#Joy Cunningham | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chaptersleftunwritten · 1 month

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Down on all fours

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Blurb: After you unwillingly come clean about your undying love for Eddie Munson, your life is swept into a whirlwind of deceit, lust, confusion and regret… and glitter that Eddie can’t seem to shake from his pockets.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader x Steve Harrington x Chrissy Cunningham

Warnings: 18+, slight angst (?), alcohol consumption, reader referred to as girl, cheating/unfaithfulness, drugs mentioned (weed), mentions of blood, depictions of violence, cursing, bodily insecurity, implied sexual themes. Character are 20+ and in a college setting!

divider by @cafekitsune

The movie theatre would never be the same anymore— not to you. Not since that day. A place once associated with joy and child like wonder, where you watched your beloved characters come to life on the big screen and where you could laugh openly, unattractively and purely with your friends.

Tainted. Forever changed.

But not forgotten. Never forgotten.

The memories have been eating you alive, feasting on your insecurity and your shame. Despite the look of fearful regret on Eddie’s face, you still thought about him.

Day and night— morning and noon. Before you slept and before you awoke each morning. He even infiltrated your dreams. Dreams are meant to be sacred, private affairs and yet, Eddie Munson still ruled them like the King of all of your desires. His ring clad fingers were still clutching onto your heart— squeezing and loosening his grip around the vital organ as he saw fit. He had the upper hand; the control.

He always did. He always has.

You couldn’t bring yourself to face them— any of them. Not Steve, not Robin, not Chrissy and especially not Eddie. It was peculiar, the addictive need to see Eddie no matter the cost— no matter the humiliation. It out weighed every sane thought you had.

You would steal glances at him from across a room, hiding in plain sight. Desperate for the shadows to claim you as their own; for the walls to hug you back. You felt other worldly, as if your soul was floating outside of your body and you had no rational feeling. No say. No voice.

Confessions should be freeing; but you have never felt so trapped. Chained. Soul tied.

Love conquers all, but love also might just conquer you.

It’s mid-week, and although college parties always attract unwanted attention you could never have prepared to see this many people crashing your family home. Precious photos were knocked over, the smashed glass from the frames line the top of shelves and cabinets- glittering them in a forbidden pixie dust.

Your bedroom has been occupied by a couple you didn’t recognise and if it weren’t for the pleasant buzz of alcohol coursing through your blood you most certainly would have screamed at them to leave. The sicker parts of you were envious of their engagement. Their human closeness and connection.

Why couldn’t you have that? Didn’t you deserve that?

So instead of blowing your top, you roll your eyes and scoff before slamming the familiar door obnoxiously loud and coke to nest at the bottom of the staircase; the wood is hard and cold against your bare thighs which causes you to pay some uncomfortable attention to your outfit. Sparkly, twinkly and stupid.

Your heart sinks to the abysmal pit at the bottom of your stomach at the realisation that nobody here really knows what this party is for. Who it is for.

Your birthday streamers that once decorated the walls proudly have become unpinned from the concrete, cascading down the wall in a massive spiral and hiding the message written on the plastic.

Happy birthday!

Not a single person had uttered those words to you the whole night. Even on a day where you were meant- born to be celebrated, you have been forgotten. A bystander in your own life. An observer in a theatrical play written for you. About you.

And the humour of it all?

You were used to it now.

Nothing could break your heart; because it was already in pieces.

Shreds. Splinters. Fragments. Puzzle pieces never to be solved or mended again. A heart shaped hole stamped into your chest where someone once lived.

Cobwebs inhabit the vacant crevasse, dust gathering on the sensitive walls. The sensitive walls that have hardened into a volcanic crust.

The only thing left behind in your impenetrable fortress? A single crumpled envelope with Eddie’s name written on it in cursive. The ‘i’ in his name punctuated with a loveheart.

He was the only tenant you wanted living there. And in reality, he should have been evicted a long time ago.

But nobody said love was easy. Nobody warned you that it would be this hard, though, either.

Was love supposed to make you this low? Was it supposed to make you find your bearings at the bottom of a red fizzing cup? The carbonated bubbles in your drink seemed to be your only friend tonight.

Would it really be your birthday if you didn’t cry at least once? Or twice… or thrice.

“Hey! Does anyone have any weed?” Your quiet attempt at a yell comes out of your mouth in the form of a drunken hiccup and you are debating the possibility that you may have stood up too fast, “Anyone? No?” Frustrated you pinch the bridge of your nose as you sigh loudly into your hand, your ears met by silence from your peers.

“I might.” You can hear a comedic tweak in his voice and you swear you can feel part of you die on the inside.

“Steve,” You say through clenched teeth, forcing a smile, “I didn’t know you smoked?” You also weren’t aware that he would be here— but you can’t deny the attention that this party is demanding from the neighbourhood. You are partly surprised that the police haven’t been called yet, but your neighbours aren’t known to be snitches.

