinches his palm. It's a startling sharp pain, quick to fade, but it's surprising enough for Eddie to let go.

Eddie watches, horrified, as he falls to the floor. He twists in the air, landing with a dull thump and cracking sound on his left arm before falling onto his back.

"Shit. Shit! Fuck, Steve, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to," Eddie is crouched, already in the process of reaching for Steve when he freezes.

There is a crack on Steve's left arm, a line that starts above his elbow on the inside of his arm and runs down and across his arm to his hand, where Steve's pinky finger is gone. Looking slightly to the side, Eddie can see the small porcelain piece that Steve is missing laying on the ground next to him. Eddie's own hand is hovering in the air above Steve, shaking.

This can't be- how did- Eddie wracks his brain. Was the crack there already? Did Eddie cause the crack when he bounced off his dresser earlier? When did it happen? Does that fucking matter when it's Eddie who broke a piece off him? If Steve didn't hate him before, he's got to now. Eddie doesn't have time to panic about this, he's got to- El. El can talk to Steve. Find out if he's okay. What if breaking him-

Eddie launches himself up and to his dresser, grabbing at the Walkie up there. He pulls the antenna up, clicks it on and tries not to actually shout as he says, "Code Red! Code fucking Red!" He lets off the talk button, counts to seven in his head, enough time, he reasons, for someone to respond before he repeats the process. "Code Red!! Code Red!"

He repeats this process for three minutes with no response. Where the fuck is everyone!? How is he supposed to- Oh! The phone!

He tears down the hall and to the phone. He must look a right state, because Wayne looks very concerned and is halfway to standing up when Eddie gets to the phone beside him. He yanks the phone up and dials the number for the Byers-Hopper household, holding up a shaking finger to Wayne, a silent plea to give him a moment.

It rings and rings and rings before the answering machine kicks in. Eddie presses down on the disconnect button before dialing the Wheelers' number next.

"Hello?"

"Mike! Code Red! Where the fuck is everyone and why aren't they answering!?"

"What?"

"Code Red! Where's Nancy. Put Nancy on."

"Dude, slow down, what's-"

"I broke St-it. I broke it and someone needs to get El here now. Code Red does not mean ask questions, Mike! It means Code. Fucking. Red."

"Shit, shit, right! I'll get Nancy and we'll get everyone- just- we'll be there soon."

Eddie slams the phone down and has to meet his uncle's eye now.

"Eddie. What is goin' on?"

Eddie inhales a breath and can feel his lower lip quivering. "It's- can we talk about it later? I promise I'm not the one hurt, or in trouble, or- it's not me, ok. I just-"

"Yer shakin' like a leaf boy. What's got you so spooked?"

Eddie just shakes his head and flees back to his room, slamming the door shut between him and his uncle. He can't bring himself to cross the room to Steve. He slides himself down the door to sit on the floor, pulling his knees up to hug.

"I'm so sorry, Steve. I'm sorry."

#steddie #my fic #porcelain steve #TW: Eddie calls himself a faggot and he means it in a bad way #did I make a playlist on spotify w/ Top 40 songs for June 21-27 1987 so id know how many tapes eddie had to use to record it?#yes. its 2 tapes fyi‚ using side A and B of one. a total of 2h54m. in my defense it was a writers block activity.#couldnt figure out what to have jeff say to comfort eddie that was in character and era-appropriate so... playlist it was!#if i were titling these parts this would be Eddie's No Good‚ Very Bad‚ Terrible‚ Horrible Day #I mean... he's had worse days (Spring Break '86) but this is up there for him #also back to back updates!? who am i??? but don't expect another one too soon #i started this one as part 6 originally but decided i wanted a more lighthearted piece first #so i wrote like 2/3 of this before writing what i posted for part 6 so finishing this was quick

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