“I don’t usually,” he shrugs dismissively, “I didn’t know you were throwing a party? Thankfully word travels fast in this town, huh?” His elbow gently nudges into your arm playfully, “There’s no better time for me to give you this.” He hands you a small box that has been wrapped all too perfectly in a sage green wrapping paper; brought together with a pretty black tulle bow. For a moment you are totally stunned, eyes inflated as you gawk down at the gift in your slightly shaky hands.

“You…” you search for the words, lost in his kindness and when you finally gather enough courage to meet his sweet brown eyes you nearly drown in their depths, “You got me a gift?”

He flashes you one of his signature Steve smiles and your drunk brain can’t seem to comprehend if this is a joke of not.

“Of course I did? You’re one of my best friends!” His voice is a happy chime as he ruffles his fingers through his chestnut gelled hair, offering the stiff strands some movement. You notice his pupils flicking between your face and the present in your hands, one of his eyebrows raise with subtle confusion, “Aren’t you going to open it?”

“Yeah- yes! Yes, of course!” You set your empty cup down on a nearby table before your nimble fingers come to wrestle with the sticky tape, painted fingernails clawing like an animal to get to the goods inside. There is a nervousness that comes with the unwrapping of the gift and you don’t quite understand why. The moment feels significant… special. You finally feel somewhat special tonight.

Eagerly, Steve keeps his warm amber eyes trained on you. A soft, dreamy smile itching at his lips as he awaits your approval. You and Steve had been friends for such a long time, you even opened your college acceptance letters together in his family dining room with his parents. He had always been there for you, through everything. One of your best friends— possibly your only friend.

“I haven’t seen you around in a while— how have you been?” His voice is laced with genuine concern but all you can do is ogle at what is displayed in front of you. A shiny silver necklace that had been personalised to have your name dangling from the chain with small colourful charms decorating the metal plating sit inside of the small box that Steve had handed to you. It was beautiful. It was you. And not to mention… it perfectly matched your outfit.

“Shut up!” You gasp, picking up the chain from the safety of its box and dangling it in front of Steve’s face, the neon stream of lights from the party reflect off of its pristine surface, “Steve!! What the Hell? This is stunning!” You become a fit of excited girlish giggles and Steve shakes his head at your outburst, finding it adorable.

“You like it?” He is booming to be heard over the increasingly loud music and you squeal, fumbling with the latch on the chain.

“Like it? I love it! Thank you so much!” You reach around your neck, fighting to clip the necklace and Steve offers you a helping hand accompanied by an amused chucklez, “It’s perfect, Steve, truly! I love it, I love it!” You brush your hair over your shoulder, allowing Steve to access the chain and clasp it securely.

“There! Pretty as a picture.” He winks at you and you toy with your name displayed across your chest; an honest smile gracing your lips.

“Happy birthday.” His large palm rubs the flesh of your shoulder and you nod at him in acknowledgement. There is an after glow that lingers after Steve’s touch disappears and you are not even aware of where he wanders off to but when you realise that you are stood alone… you feel that all too familiar feeling start to creep it’s way back into your chest. An icy chill. A storm brewing.

“Steve?” You call out to him, however your voice is wasted with how small it was and goes totally unnoticed. Your eyes drink in the sea of dancing, sweating bodies around you. The number of people in your home is multiplying— like a deathly virus.

The perky smile falls from your cheeks and only then do you remember why you were even talking to Steve in the first place— you wanted some weed. You needed some.

Or did you?

You wanted to escape life. To feel free from the bounds of Eddie Munson, free from the shackles of your mind. This is the only way you knew how… sleep wasn’t an option— he could reach you there.

Even the darkest corners of your mind, where even the ghosts refused to venture, were haunted by Eddie— there was no fleeing from him. You were his.

But he was Chrissy’s.

You find yourself outside, sitting in the cool night air by the side of your house. Your face is flushed from the alcohol and your skin feels as though it is prickling with heat; fiery.

Your mini skirt hugs your hips and thighs and you fist the fabric, suddenly uncomfortable with the way your body looks in the garment. The way the flesh of your thighs squish the ground beneath you has you stifling a scream and you wrap your arms tightly around your torso to shield the rest of your body from the world.

Your eyes flicker and blaze with the mirrored light from the street lamps, the orange hues meeting the chunky glitter that dominates your eyelids. The heavy makeup was starting to irritate your eyes, but you would do anything to seem half presentable. Anything to feel and look your best.

A choked laugh emits past your lips; it was ludicrous. How you had been exiled from your own birthday party. Left to the wolves of the wild. You didn’t mind too much— it meant you could finally take off this weighty mask you had been hiding behind all night. No more untruthful smiles, no more biting back teary eyes.

You could finally feel. And breathe.

However, your reign of peace and solitude doesn’t last long as your ears perk involuntarily at an all too recognisable thundering chuckle. This whole time, you had been preparing for him to show face and yet you have never felt so startled. A deer in headlights.

The chains around your wrists tighten as you stiffen, unable to move. Unable to respond or breathe or think.

Eddie had arrived.

“Woooah! Lookie’ here! If it isn’t the birthday girl,” Even in the dim light of the garden you can see his Cheshire smile examining you, “What you doing out here all alone, Sweetheart?”

Your breath remains lodged tightly in your throat, wound up like a coiled spring and you are unable to speak. It’s almost as if you are paralysed— has he hit you with a tranquillising dart? Or was that just his cologne that had you so wrapped up in everything that he is.

He called you sweetheart…

He called you sweetheart.

Sweetheart.

His sweetheart?

“Hello? Are you okay?” His hand waves in front of your face, causing you to blink and flinch momentarily at the sudden action, “Aren’t you cold out here?”

“No…” a whisper is all you could manage. It’s all you could afford to give him.

There wasn’t much of you left to give. Soon you would be this vacant polished shell of a human being— beautiful on the outside and hopeless on the inside.

“Okay, well… Happy birthday.” He nods at you enthusiastically, his voice like a siren song lulling you to your demise. He shoves his hands into his ripped jeans pockets, letting out an exaggerated shiver before he says, “Hey, have you seen Chrissy? She came here an hour ago and I haven’t really heard from her.” He tries to disguise the worry in his voice, but you can read him like a book. The way his hands are twitching from his pockets to rub anxiously at his neck, or how he bounces on the balls of his feet— the adrenaline causing him to be restless.

You wish Eddie could do the same with you. You wish he could see past this makeup and this charade. You wish he could recognise just how much that simple sentence had ruined your evening.

Of course he was here looking for Chrissy, why else would he have showed up? For you? Please. The thought alone was laughable.

“I didn’t even know she was here.” Your chin tilts to your shoulder where you can eye the large window looking on into your kitchen. The lights are out but there are neon fairy lights twinkling and illuminating the darkness. It’s almost as if you are looking through a kaleidoscope.

It had taken you hours to hang all of those lights, only to watch other people enjoy their warmth instead.

“You should come back inside, you don’t seem like you’re having a lot of fun out here in the dark.” Eddie takes a leisurely seat next to you and out of instinct you shuffle a few inches away from him, trying to create as much distance as possible, “Are you wasted? You’re being eerily quiet.”

“It’s a party, Eddie.” You sigh, answering him without leaving a single beat, an abrupt newfound confidence helps you to untangle your voice, “People get drunk at parties— I just wish I had some weed.”

It was ironic, wishing for weed as you talk to a weed dealer.

“Is that really your birthday wish? To have weed?” His shoulders bounce lightly as he laughs, his hands coming to find his coat pocket. You shrug in response to his question, tipping your head back and swallowing the last of what was left swirling around in the bottom of your cup.

The truth was, you hadn’t even lit your birthday candles yet. There hadn’t been a right time and you didn’t want to be that person. But if you had sparked those candles… you would have wished for him.

Not for weed. Not for money. Not for beauty or brains.

You would have wished for Eddie Munson.

“Here.” He is careful to take your hand into his, gently prying your fingers open and dropping a bud of weed into your palm before he is securing your fingers back over it, “It isn’t much, I know that but… if I could make your birthday wish a reality then I suppose that’s pretty alright, huh?” He holds your wrist loosely in his grip and your fuzzy brain can’t compute if you are dreaming or not.

You had expected fireworks from his touch— a massive explosion of technicolour and bright blinding lights.

But what you got was far more sensual than that. An electric shockwave travelled along your skin from your arm to your back, zapping down every vertebrae in your spine and coating your body in a blanket of goosebumps. Every single one of your hairs stood on end and this might have been the most alert you have felt all day. You felt awake. Resurrected. Alive.

“Are you sure?” You gulp, mouth suddenly dry, “I can pay you…” You start to frantically search your person for any sign of loose cash— your bra, did your skirt have pockets this morning? No. Where the Hell is your purse?

“No- no! This is a gift, from me to you! It’s your birthday for crying out loud!” Eddie is holding both of your wrists now, his attempt to still your nervous jittery movements, “Just enjoy it, okay? Just… just smile.” His deep pleading voice is painful as it enters your ears.

Just smile.

Smile? Weren’t you smiling?

“Thank you…” up until this point you hadn’t fully perceived just how close of a proximity you and Eddie were nestled at. His slight body leaning in closer to yours, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his skin. He was within kissing distance and all you could do now was stare at his dimpled smile. The sight alone was enough to cause your own lips to tweak up at the corners.

“Do you know how to roll a joint?” Eddie could evidently sense the growing tension and he pulls away from you, not in a moment of disgust and terror— but out of respect. Attraction was clear but Eddie was like a loyal dog to Chrissy. There’s no way he would betray her.

“Oh- uhm… no, no I don’t.” You laugh slightly as you look down at the drugs held captive in your hand. Your skin being tinged with the ponging smell.

“Luckily for you, I’m a bit of a master at it.”

“Eddie?” A whimper. A whisper. Weak. Sorrow filled.

“Yeah?” His heavenly eyes had you questioning why thieves ever bothered to steal art— when you were looking at a masterpiece.

A pause. Nothingness. Expectation. Shadows.

“Why do you hate me?” The question is shuddered out through constricted teeth and you find an ungodly comfort in that familiar ache inside of your sternum, “You have no idea what you’ve been doing to me, Eddie.”

“I don’t hate you-“

“But you don’t love me. You don’t… like me.” You push your feet into the soft earth, coming to stand shakily in front of Eddie’s seated frame, “Every time I look at you, I can't help but hope you feel the same butterflies in your stomach when you look back at me.” Your eyes settle on the empty street, the only noise circulating the neighbourhood was coming from inside your house. Thumping bass beating in harmony with your heart, “But deep down, I know all you feel is pity."

“That isn’t true and you’re being cruel.” Eddie launches to his feet, darting to stand in front of you, “Where is this coming from? If I have hurt you, I assure you that it was never my intention— I could never hurt you purposely.”

“You didn’t have to purposely hurt me, Ed’s. All I had to do was sit back and watch you love someone else. Someone better than me… that was enough to break my spirit.”

A disruption shakes the interior of your house, a commotion surfacing and you can hear the cheers and whistles from your peers. Eddie clocks it as well, and you can see a panic distort his puppy like features.

“Please can we talk about this tomorrow, when you’re sober and… and we can both just figure this out? Please?” His hands find your shoulders, holding you steady as his chocolate orbs bear into yours. His attention is on you, but you can tell that his feet are ready to sprint indoors.

Quietly, you nod. Anything to please him. Anything to make him happy. Plus— you were also intrigued as to what was happening behind in you. Whatever it was, it had stirred up a whirlwind.

Eddie is quick to leave your side, like a whippet released onto a race track, taking the porch steps two at a time and you are hot on his heels. You are clumsy in your kitten heeled shoes, but you are right behind him.

‘I’ll follow thee and make a Heaven of a Hell.

To die upon the hand I love so well.’

William Shakespeare, Helena

“What’s going on?” You stagger into the shoulder of a Frat member, whispering an inaudible apology as he turns to glare down at you. Though, after he takes in your appearance his solid and annoyed expression softens into amusement and what you can only assume as blind lust.

“Harrington and Cunningham got caught banging in the bathroom— can’t believe you missed it! It was fucking priceless.” He drapes his heavy muscular arm over your shoulders and your knees nearly buckle beneath you at his weight pressing down on you.

“What?” You peek up at him through your eyelashes, clearly dazed. You have to make sure— you have to hear him say it again.

“Cunningham? Chrissy?” He is laughing rudely into your face and your nose scrunches distastefully at the stench of beer on his breath, “And Steve Harrington! They were fucking! He had her bent over the bathroom sink, man! His hands full of her hair— pretty sure the mirror is gonna be covered in lipstick!” Finally he unhooks his arm from around your neck and you feel like you may just float up to the ceiling.

You push away from him, using his massive hulking body to propel you further into the mob, your eyes desperate to find Eddie in the crowd. And when you do… it’s ugly.

Anguish, rage, indecision and fear blaze in Eddie’s tear glossed eyes. The gears inside of his head were working like clockwork and you knew where this was about to go as he stares murderously at Steve. Jaw wired tightly shut, nostrils flaring into bullet sized holes and fists so punishingly rigid that you can see the bones of his knuckles straining against his skin; turning his skin to a snow like shade of white.

Steve descends from the top of the staircase alone. His hair is tossed into a messy heap upon his sweat soaked head and you can read from his slumped and lazy stance alone that Steve is totally gone. His hands grasp the bannister, clinging onto the wood for dear life in hopes that he won’t fall down the steep steps.

“Eddie- no, don’t do it!” You try to move toward him as quickly as your boozy brain would allow, but it’s too late. Eddie is flying toward Steve like a bat out of Purgatory.

Time appears to speed up as you watch the violence unfold in front of you alongside the rest of chanting crowd. Eddie has smashed Steve against the wall by the collar of his shirt and you swear you hear some sort of cracking noise come from concrete from the connection of Steve’s back hurling into the plasterboard.

“Fuck! Guys, stop it!” Not only are you terrified of Steve getting beat to a pulp— but your parents would kick you out of the house if things got tarnished beyond repair. And that includes the paint work.

A brutish punch thrown by Eddie bursts Steve’s cheek open and you squeal in horror at the stream of pure gore that spurts from the gnarly wound, “Jesus Christ, Eddie!!” Marching up the staircase you wedge yourself between the two men and Eddie’s movements still. He allowed himself one punch. One good punch, as a warning and also as a courtesy. He didn’t want to frighten you and he also didn’t want to take advantage of Steve’s inebriated state.

One punch is all he needed to satisfy the sickening anger bubbling within him.

And then he fled— like a killer at a crime scene.

“Eddie! Wait- fuck!!” You curse, your hands finding your hair as you tug on the roots of the delicate strands. You are beyond stressed. All you can do is watch as Eddie weaves his way through the mosh pit of bodies who had all quickly gone back to dancing— like nothing had happened.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Steve blubbers next to you and you turn to him, your eyes widened with shock and distress but it doesn’t take long for your glare to become vexing.

“What did you do, Harrington?! If you weren’t already bleeding right now I would slap you in your goddamn face!” Your grip on him is scolding and hurried as you manage to help him down to rest on one of the wooden steps, your eyes unable to waver from the crimson leaking gash on his face.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…” His face rests in his hands as he breathes deeply, in through his nose and out through his mouth. And just as you prepare to give him a bollocking of a life time, Chrissy emerges from sanctuary of the top floor, desperately trying to rescuer her bra straps back onto your shoulders. Her clothes are twisted sloppily around her body and she, too, is undoubtedly, totally, 110% fucking hammered.

Both your and the blondes eyes meet and your lips pinch downwards into a frown. Your head shakes disapprovingly and your mind is clouded with nervy thoughts for Eddie’s wellbeing and all you can conjure up to say to the dishevelled woman is;

“How the fuck did this happened?”

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eagc1995 · 5 months

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Joy is annoyed

If you would like to support my work, feel free to support me on either Patreon: www.patreon.com/eagc1995 Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/X8X0WRTV

Shoutout to my Patreon supporters: Esteban Felix, ThePkmnYPerson, Christopher Mason, Sam Fimple, Mattthiamore, Amazingangus76, Robert Grgic, TheVHM108, Andrew Stutt, Jacen C. Silva, Gh100, GiganticLuv, Resident Daisy, wildstar27

#fan art #my art #oc #the loud house #original character #Joy Cunningham

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hawkinsbnbg · 16 days

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miracle

prompt: shower | word count: 399 | rated: G | @steddiemicrofic | ao3

“Congrats,” Steve smiled, big and happy for his girl as he squeezed her in his chest. “You're gonna be the best mom ever, Robbie!”

“I thought the world’s best mom is your brand, Stevie?” Robin squeezed him back just as tight.

“What if I wanna share it, huh?” He kissed her forehead before stepping back, looking over his shoulder to watch Eddie doing the same to Chrissy, glowing and stunning in her maternal dress.

“Saps, the both of you,” Robin laughed brightly and linked their arms together so she could pull him toward their respective partners.

The Buckley-Cunningham’s baby shower was just a small party, held to celebrate their impending parenthood and share the joys with their friends and family.

Gazing at the lovely bump on Chrissy, Steve unconsciously stroked his own belly, thinking about what it would feel like to have a precious life grow inside him, how many changes his body would make to fit a baby.

Then, he recalled the photos Wayne had shown him and giggled quietly.

He imagined their child would also have a big head like Eddie, would grow the same wild curls but softer somehow, would inherit those big brown eyes and his moles, would love reading fantasy tales and listening to pop songs, and would be quite gifted at both sports and art.

“Whatcha thinking about, darlin’?” A husky voice sounded in his ear as strong arms wrapped around his waist, embracing him from behind.

Swaying lightly, Steve leaned back on his husband’s warm chest and laced his hand with the one resting on his abdomen, clinking the twin gold bands together.

They had started talking about having kids lately, how they were finally ready for it.

Which resulted in Steve forgoing his birth control this month, but he hadn't told Eddie yet.

“Just thinking about making a miracle with you,” he said softly.

A tender kiss was pressed on his cheek, “My baby wants a baby, hm?”

“And what does Daddy say?” He craned his neck to meet those plump lips chastely.

“Daddy wanna give baby the world,” Eddie said warmly and gently twirled Steve around, regarding him with pure adoration. “Daddy wanna give his baby a baby.”

Hooking his arms around Eddie's neck, he leaned up to kiss his husband sweetly.

“Daddy is the best.”

“Only for you, my pretty angel,” Eddie kissed the tip of his nose fondly.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddiemicrofic #sionewrites

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poolsidepanic · 1 year

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chrissy to me is the sort of person to catch insects in the house gently to release them outside. she has named the spider that lives out of her reach in the corner behind her wardrobe. she also spends time when chasing moths around trying to catch them telling them how beautiful they are. she speaks soothingly to them as if they understand her :)

#chrissy cunningham #to ME she is a creepy crawly lover #all types of them but especially moths #she is the person to catch the spiders #and yells at anyone who suggests she just kills them #which could never be me because arachnophobia but i still respect spiders #moths i do like!! they pretty #just caught a huge one that got itself stuck in my living room somehow. was a pretty thing and i let it out the back door <3 #which is what prompted this post lol #i might’ve talked about this before cause this headcanon brings me joy but whatever. have it again #just chrissy 🫧#thoughts 🌸✨

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harritudur · 2 years

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1991, Dublin 📸 Corroded Coffin's leader, Eddie Munson, and his fiancée, Chirssy Cunningham, share a kiss while enjoying the irish capital during the band' 1st european tour.

(inspired by a picture of anya taylor-joy & malcolm mcrae)

#they are alive and happy what aer u talking about?#eddie munson #chrissy cunningham #eddie x chrissy #eddissy #hellcheer #art by me

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yovrnewromantic · 4 months

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A KING AND A QUEEN —

THE LINE | Memories of An Old Friend

pairings: Steve Harrington x Fem!Henderson!Reader

words: 2.0k

summary: your final homecoming football game in Steve’s POV.

Mac DeMarco — Another one , Joy Ciara (cover) — The One That Got Away

Hawkins Highschool. October 12th, 85’.

Like usual, the Hawkins’ football team was losing. Despite how hard the seniors at Hawkins would pray, their beloved football team would still lose the homecoming football game. But Steve wasn’t there for the football game, he was there for you.

From the bleachers, along with the rest of the student body, Steve watched you from across the field, dressed up in white. All pretty like a princess, or, soon to be, a queen. Even from afar he could see he could see your giddy smile that you were desperately trying to hide.

Steve’s stomach did a back flip when you started walking down the field, mother and brother at your side, the announcer beginning.

“Y/N Henderson, accompanied by her mother, Claudia, and her younger brother, Dustin. After high school, Y/N plans to attend,” Steve couldn’t pronounce the name of your future school if he tried, “college and become an author.”

The announcement of your future was euphoric for you to hear, he could see it on your face, but that didn’t prevent Steve’s stomach from dropping.

He knew you were going to leave eventually, you had too much potential to stay in a silly town like this. Yet, hearing it out loud from someone else’s voice, not your usual sweet voice as you daydreamed with head in your hands on the counter of Family Video as Steve pretended he wasn’t listening, made it feel real.

He wanted to be happy for you, but the thought of you leaving him Hawkins behind made him feel sick.

“Y/N gives special dedication to Heather Hathaway, a friend who recently passed in the Hawkins Mall fire along with town Sheriff, Jim Hopper. May they rest in peace.”

Beside him, Robin shifted, and he’s sure that your little monster hunting group was looking at each other, but Steve couldn’t seem to take his eyes off you.

His eyes never strayed from you, even when you stood between Nancy, his ex girlfriend and your best friend, and Chrissy Cunningham, another one of your friends. You stood in the center of four girls on the homecoming court. He wasn’t sure what was wrong with him, but he couldn’t so much as spare another girl a glance. They just seemed so insignificant compared to you.

Steve swore he had never seen anything that could compare to the sight of your jaw dropping when the crown was placed on top of your head. Your hand went to grab your tiara, pulling it into your head tightly as you barked an incredulous laugh full of joy.

Applauds followed, but Steve swore he was the loudest, regardless of Lucas and Mike screaming a few bleachers below him.

After quick side hugs to your friends, Steve watched intently as you ran to your Dustin and your mom as swiftly in possible with your heels.

Pictures followed, and after a picture with the court and homecoming king, you were swarmed with a crowd of people. Steve barely made his way through to you, but when he did, he stopped moving, letting the crowd shift around him despite him feeling the world had stopped spinning for a moment.

Billy Hargrove looked at you like you hung the moon, and Steve wanted to rip his arm off your shoulder and replace it with his, but he couldn’t. He wasn’t yours, and you were certainly not his, the mass of teenage boys eager for a picture with you proved that. Steve wasn’t special, and he was delusional if he ever thought he had a chance with you.

Steve didn’t stay long enough to watch your eyes scan the crowd, looking for a familiar face. He hadn’t seen your shoulders sag in disappointment when you couldn’t find him, or the way your eyes brightened at the sight of him walking into the school, hands dipped in his pockets.

—

Steve’s knuckles rasped against where your desk had been last year, the seat next to his in the AP statistic class you had convinced him to take.

He shook his head at the memories of you tutoring him on the car rides to and from school, in the library, each other’s houses. He remembered the days your patience wore thin, the days when he stayed for dinner at your house so he could continue studying with you past six, the days you forced Dustin out of your room so you could get some work done, the days you baked him cookies when passed his tests. He’d survived the class with a C+, thanks to you.

Too focused on reminiscing, Steve hardly heard your heels clacking until you were in the doorway.

“Guess King Steve has been dethroned,” you said, sounding pleased with your own wit. The nickname he only let you call him flowed off your lips with ease.

“Finally,” Steve joked, turning to look at you. “That guy was an asshole.”

Steve watched as you place your bouquet of flowers onto the closest desk to the door before coming towards him, your cheeks looking flushed. He realized you must’ve rushed out to find him.

“Right?” you agreed, teasing. Uncontrollable giggles spilled from your throat.

It felt like a breathe of fresh air to have you this close to him, the closest you had been all day. Steve hadn’t really how much he had missed you. He took the moment to admire you.

Your hair was curled in a bun, strings of frizz framing your face, but not as nicely as the golden tiara on your head did. The tiara was like the final piece of a puzzle, completing your faultless look. You looked perfect, but something about your dress— the way it hugged your curves, how it showed the right amount of cleavage. Your dress made you look divine.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Steve was sure that he’d get to see you in white dress again.

“I thought you left,” you admitted, an arm going to hug yourself. Your fingers brushed against your forearms for comfort, a nervous tick Steve had picked up when you two had gotten close in your junior year of Highschool.

Steve felt ashamed hearing your worried tone. He had thought about it, leaving and going home, prepared to call you later that night, ready to lie and say he had caught food poisoning and didn’t want to spoil your night. He was glad he stayed. If he hadn’t, he would’ve never seen how gorgeous you looked that night.

“Without wishing you congratulations? You think that low of me, Sunshine?” Steve whistled. He tilted his head, lips curved into a smile.

You dipped your head, but Steve could still spot your blissful expression, cheeks full from your smile. Steve swore he saw you blush at the nickname. Then, you looked up at him like he was something worth looking at.

With an ounce of hesitance, you shrugged, “What’d you think?”

“About what?” Steve asked, oblivious as ever.

Playfully, you rolled your eyes. “About me?” you huffed, gesturing your hands to yourself in emphasis.

Steve’s heart raced. The way you looked was setting off a fire deep inside him that he wasn’t sure he could ever put out. You looked godly, and if Aphrodite was real, Steve was sure that you were her favorite child. Steve would fight hundreds of millions of demogorgons, demo-dogs, any monster from the upside down to see you like this. Hell, he’d sacrifice himself to them if this was the sight that would welcome him to heaven.

But before he could say anything, you laughed, your normal snort that reminded him you were the same girl from yesterday; the same girl that almost crashed his car when he tried teaching you how to drive, the same that made him buy her books and milkshakes. The same girl who insulted his taste in movies and music. The same girl who saved his life more times than he could count.

You were the same girl he thought was absolutely perfect despite your, at least he thought they were, breathtaking imperfections.

Smiling, you said, “In all seriousness, Steve, my mom wants a picture of us. Dustin wants to be in it too, says it’s foreshadowing something. I didn’t bother asking what.”

Steve hummed, drawling closer. It’s now or never, he told himself.

“I think they’re going to have to wait.”

You cocked your head in confusion. For once in your entire life, you were the oblivious one. “Why’s that?”

“I want you to myself for a little bit,” Steve shrugged nonchalantly. “Is that too much to ask?”

Steve watched your lips part. You blinked, stunned, before brushing back a strand of frizz behind your hair. “N-no,” you stammered.

“No?” Steve repeated, your bashfulness giving him confidence. He looked down at you, eyes hazy.

“No, it isn’t,” you shook your head lightly. “It isn’t too much to ask. Not at all.”

Smiling down at you, Steve bathed in the way you watched him. He adjusted the crown on your head. “You look like a queen tonight, giggles.”

Mischievously, you rolled your eyes. “Really,” your voice was laced with sultry, “King Steve?”

Steve sucked in a breath. He ignored that nagging voice in his head that told him you were too good for him (you were but that was beside the point). He reached to caress your face, the thumb of his hand brushed your cheek. You leaned into his touch, and Steve watched as your eyes fluttered shut when he slowly started to lean in.

Flash interrupted the two of you.

You bounced away from him, but Steve stayed in his place. He didn’t bother to look away from you, his lips still parted as he watched your chest heave wildly as you looked at Steve’s cockblocker the culprit.

“Mom!” you scolded, rushing toward where your mother stood in the doorway, where you had stood minuted ago.

“Sorry! You two just looked to cute,” your mom apologized, unapologetically, waving the new picture dry. “Dusty had me come looking for you. He really wants that picture.”

You lowered your voice, glancing back at Steve like you didn’t want him to hear you say, “He couldn’t have waited five more minutes?”

Your mother pouted, Steve could see where you got it from, and her voice dipped lower in a whisper so he couldn’t hear. Slightly, your eyes widened and you glanced at the photo, flustered.

Hesitantly, you turned him, cheeks red. “C’mon Steve,” you said gently. “Dusty buns needs a picture.”

Steve chuckled, dropping his head before walking towards you, walking you back to the football field with a hand on your lower back, your bouquet of flowers in his hand.

Dustin gave him a copy of the pictures several weeks later.

There were two photos of you, him, and Dustin; one where you all smiled politely, Dustin on Steve’s right, you on his left, and another where you held an eye roll, arms crossed over your chest and Dustin and Steve argued beside you over something minuscule.

There was one of you two, both of you looking at the camera charismatically, a purple-pink sunset behind you. (He put the picture in his wallet).

The last photo, was slightly blurry, but that didn’t stop Steve from turning to red at the sight of his hand on your cheek, your eyes closed, him leaning in.

Steve hid that photo in a shoebox under his bed. Y'know, for safe keeping. And looking at it now, months later. Without you. He knows one thing.

He should’ve kissed you.

This has been in my drafts for a while and i was meaning to post this after i finished the line series or whatever but i think it it’s good and can’t make myself write sooooo… here! 🩷

#The Line #The Line | memories of an old friend #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington #steve harrington x henderson!reader #steve #stranger things #dustin henderson #yovrnewromantic #dustin henderson x sister!reader #stranger things s4

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thefreakandthehair · 1 year

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@eddiemonth prompt, oct 4th: Rejection | Arsonist’s Lullaby - Hozier | Lost a/n: pre-steddie post-s4, angst with soft, happy ending because I'm a marshmallow. un-betaed because I'm challenging myself to write these in under an hour. read on ao3 | link to series on ao3

All Eddie Munson has ever wanted to do is play music.

That’s it. There are other hobbies, of course, other things that bring him joy– D&D, fantasy novels, art– but ever since he was a kid, whenever a teacher would ask what he wants to be when he grows up, it’s always the same answer.

I wanna play music.

As a kid, it seems less daunting. He just has to practice, he just has to play, he just has to have the passion to make it big. To be the next Kirk Hammett, or Eddie Van Halen, or Ozzy Osbourne if he can teach himself to carry a tune.

Making friends is hard, but he manages to find a few in middle school who can play the instruments he can’t– drums, bass. Eddie takes the role of frontman, not exactly a singer still but he’s charismatic enough to get away with it at their school talent show.

High school comes, and Corroded Coffin is revamped. New vibe, new members. He’s older now, a little more jaded with each rejection.

No one wants their EP, recorded by hand in Gareth’s garage onto cheap cassette tapes.

No venue will let them play, and Eddie knows that it’s probably because they’re in high school but hadn’t The Cure started in high school?

No one believes in them, trying to push them– especially Eddie– to consider more successful careers, safer paths.

But eventually, they book a regular gig at The Hideout and Eddie’s certain this is it. This is their big break. Until they play week after week, staring at the same five plastered faces every Tuesday. If they can prove themselves though, the owner will have to let them play on a Friday or Saturday.

He never does.

The final nail in the proverbial coffin comes after Eddie’s final senior year. Being accused of murder should have beefed up his credibility if nothing else– he’s already been traumatized, terrorized, and hunted like a goddamn dog, nevermind almost killed via hoard of angry mutant bats. Surely, he’ll catch at least one break.

And then the owner at The Hideout tells him he can’t play there anymore.

The hoards of people who still blame him for Chrissy Cunningham’s death are too much for him to manage himself and, in his words, Eddie’s driving away good business. His heart shatters, his breath catches, and Eddie leaves without a word because if he were to try to speak, all that would come out is either an enraged scream or a choked sob and Eddie doesn’t want to risk either.

He drives around aimlessly for an unknown amount of time, just circles around the outskirts of Hawkins. Maybe I’ll just leave, he thinks. Indianapolis might be far enough. Maybe Chicago. Fuck it, maybe Argyle and Jonathan can put me up for awhile in California. Eddie wants to go somewhere that makes him forget just how lost he is, how unwanted and forgotten he’s become. Being the social pariah is only fun when he’s making speeches on cafeteria tables, not when it boots him out of his one and only career path.

Somehow, he ends up in Loch Nora. He can’t face Wayne right now, he doesn’t want to bother Robin or Nancy, he’s already let Jeff, Gareth, and Freak down in the worst way imaginable, and if he goes to his mom’s or Chrissy’s tombstones with one more sob story, he’s afraid they’ll start haunting him. Steve’s become a friend over the last year or so it makes sense. Process of elimination and all of that.

He doesn’t have the mental bandwidth to realize that he’d started driving that way before he ruled everyone else out.

Steve welcomes him like he always does and offers him a beer, sitting with him in companionable silence on the couch as they watch Monty Python and The Holy Grail and laugh at the same parts. Eddie knows Steve can see that he’s upset but instead of asking questions Eddie isn’t ready to answer, he just sits a little closer with their thighs touching and one arm strewn over the back of the couch, just barely grazing Eddie’s shoulder.

The movie ends and Steve moves to switch the tape when Eddie finally speaks up.

“The Hideout kicked us out. Can’t play there anymore.”

Eddie sees Steve freeze from behind before turning, his eyebrows knitted together above his nose. “Are you fucking serious?”

He nods and sighs, lifting one hand to chew on this thumbnail as he looks at the wall beyond Steve.

“That’s bullshit, dude. Why? Because of the protestors or whatever?”

He nods again.

“Want me to go down there? I’ve still got my bat around here somewhere. It might be nice to swing at something that’s not trying to like, eat me.”

Eddie huffs a small laugh through his nose and meets Steve’s eyes, their righteous anger blending with his own as he sees Steve cross his arms over his chest. It’s hard not to stare.

“Well, then at least I wouldn’t be the only guy in this town wanted for murder.”

Steve shakes his head and just chooses another movie, Howard the Duck this time, before returning to his spot on the couch. It’s one of Eddie’s favorite movies but he can’t focus to save his life because Steve is even closer now, his arm draped fully across Eddie’s shoulders and creating a space for Eddie to easily just… rest. So he does.

The title sequence starts and Eddie’s head drops to the side, resting on Steve’s shoulder. It’s one of his favorites but he can’t follow the plot to save his life. All he can focus on is the way Steve’s fingers trace symptoms and shapes against the cotton of his tee shirt, and the steady rise and fall of his chest, and the feeling of Steve’s head leaning against the top of his.

“I had a new song and everything,” Eddie whispers, surprising both himself and Steve.

Steve hums and tightens his arm around Eddie’s shoulders, a ghost of a hug. “Play it for me sometime?”

All Eddie Munson has ever wanted to do is play music. And maybe he still can.

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